Silly Nostalgia

I mean honestly. Nostalgia must be one of the strangest emotional states I've ever experienced.

What is it? How do you describe it outside of this term? It's sadness, remembered happiness, and a vague, dull, sense of loss. I was wondering today whether it's in any way useful. I suppose as a survival device it helps us remember a certain time or state or place or situation when were happy or safe, and so we can seek to emulate those circumstances, and hence keep ourselves alive.

But outside of that, it really doesn't do much except make you feel that odd combination of emotions.

I'm feeling it about school. The institution where I never had to choose, never had to think about my life and where I was going. All I had to choose were subjects. The rest was sorted for me. There's the class situation too. Tutes at uni just aren't the same. The conversations in English and Lit classes, the confusion and time wasting with friends in Maths...these situations can't be recreated. And probably shouldn't, for the sake of progress and a healthy mental state.

But nothing is sorted now. Now that I can do anything, I just don't know what to do.

At first, being a fan of Silent Witness, I thought I should be a forensic scientist because I'd be cool and competent and clever and good-looking and British and work with colleagues like these people:

But then I realised that it wouldn't be like the acclaimed BBC thriller at all, and most likely I'd be shut in a room with smelly corpses all by myself. Then I thought that perhaps I'd like to be spy, involved in high-security operations, with clever quips when I defeated people, and tense racy music as I waited for USBs to download top secret files. It must be said, Spooks (when is the next season coming out on ABC??!) makes it look terribly exciting.

But then the spies in that show have a pretty high turnover rate (Adam, left, died last year, presumably so that the actor Rupert Penry-Jones could go on to star in every BBC production since). And don't get me started on MasterChef.

It's not as if I'm overly dwelling on it. It just occurred to me. I'll be sure not to bring it up with the official running my driving test tomorrow:

Test instructor: Turn left, into the left lane.

Me: But I mean honestly, it's such an intangible feeling, isn't it? With rage, or anger, or happiness...they're more noticeable. You can say, I'm feeling happy, or I'm angry, and you know it. But nostalgia, see-

Test instructor: Turn left at the next street.

Me: See, it's so much vaguer and impossible to pinpoint. I don't even know if I enjoy feeling it or not...if it's healthy to wallow in it. Do you think-

Test instructor: Where possible, complete a three point turn.

Me: What, you mean here in this court, or in a metaphorical life sense?

I should probably get some sleep for that test now.

Lord of the Public Transport: Part II

The saga of my battle with the nefarious Victorian Department of Transport continues...

"The themes of good and evil have never been more strongly contrasted...a truly gripping adventure." - The Age

"Edge of your seat thriller guaranteed to leave you in an awe-struck state of shock. Amazing stuff." - Beryl, loves being invented and then quoted on blogs

When last we left our plucky hero (me), he had sent a most urgent missive to the Department of Transport, politely offering them one last chance to redeem themselves by recognising that the $172 fine they threatened him with was unreasonable.

Regrettably, their response only revealed their inability to empathise, and reiterated that he must pay their fine. And it is now that we pick up our story once more...

His hands trembled as he held the thin, crisp white sheet sent to him by the Department of Transport. Adrenalin and rage coursed through his veins, and he unleashed a cry of fury. Gnashing his teeth, he tore the paper apart, ripping each hatefully typed word into a thousand pieces*, before hurling the torn shreds from the highest tower of his castle**.

But as the rage subsided, and the bold red of righteous anger faded from his cheeks, he felt cold, calm purpose enter his consciousness once more. For there was work to be done.

The fine would be paid. Oh, yes, it would have to be paid. But there was still the question of his ticket, which had been abducted on that fateful day, and still languished, most likely in a decaying and mouldy cell***, at the hellish headquarters of that most unholy of institutions. There were trips left on that ticket. Trips on trains, trips on buses, trips on trams. That ticket had a life left -sunshine not yet felt, ticket validators not yet met, links to new places and train stations not yet forged...

And the boy knew with a comforting finality that he would never abandon his ticket to abuse and murder at the merciless talons of the Department of Transport.

He would seize it back.

Drawing up his favourite letter set and quill, he began to write with driven purpose:

Dear Department of Transport,

To say that I was disappointed with your curt response to my previous letter would be an understatement - nay, a downright lie!

If it was in blind trust that justice would be served that I wrote my previous letter, then it is in jaded cynicism that I write this. I will of course pay the fine your woefully incompetent administration has sent to me.

What I must also do, however, is demand at once that you release from the festering bowels of your rotten lair my 10 x 2 hourly ticket. God only knows what evil, perverted fate it has met at your grubby and unkempt hands. I shudder to think of the traumatic acts it has witnessed, suffered, and perhaps (and most horrifically) been forced to enact at your malevolent instigation.

You will release and return to me, untouched, my 10 x 2 hourly ticket. If you fail to release my ticket, I shall enlist the help of the Ents to wreak a most terrible and great destruction upon your offices. That's right, I will actually send mythological tree people to tear your premises asunder until I have freed the ticket I promised never to leave.

Yours in impatient and destructive wrath,

Gelati Gecko

As he wax sealed the envelope and summoned his noble palfrey upon whom he intended to deliver the message to the Black Gate of the Department of Transport, the boy gave a grim smile. It had begun.

*The paper was not actually ripped at all, but carefully filed away, as Gelati Gecko was far too clever to destroy a piece of evidence which may assist in charging the Department of Transport for their malfeasances.
**Ibid.
***This is merely an educated guess.

Girl Explores Self-Esteem In Lecture

A female first-year university student today mused upon her sexuality and identity during a lecture on the evolution of Business Culture and Enterprise.

For the better half of the forty-five minute lecture, she penned the capitalised words "EMILY IS A SEXY BITCH" into her lecture pad, which she retraced, perhaps in pensive afterthought, as she pondered the significance of this revelation.

By the end of the lecture, she had carefully crafted a sketch to accompany her self-affirmation. The rich illustration depicted the nubile female form, in a style reminiscent of the Botticelli-Revivalist school of artwork, drawing on a strong use of shadow and light to create a composition which she admitted was "deeply gratifying".

Nearby students complimented her after the lecture on her fine command of the black pen. "She really knew what she was doing," an awestruck student seated directly behind her observed with reverence. "Just the way that she carefully, and very deliberately, etched each letter, each pen stroke, into the paper, you'd swear it was being inscribed into her very soul".

The lecturer noted something was afoot. "Usually everyone loves the discussion of Business Culture, which examines rhetorical approaches across business, and the dichotomous division between centralisation of bureaucratic control and a decentralised, mobile and agile business model. But Emily seemed to be absorbed in a higher sphere of thinking..."

At the close of the lecture, Emily seemed to have reached a point of resolution, as she immediately closed her book, and, as one student noted, "left the lecture with all the speed and refreshed vigour of one who has come to terms with their inner-self and emerged in joyous celebration of their libido and sensuality."

"I certainly won't be digging deep," affirms Masterchef Mum

Melbourne mother of four Jocelyn O'Rourke is not doing MasterChef for her family.

"Oh God no," she responds with a well-humoured laugh. "I'm definitely not doing it to make them proud. To be perfectly frank, I'm just here to escape them for a few weeks. That's what's been really driving me in this competition. When I'm at home it's "what's for dinner Mum" this, and "I won't eat that". Little shits."

When asked whether she feels pride and love blossoming in her heart every time she cooks, her roundly and motherly face wrinkles with a wry smile as she replies, 'No, not at all. Sometimes I cry when I'm cutting onions, but I can't help that."

Jocelyn, a favourite tipped to win the competition, has miraculously avoided elimination challenges until last night, when a poorly executed mille-feuille pastry saw her in the bottom two. When asked how much staying in the competition would mean to her, she replied "Oh, you know, it's quite fun. But it's not the end of the world. I certainly don't expect I would become tearful or emotional should I be eliminated."

What's Going On...

I don’t know what to think.

Asylum seekers want to come to Australia. Australia is a big country. Other countries take in asylum seekers. Kevin Rudd said “The combined effects of this suspension and the changing circumstances in these two countries will mean that more asylum seekers from Sri Lanka and Afghanistan will be refused.” He said this as a means of defending the policy to stop processing refugees from Sir Lanka and Afghanistan for a period of up to 6 months.

Ostensibly, this is a way of deterring refugees coming to Australia. But if most of the people seeking asylum are genuine refugees, then surely a choice between savage war, lawless killings and bombings in their countries, and detention in Australia is a bit of a no brainer. So instead the policy just treats them like shit when they do get here.

But the main justification is what really confuses me. Immigration Minister Chris Evans pointed out that the policy decision is occurring as the UN High Commissioner for Refugees is reviewing the guidelines. That is to say, they are suggesting that Sri Lanka and Afghanistan are no longer as dangerous as they once were. Yet we still have troops in Afghanistan. Fighting. Fighting the Taliban. Who are killing people. But it’s no longer dangerous. Ok.

I had a look at the Department of Foreign Affairs website, to see if their assessment rating fitted in with their policy decisions. It might surprise you:

http://www.smartraveller.gov.au/zw-cgi/view/Advice/Sri_Lanka

http://www.smartraveller.gov.au/zw-cgi/view/Advice/Afghanistan

Sri Lanka: “State of Emergency” and “attacks could occur anytime, anywhere in Sri Lanka.”

Afghanistan: “extremely dangerous security situation and the very high threat of terrorist attack.”

I don’t see how this is the right thing to do. Keeping people in detention for an unspecified period of time when they have done nothing wrong but to seek asylum here...pretty much sounds like evil to me.

So then, if I’m going to criticise this policy, what would I do? What can we do? It is true that Christmas Island is overflowing. But to me this means the government needs not to halt processing of asylum seekers, but to improve the system. Make it more efficient and humane.

It’s hard to believe that Australia’s government is actually incapable of processing refugees. According to The Age (10th April, 2010), around 2, 700 refugees arrived last year. Is it really impossible to have systems in place to deal with that amount? The number of people who immigrated to Australia last year was 171, 320 according to the government statistics here:

http://www.immi.gov.au/media/statistics/statistical-info/visa-grants/migrant.htm

Everything I see only confirms the notion that politicians do very little. It’s funny, because in Australia we have a strong, almost stereotypical distrust of politicians. There’s a plethora of jokes about how two-faced and morally bankrupt politicians are. But the sad thing is that continually I seem to see that so many of them are.

Kevin Rudd was voted in for a number of reasons, and one of those was a commitment to bring about a humane response to asylum seekers. To see this coming out really makes me angry and sad. I don’t know which party I’ll vote for at the next election. It’s like choosing between two toys I don’t want:




Kevin Rudd!
NOW with new contrived, pompous apologies at the pull of a string! Adjusts glasses frequently! Claims to be a Christian, but with NEW XTREME backflip ability, enabling him to imprison traumatised people escaping from war and death!!!



NEW! Tony Abbott!
- Supercharged energised battery life!
- Equipped with two-face ability – able to pander to most audiences, adjusting views as necessary!*
*Disclaimer: Will not believe in climate change.

Existence and Stuff...

So here I am, driven back to my blog by the mounting piles of work. Blogging once again takes up its role as my Procrastination God, to whom I will make regular offerings of questionable quality.

I could write about how I don't understand how Nike's new ad with Tiger Woods's dead father's voice is meant to be positive, or how it's sad that nobody really bats an eyelid over the leaked videos of American soldiers in helicopters gunning down civilians, but I'll put cynicism and sarcasm up on the shelf for now.

Instead, I'll attempt to articulate the most challenging train of thought which has come to me of late.

Living. Dying. What the hell.

Why do we have religion, and a God? The more I see, the more I have come to believe that a faith which includes a God achieves a few things:

- It encourages people to live good lives, where they have positive relationships with people around them.
- It comforts people, as they are assured that their lives are being watched over by some clever guy in the sky who has it all sorted.

So then it might be easy to say that God doesn't exist. But. God hasn't been around in any tangible form for quite some time, if the Bible is to be believed.

So perhaps it is, that God exists solely through faith. In that God does exist, because people believe in him. Like a philosophy, God is able to be followed by some people, and hence exert a tangible influence upon real people - he can give some strength, fuel others' hatred, spread love, etc.

Of course if we accept this, then it follows that there is nothing waiting after death. We are simply organisms, a bunch of chemical reactions which defy the laws of nature to continue to give us life. How bizarre is that thought? That the words which come to me now aren't coming from some sort of innate 'spirit' I possess, but simply from a bunch of connections and neurons in my brain, drawing on memories, thoughts, learnt vocabulary, etc., to manufacture these thoughts?

And I've also been thinking about how easy it is to die. And it terrified me at first. Friends, family, anyone - anyone can suddenly have something go wrong in their body, something happen to them, and they will stop. There will not be a replacement. There is nothing else. They would be gone.

But then out of this comes the question: What's the point of living?

And the best answer I've found to this so far? There is no point, just take it and go with it.

I think that it only makes me determined to squeeze the most out of life while I have it - and reaching this conclusion through my own chain of thought, rather than reading "Seize the day" on the front of a post-it-note, really creates a lasting emotional and mental imprint.

So I've now decided that I need to make the absolute most of everything around me. Feel, smell, taste, see, hear, all that I want to. I will try NOT to let myself get too bogged down in life's details to forget to stop and live.

I don't know whether everyone has these thoughts at some stage. I do know that not too many people have told me if they have.

I hope you all get what I mean.

Taking a look at Facebook

I wrote this for my course. It's meant to be a 'personal column'. Apparently this first draft is too opinionative at the moment.

"Add me as a friend – but if you delete me after adding me, I will kill you." This was a Facebook message I received from someone who had recently sent me a ‘friend request’ on Facebook. He was not someone I spoke to in 'real life', and so upon receiving his request I joked that "if we become Facebook friends you do realise you’ll have to say hi to me in real life!" He did not appreciate the joke, and instead sent me a torrent of abuse. And I was left wondering why he had added me, and what it means to be ‘friends’ on Facebook.

Perhaps I am unusual in that the only ‘friends’ I have on Facebook are friends. People I will laugh and talk with outside of the cyber-world of ‘liking’, statuses, profile photos and wall posts. But it seems that more and more Facebook ceases to become about connecting with other people in a meaningful way, but about projecting an image of yourself to an online community, many of whom you may barely know. The numbers of friends added is sometimes boasted, as a kind of tally of social proficiency. Similarly, posting on someone’s wall seems to some to be a form of branding, a public display of your closeness to that person. Statuses are posted, like fishing hooks, to elicit a reaction, comments, or validation of some sort from the Facebook community.

The issues of social etiquette on Facebook are also being shaped as more and more people move to this new form of ‘communication’. Jokes about ‘stalking on Facebook’ are abundant, but where is the line really drawn? Is rifling through somebody’s photos ok? Commenting on a wall post that doesn’t directly concern you? How intimate or private is a wall post? Everyone has different ideas about this, and no comprehensive answers have yet been found.

Only the other day, someone made a post on my Wall which made specific reference to a private event being organised. I deleted it, and sent an email asking that they keep any correspondence regarding the event to emails. And it led me to wonder why they decided to make a post on my Wall, given that the contents concerned me alone. The most likely explanation seemed to me to return to what I’ve come to call ‘branding’ – where people very carefully send out a particular image of themselves, through highlighting the people they associate with, the pages they are fans of, the way they choose to represent themselves in their profile photo, and the way they think, through statuses (which some friends have told me they will only send out at ‘prime time’ – e.g. 8pm, to get the highest chance of a response).

It seems to me that people are becoming more conscious of their profile pages, and what they perceive them to say about themselves – I have friends who edit their pages, deleting things they feel don’t fit in with their identity or self-image. And despite the arsenal of communication tools at a Facebook user’s fingertips, there are those who seem lonely. People who ‘like’ and comment on the ‘statuses’ and photos of their ‘friends’ compulsively. People who send out ‘statuses’ voicing isolation, perhaps subconsciously hoping for someone to comfort them with a friendly comment. And when there is no response from their 312 ‘friends’, I suspect it only deepens the feeling of isolation, as some people have suggested to me that they think that if someone fails to respond on Facebook, it suggests that they would ignore you had you said to them in real life, ‘I feel lonely’, for example.

I have caught myself, too, more times than I care to admit, trawling through the cyber-lives of Facebook friends, clicking from one life to the next as if each person’s Facebook activity were a program on television, channel surfing from one profile to the next, until, with the same guilt I feel after watching The View or Dr. Phil during lunch, I close the computer and get outside.
Facebook can be great. But it doesn’t hurt to get it out of your face, step back, and have a good look at Facebook.