Aboriginal Boy Monologue

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My name is not Warrigal or Matari. I do not paint myself with ochre or live amongst the caves painting stories of the dreamtime. (Pause) I am just Paddy. (Pause) Just the son of a Aboriginal farm hand. I worked, lived and ate just like any other white man. But I was not like them, because I was different. (Pause) I was black. (Looks out the window) Oh how I miss those endless wheat fields. Those soft calm breezes and those sweet sounds of crickets chirping. Each and everyday that is what I saw, felt and loved. It was my home and I long for it now. But the fight for Indigenous equality backfired and the “white” mens hatred of my culture increased and I was isolated even more. There’s just no winning, we were treated unfairly and we didn’t receive any wages. But that was no problem you white men, as long as you were benefitting right? But then we finally got a voice, someone stood up for our indigenous rights, and we were given equal pay wages. I thought things were finally going to be alright. But things didn’t change; it was a losing battle even when we were so close to victory. So close to being accepted. (Picks up letter from Ed) You use to accept me. You use to be my best friend Ed; we would do everything and go everywhere together. You still write to me now; pity letters I guess. But each and every time you write to me, I just can’t find any words worth returning to you. I just can’t find forgiveness. That night will never budge from my mind, it is constantly lingering. You know the night I’m thinking about… How could you forget? It was the last time we spoke. You had me convinced it would be a great adventure to walk 2miles at the dark and early hours of the morning to Amelia’s house; the girl you were quite fond of at the time. I went along with it, but only for you. I waited outside her house while you had a look around. I had no idea what
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