At 17, I moved across the country to Melbourne \u2013 a city where I knew no one. It was everything I had begged for and dreamed of: an escape from Perth, a place I\u2019d long associated with stillness, silence, and the slow erosion of ambition.<\/p>\n
Growing up in what\u2019s often called the most isolated city in the world, I was desperate to leave. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted independence. Mostly, I wanted to get away from the nothingness Perth represented to me.<\/p>\n
In my final year of high school, I applied to a slew of universities, going through the motions more than anything. I didn\u2019t expect to get in, least of all to the one Melbourne university I\u2019d applied to. When I finally opened the email, I had one week to accept the offer, and another to pack up my life. I remember feeling like it was the beginning of everything.<\/p>\n
“Growing up in what\u2019s often called the most isolated city in the world, I was desperate to leave. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted independence.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
By that point, there were maybe three rentals in all of Melbourne that were still available and didn\u2019t involve a gruelling daily commute to campus \u2013 and only one was willing to lease to someone underage. So, I ended up in a shoebox apartment in Prahran so small I could stand in the \u2018hallway\u2019 touching both the kitchen tiles and the bathroom door at once. There was just enough room for a single bed and a study desk \u2013 the chair, when pulled out, blocked the hallway. And at the very end was a sliding glass door that opened onto a small, shared balcony.<\/p>\n
It was perfect. It was a brand-new start, on my terms. But the fantasy quickly dissolved.<\/p>\n
Independence felt less like freedom and more like survival. I was juggling full-time uni, customer service shifts, and the emotional toll of navigating a new city, utterly alone. I had no friends. No support network. No one who really knew me. My mental health deteriorated, and I didn\u2019t want to ask for help. I was scared people would think I wasn\u2019t coping. I didn\u2019t want my fears \u2013 that I\u2019d made the wrong decision \u2013 echoed back to me.<\/p>\n
Years later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon, I found myself back in that suburb. The purple glass-stained balcony still stood, 15 kilometres from where I now live with my partner. I looked up at it and thought: I can\u2019t believe I made it through. What helped me survive that year wasn\u2019t therapy or even community \u2013 those came later. It was something much simpler: becoming a tourist in my city.<\/p>\n
“Independence felt less like freedom and more like survival.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n