Got My Own Chanel.

Got My Own Chanel.

Friday, December 18, 2009


No rest for the wicked. No counting down the days till the weekend. No moaning on hump- days Wednesday. Ground hog day appears once more. The time goes by as fast as the buses. Punctuality was never introduced. Personal space is only existent in one's brain. Silence; just a fairytale. Pollution makes the sun set red and a blue sky grey. A child aimless and lonely wandering Mayhem Street West is as per usual. A white Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt was a naive investment. Being charged triple for everything because my skin is white seems only fair. A bruised eye on a female is domestic. Food past the expiry date will be more reliable than those samosas.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Sunday, December 13, 2009

The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Sitting cross-legged, with a straight back and my hands resting lightly upon my knees. The first finger and thumb connected. Closing my eyes without thought and breathing out. The thoughts taking up the extra manilla folders in my brain vanish into thin air as they are exhaled from a puff of black smoke. This is spiritual here. Highly.
Not even registering I am still sitting on the hard, cold, numbing marble, others intoxicated with chatter. My surroundings dissapear as I breath in this beautiful life. The beauty and aura is consuming.
There is no following rules anymore in my mind, no looking back in anger, no comparisons. Nostalgia is no more. It is I, my heart, and those whom I carry in it. And now. Right now. An easy smile nudges at my face.
I am in absolute bliss.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Un- absorption processing.

I am one very self absorbed teenager at times. So far into my own head and its' thoughts I forget what is actually surrounding me. That the world is still spinning while I am driving myself crazy. There is a beautiful world right at my fingertips with wonderful people in my life to support it. I do love you all.
Must run, off to explore! (Well technically not right now as it is night time but I am off to explore the bathroom and what its showering facilities have to offer. As if they have changed.)
Thank you for a beautiful life.


Love is a new post. Love is getting over the bullshit that my mind sometimes presents me with.
Love is you and I.
(You know who you are.)

Mirror, mirror, on the wall?

I splashed the water polluted with pesticides and un-ideal metals on my face, (not great for fighting the seven signs of aging, but at nineteen and this particular moment I really couldn't care less.) Instead of coming up with an inspiring self revelation as I looked in the mirror, I just have nothing. All I see is a face, lost in her own thoughts that are beginning to eat away at this once happy, bright and cheerful soul that used to dance and not wonder endlessly. It is a strange sight watching your vision disappear as the tears well up higher and higher and all that is left is a murky grey puddle to stare into. Without sounding too nostalgic, I feel like coming to India I have lost more of myself and found only things I do not like.
Currently this is nothing like the 'self-discovery' two month session one thought it may be. A little disappointing.
Being apart and away makes you doubt things no matter how sure of them you thought you were. I feared this. It is only natural though. This time it is myself I am reassuring.

ghd: O where art thou?

This close (imagine two fingers an inch apart) to chopping off my mane. Without a straightener this mop is just that. A mop. A wild beast that disagrees with being washed in a bucket twice a week if it's lucky.

Not many realise what we take for granted. (Don't have a winge, and say 'Just another self obsessed teenager trying to enlighten us on these little things we never appreciate.') Just hear me out. It is illegal for men not to wear helmets on motorbikes, yet it is legal for women. Sorry, right, I forgot our brains weren't as valuable. I have never been a feminist and I am beginning to feel like Kate Shephard, new and improved version. The water here has such high levels of DTS pesticide and metals that drinking it over a prolonged period of time can easily result in infertility and child defects, as well as upping your stakes for cancer. To boil it is not enough, it also must be filtered. Though I, value my baby maker enough that I will only drink bottled. There are power cuts everyday here from ten in the morning till at least two in the afternoon. There is no such thing as hot water out of a tap. Get real. As mentioned in an earlier post a shower here consists of a bucket and a jug containing the water you manually collected from the pump outside and manually heated with the heating rod, that will just casually electrocute you to death if you make the fatal mistake of testing the temperature of the water while it is still in there..turned ON. Dishes get washed with a constant trickle of water coming out of the tap. There are so many flies around while I write outside that I have given up brushing them off. So I look dark even if I haven't gotten a tan from my constant fly- blanket. Thanks guys.
My, I shall be more than happy to do dishes in hot water with detergent and a tea towel to dry them once I get home. My f***ing pleasure.


So hungry. I haven't really eaten properly for a day now, after throwing up a free lunch yesterday twice. Curry was never a favourite of mine the first time, let alone the second. And after much consideration of the reflection staring back at me in my laptop screen I have decided my collarbone is showing more than usual. Not ideal when I was skin bone and muscle to start with. Now the muscle has gone walkies. I knew I would end up resembling the children I sometimes teach.
Five children just walked into the front entrance of the house. I was told a couple of days ago these are the ones who reside in the slums just down the road. I was talking a well educated local called Onkar, who speaks good English and translates for me. I asked him to translate for me whether or not they like drawing whilst asking him whether there was any point me setting up some sort of pro gramme just for drawing simple things and teaching them the English word for them. They love to draw apparently but it is not just these children I am dealing with it is also their parents. You have to be here to believe this but according to Onkar it is a vicious cycle here. The parents will resent their children if they are given any more opportunities than they once had and therefore place more value on putting their children into laborious work from the youngest of ages. I am talking about seven years old. So, after they gathered much amusement from watching me punch info. into this bizarre device I decided I hadn't been carrying around four packets of stickers for nothing. There are five children so during my hunt for scissors and the end product being a knife I tactfully cut out one sticker each with the backing still on to give to these kids.
Reaction? More. You can't blame them I suppose.

Thursday, December 10, 2009


To feel alone is such a vast space of people. Changi Airport tends to do that after you say goodbye to your true love, best friend and wierdo all at once for the next 80 days and then have a further 29 hours to kill here by myself. S said to be strong for him so I shall and in saying that he has helped me immensly. I don't really ever know who I'm writing to when I write these, perhaps just to myself so I can understand what is circling around in my head, because there is a lack of corners up there for the thoughts build up in.
It is ironic and ridiculous that we always hurt the ones we love, but it is also a combination of that and not bothering with anyone else as you never liked them enough for the opposing emotion from them to be hurt as that is implying you loved them. The only people that can truly hurt you are those that you love, sometimes for good sometimes for bad, sometimes for the learning curve you will take out of it.

Counting down the days, comparing time's speed to watching paint dry.

Zero to do. Like can't even do the washing because there is no power to fuel to washing machine.
They're not big on windows here. Therefore, I am sitting in the middle of the house on a plastic chair that is coloured and moulded to resemble marble. Classy. After much observation I have come to the generalisation that Indians place so very much emphasis on what others think. Take a wedding for example, the bride's parents pay. Also known as 'I am going to invite as many people as I can and make everything as gaudy and lavish (two words that NEVER BOND) as possible so everyone can know how rich, or not, we are.
For me, I just really do not care for others approval.

A shower here consists of a bucket and a jug. The water comes from the well that you pumped it from manually. The heat comes from the heating rod you put into the bucket of water for ten minutes, while you are more than careful not to touch. Super safe.

Before the cake was mixed.

Isn't it funny how you can be in the same city and same school and same university as someone for years and years yet never even know them, never care of them. But you travel to the other side of the world for just a few weeks, a fraction of your life, in the most remote village in the middle of Punjab and meet this person. Crazy.

Who ever expected things to be like this. To have no hot water. Sometimes no water at all. Huge power cuts everyday. Internet that cuts out constantly. Having to heat your own water and put it in a bucket and use a small jug to pour it over yourself and this is called your 'shower.' I have already learnt so much. I feel like ok, I can go home now. I have learnt it all.

Needed; a Boeing 777. NOW.

After a week in the city of Chandigarh and twelve days to count away from home and away from S, I, and my parents I am struggling; immensley. Being in the city I was fine (after the initial shock of madness.) I couldn't understand why I had been told that this would be hard and so very different, I was still waiting on culture shock to rear its ugly head.
Currently I am fucking worried as S has found out some terrible news. He works for an NGO called New Light who provide care and eduction for children whom's parents are sex workers. Last night one of the protitutes tried to kill herself and burnt 95% of her body. She is in hospital, but cannot talk with her lips burnt together and a body that is unrecognizable as a human S said.
As I was texting back when I found out this new my phone died and while you might say well whoop de do massive deal city slicker get over it, I was worried to death about how he was feeling about such a sight, and with power cuts so big there was no telling when the power will come back on to charge the phone. Many people will never experience this in their lifetimes, and while S does not regret it he also does not know what to make of it either. It is not something you can really draw conclusions about but I shall try my best.
In trying to help someone through something like this and after much research (yes I did use google...bff. Jay but sez but jay- it's a pj sorry) loved ones aren't the best in helping others deal with things like this. We expect much from them when really no one is equipped to deal with such a thing, let alone give advice on it. But of course we try. Heartless beast if you didn't! (Sorry, admittedly trying to bring some humour into such a dark entry.)
For S I think the part that is probably the hardest about dealing with this is the fact that no one can really relate to such an event and in India this is a relatively common occurance and therefore makes it easy for many to brush off like they have seen it all before. It saddens me that the human soul can become so nummb to such tradgedy and loss like this. But in saying this is not uncommon in the 'Untouchables' it does not make it any less valued as the probable loss of a life.

The Village.

I hate this. I want an internship in Chandigarh. This place is full of narrow- minded, uncultured Indians. I have nothing to do here, I cannot even move into the intern house for some bullshit reason, as per usual. I cry all the time. Mu and Albi bear are getting soaked. Everything about this place angers me. I often think, yes I can come home now I have learnt my lesson. I have been on the phone to Mama and Dad considering going to Kolkata to work with Sebastian as the solution. I also do not want to feel though as if I have slightly let myself down a little if I do, by running away from something I have not yet started. It would be easy for my to make all the excuses and lies to others about why I moved to a different internship or came home early but it is impossible to convince myself. I will give it two weeks here and reconsider my options. I could never live here. Save me now.

What culture shock?

Everyone talked about having to get used to this culture shock in the frist week. [Jesus, I am almost going to have to pause 'Stop This Train'- John Mayer, I cannot concentrate and consequently keep going to write down what I am singing.]
I feel fne with everything here, I could/ already have gotten rather used to this city. Perhaps also natural to feel slightly guilty about spending copious amonuts on Tommy Hilfiger and FCUK already. Yes, that is what I came to India for. NOT (Borat voice.)
Now I really am split in two about whether I still want to go to the village or not. I need to start work though, Dr. Destructive rears his ugly head when I have too much time on my hands.

It's weird because someone is in MY ensuite.

Only in India. It is weird. I am pretending to be asleep. Awkward? Apparently not. He takes the newspaper and his phone in everyday.
Althought this city is grubby, (what fucking part of India isn't?) The people are pretty laid back, although the driving here is batty. I hate the constant use of horns. It really pisses me off to be brutaly honest.

What is S indulging in?

Well, today has been non- eventful so far. Me wonders what S is up to right about. Now. I am very much looking foward to getting to the village. Being stared at everywhere isn't ideal. I was close to saying it wears off after some time, but it never really wore on.. So to speak.

India. Also known as Dr. Unconventional.

It is completely normal here to argue outright in front of guests. In a car. Where you cannot escape. Everything about India is SO UNCONVENTIONAL. Noise. Heat.
As I wrote this in my journal I changed my font as I said 'I am sick of writing like this, I shall write like this now.' Righto.


There is too much airconditioning here. T3 is much cooler than T2. 24 hours apart is already too long. What to expect from India: sickness? Apparently Chris Martin cheated on Gwyneth Paltrow with Kate Bosworth. What an idiot. I adore S. 13 more hours of flights till my (un)preferred destination. Floor= bed.
S, you are the butter to my bread, the breath to my life.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Monogamy (ammended)

It is possible. It's just happened.


Monogamy- is it the answer? I used to think yes in the old days where the Notebook rang true in my ears and thought that was how love went. I would like to believe it is out there and that is what I end up with. At this point and time I doubt that. It isn’t that I don’t want to end up with this, I do (but not more than anything.) I would be truly happy with my life if I managed to be an Olympian. I know this without doubt. Tis a tricky subject to reckon with when I have little knowledge...maybe I will stop here.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Old Women

Sitting in B4 lounge at Changi Airport waiting to get on my plane home, listening to two old ladies and thinking I hope I have something far more intruiging than this to talk about when I’m ancient. I think growing up and living in a small country is hard. It makes you think naïve and seem insignificant to an extent. I am happy to have travelled- 8I have seen what I am missing out on; or not so much.
Back to geriatrics; Ines and I shall grow old and talk about just the same things we do today. Love life or lack there of, drinking (a little too hard) and how the fuck we are going to make a difference on this world before we depart. Excuse the pun- in terms of the circumstances, ha! Little do we realize that we aren’t so insignificant and small in the big scheme of it all. We will start some kind of frightfully intelligent and resourceful business and be the next big name. Watch this space. Now and always.


Exciting day. Isn’t it funny what excites us? I think so. Seeing Sebastian and Valerie whilst talking on the phone and walking down Riccarton road was exciting, waiting 51 minutes to eat my sushi was not but now I’m just hangin’ out for it; here goes. Mmmm so good because for once it isn’t that mashed chicken cat food SHIT. I am getting my hair done copper tomoz excitement centraaaaaaal. I am waiting for Jacq to come into the library as well as put snaps up from Saturday night. I am missing hanging out with Scut and I was going to email this to him but then I saw him and after raping his phone with a million texts I thought I ought not to, will tell him instead. The ladies in Mr Snips in UCSA never get any customers and they are all fat, probably because they just sit there because….they have NO CUSTOMERS. The chicken in this sushi is quite sweet. Interesting. Not really, humble apologies. The shoot for Synergy sounds effing cool, they have a choice tangerine dress for me, it is my colour boo yah! And the bikini shoots will be like, sex on legs HELLO. I am excited even about going to training and dryland today, what the hell is wrong with me. I am not excited about going to work tomorrow night nor training tomorrow morning. I HAVE never appreciated getting up at 5.30am YUCK. But that’s tomorrow and this is today so peace!
p.s purple Powerade is overrated! But purple isn't.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Crushing the Big Names. Let me know if I'm not the only one with this view?

Passing thoughts, or not so much that they just pass because if they simply just passed then they wouldn’t take up time consuming my thoughts enough for me to take the time to write about them. Get it? Got it. These subjects consume my thoughts even enough for me to be writing about them whilst sitting looking over Barcelona. Watch out creatures, this will be staggering stuff.
Firstly how do I make a difference to the world? I mean a real difference. Woah cliché I know but it’s not something my brain thinks about constantly to be hip and trendy it’s something that as I stated earlier, worries me enough to trake the time to write it down. Firstly it was not just I who enlightened myself to these wise thoughts but also my somewhat slightly cynical father. So after much time being wasted I shall finally attempt to explain what I am getting at.
As much as I love travelling, it is without a doubt, bittersweet. We have on the one sticky sweet hand; the experience of new culture, seeing a place with more history in one building than our country possesses as a whole nation. On the bitter hand there is the carbon miles you leave all over the globe as you jetset a total of 24hours to reach your destination. Seeing the pollution in many of the cities that are called ‘fashion capitals’ aka Milan is an eye- opener. The only pictures ever shown in Vogue are the immaculate streets lined with their famous fashion houses. I don’t feel it necessary to name them. It is necessary that you know them, or at least know of. I am beginning to think that these pictures are in a part of Milan that doesn’t include the smog, poverty and pollution that seem to run this city. Perhaps a computer generated image aka some whiz on photoshop is the more likely and realistic explanation of the source of such pictures. Depressing yes, disappointing no. Infact it worked itsef into quite the eye- opener of trips. It shouldn’t take one haf the globe’s worth of travelling to realize how lucky I am to live in New Zealand. Learn from my mistake. No, let me rephrase that, my example. Trips like these are more holidays than adventures, and if you don’t learn what you do like you certainly learn what you don’t like. I suppose living in a small country that is secluded from the rest of the world for the most part, things like labels and designers seem like a big deal. Living in Christchurch there is one designer store; Louis Vuitton. Nothing like you see the streets lined with in Barcelona like Gucci, Prada, Cartier, Todds, MaxMara, Chanel and well the list goes on, as it always will. Anyway back to Christchurch and its lack there of such labels, there is never anybody EVER in that one designer store that we possess. Quite frankly there is absolutely no point in this shop being there, the only thing one can even entertain the idea of purchasing is perhaps a pen; approximately $200 a pop. Pointless much? Totally. Funny thing kis, I was once in awe of those labels and used to insist that people call them designers rather than labels. There is a difference. Now I have reverted to calling them labels because really that’s all they are. Really how much designing goes into that mini dress that is made in China (yes Gucci I am talking about you.) China! You can’t tell me that Gucci cannot afford to manufacture their clothing where it is designed. Now that Gucci’s clothing is manufactured in china the workers will get sweet eff all (if you mind my French, I tried to make it sound as polite as possible.) So I will try to rephrase that again simply; the workers get nothing (close to), the middle man makes glutonous amounts of money, while the consumers (yes, you and I) pay $2000 at least for one of these high fashion items.
It does make me sad to even use Gucci as an example, god knows I love their designs and advertising campaigns, but on my discovery of their now ‘mad in China’ reputation, I have gone into a revolt against them.
Also, might I add in if I haven’t already (I most probably have) that I am an avid reader of Vogue and as much of a long shot you may think it, I hoped to one day be editor-in-chief. I said that last part in past tense because I am now questioning this ambition and entertaining other ideas. When a good half (I shall find evidence in due time to prove this), is advertising I question what the hell I would really be advertising, oh sorry excuse me, I mean editing. Good question? I think so. Open to answers, because I seem to have a lack of them for that particular question.
So back onto designers in general and indeed to stop picking on Vogue and Gucci, they aren’t all they are cracked up to be. Yes certainly their haute couture is impressive and beautifully made, but their general clothing is much like that of any other chain store. Wearing these labels doesn’t mean you have good taste, it means you have enough money to flaunt the price tag. Congratulations. When you see four Louis Vuitton shops in one airport it doesn’t just make me question whether they are a chain store, it confirms it. You think you can ever have a one off piece? Think again. Money can buy you a lot, and I do believe it can buy you happiness. Just remember that what you pay for isn’t the craftsmanship in the clothing, god knows the real thing and all its copies are made in the same factory in China. What you are paying for is the name that is plastered inside or out.
I won’t lie though, if I had the money I might just buy one of these items, see if it gives me piece of mond to know that What I am wearing could have feed an African family for a year plus. And I am gulty of loving expensive clothing and accessories, I have a not-so-cheap Guess watch. But now I think I shall ake quite the effort to stick to New Zealand designers. While they are expensive at least all the clothing etc is made in New Zealand and suport our economy.