As I roll into my last month of Melbourne, final seventeen days if you will, nostalgia is taking time to creep in and rattle reflections of Australia. I have lived here for nearly a decade, after all.

Melbourne is the city that introduced me to macchiatos and taught me how to say mate. It’s where I came to realize how the sound of a didgeridoo, at any given time, ignites immediate reaction to stomp my bare feet and shake my tangled tresses.

It’s where I stopped thinking I might be an Artist, learned valuable lessons about who I literally am, and heard my voice change from a shaky, “I write…” to a firm “I’m a Writer… mate…”

Melbourne is where I decided to stop masking my spirituality. It’s where I learned what it means to truly have a soul mate, story books aside.

Melbourne dipped me into my first summer Christmas and popped my chilly August winters with bursting citrus trees. It’s the place that olive groves sprouted on my block and I gained proper understanding of what a real pub is.

And let’s not forget the time I spent living up north in Brisbane where I saw Bikeys wear flip-flops and spent summers making mango-passion fruit smoothies from fruit growing in my backyard. I also came to understand what avocados are supposed to taste like.

Oh yeah, and furthermore, I spent time writing speeches for the highest political figure in the state of Queensland while I was livings up there – not quite sure how that happened.

I’ve seen the best beaches, graffiti, and beer gardens of my life living down here. I came across two fuzzy creatures who will be travelling to the other side of the world with me. I discovered frangipani and dragon fruit.

I’m a citizen now and will return down the line. For now? Manhattan + 10 years of hibernation = Book.

And a bit more… surely…