May Journals

Behind every op-shop find is a 20 minute story about it that Tim has to listen to.

The top.

16th of May.

Behind every op-shop find is a 20 minute story about it that Tim has to listen to. We recently had an impromptu vintage store crawl after dropping off some film to be developed. For some reason, all of the art from my youth I once cherished and adored is now collecting dust in every secondhand store on King Street. As we walked home, we passed plant shops with secret gardens hidden at the back, costume stores that somehow stay afloat all year ‘round, boxes of free CDs and DVDs. If you’re lucky, one of those free CDs will be autographed by Ricky Martin and will have you wondering why it is in a clearance bin and not hanging in The Louvre.

In between scavenging through dusty CD cases, we turned our attention to the secondhand books on the other side of the store. Much to my surprise, I saw a mannequin dressed in a top that looked awfully familiar. “Wait, Tim, I think I wore this top to my year 6 graduation”. It had a silky mint green undergarment with a net mesh over the top. It was an interesting choice for a year 6 graduation but it was 2004 and The Simple Life influence was in full-swing. I was fairly certain my graduation top was from Valley Girl so I wanted to check the tag on the mannequin to confirm. I reached my arm up to the top shelf the mannequin was sitting on. As I reached for the tag, her strap fell down, exposing her ceramic breast. “Oh I’m sorry!” I said to the mannequin. “Did you just say sorry to a mannequin?” Tim asked. I nervously laughed and looked to my fellow shoppers for a reassuring smile. Nobody gave me one. A man instantly turned away after noticing the mannequin was indecent. After looking like a total pervert, I was hesitant to reach for the tag again so I had to trust my memory.

It was the summer of 2004. I was 12 years old, school captain and was getting ready for my year 6 graduation. I had paired the green top with a white mini skirt, white kitten heels and a braid courtesy of my Mum, the front of my hair sleeked back so tight I had a migraine. I had been seated behind my crush at our graduation ceremony. I looked down at his parents and sister, imagining my life with them as my in-laws. He was one of the popular boys and although I was school captain, my social ranking wasn’t as high as his. I silently gushed as a camcorder interview of him projected onto the wall, with him saying that he lives his life according to the phrase “Treat people the way you’d like to be treated”. As part of my school captain duties, I had to say a speech on behalf of my grade about our time in primary school. My Mum had written the speech and let me tell you, she sure knows how to keep an audience entertained. There were laughs, tears and applause as we read from our palm cards in artificially enthusiastic public speaking voices, the inflection in our voices going up and down like a rollercoaster. (“And you might be wondering who iiii am. I’m Kayla, and this is Paolo. And tonight we are going to talk about…”). The year prior, when my brother graduated, I had seen the previous school captains finish their speech by saying something in unison like “Congratulations class of 2003” and messed it up, leading to laughs and applause from the whole crowd. Potentially psychotic on my behalf, but I had mentally noted to do the same thing for my speech. “Congratulations class of…oh man!”. The crowd went wild. It was endearing, funny, and most of all, calculated by me. I looked around the room, as parents looked at me adoringly, and my peers in envy. It was a high I hadn’t felt before and the night was just beginning.

It was a warm summer night. The Fanta was flowing. I had stuffed my face with Allen’s Strawberries and Cream lollies. The ‘afterparty’ was held on the school playground but it felt different, way cooler. We were in ‘mufti’ clothes and it was after dark. There was a DJ and glow sticks. We could run around the playground and no teachers were threatening us that if we had no hat, there was no play. There were parents and our younger siblings but if you asked any of us, it was a nightclub. The night was still young and so were we.

Much to my surprise, a group of my friends came over to me and said “Eric* wants to dance with you” and before I knew it I was being pushed into his arms by my friends, and we were dancing along to Blame it on The Boogie. We danced over chalk covered concrete, where we would normally play hopscotch. There was enough space between us to fit an entire fridge but the sweat from our palms connected us. As The Jacksons sang “I just can’t, I just can’t, I just can’t control my feet” our feet remained flat and still on the ground. We took turns pushing our arms back and forth between one another as our hands remained intertwined. I’m pretty sure we had the whole dance floor watching us but all I remember is how big his smile was and his white buttoned up t-shirt. My friends rushed over to me afterwards and someone snapped a candid picture of me gushing about it. I attribute it all to the top. Somebody put it in a museum!

* name changed for legal reasons and because I don’t want him to know that I liked liked him.

My Mum told me she heard I had danced with a boy. I replied no I didn’t ❤️

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2nd of May.

We saw the Meet Me in The Bathroom documentary at The Golden Age Cinema & Bar tonight. The last time I was there it was for a ‘premiere’ of an acting project I had done. It was a two month acting course and at the end of it, the teacher hired out the venue to showcase our work. Tonight was Tim’s first time at the theatre and I made sure to remind him that I had been there before for my premiere. “Don’t you remember I’ve been here before…for my premiere” I would say whenever he would make an observation about the venue. “This is where I sat….for my premiere”. Come to think of it, where the hell was Tim for my premiere? I was probably trying to appear unattached for the sea of male fans waiting for my autograph. Anyway, it was so nice to be back. It is a heritage-listed Paramount Pictures building in Surry Hills and it has the most cozy vibe. The room smelled of mulled wine and buttered popcorn. The documentary we were seeing was based off a book about the indie-rock scene in New York City in the early 2000s. It followed The Strokes, Interpol, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and LCD Soundsystem. They touched on the aftermath of 9/11, Napster and sexism in the music industry. All the footage was recorded on a camcorder and the interviews were used as voiceovers. I really enjoyed it. It inspired me and also made me long for our pre-social media world. Everyone featured in the documentary had authenticity that is hard to come by nowadays. On our way home, Tim told me he wanted to be Adam Green from The Moldy Peaches when he was a teenager and finally all of the pictures I’ve seen from his teen years make sense.

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26th of May.

This is a pretend review for a cafe in Newtown we visited today:

The food, staff and atmosphere was 10/10 but I couldn’t help but notice you were playing You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift and it WASN’T Taylor’s Version.

Please do better.

⭐️

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May Reflections:

This month really flew by for me. I’ve been quite busy the last few weeks, which has made me crave time at home to rest and recharge. I‘ve also been feeling deep sense of gratitude for all the wonderful people in my life. I had some meaningful connections with my parents this month, moments that I will hold close to my heart for safekeeping. Tim and I also had many conversations around authenticity and staying true to ourselves. All of this spiritual development was offset by the Real Housewives of New Jersey reunion I just finished watching.