Cirrus@Austlit

'It’s always surreal to read through my bio, somewhat like walking through a house you once lived in. The accomplishments feel so structured, almost as if they were expected or prepared for. In truth, the last two years have been an upwards scramble towards goals I never believed I’d achieve. While reading through my professional accolades, I remember crying happy-tears on trains when I received work bookings I’d never expected. I remember being in Oxford and calling my parents to tell them good news, and hearing the silence of their speechlessness. I remember all the messy, shaky times spent scrambling through notebooks. I remember dropping poems on stage, both literally and figuratively. The never-ending learning curves, the hard work, the thoughts of giving up, the burn-out, the homesickness, the hard work, the imposter syndrome, feeling like I had no more stories left to tell. Then getting home at sunrise, not knowing what home meant, the hard work, the blistered fingers from cheap pens, the bizarre nature of strangers knowing my name. And once again, the hard work that I refuse to call ‘luck’.' (Introduction)