All in the landscape
Mar. 31st, 2009 01:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12Deliberate music choice is deliberate.
A few days ago, while in a cafe, I saw a photo of the Sydney Opera House in a newspaper. I burst into tears. Although I still love being in Cambridge, I'm not sure that my homesickness will ever go away.
It's all about the landscape. When I close my eyes, I can see the streetscape of King's Cross, the view from my old bedroom window. I see the El Alamein Fountain. I miss the view of Sydney Harbour from my apartment roof, silvery in the dawn light. I miss the crazy anarchy of King Street in Newtown. I miss the view over Fox Valley from my grandparents' verandah. I miss the curve of Bondi Beach, the fluoro brightness of Paddington and Darlinghurst, the sheer vibrant 80s-ness of Sydney fashion. I even miss the plasticness of it all.
I miss the dusty expanses of grass in Canberra, I miss the empty Narrabundah streets, Garema Place, the sight of the full cafes of Kingston and Manuka on Saturday mornings. Hell, I even miss that particularly Canberra 'everyone was taken in the zombie apocalypse' emptiness, the dry silence of January when everyone sane has packed up and headed for the South Coast. I miss the breathtaking view as you head down Yamba Drive towards Woden. I miss that particular 70s architecture of ANU. I miss the plane trees of Forrest and the manicured lawns of Deakin and the grass on top of Parliament House.
I miss the laneways of Melbourne, the cafe culture, the impossibly thin, impossibly trendy Melbournites, clad in black, sporting asymmetrical hairstyles and strong cups of coffee. I miss being almost run over by trams. I miss the architecture of Brunswick Street, the trams I have to dodge, Carlton, with its Italian cafes. I miss the feeling of being in an inner city that's actually pleasant to look at. I miss walking through Kensington with my half-sisters, where everyone knows their names.
I miss the South Coast: Broulee, with its bay and surf beach, the island that we used to walk around, the rock pools which we would explore, every day, the first week of every summer holiday, for six years, never getting bored. I miss the walk out to the anchor, racing the tide, sneakers filling with water, jumping without fear across channels of water. I miss Pebbly Beach, the kangaroos, the electricity-free huts, the feeling of salt seeping into every pore because showering was too much of a hassle without hot water. I miss Mystery Bay and the eerie, gothic horror stories of Mt Dromadery. I miss the sickening, winding curves of Clyde Mountain. I miss the fish and chips shop at Batemans Bay.
I miss the landscape between Sydney and Canberra, so familiar, so well-travelled, that it has burned itself onto my brain. I miss Lake Tyers and Lake's Entrance and the jacaranda tree at Sydney Uni and the view down Darling Street in Balmain and the route of the Inner West train line and the route of the old 38 and 35 and 36 buses and rushing across Woden Interchange with two minutes to spare to catch a bus to Weston for my gymnastics classes and piano lessons and the interior of the Kingston Baptist Church church hall where I had my Kumon classes and the ledge outside my maths class at Telopea, onto which, on the last day of Year 10,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anya_1984 and I jumped. And I miss the Woolley Building and Manning and watching the Arts Revue at the Seymour Centre and crowding into Manning Bar to watch the Theatre Sports Grand Final, and Barrenjoey Lighthouse and the cafes on Challis Avenue and the view over the naval base in Woolloomooloo and the fact that every NYE the fireworks finish in waterfalls flowing from the Harbour Bridge and every time we still ooh and aah. And I miss Galaxy Bookstore and Campos Coffee and Narai Thai and Silo and the five-minute walk to my aunt, uncle and cousins' house and Rushcutters Bay Park and the breathtaking ugliness of Edgecliff and the heartbreaking beauty of the Bondi-to-Coogee cliffwalk.
And no matter how long I stay here, and how wonderful Cambridge is, and how full its libraries and how perfect its ASNaC department and how amazing the people I've met are, I will never be able to lose my love of all those millions of little things that make up my landscape. I close my eyes, and they are what I see.
But when it gets to be all too much, I make myself a cup of tea, and sit in my windowsill.
I read The Sandman, or articles on exilic pilgrimage, or write my dissertation, and stare out into my sun-filled backyard, and life, once more, is beautiful.
In other, slightly lighter news, have a clip of people reading out posts from fundamentalist Christian forums. (Warning that there is some swearing.)
A few days ago, while in a cafe, I saw a photo of the Sydney Opera House in a newspaper. I burst into tears. Although I still love being in Cambridge, I'm not sure that my homesickness will ever go away.
It's all about the landscape. When I close my eyes, I can see the streetscape of King's Cross, the view from my old bedroom window. I see the El Alamein Fountain. I miss the view of Sydney Harbour from my apartment roof, silvery in the dawn light. I miss the crazy anarchy of King Street in Newtown. I miss the view over Fox Valley from my grandparents' verandah. I miss the curve of Bondi Beach, the fluoro brightness of Paddington and Darlinghurst, the sheer vibrant 80s-ness of Sydney fashion. I even miss the plasticness of it all.
I miss the dusty expanses of grass in Canberra, I miss the empty Narrabundah streets, Garema Place, the sight of the full cafes of Kingston and Manuka on Saturday mornings. Hell, I even miss that particularly Canberra 'everyone was taken in the zombie apocalypse' emptiness, the dry silence of January when everyone sane has packed up and headed for the South Coast. I miss the breathtaking view as you head down Yamba Drive towards Woden. I miss that particular 70s architecture of ANU. I miss the plane trees of Forrest and the manicured lawns of Deakin and the grass on top of Parliament House.
I miss the laneways of Melbourne, the cafe culture, the impossibly thin, impossibly trendy Melbournites, clad in black, sporting asymmetrical hairstyles and strong cups of coffee. I miss being almost run over by trams. I miss the architecture of Brunswick Street, the trams I have to dodge, Carlton, with its Italian cafes. I miss the feeling of being in an inner city that's actually pleasant to look at. I miss walking through Kensington with my half-sisters, where everyone knows their names.
I miss the South Coast: Broulee, with its bay and surf beach, the island that we used to walk around, the rock pools which we would explore, every day, the first week of every summer holiday, for six years, never getting bored. I miss the walk out to the anchor, racing the tide, sneakers filling with water, jumping without fear across channels of water. I miss Pebbly Beach, the kangaroos, the electricity-free huts, the feeling of salt seeping into every pore because showering was too much of a hassle without hot water. I miss Mystery Bay and the eerie, gothic horror stories of Mt Dromadery. I miss the sickening, winding curves of Clyde Mountain. I miss the fish and chips shop at Batemans Bay.
I miss the landscape between Sydney and Canberra, so familiar, so well-travelled, that it has burned itself onto my brain. I miss Lake Tyers and Lake's Entrance and the jacaranda tree at Sydney Uni and the view down Darling Street in Balmain and the route of the Inner West train line and the route of the old 38 and 35 and 36 buses and rushing across Woden Interchange with two minutes to spare to catch a bus to Weston for my gymnastics classes and piano lessons and the interior of the Kingston Baptist Church church hall where I had my Kumon classes and the ledge outside my maths class at Telopea, onto which, on the last day of Year 10,
anya_1984 and I jumped. And I miss the Woolley Building and Manning and watching the Arts Revue at the Seymour Centre and crowding into Manning Bar to watch the Theatre Sports Grand Final, and Barrenjoey Lighthouse and the cafes on Challis Avenue and the view over the naval base in Woolloomooloo and the fact that every NYE the fireworks finish in waterfalls flowing from the Harbour Bridge and every time we still ooh and aah. And I miss Galaxy Bookstore and Campos Coffee and Narai Thai and Silo and the five-minute walk to my aunt, uncle and cousins' house and Rushcutters Bay Park and the breathtaking ugliness of Edgecliff and the heartbreaking beauty of the Bondi-to-Coogee cliffwalk.And no matter how long I stay here, and how wonderful Cambridge is, and how full its libraries and how perfect its ASNaC department and how amazing the people I've met are, I will never be able to lose my love of all those millions of little things that make up my landscape. I close my eyes, and they are what I see.
But when it gets to be all too much, I make myself a cup of tea, and sit in my windowsill.
I read The Sandman, or articles on exilic pilgrimage, or write my dissertation, and stare out into my sun-filled backyard, and life, once more, is beautiful.
In other, slightly lighter news, have a clip of people reading out posts from fundamentalist Christian forums. (Warning that there is some swearing.)
