Universe, oh universe

I have troubles with the idea of God. Im sure Ive said that many times before. I can't comprend it - faith. It used to all make sense. I have, however, just more or less played with words and instead of God or Jesus or even my little Ganesh on my neck if something seemingly cosmic is happening, I either blame or thank the universe. So here we go.

Universe - you and I need to just have a tiiiiiny chat. I'll buy the coffee. Oh, you're a metaphor so you'll pass? More for me then. Money that is - Im not going to buy and drink two coffees, what do you take me for? I'm polite not rich, jeez.

Do you mind if I smoke? Yes, yes I know it's absolutely terrible for me but please just... let's just talk, yeah?

Dearest universe,

I don't know how to feel. I know that more times that not I get myself down. I know it's not you. But I never did get those rose coloured glasses everyone else seems to wear when things happen to them. You know I cant help but be used to bad things that I don't trust the good.

I know Im scared. Terrified that years mean nothing even though everyone else keeps saying. I know Im supposed to grow up but I want to not be afraid of how I want to be. I want to be silly. I want to indulge my imagination. I want to not give a damn about the hair my body grows. I want to move and not be stuck in a chair all day absorbed by responsibilies and, when Im not working, I want to make my own worlds and not get so caught up with the worlds that other people create.

I want to be okay. I was to be happy and healthy and wise. I want to be silly and free and fan-fucking-tastic. I want to let go of all the things I struggle to picture because its been so long since I lost them. I want to find out who Im supposed to be.

Universe. I know I blame you when Im upset and I dont quite know why things are happening the way they are. People tell me that it's someone else that makes things happen - the things humans cant control. Then they tell me you seem to have some kind of plan. Recently you seem to be setting things up good. You're giving me opportunities. Opportunities to do the things I love. Opportunities to go where Ive never gone before. Opportunities to see the people i look up to without having to look through a screen.

And Im scared. Im scared itll get taken away. Universe. I want to know if this is a just for now kind of thing... or something that will stay. Its been such a rollercoaster of a year, I don't know how to trust you. I don't know if I should.

What if you break my spirit all over again.

I can't handle it.

Please.

If you could just let me know... maybe?

It was Father's Day (Oops)

This year I forgot to get sad. I usually get kinda weepy and down around Father's Day because, oh I don't know, I miss my dad and I get mad at the universe and I get cranky and sob and hide for a few days. I can't necessarily attribute it to some kind of overhaul of personality or reachign nirvana or anything. I think it was a collection of things though.

1. I had my dose of sadness the night before:

I get sad a lot. I mean, like, "it's the weekend and I don't want to go anywhere or do anything or see anyone because I'm sad as a bag of flaccid dicks after a cup of viagra." Of course, none of it makes sense - kind of like that sentence. I've been grappling a lot with dealing with the moods lately as they get a little bit more frequent and extreme (albeit shorter).

2. We did a thing... kinda:

It was a slow Sunday, but with no time to dwell. I woke up, I dicked around playing the Sims for a few hours, I napped, we went to lunch, we shopped, cooked, played WoW and slept. That was my "father's day". I guess.

3. We didnt go to the grave:

Sometimes people think its a thing to go to a place to remember someone, to get sad or to go say hi. Sometimes we stop by my father's grave to say hi, maybe drop off flowers, something like that - but not this year. I dont know quite what it is but I used to feel vaguely drawn to the grave, like I was supposed to go there or something. But as the years passed, I feel like Dad has kind of moved. He was the "Mr Gypsy Never Quite Settle" in my head almost - and I guess I dont look to a location to feel close to him. I dont know, it could all be just a lovely little concocted story to avoid going to the cemetary. Maybe.

4. Don't dwell - do something or drop it:

Im tired. Im tired of getting upset when I see Fathers Day advertising. Im tired of feeling sad that I "dont have a dad like everyone else does". There's no point to get angry or get sad or anything. All that stuff is neither here no there. There has to be more to life than constantly looking back at what you miss or what you had or even more than comparing what you have to what everyone else does. In the same vein I could be super bummed I dont have a beard like guys do - i dont, I just draw one on paper and cellotape it to my face or buy a stick on one when the fancy strikes me.

Either whichaway - Im either maturing or I got so lazy I forgot to think about my late Father this past Sunday. Both are fine because both mean I dont lose a whole day to being depressed all around the house I suppose.

The fire is burning a little low

I live and work in multiple creative spaces. I am blessed to be allowed to write in a way that feels natural, make videos on a regular basis, learn, express myself and share what I find. I am constantly inspired by the women, in all their diversities, that I work with.

I am lucky to have what I need. I do not struggle as much as the women I get to work with. I live the way I would like, I am not restricted in any way other than by reason and recommendations. I am able to live with my family as well as with my long term partner. I am lucky.

Yet, despite all of this, I feel my inner fire, my passion and drive dimming slowly. I feel tired. It might just be a "today" thing - I was up super late because, because, because ... I was working. I was both utter disappointed in what I made as well as overjoyed because it seemed far too hilarious at the time.

I showed it to a colleague and she laughed. I was so scared. I was nervous because what I had made was meant to be funny, but I wasnt sure. But it did keep that little fire flickering inside me, just a little.

So as I struggle to do what I do on a day to day basis, I keep trying. I cant let that fire go out. Im terrified it will, as it has before, but I cant let it go out. Not again. Its far too hard trying to reignite it.

Not goodbye.

The 31st of August. I was woken up by my mother skittering around. She was rushing to the hospital. It was something I had never seen. We expected it. We knew it was coming. But it was a dreary Friday outside and the candle in front of the photos had flickered out at some point last night.

My grandmother, after her early morning bath, left this world. We joke, she was waiting for the Friday or checking the bills or something or other. She waited till her bath, she must have told my Grandpa Ben Bhagwan to wait, just wait, she was coming. She even shocked the doctor who had given us the "few days left" and she gave us about a week.

Strong. Passionate. Quiet. Creative. Amazing. Beautiful. Just... there's so many words for her but none of them really encapsulate who Rachel Ayesha Bibi Bhagwan (nee Yusuf?) really was. But she was, simply, my grandma.

My grandma who had me over for Friday night sleepovers. She's let me hang out as a little one shirtless as I watched cartoons and made dough. She would put me to sleep, be there, offer advice and guidance through her actions... she amazed me as she worked a room at a pinktober event last year. I saw her guide a woman out of a violent marriage without even a harsh word about him (out loud really).

As I sat in the church she was baptised and married in for her funeral, I did reflect on my own sense of faith. I dont know if I really have one. I dont pray. I find it awkward. I dont know who to thank, get angry at or question about all of this.

"Why her? Why didnt we find out about the cancer spreading? Why didnt she tell us how she was really feeling? Why did she compromise her own health? Why? Why? Why?"

Im not sad. I miss her, fuck, I miss her so much. But it was weeks before she passed that I actually got to see the woman who moulded me into what I feel I am today. Sometimes I daydream about the soft clink of her bangles, her high noted humming and singing, her longwinded cooking, her teasing way... I miss you but I dont want to.

GUHH

I have no idea whats happening. No, truthfully.

I feel a slight bit of pain in my lower belly extending down to my knees, just like every other day.

Im at work, trying to concentrate, just like every other day of the week… but my head won’t stop buzzing. Im terrified. Im worried. Im confused.

I don’t know if Im supposed to be any of these things but I can’t help it.

My grandma will probably leave hospital soon. She seems to be getting a little better but… I feel so awful. I feel awful because I can’t fully express how worried I am.

Yes, she started to say a few words, wake up a little. But that doesn’t mean what’s wrong will go away. People don’t live forever. And because I have these things in my head I feel terrible.

I would like to think Ive made my peace; that I want to see her comfortable and surrounded by family and calm before the inevitable comes and turns everything over for a while…

But what if that just makes me more broken than I would like to be?

I mean, sure, I, just like everyone else, have been to my fair share of funerals. I hate them. I think they’re strange spaces where we pretend everything is okay instead of actually healing.

Or you know, you’ve just got the wailers that annoy the crap out of me.

Eugh, here I go again. Yeah, I feel salty. Im stressed out. Im a human being. But… I guess Im stuck between feeling awful and hopeless and useless and mad and devastated and annoyed and just… lost.

I don’t know how to feel, what to do, where to go, how to help. Im trying, fuck, Im trying… but youknow, how youre always in this dumb little bubble that is you and your mindspace – and everyone has that so you’re stuck trying but you just don’t know if you’re going to make things worse or help or if it makes through it at all.

Im rambling. Yeah. Im going to just… get back to trying to work I guess.

Dear Whoever You Are

As a person of mixed faith (or none - it depends on our outlook really), I don't know who to ask for guidance.

Ive worn a little Ganesh pendant for about 4 years now. I say it got me through Mums Cancer and Uni and everything in between. But i dont know any prayers. I dont know how to offer thanks.

I made a conscious choice to be confirmed, to serve in the church, to be the little human that got to ring the bell thrice. But after Dad passed I lost all the connection i thought i had to that big building with its cold floors.

I bow my head as others pray. I will say grace. I will listen to a sermon. I have tried to read the bible. When I did I found my favourite passage because it just... fit... at the time.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1 to 13

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

²     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
³     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
⁴     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
⁵     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
⁶     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
⁷     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
⁸     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

⁹ What do workers gain from their toil? ¹⁰ I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. ¹¹ He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. ¹² I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. ¹³ That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.

As we go through all the yaya we moved into our new house, as we wait to see how soon my Grandma may leave us all, I reflect on this passage I found years and years ago.

I find no comfort. I find just words. I find words I stumbled on as people wept over the idea and memories of my grandfather over a decade ago. Words I brought up every time I couldn't understand something. Yet I cant recall the feeling of comfort I thought the words gave me.

So, yes, dear "whoever you are" - you awesome, unfathomable power, or you one aspect of a whole, you entity that could never be understood or simply Im talking to the uncaring push and pull of the universe - be gentle. Not for my sake. For the multitude that call around for updates on her condition, who visit the hospital, who work around her, who stand by her bed and who say prayers wherever they are.

You dont know what you are taking away from them. From us.

I want to, I do.

Hey hey hi howsit going?

So in case you didn't know I'm documenting my 23rd year for reasons unknown. I dont know, I guess I wanted to put a pushpin in time and see what happens when I come back to it. Just like when I look at any of my old videos - where I used to sing, and said dumb things and all the while knowing that was me coming off the back of a breakup I didn't really understand and still trying to figure out what cancer meant for my family.

I wanted to vlog, I did, but Im exhausted. Im tired at work, Im tired at home, Im driven as ever but energy is down at an all time low. I know its mostly worry, insecurity, just all round feeling really really lonely and I don't know if its my depression/anxiety flaring up or just realising that at 23 Im not sure who on earth I am.

We never know though, do we? We're always changing, moulded by whats happening around us and to us and near us. I wanted to be a storyteller. I could say that I still am. But I have no idea how true that is sometimes. I miss drawing. I miss singing and playing music. I miss going home and feeling like I have hours to kill so I fire up a game. I dont know where all of thats gone. I feel like my inner light has been put somewhere for safekeeping and Ive lost the key and cant even remember why I did it in the first place... or maybe I do.

Im scared. Yup, Im a terrified human being. Im scared about bills, my grandmother, my job, my country, my partner. Im drawn out and pulled mentally in all these directions and I just cant get a handle on the fact I have no idea what Im supposed to do and who Im supposed to be in all of this.

I know what I would like to do, to be. I want to be sane. I want to be happy and calm and relaxed. I want to just move house and build new memories and continue in life and try make people happy. I want to work and do good in this world. One day I want to make my stupid movie with tropes and a weird father character and I want to, at some point, figure out how dancing works. I want to teach my cat things, I want to make time to hug all of my dogs and tell them how much they make me happy. I want to put flowers on my fathers grave that I havent seen in years. I want to one day buy a house for my family so my mother doesnt have to worry ever again. I want to do good. I do.

I just have no idea how.

What colour?

I never realised how often we use labels. Trans, of colour, gay, straight, while, cis, etc etc etc. It made me wonder... why?

Don't get me wrong, I don't have an issue with labels. I wish that I had cool ones too. I just think they're wholly unnecessary to give (keyword here: GIVE) to people. Does that make sense? Maybe not yet but just hear me out:

Use a label to help you identify yourself in the crowd, or to someone you've been trying to wink at from across the room for like an hour now or something, if that's what you want. What I would hope is that labels aren't dished out because the cis, straight, vanilla's trying to figure out what is what and who is who.

That's we saying something as a cis, straight, vanilla... for all intents and purposes. It's funny because I was scrolling through social media and I wonder “what are my labels” and “would my labels be celebrated”?

I was never the kind to fly the halfcast flag because I didn't know my “other half” like everyone else seemed to. I felt out because I didn't look like the rest of that side of the family and I couldn't compensate with language. Ive never felt comfortable in my body but I know it's not a case of dysphoria. I don't have typically exciting hair, features, lilts in my accent or anything in particular. I like wearing pretty dresses and I like throwing on my raggedy pants and vests. I didn't like very many people so I was never all over the place and my hormones were mostly in check. I grew up knowing that I was a mix of this or that and the other but that whatever I felt, I was me.

Does “I dont like what my reproductive organs do to me on a regular basis” count as a part of my identity? “3 years and counting in a relationship and I want to marry him and avoid having babies as long as possible”? “I dress for comfort and context”? “I don't like hair removal because I cant stand how itchy the growing back is”? “Sure I love socialist principles but how do we make sure everyone actually contributes”? “I played a male character in an MMO because I didn't want awkward, special treatment female toons sometimes get”? What really is there to celebrate among my experiences as an all-purpose wholemeal flour kind of human?

From all my reading of people coming out, coming to terms, identifying with the past and present to determine the future – it's about the self, right?

It acts almost like a kind of justification. “I am the way I am because I am (blank)”. Insert label here... and that makes me angry. I get angry because people, maybe even those like me, fall nicely (more or less) into the box of the expected.

Never questioned, never had to explain why I am x, doing y or hanging out with z. I don't want to have blind privilege. I just want to do my part in whatever way I can so that the kids I may eventually have never have to worry about what their labels are.

Can I just not be here, thaaanks.

Things are getting weirder. You know when a layer of calm settles over the way you thought things were and youve completely forgotten why things are the way they are? No? Oh.

Well, Im a human of habit. I like rules. I learn rules. Understanding rules and sticking to them were why I loved maths and physics and all that good stuff in high school. I made up rules as I went along to help myself how politics may have worked or how journalism is and was and so on when I got into uni.

And of course, all of this seeped into my personal life. Yes, I talk to the "big bad ex" because he's my friend several timezones away... but I taught myself "the rules" of what we say and don't say. Early on in the whole relationship with the Owl I thought those rules applied as well. It didn't bode well and I had to re-learn everything about intimacy and what I thought a relationship was because if I didn't I'd still be the far more nervous wreck who'd lock herself in the bathroom and cry whenever I got invited to something.

Then there are dealings with my family - the close and the not-as-close. Those have rules too. You never say anything too rude to the face, you don't take our attitude out on someone else, you don't discuss who weird periods are or how weird someone's face is (no matter how PMSd or tired you may be).

Then society has rules. However, Ive been shying away from sticking to those to be honest. For the most part, yeah Im a hairy (and yet perhaps sexy? who knows!) beast. I dont want to shave. I dont need to shave my legs or underarms. My skin hates it, I hate it, and that's it. I may for a special occasion but it always just goes back to me hating the fact I have to wait until its grown out and manageable again. Then theres the eyebrows. Please. For the love of god, please, don't judge me for them.

At the core, sticking to the rules for me has always been about respect. Sure, I have the same amount of respect for all strangers on the street but not the institutions that tell me Im disgusting if I grow hair or dont look or dress or act like Im "supposed to" as a female. But, when it comes to friends, family, my partner - rules are kept with express bending coming at a time where everyone agrees to it or when its needed. Rules never for rules sake because that's just silly - because that the end of the day, they're your rules.

FAYYYSHUN

So Ive been gallavanting these past few days following around the amazing, fabulous and fashionable Faraz to Fiji Fashion Week events. Im filming and editing daily updates for him under MaiLife and such and the other day it dawned on me - I literally wished for this.

this is how we do - featured left to right: Beauty and the Badass

Well, not to much all the other events but Im going to get to be in the pit on the nights of the shows. Whats a pit? Basically its where they put the photgraphers and camerapeople at the end of the runway. Last year I looked down at the pit thinking to myself "there are no women or girls down there".

To be fair, I usually see the female photographers in charge of backstage - as its probably more comfortable for the models as theyre changing half the time - but generally I work in a pretty male dominated industry. Editing, camerawork and general production - yeah, its changing and, yeah, Ive worked with tens of women who do the same but generally those who make it a career, getting behind the camera and making the footage into something, aren't common in these parts.

I may look super excited here, But the set up makes people stare a little

Usually, they're doubling up for the guy who couldn't make it because they need their show made or something and that kinda makes me a little sad. To be honest, one of my heroes (who probably doesn't know it) emerged from the woodwork and I got to spend a week getting chocolate thrown at me by him around all the other participants at a Melbourne training.

And sometimes we got these. They were wrapped initially but I dont know if I was 100% ok with eating white chocolate children :/

I love my work. I love that I get to do this work. I love that, yes while I have friends in these areas that have me work with them, I know that Im getting asked on board because I can do. Its honestly the most empowering thing about all of it.

Yes, I need to check my boobs and set them right before I strap my camera to my chest. I also wear my heeled boots to compensate for my height. Im lucky, Im happy and, damn it, Im working as hard as I can so I can keep doing this.

I can't.

Oh hello. Ive been very worn thin today.

I havent really been outside much. I guess theres a lot of stuff floating around - depression and my anxiety and feeling all-round broke and empty pocketed. So because of it all have just been at home, working on what I can do and such.

I makes me feel awful occasionally. For the past few months now I havent really attended events, arts things or really caught up with friends too much. Ive just been... worn out. Of course the partner tries to get me out as often as he can - but I still end up usually being the first home.

So while Im home, just trying to relax or feel better or unwind after a particularly bad attack or something, Ill stumble across event photos, what friends are doing and all round what's happening in the world and just feel so separated.

I get worked up and a little, albeit furious, voice tells me off that I wasn't there. Another will point out I dont have the cash to get there. Another will remind me of what I might have to do, work on or rest for. Then there's suddenly a barrage of voices all arguing with one another... no wonder so much of it spills out as frustrated tears.

I don't know if people understand or care or whatever it is or may be. I guess you put this stuff out because... I dont know. Maybe because you hope others will see and know they aren't alone. Damn, I know Im not. The world is a hard place to be in and I applaud anyone who can look around it and carry on, no attacks warranted.

Today, I had to leave the house. I took my grandmother to the hospital. I helped her get there - her rules of course. The 11am appointment was attended after 12, the cab was called not hailed and we sat in the tiniest room with others just waiting for a handful of hours.

I barely held myself together. I wanted to pace outside until her doctor came. I wanted to cry because she was worn out from not sleeping the night before she was falling asleep texting. I had no idea how to do any of it aside from putting on the human suit I wear to work and assuming the role of the note taking and message person to the rest of the family.

I called around to sort out what the doctor recommended. I called my brother to put the kettle on. I walked my grandmother home so she could have a 10 minute stroll in the sun. I just did.

Sometimes you need to just do... especially when it comes to the 70+ year old marvel that can still work a room for intel and advocacy.

Floating through space

It's been a while.  Ive managed to find a way to slow down - it's insane. 3 days after I left my fulltime job I was asked what it was like and I blurted out that it had been the most relaxing week of my life... forgetting how long it had actually been.

A weekend. One weekend and not having to drag myself somewhere on a Monday.

I don't even sleep in, I just feel so relaxed. Ive picked up some volunteering while I wait on jobs and such. Monday I got to be utterly domestic and scrubbed, did laundry and cleaned my house.

It been a strange experience not rushing out of the house because Id been dragging my heels to leave.

Ive also been planning a few things here and there like contemplating health checks, trying to just make time for down time, trying not to stress about too many things and generally struggling to remember what day it actually is.

Out of school, out of uni, out of a 9 to 5, I can't 100% nail down what day it is.

So, generally, Im floating through this strange, ethereal space where I cant decide whats really happening - am I just enjoying the break? Am I lost without a job? Am I actually getting better or just getting rest?

Lady of Leisure

Oh my. It's been a while. Or... I dont know, it's never been like... THIS.

I left my first (technically) full time job because... I don't 100% know - it just wasn't the best fit and I was starting to wear out really, really fast.

Following starting there, I started to get more frequent panic attacks, doubt the work I was doing, doubt myself. I felt trapped by money, I was drained of passion and I was just really, really depressed everyday I had to wake up and go to work.

It was probably a combination of things but I imagine it was firmly rooted in the massive switch from community to commercial media. I missed purpose, I missed creative freedom, I missed a comforting work environment. I also just missed working.

Yes, that is "the real world" or so people would tell me. But I couldn't do it anymore. Starving artist, starving advocate - an empty wallet is far more comforting to me than starving for work, for action and for movement.

My grandmother called me this morning to ask for sugar and she asked when I was going to work. When I reminded her I not longer were in that 9-5 she cheered me and called me "a lady of leisure - but as busy as ever".

That's pretty much the gist of it.

I'm trying to get back on my creative feet, trying to find my way in the world - trying to find somewhere Im happy to wake up to get to. Step 1? Recover.

The Adult Side of Change

Processes. Always with the GOSHDARN processes.

Things are changing in my life and the thing is, I can't just drop what I don't want to do and pick up and run with what I want to do. Because apparently Im an adult. That and all sorts of things I guess.

I want to do things properly. I want to maintain professionalism. Also I want to finish what I started before I start a new thing. All sorts of stuff.

I mean, I love the notion of the process - it's half of what Im going to do when I get to do it.

Look at decision makers and making and all sorts. You want to be part of the process that decides change. It affects not just the now but the future - when we look back at what we've done I guess.

I dont know, does any of this make sense? Im so damn tired right now.

Im going to take an adult coffee break :)

Fun hospital times!

I've been doing a lot of reflection on my health recently. No real reason, I was writing about sex and boobs because that's sometimes my job (and i fricken love that part of my job) and I got to thinking about my mother and grandmothers times with cancer.

I used to spend a lot of my first year in university in and out of the hospital with my mother as she had her chemo. Then I got to live in Melbourne for a full month as I went back and forth with mum as she got her radiation. As I thought about all of that I remember all my own times in hospital.

First up, I was a pretty healthy kid. I loved good food and would run around all over the place because childhood I guess. Then I started getting tonsillitis and I said goodbye to the outside. Eventually I had them out but then I started getting sicker and sicker especially after... menarche. EUGH.

After all the womanhood started happening, I dropped eating for drinking a lot of coke and stuff and thus began my adventures in hospital tests! I had my first ultrasound around 14, checking my stomach to make sure it was all good.

Then I had to learn about nausea. Gosh darn, my stomach and I have visited many a place to puke. I couldnt count the number of bins and bushes and such on one hand (I may need 3 or 4) Ive used in emergencies. Turns out I was having too much salt. Sounds random? Well, I asked a doctor about it once and this old (Im guessing?) Philipino man turned to me and said to stop having too much salt and the nausea would go away... and it helped. Seriously. It's weird, I know.

Then more recently I had to get my ovaries checked because I dont have the most fun in terms of pain and such around the time the monthly red wave riseth. Like... stabby, sharp pains so bad my old nausea returned as a shock response to the pain. Funnnnnnnn. Turned out no growths or nothing on the little beans that occasionally spit out baby spheres. Yay!

Then there was another round of checks. Turned out I had angry kidneys and some buggered condition with my uterus. Too personal? Well fuck you - people gotta do the body talks or we're going to continue to normalise pain. Pain is a sign. You check it.

Anyway, I had a dismissive doctor about the uterus stuff and turns out I have to be a monk to basically keep the pain in check. Sigh. Down with sugar, down with all sorts. Things have gotten a lot better... but it wouldn't have if I just accepted the "it's nooooormal to be in pain". Nope. Nope. Nope.

Yes, it's common. There are a hundred and one things that contribute to pain and nausea and the such (including the regularity of lady times). Sometimes it's hormonal. Sometimes it's diet or exercise. Sometimes it's stress. Whatever it is, get it checked. We have doctors for a reason.

Who should take the measures?

Ok, there's something I think we need to talk about. Yep, it's the best time - rant time!

So the other day I was watching the innernet thing as one does and came across a little Anna Akana video that made me cringe at the title. Of course, I pulled it up anyway and watched the whole thing and the lightbulb went on.

The delightful little nugget of wisdom is called "How not to get raped" and, yes, deals with a heavy issue. But the thing is, it had the best point. We shouldnt be telling girls what to wear. We shouldnt be telling people how to "protect" themselves.

We should be facing the issue and, yes, talking about what is acceptable from all sides and putting the focus in the perpetrators. Fiji has had a little voice pipe up about cyberbullying and whats the advice? "Protect yourself".

Yes, we should all learn proper internet use code, what "privacy" is and the thin veil that exists on social media, but we shouldnt be told "dont because someone will (insert douchebaggery and arseholerly here)". We should be talking about how to report the douchebaggery and arseholery. We shouldn't stand for it.

There was a loss in Suva and thus Fiji recently where a woman lost her life to what seemed to be a case of staying in a bad relationship. I knew her by name and face, my mother knew her and the wider Suva circle of people I know were close to her. Ive been seeing the reactions and the conundrum arises:

Everyone is lamenting the loss and the fact we dont know what to do to stop it happening again.

We dont know. So where to? How do we start addressing violence in all its forms? We got to make it not ok. Not okay to do, not teaching about how not to be arise arguments or how not to be the "prey" of some blank-faced bad guy.

How? I guess it's something to talk about guys.

How. How. Ow.

Things are not well. I feel like Im in this awful, weird place where I'm frustrated out of my mind. I know, I know - I have it a lot better than most... But I guess given I try and juggle a lot of hats among dealing with the depression and anxiety, I collapse if I'm switching to the next hat and get nothing.

What does that even meeeeean?

Honesty time? I'm a workaholic and things have been slow. I am sort of crumpling under the weight of... well... nothing. Thing is, I've had to force myself to be busy for years. Its been a coping mechanism because I have thankfully been able to separate myself and all my problems and anxieties from the work me.

Ever since my dad passed away, I could only operate when I put myself in that "Work Now" mode. I wrote a book I lost because COMPUTERS. I managed to make it through the rest of an academic/external exam year and Ive made it this far. But where am I even going?

Animal Gifs

Oh my goodness has anyone found anything more addictive than animal gifs? Maybe its super effective on me because I've always just wanted to TOUCH ALL THE AMMIMALZ ever since I was little, but it's seriously becoming a problem.

How do I get through the work day? A handful of animal gifs.

How do I manage to cheer myself up if its generally being a poopy day? Animal gifs.

What is THE best thing about the internet? Nope, not the intense amount of information out there. Nope, not even alllllll the pronz. Yes, it's animal gifs.

How did we manage without animal gifs? Well, we got pets. We waited for them to make faces. We laughed.

because of adorable animals like this one.
this is his face all the time :D

And then we did it again and again because what else are you going to do with your life? Work? HA.

Relationship Obsessed

Im obsessed with relationships... in Fire Emblem Awakening. Yes, yes, misleading or whatever. But seriously. Ive been playing this game for months. Ive played through twice and Im on my third go around.

Ive never played any of the others and, yes, Im perfectly comfortable admitting that. In terms of this playthrough, its been on my partners 3DS (of which I never actually turn on the 3D because my glasses make it all weird) that he left with me because sometimes he does that.

And Im obsessed.

I must marry off as many as I can, optimise character scores, max out friendship levels, train and retrain and double train! Its got to the point where i have a spreadsheet. Yes, Im looking to optimise my characters because Im a crazy person and I prefer it when I murder everything as opposed to have everyone die because Im trying to level friendships.

To be fair, I do this with a lot of games - if theres a goal MUST DO IT. If there is a mini goal ALSO DO THAT I GUESS. But life? Neghhh. Id much rather fire up Cities Skylines and make the best metropolis ever than do extra research or exercise or sleep.

Last night I was so tired I let myself make a coffee at 7pm. Big mistake. I made dinner, ate, fed pets, fed humans, played with the cat, played the Sims, played Cities, played Fire Emblem, watched a whole lot of 8 out of 10 cats and just generally did a handful of crap that was not sleep until i was pawed into submission at around 2.

Then I dragged my ass out of bed because I knew I wanted to go swimming. It was a goooooood morning :)

Water Baby

The other day I was grogging it with my partner and his friends (as well as the parents of a pair of the friends) and I had the best brain fart: I want to go swimming.

I say brain fart because I was weird from grog, tired from the end of a weekday, a little too excited by guacamole and it was the middle of the night... but I wanted to go swimming. 

I turn to my partner and say I want to start swimming because exercise, amirite?

My partner shrugs because he's totally supportive of all the weird ideas I have but he's not a super strong swimmer or remotely close to the idea of reliving the water baby years (probably because he didn't get to have them). 

This launched a mini discussion I had across the room with the wife of the house, mother of one of the guys I lent my maths work to in high school as we both gushed over The Little Mermaid.

The movie was the most important thing to my toddler and child life. I apparently learned how to work a tape deck just to watch it over and over again. I launched myself in to many bodies of water and may have almost drowned a couple of times doing so... along with trying to talk under water.

I love pool days, I loved beach days, I loved swimming. But I got older and more body conscious and ended up where I am today - a nervous wreck whenever I think I feel seaweed and hesitant to don any style of swimsuit.

I say today - but it's more last two days ago. Well, in terms of the swimsuit stuff - I still dont like swimming in the shallows at the beach.

THINGS LIVE IN THE SEA OK IM JUST TRYING TO BE RESPECTFUL GOSH.

Anyway, I went swimming this morning. I told my ma I wanted to get into it because swimming makes me happy and it counts as exercise. So we headed down to the pool, did a few laps and I was that stupid kind of happy all morning.

I love water. I love swimming... but most of all it's strange. It's strange to be back in the water. Its also a huge wake up call. I was out of breath, I was totally unprepared to swim with long hair and OH GOD I CAN FEEL MY ARRRRMS.

Day one, done. Let's keep going :)

Without you...

....my brain doesn't function.

Hello. Today we discuss coffee. Why? Because it's 10am, I haven't gotten my hit yet and I'm glaring at my mug wishing it would make the coffee cool quicker rather than just trick me because I'm the genius that bought the vacuum walled cup.

In my tired state, all bleary eyed, I can't help but recall a simpler time... a time when I was young and had no concept of what coffee "actually" did to you. Sure, I knew it gave you energy, it was "addictive"and so on and so forth but I had next to no idea about the giant brown rainbow that is the magnificent "technically-not-a-bean".

Oh my god it took me 20 minutes to get this far in the entry. Ok, story time. Let me tell you about how coffee trapped me.

Imagine this: It's a sunny Suva morning and in a little cafe a young mum sits with her two children. They brunch over burgers and platters. The mum sips her cappuccino after her children share the foam. As time passes, her son grows out of the foam. Her daughter gets to have the whole thing. Then she sips a little of the coffee. Even later, the mum gets fed up of her goddamn daughter drinking half her coffee before she gets it so the next week she orders two.

I am pretty sure I wasn't yet a teenager. When I had to take an overseas trip with my dad and brother so the two of us siblings could get our tonsils out, we went by Starbucks when we were walking around the city. I was not allowed coffee... even though I had probably been drinking the stuff going on a few years. It broke my heart to venture to my child-brain's Mecca of Coffee and not yet to see and taste the drink from such a holy place... but I've gotten over it, I swear.

No really! When my brother and I were in Melbourne last year (for different reasons), we met up at a Starbucks between our two hotels. I got there a little ahead of him and ordered a Matcha Latte. Yup. Tea. Green Tea. Green weird Japanese style-y tea... with milk in it. At my former Coffee Mecca.

I've come a long way. While coffee trapped me, I broke free and made it my bitch. Or sub. Whichever is a more appropriate term in this day and age.

I'm still not awake.

Ahhh, the men in my life...

Ok, so that's a little of a misleading title. I want to write about the parallels between my partner and Guppy, my cat. Thats all. Seriously.

This morning I realised how similar the two are.

They're always the first on the bed - picking their spot and i need to maneuver around them. Although the difference here is I can roll my partner over or make eyes at him so he moves... but the cat shall not be moved. Nope. Not the cat. Cat sits where cat fits and apparently the whole goddamn bed is just right.

They both also cry to be fed. Now my partner will occasionally come and stay over. If he's gone drinking he knows its probably better to crash at my house. If my mothers away he'll visit more often to make sure I havent gone mad in the corner of my room somewhere. When he's over and hungry he'll ask me what we're having for the upcoming meal. This is his way of telling me he's hungry. Guppy is a little more forward. He just screams.

Then there's waking them up. Guppy will sleep until he feels like darting all over the house. My partner will sleep until the house is burning down. He'll wake up, sure, when he's ready - but ONLY when he's ready. Asshole.

Then there's the fact that whenever I see either of them I want to squeeze them until their eyes pop out... but I never do.

I mean, I hug them just not too tight.

Mostly just the cat though. I hug-squeeze my partner all the time. I try lift him up too but when I do he gets a little mad.

Dumb stuff that makes me happy.

So my mother finally returned after a several week work trip. While my brother and I are more spotty than a stressed girls' period when it comes to emailing her, we both miss her the way that our dogs do.

We get excited when shes back because she's our mum and all but then we immediately settle back into the routine where we have the TV on all the time and our house smelling like a nice lady again.

Sometimes I wonder why I got a cat and maybe it was part of missing my ma. Knowing my house wasn't going to be empty and that I had someone else to feed because I know I don't eat right if Im alone.

She came bearing swag, as she always does, and dished it out this morning. There were collars for the pets, new shoes for albie and a shiny B and H bag for me. I couldnt stop rubbing the bags for my new mic and stabiliser on my face for some reason. My mother of course tells the story the ways she tells all her stories about getting things for me.

She went to the superstore, all the way on 9th mind you, and just gave the links to the things I asked for to the guy. and he got the stuff. and the stuff was bought. What is wrong with my daughter why does she like nice thiiiiings....

And so on and so forth. And then she asked me to wear the nice pants she got me, handed me a shirt and today I am dressed like an adult. She also got me a ballin' new black vest and maroony jacket - apparently it was a steal at the garment district or whatever she called it. I am so looking forward to winter here.

I am going to be the coolest... but not the coldest. GET IT. DO YOU. ermgerrrrrd

Do you ever wonder why?

Why you have friends, perhaps? I wonder that all the time but then I realise we're all just a bunch of weirdos.

I just had the best and strangest exchanges via text I have ever had with maybe one of my closest friends.We're getting lunch today so I checked in and all of a sudden - !

Oh but we didn't just end with the heart attack inducing jokes. We, as coffee culture kids looking forward to a tete a tete over the roasted bean, drag things out because we can. And whats ever wrong with putting on a show?

It is indeed. Of course, I felt the need to elaborate to make sure James (a swan among ducks.. or like one duck. It depends where he is really) knew I had nothing against the majesty of the longer necked birds.

And then I had to calm his own fears among the banter. But also reiterate a stake already placed. That said, James is a fabulous breed of man lover so its a little more like staking a claim over the stake that wouldve claimed me? Maybe this is more complicated when I explain it...

And with that, I should probably get some work done too. I guess? 

Maturity, am I right?

I have had to deal with a lot of poopy stuff. Crappy lecturers, awful people, bad stuff happening like death and cancer. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to get to where I am – employed. In a relationship with almost 0 drama (aside from my own occasional outbursts). In a family I love to death even though they're all weird as balls (I mean, have you SEEN balls?).

I think it's about just doing the job. There are always going to be people who pick on you, who don't understand or your brain is just wired funny and you can't handle everything at once.

I've been meditating a lot lately. Just breathing, dealing with thoughts as things that don't affect me but exist. I've been having to deal with one of the most frustrating humans I've ever met at work. I broke down yesterday – hating everything about my life, job, the world, the universe. But when I went home, picked up by my partner bearing bubble tea, I had a moment.

My partner is a human being who has survived therapy, something I've never been comfortable considering – let alone doing. He has been a rock through some of the toughest times - unfortunately quite saturated in the last two and a half years. He didn't say anything other than “get out of your funk, Im coming with bubble tea.”

And that was it. Only the self can let crappy people, butt situations or random events affect you. You are in control of you and the situations presented to you or created by you. Why spend all your energy fighting something, being angry or frustrated or depressed. Just do. Just be. Just get the hell-damn on.

Yes, it's easy to say at the end of the emotionally tumultuous rainbow. But hell, I have a cat to take care of, meals to plan and bills to pay. I have family responsibilities and a responsibility to myself to do the best I can. What else can you do but your best, right?

Guppy the Anti-Cat-Pressant.

I got a cat recently. I call him Guppy and he is my stand in for antidepressants. When I got him, it was drama, drama, crap-in-the-car.

Firstly, I was sad and let my mind wander. It wandered to the future I want. Sure, a place I could call my own with my partner. We've had conversations now about how we'd get a cat because then you'd have perfect out when you're exhausted at 2am and trying to get away from social situations (you may notice a lot of this has got to do with me and avoiding all the large scale social situations).

So, I thought to myself “why I don't I just get a cat now? I don't like going out and I don't like feeling alone”. So, via enabler the Fashionable Faraz I got a cat. I picked up a scrawny noodle of a cat dubbed “Kutu” but the SPCA staff. I was too polite to come up with a name at the time so he is registered as Kutu... yes, like the lice.

On the way to the office (where I intended to keep the cat until the end of the business day), Kutu/Guppy lost his shit. Literally. First we was freaking out because cars. Then it was “I NEED TO BE NEAR YOUR FACE FOR SOME REASON”. And then he was looking for hiding places and my heart sank. So I lifted him up so he wouldnt crap in my handbag and OH MY GOD DID THE CAT JUST FART HOLY BALLS HES CRAPPING EVERYWHERE.

It happened and it was all together glorious and awful at the same time. Faraz lost his sense and was laughing hysterically, tears in his eyes (from laughter or the smell? We'll never know). So I took the rest of the day to work from home (thank god for relatively flexible hours) and change into something that didn't previously contain a neat pile of cat poops.

So I became a cat lady from then on. I spend the weekend alone and running around – buying a litter tray, cat food, a little rug to go under the tray. Buying hangers to get my clothes off the floor so the cat wouldnt poop or sleep on it. All round just lining my life up with this cat I decided to adopt. He joined the ranks of the “indoor animals” that only include my brother while the other cat and our 3 dogs live outside.

Do I regret it? Sometimes. Sometimes I wish I had self control and didn't go out of my way on a weekday to bring a surrendered animal into my house... especially when he sits on my face or paws at my cheeks, mewling in hunger because I've basically turned him into a massive fatty.

But the rest of the time, we cries for hugs, paws at my face when Im in a good mood and sits with me when Im playing something at the PC. He curls up next to me at night and ninja-jumps at me when I get home. He had helped me practice patience. He has helped me manage my moods. He has helped me get up in the morning.

I love you Guppy, you stinky butt fatty.  

Holy Anxiety, Batman!

I am a relatively young human being that is unable to remember a time I wasn't constantly nervous or worried. In the past few years, the typical “worrying” has mutated (I'm a real X-person ma!) into occasional full blown anxiety – panic attacks and all.

Yesterday I was overhearing a particularly loud office “discussion” and it triggered an attack. So far, a lot of my attacks have stemmed from consistent worrying culminating in shaking in a dark room somewhere trying to calm myself down. However, yesterday I just went to the corner of the thankfully empty room and meditated.

Nothing spiritual or special, I just focused on my breathing and forced myself to calming acknowledge what was happening around me. Basic stuff, you know? And it helped.

Usually, my attacks see me end up with a snotty nose, tear-stained collar and messy hair from frantic pulling. While I did rock back and forth a bit, I forced myself to sit up and still – told my brain I was in charge and I wasn't going to let synapses fire all up the way they are used to.

I guess it all stemmed from the fact I am sick of the attacks. Sure, I'm not “used” to them or am a long term sufferer but I definitely don't want them to pop up every time the smallest thing starts to bother me. I've had enough years with circular dark moods a la my depression to want to develop something new.

At the same time, I'm also trying to deal with my depression... and work is not helping. I am not a “collapser-under-stress” – I handle it fairly well. I know how to deal with deadlines and commit to a cutoff point because, because, because – that's how life works. But work is starting to wear on me.

I don't know if it's “same-old-same-old” fatigue... I highly doubt it is. I mean, I worked at the same thing for 8 years, I know this burnout is not the work. I guess it goes back to the yelling.

I like a healthy environment. I like being able to work somewhere where I don't have to worry about my anxiety or depression triggering. I like being able to focus, not forcing myself to in a place where its scene after scene, drama upon drama.

I just want to work... is that so bad?

I've never dreamt of what I do

Am I lucky? I find myself in a fulfilling job - yet today as I lounge around my house, trying to dose myself through the pain of the mystery boil, I wonder how I got here.

How did I become a writer?

I often find myself correcting myself or my mother when I am introduced. I do not feel like a journalist - after 3 years in a journalism school I knew that wasn't what I wanted to do (that said, after the same three years studying politics, I knew that wasn't for me either).

Telling stories has apparently been a pastime of mine since I could talk. As a kid, spending my weekends steeped in Suva coffee culture, I would rattle off to my mother's friends (about god knows what) endlessly.

As I grew, I found myself unable to speak. I grew nervous and worried but watered my imagination everyday and now it sits, unkempt as my body hair, overgrown and wild.

This imagination garden, my haven, my home, has become my double edged sword. I have so many stories, but it's grown a life of it's own and often manifests in anxiety, a curious depression and doubt.

I worry that while I love my job, I love where I am, the people who surround me and everything else... that I am beneath it all.

I worry that my job is not "a real job" - not the classic 9 to 5 we expect. I always have a story idea lurking at the back of my head, a concept for a piece, a video, a proposal. I worry that I have a voice that shouldn't be seen or heard because... well... I worry I am not "Fijian" enough.

But isn't all of that just the fine print? Why not continue to colour the walls with sweeping gestures, painting a wide, wide picture that no one will really see detail in - hiding the details from scrutiny?

Ah well, maybe this is all part and parcel of my unkempt, life-of-its-own garden. Who knows?

Time flies, so you might as well have fun

It's 2015. The first week of the year is over and I can barely wrap my head around the fact it's a new year and I only have 51 weeks left.

I can remember this time last year so vividly... but that might just have been the stress of it. I started the year as an expectant graduate, counting the days to the ceremony to receive my piece of paper that still lies among a whole pile of others today.

I felt pressure to figure it all out; pressure I had put on myself, it has to be said. I wanted to work for real. I wanted to finally find out what I wanted to do with my life. Hell, alongside all that I was still reeling from the fact I had lived through a whole year and then some of my "grown up" relationship.

The year sped by. Now my graduation, the second anniversary, my grandmother's cancer experiences, my first real job (lasting a month) and my second (that Im grateful I still have)... it's all over and gone.

All I've got are the memories that make me, me. All I've got are tattoos I've gotten along the way, including the two newest from the past year. I've gained weight, an extra hole along my outer ear and few new bugs to last me the rest of my life and an intense love to work.

Here I sit, pulling together work at midnight for the morning back at the office. I mull over whether I should make a list of resolutions, think about how seriously I want to take my dive into vegetarianism and wonder if I am really going to get up at 6 and do some app-guided yoga.

I'm going to be 23 and while that may not seem like much, at my age my mother was married and probably expecting my brother. I'm going to be 23 and while it doesn't feel like much I wonder how much it means to be the first of my secondary school year to make it out of university. I'm going to be 23 and I shake my head at the fact I still havent made it to a papsmear.

2015, you are going to be a rollercoaster. Let's enjoy the ride, shall we?