There are bushfires raging all across the east coast and top of my state, New South Wales (NSW), licking the outskirts of this great, blue-sky city. When the wind blows in just the right direction, all the ash and smoke travels straight to us, clogging the city sky. I’ve been struggling to breathe, as many thousands of others have, too. On bad days, I try to speak and choke on my words. I splutter through sentences, trying to get some clean air. They say not even the hardcore pollution masks can properly protect us from it. Office workers have been evacuated from their buildings because the smoke has been creeping through vents and setting off the smoke alarms inside. We’ve been told to stay inside as much as possible. It’s bad, but obviously not compared to the horror of being right where the fires are. I can’t stop thinking about the people who’ve had to decide when to leave their home; when to surrender it to the flames. And then, of course, the ones who haven’t survived.