Where is here?
I’m an expat Brit living in Australia. I confess that Australia isn’t actually where I’d chose to live, not enough mountains, too hot. But through life and circumstance and a decision initiated by my most lovely wife, here I am.
I was in New Zealand before that – NZ definitely has enough mountains. What it doesn’t have is what makes it ideal in my eyes. Commercialisation and globalisation hasn’t quite crossed the borders on the bottom of the planet.
But Britain despite what the news will tell you is also lovely, but mainly when the sun shines. A sad rarity. But the population density, cost of living relative to income can’t be fixed either. But my family are there and when I visit, that deep, deep sense of familiarity and nostalgia gets stronger with every step onto the air bridge.
That visit was an annual occurrence, has been for twelve years. I could get home as a UK citizen to two weeks quarantine but that would be too late for what would send me there in a hurry.
So I’m currently completely disjointed. I am fortunate in every way: white, male, healthy, wealthy. My wife is my equal partner, my children are well, my dogs love me and I get time to reflect upon my existence as a middle aged man who finds that reflection comes more often these days.
In March we saw the spectre of COVID approaching – as an Anaesthetist (anaesthesiologist to my American brethren) that made me front line. I was guilty as I watched my UK, US and European colleagues get hammered in their usual understated way. Grateful that we had time to prepare. The steady buzz of expectation followed by the survivor guilt of not actually facing any real disease here in NSW.
And now we’re on the tail – that long drawn out expectation of “will it; won’t it” whilst watching Melbourne and the rest of the world get second waved.
And do you know what, it’s ephemera, not tangible, still not real. What’s really hitting now is the shut down of the borders.
My family and I travel a lot. It’s fine that we can’t travel for holidays, a small price to pay. But a dear friend in New Zealand is sick again, usually I’d jump on a plane and go for the weekend and revel in my fortune that I could do that. Not now.
Last week I would have been in Sweden for another friend’s fiftieth. Once again, how fortunate to be able to do such a thing. Not now.
But the end is in sight, no? There’s talk of vaccines and hope raises it’s head – but the talk doesn’t include a date.
Why is this all swirling around my consciousness? Australia isn’t my home, it never will be and at the moment I can’t leave. I have found my “gilded cage”.
So I’ve found what I need in these most peculiar of times. I need a date…