72 | June• 2018
life in it, as if by instinct. Even at that
young age, I felt compelled to record
my existence. Looking back, I believe
I did this because I was aware just
how delicate our existence is.
In early January 2001, I was a single
mother living in Perth. I had unre-
solved issues and felt detached from
that little girl who I once was.
So just before my 35th birthday, I
contacted the foundling home where
my sisters and I had stayed from time
to time while Mum or Dad or both
had been unwell. I was astonished
to discover there were records of my
past, and I was invited to come and
view them. A case worker showed me
‘my ile’, which contained admission
sheets in my father’s handwriting,
dates and reasons – “Occupation ofspellbound by the dusty volumes,
some with handwritten words in
the front cover, passing on the tome
from one person to another in time.
I remember Aunty Betty telling me
to hurry along, but holding the old
books in my hands was magical. It
was there, surrounded by all those
books, that I realised the importance
of recording your life.
When I turned ten, Dad’s health
had recovered, and he had been in
a stable job long enough to convince
the authorities to let us live with him
again. He was given a Housing Com-
mission house and set about bringing
us all home.
It was around this time that one
of my aunties gave me a diary. I took
to writing the ups and downs of my
M OOEO OMR
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