where the heart is

Something unexpected has crept upon me these past six months: I have found my heart has two, equal, homes. In hindsight, here's how I believe it happened.

February. Winter had devoured me and I truly thought it would never ever end; my memory of any warmth had vanished and I believed the seasons in this god-forsaken place would turn only from bitter to melancholy and back again. I was a forgotten ghost in an alien world, losing sight of the paradise I called home.

March. The light lasted longer each day. Birds whistled in the mornings. But I was still battered by the brash winds when I stepped outside and, with no certain date set for our return, only dreamed of my family and friends back home. Neil saw my tears and suggested: why not head home for a visit?

April. Homeward bound. On the flight to Australia I found the place where I could embrace everything fully, ready to let it all go after 14 days. I opened myself to every moment, every encounter, every ray of sun. And I noticed, staying at my parents' place, where I hadn't lived for six years, that my old home here - the flat in the Grange - wasn't home anymore. People had warned me I wouldn't want to return to England. But when the volcanic ash cloud turned my two weeks in Brisbane into three and a half, I missed home. I mostly missed Neil, but I also missed my new Norwich home.

May. Trips around England with Australian girls reminded me: I am an Australian in England. So simple, but somehow so tricky to balance. Too much of being an Australian and I lose out on being here now - the one thing I want most to do. Too much of being in England and I forget there are parts of me that think differently, know differently, speak differently - yes, I have an accent and everyone can tell! - though subtle, these differences are there and they are okay and they are me.

June. Heading home from an amazing trip to Barcelona, I realise I am heading home. We celebrate six years of marriage in a quiet Norfolk B&B. Here we are; we are here and we are happy.

July. Summer smacks me and laughs, "I am alive in these parts!" I roast on the balcony and plan my summer holidays, and the next school year. Here, at my school, where I am, now.

August. I thrill at the chance to host Aussie mates, showing them my new home, sharing discoveries of this amazing place. I will miss it here so dearly, I think. I already miss it, devouring every exploration and each enjoyment as though it will vanish any day. The stickers on the map in the spare room tell a tale of journeys made and journeys yet to come. There's more here for me, so much more. I research visa requirements, indefinite leave to remain. I dream about Christmas here again, about the Autumn illuminations, about frosty nights and snow days and my red winter coat.

I don't want to go home yet, because, I love this home.

20 days 'til take-off

My visa has arrived! One week to go at work. Two weeks left in our unit. Three weeks 'til we're soaring above the Middle East, on our way to Amsterdam. Feels just a little like this fabulous vid.

viva la visa

Tomorrow - 30 days after applying for my visa - I can officially phone the British Embassy in Canberra to check my visa's status. However, the website already tells me that "a decision will usually be made 12 weeks after the application is received".

This would be fine, except for the ridiculous fact that the Embassy doesn't accept applications more than 3 months before one's estimated date of arrival. Last time I checked, 12 weeks was only a few days less than 3 months. Seems to be cutting it a little fine, considering this ticket into the country cost hours of my time and $1300. And did I mention I had to send my actual passport?

On a lighter note, I'm hoping my application isn't hindered by my embarrassing misunderstanding at the Brisbane office, where I had my "biometrics" taken. On arrival, all I knew was that the procedure involved the scanning of applicants' fingerprints and eyes. Weird, I thought - but we are living in "a post 9/11 world".

So there I sat, in the "biometrics" room. After pressing multiple finger combinations into a small screen, I was told to look at the lens on my left. Time for the eyes, I thought. I fixed my sight on the lens, widened my eyelids, and stared, frozen, ready for my eyeballs to be scanned.

*Flash*

Turns out the "eye scan" was actually a photograph - one that no doubt makes me look like a frightened freak. How embarrassment!