Perks on Earth

In Indigenous cultures across our globe, totems are symbols of great significance. Some call them ‘spirit animals’, some recognise them as Gods. Indigenous Australians recognise totems as a flora or fauna which is drawn to you, and you to it in return. Something you would protect if danger approached, something which grounds you and softens you. Something which takes away from the pressures of our present, a totem which reflects your values and person.

Growing up in country Ireland, I spent much of my time unaware of the concept of a Totem. Moving to Australia and taking the time to learn about the intricacies of Aboriginal culture, I was introduced to an amazing Wiradjuri man and cultural educator. He elaborated to me what a Totem really meant, and how its significance transcended any culture, group, or religion. A Totem was in us all, regardless of where we came from or who we believed in. A Totem is a fact of life, and a purpose in life. Leaving Mark that afternoon, I couldn’t pinpoint what my totem could be. Until one day, gazing at the skies in Tenterfield and watching red chests and two-pronged tails dart across the sunset, I realised.

Swallows are my totem.

They always have been. Swallows bring me peace and grounding. Swallows remind me of what is truly important in life. Swallows are a symbol of so much, but to me their significance is this; swallows spend so much of their time traveling. Exploring new places, flying to where the winds provide sustenance, dancing in the skies. However, like clockwork, they return home in the spring. No matter how far they travel, or how plentiful distant shores may be, swallows will always come home to what they know. Home to rear their children, in the same eves and hollows they themselves were born.

In many ways, I am a swallow. From a young age, my focus and goals in life have been to travel. I have worked tirelessly as a teenager to fund a plane ticket to volunteer in India. I spent my summer as a 17 year old working 3 jobs just to be able to fly to Borneo, to teach English and to see the Orangutans.

In the last year, I have walked the Camino de Compostela, backpacked through Thailand, Loas, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Indonesia, and I have landed on Australian shores. Arriving in Sydney, I again have spread my wings and explored rural NSW. I have learnt from new cultures and diverse communities. I have fallen in love with Deniliquin. And Tenterfield, and Crookwell, just to name a few. I have seen so many new and inspiring places in the last 12 months. But, I have not been home.
I grew up between sand and soil on a farm in rural Ireland. Surrounded by four siblings, five dogs, four cats, 3 budgies, and 200 cattle, my life was a maze of chaos, curiosity, and content. Though we moved from house to house, changing the beds I slept in and the roof above my head, my beautiful and boisterous family have always been my most prized possession in life. My family, they are my home.

As children, whoever spotted the first swallow in the Spring was awarded a 2 euro coin by my father. A prize that could buy you not one, but two chocolate bars in the local newsagency, myself and my sisters would hang from the upstairs windows of our house and stare into the courtyard, kidding ourselves that we spotted their iconic red chests and two-pronged tails. It was the happiest time, witnessing the swallows trickle in from their African adventures to make their nests in the eves of my home. As a child, I would be fascinated in where they had been, and where they were going. I would track their flight paths and predict which way the wind would bring them next. Now, as an adult, I constantly think of them finding their way home.

In my last year of travel, I have identified what it is I am searching for. I thought it could be a new skill, a new purpose, a new love or a new direction. But no, it is a feeling. One which I struggle to describe. It is a warm calmness which fills my stomach and floats to a smile on my face. A calmness which fills each of my cells with happiness, and creates emotion high in my throat. It is a grounding. In many ways, it is love. It has happened a handful of times in my travels. Teaching English under the storm shelter in Pituru Loat, and being greeted by the children the following day with the phrases they had learnt in my class. Watching families live, learn, and prosper on the banks of the Mekong river in Laos. Looking into the eyes of the people who helped me in times of need in Ha Giang, realising we are all one, all human. Being welcomed with open arms by the wonderful community in Deniliquin. Driving down the 13km dirt track which is Fish River road, leading to my Aunts farm.

That feeling is not one that I need to chase when I am with my family. It is simply there, all around me, engulfing me in happiness and content. I have traveled much of the world, and I have found rare glimpses of home. But when I am with my family, my amazing parents, wild sisters, and my adventurous brother, home is all around me. Like a swallow, I know that home will always call me. It is a place where I can just be, no searching necessary.