London and Berlin

My favourite moments in London were those in between the sights I had researched and planned for: 

a) wandering down lanes of high-contrast townhouses, noticing the decor people had chosen to make their homes stand out (a Buddha here, a line of large ants there), spying signs warning of prosecuting the humans that let their dogs ‘foul the pavement’ (such fancy language, yet so punitive).

b) having a brief chat with an elderly, white man who mused that the exhibition he had just attended at Victoria & Albert had been less well attended than the exhibitions of his past, although the quality was still high.

c) I discovered Kave, a café that advertised artisanal coffee in Shepherd’s Bush, full-length windows giving it an open, airy feel, while warm, gold lights facing the eclectic artworks on the walls ladled on cosiness and charisma. My Toffee Latte here was delicious. 

My stay in Berlin was unexpectedly social, what with an old friend meeting me for dinner. Susi, the nomad, was spending a year in the capital of her home country, and she was still discovering new sights among the museums, galleries, and other cultural hubs on offer. It was lovely to talk travel and international living with someone who had been all around the world, and was alive to the beauty of Europe. 

I have long admired the caps on rent in places like Berlin and Hamburg, but to my surprise, a recent government had lifted Berlin’s, and now rents are comparable to Sydney’s: highly expensive. 

Susi also taught me that pet-sitting was not the done thing in Botswana. The locals laughed at her (good-naturedly, I assume) when she described what she was doing there, because animals are seen as communal and wild there, only loosely kept by humans. 

According to Susi, Danish people are protective of their social groups to the extent that they’re not open to new arrivals. She anticipated getting involved in a nomadic or immigrants’ group if she and her husband spend some time in Copenhagen. She felt that hygge was the secret of the Danes’ happiness, and I’m open to this insight as I don’t have enough experience with the country to know which ingredients decisively sway the Danes that way.

I adorn my face with opinions

A couple of days ago a potential new friend invited me to a social event hosted by a cosmetics company, reminding me that, even for the kind of unconventional women and non-binary people I attract, makeup continues to matter. 

The first page of a Google search on "I don't wear makeup feminist" reveals cis woman after cis woman sorting through their conflicted feelings on beauty culture. Am I a rarity in having opted out of this conflict so decisively that it's hard to relate?

For me, it's pretty simple: I have various insecurities about my face, but none of them are compelling enough to lead to covering it up in time-consuming practices involving costly chemicals which won't let my skin breathe. 

I know that I am valuable for what I hold inside. I have a bright spark in me which attracts other people. I move through the world confident in my knowledge that my features don't need enhancement. I only have one face, and I respect it. 

I feel privileged to have such a long history of this. 

I adorn my face with opinions.

That face, with its wrinkles around the eyes (I am 41, after all), areas of asymmetry, rosacea, dryness, and (right now) angular cheilitis, tells a story of curiosity, globe trotting, reading, intellectual discussion, bravery, nonconformity and style. It speaks of altruism, community consciousness, uniqueness, persistence and strength. Kindness. Empathy. Compassion. 

I feel free to be my authentic self, and encourage more women and non-binary people to do the same. 

Ideas for Better Work Distribution

It seems unfair to me that some people have jobs that utilise their creativity and/or critical thinking, and others don't. But how to distribute work so that all working people get a go at these more desirable jobs? What if we made it so that everybody had to participate in a combination of occupations? One could be a lawyer on Mondays, barista on Tuesdays, business manager on Wednesdays, actor on Thursdays, and chemist on Fridays. The following week, the same person could be a potter on Mondays, toilet cleaner on Tuesdays, architect on Wednesdays, artist on Thursdays and construction worker on Fridays. Then we'd go back to being a lawyer on Monday. 

Imagine if society cared enough about the human spirit to assign every person variety - the chance to participate in both interiority-enriching labour and do the necessary tasks which are considered less desirable but are nevertheless necessary for society to function. Everybody could be paid the same for their 'package' of assorted tasks. Educational institutions would flourish with everybody training (and retraining) on the regular. Everybody could have their turn being an academic, too. 

Such a distribution would eliminate job-related snobbery and increase empathy, because we would all know what it's like, being a toilet cleaner. People would be conceived of as having limitless potential, and nobody would feel like they're on the dead-end track. Regular, inbuilt variety brings new ideas and more cross-disciplinary solutions to the problems of the world. 

To ensure some consistency and specialisation, a worker could select which jobs they return to periodically (as long as there is a mix of them in their basket).

What I propose is radical, but it can be done. We only need to find the collective will to elevate human dignity. 

Trusting your instincts

In 2025, it's a regular occurrence to be overloaded with information. You can access hours' worth of reading material every day through the internet alone. To be a wise, discerning and sophisticated agent in this environment, you need to be in touch with your emotions on a regular basis and let them take centre stage. 

What does it mean to trust your instincts? It's about listening to when you feel encouraged by something. Tuning into what motivates you (and what doesn't). Doing more of what makes you feel fulfilled, or deeply contented. It can often mean making choices which diverge from how the majority would handle things.

That thing that works for your best friend may not work for you. Your parents' heartfelt advice might not truly meet your needs. If the words of a spiritual advisor don't ring true, don't try to mould yourself in their image. Letting go of 'time-honoured wisdom' that you realise secretly bothers you might be the best thing you can do. Be kind and curious when getting in touch with your feelings. You deserve the luxury of hearing yourself out. The path to self-awareness may seem labyrinthine, but the more you learn to rely on your intuition, the easier it gets.

Perfectionist Tendencies

One of the reasons I haven't written here for a while is that my perfectionistic tendencies have shown up strongly. I want to meet a high standard. Another reason is that I have been mired in indecision about my next life stage: do I pursue yet more travel, or something more responsible, like investing in shares? 

Life feels messy as ever, and I try to be my own psychologist and tidy up the clutter of my mind through these blogposts, but doing so publicly means that there is always a defensive filter. 

I agree with those who maintain that trying to be a good writer while not being a good reader is going to produce disappointing results. I've been reading a little bit more lately, and this seems to provide fuel for my creative fire. 

I've also been trying to appreciate Sydney through the eyes of a local - meeting up with new people, making a habit of going to the beach and drinking in the ambiance, and I've decided to invest in soundproofing my bedroom (to make my home a more comfortable environment). 

Two evenings ago I was waiting for mum by the car at Coogee Oval (a large space where sports events are often held), when I decided to take a selfie. Just as I was getting into it, a car's backlights illuminated me in a warm red colour. I grinned, and took three photos. This one is my favourite:

Sydney provides plenty of what I need to live a good life. It's not perfect, but neither is anyplace else. There are things about it that are rare and precious, like its brand of multiculturalism. There are things which are enabling and encouraging, like its green spaces, user-friendly streets, clean water, fresh air, accessible education system and world-leading medical care. I have decided that I belong here. 

Chill Vibes at 'Ultra Violet'

I bumped into an old acquaintance at the Mardi Gras Festival's premier party for queer women (Ultra Violet), which opened up opportunities for socialising and group dancing. The afternoon had started out uneventfully - there was good music coming from the stages, but hardly anyone dancing along. I retreated to a pink beanbag nestled in the grass to wait for things to start happening. And indeed they did - an hour later (at 5pm) people started arriving a-proper, and the musicians were being met with the appreciation they deserved. 

The reason I knew Camz was that we attended a workshop on Healthy Relationships together. Run by ACON (a queer health organisation), our group pondered the ins and outs of functional human dynamics, learning from each other's experiences. Our little group developed an affinity for each other, and that translated into a facebook friendship with Camz, and a warm greeting at Ultra Violet. 

Camz had been busy since the early morning, setting up the National Art School so that it was ready to host hundreds of us queer women (and their allies). The grounds were decorated with sculpture installations (a glittery pink unicorn here, a walk-in vulva there), and the four stages were decked out in gorgeous graphics. I felt a sense of gratitude towards Camz for sacrificing her sleep in order to prepare the place. She had met some other nice volunteers that morning, and now that they were free to enjoy the event, they instinctively sought each other out throughout the evening. 

We started out at the 'Ultra' stage, drifted around the other three sources of music, and took photos with the sculptures. There wasn't much time for conversation, but I introduced myself to an engineer from Peru and a cis man from Dubai, the latter turning out to have some great dance moves. We decided that DJ Eddie was the best choice to dance to back at the Ultra stage, and shook our bodies to energised remixes of hits like 'What U Waiting For?' by Gwen Stefani. The others were drinking from the two bars available, but I was happy to stick to water. 

There was something about being around other queer people in a place designed especially for us that was soothing in a deep way. I observed the lesbian and bisexual women feel increasingly bold in their enjoyment of the music, and each other. 

There was a trans woman dressed up like Chappell Roan, a cis woman with a shaved head, various flavours of non-binary, and all the femmes you could possibly imagine. Older and younger generations mingled on the dancefloors, many with glitter in their hair or elsewhere on their attire. 

Camz herself was sporting a wonderful earpiece that she got online, the silver star patterns contrasting with her light brown skin. She said that her search for work in Australia was leading her to move to Newcastle, which is a shame because I will miss her. I guess we all gotta do what we gotta do. 

I departed from Ultra Violet at about 8pm, around the time a rock band with a S'n'M style was starting to amass an audience. I wasn't feeling the vibe so I extricated myself from the crowd, and loitered around the entrance, where the second half of Lady Gaga's 'Abracadabra' was audible. I had indulged in sufficient feel-good vibes during the 4.5 hours I'd spent there, and I felt it was a good note on which to leave. 

My 2025 Mardi Gras Festival (so far)

I chanced on a conversation with a queer man this evening 

Loquacious, well-travelled, kind and well-read

He saved me from a soundtrack of Leony’s

‘Rock and Roll’ ‘decorating’ my head

*

I’ve attended four events in the line-up for this Mardi Gras Festival: Randwick Pride, Fair Day, and two film screenings in Newtown. I’ve felt more welcome in my own city than I do most times of year. 

Fair Day in particular always surprises me with the diversity in the stalls, variety in the performances and sheer number of people. This year we were treated to a sampling of songs from the musical Titanique, which inspired me to experience the whole show sometime soon.

The Sydney Gay and Lesbian Choir performed at both Fair Day and Randwick Pride, saluting those of us with a bit of experience in love with an Australian 90s song about ‘[keeping on] falling in love / which is kind of the same.’ The song explores the rollercoaster of adult life, longs for parental guidance, yet ultimately celebrates persisting on the journey. (I forget the name of the song.)

Randwick Pride introduced me to Dyan Tai, a cis man vocalist in drag, who has a naturally high voice, brings themes of being other-ised as an Asian, and the lack of queer literacy in his family. The lyrics also feature more common gay themes, such as the magnetism of same-sex attraction, and the appeal of consumerism. The beauty of Dyan’s multi-faceted lavender dress was unmatched by any other outfit I’ve seen in this Festival. 

Having recently made an acquaintance on the promenade of Coogee Beach (where Randwick Pride was held) to whom I don’t feel comfortable being out, I can attest to Coogee & Randwick being places where heteronormativity still reigns. It is mostly a good-natured lack of cultural savvy. There may be a permanent rainbow walkway painted on the pavement, but it’s often that I feel like “the only gay in the village.” There is a strong appeal of Randwick Pride for me, because, for at least one day of the year, I feel like there are enough of us LGBTIQs around to make our presence felt.

The film ‘Lesvia’, a documentary put together by a Lesbos-born lesbian, indulged in the hedonism and social patterns of the mostly transient communities formed in Eressos (a part of the island encompassing a beach). It was interesting, though disconcerting, to witness the locals’ sense of separateness from any kind of queerness. One woman even hesitated to acknowledge Sappho’s lesbian heritage, when prompted. But this didn’t stop European travellers and some other international visitors (such as those from Israel) pursuing the Eressos experience, seeking a liberating space and finding solace, company and/or sex. With a handful of businesses springing up, accommodating for tendencies like vegetarianism, and eventually a women-only hotel (which has since closed), tourists felt they could live large and even sometimes behaved in culturally disrespectful ways which annoyed the locals. (It’s a familiar story of tourists not doing their research on the locals and overstepping boundaries.) Eressos, Lesbos continues to draw queer women today, though in the internet age it doesn’t have the same oasis-like feel as it did in the 60s-80s. Still, I will consider visiting next time I’m in Greece - it holds a historic appeal and promises a modern edge. 

Last but not least, I took in a suite of short films in a new venue (the upstairs room of a hotel and bar), the best of which was called ‘The Space You Need’ - this British sci-fi took a light-hearted, witty approach to the eventual falling apart of a relationship. There were laugh-out-loud moments as well as telling pauses which prompted us to recalibrate. An enjoyable story made all the more relatable by a racially diverse cast. 

Some of the other short films represented a groan-worthy gender reveal party which goes haywire in humorous style, and then there was the trans woman with supernatural gifts tasked with inducing confessions of love between two women who have been keeping their emotions under wraps for the longest time. Not all the films were stellar, but together they hit feel-good notes and made the trip to the inner west worth it.

I look forward to a couple more events before this Mardi Gras is done. It has provided me with reassurance and joy.