Who We Were

I took the lid off the filing box and sifted through the papers bound up together. Amongst the pages was a sketch I had totally forgotten about. It was during a time I felt like I wanted to draw and express how I saw myself. This was at the peak of when I thought life was a loss and I was alone.

I stared at the image and welled up with tears. I felt for this man that looked back at me through the ink. I knew him well and wanted to just say it was going to be OK. He looked back at me crying, begging it all to stop. The fight was too much and the hatred coming towards him and from himself was just too much. The Christian world I was in brought so much fear that I was never going to be loved and I had no life ahead of me.

And then I thought about all those out there who feel this, right now. And I dont ever want to stop reminding and sharing that you are not alone.

Fires Hit Family

My Aunty Trish and Uncle Noel lost their home and business, Jamanee Gunya, this week in the firestorms. They are thankfully safe. I have no words, but wanted to simply share my Aunt’s words, which brought me to tears.

“Tonight I am posting our story of today. As you all would know I rarely post!!

In respect also to many others who have lost their homes and some their lives.

We heard on Sunday morning that our home had been lost by a ferocious fire and left nothing standing except blackened trees.

This morning we bravely headed out to Jamanee Gunya and the sheer devastation was clear and vast. A very hot fast fire has taken all we own. As we made our way around from building to building we stood and scanned the damage. Our hearts were heavy, but most of all the heartache which will stay with us was the site ahead where a tree had obviously been and was still smouldering was one of our resident a male Wallaby’s.

Mr Warroo has been with us for many years. He was sitting in the hot spot still and in shock. The fur on his back was missing and his face singed. He looked at us with recognition, and with his sore eyes he begged us to help. Noel found a saucepan in the rubble of our house and found water in a burnt out water tank and offered it to him which he gently sipped gratefully.

We were in denial… thinking he would be ok. Upon professional advice we were told he would not survive with intervention.

With his damaged eyes pleading with us we made the decision to save him from his pain. A friend of ours with respect and sensitivity helped Mr Warroo leave his safe home. This is what broke us today. Our safe haven was not safe at all for all our fauna and flora or humans.

This country is the 2nd driest continent in the world and the First Peoples knew that and made sure that fierce fires never happened.

We will move on in time as many others will do the same. This is a new start with a future, with changes and uncertainty until we see a new plan and put it in place.

Our deepest sympathy goes out to all whether you lost homes, loved ones or animals. To the Firemen who have suffered trauma, and also to all people, as the sense of loss, terror and confusion consumed us. Not forgetting communities who just did not know where was a safe place for their familes.

Much gratitude to our volunteers and organisations who tirely for the past 5 weeks have been looking after so many people.

This will not happen again if all people of this Country can make the change by standing together and strong for our safety and well being.”

Full Circle

Hello, I am in Melbourne. I thought I said goodbye to Melbourne? Oh silly, you have no idea what will happen next, you actually are now saying hello again. I walked along the beach, a slightly overweight old dog with his snout covered in grey, waved at me as he walked by and the smell of salt and sounds of summer plodded around me. Yet I thought I was meant to have winter, I thought I was going to meet my buddy Joe at Empanada Mama’s in Hells Kitchen in Manhattan. And get the subway to work and be there everyday except Christmas Day.

Though I walk back in to my old world, and greet it again with a smile. I never wanted to leave it, but believed in something deep down and was at peace leaving. And now I sink in again.

I hope to hold on and be steadfast with the return which has been given to me. Melbourne, I love you. I turn around and follow the happy dog, who never left and who enjoyed all I missed. So much to catch up on.


Sitting by the fire with my only family in the US, staring into the fire on a Fall evening, beers in hand and having laughs. Yet I felt for the rubber fast forward button on my imaginary remote. The intensity of this last few weeks of knowing I was about to go sliding into the next chapter, so much of me struggles to be in the present in these moments. I want to make it speed, flicker across the screen quickly and just get there already. The goodbyes or as people remind me “see you laters” are just more common in my life than I like at all. So instead of being in the moment I want to rip off the band aid. I stand up, sit back down. I am restless. I truly want to be here and soak this time up but so many thoughts race through.

Yet then my cousin gets up, who is like my little brother. Stands in front of fire and addresses the small group there. Some friends of his and my good buddy Dan. A little speech arises, he wishes me on my way and talks about how he sees me. Tears well in my eyes in the dark. I’m back in the moment. I don’t really know what to say but he knows I really appreciated that.

Later on I stand by the embers and so does my cousin. He looks at me, I see a thought pass through his eyes, and he looks away.

“What was that thought?”

“Nah don’t worry.”

“No, come on!”

“It wasn’t nice”

“I want to know even more now!”

“Well, I looked at you and thought, we are getting old.”

“We are!!” I chuckled.

“And I also thought, where did 14 year old you go?”

We stared into the fire, the night coming to an end and I was in the moment for now. Picking up the remnants of the cook out, we walked inside humming The Backstreet Boys.

I did the things.

I chose the path that takes me home to Australia. It took a while to realise that NYC was not a city I came to, for NYC. But for other reasons, and I do not feel like I am failing because I leave the big city of lights behind. If anything I take on a new chapter full of opportunity back in Melbourne as opposed to the dead ends that were in NYC.

I will be sad to say bye to my friends shortly, but these same friends are the ones who helped me see that going home is going to be the best way forward. And I am excited. Back into my industry of venue management and at the same time my writing is progressing wonderfully.

I printed my first book and it arrived in the mail. I opened it and held the physical being of my words and I was so proud. It was such a step into the next chapter of sharing my passion with the world. Do the things that make you happy and which then ripple out and make others happy. It’s a good way to be.

I sit and write this as I look over the Pacific Ocean in North California. It is chilly but sunny, there are two owls hovering like helicopters above, trying to eye out a mouse. The sun is dancing back at me from the water’s glassy top. The tall brown grass on the cliffs softens the dramatic jagged rocks below. And I am lucky to sit here and see this as I think about my way forward. I finished my job that sucked the life from me but where I met such wonderful souls. Was a good experience overall. And now I head back to NYC for a few more weeks before I bring myself and a few bags of NYC on a QANTAS jet across the seas. I will snap my fingers and will be in Australia, looking back at this moment while the sea roars below and will remember the salty smell as the deers bounce by through the grass.


Your colored crotchet blanket would lay over me, my fingers poking through the holes, pretending to be a spider wriggling. I’d be eating white bread and peanut butter sandwiches and I’d hear you in the kitchen on the phone speaking to a friend.

I was probably feeling a little indifferent and bored as a kid, waiting for my mum to pick me up from your house. But the peanut butter sandwiches always tasted better when you made them for me.

Bluey the Budgie would squeak in his cage down in the back living room, you would whistle to him.

You called us all “love” and it was true. Your life was about your family.

You were the best back seat driver ever. No one told you this at the time.

The plastic Christmas tree came out every year and having Christmas at your house was one of the highlights of the year and always ended in boogie board races in the pool with the smell of the BBQ.

When I returned from London as a young adult, after I had escaped life to accept I was gay, you walked up to me in the kitchen the first time you saw me and hugged me. And said “Love, I love you no matter what”. The first family of mine to do that.

You loved the midday movie.

You had one of the most wonderful smiles. And you gave it and had it the most with your family.

Roast dinners at your house were THE function.

Your soft singing showed your love, whoever you were nursing.

You were always waiting at the door for us when we arrived to visit.

When we left you stood at the door and waved and say “hooray!”

Your partner in crime Ed, left this world with you and your children sitting by his side. And you tried to keep going without him but it’s OK, life wasn’t the same.

A year ago today you said goodbye to this earth and we said goodbye to you. My grandmother, my Nana Edith, you are missed. You will always be missed. And you were also my last surviving grandparent. The four of you make up me and I couldn’t be prouder.

Riding the Passion

He leant against the subway pole with his butt cheeks. Bent over slightly, holding a tattered notepad he furiously scribbled words. He had some dints in his shaved bald head, each with a story that we have no time for now. The crowd stood on each other, leaving room around him on the packed subway, all seeing a force field we do not. I don’t think he smelt but people would look at him and think he did. Two indifferent women held the subway pole with their back turned from him. Staring into their worlds far from here.

He began to hum a tune and sing his words. The rat tat tat from his pen on his old boot, in perfect rhythm rippled out to his body. His hips moved which moved the subway pole to the passion inside him. The women’s arms moved with the rhythm yet their worlds kept them hostage. Oblivious. No one looked up at him, and he didn’t look up from his notepad, pausing to scribble some words out and write new gospel over the top.

The doors opened and everyone pooled out, leaving him alone at the last stop. He was going to ride this passion all day.

Lincoln is Providence.

When I write about this in a year, I will form the words better. When I talk about this with a dear friend in five years I will list the many ways you are who you are to me.

When your insides seem to be missing and you cant see through the film of tears in your eyes, where no way seems to be up, you still fell into my world. Offering your warmth and kindness with no question and as I sobbed you gave me that place to sob.

I type this on the train going away from Providence, Rhode Island and I just looked up the definition of Providence:

Providence (noun)

Providence is God, or a force that is believed by some people to arrange the things that happen to us.

I have been given providence. As always. This is all part of how it is meant to go. This place has been Providence for me. The air, the trees, the warm smiles of your friends and family and happy licks by puppies. The bleat of little Allan the sheep who I named, that echoed across the barn. Far from NYC where my world was in ashes. Getting out of bed when I hear the roosters, turn the coffee machine on then step outside to see the sun slowly brush-stroking the grass, the barn and flowers in gold. Then we jump on the ride-on-car-thing (I don’t know farm words for small vehicle that zips and dips), and run the dogs around this world. A spray of mud on my jeans, makes me feel more present. I wave to the goats as they run up to the fence as we blur by. My heart feels like it will all be OK.

It also is an honor to be nudging you and to see the way others see you and look to you. You are only just beginning and the story of Farmer You, from the faded photos of love of your farm you show me to the man who sits high on the tractor looking over his kingdom. You will be one to let others know true kindness, you will be one to show others they can be them and so much more.

Now as I am going down this steel river on my train towards NYC I am thankful to once again have been immersed in the green, tickled by bumble bees drunk in pollen from the sunflowers and having your strength and friendship sending me forward. Thank you.

The Visit

The waitress walked towards us, no eye contact. She was having a rough day. Seated at the awkward table beside the serving counter, mum and I sat down and we were handed a thick bible of a menu. We both just looked at the specials, easier and less words. Quickly choosing some starchy dish we placed the menus down and sipped the water that had just splashed out of the iced jug from the distracted waitress.

Mum has a belief that she has nothing worth saying so conversation stops and starts with her. As her son, I have the gene that seems to have carried this trait. I fight it everyday. We all have something worth saying, especially to those who love us.

We sat in the diner on the Upper East Side, mother and son together on the other side of the world in NYC. She is visiting from her little island in the South Pacific. She never would have dreamed to come here to see me. But she was given the chance.

On Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend at the time surprised me by saying he would get flights for my mum and her partner so a little piece of Australia could come to me. I burst into tears when he told me in the street down in the East Village, it was incredibly sweet and generous. My mum could finally meet the man I loved and his kids. The reason I left my home in Australia for. And as a couple, slowly looking at forming a family unit.

Yet a few short months later he ended it suddenly. In my shock and grief the last thing I wanted was to have her come here, and see the huge hole that was now NYC to me. I couldn’t say no, of course they should come. That whole, “let’s make it an adventure that we originally didn’t foresee” but in the end she was coming for a funeral of the life I had. Though she was the sort of guest who didn’t know those who are no longer in my life. One who was attending the funeral, as a support.

So as we sit in this diner, our starch arrives, the weight of the plate thumped on the table . And she has seen me the last week and a half in a fog. She also sees me find the energy to look past the constant stab of a reminder, that instead of showing her Brooklyn Bridge, I should have been showing her how much of a cheeky and funny pair the kids are. How happy I was in the world beside the cheeky and warm man I stood beside. I look at my mum and know she she gets it. She is having a ball in NYC and sees her son being taken away in the sorrow.

“I’m sorry mum for not being so present, I want to be and I have so much guilt that I am not. I only have a few days to share with you here before you are leaving”

“Mate, don’t ever feel that way, it makes sense and I am glad to be here for you, even if no words make it better. Don’t ever feel that guilt. “

I write the above as to how I feel we both wanted to say to the other. It came out and stabs and starts, but that was the general vibe. And my eyes welled with tears. We have gone through a lot together.

I read her an email from one of my cousins who recently wanted to reach out for forgiveness. She said sorry for her part in the large pool of hurt that the religious world we came from held down on us, so many years ago. I can see that meant a lot to her too. And she was taken back to those years ago and went absent herself, as she repeats over and over her regret at the way things happened with her and my family. When it was her time for fog.

We eat our dinner, we talk about our worlds and sit up to focus more on our moment. We get less and less of them and I refused to be taken away by the fog.

The check comes, when mum is in the bathroom I do the sneaky pay the check. Getting mum dinner just always feels good.

We wave back at the waitress to say thanks as we leave, she didn’t look up.

We sit on a brick garden wall, on a street corner eating an ice cream. And take a photo. Enjoy the moment.

We bury us.

The cold clay was cut in the darkness, the steel spade lifting up the first clump. The sound of roots tearing, grass covered in the slumbering dirt. The pile began to grow, a small rough pyramid forming in the stillness. The weight on my heart grew. Each shovel cutting through the memories, each dig was making the hole inside me bigger. A bird chirped in the distance, dawn was approaching. The hole in the earth was shaped and deep enough, and I hear you arriving. I don’t look up, I don’t want to see your eyes. But I see your feet.

You let me dig the hole by myself.

You throw in the uncertainty, it drops straight down into the darkness. I then throw in never really feeling noticed, along with misunderstanding. I shake off the masks I wore.

More birds chirping and the first rays of the sun touch the trees above. I see out of the corner of my eye you release our dreams of the family we had. I then threw in some drawings the kids made for me, no longer will I ever get to be their father. More memories float down, they drip off my fingers. I choose to catch a few though, they can stay. Some thuds of hope are shed and the hole is now swimming with who us was. No longer moving, but limp layered us.

You pick up a spade, the one that I left for you. You didn’t even let us have a moment of silence. I picked up the other, and gently nudged the first crumbling clay and soil back in. You take a big chunk of dirt, and toss it in. The earth taking it back. I follow your lead. The light hits my face, my chest, my hands. It’s OK, the sun is still rising. I now look at the mound in front of me, covering the hole, the deep is unsettled but absorbing us. I feel you look at me, I do not look up. You wait, you want me to look at you. I do not look up. You sigh deeply, place the shovel down in the grass, then step away til I hear your footsteps no more.

Birds are chirping and I lightly touch the soil. My handprint appears and I stand up again. I turn away and look at the sunrise, hello my friend.