Chasing Amy-Lou

It’s been a month since I last wrote or published a blog post. Wow. For a budding writer with a burgeoning passion and flair for wordscraftmanship, with a wanton desire to become a published author or reporter, and a penchant for spinning a yarn, whether that be a yarn of interesting prose or an essay of pure shite, the infrequency of my musings could be classed as sheer idleness…and perhaps even slight stupidity on my part, as every talent needs to be practiced and nurtured for fear of losing touch of the grasp that was once so tightly held – if a footballer stopped kicking a ball, in time, their ability to play the game would wane.

I suppose I should feel guilty about my lack of creative drive over the last few months. I suppose, like I did with my regular Marvel Loch diary entries, I should’ve been posting and writing about my days and weeks in Melbourne; the trajectory of excitement and the turbulence of fast-paced city living that many think I must be immersing myself in.

To be quite frank though, the days and weeks here have merged into one insignificant monotone, with no noteworthy pangs of adventure or excitement to share with you. City living, and in particular, MY city living in Melbourne has been quite dull (ok I’ve been to festivals and had my fair share of days out but we’re talking in the grand scheme of things, so humour me here).

I could regale and recite to you all the times I’ve taken the same hour long walk to work, passing by the groups of hipsters brunching or lunching outside the quirky cafes and restaurants in Fitzroy, in order to spend five or six hours in a thankless hospitality job while wishing I could join them and participate in wanky conversations about smashed avo on toast and the state of the economy.

I suppose I could talk to you about my lack of gym activity, the laziness I found myself encompassing, the inability to get out of bed before 9am and the lack of motivation I had to visit a centre I was paying $20 a week to be a member of.

I could chat to you about my new found love for F45 – which is in stark contrast to dragging myself to a gym, I realise this contradiction – this 45 minute fitness class that operates literally across the road from me, full of high intensity interval workouts that is supposed to improve fitness, and how it has reenergised my desire to workout and has actually made me excited to get back to my peak again and begin losing the weight I’ve piled on in the last six months (for your benefit, it’s a whole STONE, and yes, I am now a fatty).

I could discuss with you all the mornings and afternoons I’ve wasted in front of the tv watching complete and utter crap and dismaying at how poor Australian programming is and how the commercial breaks and advertorials liken every network to those of broadcasting found in the States.

I could write about how I spend hours in front of the mirror each week wishing I could still fit into my size 10 cigarette trousers and crying because my face is chubbier than it was when I was going through puberty.

I could blog about how I’ve wanted to explore the outskirts of Melbourne and head into regional Victoria (the Dandedong ranges, the Grampians, the waterfalls) and have tried countless times to recruit fellow citizens to accompany me only to be rebuffed or let down.

I could write about all the wild parties I’ve attended and the countless times I’ve woken up in a stranger’s bed with a raging hangover and no idea how to get home (it would all be lies, of course). I could write about the epic road trips and days out I’ve had on those sacred breaks from work and I could recall all those trips to the beach with groups of hilarious friends (again, lies).

I could write about how in a city bursting with colour and life, abundant in activity and culture I feel bored and alone; loneliness is the worst when surrounded by people.

I could, I could, I could. But I won’t. Because that will only bore you to tears, it will only take the shine off how you expect me to be living life – no doubt sugar-coated and filled with joy; and will arguably make you question whether or not I’m actually living the ‘Australian Dream’. For many of you may well be thinking: “But why is she not having adventures? Why is she not hiking or seeing the best of this vast and magnificent country? Why is she not on the beach every day? Why is she not talking of wildlife and oceans and reef and outback and stray kangaroos and rabid drop bears? Why is she not insanely happy?!”

Well, that’s what city living does to you. And that’s unfortunately what having to work for a living does to you too. You see, despite me being on a “working holiday visa”, and despite the connotations that surround an experience like this and despite what all those back home may think a WHV entails (all play and hardly any work), and despite me being in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, I do still have to work. I do still have to pay rent. And work is all I do. I’ve concluded though that far from enjoying this “working” analogy, that city living and the way I’m plodding along, and the line of work I’m in is slowly eating my soul.

So like Michael Jackson once said, I decided to look to the man in the mirror and make a change (cringe). I have two weeks left in my job as a waitress – a waitress!! (hoorah). And another week left in Melbourne after that. It’s been an interesting ride, different to what I initially expected but nevertheless interesting. But while I struggle to find the motivation to blog regularly, to get excited about living in the city, to share with you all the tales I should be sharing with you, to feel liberated and free; while I struggle to enjoy being in Australia without feeling that twinge of homesickness and that pang of longing for familiarity, I feel that change could be the one thing I need to ensure my final months here are coloured with happiness, adventure and excitement.

In writing this I’m letting you into what I have in store for the next month – a trip to the Grampians (finally), perhaps a cheeky wine tour in the Yarra Valley where I intend to get very, very drunk, and an excursion to Uluru (Ayres Rock), all of which I hope will press me into creative writing again and get me blogging on a more regular basis and in a more positive light. Oh, and then there’s my impending relocation to Broome. Yep, Broome; back to WA I go. A change that I’m not expecting will solve all my problems but a change that could potentially make or break my year in the Southern Hemisphere; a change that is duly welcome, a change that is needed to tear apart the monotony of city living. A change that is more customary to the precise meaning and intention of the “working holiday visa”. A change that will at the very least, allow me to experience and see some more of Australia and end my time here safe in the knowledge I did things a little differently.

Nothing is permanent in this life. Even your dreams are temporary. And if you’re unhappy in a situation, only you have the power to change what doesn’t feel right.