My washing basket is full (something to do tomorrow) and I’ve just finished off a cup of tea. It’s relatively early, but I’m hoping to be asleep soon. My trip to Sydney is officially over and normal life will resume at its usual sluggish-speed, though I’m not complaining. I have a list of things to do, but it won’t be addressed until tomorrow. I have some books to read that may take a while to get around to, but the thought is there. My bed has clean sheets, so that’s a positive, as well as something to look forward to.
I went to Sydney for a week, visiting where I had been living in 2016 and 2017 and catching up with all my friends who are still there, as well as my sister. Half the time I was there it felt completely normal, as though I had never left. The other half was spent thinking about how bizarre it was to be back, and how it was home but not quite. Not quite. There were new faces which meant polite conversation, there was the knowledge that while I was sleeping in all my friends were going to work; the life I used to live but no longer. It was nearly normal, but not quite. Not quite. Small details reminded me that my life has moved on from that place, no matter how fond some of the memories are.
At the beginning of my trip it felt like I had days and days. By the end, I was asking where my time went. Isn’t that how it always goes, though, no matter how long you’re away for? At the end it always feels like it flew by and you’re reaching out, trying to remember every moment.
Despite the feeling that it went by so quickly, I don’t regret how I spent my time. I’m not looking back and thinking “oh, I should have done that”; I feel like I spent my time wisely, and I got to talk to those I wanted to talk to. The fact is, it’s simply… over.
Four months ago I made my goodbyes to Sydney and all that it held for me. Yesterday I said goodbye again and it was a different kind of goodbye, though in some ways it felt just as significant. I’m not sure why, though I suspect it’s because I still feel the love that was there while I was living there despite not having seen those people all year. On top of that love, there’s the not-knowing-when-I’ll-be-back-again.
It was hot in Sydney and now I’m home and it’s cold and I have to shift my mind to accept that autumn arrived while I was gone, and that’s all I really have to say right now. This blog post wasn’t to discuss every little thing I did in Sydney (drank tea, had good conversations, bought a lot of tissues), but to more acknowledge that it happened and that I’m still processing it.
I wonder how long it’ll take before it becomes a distant memory. I wonder how much of it will become blurry and how much will be remembered clearly. I suppose it doesn’t matter; it happened, and I’m glad it did.
Clean sheets await, as does a possible chapter of ‘Wuthering Heights’, though that’s more unlikely than likely.