My first day of uni I met a girl that was my opposite. The lecturer asked the class to get into pairs and we locked eyes immediately; Dani with her cropped blonde hair, sandals with bells on them, a bright green skirt and orange shirt across from my long black hair, a floor length black dress and black platform boots.
At lunch time she saw me reading an article on the band The Pixies and at that moment we decided to be bonded for life. For many years we referred to ourselves as Chalk and Cheese.
Dani taught me so much about being a “normal” white Australian teen. About indie music, gigs, drinking “fire engines” at Student Night in the city (to which I dragged her, I was excited and obsessed with seeing this entirely new world).
She introduced me to volunteering at the alternative radio station, (4zzzfm) that would shape my community, my career and eventually be how I met my current partner. She introduced me to pottery tea cups (seriously, white people love pottery) and words like “hooroo”. Cobb loaf dip. Saying “yeah, nah”.
My parents were Middle Eastern. They’d ask me a thousand questions every time I left the house: "Have you eaten? Is that what you’re wearing? What time will you be home? Who will be there? Do you need money? Do you want us to pick you up? Put on some lipstick you look dead with that pale makeup".
Dani’s mum was very relaxed. Leaving for a night out she would yell "BYE MUM, HOME TOMORROW" and get back “OK, bye love!”
That was it. “OK, bye love”. Dani very well may have been grilled about what she would be wearing and what she was doing before I arrived, but to me her mum seemed confident and easy in her daughter's choices.
I tried that with my parents. I got grounded. At 17.
Dani was baffled. “What do you mean grounded? You have a car. Just go out!” Explaining the anxiety that came with breaking my parents’ rules was difficult and she didn’t understand. But she listened.
Dani was baffled. “What do you mean 'grounded'? You have a car. Just go out!” Explaining the anxiety that came with breaking my parents’ rules was difficult and she didn’t understand. But she listened. She hung out at my house that week. We sat up all night secretly drinking and giggling in my room and woke with a blaring hangover.
Mum opened the door in the morning holding a tray of fruit, toasted feta sandwiches made by Dad, coffee, juice and snacks. For a child of ethnic parents this was the most normal thing in the world, showing hospitality to your guest.
Times like this Dani would get excited and her face would light up as she exclaimed “Bees knees! It means great! Like the cat’s pyjamas or jumping crocodiles!” I had genuinely never heard these phrases till I had met her. In fact I had not even remembered the saying was jumping crocodiles, and had written leaping crocodiles, only to be corrected when I sent this to Dani for her approval. I guess I am still learning and she is still teaching me.
Whenever my parents asked what we were doing I would sing STUDYING. As long as we were studying and focusing on our future they were content.
So naturally I dyed my hair blue and my dad started twitching. My mother had to take him to the next room whispering it is good for her studies for her to fit in with the other girls.
In early 1997 I came home with a lip piercing. I was certain no other migrant Arab girl in all of Australia had the guts or stupidity to come home with a lip ring. My mother spotted me coming through the door and hissed at me to get to my room. "How could I do this? What would people think?" she wailed. We had to tell my dad it was a fake clip on and he definitely didn’t believe us.
Dani once pierced her own nose at a party with a DIY piercing gun someone had taken from Big W. She will hate me telling that story, now, because she’s grown into a responsible and amazing adult but at the time it just left me in awe at her ability to act without the fear of familial excommunication.
She was the first member of my girl gang, my crash course in cultural literary, and someone I will value forever.
But sometimes, Dani couldn’t believe the perks of having my parents. They pushed themselves to their limit for their kids. All the food and laundry was done for me. If I needed something I would just ask. My dad would drive to uni and wait for us sometimes while we finished studying and would happily drop all my friends home, chatting and singing Lebanese love songs to embarrass me and make my friends laugh.
In exchange, I had to bring home good marks. I somewhat embarrassed my family by studying Arts and Humanities instead of Law or Medicine so I had to excel, I had to make them proud.
Meanwhile Dani decided to take some time off uni. Time off in my family would have meant immediate dramatic tears and threats of the world ending.
I soon after moved out of home into a huge Brisbane share house, my moving out more resembled running away, and soon after Dani moved in with me there. I spent a lot of time getting to know Australia without the cultural curtain of my community. I was even able to take things home to introduce to my parents. Eventually I took a break from uni without my parents knowledge. I did go back and so did Dani. She now holds a Master’s degree and I couldn’t be more proud of her.
Our first separation was just before my 21st birthday when I boarded a plane to New York. It was a far cry from sleepy Brisbane, filled with bright lights and such diversity that I was no longer a visible minority. I learned that despite its efforts for multiculturalism, Australia is still lagging in its diversity.
When I moved back, Dani and I became housemates again, then I met the man I would marry, introduced Dani to her future husband and we paired off. When my marriage fell apart (I was too young and immature to really be married), I ran away overseas, and upon my return of course, stayed with Dani.
Over the years my friendship with Dani has changed, she lives in a country beach town, I live close to the city. We are still chalk and cheese. We each had a child and promptly became too busy to see each other. Thanks to technology we keep in touch, swap kids photos and keep up with each other’s families. Our favourite messages start with “Do you remember that time….?” She recently posted me a package with letters we had written each other as teens, in the days before emails. She was the first member of my girl gang, my crash course in cultural literary, and someone I will value forever.
