Reading Lizzy's recent post reminiscing about growing up in S.A has triggered a bout of homesickness, something I'm usually not very susceptible to. Usually.

The thing is, I'm not sure I think of it as "back home" anymore. I live here now; this is my home.

A lot of the South Africans we know over here are constantly carrying on about how much they miss 'home', about how they can't wait to go back, whether permanently or for a holiday.

I don't get it. Sure, on one hand I'd love to go back and visit my brother, his wife and their anklebiter (she's almost 2 already!) and go cruise around a bit.

But it doesn't dominate my every waking thought. There's so much more to see and do out there.

The internet's made the world a smaller place, but disconnect and suddenly it's a Very Big again.

With all the world finally accessible to us, why should we feel compelled to go somewhere where we've spent at least 25 years already?

I have loads of good memories of Cape Town.. but that's what they are, memories.

The Cape Town I grew up in isn't the same one you see today.

I don't want to temper my memories with a splash of cold and viscous reality. They're mine, my own. They're precious to me. Memories like that..well, they're part of who I am, you know?

Writing this is opening a big can of worms for me... I guess when I peel back the outer layers my feelings for S.A aren't as cut & dried as I thought they were... I suppose that's why it's taken me this long to write these few paragraphs.

I'm struggling to find a way to express it that won't take up 14 pages. Pride, anger, frustration, loss, nostalgia, practicality and stubborness are all warring for access to the keyboard.

I'm going to go sit in the corner and brood.