Amy Baby

It’s no secret that I can be slightly melo- dramatic, especially when it comes to the feels, or a topic  I am ‘passionate’ about. I was born giving alotta fucks, and luckily, when I started uni six years ago, I found my people- with whom I continue to give ALOT of fucks about ALOT of things, ALOT of the time.

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One of those care- givers is a mate who I share a rather hilarious vibe with- one that doesn’t really require much fertilising or watering at all. We can go months without a message or call- but when her name lights up the old apple, I know I’m about to be taken on a philosophical trip.

There was one particular evening where I initiated a melancholy moment back in the winter however, when our film majors, experiences and fears all kinda collided at once.

I’m not a major film cryer. I feel what I gotsta feel, and always reflect where it’s due. However 20 weeks ago (according to insta) I viewed something that hasn’t really left my conscience. So much so, that I cannot bring myself to watch again and nor can my mate.

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On a miserable winters day I watched the Amy film.

In summary, Amy Winehouse was broken. Firstly by her dad (who abandoned her and her mother), then her own sabotaging behaviour that manifested out of a fight for control and approval. And finally by the media– who gave her attention that she was NOT interesting in whatsoever.

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This is where my second area of study flows in- which has only heightened my realisation that broken is everywhere.

Broken has always existed and it serves a purpose– we need the dark to balance light and we need to break to transform, free, fight etc.

Broken is in songs, movies, books, voices, eyes, body language, yoga mats and wine glasses. It keeps the economoy alive as well as pubs and brothels.

More scarily- It’s in my generation- in the drug epidemic, in masked selfies and naked wardrobes.

This is where it becomes a chicken or egg debate- if we didn’t have platforms to express our shit, would it be there to begin with? are we triggering each others insecurities or making something that wasn’t as bad, amplified? I think it’s a bit of both.

What I do know is that our childhoods really do shape us. That our emotional self is always gonna be our inner child, who we spend our adult years expressing, saving or sabotaging in some way.

#HEAVY I know!

But life is heavy… and light too, it comes down to what we do to balance it all out, how we use our stories and experiences as motivation.. to let go and to love ourselves, and therefore each other.

For Amy, even though she could recognise her #daddyissues, she forever fought for his approval and love, her daddy’s little girl tatt sums up the struggle. We all internalise and respond differently and there is no right or wrong way of doing so.

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We can’t judge each other for our resistance or residence, and we can’t save or fix each other either.

I think this may be why the film hit my friend and I so much- the fact that no one could save Amy, including herself.

This kind of  realisation is not an easy one to fathom, because we have seen loved ones spiral in the same way.

This however is the reality of life– it isn’t always fair and it can be horrible- shit does happen, all the time. All we can do is choose where we put our energy, focus and what we want to manifest.

Having an understanding of the fact that hurt people hurt others, and that our actions are a product of our life script (written by a combo of influences from day one), helps in acceptance too.

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All we can control is our perception, which we can change at any time. Our actions are either determined by love or fear, and it takes courage to choose love.

This post kinda sums up the lesson I have gained this year. 2015 has been about letting go of shit that no longer serves me, whilst acknowledging it’s role in my journey. Letting go isn’t easy but it is so necessary. I only hope that erry one can do so in their own way and time, so that we can embrace the beauty of life.

MERRY XMAS  & Happy Sunday!

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You Sound Like You’re From London!


“WHERE ARE YOU FROM?”

-It’s a question I get asked on the reg, in different forms, across all kinda contexts.

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Perception is a funny thing- from ‘white chocolate’ to Albanian, I’ve gotten it all, and it’s cool; I’m all about multiculturalism- especially when my friends adopt me as part of their ethnic crews.

However, no matter how much sangria I consume, curry I devour or Italian stallions I drool over, there’s a tiny fact that only a few of my pals have been able to identify.

Apart from the frequent “you sound like you’re from London” observation from strangers, the degree to which I’m a MASSIVE Brit/ POM at heart has gone unnoticed.

While my undying love for London town, including Harry & Wills; my besties that feel the need to reside there (as well as it’s ridiculously close proximity to Italia and olay- town) is no secret, there is something else that fuels my bond with the motherland…

And that is… British TV. (DON’T JUDGE!)

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I started young, with late night viewings of the BILL and the Vicar of Dibley, and progressed to AB FAB (which could explain a lot about my adulthood).

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The love matured however when I discovered TOWIE and Made in Chelsea, and it continues to flourish as I navigate my way through the early years of adulthood, stumbling and (hopefully) growing along side Louise & Spenny.

There is something comforting about watching people of a similar age making the same fuck- ups, being slapped in the face by the same lessons and experiencing just as much confusion and disillusion (and of course oodles of fun).

The bond between the viewers and the botoxed beauties is one that cannot be explained, it is felt across oceans and screens.

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It is developed, not through the piss ups and overt vanity, but in the vulnerability and hurt that is felt and shown, especially in relationships (/ failed attempts at that love thang).

There is one particular gal that I want to fly over and cuddle. Up until the last ep of Made in Chelsea, poor Binky has been bloody unlucky in love. Not because she’s a dud, but because people can be A-holes.

After being repeatedly cheated on by a dickhead named Alex, Binks took her time to heal.

During this time, another (delicious) man took a liking to her, and pursued the brunette beauty for about six months (of viewing).

JP seemed SO promising- having never been in a relationship, but being a great mate to all, he was considered to be the ultimate good guy.

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While he continually delivered in his attempt to woo Binks, the height of our hopes grew, as Binky very slowly softened her walls.

Like all modern tinder- ships seem to do- Binky and JP got to the stage where they’d out grown the situation-ship and an ultimatum had to be given.

Despite the fear and doubt Binky had about relationships and being rejected/ hurt by JP, she decided (with the extremely ironic guidance of Alex himself who believes she deserves a good guy– LOL) she threw it aside, downed some champers and asked the boi out herself.

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…And do you know what he said???

SOZ, you’ve got too much baggage.

…..

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I was disgusted to say the least, as were the Chelsea sisterhood who put JP firmly in his place.

This is what us humans do!

We JUDGE people on the ways in which OTHERS have treated them, hurt them and the insecurities that have manifested.

We base our perceptions on the company people keep, the places they go and music they like.

For relationship virgins– we assume there’s something wrong, and the same judgement is made about damaged goods.

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The JP & Binky ordeal left me wondering what exactly the perfect criteria for a 20- something bachelor/ bachelorette is…

It seems that love has become a small element of a large list that has been determined by failed experiences and Hollywood illusions. (I’m sure a few mummy/daddy complex’s are mixed in there too)..

-Are we really in tune with ‘that’ connection? or is our view shaded by superficial shit? Do we fall for a person because of who they actually are, or who we think they are or want them to be?

-How many soul mate opportunities are we passing up for easy or safe options?

-Why don’t we listen to our instincts more?

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Over the years, Essex and Chelsea fans have watched girls (and occasionally guys) questions their partners loyalty– sometimes in response to rumours and sometimes solely because of ‘that’ gut feeling. Every single suspicion has been spot on.

I think, that if we paid more attention to our inner shit, so many wrong relationships may be avoided- creating space for the right ones.

[case in point– Binky knew something wasn’t right about  JP, and yet she blanked her feelings in response to her pals pressure].

.. Do y’all seee how much soul searching can manifest from some illegally downloaded reality TV? It has gotta’ be British though, that’s a must 😉

Happy Thursday!

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A Fashionable Firing.

Je suis désolé for my silence ya’ll, I have been slightly preoccupied with horrible assignments, environments and people acupunctur-ing me with their dark clouds of insecurity (otherwise known as See you Next Tuesdays).

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As we all know though, haters are always gonna hate, and I aint’ got the time to occupy a seat on that train.

Whilst trying to dodge bullets and rise above like the Mother Theresa/ free loving, care free- cool cat that I (barely) am, I have also been debating my views over the Bruce Jenner saga.

I have to take my hat off the her/him for choosing the ideal time to change his identity and turn his families world upside down. With the outburst of activism occurring everywhere, I guess it’s acceptable.

…stick with me!

Of course things needs to change. Of course white privilege is fucked, as is gender inequality and the stigma associated with ‘alternate’ sexualities. I talk about this stuff daily. I work with marginalised peoples because it’s where my passion lies.

But I’m only human. And if I were Kris Jenner, I wouldn’t be on Bruce’s praise train.

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If I had been married to a man and had his babies, I absolutely would not be happy if he grew boobs!

Kris was filmed crying, saying she felt as though her relationship with Bruce was a lie— a horrendous, heart breaking experience. And the masses responded by taking the piss; deeming her selfish, uncaring etc etc.

Political correctness is clearly fashionable. And like all trends, it has its flaws.

In my opinion, there is nothing uglier than speaking to someone differently, altering what we do or do not discuss, or holding back from being our authentic selves, because of someones skin colour, sexuality, choice of shoes or religion.

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I am lucky to be surrounded by friends of all colours and ‘subcultures’, because we have crossed paths, NOT because of their token ‘alternativeness’.

One of my cultured pals hails from Mumbai and attends mass weekly. We have been friends for six years and read each others minds… So much so that I can see just how hurt she gets when people filter the topics and language they use in her presence, to ensure they don’t ‘offend anyone’.

That, in my opinion, is way more offensive then joking about scrotums. THAT in my opinion, is discrimination.

Whilst awareness and open mindfulness is mandatory, unless I have Indigenous blood running through my veins, I do NOT fully understand everything my Indigenous students experience.

But, do you know what unites us? humour. innapropriate-ness. love. stress. shit. LIFE! The human experience… and most importantly, our honesty and ability to hold different opinions and still respect each other.

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Another political debacle is the discussion associated with the execution of the two criminals who smuggled illicit drugs into Indonesia, and were caught.

On the one hand, the way in which the case was managed was flawed. On the other, the men committed a crime and suffered the consequences. Whilst I think that there are other people more deserving of a firing squad, drugs do ruin peoples lives.

In other words, my opinion swims between that of a good citizen and devil child.

Now, I am not for one second categorising criminals with gay people, or suggesting that I am sickened by gender reassignment. I am for happiness, and most importantly, authenticity. 

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Because of this, I am very happy for Bruce, and the community of people ‘they’ have inspired. I also hope Kris can (in time) learn to accept what she cannot change.

I’m just getting over the ridiculous attempts at being perfect humans. Because no one is perfect, no one is God.

There is no such thing as ‘normal’. Therefore being ‘different’ is also an illusion. We are all individuals on the one planet. Lets cut the shit and be real; Make mistakes, ask questions and most of all love, cry, yell and LIVE without fearing hell.

In the mean time, Imma’ continue to shake off my own firing squad with as much whit, sarcasm and dirtiness as I want.

Happy Sunday! 

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Whips, Dicks and Doctors

Fifty shades of fucking grey. Who knew a film about sex, whips, power imbalances and emotional instability could cause such a fiery debate and controversy in 2015? While some of us were underwhelmed, it seems others were deeply angered and disgusted by the apparent abusive nature of Christian and Anastasia’s ‘interactions’.

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I don’t really feel like adding another review to the exhausted list, but I do want to explore to reasons why my gal pal and I experienced a sense of appreciation for our viewing experience a few Tuesdays ago.

I can’t help but question why the construction of Mr Grey: A sexy man with the emotional intelligence of a gold-fish; a damaging/ abusive childhood and a resulting host of insecurities with women, sex and control, was so disturbing to many.

While the mans inability to court Miss Steele in the traditional way (as promised by Hollywood romcoms) was clearly lacking, he tried his best to be the guy he believed the girl he loved, deserved.

Yes it was fucked up. I could never see myself settling for a contract involving but plugs and separate bedrooms, but I wouldn’t say no to a helicopter chaperone or new computer. The wine also looked delicious.

My point however, is that being the complicated creatures that we are, with our perceptions and relationship styles so heavily imbedded in our experiences and interactions; a little bit of dysfunction, (sometimes a lot) is healthy and natural. Why? because it’s real– it means we are being ourselves.

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I liked the authenticity. I also appreciated the vulnerability shown by Anastasia, particularly as a virgin. The fact that the consenting intercourse was deemed as violent I thought was uncalled for, however regardless of our positions, the fact that FSOG sparked debate over the topic of sexual/domestic abuse is bloody grand.

In Australia, one women dies weekly at the hands of a past or present partner. From 2002 – 2012, more women were killed by DM in America that everyone killed in 9/11, Afghanistan and Iraq. This shit is horrific and real and needs to be addressed for so many reasons on different levels, including the shame victims feel.

It’s the kind of shame and inferiority that should not, but definitely does exist (on a not so illegal level) in many different forums where dominant and submissive roles are defs present.

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Power is used and abused in politics (dah) the class room (why can’t we call teachers by their first names?) and by doctors and specialists allll of the time, as experienced by many friends, and myself.

From the time my age deemed me capable of making a baby I have been invasively quizzed; with a shit load of unnecessary judgement and intimidation.

Those who know me well are aware that I’m a rather confident person, and I am not easily affected by other people’s positions. [Peas do get degrees after all!]

However I dread visiting doctors and their surgery and here’s why;

[Problem: Anything shitty]

Doctor: “Isabelle?” (my name is IsabellA. A . AAAAAA)

“Come through.” (turn their back, march in front of me, then guides me to their clinical, smelly, fluorescent white room featuring awkward dusty family photos I don’t care about).

Doctor: (without making eye contact, directs me to take a seat while they search my private file).

“Lets have a look here. When was your last pap smear Isabelle? I see here that you’ve been prescribed __ form of contraception. Are you still using that?

Me: “Nope.”

Doctor: (swiftly swivels to stare at me as though I’ve told them I am half dog.) Have you had un- protected sex? If so are you in a loving relationship? (WHY AREN’T YOU MARRIED YOU SLUT?)

Me: “Umm…”

Doctor: (provides a seriously un comforting and disapproving raised eye brow glance and waits for me to guide myself to some idealistic solution to my unruly ways).

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Doctor: “So what can I help you with today?”

Me: “well I have been feeling……..”

Doctor: “Mmm, I think you’re probably stressed and it is viral. It will go away with a lot of paracetamol.

Me: “I am allergic to that.”

Doctor: “How do you know that? I can’t find the evidence.”

Me: “Mate, I’m 23, I think I know my body by now” (said in a submissive, naughty school kid manner).

Doctor: “You need to get tested for every type of sexually contracted disease and take better responsibility of your life. Bye.” (said in a professional manner).

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11015839_10155311594580182_1632157548_nREGARDLESS of the reasons for my visit I seem to have similar experiences, no matter what surgery, no matter the age, gender or ‘niceness’ of the GP.

And it seems I’m not alone. One my good friends is a very knowledgable nurse in a committed relationship with a man she lives with. She often leaves the docs feeling humiliated and belittled, she recent left her usual doc crying.

There seems to be a major power imbalance that I can’t help associate with my given genitalia.

While I am yet to hear of similar experiences from males, I’m sure there are some negatives ones had- my own father refuses to visit the GP after all.

However, considering it is International Women’s Day today, I would like to acknowledge the power imbalance and sexism we (ladies) experience all the time.

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As much as we try to avoid the uncomfy, gross environments or men who feel permitted to touch our bodies when it’s not wanted; provide unwanted comments about our bodies (including gross wolf whistles and tooting), and be bigger than sexism, it’s still alive and kicking.

The gender pay gap its an absolute insult and needs to CHANGE. Women everywhere on this planet, regardless of what we wear, say, do or do not do, deserve to be respected and not objectified. unless we ask OR FULLY CONSENT to sex, we are NOT PERMITTED TO ENGAGE IN IT.

So, hears to my irrational, hormonal, dramatic, moody, needy, dependent, demanding, slutty, whiny, frigid, crazy, smart, caring, loving, giving, independent bitches everywhere– lets fight this shit like the warriors we are. NO ONE knows better than we do- in relation to our bodies, our intuition and our value.

That’s enough preaching for one day. I’m over this power shit. If we want chains and whips, then SnM we will do! and if we don’t, then that’s A-OK too.

Happy Sunday!

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