Through the looking glass.

Harry Potter: "What is it?"
Albus Dumbledore: "This? It is called a Pensieve. I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

— Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

This is what came to mind when I asked myself why I haven't been writing much in the blog since late last year.  Like Dumbledore, it seems that I only have the motivation to post to the blog when I have too much going on in my head.

It's not that there haven't been things worth writing about.  It's just that they weren't things that I wanted to memorialize in detail in this space at the time, perhaps because they were just too difficult to put to words.  Perhaps I didn't have the patience or emotional fortitude to do so.  Maybe I still don't, but among those worth mentioning was how close I came to making the decision to put Maia to sleep as we faced another difficult episode of constipation, and how helpless I was facing my parent's impending relocation from their home after the owner of their rental house decided to go ahead with the new development on the property.  These things didn't really put me into a holiday mood, as a result.  But you know what they say about silver linings.

2015 wasn't a bad year, after all.  I got to meet many wonderful people from the fibre community: there's Lilliah, the artistic genius behind OAK Weaving Studio, Cathy of Cat & Sparrow Fibres, David and Imogen of Luxury Overdose Fibre Arts, Erin from Beer & Skittles, all the wonderful people I met at the fibre events that I attended this year (Spindle, Spin and Fibre Play Day at Pascoe Vale, Sheep and Woolcraft Field Day at Cranbourne, Victorian Handknitters Guild Show in Coburg where I met Rachel, the mind behind Fibreshed Melbourne, and who accompanied me to my second Bendigo Sheep and Wool show), and friendships I have made through the spinning wheels I have 'taken in'.  No, it really wasn't a bad year, and I am very, very grateful to have known each and every one of these lovely people.

I'm most grateful for my housemate Robert's good-natured willingness to attend these events with me.  I wouldn't have been able to go to any of these events without him.  And of course, I'm grateful that this girl is still with me.

Happy 2016, everyone!

Long absences and homecomings

Where have I been?

Nowhere, really.  Those of you I see on a regular basis can attest to the fact that I haven't really gone away.  I've just been... quiet.  But I have been up to a few things.

More than a month ago, I attended the a queer craft group at Hares & Hyenas in Fitzroy and met some lovely craft-positive people.  The day itself was auspicious as it was National Coming Out Day (11th October), and this meeting would be my first time meeting people socially in the 'community' again.

This wasn't my first time 'coming out'.  The first time I did such a thing was a few years after I arrived in Australia.  I joined the Young & Gay group, a program run by the Victorian AIDS Council where guys my age could meet up and talk about relevant issues.  I wasn't sure where I plucked up the courage to join the group, given that I was still finding my feet then, still negotiating identities (Asian, new Australian, gay, etc.).  But as with all coming of age stories, my recollections of this initial foray is bittersweet for reasons I'll probably reveal in a future post.

The second time happened a few years after that, when I joined the Melbourne Spikers, a LGBTI social volleyball group.  I enjoyed attending the Tuesday sessions and improving my game until life got too busy and I had to stop.

Venturing into a bookstore -- a space where I would normally feel most comfortable, in part of a city considered to be one of Melbourne's so-called queer heartlands, one would think would be akin to a homecoming of sorts.  In a way, it was, but as with all homecomings, there is always a feeling of trepidation and uncertainty which leaves you wondering whether you really belong.

I'm not sure if I've found home in Melbourne.  I've certainly envisioned places where I've never been (yet) to be home, and this yearning to belong drives me to keep on seeking it out.

I do know what it feels like.  I know it's bound up in feelings of security and safety, of comfort and warmth.  It's a space where you are free to be yourself, to be alone with your thoughts. It's where you come to nest.  It is soft.  It is where sleep comes to you easily.  It is where your books gather dust.  It is where you share you meals.  It is where you heal, where you lick your wounds.  It is where you can stare at the ceiling, and see beyond it, the skies, the stars with clarity.  It is where you invite those you wish to share your life.

Do I feel at home in Melbourne?  Do I feel at home in Australia?  Yes, to a degree.  I have definitely set down roots here, and there are many things here for which I am grateful.  The friends I've made, my employment and my education, the fact that I can receive world-class medical care if me or my family needs it, the intellectual, psychological, social freedom this society affords.  I am privileged and blessed.  But do these make this place home?  I'm not sure.

In any case, I hope to be writing more often in the next few days.  It's really nice that a few of you have been asking about the blog, and when I was going to update it.  Thanks for reading, and for sticking around.

Sticking to the script

Well, this was never going to be easy, was it?  What's a journey without a few scrapes and stumbles, right? Nevertheless, I've decided to continue in spite of my doubts.  But I did have to pick up a few "power-ups" before continuing (that's basically, gamer-speak for finding things to shore up your confidence).

Again, I find myself revisiting the first ever Margaret Cho stand-up show I watched, all those years ago, on SBS, "The Notorious C.H.O.":

On her struggles with weight:

"What if this is it?  What if this is just what I look like, and nothing I do changes that? So, how much time would I save if I stopped taking that extra second every time I look at myself in the mirror to call myself a big fat fuck?  How much time would I save if I stopped taking that extra second every time I looked at a photograph of myself to cringe over how fat I look?  How much time would I save if I just let myself walk by a plate-glass window without sucking in my gut or throwing back my shoulders?"

On self-esteem and body image issues, for both gay men and women:

"As far as marriage for myself, I don't know.  I continue to love myself until I love another.  And I have self-esteem, which is pretty amazing 'cause I'm probably somebody who would necessarily have a lot of self-esteem as I am considered a minority.  And if you are a woman, if you are person of color, if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, if you are person of size, if you are a person of intelligence, if you are a person of integrity, then you are considered a minority in this world. And it's going to be really hard to find messages of self-love and support anywhere, especially in women's and gay men's culture.  It's all about how you have to look a certain way, or else you're worthless.  You know when you look in the mirror, and you think, "Ugh, I'm so fat", "I'm so old", "I'm so ugly": don't you know that that's not your authentic self?  But that is billions upon billions of dollars of advertising: magazines, movies, billboards, all geared to make you feel shitty about yourself so that you will take your hard earned money and spend it at the mall on turn-around cream that doesn't turn around shit."

When I posted last on my blog, voicing the negativity I felt about my appearance, my teacher, muse, fairy-godmother and friend, Charly commented and shared a similar experience she had in an acting class.  She wrote about our 'scripted' versus our 'unscripted' self, and how they come into conflict with each other.  Our scripted self is the posed one, the made-up and done-up self, the one that gets to choose the angle, the lighting, the filter: the self we see in selfies, whereas the unscripted self is the one caught in the moment, candidly, unassuming and unaware of being observed.  The tension between the scripted and unscripted self arises because we perceive them to be different, one more real than the other.  It's like being given two mirrors from which to see your reflection.  But the reflection that we see in each isn't two different people; they are different aspects of the same person.

Now, I'm not sure whether the way forward is to reconcile these two reflections, to somehow make their reflections identical.  We all can do things to change ourselves physically: diet, exercise, etc. But there are limits to how much we can change.  And it seems pointless and downright unhealthy to force yourself to conform to a particular physical type.

Perhaps a better way to look at it to see these two reflections as indispensable parts of yourself, with the scripted self reminding you are capable of being happy, of being proud of the decisions you've made, and the joy of knowing that there's just so much more to learn and experience in the world, while your unscripted self serves to keep yourself humble and grounded.  It exists to remind yourself that no matter how much we've transformed ourselves, we can always do better, and be better people.

For the time being, I don't I'm ready to go off book yet.  So for the time being, I'm sticking to the script.  I'll choose the angles, the lighting, the filters.  I'll choose how to see myself.

Here's me projecting a halo.
Day 18.

Harsh reflections

One thing I've learned with this whole blogging thing is that finding things to write about can sometimes be hard.  Sure, there might be legitimate reasons why this is true, but perhaps it's not that hard finding something to write about, it's just that we've run out of easy things to discuss in our writing.

Today, Rob and I went to the Gisborne Market which happens every first Sunday of the month to see what it's all about, but mostly to visit Cathy (of Cat & Sparrow Fibres) and Erica of Small Finds at their stall.

Now, I could go on about how beautiful a day it was (no, really -- it was a gorgeous day, although one could be forgiven for thinking that someone cancelled spring and we were already into the first week of summer), or how awesome the market was (there were tons of people, and so many amazing stalls, so much that I'd like to make going there a regular trip), or how much I am coming to like Gisborne (it is  a lovely place; I've only been once before with friends, and while the market really does transform the town, the charm of the place is quite evident.  Maybe I'd even like to move there some day).

All easy things to write about, right?

Well, that's not what I'm writing about today.  As it happens, some pictures and videos were taken today which made me confront the way I saw myself, and how I thought how other people saw me.  Rob very kindly shot a few photos and videos of Cathy and I spinning, all in good fun.

But when I first viewed them, it wasn't my spinning that I noticed.  Predictably, I saw my double chin, the unflattering folds around my waist, the scars up and down my arms (I thought, "My god, they are really noticeable.  You'd be blind not to notice them.  They must think I'm some kind of freak."), my general unkempt appearance and poor posture.  And now they're up on my Facebook in all their cringe-worthy glory.   Sigh.

I thought to myself, "This is why no one wants to be with you.  This is why you don't get asked out on dates.  This is why no one calls you back."

Admittedly, I was pretty harsh with the internal dialogue.  Actually, it wasn't so much a dialogue as a one-sided complete and utter put down sesh in my head.  And I've found that I'm terribly good at it.

Body image, for me, as it probably is for a lot of people, is such a pernicious issue, and I'll be the first to admit that I haven't really found a solution that has 'solved' it for me.  Affirmations get you part of the way there, but there comes a point where even the most receptive of minds will perceive them as cloyingly trite.  And if you think about it too much, you can get down on yourself because you're being down on yourself about such a petty and trivial thing like physical appearance -- some people have some real problems, goddammit.

It's a damn shame that I've let something so small affect me so much that taking another damn selfie is the last thing I want to do at the moment.  So for the time being, I'm covering all the mirrors.  I'm sorry.

Week in review

Gah.

I've been so slack with blogging, and for anyone out there following me, I'm so sorry.  I've not been entirely dormant.  Quite the opposite, really.  I'm currently on holidays until next Monday, and this week has just flew by.

Let's do a rundown:

Monday saw Robert and I meet up with a friend to attend a concert at Melba Hall.  They usually have lunchtime concerts there during the semester and that afternoon they featured three young cellists as part of the first ever Melbourne Cello Festival.  We then had a light lunch at Moonee Ponds afterwards.

On Tuesday, I visited the Handweavers & Spinners Guild in Carlton North to exchange a pot of dye which I bought last week, but already had some of at home.  I should really keep an inventory on my phone.  Then, later on the afternoon, I caught up with an old anthropology lecturer of mine at uni.  She's always been incredibly supportive of furthering my studies, but I've always struggled with pinning a topic down that would sustain my interests for the long haul.  We did discuss my 'journey' into handspinning and how it has become my tether to what matters to me most now.

Wednesday, I visited Cathy of Cat and Sparrow at her home and spent the entire afternoon just talking fibre.  I toured her working space, met her family and sweet fluffy Kira, and had the most sumptuous dinner.  It was amazing.  In exchange, I bought a S'mores pie for everyone to share.  Not too bad for a first attempt, methinks.












Thursday, I met up with my dear, dear friend Dr Lisa.  I've not seen her for so long and missed her terribly.  Life does get in the way of great friendships, but it was wonderful to pick up right where we left off.  We had awesome food at a cafe in Balaclava, a part of Melbourne I don't get to visit very often, but it's very hip with boutique self-serve yoghurt places, bespoke coffee roasters and cafes up and down the street.

I had a really nice mushroom burger with a couple of eggs in a rustic grain bun and some really tasty veggie chips on the side.  Dr Lisa had something equally healthy: smoked salmon salad with eggs and what I believe was a veggie croquette(?).









I had Pilates later that night which was a tad more challenging than last week, but ultimately very rewarding.

And to finish off the day, I had some of my friend Charly's special homemade Pecorino cheese with Yarra Valley truffles on my penne boscaiola.  I am very, very spoilt.











Today, Nev very kindly helped me pick up a wool picker I won off eBay in Ballarat.  I've always wanted one, and now my stash of alpaca fleeces doesn't look too daunting to process.  Here's my first cloud of alpaca which I dyed previously.


















What a full week!  I've not managed to take a lot of selfies to post, but I do like this one which I took today.

Day 17.

Field Day at Cranbourne!

The fibre-fun filled weekend continued today at the Cranbourne Public Hall!

This event was bigger and busier than the one in Pascoe Vale (which was super cozy).  Robert, my housemate, and I arrived to a frenzy of fluff and fibre.  There was a small petting zoo with rabbits, lambs, goats and chickens.  No photos, sadly, but I left wanting to raise a little clutch of Frizzle hens.

There was a sheep shearing demonstration (I don't know about you, but there's something about a guy who knows his way around a pair of shears that gets me all hot and bothered; LOL), a spinning bee in the centre of the room full of men and women with their wonderful spinning wheels, a fleece market, and a lamb on a lead in a diaper.

Rob and I had a good wander around, and we picked up some handmade soap from Jumbuk Julie.  I also got some felt squares from her for a not-so-secret felting project.  I hope to reveal a bit about this in the coming weeks.

Charly and Paul's exhibit seemed suspiciously fluffier than the day before (I think she may have elves visiting her at night doing her dyeing), but while I restrained myself yesterday, I did try to make a dent in her stock today.

I also bought a French Oak phang-style spindle with a lovely green crystal inlay from Paul.

I also managed to sneak a candid shot of Cathy, and while she may not like this particular photo, I think it's a lovely one regardless.  Cathy gave me a Night's Watch batt as a thank you for helping out yesterday (totally unnecessary, as I enjoyed myself a whole heap) but I wouldn't be a spinner worth my salt if I refused. Thank you for my lovely gift, Cathy!

I also met up again with Erin of Beer & Skittles, and snagged a set of braids of Optim from her.  I also met a few more exhibitors, one of whom piqued my interest in getting a Saori loom!

I'll share pictures of my 'haul' in another 4Things blog post next week.

I'm all caught up on posts, guys!  Day 16!

Play Day at Pascoe Vale

I had an amazing day at the Spindle, Spin and Fibre Play Day with the lovely ladies of the Pascoe Vale Hand Spinners and Weavers Group and their guests.

I hadn't seen Charly and Paul McCafferty since the Bendigo Sheep and Wool show this year, and I always love catching up with them because you know, #relationshipgoals.  Charly also gave a wonderful demonstration of several hand-spinning tools and their cultural significance to a captive audience.

I also finally got to meet the lovely David Johnson and Imogen Stockton, the hands and minds behind Luxury Overdose.

But my partner in crime today was Cathy Johnson of Cat & Sparrow Fibres for an afternoon of rolag and batt making fun.  (I was going to insert our selfie here, but I may have neglected to save it -- sorry, Cathy!)

The generous Pascoe Vale ladies put on an amazing spread for tea which kept everyone's energy levels up for the whole day.  And yes, it was definitely worth that grueling climb from Pascoe Vale station up Gaffney Street.  Damn you, Google Maps, Y U NO SHOW ELEVATION???

All in all, I made a bunch of new friends who are as enthusiastic about our craft as I am.  We shared laughter and stories, exchanged ideas, and hopefully inspired each other to try out new things.  Fibre folk are truly the best folk.

Day 15.