We felt a hundred miles away, more giddy than school kids in the queue next to us, and we felt more alive than a newborn. It had been a rough season but we needed to escape it all even if for just one night. So the crisp afternoon day in April found us at Luna Park at the north end of Sydney, across the majestic Harbour Bridge.
Luna Park welcomed us with a big smile (literally) and with the gleaming lights strung across the rooftops, its Ferris Wheel rising from the harbour, the carnival music and the loud squeals. I wondered where everyone came from, and I smiled at the families on an outing, enjoying themselves.
We rode the bumper cars and crashed and raced in the night, and it didn’t matter if we were 20 or 20-something. Everyone there had let their guard down, people did silly dance moves and stood in front of fun house mirrors making silly faces and licking fairy floss because they could. And I wondered at how different life would be if we approached it with no reserves and we were just simply free. Free and willing to sing that song at the top of our longs or wear the shiny blazer…
I did feel a million miles away that night. I felt like a swimmer catching a gulp of breath after a long and tiring swim… and as the Ferris Wheel rose high above the theme park and overlooked the Sydney Opera House, and the bridge complimenting her like a glove, I couldn’t help but to exhale and breathe a sigh of relief. This moment was ours and no one could take it away. The Ferris Wheel moved nice and slow, and allowed us to ponder and say a small thank you to our God over the carnival music, as we took in the sight before us: the lights of the harbour, the ships moving silently in the night, to people celebrating inside them and raising their wine glasses in a small celebration of life-or something like it.
I wanted nothing more than to store all this memories in the recesses of my mind so that I could access them again. Access them when I feel like everything is falling apart, or when I just feel dead and empty like a sad empty shell. I want to remember how I felt on the roller coaster, when I spun around and around gently on the carrousel on my giant rooster, and when I ate a “corn dog” for the first time in ages.
That night was ours, no one could take it away, time and space could not touch us.