It was a long time coming but 3.5 years, 2 jobs and 1 Bachelor later, here we are again. Hello Melbourne. I am Stef, maybe you remember me – I definitely remember you. That is why I am sitting here, looking at you – for 45 days now. Forty-five.
It’s not a staring contest – for two reasons: one, I would have lost
on the first day within the first hour because of all the nervous blinking since I first stepped foot in your country again and two, you’re not looking back at me…
I get it. We both changed. Last time we saw each other was a long time ago. Nostalgic memories of strolling through winter markets, sipping really bad mulled wine, nights of playing poker, smoking and drinking home-brewed beer, dancing with strangers, movie marathons till the break of dawn, getting more beer, walking streets for the first time, riding your shitty bike down streets which suddenly feel familiar, sitting in the park, watching them skate, packing your backpack for a short weekend trip, blisters on your feet, cold sea water under your toes,
fuzzy Melbourne hair, making lemonade with lemons from your garden, smelling lavender when you walk passed that one house from the tram station, touch on, touch off, another design market, pizza at Bimbos, stealing another glass, making pancakes for your people, chicken parma at Penny Black, a game of pool at the Brunny, more beer, sending your friends back home birthday video messages while drinking wine, simply not understanding the appeal of watching cricket, playing lawn ball and getting drunk while rocking it, getting bored at a Footy game, getting a t-shirt from your housemate of the shittiest band ever played at Cherry Bar, having colleagues all of the sudden and liking the new thing you just started, drinking too much, not wanting to leave…
Nostalgia, a sentimental or wistful yearning for the happiness felt in a former place, time, or situation.
We were happy. I kept this happiness inside me. And I thought you would, too. Would have kept it for me. But why should you. It’s my nostalgic circle. I guess it wasn’t just you, it was the time, the situation, not just the place. It was more.
Funny how things can change. How much energy you can extract from that nostalgia right before the change is happening. And how fast you can loose it again. How much more it costs you once you’re there, in the middle of your circle, staring at everything around you spinning, disappearing and reoccurring. You can’t move. You really want to get in that circle motion, be a part of it, you want to spin. But you forgot how. Or maybe you never actually knew how, it just happened. It happened to you. Why is it not happening now?
Forty-five days. I’m staring at you. I need to forget my old circle. I need to create a new one. Where I decide the speed and the direction and where I create nostalgic times right in the moment. A circle where that last sentence makes sense because it simply feels right.
I need to forget about you to get to know you again. It’s not going to be easy but I’m not ready to give up yet. Give me another forty-five days to feel happy again.