Occasionally I may feel the need to runaway.
Sometimes I might want to talk stuff through or I may just want to escape the hustle and bustle of a house with two small and busy children. Some time to regenerate and begin again.
I know I have wonderful friends whom I could runaway too but they also have their own families and busy lives.
One of the many difficulties about living on the other side of the world from all your family is you obviously cannot just drop by unannounced.
I often wish I could just call into my Mum and Dads house. I may not need to talk. I just need to be in a place where nothing is expected of me. Where I can plonk myself on the couch curl up and watch some TV. My Dad would offer me soup and a cheese sandwich. The butter would be thickly spread across the bread and inside there would be enough cheese to make 4 sandwiches. I would enjoy the homely comfort. My Mum would ask me “Whats the matter with you “? My reply would be “nothing”. That would be that. However they would care for me none the less.
If I am ever feeling a bit upset. I tend to only want to be around those people who know me intimately. Those who know that sometimes they are better off leaving me alone until I am ready to talk.
The words “I have nowhere to run away to” have popped into my mind a number of times since moving to Australia nine years ago.
It can be a lonely feeling when you realise it is just you and your little family. Mr kangaroo has his family here. I however sometimes feel like there is no one that has my back. I don’t have anyone that supports my way of thinking. I have just an “Army of Me”.
It is nice to be validated, to know that you are actually being quite reasonable. Sometimes you feel as if you are an alien with different ideals a different recipe for everyday life. What you think is important may not be important for others.
I am still an introduced species trying to assimilate into a new world. A world that may have belief systems different to those my mind has been imprinted on all those years ago in Ireland. It can be a lonely place that place of questioning ones believes.
I come from an English speaking western country yet I still need to assimilate. I need to drop some of my weird Irish ways and adopt foreign ways. It can make for a strange hybrid of believes and thoughts.
I am conditioned to sweep things under the carpet yet I have become more honest and outspoken.
I am naturally quiet yet I must learn to speak louder in order to be heard amongst the loud confident Australian voices.
At times it can become all to overwhelming continually fighting against my conditioning. I yearn for the familiar to run away to. I yearn for the cold, quieter, more gentle but perhaps less open ways. The wet soggy soil where my roots began my life’s journey. A place where I am never short of life giving water.
Perhaps it is the drought that gets to me. My roots begin to recoil. They are still adapting to a harsher climate. The land is yet still largely unfamiliar. My roots need to be nurtured with familiarity until they feel comfortable enough to spread out again, but further this time into the dry sandy soil.
An introduced species I may be, However I do know I have all the necessary traits and biological systems required to adapt to a new environment.
The imprint will always be there. The imprint of where I have come from and where I began.
I am now a hybrid.
Yet it is the hybrid species that can adapt best in a harsh climate.