Traditionally, Fox and I spend Australia day in a pattern. It’s typically a hot day so we wake up late. In the evening, we eat a lamb dinner, slow cooked, and then we go to the beach and watch the fireworks, together. We listen to Australian songs on mobile planners, and we sing along with the National anthem. We come home, we wash sand off our feet, and then we stay up late, together.
There is literally none of that we did today. It was a cool morning. We woke up early. The lamb I had bought had its packaging torn, and went rancid without realising it. We did not go to the beach, because Fox developed a dreadful headache. Silence filled the house while she slept. In order to make her smile and make her feel better, I walked to the pub, got some cash out, and bought her Chinese food for dinner. Then we came to bed, and watched Youtube videos.
One of the first things I read this morning was someone I didn’t know telling me that if I celebrated Australia day they didn’t want to know me. It was something that had nagged at my mind for some time, given that I am, by default, quite a guilty-feeling person. This is how I celebrate Australia day – it is a day where I am grateful that I was born, grateful that this country was a home to my mother and my father, grateful for a society that was as free as it was and provided me with healthcare and tried to offer me education.
My country was founded in genocide. I know. It’s still doing horrible things, in the names of stupid ideas. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that yesterday, I went to bed, expecting to spend my day enjoying a celebration that has become, to me, a tradition.
I don’t know what kind of celebration was expected. I’ve never celebrated “Haha, Fuck Aboriginals And Also Asians And The Dutch” Day.
I genuinely did not know that this was what Australia day meant. To me, it’s always been the Seekers.
I’m really sorry about everything, really. It seems that I got the day I deserve.