Childfree and conscious of my privilege

It occurs to me that my ongoing practice of living a childfree life is the product of many intersecting forms of privilege. If I had been an immigrant from an African country such as Nigeria, where it is virtually unheard of to choose to forego reproduction, I would have faced immense pressure from my family and the Nigerian community in Australia to adhere to the social norm. Similarly, if I were originally from China, not only would it have been culturally ingrained to pass on your genes, but I would have had to get heterosexually married at a set time (before 27 years old) to avoid being seen as a "left-over woman." My white European background shelters me from the harshest of the stigma.  

Another thing which has dramatically reduced my tendency to be swayed by heterosexual social norms, is that I identified as gay, and then bisexual, from the teenage years, and assumed that this automatically excluded me from baby-making. I was aware that Rainbow Families existed, but I never felt the urge to gravitate towards them, and so I have largely escaped pressure from either straight or GLBTIQ communities. The straights assumed that I was on a different life trajectory and would do my own thing, and the non-straights didn't have much incentive to pressure me into mirroring their life decisions - even when I did come across people desperate for parenthood. 

Back to race, white people like Lionel Shriver insist that white people adding more of their number to the global population is a good thing. I, thankfully, do not. It's totally fine with me if people of colour increase in proportion in the future. It may just make society more antiracist, and therefore kinder, more charitable and compassionate. This argument has no bearing on my uterus whatsoever.  

I am also privileged by my educational reality. Although I dropped out of university, I have been and remain a life-long learner, devouring books and newspapers like The Guardian. I have read various books on being childfree, and I'm familiar with the discourse about it on the web. I know that while stigma very much exists, society is slowly becoming more accepting. I know there is a place for me in Australian and international society as someone who advocates for women to have as many choices as possible in how they live their lives. I make my opinions known in blog posts like these. 

In short, I am lucky. I am also alive at the right time and the right place. If I had been born before the time of contraception and the Civil Rights Movement, it might had felt socially impossible to be who I am today, even in Western society. I am thankful to all the feminist, lesbian, bisexual and childfree women who came before me and made my current liberation possible. I hope I, too, am paving the way for younger generations' greater freedom by my contributions to the public discourse. Let's liberate ourselves even further! 

Thoughts on 'Burning Questions' so far

In recent weeks I've busied myself working through 'Burning Questions' by Margaret Atwood. I love writers with a political consciousness, and Atwood's collections of essays and speeches demanded my attention. I haven't yet read her feminist masterpiece, The Handmaid's Tale (nor the Booker-winning The Testaments), but so far BQ has inspired me to look into Alice Munro, another renowned Canadian woman with feminist credentials, one who has won the Nobel Prize. 

And so it is with non-fiction books - writers tend to wear their literary influences on their sleeves, and so you can't, for example, read Pico Iyer without going back and (re)discovering Graham Greene or Jan Morris. Atwood's treatment, with its good humour and tendency to imagine the horrific, illuminates a wide range of literary players, from Kafka to Karen Blixen (as I shall call her). It's a rich body of work, and the author is generous with insight. At times I have found the gravity of subject matter (read: climate change) hard to wade through, but in retrospect I'm glad I made the effort to persevere. 

Thanks to Margaret Atwood I have discovered that I am timorous - nervous or lacking confidence. Every once in a while I have to look a word up, which is a good sign. Speaking of signs, astrology makes its presence known here, and this has led me to think more upon this system as a pathway to inspiration. Wasn't it a New Zealand author (Diane Catton, I think) who structured her entire prize-winning book around the twelve star signs? I hung up my astrologist's hat a long time ago in favour of evidence-based spirituality, but my previous deep dives into its world makes me well placed to appreciate what drives Margaret to strongly identify as a Scorpio. I suppose this is the advantage of being around for a while: you have various types of experience. 

Poem (Untitled)

A glance

At an actress playing a mother

Tenderness enveloping her figure

Even as the baby only brushes against

A fraction of her length

A reservation for

A special kind of affection

One society encourages me to seek

But I can't locate such desires

Deep within me

Sometimes I contemplate

The intricacies of choosing

After-school activities

Like learning languages

And playing instruments

But it's mostly me

Who wants to learn Mandarin

And plant my feet knowingly

At the lower parts of pianos

Mostly I, who wants to know

The joys of being Australian-born

In a world that subtly tells me

I came too old for belonging

I will take these musings in stride

Busy myself arranging my feet

Like flowers on the path, each one

In conversation with the dewy grass

And the thrumming life forms that I pass

Adapting (and Dreaming)

I asked my German friend how long she expected the pandemic to last. It was a bewildered Xmas holiday musing, and the reply was that it would still be around for Xmas 2022. While nobody knows anything, I find some comfort in her prediction. A year is a manageable span of time - hopefully short enough not to be overwhelming, yet long enough to cover at least a substantial chunk of the rest of the time we will be irritated by this malaise. 

Sometimes I dream of overseas destinations. The last place I visited in my subconscious was NYC - a brightly lit place having its last heyday as the sun set, and the skyscrapers rose out of waterways. Now that I think about it, I think I was both saying Hello and Goodbye to this much-vaulted place that looks set to be engulfed by rising authoritarianism. 

I have travelled widely across Western Europe and East Asia, but my familiarity with North America pales in comparison in terms of both number of places visited and the last time I was there. It's all very well dreaming up A Farwell Tour While Biden Remains, but there may be more factors drawing me away than pulling me in... to this day. 

Recently I have been building enthusiasm for Japan, dreaming of spending time taking in my surroundings in themed cafes and near-inscrutable libraries (or bookshops), or getting away into the countryside some autumn afternoon to inhale the foliage. Forest bathing, except in a garden attached to a temple, where the likeness of the Buddha is sculpted out of stone, subtle but inviting as a stepping stone to enjoying the rest of the expanse.

On another note, I want to experience for myself the immigrant country with the Angel Complex, our Commonwealth cousin, Canada. I want to start in Vancouver and take public transport East, stopping at various points along the way, until I reach Quebec City (or Montreal, if that's too ambitious). I want to visit scenic sites as well as big cities like Toronto, which has long fascinated me due to its immigrant and PoC numbers. 

And then there's the continent I keep returning to out of sheer admiration, Europe. It's hard to balance other continents with Europe, because for me, it remains a stubborn mainstay of my dreams. But we'll see. There's a lot of world to cover. 

What I've learned from months of listening to German radio

During my attempts to live like a local in the former eastern Germany, I came across advertising for MDR JUMP, one of the hit radio stations out of Leipzig. Much later, I downloaded an app called Radio Germany, and decided to listen to it there. Close to the MDR Jump button was 'RTL', which enticed me with its red logo. This station is out of Berlin. Before long, I was alternating between the two to get my fix of European soundscapes, changing the station when I wasn't in the mood for misogynistic male pop stars. 

I've made some interesting musical discoveries such as 'Faded Love' by Leony (below):

There have been a few German language songs I never caught the names of. Also of interest was the music of Zoe Wees, a black German youth whose raw, piercing voice is unique and memorable. Then there's entirely instrumental pieces like this:

RTL is the more energetic of the two, with deep pop roots. MDR Jump is more likely to feature songs from the past. RTL seems to have more women presenters, and MDR Jump is more likely to play Imagine Dragons. Indeed, the latest US, Canadian and British hits often find their way into the playlist. Germany seems to love Ed Sheeran and The Weeknd. (What do I think of them? I find Sheeran objectifies his love interests, which makes his catchy tunes annoying. As for The Weeknd, misogyny was never more mellifluous. I spent many months hate-listening to 'Save Your Tears' and 'Blinding Lights', wishing that the fabulous instrumental stylings were propping up a feminist act. Finally I realised that my only choice was to accept the shittiness of the situation. 

But enough about artists I don't like.) What I love about RTL in particular is that the music has progressive credentials. Some of those hip kids in the Berlin party scene are going to be dancing to these tunes, or at least, letting them perk up their day. This makes me feel like I can relax.  

Have I picked up any German? Sadly, no - though I've recognised ads for KaDeWe, Berlin's only shopping mall, and pick up the odd word like 'lecker' (delicious). It doesn't matter - music is the universal language. 

Hanging in there

The pandemic might end during the course of the year. Or it might not. It pays to be prepared for the worst.

A couple of days ago I read an evocative travel book which made me long to leave my well-worn surroundings in search of the new. Except that, with Omicron surging in Sydney, and probably at all the destinations I want to visit, the risk of infection has never been higher. So, I'm unfortunately forced to conclude that leaving Australia is a non-starter. 

Maybe I should stop reading travel books? It seems sensible. Spend more time outside in fresh air? Maybe, except that I can't rely on my fellow citizens to wear masks when they approach me... today a woman came up to me and asked me about bus routes. I quickly pulled my mask up over my nose, hoping she would follow suit. She did, but with a delay. Grrr!

I can't help but think that the longer this goes on, the more we are all suffering. If the pandemic ended tomorrow, it couldn't come soon enough. But it won't. I think of all the women who are trapped in abusive relationships, or people of any gender facing violence of any kind. It is documented that men with violent tendencies tend to take it out on their partners when faced with the extra stress of a lockdown or having to spend more time indoors. I also feel for the teenagers who have difficult relationships with their parents and can’t retreat to the relative safety of school, libraries or malls, where they can seek out healthy interaction with their friends. 

The world turns, and those of us who have survived are looking worse for wear every day. As global heating slowly takes its toll, the environment will be increasingly harsh and hostile. How many kinds of trauma will we live through?

Finding Ways (Travel Edition)

I don't know how my mum and I managed to be so lucky, but we took three small vacations during the as-yet-unfolding pandemic. 

In December 2020, we spent four nights in Hobart, Tasmania, coming back just before Tasmania shut its borders to would-be NSW travellers. If we had postponed the travel for a week or so, it would have been impossible. 

In May of 2021, mum was intent on taking in the Gold Coast, and I wasn't about to miss a domestic adventure, even though the uncertainty about border closures was still very much in the air. We spent four nights there too, and I updated my knowledge on Queensland - it may be lagging behind NSW and VIC in terms of progressive politics, but it has its fare share of rebels and counter-culture types. Walking around Surfer's Paradise, there was often a person with colourful hair or a piercing within sight. 

Again: QLD barred interstate travel very shortly after we left. 

Finally, after a lot of hesitation, we decided to be daredevils and fly to Melbourne this December, just as Omicron was gathering pace in both the nation's biggest cities. We stayed five nights in the CBD, enjoying the relatively relaxed pace, the user-friendly trams and urban design, good food and the coffee at Brunetti. 

Not even a week later, airline staff got sick with Covid en masse, and many flights were cancelled, particularly from Melbourne and Sydney. The notice given to passengers was less than 24 hours, and that could have been us if we'd tweaked our travel dates slightly. 

My pandemic experience has been softened, enlightened and made more manageable by these diverse Australian experiences... I can't deny that they were a risky undertaking, but hey - we only live once! 

I hope next year brings travel of the international variety. In the meantime, I'm grateful for what I've had.