Late last year, Geelong Regional Libraries was thrilled to welcome Oshadha Perera as our Virtual Writer in Residence, as part of the Melbourne City of Literature’s UNESCO City of Literature network. Oshadha is one of ten writers working with literary organisations across Victoria.

Based in New Zealand, Oshadha is a poet and short story writer whose work explores themes of loss and grief, belonging, family, environment, and identity. His writing has been recognised nationally and internationally, including by the Lancaster Writing Awards and the Dan Davin Writing Awards. In 2024, he was awarded the Emerging Talent category of the Southland Creative Arts Awards.

During his residency, Oshadha immersed himself in the Geelong region by engaging with our Heritage Centre collection. From this experience, he created a poem and a short story for us, which you can read below.

Poem:
Silent Memories
Look at this river,
and think about the past,
when you would swim into the horizon,
feeling the icy water dance along your skin,
flowing with the currents, with the breeze,
when you were one with the river,
listening to stories of your ancestors,
and feeling the glow of sunset skies,
the touch of starry nights.

Look at this river,
and think about the present,
how the water rolled over flood banks,
seeping through your floorboards,
burning into fresh wounds,
and dripping down the stairs,
into the kitchen, into open skin,
think about the stories,
embedded in this water,
as you pack your bags into the car,
old memories sinking into darkness.
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Short story:
Memories
The M1 highway wound through the grassy plains like a strip of ribbon. The smell of warm earth and eucalyptus hung in the air, the horizon glimmering beneath the late-afternoon sun. It has been ages since I last visited Barwon Heads.
I pulled over beside the waterfront, thankful to find an empty parking spot. The town has changed a lot while I’d been away, new buildings dotting the nearby blocks. It felt familiar, yet distant, in a way that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Boats drifted across the water as I strolled along the footpath, searching for the familiar wooden floors and wide windows. The sign that said Cosy Café. The same scent of roasted coffee I remembered from back when I was a kid.
I ordered a latte and chose a window seat.
Every winter, Mum would drive us from Winchelsea, just for a coffee by the sea. Good for the soul, she’d tell me, holding a cup of flat white, breathing in the ocean air.
Now she was gone, and here I was, chasing a habit that wasn’t mine anymore.
I had told myself that I was doing fine. Going to work, keeping myself busy, moving on. But grief doesn’t work the way you want it to. It settles into the bones and surfaces when the world slows down, like now, when the only sound was the hiss of the coffee machine and the low hum of a guitar in the waterfront.
That’s when I heard my name.
I turned and saw her, Mum’s old neighbour from Winchelsea. The same curls of grey hair, the same glowing smile.
“Lisa! It’s been years,” I said, standing up.
“It has been... I knew it had to be you. You’ve got your mother’s eyes, you know.”
I had heard that a lot lately. I’d never seen the resemblance, but maybe it has been there all along.
“Hey, I’m sorry about your mum. She was a lovely woman.”
I nodded. “Yeah. She was.”
“She talked about you a lot, in those last few months.”
I looked down at my coffee. Steam curled from the rim, making patterns as it dissipated into the air.
A few years ago, I’d left home after an argument, telling Mum that I wasn’t coming back. By the time I realised I’d misunderstood everything, it was too late. A new job in Melbourne, a new life. I’d wanted to come visit her and say I was sorry, but I didn’t know how I could face her after the way I had talked to her. Didn’t know how to rebuild everything that I had broken. Didn’t know how to forgive myself.
After Lisa had left and I’d finished my latte, I walked to the waterfront and sat beside a patch of saltbush shrubs, feeling the cold air touch my skin. The evening light caught the water just right, blue shifting to gold, waves running into each other.
I thought about all the things I never got the chance to say. How I’d loved her so much without knowing how to show it. How badly I wished I had said sorry and gone back. I thought about how I used to roll my eyes when she took photos of the same view on every trip to Barwon Heads, insisting it looked different. And now, here I was, seeing it differently myself.
“Mum…” I whispered quietly, feeling the icy water touch my fingers.
I watched the gentle lap of waves against the sand, sunset colours dissolving in the sea. After a while, I started walking back toward the café. The lights were coming on, soft and quiet. Through the glass walls, I looked at my reflection.
I started to see the resemblance. The eyes, just like hers. The smile. The way I carried myself.
As I walked back to my car, watching the evening sky, I felt like some of the heaviness I’d been carrying around all year had lightened. Not gone, but somehow lighter, like she was here in the ocean, smiling at me, taking a bit of that heaviness away from me.
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We thoroughly enjoyed getting to know Oshadha through this program and hope you enjoy the pieces he has written for us.