It's that time of the year again. Christmas. It's the crazy lead up: the mad stress filled shopping trips, where you park 2km away if you get there anytime after 10am. It's the awkward encounters with family: we really do our best to get along but with so much unspoken of history, it's tense. It's watching my son bloom with excitement: wearing his Christmas outfits every day since mid November, staring at the presents under the tree and the pretty lights - eyes wide with wond

It's the most wonderful time of the year. But it doesn't feel wonderful to me. It feels heavy. The expectations of distant family, where there's so much unspoken history and awkwardness. We don't have words to fill the silence. It hangs thick in the year. The bank account balance is the lowest it is. The gift vouchers, the presents, the food, the alcohol to get through the events. To what end and for what reason do we spend this? Do you feel more loved when I give you

I can’t be bothered to put up any Chrissy decorations. They sit in a dusty box in the shed. Apart from the hassle, I’m just not interested. It’s hot, there’s limited space, hubby's indifferent and visitors are rare. I could go on… Trying to hang those annoying Christmas lights only ends in disappointment with tangled cords and blown bulbs. The wind keeps blowing my Christmas cards (2 in count) off the kitchen shelf and I’ve left it too late to write my own. Christmas should m

I'm tired of the fight. The fight of little me sparking hope that one day this world will be a better place. The fight of little us standing for people over profit and shouting, "STOP! You will not win." But you see, they are winning. Our Aboriginal brothers and sisters are still dying in police cells, While narratives are spun to the media about what happened. But we know the truth. They torture innocent people who have suffered so much already, fleeing for their lives