Tamarama Beach, Sydney, Australia
I think much more reflectively than I used to, sitting here in an empty flat above a spotless beach at night. I am house sitting for people I barely know, living in an empty apartment away from the hostel for a week. In this quiet place there are hardly any distractions and because of this I am working harder and improving my life. I am thinking a lot of how I want my life to go now things are so much easier and how I want people to see me always.
I want people to say that they can see I have changed. I want them to say I treat people a lot better, that I don’t make people do things for me, that I help everyone any way I can, offering my assistance regularly.
I want people to say I look after my friends and that I respect and am respected by everyone. I want people to say I do my work on time, I exceed expectations at all times, I help others when I am finished.
I want people to say I am on time, I am never late, I am organized, I get round to doing what I have to even when I really don’t want to.
I want people to say I don’t cheat or lie, I don’t give up, I don’t get angry, I don’t argue with anyone.
These things may not get me back into school but I truly believe I will be a better person if I live what I have written.
Friday, March 12, 2004
Sydney, Australia
So, there’s this roller disco in the heart of the city. Disco balls and snazzy lighting, cool cats on skates, this place rocks. Then this guy comes onto the rink, grooving with the chicks and he’s wearing this white felt hat with aviators and a boa with these snazzy white flairs over his skates. He’s swinging round the rink following the spotlights and just being cool.
That look is going to come back and haunt me one day if I try to run for president, but at least I had fun. Simon had managed to get me involved in a rock video for a band he knows but I was not expecting that I would be grooving on roller skates. We arrived at the dilapidated skate rink and I suddenly felt like I had walked through time. Dust swamped the floor, mold was in the process of climbing the walls and there were piles of forgotten roller skates looking like something out of Mad Max. In amongst it all stood small knots of people trying to tame this harsh environment and set up equipment. Cables, leads, adapters, lights and miscellaneous boxes cluttered the floor and I was instantly put to work shifting boxes and gargantuan lights up flights of endless stairs. That morning was chaos. I have found that no one really knows the full extent of what’s going on in a film set. I was asked to do ten things at once and sometimes had conflicting orders. It was a pleasure however, to see the lights get turned on and illuminate the disco balls I had cleaned so carefully, scrubbing them tile by tile. I find it funny that just two months ago I would not have been able to help as well as I did, carrying lifting and plugging in.
The second half of the day was surreal. I was shown into a big space filled with extras and costumes, dancers, drag queens, flares and hot pants. I was given a lot of clothes and kept being told to change. The blue flares with white fur were my favorite, closely followed my boa. After that I had just one little skill to master in an hour: Roller-skating. To my credit I didn’t fall and I looked quite funky as I windmilled my arms and shot along the floor. I had a great day as an extra but I did feel sorry for those I left managing the lights. I didn’t realize this when I acted in the TV ad but there is a great difference in the amount of work done between cast and crew. The crew slave away carrying things and always working while the cast spend most of the time sitting around waiting for their call, looking bored. The extras are not allowed anywhere near the tech equipment but I still felt they should lend a hand. In reality the extras were doing as much as they could but when I was with them I felt guilty for not doing as much as the crew. I do not think the thought would have crossed my mind if I had been just been an actor.
The band ROCKED! Three vocalists, a guitar and bass, three drum kits, and two trumpets and a collection of classic keyboards jammed it out on the floor of the rink as we circled on our skates. The tune was funky, the atmosphere was lively and the clothes were pure cheesy - or was it retro, I can never tell.
New South Wales, Australia
As the train prepares to leave the city behind I look out at the platform and smile. I think of those days that seem so long ago now, all of us smiling and laughing as the last packs were tied down, the final stoves prepped and long and quick hugs exchanged. I remember the pine needles on the ground and the crowds waving as I swung myself onto that bus the first time.
The train growling beneath me is like that bus as it ground its way down Spring Hill and away, all of us expectant and eager. Now I have no crew, no class, no year. I am alone in this empty carriage, looking at a strange city, a strange country, a strange continent on the other side of the world.
I am on my way to the Blue Mountains without the usually constant presence of Simon, traveling on dilapidated public transport as I leave on a self-planned expedition. The objective is for me to develop organizational skills and learn to be independent. Unfortunately I am still not as organized as I would like and sense I may have forgotten some items that I will probably regret later.
I used to have a grudge against Shackleton after I was forced to leave but now things are different. I have realized that most of my problems at school stemmed from how I treated my friends and teachers alike. I thought nothing of making others do things for me and never really valued anything or anyone as much as I should have. I am now living my mistakes but I do not find that a bad thing. Sitting here on a train bound for the mountains I am now filled with resolve to fix my problems and return to Shackleton. Of course I have worries: I worry I may have out grown the school, or that things will be different, or that I will not be accepted, but I have decided on a course and am following it. What would have happened if Shackleton himself had decided to change course in the James Caird and missed South Georgia. He would have perished and the school I am trying so hard to get back into would have had to been called something else.
As the train leaves Sydney far behind, all memories of school flutter in its wake and are gone as they have to, leaving me to continue my journey in the present.
As the train prepares to leave the city behind I look out at the platform and smile. I think of those days that seem so long ago now, all of us smiling and laughing as the last packs were tied down, the final stoves prepped and long and quick hugs exchanged. I remember the pine needles on the ground and the crowds waving as I swung myself onto that bus the first time.
The train growling beneath me is like that bus as it ground its way down Spring Hill and away, all of us expectant and eager. Now I have no crew, no class, no year. I am alone in this empty carriage, looking at a strange city, a strange country, a strange continent on the other side of the world.
I am on my way to the Blue Mountains without the usually constant presence of Simon, traveling on dilapidated public transport as I leave on a self-planned expedition. The objective is for me to develop organizational skills and learn to be independent. Unfortunately I am still not as organized as I would like and sense I may have forgotten some items that I will probably regret later.
I used to have a grudge against Shackleton after I was forced to leave but now things are different. I have realized that most of my problems at school stemmed from how I treated my friends and teachers alike. I thought nothing of making others do things for me and never really valued anything or anyone as much as I should have. I am now living my mistakes but I do not find that a bad thing. Sitting here on a train bound for the mountains I am now filled with resolve to fix my problems and return to Shackleton. Of course I have worries: I worry I may have out grown the school, or that things will be different, or that I will not be accepted, but I have decided on a course and am following it. What would have happened if Shackleton himself had decided to change course in the James Caird and missed South Georgia. He would have perished and the school I am trying so hard to get back into would have had to been called something else.
As the train leaves Sydney far behind, all memories of school flutter in its wake and are gone as they have to, leaving me to continue my journey in the present.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Bondi Beach, Australia
We all gather on the beach and play football together, laughing and sliding in the sand. I mess up a tackle and fall, but instead of mocking, everyone comes over to check on me. They cheer when I get the ball away, and I the same. Cricket is another game where I fall and am tackled, but this time we all lie sprawled out in a heap and laugh together as one.
Only two months ago I would not have said that I have a lot of friends. For the first time in my life I feel like I am luckier than most people. I always wanted to be “normal” and tried to behave like everyone else for a large part of the time. The friends I have made here are not like me, we are all different and all have something to add to our time together. I can truly relax with these people and I do not have to be someone I am not. This is true friendship. I have never before had a large group of friends who call me up and invite me to anything just because they like me. In the past I was a jester for people I liked but felt inferior to. Seeing myself as accepted takes some getting used to and sometimes I still feel lower than others, but my friends are always there letting me recognize that we are equal.
Without this realization I might still be alone and depressed, looking for the next crazy stunt to amuse others. People here congratulate, advise, encourage and befriend me. Maybe it was me who stopped people getting close and I always could have had friends like these. What I know is that I am happier than I have ever been.
We all gather on the beach and play football together, laughing and sliding in the sand. I mess up a tackle and fall, but instead of mocking, everyone comes over to check on me. They cheer when I get the ball away, and I the same. Cricket is another game where I fall and am tackled, but this time we all lie sprawled out in a heap and laugh together as one.
Only two months ago I would not have said that I have a lot of friends. For the first time in my life I feel like I am luckier than most people. I always wanted to be “normal” and tried to behave like everyone else for a large part of the time. The friends I have made here are not like me, we are all different and all have something to add to our time together. I can truly relax with these people and I do not have to be someone I am not. This is true friendship. I have never before had a large group of friends who call me up and invite me to anything just because they like me. In the past I was a jester for people I liked but felt inferior to. Seeing myself as accepted takes some getting used to and sometimes I still feel lower than others, but my friends are always there letting me recognize that we are equal.
Without this realization I might still be alone and depressed, looking for the next crazy stunt to amuse others. People here congratulate, advise, encourage and befriend me. Maybe it was me who stopped people getting close and I always could have had friends like these. What I know is that I am happier than I have ever been.
Friday, February 27, 2004
Sydney, Australia
I’m a star for a millisecond. My face will be on TV in a month, smiling, clapping and shown every half hour for a flash as the camera pans. I am the faces of the Virgin mobile ad campaign. I say faces because computer graphics will be used to make dozens of me for use in massive crowd scenes. I signed up for my millisecond (literally) of fame because I saw the words “FAME-FREE FOOD-VIRGIN” printed on an advert in the hostel. When I read the whole thing through I found it promised free food and drink to star in a Virgin Mobile advert. I set of with one of the motley crew, those of us who are the more eccentric long-term residents at the hostel, and we went to seek our fame.
At the auditorium where the ad was shot all the cast had a chance to meet each other. It turned out that while half of the extras where grubby backpackers, the other half were paid actors who had agents. It was a strange mix that sat there as the camera started rolling and we were instructed on what to do. I still don’t really know what the plot of the advert was but it seemed to be a game show involving txt messaging where we were the audience. Because it costs money for extras they could not afford entire crowd scenes and we had to change seats every five minutes to fill up the hall so computer graphics could be added to make it look full. We clapped, cheered sighed and more for almost eight hours non stop before someone felt sorry for us and we were released.
I realize that I don’t want to do that job again without a large amount of money changing hands. Sitting around all day is not my idea of a good job (I know, I wouldn’t have said that last year) and since working with Simon I feel I need to be challenged. It was interesting however, to see what goes on behind the scenes of a TV advert and I appreciate how hard they are to make.
I’m a star for a millisecond. My face will be on TV in a month, smiling, clapping and shown every half hour for a flash as the camera pans. I am the faces of the Virgin mobile ad campaign. I say faces because computer graphics will be used to make dozens of me for use in massive crowd scenes. I signed up for my millisecond (literally) of fame because I saw the words “FAME-FREE FOOD-VIRGIN” printed on an advert in the hostel. When I read the whole thing through I found it promised free food and drink to star in a Virgin Mobile advert. I set of with one of the motley crew, those of us who are the more eccentric long-term residents at the hostel, and we went to seek our fame.
At the auditorium where the ad was shot all the cast had a chance to meet each other. It turned out that while half of the extras where grubby backpackers, the other half were paid actors who had agents. It was a strange mix that sat there as the camera started rolling and we were instructed on what to do. I still don’t really know what the plot of the advert was but it seemed to be a game show involving txt messaging where we were the audience. Because it costs money for extras they could not afford entire crowd scenes and we had to change seats every five minutes to fill up the hall so computer graphics could be added to make it look full. We clapped, cheered sighed and more for almost eight hours non stop before someone felt sorry for us and we were released.
I realize that I don’t want to do that job again without a large amount of money changing hands. Sitting around all day is not my idea of a good job (I know, I wouldn’t have said that last year) and since working with Simon I feel I need to be challenged. It was interesting however, to see what goes on behind the scenes of a TV advert and I appreciate how hard they are to make.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Yamba. When I set off for this town it was just a name to me, somewhere nice to learn to surf. Speeding through the countryside I discussed many things with Simon, particularly my interactions with others. One of the biggest topics however was silence, and I spent a lot of time learning to be perceptive of the world around me.
First we lurched through Sydney in rush hour traffic, the sun rising slowly and lighting up the harbor bridge as we passed. I love the houses in Sydney, every one designed it seems by a different architect and placed together like those model villages for train sets. I guess Sydney is like a showcase for different architecture, for everything seems to be here. Roofs of tin, tile or asphalt, walls of wood and brick painted a myriad of different pastel colors. Then there are the skyscrapers that seem to sprout like pine trees above the forest of suburbia.
On leaving the city we come to open fields that turn into densely wooded hills and back again. The trees are lush and green, a fact that hides the harsh droughts that savage this amazing land. I look out as we drive and see cows sheltering under leafy trees and horses grazing in rolling fields and I feel glad to be here.
I realize I am grateful for being sent away from school. If I had not left I would not be working as hard, I would not be pushing myself farther every day as I do now and I would not have seen Australia. I always imagined it as a land of desert with an opera house and a large rock as its only recognizable features. I imagined it populated by a freak show of animals and crocodile hunters with cork hats. My preconceptions have since vanished and I am now starting to adapt to this strange land that seems full of happiness and goodwill.
The wooded countryside gave way to immense cane fields, the smell of burning sugar wafting across from the brown stack of a refinery. The car glides over steel bridges, the station wagon’s shadow hitting the muddy rivers far below. And what rivers. Wide stretches of brown winding though mangrove swamps and past riverside houses and farms built along their banks. At both sides of the highway lie fruit stands selling watermelons, pineapples, and whole hands of bananas. We gaze at the painted plywood signs tempting us with cheap prices if we pull over. The thought of the water drives us onwards.
Finally we arrive in Yamba and start our adventure of schoolbooks and surfboards. This quaint surf village with its cafes, pubs and surf shops, hides some of the best surf in Australia. Unknown to most tourists, many good surfers sneak off to Yamba to ride the waves that end on its pristine beaches and we have come to join them.
First we lurched through Sydney in rush hour traffic, the sun rising slowly and lighting up the harbor bridge as we passed. I love the houses in Sydney, every one designed it seems by a different architect and placed together like those model villages for train sets. I guess Sydney is like a showcase for different architecture, for everything seems to be here. Roofs of tin, tile or asphalt, walls of wood and brick painted a myriad of different pastel colors. Then there are the skyscrapers that seem to sprout like pine trees above the forest of suburbia.
On leaving the city we come to open fields that turn into densely wooded hills and back again. The trees are lush and green, a fact that hides the harsh droughts that savage this amazing land. I look out as we drive and see cows sheltering under leafy trees and horses grazing in rolling fields and I feel glad to be here.
I realize I am grateful for being sent away from school. If I had not left I would not be working as hard, I would not be pushing myself farther every day as I do now and I would not have seen Australia. I always imagined it as a land of desert with an opera house and a large rock as its only recognizable features. I imagined it populated by a freak show of animals and crocodile hunters with cork hats. My preconceptions have since vanished and I am now starting to adapt to this strange land that seems full of happiness and goodwill.
The wooded countryside gave way to immense cane fields, the smell of burning sugar wafting across from the brown stack of a refinery. The car glides over steel bridges, the station wagon’s shadow hitting the muddy rivers far below. And what rivers. Wide stretches of brown winding though mangrove swamps and past riverside houses and farms built along their banks. At both sides of the highway lie fruit stands selling watermelons, pineapples, and whole hands of bananas. We gaze at the painted plywood signs tempting us with cheap prices if we pull over. The thought of the water drives us onwards.
Finally we arrive in Yamba and start our adventure of schoolbooks and surfboards. This quaint surf village with its cafes, pubs and surf shops, hides some of the best surf in Australia. Unknown to most tourists, many good surfers sneak off to Yamba to ride the waves that end on its pristine beaches and we have come to join them.
Friday, February 13, 2004
Sydney, Australia
Since I have arrived in Sydney I have changed. I am not saying I am a different person but certainty I feel like one. I am stronger; physically as well as mentally, to a degree I would not have thought possible even two months ago. I arrived in Sydney believing to be as strong and fit as I ever would be, thinking that exercise wouldn’t make a difference. I managed to lift myself halfway up the pull up bar the first time, the week after I had done one and now I can do five or more.
My coordination is improving to the extent that I can block a punch with a flick of my wrist and ride a bucking surfboard into the beach. This though is just the start of what I can and have achieved. Mentally I have felt myself changing and evolving, seen my writing skills improve each and every day. I see that my bag is always full of things I need and empty of those I don’t. I am on time or less than half an hour late now and I know I can do a lot more than I first thought. I used to cringe and freeze up when I tried to edit my work but now I do it voluntarily. I used to think I would never find living by myself and cooking easy, but thanks to Simon's coaching I do.
One of the achievements I am most proud of is that I now know I am clever and that people respect me. For the first time in my life it seems that many people are glad to see me and what’s more I think they regard me as an equal. I believe this change is due to the fact I regard myself as their equal and therefore I am. This is important to me because if you are not equal to someone you can never truly be friends with him or her. The truth I now know is that I was always equal but either they or I believed otherwise. The good thing about all this is that it is just the start, the tip of the iceberg and I will continue to grow in ways I cannot yet imagine. Everything seems clear now I know this, now I see that I am equal to everyone I meet, now I can do anything. I finally come to the achievement that outshines all others: I like myself for who I am.
Since I have arrived in Sydney I have changed. I am not saying I am a different person but certainty I feel like one. I am stronger; physically as well as mentally, to a degree I would not have thought possible even two months ago. I arrived in Sydney believing to be as strong and fit as I ever would be, thinking that exercise wouldn’t make a difference. I managed to lift myself halfway up the pull up bar the first time, the week after I had done one and now I can do five or more.
My coordination is improving to the extent that I can block a punch with a flick of my wrist and ride a bucking surfboard into the beach. This though is just the start of what I can and have achieved. Mentally I have felt myself changing and evolving, seen my writing skills improve each and every day. I see that my bag is always full of things I need and empty of those I don’t. I am on time or less than half an hour late now and I know I can do a lot more than I first thought. I used to cringe and freeze up when I tried to edit my work but now I do it voluntarily. I used to think I would never find living by myself and cooking easy, but thanks to Simon's coaching I do.
One of the achievements I am most proud of is that I now know I am clever and that people respect me. For the first time in my life it seems that many people are glad to see me and what’s more I think they regard me as an equal. I believe this change is due to the fact I regard myself as their equal and therefore I am. This is important to me because if you are not equal to someone you can never truly be friends with him or her. The truth I now know is that I was always equal but either they or I believed otherwise. The good thing about all this is that it is just the start, the tip of the iceberg and I will continue to grow in ways I cannot yet imagine. Everything seems clear now I know this, now I see that I am equal to everyone I meet, now I can do anything. I finally come to the achievement that outshines all others: I like myself for who I am.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Bondi, Sydney, Australia
If you walk up the long road from Bondi Beach, past the rickety bus station and the rows of faintly bohemian houses, you will find our hostel. Perched on the side of a hill, the large yellow building looks like many others in the area, plain with little aesthetic appeal. Slouched on the doorstep, smoking and chatting, we find Kev and one of the girls that works at reception. Kev’s hands are black from time spent as a joiner – cigarette in one, beer in the other. Inside, through the sliding glass door lies the reception room. There are generally two people behind the desk, trying to cope with the avalanches of backpackers and their luggage that blocks the hallway. Perched on the stairs, incredibly tanned and cool looking, are the Brazilians. No one wants to be caught looking at the Brazilian girls though, and for good reason. Most of the Brazilians here are traveling by themselves and have found that the hostel is a safe haven for their type, a big family of South Americans that are very protective of each other. Wherever you walk you hear shouts and whispers in a dozen different accents.
“What is this?” Felipe shouts as he reads this essay over my shoulder “We’re not South Americans, we’re different! What is this about “their type? Are we half breeds or something?” Felipe is one of the Brazilians, a small wiry guy who has looked like he’s on drugs since he was ten although he says he hasn’t been. This doesn’t annoy him any more, adding, “girls love my crazy face!” Then there are Vitor and Joao who are from Rio and San Paolo respectively and are traveling together, causing trouble and invoking the wrath of Australians by getting too close to their daughters and wives. Hugo is their best friend, and the three of them, his girlfriend, and her brother Mike, all party together. When those guys get together you know there will be chaos.
Then there is team Coolabah, so named because of the filthy $10 dollars a box wine they consume in huge amounts. They have gone to lengths to show their appreciation of this wine and now wear tee-shirts with their gang name stenciled on. There is Shawn, a giant Yorkshireman with a mad streak, Ben a leering, slightly psychotic sports coach and Dave, a confused looking Canadian. They are really pleased with themselves for discovering Max Powers, the “strangest fish” at the hostel. Max is a forty-something computer programmer with milk bottle glasses and a massive bush hat. Shawn decided that anyone called Max Powers must be included in their gang, which made things interesting for a while because Max didn’t want anything to do with them.
Being clean is important: In a hostel environment things get lost or broken, mice eat your power cords or your laptop gets stolen. It is vital to lock your possessions up, keep everything clean and tidy. To do this I have to fold up by bed so its neat, clean up my floor and put my stuff either under the bed or in my locker.
Its good to meet new people: There are so many different people that you see but never talk to – many of whom are worth meeting. It is important to take the leap, step out and make new friends. In a hostel you are in a room with so many other people and they are on schedules so weird that you have to try really hard to get to know someone really well.
Laughter, smoke, light, heat, sleeping bodies, couches, mess, clutter, music, drink, empty bottles, peace, crowds riveted to the television, coming and going, voices, shouts, happiness. This is the Beachouse, Bondi Beach, Australia. My home.
If you walk up the long road from Bondi Beach, past the rickety bus station and the rows of faintly bohemian houses, you will find our hostel. Perched on the side of a hill, the large yellow building looks like many others in the area, plain with little aesthetic appeal. Slouched on the doorstep, smoking and chatting, we find Kev and one of the girls that works at reception. Kev’s hands are black from time spent as a joiner – cigarette in one, beer in the other. Inside, through the sliding glass door lies the reception room. There are generally two people behind the desk, trying to cope with the avalanches of backpackers and their luggage that blocks the hallway. Perched on the stairs, incredibly tanned and cool looking, are the Brazilians. No one wants to be caught looking at the Brazilian girls though, and for good reason. Most of the Brazilians here are traveling by themselves and have found that the hostel is a safe haven for their type, a big family of South Americans that are very protective of each other. Wherever you walk you hear shouts and whispers in a dozen different accents.
“What is this?” Felipe shouts as he reads this essay over my shoulder “We’re not South Americans, we’re different! What is this about “their type? Are we half breeds or something?” Felipe is one of the Brazilians, a small wiry guy who has looked like he’s on drugs since he was ten although he says he hasn’t been. This doesn’t annoy him any more, adding, “girls love my crazy face!” Then there are Vitor and Joao who are from Rio and San Paolo respectively and are traveling together, causing trouble and invoking the wrath of Australians by getting too close to their daughters and wives. Hugo is their best friend, and the three of them, his girlfriend, and her brother Mike, all party together. When those guys get together you know there will be chaos.
Then there is team Coolabah, so named because of the filthy $10 dollars a box wine they consume in huge amounts. They have gone to lengths to show their appreciation of this wine and now wear tee-shirts with their gang name stenciled on. There is Shawn, a giant Yorkshireman with a mad streak, Ben a leering, slightly psychotic sports coach and Dave, a confused looking Canadian. They are really pleased with themselves for discovering Max Powers, the “strangest fish” at the hostel. Max is a forty-something computer programmer with milk bottle glasses and a massive bush hat. Shawn decided that anyone called Max Powers must be included in their gang, which made things interesting for a while because Max didn’t want anything to do with them.
Being clean is important: In a hostel environment things get lost or broken, mice eat your power cords or your laptop gets stolen. It is vital to lock your possessions up, keep everything clean and tidy. To do this I have to fold up by bed so its neat, clean up my floor and put my stuff either under the bed or in my locker.
Its good to meet new people: There are so many different people that you see but never talk to – many of whom are worth meeting. It is important to take the leap, step out and make new friends. In a hostel you are in a room with so many other people and they are on schedules so weird that you have to try really hard to get to know someone really well.
Laughter, smoke, light, heat, sleeping bodies, couches, mess, clutter, music, drink, empty bottles, peace, crowds riveted to the television, coming and going, voices, shouts, happiness. This is the Beachouse, Bondi Beach, Australia. My home.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Sydney Aquarium, Sydney, Australia
Flurries of undulating brightness, a ballet of movement, both graceful and sharp. The swooping gray sharks twisting as though in agony look about with a lazy disinterest, noticing everything it seems. Shoals of massive silvery-coated fish move as though in a hurricane, revolving in harmony to the orchestral music projected around me. The sharks seem to float through the flashes of camera blasts that appear from outside the tank. The main cast moving in time to the music is grace itself, while behind lurks a larger group of dancers that remain indistinct. The silvery fish are now like leaves fallen from a tree in the autumn and blown by the wind. A dimmed blue light covers the scene like a thin gossamer blanket.
Flurries of undulating brightness, a ballet of movement, both graceful and sharp. The swooping gray sharks twisting as though in agony look about with a lazy disinterest, noticing everything it seems. Shoals of massive silvery-coated fish move as though in a hurricane, revolving in harmony to the orchestral music projected around me. The sharks seem to float through the flashes of camera blasts that appear from outside the tank. The main cast moving in time to the music is grace itself, while behind lurks a larger group of dancers that remain indistinct. The silvery fish are now like leaves fallen from a tree in the autumn and blown by the wind. A dimmed blue light covers the scene like a thin gossamer blanket.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Sydney, Australia
Almost every day I wake up to sun streaming from my window and get ready for what is always a good day. I pack what I will need for the sun first: Zinc cream, sunscreen, and aloe gel. Then I grab my board shorts, laptop and boxing gloves and head outside. Simon and I and do fitness training in a park below the hostel, lush trees and thick grass surrounding us. We run down the coastal path every second day, sweating and panting as we pass cliffs and watch the breaking waves from above. After that we do press ups, pull-ups, crunches, then boxing and kali practice. After the workout we go to Simon’s house on the cliff tops by the ocean where we start the main part of our day: School work. I sit in front of a laptop filling out assignments for a few hours, working on essays to get back into school and recording significant learnings. Surprisingly a lot of our significant learning are gathered from time spent talking in the car as we travel round Sydney. After the work we total up receipts, I am given money and I head back to the hostel to do homework before finishing for the day.
Almost every day I wake up to sun streaming from my window and get ready for what is always a good day. I pack what I will need for the sun first: Zinc cream, sunscreen, and aloe gel. Then I grab my board shorts, laptop and boxing gloves and head outside. Simon and I and do fitness training in a park below the hostel, lush trees and thick grass surrounding us. We run down the coastal path every second day, sweating and panting as we pass cliffs and watch the breaking waves from above. After that we do press ups, pull-ups, crunches, then boxing and kali practice. After the workout we go to Simon’s house on the cliff tops by the ocean where we start the main part of our day: School work. I sit in front of a laptop filling out assignments for a few hours, working on essays to get back into school and recording significant learnings. Surprisingly a lot of our significant learning are gathered from time spent talking in the car as we travel round Sydney. After the work we total up receipts, I am given money and I head back to the hostel to do homework before finishing for the day.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Bourtie House, Aberdeenshire, Scotland
I am rewriting the start of my story, during which I spend five months traveling in Australia and Southeast Asia. The goal of my expedition is to return to a school in the United States from which I was asked to leave for inappropriate behavior. To do this I have been traveling with my mentor and teacher, Simon, who has coached me though things I thought were impossible.
From watching pig racing in Australia to Thai boxing in Bangkok, to teaching orphans in Cambodia to rafting down rivers in Laos everything has been an opportunity to learn. I have not always taken advantage of the opportunities I am presented with, but am beginning to recognize and enjoy them. When I first started traveling I believed that the reasons I got expelled from school and didn’t have many friends were all external. From my writings you will see that I grown to see things differently.
Please read on and follow my journey.
Tom Remp.
