21:43.

It’s finally night out and me, partly driven by the warmth in the house, have taken to sitting on the metal balcony door with my laptop. The traffic lights at the junction just left to this little would-be horizontal skylight are making their usual clicks, switching to a 16-beat click when the green man comes on.

From here, I people watch, star watch and car watch. This is a vantage point for watching cars make illegal turns, I think. Even a non-driver like myself knows how some maneuvers cannot possibly be legal.

Makes me wish I can drive and drove here.

It is not true that you cannot see stars in the night skies while within the city. It is true that they can be observed in much larger numbers outside, yes, but they are not devoid from here either.

From where I sit, there are 10 of them. One of me.

Whenever I look up into the Melbourne skies and see more than a couple of stars, I am reminded of the two camps I attended last year. Easter Camp, and July Camp and I’ve ascertained that it is true that every time I remember the camps – the latter especially – I feel a nostalgic, thankful and wistful at the same time.

Wistful – I haven’t used this word for so long. Where did you go, bud? You perfectly sum up a familiar feeling in my heart and tummy these days.

I can hear every conversation every person walking on the street below have as they walk on by. And I hope I am not going to attract any moths sitting here in the dark with my laptop screen like some flaming signal to them.

Click, click, click, click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick.

Many times, Lord, I have stood or sat on this balcony and talked to you. I have been here with tears in my eyes, thankful that I am far enough from any observer for them to notice a strange little girl, crying alone on a tiny balcony. At this spot where I am now parked, Lord, I have prayed for this city you placed me in and which You chose to give my heart to.

For everything, there is a season. Lord, I am still in suspension.

Somewhere deep inside where Your reassurance have made strong, I am still even as my heart is wringed.

I wonder if I will always be filling myself up with pictures and memories. I pray and hope I will never forget. Not just the things that shouldn’t be forgotten, or which the heart says I can never forget but keep too, Lord help me, the colours and hues, the details that make a place alive and the soul sing in response and in passing, remembrance.

You said I am no longer in the Valley of Baca.

You said that I am called to greatness and I will go from glory to glory.

And You know what? I mean, You do since You know all things but hear me, Dad.

I believe.

Whatever comes, I believe.