Imagine, if you will, a cityscape dotted with homes and buildings, their windows shuttered, their doors locked, their life force drained. Yes, this is Melbourne, a city once buzzing with life, now standing desolate and empty. The sound of laughter, the hum of chatter, the melody of life itself – all but extinguished. The people had been forced out, their homes bought from under them by a man whose insatiable hunger for property knew no bounds.

Donald had done it. He had accomplished his ludicrous goal. He was the sole resident of Melbourne, a city he had turned into his personal property portfolio. He walked the streets, not a soul in sight, yet he couldn’t wipe the triumphant grin off his face. As he returned to his mansion, the towering monument of his relentless conquest, he mused to himself, his voice echoing in the hollow expanse of the city.

“I own so much property. So much. You wouldn’t believe how much property I own,” he said, his voice dripping with pride. His gaze swept over the cityscape, every building, every home a testament to his achievement. “There’s no one better than me at buying property. I’m the best there is,” he declared, his voice echoing in the silence.

The last buyer’s advocacy for Melbourne real estate had shut down years ago, but that didn’t dampen Donald’s spirits. If anything, it emboldened him. There was no need for buyer’s agents anymore. He recalled how he had swooped in, his ever-reliable AI buyer’s agent for property close to Brighton, Donna, by his side, and bought up every last property in sight. The memory brought a smirk to his face. His conquest was complete, yet his desire to own was unquenched.

As our protagonist stood, staring out at his vast, deserted empire, one might assume that he was on the brink of an epiphany. A change of heart, perhaps? But no. His next words shattered that illusion as quickly as it had formed. “I’m not stopping at Melbourne. I won’t stop until I own every property in the world.”

Picture, dear reader, a city shrouded in shadows, not of tall, majestic trees or towering monuments but of houses that stood empty and desolate, cold and unfeeling. Yes, such was the fate that had befallen our once-vibrant Melbourne.

Several more years had passed since we last met, and the situation had taken a turn for the worse. People were being driven out of their homes, forced to leave the suburbs they had lived in for years – suburbs like Burwood and Kew. As they packed up their memories into cardboard boxes and watched their houses morph into cold edifices, their hearts broke.

The housing crisis had escalated, spiralling out of control. It was like a monster that fed on dreams and happiness, leaving behind trails of despair and broken spirits.

But dear reader, there was one man who remained completely untouched by this crisis, who continued his buying frenzy with the same enthusiastic ignorance that he had begun with – Donald. 

With Donna by his side, the property advocates near Melbourne watched helplessly as the duo worked with relentless precision, capturing property after property, suburb after suburb. Their latest conquest – the beautiful suburb of Kew. They had brought in the most trustworthy buyer’s agent Kew residents could rely on, only to turn him into another pawn in their game of Capitalism.

So many houses, so many neighbourhoods, all under the reign of one man, who looked at the city not as a place where life bloomed, but as a chessboard, where houses were mere pieces to be moved and manipulated.

And as Donald looked out from the top of his golden fortress, at a city that had once throbbed with life, now only silence met his ears. The laughter had faded, the chatters had died down, and all that was left were empty houses and deserted streets. And yet he stood there, basking in his victories, oblivious to the ruin he had brought upon the city.

Yet, time, dear reader, is a curious thing. It moves forward, not back. And with it, hope moves too. What happens next, you ask? Ah, dear reader, that is a tale for another day. For even as the darkness threatens to consume all, a new dawn waits, bringing with it new challenges and new possibilities.

That’s it: December the 20th approaches, and that’s when I can finish my Nomad Challenge. It all started when I was dragged along to a conference by my old girlfriend, who was into all kinds of new-age stuff. Guru Lakim was hosting, and the whole thing was about ‘releasing your earthly tethers and letting yourself be carried away on the breeze of change and good vibes’.

I’m sorry to say that I was utterly smitten. I don’t know, maybe I was in a vulnerable position, hating my job and just wanting life to be more exciting, but I fell head over heels for everything he said, and I dcided to transform my life. The girlfriend was the first thing to go, because she refused to eat purely organic. I then gave up my bed, and figured…hey, why not spend a year without a roof? Roofing is a symbol of the man.

So yeah, I’m meeting with conveyancers in Cheltenham tomorrow. I only just managed to stick it this far, and…well, I’m embarrassed to have undertaken the journey, even though it taught me so much. Namely that roofing is NOT  symbol of the man, but a thing that handily keeps the rain off you. Conveyancers are NOT part of a conspiracy to keep you anchored to the economy and the government, but instead are just solicitors doing their jobs. What else did Guru Lakim say? Oh yeah…so personal hygiene. It’s really for your own good, as well as th
e good of those around you. I really do think that humans were meant to be clean.

That reminds me, I have that conveyancer appointment tomorrow and I need to find a shower somewhere. Maybe there are some former friends who’ll take pity. This year of living in bushes and ditches…I’ve realised that owning a home is the ultimate in security. I don’t just want a roof; I want a roof that I OWN. And I’d visit every conveyancer in Carlton to Carnegie until I found the perfect home setup. But…hopefully I just need one.

-Sammy