Brisbane – January 2011. I was directly affected by the floods, although I was extremely fortunate. It’s been a while since I’ve posted and I’m attributing  this to a rather significant event in my city. It’s taken me quite a while to gather my thoughts and process everything that happened.

The (imaginatively named) Brisbane River broke its banks affecting the park opposite my house on the morning of Tuesday 11 January. My work, located in the suburb of Herston was experiencing flash-flooding and was evacuated about lunchtime.

By the time I arrived home the police had already closed my street as the water had reclaimed large portions of the park, access to the bus stops and was working its way up the road. I had to explain I lived on the street and agree I would only enter my home, retrieve some belongings and leave again. Apparently there were officers already door knocking to advise people to leave.

It’s a very strange feeling to stand in your home, to discriminate between belongings. What will be left to fend for itself and what you deem, for some reason, to be essential and necessary to be preserved. At the time, there really wasn’t much I felt I couldn’t live without.

By mid afternoon on Tuesday I was safely relocated in a friend’s house, who were holidaying in Vietnam. A general feeling of chaos (but not panic) was descending on the city. Businesses were closing, public transport routes were altered and entire transport lines were shut down. Helicopters were starting to echo around and emergency service sirens. Shops were being emptied and phones were running hot as people checked in on friends and loved ones.

Tuesday night was a long night and news about the flood was inescapable. Reports were not good. And as the night meandered onwards the sounds of the helicopters and sirens increased.

Apparently my stress response is to channel Nigella Lawson, because I started baking Wednesday morning. I had hoped some friends would come round for brunch but they’d been involved in a late night evacuation of a mutual friend and were attempting to rescue more of his belongings by kayak. A new sound was added to the flood soundtrack – alarms. Shrill fire/smoke alarms.

I was collected by my friends, who were inspecting the homes of people we knew to see what the status was. Water had surrounded my home and was lapping at the building. A neighbour kindly allowed us to climb over our shared back fence.  I’m eternally grateful for the boys who rescued my washing machine and a number of items from my downstairs laundry. The power had already been switched off, and all bar one of my neighbours had been evacuated. He described how emergency personnel used choppers to find people and direct on the ground officers. We didn’t stay long.

I spent a good portion of the day in the company of some friends, trying to stay out of my head. Large portions of West End and Southbank were now flooded. News about surrounding suburbs such as Fairfield, Yeronga, Jindalee, and Oxley were terrible. And then it is as if time was suspended. My evacuation house was without power and an uncanny silence descended on the neighbourhood. It was if life stopped and there was only the flood with its sirens, helicopters and alarms.

Being by myself in a strange home; without power, phones, internet or any other form of connection to the outside world was not the ideal situation. So, I again packed myself up and moved into the home of another friend. Although only 5 minutes drive from my place, she had power… and a hot shower!

I stayed with her for just over a week. During which the flood waters receded, a giant clean-up got underway and eventually I was able to return home. That first night in my own bed was the sweetest of sleeps.

I came out of the floods very fortunate, only the downstairs laundry/garage was flooded. I was without electricity for two weeks. I lost the entire contents of my fridge and freezer from power cuts, and from my downstairs area, furniture I was storing (I routinely rotate furniture around) that had been flatpacked, a storage cabinet, camping equipment, photos but possibly what hurt the most was my artists portfolio and my architectural portfolio.

Since the initial clean-up I’ve had to scrub and disinfect my place several times and am still finding mud, silt and mould. My building has had some plumbing and drainage issues but they are repairable.

The last of the residents returned home last weekend as their power was finally able to be reconnected.

It is only now, one month later, that I can sleep while it’s raining. I still have nightmares but it’s only occasionally now. The stench which I thought would be with me forever has dissipated and cannot be recalled. I haven’t been able to return to the local park yet but I am confident that will be very soon. Because after the floods life is returning.