A night in India

Sunrise across the pool

We were two weeks into life in Ibiza and our next task was to host an Indian dinner for 30 people at Can Cires, the Spanish restaurant that I’d stumbled across a week ago. Life kind of flows like that here; it’s like a domino effect, opportunities randomly arise and just snowball off one another. When the owner V first suggested that we host weekly dinners at their restaurant, I half thought to myself that it would be one of those great ideas that was spoken about but never materialised; I mean the doubt was rational, I enjoyed cooking meals for friends and family but neither I nor R had ever worked in a professional kitchen let alone catered for 30 people before. I pictured all the scenarios in which it could go horribly wrong… and then I pictured tables of people sitting under candlelight, enjoying colourful plates of curry and coriander with whisps of incense adding to the atmosphere. ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if we managed to pull it off’, I thought to myself. I began creating the menu in my head and my senses went running wild as I imagined colourful combinations of amazing flavours that I’d grown up eating variations of in India and Sri Lanka. I decided on the classics; Saag Aloo: Creamy spinach curry with potatoes and chickpeas, Aloo Gobi: Dry cauliflower and potato curry and turmeric dhal. R designed the perfect menu using Photoshop, sweet and simple just as I’d imagined. The night was called ‘Una Noche en La India’ - A night in India and after the click of a few buttons, it was out there and we were locked in with 5 days to go.

C & I, the morning after

During the weekend before we hosted the dinner my great friend C from high school came to visit. It was her first time here so we chose a night out in one of Ibiza’s super clubs, Amnesia that could hold up to 9000 people. It was truly something to behold as the first rays of sun streamed through the glass ceiling of the main room; the energy peaked at 7am as the last tribal beats boomed through the speakers sending everyone into a morning trance. We arrived back at the villa that morning as the sun was shining off the pool and the rolling hills turning a vivid green in the background; it was all too beautiful to go to sleep! But by the end of the day, my temperature gage began to waver and I could feel my energy reserves depleting. Despite it being 35° outside I lay shivering in bed under a thousand layers of clothes, wishing I’d made the sensible decision to sleep. C flew back to Madrid the next morning after an amazing weekend together and my head hit the pillow. I drifted in and out of feverish sleep over the next 2 days with weird aches and pains moving their way through my body. ‘Please could I be better before our dinner… please’. I wondered how people here could handle 3 or 4 day benders with no sleep?! The thought of it both scared and amazed me at the same time…

1 day to go and it was time for the big food shop with V so I got out of bed and put on a strong face, resisting the urge to curl up in a ball and stay under the covers. We drove down to Ibiza town together and walked through the doors of the huge, industrial whole salers. I looked around, feeling dazed under the fluorescent lights and freezing cold under the harsh air conditioning. My phone that contained the list of ingredients ran out of battery the moment we’d arrived (of course) so I racked my foggy brain to think of what we needed; if I got it wrong now, we’d be screwed tomorrow. Deep breath. I walked down the first isle and my eyes landed on rows of tomatoes… here we go. I looked at the 50 different brands that lay in front of me in a state of complete indecision... this was going to be a long process. V wheeled the trolley as I shakily stacked it with supersize cans and boxes of fruit and veg. She held my arm every now and then with a concerned look on her face and I’d force a smile to reassure her that I’d be alright by tomorrow. 2 hours later, €300 down and a car full of food - we were finally done. V drove me to the pharmacy for a box of paracetemol to bring down the fever. We unloaded everything at the restaurant and I sat down, feeling the medicine kicking in as sweat droplets rapidly began forming on my brow. At last! The heat began draining from my body and I sat in the shade, drenched in sweat and gulping down my body weight in water. Suddenly, I felt cool and my mind felt clearer. One more sleep until the big day. Fingers crossed!

The final alarm rang and I felt a lightening bolt of energy shoot through my body, I missed that feeling. I hadn’t prepared anything for the day ahead so I hastily wrote down a last minute method. R and I rushed down to the restaurant on our moped, stressing out that we were later than arranged. But there was no need to rush as V sat calmly sipping on a cup of tea when we arrived and I remembered that we were on Spanish time. F was V’s husband and the head chef of the restaurant. This was the one day of the week that the restaurant closed and he was in the kitchen preparing for the following day. Much to his dismay, V asserted that he would lend a hand when it was needed and thank god, I don’t think he realised quite how much work he’d have to put in. As we entered the kitchen, I looked around feeling slightly overwhelmed. One step at a time, where would you start if you were doing this at home? I began delegating jobs for the food prep and slowly, the ball started rolling. It was a challenge attempting to communicate between a French chef, his Spanish wife, R’s English and my Spanglish but somehow, we managed to maintain a multi-lingual flow. It was 40° outside and as the curries bubbled away, I felt like I had entered a sort of spice infused delirium. All of a sudden, it was 7.30pm and in 1 hour the guests would arrive. A slight part of me wondered whether this would all go well… would people come? Would the food taste ok? What would we do if it was a total flop? I took another paracetemol and like a wave, the anxiety was followed by excitement and then exhaustion. 20 minutes left to shower and decompress.

We did it <3

We arrived at the restaurant as the tables were being laid by I, the new waitress that V had hired for her trial shift; it was all coming to life! R put on some Indian flute music and we stuck Nagchampa incense sticks in oranges that were scattered amongst the bushes around the terrace. We looked at our phones and my heart dropped as we received a stream of messages from mates that were either too skint, hung-over or far away to make it. The numbers were dropping and the heat was steadily rising in the kitchen as the rice bubbled away…

Our 6 housemates were the first to arrive and soon after, guests were streaming in and filling the tables. It was frantic in the kitchen and V was stressed out with the reality of instructing a group of amateurs, it was a guessing game after all. The table was set outside for the curries to be served in huge, clay pots buffet style. The waitress ran inside, ‘està lloviendo!’ = it was raining, shit. I chose the path of avoidance and busied myself in the kitchen - out of sight, out of mind? The umbrellas were put up and luckily, 10 minutes later the rain had subsided into a light drizzle; the night had been cleansed. F pulled the hot naan out of the oven and we began serving the curries, coriander and condiments. The night began to flow as I explained the dishes to guests in broken Spanish, floated between the tables and re-filled the clay pots with the help of R and I. 25 guests made it in the end and everyone was complimentary about the food which is all that mattered. With full bellies, they paid their bills and R and I began the big clean up. My adrenaline was wearing thin and the incense sticks had turned to ash, I could feel us moving into the calm after the storm. We’d done it. We left with a wealth of knowledge and €200 profit after all the costs, not bad for a first attempt. F decided it was too stressful to continue the weekly dinners on his one day off but they offered me a waitressing position instead; we paid our thanks and left feeling grateful for the experience and the month’s worth of leftover curry. My childhood dream of becoming a chef had been actualized and I was finally ready to let go of it, challenge complete.

Song of the Day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-riOteQkmo

A final spell in KL

Morning meditations

There is something magical about waking up early in the English countryside. I lay in bed this morning after a weird dream with a lingering image of Robert Carlyle (i.e. Begbie from trainspotting) shouting at me aggressively in his thick Scottish accent with a cup of tea in his hand...  no doubt it was a distorted remnant from the movie last night but it left me feeling slightly bemused. As his voice slowly faded from my consciousness it was replaced by the soothing sound of bird song; mm, I love Devon. I glanced over at my phone to see that it was only 7.20am. Hmm... to sleep or not to sleep? My thumb automatically moved towards the seductive blue 'F' on the screen and my mind soon began to reel with the speed of my newsfeed. F indeed, what a suitable acronym; instant stimulation, brain.activated. I decided not to sleep and instead made the most of the morning with a meditation. It's quite nice when you can finally zone into holiday mode and feel rested enough to actually enjoy an early start...

J's graduation

Dad, J and I officially left Kuala Lumpur 2 weeks ago; my dad's mission at the Red Cross came to an end after what seemed like an eternity, my brother graduated from high school and I completed my internship with the UN. It was a full on 6 months. I moved back to KL after uni with the intention of re-grounding around family and luckily, my unpaid internship was perfectly timed to coincide with moving home. Working with child refugees was seriously tough and the layers of reality that began to unearth themselves initially hit me quite hard; listening to their stories about fleeing genocide, trafficking, rape, abuse and every other form of suffering a child should never have to experience. It was heavy but I hardened up fast to the reality that I was to engage with. I found my release through physical exercise, teaching yoga, jamming with C and sharing the stories with those who would listen. I became part of the ebb and flow of my child protection team and I grew to understand the natural therapeutic method they employed to handle the stress of the work; constantly talking to each other, sharing dark humour and the regular Friday mash up at Kubur, the graveyard bar (yes, it was actually at a graveyard). I also began to truly understand how the pressures of full-time work so easily lead to a culture of alcoholism.

The legend behind the sound

Last day of recording

In a funny turn of events, I also found a release through my alter-ego, Chloe. I managed to land myself a completely unexpected gig as a 'hyperactive, super happy, sugary sweet and absent minded' cartoon poodle named, Chloe. I adapted quite fast to my character that I have a funny feeling was typecast and I found myself speaking in an American accent to emphasise the 'super happy' vibe as I felt the slightly posh, English accent didn't quite cut it. Over 4 months we recorded 4 seasons of the English dubbed 'Bodhi and Friends' that is soon to be released. The cartoon was already a hit in China and the creators commissioned a production of the English version that was to be completed in a very limited time frame without changing the actual animation; therefore, the sound effects mostly consist of infantile Chinese-like squeals, the characters lips are slightly out of synch and the process was completed so fast that I don't even know the actual plot line. It was however, a very entertaining experience during which my childhood fantasies came to life. I am intrigued to see what the final product will be given that my understanding of the plot is based on random scenes like jumping off spaceships or fighting away dystopian cats with my wind power, if they dare threatened to ruin my flower garden...  

Finally making it to C's game

Life was busy but I loved having a routine and a stable base. New friends from abroad blew in like breaths of fresh air and old friends from high school passed through regularly, bringing moments of sweet nostalgia as we reminisced on the glory days and saw how far into adulthood we'd all come. Everyone was on such amazing, diverse paths. It's a beautiful thing, watching your friends succeed. Those 6 months passed like the blink of an eye and before I knew it, I was going to leaving dinners and the movers were packing our life into boxes, again. Mum and I sat on top of T's truck, ferrying the remnants of dad's furniture to her apartment with tears in our eyes. We spent our last few nights in Lanson Place, the serviced apartment that we had stayed in when we'd first moved to Malaysia, 8.5 years ago. 

KL Sunrise from our apartment

Reunion dinners at Suzy's

The change was inevitable and on the whole, we were prepared but J was experiencing the major shift of leaving school. The great upheaval, inherent to the international lifestyle that has you excited for the next step while grieving the loss of your greatest friends, as they disperse to all corners of the globe; the preparatory phase for a life of adaptation. The moving process was interestingly synchronised with the Sagittarius super moon; an energetic time of transformation and putting ideas into action. It couldn't have been more accurate; I was watching it play out all around me and feeling the metamorphosis internally as my long unwanted habits naturally fell away in favour of healthier pursuits. I was growing up and moving on, ready for the next phase of life in London.

We all flew away from the concrete jungle of Kuala Lumpur; mum and T went off to celebrate summer solstice Kundalini style in New Mexico while J, dad and I opted for some good ol' British R&R in the patchwork quilt of the English countryside..

Aaand we're back

Song of the Day: 
Beautiful Escape (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QLYXPto0w4) 

Ibiza

San Miguel

'Don’t hold expectations and you won’t be disappointed' is the philosophy that summed up LBD & I's recent trip to Ibiza. It was originally intended to be a 9-day detox after a summer of festivals but my naivety got the best of me and it too easily became a 9-day bender. It was L & I's last holiday together for a while, now that uni was over and our stint in Bristol was coming to an end. L had grown up as part of the Spanglish summer culture, so he knew Ibiza from having worked seasons there. I 'felt' like I knew it after having my ear chewed off about how amazing the people, places and parties were, but my image was tainted by thoughts of really expensive nights in big clubs that played commercial music with loads of English Lads on tour. So it took me a while to warm up to the idea of stepping into the party animals playground, but I'm so glad I did! 

We started off  in Santa Gertrudis, a sweet little bohemian town that lies directly on the middle-point of the island and is described by many as Ibiza in a microcosm. With no car (due to it costing an extortionate 500 euros for under 25's), we soon discovered the beauty and ease of hitchhiking, during which I could practise my Spanish and find out about the local hotspots around town. We'd generally get dropped off in the centre of Santa G where we'd walk passed many gorgeous boutique shops, vegan juice bars and whitewashed houses towards the dirt path ahead. After a few frustrated conversations about which prickly pear cactus was our actual landmark, we soon knew the way home like the back of our hand; passed the dry foliage and towards the faint lights of the telephone towers in the distance. 'You have reached your destination' I could hear the robotic voice of the GPS in my head as we caught sight of Y's sweet casita, decorated with pretty hand-made pots and various cacti that merged in with the surrounding desert. So while our plan had been to spend 9 days in the North, staying at my family friend's and discovering the island - we went out for one night in the South, and never really left. 

My initial concern about not having enough clothes to wear in Ibiza became not having any of our clothes or belongings for the majority of the holiday. A self-inflicted issue for sure, as we weren’t really coordinated enough to plan our trips back but we didn’t expect to fall so hard for the San-An spell. In the 7-person party palace we’d slightly taken over, lived the loveliest people (this sounds like the beginning of goldilocks and the 3 bears..) who soon became our Ibiza angels. Every day was jam-packed and nights out were balanced with chilled nights in or a heart-warming roast dinner. But the entire time, was one.long.session. Never have I packed it in so much, the constant stimulation began to feel commonplace and daily life took on a whole new set of priorities. Routine was no longer based around mealtimes – breakfast was eaten at dinnertime and bedtime would occasionally happen in the early hours of the morning, it had all gone topsy turvy.

People went out 7 nights a week to different parties followed by the after party and then back to the party again. It didn’t stop and everyone was always on it. In the brief moments when L and I did pull ourselves out of the bubble with our thumbs stuck out on the side of a highway, I’d glimpse into reality and plan to go to a vegan café, teach yoga at open-space and send off my resumes. But the plan developed into nothing more than a hopeful suggestion and within an hour, we’d be walking back down the dirt road, passed the prickly pear cactuses and through the pine trees, fiending for San-An. 

9 days flew by, friends became family and in the last few hours I was looking at flights to extend my stay. I understood why people did seasons there, but wondered if I’d ever survive one… Despite the whirlwind it had been, we’d still managed to tick off a lot of boxes. We'd seen the elusive Ibiza dinosaur (the famous, white bearded man that everyone seems to know), swum in beautiful seas by day and night, boogied to Nightmares on Wax, swirled around at Acid Sundays and managed a bit of a hot, sweaty after party. L and I had found our adventure and I'd slightly fallen in love with Ibiza – with no expectations, there was no disappointment. Despite having had no sleep, LBD and I surprisingly caught our flights back to Bristol, running aimlessly through the airport with minutes to spare. 

When we got onto the aeroplane I looked around and felt the exhaustion and lack of conversation in the cabin, the energy was definitely different from when we'd arrived.  I closed my eyes when we sat down, uninterested in any social interaction that presented itself; those few hours would be the only bit of rest I'd get until my next flight, 12 hours later from London – Morocco… If only I’d worked out my geography and avoided the massively unnecessary detour but hey, you live and learn. So we flew away from that beautiful party island with its amazing beats and beautiful, tanned girls that look like they're part of some sort of Victoria's Secret convention. With few brain cells but throbbing hearts I let exhaustion consume me, next stop: Morocco.

One of the many moments (just listen to the lyrics): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsgP8LkEopM 

A taste of Perugia

Sterlinghe

Bedroom
view

We’ve just soared above cloud level, leaving the warm rain behind and entering a clear, blue layer of sky. It matches the blue that has been present above the hills of Città di Castello every day for the past week as we return from a family holiday at my uncles house in Perugia, Italy; what luxury it has been. Each day has melted into the next with the ever-present sun heating the yellow stones that remained warm well into the night.
Beautiful Sterlinghe, a holiday villa that’s taken D & V 10 years to complete; each detail perfected, from the copper wires to the wood fired oven to the perfectly groomed lavender bushes. If you were to close your eyes and wander through the garden, your body would submit to a completely soporific state, acting as a container for the sun’s heat as the constant hum of a thousand bees filled your ears and the smell of lavender indulged your nostrils. Opening your eyes again would bring you back to life as the vibrancy of the surrounding colours hit you retina, a true feast for your eyes.
Lunch time was my favourite  – bright red tomatoes under white mozzarella topped with a single, green basil leaf; pink prosciutto wrapped around orange melon; huge green salads next to chunks of ciabatta drenched in thick, yellow olive oil and deep red wine in vintage glasses. In the dappled sunlight, under hanging vines everyone would gather to sit around the huge wooden table and eat and laugh. One afternoon, when joined by new company we bonded through a group pizza making session, kneading the dough, spreading the passata and choosing from an array of amazing ingredients. It took a few attempts but soon enough beautiful, organic shapes were streaming out of the wood fired oven, placed upon wooden chopping boards, drizzled with truffle oil and topped with fresh rocket; the whole scene was like an art installation.

One cannot possibly write about a holiday in Italy without mentioning the cuisine given its prominence in Italian culture. One night, we went for a meal in town and as we waited for the food to arrive, D & V told us about Sterlinghe’s creation: how kind the builders were, courteously inviting them to their family homes for a meal – it’s typical for Italian families to own a patch of land upon which they build multiple houses to allow room for the whole extended family to live. During one meal that they went to the food was all served on plastic plates that were placed on plastic tables as everyone sat on plastic chairs with a small TV blaring in the corner. Yet despite their obvious lack of wealth, the richness lay within the food and the joy that it brought everyone as they ate together and welcomed their guests with open hearts and expressive hands.

As the food began to arrive at our table I noticed the energy increasing around us. Beneath the towering 12^th century Cathedral and the ancient sandstone and red brick buildings that bordered the town square, clusters of beautiful, deeply tanned girls began to arrive in groups. Behind them, followed equally brown, well-dressed men with slicked back hair that matched their shiny shoes. Against the yellows and oranges of the buildings, the whole scene gave off its own heat waves, sending my eyes into a lull that I fought off by jiggling my knees.

One of my favourite things about that Mediterranean paradise is the plain elegance with which the Italians conduct themselves socially; they drink no more than a small glass or two of alcohol, no leery voices or obnoxiously loud music could be heard and no over-stimulating advertisements are plastered against the walls. 

The flow was mellow that day as the sky transitioned into night and we ended the evening with a gelato, as one should. My eyes bulged as I held up the supposedly ‘small sized’ cone that was quickly drowning in scoops of fresh fig, walnut and pistachio ice cream – 2 scoops was the minim but it easily beat an English ‘large’. I lapped it off the cone before it became a sticky puddle in my hand. Outside the gelateria, motley crews were standing in circles, eyes down, dodgily licking their ice creams in silence with the polizia parked up under the stone arch nearby in case Iscreamed… Needless to say, the evenings innocence kept trouble at bay and no one went hungry that night… or any night for that matter.

If food is the substance of nurturing, Italy is the mother nurturer and instead of hitting the treadmill running, I’ve opted for the holiday route of indulging in ‘Il dolce far niente’ – the sweetness of doing nothing.

Mm… I just heard my tummy rumble, or was that turbulence? God, I miss it already! 

Soporific song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvpThS7zfQ8 

Gottwood

It was finally that time of the year! Like an excited schoolgirl ready for her first day, I jolted out of bed; my breathing getting shorter as my mind began to race with mental notes “tent poles? Check. Glitter? Check. Wine? Check” I took a deep breath. One step at a time. First mission: Coffee (not that I needed more stimulation...)

It was time for Gottwood, the first festival of the year located 6 hours from Bristol in Anglesey, Wales. I zoomed over to N’s house as the caffeine levels peaked, half dragging along my camping gear that was awkwardly strapped to my body. We packed the boot of his newly acquired, 1960’s baby blue Volvo, shut the bonnet and sat down to fiddle with the ancient seatbelts. As the hum of the engine began to reverberate through the leather seats, I rolled down my window, closed my eyes and felt the Bristol breeze as the first of the day’s tunes began to play.

The flow was easy as the hours passed, countless rollies were smoked and conversation continued … until we hit standstill traffic. The summer sun beat down hard on the bonnet, the temperature gage was stuck on ‘hot’ and we began to feel like a slow cooked, Sunday roast with no ‘fan assisted’ option to cool us down. “Please can the engine not blow, please can the engine not blow” was the mantra for that moment as I supressed the possibility of getting stranded in the middle of Wales.

One hour later, when patience had reached its limits, the traffic started moving and so (thankfully) did the breeze. We drove on, engine intact, brain half baked but managing to keep our cool and save the full cook up till later. It wasn’t long before we’d made it through the tedious queues, bargained down the shuttle bus driver and arrived, along with the rest of the crew to the camping spot that T and D had patiently saved… poles, pegs, mattress pumps and many hands – soon enough we’d erected a little village with I and B’s totem Bell tent adorned in fairly lights and incense, serving as a signpost and safe-haven for when the rain fell.

Gottwood was the perfect festival to start the season; the music was mostly funky house with the line-up including amazing artists such as Joy Orbison, Bradley Zero and Archie Hamilton who played in stages dotted around the Welsh woodlands; the lake-stage holding the perfect day vibes for when the rays were out and the pyramid stage, with its 3D mist-filled visuals transforming the night-time into a multidimensional reality of sorts. With our beautiful crew who could often be found slutdropping under the neon arrow held by Queen L, we wondered through the woods, dancing along and branching off to discover magical venues.

It’s funny how fast we create routines for ourselves, the motive of our waking life became the music instead of the sun; rising late-afternoon, beginning the ritual of glitter and fancy dress, packing some real nutrition in at the avocado stand followed by a caffeinated beverage of some sort: re-set, re-charged and ready. Should the griminess and overflowing portaloos get too much to bear, the glorious options of a shower or a posh poo were game changers. Although, it did rain enough for a daily cleanse (free of charge!)

I chuckle to myself as I reminisce about the first downpour. I was sat against a hay bail, talking to a beautiful stranger about our love for the elements and nature. A deep, monotonous techno tune was playing and every 4 beats, a woman’s voice would quietly chant “rain”. Sure enough, synchronicity was in effect and the droplets started arriving, rapidly picking up pace and shifting the tone of our conversation from appreciation to annoyance; we cursed the elements that we’d loved only minutes before, gave each other a squeeze and ran off to join our separate crews. We clambered into the bell tent, leaving our muddy wellies at the entrance to enter the west world of yoga and slut drops to a harmony of kumbaya… “Inhaaale” everyone lifted their arms “and exhaale”, as their eyes closed and their arms came down “OI OI OI OI OIIIII!!! CHUG IT!” We creased at the vibe-kill as the group of lads next door began chanting loudly, jeering their mate on to chug his beer and then like clockwork, L stumbled in to the centre of the circle, eyes rolling and 2 bottles in hand. What to do but laugh…

From laughing to tears, the times took an emotional twist. I truly learnt the effects of sleep deprivation due to being convinced that the festival finished a day early and pulling a premature all-nighter. I realised I’d gone from half-baked to fully frazzled when I bumped into our mate O (who we’d spent all morning with) in the middle of a crowd, looking at me as he called my name, still dressed in his policeman outfit from a few hours before. My blood froze, thinking I’d been hunted down by security and was being kicked out of the festival. I stood in shock for a few minutes before my very slow brain began to recognise him and I loosened the grip on my rucksack and broke the confused silence with a laugh. A new song came on and the rhythm continued, as it always does.

So, although there were shit moments (like when we were dancing at the pyramid stage and the guy dressed in the inflatable poo-suit popped up on top of the hay bails), most of them were incredible (like when the whole crew coincidentally found each other around a random tree, like woodland creatures responding to natures call). On the last morning, C & I were the last to leave the deserted campsite due to our deadened response to all the attempted wake up calls. I managed to luckily reclaim my phone at lost and found before we spotted N & D who’d been patiently waiting for us by the car. As we drove off in that baby blue Volvo, I smiled; still riding the buzz of the weekend and feeling the warmth of beautiful company, like an aftertaste of the Chai-rum that had always given us that much needed lift at the end of the night. Until next year, Gottwood.

Song of the day: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-s32ESIR-4 

Mix of the day: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1hIxht83h8

A Summer Song

The sun is shining, the breeze is fresh and the background symphony is a combination of skylark, goldfinch and magpie calls, broken up by the odd splash of a Pollock’s tale in the estuary. The sounds of summer in the Devonshire countryside… lush. How liberating it is for the mind to be free of the burdens of city life and its hard, dense energy.

In Psychology, there’s a term ‘sensory adaptation’ that describes a common, unconscious behaviour that we use to blend into our environment… you know when you walk into a room with an overwhelming smell and it dominates your attention for a while, until your senses quickly adapt and your attention moves elsewhere… my point being that with its constant sirens, flashing lights and pungent smells, I think city living massively desensitises us.

In one way, it’s probably necessary; creating a coat of sensory armour to shield us from the tumultuous tumbles and shin splints inherent to the rat race. But on the other hand, it causes us to lose touch with our feelings, our common-sense(s)… our human nature. Despite our technological advancements and ability to instantaneously ‘connect’, we’ve sadly become so disconnected…

Now, while this may be my comedown epiphany,

RIP Gary

My macro evaluation of society,

Or my mind finally getting the chance to run free…

Whatever the reason,

The beginning of this season,

Has given me the space to see.

Summer time in England is when the true magic happens and for once, I am not jetting off to miss the show.

The wand has been waved

Tunes <3

And all those enslaved,

In grey clouds and monotonous drizzle,

Have been freed to unleash,

Their well-groomed beasts,

As the candy pops, cracks and fizzles…

From Gottwood to Glastonbury and somewhere in-between, I’ve been swept up in a rhythmic wave to dance to the sounds of summer. The disconnection of city life has been thrown to one-side as the crew re-assembles in tents old and new, to dance and laugh and sing; Ay ay me hearty’s I feel it in my soul, I feel that pirate ting up in my soul…

Glastonbury 2016

Like the smooth transitions of a really good mix, the days have merged into one another seamlessly and for the first time in a long time, I’m stopping to process the metamorphosis.

Weeks ago, we flitted and fluttered as forest fairies in the Welsh woodlands to funky, house-filled beats. A wave of the wand, another weekend and whoosh! The times took a tropical turn and we floated for hours passed London’s bridges and towers, feeling somewhat wavy aboard the Captain and Co’s birthday vessel. But rougher seas were in need, so the spell conjured up something greater for us to do…

Boat Party
London, 2016

Gottwood, 2016

We became reckless and wild, like an unsatisfied child, attempting to take over every vessel in site (unless they were in the kids playground area during which all crew members [unless gold], were instructed to come back at 7pm…); we became pirates for the night and exercised our rights to groove to that sexy disco beat (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBpYgpF1bqQ ).

The fairy dust has finally settled on the windowsill in front of me.

A momentary breather from the mass of blissful confusion,

To ensure it hasn’t been an illusion,

And that the sounds that I’m hearing are real…

Om Namah Shivaya

Because one must not forget,

That in our attempts to re-connect,

We must still keep our feet on the ground.

For it’s too easy to get swept away,

In the tide of worries we try to keep at bay,

And we end up missing the current sound.

The one sound that we call,

The Uni-verse.

Quote of the day: "To be grounded is to be connected to our emotional-electrical currents, to the waves of our needs and images and the rhythms of actions which comprise our physical-psychic processes: the rhythms of the human and natural ground." - Stanley Keleman

Turbulent love

Phew! I made it onto the plane this time ;). A tumultuous storm is brewing in my belly as my heart fluctuates between sadness, anxiety and exhaustion; contradictory emotions to reflect this complicated situation. Oh how many times this moment has occurred throughout my life.

Having lived an extremely privileged multicultural existence, one has to develop the ability to adapt quickly to ever-changing environments. It evokes a sense of what yogi’s would refer to as ‘aparigraha’ or non-attachment, which seems an impossible task when investing oneself in new situations and making heartfelt connections inevitably creates attachments. The pangs of letting go, while ‘normal’ are still heart-breaking every time. As I listen to the thoughtful melody of 'Black Sands' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTjF2_-bneM), I ask myself if it’s a blessing or a curse to have your loved ones spread out so far? I prefer to favour the former, although in moments like this my decision wavers. For the last 6 years of my life I’ve developed a pattern of ending up in long distance relationships; becoming another ripple in the technological, new-age wave of cyber love.

Brown Hill Creek

J and the family on our Claire Valley wine tour

In some ways, long distance is a blessing: liberating oneself from the trap of co-dependency, living separate lives with space to discover who you both are. Free from the cyclical routine of monotonous nights at home watching episodes of reality TV shows (although sometimes I crave that)… And then after months of doing your own thing, the countdown comes to an end and the drum roll sounds. The time comes to reignite the flame that’s been on hold for months.

The first few days is always the most interesting as you see the other person more objectively; becoming aware of the small quirks that make up their character and noticing how so much time apart really does distort ones memory. The ‘real’ memories soon come flooding back and the comfortable groove sets in. The joy of sharing easeful banter in the same time zone, allowing ones actions to sing in the absence of words with a simple touch or gaze. Growing slightly older each time round and noticing the slight changes in how you communicate together and develop as people… Soon enough, you merge and a routine develops together.

Our trip to Uluru

This time round, I was lucky enough to connect to my many Adeladian loves: yoga seshes, curry nights, hazy days on the hill, wine tours and drunken dances (with family time in-between of course); taking full advantage of my audaciously long summer holiday in the first few sunny days of an Adelaide spring.

Last curry night

My visit this time was supposed to be brief, but old habits die-hard and saying goodbye always comes around too fast. So (on top of a few other reasons) we extended my flights aand then accidentally missed the one I was supposed to get on (eeeeekkk!) but as a result, we got to enjoy a few more unexpected glorious days together. And then just as fast as Abbot lost his position, the 5 alarms we’d set (so as not to miss another flight) were going off all at once and we were saying our last arbitrary words of goodbye to each other. The penny dropped and landed facedown, the flipside of long-distance... That familiar heartache began its slow, dull thud. My hands clenched into fists and my jaw hardened as I swallowed the uncomfortable lump that was working its way up my throat. The unfairness of the routine and the pain of letting go again made the walk to the gate a struggle, as I tried hard to retain my composure and focus on the task of getting on the plane.

As L. and I were discussing the other day, the cheesy line ‘if you love someone you should let them go’ actually holds a great deal of truth…  To truly love is to release them from your illusory grasp and allow it to extend beyond the barriers of ownership and entrapment. In his book ‘The Road Less Travelled’ psychoanalyst M Scott Peck describes love as ‘the nurturing of another’s spiritual growth’; growth requires one to pass through various stages of suffering to release ones old self – a beautifully tragic process to experience with another. But as a good friend of mine says: ‘always count your blessings’, as the bumpy ride never ends... Aha, turbulence just got real and the seatbelt sign is on. My clinical aeroplane meal has formed a hard, congealed layer in front of me :s and I have just about enough time to fit in a soppy rom-com before I arrive home to Malaysia for some family time. Goodbye to one love(s) and hello to another; gawd almighty, I’m gonna have to top that all off with a taste of cheese ;) :(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l51UfkpamiY)

Seas of yellow

Song of the day: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jfHalX5atA