Words by Andie - Fiction

  I'm applying to be a Permanent Resident of Australia, and there's a written section where I have to prove "substantial ties" to Australia and "compelling reasons" why I left for more than 5 years. Please tell me if the below is compelling enough "I was born into this glorious country of warm weather, barbecues and shoeys in the late summer of 1993. It was warm, and glorious, we were happy and cared for. Then, as an INFANT I was TAKEN by my parents AGAINST MY WILL to their homeland. I had no choice, I was bundled into the back of a car at the tender age of just four years old. My screams, tears and fights for freedom went unheeded. I was simply too weak, too small, too vulnerable. I was taken on an aeroplane to a terrible place called Mosgiel, where I was trapped by a lack of financial independence and physical helplessness. I knew I had to escape, but it would be a marathon, not a sprint. I had to plan, I could not just run for it. The harsh winter wo...

  She spat. These flies. Absolutely relentless. They were attracted to everything: her horses' sweat, her sweat, the cattle she was desperately in search of. She knew at that moment from behind she must’ve had about 20 travellers on board, buzzing with their infernal buzz and rubbing their little palms together with glee. They can sit on her back, fine. Arms, sure. She only objected when the bastards tried to go up her nose, in her mouth, or, most maddeningly, in her ears. This, my friends, was why god invented the fly net. But these were not so practical for being on horseback. And the faster she rode, the easier it was to leave the pests literally in her dust. This dry season had her feeling as if she were cracking rather than melting. She had one relief - when she was focused, she forgot the heat. It had seemed inconceivable, to wear long sleeves and pants in 40+ degrees, in the middle of the Pilbara.   But like many things, it was a choice of lesser evils, and the extra ...

  As I scroll on Instagram, out of a sheer refusal to download TikTok and spend even more time on my phone, I look up a page of a young man posting videos of the shots he’s taking on the golf course. With every drive (see, I know about Sports), he raises his right foot to his tiptoes and we see the orange bottom of his shoe. I’m reminded of the first set of golf clubs ever purchased for him, when I was about 5 and he was 3, one Christmas morning. I can remember clearly, that blonde head of hair that eventually went dark like the rest of our family, a cute and squishy little face, holding the tiny plastic club and hitting the ping pong sized ball like he’d been put on this earth to do it. Frankly, I never get tired of telling people about what a success he is. Golf, sure. Professional hockey player, tick. Professional cricketer? That too. Smart. Kind. Funny. Wity. All of that. A true pleasure to call a brother. Did I mention he finished his study as an anaesthetic technician and...

I have been a store manager for a high- end bikini store in Sydney for about a year now.  I have worked in stores in every end of the city, in concession stands in department stores on behalf of the brand, and hosted VIP nights. I have probably sold a couple of thousand swimsuits, and have trained what feels like most of the North Shore. I was lucky enough to be raised by a single father who only commented on my body to tell me how strong it was, or that there was nothing wrong with me whenever I complained about it. I grew up in the country, where it wasn’t about how you looked but what you could do, and how fast you could do it. Of course I knew girls and women who were upset by how they looked, and it’s not like I feel 100% confident every day of the week, but was always confused by people who would not wear certain things for fear of showing  the tiniest hint of cellulite, or sagging breasts, or stretch marks. Dad always told me that women were allowed to look like ...