Placelessness

So what is the greater horror: the dread of getting lost in some faraway place where you know you don’t quite belong or the process of becoming domestic, of acquiring a massive mortgage to that house made of ticky tacky with the long daily commute to work, where the slow poison of regret and boredom works its way through your veins until you’ve lost even the resolve to try to escape, to live your life as you once wished?

We moved 12 times in the last 25 years, between continents, cities, suburbs, always searching for a place to belong to, a home. After a while we gave up on permanence, we resigned to being perpetual nomads, global citizens.

Left Romania in 1990, moved to Australia. New place, new language, new beginnings. Sydney was a wonderful city in 1990’s, not so much now.

Seven years later we got bored, moved to Perth, again looking for the elusive ‘home’. After one year we had enough of the isolated city within the isolated island. Packed everything again and moved back to Sydney. Another seven years passed, moved around a bit and we got restless, yearning for ‘home’ – back to Romania.

Packed everything in a shipping container and landed in Bucharest on Christmas Eve 2003 in a blizzard. Welcome back home travellers! …only to find out Romania wasn’t ‘home’ any longer, we did not feel we belong there. We were still yearning for home. So Australia was home, after all. Back to packing again, by now we acquired some wisdom, kept the packaging, the boxes and everything…. just in case.

Landed back in Sydney in November 2004, blinded by the bright blue skies after the cold dreary grey weather we left behind. Welcome back home travellers!

We were content for a while. I went to art school and had a great time,  my husband found a good job.  Things were looking good, we were settled. Life started to become routine then boring then stale. We moved around a lot, (renting in Sydney isn’t fun and we always resisted the ‘must buy house’ australian brainwashing).

Finally last year we moved to a suburb of stamped out ‘little boxes made of ticky tacky, little boxes all the same’. We ended up hating the place, the prefabricated sterile suburb, the concept. It was the wake up call we needed to get out, escape.

It is now 1 january 2016 and we are ready for a new adventure. I am packing again, by now I am an expert. I know we will never have a permanent place to call home but all the same we will have fun while pretending to search for one.

So what is the greater horror: the dread of getting lost in some faraway place where you know you don’t quite belong or the process of becoming domestic, of acquiring a massive mortgage to that house made of ticky tacky with the long daily commute to work, where the slow poison of regret and boredom works its way through your veins until you’ve lost even the resolve to try to escape, to live your life as you once wished?

Our new adventure starts now!

3 thoughts on “Placelessness

  1. Or is it an inner restlessness that will never leave regardless of where you live? Some people love moving around. I don’t. My family did that a lot when I was growing up. That was enough for me. Holidays of course are another matter altogether. Love travelling, seeing other places. Just as much as I love coming back home !
    Wish you well in your journeying

    Like

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