Sydney, Australia – September 1995
The sun levitates and a new day is illuminated. The music of last night has settled itself into the infinite space between my atoms. A subtle, yet perpetual resonance. Sometimes the air still shimmers/ripples and that lovely buoyancy returns. Soon I will be reassembled, so I luxuriate in this magic as it ebbs away.
My friend Maya and I have just emerged from Papua New Guinea unscathed, fulfilling childhood aspirations. We are in Sydney to celebrate. Our Aussie friend, Alison, is our guide and procurer of magic potions. We danced all night with strangers who became friends. It doesn’t matter if we’ll never see them again. We will remember.
A question arises – what do I do now? But it inspires an innocent hope and not the usual anxiety. I can do whatever I want to do. The stones that have been weighing me down have been cast overboard.
We link arms and skip in unison into the dawn.
January 1, 2000
Last night, my husband and I welcomed the year of zeros with one million revelers by the Opera House. I was a little uneasy about being packed in with so many inebriated souls on such a momentous night, but all of the mayhem was good-natured. Men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns strolled haughtily amongst the commoners, oblivious to sidewalks that had become rivers of urine. The city hadn’t thought of toilet facilities, so women were obliged to drop their pants and squat in the open. I was glad that I had decided to stay sober. The fireworks over the Harbour Bridge ended with a word: Eternity.
My friend, Grant, has lent us his room in the Newtown district while he’s out celebrating in the outback somewhere. I met Grant on my enchanting visit to Sydney in 1995. I have since lost touch with Alison and Maya.
My husband and I are fed up with watching the world ring in the year 2000 on television, so we decide to venture out. King Street, the main drag in Newtown, is deserted. Everyone is at home nursing historic hangovers.
At a crosswalk, my eyes come to rest on graffiti – Don’t Forget to Remember Yr Dreams. I stop in my tracks. The world seems to tilt slightly. Dreams. Those nocturnal messages from our subconscious that dissipate when we awaken. Yes. One can learn a lot from dreams. Wait. No, silly. It means that we shouldn’t forget to remember what we want to be. Or does it? Why am I so perplexed about a simple statement? Why do I feel like it was written for me?
My husband’s voice breaks through the fog. “You should take a photo.” He places the camera gently in my hands.
