There is an actual reason why i have neglected to write lately.
It’s because i don’t want to see the things needed to be said in print. It makes them become something i have to deal with.
The truth is, i have decided to go back to Australia.
I’m not actually sad at all about the decision. I made a choice, i am happy with the choice and i know it’s the right thing for me right now.
Though however sure one is, it doesn’t take away the sick, hollow feeling following me around in my stomach. It’s been there for weeks and i can’t work out what it is exactly.
But you know i’m gonna try and analyse it right!?
Ever since i’ve been here in France, it’s felt like i’ve had these two parallel lives, running simultaneously, only on opposite sides of the world. I never felt like not being in Australia meant that particular life stopped. But now, not being in France makes me realise that there’s a very real chance that this life will stop. The life i’ve made for myself here, well, i’m never going to get that back. I’m never going to be here living the same simple yet complicated existence, never going to have all the same people here at the same time. This life is seemingly over.
I know it’s up to me to keep my friendships alive, which i have no doubt i will try (very hard!) to do, but i just can’t shake the feeling that some of them needed more time. It’s hard to say goodbye to important people in your life, with the possibility that you’ll never share the same city again.
And then there are the people to whom it is too late to say the things you’ve been wanting to say (or perhaps the things that you didn’t realise you wanted to say, until now) because saying them now feels a little futile and pointless.
Right now i have all the time in the world. Work has finished, i’m winding down and trying to get everything ready to leave. But even though i’m on holidays, i find myself unable to relax, even for one minute.
I feel excitement for the move, to be sure, but at this very minute i just feel a huge sense of loss.