Part ii) My mum
My mum used to let me skip school to buy clothes with her on Oxford Street and that was cool, but she would push me into buying weird clothes like size XL T-shirts even though I was so thin and undeveloped I looked malnourished. One time she decided I should buy a printed pink hoodie, which I decided was a bit much, but my mum convinced me to buy it. On the train home, a group of high school girls decided to turn my seat into part of a six-seater and referred to me as “pinky” for the whole train ride. I had pretty low self-esteem so just sat there with my head down while they talked shit on me about being weird or gay or whatever. So I got off and walked back from the station and a car drove by, saw me, then did a swift U-turn in order to yell “FAGGOT” out of their window. Charming.
So I kept walking cos h8ers gonna h8 but then they came around the block again and yelled “FUCK YOU YA FUCKING FAGGOT” a bit more aggressively. I think at that point I realised I had two options here. I can take the hoodie off or get fucked up. But that’s when I realised, I can’t stand up to bitchy girls, or try confront dudes yelling at me from a car, but fuck it man I can take a hella beating to defend my right to openly express myself. I’d rather get bashed than give in to that shit. So I just kept walking at the same pace like I didn’t even notice and the car slowed down. Aw shiet. My heart skipped a beat, then old mate floored it and sped off in the ever dangerous streets of East Killara. Fark. People are dix.
– Lonely Kids Club