Homesick

It comes from the most twist-turned places

         this yearning 

idle speculation about a favorite lotion 

into memories of the exact store alignment: 

location of lotion 

location of olives in relation to lotion 

location of cheese (near olives)

and the sensation of humidity after frigid air con 

as I walk back to my car 

or digital comments on facebook photos

trigger a cascade of ruminations on 

this man's face under my stroking palm 

wet from his pool 

which is surrounded by certain flowers

the scent of which mingles just so to 

make the humid summer air 

the perfect consistency for deep breaths, fireflies, tumbling

or the new age music program I  digitally and religiously record 

playing now on my computer with my window open 

sketches, colors, then completes a portrait- 

my house (no longer), alight with our sounds

and our lights, windows open to 

release the day's heat to the broken 

humid air and Mum knitting 

and Dad reading and my sister drawing 

and me, me, at my door returned safe 

from friends who want to see me, from a date

from a job at a hospital, a Starbucks, 

from driving under the summer night sky 

And everything is whole

everything is predictable. 

And I do not feel so alone at night.

"It seems farther than ever before."

Eucalyptus Tree- Yarrawonga, Victoria, Australia

I spent a large part of my life trying to reclaim things. See, I grew up split between two countries- the United States and Australia, and though I spent more time in the former, the latter has always had an undeniable calling to me. Part of this was genuine curiosity because Australia has always held me fascinated with its colors, smells, and textures; but another part of the calling is a confused tangle of unspoken lessons and beliefs garnered from the environment I grew up in. We are creatures of our environment and nurturing; I am no different.

I was taught that where I was, in the States, was never quite enough. Even when we, our family, had built a niche for ourselves and set a seemingly straight path towards the future, it was not quite enough because Australia, this undeniable piece of our heritage, was not under our feet. Visits every three to four years punctuating our childhood, dividing us between two very different homes. This yearning was something we wove into out lives subtly- we were critical of the American government and lifestyle, we experienced heat differently, we had a different connection with the land, and so many more inexplicable little habits that set us just apart. Australia was always there, was always something that made us different.

Having that yearning was a confusing way to grow up. On the one hand, it created a kind of base to return to- the escape to Australia was always an option, as demonstrated by our two passports. But on the other hand, it created a means of rebellion. I know that I constantly fluctuated in my identification with Australia and America to suit my social standing, family dynamic, or political viewpoints. When I was very young, I blithely let my accent fade away, but, when I was older, I fought hard to fit in with our Australian family friends when I came back for a visit. There are other times I fought just as hard to not go back, to stay and live my American life without that weighty yearning behind me. I can't seem to remember a time where I was contentedly one without the other tugging insistently at me.

Then I tried to reclaim Australia on my own terms,  first by studying and working here, and then by moving there to live on my own. In the first instance, I built the same peak experiences in the same way that most international students do but for me, they took on an particular tenor because they became tied up in my identity as Australian- life in Australia was now more appealing. But that also complicated things further because now I had yearning for peak experiences tangled with the omnipresent heritage yearning and I couldn't differentiate between what was coming back reclaim the same social experiences and what was coming back to find a part of my heritage. That's what brought me here now- that confusion- and that's what has occupied my ruminating mind for the past year.

I think about it most often when walking back from yoga because, in the evening, I can look up and see the bats skimming out of the dusk and into the night. These small regularities are the things I latch onto for familiarity- here it is the bats but in Maryland it was the way the humidity broke at dusk and the quiet presence of fireflies. I miss those things in Maryland but I know that if/when I leave here, I will miss the bats just as much. Really though, it's that regularity I want. I want to be able to fall into a pattern where I am that I am content with, that is not overshadowed by missing an old pattern. I also want to be able to look up and be happy that I am seeing bats or fireflies and not have a pang of yearning for the opposite.

Erin's Farm- Butler, Maryland, USA

I don't know what to do with these feelings. I've only now put them to words after a year of sitting on them, crying with them, and trying to stifle them behind Scarlett O'Hara's  promise that "I'll think about this later, when I can better handle it." Even after writing this, well over a month ago, I didn't publish it and it's only now, as my trip to the States is winding down, that I published this in an effort to release some of the emotion. Even after re-reading, editing, and publishing this- even after all these words- I don't know what to do with these feelings.


But this is the first step, I know. And now, you know as well. And that is the second step.

Belated Update: Living Situation

I did mean to be a little more diligent about updating this blog but I was still settling into a newly arranged apartment and then work came up and then, well, I just lost the plot. The same thing happened with all the Christmas presents I bought, wrapped, labeled, and even packed into shipping bags/boxes but then put off actually sending for three months- at this point, I am just bringing them with me to the States in May. What's a few more months?

I'm choosing to think of it this way: I was waiting until my living situation was stable before I wrote an update. And settled it has. In case you hadn't heard, Etienne moved in after Amanda moved out, going from a somewhat tense living situation, to romantic cohabitation in the space of two short weeks. I moderator on a relationship forum, where questions about cohabitation are rife, so I think I put more thought into it than I needed to. I caught myself musing over how to deal with shared laundry and splitting chores and deciding how to decorate and so forth- often very stupid, meandering questions that served no purpose. When it came down to it, the thought of having someone else in my space, after having some pretty negative experiences over the past year, made me construct ramshackle, unsteady rules and boundaries meant to keep me safe; really, I should have turned my attention to how much easier and more fun it would be to have my boyfriend living with me.

There's no way to hide it- the first month or so was pretty grueling as I fought to keep up my listing boundaries against the confrontation of another person and as he did the same with his own boundaries. I'm certain the neighbors heard us yelling at each other and slamming doors just as often as they smelled food cooking in the kitchen. Reflecting our chaotic existence, the apartment was a shambles of second hand furniture, empty boxes, and piles of unsorted belongings. It was not the best way to live.

But it evened out slowly. We settled into a living pattern consisting of waking up, going to work, someone cooking dinner upon returning home, and watching Dexter on DVD. We bought furniture, including the sofas I have been obsessing over on facebook, and have arranged it in a pleasing and comfortable manner. We keep separate bedrooms- the way kings and queens, lords and ladies, used to do hundreds of years back- but usually sleep with the doors open and "visit" each other, though without the stiff formality seen between Tudor kings and queens. Some days are better than others, though, so the new neighbors hear fights only slightly less occasionally than their predecessors.

I guess that is my way of saying that it is working. I don't really know how because by all rights I should have run him off with my obstinacy and he should have exhausted me with his antics and peculiarities. But I can't really reflect on this much more, it's stopped making sense to me. It is what it is, and for now, that will have to do.

Goings On- Employment

I wish I could say that a lot has happened in the past year but, really, I don't think much has happened until now, almost exactly a year since the move. It's like having a second go at this whole re-starting my life business. Still, a year deserves a recap of sorts, so that future my biographers (hah!) can describe 2011 as a mixed bag that established a jumping point for my next leap upwards.

Employment
This was my major achievement- finally securing a job with a salary. For my first five months in Melbourne I engaged in the lifestyle preferred by many youth here- bludging off of Centrelink. Centrelink is the government organization that provides welfare to people who can't earn income for one reason or another. It's far more extensive than welfare in the States- at least that is my one-sided perception having never been on welfare in the States. I'm able to receive Centrelink because I am a dual citizen (see also, my tattoo), though there was a lot of confusion at the Centrelink office as to why I had no official presence in their databases except for my birth. Briefings about my confusing childhood ensued and, in the end, I was able to begin receiving the paltry sum of $530 per fortnight; this, plus my savings and occasional injections of parental welfare were enough to carry me through until May, when I was hired by Hanover Welfare Services.

Can I just say, though, that I am incredibly proud of myself for being able to bludge off of Centrelink for that long? I had no idea how nerve wracking it was to only get barely $1000 per month with rent being $695 not including bills and expenses like food and public transportation; my savings and parents helped tremendously but I learned more about budgeting than I ever would have if I had just found a job as soon as I got here (incidentally, I kind of did, but it was a terrible pyramid scheme sales job that I did for one week before opting for unemployment over the loss of my soul). It especially encouraged me to cook frugally so I have a nice collection of large meals that I made and then ate throughout the week with dwindling optimism. However, now that I am off Centrelink, I have progressively more expensive bread, and I'm mostly ok with that.

The work that funds said expensive bread is social work. I am a "housing support worker," which basically means I am a social worker for people who are homeless and are trying to find somewhere to live; specifically, I work with families with multiple and complex needs. The work I do encompasses everything from providing emotional support to filling out all manner of applications to making numerous phone calls on my client's behalf. I could say a lot of things about what my job involves but that just becomes daunting and a little self-aggrandizing, because, really, it sounds like a lot when I list it out. Suffice it to say, it's not a job for everyone. I didn't know if it was even for me for a while;  I've since concluded that this is a stepping stone job- one that I will do for a while before moving onto something else with my social work experience tucked firmly under my belt.

That is the most important part about this job- the experience. I was working at a mental health hospital before this, on the eating disorders unit, which was a very acute, highly specialized area. This is real life that I deal with now- people who are going through different kinds of disasters than I found on the eating disorders unit. That isn't to say that what the girls on the eating disorders unit were going through was not real life, because it was; I'm just finding that the kind of calamities I deal with in this job are making it easier for me to deal with the kind of problems found in an acute setting. It's cliche but I'm learning so much in this job- I'm starting to feel like a dauntless, assertive, and creative social worker- and I know it will all diversify across whatever job I do. I'm also staying because of my clients- I have a truly amazing group of clients- especially my clients who come from an immigrant and/or refugee background- and I want to see things through to their rightful end with them.

A Stilted Introduction

This weekend marks a year since I left America to move to Australia. In that time I kept saying to myself that I would start a blog- for people to see what I was doing, for me to connect with others, to mark the passage of time- but I never got around to it. And the more I didn't do it, the more I avoided it because I kept thinking that someone would notice that I hadn't started the damn thing. Avoidance is one of my preferred methods of dealing with stress.

But now, it's been a year. And to be honest, that first year wasn't too spectacular. That isn't to say I didn't have fun, more, that it was largely spent trying to get my feet under me when it felt like everything except my tattoos had been yanked out from under me; and even those tattoos weren't enough sometimes.

Now, I'm ready though. I'm not sure what I'll blog about because from my perspective I don't do many interesting things except cook and deal with some delicate situations at work; perhaps this will be my motivation to actually make an effort to do things that warrant interest and may even be distinctly Australian (what is that anyway? This country is more of a mixing pot than the States).


Bear with me while I work this out. I'm still a little wobbly.