When I lived in Melbourne, I caught trains to random suburbs – my notion of exploring and making the town known to me. When summer came round, the sleeping Qlder brain cells starting looking for frangipanis, poncianas and mango trees. I could never quite understand why Melbourne summer felt wrong until I stumbled across a sad frangipani in some suburban yard in Epping. Its bare winter branches were struggling to come alive in the drier Melbourne heat. Some brave flowers had burst, to pave the way for its less sure siblings.
I felt like the Epping frangipani in Melbourne. Putting on an intrepid persona when really I was a supressed and more fearful version of myself. It was time to come home.