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Welcome back. Things have changed.Credit:Getty Images

Boats lazily tip and twinkle on the postcard-perfect harbour. I drop my backpack and drape myself over the edge of the wall skirting Rushcutters Bay. Toadfish mosey in the shallows;a flathead flicks a swirl of sand as it darts off into the deep from a camouflaged nook. Seaweed sways hair-like from the sandy bottom of the bay.

It’s winter and I’m in a T-shirt. AMuppet Show of dogs with better diets than 90 per cent of the human world runs circles around me. I remove my headphones and turn to kneel in full acceptance that muddy,paw-printed jeans are a fair price to pay for the opportunity to fondle the perfect ears of a dog called Banksy. “I’m sorry your human is so pretentious,” I whisper.

At the end of April,and after six years in Melbourne,I quit my job and moved back to Sydney. At 33,the pull homeward had become too strong to ignore,eventually overpowering the life I had built for myself and my dog,Lacey,and my cat,Robert,in Caulfield. This pull felt stronger than the statistics,all of which warned of the impossibilityof finding a home in my hometown.

I had begun applying for rental properties in Sydney – from Melbourne – in January. In April,a real estate agent called to let me know that all other applicants were offering “above asking price” on a property I had applied for in Kogarah. Was that even legal,I asked? “It’s illegal for us to encourage rent bidding,” the agent answered,“but it’s not illegal for applicants to make whatever offer they want.”

I thanked him for the heads-up,returning to doom-scroll through very short lists of unaffordable apartments in suburbs mostly out of town.

My city of Sydney.Credit:Destination NSW

The small room I’m renting is very much a temporary solution. I’ve got my possessions spread between two states and three properties. My parents are not in a position to help. I feel my ability to secure a rental property wane in congruence with my savings account.

I smile and say I’m on the lookout for a job and a place to live and that the South Coast is looking promising. It isn’t. I lie awake at night in knots. I wake up feeling like I’ve been squeezed. Through the window,the aerial roots of Moreton Bay figs waver indifferently to the stone that sits heavy in my gut every time I sit down at my laptop.

Has there ever been an unrequited love story quite like Sydney,2024?

The hopelessness is self-perpetuating. Another day ebbs out of my life as I scroll through unaffordable properties and read articles about the cost-of-living crisis. We have an entire generation pouring hard-earned income into the pockets of other people’s parents,also known as “Mum and Dad landlords”. These types of investors own80 per cent of rental properties,according to the Australian Landlords Association.

A huge number of millennials I speak to receive parental handouts to help cover basics,from groceries to mobile phone plans,to rent. I can’t help but wonder how many of these Mum and Dad landlords depend on profits generated from their investment properties to help support their own kids – kids who need support because they’re being asked to pay so much rent by other Mum and Dad landlords.

I escape for a walk. Inky blue water laps along the sandstone wall that prevents Beare Park from being swallowed by the sea. Moored boats clink like glockenspiels and champagne flutes. I momentarily forget the squeeze.

I catch a train to Circular Quay. Vivid. Thousands line the promenade,and I make my way through them towards the city’s crown:the Opera House. It leers out over the Quay’s upper lip,and is lit up with an animation that has me standing frozen and gaping. Music hums from a speaker to my left,composed to accompany the projection cast across the Opera House’s sails,and for whole minutes the stone in my gut is gone again.

Sydney performs for 5 million people at once. She slaps us from safety and security with one hand,and then opens the other to reveal architectural wonders,world-class beaches and winter temperatures that we must never,ever mention to our friends in Melbourne.

I’m home,and I’ll make it work,whether Sydney cares or not.

Joshua Dabelstein is a freelance writer and editor currently living in Sydney.

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