A Monday Rescue Story

This is a rescue story with a happy ending - just in time for Christmas.
You know those Monday morning when you show up late for work with a wild excuse to make up for it? Well, this is actually not of them.
However, I would have thought it wild, had I not witness it myself.
At first glance, there is nothing wrong with this car. Or is it?

What would your boss say if you were to show up late telling him a Galah bird got caught in your car while driving to work? This is exactly what happened to one of my neighbours.

Luckily, the Wildlife expert lives just next door and the entire complex got mobilised pretty quickly in an improvised rescue team.
Two of my neighbours worked diligently to free the bird tangled in the car front.

We are all anticipating the sweet moment when he is finally freed: will he be all right?
Understandably distressed, the little fellow is very lucky to be alive and seemingly unhurt.

I've saved the best for last: a few words about our wildlife expert in residence.
Emma is the sweetest soul. She is very passionate about her work as a wildlife volunteer. Under her expert eye, the bird was kept under observation for a short while. He settled pretty quickly and then he flew away as soon as Emma opened the cage.
He sure has a tale to tell to all his other peers who aren't bothered much to move away from the road when cars drive past them.

.

About the Inner Child, The Lost Child and the Child Who Lost His Way

 

- “Mummy, you have 3 kids: me, G and Daddy!”
I love the way she said it, with that cute little crinkled nose and a big mischievous grin on her face. She doesn't know it. But she is right. Not only about Daddy's lovely, warm nature, who loves nothing more than playing with his little ones. No matter how tired he is, his inner child comes out, and he invents the most delightful games to keep them engaged and entertained.

I do have three children. I just didn't get to meet one.  It is just a small detail and it doesn't make him or her less important. There is no day that I won't think - even if only for a few seconds about how life would have been, together with all our children. Trying to give him or her a face. My inner child desperately longing to connect with the lost one. I never really had a chance to grieve properly, as it happened very fast and we only found out about it too late. And - after a miscarriage (especially a very early one) - there are no worst words that a mother can hear than "it wasn't yet a child, yet, you know? It wasn't a real child yet". To me, it was.
A grain of life has chosen to take shelter within me for a fleeting moment and then it went away.

That is a reality that many women confront nowadays  -some, more than once, unfortunately. The worst part is that it happens mirrored by silence; most dialogues are muted. It all becomes a heartbreaking monologue, made out of rhetoric questions and dreams that didn't hold their promise.
Back in the day, I didn't really understand why people avoid taking about it. But recently, on couple of occasions I found myself on the other side, with not too many wise words to console fellow mothers who needed sympathy and understanding at a very trying time. I remember being horrified by the thought that I might have become insensitive to someone else's grief. But then I realized it wasn't that. No one is deliberately insensitive in such moments. It's just hard finding the right words at the right time and I tend to put my foot in my mouth most  always, without meaning to do so.

And maybe if we as a society start taking down the walls and actually talk about the things that really matter to us - good and bad, happy or sad, maybe solitude and isolation won't hurt so much. It's actually baffling to me, how on these times of high technological progress, where we can reach easier to each other  - even across continents - we still end up alone and isolated when we need the support most. Sometimes it's also a process of self-containment; we keep to ourselves and take the time to process the events and how to deal with it. We are all unique individuals and see life through different glasses. What works for me won't necessarily be good for you. Or the other way around. But it's very important to remember that one is never alone and one never has to do it on their own.  Luckily, there are some wonderful grieving support groups out there who will know how to guide you. And if you don't feel like joining one, remember you are part of an unspoken sisterhood. Every one of us, having been in those shoes, will understand how you feel, no matter how clumsy we might get when words escape us. "I understand" are two simple words but together they form a very strong sentence, which said at the right time, may mean the world to someone.
October is SIDS, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and usually around this time of year I get a bit melancholic, thinking of my lost little one. But I am also grateful for the happiness I get every single day, from the two special little people in my life.

And I am also starting to understand other types of grief and loss. Like when you lose a child to a concept/idea/religion without physically loosing that child. Seeing their choices ruining their life before it even started. Or when that child pays the ultimate price in order to carry on a plan that wasn't his in the first place. I cannot even fathom what a mother might feel in those moments. But because it happened in October, I will briefly talk about it.
15 is an age when great ideas take flight, when the inner child is still very much there, getting ready for conquering ideals and laying up plans for the future. 15 is an age of insecurities about dating and about exams, not an age when one should carry a gun and actively going out there to take out lives.
As a mother, my heart goes out to his mother. Not judging her. Just giving her a virtual hug, at her darkest hour.

About Frozen Magic, Frozen Fingers and Early Mornings

Some mornings are more challenging than I’d think. A tiny flicker of light is beckoning through the blinds at an ungodly hour, when even the Sun is still pondering whether to come out or not.  

And if I do choose to follow it, sometimes I need a reminder of why I leave that toasty, delicious warmth and my oh-so precious sleep and go out chasing morganas: because each morning is unique. And magic. A different kind of magic for each and every dawn. Cue Freddie Mercury, please. (In fact, please do listen to it while scrolling through my images – click here ). Any morning that starts with his songs is a great one, believe me. 

This morning it was frozen magic. With real frozen fingers I am afraid. In my rush to chase the light, I couldn’t find my gloves. But what a sight it was. The colours seemed to pop up even more, with the frost.

Behind the Smiles

We live at a fast pace, in a highly developed, technological era. Surrounded by our gadgets, we sometimes tend to blatantly overlook life. We pass each other hurriedly, throwing a smile as a salute when we don’t have the time to stop.
Smile has become the conventional answer in each and every situation. And by the way we read that smile; we tend to label, generalize and judge a second too quickly. But next time you ask someone “how are you”; you’d better have your listening ears on. ‘Coz you might be surprised of what you’ll find.
And you might want to know what really lies behind the smiles.

We are all learning to deal with our own emotions. Sometimes we’re clumsy; sometimes we’re doing just great. But what it really takes is a helping hand and a listening ear to get someone through their darkest times. Most of the times we won’t even be aware of the life line we might have just thrown to a person starved for kindness.
Recently my attention was drawn towards two unrelated articles. One about women sacrificing their careers and becoming stay at home mums and the other one about domestic violence, particularly a story about a mother of three living in fear.
These are two unrelated stories but something clicked: a scenario containing both these facts together spells doom for any woman.
Most people shrug it off with questions like "why doesn't she leave?" or "there is always a choice". Except that it is not as easy as it seems.

The fact that a man thinks he owns a woman entirely is pathetic.
The moment a woman comes to actually believe that, is terrifying. You see, abuse starts very subversively. At first, there are words planted there to inflict the self -doubting. Belittling. Playing mind games. Making even the strongest woman think that she is worth nothing. It starts with casual words that mean nothing. Then open criticism: the way she dresses, the way she talks, the way she acts... And then it escalates. The first blow comes as a huge surprise and it will change her world forever. Not only because the betrayal, but also because she will never know when to expect the next one. And it is ALWAYS her fault, as he will look for reasons to justify his temper outbursts.

It is very hard to accept it, but if we are to be open about it, let's start by admitting that it can happen to everyone. It is a general misconception that domestic violence happens only in low socio-economical mediums. So let me repeat that: it can happen to anyone. It doesn't matter how educated or how accomplished one is.

Statistics are painting a very unsettling image of our current living: 1 in 3 Australian women have experienced physical violence. 1 in 4 Australian women experienced emotional abuse by a current or former partner. 1 in 6 women have experienced physical or sexual violence by a current or former partner. 1 in 5 Australian women has experienced sexual violence. 

It is less known that men are also victims of domestic violence.
75 males were killed in domestic homicide incidents between 2008-10. This equates to one death every 10 days.
Last year, Dame Quentin Bryce has chaired a taskforce which produced the Not Now, Not ever report for the Queensland State Government. And the findings are not good news: about one in three women experience physical violence, and almost every week in Australia a woman is killed by her former or current partner. In Queensland alone, every day there are 180 cases of family violence reported to police. In New South Wales, nearly half of the state's murders are related to domestic violence. According to Canberra Times, in the ACT, police attend reports of family violence on average nine times a day.
 

Far too often now we see in the news snippets of this disturbing reality. This year, about 30 women have been killed - some of them by the hand of the man they loved. Couple of them right here, in Canberra. This is certainly not the world I want my kids to grow up into. 

Things become complicated when children are involved and going back to the news stories I was talking about, usually mothers are the ones feeling trapped.
Imagine being out of a job for quite a few years. No income, no savings, no job outlook in the overwhelming reality of thousands of public servants being laid off (therefore higher unemployment rate), low economic growth, higher inflation rates and the list could continue. Imagine having one or more little ones depending on you for a roof, food and safety. What will you do?
The first step is the hardest; accepting that you need help to get out of an unsafe situation. But where would you go, if the very services meant to help are already functioning at over capacity?

And when they choose to stay with a violent partner, how long will they last? And what about the children? Often, they are just overlooked collaterals in the statistics. They too suffer the wrath of an abusive parent and witness a dysfunctional relationship, which they grow up thinking that perhaps it is the norm. How will this affect them on a long term? Will they be the next generation of victims and/or perpetrators?
Every Child has the right to a safe space, a place where they belong, feel safe and loved; yet too many women with children are turned away from emergency shelters due to lack of available space and funds. 

So next time you smile in your daily dealings, stop labelling and try to extend that salute further with a “hello and how are you?” Sometimes it’s all that’s needed to find out where you have been wrong.
The woman you pegged as uptight may just be learning to deal with grief, as she just lost someone dear. The little child you may think as obnoxious comes from a dysfunctional family where he was witnessing his mother being abused on daily basis and he does not know how to fit his own emotions. That man with a great heart and a smile as big as the sun has learned to admit to himself he has been in an abusive relation for too long. These are just a few of the stories I have recently learned, by simply saying hello.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love

(C) Erin Ballenger, 5yo

I am not a very religious person. But I believe in God and in Love.

I believe there is some governing force; whatever we like to call it. 

Whether it's shifting particles or divine intervention, we all have different names  for it: Serendipity. Synchronicity. Destiny. Some people believe in Coincidence and some believe in God Almighty. 

Heck, even Newton was a Man of Science yet a Man of God who strongly believed that the Universe could only proceed from the counsel and dominion of an intelligent and powerful being. But, whatever you believe in, tonight just take a step back. Inhale, and think about Love. 

I sometimes feel that the true meaning of Christmas is long lost, amidst the daily grind, the lengthy or speedy trips to the shops and amidst the amalgam of subliminal messages in the masterfully orchestrated adds, meant to convince you that you need more of everything. 

So walk away from all that, for a minute.  And tonight, find Love in your hearts. All kinds of love - you choose what defines you. The world would be a much better place if all of us could do that for a moment. Love and empathy should come naturally and this is what defines us a superior species.

I had the best proof of that today, when my 5yo was decorating envelopes for Christmas. Out of all possible designs she could have done, she chose LOVE, all by herself.

 

Too Many Violins and no Cello

I am still trying to wrap my head around this mad year. 2014 has indeed been a challenging year in many ways and much as I try understanding some of the events, it just seems that madness takes over us slowly, creeping in. On a global scale, a lot has happened: the breath taking, the unthinkable and the spectacular, the saddening and the uplifting. The horrifying, the happy-ending and the hope-bringing. Not necessarily in this order.

The trouble with the world is that we all want to do the talking. No one wants to listen anymore. And if you say this, I say that,  and then you again, then me again... But sometimes, the dialogue gets distorted, sometimes it seems we just wait (im)patiently for our turn to talk again and the other person's message gets lost. We fail to recognise the silent cries for help. We fail to recognise desperation. We witness abuse without even realising so. We loose connection within community, as well as with our innermost dreams. We dream big, but we forget to find wonder in all the small things. 

It's like the world has turned into one big orchestra, where everyone is a violin wanting to play the solo part. And it all results in discordance. Most of the time, there is no cello to punctuate the rhythm. Or the direction. 

Playing cello requires strength and skill that most of us don't master. It is one of the most critical instruments for orchestral music, as it provides part of the harmony. 

We need this harmony, to exist as a nation. And as a species. We need determined people, strong enough to tackle being the cello: we need leaders. So find your voices. Speak up, but don't forget to listen to the weaker ones. Together we can build the song. The harmony. 

Speak Up! A different Christmas Message.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the second time this week, I found myself in tears while nursing my two years old. He is too young to understand emotions, but surprisingly, he does. He went to sleep in my arms, his little hand caressing my cheek, while I was trying to make some sense of this terrible tragedy in Cairns. But how can anyone understand the incomprehensible?  As a mother, I hurt for those 8 children who never stood a chance for that fair go that we are all accustomed to talk about. And also as a mother of two, the only thing that I can understand is that something must have been gone terrible wrong, for a loving mother to end 8 little lives like that. 

 

I find that there is a new taboo word amongst mothers - no one wants to admit or talk about the isolation that can result from rearing children. Sometimes you can easily get cut off from your dreams, life style, aspirations and whatever else made you YOU, prior to having children. Sometimes it is hard to keep a healthy balance between being a mother and being a person. Sometimes one might get depressed without any soul in the world noticing. And without the right support, it is easy to fall through the cracks.

 

Now, as an ex journalist, I am getting extremely disappointed with the way the sensational gets in the way of humane in all press reports. So I am not going to get into all that debate about drugs, drinking, race, social status, dole, dysfunctional, etc. in a way or another we are all dysfunctional at certain times in life. 

But as a mother and as a person, I can only wonder about support. And about depression. Let's stop speculating over the sensational for a minute. We don't know her story or her path through life. Whether she had food for her children or enough money. Whether she had the support she needed and when she needed it. Life with so many children cannot be easy at all. Without approving her, I just want to say: It's easy for anyone to snap at a point. What sort of help did this lady and her family have? And did she reach to anyone? And if she did, did they notice? Or did they let it pass unobserved? So many questions that will remain unanswered. And yet another tragedy that might have been avoided if people were connected more to each other. It is disconcerting, this paradox: the more connected on all the social media we feel, the more disconnected from real life we become. 

 

I think there is a very strong meaning that we all have to draw from Murray Street, as well as from Sydney siege: this is the time we all have to reach to each other. It is all well and good to take flowers and toys in the aftermath, but how can that help the ones that are no longer here? It is great to pay our respects to the victims and it is amazing to see how we all become one, as a nation. But we have to take one more step. To the ones that feel strong enough, please stop and ask the others "Are you ok?" And when we do, we should fully listen what they have to say. Not just half listening, not peeping at our phones, not just waiting for our turn to speak. And you might be surprised by the multitude of stories out there. 

 

To the ones feeling weak at times: stop and ask for assistance before you reach the snapping point. There is help at hand and there is nothing wrong with admitting when one feels overwhelmed. The acceptance that being a mother equals long overhaul, nurse, accountant, financial planner, entertainment director, executive housekeeper, executive chef, nanny and perfect lover is well and truly ridiculous. Yes, we are all a One-woman orchestra and most of the times we are self sufficient and proud of it. But there are times when we are also vulnerable, lost and miserable. And we should talk more about those times, instead of braving it out or pretend it doesn't happen. 

 

Amidst the odd jobs and all shenanigans involved when bringing up two great kids, I have spent this year doing a lot of soul searching, doing more of the two things that define me. On one hand, I tried to get back to writing so I did a lot of reading - good books, bad books, mediocre...I read all I could during the long nights when my 2yo wanted me to incessantly hold him and let him sleep on my chest. 

Secondly, I took the dust off my camera and started photography again, as a way of documenting and conveying to the others the life in our little corner of the world. 

I kept focusing on these things for two reasons: because I needed to be reminded of a world I have forgotten - a world of word crafting, of synaesthesia- where words and images melt together and freeze a moment in time. And also because at times, it felt more comfortable to take refuge in something familiar and comforting, rather than confront the realities of the mad world we live in. And 2014 was a mad year, indeed. 

 

I realise now that it was the wrong approach, the ostrich one. Putting my head in the sand and pretending things don't happen won't chance the course of action. But voicing out some concerns, might. My "voice" is little - I have 2 followers on this blog. But maybe if we rally together, something good will come out of it. I am proud of how Australians reacted with a sea of flowers after the Sydney siege. Or how they took flowers and teddies to Murray Street. But this also makes me wonder about proximity and the way we report ourselves to tragedy. Take for instance all the children casualties and all the displaced children in Syria. Who is going to find closure for them? No one even knows exactly how many of them are affected by this ongoing war. They made the headlines for a few days and that was all. I truly hope this will not be the case for the Murray Street inhabitants. They need support, unconditional love and reassurance. What happened there was tragic. But it is also a chance for the others. This tragedy has hopefully shed some light on the life style, difficulties and misconceptions there. It is now up to us all to make sense of it and try to help. How, that is a totally new question. 

 

I often get in trouble with my family for speaking out against violence, for trying to help when I pass by random altercations in the street/ bus station or for not exercising a better risk assessment when I decide to help in these situations. One of the question I get is "what if something happens to you; don't you think about your children?" The thing is, I do. That's the trouble, I think about my children all the time. Is this the world I want them to live in? Is this the person I want them to be? Are these the people they will mix with? And if they do, will it benefit or damage them? But the question that troubles me more is: what will they say about us and our generation when they grow up. When time comes and they learn about history and social unrest in our times, won't they consider us cowards or hypocrites for not saying anything? Won't they be ashamed that we haven't even tried help to change things? 

I am not good at New Year resolutions but if I were to make one for 2015 it would be this: to try and pay more attention to people around me. Extend a friendship or just a good word - sometimes that's all people need. I cannot help but wonder, if that poor woman in Cairns had some able support, would she still be in the same circumstances today?

 

So I will stop, observe more, listen more, help more, smile more and spread the friendships and the laughter further. We all need a good laugh every now and then, to recover from things that otherwise are not easy to comprehend or to understand. 

So here is to you, my friends and family from all the cardinal points, I send you Love and I wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I wish you that Santa brings you everything you need. Not what you want, just what you need. 

 

 

 

Bonding (II)

The Grasslands Nature Reserve is a vast space and replacing its fence is a very big job, taking a few days. On my previous post, I was talking about a National Geographic Assignment and the way it taught me to redefine the way I am seeing photography. Not only mine, but also the way my son is interacting with the surrounding environment, without me having to tell him how to do it.

(If you missed my first post, click here to see it)

It has also taught me to understand better a few things. My son is only 2yo and loves talking to people and taking pictures. He is also very tiny and a lot of times I feel like picking him up while taking his shot. That would be a mistake, as it would change his perspective. I know now. I also learned to trust his judgement and let him show me what he wants and what he can do. Quite a few surprises there...Without me telling him how to do things, he actually took better shots than me.

His photo got noticed by two of the editors, which is very rewarding, considering his age. It does not matter whether we get picked or not for the final story. The thing is, we learned to function better both as individuals and as a team.

Encouraged by the results of out first photo shoot, we followed up with a second visit a few days later. We went back, trying to take it a layer deeper, as encouraged by the National Geographic Editor. My 2yo had a blast following around and talking to the contractors, who were very knowledgeable and friendly.  We found Nick and his men in between tasks. The conversation recommenced easily.  My 2yo run to Nick, proudly announcing: "We came to take photos of you". Nick smiled and he explained (very patiently) a few various jobs to my son; he even has shown him how a baby bobcat works.

Nick is a government contractor who has been in business for over 20 years. He also works for sustainable energy companies.

His biggest challenge to date is to find continuous employment for his team. 

 

Here is George's series:

 

 

 

Here is my series: