Anything is peaceful from 975 feet.

These past two weeks, Friday evening has become my Sabbath. I’ve finished uni after the last bus and headed into the city, walking down Swanston Street and breathing everything in. I don’t know how I will go back to my small quiet town. I love it here. The glass towers reflecting a sunset concealed by skyscrapers, the warning ring of the trams as they creak along their tracks towards you, the sense of insignificance which is so freeing, so welcoming, so calming. There is no pressure on you when nobody knows your name.

We climbed to the top floor of RMIT University and found a balcony. Through a gap in the fence I gazed out at the yellow streets below me. Trams slipped by, ringing gently as they went. A group of skateboarders hurtled down the hill. We were at the corner of the city grid, where the map tilts forty-five degrees and the blocks shift from rectangular to rhomboid. Night had fallen, but the city still shone. 

*

It's been a weekend of vantage points. Twenty hours later I was looking down at the city from the Skydeck, 975 feet above the meticulous grid of the CBD. Things move slowly when you see them from above. I leaned my body against the glass and thought, the world is quiet here.

*

I have 99 days left in Melbourne as of today.

Did I ever mention that I'm a National Gallery certified artist? No? Good, because that would have been a filthy lie, and lying is wrong, kids. Well, lying is usually wrong. We can debate that point some other time.

I  call this one Self-Portrait on a Friday Afternoon. (Don't worry Mum, don't worry Dad - I slept until ten today! Score!)

“I love Melbourne. I love it so much that I’m going to name my future daughter Mel, and then she’ll get my surname, and she’ll be called Mel Bearn.”

Lecturer, mid-slide: “I’ve played over 440 hours of Skyrim.”

Residence manager, after a 17 degree day: "Cold outside, isn't it?"