Emma Rani Hodges
Tuggeranong Arts Centre is currently open with social distancing and hygiene measures in place.
If guilt could take a physical form, would it flood the room and stain the walls pink? I wish I could pick it up in both my hands and mould it into something soft that would stop crushing the walls of your chest.
Do you remember the time we were standing on the streets of Nonthaburi? Waiting for a tuk tuk, you told me not to speak to the driver. He would realise that I wasn’t really from here, charge us more. I could meld with the people on the streets until an Australian accent plunged from my tongue and fell through the road.
It happened in reverse on the streets of Charnwood. I dreamt of disassembling my body, skin and hair so light the sun could burn me through my bedroom window. Trapped within the boundaries of who we are, I started trying to expand my body and patch together a monster. I took the fabric you’d sew into dresses for more wealthy people and staple it to a different memory. The most recent one is the bush fires destroying a land that was stolen, a land that I’m not from but have sewn myself to.