To the people I’ll never forget, and the country that stole my heart ...
I’ve been here before.
Dirty hair, red eyes. Sweating through my shoes and choking back tears. Scarfing down over-priced food that tastes like the box it came in. Weighed down by more clothing and duty-free rum that one girl can carry. My departure uniform is complete, and I’m teetering along the line between ecstasy and devastation. It’s a tight-rope walk I’m not accustomed to.
I know these sounds. The repetitive ding of the airport PA, the rolling wheels of luggage and the shuffling of papers. Crying babies and flighty couples, languages you can’t begin to understand. It’s the soundtrack to any and every airport I’ve endured in my twenty short years.
But this time, it’s all different.
Because as I look around at the frantic families and stoic suits and dishevelled teens, It’s not the same. I can see the stories written in their steps. Some are finally coming home, some are off on an adventure. He shares tales of the tropics with re-united friends, she shuffles nervously through security and into the unknown. But I can look at all of them, every single smile spreading every kind of envy to those here on the ground, and feel a tinge of pity.
Because I know there isn’t a soul in sight who had more fun than I did.
I fell in love with this country the minute I hit the sand some ten months ago, but even then I couldn’t begin to imagine how much of my heart would be stuck to these beaches when I finally had to leave. Two hours ago I stared out of the plane window and watched the Gold Coast shrink into the distance, following the coastline with my tired eyes until it was swallowed by the perfect pink horizon. It was like watching your home melt away in front of you, nothing to do but sit, and watch moments transform into memories. I’ve got a thousand stories to tell now. Stories sliced out of a life lived to its fullest. Stories of a year untamed and unmatched. Not so long ago, they were just daydreams. Daydreams that manifested into adventures, and adventures that I’ve watched melt into memory lane.
I could go on for hours about how bittersweet it is to be homeward bound. How I can’t wait to see everything I’ve missed. How I’ll miss everything I’m leaving behind. But I’ll have all summer for that, and I’m sure anyone reading this right now has heard (or will hear) that over and over and over and OVER from me. For the past few weeks I’ve been slowly melting down - thanks for dealing with my insanity, guys, love you to death for it - so instead of spewing my spider-webbed brain all over the page, I’d rather pay homage to the places, people, and things that make this life so hard to leave. When it comes down to it, I feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world. Not only do I have something I can’t leave, but something I can’t wait to get back to.
First and foremost, a giant piece of my heart goes out to all the little (and big) animals of Aussie. My new friends. From the friendly foxes that would visit us for midnight leftovers, to the noisy but beautiful lorikeets flocking into the trees every sundown. Where would I be if I hadn’t met the wallabies? Crawling along the rocks and making themselves too cute to ignore. Or the kangaroos who let us feed their babies by hand. The koalas who gazed at us with sleepy eyes from their branch beds, the cockatiels that would land right on your head just for a shot at a snack. Every single one of these creatures, furry or feathered, made up the magic that is the East Coast. I had to seriously fight the urge to bring one of each home with me. Gonna miss seeing you guys around.
I was lucky enough to see the entire East Coast of Australia these past ten months, and in doing so, I have lived in every arrangement one can conjure up in one cross-country trek. Whether it was a beachside apartment in the suburbs of Sydney or a mattress in the back of a station wagon, I loved every second of it. However, in April it was time to settle, and what seemed like a hundred hotels and hostels later, we landed at Tondara Holiday Flats; our home for the past four-and-something months.
The best place to live, and the hardest place to leave.
Which brings me to the next, and arguably most vital, portion of my gratitude;
The people.
Each and every one of you. All the beautiful souls I have met this year, aussie and foreign alike. Maybe I met you for ten minutes, and we shared a drink and a story. Maybe you lived beside me and we shared countless amazing if not messy memories and a friendship that I’ll never forget. Maybe you were the guy who made my burger every Wednesday before work.
Whoever you are, and you all know who you are, you have permanently changed my life for the better. Between the four minute friendships that last till the end of a bus ride, and the bonds that you know cannot be broken no matter the time or distance ... it’s the memories of these wonderful people that make travelling worthwhile. The people who help you when you’re stuck, hug you when you miss your family, and hand you a drink and a laugh whenever you need it. I can’t even begin to thank you, all of you, for the best trip of my life. You made it very hard to go home, because you made me feel like I was already there.
I’m sure this goes without saying (for anyone who’s talked to me for more than five minutes) but there is an essential puzzle piece to this trip that can’t go unrecognized. The catalyst himself.
Sometime last year, on a Thursday night in a crowded bar in a Ottawa, a teenage girl listened in awe as this gorgeous curly-haired wonder of a man spouted off tales of cross-continental adventures yet to be had ... and then invited her to come along. Rash and lovestruck, she leapt into the unknown. And she had no idea what she was getting herself into.
to my love;
Thank you for giving me the greatest adventure I could ever imagine.
So, what I’m trying to say to all of you – the people, the places, the things, the feelings – is simply this:
Thank You
For the best year of my life.
