Klarity and Kaos

I HAVE A NEW HOME

2010-06-01T11:55:00.002+10:00

Klarity and Kaos has moved!!

It’s still in kaos… with those odds moments of klarity… but it now lives on a wordpress platform. All old posts have been imported (bless you wordpress) so to all my followers, sometimes viewers, drifting randoms, and any quasi-stalkers, you can now read my incoherent ramblings here; http://www.klarityandkaos.wordpress.com/

Please add this to your feeds :o)

The New Blog

When you want to be the artist of your own life....

2010-05-24T14:34:00.003+10:00

Stay loose. Learn to watch snails. Plant impossible gardens. Invite someone dangerous to tea. Make little signs that say Yes! And post them all over the house. Make friends with freedom and uncertainty. Look forward to dreams. Cry during movies. Swing as high as you can on a swingset by moonlight. Cultivate moods. Refuse to “be responsible”. Do it for love. Take lots of naps. Give money away. Do it now. The money will follow. Believe in magic. Laugh a lot. Celebrate every gorgeous moment. Take moonbaths. Have wild imaginings, transformative dreams, and perfect calm. Draw on the walls. Read every day. Imagine yourself magic. Giggle with children. Listen to old people. Bless yourself. Drive away fear. Play with everything. Entertain your inner child. You are innocent. Build a fort with blankets. Get wet. Hug trees. Write love letters. Open up. Dive in. Be free.

By Sark.

The Morning After

2010-05-23T20:09:00.002+10:00

The first thing I hear is nothing. There’s light in the room and the day is completely still. A ringing begins to echo through my ear drums with soft reverberation and I have vague recollections of standing directly next to a speaker, shouting over the bass. Before I have time to move a limb, and immediately after the awareness that I am actually still alive, railway nails are driven into the tender part of my skull, right between the eyes. The banging builds as theyre drive further into my brain and I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets to dull the sting. I always convince myself that if I just hadn’t opened my eyes, and let the sun touch my pupils, it would never hurt as much - I need to start wearing eye patches to bed! Groaning, I roll over and reach blindly for the bottle of water on my bedside table, its unfortunately still full and now warm. Clearly I did not drink any before I slept.

The water sloshes violently down my throat in my desperate bid to lift the drought, and its not just my sore throat crying out for it, but I can feel every emaciated cell reaching to the skies. And through the thudding I become aware of the shape beside me, sprawling, and snoring, with limbs hanging from the edge of the bed. The whole room smells like stale beer, and it seems like I passed out on my left shoulder again, as its contorted and bent beneath me and does not have the strength to move. I twist beneath the covers to alleviate the intense heat of a body in overdrive, realising that I’m still wearing last nights clothes. Who's bloody idea was this anyway.

I rise on one elbow and look at my boyfriend, there’s drool on his pillow. I look at my own, and mascara and red lipstick dance together in patterns across the slip. I don’t even want to think about my face, which feels thick with grime. I need to pee. Standing from the bed, the arch of my foot lands on the heel of the stilettos I left on the floor and I curse in pain, knowing full well thats where I always leave my heels. Stumbling forward completely disorientated, I clutch the door frame and slide my body along the hallway. My eyes refuse to focus.

After I wee, I stand feverishly over the toaster, begging for the dry toast to pop so that I can chew on my painkillers and swallow my vitamin B without throwing up. I glance out the window and a woman walks briskly past with her excited dog. I grit my teeth and send all her my negative energy, but the ache doesn’t go away. I think a poltergeist has ransacked my kicthen, the cupboard doors are swung open and partially eaten food is strewn across the table. I spy a kebab wrapper in the bin... Im going to feel that later.

Stumbling back down the hall, I wonder what caused the purple bruising on my shins, and where the hell my purse is. I open the front door to bring in some air and discover my keys still in the lock. Yeah, really clever.

My gut is churning and my stomach feels tight and bloated, Im not sure if I need to wee again, or throw up.
I pull out my earrings and all the pins from my hair and slip out of my clothes. I climb back into the hot bed, gulp some more water, and promise I will never ever drink again. I fall back asleep, praying for relief. Its only midday after all.

Happy May 17th

2010-05-17T23:03:00.000+10:00

Today was momentous…. a little bump for the congregations of pilgrams who migrate from west to east... a mountain for me.

On the 17th of May every year I grant myself the opportunity to stop, step back, and congratulate my inner self. On the 17th of May 2007, I found truth in the idea that everything truly would be ok, and on the 17th on May 2007 and every subsequent year since, I find the strength and resolve to fight for everything I ever believe in and hold cherished.

This day three years ago I boarded that lonely midnight flight to the other side of the country. Broke, depressed, dependent, deserted…. and yet electricity humming under my skin begging to burst forth in a shower of blue sparks.

It has taken years for those sparks to illuminate the path I now walk. Three years and still, some years yet to come.

I wasn’t a girl when I came to this place, nor was I a woman. I was just a vacant body devoid of dreams and only harbouring the desire for something else. I’ve turned that ‘else’ into some and more.

You should see me now.

She's almost here

2010-04-25T13:39:00.000+10:00

I have this feeling, that its creeping up behind me, blowing the hairs on my neck and whispering promises in my ear. It’s a serendipitous visit from an old friend and flower from a stranger, curious and endearing.

Something amazing is going to happen.

Its in the shudder of the iron before the train appears on the bend, its her soft sigh as the gull rises to the wind. You can hear it coming, if youre paying attention, like the electric crackle in the air before the storm.

Its coming.

I wish I knew what it was, this tingling and anticipation.

It must be big.

I know you can feel it too sometimes. Its validated by the sparkle in my eyes - the secret I keep that I cannot voice - as I gaze to the horizon, clutching ticket in hand.

The ticket without print. Without destination.

I stand on the crumbling kerbside, willing my future to rumble over the hill into sight, to arrive with a fanfare of colour and laughter, and to sweep my suitcase of dreams and I away.

Interview with Gary Newton

2010-04-10T21:35:00.000+10:00

A few months ago I sat down with Gary and we talked about his role as a life and business coach. We probably ran overtime, and definately covered some interesting areas, but we shed some light on the mysteries of the coaching profession.
Then I spent HOURS editing! haha

You can find the entire interview and introduction over at Inspiration Unplugged.

http://inspirationunplugged.com/kaye-waterhouse-interviews-gary-newton/

To be honest, I may have been a little selfish in my endeavour to interview him, as Ive always been interested in Coaching so it was a way of having my questions answered. Hopefully you find it helpful too!

My name is Kaye and I eat Tim Tams at midnight

2010-04-06T22:52:00.000+10:00

With my ever expanding network and ever decreasing time, I like to play 'stacks-on!' with the things that fill (and fulfill) my life. Ive been invited to write on the community blog Writers Rising, which is an absolute honour :o)

Follows is my first post, but make sure you head on over there and check them out... there is some serious talent to roll around in! And read, of course.
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In the darkness of the closed door and drawn blinds, my face glows in the warmth of the monitor. Its sweet touch tickles my chin, my nose, and my brow before sparkling off my eyes. It’s still late (although maybe now it’s early) and I’m still typing. Finally.

Ive been dying to write now for weeks. But every day the monitor growls at me and falls back to sleep – unenthused with what I offer to the mercy of the keyboard. Its not enough. Once upon a time I toyed with being a ‘writer’. I entertained the notion that I could write always, effortlessly, and continually and maybe, just maybe, make ‘a living’ from my pursuit. But perhaps I was guilty of dividing my attention elsewhere, second-guessing any talent (see what I did there?), and jumping on the merry-perfectionist bandwagon driven by dear old friend, Procrastination. Whichever way, Ive got plenty of excuses lined up as to why Monitor and I do not cooperate more often than we do. Oh but when we do its glorious! But mostly we are a bickering belligerent old couple. And I begin to resign myself to the fact that I can never create nor direct my desire to write… it happens when it happens. And that’s why my title generally reads, ‘Design student slash professional slash model’, more often than ‘Writer’.

I recently visited a life coach. That should sound empowering, but in my control freak/highly self-sufficient mind, to say that aloud is like standing up in a room of equally bedraggled and ashamed faces to say, “I ate an entire box of Tim Tams last night at 1am while everyone else slept”. Everyone has been there, but no-one wants to be brutally honest with a stranger. So as you can imagine, its a little confronting to say the least. Oh don’t get me wrong, aside from the nauseating anxiety thrashing around in the pit of my stomach, my coach is very good(!). But I had much difficulty trying to articulate in words and on paper what my ideal/dream life could have in it. Quite clearly the only thing I knew for certain when he asked me what I would attempt if I knew that everything I did would be enough and perfect was, “Something else”. But I don’t think I even told him that. I thought about how much I tried to squeeze into my life every day and thought, do I really have to write? It takes up so much of time, it doesn’t achieve anything, there are no rewards, benefits, goals or recognition (not by my measuring stick anyway). Had I made a mistake entirely with any pursuit of this vision thus far?

Intense right?

Yet, ultimately the moment I was drawn back to my slightly obsessive and yet truly sporadic jaunts through the land of language, I stopped thinking about all these things. There was only one thing I felt as I poured whatever thoughts I had onto the screen (Im a bit new-fashioned that way, I rarely use a pen). And it was joy. And the screen beckoned me into its purring embrace.

I had stopped measuring my writing by the good old joystick (and Im not talking about circa-1998 Nintendo64). I was looking at the ‘things’ I could get for my efforts, rather than taking the one thing that I knew was guaranteed… Joy. Why would I ever do something I didn’t want to? And similarly, why wouldn’t I do something I enjoyed so much?? It may be sporadic, it may be obsessive, and it may rob me of my sleep at obscure times (she says, dimming the lights on the bedside clock that grin in agreement) but it’s FUN. I work two jobs and study a degree qualification – writing is my solace, my therapist, my meditation and my medication, my joy, and my fun. And I don’t do it for anything else.

My name is Kaye Waterhouse, your newest addition to Writers Rising. I am 25, living in Melbourne, Australia. Quite possibly everything you’ll ever need to know about me, you’ll find

Here; http://www.klarityandkaos.blogspot.com/
Here; http://www.designfits.wordpress.com/
And here; http://www.inspirationunplugged.com/

And subsequent entries at Writers Rising. Im thrilled to join you :o)

K

Gratitude should be a verb

2010-03-18T12:07:00.000+11:00

Reposted from my entry at Inspiration Unplugged

Gratitude should be a verb, not a noun.

In primary school, we were taught that nouns were ‘people, places, and things’, and verbs were ‘doing’ and ‘action’ words. Sure, the act of ‘expressing’ gratitude is a verb, but gratitude is a constantly evolving and growing and fluctuating process, a unrelenting and desirable internal dialogue with oneself, a feeling of appreciation…. a ‘doing’ word.

An associate on facebook posted the following note the other day;

How can we be happy in the moment we’re in if the world we live is conditioned to make us want more.
How can we feel content in life when we are programmed to need more than is realistically necessary in order to feel bliss.
How do we strip our needs back to basics when people who expect the very thing we despise surround us.
Am I born in the wrong time if all I want is to live in a tree yet need to commercialize to climb it.
Is there a happy medium between having nothing and having too much.
How do we move forward when the destination consumes us so much we no longer like the journey.

…and my answer was so simple I even questioned it myself. Be grateful. And for the following days I thought about what it TRULY meant to be grateful, and what benefits one could see by living in a state of gratitude. It just seemed too simple to my over analytical state of mind!

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow. Melody Beattie

Last week I had to fly to Sydney to work on a new interior design project for the firm. It involved 10 hour days of data collection on workstyles, on my feet carrying a laptop. At the end of each day I was completely exhausted… too exhausted to sit in my hotel room and work on my two uni assignments, due on the day I returned to Melbourne. Over the weekend, I did fly back, late on Friday night and modeled in two days of shoots from 7am until 5pm both Saturday and Sunday before flying back to Sydney on Sunday night.

It really was disastrous. I got sick, and I couldn’t shake the headaches. I lived on caffeine, and I slept poorly. My school work didn’t get done, and everything that could go wrong with technology, taxi’s, getting lost, etc… did. I couldn’t postpone the photoshoot as I had committed to a team (and to be honest I needed the money and the addition to my folio) and I couldn’t turn the Sydney project down as it my first foray into this kind of project work. And knowing that I was missing classes and submission deadlines was doing my perfectionist head in.

But over the days, as I thought about gratitude, and what drove me to do all these things (simultaneously) I realized I was in amazing position. I had a free trip to Sydney all expenses paid, I got to visit my girlfriend in her new city and explore it myself. I got to be a part of an amazing project and push my career professionally. I had secured a lucrative modeling campaign that enabled me to contribute the first of funds to my house deposit, not to mention expand my network, and I was developing an awareness of what my personal priorities were and should be. It was only the flick of a switch, and when people asked how it was going, I started to say ‘interesting!’ instead of ‘exhausting’.

Gratitude turns our problems into lessons and gifts, failures into successes of experience and knowledge, it makes the unexpected into perfect timing, and mistakes into significant events. Gratitude is a mindset easily flipped into a positive state. You can be grateful for the bad things that happen to you as well as the good. You may be cursing that hangover, but alternatively be grateful for the courage those few glasses of wine gave you to chat up that cute person and get their number. I know I was!! ;)
The act of being grateful rests on choice. YOU choose whether a scenario is a catastrophe, or a beautiful lesson.

A few months ago I started keeping a gratitude journal following a very dark period of existence. I aimed for three things every day that I was grateful for, even if it was as simple as ‘remembering an umbrella on the day that it rained’ or as obvious as ‘getting promoted’. A lot of the time I couldn’t think of three things… its harder than you think. On those days I wrote down what a stranger may be grateful for…. No queues at the supermarket, a warm bed to sleep in for once, a newborn child. These things reminded me that gratitude was specific yet different for every person, and those who had a lot less (in my eyes) actually had more than enough. Even if I couldn’t find my own positive light at the end of the day, I could at least see someone elses.

Its not a new concept, its not even ‘new-age’. Its just pure fact… if you are truly grateful for the activity, state or object, then what you have (or have experienced) is valuable to YOU, and enough. It is simple economics – supply will never meet demand, and the same goes for the human psyche. The more we learn, the more we realise how much we dont know, so there is always that desire reach beyond. The sad thing is most of us will never touch the wall with our outstretched fingers, because we continue to move it further away. The more money we make, the more things we want to buy, the more we see the world, the more we want to travel, the more opportunities that present themselves, the more we take on and the less time we have, and the more successful we are, the more awareness we develop around how more successful we could become. It is a cycle of events that is unrelenting and expands ripple apon ripple, unless we find one thing; gratitude.

I did it! Written Worlds 2010

2010-03-18T01:00:00.001+11:00

Written Worlds Melbourne was a great success. I tend to ramble but hey, thats ok I guess! I had fun and I got to meet some great people. And I realised how truly passionate I am about my writing and content and how much more Id like to write, so Im setting out to put pen to paper alot more often and maybe turn it into a little job on the side.

I met some people who were truly inspired by what I had to say and told me so afterwards. I was really humbled and flattered that they enjoyed my words and were motivated to write themselves by what they saw on the screen from me. It was awesome!

You can download Part 1 of the Podcast here: http://www.freelancerunplugged.com/ (click on "Podcast" on the right hand side) and then choose Written Worlds Part 1 (and keep an eye out for the next parts!).

Written Worlds - Melbourne

2010-03-02T16:20:00.002+11:00

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Two days till Written Worlds…. not sure if Im going to pee out of excitement or fear!!

Letters in your lunchbox

2010-02-25T10:54:00.000+11:00

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Sometimes…. youre having a really shit day and sometimes…. a 20x10 piece of paper can make the WORLD of difference

Inspiring Women - The 10thousandgirl campaign

2010-02-23T18:22:00.000+11:00

Check out the new post on Inspiration Unplugged here, where I look at the new breed of the inspired and socially responsible!

xx K

University Anxiety

2010-02-17T19:36:00.001+11:00

I can’t pretend that I’m not very afraid. I’m returning to university in two weeks after a summer off, and all I can see in front of my eyes is me on the floor of my study, November last year, surrounded by unfinished work, completely numb and bawling my eyes out. Id smacked into a brick wall and yet again, failed to submit my final assessment. The clincher of such a repetitive activity, is that… I still pull a Distinction… even after flaking out on a submission worth 20% to 30% of my final mark. What does that tell me (aside from the fact that Im an idiot)? That I could do SO much better, but I cant.

I am afraid that school work will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I work fulltime, so I cant assume it would ever have been easy, Im not that naïve. But I was accepted into a double degree this year, so I am adding economics, management, accounting, law, and HR policy to my burgeoning workload. The double degree adds two years to my qualification, so for any sense of graduating before I’m due for retirement altogether, I need to increase my study load. To do this, I have dropped one day a week at work, which may sound helpful but in reality, it simply allows me to squeeze all my units into a day… that’s 9 hours of classes. And Im taking a 20% paycut in salary, a kind of stress I don’t need.

Jimmy is wonderful, suggesting that he take up the slack on rent, and he has picked up a second job. Im still modelling and that is still bringing in income, but I’m exceptionally strapped for time, so it’s a little hard to shoot. And you know, it sounds like I don’t want any of this – but I do want to go back to school and learn and graduate and apply my skills every day. I just keep seeing that girl on the floor, hanging onto the chair with white knuckles and wondering why she is there again. Here again.

2010 was supposed to be my year. Yet it just seems more like the year where I hang on for dear life, with my nails, on the bridge, over the river in the ravine. God I hope I remember how to swim...

To be lost

2010-02-09T15:31:00.000+11:00

"Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding line, and no way of knowing how near the harbor was. "Light! Give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour".

Helen Keller.

Denial is not a river in Egypt

2010-01-21T11:04:00.001+11:00

I’ve had some interesting comments following the new life of Inspiration Unplugged. Mostly from people who had no idea I was a writer (or blogger, take your pick). I’ve had positive feedback, and that’s kind of nice for someone who never really told anyone about her ‘hobby’. But then I wonder why I’ve never told anybody about something I’ve done all my life? I’ve always been writing, in fact I think I have some sort of obsession with the formation of words. I’m weird, but mind you, so is every other writer out there.

When Im not writing poetry or short stories or sad ramblings or epic twitter & facebook updates (yes, these count!) then Im writing lists, plans, objectives, goals, ideas, introductions, thoughts, quotes and every other little thing that can be on paper or .doc format. I always have done, and notebooks with little ramblings and lists are stacked all over my study, and mostly they don’t make sense. But I need that paper and I need that pen… or my Outlook (in fact Im typing this post into an email as we speak… please tell me somebody else does this!?)

When I was an angst-ridden teen, Id write letters to myself, and to my parents. When I first fell in love I spilled everything onto paper, and when I fell out of love I spilled again. I’ve written hate letters and love letters and poems and short stories and have two of those wonderful little things we called the ‘unfinished novel’. But I’ve never gone, “Hey, I’m a writer”. Ah Kaye but why? I don’t write for a profession, in fact I’m supposed to be a designer, and as a passion I am nowhere near as prolific as some passionate writers. As a rule I generally cant write more than 1000 words… ever, unless its an essay for uni and then well, Im just the Queen of Bullshitting to get to my word count. But I still get really good marks. See? Weird…. And now if I include Inspiration Unplugged, I have a daily planner, three blogs, two twitter accounts, two facebook accounts, a really cute journal, and a university degree to get through. There’s no escaping the truth of the matter – I'm a wr.... wrrrrr... wrrriii

Ive given up trying to pinpoint why I have this word-diarrhoea, my partner thinks its because I have a million cogs turning in my head and the only way to organise them all is to get it out on paper. You’d be surprised how well I sleep after I babbled some useless guff into the notebook on my bedside table. But the more I try to analyse it, the more it doesn’t make any sense, and then I write about my confusion and Im back to square one. Hell, I dont even know if Im any GOOD, maybe you folks are just being nice, but Im pretty sure that Ive worked out that I enjoy doing it. So these days I just go with the flow. Sometimes I won’t write for months, and then write non-stop for a week… it’s just how I do it. In truth, if I was a professional writer, I’d be fired.

So when the crew behind the scenes at Freelancer Unplugged put me forward as a speaker on the panel at the Written Worlds event, I thought I was going to hyperventilate. I truly said to myself, “But Im not a writer!”. But what am I doing now? Writing about it.

Again, Weird.

Im trying not to think about that event too much, yes granted most of the time you cannot get me to shut up, but in front of a room of 50 people?? There’s that voice again, “But Im not a speaker! And what’s worse, I have to speak about writing, and Im not a writer!”. Its enough to give any writer a heart attack.

Written Worlds Event - Melbourne

Letting people go

2010-01-16T15:17:00.000+11:00

Jimmy’s grandma died on Wednesday. Bless her soul, at 93 she was still living on her own and self-caring; such a woman to admire, a mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. Early afternoon, she was weeding the garden in her yard when she collapsed, found by the neighbour who called for an ambulance that rushed her to the local hospital. With a heartbeat, and breathing, they tried to make her regain consciousness to no avail. Anna told me that she died how she (and probably most people) have ever wanted.... ‘you couldn’t have written a better script’. There was no riddling of cancer, or horrific accident, or slow hospitalised wasting away. Just a sudden bright flash, and a massive stroke, collapsing with a handful of weeds clutched in her palm. The doctors doubted if she even knew what was happening, the stroke was so severe it dominated her brain scans. Life support was switched off that evening, surrounded by the whole family.

And it got me thinking (as any death does) while I was standing by her side. She was such an institution in the family, and to see her entire family gathered around to grieve is possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed to date. It may sound strange to call such a spectacle ‘beautiful’, but these were people I had never seen cry before.... The shock of mortality had drawn everyone into a stunning web of love and support. The tears, while sad and longing, still spoke of a woman they all admired so much. In the waiting room, after the computers and life support systems went black and her heart beat began to fade away, there was laughter. They began to share stories about how strong she was, her uncanny character traits, and the fact that her Grandson, far away, was preparing to be a father for the first time, and grandma was simply making room for the next little addition to her kingdom, another great grandchild. They shared stories about her life, and how she chose this death, and they made plans to share the news with the world. Everyone was so organised amongst the grief. I wasn’t sure if it was because of her age (every extra year was a gift) or that was how they grieved, but I watched in wonder at this amazing family dynamic. The usually quiet family members took charge, the ‘rocks’ of the family broke down and let the pain go. And I wondered how my family would ever cope with such a thing.... time will, unfortunately, tell. I can only hope the passing of any of my eldest family members will be just as beautiful, surrounded by those you love, who can kiss your softened face goodbye, happy in the knowledge that there was no suffering, and only a celebration of life.

All my love Grandma Dot.

x

What to do when you’re having a bad day;

2010-01-15T16:50:00.000+11:00

Picnic lunch with a girlfriend, complete with turkey and cranberry wraps, hams and salad, and cold watermelon, and a bottle of chilled vino…. in the sunshine, by the river in the city!

If only it was for the entire afternoon, not just my lunch break!

Bad day begone! :)

Aerial departures.

2010-01-10T22:25:00.001+11:00

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Its so beautiful down there; miles and miles of hot scorched land, peppered by trees and carved by property lines. The salt plains, dried out dams, and parched grass spread out across a fawn coloured patchwork in an intricate tapestry of earth.

I knew it was a hard life down there, sparse and unrelenting, but I wanted to be as close as possible. Nose pressed to the glass, it had quickly become my favourite part of the whole cross continental journey. I wanted to take a photo but gave up on the idea - nothing was going to capture my sense of awe, and my measly camera would not portray the depth and vastness of my field of vision.

I swallowed the lump in my throat but it rose again. Its not the way I wanted to leave, but if it had to be that way, then so be it. There are some things you have to fight for, and others that you let go.

New Years Resolutions - The ol' Cliche

2010-01-04T13:55:00.002+11:00

Easily the most blogged topic on January first? Well I waited for one on my compatriots to allude to New Years Resolutions on Inspiration Unplugged, but nothing happened! Im not sure if they’re not the resolution type, or if its been so hounded by mass media that its become a dirty word. Every chemist I drive past has specials on quit smoking packs and slim-fast shakes. My old gyms (yes, I have several) send me promotional material on helping me to conquer my resolution for weight loss. Wait, I have a resolution for weight loss?!

Oh its been an interesting year. Ive made lots of new friends, and gently extradited those who broke the rules. Ive had doors opened wide professionally, and waited for things that never eventuated. I made resolute choices that I never followed through, and things happened that Id never planned. And yet TwentyTen arrives, as much as I tried to slow its approach. I love the New Years & Christmas period because it means I spend time with those I love, work falls quiet, and it gives me a chance to pause and reflect on the year that has been. Looking back is as important as looking forward. Im not big on the making of new years resolutions ON new years eve, but I have goals, and I think that this time of year is the perfect opportunity to reassess them. The first few weeks of January are my quietest... so off I go.

I think people dont make new years resolutions, or pass them off as rubbish, because year after year they fail to meet them, and the next year they find themselves wanting that elusive ambition from the year before. Everyone has goals and ambitions and dreams, no matter how big or small. Perhaps they view resolutions as a waste of time, as something else that gets in the way and is inevitably failed, so why set yourself up to seek immediate gratification when all you’ll get is immediate loss? Herein lies the problem to why people never achieve the things they dream of; Buying that house, travelling, losing weight, quitting smoking, salsa classes (that one is my own). Some people make their resolution ...and they naturally don’t follow through, but it isn’t about counting down to midnight then deciding what you will do for the next year (or your life). Those ‘new years eve resolutions’ are goals that we have set with no thought put into them.

REAL New Years resolutions (or whatever we decide to call them) take time to conceive... you cannot simply want the change to happen and it comes true... Goals are not achieved by your fairy godmother. They are reached through eons of hard work and perseverance. And yes, you may go off track, lose motivation, but you will never fail. You can never fail to quit smoking... because as long as you are smoking – you have the ability to quit!

Maybe people struggle because they’re CALLED resolutions? You’ve resolved to do something and suddenly that’s it? Not bloody likely. Don’t think for a second that just because you have a resolution, that the hard part is over. Maybe we should rename the whole concept. Why do people plan on eating a healthy diet and then fail? Because they made a resolve, not a goal. Goals are S.M.A.R.T (yes, you’ve probably all heard that before, but its TRUE!). If you cant cook, then learn. If your cupboard is full of crap... clear it out before you start. Plan recipes, shopping lists, packed lunch etc. Don’t make excuses, make a plan.

And you have to understand that your goals are allowed to change, you have permission to change your mind, change your plan, change the track. What you want now may not be what you want in 6 months time and that’s ok. As long as you are still reaching for them, they can be anything you want whenever you want. Have yourself a mid-year NYE shindig, and set your goals again. Or take some time off to regroup... refocus.

So i think new years resolutions are fabulous if the time and effort are put into them. Hell, if you want, you don’t have to think of anything until April! Its still a resolution/goal. You don’t just ‘come up’ with something and hope for the best – you put the wheels in motion to get it. Lose weight? Personal trainer, gym membership, training partner, get a dog, cancel your parking on the 1st floor and go to the 8th floor and take the stairs. Get off the bus 3 stops too early and walk the rest. Whatever! just make a plan before you make the resolution.

And so i hear all this talk about goals for 2010, in the media, in advertising, online and from my friends, and slowly in my head i am working mine out. Ive got resolutions for travel, work, school, and personal fulfillment. That part is easy because Im one of the lucky ones who know what they want... the hard part is planning how to get there, and how to tackle the obstacles when they (certainly) come. How are yours going? Hit me up if you’d like help, I’ve been doing them for oh, I don’t know… 15 years?! and I’ve made some mistakes I fortunately wont repeat, and some otherwise awesome progress.

And um……. know any good Salsa classes?? Happy New Year.

Non est ad astra mollis e terris via - There is no easy way from the earth to the stars

Inspiration

2009-12-14T10:48:00.001+11:00

Having been an avid participator in Freelancer Unplugged, a networking forum for freelancers of all professions, I was asked to co-author an Inspiration blog, where all my worldly thoughts could have a home (as well as on my K&K blog). It’s a wee bit of an honour, to be asked to contribute to something that will ultimately help other people by talking about things that Ive been through socially, professionally, and emotionally. Especially when for the most part I just consider them personal ramblings. Its not until someone says to you, ‘Oh hey, I read your last blog post and it made me cry’. That shit really makes you go ‘wow’, its amazing how a few words can affect someone, especially when you are telling the story of their own life and you haven’t even realised it.
Feel free to check it out… and be inspired!!

www.inspirationunplugged.com

New Lives

2009-11-30T21:31:00.002+11:00

For the men who can finally rid themselves of the dragons.
Kaye

At dawn she finds me
Floating in a dark ocean
The heat curling from my toes
The cool rivulets running across my chest
She asks
Why am I in the bath at dawn

She forgets
About a time in the night
When she told me I was filth
When she spat words on me
And the ice whispers singed my skin

The hate floats on the surface
An oil slick of grime and patronising spit
She kneels and drags her fingers through the oil
I watch
The hand slip across my leg
And its wake of contradiction

She asks
Why I take her hand from the water
And hold it to the cool
To wash her free
From the excess of my body
Filled with lust. And my disgust
She knows
I am protecting her from herself.

Beautiful Things - Vol. 2

2009-11-24T18:41:00.002+11:00

A sneak peek... now see the rest HERE

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On being 'Outdoorsy'

2009-11-24T11:35:00.004+11:00

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Something quite unusual has happened in the past year, and I’ve suddenly picked up on it after returning from the weekends’ hike.

As my life gets more and more crazy, my desire for simple pleasures gets greater and greater. The more I work 12 hour days, study till dawn, and take on freelancing modelling & design projects on the side, the more I want silence. Normal right? Sure. But where do I find it? 3 hours drive plus 9 hours/25 kilometres of hiking away!

I remember always camping as a kid. Mum and Dad would spend a few days packing up the 4WD, then we’d roll (in convoy with other families, or on our own) to the varying reaches of Western Australia; Augusta, Albany, Kalbarri, Pemberton, Denmark, Lancelin, Dongara, Binningup, Payne’s Find, Coral Bay, Exmouth, Monkey Mia, Geraldton, Shark Bay…. and all the little towns in between. The car would be full of portable CD players, cd’s, books, gameboys, lollies & chips, pushbikes, siblings, and sometimes the dogs. Every school holidays, we’d be off somewhere for a weekend, week, or two… and it was great! But as I got older, I wanted less tents and more caravans, then less caravans and more hotels, then less driving and more flying. Until eventually I phased the whole camping thing out. When I moved out of home, I spent most of my time with people who had never ‘camped’ – and who had no interest in it. And I’d never really appreciated the value in it anyway, even when it vanished as a pastime.

Just after I’d moved to Melbourne in 2007, a group of us decided it would be cool to drive to Lakes Entrance to camp. NONE of us had any camping equipment whatsoever, we borrowed it all, and most of our food was actually er, alcohol. I was handed a tiny tent, and was the first to set it up… I was so proud! I even took a photo with my phone and sent it to my mum haha.
I remember how broke I was then, but we still had so much fun…. disrupting the town and the campsites. That was my little reminder to me… I didn’t need trashy nightclubs, 3am taxi’s and 4am kebabs to feel alive and to disconnect myself from the chaotic world.

A few months into dating Jim, he invited me down the Wilsons Prom for a weekend away. We loaded up the old Cortina with Jims archaic and well used collection of hand me down camping gear, along with a canoe, and drove the three and a half hours to the southernmost point of the Australian mainland. It was winter, it was freezing, and it rained. And I had possibly the best weekend ever. Jimmy said that I passed the ultimate test… I knew how to pitch a tent. We brought the very best wine with us, and sat under the verandah in the rain, drinking by candle light and telling stories, before curling up under a pile of doonas and having an amazing early sleep, waking to a dawn of kookaburras, wombats shuffling by, and visiting rosellas. Then we took the canoe out onto the inlet, laid back and listened to nothing but the waves lapping against the hull. There was never anything so quiet. And I think I got hooked again. Thankfully these days we take the X-trail down… it’s a lot more comfortable for over 3 hours of driving.

Our next trip down was with massive packs. Jim had talked me into my first hike… a 12 kilometre overnight hike to Oberon Bay. I made a video of my struggle – its on my Facebook. It was very funny, and very hard work. But there was a strange sense of achievement, that I had walked that far, over, up and down granite hill faces, spent the night listening to the waves on the shore, and then hiked back in the morning. It was a physical barrier I had never pushed before. Sure, I work out, I ride my bike sometimes, and I go to the gym… but when you’re hiking you don’t have any choice, you cant just stop and go home. You cant take a shower, or crash on the couch… You just have.to.keep.going. I pushed through until it didn’t hurt anymore. Oh don’t get me wrong though… two days later I could barely walk, but I knew that I had achieved something pretty awesome.

We’ve been camping a few more times since then, and Ive started asking for it more and more. Jimmy still laughs when I get down there, the campsite is set up, the food is cooking, the wine is open… and Im standing in front of him asking what we should do next. ‘How about nothing?’. But I can’t do NOTHING!? Are you crazy!? I have to do something!!! It always takes me a little while to realise that there is nothing that needs doing… it’s supposed to be that way. Our list of achievements for the day might read; kick the football on the beach, and walk up to the lookout.

Now back to my 25km saga. Jimmy had begged to go hiking again and I’d agreed. He didn’t tell me that the trip was 25 kilometres, fortunately for him, I didn’t find out the distance until we’d returned. And so we set off from Melbourne at 9.30am, arriving in Tidal River (Wilsons Prom) by 12.30pm. We could see it had been raining, and the sky was a heavy grey, but the air was fairly warm. We started off at 1, glad to know that wearing shorts and singlets paid off, as we watched other hikers peeling off jackets and beanies from the heat of the hike. 4 hours later we arrived at Little Waterloo Bay, a secluded grove of trees and sheltered campsites, wedged between a steep rock face, and the beach. Thankfully, all the hiking destinations have toilets! We found a well-drained, gently sloping spot under some trees, set up tent and cooked our dinner… ravioli, pasta sauce, tuna, chickpeas, and vegies.. oh it tasted so good with our bottle of red! Then it started to rain so we piked early. And it rained and rained and rained…. and rained… nonstop till dawn. We awoke dry and free from mosquito bites (yay for the new hiking tent!) but very very sore. We’d forgotten the inflatable mattress, only packing the high density foam. Ohhh the pain. And the rain wouldn’t stop… it drizzled… incessantly. Our dry clothes were soon wet as we packed up all our gear, but our situation was infinitely better than the foolish people who had opted for the flat piece of ground which you, by taking one look at it, could tell regularly flooded. We walked past their tents and they were almost 10-15cms underwater! The poor bastards were standing around like drowned cats, looking very very upset. Packing up, we began the hike back and I somehow found the strength to push through the pain and climb all those damn hills! It drizzled non stop and we were soaked through, rain dripped off my hat, and my shoes squelched from the water and mud inside them. My back muscles burned and I had shin splints but we kept on going, the sand in my shoes rubbed against my wet socks and blisters formed on my heels. But I was determined to make it back in better time than it had taken us to get there. We got back to the overnight carpark by 3.30pm, and we were back in Melbourne by 6.30pm. Thanks to the car heating, we had thawed, and both of us had taken turns having a nap. We’d stripped off the wet clothes and jumped into our spares… next time we might take lightweight raincoats though hehe, and remember our inflatable mats. And we’re going to buy hiking boots, instead of sneakers whose delightful ‘ventilation’ panels let in a lot of water!

Aside from the landscape being incredibly beautiful ESPECIALLY during the low light and the drizzling rain, there was something completely uplifting about the whole experience. We hiked for maybe half an hour at a time without saying a word, all you could hear was the soil crunching, birds, and the ocean far away. And once you can push beyond the pain, your mind drifts elsewhere… sometimes I thought about work, and school, and relationships and money… you have a lot of thinking time out there! But other times it was blank. Blank, but not lost… just calm. And I’d study the water dripping off the eucalyptus leaves, or the bullants charging up to the giant humans with all the bravado of ancient Knights of King Arthur. There were birds and lizards and wombats… and kilometres of views to swoon over, but most importantly there was nothing but us and the knowledge that we were completely isolated from a world of ‘perceived’ troubles. It all kind of washed away with the rain. And if it wasn’t raining, it would have dried away in the sun. And if there was no sun, it would have burned away through our perseverance. We had no choice but to push on, and that drew all our focus into a gorgeous little vortex where nothing really mattered… at all.

Jimmy turned to me at the end of the hike and could see the pain on my face. He asked me, “Would you do that again?” I said,
“Definitely”.
Now we’re planning our next one…. three days and 36 kilometres. I’ll need some rest first! But I can’t wait. It’s a pretty healthy thing to get addicted to I think…

Fashion Shoot - Nov 14th

2009-11-19T12:07:00.004+11:00

POW. I just worked with the most amazing team! After ridiculous amounts of facebook correspondence, sample themes, fittings, reference images etc etc, we finally met on the weekend to create some fantastic shots.

9am till 5pm we worked, multiple outfit, hair, and makeup changes.

Id just like to say how professional, dedicated, passionate, and cohesive the team was!
Stylist: Desiree McPhee @ Styleid
Hair: Ross Joseph
Make up: Shella Ruby
Photographer: Vendula Pribylova
Model: Kaye (me!)

Just a sample;

Old Blogs - May 19th 2009

2009-11-09T18:12:00.001+11:00

I cant believe I almost went...

That International Phonecall
Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 12:33pm
These past few days, the world has slowed. And warped. And my brain has nearly fallen out of my ears with the intensity of information Ive had to process.
The weekend just passed, marking my two year anniversary of living in Melbourne.
It was also my one year anniversary of being (blissfully) with Jimmy and, our Housewarming party.

And on Monday morning, I arrived at work in Melbourne to a new job option... in London.
Are you serious? Yes- Absolutely completely serious. A role had become available in the UK, and they were looking to fill the vacancy internally. And my skillset is perfect. I cleared it with my Regional Talent and Training Manager, and put in my expression of interest.

And they came back to me!
I was the only internal person who put their hand up. I was as good as gone, once the obligatory videoconference internal interview was done, and the HR paperwork sorted, and provided I could get my visa and flights sorted asap... they need me there in 4 weeks time (!), and would put me up in accommodation until I could find my own place. Someone would meet me at the airport, and there would be a two week handover from the exiting staff member. I would be there for 1 year on a maternity leave contract, but had access to an ancestry VISA so could essentially stay for ages if I decided to. Jimmy and I talked it over, and he would even come with me, joining me after a few months, once I was set up. It was a dream come true. To further my career AND travel.

So then... I turned it down.

I mouth those words when I type it. I.turned.it.down.

WOW.

I thought about it. I wrote about it. I talked about it. I cried about it incessantly because I couldn’t stand the internal pressure in my head to make the goddam decision.

Why? Because right now, Im actually happy. My role mightn’t be perfect right now but that is only a small part of all the pieces that have fallen into place. I have a solid mapped career path, I have a stunning boy to come home to, a stunning house to come home to, a degree that Im acing, I live a decadent lifestyle where I can almost do and buy what I want, and I have a solid group of friends. The same unrest and resentment that sent me on that last minute flight from Perth to Melbourne two years ago doesn’t exist anymore. Sure I want to travel, but I don’t want to do it this way. I don’t want Jimmy to give up the job that he is doing so well at, or to sell the car he loves, or to give up the house we only just ‘warmed’! I don’t want to have a going-away party only 4 weeks after the moving-in one I just had!, and I don’t want to spend 3 months in London without him. I don’t want to live in a share house on the bones of my ass on the outskirts in London because I wouldn’t be able to afford anything else, and spent 70% of my time in inner city London writing tenders and bidding for architecture work.

Maybe I’ll do it in a year. Who knows. Maybe I’ll study overseas instead, or just backpack. Doesnt matter. I’ll go, but now isn’t the right time. Why, when Ive just properly patched all the holes in my leaky boat, would I rock it? Im not going to go just because the opportunity is there – it’s got to be just right.

And right now, Im staying put. And Im really happy I made that decision :o)

Thats a wrap

2009-11-06T13:52:00.009+11:00

Bali was a-MAZING. I cannot believe I haven’t had a real holiday in 5 years... I shall never leave it that long again! Jim and I are already talking about the next little trio of Vietnam, Cambodia & Laos!

It was 7 days of cocktails, sunshine, shopping, exploring, awesome food, nightlife, sunsets, cuddles, sand, adventures…

and 3 days of Bali Belly. But I can still say IT WAS WORTH IT. We stayed in Nusa Dua, which was a very good idea because I found Kuta too feral. The locals weren’t as nice and there were too many drunk foreigners stumbling around in the middle of the day. Id rather stay in Nusa again, or Seminyak. And Ubud is definitely a must for anyone.

Just SOME pics;

Wherever you are...

2009-11-05T11:01:00.006+11:00

Dream.
I realised today that my heart will always lie in two places. I awoke from the weirdest yet most beautiful dream, in which I found myself face to face with a man I once loved. His new girlfriend was by his side and Jimmy was by mine. A silent understanding passed between us, in the way that we always could speak a million words ... through the eyes.
I smiled at his girlfriend, and introduced myself, happily chatting about the day, while he quietly observed. For whatever reason, I knew they were very much in love, and it was ok. I think he was a little taken aback, but gradually warmed to the pleasant scenario that seemed to be unfolding. I wrapped my arm around jimmy’s waist, brought him into the fold of conversation, and they shook hands.
There was something very peaceful about the dynamic that flowed between us. Almost like an energy that linked all four of us in a place outside of time. He could see quite clearly, the person I had evolved into, and the quality of the man in my life, and it made him happy. And I could see that he was loved and in love, and it made my heart swell.
When I woke up this morning, I knew that while my heart and my love belongs to Jimmy (now, and for a very long time), I will always care for that man in my past. I will always wish the greatest dreams and happiness for him. While I wont miss the relationship, the two of us seemed never destined to be together as the people we were, I will always miss him as the lovely person he is as a companion, and a friend. And that is why my heart will always be there for him, in a place locked in history. Side by side without competition, with the ever growing adoration that I have for my Jimmy. One part will never quash the other, as they are not the same, but two different types of love – one in my past, one for my future.

Dear Racegoing Female;

2009-11-03T11:16:00.002+11:00

Dear Racegoing Female,
I only hope today that you have thought of several things;
If you have to think about the colour of your undies, just in case someone might see them when you sit down, uncross your legs etc... then that is NOT a modest hemline. This is not a nightclub, this is a fashion institution, you can be incredibly sexy with a hemline just above the knee.
If it looks like the saturation levels on your digi camera have been turned right up, you picked the wrong colour fake tan, and should fire your beautician. A fake tan is not just a fake tan, it is a wax, an exfoliation, and a thick slathering of moisturiser... THEN the tan on top. Leave the domination of oompa loompa land to Willy Wonka.
Fascinators should fascinate. Hats are not an afterthought, and will make or break your outfit. Sure, make it yourself ONLY and ONLY if you know what you are doing.
If if you think (even for a second) that those killer heels are going to be your arch nemesis by this evening... dont wear them in the first place! The only thing that shits me the most is stillettos slung over your shoulder and bare feet. Harden up, or wear flats. You are putting our sex to shame by stumbling aroound in pretty pink toenail polish and crusty dirty feet.

Thank you, have a lovely day, and please make a concerted effort to see at least one horse belting around the track :o)

Kaye

The Spring Buzz

2009-10-15T15:14:00.001+11:00

Alright well Im pretty excited… so excited that I think I might wee myself.

Aside from the fact that I am shooting with Terence Bogue this weekend (who I absolutely adore – see post below about his latest exhibition), I am engaged to consult on the interiors for luxury townhouses in the upper-class Melbourne suburb of Brighton, and my first site visit is this Sunday. The film I acted in is released in 6 weeks (if editing goes to schedule) and Ive just applied to upgrade my Interior Design degree at Swinburne to a double degree in Design & Business. Not only that, but I fly out to Bali on Monday for my first holiday in over 5 years… and 1 week after I get back, I fly to Perth for my dad’s 50th birthday!

Its all crazy busy in this neck of the woods but as my mum would say, this family doesn’t have it any other way!

So I’m very excited and a little apprehensive about this design consult, it will be my first time working with this client and I’m not sure yet of the brief or extent of the works required (hope to have this all answered on Sunday). The upside is that the commission is hourly so if the scope changes, so can my fee! We have our first meeting on site on Sunday, where I’ll determine the extent of the brief, outputs and timeframe, and his own aspirations of course. The townhouses are aiming for market presence by late November/early December so it’s a short sharp response time (sigh – so strapped for time with bali and Perth in between!). I’m breaking it down to four stages with project control points so that we don’t get off track or blow budget; Site visit & client briefing, Research & Brief Development, Conceptualisation & Prelim Proposal, and Final Proposal.

It’s a very small piece of work for a development that is 9/10ths complete, but it is very exciting nonetheless! Its times like these that I am extremely grateful that I work in the architecture & design industry as well as study Interior Design, as I find myself every moment using more knowledge from my day to day work experiences than anything I have learnt in class! The hardest part is to not get too far ahead of myself, and keep out the million-odd ideas that are bustling for attention before I even see the site!

I’ll keep you updated as to how it goes. x

Quarter Century... and all that Jazz

2009-10-15T13:42:00.002+11:00

Ok so Ive officially slipped out of the 18-24 bracket… and into the next quarter of my century.
Ladies and Gentlemen… I am 25!

At 25 you start thinking about getting a real job with a future, not waiting tables. You wonder how you are going to get a house. Should you start saving or something... how does one do that? You are happy and healthy, but maybe you party too much. You buy an iPhone then say why did I just spend so much money on a device that’s about to be outdated?. You start sucking at video games. You start dressing better and you don’t get as many traffic tickets. You try to grow a plant but it dies. You’re on the cusp of acting like a young adult, but still have frequent lapses of judgement (though thankfully less than before). You wish you could take back all those times you didn’t want to nap when you were a kid - because now you’re always some kind of tired. You watch the same movies you watched when you were younger and can finally see all the drug/sex/cult references as clear as day. You find yourself starting sentences with ‘The youth of today...’ and you start to groan when you stand up from kneeling. You start going to festivals ‘just for the music’. You find it harder to decipher the difference between boredom and hunger. You keep some people’s phone numbers in your phone just so you know not to answer when they call. You tend to say OMG, LOL, and WTF a lot less. Your insurance premiums, excess, and age-levy all go down...you can even rent a sports car! You start to convert the cost of all your shoes into a percentage of a deposit on a house/car/boat. You get a side of salad with your parmi at the pub, instead of chips. You now know there are more varieties of wine than ‘red and white’ and you buy bottles, not casks. And you can now maintain intelligent (and interesting!) conversations with your parents... And yet, you’re still despised by the 30-somethings every time you mention your age... Its a tough life...

Sunday May 18th, 2008

2009-09-25T17:53:00.004+10:00

Written over a year ago...The day after my 1 year anniversary celebrations in Melbourne ... and that was the night I met my Jimmy....
And he called me the very next day :)

IM SO PROUD OF ME.
_______________________________________________________

I sit here in the aftermath of last nights house party. Im hungover as fuck, but ridiculously content. Momentous occasions like these tend to give rise to contemplation...

Holy shit. One year. One year ago I sat alone in a room in Prahran. I was tired, emotionally drained, and in shock. I had just gotten off the plane, with a suitcase of clothes (but no warm jumpers). Hell, I got on a plane without a plan, no money, one (almost maxed out) credit card, no job to go to, and no real idea of where (or how) I might live. I took a massive risk, at a time when I was probably classified as emotionally unstable.

And look at me now! I dance, drink, party, love, laugh, see, do, breathe, eat, play, work and live all that is Melbourne - and all it has to offer. I show my friends and family around my city, and they can see for themselves how it has affected me... Im successful....and Im having a damn good time!

Though I should probably lay off the Tequila... shooters are fun but damn theyre dangerous! hehe but hey, at least I outlasted a certain housemate who passed out at 8.45pm (outlasted him by nearly 8 more hours!)

Its 2008 - and its MY year.

Drugs Are Nice

2009-09-25T17:50:00.001+10:00

An old blog entry of mine from August 28th, 2008

"After our last breakup, Andrew goes off to live in the forest and work on this 33rd soundwave-emitter that only aliens can hear. Why he wants to communicate with space creatures, I dont know. Id be scared to be out there in the woods, sending out intergalactic invites to a party where only one of the attendees would be human. I guess, objectively, I have to say Andrew is crazy. But Andrew always does what he wants, what he believes, while millions of other people never do, even once in their lives. Its too hard. And they dont give you health insurance for that - for living your dream. Andrew is brave and odd, and I do appreciate that - from afar. Every time he's near, I get so hostile. I guess I want all the bravery for me."
Drugs Are Nice - Lisa Crystal Carver

Ive taken to reading alot lately. Losing myself in fucked up worlds. This book is particularly good. Her world is particularly fucked up. And its a true story.
Im dropping into Mag Nation and oggling the rows and rows of design publications, Im enthusiastically studying my uni readings, learning all that I can absorb. Im re-reading the books on my shelves. Im devouring words like a starving child, and regurgitating ideas onto page like that child, fed too quickly.
Im writing alot lately too. I cant concentrate on my work. My desk is littered with sketches and scrawled post it notes and drafts of ideas and concepts and quotes and readings. Maybe that is why Im pumping out the stories on my laptop, why the facebook notes come thick and fast. A million thoughts and ideas stream through my conscious, like Im feeling my way through a fog of words. And its the best feeling in the world.

Today, it is 2 years since I broke up with Luca. So much time has passed. Even how I came to remember this fact was purely by accident. Every now and then I wonder how he is or what he is up to these days, but mostly not at all. Im so SO very proud of myself - where I am, who I am, where Ive been, the life I live, and the people I have in it. Im even proud of the shit I dragged my sorry ass through, because of it I am infinitely wiser, stonger, more determined, more focussed. And Im having fun! I spent one long sad year wading around in a black hole of depression, self pity and denial, 6 months Perth, 6 months Melbourne. Then a further 6 months working out what I wanted from my life, who the hell I was as an adult (believe it or not, I actually didnt know) and appreciating all those things Id always taken for granted. As I eclipsed my one year anniversary in Melbourne, I fell in love again. And a few more months on now, and I dont recognise myself in the mirror - I am nothing like that messy unstable state of affairs that boarded a plane in May 2007. I dont punch that mirror, instead I take a twirl and admire what I have created for myself. All the wonderful things I have now, would not have come my way until I learnt to change the things I would not accept, accept the things I could not change, learn, grow. Become.

Time to celebrate? Indeed. I have much to celebrate; Great job, great house, great boy, great health, great friends, great family, great degree, great city. I owe Melbourne alot.

"...I examine the situation as I shower and dress for the first time in three days. Maybe all the dumb-looking stuff we do is really smart. If it werent for my dumb problems (and his), we wouldnt have created these shows, we wouldnt always travel, we wouldnt have so many funny stories to tell. Having an unfillable hole inside is a great catalyst. Youre always trying new things to fill it. People with holes look good! Look ready for action. But then sometimes your home alone, and there's nothing new to try, and there the hole still is. "Hey", it growls, poking you from the inside, "Im still hungry". I get tired of it! And now, here, I fear Jean Louis is getting tired of it, too - of my hole, which Im beginning to think is a little bigger, a little hungrier, then his. Other times I think there's no hole at all - Im simply happy and in love, and I just cant stand to see myself as simple or the same as other people, so I make up all these complications."
Drugs Are Nice - Lisa Crystal Carver
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'Shifted' Exhibition - Terence Bogue

2009-09-23T12:38:00.008+10:00

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Review in todays The Age on an exhibition by Terence Bogue (featuring me as the model!) He creates such beautiful imagery and is such a lovely lovely person to work with!

Grabbing our attention
September 23, 2009
The Age

.......

Other photographers identify something stunningly beautiful. Terence Bogue captures it with mastery at Shifted. His images of a woman's shoulder blades and hand remind me of the classics of American photography. But his tender marble-like pictures also have an austere touch of Canova, silky but statuesque, sensual but chaste. Under the title The Itch, the sense of anecdote and perhaps erotic temptation arrives at iconic tranquillity.

.......

Terence Bogue

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Botanical Gardens Photoshoot

2009-09-23T11:31:00.008+10:00

Sometimes, when you work with an RMIT student photographer, you find a gem!

The rest of the images are here

(click to enlarge)

Photographer: Stephen Amando Lukman
http://www.modelmayhem.com/900699

Dear You

2009-09-17T16:18:00.002+10:00

I could say that I'll always be here for you,
But that would be a lie and quite a pointless thing to do,
I could says that I'll always have feelings for you
but i've got a life ahead of me, I'm only 22,

Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage,

You always made it clear that you hated my friends,
You made me feel so guilty when I was running around with them,
And everything was always about being cool,
And now I've come to realise there's nothing cool about you at all,

Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage

Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage

~ Lily Allen

Thank you for ripping yourself from my world (quite grandly I might add), and allowing myself to find Me. Without that loss I wouldn’t have grown, learnt, changed, evolved, and fallen in love with the person I am (and should have always become if I hadn’t lived beneath your shadow). It was never your intention to throw darkness across us, in fact I switched off the light most times myself to hide safe with you, but always we lived in limbo between two strange places. Oddly I am grateful for the ache, the sorrow, and other such gifts you gave me…. because, well, just look at Me. You even said it yourself, many months later by lonely text message “…You have matured into a beautiful person…” Everything I lacked as a person, I gained by losing you. Thank you always.

Musings

2009-08-24T13:23:00.001+10:00

I am decidedly one of those people who has so many options in front of them that they want to do them all.
Opportunity lies before me, there is so much knowledge that I have access to, and people who could help me get there, and I don’t want to miss out on a thing. I want to try everything once, and see or do things that open my eyes. I want to take on more, go places, be someone, do envious things.

I worked 70 hours last week.

Time to turn down some opportunities!

Before they turn me into a shell, incapable of all the things I mentioned above.

Is it possible that life could be TOO good?

Letting the good times roll

2009-08-20T18:36:00.005+10:00

And as Kate says over at the Monday Project "Life Is Peachy".

Hmm, I really should stop trying to find content for this blog and just enjoy the 'silence' for a while.

I wish you could see me smiling.

K

HDC005 Contemporary Design Issues, Winter Term 2009

2009-08-06T14:32:00.002+10:00

6. How are the short and medium term needs of refugees being addressed by contemporary designers? Explain with reference to 3 examples serving the needs of displaced people during political upheaval or natural disasters

The number of people displaced by natural disaster and political upheaval is on the rise. In 2008, the figure stood at 42 million for those forcibly uprooted by persecution and conflict, and of this number, 80% were considered to live in developing or ‘third-world’ countries (UNHCR, 2009). And this figure does not take into account those forced from their home by natural disasters; floods, earthquakes, and the like. The US Dept of Homeland Security for example, estimated that more than 800,000 people were made homeless after Hurricane Katrina (Wortham, 2007). Across the globe, humanitarian effort is desperately seeking to find faster and more cost effective methods for housing these populations both during displacement, and also once they return to rebuild their nations, by socially and environmentally sustainable means.

The challenges that lie before our contemporary designers are almost as numerous as those that burden the refugees themselves. There are cultural barriers and geographical isolation barriers, a distinct lack of materials and resources (or high costs associated with sourcing) and access to basic necessities including power and water can be heavily restricted. The most effective emergency shelters “make use of inexpensive, readily available materials, and require minimum tools for a quick build” (Wortham, 2007). But designers must design not only provide shelter and safety, but fight disease, educate, locate loved ones and reunite families, and create a sense of community solidarity. There is an ethical obligation to build with environmentally sustainable initiatives, and a moral obligation to rebuild not only houses, medical centres, and schools, but homes and communities.

In recent years, there has been ever increasing discussions on what constitutes a safe and inclusive environment for displaced people, and how the people themselves adapt to temporary housing. We’ve been encouraged to rethink how we provide humanitarian building aid, and the longevity of the communities that develop. Cameron Sinclair of Architecture for Humanity (AFH), in his interview with Paula Antonelli in 2005, stated that “You have to be really part of the community. The way that we have always tried to work has been as an equal partnership between the community and the designer”. There has been a gradual shift in focus from meeting the short term needs of refugees in ad-hoc tent-villages, to the design of transitional housing, that is, shelters that can become homes, and have the durability to form the foundations of a new life for occupants.

Non-profit organisation ‘Architecture for Humanity’, in conjunction with regulatory bodies such as the United Nations council, have been exploring these concepts since its inception in 1999. One of AFH’s ideals, is that in building for refugees and the homeless; “Designs that are scalable, built using local materials or can also be used as core housing – as a hub for basic services like sanitation, communication, supplies – that basic dose of shelter, are key” (Stohr, 2006). In Stohr's book, Design Like You Give A Damn, she goes on to say that “houses that use local materials – helping revitalise economic development – are particularly useful”. Therefore it is imperative that the reconstruction of communities begins at this ground level, to encourage the long term stability of the culture or people. Unfortunately in some instances, using the indigenous skills of the displaced, or local resources, are not always possible, be it a cause of natural disaster, or segregation from a mainstream economy, such as in civil war.

Japanese architect Shigeru Ban, tested his ‘Paper log’ sustainable shelters in Japan in 1994, after a series of earthquakes destroyed housing for hundreds of thousands. Ban’s philosophy centred around the accessibility of materials, speedy and economically viable construction, and the environmental impact of material selection, but he also placed great emphasis on the potential beauty in such buildings. In simple terms, “Refugee shelter has to be beautiful. Psychologically, refugees are damaged. They have to stay in nice places.” (Shigeru Ban, Time)

In the instance of their ‘real-life’ scenario in Japan, the foundations for each house were beer crates weighed down with sandbags, the walls made from cardboard tubing (similar to that which would be found produced en-masse in the textiles industry) and the roof was a waterproof tent material. Between each tube in the wall, double sided and sponged tape protected the occupants from moisture and drafts. Each residence of 52sqm would cost less than US$2000 to produce, be environmentally sustainable and swift to erect. In subsequent building missions, the cost of construction may even decrease, based on the recyclability of some of the components. (Shigeru Ban Architects, 2008)

An impressive feature of these short to medium term paper tube homes, is their adaptability to various locations and refugee types. Shigeru Ban has designed with the occupant in mind, with the understanding that the situation for every refugee is different, that certain cultures call for different styles of living, and that the accessibility to resources may be scarce. In 1999, the paper tube construction was tested out in a case study involving Rwandan civil war refugees. It had come to the attention of the UN that the aluminium poles given to refugees to construct their tent housing, were being sold by the displaced, who instead cut down their own timber to provide the rigidity required for tents. With the potential for millions of refugees to undertake this practise, an alternative and more sustainable material was found in Shigeru Ban’s cardboard tube construction. Paper tubes could be manufactured nearby, on relatively simple machinery, and so transportation and construction costs were kept at a minimum. (Shigeru Ban Architects, 2008)

“The good thing about paper tubes is that they are readily available in various thickness and diameters. The weight they can support depends on these two things. theoretically, I can make buildings a few stories high, but I haven't yet been given the opportunity”, (Shigeru Ban, DesignBoom)

Other such adaptations of Ban’s designs, included larger floorplates for Turkish refugees with traditionally larger families, and where there was absence of beer crates, the rubble from destroyed homes formed the foundations. To provide greater insulation, the tubes were filled with shredded paper and fibreglass. In India, the climate meant that structural changes need to occur to discourage mosquitoes, to encourage cross ventilation, and to allow the cooking of meals within the shelter.

In 2005, Vestal Designs designed the SHRIMP housing project (Sustainable Housing for Refugees via Mass Production), a modular flat-packed style of housing that can be shipped to locations all over the world en-masse. The strength of this design lies in its capacity to be manoeuvred into difficult regions, as Vestal Designs have based their dimensions around the international standard for shipping containers. This then becomes a game of numbers... a container ship can potentially carry 6,400 containers, and each container can fit four flat packed shelters, capable of housing four people each, meaning that a single container ship could grant the arrival of shelter for over 100,000 refugees. (Vestal Design, 2008) SHRIMP housing also comes complete with pontoons and pressurised air canisters, allowing for water deployment. This means the container ships do not require a port to deliver the shelters, and that they can be transferred to flooded areas or areas where roads would have otherwise proved useless, utilising other methods of transport such as rivers to gain access to displaced people. Conversely, where access to potable water is scarce, each facility comes equipped with a roof fixed water distillery. Once cleared of their need for use, and communities begin to rebuild their long term housing, they can then be flat packed again, and shipped back to a base for storage.

Arguably though, one of the downfalls of the S.H.R.I.M.P design, was its initial reliance on timber products. And although manufactured from Sustainably Farmed Wood, the cost of production off-site, and the carbon footprint of mass production in factory situations, means that financial savings of large scale deployment are negated. While timber SHRIMP units can be reused by the process of retrofitting and recycling of components, greater durability and less environmental impact has been explored with the use of second-hand shipping containers themselves as the materials. (Vestal Design, 2008)

In 1999, Architecture for Humanity hosted a competition that called for the design of housing for the refugees of Kosovo, who were returning to a war-stricken region to find most of their homes had been destroyed. The aim of the competition was “to foster the development of housing methods that would relieve suffering and speed the transition back to a normal way of life” (AFH, 2001). The key here was the capacity for transition, rather than short term solutions. One such entrant (receiving an Honourable Mention) was the Pallet House, by I-Beam Design. I-Beam later proposed a similar design for tsunami-hit Sri Lanka in 2004.

“The people of Kosovo, like most people, had a strong commitment to their homes. As the various relief agencies working in the area predicted, people headed home at the first opportunity. Refugee-style camps in Kosovo were not thought to be possible or desirable. With the end of hostilities, three quarters of a million people or more were spreading out to towns, villages and farms all over Kosovo.” (AFH, 2001)

The Pallet House was an excellent example of transitional modular housing. It was a stable alternative to tent-housing, and could “transform a temporary living condition into a permanent home” (I-Beam, 2008). The primary material was shipping crates or pallets, whose weight was negligible when it came to shipping emergency supplies to a region. One 4.8m2 permanent multi-level home, could be constructed out of roughly 100 crates, lashed or nailed together, in just a few days and for less than US$3000 (I-Beam, 2008).

The design in its modularity meant that it was a flexible solution for refugees, and had the capacity to adapt to different cultures and family types, and could be added to over time by the occupants. There were multiple configuration options, and the shelters could either be covered with tenting or plastic sheeting, or the pallets could be reinforced and filled with concrete or rubble, once these because readily available. Occupants could even add plaster or clay walls, and decorate how they desired. These transitional homes could essentially morph into structures of permanence.

“Some of the designs that came from the Kosovo exhibit were fascinating because they played on this mass customisation. They utilised local materials and technologies, plugged them into a system that was pre-existing, and introduce new technologies in order to provide clean water, energy, and a clean place to sleep, all basic life needs” (Sinclair, 2005)

Humanitarian design in the modern era means to look beyond provision of emergency housing and medical supplies until displaced people can ‘fend for themselves’. There is much emphasis on how we rebuild entire communities with economic efficiency, and how we plan for the long term future using intelligent design. In his interview, Sinclair gives the example that in South Africa, the average cost of a traditional medical clinic is around US$150,000, but this was dropped to a mere 15% with smart design parameters, viable materials, and most importantly an understanding of context. AFH was not only able to provide facilities that dramatically increased the numbers of people that clinics could support, but allowed for more resources to be spent on employing medical staff, and purchasing supplies. (Sinclair, 2005) Such on flow effects of humanitarian design are indicators that efforts from various agencies and agendas (education, shelter, medicine, sanitation etc) are converging in a new manner of refugee aid.

Critically, the dominant drive for refugee populations is a return to the life they once had, to their homes and communities where they felt safe. And safety is not just about a lockable door, but community spirit, trust between neighbours, and for the people providing aid and assisting them to return to their lives. It is important that designers working on humanitarian projects look beyond physical needs, to the rehabilitation of a people.

While prevailing factors for design and construction will always centre on modulation/customisation, sustainably sourced and recyclable materials, and speed/ease of supply, humanitarian designers must engage with the cultural and familial needs of a community. Not only must their homes be restored, but so must their faith, dignity, family network and prospects for the future. The key, says Kate Stohr (2006), is simplicity, “Simple construction technique is what works – it’s not typically high design”. Sinclair follows this up by stating that “truly responsive care goes far beyond providing a basic means of survival... if we treat it as a birth and rebirth, then we’re focussed on creating and generating life. This is where design should play an incredibly important role.” It is when the designer looks beyond the physical design itself, to the population she is designing for, that we see the greatest service to displaced people. Humanitarian architecture built with the intention of transition, has the capacity to be the building blocks for dynamic new villages, town and cities. It facilitates the growth of families and communities from the very first instance of their displacement.

BIBLIOGRAPHY
Sinclair, C & Stohr, K (eds) 2006. Design Like You Give A Damn; Architectural Response to Humanitarian Crises, Architecture For Humanity, Metropolis Books.

Antonelli, P (2005), Safe: Design Takes on Risk, MOMA, New York (Design Like you give a damn)

Architecture For Humanity, Transitional Housing for Returning Refugees: Kosovo 1999-2000, http://architectureforhumanity.org/node/719
Retrieved August 1st, 2009

Design Boom, Shigeru Ban: Paper Loghouse. http://www.designboom.com/history/ban_paper.html Retrieved August 2nd, 2009
I-Beam Design, 2008. Humanitarian Projects.
http://www.i-beamdesign.com/projects/refugee/refugee.html
Retrieved July 27th 2009.

Irwin, T, 2009. UN refugee chief cites pressing needs as those uprooted tops 42 million. The UN Refugee Agency. http://www.unhcr.org/4a37c9076.html
Retrieved July 26th, 2009

Luscombe, B, 2000. He Builds With A Really Tough Material: Paper, Time Magazine Online. http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,997495,00.html
Retrieved July 26th, 2009

Vestal Design, SHRIMP Refugee Housing, http://www.vestaldesign.com/design/shrimp-refugee-housing/
Retrieved July 28th 2009

Wortham, J (2007) Instant Housing and Designing for Disaster, https://www.wired.com/culture/lifestyle/multimedia/2007/10/gallery_instant_housing
Retrieved July 28th, 2009

Rev head until the day I die...

2009-07-29T15:18:00.009+10:00

<3 Opel Calibra <3

I miss my car.
I miss spending too much money modifying her.
I miss car cruises with the club
I miss loud thumping tunes
I miss auto shows
I miss knowing how to drive her hard
I miss knowing her mechanically inside out
I miss head turning
I miss going super dooper fast
I miss being a show off
I miss sharing the auto obsession with my mum and her RX8
I miss surprising people “Oh wow is that YOUR car??”
I miss the shiny red paint, and the exhaust rumble

Goddam I have to get another car! Hmm, wonder what my next project shall be......

Gold Medal Time Waster

2009-07-27T14:04:00.002+10:00

Ok come on now...something has got to give!
One cannot continue on a trajectory of ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ and actually SUCCEED. Most days I feel like I don’t, other days I feel like Im hanging on with finger tips. Sometimes, but not very often, Im there in whole, only to find the pieces slipping as night falls, my day ends and I have achieved nothing. Not just ‘a little something’, but absolutely nothing.

I’ll give you an example.

School: I knew for three weeks that my final submission was coming up. I spent every night sitting in my study adding to the final submission, slowly but surely building towards a finished piece. Then something happened. One day I went into the study and I sat there. I picked up my Stanley knife and my scale rule, and I just looked at my half built model.
Nothing I could do could force me to finish it.
For hours that day I tried to build a second floor, so I gave up and tried to finish my floor plans. No success there either. I tried to make progress on my sketchbook. All I achieved that day was a ‘to do list’, of things to finish before submission. How contradictory!
As night fell that evening, Jimmy asked me how things were going, and I said ‘Fine’. I was so ashamed that I had sat there all day and made not one iota of progress... hours and hours wasted. I found anything I could to distract me, I’d check my facebook account... 5, 10, maybe 15 or 20 times. Id write out a shopping list, using the internet to compare prices between supermarkets, Id do ‘research’ on design by watching youtube documentaries, then follow the you-tube trail to things completely unrelated. Id draw out a monthly budget for finances. Id make myself a cup of tea. Id have a shower... the third one that day. I was convinced that if I got these things out of the way, my mind would be clear to focus on my assignment.

As the hours passed, I had so much anxiety about getting it finished, that I couldn’t sleep. So I’d stay up all night working on my assignment, and of the 12 hours through the darkness, I perhaps worked for 4 or 5 of them. I was the least productive creature you’d ever encountered. I could not work at speed and I could not stay focussed. A thousand thoughts of all varieties and durations streamed through my mind constantly. I thought about what I had to do tomorrow, I things I wanted to buy, or when I should do things, or what people were doing, or where I wanted to be. I thought about the environment, about life and love, and getting fit, and saving money, and seeing that exhibition, and doing a course, and cleaning the study.
I twitched, I fidgeted, I bounced my leg up and down, played with my hair, I painted my nails, and then picked it all off again.
In the end, at dawn on the day of my submission, I was not finished. But being the chronic perfectionist I am, I simply could not hand it in half finished. I could not stand there in front of the class and tell people that I had ‘worked’ on it for hours and still not successfully completed it. I was too ashamed, embarrassed, guilty, all of those, and so disappointed that it wasn’t my best work.

So I did not hand it in at all.
For days I had been fighting these distraction demons, and I wasn’t even bothering to hand it in.

I sat in the car outside my work (Id stayed at the office all night to work on it) and debated with myself, convincing myself that I was going to fail anyway, and that the humiliation wasn’t worth it. So I drove home at 5am. Jimmy was expecting me home at 9am (after I had gone to uni to submit) so I drove down the road with the lights off, parked my car a little further away, and curled up into a little ball. I tried to sleep for about an hour in the car, but it was too cold. Then I decided to leave my assignment in the car, cover it up with a jumper, in case Jim walked past and saw it, and then I snuck into the house, took off my shoes, and crept into the lounge room. I slept on the couch for a few hours until an appropriate time when I could ‘come home’. He never knew.

Two weeks later my lecturer contacted me to ask why I had never submitted. She had been told my work was of the highest calibre, but that she could not second my grades to date unless she saw the work. I wrote to her telling what had happened, how some sort of shutdown mechanism had meant that I sat for hours unable to finish a single component of my final folio. I told her I was willing to accept a fail and repeat the unit. She disagreed that this was appropriate, and asked to see what I had done, and gave me a week. And you know what happened? In that week, I did nothing. Oh GOD i tried. I sat down every night, and did more allnighters, desperately trying to raise the quality of my work and even complete some of it. It took me days to do things that should have taken hours. Again, I was infinitely distracted, I even cooked elaborate meals and went to the gym, using my heath as an excuse to not tackle the task at hand. And yet again, it wasn’t until the final hours before submission, that I was working at a frantic highly strung out pace, desperately trying to finish. Unfortunately the anxiety of submitting was not enough to overcome the days I spent wasting time. And so even though I had a second chance, AND an extra week, I still suffered miserably. I’d done a little more, sure. But it still wasn’t finished.

Here’s the clincher.

I did finally submit, albeit incomplete, and I got my mark back... 75, and a Distinction.
waaaat?
Not only did I pass, but they were good marks, and the work wasn’t even finished! Instead of being happy for what I had, I couldn’t help beat myself up over what I COULD have achieved had I been able to stay focused.

And this seems to happen with every unit at uni that I have ever attempted. I get really good marks for the most part, and then there is a drastic decline as the work piles up. Ive failed/repeated more units than I care to count, yet when I successfully complete a unit, my marks are really good! I know I can do the work, its not hard. But something always stops me. I like to blame 'time', I like to say Im 'too stressed' juggling fulltime work and study, but other people do it just fine, so why not me? And the reality is that I have lots of time, no less than everyone else. I just don’t know how to use it.
Generally I just tell myself that Im lazy, or that this ‘shutdown’ mechanism is just how I cope, and that I’ll try harder next semester. But its too endless, and it never gets better. Sometimes I try to talk myself out of it altogether – ‘as much as I want to complete this degree, I just don’t feel cut out for study. I almost didn’t pass year 12 for the exact same reason! I did great for the first 6 months then one by one it all fell apart and I only scraped through based on earlier grades, maybe I should take another path?’

And thats just school.

What about work? Oh don’t even get me started. I used to love my job, now I find it difficult to make it through a day. I am in constant fear that I’ll be found out for the things I am behind on, or haven’t done. For the love of gawd I cannot get or stay motivated, and the only things that I can achieve are short little menial tasks. Sometimes it goes up and down throughout the month - usually worse in the middle, and I actually used to think it was hormonal! Kinda still do.

And it gets worse;

*I always have a million thoughts in my head and I can mull over three or four completely different topics at the same time. I even consider myself a good writer, but I constantly have to make side notes on my screen because Im thinking too many topics ahead, jumping paragraphs, and I don’t want to lose those thoughts.

*Its difficult to initiate tasks, because its easier to not start, than to stop halfway through.

*I’ll sign up for a short course (three so far), and even if Ive paid money, I usually pull out/stop going after a few weeks.

*I end up working long hours but doing the same work as everyone else

*”I’ll do it tomorrow” is my mantra

*I can fluctuate quickly from genuinely sad or disappointed with life, to an intense focus on right now, and being happy being in the ‘right now’, but always with a million things to plan. MY boyfriend jokes that Im like a yo-yo, and he can almost see my mind working at a million miles an hour, when I should be relaxing. And relaxing IS very difficult, I feel guilty if Im not ‘on the go’. And its gotten progressively worse over the past 3 or so years, because the moment things start to appear calm, I start adding things into my life to be/achieve/do, to fill it up.

As the weeks pass it seems to have greater and greater impact on my capacity to get things done. I cant get myself to the gym, I am never ever at work on time, my house is a mess (or its the kind of clean where everything is stacked ‘neatly’ in piles a foot high, or shoved under my bed) and I make endless to do lists, wish lists, and budgets that are never ever achieved.
Im even procrastinating right now.
Im despairing over the things that are behind or overdue or imminent so I take time out to write about it.
What am I?
Nuts?!

Feels like Im going crazy.

BRAVERY - The Monday Project

2009-07-20T17:10:00.007+10:00

Brave.

Brave.

Is that what you really want me to be?

Why not?

I mean, if I truly was brave, there would be a million things I might try to achieve that would seemingly leave you behind. Your tenure in my world may lapse.

Never truly.

Why?

Because you’ll always remember me as the one who gave you license to be brave.

Would you mind so much if I was brave by following you?

Of course not.

Really?

Really. I’d be flattered, in fact.

But...

But what?

What if I followed you, only to find that I wanted to change my mind, and do or be something else?

Well my dear, you’d truly then be the bravest, but you’d still in fact be following me, and oh! what an honour to be privy to such a thing!

Oh... this IS true isn’t it?

Yes.

Thank you

You’re very welcome, as always.

I love you, heart.

I love you, soul.

In response to The Monday Project

Everyday

2009-07-20T09:47:00.001+10:00

.
‘He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves’
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Short Form Essay - Contemporary Design Issues - 1st Year

2009-07-14T14:21:00.006+10:00

Contemporary Design Issues - Winter Semester

Zaha Hadid is an Iraq born, English trained architect famous for her Deconstructivist style of architecture. She has been widely recognised for her use of highly advanced 21st century imaging technology to depict her very organic forms, and in 2004 was the first woman to be awarded the prestigious Pritzker Prize for her contribution to the field of architecture, arguably the highest honour bestowed upon a living architect.

Hadid’s work is an organic exploration of plane, and expresses an intrinsic and raw sense of movement that builds upon itself much as melody builds upon rhythm. It has been described as ‘combin(ing) sculptural sensuality with formal logic’ (Carolyn Ford writing on Hadid’s Chanel Mobile Art Pavilion). And in a ground breaking installation at the Guggenheim Museum in New York in 1992, her contribution was described as this seamless ebb and flow of matter by architecture critic Joseph Giovanni;

“...expanding it into the third dimension, moving the parts in abstract formations, like ice flows, through the whole museum. What seemed graphically like an object emerged as a field of objects moving through the existing building, adapted to its circular geometry. The movement was fluid, and spatial: the forms dropped and rose throughout the structure.”

This description is an altogether accurate analogy of Hadid’s catalogue of work. Hadid took great influence from the work of the Suprematists school of thought, and was an avid painter, using the brush to visual form and realise her designs. But Hadid’s design philosophy was lauded not for her interpretation of Suprematist ideals (many of which belonged to her teachers and mentors) but because she constantly tested and pushed the norms for visual communication of her designs, adopting ideas not explored by her predecessors, generating the realisation of what the built form could indeed achieve.

“She often layered drawings done on sheets of transparent acrylic, creating visual narratives showing several spatial strata simultaneously... this methodology, applied in the elusive pursuit of almost intangible form, she escaped the prejudice latent in such design tools as the T-square and parallel rule... Adopting isometric and perspectival drawing techniques used by the Suprematists to achieve strangely irrational spaces that did not add up to Renaissance wholes, she entered an exploratory realm where she developed forms distorted and warped in the throes of Einsteinian space...” Joseph Giovanni, The Architecture of Zaha Hadid, Pritzker Prize Essay 2004.

Hadid’s renderings, models and sketches, had taken form away from matter, and weight away from mass. Interestingly, for the first 10 years of her architectural career, not one of her visions was built. It seemed that she was destined to be too far ahead of her time, that was, until the age of the computer. Much discussion has ensued regarding technology’s influence in Hadid’s post 1980’s work, and the effect visualisation technology had on her design style of exploring natural, dynamic, almost single surface forms. And the question to be asked, would Hadid have achieved the level of success of current, if it had not been for the computer? Patrick Schumacher, author of Digital Hadid, believes not. Schumacher argued that to reduce this new style of working as being generated by the onset of the computer, is to ignore a great many other predating advancements in methodolody and critical practise. Yet he does agree that with the onset of 3D modelling and digital rendering programs in Hadid’s work “...a new level of structural complexity, tectonic fluidity, and plastic articulation has been mastered with precision and confidence”, pp5-6.

Hadid now enjoys frequent forays across discipline, having been commissioned to design jewellery, furniture, and shoes amongst other things.

Ford, C. Chanel – Zaha Hadid http://www.pritzkerprize.com/laureates/2004/essay.html Retrieved July 9th 2004

Schumacher, P. 2004. Digital Hadid -Landscapes in Motion, Birkhäuser Basel, London.

Two Draw Cabinet
Zaha & Melissa Shoes
Cairo Expo City

Images; http://makingfurnitureinteractive.wordpress.com/2007/09/05/
http://www.stylepark.com/es/established-und-sons/swash-limited
http://www.dezeen.com/2008/10/24/melissa-shoes-by-zaha-hadid-architects/
http://www.designboom.com/weblog/cat/9/view/6666/zaha-hadid-architects-cairo-expo-city.html

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On Creativite Genius - Elizabeth Gilbert

2009-06-26T11:16:00.003+10:00

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote a book that I absolutely adored, and dreamed that I could one day emulate as I struggle through writing my own history. http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm

She made me want to throw my cares to the wind, chase dreams, and look for rainbows. The disillusion of self, and heartache rendered by her dependence on others was like reading the introduction to my own story.

And as I frequently encounter the next mental and creative block, I came across this speech by Gilbert, on the pressures and battles of creativity, and how to carry the burden. And importantly, how much self doubt she still carries in her ability, and how hard it is still for her to sit down and write.

.Check it.

Art & Architecture

2009-06-25T10:37:00.001+10:00

.
I had to share this because it is so striking. Tokujin Yoshioka is an extremely talented multidisciplinary artist who covers graphics, exhibition design, furniture & product design, and architecture (http://www.tokujin.com/)

This recent piece by him was for the largest watch exhibition in the world, Baselworld2009, and was commissioned for Swarovski. It is called the Lake of Shimmer and measures 9m by 8m and contains 16,000 mirrors attached to the wall, each which have their angle controlled by a computer. This makes for a stunning play of colour and light, and adds a beautiful smoothness and naturality to a very mechanical operation. It is like watching ripples in a pond and while visually stimulating, is calming to the mind because of its representation of natural life & movement.
Who doesn’t feel as peace when gazing by the waters edge?

Gifts from strangers

2009-06-24T12:12:00.002+10:00

.
Somebody I had never met before, spent an hour talking to me yesterday. They sat back in their chair, paused and thought for a moment before saying “You know exactly what you want from life don’t you? You know exactly what you’re doing. And where you want to be, and how you’re gonna get there”

Bless him. This surprised me; that after an hour of conversation, one considered themselves so perceptive. And honestly and confidently voice their perception.

This surprised me too, because I blinked quickly and thought wow...

...Thankfully, yes, I actually do.

Finally.
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Im dreaming of...

2009-06-23T14:53:00.003+10:00

Damn you long legs! You would surely break in heels this high! Not to mention make me hit my head on tram doors, train openings, door frames, and low hanging branches!

le... sigh

Damn you Nine West and your 50% off sale!

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Letter to Shanks

2009-06-16T16:55:00.012+10:00

Dear Shanks,

I know you are going on this big adventure, and opening a really massive new chapter in your life. I wanted to tell you a couple of things that I thought of but just didn’t say, as I stood in Kim’s hallway and wondered what I should say to you. I ended up telling you I was proud of you. But it’s so much more than that.

I want to thank you for making friends with a complete stranger over the radio. For not caring about where I was from, or where I’d been, what I’d done, or what I’d seen. And for wanting to be my friend because of who I was on the inside.

I want to let you know that you moving to Melbourne was the kick start that I needed, helping me to understand that no-one is ultimately trapped in their situation. And I wanted to thank you for those lonely first weeks in this bloody cold place, where we sat in various pubs in the city, smoking our cigarettes and contemplating our existence. And not only bonding over this massive new adventure, but actually learning things about each other and becoming greater friends. Because the reality tied to this situation is that as much as we got along, we didn’t really know each other then.

And thankyou for the months that followed, picking up late night pizzas/kebabs/chinese and stumbling drunkenly home, getting lost while exploring the most random places, catching gigs, making new friends (and enemies! ...Ah that night on the tram on the way to Laundry, when we had a run-in with the junkies!) and always having yet another random Bikkies and Shanks adventure. And THANKYOU for taking Jimmy into your fold of friends as you did with me. Its like you passed the baton... and now he gets to hold my hair back when Im sick. Arent you glad you passed THAT baton on!? lol

We were flat broke together, starved together, and when we had cash... boy! did we live LARGE together. The memories are forever and incorruptible (except the ones where... you know... we don’t actually remember what happened. lol)

I am also grateful for having you round during the shitty nights, when I hated where I was and who I am. But you were always there, you taught me that it was ok to call someone a c*nt, if they were being one. And that Monday night drinking sessions were never worth it on Tuesday morning, but were necessary at the time, so that I could vent. You knew when I was having a rough time, and you were always there with bear-hugs. There were Luca-demons, the death of my friend, losing my little Conni, and crappy crappy work colleagues. There were also girl-dramas and cash-flow dramas. And icky icky come-downs. You also told me when I should just harden the fuck up... I really needed that too sometimes.

Seriously dude it has been 2 years of mayhem, chaos, pain, victory, growth, and maturity (who knew I could put those words in the same sentence!) and we’ve had a crazy crazy time. We have come to the end of an era, but not the end of a wicked friendship. Ultimately I am SO proud of you... I look back on me and think ‘Holy shit, look how far I’ve come’ but I’ve also looked back at you, and you’ve grown so much as a person too. I am so grateful for a best friend like you... one of the truest ones.

These next few years of your life are going to take you places you never would have believed possible, and you’ll see things and meet people who will constantly blow your mind (both good and bad). You are an awesome awesome person and I have not met one soul who doesnt get along with you. Dont bloody forget it, if theyve got a problem with you... its their problem. Youre just one of those people you know? You make friends easily, you go out of your way to help & understand people, and your a total trashbag (apparently people like that? ;p )

Please keep your wits about you, and for godsake keep your phone insured. Take LOTS of photos, keep in touch, keep true to yourself, drink things other than scotch, eat weird food (and get gastro), poke strange animals (but not strange people), learn swearwords in foreign languages, call me on Skype and teach me foreign swearwords, download lots of Oz hip hop to educate your fellow crew, and never ever forget how many people love the shit out of you back home.

Best.Housemate.Ever

Hugs and Gutz!

xx Kaye

P.S. A few of the classics.....

1. http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?page=4&id=619719209&view=all&m=1#/video/video.php?v=119431231040&subj=642109618

2. http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?page=4&id=619719209&view=all&m=1#/video/video.php?v=46587244618&subj=642109618

3. http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?page=4&id=619719209&view=all&m=1#/video/video.php?v=51120524618

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I <3 My Folks

2009-06-10T12:51:00.003+10:00

So I introduced my parents to my blog. I had to think about it for a little while... but hey, its me right?

And then lo-and-behold... I got a package in the mail! Mum had actually brought me the french bag that I blogged about in December last year! Well, same designer, similar style...

I got this one...

http://www.cleverbastards.co.nz/the-store/ingrid-anderson/1779/french-bag-ring/4774

Love love love love it :o)

Recipe for an anxiety cure

2009-06-09T18:04:00.005+10:00

Take one large dose of icy cold weather and rain

A few small pinches of camping equipment

1 cup of red wine (did I say 1? I meant 4, no wait, 5.)

A hefty dollop of cuddle-y love from the boy

Several lashings of bbq'd meat & salad

and a sprinkling of hiking, football on the beach, and wombat watching.

And VIOLA! Anxiety gone!

Ive just finished university for the semester... YAY! And I can barely contain my excitement. Jim and I have been planning our camping trip for weeks now. We travel down to Wilsons Prom on a Friday and stay for 3 days. The beauty of going at this time of year is that the place is tomb-quiet. Most people chicken out at the thought of sleeping in a tent at 3 degrees but Oh! not me! Its my favourite time of year to camp!

Once the tent is pitched, we do a little exploring, cook some dinner on the bbq, and then retire to the tent with 3 fluffy doona's, a thick mattress, a beautiful bottle of Barossa or Clare Valley Shiraz, and some drool-worthy cheeses. We go to sleep when the sun goes down, and rise with the birds. The tent keeps us dry, and we huddle inside if its raining. When its not raining we run around like fools on the beach to keep ourselves warm. There are no phones. And no internet. And no power, so there isnt even any music or generators. And no small screaming children. Its just PERFECT.

This weekend just gone i worked for 48 hours STRAIGHT on my final assignment. I woke up at 9am on Saturday, and did not sleep again until 9am on Monday. Sure Ive done my uni all nighters before, but never two in a row. And never again let me tell you. On Monday morning, I was not sure I could safely drive home (Id locked myself away in the office to get it all done), my eyes were bloodshot and sunken, my lips were dry and cracked, and I was hallucinating. My eyes played mean tricks on me and I looked like a startled rabbit. On crack.

And its done. But I promise promise promise I will NOT do that to myself again!
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List for a shitty day...

2009-06-02T19:40:00.004+10:00

Things that make me happy, or ‘The List That I like To Use On A Shithouse Day”

I just pick something, and do it.
Whether its buying myself a really yummo cheese from the market, or picking up some daisys on the way home, or planning a weekend away camping...
I know these are the things that make me happy, so I find a way to do them!

1.Big flamboyant red wines with creamy crumbly cheese
2.Getting home in the evening to find that a vase of flowers opened while I was out and the whole house smells of lilies
3.Cycling downhill while peddling backwards and listening to the whirring of the gears
4.Succulent salmon with a crispy crust, on a bed of mash potato
5.The ultimate comeback in a disagreement
6.Watching the sun rise, and knowing that no matter how knackered you are, it was totally worth it
7.Spoiling my boy and watching the surprise on his face
8.Op Shopping in Brunswick
9.Sleeping in the warm car in the sunshine
10.West Australian sunsets
11.The moment directly after cleaning up my desk, when I realise I have alot of space!
12.The of lightness after submitting a major tender
13.Climbing onto the kitchen stools and dancing, three feet above the ground
14.The giddy endorphin rush as I walk out of the gym
15.Clicking with a complete stranger
16.Electric blankets on a chilly night
17.Finding the PERFECT dress
18.Animal documentaries
19.Getting flowers delivered to work for ALL to see!
20.Shopping with my baby sister
21.The smell of damp air just before it rains
22.Riding my bicycle through Fawkner Park in the evening, through the brown leaves and under the yellow path lights, when the sky is charcoal grey and the darkness comes from the trees
23.Being a flirt
24.Going out of my way to help a stranger
25.Making people laugh
26.Waking up with sore legs and knowing that not only did I probably burn 1000 calories, but that its because I danced to my favourite music the night before.
27.Being inspired by how simple some people lives their lives, but still with immense happiness
28.Knowing ALL the lyrics to a song, and singing them aloud with a friend
29.Going for a big swim, then followed by a nap
30.Being complimented
31.Stomping around the house pretending Im Eminem (I know WAY too many of his songs haha)
32.Long showers where I just sit on the steamy tiles and zone out
33.The smell of freshly ground coffee (even more than the taste!)
34.Spooning
35.Visitors
36.A baby’s infectious burbling laugh
37.Kissing in the rain
38.Getting that hairstyle JUST right
39.Big lavish dinners for friends that take forever to cook but are totally worth it
40.Drawing pictures in the wet sand at the beach
41.Food-comas
42.Hiking till I cant hike no more, and camping out. And then hiking back again!
43.Spotting a shooting star
44.Getting a professional massage that seems to last for hours
45.Acting crazy in public, just to giggle at peoples reactions
46.Realising that I have money saved in my spare bank account that I didn’t even know about!47.Curling up in bed during an early morning thunderstorm, and knowing that I can get up when I like!
48.The smell of hot salty potato chips
49.Playing on the playground that is CLEARLY designed for children
50.Baking warm muffins and then eating every single one before the day is finished!
51.Playing with puppies
53.Having a picnic.
54.Having a picnic with candles inside when the weather is crappy
55.Feeling (and looking) like shit first thing in the morning, only to be told Im the most beautiful creature on the planet56.Being right when everyone was thinking I was wrong
57.Skipping
58.Magpies warbling in the morning
59.Getting an excited buzz when I realise who is waiting for me at home
60.A fresh new haircut61.Kicking Honkey-nuts
62.Pouring my heart out onto a page, and not realising how much I have written until my hand cramps
63.Taking lots and lots of photos
64.Realising how important someone is to me
65.Wednesdays... aka Hump Day
66.The perfect chai, made from scratch, with honey and soy.
67.Lying on the warm pavement in the sun on a chilly day
68.Dancing around the kitchen
69.The smell of aftershave... on a mans flesh.
70.Stepping out of the bath looking like a prune
71.The smell of wet earth, rain, and warm air in the evening
72.Lying on the grass on my lunch break with my head on his tummy, watching the clouds
73.Camping in the height of winter with lots of doonas and red wine
74.Puppy smell
75.Breakfast on Christmas Day with my family, complete with Crayfish and Champagne!
76.Long horseback trailrides until my butt and my thighs hurt
77.The smell of leather, and sweat, and dust and horses
78.Cooked prawns with seafood sauce
79.Chasing chickens
80.Burnouts, and truckstop runs. And burnouts.
81.Long drives on winding coastal roads with windows down and my hair blowing all over the place
82.Painting my nails fire-engine red, even though it doesn’t match my outfit!
83.Traipsing through second hand bookshops in Fitzroy
84.Painting things to go in my house, and reusing old/cool/funky things in new ways
85.Picking strawberries
86. Banana bread from Piccolo

To be continued......
.....

untitled.

2009-05-28T16:05:00.004+10:00

.
If I write on floral paper will my words sound sweeter?
Will they ring with gentle laughter and tales that make you smile?
I write frantically in the hope that a page with lacy edges and a silver sheen soften the anguish when you leave me.
I pray for it to mute the crushing sound of your heart as I write that I’m leaving you.

You did this to us.

I cry because you left me, and I cry on days like today because the sun is shining and the air is warm and the breeze tickles my cheek.
But I asked you to go.
I wish to call you and suggest we have one of those wonderful picnics we use to have.
When we didn’t have any money, and it didn’t matter.

And your heart crushes on the page that I wrote you.
And the hurt leaks out, rippling across the page to seek out the pen as it scratches the paper.
I watch in wonder as the pen inhales it brutally
It undulates like a silent ocean rip within the ink, spreading slowly to the tips of my fingers
There it stains, as I tell you that I love you.

I’m leaving.

I flick through the notebooks, careful not to drop a piece of your pain from the tip of my torn nails
I pick another piece of paper and start again.
I find the prettiest piece. Its blue. Softly blue.
But there is that sound, loud and clear as I write with the leaking pen and my stained fingers.

I’ll never stop loving you.

It’s your heart, crushing on the paper.
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Yellow Eyes

2009-05-27T10:03:00.000+10:00

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I like to lie on my back on the grass with my eyes shut. I do this often on my lunch break, whenever the sun promises to peek from behind the clouds. I stare at the sun through closed lids. The heat warms my veins and the rays permeate the transparency of my flesh. When my eyes flicker open, the world has a golden hue. The grass has a luminescence, the buildings have soft ochre tones and the leaves on the trees, turning now because its autumn, have little gold rims. Everything I look at is bathed in yellow, and its somehow more magical.

I cannot help but reminisce about when I used to look through dads old sunglasses. As a child I would pick them up, ever so gently, and slide the giant metal frames over my freckled face. They sat there well, on account of my nose being quite turned up back then. He would doze on the couch, and I would make off with them, admiring the burnt yellow lenses – such was the seventies. Sometimes I would put them on and stand at the front window, marvelling at how they could change the colours of our garden, the passing cars, and the people that traversed the footpath. I would lift them away from my face, and drop them again, giggling at how I could make people go brown like the Jendayi family. Mum said they were “ethnics”, I never found out what kind, dad didn’t really like me playing near their house. They moved away after a few years, I think because they didn’t have many friends. I’d play with dad’s glasses by the window for as long as he would sleep. If he’d been to the bottle-o after his shift, then I got to play with them for longer, because he’d always sleep longer then. I’d sit patiently on the footrest, watching the afternoon news with him, until he nodded off.

Dad would always yell if he ever caught me with his glasses. They were his favourites and he’d had them as long as I could remember. One day I did not see him coming, and he had yelled with such ferocity that I’d dropped them. He snatched them off the ground and rammed them onto his face. He gripped my arm very hard and jerked me towards him. “Whaddaya think you’re doing boy!?” he boomed as he shook me. I froze up then, because I feared what he might do to me if I told him that I’d been playing with them. So I didn’t say anything. He lent down and brought his nose close to mine, digging his nails into my arm. He stared at me intently through the ochre lenses, and I remember thinking how yellow his eyes looked. He leant closer, and I could smell the dark liquor on his breath. He slapped me then, because I didn’t answer him. The handprint had glowed immediately. I should have answered him, then I wouldn’t have been hit. I tried not to cry because it was my fault, but the second time he slapped me, it whipped my head around and rogue tears had trickled down my cheek. But they didn’t wash away the red welt. They never did.

He relaxed then, and the anger subsided as quickly as it had risen. He had sighed, using me to push himself upright. He tousled my hair and walked back to the TV room, talking over his shoulder as he walked out, “I love you kid, but you fucking shit me to tears”. I always thought later on that if I had just stopped taking his glasses, he might have loved me that bit more. But I couldn’t help it, I loved how the my parents house looked through them, and I loved that with a flick of my wrist, I could distort the colours of my world.

From that day on, I’d always taken extra care when I snuck off with his glasses. I’d sneak off to the back of the horses paddock, and walk around, pretending to be dad. I’d always add a little swagger, because dad always had a beer belly. And I’d talk to our chestnut mare Bella, mimicking dad’s gravelly tone. And I’d always wear the glasses, and Bella would always glow a golden burning orange beyond them. And then I’d traipse back to the house, flicking the sunglasses up and down as I went. I was always careful to return them just as I had found them.

When dad died of liver failure in 1983, they buried him with his sunglasses. I remembered how his face was coloured behind them, that day he slapped me, and I thought to myself that now his eyes would be yellow forever. When I was much older, I realised that dads’ eyes were already yellow, and that he was probably dying for as long as I could remember. As now, as I lay on my back on this crisp autumn day, I hope to god that I will never wear yellow glasses again, and that the tingling I feel behind my eyes when I lay on my back will always fade away.
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Friday Fog

2009-05-22T11:21:00.000+10:00

Image by http://stephensoo.blogspot.com/2009/04/melbourne-shrouded-in-fog.html

I am awake before the birds are today.
Mind you, it’s a little after 7am and it’s only the fog that keeps them sleepy. I can see them in the trees all puffy and cute wrapped in dewy grey blankets.

I wish to stay home today, to sit by my window and watch the sunshine burn the layers of fog, to toast the birds until they stir and press their feathers back to their skin, because they are warm. And they will sing and feed, and poo on my car. And I will watch them, and write. But I have to go to work. In the city. Amongst the buildings, up high. With my computer and my photocopier and my crappy cappuccino machine. And the in-tray that rivals Mount Everest.

And then, when I DO get to work ...I write about how I want to be at home. Writing. And watching the birds poo on my car, once the sun burns away the fog.

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The Ultimate 21st Century Baby Present

2009-05-01T16:51:00.001+10:00

Learning Consumerism for all ages... including tiny tots. Teach em young!

courtesy of Michi Girl http://michigirl.com/newsletter/melbourne/1708/budding-bunny-beneficiary/

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All Mine.

2009-04-16T14:46:00.002+10:00

short story.

Could he be an investment banker?
No. Not cool enough.
An architect?
Now, yeah. Thats cool.
An architect. She smiles

Sara is staring straight ahead now, as they rumble down the road.
How lovely to be married to an architect, spending your lazy Sundays by the fire, talking about the dream home while he sketches away. Her lips curl up in a little half smile, and she closes her eyes. The sun is beginning to rise, filtering gently through the morning mist to warm the cabin.

The bus rocks gently from side to side, cradling her wishful thinking, until it lurches over a pothole and her eyes flicker open.

She steals a glance sideways and feels the familiar strain behind her eyes, as she tries to look without looking. He is fiddling absently with his shirt button, and as he stares out the window, a fine stream of condensation is forming on the window where his breath blows gently. Sara can tell that he is daydreaming.

He is rather lovely to look at, you know. Quite striking. And the beauty of their daily ritual meant that she saw him, on this route, every single day. He did not know how much she adored him, loved him. Yes, love was a strong word for a stranger, but Sara believed she truly did. She loved how he sat, how he played with his hair, and how in the afternoons on the way home, he would doze, head pressed to the window, mouth slightly parted. And she fantasised that he was hers
“All mine”.
To kiss and to cuddle, and to greet him when he got home, to soothe him after a long day, and be warmed by his boyish grin.
He is glancing over now, his solemn eyes moving around the bus. He is absently scanning the passengers, following their movements. He has seen her! He recognises her face as a regular on the bus, and smiles, before returning to his view out of the window, his fingers reaching up to toy with his shirt buttons again.
Sara’s heart swells and she tries not to grin like a fool. Yes, today is going to be a good day, being cooped up in the office will pass like a dream, and that smile of his will carry her through the day.

As the time passes, she is ever closer to disembarking. Couldn’t she just ride this bus with him forever? But of course he too, would have to get off at his own stop, and that would break her heart. And she would feel empty again, as she always does when he leaves her each day. And that ache would return.

She desires for him to be hers. To run her long fingers through his thick dark hair, gently dragging the long curls out until they bounce back to his scalp. She’d like for him to be an architect, and maybe one day far away, she will ask him. And he will say yes, and invite her to visit the buildings that he will build all over the world.
But he isn’t hers.

Its his stop, and she yearns for him to stay near her. But like every other day, he picks up his bag and prepares to leave her all alone. He saunters down the aisle, with all the carefree attitudes of a 4 year old. As he passes her, he smiles one last time, before grabbing his mummy’s hand. He is swung down the steps with a whooshing sound and he squeals gleefully, clapping his hands in delight as he lands. Sara watches him longingly, one hand on her stomach where the baby once was, as the bus pulls away from the school.
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Extract 1

2009-04-03T10:12:00.001+11:00

Amelia lifted her feet from the boiling depths of her bathtub and watched the steam curl ever so slowly off her toes. A smile crept across her glistening face at the colour of her shins. Shiny and red like the crays her dad used to pull from the stainless pot, and wave teasingly at her fleeing back.
She tipped her head back to rest on the edge of the tub, the cool tiles pressing to the nape of her neck. She mused if heaven would be like this, so quiet, and decadent. But she had little doubt that they did not serve her favourite Sangiovese in heaven, and she took another sip, allowing the dark liquidised fruit to roll across her tongue before it cascaded lovingly down her throat.

Amelia reflected on her day. Truly, no different from any other. Late for work, another sleepless night locking her to the quilt much too late in the morning. Straining her shoulder at the gym, a recurring injury that she could not pinpoint as free-weights induced, or stored anxiety. And missing her train home only to have the subsequent train cancelled on her. But in her wait at the station, she had noticed him. He would have been unassuming, perhaps unnoticed altogether, if he had not moved into her path. He would have been this inconspicuous, if Amelia had not noticed the gloom that darkened his haunting face. As she had walked past, arms wrestling with the depths of her satchel for her Ipod, she had dropped her magazine on the concrete platform. Bending to pick it up, the boy had beaten her to it, stooping low and quickly as if to snatch it and run. Instead, he passed it to Amelia, and as she reached out to take it from him, she’d noticed the alarming differences between their hands. She could not have been more than 5 or 6 years older than him, yet his hands were calloused, cracked and dirty, creeping out from beneath a grey jumper that swamped his thin frame. Her hands were fine, soft, sure she chewed her nails incessantly but still, she sported a glossy red acrylic on what remained. As her long fingers moved, her engagement ring twinkled briefly underneath the fluorescent lights.
Amelia stared at his hands until they returned to deep in his pockets, and she had realised very suddenly that she was standing mute in front of this boy with no apparent intention. As a godsend, the train rolled slowly into the station, she had mumbled a thankyou, turned quickly on her patent black heels and shuffled with the crowd, onto the waiting train.

Quickly, Amelia battled her way to one of the few remaining vacant seats, plonking her satchel and gym bags victoriously on her lap. She looked around the train, unable to settle her gaze amongst the passengers, and returned her vision to the platform. Amelia had seen so many junkie kids around the city, general steering a clear path around the vacant forms as they gathered under doorways and on stairwells. So why had she found herself so captivated by this one? He could not have been older than 16, his thin shoulders pitching into his jumper, accentuating the already dwarfing fabric. The alarm sounded and the doors had closed. The boy looked up from the stained concrete from where he sat on his bench seat, and absently scanned the carriages. His eyes fixed on her briefly then moved on. But Amelia could not stop watching him. She had realised that in the moment their eyes met, that she had looked into the eyes of an old old man. His eyes were grey like his jumper, devoid of any true definition of colour, and vacant of any spark, dark clouds of sleeplessness jostled across his face. And in that brief second across metres of platform, she had heard him say “I know what you see”. He had looked at Amelia, and then back through her to himself, and she had witnessed it all from the sidelines.

Amelia opened her eyes in an attempt to clear the image of his face from her head. The foamy bubbles crackled around her ears. She felt overwhelmed with sadness. Of all the addicted and impoverished that had ever crossed her path this boy – this kid, this addled child – had told her, without words, of his inherent awareness of his own destitution. Across metres of platform, he spoke to her of a youthful world lost to an adult desire. In those steel grey eyes.

Anthony came in the door as Amelia padded down the timber corridor in her cotton socks. She gave a little squeal of delight as they met halfway, and she threw herself into his embrace. Even as a statuesque woman, Tony had the capacity to make her feel very small, one of the many reasons why she loved him. And as he squeezed her, planting faint kisses quickly on her forehead, the image of the boy on the platform dissolved from her mind.

Inspirations...

2009-03-27T16:20:00.002+11:00

STUNNING image and model.

From Kit Haselden

Lovely.

I'm dreaming of...

2009-03-18T16:53:00.003+11:00

Argentina. Or anywhere.

Blogs of Note. Part II

2009-03-18T16:39:00.002+11:00

By Holly Becker.

Writing today’s topic for the Creativity Series was a bit of a struggle because I am sensitive to how the economy is affecting others and despite how badly I want to radiate hope and positivity I don’t want to come across as happy-go-lucky, annoying, or perhaps naive to the problems that many are facing. But you know what, I’m not going to over cook this because who knows, maybe some of you need this reminder so this week we’re going to talk about developing a sense of humor to not only help you be more creative but to keep you sane in a pretty messed up world.

How does developing a sense of humor inspire creativity? How can it help you get though hard times?

It can really push down walls when you decide to lighten up and just be yourself without becoming overly concerned about the opinions of others. It can also protect you from your worst enemy which so often yourself. I can’t stress how important this is. When others are overly judgmental, negative, or when you find yourself being overly critical of yourself, it’s time to tap into your sense of humor.

I believe that laughter stimulates great thinking. When you are under less stress your thoughts flow more freely and your mind can wander a bit outside of the box.

A sense of humor helps us during the journey. Drama seems to up ratings on television but in real life, it only brings our ratings down. Friends may start to dodge us, clients could begin to call us into question, family members will avoid “stepping on eggshells” simply by withholding information that you really should be hearing. It’s a lot easier to communicate with someone who doesn’t fly off the handle over every little thing. This is the sign of someone who may need to tap into their sense of humor. The world does not revolve around any of us, we’re all going to hit problems and deal with annoyances often on a daily basis. There is no problem-free life, no perfect government, no ideal marriage partner. We’re all broken in one way or another with our own fears, dysfunctions, inabilities, dark sides, etc. It’s important to accept that fact and realize early on that nothing we take on is easy, whether that’s a new child, a career, or something that should be fun like starting a new hobby. Developing your creative side takes effort, failure often rides alongside success, so it’s unavoidable that the path you thought would be perfect may not be the same path you find yourself on in a few years. That’s where a sense of humor helps. Trust that the journey is often as rewarding, if not more, than reaching the actual goal. Allow your sense of humor to take the wheel when you feel like giving up or flipping out. During the hard times you may need to step outside of the ‘bubble’ you’re in and laugh at the situation a little.

Remind yourself that you’re human.

While sense of humor is important, going through life laughing things off and ignoring potential issues is dangerous. I’m certainly not encouraging laughing at funerals or telling your depressed friend to stop feeling sorry for herself. You have to take things seriously but there does come a point where you’ve taken something seriously so what’s next? You then have to start dealing with it, mending the problem, repairing or rebuilding, etc. It’s at that point when you can decide to put a positive spin on the situation or not. You can find some relief as you deal with your issue if you remember the good during the bad times.

Happy people are more creative, creative people are more productive, and productive people are well, happier. I once read somewhere that developing a more optimistic world view can help you become more resilient and that it’s good for your emotional and even physical health to lighten up and laugh. That’s good stuff there.

I could go on and on but you get the point of what I’m trying to say. Look at the good side. Keep your goals in front of you. Laughter really can be the best medicine. Before I sign off I want to leave you with a few tips on how I keep a positive outlook. First, I don’t take myself too seriously. If I screw up, I admit and move on. I even laugh out loud at myself in public — I once fell down the stairs at a party and laughed so hard I cried - and I was wearing a dress and high heels and clearly made an idiot of myself but I got up and started dancing again and just shook it off. Sometimes when I’m moody and crabby I don’t feel like laughing. At all. That’s when I immediately notice something is wrong so I’ll call a friend who I know will make me laugh, I look for my online friends, I put on some good music, or I watch something really random and stupid on YouTube. :)

By Holly Becker at Decor8

Attention Span, the slut.

2009-03-16T21:15:00.001+11:00

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Im feeling more than a little distracted lately. There is so much 'going on' that I feel like Im at the eye of a storm. Im standing within a very small tornado and everything is still. So still, and silent. Yet around me the wind roars, its swirls and roars and turns everything around me upside down. But inside at the core remains, its small, darkened by debris, and solitary. I can hear people outside my storm, theyre smiling and talking to me, we go places and we do things. I go to work and I exercise and I go to school, but everything is muffled.

I would like very much to see clearly beyond the turmoil right outside my very person. And Id like this because I have so much to look forward to, that I want to experience with every possible emotion and every inch of energy that I can muster.

A few months back Jim asked me to move in with him, in a place to rent all of our own. Initially I was excited, it seemed logical and perfectly timed, he was so adorably enthusiastic, and I wanted a change. Two weeks later I was in tears and he could not understand.** I was fearful of what could become. Our lives were so happy and smooth exactly as we were. Would we be tempting fate by taking the plunge, and would it upset our boat too much? I already had alot on my plate and holding a relationship together would not fit. Jim took it all in his stride, as he so often does, and looked at the whole scenario as just the next rung in the worlds 'most-awesome-est' ladder. He has never lived with a partner, where as I watched my last relationshop crumble, coming home to that man every day, and loving him just that little bit less every time. The universe knows that I did not want to go through that all again.

Jim held my hand while I ummm'd and ahhh'd. He shook his head in confusion, shrugged his shoulders to wait, and bit his tongue to stem the questions he wished to ask. Eventually, after much stern internal dialouge, I bit the bullet and agreed that it was the right move. It wasnt fair to lump him into the same package as a failed relationship from years prior, at a time when I was a much different person, not to mention dating a much different person.

Today I feel the little buzz when I realise how close we are to moving in. The collection of keys is 72 hours away (who's counting??) and our home is all ready to move in. We are all packed, and waiting for the onset of the weekend so that we can do it! The floor plans are in my head, I know what I want to go where, Im planning furniture purchases, and colours, and styles. Jim jokes on how Ive done such a backflip from FREAKOUT to nesting. Oh I hate that word... 'Nesting'. Im not nesting... Its just my design background coming forth. Or am I? I have to admit that the interior design is not the only thing Im thinking about. Im thinking about entertaining, and having guests, and where the nearest kitsch cafe is, and cooking dinners, and how long it will take me to ride Audrey (my bicycle) to the beach.

I am excited. Im crazy excited, and as the days pass I just wish for it to happen today, yesterday even.

In early March I wished for something very far away. I wished to have my family close by. And it was the only thing I wished for in all of that week. I wish alot, if you werent already aware. Financially I am in no position to fly to the other side of Australia to see the people, and the home and even the pets I miss the most. Only days after posting that wish, and that image, my mum contacted me. Flights were very cheap to Perth at the moment, and would I like to fly over and house-sit for a week while they went to Queensland? Heck yes! So mum brought me a ticket and and even extended it by a day, so that I could see them, sit with them, and talk about important shit, but also bullshit, as Ive so missed.

These two things take up most of my daily excitement (as my work is no longer stimulating and exciting as it once was - but that is a whole other matter) and distract me no end. Sometimes I find myself trying to forget that they are happening so that I can focus on the now... on my assignments due tomorrow, the tasks due by the end of this week. Is it fair to do that to myself? I dont know. Trying to block out all the interesting things that are coming up, so that I can get the crap out of the way first? Is this even a good way to look at it?

Im tired. Really I am. I see myself in the mirror most mornings and Im convinced Ive given up. And I do truly look tired, but not in such a way like a late night on the turps... moreso that I look beyond my years (without the wisdom), and some days are worse than others. Sometimes, the things I do are with such vigour, frantic, but for only a short while. Other things, I do not even attempt at all. My work is suffering, my university studies too. My attention span wanes as often as she pleases. She gets up to take coffee breaks and smoke-o breaks and the dirty trashbag has a regular secret rendevous with the guy down the hall... his name is Distraction. She goes off on little jaunts when she is meant to be dedicated to a task. And once she is gone, nothing can bring her back until she chooses. Sometimes the little tramp is gone for days with Distraction.

And I need a chastity belt for her, because Ive tried everything else that I can think of.

I keep thinking that I'll just wait for this thing, this task, or event, or habit, to pass me by.... and then things will be back to normal. But what is normal? This doesnt feel like normal, so it cant be. But Ive been waiting so long for everything to 'get out of my way', for me to exit the tornado, that Im not sure if normal really exists (or if the tornado does), or what it feels like when Ive found it.

**I do this, sometimes.

Grandpa

2009-03-16T14:37:00.004+11:00

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For all of my adult life I have been gifted with an awareness of the external influence on my life. Of whisperings that guided me always, in the right direction, even if it seemed wrong in the beginning.

Ive always known that since my grandpa's death in 2001, he has watched over his eldest grandaughter with as much devotion as he showed all of his granchildren.

And Ive started to document the ways in which his helping hand has helped me to balance when I slipped. I will go into these in more detail at a later time.

Today:
On the weekend, my agent emailed to tell me that my modelling photos needed to be updated and Id be sure of securing more work if only I could provide her with something new to work with. Jimmy and I talked long and hard about my modelling that weekend. He wanted me to quit my job at the firm and pursue modelling more rigorously. He has ulterior motives for this I know, he watches me come home some nights so completely drained, hating my job, angry at the people I work with, and so utterly despondent, that he would almost suggest anything if only I came home happy. And he is convinced I could be the worlds greatest supermodel... oh bless him!
I know that I need new images, and I know that the potential for work is out there, but the reality is that there is SO much more I need to focus on to get through this year. Plus I need the right photographer, with the talent, to get new photos, and I havent got the money to pay them right now.

WELL. Today I received a phonecall from a man I worked with last year. His calendar was freeing up, and would I like to work with him?? Paid hourly, of course, and we can do images that would suit us both. BRILLIANT. Lovely new photos and a paycheck at the end of the day.

Thankyou Pa.

Blogs of Note. Part I

2009-03-16T10:41:00.004+11:00

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"Better", By Merlin Mann.
Original found here

Politics, celebrity gossip, business headlines, tech punditry, odd news, and user-generated content.

These are the chew toys that have made me sad and tired and cynical.
Each, in its own way, contributes to the imperative that we constantly expand our portfolio of shallow but strongly-held opinions about nearly everything. Then we’re supposed to post something about it. Somewhere.

From businesses we’ve never heard of, to countries we’ve never visited, to infants who’ve had the random misfortune to be born into a family that’s on TV — it’s all grist for obvious jokes and shortsighted commentary that, for at least a few minutes, helps both the maker and the consumer feel a little less bored, a little less vulnerable, and a little less disconnected. For a minute, anyway, it makes us feel more alive. Does me, anyway.

But, in my observation, the long-term effect of each of these can be surprisingly different.
What makes you feel less bored soon makes you into an addict. What makes you feel less vulnerable can easily turn you into a dick. And the things that are meant to make you feel more connected today often turn out to be insubstantial time sinks — empty, programmatic encouragements to groom and refine your personality while sitting alone at a screen.
Don’t get me wrong. Gumming the edges of popular culture and occasionally rolling the results into a wicked spitball has a noble tradition that includes the best work of of Voltaire, Dorothy Parker, Oscar Wilde, and a handful of people I count as good friends and brilliant editors. There’s nothing wrong with fucking shit up every single day. But you have to bring some art to it. Not just typing.

What worries me are the consequences of a diet comprised mostly of fake-connectedness, makebelieve insight, and unedited first drafts of everything. I think it’s making us small. I know that whenever I become aware of it, I realize how small it can make me. So, I’ve come to despise it.
With this diet metaphor in mind, I want to, if you like, start eating better. But, I also want to start growing a tastier tomato — regardless of how easy it is to pick, package, ship, or vend. The tomato is the story, my friend.

This doesn’t mean I’ll be liveblogging a lot of ham-fisted attempts to turn “everything” off. But it does mean making mindful decisions about the quality of any input that I check repeatedly — as well as any “stuff” I produce. Everything. From news sources to entertainment programming, and from ephemeral web content down to each email message I decide to respond to. The shit has to go, inclusive.

To be honest, I don’t have a specific agenda for what I want to do all that differently, apart from what I’m already trying to do every day:
- identify and destroy small-return bullshit;
- shut off anything that’s noisier than it is useful;
- make brutally fast decisions about what I don’t need to be doing;
- avoid anything that feels like fake sincerity (esp. where it may touch money);
- demand personal focus on making good things;
- put a handful of real people near the center of everything.

All I know right now is that I want to do all of it better. Everything better. Better, better.

To underscore, I have no plan to stop making dick jokes or to swear off ragging people who clearly have it coming to them. It’s just that it’s important to me to make world-class dick jokes and to rag the worthy in a way that no one is expecting. I want to become an evangelist for hard work and editing, and I want to get to a place where it shows in everything that I do, make, and share. Yes, even if it makes me sound like a fancy guy who just doesn’t get it. Fuck it.

So, yes. I am cutting way back on trips to the steam table of half-finished, half-useful, half-ideas that I both make and consume. And, with respect, I encourage you to consider doing the same; especially if that all-you-can-eat buffet of snark and streaming produces (or encourages) anything short of your “A” game.

If I’m not laughing at your joke, complimenting your insight, or leading the Standing O for something you spent 10 seconds pecking up on your phone, it may not be because I don’t get it; it may be because I think we’re both capable of better and just need to find the courage to say so. In as many characters as it takes.

By Merlin Mann at 43 Folders.
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15 minutes of fame

2009-03-06T12:48:00.003+11:00

Yes the striped blue bikini in the carwash scene, and the white shorts in the laundromat scene is ME!

Long live Oz hip hop!

My wish list for today

2009-03-04T15:42:00.007+11:00

To sit down and have dinner with my parents, and to not have them on the other side of the country right now.

*sigh*

He finally did it!

2009-02-27T16:19:00.001+11:00

Happy Friday - thank farque we have them :o)

From Within

2009-02-26T14:42:00.003+11:00

Feeling lost. Wanting to remain strong but buckling from within. Tired, used up and worn out. Feeling the age beyond my years, and wanting so desperately to find the energy that I need to push forward.

Reaching out and missing my mark, touching air, thick and sticky beneath my fingertips. It chokes my nose and throat with its depressive smear, blinding my eyes. It is dense, and screams with volatility. The cry is deafening. Mine would be too if I could but cry, but Im too scared to. How can I see through it when I don’t know what is on the other side? How can I aim for the light when I don’t know if it is the light I want?
Where is my stewardess? Waving her perfectly manicured hands to show me the neon lights that glow along the path to my exit. I can’t see the path, it is no longer where it once was. But it seems that everyone else can... Because they’ve already gone.
Why do they know how to exit? Why can they see through the mist? No, no wait. The smog. The all encompassing and noxious smog. It poisons me and as the days pass it tears small pieces from me, and I’m buckling from within.

Tired.
Used Up.
Worn Out.

In response to Heidy...

2009-02-24T17:57:00.001+11:00

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Because, sweetheart, Blogger wont allow me to comment on your blog. It keeps freezing :o(

Connex states that the airconditioning on the melbourne train system is not designed to operate when the day gets hotter than 35 degrees. Stupidest thing Ive ever heard... its like saying that a boat wont run when the water is too wet.
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It could be worse

2009-02-17T14:51:00.005+11:00

...
trying desperately to see the positive side of my shitty shitty day.

seriously lacking creativity and motivation. trying hard not to cry.
doing my best to get over it and just do this mundane and exhausting crud ive been presented with...

After all... it could be worse...

Resilience

2009-02-13T14:25:00.001+11:00

Resilience is a slippery term and is used in different ways by different people. Sometimes it is defined as an outcome, as in Fonagy’s frequently quoted definition: ‘normal development under difficult conditions’(1994). This definition, of course, begs a number of questions, not least what is ‘normal’.

Gilligan (1997) gives a definition that begins to address resilience as a process:
'... qualities which cushion a vulnerable child from the worst effects of adversity in whatever form it takes and which may help a child or young person to cope, survive and even thrive in the face of great hurt and disadvantage’. (Gilligan, 1997, p.l2)

For residential child care staff and social workers, the key word in this definition is ‘thrive’. It provides practitioners with the aim of aspiring to assist young people to achieve their full potential despite their circumstances.

Masten et al. (1990) focus on resilience as ‘the process of, capacity for, or outcome of successful adaptation despite challenging or threatening circumstances’. Here it is an adaptive quality that is highlighted, as Schofield (2001) suggests, resilient people have both an internal and external adaptive quality. For example if a young person has a failure at school he or she can reflect upon that internally and see it as a temporary set-back and can also seek external support, for example by asking a teacher for help with the next essay. It is this adaptive quality that appears to be an essential aspect of resilience. Resilient people, therefore, are those whose mental well-being is far better than might have been predicted given the adversities that they have encountered.

Resilience is not simply an absence of psychological symptoms despite having experienced adversity, it is the possession of a positive adaptive ability that enables a person to feel competent despite risky living conditions (Sagy and Dotan, 2001).

In summary, therefore, as stated in a recent comprehensive review of resilience as a concept for practice:
‘Resilient children are better equipped to resist stress and adversity, cope with change and uncertainty, and to recover faster and more completely from traumatic events or episodes’. (Newman and Blackburn, 2002, p. 12)

Resilience is the ability to know where, how and when to use your energies to improve things for yourself and how to recruit help in that endeavour.

BRIGID DANIEL
Daniel, B. The Value of Resilience as a Concept for Practice in Residential Settings. Scottish Journal of Residential Child Care, February/March 2003
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Whine Less : Breathe More

2009-02-03T15:58:00.004+11:00

Sometimes I get bogged down with the superficial. I stress about money, about my job, about my worth to others... things that don’t matter when youre dead.
I get anxious about my future and it manifests quickly in lack of sleep, irritability, disorientation, lack of focus and searing pains in my shoulders and back. I multitask too much, I get distracted, everything was due YESTERDAY and sometimes I get so busy.... I do nothing but shut down.

I have one goal for February... BE POSITIVE. My one aim for this month is to see the good in every situation. Every negative thought will come with a positive and annoying little pip-squeak sidekick that will simply not go away! :o) That sidekick is called faith, hope, happiness, resolve, perseverance, and love.

“Fear less, hope
more; Eat less, chew more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Love
more, and all good things will be yours”

“The positive thinker sees the
invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the
impossible.”

Look at the bright side!

I still have a job.
I enjoy the company of those I work with
Im still making more money than I ever have before (even with the across-company paycut)
Im healthy
My family are all safe
Im about to move into a house with my boyfriend
Im in love
Ive been entrusted with more responsibility at work
I have a new car that cost me nothing and I can explore my state even more
I have the truest friends
The weather is beautiful
Im performing better at school because Im passionate about it
My little sister is arriving very soon to spend time with me.
I have so many demons locked away that taught me the greatest life lessons
....and who I don’t have to battle anymore.

Amazing... "You at 50"

2009-02-02T14:13:00.002+11:00

At a meeting of the AARP they showed this video that was submitted in a film contest by a 20 year old woman.
The contest was entitled...You at 50.
This video won second place in the film contest.
When it was previewed at the AARP meeting, the room broke into spontaneous applause by the conclusion.

The film is so simple yet so brilliant.

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Zaha Hadid hits the shoe market!

2009-01-29T19:09:00.006+11:00

One of the architecture world's most celebrated designers is Zaha Hadid and her organic shapes have found there way into shoes!!

A very interesting type of prolific shoe designer, Melissa (the brand), notorious for the plastic flexi-shoe (aka taking patent to the extreme) teams up with her to create amazing heels that look like they'd take a good hour to put on. But so pretty. The shoe is available in OZ in May... enough time to save? Mind you, judging by Melissa's prices, it shoouldnt be too hard. *grin*

"The fluidity of our design combined perfectly with the technology of Melissa's plastic, injecting pieces without closures or seals"

Much like her Performing Arts Centre in Abu Dhabi??? http://www.e-architect.co.uk/dubai/abu_dhabi_building.htm

Other amazing 'plakky' shoes here.... Im mentally shopping already! melissaaustralia.com.au

GFC - Redundancy has its own acronym

2009-01-28T14:06:00.003+11:00

This piece is Fiction, and still... it’s way too close to home.

Shave. Downsize. Rationalize. Economise. Cut back. Reshape. Trim the fat.
They all mean the same thing to her.

I watch her from the other side of the office. She’s working solidly, industriously. She’s so lovely too, just a nice person to chat to, you know?

It’s much like a traffic accident unfolding as the Director approaches her.... something bad is about to happen but I can’t look away. The room blurs around her figure at the desk, like there is not another soul in the room but her, the Director, and myself watching intently from the other side. He stands by her and she looks up, not fearful, but her eyes widen with reserved curiosity. He speaks and walks briskly away, and she rises to follow him.
Minutes pass.

She does not come back and someone whispers that she has popped outside. I want to give her support. But I don’t know her that well, sure she’s lovely, she’s just a nice person to talk to, you know?
And what does one say? I’m glad that it’s you and not me? No. But it’s all that I can think. “I’m glad it’s not me”.

She is back. Face lowered. She has been crying but does not want anyone to see. I want to cry for her. She sits back at her desk, clearly confused as to what to do now. The shoulders are trembling – I think she is angry now, and I can almost feel the heat steaming off her. I can’t not do something and so I walk over to her desk. “Are you ok?” She is startled, more upright than before, and she is hoping that I didn’t notice. She doesn’t look up.
But she nods.
“I’m glad its not me”
I’m confused for a moment, but then she turns her face up toward me. There is pity swimming in the torrents.
“We need to chat Kaye, have you got a moment? You’re so lovely too, such a nice person to talk to...you know?”

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Wisdom?

2009-01-27T15:53:00.001+11:00

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A girlfriend today was making her ‘year plan’ for 2009, and wanted to know what advice I should give to someone needing a little direction... and I said,
“Chase the dreams that seem so far away from you right now, because those are the ones you’ll travel the furtherest to get, and you’ll get to see everything the world can show you along the way”.

Essentially I was trying to say that she should not look for the easy road, or settle for second best.

She came back to me immediately and said that I was wise.

Wise?? WISE??

Wise people take their own advice!

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Things Ive loved lately...

2009-01-24T01:47:00.028+11:00

The beauty of working for a design firm is that Im exposed to an array of very intelligent and talented people, every day. Whether I am reading a journal, or meeting a designer in person, it never ceases to amaze me, the wealth of ideas the human mind can create.

My recent discoveries;

I swooned. I actually swooned when I spotted these I Love Billy Shoes... and only $90 from Sidewalk Soul! Bring on my next paycheck paaalease! I was introduced to these by Michi Girl. Just too damn cute. Some short checkered brown shorts and white singlet, with some chunky wooden beads around my neck... Ive got it all planned out already... oh my!

In central London they have a temporary development/installation called the Double Club. Its very similar to the container ship, and sustainability bars that Ive seen in melbourne, but it crosses multiple genres. In a joint project between Fondazione Prada, and German artist Carsten Höller, its there for a good time, not a long time.

"Its success lies in the approach. Rather than trying to lure them in as loyal patrons, the Double Club exploits the fact that those in the know move on quickly, and allows just enough time for word to spread before it will shut up shop.Opened towards the end of 2008, this dynamic space is an assault on the senses. Excessive colour, texture and contrast are almost too confronting to take in all at once – yet somehow it blends perfectly. It is divided into bar, restaurant and dance club, and each is split down the middle and designed to represent disparate ways of life; “creating a dialogue between Congolese and Western contemporary music, lifestyle, arts and design”.

The intensity awakens something inside, and the buzz of the patrons – drifting from the “congo” spaces back to the “west” – draws you into another world. Enter the bar where Portuguese azulejo (painted decorative tiles) line the wall and floor marking out the ‘garden space’, while in the background your eyes are drawn towards the neon lights and copper bar announcing “Two Horses Riders Club”.
Enjoy a few drinks here, or head upstairs to the rotating dance floor where the music alternates from Western styles to Congolese Rumba, Wenge or Ndombolo depending on what half of the space the DJ has revolved into."

The Double Club thedoubleclub.co.uk

Im a big fan of the tiling work in the blues and greys, and the huge elephant motif. Mind you, Ive probably worked too long in a bar, and the first thing I thought was; My, that bartop will be frightfully hard to keep clean. I know that its a 'temporary' space but I dont think that needs to be accentuated with plastic chairs. Scream: Tack! Personal opinion.

The summer range from Flamingo Sands. PS - Love the angles that the photographer gets out of the models. Great shots.

Too cute! I wish I didnt have a giraffe torso... id adore a strapless one piece like this.

If I could actually FIND this Zimmerman playsuit, and when I say find, I mean 'on sale'. My firm has reduced everyone to a 4 day week (economic downturn strikes again) so its not wise to be spending on playsuits... As much as I LOVE it.

And my skin is this colour at the moment too - yay for summer! - such a shame, would have looked awesome.

And Ellie Mücke http://www.mucke.com.au/ is a Melbourne designer who makes beautiful structured peices out of recycled oversized men shirts etc. Her designs are frequently the same, but with the change in fabric or shirt choice, ultimately the peice becomes a one-off. Fantastic! My faves;

look closely at the back detail below... little buttons on the cuff!

Wow my wish list for 2009 is getting big... and fast! * grin *

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Pancakes

2009-01-23T15:45:00.002+11:00

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Sunday, January 18th.
He looks away from me, I can feel him tense up, I know he’s nervous.
I know him.

He opens his mouth to speak, and he pauses a moment before the words tumble out. “How about making this permanent?”. Its midday and we are still in bed, more than a little hung over, talking about how hungry we are but not motivated to get up. I’m fantasising about organic muesli with natural yoghurt and berries, and he wants a big super-greasy-with-everything-on-the-side-don’t-skimp-on-the-grease sensation. Or maybe we’ll make a massive batch of pancakes with icecream. Might have to get some maple syrup from the shop, but I think he has some banana we could put on top…

“Make what permanent?” I feign confusion. I know full well what he means. But I wait for him to elaborate. God I’m such a …. female.
“Us. Here. Together. Well, not HERE. But somewhere else. Our own place. Like …together. With stuff that’s like, ours”. He isn’t making much sense, but I get it.
“Move in together? ...Oh”. I fall silent, pausing to absorb how those three words sound on my tongue. Move…in…
“Have you thought about it?”, he says as he flips with a small grunt, onto his side. His eyes search my face.
“Yeah, sure I have. A couple of times”. More than a couple
“And what do you think?” Silence for a moment. And then a few moments more. I feel like he is about to pounce on me, he is coiled beside me as he prepares for my first and honest reaction.
“I’m not sure”. I’m absolute on this answer. I’m 50/50. Well, maybe 49/51.

I feel a little disorientated. I focus on the crack in the ceiling next to his yellow light bulb. I think it’s getting bigger. I ask him to let me think it over. I ask him if he is sure. I ask him to tell me for the hundredth time how much he loves me. I tell him that I think the crack in his ceiling is bigger. There are ground rules I say, things we need to clear before we go ahead. Now’s not the time to give you my concrete answer, let’s just let the idea sink in, talk about it again in a week or so.

But I can feel a buzz start to rise. It’s a humming under the skin, just like my first day of school, or Christmas morning. Sparks of excited nerves emanate from my spine, dance along my arms, and fizzle with a light pop! from my finger tips.
I giggle. I feel him sink happily into the mattress, and he smiles.
Pancakes it is.
.

Personal Manifesto

2009-01-13T15:26:00.002+11:00

After reading extensively on other people’s life choices, their manifestos, and ‘rules to live by’, I gradually developed my own. It combines notions from others that I was a fan of, and some I created for myself.

This, like my life, is a constant work in progress.

PERSONAL MANIFESTO

1. Do not allow the actions of others to influence the choices you make. You cannot change a persons’ behaviour, but you can choose how you react.
2. There are only two directions in life – Grow. Or Die. Choose to grow always
3. Only dull women have tidy houses
4. Your greatest gift is your intuition. It has never failed you, so trust that impulse. Make your decisions quickly.
5. Write. Prolifically. Endlessly. Allow your thoughts to organise themselves on paper, because the only time your mind is quiet is when your hand will not shut the hell up.
6. Security is for cadavers. Get out of your comfort zone as often as you can. Each experience is a brave adventure into the unknown.
7. Enjoy the morning. The moment when you first wake up is the most wonderful of the twenty-four hours. No matter how weary you may feel, you possess the certainty that, during the day that lies before you, absolutely anything may happen. And the fact that it practically always doesn't, does not matter at all. The possibility is always there.
8. All that you gain from worrying, is a headache. There is no such this as tomorrow, or yesterday. Every single day is a NOW that once was. You cant worry over what doesn’t exist.
9. Love experiments (as you would an ugly child). Joy is the engine of growth. Exploit the liberty in casting your life as beautiful experiments, iterations, attempts, trials, and errors. Take the long view and allow yourself the fun of failure every day.
10. Money does not make the transit into your next life. There is nothing to be gained from hoarding. Give generously, including to yourself.
11. You will only ever pass along a way once, therefore any good that you can do, or any kindness that you can show to any human being, do it now. Do not defer nor neglect it for you shall not pass that way again.
12. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Lighten up. Often, at least half of what we accomplish is due to luck. You are not as in control as much as you like to think you are.
13. Don’t eat at your desk. Take an hour, 30 mins, 10mins, or 5. Whatever, just get up and away to eat. Change of scenery is good for the soul.
14. Never stop asking questions. The wrong answer is the right answer in search of a different question. Collect wrong answers as part of the process. Then ask different questions.
15. Don’t be cool. Cool is conservative fear dressed in black. Free yourself from limits like these.
16. Surround yourself with the talents of others. The space between people working together is filled with conflict, friction, strife, exhilaration, delight, and vast creative potential.
17. Don’t clean your desk. You might find something in the morning that you can’t see tonight.
18. Make up new words if they suit you. Expand the lexicon. New conditions demand a new way of thinking. The thinking demands new forms of expression. The expression generates new conditions.
19. Wear those high heels girl! Your height is their problem. Not yours
20. Organisation = Liberty.
21. Ask the stupid questions. Growth is fueled by desire and innocence. Assess the answer, not the question. And imagine learning throughout your life at the rate of an infant.
22. The world gets smaller every day, and Karma holds a grudge. Remember that next time you find yourself being rude, cruel, spiteful, or greedy.
23. Food is life. Bask in its tantalising pleasures. Smell, poke, lick, taste, chew. Cook amazing new things, and taste them. Make mistakes, and taste them too!
24. Don’t borrow money. By maintaining financial control, we maintain creative control over what we do with our time.
25. Laugh. Quite simple. Just do it.
26. Take trips. The bandwidth of the world is greater than that of your TV set, or the Internet, or even a totally immersive, interactive, dynamically rendered, object-oriented, real-time, computer graphic–simulated environment. After all, the world is a novel, and those who do not travel read but only one page.
27. Listen. Absorb. Think. Speak. And only in that order.
28. Love. Bravely. You will have wounds, and it will hurt. But scars are way cool.
29. There’s always a reason to smile. Find it. After all, you're really lucky just to be alive.
30. You WILL die. It is the only thing that is certain in this life. But what you do between now and then… is up to you.

On a warm day...

2009-01-07T11:32:00.001+11:00

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I love the way the cool wind blows through my bedroom window, and slams my door. Its just like my angsty teen years, only... I dont even have to get out of bed.

;-)

In July 2008...

2009-01-05T16:07:00.000+11:00

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Below follows a post I wrote in July 2008, when I realised I was falling in love (I could not say it specifically, as I hadnt told him yet) and how good my life was becoming.
Now in 2009, as I settle into studies, work, and couple-dom, I wonder why the Earth has suddenly decided to rotate on a different axis. Why there are suddenly speedhumps forcing me to slow down. And why I cant sleep anymore.
_________________________________________

I can feel the dynamic shift under my feet. Every day I wake and the earth has changed, the energy shifts and moves like a tidal river, and I want to capture it. I want to know what moves me in this ebb and flow.

July is a beautiful month, we roll towards summer sunshine, the cusp of winter defeated, and my life falls into place. I don’t measure my life by the things in it, rather by the way I feel every morning when I awake. Today Im Happy. Perhaps content? Though I doubt I will ever be content, for which I am grateful as it is my discontent with settling that drives me to find change, to take pleasure in the experience of the new. July fills my life and bestows apon me a richness that Ive lacked for an immeasurable amount of time. Surely what I have now, I have had before? Indeed I have. But the impact these have on my life now gives me great strength, a power that I can finally tap.

Today a friend commented that she had expected a nervous breakdown of grandiose proportions from me. She produced her highly expressive hand and counted on delicate manicured fingers, the changes she had seen occur to me in the four weeks of July. It saw my triumphant return to university study, and the confirmation that what I believed I was truly passionate about, remained true. It saw a new home, a new housemate and a new suburb, and the exploration of these things to identify new paradigms and relationships both inside and around my new sense of place. July allowed the development of an incalculable bond that has developed between two strangers that began as a night of debauchery on the momentous occasion that was my one year anniversary in Melbourne, and did not end but instead continues into something very special. It saw a foray into a new culture of excess and enlivenment and the introduction of my nature to a bevy of eclectic characters, personalities that shine in their industry, and of which I am now a part as I join the festivities each night I work at the bar. July also allows me to take the one constant in my life since my Melbourne move, my role at the firm, and turn it into a career I can be proud of. A role of my own creation that I take great satisfaction from growing as I reference the saying ‘if you take no risks, your doings may be perfect, yet you will do few things’. I have effectively doubled my employment scope, boldly accepting responsibility for new tasks in an already time-poor and challenging role. I truly believe that I will become incredibly efficient and therefore have learnt an infinitely valuable tool, or perhaps I shall burn? But every wind is a bad wind if your ship has no rudder.

As her fingers ticked off those things that would mark such a meaningful and somewhat daunting period of my 2008, I realise that I have taken it all in my stride. These things have come, and these things have found their place. Like boats on the harbour they move with the tidal flow, and each morning when I awake, they float peacefully awaiting the next movement, that dynamic shift. No undercurrent will take them away for they have their place of docking. They belong.
As I write, I begin to realise that I will never capture this energy, that what I am eternally seeking is actually the movement itself. That it will, and does, change. That life is not a constant, and that I thrive on its vacillation, and if I so choose, I will lovingly undock the boats from their mooring and release them, allowing the tide to bring me a new life as it has done so before.

______________________________________

I love this piece, and I try to come back to it as often as I can. I have to remind myself that the uncertainty and movement of my life is in fact, what I cherish. And that no matter what happens, I can always regain control. It is I alone who makes the decisions on what stays, and what I allow to 'float out to sea'.

The Morning Sun

2009-01-05T12:59:00.001+11:00

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I toss again in the night, seeking a cool spot on my pillow. I flip it over, and over again. I kick off the rugs, and pull them back. Nothing settles me. My heart is racing and I want to cry. Im so tired. So goddam tired.

Today I went to the beach. Rode my bike. Drank alcohol with friends in the warm sun. Ate a hearty dinner, and made love to my boyfriend. All these things should make me fall asleep and yet, here I am.

The room is dark despite the blinds being open. The street lights are dim tonight. I know the window is open because I can feel the breeze on my cheek. But I cant fall asleep. Im dizzy despite the fact that Im lying down. I cannot comprehend the spinning, falling sensation I feel when I close my eyes. Its light at first, like a ripple behind my eyelids, but as I feel myself starting to drift off, it builds into a vacuous whirlpool, my touch with reality is lost and I jolt to attention. Its feels like Ive slipped off a ledge, like Ive dropped 30 feet from one surface, destined for another.

I just want to sleep. Like everyone else.

I turn to my side and stare at the wall beneath my desk. He is there, and I can see him more clearly as the moments pass. He is just watching me. Smiling eyes, intense green and framed by thick eyebrows, baby faced. I move my lips but no sound comes out, I beg him to leave me alone. Im happy now, just look at me. Why are you here? This is the third time in as many nights that Ive woken to find him beside my bed. Sometimes she is with him, the girl with no face. She could be any girl, but she stands by him. Tonight, she is in the far background, pretending not to pay attention, but stealing the occasional glance. I dont think she has any control over him being here. But she comes with him, it is part of the ritual. The torture.

I reach out to touch his face as I have done so many times before. The image shimmers and pulls back. I ask him again, without sound, why he is here. And he cant answer that. He just smiles sadly. The way someone would smile at a terminally ill child... A smile that tells you there is hope, but eyes that belie this smile to reveal a deep sorrow.
Images are projected around him of all the times we have met, and all the times we have parted, and all the times we've spoken. I watch them play like silent films around his face. I turn away, seeking the warmth beside me in my bed, wrapping my arms around the shape in the darkness, but he is still behind me, huddled beneath my desk. I know he wont leave until he has watched me fall asleep. But doesnt he realise that I wont sleep until he leaves!?

Eventually Im so exhausted, that I DO sleep. I sleep praying that the daytime will come. And it does. But not before more nightmares, nightmares of being hated by scores of people, by being ridiculed by friends, by being embarressed in front of crowds - theyre all the same, these dreams, these nightmares. I have no ally, I am all alone, and it is me against the world. Please bring on the daytime when I know this is not true.

I used to dream like this once before, when I could reach out to touch his face, and meet soft olive skin beneath my fingertips. But those relentless dreams made me hate him, violently. I dreamt of the pain that he brought to me, real or imagined. Then eventually he went away, and after a longer time, they went away. Now he doesnt visit in my dreams, he visits in real time and brings his gift of insomnia. And now when I dream, I dont hate him, but everyone else turns on me. Im alone in a sea of strangers or worse, Im alone in a sea of friends... who pretend to not know who I am.

And now, the greatest present that I receive each day, is the morning sun. Because it is at this moment that I realise that I am the furtherest away from having him visit me again.
_

Merry Christmas - A Love Letter

2008-12-25T00:55:00.002+11:00

Here I am... Christmas Eve, with the need (desire?) to write a letter to my boyfriend to wish him a merry christmas.

And Im here. Wondering what the most important thing is that I have to tell him? I dont know...
Everything??
How much???

I could tell him that he has rescued my soul. But maybe thats too much.

I could tell him that he makes me smile at the oddest of times. But maybe thats not enough.

A large part of me wants to take him back to 2006, where my damaged and battered heart dragged itself through muck and grime... only to slip into a ditch of depression and addiction to the underbelly of life. But maybe he doesnt want to hear that.

A large part of me wants to leap with him into to the future, to show the both of us what we can and will be. But thats too much pressure. Possibly just for me.

A small part of me wants to hide. To wish it all away on a cloud. No love, no pain. No woman no cry... right??

A small part of me wants to lock him away. All to myself, where no one can touch him, I dont have to share him, and he belongs to me and only me.

So what do I write in my letter??

I love him. Of course.
But how do I describe how he has changed the course of my life? I havent altered my goals or ambitions, but my direction has changed. Its safer. Secure.

Im loved. To feel that is immeasurable. To know that another soul on this earth wants to merge with mine is indescribable.

I remember that moment when I realised. It was in the morning... we had woken up and I was just looking at him. Id known him barely a few weeks. But Id never felt so comfortable. I opened my mouth to speak... then shut it immediately. I knew what I was going to say. But I couldnt believe it. Really? Me?? So soon??
Obviously yes. But how had I let it happen!?! And then I was gripped by fear. But I looked at those big brown eyes, and stupidly long camel eyelashes and I was certain.
And then I had to wait. No point scaring the boy off so soon... right? So I had to wait many more weeks. So painful to NOT tell someone that you love them, when all you wanted to do was shower them with it.

And from that moment everything shifted. Paths changed, and they crossed. And we amazed each other. The 'click' is phenomenal. Imagine two drunken fools meeting in a bar, a man fueled by dutch courage, a women who couldnt care less about the man to cross her path... we swap numbers. And fell in love!? Fate picks wisely, no matter what the scenario. And my gratefulness for the chance meeting is something I can never repay. My life has changed for the better, without a doubt.

I cannot believe how much I miss this boy. Even when he gives me the total rotten shits, I still cannot bear to be apart from him for too long. He brings light and warmth into my day, and strength and hope into my nights. He brings stability to my rocking ship, and clarity to my clouded waters.

I have never met anyone like him in my entire life. My little engergizr bunny, he drives me to find happiness in the moment. To pursue the greatest thing in this life.... the NOW. There is no tomorrow... no yesterday. Only now. Only us. Only today. And he is the greatest teacher of experience over possesions. Of experience over status. All we have is this very moment... and he lives in it with me, right here and right now. And I love him uncontrollably for that.

Uncontrollably.

Like a freight train. A risk of derailing, no brakes here baby. Of course there is still fear. But there is no stopping it.

And ...there it is.
I think I just wrote my love letter.

x

New Zealand Talent

2008-12-18T12:31:00.000+11:00

I suppose New Zealand falls into that category of 'brilliance through isolation' that gets so often touted on my home shores.

Isolation from influence can create beautiful things, encourage people to push boundaries, and open doors to ideas fostered without predjudice.

Stumbled across this website today which showcases the best of NZ designers

http://www.cleverbastards.co.nz/ - Its a bit like etsy for the Kiwi's

Im loving these handmade ceramic bowls by Rose Griffin;

This chair by Roger Kelly;

And I NEED this bag to carry all my uni stuff! Its the ultimate. Prints by Ingrid Anderson are brilliant, and I love the wide shoulder strap. I can fill it with junk and it wont hurt!

Present idea? Anyone??

Little Gifts

2008-12-10T17:29:00.001+11:00

Have you ever had a gut instinct so strong you’ve had no choice but to follow through?

5 days ago Id walked past a book sitting on a step in Southbank. I was on my way to lunch, to read a book of my own. It had very obviously been left behind, with no one around. A letter poked out of one of the pages as a marker.
I continued walking.
An hour later I returned to work, and there on the step was the book. Still all alone, so I picked it up.

A title I hadn’t heard before, by a Victorian author. The name on the inside of the book did not match the name on the envelope, but the envelope was empty. A heavily cursive script gave me a Victorian address, but it was hard to decipher. I shoved it into my bag, maybe it would be a good read?
Back in the office, it niggled at me, and I had to decipher the script. I could make out the surname, so I searched them on the white pages… no luck. Then I realised the postal code was my own! Once I had seen this, it clicked… and I could make sense of the text…this person lived on my street! It would be unfair of me to live so close and not return the book. Even if it did not belong to them directly, they would probably know who owned it.

So I wrote a small note on the nearest piece of paper, saying that I had found this book but was not sure if it was there’s and, regardless, seeing as I lived nearby I had decided to find its home, and that I hoped it was a ‘good read’.

On the weekend, as Jimmy and I went to the shop for dinner, I asked him to pass by this house. My neighbourhood is one of much high-density apartment living – but this residence stood out. It had high fences, ornate metal work, meticulous gardens, and the house was a grand white manor-style building. I slipped the book into the mailbox, and it slipped out of my mind.

Today, at work, I received a letter! It was from the lady I returned the book to! I’d used a ‘With Compliments’ slip from work that did not have a return address on it, so the lady must have looked the company up.

This is what she wrote;

Dear Kaye,
What a lovely surprise to have the book returned. I had hoped someone would take a punt on the enclosed envelope, but wasn’t very hopeful.
It was quite a relief too, as a friend had lent me the book and I was going to have to replace it!
I use the public transport system a lot, so always take something to read. I don’t usually leave my reading material behind!
The book is actually rather dreary, but now I shall finish it.
Thank you so much,
Sincerely,
Lesley G
P.S. We are nice neighbours (though seriously “senior”). Call in some time.

How lovely that she took the time to send me a letter in return! I cant describe the it, almost like joy but not quite, like content but not quite, almost like relief but not quite. And there was something more…
I cant let go of this feeling that there is something deeper.

Do you believe in chance or fate? Karma? Im not sure what I believe in, but my life choices have been no accident. Ive always had little gifts like this … Mum says its Pa (her dad) and maybe it is, but Im also happy to believe its just guidance of any form (Im not religious). Its like the time that my shoe broke moments before I was to walk under a ladder, so I paused momentarily only to have a hammer drop from two metres above and crash to the spot where I would have been at that second. Or like the time that I could not decide if I was going to move to Melbourne then I discovered a map of Melbourne in a pile of paper I had accidentally picked up from the office in perth.
Its when I listen to these little gifts that amazing things happen.

And this is where I come to something deeper. Not only did that book remain untouched on that step near my office to be found by me, but its owner lived on my street. Nowhere else in Victoria… but ON MY STREET. And to take it further, this lady has the same name as my mother… even down to the unusual spelling.

Lesley has extended an offer for me to stop by. I think I may just do that….

When I was a kid

2008-12-09T12:43:00.000+11:00

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Today as I walked back through the city on my way back from meeting a girlfriend for lunch, I had a pleasant realisation. Here I was, stalking down Collins in black stillettos and a skirt-suit, newspaper rolled up under my arm and a long macchiato in hand from my favourite little arcade coffee-shop. Id had a long lunch with a friend from another firm, she recommended the venue, I recommended the wine - both turned out to be great.

So as I walked back to my office, I caught a reflection of myself in a window... and I had to stop.

I was looking at a childhood idea of myself.

Growing up in the far outskirts of Perth city (its now suburbia of course, but back then it was much different) I wasnt exposed to the corporate world. I couldnt comprehend what a 'business-man' did, and all the people I knew did not wear suits. My parents, parents friends, friends parents, and the people my parents encountered on a daily basis were doctors, nurses, brickies, plumbers, teachers, checkout operators, butchers, and builders. Even in highschool when I began to understand the wider world and what the difference (for example) is between a corporate accountant & tax accountant, or contracts law and family law, I still did not know what I wanted to 'do'.

All I knew, was that I wanted to catch a train to work in a swarm of commuters, reading the paper on the train, and I wanted to work on a high floor with a view, meet friends for lunch & coffee, and wear classy business attire. I wanted to greet a receptionist every morning, have flowers sent to my desk, and be 'called' to important meetings. I didnt care so much as to what I wanted as a career, I just had to have those things.

So I saw myself in the window on Collins Street - and sure, my goals and ambitions had evolved, and I was working towards some pretty huge career aspirations - but the basic notion had not changed in all these years. However complicated my life may seem now, I still have (already) surpassed my childhood dreams.

How cool is that!?

There was certainly a spring in my step as I returned to the office. Simple Joys.

_

Finding myself alive

2008-12-08T10:59:00.000+11:00

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Sometimes I find myself very alive. Like Ive awoken from a slumber and the colours are suddenly brighter.
Often the feeling is fleeting, always it is beautiful. Sometimes I can pinpoint why I feel this.
Other times it simply appears, like a small child grasping my pinkie finger.
It is delicate, fragile. A flower that closes at dusk; unfurling to bask in the light, and vanishing just as quickly.
I hold these moments precious, like fragments of a damaged film that I was the star of, surrounded by cast and crew, my every move followed with cameras, softly-lit, superbly edited, with a mesmerising soundtrack sparkling in my ears. I never find the same moment twice, no matter how hard I try to replicate it.
But I am very much alive, and a smile plays across my lips. And I can almost hear people whisper “What is her secret…”
And then it is gone, the thing that seems most real, a blissful awareness of that very moment, fades into my reality. And I return to my day, searching for that small child again.

My wish for you...

2008-12-05T13:13:00.000+11:00

I cant claim this, but its beautiful nonetheless;

May you find serenity and tranquility in a world you may not always understand.
May the pain you have known and the conflict you have experienced give you the strength to walk through life facing each new situation with courage and optimism.
Always know that there are those whose love and understanding will always be there, even when you feel most alone.
May you discover enough goodness in others to believe in a world of peace.
May a kind word, a reassuring touch, and a warm smile be yours every day of your life, and may you give these gifts as well as receive them.
Remember the sunshine when the storm seems unending.
Teach love to those who hate, and let that love embrace you as you go out into the world.
May the teachings of those you admire become part of you, so that you may call upon them. Remember, those whose lives you have touched and whose have touched yours are always a part of you, even if the encounters were less than you would have wished. It is the content of the encounter that is more important than the form.
May you not become too concerned with material matters, but instead place immeasurable value on the goodness in your heart.
Find time each day to see beauty and love in the world around you.
Realize that each person has limitless abilities, but each of us is different in our own way.
What you feel you lack in the present may become one of your strengths in the future.
May you see your future as one filled with promise and possibility.
Learn to view everything as a worthwhile experience.
May you find enough inner strength to determine your own worth by yourself, and not be dependent on another's judgment of your accomplishments.
May you always feel loved.
-Anon

The break is over

2008-12-01T13:10:00.001+11:00

I did learn one important thing in the week I spent immersed in my studies. My body is like a high performance sports car, or racehorse, or fighter plane – or some other equally finely tuned machine that conjures up images of power. You get the picture.
Years ago (maybe 3 or so) I could operate on but a few hours sleep, drink heavily most nights, and entertain myself with illicit drugs – and function (or so I thought) as a normal human being. These days I have to take much more care, and prior to the end of semester I deprived myself of sleep, ordered takeaway, sucked continuously on cans of energy drink, and chose to forgo any exercise.

Prior to this, I had set myself up on a training program of my own creation. I am comfortable and confident doing this because I have done it numerous times before, I know my limits and expectations, and Ive done my research. But this was more than just exercise and diet this time around. This time I wanted to address my anxiety, my insomnia, my fatigue, and mood swings. I forked out a hefty amount of money (hey, you have to have a little faith in people) to an unremarkable genteel woman to teach me meditation as part of a class, I read books that inspired, and I extracted myself from relationships and acquaintances that were negative or draining.

But last week all of this went out the window and I allowed myself to be sucked back into the vortex. Sacrifice I guess.

But back to what I discovered;
- That a heavy session at the gym did more for my anxiety than it did for my waistline. Which is good because I don’t want to lose a lot of weight. I found that I could accumulate anxiousness throughout the day, and a good hour at the gym could dispel the knot in my stomach.
- That reducing the anxiety had a direct effect on my sleep patterns (I didnt have trouble falling asleep so much as that I wake up in the middle of the night repeatedly, or I twitch/remain taut throughout the night)
- That a decent dose of protein at lunch (lean meat in my sandwich, or tuna with my salad) went further to sustain me through the afternoon than a serving of carbohydrates. Not to mention I no longer had the sluggish post-lunch lull that I thought I needed prior to getting my carb kick for the afternoon.
- That dairy doesn’t agree with me, and I should stick to soy where possible… no more bloating!
- That training at the gym forced me to extract myself earlier from the office, because the gym shuts at 9pm, I need to get there by 8pm at the latest and therefore have to leave work by 7pm (which is better than my customary 8 or 9pm departure)
- That meditation is actually scary, because before I am aware Im am in it, there is a feeling of total lack of control. But the head-spins and nausea I get during meditation is how my body manifests the anxiousness and I feel more focussed after meditation than before it.
- That I could actually get addicted to the endorphin rush I get after exercise. Sure I crash and burn with exhaustion, but the energetic bubbling mess of words and skipping and laughter that I am immediately after a gym session? I wish I could bottle that so that it lasts longer than an hour.
- Taking care of my soul, my physique, and my diet has flow on effects to include getting my hair done, dressing up more, dancing around my bedroom, finding insignificant things to celebrate ‘just because’, and yes… shes about to say it… more sex.

I realise these things may make you say ‘No shit’, and they’re things I probably already knew… but they were driven home for me after several weeks of ‘care’. That’s it… I didn’t push myself, I didn’t punish myself… I just ‘cared’. For me.

And now I have to spend this week getting back to it. To there. And to me.

No mean feat. My poor boyfriend has copped a hammering from my moods. I do try to be accommodating, but he shifts from being endearing, to a downright pain-in-the-ass. This is not because his behaviour has changed, but because the way I respond to him does. He goes about his merry way being fun and carefree and laidback but sometimes I find this liberating, other times… infuriating. I’m working on this. And when I say ‘this’, I mean how I react to his behaviour, not the behaviour itself. Im trying to be more ‘present’, that is, not allowing my past or preconditioning to influence my current behaviour.

.

Obsessive Compulsive Escapism

2008-11-26T14:44:00.000+11:00

A friend told me last week that I was running at 110 percent. What dictates how much 100 percent actually IS, and therefore if I am exceeding it though, is subject to personal experience and opinion. For him (and I suppose many others, but not in my industry) – 100 percent is a 40 hour week. It’s a long lunch on a Friday. Its leaving the office at least once per day, for lunch, a coffee, a trip to the bank. For him, there is no weekend work, and staying late occurs a few times per month.
So therein, does that make him lazy, or me overworked? Am I battling with an inability to manage my time, or an unrealistic workload. Does he have it easy, or is he working his ass off within that locked timeframe of 40 hours?
What makes a job easy is speculative and relative. At 6pm every night, not a soul in the firm has left the office – it is de rigueur in the profession to work late. And on my many jaunts up to the 10th floor on a Sunday to catch up or get ahead for the week, the floor is littered with people working away silently.

I speculate if one actually has the capacity to operate at 110 percent, for 100 percent of the time? This week I was faced with ‘down time’ at the office, and with nothing inherently urgent, I found myself take the extreme response and withdraw completely. Why I do this, I do not know, but I know that I DO engage in this lax and negative behaviour on a cyclic basis. There are always, always things needing to be done, but when faced with an opportunity to ‘drop the pressure’, I vacate. Mentally ‘check out’.

It is this psychological response, an aversion to any work whatsoever when not under strain, that makes me think that I am a workaholic. Surely not! Especially when I have neglected to complete at least one task in three days this week! I believe I have an intrinsic shut down mechanism, a ‘switch’ that picks a time when Im not operating a workload of ‘critical mass’, and numbs my brain, preventing me from engaging in anything further. Oh just THINK of the work I could achieve if I could disable that mechanism. And boom – there it is - A desire to disable the very thing that stops me from have a debilitating and probably very public nervous breakdown. THAT, my dear reader, makes me a workaholic.

In a world of high achievers, global desire, and a ladder begging to be climbed, there seems to be no aversion in my psyche to tipping the scales of work-life balance – and that is fairly fucked up.

Amillia : non est ad astra mollis e terris via

2008-11-24T14:39:00.000+11:00

I survived.

And I wasn’t sure if I would. Or if we would.

Ive completed my first semester back at uni since I took a year off to recover from a failed relationship, self-deprecating behaviour, and a move interstate. I feared being time poor in this new relationship. And for the second time too. The only comfort I took was that if I drove a wedge between us, we would have lost but a few months of our life together. Systematically destroying the relationship between my ex and I resulted in an agonising split after 3 years. One that tore out a piece of my soul.

I suppose it shows that Ive grown. The wisdom I have gained, and the faith I have restored. Jimmy has been immeasurable in his help. Not by any intent of action on his part, but by just being himself. Being patient with me, and understanding. And being content to stand by the wayside as I battled my own demons. Holding me when I break down with exhaustion, and by turning up on my doorstep when I cant bear to see him.

There have been many moments of confusion. Of lacking the understanding why I want him so far away, and so close. I need to be able to feel I am in control my life (it has been so badly out of control before) and needing him tells me that Im losing that control. That I cant survive it on my own – and therefore I haven’t got a grip. But why does it have to be on my own. Surely this stress is too much for one to bear? Part time university coupled with casual bar and hosting work alongside a fulltime office job, with an undercurrent of perfectionism, procrastination, and a whole lot of anxiety, leaves little time to think this through. You just do what has to be done. Head down – bum up. There are sacrifices to be made. I sacrificed the love of my life one time many years ago, was it a necessity to do it again, or have I learnt that I can have both?? I think I have wholeheartedly believed both ideals at some point or another in these past 6 months. Yes I can have a happy relationship with a man I love, while putting myself under immense pressure (and that Im not who I used to be). Or, yes... I cannot have both, and I will sacrifice (again) my sanity and happiness for the ultimate goal that Ive been fighting for. But in both of these instances, what do I lose? Reality tells us time and time again the world is not perfect and you cannot have everything. Something has got to give, and Im floundering in the shallows, hoping desperately that nothing is slipping through my fingers.

If it is, I don’t know what it is yet... I'll be ok, as long as I keep fighting.

Resilience: There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

Please.

2008-11-19T18:45:00.001+11:00

Sometimes Im so infatuated with you I want to merge with your soul
Sometimes, I cant stand the sound of your voice.
Sometimes your touch will heal all my pain
Sometimes, it burns like fire

I try to open my heart to you
But in the darkness, you look just like it
I try to open my mind to our possibility
But I dream of somewhere else

Your eyes are sad because you know
You hold me so tight because you know
I hold you so tight because I cant lose you
But youre slipping from my grasp

I feel like Ive learnt all you can teach me
Though what you can teach me is infinite
You give me the lessons of life
But Im not learning anymore

Take me away from here
Leave me alone
Show me the world through your eyes
But dont look at me that way.
Please not this. again.

Before Dawn

2008-10-09T17:10:00.000+11:00

I wrote this after spending a long evening with my partner trying to sift through the maze that was my thoughts. He believes passionately that life experience is worth more than money in the bank, that richness is through the love of family and friends, and that success is not measured by worldly possessions. As time passes he is teaching me that the things that trouble my life are not really that important (some days he is more successful than others) and that I need is right inside me; faith, hope, and strength.

I fantasise about small things. Going home when its
Daylight. That'd be nice, like sleep-ins.
The perfect high heel. Halfway between stiletto and kitten.
I dream about big things. Day dreams, and dreams before
Dawn. When its cold. And he feels warm.
My gift to myself this year; Clarity. Calm
Wrapped in silver paper, tied with a red
Bow. Luminescent even in low light.
That if im not learning, im lost. And he is teaching me to
Breathe the air and touch the earth. Slow down.
Our experiences cannot be stored in the bank
A life of memories, worth more than that big
House. The one in my dreams before
Dawn. When its cold. And he feels warm.

Kaos in the night

2008-10-06T13:46:00.001+11:00

I awoke today in the dead of the night. My boyfriend slept soundly beside me (as he always does so well) and I stared into the blackness for what seemed like eternity. As it turned out, eternity was 2 hours, and I drifted off sometime before 4am. As I lay there, I wondered what had woken me. I felt so awake that I could have risen and gone about my day. If I was at my own place and not at my partners then perhaps I would have gotten up to find something to do. Instead I tossed and turned and questioned why the knot in my stomach tightened with every passing minute. I had an acute sense of dread, like I had missed something, that I had overlooked something critical. My mind travelled to the daylight, of my Monday back at work, of everything that I had to do to catch up, of a uni assignment that was impending, and social obligations I had to keep. I felt my stomach knot in such a way that I had to curl up on my side. And there it was…. why was I so anxious in the middle of the night? My life. That’s why.

So come the morning of my Monday, with a gently throbbing headache, and a nauseas feeling in my stomach. The same which I had felt all week.
I was exhausted, and angry at myself for not sleeping through the night. As I travelled to work, each moment I thought of the things I had to do came with a tightening in my chest. And that’s what stress feels like to me. I know it when I am powering away at work and trying to meet a deadline and the adrenaline rushes and my heart rate jumps. A little bit of stress is good for me, in fact. But there was no deadline, no overdue tasks, it was 9am on a Monday, what had my weekend given me? Very little it seems. Could I handle this feeling for another 5 days?

Its seems in life we are presented with enough impossibilities to burden the strongest of souls, that the wayward path leads astray the most intrepid explorers, and that the experienced heart has a greater memory of its pain and conflict than the a superior intellect.
It also seems that the weakest minds desire the simplest pleasures, the softest dispositions engage with the kindest people, and the youngest hearts love the hardest.
So what do I desire to be? Strong, intrepid, and superior, or weak minded, soft, and young? It appears to me that the stronger you are, the more you choose to carry, and those who know their limitations move through their life with ease.
I don’t want to be strong, because I will infinitely pile myself with weight. I do not wish to be intrepid, because I do not want to lose my way, and I do not want to love, because my heart will remember the pain more everlasting than its joy.

This is self deprecating and I understand this. Of course it is considerably more noble to have strength of character, but isnt it more feasible to live an uncomplicated life without this? Sometimes I want the easy trail without the winding and bumps and hills and ruts. Is that selfish?

“Perhaps our eyes need to be washed by our tears once in a while, so that we can see Life with a clearer view again.”

Blogs: Public or Private Realm?

2008-09-25T13:45:00.001+10:00

Hello and Welcome.

An interesting scenario occurred in the office today. A fellow staff member in our Hong Kong office found themselves blogging about recent design events in his city. Being a keen writer and social commentator, it appeared he had quite harmlessly embarked on a blogging experience. Until …a google search engine sent a notification to a marketing coordinator in Australia advising that there had been a new addition to the internet - that contained the company name. The marketing coordinator was quite impressed with the content and sent the link to a global email base. The blog in itself was quite harmless, it was a logical and indepth discussion about factors that influenced the current state of architectural design. Yet, human nature being as it is, it would go without saying that interested readers would like to know what other such entries existed. Myself being one of them.

Not 2 minutes into exploring his blog, I was presented with (what would be to some, confronting) commentary on his sexuality and sexual experiences. This was not just any old architectural design blog!I spoke to the Marketing Coordinator and of course, she had not realised that there had been any other entries that might be subsequently damaging. Her initial response was defensive “Everyone knows he is gay – its no secret”. Ah yes, but Im sure he would have like to have kept the secret about his fantasies of sleeping with a straight man, or being involved in a straight ‘group’ scenario that might have also included a women. She recalled the email when the staff member in question asked her to do so, but had the damage (if any) already been done?

Which brings me to my question; who is at fault? Should she have queried with the staff member whether she could link to his personal blog, a large proportion of the company? Or was he already giving license for her to do so, by already having the content publicly available for viewing by anyone who cared to search? How public truly is the internet? Or are we assigning too much trust in its vastness that anything we display online is buried deep within?

Many months ago I encountered a similar scenario – twice actually, as it appeared I did not learn my lesson the first time! During the house-hunting and flatmate-finding process, I was frequently able to ‘look up’ potential candidates on the internet. And ohhh you would be surprised how many people do not set their facebook profile to ‘private’. It was interesting to get a background on any potential axe-weilding strippers cum school teachers who refused to do the dishes. One such fellow I looked up, had a blog. An intelligent (if not left of centre) character, he seemed to take joy in conducting indepth analysis’ of society’s ills. In passing comment, I mentioned that I had discovered his blog, and his immediate response was to Google MY name. Oh my.Now, the result that topped the list is not something that I am ashamed of. It was fun at the time and every gal likes their 15 minutes of fame, but it is certainly not a true representation of my character. Especially in the way that mens magazines like to twist their models’ words to make for interesting reading. The potential housemate thought it highly amusing though. And subsequently I now live with him.

Hey… maybe it even helped a little?? *wink*

I relayed this story to colleagues the following week at work, keeping the conversation as broad as possible. Obviously not broad enough – as giggles from behind computer monitors enlightened me to the fact that they knew the story I was telling, was in fact about me. As I type today, the entire consulting team has seen me in my underwear.

True story.

So I do know what it feels like to have your personal life discovered on the internet. Obviously not as interesting as today’s discovery though. But this poor fellow in Hong Kong, what standing does he have? He engaged with an invisible and infinite audience, telling any i-surfer about his personal experiences. But when this is shared in a corporate environment, it can go from an open honest dialogue about a regular guy, to a career debilitating weapon. I trust that in future he will be selective with his words when discussing work, or even with the content itself. Or heck, did he just have it coming, did he ‘play dice with the devil’? As a reader though, and a colleague, don’t we have some sort of moral obligation to protect the trust that he has in the vast, deep dark webspace, and maybe just double-check with him first?