Home Again

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You’re home. The words sound warm and comforting after a long day at work. You toss your bags onto the floor and fling your shoes into the air, massaging your bare, aching soles (or soul). You’re home.

You’re home. The words sound dull after an exciting, yet somewhat syncopated trip away to some exotic destination. You roll your suitcase next to your bed and climb into the fresh sheets, dreading the tedium of unpacking.

Unpacking is a sobering task. It usually provokes a massive onset of post-travel blues, which is why I put it off for as long as possible. Well, that and my sheer laziness.

This time, I am determined not to wallow in self-indulgent pity by focusing on the positive side. Everyone has that one thing that makes them feel comforted, reassured, excited even, about being back home. For some, it’s the feeling of a warm suede couch and sinking into its velvety soufflé, while for others it’s an exuberant, doting puppy. For me, it’s my wardrobe.

I love my clothing unabashedly. When I’m away from them, I think about them. I miss them. When I come home to my crisp shirts, suede skirts, towering heels and ruffled everything, it’s like being reacquainted with a dear friend. Running my fingers over garment after garment, I think of all the sartorial permutations for the days ahead and my body, jet lagged and crumpled, suddenly feels rejuvenated.

Now that I am back in Melbourne and reunified with my closet, I feel like it’s an opportune moment to play dress-up. The air is chilly but the sky is inviting. I rifle through my hats and find an old purchase. The suede feels familiar and its broad brim captures a delightful symmetry. Plus, it’s a little ridiculous, and I need that after my first week back at work. The hat seems vaguely like an homage to the classic Australian Akubra giving me a false yet welcome sense of adventure.

Like a million other girls, I am having an extended moment with massive bell sleeves. I adore the droop — the luxurious hang makes me think of period dramas and instils an air of old romance. The black vest is a more recent find. To be frank, it adds very little warmth despite being a knit, but I always love a good colour blocking.

Traipsing through the park, I feel the full heat of the sun on my face from wearing my hat as a halo rather than as protection from harmful UV rays. My bell sleeves catch on everything, but I feel great. I have the luxury to don impractical outfits now. Why? Because I’m home. I don’t have to be confined to a small curation of weather and situation-appropriate clothing — the bane of a traveller’s life.

So what does it for you? What makes you happy to come home?