While it rains outside, I am rooted to the floor of a tiled rooftop looking at a breathtaking cityscape. It reminds me of something, something I have not remembered in as long as I can remember. The city of Sydney changed my life. It threw me against the wall and reclaimed my carcass as it hit the floor with an astoundingly quiet thud.
It has been two years since I first came here. When I boarded my first international flight, I thought I would land fresh faced and just as glamorous I thought I was. Instead, I left the airport grumpy, drained, and smelly. Nevertheless, a shower, two days worth of sleep, and another shower later I was brazen, fresh-faced, and well anything but glamorous.
Tonight, however as I stand on the rooftop terrace of the building I dare call my home. I stand, in front of a million lights, reflected in the safety glass; a certain version of the man I had wanted to be.
Acne-free with almost perfect hair (I wouldn’t complain about a more expensive haircut but, then again who would?) and a wardrobe that begets me many a compliments. But you know what’s missing? My person, a self who had fun who happily and dangerously veered on the edge of everything including sanity and all. So tame, so controlled, so uptight.
It is rather easy to forget what your life is about ya know? My life was always about the travels, clothes, and reading. In 2012, mine was easily the worst compilation of a wardrobe that has ever been like a runaway train that crashed into a warehouse of forgotten trends. But, I liked it still.
Now, in 2014, that I have compiled a serious wardrobe. I have lost a certain part of me I had paid no attention to before. When I moved to Sydney; my life was suddenly about unpaid bills, debts, and dirty dishes. Cinderella hath her story gone wrong.
I found solace in cooking, classical music, and my university’s lectures turned me into this serious buzz kill. Regardless, I have been reminded to take the stick out of my arse and just take it easy.
Exactly twenty-one floors below me I can see the cogs of this gigantic machine of a city pick up pace after a long Friday night. The remnants of last nights revelry evidenced in the empty bottles all around are fading into the early morning. I would be happy to find my place amongst these cogs or I just might become the spanner that was thrown into the works; a very brown spanner.
I intend to use this blog as my life’s project, explore my love affair with cooking. Delve deeper into how food is inexplicably intertwined with my life and attempt to reclaim some of my madness back.