I recently had the pleasure of watching a NZ Film Festival Film called “There once was an island”. The film deals with an island in Papua New Guinea that is apparently in the process of sinking. Now, many people will see this film as dealing with climate change, or addressing the problem of losing one’s cultural identity in the face of the inexorable march of industrialisation. I got a slightly more personal message from the film.
Fiji Greeting
As soon as you get off the plane it hits you: it’s like walking into a sauna. No, it is walking into a sauna, in just about every sense. Sweat begins to muster on your brow as you succumb to the humidity; the air is dense with it. Breathing is just that little bit more difficult and movement is slower too.
“Aaah,” I exclaim, soaking in the atmosphere, more literally than normal.
Brisbane 2010
A few weeks ago I ended up in Brisbane on a conference.
I wish I had written a long, engaging story about my experience, including the sights and sounds of the South Bank in Brisbane, the Queensland Art Gallery, the worst Mohito ever concocted and catching up with my friend Michael who I hadn’t seen for about a decade, but I’m afraid I am running out of time before my next overseas trip.
So, instead, here are some of the pictures I took of beautiful Brisbane. I would like to make special mention of the Lone Pine Koala sanctuary, though, where I met and was able to hold a koala!
Late Numbers
I popped the box next to my car with a poorly stifled grunt and opened the door. Hmm, lots of my own junk was still here on the back seat.
There were 4 carefully dated bags of money strewn on the floor, I grabbed them and stuffed them under the front seat.
I stood up with a stretch and a groan. Tired.
Redeye
I drive in to work at an unusually early time for me: it’s around 7:55am when I arrived at the front gate to the airbase. The security guard smiles his familiar round smile as he waves me through. His cheerfulness belies the fact that, were it not for the identification I present to him, I would go no further than his little box.
It’s cold and dark outside, the Auckland sun only just beginning to shine a few anaemic rays in my direction. I pull up to the car park. The car park straddles the red line which denotes the “operational” part of the airbase to the non-operational part. “Identification to be visible at all times” the sign says something like that. I clip my ID onto my belt and walk to the door to the building I’ve spent most of my waking hours in this past year or so. All of my personal belongings go into a secure lockup just in front of the secure doors. Nothing unauthorised is permitted here. I’ve taken to simply dumping all the contents of my pockets here, just in case.
So, how are you?
My managing director, Thomas, made the mistake of asking me that phatic question as I was flitting around the office on Friday morning last month. At the best of times, I’m the sort of person who will answer that common question painfully truthfully. As it was, I had far too much information to impart on anyone daring to ask such a question.
“Well, Thomas, I’m in tip top condition!” I replied gleefully, hoping I’d get the chance to elaborate on the precise metrics by which I was “fine”.
Changing
Those of you who know me will know I’m a big fan of Billy Joel. So much so, that when I was given the opportunity to choose a song to practise for voice training, I picked one of the best I could think of: “Just the way you are“.
It’s a nice sentiment: don’t go changing, you’re not too familiar, I won’t leave you, I love you just the way you are. Great words to hear from a lover or a friend. Those who aren’t Billy Joel crazy will probably be surprised to hear that it’s actually one of his least favourite songs. He wrote it for his soon-to-be ex wife after all. I remember watching an interview with the piano man where he said he now addresses the song more to himself than to anyone else.
Somebody to Love
I was extremely grumpy this last Good Friday. I was so sorry for myself, in fact, that I spent most of the day sulking in bed. There could be a number of reasons for this, particularly since I was stuck in Auckland while everything was closed down for the weekend, but I think it probably had a lot to do with what happened the night before. For one thing, on Thursday I asked a guy out. His eventual reply was a gentle, polite yet quite definite “no”. Now, I’ve been rejected many, many times before but somehow this affected me more than usual. It may have to do with the movie I was watching at the time.
Goodbye Granny
“Goodbye Granny” I said as I got up to leave. “I’m sure I’ll see you again” I lied bravely “I’ll come visit South Africa or something”.
“Hope I’m alive when you do” she voiced my unspoken fear.
My grandmother leaves New Zealand tomorrow morning, after spending some precious months here visiting my father in Wellington. She and I spent a magical week together touring the Marlborough: the top of the South Island. We spent so many hours together in the car that we got to know each other very well. I think I learnt more about her in that week than I have in my entire life. She’s a wonderful person.
“I wish I was a man, and younger” granny confessed one sunny afternoon as I drove us swiftly between nowhere and Blenheim “because then I’d date you”. It’s a strange disclosure that speaks of a yearning for companionship that spans generations and gender. She was very remorseful that she had to delay coming up to Auckland, meaning we wouldn’t have as much time to chat as we had before.
Before I went to my cousins’ place to say goodbye one last time, I filled a memory card with a bunch of photos of our trip and the family. I inserted it into the picture frame I bought her and gave it to her with strict instructions to get people to load more pictures onto it for her.
I didn’t tell her that the memory card came from my camera, rendering it useless. Until I get a new card, my camera won’t take any more pictures. It’s kind of appropriate really, because it reflects how I feel: a part of me is leaving and I don’t think I can take any pictures at the moment either.
Deo Fretus
I was cleaning out my drawers, going through clothes I need to get rid of, when I came across a little bit of my own personal history: my Deo Fretus t-shirt. Now, Deo Fretus (in God we trust) was the motto of my high school and also the name of the quintet I was a member of for two glorious years. It’s hard to describe the profound sense of nostalgia I felt as I tenderly pulled the tatty t-shirt out of the drawer and regarded its moth-eaten holes.