wakey wakey blog..

well hello world.. I am awaking from my hibernation (at least in this blog).

Although Melbourne seems to have not gotten the memo that it is now actually spring and temperatures are supposed to be rising to sundresses and cardigans weather, I will take the lead and Spring back to life. The clocks have changed an hour early to accommodate more of the daylight so this blog should now skip to its task of recording the things that I have been getting up to and random thoughts and rambles.

Posts are soon to come mouthing on about:

• the Northcote High Vibes
• Jean’s visit to Melbourne
• Mitch and my holiday to Sydney & Canberra

slowly but surely, I promise I will go through them like someone actually cares.

For now I will leave you with this beautiful poem my dad posted on my sister’s facebook wall (she just turned 27, which explains why we braved the cold force field that is Canberra).

Dad writes: I will share the poem i gave to mama on her 27th birthday. I guess this was the clincher for her. Naaks.
_____________________________________

SOME THOUGHTS FOR BENSON GREEN ON HIS TWENTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY

Having just gone through the year myself
I know that twenty-seven can be hard.
But there are Sunday breakfasts

and April fields
and blue on blue
and green growing things
to change all that.

I know that spring is hard because you wait
for summer
and fall is hardest of them all-
because you must not be alone
when winter comes.

I know
that love is worth the time it takes to find.
Think of that

when all the world seems made of walk-up rooms
and hands in empty pockets.

I know your smile
and it is much too warm

to waste on people in the street

(though smiles are plentiful)
and I know
that if you keep the empty heart alive a little longer
love will come.

It always does,
maybe just at the last moment, but it will come

You must believe that
or there isn’t any reason to be twenty-seven.

- from “Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows.”
Written in 1961 & first published in 1966

And one that I scribbled on my notebook at the break of dawn while trying not to wake Mitch

When morning is about to wake

And  the night is yawning

The soul stirs

Rousing memories

Somewhere in the middle

Of asleep and awake

Are the things left unsaid

Feelings that are kept

Between the slits of the blinds

Lines of light make their way to where I lie

As my heart beats

As a tear slips

Sleep reclaims the right

To let past emotions lie

Where it is doused

By the morning light

When morning is about to wake

And  the night is yawning

The soul stirs

Rousing memories

Somewhere in the middle

Of asleep and awake

Are the things left unsaid

Feelings that are kept

Between the slits of the blinds

Slivers of light make their way to where I lie

As my heart beats

As a tear slips

Sleep reclaims the right

To let past emotions lie

Where it is doused

By the morning light

That is all.

For now.. keep calm, carry on.

X

Aaaaaaaaaaand.. I’m back..

In Port Vila, where I spent half of last year. This place is and will always be the place that shook me to my very core, where I have learned so much about myself and that caused me to shift my paradigm,.

This is against my nomadic nature, to come to a place where I have already hunted and gathered. I am one to move on, never coming back because I’ve already harvested the thoughts, lessons, and experiences I could from a place. But having said that, I acknowledge that  I am what I am today because of the nourishment that this beautiful paradise so generously offered me.

But I think this is going to be good for me. I see now that coming back,  allows me to reap the benefits of the seeds that I sowed last year. The friendships have bloomed but stay rooted to where it was planted, lessons are still waiting to be picked from the tree and acres of adventures still await.

That is not to say that it has been without difficulties. There is something both painful and overwhelming in the realisation that the place where you breathed, talked and lived has evolved without you. The place itself has changed. So many new buildings, shops, cafes that did not exist last year have popped up all over the place. In such a transient place such as Vanuatu, many of my friends have gone and those that have remained are somehow  different. And of course there’s me. I am not the same lost little girl who didn’t know what to do with herself. To come here knowing that Melbourne is now home gives me a whole new perspective.

The changes are refreshing and yet a bit off putting. I long for the familiar but the difference that a year can make is encouraging. I left this place with a heavy heart with threads that flopped in the wind, which slowly unravelled me. But leaving allowed me to  pick up another piece of me and weave myself another life in Melbourne – one that is proving to be a beautiful tapestry of experiences. In my three weeks here I hope to tie up the loose ends I left here, finally hang what I have woven on my wall to look at every once and a while so I don’t forget.

Night Sky

The light fades
In angry flashes of orange
As the sun that rose for you
Begins to set

The blue that is settling
Will get darker
To reveal the stars
That will twinkle in your place

The moon’s ominous grey
illuminates the path
I must now take
Before the dawn

of your sadness

sharp words
cut deep
and leave angry bruises

bad memories
are made of indelible ink
that leave ugly stains

tears make up streams
that turn into rivers
that flow into the ocean

they seem to disappear
into thin air
only to come pouring down again

when you thought
the bruises are healing
and the stains are fading

the stream sweeps you off
into the river
and drowns you in the ocean

of your sadness

The past few days…

I yell so no one would listen.
And stay silent to be heard.

I want to look attractive so no one would notice me.
I’m always present and people don’t know I’m not really there.

I walk around so I can go no where.
And sit still to take me away.

I find crowds make me lonely.
So my solace has become my friend.

I smile so they can see through my sadness.
My tears release the little happiness I have left.

My mornings are the start of my waking sleep
I close my eyes at night that I may live another day.

———-

I know. gory, right?!
I’ll snap out of it.

Soon.