Thoughts On Yesterday
I've been blessed as of late with a sense of accomplishment and fulfilment from the things I do and the people I am around. Since the new year, I've been involved with an organisation in Newcastle called Idea Bombing, and through meeting Stephanie and Emily, their partners, their families, their friends, and their creative community, I am learning a lot about myself, about Newcastle, and about what I and this community are capable of.
Just last night, we hosted an event called Idea Bombing: Print Media In A Digital World at The Press Book House on Hunter Street. I admittedly was having a rough day - was feeling a bit off, had left my house keys in a friend's car back at the University, had left important things at home and was a bit nervous about the event running smoothly. But when I saw the first bunch of people arrive, and all the help we had setting up, I felt at ease. Murrie made us espressos on the house, and with a kick in the butt from the caffeine hit, and a banoffee pie slice in one hand and my check-in list in the other, I began greeting people and seeing familiar faces.
The book house filled up quickly, the musician played beautifully, and everything kinda just worked. Everyone stood or sat, intently listening. I watched from the back, taking photos, doing a little bit of social media updating (doing my job), and watching the reactions of people in the audience. We had done alright - people were interested. People were impressed, inspired, bombed ideas and posed questions. It was an honest and humble little event that went without one hiccup.
And at the end, I stayed back to chat, to mingle, to tidy. A friend arrived and we rode off to the cinemas down the road for a French Film night. Samba, starring Charlotte Gainsbourg and Omar Sy, was a heart-stirrer. It featured my neighbourhood, it featured the account of countless illegal immigrants living in the city, trying to go unnoticed, surviving off illegal means and not knowing whether they'd have money to feed themselves let alone family back in their home countries. It was realistically portrayed, and honest, and poetic.
A ride in the rain along Honeysuckle all the way to Islington through Maryville and Wickham left us a little bit wet and with the biggest, freest grins on our faces. I rode with a container of Banoffee pie in my mouth, it occasionally falling out and into my lap before I switched to one-handed steering. Gliding along the mis-matched concrete slabs of the pathway, I felt so liberated. The wind lashed against my cool cheeks and my hair restricted my sight. But seeing wasn't important (though the thousands of fishermen along the high tides of the river with their led light lures dazzling my dazed eyes and the city's image clearer in the water than straight ahead through the rain was beautiful). It was the feeling that all this gave me. I was taken back to nights along Settlement Point Road in my hometown, a takeaway pizza, a bottle of pepsi and my mum and brother by my side. We'd catch fish too small to keep. We'd kiss them and throw them back into the river. We gave them the chance to fly.
My arms outstretched for tiny moments whilst my riding partner edges on ahead, they cannot see this liberation I am having, this moment of soaring in darkness. Comforting darkness. The dazzling lights are like glow bugs and they're dancing now behind me as we near a roundabout. I have to change gears. The banoffee pie is in the wrong hand, and my legs are pedalling faster than I can go.
But when we do get to our destination - friends are waiting, and smiling, I share a beer because we can't afford one each. I saddle up beside two people that make me happy. And I am realising that I am so wonderfully surrounded by people that make me happy.
Those words though "make me happy" - I have learnt that they're never the true reflection of the sentiment. No one "makes" us happy, but they instead allow us to be comfortable in happiness. As soon as an outsider's force is attached to your own feelings, you lose track of them. No one makes us feel anything. And that's what I'm starting to realise in multitudes of late. And it's a wonderful thing.
