Palegoldenrod

A stranger. We sit on rocks on the beach in that odd part of night where the moon looks surreal and everything seems made of quicksilver. The air is crisp. It’s been raining and my nostrils are full of the smells of sand and ocean and freshness. My mind is full of everything and nothing.

Toby gently finger-picks his guitar as he talks.

“For music it’s easier sometimes… It can be a memory that brings it out. But you have to be careful with the blues because the memory is most likely a sad one. You need to make sure it’s from the right place, you know.”

He pauses to let the guitar come through. This has been the last few hours of my life: conversation over guitar tinkering, punctuated by those pauses… to listen to the music. To reflect. To gather one’s thoughts. We don’t know each other but this seems to come naturally to us both and I’m glad – it’s been a while since I’ve been so comfortably quiet in someone’s company. There are a very few people I know in Melbourne who would enjoy company in silence (mostly male, I observe wryly) but even then some situations would suit it more than others and those well suited seem rare occurrences these days.

“It can’t come from a place that’s too intense – from a place where you died a little. Well, you can’t sing or play that. That’s passion dying, that is, when you feel that part of you die… You’re lost if your passion dies. No, it needs to come from that other place.”

He’s talking mostly to himself. Musing aloud. His speech is relaxed – he’s in no hurry. There’s time. I used to be like that, I thought. Smooth, chilled mind. Or it could just be part of the New Orleans accent that I’ve not grown used to. Or it could be the touch of herb in that smoke hanging off his lip. I grin quietly to myself.

“A person needs to have that place, you know,” he said slowly, letting each phrase hang there for a moment before carrying on. “Where your feet touch the ground, but don’t at the same time… Where the music comes from… Where the feeling comes from.”

I nod and accompany his playing with a quiet and unamazing harmony on the mandolin. This sort of talk doesn’t come easily to everyone, making it even more remarkable that this conversation was taking place.

“You know the place I’m talking about. You seem the kind of person who knows it.”

His hat hides his face from the moonlight, but I can feel his eyes are on me. The guitar is a counterpoint to the waves gently running up the sand a few metres from us. I look out at the play of light on the water, threads of my mind turning over different thoughts, memories, feelings and senses. Yes, I know the place you’re talking about. I used to live it, and now my fingers brush against the outside every now and then. I say nothing. I don’t feel like I need to.

“You think you’re lost, don’t you?” Toby says finally. “A lost soul. You can’t find what you’re looking for.”

He stares at me for a long while before returning his gaze to the ocean and changing the tune he’s playing. He falls silent again and I realise my fingers have halted lightly on the strings.

I wonder how someone I barely know can have read me so well. Maybe I haven’t had enough one-on-one “real” conversations with people on my wavelength lately. Too many crowded bar conversations, too much social media, too much whiskey. Too much time with erratic minds in erratic states. Too much haze. Not enough clarity. To much rush. Not enough calm. Not enough space. Too affected by what’s around me rather than maintaining equilibrium as I once could.

“That’s why you keep on that phone of yours, now, I think, ” he interrupts my tumbling thoughts, referring to my habit of checking my phone and playing with twitter. Earlier in the evening he’d taken my phone away from me in an attempt to get me to pay more attention to him – I’d zoned out a few times in conversation. “Are you looking for it there? I can tell you it’s not there.”

His posture settles back a little, a sign he’s not likely to speak again for a while. His fingers go on caressing the strings.

“I’m not even sure I know what it is,” I murmur, admiring the crescent moon and rejoining the music-making. Even as I say it I know it’s not entirely true. Home. That feeling of Home. I’d had it in the arms of someone I love and in the company of some very few close friends who are in step with me. I’d had it in short stretches and for certain experiences during and since travelling. I see glimpses of it in some places in my life that have yet to play out, parts of my life that hold untested potential for amazing things. I know that Home – that feeling of knowing you’re in the right place, even just for that moment – is part of it for me and that the thought of finding it again (or ever) is something that frequently occupies a thread of my mind.

I wonder then how much that city babble and chaotic energy has affected my once-clear thinking and immediately afterward am forced to acknowledge that much of it is my choosing. I use twitter heavily, compulsively. When I follow someone I think of it as inviting them into my living room. In effect I guess I constantly have about 180 people in my living room talking, venting, whinging, joking, squeeing, being cute and at times vulgar. A constant babble and in some ways with its own social politics baggage that seems, as I think of it, glaringly obvious and equally as unwanted. A far-too-large part of my socialising is at night and involves drinking in a noisy and chaotic environment and while I love my friends I have to admit that I need some friends that are happy to just hang out quietly …

Toby abruptly stops playing and mutters “You don’t know what it is!”. He lays his guitar in the sand, places his fedora on top of it and rolls up his trousers to knee height. He reaches over and gruffly rolls up my trousers in the same fashion as I put the mandolin on the ground. Pulling me to my feet he says it again, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know what it is!?”

He takes my hand and strides down the beach into the icy water until we’re up to our knees. The shock of it brings me fully awake and I gasp. He grabs my shoulders and turns me around to look out over the water at the moon. “You’re not a lost soul, girl,” he says to me then, his voice near my ear. “You just forget how to find the place every now and then, is all.” He gives my shoulders a squeeze and lets go. Behind me I hear him sloshing his way up to the sand again.

I don’t turn around. I’m standing in the ocean – the real ocean with waves, albeit small and gentle – under what is now a mostly clear sky and a crescent moon. I can’t hear anything except the soft wash of the waves. I can feel the sand between my toes. I run my hand through the water and taste the salt on my fingers. Not surreal. Vivid. Solid. Now. I have nowhere else to be, nowhere to rush off to, nothing that needs my attention more than this. I’m here. I look up at the moon.

I’m a human in the ocean under the night sky, feet on the ground.

It dawns on me that in our using twitter and social media in its restricted form to keep our friends in touch in our lives we have (well, I have) started to lose the sense of human contact – something already paled in city life. Compounding that with a habit where our main catchup is an alcohol-fuelled night out, or in a large group… Yes, I thought. I too rarely have proper human contact where I really get to know someone. I want to go spend more time with friends. I want to meet for coffee and talk to a pal for hours about their life and nonsense, or crash on a beanbag with them and explore each others’ music collections, or just go and lie in the park with my head on their shoulder and not say a word…

I want to be able to hug them and take their arm and eagerly say “It’s so great to see your smiling face, my good friend! Tell me all about what you did on your weekend” and have it be news to me. I want to be engaged and focused and able to give them my full attention, without needing to spread myself out over a group. Not distracted by others or alcohol or noise or managing a sluggish brain after a big night.

The hum of Toby’s guitar flows out to me over the sound of the ocean, another interruption to tumbling thoughts. A friend of mine would have called it a mindfulness bell – a reminder to pay attention. I stop thinking about anything other than the information being fed to me by my senses.

Crystallisation.

I take a deep breath and smile at the universe. It’s great to see you, my good friend. I think it’s time we made some changes, don’t you agree?

In keeping with my tradition (interrupted by travel in the last little while), I thought I’d post a blog on ANZAC Day.

This morning I went to the Dawn Service at the Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne. A few days ago I asked a friend of mine if he wanted to come along – he responded that I “know his views on that” (patriotism and war). It gave me pause to think about why I go every year.

Disclaimer: I am not telling you that you should agree with me; I’m not telling you that this is all there is to gain from reflection or attendance on ANZAC day. I’m just telling you how I feel about the day and what I get out of it.

Not why I go

Nationalism has never quite made sense to me, partly because it is usually demonstrated by people that were born into that heritage to begin with. They’ve done nothing to earn their nationality – why be proud of something over which one has no say or no control? You might as well be proud of your race or your eye colour. If anything it would make more sense for a “new” Australian to be proud: they have chosen to be called Australian, with all the good and bad and expectations and responsibilities that come with it (and that’s if they’re lucky enough to be born into a situation that allows them to travel and change their nationality in the first place: many people in the world still can’t leave their country of birth).

In addition to that, a country is essentially a group of people organised under a government. Australians may have an easier time of identifying with that because our borders are pretty much our continent (and haven’t really changed since federation) and we’re essentially a European nation in Asia, so cultures outside our borders are a strong contrast for us.

This is something that has been indirectly reinforced for me during my linguistics studies: there is a saying “A language is a dialect with an army and a navy”. Meaning that the difference between a dialect and a separate language is the establishment of a government to emphasise it, but there is essentially nothing special about that dialect as opposed to those around it. In the same way the separation of people into countries is only by declaration of a government. It’s a division of convenience, of politics.

Humanity has no lines. Lines are division, division causes aggression, aggression causes violence. The world could do with less lines.

Lastly, I don’t believe in war. I don’t believe in the glorification of war. And let me be quite clear here: my opinion on war is not a judgement on people in the military, it’s a wish that there was no need for the military in the first place.

So I don’t go to see that Australian flag waving and get a tear in my eye while honouring our military achievements. I have other reasons I think are important, to me at least.

Why I go

I have never been in a position where my life has been seriously threatened by violence or war. Almost all of my friends have never been in contact with war or military conflict – certainly the only Australian friends I know that have seen it have volunteered to the military for combat roles.

But I know that there have been (and are now) people who have died, willingly or unwillingly through war, like the children in my grandfather’s generation that lied about their age to enlist.

My grandfather faced the Japanese in the Bougainville Campaign – from what I know, he was enlisted from when he was 18 years old and most of his time was spent in Papua New Guinea with the 9th Australian Infantry Battalion. He came back with post traumatic stress and malaria.

He spoke to me about it on occasion. Only pieces – what man wants to tell his granddaughter horrible stories? – but enough for me to know that he lost many friends while under attack. He spoke about the time he spent in hospital in PNG with malaria and some of the men he got to know as they died.

I have a trinket he sent home to my grandmother from there… a small clear pendant with a palm tree etched in the back: a gift carved by a fellow soldier out of a windshield fragment from a downed Japanese plane. Sometimes I look at it and try to imagine how different my grandparents’ life was to mine: thrown into war in the prime of youth; the community losing so many friends, partners, husbands, brothers. Fearing for their own safety and feeling like the world was being torn apart.

When I used to go to the smaller dawn services in Newcastle, NSW I would wander down to the RSL afterwards and buy the local diggers a pint or to and chat to them. I have to admit, I’ve missed that small-town community feel this time around (my first ANZAC day in Melbourne and my first in a big city). Each of the diggers have stories of their own that are interesting, humbling and important to the community.

I go to ANZAC Day be reminded of all this horror, so I can appreciate what others have been through, what others have lost. So I value what I have.

I have been born into a time, place and culture where I have never (and hopefully will never) be put in a position where I will face violent conflict, either because I am told I have to or because I need to defend myself or my community. (There are many other things I appreciate about my life like access to education, free speech, equal rights etc, but I’ll stick to my main thoughts related to ANZAC Day).

When I stand at the Dawn Service I think of those people who have died in all wars on all sides, and I do cry at the thought of how terrible it was for them in their last hours or minutes. I don’t care how or why they got there, whether they were conscripted or bullied or volunteered or had to defend themselves. I see avoidable agony and lonely, terrifying death. I hope that I never have to see it and that our children and grandchildren never have to see it.

If there are restless spirits of soldiers somewhere I hope that it’s enough for them that I’m standing there of my own choice to remember the fallen, their experiences and pain, to appreciate the life I’ve been born into and the peacetime that I am fortunate enough to live in.

So, you see

I am not proud to be Australian. I greatly appreciate that I am lucky enough to be one, and one in the Australia at this point in history.

I am not proud of our military history. I sincerely appreciate that I don’t have to be a part of it.

Today is Blog Action Day around the world and this year’s topic is Climate Change. Here is my participating post

I guess the first thing I have to say is that I know some people won’t agree with this post, and most of those group will take that stance possibly because they have missed what I am trying to say. I’m not declaring anything one way or the other, simply expressing my dissatisfaction with the entire situation. Prepare yourself for a lot of questions for which I have no answer.

This is an opinion / journal piece – my thoughts on the issue, nothing more.

Climate change; Global Warming; The Greenhouse Effect. These are common knowledge for most educated people around the world these days. We may not know the details, but we know the concepts. The propaganda, education campaigns, edutainment, media hype has been going on for long enough that pretty much the world knows.

The problem is that of late, I’ve been scratching my head over some of it. In the face of things like news of the antarctic ice increasing instead of melting I find myself wondering what is right, what is going on, and if we (the planet’s population as a whole) will ever know what is really happening.

My concerns are several. Firstly, science is a religion in the sense that it requires faith. Faith in the validity of scientific process, the error-prone ways of humans, that the scientists know more than we do and know it well, correct functioning of mechanical and scientific instruments, and also faith that we are capable of identifying and measuring all factors (what if there are influences that our human bodies can never detect and our minds can’t fathom?). When we have different groups of scientists around the world with different conclusions and theories and “solutions” related to the same situation, what do we, as a population do? Where do we put our faith?

Is one reason for the inconsistency that more modern / “up-to-date” science is pushing aside the generally accepted idea of what global warming is, and what causes it?

Is global warming modern day’s equivalent of the theory of the Earth being flat and the stars being pinpricks in the black sheet of the night sky? Will, one day, our great great great grandchildren roll their eyes at how silly were were to believe that we were influencing the planet so much? I don’t know. I guess a part of me hopes so, just because it will mean that we are not destroying our home so callously.

If we can put aside my first concern of faith in scientific method at its core, we come to my second: deliberate manipulation of science for dishonest gain – commercial, political, influential etc and I guess more accurately deliberate pollution of scientific method. When business entities commission a scientific investigation can we trust that the result will be impartial? The world has seen so many cases of scientific reports that claim a certain finding which happens to be beneficial to a company, and upon digging we find that the company actually commissioned the report in the first place. We might find that the research is actually unfinished or has a long list of fine print footnotes indicating biased assumptions etc.

Businesses want to show research that absolves them from contributing to the problem of global warming, or debunk it completely. Politicians could go either way, depending on how sinister your mind is (or political alignment?): proving that “our country is polluting less than others therefore it is not really our problem, its yours”, or pro climate change because a population focused on pollution and the fate of the planet is less likely to challenge its overlords, or … well, who really knows what the hell is going on here. Some people want to editorialise or make “breakthroughs” in research for fame and glory.

In some cases the manipulation isn’t of the scientific method itself, but the selective presentation of valid research. We know media is essentially entertainment now. cough Fox Network cough. If the media had to choose to report on “hey, its ok, business as usual” and the sensational headline “the planet is doomed, we’re killing ourselves” which do you think they would choose? Are these counter-global-warming pieces only coming through now because that very topic is challenging the norm and is sensational in itself? In fact, the piece I linked to earlier about gains in the ice shelves was carried by the Fox Network.

And the last issue may simply be that we don’t have the data. How do we know that this whole thing isn’t the planet continuing to recover from an ice-age? How do we know that these sprints of carbon dioxide increase and temperature change isn’t a normal part of that? Or that maybe something else is not significantly contributing? This is really interesting to me, and I don’t feel like as a whole, the scientific community is providing us with a united response to this (either supporting or debunking).

For me, I find it hard to confidently and clearly say “yes, I am going to commit myself 100% to this cause of urgently saving the planet from self-inflicted Climate Change” because I don’t feel I can trust the information supplied from either side. There are too many conflicting research papers at opposite ends of the spectrum.

What I can see, feel, experience is that we are certainly polluting (air, earth, water) and that needs to change rapidly or we will face the consequences (effects on food supplies, potable water, health, arable land, air quality etc). This I don’t dispute. This is why you will see me support almost any move that reduces pollution on any scale (personal, community, nationally, globally).

But it is also why you will see me give my friend a weird look when he has a rant over farmers’ markets being bad because of the carbon emissions of farmers trucks and shoppers’ personal vehicles. Yes, I can see that more carbon per apple is produced that way, but fresh, organic produce, supporting local farms and farmers and removing the reliance on distant food supplies, etc seem to be more valuable gains to me, and you’d be surprised how many buyers get there under their own power anyway. ahem.

On the topic of climate change, I ask: why is there not a consensus on the cause of it? If it is the future of life as we know it on this planet (or lack of it), what is more important than the truth of it and united action? I do have a scientific mind, I do think that science is the best answer we have in this age – I am not arguing with the idea of science. But for such a high profile issue, I feel like there is too much confusion.

Give me clear, unbiased facts backed by the scientific community and free of political, commercial and personal rubbish. Let me be informed.

(And don’t even get me started on impoverished nations and the global economics and policy of climate change).

If you are sensitive to difficult things in life and they get you down, you may not want to read any further – its up to you. Just be aware that I am talking about some heavy things here which may upset some people. I’m not talking in an overly negative or hopeless way (well, I don’t think I am!) but I thought I’d give you the opportunity to exit early if you choose to.

/me gives you a hug and shows you some other fun things like Charlie goes to Candy Mountain, XKCD, Jazzercise, He-man and crimping.

OK, Before We Get Into This

I originally started dumping most of this just into textpad for my own venting/emotional discharge process, then I decided to post it.

Why would I post this? I have several reasons:

• for me, to get it out
• for anyone who might one day find something in here that will help them either understand, or prevent, or turn their path
• for some people out there who I think need to read about these particular events from a different perspective
• for me to openly appreciate some people who deserve it, and who I know won’t take it well if I say it to their faces

The other thing I want to say is this: this post is probably going to read “me me me”. Thats because it is my brain dump, its from my point of view. I am not trying to assert that these events revolve around me, or I am the focus, or anything like that. I also write in a style that some people may find offensive – it is me. When I am in writing mode, I feel first. That is what is coming through. (To the person to whom this is directed, read that paragraph a few times and let it sink in before reading on or calling me. You know who you are).

If I haven’t spoken to you about this, don’t take it personally. Don’t take it to mean I don’t love you. I just don’t want to sit and talk about it with everyone I know, I don’t want to bring others down, and I have the advantage of having several sets of completely disjoint friends, giving me a chance to have pockets of my life untouched by issues in other parts. I sort of like it that way as it gives me a chance to “leave things at the door” when I need to. I also don’t really need to talk about it: that’s under control, thanks, I’ve been talking to a few close friends – if that is the only reason you want to talk to me about it (because you think I need to), I’d really prefer you let it go.

Having said that, if you have anything that you want to talk about with this, please just ask me. I’ll be as open and honest as possible, and hope it helps in some way.

Apologies for it being so long.

Deep Breath

The last few weeks have been insane and intense and almost impossible to make sense of.

Last week I lost my friend Nik, to a combination of depression and drug habit. His death was determined to be an overdose, and while I’m not going to claim it was suicide, I’m certain that his motivation that night was to escape, without thought of the implications of his actions.

Nik is not the first friend I’ve lost. When I was 16 I lost a friend to a car accident, followed by two suicides (one drug related) in the next six months or so.

While I was travelling, Jason (in the same group of friends as Nik and I) committed suicide – between Christmas and New Years last year.

Here I should explain a few things. Nik and Jason were the two in that group that were heavily into drugs – the only two – mainly ice and a few things that are still unknown to me. In fact, it was one of the reasons that I stepped back from the boys a little, and why those two in particular started drifting from the group.

Jason and Nik were increasingly aggressive and emotionally out of control, and were regularly involved in fights. Jason was already depressed, more and more solitary and difficult to talk to. I had been worried about him for months but too far away to do much. The night Jason died, he and Nik had taken something, gotten into a fight, and words were said in the heat of the moment.

Nik blamed himself, and even while doing that blamed everyone around him (just an emotional anger/rejection reaction to it all). He blamed me for not being home, as if my very being there would have prevented it somehow. He blamed another friend with whom Jason was living at the time, who was trying to help him.

Of that group, some clearly and deliberately removed themselves – they needed space, they needed to protect themselves. Some sort of generally drifted away. We all understood why, and it was ok. By the time I got to Australia, it was really just Nik and Tomas left – Tomas didn’t share Nik’s risk-taking lifestyle and had moved back to his home in the country, but was staying in close touch with Nik in Sydney.

Unfortunately in the past some distance had opened up between Nik and his family, and over the next few months Nik became increasingly dependent on us for support as he became more and more depressed – extremes of phone calls at all hours of the night but then disappearing for days at a time on a binge. He lost his job. I found myself trying to babysit him from Melbourne, at times – calling friends and people I prefer not to associate with – trying to track him down and make sure he is alright. In some ways Tomas and the few other guys were in need of a rest and I think this was a natural handover to me when I came back into the country.

I feel like I did what I could at the time, while trying to juggle moving to a new city, job hunting, coming back into Australia and dealing with a weird situation of social politics with one of my only Melbourne friends at the time, as well as family.

At one point my friend Tomas saw that it was starting to wear me down a bit and stepped in to see if he could help by taking Nik out to his country property and essentially attempting to detox him and restore his focus.

The first week was especially terrible – I wasn’t there, and I suspect Tomas is not being overly detailed in his descriptions with me either.

I think the problem was that maybe Tomas thought that getting the drugs out of his system would fix it all. While I was hopeful that this would be the case (and didn’t realise how sad Nik really was) I have learnt that it requires a fundamental desire to want to fix things. A drive for it. A motivation, or at least a sincere willingness to try small things and step back from yourself to assess and mould your own behaviours.

So while Nik was with Tomas for just over a month, it wasn’t enough. His mood swings had improved a bit and the edge of his anger was gone, but his mood was still dark, and he still thought a lot about what he did wrong (more accurately what he thought he did wrong, which was not wrong at all), the past, the terrible things in the world. He was stuck in this place where – in his words – there was no way out.

We’ve all been stuck – or will be, if you’re shaking your head “no” at me – at some point in our lives, to varying degrees and in different circumstances and with slightly different effects. Me, I’ve seen more than is probably normal – in many of my friends, family and my own life, and am glad to say that for me, I’ve found my thing.

What I was left with in the aftermath of my friends dying when I was younger, was “What’s the point? Why am I here? What am I meant to do? The big question: Why?” No one I asked had answers back then. For me, I had the love and support of a close friend to help me until I happened to read Siddhartha’s Four Noble Truths at the right time in my life to be receptive to it (more than 5 years after I first asked those questions of myself). It really did hit me – followed quickly by a realisation (not a logical conclusion – a knowing) that I can train myself to do or be what I want, rather than at the mercy of it all, or (worse) oblivious to it.

Now I’m not suggesting that Buddhist philosophy – or religion, or anything in particular – is the answer to that feeling of being lost, depressed or hopeless. One of my friends read the Bible out of boredom and almost spite, to have it reach him. Another one just went out his front door one day and walked until he found himself in front of a nursing home. He went in and spent the entire day talking to people about their lives and regrets and hopes, and found his glimpse of clarity there. One more had her boyfriend take her face in his hands and say some words to her that reached her in her desperation. One moved to India.

I have a lot more to say on this but I’ll come back to it in another post. For now, I’m telling the story of how I arrived at this week, and what has happened. Back on track, Carly…

Nik left Tomas’ property and returned to Sydney to basically slip back into bad habits within a few weeks. We started to lose track of him bit-by-bit again. Tomas and I started discussing what else could be done (and looking for him in what we thought was part of his established pattern of disappearing for a few days) when we lost him for good.

Tomas was the one who found out first, and he called me. I was at work, it was late morning. I had worked an incredible number of hours over the last month so I was very tired, was already trying to muddle my way through several cases of social politics and complications, and really didn’t know what to do with the news. I kept turning it over in my head and couldn’t really afford to – so much work was planned for that day and the day after.

I guess I was angry with him for not trying harder, not trusting me to wait – but at the same time it broke my heart to think of him so alone and in such a dark place when he left us. It still does now, when I think of it. And immediately behind it are my memories of Jason and the same thing for him. Its so intertwined, I see their deaths as sort of being the same incident, the cumulative effect of which is… almost unbearable. I wander off in search of hugs if I think about it for too long: hugs from people I love, or even from the sun on a calm sunny afternoon alone, or from the stars, or doing nothing but listening to music alone in a nice blankie (they’re all similar comforting feelings for me, yes, I’m weird ).

Dear Tomas stepped in to take care of most of those things that need taking care of – I helped as best I could from Melbourne, and I really appreciate him doing so much. I know how difficult it was, I know how much effort it was, I know how little sleep he got, and I know that even with all of it he was still trying to take care of me as well as the rest.

Our initial contact with Nik’s family indicated that they did not wish to be part of the process, wishes we respected, but did push a little as we thought it would be a better idea for them to be involved. That aside, Tomas and I planned and enacted cremation and farewell for our friend, and I finally arrived to Sydney on Saturday afternoon into what ended up being an impromptu wake at Nik’s house that night. We opened up the invitation to Nik’s other friends, even if we didn’t know them very well. We went out and found the streeter that has helped Nik home on a few occasions and gave him a bottle of Nik’s whiskey as a thank you. He seemed really upset at the news. We invited Nik’s family.

In the end it was just the five of us: Tomas, Jack, Luke, LB and I, that sat in that house in silence and tears and hugs for a long time before we opened the first bottle in Nik’s whiskey collection and talking about our memories of him.

I remember listening to Nik’s music with the guys earlier in the night – we laughed at how terrible some of it was: Britney Spears? I mean.. Really, Nik? Really?

I remember an argument breaking out over responsibility of funeral arrangements, two of the boys being physically restrained, and words said in haste immediately retracted, slate wiped clean with tearful hugs.

I remember one of the boys finding some evidence of Niks drug use in the house later in the night and losing control to anger. I rambled to him while I did a terrible job of tending some small cuts on his hands. I don’t even remember what I said.

I remember (stupidly) looking through one of Nik’s writing pads to see my own name so many times in his thoughts on paper, lost in his handwriting, to have someone turn me from the desk and take me outside to look at the stars. (The stars and clouds always give me perspective on my troubles).

I remember laying in Nik’s bedroom talking to Tomas for hours before being joined by the others, falling asleep in that room as a huddle of exhausted, broken, hurt children.

In the morning (and a beautiful morning it was) we got up to farewell our friend. According to Nik’s wishes, we went out into the open water North of Sydney and scattered his ashes in the ocean. In accordance with the boys’ wishes, the best bottle of whiskey from Nik’s collection got poured over the side as well.

When we arrived at the marina (before we got on the boat), we were met by some of Nik’s family. I tend to trust my intuition with these things and, sensing something was about to happen, sent Tomas away to get me some water while I was talking to Nik’s father and mother. I let them talk. I let them say what they needed to and pin blame and point fingers and accuse because I knew what they were feeling. They had just lost their son – their only son. They were asking themselves the same things as the rest of us: “Did I do everything I can? Did I tell him what I wanted to tell him in the time I had with him? Am I to blame for this?”

All I have to say to you is this: you did everything you were capable of doing at the time. If you were able to do more (emotionally, physically, financially, energetically even) you would have done it. And never doubt that he knew how much we all loved him. I’m sure I could find a sheet of paper in his room about every person in his life, full of praise for how wonderful they are and how much he adores them. Us loving him wasn’t the issue.

You are not to blame.

Nor am I, or the boys. Or Nik, or Jason. Mu – unask the question. Blame has no meaning in this place. Sometimes there really is no one to blame. Really.

What do you hope to achieve by blaming someone? Do you mean criminal blame? Do you want to push something into court? There is no criminal issue here. Do you need someone to take the blame? Do you need to hear someone take that from your shoulders so that you can bear this?

Then blame me if you need to. Blame me for not listening to him more closely, for not moving to Sydney or bringing him to me in Melbourne. For not pushing harder with his boss when he lost his job (I did call, did you know that?). For not arranging for longer care when he went back to Sydney. Blame me for not being there for him when Jason died. If you need someone for that, let it be me.

For myself, I know I did everything I could. And I know that “everything I could” is not just physically, but all those things I said before: emotionally, spiritually, financially, mentally etc. If I were to meet Nik again now I wouldn’t stand before him in guilt. I’d walk to up him the same way I have been, they way I try to be with everyone: with open arms, open heart, open mind, ready to try and help.

I’ve disabled comments for this post deliberately as I don’t really want to have this post become a place for discussion. If you require any information or support for suicide or drug dependency in Australia you may like to try these resources:

• Govt Health Insite
• Reachout
• BeyondBlue

There are many more resources available from these, or by using google. I’d also suggest talking to your friends, family, spiritual advisor / priest, or GP if you or your friend need help and support.

I indulge in two types of creative activity aside from designing solutions to software problems : music – I play the mandolin and violin and sing a little; and I sketch. Both music and sketching are for my own amusement and I have no intention of that ever being otherwise (so before you tell me I’m crap, lol@you – I knew that already!).

Having a naturally analytical and logical thought process and working in a sort of masculine, private-sector/commercial, left brain dominated industry, these let me relax, unlock and exercise the other areas of my mind and I think on some level encourage the more feminine part of myself to come through. They also give me another advantage as one activity is usually more enjoyable when done with others and the other is more individual. As with many people I fluctuate from one side of (over?) socialising to the other (not enough?) and my pastimes, rather than hindering or being lost in that, actually encourage the variety.

There have been some interesting things happening with my music and sketching over the last month or two. I expected them both to go backwards after returning to work and have been a touch surprised that my mandolin playing has progressed despite my neglect. I’ve also enjoyed seeing that switching to charcoal has changed my style quite a bit.

As a result of my enjoyment in progressing with the mandolin, I’ve been playing it more than my violin – no, actually I’ve almost completely abandoned my violin of late – and the extra time has simply pushed the mandolin further forward. I’ve taken to finger picking more often: difficult at the best of times on a mandolin, especially for someone with kinda short nails and kinda chubby fingers

I like the range of different sounds produced from finger picking (bare fingers) as opposed to flat picking or just bare strumming. Sometimes I just sit there and tinker with the combinations of sound and melody and chord and see what messes or masterpieces tumble out. (More mess than masterpiece, I assure you, but enjoyable nonetheless). I’ve had a very quiet weekend, with both long afternoons spent in the park playing the mandolin. My fingertips are dreadfully sore, and I love it!

As for my sketching, I used to use various types of graphite pencil on paper (I enjoy working with light and shadow – colour not so much). While I enjoy the process of producing the drawing, I was worried that my style was getting a bit stagnant, and said so to a friend after producing the piece you can see on the right. Their suggestion was to switch to charcoal or greyscale pastels or brushed ink, the idea being to shock my system so much that it can’t use the same techniques and is forced to develop a new style.

Behold my first attempt at charcoal sketching! This was a few months ago while I was waiting in the car for my mate Jared, who I was picking up from work. The first thing I lost was my comfort in fine and accurate lines. I tried to angle my head to see the “point” of the charcoal so I could see exactly where the line would be drawn: I lost that point quickly due to the softness of the stick anyway. Actually, the very softness itself was a new thing to me. Now I know you are all laughing at me as you imagine me in the car trying to look between the stick and the paper while I am sketching (I’m chuckling too) but it really was unexpected and weird. And exactly what I wanted.

I’ve been jumping around between pencil and charcoal drawings since then (some of the results are below). When the fun there wears off, I’m probably going to try pastels then ink painting. And then maybe chinese or japanese calligraphy. Ah, but I’m getting too far ahead of myself

Anyway, there is no point to this post and I really have no concluding remarks to wrap up the post nicely. I’m really just sharing a small part of my life with you. Catch you later, sunshine

I’ve fallen so far behind with posting about my trip, I feel like it is starting to interfere with what was my usual blogging routine before I went away. I start to want to blog about something and then think “ah, but I really am so far behind… the task seems enormous”. Well, to hell with linearity – in the words of my friend Scott, “linearity is for losers”. I’ll continue to blog about whatever I want, and will interweave my posts and memories and stories and rants from my trips. If you don’t like it, stay in the past with your “continuity” and your “order”. Or whatever.

So! Strap yourselves in for a mega-update-a-thon.

Social-side

I’ve been back in Australia since around the end of March, catching up with friends and family around New South Wales and Victoria and have since moved to Melbourne, Victoria where I plan to stay for quite a while. I’ve never moved to a city where I know less than three people, so I’ve had a great opportunity to wave around my much loved “talk to random people” skills and have met people from many walks of life: buskers, bankers, teachers, students, defense personnel, backpackers, sex industry “technicians”*, farmers, bums, CEOs of multinational companies, Frenchmen – you name it, I’ve probably had a beer or at least a chat with them. Some I don’t really feel the need to stay in contact with. Some are all sorts of cool.

That’s not to say that I haven’t had my share of weirdness while I’ve been galavanting around Melbourne… it appears that unlike awesome backpacker circles, a girl by herself chatting to people is often interpreted as a pickup attempt. Because of course… I’m chatting to a guy I don’t know so I must only be talking to you because I want your body. Honestly, guys? Really? sigh

I do get frustrated with it sometimes – with people I thought I knew turning out to be something different (though admittedly there are a few occasions where that has been a pleasant surprise rather than a bad one). And I am tiring a litte of regular meet-random-ppl-at-pubs adventures. For now, I know some pretty awesome people and will, I’m sure, meet others through them. But never fear – Meet-random-ppl-at-pubs will certainly stay on the agenda, just paced. To give my liver a rest and stop my bosses thinking I am an alcoholic. (I’m not, guys. I’m just a lightweight having some fun )

Here is some info about stuff going on. You should get on board:

MTUB

MTUB (Melbourne Twitter Underground Brigade) has proven to be a really solid group of genuine and great people. They get together officially once a month and unofficially much more regularly, and essentially the only thing these guys have in common is Twitter. It makes for some fun sorta-nerdy socialising, and I was surprised and how well it all worked and everyone got along. They also welcome non-Melbournian Tweeps, so if you are passing through tweet in @mtub’s direction and give us a heads up. We’ll be glad to see you.

Melbourne Board Game Night

There is a group of us that is meeting regularly (roughly every fortnight) at MyCube Cafe in Lygon St to play table top games (Zombies, Munchkin, Settlers of Catan, etc) as well as traditional board games, cards etc. The cafe is a pioneer of the concept of a dedicated table top gaming cafe – they are aimed at gamers, and come equipped with a huge array of games, plenty of tables and goodies to keep you going. If you like salt and pepper shakers that are dice, this is your kind of place. Our particular group is still getting organised but the important things you need to know are: I’ll be there, and food, beers and beanbags are available. What more do you need? If you want to know more, contact me in some way. n00bs welcome, but you will have to undergo my initiation ceremony. Mwahaha. Mwahahahahahaha. Ha. Hmm…

Teh Muzak – Me

I’m living really close to a huge park in Melbourne at the moment, which means I can wander down there with my fiddle or mandolin and bust out some tunes for practice and my own amusement. Sometimes people come and talk to me or listen, or sit down and join in. I like that. Feel free to come and join me for a jam sometime.

Teh Muzak – Sessions

I’ve also been down to a few Irish pubs for some sessions – for those that don’t know, the celtic musical traditions are largely aural, passed down and shared via a session: a meeting of players who regularly sit and play together over a few pints, usually in a pub. Everyone is welcome to join in or listen or dance or whatever takes your fancy. It turns out that there is a session almost every night of the week in Melbourne, which is great. They’re each vaguely at different levels and skill sets, and there is quite a bit of variety. (I’ll post more about them later).

Roller Derby (or: “My new favourite thing in the world”)

I have started going to watch bouts in Melbourne organised by the Victorian Roller Derby League, which are roughly monthly. Last time I went I took a bunch of friends with me (roller derby virgins), and they loved it – since then there are more and more people who want to go… I think the next bout will have every person I know in Melbourne in the crowd

If you don’t know what Roller Derby is, check out the Roller Derby wikipedia page. It is cheap (usually under $20), the crowd is interesting, alternative and enthusiastic, there is beer/bundy and take away hot food served, the sport is unusual and entertaining (probably more so for the guys, being pretty much a girl-only sport, lol), and ultimately it is all still family friendly – there were a number of families with younger kids down there for the last bout, which was great. If you want to come down with our group next time, drop me a line!

Twitter

I’ve been on Twitter for a while, but I’ve not really done much with it until hitting Melbourne. And after getting down to MTUB and hanging out with people like Yonderboy and Bethanie I’ve essentially shifted from being a Facebook Ho to being a Twitter Ho. My acquisition of an iPhone completed this transition and now there is no turning back.

There is something beautiful about any system where I can broadcast a simple “anyone up for beers tonight” 15 minutes before leaving work, and being able to coordinate this impromptu even with others easily in a short time without having to deal with emails or website access or whatever. In my more fanciful moments I like to imagine that we have all decided to turn up at that pub at that time through some telepathic connection, rather than a technological one. But maybe thats just me…

Also being able to immediately tweet a photo of that weird guy doing that weird thing on the street so you don’t have to remember it and describe it to everyone later – high five for technology that encourages us to have even less of an attention span! That and it opens up an amazing subculture and world of injokes that is outside of the norm #andyouknowhowIlovethat

Work-Side

I have the great pleasure and good fortune to be working with Get Started in commercial .NET web development in Melbourne, for almost two months now. It has been quite an odd mix of enthusiastic energy and fatigue: getting back into full time work and full time development (I’ve been analyst / programmer /PM for a little while now) and I have to say I am really enjoying it. I was excited when I first had contact with GS during interviews (walking in to see one’s online life on the interview room projector makes one both exhilarated, interested and somewhat terrified all at once), and have since continued to be impressed by them daily. I think I’ve managed to find myself working for one of the most encouraging, professional, quality-focused, relaxed, productive, efficient and dynamic web dev shops in the city (which makes baby Jebus very happy), and that’s even before I start talking about the awesome people in the team. Lucky me!

I am really glad to be there, enjoying catching the challenges being thrown my way and looking forward to that time in the not-too-distant future when I am back to 100% capacity (I am still a little over-reliant on coffee… but it is oh-so-tasty). I will keep you all posted on some of the more awesome things going on at Get Started – possibly over on my tech blog Kleene Code, but if so I’ll blip it here anyway.

Tech – Google Wave

I’ll keep this brief, mainly because I don’t want to say too much before I’ve had time to go through it properly. Through another incredible fluke I’ve managed to get developer preview access to the Google Wave beta (and before you ask, no there is no invite system in place, and the entire sandbox is going to be nuked before launch). I’m pretty excited about what I have seen so far in the sandbox itself, and in the api… once I’ve had more of a chance to get in and go crazy I’ll probably post some thoughts on Kleene Code.

Health

Quick updates, because I know some of you have been asking me about it generally in emails which I haven’t replied to:

• No, I do not have, nor have ever (to my knowledge) had, Swine Flu.
• My appetite is still weird since coming back.
• I’m no longer a slave to cancer sticks (bad habit I picked up for a while during my travels)
• Funnily still no migraine auras since leaving Australia (was it something in Newcastle, I wonder?)
• Yes, I have been lazy with jogging. Keep reminding me (d’oh)

Wrap Up

So there you have it. Almost all news in one convenient post (well, most of the important stuff anyway). Aren’t I nice?

Footnote: * yes, she really did describe her profession that way, and I LOLd. She also did – awesome sense of humour.

When I left Australia at the start of my trip, the time felt like it extended on before me into that grey haze of “a long way in the future” and it was difficult to contain my excitement. I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to be right there, on the road, exploring, adventuring, finding answers to questions – or just questions.

I remember thinking about the famed “travel bug” (the addiction to travel, not a stomach upset ) and whether I would catch it. I wondered what it was about travelling that had so many addicted.

By the end of my travels in South America, a year later, I felt that time had flown by and I was ready to come home. Well, not that I wanted to be home in Australia specifically (though I did want to catch up with my family and friends). Not even that I wanted to be away from South America, but that I felt a need to have a home. To have my own space for a while, to be able to hang out with the same people without having to part ways just as I got to know them. I wanted to sit down with my old friends who knew me well, who I could talk to about “remember when” and feel like I belonged.

I’ve been back a little more than a month now. When I came back I chose to surprise most of my friends and all of my family and was incredibly excited about it. The 20ish hour flight back from Buenos Aires was sleepless due to the energy building up (though admittedly my body crashed once I touched down in Sydney).

I remember the train ride from Sydney to Newcastle, a calm sunny day, and marvelling at how beautiful the countryside is, the lakes, the mountains. Sitting with Amos on the balcony of a pub in Newcastle one afternoon and looking bemusedly at the streets: so clean, well maintained, orderly roads… such big houses and new cars!

I have great memories of leaning over the fence to Amos to greet him in person for the first time in a year: “I say, sir, have you heard the good news about Jesus Christ?” “What the ….? Woah!” and shortly afterwards suprising Jared and Chelsea as they walked into the house. Wandering into my favourite pub where some of my friends were gathering for the afternoon: “Hang on. What the f@#k? When did you get back?”. The silent greeting of a full 10 minute hug from Nick. Or trudging with all my gear up the long gravel driveway to my parents’ house in the midday sun when my brother walked out the front door, did a double take and then ran to the gate to meet me; my parents becoming tearful when they realised that I wasn’t asking them to be home so I could Skype them from South America, but to hug them in person.

And then, bit by bit, the excitement faded away. I am left with strange feelings – a few friends I was quite close to are no longer there; one group is on the verge of falling apart due to the loss of a friend while I was away; very little feels like it did before. I remember sitting with one of my closest circle of friends and feeling out of step. Had they changed, or was it me? Or both? I caught up with a few groups of out-of-touch companions and noticed things about them that I hadn’t before: some things I liked and some I didn’t. In some cases I started questioning what I saw in them in the first place. Several people need me in different ways than they did before I left, and while I love them I don’t know if I am up to the task. And a big surprise for me is that one group whose company I enjoyed but always felt a bit on the outer has turned out to be the only group where I actually feel more comfortable, has made me the most welcome and is making it clear that they want me to hang out with them, though we’re missing one of my closest buddies.

I’ve caught up with several people I met on the road, whose company I love and who I want to spend time with and get to know better. Here they have histories, they have complications, many have lives which appear to have little room for me despite so much common time spent together and shared experiences. So much was different on the road.

When I was travelling I found a lot of questions – some with answers, some without. Some questions have changed since I have travelled. One I’ve had for a long time is wondering where I belong. I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere before I left, though at times overseas I’ve felt fleetingly that I’ve belonged in that place at that time: mandolin-ing alone in a park in Santiago; a night out at a club with great company in Buenos Aires; deep, honest and nerdy conversations in a hammock in Cusco; afternoons spent in the hills near the ruins outside Cusco; blowing up balloons during a prank in Lima; red wine in a riverside cafe in Cuenca; hilarity at the equator in Ecuador; and getting awesome hugs from some people I adore, to name a few. Since I’ve come back I haven’t felt at home even in the house of my childhood. I am starting to think now if maybe the place I belong is not-belonging, even though more and more often I find myself wanting it to be otherwise

It has all made me ask myself if this “travel bug” thing might be the wrong way around… what if its not so much that the road calls people back, but that home never has the same feeling. Maybe you can never feel like you are home again unless you keep moving. I’ve since heard it from other friends that have returned home in the last month or so: “Why does everything need to be so complicated?”, “Things are more complicated than I thought”, “Urgh, its all just so complicated. It was easier on the road”, “I wish I was back on the road. Normal life sucks”. Complicated. That is coming home. Not “Ah! I’m home!” for long, but soon “I wish I were out there again”.

We talk about long term solo travel being a challenge, taking courage… after you’ve done it for a while, does it just become escapism? Do we do it because when we hit the road, to some extent we’re avoiding the real complications? The ones that arise from the likes of social, family and relationship politics, of the responsibility of a real job, the mundane stresses of day-to-day life in permanent society? After all, an often-touted advantage of solo travel is “when I don’t like someone or some place, I leave. I don’t have to answer to anyone”.

I am in Melbourne now, where I know very few people. I wanted to come here before I left Australia, and while in some respects I am probably lying even to myself about a few reasons I am here, I am still interested enough to give it some time and see what happens. It is a great city, and a new city to me. Some companions from my travels are here but things don’t seem to be the same, no matter how much I might want to catch up like old times. A few of my friends from before the trip are here, but more distant – almost strangers to me, and I am on the most excellent adventure of job hunting during a market downturn with no money and little time to organise myself. Oh, how fun

The challenges are different now. I thought I might stop asking questions when I stopped travelling, but coming home has raised more for me. In the last few weeks I’ve found myself reviewing and questioning what I thought I saw for myself in the future, and what I want: some things I know and have known for a while – that many things I want I can’t have, and many things I don’t want I have. Fact of life, no argument will be entered into, case closed. And as for the things I don’t know, well… I guess for now the adventure is finding work and a home and good like-minded friends here in Melbourne (I now know there might be a few other people in the world with warped minds like mine), and if the answers don’t come to me then the road is always open*, at least to a new place to call home for a while.

*Except if you are in Peru or Bolivia, where roads seem to be closed a lot of the time. lols.

Today is Blog Action Day around the world and this year’s topic is poverty. As I am currently in Bolivia I thought I’d post a little about the country, some statistics and a little about the current situation.

It is difficult for me, as an outsider who has only been here for a month, to explain Bolivia and its issues relating to poverty, politics (international and internal), economics, employment etc. But hopefully I can provide a few bits and pieces that might help to shed a little light.

I wish I could change the timing of the Blog Action Day and my plans. Next week I start my volunteering at a local orphanage, which would (I expect) make for much more interesting reading than what I am about to provide. But if you return at the end of next week I will hopefully have posted something about the orphanage for you.

First, a little background info. Bolivia is landlocked in the centre of South America and is one of the poorer countries on the continent. It is the 3rd largest producer of coca in the world, after Colombia and Peru.

Last year Evo Morales was elected with a 54% majority (an unusually high figure in Bolivia) and became the first indigenous president of the country.

Evo and Coca Farming

Evo was also a coca farmer which puts him in an interesting position. Where the US had been encouraging (and financially supporting) eradication of the coca crop entirely, Evo’s view is “Coca yes, cocaine no” and so gives full support to legitimate farming of the crop. The farming of coca (for uses such as teas, medicine etc – not exclusively for cocaine production, which is illegal) supports a significant portion of the Bolivian workforce. While I don’t have a solution for the cocaine production issue, I am sure that the sudden and complete halt of coca farming in Bolivia would be disastrous.

Current Situation: Sucession of Provinces

There is a wide gap between upper and lower classes in Bolivia which also seems to be roughly the breakup between people of Spanish descent and those of indigenous descent. The provinces containing the upper classes don’t want to participate in Evo’s plan to restructure and redirect funds to support the poorer provinces. As they prefer to keep their earnings in their own provinces, they are trying to suceed and establish their own government. This has prompted violence in those areas and a long series of negotiations which are taking place on neutral territory here in Cochabamba.

Now, I don’t have an opinion here. But the issue is interesting… when some parts of the nation are incredibly wealthy and others have high levels of poverty, what can be done to help restore the balance? Should anything be done?

Stats: Wealth Distribution and Health

Bolivia has such an imbalance of prosperity internally (a minority hold the majority of the wealth) that the number of people in the lower classes and the issues facing the government relating to investment in infrastructure and social support, mean that overall Bolivia is struggling compared to most other countries.

The UN Human Development Report for this year ranks Bolivia as 117th out of 177 countries – putting it in the “medium human development” category. Lets have a look at a few statistics compared to Australia, my home country, ranked 3rd of 177.

The enormity of the wealth imbalance astounds me still, even though I have read these and similar statistics many times in the last month. And there are countries that are worse off in the world. Scary, no?

As expected, the effects of poverty are visible in health as well.

I have come to appreciate clean and drinkable running water, a flushing toilet and a clean bathroom so much more since having spent time in South America

Emloyment and Income as an Indicator of Improvement

The informal labour market supports a significant part of the Bolivian population, which makes it difficult to really get an idea of the emlpoyment situation of many Bolivians. As Diego Cevallos points out in his article Not Everyone Celebrates Improved Poverty Statistics:

By adding cans to the products she scavenges and sells, Guadalupe raised her average monthly earnings from 70 to 85 dollars. But she feels as hard-pressed as before and finds no reason to celebrate.

An increase in income or even a job in the informal labour market is not necessarily a good indicator of an improvement in situation or of a financial situation at all.

Current Political Situation: Further Impact on Economy

Compounding the impact of the worldwide financial crisis, Bolivia´s political issues (internal relating to sucession of some provinces, external relating to diplomatic relations with the US) are also having an effect on the economy. There are significantly less foreigners in the country, and therefore less money being pumped into the multitude of businesses in the tourism industry, as well as vendors and beggars on the street that usually rely on donations from comparatively wealthy travellers.

In addition, according to local news, some factories for US companies are considering shutting down operations operations in Bolivia and relocating to a country with a better diplomatic relationship. If this happens, it is likely that many Bolivians will be out of work, many businesses that supply these factories may lose their primary client and of course the knock on effect could be dramatic. I imagine that some existing trade or financial aid agreements with many allies of the US may be in jeopardy too.

In Australia when such a significant event occurs the government may be able to offer some support or guarantee to the employees of those companies. Here, where the government doesn’t appear to have enough money to provide well paved roads between many of its major cities, I wonder if those workers will have anything when (if?) those companies leave.

But even with employment there is something I don’t understand. Here in Cochabamba there are people on almost every block asking for money, or busking – including children who seem to be only 2 or 3 years old with no parent in sight. Yet, when I walk down the streets in the centre of town every second store has a “help wanted” sign in the window – almost all of them have been there since I arrived. I’m not sure why these jobs aren’t being filled…. maybe one of you can help me figure that one out.

Resources

Here are a few resources for you:

• Sustainable Bolivia – Non Profit – volunteering support and co-oridinator of sustainability projects in Bolivia
• Volunteer Bolivia
• Kiva – financing entrepreneurship in underdeveloped communities
• UNICEF – Poverty in Bolivia
• Global Call to Action Against Poverty – Bolivia
• WorldBank’s PovertyNet Library – Bolivia
• Freerice – expand your vocab while providing rice to those who need it

Wrap Up

Thanks for reading. I’d like to encourage you to find out more about why I posted this at the Blog Action Day site.

Next week I plan to post about my experiences volunteering at the orphanage. I hope you gained some small insight into Bolivia from this spiel. If you have anything to add or ask, please comment below.

Blog Action Day is an annual nonprofit event that aims to unite the world’s bloggers, podcasters and videocasters, to post about the same issue on the same day. Our aim is to raise awareness and trigger a global discussion.

This year, Blog Action Day is on Wednesday the 15th October and is on the topic of poverty. Get involved: register your blog and write about poverty on the day, contribute to the project in other ways, or be inspired to get out and do something to combat poverty in your part of the world.

As for Palegoldenrod, I hope to write something relating to Bolivia, where I have been for almost a month now. I haven’t quite decided on the exact topic yet, hehe.

Catch you on the 15th!

Blog Action Day website

More junk from the mind of a travel-maddened, exhausted, over-partied, distant chica wandering lost and in a daze through South America. I think I have hit a point where my thinking is becoming seriously affected by this experience and has yet to settle down. Its an odd experience.

Anyway, as usual, an apology and a reminder that this really isn’t here for you. Its here because I can. hugs to all my homies in da big hizzouse of da world

He called out over the noise
“hold on to each other!”
afraid we would lose each other in the press of people.
I was afraid
I would lose myself

“HOLD ON to each other”, I thought.
Profound.
I, who had never really held on to anyone
There, with strangers
Wanting to hold on
to HOLD ON!

“Who are strangers,” I thought
“but friends we haven’t yet met.”
An old saying that made me smile.
One I usually scoff at -
I hate that shite.
But not that night.

I held on
With every part of me.
I asked them to carry me gently to the places where the poets are
so I could stroll once more with Clare and Cohen and Shelley
like I used to when I was young
when things felt more real

I almost found it again
that place where I could see and taste and touch and smell
and love
where I could breathe and know I was alive

Then the crowd was gone
and the stranger-friends dispersed
scattered in the four directions
and I’m on the road again
a long bus ride with time to ponder
the nature of love and friendship

23 hours of uninterrupted road
to hold on to