Aveline
I became aware on Friday morning that my friend Aveline was seriously ill in hospital in Melbourne and she eventually died last night, apparently of a brain aneurysm. She was 39.
Aveline was one of the loveliest, and most unorthodox people I knew. I first met her in her early twenties, when she was married and at least outwardly conventional, but it soon became apparent that she had a well-developed and decidedly wicked sense of humour, and more experience of life than I could imagine from my limited background. Over the years of our friendship, she became less and less outwardly conventional, working as a dominatrix while doing a a politics and theology degree at the ANU. She turned up to my thirtieth birthday party with a green mohawk, a computer plug embedded in the back of her neck, and 'Forsaken' tattooed on her skull. I commented at the time that she was anything but.
Aveline was always fun to be with, and always kind, and always the person who would think beyond the obvious to how someone else might be feeling. She had an abiding interest in torture and pain, and the stories of her work were some of the most hair-raising I've ever heard. Somehow, though, there was no contradiction between that and her personal relationships which were characterised by extrordinary kindness. When I had my tonsils out, and came home from hospital to an empty house because my flatmate and her boyfriend had gone ski-ing for a week, Aveline turned up every day of that week, with soup and jelly and ice-cream, and studied quietly downstairs while I recovered, checking on me a couple of times a day. I think she understood without being told how frightened I am about being ill and alone, but she never made a big deal out of it.
I saw her on campus at ANU once, where she'd been elected Sexuality Officer for the Student Representative Council. She was towing round two young girls, both of them young and pretty in floral dresses. It looked like Milly Molly Mandy meets Madam Lash, and I'm sure the effect wasn't lost on Aveline, but she was looking after them and making sure that they survived the transition from home to uni.
Shortly before I left Canberra Aveline was on TV, filmed at a protest for refugees' rights. I'd been volunteering for one refugee organisation, and hadn't realised she was involved with another. At the time, refugees were protesting their incarceration in detention centres by sewing their lips together, but I don't know whether the local ABC TV reporter was aware of the irony of interviewing the punk woman with the lip ring. I think they thought they were getting a 'rent a ratbag' but instead Aveline delivered an articulate and reasoned argument for the humane treatment of those who had come here in need.
Aveline taught me the lesson that external appearance, sexual persuasions and religious beliefs are no indication of anyone's worth. Had I met her when she had become a punk or a dominatrix, I might have been scared by her appearance and thought that she wouldn't have wanted to be friends with me. I would have been very wrong, and it is testament to her that I have since had many friendships with people whose journeys are very different to my own.
Aveline had in many ways a difficult life, some of which I only found out about talking to friends at dinner last night. She displayed remarkable courage in continually taking responsibility for her own life and its direction, including working to go to Uni as a mature-aged student in the days when that was a lot harder than it is now. She had both ferocious intelligence and a grim determination, but neither blinded her to the needs of others. She was also a talented costumer and embroiderer, and had a delightfully wicked, but never cruel sense of humour.
I regret that I didn't see Aveline much in recent years, although I knew from other friends what she was doing. When I did see her, though, it didn't matter much how much time had passed. I hope she knew how much I cared about her and admired her. My world will always be richer for her friendship and poorer for her loss.
Travel well, Aveline. You are greatly missed.