Melbourne, you look the exactly like how you did when I left. Same to you, Wantirna.
The sun's streaming through my window as I listen to a record and my family sits in the backyard, elated to have me back amongst them. This should be a beautiful image. It is. The overwhelming feeling I have however, is that I might at any moment wake up from some strange dream and I'll find I was merely napping on the couch in front of the TV at the Moai Viajero. The pisco I bought at Santiago airport leaked a little, so now my bag smells like countless nights and mornings spent at the Moai, the crazy house that became my home.
Maps, ticket stubs and photos are strewn on the ground and I can scarcely believe it was only yesterday that I was still in South America. It's bizarre. Bizarro, bro. I have no clue as to how I should be feeling. How on earth does one try to explain and do justice to all of the crazy shit, the amazing adventures, the incredible people met? The landscapes and cities and culture, compared to the mundane, everyday familiarity of what I just returned to?
I promise I'll try not to become That Person who seems to begin every sentence with "When I was in Argentina..." or "This guy I met in Bolivia...", but I tell you what ... it'll be tough going I think.