On my way home, the thought occurred to me: I live in another country. This thought is one which comes and goes like seasons in a year. Most of the time it’s mild; other times it burns within me like the sun on hot summer day. But today was different. Today I actually felt it pinch me, as if to wake me from some dream. I was driving across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, numbly thinking about the Opera House, Circular Quay, The Rocks, and then I began to reminisce my first adventures around the city–that’s when it happened. That thought. I live here. I’m so far away from everyone. I’m driving on a very large island that is also a continent and bizarrely it’s own country. This is weird. And instead of my usual freak out, I experienced something new: I was grateful.