Why I write

Writing synthesises contradictory impulses.

While I was wondering whether to pick yellow or blue, I realised silver was my colour.

Out of multiple paths, a single stream is forged. Out of a simple way forward, forks appear like blooms.

I chase after a suitable digression.

I reinvent integrity.

I regather confidence.

I maim the inner critic (for the time being).

I caress faded insights into newfound vivacity.

Why do you write?

I write to return to a state of not knowing.

Let old certainties fall away.

I can’t tell if I’m resting or active: 

Different parts of my world are animated.

Viennese Wanderings

Disembarking from the D tram and walking a little bit in the direction of the Hofburg, I noticed St Stephen’s Cathedral dominating the skyline to my right. The third day of Viennese explorations, I set out to receive what this landmark had to offer by way of meandering through the Innere Stadt.

There seem to be no two of those wedding cake buildings alike. I wove through construction workers and delivery men, gaze directed upwards, appreciating Baroque renderings of humans seemingly holding balconies in place, and other lyrical details. A smooth blend of angles and curves danced around each other. Eventually I emerged into a quiet thoroughfare, where a pretty mural representing people from the Middle East was vaguely reminiscent of Klimt, with gold overlays. I noticed that it housed a Swatch branch. 

Nearby, a delicate, medieval mural beckoned, with rich, solid colours such as lavender-hued blue and garnet bringing figures of women to life. A stately font declared something in German which eluded me. My perspective recalibrated to take in the full picture: I was standing in front of the Aida café, where Mum had suggested I enjoy something sweet in. Right around the corner: the Cathedral.

The distinctive geometric patterns of the Gothic structure appealed to me, the diamond shape recurring in several variations. With its high-contrast colours in black, white, emerald and gold, it invited pondering. Luckily, the best seat in Konditorei Aida was available, allowing me a good view of this roof, as well as passers-by. 

I asked for kaiserschmarmm, a Viennese specialty, and, while it wasn’t quite the same as that of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, it was tasty. It is a caramelised, shredded pancake with plum jam and ice cream. The ice cream was to die for.

After having sated my appetite, it was finally time for St Stephen’s to open to tourists, but I wasn’t appreciative of the monotonous dark browns of the interior, and, after noting some pleasing stained glass windows, and a wooden carving of a man in medieval attire which had atmosphere, it was time to depart.

One last glance at a cornflour blue clock built in to the wall of the cathedral’s exterior, and I set out to explore more of the Innere Stadt, this time with the Kunsthistorisches Museum (Art History Museum) in mind.

Along the way I noticed more famous brands - Swarovski, Hello Kitty, McDonald’s - and the invariably beautiful buildings that gave them a home.

This two-part journey represents most of the flaneur-ing I did in Vienna. 

Viennese Fragments and Trails

Where last year I stopped to admire the Austrian embassy in Valletta, this year I spotted a Maltese church in Vienna. The European nations are intricately interconnected.

One unexpected find from the Royal Apartments of the Habsburgs was that Empress Sisi installed circular grips, dangling from the ceiling of a personal room, so she could work out inside the palace. This horrified many in the court, but she refused to give it up. 

I recognised in Sisi the longing for freedom, and attempts to escape the confinement of the Hofburg (the palace). She seemed to have some insight into the fetishising of travel though, seemingly gained after ordering a holiday residence in Corfu, Greece, and then losing interest in it at some point down the line. On this topic, she reflects that travel was only exciting because it involved a collision with the unknown. If she stayed somewhere long enough, she got itchy feet once more.

*

The D tram would take me part of the way from my lodging to the Old Town, and the rest of the journey would be completed by foot. This had the effect of manifesting two places of interest I’d read about but hadn’t expected to get to: St Charles’ Church and Café Schwarzenberg. 

I recognised the Church at a distance, with its distinctive dome flanked by giant spires, and instinctively crossed streets to meet it at eye level. Unfortunately, the building was somehow too grand and imposing once I had an unobstructed view, so I didn’t linger in the square it was on too long. I circled the building, and found ornamentation on the building behind it which was more digestible in scale. With Christian crosses, angels and an ornate style, this scalable beauty invited slowing down and taking it in. Perched on a typical, wedding cake style Viennese facade, it was a vision in white, teal, black, red and gold. Distinctive elements, which would have on their own constituted a masterpiece, came together over a generous expanse of wall, to create a splendid whole.

Spotting Café Schwarzenberg, remembering it being recommended by a blogger, and nabbing a table by the window, I observed both locals and tourists making themselves at home in the brown interiors gilded with gold. In truth, I felt unsettled: it was too late in the day for a melange (the coffee preferred by the Viennese), and too early in the day for me to feel I’d earned rest. I left after half an hour, wary of the easy smiles of white, heterosexual-looking men who either chatted amongst each other or took advantage of the free newspapers. (Was it them who had supported the far right in the last election?)

That same day I had pre-purchased a ticket to the Albertina (the modern art museum), and I was eager to go in at its opening hour of 10am. I enjoyed the exhibitions, especially a painting of flowers by Matisse, and doting drawings of Rubens’ children. Enjoying a world-class museum is to be expected, however, which is why I’ve focused on the unplanned parts of my journey.

All in all, Vienna might not be the first city in Europe you associate me with, but if you look for radical and alternative cultures, you will find them. The setting is often one of great beauty, sprinkling many memorable moments along the way.

Some thoughts on travel plans for this year

It can be humbling to remember that, as a traveller who is making plans to see Bruges, Belgium, this year, I will be part of the problem of overtourism. I am well aware that Bruges is highly sought after amongst people travelling to Europe, yet I, too, dream of its picturesque Old Town, its Hanseatic history and its beautiful art. I will go to the effort of memorising some basics of Dutch and support local businesses where I can. I will also be mindful of the way I travel, and make it as sustainable as possible.

I will be spending a week in Dresden, Germany, to make up for it. Dresden is comparatively little known on the global stage, with less than 20% of its visitors being international. One Youtube influencer described it as 'The most beautiful city you've never heard of'. Of the German tourists, most of them come from neighbouring states, like Saxony or Bavaria. I suspect that a city of its kind of aesthetic and historic importance is overlooked in part because it is in the former DDR ('East Germany'). It could also be that, in a continent of Parises, Berlins and Pragues, it doesn't stand out in quite the same way. But Dresden has been on my radar for many a year. 

My entry point, Vienna, enchants me with its gleaming, walkable and ornate city centre. I am staying four nights here to recover from the long, cross-continental ride, see what I missed in the Kunsthistorisches Museum the first time round, visit the Albertina (its premier modern art museum) for the first time, and get some of those palaces in. 

I don't know if I'll be able to incorporate a stay in Berlin this year, but there's easily a week's worth of sights I'm keen on seeing, including the Neues Museum, the Deutschland (History) Museum and the Futurium. 

Cross-Continental at the Sydney Film Festival

I managed to see 10 films in 12 days at this year's Sydney Film Festival. Here are my thoughts on 2 of them:

The Cycle of Love - directed by Orlando von Einsiedel:

The external circumstance of meeting a soul you feel deeply connected to leads to a journey of tapping into rich reserves of inner love. The protagonist, PK, born in an India which boxes him into the 'Untouchable' caste (Dalit in the Hindu tradition), overcomes negating social conditioning to advocate for himself and others. This is partially achieved by cycling from Delhi to Sweden and learning from Indian, Afghan and Iranian hospitality of the 1970s. Along the way PK encounters the kindness of strangers, which keep him going in his darkest moments. Enchanted by the bloom of romance with Borås-based Lotta, which is punctuated by many memorable co-incidences, easily interpretable as fate, he must find his way to her without a physical map, when they are separated by geography. It's clear that there is serious potential for a lasting relationship waiting for him, with Lotta describing her time in India as "magic" in retrospect. Love propels PK into the unknown, and a willingness to sit with and absorb the wisdom of everyday people - over the painting of their portrait or the sharing of food and drink - further opens up possibilities to healing and proactivity. This is an invitation to keep your heart open. 

The World of Love - directed by Yoon Ga-eun:

This is not a happy story, but one with lots of twists and turns, compelling viewing about the vicious cycle of abuse. The director, a South Korean woman, shows how a single act of abuse can be, and often is, reproduced by the victim. As an example of the moral ambiguity and unpredictability of each character, I will trace the narrative arc of one non-central character, the main character's mother. Introduced as having a problem with alcohol, she is able to be receptive to and soothing towards her daughter's processing of difficult events. She then provides additional support by encouraging her ex-husband (and the father of her teen) to be more attentive to said teen's need to have more of him in her life. However, she is not able to escape a cycle of physical violence. Witnessing someone pinch a young girl hard on the neck leads to her acting out internalised suffering by pinching someone else in turn, at a moment in which we expect tenderness. She is a character of complexity, and cannot be neatly categorised. This insightful film occupies many people like her, who both earn our sympathy and disquiet us. Incisive and marvellously acted, it asks the viewer to constantly re-evaluate what's going on in light of new information. It will leave you questioning power dynamics, both in South Korea and every society on earth.

Canada in the Imagination - Part 2

This year I read intriguing texts from a Canadian academic with a Czech background, Ivan Kalmar. He looks at what I regard as the under-studied reality of discrimination against Eastern Europeans. The title of his 2022 book, White but not quite: Central Europe’s Illiberal Revolt, introduces the concept of the ambiguity of Eastern European people in the Global North: they are treated as superior to People of Colour, but inferior to people who are ‘the right kind of white’.

Kalmar argues that Eastern Europeans are associated with non-democratic regimes such as the region-wide Communism that fell in 1989, or the fascism of a modern-day Russia or Hungary. Nevermind that Italy, Austria and Sweden have far-right governments at the moment, or that Germany’s Neo-Nazis are expected to lead the country in one of the next elections. When Western Europe or the United States upholds ‘illiberal tendencies’ nobody accuses them of having insufficient moral integrity. However, the Global North accuses Eastern Europeans as having a flawed character, some sort of inherent inadequacy, and this racism has a real impact on the rights, opportunities and Life Chances of this group.

Ivan Kalmar’s groundbreaking and formative work has been affirming to me, and I have only discussed the aspects of his work which most resonate. I sometimes think about paying him a visit at the University of Toronto, or at least sending an email of solidarity.

Another Toronto-based writer who has influenced me is Margaret Atwood. I shared some thoughts on her book of essays, Burning Questions, a while ago, on my blog. I still haven’t read The Handmaid’s Tale, but a recent interview on Dua Lipa’s Service95 Book Club educated me on the extreme structural misogyny of Romanian Communism. (Content Warning for the paragraph below: Forced Pregnancy, humiliating gynaecological examinations, degrading conditions of orphanages.)

The Handmaid’s Tale made a point of only drawing inspiration from already existing injustices around the world. Margaret Atwood turned her eye to Ceausescu’s regime, where married women were required to have four children. This law was enforced by monthly gynaecological ‘examinations’ - under the supervision of the police. There is a popular Romanian saying, something about “the women were undressed in public.” Quite aside from the psychological damage to the women affected, which I imagine is a generational trauma, the economic burden of bringing up four kids was commonly experienced as unbearable. Mothers turned to their doctors in distress, and were told that if they put their offspring in an orphanage, they would be well looked after. This was well-meaning but far from the truth: the orphanages had so many children and so little funding that the conditions were unsanitary and not enough attention could be given to the individuals by the staff.

(Romania and Bulgaria share a border, and are often mentioned in the same breath by nationals of immigrant-receiving countries in Europe. My travels have not included this Northern neighbour, but in the future it’s possible I could visit. It would be in part a gesture of pan-European solidarity, and more specifically a mission to discover what the Balkan region has to offer. I want to know more and see the beauty I imagine waits for me there.)

Anyway, the clear advantage of the world’s most successful multicultural country is that its people tend to be informed about what happens beyond its borders. Canada is not geographically isolated in the way that Australia is, with shorter flights to Europe and Asia, similar time zones to Latin America (which makes visiting more attractive on a practical level), and that long land border with the United States. Kalmar and Atwood are the beneficiaries of this interconnectedness, and have, in turn, expanded my international imagination for the better.

Canada in the Imagination - Part 1

If I hadn't attended a Sydney Writers' Festival discussion on nationalism in Canada, I wouldn't have realised that our Northern cousins were 10% more Christian than us Australians.

Waleed Aly and Scott Stephens of 'The Minefield' - a radio show which looks at contemporary issues through a philosophical lens - interviewed Ottawa-based influencer David Moscrop, whom I had looked up prior to the show. There was something about the way in which David presented himself which evoked flavours of Christianity I hadn't been expecting. 

I have been curious about Canada for some time, noting its current status as the most successful multicultural country in the world (sorry, Malcolm Turnbull, but we come in second). The lived reality of such social integration is something I long to be a part of, even if it's for a short time. (I have dreams of slow travelling Toronto, Montreal and/or Vancouver). 

I must have assumed that their openness to and acceptance of People of Colour springs in part from the reduced role of religious doctrine. I was wrong, for while in the 2021 Census Australians self-reported being 43.9% Christian and 38.9% Non-religious, Canadians claimed to be 53.3% Christian and 34.6% Non-religious that same year. 

I had always suspected that the surface similarities my 2001 stop-over in Vancouver announced would give way to something more nuanced and divergent from my base in Sydney. I noticed higher numbers of People of Colour walking the streets, the LGBTIQ-friendliness in the air, the fresh air of a waterside city, the manageable levels of pollution (comparable to Sydney). My first real hint of the cultural difference was the politeness of customer service staff. (Australians skip the formalities.) And yet, I could see that the socially levelling philosophy sometimes referred to as Tall Poppy Syndrome was in place, and I'd read the national sense of humour was similar to Australia's, along with a shared love-hate relationship to the United States. 

This likeness of Canadian culture to Australia's inspires a kind of familiarity and comfort - we may be geographically removed from each other, but those multiple shared values and recurring themes build a sense of affinity. I know I'm not alone in feeling this, amongst citizens of the world who have made the connection between the two. 

And so, I add a new piece of information to my Canadian imagination, and hope that I will have the chance to go back for a closer look in upcoming years. 

Thoughts on 'The Mutation' (with spoilers)

Last Thursday was a richly layered day of international cinema and South Korean experiences... I'm still thinking about it... I had been anticipating 'The Mutation', a film by a woman director called Shin Su-won, and it exceeded my expectations. It became apparent soon after the start that this film rewarded careful attention to detail from the viewer. The raising of an eyebrow or the curl of a corner of the mouth - these subtle movements prompted emotional journeys, and dialogue was only a bit player. 

Two people on the fringes of society - a Black man and a same-sex attracted woman - bond over a shared sense of exclusion. The music is gentle, playful, reflective. There are sequences which are dreams, and the light and colourful palette recast ordinary settings into places of beauty. The glow of the mise-en-scene, whether it's the interior of a luxury mall or a charming landscape with mountains in the background, is constant. 

"Even in the darkness, it glows," the woman says of a black goat with a unique and lovely pattern. This symbolises her appreciation of Se-oh (the leading man) as they get to know each other over a couple of days. The actor Han Hyun-min draws upon his own experience of other-isation and the sadness that can follow. He described, in-person after the screening, perpetually being mistaken for being a temporary visitor to South Korea, instead of the fully-fledged citizen he is. One of the first scenes in Shin's film shows him asking a doctor to stop speaking in English and switch to Se-oh's native Hangul. In other early scenes, he is seen as hypersexual by the women around him, including Sara (the leading woman). Sara quickly finds out that he is only interested in friendship, and Se-oh stays free of romantic and/or sexual relationships in this film - his narrative is all about embracing the inner self. 

Sad though it is to navigate the country as an outsider, there is comfort to be found as Se-oh and Sara's mutual understanding grows. The characters start off alone in their grief (for a loved one has been lost to each), but are able to heal and move on. Ultimately, this film offers relief by showing the power of a friendship. 

"She was the only person I met without a mask - and now she's gone," Sara reflects on her ill-fated romance. Flashbacks show their first meeting in the lush countryside, where Sara's shoelace is undone, and the young woman who is willing to kneel down and tie it for her. Her words are direct and her face is open. Se-oh, too, masks his identity by working in a white tiger costume at a local amusement park. White tigers are considered a genetic mutation, and he comes to see himself as a mutant in the absence of acceptance from family, friends and his workplace. 

It is powerful, then, to hear him yell out, in one of the film's closing scenes, his full name, to Sara and anyone who could be listening. Along with recovering his identity, he recovers a zest for life. When it's time for the two to say goodbye, they affirm verbally and non-verbally that this is the beginning of a long-term connection. Something new and supportive has been built. 

Generosity

Your interpretation of the world

Evokes ongoing curiosity

Movements deft and self-aware

You are attuned to possibility

I love how much you care

It brings me to the light in me

Listening to Intersex People

As luck would have it, I learnt something new from a radio show called 'The I in Us' today. The generosity of the hosts Cody Smith and Paul Byrne-Moroney, as well as their TEDx speaker guest Jenny Atkinson, moved me. 

They discussed how to make spaces more inclusive, with Jenny being a fan of posters (and stickers, etc) bringing attention to specific groups being welcome, such as people with stims and ticks (repetitive behaviours found in those on the autism spectrum), neurodivergent people, Indigenous people, trans and gender diverse people, and, naturally, people with innate variations of sex characteristics (the intersex). 

The depth of the inclusion aimed for resonated with me, and I was particularly humbled by Cody's view that there is no valuing of Australia without valuing Indigenous people. Cody talked about how Indigenous Australians lived in peace and harmony with the environment for 60,000 years, and everybody who came in the last two centuries would do well to meet that standard. 

In addition, Jenny encouraged listeners to ask the question, when gathering, 'Who is in this space, and who is absent?' She noted that Australia if it's all white people, that is not good - Australia is multicultural. She described this as a practical question. 

I am asking a question of myself today, which is 'What is one action I can take to support the intersex community?'

If you're interested in listening to Joy FM's show by and for intersex people, which is consciously 'for all of us', you can tune in at 5am on Wednesday mornings, or listen to their podcast. I found much kindness and care there. 

Part 2 - When Shinto Meets Shakespeare

I noticed that Hiroko Yoda’s animism had an uplifting energy, a hearty insistence upon the elevation of the spirit(s)… it showed up in the body, a kind of repeated upwards motion.

*

Unfortunate from the perspective of following through, I no longer feel like discussing Daniel Hahn and his translator's imagination. If you're curious about what happens to Shakespearean stanzas when transformed into the relatively long words of Finnish, you can read his latest book.

[Draft Piece]

Friday, 1st May 2026 -

When you wake up before everybody else does, your coffee options are limited. Walking down the main drag of Katoomba, I found myself with nary a soul to peer at through the glass windows of the cafés... they were all shut. But thankfully, the woman stationed at the entrance to the train stop provided me with my first double shot of caffeine for the day, and guided me to a nearby hotel open at this hour. Here I lounged about on Victorian style furniture, sipped a flat white, and made conversation with the woman on the morning shift. 

We had just concluded that Katoomba was fabulous, when she inquired, "Have you been to Blackheath?"

I had never even heard of it, but now I was all ears. "No?"

In her high pitched voice, (for the culture in the Blue Mountains seems to be that the voices are higher for women, and lower for men… compared to Sydney, that is,) she shared that this village was awash with beautiful autumn foliage, and had a vibe of its own. It was just two train stops away. I made the impulsive decision to get onboard the train when peak hour was over, and see what I could find. 

But before that, it was time for a coffee, and I knew just the place. 

The Yellow Deli was just waking up at 7:30am-ish, but before I reached it I was approached by a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses, who turned out to be based in Blackheath itself. What a co-incidence! Or, perhaps, evidence of the small world of the Blue Mountains. They volunteered that Wentworth Street was the place to go for the sensational natural phenomenon, and added their home street was also lovely. I made notes. A plan was taking shape. 

Over my final double shot, I was gifted with a small map of Blackheath by the waiter I told about my plans. He seemed to be 

When Shinto Meets Shakespeare

I had the pleasure of attending two sessions of the Sydney Writers' Festival in the last five days.

The first session was an interview with Daniel Hahn, who wrote 'If this be magic: the unlikely art of Shakespeare in translation', and the second was a panel involving Hiroko Yoda, who wrote '8 million ways to happiness', Paul Callaghan, who wrote 'Leading from the dreaming' and Brigid Delaney, who wrote 'The seeker and the sage'.

The most resonant moment of the festival was listening to Paul talk about the Indigenous Australian concept of The Flow. Instead of being caught up in abstracted and ineffectual reasoning, such as deliberating over possible options for travel this year (if you're me), tuning into The Flow necessitates listening to your body and tuning in to your gut instinct. This was wisdom I could directly apply to my life: I was in dire need of someone telling me not to take my endless mental chatter so seriously and take a look at what is intuitively apparent. 

In 2026 I mused over potential travel experiences to the point of frustration. I was confused. I was annoyed. But I will begin afresh, with the question: "Where do I want to be right now?" Today I feel like being in my apartment in Sydney. There's no need for escape. I have everything I need. 

There might come a time when the answer to the question, "Where do I want to be today?" will change, and then, and only then, will I do something about it. 3.5 weeks ago, I felt like going to the Blue Mountains for a week or less, and I acted upon that wish, with great results. A short break, only 2 hours away, had sufficient restorative impact. 

*

The pantheist ways of Japanese spirituality were conveyed by Hiroko Yoda, whose reawakening to Shinto following the unfortunate loss of her parents inspired her to be thankful for the life around her. According to the religion, everything that can be conceived of, whether it's the sun, a tree, or a toothache, has a spirit. She finds spiritual meaning throughout her day, in moments mundane or dramatic. I imagine Hiroko would say that even the consumption of lunch can be a source of wonder. It's about energy, or the presence of life force, in every bite. For her, the number of '8 million' (ways to happiness) is just an example of how it's possible to conceptualise of them: in reality the spirits (kami in Japanese) are infinite. 

There is another dimension to pantheism in Shinto, namely the mutually approving relationship between it and Japan's other dominant religion, Buddhism. Practitioners of the two regularly visit each other's temples or shrines to pray. The only belief you need to hold to pay your respects in a temple or shrine is respect for the host religion. The foundation of respect allows you to recognise the emotional resonance and philosophical relevance of another religion in your life. 

Now, I am not religious, but I do think there is a generosity there which non-Japanese can learn from. 

*

[I think I'll discuss Daniel Hahn and his book in a Part 2.]

Things I like about Myself (#4)

1. I am kind.

2. I am open to ambiguity.

3. I am a curious person. 

4. I have strong opinions. 

5. I am open to the possibility that I may be wrong about something. 

6. I believe I am on the right track in general.  

7. I believe I am perceptive. 

8. I am wise. 

9. I am interested in lifelong learning. 

10. "If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again" is a motto that inspires me. 

[Poem]

The body may speak

But I frequently register only

Its echo

Of tumultuous refrains 

Which beg to be received by me 

At a steadier pace

When I linger and construct 

A contemplative space

I move to repair self-trust

A state that resonates

Far more than I give it credit for

I come back to me, and

While I want yet more

It's time to acknowledge

The things about myself

I fervently adore

I trace the constellations of my inner cosmos

Invent patterns, bold and faint

Let them fade in and out of each other

The unique paths only I will make

A Space with Possibilities

Fair Day in February guided me to the Australian Museum in March. The rainbow lanyard around the neck of the customer service person reminded me of the institutional progressivism, and I put more effort into smiling, as I asked my questions.

‘Surviving Australia’ was the free exhibition that had drawn me in, and I learned that my country’s rural landscapes could be described as ‘surprisingly diverse’. That such a sizeable land mass has change both dramatic and incremental in the unfolding makes sense to me: diversity does not only belong inside boardrooms. Nature is the origin of a concept I associate most readily with humanity.

Here in the city, the animals that *can* survive artificial lighting at night, do. Those who can evade the prowl of feline pets live to see another day. Those that can find their meals with the help of rubbish bins, like ibises, co-exist with our taller, more potentially sophisticated species. Some humans choose to perceive themselves as uniquely distinct from nature. Others still walk back to something more intuitive: we *are* nature. 

An awareness of global heating was appropriate towards the end - perhaps there is no animal more dangerous than the human being, given that we are driving extinction events. Those, too, appear incremental, dramatic, and everything in between. Unpredictable, yet we have the illusion of ever-increasing knowledge on the topic, due to our application of scientific methods. I fear for the future of the planet. 

There are still possibilities for getting out of our own way and working *with* the rest of nature… I look for ways to do activism, and duly noted that the Australian Museum encourages letter writing to politicians. There seems to be a collective which has mobilised around this very lobbying. I only need to be mindful of Greta Thunberg’s impact to remember that I, too, have some sort of influence. You, too, can help.

Part 2 - Zadie Smith in Sydney

I like Zadie Smith's feminist imagination. In response to a recent book calling out the misogyny of '90s pop culture, she referenced 'Keeping up with the Kardashians' and the influence of Donald Trump as reasons why she feels less free now than she did back then. I agree with her view that 'some things get better, some things get worse' over time - this rejection of the modernist idea of Progress was nice. 

Perhaps less illuminating is her approach to the Cultural Appropriation debate. As a mixed race individual, she suggests that she is being asked not to write from the perspective of Black people and white people. She finds such exclusion 'an insult to my soul'. Personally, I am a fan of Lived Experience in writing. I may not write fiction, but I don't feel that it limits me to acknowledge that I can only speak for myself. Taking stock of my imagination offers much fruit, and I offer it to the world knowing that my readers will each have their unique interpretations. I cannot write their stories for them. They must find their own voices. 

I'm pleased to have read Zadie's choice of Book Every Woman Should Read, 'A Room of One's Own' by Virginia Woolf. I enjoyed a room of my own through the great majority of my life, including most of my childhood. In terms of desks, too, I was fortunate: IKEA provided me with a shiny, white one brandishing a representation of the globe, with each country in a different colour. I learnt to strategically place a 'KNOCK! before you enter' sign at my parents' eye level, protecting my privacy some more. 

In some ways, I am fortunate. In other ways, not so much. It's a mixed reality.

My experience of Zadie Smith is that she is sensitive, multi-faceted and incisive. She isn't afraid to improvise in front of thousands of people. She is candid about second-guessing herself, which she knows she has in common with most women. I felt inspired by her humbleness, as well as confidence. I hope to seek her out again sometime soon. 

Zadie Smith in Sydney

I return, irritated and in need of alone time, from the Sydney Opera House. I could hear the voice of Zadie Smith there, and read her body language from a distance. I am not irritated by the author herself, but rather the journey to and fro this sometime site of noteworthy performance. 

A public interview is a performance, with Zadie mentioning that singing is a vocation she considered instead of writing, but shrugged off when that kind of performance proved too dramatic. We are therefore treated to the rare kind of public figure who prefers staying at home with her family than gallivanting all over the globe. An unassuming figure who keeps ambiguity in mind, drawing on her powers of articulation to question the relationship between the diverse mindsets co-existing within.  

Zadie aims for language which can appeal to a reader with a limited literary education. Using everyday words, she creates worlds of complexity. She doesn't feel that this reduces the nuances or scope of that complexity. This makes me wonder why, even now, I resort to a style she would call 'elevated'. What good is it to be a bit pretentious, when I can focus on making my work accessible?

Elevated was the mode in which she began writing for publication, so it's nice to see that she no longer feels the need to prove something. She joins people like Elizabeth Gilbert, who recently claimed that she wants 'no reader to be left behind' as her stories progress. 

I was intrigued to hear that the author doesn't possess a smartphone and has no Facebook account (to paraphrase this interview, she doesn't want to spend time on a platform made by people she really dislikes). She does claim to watch a lot of TV, including soap operas like 'Home and Away' and 'Neighbours'. I guess it's "pick your poison."

While not a new idea to my world, Zadie claimed that she relies on writing to make meaning of her thoughts. This controlled process of selecting certain thoughts and discarding others allows her to build a reality. Absent from this analysis are the pressures of capitalism, where it's crucial to monetise some part of your human experience or activity. Zadie gave us a caveat that "I am not an economist" even as she spoke to the worsening of 'the commons' in the UK (e.g. university has gone from free to paid in her lifetime, public libraries face defunding, the National Health Service (comparable to Australia's Medicare) is in a weaker position). I guess not everyone is going to offer democratic socialist ideas through the political economy lens. In part because I would like to see her strengthen her argument (and perhaps make it more radical), it would be nice to receive such rhetoric. 

Satellite

I orbit around many bodies

And sometimes it feels like

I live out my life

In pleasing others

A beat here, then 

A transfer of attention -

Only to find

I've neglected myself

For extended periods 

Of time -

And now I feel 

Left behind

But tuning in

To my own frequency

Requires time, requires space

Furthermore requires conviction 

That the others can wait

And who am I

To claim that time

Is something I can use for me?

Who am I 

To know that I

Would love to spend the time with me?

 

Revisiting the City

Moving between Elizabeth St and George St (central thoroughfares in Sydney), I noticed that a Korean café I once visited with my friend appeared to have closed. I looked for other points of interest, so as not to dwell on disappointment. Across the street, a café by the name of Golden Brown seemed promising, but a police squad were right in front of it, hovering over a man on the ground. I kept walking. 

 

Closer to the George St side, a new area for dining had opened up with Japanese and Chinese restaurants in the most prominent locations. A text full of hanzi (Chinese characters) had been painted on the wall on a faint blue background, along with fluffy white clouds. Entering the World Square shopping complex, to which it was connected, these were more familiar grounds, and didn't have much to offer, except to whisk me into George St.

Catching a glimpse of something very colourful, at first I thought I was looking at a sculpture for the Chinese New Year, but the tell-tale outlines and patterns of a tuk-tuk soon made themselves known. The body of the vehicle was stark in red and blue, and attached to the rear was a fountain of large, red and golden cards. Getting close to the opaque cards, I admired the raindrops glistening on them. On top of the structure was a big bowl of popular Thai fruit, bringing pinks, yellows and oranges into the pallette. I noticed the wheel leading the tuk-tuk was a shade of purple, and the sign at the top marked the area as Thai Town. A celebration of the community.

I reached my destination when I ascended to the highest accessible floor of Central Park Mall. You can't miss the Japan Foundation once the lift delivers you there. Toyo Ito was the man (it's usually a man) of the hour: a respected architect since the 1970s, this exhibition showcased three of his large-scale public buildings. All three were in regional cities, and encouraged the people moving within them to relax. Ito believes that when people leave behind nature to enter a man-made structure, they take on a degree of tension. Whether through rounded forms, innovative cooling/heating, subtle asymmetry or as few walls as possible, his goal was to create attractive spaces people would adopt as their own. He appeared happy that many visitors felt at home in his public buildings. 

Like me, Toyo Ito doesn't care for the abundant modernist architecture of Japan. However, I can't help but notice that his work, as highlighted in this exhibition, is not that radical a departure from the style he seeks to differentiate himself from. I can see the box shape in the frame of each building - at first glance it appears to have more in common with the status quo than Zaha Hadid or BIG. But it's true that, the more you look, the more irregularities you can see. The subversion is there. It may be more modest than I would ideally like, but it was fun to wrap my brain around something new. I would like to move through some of these buildings, finding variety in their multi-faceted lighting, furniture and textures. 

The city stimulates through many moving parts, not all of them good, but when there's a lot to please me, it's well worth the journey. 

To feel one’s feelings

Previously I discussed being reminded of European cultures at every turn. From my current position, in my room, my gaze tends to rest upon the vivid yet intricate commercial art of my Pylones bags. They are a world one can immerse oneself in. I do.

If I redirect my gaze, I catch sight of another artwork, this time a rainbow-splattered Berlin skyline. I’ve had it since 2016, and I feel ambiguously about it, but I like it enough to keep it. It reminds me of: serendipity (meeting a fellow traveller who helped guide me to the market’s location), the grit of the urban centre meeting the vibrancy and innovation of its people, previous infatuations with cityscapes, a romance which morphed into an enduring friendship, and a multitude of other things. 

Pylones is also many things, including: a charming aesthetic, a reminder of Paris and also Lyon (where I first wandered into one of its shops), my adventures in learning French (including confusing my Parisian summer fling when I claimed the word ‘apparate’ existed in English, and my sense of pride when I bought two pâtisseries using only this foreign language and received friendly smiles from the elderly Lyonnais behind the counter)…

There are other things I associate with Germany and France, too.

As part of my French language study, I downloaded a 19th century novella called Ourika, first in French, and, failing to make much progress down this avenue, then in English translation. The overwhelming negation of the presence of a Black woman in the white aristocracy of the time was evoked with powerful, disturbing imagery. Ourika was analysed in a subsequent book which made an even bigger impact on me, Robin Mitchell’s Vénus Noire: Black women and colonial fantasies in 19th-century France. It brings to life the immense cruelty and sadism that was a frequent part of the picture. It was written by an African-American woman who travelled to Paris for her research, and I got the impression she was horrified by the whole experience.

One doesn’t have to look very far to find examples of German racism. The current Chancellor, Friedrich Merz, said he had a problem with the ‘Stadtbild’ (city image), and you should ask ‘our daughters’ what he meant. It’s obvious he dislikes the presence of men of colour in everyday life, and sees them, collectively, as rapacious towards white women. Protests followed, but he remains in the nation’s most powerful position.

The enchanting and the atrocious co-exist in Europe. There are no easy answers to the question of: How do I make space for all of the feelings they generate in me? The wonder and the disgust. The curiosity and the suspicion. The emboldenment and the intimidation. It’s an ongoing process, and there is some hard-won maturity too, but I have yet more to do.

Towards Love

In the aftermath of the traumatic events at Bondi Beach in December, I was feeling heavy feelings and a whole lot of irritability. I wanted to write about something which would take my mind off the topic, and process some of the disillusionment I was carrying towards Germany, in particular, and developed Europe, in general. Some of those heavy and irritable feelings crossed over into the subject matter, perhaps creating unnecessary negativity. 

I intend to return to Germany every year, there being a lot to draw me back. I feel like I can relax there, enjoy quality company, and find deeper insights into an interesting culture. 

I only criticise because I care. 

The disillusionment comes from having placed Germany on a pedestal. I wanted to escape from reality, and I spent a lot of time idealising Northern Europe.

When I look at myself now, I feel a little lost. 

From the fridge magnets of numerous European tourist attractions, to the postcard that reminds me of my German ex-partner, to the T-shirts and caps I wear every day which usually have some sort of European signifier... I've built my life around the wish to be somewhere else, a type of unrequited love. 

I used to think that I had left unrequited love behind a long time ago, but it continued in an existential form... Who am I, then, when pining is pointless? When yearning for a geographical locale no longer makes sense?

Radical acceptance is needed. 

Deep forgiveness, too. 

And a lot of self-love. 

*

Thankfully, I have quality company in Sydney as well. 

Wherever I go, there I am. I have a lot of experiences. Abundant wisdom.

I help my family, friends, and community. I am helped by them. 

The love is not only from within, but external sources. 

Some thoughts on guided tours

We all love to think of ourselves as different - better! - than other travellers, and I do not buck this trend. You're invited to indulge me as I complain about one particular traveller...

I attended a karaoke meet-up for Childfree Women (in Sydney), where I encountered a good-looking, curvy person with a lot of confidence. I decided to contact them via facebook afterwards, to see if we connected well. 

We established some shared interests, such as Human Rights activism and reading. So far, so good... it then turned out that we were part of the same facebook group, 'Backpacking Europe', so naturally we began to discuss that. 

It turned out that Simone (not their real name) had taken a Top Deck guided tour of Europe while they were still under the age of 40, and referred to it as "the trip of a lifetime." They was interested in taking another guided tour, this time to Croatia and some surrounding Balkan countries, in the near future. They cited a wonderful experience while sailing the Croatian coast, and had had positive experiences with the locals: '"Eat, eat!" they say.'

I looked up the itinerary of their tour to find a 6-week, fast-paced hop around Europe, starting in London ("I don't remember much"), encompassing major tourist centres like Paris and Berlin, but also some lesser known destinations such as Carcassonne, Dresden and Zadar. Could I learn anything about Zadar from them, a city barely on my radar, but which obviously had something going for it? "I don't really remember [what it was like]," they admitted. 

Simone seemed to recollect some of the basics on Carcassonne ("The castle city!"), and when I shared that I was planning to go to Berlin next (omitting to mention I'd spent considerable time there) declared "Berlin is essential." They had had 2 days there, taking in a museum called 'The Topography of Terror' and another sight, quite possibly the Berlin Wall. Very well, but how much can you learn about the spirit of a place in such a short time period? Something was very off here. 

Clearly, I will not be going on an organised tour of Europe, or anywhere in the Global North, anytime soon. Personally, it seems tiring, expensive and mostly a waste of time. When all the information you need for independent travel is instantly accessible on the internet, transport (both intercity and intra-city) is easy to navigate, and anything you don't know you can ask a local about (because most people speak English), what could possibly be the point?

I do see the use of an organised tour to India or some places in South America - places where solo women and non-binary travellers could attract unwanted attention or even outright violence. Some women and non-binary people do travel to these places by themselves anyway, finding that the benefits of exploring freely (and on their own terms) outweigh the risks, which are often hyped up by the Anglosphere's media. But even if I were to take one of these in the future, I would miss the feeling of having the whole day to spend to myself, the opportunity to get into a memorable conversation with a local, or get lost in an alluring environment.