Written July 2018
Revised April 2020

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Cyclone season

I was born approximately 1871km from the equator. For 18 years of morning and night, the sun rose and fell around me at approximately 6am and 6pm.

The seasons were not marked by lack or boast of sunlight, but rather, what was in excess, what was most likely to harm or inconvenience you. Flood season, stinger(jellyfish) season, huntsman(spider) season, bushfire season, cyclone season. 

In the later years of my childhood, when my mother wasn’t there to argue, my father would leave the front and back doors to the house wide open as a cyclone flew over. I’d lay on the couch perfectly in between the two, hands behind my head, floating. Storm, passing through and over me. 

Years later, I’m lying on a couch in the exact same position. Different me, different house, different city. Flooding, stinging, burning heart. Tucked in tears and staring at the ceiling fan. Alive and in pain. Swimming in it. I find myself giggling at the intensity. Again, I am basking in the storm.

 

[Image found here]