By MAX QUINN
A little while ago I threw a cat at a girl at a party. Repeatedly. It sounds much worse than it is. In my defence, she totally had it coming and in her defence it was a Harry Potter party and I bought the TOY cat for five dollars at a supermarket.
I’ve just moved to Sydney and sometimes making friends can be difficult, but I’m really trying my best.
I grew up in a coastal town called Ballina in New South Wales. You’ve probably heard of our slutty cousin, Byron Bay. Ballina is where I was born and raised: it’s where I got my education, learned my values and practised kissing (I have my family to thank for all three).
And for those purposes it’s practically perfect.
Then why move?
Well, nosy reader, there were two reasons: firstly, ever since I was little I’ve harboured this lofty dream to make radio for Triple J and ask rhetorical questions on popular websites like this one. I couldn’t do that from home – wouldn’t you agree? (Tick!)
But there’s also another reason: some of my friends from home have started to pair off and get married.
Allow me to explain: I’m 21 years old. If my maths is correct, since I left high school, my graduating class of ninety has seen four weddings, three pregnancies, two engagements and a civil union that probably would have gone ahead if not for Campbell Newman’s unique take on what constitutes equality.
If you’re not good at counting, that means that eleventy percent of my class now own a symbolic ball and/or chain.
Did I mention I’m 21.
It seems to me that if you’re from a small town, you more or less have two choices when you’ve finished your education: you can settle down, have kids, and get married; or you can ride like the wind, Bullseye.
It’s a means of escape I’m calling the Inverse Sea Change (patent pending). The science of it involves realising that by the very nature of it being where you came from, your hometown is somewhat of a glass ceiling to where you’re going.