Sydney Is Cold and So Am I

I can’t help but take it a little personally when people from the Northern Hemisphere don’t realise it actually snows in Australia. I’ve even met travellers on working holidays—people who’ve been here for over a year—who still haven’t heard of Perisher or Thredbo. Guys. You can ski down here. I swear. For some reason, it hits a nerve. Maybe it’s because I get the feeling that if I ever admitted to experiencing seasonal depression, someone from the other side of the world would just scoff or laugh. But it does get cold here—really cold. Especially in Victoria. I’ve spent entire seasons working at ski resorts in Japan and could get by in shorts and a jumper. The wind there just doesn’t have the same bite. It’s not even a joke—the chill here is Arctic.

Whenever there’s a blockbuster film set in Sydney, it’s always sunny. Which, in my opinion, is the actually cheapskate option. The cold, grey, and gloomy days on the Sydney harbour are dreary and miserable and beautiful. One of my favourite activities on a cold, rainy day here is to either drive to the beach or the airport. Which, may I add, are only about a ten-minute drive from each other - yeah, this is my city. I often forget that I live here. Like, sometimes it doesn’t really feel like I’m actually here or anything. I can’t quite explain it, because it doesn’t feel like anywhere else either. But every now and then, on a cold, rainy day at the airport, something will strike me deep in the stomach, and an almost orgasmic shiver shoots through my veins, paralysing my body. Only for a short moment. I wonder, in that moment, is this happiness? Do we just get glimpses of this feeling a few times a week, perhaps, small, tiny little things that would seem insignificant to anyone else, but something special to you. I suppose that’s why people feed off validation, no doubt you get that little dopamine hit. The more you get it, the more addicting it becomes, then you start to notice the absence when you don’t get that compliment you were expecting. Alas, these natural sparks of serotonin from feeling grateful for the life you have chosen, or perhaps as a result of a decision that didn’t go your way, and ended up offering something even better. That’s a real rewarding feeling, I must admit. Feeling down when things don’t go the way you want or expect, then later understanding why that had to happen in order to pave a new path. Once that reaches its peak and you see this journey, and how it led to where you are, be it sitting on the concrete steps of Coogee beach on a windy day, or on one of the bridges surrounding Mascot airport, watching the planes disappear into the midst. I like to lie on the rocks at the dog park by Meadowbank River, watching the trains creep across the bridge, in the night sky. Grey clouds reflecting against the moon, the water trickling back and forth with amber and greyish-blue reflections from the trains. Saying goodbye to the planes that eventually float further and further away until you can’t notice if it’s a vehicle or a star. Those are the most cherishable moments, to me. I wish we saw more of that side of Sydney portrayed in film.

Alas, although my idealistic view of my hometown can seem mystical and facetious, you wait until you go down to a football oval on an early Sunday morning in winter. I don’t want to spoil it all, but the long grass drips with dewy moisture, and fog surrounds the pitch, so much so that you can’t see anything in the distance other than grey swirls of glistening mist. If there is a fence around the oval, you could assume there is nothing past those white pickets, perhaps just a cliff dropping into the abyss.

I want to watch episode 3, season 2 of Girls with Adam Driver, but all three servers on my streaming site lead to the wrong URLs. It’s not on a streaming service, so I’ve been watching it in 8-bit resolution. I feel like I’m cheating the system if I just skip the episode, even if I read a summary. Knowing me, that’s probably as far as I’ll get into the show, especially after this hurdle.

I’ve now spent three back-to-back winter seasons, and I do miss the warmth, a little. But you still get those wonderful brisk, cold days where the sun follows you throughout the day. Like a friend, I suppose. That’s why I can always trust Sydney, the sun will always be by my side - even when it rains, it re-appears from hiding only minutes after the pour, soaking up what once were puddles of shame and misery - now lust. When the sun sets on a rainy afternoon, I swear you really must take the bus into town, as it drives over the Anzac bridge and the purple and grey sky washes over the tainted windows along the city skyline. Office lights begin to dim, people are out on the streets in a whim. They swish through the pedestrian crossings, becoming entangled with families and tourists ending their day, young adults rushing in all black hospitality outfits to work the evening shifts, old couples hand in hand. Everybody lowers their umbrellas and shakes off the day. Slow walkers, people jogging to the train station.

A homeless man stubs his cigarettes and rests his head on a sign HOMELESS, PLEASE HELP ME. MY WIFE PASSED AWAY FROM CANCER. ITS JUST ME AND BILLY (billy is a dog). ANYTHING WILL HELP, PLEASE. He often resides either outside the Woolies metro, or outside town hall Myer. A few days ago I noticed some lady singing with a saxophone in his usual spot. I wondered that day where Billy and the homeless guy were. I was glad to see them today; they were okay.

It must be hard living out in the streets in the winter here, because as I said it gets really really fucking cold. I don’t normally take to seasonal depression as an appropriate reason to stay inside and be miserable. This is simply because, when I’m miserable, I like to distract myself and push it to my unconscious mind. Usually, I can keep it in, but often certain intricacies will start to dig away, and bring these thoughts to the surface. It’s usually stressful and unfamiliar situations, or things I can’t control, not going my way. All of a sudden those things I pushed away seem to all hit the brink, and I begin to lose my shit. It’s pretty bonkers, really. Yeah, yeah, I don’t like to blame it on my ‘adhd’ but anyone who has experienced this knows what I’m talking about. I think it stems from the inability to accept rejection. Like, I’m happy to not get a job, but when I think I’m going to get it, and I don’t, I really can’t help but take it personally. It’s not the fact that I didn’t actually get the job, it's just like, I gave you myself on a silver platter and told you everything you wanted to hear, and you still don’t want me. When will I be enough? Oh my god… I’m not enough. I actually suck at everything. La la la, then I tend to spiral downwards into all the things I pushed away and suddenly I’m at wits end and I’m standing here on a boat that I work on as a steward, offering canápes to middle aged men who really don’t want another sausage roll - because duh, they just want to get drunk. I’m quivering and upset and its fucking winter blues, and the last thing I want is for another person to say “no thankyou” to my fucking face. Working in hospitality is literally rejection therapy, fucking hell. I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last. I just take everything a little too personally.

I don't like to normally read novels set in Sydney. I find it quite corny. I'm not so sure why. Perhaps that's hypocritical, but it's okay, I'm self-aware.