Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to take a bus from an outlying Melbourne suburb back to my house. I had once lived in that outer suburb, in fact, I lived there when I met my husband, and new the station and the local shopping centre well (despite it's many attempts to change!)...
As the bus drove along the roads, I recognised the road I'd lived on. It was funny riding along that road again, it brought back many memories of happy and sad times. In only a few minutes, the bus passed the place Dave had worked at in his last permanent position, and I thought of the many times he'd taken Bryn with him to work, and of the people we'd known from there who had all dispersed to other places now.
Soon we came to a train station I used to travel to on Friday's to meet a friend and watch her children while she went to a regular appointment.
Then we passed my husbands parents place, where his mother now lives on her own, but where Dave and his family have owned the same home for 40 years.
A little while later, we rounded a very familiar corner and passed a bus stop where Dave and I and the boys had all waited on countless occassions to catch busses to school, or for shopping or appointments or fun days out, just down the street was the house where Ari had been born and where we had met the nicest neighbours we'd ever known, up the street was the house of old friends where we'll soon go for lunch to meet up with even older friends as well for the first time in years.
The bus then passed the Child Care centre where I'd recently done work placement for a couple of months, where I'd gotten to know children and parents in our community, and where I occassionally still go to work odd shifts.
It passed the street that holds the neighbourhood house where I'd spent many house teaching English to new immigrants and talking all things birth and babies.
And soon we were at the transport hub that has been the centre of my travels for the past 13.5 years (with and 18 month break in there a few years back now), and where, I realised, my mother and brother had called "home" many years before I did, when they last emigrated to Australia 20 years ago.
When you're used to travelling all your life, and you're used to not putting down roots, it takes a long time to feel at "home" in one place, but after many, many years, I've realised that this area, of this city, is my neighbourhood, my home!
This is where I know people, where my children know people, where we have a shared history of experiences. It is, indeed, comforting to have finally found that sensation of "home".
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