Professional Baby Cuddler

Spider Plant , June-October - Christine Frerichs , 2020.

American , b. 1979 -

I grew up in Sydney. Like so many Australian children, I remember singing songs about our beautiful country in kindergarten. Some of my most cherished early memories are long summer afternoons with family and friends on the Bondi shore.

I grew up in Sydney. Like so many Australian children, I remember singing songs about our beautiful country in kindergarten. Some of my most cherished early memories are long summer afternoons with family and friends on the Bondi shore.

Bondi was not just a destination. It was childhood. It was family. It was freedom. It was Australia.

Almost every day, I catch myself hoping it has all been a terrible mistake. That I will wake and discover none of it was real. That my father will walk through the door and everything will go back to how it was.

But it won't.

My father, Reuven Morrison, came to Australia from the former USSR, where Jewish life was suppressed and hidden. Australia was something entirely different: a land where you could live openly and proudly as a Jew.

He loved this country. He loved Australian mateship. He loved the way people looked out for one another. He loved the belief that wherever you came from, you could build a life here and belong.

To have his life taken while he celebrated his heritage at Bondi is a wound our family will carry forever. But the Bondi massacre did not take one life. It took 15.

Fifteen Australians who woke expecting an ordinary day. Fifteen people with families waiting for them to come home. Fifteen people with plans, dreams, responsibilities and futures.

When we speak about Bondi, I hope we never reduce it to headlines, statistics or political talking points. For the families of the victims, Bondi was not a news story. It was the moment life split into before and after.

One of the reasons the "One Mitzvah for Bondi" campaign has moved me is that it recognises something we too easily forget: our loved ones should be remembered not only for how they died, but for how they lived.

When Australians perform an act of kindness in their memory, they do more than honour the people we lost. They ensure that hatred does not have the final word.

The word mitzvah is often translated as "good deed." It means more than that. Mitzvah means connection.

When we do something good for another person, we create a bond between ourselves and someone else. We step outside our own needs and become part of something bigger.

Perhaps that is the lesson our society needs most. We live in an age that tells us to look inward, to chase what feels good, to seek the quick reward.

Yet the deepest meaning we ever find comes from the opposite direction. It comes from caring for others, from building families, communities and a society where people feel seen, valued and safe.

My father understood that. All his life he looked for ways to help others, whether family, friends or complete strangers. He wanted to leave every situation better than he found it.

In his final moments, that instinct did not leave him. When terror arrived at Bondi, he did not think of himself. He tried to save the people around him. That is who he was.

It is also who so many Australians are. There are many lessons to take from Bondi. One stands above the rest. We need each other.

Australia has always been made up of people from different cultures, faiths and perspectives. That diversity is not a weakness. It is one of our greatest strengths. We do not have to agree on everything. We do have to remember that we share this country.

I believed Bondi would be a turning point. That, after seeing the consequences of unchecked hatred, we would say together: enough.

The answer is not more division. The answer is choosing each other. Conversation over condemnation. Curiosity over assumption. Humanity over ideology.

That is the work I now share with the Combat Antisemitism Movement, alongside Australians of every background. Our focus is fighting anti-Semitism, but the larger aim is a society where every person can live as who they are, without fear.

I believed Bondi would be a turning point. That, after seeing the consequences of unchecked hatred, we would say together: enough. Yet half a year on, polarisation is only growing.

The greatest tribute we can offer the victims of Bondi is not only to remember them. It is to build the country they deserved to grow old in. A country where difference is not punished. Where communities stand beside one another. Where hatred is confronted before it becomes violence.

Despite everything, I still believe in that Australia. The Australia of neighbours helping neighbours. The Australia of mateship. The Australia that refuses to let hatred define who we are.

We must keep choosing it.

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Indri, the Witch of Wind and Stars and Mirara, the Witch of the Waning Moon

thinking about...

murder-"careful don't let any emotion bleed through to the feed"-bot patting itself on the back for a good job sounding professional as it makes contact and establishes rapport with the stupid pet bot

meanwhile, miki, very familiar with emotions and effortlessly plucking them out of the feed: what the fuck this is the single most traumatized wet cat i have ever met; gods alive, gotta be extra nice and friendly to this one; who DID this to it it's LITERALLY crying in a closet rn i am NOT equipped to handle this; ill just be EVEN MORE nice for now and make a note to download an emotional support and trauma recovery module once we're off milu

murderbot: ugh it's so dumb and nice and annoying and infantilized