This has sparked lots of interesting conversations between us, and me personally with myself. My beautiful roommate is a Canadian in every maple syrup, mounty, Moose sense of the word. But she moved here when she was four. Nationality-wise, she is Bulgarian. Then there’s her best friend, “M” who has Canadian citizenship, but has the thickest bloody Scottish accent there ever was to be heard.
And then there’s me.
Toronto is home for now, for all of us (though I think we all have Hollywood/New York dreams), though recently my Roommate said she was planning to go “home” in the summer, and “M” said that her grandparents at “home” were sending her stuff.
After work I say “I’m heading home” and I mean our little apartment at Bloor and Ossington. But really, Hong Kong is home to me, because my Mummy lives there, and I spent the greater part of my life there. And then there’s Sydney. My home for four years 2007-2010. AND I’m Australian.
But when I say I’m going “home” in the local sense, I mean our apartment. In my new adopted city. My new home.
It’s confusing for a Third Culture Kid, or Global Nomad, like me.
Home is a difficult concept.
And so, meditating on all this, I have come to the conclusion that I’ve been running away from “Home.”
I love picking up and moving on a whim, but I hate change.
When things get too normal, I have to f*ck Sh*t up just so I can fix it again – to keep busy you see.
I’m always getting my roots dug in deep, but then I terrify myself and become all commitment-phobic.
So I always have an exit. I always know the escape routes.
I’m never just “Home” and settled. There is always somewhere to miss. Someone to miss. Somewhere else to be.
When I was living in Hong Kong for 6 months this year, I couldn’t WAIT to out and go to Canada. AND then I was planning to go back to Sydney and get a real job in my industry. But I didn’t. I stayed here…because the concept of “a real” job freaked me out too much. It was too much commitment…but that is an issue for another blog.
When I have my monthly freakout (WTF am I doing with my life?!?!) I always have an insane urge to run, bite, tear my way out of wherever I am and get “Home”.
The silly thing is that…where I want to escape too…
…changes every weekend.