Christmas

It is utterly bizarre to sit here in the tumbling mess of my study at home writing to you. Yes, when I write home, I really do mean home home. Not some reimagined, work-in-progress home of Japan, but in the north of Cardiff, accompanied by a cup of coffee and an over full stomach, from dinner with my parents, grandad and uncle.
With a ten day gap in the holiday season and a ridiculously cheap flight to Europe I decided I needed a break from constantly thinking in two languages and the frustration of language school.

In a purely symbolic sense, I feel as though I have stolen naughty forbidden fruit of some kind and am now submerged in a bath (yes sitting in my own filth the proper british way, as opposed to the japanese shower first, bathe second systematic approach) in the middle of the day, when I should be at work not at home. And it is utterly indulgent and unplanned and unexpectantly wonderful.

I left four months ago, under the conviction that I would not be returning for 19th months - my long tear full goodbyes were said, moth balls left in all my closets and my mobile phone retired with a dead battery in the bottom of a drawer. My tearful goodbyes have given way to flying visits through London for jetlagged and indulgent bottles of wine and cups of coffee through Kensington. My moth ball clothes have been put back into use for a few days of utter bliss at Gannicox, where patchwork quilts, glass painting, fires and the most gloriously inspiring people I know greeted me with more hugs and kisses than I have experienced in the last four months put together. And finally my mobile has been cranked back into service for those snatches of catch up phone calls - at the right time of the day for once ! No caught between school and 6 am wake up and the bleary eyed end of the night, but instead slap back in the middle of perfect chat-time -- evenings and mornings, or over breakfast. The air is frosty and misty, the countryside is glaringly lush, green and rolling, british accents are curt and opinions blunt and challenging, buildings are not skyscrappers but made of stone and brick and nobody bows when I enter a room. I am home !

And dear people who read this, many of you who I have shared those snatched conversations and burning delight of a singular night or afternoon with over these last few days, thank you for following this blog. It makes me feel slightly ashamed of the last few months and somehow also challenges me to make it a bit more interesting for you all. All I can say is that up until this week I had kind of forgotten who read this and why. So, I am full of a renewed sense of why I write and for whom. Not, because I think my life is terribly interesting, but because it's a way of connecting and reflecting across to many abscent friends. So, from my tumble down mess of a study, in amongst a series of conversations about education in Britain, TRIPS agreements and new aids treatment and medicine in South Africa I reach out to all of you, hoping you are as lucky as I am to be surrounded by family and an overwhelming appreciation for the people that run and weave through your life this holiday. Sorry, a bit cheesy, but it is Christmas afterall.