Where the children sleep

Kaya, 4, Tokyo apartment

Jasmine, 4, lives in a large country house in Kentucky

A 4 year old Romanian, who with his family, sleeps on a mattress on the outskirts of Rome

Nine year old Dong shares a room with his whole family

Indira, 7, one room house in Katmandu, Nepal 

Roathy, 8, lives with his family on the top of a dump on the outskirts of Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Tvzika, 9, lives with his brother in this communal bed in an apartment a gated Orthodox community

When James Mollison set about to raise money for a childrens charity he wanted to avoid the usual swollen bellies, pleasing eyes and toothy grins. Instead he chose to photograph children from all over the world, and how different each circumstance can be. You can see more about the book here.

Oh the angst

At school I was definitely a geek. Frizzy hair, pimples, braces and an awkward lankiness were all part of my aesthetic. I didn't fit in with the wallflowers or academics so instead developed smart arse repartees to try and combat those who were better looking than I. Sometimes I stuck fridget magnets to my braces to get a laugh, but in reality it was pretty dire times. 

My staple outfit consisted of a black turtleneck, faded stonewashed bootleg jeans and leather lace ups. I knew what I liked but was worried I would look too ugly/silly if I tried to pull something off that was 'fash-un'. The group of girls I hung out with were good looking and popular so on Friday nights boys would ring me up to ask whether particular girls were interested. It was so depressing.  

I was totally and completely in love with the art teachers son and would create intricately detailed fantasies in my mind about the two of us doing something mundane, like walking through the supermarket car park together. Through some minor miracle he became my first boyfriend and briefly, I was the happiest girl on earth. One evening I snuck down my long driveway to find him waiting for me, beer can in hand, ready to kiss me. 

It was a first lip lock for both of us and afterwards I lay awake shaking in excitement replaying the strange memory of a tongue in my mouth. Three days after the spectacular kiss he dumped me at a friends party, on a trampoline. I was devastated to discover he liked a much prettier geek who he started dating. I cried until my eyes were red and hazy and refused to eat dinner. 

In the following years I would act out in rebellion to try and gain popularity which lead to my exile to a posh English style boarding school courtesy of my worried parents. The girls at the school heard a rumor that I was a half Mexican half Spanish drug dealer and no one really talked to me for the first term for fear I would offer them cocaine.

Being a teen was hard. All the soul searching and angst is at times too much to take on and although most teenagers (me) can be self involved and inconsiderate,  it would have been good to know that I didn't need to worry that these weren't the best years of my life and eventually the awkward self loathing would pass. Ahh, the beauty of hindsight.

My dedication list of TV shows and movies that gives me sweet sweet nostalgia about being a teen.

Freaks and Geeks

My So Called Life

The Wonder Years

Ghost World

Virgin Suicides

An Education

Pretty in Pink

Kids

The Wackness

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Sweet Sixteen

Ferris Bueller's day off

Mystic Pizza

Dazed and Confused

American Beauty

Cho kawaii

I was totally reminded of Hideaki Hamada this weekend when I met two of the cutest little Japanese boys I have ever seen. They could do rather serious facial expressions on command and gave me a mandarin and wrapped lolly for visiting them. GAHH Japan, I don't ever want to leave!

True love

Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.

-Maurice Sendak

Learning to read (again)

I distract easily. To aid my Japanese language endeavours I picked up this children's comic at a book warehouse for a meagre $4. It's tough going and I feel like such a dummy but decoding the adventures of frog and mouse is way more motivating than memorising language charts!

Childish things

 I'm very happy about acquiring these. They make me feel like doing fancy shuffling movements around my kitchen. Okay maybe not fancy, just shuffling.

Poor Mr Plumbean

I'll eat your fingers, I'll eat your toes

One of my best friends James once got bitten on the face by an irate girlfriend who he was (thankfully) in the process of dumping. He had an amazing round bite mark on his cheek for weeks. It was weird and hilarious. The situation would been much worse (or better?) if he had been one of Giuseppe Archimboldo's characters.

I've never been able to get over how amazing he is at mashing a pile of food together to create simultaenously likeable, grotesque and comic works of wonder.

When I was little my school had the human fruit and vege competition where you shaped a person through the inventiveness of carrots, peas, artichoke or whatever your parents happened to have handy. I was never very good, producing a pile of non descript food and submitting it as an entry. My brother on the other hand was magnificent, carving characters through a fusion of melon, cauliflower and potato. Giuseppe Arcimboldo would have beaten my brother for sure. Look at those pear noses!

Pizazz

I wish my life was a technicolour dream, much like old children's movies. I watched the 1940 version of Fantasia the other day and it blew my socks off.

Childish things

Claudine Doury

Capturing exquisite boredom, pain, beauty and excitement in growing up. I wish my adolescence had looked this good!

Fascination

My boyfriends brother Adrian is obssesed with balloons. He will Google them. He will YouTube them. He will talk about them. He will seek to find them in every medium available. One afternoon  we sat watching YouTube balloon videos on the computer. There were endless videos of woman rubbing balloons suggestively, popping them with their heels or squatting over them until they popped. Obviously there is a fascination and it seems to drive some viewers over the edge. Adrian's interest is pure at heart, there is no underlying sexual desire for said balloon. He is, in fact, terrified of them and can't stand being around a real blown up balloon for all consuming fear it will loudly pop and give him a fright. To help him conquer his fear he has a shopping bag filled to the brim with unblown balloons. He touches them, he hands some to me, we examine the colours and marvel in all the different types of balloons. Sometimes I suggest that perhaps I should blow one up but he shakes his head furiously and looks at me with eyes that are deeply worried like I have just offered to set the house on fire.

Adrian has Williams Syndrome and his fascination probably stems from this fact. Upon meeting him he was incredibly friendly, loving and what became evident very quickly was that he has a heart of gold. Now that we know each other a bit better I have learned a little bit about the way his mind works, but so much remains a mystery. I think this will always be the case. The way balloons capitvate Adrian, through both fear and fascination is utterly lost on me. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to get really excited about things and have uninhibited enthusiam. Perhaps I am getting old. All I do know is that I need to get this back.

What fascinates you?