Going through the motions of growing up and glowing up in Brisbane.
Brisbane; I love you, I hate you.
The nature of our relationship could only be described as complicated. Like my first love, I’ll never know if you’re The One, or if I only think you’re The One because it was you who showed me love.
Pt I: My Noose is a Brown Snake.
Growing up in a small town is already suffocating. Then you turn 18 and haphazardly work your way through the nightlife, only to declare that the ‘Valley just isn’t your scene anymore’ after too many nights spent gorging on questionable capsules and making even more questionable alliances with the local Valley rats. It doesn’t help that you’ve also swiped through every potential boyfriend/life-partner/lover/soulmate from Noosa to Redlands—fellow queers, you know what I’m talking about.
In short; we swim in a small pool, smaller than that stupid fucking beach at South Bank that only children and tourists are naive enough to brave.
You know everyone, you’ve been everywhere and you’ve done everything. You’re ready throw your hands up and say, “I wish I knew how to quit you, Brisbane.” Wish being the operative word, because you have just enough money in your account to order an Uber home, detouring briefly to your dealer’s house where you’ll pick up something to numb the pain of having outgrown your small town.
Brisbane blows. I know you’ve been through the same motions as me because I haven’t met anybody who hasn’t wished they’d been born somewhere cooler—if only to be a part of something bigger.
Pt II: Getting Back w Ur Ex.
Look, I’m only young–I can barely call myself an adult. I haven’t seen a lot of the world, and although I’ll rarely admit, I don’t know that much about it either. But I think I’m starting to realise that perhaps Brisbane isn’t that bad after all.
We’ve made memories with Europe, mistakes with Mexico, and lifelong friends with California. But somehow, Brisbane’s still the best fuck we’ve ever had.
Being a part of something bigger somewhere else means abandoning the warm blanket of intimate friendships we’ve spent our lives cultivating right under our noses. I mean antidepressants are great, but they have fuck-all chance of keeping my complicated matrix of anxieties and insecurities at bay the way the people I love do.
So it’s settled; Brisbane and I are officially back on again. But what does this mean for my big dreams? If I had a relationship therapist, she’d probably tell me to find what it is that I love most about Brisbane and rebuild my relationship with it from there.
I love how easy it is to become a piece of furniture in the local scene. I love listening parties at Jet Black Cat Records and clogging sinks with my vomit at The Foundry. I love losing my shit with strangers I’ll probably never see again at Black Bear Lodge. I love how one or two drinks at Ric’s turns into a high school reunion with everybody I’ve ever met. I also love that nobody actually loves Ric’s, it’s just like that lumpy old relative that you can’t stand but know your life wouldn’t be the same without.
I love how pretty much everyone is your mate, even if you don’t know their names.
But what I love most about Brisbane is that everybody that fills my heart is here. And what good are big dreams when you have nobody to share them with.
Pt III: Ugh, I Guess I Do Love This Small Country Town…