I’m still home, taking an extended Christmas break in my hometown. It’s a strange feeling. Almost all my visits have been fleeting since I left for the big smoke almost five years ago. I’ve been pondering how much I’ve changed (and how much home has changed) and, being a people pleaser at heart, wanting to make sure my presence is a positive one again.
Janet Frame’s writing rings true right now. I first read her at least a decade ago and she still springs to mind at particularly reflective times: “All writers–all beings–are exiles as a matter of course. The certainty about living is that it is a succession of expulsions of whatever carries the life force.”
But, there are still many things to do and enjoy, like eating even more left overs, picking green walnuts and making umeshu from green plums (these activities always fall on Christmas and part of my family’s festive traditions), and introducing my Mum took Mad Men (I thought she’d love Don Draper but she can’t quite get over her shock at the plotlines).