I remember sitting on the plane and buckling my belt and putting that one album on repeat.
I remember looking out the window and saying goodbye to a field of lights.
I remember counting down the hours till landing.
Even though I was moving further away from the place I grew up, from the place I knew like the back of my hand, I was coming closer to a stronger feeling of home.
I am at home when I am completely on my own, away from opinions and lectures and others knowing what’s best for me.
I am at home when I am walking the streets with purpose and direction and my head held high.
I am at home when I am surrounded by new faces and new accents and new stories.
I am at home when I am free to be me.
—Perth, WA, 9 June 2017