What I want to know is who invented this grand scale of social achievement which really, I must say, does nothing for me.
I met a woman on a beach once in Canada, trying to sell everything she owned on that beach, laid out in the sand, everything, clothes, jewellery, even photographs. At first I was pretty intrigued by this woman, and why she was there selling all of her stuff, and being a bit of the blunt kiwi I am (so I was called by my Canadian friends); I asked her why she was there. She was leaving Vancouver to go back east, where she was originally from, to see if things had changed much there, she told us she wanted to get rid of all her stuff before she left because the last thing she needed when she was going back home was any extra baggage. My friends were still very confused, but I totally knew what she meant.
Here I am once again back in New Zealand, after managing to happily avoid christmas (which I just don't do) and take off to Asia for a few months. I wish I could say I am happy to be home, but that would just be one big fat lie.
I seem to just spiral into the same old patterns whenever I am back here, which I am trying hard not to let happen this time around, but god it is hard. Some of the places I travelled to in Asia saddened me to no end at how hard it is for Women there, and how frustrating it is for many of the young Women who i spoke to during my travel's to be told that they can either get married, or sell themselves to tourists night after night, as if their whole exsistance is to satisfy men.
This post comes after day of hell being super Nanny to a family, a new one, who, while I do love these kids, think their parents are great and enjoy my job, I also just cant help but shake my head at how much these kids have, how little they know about the world outside of their very nice four walls. Sometimes I have to catch myself while doing this and question whether my feelings are fair or if this is how we should all have been as children, but because my life was such a contrast to theirs I just cant seem to work out my feelings on this.
I was raised very aware of what goes on the world, the good, the bad and the ugly. Some of it unfortunatly I learnt the hard way, being abused etc. But the rest was because my parents were very open with us about such things. My dad especially took us to protests, friends houses who were going through crisis and it was always explained to us what was going on, sometimes I must admit this was overwhelming and probably a bit inappropriate for the age I was at the time. But most of the time, I think it was okay, good in fact, as by the time I went to high school I was very aware of the issues in not only my community, but in many parts of the world. I guess though, that my Dad being so relaxed about me interacting with people, trusting people and trusting that I knew dangerous from safe situations a little more than I did at age 11 was really how I got hurt in the first place.
The older I get, the less I seem to understand about the world and life in general. At five my life was about being close to my loved ones, being outdoors as much as possible and making new friends. Now I guess I really dont understand people a whole lot at all. I dont understand why men rape and beat their wives who they once fell in love with, I dont understand why children are starving and cold on the streets when there are people out shopping who already own twenty pairs of pants, I dont understand why parents are putting their children on medications to make them behave when really they are just not wanting to parent. But what makes me so angry and so confused about is how people can see all of this happening everyday and turn away from it, understand it or not, its there in our faces and it is our responsibility to turn this all around while we still can, and people just dont want to.
The weekend was a whirlwind of drunk days and drunker nights, people I dont know sleeping on the floor of our apartment, someone I know even less sleeping next to me in my bed. At the time it was all a fantastic idea, who doesnt love a weekend where they can just let loose and party day and night? But come monday I was not proud of myself. I had not been sober for seventy two hours and the reality of that hit me, hard, harder than a headache and a shakey morning. I do this to myself more than I should. Its easier for me to be drunk then sober, a lot of the time, and that is something I am not proud of, but its the truth.