Every time I come back to Melbourne, I have a hope, a hope that things will be lovelier than the last time I was there, a hope that maybe it’ll be more pleasant than when I left it. Sadly however, that glimmer of optimism typically fades, generally after the third or fourth day upon my return, I realise nothing actually transformed. A few shops moved, a few new signs but ultimately, it’s still the same place. People still plugging away at their jobs, paying their taxes, and experiencing that most placid existence available.
In the time I’ve been gone, I went from place to place, learnt useful lessons, and experienced the highest of highs and lowest of lows. But I come back here and simply can’t see myself being another brick in the wall of delusion. I’ve always maintained and continue to believe that Melbourne is Poison for the types that have the slightest hint of creativity or ambition. Besides sitting in traffic, and boasting about Brunch spots, there’s really nothing going on for the place.
The people seem to be soullessly going through the motions, swallowing the nonsense that’s been thrown out by the general media. The skanks are still shamelessly skanking and finding their herbs after they wasted their peak years getting used like a public restroom. The guys are still “manning” up and accepting the leftovers in the sexual marketplace after slaving away on their careers.
Nightlife remains disappointing, shopping seems stagnant, public transport is still ancient. Some people are comfortable being in the safety of their domiciles, but I never could see myself merely existing in Melbourne. The growth and learning opportunities that come when you’re in new environments and exposing yourself to things you simply can’t get in Australia is very rewarding, and I look back at the years that I’ve spent away from here with fondness as I truly believed staying here and continuing down the pre-determined path that was provided to me would have been a waste.
So, I think I’m happy being abroad. Anywhere but here.