I decided
To quit facebook
(Again)
Because I want
More real connections
I want to feel validated in real life
And not by status updates
And number of likes

Because despite over 1200 "friends"
Out there in cyberland
I feel incredibly disconnected
I organize events
And invite people
And most don't even bother to reply
One or two may come along
And the connection with them is wonderful
But all too often
I feel so alone
And perhaps it's just London
Perhaps it's just me
Perhaps it's depression
Keeping me at bay

So by quitting
And disconnecting
I'm actually hoping to connect more
And see friends more often

And for all the dear folk I know
Over oceans and continents far away
There's still email and skype and viber and what's app and tango
I'm not going anywhere
I just want it to be more real

The end.

This is a true story
It happened to me 
In real life 
My friend
A university educated person
Whose parents are both doctors
Told me 
Women cannot be astronauts 
Because they get their period

This. Is. Simply. Not. True.
In June 1963
Valentina Tereshkova
Became the first female 
To launch into space 

A little earlier 
In 1961 
Thirteen women
Known as the Mercury 13
Underwent 
The same training and tests 
As the men who would later become
The first American astronauts
And they passed
And then
Not because they were physically unable
Or intellectually inferior 
But because of 
Institutional bias against women
For being women 
The Mercury 13 
Were dismissed 

In all 
Fifty-six
Women have fought
And trained 
And gone into space
Two of them have 
Commanded the spaceships
And what about their periods?
One astronaut is quoted as saying
"Period in space, just like period on the ground
Don't worry about it."

Women do go into space 
And while they make up just 10% of the people
To hurtle past the atmosphere
The point is 
Women can be, and are, astronauts
The only thing keeping on the ground
Is prejudice and ignorance

The end. 

I have been in a terrible funk
Feeling tired
And lonely
And miserable
And Mum came to the rescue 
Gave me a bit of extra money
So I could treat myself 

I take myself to Brighton
It's only an hour and a bit away from London by train
I had heard it was pretty
And had a hippy vibe
I disembark from the train
No map
No agenda
Just a day of being 

On the way to the waterfront 
I wander into St Paul's Church
You enter through the long cloisters
Inside the church
A man is having a heated conversation 
With the air
Or the spirits around him
He emphasizes each point with a flick of his hand 
Mass is starting in ten minutes
I wonder if they'll let him stay
I walk into a large room beside the chapel
There is a massive fireplace
Guarded by two stone dragons
There is a rich red carpet
The walls are lined with books
There are two comfy looking chairs
A warden comes in and tells me I am in the vestry
And visitors are not allowed
I apologize, I hadn't realized 
But I'm glad I got to see the room
Once I'm back in the foyer 
The warden closes the door
Private 

I arrive at the waterfront 
The beach is covered in pebbles
The water has a lovely light blue tinge
I don't know why, but I had expected it to be brown 
It is so lovely to see the ocean again
On the beach a small group of tourists is skimming stones
They remind me of my love and skimming stones along the river in the summer
My heart aches for him 
There is an art shop right on the beach
They are selling prints
And cards
And beautiful books 
The food shops along the beachfront
Are all closed
It is winter
It is not the season
There is a tiny fishing museum that is open
It takes five minutes to walk through
It feels like a relic 
All shells and fishnets and crabs behind glass
Turning to dust 
A looped video sings sea chanties 

I walk
With no real destination 
And stumble upon the 
Royal Pavilion 
It is like a palace 
The gardens around it
Are beautiful 
Spring flowers are starting to make an appearance
Though the trees are bare
And the grass is mostly gone 
I buy a hot chocolate
And wander around to the museum
It is closed on Mondays 
I don't mind

I walk up to the Lanes
Winding tiny streets filled with shops 
Though no longer the original buildings
The area "gives a flavour of medieval Brighton" 
A shopkeeper tells me 
The council wants to push out the independents
And bring in the High St tenants
More money that way
Of course the stain of commercialism is evident everywhere
Even by the water
The giant concrete monstrosity
That is the Odeon and entertainment complex
How they allowed it! 
It's a shame
The very reason people go there
Being eaten away 

Speaking of eating
I have lunch in a small cafe
Everything is handmade and fresh
Sweet potato soup and an apple, carrot, and ginger juice
The soup, juice, and cafe are all bright orange 
It reminds me of the book Misery Guts
The protagonist is an English boy 
Who is sick of his parents being miserable
So he paints their fish and shop bright orange 
From memory they move to Australia
The land of sunshine and happiness
Did you know that in Australia it is estimated more people
Die by suicide that road related deaths

I walk and walk and walk
I window shop
I wander in and out of stores
And chat to shop keepers
I imagine I am wealthy
And pick all the artworks I would buy
And where they would go in my dream house 

I end the day back at the beachfront 
I walk a little way down the pier
It is tacky and touristy 
I prefer the pebbles
The sky has been grey all day
And it is cold
But it has been the loveliest day 

The end. 

I first saw A Chorus Line when I was ten years old. It was the first musical I ever saw live. We had a spare ticket and I remember standing outside the theatre with Mum trying to give the ticket away. We ended up giving it to a lovely lady who had to find a pay phone to tell someone at home she would be late. The next thing I remember is sitting in the theatre, the lady offering me some chocolate, and then the theatre going pitch black. I grabbed Mum's hand because I was scared. The opening refrain, the mirrors shimmering into view, and then, "A 5-6-7-8!" I was transfixed, transported, and utterly sure of what I wanted to do when I grew up.

How does a ten year old from Sydney's leafy North Shore resonate with a musical about struggling dancers in New York? What was it that grabbed me? The swearing and many of the stories went way over my head. I liked Diana. I liked her because the girl playing her had been my Mum's student. I also liked her because she had a good monologue, and because I too was not genetically disposed toward bobsleds. I liked the "tits and ass" girl because she was blunt and straight forward and no nonsense, (Years later I was walking down Park Ave in NYC, and the line "Park and 73rd" kept ringing in my ears, and it cracked me up when I realized where it was from. Is the Good Doctor still working to take flat chested dancers from chorus girl to star? How does my feminist grown-up self feel about that character now?). I also liked "the ballet song" because I was doing ballet then, and when they sang it, I knew the smell of the rehearsal room, the feel of the barre, the narrow stairway, yes everything was beautiful at the ballet (even though I personally struggled because I didn't pick up choreography quickly, and though graceful "with lovely ballet hands" I was somewhat uncoordinated and awkward, no it wasn't paradise...). And I got it. I even used to dance around the living room. I also related to the tales of broken homes and divorced parents and escaping to ballet/performance as a means out. 

And as I grew up and listened, and re-listened, and listened again, to the cassette of the cast recording, the music changed and meant different things. Suddenly I was twelve, and thirteen, and unsure. Still, I knew I wanted to be a performer. I had the drama teacher that made me feel "nothing". I was short. I had no boobs. I actually lived the knee injury bit. Had a doctor tell me I would never dance again. What happens when you can't perform anymore? You crawl into a ball and suffer through depression for two years, and don't come out until you start performing again. 

And then I wanted to get married and live in the 'burbs and have a stable life. And then the stupid boy broke my heart, and changed my life because I was so mad at him, and so heartbroken that I had no choice but to pursue my original dream. While training I saw Donna McKechnie perform live, the woman whose voice I had listened to a million times. Give me somebody to dance for! The woman is in her seventies and she's still got it. I saw Marvin Hamlisch (may he be resting in musical theatre heaven) conduct the London Symphony Orchestra playing a medley of songs from A Chorus Line. And I gave up everything I ever knew to move across the world to study at a crazily expensive school, have my self-esteem torn to shreds, and be told I should "reconsider" this career choice. But you have this little persistent voice inside your head that says I DON'T WANT TO AND CAN'T DO ANYTHING ELSE. THIS. IS. IT. And sometimes you just have to ignore the naysayers and the statistics and the struggle that is auditioning and putting yourself out there and honing your craft and praying "Oh, god I need this job!" Not just for money, but for my soul. 

So it's no secret that I'm emotionally invested in this show. For me, A Chorus Line is THE show. It's the reason I became a performer. It's the reason I'm obsessed with musical theatre. It's the inspiration that keeps me going. And tonight, seeing it performed to almost utter perfection in London was astonishingly wonderful, inspiring, and uplifting. 

The end. 

Coming home
At the end of a
Long week
And doing a batch of
Roast vegetables
And a makeshift
Ratatouille
And having the time
To catch up
And veg out
That is bliss

The end.

Dear Willesden Green
Our time together
Is coming to an end
My lease is just about up
And soon I'll be moving
To another part of London

But before I go
I wanted to say
Thank you

For pretty little flat
The first place
Where I lived alone
Finally had
As I had always desired
A room of my own
With a window seat
Overlooking the rooftops of London
A space where I felt safe
And free to sing
And play flute
And not worry that anybody was listening
The first place where I had the
Luxury of an entire
Fridge and kitchen
And bathroom to myself
Could put utensils
Wherever I wanted them
Arrange the fridge
As I saw fit
Not worry that a flatmate
Was having thirty minute showers
And making me late

Speaking of showers
Willesden Green
The place where I was
Properly introduced
To the reality
Of living in an old city
Where the plumbing
Is antiquated
And the water pressure
On the third floor
Almost non-existent
Particularly when it's freezing outside
And the water pressure
Is intentionally reduced
To stop the pipes from exploding
And I literally
Had to shower in a bucket

Thank you for my park
Hilly and pretty
No matter the season
With its duck pond
And playground
And rose garden
Close enough for quick 4km runs
Big enough for longer runs

Thank you for the plethora of shops
And the library
Even if it often felt dank
And under-loved
For the internet cafe
Always open and
Staffed by lovely Polish immigrants
Who are always smiling

For your proximity to the city
And wonderfully efficient
Jubilee Line
Which one day was experiencing
"Severe delays"
And still had me home
Fifteen minutes later

For being the first home
In my life
That I was able to leave
And come back to
To find it all my things
Just as I had left them

I'll be sad to pack up my suitcases
And say goodbye
But I'm ready
For the next adventure
To begin.

Sometimes
You just need
Your hair washed
Scalp massaged
And hair cut
By a very camp
Fresh off the boat
Italian
In Soho
"Darlink, my Eenglish
Is not so good!"
Darlink.
If I spoke Italian
Half as well as you
Speak English
We would be laughing.

The end.

Twice this week
I spoke out
When I saw things
That felt
Not right
I said so

Admittedly
I did it on
Facebook and Twitter
Spoke through the screen
With written words

But even that
Took courage
Because one is afraid of
Trolls
Lurking out in
Cyberspace
Ready to pounce
Mock
Belittle
Deny

And reading
Posts and articles by
Miss Representation
And Everyday Sexism
And Eve Ensler
Have inspired me
To be courageous
And let my voice be heard
Even if only on a tiny stage
But perhaps
Even if only to one person
It can make a difference
Then it is worth speaking out

Because
What if every single one of us
Decided/realized/embraced
That what we did mattered?
What could change?

The end.

Wandering around the
Real Food Markets
At Southbank
And eating fresh
And garlicky
Bruschetta
And a falafel wrap
And hot cider
And a chocolate brownie
For dessert
With a lovely
Kindred spirit
And relishing the melting pot of cultures
You
An Australian/Spanish person
Living in London
Eating
Moroccan and Italian and English foods
With a Russian/South African/Australian
Who lives in France
And you think
This is precisely
The life
I wanted to lead

The end

Raleigh scattering
Thou art my favourite
Of all scientific phenomena

The end.