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It's getting to that time of year where everyone is excited about their futures. With my final IB exams starting in exactly one month from today, people are getting amped up about what awaits them after they get over this final hurdle- university, a family, the struggles and triumphs of adulthood. Partying, studying, working, independence. A lot of people have applied to universities overseas, and it seems that even more are taking a gap year or even just months off to travel, and explore.

Last night, as I was supposed to be drifting off to sleep, my mind kept reeling me back in to my own sense of anticipation about my future, and eventually that same train of thought led me to the deep excitement I feel right down in my gut for finding my own independence- right here, in this country. I got hit with this intense and rapid love, a mix of nostalgia and anticipation for my move back to Melbourne. The feel of the Autumn wind, snaking between my individual strands of hair. The rattle of the trams and the cobblestone gutters, the diluted noise of the bars and alleys, the faint smell of pee that hangs over the city on a Sunday morning. The Parkville sycamore trees and their wide, brown, maple-shaped leaves. Little Cupcakes and tour groups, the emos on the steps of Flinders Street Station, the tiled steps up to RetroStar and the roof of Section 8. The Merri Creek graffiti and the Tullamarine freeway, the small detached federation homes of Essendon. Queens Park in Summer.

And then my memories expanded out further, faster, deeper- the smell of Lemon Myrtle and the silhouette of gum trees against the deep blue of country skies. Genoe's red dust, the lake and the Salers. The wise ferns of the Dandenongs and feeding the Rosellas, Galahs on dirt roads. The creak of weatherboard houses, rotting verandahs and tall ceilings. The sound of driving rain on a tin roof.

Because the truth of it is, of all the countries I have seen and cities I have visited, nothing feels more like home than this flat, baking continent. Nothing fits me better than the grey skies of Melbourne in Winter. I don't have that wanderlust yet, that seems to come with youth. People my age are so busy trying to find themselves, they don't see the small wonders of the world they already inhabit.

I don't need to try and find my own place here, yet, because the shape of a Sycamore leaf seems to fit right in to my palm.