I am back!

And it feels really strange. Really, really strange. I still feel like I am a foreigner, but in my own city. Everyone is fat and tall in comparison; everything is enlarged; parks, roads, streets, people, except the quantities, people and buildings. I feel like Melbourne is a country town. My friends are all taller than me suddenly. I nod my head and bow on public transport. I am embarassed on behalf of my fellow Australians. Clumsy Japanese comes to my lips and sits beneath unpractised English. On the plane, I heard English below the level of true hearing, a bubbling understanding which gave way to Melbourne Airport, a throng of people with white faces and broad accents, a nuanced people, faces who resembled everyone I have ever known. I stumble over my words in my haste to get them out, a rush of words I haven't used in months. I left Kiyono. The world stayed together. I felt things settling inside me. Her emails are forlorn and sad. I miss her. Crazy girl, to bet everything on this roll of the relationship dice. I left telling her I need to piece my head together in a place where I don't need to rely on her. I haven't decided yet on the difference between need and love. She sends me pictures of the two of us to keep us alive. I have no money, no job, no plans and a bed at my parents house in the burbs. My head is still in a whirl. My brother said it took him a full month to readjust to Australia, and even now he seeks out Japanese company. Walking through the city, I felt a massive surge of relief at familiarity. At the mixture of skins and clothes. At not being the single white face amidst homogeneity. At being able to read street signs and menus and books. At being literate once more. At not being forced to near silence. I miss the thrum of Japan. The wattle is blooming.