I've been thinking lot about family, about connection, love and loss. I'm a migrant, an immigrant, with at least two homes. The pandemic has made these two homes further apart. In this Australian home over the sixteen years, I've woven a friend family; strong and nurturing - mostly female - connections. We hold each other up, pull each other out, laugh and cry and do it all again. The week my dear dear friend is leaving me. But that's me being selfish. She's going home, home to her first home, to be surrounded by blood family and the laugher of her grandsons (possibly crying too, but that's part of the wonder of children). We've drank an ocean of wine together, and a galaxy of coffee. A library of messages have passed between us. We've called each other in the midst of panic attacks, we've given each other advice, told each other off, looked after each other's kids. Gone on road trips, and weekends away, had sleepovers. We've baked ...
Oversharing is my form of caring