How we come together

Have you ever noticed those garish calendars hanging in Asian grocery stores or restaurants? Each month is accompanied by inked gold fish paintings or airbrushed photographs of Hong Kong actresses. There are Chinese characters against each date which indicate dates of the Lunisolar calendar. This year, Chinese New Year falls on Australia Day and even now, red festoons are displayed in many Chinese restaurants in readiness for weekend celebrations both in the city and in various suburbs.

Australia Day marks the arrival of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove in 1788. This was the start of British colonisation of Australia and the holiday has been called 'Invasion Day' by indigenous people. Admittedly, and especially since I no longer have the luxury of the holiday occurring as another sleep-in during a long summer break, the Australia Day public holiday is a welcomed day off work. The tennis is on, everyone is usually sweltering in the heat, sometimes there is a bbq and on the news we hear who is Australian of the Year and who was awarded an OAM. That is the impression Australia Day has on me.

Last year, my nephew was born on Australia Day. I visited my sister and her husband at an inner city hospital, watched in wonderment that my little sister is now a mother (and not that little anymore) to this little human with an Italian name, swaddled and sleeping in her arms. Afterward, I wandered to the city to watch the Australia Day fireworks knowing the extra layer my nephew's birth has added to this day.

I don't think these simultaneous occurrences are incredible, at least not in the 'No way! Shut up! Get outta here!' sort of way, but I do ponder the richness of our country that has led to all three events being celebrated, freely and concurrently.

Despite past laws and controversies calling for the stop to migration, Australia has always been built by immigrants. These waves brought with them traditions which added to the experience of living in Australia and being Australian. What is it to be Australian? I dislike cricket like poison, can't stand to eat lamb and have never said "G'day" to anyone and yet I was born here. How was this configuration possible? My parents were immigrants and despite their influences I am no less Australian than a fifth generation Australian.

I would say that it doesn't matter your tastes in food, your accent nor the leisure activities you pursue, I would say that to be Australian is to love this country, to acknowledge its uniqueness in the world and to embrace whatever it has to offer whether it be Australia Day celebrations, birthdays for our Italian poet nephew or New Year's traditions from far away.

Time to purge

Regret is a powerful feeling, so much so I did something ridiculous tonight. In red texta I wrote a list of regrettable things which occurred over the past year, carried the list outside and took a lit match to it. Some things on the list were small, yet just as energy sapping, such as stressing and cursing whilst in traffic. Sometimes I lost compassion for people who deserved it the most or I became rather competitive. The usual one of living an unhealthy lifestyle was written below a truly regrettable experience which I won't detail here as it's still mortifying to me that it occurred.

I watched the list burn quickly in my green waste bin, causing a small amount of dry plant matter in the bin to alight and quite a lot of smoke to rise up. At that exact moment, my elderly neighbour who is prone to fits of shouting, also came out into her yard but I ran inside to get some water, doused the inferno and shut the lid on the bin before she could find out what I had done.

Akin to say, astrology or pixies, I don't usually believe in things like that, though the symbolism of burning a list of abominable occurrences is not lost on me. I guess in the past I have tried numerous times to tell myself to 'get over it' without much success and long lasting regret is something which I can't remember not experiencing. It seems ingrained, a lifetime habit that can't just be kicked, but requires concerted and deliberate action over a period of time.

This act is now a memory, made that much more vivid by my panic at the smoke and my neighbour's presence about 2 metres away. As I type this, my clothes and hair still smell faintly of smoke. I guess this was an attempt to check myself the next time I start feeling mournful for past mistakes or behaviour. Committed to memory, it will tell me that when I burned my list tonight, I was filled with such strong intentions to fulfill those wishes. Remembrance can be just as powerful a motivator.

Of course the effect of removing such things from my life can only be good and not at all outrageous or illogical. Nothing like burning a list in a green waste bin on a Friday evening.