The kin…

Rip up the proof before the damage is done

I’m not going to lie, and I’m not exaggerating, but I royally screwed up my technical assessment today, and I’m currently hoping I scrape a pass. You know something has gone terribly wrong when your teacher says you did better in a class for which you weren’t prepared, than you did in the assessment…

Anyway, I’ve told myself this is a kick up the butt, a wake up call, I need to stop procrastinating, or having bad practise habits. I have a bad tendency to get obsessive about getting one thing right at a time, and ignoring a lot of other factors I need to practise simultaneously. For the next couple of days I really need to focus my attention on completing an assignment and presentation for jazz history that is due next week.

The “substantial” text in this post is after the list.

A contrast to my usual “decent photographic posts” but all these photos are from the last couple of days and are just relevant in my day-to-day right now, I guess. They’re placed in a random, erratic order, but here’s the list:

1/ The star-shaped metal caged light – it was originally intended for a candle when we bought it, but we never used it, so mum got a friend to alter it into an electronic light. I like it better this way, and we’ve been leaving it on in the lounge at night, rather than a lamp. In fact, lots of changes seem to be taking place at home at the moment: we’ve had a new stove top installed the other day, and the new air vent thing that goes on top of it is coming in tomorrow; mum’s bought a new, oh-so-amazing mattress for her bed, as well as surprising me this morning with a big mirror over the fireplace this morning. We’d talked about getting one for years, but it never got done… til now.

2/ The cupcakes I made for Ed’s 18th on Friday. It was a bit of a scramble as I only got home from uni after 6pm, and mum made delicious scones at the same time. Our kitchen is small, and one entire bench was covered with stuff we hadn’t cleaned up, so it was quite domino effect when something was knocked over…

You can’t see it in the picture, but the cupcakes spell out “HAPPY 18TH BDAY ED”. They don’t look amazing, but it was a quick job – and luckily I had the sense to pick one up off the plate and force Ed to eat it, as they disappeared within seconds of being brought out into the party.

3/ Some of the most recent postcards I’ve received – I collect them, and always request them when people travel, or from friends overseas. I would be over the moon if I got more postcards sent my way, so please do offer! And I’ll send you one back. I loooove them. Most of these pictured ones are from mum and Liv when they went to San Francisco, Yosemite, etc before her semester started.

4/ This is the pile of books I plan on tackling tomorrow for references on Ron Carter. With the exception of Catch-22, which I still really, really need to finish, oops. Asides from that, and the Ron Carter biography at the top of the stack, the rest are all library books. That damn biography took an arm and a leg’s effort to get hold of. First I tried all the big bookstore chains in NZ to see if anyone had one, or if I could get it ordered in – nope. Then I had to order it off Amazon and try to get it delivered to my sister’s dorm in time for mum to bring it back for me, phwoar!

5/A pic of Rome and I from Friday’s party. He’s doing my usual photo-face!

Note the red cup. How American. I forgot to ask the birthday boy but apparently they bought them from an American shop. I wondered how much they cost cos usually country-specialised stores aren’t cheap. Those things were sturdy as heck, though, and I can’t wait until I get to go to the states and use them at a real American party furrealz.

There is something that’s been bothering me for a while, but I think I have mostly come to peace with: breaking up with a friend. There are big businesses made in the “help” industry with aiding people deal with breakups and heartaches – all sorts of seminars for the broken-hearted or books and stuff like that – but what do you do when it’s breaking up with a friend? It seems to be a taboo subject that is brushed under the carpet and we’re given a “live with it” kind of response from most people. But reality is, often times breaking up with a friend can actually be more painful than with a boyfriend/girlfriend.

Why? For starters, you’ve probably been with them longer (I know that’s true for myself, and for the particular person I have in mind). There isn’t meant to be some kind of ulterior motive and vested interest when it comes to a close platonic friend, therefore, if it seems that egos, face and other silly things are getting in the way, it really makes you wonder whywhywhy?!

I don’t know what I’ve ever done to a very close friend who is amongst the people I’ve known longest, but I have decided to give up seeking their approval and blaming myself for the demise of our friendship. Everyone agrees that their behaviour indicates that something is bothering them, but since they won’t tell me – I just have to live with it, and keep reminding myself that it is not my problem – at least until they have the integrity to tell me so, and make it that way. It hurts, it really fucking hurts. He was my best friend. For years and years.

I know, there’s the distance, growing up and growing apart… we’ve all been there and done that with a friend or few at some stage in our lives – where our lives simply take us different places but we drift, but that is on good terms, without feeling some sense of trauma over it. In this case it’s different, very different. I have said that I wished that we had some sort of huge argument and actual falling out, because then perhaps I would feel like I got closure, rather than constantly clinging to the fraying edges of this stupid, hurtful ordeal.

There’s a thunder in our hearts

Sometimes I just want to post a picture with no words. And sometimes I want to post just a single, striking line with no explanation. But I always think far too much to be able to do that.

The second half of semester 2 starts tomorrow – actually, by now it’s today – and I don’t feel ready at all. I haven’t done a fraction of the things I had wanted to do during this 2-week break – sure unforeseeable circumstances struck up, but I was also lazy. At the moment I also have a sinus and throat infection and dealing with it is just a pain. Not to mention last night we had a scare with the cat being ill and had to take him to the afterhours vet clinic and pay a hefty sum for him to be anesthetised   so they could look down his throat to see whether there’s something stuck or if it’s infected or both. Turns out it’s just infected, and apparently it IS possible the same bacteria plaguing me could have done it to him. Yikes. I only managed to get him home at 3.30am which didn’t help my sleeping pattern at all.

Irrelevantly though, I’ve been wanting to post these two moments of joy:

Left: A photo my mum took of my sister and I jumping on a bridge in Sydney. Looking at it really makes me miss school athletics days where I got to do high jump. I always made the “qualifying” jump but then bunged out and there was always a certain height that my foot didn’t want to get over.
Right: The present that I spent a lot of time thinking about and wrapping for W.’s (sic) 21st, and I put the card in there at the bottom too. I’ve even abbreviated his initials to the bare minimum, so unknowing people can always wonder who my long-time adored is.

My friend Lottie is crazy for the Arctic Monkeys and Alexa Chung, and I just can’t resist posting this, a love note from Alex Turner to Alexa: “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since well before any kiss. And now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back. The notion of them continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites me to an unfamiliar degree.” This is the precise reason that I think great lyricists are underrated. I can’t think of a less pretentious and more realistic way of being so romantic in words. He hasn’t used any flamboyant adjectives, simply described and put it in such a way that is so heart-melting. This is also the exact reason why I love men who are good with words. I don’t think I could ever date anyone who tells me every other sentence that he doesn’t understand a word I used.

Something I wrote the other night, simply because I just had to use the word “bilocation”, although it might be a little… misused – I hear that’s called artistic license, haha:

You are
A rare occurance
When you talk
I want to turn you up.

You are
A bilocation
When you’re here
I never have you to myself.

You are
Inside, outside
Everywhere to me.
The places I go
And the people I see
The art I adore
And the songs that I sing:
You are
Too fucking much to me.

Incoming, out clubbin’, not lovin’, slow your body down

I think I’ve run out of farewells for the year. Saying goodbye for 1-2 years to one of my closest friends, Takuma the other night was extremely difficult – he’s gone to study in New Orleans and neither of us can afford a visit within a year, I think. On top of that, 6 days ago I had to send my sister off at the airport, without knowing if the next time I see her is for Christmas this year, or worse (and more likely) to be in a year’s time, during the US summer season, when I will be a year older, and she will be turning 18. Thoughts like that are freaking me out so bad – I’m not going to be a teenager the next time I see my sister! I’ve been having difficulty over the past week living by myself, contemplating the fact that now, the four members of my immediate family are spread over 3 countries. It’s really hitting me: I will NEVER live with my sister again. I know this is all normal and part of growing up, but it just seems kind of whacked out she’s moved across the Pacific Ocean on a massively glamourous 4-year scholarship to play Division 1 College Golf, but I’m the older sibling and I haven’t even moved out of home yet! This whole “end of an era”, aka END OF MY CHILDHOOD thing is seriously messing with my mind. Despite the fact that for years it’s really only been a pseudo-childhood, it was much nicer than the huge push into the deep end of a very cold and icy pool. Sea, even.

Although I’ve only been at university since March (the NZ academic school year is different to the northern hemisphere, school years don’t cross calendrical years), it feels like I’ve been here forever. It’s scary thinking that in 2 months’ time I will have completed 1/3 of my Bachelor degree. Even scarier wondering what comes after, but extremely exciting contemplating all the traveling that I want to do – and all the people that I know scattered all over the world who have offered me “couch” accommodation just adds to the excitement.

In the meantime, this is how I spent Friday night procrastinating from practising for my recital tomorrow night: low light phone snaps by Elvia.

Black Motel caged-back dress. She convinced me to wear the shorter one of my two new dresses, over the mesh Asos one. Powerwalking from her apartment near the Sky Tower, we fended off drooling and drunk men on the streets. I was grateful for the height difference between us that allowed her to wear heels and me to stomp in my Dr Martens. The Bouncing Soles really put a bounce in my step. Winter nights are brutal to exposed backs and uncovered arms, the city air an unfriendly reminder of how inebriated we must be to ignore its scathing existence. Taking pictures whilst we are still straight and lips unsmudged by bottle tops and glass rims. They say a girl is sexiest when confident, but how much confidence is real? Leaning against the bar, girls try and skip the serving order by pouting, eyelash batting, whilst men blanket an act of confidence over a core of frenzied excitement. Classified as a depressant, I find alcohol full of connotations: suppressant, an activator, empowerment, enslavement to the lack of conscience that ensues. And for better or worse we can’t escape ourselves and the things we do or say under the influence. But I often wonder – isn’t it really that we’re under less “influence”?

At her apartment we talked about the differences between Taiwan and New Zealand – the contrast in cultures and perceived “normality”. She grew up there, whilst I grew up here. But both spending our young adult life here with different backgrounds and cultural upbringing gives us a rare view that others don’t have. I question the differences, the ones I know of but don’t live by, as she adjusts to the new set of social “normality”. It’s funny how people can come from the same place and end up so different. Or come from different places and still have so much in common. Sometimes the diversity drives me crazy, how people don’t understand, aren’t curious, don’t know to be curious, but variation is never a bad thing: “Six kinds of blue”.

Even though this last picture caught me by surprise and was a snap in a whim, I love how offguard it caught me, its blurriness being precisely as the moment was. Sometimes there isn’t a still in the moment. Does that make sense?

She asked me about the kinds of music I’m into, and showed me Taiwanese bands she’s into. There is a huge gap to bridge but I can see why that stuff sells. It’s depressingly not difficult to write and perform though, in my opinion. That is, relatively.

You want to feel something more than I could ever bring

Rewind back two, three years ago. I was underage, incapable (most of the time) of getting into gigs, let alone getting to shoot them. I’m not too sure of precisely where my desire to do so spawned from. I suspect it’s a combination of things. For starters, there are lots of photographic projects I’ve planned and plotted in my head – but I never end up undertaking them just because it requires preparation and planning – in other words, I would’ve had to think ahead. For someone as lazy and usually uninspired as me, thinking ahead for a photo seems a bit out of whack. Especially when I’m the sort of person who likes to take spontaneous photos, often in unexpected places, of unexpected subjects. There’s a magic essence in capturing a moment in time that just doesn’t exist in a constructed setting. Even when I have constructed settings in the past for a shoot, I usually end up picking the “accidental” shots, rather than the ones I had “intended”.

When I first shot on black and white film in a Nikon F3 almost 4 years ago, I was pleasantly surprised at how much enjoyment I got from rediscovering all the things that I had merely shot in passing, in the city of Wellington.  As I didn’t get the films developed until a few months later, I hardly remembered what I had photographed, especially all the little corner snippets that I had snapped away at, without a thought at all. My mother (the term “professional photographer” here sounds daunting, but she is) has always been supportive and encouraging in anything and everything I do; but for some reason, once upon a time she tried to dissuade me from attempting concert photography. It’s “much too difficult”, she’d said. And it sure as hell is. But that is exactly why I love it. The equation – so it appear so be – is: lack of necessary thought process/laziness + spontaneity + music freak + love a good challenge = concert photography.

Fast forward a couple of years, I had an amazing Friday night. Back when I was googling concert photographers and oggling at the amazing shows they get to shoot, I stumbled across a lady called Ami Barwell. Mostly lo-fi styled stuff, shot a lot of bands that I love – made me mega jealous. I think she used to be the photographer-in-tow for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, so she has a lot of nice shots of them, and a couple of nights ago I got to have a crack at it myself.

Here are some of the shots that I liked best of BRMC and their opening band, The Checks. The problem is… I’m undecided as to whether I’m happy about them or not:

The Checks:
Can I just add – their drummer reminded me of why I used to have a thing for drummers and dated a couple. He also looks like one that I had crushed on for a long time. Shhhh. Good thing NO ONE knows who it was, ha!

Stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down

My absence has been due to over a week spent in Sydney, Australia – which followed a 5-day/nights’ series of events, which were all blurred into a very long, extended lump in my memory – and I’m not too sure how I feel right now. Until I can conjure up the effort to sort through hundreds of photos and thoughts, I’m not going to write about where I went, etc.

Families are supposed to be the comfort zone. The people who’ve known you your whole life, know all your embarrassing childhood stories, who care for one another the most. At least, that is the family that I was brought up under the illusion of, despite having been disillusioned over a decade ago about its idealistic ways vs reality.

Unfortunately, over the past week in Sydney, my (immediate) family – who usually live in different countries – have been crammed into one single hotel room. It was large, yes – the size of half our house, but a single space nonetheless; and all the things we usually pretend is all okay could no longer be contained. My parents aren’t getting along. They haven’t for a long time. But under the facade of not living under the same roof for majority of the year, everything is “okay”. In the middle are me and my sister. Whilst she still has to put up with the same problems, same fights and outbursts as I do, she doesn’t have the older-child syndrome of taking on all these problems as my own. I don’t want to take sides. I have two sets of opinions and views on these problems, and how I think they should be dealt with: one, being the daughter, I want them to work through things, slowly, fine, but surely, and just at least do something productive or argue productively rather than stupidly about anything, everything and absolutely nothing at all; and two, being from a completely objective point of view – get it all over and done with, if it’s so painful to coexist.

I shouldn’t be saying this.

In the most selfish manner, also, I have so much else on my plate that I am stressing over, but the whole family thing is an overbearing darkness and source of stress, pain, guilt, troubles, internal and external conflicts that I can’t conjure up the strength to deal with anything else. It also doesn’t help that I’ve been sick for a week and a half, and it’s only draining me more, physically.

I know people out there go through much worst than me – in fact I have close friends that have, let alone all the people whom I don’t know. But it feels soo bad I don’t know how people get through it. I guess they develop some coping mechanism to subtract themselves from the equation of their parents’ misery. I can’t seem to. I am so latched onto every bitter/icy/frustrated/angry/defeated/confused/hopeless/unreasonable word that comes out of their mouths, and I catch all the hurt/vengeful/loathing/sad/intolerable look that the other doesn’t.

I can’t sleep. I was already insomniac enough without the jetlag. Skytv’s ceased working sometime over the days that we were away, so there is nothing to brainwash my sleeplessness with either.

My ipod is currently lost somewhere in the pile of luggage in the lounge, next to the couch on which my father is sleeping – so no music to dither away to.

If there was ever such a time I felt I needed sleeping pills the most – I lied. I really need some now.

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