People-watching and nostalgia

Highlight: 95% on my linguistics assignment. Could have been more if it weren't for silly mistakes. Strangely enough, I realised one of those mistakes in my dream the other night. I was in class and my tutor had written the same answer as me, but then my best friend suddenly appeared in the class and pointed out that it was wrong. Upon waking, I realised she was right.  


Lowlight: Argument with another religious zealot who thinks people who say there is no evidence for a god don't actually know the meaning of 'evidence'. Wow, so what the hell was that stuff I valued so highly throughout my four-year psychology degree then? Also, people find my atheism very difficult to take seriously because I'm young; it's as though I'll one day grow up and realise how silly I was. Incredibly frustrating.


I really love Bibra Lake. The actual lake and its surrounding reserve, that is, not the suburb in general. When I was at Murdoch, I had a lot of free time. Between classes when all of my friends were busy, or after classes at the end of the day, or (on very rare occasions) when I didn't feel like going to class at all I would just drive around the corner and spend some time here. These days, at UWA, there's a lot less spare time. But when I'm bored, or just want to get away from it all, I'll still head on down. Sometimes I write, sometimes I read, sometimes I sketch, and other times I just sit there with some calming music playing and take in everything that's happening around me. It helps to put life into perspective and there's so much to learn just through observing.

There are always people exercising. The fitness freaks: beautiful slender people racing past on their second or third lap of the lake. The social walkers: mothers chatting merrily as they push their prams, or pairs of young women laughing about last Saturday's cocktail party as they powerwalk past. Those just getting back into fitness: aging men with beer guts, sweat-soaked shirts, and those tiny flap-shorts that show far more thigh than anyone is comfortable seeing. They've probably just been told by their doctors that their blood pressure is dangerously high and that they'll be looking at serious cardiac disease if they don't get active. All the more power to them, I suppose. 

And then there are the dog walkers. Well, one in particular. No matter what day or time I go, there is always a middle-aged woman wandering around with her beagle. I don't know if I have good timing or if she just has no life and spends all day here, but she's there every time without fail. It's weird how people you've never actually met can become familiar, isn't it? If I suddenly stopped seeing her, I'd probably worry. What if she were injured? What if her dog died? What if she died? It's not the nicest thing to think about. 

Of course, then there are those who come for recreation, not fitness. There are the picnic-goers; the happy families gathered around the wooden tables, running across the grass playing games that even they aren't sure the rules of, climbing across the playground, throwing bread to the ducks, cooking meat on the barbeque. Then there is the man who sits in his car making a business call, the woman wrapped up in a Tolstoy classic, and the truckie relaxing in the cab of his truck with some fast food and his music cranked. Again. One day he'll probably be the sweaty, overweight man struggling to run laps for his health.

What's even better is that this place knows no race. A tiny Asian girl laughs and screams as her mother pushes her higher and higher on the swing. An Indian couple stand on the pier and admire the lake as the setting sun casts colourful light patterns across its surface. Two white women - a blonde and a brunette - stroll past laughing. An African man reaches his car and stretches after a run. It's like a more peaceful microcosm of the wider world. This place attracts all sorts for all reasons, so is it any surprise I love it here so much?

People-watching aside, this place also bring back so many memories. When I was a kid, I would come here with my family on weekends to feed the ducks. Sometimes we would bring food and have a picnic, and I could climb up the huge pile of rocks (they've removed them now, probably consider them 'too dangerous', which is so very reflective of today's society). I remember that the swans were enormous and angry and would chase me around, biting me on the ass until I hastily shoved whole slices of bread into their waiting beaks. Dad would impress us by frisbeeing bread as far as he could into the lake, and our attempts to emulate him would result in moudly piles of bread floating just metres from the shore. Then we'd spend what felt like hours on the swings. It was probably mere minutes, but time goes by so slowly when you're young. Sometimes we'd take photos too. There are some awful photos stashed away somewhere of me in a disgusting blue tracksuit and my mum wearing those funny clip-on sunglasses over her regular glasses.

But all of that is in the past and things have changed so much here now. There don't seem to be as many swans here these days. Isn't that strange? They've added new shelters, upgraded the playground, and changed the path slightly. It looks a lot more ... modern. At the same time, I'm nothing like the person I used to be. I'm a more modern me. So I suppose I could say I've grown up with this place. It probably sounds weird and cheesy, but that's really how it feels.

Good old Bibra Lake. It will probably always be my comfort place.