The Runaway Girl

The Absurd

June 12, 2018

absurd

əbˈsəːd/

adjective

1.

wildly unreasonable, illogical, or inappropriate.

…like this blog post…which you are about to read out of curiosity haha!

I haven’t written here in a while and that is because it has been a really odd few months I’m not going to lie. Since my massive growth spurt at 15, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced as much of a personal growth in such a short space of time like I have in the last 6 months.

I love the freedom of living overseas and the new experiences and challenges I am constantly facing. I have enjoyed embracing my newfound singledom and accepted the challenge of learning how to be happy on my own. Although it can sometimes be lonely and hard I feel like I have learnt more about myself over these past few months than I have done in my whole life. I’m eating healthier, exercising more, I’ve lost weight, I’m feeling more confident and I’m just generally feeling a lot more positive about life so I couldn’t be more proud of my personal development.

Through all the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations that this city and life has thrown at me… my job here in London has been the one constant that I have been able to rely upon for stability – mental, social, financial and otherwise. The routine is comfortable, the people have become my family here. I have met some truly amazing human beings over here who are incredibly wise, supportive and who I can be myself around.

Recently though, I was made redundant. The acquisition of the company I work for by a bigger media conglomerate meant that a large percentage of the people I work with, including myself, have had their roles made redundant. The feelings of rejection that come with this are inevitable. I’ve ultimately questioned my worth as an employee, what I have to offer as a person, and I’ve been forced to stare anxiety straight in the eye. But change is inevitable, it’s healthy and it’s hard.

Yesterday at work, I was lost in deep thought staring into my teacup when a co-worker swung by the kitchen counter for a chat. He smiled at me and asked how I was. We’re the same age and both living away from home in another country so we have a lot of common ground.

He then went on to tell me about a book he’s reading at the moment. This book is by the famous philosopher Albert Camus and all about his theory of Absurdism. My interest immediately peaked. I’ve always been fascinated by philosophy. My guilty pleasure is allowing my mind to wander into deep places that both intrigue and frighten me.

In philosophy, ‘’the Absurd’’ refers to the conflict between the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and the human inability to find any. As such, many people seek meaning through all sorts of avenues and divine mediums, religions and gods.

In this context, absurd does not mean ‘’logically impossible’’ but rather ‘’humanly impossible. The universe and the human mind do not each separately cause the Absurd, but rather the Absurd arises by the contradictory nature of the two exisiting simultaneously.

”The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion” – Albert Camus

It is interesting that this very freedom Camus describes is presented as both a rebellion against as well as an embrace of the absurdity of existence. Many people find the human lack of ability to find meaning or inherent value of life to be extremely un-nerving. I find it freeing. The absence of meaning actually makes me feel good. I think to myself, if nothing matters then I can do anything. It’s as if the meaninglessness somehow makes me more aware of the endless possibilities. After all, without beauty, love, tragedy or danger it would be almost easy to live.

Human beings are social creatures, and as such we are programmed to care about how others perceive us. It’s a primitive thing. If there is an absence of meaning then there is an absence of social pressure. If there is no point, there is no goal and if there is no goal, then there is no reason to care what others think of us. Too old to be single… too young to understand love… ? “The realisation that life is absurd cannot be an end, but only a beginning.”

An Absurd Reasoning: Suicide and The Absurd
”There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. ”

The theory of Absurdism argues that human attempts to find meaning, those either inherent or from one’s self (existentialism), will ultimately fail. This is because existence is meaningless on the grand scale. Camus argues that we should embrace the Absurd (the contradictory co-existence of the value-seeking human mind and the valueless world) and defiantly seek meaning anyway. The search itself is meaningful and the only way to make meaning is to have experiences. Suicide ultimately ends those experiences and under this theory is undesirable because it ends all meaning.

In order to live a fulfilling life we must accept that there is nothing and live our lives in constant rebellion against that very fact. I love this notion. I interpret it as the challenge each day to find joy, satisfaction and pleasure in the little things. To search for meaning (despite the human inability to do so) and in doing so, learning that the search for personal meaning is what truly matters. It’s important to remember that all experiences provide meaning, even the bad ones.

I’m not sure if my co-worker will ever know how well-timed and how much this lunchtime conversation meant to me. It made me feel empowered, mindful and at peace with my circumstances. He gave me a big hug afterward and left me to go back to staring into my teacup.

The Absurd makes me feel more in touch with myself as a person and as a human being. I feel more grounded and more self aware than ever and more sure of my journey here in London and through life. How does it make you feel?

There may be more Earth-like planets in the milky way than there are grains of sand on all the beaches on our Earth. The fact that we all exist on this great big planet in this vast universe could be the result of millions of incredible coincidences, by divine design or perhaps even part of a greater plan. We must accept that we may never know the answer to this. But one thing that is for sure is that this life is in fact… absurd.

Easter Weekend in the ‘Dam

April 5, 2018

Amsterdam is a city of contrasts, famous for its canals, its beautiful tall leaning houses, coffee-shops and of course the infamous Red Light District. But there is so much more to this liberal city. It’s early April, spring time in Europe and tulip season is in full bloom. A myriad of coloured bulbs line the streets, hundreds of bikes scurrying around, bells ringing at tourists. The faint smell of Mary Jane lingers in the air constantly. I was excited to sample Dutch sweets, explore the city and of course I looked forward to the many opportunities over the weekend I would have to pull out the Dad jokes by making full use of my last name (Holland) – much to the cringe of my friends.

Amsterdam is an unusual city that is built on wooden foundations that are laid in clay and peat deep beneath the ground. There are hundreds of bridges built over the canals that connect the different parts of the city where tourists light up joints on the roadside with cheeky smiles, women parade their bodies in windows lit up in fluorescent red and hundreds of locals cycle through the streets. For a city that is so well known for it’s sin culture, I’m always intrigued by Amsterdam’s beauty, open-mindedness and liberality.

On the first day of our trip we visted the hidden annex that Anne Frank and her family used to hide during the war. Inside the building is a book shelf that was used to conceal a small door that leads up to the hidden annex. Steep wooden stairs lead up to the rooms where the Frank family sought refuge during the war. There are pencil markings on the walls, photos and drawings that Anne and her sister had stuck to their bedroom wall that are still in tact, preserved by a layer of glass. It was very sobering and also quite amazing to see how one little girl’s diary, written in the secret annex, could provide such a poignant glimpse into the world of what it was like to be living as a Jewish child in Nazi occupied Holland. Anne’s wish was to live even after death, and so her voice has transcended generations through her diary that has been translated into 70 different languages.

Over the weekend we took cringe tourist photos, and sampled local treats. We fell in love with Dutch stroop wafels which are these delicious thin waffles that are sandwiched with a caramel filling and decorated with chocolate and toppings. We tried dutch pancakes, meatballs and bought chicken tenders from a shop called FEBO which sells hot food in vending machines. At the Heineken experience, you’re given a wrist band with two little plastic tokens in it which you use to redeem beer at the end in the bar. TIP: scan the floor for lost tokens, there are plenty around but heed warning you may end up getting far too juiced and slut dropping at 4pm on a Monday afternoon in a family-friendly tourist bar.

We did a free walking tour on our last day which was probably one of my favourite parts of the entire trip. During the tour we learnt that in order to preserve its history, it’s illegal in Amsterdam to vandalise the city in any way. In the Red Light District, an unkown artist famously bolted a metal piece of artwork deep into the cobble stones one night. This golden piece depicts a female torso and a hand cupping one of her breasts, symbolising Amsterdam’s ladies of the night and the anonymity of their profession.

50 euros for a ‘suck and a fuck’ our tour guide bluntly informed us. These women work 10 hour shifts where they will see around 16 clients on average. Back in the day, these women were highly regarded in the city. Sailors who had been away at sea for months at a time would arrive into Amsterdam and head straight to the district for pleasure and relief. Now a famous tourist attraction, hundreds of curious travellers stop by to stare into these windows and walk inside if they dare. The red light district is made up of many narrow, dark alleyways that snake around the streets which are populated with coffee shops and bars. One night as we were wandering around we saw one of the women behind a window winking and beckoning at a flutstered Chinese tourist. His girlfriend stood there in a fit of laughter while he freaked out. I did wonder, with all the women parading themselves in the windows, surely there would be a market for the male equivalent? Our tour guide informed us that at one stage four men did in fact work in the Red Light District, but due to incredibly high demand and biological short-falls, they were unable to keep it up (pun intended).

There are around 250 coffee shops that sell weed in Amsterdam, although most of the weed supplied in coffee shops is illegally sourced due to the city’s confusing laws on soft drugs. The 1992 policy on soft drugs sets out that possession of 30 grams of cannabis for personal use is tolerated, although production of soft drugs continues to be a criminal offence. These coffee shops are allowed to sell a maximum of 5g to each customer and possess no more than 500g in their stores at one time.

The Dutch take on a liberal stance when it comes to many controversial topics such as euthanasia, drugs, prostitution, same-sex marriage and abortion. For these reasons, Amsterdam continues to be one of my favourite, progressive little cities. It’s a unique melting pot of culture, gluttony, history, lust, pleasure and beauty, always pushing the boundaries and providing the perfect canvas for human freedoms.

Poland

March 12, 2018

Poland has been a place that has been at the top of my travel list for some time now. I recently returned from a 5 day trip, visiting Warsaw and Krakow while I was there. Safe to say, I have never felt the bone-chilling kind of cold I experienced while on this trip. ”-12 but feels like -21” my weather app informed me. Well, shiiit. Three layers of pants, multiple jumpers, my Kathmandu jacket and a fur-lined snow jacket couldn’t keep the frost from climbing up my bones.

We arrived into Warsaw late afternoon on a Friday. We dropped off our things at the Air BnB and set off with our sights set on Polish cuisine and drinks. At the first bar we went to we ordered a ‘plate of cheese’ (which literally was a plate….of cheese!) and Polish pierogi to share. Pierogi are these delicious doughy Polish dumplings. They come in various flavours, some are stuffed with cheese and potato or meat and sauerkraut to name a few. A couple rounds of cocktails were sunk and then we found ourselves onto the next place, a dimly lit Cigar and Whiskey bar, Bar and Books. We were enticed (and at the same time confused) by the laser pointers and dubstep music playing outside. Alas, it worked and lured us in – something I love about Eastern European countries is how random and eclectic their party culture is. Completely opposite to what we were expecting, we found ourselves sipping expensive cocktails in a sophisticated smokey bar, huddled in a corner by a bookshelf.

A few drinks deep and we decided it was time to search for our next destination. It was here we discovered Warsaw’s hidden gem on google maps ‘Deep Throat Shots Bar’. We jumped out of our seats on a mission to find this mysterious tavern. Safe to say, we were not disappointed. A round of BJ shots kicked the night off. The bar staff gave us weird looks and laughed as we slung our arms behind our backs and went in for it. Putin’s Balls, Grandpa’s alive, flaming shots and more BJ shots were to follow. We partied with the Pole’s and it turned out to be a bizarre night of making friends with people who spoke little english in the shared bathrooms and pulling out our best eastern european dance moves in front of the DJ’s decks.

While we were in Krakow we visited a number of museums. Warsaw Uprising Museum and POLIN Museum of the History of Jews were definitely worth the visit, both very insightful and offering a detailed look back at Poland’s history. On Sunday I caught a train to Krakow to begin the solo leg of my trip. Navigating train stations in a country that actually speaks english is difficult at best, so this was always going to be a bit tricky, but I made it in the end.

Night time had fallen by the time I arrived, so I navigated my way in the dark to my hostel, wheeling my broken suitcase behind me through thick snow. My hostel was tucked away in a dark alley way, a tall locked iron gate in front… not ominous at all for a single female traveller. I eventually made it inside and after dropping off my things, I headed off in search of a 24 hour pierogi place that the receptionist had recommended. I was not disappointed! A plate of oily slavic potato and cheese pierogi was served up and I was the happiest gal in Krakow.

The next day I woke up early and was picked up by a tour bus that was organised by my hostel. It was a little over an hour to get to our destination, Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. They played a documentary in the van that we all watched in silence the entire way. I gazed out the window, at the streets, the mountains and the houses that we passed. They were all covered in a layer of thick white snow, like a christmas cake wrapped in white fondant. The journey to the camp was incredibly beautiful and the scenery helped distract me from the emotionally charged day that I had willingly signed up to.

Once we arrived, we were ushered through security and grabbed headsets and radios as we were greeted by our guide. She led us to the entrance of the camp. As we stood outside the tall iron gate, we looked up to read the famous words ‘Arbeit macht frei’ – a German phrase which translates to ‘work sets you free’. This sign was put up by the Nazis to trick their prisoners into believing this camp offered hope and a new life for them – everything that it was not. We walked through the museum as a group, observing photos, piles of shoes, mountains of human hair, combs and belongings that belonged to the prisoners of this camp. It was sobering.

We walked down a long hallway lined with rows of mugshot style portraits of the prisoners. There were hundreds of photos. Their sunken, sad eyes glared out of the frames. What got to me the most was the dates marked on these photos. The date they were admitted to the camp and the date that they died. Most only lived for around 2 months, some only a mere few days. This room probably affected me the most because it humanised the experience of Auschwitz. We walked past torture rooms, peering into dark brick cells that were painted with sadness and horror. We wandered through the barracks where the prisoners slept – eight to a bunk, our guide informed us. They were made out of wooden planks, 3 bunks high and about 1.5m wide. It is hard to imagine a human existence so dehumanising and miserable. Words can’t describe the conditions these people were subjected to and to see it first hand made the experience so much more real than any history lesson back in high school could ever depict.

Snow covered the entire camp, all along the railway tracks and on top of the barracks, adding to the haunted vibe of the camp. My experience at Auschwitz overall felt very conflicted. It was fascinating and also incredibly sobering at the same time. It actually surprised me that many people questioned my motives to visit Auschwitz once I returned back to London.

”Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women and children, mainly Jews from various countries of Europe. Auschwitz-Birkenau 1940 – 1945.”

I think it’s important to acknowledge the past and to honour those who lost their lives during these dark times – to learn from humanity’s mistakes to ensure history is not repeated. Poland was an incredible trip. This country has a rich history and also a painful one. But the people are testament to Poland’s strength and resilience. There are many amazing museums I visited during my visit, many beautiful buldings to walk through, walking tours to adventure on, culture to explore, cuisines to try and people to meet. This is why I love travel. It opens your eyes and mind to new experiences and you will always come out richer because of it.

Drama in Stokey

March 7, 2018

It was a rainy Tuesday night. My friend and I walked down the Stoke Newington high street in North London, shielding our faces from the droplets that were coming down thick and fast. We decided to duck into a hip gastro-pub on the street corner that beckoned us in with the promise of good pub food and drinks.

The pub was bustling but not packed and still quiet enough to have a conversation inside. We were taken to our table in the corner of the room which was furnished with wooden tables and chairs, quirky decor, candles and a good vibe. We took our coats off, brushing the water off our backs and took a seat with a couple of menus.

We ordered drinks and food and were having a good time catching up and planning our next weekend trip. During the evening however, I noticed that a man had entered the restaurant and was acting strangely. He had made his way over to our corner of the room where my friend and I were sitting. He was talking on his cellphone, leaning towards the glass looking out through the window onto the dark, rainy street. He was also rustling around with his jacket a lot. My back was to this man but I noticed this was happening for quite some time when a woman made her way into the bar and sat at a table by herself in the middle of the room.

All the while this was happening, I was having dinner with my friend and was overall pretty distracted. However, I noticed that the woman kept looking over at this man standing in the corner by us and they were exchanging looks. This behaviour stood out to me and started to make me nervous at this point. I moved my phone slightly towards me and that’s when I decided I should probably check where my bag was as well. The blood quickly drained from my face when I realised it wasn’t hanging off the back of my chair where I had left it. In fact it wasn’t on any of the other chairs and it definitely wasn’t on the floor. That’s when I really started to panic.

I stood up, making a bit of a scene. My friend and I were looking under and around the table frantically. The bar staff must have noticed something was off at this point. The man was still rustling around awkwardly with his jacket and made a b-line for the door as soon as he saw me looking for my bag. Call it a woman’s instincts but I just knew this man had my bag. I chased after him in the restaurant, a lead ball in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t believe I was about to accuse this man of taking my bag, but I knew I had to be sure.

”Excuse me, do you have my bag? Did you take my bag? DID YOU TAKE MY BAG?”

The adrenalin had kicked in and my voice became increasingly louder and angrier he continued walking toward the door, ignoring me.

One of the bar staff ran to block the entrance, preventing him from leaving and I grabbed the man’s jacket to stop him. I lifted his jacket up and low and behold there was my handbag. My big bulky Doc Martens leather hand bag (even I have trouble lugging it around, not sure how this man expected to make a run with it stealthily). I snatched it away from him and he gave it up easily.

I was in shock and disbelief at what had just happened. I was shaking a lot at this point, scrambling through my bag to make sure nothing had been stolen. The man just walked straight out of the pub, not phased in the slightest. I couldn’t believe the events that had just transpired in the last few minutes. The bar staff apologised and offered me a shot of tequila for my nerves. I obliged.

It’s a weird feeling when something like this happens to you. It feels like a personal, planned out attack. All of my most valuable belongings were in that bag. My wallet, debit cards, ID, oyster card, house keys, work pass. I would have been royally screwed if I had lost it all. It was upsetting to think one human being could do something like this to another and a hard reminder than not everyone in this world is good and trustworthy.

I walked past the table of guys next to us that had sat there watching on stupidly in silence the entire time. ”Nothing to see here boys”.

Afterwards, when I told my friends and family about the ordeal they reminded me that this could have ended a lot worse. What could have happened if this man had a knife or acted out aggressively? None of that had even crossed my mind at the time. I’m a bit of a justice warrior and there was no way I was going to let this guy take off with my bag.

I’ve learnt a valuable lesson from this ordeal which is to always be on my guard and watch my bag in London, heck anywhere in the world. Unfortunately, I think I can be too trusting but the reality is you can’t trust everyone. Some people are desperate and the world is not all good.

The other moral of this story is don’t fuck with a Kiwi girl and her handbag. I will find you, I will track you down and I will get my handbag back.

Waitangi Day in London

February 6, 2018

Happy Waitangi Day!

It’s February 6th. The day Kiwis commemorate the founding of modern New Zealand – the good, the bad and the ugly. On our National day we remember the equal partnership entered into by Māori and British as the idealistic foundation of the nation. Today reminds us of the need to continue to uphold the treaty’s principles by addressing inequalities and wrongdoings that exist in our country’s past.

However, I believe this Waitangi Day is particularly special. For one, New Zealand’s Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, became the first woman to be granted speaking rights at the upper Waitangi marae to mark this significant day.

Jacinda was elected New Zealand’s Prime Minister last October 2017. Not only is she our third female Prime Minister, incredibly hardworking, caring and intelligent, she’s also pregnant and transcending all stereotypes and misconceptions around women and the workplace. Jacinda resonates with women everywhere, all over the world, who have been asked whether their baby plans may affect their ability to do a job (up yours Mark Richardson). She is unique in the sense she is incredibly relatable to the gen Y and millennial voters who she pitched to along the campaign trail. She’s a grade A badass, smashing the gender gap and representing a generational change. Basically, she’s a fucking legend.

So how did all Kiwis in London celebrate this historical event? In the only way we know how to, by getting completely mortal and taking over the streets of London on the great Waitangi Day Pub Crawl.

Hoards of pregnant Jacinda Arderns stormed the streets alongside L&P bottles, 100s & 1000s biscuits, the Nek Minnit guy and his scooter, Pink Batts, Tui billboards, Suzy Katos, South Auckland window washers, Gloriavale members, rugby players… you name it, we turned up.

From what I remember, it was a bloody good day. We started early, drinking at 10am and lining our stomachs with hash browns, sausage rolls and T-sauce. There was so much National Pride radiating from the streets, Kiwi shenanigans that left Brit’s scratching their heads and backyard cricket on the streets. The day was topped off with a loud and proud National Anthem sung at the tops of our lungs in the middle of Westminster. Hear our voices, we entreeeaaaattt!

Maybe back home, Waitangi Day is celebrated differently, but when you travel and live overseas you realise how special New Zealand and being a Kiwi truly is.

Uncle Jim

January 15, 2018

I remember your house at the top of the street, where my Grandparents lived,
Some of the best times of my life were spent on this street, it’s funny how things change.
You would pop ’round for visits, Grandma would pour tea and lay out biscuits,
You’d chat for hours.

You were my Granny’s best friend, confidante and brother,
You made mischief as children, always up to no good.
Befriended a scraggly cat who you used to keep your feet warm during the war,
Tucked away, hiding in your family’s bomb shelter in the backyard.
‘The Bombed Out Cat’ you called him.

Now I’m in London where you all grew up,
But I will never know the hardship that you all endured,
Those were dark days, but you were in it together.

I remember how you shared your blueberry muffin with me when I was a child,
You were kind and knowing.
You were also a bit of a bastard, but a charming one,
A sharp tongue, sharp mind and sharp bite like Gina’s.

Your dog, she didn’t like us very much,
She would yap and bite, we were scared of her.
But she loved you.

Although we weren’t that close, family is blood.
I feel more homesick than ever after hearing of your passing,
I hope my Granny will be strong and you will keep watch of her, wherever you are.

RIP Uncle Jim.

Be a Creator not a Consumer

January 5, 2018

Happy New Year everyone! Now’s the time to make all your shitty New Years resolutions that you’ll only stick to for the first few weeks of January… make ’em count!

For 2017, my New Year’s Resolution was to see it snow. It sounds silly, but to achieve this goal I quit my job in March, took a leap of faith and moved across to the other side of the world to set up a new life in London leaving my friends and family behind. Come December, I finally saw snow falling from the grey, dreary London sky. Although small, this was a significant milestone for me. It’s been nine months since I moved and I haven’t looked back. London has been challenging in many aspects, but also incredibly rewarding and to be able to say that I fulfilled this little goal of mine felt amazing.

This week I received two care packages in the mail from friends back home. Goodies such as kiwi favourites (hollaaa caramilk and perky nanas!) a salted caramel cookie time bucket, a pink soft toy sloth, a beautiful piece of local artwork, whittakers chocolate, hand written letters and cards. These little reminders of home made me feel so loved. Especially in the new year I feel so grateful for the people that I have in my life who take the time and are willing to part with the money (damn, shipping is expensive!) to send me such amazing gifts. I’m still working through the goodies mum sent me last year and I wear my handmade wool socks every night. These gifts are truely appreciated from this often home sick, shivering Kiwi!

Another little milestone to mention, I’ve managed to replace my room! Finally! We have a lovely couple moving in next week and I’ll be moving into the single room in the flat so I’m looking forward to cheaper rent (more money for travel!) and meeting new people.

This year I have decided to take a more philosphical approach to my New Year’s resolution. I’ve decided to make a concious effort to be a creator, not a consumer. We are so obsessed over social media and worried about how we portray ourselves to our online communities that we often forget to step back from our screens and live our lives. Instead of creating original content, we’re an audience who passively intake content on our newsfeeds which is targeted at us by big media conglomerates and advertising companies (ok my inner media student will stop now…)

It’s simple. You just need to focus on creating something that interests you instead of mindlessly consuming content. It could be as simple as picking up a new hobby or reading more books. Writing music instead of just listening, learning to cook instead of just watching cooking shows or picking up a sport. So far I’ve joined a social netball team, supported a local artist by buying their original oil painting to hang in my room, purchased Pride and Prejudice from the Notting Hill Book shop – thought I could start my resolution off with a classic! These are all positive steps toward a much bigger life goal.

I’ve also decided that this is the year to put down my phone more often and smell the roses, so to speak. To focus on the people that are actually present in my life rather than try to impress silent observers on my social media. If London has taught me anything it is to be inspired and be open to new experiences. To be brave, to explore and to wander.

What are your New Year’s resolution?

I am Titanium

December 5, 2017

It’s been 7 years since I underwent the spinal fusion operation that corrected my scoliosis. It was the best and the bravest decision I have ever made and it truly changed my life.

7 years ago to the day, it was my 17th birthday. My parents hired a bouncy castle from a family friend which we put up in the back of our garden. I had the best time with all of my friends that night. But there was this fear, lingering in the back of my mind. There was one week until D-Day.

17 year old me was mortified at the idea of having spinal surgery. I was incredibly self conscious and scared. I had spent the past year reluctantly in and out of doctor’s offices, standing half naked in front of strange men and women while they poked and prodded me, x-rayed me and forced me to spend hours in loud clanking MRI machines. I was bitter that this was happening to me and I argued with my parents constantly. It all felt so unfair.

There was a constant dull ache in my back, none of my clothes fit me properly and the ordeal took a big hit to my self esteem. It took me a while to move out of the denial stage and into the acceptance phase which in all honestly I don’t think I quite got to until the day of my surgery.

Dec 13th 2010, a week after my 17th birthday. I remember waking up early that morning, my parents drove me to the hospital. The sun hadn’t risen yet and I sat silently in the car staring out the window. I was scared, nervous and angry all at the same time.

I remember sitting in the hospital bed and a nurse handing me a container of pain killers which I knocked back. An hour later or more the doctor’s were finally ready for me and I was wheeled into the operating room. They inserted the anaesthetic needle into the canular in my arm, tears were streaming down my face. A lovely nurse told me that everything would be ok and that’s the last thing I remember.

I woke up several hours later in the ICU, feeling like I had been smacked by a bus. My vision was blurry and it took some time before I remembered where I was and what had happened. I lay very still. I saw the blurred outline of my parents and my sister standing at the end of my bed. Sam was waving magazines up in the air at me enthusiastically. I managed a weak, tired smile.

The following day the nurses forced me to get up out of bed and walk. I remember being kindof pissed off that they made me do that because I was in so much pain but I reluctantly obliged. The best way to describe the feeling post-surgery is having a lead weight strapped to your back which is incredibly stiff and difficult to move. I did the roll and push up technique they had taught me pre-surgery and finally made it onto both feet . I took a few steps with the granny walker they gave me until suddenly I felt the blood drain from my face. Stars and then black. Seconds later I regained consciousness, a flurry of nurses were around me lifting me back onto the bed. I did tell them it was a bad idea…

I spent the next week in that hospital bed drifting in and out of sleep. It was a drug-fueled blur of hallucinations (not the good kind), family and friends visiting, and eating little bits of ice cream and jelly. I would feel upset when my family would leave me to go home because then I was suddenly on my own again, left to my drugged mind’s wanderings.

A few days later I was up again for round two. This time I walked around the hospital ward confidently, showing off and amazing everybody like I was a baby and these were my first steps. The next week was not without it’s hurdles, however. I had moments of panic, like the time I got stuck in the bathroom trying to dress myself and nearly blacked out. I was crying out for help but my cousins had come to visit and my family were all talking loudly and nobody could hear me until my sister heard my muffled screeches and sounded the alarm. I’m laughing to myself as these memories come back to me like getting Sam to shave my legs in the hospital shower while I sat on a chair too exhausted to give two shits about my dignity.

I was incredibly happy the day I was discharged from the hospital. I strolled out that day feeling like a new woman. Mum had bought me a beautiful dress which looked great on my new figure and sat well for once. I went home that day with a cocktail of drugs and a new spine.

Years later, I thank my 17 year old self for being brave. It’s a lot for a young person to take on, it’s a bit traumatic to be honest but it truely was the best choice. I can’t thank my parents enough for their tough love and for putting up with me constantly taking out my anger on them; to the doctors who were persistent, caring and supported me throughout the whole process.

I now have a long scar which stretches down the length of my back and I love it. I sometimes see other women with the same scar and I feel silently connected to them through this shared experience of ours.

To anyone who may be going through a similar experience, if you choose to go down the surgery route I can’t prepare you for what’s to come but I can tell you that you can look forward to a life time of people asking whether you set off the machines through airport security and being called the bionic wo/man. You’ll bring a new meaning to the Sia classic, I am titaaaaniiiuuum and I can promise that you’ll have a new lease on life and the ability to do anything you put your mind to.

It’s Snowing in London Town!

December 1, 2017

Dec 1st. It’s officially Winter in London town. The christmas markets are in full swing and the first door of my maltesers advent calendar has been opened. I’m turning 24 in 5 days and although I’m not quite sure how to feel about that just yet, I do know that I will be celebrating with a lot of mulled wine in Budapest which I am hella excited for.

Also… it snowed in London yesterday!!

The news travelled fast and a wave of excitement spread throughout the office. I shot down the lift, straight down the escalators, through the turnstile doors and onto the pavement. And there is was. Delicate snowflakes rushed past me in a blizzard. I clutched my cup of coffee tightly as the chill air and snowy particles flew past me in a flurry.

I’ve never seen it snow before and there it was, right before my eyes on the eve of December. London, you are magic.

Apparently the whole country goes into lock down when it snows heavily in the UK. The trains stop working, offices shut early and people are sent home. It all sounds very chaotic the way the Brits describe it… but not to me, this is exciting! Watching those beautiful little snowflakes whiz past me makes putting up with the bone chilling cold worth it.

It’s been a strange past few days in our office, the lighting and heating isn’t working in our building so we’ve been between working between the office in the dark and at home. Today has been great though, I’ve been sitting in bed all rugged up in the homemade wool socks mum sent over and my christmas jumper (it’s the 1st Dec now so it’s officially acceptable..) watching Jane the Virgin, eating peanut butter on toast and MnMs, listening to Angus and Julia, Isaac Gracie and Iggy Pop. A perfect day. And working too…obviously 😉

I’m looking foward to you, December.

Mulled Wine, Happiness and Holograms

November 29, 2017

Can you remember that feeling of riding your scooter down your street as a kid, the wind whipping through your hair as you’re off to see your friends and play down at the park? Or when your Mum gives you $2 to blow at the dairy and you feel like the richest kid on the street as you rush down the road to pick out all the 5c lollies your little heart desires.

That feeling of waking up on Christmas Day and running into the lounge, anxiously waiting for your parents to wake up so you can unwrap the presents under the tree. Or kissing a boy under the stars for the first time.

It’s that pure zen feeling of floating underneath a crashing wave where it’s just you and the pulling tide for those few fleeting moments.

We should treasure these moments in life of pure unadulterated joy. As we grow older, these moments seem fewer and far between. But when the worries of adulthood slip away for just a little while.. these moments we experience, they are priceless.

Two Fridays ago, Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park on opening night. This was one of those times. We ran around the park like little kids, clutching our mulled wine that warmed our hands and tasted of hot cinnamon buns. Fur coat wrapped, we wandered around taking in all the lights, danced to the festive music, scoped out which theme park rides we wanted to go on, which oversize plush toys we wanted to win. We bought German hotdogs, donuts and roasted chestnuts.

That night seemed to go on forever and then suddenly it was over.

I’m back to being on my own now in London and the worries of adulthood have crept back into my mind. This past week has been a bit of a blur and somehow things feel different this time. Now it’s just me in this big bedroom in the middle of a city where I know few people. I guess I don’t know quite how to feel right now or how to answer people’s questions.

I listened to this song recently called ‘Hologram’ by Snowmine and I’ve spent too long trying to disect this lyric… ”loneliness is only love’s hologram.’’

A hologram is a physical structure that diffracts light into an image. In this case, the image is loneliness. So if love diffracts light to form loneliness in an image of itself… does this mean that the two coexist? Love is hard and confusing and a multitude of other things and there’s a fine seperating the two concepts. Can you love someone but feel lonely at the same time?

We’re in control of our own happiness and at the end of the day you can’t rely on any person or thing to sustain it. Sure, friends, family, love, money, success.. these things all contribute to our happiness, but they don’t define it.

Freedom is what we should all be trying to strive toward. Freedom to laugh out loud, love hard, travel far and experience more. Freedom is being free of the need to be free.

I think everyone wants to find freedom and happiness within themselves. I’m not sure if this is something that you can ever obtain per se, rather it’s an idea that you keep tucked in the back of your mind as you navigate life and tough situations.

So to answer the question I keep being asked – when do I think I will come home? I will know when it’s time to go back home when I feel like London has served it’s purpose for me, and I guess only I will know when that time is (or until my employment contract expires and doesn’t extend ha..)

I’m not sure where I stand in many of my aspects of life right now, but one thing I do know for certain is that I deserve to be happy.

We all deserve happiness.