Another Personal Post (The Poetry of Moving)

So how does it feel to change countries? Not once, but twice. Does it matter what countries? A lot. Changing countries is like going through an earthquake so strong, it remodels the landscape, it shakes your deepest nerves, and the aftershocks of all kinds stay with you for a very long time. When I say remodeling the landscape I’m thinking of ten kinds of parrots eating birdseed every day in front of your window. I am also thinking of the week-ends when you lay down on a gorgeous beach where only a few other people and kangaroos visit. The hurricane that became a cyclone, the spelling of mom that changed to mum. How the move shakes your deepest nerves is by emailing every day the friends and family left behind, far, far away, just to maintain an illusory closeness, by driving on the wrong side of the street and through roundabouts, and by relearning the school system, the healthcare system and internet access. Aftershocks? They are the moments you go visit the other countries and meet a much older mother than only two years ago, or the moments you visit another country and feel like you never left those places because even when you are far, far away, you’re still reliving them in your mind almost every day. But the wind blows in your life and you get carried away like the fluff of a dandelion, you change countries again because you are curious to live there, or you got a better job, or you just cannot stop changing countries anymore… You plant a passion fruit, a hydrangea, a grevillea, and a lily-of-the-valley, and as much as you love them, they are the only things related to you that grow roots. Together with the new friends that you made and you cannot take with you if you move again…