Last week I saw Biffy Clyro over at The Roundhouse. It’s an awkward space to have a venue, as most people taking public transport will have to dogleg via Central, and it adds a surprising amount of time to the commute. Other, more direct ways that don’t start nearby also can take a while due to a windy route, which is fine as it helps keep areas serviced with convenient commute options, but it’s not so convenient when you need to get home at night. But that’s not what this bit of writing is about, and it’s not even so much about Biffy Clyro either, who were pretty good. Go see them if you can. Solid performance, just tight as, smashing songs out, good live sound. That’s the end of anything review-wise here.

I got to The Roundhouse a fair bit early, so I spent a bit of time editing before deciding to go for a wander. I wandered around the UNSW grounds, just to stretch my legs a bit, try and get some exercise in. I’ve been pretty slack recently, so trying to get back into the swing of things.

So I walked around the grounds of UNSW and it made me think about my time there. I walked past buildings familiar, and some pathways new to me, and I thought about what has changed and what hasn’t, and if that makes me feel like an outsider or not… you know, the fun stuff.

Back in 2014, when I started writing more frequently than the prior years, there was a café partially tucked into a corner of the outside of a building. I’d been recently dumped (which is what motivated me to write more again), and almost every day I was on campus, I’d go there and get a bagel with cream cheese. It was a certain routine I enjoyed, and the small meal was always prepared well. It was consistently good, and that’s something I very much liked. It helped me through a rough time, and I wrote about it in a semi-fictitious way here. That café closed down and disappeared whilst I was still studying, and it sucked. Probably didn’t take long to pack up as it was a small setup. It was a nice thing to have though. Just sort of cosy and pleasant.

Probably goes without saying that that café hasn’t returned, and the space it was in is still empty, and probably will remain empty. The memory lingered, however, and a sense of loss came across.

I walked across a particular area and wondered if I was a ghost of sorts. I wondered if I was actually there or not. It was a strange feeling. It also wasn’t helped by soon coming across another building; a small one (relatively) that used to be a sort of pub / food place. I think they also did coffee, but I can’t remember. But it was closed, the outside space it took up when operating now freed, with just the building itself standing there, lights off, old, and empty of life.

I walked back to the venue to wait in line, and thankfully it was not a long wait.

I think it’s kind of funny in terms of coincidence that I was in the same area I was when my writing frequency increased. I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, but now I am, and I guess it’s because of how close to the end of this blog I am. Nice timing and all that.

Back around 2014, I have some good memories, but now it just makes me hurt in a way, and I think it’s because I wasn’t hurting as much then as I am now. I think I’m much more aware of the time that I have, too, and sometimes I wish I wasn’t. Sometimes I wish I could be a bit more free and uncaring, but I cared then, too. I was worried about things. Now those things are lingering.

Life has changed. I’ve changed. I don’t know if I’ve grown, but I’m more thoughtful, I hope. I’m thinking about things in a different way. I’m less willing to just say whatever, and I think that at least that much is good. It’s an improvement. I’m still here, floating though. Trying to find some stability, some grounding, and get through life without too much hassle, and things have gotten better since last year, but I’m still grieving, and it sucks. It hurts so much sometimes, but I keep going.

I think about what was, and I have to wonder if I’m just unwilling to let go of the past in some ways. I don’t like holding onto the past as it is, but maybe I really do struggle with the idea of letting go, of letting myself be free and moving on. Maybe I am stuck in the past.

I don’t want to return to those years, but I keep carrying the memory of them close. Those years of hurt, of studying, of finding love again and hurting once more. It takes a while, of course. Nothing happens overnight, but some things hurt more than others and you start to wish you’d be free of the hurt.

But then I think about longing for a café that once was, or design and structure and whatever else. Things change. I’m older. Places are bound to disappear, but some of them make a really strong impression. Some are found at the right time, and they stick with you. They stick with you and you yearn for their return, even though you know they won’t.

These are things of a life in the past, and they hang around, and there’s something I can draw from that. I can cherish those times, but I don’t have to let them bind me. There’s nothing wrong with walking forward into a new day, and there’s nothing wrong with moving on and finding other places. It’s better than refusing to move on.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 18:26:62

Much slower than I hoped, but sometimes that’s the way it goes.

I wrote this yesterday and was hoping to get a good few up, but I was so wrecked. Nights of not enough sleep.

Written at work.