My Island Home

Yesterday morning I felt compelled to write a blog post. But as I tried to come up with an angle for a story, scanned the week that was, and those that lay ahead, I deemed nothing noteworthy.

Yet I knew that if I just left my apartment, peeled myself of the couch and actively engaged in the world outside, I’d be bombarded with ideas and inspiration.

Not till 1.57pm did I emerge from my self-imposed cocoon and brave the afternoon. And as I put one foot in front on the other, traversing along the foot path with fellow members of the human race, the story I had wanted to write earlier that day appeared.

As I crossed Abercrombie street, and entering the Block, Redfern, music filled the air. I was drawn to it, and rather than heading straight down Eveliegh  Street, I crossed the road towards the community centre.

The sweet melody that filled the air was by Christine And ‘ My Island Home’ and I slowed down my walking pace, so that I could enjoy the entirety of the tune. The sun shone and I stood transfixed by the lyrics. They were not lost on me, nor the significance of the suburb in which I stood.

This is the type of story that does not have an ending, the narrative continues.

Though confroning, I’m thankful that I stepped outside yesterday and got to witness first hand community issues that are ever present. Stories are everywhere, you just have to step outside yourself to notice.



















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