Collection of Unconnected Matter

It's funny when you rethink all the situations and emotions one has experienced in a certain period of time. Yes, I know this sounds very vague, but looking back on these last couple months since my return from my trip, a rollercoaster of adventures and feelings and moments of 'stuckness', I wonder if I've learned anything at all. I wonder if, through each situation and thought process, I am learning and improving myself and improving the lives of others.

A cycle of convoluted thoughts pepper this blog, a 'collection of unconnected matter' and I oft wonder - where does that leave me? Where exactly am I going? Am I the person I would like myself to be? Are any of us? A friend recently told me that through a late night conversation he "saw a real sad side of me", a facet of me that I usually conceal not to frighten others, not to frighten myself. But I think we all have this sad side of ourselves, and choosing to expose it depends on us. It's funny, because that particularly night ended the 'sadness' I had been experiencing since I came down with glandular fever.

Glandular fever produces various side affects in people - exhaustion, restlessness, lack of concentration, aching muscles, sore glands, temperature, and depression.
What I thought was the annual April apathy and madness I sometimes descend into (and posted about previously) was (I think) encouraged/produced by my glandular fever. I lacked motivation, I lacked enthusiasm, I lacked the passion I so often seek and express. A cycle I worked hard on to break, to smash up all the negative thoughts and consequent anti-social actions - which, I might proudly add, I overcame with success. But that Friday night when my friend saw that 'sad side' of me was the slow ending of this melancholy. I had finally thought myself out of the bad, the sad, the madness that had enveloped me for a while. Too long a while. But starting afresh is always renewing. And I've come to realise that it's upon ourselves to make that change. Others can help us see the way, or make us feel even more bitter, but we have to work on the rotten from the inside out. Once the clutter is arranged in some order, some progress is made.

To really take control of your life, that's one of the hardest things to do. To be happy and satisfied with your every action, your destination, your journey to that destination - I think that's one my biggest wishes for my life. A big birthday wish. A lifetime wish, a lifetime workshop - for nobody really wants to achieve perfection, otherwise there's no room for improvement.

To disconnect from life - I think that's one of my biggest fears. I may live to be average, to finally grow up and not realise my 'potential', I may remain single for the rest of my life, but I don't feel as frightened from those 'fears'. To disconnect from life - to not care, to stop thinking, to feel like a transparent blob hovering through the everydayness of life - no thanks. Nisht for Sarah.

spilt milk

The sea was like milk foam. Spilt milk. The white creaminess of the salty foam looked delicious as it washed over the black rocks that jutted out forming mini Oreo-islands. It was breathtaking. I think the reason why I was so surprised at the beauty was because the milk foam belonged to the sea spray of Nobbies, Phillip Island. That's right, Nobbies' Nuts. When I used to think of Phillip Island, I remembered the Penguin Parade we witnessed during a class excursion in Grade Four. I thought of the ordinary name Cowes, and the lack of seals slapping themselves silly at the Nobbies rocks. I thought of a remote place that belonged to my childhood, and completely disregarded its potential for appreciation in my adulthood.

It's funny how things work like that.

Scribbles from Editing Class 101

I feel like a detective - learning the training to dive into complex sentence structures and identify the grammar construction of our language.
We piece the puzzle together with each new class - a new pearl to unravel the secrets embedded within communication.

I feel like a builder - learning the materials and tools for construction. Laying the foundation - solid, of course - and during class we build together the walls, windows, ceilings - the limitations, the exceptions - "you gotta know the rules to break 'em."
Layer upon layer, we work hard and we work long. Peeling the verbs, subjects, direct and indirect objects away from the core, we reveal some inner truths of our language.

Grammar girl is our goddess.

Frozen Music

Music allows us to pause the present for a moment and feel full with the memory bubble that's created upon listening to it.
It's so wonderful that there are songs out there that allow us commonfolk to express our 'feelings' - especially when words seem inadequate. Songs capture a glance, a shyness, a whoop of joy, a relief, a place of comfort - that sparks memories within us that we tend to put away for a while. Whether they are songs once shared by lovers, by friends, by heartache, by family, by grief - or songs that remind us of a time with which we are familiar. I think it's quite beautiful.

Current songs of currency:

"Dream about you: Mark Sholtez"
"So Happy Together: The Turtles"
"Apple Candy: Ben Lee"
"Book of Love: Peter Gabriel"
"Move On Up: Curtis Mayfield"
"Alright: John Legend"

These songs are important to me because they encapsulate a whole range of emotions, felt along wide spaces of time in various parts of the world. I wonder what YOUR current songs of currency are. Let me know. I enjoy allowing sunshine memories soak through me via the beauty of music. Perhaps it feels a little like love.

Rosamond Purcell - lovely photos for your enjoyment

An inspiration.

This is an excerpt from an address by Israel President Ezer Weizman to the Bundestag and Bundesrat of the Federal Republic of Germany on the 18th of January, 1996. It was written by Israeli novelist Meir Shalev. I came across this while exploring my new Haggadah, attached to the paragraph 'Bechol Dor VaDor - In every generation'. I wish everyone a pesach kasher ve sameach.


"It was fate that delivered me and my contemporaries into this great era, when the Jews returned to and re-established their homeland. I am no longer a wandering Jew who migrates from country to country, from exile to exile. But all Jews in every generation must regard themselves as if they had been there, in previous generations, places, and events. Therefore, I am still a wandering Jew, but not along the far-flung paths of the world. Now I migrate through the expanses of time, from generation to generation, down the paths of memory.

Memory shortens distances. Two hundred generations have passed since my people first came into being, and to me they seem like a few days. Only two hundred generations have passed since a man named Abraham rose up and left his country and birthplace for the country that is today mine. Only two hundred generations have elapsed from the day Abraham purchased the Cave of Makhpela in the city of Hebron to the murderous conflicts that have taken place there in my generation. Only one hundred fifty generations have passed from the Pillar of Fire of the Exodus from Egypt to the pillars of smoke from the Holocaust. And I, a descendant of Abraham, born in Abraham's country, have witnessed them all.

I was a slave in Egypt. I received the Torah at Mount Sinai. Together with Joshua and Elijah, I crossed the Jordan River. I entered Jerusalem with David, was exiled from it with Zedekiah, and did not forget it by the rivers of Babylon. When the Lord returned the captives of Zion, I dreamed among the builders of its ramparts. I fought the Romans and was banished from Spain. I was bound to the stake in Mainz. I studied Torah in Yemen and lost my family in Kishinev. I was incinerated in Treblinka, rebelled in Warsaw, and emigrated to the Land of Israel, the country whence I had been exiled and where I had been born, from which I come and to which I return.

I am a wandering Jew who follows in the footsteps of his forebears, and just as I escorted them there and then, so do my forebears accompany me and stand here with me today. The sharp-sighted among you may be able to discern them: a retinue of prophets and peasants, kings and rabbis, scientists and soldiers, craftsmen and children. Some died of advanced years in their beds. Others went up in flames. Still others fell by the sword.

Just as memory forces us to participate in each day and every event of our past, so does the virtue of hope force us to prepare for each day of our future. "

Deconstructing Sarah

1. The tonsilitis that I thought plagued me was diagnosed as glandular fever. Goody. I suppose that explains the serious melancholy of the last post - and since I have been in bed growing restless and crazy. It's amazing where the mind takes you when your company has been countless episodes of Law & Order and your nuclear family. I love them, but I need to go out, man!

2. It's quite pathetic when you watch Foxtel over and over and realise that you've already seen the episode of Law&Order/Crossing Jordan/ Law&Order:SVU etc etc. I watch way too much television. Which brings me to

3. I think I hate the way glandular fever affected me because it produced a concentration span of a goldfish - I became quickly bored with television/movies/conversations - to the point that I had no energy to read. I couldn't READ! What good use is an editor-in-training who can't read?!?! I felt helpless and quite miserable for a time there.

4. But now I'm over it. The misery. The self-sorrow. I'm slowly getting better and realise that getting better takes time. A lot of time. Which I've never quite disciplined myself to take. To the detriment of my health. And I chase my own tail and the never ending vicious cycle produces me with more ailments (which I am confident I can overcome) and well... I'm not making any sense anymore. I'm up past my bed time.

5. I like lists. To be specific - I like lists of words. Perhaps a forthcoming posts will be just that. But not numbered. I do not number my word lists.

6. Is vulnerability an art? Can it perceived/decontructed/theorised as art? The ability to expose oneself - one's fears, one's weaknesses, one's neurosis, one's strange habits - does that take courage? And to what degree do people show and conceal these vulnerabilities? Is one able to tone a certain weakness down, or keep it in check, consciously? What strength does that require?

7. Who reads this?

8. Do I care?

9. I think I do. And I had to answer that because nine is my favourite number in the 1-10 range, and so I must have nine points. None have to make any sense. But that's ok. This is my blog. And I'll write what I want to.