THE JOURNEY - MT. BULLER WINTER TRIP
Melbourne Travel Blog› entry 2 of 3 › view all entries
I opened my eyes and I could not believe it was no longer a familiar place. It was hours away from the northern suburbs where I used to untidy heap of flower blossoms and kilometres away from the growling catacomb of the neighbours’ dogs. I kept gazing out of the window. The view was spectacular–
When my head touched upon the glass window of the bus, it started to raise emotions. I could see the mist of the chilly sunrise and I thought the temperature was degrees below zero. To my left, I saw herds of cows of identifiable colours and sheep in homogenous white uniforms. Then kangaroos appeared from the breadth of the land– to verify the status that they own the bushland. From a distance I could see lines of Eucalyptus trees and I kept on thinking why a single root of the tropical coconut tree was so petrified to surface and emerge in this part of the region and the koalas, why the koalas never stole a glance to the fleeing trespassers?
But the scene was really magnificent, all was peaceful. I would like to equate it to the rural areas back in my homeland but in the end I decided not to compare because of its individual distinctiveness. Sure enough, it had a calming effect. I wanted to freeze the moment and clipped it on inside my backpack. I wanted the trip to take a halt so that I could embrace the morning but I was afraid I would spoil the situation and ruin the scheduled fun.
I knew I saw it somewhere, yeah I saw it in my dreams and I could not remember it. It might be a couple of years ago, years older than the time when I almost gave up everything because of love.
The magic of the mountain rose before my eyes, dancing against the cloudy sky. It shimmered like crystals but in solidified motions.
“It is time.” Someone was touching my shoulder. Then I got-off the bus and now snowflakes would flood the entire walk path. Gee, it was Christmas in August and where was Santa Claus?
I could confirm finally that I am in a foreign country.
While I laid my body on the carpet of snow and waited for the time to freeze, my eyes locked toward heaven, then I wished for a life as immaculate as the snow and as modest as the sky. Suddenly, I was disturbed by the laughter of children which echoed from all corners of the place. I closed my eyes and events of childhood flashed before me – no pain, no grief and no sadness but all are memories of happy innocent years two decades ago.
Out of the blue, I craved to see the colours of my motherland, the noise which pollutes the urban, the smell of the busy streets, the touch of grumpy roads and the smile of the people who give inspirations to those who seek purpose in life. Ah, it was all about nostalgia.
Even a place as lovely as the snow could not succeed in replacing what truly lies beneath my black retreating hair, my perfectly sunbaked skin and my moody set of brown eyes. “I am Asian and very proud of it”.
“Alquin.” Someone was calling my
name and the image broke into ripples and shards, dancing away from me. “Here,”
I had to speak loudly for my voice to carry over the murmur of the wind in the
rushes. I stuck one finger in, and found it really chilly. The snows on
That journey was not just an ordinary trip to the mountain resort; it was a journey which changed my life forever.