homecoming

Sleep's a rare luxury at the moment. Since Thursday night I think I've had about 5 hours sleep.



It's been a blur since Thursday night dinner in Orange to waking up insanely early to spend four hours on a coach getting a driving tour of the baby-boomer commercial stations of the Central West, Blue Mountains and Western Sydney. I'll have you know the highlight was going down the M4 with WS-FM's 'Nine at nine from 1989' blaring with The B-52's Love Shack. That song doesn't sound quite right on the AM side of the day.



Next came the taxi drive from Central Station to the airport. For once I had a chatty taxi driver who didn't liberally apply the accelerator and the brake as if his life depended on it. Oddly enough he once lived in Orange. He told me that I should travel and explore the world. He was the third person in the space of a week to give that sage advice.



I don't mind waiting in airports on one condition, the flight isn't delayed.



When you have three hours to wait for your flight to board, there's only one thing you should do, upgrade your mobile phone. I did just that - I have a new phone, and I lowered my cap AND I didn't have to pay for either pleasure. Jess - 1 : Phone company - Nil.



Luckily enough, I pre-paid a pass to the VirginBlue lounge so I could drink coffee, beer, read newspapers and magazines away from the throngs of air travellers. I'm glad for that small luxury.



My flight was delayed for an hour - that's stock standard behaviour for flights departing from Sydney Airport. Nonetheless it's an annoying habit to fall into.



My daytime flight to Perth made me come to the following conclusions:

1. Applying deodorant should be compulsory for every passenger before boarding a flight.


2. Making children under 3 fly is another form of child abuse.


3. It is also a slow, cruel form of torture for your fellow passengers.

It was strange to be see the Great Australian Bight from 11km above sea level and then watch the strange lunar-like surface of the Nullarbor meld into the geometric paddock patterns in varying shades of green.

It's always slightly disarming to arrive back in Perth after a long absence. It's strange to see every car numberplate look the same as mine in Orange and not be in a minority group. It's strange to have gale force winds knock my hair back into the 'windswept and interesting' look I sported for the previous 22 years. It's strange to not feel cold. It's incredibly strange to come back and know the place like the back of your hand yet feel like an impostor.

There are things that feel nice and normal like friends and Bright Ale and Little Creatures and bubble tea and tall, straggly eucalypts. While it's nice to see and taste and experience those things again, it's temporary. I know I have to return to my half-life and be half the me I know.

At this stage Perth doesn't feel like home anymore - I can't describe why or how that is, when you try too hard to come back you begin to question whether it's worth it. Orange certainly isn't home - but that's because I resist making it home - over my dead body would I ever call Orange home.

My quarterlife crisis is based on this whole idea of what home is. I haven't nutted that one out. But the nearest thing I can equate home to is someone who makes you feel safe, understood, cared for and ultimately loved unconditionally; someone you can always come back to. For me, my home is messy, untidy, confusing, gut-wrenching and difficult. But home it is, and that's where my heart lies.

I had a strange homecoming. For all the mess and confusion, I had a wave of safety, understanding, care and nuturing come over me. I wish I could be home more often. We'll see.