Sweet As Bro! (An Ode to my Kiwi Experience)

How do I remember Kiwi Experience? Let me count the ways.

I remember realising how many trees there were on the South Island compared to the North Island.
So many trees. Conifers?! Ha.

I remember the way I couldn't get my breath back when I jumped off a pully swing in River Valley. All I could think was getting out of that water, and knowing that right then, HNS was in full play.

I remember the warmth, the unbearable heat of the water at Hot Water Beach. And being tackled in the sea.

I remember learning Maori tai chi and fighting stances and having our driver use my newly shaved leg to make his piece of rope.

I remember buying my hat, but I don't remember where I bought it.

I remember the only time I slept at the back of the bus. Or more accurately, I don't.

I remember the "orgy" room in which no orgies happened, just some light spooning. And all the other bunks in other hostels that creaked and shook.

I remember the 6 bed dorms and the 10 bed unit and the time we got 9 people in a 6 person room.

I remember drinking the shit mix after failing at Fingers. Surprisingly, I also remember the rest of that night.

I remember meeting all of Fiona's family on Skype. I remember (and have a video of) Rory drinking rum out of Callie's arse crack.

I remember all the International Consumption Rules. But I can't explain them, or I would have to consume. I've never done so many press ups in my life.

I remember the taste of snow from Mount Doom. I remember the taste of a Maori hangi. I remember the taste of the green drinks in the hot tub. I remember the taste of a roast dinner. I remember the taste of cigarettes again after 2 and a half years. I remember going out for a walk to buy them, after walking for 8 and a half hours already that day. I remember feeling like I was gonna die that day. I remember the euphoria running out into that car park, 19km conquered.

I remember the pang of jealousy at watching people bungy. I remember the smiles on everyone's faces because they'd survived, and there's obviously no feeling in the world like it.

I remember learning that glow worms aren't actually worms; they're actually maggots that when they hatch they are blind carnivorous flies that shag themselves to death. I remember the cold in the dark and the comfort of holding someone's hand.

I remember feeling nervous before speeding down a track in a luge. Whatever that is.

I remember feeling nervous before getting into a raft onto a grade 5 rapid. I remember the sound of the raft piercing against a rock.

I remember the utter devastation and just awful mess Christchurch is in, 3 years after the earthquakes. The haunting memorials. The bright and cheerful transition projects.

I remember the poncho party on a lake and people making pinky promises to jump in. They did, and they were freezing. I remember playing "Roxanne" on the banks of the lake in Queenstown, stripping as we went, trying to put on an alcohol blanket before getting in the water.

I remember Windy Wellington and Marlon and his pizza.

I remember being tied to someone for 2 and a half hours, trying to figure out how to get out. And cheating in a maze in order to get the hell out.

I remember selfies and scenic shots and panoramas and group shots and Maori faces and Go Pro videos.

I remember smiles, laughter, banter. Arguments. Dancing. Lots of drinking.

I remember the territorial, school children way we guarded the back of the bus.

I remember shouting "Living the Dream" and "Sweet As" and "Jason Derulo". And I remember our theme song.

I remember meeting someone in my dorm the night before who was on my bus the next day.  I remember meeting people who became such good friends that it's broken my heart a little to leave them behind.

I will never forget New Zealand, the most beautiful place on earth I've seen so far. I'll never forget the new things I've done. I'll never forget our driver, who we changed plans to stick with. I'll never forget the back of the bus crew. I wish with all my heart I could have stayed with them longer, forever even.

I'll never forget Kiwi Experience. Because on it, with those people, I was truly living the dream.

Selfies, Self Loathing and Self Love

Of all the things I've had in life, I've always lacked something I would consider quite important: self love.

And this makes selfies kind of hard to do.

Don't get me wrong, I get why people take them. Sometimes I like taking them. But I have such a problem with how I look most of the time that I find it hard to even be in group photos.

I've abused my body physically. And I continue to abuse myself mentally. I'm ugly. Maybe I'm not ugly but I'm definitely not that pretty. And I'm sure as hell not sexy, not in these jeans and T-shirts that I can't seem to escape because all sophisticated and feminine clothing look awful on me. Actually, I always put it "I look awful in this" because I am at fault, not the clothing. It's my fault I don't suit patterns. Or prints. Or harem pants. Or anything really with a logo on the front because my boobs stretch it to hell (I tried on a Cookie Monster singlet - Cookie Monster's eyes bulged out because boobs).

I don't love the fact that I'm a size 8-10, because I'm not a size 6. I don't love the fact in only 5ft 3.5 because I don't have legs like an Amazonian and therefore cannot ever wear maxi dresses. I don't love the fact that my hair is thick and wavy, because it's not sleek and straight.

When considering my lack of self-love, I list things that supposedly justify why I don't love myself, like all the above things. I could just turn it around, and say simply "I love myself because of my thick, wavy hair." What's the reason I don't love my hair? Is it because it's impossible to manage (or have I just not learned the best ways to maintain it?) Is it because all the women in the magazines I used to read didn't have thick wavy hair? Or the women in my favourite TV shows? When the nearest representation to my natural hair would be Monica in that episode with all the humidity?

Whatever the reason for my dislike of my thick wavy hair, my petite stature, my inability to look good in prints or oversized dresses, it has to stop. I have to stop comparing myself to other people, and start to love myself.

Because there is no one like me.

If you judge someone for how they look, what they wear, how they act, that says more about you than it does them. That reveals your moral code and standard, not theirs. You can bitch about someone's body, but it more than likely only reveals the insecurities you have about yours. Because anyone happy with their body, happy with themselves won't feel the need to go about bitching about other people. If you're body shaming, it is you that needs to sort your shit out, not whoever owns the body that you're dissing.

I'm not innocent of these charges. I've said "oh god she should not be wearing that". But it stops now. If someone is comfortable wearing a hessian sack then LET THEM BE. You do not need to add your voice, your opinion, to their world. It only matters to you, it should not have to matter to them also.

Words cannot describe how unbelievably sad it makes me that some people are positively gleeful at being able to rip into someone's appearance. We have SO MANY OTHER PROBLEMS to be dealing with. Why do you focus on pulling people down, not pushing them up? And why do I focus so much on pulling myself down while I'm at it?

Usually with guys I think "he's so out of my league", "he'd never go for me, I'm so x/y/z"
Instead, wouldn't it be far better if I thought "Wow he is attractive, if he is attracted to me that is a bonus, but if he is not, that is not because I am unattractive, or that the girl over there also trying to get his attention is more attractive than me, it is just not meant to happen. Such is life."
How much happier would I be if I did not spend my life comparing myself to other women? Perhaps this kind of thinking would be ignorant; perhaps that girl over there really is more attractive me. But who says so? And why should it matter to me?
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And actually, the only beholder that should matter is ourselves.

I found this the other day with feeling jealous at a friend's description of how much fun they had been having and essentially how great their life is right now. And I felt like saying something snarky, and letting my jealous feelings take over. But instead I just said "that's great, you really deserve to be having fun"
Because they do. Everyone does. And when I stopped entertaining those jealous feelings, they disappeared.
If I keep practicing that, it can only get better. And I can put it into practice for the lies I tell myself about my appearance.

So stop abusing yourself because you don't look a certain way, because your hair isn't this or your face isn't that or your legs are not her legs.
Emma, stop abusing yourself because you are not a certain way. Yes you can exercise, but do it because you want to be fit and healthy, not because you want Jennifer Aniston's arms. You will never get Jen's arms; they are her arms, and you will only get a toned version of your arms. If you work at it, that is.

So let's stop this nonsense. Stop bashing ourselves and bashing each other. Stop body-shaming because there is no shame in our bodies.

Because they are the only ones we'll ever have. Whatever you believe, this is the only time you will be you.

Isn't that amazing enough for you?