What next…?

[Photo: tegalalang rice terrace, Bali from mine and Shelb’s travel this summer]

Planning for the future is a scary thing. Making decisions about your life is a terrifying concept. What if you make the wrong choice? What if you end up missing other opportunities due to the path you chose? It’s inevitable that you’ll always look back and say “Ow, I wish I could have been there for that.” Or “Damn it, I should have done this instead.” You can never cover all the bases that you wish to. You’re always going to have to choose one side of the coin. My coin currently has a few sides; it’s more like a triangular dice, or cute little (intimidating) cube…

A co-worker sat down with me the other day and discussed in great lengths her options and thoughts for the end of this academic year. It sounded exciting, adventurous, and fuelled with purpose and passion. I guess it helped that there was a love interest thrown in there to help aid and focus her attention, but still, she had a plan (vague as it was), and it could work [for her]. It was so easy for me to sit there and encourage her to follow this dream, to book the flights, to plan her trips. “Just do it!” I cried, “What have you got to loose!?”… Why is it so much easier for me to have that much faith and trust in someone else’s life and travel plan, than I have in my own? I have very little/no faith that the decisions I make at the end of this academic year will lead me to exactly where I’m supposed to be. I feel like I’m being torn across the globe. Pulled in all directions… I have to go there. I have to be back for this. I should think about that. I need to do it…

In all honesty, I feel selfish for what my thoughts and possible plans are. I can’t call them plans; they’re, at best, ideas. I know people repeatedly say “Your 20s are your selfish years. Do what you want. Go where you want. Be who you want.”… but I feel like I have to have some sort of structured plan right? Like, I don’t want to get to 29 and suddenly be like “Oh crap, I’ve had a great 8 years, but what now?! I’m not qualified to do anything; I’ve got no money to start my life. Is it time to whack out the old Maccies uniform and cap?!” I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, I feel like I’ve Continue reading

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Shower thoughts.

[Photo: The desk and creative station of a tattoo artist I met on Sunday]

The word prompts have [to me] been lacking in inspiration or interest recently. There have been a mixture of words, some of which I’ve had to look up, and others I’ve sat and stared at, wondering how the hell I would form a beefy, meaty blog post out of it. I was thinking about this in the shower this morning, after 15 minutes of trying [and finally getting] my hot water to kick in, my brain was all over the place, and I kept coming back to one word. One word that instils fear and dread into most people my age or of my generation…

C O M M I T M E N T

The fact that I’ve been toying with the idea of sitting down and writing about this, because it’ll take a while and I’m not 100% sure where it’ll end up, is just one example of the commitment phobes my generation of become. When most people think of commitment or people who are afraid of commitment, it usually refers to relationships and taking them to the next level. This isn’t what I want to focus this post solely on, but it’s a big enough factor that I can’t really ignore it.

“So is he your boyfriend?” “Are you two going out now then?” “Is she officially your girlfriend?”

Nowadays, these questions pose BIG worries to the ones stood there expected to answer. Before any kind of solid answer can be given, an even bigger and scarier conversation has to be had between Continue reading

Clockenflap. Whaten-flap?!

[PICTURE: View of the stage through the umbrellas]

Clockenflap. What a name. I first heard of this festival back in September, when the legendary Die Antwoord were down as headliners. Now, if you’ve never heard of Die Antwoord, I’m tempted to say, don’t go in search of them. Please. Nana, Gran, or anyone else, please do not listen to their music or, heavens forbid, do not watch their music videos. Just know that they’re a really weird messed up music group from South Africa that have a cult following. They also made an appearance in the movie Chappie, which, I think is the only suitable place for you guys to whiteness them. So, when I heard that these crazy b*stards were playing the festival, I stored it away on my list of things to do: book tickets to Clockenflap 2016.

Candice knows of the band, she knows them more than most I’ve met, and even introduced me to them in a way. So she was my first port of call when thinking about a festival buddy. But, unfortunately, due to work etc. as the weekend came flying into view, we realised it wasn’t going to be possible for her to make the trip. Plus, tragically, Die Antwoord pulled out of playing the festival for unknown reasons. [Rumours are they’re in the process of making a new album.] With crazy work and my new life here I slowly forgot about the name Clockenflap (hard to do…) and went about my normal life. That was until, Nick, a Kiwi in my grade, mentioned in passing that he would be requiring a morning of “sick leave” on Monday 27th November. Please bear in mind that he stated this at the end of October. With a sheepish look on his face, and a sweeping hand motion that asked us to move on the conversation, I held him back after the meeting and asked what fun “sick leave” inducing activities he Continue reading

Thursday morning… I’ve had better.

So this blog post is cutting inline. It’s slotting in before my long and detailed review of last weekend. I’m still in the process of writing up about Clockenflap Festival, but I felt I needed to get this rant out the way before I can move on! This will be short, but not so sweet…

I’ve been ill. Not on my deathbed ill, just, not 100% well. I feel like such a non-Brit complaining and moaning about having a cold and being a little “under the weather”, after the weather well and truly was over me on Saturday. Yesterday morning (Wednesday 30th November) I got out of bed, turned on my gas tank and put the kettle on. It was a struggle to get up and even more of a struggle to keep standing, and to stop myself from feeling like I was going to hurl… It got to 6.30am and I realised I could not actually make it in the shower and out the door to get to work. So, for the 2nd time this semester, I had to message my co-teacher Vivian, and let her know I would be in sometime before lunch, but definitely not for the first bell of class. Thankfully, I didn’t have lesson until after lunch, so I was just missing out on “office time”. Back to bed I went (finally with a duvet and decent mattress topper) and I slept and got some rest before making it into work for morning snack time at 9.45am.

Thank god mum’s parcel from Switzerland arrived the other day too! I now have lots of Christmas goodies, and some cold and flu stuff to keep me dosed up. This morning was still a wreck though. I woke up, still feeling groggy as hell, went to turn on my gas (outside in the little scullery area) and there was my unwelcome house guest. Mr Rat [who super casually walked into my living room while I was watching TV the other day] was sat chilling on a pipe. So there I was. 6.15am in my dressing gown, trapped in my kitchen, not able to go and turn on the gas to have a shower as I was in a Wild West style showdown with a bloody rat. I banged the door to try and scare it off, and he just ran further around the pipes, still on my little outside area. I’d tried to block the small gap I guess it has been squeezing in and out of, I’d used an old tea towel, and I looked up to check if it was still in place. It had been pulled, bitten, and torn to shreds! This little bastard was cocky, and seriously determined to get into my home.

I made some more loud noises (at this point not caring about my possibly sleeping neighbours) but it seemed pretty content just sat there. It would not budge no matter what racked I made. Painfully aware of the time, I decided just to go out there and join the rat for the few seconds it takes to turn on the gas. I closed the doors and wedged another tea towel into any gap I could find and made my way to have a very rushed shower.

No hot water. No gas. No nothing. 

As if my morning wasn’t fun enough, now I was faced with the choice of having 4 day old unwashed hair, or possibly make myself more ill by having a cold shower. I went to check the valves were all in the right positions (rat still there), and tried again about 5 times., praying, hoping (and swearing a lot) that the flames would eventually kick in. To my absolute surprise and luck, I managed to get about 2 minutes of lukewarm water, enough to wash my hair over the bath, turning the water on and off throughout the process. By this time it was about 6.50am and I needed to be out the house in less than 15 minutes. Knowing full well that if I headed to work with wet hair in this weather it would be the death of me. I messaged Kyle and asked to use his hairdryer before catching the bus. He was happy to help and, frankly, surprised I didn’t own one myself (maybe that should be a priority this weekend…) Grabbing a yogurt and some crackers I threw my things into my bag, got changed, and went to wish my rat pal goodbye before heading out to work.

I arrived at Kyles (literally about a 30 second walk from my front door) and realised I’d forgotten tissues and lip-balm, two necessities for cold/flu season! So back I went to mine, and eventually made it to the bus stop. We obviously missed the bus we would usually get, but honestly, I’m impressed I made it in at all! And I wasn’t even late…

 So. That was my Thursday morning and 1st day of December. In all the stress this morning I didn’t even get to open the first window of my advent calendar. I guess it’s something to look forward to when I finally get home from work tonight, probably at about 8.45pm…