Home and Away

This post was inspired by listening to a podcast about Irish people living aboard, in this case, Perth, Western Australia. It brought back a lot of memories of my time living there and the everyday struggles you go through living so far from home. It was comforting to hear people talk openly about issues I used to think were almost exclusive to only me.

I continue to suffer from these worries. The thoughts of growing old in Australia; Raising kids as Australians (with the accompanying accents); Always being so far from home; Only seeing my family and country fleetingly/sporadically; Losing a sense of identity—of Irishness, if you will. Can home ever truly be 'home' after been away from it for so long?

I left home for Australia on the 6th of October 2010 and returned towards the end of May 2013. In between those dates I worked 28 jobs, met my Greek-Australian wife, had visa worries, lived with a number of different people, in short; I was forced to grow up. I then spent 6 months (between the tail end of May to December 2013) feeling like an imposter back home. I left home again in mid-December to spend Christmas with my wife and her family, before we moved to London in January 2014 for another 6 months of life away from home.

I'm writing this post from Saudi Arabia, where we've been living since August 2014. The years tick by at a rapid pace when you're away from home. However, the longing 'to go home' never goes away. The dual-headed beast that is social media; on one hand, keeps you up to date with all the news from home, on the other hand, it is a constant reminder of what you're missing out on; your best years, weddings, births, graduations, deaths etc.

I'm saying nothing new here. Everyone who chooses a life away from home goes through the same gamut of emotions daily, weekly, yearly. Somedays, home and your previous life might never come into your head. Then suddenly something small and insignificant can trigger those memories that are somewhere in your subconscious. The smell of freshly cut grass, a smell that instantly transports me to my youth in rural Kilkenny. The smell of engine oil from a garage that reminds me of my time working on machinery in my father's shed.

When I'm on the Skype to my family and friends I pretend I can relate to what they're going through, I pretend to be aware of where Ireland is headed in the future, but I've lost track of most current affairs and news items, the heated debates and worries of home. It's all inevitable, but a shame nonetheless.

I suppose what you lose in terms of home comforts and family and friends you gain in a greater sense of 'self'. Not in the wishy-washy, you have to become lost to find yourself nonsense, but how you learn to rely on yourself to get by and to make the big decisions, not 'mammy' or 'daddy'. Time away from home forces you to grow up whether you want to or not.

Home will always be in my heart, but I won't let my birthplace limit where I'll make my future home. Life is all about creating memories not constantly looking back on them. These best advice I could give anyone is to let your memories help you in your darkest hours away from home—for all those times you are crippled with homesickness—but don't let them become a crutch/excuse for not moving forward with your life or embracing change.