The things that keep us apart, keep me alive

Dear home,

I miss your bustling,Chinese restaurants where I know exactly what to order and what to not make the mistake of even glancing at, on the menu. I miss giving the exceptionally tall waiter called Raymond a chin check, as I wait in line to get a table, and the msg laced food that usually sails past me as my stomach growls.

I miss your delicious, and insanely cheap Vietnamese restaurants that reminded me of being a kid and eating out with my dad, as a special treat. The shiny grilled pork balls, silky and partially translucent cold rolls with thin green stems of chives that stick out, and the gourmet spread of other fried and grilled delights that I usually share with people that are family by blood or otherwise.

I miss your balmy summer nights in January.

I miss the glossy weekend magazines, bundled with the Saturday edition of the high brow national paper, allowing me to immerse my mind into the topical feature articles of the week, and capping the read off nicely with national real estate porn.

I miss hearing your endearing and lovely accents on the other side of the phone whenever I call a bank, insurance company or doctors office.

I miss your fashion: bright funky prints, flowing dresses, inexpensive and well made accessories and a fabric scope that extends beyond jersey and leather.

I miss your boys with short haircuts.

I miss your 10pm clear skies with hundreds of stars, that with a squint of the eyes, turn into thousands of stars, the further out of the city limits I drive.

I miss your wide roads that take me through familiar inner suburbs, winding hills and stomach churning dips and pristine natural landscapes.

I miss your takeaway gelati that comes box wrapped in bright, lolly coloured paper, making evening sweet treats feel like a celebration, not just a superfluous indulgence. And brunch - a whole meal that doesn't exist where I am.

I'm coming back at some stage. But not yet. I'm not done yet. I don't know why. I'm just not.