Gayblog, Life, Opinion, Thoughts

Life’s Conflicts.

The biggest conflict in my life today is my job situation, or currently lack thereof. In more of an expanded sense, I have a conflict of identity and purpose.

 

I simply don’t know what I want to do with my life.

 

I don’t know what I am talented at. I don’t know what I enjoy doing which could bring me some prosperity in my life.

 

I look on to those who have had a clear sense of purpose in regards to their career and what they want to do with their life, and I feel an acute sense of envy. And that sucks. Envy is such a debilitating thing. I try my best to let it wash over me like a wave, or if I see the wave of envy coming toward me, I’ll dive under it, pass through, let it go over me, and I’ll rise back up, unaffected.

 

I wish I was that person who studied hard from an early age and knew they wanted to study law or medicine for instance. They may have had this in their mind from perhaps age ten upwards, and kept this goal, studied hard and maybe forewent all the things that make adolescence a little bit fun [sex drugs rock n roll and all that], and instead kept their heads down and made it, and became what they worked hard at doing.

 

I also wish I was that person who wasn’t academically inclined, always struggled at school from a young age, graduated and fell into a trade, and now have burgeoning and successful businesses which means they get to enjoy their lives and not worry about things like money and rent.

 

Right now, I just don’t know what I have to offer to anyone. I really don’t.

 

And it’s been something that has plagued me for over a decade and a half since I graduated school.

 

I used to think I wanted to be a photographer. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the creativity of it, the fact that I was world-building. Fusing a story and narrative and weaving them into something marvellous. Creating something from my mind’s eye into reality was the core of what I absolutely loved about photography.

 

It was this act of creation that pulled me towards this art, and what made me fell in love.

 

Somewhere along the way, however, I lost this passion. I lost the love. It slowly faded and died, turning into a dry husk of what was once vibrant and alive. I turned my back on this art form, bitter and let down, both by my own failures at it, and the fact that it just wasn’t appearing to work out for me.

 

Each new shoot became less fun. Each time haggling with clients over pay became less fun. Receiving less and less money from clients became less fun, as was the expectations in terms of ever-increasing workload. Exposure for the work we did slowly became the industry standard, and I hated it.

 

I get saddened over the fact that I lost this great love I once had. I really don’t think I’ll get it back. I’ve had seven months worth of time here in San Francisco to start shooting portraits, yet inevitably I’m drawn away elsewhere. Why is this? Maybe it’s that venomous interior that I sense when I equate my photography past to present. Perhaps I just don’t enjoy it all.

 

So, here I am in the unenviable position of being 34, not qualified for much at all, and unsure as to what I should be doing. Or what I want to be doing. I’m extremely lucky to be able to live in a vibrant place such as San Francisco, and have the opportunity to move here from home [I remind myself of this daily], and I’m the first to say I’m privileged to be able to live in this country due to my nationality, and the hard work of my husband, who through his determination and sheer talent, has meant we are here.

The fact is however, I feel like a bit of a transparent ghost sometimes. Drifting in and out. Haunting spaces in an in-between dimension of purgatory, with no real purpose.

 

What do I do? Which direction is good for me, and something that will bring me some kind of career and prosperity? Do I try to seriously pursue my writing? Do I try to revive from the proverbial dead my photography?

Do I keep applying for those mediocre crappy jobs that I know I won’t enjoy and don’t get any response to anyway, yet would bring that much-needed money in?

 

I definitely sense that I’m in a rut. That I’m simply running on neutral, and spinning the wheel.

 

I hate that I’m always in this situation, and I know it concerns the other half. I get scared about it. I tend to worry a fair bit about it, and this overpowers my drive to search out new work or pin down what I should be doing here in this town, and with my life.

I don’t want to miss out on enjoying life here and seeing this great country and travelling. I don’t want to feel like a failure and disappointment to myself anymore.

 

This is the biggest conflict in my life today. Yet, I still know something great will be around the corner, and this faint light of hope and faith in the future, and myself, is what keeps me going.

 

 

What’s the biggest conflict in your life today?

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Gayblog, Life, Thoughts

The Dumbest Thing I’ve Ever Done.

The dumbest thing I’ve ever done is something that I regret, after almost twenty years.

Its nothing major, just one of those things in life that you do and that later on in life you question yourself. Why did I do this, why did I not listen to my conscience, and what would have happened had I not done this, made this decision and how would my life look now?

 

In all honesty, had I gone in the other direction in this choice, the chances are most likely that I would not be sitting here in San Francisco writing this. I would have never met my boyfriend turned husband, and my life may have looked very different.

I sometimes think on this, and wonder what kind of person I would be. Who would I hang out with, who would I date, where would I live, what would the relationships with my family and loved ones be like in this alternate world?

 

This choice, which since I made it at the young age of 17, is still something which haunts me, and rears its head at times. It wasn’t something that I thought much on at the time, but it is a choice that I consider after all these years to be particularly dumb, and one that took me out of where I could see I should have gone, and sidetracked me for years.

 

The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was listen to my father when he said he wouldn’t let me study the photography course at a great visual arts university back in Sydney in 2001 when I graduated high school.

 

It was my top pick in all the degrees I selected, and I recall being so excited and anxious about it as a possibility.

 

Being asked to make important decisions about life at the age of 17 is absolutely heinous in my opinion.

 

I know this may seem like something that is inconsequential and just a bit first world problems, and that I was never in any physical danger, but I consider my listening to my overbearing and strict father in this instance to be the dumbest thing I have ever done.

 

Because of it, I missed out on what could have been a great opportunity for me, especially as a wide-eyed kid from suburban Rhodes in the outskirts of Sydney’s Inner West. To be thrown into such an explosion of creativity could have done wonders for me at such a young age. I missed out on what potentially could have been a colourful and exciting time, a time for experimentation, evolution and growth. I honestly feel that I could have been excited about life, and not to mention had met some great people, and been a part of something.

 

I regret having listened to my dad for these reasons, and because of it I decided to take the 2nd choice, which was studying Communications at the same University as my sister, at the University of Western Sydney. A far cry from the buzzing with artistic energy inner-city campus of COFA in Surry Hills, the campus I went to was spread over acres of grassland and bush, and yes there were kangaroos sometimes. It felt a bit sparse. It was a far cry from the busy halls of COFA. I recall going to visit friends studying at the lush and busy University of Sydney and having pangs of envy.

 

Luckily, however, I met some new friends and became close to them. They were great people and I counted myself very fortunate to have made some friends there. There was, truthfully, at times a disconnect, however. Clearly I came from a super-Middle Class background, complete with a private education, something of which I recall my uni friends ribbing me about, and justifiably.

 

The truth was, however, that my heart wasn’t in it. What was a 3 year degree turned into a 4 and a half degree for me. I failed classes, I never showed up, preferring to stay home in bed till 2pm, I deferred for a half a year as I was simply bored of it all and would have rather worked more, paid my rent and sat around during the week.

 

Adding on to this the fact that my parents were going through a [verging on violent] divorce, me coming out as gay, working crap jobs in restaurants with touchy-feely relatives and not to mention a whole lot of undiagnosed depression, meant that academically, I was quite a lost soul. It’s a wonder I even managed to graduate.

 

I recall finally finishing this degree, and not even bothering to attend the graduation. I missed the cutoff to go.

 

I really didn’t give a shit at all, to be honest. By this point I had lost any and all interest in the degree and what I was studying and that university. I was back at my old family home now with only dad living there as mum had left. All my friends had graduated and moved on. It felt really lonely being there, at uni and being back home. It wasn’t a great time for me.

 

The thing is, however, had I not attended this course and listened to my dad, I would never have then gone on to study at the small arts college in North Sydney about a year or two from finishing my previous degree.

 

I finally got the chance to study what I wanted, and to be in a creative environment.

 

And, it’s also where I met my now husband, who I’ve been with for 9 years now.

 

I guess there’s a reason for everything. I’m not one for religious faith, but perhaps in this case it wasn’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but perhaps maybe the best thing I’ve ever done.

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2018, Gay, Gayblog, Life, Opinion

The Person I Want To Become

It can be great to think of the kind of person you want to be, and picture that image framed in your mind’s eye, and hold it as a kind of fuzzy objective.

However. Your mind can wander out of focus and enter the enchanted lands of fantasy, far removed from reality when picturing the ideal that you want for yourself. It can intoxicate and drug you, and leave you disappointed with your reality.

I find it both alluring yet galling, pondering on the type of person I imagine I want to become. There is an inherent sense of unreality when you think about what kind of person you wish to be in the future. And a sense of dread and fear that you may never reach this pinnacle of ideal.

Naturally, you would want to be the best version of yourself in the future that you can possibly be. This might be different for us individually, but I’m sure most if not all of us want to be successful and prosperous, fit and healthy, wise yet humble and yeh why not, attractive, both in personality and soul.

I feel as though out there somewhere in this world, or a parallel one just mirroring ours, there’s another version of me of whom embodies those qualities above.

He’s confident in himself and his abilities. He smiles more than I do. He hates himself far less than I do, and in fact isn’t too proud to admit that he loves himself. Obvs, not in an egotistical kind of way. More the way someone who exudes self-confidence would be able to make that sort of self-acknowledgement.

The person I want to become is successful both in terms of career as well as personal life. He works a job, or better yet, has a career that he enjoys which also happens to keep him comfortable in life. He doesn’t worry or stress about his financial situation, and is savvy when he needs to be, thrifty yet not a miser.

He is generous to a fault to those he loves and holds dear, yet is a good judge of character, and has no problem standing up to himself when he perceives he is done wrong by. He is an ardent believer in loyalty being the number one quality and virtue in a friendship or relationship, yet will be able to deal in a fair and adult manner when he feels a friendship is not being reciprocated.

This personage of the future goes to the gym regularly, looks after himself and eats well. He likes being social and goes out, and doesn’t suffer from anything as silly as social anxiety which has made past Alessandro fill with fear and stay home, missing out on at times a lot of fun.

He is calm and collected, and doesn’t have anymore negative dialogue in his mind which once plagued his mind. He sleeps and rests fully at night, and will more often than not get a full night’s sleep.

This is the kind of person I want to become. Basically a pastiche of all the things I see in people I know, like or admire.

 

And yes, an amalgamation of pretty much every self-help book I’ve come across and read.

Which is quite a bit.

I know that this person would come across perhaps as too perfect, however. Maybe he’s just the end sum and total of the concepts and ideals of what I want to be, but not a whole package in terms of what makes up a person.

If there’s anything I’ve learnt over the past few years, it’s that our imperfections make us who we are. The imperfections form our character and that thing that makes us special. It’s the little scars, the wrinkles, the furrowed brows or laughter lines and that lived experience and foibles we all have that make us the best we can be, however.

This then, is the person I want to become. Not perfection manifested, a character akin to an old family sitcom or worse yet a character from a Brett Easton Ellis novel, but a person trying their best, and doing their best in life.

What kind of person do you want to become?

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2018, America, Gay, Gayblog

6 months later…

It’s been six months since we moved here to the US, and this past week I’ve felt really up and down. I guess as we’ve reached that six month mark I can;t help but reflect, and as humans we tend to frame our lives through measurements of time.

I’ve felt up as the weather is becoming great; the sky is clearer, the sun is out and little by little there seems to be a bit of warmth in the air. Not much as yes, this is San Francisco, and as I continually get educated by the locals, there is no Summer here. Again and again I seem to be told this.

However, Spring slowly seems to be encroaching upon us, little feelers slowly creep in. A flower blooms in the park, a leaf grows on a tree outside our flat in the drab back alley.

The seasons are changing, and its a good thing to see. We came to San Francisco right in the middle of a blustery and grey Winter. It really did seem to colour our time here initially. I can see that in hindsight. We can learn so much from looking back, and looking back to our first couple months here, I see that we really did struggle.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like, had we moved here at this time of the year, or perhaps in the middle of Summer, when everything is at its heightened best, and more things are happening. Perhaps we would’ve dealt with the change of moving countries much better than we did, perhaps not. All I know is that we moved at a particularly tough time, and now that the seasons are changing, my mood is perceptibly far loftier.

On the other side of things, I’ve felt a bit down as I still feel a bit purposeless here, having been waiting for my EAD which is a document which allows me to work here in the US to come through which took months.

However, that brings me to another stumbling block: I’m unsure of what I should do here, what job I should go after, and what it’ll be like to work here. I’ve now been out of work for almost six months so its going to be tough to readjust. I’m genuinely quite anxious about this. But, I will deal with it when I get to this.

The other big thing is I’ve also started as a volunteer extra in the opera. Which is fucking mental to be honest. I never thought I would be an on-stage extra in a professional production. I’m literally acting and running and even tumbling around on stage with professional opera singers, decked out in costumes. Crazy. As is the giant blue bruise featured on my right butt cheek from all the tumbling.

Doing something like going to an audition on a whim and getting it, and being a part of an opera is something so unlike me to do. I have never acted in my life. I’ve really tried my best to say yes more the last few months. I do this in order to grow and to experience as much in this town as I can. I’ve tried my hardest to get out and experience more and not hole myself in my flat too much. Although I still have days where I do just that.

I’m really glad I took a chance and applied to audition for the opera. It is something so unlike me that the Sydney version of me would never have done. I’m happy I didn’t just pike out and not turn up like the voice in my head was telling me to do on the day of the audition.

And that’s the thing really. This whole endeavor of moving here to the US has taught me that I need to consciously rally against that negative persona that sometimes comes to the fore in my mind. I have to willingly and purposefully fight against it, tell it to quiet down, and do the opposite of what it says. Otherwise I won’t get to do anything fun, and I’ll just be forever more in my comfort zone and miss out on so much.

The last six months have been so full of ups and downs. I’ve missed my home and family and loved ones; I’ve grappled with coming to a new country and city as well as the tasks of building a new home, a new life here.

Looking back, I start to see that I’ve done a great job of it. It has been a monumental task, but I can truly say I’ve made the most of it.

I sometimes feel like it’s almost like a strategy game that I’m playing. Like Civilization. I start with a small town, and after a while it grows and expands. Our little home here is like that. It’s a bit small now but it’ll grow month after month.

Our life here is like that. Right now it may be on the smaller side, but I know with each month as we become more established, it’ll grow more and more.

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2018, America, Gay, Gayblog, Life

Decision Making

What’s the biggest decision you’ve ever had to make? How did you make it? Was it the right choice?

 

The biggest decision I’ve ever had to make was to decide whether to go with my partner of 8 years to San Francisco, possibly for an indefinite time, or stay home in Sydney Australia. It’s really been the biggest, monumental and life-changing decision I have ever had to make. We’ve had to make. It was tough. It was draining.

 

It was also exciting and something to look forward.

 

It’s been just about six months since we moved. I still can’t believe that we’ve done this. I still can’t believe that I’m here. That we’ve made this seismic shift, this gigantic earth-shaking change that has indelibly transformed our lives. It’s not been easy. There have been second thoughts, concerns, arguments and fights.

Moving with a partner to another country is a very challenging thing, especially when you move so far from your home. Home for us isn’t a short plane trip away. So far from the familiar, from the known and from what is comfortable. You only have each other for support and guidance, and that can be quite a lot for just two people.

There are times when I miss my family, my home city and friends and logical family too. I’ll see a post on instagram and my heart breaks a little. Blue skies, beaches, Victorian terraces, pubs filled with people and queer parties where everyone looks so happy and bright.

We came to this decision after months and months of unending talks and discussions. Almost a year of back and forward in fact. We went over everything. Every possible outcome, scenario, issue and challenge. Pros and cons. At one point the entire thing was cancelled out as we thought it wasn’t going to happen.

We spoke and spoke and disassembled, had little tussles about it, and tried to be as honest to each other as we could. Even once it was all confirmed, we had months and months to go till we moved, as the move date kept getting pushed back. So yet more time to think and deliberate. Originally we were to move in April. Then May. Then September. And then finally November came around, and our ticket was bought. We had so much to do and take care of.

I remember the printed calendar I made and all the tasks we needed done for each day on little post-its.

No wonder we both felt so frayed and worn once we finally arrived here in SF. And in the middle of winter to add. We really don’t give ourselves enough credit.

 

Yes, at times, we have both questioned what we have done, and the choice we have made. The first few months here especially so. It felt as though we were thrown into a washing machine, spun around, rinsed repeat spun, then thrown out into this new and strange place.

We fought, we got on each others nerves, emotions became frayed as we tried our hardest, our best, to keep ourselves and our lives together. We tried hard to stay upbeat and positive, to get out more and meet people. It wasn’t easy at all. Again, really this move has been the hardest thing I personally have ever done, considerably so as I’m quite the reflective person. It is in my nature to think upon life, choices made and those encountered upon the way.

 

But, do I think this was the right choice we made, to come halfway across the world, and leave all those we love and all that we know?

 

Yes. In a heartbeat.

 

Sometimes I imagine what life would have been like if we stayed in Sydney, and the opportunity to move to America never came up. Life would be sublime. Comfortable. Bucolic. Fun. Always full of laughs and light and sun. That rhymed. I actually didn’t mean for it to.

 

But, nothing would have changed. I know this. I would have stayed in this comfort zone for such a long time. I feel as though my growth would have been stunted, and we would be in static. As much as I miss the place and the loved ones there [really I do], moving to another country and town has been the best thing for me. You need change in life in order to evolve and experience. Sometimes we need to be picked up and shook about.

 

My regret would be if we didn’t do this. The regret would be impossible for me to live with. I would hate myself for not giving it a go. I picture myself in this alternate world where we never moved, and I imagine myself living in San Francisco, and I can feel the envy.

I’m in the right place. I can feel this with every part of me, and I don’t regret our decision for a second.

 

What’s the biggest decision you’ve ever had to make?

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Ten years ago.

We often look ahead without taking the time to look at how far we’ve come.

Today I thought on what my life was like ten years ago.

 

Ten years ago, in 2008, my life would have looked like this:

 

I would have been about a year into my Photography degree back in Sydney, which I can say I remember fondly. I did have a lot of fun going to the art college I attended, and living the life of an art student.

Relatively carefree, at the peak of my creativity. Living life in a light and harmless manner.

Sometimes, I do miss that carefree aspect of life that many like myself were lucky enough to have had, even for a few short years. I really do wish I had made more out of it and experienced more of life back then, but I refuse to put myself down anymore, as life only gets better with each passing month and year.

I remember the flexibility, the freedom, the time spent working on tasks that felt so very important in my life. I remember the staff there, including the sweet and amiable head of photography, as well as the arrogant teacher whose ideas were terrible and lied about his past experiences [he once claimed to have taken photos of Twiggy and designed an Electric Light Orchestra cover], as well as his almost opposite in the form of the most capable, sweet and genius teacher whose skill in lighting was phenomenal.

How to light something correctly. How to edit something with finesse in photoshop.

The irony is, all of that is pretty much now done away with.

It’s a funny thing, realising you may have wasted years of your life on a discipline that was dying, and now a decade later, really kind of is in its death throes. Instagram really did a number on photography. At times, I do regret having not switched over to graphic design as I know it would have been far more applicable and adaptable for a career. Mistakes are made to be learnt from.

However, the truth is, I write this in another country and in a relationship with a guy who would change my life just a year later.

Had I not attended this art school or even did photography there, the chances are we would never have met, and I wouldn’t be writing this in San Francisco. Most likely I would not be writing this at all.

Ten years ago I would have been right in the midst of agonising depression. I spent years living with this without any help or assistance or outreach, and it would be a very long time indeed until I would work on this part of myself. My moods ran to darkness very easily; I found it difficult to enjoy life. I found it difficult to make lasting friends.

I felt so isolated and alone. This is the aspect of this time in my life I recall vividly. I craved any human contact with anybody, and by this point in life I was almost entirely celibate. I worked weekends at restaurants owned by relatives; a gruelling, thankless and difficult line of work I now refuse to go back to. I rarely had the opportunity to go out as after a shift on a Saturday night I tended to head home from exhaustion. Sometimes, we may have gone to a local pub for a drink perhaps. I think I may have been to a gay bar only a few times at this point.

Besides attending bars and clubs, back then there was really no way to meet people like today with apps and social media. All of that was still in its infancy and only just starting to gain traction. I still had a flip phone Motorola Razr which I absolutely adored and consider the best phone I ever had.

So, meeting people was tough.

I did have a friendship with someone in this year; which in hindsight meant something very different for the both of us. It was a very heightened, almost manic friendship. We hung out a lot and did a lot together. This time was replete with emotion, and confusion, and a lack of awareness and intention that I subsequently learned from. We had a lot of fun, yet this friendship ultimately ended for a number of reasons, and did not end in the most positive manner, which took quite the while for me to work through and process.

But, like everything, we all learn from our past transgressions.

Thinking back to this point in my life, it was rife with aimlessness, a sense of airiness, confusion, insecurities. And a lackadaisical attitude generally towards the future. It’s difficult for me to reflect too much on this time. Yet I can see just how far I have come.

Physically, mentally and emotionally. I’m a far more centred and relaxed person. I am far more confident in myself and my abilities. I am in a great relationship. I have lived and experienced life in as best a way I can and will continue to do so.

 

What were you doing 10 years ago?

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2018, Australia, Opinion

What Do You Stand For

It’s that time of year again, when  Australia Day, our national celebration comes about.

More and more in recent years, controversy has arisen over this specific public holiday.

Increasingly, the day is becoming synonymous with racism, discrimination against our indigenous peoples and the worst our society can represent, as opposed to a day of civic and social unity.

Newspaper articles are published like clockwork every year on this subject, radio talk show hosts will begin to decry that this is even an issue and blame the ‘do-gooders’ in our society for wanting to change everything.

Many people have come to rename the day Invasion Day, and within certain circles if there is a gathering, it has become customary to at least take a moment of remembrance for what this day represents for an important part of our society, and maybe chip in a bit of cash for donations to an indigenous community initiative or two.

You see, for many of us, and myself included, it is increasingly representing something dark and unhappy. Uncomfortably so.  A day that has resulted in misery for generations for a people whose land was taken from them forcibly, simply as they had a society that was of an alternate make-up to what the original settlers had.

Imagine, if you are reading this in the US, if Columbus’ Day was the United States’ national day of celebration. That’s the crux of what the issue is.

 

Yes, feel free to call us all ‘woke hipster douchebags, but the fact is,

Because they didn’t build permanent structures on this land, they therefore had their lands removed from them.

Because they didn’t have a formal written language [instead a very rich oral and pictorial language spanning back aeons], they had their lands removed from them.

Because they didn’t farm this land in the traditional agricultural Western sense, their land was taken.

This issue has become one of contention and debate.

The one thing that makes me grateful is that we have this opportunity to have a national dialogue about this. Many of Australia’s indigenous peoples abhor this day, and see it as [justifiably] a day of sorrow and remembrance as the start of the destruction of their culture.

We all seem to forget collectively the atrocities that have taken place in this country in the name of civilization and advancement.

The genocide of the Tasmanian indigenous peoples. The waves of disease and sickness of the indigenous peoples due to foreign diseases introduced into this country by settlers. The Stolen Generation, where mere children were forcibly removed from their families in order to grow up ‘white’ and ‘civilized’. The intervention in the Northern Territory in 2007 by the arch-conservative Howard government. The numerous massacres that have occurred.

These are all things that have happened that I feel we have all collectively swept under the rug. Is this the kind of nation we want to be a part of? Is it really what we stand for? Where we ignore the plight of the very people who were here before anyone else?

The upsetting thing is, the defence used by the crowd who do not want to change the date or even have this discussion at any cost is tinged with racism, anger and belittlement.

I don’t think I have heard yet a decent argument to keep the date where it is. Every argument and point in discussion has turned to the following:

 

That the do-gooders want to destroy this nation. 

 

The trope of the ‘woke SJW’s [Social Justice Warriors] aka ‘Do-Gooders’, a term I recall even from when I was a kid and my parents listened to talk back radio, is a point in contention and is a tried and tested stand by. The fact that so many who speak out for moving the date to a less controversial time tend to be younger and urbane has become a bone to pick with the no-move crew.

It’s become popular to use the stereotypical SJW inner city Greens or Labour voter and slam them, as well as paint them as a scapegoat for the fact that many people feel that these types are indelibly changing their society, one which they see as falling apart and losing its way.

This makes no sense, as these people are the ones who espouse free speech, yet decry those who want to initiate this national conversation.

 

The fact is, nothing stays the same. Nothing stays static. For the good of the future and the wellbeing of all, things change. It’s unavoidable. It’s how society develops and evolves.

It’s not the heyday of the 1950’s. Women are not bound by men’s attitudes, and strive hard for the same rights [and pay, still to this day] as men. LGBTIQ people are visible and have the same rights as all others and are making a big impact on society.

It shows just how afraid some are in Australia. How increasingly worried and paranoid some are becoming. Fearful for becoming out of touch; becoming irrelevant, and being pushed slowly but inevitably aside from channels of power.

Some of the arguments made touch upon this as an issue, or use the hipster, coffee slurping inner city dweller wanting to change everything as a negative, when in fact it is something to behold as those under 40 are becoming more and more interested and invested in talking about our national identity, about what our society should be like and represent.

Not to mention the plight of our indigenous peoples whom have been entirely forgotten in this whole debate. Many of us are concerned, and want to change things for the betterment of all.

Did we all forget our protester past, including those heady times in the 1970’s when support for change in the form of the Whitlam Government reached fever pitch? Or the Moratorium against the Vietnam War? Where is that youthful exuberance that was apparent then, now?

What do they think? Why are they so incensed and upset by this?

 

The same people who would have us keep the date then remark on my next point, that:

 

Our society is becoming too precious and sensitive. 

This has been an argument which plays into the above. It is without fail utilised by shock-jocks and certain news outlets of increasingly questionable repute to play into the fear that the segments of society that want this date changed, led by the villainous figures that are the Greens party, are indicative of a society they see as being too ‘precious’ and overly sensitive.

But yet again, this is the very core of people who cry out for freedom of speech, tell us again and again that they have the right to stand up for what they believe in, yet have no recourse or rebuttal that is not tinged with anger, discriminatory or vaguely offensive remarks.

There is a really jingoistic parochial nature to this argument.

 

I have yet to hear of a single clear and concise argument for keeping the date where it is, using logic, rational and analytical thought. 

 

There really does not seem to be one. Browsing relevant posts on social media such as Twitter and Facebook, any rebuttal and reply I have come across has had no conscionable, reasonable and intelligent point.

Really, there hasn’t. Majority of the replies seem to centre on the notion of ‘don’t be so sensitive and harden the fuck up.’

Going up the heights of Australian politics, the assistant Immigration Minister, of all people who should look at this national conversation with some attempted objectivity, had this to say:

‘The assistant immigration minister, Alex Hawke, says he has not heard a “reasonable argument” to support changing the date of Australia Day, saying the national day should not be moved “just because we have some elements of our history that we’re not proud of”. -The Guardian, 16 January 2018

‘Some elements of our history that we are not proud of’, does not seem like a very strong or convincing argument in order to keep the day where it is. It’s a simple flat-out denial of this even being an issue. Despite this dark history that so many of us are not happy to sweep aside.

Again, we are in a free enough society where we can be honest about our politic. Yet, this statement discounts a very important aspect of our history, one of which many of us [myself included] had no real in-depth knowledge of, growing up.

It is a lazy and indolent argument and smacks of a dismissive arch-condescending tone.

But hey, that’s Australian politics for you.

Finally, the last point that is made at times by those whom want to keep the date where it is, is the following:

 

Australia Day has been a part of our national identity for a long time and should stay where it is because of this. 

…Despite the fact that it was only recognised as a national public holiday across the country from 1994 onwards, and has had a history of being a mainly New South Wales-related day of celebration for many years.

Despite the fact that it has jumped about for decades, and there was no official day of recognition for the formation of this country across the whole country until the 90’s. Some states took longer than others to take up this day as an official day of this nation.

 

Clearly my thoughts on this issue should be quite apparent now. To me, there is no great affront to changing this day to something more appropriate and less controversial. It might be a great change for us all.

And that is the thing I’m trying to get at. Sometimes change is an amazing thing.

 

Yes,

You’ll still have your day off and a chance to go to the beach or get pissed or have a BBQ.

You’ll still be able to celebrate a day that would more correctly be about national unity for all, not for most.

So, what do you stand for?

 

 

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