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| Eucalyptus Tree- Yarrawonga, Victoria, Australia |
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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.
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| 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.
