Speaking Strine

This is the first of a few retroactive updates on my life in the past month. Ideally, this entry would have been published in the first week of April.

Homesickness is not an issue for me. Of course, I miss my friends, family, dogs and other parts of my daily routine, but that’s not homesickness. That’s simply a change of habits. On the other side of the spectrum, any and every study abroad prep program warns about the eventual downturn; the “post-honeymoon” effects of your time away from home. They love the word “post-honeymoon.” They will push and frighten and tell you how awful, how debilitating the ailment is once you come down with it. I’m not about to say that I rose above homesickness, because there have been moments I take to reflect, but only moments. 

My father studied in England and Ireland between semesters when he was in college, and my brother spent maybe one month of a summer in Oaxaca, Mexico, but neither had much advice for me. They simply didn’t spend enough time away to have any kind of crisis. “It was enough time to find a routine, or get used to not having one, you know?” I awkwardly paraphrase my father to have said. And my brother was so overwhelmed by the language he didn’t have time to worry about anything back at home. Like most people, they came to the conclusion that I would be fine. I was just to call home when I felt I needed too, and to not make it a priority. They seemed to trust me to land on my feet, despite never before having a harder landing.

I was a little concerned that noone was concerned. I looked to literature, which is a lame thing to admit, but I avoided the touristy recommendation books stacked like a game of Jenga on my desk. The great writers had the answer. Adventurers and travellers, while not exactly in a formal study abroad program I could relate to, definitely garnered respect from me. So wishing I had the time to re-read the classics, I reviewed what I learnt from my favourites. As it happened, practical advice was scarce and what I could recall were mostly tragedies.

My next resource was a book of favourite quotes. I have a few, but one picks up the more obscure authors. Some of which certainly make you work harder to connect to their writings. It attracts me because of how refreshing it can be to have someone push you to find a feeling or memory that resonates with what they write. The book didn’t hold any advice or answers, but a title of one contributor caught my eye: “poet and hematologist.” Who writes prose and studies blood? Apparently Leo Vroman. I jumped on-line and found a list of his works and favourite passages. Finally, I found what I was looking for.

“I’d rather be homesick than home.” 

Quick, direct, and true to my own life. What opportunities might I miss by worrying about some prospective lump in my throat or ache in my gut? Everything. Why not embrace this and any opportunity fully? Problem solved. Homesickness is nothing to worry about anymore.

I have encountered a few moments that called for reflection. A trip to the Basin National Park to find Aboriginal carvings led me to a water mass that too closely resembled the lakes of the Ozarks in southern Missouri and northern Arkansas where I’ve spent many summers. The shallow water and high valley walls, crowded with weekend campers and proud sail boats hit me like a brick when I saw it. I left the group and wandered nearly a kilometre out to a short bluff where I perched alone for nearly twenty minutes. Thoughts about family trips and close friends crowded my head and I had to make sense of what I was feeling. It wasn’t regret or a soreness in my gut, just memories. They are things that I love, that haven’t left me, and I felt comfortable knowing that I won’t leave them.

Weekends later I travelled to Bowral, a three hour train ride south of Sydney, with friends from the university. From everything I heard it would be the small country town community I came from. Sure enough, buildings and industry gave way to trees and hills, and I found myself surrounded by grazing cattle, horse farms and paddocks of crops. All I needed was a patch of sunflowers. I could tell I was better prepared for this trip. I knew sitting on the back porch looking over the “South 40” of their family land that I would instantly connect with my home on the Flint Hills of Kansas. It never overwhelmed me, though later that day I spent a few minutes writing a journal entry and a message to friends back home about what I’d found in Bowral. It was a great way to sort out my thoughts and prove to myself that this experience was healthy.

Homesickness isn’t a weakness. It’s a testament to someone’s close connection with their history. In the end, though, I’m glad I’ve found this introspective middle ground where I can deal with these emotions in a mature, optimistic way. Don’t be fooled, though: I’m dying to see some sunflowers and buffalo next month.