I am sitting at my kitchen table in New Zealand with cicadas screaming and the shade from our trees trapping secret patches of green grass. All my thoughts however are over in Australia where the grass and trees are instead being devoured and flames send swirling hints of smoke kilometers away to my family's farm. The computer is constantly flicking to The Age for any new coverage and I am just waiting for everyone to wake up across the ocean so I can find out how they are coping.
Do I tell them yesterday afternoon was spent at the beach where the children paddled in the cooling harbour. It feels like I am living a double life. This is the expat guilt where your heart exists in a different place to the piece of earth on which your feet wiggle. Do I keep our green lawn a secret, quiet the roses unafraid to open beneath the sun's full midday face? Hydrangeas green leaved and glossy? Sprinklers on just for children to dance through? My guess would be, probably not. Strangely enough, even with all these blessings, I still wish I could somehow be with them at the moment.
Do I tell them yesterday afternoon was spent at the beach where the children paddled in the cooling harbour. It feels like I am living a double life. This is the expat guilt where your heart exists in a different place to the piece of earth on which your feet wiggle. Do I keep our green lawn a secret, quiet the roses unafraid to open beneath the sun's full midday face? Hydrangeas green leaved and glossy? Sprinklers on just for children to dance through? My guess would be, probably not. Strangely enough, even with all these blessings, I still wish I could somehow be with them at the moment.
Australia, I am madly in love with you, my heart rests with you.