here again

these days weigh heavy and I stay as still as I can. a new year in no time at all. the thought is a little much for me to wrap my heart around right now. the space I occupy moving into this next calendar is not one in which I feel particularly comfortable or content. I wear my current state of being like a last-minute party costume, unready to commit to moving forward. I look ridiculous and with enough distance I can laugh.

I carry an aquarium of memories and feelings on my shoulders. they swim in their cage, colliding into each other and the glass that keeps them from flying free.

nothing wise to say. words mean nothing. I’m lost and unsettled and feeling alone. all things pass. it’s just another day. <<

south

the choir sang Silent Night after the Eucharist and I started crying. I’m not quite sure why. maybe partly to do with the realisation that what was once a magical time has become a period of sombre reflection. the childlike wonder replaced permanently by the observation that I am only getting older and further from the child that used to find wonder in the possibilities of everything around him.

we escaped down south after Christmas for a couple of days. no internet or connection to the rest of the world beyond what we’d brought with us - food to eat, books to read, tents to sleep in. we walked the coast from one beach to another and looked out at the horizon. I felt how far I was from everything I’ve ever loved and for a moment took solace in the fact that there was nothing I could do about the distance. I swam in the ocean knowing it connected me to the same waves that lapped at the shore or southeast England.

Fieke told me I need to be proactive and make a decision I want to move forward. I know she’s right and I need to listen to her, however difficult it was for me to hear. everything about what’s next feels uncertain right now, though I’ve been here before, and as Fieke reminded me, I’ve survived every day so far.

I feel far from almost everyone I’ve ever loved, with not much idea where to find comfort.

Isaiah leaves tomorrow. it’s always hard to let him go. I love him more than anything.

I am held by those around me and count the blessings they bring. one day at a time. <<

a time for everything

not much to say. words feel fickle in the face of feelings so insignificant. alive on a planet for now a quarter of a century, with no more to show for my time than the stubble I shave every morning.

I lean on people I love in the midst of the dread. they hold me and I count myself lucky to know their care.

one day at a time. many days, a time for everything. where am I going and why am I still treading water? <<

less questions

no amount of dreading can wish away the day. it’s 25 this time round. I fill spaces in a body that has moved about for a quarter of a century, despite my feeling as capable as a twelve year old. the day that is just another day pulls me further from all that I miss and wish I still had. time slips beyond my grasp and continues to unravel. I am far from who I want to be, but I am in the company of people who show me love, and for this I must thank the world.

I try to remind myself of my own insignificance in the greater scheme of things - how inconsequential my existence truly is in the face of the unfolding cosmic mystery. celebrating a moment my breathing commenced each December doesn’t need to fill me with the dread and existential angst I seem to face every year on this day. I need to grow. I’m sure someday it will make more sense and leave less questions. <<

eight years

grief hangs heavy on December 16th. eight years have passed and still I wake to this day as a nearly-17-year-old, fragile and confused as though the accident has only just happened. I feel close to the people I used to know back then, even if I don’t know them anymore. the loss connects us still now despite time and distance.

on December 16th I give myself permission to stop and listen. I wrestle with the question of ‘why’ and am left exhausted and still no closer to an answer than I was the year before. losing Louise so suddenly was a teacher of difficult lessons. with her passing, the futility of everything emerged as an inescapable reality that continues to challenge me every day. I fold a crane and hope it might make at least a little more sense tomorrow. it never does, and still we go again.

her absence challenges me to cherish what I have while I can. I try my best for her, though I lack faith in where this is all going. there is good everywhere and I remind myself to look for it. <<

where I am

the heat is an unwanted blanket. it spoils sleep and tangles me up in ways that keep me from doing what might be good for me. Pia’s company has been a godsend, and I’m lucky to have had her around to keep me on the sounder side of sanity. she leaves tomorrow, as Fieke arrives, and it’s only when I check the date on my phone that I realise we’re as close as we are to the days I dread.

in the all consuming distractions of the perpetual presence of a friend and the phone in my pocket I forget where I am. days can pass without thinking consciously about the path I’m forging, the decisions I’m making, how I really feel about the space I occupy. I find solace in escaping myself. there is peace in being far from where I really am.

I count the good things always: a roof and a bed, people to miss, dear friends to hold, new friends to make, a home and a heart. there is always good to come. <<

heavier

summer has arrived. the heat makes every moment seem a little heavier. movements are slower with the weight, through both day and night. it’s only going to get warmer as we roll closer to the new year. thoughts are fuzzier and the anticipation for the sweet relief of sleep only builds.

sleep and breath are the constants linking one day into the next. I call each member of my family one by one in no order in particular. I tell them I miss them, though the gesture of calling speaks for itself. at the Palestine rally I heard children chanting and thought of what we’re capable of doing to one another and the power of greed and fear. I cried in the crowd, disgusted by the human project in which I have no choice but to participate.

I walked to buy groceries in the evening for a moment of normalcy. everything costs more now. I need to make a plan for how I’ll manage this come the new year. it’s not really something that excites me, though I know I need to move through all this for the sake of those who love me. December has become some sort of an emotional gauntlet I can only navigate with the patience and love of those I trust. one day at a time. I sleep and wake and start again. <<

billions

leaving the island doesn’t get easier. the physical distance between my childhood home and the rest of the world can feel as comforting as it can overwhelming. there, I am so far from so many of the people I love - an impossible distance that only seems to grow the more I miss. at the same time, the island is an escape for me - from the roles I should be playing, the age I should be acting, the future I should embrace. the escape feels safe and I return to the adult world every time wondering why I have to grow up.

spending the past two weeks with Pia has been a blissful distraction. her company has done wonders for my heart and wandering mind. we laugh together and I forget about the things that hurt me. it’s a joy to know her friendship.

moments of clarity shrouded by uncertainty. I’ve returned to Sydney feeling no more in control of the path I’m taking than before. when looking at how things play out I try to remind myself to not take it all so seriously. sometimes it makes me laugh. I think about the fact that at one point in time we were all helpless babies, completely dependent on an adult to feed and clean us. we all share humble beginnings. how wonderful.

in the sky I feel closer to the people I miss, despite being high above anyone I’ve ever loved. the clouds we drift over roll into each other and take all sorts of new shapes as they pass over one ocean to the next. we all look at the same moon, albeit at different times. I continue to take comfort in what keeps us connected, however pointless it can feel.

Mia and I saw an angel sing this evening. Caroline Polachek was a marvel - perhaps the most impressive voice I’ve ever heard. as she sang Parachute, a girl near us at the front sobbed quietly - I think she had attended the concert alone. for a moment it felt as though none of us where in the theatre but her and the songstress onstage. come the end of the song, the girl dried her eyes and collected herself. Caroline kept singing, and the girl joined in quietly. a precious moment to witness.

I knowingly avoid asking myself the questions I need to answer. time ticks and continues to take. and I’m still drifting. making sense where I can. taking note of what is good, treasuring what I still have. 

St Sebastian, an attempted return to art. I’ll try again come Christmas. <<

November

Spring gives way to Summer (in my world) tomorrow. each November seems to become more of a chaotic blur as the years roll on. I feel apprehensive about December at the best of times. anniversaries, a birthday I wish meant nothing at all, the year giving way to another I’ll face with even more confusion than the last. I should try harder to prepare for how this time makes me feel, though I know this would take caring more about myself and the long-term.

there’s a dissatisfaction in feeling as though I understand myself and this world less as time passes. it can all feel quite hopeless, and my awareness of my persistent melancholy despite just how lucky I’ve been only serves to fuel my own frustration with myself. I feel very far from the people I love. an impossible distance lies between me and the person I want to be. the clouds keep moving and so do we. <<

the fish and the knife

so quickly removed from my life up there. I slip back into the way I live on the island so easily. sometimes it feels as though Sydney - that whole world in which I spend most of my days - is a movie or some kind of ongoing dream I revisit between Tasmanian interludes. it’s strange.

we spent the weekend at Orford on the coast, in a beach shack we used to frequent each summer with dear family friends. not much has changed, and the rooms are still clouded thick with fond memories of life before I took myself so seriously.

my parents took me to Maria for the first time. a beautiful island that time has almost forgotten, populated by far more wombats than people. we read a sign that alluded to a past world in which over ten thousand lived on the small island. the remaining colonial buildings sit to tell stories of what would otherwise be forgotten and house tourists. the kangaroos were large and solemn. I wondered if the place was haunted.

it rained the whole day, and the sun only started to creep through on our way home, most of which I slept through - dreaming of nothing.

so much here I’d love to share with Jan. I know Eliu would really like it here too. Pia was so happy to see wombats in the wild, and it’s been very precious to see her get along so well with my family. I am so lucky to have her here with me.

I took Pia to MONA with Mum. hadn’t been since visiting with Blake and Joely this summer. Mum was delighted with the new exhibit on Christian icons. the images were striking and, as is always the case, I left the gallery wishing I was listening to my heart and transferring what I hear into art of some kind. it’s a privilege to be inspired and challenged to do more, and I should not take this for granted.

I spend a lot of time here avoiding doing the thinking I know needs to be done. there are decisions I need to make but facing their importance scares me into reaching for further distractions. I let my mind wander and tie my heart in knots as I miss and yearn and wish that things were different, all the while cursing myself for being a part of the ignorant monster that is humanity. I think of Gaza and Yemen and see how small I really am. how can anything to do with me mean anything at all when such tragedy goes on? it’s all very dark.

the fish and the knife. I take comfort in moments of understanding, and challenge myself to exercise gratitude. always aware of how lucky I am. taking breaths and trying to move forward. <<

hiding

sometimes when I come home it feels a little like excusing myself from life - even if just for a short while. I’m leaning into this feeling as I show this place I’ve known forever to a friend from far away.

two days and Pia seems to have relaxed into things. she loves the cat and is happy to have a whole room to herself after months of camping along the east coast of the country. I’m treasuring her company and openness to seeing my world.

we visited Carol today. seeing her home through new eyes leaves me feeling nostalgic. I’ve been happy here, and very lucky to spend time growing up with my brothers and cousins in such a magical place. Carol updated us on her adventures in and out of hospital, still full of energy. I don’t quite understand it.

Eliza took us out for burritos. we laughed a lot this afternoon - showing Pia the beach and making smoothies. Eliza heads to Melbourne early next year to start her new life studying science. I’m so proud of her, and count myself lucky to still know her generosity and friendship.

I took Pia to the edge of the world - sunset atop Kunanyi. we were above the clouds as the colours deepened. 

we followed a loose path from one rock to another as the sun was swallowed by the horizon. the sight was really something else. I stopped thinking for a moment, and I was still.

ties to head and heart pull no matter how far I find myself from the lives I leave on pause. I try my best to be present here and forget, for now, what I cannot conquer. trying to be here now, while I can. <<

somewhere to go

every day brings new breath and new thoughts between what’s been before.

time is racing. it’s always this way come the end of the year. December just days away. 25 in under a month. so silly I could laugh.

walked through a cemetery overlooking the open ocean of the east coast. lucky ghosts resting with such a stunning view. 

it goes on forever and we are so small. I look out and wonder if anyone might be looking back in my direction from some other coast someplace else.

always walking through moments and places I wish I could share with those I’ve loved. I remind myself they’re always around in one way or another. memories and dreams mean something more than nothing.

Matilda surprised me with a trip to the theatre as an early gift. she knows I don’t like birthdays, so decided to spoil me early, blindfolding me as we made our way through the city. a remarkable Belvoir production - ‘the master and Margarita’; an existential odyssey about legacy, storytelling, love, loss, and the wide messy spectrum of the human condition. my head is still spinning.

as Jenae touches down in Europe, and Joely adventures her way around Japan, I set an early alarm. heading home for a little while. decisions to be made as December looms. how lucky am I to have somewhere to go. <<

sleeping enough

I’m sobering to the realisation that I dread my own company. every day I do my best to fill each moment with noise - distractions and people to keep my mind busy and far from itself. when I stop and am left to sit in the silence the wheels start to fall off. this is something I need to work on, but the task seems a little much to face all at once. I need to srop running if I’m to grow and keep going.

I sleep in the afternoons now. this isn’t something I take pride in, but I remind myself it’s important to listen to my body and what it needs. I’m not sleeping enough, and these naps - however unwanted - do their bit in keeping me balanced. I slip in and out of dreams, some of which grace me with the company of people I love. I wake and miss them more than I would’ve otherwise.

Bip and I woke early and ran together yesterday. we went to coffee after and updated each other on where we’re at. I feel listened to and loved by her. time between seeing each other does little to these friendships. the precious ones. counting these blessings as I navigate every tomorrow and prolong decisions that pave the path to wherever it is this is going.

Orpheus lingers. no thoughts, all feelings. <<

less

I sat on the rocks at the beach with Amelia and Nic today. the clouds rolled over and as I watched I envied them: the freedom to pass over everything without attaching themselves to anything at all. I swam in the water for the first time in months, opening my eyes to the salt as I enveloped myself in the cold. in the sea I’m connected to every shore I’ve ever known. the same water I swam in as a child laps at the Sussex coastline, the cliffs of the Seven Sisters I climbed with some other family in another life. we breathe the same air and look to the same stars for some shred of assurance that this does in fact mean something. we still share so much, no matter the distance between us. remember this. <<

safe and happy

November now. bonfire night. the storefronts in Lewes high street would be all boarded up and ready for the festivities tonight. this time last year I was in the crowd with some of my dear friends. we revisited the world we used to call our own and burnt our fears on paper cranes. like my fears, thoughts of that life and the things I miss still linger. I will always be missing something or someone, no matter who or where I am.

we wrappped up another play. this one was a hard slog - the text was confusing and a bit rough around the edges. two week season. Isaiah came to watch, as did Mils. we pulled through and I was lucky enough to make some new friends.

I see people I miss in dreams and wake to the reality of their absence, sobered in sadness. my best friends are out of reach. I listen to my heart and try to sit with how I’m feeling. some nights I feel like a child and just want to go home. it can feel like everything’s spiralled out of control - ‘this is just a nightmare, soon I’m going to wake up…’ I listen to music and call my parents to hear their voices. sometimes I look at old photos and count what I’ve had as treasures that might not have lasted, but can’t be truly lost. I remind myself I am lucky.

I wonder if they’re doing okay out there. selfishly, I wonder if they ever think of me. I hope they’re safe and happy. <<