Recently I was hit with a deep reconnection to this poem: Amber Lights that I wrote many years ago but seems to be even more powerful today. So I decided to drop a new video for the piece, and sits down to discuss racism, migration, growing up in Brisbane and how the loss of one of my best friends lead to a questioning of what it means to be stuck in-between.

In this episode, I discuss the loss of my friend Omar, who was in an accident when we were both at High School. In truth, this moment in my life is what lead me to write, and to find meaning in the times we did have together - especially in a dirty vacant lot we found just across the road from the school yard.

Later in life, while writng ‘Amber Lights’ I turned this vacant lot into a symbol of the ‘in-between’ space - a safety zone between family and school - where the old and the new worlds couldn’t find us. This becomes the starting point for the poem, where the in-between goes from being a site of inadequacy to a position of power.

Later in life I learned about a theory - Third Culture Kids, coined by North American Psychologist Ruth Useem, which identifies exactly this dilemma - in my case: not Greek enough to be considered Greek, not Australian enough to be considered Australian.

Scroll down to read the full poem: Amber Lights

A M B E R L I G H T S

The boys at school and I
disappeared between classes
passed tobacco between our hands
like water at the well
smoke signals provided translation
between multi-coloured kids
wagging
in a vacant lot

We met there between family and school
felt most at home in the no-man's land
where the old
and the new worlds
couldn't find us

We even met there for fights
first kisses
swigs of alcohol on weekend nights

It's even where my friend Mark
told me about how our friend Omar
had died
and I found the truth
somewhere
between his explanations

Us kids grew up in that vacant lot
between being Greek
Lebanese
Vietnamese
and Australian

Knowing we were no longer
truly either one
but somehow both

Migrant kids are like rivers
always moving
but somehow
still enough
to be given a name
like Wog, Nip,
Fake - hyphen - Australian

So of course
when we learnt how to drive
we'd ride for hours
in the only place where we
felt like we belonged
somewhere between
points A
and B
between the green
and the red
I learnt to love the traffic lights
when they turned amber
because I realised
our teachers also
slowed down on their approach to us
and tapped their feet impatiently
for our answers

I've learnt to rest my head
in the elbows of my lovers
somewhere between their hearts
and their hands
like the moon
I keep my distance
because it's the only thing
that makes me look like
I'm standing still enough
to get close to

So now I write my best work in transit
in hotel rooms
where the linen is transparent
and the paintings by no-one

I write so the silences
between my words
can begin to make sense
and I exist
somewhere between
the surface of the page
and the tip of the pen

So I wrote this piece
like my life - in the margins
but the whole thing is the TITLE
at dawn and at dusk
somewhere between the ridges
the pinnacle
and the cusp

So when they tell me I'm not political enough
not Greek enough
not Australian enough
not a poet enough
not street enough
or not me...enough
I tell them I am a star
and I exist somewhere
between you seeing me shine
and realising
I'm already dead to you
I just let you witness
some of my burning

I am not a hyphen
I am a 100-metre dash
between my history
and your make believe
between White-Australia policies
and being saved by the colony
between having to drag my past, kicking,
back into my present
and then hide it behind my back
in your presence

So be careful when you place
that hyphen in my name
or I'll use it to cut your throat
just to show you how much
I love this country
but that I will always have some Sparta
in me

I may be the amber light
but amber is the only gemstone
that is a living, flowing liquid
permanently fossilised
that keeps itself warm
that is used as medicine
that smells sweet when it gets burnt
that in Roman times
was worth more than a slave
that was used to decorate Mycenaean tombs
that was named 'elektron' by the Greeks
a precursor to the English word for electricity
because they discovered
that if rubbed the wrong way
Amber will always create a spark
and amber is only ever increased
in value
when some of us are discovered
stuck in it

So of course us forgotten ones
the in-betweens
the most rare
would gather around the fires in that vacant lot
and tell stories
in our silences
of how our friend Omar
was sent flying
between the hood of a Holden
and the wall of a house
like a shooting star

I'm just glad
we got to witness
some of his burning

-Luka Lesson