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I always try to keep the Festival of Tina upbeat and fun. Just like the persona of Tina. But there is another side of me that most people don’t see. When she is around, we mostly don’t go out.
In the spirit of WriteTober – yes that means Writing in October – I’ve realised that sometimes you just have to write what is there, not what you said you would write.
I’m no good with rules anyway, so there is no point causing a failure so early in the month by not feeling like writing (fiction). You see, I do feel like writing, just not my novel. Not at this minute.
Note: this post is still part of RWTH3 Down Under (The Covers) but it is more like ‘behind the scenes – special content.’ It might also be an out-take.
Right now, a week after The Harrises have departed Oz and my children are miles away in Wollongong, I find myself in Melbourne alone. I’m mainly writing, sit swimming and trying to consume fewer pies (and pinot).
Last night I went to see the other Tina. I love her, her voice, everything. But I didn’t realise The Tina Turner Musical would be sad.
This is not the first time I’ve been unprepared for a howler. Rowan took us to Dear Evan Hansen in New York, forgetting to mention it is mainly about a kid committing suicide. The only silver lining was Covid still being a thing so the copious tears and snot were soaked up by my mask. But I’m pretty sure the whole theatre could hear me sobbing.
Anyway, Tina’s life was tough. I knew her husband Ike was an arsehole. What I didn’t know was that she never felt like her mother loved her.
This has always been a trigger for me. I started the whole journey of the Festival of Tina to try to work through my sadness about feeling like my parents didn’t love me. And losing them so early, it was never resolved. Nearly three years into the FOT and I’m not sure if it will ever be fixed. I still feel like something inside me is broken.
This was made much worse by the loss of what I thought was my most significant friendship last year. I’ve spent my whole life searching for ‘family’, trying to create new ones to make up for what I didn’t have. To lose that whole family was devastating. It almost broke me.
The whole concept of ‘being picked’ is an enormous blindspot for me. I can still hear my mother’s voice. She used to say: “Are you sure they really want you?” when I would ask to go to a friend’s place for lunch.
I can see it now. If anyone chooses me for whatever reason, I jump in with both feet. It never occurs to me that they might be using me or want something from me. So when they ‘unchoose’ me, the results can be catastrophic. And I never see it coming.
So now I finally get to the punchline. For RWTH3 to be set in Australia, for these wonderful friends to choose us, me, for no reason other than they like us, leaves me speechless.
Sure, this trip and all the others before, were absolutely hilarious. Non stop laughing and sledging. But these people know both Tina and Christine and they are still here. I will treasure that time and that gesture, for as long as I live. (OK, Tina is definitely still here. I can’t use the word gesture without thinking of Kitty Flanagan. Watch this video immediately.)
For the record, however, the answer this time to my mother’s question is: “Yes, I’m sure.”
Nothing can be said to pay due respect to the honesty and deep grief expressed here. And you’d probably know by now that most of us carry our own unique but also crippling version of “Are you sure that …?”
But the humble thankfulness that you wrote it for us is also equalled by a deep hope that you can continue to find more and more occasions when you can feel confident that “Yes, I’m sure!” What a wonderful thing! I rejoice for and with you in that. And it’s definitely true from my perspective anyway: you’re definitely wanted here, whatever your ‘name’ might be on any given day.