Last weekend, my brother and his wife sent me some flowers to congratulate me on my new job at the call centre. They were from Tynte Flowers, their go-to florist. It was a nice gesture, and it really surprised me, to be honest. You can see them below.
Like I said, it was a nice gesture, but I’m not sure it makes up for how unbelievably nasty and cruel my brother has been to my mother and me over the past year or so. He would argue that he looks after us by letting us stay in his house, but he charges rent and doesn’t contribute to any maintenance. I don’t want this blog to turn into a space to complain about my younger brother, but as I start to come to terms with my true values and what I want from life, I’m struggling to see where he fits into it anymore.
Last week I completed a stack of onboarding forms for my new job, which starts on 11 May. One of them was for a police check. If you’ve read any of my earlier posts, you might have seen that back in 2013 I was caught texting while driving. I contested it and was issued a notice to attend court, but I didn’t go—I didn’t want to front up to a judge. As a result, the magistrate recorded a criminal conviction against me.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand how serious that was. I had no real sense of the long-term implications or how something like that can follow you. The one relief was that after ten years the conviction becomes “spent” for the purposes of a basic police check. I did learn, though, that it can still show up in more detailed checks, like those for working with vulnerable people.
So, when I filled out the form, I felt completely confident nothing would come up—it was just a standard police check for an office role. But the day after I submitted it, I received a notice from the police saying my check had been flagged for manual review.
My heart sank. I knew the conviction was spent, but I also suspected that might mean extra scrutiny.
The next day, a woman from HR called about something unrelated—rostering—and asked how I’d gone with the onboarding forms. I told her everything was fine, but that my police check had been flagged for review. She said it was probably just a name match with someone else, then asked if I expected anything to come up.
I told her about the spent conviction. It was a difficult conversation to have. She didn’t sound impressed and mentioned she’d never had anyone go through a police check with something come back. She did say that a conviction wouldn’t automatically exclude me from working at the call centre but by that point the tone had shifted.
I explained that the conviction was spent and that I was only raising it because I thought it might explain the delay. Still, I came away from the call feeling awful—anxious, exposed, and, if I’m honest, a bit diminished, like I wasn't worthy like everyone else who’d been offered the role.
The next day I sent a short clarification email, reiterating that the conviction was spent, and she called me. I told her I was feeling really concerned, but she wasn’t especially reassuring. She is a nice woman—we actually share the same surname— but in that moment she made me feel like I was somehow less than the other candidates.
She said she hadn’t told the hiring manager yet, in case the check came back clear, but kept adding things like, “if multiple convictions come up,” and “if you’re telling the truth, it shouldn’t be a problem.” It was unsettling to hear, especially given how minor and long ago it all was.
At the end of the day, it is what it is. I can’t change it. But while she was talking, I found myself thinking about how this must feel for anyone with a conviction—how even a small mistake can follow you, and how hard it must be to move forward, especially for people with more serious records. I’m not excusing serious offenders, but if someone has done their time and is genuinely trying to rebuild their life, the path must be incredibly steep.
My own conviction reads something like “use of mobile phone while driving – $25 fine.” The fine alone makes it clear that I didn't cause an accident and there was no harm done. And yet, if something that minor can cast a shadow, it’s hard not to wonder what it must be like for other offenders.
I felt sorry for myself for a day or so, but then I pulled myself together and thought, I’m not going to let this defeat me. Nelson Mandela had a criminal conviction—albeit under a morally corrupt rule of law—but a conviction all the same. Donald Trump has a criminal conviction, and he probably deserves a million more, and he’s the President of the United States.
I’m still waiting to hear back about my police check, and I think the problem is the system. It isn’t really set up to easily produce a clear result once a conviction has been there. It’s not the end of the world to go to review, but it does raise eyebrows.
I don’t know how this will turn out. If it doesn’t work out for me, I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll take the attitude that everything happens for a reason—and hopefully the rejection will lead me to something bigger and better.
But for all intents and purposes I’m working on the principle that I start on 11 May. The job itself is two days in the office and three days at home during the training period, and then once that’s over it shifts to four days at home and one day in the office. Working from home is ideal for me—Mum and I really look after each other, so I’ll be here for her.
I wasn’t working during COVID, so I never really settled into the whole work-from-home culture, but I make volunteer calls from home—the system is all online—and I like it. I’m going to set up a proper home office. I do have a desk in the big TV room where I usually sit, but the internet isn’t great in there, so I’ve contacted my friend Muhammad, who’s a computer man by trade, to see if he can sort it out.
There are a few logistical things to think about before starting work again. The main one is my sleep. It’s been really bad lately, but I’m confident it will even itself out once I’m working. The best routine I had was when I was in Cambodia for a few weeks—I had to be up in the mornings for Tim and Thy, who were picking me up, and then I’d stay awake right through until about 11:00pm.
I’m planning to do a bit of a harsh reset. At the moment I’m up all night and only getting to sleep around 9:00am. I just need to push that forward—first to midday, then 3:00pm and so on—and I’ve got enough time to do that. If it doesn’t work, I won’t be able to drive into the office because I’ll be too sleep-deprived, but I’ll still be able to perform at work—I’ve done it before.
I’ve been binging Married at First Sight. The latest season has already aired on TV, but I’m watching it on 9Now. I love that show. It’s so trashy, but it’s exactly what I need.
Most of the couples are in their 20s and 30s, but there’s always a token older one. This time they had this beautiful 50-year-old woman, and she was matched with an absolute arsehole. All the couples have been pretty mean to each other, and I’m completely invested in how all their fights play out.
It is a bit sad watching it though, because one of the experts, Mel Schilling, recently died at 54 from cancer. I liked Mel—she was feisty and always stuck up for the underdog.
I’ve been studying journalism and keeping up with the news, but I take a different approach to it these days. I used to want to be part of it—to write letters, physical ones and letters to the editor—but I’ve ditched that now. I don’t want that. I want a quiet, peaceful life, not worrying about things I can do absolutely nothing about.
I will say I’m following the Ben Roberts-Smith case with interest. He has a lot of supporters—on my Facebook I’ve seen people “standing with him.” They’re mostly conservative types. I do believe in innocent until proven guilty and I don’t like trial by media, but I can’t help thinking that if he really did those things, they should lock the bastard up and throw away the key.
With all my interest in the legal system, I still can’t say I understand it. But I want to know this—if he is being tried for war crimes, why aren’t they trying him in The Hague?
It's now 12:20am and my night has just begun. I'm going to finish up in a minute because I want to get back to Married at First Sight, I think the next episode is a dinner party which are always thrilling. But before I go, I want to share something with you.
It has been over a month since I wrote letters to all the politicians in the Federal Parliament about Aboriginal deaths in custody. I wrote to all the house of reps and all the senators. Until today I had only received two responses. Today I received a further two.
The first letter was from the office of Senator the Honourable Kay Gallagher who is also the Minister for Finance, Minister for Women, Minister for the Public Service and Minister for Government Services. I was advised by her office that as the issues raised in my letter fall within the responsibilities of the Minister for Indigenous Australians, Senator the Honourable Malarndirri McCarthy and the letter was forwarded to the National Indigenous Australian Agency for consideration.
The other letter was from the office of the Honourable Anthony Albanese, MP, The Prime Minister. I was advised that all correspondence to him is read and carefully considered, however not all items receive a response. They then said they had forwarded my letter to the South Australian Premier’s Office.
I know I just wrote in this post about not wanting to care about current affairs the way I used to, but I do still care—about Aboriginal deaths in custody, and about the fact that I sent out close to 300 letters to our elected representatives. One of them, who happens to be my least favourite politician in the whole world, Senator The Honourable Michaelia Cash, is the only one who had the decency to send a personal response. The other three letters were simply passed around.
I asked for that particular politician’s personal opinion. I asked them directly. I spent $1.70 per stamp and took the time to write to each of them. I’m in disbelief. I’m angry. And I feel compelled to do something, because what this lack of response has shown me is a level of indifference in the Parliament of Australia that I find hard to accept.
These are elected officials, paid with public money, and I asked respectful, topical, and vitally important questions. I wasn’t asking for the Government’s position. I was asking for their position, as individuals.
My goal in life has been to fly under the radar. I have an anonymous blog. I live an anonymous life. But this doesn’t feel good enough to ignore.
Mum told me tonight that I was being arrogant expecting responses from every member of parliament. I bit my tongue, but I couldn’t help thinking—were you like that? Was my dad like that? Not responding to people who reached out?
Does my letter not matter? Do Aboriginal deaths in custody not matter?
I’m not going to kick and scream about this from the rooftops. I am going to wait a few months and write again—this time making it clear how unacceptable it is for a member of parliament, whether in the Senate or the House of Representatives, to ignore an honest request for information from a member of the public. They are accountable to me, and to everyone else who takes the time to ask questions, write letters, and make phone calls.
I won’t sound hysterical or unreasonable. But I will write a letter that their offices have no real option but to respond to.
