On failure

photo found here.

On the path to achieving ones goals it's important to remember than failure is very much a part of the process.  I know this, but for some silly reason I'd always imagined the pursuit of my dreams to be a shiny wonderful path of creation and eventual fulfillment, and then I'd be done, surrounded by people praising my talents.  

I'm in a pretty happy place right now, but like most people, I want more and I expect more of my self. Ambitions are scribbled secretly on pieces of paper that I'm too embarrassed to show anyone. Nonetheless there are goals and dreams in place and it keeps me going. I think Churchill was onto something good when he said 'success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm'. I don't take failure as well as some people, so I try hard to remember his words.

Looking back on some of the jobs I've had, there have been a lot of embarrassing moments and epic fails. Maybe the beauty of hindsight is a wonderful thing but I can't help but laugh at some of the failures I've endured. It seems as a general rule of the universe, embarrassing incidents magnetize towards my life. Birds shit freely on my skirt, occasionally I manage to lodge my head between closing bus doors and routinely I accomplish run, trip, fly, starfish falls across busy city intersections just as traffic lights turn green.

Below are probably my deepest moments of work shame.

Sandwich artiste

I got to wear a sexy forest green visor with pride and smile painfully at people while I packed their sandwiches full of gherkins, meatballs and swiss cheese all the while listening to Nelly, Kelly Rowland and Chingy on repeat. As a result of my job I always smelt like honey oat bread. Furious scrubbing in the shower didn't dissolve the smell, nor did perfume. Friends would sniff while in my company and rub their stomachs suggesting we get, perhaps, sandwiches for lunch? That was depressing. Depression spawned down to its darkest levels when two of my coworkers explained to me in the most awkward of fashions how they once did it in the office right by the sandwich counter. My supervisor was a power tripping maniac, and made me work my first 7am Sunday shift alone. I ran out of bread and had a mini meltdown while enraged customers repeatedly yelled at me 'NO I DO NOT WANT A WRAP'. 


Waitress

Being a waiter/waitress is the default job for many while at university. I foolishly took this path and learnt very important lessons. I lack basic coordination. I cannot carry more than two plates at a time. Tills are confusing. Chefs are going to get angry at you if you send out their meals and drop them on the way to the customers. Customers are going to get angry if you drop their meals on the way to their table. Despite these lessons I did not leave. This is because I was deliriously in love with the dishwasher/kitchen hand. He was one of those guys who was aloof and sexy and said no more than five words to you in a day, sending you over the edge. He sort of reminded me of Jordan Catalano from 'My So Called Life'. For whatever reason I exposed myself to daily public shame to be in his presence. I would foolishly obsess, dissecting the meaning of his words. Like, for example what did he really mean when he said 'hey' and then casually touched his hair, and if we went to the beach together was it a date? I eventually came to the realisation that I hated being a waitress and he was a massive douche bag thus cutting ties with waitressing forever.

Radio promotions bitch.

Hypothetically my job was supposed to be me driving around town playing 'onst onst' music, wearing some 'I be fly' over sized sunglasses and suggestively sizzling sausages at store openings, all the while liberally applying lip gloss and chugging Red Bull. That's not what happened. On my first day I was handed car keys. My palms broke into a cold sweat as I mumbled lame protests. The last time I had driven, I flew my car off a steep bank, rolling it three times, demolishing my car. Driving is not my strong suit. This I tried to explain, but my new boss glared impatiently. Down in the basement I was faced with, horror of horrors, a four wheel drive truck. It was a beast, a terrifying beast. I hadn't driven in years. Or in Wellington. Ever. Pulling out of the car park and I heard a terrible screeching. I had managed to jam the beast against the wall as I veered out, scrapping most of the paint off the left side. Approximately $2000 damage 15 minutes into the job. Check. Breathing deeply I ventured out onto the highway. I was heading to a nearby town for a store promotion, my boss driving in front. 'Fuuuuuuuuuuck' was the single all encapsulating thought that pulsated through my brain as I looked down at the cars, like tiny toys from the heights of the beast. Maybe I was following a little bit too closely because suddenly boss lady was right in front of me and the brakes weren't working. As I crashed into the back of the vehicle I saw her tight lipped face in the rear view mirror. Priceless. I shrugged. I had warned her. $6000 worth of damage in one day. Check.

Faux nurse

While in university I applied for various receptionist jobs. I made a shitty waitress and figured being a receptionist might be a good alternative. I went for an interview at a hair replacement clinic and got the job, starting the next day. My new boss handed me something in a plastic bag and smiled. "What's this?" I asked. As it turns out, that plastic bag contained a uniform. The next day I left the house tentatively to be greeted by honking cars and winking men. My uniform you see, was evocative of a slutty nurse. Bright white, tight, collared and zip up, it looked like I was auditioning for a role with a pole. I hung my head in shame and scurried to my job. Boss man explained the duties. Filing, answering phones, checking emails, stock take. A relatively breezy walk in the park. Then I was thrown the curve ball. Massaging clients scalps with weird machines. In my ridiculous uniform I would shut men and women into a room, all the while making nervous conversation and touch their scalps throwing various potions to inspire hair growth. Some had dandruff, some were sweaty, some were alarmingly sexy with minor thinning and others were the kindest lovely people I'd ever met. All combinations made me flustered and horrified. Then, a few weeks in, I became sick with a flu to end all flu's which involved talking incoherently at night about bags of cash and Tina Turner. My body broke out in a nasty body rash, my mind settled into a swampy fog. Boss man insisted I come in as surely I wasn't that sick. While in the midst of deliriously massaging a scalp and seeing plaid spots on the wall, I spewed down my bright white uniform, just missing my patients scalp. Lovely.

Holiday grinch

I found this scribbled in a notebook, dated two years ago. It was penned after my first visit to the Taj. It made me smile that sometimes I manage to sound like such a grump. It was written post food poisoning/ pre being stranded on the side of the road on the Agra-Delhi stretch. Travel brings out the best and worst in me. 

Sitting in the humid train carriage perched awkwardly upon a pleather bench I flipped through my counterfeit version of the god of small things and waited. Up the line protestors from Jaipur blocked the tracks, demanding higher wages and better conditions. They waved signs angrily, scowled and jumped from side to side. The train sat, waiting for them to tire like a patient mother and her petulant child. Inside the occupants remained completely unfazed. The chai wallah continued to sell tea, the flies buzzed lazily, the family opposite unwrapped banana leaf packed meals and I stared hungrily.

Finally the train began to move, lethargic after such a long break. Slowly but surely I was once again heading towards Agra. Being a typical tourist I was off to see the Taj Mahal. I couldn't not. But unlike others I was not expecting an experience of awe and wonder. It was a sight I had seen a million times over like the Mona Lisa or Eiffel tower, courtesy of Google image, coffee mugs, t-shirts, screen savers and book covers. 

Most of the time I feel like a terrible tourist. While crowds eagerly snap photos at precious landmarks, I feel like there is little point. Yes, I was there, but I didn't need to take a picture one million people had taken before. My reasoning lay in the assumption that wonder was better found in the unexpected moments. Birds swooping over power lines at day break, funny hats on serious old men and unexpected love letters in the post. Despite my grinch like views I got up at 4am and sleepily made my way through the darkness to the Taj.

The gates opened and the small group of tourists excitedly moved forward, passing surly security guards and the last of the merchandise vendors.They rushed forward, hands poised and ready on their camera shutters. Walking through an unassuming old arch suddenly the Taj came into view. It was huge. Surprisingly huge. And spectacular. As I stood gaping the sky broke into a bright shade of red, reflecting perfectly off the white marble monument. In that moment I saw architectural perfection, symmetry, romance, tragedy and beauty. My skin got goosebumps. The touristic grinch departed. I was moved. 

Finding a step to sit on I watched the sunrise and tried hard to commit the moment to memory, even pausing to take a photo. I knew it was a photo that had been taken one million times before but I couldn't not take it. I realised no day was quite like today and maybe those hoards of tourists were on to something. Each experience is individual. Each impression is unique. 

Even non believers can have their moments.

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. 

Block

I am facing a bit of a block at the moment.  Every time I pick up the pen I have a feeling of pure exasperation. There are all these thoughts and ideas banging around in my head but they won't work I paper. I bought myself a new set of inky pens in the weekend as a special treat.  Trying to appreciate the bright spots seems to help a lot. Each night when I go to sleep if I lie very still I can hear my neighbor laughing. He is alway's cracking up. There must be something he really enjoys on television, I don't know what it is but I do enjoy listening to him laugh! A bit creepy no? What I find to be helpful is an excellent playlist, one to suit the exact mood I'm in.  Here is what I've had on repeat for the last week, it's a bit eclectic.

Running through the night - Tiny Ruins
OKVW - Jeru the Damaga

On the beach - Neil Young

Talkin' my shit - Brother Ali

The only living boy in New York - Simon and Garfunkel
Work - Gangstarr

Song for Dennis Brown - The Mountain Goats
Tyrant destroyer - Twin Shadow

Samui!

It's been really cold (samui) lately, the type of temperature where you can't feel your face. Most days, as soon as I get home I jump in the shower to warm the numbness. I love to put frozen fingers under steaming hot water watching them slowly turn pink and wrinkly. In an effort to be productive in the cold weather I've been learning to ski. On Sunday I got a little bit excited after mastering a turning motion and after a successful run down the mountain I bailed hard, star fishing in the snow. Both my skis flew off and I twisted my leg. I had to get snow mobiled down to the very bottom of the mountain. I was that girl, oh the shame. After some over attentive medical treatment from a fretful Japanese man, my friends and I headed to the local onsen. Relaxing outside in steaming hot baths and feeling falling snow on your face was completely unreal, a very nice combination of hot and cold. Anyway, what this rant is leading to is that as a result of my minor injury I have been holed up in my apartmento revisiting only the finest of cringeworthy film classics...

She's all that. Top quality acting. Is it wrong that I like her better before the makeover? And what happened to Rachel Leigh Cook? 

Now and Then. The soundtrack to this is amazing. My childhood best friend and I watched this an unhealthy amount of times.

Election. Pick Flick. So so good.

Dawn Weiner has to be my biggest childhood hero. "you think you're hot shit but really you're just cold diarrhea"

If you're lonely when you're alone, you are in bad company

 My new koto fingernails (I have weird fingers I know, the kids at school used to call me E.T)

Two images from Rinko Kawauchi's Cui Cui

My owl/recorder. My boyfriend puts me on mute when we skype.

New salt and pepper shakers. Smitten.

 Mum and Dad

Enthusiastic young Japanese boy about to eat a biscuit

Inspiration boards

My brother spent one summer out in the middle of nowhere roaming the land, hunting and living in a small shack. I always romanticised the idea of heavy duty 'alone time' but never indulged in it. I pictured myself in a deserted cottage in the quaint countryside with nothing but a camera, a stack of books and enough food to last me a few weeks. Of course, such a fantasy never eventuated as I was too busy spending holidays and down time with friends and family. My brother and I are polar opposites and I find he is shy around everyone, even me, his own sister. What it took me a while to understand is that he truly enjoys his own company and is a bonafide master of alone time. When I first arrived in Japan I freaked out. I was all alone, rattling around in my apartment and totally uncertain about what to do with myself. I had no friends to call up for a coffee, no one to party with, no boyfriend to fall asleep next to at night. My loneliness was all consuming. It made me feel uneasy. I spent the first night crying in front of Japanese game show television while sipping on beer and eating a banana. There might have even been a panic attack. While I was supposed to be feeling elation that my plans had finally came to fruition I woke up in the mornings and felt nervous. Bit by bit I'm starting to enjoy my own company and happily embarking on adventures by myself with no degree of self consciousness. Even though it's a bit dorky I have to come to realise I am okay company and there are so many things around me that inspire. Lately I have been making image boards for inspiration, devouring photography books, practicing on my koto with my politically incorrect ivory and leather fingernails, creating horrendous tunes on my owl recorder, rifling through old pictures of mum and dad and collecting weird and wonderful Japanese confectionary packaging.

Chilly days

Sorry I have been out of action for a while. The weather has just started to get a bit cold and drizzly which is making me want to hide under layers of duvets and not do much at all. I wish the weather didn't affect me so much. 

On the bright side the local onsen (nudey baths) have become a haven of warmth and I can finally wear my spectacular fur hat outside without feeling overly ridiculous. I know that winter and snow is just around the corner. 

I have never lived in such a cold climate before so I'm not sure how I am going to find it. Pluses include rugging up warm, winter festivals, making snow angels and skiing every weekend. Minuses include the all encompassing coldness that strikes to the core, the need to eat spicy hot delicious (fattening) ramen every day and the fear I am going to burn myself alive courtesy of my fancy new kerosene heater. 

I hope you had an amazing Halloween, I dressed as an evil swan. I feel the evilness of swans is definitely underrated. Speaking of swans Black Swan looks amazing. Can't wait!

All this hibernation has meant I have been devouring quite a few amazing Japanese interior design/fashion magazines that I will put scan on the blog TONIGHT.

I'm off to Taiwan tomorrow with some friends and am extremely excited about trawling the night markets, lounging on the beach and drinking bubble tea.  Alas no blogging for a week or so but then I promise an onslaught of Taiwanese photos. I am quite intrigued as to what it's going to be like because I know so little about the place.

I hope yours is a bearable Monday and you're not still suffering from the remnants of a halloween hangover. I know I am! :)

Paintings by Ben Reeves

Camera itch

I remember when I heard Polaroid was being discontinued. I wept quietly in my room for a good 40 minutes before going out to face the world. I had assumed such a wonderful medium would always be in my life tracking all the mundane moments and major milestones. My parents were often exasperated at the amount of money I would spend on film but secretly I could tell they loved it when I whipped it out at christmas.

The only advantage of the Polaroid demise was that it forced me to try out new and exciting avenues that I had been ignoring. Predictably, first came the Holga which is a great camera for point and shoot. It allowed me to rediscover the joy of developing film which can't be rated highly enough. Next came the Diana. I grappled with this one. Despite the pretty name it is essentially the raw guts of a camera and I am no photo tech scientist. Photos came out either blurry, opaque or utterly uninspiring.

Next I moved on to the Golden Half and this love affair ran for over a year. Although we are on a 'break' I look forward to returning to her soon. A tiny wee thing, she fits snugly in my hand bag allowing me to whip her out at a moments notice to point and shoot. The Golden Half captures light beautifully and the double frame shots put a new spin on chosen subject matter. For christmas my boyfriend got me a multi coloured flash (and a BP gift voucher?) allowing me to take my day hobby across to the night.

Next came the big guns. The Nikon D80 which to say it politely, raped my bank account. A digital camera was a whole new realm for me. No developing film anticipation, no tangible photos, no opportunity to have a happy accident with botched film or beautiful light. I felt puzzled holding such a large contraption in my hand. Tentativeness soon gave way to an overwhelming enthusiasm as I took photos with carefree abandon. There was no developing costs, the opportunity to review a night of debauchery the morning after, and the ability to edit photos on a computer. I became hooked. Although I would pick film over digital any day the D80 improved my technical skills through hours or trial and error, error, error.

As winter approaches I am keen to document the falling snow, blinding light and hazy nights of drinking to escape the cold. There is an itch for a new camera to document this. I'm contemplating the Fuji film instax, a rather ugly imitation of Polaroid. Half of me is dying for point and shoot instant photo contraption but the other half can't help but wonder if I am buying into over priced hipster camera? Also sitting on the wish list is a Minolta xg-m and a Canon Rebel 2000. There are also a few planned outings with a plain old disposable camera, taking me back to the days of school camps and underrated photographic fun.

Photos: by Katrin Braga, by Hilda Grahnat, Fuji film instax, Hello Kitty Golden Half

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.

Science appreciation

I love scientific illustrations. There is such a wealth of drawings, garage sales are sometimes a gold mine. I was no good at science in school. My teacher was very brilliant but got frustrated when I couldn't understand something. She yelled a lot. After 16 I shunned any interest in science forever.

My boyfriends Dad is both a very interesting man and a scientist. He knows about krill and barnacles and things I didn't know even existed. He even named a crustacean after his wife.  What I like the most is how passionate he is about his work. It's quite inspirational and makes me wonder what on earth I am doing. I appreciate so many things but when I go to take a tentative step in one direction my efforts are shaky and I feel like scratching them out before I have even begun. I guess you just have to be brave and say 'yes this is what I'm doing and even if I fail I really love it so that's that. The end.'

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.

my head, heart and legs

Londres has been my home for a month and a tidbit and has kindly gifted me;
~ employment & a flat ~
yay!
I move in Saturday and have made plans to raid the nearest opshop for moth ball scented pillows, throws and amateur watercolour landscapes.

and I am dining alfresco with a boy in a park tomorrow evening.
yay!
I believe the above represents the feeling that is increasingly filling my head, heart, and wobbly legs this week.

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.