Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Thursday, March 31, 2011

"Go Shawty..."

...It's your birthday."

Or rather, it was.

This week has been a delightful combination of almost too-good-to-be-true amounts of autumn sunshine, cider, afternoons on the boat sheds, pasta, home-brew beer, "death wish" cocktails and ROFL-worthy fun. It's certainly made me appreciate just how much I love and value these incredible friends I'm so privileged to have in my life. I'm so grateful for their unbelievable generosity, compassion, and ability to have an outright crazy time on any night of the week.

A week which culminated in the thankful aversion of a minor crisis when Bryony demonstrated the female capacity to multi-task by simultaneously playing kitchen menace and fire-fighter.

What a wonderful way to turn 21.

With my gorgeous flatmates.
Autumn sunshine on Oriental Parade
Sarah does uncanny impression of a $30 cocktail glass
Two of my favourite people


These last few photos are courtesy of my wonderful friend Raiko, talented photographer and MC extraordinaire...



At the bar, Good Luck
Shots to start the night, Good Luck Bar
Look at these salty kids go.
Love to all my wonderful party goers.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Atheism, Jesus, Miley Cyrus, Short Skirts and the Festive Season

Brooke Fraser is on C4 for about the 750 gazzillionth time today.  (Such are the joys of spam in the popular music media, but don’t even get me started.) “That’s an awfully short skirt she’s wearing,” one of the energetically Anglican youths that seems to virtually live in my lounge comments, “for a Christian.”
...Say what?!
Firstly, this is hardly the pinnacle of cleavage bearing, coke snorting, reputation destroying, rock n roll. Cite Miley Cyrus’ latest music video, for those of you who have had the misfortune of viewing it, as the quintessential of evangelical pop-star gone wayward. This is wholesome, Kiwi bred, World Vision endorsing, widely respected Brooke Fraser we’re talking about here. As for the skirt in question- certainly a little sexier than a chorister’s cassock, but well within the realms of appropriate hemlines.
But, before I get into the details of the extensive frustration this comment caused me, spare me some time for a little disclaimer. I must emphasise that don’t profess to be any authority on religion whatsoever. There are countless important matters on which I wish I could be fierce and forthright in expressing my own opinion instead of wallowing in some apologetic stage of indecision. But religion is not one of them.  I will always, always attempt to be as open minded as possible about religion. In fact I change my views on religion like I change my underwear, which, I reassure you, is regularly. So the following is just a reflection of my recent train of thought regarding that forever contentious topic. You may disagree, you may want to yell at me for being so senselessly stupid, in fact I’m not entirely convinced that I agree with myself. You may find my argument flawed, hypocritical, or utterly ignorant, in which case I would be delighted for you to show me the error of my ways. 
I divulge. I promised you a tantalising piece on Jesus and short skirts.  I may be over-analysing this particular comment but I believe a person’s piety or spirituality shouldn’t be expressed in abstinence or measured in Church attendance. I know too many people who profess strong theological beliefs in equality, charity and acceptance, yet are the first to make rude and judgemental remarks behind peoples’ backs. People who preach family values on a religious basis, yet regularly cheat on their girlfriends. I personally believe that religion, should you choose to embrace it (and I have no problem with other people doing so), should be about the big things in life, not a pedantic set of guidelines that constrict your drinking and your hemlines.  I understand that religion isn’t always a pick ‘n’ mix smorgasbord which you can approach delicately with a pair of tongs to deliberately and carefully select certain appetising aspects. I also appreciate that we are all human and, I for one, am frequently and ashamedly guilty of often being far from the person I desire to be. I don’t necessarily have a problem with people making decisions regarding drugs, sex or how they spend their Sunday on a religious basis, but it truly pains me when these people live in a walking cloud of religious self-righteousness while committing as many mortal sins as the rest of us. If we are unable to master a messianic perfection of a pious life, surely we should attempt to focus on the important parts- doing to one another as we would have done to ourselves, loving thy neighbour, forgiving your enemies. Hell, do I sound naive and idealistic.
But as I’ve already bolted dangerously along the road of my idealistic circular argument, I won’t repent now. My potentially brash assumption is that it is perfectly possible live charitably, act kindly, love unreservedly, and forgive wholeheartedly without adhering to any specific religious guidelines. There are thousands of different theologies in the world, and yet the majority of them, while certainly allowing for variation, seem to follow one basic principal. While I am very nervous about suggesting such a notion as “universal values,” I do believe that there is one basic, fundamental human value that, however cheesily, supersedes religion, political loyalty, culture and ethnicity- Love.  It is perfectly possible, I maintain, for an atheist to live a wholesome life that benefits and brings joy to others. There is nothing, whatsoever to suggest that a person with no religious conviction is unable to contribute to the world a saint-like virtuosity.
Certainly I think that a large number of religious doctrines are well grounded and entirely sensible. But something instinctively suggests to me that we don’t need to be walking embodiments of Christianity, Islam or any other religion to know that it is wrong to kill, or to hurt others. (Or maybe I feel this way because my upbringing in a Western, liberally Christian society has instilled such values into me, but I’m not convinced by this, and I’m already ranting too much to get into chicken and egg arguments).


I am aware that in my comparatively privileged, middle class New Zealand world, it is naively easy for me to deny any strict or doctrinal manifestation of religion in my life. For people who have experienced greater tragedy or greater suffering than myself, perhaps religion inspires a sense of hope, or identity that otherwise alludes them. I am perfectly willing to accept that for many individuals, and even entire communities, religion serves a strong and valuable purpose, to band people together at times of crisis, to give people hope in their darkest hour, to provide a sense of purpose and belonging to the lost. But I guess the crux of my entire, long-winded argument, is that nobody has the right to present themselves as superior because of their own religiosity and, if we are to act “morally,” or kindly, it should because we desire to love and to be loved, not because of proscribed doctrine, religious or otherwise.  I think it is vitally important to find the desire to love within ourselves, and though we may find external sources from which to derive ideas and values, we must ultimately find our own personal justification and impetus for the actions that come to represent our characters. “It is not your beliefs that make you a spiritual person. It is your actions. The decisions you make and how you treat other humans, animals and nature, the way you live your life.”


P.S.
Some of you may be trying to read into the significance of me publishing this at Christmas time. I can assure there is none. I’m not the Grinch. This is a piece that I began quite some time ago, and purely coincidentally have happened to finish at Christmas. I do, in fact, love Christmas. I still feel a little bit of the magic that kids experience when they wake up and outrageous hours of the morning to discover in delight a stuffed Santa stocking at the foot of the bed. I love the family time, the giving, the food, and even the carols. Fucking hypocrite.
Merry Christmas kids.
I hope it's wonderful, whether you choose to celebrate Jesus or not.
xx




Thursday, November 4, 2010

Impossible is nothing.



Wow, epiphany.


=“The sudden realisation or comprehension of the (larger) essence or meaning of something.”

There are some things in life that we can be told time and time again and yet simply cannot or chose not to believe them. There are those truths barraged at us in a deluge of constant fire from all sides, which fail to permeate our armour. They can pound at the gates of our consciousness, or can gradually attempt to caress and ease us into believing and embracing them. But so frequently we chose to remain an impenetrable fortress of pre-conceptions and sometimes sheer fallacy. We know, on a subliminal level, that what people are telling us is honest, heart-felt, well-meaning and often infinitely valuable, but we, for seemingly inexplicable reasons, are unwilling to acknowledge what we know to be true in our heart of hearts.  Sometimes it takes a cataclysmic moment for us to truly and unreservedly accept what suddenly seems a blatant and self-evident truth. These moments are often unremarkable in themselves; a particular quote we stumble across in a book, a passing comment from a stranger, or a sight we encounter during the most routine of activities, but they can illuminate a deeper frame of reference in which the truth is simply undeniable. In a single second we can experience something that can crumble the facade we have tenaciously maintained, and we can finally gain a holistic and applicable understanding of what has been impressed upon and explained to us throughout our entire lives. It is often in the places we least expect to, that we find the most profound truths.

Self-belief is one of those truths. To believe that you are beautiful, fabulous, and valuable is one of the hardest things in human existence. Our modern world has seen a proliferation of inspirational media, of blogs, books, music- all attempts to impress upon us our own magnificence. A multitude of can-do literature insists that we can achieve anything, that we can surmount the proverbial Everest in our lives, that impossible is nothing. Yet, no matter how many tales of astonishing audacity we may hear, how often it is asserted that everyone is special in their own unique way, we, as humans, remain fundamentally insecure. A compliment can sit pertinently with us, but one irking negative comment too can consume and fixate us.



“Tall poppy syndrome” needs no introduction.  It is, everyone from our politicians to our primary school teachers reiterates, a plague upon our nation, a debilitating and progress-hindering characteristic of our people. Indeed, I think New Zealand is an inherently, and sometimes overly modest nation. We find it hard to accept compliments and insist that we are undeserved of praise even to the point of ridiculousness. There is almost a social obligation to appear modest and to keep our accomplishments quiet so as not to show disdain. But why? It seems that we could benefit from lifting our chins up with the certain pride and imperviousness that Sophie Ward claims serves New Yorkers well it seems.


In my opinion, this syndrome of cutting down our most blossoming is in decline, but it remains a damaging and deeply etched imprint on our psyche. I think that my greatest exposure to tall poppy syndrome occurred during my early life in small, rural and isolated Ongarue. I remember a time when it was phenomenally “uncool” to do well in school, and the phrase “try-hard” became generically derogatory. I spent the latter of my primary school years desperately trying to adjudicate a balance between what I knew I could achieve and adopting a rebellious, apathetic persona. I would put on a front of deliberate laboriousness in doing my maths work and walk with my friends during cross country training when I knew I loved to run.

But, at least increasingly, in the real world it’s not cool to play dumb anymore. We have developed an almost congenital paranoia that people will judge us for being ourselves, and for expressing confidence in our own abilities when, at least on the majority of occasions, I like to hope this is no longer the case. Maybe this is my inherently optimistic side liberal Wellingtonian self in full voice, but, increasingly, it’s not homosexuality that’s frowned upon, but homophobia. Intelligence is highly regarded, success to be aspired to, hard work admired, and self-confidence can be sexy without being arrogant.

That isn’t to say that modesty isn’t virtuous. Our down-to-earth nature is something that New Zealanders can, and should take pride in, but we should not become a nation of self-apologists. Humility is becoming, yes, but being a shrinking violet is not.


___________________________________

So, what was my epiphany?
Until recently when people told me, “he’s not out of your league,” “there’s no such thing as leagues” their well-intentioned words fell deaf on my ears as I ascertained that they were simply “being nice.” Undoubtedly they were trying nobly to bolster my confidence while painfully aware that I was destined to fall victim to the inevitably unrequited pangs of the heart. Ironically, words of wisdom from one of the very people I designated as “way out of my league” were the beam of truth that finally and fundamentally challenged my obstinate intransigence - my moment of realisation.

While I may live to be humbly disproved I am finally convinced that “leagues” are a crazy and obsolescent, if not obsolete, relic. The notion of 'leagues' is no more than a convenient lens through which to view life and relationships, without having to address the realities of each individual situation. By dismissing someone as 'out our league,' routinely labelling a task as ‘too hard,’ or a goal beyond our reach it makes it easier to ignore the real, individual and sometimes incomprehensible, or even hurtful reasons why things may not transpire as we envision. And indeed, reality is such that our feelings may be unrequited, or we may not achieve what we had initially aspired to. But by attributing an outcome in relationships (or lack thereof) to an overarching and unchallengeable principle such as "leagues" or "hierarchies" I think people are trying to find simple and blanket explanations for complex and unique situations that we often find hard to understand.

In a way, I certainly at least, have tended to use the notion of leagues like a security blanket. By convincing ourselves that something is unattainable we are anesthetising ourselves to the pain of shattered expectations. Yet, at the same time, if we approach life/situations with a defeatist attitude or preordained sense of inadequacy, it can too easily and become a tragically self-fulfilling prophesy. Dismissing ourselves, our worth and our prospects is not only to undermine the fundamental principles of equality, liberty, and socially mobility that have shaped some of the most valiant battles history and become the celebrated hallmarks of modern society, but it is the death knoll of proactivity, self-improvement and progress. Where would Cinderella be if she had never gone to the ball?To accept the notion of leagues is to solidify oneself rigidly on an artificial social stratification, in which we convince ourselves that we have only certain and limited entitlements. This is false. By are, by virtue of our comparative privilege, endowed with an ability to make of ourselves what we wish.

For a multitude of reasons we may find ourselves hurt or rejected, yet if we never take a chance our hollow negative convictions are given empirical resonance. It is circular logic that is particularly dangerous in matters of the heart. We may shroud ourselves in security blankets of preconceptions and pre-determined failure, but ultimately these blankets are damp and unflattering, serving only to wrap us in self-perpetuating misery and lingering ‘what-ifs?’
Clichés are written for a reason. It is only through exposing ourselves at our most vulnerable that we are ultimately able to reach the highest pinnacle of strength. It takes braving the cold, the elements, but most of all one’s own self-belief to conquer Everest. Freezing your heart will only confound those irking insecurities which gnaw constantly at you, themselves gaining strength for the next opportunity to rear their ugly head. Mark Twain left us with the impeccable wisdom that “In twenty years time you will more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than what you did do.” Carpe Diem. My four favourite wise men sang that “the love you take is equal to the love you make.”  Seize the day. Emmy award winning director Bertram Van Munster observed that “the world is smaller than you think, and the people on it are more beautiful than you think.” Succour all the marrow out of life. Humanity is endowed with an unbounded ability for pleasant surprise.  Take a leap.  Allow your preconceptions be blown out of the water by something extraordinary. Dream. It’s incredibly refreshing to approach the world with just a little bit of faith. Love.  And even if that faith proves unfounded there is remarkable freedom in knowing that you have been unapologetic to your own potential. Live.


I said that we often find the most profound truths in the most unassuming of places. It was Winnie the Pooh who said “...you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think...”


For once-
Believe it.










Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Pretty love songs...

A large, Maori man, in stubbies and complete with facial tattoos is not normally the image you would conjure up when you think of love songs. But, in Wellington, anything goes. I encountered this man busking on the waterfront the other day, and I thought he had some very valid things to say. Songs about love and peace may be a little bit cliche, and his message about Tuhoe controversial, but this man, having spent the last twenty years "up the coast" was absolutely genuine. 
The olive branch he had tattooed on his face was striking, and I thought very symbolic, considering we so frequently, and perhaps wrongly, associate facial tattoos with gangs and violence. And after all, if you have the commitment to tattoo the quintessential symbol of peace, right across your face, how can you not be genuinely committed to the cause? 
I sat and watched him for quite some time, but here's just a snippet...