Friday, November 22, 2013

Reflections of Genesis 1...

So today I started reading the Old Testament of the Bible after finishing the New Testament a while ago.
So while Genesis 1 is well known as the creation story of the world, I thought about the words in it my thoughts focused a lot on how everything that is made in the world is "good". The light, the sky, waters, land, vegetation, the birds, the beasts and the fish in the sea - they are all "good". Humans too, are good...

But it is only when everything is put together and completed that the world is described as "very good".

So today I felt really blessed. Everything around me was good. The dogs walking by their owners - they were good, the trees dropping yellow and red leaves - they were good, the pavement I walked, the air that I breathed, the rain that fell, the sun that was hidden behind cloud - they were good, the people that I talked to - they were good. And together, they were very good - they are very good. We live in a world that is so in balance, so perfectly made, and for that I am thankful.

And our perfect, very good world, is something that we have a duty to take care of. For Christians like myself, it's because that's the commission that God gave to Adam - to be a steward of the world. For those who aren't, it's because there is no place in the universe like the world.

So have a great day, and take some time to appreciate all that is "good" around you, and see that everything in the world in harmony, is "very good"


Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Resfeber..

Some of the most serendipitous moments come when you find out about a foreign word that has no English equivalent. I've always found literary works in translation interesting in the way that words, phrases and sentences lose a lot of contextual meaning and implicit meaning when they are translated into English. To me, these words are keyholes into the priorities of a language-speaking race.

I came across a picture on the famous Humans of New York blog that said the following:

"English is a very precise language. I like to use it when I'm describing technical things. But when I'm talking about my feelings, I find it easier to use Spanish."
"Why is Spanish best for describing feelings?"
"Latin people have a lot of feelings. So they have a lot of words to describe them."

I don't think I need to analyse that... the man spells it out quite clearly. The Italians also have a word called "scordatelo" - a word meaning that's crazy, forget it. What does it show about Italians? Maybe that they are laid back and not so serious (hence Siestas?) or maybe that they don't like revolutionary things... Imagine...

Galileo: Hey dudes! I don't think the sun spins around the Earth!
Dudes: Ah Galileo! Scordatelo!

Of course, I don't really know which of the two (or others) it could be, but I'm sure someone from the area would be able to tell you.

Anyway, the word that I wanted to share is the word Resfeber - A Swedish word that I have been thinking about a lot over the past few days:

Resfeber (n): The restless race of a traveller's heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together.

My heart is pumping with excitement at seeing and living yet another new place - this time the archaic city of London, but also pumping with the sadness of knowing that I leave place and people behind. It is always sad to leave a place, especially one like Greyton, where the barista at the best coffee jaunt knows your breakfast order, where you are known by almost everyone despite not knowing everyone back, and having friends who you hang around with almost day to day... The sadness comes from the unknown - the fact that you have no idea when or if you will ever see these people again. I certainly hope, and wish that I do. 

So as I peel off the photos that have been stuck on my room wall for two months, I think about the past two months and reminisce about how people have become such close friends over such a short space of time. 

I think about the memories that I will cherish then tell myself Scordatelo... don't start thinking about that yet, enjoy the remainder of the limited time and think of the memories when you are done making them.

Sunday, September 29, 2013

2 Seconds for September!

Video's up and running! Voila, enjoy - or as the South Africans say - Genit!


Thanks for following this blog... it would be super if you could recommend it so someone else too! (Not that I'm  desperate... ;)


Train Tracks

Train Tracks with LR Schmidt Students

In grade 11 at Newington – my high school – a bunch of “leaders” were called together to do a workshop with Rising Generations, Australia’s leading forum for young leaders. Having already attended a camp earlier in the year, where everybody was open and willing to embarrass themselves for the greater good of having fun and showing others they were leadership-material, I was a little sceptical as to how RG’s tactics would work in opening up a group of generally sensible teenage boys with egos to rival Kanye West’s*. So when our two RG mentors decided to play a game where every time they said train tracks we would have to pump our arms up and down and “toot” to mimic a train,  I sighed and shook my head in disbelief. How could they expect a group of young men to embarrass themselves in this way?

Team of friends and leaders atop the zig zag path 
In hindsight I realise that responsibility is one of the biggest motivators for any kind of person, whether they are kids, teenagers or adults. Responsibility is infectious. Responsibility is an insect-borne disease that spreads as each person proverbially bites another and spreads it. And perhaps, most importantly, responsibility induces change.

So when the two mentors gave us the responsibility of tooting whenever train tracks were mentioned, they gave a seed of responsibility to each of us sitting in the room that day. It took a couple of goes before everybody felt it, but in the end, everybody did. From then they built up what our responsibilities were and eventually gave us the responsibility of leading the school.

Working together on the community garden
The other day when we were taking a group of kids who were relatively unruly, I thought that I would try the train tracks game to see if they changed their behaviour, and sure enough, with enough simultaneous tooting, they began to gel with themselves and with us leaders. The boys who had been crass and rude had suddenly become attentive and willing to join in with our activities. It is truly an incredible moment when you see someone’s attitude change right in front of your eyes – something really serendipitous. Our games were played with so much vigour and excitement, and as we came out of our skins to ourselves and each other, we planted the seed of responsibility for each other. Ultimately, the idea is that they will slowly become responsible for their own bodies, their friends, their school, their community, and finally the world – making change in a local way to impact the world – to build the train tracks before building the train. Kids especially seem to lap up responsibility - especially in this community. We have already given the responsibility of food security to many young people in the first village community garden which would operate in future to sustain those without garden beds and food. 

Working on food security with the community garden in Greyton

I feel like I've become more responsible through my travels and taken on a lot more than I would have done otherwise. I've learnt that all sorts of things like the environment and the development of people are things that I really need to feel responsible about – despite only being a small cog in the bigger scheme of things. For me, the reason I am responsible is because I am a Christian and I act as a person of God, for others, it is for the future of the world, economically, environmentally and personally, that drives them.

So I pray everyone who reads this will also pick up some burden of responsibility and be agents of change in their own communities... Happy training - toot toot! 

* Not a fair generalisation of my class of ’12 to be honest, more of a generalisation of guys around that 16-17 age group.


P.S. I realise that this is a bit more of a serious post than I would usually post and also one that has come after a long absence from my page (SORRY!!). I haven’t been feeling creative lately amidst all of the community work that’s been going on. I’ll do my best to update with photos, videos and posts more regularly and I apologize for not doing so sooner!

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Hi a film for you

A stop motion over 14 or so days from Singapore airport through Sri Lanka to Joburg to Cape Town in South Africa


Enjoy!

Friday, September 6, 2013

Building Bridges and Breaking Walls

Picturesque Greyton

Greyton and its surrounding area is a picturesque town surrounded by often snow capped mountains, natural plains of the native bush - fynbos - and fields of crops and animals. It is a place that oozes serenity and whispers in your ear:

"Slow down, relax, just breathe in the fresh mountain air and sigh contentedly, relish in the environment." 

Despite being change of pace from the bustling city of Sydney, the chaos of Bali traffic and the high rising jungle of apartment blocks in Singapore, Greyton is a town that is also changing and healing, becoming more self-sufficient in an environmental sense and knitting itself tighter as a community. The town and neighbouring Heuwelkroon and Genadendal have quite a history, especially with the near 40 years of apartheid in South Africa between 1948-1994. And despite it being two decades next year since apartheid was abolished, the economic and social disparity and disconnect between the coloured and white population is more than evident when you lift the proverbial rug.

My first impression of the adjacent township of Heuwelkroon was at a memorial gathering for a young boy who had passed away from cancer the year before. I walked around the compacted dirt roads with my friend and Greyton Transition Town* member Candice, as the only White and Asian people in the township. My first impressions were that of sadness, seeing that people were living in such small houses cramped in like sardines in a can and in such poor living conditions compared to the houses that I had seen in the town of Greyton and the barn that I was staying in.

However, as the children ran up to us with smiles on their faces I remembered how so many people in poorer parts of the world without the confines of society could find happiness and beauty in the smallest things. I remembered that these people are often many of the most genuine and pure people that I had the honour of meeting, and I was glad for their attitude.

Sure enough, many inhabitants of Heuwelkroon are genuine and pure people, always helping each other out and helping us in our work too, most of all, the sentiment that I felt was that they are accepting and kind people, always offering to share despite having little.

With the new generation of people, there is a growing respect between cultures and a bigger willingness to integrate together into a larger community unmarred by the scars of apartheid nineteen years ago, however, the invisible walls between the two cultures in Greyton and Heuwelkroon are not that easy to break down, nor are the evident divides between the Rastafarian and Christian communities in Heuwelkroon.

There is a plethora of issues that need to be addressed, especially that of alcohol and drug abuse, entrepreneurship and unemployment, and the need for life education and empowerment for many youths who have little aspirations.

I am not a hero who can fix any of these issues in the 2 months that I am here, but I have the utmost confidence that in the years to come, brick by brick, the invisible walls that divide the social standing between the residents of Greyton and Heuwelkroon will fall, organically, as seeds of change sprout and grow.

There are projects in place and people who are passionate about the future of their town, there are capable young people who are filled with ideas to bring the community together. A young girl named Nokwasi had the idea of a community garden, which we are making a reality: A communal space for people to grow food together and sustain themselves and their families. A return to the idea of self-sustainability and food security.

While I am here, I am working with primary and high schools to encourage environmental awareness and to develop a relationship with them, advocating them to have bigger aspirations and to become tall poppies, supporting each other to be better and better. My time is limited and short, but I hope to plant an idea that will grow and flourish long after I leave.

What am I? I am but a plank in one of the bridges that are being built towards a sustainable and integrated future in Greyton.

*Greyton Transition Town is the organization that I am working with for the 2 months that I am in South Africa see www.greytontransition.co.za

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Lions and Tigers and Witches Oh My!


After a good night’s sleep being the only person in an 8 bed dorm room, I set off for the Lion Park in Johannesburg – a sort of mini safari not too far from the city.

On my way to the park with my guide Dennis, we were pulled over on the highway by police. I, of course, expected the worst: The police knew that I was a tourist and would demand some kind of bribe. Dennis and the police officer started chatting in a barrage of one of the eleven languages that Dennis spoke, and I just sat like a muppet not knowing what to do. Abruptly, they both laughed and the policeman asked or my passport. I flashed it to him, and we were off again on the highway en route to the lion park.

When I asked Dennis why we’d been pulled over, he gave me an answer that was so ridiculous I just had to laugh: The police had seen me as we cruised past and thought that the combination of an Asian and a Black man was suspicious, and they assumed that Dennis, my friendly guide, had kidnapped me and the others. A somewhat racist judgement, but the police officer was also a native African. As we sat laughing about the situation, the conversation turned to more serious issues about the lingering racist sentiment from many white South Africans towards the black South Africans. The racial divide set by apartheid had not yet been conquered and the difference in socio economic standards was still very evident – especially in the slums of Soweto.

Eventually we arrived at the Lion Park and I got to do a mini safari, seeing springboks, impalas, hawks, giraffes, wild dogs, cheetahs and of course, lions. They were a lot bigger than I expected, especially because we got very close to them. I would spend time describing them, but I figured pictured would be more effective, you know, pictures are worth 1000 words ;).

I then got the chance to play with the lion cubs for 5 minutes, which although short, was a really cool experience. I think the cubs were only a couple of months old, considering that at the age of two years, a lion is fully matured and able to challenge for the title of King of Pride Rock. One of them climbed all over me and nibbled me a bit so I guess you could say that I’ve now officially been bitten by a lion.

Anyway, that’s enough words from me, here are a couple of pictures from the Lion Park.




PS: This is a very late post because I didn't have any electricity for my computer until quite recently. I'm now in Greyton 2 hours from Cape Town and loving it. It is absolutely beautiful here but extremely cold. Will post something about it soonish. Ciao

Friday, August 16, 2013

Hello ZA

After almost 48 hours with limited sleep, I finally arrived at OR Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg yesterday late in the afternoon.

My flight from Colombo was scheduled for 4 am (which would explain why the tickets were so cheap). Hence I arrived at Colombo Airport at a neat 2 am, only to be waiting to board until 4:45, and taking off at 5:30 am. Needless to say, I didn't sleep during this time. I arrived at Abu Dhabi Airport with my connecting flight to Johannesburg on it's last call, and so in a mad rush across the airport, I somehow, amazingly reached my plane to Johannesburg.

I'm not a fan of flying. It's gotten to the point where the novelty of being in the air has worn off and it is just another means to an end. But this flight was surprisingly more pleasant than usual. To be fair, it's probably because this was Etihad and, for the most part, I had been flying with budget airlines previously. I was given a lot of food that was good by airplane standards, and not the brick of mush that I have come to expect, and also given free range on beverages. And to top it all off, Harry Potter was playing on the screen in front.

So Etihad was great. Until I got  to ORTIA and stood at the baggage collection for half an hour, waiting for my bag to turn up. And surprise surprise, it didn't.

And so, an hour of frantic phone calls internationally ensued - luckily it wasn't me making the calls - before I was told that while I had been able to run and make my connecting flight, my luggage had no legs to be able to do the same.

So now, I sit in the hostel waiting for my baggage to arrive - hopefully very soon. It is ridiculously cold, especially considering that I am in shorts and a t shirt. Luckily I have a jacket that I wore, because it didn't fit into my baggage.

My plan for today is to go and check out the Rhino and Lion Park, will post photos later today.

Stay warm amigos,

Matt

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Tourist Traps Will Trap You

My first three days in Sri Lanka bordered on the boring, and uneventful. Despite my research into the state of affairs in Sri Lanka, I was quite reluctant to leave the city of Colombo, assuming that, as its capital city, it would be more than capable of providing a week’s worth of culture and entertainment. I soon found out that it was more like a day – of what was filled with culture, but on the other hand hardly entertaining.
I did find out from a lot of Sri Lankans that Australia is performing pretty badly (understatement of the year) at the Ashes, and they struggled with the concept that I was from Australia, considering the fact that they recognised my face as Asian.


Train and tuk tuks by the beach in Colombo
I ended up exploring a bit of Colombo though, and started making a stop motion picture that I hope to share with you all by the end of this trip. Pettah market, again, was full of culture, but scored a generous 1 out of ten in terms of entertainment and pleasure. The market was for locals and reeked of diesel fumes and dried fish, and one old woman spat at a girl I was with, an action that highlighted the atmosphere in the place. It was as though the locals didn’t want tourists in a place that was their own (Which could be completely true, considering that I too despise busloads of tourists taking photos of lampposts in Sydney). A look on tripadvisor would later confirm that it wasn’t that great of a place to start my journeying. The people at the hostel advised me to go to another part of Sri Lanka to explore a bit more, and I decided to head down south to Galle, an old Dutch fort turned seaside town.

From Galle Fort
While Colombo was definitely not made for travellers, Galle is a place that seems to thrive on the tourism of locals and foreigners. And with places like this comes the inevitability of the tourist trap. And as someone who’s been on the road for 4 months, I feel ashamed to say that I was too full of pride to assert myself out of the situation.

It kicked off when I approached a tuk tuk driver for directions to a guesthouse that someone at the hostel had stayed at the night before. A man came out from the side of the road and started asking questions, friendly enough. “Did I need a place to sleep?” “Where am I from?” “How long are you staying in Sri Lanka?” All the while leading me to where I thought would be the guesthouse I was talking about. He then proceeded to tell me that all guesthouses had booked out rooms or ridiculously expensive rooms, and led me to a dinghy villa where he showed me a room and asked if it was alright. I said that it was, not having inspected it properly. I promptly left my clothes bag in the room, locked it and after paying for it, left to explore the old fort. The man left with me, not because I requested it, but because this was what he did for money (unknown to me at the time). He showed me around the fort, presenting me with historical detail that I didn’t really care for, and honestly couldn’t understand anyway. Later on, he presented me with a story about his daughter and how he had to take care of his family. Whether it was true or not, it was an inevitable guilt trip asking me to pay him for his unannounced and unwanted tour around Ye Olde Fort Galle. At the end of the trip I realised that I didn’t have enough Sri Lankan Rupees to pay the amount that he requested, and so he asked for other forms of currency. I, wanting to just go by myself, relax and read a book, obliged, partly to get rid of old Kumar, but also because his guilt trip actually worked.
Walking on a precarious ledge with my "guide" Kumar

And so, having been left on a street in Galle with no directions to go anywhere, I started my adventure.
I went for a casual walk around the other side of the fort that I had not been shown before and came to rest on an outcrop of the fort where I sat on the edge (with a 20 metre drop below) and read my book, feeling the wind blowing in my face and listening to the sound of the waves crashing below. There is a certain sense of serenity that comes with sitting somewhere, where the slightest of touches could leave you falling to your death, or at least multiple injuries. A feeling of balance and trust that you are steady enough to be still and safe.

I left after two hours, a hundred pages, and a lot of Sri Lankans who had apparently never seen an Asian man in their life and wanted to take photos with me (maybe I’m just ridiculously attractive). As the sun set on the fort behind the clouds, the sky turned into the intense purply-orange blend of colour that you only see in sunsets and sunrises, and soon turned to darkness. I watched a group of young Sri Lankan youths dancing to others singing and clapping along with a Sri Lankan song blaring from the speakers of a tuk tuk. I was considering joining the dance but then I remembered that my dancing is reminiscent of that of a log. Instead, I decided that I would go and appease my tastebuds and found a nice rooftop restaurant above a much nicer guesthouse than where I was staying and ordered rice and curry – something simple to enjoy. Or not. Half an hour later, the waiter came out with an empty plate, A platter of rice about 30 cm long, a bowl of papadums, and 8 different curries.

mmm dat sunset


Another 2 hours later I was finished and bloated. As I entered my room with non-working fan, moth eaten sheet and dirty blue walls, I thought to myself that something like this is absolutely inevitable.

It is an inherent and intrinsic part of travel, it is something that has to be experienced. 

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Singapore and the Quasi Nationalist

Today, the 8th of August 2013 marks Singapore's 48th birthday and the national holiday to celebrate it's independence from the British Empire and Malaysia. In 1963, Singapore announced independence from the UK and joined the new federation of Malaysia. The two years that followed were filled with clashes between Singapore and Malaysia on core values of meritocracy and equality, with the Malaysians insisting on benefits for ethnic Malays. In 1965, the Malaysian Parliament unanimously voted to boot Singapore out of Malaysia. And so it was that this tiny island nation was formed.

One of the things that I've noticed while I've been here is that for a country so young, those who live here exercise a lot of patriotism and nationalism - many apartment blocks (literally stacks of blocks) are adorned with the national flag of Singapore and red and white - the nation's colours. Perhaps it is just because it is simply a different culture and I'm not used to how people show themselves as "proud Singaporeans" as I am to people representing "proud Aussies" on Australia Day.

As I walk around today, over 75% were wearing their national colours. It could just be me, but there's something inherently intimidating about masses of people in red. Red - the colour of blood, the colour of change and revolution? 

I guess it's the same as us on Australia Day with our face paint, hats and caps.

Perhaps it's the different culture, but I can't help but feel that ultra-patriotism is somewhat sinister (George Orwell agrees. See The Sporting Spirit). The idea that people would do anything for their country and government without hesitation. That's the kind of vibe I get from many Singaporeans, and it is a bit reminiscent of Orwell's 1984 and the idea of people being brainwashed by Big Brother.

But the fact is that Singapore is a democracy like Australia, so that raises a question.

What is democracy?

I guess I'm rambling here. Somehow writing this has blurred the lines between democracies and authoritarian regimes a little. Technically both could be extremely similar to another depending on how the government plays on people and influences their love of the country.

Don't get me wrong, I love Australia and think that some degree of patriotism is obviously required by everyone - especially on the sporting ground, but when your patriotism turns into nationalism and jingoism, that's where questions start to come up, and simple love for your country turns into ethnic hate and exclusion.

I have no idea what I just wrote about. Perhaps the experience of seeing a national celebration outside of Australia has shown me what it is objectively. Maybe I'm just incredibly racist and actually being nationalistic myself about Australian patriotism by thinking this.

Anyway, I'm sure that a lot of you people will rip me apart to shreds and I actually welcome this considering that I don't quite understand what I just wrote.

Regardless. Happy Birthday Singapore!

Monday, July 29, 2013

There is no guarantee

Nothing is static. A week ago my plan was to go to Europe via Sri Lanka, but circumstances have changed and I'll be heading to South Africa via two weeks in India - or at least I think that's what will happen.

For me India embodies a place of the complete unknown. A place people speak of in two extremes: One friend told of how it is the best place that she's travelled to and that the people were the most generous and beautiful people she met, while others have told me of cut-throat bandits and people throwing faeces at you because you refuse their offer to carry your your bags. Despite the differences, there is one thing that they agree on: India is intense. India is intense like the way Koreans eat chillies dipped in chilli sauce.

I find myself doubting whether I'm ready to plunge into this unknown and into what will be a complete sensory assault. I feel pretty apprehensive, but also excited by the idea of lingering scent of spices, vibrant colours of cloths and the background racket of tuk tuks, hawkers and engines. Am I imagining an India like that of Bollywood films and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel? I don't know, but I guess I'll see for myself soon enough.

If things work out, I will get to stay in Delhi with a Christian missionary and be able to experience the ministry in India. Hopefully I'll also be able to get in touch with an NGO there too who would readily accept volunteers to link up with my own NGO project.

In South Africa, I'll be in a place called Greyton, 2 hours from Cape Town. I'm going to be working with Greyton Transition Town on some conservation projects and grass roots campaigns. I'll also be working with them to establish a link so that I can hopefully send more volunteers over to help out with the awesome things they're doing in Greyton. Super excited and will share more insights with you guys while I'm there.


Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Being a Hyung

It's been two weeks in Singapore and I've been figuring out more goals and my itinerary for the coming months. At the same time, I've been learning a little bit too.

Living with a family of three boys, aged 2, 4, and 12, I've been learning to be a mentor and a "hyung" ((형) Korean for big brother (masc.)) to 12 year old Shane. Being a hyung comes with many responsibilities - responsibilities different to those of being an "oppa" ((오빠) Korean for big brother (fem.)). As many of you would know, I have a younger sister, and if I have to say so myself, I think I'm a pretty good "oppa".

Being a "hyung", you have to be seen as cool, strong, wise and caring. You have a responsibility to be a role model to your "younger brother". In the Korean community, this applies to any younger kids that you may know.

The Famous Globe
Yesterday was Youth Day, and as I was bored and Shane had a day off school, I took him to Universal Studios on Sentosa Island. It was a beautiful day with the sun smiling down on us for the first time in the week and a half that I had been in Singapore.

Eww I can see up there...
We rode on the Transformer's ride first, and I was pretty surprised when Shane, sitting next to me, screamed. I didn't expect that. After all, I was never one to scream on a ride when I was his age. Next we went to the Mummy ride. It was something that I really wanted to go on, but Shane really didn't. We rode it - Shane covering his eyes and ears and still screaming.

I feel like he didn't want to disappoint me by bailing on a ride, and I think it was also the case on the Battlestar Galactica rides: Human and Cylon. As we were queuing up, I could see that he was fidgety and scared, but he lined up anyway. As we approached the roller coaster carriage, he asked me to hold his hand because he was scared. I said no. I told him that he had to go through this and face his fears.

He fainted halfway through the ride.

The rest of the day was spent watching the various shows and attractions at Universal Studios and on the long ride home, I told him that it was okay that he was scared and it was okay that he fainted...

Shane in front of the Jurassic Park Gate
Being a hyung is difficult - as my buddy Shane understands - and it isn't always easy to be the cool, strong, wise guy all the time. There are always going to be times where you are uncool, weak and dumb. I told Shane that that's okay, because in the end, being a "hyung" is also about showing that you have weaknesses and that you are also a person that makes mistakes. It's about telling your "little brothers" to be secure in their insecurity. It's about giving them a gentle landing pad when they fall and make mistakes. And most of all, it's about accepting and loving unconditionally despite the flaws that we may find.

PS. Here are three photos from when I was with my mum and sister in Singapore, taken at the Gardens by the Bay around sunset

On the Skybridge with
Mum, Esther and Shane
Jumpshot!
Sunset behind Marina Bay Sands

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Unlost in Spacetime Lost in Timespace

it is 11:00 am Singapore time on the Second of July, 2013. 

I am siting in a corner in an apartment in Singapore where I'm staying with a wonderful family till who knows when. 

I (dramatic pause) am lost.

Perhaps not so much geographically, but more so in drive, spirit and a psychological sense. I'm reassessing my goals and plans for the rest of my journey, but in truth, I don't know where to start, nor where it will end up. My brain is a jumbled mess of ideas surrounded by mostly useless fogginess. 

While I was in Bali I had a few goals that I thought that I would achieve: 
  • Creating a non for profit company
  • Meeting and connecting with influential people
  • Completing an internship at Green School and opening myself to an alternate educational experience
  • Expand my sphere of influence by expanding this page and blog
  • Make a film
  • Grow stronger in my faith
And perhaps unsurprisingly, I didn't quite get there. Other than completing an internship at Green School, I wasn't able to 100% complete any of my goals.

And so I sit in limbo, reassessing myself and wondering where I'm going next, if anywhere, what I'm doing next, if anything. 

I feel like I could definitely learn from what I didn't do in Bali. I know that if I had prioritised my own goals ahead of socialising and taking in Bali, I would have achieved them, But at the same time I also know that if I had done that, I would not have had so much exposure to the land and the people, and not been able to develop strong friendships. It's a fine art getting the right balance, and one that I'll have to work at to perfect. 

Anyway, I still don't know where I'm going and how I'm getting there - although I have gotten some interesting news about a little place in South Africa called Greyton. 

So tell me, what would you do in my situation? Where do you go and what do you do to reflect and plan?

Help needed.



Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Happy 44th Big Man

When I was baptized following my 17th birthday, my mum and dad presented me with a verse from the bible - a motto to live by. That verse was Romans 1:16 that says:

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile.

There are times when it is hard to talk to my dad. There are times when I feel like the things he tells me I should do are like a burden to me. But in the end I know that these things make me a better person and I am thankful for the kind of dad that I have.

I am thankful for the never give up spirit he has endowed on me.

I am thankful for the constant ways he opens and expands my sphere of comfort.

I am thankful for the way he always has improvement on his mind.

And most of all I am thankful for the way he has brought me up the past 18 and a half years.

I love the dad that I have for who he is - loving, spontaneous and always improving. 


Last year, my dad took me skydiving as a graduation present. He told me that he wanted something that I wouldn't forget... and it's definitely something that I won't. I remember so vividly putting on a jumpsuit and backpack, being excited and seeing my dad's face glance nervously at his tandem instructor who looked like he was falling asleep. I remember getting onto the plane and giving my dad a hi five, losing the sense of comfort as we left ground and made our way up to the skies, and I remember the sheer terror as those in front of us leaped off the plane and we were the only two left. The knowing look and wink as I sat at the sill of the plane door before I fell and my terror turned into elation as I fell through the sky and accepted that I would either die in that moment or live to tell the tale. 

I remember reaching the ground and running straight to where my dad landed 20 seconds later, overjoyed at the fact that we had done something so incredible (and not died). 

I also remember joking about driving the opposite way to Newcastle and then my dad spontaneously deciding to turn left instead of right and decide drive to Newcastle which ended up in us having one of the best times as a family that we have had in a while. 

I remember thinking that my dad knew how to give presents. 

Today, the 25th of June, is his birthday. And I never know what to give him as a present. But today I want to share some wise words from the bible with him. 

The chapter 1 Corinthians 13 is often quoted at weddings because it is about love. I hope that my dad, as a loving father, strives and continues to be each and every thing that the bible says love is. 


If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

My dad is patient, my dad is kind. He does not envy, he does not boast, he is not proud. 
He does not dishonor others, he is not self-seeking, he is not easily angered, he keeps no record of wrongs. 
My dad does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1 Corinthians 13:1-7


Saturday, June 15, 2013

A Shim Certified Guide to Sleeping and Spending (a) day/s at an Airport

ETA 3 hours.

I cannot wait to get back to Bali! For some reason I decided that I would spend a day in Singapore, except not really in Singapore, in an international legal limbo area known as an airport. And now, here's a guide to sleeping and surviving at an airport when you're on a budget.

1) Find a camping spot before bed time.

My bed for the night was a soft chair in the 24 hour cinema at Changi Airport. I found it at 2 am while I was struggling to keep my eyes open. It's probably a good idea to assess the area and your vulnerability to the environment too. As a result of my foolishness, I now have a horrid crick in my neck and back from hugging my backpack as I slept.

I did however find a "rest area" with nap chairs that gave me a good 2 hours sleep early in the morning.

2) Watch out for air conditioning.

Changi Airport is like the Antarctica of South East Asia. Air con is on 24/7 and, in stark contrast with the outside world, it is set to be super cold all the time. My sleep was interrupted by my body's need to move around and find some kind of warmth in that room. It would be a good idea to bring a jumper and long pants next time.

Butterfly!
3) Enjoy free airport things.

Free airport massage
Free airport internet
Free airport movies
Free airport butterfly gardens
Free airport playstations

Enough said?

4) Explore to find a cheap eatery.

There are some seriously overpriced places in airports (and the food isn't great duh).'

5) Do some exercise

Your body is not made to sit around all day. So every hour or so you should pick up your computer and whatever and go for a long walk to your next sitting-down-place.

6) Bring a friend!

Being alone is the hardest thing in the world :(
I miss opening my mouth to my friends in Bali, my friends in Australia, my family in Oz and just having someone to talk to!

It's only been 21 hours.

2 and a half hours left till I take off. Then back to Bali for a little longer, and having my awesome sister visit me then flying back to Singapore and HOPEFULLY to Europe.

Some interesting people in an interesting place.... I miss them!





Thursday, June 13, 2013

Life, Death and Dogs

Last Friday I saw death before my very eyes. I saw the eyes, heard the groans of agony, and the final breath before limpness overtook the body. 

I was standing by the side of the road in Nyuh Kuning - a suburb of Ubud - on the way to a friend's house. There were two dogs in the vicinity: one a mix breed black monster of a dog, and another smaller white yappy dog running around the road. It was a normal happy day.

Dogs in Bali are generally seen as a bit of a nuisance and there are dozens of strays that line the streets of the island. As such, most of them have developed a skill for dodging traffic, but tame pet dogs generally have a less "street-wise" sense.

As I walked down the street, the white dog ran between my legs, tongue lolling out of mouth and ran back across the road. At the same time I heard two sharp beeps on the horn of a car and an angry shout from the driver. There was no sound of screeching brakes - Just a thud and the helpless yelping of the dog. 

The car did not stop, nor did it slow down. Instead the driver chose to continue along the road without a second glance at the life that he had just taken. 

That day I saw a dog dying. That day I saw - in real life - the transition from a perfectly healthy animal to nothing more than a carcass. I was shocked - both at what I had just seen, and at the lack of conscience from the driver of the van.

The dog ran around coughing up blood before falling on it's side with fading ragged breath. Its owners came out and surrounded the animal. I looked at the body that had been completely alive a few minutes ago. 

I remember thinking about how quickly life could be taken away, and how it's not just the case for animals, but for people too. Life is such a precious gift given to us by our creator, and one to be used well and wisely.  And yet, death is also a part of life that has to be accepted by everyone.

Too many times, people waste the gift that they're given. 

It's not just in Bali that lives are lost so suddenly. We all know that Australia has too many motor vehicle related deaths - almost 1300 last year. This is a call to drive safer and be more wary on our roads. 

Oftentimes it's the harshest and most confronting experiences that leave the deepest impressions. There is no substitute for the life that we are given, it is something that we should always be thankful for and not take for granted. 


Friday, May 31, 2013

Photos from Kintamani

In the outer Calderon of  Mt Batur

Volcanic rock - Very unlike the other landscapes of Bali


Mt Batur behind us
The north coast of Bali

North coast

Roger

Hati hati - Be careful

Voyeur of some motorbikies

Batur from Kintamani - note smoke coming out of the mountain

Another of Batur...

Batur and the Outer Caldera

Road on Kintamani

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Pecha Kucha

When did you stop dancing?
When did you stop singing?
When did you stop telling stories?
When did you stop practicing silence?



Pecha Kucha is a presentation format of 20 slides of 20 seconds each - almost a fast paced version of TED talks. Last night I had the opportunity to attend a Pecha Kucha Night at the Betelnut in Ubud, hosted by the co-working space Hubud. There were six speakers talking on education, mental health, identity and human development.

The four questions at the top are four questions that were posed by the first speaker of the night - who's name I can't quite remember - talking about personal development and theatre. The art of theatre translates into life skills: the ability to tell stories, to be creative, to be confident - just to name a few. It is interesting and quite ironic that in order to create a character that is authentic and genuine, one has to reflect on their own selves and lives, and perhaps paradoxically, this in turn allows people to get in touch with who they really are and develop self awareness.

Dancing, singing, telling stories, and being silent are all methods that express creativity and encourage self reflection. When the dancing, singing, stories and silence dries up, creativity and reflection also stops, and people find themselves lost and unaware of their identity.

So the point is to dance, sing, tell your own stories, practice silence, and act. Be creative with your own identity.

Another speaker on the night was a man named Ehon Chan, talking about a project called "Soften the F*ck Up".

With ma homie Ehon


I had originally seen his presentation and campaign on TEDxMacquarie a few months ago and so, watching him again - live this time - was quite interesting.

His campaign is directed at Australian men, who are constantly told to "harden the f*ck up", and not given the option of being weak, we are told that there is no excuse not to be "hard" and "man". As a result, there is a growing suicide rate in Australian men. The campaign aims to take away the idea of "manning up" and normalizing the idea that it is okay to be sad - because it really is.

It is a great campaign that you should all be a part of, you can see more on http://softenthefckup.com.au/

Start the difficult conversations today.

M


Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Rain and Liberation

For the past three days, Bali has been unpredictable weather-wise. In the morning, the sky will be so clear that you can see the volcanoes in the distance, but storms have been arriving in the afternoons, bringing lightning, thunder, and heavy rain - resulting in roads and school footpaths flooding.

Rain tends to dampen my mood. I've never liked getting little droplets of water on me and being half wet. It was always nothing or everything for me. And yet, the rain that has fallen on Bali in the past three days has been almost majestic - A real showing of the power of nature.

Yesterday I had to supervise some kids in a mud pit. Needless to say, I ended up with mud stains on my clothes and skin (hope it washes out).

Today I decided to embrace the rain. I stood in the middle of the oval and opened my arms and welcomed the heavy drops of water falling onto my face and soaking my clothes. I ran and cartwheeled and played football and frisbee (Wednesday afternoon fun times), sliding around barefoot. By the end of it I was soaked through and through and felt completely liberated from whatever apprehensions I had of rain beforehand. I felt like I could be Gene Kelly if I had an umbrella in hand.

Every time I do something that I normally wouldn't do, I feel more and more liberated and more and more adventurous.

In other news, I'm taking a drama/improv/public-speaking class for a few lessons in about two weeks. Any tips/suggestions/advice?

Cheers,

M

Monday, May 13, 2013

Mother's Day



**So I thought I would know what to write when I opened this page... But now I realise that whatever words I had in mind aren't really enough to convey my gratitude and sentiment regarding my mum.

My mum is a battler. She is my hero. I remember being in preschool and going to Wonderland before it closed down. I watched as my mum sat on the huge Viking boat that went upside down and spun around and thought that she was so strong and amazing to be able to do that. As I grow older, I realise more and more that she isn't as flawless or as strong as I thought she was when I was younger, but these flaws and weaknesses make me appreciate her even more. They tell me that she is a person too, and not just someone who cooks, works and cleans. It makes me glad that she can trust me enough to share her bad days with me, share jokes with me and tell me that she misses me. I salute my mum for everything she has done for me, my sister, and my family. I can guarantee that she has been more than one person can be expected to be. But more than that, I love my mum for being the person that she is. Loving, leading and serving.

I know that I've made my mum shed tears... hopefully more of joy than sadness. I know that I haven't made things easy for her in the past few years, but I hope that I can give back the love and care that she gave to me since the day I was born.

And now, as I spend my first Mother's Day away from my mother, I realise how much I miss her. As I spent a few days two weeks ago sick with the flu, the only thing I could think of was the fact that I missed my mum and wished she was by my bed, caring for me. At that point I thought of all the times she had done exactly that, and I had been comforted when I was in pain.



I wish I could give my mum flowers today, I wish I could have made her breakfast and made her tea. I wish I could have cooked or bought dinner for this beautiful, under-appreciated woman who has raised me every day, to this day. But all that I can do is wish.

It's not fair that only one day out of three hundred and sixty five is spent in appreciation of the one person who spends three hundred and sixty five days concerned about you and caring for you - no matter how old you are. We really should try to be thankful, loving and gracious to our mothers more often.

Behind every great person is a great mother. Happy mother's day.

**This was meant to be posted yesterday, but due to my current internet situation, I had to settle for today...

Saturday, May 11, 2013

3 Days in Nusa Lembongan

This week a new intern came into the school, so I decided to show him around to some of the lesser travelled areas of the school.

Spring water pool that you can swim in, by the river.

Ayung River Rapids

Minang bridge connecting the Green School with the Bamboo Village

As Thursday was a national holiday, we had the opportunity to take a long weekend off travelling around Bali. Our destination ended up being a small island only 9 km south east of Bali - Nusa Lembongan. The "Nusa" Islands are a trio - Nusa Penida, the largest; Nusa Lembongan, the closest to Bali; and Nusa Ceningan, the smallest.

Jungut Batu Beach, Nusa Lembongan

The main industry in Nusa Lembongan, somewhat surprisingly is seaweed farming, which is used for cosmetics, emulsifiers, agar and stuff like that. Seeing piles of seaweed lying on the side of almost every road is definitely interesting, but it's not always pleasant smelling.

The people of Lembongan use woven baskets to transport seaweed from farms to drying areas.

At low tide, the seaweed farms can be seen in the distance.
Despite this, the water surrounding all three islands is crystal clear and filled with amazing coral formations and tropical fish. I was lucky enough to scuba dive off the coast of Nusa Penida and while I don't have photos of that, I can tell you that it was absolutely mind blowing. The islands are also a popular sighting ground for Manta Rays and Mola Mola (Sunfish), although I didn't see any on my dives.

On the second day there, after the dive, we explored the Island and Nusa Ceningan. Nusa Ceningan is connected to Nusa Lembongan via a rickety yellow suspension bridge - which does not feel safe, although the locals assured us that it was fine. Nusa Ceningan is a lot higher than Nusa Lembongan and as a result you can see the island and past it all the way to Bali and the towering Mt Agung (3000+m)

Roger at the top of Nusa Ceningan

View of Mt Agung and the Nusa Lembongan main road

We also went on a mangrove tour and saw some weird sea snake things and starfish and stuff like that. Then, we went about the local village areas and had a look at buildings...........

Seaweed farming

Our Mangrove guide - Ketut

A Starfish that we found in the mangrove delta

A mustache?

Agung and the beachwalk

And finally, Nusa Lembongan is known for its spectacular sunsets... and it didn't disappoint. I know that it's criminal to have too many sunset photos in one post, but hey, I'm a smooth criminal. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjOQac1vOEc Really cool.)










Well that's all for today. Enjoy. Adios.