Connections: Sample Essay

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The Australian outback has a specific colour palette. Colours of the chalky sunset in our earth, of the silver-green eucalyptus, of the impossibly deep richness of our coasts. 

The Australian people have a specific manner of speech. Melbourne, my city, is a cacophony of accents. Little pockets of Chinese, Vietnamese, Indian, Greek, Italian and Malaysian diasporas. At least, those are the only ones I remember. 

It’s been a while, since I’ve last gone back. My time has been spent elsewhere, anywhere else. Drifting, floating. Leaving pieces of me, scattered around the globe going wherever the wind beckons my soul. Collecting from others, their kindness, their care, their knowledge, their generosity.

And their colours. 

The deep greens of Vietnam, untouched mountains of forest that that breathe themselves into you. The electric blues of Kazakhstan, lakes so crystalline they must be impossible. The pure whiteness of Finland, blanketed in winter.

The brightness of laughter, the dullness of despair, the metallic rust of violence. The warmth of a smile, the coldness of disappointment, the frenzy of emotions that follow wherever humanity has touched the earth. 

It’s the rays of sun painting maroon highlights into the black hair of a Chinese girl I met hiking, on a trail blissfully devoid of cellular service. How the afternoon rays illuminated her in a gentle glow. How we shared trail snacks, with my handful of pistachios, almonds, and banana chips being exchanged with her dried jerky and squid. How she spoke of fate’s impossibilities, and the gift we received in meeting.

It’s the watery blue eyes of a blind woman I sat adjacent from in a Spanish coffee store, who recommended me an order of French hot chocolate with a shot of espresso. How she shared her recommendations of local restaurants, explaining why I’d like each one. How her manner of conversation reflected a beauty reserved only for the blind. How she seemed to look directly at me and spoke to my soul.

It's the pink nailbeds of the priest who held my hand, as I asked to confess my sins within his church. How his observation was free of judgement, and gentle advice was soft yet practical. How he opened his generosity and grace to a lost soul, acceptance of a non-believer. How he spoke of love and belonging, allowing guidance from beyond the individual.

It’s the red smile of lipstick, it’s the colour of skin, it’s the silveriness of scars, it’s the excitement of looking into someone’s eyes. 

Once you see a colour, you can never unsee it. 

My life has been carved into my vision, my body, my soul. It’s inked itself across my skin, etched into my bones, beats with my heart. I’ve listened, to words, to music, to sound. 

I’ve travelled solo, yet I’ve never walked alone. The privilege of conversational teachers, of casual information. There’s never been one set person with me on my travels, but instead, many who guide me along my way. 

But now I am back. 

My eyes are closed. There’s the rushing roar of the beach. There’s the keening of gulls. There’s the swishing of my own hair as the wind threads itself through it.

There’s a saltiness in the air. There’s an earthiness. There’s a dryness against the spraying water droplets.  

I sit on the edge. Hands on the earth, feet on the strip of gritty sand that bridges the trees and the ocean. 

Down the Great Ocean Road, in an unnamed inlet close to Blanket Bay, is where I now am. An arc of beach, my solitary footsteps in the sand. Since leaving, I’ve always thought that nothing could ever compare to the Australian beach. And because I’ve always thought it, it has indeed been true. Nothing compares to memories overlaid with the sepia of nostalgia. 

But I’m here now. I sit on the edge. Hands on the earth, feet on the strip of gritty sand that bridges the trees and the ocean. 

And the earth is the same dusty brownness of the earth in Thailand. The beach grasses dry into the same faded greens as those I saw in South Africa. The sand, a creamy pureness that reminds me of the Philippine coastline. And the deep, sapphire blues that dig up memories from Greece. 

My eyes drink in the familiarity, and my mind flickers between everywhere else I now relate to.

I’ve left Australia for so long. But while there’s nothing that’s quite the same, perhaps it all is. 

Because this beach will always be here, a place for me to return to. But every time I come back, I’ll be a little more different. I’ll have seen more things, spoken to more people, learnt some more. And perhaps those I meet are also thinking of me, the Australian with a sparkling smile and a sincerity when laughing. And in the way I still think of them, perhaps they remember me too. And through me, maybe they too see the grains of sand at my feet, the breeze in my hair, the faraway roar of ocean waves. 

It’s all connected, after all.