Memories of Time

Samuel Burdeu

This is the happiest I have felt in a while. All the anxieties I’ve experienced seem suddenly put on hold as I wander around an art exhibition, spotting a beautifully painted lakehouse by an artist named Brian Nash. It made me stop and appreciate this beautiful trip I was on with the people I love the most, then it made me reflect, reflect on previous trips and how much I had overlooked them—the ups and downs, the beginnings and the ends.

The excitement of a child, their energy, their ambition, nothing beats those early years of waiting for an upcoming trip. A chance to see friends and family with those magical, rose-tinted glasses imprinted in our minds—anxieties muted; worries relaxed. These are the many places associated with family trips, how they have changed and evolved, and how modern-day anxieties and perspectives can alter the function of a memory.

Murray River Tocumal 

There's a certain level of unexpected comfort to camping. Bathing in the river isn’t something I’d ever expect to feel nostalgic about, but there’s a quiet that can be achieved by just existing—floating down, facing the sky, with the right people. What would usually be dismissed as gross and boring suddenly becomes peaceful. Sitting on the beach, I would uncover some of the weirdest and saddest discoveries, news was always delayed without immediate connection to the internet. It’s how I found out that Robin Williams passed away, or that a Sherlock TV show existed—both overheard from my mum reading a newspaper, an unheard of relic back in the Eastern Suburbs.

There was always a divide of communities—the kids vs adults. The adults would always be around, but the night was their time to shine. When the sun set I always wondered what they were up to. I imagined they were talking about us, but about what exactly? Did one of us get in trouble? Do they secretly hate us? All we could hear clearly was the choir of laughter coming from the fireplace, and by morning all you saw were the remnants of the beer cans that littered the ground. Maybe they had their own drama, but surely it couldn’t be as nail-biting as the ones we got into, where cheating at UNO or losing a drawing competition could end a friendship for an entire day. 

The modern-day perspective of an adult changes a lot about memory. Recently I sat down with my uncle, now old enough to acquire a beer in my hand, I learned that not all was well as I remembered. My uncle specifically did not like everyone at that camp, there was one boy in particular that really got on his nerves, a loud and rambunctious type, a complete personality clash. One Easter, this kid approached my uncle's caravan, loud as always my uncle exploded at him, downright chased him. To think UNO was the worst of the camp's problems. My uncle was someone I knew to be friendly and kind, so to hear of this little feud, regardless of how small and petty, was a shock. Even if I feel he deserved it, it made me wonder—did he ever feel this about me? 

That wasn’t even the worst of it. The final year of us going together had a night my parents referred to as ‘the night of fighting’, involving my extended family and friends. to this day I still don’t  know what those fights consisted of, and to be honest, I don’t want to. As a kid, I had a perception that grown-ups did not fight with each other, they’d only yell at kids on occasion. Now, I can’t help but wonder what other arguments could have occurred, other family dramas? And ultimately our camping trips would cease, but the memories still persist.

Blairgowrie 

As opposed to the dirty environments and lifestyle of weeklong river trips, Blairgowrie was a comfier experience—a beautiful beach house owned by my grandparents. It was considered an escape for me, to be an hour away from the anxieties of home, I loved being there with everyone, but sometimes I loved going up there with just my parents and simply being. We owned this property, it was a much more recurring holiday spot than most others.

The family aspect was huge for me, as I’m not only the oldest of two brothers, but also nine cousins, the majority of whom are on my dad’s side. I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my family, outside of the times we came up here, so I always cherished the time I was there with them—going to movies, the beach, or just simply hanging around the TV area was a simple joy in my life.

Unfortunately, as time passed, I started to get sick of the place. The once admired holiday house became a burden as we spent time there again and again. As my grandparents aged, they couldn’t afford to upkeep the home. And as all my younger cousins and I grew up, it simply wasn’t feasible for them to continue owning the beach house—so they sold it. Initially, I didn't mind the idea of no longer feeling obliged to go down there every time I had a moment off. I grew angry with myself for even thinking that the place I used to call home, where I grew up, is now gone forever. With Tocumal, there's always the prospect of coming back, but this house will always remain a memory, and my ignorance will always haunt me.

Halls Gap

Similar to Tocumal, Halls Gap is a grassy camping ground, but feels a lot less personal, with no private land, that's not to say it isn’t associated with amazing memories. I remember the kangaroos messing around in the pool, but my most distinct memory is of one of our family friends going missing. Everyone of us searched for him and panic quickly ensued, but it turned out he had simply fallen asleep in the communal lounge. The incident  became a recurring joke in our group, so much so that we created a song out of it.​​​​ One night, the song caught on to the entire camp—complete strangers we had never interacted with were now engaging with this goofy song we had created on GarageBand, a song composed entirely of an inside joke. My major complaint I always had about Halls Gap was having to share the space, as opposed to the private land we had up at Tocumwal; however, had it been private, there’s no way we could have had moments like this, strangers becoming friends, if only for a moment.

Not all times there were grand. The irony here is that despite being surrounded by people, this is where I felt most alone. Growing up, I always felt isolated from a lot of my friends and family due to my lack of interest in sports. The second that football entered the picture, I knew I would be spending my time wandering around the grounds, hands in my pocket, head towards the ground. Halls Gap wasn’t much different. I became best friends with the swing set, the one that faced the communal area. The cool rush of swinging up and down, thoughts all to myself, the anxieties telling me how much fun everyone else was having. I was alone and had to accept it. It wasn’t just the football; the loneliness slithered its way onto other activities. The first time I screamed at my friends was when I saw them hop on their bikes, they were leaving me!! I wasn’t important to them. the waits I said under my breath got louder and louder, they saw me. I knew it, but they kept on, so out came the scream. They froze, looked at me, I was so embarrassed but I thought it was best to carry on, so I picked up my bike, caught up and off we rode. That is the sort of tension that doesn’t leave you; when you yell like that at people you care about, even if I felt like I had to, it still feels awkward to think about to this day. I hate yelling; I don't even like talking. I don’t mind being by myself sometimes, but I hate being alone.

As history repeats itself, behind-the-scenes drama was afoot. It was just my dad, uncle and grandpa left, sitting dead in the night, past Antsy Caravan park curfew. The owner's wife approached to tell them it's time to put out the fire. My dad and my uncle agreed, but grandpa—not so much. He got up from his chair and he stands down the husband, delivering a grisly ‘go fuck yourself’. My dad and uncle were frozen, so was the husband. The tension was present for the rest of the trip. As an oblivious child, I did not sense it, but hearing the story back, it was obvious. The long talks my dad had in the reception were not just friendly chats. We never went back there, and after a while, It’s clear why.

Daylesford​​

The latest vacation destination served as a replacement for Halls Gap. It first started as a trip to celebrate my uncle and aunties wedding. I remember little me dancing around the footsteps of others at the afterparty, an event I definitely should not have attended—feeling absolutely devastated when I was kicked to my grandma’s. It took a while for us to return, specifically, it took till my Grandma turned seventy, for her birthday. We stayed at this beautiful little house, surrounded by a farm, but I do not have many memories of our time there. It was around the time my anxieties spiked to the worst degree imaginable, so much so that I spent a lot of time in my room. One night, when my family hired a babysitter for my younger cousins, I was too terrified to leave my room; I felt my heart pounding, I sunk to the floor, I wouldn’t dare leave, I thought I was a coward for not leaving my room, but talking to a stranger—I couldn’t.

It wasn't till exactly five years later that I started building true memories. Going back to high school, my mum had always been very controlling about the subjects I picked for VCE. I told her that I wanted to pick Studio Art, but she argued against it, claiming I was never the most artistic person outside my writing, and after this discouragement any interest in drawing just left me. This caused resentment towards my mum for her controlling nature. Back in Daylesford, the two of us went to scope out an art exhibition, where my mum noticed I had a lot of interest in the work around me. When I mentioned my interest in high school art, she seemed to feel regret for her nature. 

Out in the fields of a winery, I had a reflective moment with my family—my mum, auntie, uncle, my grandma. Three different generations, all at different stages of our lives, yet we get to be there for one another. These trips are a reward for it, no matter all the hardships, the fights, the losses, we will end up right here with each other. It's comforting to sit back, sipping my wine, feeling the windy breeze as I look at my family. In this moment I let myself be at peace, after all these challenges, I really needed this, and if even for a moment, I have it.

The Future

So, what now? We are in the present, there's tonnes more adventures ahead. I recently went to a wedding for the first time since my uncle’s in Daylesford. I was with my friend that I went camping at Tocumal with and we both agree that a return is long overdue. We plan to go back to Daylesford this November. But what will these trips look like to me in ten, fifteen, even thirty years from now? Well, that's where memories step in. Anxieties be damned.

Samuel Burdeu is a Melburnian currently undertaking a Bachelor of Creative Writing at RMIT. His interests and practice lie within screenwriting, having previously obtained an Advanced Diploma of Professional Screenwriting. In the past, he has worked for the film production company Australian Production House as a social media manager. Samuel aims to create films in the fiction and comedy genre in the future.