Distilled Disaster

A fireman and a koala regard the destruction of both of their environments

When you make the decision to move away from your home country, you know that you can come back. You know that if this decision to uproot your life goes tits up, the worst is that you just simply move home. It’s your safety net.

You move away and you’re a novelty – your accent is different. Australians are loved overseas – we’re known for our animals (both cute and dangerous), the reef and the outback. People know it’s a long way away, and they often want to come and visit… one day.

It’s easy to be proud of Australia’s uniqueness. We’re a safe Western society on the other side of the world. We have such an interesting mixture of environments, animals, cultures and beauty. We have more of an Asian influence than most other English speaking countries, we are a total curiosity. People are often shocked when they understand that the land mass of Australia is roughly equivalent to that of the continental United States, and yet we have about 10% of the population.

Being far away from home during times of unprecedented national disaster is exceptionally difficult. The bushfires in Australia have dominated headlines around the world. I spent the Christmas holidays trying to keep up with what was happening. Every day I woke up to more overwhelming news that another part of the country had combusted, that more people and animals had lost their lives, that the smoke had gotten worse. I read about the government’s lies and spin, the outrage and anger in the community. I watched the videos…so many videos… of heartbreak, destruction, anger and despair. I raged. I lost hope. I felt very down for a long time, bursting into tears simply looking into the eyes of an orphaned koala joey or the embraces of those from destroyed communities. The heart-touching stories of people coming together, triumphs of humanity. I worried about scammers taking advantage of the fund raising efforts. I never stopped thinking about it.

Back at work, people would ask, but they wouldn’t understand. The vastness, the level of devastation – it took so much explaining to get people to understand the concentration of our population, the number of species that were already *just* hanging onto existence. The political atmosphere and the justifiable outrage. It was hard to explain and not get upset over and over again. People cared – I wanted them to know and I would get fired up and explain the lot. I think I exhausted them; I know I exhausted myself.

What I’ve come to realise is that the experience overseas for expats is different – you don’t get to see the majority of Australians getting on with their lives. If you only read your social media feed and news articles, it’s easy to feed the perception in your panicked mind that the entire country is burning, that the country you left has been irreparably damaged. There’s a real grief with this feeling – your friends and family are at risk. Your safety net is burning. Your safe harbour is in peril.

I have booked a flight back home in late February and I can’t wait to be home. I want so badly to see that my home is ok, that my friends and family are safe. That there are unburned eucalypts with their divine scent. I can’t wait to feel Australia underneath my feet again. I miss it and I love it and I want to know it’s ok. See you soon.