It's been awhile friend. Hope you still remember me. I remember you. Your beautiful face. The pronunciation of words that set you apart from everyone else. That make me laugh, yet sad at the same time. I just want the world to know how incredibly special you are and were and always will be to me.

I carry you in my heart.

The Right Side

Isn't it funny how some things just change? Perusing facebook really makes this realisation come to term. My family has been friends with this family for years; they have four daughters, we have four daughters. One of the daughters was a long-time single gal. Then, all of a sudden, she met a man, got married, and now they have a baby. Then there's this girl who's a friend of my sister's. She got married a couple of weeks ago. Her and her husband had been planning for this wedding for something like eighteen months. I remember when they announced it. Now, all of sudden poof! They're hitched.

Somedays I can't actually believe I'm here. Back home, I got so used to hearing other people and their radical and exciting changes. I'm living my dream. Not in it's entirety or fullness as of yet, but I'm on the yellow brick road. I still defend Melbourne like a trooper. I love it's intricate laneways, and capacity to understand that landmarks and 'must see places' have been thoughtfully planted in appropriate parts of town. But Sydney is growing on me (shock! horror!). Last night was term one finished for NIDA. Two week break, then eight weeks left. Eight weeks left of the reason I moved up here. There is another course I can do. Hell, there are fifty other courses I could do. But I can't do courses forever. And at this point, without a job, I can't realistically stay here. So, I'm in search for a job that will give me reason to stay. As much as I miss my family, and as much as there is this constant ache in me, I feel like I'm making progress. I do. In fact, I feel like something exciting's going to happen. Revelations are becoming apparent to me daily.

*interruption*

Now is our chance to choose the right side. God is holding back to give us that chance. It won't last forever

C.S.Lewis

Gosh Clive Staples was amazing.

*end of interruption*

My daily walk/run was taxing today. It started with an air of reluctance (not unusual), and was just plumb hard. As I was lolloping up gradual incline of the final stretch of 'running country,' one of these revelations became apparent; this was how I had been living my life. Literally on empty. Without God. No wonder every damn day was such a damn struggle. My breath was extremely laboured, and it was hard to try and squeeze air to the root of my being, while continuing to run up and down the hilly area. Having worked today, I had subsisted on an apple until 3pm, upon which my shift finished, and I ran to the nearest bakery to buy a roll. At home, I snacked on a peach and a plum, to ensure sufficient fuel for the run, but it hadn't been enough. I survived, of course, and in this life I will keep on surviving if I choose to live as a sleepy Christian. But I want more than that. I want vitality, and colour and gumboots splashing in puddles, and a manfriend, and more than breathless and empty survival.

So I choose this right side.

I don't care. I was wrong. I can admit it.

Today, I tripped. And fell. And no one was there. No one was there to laugh, or reach out their hand to help winded and humiliated me. No one was there later, either, when I spilled my soy chai on my leg, or bought peaches at Fratelli Fresh, or as I drove my lonely self home...

I'm learning new things about Sydney everyday. For one, you can't talk on a mobile phone out in the street. Why? Bloody buses. They are everywhere, which I'm sure is good for people who rely on public transport, but I find it infuriating. I mean, you can't really talk on the phone in the car, and cafes are often loud and plagued music, so when the hell are you able to make a stupid phone call? Secondly, no one was kidding about the fact that Sydney was unplanned as a city. The one way streets drive me insane. The left-only turning lanes. The 'no right turn' signs. The 'no left turn' signs. And then there's the random plonking of Sydney landmarks, which literally are in the middle of nowhere. Bourke St Bakery is famous around Sydney for it's sumptuous breads, tarts, cakes and pastries. Who would have thought it was literally a pokey corner shop down the residential part of Bourke St? I mean, come on, there is literally a queue of people lining up for their goodies all day - you think they could put a little money into remodelling and decor.

You (a Sydney-sider), may argue that this is the beauty of the city. Little nooks of goodness planted everywhere, invisible from the tourist's eye. Not convinced. Sorry. I miss Melbourne. Maybe it's because I grew up there. Maybe because I know it's intricacies. Maybe because I miss my family so much that I feel like I have a hole inside of me. I have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. I mean, what is there to get up for? No one will notice if I don't. Like the way I tripped today - no one cares. No one will know about it if they don't read it here. How did this happen? How did my expectations dribble down to wasting away in my bed? You might say 'You need to make an effort.' I might punch you in the face and promptly scream, "there is only so many times you can explore places BY YOURSELF!" I want to go home. I want to sit at Mrs. Fields on a Sunday arvo, reading the paper and knowing that my time of solace is privileged, as there is a loud, wonderful family waiting for me at home. I want, no I need my career to take off. I'm sick of waiting. I need something drastic (good, please, not bad), to happen. As if moving out of home to a new state wasn't enough. I'm an all or nothing girl. It is the unfortunate means to an end for me. I don't want one measly smartie, I want the whole bloody packet, ALRIGHT! And I know, I know, I know what you're smugly saying; "I told you so," in that infuriatingly schmucky tone. I don't care. I was wrong. I can admit it.

So, I'm posing the question, what do I do?

It's not as if I hate it here. Because I don't. It just seems as though everything is an effort. Everything is hard, even blood stupid getting out of bed in the morning, with the knowledge that I have to brave another day, by myself. I love my course. I really do. If I didn't, I would have been home two weeks ago.

So chums, what the hell do I do?

Just a Tad

Been away for a little while...Not literally but emotionally and mentally.

Got a haircut today. Pretty much just walked past an empty salon, then walked back and right on in to have my hair cut on the spot. And I love it. This is a revelation. I have always had trouble with haircuts before. And how ironic, when I am in a completely new and unknown city, that I walk into a salon, and get the exact cut I asked for, from an Irish hair dresser. Result.

Last week was one of those weeks that I simply want to banish from my existence. Apart from Friday and through the weekend, where Marm came to stay, I was in Hell for four days. Not going to reiterate what went down as it's a tad raw, but I welcomed this week as a new beginning, a fresh start. I am an unemployed person now, with a few prospects - one called Cucina, and the other Gloria. Yes, Familien, I may be returning to the mothership. Which, to be perfectly honest, I am quite content. Translation: my first job (that lasted more than one week and actually knew what my last name was), was at Gloria Jean's Coffees. And I loved it. Love. Loved. Loved it. So cum Friday at precisely 11am, I will be doing a trial at GJ's Randwick. Have applied for a number of other jobs, some of which I'd really love to get, but these past two weeks have been instrumental (as well as painful, emotional, raw and downright awful), in tuning my mind and body to what I can handle, what is good for me, and what I truly want in life. Marm really helped with this. She brought me to life. For a second time. She seems to be quite good at this. We talked. A lot. It was great. I finally had someone to talk to. Over coffee. At the shopping centre. In the car. On my walk. We so weren't meant to be alone in this universe. It gave me so much clarity.

I think too much. I plan. I anticipate. I worry. I obsess. I get disappointed. I drive myself insane. I simply couldn't explain to anyone why I could not stand my job at WMH. The thought of going back there and surviving an eight hour day made me want to slit my wrists. Since the very thought of slitting my wrists causes a queasiness to run through my hands, this was serious. I can't stand blood. At one point, I wanted to be a midwife. In what absurd universe would I ever be able to be the rational party amongst women giving birth? I think I would be the one screaming for an epidural. I can't even hack getting an injection, let alone witness a watermelon being squeezed through a, a...never mind. We all know what I'm talking about. Back to my revelation: WMH was talking big plans. Big plans for me, in the GFS, busy busy full on role, become cadet fighter then sergeant major, blah blah blah. I felt like all these plans were being made for me that were so ill-tuned to what I want for my life. This sounds so melodramatic - get a grip, it's just a job. But as usual, I got carried away, and felt overwhelmed with this expectation that I was going 'it' for the next 20 years. No no no! I want to act! I want to be free! I want to be able to go to Colour Sisterhood on a Thursday morning! I want to put creativity and passion into my work! I felt so trapped there. I didn't want to have this glorious weekend and then have to endure four days of doom and gloom. Gloria Jeans may not seem like much, but hey, at the very least, I will make friends - hoorah for that!

You know what? I'm so glad I'm not working there anymore. I couldn't convince myself any longer of the perks that everyone else kept slugging my way. "Such great money." "Only four days a week!" "Lovely people." "So close to home." "Variety with the two job roles." "Great feather in your resume hat." No. NO. No more. Were any of these people actually walking in my shoes? No. I know it's rich of me to say this, especially since my track record for jobs isn't exactly great, but I refuse to settle. I know I'm only 20, and for some reason seem to be in a hell of a rush to reach my goals, but I don't care. I don't want life to pass me by. Then again, I don't want to end my life prematurely, so I think I better slow down a tad. Just a tad though.

My 'Remember Me' post is incognito. Promise it won't be long.

NIDA tomorrow :)

Brunchie, Lunchie, Gabe and Danks

I woke up at 1:11 today.

Was in a bit of a funk as to where to go for brunchie...well, definitely more like lunchie, due to my lion's share of sleep...

Cafe Zoe or Danks St Depot; both of which had been recommended to me by a colleague at work (ugh - don't even get me started on the subject...).

Deliberation; decide decide decide...Cafe Zoe. Quick peep at the menu online (it's cheating and spoils the fun, but I hate being disappointed - especially when so much thought has been put into the decision making process).

Key address into Gabe (my GPS. I love that name but would never name my kid that. By the way - eternally grateful Dad - it's been an absolute lifesaver!) Reach destination. Closed. No worries. Dank Street it is. Parking located in a jiffy. Yah - no ticket required! Finally waltz in (well not quite), and am greeted by a lovely waitress; "I like to take care of our customers eating by themselves." Coffee? Yes please - weak, soy cap. Menu is compact but varied and enticing. Order home made flatbread with cumin and spice infused chickpea dip, as well as a green side salad dressed with aged balsamic vinegar. My coffee arrives. Oh. My. Gosh. It's amazing. Froth is perfect. Mountains of choc choc on top top and blend is to die for. Salad and bread come. It's just delicious. So incredibly fresh. And not too heavy either. I eye what looks like bread heaven on another table - it's 'garlic bread.' It don't look like no garlic bread...like that found in greasy pizza joints and supermarkets. It looks like garlic bread was always meant to look - in fact the way it looks brings imaginary ideas of how it would taste. It looks as though it would literally melt in your mouth. Definitely coming back. Definitely. In fact, might just make it a weekly ritual. Have been wanting to find a regular haunt. Dank - you've won my heart. In fact, it reminds me of a restaurant in Melbourne that I used to love. Emphasis on 'used to.' Past tense. I no longer love this place. Whether it's got something to do with the fact that I worked there and had quite a significant break down during my brief employment, both of which meant I could no longer frequent it, or whether it's because it suddenly got wind of how much everyone loved it and became a snobby schmuck, reducing portion sizes significantly, and increasing prices astronomically, I'm quite unsure...

Oh well, it don't matter no more, because I've found someone new. And his name starts with 'D.' I've already told him I love him. And it's only been 12 hours...

What only reinforced this decision was the fact that Fratelli Fresh and Macro Wholefoods are a skip and a jump down Danks St. Beautiful apples and peaches and plums from Fratelli. And jam. Oh, jam, how I love thee. I got home and I gobbled you all up (well, almost). Blood Orange Conserve del Padre. Blood Orange Conserve del Deliciosous. Made by Giuseppe McDonald. With googly bits everywhere. Yum yum yum.

On a slightly lower note, the store and it's 'pollo and carne' labels, along with panfortes and nougat and panettones made me miss Nonna and Nonno so much that it hurt.

Where are you my beloveds, my heart cries

Wishing you back, from where you are, is a selfish wish

But it doesn't make me miss you any less

My heart longs for the day when I will see thee again.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...beautiful, people...

I ended the day on Oxford Street, where I bought my papers and searched for something sweet...to no avail. Think this search will have to continue tomorrow...Movie Monday - oh how sparkly and shiny it is!

Gabe, take me home. And faithful he be, domicile we tooted.

Isn't It Ironic, Don't You Think? A Little Too Ironic...

Tired today. Late for gym. Near enough is good enough is just going to have to cut it.

I learnt something the other night about saying 'sorry' due to tardiness. Pretty much that lateness translates to carelessness and disrespect. Your appointment, the place you were supposed to be, at a certain time, wasn't important enough for you to respect it by being on time. Generally speaking, this is true. It was damn right for me this morning. I couldn't have cared less about the gym. I didn't want to go. Period. Admittedly, there are sometimes obstacles that deter us; car accidents, traffic, unsettled children, lost possessions or unforeseen crisis such 'coffee stained shirt look' or the 'broken heel limp.' If we be completely honest with ourselves, most of these occurrences can actually be avoided by getting up earlier, being super organised or being extra careful. But we are imperfect people.

To throw a spanner in the works, we then have the term 'better late than never.' Which is often spoken by compassion souls, who do indeed realise that we are imperfect people, and grant us grace because they too have found themselves in similar situations, every now and again.

I guess I brought this up for two reasons. The first being because I was late this morning, and having been enlightened to the underlying meaning of this action, I wanted to confirm its truth. The second reason is to delve into the concept we all know to be true; the fact that we are imperfect people. I wonder what the scientific stance on this subject is. The majority of us seem to believe it. It's a common excuse muttered, snapped or exclaimed in times of error, but the reason for why we are imperfect...well, that depends on your beliefs regarding how we came to be on this earth. I believe we are imperfect because Adam and Eve gave into temptation and ate the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden. 'Eden' means 'delight' in Hebrew. I have Google to thank for this information. Speaking of imperfect people, how ironic that this Google search also found 'The Garden of Eden - one of Melbourne's biggest and best brothels.'

No comment.

Anyway, I bring this subject of imperfection to light because, today, as I was sipping my soy cap, and eating my walnut toast with olive tapenade and fresh tomato at Uliveto (Kings Cross - home of sick male entertainment - more irony), I came across an article that discussed the links between depression and food. These two topics hit very close to home on my sensitivity radar. I have yet to disclose all information regarding the details of my past, but these two topics are pretty much the centre of a very deep chapter of my life. The sentence in the article that really hit home was this "If you have suffered from depression or ADHD yourself, or have witnessed someone else struggling with these illnesses, you will know that any improvement is cause for celebration - especially when it's achieved without side effects and with noticeable physical benefits."

It really took me back. It took me back to the days I spent in my room, sitting on my heating vent, wondering whether it would be possible to go to sleep and never wake up. That seemed like the easiest option. My lack of nutrition had certainly altered my mental capacity.

I love the following statement regarding the positive results of feeding micronutrients to people with depression, it being "It was a small trial and will be easily dismissed by sceptics." We come back to people, their imperfections, and ability to discredit everything and anything.

I do hope I'm making sense...

Nearing the end of the article, I go on to read this: "I am not suggesting that improved nutrition will be the sole or primary answer to everyday misery or more serious mental illness. And I am well aware how hard it is to persuade someone to eat better in order to feel better. Yet whether we are struggling or well, it seems wilful to ignore how directly food affects us (All we have to do is look at obesity levels to prove this one - this is my comment by the way; not actually part of the article)...I'm persuaded that what we drink as well as what we eat makes a massive difference to energy levels, levels of calm or irritability and overall wellbeing and mood." Couldn't agree more. It's safe to stay I've been struggling with this for the past seven years...but more on that later. Just thought this article was interesting; and not something usually found in a weekend newspaper for lazy brunch subject matter. On that note, however, brunch was great. Have been wanting to check out Uliveto for quite some time, and finally made it today. Menu was extensive - something for all tastebud tribes out there. Will definitely be back for the fruit bruschetta!

After brunchie (people say brekky don't they?), I wandered into the heart of Kings Cross. I happened to have prior knowledge of a cutesy market that is held every Saturday. Have to say though, as I walked down the notorious Macleay St, I clutched my bag a little tighter than normal, and felt atypically unsafe. I saw a lady with a massive potbelly. Too old to be pregnant, it took me a moment to realise 'she' was actually a lost soul "he." Another subject of irony for the day: the Potts Point end of Macleay Street is a world away from the men's clubs and shifty characters of the Kings Cross end. After having a little squiz at the Delis full of gourmet goods, and the overpriced bookstores dotted along the street, I headed for home.

I am compelled to speak of one more detail of my day, which occurred this morning on my carelessly late journey to the gym. There was a man in front of me, driving a silver convertible. During our unsolicited contact, he proceeded to brush his hair, sunscreen his face, and then try on various hats, as if deciding who he wanted to be on this, Saturday 13th March. Was he going to be a floppy white hat wearer, or was his fate a rowdy cool-cat cowboy? It was, to say the least, hilarious. Aside from being funny, it was also quite interesting to observe. I often feel as though we are constantly juggling different hats in our lives. There's the 'work' hat, where we must perform, be on time (hmmph), initiate brilliance, and be ahead of the game, then there's the mummy or daddy hat, where we must have patience, speak toddler/baby/tween/teen language, be cool and know how and when to discipline, there's the friend hat, the sister/brother hat, the pet hat, the exercise hat, the chef hat, the cleaning hat...and the list goes on. Who do we want or need to be, on any given day? And how do we remain true to ourselves when we wear all these different hats?

I know I've jumped all over the place today, and I really do hope what I've said makes sense...if it doesn't, never mind - it makes sense to me (heehee).

Giving the Boot to Complacency

I didn't go to work today...I was sick. Mental health day. Or, in other words, I hate my job.

*and it's the same, old song...*

I am notorious for this. For hating my job. I've become so good at it. Oh well, "a girl's got to have a talent!"

I refuse to apologise for this. Too many people are complacent, and just stay in their jobs because, well, I don't know...Maybe because they think they can't get anything better. Or maybe they are too scared to venture out into the unknown. Alternatively, they could be too lazy, or too comfortable, and have simply resigned to the fact that the way it is, is it for them.

I refuse to be complacent. In fact, I bolt in the other direction.

I do understand that people have different priorities. Money might be tight. Or the money might be so good that it's worth the mundane path to obtaining it. Couples may be starting families, so work really takes a backseat to the more important priority of children. And then some people simply view a job as a job. They go, put in the hours and the effort, make a few jokes with fellow colleagues, then go home at the end of the day and don't think about it anymore than that.

I love doing fruit and vegie shopping. In fact, I love grocery shopping. Walking up and down the aisles in my own little world, pondering all the possibilities of exotic foods...I don't know, I think you either love it, or you hate it. And I'm pro-grocery. Anyway, I often think about the people who work in fruit and vegie shops, and supermarkets. You can tell the difference between the school/uni kids who are there purely to pay for weekend drinks. Then there are the sons and owners of the fruit shops, and the middle aged women working in Coles and Safeway, who are there for real. This is what they do, day-in, day-out. It's an important job, in terms of serving the community, and one that will always be around; we will always need these items. But golly, imagine that life. Yet, some people are content with that. They are a fruitier or vegetable-teer, and for the 60 working years of their lives, they pack, box, place, carry and shelve fruit and vegetables. I lasted two weeks, (more like 10 days), at David Jones, where I was on minimum wage ($12 an hour) to run around the store floor lugging infinite numbers of unwanted clothes, and returning them to their rightful place. Theoretically, it doesn't sound too bad. But when there are 17 coat-hangers using your arm as clothes rack, that have garments intricately weaved onto their hanger, that all belong in a different brand section of the store, it's not so fun. I began to loathe ignorant shoppers, who were careless in where they ditched their unwanted goods. So I departed. A couple of weeks later, I bumped into a girl that I had worked with there. I didn't know her well; the only decent conversations we had had were bitch-fests about how crap our jobs were, and how much we wanted out. She said something to me that I will never forget. She said "When I heard you'd quit, I was like, good on her." It was such a nice thing to hear. I felt like I had really taken one for team self respect.

It's never been about the money. I had one job that paid me incredibly well. But it involved almost an two hours in travelling time both ways, as well as bumper-to-bumper traffic and parking that required coined payment, as well as a lengthy walk to work. Money schmuny. I just couldn't do it anymore.

At the moment, I live quite a free life. I don't have any children. I am not romantically attached. There is just me, doing my thing. This is the time in my life, if any, where I should be technically married to my job. So, I'm asking you, is it such a bad thing to want to like (or perhaps love) my husband? Don't think so. CAN I HEAR AN AMEN?!

This is my justification. And I think it's a pretty damn good one too.