The memory is not infallible. Already, images have blurred and taken on a sepia tinge. Rose coloured glasses have been tossed aside in favour of donning a (sometimes heavy) coat of Practicality. Some days, I wake up and expect to see the morning sunlight slanting in through my balcony and spilling onto my sheets of my Queen sized bed in Terrace Road. Sometimes I stand there, stop and breathe in – and I can almost feel the minuscule coarse particles of salt against my skin, the air carrying a hint of sea salt. And other days I can recall the feeling of never being able to warm up again, despite being bundled in flannel pyjamas and blankets, my feet in woolen socks and curled up under myself. Perth is, was, and always will be these icons to me.
Walking down these roads take my mind down memory lane. I remember hot summer days where the heat would rise up the pavement and turn it a rusted brown, that was how intense the heat was. In contrast, there were those rainy winter days where the rain would seep down my stockings and by the time I got home, my toes would be wet through – and cold like little blocks of ice.
Also, I remember walking down and talking to neighbours like friends. There was no such thing as strangers in Perth, only people you’ve yet to meet.
Perth is one of those places that will forever hold most of my heart and mind. No matter what, I’ll still maintain that the bluest skies, the fluffiest clouds – nowhere does them like Australia.