Graffiti girl
Here now, sudden
Comes the sun
And every shade of blue
Is in the sea and sky
Highlight bright white
Hopper’s buildings, surf and spray
Switch thrown
Technicolour filter floods
Graffiti girl
Beloved Chloe, laughing
Frangipani in her hair
Bali RIP
Someone’s sunshine now
Forever in eclipse
And her, switch thrown
Forever young
6th March 2011, Bondi beach cafe
Chloe's parents, David and Tia, with nana Barn Cram. Inset: Chloe.
ReplyDeleteShe was a "water baby" from Bondi who buoyed everyone with her exuberance and energy.
'Go little sister!" Even over the roar of the rolling Hawaiian surf, she could hear the laughing voices willing her on.
Every time the dark-skinned teenager with the thick black hair took off on a wave the local women would shout encouragement from the shore. They'd seen the Polynesian lineage in her features and claimed her as one of their own. "Go little sister," they'd chorus and she felt she'd come home.
"One day I'm going to live here," Chloe Byron told her dad, David. It was October 12, 2001, exactly a year before the bombs.
But that was Chloe, the girl with a frangipani in her hair, a kid who soaked up life and beamed it back at the world. "Exuberance. That was the word for Chloe," says her nana, Barn Cram. "And it was infectious, she could make everything seem that little bit more wonderful."
"To use her words," adds David, "she had the most bestest sense of humour in the world. Everything to Chloe was either a game, a joke or a contest." He'd suggest going for a swim. She'd say: "Bet I can stay under water longer than you." He'd suggest a walk. She'd say: "Race you to the end of the street."
She grew up in the waves at Bondi, had her own little outfit for Nippers lifesaving by the time she was three, wanting to be with her big brother Jared. There wasn't a club she didn't belong to - the women surfers, the long-boarders, the swimming club, basketball and horse-riding.
But she was feminine, too. She loved her "pretties", a word that had stuck from the time she was a bub; insisted that her name always be spelled with her "titch" - the accent above the e; and when she slept over on Wednesdays with her nana, wanted her to cook something gourmet. "Every thing had to be gourmet," says Barb. "Life had to be gourmet."
She was popular, loyal and loving, says her proud father, who still sits in his car every day and cries. Bondi was her village and every one knew her.
"She was a loud Leo," laughs her mother, Tia. "You could hear her coming from a mile away, laughing that belly laugh. One of the girls from school wrote a note and said everything's so quiet without her. The halls are quiet, the playground's quiet.
"Her friends all seem quieter now, sadder. I worry about them so much."
She tries to tell them it's all right, that Chloe is still with them.
A day or so after she and David came back from Bali, before they could bring Chloe home, she heard her voice.
She said: "Don't worry, Mum. I'm already here."
Personal stories always bring home the tragedy of reports we hear about in the media. This is a strong reminder that once the headline news has been forgotten by many of us it continues in the lives of those affected as if it was yesterday. The last four lines are such a powerful contrast to the joy and switch thrown jolted my mindfulness 'seize the day'xx
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