Its another beautiful crisp Autumn day, yet somewhere inside myself I find this desire to escape it all yet preserve it all. A part of me knows that I’ll be saying goodbye soon and it makes my heart go numb. I’ll miss the smell of jasmine in the spring and the smell of freshly brewed coffee from all these coffee shops, and I know I’ll miss the hustle and bustle of the CBD district, the sail boats amidst the harbor, the salty ocean and the culture. Today as I wondered through the breathtaking Surry Hills I held the urge to cry. I do not want to leave, yet as I gazed at the families and the couples walking to and fro and sipping their delicious concoctions I just knew I wouldn’t find that here. A part of me is more afraid of leaving instead of staying… and who would’ve thought staying a hundred miles from home would be the easiest thing instead of returning.
I guess this is all part of growing up. Letting places grow in you, yet still have that space in your heart that is willing to let go. I guess its all held in its own tension. The tension between growing and letting go, and still remaining in the rhythm of the universe. Its hard to believe that it can get better than this. I’ve tasted milk and honey, bitter and sweet but above it all I have tasted a bit of life and God. I’ve grown here and I just hope that through the erosion of time, that I manage to remember more than I manage to forget. I hope I remember all the good things and hold on to them more than I hold on to the bad.
Time is a beautiful paradox. It has the power to heal and keep memories frozen in a moment, yet it also has the power to steal and wither. I just want so badly to believe that what lies over the Pacific is worth it, that it brings with it a new dawn, a new beginning, a new chapter and a new adventure. But above all I hope to preserve these memories like gold coins yet not suffocate from them (in a sense of wishing for what was) but instead hold onto them like a small firefly that illuminates the beautiful yet is ever so free.
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.