A bit of drama to spice up my life

We all have lists... And I don't mean shopping lists or packing lists or present lists, (because let's face it, they're not all that exciting) I mean real life lists, things we want to do, things we want to tick off before we die. For some these come as a sort of mid life crisis, the "oh sh*t I've wasted so much time and don't feel like I've accomplished anything and shall now buy a sports car" kind of list. For others it is as simple as a bunch of classic movies they want to tick off.

I'm just twenty five, and hopefully nowhere near having a mid life crisis, but as long as I've known I've had these lists... Never written down, but things that have remained there in the back of my mind waiting to be reignited. The biggest example of such an item is the "get married and have kids" objective. This one is dateless... Sure there is a biological clock that will stop ticking at some point (or so every magazine ever says) but this item is otherwise out of my control. On the other side of the list is a desire to watch The Lord of the Rings and Indiana Jones movies (don't judge) which is fully within my control.

While both of these items have been on my "list" for quite a long time, the movie one in particular isn't something that I think will bring me great fulfillment. Sure I will have added trivia night knowledge, but it isn't going to change me (I don't think) and isn't anywhere near challenging enough for me.

If you've read any of my previous blogs, you'll quickly learn I like to try new things. In fact, in ten weeks (give or take a month or two) I tried ten new things for a creative project for work. Yes this technically fell under work (have I ever mentioned how much I LOVE my job?) but it was so much more than that, and ignited a new passion on me to keep trying the things on my list. I began to feel less dread toward the fear of failure and the judgement from others, especially my peers. I've spent a lot of my life being a people pleaser, not reluctantly, but one day I realised that my worst fear was not in fact public speaking, (like 85% of humans) my worst fear was being judged by people I knew.

This surprises a lot of people I know... In fact, today as I danced and sung around the cafe to the countdown on music max as we waited for coffee, I said something along those lines and it was hard for those there to believe me. Until this point in life I have often avoided doing things because of fear of rejection or judgement... If you wanted to read to deeper into that, it could stem from being bullied in school and past interactions with people, but wherever it comes from, it has always been there, and for the past few years at least has held me back from one particular item off Natalie's long list of awesome things she wants to do… take acting classes.

When I was about 8 years old I think I first expressed to my Mum that I was interested in doing drama classes. At that point my only performing arts experience had been a brief stint in the band playing clarinet, (very brief) and a few years in the school and state choirs. I remember coming home multiple times asking my Mum if I could take classes, but because of clashes in extra curricular activities and the costs involved it never eventuated. A few years later I started high school and as soon as I heard the school had a debating and tournament of the minds team I was at the auditions quicker than you could give me the time. I remember the auditions being so much fun and I knew these were both something I wanted to do.

This was when the first two rejections came. I didn't make it on to either team in year seven, and I was so devastated. At the age of 12 that was enough for me to not want to go back again in the next few years to audition either. I had known that not everybody would get a place, but being one of only a few who didn't get a place on either debating teams, and missing out on tournament of minds as well, this twelve year old wasn't about to face more rejection.

When it came to subject selection for year nine and ten I was conflicted. I loved art and had been building and making things since I was really young so since I only got to choose two subjects, Art and Design & Technology were the front runners. I desperately wanted to do all three, but Drama sat as my third preference, and for about two days I was on the list to do it until a space opened in the art class and I was moved. In   Two years later we were studying A Midsummer Nights Dream in English when we learnt it was to be our schools next major production. I was so excited, as I was fascinated by the whole play and wanted to be in it more than anything. A friend of mine had the same idea and so for weeks the two of us practiced a scene between Helena and Hermia before building a life size tree out of cardboard boxes to take to our audition with us. Whatever it took we were going to get into that play… And we did. I was cast as Peaseblossom and she was Mustard Seed (two of Titania’s fairies). I only spoke 8 words in the whole play, but boy did I do them enthusiastically.

Coolest Fairy Around

After loving this taste of the thespian life I was quick to audition for the school production of the musical The Wiz the following year when I was in year 11. I was not a singer so auditioned for the chorus. (I’m almost certain they let everyone in, but chose roles based on the auditions) I was cast as a munchkin and a flying monkey and even though I had to learn a whole bunch of songs, a whole bunch of dances and go to a whole bunch of rehearsals I loved every minute of it. At this stage I had still not joined drama classes because I didn’t want to be two years behind everyone else who had done it as an elective and it went on the back burner again.

In the years since then I have tried to stay involved in “the scene”, selling tickets for my friends musicals and doing the odd bit of extras work here and there as well as taking up pole classes and performing (the most nerve wracking experience of my life) at a variety night in Glebe last year. For the longest time however I have sat back and watched and wished I could take part, always too scared that people will judge me or laugh at me or that I would embarrass myself, or worst of all… fail.

Until NOW!! After participating in a sample class at the Actors Centre in Surry Hills (Where Hugh Jackman did all his original training) AND loving every minute of it, I have officially enrolled in a part time acting course for 2014. I am so unbelievably excited about this. I’m not doing it because I have dreams of Hollywood or anything like that, I am doing it because I want to follow a passion, become more confident in myself, and knowing more about the craft of acting can only be a positive influence on my job. So… It may have taken me seventeen years to get here, and I may still fail, but I don’t want to look back at my life as I’m floating up to the spirit in the sky and wonder if I could have done it.

Here’s to ticking things off the list! Bring on 2014!

If today was your last day

Yesterday I was on my way to work when I received the tragic news that one of the kids I grew up with and then worked with for a few years tragically passed away in a car accident the day before. I haven't seen him in a few years, but nevertheless it was a shock to the system. He was only twenty two years old and had his whole life ahead of him, a genuinely lovely guy who was amazing at his job, and skilled beyond his years. On Tuesday the earth lost a wonderful person, and though I didn't know him very well, the words written by his friends and family on Facebook in the twenty four hours since his passing show just how much he was loved and respected.

I turned the radio off in the car for some silence and prayer. As I asked God to watch over him and his family I found it harder to concentrate, and to fathom why such a tragedy had occurred. I realised that accidents like this happen every day, but this time it was someone I knew and it got me thinking about life. No matter how hard I tried to push it out of my head, one song kept coming back into my head on repeat. That song: If today was your last day by Nickelback. I don't know what that says about my musical tastes, but it was the words that kept resounding with me.

It is such a reminder to love every day like it is your last day... And I'm not saying go spend all your money or intentionally tempt fate by doing risky things, because then the chances of it being your last actually do increase. Every day I thank God for giving me another day on earth.
"Each day's a gift and not a given right."

I don't know when I will leave this earth, but I hope and pray it's not any time soon because I still have so much I want to do, so much I want to see, and so much I want to give to the world. I'm so lucky that I have the amazing job, wonderful friends and loving family that I do and it's time to start appreciating that more.

I've read a bunch of articles and watched a bunch of TED talks that echo that sentiment, and if you haven't been motivated to make the most of every day and to stop making excuses check out the link below.

http://www.lifehack.org/articles/productivity/100-incredible-things-learned-watching-70-hours-ted-talks-last-week.html

And if that isn't motivational enough. Check out this pep talk from Kid president. "It's everybody's duty to give the world a reason to dance."

Stop making excuses and live and love every moment like it was your last, cause you never know when it will be!

And in the meantime, have a listen to Nickelback.

If today was your last day.

My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less travelled by
That first step you take is the longest stride

If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last
Leave old pictures in the past?
Donate every dime you had, if today was your last day?
What if, what if, if today was your last day?

Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the price is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try
So live like you're never living twice
Don't take the free ride in your own life

What if, what if, if today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past?
Donate every dime you had?

And would you call those friends you never see?
Reminisce old memories?
Would you forgive your enemies?
And would you find that one you're dreaming of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you'd finally fall in love if today was your last day?

If today was your last day
Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?
You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars
Regardless of who you are

So do whatever it takes
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life
Let nothing stand in your way
'Cause the hands of time are never on your side

Mental Health and Me

This World Mental Health Day, 10 October, I am giving up my voice for 24 hours to raise funds for mental health charity The Black Dog Institute. The passing of a relative is what led me to speak out about mental health and to do this challenge in 2012, but underneath I realised that even though I was doing a good thing, I wasn’t doing all I could to reduce the stigma associated with mental health. I was keeping my struggles as a teenager silent, and in order to truly make some noise about mental health I needed to be 100% transparent, so here goes...

On my thirteenth birthday I woke up feeling sick. I assumed it was just because I hadn't eaten and headed off to the bus stop with an apple. By the time I arrived at school I was feeling even worse so I went to the school office and they called my mum to pick me up. This seemingly normal sick day was the start of many more to come. For the next and last six months of year seven the number of sick days I had grew exponentially to the point where I was missing whole weeks of school.

I went to the doctor many times and tried to explain to them that I would wake up every morning feeling really sick and I didn't want to go to school if I was going to be sick. They did all the blood tests they could, and they all came up negative. They told me I was fine and needed to just go to school because it was all in my head and I wasn't sick. When they decided it wasn't anything physical, the first thing the doctors, the school and my mum asked was whether I was being bullied or if there was something worrying me at school, did I find the work too hard and so on. The answer to all of the above was no. I loved school, I loved my friends, and I wasn't being bullied. I was so frustrated that nobody believed me, I wanted to be at school and I didn't want to feel sick, but no matter how much everybody told me I was fine, I didn't feel it.

My family and neighbours rallied around trying to make me go to school by offering to drive me, or by promising rewards if I went to school. None of this stopped me from feeling sick, and so as my family got angrier at my unwillingness to go to school, I got craftier in my avoidance. I was so scared of going to school sick that I started preplanning my way to get out of going by announcing how sick I was feeling before I went to bed. That didn't last very long, and soon I was barricading myself in my bedroom until my siblings and my mum had to leave for school and work. I would not come out again until they had left, returning to my room when they came home in the afternoon or evening.

I kept up with my school work the whole time, with my friends sending homework home with my sister for me. Explaining to my friends why I wasn't at school became harder the longer I was sick. Eventually I reluctantly agreed to go see a psychiatrist who specialised in adolescent disorders. It was then that I was diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder, and was put on anti-depressants.

I couldn't say whether this helped or not, as even though for the last few months of year seven I was able to attend school most days, I still found myself feeling sick, and other than riding my bike or hanging out in the street and the park with my neighbours, there was nothing I would leave the house for, and the last thing I wanted to do was get into a car or on a bus. I was so glad when the school year finished and it was school holidays, again, not because I didn’t like school but because it meant I could get up every morning and not worry about getting on a bus or being away from home if I didn’t want to be. I remained on the antidepressants, and everyone assumed (me included) that when term one of the following year started I would be back into the swing of things and have no further issues. Unfortuntely that was not to be the case and from day two of year eight I started missing school again.

At this point my family and the school started growing more concerned. I went to meetings with the school counsellor, with the year advisers, and even had a few teachers visit me at home to bring me work. I hated the way I was feeling, but couldn’t make it go away no matter how hard I tried. I remember crying to my mum and the doctors about just wanting to be better. I was missing school and my friends and normalcy and wanted a magic cure. As anyone else who has ever experienced anxiety or depression would know, there isn’t a simple cure.

I was taken to an appointment at Redbank House, which is a school located on the grounds of Westmead Hospital. It has small classes of students who (at the time I was a student) experienced a range of mental illnesses and disorders ranging from schizophrenia and psychosis, to anxiety, depression and eating disorders. Its aim is to rehabilitate, (for lack of a better word) students who face these various challenges. For some students it means just coming to the school daily instead of their regular school and meeting with nurses and doctors, and for others it means living on the ward during the week, with school in the day, and going home on weekends. I started off only attending daily, however because I was as reluctant to leave the house to go to this school as I was my own, I was quickly (with much protest) moved to a live in student.

Over the next two terms I grew to really love the place. I made some great friends, and loved all the staff members (most of the time). I loved that when school was finished I got to go back to the ward where we would play games, watch tv, play pool and generally have a good time. My school sent me all the work I needed to do, so I stayed up to date with everything I needed to learn. This meant that when I did eventually go back to school I wasn’t struggling to keep up.

In saying all that though, it wasn’t the easiest of six months. It also involved daily and weekly meetings with my case worker, psychologist and doctor, as well as family sessions. I can’t recall a specific point where I started feeling better in control of my anxiety, but by the end of my time there I was going to my own school a few days a week. I was really glad to see my old friends and school again but was still worried about returning.

In all my counselling sessions we discussed my anxieties and what I was feeling. Even though I hate being psychoanalysed and I’m not sure we ever came up with a concrete reason for why I was feeling anxious all the time. Somewhere in those six months I changed and grew and was able to cope with what I was feeling.

It wasn’t a magical cure though. For the next few years I still struggled with my anxiety, and although I was going to school every day, I sometimes found myself having a sudden sick day on days of school excursions. By the time I finished high school in year twelve to anyone else it was as though there was no more problem, and for the most part there wasn’t. I still get anxious about flying, and leaving my comfort zone, but am constantly challenging myself.

I know now what my fourteen year old self couldn’t work out, that the world isn’t going to end if I am sick away from home or in public. I developed along the way my own strategies of combatting anxiety, and it has worked. I stayed on the anti depressants until I was about halfway through uni, mostly because of a fear of relapse if I stopped taking them. That relapse didn’t come, and hopefully never will, but I am always conscious to keep my mental health in check whether that means talking to friends, or writing or just taking time out for me.

I have never thought of ending my own life, but if I hadn’t had been forcefully encouraged (if you like), to go get help, and if my mum, my family, my neighbours, my school, and my doctors hadn’t pushed for me to do it I may not have and if I had lived in that anxiety for an extended period of time, who knows where I would be now. Mental illness is a struggle, and when nobody wants to talk about it, or you have people (even close friends) around you telling you to “suck it up” and make yourself better because “You’re being a big cry baby” it makes it even harder to speak out.

When I had the flu I would tell people I had the flu, and when I broke my arm and missed a few days of school due to hospital visits I told people about that too. Why wouldn’t I? It was the truth right? While I was absent due to mental illness though I would tell my friends I had an undiagnosed mystery illness and that I had been sent to boarding school for a while and I’d be back to my normal school soon. I don’t know if my friends believed me at the time, and I didn’t really discuss it with them afterwards. Why did I need to? I was fine now.

I’ve added to the stigma associated with mental illness as much as everyone else. I felt ashamed that I had anxiety and depression, and even more I felt embarrased that I couldn’t just make it go away. I felt like there was something wrong with me, like I was a lesser person because everybody else at my school was fine. I didn’t want to try and explain what was wrong with me because I didn’t believe any of them would understand, and I was happier allowing people to believe terrible rumours about why I had been absent from school instead of just telling the truth. The truth is that even though it shouldn’t, stigma surrounding mental illness still exists today.

There are alarming figures about mental illness rates, with one in five Australians experiencing some form of mental illness in their lives. When there is an outbreak of chicken pox in a class of 20 kids once in a year it makes the news. One in five Australians is over four million Australians, which is far too great a number to stay silent about.

This Zip it campaign was a chance find when I felt a call to action in 2012. I felt lost and wanted to do something to help. I had given money to the Black Dog Institute, but knew I couldn’t just make a donation. I felt a need to speak out, and the best way to do that was to not speak at all. I love talking (a lot) and knew that besides being an easy money maker (given the number of people who would have paid money years ago to have me silent for a while), it was important for me to be an ambassador for mental health given my own struggles. So here I am back for round 3.

I know I don’t have the skills or resources to help every person who is struggling with mental illness, and to end suicide in Australia or in the world. I do have the freedom to be able to talk (minus one day) and write about it, and raise funds for the people who have the means to be able to make a difference. It doesn't have to be a life sentence, and you don’t have to struggle in silence.

To sponsor me or to find more out about Zip It, go to the link below.

https://www.mycause.com.au/page/80140/nataliezipsitformentalhealth2014

10 Week Creative Project Video & Reflections

Below is the video presentation of my 10 week creative project.

It summarises in four minutes and twenty seconds what activities I did. To read more about each task see my earlier blogs.

All these tasks challenged me and my comfort zone in a multitude of ways, and there were times and certain tasks where I doubted myself. I want to do everything, and I want to be able to do everything. I find it hard to accept that I can't do something which is why I will try mostly anything. I certainly won't bungee jump or jump out of a plane anytime soon, but the biggest thing these tasks have taught me is to not hate on myself if I can't do everything. I was terrible at Flying trapeze, and even though I faced my fear of heights I left feeling depressed that I hadn't been as good as everyone else.

My biggest obstacle in my own self development in my quest for awesomeness and challenges is wanting to be like other people. I came to realsie that I need to get excited about my own personal acheivements and not worry if I'm not as good a dancer as my friend who has done it for 23 years, or not as good at flying trapeze as my sister who is an ex gymnast.

I did all these things, and that in itself is something to be hugely proud of. I gave it a go, and nobody can ever say I didn't try. I remember in my very first term of pole fitness two years ago telling my teacher (and then colleague) that I couldn't do one of the moves no matter how hard I tried. As a girl who had had a huge transformation in mind and body since she started pole, she was well equipped to give the following words of advice:

"Don't say I cant... Say I will."

And though sometimes I can be over ambitious or over confident when declaring I will be able to do something, as long as I keep the attitude that if I try long and hard enough, with the exception of perhaps inventing teleportation, I can and will do anything I set my mind do.

What's next for me? There are still so many things I want to try and take part in, and while I will fit all those other things where my timetable allows, my next biggest goal is to take an acting course. I won't be able to start until the start of next year, but it is something I have always wanted to do, and have long put off for fear I would be terrible at it.

Here's to bigger and better things. Watch this space for updates of new and wonderful experiences!

Pretty Much A Rockstar

I once read a valuable piece of advice... Or maybe I was told it once... Or possibly a large number of times until I was ready to listen. That advice: the best way to get over grief, or emotional turmoil that comes with either a death or a breakup is to keep busy. This advice has an added bonus of never being bored and as such has led me (good or bad) to where I am now - a promo producer by day, but by afternoon, night and weekends I'm a tutor, a youth group coordinator, a singer, a softball player, a cheerleader, a mentor, a church council member, on a magazine editorial team, a pole dancer and when I have spare time an unpaid extra/model. Evidently I like to keep busy

I wasn't always so busy though. A few years ago after a breakup when I dramatically professed that I could never be happy again, and that I was destined to work at Coles forever and would die an old lonely cat lady... I decided in my wisdom, or my friends persistent advice, to do something to keep busy.

Until that point I had spent years at church just singing as I watched my talented friends sing and play guitar every week. I decided then that I wanted to learn to play guitar, so I did what every budding guitarist does and went to Aldi and bought myself an acoustic guitar complete with case and amp inputs.
A week later I got back together with the guy I had broken up with (not a smart move in retrospect) and my guitar sat in the corner of my room for another year until my brother decided he wanted to learn to play so I lent it to him. He actually got really good and after about another a year he bought his own and asked me if I wanted mine back. I left it with him for a bit longer so he could teach other young people guitar at the youth group, but when this creative challenge came up I decided it was time to pick the guitar up again, and my best friend/housemate was only too happy to be my teacher (after harassing me for the last few years to pick the guitar up and learn more than the 5 chords and 1 strumming pattern I knew back to front.)

So after my first cheer leading practice (see earlier blog) I was feeling less than adequate about my dancing abilities and needed a distraction. I took my guitar out and sat down for my first lesson with my best friend in the backyard. The conversation went as follows:

"I want to be able to play a whole song by the end of the next 10 weeks."
"Sure, we can do that, what song do you want to learn? Taylor Swift,? she's easy to play."
"No I want to learn Vienna by Billy Joel."
(We look up the chords on our phones)
"You'll have to learn to bar chords but otherwise it's not too terrible.""Too easy. Done.""It's not actually that easy... you realise it took me 6 months to learn one bar chord.""It's cool, I've got this, I'm hardcore."
"Mmmm oooo-kay..."

Ten minutes later after my friend who has been playing for years realised that even she didn't know some of the complex chords in the song we had switched back to Taylor Swift's Mean.

At first I was just playing single chords at their appropriate times, eventually working my way up to strumming and singing. By the end of the night I had forgotten how upset I had been about my lack of dancing ability and was reveling in the fact I'd played my first song on guitar. There was even one bar chord in the song that I had sounding semi decent by the time I went to bed that night. It was the perfect self esteem builder I needed that I was not in fact hopeless at everything I tried.

I was a little ambitious thinking I had time to become a master guitarist in the 10 weeks, or 10 months as it almost ended up being. Given the number of other commitments that had now filled my life it was probably another few months before I picked up the guitar again, learning the chords to Adele's Someone Like You.

I haven't yet been able to commit any songs to memory, but at this stage my chord knowledge has increased, and slowly but surely I am on the way to actually being able to say I can play guitar. In the meantime the guitar is sitting out of the case in easy reach and sight in my bedroom to remind me to actually pick it up and start playing.

Guitar School

4/10 for Commitment levels

8/10 for fun times 

The Sounds of Silence

I'm quite a loud person, always have been, even at school when I was feeling shy or awkward in social situations I was loud and constantly being told to be quiet. I don't think I am one of those people who needs to fill every quiet moment with my own voice, however prolonged silence does make me uncomfortable.

Recently I attended Myers-Briggs personality testing which confirmed for me what I was pretty sure I knew already which was that I was an extrovert. Basically that means, among other things that I get my energy from people around me and not just from myself. I'll happily sit for hours watching TV not talking to anyone or sleep for that matter, but I don't often spend time in silence, preferring to throw my iPhone on shuffle whenever I'm at a loose end. As I was writing this very blog I was listening to Lily Allen's album on repeat until I realised the irony of what I was writing about and switched it off. Call it "method" writing, or something like that.

I have read many times that if you spend time in solitude and silence it's really good for your brain and can help your creativity and can spawn ideas and even come up with amazing things because your mind is free. I also heard in a talk from Sr. Hilda from the Abbey on the weekend before I started this challenge that it would be really good for my spiritual growth too, because when you sit still and listen you are more open to the flow of prayer and you're not blocked by loud noises, music and any other distractions.

With that in mind I decided to go seven days without music in the car. Seems simple enough…The way I see it is it's a win-win situation… I either improve my spirituality and/or my creativity and have deep revelations about myself spiritually and emotionally, that is if this succeeds... alternatively I go crazy and become more insane than I already am.

I won't lie, it was Monday morning and I got in my car and was listening to Sami Lucas and Yumi Stein's breakfast show on Mix 106.5 the whole 15 minute drive to work. It wasn't until I got there that I realised. Fortunately this was the only time I failed all week, so despite the slow start I was ready to get into it by the afternoon. After 5 minutes on my 30 minute drive to tutor I was so bored. I remembered all the things I had read and thought I should kick start by thinking about my life and relationships. Thinking was overrated though so instead I sung a song about what I was feeling about past relationships. I have no idea what it said now, and I kind of wish I had somehow recorded it, because I'm pretty sure it had a sweet chorus and bridge and everything. After tutoring I reprised the song for the ten minute drive home, but by the time I left to go to the city for my pole class I had lost the words. So what did I do instead, I sung a song about Marilyn Monroe, who I had been making a promo for at work that day. It was enough to last me the 40 minute drive, so evidently I had become knowledgeable on the topic. On the way home I made some phone calls (hands free in a legal car mount). Not because I had given up, though it was a very good time waster, but because I'd missed some calls while I was in my class.

The second day was thankfully just a few short trips, home to work, then work to first student tutoring, then to the second students house, then to the supermarket and then back home again. The longest of these was half an hour, and I think I was too tired to notice I was in silence, so it wasn't too much of a struggle.

Day 3 I was home sick, so though thankful I didn't have to drive anywhere in silence, I wasn't so thankful for the horrible stomach cramps I was having.
The fourth day, Thursday, was always going to be the hardest. This was my cheer leading day, which meant as soon as work finished I had a two hour drive in peak hour to get to Wollongong University. For some unknown reason I had Carly Rae Jepson's Call me maybe stuck in my head, and after singing that through a few times I annoyed myself with it. My brain then went somewhere else entirely, and as I sat on Australia Avenue I started thinking about ways to charge batteries if you were stuck on a dessert island. This eventually made me sleepy and I was uncontrollably yawning. I then started to ponder whether or not it is possible to yawn too much. Thankfully, at the right time another car with its window open drove past and it was literally music to my ears, that was short lived though and I still had an hour and a half to go and wasn't moving anywhere. I decided to start "writing" this blog by dictating to Siri, with interesting results… when I told her to write "Extravert" I actually ended up calling myself an "extra bed." I discovered that if I spoke in my best rendition of an American accent then she could actually translate my sentences pretty accurately. Singing she couldn't handle though, with "Starships were meant to fly… hands up and touch the sky" translating to: " Starships lamented hands up and touch this Lampstein as well." Eventually the traffic started moving so I gave up on Siri and for the next hour and a half between silences would burst into whatever song or hymn I could think of.

On the way home I must have been over singing because I actually found myself deep in thought, thinking about past relationships and decisions I've made in my life. Evidently there was something I needed to reflect on because I missed the turn off down Heathcote road when I realised I was in Engadine and so added an extra half hour to my silence by the end of it. Oops.
The fifth day was another one with not too many long trips. I went from home to work, then from work to a local youth camp picking up Dominos pizza for dinner on my way. When I drove home later that night I had a passenger which made it easy, and when I drove out to pick my housemates up from the Albion at Parramatta at 1:30, I was too busy focusing on staying awake to notice there was no music.

Day 6 Saturday was pretty uneventful, driving back to the youth camp, then ducking out to tutor and go to the shops nearby during the day before returning home late that night.

Sunday was our last performance day for cheerleading so after driving back to the youth camp to put on breakfast, I headed back to Wollongong. Fortunately Sunday traffic is a lot kinder than Thursday afternoon so I was there in an hour and a half. I spent the whole trip agonising over whether I remembered the moves or not, so although long, I didn't think too much about outside stimuli. The trip back always seems to go quicker, and after being around people all weekend, and about to head back for the dinner part of the youth weekend I was happy for some time out. After packing up everything at the end of the night, I dropped my brother home and had the last official ten minutes of my challenge in complete silence.

While I didn't die or internally combust from lack of radio and music, what I did notice was I was missing out on one of my daily sources of news. I felt a little disconnected from the world, and wasn't sure how I should feel about that. I liked for a short time not knowing what was going on because it brought with it a certain element of peace and tranquility, but I know too much to know it is selfish to ignore everything in the world because you only want to focus on yourself.In saying that though, I do have an appreciation for the quiet times. I don't switch the radio off in the car often, but I am more inclined to spend a little longer in silence before getting the iPhone out. I still listen to music in the shower most days, but I am making a conscious effort to put some quiet time into my life just to break up the craziness a little. I'm not about to go on a 5 day silent retreat or give up sound, but I think I've come a long way in acknowledging the benefits of self reflection.

Next week I will be spending a whole day in silence on World Mental Health Day to raise money and awareness for those suffering mental health issues in silence. While I can still use my ears, I can't use my voice, so it will be a whole new level of challenge keeping quiet, but is worth it.

Silent time: 7/10

Lima Mission - dentist for a day

15/7/13

Ever since I went to East Timor on a school trip in 2005, I have desperately wanted to go back there again to do mission work, but mostly due to my own laziness, and prioritising of other trips I haven't made it back there.

When I found out we were doing mission in a village school in Lima, the longing to go back to Timor grew. I love exciting holidays as much as the next person... my cruise last December was amazing and I'd love to do that again too, but I've

This day we headed out early to drive to a shanty town in the outskirts of Lima. The whole time we were driving and before we left the volunteers kept warning us there would be bad traffic, so I was prepared for the worst. Turns out that the absolute worst peak hour traffic in Lima is nothing compared to Parramatta road in the morning, and would probably only compare to a busy 3pm school pickup, only with crazier drivers and more busses.

As we drove further and further out of town you could see the standard of living decrease... The streets were no longer immaculately clean, the houses were less neat, and there was generally more dirt and rubbish everywhere, with all the household rubbish thrown onto the median strip in the middle of the road.

As we arrived at the school I was surprised by the conditions. Compared to some poor schools I've seen in East Timor, but also in documentaries, this school was quite established, and they had a school uniform.

As we walked in there was a boy named Felix there to greet us. In his best English he said "I'd like to say welcome, welcome to our school... Welcome... Welcome to Peru." We caught on to the fact that he didn't know much more English than that so we all cheered and followed him into the school.

After we put our things down we went into the classroom of the school council reps and heard about how they were elected and what they did. Their system runs rings around Sydney schools. They elect their leaders after campaigning and they represent the school at a council level and have regular meetings with the council members discussing what ways they could improve the school and living conditions for all the students. In this way they have achieved a number of initiatives including providing milk and bread for any children who need breakfast, and setting up a garden courtyard where they are all responsible for a small patch.

I was so impressed with everything they have set up and the ways they are working to improve their situations, and it makes me so annoyed to see the current generation of primary school kids in Australia acting so entitled with their iPads and their Xbox's and for the most part with a total disinterest in their education.

Once we had finished there we split into two groups and went to give catechesis to the kids. Since we didn't speak Spanish, and we wanted to make it more interesting we turned it into a play and acted out the parable of the five talents, with the "lord" handing out stones to us which we then went "to market" with and traded for more, thus fulfilling the story of the parable with the main message being to invest your talents and not hide them hoping you will be rewarded.

We also sung a few Australian songs for them and they sung a song for us which involved putting up or out a different limb or body part and singing "choo choo ahh choo choo ahh choo choo ah ah ah." I think the kids had more fun watching us try and dance than anything else we did.

We then sat with them as they coloured and attempted to talk to them, only because they were in year one and didn't speak any English we struggled. Fortunately one of the guys with us, Carlos is originally from Chile so speaks Latin American Spanish and could act as our interpreter. All the kids were gorgeous but there was one kid in particular called Luis who had the most gorgeous smile and I a little bit tried to follow him around before realising he was completely disinterested in me and wanted to hang around the Spanish speaking pilgrim.

After the catechesis we took our first class into our "dental room" and started the dental hygiene program. We split our half of the group into a few smaller groups and had a few on teeth brushing, a few on fluoride application and a few on hand washing. I was one of the ones on teeth brushing.

Lined up with their toothbrushes ready to be brushed

Fluoride station

Washing hands time

Each time I would open a new toothbrush and move onto a new child I would feel so bad because the toothbrush was bigger than their whole mouth, and their teeth were small and n a lot of cases had giant holes in them. Not one of them cried or got upset or refused to have their teeth brushed though, and every single one of them was so excited to be leaving with their very own toothbrush and toothpaste that I was so glad we had been there. These kids were all about six years old, and the rotting and holes in their baby teeth was worse than I'd seen anywhere, worse even than the images of mouths on the back of cigarette packages in Australia. After we had taught them how to brush we would send them to get fluoride put on their teeth and then to wash their hands before giving them all a koala and pencil as a parting gift. We then geared up to do the whole thing again in another year one classroom.

When we entered the second classroom we could tell instantly it was going to be different. There were only about 12 kids in the class, and of those 12, two of them were rolling around the floor and jumping over the desks. The poor teacher was standing in the corner, and from what I could tell had given up on trying to get them to settle down, and we posed as a welcome distraction. We did the play and the songs again, but the kids were not interested and kept talking to each other, or watching the two boys who were chasing each other around the room over and under the table. I'm not sure how nobody was injured in the time we were in the room, but I'd be pretty willing to bet we had landed in the A.D.D room!

Another thing I noticed as soon as we walked in the room though was that there was a kid that looked very much like Luis from the first classroom, so in the basic Spanish I knew, combined with the word for brother that Sarah knew and discovered that this boy, Miguel, was the twin brother of Luis from the other room. Since I had no luck with his brother I tried making friends with Miguel, and he was much more receptive, but that may have also been because I let him go wild with my camera and take pictures of everything. At one point it was at risk of being broken when the other kid who had previously been chasing him around the room tried to wrestle the camera off him. By the end of the day I had hundreds of photos of his classmates, my fellow pilgrims and the school. He was actually very good at taking pictures, and could frame a picture better than a lot of people I know! I've put a few below so you can see the master photography skills at work.

Miguel's Best friend with his school given breakfast milk

The teacher with the patience of an angel!

The back of the school where they are growing things

After the A.D.D class we had some lunch and then did the same again for one more class in the afternoon, before a thank you from the school director and some teachers, and then headed back to the retreat centre for mass and dinner.

I was reminded this day in the school of how much I love working with kids. I have always felt drawn towards teaching and working with kids, even though my passion is media, so I love it when I get opportunities to tutor or help in schools. I also felt even stronger the call to go back to East Timor, because as much as the day in Lima was rewarding and it was a great opportunity to give of myself and my time, it reminded me that there are so many needs in the world, and where the need is stronger. As someone pointed out after our debrief that night, there are stronger needs in parts of Australia and even Sydney too, I just need to work out where my help is most needed, whether it is here or abroad.

Miguel and Me

Lima with the locals

14/07/13

After a full day of seeing all the churches in downtown Lima I was so excited to be getting picked up by the family who met me at the airport; Elmer, Miriam, Christina and Francisco. They picked Sarah and I up from the retreat centre, and the two of us squeezed into the back seat of their car with the two kids who are 12 and 14. It mustn't be a highly punishable by law offence in Peru, as the fact we weren't in seat belts didn't phase anyone. We were packed in tight so wouldn't have gone anywhere even if there was a crash!

The first thing they asked was whether we had time for a tour before dinner, which was a resounding YES! So we drove for about half an hour, hearing about their schools and upcoming exams, as well as some local information.

We eventually ended up near the beach and got out at the top of some stairs where below there was a beautiful bridge called the Whisper Bridge. It is apparently a place where couples go to get their wedding photos taken. So all the females hopped out of the car, Sarah, Mirium, Christina and me, and went and had some romantic pictures on the bridge and then quickly ran back up to the car that was holding up traffic.

Whisper Bridge

We then drove further towards the coast and in the distance could see a radiant glowing cross. I asked what it was for and Elmer explained to us that after the terrorists attacked the electricity plants about forty years ago, they used what was left of them to build a monument to remember the hard times. I found this really beautiful and made the glow feel so much more important for what it represented, not only was it a symbol of the faith of the country, but a celebration of the life lost in struggle. It reminded me of the memorials at the 9/11 site in New York, and I think in both cases although life must go on, it is really important to always remember those who have come before us.
Because it was such a bright light this was the best photo I could get - the cross is the glowing thing in the distance towards the right at the back.

We then pulled up at the shopping centre that we were going to for dinner, which compared to other buildings in the city was new and modern. It was right next to the Marriott Hotel and was therefore a popular tourist stop. On our way to the restaurant, which was a chicken place, I found it awesome to see, that even though each individual shop was enclosed, the common areas were open air, and the breeze was beautiful. The downside of constant cloud cover is of course never seeing the sun, but the upside is nobody needs umbrellas, and more time can be spent outdoors in any season. I think I'd always choose sun over overall convenience. I like Summer too much!!

We had dinner in the chicken restaurant and had our first taste of Inca Cola. Inca Cola is such a popular drink in Peru that Coca Cola couldn't even beat it in sales, so they bought it and now own it so get all profits from the sale of both products. Definitely a smart move from Coke. If you're wondering what Inca Cola is, it kind of tastes like a cross between creaming soda and Mountain Dew, and is really sugary but really nice. If you're ever going to try it though I would recommend you don't have it anywhere near a time you're going to sleep because that night I woke up at least twenty times unable to sleep.

For dinner we had some grilled chicken and super tasty chips, and tried some Yucce which were fried and are like a potato only not. Whatever they were they were really good! For dessert they brought out a tray of desserts and we had to choose... There were the usual things like lemon tart and cheesecake, but we decided to try something new and had the something leche which was a little tart thing with cream on top which was great except I could only eat the cream on top because the filling at the bottom was a toffee caramel which I can't eat.

After dinner we were walking back to the car when Christina ran into a music store and came out with a Big Time Rush album... Apparently they're big in Peru. I decided at that point that I wanted to buy some Peruvian music to take home with me, so I went in to have a listen. My friends acted as my interpreter, and so I asked for Folk music, not realising that that means something different in Peru, and so I was listening to a CD of pure instruments... Not quite the same as Australian folk music. I then asked for something with words and my friends as well as the shop keepers were confused as to my initial request, but then kindly took me over to the pop music section and pointed out a Cd of the biggest Peruvian pop singer at the moment, so I had a quick listen and it didn't sound terrible so decided after the effort everyone had gone to I should buy it!
Working in Coles for eight years I have spent a lot of time in supermarkets or complaining about bad ones, so I was very excited when Elmer said he was going to take us to have a look at the local products in the supermarket. We saw the fruit and vegetable section first and I was so excited to see that in this tiny supermarket alone they had at least ten varieties of potatoes. I was I'm potato heaven! They also had white corn, and really big papaya among other things. I couldn't take any fresh fruit with me so I settled for buying a local pack of potato chips that were all in different colours inside.




Over dinner we had been told about the local "cocaine" plant that was used to make tea, and did not have the same effect as the drug, so when Elmer and Miriam pointed it out to me in the shop I had to buy a pack. Now I just have to wait to see what Sydney customs have to say about it. (they let it through)

After we left the supermarket it was sadly time to head home as we had an 11pm cutoff until the gates of our retreat centre were closed and we wouldn't be allowed back in for the night. We did get to drive past some ancient inca ruins on the way home though, and I found it so strange that they had been gated off and lit up with buildings and houses built all around them. It was really cool to see something so old though in the midst of a normal suburban landscape.

We had so much fun on this trip, and I am so glad we had the chance to see the coast of Lima, and get a local perspective and tour where we weren't confined to the limits of twenty people and a bus. I will definitely visit again some day and see more of the wonderful and different city that is Lima. Who knows, maybe I'll come back for the concert of Pedro Suarez-Vertiz, my new favourite Peruvian singer!

To top off the night they gave us a box of chocolates each. "Princess chocolates for two princesses." Awww!

A long day learning a lot in Lima

14/07/13


Prior to coming to South America I honestly hadn't done any research into the country, or even the places I was visiting, minus googling my accommodation in Argentina to see what the pool looked like. This was all in line with my take it as an adventure, no expectations, go with the flow approach to the trip. What I did know about different places was based on what people at work told me based on their knowledge and personal experience. So going into the trip one of the few things I had heard was there was a dichotomy between the churches and the rest of the country. I expected therefore for there to be some fancy churches, but was not prepared for the extent of what I saw.

As soon as we arrived in the city centre I knew it was an important part of the city. Every centimetre of grass was well cut, every scerrick of rubbish was removed, and there were cleaners walking around everywhere with their eyes peeled for people making any mess. The paint on half the buildings surrounding the square was a brilliant shade of yellow (that I want to use someday) and in the middle was a fountain made in 1650, also in immaculate condition.




Each church that we went to got more and more extravagant. We visited the cathedral too which was an extra level on top of that. The most distinctive feature common to all the churches was the use of gold and gold leaf almost everywhere. Each church also had within in several chapels on the sides, all with a completely different style. There was a lot of European influence on the architecture and decor, with a lot of paintings, tiles and furniture imported hundreds of years ago from countries like Italy and Spain in particular. The architecture of each church was different too, with influence from the baroque and colonial periods as well as the Incas. Nothing seemed to match necessarily with anything else, and it appeared to me in some cases like a church themed episode of hoarders. Every nook and cranny that could possibly be filled was filled with another statue or column or painting.
Don't get me wrong I saw some amazingly beautiful places, all with but I couldn't help but feel it wasn't a little too much, and couldn't help but wonder if it was helping anyone's faith experience. I had a discussion with one of the priests traveling with us, telling him my thoughts about it and he said: "what you need to remember is that it is a completely different culture to ours... In the history of South America there has been a lot of problems and the people have always had the church as their constant support, so because the church gives them identity they want to give everything to the church, and that is why they have grown and grown in extravagance because the more people receive from the church in the faith, the more they want to give back."

Suddenly it all made sense, and even though all the chapels seemed unnecessary to me, without fail, while the masses were happening (it was a Sunday so they were going all day no matter where we were) there were two or three people praying at each chapel. Living in my own little bubble sometimes I forget that everyone has a different experience of faith, and that varies based on a variety of things, but what I loved, was regardless of what the church looked like, or where someone was standing in a church, and despite my inability to speak Spanish, every so often I would hear a word I recognised, or feel a familiar pause and felt at home.The church of San Francisco was the first place we visited and surprisingly my favourite part was the roof. It was a rich orange/pinky colour and I loved that I could see puzzle pieces in the roof. I did feel awkward though walking around taking photos while people were in mass, but I kept the flash off and made sure I didn't point the camera at any people.






I was surprised when I walked down one side over a grate in the floor and saw some stairs littered with bones that led down to what looked like a small chamber filled with more bones. At closer look I could see that on the very top step was sitting a skull as well. Not having been to many big churches other than St Mary's Cathedral in Sydney, I wasn't exactly used to seeing bones under the ground so I had no idea what they were there for. I found out that they were catacombs of Catholics who had died when they didn't have access to a cemetery.



After this we went to the San Domingo Monastery where I fell in love with the courtyard and could imagine having it as my personal backyard. It was so neat and had so many different rooms and areas everywhere you looked.





I don't know if anyone remembers the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie, but the scene where Charlie and Uncle Joe sneak into the bubble room while the rest of the group move on, but that was me when I found a room full of relics... There were a variety of relics of the saints including clothing and parts of their houses and in one corner there was a chair that was the replica of the chair used by Saint John Macias in the doorway of the Dominican order convent of Santa Maria Magdalena de la Recoleta. The original is held elsewhere in Lima, but this one contains a fragment of the original, and rumour holds that women who sit in the chair who have had difficulty conceiving recover their fertility after sitting in the chair praying.

Figured I had nothing to lose so I sat in the chair, said a quick prayer, and got my friend (the uncle Joe of my story) to take a picture. If I'm particularly blessed with an abundance of children after I get married I'll know who to thank!





Once I rejoined the group, sneaking in the back of the next room (which sadly I missed the description of and have no idea what it was) we said a quick prayer and then moved down the corridor to where there was a thin doorway leading down some steep stairs where the headroom got smaller and thinner the further you went down until you were eventually in a room with an alter down one end and a large tiled box with a grate on top of it behind you/adjacent to the door.

Even though I knew the space was limited I still managed to whack my elbow on the way in, raising an alarm to the priest who thought I was seriously hurt, and my head on the way back out again. I trip over my own feet walking a few metres on flat ground though sometimes so it was hardly surprising that I was the one to injure myself twice.





Once inside though, and over my elbow pain, It was a really special place. There was a whole lot of empty space with a small altar at the end that contained the body of Saint Rose, (but not her head) and had a small cloth over it. One of the priests traveling with us then offered to bless rosary beads on top of the tomb. This was an exciting prospect to me, as without knowing anything about her, or knowing I'd ever travel to the place where she was born, lived, and died, I had chosen Saint Rose as my confirmation saint, completing my name as Natalie Pauline Rose Viset. I was twelve years old at the time and while others chose their names based on what they were the patron saints of, or what their parents names were, I chose the one that sounded the prettiest.



Being the always switched on and never absent minded person I am... I had left my rosary beads in my suitcase back at the retreat centre, so couldn't get mine blessed, but my bestie had hers with her and offered to swap with me and so we got hers blessed and swapped them when we got back. In terms of the rosary It has never been something that has been a hugely spiritual thing for me. I get distracted easily and so repeating a prayer many times I find it hard to not think about other things, or let my words rattle into each other. I understand that it is a powerful prayer for many people and like the idea of it but every time I try I don't feel as though I'm any closer to God. Who know, maybe I'll have a different experience on this trip. Despite this, I was very excited to have my rosary bleeds blessed.
After we came up the staircase we had seen the last of the rooms and went in to the church that was adjacent to the monastery where the skulls of Saint Rose, Saint Martin de Porres, saint Juan Mathias have their skulls presented up high in a special shrine.








This was a little bit eerie, because they weren't originally preserved to be put in a shrine, so they were quite dark and looked like what you may see in a scary movie graveyard scene. The juxtaposition between the skulls and the shrine they were encased in was crazy. The shrine was ornate and decadent, and because there was so much to look at, if you didn't look really closely you wouldn't notice them. There was a mass going on at the same time and a huge crowd of people praying I'm front of the skulls so we didn't stay too long and moved on to our next stop. Not before I got a shot of the roof though, because again it was my favourite thing. This one had a beautiful dome in the roof at one end with moulded icons or carvings of saints and angels in it. I can only imagine how hard that would have been to put together!!




Oh and I bought my first South American souvenir from a man on the street outside. A beautiful hand painting of what looks like the backs of some heads in a marketplace... I'm still not sure exactly what it was, but it was rainbow and colourful AND well priced, so I had to buy it.



The next place we visited was San Pedro. If I thought the first two churches were fancy, this one upped the ante! The roof was amazing! I must have spent a good five minutes taking pictures of it before looking at the other parts of the church. I look back on the day and all my photos and wonder why I was so attracted to the roofs, and I think it was because even though we have some fancy churches in Sydney, and I've seen some nice altars in my time, I have never seen such care and detail taken in something that to me is only there for practicality of keeping the elements out.





The rest of the church was spectacular, and I was starting to get overwhelmed by the ornate chapels everywhere. They were beautiful, but they were just so fancy and detailed that you could stand at one chapel for days and not stop noticing new things. It was also a beautiful time to be there as our visit coincided with the children's mass and so we could hear the beautiful sound of children singing in Spanish, and, although I'm not a Spanish speaker, what sounded like very articulate reading for a child. Seeing kids involved in mass is all kinds of cute and heartwarming.









The most beautiful thing I saw though was near a simple (though a little scary if you looked at the face close up) statue of Jesus carrying his cross. Usually Jesus is portrayed on the cross or as a baby, but not often have a seen a sculpture like this one where I saw a man reach up and hold onto the cross for some prayer. I watched him from a few metres back for a few minutes, thinking it was so beautiful that I was witnessing an important moment for him, and took a photo just as he begun bringing his hands down.






After this we got on the bus and drove a block to the next place which was the birthplace and house of Saint Rose of Lima. While we were there we found out more about her life and how she had a nail in the roof that she tied her hair to so she would always be upright for prayer even when she was tired. We also learnt that despite not being part of an order she wore Benedictine robes and was allowed to do this even though it was not usual because anyone was allowed to wear it. We also got the chance to write a prayer to Saint Rose and throw it in the well. I wrote my prayer, and wasn't sure how to sign a prayer/letter to a saint so signed it xoxo Natalie, and was ready for a special moment as I threw my prayer into the well. In true Natalie style, there is no such thing as graceful, and even though every other person managed to get theirs in, mine landed on the tiny ledge up the top and it took two other people using a notepad and a pen to throw it in. Not quite the poetic graceful spiritual moment I was expecting, but I'll take what I can get!



I bought a medallion from the lady near the well to take home with me, and then we headed to lunch. We walked into what seemed like a chicken chain restaurant. It was two floors of tables and was full to the brim so half of us went to find somewhere else. We took with us our Spanish Volunteer Himena, who misunderstood that we wanted a restaurant that served wine, and led us to McDonalds. Since we had crossed the globe to be there we did not want to go into McDonald's so eventually found a restaurant and sat down to lunch!

After lunch we visited the Lima Cathedral. You'll be pleased to know though that I found something I liked even better than the roof in this church. When we walked in we saw the most amazing mosaics... I'd try and explain them but the pictures will do it more justice. It looked like a painting and was different to all the other churches and had used gold in a way that I didn't hate.





On the other side i discovered one of many chapels that I fell in love with so badly that i actually have fifteen photos of it. It was ornate, but not in the same way the gold altars were. Since I've never been a fan of gold, and love blue, this was amazing to see. It was a blue and copper chapel dedicated to Mary from what I could tell. I couldn't really tell you much about the rest of the cathedral once I saw that. It was empty when we went on the tour, so I was able to get a close up of the altar this time, but it was nowhere near as grand as the previous church. There were some awesome sculptures though in the museum part of the cathedral.









The last place we visited before heading back to the retreat centre for mass was the Nazarene church of miracles. In all honesty I was pretty churched out by then, but I got off the bus and had a quick look in and out. It was also nice but it was a shame it was last as it was hard to measure up to the cathedral and Sam Ignacio. We did have a lovely moment outside though where our guides have us some little pins with the icons of Jesus and Mary on them to wear.


Once all this was done we got back in the bus and headed back to the retreat centre for mass. Then before you could count to a hundred, I was ready to be picked up for my nighttime adventure through Lima with my local Peruvian friends who were coming to pick Sarah and me up for the night.