One Day, One Night, with Mayda Del Valle

To those who were wondering why in the world I was visiting Sydney harbour two days in a row, this is the reason: a poetry workshop and performance by Mayda Del Valle. While being in Sydney I make sure to keep track of the events in the surroundings, so this is how I found out about this source of poetic inspiration. I had never heard of Mayda Del Valle before, never read or listened to her poetry, but it's not often that I get to go to an English poetry workshop. So I thought, why not?

At least it would boost my navigation skills. I've been using Google Maps more than ever; never thought I'd be one of those girls who's horrible at reading a map, but apparently I am. Even when I prepare 30 minutes for a 10-minute walk, I still manage to get lost and be late. Here I was walking around, passing the correct door at least three times, until I finally climbed up some suspicious-looking stairs until I could hear some chattering getting closer and closer. 

Sweaty and all, I stumbled into a room which consisted of about 10 people. Like a good school girl, I apologised, took a seat, and neatly put my cardboard-coloured notebook and fineliner in front of me. It appeared that I was right in time for some wacky interrogation: what's my name, what super power would I want to possess and what's my zodiac sign. Much better than the usual "how old are you and what are you interested in". Most of the time I wouldn't know what to answer to the latter question because I still find it odd to say: "I sit in a dark corner and cry all day while writing poetry about my unrequited love."

So yea, it seemed like I signed myself up for some fun. The theme of the day was: origins and sounds. We digged through their definitions and used a method of free-writing I've never used before: answering questions. These questions were taken from the book "The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers", by Bhanu Kapil Rider. Let's share some of it and see if you can make sense of it. ;) I'll jot down some keywords from my notebook here:

1. Where did you come from and how did you come?

Leftover soap in the sink. Drainage. Soap bubbles floating in space. Mother's lullaby.

2. Describe the moment you were born.

Echoes of my parent's love-making. Vitamin water. Lemon of a spilled drink. Quiet fruit sitting in the dark.

3.Where are you going, what are you bringing and leaving behind?

Australia. Suitcase and clothes and memories. Scraps of poetry and poets. Inception.

4. Who was responsible for the suffering of your mother?

Those without a conscience. 

5. Where does your body begin?

Heart. Blood cells. Veins. Life, like a road worker. Fingertips to trace along.

6. Where does your body end?

Tapestry of skin. Heart in rib cage. Ghost in coffin. Memory in someone's notebook.

7. Tell me what you know to be true about sound.

His voice. Devoid of cacophony. 

8. Tell me about the first song you sang.

Numb. 

9. The first word you did not want to understand.

Rape.

10. What is the one word you never want to forget?

Love.

11. What is a piece of advice an elder gave you and wished you'd listened to?

Take it easy, relax.

These answers are nonsensical, but the questions were inspiring. Mayda surely knows how to ask questions. Even though I've always been comfortable with writing related to the physical aspects of our body, our anatomy, I was surprised to find something new sitting on my notebook. When it was time for another round, a round to read out loud, I reluctantly raised my hand. Little schoolgirl again, I wonder when I'll ever get rid of that because it's surely been years since secondary school. I was glad I did, because if there's one thing I want to do before leaving Sydney, it's to stand in front of a mic. To me this was my first step, and I never expected anyone to listen so intently to me, and be so touched by my words. 

To say the least, it was a good day. Inspiring is the word that I keep using because I can't find another way to describe it. The exercises, the participants and their interaction, Mayda and her words: inspiring. I can still feel the passion in Mayda's words. When I asked her the same question as I did two posts ago, it gave me some hope again. What else to expect from someone who's touring around the world spreading her words. Indeed, perhaps it depends on the place, but in some countries (according to Mayda) poems can still make a difference. The moment someone relates to your poem even though you didn't meant to, that's already something beautiful. 

All of us chattered around the table for a bit longer than our tickets told us. No superstar behaviour from Mayda, just a genuine passion in poetry and spreading the word. She didn't care that we were overtime; I appreciated that because the workshop wouldn't feel right if not everyone got the chance to read their poem. I feel like some, like me, must've felt like a weight fell off their shoulder as they finally got to have a voice again. 

Speaking of voices, Mayda surely has got some voice, whether it's in speaking or singing. Because the next night I got to see her perform again. She incorporated sound in a way I haven't seen before, inviting the audience to sing along or clapping her hands to the beat of her poetry if necessary. The performance was interactive and ever-changing. Even though she said she didn't have much time to prepare her poems, I could see that performance was nested into her very veins. No poem or tone was the same. She made me go bipolar within an hour: from being sad to being amused. The most memorable part, aside from the singing, would probably the way she showed us how girls like us cry after a heavy heartbreak. It was hilarious, I believe that those who can make fun of themselves are the ones who are closer to acceptance. She reminded me to just take things easy, that we'll survive and have survived before. 

Unfortunately I had to leave earlier. Although I got to listen to all of her poems, I missed her Q&A, which is sad because I know Mayda has a way in answering questions. During the workshop I found myself jotting down some of her thoughts because my muse thought it necessary. She still believes in poetry. The people who filled the Sydney Dance Lounge on a Friday night just to listen to poetry, still believe in poetry too. One of the poems she recited on Friday seems quite fitting for the moment. It was not just the poem, though, it was the whole package. 

Mayda introduced this poem with the following words: "This is for those who struggle to incorporate art in their lives, to make an occupation of what they love." I'm not sure if these were the exact words, but you get what I mean. As you can see, the above video was from 2010. It's 2015 and she's still reciting this poem with much passion. The rhythm also makes me understand why she kept saying that hiphop was important in her life. Even though hiphop is modern, there's still a sense of authenticity in Mayda. She knows how to mix and match. The way she sings isn't just simple and plain either, it truly takes you back to some far off Spanish country:

I love the way words roll of her tongue. This poem was not recited during the night but I can't remember the titles from the other poems she's been singing in. However, this video is a good example of how her poems are not just poems. It's a whole story, it's full of different voices and sounds and movements. I wished I could sing. 

This post turned out far more abstract and jagged than I expected. I regret rushing my schoolwork and writing about this only now because this post does not do the event justice. Then again, I have written a poem to remember these two days by. If you're curious, just wait till I get famous. ;) Or just till I grow some balls. 

Shutter-spamming at Circular Quay

Thursday noon and Friday night I was hanging around Circular Quay (you pronounce it as Circular Key, I don't know why but it is what it is :p). If you ever come to Sydney, this is the train station that's opposite the Sydney Opera House, Harbour Bridge and the Museum of Contemporary Art. However, this was not my purpose of coming there, but I'll unveil my secret to you in my next post. ;)

For now, I just enjoyed clutching to my phone and stuffing its photographic memory. The perks of being an Asian is that people will just consider you one of those many other silly tourists, though I still find it awkward to take too many pictures, especially of people.

The Sydney Opera House; Sydney's jewel. It's probably one of the first things you'll be visiting. I thought it's getting a bit boring by now so I added this ship that's crashing into it.

If you're coming from the station, this building is what you'll find behind it. I don't know what it is but it's quite rare to see classical buildings in Sydney. Nope, we're not in Europe anymore. 

Don't be sad, though. At least we're not that poor man on the left, probably going to his office job. I am still dreading the day I get kicked out of the safe harbour that's university. The day life pushes me onto a ship then forces me to walk the plank of office doom. The horrors...

Maybe he's heading towards this building. When I first saw the reflection in it I thought it spelled words but I couldn't make anything out of it despite the idea that it still seemed like a bunch of letters. I couldn't figure out where this reflection came from so I stood there standing like an idiot for quite a while. 

But hey. it's another classical building. I find it oddly beautiful to find these surrounded by palm trees. Something seems not right. I'm such a dutch squirrel.

I think this bridge would be nice if it was invaded by squirrels. Squirrel Bridge instead of Harbour Bridge. It's better than apes. If you've seen Rise of the Planet of the Apes, you'll know what I mean. To me the most compelling part of the bridge is not seen from this angle, though. Not just because it's too dark. Last night I went underneath it, and the structure is amazing. Now I know why engineers love triangles. Also the way it was fixated by giant screws had an artistic feel to it. Quite sadly I couldn't take a picture of it. I'm sorry if I sound high.

If the bridge or Opera House don't interest you, perhaps consider taking this taxi. I have no idea how it works and where it will take you. Beware.

Perhaps taking the ferry is a safer option. This is how I got to Watson's Bay last time. I still need to eat fish and chips ...

But if you're prone to getting sea-sick you might want to consider just drowning in art. 

Or sit on these steps, staring at the harbour. You can also take a look at those cafes/bars, they should be more crowded by night.

See, it's humans. :)

And ... more bars. Touristic haven eh.

Most of the time I just sat outside of these bars, staring at the many lights around me. Ships, skyscrapers, the moon. At one point I was so busy staring at the moon while walking, I almost stepped into the water.

Then there was this in the middle of a round-about. 

I'll just end where we started. This ship will soon crash against the Opera House as well. Wait. For. It. (If you're waiting for my camera skills to level up you might want to take a coffee in the meantime. a few dozens.) 

I hope you didn't cringe too much while clicking through my shutter-spam. Procrastination is done for today, and I'm highly annoyed about blogspot making such a fuss of posting more than one picture. I'll say something about the events I went to at The Rocks in my next post.

Cheers!

The silence of poetry

"With online platforms such as Twitter, Facebook and Instagram taking over our lives, self-expression has been taken to a new level. Anyone with computer access can publish their emotions. [...] Also think about the new possibilities due to YouTube: poems are voice recorded and synchronized with music, pictures, and occasionally videos too. The possibilities are endless."

 The above text is just an excerpt from a mini-essay I had to write regarding the influence of technology on publishing. Please don't ask me about its validity; I just winged this at 2 AM after doing a thorough cleaning of the house (procrastination tool number 2). Even though I could not find much academic proof to back up my point, I truly believed that there was still life in poetry due to its rising popularity on social media. My mini-essay didn't even cover poetry slam, which I know is quite underdeveloped in the Netherlands, but seemed booming in Sydney. Or perhaps that was just me being my hopeless romantic self.

I was quite excited browsing through websites, amazed at the amount of poetry events I wanted to go to:

• UNSW Poetry Slam feat Jesse John Brand (< that's today!)
• Mayda del Valle Performance + Workshop (< that's Thursday and Friday!)
• Writers in the Park Poetry Slam
• Youth PoWR 2015
• Auburn Monthly Poets and Writers Group
• Australian Poetry Slam Finals in Sydney

Okay, so maybe that's not so much, but it's still much more English poetry I could get close to than in the Netherlands. Like I said, I was too busy gazing at the stars, daydreaming about the way poets could still revolutionize the world. I guess the internet truly has a way of blowing things out of proportion, but when I went to my first poetry slam this evening, I had high hopes.

I mean, Jesse John Brand. THE Jesse John Brand!

Quite honestly I've never heard of him but apparently he's Australia's national poetry slam champion from 2013. Given that I'm not Australian, I excused myself for my ignorance, but I expected to come into a full room of enthusiastic young Australian poets when I walked into the UNSW Club Bar, fashionably late at 6.40 PM because I got lost. Turns out I was still a very, very early bird, so I just awkwardly sat somewhere at the side of this grid-like complex of empty chairs. Some people must've thought me an anti-social snob because I just kept clutching my phone, but I actually just had to check the train's timetables since I live quite far away. After that I noticed it was still awkwardly silent, so I just mashed up some scribbles on my phone, hoping the room would soon be filled up by more than a handful of people. 

At one point I was almost tempted to go on stage, awkwardly scratch myself behind the ear and mumble something about never having performed before and having written this while sitting on *that chair*, then go "screw this", and recite my scribbles. Of course that didn't happen and my jaw just dropped from listening to the first performer. I actually have a hard time grasping the whole idea of any spoken poem because I need time to piece the sentences together, so I mostly just get lost (in beauty) after each sentence. I was also intrigued by the the first performer's way of speaking, his cadence, which I found typical for Spoken Word. It's like watching a play, albeit much shorter and more puzzling. I can't describe it.

A few more poets followed, taking my spontaneous urge to perform away and adding fuel to it at the same time. One of them was Gloria Demillo:

She performed this poem just now, and I have to be completely honest here: it was much better this evening. I am not sure if it's because she's practiced more often or because I was right there, where her voice seemed more melodic and her emotions more mature. Regardless, I enjoyed the extra element she put into her poem. Many Spoken Word artists seem to include music nowadays, sometimes with their own singsong voice turned into melody. Poetry is not just about words anymore, it's a whole package, an experience. 

Same went for Jesse John Brand's performance:

I am glad I was able to see him up close, where his beatboxing, zipper-ribcage-sounds and frustrated screaming came to life. Again, much better this evening than in the above video. I don't think I would've liked any of these two poets that much if I hadn't seen them perform in real life. The sounds are just a tad more intense, the emotions just a little bit more penetrative. Which is quite funny actually because the little room filled with perhaps 50 chairs but only 10 living human beings was located at UNSW's party center: the Roundhouse. Downstairs there seemed to be some sort of chearleading event because on the background of intense riddles, high-pitched slogans would slip through. 

In a way I find it amusing because it emphasizes the thought I've been struggling with all night: poetry doesn't seem to make a difference. Right in front of me is "Australia's national poetry slam champion from 2013" and yet we can hardly fill a classroom of listeners. I think the chearleading team contained just as many people as our room of poets. I wonder how I ever thought it would be realistic to assume that one day, I would travel around the world, be my ambitious and moralistic heroic self, and save the world with my thoughts by shouting poetry on stage. Seriously, what is it that poets want to achieve in this age? Just express ourselves in the weekends while being tied to a 9 till 5 job during weekdays? 

If people think hardly any money can be made out of visual art, take a look at poetry. It's even worse. Perhaps the technological shift is even holding poetry back from its growth, as we're lost in a plethora of scribbles, hardly able to recognize what could make a difference in this world.

"The first time my eyes adjusted to the Australian sun, I thought I could survive eating solitude for breakfast and art for dinner. But every time I stare at the walls, I realise my poetry is dying. All poetry is dying inside of our ribs, until we dig up the past from heartbreak, and start spilling ink again"

~ Excerpt from what I wrote during the silence.  

Bondi to Coogee Coastal Walk

This morning I threw my school backpack aside and armed myself with an Aztec-patterned backpack, my baseball jacket (which is not mine) and the cap I bought in Malaysia from the shop's male's department. Yup, I was ready to toss aside uni work today. Well, not really, I still took my computing book with me. I wonder when I'll ever learn that trains and me are only meant to sleep together, not read together, but it was worth the try.

So why this "rebellious act"? Just trying to see what works with my four days off. Today's menu presented me: nice, sunny weather and a friend to do the coastal walk with. This is where it started:

First sight at Bondi beach.

The waves were magnificent, nothing compared to the ones I had during surf camp. Big translucent waves rumbled across the ocean's surface just to break down in foam. Sometimes I was reminded of a glacial shift; whatever was left of the foam would spread out until the idea of water washed out of your sight. I was tempted to jump in there and make a snow angel. 

The gaps throughout the foam remind me of footsteps on snow.

Most people would start walking from Coogee to Bondi, instead of vice versa. I found out why very quickly. The first few minutes I was heading towards Bronti beach went like this: uphill, uphill, uphill. If I keep exploring Sydney each week, I might be able to reach my weekly exercise quota. I can hardly complain, though, because the view was worth the effort. I could stare at the waves forever; their sounds and movements are mesmerizing. On the way I spotted a few surfers in the distance too, who could actually weave throughout the waves effortlessly. It almost tempted me to plan a day out along with a wetsuit and a surfboard. I cannot imagine the thrill those surfers must be feeling from actually being "one with the wave", as cheesy as it sounds. If that's too zen for you, perhaps consider being lost in the waves while dabbling your toes in a swimming pool. I came across quite some swimming pools, and I can imagine the pool seeming infinite as it seems to extend into the ocean.

Behold the magnificence of the waves.

The morning did not only consist of looking at waves, though. There were rocks and cliffs to climb on. Many people found themselves a nice place atop some cooling rock and just sat there. I would do that if I ever seek alone-time again (when don't I seek alone-time?). It would be a good excuse to fill up my sketchbook again. The shapes alongside the coast were quite interesting; wavy like the oceans; full of holes like sea sponge or just big and textured the way most rocks are. As wrong as it sounds, I am starting to think that I have a touching-obsession because I like to memorize textures.

Look! It's something other than just water. :)

Oh, oh! More water!

While cluttering up these rocks I was just looking around me and noticing some of the apartments there. I wonder what these beaches will be like at night, whether there will be as many stars as my first night at surf camp. I bet not, since it's near the city, but I would still enjoy some nights out along these beaches even though they're smaller. Beaches would be replaced by cliffs and cliffs would be replaced by beaches, that explains the long walk. Perhaps this adds to the intimacy of the beaches, some would be so small and empty, you could almost use them as a private beach. I found one where boats are docked. It was probably less crowded there because there were more rocks throughout the sand. Plus: many people were hiding in the shadows cast by cliffs. I think I found myself another cave.

This is just me posing ever so awkwardly; marking my temporary territory.

I don't know what it is with me and taking pictures of myself. I agree that it makes some pictures livelier, but I just can't bring myself to pose with the intention of creating a nice pic. I guess I was never born a model, but then again it is so inconvenient to take pictures of myself. Unless ... a) I buy myself a selfie stick, b) I suddenly become less awkward when asking random strangers for a favour. None of those options really appeal to me, sad to say. Oh, and remember my resolution of not spamming the camera button that much? I failed. 88 pictures within half a day, just because I wanted to make sure I would have nice shots. I am awfully tempted to join the photography club at uni; they say they even teach you tricks to smartphone photography.

Other than waves and rocks, I also happened to pass by a graveyard. Some might think it odd to be fascinated by it, but as a teenager I went through this phase of being fascinated by the dark. Actually, I found beauty in it due to its mystery and peace. I could never fathom the idea of being caged in a coffin, though. As Alysia Harris once said in Death Poem: "If we believe in life after death, then I often wonder why we assume the dead like coffins, when people were never meant to live in boxes". Although I must say that the area I passed would be quite a nice to be buried in, I still prefer to have my ashes scattered across an ocean.

Here's where your conscience rests.

After the graveyard, it did not take much time to reach the last beach: Coogee. I was told to eat fish and chips at the end of my coastal walk, but apparently the best fish and chips was located at Bondi. Another reason why I should've done a Coogee to Bondi walk instead of vice versa. Not like I was starving, though. I chewed quite some bread during the walk while my friend kept nudging me about staying hydrated. I guess I wouldn't want to get as ill and dehydrated as I was during my first week in Sydney. By the way, I think I am getting addicted to spread cheese. Eating bread doesn't feel so dry that way, with the lack of butter.

At last: Coogee Beach.

All in all, it was a nice morning walk. I went to China town afterwards, this is where the Paddy markets are: the place to buy your cheap souvenirs. Too bad I already bought most of them so most of the time I just kept drooling at the accessories which I wouldn't buy because I always wear the same accessories. Then there were so many nice knives that I wished I had the guts to be illegal, but I don't think my friends back home would appreciate it if I kept poking them with something so dangerous. Then again, everything that lands in my hands becomes dangerous because I'm a clumsy one, but that's another story to be told.

Such Asian-ness. Meow.

I stayed at the Paddy markets for quite a while then walked towards the Sydney Tower Eye. Across this well-known building would be Rip Curl, the place to pick up my free cap and T-shirt from surfcamp, and so I did. I enjoy these kind of walks, just roaming through the city with no worries about time and space. At most I'd have to worry about cars. I'd ban them if I could and make everyone use public transport or ride a bike. Yup, that's it, a bike revolution in Sydney. That would be something. Nah, the city is too big for that. Hence I had to head back home around 17.00 already; and here I am. Haven't showered yet, but at least I'm oh so dedicated to my blog. I hope I can keep it up. Keep an eye on me. ;)

Yea ... that's the Eye ...

It's a new dawn, a new day, a new life...

Hello procrastination and the song "Feeling Good". This was my most recent view at university:

Walking down the main walkway.

I won't be seeing it until tomorrow since today's my day off. If I want to get my assignments done and go to Bondi Beach this Friday, I sure as hell should start reading. At the moment it's 11 o'clock, I woke up an hour ago (so much for trying to wake early and putting my alarm clock at 7:30). To be fair, I was babysitting my laptop throughout the night, hoping it would not crash since I was doing an 8-hour render on Maxwell for my CAD assignment.

So what's up today? I bet you think I'm gonna scatter all hashtags around on Instagram, expecting me to have the most adventurous day-trip of my life around Sydney. *cricket cricket* Nah, if you know me I'd probably be listening to music in bed. Today I'll try to do my readings and watch the computing lecture I missed on Monday due to a basic woodworking workshop. My life sounds awesome.

It's a new dawn, a new day, but not so much a new life. Basically I've been trying to focus on my schoolwork since I've chosen more labour-intensive courses than I expected, despite going to uni thrice a week. Yesterday I was having coffee with my cultural mentor at UNSW. (Hah! Me? Coffee?Nah, hot chocolate.) She's about to graduate soon, so she's trying to find a job. To make a long story short: employers are ruthless in rejection if you only present them a piece of graduation paper.

Too many people are attending university these days, it's hardly anything special. The same featherless peacocks enter society year after year. So, how do we get ourselves our beautiful feathers? Spread out. Explore. Experience. Most people will have done some voluntary work or something else that's similar (*cough cough*, not me). I guess you could say that I'm doing an exchange program, which is something special. I'm too busy here, though, there's too much I want to do!

Inside Sydney:

• Go to Newtown again
• Bondi to Coogee beach walk (due Friday)
• Go to the Blue Mountains again
• Graphiti-spotting
• PoetrySlam-spotting 
• Attend as many local events as I can (random festivals)

Outside Sydney:

• Melbourne
• Great Barrier Reef
• Tasmania
• Brisbane
• (New Zealand)

UNSW:

• Be part of societies 
• Take advantage of the many workshops here

Miscalleneous:

• Write more (blog and poetry)
• Draw more (digitally and traditonally)
• Finish the books I've brought 
• Become confident with Illustrator
• Find a job (my wallet would love that)

It's already my fourth week at UNSW, 5th week in Sydney. I've seen many places already but haven't had the time to truly let them sink into my memory. I wonder what will become of my plan to find a job. At the moment I have four days off a week, of which Wednesdays are always reserved for homework due Thursday. Three more days left, of which one can easily be spent on something fun. That's why I will do the Bondi to Coogee beach walk on Friday. 2 free days left, should I risk one of it to find a job? I probably should if I still plan to go to New Zealand... Aye, the struggles of being a poor-ass perfectionist student.

An analogy on life and surfing

Good day y'all! I've got a sore body and some blood/sand underneath my big toenail, but I can still wiggle my toe and type this blogpost for you. Surf camp was tiring, new, but in a way, quite okay. The place was cosy, like those American movies. Full of wood and casualness. Of course there was a barbecue, but unfortunately no campfire and ghost stories. We had some nicely heated cabins to sleep in, and long picnic tables to have food on. It was an event organised for the exchange students only, so I guess that's why everyone was so open towards each other. Sometimes socializing feels like a cheap tool of survival, but let's not talk about that today.

The cosiness of wood

Let's talk about surfing. I can stand on my board 1 out of 10 times on miniature waves, which I guess is acceptable for a beginner whose ultimate moment of exercising is going downstairs to grab some water. Quite oddly I was reminded of a quote from Batman: "Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up", I ought to be proud of my own perseverance, because it isn't any fun spending more time getting to the waves than actually surfing on them.

So, what was surfing like?

If you look closely you'll find me there

I walked down the beach with my giant surfboard. It was a lovely day: the sun was shining, my wetsuit fit me perfectly, and the warm sand seemed to feel more comfortable after each step. I learnt how to stand on a imaginary sand-drawn surfboard, thinking: "Aye, this is easy, I'm gonna ace those waves!". Then after listening to two wacky instructors who fit every stereotype of a surfer, I walk closer to the water, just to freeze in the middle of my overconfident stroll.

Literally, freeze. I guess that's what I get for surfing in winter, but oh wells. Once I reached the waist-deep waters, it was fine. But that's where the big waves are, and here's where I had my philosophical epiphany. Since I'm small and light, it doesn't take much physics to understand that the waves will push me back towards the shore as I try to approach them. It reminded me of my life thus far: take 3 steps, be pushed back 6 steps. The waves were like that to me. At one point I just had to pull myself together and bust chest-first into the waves. I still got pushed back by a few waves, but I also managed to go right through a few others. This long long walk to the right wave allowed for quite some time to stare at the clouds and think about life. Unless some wave smacked salt water into my face by not only pushing me back, but also pushing me down. That aside, I could still appreciate the walk towards the waves.

Don't be fooled by the smallness of this picture

But that's just the first part of a long struggle. The success to catching waves is not only your proficiency in surfing, but also your ability to prepare for the waves. In other words: a good starting position and the right timing. You should've seen myself trying to get on my surfboard like a sun-dried seal on land, then being so slow that the wave hit me before settling, or being so clumsy that my surfboard pointed diagonally towards the shore that the waves flipped me over as well. Other times, I was just awful at timing. I'd be lying on my surfboard, waiting ... and waiting ... wondering: "sooooo, where ... is ... my wave". The wave would come, but it would be a mini wave that just pushed me back to the shore some more. It reminded me of the chances I missed due to a bad beginning, and the people I've lost due to a bad timing.

Surfing wasn't only sadness and disappointment, though. The feeling you get when you finally manage to stand on your board is gratifying. It gets better when you manage to stand on it for more than 10 seconds. Everytime I got hit by a wave or got the cramps, I just wanted to head back to the beach and sit there, but I would've hated myself if I did that too much. After all, I went all the way to this camp to try something new. At one point my cramps couldn't hold on anymore, and I was truly getting sick of walking against the waves and drinking salt water. But at least I tried.

Some people would watch the choices I make, and wonder why I'm so silly. They push me this way and that way, not realizing I just don't want to regret. Even if it's just 10 seconds of gratification, at least I can become 80 in the future and assure myself that I tried, that I'm living with no regrets. Sometimes it's not just about reaching the waves, it's everything surrounding it. On my first night at the beach, I looked up to the sky to experience the most amount of stars I've ever seen in my life. I felt like I was caught in a snow globe, except full of stars. The sky and the stars seemed to be warped in a globe. There were a few falling stars which I did not wish on. They fell too fast, like unexpected tears at the corner of an eye.

The second night I wanted to see the stars again, but they weren't there: too cloudy. The night before was the good timing I was talking about, and I am grateful for that. However, the second night was not fruitless either, albeit starless. I just wandered around the beach in the dark, looking for nice shells, with the sound of waves crashing in the distance. The beach is enjoyable when it's just me and the waves. Back at the cabins, I also saw the infamous possum people warned me about. The night before I already spotted one, but I didn't expect to see one again. I managed to take a hazy picture of it. One of the people I got to talk with at camp actually marked me possum-obsessed. Well, I did try to calculate the amount of possums that could fit on the rooftop, trying to fall asleep.

Beware: possums!

I guess I enjoy my alone-time. Give me a camera and something beautiful, and I'll be happy. I know I still make crappy phone-pictures, but I don't mind. To me it's just appreciating the surroundings, but I try not to spam my camera-button because then my intention would backfire. Below you'll find another place I've been enjoying. It was a nice weekend after all. Take a look at the video by Surf Camp Australia if you've got the time.

This is what I'd call serenity

A video of the weekend by Surfcamp Australia

Home is where the heart is ... so, where is my heart

It's been three weeks since attending UNSW. I know where my classes are, where to shelter myself from the cold weather while doing work on my laptop and eating nostalgic sandwiches with strawberry jam, and how to catch my train. My room has two posters plastered to the wall: the UNSW student association's calendar (Arc) and a failed print of my second graphic design assignment. I've realized that I shouldn't worry about not exercising that much because my university isn't as flat as my chest and country. Also, it's perfectly legit to be a nomad on campus, stranding wherever I want, because I'm not stuck in a cave called IDE anymore, although I really miss my 'balustrade'.

The UNSW map I've been clutching all week long.

If you asked me what I learnt, I wouldn't know. It doesn't really feel like I'm here on my own, even though most of the time I feel quite isolated. There are people to take care of me here; this is not a semester of self-survival, not at home at least. I won't be stressed out about what to cook or when to buy my groceries, but there are other things I've been facing on my own: how to deal with the usual university chaos, the usual nostalgia, loneliness, and wishful thinking.

Although I enjoy most of my classes here, knowing that they are beneficial to my development one way or another, something still seems to be off. Perhaps it is the endless amount of quality time I spent with Illustrator for my graphic design course. Or maybe my sudden urge to turn the imaginary drawers of my laptop upside down, since I'm starting to learn about stacking stuff the "programmer's way". It could also be the lectures about the history of letterpress where my head suddenly feels ten times heavier, tending to nod down all the time. The biggest possibility of all is my higher risk of RSI whilst going on continuous dates with Illustrator, Solidworks, Maxwell Render, PuTTY, Moodle and Google.

Do you see what's off here? I guess it's human contact.

I have come to appreciate some of my overseas friends more, even though, technically speaking, I'm the one being overseas to the majority of them, but oh wells. At night, when there's time for myself, I get to talk to them. So during the day I'm just retreating into my own head, since everyone is sleeping at the other end of the world. I listen to my music, still the same band from November. I'm still me, just staring out of the window while sitting in the train. I think about chocolate and the work I need to do. Sometimes I'm so stoned, I'd start thinking: home is where chocolate is.

Really, I should throw my laptop out of the window and go all #Yolo #Hashtag #LookAtMeTakingASelfieWhileEatingACupcake #WhoNeedsElectricity #OhWait. But ... there's a big big butt, and it's not mine.

Well, no butts then. Remember the Arc calendar I plastered to my wall? I marked down some festivals there. Graphics festival. Chocolate festival. Youtube festival. Somewhere in August there will be a Poetry Slam at my university as well, it will be my first time attending one. So, enough to do! "Being lonely's only fun in a group", right? I will just be a hobo in the crowd and elbow my imaginary friend about how amazing Sydney is.

Oh, but I'm going to surf camp this weekend. It's something. Have fun reading my stories about getting bitten by sharks next time. Maybe I won't have imaginary friends anymore. (I'm talking about potential shark friends here.)

Cheers!

A quick summary and hello

Hi there, I'm alive. Coughing and having the flu during my second week of being in Australia, but alive. The more reason to stay in bed and do silly things such as rambling on the internet. Hello again! That exclamation mark was not a poor attempt to add some positive vibes to this intro, nu-uh. For those who do not know me, you can call me Cyn, I hail from The Netherlands and I'm exploring the lands down under as an exchange student at the University of New South Wales, Sydney. It will be a short journey; lasting approximately 5-6 months, but time does not measure the amount of impact this journey will have. I am certain that it will be filled with gateways to inspiration and drool-worthy beauty.

Anyways, here I am, more than one month away from home. The first two weeks were spend in Malaysia. The flight from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur wasn't such a tedious one. I forgot about time by writing a lot, watching movies, and above all: sleeping. I can't quite describe what this holiday was like, it felt too surreal. This was my first time going afar without my parents. To give a quick overview, here are some pictures from Malaysia, ranging from Kuala Lumpur to Penang, Ipoh and Malacca:

Snapshots from July 4th - 19th; the country of my childhood dreams.

I arrived in Sydney on a sunny Monday, the 20th of July: the dreamlike escapade from the previous two weeks quickly made place for reality. New bank account, health insurance, public transport card, phone, etc etc. The official welcome at UNSW commenced on Wednesday. I was mostly busy trying to organize myself, desperately making use of notebooks, planners, my new university's online platform and several e-mail accounts. Quite ironically, one of my courses required me to express the media/typography I've been exposed to during one week. I think my result sums up how Sydney has felt like so far:

An impression of my second week in Sydney.

My days mostly consisted of trying to find my way around Sydney, reading about courses, comparing timetables and everything else that's related to settling at a new university in a new city. Other than that, I've only been finding solace in the usual communication with humans on the other side of the world, listening to music and reading poetry. Arriving in Sydney didn't feel like such a big deal at first, but gradually my many To-Do's and notes started to overwhelm me.

No worries, though. Like I said, I'm still alive. Even though the above illustration does not express it, I've found beauty in this new country as well. The usual places, really. Playing tourist is always fun, along with quite ridiculous behaviour, a sudden narcissistic tendency and a new-found love between me and my phone with internet. Where was I? 

Oh right, places. You know the drill: Sydney Opera House, Harbour Bridge, The Rocks, spotting koalas and kangaroos (or rather, wallabies) in some wildlife park, Darling Harbour... I did not go to the beaches yet, but I did find myself some nice hiding place: the Jenolan Caves. Yup, I could feel at home there, sketching and writing poetry by the candlelight while waiting for starvation or for the bats to kidnap me. I'm a cave's person after all. 

But let's not bore you too much with words, I know you're just here for the pictures. Here you go, just something quick I did because it takes too long to make another collage:

The above video is just a short overview, I will probably visit these places more often. Remind me to take my muse with me so I can tell you more about them in detail.

For those who know me, you must be shocked with me sharing so much. Posting to youtube, pictures of myself in the open air. You might think: "WHAT HAPPENED?!" Well, one of my courses requires me to make use of Twitter, and some assignments have to be uploaded to Youtube or Flickr, so yeah. If I have to do this I'll do it all, so to say. It might help me getting my stuff organised instead of stuffing everything in a folder in another folder in another folder with ambiguous titles which I know will fool no one. 

In the meantime I'm still coughing lying in bed. I think I'll stop talking for today, might tell you about UNSW in my next post. Have a nice day! 

And no, I have not been bitten by crocodiles or giant spiders.