somebody has to think of the children

So here we are. One question, one sheet of paper...which hopefully doesn't have bolognese sauce on it yet.

Should the law be changed to allow same-sex couples to marry? If your answer is yes, thank you - get thee to a post box.

If you need help answering the question, it's likely you believe that gay people are less than you. Or worse yet, a danger to society. Don't deny it - every supposedly secular argument against marriage equality has been a thinly veiled attack on gay lifestyle and culture, propped up by worryingly unsupported claims of children being better off with mum and dad. 

But I don't want to continue the mud-slinging here - my suede shoes have been through enough! Rather, I'd like you to know a bit more about the person in front of you.

I came out as gay to my family when I was 16. It wasn't an act of bravery; the confession, as I saw it, literally poured out of me as a stream of consciousness. I barely understood the words I uttered, and I wasn't about to stand by them - I believed it was abnormal, I felt I was too young to act on it and I knew nobody, most of all me, wanted it to be true.

So I pretended it wasn't true, and I continued praying every night for God to take this feeling away and make me normal. Two years later, God still hadn't picked up the phone.

But in that two years, as I worked through typical teenage feelings of helplessness, worthlessness and ugliness, I did land upon one truth I couldn't shake: I was a good person. And I knew that mattered more to God than this apparent evil he'd implanted within me.

As I allowed myself to be myself, my feelings of worthlessness dissipated. As relatives learned of my 'tendencies' and believed I was being gay because it was trendy, I didn't get angry or even upset. Instead, I was amused that they could think I wilfully devoted my teenage years to angst and anguish. 

Fast forward a couple of decades and the devil's work hasn't manifested in me yet, nor in my gay friends and family. We've earned the love and respect of others as good human beings, and I thought we had the same rights as them. But we haven't earned the right to marry, which our straight contemporaries were seemingly born with. 

What I've earned, evidently, is a free trip back to my teenage bed; an invitation to remind myself of how abnormal and hateful I once was. Thankfully my feet are firmly planted in the present. How do we help those just waking up to their truth? 

Shall we inform them they can be anything they want to be except equal? Should we teach them how to cover-up what's natural, and lie to those around them? Why don't we just send them abroad?

Yes, somebody has to think of the children.

If you value the health and vitality of your children, vote yes. If you love and respect your friends and colleagues, vote yes. If you're sick of seeing gay people all over the media, vote YES - once same-sex marriage is legal here we'll shut up about it and you won't even have to attend our weddings.

You have one box to tick, and the power to save a life. 

this game has gone on long enough

Friends, tennis fans, Christians - lend me your ears.

I, like many fellow 30-somethings, would soon like to marry my true love.

There are two problems with this. Number one: I don't have a true love. But if any Indian aunts are reading and keen to fix me up, please note I'm fair, educated and obedient.

Number two: the Australian government hasn't legalised same-sex marriage. This is hardly news to you: indeed, marriage equality has been a topic of incredulous conversation in our country for longer than any of us cares to remember.

Most politically-charged issues warranting ongoing debate have both positive and negative consequences, regardless of outcome - that's why they aren't (usually) settled over two beers. This one baffles me: I'm staunchly apolitical and my Libran, middle-child circumstances dictate I see two sides to everything, but I simply cannot perceive the downside of making same-sex marriage legal.

Unless, of course, the Christian-right makes good on its promise to create economic turmoil if marriage equality is granted (I haven't actually heard this but can only assume this is what's staying Malcolm's hand).

Christians like tennis legend Margaret Court, who served this ace last week in her tussle with Qantas: "I believe in marriage as a union between a man and a woman as stated in the Bible." 

Unsurprisingly, and as they've done before, her comments sparked much discussion and rebuttal from the media, but Pastor Court, displaying the formidable strength that won her so many grand slams, blocked every return with a game-winning "It's in the Bible."

It doesn't take Hawk-Eye to see that's a long shot. Especially considering her preferred source serves to invalidate her own voice: This from 1 Corinthians: "Women should remain silent in the churches...for it is disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church." I'm hardly the first person to counter Court's argument with this passage, but it so easily demonstrates her hypocrisy that I couldn't resist!

And the Bible contains many such passages that would challenge contemporary logic. It could have something to do with the fact the Bible was written centuries, nay, millennia ago: To observe its teachings to the letter is at best implausible and in some instances illegal.

Thankfully, many Christians use the Bible as a basis for learning and teaching rather than the gospel truth. We've recognised that the message of 'Love one another' is as powerful and universal today as then, while cautions against muzzling an ox while it's eating grain are perhaps only useful to the farmers Court insists are in her corner.

Though her protests are philosophically flawed, she has a right to free speech. Just as Senator Eric Abetz has a right to insist we celebrate gay people who've willingly climbed back into the closet - I assure you, Mr Abetz, I will do so as soon as I meet one. 

But underneath the shouting we're mostly singing from the same hymn sheet, except that some of us are advocating for positive change rather than harking back to the way things were. Gay Australians are already parents, in committed relationships and even allowed to vote! Why does our getting married suddenly make your marriage to a person of the opposite sex any less important or relevant?

In Court's own words: "I really want to see a society where traditional family values are still celebrated and every child has the best possible start in life." My thoughts exactly, Ms Court. So let's finish this marriage equality battle once and for all: it's our advantage and I reckon you missed the point. 

it's not a nice day for a white wedding

Breaking up is hard to do. I know, because I'm contemplating doing it now. 

We've been together nearly 13 years; in fact, I barely recall a day apart. Birthdays, work days, at lunches and launches - always there, either wrapped around my neck or hanging off my shoulders.

So it pains me to say goodbye to my beloved Country Road. Truthfully I've stayed with them out of loyalty rather than any real connection, but it's their constant refusal to embrace or even recognise me that's led me down this, er, road.

Who am I? A Malaysian-born, Indian Australian. What do CR, with their commitment to 'an authentically Australian way of life', expect me to be? White. 

Season after season, from billboard to catalogue, their flagrant whitewashing of every ad campaign is neither clever nor contemporary. Bizarrely, it's like they're living in the dark ages.

But they're not alone in their Anglo-adoration. If you and your fair-skinned friends fancy a pizza, according to their latest TV ad Domino's reckon it'll be delivered by a blindingly blonde woman. And, of course, race rationing remains all too common at the top end of town - it's no wonder the banks are worried about China: they haven't any Chinese chiefs to consult!

As we imposingly celebrate the Lunar New Year, chopsticks clacking in har gao harmony, let's pause on our preparations to keep everyone else out and remember those we already let in. We coloured in our white spaces a long time ago and our future is brighter for it.

Speaking of which, I marched with my fellow rainbow warriors last week to celebrate how far we've come and declare where we'd like to go. We were indeed a mixed bag - black, white, pink and purple - but it takes all sorts to make these campaigns work and get our messages out there. Hopefully CR's people were watching... 

I'm in a new year state of mind

I started this post with an intent to rant ad nauseum - about how the young folk don't understand good service (yes you, Maddison - i'm not staring at your nose-ring, i just want another coffee)! And how Australians are, literally, petrified of a bend in the road - your car's steering wheel isn't an afterthought; Kia actually expects you to turn at some point and has planned for it. 

But I've reconsidered. Maybe it's the 'first world problem' chants of my first-world friends echoing through my head. Or perhaps it's the rum in mum's fruit cake making me feel all too festive. Whatever it may be, looking back at 2015 I've found more causes for celebration than commiseration. And here are just a few of them:

Run run run run: Recently some Melbourne friends had the privilege of meeting my dad for the first time at a picnic, thereby discovering the origin of my world-famous chicken legs. But the very same chicken legs carried me across the finish line of the Run Melbourne Half-Marathon, and are still holding me up today. 

Roman Holiday: Atop my bucket list, since creating one, has been visiting my new spiritual home - Italy. It was OK, I mean, if you like eating gelati every day, driving Ferraris, ogling blue-eyed Adonises, and Jesus. I know there are parts of the world I've yet to see - most of them, if I'm honest - but experiencing such an intoxicating blend of everything I love will be a hard act to follow.

Moving on up: Compared to many of my friends and relatives, my path through life so far has been fairly linear: I finished school and went to uni; I finished uni and got a job. So it stands to reason that, within my career, as I've worn away one rung of the corporate ladder I've climbed to the next. 

Slave to the machine I may be, or just another cog in the system...or something like that, I'm no good with technical language, only marketing speak...but I'm realising my goals and fundamentally leveraging the skills, opportunities and learnings I've been afforded, in a recognised and supported effort, although not formally communicated at a macro level, to improve my position both industrially and financially. In non-jargonistic terms - I'm doing what I've always wanted to do.

So on this last day of 2015, why not consider a new year's reflection before your resolution? While counting down the minutes for your Uber to arrive tonight, look at the path you've walked this year rather than the path of your driver. Or if you're planning a quiet night in, count how many more TV channels you can now watch, as Grant Denyer counts back at you.  

I hope you'll find as many reasons to smile as I have. I'm still fighting the urge for a good whinge, but if I dared to claim I'd been hard done by this year...I wouldn't have a chicken leg to stand on.

it's the year of living dangerously

So here, somewhat shamefully, is my first post for 2015 - almost a year since my last! The reason for my apparent hiatus? A late discovery of Game of Thrones has certainly played a part...but a far less debauched reason is that time has simply got away from me. And it would be a shame to waste all of 2015 in front of the idiot box. What's special about this year?

80s film nerds would note it's the year Doc and Marty McFly travel to first in their DeLorean. It's also the International Year of Light, a UN-endorsed initiative that celebrates light and its myriad applications.

And it's the year I make my first, long-awaited trip to the home of cannoli, Caravaggio and cosa nostra - Italy. Growing up in Adelaide's own little Italy, I often felt there was more bolognese than Bollywood flowing through my veins. I formally studied the language and culture through high school and uni, yet since then have only practised the lingo with insouciant Italian wait staff and nursing home nonnas. Finally, in 2015, I can embarrass myself some 16,000 kms from home!

It's also the year I travel back in time to 1990, as my primary school exhumes its inaugural time capsule. 1990: Vogue was #1, California pants were billowing; what pearls of wisdom did my 9-year old self drop into this crypt of ingenuity? 

I wonder if I had even the slightest idea of who I would be today. I don't remember what I contributed to the capsule; I remember the paper I scribbled on but not the scribble itself. I vividly recall, though, looking 25 years ahead and imagining me as a 34-year old next to the unearthed capsule, blonde wife by my side and two (remarkably white) children in tow.

Back to the present: I have no wife or ill-gotten children. And to gain a husband I'd have to overcome a couple of significant obstacles: one - finding a man to marry, and two - an Australia that's needlessly clinging to its past. 

In a nod to refracted light, the Irish Catholics have just embraced a rainbow-coloured future. Surely, in 2015, Australia can crawl out of its time capsule, rub its bleary eyes and see the light of today.

the weight is never over

Insecurity comes in myriad forms. 

You've sensed it in the woman who refuses to acknowledge you at the start of team meetings. It bulges out like the biceps of the guy at the gym who has to lift five more kilos than you. Whether emotional or physical, it is at once vehemently denied yet undeniably familiar.

And insecurity is prefaced by just as many excuses. My friends have likely cottoned onto mine by now. 'I don't do water!' often partners with 'Can you imagine me in board shorts? It's just not my look.' Wave after wave of imagined reasons for not going to the beach, and all because I'm uncomfortable with my weight.

As I see it, I've been a fatty since I was five years old. No doubt that term carried more weight (see - I'm even over-indulging on the puns!) in my teen years than it does now, but it's hard to relinquish decades' worth of physical unhappiness at the first signs of improvement.

Even these signs represent both the good and bad of the weight loss battle. Stepping out of the shower last week, I took a moment to - dare I say it - admire my new, more slimline form, only to be distracted by a family of new stretch marks. Not unlike Linda Blair's character scratching 'help me' from inside her own demon-possessed body, these marks were a message from the skinny person inside me trying to get out (thank you Edina Monsoon)!

Is this weight problem all in my head? Well, it's certainly not in my legs, but as fellow wobble-warriors would attest such insecurities aren't exclusively mental or physical. And like me, they're probably tired of hearing 'it's what inside that counts'. I find that so dismissive; I'm not a soul floating through life without a body - my physical self is as much a part of who I am as the brain that keeps transmitting chocolate cravings.

Can I ever rid myself of this insecurity? Will I leave it in the past as I push-up and pull-up to a new future, or will it manifest in a new and more terrifying complex? Only time will tell. I can't deny that, as far as hang-ups go, it is a pretty good motivator to do better. I hope that woman in the team meeting can be similarly inspired - seriously, what is her problem?

there are 2,013 other things I could say

At this time of year it's customary for a social commentator (I'm just borrowing the title for this post) to come up with a best-of list, summarising the past year's good, bad, wins and woes relative to their area of interest.

As I haven't yet chosen an area of interest for this blog it may be a little ambitious to cherry pick the best of 2013 relevant to the universe. And I don't wish to alienate my readership by detailing only personal highlights...although Mariah Carey's Fly Like a Bird performance in Melbourne would top anybody's best-of list - I'll take no arguments on that!

New year's resolutions? Michelle Bridges and I agreed that she would cover weight loss and positive thinking. Instead, I've been tasked with gathering just three observations of 2013, in no order of importance, to set the foundation for the ideal 2014.

1. Let go, Ley-Ley
It's not really Lleyton Hewitt's fault that he's still our flag-bearer on court; Stosur's too afraid the flag will fall on her head, and Tomic can't fit the flag in the back of his M3. But c'mon! Entering his 80th year on the tour, Ley-Ley deserves a break. And I deserve to watch one tennis match without interruption from the little Aussie battler and his sycophantic sensei John Newcombe.

2. The vile-high club
I've been fortunate this year to have travelled frequently interstate and overseas. I've been unfortunate to have always travelled in economy. Cattle-class? Ha! I wish I was surrounded by leather. No, the jet set are well and truly bed-set now. The airways are open to every flea-bitten 20 year-old who can locate the $39 in the hollow of his track pants. Smarten up: there's no excuse for such dishevelment - you haven't all flown in from Mackay.

3. A return to family values
Kim Kardashian is about to be married, again, this time to the father of her child North West. A husband and wife in rural South Australia have just welcomed a ninth child to their ever-growing brood, giving him a name with more consecutive consonants than the English language allows. Yet marriage is their right. Take note my gay friends: since nothing else has worked thus far, perhaps attach a promise of cruelty-free child-naming to your next petition for marriage equality.

Farewell to the eventful 2013. As always, I'm aiming to be the best looking I can be in 2014, and wish my readers the resolve they pledge themselves when the clock strikes 12.

Til next year!

Justin