Archive | travel RSS feed for this section

You may say I’m a dreamer…

15 Aug

When I was a girl, they told me to be practical, But I was a dreamer.

No misgiving, the fire of dreams getting higher, flames spreading to the bedroom windows, kindling in my soul, a smoldering fire. And down burned a house of doubt, a place of skepticism and realism, all lost to that fire.

Dreams replace doubt, the way spring replaces winter, and winter, autumn. The eye cannot see, what the heart promises.

Dreamers start to dream, and see, not only in black and white, but real, living colors. We see potential and possibility. We are skies without end, wild horses without reins. We are your sister, your brother and your friend. We are the bumbling man in the corner store, the forsaken beggar in the street, the woman in white sitting outside a church, formless beneath her dress. We are in regions of terror, in sprawling forests, on big city cobblestones, through unbroken fields, where grass stands above my summer skinned knees. We walk through this fire, the torches of others, scorching our skin, but never the soul, and with dreams that are akin to the wings of a phoenix bird, we rise from surrounding ashes.

And I go on, wherever it may be, because the future is now mine, and I’m not afraid. I go on, because I believe in better days. And the chances, I will take them.

When I was a girl, they told me to be practical… But I chose to be this dreamer.

Advertisements

After quitting…

15 Apr

cycle_dark
This week, at thirty five minutes after two o’clock, I changed my life with a firecracker-like initiation of hopeful ambition. I did what some unwaveringly warned me against, what, I even doubted, I’d ever have the nerve to do. I staked my life in a risk; I just quit my job, without even a solitary prospect of another position of employment, and… I’m going after my dreams.
Just like that, I gambled any security of my well-being, granting my former company four weeks’ notice, and leaving myself fourteen brief days or so to arrange a ‘real life’ move to London.

Today, I breathe in and out, in the same way as I did as a kid riding my bike without holding on to handlebars, the biting teeth of gravel and stone gliding beneath me, waiting for me to fall, and still, the delicate consciousness of the wind lacing through my hair, the blood pulsing past my ears, my heart hammering with adrenaline.

I arrived here, to this moment now, through a burning longing for a life more gratifying than this; an audacious new year’s resolution, and on the grounds that I have wanted to move time and again, to take the risk. I would be but a fraud to advise a life of risk, if I was not courageous enough to lay it all on the line myself.

The moments become surreal, I feel as if I drift, in a suspension of sleep, on the verge of awakening, to see with tired eyes that life has the same familiar rhythm, as it did before. My eyes are open though, and I’m about to leave behind all I’ve ever kept, all I’ve ever known, thus far.

I know now, that I must let go, to grab something else, and I’m taking my first piece of this immense, ruthless, beautiful world. I’m grabbing my life by the horns, danger and all, no matter what becomes of it.

Goodbye sanctuary, goodbye Melbourne days and nights.
Hello, escapade.

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

The rhythm of change

31 Mar

Every year, right around this time, I develop a warm feeling of excited anticipation.

I wake up in the morning and the air smells like possibility,
the sun on my face feels like a rhythm that my life is about to change.
As I wait for the change to start happening,
I always find myself dreaming of what it might be:
a new job, a house change,
winning the big bucks possibly?
Usually, the change is almost always more like realising that it’s time to do the laundry and suddenly hitting the jackpot with clothes I’d forgotten about completely. Regardless, this feeling always surprises me, and I treasure it each year, whatever form it choses to take.

It’s sort of like a reminder that I am not yet at all jaded by life,
that I still believe in great impossible things such as moving my whole entire self to a different country or becoming something I’m not yet.
I cling to this part of myself like a child who knows the Tooth Fairy isn’t *really* real, and yet refuses to admit it.
Perhaps this is my version of refusing to achieve maturity.

But hey, if that feeling of pure joy and eagerness disappears, all that’s left of autumn is the air getting cooler and the grey mornings getting darker, then how boring is that?

I don’t think I will ever quite stop dreaming about the changes, the could be’s and the will be’s… which is why this time the impossible rhythm is really quite something.
It might be enough to take my heart and soul, my ideas and my life to another level above laundry baskets and hidden socks to an unknown mystery.
But I wont know till I get there.

London here we come.

flower-st1

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

Glory bound

1 Dec

Life is a growing expedition
Through the twisted and tangled, unfilled in parts.
What happens when I leave this place?
Because of the fear we don’t trust
Our own choices?
our story? our colours?
Be afraid and leap regardless.
Keep watching, waiting, take the leap.

Push into the questions of our lives when nothing feels clear.
We have a chance to do absolutely anything, to reach out to another, vulnerable and true.
To dance on the rooftops in euphoria, to sing in the ocean, to dream proud and loud. Take it.
Just let go.

What are you afraid of?

This chance is not every moment, but it is mine, and now it is yours.
Take that ticket, board that plane.
I’m taking a chance on the wind.
I’m packing all my bags
Making a mistake I’ve got to make
And I’m glory bound.

Pink Jasmine

30 Nov

Grow pink jasmine in a room that always stays yours
Remember building dreams and talk of leaving.
And how to play hard way past dinner.
Remember about thoughts and graces
Remember to let down and admit overwhelm
I am going to try to ease up on rushing the tie down of who I am.
Let it stay loose and supple
Let myself change- reinvent, try it all differently
Be kind,
Be grace,
Be true.
Just simply, be you.

Some dreams just are built to stick

8 Oct

She tells her heart while half asleep
In the darkest hours
With half-words whispered low
As dreams stir in a winter’s sleep.
Only an ambitious thought to follow
to the places she goes.
Over land, past deep blue seas,
Across a blank canvas to find
Nothing set,
Nothing made yet.

Pick up a pen, wake from this sleep
Everything we believe
Everything we do
Connects the space
Between dreams and life,
Between me and you.

And a big yellow taxi took my girl away

30 Jul

I have never been one for public transport. I use it when I have to and well I am beginning to think taxis pose a better argument for travel than that of trams.

Sure it’s something great to gloat about in a city as livable as Melbourne. Everyone seems to brag about how amazingly easy and incredibly convenient it is.

And now I hear, they (whoever they are…) are attempting to glorify the network by calling portions of the tramline ‘light rail’ whatever that means.

But as I wait for over 25 minutes in peak hour traffic, waiting… Watching the road and all the cars with their drivers contentedly driving by, I felt my temper seething. Light rail? …right …easy? …riiiiggght. Conveniently forgettable I say.

As I continually glanced at my ipod touch, which so effortlessly remembered my last web page visit, I wondered why consistency of such a commonly used tram network couldn’t provide me with the same clear experience that they talk about.

Not only was I waiting alongside a small army of Melbournians, the number continued to grow as the minutes passed by, so collectively in fact that 4 trams worth of people were waiting at my tram stop. Metlink, a note to your affable tram drivers, 1 missing tram; forgivable. 3 missing trams? Unforgettable.

Irritable and unfashionably late, commuters poured onto the tram which was quickly becoming reminiscent to that of a tin of sardines as we continued.
I’m not sure what became more unbearable, being too closely jammed onto a tram and having to listen to the affectionate couple beside me and their shameful sound effects, or maybe the Podcast of ‘marine biology and how you can make a difference’ from the gentleman behind me combined with being completely squashed together with the rest of humanity whose elbows, pokey bags and knees are in your face – everyone on their worst behavior trying to be the first on and first off the tram.

tin sardines anyone?

Nicely accompanied with standing until your feet hurt and your mind shuts down.
Again, thankyou to Apple for the ipod.

The 25 minute commute felt like eternity in real time to public transport conversion, but nonetheless to say, I did arrive at my destination with a story to tell and sigh of relief. Walking never felt so good.

I do ask this of you Metlink; please don’t keep telling me you’re such a great network and so conveniently on time.

Show me.

Prove to me that you can arrive on time and we can call it bygones.

And then, maybe then I will start to trust you again.