Coffee Rings + Pen Ink |
Philosophy | February 6, 2010
Faced with a mountain of options, walking bare foot during the climb, feelings and thoughts slicing the soft soles of my feet like a knife through a fresh sponge cake, my mind awash in confusion. How do we ever know that what we are doing is right? When is it time to explore some things and let others go? Is it always a matter of instinct, or should we deliberate more carefully?
A good friend of mine consults the ever blunt 'pro's and con's' list, sitting down with her trusty pen mulling over the exact intricacy of each decision. I, for one, love this idea, but can never muster the courage to see my options so coldly in front of me - it reduces the excitement of making the choice to decide in the first place. Of course we all weigh up the options, taking into account factors like money, time, accountability, etc, yet it always seems to come down to one simple question: What do I want?
For some, this question is impossible, as they now have the hideous realisation that they must answer to themselves, not just to external forces. I am a firm believer in following that chasm that develops in the pit of your stomach when facing a decision. You are the only one qualified enough to choose, for it is your life and you know all of the factors. It's great to get advice from those around you, but ultimately it comes down to your own convictions and self-acquired wisdom. Viva la optimism!
Philosophy | January 27, 2010
With an honesty so sweet that tarnishes my teeth, your truth's ring out and set themselves like gelatin in amongst the bitter reality I keep.
Our minds, intertwined, drunk on the steps of a dance we so effortlessly created, born from the laughter we indulged in.
Do you think of me often? I get lost in the memories, like each new town with streets unexplored - I put feet to concrete in search of you.
Unbelievable and fragile, yet so true that it scares the life out of me.
For most of us, blind in the knowledge that we are trapped in daily life, change seems like an unreasonable request. The thought of alteration unwinds the delicate fabrics that make our beings - what you can do with the threads depends on the length of your stitch. I widen my horizons and surrender to the possibility of a life well travelled. When I awake now, I long for the distance that time brings, the challenge that tomorrow can't afford. - 7th August 2009, 4:03pm
I speak in feathers and fall like bricks - my only comfort is when we met.
I want a refund on that glance you stole.
Lastly, like a bottle of murky fluid, I can't see beyond the walls you put up. Maybe it's for the best, but maybe not for you.
Blinded by a concept I could never understand, you took my confusion and multiplied it.
Borne out of sadness and grown into joy, I feel the sunshine heat my aching bones for the first time in a long time.
For what it's worth, I never hated you, I merely couldn't understand why you didn't talk to me. Sometimes the hardest things to say are the easiest problems to ignore.
I catch my reflection in a mirror but do not recognise the woman staring back at me: she's strong, confident and approachable - I like her.
College / University | December 22, 2009
Empty bottles and old takeaway containers are what persist in my memory from my days as a student. Endless essays, frequent campus parties, living with people I have never met before and having to work strange hours to support myself and my need for coffee - a time equally for learning and forgetting, entrenched in heavy books and mindless chatter. Comfortable pants and colourful hoodies were a staple, my art studio a second home, its only lacking feature was a comfortable place to rest my head. Four years, thousands of discussion, one broken laptop and a brain full of information - with a student debt to rival the current recession of America. Best days of my life.
Blogging | December 13, 2009
Mexico City at 6am. Probably the quietest I have ever seen a city, albeit through blurry drunken eyes. The Zocalo illuminated by Christmas lights and nativity scenes, the city awash in happiness post festival (for the Virgin of Guadelupe). My head spins after copious Coronas and my feet ache after their first time in heels since arriving in Central America some three months ago. It is an ache of joy never the less.
Much like Bay and Oliver, my time overseas is drawing to a close - I fly out on Tuesday. For all that I have seen and done, there seems to be much more to say, yet I struggle to find the right words (which if you knew me in person is quite the oddity). The last few days have been magic, filled with singing, street food, shopping and quiet reflection, which I know is still needed and is a continual process once back in the comforts of home. I am still amazed at how homely Mexico feels, perhaps due to the nature of the locals and American influences that proliferate the streets. Whatever the reason, I want to stay, speak Spanish all the time and eat chili rellenos until my tummy bursts - but first I have to return home in order to feel the full weight of the last 8 months in transit.
Faced with a gruelling work schedule upon touchdown, my last few days here will be spent soaking up the culture of Mexico City, which isn't hard as it is everywhere. Our hostel is a complete dive, but right in the heart of the action, therefore I can justify the almost $15 a night (granted it includes breakfast AND dinner AND free internet, so who can really complain??). My friend and I have formed a sisterly bond that I know will last long after this trip has ended - I love to hate her and I couldn't be here without her, it just wouldn't feel the same. It is very rare to find someone that you can spend 24 hours a day with for over 3 months and still have new conversations!
From this chair in front of this computer, with a wicked hang over and admiring the new silver ring I bought in Taxco, life just doesn't get any better. I have so much to be thankful for, yet at the same time I worked really hard to get here, and life is too short to be apologising and thanking everyone for everything, so I sit here, smile, research this gorgeous city I am in and look forward to a coffee.
Love & Romance | November 17, 2009
More often than not I think about people, past and present, in the strangest ways and at the weirdest times. I wonder if they too are thinking of me, possibly in the same way and equally as often. That being said, here is a short one I wrote about a week ago about a good friend from back home who has become quite the linch pin in my life abroad...
I think of him often, particularly when I´m looking into the window´s of stores passed on the street, in the faces of men I find attractive and at night, in the moments when sleep closes in around me.
I wish there were a way to teleport you here, for you to see for yourself all that I am seeing. The distance between us, in my mind, closes as each day passes. The girl I used to be thought only of him, a world vacant of you and your witty insights, yet she seems to have belonged to another era, a time passed for good. I search for the right way to feel and discover that no such path exists but the path I forge for myself.
Our connection sparked an intensity in me, an unabounded enthusiasm that has lain dormant for far too long. I speak to you openly, playfully, truthfully, only getting interest and intrigue in return. I am working on myself so I can give you what you need. I can only be that person for you if I push these negative thoughts out of my mind - I am worth the airtime and you prove this to me through each word, carefully selected, that you send my way.
I send him secret notes, whispered onto the wind, hoping they find his ears and his alone. Over distances that the mind can´t imagine and hands can´t hold, I feel his palm at my back and gaze locked onto mine, ushering me through crowds and ensuring my safe arrival always.
He will know of these thoughts as he thinks them too. There is a delicate beauty in an unspoken pact - I will follow his voice into the deepest woods and take him with me always.
Central American Travel | November 12, 2009
My battered limbs are giving me grief today after my battle with Cerro Negro, the youngest active volcano in Nicaragua. The relationship began well, but after an hour of hiking in the stifling heat it was my time to go, and armed with a sled and very little knowledge of how to stop myself zooming down the steep volcanic soil, we broke up - or rather, I broke up. I am no stranger to the wonderful concept of the "face plant", but this one was particularly painful. Thankfully I was able to stand up, dust myself off and march down to the bottom of the peak with a smile on my face and dirt in my teeth, as a lot of other people have been a lot worse off.
It did get me to thinking though, about how much emphasis we place on the insides of our bodies when traveling, constantly beating up our liver and churning the cogs in our heads in a vain attempt to gain some sort of meaning or clarity out of our time spent in transit. I love every second of being away from home, hauling my life on my back and meeting new people, but the self indulgent element of such brands of travel cannot be confirmed nor denied. I am onto my third travel journal in eight months and it doesn´t appear to end there. Blog posts such as this one conspire to turn me into a memory making machine for my friends, family, and net-nerds everywhere. It is not a bad thing, not by a long shot, but it does have the affect of making me asses my daily thoughts and feelings in a way that lends itself more to a daytime talk show than a private soliloquy. What makes you turn inwards in the face of such externally rich environments? I feel a sense of constant guilt over not taking enough photos or missing a day in my journal, when really that is exactly what should be happening...apparently.
Whenever I whip out my journal in a hostel or cafe, I am usually met by a chorus of voices proclaiming how far behind they are or why they gave up on recording their sojourns. It is almost as if I am a psychologist, ready and waiting, to cure you of your journal-guilt in a confessional designed to purge you of your writing sins - GET REAL! When I get my journal out it is because I want to fill its pages, not listen to you complain in a fit of jealousy how lousy you are at keeping track of things. I do possess quite a bit of notebook rage about this, which I feel is completely warranted, yet please don´t misread me, as I am all for either option - writing or not writing - yet whichever you choose, you should feel content and safe in the knowledge that you are enjoying yourself by also keeping the whinging to a minimum!
Writing is like a good cup of coffee for me - it smells amazing, perks me up and opens my mind to other possibilities. What you get when you mix one coffee loving Australian with the world of travel is most definately an explosion of ideas, stories and honest reflections.
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