I have been back at ‘home’ in Australia for two weeks now,
on holiday. As an expat coming back to the motherland, I’m finding it mighty
difficult to write something productive or relevant that doesn’t include “it
hasn’t changed much” or “it holds conflicting memories”. Seriously, it’s not
that entertaining for a reader – that’s my own internal conversation.
Alternatively, I could rabble on about how much the concept of home has changed
and what constitutes feeling like one is at home, but that one feels like it
needs more discovery before I can really sink my teeth into it. I also find it
difficult to come up with much in the way of cultural references as this world
seems mostly ‘normal’ once more, if that’s what ‘normal’ is. And yet, that part
of me that’s changed, the one that
sees this place as largely the same as it was before, knows that this is only ‘normal’
for such a teeny, tiny speck of the world. So, what to write about? I sure as
heck don’t know.
My solution? A photo!
Welcome to Monday Moments.
I call them moments because I
would always prefer try to capture emotions and fleeting moments than monuments.
I’ll leave that to all the other tourists.
So today’s picture to tantalise your senses and make you
want to jump in, is the Brisbane River from the water’s edge at Southbank. It’s
the very far end, right where the
whole of Southbank finishes, and if you’re unfortunate as I, you’ll also endure
some young couple snogging their brains out nearby for a solid twenty minutes.
Why this picture to start? Well, I’ll refer back to the home
thing for a moment. Although I struggle to say Brisbane is my ‘home’, it is
where my parents will always say it is. It is their home, but funnily enough,
neither of those lovely people were here at the start either! All of us have
origins outside of Queensland and most certainly out of Brisbane, but this is
where they call home now. This is also where I lived for the longest time. I
studied here, worked here, fell in love here, made mistakes here (again, the
conflicts of home reference), danced nights away, walked, ran, played,
sunbathed, drove, laughed and dined. This is the bulk of my history, and should
technically take the title of home.
I think that’s why it hurt so much when it was ravaged by
the floods earlier this year. My family, in true traveller style, were
gallivanting around the United States on Christmas and New Year break, and were
in no danger. I was recently returned back for the school semester in Dubai,
and still recovering from serious food poisoning which left me in a rural
Nepali hospital. I was still weak, still tired and emotional, and all of a
sudden, the city where I’d grown up was going under. I was locked to the
television, internet and expat news feeds. Disaster was hitting my people and I
was so far away. I couldn’t do anything, yet if I’d been in Brisbane, I wouldn’t
have been able to do much anyway. I felt completely helpless and other staff at
school mirrored my thoughts, reflecting on times when their own countries had
suffered disasters, terrorist attacks and other misfortunes. It sucked.
This space, where I sat last week, would have been three
metres underwater. This beautiful little part of the city was flooded, parts of
Southbank were destroyed, and libraries, bridges, and restaurants were washed
away. Friends from university lost houses, horses and treasured items. They
were stuck at home, unable to work, or driving the streets to help those in
need. That’s just the Aussie way; helping out a mate. So this Monday Moment is
for the floods. For not being here, but knowing that being here wouldn’t have
helped any way. Home or not, despite the fact it’s a sleepy ol’ town, it’s
still a bit of alright.
