On suddenly appreciating Gotye.

Everyone knows I can't stand Gotye.

But when I hear "Save Me" blaring from the radio, I am taken, heartbroken, and uplifted at the same time. I am not sure if it is the bittersweet sounds of the song, or the lyrics, or both that get me... but every time I hear it I feel as though my heart is ready to burst.

That is the effect that music has on me. Paralysing, heart bursting. But it's also a magnetic way for me to deal with my feelings.

And then, this morning I read the lyrics.

I was spellbound with the common theme... about me, and about others in my life. This  state of sadness that captures us and causes an endless spiral; the inability to love when you can't save yourself.

There have been moments lately when anger has taken over, since this massive life change that I've undergone. The sheer listlessness of my 'self' dealing with the consequences of sadness and guilt, the moves from place to place, people who are too selfish to understand: this has all taken its toll on me. And yet I have removed myself from a situation in which I needed to be saved, despite how selfish and sad that choice was. I realised that the only person who needed to 'save me', was myself. 

And now that I'm on the other side, despite being tired and scared about my future... I can see so clearly, those around me, who need saving. Whether it's those experiencing depression, constant drinking problems, anger, disengaging from life... whatever.

And the inability to love, is the first clue of that reality... that some people just need to deal with their own problems, before anyone else can save them.

So I have a different take on Gotye's song. I don't believe it's a song about someone needing to be saved, it's a song about how someone has tried to save them, but in the end, it's yourself that needs to know and love yourself, first and foremost, in order to satisfy anyone else's needs. And therefore that is the only way you can satisfy your own needs.

I'm too tired now to do that job for anyone else. And I won't waste my time trying. I want to live, and be uplifted. Because now I know the road, and I know that all of us need to spend time fixing ourselves. Most of the time, our problems are due to past hang ups... people who have burned us, partners who have hurt us, parents who haven't loved us, fear of the unknown... whatever that hang up may be, that is what causes us to be paralysed within life. 

"And I could not love...

'Cause I could not love myself.

Never good enough, no:

That was all I'd tell myself

And I was not well...

But I could not help myself -

I was giving up on living."

One of my students came up to me the other day and showed me a photograph. My heart surged as this seventeen year old boy introduced me to a picture of his newborn 'daughter'. I thought I hadn't heard right. But there he was, scared as all hell, as he finally opened up on the secret that he had been hiding from me, and everyone in his year group, for months.

It now made sense why he sat at the back of the room, expressionless, and didn't participate or talk to me all year. He had his own problems to deal with. But he explained to me many things as we had our little chat in my classroom... He had always had a problem in opening up to people, and that he was hoping this situation, with this girl, and his daughter, would help him to connect with people again.

See, he had hang ups. He had seen four people killed when he was only four years old.

Now I could relate to that immediately because at nine, I thought my father had died. He had attempted suicide... and I will never forget walking into hospital with my brother and seeing his body being rolled down the corridor, covered by a green sheet. It was an image of death. That is a reality that no nine year old ever wants to face.

It is an image that haunts for all of eternity. And this poor boy in front of me is finally opening up to someone, about the deaths he witnessed, and about his inability to trust and open up to people... and the biggest of all... the fact that he, by accident, now has a daughter.

This boy needs saving. But I know that he needs to save himself. And perhaps through this image of new life, so perfect, so beautiful in his arms, perhaps he will be able to rectify the horrors that he's seen in his life, and witness the perfect cycle of life: that he has now created life.

I may not be able to rectify the wrongs I've done, for a long, long time. But I know it's nobody else's problem, but my own. And if I can share solace in others' stories... if this boy found the strength to share this secret with me, perhaps knowing inside that I would understand... then perhaps humanity is a beautiful thing after all.

We all need to take that step one day to save ourselves. And that's why I'm proud of this young man. He finally realised he needed to talk to someone. My heart burst as I walked out of the classroom that day. Just like the Gotye song, I couldn't decide if I was sad, uplifted, or just... amazed by the complexities of life.

On reconnecting with my past.

The strangest thing happened last week. 

There's this friend of mine, who has always been in my life since the time we were 9 years old. Coincidentally, That was the same year that something disastrously big happened in my life, in my family. But that's for another story. 

She met me at a time that I was vulnerable. I was shy and didn't have a whole lot of friends. We lived down the road from each other and the first time we met, I was taken back by her assertive and forceful way of giving a backhanded compliment. But I liked her.

We spent almost every day together, from that time on. We were pretty much inseparable. Every day I would wander over to her house and knock on her door and trudge into her room where we would listen to music or play with her barbie dolls and sift through the never-ending mess that cluttered her room. She was free and wild and loud-mouthed, the complete opposite to me, and yet we loved being friends. 

As we grew older, things changed. The expectations from my family meant that I couldn't see her as much; couldn't go the the same parties as her, couldn't stay late at her house. I started to retreat inside myself. I had immense jealousy towards her lifestyle and yet at the same time I wanted to scream at her: "Get your shit together! You can't be wild forever!" 

And yet, she influenced an important side of me. 

As we got older, it became more apparent that she needed my sense of responsibility, and I needed her sense of freedom. She represented everything I didn't have. She didn't care about what people thought of her; she just went with the flow. 

One thing we always had in common though was low self-esteem. How original. Teenage girls with low self-esteem.

We just dealt with it in different ways. 

It's been ten years since our teenage years, and it's been three years since I last talked to her. The last time was painful - I cut her out of my life because I just couldn't deal with the emotions of our friendship anymore. There was something resentful and seething underneath, and I couldn't deal with what was going on. So I shut her out. I cut her off. I never spoke to her again.

I never stopped thinking about her. She has always been part of me. She has grown in me, even in her absence. Often I would think of certain situations: What would she think of that? But I remembered - she wasn't part of my life anymore.

Recently, with lots of changes going on, we've been thinking about each other more. 

I emailed her the other day. She called me that night... and we cried and cried. It was like no time had changed, but at the same time, so much was different. She let me know that she had actually tried calling me two weeks earlier.... and she was having bouts of insomnia two months earlier than that. It was like the world was calling us to reunite. 

I believe all things are meant to be. At certain stages, things happen, people change, circumstances gravitate in different paths, and all of it makes sense in the very end. 

Having her back in my life is a blessing. Because we have learnt that we have both become more like each other over that time. She has become more like me, and I have become more like her. I'm not sure of the significance, but I think true friends will always make it back to each other in the end. 

I told her that in many ways, I needed her out of my life to figure myself out. She agreed. 

And now I'll be attending her wedding on New Years Eve. I'm super excited for the future. I can't believe how much has changed... and how nice it is to experience moments of revelation with somebody who understands you more than anyone in the world. 

On suffering and chasing dreams.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams.” Paolo Coelho, The Alchemist.

Ok. Yeah. The greatest philosophical book on life ever written. Coelho weaves a simplistic yet conflict-ridden narrative into a fable style, littered with magical metaphors and life lessons that no reader will ever forget. I am in awe of writers like this who just know instinctively how to touch the hearts of their readers.

I am following a life journey right now. The path is long and tricky and many parts of it feel awful and uncomfortable and guilty and wrong. So many times I have wanted to run back to peace and simplicity where I know best. But I know this is not the answer for me.

I have to find out what my heart is telling me.

When your heart has been crying out for so long, there's nothing more you can do but listen to it. Otherwise you will go crazy, and do things that will change you into a bad person. I never wanted to be a bad person.

But I certainly am sick of being such a good person.

When I say good person, I mean doing things in life knowing that it will be better for the good of everyone else. I don't think I've ever spent decent time in my life contemplating exactly what I need as a person. And since my heart keeps pulling me somewhere - I need to follow it.

It's strange though. Because I feel like I'm following a path with no end, with no answers at the end of it. It makes me want to turn around and go home because of this overwhelming fear of the unknown. There are also times, just like Santiago experiences, where I feel as though all my treasures I've ever worked for are being taken away from me.

But then, there's this... excitement? Exhilaration? There's this feeling emerging deep inside which overrides the painful guilt that follows me like a dark shadow each day. These are moments of insanity, of freedom, of perfection which make me feel so alive.

If I can smile, laugh every day for the rest of my life - I will be a complete person.

If I can commit every day to the things that mean everything to me: health, reading, writing, music, positive people - I will be a complete person.

If I can experience exciting moments that challenge me, often - I will be a complete person.

That's all I have to go on right now. 

The only way to stay happy and in control is to trust myself more than anyone else. For the first time in my life I am not letting anyone else influence me. I am keeping myself surrounded by beautiful people who let me speak from the heart.

Tonight, I'm going to drive by the beach on my own and sit on the sand with the stars watching over me. I'm going to breathe, cold and alive, take in the life that I'm meant to be living. I'm going to try to forget about the pain I've left behind and focus on finding myself, completely - because that's all we've got in life - our "self" - and if we can't listen to ourselves once in our life, when can we?

On teaching and being taught.

Just another typical day at work. 

I'm watching a year seven relief class do maths, while I persevere with my Year 9 reports. I also need to study for Macbeth: I am teaching Shakespeare with my Lit class.

And yet, my mind is wandering. 

The kids are fidgeting; their active bodies can only take the silence and the mundane routine for so long. I want them to stay quiet, and give me my momentary peace, but I sympathise with them. Life is meant to be active, lived: not tied down to a classroom for hours on end.

I never thought I could be a teacher. But here I am. The job of being a teacher is certainly different to being a student. I have never been less bored in my life. 

Sometimes I actually find it incredible how much can be going on in my mind, how much I am able to tolerate on a day to day level, and still experience the rise and fall of normal emotions. All this is going on throughout the drone of the odd 150 students I personally teach, and the close to 1000 people I hurtle my way through in the hallways, every day.

It is almost a miracle that I still feel something. 

I've changed so much over the last decade. It feels like only a moment ago I was an insecure, naive teenager who didn't know a thing about life, how to take care of myself, or how to make accurate decisions.

These days, I am so quick at taking matters into my own hands. Should I attribute my career to the changes within me? Or have I just grown stronger as a person, naturally?

I think my students have taught me a lot.

Over the years, I have had lessons taught that no other situation in life could have taught me.

Situation 1: The bitchy teenage girl.

Girl sits at the back of the class, chewing gum, smoothing back her hair. She is giggling with her girlfriend. They show each other a magazine. Class begins. Girl looks teacher up and down. She then interrupts teacher to announce, "I like your shoes Miss. I think I saw them in Myer."

Don't be fooled. This girl is not trying to be friends. This girl is trying to announce the fact that she is the Queen of this classroom. No teacher is going to take that title away from her. 

Now, in order for me to handle this situation, I learnt quickly not to be too nice to the girl. Be short, sharp, clear with my response. Do not pander to their prettiness. Do not give any allowances. And for god's sake, do not think that she is going to like you, no matter how nice you are. In fact, she will only like you, once you are out of her life. 

So my lesson in this scenario is: Acceptance. Not everyone is going to like you. So deal with it and move on, realising that the motive for their actions is based on simple primal insecurities. 

Situation 2: The class clown, the joker. 

Boy bustles into class with a crowd of boys, grunting obscenities and jostling desks. Boy screams out, "Hey Missss! What up!" Neutral reply from teacher. Boy sits down and asks, "What's going down today?" Teacher replies, "Nothing is going down, Tom. You, however, need to do some work."

This situation is a tedious one, because it is never-ending. The boy will not settle down. He will not be subdued by threats of phone calls home. He will not do his work just because you have yelled at him and told him he is a no-hoper. He will simmer in anger, planning his next move to ruin you.

My lesson in this scenario: Compassion. Always, there is a kind boy inside waiting to be heard and loved. I sit down with the boy. I ask him how his weekend was. I have a joke with him. I talk about the fact that I want him to do well. I remind him that if he does his work now, he is going to have a totally awesome weekend. I praise him for his efforts.

Situation 3: The kids are leaving you.

Teacher is at graduation, waving and tearing up as her favourite kids are leaving. The bonds she has shared with them are absolute. She knows though, that they are not going to visit. She knows that they will not see each other every day any more, leaving a big gap in her heart where she learnt to love them. And now they are leaving her. 

My lesson in this scenario: Love and respect never dies. One day, they will contact you again, and it will be like no time had passed. And always, always there are new students that will touch your heart again.

This job has been an endless rollercoaster which has taught me so much about life and human relationships. It is not just a job. Once you have students, they will affect your life forever. And not only will you teach them, but they will teach you lessons that will last forever.

Teaching has taught me to be a strong person. I can handle almost any situation that comes my way without the need for tears, or a man to save me. 

That is something to be proud of. But in the meantime, it's time to let the kids out for lunch.

On fearing myself: the demon lies within me.

Fear is such a crippling emotion.

It literally causes our bodies to shut down, bit by bit, hounded by illness and paranoia.

I breathe it all out. Forget it. Wash it away.

Hang ups. 

Fear of not being good enough. Fear of making the wrong decision. Fear of life travelling too fast. Fear of failure. Fear of falling behind. Fear of being stuck. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of not taking risks. Fear of losing someone. Fear of not being pretty enough, smart enough.

It’s always about not being enough.

Fear is a constant enemy in my life and I watch it travelling alongside me each day - stabbing me slowly, seductively in the abdomen, willing me to take the pain, to lower myself into the knife. I resist, I resist. Sharp pangs of silence ensue. I am not myself, I am not complete, I am not living the life I am meant to.

This pain is crippling.

And yet it is not just me afflicted by this pain. We live our lives constantly knotted up, wrenching ourselves from one infestation of worries to the next. We all cope with it in different ways. But the truth lies in this: the people who look the most calm, the most at ease, are the ones who have fear gripping them savagely the moment they lose control.

I am one of them.

On metaphors and magic.

Some people don't like the whole metaphor thing. Obscuring reality; making stuff all poetic and flowery. As a writer, I think in metaphors. Sometimes lines just come to me. I can't help it. I wake up during the night with a magical line ringing in my head, and I instinctively reach out to my phone and plug in the line to my notes page.

Sometimes, I look back on my notes and find fragments of lines hanging all over the place, waiting to be cleaned up and posted on a blog. 

Some people try to hide themselves from everyone, including themselves, simply through avoiding the truth. 

Shut. Your. Mouth.

Easy answer. 

I find that the longer I hold onto my words, the more likely they are going to explode in the wrong places. So I have found a way. Through metaphors. Nobody can enter your metaphors fully. They can only interpret them with their own contextual knowledge guiding them. So it's no wonder that my favourite stories I've ever written can only be correctly interpreted by one person: me. It gives me great power to know that I am the only holder of the truth. 

Some people gain power through risk taking, drinking, drugs, sex. I find my power through words. 

It might seem strange, someone like me, talking about secrets and obscurities: power through metaphor and symbolism. But I know the truth. My secrets lie deep inside me. Nobody will get inside me. Nobody will ever know who I truly am.

On detox and eastern healing.

Two days ago, I had my first experience of a method of holistic healing, which would be best described as 'Japanese Kinesiology.' Well, it could have been reiki, it could have been theta-healing.... seriously, I'm just not sure.

Anyway, I felt a bit queasy as I pulled up to the house. Yes, I was getting a treatment from [Who?] who treats from home in a plain old house in the middle of suburbia. It's a bit like when you have the option of shopping at Sportsgirl, but next door is a warehouse boutique with lots of similar, cheaper made clothes for half the price. What do you do? You always, always walk into Sportsgirl. Screw having to talk to angry asian shopgirls who are inevitably manipulating you to buy their cheaply made inferior items.

So where was I? It was meant to be street number 105. The 0 was missing. It was a dishevelled little paint-peeled house, it was getting dark, and I had no idea who was going to greet me at the door. I was getting visions of Dexter. But you know, a version of Dexter that the audience is not meant to sympathise with.

I knocked on the door and saw thankfully that there was an expensive flatscreen TV visible through the glass french doors. It made me feel a little comforted that this guy wasn't just after my money [or worse]. And then, he appeared, almost floating towards the doorway to greet me. Shige. A little Japanese man of some illusive age (you never know how old asians are; they always look so damn young). His face was round, and he smiled a sweet, gentle smile, sporting a couple of missing teeth. He had honest eyes. I liked him immediately.

He brought me into his little medical office. I saw posters of the spinal cord on the wall and I saw a Certificate of Naturopathy sitting in a frame. In very strong broken english, he said to me, "I am help you. You are only person who cause your problem. Something inside is problem. I help you find way to fix problem. Healing comes from within."

I looked into his eyes and thought, well, I'm not sure of any of his credentials, but I guess I've gotta trust him.

He asked to look at my hands. I looked at him doubtfully at the stage. My hands are fine, I was thinking. He started to look at which of my arms was longer. Strangely, I could see quite clearly that one arm was longer. Oh. That's interesting. Maybe we're on to something here. My arms are asymmetrical. I'm screwed.

Then he asked me to stand up and lean to one side. And the the other. "Mmm. okeeyy. Mmm." and then asked me to lay down on his chiropractic table. I was tense and worried. Please don't take advantage of me, I was thinking. And then i felt guilty for even thinking it. Why is it that all men are immediately judged to be rapists?

While I was lying on my front, he conducted some strange treatments. I felt objects being laid on my shoulders and back. I felt something fluttering around my head. He placed pressure on my lower back and moved me from side to side. It certainly didn't feel like a normal medical appointment. I was waiting for him to click me back into place and say, "you're fine now, off you go."

But of course, that couldn't be the case. Truth is, I've felt unwell for a really long time. At first I just thought it was part of getting older - you know, the older you get, the more pains and problems you feel. It's natural. You can't expect your body to always be youthful. But after a while i started to get suspicious of the amount of caffeine i needed to stay awake and alert. And the fact that I couldn't do/eat anything without gruelling abdomen symptoms. And it kept going from there, throughout my body; pains, infections, fogginess, lack of motivation, anxiety, and probably depression.

Shige's voice rang inside my head: "You are only person who can fix problem. Problem is within."

The final part of the procedure was detox acupuncture. Long story short: boy, can I tell you, have i been detoxed. I have spent the last 24 hours doubled over, sore, nervy, headachey, stomachey, brain-foggy, and quite frankly, stupid. Even as i write this, i feel abnormally stupid.

But i need to trust in Shige's words. "You cannot feel better without feeling worse first. Your body will know what to do."

So I guess I just need to ride it out. Physically and emotionally. I feel like an addict coming off some hard edged drugs. But as Shige says, "You do detox; you fix your lifestyle too. All will heal soon. And stop doing yoga. You are doing it wrong."

Ah, shit, seriously? Ok Shige.

Tree-Pose and Brain-Twitter.

It’s a funny thing, Yoga.

There’s Downward Dog, Tree Pose, and Trikonasana… There’s the Cobra, Virasana, and Reverse Warrior… But amongst all these awkward, highly exposing bodily maneuvres, there’s this great art of ‘meditation’.

 Something that I haven’t quite mastered yet.

I know I haven’t mastered it, because all the meditation and “higher-self” books I’ve been reading keep telling me that to achieve full heightened awareness, “one must disengage from all thoughts”. All? I didn’t think human beings were capable of such a thing. Me especially. Aren’t we designed for complex problem solving and higher thinking? Isn’t that what sets us apart from apes?

After a great session of Iengar yoga, where my whole body is feeling intensely sore, I lie back as the lights are dimmed for “Savasana,” and I try this meditation thing once again. Back to it, honey. Learn to disengage. And I try all the tricks that I’ve been taught: imagining sifting through a sky full of clouds, conscious breathing through a light tunnel in my belly…. or quite simply… just not thinking. Eventually, I’m back where I started. My stupid little brain-world.

I’d like to shut off this brain-world at most times of the day, actually. It’s quite an inefficient part of myself. It often stops me from getting a good night’s sleep, or working to full capacity. 

There my little brain tweets the most ridiculous thoughts. And when I say “tweets”, we’re probably not too far off the Twitter variety. Meaningless crap. Or just plain fantasy daydreaming.

And all this reading to “improve my self” has taught me to live in the “now”. That’s also kind of hard when I’m constantly thinking of the past, or the future. Now? You want me to think of ‘right now’? I’m not sure that me laying on my back in a crowded hall is too interesting. However, my plans for the weekend, or the thought of holidays far far away one day, seem rather enticing, don’t you think?

And there’s the other thing: there are a whole lot of women in my class. And one guy. Who is fairly old and quite possibly only in attendance for the eye-candy. And it leads me thinking - is this “thinking” thing a female problem? And here I am, thinking again. Are women subjected to tortuous thoughts for their entire lives, whilst men are quite happy in their desolate mind-caverns?

I’ve been told it’s true; I’ve even read it in books. I have been assured that men really do have a no-thinking zone in their minds. So when they are asked, “What are you thinking,” and they say, “I dunno, nothing?” they are apparently speaking the truth. Whilst we are incredibly busy trying to find an answer to all our deep and meaningful questions about life, our male counterparts are just…. watching the footy. Or drinking beer.

So I’ve come to realise that the severe lack of men in my yoga class is because men don’t need yoga to switch off their Brain-Twitter. Because they have none. Men can get over their problems in an instant, by simply not thinking about it ever again. Which leads us women to become entirely confused and frustrated and makes us obsess over it again and again until our minds are full of pointless updates that make us angry, passive-aggressive and in intense need of saving from ourselves.

It would be so much easier to be a man. You get to go to yoga simply to perve on women. And you don’t even need to worry about it.

So here I am again, back at my first dilemma. I cannot switch off my little brain, and I have some obviously unresolved injustice issues. And so, I’m wondering if I am a Yoga failure…. or if slowly by slowly, I am gaining a little more awareness of the “self”, after all.

Isn’t recognition the first step to improvement? I think yes. And if Downward Dog leads me any closer to spiritual greatness, then let’s get those hamstrings stretching. Ugggh…. pain.

On repression and men: 101

I went out for coffee with a good male friend of mine the other day. We took our seats in the café and proceeded with a fantastic conversation about the latest holidays we’d embarked upon, the music festival that was coming up, and anecdotes about nights out with our friends. But inevitably I had to broach the question, “So what happened with your girlfriend?” And after a sigh, he embarked upon a quite simple explanation: “It was just too complicated for me.”

And I am brought back to the conclusion I usually make about all guys: they are so scared of feelings. Real feelings. Figuring things out. Deep stuff.

Don’t get me wrong, a huge reason I love having male friendships is because of the ease at which we can talk about the fun stuff. There’s no trashy gossip: just untainted conversation and plentiful funny stories that keep me giggling and relaxed.  Not to mention the added bonus that I feel pleasantly confident that they are not going to tear me to shreds the minute they get home. In fact, they probably won’t even give our coffee date another second thought for a few months until they suddenly realise they haven’t seen me in a while.

But when things get more meaningful, you can see the unease in their eyes; and on the flipside, women are like predators, inching forward in their booth to swarm upon their male prey. Because, quite simply, girls are just so much better at feelings than boys.

Sometimes, my sense of emotion can get rather intense and overwhelming, and I need a bit of guy-friend time to give me perspective and put all the silly stuff in the trash where they belong. But honestly, I like the fact that I can spend time pondering a complicated subject and finding some sense of internal rest at the end of my crusade. 

Usually, my thoughts turn into meaningful actions somehow. I can push things back into the place they are meant to be. And – like magic - my feelings eventually return to their normal feel-good state. I like the tide and pull of where my feelings take me. The feeling creates new pathways and draws me into love, creation, hope, magic. And I learnt a long time ago that falling into sadness for too long is a recipe for disaster and pointlessness. My happiness is resolute. It is a part of me. But I sure as hell will let myself feel the pain of a bad moment when I’m physically and emotionally supposed to. It’s life.

Men on the other hand will literally shut down. I’ve seen it time and time again. A whole face can change in a moment. Men in general are in constant feel-good mode and anything that obscures that sense of fantasy-reality will be ignored or avoided. I am just generalising of course, but I am perceptive enough to know that when a guy has that stone-cold-avert-eyes-clench-jaw-look, it usually means that they are banishing every sense of emotion out of their system. Striking a heartfelt chord is not something they like to admit to. But fooling around, however, is perfectly acceptable.

What happens when true feelings reach breaking point though? What happens months, years down the track when those thoughts that haven’t been resolved blow up with Freudian catastrophe?

It makes me wonder how on earth men and women are ever to live happily together. And how clichéd but true: opposites attract.

But maybe that’s the point. Perhaps this is just the way things are meant to be.

On kidhood and adulthood.

I am running.

Running like a maniac through the dim hallways of the late-night cinema, I pass doors with neon lights and posters of celebrities that try to snap me up with their smiles. My pretty little black sandals are my soft-trodden wings. I am running as fast as I can so that I can get back to my comfy cinema seat… so that I can watch Natalie Portman (the current love of my life) as she breaks her love barrier in No Strings Attached (awesome flick by the way).

 And as I break through the “Extremescreen” cinema doors, clutching my ticket with sweaty hands, the dark theatre engulfs me once more; I slow down to a stroll. Time to be an adult now. I am brought back to full awareness as I realise that people will now be watching me as I enter to take my seat.

I smooth my hair back. I adjust my walking style. I carry my face differently; slightly upturned, an air of indifference. I smooth my clothes into place. And there. I have entered the scrutiny of society once more: I have learnt to play the game like a true movie heroine.

The sad part is, as I take my red cushiony seat (and cross my legs demurely like a lady) I am reminded of what it felt like to be a child again. And I realised that I’ve been trying to play this adult “society” game from the moment I turned 16 or 17…. And how sad it is that I have to try really hard nowadays to pick up where I left off. The real me. The tomboyish, nerdy, don’t give a shit how I look or how I sound, I’m just gonna be me…. Me. And that actually is my favourite me.

The best memories of being young were the days I would roam free on my bike. My dad handmade my bike. Bet ya didn’t know that? My clever little old man constructed my bike with parts of old bikes that he collected from the tip. That’s why my bike had an aqua frame but pink handlebars. That’s why the bell never stayed upright. That’s probably why my brakes were insanely dodgy. But it was my bike…. And it got me everywhere I needed to go.

There was a hill, a peak in my daily cruise to the shops, where I would hike my legs up up up, and then fly down that broad black road like an absolute crazy nutcase kid. I’d even do the head down thing to get more speed. And I never wore my helmet. It’s like the little signs of rebellion were already set into place (and it totally explains why I always refuse to drive at the speed limit nowadays…. Meh).

And I would squeak into place at the bike rack and swagger into the air-con doors, barefooted, no worries. No lock on the bike. Who the hell would want to steal that bike anyway? That was the best thing about it: security was a non-issue.

And I think back on that old version of myself, and I kinda miss the attitude I used to have. I was never embarrassed or scared of anything.

I would ride to school with all the boys, and race them down the backstreets. Nothing made me happier than beating a group of pussy guys at their own game. Because back in those days, I was not one who said no to a challenge. Often people would see me racing all the boys during sprint training in P.E., or kicking a footy at lunchtime. Even as I write these words, I’m thinking, what the hell happened to me? Just the other week I went for a run and tripped over. Seriously, fell flat on my face and scraped up my knees and shoulder (and cried). Shit, the old me would’ve laughed it off and kept running. No, wait. The old me would not have fallen over in the first place, you clumsy girly loser.

Of course, my friends still remember the old me, and often laugh when people dare me to do something “ohhhh no, don’t dare Rose to do it, she’ll seriously do it!!” and it’s all a bit of a joke now. But oh, it’s been so long since I’ve really felt the spiritual freedom of not being limited to machines, makeup and GHDs.

Small things make me feel alive again. Going on the swings with my nephews. Falling back on the grass at the local park, and not caring who is watching. Peeing in the ocean. Going on little-kid rides at the Royal Show (which is pretty easy when you’re my height). Eating ice-cream. If you see me eating ice-cream, you’ll understand why.

Sometimes I think that there must be a lot of people missing out on the good things. If you’re ever feeling old, just try it out, I dare ya. Next time you’re at the movies, sidle out for a short toilet break. And just as you break out through the doors, sprint your way down the hallway, flying. And if someone passes your way and stares at you with upturned eyebrows, give them a wink and a smile.

It might just be the wake-up call that they need.