Less Monaco, More Berlin

Yesterday I joined my mum in the lounge room, prepared to watch whatever she was watching. This happened to be a documentary on Monaco, a Mediterranean concentration of millionaires and billionaires. Over half an hour or more the camera pored over luxurious details and conservative ideals. At one point, an architect - about to be celebrated for a futuristic sculpture - admitted that it's not really possible to be radical in a place like this. Which is when I decided that I was less about Monaco, and more about Berlin. 

Once upon a time I donated $20 per month to a popular Australian charity called Save The Children. This year I re-entered the world of supporting meaningful businesses by becoming a Patreon of Nomadic Matt. Part of my membership includes access to dozens of fun presentations on various aspects of travel. I've vibed with a visual guide to Cuba, been encouraged to hike the Camino to Santiago de Compostela (because why not?), and been inspired to cultivate even more colour and creativity in the way I approach my journeys. 

I now have so many travel plans that it's hard to know which one stands out the most. I see Spain in my future when Covid recedes, but where and for how long are variables which are constantly changing. I find myself eager to return to Portugal, too - we got off on the wrong foot (with minimal sleep in a noisy guesthouse), but I caught glimpse of its charms and know there are more of them in wait. (Perhaps it's time to dig up Saramago's book on the place... I know I have it somewhere.)

Another country that excites me in its potential is Greece. I've only been there once, in 2003, for three days, but I do believe it deserves more. I may have overlooked it because it shares a border with Bulgaria, and feels 'close to home', but there will be time to build on past passions - for island architecture, natural beauty, and an atmosphere pulsating with history. 

To read The Guardian this week is to know that we are making financial decisions in a more risk averse state of mind, that the travel sector may take up to five years to return to 2019 levels, and that when Covid does recede there will probably be a 'golden era' of travel, partying and socialising at close quarters. Our impulses to travel will be indulged many times over. And yet, I can't help but wonder if I should be putting $ away for the future. And since there's no right answer, I can look forward to much in the way of happy deliberating.

  

1.5 Generation Australian

 Reading 'All who live on islands' by Rose Lu, I was introduced to a new way of describing myself: as a 1.5 generation immigrant. I was young enough to adapt to Sydney really quickly, but old enough to have a firm relationship with Bulgaria. I also see it as a question of agency. No-one consulted my seven-year old self over the relocation. I was uprooted, and it was kind of traumatic, even though I was optimistic about leaving the Balkans. If I had a choice in the matter, I might have chosen to move to a different country. My dad told me that Canada was one of the few other nations accepting people like us back then. I could have just as easily been a Toronto native. 

In recent years I've developed a bit of an interest in getting to know other English-speaking cultures in-depth. Canada, New Zealand, Ireland, Scotland, the rest of Britain... Knowing that a common language binds us opens up opportunities for cultural immersion on a deeper scale than almost anywhere. I may have spent some time fantasising about zig-zagging through London in search of the most innovative cultural events. Or making fast friends in the melting pots of Vancouver, arranging French language exchanges in Montreal, Maori ones in Dunedin. Finally tackling 'Ulysses' in a Dublin café. 

So if I ever have the opportunity to do a gap year, I am in for a world of indecision. 

November reading (and pining)

Last night I confessed to a friend that I didn't feel listened to... because I rarely told anyone how I truly felt. I'm excellent at getting people to open up to me, but my closest confidante for years was my psychologist. And now I don't have one. 

That may be about to change, as I seek the help I daydream about. So far I've been too scared to seek such an intimate emotional encounter anew. But I know I will reach out... eventually. I can see that time coming. 

This evening I listened to the author of 'The Golden Maze', Richard Fidler, discuss various refrains and riddles that echo in his head as he reflects on the city of Prague. I may hunt down this volume and be transported to a place that is simultaneously familiar and not: Czech Republic, on the other side of Eastern Europe to where I grew up, a place I have been amazed at and repulsed (or should I say alienated) by. In other words, a place worth revisiting. 

About two years ago I listened to the 'Saga Land' audiobook, a previous project of Fidler's and I was impressed by his capacity for research, and powers of empathy - except, of course, in relation to the feminist project. Fidler may be the least feminist of the authors I've read in recent years. Nevertheless, it's an accomplished Australian who takes the leap over to the European continent and tells me something new about its soul. (Reading is not endorsement of every part of the writer's psyche, after all.)

I'm also waiting on 'All who live on islands' by Rose Lu, a queer New Zealander of Chinese heritage who I hope will shed light on the subcultures one might become acquainted with in Australia's most culturally similar neighbour. 

While I wait, there's Simone de Beauvoir's 'The Second Sex'. It's not the easiest read, but it's offered some existentially themed insights so far, and I hope it will again.

Options, Options, Options

Biden won, the Pfizer vaccine was announced, and I got a new laptop - all in the course of a week. 

Newly be-PC'ed, I recall many nights of searching the sky blue background on a Microsoft Word document for the words that would make it all OK. I remember not to limit my search for psychologists to Sydney, because, with Skype or Zoom, the world is my oyster. It's possible there is a Swedish or Nordic psychologist marketing herself as feminist, and I can absorb her unconscious values alongside her bold, conscious strides, as she shows me how to improve my self-care practices. 

The future is as 'up in the air' as always, though I have to be honest with myself and admit that moving to New Zealand doesn't elicit a 'Hell Yeah' response. (According to Derek Sivers, if something's worth prioritising, it comes with a strong positive response.) So I don't know what I'm going to do. And I'm going to live with that uncertainty for now. 

Thinking about existential burdens of freedom lately... the moment I consider committing to a long-term project, I eat away at my conviction until it collapses. Coach Xena Jones says 'Everything you want is on the other side of discomfort.' I have a feeling my insecurities will continue to be in the driver's seat until I pay for good help. 

Here are some ideas I have for possible long-term projects:

- Write a book

- Become fluent in a language (other than English or Bulgarian)

- Lose weight and keep it off by changing my diet permanently

Even writing more often on this blog would be grand. It would be a stepping stone to the discipline required to write a super long-form text. I could keep myself accountable through documenting my progress in language learning, and/or reaching a healthier diet. 

Here are some thoughts I have on each of those goals:

- I have a book idea (too nascent to share)

- I know I want to learn either Spanish OR Swedish OR Finnish OR French

- I know I can reduce my portions long-term (because I've done it in the past)

If I were advising myself I would say: Pick just one goal. Consider which would be the most beneficial, all things considered. Is the prospect of making money through a book more compelling than being able to move to Finland or Sweden? Is creating a healthier physicality a bigger boost than the above?

Do I trust myself to be honest with a psychologist, so that they can help me organise all these random can-do impulses?

Can I be more honest with myself?

Pressure from close ones / New Zealand on the radar

You know how sometimes you just want to relax and not have to defend yourself to anybody?

Today my mum started with a theme she has started in the last two years (ever since I voiced my intention to remain childfree), which is that I will miss out on the "joys" of the standard route in life - that is, settling down with a man and having children. 

It just goes to show how out of touch my mum is. I've been pursuing a strategy of nonconformity wherever possible since my teenage years. It makes me happy to pursue relationships with women or non-binary people, and retain my childfree lifestyle. I may be friends with a few select heterosexual men, but the idea of being in any "standard" hetero arrangement is a non-starter. 

*

Early 2019 saw me spend a couple of nights in Wellington, where I was trying to investigate New Zealand's suitability for long-term dwelling. 

Given that I'm obsessed with the Nordics, you'd think it'd be a no-brainer: learn Swedish properly and move to Sverige or Suomi. 

But after years of learning Spanish on and off, I have language learning fatigue. That, and the likelihood of guaranteed Seasonal Affective Disorder 4-5 months every year has me rethinking that strategy. 

New Zealand, meanwhile, proved its remoteness and good governance in their Covid eradications. They say that future novel pandemics are very likely, meaning that NZ will be an even better place to be in the future. And the legal pathway to Kiwi citizenship is uncomplicated for Aussies. 

I've also noted that NZ has scored higher on the Global Gender Gap Index than Australia for years. I noticed a readiness to take women more seriously while I was there. 

So I have Dunedin within my sights... eventually. Unless something unexpected happens to make me re-evaluate. Which, well, anything can happen. 

Affirmations

Yesterday's post was a pity party of sorts. I had to get it off my chest, or perhaps clear the muck out of the way so I can appreciate what I have. 

I've been doing a lot of reading: I finished my fourth book this month, which I personally think is wonderful. I am brimming over with renewed faith in intellectual discourse. 

I'm trying hard to take my mind off all the travel I'm not doing. The Korean Film Festival opened today, and I was transported to another world for 100 minutes. 

The only kind of comparison I want to make is between present Epiphanies and past Epiphanies. I have grown in compassion in the last six years. I have become more tolerant of people of colour whose backgrounds I'm not as closely familiar with as those of Asian origin. I'm more clear on how I want to present in the world. 

A reviewer claimed that Susan Sontag's work, 'At the same time', is "excruciatingly white." I could see that coming. Sontag was of an older generation, but when you look at people like Gloria Steinem and the effort she puts in to showcase the achievements of women of colour, you realise that it can be done. And that many people, intentionally or out of ignorance, choose to opt out of a deeper understanding of what it means to be the descendant of colonisers (or simply the beneficiaries of white supremacy). 

It makes sense then, that my next book is 'Girl, Woman, Other' by Bernardine Evaristo. I'm already 10% through and it's a pleasure to be reminded of the antiracist truths I have to keep drumming into my head because so much of the background noise of life is all blaring white supremacist overtones. 

On Wednesday I wonder

I've spent much of the last few hours ingesting Susan Sontag's 'At the Same Time' - a title which seems to allude to the multiplicity of the truths she insisted on. At this point I'm tired of her headstrong presence, but perhaps it's also the medication change of yesterday that is colouring my world lacklustre. 

I've identified within myself a dissatisfaction with my occupational status. The sensible parts of me that conjure up my steady learning, and point out the pointlessness of interpersonal comparison, seem weak. Voracious is the voice that claims I haven't achieved my potential. 

Despite my knowing very well deep down that a university pathway will just introduce me to stress, frustration and anger, I long for the symbolic 'piece of paper' which offers the most straightforward route to employment in the literary world. Rejoice I might at people like Glen James of the top podcast 'My Millenial Money' who has reached affluence despite the odds, my lack of drive seems to condemn me to a lifetime of living with my parents and suffering the emotional and mental consequences. 

Having done things my way for so long, I am ill-equipped to meet the needs of the higher education maw, which quite a few ppl other than me believe educates people out of the highest degree of nonconformity. The current academic disciplinary divisions also leave me high and dry, for it's at the very intersections of literature and politics that I like to live. 

Lately I've downloaded an Anthropology podcast where interviews with authors take place, and I've been transported from an initial attempt to transform South Korean immigration policy into something befitting a newly multicultural state, a movement which hasn't made much headway, to how practitioners of an ancient form of dance in Sri Lanka use the movement to resist the harshness of armed conflict. 

I don't really want to be interviewed so much as I want to be closely co-conspired with. I want a friend who respects me, whom I respect, and have fun with. Not just around the world - in Sydney.