On 10 January 2000, at just 20 years old, I embarked on my journalism career at Brisbane News. Hailing from suburban Bracken Ridge, I was new to the industry and unaware of even the simplest of café offerings like a flat white. My first day was made memorable when my editor organised a welcome gathering for me at a café, where I met Fiona, or Fi, who joined us late from an assignment. Her warm and genuine manner captivated me, and I couldn’t help but be enamoured, especially as she reminded me of my childhood crush, Toni Pearen.
Fi was not just a reporter; she took on the responsibility of subediting numerous articles, often correcting my poor grammar. Frustrated after four months of typos, she took the time one evening to patiently explain apostrophe rules to me—an act of kindness I greatly appreciated. Her experiences in journalism in the UK added an aura of sophistication that intrigued me even more. Despite my admiration, I felt out of her league, convinced she would never consider dating someone like me.
As spring approached, Brisbane blossomed with blooming jacarandas, and excitement grew with the local band Powderfinger set to launch their new album. I was fortunate to be invited to the industry event and knew precisely who to invite—Fi, the biggest Powderfinger fan I knew.
On the night of the launch, we found ourselves on a balcony, indulging in drinks and casual conversation. I was attempting to channel Ethan Hawke’s charm, yet internally, I wrestled with my feelings for Fi. She expressed her cynicism about love, a stance I echoed, while secretly grappling with my deep affection for her.
When I left to refill our drinks, I was overwhelmed by the star-studded crowd, particularly drawn to Powderfinger’s lead singer, Bernard Fanning. In a moment of spontaneity, I approached him, imploring him to sign a poster for Fi, hoping the gesture would somehow win her over.
After he signed it with the playful message, “Fiona, this boy really likes you, love Bernard,” I ventured back outside, heart racing. The moment felt monumental—she unfolded the poster as I held my breath, staying quiet yet attentive. I sensed that together we were standing on the brink of something transformative.
Eventually, without speaking of the poster, we shared a cab ride home, both aware of the unaddressed tension between us. Just days later, on her birthday, I finally confessed my feelings, and to my elation, she reciprocated.
Reflecting on this pivotal moment now, 24 years later, I am profoundly grateful that I chose to embrace love instead of hiding behind hesitation. Imagining my life devoid of that joy sends a chill down my spine, underscoring how vital it is to acknowledge our feelings and take risks for love.