The city is small after awhile; you find yourself hiding in the comfort of the same few places once you've gotten around enough. You make repetitive rounds if you're a creature of habit like me (well, somewhat considering I'm supposedly the creative type #theysayone); eat from the same sushi stand, leave the house at that exact time of the morning each day, the trains feel less complicated and the routine bleeds into your veins. You start to understand the air and time your weekly hair washes... (fun fact: washing your hair every day isn't actually good for your mane!!! is this. news. of. comfort. or disgust. #pleasedontunfriendme)
Perhaps the most magical of differences were the skies (AND undoubtedly, winter weather yumyumyum). Sydney consistently presented a clear blue through the days, and ended unfailingly with a paddlepop spill of colour across the evenings.
The spirit of this colourful nation was fuel by consistent collaboration, kindness and creativity - and that was something I promised myself I'd come home with.
Sydney taught me so much about the more I'd always long to experience - that there was more in this world; more to see, more to love, more to know, more to give, more to feel... that there was an endless and infinite more. But beyond the more externally, was to be the more that was waiting to come from within, wherever my feet found itself, with whoever my heart was present with, and in whatever my hands did.
I got to meet some of my heroes, and realised how human we all really were, empowered with a time and chance that no amount of dollars could ever buy. I learnt how kindness will continually win in this life, if not situations sometimes, a good night's sleep always. I saw how love would travel 8 hours and find you, no matter the distance. I felt fearlessness, in a bleak silence of uncertainty and a hope that failed to fail me through countless periods of no-answers. I learnt to cook more than just eggs, and I got to cook for some people dear to my heart.
The list goes on.
There are too many things to say about my time across the ocean and perhaps I'll take the next few months, maybe years to pen these moments... but I've missed home too. And somehow, as much as Sydney felt like the most ideal place for my Heue-man (geddit geddit), there was nothing that could replace the feeling of my tired feet dragging across the arrival terminal of Changi Airport. The adrenaline rush that came with flashes of the faces of those I love and missed dearly, the comfort of the arms of home after those months and a bowl of tau huey.
So. Welcome home, sam. And here's to the spirit of all those I've kidnapped from Sydney into my heart and back, to this humid little island, and the stories that will continue to live on and inspire my hands here. Thank you for the beautiful ride.