So, this is the final post for yet another Blogjune. I missed one post along the way, and another time made a token effort that was hardly worth reading - I think both times were when I was in Prague, so that's forgiveable. So, let's say I achieved 28.5 posts out of 30. Not perfect, but not bad.
Certainly, there wasn't a shortage of things to blog about. There were topics that I also considered writing on, including:
- Kosovo beverages (Drinking yoghurt is weird, but good on muesli. The beer is mostly awful. Rakija is interesting and quince rakija is my favourite.)
- Fashion in Kosovo (If you want to fit in, wear jeans and some kind of black / dark top. Get a buzz cut.)
- Hanging out with the Clintons (There's a statue of Bill Clinton in one of the main streets, and next to it is a power-dressing women's boutique called "Hillary's")
- The Serbian side of Kosovo (visiting Gracanica Monastery, and wandering around the streets of Gracanica)
- National identity and ethnic identity - the issues from an Australian point of view, looking at the current state of affairs both in Australia and Kosovo. (I have many opinions, but I'm not touching that one...)
Blogjune has been an interesting exercise, as always. As a communal exercise, it's been a great way to share and compare ideas to a greater extent than merely an exchange of tweets on a topic. It's also been good to revisit some of the questions that we've been asking over the years, and see how our perspective has changed. On a more personal level, it's been an excellent exercise in forcing myself to reflect on my current state of affairs, on both a personal and professional level. For future reference, it gives me a snapshot of where my brain is at right now.
To be honest, I'm probably not going to continue blogging on a regular basis. I'll be blogging when there are major changes happening in my life, and also what is becoming my yearly review, reflecting on how my year went.
But for now, that's me, signing off for Blogjune 2015.
Tuesday, 30 June 2015
Monday, 29 June 2015
Maintaining perspective and living with ourselves...
Now, I like to think of myself as having an at-the-very-least-average level of political awareness, as an Australian who has spent much of the last few years watching Q&A, Mediawatch and The Insiders, as well as reading The Monthly and the Saturday Paper (which reminds me - I must renew my annual subscription). However, in the last few months, living in Europe and working alongside people who have spent their lives as specialists in political affairs, I've learnt to keep my opinions to a minimum, lest I get this response...
I expressed this to a colleague today, and their consolation was, "Well, at least you're not American." Great. But when it comes to matters of politics, I try to leave my Australian-ness out of it. Our government's attitudes to the comparatively minuscule volume of asylum seekers travelling by boat is now legendary across the world, as is our attitude to climate change, the global Islamic community, and marriage equality. But at the same time, it's Australia. They're on the other side of the world. Let them be a bunch of narrow-minded bigots, and play their petty political games. Here in Europe, there are bigger problems closer to home.
But I do consider how much my perspective has changed over the past year. Living in South-East Asia has increased my awareness of many of the social issues that plague our neighbouring countries, with problems of poverty, migration, corruption, environmental pollution, poor communication, media bias, the plight of ethnic minorities, and so on. And then, living in Eastern Europe, there's the impact of the Syria conflict and widespread poverty and unemployment that leads to mass-migration. There's national economic collapse, and the wider effects on the European Union, whilst other nations want to buy in as a way to stimulate their economy and bring about prosperity. And then there's poor education, social inequality, inter-ethnic tensions, and, again, the plight of ethnic minorities who will always be at the bottom of the pecking-order of society.
It's a lot to take on board, and at the same time, it really feels like the tip of the iceberg. And this all overwhelms me. And then I'm faced with first world problems and triumphs, and I feel bad that I'm not over the moon like everybody else is about marriage equality in the US, because, really, Canada has already had it for ten years, and meanwhile there's a massacre on a beach in Tunisia, hundreds of thousands of asylum seekers roam the land looking for sanctuary, and conflict situations and human rights violations continue to rage on around the world. Factory farming industries inflict ongoing cruelty to animals, palm oil industries destroy forests, kill wildlife and pollute the air, plastic bags fill our oceans, and carbon emissions fill our air, slowly poisoning this planet.
And then I have the gall to worry about myself, and my career, and whether I'm really happy with my life, and how I can keep myself both professionally and creatively stimulated, and worry about when I'm going to go swing dancing next, let along whether I'm ever going to own property or start a family because, y'know, that shit is important. It's really fucking important, otherwise what the hell is my purpose in life here?
This is how my brain works, and it really scares me sometimes.
I'm mindful to know that it's not healthy, but at the same time, it's also completely normal. We all live in our own bubbles, where we get so caught up in our own problems (and yes, First World Problems are still valid problems) that we completely lose perspective. But trying to maintain perspective is even harder. It's too hard.
How do we even live with ourselves?
Ugh, okay, this post was originally meant to be about learning to survive when living and working away from home... except, obviously, I let my brain derail my train of thought. Let's try to get back on track:
10 ways to stay sane when living overseas in a developing country.
1. Be mindful of your own mental wellbeing. Constantly check yourself, and give yourself a break from time to time.
2. Exercise regularly. Not because you think you're getting too overweight, or whatever, but because your body needs you to stay active and healthy now more than ever.
3. Stay social. Make the effort to go and make conversation with colleagues at lunchtime. Ask people out to dinner, or to meet up to watch a movie. Whatever it is, just keep making social connections.
4. Take pride in your work. You might be the only person who appreciates what you do, and that's probably the most important reason to do so.
5. Try to make some real friends. This is a tricky one, because you'll often be living amongst a transient population, and if you're anything like me, the number of people that you meet who truly "get you" will be few and far between. When you meet one - don't let them go!
6. Maintain momentum and direction. Set goals for what you're trying to achieve and what your next step in your life will be, so that you have something to work towards, and don't lose sight of it.
7. Don't drink (too much). It may seem like a valid coping mechanism, but it'll make things harder, especially if you're already not exercising enough.
8. Read books. I shouldn't have to explain this one to you. Trust me, I'm a librarian. I know.
9. Take the time to appreciate what's around you. Whether it's taking a weekend trip to the countryside, or just walking down the street and appreciating the lively colours, sounds - even the smells. You'll miss it all once you're gone.
10. Know when to walk away. Living and working in a developing country changes you. It changes your perspective on the world. It changes your priorities in life. But it's not without its challenges, and some of these will be insurmountable. By all means, take them on, and achieve what you can, but also know that you can't save the world. You can only do your bit, and eventually the time will come to walk away and pass the baton on to somebody else. That may seem like a cop-out, sure, and maybe it is. But if you have opportunities in life, don't waste them entirely. Not everybody in the world else has the luxury of choice that you have. Look after yourself, but do it with some semblance of grace and compassion as well.
I expressed this to a colleague today, and their consolation was, "Well, at least you're not American." Great. But when it comes to matters of politics, I try to leave my Australian-ness out of it. Our government's attitudes to the comparatively minuscule volume of asylum seekers travelling by boat is now legendary across the world, as is our attitude to climate change, the global Islamic community, and marriage equality. But at the same time, it's Australia. They're on the other side of the world. Let them be a bunch of narrow-minded bigots, and play their petty political games. Here in Europe, there are bigger problems closer to home.
But I do consider how much my perspective has changed over the past year. Living in South-East Asia has increased my awareness of many of the social issues that plague our neighbouring countries, with problems of poverty, migration, corruption, environmental pollution, poor communication, media bias, the plight of ethnic minorities, and so on. And then, living in Eastern Europe, there's the impact of the Syria conflict and widespread poverty and unemployment that leads to mass-migration. There's national economic collapse, and the wider effects on the European Union, whilst other nations want to buy in as a way to stimulate their economy and bring about prosperity. And then there's poor education, social inequality, inter-ethnic tensions, and, again, the plight of ethnic minorities who will always be at the bottom of the pecking-order of society.
It's a lot to take on board, and at the same time, it really feels like the tip of the iceberg. And this all overwhelms me. And then I'm faced with first world problems and triumphs, and I feel bad that I'm not over the moon like everybody else is about marriage equality in the US, because, really, Canada has already had it for ten years, and meanwhile there's a massacre on a beach in Tunisia, hundreds of thousands of asylum seekers roam the land looking for sanctuary, and conflict situations and human rights violations continue to rage on around the world. Factory farming industries inflict ongoing cruelty to animals, palm oil industries destroy forests, kill wildlife and pollute the air, plastic bags fill our oceans, and carbon emissions fill our air, slowly poisoning this planet.
And then I have the gall to worry about myself, and my career, and whether I'm really happy with my life, and how I can keep myself both professionally and creatively stimulated, and worry about when I'm going to go swing dancing next, let along whether I'm ever going to own property or start a family because, y'know, that shit is important. It's really fucking important, otherwise what the hell is my purpose in life here?
This is how my brain works, and it really scares me sometimes.
I'm mindful to know that it's not healthy, but at the same time, it's also completely normal. We all live in our own bubbles, where we get so caught up in our own problems (and yes, First World Problems are still valid problems) that we completely lose perspective. But trying to maintain perspective is even harder. It's too hard.
How do we even live with ourselves?
Ugh, okay, this post was originally meant to be about learning to survive when living and working away from home... except, obviously, I let my brain derail my train of thought. Let's try to get back on track:
10 ways to stay sane when living overseas in a developing country.
1. Be mindful of your own mental wellbeing. Constantly check yourself, and give yourself a break from time to time.
2. Exercise regularly. Not because you think you're getting too overweight, or whatever, but because your body needs you to stay active and healthy now more than ever.
3. Stay social. Make the effort to go and make conversation with colleagues at lunchtime. Ask people out to dinner, or to meet up to watch a movie. Whatever it is, just keep making social connections.
4. Take pride in your work. You might be the only person who appreciates what you do, and that's probably the most important reason to do so.
5. Try to make some real friends. This is a tricky one, because you'll often be living amongst a transient population, and if you're anything like me, the number of people that you meet who truly "get you" will be few and far between. When you meet one - don't let them go!
6. Maintain momentum and direction. Set goals for what you're trying to achieve and what your next step in your life will be, so that you have something to work towards, and don't lose sight of it.
7. Don't drink (too much). It may seem like a valid coping mechanism, but it'll make things harder, especially if you're already not exercising enough.
8. Read books. I shouldn't have to explain this one to you. Trust me, I'm a librarian. I know.
9. Take the time to appreciate what's around you. Whether it's taking a weekend trip to the countryside, or just walking down the street and appreciating the lively colours, sounds - even the smells. You'll miss it all once you're gone.
10. Know when to walk away. Living and working in a developing country changes you. It changes your perspective on the world. It changes your priorities in life. But it's not without its challenges, and some of these will be insurmountable. By all means, take them on, and achieve what you can, but also know that you can't save the world. You can only do your bit, and eventually the time will come to walk away and pass the baton on to somebody else. That may seem like a cop-out, sure, and maybe it is. But if you have opportunities in life, don't waste them entirely. Not everybody in the world else has the luxury of choice that you have. Look after yourself, but do it with some semblance of grace and compassion as well.
Sunday, 28 June 2015
Living in swing dance purgatory...
We're into the homeward run in #blogjune, and I've been trying to keep my posts diverse between my varied interests of libraries, literature, travel. However, I haven't been blogging much about swing dancing. For over five years now, it's been a big part of my life - it's very much a social activity through which I've made many new friends, it's a very physical activity, which makes me feel less guilty for neglecting to go running / to the gym regularly (and, in anything, provides me with motivation to go and improve my cardio fitness, so that I can be a better dancer!), and it's a creative activity, where I develop dance skills to connect musically and rhythmically with a range of authentic jazz music from the 1920s to the 1940s - as well as contemporary interpretations of this musical era - all of which is music that I absolutely adore to listen to. When in Melbourne, I would go out dancing at least twice a week, and often 3-4 nights a week.
However, in recently years, I've found myself living in cities / towns where there hasn't been a regular swing dance scene. This, of course, has a substantial impact on my life - for me, dance isn't just all of the things I've described above - it's also a release. There's an intense emotional connection with the music (and also, to some extent, with the dance partner), and this provides a cathartic function in my life. No matter how frustrating my work or personal life is, I can always dance my woes away. And there are times that I really crave that familiar comfort, connection and joy that comes from swing dancing.
Furthermore, it's something that I'm missing right now. Up until about four months ago, I was all booked in to go to Herrang Dance Camp - in Sweden - the biggest Swing Dance camp in the world. I would have arrived yesterday morning. But my life's road took an unexpected twist, as it often does, and that's okay.
So, when the dancing's not immediately available, how do I find it?
1. Travel to where the dancers are.
When I lived in rural Japan, I would travel 2-3 hours each way on a Wednesday, for the sake of an hour and a half of social dancing before I had to run to catch the last train home at 9:30pm. It was worth it. More recently, I caught overnight trains to and from Bulgaria for a swing dance weekend, and two flights each way to and from Prague, where they have regular weekend social dancing. I've got some leave planned for September, and hopefully more around Christmas where I'll head to Snowball in Stockholm, or one of the other big events nearby, depending on when I can get away!
2. Teach the locals to swing dance.
I did this for the first five months when I first arrived in Hanoi, teaching every Tuesday evening, in the hope that this would lead to building a community of local swing dancers. However, I learnt a few things here. Firstly, teaching / building a scene cannot be a solo effort. Furthermore, there needs to be a substantial number of locals who want to build the community - it's not something that you can build, especially as a newly-arrived foreigner. It takes a lot of work and organisation, and even then the social dynamics can be such that a swing dance community can collapse easily within a short period of time, if not managed carefully (especially where there is a huge transient population). I can kinda understand why dance scene leaders get awfully sensitive when it comes to dance scene politics.
That said, I did enjoy teaching swing dancing, especially when I had somebody to teach with. I developed some valuable skills, and like to think that in finding ways to teach technique to others, I'm also mindful of my own dancing. It's something that I've also been able to bring to the Balkans, and assist another swing dancing friend who occasionally teaches swing dancing workshops in her local community (only five hours away from me by bus - but totally worth it!).
3. Collaborate with other dancer(s) living nearby.
Now, if you're lucky, there'll be at least once other dancer living nearby. And if you don't want to teach, you can at least dance with each other, and exercise your creativity by developing a routine, like I did earlier this year with another lindy hopper who was in town for three months (which we performed at her going-away party - see below)
4. Focus on solo jazz dance.
This has been my latest tactic. When I picked my apartment, I made sure the living room had a nice big wooden floor. I've recently purchased the means to connect my laptop to my big TV screen, and now I have my own solo dance studio!
That should keep me busy for at least a couple of months until my next big Swing Dance adventure, where I'll be spending my whole birthday week at a Swing Castle Camp in Germany.
However, in recently years, I've found myself living in cities / towns where there hasn't been a regular swing dance scene. This, of course, has a substantial impact on my life - for me, dance isn't just all of the things I've described above - it's also a release. There's an intense emotional connection with the music (and also, to some extent, with the dance partner), and this provides a cathartic function in my life. No matter how frustrating my work or personal life is, I can always dance my woes away. And there are times that I really crave that familiar comfort, connection and joy that comes from swing dancing.
Furthermore, it's something that I'm missing right now. Up until about four months ago, I was all booked in to go to Herrang Dance Camp - in Sweden - the biggest Swing Dance camp in the world. I would have arrived yesterday morning. But my life's road took an unexpected twist, as it often does, and that's okay.
So, when the dancing's not immediately available, how do I find it?
1. Travel to where the dancers are.
When I lived in rural Japan, I would travel 2-3 hours each way on a Wednesday, for the sake of an hour and a half of social dancing before I had to run to catch the last train home at 9:30pm. It was worth it. More recently, I caught overnight trains to and from Bulgaria for a swing dance weekend, and two flights each way to and from Prague, where they have regular weekend social dancing. I've got some leave planned for September, and hopefully more around Christmas where I'll head to Snowball in Stockholm, or one of the other big events nearby, depending on when I can get away!
2. Teach the locals to swing dance.
I did this for the first five months when I first arrived in Hanoi, teaching every Tuesday evening, in the hope that this would lead to building a community of local swing dancers. However, I learnt a few things here. Firstly, teaching / building a scene cannot be a solo effort. Furthermore, there needs to be a substantial number of locals who want to build the community - it's not something that you can build, especially as a newly-arrived foreigner. It takes a lot of work and organisation, and even then the social dynamics can be such that a swing dance community can collapse easily within a short period of time, if not managed carefully (especially where there is a huge transient population). I can kinda understand why dance scene leaders get awfully sensitive when it comes to dance scene politics.
That said, I did enjoy teaching swing dancing, especially when I had somebody to teach with. I developed some valuable skills, and like to think that in finding ways to teach technique to others, I'm also mindful of my own dancing. It's something that I've also been able to bring to the Balkans, and assist another swing dancing friend who occasionally teaches swing dancing workshops in her local community (only five hours away from me by bus - but totally worth it!).
3. Collaborate with other dancer(s) living nearby.
Now, if you're lucky, there'll be at least once other dancer living nearby. And if you don't want to teach, you can at least dance with each other, and exercise your creativity by developing a routine, like I did earlier this year with another lindy hopper who was in town for three months (which we performed at her going-away party - see below)
Yes, it was a flying carpet. Appropriate for the song. For dancing, not so much.
4. Focus on solo jazz dance.
This has been my latest tactic. When I picked my apartment, I made sure the living room had a nice big wooden floor. I've recently purchased the means to connect my laptop to my big TV screen, and now I have my own solo dance studio!
With last weekend's activities in Prague, I had to learn the Big Apple routine - of which I already knew the first half (aka the easy half). After some cram-learning, I've spent the last week actually taking the time to learn it properly, and through this, I'm rediscovering my love for solo jazz dancing. Once I've finished locking in the Big Apple, I'm going to start revising the Tranky Doo and the Jitterbug Stroll, and then seek out other routines, like Doing The Jive. If you don't know what these are, then see below...
The Big Apple routine from "Keep Punching"
Part of the Tranky Doo from the film "Spirit Moves"
I kinda love this teacher demonstration of the Jitterbug Stroll...
Doing the Jive - in Seoul, Korea, where the scene is huge and the dancers are amaaaazing!
That should keep me busy for at least a couple of months until my next big Swing Dance adventure, where I'll be spending my whole birthday week at a Swing Castle Camp in Germany.
Saturday, 27 June 2015
The National Library of Kosovo
One of the most intriguing of buildings in the city of Pristina is that of the National Library of Kosovo. Built in 1982, and designed by Croatian architect Andrija Mutnjaković, it is often found on lists of the ugliest buildings in the world. Many people I've met here have never gone inside.
Actually, I quite like it. On the outside, there are the white domes, which are reminiscent of the ottoman baths in Prizren, or the domes of the various religious sites around kosovo, and although the building was completed before the rise of Milosevic and the Kosovo War, the stark cement-wrapped-in-metal-bars exterior seems fitting, given the political history of the area. But that's just my personal impression - other people see other things in this building, and that's the beauty of good art and architecture. It evokes a strong response in its beholder.
And the interior is just as striking, with patterned marble floors, large reading rooms, and an ornate wooden amphitheatre. And the semi-opaque domes effectively work as sky-lights, with natural lighting through the building. I had the opportunity to meet with one of the librarians, who was able to connect with through a former colleague and the International Librarians Network, and she showed me around the library.
As we have seen in other conflict situations, libraries such as those in Baghdad and Kabul suffer greatly at these times, often with the loss of significant collections of cultural heritage significance, and during the Kosovo War there were similar reports of destruction of cultural artifacts.
And the interior is just as striking, with patterned marble floors, large reading rooms, and an ornate wooden amphitheatre. And the semi-opaque domes effectively work as sky-lights, with natural lighting through the building. I had the opportunity to meet with one of the librarians, who was able to connect with through a former colleague and the International Librarians Network, and she showed me around the library.
However, it was wonderful to see that this library has a strong focus on celebrating the diversity of culture found in Kosovo and making it accessible to all. The librarian was proud to say that they hold collections in languages that serve all the communities in Kosovo, and their role was to promote the culture of the community, rather than political agendas. And ethnic identity aside, they also have a collection for the blind, and I was able to meet some of the staff there who were working with equipment that transcribed print text into braille. Such underlying principles of impartiality and accessibility are so important with libraries, and it is great to see them underpinning the services provided here.
Other collections in the building included the NATO collection, the music collection (which included musical instruments, sheet music, and recordings), and various donated collections of local cultural significance.
Unfortunately, I only had a small amount of time to view the library before heading to work, but I returned later that evening, and visited the "American Corner" - a reading lounge set up by the US Embassy, which runs programs to support English Language Learning, as well as collections of fiction by American authors. I donated a couple of my books that I had recently finished, and will certainly return to see if I can help in any way in the future, whether it be running programs or supporting collection development.
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| Library staff working with collections and equipment for the blind. |
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| Display in music collection |
Unfortunately, I only had a small amount of time to view the library before heading to work, but I returned later that evening, and visited the "American Corner" - a reading lounge set up by the US Embassy, which runs programs to support English Language Learning, as well as collections of fiction by American authors. I donated a couple of my books that I had recently finished, and will certainly return to see if I can help in any way in the future, whether it be running programs or supporting collection development.
Friday, 26 June 2015
My difficult relationship with Wuthering Heights
So, recently, I was out with a colleague for some drinks, and we got around to talking about books, and how the nature of literary writing has changed over time, considering the intricacies and dense prose of classics such as Middlemarch or Moby-Dick.
And I confessed that I had, on a number of occasions, attempted to start reading Wuthering Heights, and failed. Maybe it was because I'd been reading too much contemporary popular fiction, or way in which it was written, or the introduction of such a strange and slightly confusing assortment of characters, but I've never made it past the first few chapters. It's a terrible guilty shame of mine, which makes me feel like a failure as both a librarian and an educated member of English-speaking society.
(Curiously, I had similar difficulties with the first few pages of The Great Gatsby, and the way that it sets the geography of Long Island and historical context, before we start getting into the characters.)
But I am resolved to succeed with Wuthering Heights. So I've decided to get some help.
Now, I know that film adaptations are almost never as good as the book, but I figured that this would be a good way of quickly getting my head around the setting and the main characters. Given my former housemate's obsession with Tom Hardy (and isn't everybody these days, right?), I opted for the 2009 mini-series. And boom - I'm hooked.
And really, who wouldn't be. So romance. Such brooding. Wow.
But. Here's the catch. I'm only allowing myself to go so far - and I've stopped at the moment that Heathcliff rides off to seek his fortune and presumably win back Catherine's love, after which point I'm sure it'll all be fine, right? Right?
Now I've got my motivation actually read the freaking book to find out what happens next!
And I confessed that I had, on a number of occasions, attempted to start reading Wuthering Heights, and failed. Maybe it was because I'd been reading too much contemporary popular fiction, or way in which it was written, or the introduction of such a strange and slightly confusing assortment of characters, but I've never made it past the first few chapters. It's a terrible guilty shame of mine, which makes me feel like a failure as both a librarian and an educated member of English-speaking society.
(Curiously, I had similar difficulties with the first few pages of The Great Gatsby, and the way that it sets the geography of Long Island and historical context, before we start getting into the characters.)
But I am resolved to succeed with Wuthering Heights. So I've decided to get some help.
Now, I know that film adaptations are almost never as good as the book, but I figured that this would be a good way of quickly getting my head around the setting and the main characters. Given my former housemate's obsession with Tom Hardy (and isn't everybody these days, right?), I opted for the 2009 mini-series. And boom - I'm hooked.
 |
| Grunge was born long before the 1990s... |
But. Here's the catch. I'm only allowing myself to go so far - and I've stopped at the moment that Heathcliff rides off to seek his fortune and presumably win back Catherine's love, after which point I'm sure it'll all be fine, right? Right?
Now I've got my motivation actually read the freaking book to find out what happens next!
Thursday, 25 June 2015
I #loveozya
So, I'm not a huge follower of hashtags. The times that I've used them have been with:
- Conferences (which have definitely been a game changer, in terms of live online discourse)
- Q&A (which I stopped watching a while ago when it became clear that it was just the ABC pandering to the government by giving them a soapbox without actually making them accountable for their answers)
- Writers festivals. Because we can't attend them all!
However, one hashtag that I've kept an eye on for a little while now is #loveozya, mostly found on Twitter and Instagram. YA - for those not in the know - is literary lingo for "Young Adult", usually made in reference to YA fiction. Oz, is short for Australian. And love... well, I don't need to explain everything to you, do I?
So, as an expat, it's been difficult for me to express my OzYA love, since I also read adult fiction and non-Oz YA, and being overseas, it's often difficult for me to get my hands on Australian fiction. Also, now that I look at my bookshelf, of the 26 books that currently sit there, 16 are Australian, so I'm not doing a bad job.
Anyway, here's my instagram shot of my #loveozya haul. (For those of you on instagram, you can find me at @lib_idol.)
This is a bit of an eclectic mix of books. Most of them are unread books that I randomly pulled out of my boxes of books that I had in storage during the three days that I was back in Melbourne between returning from Vietnam and heading to Kosovo. Some are books that I've been meaning to read for years, but never made it to the top of the pile. The rest are books that I may have impulsively bought online in the last month whilst feeling self-conscious about not keeping up with the YA trends (especially after missing the Reading Matters conference.) And yes, I'm counting Zigzag Street as YA - so sue me. ;)
And then there's As Stars Fall, by Christie Nieman. I should mention that I'm only partially through this book, and would usually never review a book before finishing it, but in this case I feel compelled to write about it now.
I worked in the same library as Christie for a number of months, and crossed paths with her many many times, but never really got to know her, as often can be the case in workplaces. I sometimes saw her at the odd book launch or literary event at the Wheeler Centre. And then, during my brief time recently back in Melbourne, I saw her book on the shelf, and decided to buy it. I'm always willing to give a punt on a new writer - especially if it's YA.
After reading the prologue, I was already obsessed, and wrote to a friend back in Australia that she had to go and find this book and read it, because I already knew that she'd love it.
Every time I open this book, I'm immediately transported. The themes are both classic and original, familiar and surreal, modern but gothic in a similar but altogether different way to Kirsty Eagar's Night Beach. And so very Australian - it makes me homesick to the stomach with each chapter, such is the craft of Nieman's evocative prose style.
I'm not going to say anything of the plot - what immediately drew me into this story is this amazing fella (please watch - it's only a 50 sec video!):
Almost nine years ago, I moved to Darwin. It was definitely a challenging time - moving along to a new city for the first time, living on the other side of the continent in a strange, humid land. As often in the case, I had hideous insomnia when I first arrived, and there were these very strange, haunting noises outside. It was about 1 or 2 in the morning, and it just wouldn't stop. Bleary-eyed but restless, I decided to go for a walk, as one does, hoping that it would help me sleep. The temperature was still in the high 20s, and a hot moisture hung in the air, but in the grassy courtyard I saw a number - maybe 3 or 4 - of these bush stone-curlews wandering around the yard, with their alien-esque bodies and stalk-like legs, echoing their creepy call into the air. I retreated back into my apartment, and the next morning, in my sleep-deprived state, I thought that this episode had maybe been a dream.
It wasn't of course.
On my last night in Darwin, before moving back to Melbourne, I remember lying in bed, hearing the curlew's call echoing into the late night, and wondering when I'll hear it again...
Whilst this is of merely tenable reference to Nieman's novel, my personal memories are constantly in the back of my mind as I read her words, and their underlying themes of feeling lost, alone, and grieving, yet utterly alive and connected to nature.
- Conferences (which have definitely been a game changer, in terms of live online discourse)
- Q&A (which I stopped watching a while ago when it became clear that it was just the ABC pandering to the government by giving them a soapbox without actually making them accountable for their answers)
- Writers festivals. Because we can't attend them all!
However, one hashtag that I've kept an eye on for a little while now is #loveozya, mostly found on Twitter and Instagram. YA - for those not in the know - is literary lingo for "Young Adult", usually made in reference to YA fiction. Oz, is short for Australian. And love... well, I don't need to explain everything to you, do I?
So, as an expat, it's been difficult for me to express my OzYA love, since I also read adult fiction and non-Oz YA, and being overseas, it's often difficult for me to get my hands on Australian fiction. Also, now that I look at my bookshelf, of the 26 books that currently sit there, 16 are Australian, so I'm not doing a bad job.
Anyway, here's my instagram shot of my #loveozya haul. (For those of you on instagram, you can find me at @lib_idol.)
This is a bit of an eclectic mix of books. Most of them are unread books that I randomly pulled out of my boxes of books that I had in storage during the three days that I was back in Melbourne between returning from Vietnam and heading to Kosovo. Some are books that I've been meaning to read for years, but never made it to the top of the pile. The rest are books that I may have impulsively bought online in the last month whilst feeling self-conscious about not keeping up with the YA trends (especially after missing the Reading Matters conference.) And yes, I'm counting Zigzag Street as YA - so sue me. ;)
And then there's As Stars Fall, by Christie Nieman. I should mention that I'm only partially through this book, and would usually never review a book before finishing it, but in this case I feel compelled to write about it now.
I worked in the same library as Christie for a number of months, and crossed paths with her many many times, but never really got to know her, as often can be the case in workplaces. I sometimes saw her at the odd book launch or literary event at the Wheeler Centre. And then, during my brief time recently back in Melbourne, I saw her book on the shelf, and decided to buy it. I'm always willing to give a punt on a new writer - especially if it's YA.
After reading the prologue, I was already obsessed, and wrote to a friend back in Australia that she had to go and find this book and read it, because I already knew that she'd love it.
Every time I open this book, I'm immediately transported. The themes are both classic and original, familiar and surreal, modern but gothic in a similar but altogether different way to Kirsty Eagar's Night Beach. And so very Australian - it makes me homesick to the stomach with each chapter, such is the craft of Nieman's evocative prose style.
I'm not going to say anything of the plot - what immediately drew me into this story is this amazing fella (please watch - it's only a 50 sec video!):
Almost nine years ago, I moved to Darwin. It was definitely a challenging time - moving along to a new city for the first time, living on the other side of the continent in a strange, humid land. As often in the case, I had hideous insomnia when I first arrived, and there were these very strange, haunting noises outside. It was about 1 or 2 in the morning, and it just wouldn't stop. Bleary-eyed but restless, I decided to go for a walk, as one does, hoping that it would help me sleep. The temperature was still in the high 20s, and a hot moisture hung in the air, but in the grassy courtyard I saw a number - maybe 3 or 4 - of these bush stone-curlews wandering around the yard, with their alien-esque bodies and stalk-like legs, echoing their creepy call into the air. I retreated back into my apartment, and the next morning, in my sleep-deprived state, I thought that this episode had maybe been a dream.
It wasn't of course.
On my last night in Darwin, before moving back to Melbourne, I remember lying in bed, hearing the curlew's call echoing into the late night, and wondering when I'll hear it again...
Whilst this is of merely tenable reference to Nieman's novel, my personal memories are constantly in the back of my mind as I read her words, and their underlying themes of feeling lost, alone, and grieving, yet utterly alive and connected to nature.
Wednesday, 24 June 2015
Today - for the last five years...
This time last year, I was reminiscing on where I was five years previously...
So, on this day, five years ago, we had a new Prime Minister. Julia Gillard, our first female Prime Minister. And regardless of how you feel about the politics of the time, it was nevertheless a momentous occasion. I was working in a high school at the time, and was with a Year 9 field trip to Canberra, where we tried to expose a busload of 15-year olds to the wonders of Australia's capital city. We picked the right weekend for it! We got to see Kevin Rudd in Parliament the day before, and the next day, we had a new PM.
On this day, four years ago, I was in Hobart for Devil City Swing - a weekend of swing dancing in Hobart. We also discovered this new place there called MONA. I almost didn't make it to Tasmania, because of a volcanic ash cloud from Peru. I'd already quit my job, re-enrolled into my masters degree and was preparing to move to live in Japan, only months after the 2011 tsunami disaster.
On this day, three years ago, I was in Hobart again. Made new friends, visited the snow, and generally recovering from the reverse culture shock of having recently returned from Japan. Here's a photo of me dancing with an Adelaide dancer, Sarah, who I hadn't met before, and wouldn't meet again...
...that is, until less than two months ago when she happened to be travelling through Kosovo! Whaaat? Also, here, I'm clearly still clinging to my Japanese fashion sense. Who ever thought that orange jeans were ever a good idea?
On this day, two years ago, I returned to Melbourne after spending two months working on an International Development project in Papua New Guinea, working with teaching and library staff at at training school for nurses in Alotau, Milne Bay. It was an eye-opening experience, and I had an amazing time, though not without its fair share of challenging moments. I was sad to leave, but that's okay, because I returned to PNG less than a week later, this time to the volcanic wasteland of Rabaul, working with their museum collections and exhibitions.
On this day, last year, it was my final week working at what should have been my dream job, managing a library in a modern inner-city high school. I can't quite explain why it wasn't right for me - more than that, it was very much the wrong job for me. I left to pursue another opportunity to work in international development, returning to Vietnam - a country where I had worked for three months at the end of the previous year. The decision to leave wasn't an easy one either - here, I had the opportunity to finally settle in Melbourne, with a permanent job that, whilst not without its fair share of challenges, didn't entirely suck either. It was a life-changing decision - one that set me on the path that would lead me to where I am now in Kosovo.
It's been an exciting, adventurous year, full of amazing experiences and new friends. It's also been a frustrating, challenging and, often, lonely year, as as much as I enjoy the thrill of new cultural, culinary and geographic wonders, I also often crave familiar comfort and company, and have been terribly homesick these last couple of days in particular.
I'd like to think I'll be somewhere more exciting on this day, a year from now, but being almost the end of the fiscal year, I imagine I'll be frantically getting reports written.
That, and/or blogging again for a month!
So, on this day, five years ago, we had a new Prime Minister. Julia Gillard, our first female Prime Minister. And regardless of how you feel about the politics of the time, it was nevertheless a momentous occasion. I was working in a high school at the time, and was with a Year 9 field trip to Canberra, where we tried to expose a busload of 15-year olds to the wonders of Australia's capital city. We picked the right weekend for it! We got to see Kevin Rudd in Parliament the day before, and the next day, we had a new PM.
On this day, four years ago, I was in Hobart for Devil City Swing - a weekend of swing dancing in Hobart. We also discovered this new place there called MONA. I almost didn't make it to Tasmania, because of a volcanic ash cloud from Peru. I'd already quit my job, re-enrolled into my masters degree and was preparing to move to live in Japan, only months after the 2011 tsunami disaster.
On this day, three years ago, I was in Hobart again. Made new friends, visited the snow, and generally recovering from the reverse culture shock of having recently returned from Japan. Here's a photo of me dancing with an Adelaide dancer, Sarah, who I hadn't met before, and wouldn't meet again...
 |
| Devil City Swing 2012 (Photo by Mary Awesömesauce) |
On this day, two years ago, I returned to Melbourne after spending two months working on an International Development project in Papua New Guinea, working with teaching and library staff at at training school for nurses in Alotau, Milne Bay. It was an eye-opening experience, and I had an amazing time, though not without its fair share of challenging moments. I was sad to leave, but that's okay, because I returned to PNG less than a week later, this time to the volcanic wasteland of Rabaul, working with their museum collections and exhibitions.
On this day, last year, it was my final week working at what should have been my dream job, managing a library in a modern inner-city high school. I can't quite explain why it wasn't right for me - more than that, it was very much the wrong job for me. I left to pursue another opportunity to work in international development, returning to Vietnam - a country where I had worked for three months at the end of the previous year. The decision to leave wasn't an easy one either - here, I had the opportunity to finally settle in Melbourne, with a permanent job that, whilst not without its fair share of challenges, didn't entirely suck either. It was a life-changing decision - one that set me on the path that would lead me to where I am now in Kosovo.
It's been an exciting, adventurous year, full of amazing experiences and new friends. It's also been a frustrating, challenging and, often, lonely year, as as much as I enjoy the thrill of new cultural, culinary and geographic wonders, I also often crave familiar comfort and company, and have been terribly homesick these last couple of days in particular.
I'd like to think I'll be somewhere more exciting on this day, a year from now, but being almost the end of the fiscal year, I imagine I'll be frantically getting reports written.
That, and/or blogging again for a month!
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