An Australian Writes About Love

So, it is my turn.

I was nervous to write about love. I tweeted for advice, skyped my best friend back home, and asked around the office if anyone would switch blog days with me to give myself more time. Unfortunately neither twitter or my best friend had any helpful suggestions, and no one in the office was willing to make the switch. For inspiration, I started listening to And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out by Yo La Tengo. Is that cheesy? Does it get more romantic than “You Can Have It All”? I can’t think of a more romantic song, but please feel free to comment if you disagree – I could be convinced!

Almost four months ago (who’s counting?!) I moved to New York from Sydney, Australia. I moved because I was in love – with the city, with a boy, and with the idea of working for a company I had always admired (what’up Matador!) Things with the boy didn’t work out and this city can be unforgiving at times, and while I don’t regret my decision to move across the world, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about the people I love and the places I love that I left behind when I boarded the Qantas 747.

When I think about what I love, I think of home:

Above is a photograph my mum sent me yesterday of her and my dad’s backyard. The Jacaranda tree in their garden is dropping purple flowers over the grass, which is the first indication that Summer is on the way. There is nothing I love more than sitting in their garden in the sunshine drinking coffee while we listen to music and talk about the world. I am going home to Australia over the Christmas break and plan to do little else aside from sit in that garden for the ten days I am home! My dad and I will drink wine and listen to records, my brother will come around to chill, my mum and I will spend hours cooking and talking, and I can’t fucking wait!

This second photograph comes from best friend, Georgia. She sent this to me last weekend after an early morning swim at Bondi Beach. She and I lived together in Sydney, and we would often wake up on a weekend and grab towels and the newspapers and our housemates and our hangovers and catch the bus to the Beach (unless a friend with a car was coming with – those were the best days!) We’d stay there for hours – talking, swimming. reading, going on coffee runs. Visitors came and went and we just hung out. Some of my most loved and cherished memories are of those days.

While New York is my home, Sydney will always be where my heart is.

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