So High School

Everything about this is hilarious to me

Being back in Hong Kong is sometimes so weird.

In this fast paced city, so much can change. Leave for a year and BOOM they’ve just built all these new buildings and your favourite cheap outlet is gone and French Restaurants have moved in everywhere (this is no joke…where the hell did all the frogs come from?!)

BUT *screechbangwaitasecond* so much can stay the same. I went to an ANZAC memorial service on Thursday with my parents and the Australian International School (where I went for the last four years of High School) was well represented by kids in hideous Green and Gold blazers. And Lo, who should I spy, but my old Headmaster who is still kicking it (with more grey hair) here in Hongkers in the same job. I bumped into so many people who are still here doing their thing – same old same old, you know?

The great thing about Hong Kong people is, no matter how long you have been gone and no matter how much has changed, friendships and conversations pick up right where they left off. Having a happy hour cocktail with a girlfriend after 2 years, it’s like I saw her yesterday. Meet my friend after the gym for some fatty fat fat Starbucks time, didn’t we do this yesterday? Oh no wait that was 18 months ago.

But being back in this city also reminds me of the High School times I had and all the stupid High School stuff we did. Like…remember in High School when someone could do one thing, and they were out of your life forever?

It’s sad that I’ve realized over the past few years I’ve become much more judgemental and quick to get angry at people or cut them out of my life. I wasn’t always like this. Even my dad has picked up on it, and to him, I can do no wrong, right Papa?

In High School and at University I was the easy going friends-with-everyone type. Maybe i’m getting older and more jaded? Dunno. Whatever it is, over the last few years I’ve noticed a change in myself that I’m trying to rewind. I don’t try to have enemies…

But there was ONE time in High School where I did cut someone out of my life with the words “Have a Nice Life” and remained until the last few years, extremely angry, and considered this girl my enemy.

It’s not a particularly interesting story and it’s definitely High School, but basically, a rumour got started while we went away on our grad trip that next to all the drinking we were doing (our parents knew about this…they knew we sneaked out to bars with our fake ID’s) we were also smoking *SHOCK* pot. Now, the reason this rumour got started was because of me. I had always had a VERY open relationship with my parents about what was going on, and they’d seen it all before, and I made some flippant comment about stoners on a phone call to my Mother, which she then mentioned to a friend (a teacher at our High School) in an anecdote which then BLEW UP into a huge escalando! (Goodness me Beatrice, the children have begun smoking Marijuana!)

Just prior to this grad trip, I’d been having a HELL of a year. My parents were splitting, it was my final year of High School, my brothers and father had moved to the other side of the world, my mother was battling an addiction and depression. Not a fun cocktail. And this girl who I had been close with for four years, suddenly turned around and accused me of being a snitch and a this that and the other and told me I had to call her parents and tell them I had been lying to get attention.

Well.

Nope.

At 18, despite being a very emotional and extreme person (which I still am to some degree) I decided, heart racing, that because she and I were moving to different parts of Australia to pursue our University degrees, to not engage in this drama. And I simply told her to have a nice life, and actually, haven’t really spoken to her in 6.5 years since we graduated. I bumped into her a few times over this period, and after the first time when she tried to talk to me, and I (extremely drunk) turned my back on her and faced a wall, have had (obviously) thoughts about why I acted the way I did.

In what mind-frame do you just decide someone is out of your life forevermore in a moment? Life is long and relationships are hard and tricky and messy and interesting.

I’d like to think that each year I get older, I also get a little wiser (pfffffft) and so, this year, being back in this great city for two months, with the opportunity to reconnect again with my friends and family, I’d like to work on being a little more normal when it comes to people and relationships.

Ultimately as humans (like bee’s…i think) our society and our self is built on relationships and interactions (unless you’re that Hermit guy in Wales…but even he has to buy his milk from somewhere).

So I will strive to approach people with more tolerance, and remember that at the end of the day we’re all human and we all make mistakes.

 

Well at least life is interesting

Sometimes I forget that not everyone travels around and lives in different places as easily as I do. I don’t feel particularly different from the people I meet, and I try to live in the moment as much as possible. I have been living in Toronto for almost 2 years (June 12 is my 2 year Anniversary with Canada) and I guess at this point I’m surprised when people think its neat that I am from Australia.

Oh yeaaaah, I’m from Australia. Right.

People is People, as they say (in the muppets 1984) and to be honest, I forget you are all Canadian.

Buuuuut…eesh…awkward…I’m not really from Australia, because I’ve now lived more years overseas than I ever did in the land of my Parents and Grandparents (cheers for the sweet passport). There are days when I miss Sydney like crazy, but I realize it’s the people and the time that it represented that I miss the most (Uni days with the best girlfriends and guyfriends in the world). Okay I miss the Harbour Bridge and King street Newtown, the Beaches and Paddington, but the great thing about my little Navy Passport with the Kangaroo and Emu on it, is that I can go back any time.

And I honestly feel like I COULD just slot back in there. Familiar streets, familiar faces.

Anyone that knows me well knows that I secretly FREAK out when it comes to change, but they also know that I am constantly making myself do weird things and change-it-up because I am like two people sharing the same personality. One, a quiet homebody type who doesn’t really want to rock the boat and wants to live a quiet, friendly, calm, stable life, and the other a crazy, Adventurous, eccentric type who says “f^%$ you, I do what WANT!” And moves to the otherside of the world with no warning.

Like on April 3rd 2013.

On April 3rd 2013 I’m going home to Hong Kong for 7 weeks to work as an Assistant Stage Manager on a rather huge production, home to the land of my High School friends, my mother, and our Irritating but adorable Cat Guinness.

Guinness the Cat

The homebody me at first dismissed the idea of going:

Homebody Me: What about the opportunities here you may miss out on? What about your room, you’ll have to find a sublet, what about…what about…what about…

But luckily for me, my eccentric side listened to the many naggings on my mother, and simply decided, “screw this, I’m going”…and booked a ticket, confident that the rest would just fall into place. (Which it always does)

And with each day that passes since I simply made up my mind to go, I’m getting more and more excited. Because the Adventurous me gets nervous when things are a bit too quiet, and what seems more fun? Temping and doing Volunteer TV stuff, or going to Asia and working on a West End like production? If the universe unfolds as it should, and with the Job market such a dogs breakfast over here…maybe I was meant to take this opportunity all along?

With my new 2 year Canadian work visa up for renewal, and the idea that I will continue to live in Toronto for the next two years, the homebody part of me is somewhat satisfied that there is stability on the horizon.

And the adventurous part of me is PSYCHED to learn some new things, meet some new people, reconnect with old friends, and generally spend some time deviating from the norm some more.

I am an Australian born, Asia Bred girl of 24 who lives in Canada.

Got all that? Good.

Bullshit Express

I realize that a lot of my blog posts contain wisdom from my Mum. Every time I do it I feel like singing Mama Say’s from Footloose.

I can’t help it. My Mama is a smart lady who pontificates wisdom even from afar. And one thing she has begun to say in recent years, as I have languished and moaned and sighed and swooned about why my career hasn’t taken off RIGHT NOW WHEN I STAMPED MY FOOT AND SHOOK MY FISTS…

 

 

 

Is:

“Fake it til you make it.”

Now, she wasn’t talking in the bedroom, get your minds out of the gutter, she was speaking more I think about life and careers and such. I think. Sometimes her wisdom is loose and malleable to many and all (sometimes contradictory) instances.

But anyway.

Recently I’ve been interning at a place called Rogers TV over here in Toronto. It’s like Foxtel in Australia or Star TV in Hong Kong. They are a cable provider, but they also have their community channels and local programming. As a result of being a big personality, blonde, Australian anomaly (and not half bad at public speaking I suppose) and being around the studio two days a week, I was offered the opportunity to audition for a role as community reporter.

So I went along to the audition, finding it hard to take the whole thing seriously as I was being screened by the Producer and Director of the morning show I intern on and had to fake interview another Producer I was chummy with and pretend we were at an Oktoberfest thing.

The whole thing was a trip into randomness. But it was fun. And they chose me and another girl out of six female audition participants to get our reporter on. So woooh us.

Since then I have probably shot 7 or 8 segments for Daytime Toronto and two Segments for Toronto Speaks. I never know when they are going to air (I honestly think the Producer kind of figures it out last minute) and it is always fun when someone mentions they saw me, or when I go in to work on Daytime and realize they are rolling something I shot.

Keep in mind that I do all of this UNPAID in the hopes that it will lead to that amazing J-bomb of a word…

A Job.

I’m just like the rest of the underpaid (read: Not Paid) over worked, underfed (pahhhhahaha if only) interns out there.

The difference is on occasion I get to hold a Red microphone (which is usually scratched up to shit) and plaster on my biggest ditzy smile and have a cameraperson (usually a big burly dude named Ken who I secretly adore) follow me around to different local community events.

And wow you should see how people react.

Nobody has ever heard of me.

Nobody recognizes me.

Everybody loves me.

It’s amazing what an aura of pretend control, a microphone and a clipboard full of realease forms can do.

Mostly I just pretend that I’ve done this reporting thing a million times. I throw words like “shoot” and “Mike check” around and people are putty in my hands. The first time I ever went on a Rogers shoot (because the way it works over at Rogers TV is they are like: “Oh you’ve never actually interviewed anyone on camera before? That’s okay, go do it right now) Ken asked me if I’d done this sort of thing before, and I snorted and was like DUH. Ken. God. Get with the program. But my hands were shaking like I had had 15 cups of coffee. And I messed up 2 takes. AND it is possibly one of the worst/most awkward interviews you have ever seen in your life.

Fake it til you make it.

But if anyone every asked, I would come straight out and say it. I do this for FREE because it’s great experience and also it’s FUN and also sometimes there are free sandwiches (once. once there were free sandwiches. And it was glorious. And I ate loads. And Ken and I got to take some home.)

Yes. I tweet and Instagram and Facebook a lot of shit about the TV thing. I’m trying to build something like an online persona. But I’m open about all of the things above.

So it’s pretty interesting (in the way horrifying things are) to me when people aren’t honest about themselves and the bullshit castle they’ve built. Theres faking it til you make it, and then there is delusion and believing your own bullshit.

We all bullshit, it’s part of life and its DEFINITELY a part of social media.

But it doesn’t have to be a part of the voices in the back of your head. It doesn’t have to nourish you.

Today on the show we had a guest who was SO into her own bullshit, it was hysterical.

I was behind Camera Two today (the easiest Camera, because…well I’m not that great at Camera and it is a live show) and this guest was preparing herself for her segment, lounging around having had her makeup done by the professional make up artist (also a volunteer) and she starts telling a story, to no one in particular but I guess KINDOF the publicist for the company she represents, and kind of to the crew standing around in the calm before the storm (all unpaid and learning just like me, I should add) and she starts name dropping like we give a fuck.

Nope. Sorry. Never heard of this supposedly famous columnist you know over at some online magazine I’ve never heard of.

Ironically she mentioned that her other famous blogger friend who lives in NEW YORK (ooooohhh my god you know someone living in New York?! It’s JUST like Sex and the City!) was blogging about her and her relationship and BASICALLY wrote an open letter to her and it was SCANDALOUS.

Cue dramatic pause.

Cue all of us shrugging like…whaaaaa the crazy guest talking about?

TV will do weird things to people.

This lady was on the show to talk about hand creams. And maybe if I google her, she will turn out to be a big deal.

Buuuuuuuut. I didn’t really care.

I just wanted to check my focus and find out what the chef was cooking to see if we’d get yum free food after the show.

You know.

The important stuff.

 

 

The Fourth day of the New Year

I for one buy into all the New Year resolutions brew-ha-ha. I’m no fool. I know that realistically this time last week I was no hugely different person (although I was in Hong Kong having a pretty sweet-as time with my family), but there is something about the “New Year” that really does it for me. The idea that things are new and shiny and that the slates are wiped clean. That appeals to me.

I’d like to think that one has the ability to change their destiny, and when you feel like you are stuck in a funk, then something as simple as a change from 2012 to 2013 and taking the time to re-evaluate your priorities is extremely important.

I was also told years ago that the way you spend your New Years Eve is the way you will spend your year. It is one of those stupid things that I heard in childhood and has stuck with me like gospel. I spent New Years Eve working an event with my family (dressing up as crazy Medieval characters), and the following day I was travelling. So following that logic, my 2013 should be filled with a) lots of work, b) lots of family c) Creativity and d) Travel.

I hope so. Family is so incredibly important to me, which may strike you as odd considering I live a comfortable 15 hour flight away from my closest family member. But that is the life of the expatriate that I have to embrace. I am an expat brat through and through, and I’ll never be happy unless I’m moving around sampling the world around me.

Yes, it gets exhausting and I get tired. Last night I cracked the shits (which is an Australian expression meaning to lose it, or to get angry and hysterical…not any other fun thing you can think of) and said that I wanted to go home (which home you ask…ahh?).

But at the end of the day I do love being an Austraalien in Canada. It isn’t easy, and it especially is frustrating when you are job seeking like I have been and feel like you are getting nowhere. But i’m not ready to move back to Australia or Hong Kong at this stage. And although I am secretly desperate to move to the UK, or NYC, I think it would be a foolish move at this point.

So for now I must content myself with the piles of snow and the polite Canadians.

But it certainly was interesting to be back in Hong Kong for the christmas break. It is amazing how some things can change so dramatically in 18 months and some things can stay so the same. Walking around, navigating the streets, bumping into people, it was like I had never left. But then a couple of my favourite shops had disappeared and there were new trendy shops in my area (Sheung Wan in Hong Kong used to be the antiques district, and when my Mum moved there 6 years ago, there were carpenters in the street and a couple of vegetable vendors, all of which have been muscled out for trendy new “concept stores.”)

It was weird to go to Hong Kong and then to come back to Toronto. It really solidified Toronto as “home” for the moment. All my stuff is here, my boyfriend, my phone bill…all the commitment things, ya’know?

But I was glad to be coming back. Too many of my Expat Brat friends moved back to Australia and are stuck there a bit now. They have better jobs than me, but they don’t necessarily plan on living the Expat lifestyle anymore. And I do. I love Australia and I miss my friends, but I’m not ready to end up there yet.

I suppose it doesn’t matter where you are so long as you are happy.

Well…here’s to being happy in 2013.

End of First rant of the year… for now

Uggggghhhh Days that suck

As someone who has pretty much had everything handed to her/been sheltered from the tough gritty crappy bits of the world and everyday life, ‘Days that Suck‘ come as quite the surprise. I can only liken them to a person who enjoys swimming in a glittering, warm pool every, single day, who is suddenly shocked when a giant dead squid rises from the depths and into their face. It’s smelly, its slimy, you feel uncomfortable and you just want that thing OUT of your life and for it to return to normal.

…How we liking that imagery? Yeah…it’s pretty offbeat, but I think i’ll keep it.

If you read my blog frequently (and statistics say that you do*) you will have read many instances of my whiny rumbles about this and that. I try to make it fun for both of us by saying WIDLY inappropriate things and throwing in funny instances from my wacky childhood. (Oh you!)

So strap yourself down because here comes another family-friendly rant about why my fairly cushy pampered life sucks.

I mentioned a few blog posts ago that I was annoyed to discover a mistake on my visa (once it was issued) and because I am apparently not detail oriented at all (must take that off my resume) I didn’t notice for 14 months. It has been two weeks since then, and I have been waiting patiently for the errors made (not by me) to be fixed.

2 weeks and it still hasn’t begun to be processed…

My lovely friend Kate (also an Aussie and also my main access to calm at the moment) tells me that these places are CRAP and that I shouldn’t sweat it and we all know they suck and blah blah blah.

But if you know me at all (and statistics say that you do*) then you’ll know that there has not been a day in my life where someone would describe me as patient. In fact if you could turbo charge the word IMpatient, attach lasers to it and get it to roll around on the floor like it was having an epileptic fit, then thats what I would be described as. Is there a word for that in the English language? Hum.

I’m tired of sitting at home on my increasingly fat ass like a dole-bludger but with no dole and no TV. Today, inspired by my Mother, who is always right and who I should listen to more, I got tough and contacted people. I was in a frenzy for two hours (don’t take no for an answer! My mother yelled, like a battle cry) and finally got someone at the Visa call centre to process a complaint on my file. Now an agent must call me. Why didn’t this happen a week ago? I look forward to the agent who is calling me in 24-48 hours. But oh how I wish my mother was here to give them a piece of my mind (because I’m kind of bad at that, i’m like, here…would you like some of my mind? A piece perhaps? My Mum is like HERE IS ALL OF MY FUCKING PIECES, YOU WILL TAKE THEM AND YOU WILL BE THANKFUL AND YOU WILL ASK FOR SECONDS.)

Surprisingly saddened by the fact that my consulate here in Toronto was very unhelpful. I spoke to a guy who sympathized with me two weeks ago. I called back and got the same guy (how many people are working there?) and with my “don’t take no for an answer!” attitude, was put on the phone to a scary lady who told me the exact same information and said it in that lovely Bitchy tone that some middle aged Australian women can use:

Think the mean girls from Porpoise Spit from the movie ‘Murials Wedding’ (if you don’t get that reference, go get that movie, Toni Collette is amazing in it.)

Now I think I’ll go eat the rest of the nutella out of the jar.

I know I am not the first person in the world to be unemployed/a sad sack, but its a true shock for someone who has always had the easiest ride.

UNIVERSE REVEAL YOUR TRUE PLAN!

When I went to the fountain of wisdom (my mum) and asked her if she thought all this was a sign I should leave Canada, she told me that I should kill a chicken, look at it entrails and there I would find the sign the message that the universe has been trying to tell me… LIFE FUCKING SUCKS AND IS HARD SOMETIMES. Deal with it.

Oh okay.

I’ll try that

Seeing the City

As my one year anniversary with Canada creeps closer (12th June), I find myself reflecting more and more on what I have done, the new experiences I have had, and MOST importantly, the people I have met.

When I think about Sydney or Hong Kong, the things I miss most are the people and the minute victories and adventures we went on together. The picnics at Glebe Park, the tiny enclosed water gardens.

 

I miss the moments together (and there are plenty, my walls in Toronto are plastered with the photographs, little reminders of many of the adventures).

But every day in Toronto is like waking up and living an adventure. Sure, I get more and more used to it every day, but it always hits me at some point in the 24 hour stretch, Oh My God, I’m actually living here!

I am the first person in my family to come to North America, and for them it is as much of a journey. While I may be getting slightly dulled and used to the idea of being in Canada, I think it is still a big surprise and joy for my wide spread family to see me living it up in a place so far from where I was born and grew up.

I love to take photo’s of the weird experiences (uniquely North American) and post them to my blog or Facebook, and for my family to remind me just how lucky I am, and just how special these experiences are.

 

 

I’m going to be experiencing something new this Thursday, when I head to Miami to celebrate Cinco de Mayo with my Cuban/American friend who lives there. Having only been to Boston for the weekend, and Buffalo for the day, I can’t wait to see this different part of the world.

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)

 

 

The Cliches are True

It’s a cliché and I know it, to say, “Life is short.” It’s the kind of thing my Dad would say, as he holds my hand (yes we still hold hands,) and every time I see him he gets misty eyed and tells me how I used to fit in his forearm between his palm and the crook of his elbow and life is too short and quick.

But life IS short, or the days are, and they seem to ZOOM past at an incredible pace, with no regard for the people in them, like HEY! I had things to do today, oh well… I guess I’ll do them tomorrow. The little squares in the calendar don’t even get written in, the events and appointments and life things come at me too thick and heavy I just have to make a mental note. I race through the week, plodding through each working day and then I wake up and lo and behold it is Saturday morning, and there is nowhere I have to rush to be, and snow covers the rooftops because it snowed over night, and I’m like, What happened to this week? Where did Wednesday go? What did I achieve? I can have a whole weekend to myself again? And then what? We’ll restart the week and then we’ll keep doing this and then it will be Christmas again?

Ok.

If you’ve ever read my blog before you’ll know that I am pretty full of life, and I love mine, good, bad, f*cking nuts, bruised, scraped, shiny, insane family and all. I love the new experiences I have and every day (even the ones where I cry because I miss Sydney and Hong Kong and my friends and family) I wake up with wonder in my heart and joy in every breath I take.

What an incredible place Toronto is, the other side of the world from where I was born, and half a world away from the linoleum floored apartment’s of Asia. And how young I feel in view of all the things on this planet I still have to see and learn – I walk around with wide-eyed excitement like a toddler. But then I see photos of old high school friends at such and such’s wedding, and WOW do we look old, like real adults. That’s weird because when I look in the mirror all I see is a slightly more made-up version of the 15-year-old I still feel like.

And that’s time, tricking me. Has it really been six years since I graduated high school!? I see the babies that were in year 6 when I was in year 12 graduating and going to Universities, and I’m like, WAIT A DAMN SECOND!! You can drink now?!  Are people really getting married and having babies? What’s that about? Who are these people with real job titles like “Market Analyst”? Because all i see is Market Anal-yst. Sigh.

And then I realize Canuck boyfriend is turning 28 this year and what the HELL could you BE any closer to 30!? (yes I guess…he could be 29….)

Am I still going to feel like a child in this wide world when I have my own child eventually? Is there a switch that flicks from child to adult, and where is that located? Or don’t I want to know?

The Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory of my life’s existence

I adored the ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ book and film as a child and vowed that one day, when I was rich (and famous, in my mind those two things always went hand in hand) enough, I would make that infinite candy land a reality.

I think like most kids, the magic of the chocolate river and surrounding candy trees stemmed from the vastness of that land, the endless delicious potential and the way the children were encouraged to partake of the scrumptious surroundings (well…except when they went and took things they were told not too…like poor old Augustus Gloop – but that’s ruining the metaphor that I’m about to get to).

Even though I don’t have daffodil candy cups to drink out of and then devour, I’d say that life has pretty much become the candy field of my dreams. Every day presents a new delicious possibility. The world is that Candy field.

As I subway-ed with my roomie Jem this morning, we looked up at the Toronto train line and compared where we had been on the that multi-coloured bisected squiggely “U”. Jem went to Uni here for four years but is a PEI native, and I’ve been here 8 months (nearly 9! wow!) and between us we haven’t been to all that many stops on the Subway line.

As we train surfed and bumped into our fellow subwayer’s (actually quite a nice experience as everyone is padded up in the winter jackets) we talked about how we need to randomly jump on the train and get off at a new stop to see what there is to see.

It’s hard not to get bogged down in the routine of every day life. I’ve only really been living in Toronto six months (because the first two I was up in Haliburton at Camp) and yet I’m already pretty routined up. Work is a routine, you get up, wash your face, brush your hair, put on your clothes, eat some breakfast, grab your bag and head for the subway. You get to work, do your thing, then you go home, make dinner, have a shower, watch something on your laptop and then go to bed. All to be repeated the following day. Sure there are mid-week variations, you might see a movie or grab some dinner, but usually there are cinemas or restaurants you always go to. It seems varied but it isn’t.

Hence the Jem and Paris plan to shake things up a bit and randomly go somewhere in Toronto. Variety is the spice of life – it’s something my mum always says but it truly is true.

Another thing my Mum loves to say is:

“If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”

Ain’t that hard-edge-of-the-hammer-that-smashes-you-in-the-head truth?

Basically, if there is something crappy in your life, it isn’t going to change itself. If you always plant corn in the spring, you’re going to harvest corn in the fall (I am totally making shit up now…I know nothing about farming). But do you get what I’m saying?

I’m not sure if it is fear or laziness that keeps us trapped as prisoners in our own lives. For me it can be both of varying scales. On a smaller scale, eating at different restaurants is a laziness thing. I know what food I like and I know places to get it. I know the movie theatres that are nearby and so I go there.

The fear thing comes in more when people talk about big changes. A friend of mine that I met in an awful amdram play I am doing, tells me she wants to move to Australia. Yes there may or may not be a guy involved. My advice is DO IT! She tells me how she doesn’t love her job and she’s not always so happy. I told her the quote above and she sighs and tells me it’s not that easy.

No. It’s not easy to change things. Most people (including myself) fear change.

But it’s the struggles and the big leaps which often yield the most fabulous rewards.

Think:
-Getting Married
-Moving Countries
-Having a baby
-Changing Jobs
-Traveling
-Writing that novel
-Committing to that creative project.

If Charlie had never bought that chocolate bar, if he’d gone on as he had, then what would have happened? His two sets of grandparents would still be sharing that one double bed.

And he never would have got to try that floating lemonade.

Austraalien on Australia day

I wanted to write a post to coincide with Australia day, about what it means to be an Australian expat living far from home.
That was yesterday here in Canada, two days ago for my Australian friends. Time differences are weird.

The thing is, I have a complicated relationship with the country I was born in, lived in briefly somewhere in the middle of my childhood/adolescence, and then went to University in.
I am Australian, according to my passport. Australia is “home” according to that small navy little book, with colourful pages, my details in the front and a tracking chip in the middle. But if you flip through it, the stamps in it, the time-line… well… they tell a different story.

That’s what this blog is about, me and the Austraalien experience. Being an Alien in every culture. Someone different, noticeably outsider-ish whether it be because of the colour of my skin and hair, my accent, or my lack of cultural identifiers. I felt like a complete idiot when I started University, people talked and laughed about things that I had never heard of. They used slang I wasn’t familiar with, and had social cues that went right over my head. But then so did my Hong Kong Chinese friends, laughing in Cantonese, a language I vaguely but-not-really tried to learn.

But then, I have never tried to fit in.

Call it stubbornness, link it to my generations love of individualism.

The perceived otherness, the thing that sets us a part. The thing that makes us special.

Because that’s what everyone wants to believe. That they are some how different and special.

I’ve written blog posts before about seeking a home, that elusive construct that I’m not sure exists for me.

But I’ve never let my roots grow too deep. I could have stayed in Australia after my Masters degree, 2012 would mark six years. But I didn’t. I got out. I had to. I was choking and suffocating, not happy in myself, my relationship or the path I was headed. When I lived there, I couldn’t stop dissing it. I compared it constantly to my other “home” Hong Kong and ridiculed things that I perceived as being inferior to that Asian shopping and eating Mecca. I refused to see the positive qualities, the things it did extremely well.

The thing that kills me now that I’m over in North America, is how many people are busting their asses to get over to the country I snubbed. Canadians, Americans, and those from the UK (the majority of people I meet here) are DYING to go to Australia. Many have already been, and used up their one year living visa. People are incredulous that I would trade Sydney, Australia, that haven of beach blondes, bridges and blue sky, for the great white North.

And when I think about Australia, being far away from it, I am ridiculously proud of some aspects of that wide flat country. Yes we have beautiful scenery, but we’re also a notoriously fun and friendly people, big drinkers and big talkers. People love Australians- and everyone has a cultural anecdote or joke to tell.

I’m ridiculously sentimental, and when I hear the qantas song, I tear up. It’s here if you haven’t heard it before.

Tear jerker for me, here are the lyrics:

I’ve been to cities that never close down,
From New York to Rio and old London town,
But no matter how far or how wide I roam,
I still call Australia home.

I’m always trav’lin’,
And I love being free,
And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea,
But my heart lies waiting — over the foam.
I still call Australia home.

All the sons and daughters spinning ’round the world,
Away from their families and friends,
But as the world gets older and colder and colder,
It’s good to know where your journey ends.

But someday we’ll all be together once more,
When all of the ships come back to the shore,
I realize something I’ve always known,
I still call Australia home.

But no matter how far or how wide I roam,
I still call Australia, I still call Australia,
I still call Australia home.

Even though Australia day doesn’t really mean anything to me, here in Canada it gave me pause to think about what it means to be an Aussie, and it did make me feel homesick for that sunburnt country.

There are lots of songs and poems which I do identify with, that do speak to something deep inside me, a nationalistic pride I suppose.

But then I remember how out of place I feel when I’m there. Is that something I’ll grow out of? Will I ever truly feel as though I belong there?