What I had thought was good old-fashioned jetlag last week actually turned into a pretty draining stomach bug that meant I was out of action for a few days and resulted in a weird way to settle back home.
I wasn’t too surprised that I got sick. I had been running around so much and constantly on the go that I was expecting to come down with something once I finally stopped. It did result in me being forced to take it easy and just do nothing without feeling guilty about it – I literally couldn’t do anything.
So I lay in bed and thought about the last few years. About when my boyfriend left and how I made my decision to follow. How I had to grapple with my own identity and feelings about making that decision. The excitement of living in a bustling city, the homesickness of missing home. Making new friends and staying in touch with friends overseas. Adapting to new cultures and slang. New workplace and habits. Trying to decide if we were going to stay there forever or return home. Then all of a sudden having this choice made for us. Preparing to move home, not just moving stuff but moving mentally. Realising that I may never see some people again. Getting on that plane.
And now being home! With what can sometimes feel like a massive task list ahead of me. But after the last few years, I know I can do it. And I won’t be doing it alone.