Yesterday I heard the awful news that a terrorist attack had occurred in Manchester. Yesterday, I read how so many innocent people had lost their lives. Yesterday, I cried watching the news; the stories, the vigils, the Facebook updates, the videos. Yesterday I phoned my friend to see if she was ok. Yesterday, I stood proud, knowing that the Greater Manchester community had come together at such a tragic time and that love and kindness had prevailed. But yesterday, I wished I was back home more than I ever have in the ten months I’ve been away. I might not hail from the great city, but yesterday, I ached for Manchester.
When I left England for Australia in July last year, I didn’t think I’d be coming back. I booked a one-way ticket and had my heart set on making a life for myself Down Under. In exactly three weeks, I’ll be leaving Australia for good.
Things haven’t happened for me out here in the way I hoped they would. I didn’t manage to find a sponsor in order to stay working out here, and I still haven’t found the love of my life (even on the other side of the world I continue to be unloveable). But it isn’t all that bad. I don’t feel like I’ve failed and I certainly don’t feel any sense of dread or disappointment about having to return home. In fact, I’m excited to return home. I’m excited about seeing my friends and family again. I’m excited to walk the cobbled streets of the place I grew up again. I’m even excited about the rain. But more importantly, I’m excited for what the future might bring.
My time in Australia has been testing. In stark contrast to my first year here, where everything was new and shiny, and my experiences were sugar coated with glitter and rainbows, the second time around has been completely different. Firstly, I’ve worked a lot more. Secondly, I haven’t got a tan anywhere near as good as I did in my first year. But thirdly, I haven’t felt a connection with anyone or any place on the same level as I did back in 2015. Again though, this isn’t a bad thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made some great friends in Australia and I’ve made some fantastic memories too. I spent two months in a mining town in rural WA, working in what felt like complete isolation but gaining so much from the experience. I met my creative soul mate in Melbourne, attended music gigs and art exhibitions, visited the Grampians and roadtripped down the peninsula. I spent three months living with the two most beautiful humans in Broome, having ridiculous adventures and hilarious ‘family’ outings; these are the two people I’ll miss most when I leave. And I ticked almost every item off my Australia bucket list. In my eyes, I’ve seen it all.
So while I was watching the news yesterday, hearing the various northern accents, seeing the streets where I spent so much of my youth; while I texted my friends and scrolled through Facebook in an effort to feel connected to those back home, while I thought about all the wonderful things England and the North West has given me, while I heard about all the brilliant efforts of the emergency services, and while I still sit with anticipation about the General Election in June, rather than feel a sense of sadness about having to leave Australia, I felt a sense of belonging about returning home. It felt, well, it felt right.
Maybe it’s taken a while. Maybe it’s taken too long. Maybe it’s taken the last three years of travelling and soul searching to finally gain some perspective. Or maybe it’s taken an atrocity such as the one that occurred in Manchester yesterday to realise where I need to be. I don’t need to be on the other side of the world to achieve my dreams. I don’t need to live in Australia to have the best life I can. Yes, the opportunities are more abundant, and yes, the lifestyle is better, and yes, of course, the weather trumps that of the UK. But genuinely, even though it may be grim and it may rain a lot, even though the people may moan and the quality of life may not be as good, for all the apparent downsides there are several more upsides that come as part and parcel of being British – the solidarity and the ‘let’s crack on’ attitude of the Mancunian people demonstrated yesterday a fine example of one. And if it’s taken an event such as yesterday’s to realise where I need to be, then so be it. Australia, you’ve been everything I could’ve dreamed of, but England, it’s time to come home.
Chasing Amy-Lou 