My love for adventure, the uncertainty of the unknown as well as the dangerous passion for what lies beyond what the eye began at a very tender, young age and that lick of desire slowly burned away before erupting one day.
The story originally begins with my siblings and I growing up within our parent’s household and how we were told of stories of travel and adventures in the form of bedtime stories. We grew up with the stories of how our Mother and Grandfather travelled to Singapore for an ‘army’ adventure before skipping across the border into Malaysia in an open roofed army vehicle.
My brothers seeked the answers as to which particular brand of gun lay at the bottom of everyone’s feet, the gun that was clasped tightly in my Mother’s hand and what also lay beneath the seats; I wanted to know about the cultural diversity and what lay beyond the tourist destinations of splendour. The stories that seemed to stick like glue featured the tales of my Mother and Grandfather racing one another from the tip to the bottom of the Northern island of New Zealand, in a matter of hours before racing back home.
Alongside my desire for stories, my favourites that I demanded to hear were of the stories on my five foot three Grandfather dancing in the rain like Gene Wildman while singing on top of his lungs, ‘Singing In The Rain’ as my Mother stood there in fascination. Least to say, this story is true for I was equally fortunate enough to have a reenactment from my Grandfather, much to my amusement and encouragement and my Grandmother’s embarrassment.
Amongst many other favourites, my all time favourite is the story of how my Mother boarded a plane and discovered a stranger and almost a year to the date, got married. But with the introduction of adulthood giving way to stories of my Mother’s reality and daily horror, my childhood love for awaiting adventures of my own, the uncertainty and dangerous passion for what lay beyond the human eye continued to burn away.
It wouldn’t be until I was twenty when the opportunity presented its self and my wish for adventures and discovering new places would be granted.
My last image before greeting the air steward at the airplane door was of my Mother shedding tears into the burly shoulder of my Father and as I walked towards my destination, the uncertainty of not knowing was overwhelming at first.
When looking out the window and seeing the impending skyline of Melbourne that was cloaked in a dense and dark ring of clouds, the uncertain feeling I had been experiencing soon gave way to a strange, different and questionable emotion. Slumping against the back of my chair like the wind had been knocked out of me, I glanced down at the city beneath me and felt like I was finally coming home after years of travelling.
With my knuckles turning white from grabbing hold of the edge of my seat, I inhaled sharply through my nose and thought of the stories my Mother told of how she had always felt like Australia was home. I knew automatically when touching solid ground of the runway that this feeling of being home would only be reconfirmed and because of this, Melbourne has always been a destination of inquisitiveness, interest and the utmost fascination.
Especially when it comes to travel, countless opportunities to explore some beautiful pieces of architecture as well as the endless seeking of that lifetime of an adventure, that is forever lurking around my corner.
After many years of wondering if I would ever return to the land of Churches, endless skyscrapers and the endless flurry of people walking about in the city at midnight, the land of opportunities was presented when my brother and his girlfriend informed Kaffy, my sister, and I that we were going to Melbourne for New Years and we needed to pack asap.
This is how I found myself with the intention of celebrating the beginning of 2017 with loved and deep adored family members and bringing an incredibly tiring, life impacting and mentally stimulating year to a conclusion.
What I didn’t know was when it came time to repacking my bags and reliving the adventures and discoveries I had lived, breathed and created with my family in a series of photos and comments, Melbourne had allowed me to create stories of my own. As well as further develop a greater love and appreciation for the architecture that encloses Melbourne and the citizens who call it home.
It also brought to attention my inner city chic bitch who actively thrives within environments that don’t believe in sick days and sleeping for these areas are constantly on the hustle. As if sensing that I couldn’t wait any longer, I was presented with the opportunity to experience and breathe in the hustle and grind that comes with visiting and living in places like Melbourne and Brisbane.
Some thirty minutes after running out the front door with a coffee in hand and my pass in the other, I counted down the stops under I hit the epicentre of Melbourne’s CBD and couldn’t contain my excitement when stepping off the tram on Flinders Street. I collected myself while breathing in a mixture of diesel and gases from the truck at the set of lights, pollution and the overwhelming sense of power and purpose.
Having made sure everyone including the babes had gotten safety off the tram and with full disclosure of how I would be taking photos for future blog posts, I began taking and breathing in the architecture of Flinders Street as well as the hidden beauty that seemed to reside within and out of the buildings that lined the street.
While taking in the atmosphere that comes with being located on Flinders Street, that can only be defined and described as everyone being in a mad dash or those taking a leisurely stroll for they’re in the shopping district; I just so happened to be busily snapping away while being jostled by those getting off the tram, when I caught a glimpse of something red peeking out from behind the tram.
As my brain tried to process what it was actually seeing whilst my finger hovered over the button of my camera, I watched in fascination as a speedy little red sports car came whipping around the car and only to disappear into the distance.
Having not given it much thought as to whether or not I had captured the moment, it wouldn’t until later in the evening when scrolling through the photos taken for that day, I realised I had captured the utmost important things and that being:
The emotional toll of how I perceive this particular area of Flinders Street and that gorgeous little red sport car.
After growing tired of being poked, pushed and prodded by those who were trying to get to their next destination and being walloped with what seemed like an extensive array of designer shopping bags, the family and I left the shopping district behind us without a further glance and proceeded down the road.
Taking in the different buildings that were a mixture of modern classics and those have stood from the beginning of time, I paused in front of one particular building for it wasn’t the architecture, curvature of the windows that graced what would have been the store front many decades ago.
Instead, I paused because of the sign that had been taped to the windows.
Whether it was a political statement or someone’s personal thoughts, this is where I am going to leave this post for today.
Until next time,