Fireworks Storm

I was in front of my laptop at about 8.45pm on New Year’s Eve when I heard my name being yelled from outside my window. Sliding it open, I discovered Ivan literally right in between the birth of a storm, him breathlessly talking about a beautiful sight of a low-hanging moon.

“This is crazy,” I thought to myself, as I put on my three-quarter pants and rushed out with my camera and my keys jingling in my pocket. It was ghastly dark outside, with the wind slowly gathering strength and pace—a stark contrast to the blisteringly sunny and dry afternoon of about 35-37C that I partially doubted the news report earlier that Melbourne was predicted to be hit with a thunderstorm between 9pm and 1am, and as a result, the New Year’s Eve fireworks might be cancelled. I was afraid—there were brief flashes of lightning and the rain was pelting onto us as if the gods were casting eggs towards our direction, but having just read Joey’s rather inspirational post right before Ivan called me out, I’m struck with a brief moment of madness.

We walked towards the direction of the Queen Victoria Market—with me crouching occasionally when passing by trees for fear of being struck by lightning, as if that would help any—and then I saw it: a moon hanging the lowest possible I’ve ever seen in my time in Melbourne so far, radiating in its cool white gleam amidst the storm brewing above us, heading towards its direction.

I wasn’t able to capture it properly, sadly, as I only had my wide-angle lens with me and it wasn’t sufficient at all to snap it.

But it mesmerised me: there is a sense of exhilaration—perhaps the moon does drive men to madness—and then when Adi turned up with Ivan’s six-pack of beer in his bag, we all laughed and turned towards our place, the rain now at its utmost strength.

Enjoying a bottle of Carlton Draught.

There were some fireworks coming from the direction of Docklands; and this is again like the first of many things that never ceased to grip me with child-like amusement, but fireworks proceedings were supposedly going on at 9pm-ish at both Docklands and Yarra Park especially for families, so that the kids could enjoy the fireworks too before their bedtime.

I returned to my own room when the fireworks ended, then at about 11.30pm, I went over to Kelvin’s room, and there were Kelvin’s two friends and Ivan.

With midnight closely approaching and the rain was still pounding the earth, I had doubted there were going to be any fireworks, but—

I was wrong. We heard the all-too-familiar blasts and then streaks of light in red and green and blue illuminated the sky right from where we were standing at the courtyard. And with the rain and only a Gorillapod, it was tough to actually adjust the camera angle and I was left capturing pics I’m not too proud of.

I love the sight of golden-like showers.

And another.

A look of where we were standing at to watch the fireworks—this particular fireworks were supposedly Melbourne’s largest and most expensive to date, with 14 different rooftop locations they were firing from, so that anyone in the city would be able to see it, no matter where they are, and anyone within a 10km radius would be able to hear it.

And so, we ushered in 2010, slightly drenched with the rain. It was also probably my first ever New Year celebrated with a brewing storm.

And I went to Ivan’s room where he excitedly deliver a lecture about photography, about him wanting to own a Nikon, and showed me pictures that he loved. When Kelvin and co, together with Ivan, wanted to go out to yumcha, I decided to retire to my room.

At 3am when the rain had long stopped and it was dead and quiet outside, I had a sudden stroke of inspiration and went outside in search of that beautiful, elusive moon. I didn’t manage to find that moon, but I did see from afar two men swaying drunkenly coming from the opposite direction from King St. I was briefly cautious, then on closer look, the pair—a fat and a medium-built Caucasian—were decked in nothing but their boxers.

“Happy New Year!” I find myself suddenly blurted out to them, without batting an eye, and I had cheerful (drunken) replies of, “You too mate!” and “Happy New Year!” too in return.

Melbourne has never ceased to amuse me.

I found myself awaking at sometime past 10.30am on the first day of 2010, and saw Esther’s SMS that she was coming to the city and will be heading towards St Kilda Beach. For some reason I didn’t rush to get ready, but took my time to fix and eat my brekkie before catching a tram from Howard St towards Elizabeth St / Bourke St, and then another tram towards Swanston St. I didn’t expect her uncle and her aunt to be there, but we were then off towards St Kilda, the touristy backpacker’s town. And this graffiti, depicted in the picture above, is one of many that graced the alleys of Melbourne and its suburbs.

A cloudy St Kilda. It was funny how it was sunny, hot, and dry yesterday, but it was already cool and windy today.

Holy Sheet!

A 96 tram to St Kilda Beach at Luna Park.

Rollercoasters and other fun rides can be found.

The entrance of Luna Park.

St Kilda Beach.

Walking towards the pier.

Looking at some jellyfish, some of them beached.

And me.

Gloomy sky and city.

Esther’s uncle and aunt had walked ahead of us, leaving the two of us behind, with silence rising between us. “I can’t believe it’s 2010 already,” I told her after a while, when this realisation penetrated me. I felt like a walking frame, carrying a void that became my soul. The strong sea breeze of the wind sheathed us in 20C or less, with Esther shivering at every step, but it didn’t feel real; having my best friend meeting me thousands of kilometres away from Malaysia till all the way in Melbourne didn’t feel real at all one bit, and I had almost at one point, wanted to say to her, “This doesn’t seem real at all.”

Perhaps in my own way, I’m dealing with my leaving here and grasping denial. And soon she’ll be returning back to Malaysia, and me, 3 days after her.

“Do you think we’ll be back again here, 20 years from now?” Esther had asked as we looked towards the sea. The birds were struggling against the ferocious wind but their attempts failed as they fell and floated back onto the sea.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we will.. but I don’t know.”

And I really don’t.

On the way back to the city in the 96 tram decked in a bumblebee outer decor.

We bought some groceries at Woolworths QV to be brought to our Great Ocean Road trip later (I was amused to hear Esther’s uncle saying that he has never used the self-checkout machines, despite being here for more than 20 years), I was then approached by one of them missionaries who wanted to talk to me but I didn’t have the time to do so as I had to catch the City Circle tram (the white dude was speaking completely in Mandarin to me wtf, although his pronunciations were off, his vocab was better than mine—that judgement was made based solely on the fact that he said something like “xu/ju xiang xue xi and I had no idea what he was trying to ask), and then dragged our load of groceries home.

---

The Great Ocean Road roadtrip of (hopefully) epic proportions awaits in 7 hours. One guy, two girls, and an aunt.