My life has not been extraordinary. I have not suffered outside the realms of the normal human experience. I have only been confronted by grief and loss as we all have or will, and I do not carry heartache with me. Instead, I keep it in a box on my bookshelf, and sometimes late at night when the window is open and the world has stopped its noises I open it. In the moonlight it shines. I cry and this is precious. Continue reading
As the daughter of a police sergeant, going to my first Blue Light Disco was less about unwinding from a long week at my public primary school with a rousing round of line-dancing to Cotton-Eyed Joe, and more about seeing my dad’s friends and colleagues kitted out in their crisp, blue uniforms, adorned with badges, holsters and scowls. These men and women taught me to swim, dressed up as Santa Claus to give me presents at Christmas time and joined my family on the one camping trip we ever took together. But inside the walls of the Gympie Civic Centre, they were terrifying and in charge. Continue reading
I realised I was probably in love with you. It was that day we were all building things at my rambling junk-strewn house, hammering and sanding and painting the chassis of the old trailer that we wanted to fill with tools and use as a mobile bike workshop. Do you remember trying to pry up the splintered lino with a chisel while the sun beat down outside? Later we retired to the porch, cracked tinnies, and watched the chickens mow the front lawn while the gums across the street pinkened in fading light. Continue reading
I went to a ‘gender-bending’ party last night. I wore a white shirt with suspenders, and a black bowler hat. My friend Jemma, whose party it was, said I looked like one of the 1920s gangsters in her favourite video game. She told me the name of the game three times but I’ve already forgotten it because I was quite drunk when she said it. I also have a very poor memory generally when it comes to remembering facts. Continue reading
I used to have all this hair, back when I didn’t like looking at the future, back when everything was super new and fresh like cold wind on bleeding acne. I liked to wash my hair and condition it so it would be soft and sleek, and I’d spent the day patting it and digging my fingers in and just kinda humming happily to myself. I didn’t brush my hair, so it looked like maybe I had curls. A hairdresser once told me I had fine hair, which for many years made me believe I’d go bald in my mid-twenties like my dad or my uncles or my cousins. But then we went to a wedding and all the men in the family booed me during a family photo because amongst all the sleek bald heads there was me, a weird puff of blonde hair that’s forgotten how to be blonde, a big mass of something non-descript like ‘light brown’ or ‘tan’. If I were the best friend of the protagonist in a YA dystopian novel, my hair would be described as ‘mousy’, but it would be ok because I’d be really smart and supportive. But irl I am not very smart or supportive, which is why I’m glad the world is not a YA dystopia. But my hair is mousy. Continue reading
Lily Mei (@LilyMeizing) is a law and writing student at UTS. She also edits the UTS mag Vertigo.
Mike Day (@mikedayawake) is a writing/lit student at UQ. You can find his stories on Scum and Stilts.
Mike and Lily met over the internet in February. They wrote this piece together (l:Lily, m:Mike) and compiled their thoughts over a few early morning Skype calls.
lily and mike met on twitter. lily lives in sydney. she met her current boyfriend on tinder. mike lives in brisbane and thinks tinder is dumb. he met his first girlfriend on myspace in 2006. he is currently single. lily never had a myspace. she often tells people she met her boyfriend at wholefoods. she doesn’t realise wholefoods hasn’t made it to australia yet.
[some messages have been omitted for reasons. trust us maybe.] Continue reading