Have you ever walked on an airport travelator (sunglasses on, wheelie case in tow and Charli XCX in your earbuds) and felt a surge through your veins like you could kick down a door and conquer the entire world? Me too. In that moment I seriously feel invincible – like the main character of the universe. I genuinely believe everyone I pass must be thinking, “Who is this incredible woman who is unlike anyone else I’ve ever seen before on this planet?” In reality, the reason I’m on the travelator is because I bought a flight on a low-cost airline that has its gates in a different suburb to the actual airport; I’m wearing my most comfortable elastic-waist pants; and I probably have laksa soup splashes on my top. No one is looking at me. No one cares. Yet I feel like a movie star who’s just finished a press tour with Jacob Elordi.

I’ve been somewhat delusional since I was a kid, but have become more aware of it as I grow older. When I was in high school, I saw the Beastie Boys at Festival Hall in Melbourne. Because I was underage, I had to sit right at the back in the seated area, while thousands of people were in the general admission area at the front. I was there with my friend Katie and we were both wearing the finest matching parachutes local op shops could muster. When Ad-Rock made a comment acknowledging the crowd and thanking them, I genuinely thought he made eye contact with me and was thanking me personally. This was simply the truth.

Then after the gig, when we were waiting for my dad to pick us up, I mentioned that I couldn’t believe my favourite member of the group made eye contact with me to thank me personally for coming along. Katie pissed herself laughing – “No he didn’t, you fool!” What did she mean? I saw it with my own eyes – she was the delusional one. It happened.

Decades passed and of course now I understand that there is absolutely no way anyone on a stage could see anyone at the back of the audience of 5000 people in a dark room while lights are shining in their face. The physics just don’t work. And of course every performer thanks their fans and looks out to the plebs at the back. He wasn’t singling me out, a year nine student from the suburbs.

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