Torn in Half

This evening I went to the Newcomer's Feast, which will probably be my last SCA event in Aneala (aka Western Australia). I leave in 8 weeks and although there's a couple of events between now and then, I either can't go or they're not major ones.

I had a wonderful time, but after court was closed I got a heavy, sad feeling and although I would normally stay to help clean up, I realised that bailing before bawling is usually the best option. The tears started on the way to the car and lasted most of the way home. I'm feeling a little better now that I'm home and out of my very warm bliaut and showered and in comfy clothes, but I can feel that the tears are still lurking. One of the GPYP tenets is to give sorrow words, so this is me, wording my sorrow.

I have made a whole lot of wonderful friends in the SCA here in Perth. I love the way they play the game, and although I'm still a newcomer and still feel on the outre at times, there are some people with whom I've developed great bonds and friendships, and whom I will miss dreadfully when I leave.

I know I need to go and I would regret turning away and never having the wonderful experiences that are waiting over the horizon in the UK. I need to do this, and yet part of me thinks I'm incredibly stupid to be taking my life apart. Bits of it didn't work at all, but other bits work very well and I feel awful leaving them behind.

I want to be in two places at once, and I can't, and right now I feel like it's tearing me into two pieces.

I also feel lonely at the moment. I watch and admire and adore the couples in good, healthy relationships - I can see pretty clearly which ones are and aren't, these days - and I want that. I know I'm supposed to be building my life and being whole and happy by myself, but sometimes I just want someone else to share things with. I know it will come in time, and I should enjoy the moment, but I right now I'm just impatient. I want real love, and I want it now, damn it.

I'm sure tomorrow I'll get up and go on, but tonight my spirit is sore.

5 Words Meme

In which I avoid essay-writing by writing an essay.

Over on LJ, my friend Hilary offered me 5 words that she sees as representing me. I am responding to them here :)

She offered me: England, music, writing, church, archaeology.

England

"Why do you say 'one' like that?"

This question plagued me as a child. I couldn't mimic the way my Australian-accented peers pronounced 'one'; in fact I still can't say it "right". Although my mother had been in Australia for 15 years by the time I was born, her English accent lingered into a slight English inflection, and I picked it up.

I was about 18 when I discovered that I could get Right of Abode in England due to my mother's origin. This fired my imagination, and in my first year of university I did a lot of in-depth research about the possibility of doing my archaeology PhD (then an assumed part of my life plan) at an English university. I was stymied in my plan when I realised that I would have to reside there for three years first if I didn't want to pay fees. That didn't fit the timetable, so I abandoned the idea. I miss those days, when I was so innocent and naive and believed in timetables! At 18 the future was so nebulous and so LARGE. It was inconceivable that I would ever feel like I was running out of time. But then, when I was 18 I also thought I'd be done with having kids by the time I was 29 :S

England lives in my mind as a kind of Mecca - the centre of all things, the place to go, to experience, from whence all things come. I'm proudly Australian, born and bred, but England is the Homeland and the Motherland in a way in which Australia can never quite be. To be a non-indigenous Australian is to share in a cultural uneasiness about our rights to this land and the life we live here (and rightly so). But in England I can be English without apology.

I've longed for an overseas holiday for years (with the UK as the destination), but I have been perpetually broke, and nothing has ever come of the longing. I have often considered living there, but until recently I was too emotionally broken to even consider being that far from my family. I still have my moments of uneasiness when I'm not at all certain I'm making the right decision, but it's too late now so I'll have to stick to my guns and go through with it! And the larger part of me is sure that this IS the right decision, and can't wait to get on with it.

England, T minus 60 days and counting!

Music

My mother has a lovely singing voice, and I can remember her entertaining and soothing songs from my earliest childhood. Along with the usual children's songs and rhymes, I vividly recall "Annie's Song" and "Drink to Me Only" amongst her repertoire, as well as the Rolf Harris classic, "The Court of King Caractacus". She also played a lot of recorded music, and my love of classical music is due to her influence.

We had a small portable piano keyboard in the house, and I spent countless hours playing with it. My primary school was music-oriented, and I learned music theory and recorder from an early age. I still play the recorder today, and although I do now have a nice wooden one, my old plastic one from school is still kicking around here somewhere!

At a younger age I often told my parents that I wanted to play the French Horn, a request that received "hahahahNO" answers ;) By the age of 9 or 10 I'd switched my request to flute, and that one was granted, I think partially out of relief that I'd abandoned the brass section!

I'm not very good at the flute, but I've been playing for a good 19 years now. Throughout school I played in concert bands, sang in choirs and musicals, and took music theory and composition classes. As an adult I've also played in concert bands and ensembles, sung in choirs, taught class music in schools, and I still tinker with composition and arranging in my spare time (ha!). 

Music has always been a part of my life, and I can't imagine being without it. I hope that when I have kids I'm able to surround them with the wonders of music.

Writing

I've been known to tell people that writing isn't something I do, it's something I am. This is slightly poncy, I'll admit, but it's true. I can't give up writing any more than I can give up breathing. I've tried a few times, and it always gets to the point where I just HAVE to start again or I'll burst!

I have dozens of old note books filled with story ideas, some going back as far as the 1980s. In my earlier years I tended to act out my stories rather than writing them down. I lived in a world of imaginative play, and had many long-running stories that received a new instalment every time I was in the mood for that particular game. Two of these in particular are still major items in my 'plots waiting for inspiration' bank. Some of these 'game' stories were blatantly derivative, but others were surprisingly original and interesting.

In my teens and early 20s I wrote reams and reams of stories. My two favourite works from my teenage years reached 11,000 and 13,000 words before I grew out of them. The first of these owed equal parts of its inspiration to Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" and M.M. Kaye's "The Ordinary Princess", with a dollop of C.S. Lewis thrown in for good measure. It didn't rip off any of the characters or ideas exactly, and a lot of it was wholly mine, but the similarities were unmissable. The second was completely original and I have no idea from whence the ideas sprang, but it suffered purely from the fact that the writer was 16 years old and was trying to write convincingly about a young, orphaned queen in a medieval setting. Oh, the stereotypes. Ouch! I can't even re-read a paragraph of it these days without cringing.

The major story of my 20s peaked at 20,000 words before I got stuck on a major plot flaw and had to abandon the whole thing. After the latter I lost my nerve for a while, but I have always come back to writing in the end.

Looking back on some of my earlier work (all diligently saved and transported to each new computer system since I first had my own machine in 1995!), I can see the potential there. The prose is purple, the dialogue is execrable and the characters stereotypical; but the plots are fairly sound.

At the moment I'm working on a shiny new version of the previous 20,000-word effort. The plot has been thoroughly scrubbed, honed and polished, and is shiny and new without losing the original idea. I have been poking it thoroughly and haven't found any holes yet, so it's looking good this time.

Church

Most people go to church because they have faith. My faith, on the other hand, has grown out of my involvement with the church.

I wanted faith as a child - wanted it badly. I read a lot of books where the characters were all Christian, living in exclusively Christian societies with faith as a given (the Anne of Green Gables series and the Laura books, for example). I knew there was something wonderful about faith, and I knew that I lacked it in my own Christmas-Christian wishy-washy culture.

When I was 20 I decided to start going to church, because, well, I was living on my own and no one would be there to laugh at me for it! I almost accidentally found myself in a Nine Lessons and Carols Christmas service at St George's Cathedral. That started a love affair with cathedrals and choral music that persisted even when my faith wavered.

I went through a huge period of disillusionment and rejection of religion in my mid-20s, a time of disastrous personal missteps and clinical depression. As I dug my way out of that hole my love of the church began to re-establish itself. I started going to church again, and began to develop stronger feelings about faith and belief.

In the past few months, the strength of my faith has doubled and doubled again. I've finally surrendered myself to it, and it feels as wonderful as I always imagined it would. I'm still thoroughly Anglican, but I do finally understand how those of an evangelical persuasion are driven to shout about their faith. The strength and purpose of faith is incredible. I have been blessed with the Holy Spirit, and now I actually know what that means :)

Even more fascinating, to me, is the fact that my increasing faith is compelling me to draw closer to the church, too. As previously mentioned I've taken on the units for a major in theology, and I think it's extremely likely that I will follow this BA up with a Master of Ministry and ask to be considered for ordination. I am already a teacher, and being a teacher of love, charity, hope, tolerance and joy . . . yes, I could see myself doing that.

Archaeology

My interest in the past was already well-developed by the time I hit primary school. I very rarely read anything set in the modern world. I read children's Victoriana or fantasy for preference, and was fascinated with ancient cultures after watching the 1980s anime The Mysterious Cities of Gold. In my confused, imaginative childhood I spent countless hours pretending that I was someone else, long ago and far away.

It wasn't until I was fifteen that I suddenly realised that I could make this interest a life pursuit. Some passing reference to archaeology set me on a new track and gave me a real ambition for the first time. I became single-minded in my career prospects, and at 22 I was a qualified archaeologist and museum curator.

Unfortunately, the dream wasn't the reality. The archaeology field, as I experienced it, was cliquey, profit-driven and client-oriented. Perhaps in the museums and universities it's better, but I found consultative archaeology to be soul-destroying and miserable (a state of affairs not helped by dreadful clinical depression and an unfamiliar environment when I was working in Sydney).

I still love the past, and still love archaeology. When I get to the UK I hope to join in some digs as an amateur, but I doubt I'll ever work as an archaeologist again. I think perhaps I've outgrown that idea of myself, and I can't imagine stepping back in time to fill those shoes again.

I do have many fond memories though. I excavated a spider once ;D

Months and Meltdowns

Yesterday at work I had a completely unexpected teary meltdown. I was thinking about the things I still have to do before I leave, and one of the biggest of those is re-homing my lovely cat, Jemima. One minute I was making a calm plan for this in my head, the next minute my eyes were full of tears that just wouldn't stop coming. I managed to keep it to the 'seeping eyes, possibly hayfever' level for a couple of hours (with a brief interlude of sobbing in the ladies') before someone got suspicious and asked what was wrong, at which point I completely lost it for a couple of minutes. Thankfully work was quiet and I was able to blot and sniff and breathe deeply lot and regain my composure.

I realised later that I'm almost certainly premenstrual and thus hormonal, and that's probably why a sad necessity that I have accepted for months suddenly turned me into a blubbering mess. I took a vitamin B tablet as soon as I got home yesterday, and I'll take another one in a minute, and hopefully that'll keep me from being too drippy. I'm still getting used to having a monthly cycle after so long!

I'm still feeling quite torn up about Jemima. I can't take her to the UK (it would be prohibitively expensive, and also bitterly unfair when she hates travelling, and would also completely destroy the freedom of movement I need to make this UK experience everything I want it to be ... it just wouldn't work). And staying here in Australia and never having any of those wonderful experiences, for the sake of a cat who can't possibly understand the sacrifice, is absurd. I am certain I will find a loving home for her amongst my many friends and acquaintances. Someone will take her and love her and look after her, and send me pictures occasionally. But that knowledge doesn't stop me from feeling terribly sad about it. Jem has been one of the only constants in my life since I got her 3.5 years ago, and for significant portions of time, my household has consisted solely of myself and Jemmy. I will miss her SO much.

Hugs and chocolates please? Well, maybe not chocolates, but hugs would be welcome :)

Freedom

Today is an important day.

Today, I am not with an arrogant alcoholic.
Today, I am not with a crazy-making drama-llama.
Today, I am not with a manipulative liar.
Today, I am not with an emotional abuser.
Today, I am not with a thick-as-a-brick idoliser.
Today, I am not with a self-absorbed twat.
Today, I am not with an incompatible kid.
Today, I am not with a deadbeat loser.

I call that a win.

Don't you?

Matters of the Heart

Twice recently, an old friend has come in to do a bit of shopping while I've been on the checkouts at work.

This friend was part of my close group in year 12, and the subject of a crush that lasted most of the year ;) We were friends first, and spent a lot of time chatting on the phone and in person that year; by the end of the year he was well aware of the crush, but managed to gently make clear the fact that while he loved the friendship, the feelings weren't reciprocated enough to start anything at that point. And I was ok with that - a little disappointed of course, but hey, I was 16 and it was a crush. No biggie.

I've hardly thought about him since then, except for the odd memory or a do-you-remember session with other friends from that group. I ran into him once at uni when he was getting his degree and chatted briefly, and we're facebook friends (though he is not a very active user) but otherwise he's not been on my mind at all.

So why, tell me, does my heart leap when I see him in person? And why does seeing him for a few minutes at work leave me with a head full of him and an irresistible desire to stalk his facebook photos to see his face?

It doesn't make any sense. It was a schoolgirl crush, 13 - count 'em, 13 - years ago. It's utterly idiotic that when he came in to work for the second time I caught my breath and blushed as soon as I saw him. WTF.

He hasn't shown any particular interest, either. He was really pleased to see me the first time, and the girl on the checkout next to mine got all giggly because he obliquely asked whether I was single, but I think that was just conversation. He hasn't made any overt effort to contact me or anything (and with FB, I'm right there) so I doubt there's any interest beyond reminiscent friendship there. Certainly nothing to spark off this ridiculous pseudo-crush my emotions seem to be having off in a corner by themselves.

WHAT THE HECK. That's all I'm asking.

Giving and Getting

I was reading an "agony aunt" type blog today in which the original correspondent had asked whether she should feel guilty about refusing a charity donation request at work.

The blog writer acknowledged that we are allowed to be choosy about when and where we donate. But then she went off into a long, passionate exposition about the difference between keeping our own money for our needs, and depriving others of the basic needs of life for the sake of our wants. She reminded the readers that we are hugely affluent compared to the vast majority of the world's population, and we should be grateful and humble and giving, not constantly blowing all our money on the latest 'thing'.

One burning burst of guilt later, I now have a World Vision sponsor child. I've been meaning to do it for ages but have never quite got around to it - you know? But I have no excuse. I have the money, I have a computer, it only takes a few minutes. So I made myself do it. My sponsor child is a 5-year-old girl from Sri Lanka.

*

I got all of my readers and unit info for my three classes this week. All three have exams, which will be all sorts of exciting as I'll be in London by the time exam week rolls around. I'm going to email the three tutors and introduce myself so that they know well in advance what is going on!

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I'm currently suffering terrible headaches due to a prodigious set of neck & shoulder muscle cramps. I've been to the physio today ("... you've made a real mess of this, haven't you!" he said) and I'm going back on Friday. Unfortunately it's being caused by the register work, and I can't afford to give that up so I'll just have to keep treating it for the time being.

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This weekend I have a Saturday off finally, and I'm spending it sewing my latest bliaut and helping my friend L sew her first ever garb. Should be fun!

The Latest

My passport, complete with Right of Abode certificate, came back last week, so I'm all set to go!

I keep opening it up and looking at it. It's really here and I'm really going :)

It's just over 13 weeks until I leave. I'm gearing up to the next level of preparations now - making sure my immunisations are up-to-date, getting a federal police clearance, researching likely bank accounts, and so on. I'm starting to get a definite feel for what my first days there will be like, and I'm also looking ahead, working out which tours I'd like to take eventually. I'm going to see Russia, and Egypt, and Petra, and ... everything!

Work is tiring (6 days a week, many 8-10 hour shifts) but it's paying the bills and letting me save up, and that's what I need.

I'm spending my evenings sorting boxes while watching Babylon 5 - I'm going to re-watch the entire 5-series arc before I go, just for the hell of it! Anything to help the time pass in a meaningful way. Right now, 13 weeks feels like both forever and no time at all. It's an awkward headspace to be in.

A few days ago I spent a day worrying that I would find my London experience similar to my Sydney experience - lonely and dreary - but I realised that that isn't going to happen. In Sydney I was constantly broke, which meant that I went nowhere and did nothing. My depression, faith crisis and non-existent self-esteem meant that I pursued no hobbies, made few friends, and had no connect with anyone or anything. In London I'm going to be part of a church community and part of the SCA, and I'm going to connect with community garden groups, music groups (I want to join an amateur choir), organic living groups, and so on - just people, people, people. I'll meet other teachers, other expats, and so on. I will be fine.

So here I am - writing and revising lists constantly, trying to keep on top of what I already know and still need to find out, and working and waiting for the time to come.


30by30 update: 2 down, 28 to go. On schedule!