10 October 2012

A poem for my mother

My poem Mama (Nusya), was chosen for Offset Creative Arts Journal (Victoria University)

The poem is really about migration, assimilation and the generation gaps within families. My mother was born in a village in northern China, a village that didn't have paved roads or motor vehicles in the 1950s. In comparison, I was born in the western suburbs of Melbourne back when Billie Jean was in the charts and the Clash was rocking the Casbah and Prince was in his Little Red Corvette (god that makes ME feel old).
The western suburbs today are still home to migrants and often, homes in which people play '80s music.

Our neighbours come from countries as far-ranging as Vietnam and Ethiopia -- so many people have compelling and heartbreaking reasons why they can't stay in their homeland.

My aunt, who works for Queensland government, had this to say. 

It is also good to make people think of what new comers go through during the adjustment period. I still remember traumatic moments of disillusionment and I was only 9!

02 October 2012

small things

I miss those summer holidays, somewhere on the south-east-coast-to-nowhere (for me, a hamlet called Currarong about 3 hours south of Sydney) where time comes to a virtual standstill of sun, small moments and sea water. The sticky night air, on a balcony, with thoughts/songs/voices, laying on wooden slats, crickets, grass itch from earlier......mozzies........aeroguard. Bed then morning coffee, stretch, kookaburra, parrots, bathers, seeing the sun through the underside of a wave. The ocean changing colour with weather and time of day until you are in it, a mood ring, blue for in love, the negative ions in saltwater charging you up like a liquid battery. When summers were so slow you could look at small things like the ends of your hair or mosquito larva in a puddle, the slow arc of the sun, silhouettes. And you forget to appraise yourself, freckles, beach hair, same shorts because you have only time for truly small things and grand things... and grand dreams. 

summer. Vintage good. Vintage bad.

Vintage good. 

On the topic of bikinis and all things summer, this little number from Le Meow is adorable.

And here are some freaking hilarious home interiors I found while searching for my dream home in Castlemaine.

Vintage bad. 

AGENT ORANGE. Yes to Elvis, hanging there like a communist leader. No to the orange being the only element tying this room together. Yes to the wallpaper photo - again, a mainstay in Eastern bloc apartments. And definitely no to the bedspread and Franco Cozzo faux Baroque stuff, including the pompous little legs on the bedside table.

MAGIC CARPET RIDE. Won't take you places that aren't in your own head already.