Game over man, game over!

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Postscript

The streets are full of water. I tread carefully along the footpaths, avoiding rivers of rain and fallen maple leaves. Fallen - pursuing some fantastic and absurdly wild ideal, followed through to its fatalistic end. I watch it crumble, a lattice of beliefs so carefully construed and planned. The white picket fence, the well-manicured lawn, all torn up and blown away as in a storm. How many mistakes must a man make before he capitulates?
When the door to her apartment closes, another door also closes.

Of Mice & Men

Nobody remembers second place

They say running will make you sweat all the salt from your body, leaving none for tears. So that's what I did today, as the sun began its steady decline.
I ran around the bay, jogging past middle-aged women in unflattering nylon pants, couples with strollers, multi-million houses accessorised with expensive cars. I confess (embarrassingly) that I often fantasise about living here, in one of these glass and steel contraptions - raising a family, perhaps - and looking out across the bay from the balcony during quiet afternoons as the sunlight dances playfully on the water.
I wasn't even halfway when I started struggling. I tried to focus on a point in the distance and to keep running towards it, running and running and running. I had to go on. This torture was necessary. This was my idea of purging the mind, expunging all thoughts. When I reached a difficult uphill section though, an image of her appeared in my head, mouth slightly open, a thin strip of perspiration sitting on her upper lip. I am not the first to conjure such thoughts during times of yearning.
Sometimes it's not enough to rip open your chest and expose the beating heart that lies beneath. Sometimes it must be shocked daily by a cattle prod. Love and betrayal, how deep and consistent you cut!
Near the end of the run my ribs were hurting from the effort of breathing, my legs powerless and weighted. I couldn't stop though, wouldn't, no matter how loud that voice was screaming in my head to collapse on that soft inviting grass by the wayside. I kept urging myself forward, painful step after painful step, until eventually I made it. Soon after my breath slowed, the blood stopped roaring, and everything was the same.

'Yeah, well maybe I hurt you sometimes, but let's contrast and compare' - It's Cool, We Can Still Be Friends, Bright Eyes

Abstract v0.18

My mum gave me this name for want of something less common, and because she didn't want me to be at the bottom of the class list. In Irish it is fire; in Celtic, a sun god.
I was born and raised in Australia but maintain a strong bond with my cultural background, which sometimes leaves me confused as to where I belong.
As a kid I was often scolded for daydreaming; I will now, still, sometimes drift into fantasyland.
My favourite colours are green and blue, the colours of the ocean.
I enjoy the outdoors and I love to run, but have never been a strong swimmer. I hope one day to reach Mt Everest.
I prefer summer over winter, stars over clouds.
I love to spend time indoors in front of the computer, or a good book, or on a couch watching a DVD with a loved one.
I rarely waste time on crass movies. I secretly cry in sad films.
Life does have background music.
I spend weekends with friends, and think they are my most treasured possessions.
I am not close to my siblings, but will never abandon them.
Work to me is just a necessary chore, and if I won lotto I would travel the world.
I have hurt and been hurt.
I am wary and jaded from failed relationships - I have my baggage.
I am an idealist, an optimist and a sinner. I apologise for all three.
I believe in conservation and humanism.
My only fears are large insects and the passing of time.

PS. I love long walks on the beach

How appropriate it rains today!

I finally did scuba diving during our long weekend trip to Cairns, and it was every bit as thrilling as I'd imagined it to be. I was pretty petrified going underwater the first time, with nothing but a thin tube of air protecting me from the suffocating sea, and the eerie metallic sound of my breath in the regulator. But soon I forgot it all - forgot the discomfort of the mask, the cold, the tiredness in my legs. Beneath me, around me, was a world completely alien to me. So beautiful and full of life, like a silent movie.

A lot of my childhood afternoons were spent poring over my dad's fish books, vivid page upon vivid page of fish and coral leaving me amazed and captivated. I would read stories about gropers remembering the faces of divers, and giant clams big enough to swallow a man. To be able to see it all for myself; well, it's been a dream of mine for the longest time, and I'm so happy that I've been able to fulfil it.

The winter is
So cold.

I often like to think of myself as bold and enterprising. I'm willing to take risks, explore new horizons, challenge myself. I'll be the one leaping over chasms or cycling down steep inclines. Liberal, adventurous, open-minded - you'd think I would like things to be ever-changing. But no - change scares me. Being in a different environment, being with strangers, being outside my (surprisingly small, I've realised) comfort zone. These things are to be avoided. Change must be gradual, easily handled.
You see, we all seek constants in our lives. We need that reassurance, something to cling to in the confusion and debris of a turning world. It's what we strive for, and, at the end of the day, it's the constant things in our lives that make us happy.

I remember a movie I watched as a kid. One of the characters was an unemployed, low-life kind of guy who would entertain his friends with cheap magic tricks. There's one scene where he's drunk in the courtyard of the apartment block, holding his magician's wand. Tears are streaming down his face and he's waving the wand around maniacally, shouting 'Change! Change!' over and over.

I almost changed jobs last week. I'd had enough, and started looking for a fresh start. I went in for an interview, and then another, and soon afterwards received a job offer. At the last minute my manager persuaded me to stay. Among other things, he was able to convince me that out there it was a cut-throat industry and I was less than suited to it. It made me think of who I am, and who I want to become. Seeds of doubt began taking hold, feeding on my anxiety and sprouting through my ears. I turned down the lucrative offer and opted for the easier option. No, I don't regret it - but sometimes, sometimes I too will wave a wand drunkenly and yell.

'It was only when I heard clapping, that I realised it was all over.' - JoH.

It's been a busy week. I've had a lot of drama at work - it must be the first time I've really fought with a colleague (a manager, no less) and been visibly angry. To me it reinforces how terribly meaningless it all is - as if being forced to toil for a living isn't bad enough, we must do so at the bequest and whims of others.

Crowded House played at the Enmore earlier in the week. ('Crowded House? You like Crowded House?' Ah Mother, how little you know about me). The small theatre gave the concert an intimate air, and despite the hundreds of people present it felt like the band was playing for each and every individual. The concert was at it's best when the old familiar songs were played, and the crowd erupted into song.

Friday was good for killing zombies.

Last night was clubbing with two disparate group of friends. The night almost didn't happen, with all the rain and long queues and creeping sense of listlessness. I realised, while watching the girls get approached by random generic-looking strangers, that guys can sense vulnerability in a girl, and love it. That's how my friends seemed to me - delicate and fragile and tragic, like origami princesses. Though we spoke in hushed tones and giggled when we had finally dissuaded the persistent intruders, was I really right to judge and blame them? I know I am very much the same. And when she held me tightly and sighed, I knew she was thinking of someone else.

Oh I remember a dream I had the other night. I was with a group of friends at a house party, and was lying innocently and slightly drunk on a couch for some unknown reason with a friend whom I have no romantic inclinations whatsoever. As the lights dimmed her face moved towards mine, and we kissed. Her tongue was in my mouth, strong and rough in a way I'd imagine a giraffe's tongue might feel like. The entanglement didn't last long, and then giraffe-tongue girl abruptly sat up and walked away, leaving me shivering on the couch. Who said dreams don't mean anything?

'But every time I look at you, I hope it's your arms I fall into.' - Falling Away, Big Scary

'You're an Aquarius? So you're one of those people who look for someone unique, someone a little different.'
I smile tersely.
I suspect, too, that I like the feeling of falling to that of landing.

If I were a butterfly...

It's been a busy, busy two weeks. I've been spending a lot of time working, and then time de-stressing from work, only for it to start all over again. I want to write, but my mind is mostly blank. The more time spent working, the less time you spend on creative pursuits. Kind of like cavemen needing to hunt, or something like that...

'Scattered showers with isolated thunderstorms. Partly cloudy with northwest winds.'

We set out on a Friday evening after work, intermittent rain and a delayed start causing much frustration. Once we got on the road though the six hour drive went by quickly, no doubt helped along by Polo's wise anecdotes and occasional bad dance music. We arrived in Jindabyne close to 1am and promptly went to bed in preparation for the long day ahead of us; fortunately I was exhausted enough to fall asleep in spite of a certain someone's loud snoring. Meanwhile outside the rain continued to fall lightly...

The next day I was awoken by Polo's ogre-like movements. I looked out the window - the rain had stopped despite Bean's best efforts, and blue sky had started peeking through the thinning grey clouds. We had a quick breakfast and got ready - water bottles were filled, lunches half-packed, jumpers put on, taken off, and put on again. After a quick stop for coffee, we drove up and towards the mountains, the surrounding hills carpeted in green after the recent rain. I found it funny driving past all the ski resorts without the snow, the naked buildings and hills and chairlifts looking so out of place and ridiculous, like disused machinery discarded from a factory long ago.

We parked and stood at the start of the trail, green hills and mountains and meandering alpine rivers outstretched before us. I never thought this country could be so picturesque and pristine. We could have been in Switzerland.

The hike was tough. We walked for hours, and sometimes the uphills would go on forever. The sun kept beating down on my neck (sunburn, ouch!), and often all I wanted to do was lie down in the soft grass or dive into one of the many blue lakes along the way. Eventually we reached the top after six hours, sweaty and exhausted. At the highest point in Australia we had a well-deserved rest, took photos and had a nice, late afternoon gourmet lunch. That night, back in Jindabyne, no one stayed awake much later past midnight before we all passed out in our respective rooms.

I've always wanted to climb Mt Everest as a kid; small hikes such as these make me realise how gargantuan an undertaking like that would be, and how far I am from such dreams. To go down, go up.
We drive home the next day and it's raining again, raindrops splattering endlessly on car windows.

We had the annual birthday celebration yesterday in the city. What struck me was how unassuming it all was. There was no fuss and no need to impress. We enjoyed ourselves simply, eating together, singing bad eighties songs at karaoke and getting soaked in the rain. We were at ease, like friends who have known each other a long time (this is true) and know exactly what to expect. When you're this age you no longer have an angry point to prove to the world.

So I found out someone significant from my past has moved on. I would have preferred not to know, and told this to the friend who informed me. 'Guys are all the same,' she remarks, condescendingly. 'Always regretting, but then it's too late.'
I despise such generalisations. The whole oh yeah all guys are like that kind of thing. It's so offensive. Is only one gender guilty of such faults? If I were to judge people on the sins of others from my past... But I digress. Do I regret? No. I am a little sad though, only because certain memories remain dear to me, and remain so, unsullied by anger, jealousy, and hurt pride. I am one easily haunted by the past.

Tonight there was Chinese New Year dinner at my grandparents. There were plates and plates of food - roast meats, seafood, tofus and vegetables. Por Por continually putting food into everyone's bowls; cousins yelling and shouting excitedly. A bottle of champagne was opened - Mum got a little rowdy after half a glass, while Dad turned a tomato shade of red (I definitely have my dad's genes). It's been a long time since we've all been gathered like this for dinner, and it's in brief moments like these that I realise how fortunate I am.

They say that whatever you're doing on New Years day you will do for the rest of the year. I'm about to start some work for what I know will be a very stressful night. Well, then...

I woke up on Friday morning in a state of despair. I felt isolated, separated from the world. There was this overwhelming feeling I was to spend the rest of my years in misery and obscurity. I did all the usual morning things - brushed my teeth, ate my breakfast - quietly diestressed. Was it some already forgotten dream I had? Or something else unmentionable? By the time I got to work and did the usual work things my panic had subsided and was placated. Nevertheless it was a bad omen, I surmised, for the weekend to begin like this. And I was right.

'I had a friend who studied three years of physio; in fourth year she decided physio wasn't for her and changed to physics instead,' she says, eyes wide and sparkling. 'I think that is a big waste of three years.'
'Not really,' I reply. 'If she hadn't done those three years, she wouldn't have known physio wasn't for her. Sometimes it takes people that long to realise.'
I don't regret this weekend. At least I'm no longer left wondering. In your old age, one day, you will remember the things you did, and regret the paths never travelled. As the train takes us to the coast, she plays the piano. In a reflection I see her falter. Not long after I'm on the bus home, invisible strings lightly tugging me back.

'Congratulations on your promotion!'
Promotion? Hardly. I don't feel like it's a big step. Or a step in the right direction. Or any step at all. Is this what I really want? I'm reminded of the story of the frog who will jump out of a pot of hot water, but sits in a pot of cold water and boils to death when the temperature is gradually raised.

A random event - the other day, walking home from the station in the drizzling rain, I was followed by a small black dog. I thought she would turn back as I walked further but no, she stayed with me all the way home. It was nice, having this anonymous companion trotting next to me through the rain. Sometimes that's all we really need on our journeys - some companionship.

And so it has come to this. I hold a lit match in my hand, ready to destroy the last remnants. But I can't. These memories are too precious. You'll remember me again one day, when I am ashes.

'There is freedom within, there is freedom without, tryin' to catch the deluge in a paper cup' - Don't Dream It's Over, Crowded House

An early birthday present from a generous friend.
Joanna Newsom at the Opera House - tonight, 7.30, two tickets


The pounding in my head hushed by the strum of a harp.

'You stopped by, I was all alive
In my doorway, we shucked and jived
And when you wept, I was gone:
See, I got gone when I got wise
But I can't with certainty say we survived'
- Only Skin, Joanna Newsom

The new year weekend was spent in the Hunter Valley with friends amongst green meadows and rain. We stayed a few nights in a little cottage on a vineyard, surrounded by gentle hills and pastures. It was nice to wake up to the sound of light rain tapping on the roof, the murmur of voices in the living room, the sizzle of mushrooms and eggs on a pan. Ah, the simple life. Wine (just a bit for me thanks...wait, stop, that's too much), DVDs, a good read, good food and boardgames. I forgot where I worked, the bills I paid, the chores that were waiting. Everything was suspended that weekend. I could spend the rest of my life here with these friends, in this little Garden of Eden, I thought as I laid my head to sleep.

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For me, 2010 didn't begin with an explosion of colour and lights and loud music. It started hours after the fireworks had finished, on a morning of overcast skies and a sore throat. The new year doesn't start until reality kicks in, after the partying, and you're picking up the pieces and think: What has happened to this year? Where did it all go? I have done nothing, but this year will be different. Is it ever?
New Year's resolutions? I have too many. I'm not vain enough to list them all here. A friend did say this to me however. She said you need to chase your dreams. If you put effort into what you hope to achieve, then something will come out of it. Even if others don't approve, when they see how dedicated you are to your cause, eventually they will support you, because they love you and ultimately want you to be happy. And isn't that what life is all about?
I know what she told me has been said to me before, in so many different ways. But there was so much conviction, so much belief in her voice that I smiled and nodded in agreement, as we continued on our long journey home.