This is exactly how I am deciding to progress my life. Slowly but surely, I am stripping back what I can no longer be bothered with, and I only hold onto the desires and people that I truly love. It is such an obvious change, but it takes great courage to make it happen.
And in the spring, I shed my skin...and it blows away with the changing wind.
I'm working so hard while waiting for you.
I will sacrifice everything I have to get where I want to be.
I'm ready now.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Mothers and Fathers
Primary school was so much fun. There's hardly a day that goes by that I don't remember the sights, the smells, the scraped knees, and the slow torture of the small branches and leaves and grass that we would pull to shreds as we were allowed to daydream freely in fields during P.E when we didn't really give a shit. Yes, those were the days.
I was an only child, and as such, I enjoyed my own company. Also, I was a little eccentric and some of the other kids just didn't understand me. This is likely true in my adult life too, truth be told. But, when I felt like breaking out of my self reflective moments, I loved my fellow classmates. I loved school.
I attended a total of six primary schools, due to moving house and/or getting bored. Mum always let me choose my own schools, that, despite my own decisiveness, is something that I am very glad she allowed me to do. But there was one primary school that I spent an (almost) solid 4 years at. This is the school where I hold my fondest memories.
In Prep, I remember I was bored. All the other kids in my class were learning the alphabet and since I had been an avid reader since age 2, there was nothing for me to learn. I sat in the corner and perfected my autograph.
Grade One was filled with making paper people chains, and giggling at our teacher's last name. My teacher told my Mum that I was gifted, and suggested she buy me a book called 'The Annotated Ultimate Alphabet' - a surrealistic journey into the adult world by an artist who clearly never intended to reach a six year old audience. I became disruptive to my classmates due to boredom, and got my first taste of humble pie/humiliation when I was sent back to the Prep classroom for the entire afternoon.
Grade Two was what I call my 'silly' year. I was seven years old, and looking back now, it seems to be the year where everything childhood related can be traced back to. One day, our teacher wrote a bunch of words on the blackboard which we then had to draw the related picture. I got to the word 'truck' and I, point blank, could NOT remember what a truck was. When I asked my classmates for help, they laughed at me - my first taste of true isolation. Stressed, I began to cry, and my teacher explained to the class that it was normal to forget things sometimes. But when the boy who laughed the loudest at me spelt his own name wrong one day, I got my revenge. My friends Jack and Nick and I sat on the beanbags at the back of the class and laughed ourselves stupid at the ridiculous name we gave to a toy train. The name still makes me giggle stupidly to this day. I sometimes wonder if they remember it too. And if they don't, at least I'm upholding its ephemeral memory.
Grades Three and Four introduced my first role model outside of my own home - my teacher. Patient, kind, considerate and generous - she was everything that I wanted to be. Over two years, she encouraged my poetry and my writing. I was the first in the class to get my pen license. I tried so hard to have neat writing so my teacher would give me more stickers in my workbook. If I did really well, I got scented ones. My classmates and I used to play 'Mothers and Fathers' in the playground. All we needed was an empty fort, a Mum, a Dad, a couple of kids (always twins, and one was always the naughty one), and someone to play the dog. The game would begin with great enthusiasm for about 10 minutes before we would get bored and run in every direction. In Grade Four, I got my first camera - a 110. Me and two of my friends got them with a magazine in the school's book club. Book club's were the primary equivalent of ordering off of Amazon, and we loved when our books got delivered. In the space of an hour, we used all 24 exposures of our film inventing the silliest scenarios and faces to photograph. I still have those photos, and they still make me smile. When Marble Season came along, my friends and I would scour the oval for all the lost marbles that lay forgotten in the grass so that we could use them as collateral instead of sacrificing our favourites. None of us were any good at the game, but we loved the textures, the varieties, and the feel of a full and jangling marble pouch.
As the years go by, these memories are sure to fade, little by little, until they are gone. Until that day, I will continue to remember the little fragments, the happiness, the random moments, the fun moments. The dreams that were dreamed among the clouds, while sitting in the hopefully un-pooped in sandpit. The moments that are the building blocks of our characters. Every colour that we are was reflected in those colourful walls. And when no pictorial memories remain, the warmth and the energy will carry on until the end.
I was an only child, and as such, I enjoyed my own company. Also, I was a little eccentric and some of the other kids just didn't understand me. This is likely true in my adult life too, truth be told. But, when I felt like breaking out of my self reflective moments, I loved my fellow classmates. I loved school.
I attended a total of six primary schools, due to moving house and/or getting bored. Mum always let me choose my own schools, that, despite my own decisiveness, is something that I am very glad she allowed me to do. But there was one primary school that I spent an (almost) solid 4 years at. This is the school where I hold my fondest memories.
In Prep, I remember I was bored. All the other kids in my class were learning the alphabet and since I had been an avid reader since age 2, there was nothing for me to learn. I sat in the corner and perfected my autograph.
Grade One was filled with making paper people chains, and giggling at our teacher's last name. My teacher told my Mum that I was gifted, and suggested she buy me a book called 'The Annotated Ultimate Alphabet' - a surrealistic journey into the adult world by an artist who clearly never intended to reach a six year old audience. I became disruptive to my classmates due to boredom, and got my first taste of humble pie/humiliation when I was sent back to the Prep classroom for the entire afternoon.
Grade Two was what I call my 'silly' year. I was seven years old, and looking back now, it seems to be the year where everything childhood related can be traced back to. One day, our teacher wrote a bunch of words on the blackboard which we then had to draw the related picture. I got to the word 'truck' and I, point blank, could NOT remember what a truck was. When I asked my classmates for help, they laughed at me - my first taste of true isolation. Stressed, I began to cry, and my teacher explained to the class that it was normal to forget things sometimes. But when the boy who laughed the loudest at me spelt his own name wrong one day, I got my revenge. My friends Jack and Nick and I sat on the beanbags at the back of the class and laughed ourselves stupid at the ridiculous name we gave to a toy train. The name still makes me giggle stupidly to this day. I sometimes wonder if they remember it too. And if they don't, at least I'm upholding its ephemeral memory.
Grades Three and Four introduced my first role model outside of my own home - my teacher. Patient, kind, considerate and generous - she was everything that I wanted to be. Over two years, she encouraged my poetry and my writing. I was the first in the class to get my pen license. I tried so hard to have neat writing so my teacher would give me more stickers in my workbook. If I did really well, I got scented ones. My classmates and I used to play 'Mothers and Fathers' in the playground. All we needed was an empty fort, a Mum, a Dad, a couple of kids (always twins, and one was always the naughty one), and someone to play the dog. The game would begin with great enthusiasm for about 10 minutes before we would get bored and run in every direction. In Grade Four, I got my first camera - a 110. Me and two of my friends got them with a magazine in the school's book club. Book club's were the primary equivalent of ordering off of Amazon, and we loved when our books got delivered. In the space of an hour, we used all 24 exposures of our film inventing the silliest scenarios and faces to photograph. I still have those photos, and they still make me smile. When Marble Season came along, my friends and I would scour the oval for all the lost marbles that lay forgotten in the grass so that we could use them as collateral instead of sacrificing our favourites. None of us were any good at the game, but we loved the textures, the varieties, and the feel of a full and jangling marble pouch.
As the years go by, these memories are sure to fade, little by little, until they are gone. Until that day, I will continue to remember the little fragments, the happiness, the random moments, the fun moments. The dreams that were dreamed among the clouds, while sitting in the hopefully un-pooped in sandpit. The moments that are the building blocks of our characters. Every colour that we are was reflected in those colourful walls. And when no pictorial memories remain, the warmth and the energy will carry on until the end.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
A new challenge
To break up the mundane task of packing a million moving boxes, Mum and I are taking the challenge of living on $2 of food a day. We are not doing it for fundraising (since we kind of missed the boat on that one), but we are doing it as a personal challenge.
We are allowed to pool our money together, so we have $20 to spend on all our food for 5 days. We have a shopping list. We have a meal plan. We have a snack plan. We have a baking plan. We can do this.
The reason that this challenge is so damn easy for us? We've lived on less before. For a fair bit of my childhood (and a little of my adult life, too). Yes, I came from very humble beginnings. If you ever wondered why I am so positive about life, about everything, it's because I know what it's like to go without. Everything I experience, I know it's temporary and that there's a lot worse I could be going through.
Mum and I are fighters. God willing, we will never be in a position of poverty again. But we are taking this challenge to prove to ourselves that it's not hard. To remind ourselves of what we used to experience. And to never, EVER, take what we have now for granted ever again.
We are allowed to pool our money together, so we have $20 to spend on all our food for 5 days. We have a shopping list. We have a meal plan. We have a snack plan. We have a baking plan. We can do this.
The reason that this challenge is so damn easy for us? We've lived on less before. For a fair bit of my childhood (and a little of my adult life, too). Yes, I came from very humble beginnings. If you ever wondered why I am so positive about life, about everything, it's because I know what it's like to go without. Everything I experience, I know it's temporary and that there's a lot worse I could be going through.
Mum and I are fighters. God willing, we will never be in a position of poverty again. But we are taking this challenge to prove to ourselves that it's not hard. To remind ourselves of what we used to experience. And to never, EVER, take what we have now for granted ever again.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
It's just a little stumble in the road. This road has turned out to be longer than I ever imagined, but I'm still standing strong. Hard work, long days, days that I want to stay in bed to avoid the work, days that I wish I would never sleep in order to get everything done. I will keep pushing forwards. I have to. Because after all of this, my entire life will begin. Nothing ever comes easy. But at least the work comes guaranteed with eternal worth.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
I still remember that night.
I sat, on that weathered porch, with my laptop battery dying, talking to you in the pouring rain. Rain like I'd never seen it before. Rain like I'll never see again. Such is the weather on The Island - fickle, like the flames that burned through our hearts. The rain pushed through at every turn into our memories. Every precious moment, there it was. We made the most beautiful sunshine. I wish I had known then what I know now. But through it all, I still would not change a thing.
The crimson flag flies oh-so-high, while tainted love leaves undisguised.
I sat, on that weathered porch, with my laptop battery dying, talking to you in the pouring rain. Rain like I'd never seen it before. Rain like I'll never see again. Such is the weather on The Island - fickle, like the flames that burned through our hearts. The rain pushed through at every turn into our memories. Every precious moment, there it was. We made the most beautiful sunshine. I wish I had known then what I know now. But through it all, I still would not change a thing.
The crimson flag flies oh-so-high, while tainted love leaves undisguised.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
To market, to market...
Yet another successful day at the local market. Sadly, I didn't sell many of my goods (when moving house there is much to sell). However, I did a roaring trade in cupcakes and cookies, which is amazing in and of itself. Here's why:
I have lived in this house for 19 years, so basically, all my life. In all that time, our oven has never worked. When I wanted to bake, I did so at my Nonna's house. I have wonderful memories of taking basketfuls of ingredients to her house and having a bake off. I haven't been able to do this since my Nonna passed away in 2003.
In February this year, our house got hit by the Melbourne floods. Water trickled from our dilapidated verandah into the wall cavity near the front door, causing electricity to spark from the wall into the house. It was scary how close we were to the entire house going up in flames. Our electricity was cut off to make the house safe, but 3 weeks later, no one had fixed it. Three weeks of not being able to cook, or turn the heater on. We were freezing.
Eventually, we got put into temporary accomodation, for two weeks - while at home, the electricity was finally being fixed. In fact, it was fixed so well, that when we returned home, we noticed some things were working that hadn't worked in years.
And then I wondered...maybe, just maybe...would the oven work? After all these years?
A good clean out and a switch on later, my wishes were answered. I was baking scones within the hour.
It's been 19 years coming since I've been able to bake a cake at home. I put the oven to work yesterday, baking cupcakes and cookies all day to sell at the market. Fourty Two dollars and many happy customers later - I can't keep the smile off my face.
I have lived in this house for 19 years, so basically, all my life. In all that time, our oven has never worked. When I wanted to bake, I did so at my Nonna's house. I have wonderful memories of taking basketfuls of ingredients to her house and having a bake off. I haven't been able to do this since my Nonna passed away in 2003.
In February this year, our house got hit by the Melbourne floods. Water trickled from our dilapidated verandah into the wall cavity near the front door, causing electricity to spark from the wall into the house. It was scary how close we were to the entire house going up in flames. Our electricity was cut off to make the house safe, but 3 weeks later, no one had fixed it. Three weeks of not being able to cook, or turn the heater on. We were freezing.
Eventually, we got put into temporary accomodation, for two weeks - while at home, the electricity was finally being fixed. In fact, it was fixed so well, that when we returned home, we noticed some things were working that hadn't worked in years.
And then I wondered...maybe, just maybe...would the oven work? After all these years?
A good clean out and a switch on later, my wishes were answered. I was baking scones within the hour.
It's been 19 years coming since I've been able to bake a cake at home. I put the oven to work yesterday, baking cupcakes and cookies all day to sell at the market. Fourty Two dollars and many happy customers later - I can't keep the smile off my face.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
I've been wanting to start a new blog for a while now. I had one a couple of years ago, but that no longer reflects the person I am anymore. It's amazing how much this little girl's character has changed lately.
I have always been proud to say that I love who I am. I'm in transit, and it feels incredible. Actually, there isn't really an existing adjective to describe the feeling, but let's go with that. I'm in motion, but I'm at a complete standstill. It's this strange limbo world of floating and planning and making my dreams come true and not giving a fuck what anyone else thinks about it along the way.
I am on the verge of buying a house. Buying a house! I've never felt so grown up as I do now. I know how many bedrooms I'll have in my house, what I want it to look like, what colour the rooms will be. I even know what refrigerator I'm going to buy. I will have a garden swing, and a trampoline. I will paint a Yellow Brick Road leading to my front door. I want a red front door.
I have a traditional heart, but an eclectic soul. Op Shops (thrift stores) feed my addictions. A new roll of film makes my day. Furry animals make me smile (I should get the bunny's dinner ready soon). I bake sweets and take them to friends. I knit scarves and give them away.
Trips to the Op Shop are gaining in frequency lately, but I'm not a customer. It's so liberating to shed material goods from one's life.
I have always been proud to say that I love who I am. I'm in transit, and it feels incredible. Actually, there isn't really an existing adjective to describe the feeling, but let's go with that. I'm in motion, but I'm at a complete standstill. It's this strange limbo world of floating and planning and making my dreams come true and not giving a fuck what anyone else thinks about it along the way.
I am on the verge of buying a house. Buying a house! I've never felt so grown up as I do now. I know how many bedrooms I'll have in my house, what I want it to look like, what colour the rooms will be. I even know what refrigerator I'm going to buy. I will have a garden swing, and a trampoline. I will paint a Yellow Brick Road leading to my front door. I want a red front door.
I have a traditional heart, but an eclectic soul. Op Shops (thrift stores) feed my addictions. A new roll of film makes my day. Furry animals make me smile (I should get the bunny's dinner ready soon). I bake sweets and take them to friends. I knit scarves and give them away.
Trips to the Op Shop are gaining in frequency lately, but I'm not a customer. It's so liberating to shed material goods from one's life.
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