june

the coldest Sydney has been to me. I’ve sought out warmth from people I am lucky to love. many remain out of reach - different places and time zones. my parents watch movies by the fireplace in the lounge room where my little brother learnt to walk. my little brother walks through cities where I lost myself and opened new doors, places and faces to dream about and miss. somebody eating corn off the cob in the arcade near town hall station. where did I last do this? is the corn as sweet in this hempisphere? at the rally a fourteen year old educates the masses of the implications of the US congress banning use of the Palestinian death toll, illustrating the catastrophic double standard by which holocaust denial is internationally recognised as a crime against humanity. rich white men criminalise discussion of the deaths caused by the bombs they drop. I fall asleep watching a movie on the couch with friends I used to live with. in my dream I’m at church and I see my orthodontist in the pew; I thank him for messing up my teeth. work through each day and money means less. how lucky and silly that I can’t spare a moment for something I love. in a world so ugly can I rationalise wanting more? I’d like to tell stories again. precious time - where does it all go? somebody I love and lived with in Lewes is pregnant. I still sleep with my teddy bear at night.

fragile and small

I feel fragile and quite small right now. the spaces I occupy are not my own. the comfort I enjoy depends on the presence of others. my dreams are held captive by doubt and a mind that insists on the inevitability of disappointment and desolation. I step on people’s toes in my want to know them. they run and I hate the reflection even more. I am held by people who see the mess and stay. I am loved and rebuilt and I keep moving until I can’t again. so it goes.

the boulder over and over. up the hill and down the hill and up again until forever. from the top I see that my hill is not a mountain, that my boulder could be a lot heavier. I am one of the lucky ones. no sooner has the realisation dawned before I lose the boulder to the slope. I follow to the bottom and start again. <<

cold and safe

the days and nights are cold now. I sit at my desk and press the keys. I send emails and edit documents. three or four cups of tea through the work day. one or two in the evening. I check the news every hour or so. with every bomb dropped on a refugee camp or school I try to visualise the numbers. how big is a group of 17? a group of 45? a massacre of 270? what does that look like? I don't bother trying to understand how the numbers are rationalised. I send my emails and edit my documents. I am paid for my work. I pay taxes, which tie me to the bombs dropping on schools and hospitals, all the way from my tiny igloo of a room on the other side of the planet.

my little brother travels with his partner. London first, now Paris. places that have meant a lot to me. he sends photos of art I love and remember seeing for the first time. he walks through places I've been and shared with people I love. I miss him. I miss the freedom and escape and endless distraction of somewhere new. I miss people I won't see again.

the cold keeps me up and I fold into myself. the spiral tightens and I follow. I think of what I lack and unanswered questions. a lot of time lost dwelling on the people that vanish. I count them and wonder what I did to make them disappear. the ghosts make me feel small. more join the ranks with each year that passes, without explanation or even goodbye. no answers. no closure beyond dreamt up reunions. I remind myself that I hurt people too and wish I could take it all away.

I eat and sleep and carry on (and who doesn't?) when I wake I am still here. it's cold but I'm safe.

taxes

the days pass, and I doubt I'd notice if not for folding cranes. I work lots now. the sun comes out and goes down again while I press keys and send emails. I drink a lot of tea and wear cloves to keep my hands warm. the work distracts me from the understanding that nothing is really within my control. I make lists and complete tasks. I go to bed and then I do it again when I wake up. sometimes I try to create something, to write a poem or draw a portrait I'm proud of. but at the end of the day the blank page scares me - I am tired, and feel so ridiculously far from both inspiration and being capable of creating anything of any quality or meaning. I worry that I've ran out of stories, or forgotten how to find them.

despite hating mirrors and striving to be better, I still tie myself in knots over how I'm perceived. my perceptions of other's perceptions of me weigh me down, even in the face of the knowledge that I mean nothing in the face of a world that makes such little sense. I watch bombs destroy cities and read facts and figures on my phone and cry without really weeping or making a sound. the anger is confused as it festers and I still participate in the human project. I go to work and my taxes fund the bombs used to slaughter children in their thousands. I am a cog in the machine. does my awareness of the part I play mean anything?

I think of people I love. sometimes I spend time with them. I can hold and hug them and my heart is warm. I think of people I miss. I wonder where they are now, and hope they're happy. I think of who I want to be, and remind myself that doesn't matter. I think of the way the world is, and I'll cry again. so it goes.

when it’s done

when it’s done

and there’s no more talk of present tense

or chanting in the streets for change

because the chance has come to pass

the complication’s over and the raid has won at last

the trains will move

and we will too

to work and feed and bathe and sleep

and every day will pass as though

we never learnt a thing

when it’s done

and what might have made us stop

facts or fakes or fear

truth until she disappeared

burning children, burning tents

genocidal accidents

or a phrase they said was hate

because it stood for everyone

a father wailing on our screens

holding his headless son

a holocaust we may have stopped

had they all looked more like us

the days will pass

and we will think

without the weight

without our hearts

because we can

because it’s done

despite our thoughts and words they’re gone

we’ll say we tried

we used our voice

and what a shame it didn’t work

but still we tried

some more than most

although it doesn’t matter now

and though we said never again

we all forget again somehow

when it’s done

and they’re all gone

will it still be complicated?

before bed

we wash our hands

fresh water used to cleanse our sins

the guilt that’s far too much to bear

the children’s missing limbs

draining out of sight and mind

with hollow words of love and care

now it’s done

we carry on

the students go to school

and the skies are blue again

I can buy the things I like

without a word from someone else

it’s safe to talk about myself

and what they’re wearing to the Met

now that there’s no one left to save

I take the train til I forget.

parasite

no matter how aware I am of the adversity faced by those around and far from me, my dependence on external validation cripples every step and thought I make. this parasite sucks time and joy, forever injecting its poisonous vanity and self obsession into my very being. I wish I could swat it out. every day I watch footage of bombs dropping on schools and children crying for parents and parents mourning children slaughtered by armed forces funded by my own taxes. every night I walk past people sleeping on park benches or sidewalks as I make my way home to a hot cup of tea. I know the world is so much bigger than my own insecurity. and yet the parasite stings. please like me. please like me. please. do I impress you? am I important? do you miss me? will I matter? have you forgotten?

I distract myself from the knowledge that none of this matters in the face of a race doomed to destruction by its own hands. the insecurities come to play, and more often than not they keep me from facing this bigger problem. but I also spend time with others. this helps. I feel loved sometimes and for a moment, without ever realising at the time, I’m no longer fixated on everything wrong with myself or this world. I feel love for people and I hold that in my heart. it helps.

I miss Jenae already but really haven’t stopped since she left. distraction. she joins the ranks of people I love and can no longer hold, at least for now. a lot of missing. a lot of longing for time and distance to mean a lot less. distraction. <<

Jenae

I said goodbye to Jenae tonight. a group of us went out to drinks to wish her well on her new adventure - moving states tomorrow for her dream job. I feel a deep sense of pride for her, having had the privilege of witnessing her persevere through chaos and discomfort only to come out on top. at the same time there is an emptiness that surfaces in her absence.

Jenae has been a godsend since I came back to Sydney this year. I tried to write her a letter to articulate how grateful I’ve been for all she has done and been for me, but I quickly realised that words fail when it comes to capturing something so precious. it’s a little like Lewes really - I try time and again to tie those feelings and experiences to words, but no combination ever truly comes close fo capturing it all.

it made sense at the time. we leant into each other in the midst of our respective crises. I don’t think either of us really expected it to transform and take the life it did. we speak our own language now. time spent together is like being home, and never enough. we drink tea and eat chocolate and listen to each other. built on the foundations of vulnerability, and a complete lack of walls or filters, this friendship has blossomed into a unique moment in time: in the face of extreme uncertainty in myself and the world, I’ve found something remarkable to keep in my heart.

I think of how it felt to leave Lewes, to hug Jan or Nash or Eliu goodbye. the last tea in room 53. the closing of that chapter, a time capsule that had been so much more than I could ever have anticipated. there’s something to be said about this sentiment in the context of saying goodbye to a friend with whom I’ve accidentally created a whole world. but again, I don’t have the words. I just don’t want to forget.

how lucky I am to have so much to miss. <<