At 5:30am every weekday, my alarm goes off. I get up, stretch the stiffness out of my back, get dressed in my work clothes, put the kettle on, go to the toilet, make some tea, eat some muesli, scroll a handful of news feeds (never really paying attention to any of them), pack my lunch,…
It’s 9pm on a Saturday. Joel and I sit on the couch in the shared common room of a North Queensland hostel. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, remembering a night four years ago when I was just 18 years old, drunk in one of my hometown nightclubs.
“After that it all…
Every night my father awaits news on Afghanistan. He listens to Al Jazeera report that western troops have withdrawn their occupation of the country. He interchanges between news stations. He turns off the TV and switches on our Afghan Satellite box to find out what’s happening directly.
Am I an alcoholic?
Some might say that if I have to ask myself this question, I probably already know the answer.
I sit here writing this with a margarita close by and a small child watching my every move, sipping on her juice box. She’s got dark curly hair framing her face…