Friday, September 28, 2012

AFL Withdrawal




It is 2.15 on a Friday afternoon. The students have left. One of the benefits of working here is that we finish early on Fridays, we can go by 2pm if not sneak out even earlier.  What is not a benefit is that sometimes, like today, we have to do PD on Friday afternoons and SATURDAYS!!!!!

This sucks arse big time, just to lose a Saturday sucks arse but what really sucks arse is that tomorrow is the 29th September.  The PD starts at 9.30 am, exactly the time that the live coverage of the AfL Grand Final begins.

I’m not a massive footy head. I have friends and family who have followed the whole season with far more dedication than I have. But I really like watching live games and I really like watching the GF.  I really like watching Buddy Franklin (and maaaany other individuals; Harry O’Brien, Eddie Betts, Juddy, all the Joey’s legends….but they’re unfortunately not playing) Who wouldn’t enjoy the spectacle, usually it is a very social event, lots of people, alcohol, food, alcohol, yelling at the TV, more food and alcohol. Sometimes people fall off things, or over things- not necessarily because they’re cheering hard.  And it’s Aussie. It’s our tradition, my tradition, to watch it with drink in hand trying really hard to concentrate despite feeding my very short attention span vodka. To feel a sense of mateship and appreciate big, beautifully shaped men chase a ball and each other displaying athleticism, grace and violence. My favorite place to watch it was at my friends’ house in Jan Juc. The match coincided with Gordo’s birthday, so he generally had a bottle of birthday grog to dispose of.  But he was not always the one to fall over. We’d have great food and great peeps and big discussions, about footy and surf and the holidays and the dread of term 4 and I loved it. In the early days people would continue till they fell off or over things, climbed things, got lost or passed out. Later days involved eating and drinking, women chasing kids around while men developed tunnel vision and pretended they didn’t have partners or kids. One year we all ended up lying around in that curious stage of long term drinking that makes you feel both drunk and hungover at the same time, watching Tele-Tubbies with some of the kids. And eating chips and chocolate and cheese that had been sitting around all day. But always we were together and sharing the experience and loving footy.

And last year I got to go to the Grand Final for the first, and probably the last, time in my life. It’s hard to get tickets so I tried really hard to appreciate it even though it was last minute and ridiculously freezing for September and I had been on a drinking binge in Juc the night before. I had to drive back to Melbourne through hail then try and find as many warm clothes as I could hiding at mum and dad’s and as a result I went to the Collingwood-Cats GF wearing tights, trackie pants, hiking boots, a thermal, a flanny, gloves and a ski jacket. I looked like I had just emerged from hiking trip through the Grampians that involved mad Bunyips dragging me through the bush then getting me drunk. Luckily, my last minute spare ticket was for the corporate section where all the guys were in suits and ties and the women were in designer skinny jeans, sky high heels, perfect hair and makeup and none of them looked like they’d been partying with mad Bunyips.

Once the siren went however and I saw some of my old Joey’s boys running through the banner, and I knocked back three pints of cider, I loved every freezing minute of it and will remember it forever. Especially ‘cause the Cats beat the Pies.

So last Saturday, after having had a pretty hard couple of months (no, that does not include beaching in Lagos..), I got to watch the semi-final with some fellow Aussies while we sat around chopping a thousand kilos of tomatoes, eggplants, onions and garlic to make relish. Earlier I had made the odd FB comment that I started watching the footy in my undies (and that Buddy Franklin was welcome in there anytime..), I’d like to clarify that was before I went visiting these new friends…Once dressed and as respectable as it gets I went to the relish extravaganza and had one of the best mornings I’ve had since I’ve been in Turkey and it alleviated some of my homesickness. Because I am homesick, which has caught me by surprise, I miss Australia and my life there. I miss the island and the random insanity of it. I miss my friends and my clifftop track. I miss the open spaces and the bush and the beach. I miss my volatile Pajero. I miss driving and the Tiwi dinner club and the food and the coffee. I miss gluten free bread and the quiet and the stars. But last Saturday, hanging with some really cool new friends watching the footy and bawling my eyes out form the onions was Aussie awesome. So I was very excited about being able to do something similar tomorrow. Instead, I will be sitting in a conference hall, listening to really loud Turkish being translated into really loud English through headphones telling me all about Learning styles. And by “listening” I mean streaming the footy and checking FB and my emails and maybe writing another blog. I am a Global Learner after all, I learn best by doing more than one at once. So I guess I’ll learn a lot. And you bastards in Oz or watching the GF somewhere in the world better FB me so I don’t feel so homesick! And Go Hawks!

Sunday, September 16, 2012

The Necessities.


Well. It has been an interesting “orientation” to my new school and home.

The school campus is a long way from anywhere. It’s on the Asian side of Istanbul which is now the “cool” side because it is very much a less touristy region than the Euro side. Because of the isolation we have to rely on school service buses which go to various places at various times or use the local buses – we haven’t had time to get onto those yet, so I can describe that inevitable getting lost experience at a later time. So sometimes the service buses go to the local shopping centre, it has supermarkets, an “Electro World”, some restaurants and clothes shops, you can get most things you need, although not a lot of things you want.. There are various other shopping centers such as IKEA where everyone buys everything to furnish their homes so they all look the same. They also run to other suburbs and into the Euro side some days. This means of course that:

 a) It’s great that we have our own, free transport system and we should shut the hell up and not complain and

b) We are totally reliant on a bus service in terms of where and when we go and when we return. Which has made a few of us feel very much like caged, restless, ungrateful guinea pigs.
There is always a taxi option but they are notoriously sleezy and not really any more likely to know where you’re going than you are. Which means it can take ages to get anywhere and often involves the driver pulling over 3-4 times to ask other taxi drivers, random pedestrians etc to get directions. Sometimes they even make phone calls – god know who to.

So during this period of orientation we had to work through a week – including our weekend- listening to a baffling amount of information that we will never remember about how we have to pay for phones being registered and for screen doors if we want to keep the monster mozzies out while not getting paid for six weeks and not getting paid for the exhausting orientation period at all. About which buses we could catch to places we can’t remember the name of and also can’t remember why they suggested we go there in the first place. Is there a fresh food market? Is it where we catch a ferry to the Euro side? Is it where we take our phones to be registered? Is there a fucking BAR????

And soooo sleep deprived. Because one of the advantages of living here is that it’s so close to the new airport – we can fly to lots of places if we ever get paid and get to have a weekend where we don’t work. So with this advantage comes the constant, constant, all day and night despite supposed time restrictions noise rushing, buzzing, roar of planes over our heads. The varying degrees of noise and proximity passing over head reminds you of either travel or to duck the fuck under your desk or bed because this mother is about to land immediately on top of you.

Then, after the working days and weeks there was the constant need to go shopping for essentials like sheets, towels, fans, toilet paper, food ( if there was enough time) . Racing around Ikea and huge supermarkets like we were in some kind of demented trolley filling race yelling at each other as we raced passed: Where did you get the clothes horse? Has anyone found peanut butter?  Coathangers? Coathangers? I NEED COATHANGERS!!!!! Scanning passing trollies with fear of the forgotten or jealousy over something someone else found that you know you will not have time to get. In fatigue falling into the Ikea deathtrap of buying crazy shit you don’t need even more readily. Nope, don’t have any sheets or pillows but do have a food screen thing to put over cakes I don’t bake or eat. 

Seriously, I don’t really love shopping at the best of times, but this kind of shopping under time constraints when exhausted and confused and not speaking the language was pretty overwhelming.
But now. I have sheets and towels. I have a phone that works and essentials in the fridge – like 4 types of hot chilli sauce, dried chillies and ginger..I have coffee. I have vodka. I have a heap of Lush products I didn’t really need but smell amazing. And there is a chance, a reasonable chance, that next weekend I don’t have to go shopping at all, the plan is to get shitfaced Friday night, go visit an island and lie around and swim all day Saturday and veg out in front of the new TV drinking wine on Sunday. No shops, no buses, bliss. 

Thursday, August 9, 2012

To See or not to See?


In Essaouira, coastal Morocco, there are “wallists”. These are young men who lean on walls or wander laps around the Medina or kick the soccer ball around the beach trying to get the attention of a suitable woman. A not-Moroccan woman, perhaps a little older, perhaps cashed up enough to provide some apartment living in exchange for being half of a couple. There are a few other terms for this type of “career”. These current wallists obviously haven’t been too successful, it’s towards the end of the tourist season here and there and they’re still wandering around apartment/girlfriend-less. I think it’s to do with the stupid hat one dread-locked guy is wearing and his poor wallist friends are suffering from his shit fashion sense. I have not found them particularly appealing, and they, clearly have not found me so, there have been no calls of “bon jour”, “Hola” or “Excuse me” that pepper the street as I walk by and vendors anticipate getting some dirhams out of my wallet. Which is far more likely to happen than me putting them up in an apartment.

I think the general feeling was summed up yesterday on the beach, I was with a few girls watching some women (Aussie and English) do an arty sandy thing on the beach – I can think of a lot better ways to spend a Sunday morning but no one is drinking here so I think that’s why people end up doing sand art. Anyway, a Moroccan guy came up uninvited and looked us – with a total lack of subtlety- up and down. For quite an uncomfortably long time. Then he announced his judgment that the curvy blonde to my left was “The best” and tried to encourage her to consider being his 4th wife. She politely declined. Then he turned to the girl next to me who had “beautiful milky skin” and tried his fabulous wit and charm on her. Both these girls are already married to Moroccan men. So he turned to me: “You! (pinching me around my stomach) Not much camels for you! Too skinny – you help me get one of these girls”. I less politely declined being his pimp. He was not impressed with me at all. Seriously? At least I’m not cruising strangers on the beach for spouse number 5 (as if one isn’t ever ENOUGH!!). 

So I am not particularly camel-worthy. Which is fine, I am not a curvy blonde with milky skin but I do know I have a few other qualities that might be appreciated. I guess the problem is you might have to get to know me to see them, they might not be evident on an initial meeting – especially while travelling when I look like I have slept in the sand with a stray cat bunked down in my hair. And this is the catch 22. We don’t want to be superficial and make judgments based on looks. We certainly don’t want to be judged on our looks. But we are.

I have just read Cate Moran’s How To Be A Woman (a must read for all women – and most men), a modern feminist’s “rant” (in the word’s of wise Erin). She ponders the fact that it is mainly women booking in for plastic surgery or some sort of re-jigging/re-youthing of their looks. She believes that not only are women doing this because they are so concerned about their looks, or losing their attractiveness, but that most men don’t seem to notice if anything has been done – so it is, in fact, not only scary in what it suggests about a woman’s identity and value being placed on her looks, but also that it is kind of pointless if they’re doing it for the opposite sex. Of course we really know all beauty adjustments are really done for ourselves. Or for the judgment of other women. She also points out that a lot of re-jigging happens post fertility time in a woman’s life, a connection between society’s perception of us as most attractive – and valuable- in our fertile years. Moran also declares her refusal to have anything re-jigged or re-youthed – she will take glory in hard won wrinkles and sags which are the marks of her very interesting life and motherhood. And I applaud her for that.

But.

I wonder if it is indeed an easier declaration made from one’s home with children and a husband who love you with all the sags and scars and wonky bits. For others it is a harder job to dismiss how other people perceive you. Because we are summed up superficially. I do it : She’s a blonde ditz. He’s a meathead. I wish I didn’t. I love that travel and new places mean you get stuck with people you wouldn’t normally choose to spend time with and discover a whole world of amazingly interesting people. But we still give people the once over. We eye them up and down – whether it’s in terms of possible friends, lovers or colleagues. We all judge people on their camel-worthyness. The wallists are relying on their looks for a means of living and that sounds like a shit gig yet to an extent, most of us have to do that at some part in our lives. We have to dress a certain way for work to be taken seriously (very much a necessity for women) or choose to look a particular way so that those with similar interests will recognize us (Ah Ha! Helloooo fellow Emo dude!! Let’s get together and compare the most effective deodorant when wearing black leather in summer). We primp to attract others.  This is why teenagers desperately believe in love at first sight – that someone will immediately see beyond their looks and awkwardness and insecurities and blemishes and see and love all the amazing inner qualities they have.  That dude on the beach did not see mine but that’s OK cause all I saw were his flaws too – and I don’t want to be traded for a camel anyway. But I will try and be less judgmental and hope that means I get to know more people and be a more inner camel-worthy person as a result. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t be giving up eye-liner or lip gloss, the (very) occasional skirt n heels but ultimately I know- we all do- regardless of what you declare or decide, what you nip or tuck, other than being as nice and healthy as you can, running a rake through your hair every now and again, brushing you or teeth and slapping on a big smile, you really can’t do much else about the way you look anyway.  Camels or no camels.


Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Un Momento Por Favor



 Which is not Portuguese but one of my favorite sayings.

A friend of mine has on his wall a photo of himself inside this huge barrel wave. On a surfboard of course. Not just hanging around drinking coffee. I love the picture because it is a picture of someone who is totally, one hundred percent, in the moment. As a photo he is snapped still but not passive, clearly fully involved in a moment of amazing.

And being fully in, yet alone really experiencing a moment, is hard. We tend to be either regretting/reflecting on a past moment or worrying/looking forward to a future moment and meanwhile we miss all the potentially amazing moments we’re actually in. I’ve been trying very deliberately for years to appreciate the present moments, not necessarily because they’re good but because they’re my life and that’s the only one I’ve got.  Also because another ridiculously insightful friend told me that any time spent regretting or wishing (reflecting is OK!) on the past was a complete waste of time because no matter what we will never, ever, ever change it. I always knew this but forgot it quite a bit, more out of habit probably – so many mornings with the beer-niggles conditions you a bit to close your eyes against the recent past and wince. Not so often now thanks Obi Wan Hock.

I’m much better at it than I used to be, in the past my thoughts would flash around so fast I couldn’t even be in the same time zone as my moments, but a bit of age, a bit of suffering, a shitload of travel and some yoga breathing means I can really appreciate a good moment. My most recent favorite: diving into the amazing, croc free blue ocean of Portugal despite being warned it is the coldest locals have experienced in a billion years. HA HA! I mocked, I’m Victorian! I have swum in Warrnambool in the winter! So in I ran and the cold sucked all the air out of me and gave me the equivalent of a brain freeze in all of my internal organs. There was a moment of sharp, painful, exhilarating, mind blowing cold. And I burst out of the water laughing and choking and spluttering and snorting like a mermaid on crack.  It was a moment of feeling totally alive and alove with the world.

But it still ain’t easy, my last session of yoga was about being very present in the moment and breathing through any pain in your body– the idea being that you only feel pain as it’s leaving your body. After three days of travelling and many hours of trying to sleep horizontally while being vertical there was a bit of pain to get the fuck out of my body. Which was great, so I was breathing and accepting and almost asleep while sitting up again when:
Brain: Hmmm, I wonder if they’re doing those fish tacos at The Green Room again today, I’m pretty hungry, I could go a couple for lunch.
Yoga teacher: If you feel your mind beginning to fill with thoughts, go back to the breathing, feel the pain and empty your mind of thoughts.
Brain: Fish tacos fish tacos fish tacos.

So a little bit more work to be done. To totally overuse a metaphor – which I very much enjoy doing- I’m thinking that a moment is a bit like a really cool bar with comfy couches and chairs and stuff. Sometimes we stick our heads in to see who’s there, sometimes we walk straight through to the dunnies, sometimes we prop at the bar and watch the TV screen on the wall. There might be those who stumble through and don’t even realize due to overindulging. I would like to be in a big old beanbag in the middle, arse fully settled on and reassuringly supported by the beans, drink in hand. I wouldn’t mind if I was in the way really, or if someone tripped over me, it could make for an interesting conversation (in my metaphor moments I won’t get punched in the face for being annoying). I’d like to be able to see and speak to everyone if I want of just watch them hanging out. I’d like to be totally in it and seeing and feeling all of it.

So while I sit in yet another airport drinking a really ordinary coffee I am fully prepared and on the verge of rip roaring excitement to experience a few barrel moments in Morocco. I am going to take a big yoga breath and suck it all in thanks very much.


Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Super Me



So today I went to see the new Spiderman movie. Much better than I expected after the lowlight that was the last one. And I was thinking; it is such and odd idea – to have spider superpowers but they are clearly extremely cool in dire situations, or when wanting to impress a romantic interest.

And all the way home I wondered what kind of superpowers I would like to have.

In our early twenties my cousins, brother and I once had a very interesting, very creative, very animated, very long, very entertaining and clearly very drunk discussion about what our superpowers were – what we had to offer at that point in our lives that none of the rest of us did. Then we had to explain the wonderful, awe inspiring and useful things we could do with that superpower. Mine was my driving license – I was the only one at that point who had one. I had a long list of reasons this was a fabulous and necessary superpower but to be honest it was never really going to be the stuff of Marvel inspiration, I have never been a reliable driver. "Exciting" some might say, "adventurous",  "dangerous" others might have complained. I can’t be relied on to concentrate for long periods of time, stay sober, follow road rules and speed limits or to stay away from the wheel after drinking….And for someone who doesn’t really cry a lot I have been known to cry very hard while driving – and big tears create serious visual obstacles. A pissy, speed loving, seatbeltless, distracted, belligerent, blubbering, irresponsible road menace does not a Marvel comic superhero make. It actually makes for a character who should be written out of a storyline for being dangerous to herself and others.  I would be the villain run over by the hero or zapped out of the car into another dimension where there were no cars, just looooong roads that had to be walked – or with really low cars but all roads paved with continual speed humps - as eternal punishment for my evil road doings.

So, what kind of super powers would I like?

The ability to fly would be best – like Superman being able to turn back time by flying reeeeeaaallly fast around the world, I would
a) Go back and erase a few tequila-fuelled misdemeanors and shit guy choices and
b) Get to my friends n family ASAP when I need to be known and loved and when I really miiiiiissss them!

Some kind of incredible martial artsy type fighting skills because
a) You look cool and
b) You look cool in leather.

Immortality-because I generally usually have a load of fun and don’t want it to stop ever. Plus you can be like 201 years old and still pick up young hot guys and not be the oldest person on the dance floor.

Telepathy-so the time zone which means I’m Facebooking everyone to see what’s going on in the middle of the Aussie night and feeling like a total loner won’t be necessary. I’ll know exactly what’s going on with ya’ll.

The renewal ability like in the new Spiderman-so when you have a little accident due to :
a) Tequila
b) Awesome sex
c) Drunk sex
d) Being older than you think when exercising
e) Being older than you think
Means you won’t be bruised and stiff and sore and confused but instead totally new within hours if not sooner. 

And super driving skills so you can never ever be a bad road user.

So for now that’s enough super powers I would like. The next installment will require some further reflection on - full circle – the superpowers I already possess. This self-discovery is likely to happen during the yoga sessions I have just found where you’re only allowed to focus on your breath and no thoughts are allowed to enter your mind whatsoever. During this time I’m going to focus on my superpowers. Along with stretching and strengthening this will be good value for the money. Look out Marvel, I’m coming!



Thursday, July 19, 2012

Once a child, always a child


My cousin was kind enough to remind me the other day that spending six weeks with my parents would be the longest time I have spent with them since uni holidays – and even then I was working most of the day, weeding tomato paddocks – wonderful work in the 37 ish degree heat of the northern Victorian summer.

And apparently, in just a few days back in the parental fold there is very little distance between teenager Annalea and today’s Annalea – it’s interesting how quickly we can regress to our former, less gracious or compassionate selves in such a short time.

First night after travelling three days and being very confused about who, where and what time it was:
Mum: Now we won’t make any plans cause we know you don’t like to make plans.
Me: Excellent.
The next morning I hear whispering from the lounge room:
Dad: I wonder what time she’ll get up.
Dad: Will she want breakfast before going to the market?
Mum: I don’t know, ask her.
Dad: Maybe we should go for breakfast after the market?
Mum: She might be hungry before that.
Dad: Which café should we go to after the market then?
Me: Morning! Anyone for a vodka?
Dad: Do you want to have breaky now or after the market? Do you want something small or a big eggs breakfast? What do you want to do after the market? Do you want to go to the pool or beach?
Me: I thought I’d just have a vodka and see where the day takes me…

And over the next 2 days:
Mum: What are you going to do with your hair?
Me: I don’t understand the question.
Mum: Aren’t you hot in those boots? Do you have some nice shoes?
Me: I don’t understand the question.
Dad: What are you eating? What are you doing? Where are you going?
Me: Vodka.
Mum: Are you wearing that?
Me: Due to a serious case of swimmer’s ear caused by you letting me run wild and spend every day swimming in freezing cold rivers with treacherous currents, and the nights hanging my head out of cars speeding down long country roads like a crazed border collie – also your fault for not putting locks on the bedroom windows – I can’t hear you.
Mum: Well, your brother didn’t need locks on the windows.
Me: That’s ‘cause he’s boring!!!
Dad: You look beautiful. Except for the boots.
Me :/
Mum: Do you want to go and put some lipstick on?
Me: I don’t understand the question.

Of course I understand the questions, they want to see me and know that I’m here with them. They enjoy their roles as parents and it is wonderful to be spoilt and fussed over – they are very excited to have me here and I have been excited to get here. They want to show me everything they love about the place and how much they’ve made it a bit of a home – the oldies they get their fruit and veg from at the market on Saturday mornings, the café with the best iced coffee, Louis’ Bar; the smoky local where dad hangs out with his mates, the local supermarkets and their favorite lunch spots. 

And it's the wonderful familiar of watching dad cut up his fruit for his cereal with such concentration and precision, then holding it up: Look at that! And mum telling me stories about their neighbours and keeping me up to date with the news - which I never bother to watch. And both of them swearing at the computer. And of course we don’t get to be spoilt often or children forever so for now I will visit and meet and greet and eat, I will pop on some lippy, put my hair up and find some non-boots. Because there was vodka, soda water, limes and gluten free food in the apartment when I arrived. And because the novelty will wear off and then I can run rampant. As they also expect me to do as their child.  


Friday, July 13, 2012

Airport Love


Travel:
It means excitement, adventure, the thrill of the unknown. The thrill of possibility. The absolute pleasure in the out of the ordinary. It means perspective and wonder.
It also means airports.

Eighteen months after I boxed up my life and put it in storage that costs the equivalent of renting a house, I was again saying goodbyes.  Twice – on the island and in Victoria. Apparently practice does not make perfect, in fact there were even more tears this time and in unexpected moments – on a sweltering, small plane squeezed between people, in my coffee, on a beautiful bare chest – unexpected but still delicious – driving to dinner, in my friend's front yard… . But despite feeling like my heart was breaking again – and again – I knew once I was on that plane I’d be A-OK.

And I was.  I love that moment when you have checked in, gone through the beepers, without your pants falling down cause you have to take your belt off, and it’s just you and the joy of a coffee, a new magazine, and MAC. Bought the coffee, magazine and a new lipgloss (even though it is a total waste of time – I keep buying MAC in the hope it will transform me into a glamorous, well groomed woman and then never wear it..) and was there on the verge of the world and everything in it. For me it is a real moment of absolute freedom, sad as I am every time I leave – and it’s getting harder – I shed it all as I walk through duty free towards the gate to my new moment.

I often get so relaxed at an airport that I can get to my gate perilously close gate shutting time– I don’t need to be the first one on the plane like most of the population, I’m happy being last avoiding getting hit in the head with hard case carry on and sweating in overheated cabins while people squeeze past you to their seats. And realizing you have to pee as soon as you sit down and are completely trapped by a hundred other passengers clamoring past. So I leave it a bit later and have had a few close calls. But it’s all about the experience, and I can happily while away a couple of airport hours.

Once on the plane it’s less fun- I can’t sleep on planes and the fuck-arsed knee shots pain all over the place after half an hour of sitting down. I’m always hungry and thirsty and wriggly. This time, however, after 20 or so years of travelling I finally caught on to the overuse of sleeping tablets. I got some from an easygoing doctor on the island last year when heading to (hair flick, sip of drink and pause…) Guatemala. She told me to start with a quarter and work up to one if that didn’t work. It didn’t, I managed about 4 hours sleep in 30 of travelling and was still grateful for getting that much. This time after dinner and a movie (the perfect plane date) I popped 2 and it was adios Australia, hello Dubai. 8 ½ hours of interrupted but pretty good sleep- more than I generally get in a bed.  So got off in Dubai feeling ridiculously sane then topped it off by having a shower.

Dubai airport doesn’t have enough seats. Thus despite its glamorous, modern décor, there are people lying and sitting on the floor everywhere making it look like a post festival backpackers’. But I felt great – clean, rested and even though I had to drink my coffee on the floor tiles near the café and couldn’t find anything non-gluten to eat it was all pretty easy. I even bought a new MAC eye shadow, which I will never wear and which made me late to the gate. It has been said before – I do not learn from mistakes.

However, I made it to the gate and onto the second leg of the journey – 8 ½ hours and I’d be in Portugal. Except that 1 ½ hours later we were still sitting on the tarmac. I was half way through a movie and not able to concentrate because a) it was such a shit movie – the latest Underworld – not even great special effects, vampires and werewolves fighting viciously and Kate Beckingsale in leather could redeem one shit bit of it – and b) because I knew I was going to miss my connecting flight from Lisbon to Faro where dad would be waiting for me. Shitballs. I texted him and let him know and figured there was nothing I could do so I’d just have to watch two more shit movies. 18 months on an island and movie starved and nothing decent to watch..

So I got off the plane with 20 minutes to catch the connection, an Emirates lady was waiting with my boarding pass and told me to run to gate 19. Cool I thought, despite inactivity and having to avoid a billion stupid rolly bags, I ran. She didn’t mention the line up at passport control, which didn’t move for ten minutes. Fuck that, I created a bit of a drama and got through my own special line with a beautiful, friendly man that I could barely appreciate as I was so close and still too far from that stinking flight. More running to the x-ray thing where I beeped because I forgot to take my bling off and a poor woman had to feel me up while I was sweating like I’d just run 10 k’s in the afternoon during wet season on the island. Yuk.  More running to finally get to gate 19 where there was absolutely no one. I missed it by ten minutes. Shoulda kicked up a stink at passport control as soon as I got there. So here I am with a pass to the Emirates airline lounge which is all very businessy and there dad is doing a bus tour of Faro while we wait 6 hours till I can get the next flight and then head to Lagos together.

Airports are not so much fun at this point. I should go into the city but am in that dazed and confused point in jet lag where I’m likely to leave my passport or wallet or sanity in some bar somewhere. I’m too tired to read and there’s no life saving massage spots like Bangkok. The urge to drink a lot of wine from the cool wine vending machine (free) is strong. The words are blurring on this page but I figure it’s one way to stay awake. I have no idea what time it is here or at home and when someone asked me where I had come from I couldn’t remember. Bathurst Island – Darwin – Torquay – Melbourne – Dubai- Lisbon…

In 5 hours I will be back on a plane and in about 8 I’ll be in Lagos ready to collapse. Pleeeeease don’t let me fall asleep and miss the flight! Pleeeease let me be able to string a sentence together when I see dad! Pleeeease let me cankles go away by the morning so I can finally go for a swim at the beach!! I still feel free but also very wilted..a tired, dirty, blur-eyed kind of free. Best head off to look for a good coffee and some duty free MAC. 

Saturday, June 30, 2012

In transit.


Because all good things come to those who wait.
And grit their teeth and
dig fingernails into palms
and scream and cry inside their heads
and just try to remember to breathe.
To those who spend all energy trying to hope
that there will be a moment, soon
better than the last one, better than this one.
I have been running away for so long and I’m so tired of it.
The anecdotes and jealousy in other people’s eyes
as I drop in to move on
is not enough.
Perhaps never was.
But I don’t know what else to do,
how else to be something that is not a funny story,
a pack with my life in it,
a goodbye hug,
a fleeting, transitory blink
in the lives of the people I love
and need.
And leave.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Things I Will Miss Part 1.


My Tiwi adolescents.
Absorbed in the unusual:
Pulling at the hairs on my arms – dark on light: Look!
Pulling at the hair on my head: Annaleee – wear it down! No – don’t cut it! It’s too long! Wear it up! Your hair is too messy! Your hair is beautiful!
Pulling at my earrings, my rings, my bracelets, my locket, my belt – to touch, to hear, to feel.
The constant snuggling up, leaning in, leaning on.
Cuddling with head on my shoulder as they scratch at the nits in their hair.
Rubbing at my tattoo while I’m trying to help them with their work: what I this? What does it say? Annaleee! You have tattoo! This your family? (No, but a great idea…)
Rubbing at the scars on my knuckles with gentleness despite scabbies-stiff hands.
Pinching my arms – for the muscle, for the fat, for the tattoo.
Teaching me how to “plaster” their huge, painful boils – giving me their legs, feet, armpits..
The way they feel everything so strongly – one minute so loving and happy, the next the whole world can fuck off – a little familiar..
Their awesome awesome dance moves – equally enthusiastic about pumping out some M.J or Crocodile moves as they move around class.
Paying no attention when I tell them off, instead telling me: Your eyes-why they like that? Annaleee! Your eyes are strange! Take those contacts out! (Threatening to poke me in the eye). Annaleee! You have spots in your eyes!
Sharing their pride – Annaleee! I caught a wallaby/turtle/fish..got Mangrove worms/my P’s!
Yelling yelling yelling: Too boring! Why? No! Yes! Annaleee! I feel weak!
Watching them grow from excruciating shyness, unable to answer a question- Nah, you’re right – to bursting out with ideas and confidence all over the classroom.
All demanding help at once.
What seems like a hundred footballs in the air all at once every time you’re outside.
Sneaking up and holding my hand as we walk to the canteen.
Giving me the high 5 grasp or the Tiwi shake as we cross paths.
Being able to tell them how clever/smart/wonderful they are.
Kimberley telling me: Annaleee! I have a story for you!
Pio who lightly punches my arm ‘cause he knows I’ll mock yell Ahhhhh! And he yells with me – a beautiful unison.
Mara telling me as she walks out the door: Love you!
All yelling with huge, booming, song voices and beautiful inflection: Annaleee! Nah, nothing…– just to be heard, just to be seen.
Which is what we all want, what we all need and what I will miss, the absolute thereness I have when I am with them, how much they make me exist.
And how much they let me love them.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

My Meeting Place

This is here my meeting place-
It is different to my home.
The light is brighter
There it was soft
always on the verge- dawn and dusk.
At home we were lit by fire and voices,
by heart.
We spun stories and our lives,
we breathed cold air with rosie cheeks
and laughed and loved.
This is here my meeting place
of bright light and hot heat,
half truths
and you almost nearly know me.
Of heart and want,
of missing.
This here meeting place
tries to fill our gaps,
we push and pull to be-
to erase and re-fill,
it is friends and comfort,
meals and drinks and chat and arguments.
It is the place I can breathe and be

 but it is not home.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Ouch.

I woke up at 3 am this Sunday morning with my hand throbbing.

On investigation I found an impressive cut that has gone a little festy and had become a raised, red lump on the inside bottom of my right palm. I have no idea how I got it. There was no incident yesterday at the café or lying around like a lizard outside or at the swimming hole or during dinner last night to create a slight but fairly painful injury. I’m sure it wasn’t there when I went to bed.

One thoughtful and perhaps perceptive friend has suggested this may be the result of some serious wanking activity. If I have managed to wank to this degree in my sleep I am both impressed and horrified at myself. My sex life might be a little ordinary at the moment but that really is extreme! Before you jump to the predictable yet potentially apt conclusion that I was drunk and managed to do it without noticing I’d like to point out that that while I did have a very enjoyable evening with friends and fell in love with a few glasses of wine I was certainly not pissed – a little pissy maybe but I am certain I would remember slicing my hand open. It’s sore enough that I should remember when and how it happened.

 Unlike Thursday night when during the first of my Australian farewells to a beautiful friend we decided it would be a fabulous idea to drink a bottle of wine each so that on Friday we felt hateful and an inclination never to socialize with each other again. That morning I woke up with a sore spot on my stomach, which is now turning into a fairly unsexy bruise. However unlike this morning, Friday morning I was not surprised. I had indeed been wonderfully pissed and suspect there was some kind of naked running into furniture during the middle of the night in a desperate effort to get water or pee. I don’t remember but this may have (has) happened before. It is an ongoing issue of ridiculous injuries.

My ex thought I should write a book on the considerable amount of ridiculous injuries I have sustained. Although he has caused me some significant injuries himself they are on the whole emotional and not that ridiculous or funny at all so they won’t be included in the book. And perhaps a whole book on ridiculous injuries could get a little tedious (and considering quite a few happen when pissed I can’t remember enough for a book anyway) so a Sunday blog session will have to do.

 The book idea was inspired fairly early in our ex-relationship. On our honeymoon I had to go to a Physio to help me walk again after I had crippled myself with a foot injury. There was a decent degree of embarrassment when he asked how I had done it and I told him it was from sitting in the car. He agreed this was an unusual way to cripple yourself to the point of not being able to walk unassisted. I’d like to blame the ex for the long hours of sitting as a passenger as he got so carsick I wasn’t allowed to drive. So I spent the long hours sitting retardedly with one foot under me and had managed to get some tendons or something tangled up so he was able to sort it our fairly quickly. I wish he was here now because I seem to have done it again. Not a learner from mistakes but no one who knows me will be at all surprised about that..

 Not long after I had to embarrass myself again in front of a physio by admitting that I’d hurt my back from Daggy Dancing. My wonderful friend Dee and I had perfected an excellent routine that consisted of getting rip roaring drunk and then busting out moves based on Elaine from Seinfield and Kath and Kel from Kath and Kim fame. Our deliberate, jerky, contorted, hideously bad dance moves combined with dead pan faces proved entertaining for most of the crowd lucky enough to witness two girls looking like they were being poked with cattle prods while having ants in their vaginas. It was fairly rigorous – and entirely spastic – but before our careers could take off with an audition on X Factor a particularly enthusiastic Elaine inspired side-up-out kick tweaked something it shouldn’t have. Clearly I either hadn’t had enough to drink or hadn’t warmed up sufficiently but my Daggy Dancing days were over. Dee, as we all know, is still busting out DD moves all over the world to much acclaim.

 There have been other embarrassing confessions to masseurs, chiropractors, doctors, even a dentist in Guatemala but they are for another day – or perhaps a book. Suffice it to say it is lucky I have a deep love of the ridiculous because it’s up and slapping me in the face regularly. My life as an Ionesco absurdist play ☺

Friday, April 13, 2012

Smash Bang Boom

A few weeks ago I got smashed by a student. It was interesting how shocking it was when volatile, aggressive, uncontrolled behavior is not that uncommon at our school or in our community. Or even in our society. But it was indeed shocking. I was shocked.

Why was I shocked? The day before my colleague was verbally abused by a student who was physically intimidating and extremely violent in his threats. His threats were so abusive that she was sent home for her own safety- as it was impossible to remove him in the state he was in. This was shocking and not shocking, he has been verbally abusive towards staff before, not regularly, maybe twice in the 2 years I’ve been here. He is one of my students and he has never been disrespectful or aggressive in my class or towards me in any way. I sit beside him and help him with his work, he is clever and articulate but has difficulty getting his ideas into English words on the paper. He is funny and makes jokes, he is restless and regularly walks in late, walks out “I need water Annalea” (“I’ve had enough for now and am going to smoke in the toilets now Annalea”). He is strong in culture and has a family who is very powerful in the community. He plays football and goes hunting. And apparently he would like to smash up my colleague, kill her dogs, kill her potentially…A shocking but perhaps not surprising glitch in the never-normality of our lives…

So the day after I was on lunch duty and while my back was turned and I was putting stinky uniform shirts into the laundry basket (because part of having a Masters in Education means I get to do students’ washing every day) when suddenly I felt an incredible force hit me from behind and my head snapped all the way backwards then flipped all the way forwards again. I was shocked and confused enough to think:

• Wow, I didn’t know my head could go back so far.
• What just happened?
• That was so hard my hair has fallen out of it’s sad excuse of a hair clip (this is not surprising, my hair falls out of anything at the slightest excuse – I can bite down on an almond and it all falls out)
• I wonder if I just looked as freaky as the little girl out of the Exorcist movie whose head does a 360.
• What just happened?
• Oooooh, that’s gonna hurt…

So I turned around to see what happened and an irate kid who had been doing the wrong thing – and was severely pissed off for being reminded he was doing the thing – was being held back by an older student and yelling “Fuck you! I’m going to fucking smash you!” And I thought:
• Smash me? Again? But you just did!
• Right, he’s extremely mad, get the fuck out of here.
• What just happened?

So I walked out very quickly only to have students yelling out at me and pointing behind me. I turned to see the irate boy coming after me with a wheelie bin yelling “Fuck you! I’m going to fucking smash you! I’m going to fucking kill you!” and I wondered:
• If he’s still threatening to smash me and hasn’t actually done it again, does that mean he’s calming down?
• Even if he can lift that bin, is he strong enough to throw it at me?
• How fast can I run in thongs?

So it was pretty awful. I felt pretty awful – and extremely sore, my first experience of whiplash. Apparently even though it was interesting to see how far my neck can go backwards without snapping it isn’t an unplanned experiment that should be repeated unless I want to walk around with Frankenstein-like stiffness. And it was awful having to decide what to do in response to the incident particularly, what to accept and what to challenge. What to take a stand on or ignore and walk away from.

But I don’t think it was an incident only possible because it involved a particular boy from a particular place or culture. I have felt that threat of violence before – in Melbourne bars after 12pm, towards me/other staff and other students at my previous job in a mainstream middle class school, from the type of guy or girl that is a bad drunk and gets argumentative and aggressive, at a game of footy – on the field and off. I don’t blame a boy or place or culture, I may blame aspects of a society that throws money at a problem then turns it’s back when that hasn’t worked and offers jail as a consequence. Ultimately that violence is there, we all know it, we have all sensed it. I don’t know what or if we can really do anything about that part of human nature. The only thing I really know is that it was shocking – it’s not the norm for me, for most of the students, for other staff, other people in the community, for most of us it’s not acceptable and that at least is a positive.


Some people come here and think they can change the world all by themselves-that’s annoying – but others think we can’t make any difference at all. They’re both full of shit, there are incidents every day that allow for hope, change – for an individual or group. Things that happen that are awesome and awful, that we have no control over, but then we can choose and that can make or not make the difference.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

The Art of Learning

I have been travelling around the north island of New Zealand with my friend, her 5/12 year old daughter and her cousin. Not your usual road trip crew but it has been lovely. And of course I have learnt a lot from the 5 ½ year old – sometimes I think they should e the teachers and anyone over the age of 28 should be in their classroom.

What I have learned…

Fashion tips: if the colour of the scarf doesn’t suit your skin, tie it around your waist (seriously smart!)

Priorities: Drink your wine, then we’ll play cards.

The joy of playing the game even if you aren’t winning (where the object is to lose your cards): Oh goody, I get another card! Now I have more, yay!

The importance of questioning everything: Why are you a teacher? Why do you have tattoos? What is your favorite colour? What is your other favorite colour? What is your favorite word? What do you call the colour of your hair? What are you eating? Where are we going? How long will it take to get there? Are we going to the beach? Are you going to swim? What does that taste like? What does that say? What flavor ice cream did you get? Why?

All about kids cartoon characters – there are some very annoying creatures on TV…Wonder Pets sing all the time and are so cute they make me suicidal at 8.30am and the half cat half dog character is up there with Ren and Stimpy in potentially evil weirdness.

That everything mundane is better when explained in a made up song: “We’re driving around lots of windy roads and there is sometimes rain and sometimes sun….We’re going to the beach and I’m going to have a swim…”

Rhianna aint all that bad, especially when sung very loudly from the backseat by a 5½ year old.

How to ribbon dance in the bar of a very quiet, classy restaurant. And enjoy it.

It doesn’t matter how old you are, if the very cute barman catches you ribbon dancing in the bar of a very quiet, classy restaurant you will feel a little embarrassed.

How bad my memory is: Yes, we stopped on the way remember and you got a coffee near the McDonalds and I went to the toilet and then we had a drink in the cafe. (No, I didn’t remember any of it even though it was only 3 days ago…)

Argue for what you want.


It is important to verbalize your excitement: Yay. YAY! Oh, goody! I love this! This is my favorite – or one of my favorites.. This not only enhances your own excitement but reminds more boring people that we should be excited at least 10 times a day.

Democracy should reign-ish: OK we’re going to choose which card game to play – when I say the names, you have to say which one you want to play. No – net (Russian)-which one do you REALLY want to play? NO-NET! Which one! (until you get the answer right..) OK, tell me which one of these 3 ideas would be the best present for my boyfriend (I did tell her I probably wasn’t the best judge of this). No-net! That is boring! Which other one?

You should be proud of any achievement, even if it means you look like Mr. Miagi wearing your swimming goggles and swallow more water than tread. Making it to the edge of the pool in a desperate doggy paddle should be celebrated by all.

Having an audience turns nothing much into something wonderful: Ok, everyone look at me; dance, swim, twirl, put in my hairband…

Organization is a necessity: OK, first we will eat then I will have my chocolate then we will go and play a game then we will all go and see if there are frogs in the pond then we will watch me swim.

Gratitude is directly related to happiness: (On her way to her first win of Fish) Oh Goody, I have 2 pair of 8’s! I’m soo lucky and soo happy!

The joy of bearing witness to others’ achievements: On our last night of the road trip, Malika won “Fish” for the first time. And therefore it was the best game we played-for her and for me.

So thank you to the very beautiful, vivacious and bright as a button Malika for reminding me of the important things in life, the many little things worth celebrating. It is always a pleasure learning new things and if you can gain a little wisdom from a 5½ year old who is sweet and smart and full of insight then all the better.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

A kiss

I close my eyes for sleep and I dream of kissing.

The kiss where your face is held and you can’t feel your toes, it feels like there is no other part of you existing except for that kiss.

Because when my eyes are open, sometimes I feel

so empty, the weight of it dragging my feet, worried that if I step down too hard, the earth will crack open and dirt and leaves and debris will begin crawling up my legs, to cover and swallow and bury me.

Heartbreakingly lonely. For my friends, my family, for the people I love and miss continuously. Every time I see a part of myself it revolts me; a limb, a toe, an eye so singular and detached. A desperate insect flying at the glass jar wall, time and futile time again, to break free.

Disappointed. For having had a life, a lifestyle, for being a person that was liked and loved and had meaning. For somehow feeling responsible for losing that and knowing, really, I can’t get it back.

So fucking homeless; a life in boxes stacked one on another, lifeless, useless, meaningless. The things that were part of a place, that fit with friends and events and laughter now echoing and stagnant in a cement container.

Lost, aimless, directionless. I remember who I was but can’t picture, no matter how hard I try, who I might be. Living in the present, desperately gripping, clinging to each day, each moment before it moves into a void of tomorrow.

Haunted.

Wasted.

But when I close my eyes, I breathe, a small moment of darkness and quiet where I dream of a kiss. And it is enough to allow the tiniest glimmer of hope. Enough to go to sleep to. Enough to get up for.