Ode to Sydney
When people ask if I moved to Australia because I fell in love, I cringe at their assumption that I would only move across the world for another person. But they’re right, I am in love.
At first, I was uncomfortable, excited by the unknown, annoyed by how she affected me. It took me a while to understand that what I was feeling was love. I started dreaming like a teenager again, waking up aroused, yearning for her to lick the sweat off my body.
I was madly in love with a captivating muse. On sunlit days, I could lose myself in her laneways, explore her depths, and dream of everything we could be together. Our time would slip away on weekends at the markets, purchasing flowers, tasting jams, enjoying ice cream, sharing smiles, laughter, and sunsets. So blissful. I’d never heard of Sunday blues till I met her.
As with any love, there would be grey days. I looked for flaws, scrutinized her, and felt vexed that such beauty could be so exasperating. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t her fault, but it was easier to cast blame on her for my own shortcomings.
Although I knew it wasn’t fair to her, I projected my own shadows onto her and blamed her for kicking me when I was down. I visualized lying on the ground with her bent over me, kicking and screaming, even though I knew it was my own doing.
Sometimes I’d leave in a rage. “I’ll never come back,” I’d say. “You’re not good to me. You’re holding me back.” But as soon as I’d been away for a while, I’d miss her. I’d miss how she had helped me grow, miss all the adventures, miss her embrace. Of course, I’d never leave.
It’s perplexing how something could be both shallow and profound at the same time. A platonic friendship, purely spiritual, free from desire. I don’t admire many people the way I admire her. The truth is, it’s a love so deep it pierces my soul.
I am in love, how can I not be? She has lifted me, changed me, and helped me become who I was always meant to be. I had found myself in her. She showed me how to despise myself less and love myself more.
She saw me in a different light. She allowed me to feel powerful and brilliant. She enlightened me to see within myself the glory I saw in others. As I had liberated others, she liberated me.
Though she ruthlessly tears at me, I am in love with her, with who I’ve become, with who I am. She inspires me in the subtle art of loving myself.
Thank you, Sydney.
Sophia Demetriades Toftdahl 