Honey, I'm home!

Hello again, dear reader.

It's been a while, hasn’t it? Funny how time flies when you are holding a “Distinction” academic transcript in one hand and a Eurail Pass in the other.... But now, eight countries, fourteen cities and fifty days later, I’m finally back in Brisbane. And back to reality.

Yet, reality isn’t looking so bleak.

Backpacking alone across Europe was AMAZING, but forty days was enough to make me miss the one-to-one (and the only) bed-to-room ratio. Exploring a new city every few days was a dream-come-true, but after number fourteen, I was ready to settle in one where I could speak the first language. And although the local cuisine had me drooling like a St. Bernard, I started craving fruit and salad when my weight began to resemble our canine friend’s too...

And I’m actually extremely excited to get back into uni, exercise, study and routine. Ah yes, I can feel my OCD neurons firing up already. The promise of long hours of unpacking, arranging, rearranging, list-making and timetable-drawing is making me positively giddy with anticipation. And you think I’m being sarcastic.

In the midst of all that, of course, I will try to be more disciplined with my blogging. I have quite a few interesting stories to share with you, and even more photos – which luckily, I managed to save from a Venetian canal, but that is a story for another time!

So, stay tuned, dear reader. And stay dry.

Beautiful Brisbane

Coffee, check.

Grilled cheese sandwich, check. 

Big, squishy pillows, check. 

Warm, snugly blanket, check. 

And a lazy afternoon all to myself? CHECK. 

Time to update the blog!

After a few stressful weeks of studying and exams, punctuated only, it seems, by jogging and waitressing (often at the same time), my last weekend in Brisbane could not come soon enough. In the end, of course, it was well worth the wait.

As planned, the boy flew up from Melbourne the morning after my last exam. Together, we explored the city which, for him, had existed only on the other end of the phone and the cyberspace of Skype for the past year.

Having had enough of the glossy materialism and impersonal chain stores of the CBD, we had booked a little motel a three-minute stroll away from the heart of West End, my favourite suburb in Brisbane. Over the next few days, we enjoyed the kooky cafes and restaurants, raised our eyebrows at the “organic herb stores" and explored every little book shop along Boundary St. The taste of dark chocolate and chilli gelato still tingles on my tongue and the smell of delicious spices and new books still fills my nostrils. I will also never forget the doll-head chandelier at the Lychee Lounge (although I am not sure that’s a good thing). For the Chinese-food-adoring celiac population, Jackpot is the go-to restaurant with its mouth-watering gluten free menu: sizzling beef, garlic king prawns and chilli tofu stir-fry just to name a few!

Though I have yet to find a Brisbane market comparable to the Queen Vic in Melbourne, I had fallen in love with the West End Saturday morning markets on my two previous visits. The fresh veggies had me itching to cook my own meals after a year of college “food” and I was ready to sink my teeth into a ripe mango or devour a freshly-baked croissant. So, naturally, I dragged us both out of bed at eight in the morning for some market-style breakfast. After laughing our way through the funny t-shirts stall, sampling goodies here and there and tearing myself away from the craft and jewelery stands, we sat down under the shade of a big...shady tree (the boy is the botanist in our relationship). Here, we ate our crepes and Greek sweets and drank spicy chai with honey. I also sipped luxuriously on my 100% cacao beverage, which the boy didn’t enjoy quite as much...oh well, more for me!

Something else I had come to love about Brisbane? The CityCat. Or for those unfamiliar with the city, the ferry that travels along the Brisbane River. Gliding over the water with the wind in your hair while admiring the million-dollar properties on the riverbanks turns every trip to uni or the shopping centre into a scenic tour. I do regret to say, however, that our ferry ride to the quaint little town of Bulimba was probably the cause of the boy's lobsteresque sunburn...oops!

He adored the bats, water dragons and geckos that I had grown accustomed to seeing around and marvelled at the ibises that ate (or in my case, pecked viciously) from our hands. I mourned the last of the jacarandas and delighted at the blooming frangipanis. We picnicked in the botanic gardens and swing danced at the Philippine Festival. There was also much lazing about on the man-made beach by day and long walks along the glittering river by night. Then finally, having said my goodbyes to the wonderful friends I’d made this past year, the boy and I jumped on a plane back to Melbourne.

It didn’t hit me until Brisbane had become a maze of sparkling lights outside my airplane window that I wouldn’t lay eyes on her for another eight months. What will I have seen and done by the time I returned? Who will I have become? These thoughts terrified me, but at the same time, the impending adventures and endless possibilities made my heart race. 

It seemed that the city I had once associated with change and independence had somehow come to represent stability and home without so much as a “how do you do”...

Brisbane, I’ll miss you.

A Nomad's Life

Packing. Again.

As I attempted to squeeze my ever-expanding earring collection into my ever-shrinking (I will record measurements one day for proof) jewellery box, I found myself wondering what it might be like to live in the same country, the same city, or even the same house, all your life.

Having divided my last eighteen years between three countries, five cities, and ten schools, it is a concept I find almost impossible to grasp. The idea of growing up with the same friends, surrounded by childhood memories in the same places intrigues me. I am both envious of and puzzled by the people who walk down the street and wave to every second person: a friend from high school, an old drama teacher, the owner of a favourite restaurant.

Take the boyfriend for instance. With him, an intended five-minute stop at the local shopping centre can easily turn into an hour-long social gathering.

They are the ones who have remained in a place with which they have a shared history and a deep, almost spiritual, connection; a place that they belong to as much as it belongs to them. In short, a place that is, irrefutably, Home.

As for me, the word ‘home’ has simply come to represent the location of my bed at any given time and the space around it in which I keep most of my belongings. I guess it does get lonely at times, but having known it all my life, I really cannot imagine living any other way.

An old friend in a similar situation once said to me: “we have no roots; we are simply islands, floating from one place to the next, wherever the current chooses to take us”. Perhaps this is true, or perhaps we are more like mangroves, able to spread our roots. Whatever it is, I am just grateful for the force that has carried me from China’s bustling streets to Florida’s tropical cities and Australia’s sun-soaked beaches.

Eventually, I might find a place to drop anchor and take root, but right now, I’m just enjoying the ride...And with Bali and Switzerland on the horizon, I don’t think I need to worry about the current letting up just yet!