How about this suit—— Black and stiff, but not a bad fit. Will you marry it? It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof Against fire and bombs through the roof. Believe me, they’ll bury you in it. (Sylvia Plath, The Applicant) In writing this blog post I am neglecting actual tasks I really need to be working on, […]Read More
New forevers are circling me in a way that is both enlightening and threatening. Enlightening because I feel lucky to be where I am and to have the options to move forward that I do. Threatening because, well, I have to make choices, which inevitably will exclude some forevers from my life – at least […]Read More
When people ask me what’s next for me, I tell them I do not know. It’s the truth.
But it isn’t a bad truth. I don’t feel that I’m in a position where exiting tertiary education next year leaves me no options, or that I’m completely unprepared for the ‘outside world’ or stand no chance in it. Yet when I say “I don’t know” in response to this question, the connotations are generally negative in sentiment.
I have barely written on this blog for a while; I’ve mostly been sneaking around the internet with disposable usernames on busy platforms where identity is displaced from the stories it belongs to, into some thick void. I’m still thinking and participating, just not right here, nor with my name.Read More
I used to measure the timeline of my life through journals. When a friend said to me, “Remember that time – “, I’d think in my head yes, from the red journal. That system kind of shattered when I was gifted two identical books, but the main ones still stick out in my mind. […]Read More
My seventh semester at the University of Wollongong – an institution for young adults with anger management triggered by crap parking – started on Sunday. I arrived on campus and pulled into an almost-empty car park. I’m the first to admit I’m not the greatest at parking, and when I ended up just over the […]Read More
Never mistake silence for weakness. Remember that sometimes the air stills, before the onset of a hurricane – Nikita Gill, Her Silence I tried to write this post on a Friday night. I leaned back in my bed, opened up a blank page on my laptop and stared at the cursor, blinking at me tauntingly; I […]Read More