From Down Under to the Great White North — Collecting My Things to Begin Again

On Friday, March 15th of this year, I flew into Cape Town International Airport to spend a few months with my folks after travelling through South America.

Two-and-a-half weeks after I arrived, my father died suddenly of a cardiac arrest and my plans changed overnight. I decided to hunker down and help my mother get used to being a single woman with all the responsibilities that entailed.

My mother is now out of the woods.

Mom has her head around the finances, has peace of mind about the potential sale of the house, and is comfortable with the household duties that used to fall on my father. There are still tasks that concern her, but she has a support network to help her through them.

She’s also surrounded by a band of merry widows who have been through this before.

Time to move on.

While I will be on hand (via the interwebs) to support and help my mother through any further trials and tribulations, the time has now come for me to continue with my journey as issues in my life become more pressing.

When I left Australia in late 2017 for potential opportunities in North America, I left my belongings in a friend’s shed in Perth. Unfortunately, my stuff has worn out its welcome and I have to head across the Indian Ocean to relocate, donate, and sell most of my worldly possessions.

Due to the high costs of travelling to and within Australia, I’ve organized a mere two-and-a-half weeks in the sunburnt country to take on this mammoth task.

While it will be a whirlwind visit, I’m looking forward to catching up with a few friends and revisiting some of my old stomping grounds.

It’s time to take my thunder down under.

The Great White North is calling.

A few months ago, I decided to give up on my dream of living in Canada. That damn Sisyphean boulder became too much for me. After rolling it metaphorically up the same hill for five years, I could no longer bear the weight… and the disappointment.

So, I had to let it go.

The impact on my mental health was too much to bear. I’m not much of a rejection junkie but have made myself one over the last few years. Between constantly applying for jobs, asking friends for help, and the rollercoaster of hope that something would pan out and then the crushing disappointment when it didn’t, finally wore me down.

The immigrant journey reduces you to a profit and loss column in a government spreadsheet. All humanity is removed and you become a commodity.

With another bunch of boxes tucked into the corner of a friend’s garage, I need to return to Canada to sort out that stuff too. I’m not sure how long I will hang out in the Great White North as it’s contingent on my next opportunity.

And that would be…?

Now that’s the million-dollar question. One I have no answer for.

Since I hold British citizenship and can live and work in the United Kingdom and Ireland without a visa, I’ve been applying for jobs there. Whether any come to fruition remains to be seen.

There are a few other ideas kicking cans around the recesses of my mind, but all I know is that I’d like to lay my passports down for a while. The thought of being settled for a bit appeals wildly to my travel-weary soul.

I live in the hope that a forever home is close at hand and all I need do is drag myself just a few more steps until everything comes together and miracles occur.

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.