I love newborn babies
I love their smell and
Soft skin, the
Crown of their head,
Little arms and legs,
And tiny hands that clasp

It is wonderful for short bursts
But a lifetime?
No thank you!
I have known since I was sixteen
That I do not want children.

The birth of my
My half-sister
A few months after my 18th birthday
Was a momentous day
I became “big big sister”
And regular babysitter
Phoebe-Lulu days were the highlight of my week
Days filled with picnics and painting
Library visits
Ferry rides to the city
Museums
A fantastic excuse to the see
The Wiggles live in concert
(We saw Sam Moran – the new yellow wiggle – in his debut appearance
And laughed when he drove onto the stage in the big red car
With L plates)

And with a succession of new cousins
(10 new babies between 1999 and 2008)
I became babysitter extraordinaire
With nappy-changing, bottle feeding, and
Happy occupying of small children
All added to my already impressive CV

My little little sister’s birth
Along with the birth days of all my new family members
Were happy, joyous days
And also the best contraception ever invented

I realized what a full-time job
Looking after a baby, and growing family, were.
Lovely yes, but
Exhausting
Draining
And trying

People say
“But you’re so maternal! It’s such a waste!”
I’m also an actor
Musician
Office administrator
Educator
Writer
Is it a waste to not pursue avenues
Other than motherhood?

“But we live in the modern age!
You can have it all!”
When we have affordable childcare
Equal wages
Paid parental leave
And a system and society that supports parents
Instead of bleeding them dry
Perhaps then we can have a conversation
About the genuine possibility of universal
Career + parenthood = satisfaction

“What about your parents?
You’re denying them grandchildren!”
I thought we lived in the modern age where independent young people didn’t have to live out their lives for their parents?
“It’s so selfish!”
So is having more and more children to consume the limited resources of the planet.

“You’re young.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“Your clock will start ticking.”
“You’re in denial.”
“You’ll regret it.”
Inspired by Tamar Anitai, I will now respond to these statements with
“Are you a fortune teller, how much do you charge?!”

I’m not asking people to stop having babies.
Like Elizabeth Gilbert in championing auntyhood
I have faith that the human race
Will continue to do as it has always done
And make babies
Ad infinitum, and

I will be there to
Cheer and coo the newest members of humanity
And whole-heartedly support my
Sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends
In becoming parents

If being a mother/father/parent
Is what you desire
All the power to you!
Go right ahead!
I’ll be available for babysitting
And playing aunt

I will petition for
Paid parental leave
And advocate affordable accessible childcare
I will be curious about birth
And developments in childhood psychology
I will keep an eye on the education sector and
Fight against the destruction of the arts in schools
I will even 'like' your ultrasounds, baby pictures, and hilarious
They did WHAT?! stories on facebook.
Not because I have a desire to one day be a mother
But because I am a person
Interested in the society in which I live
And hopeful of a world where every human being
Mother, father, child
Can flourish

But I will join Tamar Anitai in
Defending our right
To choose not to procreate
Twenty-nine year old me
Remains as clear in my choice
As sixteen year old me
Of not desiring a child of my own
It does not make me barren
Or a spinster
Or an angry adult shunning the joyful world of parenthood
It's just makes me another piece
In the complex puzzle
That is humanity

All I ask is that you
Please respect my choice
To follow a different path
That doesn’t include bearing babies  

Thank you, and

The end. 

It has been said
The peak of civilisation
Has been reached
When the society
Has a thriving artistic system

But is that society
Civilised
When you walk outside
The palaces of creation
And see men and women
Who cannot afford to eat
Or shelter their
Weary bodies?

I love messages that are inspiring and full of hope and leave me feeling positive
It's why I'm fascinated by A is For and Occupy and No More Page 3, and V-Day
And all the A-Z of organizations who in their own way
Are just trying to make it better, easier, nicer
For people.

Because that's what we all are in the end
Whether we're writers or artists
or bankers or plumbers or dentists
We. Are. People.

It's why I love artists like Amy Krouse Rosenthal.
Not just artists
Writers and composers and historians and entrepreneurs and builders and all the souls just
trying to make a difference.
People who say,
Let's make this better

Let's make this nicer, more beautiful, more inspiring
A less harsh place to live in.
Like Eve Ensler, like Martha Plimpton, like Anne Summers.
 
It's why I loved reading Obama's book.
He has the audacity to hope for something better
A time, a place, a now that doesn't tread on people
And why is it so audacious to want hope?
Shouldn't it be utterly audacious to only see the bottom line, to hurt, to lie, to steal, to see a world devoid of beauty?
Imagine a world where people were actually nice to each other.

Imagine such a thing
"Hippy" John Lennon.
If you believe in peace and
love and nicety, you're a damn communist.

We are a rock revolting.

There is so much anger and hate and sadness,
But it can be different.
We must speak out.
We must appreciate each other.
We must not be afraid.

I've been afraid.
I am afraid
Of my own voice.
So afraid I haven't written, I haven't sung, I'm scared of dancing in public.

I'm scared of my own body.
Because the people who speak out
Are laughed at, trolled, vilified, shot.
People are miserable, living on the street, dying horrifically.
God, it can all seem so awful.

And I shift between total inspiration
And total despair.
What can I do?!

Breathe. Just breathe.
And trust that it all gets better. That change IS possible.
And get on with what I have to do.

The end.

The world abounds in
Misogyny
The systematic hatred of women
That permeates our society
And displays itself in
Rape
Abuse
And all manner of violence against women

We are a rock revolting
Around a burning sun
It is frightening and ugly and demeaning and soul destroying

Women are under-represented in every institution and industry we can name
In some places we are not allowed out the front door
In many spheres we are presented only as objects of sex
Denied our bodies in others
And always put down
All the fact of an x v. y

And it’s not that men and women
“Hate women” as such
We have sisters! And mothers! And aunts! And daughters!
And friends who are girls and women
I am not one of them
One of those people who
Hates women

But the hatred
Is a habit
Entrenched after two thousand years
Of power struggle, of
Systematic suppression, repression,
Denial
Of the rights of women
To live

And yet
We must keep going
Because it doesn’t have to be this way
It is possible for men and women
To work together
As equals

By speaking out
And naming it
And calling it out
When it happens
In the press, in our speech, in everyday conversation
We can chip away at this
Belittling of one half of the population of the planet
Until misogyny and sexism
Are relics

People are working
Everyday every moment every second
To make it better
The Eve Ensler's and Caroline Criado-Perez's and NMP3's and #everydaysexism's and AnneSummers’ of the world
The campaigners and dreamers and artists and writers and regular everyday people who are making an honest effort
Out there in the world
Really trying
To create a world where
Women have equal rights
To life and dignity 

Where is your voice?
And what is it saying?

The end. 

Remember a time
Before you’d ever even been to Broadway
New York was just a place
Across the ocean
Far away
It may as well have been the moon
And musicals were accessed via cast recordings
Played on CD (and cassette!)
Repeated so often you knew
Every inflection
Pause and intonation

And then you’re sitting in the
Lyric Theatre, London
And Trevor Ashley
Australian performer
Who taught musical theatre at State Music Camp
And performed at Schools Spec
Is performing his Liza show
He is brilliant
The camp and the sass and the deadpan humour
Meet moments of utter sincerity
That make a caricature of Liza
(Though the portrayal is so spot on
It's more real than play) 
Human 

You remember
State Music camp and
Being around other people who
Got it
You performed ‘Over the Moon’ from RENT
(Which you had learnt by heart
By listening to the recording
Over and over til you got it right
Moo)
(And your friend
Gave you your first standing ovation
Lept to his feet when you finished moo-ing)
It was thrilling to sit in chairs around the piano
Holding sheets of music
And singing the songs
You had listened to
And already knew by heart
And all that jazz

And you remember all your teachers
Mrs Harrison and Mrs Ross
Mrs McAndrews
Mrs Stevenson, Miss Lorschy, Mrs Martinotti, Mrs Turner
Mr Harrison, Miss Boyle, Miss Richards (theatre etiquette!), Miss Paris, Miss Simone, Mrs Page, Mrs Stewart, Mr Kelso, Mrs Miltiades, Mrs Miller, Mrs Cull
George, Andrew, Gina, Frank, Kane, Ste, Christine
The ones who believed in you and gave you a chance

And if you could tell your fifteen year old self
You get to do it!
You go to New York
Broadway is real
You study musical theatre in London
You live in a houseful of actors
You learn for real the phrase
“Starving actor”
It’s not just about hunger and being poor
You need to perform and write and play music and tell stories
And when you don’t
You get really depressed
And even though it’s hard
It’s incredible
There is no other life you can lead

The Tony Awards are real
You actually go, twice
Get all dressed up
And sit in the rafters
And watch your childhood heroes
Make their acceptance speeches
You see Idina Menzel in concert (twice)
You see her rehearsing!
You see Marvin Hamlisch conduct the London Symphony Orchestra
In a medley from A Chorus Line
You see Liza in concert
You see Trevor as Liza in concert
And it takes you back to 15 year old you
Who wants nothing more than
This life
And you say
Hold on
You’ll get here

The end. 

Up the hill from Bromley Rd
Past the seedy-looking Homebase pond
A house with a whole garden of sunflowers
Taller than a person
The sunflowers as high as an elephant’s eye...
Thick green stems and bright yellow faces

Further up the hill
The park
The largest green space in all of Lewisham
Complete with
A mansion
Ancient woodland
And well-kept grass for playing golf

Around the corner
Tucked away
A secret garden
With raised beds
Filled to the brim and bursting
Enough to make Sondheim’s witch in the woods
Cackle with delight
Parsley, peppers, cabbages and celery
Pumpkin and pansies and artichokes and chives
Thistles and tomatoes and cauliflower and mint
A sensory delight

The traffic builds on Bromley Rd. 

I was at uni
And I was learning
And acting
And surrounded by amazing people
And I was so depressed
I was numb
I actually felt nothing
And I tortured myself
Literally and metaphorically
And kept asking
When will I ever be good enough
To do something amazing
And then I got to perform my own material
And I was like
Hey, I really like this
And then I got to travel the world
And my brain exploded with possibility

I was engaged
And we were gonna get married!
Everything was lovely!
We were in love!
And then we broke up
And I was miserable
And wondered when anything was ever going to stop feel like crying again
And I sat with my bestie at the markets
And said
"ARGH! What is next?!"
And the next day got an email about working in the theatre full-time, and getting an agent
And everything changed
(My bestie was lamenting that he would ever meet someone.  Just over a year from that day, he was married).
And I got into drama school in London
And I packed my bags and moved to a whole other country

I got there
And was really broke
More broke than I'd ever been
I was living the dream
Of studying theatre in London
And I was miserable
My voice was shot
My self-esteem was invisble (again)
I couldn't get a job
And it got to the point
Where I had exactly one week's rent left in my savings
And that was it
And I won a scholarship
And I was able to stay

And then school was over
And I got to go back to camp
And I finally worked in the Music Shed
And taught voice
And realized I had a skill and a knack for teaching singing
And fell in love with it all over again

Back in London
I discovered what it was like
To be earning minimum wage
Less than the London living wage
And to work and work and work
And having nothing left
And you have to go back and do it all again
Because otherwise
Then you really have nothing
But sitting in offices around London
I'm getting paid to write my own material
And it feels wonderful
And liberating

I got to fall in love again
I got to work again, sometimes for what I felt I was worth
I'm going to perform my own material

We never know what's next
We have to do the work
And hope and pray
That it will work out
Sometimes it won't
But something else will come along
And it will be even better
Than what we could have hoped for

And if all else fails
Hide under the doona and watch cheesy Disney cartoons
Until you feel better

The end.

*And writing stuff like this reminds me that in my insanely privileged bubble... life ain't so bad. It may SEEM bad sometimes... but it's not so bad, you know?!

Men are remembered
As scientists, soldiers
Arists and architects
As political leaders
And heroes 

Women are remembered 
For the care they give men
As mothers and nurses 
And bodies 

In Embankment Park
Every monument is to a man
The one woman
Leans
Bare-breasted, weeping, delicate, sensual, against Sullivan's bust