It’s never easy being a writer. Some days the words flow, and some days they don’t. Sometimes we know exactly how our stories will end, and sometimes when we write we wonder, “Where is this all going?”.
Recently, I got tagged to participate in a writing tour by Sofia from Papaya Pieces and Lani over at Life, the Universe and Lani, which involves answering four questions about the “writing process”. These questions certainly reminded me of the frustrations of being a writer.
Over the past year, I’ve been working five days a week in an office processing papers and answering phones. Not exactly a huge fan of it.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who doesn’t love their job. Practically every day I hear my colleagues count down the hours to home time.
Yet I’m not giving up working full time anytime soon. I can’t.
Growing up, I never liked moving cities.
When I was six, I sobbed at the airport in Malaysia after getting off the plane from Melbourne for the last time in a while, bewildered by strange faces and the sticky air. Touching down at Melbourne Airport almost a decade later, jet-lagged me jumped when a Caucasian security officer gruffly demanded I step into the immigration queue. Are white Australians this scary?, I thought, anxious about living here again.
Moving is challenging. It’s never easy leaving behind the ones you love and friends who have your back. Never easy seeing teary faces bidding you goodbye at home or at the airport. If you’re moving alone, all of a sudden you don’t have someone right beside you to share happy or sad moments with.
I’m a summer-loving person. Don’t like the cold and tend to avoid traveling to places that are shivering through winter. Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen snow before.
That’s not to say I think visiting a place in the midst of frosty temperatures isn’t worthwhile. I’m sure there are loads to see and do, just like in summer, spring and autumn.
It’s hard to pick a perfect time of the year to travel, be it a trip abroad or a few kilometers from our backyard. Each season is beautiful in its own right.
Recently I went on my first ever guided tour of Melbourne’s CBD. Along with about sixty others, mostly tourists, it was refreshing wandering through familiar city locations while listening to historical commentary from the Melburnian, blonde, university-aged tour guide.
It got me thinking: what’s so good about Melbourne? Why do I like living in one of the most livable cities in the world?