Space Invader

I just have to write this blog. Like literally, if I don't write this I might explode a bit.

Yesterday I went on a date. We went for coffee, even though I don't drink coffee. But that was ok, I got peppermint tea. 

He, we'll call him Captain Neg, was half an hour late. This turned out to be a good thing because by the end of the date we were counting down the minutes til we could leave. It was that awkward.

He mentioned his penis, or masturbating, approximately every 30 seconds. Now I know that people masturbate and that men have penises. But what I would rather not have to endure is a guy reminding me of this on a regular basis. In a coffee shop. 

But the thing that I dislike most about him was that he invaded my space. I noticed it first when he approached me on the street and started chatting me up. In fairness, I asked for his number, a) as a way of hurrying the already awkwardning conversation to a close, and b) so I could go and Skype my nan. I noticed that he kept inching closer and closer to me. It made me feel uncomfortable mostly because I'm a small person and he's a tall person. 

Then yesterday, when we managed to grab a table in the coffee shop, I noticed it again, this time more clearly and it was so off-putting, so intimidating, I couldn't help but adopt a defensive pose. Arms crossed, back against the wall so I could turn my body slightly outwards towards open space because when I turned towards the table he was just there. He was just everywhere, all over that table. 

Now there's a very good spoken word poem about shrinking women and how women subconsciously try to fit ourselves into tiny spaces, try to take up as little room as possible. But I was doing this because there was no space to occupy. He took it all.

Imagine you are sat at a coffee table, opposite a person. Generally coffee tables are not huge. But if there's two of you, then usually you both occupy half the table. If you're intimate then you might hold hands across the table, or you might reach over to touch the other person. But his arms stretched across, his coffee cup was on my half. Everytime I put my hands on the table I was at risk of touching him. And I didn't want to touch him. 

We are all very protective of our personal space. We have reason to be. So regardless of his punctuality or immature constant talk about his appendage, it was his space invading that put me off him the most. You know a date is not going well when you're going out of your way to not touch them. 

Fighting Fears

Throughout September and October last year, I was having frequent attacks of nausea. Once a week on average, sometimes with vomiting. There was no rhyme nor reason to it. When I spoke to my GP, he said it was because I was eating dinner so late. 

But it wasn't. By that point I wasn't even eating dinner that late frequently, not like I had done in the months before. I still don't know exactly what it was, but I have a theory.

My theory is that nausea was me panicking about leaving for Australia. I was scared. I had no idea what my life had in store for me. I had no idea what Australia would be like, whether I'd cope. Cope with the weather, the insects. Cope with the hostels. Cope on my own. 

Before I went to university I had a few panic attacks. Like the nausea there was no pattern. I had one attack within the first few weeks of uni - because I was scared of one of my flat mates! - but they stopped just as abruptly as they'd started. Just like the nausea.

By late October the nausea stopped. I haven't had any bouts of it here. I'm two months in. I'm still afraid, fearful every time I got to a new place. But despite all the fear, I'm still doing this. I was so petrified I cried as the plane left Heathrow for Tokyo. I cried once in Cairns because I felt so hopeless at talking to people. I cry whenever I say goodbye to my mum on the phone because I don't know when I'll next to her again. What if I don't get the chance? What if something terrible happens? It would be bad enough at home but while I'm on the other side of the world?! Urgh! I'm tearing up as I'm writing this, which is dangerous as I'm walking as I write. Which is dangerous in itself without the tears.

I'm typing this on my phone as I walk along the Manly Scenic Walkway. It's a 10km walk from Manly to The Spit, and I tried to do it two days ago but actually got lost and went the wrong way and never made it. In fact I got lost down a pathway that led me into the bush and as I walked along an increasingly rocky path, jumping at any twig that moved because I thought it was a snake, I was scared. It was hot, and I was running out of water. I just kept saying to myself that it had to lead somewhere. I just had to keep pressing on. And it did lead somewhere - to the edge of the cliff. So then there was nothing to do but go back. 

Sometimes in life we just keep pressing forward regardless. And sometimes we have to go back. And everything, even, especially our mistakes, are things we can learn from. Every day we do nothing, every day we do something, every day of work and every day off. Life is an adventure. Not just in the people we meet and the places we go and the things we do. Life is an adventure of learning about ourselves. Right now, in my adventure, I'm learning about who I am. 

I turned my dream into a reality, as one of my friends put it. 

But when the dream becomes a reality, the fear does too.  



P.S. Here is a map of the scenic walk, from the manlyaustralia.com.au website, arrows for start & end points added by me.

And then here is me with The Spit bridge behind me. I probably should could have run this through photoshop, but meh. This is what I look like after 2 hours of WALKING MOFOS. Suck it. 

And here is the map to prove that I was actually at the end. Ta da!

My last blog post of 2013

2013. 
Twenty thirteen.

I could spend some time reflecting on the year that is in it's dying moments, but I won't. Too much has happened. And it's New Years Eve tomorrow. And New Years is all about new starts, new beginnings, looking into the future, not behind us into the past.

I've been umming and ahhing about my 2014 New Years resolutions. As you know, resolutions mean a lot to me. I worry bout making them attainable, but want them to reflect who I want to become and achievements I want to accomplish. 

So. New Year's Resolutions for 2014:

1. Visit Uluru using an Aboriginal tour company
2. Be officially employed in Australian TV/media (i.e. get paid!)
3. Write something creative that isn't a blog. This doesn't have to be a full novel, but could be a poem, short story or a film script.
4. Choose next tattoo design (and maybe get it done...)
5. Improve my health by exercising and healthy eating so that by the year's conclusion I am able to:
     - Run 5k
     - Do 30 push ups
     - Do 100 sit ups
     - Touch the floor in Yoga poses (specifically Triangle)
6. Read the following list of books:
    - Better than Fiction (collection of short stories, already started on iPhone)
    - Heart of Darkness (on iPhone)
    - Villette  (on iPhone)
    - On the Origin of the Species  (on iPhone)
    - Around the World in Eighty Days  (on iPhone)
    - White Men'll Never Do It (already started, paperback)
    - Bewitched & Bedevilled  (on iPhone)
7. Start learning French? (Rosetta Stone e-learning for 12 months costs $273. Still deciding on this one...)
8. Climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge
9. Skydive.


Last two, and number 4 is easy....

What are your New Years resolutions?

Oh, and Happy New Year!!

There's More To Life Than Rush

It's December. It's nearly the end of 2013. I cannot believe this year has gone already. A year ago I was just getting back from what was up until now the trip of a lifetime. And actually, Trek is still the trip of a lifetime. It was the trip of a lifetime for an Emma that doesn't exist anymore. I came back irrevocably changed.

I've been trying to write New Years resolutions for 2014, but it's surprisingly hard. I don't know where I'm going to be, or what I'm going to be doing. How do I know what's achievable or not? I like my NY's resolutions to be achievable, usually not too broad, which means I never put "lose weight" or "build self esteem" any more, because those are too broad; improvements that have any number of ways to achieve them. And it only makes you feel worse if you don't achieve them.

Before I get onto what I think my 2014 resolutions will be, I'm going to review my 2013 resolutions.

Resolutions 2013

1. Watch 500 out of 1001
2. Read list of books (10)
3. Complete Before 24 list
4. Learn to knit
5. Ride the Bluebell Railway
6. Make a roast dinner
7. Save £1000 for Australia

I was unsuccessful in two of these: numbers 3 and 6. Although I still have a few weeks to complete number 6, I'm not really in a position to make a roast dinner for myself or anyone else, so I'm ruling it uncompleted. And I failed at completing my Before 24 List, which if you don't remember what that was about, you should read this old blog. 

And so to the others that I have been successful at. Whilst I may not be the best knitter in the world, I understand the basic principle of it, even if I still can't cast on. I easily saved £1000 for Australia, and I rode the Bluebell Railway for my birthday.

Self/unemployment at the beginning of the year meant I rocketed through my list of books to read, though that list did include the Fifty Shades trilogy. And I have now watched over 500 of my 1001 films to see before I die, and it'll likely stay at that number until I return from Australia.

So what am I going to do for 2014? Usually I'd have a films to see resolution, but I don't have Lovefilm any more, or even a disc drive in my laptop. I could have a books to read list to complete, but books are cumbersome for a backpacker, and there's only so many free books I've got downloaded on my phone.

Should I make some Australia-centric resolutions? I could make it a resolution to see Uluru, but I could also make it a resolution to see Fraser Island, the Whitsundays, to do a skydive over Mission Beach. And that's only Queensland... What about a resolution to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge, or do something equally iconic in Victoria, or Tasmania, Western Australia or the Northern Territory (none of which I know anything about). Maybe I should have a resolution that requires me to visit the Neighbours set. I don't like vague resolutions, so I can't just have a resolution that says "travel".

And what about the main reason I came over to Oz - work? I had planned to make it a resolution to work in Aus TV...but I've been doing that the past two weeks. Granted, not being paid for it, so perhaps that should be written into the resolution.

Last year I had a resolution to save money for this year abroad. Should I again have a resolution to save money - but this time for my return home? This really depends on me getting work of any kind.

Maybe I am overthinking this. Okay I am definitely overthinking this, but I like to plan. I like to be organised and make lists and goals, and often lists about goals or goals that involve lists.

I see resolutions as a way to become the person you want to be. But there's only so much control I have over the person I'm going to be by the end of 2014.

Maybe I should try to have a resolution not to get burnt again. Let's see how long that one lasts.

Crikey this heat is hot.

I have been in Australia for exactly 16 days. I've been away 22 days now but I am only 16 days into a 365 day visa, and it feels like I'm running out of time.

Tonight I'm seeing the Brisbane Christmas tree lights being turned on. They're solar powered, because if you didn't know, Queensland is the Sunshine State of Australia. So here I am, sweating my bits off in 30 degree heat, celebrating the approach of Christmas.

Talk about head screw.

16 days, feels more like 60. Feels like so much longer. 2 weeks ago I jungle surfed through a rainforest. A rainforest!! I've snorkelled the Barrier Reef. I've held a koala. I've taken a train ride that lasted a day and a half. I've been burnt three times, and I've peeled too. Parts of me are still milky white. I've partied, got drunk, thrown up. I've made new friends. I've tried octopus, and lobster. I've been scared the day lights out of when a massive (not poisonous) spider crawled out from under a TV unit whilst watching a creepy tv show.  And I've had work experience at an Aussie production company, and there's more to come.

And I've been here only 16 days.

And in the next 16? More work, as well as a short road trip to the beach and to Australia Zoo.
And then maybe a train ride to the Gold Coast.

I came here to find work. Unlike other backpackers, I wasn't coming to see Australia, to experience the beaches or the outback. These last 6 weeks of 2013 were for holiday, and then 2014 I would work as much as I could. Now I realise there needs to be time for both. I've been here 16 days, and I want to see more. I want to see it all.

And I only have 349 days left to do it in.

A Rant About Misogyny because I saw a Flo Rida video last night)

In a nightclub at my hostel last night, I noticed this video on the screens. And all I could see was ass. Ass, booty, the junk in this girls trunk.

What really shocked me was not that there were beautiful scantily-clad woman dancing in an RnB song. It was the complete disassociation of these butts from the women that own them. In the first three seconds, we see a reflection of a bottom in Flo Rida's shades. You can just about see that this bottom is attached to body. But then Flo Rida is standing astride a long line of oversized arses. Seriously. They are just everywhere.

At 20 seconds, the creepiest thing I think I have seen on a screen in a long time appears.

I'm not sure I should show you, but in the interest of research.this blog. I print screened it for you.

Why, in 2013, are female bodies still the main fucking attraction? (Damn I try hard not to swear on this blog but I'm a little bit angry right now).

These women, where are their faces? At 0:30 we get a fleeting glance of two women sitting n the front of Flo Rida's speedboat. It's so quick, and they are not even doing anything. Just sitting there, looking pretty. 

Oh wait, more faces! at 0:46, there's are two women whose faces we see as they...sit...there...looking pretty... (as mermaids?! Do mermaids even have asses???)

OOH! At 0:49 we get a face, as she does an awesome hair flick towards the camera. And then at 0:58 we see her face as she returns from bending over. 

My favourite bit (wait, can you tell that was sarcasm? It's hard to know sometimes when you're reading something so just to let you know, that was sarcasm) is at 1:01 Flo Rida is holding a booty-cone. Oh yes, this girl's booty is positioned like some fine piece of ice cream that Flo's just gonna get his tongue around. But wait! The booty-cone girl is holding a booty-cone of another girl, who is also holding a booty-cone and oh my I'm a bit dizzy.

(Also, it's just after this bit I started asking myself "what do crocodiles have to do with ass?" And I'm still not sure.)

Mermaid girls are back for a second's glance at 1:30. 

And at 1:46, did Pitbull just call women "monkeys"? Or just women's asses? Or just the asses of women of colour (this latter possibility is sort of nullified by the fact that Flo Rida just "can't believe it" that a white woman has a booty, and thus giving us the whole [terrible] premise for the song.) Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe he just wanted to get a Michael Jackson reference in there. 

Wait! 5 seconds later I think I have made the connection! The chorus is "bubbleyumbum" or something like that. And Jacko's monkey was called Bubbles right? So it was just the reference he was going for then. Right?

I seriously hope so.

2:04. More creepy mirror images. At 2:12 you get a tiny glance a the girl with purple hair's face. It's so quick I thought it was Jessie J pre-head shave for a moment.

2:40 - :44. Mirror. Images. 

And then yeah. Last minute is just the same as everything before. Asses, booty, junk in their trunk. And you barely see the women attached to them.

Now, you could argue artistic whatsit. You could even use that age old argument that the women in the video have made a choice to be in the video. And you could say some women might enjoy Pitbull and Flo Rida drumming on their asses like fucking bongo drums.

But actually it's the bongo drumming hand gestures that really seal the deal for me. "Look at that ass! I want to drum it. Like a bongo drum. Like an actual fucking object. Because this isn't a woman, a human being with feelings, thoughts, ambitions, brains or brawn. It's a wonderland created to help me improve my drumming skills."

And the misogyny and sexism in popular culture doesn't just stay in popular culture. For a start, it's created by those that continue perpetuating misogynistic and sexist views. And it doesn't stay isolated, but not matter how much you say popular culture doesn't affect you, it does. Like the excellent "She Didn't Buy It" strips for Page 3, you don't have to buy into something to be affected by it. The people on the bus in Stirling didn't buy into the misogynistic lads culture of the hockey team. But they were on the same bus and had to be subjected to their pathetic chants. You don't have to like the song Blurred Lines, or you can see it as harmless fun, but juxtapose the lyrics against rapist's actual words, and maybe you'll think a little differently. 

Blurred Lines, and whatever this Flo Rida song is called, are just two in what seems like a bazillion gillion songs in mainstream music that makes objectifying women, telling women what they want, dominating women, etc etc, totally normal. Totally normal. 

But I am more than a piece of ass, or a great rack. But this is just so freaking normal now. The hostel I'm staying in, at the nightclub attached, had a pole dancing competition last night. Ladies only, of course. On Ladies Night, after the topless champagne waiters had packed away. And at the end, all the women lined up for 60 seconds more dancing and the MC kept saying stuff like "get naked, get dirty, get your lesbian on". 

And I'm not going judge the girls on the stage for what they did, as long as they didn't feel pressured into it and they enjoyed themselves, but what the MC was saying was pressure, and it was just typical misogyny - women, get your bits out for our enjoyment. And I felt guilty that I was watching it all. A passive bystander. But what could I have done, jumped on stage and tried to pull the plug? Am I going to stand by when there is jelly wrestling, wet t-shirt contests, and Gladiator fights where the female contestants are nicknamed "Love Black Cock"?

I'm not going to watch, or participate. But that doesn't mean I won't be affected.

And my room mate just came back from a bar where one guy harassed her, trying to get her to have a drink (she's not drinking tonight as she's diving tomorrow) and when she refused him politely he grabbed her arm. 

I am raging. And it's exhausting. Which is why this rant is probably incoherent and rambling. 

You don't expect old men to touch you up

But, Erm. Why not? We live in a culture where women are objects, meat for the taking.

And why not from an old man? Because old people are so much more polite than the 'yout' of today? Perhaps but they lived in a time where women were still striking out and beginning to live beyond the home. 


It's hard to guesstimate how old this old man actually was. Old enough that he was shuffling along (though I do that in the morning with a hangover). Old enough that he was wrinkled and had baggy skin. Old enough that he was sensibly dressed for the cold weather. 


The more I think about it, the more righteous my fury becomes. I am practically apoplectic as I replay the events in my head. I am walking down the slope of the Lidl car park towards the station. After having to wait for a car to reverse out of its spot in order to leave, I continued walking, and there was an elderly man walking towards me. Nothing out of the ordinary, looking slightly like Victor Meldrew as he shuffled along, adorned in long black coat, black beanie hat and red scarf.
And since he was shuffling and wasn't going to change his path of direction to make sure we could pass each other, I moved over slightly. 

And that's when I saw what was coming. His left arm moved out from his side, at perhaps a 30 degree angle. I thought maybe he was going to stop me and ask me a question so I instinctively slowed down just a touch. 

Ha, just a touch, what an apt turn of phrase. Because as we passed that's what he did. He touched me. The 30 degree angle became a 45 degree angle and as we passed it touched my jeans just left of the zipper and dragged his hand along the top of my thigh. And I kept walking, but said out loud (not very loudly) "what the..?"
I turned to look over my shoulder at him and I could see him still shuffling along, arm down again, but he turned his head slightly back towards me too. Only briefly. 


I was in shock. An old man, shuffling past me in the car park of Lidl, just touched me up. And I know I didn't imagine it because my left thigh is incredibly sensitive since I got my tattoo, and not just directly on my tattoo but all around it. 


And I kept walking. I was in so much shock. Now, shock has given way to downright anger and disgust. I was not shocked when my friends got touched up in a bar last night. We take that kind of sexual harassment for granted in bars and clubs. 


BUT THIS WAS THE LIDL CAR PARK. I walk through there every day for work. That's how I get to the station. And he was an OLD MAN. Not some drunk sleazy banker guy that we (shouldn't have to but unfortunately do) expect to try and grab us. 

But next time it happens - to me, my sister, my friend, any other woman - I will not be shocked. And he will see my righteous fury. It doesn't matter how old you are, you do not have the right to touch me without my permission.