Filed under: Uncategorized
SHIVER COLD WOO.
I wanted to recommend this beautiful piece of Australian literature by Craig Silvey. Jasper Jones is about prejudice, misunderstanding, race, things lost, things found and the small town experience. It was the first book I finished in 2011 and I sincerely hope that it has set the bar not only for my own reading habits this year, but for Australian teenage literature also.
I slacked off on reading last year. Despite having so many opportunities to just sit, relax and read a book in 2010 (on the beach, on a mat, in bed, in the sun, on the couch), I have to say I did not seize them (note previous post about using alone time constructively). In 2009 I listed all the books I read and the total came to 13. In 2010 I only read 6. When I tallied them up I was shocked/dismayed/appalled but go easy- living island life has been as thought provoking and entertaining as any piece of literature and I’ve connected with people and places through performance, weekend getaways, fashion, food, kava, and rum. (in no particular order of frequency or importance.)
Reading isn’t a popular activity in the Pacific. Information is spread by word of mouth, radio is the best form of communication particularly in a country still based strongly on village culture and stories are still told through cultural dance and art. Recreational reading, reading for work, reading reports- it takes a long time, there are other things that need doing, and (particularly with reading for work or reading reports) there are other ways to connect with people and resolve problems or issues within the community. Speaking with a friend last week we identified the above points and then went on to discuss a culture of not reading versus the nature of work done by NGO’s and UN agencies. We talked about the ‘high tech solutions for low tech people’ that most of these agencies adopt instead of making their message as clear and as simple as possible using the basics. What happened to simplicity? What happened to taking advantage of already existing, and well functioning, infrastructure to solve issues or in this case, when did we stop talking to people and start handing them 50 page reports with pretty covers and binding knowing they aren’t going to read it? (furthermore, since when were reports the ‘action’ part of development?- that’s another ‘post’!)
Going back to recreational reading, the University of the South Pacific is this year strengthening its Literature department- it will be interesting to look at the kind of literature being promoted through the school (I am trying to get my hands on a syllabus) and how literature, as well as the course itself, is being promoted and marketed to students in this region. Will USP work with high schools in the region to promote recreational reading and therefore an interest in literature? Will it encourage students in the region to critically engage with literature or be passive participants? What themes will the school explore more thoroughly (postcolonial? diasporic?) and where will this literature come from- Pacific? Australian? American? Indian? In a region where literacy levels are low and access to books and reading materials is limited, is there need for a Literature department?
I hope so.
Filed under: dear diary
I finally have internet again- thank you service provider- which means that I can re-commence polluting the internet with other peoples pictures and stories and maybe even adding some of my own. blogging is so stop and start. people make new years resolutions about this stuff- wordpress even has a ‘post per day’ or ‘post per week’ challenge. challenge being the operative word in my case where i tend to deprive myself of alone time while at the same time craving it like my diabetic friend catherine craves pickled onions and green olives.
I’m jealous of folks who update their blog every day or even every week, mostly due to the fact that this means their quota of alone time is larger than mine. Truthfully, I think it’s just that they use their alone time more effectively i.e. don’t watch 10 episodes of Sons of Anarchy in a row and actually have the capacity for reflection and use their brain outside of business hours. Hmm- that assumes that I use my brain during business hours which is debatable.
My AYAD post finishes in about six weeks- I haven’t been this excited since six weeks before my AYAD post began. I love living in Fiji, I’m engaged to Island Boy and have met a bunch of fun people who continually challenge me to misbehave (and vice versa), but it’s also been a tough twelve months, particularly at work and I can’t wait to publish a tell-all post on my last day. It’s amazing the number tasks on my daily work agenda that have been classified as ‘capacity building’ and it’s incredibly disappointing when your secretary…. oops, let’s wait six weeks!
So, I’m back. More soon….
hello girl in photo with boyish styleZ. the fringe, the pink nails, the cigarette, the big grey scarf, the tailored blazer, the gold faced time bling, the urban cullotes, the legs, the peep toe lace up’s- oh no you did not just lay in bed last night conjuring up in your head the above look/outfit/ensemble from all the crap in your wardrobe (sans blazer and shoes) and come up with THIS. please give me tips on how i can be you. xx
I just came across this still from the 1954 film Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and was flooded with memories of watching it at my grandparents farm when I was of early primary school age. My grandfather was an avid collector of John Wayne movies and our holidays were spent thinking we liked them too, falling asleep half way through and then waking up to Nan having made fresh salad sandwiches on buttered white bread. Every school holidays we would convince ourselves that we loved John Wayne. We loved the West. But we didn’t. Not even close. Then one day we were ploughing through the video cupboard and came across a gold mine of old school Looney Toons cartoons (think black and white Porky Pig), Three Stooges (Pop liked Westerns, Dad liked slapstick) and the ultimate of ultimate- Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. It had everything we wanted- costumes, music, love, kidnappings, town vengeance, babies, shotgun weddings, and a group of men dancing and singing as they raised a barn from the ground.
The image of those seven babes in the arms of the seven bro’s reminds me of waking up at 5am and racing to the kitchen to sit with my grandfather, in trousers and a white singlet smoking Camels and sipping sweet black coffee while my grandmother, in her carpeted kitchen, shuffled around boiling eggs and inhaling Alpine Menthols. I can smell hay, and home cooking, and stale cigarettes, my grandmothers nerves, the green poop that came out of me after eating loads of bubblegum icecream and gumboots and diesel. I learnt how to ride a bike there, my grandfather bought my sister and I a horse, he took us for counter meals and bought us FADS so that we could have a smoke with him. Then we’d get tired and go see Nan for some old time dancing in the lounge room to Frank Sinatra and the soundtrack of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. xx
Since embarking on island life I have begun to embrace the idea of wearing a bit of colour and experimenting with new patterns. Seeing what designers like Stella McCartney & Jil Sanders are putting out for Spring/Summer 2011 is inspiring me to take a trip to the tailor.. xx
I want to see inside Alain de Botton’s brain and find what it is that gets his mind wandering off the topic (On Distraction) because for me it’s novelty chandeliers all the way… xx
Herein lies a centipede- found crawling down a wall, coaxed to the floor, squashed with a rubber thong, wrapped up in newspaper, and burnt. With fire. (Exit centipede.)
Killing a bug is ok with me if it’s a cockroach or a poisonous spider, wiping ants off a kitchen bench is also ok. But squashing a centipede and then burning it in newspaper seemed a little excessive/unnecessary. Also add in that the murderer was Island Boy, (a quiet, reasonable, gentle man) and I was equal parts shocked, dismayed and intrigued. On a much smaller scale it reminded me of a friend of mine (also a reasonable guy) who, when walking on an Australian beach with his girlfriend, saw a brush turkey run out of the scrub. On seeing brush turkey he charged straight for it, caught it and then whipped it around, breaking its neck in one ‘fowl’ swoop. He then dropped the dead bird and turned back ‘all nonchalant-like’ to his stunned gf. Island Boy may not have murdered the centipede in such circumstances but like a brush turkey just doing his thing on the beach, what’s the real threat of a centipede just doing his thing on the bedroom wall?? Aren’t centipedes kind of like caterpillars? And aren’t caterpillars just hungry for yummy fruits??
And then I googled the shit out of centipedes and found that big ass centipedes can cause big ass anaphylactic shock. While unlikely to be fatal to adults or those with no allergy to bee stings, they can also cause severe swelling, fever and chills- and according to Island Boy these symptoms are best controlled with onion flesh. I wonder if my friends gf is feeling as grateful for having him around…. xx
It’s all thunder and lightning in Suva right now and the rain has proved somewhat cathartic. As mentioned in my last post things have been incredibly hectic- while I made a commitment to extend my writing beyond personal list-making, I need to take time out to self indulge and reflect on the past couple of weeks and my relationships with others, and more importantly with myself. let’s rename this post- ‘stress and those who cannot share the load’…
There are things that make me moderately stressed- like losing keys, meeting deadlines, my bank account, being on time, the list goes on- my heartbeat might rise a little but it’s pretty mild and I can generally ask for help if needed and deal with that which comes my way (I guess ‘that’ in this case means ‘life’)… but there are other issues and events that make my heart rate raise to such extremes that my head starts to pump and I can feel a tumour in the form of ‘stressful issue or event’ starting to grow, blocking my vision and thus all clear, reasonable thought. In these cases, I find it really difficult to ask for help. And when it’s offered I simply have no time for it- I just want to deal with things myself.
As I get older, I slowly realise that this process of internalising has deeper impacts on my relationships with those close to me and furthermore, with my self. I don’t tell my best friend about losing money on eBay because I think it’s too embarrassing (luckily in this case it was acutally eBay’s fault and I received my money back). I lash out at my boyfriend when he tries to offer solutions to impending case brought against me by our old landlord and storm out of the room when he tries to calm me down- this may also have something to do with the fact that I just want him to take control. Overall, I become secretive, guilty and impossible to budge. I feel ‘stupid’, like I’m causing trouble, like I don’t want to be the one with the ‘shitty personal admin problem’… plus I also start thinking that everyone else is ‘stupid’ for not just magically fixing it… brat alert…
So.. to avoid feeling these things I’m going to start dealing with them, and start realising that some things are just bad luck, while others are just little bits of life coming my way. I’m not saying that to deal with them I need to start blabbing around town, but I do need to learn to ask for help or support, and to accept it when it arrives….. xx
(as an after thought- i’d also like to add that i’m always on the look out for new and interesting ways to make life harder for myself…. because that’s how i roll…. )
feathers&fables 