Australia, New South Wales, Sydney

I think – I THINK – I have settled now. So here are my first notes.

Sydney is big. I mean really big. And it gets even bigger when you try to minimize your public transportation use. Not because it’s dodgy or something – it’s great. As a matter of fact it’s so great, people thank the driver getting off the bus. Seriously, everybody yells thank you, even if they’re getting out through the back door. No, I avoid buses in order to see more, feel more, soak up the sun and feel the humid warmth in my lungs and my bones. Yes, it’s usually 25-32 degrees Celsius.

It’s a living, breathing organism. Literally. Their cockroaches are the size of my palm. You see them everywhere. And then in one night you see a huge rat running by, a bat is throwing food at you and you step on some sort of a huge slimy moving thing in your kitchen. Awesomeness.

It’s laidback. I’ve never been to a place so busy and yet so relaxed at the same time; the coexistence of these contrasting traits, to my mind, is what makes up Sydney. This is why the first two weeks I’d leave home at 10am and get back at 12am – the city grips you and doesn’t want to let go. I didn’t put up a fight.

I have a home now. Compared to my shoebox in Denmark this is a palace and people are already joking around that I won’t leave my Ivory tower without a good reason. I live in an old terrace house (quote from Wikipedia: “Terraced houses in Australia refers almost exclusively to Victorian and Edwardian era terrace houses or replicas almost always found in the older, inner city areas of the major cities.”) It looks something like this:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/48/Paddington2_terrace.jpg

The area is called Glebe, which is known for being a bit alternative and hipster. What I love about it is the Saturday flea market, the tiny cafés where everybody sits back to back, antique book stores and simply the feeling – I stroll down the main street at least twice a day and stop by the same fruit market and chemist store every week – I get to know people – because all the stores and small, personal, like you’re transported back in time when there were no supermarkets and people knew the ones who sold them food from a local farm (as their grandfathers knew each other).

I didn’t even think I’d like those times until now: the two Asians who own a post office/groceries store call me “the girl from Europe” every time I drop by, and an aged Italian lad working at Pastabella café winks if he sees me pass by. A guy from a seafood restaurant promised to call if a job opening comes up. These little instances of everyday personal interaction warm my heart and make me realize that the world we live in has made us become indifferent to each other to an extent we don’t even realize.

Things happen here. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of seeing Annie Leibovitz originals, almost touching them, grasping the depth of the colours, the texture of background and the intensity of emotion when a picture is 2X2m. I would have never even dreamt of this opportunity and there I was, staring at Susan Sontag in a casket, almost crying, so moved I could not talk.

Or last night – I went on YouTube and at the top there was a banner saying, “YouTube Symphony live streaming from Sydney Opera”. Jumped in a cab and 10min later I was standing at awe in front of those magical projections, feeling the breeze of Sydney harbour on my skin, fighting the occasional raindrops and glaring at the full moon hanging on the side of the opera café.

There are three Lonely Planet travel books on my night table – I brought them all the way from home no matter that they added perhaps 3kg to my ridiculously poor luggage. But every time I open them now it’s no longer some distant ephemeral thing I’m looking at – it’s my present, it’s very much real and it humbles me. I bow down once again before fate and, most of all, my parents, who provided me with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I can’t really tell you why exactly I’m so amazed. Nothing’s too new – I’ve seen the skyscrapers millions of times, swam in both Atlantic and Pacific oceans, saw many cultures and met many people. One of those countries that truly took my breath away was Syria, but I never had the feeling I could reside there. Whereas Sydney… Something just clicked. It’s like the feeling when you know you’ve forgotten something, but you can’t remember what and you don’t even remember where to look for it, and then – bam – you find it, and a sudden wave of relief ripples through your body head to toe. That’s how I feel. Like I’m finally home.

The next "Survivor" series

Reposted from my sister's blog:

Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.
Each kid will play two sports and take either music or dance classes.
There is no fast food.
Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of ‘pretend’ bills with not enough money.
In addition, each man will have to budget enough money for groceries each week.
Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives,and send cards out on time--no emailing.
Each man must also take each child to a doctor’s appointment,a dentist appointmentand a haircut appointment.
He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Emergency Room.
He must also make cookies or cupcakesfor a school function.
Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside, and keeping it presentable at all times.
The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.
The men shave their legs,
wear makeup daily,
adorn themselves with jewelry,
wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes,
keep fingernails polished,
and eyebrows groomed
During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, backaches, headaches,have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties.
They must attend weekly school meetings and church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting.

They will need to read a book to the kids each night and in the morning,feed them,dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair by 7:30 am.

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks,and each father will be required to know all of the following information:each child’s birthday,height, weight,shoe size, clothes size,doctor’s name,the child’s weight at birth,length, time of birth,and length of labor,each child’s favorite color,middle name,favorite snack,favorite song,favorite drink,favorite toy,biggest fear, and what they want to be when they grow up.
The kids vote them off the island based on performance.
The last man wins only if…he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment’s notice.

If the last man does win,he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years,eventually earning the right to be called Mother!

be good. be better.

“Perfekcionistų gyvenimą gerai iliustruoja antikinis mitas apie stipruolį Heraklį. Olimpo dievų buvo nuspręsta jam leisti tapti pusdieviu, tačiau tik su sąlyga, kad Heraklis išmėšiąs milžiniškas arklides. Kiekvienas perfekcionistas gilumoje yra Heraklis, turintis ambicijų įsikurti bent jau Olimpo papėdėje.”

-- http://www.vmsi.lt/n/4/53/Kai-Reikalai-Auksciau-Visko

[Rough translation: The lives of perfectionists are well illustrated by the ancient myth of almighty Hercules. The Gods on Mount Olympus decided that they’d let him become a semi-god with the condition that he’ll clean out stables of an enormous size. Every perfectionist is Hercules, fostering the ambition to one day reside at least at the foot of Mount Olympus]

Firstly, I apologize for having gone missing for a while. Sydney has been quite overwhelming and I promise to write it all down as soon as it sinks in fairly enough to evaluate it. Cause now I’m just like “oh my God this is all waaayyy cool” haha. Not very impartial I’m afraid.

However, I am writing this post. And this is just because it would’ve seemed insane not to – a friend [let’s call her the Stewardess] wrote me on FB whom I haven’t spoken with for perhaps a year [and who’s leading an amazing and inspiring life at the moment] and basically just asked me why I’m not posting anything and then brainstormed a bit on the topic of perfectionism. Out of nowhere. This made me ridiculously happy because that was a direct proof that this tiny blog is doing it’s job – provoking to think, to ask questions and to discuss together, which is truly one of my greatest passions. Thank you so much!

Then, maybe an hour or two later, I completely accidentally stumbled upon this article: http://gyvenimas.delfi.lt/career/perfekcionizmas-xxi-amziaus-moteru-liga.d?id=14959020 [sorry to all those English speaking friends who are reading – this great article is written in the very cool language of totally cool Lithuanians]. Its title says: Perfectionism – the XXIst century disease for women? And it goes on to cover the topic in detail.

But it gets better. I’m skyping with my mom tonight and she randomly posts the quote that I’m using in the opening of this post. How odd is that? The universe has united on directing me towards this topic ;]

So. Perfectionism.

I do agree that it is the most malicious disease that contemporary women suffer from. We have to excel in everything – career, family, LIFE. It is seen as a virtue if we can cook and clean, and “hold the four corners of a household”. By nature (and by upbringing) I am truly not capable of that. I most deeply despise interior pampering with candles and flowers and what not. And numerous boyfriends have pointed it out with poorly disguised regret.

I am, however, interested in quantum physics, in failing economies, in various religions (purely for religion studies), in muscle cars and a solid glass of the old fashioned at the end of the day. Yet none of these interests are seen as a virtue as far as I’ve noticed.

A brief jump of thought – I just received another letter regarding my babysitting services poster in Denmark. It’s a third one I’ve received and what I find interesting is that all of them were written by men. Sometimes countries of deep-rooted feminism bring such joy to my heart ;]

Back to the topic. I’d have to agree with the Stewardess that perfectionism causes drinking problems above all things. When one no longer knows how to let go of days work, or how to seek relief from all surrounding pressures, she may start abusing alcohol.

Another thing perfectionists are prone to – depression. When you’re stuck in the vicious circle of never being good enough – how can you possibly enjoy life? It is the highway to apathy, dissatisfaction and anger management problems.

My intention is to ask you to share your thoughts: why do you think we become perfectionists? Are you one? What’s your story? Is it about the upbringing and if so, what do parents do wrong? How to balance it out between caring for the child but yet not pushing him too hard; between inspiring him for greatness and giving him all the tools but not depriving him of simple joys? Do you fight perfectionism or do you give in to it? How do you give yourself a break from it? How to manage it and adjust it to work in your advantage?

These are my questions for you today, so please, drop a line or two.

“One needs to learn to ride without waiting for the stables to be cleaned” – Daniel Casriel