Inside the familiar

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It really has been far too long since I last wrote hasn’t it? To avoid one monolithic journal, I am going to try break recent events down into two more relatively huge rants. I figure if I didn’t write now, I would soon lose some of the memories, emotions, thoughts and findings of recent times. Now we can’t have that! The most logical place to pick up since where I last left off would be the build-up surrounding my trip home and the time spent back in Edithvale.

So the trip home….. Didn’t someone once ask, can you ever truly go home? To be honest I’m still not really sure, my answer would waver somewhere between a wholehearted ‘Oh yes’’ and a ‘Perhaps not’. After six months away from my family, friends and all that is connected, I was going home for Tanya and Heath’s wedding. As it was to be a week before Christmas, I always knew that I would stay on for the additional week, then head back to the UK for New Years Eve. To be perfectly honest, if it hadn’t been for the wedding, of such close and dear friends, I would not have gone. Expense is only a small matter to contend with. It is the emotional toll that can be so much harder to deal with, for me it was anyway.

In the weeks leading up to my flight, I started to become nervous, sad and even terrified at times. I suppose one may wonder why this would ever be the case. Surely it should be something to look forward to? Seeing friends and family again? Enjoying a little bit of Southern Hemisphere summer? It was that secure feeling of home, those comfortable walls, familiar sounds, sights, my bed and the warmth of my family life that scared me. How could I possibly say good-bye to it all over again?

I was only finally beginning to feel like I was part of life here. I could talk to my parents without feeling the urge to cry. I could laugh at my sister’s latest antics from afar, or hear about a friend’s birthday party without feeling like I was missing out. Those initial days of homesickness and vulnerability were a distant memory now. But would going home bring that back to the surface?

It was the whole unknown factor. Would I be homesick again as a result? Where would I feel that I belonged? Would I feel like I was now a stranger in my own life? Would I miss England? Would I be able to get on the plane to come home? My head was swimming, but at the same time I couldn’t wait to see everyone.

So during those weeks of late November there was panic attacks, moments of tears, and a feeling that I could never put my finger on. Looking back, Brett copped a fair bit of that. One minute he got happy-go-lucky Lauren and the next minute I was an irrational mess of tears. I was pretty lucky though; he put up with it, and would proceed to make me laugh and smile.

The weeks slowly peeled by, my calendar for home was filling up, and before I could blink it was the week before I was to jet home. The Monday night was terrific in the Brighton Fun House! As I was the first to head off for Christmas, our usual Monday night madness was changed to a full proper Christmas dinner, with crackers, a massive feast that could feed another 3 families, presents and our own Christmas tree with decorations! We all glammed up for the night, then looked at each other in utter amazement. The boys finally saw I had a wardrobe out side of the usual gym outfit of tracksuit bottoms and pulled back sweaty hair! Even now the photos look utterly gorgeous, and they provide the memory of a fun night with such lovely, beautiful people…..

The week was full of things to get done, there was travel insurance to organise, last minute washing and packing, emails home, excited text messages and before I knew it the day was virtually here. Like a snail with my home on my back, I took my backpack to work so I could head up to London straight after work. But before the end of the day, the fab people in my team gave me a little Christmas present, a Brighton and Hove Albion Football top with the brand SKINT emblazoned across the front (oh how prophetic that proved to be!!!!!)


As I would need to be at Heathrow for 5am on Saturday morning, I had two choices. Spend all night out there with my bags and feel horrid come 5am, or stay over at Brett’s, pay £15 and at least get a little sleep. That choice was never terribly difficult, although I did feel guilty about waking up the apartment at the ungodly hour of 4am!

A fun and chilled out night was in order, I met Brett’s friend Melissa (who was to be part of the skiing group). Then Martha and Evelyn came over, and with wine in hand we all chatted about Martha’s recent sojourn and enlightenment in India, until it was time for me to pull a Cinderella act and try get some precious pre-flight sleep.

The alarm was ringing and it was time for my taxi. I spent the next 30 hours in the ‘Ether’ of nowhere. Not in the UK anymore, not in Australia yet… I was in that dreaded place of ‘transit’! One very long flight and I was back over Australian soil. Ok so I got a little weepy when we flew over the outback, and could even here that slightly cheesy Qantas tune playing in my mind. But that was nothing compared to that rush I felt as I walked off of the plane and up that small connecting hall, knowing that I would see my family when I emerged. More tears, Mum telling me to ‘stop that rot’, and 15 minutes later, my sister was having a full blown argument with my parents… ahhhhh yep, I was home J

My jet lag was horrible for about a week, but as they say there is no rest for the wicked. My days were quickly filled up seeing all my beloved’s from home. Dinner’s, coffees, lunches, afternoons at the beach, my sister even organised a special trip for us to have a surfing lesson! I am not Layne Beachly yet, but this is definitely a sport I could pursue a whole lot more, just not such a fan of trying to catch those early morning breaks! It was all so crazy, but I was acutely aware that I wasn’t getting as much time with my family as I wanted, but that would eventually come.

Like warp speed the wedding day was upon us, the whole purpose for my return, and oh my, was it hot. 37 degrees hot! Luckily Tan had us wearing short little satin dresses, the boys weren’t nearly as lucky! One of my oldest friends was getting married to one of my closest mates, and I was sharing the day with a close group of friends who know every story there is to tell about me! The excitement of getting ready together, watching Tanya have her veil put on, taking photo’s, watching (ironically) Four Weddings and a Funeral, a quick bite to eat and we were off to get Tanya and Heath married.

Everything was so incredibly beautiful, and I could help but cry (again!!!) when I saw Tanya take that stroll down the aisle. We have been friends since Kindergarten, played years of netball together, shared jokes, crazy nights out and here I was part of her special day. The decision to come home could never have been clearer.

The ceremony was simple, elegant and spoke volumes of honesty and sincerity. And to be honest, fantastically short for my terribly sense of patience! The long hot afternoon of photos took its toll on this girl who had spent recent months acclimatising to the English winter. I could barely move, I was exhausted, stumbling and having trouble putting together my words. No, for once in my life I was not drunk, but I think suffering from a mild combination of dehydration, and heat exhaustion! Luckily a few sound of mind friends got me onto the water and a little lemonade. Thankfully after speeches, I was pepped back up for the first dance of the evening with the bridal party! We danced away and it was time for the official goodbyes. I realised that I might not get to see Tan after tonight with the honeymoon and all. We both had a little weep, and she reminded me that everyone would still always be here when I found my way home again.

Thank-goodness, this would be the last time I would cry or say a lingering goodbye on this trip. It is far easy to yell out a ‘See you later’ over your shoulder, and convince yourself that you’ll see everyone in about a week! Which is also a great relief to the tear ducts, I must have done my yearly quota by this point!!!!!

The second week moved with such pace, I got my belly button pierced twice (Ouch!!!!!!!), caught up with a few more friends, and before I knew it Christmas Eve with my family was upon us. This year was a departure from most, and it was a night spent with my immediate family and Steven feasting on a gourmet seafood and salad buffet I prepared with Mum that afternoon. A few glasses of vino later, Carols by Candlelight, a leisurely sleep in and it was Christmas day. After the special moments of opening presents together, I spent the morning preparing the entire traditional Family Luncheon for 18 people, while Mum and Dad made sure that the house was ready for the onslaught. Another gorgeous day with Family, although I can’t say it was over all that quickly. Christmas is one of those funny days that seem to take forever to finish; it dwindles on and on and on! Much like one of my blogs eh?

The whole time I was home, it never failed to amaze me how familiar everything felt. My bedroom, my family, driving a car, seeing my friends, even doing the grocery shopping or seeing mum at work. It was like I never left, it fit like a glove, but there was a strong and strange feeling of temporary. A feeling that I existed outside of it all. The glove fit, but it was the wrong season to be wearing it.

Those last days were lovely and I spent a fair bit of time with Mum, Dad, Ad and Dani doing family things (and if you know us well enough, for all equal amounts of love there is equal portions of yelling at each other!). Too soon it was over. Ok so admittedly I did cry a little in the car, but somehow managed to keep it together at the airport. A distinct departure from the way I left last time, or even how I had felt before arriving home. So I suppose the next time I come through Tulla’ it will be when I come home.

It was into the ether again for 28 hours, more jet lag and a 9am arrival back into Heathrow. Brrr I had just started to forget how cold it was here! I hate arriving at airports alone, having to figure out where your luggage is, how to get through immigration and customs, then figure out how to get to where you live/are staying. It never really feels exciting, more like a tedious and necessary evil. Thankfully Brett was there to pick me up. I couldn’t help but smile at the familiar face that I hadn’t seen recently.

I went back to Brett’s place on the tube in a jet-lagged daze. It was funny, that same overwhelming sense of familiarity I felt with my surroundings at home was mirrored back in the UK. This too was now my life. My familiar surroundings. Except, I knew that the UK is where I am supposed to be for now, even if it doesn’t have the secure surrounding of home or a definitive time line.

I chatted away all morning, and had a great post Christmas lunch with Melissa. While the balance of the day was spent in a constant battle of me nodding off, and Brett struggling to keep me awake and the effects of jet lag at bay. Come 4pm I was so exhausted, my will power to get myself home was completely gone, so I stayed on in London, crashing out early, before getting up early (far too early) the next morning with my bags. It was time to go home to Brighton and go back to work……………….

Check out my next blog in a couple of days for New Years and the wonder of the French alps! Adieu!

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