Some of my close friends are preparing to return to Sydney by the year’s end. Some are nostalgic and say they miss Sydney, but I’m not sure if that means they’re still undecided about moving back. I had to endure listening to the Australian National Anthem, “I Still Call Australia Home,” and “Waltzing Matilda” on a car journey back from Cornwall last week.
As for me, the prospect of returning home has always stirred conflicting emotions. I’ve built my life here in London, and it feels more like home to me than Sydney. Whenever I go back to Sydney, I feel a sense of sadness because all my friends have moved on without me. I mean, that’s one of the consequences of moving abroad. You miss important events, and all your friends become closer to each other, forgetting about you.
I did imagine having group chats where we’re sharing stories and memes, and having video calls every now and then, but we’re no longer single and carefree. My girlfriends are now moms and have a family. They share stories about their kids, and often they’re too busy to chat. As much as I wish I was part of it, I couldn’t relate, and not once did they ask about life in London. Eventually, I quit the group chat, but when I met up with them in Sydney, it felt like old times again. I missed them, and maybe for now, I don’t fit into the group and their friendship. Maybe when I return to Sydney and also have a child, our friendship will pick up again. One can only hope.
However, I usually feel a sense of relief when I return to London, particularly in leaving behind strained familial relationships. I grew up with my cousins and younger brother. My cousin was more than just family; she was a confidante, a companion, and a partner in crime in my younger years. We went to the same school and had many mutual friends. We even had the same crush! Although at the time, we were like rivals because friends and our mothers (they’re sisters) often compared us. But as we matured, our bond waned. Despite our shared history, our interactions now lack depth, fraught with unspoken tension and a palpable sense of estrangement. Accepting this reality was arduous, and the lingering ache serves as a reminder of the distance that has grown between us. When I told her she was my family, she told me what family means to her. Family is her immediate family – her parents, her siblings and their family, her husband and her children. Everyone else – the cousins, uncles, and aunts – are just relatives. She has a younger sister, and while I wished I was part of the sisterhood, I didn’t make the cut. I grudgingly accepted it, but it did hurt for a while. Maybe it still does, and maybe it’s one of the reasons I’m holding on to for not wanting to go back.
My brother and I are very different, and we’ve never been close. He’s like my dad, a man of a few words, distant and reserved. But he’s softened with the arrival of his daughter, whom I love to bits. They reside in Melbourne now, so I cherish the moments spent in her company.
Yet, the most poignant farewells are reserved for my parents. The distance from family has made me appreciate them more. The guilt is constant, no matter how you justify it, moving away is a selfish choice. Each time we say goodbye at the airport, my parents look fragile, lost, and 10 years older. It’s something we’ve done before, but goodbyes never get easier. All families have their quirks, and no family is perfect. Mine is far from perfect, and reflecting on my upbringing, I realize how much my parents and my upbringing affected a lot of my choices in my adult life. While I can only vow to not be like my parents and do better for my kids, I find myself thinking or saying things out loud that I can trace back to what my parents did when I was younger. Listening to my friends talk about Sydney only enhances my anxiety that I need to make a choice or else I’ll be in London by myself. I stopped making new friends in the past 4 years as most have returned home. While I’m happy for the friends who know what they want, and they have decided to return to Sydney at year’s end. For me, Sydney is a city with many bittersweet memories.
Perhaps my reluctance to embrace change stems from a fear of abandonment, exacerbated by the imminent departure of friends and the shifting dynamics of familial relationships.
In “This Too Shall Pass,” Julia Samuel noted that accepting change takes time. She says, in the movement between where we were and where we’re heading, we need to allow space, time to just be, a time for not knowing: the ‘fertile void’. She also noted we will carry all the important aspects of the past with us. As her client says, “I’ve folded a lot of my past pain into my heart.” We never lose where or who we’ve been, which can be a source of potency and growth. Change isn’t linear, and we all carry invisible baggage, but we also go through a cycle when we decide to change.