Places I've Lived
I'm literally what people mean when they say someone's been raised by a villiage! I feel like all my life, I've been collecting peoples stories, learning about different cultures and lifestyles. My childhood really was quite an amazing adventure.
My neighbours have played a huge part in my life. The first place we lived in was tiny and cramped and I had to share a single bed with my sister. On one side of our house, there was an elderly greek couple, who I was encouraged to call "Yaya" and "Bapou" They looked after me and my sister most mornings while my mum and dad worked. ON the other side of the house there was a family of african americans, who looked after me in the evenings. They used to sing all the time, no matter what they were doing, they were always singing. Up the street, there was a heroin addict and her daughter Sarah, who I used to play with, and I thought was other worldly becuase she had the same name as my sister, and was allowed to do whatever she wanted. A few houses down there was also an Abouriginal woman from the Bangerang tribe, who I loved dearly, and she used to teach me all different words to say in her language and tell me stories about the dreamtime. Eventually we moved after several fires, and a shooting and found an appartment just above a pub. That was weird. We lived there for a while. There were always creepy old me around. I used to love getting up really late a night, say three o'clock, and curling up on the bar counter, chatting with the barman as he washed up dishes from last nights brood, and watched the drunks who had passed out in a crumpled heap in their chairs.
I spent about six months bouncing around different foster homes. Some places were better than others. I lived with one family that had twelve children - a combination of children they had given birth to, and children they had taken in from the state. Our ages ranged from sixteen, and went all the way down to tiny, little babies who were often malnourished and screaming for their drug addicted mothers.
I went to live with my uncle when I was 14 for a year, give or take a few weeks or months. He lived in an abandoned church in the middle of the bush. I think it was my favourite place of all. There were fields of grass that went on for miles and miles. And horses. Each morning, before I would set about my daily chores, I would watch the sun rise and pat the farm dog, that was apparently too wild to sleep inside, however would sleepily roll onto his back for a tummy rub and lick at my feet while he happily wagged his tail.
I ran away from home for a little over a month, and shared a wearhouse with about ten other teenages. Dirty matresses covered the floor, and I would spend most of the night with wide eyes watching rats crawl around the room. Finally after drifting off to sleep out of pure exhaustion I would wake up to watch the person on the bed beside me shooting Ice into their arms. I spent hours diggin through street trash cans, hungrily searching for someone's left over sandwhich or can of drink. Despite the fact I was surrounded by addicts, I explored, but was never imprisioned under it's spell.
Now I live in a small flat with my boyfriend in the back of someone's yard. I own pattio chairs, and a hammock, and a brown tabbycat called Franklin. I wouldn't swap anything, my experiences have made me who I am. I am a gypsy.
My neighbours have played a huge part in my life. The first place we lived in was tiny and cramped and I had to share a single bed with my sister. On one side of our house, there was an elderly greek couple, who I was encouraged to call "Yaya" and "Bapou" They looked after me and my sister most mornings while my mum and dad worked. ON the other side of the house there was a family of african americans, who looked after me in the evenings. They used to sing all the time, no matter what they were doing, they were always singing. Up the street, there was a heroin addict and her daughter Sarah, who I used to play with, and I thought was other worldly becuase she had the same name as my sister, and was allowed to do whatever she wanted. A few houses down there was also an Abouriginal woman from the Bangerang tribe, who I loved dearly, and she used to teach me all different words to say in her language and tell me stories about the dreamtime. Eventually we moved after several fires, and a shooting and found an appartment just above a pub. That was weird. We lived there for a while. There were always creepy old me around. I used to love getting up really late a night, say three o'clock, and curling up on the bar counter, chatting with the barman as he washed up dishes from last nights brood, and watched the drunks who had passed out in a crumpled heap in their chairs.
I spent about six months bouncing around different foster homes. Some places were better than others. I lived with one family that had twelve children - a combination of children they had given birth to, and children they had taken in from the state. Our ages ranged from sixteen, and went all the way down to tiny, little babies who were often malnourished and screaming for their drug addicted mothers.
I went to live with my uncle when I was 14 for a year, give or take a few weeks or months. He lived in an abandoned church in the middle of the bush. I think it was my favourite place of all. There were fields of grass that went on for miles and miles. And horses. Each morning, before I would set about my daily chores, I would watch the sun rise and pat the farm dog, that was apparently too wild to sleep inside, however would sleepily roll onto his back for a tummy rub and lick at my feet while he happily wagged his tail.
I ran away from home for a little over a month, and shared a wearhouse with about ten other teenages. Dirty matresses covered the floor, and I would spend most of the night with wide eyes watching rats crawl around the room. Finally after drifting off to sleep out of pure exhaustion I would wake up to watch the person on the bed beside me shooting Ice into their arms. I spent hours diggin through street trash cans, hungrily searching for someone's left over sandwhich or can of drink. Despite the fact I was surrounded by addicts, I explored, but was never imprisioned under it's spell.
Now I live in a small flat with my boyfriend in the back of someone's yard. I own pattio chairs, and a hammock, and a brown tabbycat called Franklin. I wouldn't swap anything, my experiences have made me who I am. I am a gypsy.