Mother

I came home to my mother on a Friday afternoon. The house smelled of lemon and bleach. She’d spent her day off cleaning the house. A pile of various items were sitting on my bed; shoes, books, things I had left around. Things I had left around for her to pick up. She didn’t meet a friend for coffee that day. She didn’t go shopping that day. She didn’t even indulge herself a quiet moment on the lounge with a magazine that day. Ignoring the fact that her hands were cold and stiff from scrubbing, she mustered a smile, “where should we go for afternoon tea”.

Not only did my mother give me life, she gave me everything I needed to succeed. She spent countless hours working and cleaning to make sure I always returned to a clean home and a healthy meal.

Last year I injured my knee and wound up at the emergency room for the first time. I hadn't even hobbled through the doors before I had a call from her deciding the quickest way to get to me (drive for seven hours in the dark or attempt to book a rural flight and somehow make her way home). I still have a scar that reminds me of her determination that only a mother could have. Regardless of how many candles appear on my birthday cake, you best believe if I ever needed her she would come running.

I love you Mum, and until the end of this incredible life you've given me I will always be grateful for you.

Mother's Day, 2017.

Katoomba in April

This semester I'm taking an Australian gothic literature course (which is turning out to be my favourite class thus far). We consider the Australian landscape, (rainforests, bush, desert) and how these are captured as a backdrop for gothic writing or film.  

One of my favourite reads from the course so far as been Elizabeth Jolley's The Well, which is littered throughout with beautiful images of Australian countryside covered in swirls of mist, and precious rain that carries with it the sound of muffled voices. This week Katoomba reminded me of this landscape as we carefully trekked through a very saturated rainforest. 

Country

Tomorrow marks the national day of celebration for Australia. For me Australia is a place of adventure, bird calls and the smell of sunburnt grass and crushed native leaves. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of swimming between the flags, setting up at a public barbecue or running under a front yard sprinkler. Although typically Australian, I've rarely engaged with these kind of activities during Australia Day. Unless invited by a family friend, my family haven't been the kind to celebrate the 26th of January.

Wherever I travel I'm always nostalgic for the vast beauty of Australia, the greens, browns, reds and blues. However, this beauty didn't come without pain. Tall gums grow on land that's been fertilised by the suffering of Indigenous people. 

The taking of Australia was not peaceful; newspapers dehumanised Indigenous people, teaching the settlers to fear rather than seek to understand. White Australians were given permission, by colonial governments, to take up arms against the Indigenous, which created an uncontrollable, impulsive war based on fear and hate. 

Today, the misrepresentation continues; Australian has been creating false national heroes since it’s foundation; beginning with the Australian bushman, strong and hardworking. The Australian bushman was manufactured in fiction to serve as a nationalist icon, however was never questioned as to the violence he had committed in order to gain his position as inhabitant of Australia; presented as the everyday man rather than a soldier.

Then there's the ANZAC, our other nationalist hero. The ANZAC soldier is celebrated for being creative and adaptive, despite their defeat it was their bravery and capability to adapt to a bad situation that makes them our heroes. However the Indigenous soldiers from the frontier don't get half the recognition, celebration or commemoration, despite the similarities (adapting tactics to fight a larger force, bravery, defence of land and beliefs).

However you choose to celebrate, spend a little time reflecting and seeking education about how this land came to be. Connect with the land and with the people who know it best. Seek out Indigenous events, rallies and protests. Live this Australia day with love and respect.

VIDEO LINK: A HISTORY OF THE 26TH JANUARY

SURVIVAL DAY SPOKEN WORD POEM
WHY IS AUSTRALIA DAY SO OFFENSIVE? 
THE HISTORY BEHIND INVASION DAY
INDIGENOUS DEATHS IN CUSTODY
WHAT HAPPENED ON THE FRONTIER
WHY DOESN'T ANYONE KNOW
WHERE TO GO FROM HERE

Love Trumps Hate: A Reading List

For the past four years I've studied teaching and literature, I've taught my own students and spend most of my personal time with my nose in a book. Using diverse literature as a means of increasing understanding and compassion is something I'm incredibly passionate about, so naturally upon hearing that Trump had been named POTUS I immediately began thinking of titles I could incorporate in my classroom to keep out hate and bring in love. These individual's stories inspired me and gave me a better understanding of experiences that are less privileged than my own. In the past hateful leaders have burned books because "wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too", by promoting and circulating books such as these we can hopefully begin to make the world a better place.

(Due to living in Australia, many of these titles were also chosen with current Australian issues in mind.)

Yassmin Abdel-Magied: Yassmin's Story.

Yassmin is a hilarious, eloquent, fashionable and fierce woman who at 21 worked on an oil rig in rural Australia. In this environment she was the only woman, also facing discrimination for her hijab and Sudanese-Egyptian-Australian background. Yassmin details in this book how she wants to change the world. This empowering book calls for challenging and complete destruction of the racial and gender stereotypes that hold many people back.

Malala Yousafzai: I am Malala.

There would be few people to whom Malala is an unfamiliar face, the brave young girl who stood up for woman's rights to education and equality. This book is a reminder of everything that is often taken for granted: education, freedom of speech, freedom of religion and freedom not dictated by gender. The most outstanding part of this book for me was the discussion of forgiveness. Malala's passion does not come from a place of hate, her passion comes from a place of compassion and empathy.

Rae Spoon & Ivan E. Coyote: Gender Failure.

Rae is a gender retired musician and writer, Ivan is a transgendered spoken word performer and writer. This book made me laugh, feel sad, feel inspired, rethink how I view gender and read out long passages to anyone near me. The writing style of each person was absolutely beautiful and their personal stories were eyeopening and thought provoking. I feel as though this is a book every person should read.

Cheryl Strayed: Wild.

After losing her mother, Cheryl walked her way to recovery from grief on the Pacific Crest Trail, an incredible mental and physical achievement. In the novel Cheryl comes across many people doubting her ability (mainly men). This is an incredibly powerful and inspiring message about female courage, strength and capability.

Jane Hawking: Travelling to Infinity.
In the novel, Jane describes the pressure put on her to abandon her studies in literature in order to better support her husbands work, which was deemed as more important. This is a great reminder of the hierarchy that exists between the arts and the sciences, particularly important in Australia at the moment with devastating cuts to the arts and creative industry which you can read about here, and here.
Chloe Hooper: The Tall Man.

A true account of Indigenous deaths in custody and the court trial of Chris Hurley. This novel speaks about police brutality, racial tensions and Indigenous spirituality. The book raises the issue that despite the fact Australian Prime Ministers may apologise and criticise things that have happened in the past, it is the present we need to be looking at, examining, questioning and fixing. 

This is a small list, although I'm hoping it will be added to with suggestions in the comments. All of these books have made me question my world and inspired me to do all that I can to create a world in which love comes before hate.

Social Media and Body Image: A Letter To My Body

While I was in high school I had an extremely unhealthy relationship with Tumblr; I spent hours upon hours of each day on the website, trawling through various pictures and text. Tumblr helped me feel like I was part of something, a wide and accepting friendship group. However, what I didn't realise at the time was that I was slowly sliding down a social media slope that was made of unhealthy mindsets and unrealistic expectations. I began finding and reblogging a lot of 'thinspiration' blogs. My whole life I had been complimented for having a small frame and began to confuse that with my self worth. On the internet I found girls even skinnier to compare myself to.
It has only recently been brought to my attention that the same thing is happening with Instagram, the same unhealthy habits are appearing although on a new interface. While I am no longer engaging with 'thinspiration' or 'skinny tips' these still exist on Instagram, and I'm hoping the piece of writing I've created will be enough to get you to consider your own habits on social media, as well as your relationship with your body. I also encourage you to write your own letter.

Dear Body,

You have loved me for twenty two years now. You grew from a single atom, piece by intricate piece. You came into the world, and brought to life all of my passions and dreams. You held me up through pain and suffering, fingertips to brush away tears, and a head held high to make me look unbreakable. After everything you have done for me, what have I done to you?

I have manipulated you. I’ve told you that I would never let anyone hurt you, and then I’ve changed my mind, inflicting wounds with my own hands and spitting insults with my own tongue. I’ve called you things I wouldn’t dream of saying to someone else. I’ve humiliated you by dragging your finger across a screen, “look at everything you are not”. Comparison is a poison I slip into your diet daily.

I am an abuser. I pull your long hair, and leave red, crescent shaped marks on your palms and thighs. I have denied you food when you were hungry, and rest when you are tired. I’ve spent years chastising you for spots on your face and dark circles under your eyes, never once mentioning the soft beauty of your eyes or delicate movements of your hands.

You have carried me through twenty two years across seas and through mountains. Your hands have filled pages with beautiful words and your eyes have captured so many beautiful moments; and yet despite your talents and triumphs, I was dissatisfied.

I depend on you and yet act as though you are dispensable. When did I learn that it was normal to hate you? Who told me it was okay to treat you this way? When was the last time I said you were beautiful?

We will have many more years together; we will grow and learn. We will cover ourselves with tattoos, laugh lines and scars. We will grow a baby, our body expanding and nourishing a whole other life, and we will teach that life to love its body, like I will learn to love you. We will eat food, hold people, dance to second hand records and travel to unfamiliar places. You will get sick, and I will raise you back to health. You will be cold, and I will give you my jacket. You will need love, and I will give it to you.

Twenty-Two Things About Myself at Twenty-Two

Picture taken at Fraser Suites Sydney on my Twenty-Second birthday.

1. This is my first year living without my parents.
2. This week I started a new job, which is thrilling and terrifying at the same time. 
3. I'm currently reading Unbearable Lightness by Portia De Rossi. 
4. The last film I watched was Room. It broke my heart.
5. I am experiencing being in love for the first time.
6. My perfect evening involves drinking wine and lounging around with my love. It doesn't matter where in the world we are.
7. At the moment, I have three tattoos (an elephant, a poppy, and a constellation). 
8. I recently decided not to do an honours project, a goal I've spent the last couple of years working towards. It's not the right time for me.
9. I'm proud that I'm at the state where I can recognise those things and make decisions that are right for me.
10. I've been neglecting my vegetable garden. Although the rain has saved it.
11. Shopping has stopped giving me joy, I feel overwhelmed by the amount of things I own.
12. My style is going in a direction that is a lot more colourful and free.
13. My biggest worry right now is financial security.
14. My biggest triumph right now is being off medication, and learning to lift myself out of dark times. 
15. My favourite food recently has been vegetarian spring rolls.
16. My drink of choice is red wine. My cocktail of choice is a cosmopolitan. 
17. I take my tea black, no sugars. I don't drink coffee.
18. My favourite colour is blue. 
19. The last time I had tears of happiness was when my mother surprised me by visiting for my birthday dinner.
20. I have a better support system of friends than I ever had in my entire life. 
21. Every day I strive to be kinder and more understanding than I was the day before, even though it's often still difficult.
22. My happiest memory right now is being at Little Bay in South West Rocks with my boyfriend, playing in the foam of the waves.

Dear Depression

[DISCLAIMER: This has been written as a reflection on personal experience with mental illness. It does not reflect all experiences of depression or anxiety. If you are looking for a depiction of depression that is more factual and raw please seek out Andrew Solomon's Ted Talk. While this has been written with a stylistic purpose, it is not an attempt at beautifying or glamorizing an illness that has effected many areas of my life, as well as the lives of many others. Please click away if you are likely to be triggered by pieces of writing that may mention depression or self harm.]

Dear Depression,

You crept into my life the way mould slowly collects in the once new corners of misty bathrooms. Covering shiny lacquered tiles with your dull film. Turning the lingering scent of sweet perfumes into a stench that is dark and damp.

You stole nights warm between flannelette sheets and gave me nightmares and long nights of clamped jaws and grinding teeth.

My body was pure, my veins clean, until you left marks like splintered glass and poured chemicals into my bloodstream. You made 60mg feel like a failure and 30mg feel like a sick victory. Did I win? No.

You’ve deprived my lips of food and made my eyes sting as though standing to close to a smoking fire.

You’ve hacked at my temper until it became so short a stump that I’d scream and push away the ones I love most.

You took my passions and interests and cast them aside like kitchen scraps to be thrown into a stagnant, rotting heap.

You’ve made my skin crawl and my mind drown. You’ve stolen nights, days, months, years… and yet, you have not stolen me.

You’d see me isolated, slowly decaying like a plant deprived of water; my stems becoming thin, my leaves turning brown and dry, and yet I bloom. In days of sun and small victories my flowers grow more vibrant. I step from the house with less fear, putting more distance between myself and the dark, mildewed corner of my mind that houses you.

You scream and scratch at my thoughts with desperation as you shrink, becoming lost in the ever-growing forest of my own determination and vitality.

You will remain, sitting to watch through my triumphs and pain. You will continue to break through, into a mind that is not yours to infect, but you will not wither my stems, you will not wither me.

 

While this piece of writing is quite new, it will most likely change as I reflect. Any suggestions and criticisms are welcomed.