Reading the paper every morning was a task I took pleasure in. Not online though, the original paper that you can feel in your hands. A newspaper connects you to the world around you, it tells you the issues if the day, good news stories and bad, tragedies, hell it even tells you the bloody stocks. Reading a newspaper starts the day off with a greater understanding of the city you like in, as there’s not much a newspaper can’t tell you.
Every morning started out the same for me, a perfected routine. I woke up, got dressed, in a few seconds I was out on the yard to pick up my paper that the boy’s carelessly throw each morning. That morning it was in the dead bush. I sat down that day and took my time with it. I read the various headlines that day: “Lost boy found in tree”, “Russian ties to Prime Minister??”, and “Criminal on bail re-offends again”. The headlines change every day, that’s the real beauty of them.
I was the eldest of two. My parents passed away years and years ago, it seems I’m getting quite old. Recently we didn’t talk as much as we used to. This was my own fault as well as my brother John was busy with a family of his own. A blessing I never deserved. But despite everything though, the bond we share in unbreakable.
Or so I thought. That day I was talking to the people living it tough on Flinders St, I understood where they were coming from. The homeless are human beings, yet they are looked upon by many as vermin and criminals. In my life I have experienced those feelings, seen the harm they cause, I empathised with these people. That day, I felt the city around me, saw its elegance in its beauty and its ugly. I had to avoid bumping into people who were too focused into their mobile phones to care about the real world in front of them. Those people, not recognising the beauty of life, taking what we have for granted. For a great city I felt so alone. It was at that moment when life kicked me in the guts, Margret called me saying my brother was in hospital on critical alert.