I walked to the village shop today — a whole 200 metres. I felt like a celebrity. These were some of the warmest welcomes I’ve ever received. Arms wide open, beaming smiles and endless curiosity. From faces that may be a little more wrinkled now, but have seen me go through all the milestones and cheered me on along the way. From school, to college, to driving tests, to moving out and moving home again.
It reminded me that these are the people who know me through and through. And this is the home I have longed to return to. Familiarity.
There is something deeply comforting about coming home and realising that, in many ways, nothing has changed. The same people behind the counters, the same familiar greetings, the same jokes that pick up exactly where they left off. It’s like stepping back into a version of yourself that has always been there, quietly waiting. At the same time, the year away has shown me how friendships can shift. Some naturally drifted, others faded completely, and a few surprised me by growing stronger across oceans and time zones. And then there are the new friendships — the unexpected ones that appear when you’re far from home, formed through shared moments, long conversations, and the strange intimacy of travelling life.
It’s a strange but beautiful balance: knowing there are people who have known you your whole life, while also meeting people who know a completely different version of you. Somehow both feel equally real, and equally important.
There has been a handful of friends at the end of the phone throughout all of this — through every laugh, smile and tear. And there were plenty of those at our reunion. To these girls: thank you. I feel so lucky to have you by my side. No judgement, endless encouragement, and my backbones. It’s been a turbulent year for them both in many ways. But I never expected a nine-hour time difference to somehow bring me closer to people on the other side of the world — yet it has done just that. This year is their year. Wings spread, keys to the next chapter firmly in their grasp. I can’t wait to see how they bloom. There is something magical about watching your best friends grow into themselves and take life in their stride, whatever it throws their way.
It’s funny how you find so much comfort in the people you meet along the way. Some of the connections I’ve made while travelling are almost impossible to explain to people back home. They assume you’ve simply bonded because you share the same temporary place in the world. But it’s so much deeper than that.
I wanted to document those connections somehow.
The friends I’ve made travelling have given me moments I’ll carry forever — holidays to Bali, beach days in Perth, saunas and sunsets, New Year’s Eve on a Thai beach, island hopping in the Philippines, driving a Suzuki Jimmy around the island, and nights out that turn into blurry morning stumbles home. These friendships are strange in the best way. You can meet someone on the other side of the world and within hours it feels like you’ve known them for years. You skip the small talk. Everyone is open, curious, a little braver than they are at home. Maybe it’s because you know your time together is short, so you live it fully.
Christmas Eve 2025, I started a tiny notebook. Whenever I met someone I connected with, I asked them to write a short message and a song.
I won’t share the notes, but I will share the first and last songs.
Woods — Mac Miller
(Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay — Otis Redding
I love that only the person who wrote them, and I, will know why those songs are in that book. There are lyrics within these versus and chorus’ that hold some much significance and I will never hear them again the same away. Every note in this book has it’s story, with only 2 people knowing the context. Each song has become a timestamp — a tiny doorway back to a place, a person, a conversation, or a moment that would otherwise have slipped away. When I listen to the playlist now, I’m suddenly back on beaches, buses, balconies and bar stools around the world. That tatty little notebook beats any magnet or keychain. It has created the most sentimental Spotify playlist to ever exist.
Before leaving, my biggest fear was that everyone would be so far ahead of me when I returned home. Houses being bought, rings appearing, promotions piling up. But I’ve come back feeling fulfilled and grateful that I chose a different path. The one that felt right for me. The one I know I won’t regret when I’m old.
People always say, “You can travel when you’re older — there’s no rush.” But I highly doubt I’ll be three litres deep on Red Horse, nicking Marlboro Lights from the guy next to me, a kitten on my lap, screaming karaoke on a remote Filipino island, wondering what time I should go skinny dipping with a bunch of strangers. I’m not sure that will have quite the same ring to it when I’m 67 and about to retire.
My point is that we live as if there’s never the right time. We say we’ll do things later. But later rarely arrives unless you push yourself to take the first step.
And I say that while sitting here writing a blog, slightly terrified of the life I’m about to start for myself. And maybe that’s the real comfort — knowing that no matter where I go next, there will always be familiar faces waiting somewhere along the way.