Please stop fixing everything by shutting the door.

Imagine if you will: I walk into work this morning, sit at a cubicle and scroll through my morning newsfeed, full to the brim because I haven't touched it in days. However, now out of my drug-induced haze, words actually have begun to make sense. But I find nothing that really makes all that much sense.

It's been about a week of not coming in to the office so I may have also forgotten my social skills but there was one thing I had to share in the newsroom: “Village enforces law”.

Now apparently there's a problem in Cakaudrove; marri3d wom3ns bin touching up on th3m bach3lorz. Or something. Yes, I totally take this issue seriously. Honestly, it is a bit of a concern given the article suggests that violence ensues when the whole affairs come to light.

The “solution”?

"TRADITIONAL leaders and village elders in Cakaudrove have enforced a decision to have married couples drink grog in their own homes."

Ok. So... enforceable valuable family time? I don't know, but honestly I don't think this is address the real problem. First, there may be the nature of marriage in the area. Is it shotgun? Boredom? Love? Who knows!

Again, if you aren't spending time hanging out with your husband, how much do you like him really? Again again, are the bachelors blameless here? Apparently so.

Perhaps then the real problem is the issue of communicating - expressions of frustration and anger bound to be expected but we're supposedly higher beings with the ability to process and have thought and highly developed language on our side. Or maybe we just don't use any of that... I guess.

I don't know if this whole solution will fix anything. I hope things get better but I don't think all the problems will go away with a closed door. Unhappy marriages are still unhappy.

How about we get our values train back on that “sanctity of marriage” track? Have babies, do whatever, be whoever and love whoever – but keep that huge rest-of-your-life commitment maybe for someone you actually want to spend the rest of your life with.

It's funny people in power still refuse lifelong partners recognition because they may be of the same sex when stupid straight people can do whatever they want. Sigh.

Hungry hungry gamers

I dinged 100 today. That basically meant that I sunk my weekend into medicine hazed gameplay of Warlords of Draenor. I did, however, force the Owl to take me to the newest Hunger Games movie.

He's read all the books so I have forced the spoilers out of him (it's a bad habit of mine, I want to know what happens because I don't trust myself to pay enough attention). The biggest take away from the whole thing?

THIS - WHOADAMN

Ok, before the "ermmanermynerms", I want the hair. I am in a situation where merely cutting my hair is frowned upon by friends and family. I dont blame them, I said myself (probably a month before I shaved it for the god-knows-what'th-time) that I wasn't going to cut my hair until I had children. 

But after seeing this whole Natalie Dormer/Cressida thingymabob I... WANT... IT.

It's probably the attraction of the head tattoo. Idk. That just seriously weirdly appeals to me. 

Again, I doubt I'll get the emotionally-supportive go ahead for a new tattoo, a crazy haircut or just... anything. 

Sigh. Time to keep growing this mass of god-knows-what on my head.

Welcome to WoD

As I pull myself through the newest expansion, I find myself ecnhated by so much but now it's time to take a look back at the launch day.

Of course, first the Owl and I have a little pre-launch party so we went to Dalalag and partied it up after he helped me top up the Travellers Mammoth fund.

party parttyyy

The I had to say goodbye and retire the poor old farm in Pandaland. I was roaming around reddit and saw that someone had retired their farm with a whole bunch of  trees and figured that was something I wanted to do too.

I dont miss you, miss you farm. I have a garrison now.

And then... I sat around Org, and the quest popped 15 minutes early and thus began the mad rush to stand on the quest giver. Buttholes, all of you.

WHY YOU GUYS DO DIS :<

So now Im steadly making my way through alternative timeline Draenor and Im sitting at a comfortable 98, although the Owl is well already 100 and doing all the dungeons. I have, however, spent way too much time fishing, cooking and first aid (the last of the 3 I've managed to max out yesterday.) 

What does it mean to have a child?

Today I read something disturbing. Pre-term baby statistics. You can find it here because I dont want to retell anything. Its too damn depressing. The worst part? No consideration for the carrier of the lost life. The women are lost.

I have never had a child. I have never been pregnant. In fact, as a teenager I had a very strong fear of sex because I knew... "the implications". That said, I was also a child of divorce so I never really wanted that to be a thing that the kids I ever had to go through. Just generally.

I do, however, have friends with kids. I also have many acquaintances with them. While I acknowledge that children are amazing, it is incredibly important, in my opinion, to be able to afford them.

To afford the time, resources and attentions. Children are one thing but we must remember that they grow into human beings. Fully functioning, we hope, humans that make a positive difference in society. 

I was brought up in a mixed family. When I was about 7, I remember my stepmother working with UNFPA and having me a kind of after school class at home about puberty and stuff. I got stuff to read, I had folder of sheets of paper with little questions and stuff. At the time I figured it was all stuff being shoved down my throat but today I guess Im glad that happened. I figure it started early because she and my dad where about to have my little brother and so I needed "to know where he was coming from".

In other words, I was terrified by the whole damn thing. 

When puberty actually hit me, I was an angry, angry young woman. I used to get violently sick and I hated everything including the crappy baby bag and its associated parts that would put me in pain and make me throw up everywhere. Where? In a school bin during winter school in Primary. In many, many bushes. At several office bathrooms. In all the different female toilets in both high schools I went to. I think I threw up in front of a bakery in Lami in a bin at one point. 

Why tell you about this? Because in my head, if period nausea was bad, how bad was pregnancy nausea going to be? If my depression during my mid cycle was bad, what about post-baby blues? 

And with all these thoughts, I am the minority. I think about my own body, my own life, in the face of the possibility of a child. I am afraid that many women and young women might not have that opportunity. I should not be the minority.

Societal expectations may force a newlywed couple to procreate. Shotgun weddings are frequent. A woman is barely consulted on the whole family planning front and she will get shamed (Still!) if she seeks out contraceptives. Education systems still dont teach the whole notion of a cycle and when to track your own fertility - a last resort if medical centres and otherwise are far away or just uncomfortable. It still seems like we barely allow women choice over their own bodies. 

Shame on you, society. Our mothers, sisters and women in general deserve so much better than this. 

There are things I cannot explain.

Hello! Why are you here? Who knows! But you are now, so stay a while.

The other day I was watching a metric buttload of QI, one of the world's greatest shows, and there was a whole bit about hysteria.

Apparently hysteria used to be understood as a wandering womb. Now, I dont necessarily have a womb that wanders. I have a double reinforced one or something with the probable adenomyosis but today i talk about... THE FEELS.

gaddamnnnn son.

As a female, there is a time where my body expels awful awful things and makes me feel awful. It's just a lot of awful. That said, it is always a time for "Im not pregnant yay!" things but again we're talking feels.

So with the feels; about 2 weeks before the expulsion (hehehe), I start to get all the feelings. I cry over everything. So far it has been pictures of puppies, the Fine Brother's Teens React to Malala, a Yogscast update video and getting a positive outcome on a WoD garrison mission that had a 70% success chance.

I have little under a fortnight for more cries. Let's see how it goes.

Update: I literally just cried over my brain-pronunciation of "momentous". I blame this. 

I wish I had normal dreams

Now today, I dont want to share about what goes on in my head when I sleep. That stuff is a bundle of boring and only ever rotates between video-game induced fever dreams (where I do my dailies even with my eyes closed and computer off) and other wacky things. Today I share something from the deep dark of “when I was growing up”.

I was constantly asked what I wanted to do when I grew up. Why? I dont know, early career counseling or something... because the subjects you take in primary school affect the rest of your life apparently. But I never really knew.

I first wanted to be a race car driver. Or so I have been told. I dont blame 4 year old me, cars are pretty damn cool. I love driving but unfortunately I dont have real access to a vehicle so I just chastise bad drivers in my head, usually when Im in the back seat of one. Then, too lazy to do homework, I threw that dream away and decided on chicken farmer.

That dream didnt last long. Neither did the plan to be a lawyer, pharmacist, vet, doctor, vet again, teacher and then artist.

In my second last year of high school, I got to actually study the arts. Well, ART. A doodler my whole life, I never thought I would get to go to a class where I was allowed to draw and imagine worlds and everything else. I had drawn a few comic series in my time because there was always something happening in my head. But to be given the space to study it... I was so happy.

I had almost gotten permission to apply to art schools but I stopped all overseas application processes when I found out my mother was having breast cancer tests. I stayed here at home to help out and got a degree in two things I figured I would never really use: politics and journalism.

That said, I now find myself in a newsroom desk at a magazine, occasionally getting send out to do stories for the online news website. And everything considered, I dont know why I didnt opt for studying writing sooner.

Yeahm, sure I love drawing, making comics and books and such with my hands but the planning process, the development of the world, everything and anything. I even wrote a book. A friend in high school, the only person who got me to actually go to the city library, would read all my crazy scribblings.

Thank you, dear friend. Thanks for the encouragement and everything else. Now take a break from Canada so we can catch up again :)

Long Term

So I recently left a 7 year job (and yes, I do count volunteering a job when it consumes your every waking hour and moderately influences almost all aspects of your life and outlook) to become a writer.

I say write because while there is the occasional new bit to bite down on (at least on this week alone), the majority of what I like do is playing with words.

I have always has a tricky relationship with the notion of "being a journalist". I have Journalism major in the handle of my degree but I went into and through those odd 3 years knowing I didn't necessarily wanted to stay in a newsroom.

I also this week went through a day long training to "maken der screenplay" because a film idea I had submitted was selected along with 19 others.

We 20 budding screenwriters have 3 months to throw together a piece of work that let people have some idea of what it is our heads when we tell the stories we submitted.

So this past week I have been overwhelmed with identity crises.

"Am I really a writer?" "What do I even want to write?" "WHAT IS JOB?"

I dropped radio program and video blog scripts for online news articles and magazine pieces.

"Is this what I want to do?"

All the questions and so few answered apart from "yes, for now."

How long now is I hope isn't just a few months, but I want to keep on keeping on in the mainstream media. My dreams of transforming the landscape need this experience.

And so far, I've heard relatively good things about my writing.

For someone who tells stories for fun and who used to have it as my bread and butter (and almost literally just bread and butter alongside cigarettes), having fulltime work to do that is exciting.

But why leave activism, my long time love? Aside from the Owl, trying to do the best I can were things that kept my heart pumping all the funny gooey feelings of "you're doing something right!"

I dont expect too much to change with the new job. I imagine it will just be a change to where things so and heres hoping those words I pull reluctantly out of my brain and shove them onto paper will go as far as they can.

When you feel all pink inside

It's finally a new month. I say finally, but it feel like October just flew by. Between leaving FemLINK to try my hand at professional-style-y writing, looking after the Owl's thrown-out back and bodily ups and downs, there never seems to be enough time for anything.

That said, I made time to go with my grandmother to the final Pinktober event of the year (or so it was claimed). Held on the evening of the 31^st at the Tanoa Plaza Hotel, Westpac's fundraiser saw me way out of my comfort zone not just being in a room of strangers without my mother but also having to be the final act after the Minister for Women, Children and Poverty Alleviation and a survivor of cervical and breast cancer.

we did make the Sunday paper's front page though

How are those two an easy act to follow? One a speech of severity and sincerity and the other a raw set of truths. I had written out and printed what I wanted to say. I didn't want to rant or rattle on, I was told I had up to 10 minutes but I didn't want to bore people and I was incredibly nervous.

Breast cancer is serious business. It's not only a branch of the big C, but also something so incredibly personal to me and the rest of my family. I wanted to do it justice. My grandmother nudged me before my turn to speak. She had gone through my sheet of A4 and asked, “are you going to tell them about your mum and I for those who don't know?” I hadn't 100% thought about it.

I was so focused on separating myself from the issue because I was not a survivor of breast cancer myself. I didn't want to infringe on the experiences of others because, hey, that isn't how I am. But I did as my grandmother asked me because you just do what the matriarch says sometimes.

I spoke about how everything started in 2010 after my end of high school exams, how my mother had to raise funds to find our way overseas because radiation therapy isn't available here and how this works against the push for early detection (because without the treatment readily available, what's the point?). I also then spoke about my grandmother's relatively short journey. And then I read, adding a few things here and there to keep the tone a little light.

Today I speak on behalf of my mother and grandmother, survivors of breast cancer. I also speak for myself as someone who has seen, twice in my life, the journey a woman takes when she chooses life in the face of cancer.

There are many things a person experiences before, during and after breast cancer diagnosis. Theres the fear when you find a lump, the worry during the tests, the terror in the face of treatment, the exhaustion after medications and trips to hospitals, and then there is the relief once you are all done and through with the strenuous part of the journey. Then there is the frustration of adjustment after losing a breast when it comes to getting clothes to fit right or trying to find ones strength again.

I know pinktober is amazing. It forces people to think about something to integral to life. Something seemingly so obvious. Breasts. After a quick not so scientific estimation I have come to the conclusion that there is at least one breast per person in the world. Maybe more. Seven billion breasts so often hidden and considered shameful. Women are told to hide their cleavage, shove them is uncomfortable bras and sometimes are shamed if their breasts are too big or too small. But on the other hand we cannot ignore their importance. They feed children, theyre basically natural chest pillows for small people especially handy for hugs.

And as amazing as pinktober is, the investment of funds raised need to go where theyre needed most. To easing the frustration of adjustment, calming that fear or worry, easing the exhaustion – theres so much unsaid 11 other months of the year. So while I know tonight is about CWMs oncology ward, a place that needs all it can get, id at least like to leave one thing in everyones mind. Comfort. Its so so important.

It may be about feeling or seeming normal thus having access to bras with inserts, helping someone sleep after surgery with just the right kind of pillow, finding food that still tastes good or keeping mouth sores to a minimum. If its about all things that come before, like easy to understand pamphlets about what to expect and where to go for treatment, its something that could give that person peace of mind, a sense of comfort and certainty – it makes things infinitely better.

If theres one thing that we should be changing through awareness, its the perception choosing treatment. And when I say choose it is not the choice of the family or the husband or otherwise. At the end of the day, it is on the individual who finds that lump to get treatment. When treatment is feared, the lump will be left unchecked and left threatening her life. When treatment is misunderstood, it will not be sought out.

So lets do the 7 billion boobs out there a favour and not let anything that may have been done or shared this pinktober be forgotten. Thank you.

Im pretty sure there are still typos somewhere but hey, I was reading so I also saw half of it in the midst of all the stress. So that was pretty much my Friday. Speeching, being touched and thanked and so on (because apparently people need to touch your shoulder and shake your hand). Well, apart from then going out for Halloween for a few hours before going home exhausted after a day without a proper nap.

pictured: pokemon-persona hybrids

And highlight of everything? Surprising myself at how I didn't react violently when a very tipsy woman came up to me at the cocktail, ran her hands over Owl Abraham Lincoln and my new banyan tree and said “I love your tats!”. Thank you random woman. You have shown me that I can keep my cool in the face of sheer terror. 

Tears of Joy

Full disclaimer: I cry A LOT. Be it because of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, cute things, pain in my ovaries or just pure joy, I bawl because my face is telling me to do it.

I got to vote today. I am 22. It has been 8 years since anyone in this country had the opportunity and I was excited as a diabetic planning a midnight fridge raid.

I voted because I had the chance. I voted because I wanted to be part of the process.  I voted because, because. because. 

I kai-colo'd dat ink goooood.

The last elections I was a space-headed teenager. I didnt understand a thing. I was far more concerned with anime, nacho baskets and figuring out whether I was broken or not because i didnt want to kiss any/all of the things. 

As a 22 year old I have heard heart-breaking and uplifting stories. I have finished high school and a degree. I have seen what it means when people cant get decent healthcare, decent food, decent living conditions. I want the right to talk back to my decision makers. I want a stable now, not a promise of some stable future. I want to contribute.

I went around the island today. I saw way too many fires, filmed an interview with a rural female candidate, watched people walk barefoot to polling stations, parents struggling with babies and toddlers and wily children. I saw my aunt being escorted out of our polling station because she rightfully stood up to a rude official. 

I also got hit in the back a lot by a guys ginormous pot-belly, but thats just a thing that happened today.

As my mother drove us back home, after 6pm, we were listening to the news and hearding what people were saying, their joy at getting this day, this chance, I choked up. We had ELECTIONS. It may be just some illusion but fuck that, i voted and I am not going to let any elected leader tell me what I want. 

I want to be part of stopping our coup culture jokes. I want stability. 

pew pew I shoot you with my fresh democratic rights. 

Tags on tags on tags

I was tagged on Facebook to write about books and games - a top ten roundup. I spent quite a while double-checking and so forth so why not share it on the place where I do all my writing anyway? Yay!

Ok since I have been asked to write about my top 10 books AND top 10 games, I'm lazy and am only going to do a half-half on games and books because who said you can't like both.

Books:

Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden: I read this book to death. I no longer have it because I read it so many times and now all the pieces of the book are missing. I loved it like a crazy person. Initially obsessed with anything Japanese, I was drawn into the book but stayed for the characters.

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes: A diary-style novel about science on the brain and how we treat human beings, hope we value those we love and what it means to be brain-type smart. I cried when (spoilers) Algernon died. Why you do that to my heart, Keyes? So much foreshadowing.

Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett: super-duper girl power from the amazing mind of Pratchett. In a country proud of its militarism (by those who get to talk about it), was interesting to be put in the shoes of girls in war in a less depressing way than most books. Also a lot about femininity and the notion of a higher calling that was kinda cool. Idk. It was my first Terry Pratchett book.

Sammy's Hill by Kristin Gore: about politics and media on Capitol Hill. Also with some rom-com features and a neurotic female protagonist, I was hooked on her quirky nature, her constantly brink-of-death fish and the love story part that poked fun at love stories.

The Door to December by Dean Koontz: This is on the list as the first book I destroyed. Koontz was one of my favourite authors growing up for I-have-no-idea-why reasons and this book also no longer exists in my possession. A story about science mixing with the occult, the love and care for human beings and the need to protect children... I dont know, it's just one of my favourites.

Honorable mentions: Some short story about a girl being married to a Banyan tree, The God of Small Things and all the Adrian Mole books (I love you, Sue Townsend).

And now, Games:

The Sims. Tomodatchi Life. Any game I get to play God. I love sim games with people in it. I don't know, maybe it's my OCD or something or the other but I intensely love games where I can make perfect people but then mess with their lives. Also, make all the babies!

Banished, Civ 5 and SimCity. Also (awkwardly) Dream House Days by Kairosoft. City builder sims I felt needed their own mention because they're not about people per se, but rather about efficient system management. I deserve an award for town planning. Or maybe I dont. Please don't ask about how my Banished village is doing.

Dragon Age and Fire Emblem: Awakening. Okay, so I adore the Dragon Age Series, no matter what people say about Kirkwall. I love the immersion and the massive scope of the world. I feel like Fire Emblem goes along with this because of the party relationship building that happens. I, like the crazy person I am, put way too many hours into fixing Alistair and Anders as well as fixing Chrom and finding all the different relationship stories in Fire Emblem. I am a crazy person.

World of Warcraft. Okay, I am an awful MMO gamer. I hate playing with other people but just like Dragon Age, the world is expansive and huge, the story rich and the experience addictive. I had taken a short break from rogue-ing because I have a lot of work to do but hey, it's a thing, right?

Don't Starve. It's the only “scary” game I've been able to play and massively feeds on my OCD. I build my camp as guided by my OCD, set up farms and I think I've played a 100+ day game and eventually stopped because I was losing sleep. Goddamn you, Klei.

Honorable mentions: Scribblenauts (because everything is fun when you're riding a huge, rainbow pooping duck), Pixel Dungeon (the only game on my phone) and almost everything in the Final Fantasy franchise (which didn't make the official list because I didn't play them, I watched my brother play them growing up.)

Dad, dada, daddy.

Today was Father's Day. I dont know how many actual other countries were celebrating with us but I feel like it was a day that went completely over my head. I lost my father the year I turned 16 and have been so angry for so long, frustrated at the fact other people had something to celebrate and depressed as soon as the advertisements were hanging from shop windows and plastered all over the media. I was hurt, jealous and just a bundle of angst and I didn't get like that this year.

Maybe it was because I was (and am) busy, or because I was upset and fuming about so many other things or I've just built an immunity to ads. But maybe not. I knew the holiday was coming; I abused a Father's Day sale to buy a ring for my partner. So maybe this means Im getting older and more mature.

I don't really know why but the thing is the ads and the sales - none of that hit me in the feels. What did were the Facebook posts. I hate Facebook posts for so many reasons: they're gloat-y or misspelled or dramatic. I often overlook birthday reminders because if I didn't actually care to remember, that's my fault. But today... I dont even know.

It made me think; did I want to post a status about my dad? Did I want to dig out all the pain and frustration and loss and anxiety that flowered 6 years ago because of one commercialised holiday? Nope. I wanted to write.

My father is a man I honestly barely understood. I wasn't old enough to understand that people are different with different people when I lost him. My parents were divorced shortly after I was born, just a handful of years. I never knew much about his work. What I did know was that he was my Dad.

He taught me how to understand language lying on the floor of his home office with a jotter from school, defining words for myself. He would cook with love that I only hope of replicating; I never learned how to cook from him but I have come to know what cooking-as-therapy was to him and is to me. I taught me that you do not borrow money from a parent because they are there to support you; they expect no paying-back-business. He also taught me that you have to live with your choices - especially when your choice was to put your hand through a window.

And by extension, that you never want to try to eat a hotdog with one hand because the other is bleeding

.

I dont know how to feel half the time about my Dad. I heard awesome stories about his escapades, awful stories about my parents' soured marriage, the legacy of him as a teacher to some and as a co-worker to others. But at the end of the day, while I no longer lose sleep missing and mourning him, I do wish that he was still around. I don't know if I could have been the person I am today if he was but it's gonna suck having a family of my own with only stories of him to raise them on. Happy Father's Day.

Value in Vocalisation

Ho-ho-oh man, today was so super strange. Of course I had a few short showers on my otherwise parade-of-a-day but the work I did actually get done had left me a little blown away.

After a full-on half hour morning show segment about all the things in the print media with references to stories and things here and there online, I packed up my stuff and did a pair of interviews for the documentary I working on. The first was definitely a lot shorter than the second but oh, all that came before it.

A peer educator, my interviewee was currently part of a group doing blood tests for HIV/AIDS on one of the university campuses. I chatted and got to know the work and I've been seeing a lot of issues emerging and running in parallel to sexual reproductive health (SRH). When I asked what people asked questions about I felt so many mixed feelings.

Basic condom use, from how to actually wear one to discovering that were we actually different sizes; actual condom negotiation, misconceptions and, to some extent, the close-mindedness of the "educators" that have come before. I, of course, took the opportunity and networked a bit to find a male companion for a one-off show I hope to produce about communicating about SRH. But after the camera was packed up and I was on my way to the next interview, things shared felt like a mixed bag of surprise and what I know to be commonplace. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it.

We are a tight-lipped nation on the subject. And because of this I try and make as much noise as I can. Sure, there are cultural and religious sensitivities but there's no denying that sex happens. After my second interview I caught up with my colleague who was helping me film and she asked "but what about sex?"

She has a young daughter and we were casually discussing our ideas about child rearing. She said she would hope she remains an open minded parent, one who would allow her daughter to date, even in high school. I chimed in, adding that it could be a way to socialise and be safe in determining the nature of relationships she would want as an adult. And then the question. "But what about sex?"

And what about it? I have a firm belief that parents need to cut the crap, drop the rhetoric and actually be willing to hear it when their children grow up and develop all the hormones that make them sexual beings. If they arent able to articular those kinds of things and feel safe, how can they be expected to talk to their future partners? It's an invaluable skill when it comes to determining when they feel ready, what kind of contraceptives they would prefer or discuss consent.

Sure, maybe parents should just "stay of it" but how does that help a developing, learning and growing human being? They need a guide to learn how to develop healthy relationships first and foremost between engaging in the sexytimes. Protecting yourself isn't just about a condom, it's about being secure emotionally and definitely physically.

If you hastily engage in a sexual relationship if you aren't ready or if you have no safeguards, how can people be safe from sexual coercion or abuse? How can you form a family if there has been no discussion, no planning as partners? If you can't tell your parents (who obviously did the dirty and that's why you exist) then who can you tell?

So I heard you have feelings

I am prone to stress. Although, that said, a lot of people in this "modern age" are. I was a constantly sick child from the moment my brain was able to understand the concept of expectation. I was incredibly nervous and eventually developed stress migraines halfway through primary school. No one told me "you must get straight A's, you must excel, you must do this that or the other". As a straight-B student, I was always trying to keep up with things I made up in my head as goals. I guess I also just felt an immense need to prove myself. To who? My parents, I guess.

I suppose I had seen how proud they were of my brother as he skipped a class and was outspoken and friendly. I wanted to be as good at stuff as he was but never quite lived up to it. Throughout high school I felt the same self-inflicted pressures but turned up a notch when I found myself on half scholarship. I would also have very dark periods of stress because after losing my father I felt like I only had half the guidance and purpose I did before. I couldn't make him proud because he wasn't there.

All these pressures and stresses added together have stayed with me for years and years and it has been awful. Last year, as a dedication to one of my inspirations and best friends, I put together my contribution for the Sokota exhibition and focused on mental health. It was an experience all on it's own to show the pieces I had made in the end. I was compared to the large, painted canvases and felt that my pieces, mixed media in all their mess and otherwise, didn't live up to "exhibition expectations and standards". I had my pieces seen though, recognised and a handful of people told me they liked it and thought it was different.

It was strange because I had finished university by then. I was definitely no dux but as I looked through the list of people graduating I found so few of the people I started uni with actually on the list. I had finished something. Sure, I finished with an average B grade but I actually finished. I volunteered throughout the whole period, lost and found love, I was there to try help my Ma through cancer treatment. I had found passions and opportunities.

But then we are here. Today. Still struggling to find one full time job, Im currently stringing together a part time job with 3 freelance projects. I don't try to keep busy but busy sure as hell finds me. And with the busy creeps back the expectations I have for myself. So much I have done since high school was for someone else, to make people proud or give back in some way to those who have got me where I am. But now I'm all out of sheltered opportunities. I'm in a place where only I can make myself happy because I know what makes me happy.

Sure, I may have family and friends and an amazingly supportive partner but unless I tell my nervous, shivering self in the corner of my mind of shut up and sit down where I cant see her, they all count for nought. And other people's negative voices? Sure, let them say whatever they want. I will try to be peaceful when I can but no more pretending everything is hunky-dory just because they'd rather play blind. I want to make other people happy with my work. I don't know just how yet but I need to come from a place of happiness first, don't I?

From a grateful young woman to the powerful examples before us.

I am a young woman of privilege. I am constantly grateful and astounded by opportunities I have been able to receive. From my upbringing in a household where manners and language were key, to the education that my parents worked incredibly hard to provide, to the school willing to give someone so frustrated by the limitations of my country's curriculum, I have tens of people to thanks for where I am today. 

It started with my parents. My father was a man who found solace in a country without harsh winter or grey memories. I understand he came here and found friends among the people, work he wanted to do and the same friends found a way to keep him in this place long enough to find my mother. Admittedly, the love didn't last but it did leave the lasting effects of my brother and I. My mother's family have always been strong. Humble, hardworking people who never really made much money aside from what they needed but where constantly working for others be it in the community, through media or advocacy. These were people descended from stolen women of a country I have never been to but find myself now strangely tied to.

As I grew older, despite learning in a school of privilege, I has educators dedicated to moulding me, among my classmates, into a citizen of the world wanting to give back. I was even lucky enough to leave the city I have always lived in to see how those with so much less than me work so hard. It made me want to work harder for them, to create what I could to give them opportunities to be the best people they could be, to be vocal and empowering individuals. 

Today, all that I have done and now my most recent endeavour was acknowledged in a room. Those among me were a mix of familiar faces and strangers. While I thought my presence would be unnoticed, something I prefer, I was acknowledged, pointed out to saying that I was there in my capacity to do what my family have done for generations, to tell stories. 

This most recent endeavour is to create one of the first videos from the Pacific for an initiative to raise awareness about self-stigma that plagues the diverse community in our world. The youth-led initiative, the Loud and Proud Campaign, recently released a policy brief dealing with issues faced by the gay. bisexual, trans and MSM communities and the work now aims to educate the public about sexual diversity, educational institutions to advocate for the need to create safe environment for young MSM and young transgender persons to live their lives to their fullest potential with supportive legal protection.

Specifically looking at the example of the Adi Seinikau pageant as part of the annual Hibiscus Festival's festivities, I want to highlight the changes being pushed so hard for; transforming the spectacle of a drag show into a legitimate platform for change and awareness. Last year, crowned Adi Seinikau winner Benjamin Patel set the bar high. At today's afternoon tea for this year's contestants, Benji was emotional while sharing experiences from last year. Despite calls against the choice, the young transwoman with a disability, a practical approach to everyday dress and less than expected features, Benji has come out as one of the most amazing people I've ever has the chance to meet. 

My first encounter was at the first Young Women's Forum. Willing to speak, strong in conviction, frustrated at expectations of dress and presentation, Benji stood out not because of appearance or otherwise to me, but because of the confident voice holding strong to raising issues and fostering sisterhood not just among the trans community, but among activists wherever they found themselves in the SOGIE spectrum. 

Tomorrow is the event. While so often the most popular and financially successful, I know it has so much promise to become one of the most moving experiences in anyone's life. To stand on stage is a task all on its own. For many of the contestants it would have had to be a journey of surviving being confident in themselves and dealing with societal opposition to their equal recognition. These are women that have had to fight to be who they are and are itching at the chance of showing others who may be afraid, self-stigmatised and unsure that there is so much support for those facing hard times. Good luck, ladies. 

Diversity of Self

Ive been spending a lot of time alone or just generally just in my head. This has lead me to have conversations with far too many versions of myself.

Of course, it means I come up with great ideas that are more or less piled up on my desk just waiting to be realised, but it helps me understand me. Which one? All of them!

I think its good to be well rounded but right now Im feeling a little like a d20, with a few too many sides than there should be. Theres a strange mood spectrum I seem to exist on, often hopping between the variations far too quickly for anyones liking.

And thus, I find myself alone, internally dialoguing with sad Sian, cheerful Sian, practical Sian and hungry Sian, all clamouring for attention and to be the dominant mood. I wonder how many people get the same way.

Why I Game

So the other day I was just casually having my aura read for the experience of it and was told that apparently gaming was used as escapism when i was going through hard times. Spot on! Almost.

I love stories. Whether Im reading them, watching them, listening or otherwise... but nothing has ever been like experiencing them. Thats what games are to me.

Whether Im spinning the in-board wheel in the Game of Life, playing a sim like... the Sims or Banished or hitting up Alistair in Dragon Age Origins, Im experiencing a story or making one up as I go along. That's what draws me to games.

So while the universe has recently blessed me with a steady increase in work and so on... my body, or at least my right wrist, is feeling the burn.

So here's to you WoW - while not fully narrative, I enjoy you enough to force my moneymakers down a tragic path clogged with destructive forces that may leave me penniless but clothes in purps. Well done.

On being thankful

Im not a religious person, which to me seems odd in a very religious family, but i do like to think theres something else out there. The other week i found myself thinking out the rest of my life, moving forward - especially in terms of work and so on. So I did apply to a job that Im sure I wont hear back from but I found myself on my old campus asking the universe for a way forward.

Later that day I got a message from a friend saying his parents wanted to know if I was interested in some freelance writing work. The universe had apparently answered me. I was so excited.

And I still am. But also incredibly nervous. I want to see if they think my writing is up to par, and that means doing some writing and waiting to hear back as I smoke herbal cigarettes that apparently dont make me as sleepy as awful factory made stuff.

And even if they don't think my writing is up to par, there's one thing I want to say, specifically to the universe:

And I think it's something that should be said more often. I think that I get way too easily disappointed because I've lost a lot of opportunities to circumstance, from the possibility of oversea universities because I wanted to stay home with my mother to help her through cancer to my past few other jobs because of illness or crappy mid-bosses.

That said, I've gained so much and Im grateful for every opportunity that comes my way because I've learned from them. I learned to appreciate the education funded by Pacific governments and paid for by my mother, and I got through my first degree, I learned how to be a better presenter, I learned how much I hate PR and now Im here.

So let's see where we go.

Pain pain paaaain

Some time ago I was pressured into seeing the doctor because of severe... lady parts pain. I didnt do anything to them and pain was something that i had more or less become used to since menarche ten years ago.

But after severe pain, the owl instructed, pleaded, begged I see a doctor. So I did. After tests and poking and prodding from the doctor I was told via an ultrasound that I had hydronephrosis and possibly adenomyosis.

In normal language, slightly blocked kidneys and an odd uterus. I enjoyed two blissful weeks of antibiotics and work because of my kidneys but was basically told "oh, you don't need to worry about the second thing it just means you're going to get more pain than other women and at random".

That was more or less okay with me. It wasn't a surprise, I suppose. I was happy and thumbs-upped my lady region for not threatening to fall out or anything.

That said, it doesn't mean we get along all the time. When it comes close to the occasional period, still indecisive after a decade, fatigue and pain set in. It means naps, an inability to sit at my computer for very long and, every so often, nausea.

Thankfully after the whole kidney-uterus combo, the nausea subsided. I don't know if it's because of a change in diet, a lack of boozing or decrease in the amount of coke and coffee, I've been lucky for two months. Despite a lack of nausea, it all just generally sucks.

Anyway, here's hoping that one day science decides that it wants to fix problems like these because in my experience painkillers just don't work.

To be heard

Everyone has some variation of sound; whether it is just their voice or the way they move, there is something about them that sounds unique. I can tell my mother by the sound of her bangles, my grandmother by hers and I have grown up envious of their sounds.

Women of my family have always been vocal, outspoken women. From those taken as children and forced or tricked onto boats or the strong women of my father's family, speaking in actions or making noise with their feet as they dance, women make noises all of their own.

I grew up throwing tantrums, making my sound that way. Sometimes muffled by the seat of an armchair I would hide my head in, bum in the air, yelling and screaming to get my way as an odd child. As an adult, I have developed a fascination with bells. At the turn of 2014, I had plans to find brass bells and string them on a cotton belt – something dark or muted to wear on my hips so I would be heard without saying a word. I couldn't find a single bell.

In this last trip around Viti Levu, we stopped in Ba to pay homage to a cluttered, fascinating shop, as we usually do, and my mother bought me a pair of anklets. Silver, plain, with two three-somes of bells. While it may seem like the most trivial of things, I was ecstatic. The sound of these six tiny bells would be my sound.

Sure, tiny in comparison to the global chorus of silver that adorns my mother's wrist; nowhere near as regal as my grandmother's odd pair of gold and silver plated wood. My bells are mine and when I hear my feet make music, my heart swells with a strange tingling, a sense of pride that I have found my sound.

The West...I guess?

Going west after about 6 months has been an interesting experience. While only a 2 day trip, I feel the changes in my brain, making gears turn and my skin break out into itchy heatrash. Okay, so while my body completely disagrees with the notion of leaving the house, I'm glad I was brought out for work. With one interview in the bag as we head home tomorrow, I know that I've gotten a whole lot more from the trip.

dahhhh - mountaaaains!

First, I am glad I am freely able to access information or at least have people on hand if I need it. So many women have been raising their concern and confusion over the upcoming elections - unsure about protocol, how they're going to make it to one-day voting, how they get to pick someone to vote for or even where their vote goes.

Secondly, I am grateful, as always, that I get to do what I do. Sure, I dont fully support myself but hey, I get paid pretty damn good for a volunteer while doing work I love. I learned that people over the age of 70 do get social assistance but $30 a month... that's barely a dollar a day. It makes me worry about the quality of living for so many on the wayside.

Thirdly, I learned that I am lucky enough to be able to access private healthcare. While still relatively frustrating and useless, it basically means that I get prescribed more than just paracetamol and actually get a medical professional that listens to me when I relay symptoms and concerns. I also only have to spend a few hours at most before getting seen as opposed to losing a day at the hospital in the hopes of getting seen. That said, I have had a significant number of times in the waiting areas of the public hospital but I decided I didnt want to pick up more diseases waiting to get my initial one treated.

Lastly, there is hope. Women, especially women that we've been engaging with, are affirming their need to be heard, voicing their concerns to political parties while they come around to campaign, demanding real words and not empty promises. It's the kind of critical I like to hear about. One convener heard a woman recount a recent campaign visit where she stood up, challenging the political party's candidate's words. The convener then asked if the woman that shared her story of standing up and speaking if she was against the party. "No," she said. "I wanted the candidate to know that we won't stand for false promises." It made me smile to hear.

So. For additional reflections, there's a video about all of this! yay! face!

Women in Pacific Media

So, as a woman (or female, because I don't think I've quite really entered into "official" womanhood) in the media, I get the occasional grump from seeing a lot of guys around me. Hey, sure, they're all fine and good, but I guess I get sad double guessing myself because I don't have a penis to help me set up my camera at stuff. Anyway, sobbing and eye-rolling aside, I had the opportunity to get on a plane, freeze my butt off and officially learn how to camera and edit good.

Being sunny doesn't mean warmer.

PACMAS emailed me after I sent in an application saying "hey, come on over to Melbourne!" And so I did. It was amazing. The ABC is shiny and I love Melbourne. Having been there twice before, I had some idea what to expect and was, to be honest, very much excited about the food.

Delicious. All of it. That aside, I did vlog a little bit (and write) while I was there.

I’m Sian Rolls and I’m currently a community radio producer and broadcaster, team leader at FemLINK Pacific’s Suva station and host of the weekday morning show on FemTALK 89FM. I also produce a weekly YouTube show known as FemVids. Halfway through this intense one week training at the ABC in Melbourne, I can say it’s been amazing. While a trained journalist, being taught about how cameras really work as well as ideas behind editing and visual techniques is something pretty foreign to me. Being given this type of information will prove infinitely useful as time progresses and as a producer and videographer I get to access equipment more sophisticated than my typical handycam. I am also glad to have this kind of knowledge to give back to those I work with back at home - (original found here)

And after all of this stuff, I'm finally back home. And when it came to deciding what I was going to take away from the whole experience (apart from the obvious - skills to do things that may one day help me pay bills), it was the need to talk more about women in technical positions. Sure, a lot more women are having to pick up cameras as TV Journalists, but I wonder how many lose out because technical work is not a "girl thing". Anyway, I discuss it properly in this week's FemVid and have a couple of grabs from the other women that were at the training with me.

So thanks for hanging around. I leave you with positive vibes and all my hopes and dreams. Oh, and a picture of me making a face because I was cold.

What are you?

Oh, well hi!

Here we are again. Trying it all over again. Who am I? Sian Rolls, Opinionated.

Here find out how to find everything else - my art, videography, writing, interests and how to tell me what you think.

By the by, Im a little scattered. The child of advocacy and art, I find myself a blend of God-Knows-What with how I look depending on how the sun shines.

Sharing is caring... right?

So, welcome to confusion. Welcome to works of love and works of money.