Leaving Melbourne felt like wading through molasses, sticky and slow-going, a series of blunders and clumsy patch-up jobs. Like a half-drunken stumble down the hallway in the middle of the night: hit your shoulder on the doorframe, slide into the dresser, trip over your own feet, claw at the wall to stay upright. Much of… Continue reading 100 days and the Queen of Whatever
When I was five, Dean B?? bullied me for my freckles. It?s my first memory of primary school. I was self-conscious about the way my skin looked for years afterwards. The comments didn?t stop as I got older, either. I remember being 13 and walking out of Middle Brighton train station in summer in a… Continue reading A Study in the Art of Revolution II
One very windy day when I was eleven, my mother came to pick my brothers and me up from primary school with a small plastic bag in her hand. When I asked her what she was holding, she said ?Nothing,? rather shortly, and put her hand behind her back. We got home that afternoon to… Continue reading Obituary for the New Year
When I was eight, my father took me (just me) on a four-wheel-driving trip with his cousins and their friends. Kathleen, my third cousin, and I sat in the back of one dusty, muddy Landcruiser after another as we drove along, used to the bumps and the crackle of the CB radios, colouring in our… Continue reading How does your garden grow?
When I was a kid, in primary school and up until about mid-way through high school, it was a habit of ours to spend about a week of the Easter holidays at my maternal grandmother’s house. We’d pile into the troopie with Mum (Dad rarely came due to shift work in the fire brigade) and… Continue reading In between ‘house’ and ‘home’