Home again

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For practically my whole life; before I moved to Queensland, Melbourne was my home. Everything about this place excited me; the busyness of city life, the unpredictability of the weather, and even the chaos of peak hour traffic. In my tyke eyes Melbourne was a rollercoaster and I was on it. Though like all rollercoaster it came to a stop.

On a Saturday morning car ride to netball (over four years ago), mum in her ‘by the way’ tone said, “oh akkie, remember to tell Jenny you won’t be playing anymore, we’re moving to Queensland next week”1. My world was shattered. Melbourne was going to be a thing of my past.

For the next week nothing registered. Thinking was beyond me and understanding wasn’t even an option. All I knew was everything I knew was gone; late night shopping at Chadstone, Moomba, the Melbourne show and Ashwood tennis were thing in my past.

For months while I watched Nooser sunrises, I longed to see my breath form an icy vapour on a chilly Melbourne morning. Everything I saw, tasted or heard couldn’t compete with Melbourne. I remember my first day at Brisbane State High; everyone was so friendly and trying to involve me in everything. Chansmelly (don’t worry it’s only a nickname for Chantal) and Sonya introduced me to all their friends; but no matter what anyone said I took everything the wrong way, immediately defended Melbourne. Like when Nadien (one of Sonya’s friends) asked “so you must be loving the weather here?” to which I retaliated “the sun makes my skin go dark”. No matter how hard I tried I was constantly taking offence.

As I remanence thorough my days of “Melbournian Snobbery” (as I like to call it) I can’t believe I was ever that stubborn. Apart from despising every aspect of Queensland, I blamed by mum (in particular as she informed me of our move to Queensland) for the horrible time I had. I was constantly on her case, blaming her for everything; “my geans are bad enough, how can I put up with the sum as well?” I’d taunt ever so often. I knew I was acting like a little kid but it didn’t stop me. I longed to go home.

My parents, friends, strangers and even my pets put up with my unrepenting juvenile behaviour for over two summers, until I finally got my own way. I was coming to Melbourne. I was going to feel the busyness of real city life, the excitement of late night shopping at Chadstone and nimbly chill of Melbourne mornings. I was coming home.

After two year my image of Melbourne had grown, I expected the traffic to be more chaotic and life in general to be faster. Especially in the weeks nearing my arrival in Melbourne (consequently at Tiddamen Boarding-house); my expectations soared to unrealistic heights.

As you can imagine the utopia that had manifested was far from the truth. Even as I landed on that frosty summer’s day I felt my excitement subside, filled instead by a shire disappointment. The touch of cold wind combined with due once gave warm Goosebumps, now it’s prickly like a thousands of needles. While the traffic which once excited me now put me to sleep. I’m home again. But it’s not the same.

Now I find myself sit down trying in vainly to slow time down; waiting and counting until I will be home again. Home again in Queensland.

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