Aida Zabidi
A friend of mine recently moved to Melbourne to continue her postgraduate studies, and talking to her brings back a flood of Melbourne memories. The memory of a fresh start every year, in crisp sunny, blue skied Melbourne. 

If I close my eyes, I can almost relive the memories. 

The first day back after my long summer holidays, dragging the heavy luggage bag to my new accommodation. The weather every time I came back was always perfect, always beautiful and sunny. For some reason I moved almost every year I was there, and it seemed that every move I had more things, more luggage and a new outlook. 

Those years seemed very fluid, with the opportunity to start afresh with every new move, and every year was like a different era. 

I remember my first visit as a fresh faced first year, with the excitement of experiencing a new country. How I thought living in the run down hostel was the best thing in the world, and that being able to actually walk to university was nothing short of amazing, considering how life in Malaysia was a struggle without a car. 

Another year with the excitement of meeting a new flame after a summer of longing, where an unlikely relationship blossomed over the summer we were apart, instead of causing us to drift apart, and I remember how much I looked forward to seeing that smile the day I was back. 

I remember another year when I was a senior welcoming the new students to be, and looking forward to showing them the Melbourne I loved. I remember vividly the pleasure I took taking them through the city, and the university campus, and the cafes and restaurants and winding alleys, hoping they would fall in love with the city the way I had. 

There will always be a part of my heart there I think. 

Ir is a hard city to leave behind. 

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