Fly the Rainbow

I have a wonderful, insane, loud, colourful, supportive family. Mum, Dad, two younger brothers and one HUGELY OBESE black and white cat called Guinness.

Currently we are flung far and wide.

Sydney - The littlest One

Perth - Papa and the Middle Child

Hong Kong - Mama + Guinness

Toronto - Yours Truly

I love them, and respect them so much, even though they are so far away. I would adore it if we could all live in the same place, but knowing us as I do, I think that is probably unlikely… maybe one day in the future when we’ve tamed the itch in our wandering feet. We are all adventurers, and we all struggle to stay still for long periods of time. Sometimes it is hard, and I have written about that before. It is confusing to live in my own timezone, but also two others (luckily Perth and Hong Kong are on the same lateral) and weird that when I speak to my parents in the morning, they have already had their day, and my brothers are waking up for work and Uni when I am out having dinner.

It has made for some pretty funny drink-dialling incidents.

So what flag do we fly under, this far-flung family of mine? Four of us have Australian passports, Mum being a New Zealander. The littlest one was born in Malaysia, and the Middle one was born in Hong Kong. The  Rainbow flag?

Five years ago, my youngest brother came out, and two years later, my Middle Brother came out.

I have always considered myself to be a liberal-minded person, but I struggled at first with the fact that my baby brothers were gay. With the littlest one, it was less of a shock, he has always proudly worn his heart on his sleeve, but when my middle brother came out, I suddenly felt very left out. Is that weird? Growing up, it had always been the boys VS the girls. They shared a room, I got my own. I was older (and moodier), they were gross boys in torn, muddy shirts. I had socks with frills.

Even though I always considered myself unflappable, level-headed, accepting of one and all, I cried when I realized that my brothers had had these secrets. I felt that I had been a bad big sister for not knowing. In hindsight, I should have rejoiced that we live in a time and are citizens of a country where being Gay is not a crime, and people are (more) accepting. Instead, I beat myself up for all the gay jokes I had ever made in their presence, or the use of the word “gay” as a derogatory term throughout High School. I’m still not perfect, I have indulged people who have laughed when they have learned about my family, and those who have exclaimed,

“WOW! That’s pretty unusual! Does that make you a lesbian?! HAHA derp HA”

I am so happy that my brothers are who they are, strong, outspoken, proud members of the LGBT community. I look to them to better myself in area’s of tolerance and understanding. They have faced inner struggles and hardships that I have not. I have never had to justify my heterosexuality, or who I love and why. I have never felt uncomfortably stared at for kissing my significant other in public, nor walking hand in hand with him down the street. I am proud of them for all that they have achieved at their young ages, raising awareness, and just being who they with courage and integrity.

It still boggles my mind that people could have so much hate inside them directed towards guys as cool as my Brothers simply because they love people with the same junk in their underpants as them. We’re all young now, 18-23, but it stops me short to think that if my brothers wanted to marry their partners, they wouldn’t be allowed to. That adopting kids would be insanely hard for them. My middle brother loves kids and is going to be the nicest uncle of all time (if I can hog tie a guy long enough to walk him down the aisle and then convince him to reproduce with me) and my youngest brother is so tattooed and pierced and generally awesome, that my kids will never want to listen to me and will only want to hang out with him (nah who am I kidding… I’m going to be the coolest mum on the block.)

I look to actress Anne Hathaway for inspiration. Okay yes, she played a wannabe Genovian princess in the Princess Diaries and sure, her boyfriend of three years is in prison for fraud now, but she is extremely vocal about rights for the LGBT community – her brother is gay and she has always spoken publicly about her support of him.

I hope that the world can grow more tolerant. It starts with the individual and the dissipation of ignorance. I hope that Australia throws out it’s backward policies and legalizes Gay marriage in my life time.

Until then, I know people will keep writing about their experiences, lending their voices to the cause of equal rights. Mine is just a small voice, but it is one that will be raised in support of my brothers and their rights to have the same things that I do. We are blood, they share my DNA. They have been raised with equality in every other way, why should they not share the same rights that I have?

Maybe they’ll both just have to move to Canada with me where it is legal.
Maybe we’ll all live in the same place sooner than I think.

If there was a Zombie Apocalypse, I’m almost positive I would succumb to the masses very quickly

Zombies are the new Vampires. Don’t fight it, just accept it.

2/3 years ago there were millions of Vampire things, as Twighlight exploded it’s sparkly pent-up teenage vampire jizz all over us.
Vampire movies, TV shows, people thinking they were Vampires, other books that looked very similar to the Twilight saga…

I’m sure there is some cultural relevance to the popular culture move towards their revival – like the blood-suckers on wall street, or the tension of terrorism or some such thing. I could research it, and look at what sparked other major revivals in Vampire-pop-fiction, but this is MY blog and I can’t be bothered. So go read an essay if you are.

But now the shift has gone distinctly Zombie-ish (if you ask me, which…you know… people do, “Oh Paris, you are so pretty and I like your hair, what do you think about this new trend of zombies in Popular culture?”). Okay sure, the 4th instalment of Twilight Saga is still coming, and it will probably re-spark all the Twihard obsession and heavy breathing, but naaah. The Vampire boat has sailed and a new monster is taking over, a senseless, grunting, brain-eating violent beast who will spark the apocalypse of the human race (hmmm, what is that saying about society now?)

I recently read ‘Pride and Prejudice and Zombies’ which is P&P with zombies, basically, and ‘World War Z’ which is a Zombie outbreak that occurs in the form of a new virus, and infects the world. WWZ is less a book about a Zombie “war” and more a collection of little stories, in the guise of a report being written, about how different countries deal with the epidemic, people’s personal experiences of survival, and the aftermath of the zombie races destruction. Extremely interesting, creepy and kind of accurate. Then there are of course the Zombie movies that have brought more popularity to the Zombie genre, that really began with ‘Shaun of the Dead’ and “I am legend” for this wave (in my opinion) and has steadily grown with popular films like ‘Zombieland’ and continued with awesome TV show ‘The Walking Dead’ (I’m sure there are many others, forgive me my ignorance and laziness).

What I have learned from watching all these films and Television shows, and reading all these books, is that to survive in the event of a Zombie rising, you have to:

• Be quick and cunning
• Cut human emotions out – like seeing your family members as slobbering monsters and not breaking down
• Deal with a lot of blood
• Keep moving all the time
• Fight monsters

I would not consider myself a coward, but there is no way I could fight something that looked and smelled like a Zombie, and wanted to eat me alive. There is no way I could walk away from a Family member that fell behind to be attacked, or one that was already an unseeing monster drooling for my grey matter. There is no way I wouldn’t shriek and FREAK the-fuck-out at the sight of blood/intestines/brain bits all over the roads (recently dealing with a dead mouse body in our kitchen was waaaaaaaaay too much to deal with!). And I’m not very fit, so I’m not sure I could keep moving and survive constant fight and flight (oh yes, must get to the gym…)

So I have to conclude that I would very quickly become a Zombie, which is a shame, because I don’t really like raw fish sushi, I’m not sure how I would go with raw human.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m organized, and if I had ample warning, I could probably live through a Zombie world take-over hunkered down somewhere remote. I like making lists, so the OCD part of me would thrill at the idea of gathering enough supplies for myself.

Shopping List for Zombie Invasion

Warm Clothes (can be used as Blankets/bedding too)
Extra Underwear and socks (not sure what the washing situation is going to be)
Medicine
Cans of food
Soil and seeds (may have to grow own food in corner of bunker)
Live animals? Cows/Goats/Chickens, (animals that can provide more than one thing…sorry pigs)
Water (but also can be collected)
Batteries and torches
Candles and matches
Soap
Books to read when bored
Paper to write rambling crazy letters once I go mad because there is no one else around and everyone is a zombie
Weapons, in the scary event I must kill zombies
Tampons (I just realized no one in these apocalypse movies discusses how to over come THAT female hurdle. Thanks a lot female anatomy!)
A radio to find other people
Alcohol (for medicine, and also, because at this point I’m alone in a bunker with a cow and some chickens for company, life’s pretty sad)

I really hope a Zombie virus doesn’t take over the human race, it would be messy and smell bad, and there are still loads more places I need to see before I die/become undead. Really, being a Vampire would be better. They always seem to be fairly clean and well put together, they don’t really smell (I guess) they can fly and they don’t age. Sign me up!

But seriously kids, don’t eat people and don’t drink blood.

This PSA has been brought to you by PHT

America, the Australia to Canada’s New Zealand

The United States of America.

Land of Supersize Me, The statue of Liberty, George Bush and Corn Syrup Paradise.

After talking too much about how I love to travel and see new things, and having not really traveled or seen any new things outside of Ontario since September 2011, I decided it was time to try that might land, connected to the mighty land I live in, that has a very similar culture, but arguably better food, weirder people, and the Cheesecake Factory.

And so I booked flights to Boston.

Lets not go crazy here. I was just going for the weekend, and I wanted to dip my toe into the United States. Boston was the perfect compromise. It was also kind of the halfway point between Toronto and Miami, the destination my travel companion was coming from (no don’t look at the map, just take my word for it. It’s halfway). SO off I went, a little nervous considering my last experience with American immigration (when I had to transfer at Newark airport and saw a vaguely Arab looking guy being escorted to a little room). I left Toronto on Porter Airline, and landed in sunny Boston.

From the air, Boston looks tiny, but I found over the weekend that it is a hugely interesting and vivacious city, packed into a small space.

The lady at immigration wanted to know my life story (in a nice way) telling me in her thick Bawwwwston drawl that she has always wanted to visit Australia. My line stopped moving and the people behind me moved on to other queues until I was the last one. She was laughing and giving me travel tips. WOW! Maybe I love America!

The guy who stopped me when I was wheeling my bag was less friendly, crew-cut, beefy, he looked through every page of my passport asking me questions like:

“Where you staying? How long are you staying for? Who do you know in Boston?”

When I answered truthfully that I don’t know anyone but that I was meeting my friend from Miami, he glared at me suspiciously and said:

“You have an Australian paaayyysport but you don’t have an Australian ayyyyccent”

When I began to explain that I had lived overseas for a number of years, he made a kind of growling sound, thrust my payyysport back into my hand and rounded on the Asian couple struggling with the cheap blue, red and white carrier bags coming of the carousel.

But then it was freedom! Hello USA!

The weekend was insanely fun. We did so much stuff and loved every minute of it. We went shopping on Newbury street, we went to Fenway Park home of the Red Sox, walked the freedom trail with a guide in period dress, supposedly related to the guy he was playing, we went to Quincy market where I ate clam chowder (which tasted a bit sandy to me if I’m being honest), we went to Harvard, the Aquarium and we ate and drank ourselves into a coma at every available opportunity.

Yes the portion sizes in America seemed bigger, and there were definitely some SUPER weirdos on the train (which we conquered thankyouverymuch) but over-all, I found the Bostonians to be an EXTREMELY friendly bunch of people. Americans clearly love Aussies, I didn’t pay for a drink all weekend as they were always being bought for me and wanted to tell me about their cousins/friends/neighbours living in Bondi/Melbourne/the Gold Coast. They are smiley and they think my accent is adorable and hilarious (even though they are the ones you can barely understand…take that stupid airport guy). They are a cultured bunch and they have a beautiful lifestyle with their huge water front, history interposed with modern conveniences, and their love of good food.

For a first time experience to the United States, I would rate it highly and I would love to go back once I’ve seen more of America.

But it was nice too, to land back in Toronto, and feel comfort looking at the familiar CN tower glowing in the darkness, and realize that Toronto feels more and more like home.

P

Our Tour Guide

 

Fenway Park

 

Harvard University

 

Beautiful Architecture in the City

 

Drinking with the Locals (after they had a re-enactment)

 

 

23 things I don’t know how to do at the age of 23

I feel that there are certain adult skills that one might have acquired by the time one is 23.
I am sure they vary widely due to people’s individual circumstances, personality, socioeconomic position, culture and of course personal beliefs.
But there are some things that I cannot do, or have not tried, that seem out-of-place in my well-traveled, well-educated life.
And so here they are:

Twenty Three things I don’t know how to do at the age of 23, (and that I probably should considering…)

23. Set the oven
Oh, I’ve turned on the oven before, pre set to 350 degrees, I GET IT, I just don’t know how to execute it properly without destroying everything inside. And also how does the timer work? GAH!

22. Spell ‘Definitely’
So obviously spell check is on here in the post, but I honestly cannot wrap my head around this word. I think I may have a slight form of dyslexia, because I always spell the word “Definitly” or “Definatley”. I was always awful at spelling, I used to get my “b”s and “d”s around the wrong way. It’s kindof weird because I love writing, and I never let spelling get in the way, I kind of just bulldozed over it and made it work however I could.

21. Set a mouse trap
I’ve never really experienced a problem with Vermin (living in high up apartment buildings for most of my life.) Cockroaches I hate and have had to deal with, but mice? Those are pets aren’t they? I know they are. I had two growing up, Bindi and Gemma. Bindi lost an arm to a magpie which swooped past and ate it, and Gemma had a thyroid problem so became huge and fat, and then got a tumor. Both had to be put down, although they lived with their disabilities unhindered for at least a year or two. Oh the sparkling childhood memories. I digress, in our Toronto apartment, we’ve had little mousey friends, and after they ignored my humane trap which catches them in a box (to be released at your convenience) new, masculine roomie put his foot down and set a real trap. The killing kind. Sadly I was alone when I found the result, and turned into an UTTER wimp when I had to touch the limp soft body.

20. Open a bottle of bubbles
Any kind of alcoholic beverage in a glass bottle with a cork that pops off, is immediately handed off to someone else in the room, because I have destroyed too many light fixtures with my inexperience.

19. Sew a hem
I can sew on a button if it drops off (not neatly of course) but anything that requires more skill or patience then that is impossible. My mum is not a great seamstress, but she used to be able to hem my school dress if needs be.

18. Build a website
Even this most basic WordPress blog still confuses me. I have visited other blogs where the layouts are amazing and they have other tabs. Nope. Not me. My brother is the computery/internety one of the family, and I’ll just have to be content with being the Smart, Outgoing, Hilarious, Pretty, Girl one. Sigh.

17. Paint my nails
During the ridiculous Pantomime I did, I had a lot of free time during rehearsals. I mostly read, but once, I brought some nail polish and decided to tidy up my scratched and cracked polish. Much to the horror of some one who actually knows how to do this neatly, I got a lot of red polish on the skin of my fingers. “It’s fine” I told her, “You just wash your hands once it dries and it all comes off.” Apparently striking randomly in the direction of your nails is not the way to paint them, you can actually achieve this neatly, by gently placing the brush with polish on the edge of the nail, and brushing out delicately.

16. Negotiate a Contract
I find it toooooo awkward talking about money, well, that which applies to me. Other people, fine, FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHTS. Me? No. I’ll just take the same small paycheck until I get annoyed and leave.

15. Cook a full Turkey or Chicken
Thankfully for my first Christmas away from home, it was a hodge-podge of religions and traditions, so we just had chicken breasts for lunch. I went to a Thanksgiving dinner hosted by my friend, and her Turkey was so amazing and moist, and the stuffing…ah! Simply awesome. But I just don’t get it. This probably has something to do with my problems with the oven.

14. Use eBay
I set up an account. I browse. I think I even set up a paypal account. But when it comes to stuff I actually want to buy…?! There seem to be too many buttons to click, too many things too fill out. UGH. Too much. I’d rather buy something face to face (oh god now I sound like an old foggie who is afraid of the internet.)

13. File a Tax Return
I have always given my tax returns to somebody else to do (boyfriends, father, accountant I worked for as a personal assistant) but now the date of lodging a Tax Return in Toronto looms, and I’m going to have to bite the bullet and figure it out. In a foreign country. Great.

12. Fill a car up with petrol
This seems just silly, but it is true. I grew up for a number of years with no car and no need for one (in Hong Kong and all) so my parents never asked me to help out with doing this. Also, I miss the days of service (here comes the old foggie Paris) remember when people served? Like at petrol stations they would fill up your car for you.

11. Use an Iron
I have tried, and I have failed. I’m getting better, but I would still not count ironing amongst my skill set.

10. Walk away from the samples people in grocery stores
If I take a free tester, I know that I will be standing there for a good five minutes listening to the sales pitch. I may even pick up the item they are hawking and then sneakily put it down somewhere else. I am a WUSS. That’s why I’ve just had to start declining.

9. Tie a nice pony tail
I remember first learning to tie up my own hair for school very late, like year 6 or even year 7. Why would I need to learn? I always had bob cuts, and when I did have longish hair as a kid, I had a maid and a mother that did french braids and treated me like a real live doll. Even now when I attempt it, it has lumps and bumps and I just think “fuckit” and leave it. It’s the artsy disheveled look ya’know?

8. Use the Automatic Cheque deposit at the ATM
I’ve never really tried – and I prefer to speak to a person direct (that way the cheque clears instantly) but yeah – I should learn how to use that technology though, not just to fight off foggie status, but also, like, come on man. The future.

7. Make a Tiramasu
It is my delightful roommie’s birthday Tomorrow, and after sneakily asking around for her favorite cake flavour to surprise her, have learned that her heart yearns for Tiramasu… If a cake doesn’t come in a box and require, 1 cup water, 1 cup vegetable oil and 2 eggs, then I can’t make it. Sorry. My desert cooking abilities are limited. I am an expert desert eater, just a poor desert maker. (Surely I should pick one meal and try to become a champion in that field, I have always thought I’d like to be good at deserts – everyone loves Nigella after all!)

6. Fix/Replace a Smoke Detector
Luckily I have always lived with those much more capable than myself – so our smoke detectors have remained active, and I, as a result, have not died a death related to smoke inhalation. The only reason I know our current smoke detector works is that I frequently set it off when cooking.

5. Hang a picture
I’m sure I COULD hang a picture, I mean – I logically know the steps involved: find a strongish wall, nail, hammer, TAH-DAH hang your picture. But I haven’t, and as a result, the beautiful frames I got for Christmas remain propped against the base of my wall, waiting to be hung.

4. Fix a flat tire
Are you really so surprised? If I can’t fill a damn car with petrol, how can I be expected to remove bits and fix them? I’ve seen them do it in movies. Looks like it involves a jack to lift up the car and then what? Screw driver? Meh.

3. Make a cup of Coffee
I drink tea, which is as hard as putting a tea bag in some hot water, adding milk, sugar, and stirring. Coffee drinkers seem to have a whole other process going on – that I just don’t get. They grind it, pour water through the ground up beans and a tiny paper sheet? UGH I don’t get it, and I live in fear of someone asking me to make them a cup.

2. Tell the difference between a ‘Good’ Bottle of wine and a Crap one
Yes, I’m afraid wines are wasted on me. If it’s sweet or bubbly, I’ll drink it. I know I like Zinfandel’s and that’s about it. My parents (who love wine) despair of me. My attitude until a year or two ago was: If it gets me drunk and goes down okay, then it’s probably alright. Classy.

1. Drive a Car
Yep, that is probably the number one thing I should be able to do at the age of 23. I have a long list of excuses for why I HAVE NOT got it, including that I went to University in a far away city, and that the legal driving age in Hong Kong is 18…blah blah blah, the truth of the matter is, I should have found a time to do it before now, but I haven’t and so I take to the road as a 23-year-old learner, attempting it on the wrong side of the road. I hope my friends who have offered to help will be patient with me.

And there you have it.

23 things people should probably have learned to do by the age of 23. Am I bothered? Perhaps a little bit.
But I have other experiences and areas of expertise. If you really break it down, I’m not great at Cars, fixing things, cooking, or cleaning, (and some online stuff) so long as I can find people who CAN do these things, then I’ll be alright.

And in return, I’ll write all the witty blogs.

Most definetly definatley definitly

Damnit.

And the Cowardly Lion asked for Courage

I always loosely refer to the reasons I decided to stay in North America. I write about it mostly in a jokey way, making light of the cultural differences between Australians and Canadians, social commentaries on Torontonians, and the little idiosyncrasies of adapting to a lifestyle far from the those of my childhood and early adulthood.
When I meet new people, they all quickly pick up on the foreign accent, and ask me inevitable personal questions like:

“Were are you from?”

Which can then migrate to much more personal questions very quickly, such as:

“Do you miss your family?”

“How long are you staying?”

“Don’t you get homesick?”

                                                                                                                                        “What made you decide to stay here?”

“Isn’t it hard?”                

A lot of times, the conversations about me being in Toronto will end with the interviewers pronouncement of:

“Wow! I could never do that!”

or

“I’m so jealous! I wish I was brave enough to just pick up and go.”

I appreciate that people find my journey and life experience interesting (if I didn’t, I wouldn’t keep a blog), but sometimes I feel like I am an exhibit in the Zoo, even more so than I did when I lived in Australia, (where I had the right accent) and in Asia, (where there was a large community of expats I fit into.)

The truth of the matter is, I am not especially brave.

“Yes. I do miss my family.
Every single day.
They are my foundation.
A collection of my best friends.
A huge part of my life.”

“I don’t know how long I am staying.
It’s an adventure.
It could be a year. It could be ten.
I haven’t put a time limit on myself.”

“Yes. I do get homesick.
Of course I do.
How could I not?
I miss the familiar,
My friends,
My Cat,
My favourite Coffee shop.”

“I chose to stay in Toronto because I like Canada.
I had the visa, I knew of a job I could get.
I knew of an apartment for rent.
It seemed like the easiest option at the time.
It saved me the cost of the flight home.
It was different.
Something new and exciting.”

“Yes. It is hard.”

And when people tell me they could never do it, or that they wish they were brave enough, I smile politely and make some kind of socially appropriate remark, but really I want to make a face like:

Because I don’t feel so brave.

I have huge meltdowns. I cry, and I think about packing it all up and going home, regularly. There are days where I speak to members of my family and it’s so great to hear their voice or see their faces over Skype, but when they are gone, when we hang up, I feel empty and far away from their every day lives, and I hate it, and have to ask myself repeatedly what I am doing with my life.

Some day’s there is a crushing sense of loneliness, and I realize just how far away from the people I love I am. It hits me that my friends in Australia and Hong Kong, and I, are drifting apart, and that the places I loved are not the same now as they are in my memory. We’re all growing up and changing.

I know from experience, that the first year is the hardest, when you move to a new place. I’m getting there (it will be a year in June), but for now I’m kind of trapped in that place in-between. Things aren’t totally new and shiny, but I still get frustrated because I don’t know simple things everybody else seems to know, and I can still get so, so, lost. I hate feeling like such an outsider, when every day I feel more and more like I belong.

Rationally, I know it’s a process. On a human level, that is difficult to take day after day.

It’s exhausting and emotionally draining, and I feel like this:

So what is the alternative you ask? If it is so hard, why don’t I just go back where it is familiar and easy.

And the answer is, because if you always do what you’ve always done, you will always get what you’ve always gotten.
And the thought of that unchanging routine, scares me more, would be more damaging to my soul, than the difficulties and hardships of trying to break in somewhere new.

That is the reality which keeps me struggling through the tough bits day by day, because even though it is hard, the reward is adventure, experiences, fantastic stories to tell. The new and exciting contribute to my creativity. The hardships and adversity help me face other challenges in different aspects of my life.

My attitude is if I can move to Toronto with a backpack, $1000, and the will to make it work, then really, I can do anything.

I guess that’s a little bit brave.

P

(dedicated to JS for reminding me)