I’ve been moving for as long as I can remember. Countries, cities, towns. Almost comfortable with a constant flux of change - well, the idea of it anyway. I don’t think anyone can become settled with never quite knowing where to call home. By the time I turned 20 I’d lived in equally as many houses, maybe more - each one with a story. .
There was the house in Fiji that my brothers and I would sit on the roof eating coconuts waiting for mum to come home, the house with fossilised tiles and a fish pond where my dolls could sit on lilli pads, the house with peeling yellow carpet where I first danced to Simon and Garfunkle with my mama as I prepped her canvas’ and watched her paint her way to sanity. There was the house that I had my first kiss, another my first love, and another when my brothers moved away and our family of five became two. There was the house I ran away from, the house I found salvation.. I’ll never forget my first house in the city when I’d saved enough money to go to university, and my little room overlooked the sky scraping lights from the comfort of a hammock.. To my last place in the city, when I was living in a shed with cracked windows and more spiders than items of food in the fridge - and despite all that, it was a very special place to come home to. Because I was on my own, in every sense of the matter, and my records could echo off the walls and I was free to dance and paint for as long or late as I liked.
I’ve never been able to just ‘live’ in a place. I love to dig my roots in. To feel the earth around me deeply - when it rains, I rain, when it flourishes - I blossom. My room, my sense of place - is the same. I spend hours, weeks, months, deliberating over the perfect spot to put a teapot. Not because of being a perfectionist (I am anything but), but because it has to feel right. I refuse to buy things new. It has to be pre-loved, with stories inscribed along the sides. I need to know that someone will love it after me when it’s time to move on. I love to make things. To use things for something other than what they were intended for. And I’ll commonly be heard saying - "you know what this place needs - more plants!". I love to share a space with someone, to share energy - this part of living is very important. There has to be animals around.. We always had so many animals growing up! Since I’ve been travelling so much it breaks my heart to not be able to commit to a pet - but we are surrounded by so much life here that the hole is soothed. For now.
My new house in Byron Bay is by far the favourite. It fell into my lap by complete serendipity. We call it the 'Love Cabin'. Love oozes from the walls and those who inhabit it cannot help but blossom. The birds act as an alarm clock while the sun tip toes across my face. There are no cars, no other buildings in sight. You could stay up here for days without having to speak a single word - and sometimes I do. It is so still.. Until you look deeper - into the nooks of the grass, the branches of the tree’s - and there’s life everywhere! It is so peaceful to look out and see the way the sun kisses the leaves for as far as your eyes can see - it’s like mother nature saying “I love you, and you.. And you and you and you and you and you!"
I love it here. I really love it here. But even this, is not forever. Nothing is. Nor should it be. I have chased around the world somewhere to call home - some where to feel comfortable, somewhere to return to and feel safe, somewhere to have babies in one day.. And then I realised - I can do all of those things, inside of me.
So, many people ask me, ‘Where is home for you?’ And I’ve stumbled on this question my whole life. A quick stutter, a glance in the world of my mind and a final response ‘Do you want the long or short story?’… But finally, I’ve found the answer to both of these questions..
So, with a soft breathe and a hand on my heart, I tell them - ‘It’s here.’