As I make my transition, I wonder about how one says goodbye
to a place. My experience of my surroundings and awareness of those things that
make my daily routine a pleasure here have intensified. I roam my
neighbourhood streets, now carpeted with desiccated gold and red leaves, and attempt to
imagine them without me, continuing, as they will, regardless of my presence. I
stand still and try to commit the feeling of Melbourne to physical memory, as
if I can line my veins with the essence of this city. But the experience of not
being somewhere is difficult to preempt; my attempt is a theoretical take on a
visceral notion that is troublesome to replicate.
And so, my attempts at creating nostalgia in my final days have
come closer to treasuring moments of the everyday, or those that are somehow
iconic of my years in Melbourne. Sometimes these are obvious, sometimes they
are glamorous, sometimes they are as prosaic as breakfast. Speaking of which, unsurprisingly,
given Melbourne’s culture and my own predilections, many of these revolve
around food and drink.
Here are a few ways in which I have so far tried to say
goodbye to Melbourne:
* An exhibition at the NGV International
* A dumpling feast in Melbourne’s Chinatown
* Lychee martinis at Double Happiness, a drinking den on one
of Melbourne’s lovely laneways
* Scrambled eggs with avocado salad at an old favourite café
in Fitzroy
* Swimming laps at the local pool
* Buying sourdough grain loaf from my local baker
* Attending a jazz gig played by a friend
* Riding my bike through the leafy streets after dark/on a
sunny day/in the rain/when racing to make an appointment/home drunk from a
friend’s place (but not too drunk, of course)
* A picnic with friends in the Carlton Gardens, in the shadow of the Royal Exhibition Building (and staying till after dark)
* Coffee, coffee, coffee in as many cafes as possible
* Making a mental catalogue of street stencils
