We Are Monsters

Last night, I went to a panel discussion at Adelaide Uni called “How Should the West Respond to the Taliban?” The event was co-hosted by the University of Adelaide Politics and International Relations Association (PIRA) and the Support Association for the Women of Afghanistan (SA) (SAWA).

The panel was moderated by Claire O’Connor SC, and the speakers were Associate Professor Tim Legrand, Efran Abidi, and Zainab Kazemi. Associate Professor Legrand is an Associate Professor of International Security within the Department of Politics and International Relations at the University of Adelaide, while Efran and Zainab are both Afghan nationals who migrated to Australia. They offered powerful lived-experience perspectives, and I found them both incredibly engaging.

Efran is a passionate advocate for women’s rights—especially education—and Zainab is a multicultural advocate and volunteer who came to Australia with her family when she was 13. She’s currently studying teaching. I actually just googled her, and it turns out she has taken part in two youth parliaments. From listening to her speak, I think she would make a great politician, but I can think of a million other ways she could use her voice.

Each person spoke for a little while, and then Claire O’Connor SC facilitated a broader conversation, and I learned a lot. In particular, I learned about how the Taliban seek validation as a legitimate government, and how the UN struggles to negotiate with them without formally recognising them as one. I also found it interesting to hear about the Taliban’s involvement in the heroin trade.

But as I was sitting there listening to the speakers talk about the Taliban, and as Efran and Zainab showed their photos, I couldn’t help feeling like an absolute fake and phoney. Because in reality, I felt like I had no right to be there—I recently validated and recognised the Taliban myself.

I did this when I wrote letters to the heads of government and Chief Justices in every country. The heads of government were fine, because I simply asked for a copy of their oath of office. I closed the letter with the following:

"Thank you very much for considering my request. I look forward to your response and appreciate your contribution to this worldwide collection of oaths of office."

But the letter I wrote to the Chief Justice is a little more friendly. I closed it off like this:

"Thank you very much for considering my request. I send you my best wishes and goodwill from Australia."

It was a mail-merged letter, so it’s not like I singled them out. I wrote to everyone, including countries like Afghanistan and Russia, because I wanted to get as many responses as possible. To get a balanced cross-section of oaths, I had to ask everyone. So I still stand by the artistic integrity of what I was trying to achieve.

But rereading what I sent to every country, I do feel a bit ridiculous for sending my best wishes and goodwill to the Taliban. And on a serious note, in some ways it is offensive. Actually, in many ways it is offensive. I think the Taliban and Hamas—and regimes like that—are terrorist organisations that strip their citizens of basic human rights, dignity, and the humanity we all deserve.

But when I wrote to them, yes, I addressed the head of the government, but only because he considers himself the head of a government. And in that space he occupies, did he take some sort of oath? Religious or otherwise? If they have any kind of court system, did the head of that system take an oath? And if so, I wanted a copy. I wasn’t cheering them on; I was simply closing the letter by saying I wasn’t writing to judge—only to collect oaths.

I’m 99% sure those letters went straight into the bin, but I did wrestle with this demon a little bit.

At this panel discussion, I learned a lot about the Taliban, but I also had a profound experience. I had heard of Claire O’Connor, but I didn’t know a thing about her. I liked her instantly when she gave an Acknowledgment of Country and then added that the land was stolen and there has been no reparation. She moderated the panel with such wisdom and clarity, guiding the conversation with real insight.

But something she said—though on an unrelated topic—has now changed the course of my life.

When the audience was invited to ask questions, the discussion shifted to refugees and asylum seekers. A woman asked about seeking asylum in Australia, and Claire responded with complete command of the law. I can’t remember her exact words, but she explained that it is not illegal to seek asylum, and that Australia operates contrary to international law in how we treat asylum seekers.

I already knew that, but the way she said it—with such authority, precision, and moral conviction—struck me. Whether she’s speaking to a room of forty or a crowd of thousands, she could deliver that truth the same way. And listening to her made me realise that I want to highlight truths like that too.

I don’t want to be an activist, but I’ve been involved with a refugee organisation before—first about fifteen years ago, and now again since 2022. My role has been to visit newly arrived refugees in their homes, offering friendship, help navigating Australian systems, and English-language support. I’ve taken a short break from visiting the woman I’ve been helping, but I start seeing her again in just over a week.

I have a basic understanding of the journey from refugee camps to Australian settlement and the challenges that come with that. But I have no real understanding of what it means to be an asylum seeker—to risk everything, come here seeking protection, and be sent back to the very country you’re fleeing.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights is non-binding, and I honestly wish it was binding. Almost every article reflects the responsibilities we should uphold, especially Article 14, Section 1:

“Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy asylum from persecution in other countries.”

It’s that simple.

And I think we are monsters for abandoning international law the way we have—and for doing so for such a long time.

Hearing Claire talk about all of this made me realise, first of all, that she is living her vocation. But secondly, it made me acknowledge something I’ve always known about myself. My job—what I want my career to be—is writing novels. But my vocation is to create artwork. And to do that properly, I have to go back to art school.

I need art school because they teach ways of thinking that resonate with me, and because I want to learn the practical skills to create the kinds of artworks I imagine. I want to express myself through letters, mosaics, origami, sculpture, gold leaf—anything and everything. I know my ideas are ambitious, but I need to be in the right environment to bring them to life.

So I’m going back to art school next year. Thank you, Claire O’Connor SC, for inspiring me.

I’m so glad I went to this panel discussion. It made me realise that the Taliban are not tolerable villains—they are an evil, terrorist, totalitarian regime. And from now on, I’m going to watch with a keen interest, hoping that somehow, someday, something can be done to remove them from power.

The Shadow

Yesterday, Mum attended the annual meeting of the organisation my father was involved with. During the event, they played the video tribute from his memorial service and presented Mum with the flowers shown below. I think she’s relieved that the events and obligations connected to Dad are finally coming to a close.

Lately, I’ve been watching YouTube videos about different schools of psychology. I started with Abraham Maslow and his hierarchy of needs, focusing particularly on self-actualisation. Then I watched a few videos on Carl Rogers and learned a bit about congruence. Now I’ve taken an interest in Carl Jung, especially his concept of the Shadow. 

In Jungian psychology, the shadow refers to the unconscious part of the personality that contains repressed weaknesses, desires, instincts, and shortcomings. It's essentially the "dark side" of one's personality—the aspects that individuals may deny, reject, or be unaware of in themselves.

Although this explanation highlights the negative aspects, the shadow can also contain positive traits like creativity, confidence, assertiveness, and sexuality. But these elements are often buried deep in the unconscious.

In my last post, I explored some of the darker aspects of my past romantic interactions with men. Reflecting on it now, I realise that a repressed side of me—romantically and sexually—wanted so much more than I ever experienced. I yearned for love, to feel loved, and to explore things physically, but everything I’ve ever done has been very basic.

I’ve never been with a real man—someone willing to care for me, love me, be vulnerable, and explore feelings and ideas with me. I’ve never felt comfortable with a man sexually, and although I’ve said I don’t want a relationship now, I know I have desires I’ve pushed down for a long time.

If you’ve been following this blog, you might remember a post titled “The Ugly Truth,” where I recounted times when people made me feel unattractive. I’ve just remembered another moment from my teens when I was excluded because someone didn’t find me physically appealing.

I was with two friends—both gorgeous—and we were probably in Year 10 or 11. We went into town and somehow ended up at a backpackers’ hostel. We met three very attractive British backpackers, and my two friends went into a bedroom with two of them. The third one, who was absolutely gorgeous, wanted nothing to do with me and told my friends to pass the message along.

It was embarrassing, especially because my friends kept saying things like, “I feel so bad,” and “I’m so sorry.” I did feel humiliated, but as they went into the bedroom with those British backpackers, I sat out the front at reception by myself.

Thinking back, those guys were only interested in my friends for their looks and their willingness to have sex. I wouldn’t have done that anyway, but it still hurt my feelings at the time. Looking back now, I’m glad I didn’t sleep with complete strangers the first night I met them. But when it comes to the Shadow, I’m unsure how to work on something like that. I still carry feelings of shame, embarrassment, and inadequacy from that night, and I know those feelings live in my subconscious.

But then what? If it’s unresolved, how do I resolve it now? How do I let go of all of it? I know you’re supposed to acknowledge it, name it, and integrate it into who you are now.

One thing I feel strongly about is that all women are beautiful. The very idea of being a woman is beautiful—in all shapes, sizes, colours, and forms. I used to do life drawing, and the models, mostly female but some male, came in all different packages. And I thought all of them were beautiful. Even though people made me feel incredibly ugly, I now see beauty in everyone. That’s something positive that came out of those experiences.

Ghosts Of Boyfriends Past

I’ve made it pretty clear on this blog that I don’t have a huge amount of experience with men, and I have no intention of getting involved with any more men in my lifetime. Whenever I have been involved with men, the experiences have all been bad. If it had just been one time, I might have looked back and thought it was worth trying again, but I’ve had multiple bad experiences which—aside from my own flaws and imperfections—has made me realise I am destined to be alone.

I’ve already mentioned two men: Luke, the butcher, and Dwayne, the call centre manager. I’d like to tell you about a couple of other men I’ve been romantically involved with.

The first one I’ll tell you about is Adam. I was sixteen, and we were set up by friends. I say all the men I’ve been involved with have been bad, but Adam wasn’t really bad — it was only “bad” because I didn’t like him that much. He was my first boyfriend, and he went to a Catholic all-boys school. I remember he had a ute-type car, and he would pick me up and we’d go for drives.

The first time we kissed, we had absolutely no idea what we were doing and ended up with terrible pash rash. One night we were down at the beach on a school night, and I had this ancient brick of a mobile phone. My dad called and got really angry, telling me to come home, but I didn’t listen and stayed out. I copped it when I finally got home, but I didn’t really care — I didn’t like Adam that much, but I liked the independence and the feeling of having someone to hang around with.

I didn’t feel a spark; I felt no butterflies. I think I was in a relationship with him purely for the sake of having a boyfriend. That said, looking back, he was a lovely guy. I remember all his friends making a big deal about the fact he had a girlfriend. He took me to his formal, which I remember well. Another friend of mine was there, extremely drunk and throwing up in the toilets, so I spent part of the night helping her.

Adam and I were together for a while, and when we broke up, I handled it poorly. I very tritely said, “You’re too good for me,” and he wasn’t impressed. I think I was mean to him. So this wasn’t a bad experience with a man — it was me being unkind to someone who didn’t deserve it.

And I honestly think karma got me after that, because almost every man since hasn’t treated me well. I’m not a victim — I think I attracted that dynamic. You set the standard for how people treat you, and I set the bar pretty low for a long time because my self-esteem was low.

I don’t have that now. Even though I don’t want to be with anyone, if I did, I wouldn’t allow anyone to make me feel belittled or unworthy ever again.

The next romantic interaction I’ll tell you about is with Cain. I was 21 and he was 30, and the age difference was a big deal for some people. He was quite immature and still lived at home with his parents. We met through the Young Liberals. He had just graduated into the senior party, but he still spent most of his time with the younger members.

He worked for a politician whose office was in Murray Bridge, and instead of moving there, he drove up and back every day. I had to deal with that politician’s office because I was arranging something, so Cain and I had a lot to do with each other before we even met. When we finally did meet at a function, we immediately got together.

He was quite rude to me early on, telling me I looked “ethnic,” but that he didn’t care. I do look Italian or Greek — people have said that my whole life — and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all. We started a relationship, but I was still very shy and inexperienced, so everything felt new and overwhelming.

Cain was dirty, rude, and in hindsight, I think he was using me to get to my parents. I don’t say that because I had nothing to offer — I say it because I never let him see the real me. I never opened up about the things that meant something to me: my dreams, my ideas, my curiosities. It was all mostly about him.

I remember he sent me a tiny — and I mean tiny — teddy bear and a single rose on Valentine’s Day. The bear had a little strip that said “I love you,” but that wasn’t love. I didn’t feel anything. Again, I think I was with him for the same reason I’d been with Adam: simply for the sake of having a boyfriend. I had no butterflies, and I definitely didn’t feel giddy. Mostly, I felt hopeless about men — like it was never going to happen for me.

He eventually ended our relationship over email. I remember writing back, “I am 21 and I will find someone, but you are 30 and you won’t.” I showed my mother’s personal assistant, and she didn’t think it was very nice — and she was right, it was an awful thing to say. She told my dad, and he got really angry at me for sending it.

I don’t really regret it, though. He wasted my time. And I remember once seeing a quote about how we should apologise to ourselves for letting our bodies be touched when it wasn’t out of love. I need to apologise to myself for that one.

While I had been in a relationship with Cain, I had a group of friends who were not very nice people. Some of them were into drugs and drank a lot, and the men fancied themselves as Aussie hip hop artists. I went to school with one of the girls, Esther, who was a few years older than me, and her younger brother had friends our age. Esther and her brother, Abel, lived with their mother, who was involved in the same political party I was, and we all used to congregate at their house.

I never did drugs; I smoked and drank sometimes, but never anything harder. I’ve mentioned before that I tried marijuana a few times when I was younger, but harder drugs have never appealed to me. Esther’s younger brother, Abel, was 17 years old, tall, rough around the edges, and had a lot of facial hair. I was four years older than him, but we developed a bit of a flirtation.

After Cain and I broke up, I would see Esther, Abel, and the whole group most nights, and I felt a real attraction to Abel. One night, after everyone had gone to bed, Abel and I were still up watching coverage of the war in Afghanistan, which had just started, and we ended up sleeping together on the couch. I was shocked — he was younger than me, but physically very mature, maybe not mentally, but far more so than Cain had ever been.

We ended up sleeping together around four times. Once on Esther’s bed, and once on the pool table at the club in town that his mother ran, where we all worked. It was kind of thrilling. Everyone knew about it — including his sister and mother. It was a bit controversial because he was younger, but no one ever said anything to me about it.

I did like him, at least in the way a young woman with low self-esteem sometimes likes someone who gives her attention. I asked Abel whether he actually liked me, or if he was only doing this for sex. He told me, “You’re 21 and I’m 17 — it’s a good opportunity for me.” I cared, but not too much; I knew there was no future between us.

The last time we slept together, we were both extremely drunk after a night out, and again we were on the couch watching the Afghanistan war. He became incredibly violent with me — enough that there were physical repercussions afterwards. We never slept together again, and I think he got a girlfriend pretty quickly afterwards.

Looking back, the whole thing felt like a dirty little secret.

The final man I will tell you about today is Noah. I met Noah a couple of years after Cain and Abel. He was in the same sort of crowd as Cain, and the groups of people Noah and I hung out with were at odds with each other — both professionally and personally — which I think may have sparked the attraction in the first place. He came from a family of seven brothers, if I remember correctly. He had been homeschooled, which you could definitely tell, and he was a very good-looking, arrogant man. When we met, he had just come out of a relationship.

We got together pretty quickly. He lived with two of his brothers, both of whom hated me because of my parents. People made such a big deal about the two of us getting together. They advised him not to be involved with me because of who my parents were, and some of my own friends excluded me from things I was involved in because of our relationship.

He was nice, and he was very good-looking, but after a year or so, he started talking about how he wanted to get married and have children. I didn’t want that. I liked him, but I kept thinking to myself, “Is this it? Is this love?” And it wasn’t. Sometimes I wondered if Noah was using me to get to my parents.

They helped him in ways he couldn’t help himself, nor would any of his own people help him. I felt proud that my parents would do that, and it also showed me what they would do for me. But he wasn’t successful in his endeavours, mainly because he had very poor social skills and, in many ways, had delusions of grandeur.

Not long after my parents had helped him, one of my friends called to tell me that Noah had cheated on me with a girl who worked within the same circle of people we knew. I couldn’t believe it, but I confronted Noah about it and broke up with him. He cried, and then he came to my house crying again, and I felt so bad that I took him back.

I’d heard that the girl he cheated with really liked him and didn’t know he had a girlfriend. So I told Noah to take her out to dinner, apologise, and be honest with her. And he did.

We stayed together for about another year after that, but I really didn’t like him anymore—not at all. We rarely slept together, and I wanted out of the relationship, but every time I tried to talk to him about it, he would start crying. It was awful. So when I went to Africa, I sent him an email and ended it. He didn’t respond, but apparently not long after, he moved to Sydney to live with his parents.

Years after my relationship with Noah ended, I became friends with a girl named Mary, who apologised to me and told me she had slept with Noah while he and I were together. She also said she knew of other women he had been with as well. I found that so hard to believe because he would cry every time I tried to end our relationship, and he genuinely seemed to love me.

I didn’t care at all by that point, but it made me realise something: not one man I’ve ever been with has actually loved me. They have said they did, but their actions proved otherwise.

Thousands Of Asylum Seekers

I can’t stop thinking about Luna and the attempted murder charge. After reading more about it, it appears — from what has been reported — that they allegedly made a plan with Amelia and went to the rehabilitation centre with a cushion or pillow intending to smother Reid, but were caught by guards and ran away. From the articles, there seems to be a lot of evidence the prosecution will use to argue that there was planning involved.

It’s made me think about the law, and how much weight it places on a person’s intent. I find that really interesting, and I want to understand more about how intent is proven and what role it plays in criminal cases.

Yesterday I received a small bunch of flowers from Tynte Street Flowers — you can see them below. They were from my brother and his family. He forgot my birthday last Friday and only remembered when Mum mentioned it to him. I have to admit I was a bit hurt on the day, but he’s been dealing with some serious issues at work, so I understand. And receiving these poppies definitely made up for his forgetfulness.

I can’t wait to see what the arrangement looks like once they’ve all bloomed. Poppies are such an interesting flower. I haven’t researched them much, but I do know that on one hand they represent our ANZACs, and on another they can be transformed into heroin. Regardless of which side you look at, they’re a beautiful flower that carries so much pain and symbolism. But I don’t think my brother was thinking that deeply about it when he chose them — he just wanted to send something lovely.

In other news, it’s now 7:07am on Thursday morning, and I’m planning to stay up until just after lunchtime. I’m going to see Nanny at 10:00am when visiting hours start, and then I have a meeting with a human rights organisation I’m involved with at around 12:00pm By then I should be nicely tired. With hours like this, it’s probably a good time to start chronotherapy for my sleep.

On Monday, a luxury super yacht sank just off the coast of Sicily. On board were ten crew members and twelve passengers when it capsized. At the time of writing, sixteen people have been rescued, and six bodies have been found. The passengers included billionaires and their guests. It’s really sad. And the more I hear about these accidents at sea, the more I realise how dangerous the ocean truly is.

This story has made headline news all around the world. It has dominated our news sites for days. But I can’t help thinking about the thousands of asylum seekers who attempt to cross the Mediterranean each year in the hope of reaching Europe — many of whom never make it. Yes, we hear the occasional story, but why are the lives of billionaires considered more newsworthy than the refugees who drown or disappear at sea? Why aren’t those capsized boats headline news every single day?

It reminds me of June 2023, when the Titan submersible operated by OceanGate — carrying five very wealthy people down to see the wreckage of the Titanic — imploded. It became an international emergency. Every hour, every headline, every update was about the possibility that these men might still be alive, trapped kilometres beneath the water.

Around that same time, there was a horrific boat disaster in the Mediterranean Sea. A fishing boat carrying approximately 700 refugees capsized off the coast of Greece. It’s believed the boat was travelling from Libya toward Italy when things went wrong. According to reports, around 500 people were missing and presumed dead, with only 104 documented survivors. Exact numbers are unknown, but this was one of the largest disasters to have ever occurred in the Mediterranean.

I think I saw one small article about it.

I don’t know what kind of coverage it received in Europe, but everywhere else, we were consumed by the Titan saga — a group of rich men who had enough disposable income to spend millions of dollars on a joyride to see the Titanic. I’m not against wealthy people or luxury; I myself have flown business class, and as I’ve said before, I’ve been called a Champagne Socialist. But I remember saying to Mum at the time the Titan imploded, “I hate that we live in a world where the deaths of five filthy rich men matter more than the deaths of hundreds of refugees with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”

Conspiracy To Murder

A few weeks before my birthday, I tried to contact a friend of mine, Luna, to see if they wanted to come to the pub and the Planetarium. I hadn’t seen them in a long time, but they were part of our little Planetarium crowd, and I loved their company, so I really wanted them to join us. They didn’t respond to my first message, so I messaged them again, but still no response. I even sent a follow-up asking if it was still their number, and there was still nothing.

Luna was born female but identifies as non-binary. To be honest, they were my first introduction to that world. They’re 34 years old and feel like they belong to a completely different generation — which, I suppose, they do. I was worried, because it was unlike them not to respond to me, even though we hadn’t spoken in a long time. I mentioned it to a girlfriend of mine and said I was genuinely concerned, because Luna is the sort of person who feels things very intensely, and I hoped they were okay.

Luna identifies as a lesbian, and since I’ve known them — which has only been a couple of years — they’ve been in several polyamorous relationships. I know that sounds very modern and glamorous, but one night we were at the museum for Nightlab, which is when they hold after-hours parties. A woman Luna described as their girlfriend walked in with her boyfriend.

Luna already knew about the boyfriend — it was part of the polyamorous arrangement — but they were still upset by it. I wouldn’t like it myself. If I were ever with someone again, I would want them just for me.

I always thought Luna was so cool. They were involved with Extinction Rebellion, and I remember them telling me they were planning to glue themselves to the ground as part of a protest. I really encouraged it because I like disruptions like that.

Around the same time, I remember seeing Tom Koutsantonis on the news saying he’d be happy to talk to Extinction Rebellion protesters and have a meeting with them, but then he joked that the only problem would be that they’d glue themselves to a chair or something.

Anyway, Luna never got back to me and didn’t come to my party. My friend Hussein actually works at the same place as them — he’s in IT, and they work as an Aboriginal support worker. I was going to ask Hussein if he could discreetly check if Luna was still working there, but I hadn’t asked him yet.

Then, just now, I was looking at The Advertiser online and saw that Luna has been charged with attempted murder.

Part of me can’t believe it. I can’t believe that someone I know — someone I’ve shared parts of my life with, and someone I genuinely liked and respected — has been charged with attempting to take another person’s life.

But another part of me isn’t entirely surprised. I never thought they had a “killer instinct,” but they did sometimes do little things that made me pause. For example, one day we went to the Garden of Unearthly Delights during COVID, and there was a sheet where we had to write our names and contact details. Luna put down a fake name. I didn’t understand why — it was just a COVID form — but they explained that they had a fear of the government knowing everything about them.

They were also into recreational drugs, which is something I’m definitely not into and don’t like.

The thing is, I’ve seen parts of this story on the news, and I had no idea Luna was involved. So I’ll try to explain what seems to have happened. There’s a woman named Amelia Lee, now 43 years old, who worked as an academic editor. Amelia was in a relationship with a man named Reid Mitchell, who is now 36. After Amelia and Reid split up, she entered into a relationship with a man named James Semmler, who worked with her at her editing business. He is now 30 years old.

Luna is now 34, and at some point they were in a relationship with Amelia Lee. This could have potentially been one of their polyamorous scenarios.

It all started back in 2017, when it seems Amelia had broken up with Reid and was with James. It was first believed that they’d gotten into a fight and that James had been shot. Reid became a tetraplegic as a result of his injuries, and he was initially charged with attempted murder. He was acquitted at a trial in 2019. The case was later reopened when police came to believe that Reid may have actually been the victim.

Police are now alleging that in October 2017, Amelia and James attacked Reid with an axe in an attempt to murder him. They are also facing charges of conspiracy to murder Reid and his mother, Glenys Smith. While Reid was recovering from the axe attack at the Hampstead Rehabilitation Centre, police allege that Luna attempted to smother him and that guards intervened.

Amelia was arrested on the island of Palau on November 15 last year. James was arrested in Brisbane on the same day, and Luna was arrested at Everard Park on November 24, also last year. They are all now facing charges of attempted murder and conspiracy to murder.

What that means is that if Luna did try to smother Reid, it would have happened before they ever met any of us. They would already have been carrying that with them. From their perspective, they might even feel that moments like this are when true friends would stand by them. But they clearly don’t want to be my friend anymore — I messaged them three times about my birthday and didn’t hear back. They are out on bail, so they could have responded if they wanted to.

I don’t automatically believe everything the prosecution puts forward — and I think it’s important not to — but I can’t say I was completely shocked to read that Luna was caught up in something like this. For me, it wasn’t about assuming guilt; it was recognising some of the chaotic elements of their life: the drugs, the intense emotions, the complicated polyamorous arrangements. And the whole situation being described in the media as a “crime of passion” makes a kind of sense within that context. The paper described Amelia’s alleged vendetta against Reid as bizarre, and I think that’s fair — the whole thing is deeply strange.

I read an article from last year in which the Director of Public Prosecutions, Martin Hinton, told the court that Luna had been manipulated by Amelia into going to the rehabilitation centre. The article mentioned text messages in which Luna allegedly discussed a plan to smother Reid, but I don’t know whether they actually went through with anything. From what was reported, it looks like they were at the rehab centre with a cushion or a pillow, but it’s unclear whether any physical attempt took place. I genuinely hope not.

The article also said there were discussions about taking Luna off medication so they could later claim insanity if they were caught — which suggests, at least from the prosecution’s perspective, that Luna may have had some kind of underlying mental health issue. It’s all so sad.

I just spoke to my friend Hussein, who used to work with Luna, and he said they finished up there some months ago. They’re going to lose everything. I’m worried about them. They obviously don’t want to talk to me for whatever reason — possibly even to protect me. I don’t know whether I should reach out, knowing what I’ve just read, or whether I should just leave it. I think I’m going to leave it.

But I did message another friend of mine who also knows Luna — not as well as I do, but they know them all the same. I asked if he would come to the trial with me, and he agreed. It probably won’t be until next year, but I want to see Luna for myself and make up my own mind about everything.

Our Deepest Fear

Fifteen years ago, in 2009, I was working a temp job in the HR department of a state government agency. I’d worked there before, and the boss and I got along really well. I was also friends with another temp, Nicole, so we had a lot of fun at work.

I’m not sure how we came across it, but one day Nicole and I saw an advertisement in the paper for positions at a call centre for a federal government department. I’ve named the department in a previous blog post, but I’m not going to name it here because I don’t want to write specifically about it. Anyway, we both decided to apply.

I honestly can’t remember much about the application process; all I really remember is being called in for an assessment day. It was the kind of setup where a large group of us were brought in together and then split into smaller groups to complete different tasks.

One task I do remember was that we were given a list of professions — things like doctor, lawyer, hairdresser — and told that a spaceship was heading to another planet, and we had to choose which professions we would take. I actually think about that sort of thing a lot anyway, so it was right up my alley. There were no right or wrong answers; I think they just wanted to see how we interacted with other people.

After the group assessment, we each had a quick one-on-one interview with one of the call centre managers, where they asked the usual questions. Then we had to get some of our identification photocopied for their records, and after that, we were on our way.

Nicole didn’t get called in for an assessment, but she was really supportive of me and encouraged me to go for it. Within a week or so, I was notified that I had been successful in gaining employment with the department. I was so excited. We later found out there had been 1,000 applicants and only 15 had been selected. I couldn’t believe I was one of the fifteen people who actually got the job.

On our first day, it quickly became clear that there would be an extensive training program, which, from memory, lasted around four to six weeks. We had to pass assessments, and there was a lot of information to take in. I felt a bit anxious about it all, but I managed to stay on top of everything and keep up with the training schedule.

One day, the manager of the entire call centre came into our training session and introduced himself. He asked the group, “Now, which one of you spent time in Tanzania?” I said that was me. In that moment, I realised that might have been what set me apart — it was something different. I certainly didn’t go to Tanzania to win awards or for any sort of recognition, but suddenly it made sense to me why I’d been successful in getting the job.

Once we finished the training program, we were put out onto the floor. Each of us had our own desk with a computer and two screens. It was a very regimented, highly scheduled environment, with every minute accounted for — time on calls, after-call work, breaks, lunch, training — everything had to be recorded for statistical purposes.

Our team sat together, and we had floor walkers who were experienced call centre operators. If we had a question while we were on a call, we could raise our hand and a floor walker would come over to help.

What I didn’t realise at first was that management was watching us closely. That’s when they began tapping some people on the shoulder and telling them they weren’t cutting it. They were told they could fast-track their application to Centrelink payments, but that was it — they were let go on the spot. I only clearly remember two women being tapped on the shoulder, but I know there were more. It was so long ago that some of the details escape me.

I thought it was a very harsh thing to do. Most people in our group had left other jobs to come to that one, and it must have raised all sorts of philosophical questions for them — like whether they should have left where they came from in the first place. I bumped into one of the women who’d been let go at a shopping centre later on, where she was working as a cleaner. She was very unhappy with her life and became teary when she talked about it.

I managed to get through the probationary period without being tapped on the shoulder, but some of the questions that came through on the phones were complex, and I felt a lot of pressure because the questions were important. There was really no room for error — even though, technically, there was — but every customer who called, and calls now, has the right to have their question answered to a very high standard. I felt that responsibility back then, and I still feel it now for those working in the call centre today.

I made a lot of friends at the call centre. There was a group of us younger ones. I was 27 when I started, and while that’s not super young, it still feels youthful. We would catch up on weekends and after work.

Then we found out about a program that the call centre network across Australia had. Anyone working in one of the twenty-five call centres could travel to another centre and work there for a kind of “working holiday.” I loved the idea, so I applied to go to the Port Augusta call centre.

My application was accepted, and I drove up to Port Augusta, where I was going to spend a month working in their centre. I booked a room at the pub which, looking back now, was actually a bit creepy and reminds me of a haunted hotel — but at the time, I didn’t mind at all.

On my first day at the call centre, the manager — whom I’ll call Dwayne — introduced himself to me. He seemed nice, and I found him oddly attractive. He asked how long I’d be in Port Augusta and where I was staying, and he made me feel very welcome.

I approached the job just as I would have in the Adelaide call centre, and when the day finished, I went back to the hotel. After a couple of days, I got into a rhythm, and close to the end of the week, I was lying on my bed reading a book about the Snowtown murders when there was a knock at my door.

I got up and answered it — and it was Dwayne, the manager of the call centre. I was shocked. He said he’d asked the staff downstairs which room I was in, and they’d directed him. It’s lucky I didn’t mind, because otherwise I could have been very annoyed at the pub for disclosing my whereabouts.

Anyway, he told me he was staying at the pub for a few days because he was in the process of separating from his partner. We went and had a drink and talked about life. He seemed to think I’d come to Port Augusta to run away from a problem, but that wasn’t the case at all — I just wanted a change of scenery, and I’ve always been drawn to the outback.

We ended up sleeping together that night. I never do that sort of thing, but we’d had a couple of drinks, he was easy to talk to, and it was just one of those things that happened. Little did I know he would turn out to be one of the biggest bastards I would ever be involved with.

We ended up spending most nights together while I was in Port Augusta. We didn’t really talk much during the day at the call centre, but he had a room at the pub, and we’d end up in his or mine. He told me not to tell anyone about us because he could get into trouble for being with a customer service officer due to “collusion” or something like that — but of course I told my friends when I got back home.

When I returned to Adelaide, we mostly talked through messages. He would come to Adelaide and stay overnight if he had a flight the next day, and I would go and see him at his hotel. I really liked him. One night, I finished work — it might have been a Tuesday — and I drove all the way up to Port Augusta just to see him, then drove straight back to Adelaide in the middle of the night. Looking back, it sends chills down my spine. I hadn’t slept at all, and then I went straight into work the next morning. I was exhausted, but I somehow managed to get through the day.

Dwayne wasn’t a very nice person. He would often tell me I talked too much and that he needed to sleep, and there were moments when his aggression made me feel genuinely uneasy. I sometimes even worried he might lash out.

I also remember him once telling me he’d thought about pretending to be Aboriginal so he could get an interest-free car loan. He had darker skin and thought he could “get away with it.” I didn’t understand why he would even consider something like that — especially when, as far as I knew, he was earning a decent income at the time.

One day, Dwayne had a meeting in the Adelaide call centre, and after it finished, he came up to me and started talking to me in front of all my managers. They must have thought it was strange, because the managers of the call centres were so far removed from the rank and file.

Alongside my unofficial situation with Dwayne, there was a lot happening in the centre at the time. We were running a competition where we had to decorate our workstations in the colour yellow. I made some yellow paper cranes and hung them from a net, which we then attached to the ceiling. They looked beautiful — very peaceful. Someone said it reminded her of the scene in The Notebook where all the swans are swimming around.

Below is a photo of Nanny holding up the cranes at her place.

I had spoken to my team leader about various creative ideas I had, and she really encouraged me. She even suggested I leave my job at the call centre and go back to art school, but I liked working there, and even then I felt too old to return to university. Little did I know I’d still be dabbling in study and creativity well into my forties.

I decided to make a piece of artwork for my team. It was somewhere between a craft project and a proper artwork. The piece featured a passage from Our Deepest Fear, which Nelson Mandela famously quoted, though it was actually written by Marianne Williamson.

To show how dedicated I was to this piece, I printed out each letter individually on the computer, placed foiled wrapping paper over each one, and cut around them by hand. It took a very long time, and I didn’t really pre-plan the spacing. The passage also had a slight religious undertone — not because I was pushing anything in any way, but simply because that was part of the quote. I was actually surprised they allowed it in the call centre, but everyone loved it.

As well as spending my time creating very amateur pieces of artwork, two of my friends and I decided to go on a working holiday to the call centre in Coffs Harbour, which was basically like going to the Gold Coast. We stayed in a local caravan park and hired a car. We didn’t go out clubbing — I’ve never really been into that — but from what I remember, we went to one of the theme parks.

When I got back to Adelaide and spoke to Dwayne, he told me that he had just gotten a job as the manager of the call centre in Bendigo. That meant he would be moving away, and I wouldn’t get to see him. I was very upset at the time, but he suggested I should do a working holiday in Bendigo. He even said I was “the closest thing to love” he had in his life — something that felt intense in the moment, but which I can now see was more about his circumstances than any genuine depth.

So he started his new job there, and I applied for a working holiday, which was accepted. I drove all the way to Bendigo, but Dwayne said I couldn’t stay with him, so I had to find my own accommodation. It was a long drive, and I got lost along the way. I eventually found my way by navigating around the rocks from Picnic at Hanging Rock, which I hadn’t read or seen, but I knew it was super scary — and they really did frighten me.

When I arrived at the Bendigo call centre, Dwayne told me to pretend I didn’t know him, so I did.

I was seated next to a woman about my age who had very large breast implants. She was lovely, and we became quite friendly. But Dwayne was acting strange. I went to see him after work one day, and he didn’t want to kiss or do anything, and part of me felt like saying, “You’re the one who told me to come here, and now you’re acting like this?”

Over the next couple of weeks we saw each other a few times, but he kept saying he was busy, and I was just there in Bendigo with not much to do. I went out to dinner with Libby — the woman with the implants — and she actually shed some light on why she’d had them done. She told me she’d grown up very flat-chested and had struggled with low self-esteem because of it. She’d gotten them done to feel more like herself, more like a woman in her own skin. I only really understand now what that must have meant for her.

I became a little desperate when it came to Dwayne. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to spend time with me after he was the one who encouraged me to come. We hardly saw each other, but somewhere in all of that confusion, I decided I wanted to move to Bendigo to be with him.

I remember one conversation where he mentioned how he’d noticed Libby because of her big boobs. I didn’t care that he was talking about another woman like that — at the time, I just wanted to be with him.

I told the deputy manager that I wanted to stay on longer, and she started to become suspicious. I heard her say to Dwayne, “I think something’s not right, or she’s not being honest with us about something,” and he replied, “I think you’re right.” She had no idea anything had happened between us, and he made me look like I was some dodgy character running away from home.

That was the moment I decided to go back to Adelaide.

Dwayne came to where I was staying to say goodbye, and he was holding back tears, but I didn’t have much sympathy left for him. After he left, I waited about half an hour and then started driving home. On the way, I saw Dwayne in a car with a young woman around my age.

When I got back to Adelaide, the manager of the whole call centre came up to me and asked if I was okay. I told him I was fine, but I think he knew something was going on — probably from that day he saw me talking to Dwayne in the call centre.

It was close to the end of 2010, and I had just finished reading a book about the Bali Nine and how, at that point, three of them were on death row. I became extremely passionate about the death penalty, and I decided to move to Sydney to volunteer with Amnesty International to campaign for the lives of those three Bali Nine members.

I sent an official email to the manager of the call centre, asking if I could take a year’s leave without pay to do this. He granted me permission.

After that, I went on an adventure from Adelaide to Darwin with my brother, and in 2011 I ended up in Sydney — where I quickly discovered I couldn’t find night work that would allow me to volunteer during the day. I checked whether there were any positions available at the Sydney call centre, but there weren’t, so I went to Wollongong instead, to the Illawarra Call Centre, and worked there for a while.

But I needed to be in the Sydney CBD, so I wrote a powerful resignation letter to the manager of the Adelaide Call Centre. Everyone sent me off with good wishes and high hopes for my future.

Working within this call centre network changed my life. It began with being selected from a huge pool of candidates and being given the opportunity to take the information I was taught and deliver it to members of the Australian community — many of whom were vulnerable, irate, or simply down on their luck.

The call centre had a program where customers could provide feedback on customer service officers, and anyone who received a compliment would be acknowledged with a certificate. I received three compliments during my time there, which was just under two years. I was genuinely grateful that three members of the public took the time to call my workplace and say they were happy with the help I gave them.

I was lucky enough to spend time working in four other call centres, meeting different people, and really returning to my transient days of multiple schools and temping around Adelaide. I don’t believe in having regrets, because every single thing you do places you on the path you’re on right now — and I’m happy with where mine is going.

But as I’ve said before, while I am flawed in ways that might turn some men off, no man has ever truly met my expectations. Dwayne is a classic example. I can’t believe I let a man like that touch me or allowed him into my life to waste my time. 

I Love The Planetarium

The last time I wrote was on the morning of Tuesday, 13 August, and it's now exactly 1:00am on Sunday, 18 August. A few significant things have happened since then.

The first is that Nanny was officially diagnosed with cancer of the uterus. Previously, there was a strong suspicion she had some form of cancer, but now it has been confirmed. She has only a couple of months to live.

I went to see her the night she was diagnosed, while she was still at Calvary Hospital on Angus Street. She didn’t say a word to me about the diagnosis. We just talked normally — about any letters I’d received for my project, and how Mum and my brother are doing. She seemed to be in good spirits, but I knew deep down she must have been feeling confused and scared.

I didn’t bring it up either, because I want her to have the freedom to talk about it with me only when she feels comfortable.

I’ve since spoken to her daughter, who told me that Nanny had asked her not to tell me about the diagnosis because Dad had just passed. But her daughter told her that I already knew. She also mentioned that Nanny asked for my brother not to fly over from England specifically to see her because of the cost — so typical of Nanny.

I spoke to my brother, and he doesn’t care what she says; he’s still planning to come in the next couple of months to say goodbye.

I haven’t seen Nanny since my visit to the hospital earlier this week. She’s back at the nursing home now, and I plan to visit her as much as I can, while still giving her space and not being too intrusive.

Another significant thing that’s happened since I last wrote is that I turned 43! Below are the flowers Mum sent me for my birthday. They’re my favourite — chrysanthemums.

I think I’ve mentioned before on this blog that things are starting to feel real now — and they are — but I’ve still had some fun along the way. On Friday night, the 16th, which was my actual birthday, fourteen of my friends joined me for dinner at the Mawson Lakes Hotel. Afterwards, we all went to the Planetarium for a private show. The hotel is basically right next to the Planetarium, so it was a perfect transition.

My former physics and maths tutor — a 22-year-old Iranian girl — came along. She caught the bus to our house, and we took her with us. Mum’s friend David also joined us. He caught the tram to somewhere near our place, and Mum picked him up.

David is 81 and some kind of physician. He still works and even assists with surgeries. He is absolutely hilarious, and I always joke with Mum about whether I should start calling him Dad because I swear they might end up together. Apparently, they even went out in their early twenties.

The group at the dinner was a mix of my friends from a society I’m involved with, my planetarium friends, my best friend Hussein, some old friends, and two of Mum’s friends. I had originally planned to make origami aliens to go on name cards for the table, but I ended up deciding against it. I thought it would be better for people to sit wherever they wanted.

There are benefits to place cards, though. A couple of people who didn’t know anyone and were a bit shy ended up sitting together by default. Still, I think leaving things open made the night feel less restrictive. I’ll put some photos of the origami aliens I made at the bottom of this post.

Mum was so lovely — she paid for everyone’s dinner and drinks. I told her she didn’t have to do that, but she’s very old-school, so she picked up the tab.

I don’t really drink much, but on Friday night I had four fruit tingle cocktails, which are my favourite. Because I don’t drink often, I could really feel the effects.

It reminded me of my 40th birthday. We had an astrophysics course at the Planetarium that night, and a group of us went out for dinner at the Mawson Lakes Hotel beforehand. Since it was my 40th, a few of us drank as many fruit tingles as we could manage. My friend was teaching the class, so she didn’t drink much, but two or three of us were sitting right at the back, laughing and making a bit of noise because we were all a little tipsy.

At my birthday dinner, I was talking to a few people about the letters I’ve been writing and asking world leaders and chief justices for copies of their oaths. My friend sitting next to me suddenly started going on about how no one takes oaths seriously in court and how no one ever gets charged with perjury. This was probably after my fourth cocktail, and I honestly couldn’t quite follow what he was getting at.

As far as I know, people do get charged with perjury. It’s an offence to lie under oath, and there are serious consequences for doing so. He was making such a big deal about it, and I just told him what I’m writing here: it’s not okay to lie under oath. He kept saying there’s no way to prove it, and so on, and I wish I’d had more information in that moment to engage in the conversation more constructively.

I asked Mum’s friend, who is a lawyer, and she confirmed that yes, people do lie under oath — and of course I understand that — but she also said the law absolutely does care about perjury. My friend’s point seemed to be that it doesn’t, and I just don’t agree. But I’m not going to try to prove him wrong. I’ve moved on.

My friend George was there, and he gave me an invitation to his wedding to Doug. It will be my first same-sex wedding, and I’m genuinely excited about it because I feel so passionately about marriage equality.

George and Doug were sitting down the end of the table with people they didn’t know, so I went and sat with them for a while. George and I have been friends for around twenty-five years, and I kept introducing him to people as my “old” friend. He kept saying, “I’m not really that old,” and now that I’m over forty myself, I find that joke even funnier.

My former tutor bought me a birthday cake, and Mum got one too, so we ended up with two cakes to choose from. You can see them both below.

Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to me, and I’m pretty sure I went bright red, but it was all in good fun. After dinner, drinks, and some cake, we all made our way over to the Planetarium. I love the Planetarium — I used to go there all the time, and I really miss it.

Below are some photos of the entrance and the inside. The big black ball in the middle of the room is the star ball, which projects the stars and constellations onto the dome.

The show was awesome. We went through some general night-sky observations, and then the star ball was activated, and we explored the constellations — which I absolutely love doing. When the night wrapped up, everyone said they’d had a great time.

After we all left, Mum and I drove my former tutor back to her place in town, and then we took Mum’s friend David back to where he was staying in Glenelg.

David is Australian, but he lives in England and comes back here to work for a few months each year. He’s a really funny guy, and since we had a doctor in the car, I took the opportunity to tell him I was planning a three-week water fast and asked if he thought it was a good idea. I already knew what he would say, but I was curious to hear how he would word it.

He said it was a very bad idea — dangerous, and likely to cause all sorts of problems. I told him I had a prescription for Ozempic but was having trouble getting it because they usually only give it to people with diabetes. David said that if I wanted to lose weight, Ozempic was effective, and then he gave me some other advice. Doctors always stick to the safest line, and he did the same.

Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights, and when I mentioned that on Friday night, a couple of my friends laughed because they thought I was comparing myself to Jesus — who is also God. That’s not what I meant at all. Jesus was a flesh-and-blood human male, and part of the point of His life is that He experienced the world as we do. My point was simply that fasting exists in the Christian tradition, not that I’m trying to replicate it or elevate myself.

But David’s advice did strike a chord with me. In the end, I decided to adjust my eating substantially instead. He agreed this was a much better idea than attempting any kind of long fast.

When Mum and I eventually got home from Glenelg, I went through some of the presents I’d been given. I probably should have said “no presents” when I invited everyone, but it was very kind of them to bring something. Below is the bunch of flowers Hussein gave me for my birthday, along with a gift card, which was really lovely.

My birthday dinner and the Planetarium show were a great success. I’m so glad I did it. I don’t know if you’ve picked up from this blog that I tend to keep to myself in life. I’ve accumulated friends through different things I’ve been involved in, but I always seem to withdraw from groups, which is why I’m usually on my own.

Now that I’m on the road to self-actualisation, I want that to change. I think Mum was so adamant that I do something for my birthday — and even paid for it — because she knows how much time I spend at home, and she wants to see me engage more socially.

And I’ve decided I’m going to. I want to open up and welcome new people into my life. I’m going to take opportunities to make new friends when they come, instead of stepping back like I usually do.

Now that I’ve explained my big birthday bash, I’ll tell you about the other significant thing that’s happened since I last wrote. I didn’t check my PO Box for a week because I wanted to give myself the chance of a birthday surprise when I finally opened it. And I did get a surprise — from the German Chancellor, Olaf Scholz. He advised that he doesn’t participate in private artworks, and it made me realise exactly where I went wrong with these Heads of Government letters.

Before sending the letters out, I wanted to make sure I could use the responses as part of an artwork without running into copyright issues. In the letter I sent to all the Heads of Government, I wrote that I was collecting oaths from around the world for a non-commercial art piece.

A lot of the people who responded mentioned the artwork in their letters and wished me luck with it, but that wasn’t actually what I wanted. What I really wanted was just the oath itself — maybe with a simple wish of good luck for my life or my project, not commentary about the artwork.

When I was trying to figure out how to phrase the letters, I had asked Arts Law whether I should mention the private art project, and the lawyer told me that if I did, many offices wouldn’t respond. But I couldn’t afford an ongoing consultation, so I ended up making the best decision I could at the time and included that line for the Heads of Government letters. I did it because those were the letters I hoped to use in an artwork.

I don’t regret what happened with the Heads of Government letters — I learned a valuable lesson, and I’m glad I did it. It led me to the projects I’m working on now.

So now you’re all caught up and up to date with my life. As promised, below are some photos of the origami aliens I recently made.