Home, and Not Home

Standing in this tiny airport, if you can even call it that, she was losing control. The backs of her eyes started to sting, blinking to focus, as she feigned hunting for something in the front pocket of her backpack. From the corner of her eye, she watched her boss’s truck kicking up dust from the gravel road as it peeled off back to the highway. She needed to get out of this building. It was suffocating her.

Filling her lungs to steady herself, she stood tall and staggered towards the door, not wanting to draw the attention of the three other waiting passengers, though she could feel their eyes on her. Her periphery disappeared, her only focus on the dull, silver handle of the metal door. She just needed to make it outside.

Ripping the door open, the cool air con was replaced with an oppressive, dry heat as she rounded the corner of the glorified shed. Hiding behind a boulder almost as tall as her, she let go. The power of her grief was so startling and came on so suddenly that she didn’t even have time to think about taming it. Usually, she would rationalise away her feelings. Intellectualise them to the point where she didn’t even need to feel them. They would pass right by. However, the sadness she was feeling now was so consuming that it made her feel like she wasn’t even present. A separate entity floating above her form, watching it convulse in heaving breaths, red-faced and blotchy. Inconsolable.

When she had left home years ago, she was scared. Arriving at the airport with her parents in tow, she saw their emotions threatening to make themselves known in their glistening eyes and square shoulders. This was the scariest thing she had ever done, moving across the world with no plan or idea of how it would turn out. Looking at their faces, she started to feel their sadness, as if it was seeping into her. A panic washed over her that maybe she wasn’t strong enough for this. That maybe, despite needing desperately more than anything to leave her old life in her wake, she would falter at this final hurdle.

Adamant not to show her weakness, her ego reared its head and waved goodbye to her parents for her before passing through the security gate. Waiting for the tears to fall as she joined the queue and busied herself organising her liquids into the little clear plastic bag, she braced. What followed, though, was a rushing wave of calm that washed over her so forcefully it almost knocked her off her feet.

Yes. This was right.

She no longer cared about her parents’ sadness. She didn’t spare a thought for the friends she was leaving behind. The unknown became an exciting adventure rather than something to fear. She was leaving, finally. She was free.

The day she arrived in her oasis, after nine months on the road, the very same panic surged through her body. Why had she decided to come here? Was this even safe? Could she stick this out for a whole month? This time, it was her empty bank account that guided her through the dark. One month. Then she could continue on with her travels and go somewhere not as frighteningly isolating as this little town with a population of 524, which was over 100 km from anywhere in any direction.

Her first weekend there, her bosses left her in charge of the motel as they had to drive to the coast for supplies. They seemed nice, but she soon learned that country folk and city folk were intrinsically different, and that however much she tried, she couldn’t quiet the voice in her head that said, “I don’t belong here.” But 30 days was all she needed to endure. Well, she was down to 22 now.

She woke at 5 am on that first morning on her own, still not used to her new surroundings. She was surprised to learn that there were literal flocks of budgies in the outback, their morning squacking acting as an alarm. Washing away her grogginess with a coffee on the deck, as she watched the budgies murmurate against the pink and purple hues, she felt it for the first time. The tension in her body eased, dissipating off her shoulders and her head. The sensation of an actual weight lifting off her.

Now that crushing weight had found her again. She could see the plane descending onto the runway, which was about as long as the motel where she had been living and working for the past 15 months. This tiny, rickety plane was to take her out of here. Out of her home. Her peace. She hated this plane.

She didn’t notice the tears anymore, but they were still falling. She couldn’t stop them, so why bother trying? She didn’t really understand what it was about this place that had cast such a spell over her. All she did was work and hang out with her bosses and their kids. She had essentially joined their family. It was gradual, not all at once, but before she knew it, she was sticking around after dinner to have a few drinks, joining them on family days out, or socialising with them and their friends.

Even while on the road, the stress had been there. The constant stream of first impressions. Packing and unpacking. Moving every other week into another hostel to share a smelly dorm room with 11 other backpackers. It was exhausting. Being here gave her time to decompress. To settle in and actually hang her clothes in a wardrobe. On her birthday, her boss finally bought her her own mug to join their collection in the cupboard. She no longer had to use the mugs that were allotted to visitors.

Her migraines stopped. She hadn’t had a single one since arriving. Was the air out here clearer? Was the water purer? Or was she just finally at peace? Finally, given the chance to unwind. It’s not as if she didn’t work hard. She was the only staff member at a busy outback motel with 19 rooms to service on her own. A lot of the time, she was running the place while her bosses were off working on other things. She had a fair amount of responsibility, a fair amount of stress. But what once would have triggered pain so overwhelming that she would be bed-bound in a dark room, was now simply manageable. She could finally function like a normal person, not overwhelmed at any new challenge that her body physically started short-circuiting.

She remembers one night being on FaceTime with her friend back home and having the realisation that she was actually happy. She scrubbed toilets and did laundry. Her body was always sore. She was exhausted after every shift. But she was so serenely happy. Sad that this was her first time experiencing the emotion at 26 years old, but thankful that she had finally made it. This place was where she was meant to be.

Her bosses tried to go through the process of sponsoring her so she could stay longer. One autumn afternoon, after she had finished working for the day and was now just hanging out until dinner prep started, her boss said, “I mean, three years down the line, you could be managing this place with a family of your own.” She shrugged it off with some self-deprecatory comment, but her boss doubled down. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You can do anything you want if you work for it.”

She wanted it. She could picture it. She even had a dream about it, standing there in that kitchen with her boss and her friends, holding her little baby boy as she cooked dinner. The first time she had even imagined her future beyond the next few months. This was the life she wanted, out here in this small town. This small life where she didn’t have to prove herself. She was just accepted. Already believed in.

Ultimately, sponsorship didn’t work. She was 4 months shy of the criteria. So here she was. The day her visa expired. Leaving it till the very last moment to legally leave the country. The plane touched down. She knew her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen. However, now she didn’t care. She was numb. Going back inside to gather her bags, she didn’t bother trying to hide her face. She was heartbroken to be leaving this beautiful slice of the world. This little outback town, where she only ended up because she ran out of money. Her first real home. She wanted them to see how much she cared for this place and the people who lived here. Her family. The plane was so small that it had single seats on either side of the cabin. The flight attendant was speaking - not over the intercom. She didn’t have to. She told them that they would be stopping in four other outback towns to pick up and drop off passengers until reaching their final destination at the coast. A sky bus.

She finally stopped crying at the third town. Accepting her fate. She could always go back and visit, but that oasis would never again be her home. With one final steadying breath, she said a silent farewell to the happiness she had found there and readied herself to return to a place she knew now that she had never belonged.