some of the jargon that managed to leave my head

My name is Anna. I think I was either named after a very important tree of Catholicism, or my name is an attempt at a feminine version of Jesus. But apparently Anna is a boy’s name and my parents are blind idiots who are completely ignorant of their baby’s genitalia. So says Annabelle of Prep C at Our Ladies’ College way back in 1998 (just for anyone willing to hunt her down and make her suffer for ruining my first year of school). Not that I’m a bitter person; no way. No, I am sweet, nice Catholic vegetarian Anna with curly hair and a soft voice. People look at me and see a humble, shy, gentle person; however there is no doubt in my mind I am viewed as a weak character in the stage production that is life. It’s terrible that people see that in me; because it’s come to be what I now see, believe I am. This formerly non existent (or so I like to think) flaw in my disposition is what I try to hide; however I cannot conceal it now it has embedded itself upon me. I am a terrible liar.

My mother is called Karen. She is a half- Indonesian warrior woman who doesn’t believe in failure or the benefits of small talk, and so is seen as the quiet woman sitting next to the loud cheerful man at dinner parties. A.K.A. my father- named Damien at birth, but has come to answer to the label “Dad”. My dad is a tall man with peppered hair who only wears blue, white, grey and black. He thinks colour is arrogant; I tend to disagree but I say “whatever floats your boat”. He went and studied agriculture in the middle of nowhere and ended up unhappy as a CEO of CSIRO, which is an extremely prestigious position. I know this because my grandfather likes to remind me every time the family gets together; which fortunately, (or not) is often. Both of my parents are pessimistic, slightly snobbish people who believe in a good education and God. I’ve learnt a lot from my parents but I hope I don’t turn out like them.

I have three brothers, and whenever I tell people this it is as if I have told them I have an extra head hiding under my jumper. I have to reassure them that a) no, it is not weird being the only girl, in fact there are great benefits to this at times b) my brothers don’t torture me, spit on me, pull my hair, attack me, swear at me, try to boss me around or force me to eat cheese c) my brothers are, in fact, quite decent people. All that is mentioned above is true, should you choose to believe it.

I’ve never been able to convince myself life is real. It feels like an illusion, and nothing more. Which is crazy because of course life and all the things in it are real and we’ve been told that and that is what we have to believe because otherwise there is no reason for anything. Hypothetically, even if life were just a figment of my imagination, why isn’t it perfect? Why must my mind incorporate conflict and pain and suffering and hunger and isolation and discrimination and criticism and hurt and anger? I have too many questions, and not enough answers; nor do I have the time to ask them. Perhaps, by Shakespeare, the world is simply a stage and we are putting on a play for our deities, whoever they may be. Nothing has ever felt real. Any emotion I’ve eve had has been talked away, and with it, I think, my sense of reality. My ultimate goal, my absolute ambition of the character I play is to be content. I can’t help thinking this is unachievable but maybe contentment is also an illusion. After all, contentment is really just a state of mind, right? The human mind can be tricked into it, can it not?

Once I was gypsy with long dark curls dancing along a dusty road in a blur of colour and the soft sounds of bells. Before that I was a poet with too many words jumbled around with liquor inside my head. Before that I owned a lemonade stand in amongst a mirage of heat and never got any customers except for my mother. Before that I was a soft round nurse with a gentle disposition and a yearning for the man in room 13C to notice me. I cried for hours upon hearing of his passing. Before that I was sea captain of an old rickety boat that was much stronger than all others thought. Before that I was a strip of a wild Irish girl with flaming red hair, riding the Polka along the cliffs of Galway. Before that I was fifteen, pregnant and terrified. No one cared about me. Before that I sat prim and proper in a tidy house at a table serving a cold dinner while my husband spent time in between the sheets with another woman. Before that I played U2 louder and louder to drown out the screams from downstairs, and strangely, “The Ground Beneath Her Feet” failed to mask the sound of my father slamming the front door. Before that every time I looked into a mirror I saw Ana hovering behind me. Before that I held a pile of pills in my hand and thought how easy it would be to just slip away. Before that I opened my eyes and knew life could be good.

To be an arrogant mouse is far more dangerous than to be a modest mouse.

Who can you go to? Who can you tell?

I felt nothing I saw nothing he had to be there or the earth the stars the sky would dissolve vituperating my existence I felt nothing I saw nothing my supercilious soul he so undeserving of this dull burden this heavy deadweight sinking deeper and deeper into the hollows of my heart burning to the point of darkness and despair I felt nothing I saw nothing he had to be there

The earth laughs in flowers.

Unbeing dead isn’t the same as being alive.

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach one thousand stars how not to dance.

E. E. Cummings

Kiss me and you will see how important I am.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.

Is there no way out of the mind?

Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life and to be at peace.

I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.

I lean to you; as numb as a fossil. Tell me I’m here.

Eternity bores me. I never wanted it.

You smile. No, it’s not fatal.

People or stars regard me sadly; I disappoint them.

Now I am silent. Hate up to my neck, thick, thick. I do not speak.

Sylvia Plath

I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.

What I’ve learnt:

- In most cases it is better to talk bullshit than to not say anything at all.

- If you don’t speak much people think you’re a boring stuck up weirdo.

- Sleep has cycles and it is easier to wake after 5 hours than it is after 6.

- It’s good to have hobbies.

- If you talk loudly people assume you’re confident.

- Personally it’s easier to reveal the surface of myself to a total stranger than it is to allow a friend to see my vulnerable core.

- People associate smiling with happiness. Not many can spot when it’s fake.

- Durian is okay.

- Tea tree oil is good for breakouts.

- Dry shampoo is amazing.

- Not everything is my fault. I’m just not that influential. It’s arrogant and self centred to think that.

- I have to live for now. Not for tomorrow. Not for yesterday.

- Writing in capitals is extremely therapeutic.

- I shouldn’t judge because I have no idea what it is that I am judging. No one can know a person’s true consciousness, which is what defines them as people.

- I have to open my heart and love everything, even the shitty stuff, and let go of certainty.

- Trusting people is hard. I’m still learning.

- It’s a free country and I’m still a teenager. I’m allowed to screw up.

- Negativity is no fun.

- Suicide is the most selfish thing a person can do. It’s not fair to anyone.

- Stuff can be expensive.

- Life is precious yet the human race A.K.A the most arrogant fucked up race, continues to squander it, destroying the Earth to alter it to our needs and purposes, while simultaneously having bitch fights amongst ourselves every five seconds.

- Balinese mush will make you sick.

- It’s so uncool to like stuff that’s not cool that it turns out to actually be cool.

- Being able to laugh at yourself is important.

- La vita e bella.