I'm reading Amy Schumer's autobiography at the moment. She's the sassy comedian who loves to shock with her foul mouthed tirades and assertions to do with sexuality. She has that common American quality of being brazen and un-checked which can so often go wrong but works well if it's backed up by authentic talent and dedicated self edit. In her case, it mostly works. 

I wasn't sure what to expect but have been welcomely surprised by her honesty and the tale of her assiduous rising through the stand up ranks due to passion and a dedicated and focused work ethic, as well as plenty of tears and tear-me-down-and-I'll-get-right-back-up attitude.

There's some pretty funny stuff including a chapter titles "Letter to My Vagina" - which made me consider attempting a letter to my penis for fun and irreverence. But nah. It would serve no one. 

One thing, though, that I was somewhat moved by and did bring up some memories and long lost feelings of my own were her chapters on her adolescence. I was reminded of what a trying time it is - how emotionally turgid and confusing it can be. Everything is new and a lot of intense and bewildering thoughts and feelings flood in out of nowhere and catch you unprepared. It's fair to say my years from 13 to sixteen were no walk in the park.

I had to put up with some violent bullying at school. I was a long haired, mellow dude - peace loving and kind spirited. But I could also be somewhat cheeky and somehow drawn to provoking ire in thick headed, mentally imbalanced older and larger students resulting in physical attacks on numerous occasions. This eventually subsided (once I started lifting weights - hmmm - a correlation?) but I did have to endure a good five years of it.

As well as that, I was frequently a target for imbalanced and sadistic teachers because I would not bow down to their unjust displays of authority heavy manipulation. Nice teachers - no problem. Assholes - problem. A few times it was like the classic prison guard vs prisoner scenario. I refused to bow down and paid for my stubbornness in various forms of legal abuse. Sadly, on the home front, too, I was misunderstood and unexpectedly troublesome to my parents who were relatively young and unprepared for my esoteric and eccentric behaviours. As the eldest of three boys my artistic temperament was vexatious and at times troubling to my parents resulting in miscommunication and detachment. 

I'm happy to say that now, four decades later - it's all good. LOL. The rebellious, angsty kid has settled the fuck down. And, of course, can now appreciate how difficult it must have been at times to contend with such a mini maelstrom. (I love you Mum and Dad!)

But, yeah, all that. Done and dusted. So heightened at the time but then slowly surpassed and perhaps suppressed as new challenges presented themselves in my twenties - spiritual awakening, anorexia (what? yes. ahead of the curve!), an ill-fitting marriage, adultery, divorce... the usual stuff. 

So why am I talking about myself? Oh, yeah, just happened. It's because of Amy Schumer. She got me remembering. Got me thinking about how tough those years can be for most of us. And yet we make it through. .... to a different kind of tough. Eventually, the edge gets taken off, you become somewhat of a veteran, a long game player, and find that you have somehow lived a fair chunk of life.

It's just one thing after another, really. You do your best - even if it's not technically your best. You do what you have to. It would make a hell of a reality show. So dense, so full of twists and turns, so.... relentless. And only you know the full extent of it. It's your show. Ta daaa! Surprised? Yeah, me, too. (shrugs).

I was married in my twenties. It was for less than a few years and we didn't have kids. Sometimes I think back to my girlfriends since then and speculate about how, if I were doing it again, which of them I would marry/have children with. I consider things like whether it could be a lasting relationship and what kind of mums they would be. I also think about which of them I would stay with, given a second chance, a redo.

There are only three who meet the requirements of both categories. I'm not really in contact with any of them. I could probably track down one of them, but the other two, well, I have forgotten their family names and they are from other countries. Probably for the best. Nothing worse than getting a drunken text or fb msg from your boyfriend from 20 years ago, seeing if you want to mate.

Anyway, this story, true story, involves one of them. She was a truly lovely girl and we were very close. It was one of those relationships that just got unlucky. If we had made it over a very testing third year hump, I believe we would possibly still be together. But this is just fantasy because, since then I have experienced some amazing relationships and encounters and none of it would have happened if I had been married to her. And you can't have both. I made my choices, it seems, and I will live with them. No regrets. But just sometimes.... what if...? You know how it is!

I'll call her A. (She deserves top marks.) We had such a close connection and shared some wonderful times and adventures. At the time, we were both into investigating the spiritual side of life. We decided to attend a weekend seminar held in Kings Cross that was about past lives and connecting with them. It was helmed by Denise Linn, a deeply spiritual woman of Native American descent. (She is still active today in spiritual guidance and teaches across the globe, with seventeen books to her credit.)

So, it wasn't cheap but from the available literature at the time and from, you know, vibe-ing it out, it seemed like a worthwhile adventure. These were pre-internet days, so there was no reading up online or anything. Things were done and decisions made trusting a more innate level of assessment. 

I had already done some interesting seminars like The Forum and Insight, as well as re-birthing and kinesiology sessions, so I was aware that having an open mind is important in this kind of engagement. 

Day one involved a lot of visualisations, meditations, group sharing. A and I were split up, mostly, by choice, not wanting to influence or hinder each other's immersion. In my opinion, because it was a relatively large group of attendees (over 100), the power and impact of the process was compromised. I really wasn't feeling it.

On the evening of that first day, Denise informed us that we would each be receiving a certificate of attendance. She wanted to have the names inscribed by volunteers from amongst the participants who felt confident enough with their calligraphic skills to fill in a share of them overnight. I raised my hand, along with two or three others and we each received a special pen plus a small pile of parchment - which included two or three extras in case of error.

I did mine that night when we got home. I only made one mistake. Just one of the names, I felt was not quite up to standard. I redid it and took the rest in, handing them in to the administrators that morning. All good.

Day two was a little better, but I still didn't get any experiences of personal breakthrough, epiphanies, wow! moments. While it felt, worthwhile and authentic, it lacked, for me at least, that bit of magic that you look for when you do these kind of processes.

Sunday evening and the seminar came to a close. A and I were gathering our belongings from along one of the walls of the auditorium, when we were approached by a gentle, kind faced older woman. 

"Sorry for intruding, but are you two together?, she asked meekly. 

"Yes," we said. 

"Are you a couple?" 

"Yes."

She kind of shuffled around a bit and seemed awkward. It was a little strange. We gave her a moment to compose her thoughts and express herself.

"This may seem a little strange, but we have all, the three of us been connected in a past life. It was back in England. You two were brother and sister. You went through some very hard times. I witnessed it. But you really loved and took care of each other. Your bond was incredible. Some things happened with your family that were rather horrible but you rose above it together and really looked after one another."

Well.

A and I were both a little shell shocked. It all seemed so random. But, but...

Before we could really assimilate what she was saying and think of anything to ask, she began to shuffle off.

We thanked her. 

"What is your name?"

"It's Mary. Mary Thomas. God bless you both. Your love back then was an inspiration. I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you back then... good bye."

It was mystifying. And beguiling. 

We soon forgot it, as we dug in to our bowls of Japanese ramen from a place up the road. Then we headed home. Ready for sleep and the new week ahead. 

In bed, we debriefed some more and discussed things. It was strange but kind of comforting what the old woman had said. In a funny way, our relationship did have a brother/sister quality to it. We were very protective of each other and sensitive to each others feelings and needs. What she had said was out of left field but somehow kind of made sense. 

When I got up, pre slumber, to get some water, I popped my head into my studio for some reason. There, in the middle of my workbench, lay a certificate from the seminar. It was not the one that either A or I had received. 

I went into the bedroom and stood at the door, a little stunned. A sensed my energy and asked what was up. 

I told her to come with me and led her to the desk. She saw the certificate and moved in closer. She read out the name inscribed on it:

Mary Thomas.

I met a lovely girl on the first day of art school in Sydney, a long time ago. She had big eyes and easy, natural smile and shiny long dark hair. She wore it in two plats and was wearing a suede vest and skirt. She looked a lot like an American Indian squaw. I was captivated. 

Turned out she wasn't an Iroquai nor a an Apache chief's daughter after all. She was from the Island of Mauritius. A genetic blend of Chinese, French, Spanish and the other kind of Indian. My mission was to get to know her as intimately as possible. Having spent my teens in Tokyo nightclubs, the usual romantic cycle for me was meet, have drinks, sleep together, then say goodbye. I was not versed in regular world courtship. My seduction took longer than anticipated. It was further complicated by the fact that she had never been with anyone before. No rush. Things took their natural course. We were in the same classes everyday. She was very easy going and fun loving, popular with everyone. 

Eventually we slept together and quite frankly, the chemistry was not great. Some of it could have been due to her inexperience. Some of it could have been due to the fact - that I as later to discover - that she had been molested by family members in her youth. To what degree exactly, I never clearly ascertained, but obviously, any level of such a loathsome and heartless behaviour would cause trauma and leave scars. 

When she turned up in photography class after a few months of our being together with a packed suitcase, I was surprised. Was she going somewhere? 

"My Dad hit me..." She showed me a bruise on her thigh. It was fairly nasty. "...again." she said. I was speechless. My first encounter with inter family violence. "Can I come and stay with you?"

This was not in the plan. Not at all. In fact, because of our lack of natural sparks in bed, I was considering notching the relationship back to a friendship. But how could I say no. Tears glistened in her eyes. Those same big, innocent eyes I had initially fallen for. 

"OK, for a few weeks. But then you've got to find a place of your own."

Cut to six years later. We have been on again, off again, over and over. She has used those tears (unlimited supply) mixed with emotional pleas, threats, coercion seduction and blackmail to keep us together. Many times she put her life on the line and I had to decide, save her or let her possibly die. Of course, I never had a choice. She was a truly beautiful person, just damaged. 

Eventually, there was a new pressure. Marriage. 

Never, I thought. She can't make me. It's not what I want.

What's that phrase? Resistance is futile. I came to understand it first hand. Things were beyond my control. I had more power of will, discipline, clarity of thought. But she had the power of emotion and a woman's way.

We were living in a house in Bondi Junction at the time. I was working as a freelance illustrator. She was working in a girl's fashion wear shop in Centrepoint in the city. Life was not bad. We made the best of things. We cooked, watched videos, hung out with my brother - who was sharing house with us - and her family as well. We bought a puppy. 

But, deep down, I knew, I did not want to get married. 

Still, the pressure was there. Her parents and sisters joined in. Her elder sister and her husband (who is still a wonderful friend today) would come over and hang out and show how good married life was. How natural. I was told her father, a slightly scary man, was becoming impatient. 

One night the two of us were watching an old movie: The Birdman of Alcatraz. There was a scene. The old fella, a lifer, is telling Burt Lancaster something important. He whispers it to him in a gruff, hardened voice....

"Sometimes, son, the only way out - is in."

Bing. It hit me. I recall walking outside on my own. Sitting on the fence. Pacing. OMG. It was obvious. I knew what I had to do.

The following week I bought a ring and proposed. The wedding was wonderful, a coming together of two families and fantastic, loving friends. At the church, when she came around the corner in her father's arms and headed down the aisle, the look of happiness and joy, fulfilment, in her eyes - so true and so pure - made me spontaneously burst out in tears, standing there at the alter. If I could make someone this happy, even just for a short time, it was worth it.

We didn't have a honeymoon away, because we had plans to leave for Tokyo, to go and live there soon after. But we had a honeymoon night at the fancy Kings Cross hotel were the reception occurred. The party was wonderful, great speeches, dancing, a true celebration. People spoke of it for years to come. We all had a great time. 

But once we were alone, in that big suite, surrounded by presents and champagne, a deluxe fruit platter, the truth, to me at least, was undeniable. We were strongly connected, officially man and wife - but not two lovers. I'd had a few love connections before and I knew this wasn't one. There was love, but it wasn't based in passion, there was an absence of chemistry.

Still, I decided, I would give it a go. We moved to Japan. Found a tiny apartment in Shimo-Kitazawa. And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. It was one room. There was a modular shower and toilet, a cupboard, a tiny fridge and a benchtop single gas cooker. We slept on a futon and folded it up each morning to allow us space to put a tiny folding table and two folding chairs.

I didn't mind the idea of being married. Being a husband. Saying; this is my wife. It felt kind of fun. We both taught English at language schools in Shibuya and Shinjuku. I rode my Kawasaki around in my downtime - taking interviews with art directors at agencies and magazines, showing my portfolio of work. Eventually - just before going completely insane from having to tutor - I was getting enough work to do it full time.

After we had been there a little over a year, things were going relatively smoothly. It was a kind of adventure. Things were slowly coming together. She loved being in Tokyo. For me it was familiar. Comfortable. I had grown up there. 

A tradition started. Every Saturday night we would hang out at the fountain outside the train station entrance, with a gathering of local musos. There were plenty of guitars, cigarette smoking, and drinking spirits out of bottles purchased at the adjacent 7-11. We connected with the local misfits, rebels, free spirits. It was fun. People came and went over the months. A few key players became friends.

One guy in particular, a younger chap, charismatic but with a humility, a truck driver by day, loved to sing Elvis tunes. And he was good. Really good. He had swagger. We both liked him. He was a mix of traditional, honourable Japanese (from the countryside) and young Western rebel.

We would hang out at that fountain till sunrise with the carefree crooning group, often.

Eventually, I tired of it. I wanted to go home and read, or draw, watch a video on our tiny 18cm second hand TV. My wife did not want to join me. She wanted to stay on. To party. 

Sure, I said. See you later. I stayed up and greeted her return. We slept in Sunday together. The next few weeks it was the same.  Until, one Saturday, she did not come home. I woke in the early afternoon. Eventually, she turned up.

"A few of us went back to his apartment. I fell asleep there. Sorry."

You know when you know.

I tried to talk her out of staying all night every Saturday. I could not. The following week she was home at dawn. The week after she announced that she was going to stay at his house. I protested. She didn't care.

Yep. It was over.

I felt a mixture of relief, confusion, anger and resentment. Just like that, eh? 

We carried on as usual. A few months later we returned to Australia for holidays. I was lying on the beach, alone, down south, near Culburra. We were on summer holidays with her family. I had an epiphany. I held the warm, white sand in my hands. The sun was bright and strong. 

I am not going back to Tokyo. Forget all the stuff, I don't care. Forget the whole thing. I'm staying in Oz. This is where I belong. I am free.

I announced it to her and she was shocked. I was steadfast. I need to go back and get our stuff, she insisted. Sure, I said. She ended up sending it back and moving in with Japanese Elvis. After a few months she came back. I had divorce papers ready. She did not want to sign them. She tried to convince me. But it was over. She moved on to plan B.

She went back. They got married. I really was free. 

It had been eight years. From twenty to twenty eight. It was a huge learning curve. 

A whole new phase of my life began after that. New friends, new pursuits, new lifestyle, new outlook. My connection to the squaw was released. The new freedom was exquisite. I had paid my dues, come full circle. No regrets, no resentment, I strode forward onto greater new adventures.