Committed
I’ve been thinking a whole lot about telling the truth lately, and especially when it comes to my writing.
Continue reading “Committed”
Carry-on: Let me tell you this…
We said we wouldn’t leave you high and dry while we’re on hiatus, and you know we never lie!
Here’s a little carry-on for you; a little something that makes your journey a teensy bit better! Take a listen and find out what we’ve been up to!
Oh and don’t forget to use the hashtag #Headscarvesandcarryons to let us know what you thought of this little treat! More to come soon…
Image credit: Handbag by Hermine Blanquart from the Noun Project
The shark
Two years ago around this time, I wrote about my desire to keep moving, and the beginning of my detachment from the London I had once considered home…
“Home is where the heart is.”
I have always struggled with this phrase. It sounds simple enough but actually, I’m not sure it means anything more than “Home is where you like to sleep”, or “Home is where the person you like, likes to sleep”; but that sounds a bit like the mantra of a stalker, so maybe it’s not quite as simple as that.
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When coming home is a problem
It was a ridiculous journey that I took. I was filled with optimism, hope and sadness as I boarded the plane back home, back to London after 359 days of living in Melbourne.
The women who came before
I can freely acknowledge that this blog has been pretty depressing thus far, which is an accurate representation of what I’ve been feeling. Not depressed exactly, but definitely out of it mentally, trying to find my way back in and make sense of my identity here, in this place. Sometimes you have to go backwards to do that, right?
Coming back to people
One of the best and worst things about moving away from a place you’ve lived for most of your life, is perspective. You get to see the bigger picture; how you fit in here and what you did there and with whom etc. And you get a birds eye view of all the relationships you held dear in that place that you considered home.
The first few weeks
Being back is weird. Not least because I went from balmy warmth to freezing cold weather in a matter of days upon first arriving in the UK from Melbourne. But the weirdness is a ham-fisted way of describing how it feels to be back and not really ‘back’. In one way yes, I’m from here, I grew up in this country, in London; but the idea of a ‘home’ or a ‘base’ has always eluded me. Plus I’ve moved house more times than I can count.
Hello. Again.
Oof.
OK, I realise that starting a blog post with the word “oof” sets a very specific and perhaps disappointing tone, but alas, it is an almost perfect description of how I’m feeling as I write this post. It’s not that I don’t want to write this, it’s just that I don’t really want to write it. I know that makes no sense, so let’s go back a few weeks to explain.
From Afar
The last few weeks have been stark. That’s the only way that I can think to describe them. Stark, shocking, illuminating, devastating. My London, my city, and my country seem to be (literally) burning from afar, and all I can do is watch.
When you’re the one who leaves
Leaving a place can be hard. But being left behind, that’s harder. I’ve been living in Melbourne for almost two months now, and on the whole, I’m having a good time. I’ve never had any qualms about leaving home; in fact my propensity for running away from things that irk me is almost legendary. Despite that, I have always, in some way, returned to and found solace in London.
