On being a nomad...

3:10am It just dawned on me that I will not have stepped foot in Brisbane, Australia, once in 19 months come next February when the flying kangaroo will land there.

Brisbane is a tiny city. Home to one million people. Home to my childhood, high school and university friends. Home to the river which winds itself like a slithering, muddy, snake. Home to the 340 bus route. Home to years of memories. Home to a street where the neighbours go out of there way to help each other. Home to my mum, brother, nan and beloved Caesar (that is my dog by the way).

But Brisbane is not my home.

I've told myself for over a year now that Beijing is my home. My city. My life. This has been a convincing story, up to this point. The reason for my stay is like a flag fluttering in the wind, about to flap one last time before reaching up for the sky and then landing somewhere else.

Maybe the universe conspired to make this my reality long ago. When I tell people I live in Beijing, do my grocery shopping and walk to work like ordinary people here, they find it strange. As if there is something wrong with the image. Their purpose has been to constantly remind me that somehow I don't belong, at least not permanently. They knew, long before I did, that I would move on. They accepted it.

In over a month's time I will shift the home destination in my mental map and strike a course for Helsinki, Finland. I have family. I have memories (covering the good, the bad and the ugly). I have a "blend in component" with the crowd. The ingredients are all there to be able to quickly call this place home...only to have the homing function challenged yet again when I return to celebrate Spring Festival in Beijing.

I'll be displacing myself one more time. Coming back to the apartment and the city where I grew up and grew younger. Saying hello to the ghosts from an era which will be long forgotten by all who fought in it.


Does being a nomad mean your soul can be at peace in more than one place?