Happiness

photo by Ume Kayo

Happiness occurs when I least expect it. It comes from moments of deep appreciation that someone else might not notice. Birds swooping past power lines against an orange morning after a night of karaoke, or a smile from a stranger in a funny hat. I don't have to go to the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls and stand in front of vast and majestic wonders to appreciate life, and be happy.

I can have hot tea and biscuits, use inky pens on recycled paper and feel the softness of my grandmothers cheeks. I could dip my hand in uncooked rice, practice whistling or make a mix tape. I can smell the crispy bendy pages of my favourite magazines or write an anonymous note of encouragement to a stranger. I can strive for happiness in unexpected moments and endeavor to never ever let my day be mundane, instead, a little bit spectacular.

I love books like Into the Wild and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Protagonists who search deep within themselves to find answers to questions that have riddled them for years. It's a great thing to explore this big wide world and ask 'what is all of this?' all the while holding tightly to your ability to imagine and experience awe. This doesn't mean you have to have lots of money to travel all around the world, just explore further than your front gate, your street, your suburb. And at very worse, if you can't leave, step into your imagination.

What if you have no imagination? What if, horror of horrors, you lost it some time ago when you were departing childhood in eager anticipation of the freedoms of adult life? Then read a children's book, go for walks in unexplored locations, sit alone with pen and paper and see what happens.

No one thinks like you. No one will ever produce what ends up on that piece of paper. We all see the world so differently. If your imagination has deserted you it will come back, because it never wanted to leave in the first place.

Right as rain

I know talking about the weather is supposedly dull surface level chit chat but I just can't help myself. Rainy season is upon us in Japan and it is nuts. The frogs are in chorus and they are everywhere. Yesterday I biked home in the rain screaming every time a car drove past because of the giant (and temporarly blinding) splash!!! which left me in a state of wet mess. My shoes filled up with water making a lovely squish squish sound and while the practical grown up in me said 'no' the rest of me felt like it was so much fun. 

I'm off to Tokyo tonight for a weekend of adventure which will include the pleasure of watching NZ band Die! Die! Die!, vintage trawling, much needed stop offs at Ikea, Loft, Topshop and Zara, plus some suburb exploring thanks to my trusty Hello Sandwich Tokyo guide. I promise to take some snaps on the kumo san. Wishing you all a happy Friday. T.G.I.F! x

Light me up

I used to smoke. A lot.  Especially when there was a drink in my hand. There was something so lovely, routine and methodical about smoking that soothed me. It was also a chance to socialise.  You could meet the strangest, loveliest and most surprising people when asking for a lighter or loitering on a balcony.

My best friends are smokers so we would often lie in bed talking about boys, puffing away, occasionally pausing to flick our cigarettes into the swan ashtray. Sexy people in movies smoked, Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation and Mia Wallace in Pulp Fiction. Then there were the famous people that seemed cooler than cool, cigarette dangling precariously from their lips. The likes of Anna Karina,  Fabrizio Moretti,  Katherine Hepburn, Charles Bukowski and Catherine Deneuve. 

My Dad's friend puffed on cigarettes when I was an ankle biter and there was something magical and enchanting about watching the smoke slowly escape his lips. My first cigarette was wasted due to self conscious bum puffing and a coughing fit. My second cigarette was cut short when I was caught by the P.E teacher who threatened to call my parents.  My third provided my first real head rush, and was plucked from a packet of cigarettes that were all mine bought by an old man outside a pub. 

I smoked for nearly ten years, on and off and towards the end it spiralled into something all consuming that wasn't lovely, routine or methodical.  One day sweltering hot day in February last year I was sitting on a lawn having a picnic with friends when I looked down at my cigarette and felt baffled.  I couldn't believe I was risking my health for no particular reason and suddenly thinking about dying early or getting sick through my own unhealthy choices seemed ludicrous. I couldn't even finish the cigarette. 

I didn't tell anyone about my new resolution and transformed into an aggravated, irritable, over the top young lady who obsessively gnawed on chocolate bars and chewed gum. Anything to scratch that itch. I still get pangs sometimes. A lot of my friends still smoke and there are moments of lust when they light up and look so serene. Then there are the awkward moments at parties when suddenly I am alone and everyone seems to be on the balcony in a social haze of smoke having the best time imaginable. There are a so many moments but despite all the pangs and longing I think, finally, I am happier without it. 

Brightening my day

Pate Tapes. I've been dancing around my apartment this afternoon. The Soul Stax Motown and John Peel sessions are amazing. Thanks for the tip Lucy!

Finding out about this movie.

Lusting over these rings via So Much to Tell You via Topshop

Catching up on my afternoon reading. Ku:nel, So En, Jill and Vogue Nippon. Bliss!

Hair terror

I've always been afraid of hairdressers. This somewhat rational fear can blamed on my mother who assured me at age seven she was just going to give my hair a wee trim. Scissors poised in hand I'll never forget that fateful snip snip snip. I got up and walked calmly to the bathroom mirror to inspect the minor alteration. What reflected back at me was terrifying beyond words. A shorter than short pixie boy cut. Hair poked out at alarming and terrifying angles. 

Obviously in shock I ran around the house crying hysterically and deliriously yelling 'How could you?!?!' for half an hour.

The next six months were scarring to say the least. One day swimming at our local pool two eight year old slappers came up to me and asked 'Why are you wearing girls togs?' I cowered mumbling that I was in fact a girl but this was lost, drowned out by their catty laughter.

I've asked my mother in retrospect why she made me look like a mutant boy in fluro prints and floral pastels and she simply shrugs her shoulders and says 'low maintenance'. I now have long hair. Any thing too short and I am seized with fear that I look in fact, male. I lopped off my hair a few years back trying a cute bob only to be greeted by my (now ex) boyfriend at our front door who told me solemnly 'I don't like it' and then turned and shut himself in the lounge.

With my tragic and sorrow filled hair history I am now faced with a daunting challenge. I need a trim. I live in Japan. Most Japanese hairdressers do not speak english. Therefore I am quaking in my boots. I am not willing to revisit my boyhood. Wish me luck.

From black to pastel

I was having a really bad day today. Things just weren't working out how I wanted them to and a frown was attached to my face all morning. It's such an awful feeling and I realised it was up to me to choose how long I was going to indulge in my bad mood. Sometimes it's easier to say angry. I tried to do things that make me feel better. 

I said sorry to someone I needed to. 

I went and saw Hoishi, my supermarket man who is 70 and high fives me on arrival and departure. 

I bought coloured pencils.

I ate shoe cream (it's like an eclair)

I looked at pictures that made me laugh.

I rode my bike.

I patted a cat.

I wrote a letter to a friend.

I put fresh flowers in my vase.

I bought a train ticket for Tokyo.

I took photos with a new roll of film.

I feel better now.

Today

Today I'm 25.  I'm theoretically quarter life,  and no longer 'post teen'. Today I am at a 'firmly in your twenties' age.  

Today my Grandma was cremated. I only realised at 2pm and it made me feel really sad. We'll take her ashes to be with my Granddad's. She looked so nice at her funeral. They didn't do her up too much. 

Today is 18 days till I move to Japan. I am so nervous and excited. I dream about Japan a lot.

 It's been such a strange day. I had office colleagues awkwardly sing me happy birthday and I got so embarrassed I turned and faced the door slightly. 

Chocolates were left on my desk and I got lots of kisses and hugs from my friends at lunch and tonight they're coming for dinner so we can drink wine and eat good food cooked by my boyfriend who is better than me in the kitchen although I don't like to admit that. 

It's been a nice day. Birthdays make you feel like putting on your shiniest pair of shoes or a ribbon in your hair. If today was a song it would be 'new slang' by the shins. I think that's the only way i can fully explain it.

Out of action

Sorry to those of you have been checking the blog and to find no new posts. My Grandma died this week so I have been feeling anything but creative and inspired. In the interim I am trying hard to remember fragments of her. The little sighs she often did, the way she smelt, little notes with beautiful handwriting and her spectacular house filled with trinkets. She lived to be 86 so I can be happy that she lived a long and wonderful life full of adventure, but of course it is so so so sad. I will miss her immensely. I'm still a bit shocked that it happened. I'll be up and running with posts again in the next few days, hope you've all had a wonderful week in the meantime.

Gemma. x

One of those days

This morning I got called David Rasmussen (which is definitely not my name) in a meeting, then I fell over in the corridor even though there was absolutely nothing to trip up on, and approximately 5 minutes later I found a grey hair while looking in the bathroom mirror all the while noticing how dishevelled and unspectacular I am looking today. I am writing it off as one of those days and rolling with the punches.

For the rest of the day I'm answering my work phone as David, fuck it.

The pursuit of happiness

Sometimes I find it is good to sit down and really think about all the things in life that make me happy. I try and do this whenever I am feeling a bit blue, it's a bit murky or the day is just too slloooowwww.

Right now this is what's making me happy

- hot hot tea and biscuits for dipping

-my niece Sophie

-lovebirds

-my (soon to be) home Yamagata

-summer memories of swimming in the sea

-purchasing a new bike

-felt tip illustrations

-lots and lots of sleep and slothing in bed

-Skype dates with my best friend who is moving to Paris

- Cats, in any way, shape or form

-Jem and the Holograms

-Magazines and nail polish

Interiors

In my 24 years I have lived on orchards with piglets and pet cows, in suburbia with clipped lawns and garden gnomes, and innercity apartments with unrelenting buskers and an interesting array of flatmates. My favourite residence to date, was when I lived in the middle of a forest up north, when I was just a wee thing. The sound of rustling trees, nearby streams and adventure for Africa was unbeatable. Our house was old and wooden with cane furniture, tapestry and impressive bookshelves.

 Dad took me to a neighboring forest one day and showed me a spot where a man had been killed and buried. The ground was sawdusty and there was a large mound which us kids took turns jumping over. The thought of a corpse beneath the ground scared me witless and excited me terribly.  The guy had been a drug dealer and had been murdered when a deal went wrong. Years later, I found out the man who killed him went crazy from the guilt and fear and comitted suicide as well.

Growing up, my parents had friends with cottages down long and winding paths. I thought they were all a bit mad with their herbal tea, musty books and dried flowers hanging from the rafters. Now I realise they weren't mad, they had imagination. (The last two pics are from my parents friends house).

Given that I have little pride im my personal space right now (I'm living out of a suitcase and a half at my boyfriends house before departure and we have let the room get ridiculously messy) all I seem to want to look at is beautiful, lust worthy interiors. There is so much inspiration and the way one interprets a space can be an incredible example of inventiveness, personal style and history.

A room, or a house to call ones very own is a truly wonderful thing.

Murky Monday

Emma Hardy's pictures are a welcome escape from a murky Monday where it is a little bit cold, grey and meh. To me, they are celebration of life in all aspects. Family, solitude, childhood, art, friends and unexpected moments.

In the weekend I went back to my hometown of Feilding and visited my Grandma. She is tiny and frail from age and bone cancer. Taking morphine daily, her mind is fuddled as she speaks quietly, sighs and looks vaguely out into the distance. I miss her headstrong forthright former personality which at the time I took for granted. The inevitably of old age makes me sad and sometimes I get a bit frightened when I realise how quickly the days pass.

 This said, some of us are not lucky enough to live so long. Among the unfortunate and unexpected was the sheep we hit on a long country straight during the weeked. It died instantly, a loud 'thunk' against the front of the car. Upon stopping we were met with a gory and sad sight on the side of the road, a very dead sheep. My father, a farmer, was emotionally immune and far more concerned about the state of his car. I stood on the side of road lamenting the ill fate of the dotty sheep who couldn't make it across the road on time. Now I can't get the bleating bundle of fluff out of my head. Travellers remorse!

Shameless self promotion

The film I did for 48 hour film fest as a part of The Mammal Group. Enjoy! x

Life is for lists. Top three's (for now)

Top 3.

Reoccuring dreams

1. Creepy workmate lives in a secret room in my house and spies on me

2. Male prostitutes turn up for dinner at my parents house

3. High speed car chase (with appalling outfits)

Top 3.

Breakfasts

1. Avocado and extra crispy bacon with a dash of lemon and black pepper on 5 grain

2. Leek and potato frittata

3. Berry compote

Top 3.

Celebrities I would have like(d) to have met

1. Sylvia Plath

2. Milan Kundera

3. Michael Jackson

Top 3

Embarrassing moments as of late

1. Saying 'good thanks' when someone said hello

2. Tripping over my clogs while walking with a new friend

3. Getting my head stuck in the bus doors

Top 3

New blogs discovered

My Funny Eye

Long Hair Forever Club

Fuck Yeah French Cinema

Top 3

Movies enjoyed

A Single Man

The Cove

Departures

Top 3

Road trip essentials

A mix tape to end all mix tapes

A religious dashboard figurine

Cupcakes

Top 3

Lists to make

Before I die I will:
New food I will try at the supermarket this week:
Things that scare me to do list:

Home sweet home?

I am soon to be moving to Yamagata, Japan. Home of:

-ski fields
-hot springs
-apartments
-pot plants
-cherrry blossoms
-seasides
-snow monsters
-extreme weather
-limited English
- the movie Departures
-whiskey consumption
-personal karaoke machines 
-pagodas
-human chess

I can't begin imagining what this is going to be like. All I know is that is quite possibly the polar opposite of my current home. The information I have come across is fragmented and mysterious providing only a vague notion of what I am about to encounter. Strange snippets of knowledge are precious gems e.g. 'Yamagata has the highest national height for second year high school girls measuring in at 1.56cm'. Adventure awaits, and, for the first time in my life I am going to feel tall.