I hurt, I bleed, scars re-appear
Leaving me with all my fear
I can’t escape, it makes me blind
Though I know inside, there’s more to find

I search for grace, I long for light
Sometimes I see its glisten bright
But darkness simplifies my fall
I wonder where I am at all

There’s more to me, more I can do
But foolishness means I’m too afraid to
And courage seems so far away
Leaving me feel inside the fear will stay

I know I’m more than I believe
Than I allow myself to strive and achieve
But pain, it eats away at my hope
Convincing my mind that I cannot cope

If only I could erase or rewind
The fearful, frightened thoughts of my mind
If only I could prevent all my wounds
Re-surfacing quickly, emerging so soon

I’d be so much more, the more that I should
The more that I hope for, to be all I could
But the days go by swiftly and I flow with the wind
I need to be grounded, not regret what I’ve been

The more that I am, not the more I should be
Perhaps is the more that will make more of me
And I must begin now, towards what I’m for
I can’t stay this way, when there’s so much more

So I’ve had my fun, a chance to relax and rejuvenate, now it’s only fair that I return to the reality of hard work, sweat, blood and tears that is the next three months of my life as an Honours student. Thinking about it confirms just how mundane, tedious, frightening and stressful it all is, but I know that I have to get my act together if I want to look back without any regrets.

Hence, here I am, continuing where I left of with my investigation into the impact of online media convergence on the traditional practice of documentary storytelling, where I will commence production on my blog-based documentary.

Documentary. Why do I care so much? Why am I interested? I shall let these words speak of this doco-love…

We have returned from our pilgrimage and I am sort of feeling like things should be more different. Like I would have come back a little different. And though in some ways I have, it all still feels the same.

I cannot really compare the feeling to that of which I had upon my return from WYD in Canada in 2002, when I came back an inspired, enlightened sixteen-year-old girl ready to take on the world with a courageous spirit. Even disregarding this cold that consumed me the night we slept out at Randwick, I still feel kind of down. Well ‘down’ probably isn’t the most accurate word. I guess I just don’t feel quite as ‘inspired’ as I thought I would in the aftermath.

Maybe I expected too much from the experience. Perhaps at twenty-two, I simply underestimated how much I already know about life and myself.

As per usual, I’ve made it sound overly-dramatic, when in fact I did get a lot out of World Youth Day. The last thing I want to do is wallow in self-pity and pessimistic contemplation, I just didn’t expect that this is how I would feel (whatever this feeling is) when I returned home.

Overall, I did enjoy the week in Sydney. I am thankful for the challenges that strengthened my faith. That drew my family closer. That tested my capacity to understand, to love.

I am thankful for the spiritual encounters. Pope Benedict’s inspiring words. The power of the Holy Spirit. The hope and the peace that it showered upon me.

The end of the pilgrimage is only the start of my journey. I go forth less afraid.

I will never forget the moment I danced in a conga line with people from all over the world or the countless times I was able to greet strangers so freely and see them smile back at me.

I will fondly reminisce the celebrations of friendship, the camaraderie of people I got to know better, those I grew to love and those I just met.

I will always treasure the times with my family, snuggling up in our sleeping bags, braving the winter air, lining up forever to buy a cup of hot chocolate, singing alleluia arm-in-arm, lighting each other’s candles and absorbing The Holy Father’s encouraging words into our hearts and minds.

I am in Sydney and my skin is burnt. The weather has been just beautiful, but having prepared for winter weather has left me wishing I had cooler (literally, not figuratively speaking) clothes to wear and a summer mindset. Somehow I am missing Melbourne’s daily all-season weather which my skin has adapted to- the dryness and itchiness that has resulted from our piercing sun is fast becoming a great obstacle on this journey.

Yet I expected to experience suffering during this pilgrimage. I expected that I would be doing it tough for a week, that I would be making sacrifices and undergoing physically and mentally taxing activities. I’ve done it all before.

However this World Youth Day is not at all like what I remember from Canada in 2002. Perhaps because Sydney is not as far away from home as Toronto, perhaps because I’m not as young and impressionable, perhaps because I’ve come with a different pilgrim group, perhaps because I’m not feeling the way I felt then, the way I anticipated I would.