5 things Melbourne has taught me

The other day as I was sitting around the nice sunny area on level 3 in Melbourne Central and looking at the stretch of cars passing on Lonsdale street, with the trams riding across, the thought popped up in my mind: Melbourne has taught me a lot in these last 4 years.

Having an opportunity to spend my early to late twenties in this city, I adopted many habits (both good and bad), gained new insights and changed my ways in one way or another.

So, here are five things Melbourne has taught me.

1. Black is not a colour – it is a religion.

When I first started living in Melbourne, I had a bright umbrella, with splashes of colour and geometrical shapes. I had a bright red coat. And I had nothing black in my wardrobe. In fact, every time I left home in my bright outfits, I would catch people’s subtle gazes.

Fast forward 4 years, and my wardrobe primarily consists of black clothes. To any Melbournian, black is not just black – it is dark black, light black, dim black, bright black. Many shades of black.

2. You can have coffee for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Every day.

Before living in Melbourne, I was proud of myself for not being a coffee person. After a year, I was proud of myself for having just one coffee a week.

Now, every day starts with a coffee. And here is my excuse for it.

The coffee culture in Melbourne is undeniable. There are more coffee shops and cafes in Melbourne than there are hipsters. And there are a lot of hipsters.

It doesn’t help that the quality of coffee here is amazing. It is quite hard to find a place that makes a bad coffee. And it is even harder to like the coffee anywhere outside of Melbourne.

 

3. Cold, windy and unpredictable weather is the best. And who needs beaches anyway? (Can you hear us Sydney?)

Most people here can’t wait for it to bucket down…in the middle of a sunny day. It is boring otherwise, isn’t it? Why would you want stable weather throughout the day if you can have an artistically variable one?

Why would you want to wear only 2 layers, when you can wear 10?

And why would you want to go to the beach if you can just sit in a café and drink coffee?

4. Trams are not just modes of transportation. They are part of your identity.

I believe if Melbournians could, they would probably build a tram line from Melbourne to Sydney, just to rub it in. And rightly so. It has been taking Sydney lost-the-count-of-how-many-years to build one tram line.

I also believe that if Melbournians could they would have a trademark or copyright for having trams. Not because they are fast or particularly convenient, but because of how iconic to Melbourne they are.

 

5. Street art has an equal (and sometimes more) value to art and exhibitions in galleries.

It is not a secret that Melbourne streets, laneways, buildings are covered in art. And there is something for everyone: cute things, political statements, celebrity portraits, abstract art, collaborative art between artists and even Banksy art (painted by him personally).

One of the highlights for me was doing the street art tour where I learnt that there is a strict etiquette in street art – you cannot just paint over anything that you like. Painting over a well-known and respected artists’ work damages your reputation as a potential artist.

 

How is life on the streets of Melbourne?

Before creating this blog, I used to have a blog called “homeless talks”. It was a short-lived blog. I deleted it after posting two stories. But the issue of homelessness is something that I cannot stay indifferent to. It is one of the causes that makes me emotional. How much we can do yet we don’t. How many excuses we have when we pass a homeless person. I am often guilty of this too.

Today was different though. I didn’t have to be in the clinic to see patients. Today I decided to spend the day differently.

When I first came to Melbourne, the first thing I heard was that “Melbourne is the world’s most liveable city”. Isn’t it ironic? So liveable yet so many people live on the streets.

Being a broke uni student, I decided to make some home-cooked hot food and go out. Go out, with an intent to talk to homeless people on the streets of Melbourne and keep them company for a little while.

As a professor of psychology Scott Plous once said, putting one drop of water into the fire is better than putting none.

Lisa and Chanel-le puppy

I saw Lisa- the woman wearing a bright pink top (with partly matching nail polish) and the biggest smile, sitting on the footpath of the Southbank bridge with a cute puppy in her lap. “What’s her name?”, I asked, being proud of my ice-breaker. “Chanel”, she replied. I smiled. It was ironic that she had a branded puppy.

I asked if she welcomed any company, and she invited me to sit next to her. “Oh, I would love a chat! I haven’t really spoken to anyone today. It will make my day go fast too!”. I complimented her about how genuine she was, upbeat and positive, and how refreshing it was to see a homeless person smile so much.

“You’ve got to be hopeful and positive. Then you will have a chance that good things will come your way. When I used to work in Reject shop, I would always wear reindeer ears around Christmas. People loved it”.

Then she smiled wide, her eyes lighting up and continued, “Oh I would also buy a packet of lollies, put it next to the counter and give candies to kids. They loved it”.

I asked if she was hungry, and she said she hadn’t had anything warm today. I got the plastic container out of my bag. She opened and started having it commenting how much she had missed warm food. To be honest, I had this instant feeling of happiness not so much because a homeless person was having the meal, but more so because I could share my cooking with someone.

Living by myself for the past three and half years has helped me improve my cooking skills. I have experimented with different ingredients and different cuisines. But I often catch myself on the thought “I wish I had someone to share the food with”. It never occurred to me, but a nice home-cooked food slightly loses its meaning when it is just for yourself.

Lisa put some in her palm and signalled Chanel to have it. It was entertaining to watch. I found myself getting quite comfortable sitting on that concrete ground.

“So how long have you been living outside?”, I wondered.

“Three months. It will be fine, I am sure”, she lowered her gaze for a second, then continued “What bothers me more is that people look at my teeth and think I am a drug addict. They don’t know that I have a kidney issue. They look at me being homeless and don’t know that the reason I ended up here is because of being a carer for my mother and not being able to work”.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. There was truth in what she was saying.

Soon, I was on my way.

Bianca

She looked about 20, but her wrinkles were giving the impression that she was 35. Her sign said “homeless. 3 months pregnant”. I asked her if I could sit. She nodded. I wondered how her day was. “Slow” she replied haphazardly, then turned her head and continued looking at the passers-by who were rushing to get home after a busy workday. “Mine was slow too”, I added in an attempt to break the ice. She didn’t really care about my ice-breaker. She kept her eyes focused. “I need to collect $20 in this rush hour so I can sleep in the shelter tonight”. “How much have you got so far?”. “Only $2” she mumbled, then looked up at the clouds and added, “Looks like it is going to be raining tonight, and I will be sleeping outside”.

Subconsciously, I also looked up trying to catch the glimpses of people, part of me secretly hoping that she would be able to collect the remaining $18. Some of the looks I got while looking up, in all honesty, scared me. The frowning, the silent anger, looks of curiosity filled with ignorance. Being treated like a homeless person in that instance, I realised that if someone gave me (or her) a kind smile, it would still make a big difference. As much as homeless people need money, food and shelter, they equally need social acceptance – an aspect of homelessness that is often overlooked.

I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wished all the best for her and her unborn child, got up and disappeared in the passing crowd.

Six letters that I won’t send

 

To the barista from that corner cafe,

You made my coffee today. Not only mine. You have been diligently pouring the milk, spraying the chocolate on the froth, wiping the table, making some of the coffees with extra froth (I didn’t know that was an option). I was delighted holding a cup of small cappuccino with no sugar in my hands and feeling the real taste of coffee – not too milky and not burnt. Thank you. That coffee made my day.

 

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To the patient, I had the other day,

I read your file before you came. It said “be careful when testing. A sensitive patient”. I want you to know that your mental illness doesn’t define you. I thought about you several times during the week. You had so many illnesses, incidents and medications, yet you kept smiling. Perhaps you don’t realise, but you have made me reconsider things that make me upset. Being the same age as me, you gave me the perspective of how difficult my life could have been. Thank you.

 

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To that person who wanted to know where I was from,

There are many of you, with different variations. Some of you ask me where my parents are from, some – what language I speak, some others – where I am originally from. You really don’t need to feel awkward asking me directly. I am proud of my heritage and I am proud of my accent. In general, an accent means that the person can speak more than one language. So, I won’t give up my accent anytime soon (I probably wouldn’t be able to anyway). I don’t get offended, and to be honest it is vaguely entertaining. Especially the “originally” bit.

 

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To the guy from the 7^th grade who had a crush on me,

I am really not that hard to impress. You didn’t need to jump off the second-floor window for me. Thank you though, it was thoughtful. And, I am glad you are alive.

 

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To my childhood piano teacher,

Why did you have to torture me like that? You really didn’t need to pull my hair, drop the piano lid on my hands or lock me up in your basement for 4 hours to force me to practice. You see, in the end, I didn’t really become a distinguished classical musician. In fact, I believe I have a phobia to play anything on the piano now.

 

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To the author of a random blog that I encountered yesterday,

Please, keep on shedding light on the topics of anxiety and depression. I don’t know you, but I believe we will meet one day. Reading your blog made me realise that I’d like to help you whether it is through a conversation or reassurance that being undecided what to do with your life is totally ok. It won’t be like that forever. We are so concerned about what career path to take, who to date, how to live without making mistakes that we forget to live. Please, look after yourself. Your worth extends beyond your career.

Passing of some people makes the world colder for everyone else…

Today was different. On my way to the airport I got my phone out to load up my usual playlist, but something stopped me. I wanted something else. I wanted to silently grieve the loss of a legend. I needed it. Perhaps, this was my way of paying tribute to this musician, composer and above all human who has lived for so many people.

The search box was right in front of me. “Charles Aznavour” I typed. The news about his death came up first.

No, I didn’t want to listen to the news. My newsfeed had been flooded with millions of news stories…people mourning, putting flowers and lighting candles.  I didn’t want to read. I didn’t want to see.

Do you practise gratitude when days are mundane?

Ironically, this was on one of the less mundane and more exciting days when I got to be on top of the Telstra Tower in Canberra at the right time.

My 2018 diary has a little section that makes me write one thing for which I am grateful every day. To be honest, I do not follow it religiously. It so happens that some days remain blank. Sometimes, when I have too many gaps in the week, I sit down at the end of the week, and, in an attempt of having a perfectly filled out gratitude week, I try recalling all the interesting and unusual things that have happened to me through the week.

Autumn

I think autumn deserves its own blog post. It has always been one of my favourite seasons because of its beautiful colours.

It has always inspired me to create something. When I was younger, I used to collect red, orange and yellow leaves, cut them out and stick onto the paper creating an ‘artwork’. Now I get joy from bringing its colours to life by photographing it. Here is some of the photography I did over the weekend.

Tiny letters to 7 inanimate objects

A letter to the blank canvas

Dear Blank Canvas,

I know that I have been uncomfortably staring at you for the past one hour, making few unsuccessful pencil strokes that I rubbed off hurriedly, but please trust me. I will sit here letting my imagination wander, my emotions come forward and my visions come alive right in front of you and on your very soft surface. Believe in me, like you always do, and together we will create a beautiful piece of art.

A letter to my phone

12 Unusual things to do in Melbourne as a couple

 

After living in Melbourne for close to two years, I have concluded that there are many unique and unconventional things to do here. If you are running out of ideas, I have compiled a list of what I believe are the most fun and interesting things to do as a couple (or with friends).

A letter to my 15-year old self

Dear Ani,

I am not here to tell you what will happen in your future. I am here to be next to you at the time of your life when you are going through many unknowns.

You are experiencing a lot of doubts about yourself and a lot of emotions about life. You are uncertain of what will happen in future.

I want to tell you one thing: your biggest dream will come true. That thing that you keep praying about will happen even if you can hardly believe it…very soon, just be patient and wait a couple of years.

Let’s end this shopping frenzy…

Sydney Central Arcade: shops, shops, and more shops…

I don’t know about you, but I have a problem with conversations that start something like this: “So when do you plan on finishing your Christmas shopping?”, “What are you buying?”, “Have you got a shopping list?” and so on and so forth…

With Christmas being just around the corner, these conversations are becoming commonplace.

Why is it that Christmas is associated with shopping so much? And not only Christmas…Why is it that, as a society, we are so obsessed with buying?