I have a friend. Her name is Blu. Well… her name is sometimes Blu. Other times it’s Rachel. But that’s neither here nor there.
This friend of mine is special. And not just to me.
There is a light in her eyes that boldly reflects the colour of her sometime-name. It bounces sunlight under the skin of those around her. It dares you to live for joy.
I heard in a movie once… “She has a special kind of beauty that makes you want to look more like yourself and less like her.” And thats true of Blu too.
I know it is true because I know the inside of this beautiful earth child. We are little kindred spirits, her and I. We met by accident and never let go. We have spent months and months, laying side by side under hand-painted ceilings. Weeks and weeks, drawing pictures of our technicolour beach-side lives. Nights and nights, making up stories, songs and our own sense of the world.
I have seen lots of people fall in love with Blu. Sometimes, it’s because they see her insides too. Which makes me love them right back. But other times, more times, it’s because they like the way her insides make them look on the outside. And this makes me hurt for my fairy friend.
You see, Blu’s soul is the brand of the moment. It is bought and sold in Target, on Instagram, at festivals, in fake felt fedoras, plastic mermaid tails, in Crazy Clarks and franchised Market Stalls.
Private school boys who have grown their hair, bought a board and dubbed themselves ‘free’, seek out girls like Blu. Actually. Correction. Girls who look like Blu. Girls with bare-feet and sun-kissed skin, surf-hair and wide smiles.
She’s like a real life pintrest board. A dreamer. A mermaid. A free-spirit. A gypsy.
However unlike pintrest, and the hoards of people hashtagging and wearing hats at night time (I’ll never understand this…) these descriptions are not just convenient to the time and the trend.
They are written on more than bed-side posters and cursive tattoos. They are etched beneath. They mean something. And it is not always fashionable.
Blu is a dreamer. This means that she spends a lot of time inside her own heart and head. Society is draining and quickly tires her out. She relies on shutting her eyes and trusting in magic to regain her strength. She doesn’t talk about fairies or homes in trees because it is cute. When the world is heavy they are her escape.
Blu is a mermaid. This means she spends a lot of time in the sea. Where it is quiet and calm. Where she can be alone and reminded of the beautiful side of earth. She does not take a go-pro. She is often under the water because it keeps her from drowning when she is above it.
Blu is a free-spirit. This means she is not bound to a practised routine. Whether it is finishing school, Friday night drinks or attending every Splendour in the Grass in newly bought ‘free-spirit’ tee shirts. She is bound only to her own heart and the hearts of those she loves.
Blu is a gypsy. This means she has not found a home or the immediate need for one just yet. Instead she has found her self unsettled in both the known and unknown. She has worked and moved and fought for every piece of a life that she has built up around her. She has spent almost eight years traipsing over the planet. Her crochet jumpers do not make her gypsy. The fact they have been packed neatly against her back, kept her warm in the back of cars, wooden Filipino shacks, Fijian hammocks and Costa Rican villas for the better part of decade, does.
I understand Blu, my little indigo child. We have clung together for a reason. Like her, I also need to believe in magic, to dream up a better world and to dance to the beat of my own drum. I always have. Similarly, my coconut-filled existence that my grandparents and parents provided for me is very lucrative on the social media scene right now. It hasn’t always been this way I swear. Sixteen years ago, when I started boarding school in Brisbane, my bell bottoms, indian tops, silver bracelets and colourful hair were NOT the talk of the town for ANY of the right reasons, let. me. assure. you!
However, there is another very popular word at the moment that has long described my soul.
Warrior. I am like a lion. Ask my parents.
I don’t need to go beneath the waves and take a breather before I pounce. I can watch you all day.
So to the lovers of the hippie culture. I say – great! The more the merrier. It has brought the price of dream catchers right down. How good.
But to the people who crush my friends’ little wings, just to get some fairy dust on their fingers, I’ll be watching.
Namely you you child boys in men bodies. Yeah you. Don’t even try and pretend to love my friends just because you like the way their complicated little bewjwelled hearts, sparkle from your rearview mirror.
Let’s cut the crap. You are only looking at your own reflection anyway.
Figure out right now what has taken us a few years to discover and verify. Save err’body some time.
Just because you have bought yourself some ripped jeans, a stupid hat and have a lease on a property in Byron doesn’t mean you really want the real deal.
I bet you seven silver rings and a skateboard, that all you reeeeeally want is a fake blonde, with a taste for nights out with the boiz…. and a plan to follow your plans.
So just buy her a crochet bikini, snap a good selfie for good measure, and call it a day.
And to be on the safe side. Don’t come to Fiji.