from my perspective

I have just arrived at Melbourne again.
I unpacked, cleaned, did some housework, it's a process of redomestication.
I wish my family, my dogs, my boyfriend, are all here. But then again maybe solitude is a virtue I might never get to experience again when I get married and have children. Maybe it's something I should think well of.

My life has been a blessing since the day I was born. I was very lucky in every aspect, since I believe every bad thing that has happened is a good memory and everything leads to another like a chain. If I am happy now, everything in the past must have been right.

For one, I am extremely lucky to get the view I have from my apartment bedroom. Mine is at the edge of the building facing the part of city that had shorter buildings so I get a two-window view of the Melbourne sky which ceases to amaze and intrigue me. It is winter now and the trees are all bare. Their thin branches work up a pattern and resembles a bird's nest that fans upward, with a perfect convex top. Trees are so beautiful. But I love seeing trees amongst houses. It gives it something to stand against and we can see clearer the difference between man and nature. When the golden light from the setting sun casts on the city, every branch on a tree illuminates a beautiful bronze. The light goes through its delicate structure. But a solid building gets but one side lit.

I see so many people busy with their lives, trying to gain success, to work hard. Maybe it's my ignorance and my outstanding luck for the life I lead, but I prefer watching. And when I observe well enough the world becomes so much more a beautiful place and it makes me feel happy. The sun has gone further down now, and the tree branches are ash coloured. It is such a rigid, solid thing but from this distance the delicacy of its form makes it seem like something so fragile. It is odd. Maybe I should say it is like a woman who is graceful and gentle but strong inside.

On the plane back to Melbourne I was on the window seat and was overjoyed to see a bright full moon hanging just beside me. When we sit in a car and it moves, the scenery outside moves and looking from the window, it can appear that what's outside is the only thing moving and our car is not. But this is different. Obviously the plane is moving at a high speed, but the moon remains still, casting four parallel beams of light. I know the physics of it of course, the moon would not move so visibly, but what I am trying to get at is the situation I am in. Right beside the moon which was the only thing outside the window on a deep black plain. I see the slight hint of the aeroplane's wing (lit up by the moonlight) bobbing softly up and down. Instantly I thought of a small wooden boat bobbing on the sea, and the moon has no other objects to sabotage its beauty when you look at it facing the ocean. The view towards the sea is just an empty horizon. This is what it is like to me. Also I was also amazed and felt exceptionally lucky to see the moon at an even level, whereas I would usually have to look upwards to see it.

I turned to an elderly Australian woman who sat beside me and asked her if she had taken a look at the moon outside. I felt like a child, just eager to share the beauty of this precise moment to everyone else. She took a casual glance at the window, and remarked in her carefree accent, 'oh that look nice doesn't it!'.

People can look at the same thing and some can see so much while others care little. There are many things I care little about in the world (maps, directions, geography, business) but this habit of observing the world like a picture book is a habit I don't think I will ever grow out of.