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?

Life As I Know It

Has changed. Is different from before. Involves new people. Involves new places.

But I'm going home. In 3 and a half weeks, I will be flying back to England and I will have been away for a grand total of 195 days.

I'm not sure I'm ready to go, but I'm going.
Whilst I didn't make it to the 365 days my visa allowed me, it's been almost enough. I didn't get to Canberra, or to WA, but I did go to Perth when I was 11. And I can come back.

There's a part of me that still feels like I've given up. I know I didn't try hard enough to find work, but when the main TV work agency informs you that the person who got the job you applied for that would be below what you're qualified to do at home has even more experience and is the level above you, then you just don't fit.

I came here determined to work. I came here convinced I was fed up with the life I had at home: I wanted a new one.

But you can't find a life. Life is what you make it. I'm going home, and even if home is the same as when I left it, I will have changed.

And I am ready for the next stage. I am ready for amazing things to happen to me. And I am also ready to make them happen.

Have you heard the news, everyone's talking
Life is good 'cause everything is awesome!

Single Rider

When I was 18, within the first fortnight of uni, I went on an SU organised trip to Alton Towers. I didn't get chatting to anyone on the bus, and I spent the day walking around on my own. In between rides, I was on the phone crying to my sister that I was a loner, a loser, that I could never make friends.

Yesterday, I went to Movie World on the Gold Coast. On my own. And I loved it. It's not that I didn't love Alton towers- I went single rider down all the big rides so I did them more than once and passed groups of other students in the lengthy queues. But I felt very alone, and I felt like I was a failure of a human being - so pathetic I had to go to theme parks on my own.

I knew I wanted to go to Movie World, and if it was to be on my own then so be it.  And I got on two rides faster because I was a single rider (no single rider queues here unfortunately). I didn't need to have anyone to go round with. I didn't need to phone my sister for a cry (although if I'd tried she'd have been asleep anyway because of the time difference). I watched the shows and took my time eating and did all the rides I wanted to do and I did some more than once.

Travelling has taught me how to talk to people more, how to start conversations, how to make friends. But it has also taught me how to be ok with my own company.

And yesterday taught me that when I become a millionaire, I'm going to own a theme park, and go there whenever I want. Because I love them and they are the best.

Looking for Inspiration, Still Searching for Illumination

Today is the 37th day of 2014. Today I finished yet another book on my 'List of Books to read' which is one of my New Yera's Resolutions.

The original list was:

    - 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)

I added to that list Kangaroo and Lady Chatterley's Lover, both by DH Lawrence, and have now read all of these books except one - On the Origin of the Species. I started it today, and I freely tell you now - I am going to struggle with this one. 

I have added to this resolution the following books that I already have downloaded onto my iPhone:
 - Grimms Fairy Stories
 - Treasure Island
 - Robinson Crusoe

I also have a book of Aboriginal Dreaming stories to read, and I'm really looking forward to it!


Today I also went some way to achieving another of my New Year's Resolutions. I went for a run, and in going for a run, I ran for 5k. I walked the first half-k, but after that, full on running. Well, yknow, jogging-running. and resolution no.5 is "5. Improve my health by exercising and healthy eating so that by the year's conclusion I am able to: -Run 5k..."

Well the healthy eating isn't really happening (I've just spooned the last drops from a jar of Nutella into my mouth), but the exercising is. It's hard to practice sit ups and push ups in a cramped dorm, but I plan to get over my self-consciousness and start doing them in the park. The same goes for Yoga. I was surprisingly flexible when I practised last night. Still not at the floor though. The resolution says by the end of the year. So I just need to keep practising! 


Just one more thing to note: I came to Australia to fall in love with the country, to work, and to maybe start a new life. I quite like the country, I've had a bit of work, but there's no life for me here. 
I am not ashamed to say that I misjudged this, that I miss home, that I miss the life I had. That I miss my mum, my dad, my sister, my nan, my grandad, my cat, my friends. That I miss my bed, and my things. That I don't miss the cold but I do miss cuddling up in my slanket in front of the Xbox. That I don't miss my bath and not having a shower but I do miss putting my shower gel and shampoo on the side of the tub and being able to leave it there. And I miss my mahusive bath towels. 
I am not ashamed that I thought I could come out here and work. I might not have tried my hardest, but when you sign up to a freelance database and all the runner jobs are going to Location Assistants and APs, you realise that maybe there just isn't the work for the inbetweener. I'm not far enough up the ladder. For a woman so focused on her career, having had nothing and no one else that truly mattered, this was really hard to come to terms with. But the blow was softened by enjoying the travels. Falling in love with new places, meeting new people, learning new ways of doing things, a new language (schooner! pot! doona! dunny! G'day! Arvo! How you going?!)

And for a woman who doesn't want to get married or have kids, I sure have realised how important my family is to me. 

Being a Brit in Sydney on Australia Day

.So here I stand. On the shores where the First Fleet landed on January 26th 1788 and planted a Union Jack in the soil and claimed Australia as their own. The British government needed somewhere to ship their convicts, wanted a military outpost, and when Captain Cook discovered the east coast of "the great southern land", "terra nullius" was declared and so the invasion began.

"Terra nullius" means "land belonging to no one". Now there is no debate - this land belonged to someone. This great Southern land belonged to it's Aboriginal inhabitants. And the Cadigal people that lived where modern day Sydney stands suddenly found themselves sharing their home with white men.

Governor Arthur Phillip kidnapped Aboriginal men to try and communicate with the community, learning their language, teaching them English so that they might get on. Initially, the British tried to foster positive relations with the Aboriginals. But how positive can relations ever be with a community of people that suddenly had the land they'd lived on for 40,000 (or more) years, that they believe they are part of, taken from them and changed beyond recognition within just a matter of months?

3 years after the First Fleet arrived, the majority of the Cadigal people had died, from smallpox mostly. A death toll only added to over the next 200 years.

This morning I excitedly got out the Australian flag my great uncle had bought me. I put a temporary tattoo of the flag on my arm, and I went out excited to see the city on the biggest day of the year. To see the day when Australians celebrate their country, their traditions, their democratic society in a free land.

And then I read this http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jan/26/australia-day-is-a-time-for-mourning-not-celebration. And my naivety disappeared and disgust at my own ignorance emerged.

But it's a big day for everybody except this land's original inhabitants. It's a big day for white Australia, and for other non-white Australian citizens and residents whose families have emigrated here, like my great uncle and aunt. But how can we all, in good conscience, celebrate this day in the knowledge of what the coming of white British settlers meant for the Indigenous people? The years of continued systematic oppression. The denial of rights. Generally speaking, the goddamn racism.

So in good faith I wanted to see Sydney celebrate. And instead I was confronted with the truth that no matter what the event was - a Ferrython, a Tinny muster, a concert, a market, a BBQ - this is not a day of celebration. Not for Aboriginal people. And not for anyone that stands with them. Which should be every Australian, and every other person that believes in justice and equality.

One down?

So technically yesterday I completed one of my New Years Resolutions. I completed number 3, "Write something creative which isn't a blog."
Yesterday I published a poem on my other blog. So, I've completed one of my resolutions, right?

Well. According to one of my friends, resolutions can be changed. I hate the idea of changing what is essentially a promise to myself, but if I'm changing it for the better... 

So that resolution, "Write something creative that isn't a blog - like a couple of chapters of a book, a poem or a short film script" what if I changed the or to an and? What if my resolution was to write a poem AND a couple of chapters of a book AND a short film script? I have 12 months, after all...