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Face/Off (1997)

Joey got a new bike for his birthday, he’s turned 5 now so he is allowed a big bike. I decided to take it for a ride down our big hill, but something went wrong. I remember flying down super-fast, the wind slapping my face and then – blackness. When I woke up I was in hospital and mum was sitting next to me crying. My entire body hurt so much that I started screaming, then a nurse gave me some medicine which made me feel really good and sleep for a really long time.

Mum wouldn’t let me look in the mirror for a week, but I could tell from seeing my legs and arms that I had made, as my nanna says, a ‘dogs’ dinner’ of myself. Mum told me I had gone over the handlebars of the bike and landed on my face. I’d taken all the skin off my forehead and nose, and my teeth went through my lip. I look like Quasimodo run over by a truck. Mum takes a photo of me every day and I hate it, but she says it’s so that I can look back and see how much my face has improved.

I heard mum and dad talking in the kitchen whilst mum put fish and chips in a blender for me to eat through a straw, they said that I was never much of a looker anyway. This made me cry, but it hurt to cry so I stopped.

If I’m not beautiful no one will ever love me…. Nanna said I’m unusual looking, I know she’s trying to make me feel better but it doesn’t. I don’t want to be unusual or scarred, I want to be pretty like a princess and liked by everyone and fall in love and live a happy life. I don’t want to look unusual or like a freak from my accident.

The good thing is that I get to spend lots of time at home with mum and I can keep an eye on her and make sure she’s not smoking or drinking alcohol because I’m not stupid and I know what she’s up to. Mum promises she won’t do either anymore because ‘life is too short’ and she puts on a rental video for us to watch, Face Off… I do not find this as amusing as she does.

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(2008) Babo

Screw this country.

Uh. Going cold turkey after months of festivals and raves is ruthless… my head is all over the place. I don’t want to be here. Why did I follow the money? I’m such an idiot. Now I’m stuck in this hellhole where old people spit at me, kids point and stare, men lick their lips and undress me with their eyes and women turn away in disgust. What have I done wrong?? 

And now the only other English-speaking humans in this godforsaken place hate me and I don’t know why!? 

Teaching students who despise me until 10 pm sucks too, but the real cherry on the cake is being sick as a dog and being denied damn hospital treatment when my head is so swollen it feels like it’ll explode. 

Uh, why oh why did I think leaving my happy, fun, friend-filled life to come to South fucking Korea was a good idea?

I kick a discarded beer bottle out of my path and look up as I approach my block of apartments.

What. A. Shit. Hole.

I scan the boxes of windows looking for my mini-prison and spot a man moving around in one of the rooms. What is he doing? I count the windows up and down and frown. That’s my room… I squint and see the faded stickers of Hello Kitty plastered on the veranda sliding doors and it confirms it – that’s my room – and someone’s inside!

I start running, panicking, I need to phone the police, but I don’t have a mobile, oh my god, who is in my room? I race up the stairs and fumble with my keys against the lock. Bingo! I turn the handle and push the door open when BANG someone slams their body against it on the other side and slams the door shut in my face.

I bang on the door with my fists.

“Hey! Who are you? What are you doing? You’re in my home asshole!!” 

My screaming draws my neighbour out of his room, he pokes his head through the crack in the door and I scream at him, “Help! Help me! Someone is in my room!” but he quickly withdraws and I hear the deadbolt lock.

Fuck.

I race back down the stairs and to the back of the building just as I see a figure land with a thud and start sprinting down the street away from me.

“OI! I see you!” My body is on fire with adrenaline as I race back up to my room, try the door, realise he’s locked me out from the inside, then dash back to the rear of the building and scramble my way up the drainpipe to my room.

Before entering, I peer through the window at my abode. Jesus. 

I clamber over the railings and stare at the surroundings, my hand on my mouth.

My baby bunnies are having a riot, hopping around and munching their way through the only few English books I brought with me, happily dropping turds and peeing as they bounce around ecstatically. The photos of my family and friends which previously plastered my walls are now shredded to pieces and strewn about the place. My bed is dishevelled and filthy, my underwear is thrown all over the place. It stinks of dog shit – he’s smeared it over everything. I pick up a pair of torn knickers from the desk and realise they’re wet and sticky; cum. He’s ejaculated over my things.

I take a mental calculation of my room to see if anything’s missing, and open the drawer to find that my emergency wad of cash is where I left it. Nothing’s gone… nothing is missing.

I go back to my veranda and check the door. The lock has been prised open and broken, there’s no way to lock it without a locksmith fixing it.

What did he want? Why has he done this? Who the fuck was he??

I leave my room and knock on the doors to the other apartments until finally an older lady answers. I use my translation book to ask her to call the police.

She does, and I wait while they have a long and confusing conversation which I cannot keep up with.

Finally, she hangs up and shakes her head at me.

“What?” I urge.

“Naeil…naeil…er… tomorrow” she manages.

I want to scream; Tomorrow? Tomorrow?? My room has been broken in to, someone has torn my belongings to pieces, wiped dog shit everywhere and jacked off over everything and I can’t even lock the door! What if he comes back? What am I supposed to do?? 

Instead, I just stare at her with wild eyes and grind my teeth.

I feel so useless and stupid. As my students like to call me, ‘babo’.

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(1993) Dinosaurs & Death

Mummy and dad are mad, they said they’re very dizzypointed in me…

It was my 7th birthday on Saturday and my best friend, Elsie came for a sleepover. Elsie has asthma, that means she needs a puffer to make her breathe. My new favourite game is - Dinosaurs - because I saw Jurassic Park and now I want to have a pet Raptor to ride! Elsie and me had so much fun being dinosaurs and running around my garden all day, but she forgot to bring her blue puffer and got sick. Her mum and dad had to take her home in the middle of the night, then the next day my mum told me she was dead. 

Elsie has gone to Heaven now, like my goldfish, Bogie, so I hope that they can be friends. But mum said Elsie couldn’t be buried in the garden next to Bogie and I don’t understand why. 

We went to her funeral today and mum told me to only think of the happy memories, so I did. I started laughing and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop when we were inside of the church because suddenly it was even more funny that I wasn’t allowed to laugh. Mum cried more and more and I laughed harder and harder and dad got his Angry Eyes on. 

They took me away from the funeral and put me in the car because all of the grown-ups were annoyed with me for laughing in the church. Mum is still sobbing in the front seat and dad is grinding his teeth as he drives. I’m still silently giggling in the back, vibrating in my chair.

I don’t know what I did wrong… they told me to remember happy things and I thought about when Elsie and me had a farting competition and Elsie pushed so hard that poo fell out of the side of her shorts and we laughed so much we both peed our pants.

I hope Elsie comes back as a ghost so that we can still play together, and she can tell my mummy that it’s not her fault that she died… it’s not my fault too, is it Elsie?

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(2009) Dora Pad Hitler ‘Tash

Probably wasn’t the best idea to mix Valium, MDMA and Sangsom on a 12-hour overnight bus trip from Bangkok to Hat Yai, but hell, I had a laugh watching Death at a Funeral back-to-back-to-back-to-back on my own. When we finally arrived at the hotel I was a greasy sweaty lump of come-downiness hungoverness and when I saw the shimmering oasis-like swimming pool I just couldn’t resist. I stripped my clothes off and raced to the diving board, plunging headfirst into the refreshing depths of icy water, ahhh…

Kathump.

I smashed my face on the bottom of the pool, coming up in a cloud of blood and confusion to an audience of shocked guests and gasping hotel staff.

Who the fuck puts a diving board on a 1-metre deep swimming pool??

Only in Thailand, aye.

Not wanting to cause a fuss I improvised with the un-resourceful first aid box I found at the bar and what I had handy in my toiletries bag (with much hysterical laughter from my friends and the staff who were, ahem, ‘helping’ me) and settled into an isolated hammock to cautiously eat my hot chips, sup my beer, lick my wounds and try to forget what a clumsy fool I am.

“Sawatdee kap” I look up to see a beautiful local boy with rock hard abs standing over me with a sparkling grin. I smile and wince at the pain from my upper lip injury.

“À-Rai?” he says and points to his thin moustache. His friends are huddled behind him sniggering and pointing my way. 

“Dora” I reply, shaking my head, “The Explorer” I mime what I imagine Dora The Explorer would do, placing my hand over my brow and I look wistfully into the distance... he laughs as he turns and walks away to high-five his mates. 

Yep, day 1 of my 3-month ‘new me’ volunteer-venture and already I am the girl with the Dora The Explorer plasters holding a sanitary pad to my upper-lip-Hitleresque-gash. 

Always making impeccable first impressions and lasting memories… estupendo! 

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(2014) Sexy Tape

“Well, I, eh, I love dancing and, um, I’ve been really missing the guy that I’m seeing, his name is Christian. He's a shearer and a builder and travels a lot and lives far away so I um, I um... made a sexy video to send him”

This is the best entertainment this bored outback cop has seen in a long while I figure. He nods, eyes on fire, “Continue” he encourages, leaning closer in his swivel chair. I shift in my seat and tuck bedraggled hair behind an ear, there’s another officer floating around by the door trying to hear the conversation. I want the world to swallow me up.

“But I have an ex-boyfriend who I broke up with um, like 7 months ago? And I’ve changed my number and – obviously – moved away, far away. He’s up in Brisbane. Um, well, he keeps finding out my new numbers and calling and sending me letters to my new address – so he knows where I am … and he knows stuff, ya know? Like stuff he couldn’t possibly know. Anyway, I made this video – “

“Sexy dancing video?”

“Yes, um, the video… and because of the shitty signal out here, the only way I could send it was via Messenger”

“On Facebook?”

“Yes”

“Go on”

“Well, the next thing I know, um, the video had gone viral, like re-posted on my actual Facebook feed page”

He smacks his thigh and makes a hooting sound, “OOO-eee! How’d ya know?”

“Because my phone started pinging like crazy with friends contacting me asking me what the hell was going on and why was I posting a video of myself stripping on the internet”

He laughs so hard he doubles over in his chair and I let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Ok, Ok” He wipes the ecstatic tears from his eyes, “So, how is all this related and how can I help you’s today little lady? ?”

“Well, I didn’t post it!! I immediately tried to remove the video but suddenly I was locked out of my account and couldn’t access it. My password had been changed and I was unable to get back into my account. I had to report the video to Facebook to get it removed, but it was reposted straight away. It’s Greg. It has to be Greg - my ex-boyfriend who won’t leave me alone. We were living together but he got violent and I had to runaway... It finally makes sense. I was using his old computer when I was living with him and it broke…he must’ve got it fixed and my passwords were still stored on it so he’s had access to EVERYTHING for the last 7 months! My facebook, my emails, my bank accounts. Uh.” I feel sick.

The cop runs a search on Greg on his computer. 

“That’s him” I cringe at the mug shot on screen.

“Arrested for domestic violence and assault on a police officer” he studies Greg’s face. “Jeez he was punching above his weight with you gal!” and laughs a big fat belly howl which gives me no comfort whatsoever.

I muster a smile through gritted teeth.

“OK, we’ll send a couple of guys up in Brizzy to go and have a word and I’ll process a restraining order, though it won’t do much good you’s being in a different territory as it don’t work that way. You contacted the cyber-do-daddy police?”

“Yes, yes, and I’ve changed all my passwords but it doesn’t seem like there’s much anyone can or will do and I’m humiliated by him! So many people saw that video and I’m so ashamed” I restrain my chin from wobbling, “And I’m so scared he’ll come down here and I’m all alone on that station with no cell reception and -” My cheeks are burning and my eyes are welling up.

“Calm down, Shiela” he drawls at me impatiently.

“I took my fucking clothes off and danced naked and it was posted LIVE for all my family and friends to see!” I shriek with what little dignity I have left. 

He reaches over and pats my knee, “Well know, you’d better show me that sexy dancing video … for investigation purposes aye?” I stare open-mouthed at his audacity.

I love dancing.

Yuck.

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(1993) Fantasia

I’m dancing with Tom, The Super Cat, to my most favouritist movie, Fantasia. The best part is on, the part with the flying horses. Tom is wearing his clown outfit and I’m swinging him by his front paws around and around and around. Mum says Tom doesn’t like it, but she can’t speak cat and she’s been naughty so I’m not listening to her. I was playing a game with the white sticks I found in her hambag when dad caught me and got really mad. Him and mum are having a really loud fight in the kitchen about smoking and I don’t understand because I don’t see any smoke and I don’t smell any smoke and I wonder if we will have a bonfire with the white sticks. Fantasia has finished now, so I have to wind up the video cassette with my finger because I’ve watched the film so many times that the tape reel comes out all unravelled like crazy seaweed and the VCR gobbles it up, nom nom nom, and I want to play it again before mum and dad notice I already did watch it two times already today. 

I love dancing.

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Me, Myself & I... plus Matilda, Vanessa, Grace, Charlie, Hank, Bree, Cassandra K, Lady, Fi Fi Mae (& so on...)

“Hello?” 

I hold my breath, straining to hear a reply, silently begging that I don’t.

“Is anybody there?” My eyes are closed tight, and my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

Is this how it works? Can you talk to the others or are you isolated from one another?

I’ve started to think – wait, no. I’ve started to finally entertain the idea that I might be schizophrenic. I don’t like that word though, so let’s call it multiple personality disorder for now…

I remember my mum and all the different sides to her. The mummy when I was a little girl was beautiful, happy, caring, gentle. I occasionally saw a glimpse of this super-mummy during my teenage years, but it was like seeing a ghost. A new version of my Mother crept into my life and dominated with her manic grimaces and foul language, stripping naked and flinging herself on top of me whilst proclaiming her hatred of me. Then there was mam, the broken and abused shadow of a woman whose hands trembled and eyes were forever wet. There were many different mums from the fun and quirky to the scary crazy and all of the heartache in-between.

Am I the same? 

Alcohol. Alcohol was the beginning of my mum’s downfall, I watched it. Like a train wreck in slo-mo, I experienced the devastation of booze abuse and yet, I myself continue to drink. Why?

I wish I could pretend that I’m a ‘fun drunk’ but I wholeheartedly know that I too have an addiction problem, just like old mother dearest, RIP. Does the alcohol create these split personalities or does it just give them more control in the driver’s seat? Are we all a little cuckoo, but some of us have our inner-psychos tightly gagged, restrained and beaten into submission?

“I don’t know, Kat” I hear my voice whisper involuntarily, “But with all these identities, you’d like to think that at least one of them would be likeable…”

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(2000) Be The Sunshine

I slump to the floor outside Lidl and sigh; when did I become so dead to the world? I think of my day’s mantra: When You Can’t Find The Sunshine, Be The Sunshine. Get up, dress in a pretty outfit, put your make-up on and go out into the world! Positive vibrations attract positive energy, wahoo! Go get ém Tiger!!

Pffff. My cheeks hurt from grinning like the Cheshire cat and my feet throb from pounding the streets in search of enlightenment, happiness, a friendly face… anything. But there’s nothing.

I pick at the singed cigarette hole in my fishnets and suddenly feel really stupid. What am I doing? Who am I? I should grow up and stop living this fantasy in my head; I am not in a Disney movie. There is no Prince Charming, there are no singing animals to boost my moral and there is no Happy Ever After. Get a grip, Kat.

“Mummy, mummy, look!” I snap back to reality as a little girl drags her mother by the hand unwillingly towards me, her little eyes shining like chocolate buttons. I look down at the fluffy white body cocooned in my frilly pink skirt and I smile.

“Would you like to say hello to my bunny?” I say, and the girl nods her head frantically, straining against her mother who is desperately trying to drag her child away from me. I lift Barnabas up so that she can pet him.

“Ï like your dress and-and-and your cat ears!” she beams as she inches ever nearer. I mock curtsey from my seat on the ground, “You look like the Fairy Princess of the Animal Kingdom!”

My hand impulsively touches my heart space and I gasp. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.

“Come along now Emily!” her mother hisses and briskly whisks Emily away when she is just inches from touching Barnabas’s velvet coat. I place Barnabas back in my lap, stroke him tenderly and laugh quietly to myself. I am a Fairy Princess! What am I so down-and-out about? I’m living the dream, I have become what I’ve always dreamed of and I am a beautiful Princess! If that little girl can see it, everyone can see it, yes! My dreams can come true, damnit, and I won’t let this shit-hole town bring me down or anyone else for that matter!

Coins clatter on the ground in front of me and I look up to see the girl, Emily, standing before me.

“Mummy says Bless You, and don’t spend the money on drugs” she looks scared of me now and disappointed, then turns and runs back to her mother who is shaking her head sadly at me.

“Wha-“ my mouth hangs open. 

Oh. I stand up and turn to survey my reflection in the shop window and blink. Tired UGG boots caked in mud, torn tights, flamboyant tattered tutu, dirty leopard print furry jumper, swollen eyes and a scabby face, greasy pink hair and polka dot cat ears. Oh, and a large white rabbit tucked under one arm. I’m not a Fairy Princess after all. I look like an escaped mental patient. 

Fuck.

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(1992) The Princess & The Poo

Mmm yes, this is a good one…no, it’s a great one. Salty and slimy, the texture is a tad gritty, mmm, perfect.

“Katrina! Get your finger out of your snout, now!” He yells at me.

My hand shoots behind my back, my eyes wide and full of alarm. I wait until he turns back to the kitchen bench and I give his back the death stare. I imagine I’m the Snow Queen and my Super Ice Powers freeze him until he’s a shiny statue frozen forever and he just shuts up.

I don’t like dad. He puts my legs over my head and tickles me until I can’t breathe and one time he ripped up my favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Heroes t-shit with Michelangelo eating pizza on it and threw it out of my window. He’s not even my real dad anyway, I just have to call him that because my real father didn’t want me, he just wanted to bonk my mum.

I love my mum, she’s beautiful like a real-life princess. She has really big boobies and I want to be just like her when I grow up. Some mums don’t have big boobies, and I don’t think that makes them very good mums, I know this because when I saw a little girl on the news who went missing from her family, her mum was really skinny and had a flat chest and everyone said she wasn’t very ‘maternal’ and not a good mum because she wasn't cuddly so that’s how I know my mum is the best mum.

My littlest brother starts wailing from the next room and dad pushes past me to get to him, he makes a sound like an angry cow. Bugaloo is lying on his baby mat on the floor, our middle brother, Joey, is stood over him laughing with no pants on and his tinker is dripping. I’m the biggest of the kids, I’m 5 and I’ll always be the biggest. Joey is 3 and he’s stupid. Bugaloo is not yet 1 and he’s the favourite. That’s why Joey has pee-peed on him, again. Dad says, “Joey! NO!” and picks Bugaloo up and takes him to the bathroom going “Shush now shhh.”

Joey squats on the floor and does that evil laugh that he does and he squeezes out a poo on to the floor. Joey is naughty and gross, and I think he will grow up to be a Baddy, like the Joker, not a Goody like Batman. He picks up his poo and runs at me, cackling, slaps me in the face with it and wipes his hands down my brand new The Little Mermaid dress. My chin starts to wobble.

The poo smells like eggs and prawn cocktail crisps.

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Sibling Rivalry 

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Welcome to the Freak Show...

I’ll start in the middle. At least I hope it’s the middle, otherwise, it’s a pretty tragic yet unremarkable ending. I’m putting fingers to keys like a good little girl - finally - doing as I’m told, yes boss. Tell me your story, they said; sift through your memories and tell us the little snippets of happiness, cringing moments of shame, scrumptious tales of exploits, devastating misfortunes and tantalizing chapters of scandal for you to resonate with, to better understand your own experiences ... or to simply make you feel better about your own minuscule existence. Take what you will.