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An Ode To My Scooter
Lingering incense from daily offerings wafted over the villa; the smell of Balinese air and fresh street food filled my nostrils. A breath felt how I would imagine dirt-flavoured candy floss to taste – instantly melting, topped with a spritz of motor oil and a dash of bug spray. A muffled chorus of squealing pigs…
Please Remind Me I’m Real
BEEP, beep, beep This tunnel is one of my biggest fears. I’m driving my car on the M5, about to go through the airport tunnel. Horns are blaring since no one likes peak hour, yet the pace is consistent. The lights that line the walls start zooming past, and my mind does a little trick.…
Here Is Good
I stare out the plane window at the twinkling lights in the darkness below. That’s Japan down there. Hitting the ground feels like victory: a life’s dream of coming here fulfilled in the matter of seconds. With a big smile despite my tired eyes, I step out of the arrival gate and drink in the…
The Other Side of Suicide
Content warning: Suicide and associated themes I lay cocooned in an old duvet on the hard hospital floor, drifting in and out of consciousness to the haunting lullaby of my best friend's heart monitor. I looked at the clock perched on the stark wall above me -- the only gauge of time I could find…
One Step at a Time: Trekking Kokoda at Age 15
Long days. Cold nights. Fatigue and loneliness. Standing in the harsh sun, I’m surrounded by walls of tall jungle. Staring ahead at a steep overgrown path that never seems to end, I hyperventilate. Time passes with each step. My breathing softens as we make it to the summit. I wonder whether I’d be better off…
Where Air is Water
I wish I had taken ballet as a kid. The pirouettes I force myself into, avoiding seemingly inevitable collisions with scooters and cars, on roads that have no sidewalks to speak of and drains wider than a cat is long, would make my grandmother proud. Add to that the scrapes on my hand and pride…
Stitched Back Together in Thailand
A harsh light pierces my eyes from a low swinging globe above my face. I am lying on a bed. No. It’s a gurney. It creaks in rhythm with the tight pulling of my arm.  A young Thai woman sits on a wooden stool next to me, threading me back together like a seamstress. She…

Astray is run by a team of writers who mostly live, work and play in nipaluna / Hobart. With reverence, we acknowledge the Tasmanian Aboriginal people as the traditional and ongoing custodians of trouwunna / lutruwita / Tasmania: land that was stolen and never ceded. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging.