That Dreaded, Dreaded Homesickness

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For the first time on my travels, about half way through my journey of exchange, I got smacked with it. It's like someone took a glove, put syringes on it and whacked it so hard across my cheek that it feels real.

It's called homesickness, and there's only one cure: time.

So tonight, whilst in my first bout of the disease, I thought I would take to writing to see if it makes me feel any better. I have skipped over my recent travels to Charlotte, Richmond and DC and all the latest developments in Chapel Hill BUT I feel like shit so don't boss me around.

It started rather happily actually. Siobhan, my bestest best friend, the Timon to my Pumbaa, the Gogo to my Didi, the other half of me sent me a package and it arrived today. It included food (AUSSIE GOODNESS), a tennis magazine with Novak Djokovic (my future husband) all through it and a wonderful letter. It isn't some sentimental crap at all, in fact it mostly explains how Masterchef is the only thing she's watching, how we should be licking the liberty bell together (I'm not licking the liberty bell) and that we should try a place called "Dagwood". This is how we are... well until she wrote "I miss you" in big, capital letters and that when I disappeared into customs on the day I flew out it was a "strange, imcomplete feeling".

Incomplete. Not sad, not angry... imcomplete. It's the perfect word really. This is the longest we have been apart for 12 years. Like I said, she's my other half... without her I'm not whole. The worst word she could have used is "imcomplete". Luckily, her presents distracted me. Well for a little while anyway.

At dinner I texted Mum. Mum and Dad are both coming over for two weeks in May. I'm not wishing my time away or anything but I'm very excited. I want them here. Now.

Anyway, after three weeks of not seeing them over Skype (which is better than nothing), I expected to talk to them right now, as I'm writing this. Turns out Mums at work. Cool, fine, I'll chat to Dad.

Dad, Bill as he affectionately known around my home town, doesn't hear text messages. So after a failed text message, I called. He told me he's feeling ill and he "wouldn't be any fun on Skype". I always become way too paranoid if Dad says he's anything but good.

And so it began. The feeling of being slapped in the face. I wanted to cry in the middle of our dining hall tonight. Talking to British friends helped, but not enough to make me want to collaspe on my bed in a puddle of tears.





So here we are. Right now. In the midst of homesickness all on my own.

Tomorrow I'll wake up and everything will be fine. I will realise how lucky I am, how fortunate I am. I will think of the alternative - scanning people's groceries and bagging them for 5 hours or more, filling up meat products with people I can't stand, cleaning - all while dreaming of America.



It's that message I send to people who might be on travels and missing home - you'll get back there, but you may not get back here.

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