Christos Tsiolkas

If there is one author everyone must read in the current times I'd say it is Christos Tsiolkas. My brother and his lovely wife recommended him to me during a recent visit. My brother was not much of a reader growing up, so when he suggested I read it I was a bit skeptical, but Tsiolkas' The Slap and Barracuda are two of the most riveting books I have read recently.

His works are thought provoking, make you deeply uncomfortable and force you to acknowledge truths that you tend to live in denial of. This is especially true for an immigrant like me, trying to raise a child, who I believe will develop a sense of belonging if I stay put in one place. Until now I have believed that if we had all stayed in my country of birth and just plodded along we'd all be fine today, that we'd have a strong sense of belonging, but I don't know that for sure. I will never know if that could be true.

The truth of the matter is that regardless of where we are born and raised we have to go through the coming of age ritual. It isn't cultural or traditional and there are no timelines. It is an individual battle and Tsiolkas illustrates that so vividly for a person of mixed parentage in contemporary Australia. It is frightening to think that children battle through such emotions as they grow up. I had my own challenges growing up away from my country of birth, but I doubt I can compare my experiences to what Tsiolkas speaks of in his books. My heart aches a little for my nephew and nieces and my son.

These two books are a must read for everyone. It does not matter where you are raising children, it is not just about ethnic differences or white dominance. It is about class consciousness and what matters to an individual at each stage of his or her life. There is a lot to take in with these two books, but the one thing I want to hold on to is to try and look at life through my child's eyes so I can be empathetic to what he goes through as he finds his niche in this complicated mess we have created.

Teaching to give

For the last four years we have insisted that people not bring presents for our offspring's birthday party. Instead we ask that folks bring non-perishable food items that we can donate to the local women's shelter. It is a highly secure location and I worked hard to earn their trust because the women that make it there do so under terrible circumstances. Most of them end up living in the home for quite a while with their children.

This year being the fifth birthday we really insisted on no presents. I figured he was old enough to have some things explained to him. But only two people took that seriously. Some folks at least did not bring presents, but brought greeting cards (which were such a hit) and gift cards, which could also be donated. So in addition to the food that friends brought, we bought some more and took it to the home yesterday along with the gift cards. I called ahead and requested that they acknowledge the little monkey for his efforts because it was being done in honour of his birthday. I know he still hasn't quite understood what we did because, when we had dropped the food off he said, "now do we have to go sell more food?" I tried explaining the difference between selling and donating and so did the counselor. I don't think he got it. Next time I should not take him after school when he is hungry and tired. He just wanted to leave.

My darling still thinks that if we have no food at home we can buy it. Someday soon he will understand how the world works, because the biggest problem in the so called first world is that poverty is invisible. Poverty as we have come to know it is what exists in the third world. The fact that there are five children my baby's age at the home breaks my heart. I had put away socks that some folks bought our guy because they were all much too small for him and when the counselor said they needed socks I was thrilled. I was not sure who to pass it on to because everyone we know can afford to provide for their children.

We are so big on giving, but I believe we need to rethink that. What are we giving and to whom? Are we giving people what they need? Because sometimes my friends just need a hug, a home cooked meal, a good laugh and or a good long cry. None of which we can put a price on. It is nice to have the things you want, but we need to watch our wants or they will consume the spirit. Argue that with me!

What if we put aside five dollars every time we did our grocery shopping? That would add up to a significant amount that we can put towards food banks. January and February are tough times at food banks and this is a good time to think about it and begin donating. You can find more information here. If you are not able to help at least talk about it because someone who can will hear you.

In case you are wondering if our baby gets birthday presents, of course he does. From mom and dad. He's been told mom and dad can get him what he 'needs' and every now and then we will indulge his wants ;).

Milestone

Five years ago, on this day I was walking around feeling rather uncomfortable wondering when the baby would come. I had had enough. I had seen my obstetrician earlier in the day and she assured me I would have the baby before Friday. She was right. Just over 24 hours after I'd seen her, he arrived - tiny, gross and a lot like Benjamin Button. I remember feeling relief, more than anything else, when he was born. I felt like my job was done, little did I know.

Five years later I realise that my work had only just begun on that day, for life. Being a public health person, a child reaching five years has always been a big deal for me. My little gross baby is a handsome, chatty, incorrigible know-it-all. He wants me to buy him a cell phone and a tablet for his birthday. He will get a tonne of colouring books, brand new felt pens, a batman mask (top that!) and a handmade throw.

It has not been an easy five years. In fact it has been extremely challenging. It truly does take a village to raise a child and when you do it alone it is difficult on you and the child. However, it has been the most meaningful five years of my life.

It MUST be good!

Last year was a challenge to say the least. There were some good things, like resolving certain health issues and adjusting to big boy school for the offspring. But overall it pushed our limits. It also marked ten years of being married and I am afraid we did little to celebrate. That is another story, for another time, and probably will not be told here.

But this post is about 2014. It must be good. That is all I am saying. I pushed myself to accomplish little things last year and told myself if I keep at it I can accomplish more this year. I am not going to list anything out here, because that, I am afraid, would be setting myself up for failure or at least being disappointed. One of the things I did in December was make an afghan, from start to finish in under three weeks! Unheard of!! 

This means I can also write that darned manuscript in January, email drafts and start working on the annotated biblio of more interesting topics. I can sit with the offspring and patiently work on cursive writing or make play-doh people.

I also must begin full-time work again. But someone needs to employ me. So that hunt must commence. The house hunt is on in the interest of a better school for the offspring. Living in this area may result in me assaulting the next person who speaks to me in a language they assume I speak. And there is the very exciting trip happening in May. So all in all this year will be eventful if nothing else.

In the meantime I prep for my part-time teaching contract, another school term, a big birthday next week (we turn 5) and showing this house.

So happy new year to people who still visit this site and here's to a year that is more than we can all hope for.

Nine years

Wednesday, March 13th marked nine years since I moved to Canada. And for the first time in nine years I feel like I could live the rest of my life here if I had to. Part of this has to do with my little monkey who makes life worth living. He even makes Winter so much fun with sledding, snow ball fights and much  more. Everyday is a new day with him, while he drives me crazy with his endless smart ass comments, I wake up each day with anticipation of what he will do to surprise me.

Another reason I feel like I could spend the rest of my life here is because of the amazing people I have met since I started teacher's college. I am very thankful for having met these beautiful people because they have helped me realize that I am still the same old person I used to be. I was worried I had turned into a bitter old hag (well in some ways I have), but the crazy nut bag is still alive. Woohoo!

But, like everything else in life I know this too shall pass, by that I mean we will go our separate ways when the time comes. Unlike times gone by I am not going to dwell on that, but savour my time with them. After school we will not be able to meet as often, we won't be on our Facebook page all at once on Thursday mornings as we suffer another boring educational psychology lecture. And we certainly won't be traipsing off for drinks  every Thursday afternoon. So I am making the most of my time with them. Because, at the end of the day it is all you can do. Live each day to the fullest.

Here's to my new friends who make Canada a place worth living in! Here's to my monkey for making each day a celebration and here's to my husband who dragged me out here in the first place :)

First Real Valentine

I am not a big fan of Valentine's Day, in fact I don't like it at all. It just adds to all the stress of an already stressful season, not to mention the ridiculously priced flowers and chocolates. But this year was different. My little man who turned four in January was very excited about 'Valentimes' day. He was confusing it with Halloween and a lot of other days. In his defense there is not a lot of difference between the two if all you are doing is exchanging candy.

Anyhow he came home on Valentines day with the two paper hearts and gave me the cookie and said, "I made this for you and took a bite of the cookie for you, I love you Amma!"

Food for thought?

Staying home with the Offspring has resulted in me living in a la la land of my own. I experiment with cooking, having finally discovered that it does help live in denial of reality, if not relieve stress. My posts of late have had a lot to do with food. Today, as I carried a bag of groceries to the car I was wondering about the heavy bag of  food for two adults and a half pint. We as a family are guilty of throwing out food, food that can probably feed at least two children comfortably for a day.

The West African food crisis is only one of many reasons I feel so guilty. It isn't just about food, it is about the inequality that has prevailed through time. Reading about the current situation in West Africa really pains me, partly because I always wanted to work among these people. I wanted to be a doctor and serve people. I mean really serve people. I wanted to go to them, not wait around for them to come to me.

I realize now that even if I had become a doctor like I wanted to I would probably be paying off debts incurred to get through school. If I had got through that I most likely will be caught up in the bureaucratic bullshit involved in working with these people. If I had gotten through all of that I would most likely be watching these people die every day while I still had ate at least one hearty meal a day.

I have been reading a lot about the causes for the inequality, why I get to cook a meal that would clog our arteries while these people starve for want of a morsel, but none of the literature has a solution. I sometimes wonder if the solutions are edited out of what I am reading...The sense of helplessness is at times overwhelming.

I think it's time to return to la la land. It is all I can do for now. Or is it?

Inspiring

The Girl is giving a fabulous account of her trip to the US and Canada and she has posted some beautiful pictures of fog/mist along the Eastern coast. It reminded me of home. 

I am a tropical being in my heart of hearts. I took these pictures some seven years ago when I visited family. I grew up in the tropical highlands, where mist is a daily occurrence. 

In the tropics we are not likely to see fog along the coast like the Girl and her Boy saw along the Atlantic, but the highlands are magic.  I love the mist, I love walking on a misty day along tea plantations...and as a child there was no end to my imagination.

There is something so romantic about mist, I've never found it frightening. Driving can get tricky as you never know what is coming around the next bend, and there are lots of them up in the hills.

Everything looks twice as beautiful.

I have so many memories of misty days and long walks and so few pictures. This is not the best picture of this tree, but I know exactly what it looked like that day and no matter how many pictures I take sometimes I just cannot capture the moment, the feeling. That's what makes a fabulous picture and that is what the Girl has accomplished. Well done Girl!

Such a flawed machine

Since one of my goals this year is to put me first, I made it to my doctor's office today for a scheduled physical. We did the usual chatting and she took swaps and smears and whatever else she needed and then got talking to me about a recent blood test. It seems my body is attacking itself!

I find the human body absolutely amazing, I teach this stuff and I can get students to love it because I do, sincerely do. At the same time I am constantly reminded how terribly flawed it is. It is so messed up that we have built an enormous industry to prolong its life. But in the end it gives up, it does not last forever. So when she told me that it was an autoimmune condition I asked her what triggers it. No one really knows apparently. I have some theories. I doubt anyone will listen. It will make for a pretty good medical thriller.

It was kind of scary getting my medication at the pharmacist who said, "is this your first time?" I nodded yes. He then said, "well you will have to take this for the rest of your life, or at least until blood levels stabilize." I could tell he added the last bit to make me less anxious.

One thing is for certain now, I have no reason to let life pass me by, I simply have to live it, the way I want to!

So much for choice

I've lost count of how often I've been told that I always have a choice. It does help to remind myself of that when I have to come to terms with a lousy situation I find myself in. Then again there are times when I feel 'choice' is one of my major issues these days. I am not philosophizing about life here, but speaking about choice of commercial products.

I miss the days when all I had to choose from was SR and Signal toothpaste. I liked the red and white stripes of Signal, but SR tasted better. I settled for the former because that was what we had at home and I vaguely remember a conversation about Signal being better. You just brushed your teeth and it was all good. When it came to soap, I think there was much more variety, but most people just bought Lux, including my family, because it was choice of beauty queens, or something like that. Now, if I said I use Sensodyne (because I am aging and brushed until my gums deteriorated, because I was told to back in the day when Signal was the big shot toothpaste) it would not be adequate. There are so many kinds of Sensodyne, and it is only one of a dozen brands, each with its own special kinds. The mind boggles.

The reason I am talking about this is because a while ago I was thoroughly frustrated shopping for some feminine hygiene product (that is what the aisle is labelled, the entire aisle dedicated to tampons and sanitary napkins). I had walked up and down the aisle for nearly half an hour, and that is no exaggeration. There was ultra thin, with wings, without wings, regular, overnight, maxi...my head hurt from trying to decide what I needed. It all ultimately boils down to what we need, right? Why then is it so bloody hard? And why would I, in my ripe-old age be there not knowing what I need?! Because, they keep changing packaging and labeling on me, those bloody morons. I just wanted to walk away, but how could I, I needed the product, but didn't know which one to buy. I could ask a friend, but her needs would be different from mine, which is why we have such an array, right?

Lets face it. I am very picky and particular. So if the manufacturers stayed consistent then life would be a wee bit easier. I did buy something and I did not like it one bit but used it anyway because there is no alternate use for it (or is there?).  Now I have to go back and begin my monthly exercise routine walking up and down the aisle in my search for the next best sanitary napkin.

Oh the life of a consumerist in materialistic North America!

Another day, another year older

It has been many many many moons since I was born on this day. I am very fond of my place of birth. I would have none of the small town makeshift hospitals. So I caused enough trouble to have my parents drive me to a more sophisticated city. They had almost given up on me, but lo and behold, there I was. And here I am!

I have always believed I am here for a purpose, much grander than all that I am doing right now. I know now that I cannot change the world, not in the way I used to at least. I can't adopt every child who needs a family, I cannot put food in every hungry stomach, I cannot bring world peace. It is all I can do to hold on to what is left of my sanity, leave alone caring for the orphans of the world, appeasing world hunger or ending futile wars.

My concerns are piteous. I fear the cold weather ahead. I fear I will be all alone come December, and end up talking to myself, and the only means of communication would be through facebook updates and this blog. I am afraid that my life has come to mean nothing, to anyone. I know it is up to me to make a change. But how? I have no answers, worse still, I am not looking for any. I am doing what I have always done best when it comes to me, living in denial. I am going to Istanbul now with Orhan Pamuk. He writes well, he only just won the Nobel Prize for literature!

And Oh, almost forgot, happy birthday to me.

My sentiments exactly

I just saw a link to this awesome book title Go the Fuck to Sleep. I don't know of another book that echoes my sentiments right now. Every parent should have a copy and I am not sure if there is an exception to this rule.

My Summer love

I met this beauty a few years ago. She was behind a house we were inspecting to buy. I really didn't like the house, but Hubby was sold. I knew there was no convincing him otherwise.

This Tree, she drew me in the way only a few other trees have in my lifetime. She's a Pear Tree. I didn't know that at the time. She was just standing there with beautiful drooping branches; a light dusting of snow on her elegant body; she looked simply ravishing.  I figured even if I never grew to like the house I could at least look out the large windows and drift away with this tree. I also resolved to sketch her when we'd moved in (sadly it is something I have not found the time to do yet).

I have to admit she has never disappointed me. As the snow melted and the rain came, her dark branches stood out against the more feeble shrubs and trees. She stood there, majestic and filled the promise of green. But what a pleasant surprise it was when she burst into blossoms, all white with a touch of pink, so subtle you had to feel it. And when the breeze kissed her branches she would laugh her petals all over me. I was falling in love.                                                                                                            

 

Soon bright green leaves took the place of the blossoms. The colour of peace, serenity and warm weather that holds you in an embrace so gentle and firm. I was in love!

Yet again she surprised me with all the fruit she bore. Pears galore! Her beautiful branches were now garlands of fruit. All the pictures in the world cannot do justice to what you feel at her sight. I was not surprised that she was never without visitors.

The Oriole would stop by often for a meal or a snack.
Mrs Racoon was there with her young ones.
The squirrels are almost always there.
And then there were the cardinals, the jays, the sparrows and chickadees and finches and blackbirds...She was never alone. The rare moments I had her all to myself were something special.

And as the warm weather began to recede and the cold Autumn winds set in her leaves turned to gold. She didn't look all that pretty with bare patches and bits of dying leave. It pained me to see her go. But she was there in spirit to remind me of warm weather to come and our secret Summer trysts.

She's back now looking like a young bride ready to walk down the aisle. So I may not spend as much time here as I will with my dear Pear Tree, my Summer love!

Turtle talk

It has been a rough couple of days. But the offspring provided us with ample distractions with his ever increasing vocabulary and new skills. We reckon he is an old soul who has so much packed in his little head including a radar that picks up on our moods and emotions. He was not as difficult as he usually is on the weekends, and this is despite us being cooped up at home.

Anyways, on a lighter note, Hubby and I have been tidying up the basement (it seriously does not reflect the person that I am right now and it is driving me nuts), and are in the process getting rid of a lot of things. You see I am the one in this relationship who has moved forever and forever, so I don't come with a lot of knickknacks. Hubby on the other hand had tonnes of it. We have slowly been getting rid ornaments that are difficult to clean. If something cannot be dusted easily I don't think  it is worth having.

Having said that there are some things he has that are rather cute, like this pair of turtles. They are a bit worn out from being dropped and scraped and stored in boxes etc. But I have kept them because they illustrate our relationship rather well. Can you tell who might be sitting up and yakking nineteen to a dozen and who might be lounging and listening, or at least politely pretending to?

Cricket - an acquired taste

Gartmore Estate, Maskeliya, Sri Lanka

Cricket has always been a part of my life, just like black tea. While I have grown to appreciate tea for its flavour, scent and taste, I can’t say I feel the same way about cricket. But the world cup this year has me feeling all nostalgic. I miss the excitement of a whole nation going bonkers about a game that takes an entire day from start to finish. I kind of prefer the thrill of rugby and soccer where you get to see more action in a shorter span of time.

But this year there is a lot of cricket talk going on in the world of social networking which, as far as I am concerned is limited to facebook. And all this cricket talk has me following the matches. All my cricket crazy cousins, new friends and old ones are commenting on teams and players and every now then talking about lousy rain forcing players off the field. I just bookmarked the ICC World Cup website. I can’t help it.

That'll do for a pitch

For people who know me well this may sound funny because there was a time when you had to pay me to follow a match, literally. I would only ever do it for money and even then I never got it right. I never understood when a match was won by runs and when it was won by wickets. But I get it now, all these years later and when it really doesn’t matter whether I follow a match or not. Sounds like I have acquired a taste for it after all.

The next generation of cricketers

The snow girl/woman

Hubby's first sculpture

We are experiencing one of those crazy mid-winter thaws. Well perhaps not quite mid winter but it is still too early for a serious thaw (its mid February for crying out loud, it's supposed to be the peak of winter). Regardless, what this allowed us to do was get out in the backyard with the offspring and make snow people. Hubby got started on one side on a practical snow person. I on the other hand was thrilled to not be wheezing like a dog (not sure if dogs wheeze) and got started on a giant snow person. I just kept piling snow on and making a little mountain which the offspring also seemed happy to help with. I really wasn't getting anywhere, especially since I had to make sure that my child was not eating the dirty snow or taking off his mittens or...you know, just being a mother while trying to sculpt this snow person (hardly sculpting, I just like saying it).

I finally asked Hubby if he would be kind enough to assist. So he came over to 'our side' and asked if it was a snow man or snow woman. My answer, 'of course it is a woman!" So he got started and soon my snow woman had a body and a head, her eyes were gorgeous screening stones, she had a beautiful carrot nose and a fantastic kidney bean smile. The next time I turned to look, she had breasts with nipples and all! Some might say it is perverse, but seeing as that is the only way we could differentiate gender on a snow person it made sense. Later on we added a pink IKEA bowl for a hat, and that would have done the trick too, but with the breasts there was no disputing this was indeed Mrs Valentine. You see I had no intention of inviting Mrs Frosty back, and since this girl was sculpted on the eve of Valentine's Day, I got creative with her name.

Mrs Valentine

I don't think our offspring cared much for his father's fabulous art work or the unfinished snow person on the 'other side' of the backyard. But what it did accomplish was some good old fashioned fun in the beautiful outdoors. Amazing what it can do for your energy levels and not to mention the mood altering effects. 

Conversations to remember

My two-year-old loves his music. He went from baby lullabies to Sesame Street songs and on to mainstream pop and soft rock. Don't get me wrong, we still love Sesame Street songs, to the point that Hubby and I find ourselves unable to be rid of the red monster's squeaky voice from our heads (doodli-dumpy-doodli-dumpy, doodli-dumpy day...). It's just that we now have variety. So the other day Bubb and I had a chat about what he wanted to watch/listen to on you tube. And it went something like this:

Bubb: Amma wee wee wee
Me   : You want wee wee wee
Bubb: Ya! No, mant woh woh woh
Me   : Do you want wee wee wee or woh woh woh
Bubb: wee wee wee, NO woh woh woh...I like waka waka
Me   : So what do you want? waka waka? wee wee wee? or woh woh woh?
Bubb: wee wee wee

And so we listened to wee wee wee.

And do you know who else likes wee wee wee?

Marcel! That's right, tell me this isn't some crazy bit of proof of the theory of evolution!!

Multicultural crap

It's my fourteen month-old's first multicultural day tomorrow! Whatever the hell that may mean. I hate the word 'multicultural', its the politically correct word for racism, at least in my opinion, at least where I currently live.

You see, I have a lousy sense of identity. Born in a beautiful country and forced to leave because of a fucked up civil war (which apparently is over), grew up in a country I learned to like and identify with until fate brought me right back to my country of birth. I was lost and a few years on found myself a place with a few good friends.

But then I was confronted with the whole "what am I going to do with myself...I don't want to be some old housewife dreaming of all the things I could have been, should have done..." So I left, this time to another continent altogether. I hated it at first, and then realised I fit right in. No one cared about the colour of my skin, my first language, religion or any of those things. I was me! I was a nerd, I was crazy, I was that person who called it as I saw it. And people were friends me with me for who I was. BUT, I struggled with the identity issue. I often asked myself who I really was!! As a matter of fact, I still do!

So when they call me from the daycare, when I am trying to get dinner ready after a nasty winter day, with a cranky infant and hungry husband, asking me to bring something or dress my son in something that relates to my tradition or culture, I wanted to ask the supervisor to get lost and hang up. But I didn't. I said I would have conjured up some costume if I had a girl, but seeing as I have a boy, I was not sure what to do. She then said, "oh don't worry love, its just that we told all the parents."

I spent the last hour or so thinking and Hubby and I decided our son will go and celebrate his citizenship. I don't want to hyphenate his citizenship. I want him to have a sense of belonging, develop a sense of identity and know true patriotism. I hope to learn from him. So tomorrow he will take with him his country flag. Go Canada Go!

The Moment

There are times when you do something or go some place on the spur of the moment and it works out. You enjoy yourself but don't realise it at the time. And you try so hard to recreate that moment in vain. Everyone has those moments.

Hubby and I have always enjoyed movies on Friday nights with some junkfood. We did it until the night I went into labour. It feels like its been ages, although it has only been around seven months since we got to do that. I am sure we will again...someday.

I'll get to the point of this story. Last week, after a bath and feed my precious offspring made his brief trip (its never an all night event, at least not yet) to dreamland. I slowly brought my sore self downstairs to get a cup of tea only to find Hubby at his computer watching a ridiculous Will Ferrell movie.

I hate Will Ferrell. His movies are lousy, I hate his sense of humour and here he was fighting off a dinosaur smarter than him. I was annoyed. Then I got interested, Ferrell's character reminded me of a man I work with, "I am Dr. Whatever...I know more about dinosaurs..." I wanted to see if he would get eaten by the animal. I hoped he would and never act in another film, ever.

So I popped some corn, dragged a chair and sat beside Hubby. We watched the whole damn movie and had a few laughs and went to bed with smiles on our faces. We have been trying to do the same thing again, but I know we never will, because that was a 'moment' and it will not happen again. So it must be cherished *sigh*.

p.s. - Ferrell was eaten by the dinosaur and pooped out. He lived. I still hate him.