With so many fabulous writers on Medium, why would you bother following me?

Me in Hong Kong in 2012. It seems like a lifetime ago.

In which I attempt to write an illuminating bio so that I can persuade you to follow me and read my various scribblings.

I’m no one’s wife because I’ve not married. I’m no one’s life partner because I don’t have one. I’m no one’s daughter because my parents are deceased. I’m no one’s employee because I don’t have…

It was 10 months before I realized the man I was dating wasn’t who he appeared to be.

Image by Sarah Richter from Pixabay

My greatest fear is not that I won’t see him again, but that I will.

When I imagine an accidental encounter with him, my stomach tightens into a ball of acid, hot with negative anticipation. My heart is in my throat, beating like the wings of a tiny caged bird, afraid it will never be free. I shudder, repulsed.

On my motorcycle taxi, I scan the faces on Hanoi’s sidewalks, the humid heat of summer camouflaging my cold sweat of trepidation, wondering what I would do if I locked eyes with him. Would he be alone, or would he be…

My truth is that being a mother has been heart-breaking

Image by samuel Lee from Pixabay

To my darling daughter,

You came into the world at 2:07 am on March 24, 1993. It was the happiest, most joyous, wonderful day of my life. When you were born, I held you in my arms — after a two-days-plus labour that ended in a Caesarian Section — and you looked up at me with your huge eyes, so peaceful. So calm. So trusting. I fell in love with you there and then.

The truth is: I fell in love with you before you were born. I left your…

I knew repatriating would be hard, but I didn’t realise how challenging it would be

Image by My Luu from Pixabay

The Prime Minister’s speech brought back memories of sexual assault I’d rather forget

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Content warning: this essay talks about sexual assault. Mine. If you need help, contact the National Sexual Assault Hotline.

I’ve not thought about it often and when I do, it’s not for long, because I’ve buried it. And I want it to stay buried.

But now, at this time in Australia, where women are railing against the government in angry protests about sexual assaults in Parliament House and wider society, where our Prime Minister says women should be grateful they aren’t shot for protesting, I’ve been triggered. The memory is haunting me. It scars my days. Permeates my nights. A…

Shopping for a Mother of the Bride dress is a fraught exercise

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

At 57, I blame my…

My relationship with my daughter will always be complicated

Image by Public Co from Pixabay

My daughter is striking. Olive skin, blue eyes, tall. Taller than I. Her lineage is indigenous Australian, but it’s a heritage that’s hard to pinpoint just by looking at her. She could be Greek, Italian…

An open letter to the Premier, Steven Marshall

Photo credit: Rundle Street, Adelaide via NBC News

South Australia has been in lockdown since 18 November, 2020 apparently because someone, somewhere lied to the contract tracers. I won’t go into how casualisation of the workforce or unwieldy visa conditions may or may not have contributed to the person lying, but suffice it to say that hearing the Premier, Steven Marshall roast the person on national TV was probably not the wisest of moves. Our six day lockdown ended on the third day. Thank God. I wanted to pen a letter to the Premier of South Australia, outlining why the lockdown was unnecessary because hotel quarantine is unnecessary…

In which people tell me I’m wrong when I write about myself

Image by Markus Winkler from Pixabay

A while back, I posted the following essay to a Facebook group of women writers that I’m in. In a nutshell, this essay is about me — while I was living in Hanoi — dating a much younger Vietnamese man for 10 months, who turned out to be a covert narcissist. He almost killed me.

You would think that the comments about my essay would centre around the cycle of narcissistic abuse, or trauma bonds or intermittent reinforcement. Or how a smart, educated woman like myself could be…

Diane Lee

Australian freelancer taking the scenic route through life. I write mainly about our relationships with each other: good, bad and ugly. Occasional poet. Virgo.

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