It's the people. The genuine sincerity. The fact that you've been smiling since the minute you jump in the car at the airport down to the last ride back to catch your flight home. The inspiring hosts. The people and their dreams. The strangers you meet and laugh with in the train. The random friends who click right away. It's the four-seasons-in-a-day weather. It's the delicacies, the incomparable desserts and coffee. It's the Black Keys who was freaking amazing right up on the hill. It's the Spanish Doughnuts. It's the six-dollar lunch and dinner. It's the Korean restaurant tucked inside the alley that makes you lick your lips and your stomach grumble just thinking about their chicken steak and honeyed chicken.
It's the routine simplicity. It's the easiness--the laid-back happiness. The feeling of not having any burden, the urge to throw your head back and laugh openly. It's the exploring, miles and miles of beautiful scenery, beautiful people, the feeling that you may just belong. That you may just found your key to simple happiness. It's the Paper Kites. The hushed silence during Bloom. It's the farmers' market, the endless rows of green goods and delicatessen to spoil your tastebuds. The endless opportunities for your alone time in the kitchen. It's the hospitality. The surprising friendliness. The Yarra River, where time seems to stop. It's the Boatbuilders Yard. The sunset and the countless adorable dogs passing by. It's the vintage bookstores. The all-under-five-dollars book sales. It's Lord of the Fries at midnight. The cookware shop that makes you resist letting out gasps as your eyes fall on all these equipment and ingredients you thought only existed in TVs, causing you to actually bit your lip and put your hands behind your back to resist buying all of them.
It's Sunshine Rd. Even the taxi drivers who ripped you off. It's Craigieburn and its inside jokes. It's Prahran Market and the rows of beautiful homemade bread. It's the gelato in Lygon Street, the way everyone dressed up for that particular day. It's the five-dollar pizza near Corner Hotel at 1 a.m. It's the underground lounge and its own randomness. It's the "Buavita". It's the alleyways, promising an endless row of cafes, bookstores, shops, causing you to resist sitting down at one of the chairs and pull out your notebook. It's the vast, lush city parks and gardens that make you smile just imagining how deliriously happy they make people feel just by lazying around in it.
It's the dinner in the park. It's the conversations as the cold started to sting your fingertips. The long walk just to eat ice cream on the bench. The strange sensation of opening up. It's the Burch & Purchese Sweet Studio. The freaking William Angliss Institute. It's dipping your feet into the green grass you've been dreaming for years; a step closer to your goal. The things you learn from your old and new friends. It's about learning about people who love what they're doing in life; who thank Melbourne for changing the way they live. The city who shapes them into a much better person, providing them with doors and doors of opportunities to achieve their goals. It's the laughter in people's eyes. It's the ultimate comfort, the warmth, the mystery, the unspoken affection all rolled into one.
It's the urge to step back and see things in a bigger view. It's the slap in the face to awaken you, make you realize what (and who) are important and what are not. It's the confirmation that everything is indeed possible if you stop sitting around and start to do something about it. The confirmation that you should indeed ignore the haters, the ones who think you'll never make it out there, and start following your conscience--a reminder that you do have one.
It's Flinders St. It's the vintage clothing store in the alley. The rooftop beer garden, the city lights . The feeling so calm you can hear your own heartbeat. It's the constant happiness in your chest for eight days in a row.
It was the best trip of my life.
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