Some Things. (I promise I'm not actually this much of a chocoholic)

 Here's a new word for you, blog.

Vorfreude - (n.) The joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

Oh, well hello, word that so easily defines my life. How are you this evening?

I suppose on every second day, however, I would need to replace the word 'joyful' with something more like 'restless' or 'frustrated' or 'stupidly impatient'. We can leave 'intense' where it is.

I don't even know how to pronounce you properly, new word. But I do know that you seem perfectly capable of pronouncing and giving a voice to my multitude of unspeakable thoughts... so, you know, kudos for that.

~

The following is a whole lotta' stuff. Stuff with things in it.

~

This photo was weird because that
hand is actually my hand.
This girl edited the photo and put
her face behind it and that's
just weird but I guess it's cool.

I'm spending so much of my spare time (which is often as of late, huzzah for me! Kind of. Kind of huzzah.) in our caravan parked in the carport, ruining the pads of my left index, middle and ring finger on mum's 12-string guitar.
Which I have now claimed as mine. Think of it as instrument adoption. I've taken the sweet, melodious little baby in and have given it a better home. One filled with nurture and love, rather than dust and cobwebs and the skeletons of dead spiders.

Port Lincoln, SA (during our almost-trip to Perth)

But I like the caravan. It has this distinct smell about it that reminds me of the time I almost (but did not) go to Perth just under 2 years ago. Wow, how the time has flown by since then...
Plus, the caravan provides a more isolated sanctuary away from the crazily lovable and lovably crazy nieces and nephews when they come to visit just about every day. I love them a lot. But my new baby (12-string needs a good name, doesn't it?) doesn't love them so much.

Jon Foreman, lead singer of Switchfoot
(Ringwood, Melbourne - 22nd April 2011)

So in the caravan, I can relax, I am in a more peaceful environment, I have a mini fridge, air conditioning, a tv and dvd set and two double beds to choose from if I wish to have a nap.

Basically everything except the kitchen sink. Except it does actually have a kitchen sink.

If only I could fit my piano in there somehow.

Daisy - Switchfoot

I spend my days writing songs and eating chocolate, then writing a fictional story which may never be shared with the outside world.
I spend my nights thinking, and on the rare occasion, sleeping.

I uploaded a video of myself singing a song I wrote recently onto YouTube. Never before (or at least not in a long time) have I felt as lame as I did when I uploaded it.

My dad is now constantly pointing out each and every reality television show associated with music. So that means X-Factor, The Voice, and apparently Australia's Got Talent.

I forgot to fangirl about how Steph and I
met New Empire and I had about
three or four little 'moments'
with the lead singer
Jeremy Fowler (to the left of me)
because we understood each other
when it came to music. Oh well.

My answers are (aside from the fact that my first preference would be to find my dreams on a more 'respectable' path) that X-Factor has some cool things to offer people like me, but the extreme media exposure and the whole voting system just makes me want to bang my head against a brick wall, and I suppose the same goes for The Voice.

Australia's Got Talent is great to watch, though I always seem to forget when it's on. I don't know why I enjoy it so much. But I would never be a singer on an all-encompassing talent show like that. Because I know for myself, I always feel so disappointed when a singer wins.
There are other contests specifically for singers (i.e. those two above this paragraph), but nothing like that for the other kinds of talents you find on that show. Ergo, the other talents deserve winning something in my unnecessary opinion.

Tonight mum and I watched a documentary
on Cirque Du Soleil's production called
"O". I was full-blown mesmerised.

Oh, have you noticed? I like to sing. In fact, I love to sing. In fact, I have discovered that music and song is one of the biggest aspects of my life.
So big that I dream almost every night of dedicating my days and nights to it.

For some reason, playing guitar makes playing piano easier. I don't understand how, and I don't really care to try.

The last school production
I was in; Alice in Wonderland.
I was Alice, hence the blue dress.
Beautiful Talana next to me
was the caterpillar who
smoked a shisha
apparently filled with bubbles.
I miss school productions.
Oh and Kirsten's getting
in on the photos to
like the little minx she is.

Chocolate is great though, isn't it?

I have this silly fear that people see my passion for song as a frivolous, childhood dream.
You know back in those days where we'd say "When I grow up, I want to be a famous singer" alongside "When I grow up, I want to be a princess"?
The adult answer would be to smile sweetly at the innocent children that we were and simply nod.

When I tell people I want to be a singer, many seem to look at me as though I haven't grown out of some childish dream.

When Steph came with me
on a family holiday to QLD
when I was 15, we went shopping
and decided we'd try on every item of
clothing we bought at once.

But PEOPLE OF EARTH! You must understand that becoming a singer, though the industry is tough, is much more of a sensible answer than wanting to become a princess, surely...

I'm not aiming for royalty.
I'm bursting to share what I can with others to inspire, encourage and empathize with them. My heart is in music. How else can I live my life?

I think that fear of mine stems from a teacher from school last year, among a few other adults who to this day, still tread carefully around me when the subject of my future arises in conversation.
 Thus resulting to the present times where I still feel reluctant every time someone asks me what I have 'planned'.

We were in year 8 I think, going along a
year 7 excursion to "look after" the younger
students. We didn't really do that at all.
We found a creek and sat on giant boulders
and it was fun.
I miss Kirsten and Dylan.

At least chocolate is inanimate and cannot ask.

Mmm.

Also, with nearly every song I love, I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to write a fictional story built on the lyrics. The trouble with that, is that I go through probably 50 songs a day as I listen to the playlists on my phone.

Last year's Philippines trip. This was
taken in Manila as we walked to a
shopping complex.

Then there are (many, many) moments throughout my days in which everything inside me seems to implode and I am left there, speechless, silent; unable to express anything to anyone, anymore.

Or perhaps it's because in all honesty, nobody is there to listen anyway.

Does that sound depressing? I suppose it feels depressing. But chocolate releases endorphins that make you happy, so I'll just get me some more chocolate.

This was while we were on our way
to Brunei, the stopover before
Manila.

I like Amy Stroup and her simply music. And then Boyce Avenue does a cover of any song by anyone and makes it a thousand times better (with the only exception being Switchfoot, Fiction Family, and anything Jon Foreman. Because his voice and his passion and his heart and his understanding and his wisdom and... *takes breath* is what makes everything he sings so perfectly established. Oh, and probably Coldplay too for obvious reasons).

I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy.

And I'm exhausted from all the times when others unknowingly encourage me to settle for less than what I know I need to do with myself. They do it in a loving and caring way, but that only makes it more exhausting, because they simply don't understand.

And this was in the plane
from Manila to Laoag.

I'm not as naive as I'm sounding, I promise.
But I'm not going to lower any expectations, because I strongly believe that I would not have this insatiable passion if it were to never come to pass.

I shall end this bi polar post now, knowing that there will have been most likely about 2 or 3 people who actually have read these words.
So thanks to you for that, I suppose.

My thought process was completely muddled together throughout this entire thing, can you tell?
I don't even know if I agree with everything I just wrote, but I don't really care all that much.

I try to make a good impression on people, but I don't like that I do.
So with this post, I'm not going to try.

And I'm ending with this photo, taken in Laoag, Philippines after the big school rally.
It speaks for itself quite perfectly. Royce is great.

Inevitability

I'll get there. 

Trains of thought, sent off on a track, eventually lead to a destination.

Some times we trip over a rock.

Isn't it strange? Those moments when you're walking along the footpath, talking animatedly with a friend or two, putting all of your attention and enthusiasm into what you are saying that you push the obvious aspects of everything else you are doing to the back of your mind. You completely disregard all the actions your body is carrying out naturally, the things it's still doing for you easily like clockwork.
And so it is the most shocking, unpredicted experience when all of a sudden...
you trip over a rock. 

Your feet stumble in surprise and your hands fly out to steady yourself by instinct, but still there is that untimely moment of complete shock you experience when the message is sent to your head that, "oh, you tripped over a rock. You could have fallen over, just then. That was unexpected, wasn't it?".

Then, you must take a few moments to find yourself and gather the storyline you vividly imagined as you were describing it to your friend. It's funny how that train of thought simply flies off the rails the moment the normality of your walk comes falling down around you.

All because of a rock, laying lifelessly and inanimately on the footpath.

Do we then proceed to be angry at the rock?

Well, sometimes, I suppose we do. Which, as we do so, we already know is an embarrassingly irrational reaction.

Generally, we don't blame the rock. We instead feel our cheeks turn rosy and feel the slight heat of humiliation fall across the back of our necks.

I usually wait for the friend to have a laugh at me. Then it's almost expected of me to start grumbling about how it had irritated me slightly, therefore making it worthy and acceptable to act annoyed.

It's almost awkward and unacceptable for someone to ignore it, isn't it?

We rarely ever seem capable of carrying on with our conversation while tripping on a rock, do we?

No matter how lively or enthralling the story may be.

To be honest, I bet I'm one of the only people on this planet (if not the only one) who has ever analyzed stepping on a pebble so thoroughly. At least by choice.
But it makes for a sufficient enough metaphorical image to have in my head when I look over my walk in life recently.

There's something about my world for the past little while, where lately I've felt as though I was in the process of tripping on a rock.

I had a storyline, a point to my conversation, but now all of a sudden... 'what was I saying?'

I've been stumbling over an unexpected thought in the uncharted areas of my own life's map, where I was tripped up by something small, but large enough to have an effect.

Lately I've been left wondering how to balance myself out again and continue walking straight.

But I guess the comforting thing is that the friend I'm walking with - Jesus, you've heard of Him, right?
He's not really one to laugh at my misfortune. Not even when I trip on a tiny little rock; not even doing so in sympathy.

He's too busy listening intently on the story I'm telling him with my life - ever at the ready to answer all my questions and offer literally the wisest advice known to all existence at the bat of an eyelash.

So, you know.

The other day, I tripped over a rock.

And I felt a little flustered and frustrated, and I kind of lost my train of thought.

But I had found I was never interrupted with a snicker from my friend.

And the beautiful thing is that whenever something trips me up, all I have to do is turn to my friend and ask, "What was I saying?"

And He'll most happily put my train back on track.

One by one.

The stitches - they come undone

And I'm beginning to burst at the seams

Drifting

"...Time goes running out the window.
When it's just those moments, you don't need to know where you are or where you're going.
You just can't know; theres no way of showing if we ended up where we planned..."

Good morning, New Year.
I'd like to personally welcome 2013 to my online blog! I'm really glad you're here.

A Brand New Kind of Me

"...Looks like a girl, but she's a flame.

So bright, she can burn your eyes; better look the other way..." 

Catching my breath.

Home again, and I suppose I have been for quite a while.
Here lies a compilation of words stringed together to create jumbled, confusing sentences as I attempt to describe the current happenings in my life.

From the last post, I guess I didn't write about the rest of my Philippines trip, did I? I think I'll just talk about my favourite two days, the last Friday and Saturday of the trip.
Friday was (finally) my turn to have my sponsor visit, where Steph, Hollie, Tom, Grace and I went with a team of workers from Bethel 191 to go sightseeing around Laoag, then shopping, then to visit our sponsor children's homes.

We were taken first to the museum where our sponsor kids waited to greet us. I was expecting a shy and quiet Kacey again like he was the first time I had come to Laoag. But I should have known better; that was nearly two years ago. He certainly was not that shy, small six year old I had met in January 2011!
Practically the moment I stepped out of that van and my foot hit the pavement, I heard my name being called before registering two little arms wrapped tightly around me, belonging to the much taller eight year old boy whose smile seemed almost too big for his own mouth.
He was so very excited to see me, as was his mother Beverley and younger sister, Alyssa. I was pretty darn thankful it was a bright, sunny day where I had a reason for sunglasses, as they helped to hide my teary eyes just from his huge grin.
It was exactly like a family reunion - just with a long-distance, unrelated family.

Inside the museum, Beverley was excited to point out what each ancient tool was used for and explain to me the history behind their city, and all the while, Kacey refused to let to go of my hand.
He apparently loves to be cuddled and rough-housed, so I gave him lots of hugs and ruffled hair-do's.
There was one point where a group of children in the museum decided they'd rather watch me rather than one of the exhibits, and I was bombarded for some more photos to the point where poor Kacey was almost trampled on.
I don't think I ever do get used to the pedestal they put white-skinned people on over there. None of us are better than them, it's just not right.

We went from the museum to some other historical building I seem to have forgotten the significance of, and from there, to the Fort Ilocandia hotel (oh the memories from the first time I went there...), and then to what once was President Marcos' humongous house.
Beverley had told me it was her and her childrens' first time ever seeing any of these sights, and they were over the moon. I just loved that no matter how sweltering the heat was, Kacey always had to walk close beside me and hold my hand.

We took our sponsor families to lunch at McDonald's near Robinsons, the biggest shopping center you can find near Laoag. It is definitely huge. Unfortunately, we couldn't even enter the building since it was a public holiday and the school kids were literally in lines filed far outside the building to get inside.
They had spotted us as we were about to enter for Jollybee's... I'll just say I'm glad we didn't end up staying. It could almost be worse than living a celebrity life.
Being a celebrity, people could be swooning over you sure, but it would mostly be fans and supporters. Not every single person you come into contact with. It didn't matter who it was; you were white, therefore you were a big deal. It's difficult to take.

After lunch, we took them to the Johnson's shopping center instead which was fortunately a lot smaller, less packed, and cheaper. I explained to Beverley I wanted to buy them some groceries, and that I had 4000 pesos set aside for her. She was so overjoyed, I wish I could have filmed the whole thing. Just watching her giggling in excitement as she finally got to choose a bigger packet of rice, or as she could buy shampoo and conditioner for the first time, was just another one of the many moments I had to turn away and fight the tears.

Going back to their home for a second time showed me that nothing had changed in 2 years. Absolutely nothing. I suppose there wasn't much there to change.
Grace and Tom came along this time, where they got to meet Kacey and Alyssa's father Santos, and I got to see the once-tiny baby Nicole, as a two year old toddler instead. Time is just... wow. Yeah, that's all I can say.
Santos insisted on cutting open three coconuts for Tom, Grace and I to drink the juice from, even though I'm sure they would have put them to better use. Beverley offered us some of her sticky rice pudding slices (Oh the memories again...), but we'd decided to all share one slice since they were actually the last of her ingredients at the time.
I gave Kacey his presents from home and a letter and some tea towels to his mum, while Alyssa was given a few items of clothing, some drawing books, a purse and a bracelet to wear. She's an incredible drawer for being six years old.
Kacey, Tom and I raced his new toy racing cars along the ground, and eventually we walked back to Bethel to catch our ride home.
Saying goodbye to Kacey was hard, but at least I knew I'd see him the next day.
I was so thankful that I did.


Saturday was a visit to the projects (the classes, basically) of our sponsor kids, so we visited the Bethel 191 project again to watch as the children were in the middle of lessons. We watched them singing songs, playing, learning, and eating good-sized healthy meals; something they don't always have.
Kacey was the most insane, vivacious, outgoing, energetic version of him I have seen so far on this day. He was surrounded by his friends, and we were (literally) surrounded by them too.
We taught the project Duck, Duck, Goose which they absolutely loved. It became an intense match of screaming and laughing as they'd pick their friends or one of us to chase after them around the big circle. The teachers watched on with cameras in hand, and half of them were in hysterics too.
We then taught them Simon Says, and Kacey helped me lead the game.

After the break, we were taken into the next room to be presented some project posters about their community by teenagers who were not much younger than us. Tom, Steph, Hollie and I were the judges of the four posters and had to choose which was the best.
After that, we spoke to them a bit about our community at home in Australia, and then in Sale. Apparently it was a thrilling subject for them to hear. We got to comparing stories about our homes and what it's like for us to live in our respective countries.


We stayed longer than planned, simply because it was such a wonderful day and we were enjoying ourselves far too much to go back to the hotel. And I am glad we did, because after massive hugs from Kacey, it was the last time I got to see his smiling face.
Sunday, I wish I could have gone to their church to see him one last time, since he and his family had brought gifts along with them to give to me.
Unfortunately since I had been at their church the week before, I had to go onto another one further out of town.

Do you see how much I've written here? That was only a half of two separate days, out of two weeks of being there!
Far too much to ever explain properly. We had done a lot more, but I just can't get past these two days. I wish it was easier to get to the Philippines, I wish I was able to visit Kacey and his family without having to organize it all through Compassion first, and I truly wish they could come over to Australia so I could show them around my home too.
 
Moving on!
I got home from the Philippines about 3am on a Wednesday, the 5th of December.
The next day I got up at about 5am to travel to Melbourne for my VET course, Vetamorphus, graduation ceremony. That was a long and tiring day, since Steph and I were still dealing with the sluggish feeling of jetlag (3 hours shouldn't ever cause that much grief. Oh my gosh.), as well as the whole reverse-culture shock dealio we had going on. It was hard to converse with everyone in that state of mind, but we got through it at least.
Is it sad to say I enjoyed the car trip back home so much more than the actual ceremony? Steph and I assaulted the ears of Russell, Colin and Emily as we sang along to Alicia Keys songs as loudly as we could.
(Note: "I-I-I kee-eep on falling... in and o-o-out... of love... with-a-you...")
Even though it was 2 in the morning, we were still living in Filipino time and were clearly used to the 10 o'clock screeching from the karaoke bar near our hotel every night.

Sorry to Russell, Colin and Emily.

Friday was back at youth, catching up with my beautifully beautiful Ignition girls and seeing people I hadn't seen in too long a while. But I was still exhausted.
Saturday was the Community Fun Day - another hugely long, hot day where I floated between helping children paint plaster animals and blowing up balloons with the Donoghue brothers and a very entertaining air compressor. Come carols by candlelight, I was completely spent and called dad to take me home.

Sunday was churching it, and Monday was my relaxation day in the sun. I took a book, a plate of delicious salad (something I missed sorely since being Australia-less in the Philippines) and good old Switchfoot songs such as Always and Enough To Let Me Go.
It was nice to have some vitamin D on my glowing white legs, or so I thought as I drifted off to sleep before waking up to a pair of burning lobsters that were apparently my own limbs.
Worst sunburn I have ever experienced in my life. Today is Thursday, 10 days since this Monday afternoon, and my legs are finally peeling, although it is disgusting full-on shedding of skin, and though it took until this Tuesday for the pain and irritation to actually go away, my skin is a fading purple-red colour.
Turns out it was a lighter side of 2nd degree burns, rather than a normal 1st degree. As in the layers of skin under the epidermis were affected too, which may explain why I literally could not walk for four days.

However it happened, I am making sure I never do it again.
Slip, slop, slap everyone. DO IT.

Monday night was a movie night, however, at Pat's house during the evening while I was beginning my season of suffering.
Good times.

At some point, I had gone Christmas-light looking with Kieren, Pat, Dylan and Steph, had an aftermath-meeting about the Philippines with the team before we presented photos and talked about our experiences in church this past Sunday, went to another night of Youth where Amy, Steph and I hosted a combined Ignition group Christmas breakup party for our girls, and my long-lost brother Nick came home.

Since then I've been spending my time doing a massive Spring (not-so-Spring-like) cleaning in my bedroom, throwing out many items of clothing and miscellaneous objects I did not ever expect to find in my possession.
Also, I have spent a lot of time with the long-lost brother, watching a movie with him, buying terrible junk food with him, going for boredom-curing joyrides with him, and spending the beautiful Summer evenings outside on our new patio lounge set with more brothers, sisters in law and my hilariously wonderful nieces and nephews.

Last night, for instance, after the BBQ tea outside, my brothers, myself and the cat having meowing wars to see who would have the last say, discussing transformers with Jack and trying to avoid being skated over by Ben, We sat up until midnight, collaborating songs to sing for Mum's upcoming 50th birthday.

It began with my sudden need to write down the lyrics that were jammed inside my head. I'd finished writing a new song and adding the music, when Nick of course, came into the study and brought his guitar with him. Mum followed once we had a tune going, and we all ended up having a slight argument over washing dishes and doing laundry and cooking dinner through the medium of song.
Until dad came in and started singing/screaming "And the man in the back said everyone attack, and return to the Ballroom Blitz!".
After we settled down, I recorded a sneaky video of Nick's serenading to mum, which I still find absolutely hilarious, and we proceeded to listen to some unbelievably ridiculous song from 1959 called 'Along Came Jones'.
Look it up, and you will understand.
After convincing mother dearest that no, we should not make a skit to the screeching country-western song, we all collapsed in our separate beds. And that's that.

Did anyone really read all that?
If you did, that's... quite an achievement.
But after I apologize like I am now, for making you sit through all these pointless paragraphs, you can rest assured under the knowledge that yes, you are indeed cooler than everyone else.

Now I'm onto Christmas shopping, laughing about the fact that I literally don't want a thing for Christmas myself, beginning my writings (or ramblings) for a potential novel I may attempt to create, being afraid of the sun, doing a nonstop round of hanging washing on the line, eating too many greens, sorting myself out for the CYC business coming up, writing songs, songs and more songs, being a girl when it comes to being grossed out over my peeling legs, and getting in contact with friends, finding time to see them when January comes around.
If there is time for that.

I miss the people I've had in my life.


I miss Kirsten, I miss discussing the most pointless topics with her and ending on some kind of freak-out over a conspiracy theory or horror story or something, and dreaming out loud about living next door to each other with our sexy husbands in Honolulu.

I miss Meg, I miss laughing over the most ridiculous notions like having a 'water baby' or giggling at that guy dressed up with two paddles and making stupid puns about him being oar-some, I miss dancing around her old house until the early hours of the morning and jamming to Lady Gaga songs, I miss the car trips to the beach and always finding ourselves eating something delicious while once again, laughing at nothing and everything.

I miss Reuben, I miss bludging all our classes together and being yelled at by Mr. Daff, I miss writing notes back and forth constantly in year 9 and analyzing every little saying or phrase and taking it literally just to annoy people, I miss sitting in that dark room and sharing everything on our minds with each other, making up alternative lives and wondering out loud what the world would look like if we joined forces to stop the robotic armies overtaking the government.


I miss Bec, I miss laughing at the ridiculous sayings we used to have when we were at the junior campus, I miss hearing her say to Pat, "Guess what?!" and shouting that today was her birthday every day just to get a rise out of him, I miss lazing around on that grassy knoll in the middle of the school on a beautiful blue-sky day while we imagine what we'll be doing in 10 years time.

I miss Tom, I miss racing him to the phone booth to hold down the button until it was out of order, I miss walking home from school with him everyday, buying those perfect hot chips from Guthridge, and sitting up in the grand stands or leaning on the brick building beside the hospital, I miss going around to his house to use his pool and have the best water fights in the history of the world.

I miss Sam, I miss making up hilarious songs with her and graffiti-ing each other's school diaries with stories for Reuben to read when it came to 'silent-reading', I miss sitting on the jetty at the lake and being terrified of the army of flying birds coming at our food and calling our group of friends the 'PetalFryers' after some miscommunicated story about pedophiles, I miss being excited with her over Kirsten's new house having intercoms in different rooms and making excuses for us to have as many celebratory parties as we could.

I am going to miss Steph when she moves to Queensland, I'm not sure how to comprehend it just yet.
I am so glad she was with me in the Philippines.
I am also happy I've had time to hang out with Pat and Dylan, as well as Kieran at the same time.

But man, do I miss people.

I guess it always comes down to this point, though. You know the one; the point where you realize everything in life, including people coming and going and the ups and the downs and the highest highs spread between the very low lows, all happens to run at a perfect speed, at a perfect pace, on a perfectly held-together amount of time.
I'm ready for new things next year, for bigger things.
I know we all are.

This is just our time to be done with school, and to be opening ourselves up to the real world in all its terrifying glory.
I'm wondering when I'll have the time to step back and look at it all from a distance. Will I ever have time? I suppose it will just keep on going.
And I guess... I guess that's a good thing.
It's how it is supposed to be.

We were made for such a time as this, weren't we?