What's wrong with this picture?

Well it's that time of year again. The big man is on his way around the world to deliver lot's of toys, MP3 players, a various assortment of apple branded electronics and other expensive gifts sought after by materialistic young children and in many cases, teenagers...and in other rarer cases, adults who are lucky enough to be on Santa's nice list.

Oh, I don't a problem with this at all. God no. I am one of those 20 somethings who is very much looking forward to receiving my new Prada sunglasses, which I assisted an elf in picking. I expect they will be wrapped and placed with the greatest of care in my Santa stocking some time tonight while visions of sugar plums dance in my head... most likely these visions of sugar plums will be a direct result of my spending Christmas eve with some friends, in their pool, getting cheery, because that is what 20 somethings do on Christmas in Australia.

What I have a problem with is the whole notion of a stressful Christmas. Christmas should be spent enjoying the company of family and friends, appreciating how lucky you are to have whatever you have, relaxing over the break that the government itself has deemed compulsory for everyone to take. Families shouldn't care about whether your windows are a bit salty, when you live on the beach. Grandparents who have been divorced more than 30 years should not be acting like children over not wanting to be in the same house as each other for the same meal at the same time and hence creating two separate Christmas's. The air should not be thick with tension and stress for absolutely no apparent reason what so ever, beyond a dinner that is more than 24 hours away.  There should be no accusations, indirectly or otherwise, of a ruined Christmas towards one person due to a silly miscommunication. It should not be the end of the world that one person wants to do community service work in the hours that couldn't otherwise be filled, despite it being a mild inconvenience to the grandparents who are boycotting dinner because they don't want to be in the same room as another grandparent.

At first, I honestly thought I was being immature and naive about the whole Christmas situation. Then I realised, that actually, I am the one who is;

 Telling people to relax.

Telling people that cleaning on Christmas eve is unnecessary because family is here to see you not to judge the cleanliness of your windows.

Volunteering to lifeguard the beach at lunchtime because I was told we were having Christmas dinner not an additional lunch and because I want to give something back to the community.

Trying to come up with solutions to the problems of a family Christmas rather than yell and scream about it.

So actually, I don't think I am being naive and immature, I think I am acting like a grown up. To top it off, all I really want for Christmas, is for my whole family to just get along and act like a loving family who is grateful for the incredible opportunities that they have been given, and proud of the enormous achievements and effort they have made to get to this point in their lives. I want Dad to at least pretend to listen when I talk and I want mum to stop being stressed over the tiniest little things. I just want everyone to be happy and merry. I think that's a pretty grown up wish.

I guess if that can't be the case though, I will settle for tomato flan and turkey.

Merry Christmas.

A Summer Fling with Shakespeare

I have been so stuck for what to write about in this past month. All the things I am thinking have been thought before. All the things I am feeling have been thought before and so it seems rather pointless to ramble on about things in a repetitive fashion.

One thing I have been doing with my summer, given that there has been no writing,  is reading books. I have been reading everything from reality criminal trials to Stephen Kings paranormal fiction. What I love about reading is that it is such a silent form of communication and entertainment. So many things can be happening! Wars are breaking out, heroes are saving the day, aliens are taking over the planet and people are falling in and out of love and all this is happening over a couple of pages. Nothing is said out loud, in fact there is minimal movement at all. Everything is inside your head. No one sees or hears anything. It is such a personal experience. There is so much to learn from books it is overwhelming.

I know e books are all the rage in this technological age, but I just feel that there is something perfect about turning the pages physically. There is something  glorious about a book that comes with a history, a personality and a few random smudges. The simplicity, the assurance that it will not disappear at a wrong click. It does not require electrical power, only mind power. I am privileged to be able to share something as special as a story, with all the great literary geniuses.

My Playground

It was early one weekday morning. We had work, we had study to do, the water was freezing and it was forecast to rain, so we decided to go to the beach. It is a place that I don't just like. It means more to me than that. 

I live it, I breathe it. I can't live without it. I basically came out of my mothers womb and strait into the ocean. It doesn't matter what kind of water craft I am on. It doesn't matter what kind of waves are happening, if any. What matters, is that I can go to the beach and be surrounded by nothing but water, sun and sand.

 It is so raw, and the ocean holds so much more power than most people can ever comprehend. It can kill you in a second, or it can provide endless hours of entertainment. It's the worlds biggest playground and on this morning, it was all ours.

Walking towards the sunrise

Surrounded

Morning glory

Home

Adventures with Dementia

Here is the latest of my Journalism projects. An audio slideshow based on the confronting nature of dementia.

Dementia is an extremely confronting disease. When you are talking to someone with advanced dementia, you never know whether there is truth to the conversation or not. Often, no matter how many times you have met them, they will not remember you. Eventually, people deteriorate to a point where they can do nothing but lie there. They can't talk, walk, or control their mind and body.  They often end up in high dependency dementia wards, with no family nearby and no one to support them.

 Future geriatrician, Ben, recognized this issue within the community and started a group that goes by the name "Adventures with Dementia." It is a group of 20 something year old university students who travel around once a week to these high dependency wards to have tea and scones with those who are able, and hold the hands of those who are not. It is a way for the youth to engage with the elderly community, so that they feel appreciated and loved. Ben takes us through the some of confrontation, shock and also the appreciation that comes with getting involved with the disease, and the people behind it.

A little photo essay of the first days that felt like summer...

We walked up the beach towards the perfect spot...

On an endless beach all to ourselves

Perfect little waves

Just us and our boards

Watching the sets roll through

The dogs playing on the edge of the earth

Contemplating the summer...

Getting pretty excited.

Gratefulness

Some days you can't help but wish didn't happen. You have a bad day at work or uni or you feel stressed and scared about the future, or something that's happened in the past. The thing is, the more I think about that, the less sense it makes... If its already happened, I can't change it, and if it's tomorrow, it hasn't happened yet... So why should I worry? I feel like instead, I should be living every day though it is my first and last.

I try to be grateful for every single little good thing that happens. Whether its the fact that the sun is shining, or I like the way my hair looks or the fact that I am healthy and feeling good, it doesn't matter what happens in 10 minutes time. At this moment, right here, right now, I feel good. About myself, about my life, about my beautiful friends and family, how lucky I am to be educated, with a roof over my head and food on the table.

Today, I have had 2 memorable moments of clarity, and for the first time in quite a while I feel great. No one else had anything to do with it, I am just happy with me. How my life is turning out. And that is so important. I am watching this fantastic movie, with my fairy lights on... And I am just in my happy place. I almost feel so overwhelmed with gratefullness that I am back in that place of peace.

Fairy lights, prayer flags, my favorite art house film... I know that I am in the right place.

The curse of the boogie woman.

So here is a rough draft of the first short story I have written in about 3 years. Inspired by my all time favourite childhood book, "Just Disgusting" by Andy Griffiths. It needs a work over, but overall, definitely the most feral thing I have ever written. Enjoy spewing your guts out at this one kiddies. 

***

As a child, one of my favorite things to do was pick my nose and eat it. Sometimes, when my nose was dry, I had to pick other kids noses. I don’t ask why, I just had a thing for boogers.

Other favorable pastimes included pest control by way of squashing cockroaches until their guts spilled all over the ground in a yellow, pussy, mushy mound of roach, and bringing home maggots to keep as pets. It’s not their fault that they need dead things to stay alive.

It was all fun and games as a child, but pretty soon, my parents became fed up with my disgusting ways. “If I find one more old sandwich in your school bag you will be sorry!” Yelled Mum one day, after finding an old tuna sandwich in my school bag at the end of the summer holidays.  I paid her no attention, and chuckled at my little prank all the way back to my room, ignoring the dry retching noises she was making, and her cries of “unladylike” and “You’re an animal.” Nonsense, I said to myself. I am hilarious.

That night as I slept soundlessly in my bed, sugar plums gone rotten, dancing in my head, something was going wrong. I woke up the next day and had a shower as normal. Brushed my teeth as normal. I put on my clothes as normal. I was just moments away from walking out the door, about to put my shoes on when I noticed my toenails. Normally, I keep my toenails trimmed and painted, but something very strange indeed had happened last night. You see, my toenails were the length of my toes themselves!  I couldn’t even fit my shoes on my feet anymore! They seemed to be growing by the minute. Long, yellowish nail with little bits of dirt stuck underneath it. They were in fact so long, that they were beginning to curl over.

I raced back upstairs and got into bed. Mum came up looking for me and I told her I was too sick for school. She curved her mouth at me, not enough to be a smile, but possible enough for a smirk and kept her brow unfurrowed . She surely knew I couldn’t really have become too sick in the last five minutes, but luckily, she let me stay in bed while she went off to work for the day. As soon as everyone had left the house, I leapt out of bed as quickly as one can when one has curling yellow toenails, and jumped onto google. I typed in “fast growing toenails cure” and medicine.com came up with the solution I had been looking for. “Cut them.”  I quickly located mums manicure set and hacked off the yellowing nails. My toes almost looked normal for a moment… but then… surely not! They began to grow! Little by little, curl by curl, my toenails continued to grow longer and longer.

I went back to google for more research. That’s when I stumbled upon it. Disgustomania. A condition, according to legend, that is a result of someone being so delighted by the idea of boogies and other such squeamish pastimes, that their bodies began to evolve accordingly. If left untreated, one would become so disgusting, that they were banished from society and left to lead a lonesome life of disgust in the deep forests, with the werewolves, vampires and cockroaches. Even as I was reading, I could feel my nose beginning to snot. And not the ordinary sickly kind, but the green lumpy boogie kind. I needed to get to a bathroom to blow my nose toot suite or else there was going to be a green snot explosion!

I made it just in the nick of time, but I knew after one blow that this wasn’t just going to go away. There was so much snot, pouring out of my nose, and so many boogies, it was beginning to fill up the toilet quicker than I could flush it! I needed something bigger. Like a bath tub. I gave up using tissues and put my head over the tub, letting the green goopy snot flow freely. I reached down with one hand to cut my toenails again, which were now so long that I could hardly stand up, and used my other hand to wipe the excess snot off my face. Even for me, this was too much.

I felt a wave of nausea, deep in my stomach. I started to feel exceptionally hot. My face was screwed up in a contorted mess and at that exact moment, my vomit reflex kicked into action and I vomited all my half digested coco pops into the bathtub.

Whats worse than a bathtub full of curly toenail clippings? A bath tub full of curly toenail clippings, that are getting stuck in the green snot, which is being diluted by the coco pop vomit. Thankfully, after what seemed like the biggest spew in the entire world, there seemed to be a break in the bodily excretions. I took a deep breath, while holding my nose, trying not to breath in the boogie and vomit fumes, and took a look at myself in the mirror. Besides being a sickly green color there seemed to be no visible change in my appearance, although my toenails were getting long again.

There was however, a small pimple in the centre of my forehead. I actually take great pleasure in squishing my pimples, so this cheered me up immensely. I squeezed as hard as I could until the yellow puss popped out. I wiped it off the mirror. Admittedly I do find other peoples pimples pretty gross, but when it comes to my own, I see them as a fine form of entertainment. I noticed however, that this was a particularly bad one. The more I seemed to squish it, the more puss that seemed to be coming out of it. It was yellow, but with a few little blood clots mixed in. “Oh no!” I thought. Phase two of disgustomania.

I returned to my snotty, vomity, toe nail filled tub and squeezed the rest of the puss out of my forehead. It left a small cavity and I thought I could see my brain through it. I had more important things to worry about though. Now I had a snotty, vomity, pussy toe nail filled bath tub.  

I sat next to the tub, trying to google the cure for disgustomania, while I tried not to think about my puss filled pimple, still oozing pussy blood clots into the tub. Strangly for me, the mere thought of it was making my stomach have what felt like minor volcanic eruptions and I began to get that clammy but not quite sweaty feeling one would associate with an imminent spew. 

The only answer I could find, to reverse disgustomania, was to drink my own poison. I looked into the bathtub. I knew what had to be done.  The problem was going to be keeping it down. I hobbled to the kitchen and retrived my most favorite Disney mug and apologized profusely to Mickey Mouse for what I was about to do. I kneeled on the tiles, next to my boogie green snotty, coco pop vomit, blood clot pussy, toenail filled brew and scooped a cupful up. I held the cups to my lips and immediately dry retched. Surely I was going to get some kind of morbid disease if I so much as touched this mess.  I knew I had to try again though. My life depended on it.

One mouthful of my bodily excrement had me vomiting all over again. I tried to avoid my tongue as I knew if I got a taste of the pus I would have no chance of finishing it. Luckily the boogies tasted good and I thanked my lucky stars that I had always had a thing for them. There was a slight crunch with the toenails but they didn’t really taste like much. Mouthful after mouthful, my face twisted itself into oblivion and I wondered whether my facials would even be recognizable after this ordeal.

I finally managed to finish it. The whole bathtub full. I noticed as I was drinking it, my toenails were shrinking back towards their original size. My nose was drying up and my pus filled pimple retreating. You could also no longer see my brain. I breathed deeply,  and rummaged through the bathroom to find some mouth wash. 

From that moment forward, I knew I would never pick another nose again. 

Cranky old man

So this was a little something I dug up in the depths of the internet a while ago... No particular purpose, just something to appreciate.  Author is unknown by name, but will be remembered for these beautiful words.

"Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?

What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?

A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,

Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.

When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'

Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.

And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,

As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet

Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.

Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,

Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,

But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.

At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,

Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.

I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.

And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.

There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,

And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells

I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.

And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.

Not a cranky old man .

Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!"

Free Speech - Angola's Elections.

 Angola: Stop Stifling Free Speech!

http://www.hrw.org/news/2012/08/01/angola-stop-stifling-free-speech

http://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/angola0812ForUpload.pdf

The Angolan government in the lead up to the elections that are to take place on August 31st this year, have been initiating violence on peaceful protests and committing acts of political violence. In addition to this, those who have been arrested for protesting, have been made, whilst in custody to make incriminating remarks about opposing parties.  

The government has also been interfering with independent media and using state media for partisan purposes.  In essence, there has been absolutely no freedom of speech what so ever.

Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights specifically states that:

"Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers."

Although the declaration was just a statement of objectives, and therefore not legally binding, the International Covenant on Civil and Political rights, is enforceable at international law, and has been signed and ratified by Angola. Article 19 of this says:

1. Everyone shall have the right to hold opinions without interference.

2. Everyone shall have the right to freedom of expression; this right shall include freedom to seek, receive and impart information and ideas of all kinds, regardless of frontiers, either orally, in writing or in print, in the form of art, or through any other media of his choice.

3. The exercise of the rights provided for in paragraph 2 of this article carries with it special duties and responsibilities. It may therefore be subject to certain restrictions, but these shall only be such as are provided by law and are necessary:

(a) For respect of the rights or reputations of others;

(b) For the protection of national security or of public order or of public health or morals.

In this situation, Angola are clearly flouting this international law. Despite the fact that it is a domestic issue, many people are suffering from this. They are breaking international law.  Law that Angola agreed to follow. So should the international body step in, in such a situation?

Interestingly, the provision in Article 19(3)(b) of the ICCPR provides that there may be restrictions for protection of morals. Enforceability of this provision must surely be almost impossible on an international level given that almost every country has a different standard of morals. Or is it?

Image from activistpost.com

Saturday night at another little bar, across the other side of town...

And so it's Saturday night again, and everyone in this small town heads to anywhere where alcohol is readily accessible and where everyone else is going. Although I used to hate this kind of life, I admit, when I can't have it, I really want it. I want to be able to go out on a Saturday, with some friends, and just watch sport on TV, drink cocktails on couches and just be merry, enjoying life, or at least taking a break from reality. It's like a little corner of the globe where everything is happy and lit up. I don't know what's happening across the road let alone on the other side of the world, but I just know that here, now, everything is perfect. The olympics is on TV, and I watched Australia win Bronze in triathlon, I saw the boys win silver in rowing, and I saw the girls take out a hockey game.

I met up with people who I haven't seen in years, and I chatted to people I don't even know but who were happy to chat because it's Saturday night.

I ate some fancy fish and chips and I downed a couple of expensive drinks that had god knows what in them.

I go home feeling like I am satisfied, a bit rejuvenated, and ready for anything that next week  might throw at me. So bring it on world, I look forward to it.

I couldn't forget this one, even if I tried.

Today I met a boy. He was around 17, with a cute, round little face, and his hair was half cut, but with a big fluffy bit at the back because the haircutting equipment had failed. He told me that he used it as a pillow because the pillow he has isn't very comfortable.

He was solidly built, with the gentle awkwardness children turning into adults often have about them. He had a smile that lit up the room and a canny sense of humour. He was clearly very intelligent and knew exactly what I was talking about as I babbled away in legal jargon. When our conversation ended he thanked me profusely and smiled his big childish grin as I left.

This boy is in jail. He is a crystal meth addict. When he was four years old, he tried to kill his father by replacing his methadone with bleach so that his dad wouldn't bash up his mum, and when he was 10, his mother killed his baby sister when she mistook the methadone for babies milk and fed it to the 1 year old.

This story, is one that I will never ever forget.

A life of crime?

Crime... where have you been all my life? I don't want to go out and commit crimes. Oh no no no, that would be very wrong indeed. But since quite early on in life, I have taken an interest in the world of crime. I follow it in the news, I stalk it on the internet, I watch murder mysteries on TV and I read intricate books about the world of criminals. I also believe in liberty, justice and human rights.

I guess it is only natural then, that I have fallen into the world of criminal defence law. Protecting those who the rest of the world seems to be against, brings a strange kind of satisfaction. It's a little bit of a wake up call. A little bit of a kick in the guts to the justice system. Everyone deserves a fair trial, everyone deserves to have their rights protected. Everyone deserves liberty. Those who are guilty generally have a story to tell, and it isn't a pleasant one. It is sad, and long and it very often starts with a mistake.

So should one little mistake, cost you your liberty? Should a lifetime of sadness end with your basic human rights being taken away from you? Should one bad choice, leave you with no more choices?

I guess what knowledge I have gained in practising criminal law, is that everyone has a secret.

 I have learned to have some faith in the phrase "beyond reasonable doubt."

 I have fuelled a passion to fight for the voices that don't get heard.

You own the sky.

Every shooting star is a wasted wish, because you are never coming back. Every time I see your face I have to remember it can only ever be a memory. When we were young we were so carefree and somewhere along the way your world crumbled and before I could blink, you were gone. But here's the thing Alex...

I feel you in every heartbeat.

I see you in every dream.

I wish I could have told you that before it was all too late.

You own the sky.

Discovering Masterchef

It was a dreary Monday night when I turned on my television during prime time, for the first time, in a very long time. Normally I am busy after dinner doing important things like hanging out on facebook or getting high scores on angry birds. On this night however, neither of those things were appealing to me, and quite frankly, I needed a dose of trash TV. A dose of filthy, disgusting, time whore telly.

I turned on Masterchef. I haven’t turned it off.

Well I have actually, because it only goes for an hour between 7-8pm, but suffice to say, I love it. The food leaves images of sugar plums dancing in my head… literally. I can taste the succulent, juicy meats and the crispy vegetables. I can taste the milky chocolate goo oozing from the cakes and the fruit compotes dripping down my tongue as they seep from all things sweet.

In addition to the food, it has the added elements of suspense, drama, friendships, and an adequate twist in every episode. Is it cooked properly? Are we going to get it out on time? Who will have a nervous breakdown today?

This is pure addictive brilliance.