The Looking Glass

Idea,

No human being is perfect.

By accepting and being open about our mistakes others can learn and understand why we have made made mistakes.

This current quest for perfection is unrealistic and unhealthy.

You can go down those paths but at the end will find that thinking people respect honesty.

Honesty breeds understanding.

Honesty brings you down to the realities that we all have to face, it is a communal trait.

Do something different, the world is full of double speak where what is said doesn’t address the subject, means something else or completely omits a pressing issue.

We have all become past masters of using a million and one words to say nothing and politicians are the worst of all.

Just listen to one speak, have you ever wondered what they are really saying? If anything at all.

I find I question people’s motivation a lot on social media and had to catch myself from self censoring.

I remember a song by MC 900 Foot Jesus called ‘Truth is out of style‘ it’s pertinent even today.

So what are you really saying, the truth, honestly?

World Mental Health Day

World Mental Health Day

Today is World mental health Day and as a diagnosed schizophrenic who also suffers from major clinical depression I just thought I’d say a few words about it.

Mental illness is one of the most stigmatised and pilloried group of conditions that a human being could have today especially in developing countries where it is often attributed to sorcery, spirits, the devil or a lack of mental fitness and labelled as laziness.

First of all mental illness is not contagious and is a medical condition right up there with cancer, asthma and any other clinically treated ailment, you get prescribed a medication regimen for your particular ailment or ailments.

You then maintain that every day for the foreseeable future or even the rest of your life, you see sometimes mental illness doesn’t go away just like cancer it can go into remission until a particular set of circumstances brings it back again.

Now in my early illness I was brought to several witchdoctors, made to eat a cooked freshly killed chicken, drink the juice from a blessed young coconut and drink a ‘potion’ that made me violently ill.

I was also told that I didn’t need to take medication if I repented and gave my life to the Lord and he would take care of it all for me.

Naturally none of that worked and it was only after a major episode of being off medication that I was treated by mental health professionals and prescribed medication that my life somewhat tragically turned around.

Now just because you are mentally ill it does not mean that one is stupid or generally lacking in intelligence to be looked down upon.

All too often the mentally ill are put in a different category from the general population or even in families and everything is blamed on them having a mental illness rather than being the person that they really are.

So be kind to others that are mentally ill for they are not as fortunate as I and they do suffer.

Just like Ron Boyce and countless others throughout the years for those old enough who remember, wandering the streets of Port Moresby in the late eighties early nineties.

They blamed his mental illness on sorcery and I don’t think he was ever treated.

Sad.

So if you meet one of us remember as a general rule of thumb we will generally respond to you how you expect us to.

We could be anyone, your friend, father, sister, relative, aunty, uncle, child and even brother.

A warm smile and a hello goes a long way.

Babel

It always struck a chord of bemusement in me, how everybody seemed to know what was wrong in PNG but no one really wanted to discuss it.

When out and about in PNG when I lived there I soon learnt that nothing killed conversations faster than discussing politics. It was as if it was something done quite separate and beyond the powers of mere mortals.

I also attended quite a few political rallies and was also almost surprised at the way Most political aspirants would shout at their audience as if the audience was either indolent,stupid or hard of hearing.

It’s taken me a while to come to the realisation that it is not how people from my particular area speak to each other except when there is a dispute and I imagine that is the same in most cultures in PNG.

It seems to me that it’s almost as if some politicians lose touch with their social civility and roots when they get into power and then talk down to the population in general about how lacking they all are in addressing problems highlighted by the politician.

They are past masters at the politics of division.

I get that politics is adversarial but there comes a point when constructive cooperation would be in order for the good of a nation instead of this seemingly endless culture of blame which is divisive and creates even more problems.

It is not just politicians but social media commentators now espousing that PNG citizens do more at a local level to ‘take back’ their country.

Personally I think the people of PNG have done quite enough for their politicians and everybody else

I think that reason should prevail and change the tone and language used to re-engage with the general population.

It’s not how loud and forcefully you put forward your message but rather the contents of what you say that is important.

It’s time to take responsibility.

Sankamap Memories..

We first started living in Arawa around nineteen seventy nine at section seventeen lot fifteen just behind the hospital which my younger brother was born at that same year.

My mother Delma was in charge of the Office of Information for Bougainville at a purpose built, state of the art for the time, government building.

My sister and I attended Bovo International School but other than that we lived like any other Tolai family in the town.

We didn’t have a television and used to on occasion go to the expatriate family next door, whose child was one of my friends in school, and watch the children’s shows on the ABC in the afternoons after school.

Shows like Roger Ramjet, Voltron, Astroboy, Kimba the white Lion,Dangermouse and I think Inspector Gadget.

Apart from that our main form of entertainment was the radio although sometimes some people in the neighbourhood would procure a film projector and use a bedsheet as a makeshift screen and we would watch dubbed Chinese Kung Fu movies like The Drunken Master and others. Once we even watched Battlestar Galactica, heaven knows where they got the reel.

Most of our relatives worked for the mine up at Panguna as did many other Papua New Guineans and Bougainvilleans, there was a cinema up there as well as a very deep swimming pool where we used to have our swimming carnivals.

I remember living in Bougainville as some of the happiest, safest times in my life, there was a lot for a child to do. Whether it was spending hours in the creek next door corralling fresh water shrimp or going for swims with my friends in the, I think, Tupukas river nearby.

On weekends Mum would sometimes drive us all to Loloho beach, one of the most beautiful beaches where we would play while the adults amused themselves.

I never saw an act of violence the entire time I lived on Bougainville.

We left in nineteen eighty four for Port Moresby and in nineteen eighty seven I became aware of the Crisis.

All I knew when it was occurring was that it was a pretty nasty event and it was only afterward through YouTube that I saw the suffering and the other side of the story.

I also used to follow the radio station New Dawn FM’s internet page just to keep in touch.

Now that there is peace I just wanted to remind the people of AROB that a lot of people have fond memories of Bougainville like myself and a lot of my friends.

It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, from Arawa, Panguna, Kieta, Buka, the unforgettable Arovo Island and all the places that you all know that I didn’t see.

Why would you want to live anywhere else?

Old Crow

Thank you Mum for this, thank you Mum for me, Only now I’m beginning to see you, the sheer selflessness of your being while you were still part of this terrestrial world and your love for me.

You gave me everything you had and could give, from my primary school education in international schools to my high school days of boarding school here in Australia.

It was hard at first down here far away from you and I guess it must have been hard on you as my Mother, I lost my way and failed my Higher School Certificate at the end of year twelve but still there you were in Central West New South Wales for my completion ceremonies.

I remember how embarrassed I felt at my failure and how you had flown down two thousand miles to be there for me, I was crestfallen.

Then you came down to look after Nan in Sydney and I repeated year twelve, Nan had Alzheimers and you took care of her and me and my other siblings.

It was hard on you, everyday you spent washing soiled bed linen, juggling caring for Nan and us, there was no time for you for a whole year.

Then exams rolled around and I was late for my biology exam and I failed the HSC again, then Nan died on boxing day.

During her funeral service at the crematorium you threw yourself down on the floor and rolled around wailing, I remember wondering shamefully what the hell you were doing but now I know.

You were passionate.

Your whole life people were writing you off and you kept proving them wrong, from becoming a teacher in the PNG islands, highlands and a short stint at a High school down here in Australia,working for the Australian ABC radio, working for Sir Julius Chan, marrying Dad even though he was white and being in charge of the Office of Information on Bougainville before you were retrenched and I think you were the first female to get a license to drive back then.

You were quite someone.

We were apart for some time after you returned to PNG as for better or for worse I always ended up back here in Australia but I lost myself when I lost you for that time then I came back to you there in the village.

You were not expecting me and valued your home and space but you carried on with me under sufferance as I was already a fully grown man.

You ran for election to the Regional seat and I even came with you on your campaign trail by flying to Pomio which was an odd experience for me.

You weren’t elected as you had no big money behind you and I started to get unwell.

We eventually returned to Port Moresby and I got a job at the PNG NBC as a cadet journalist, we argued a lot ever since I first flew back to you from Australia but tried to keep it all together.

I left you there in Moresby as I was ill and flew back to Australia.

I eventually got treated here in Hospice Australia and you flew down to be with me, you were there through it all but then you had to return to PNG and I didn’t see you again till Dad died and we all buried him up there.

You visited me here in Australia here at the flat for about a month some time after and you used to be glued to the National Indigenous Television channel (NITV) and I remember how shocked you were at John Pilger’s documentary Utopia with its depictions of brutality against the Indigenous Peoples of Australia.

You were full of life, still passionate.

Then I didn’t see you again till before your death, you were much quieter and spoke in a whisper.

I don’t know if it was out of respect to me or you were reticent to speak but you were still there when I wasn’t timely enough with the preparation of your food as you were paralyzed on one side from a series of strokes.

Ill always remember you saying my dear in language and kissing me on the forehead for the last time at four in the morning before I left for the airport.

They say you had high blood pressure, but I know you were just full of passion which built up.

I love you Mum, you Old Crow as you would jokingly call yourself and Dad your partner in crime, two Old Crows looking down on us from heaven.

Thank You.

Social Media

I woke up before four in the morning and around half past five I took the shot above, night is on your right and day is on the left. I posted the shot on Facebook which you do at that God forsaken time in the morning and then thought nothing of it.

Then just now one of my nieces asked me about the picture, if it was taken from my balcony and I said yes after the realisation flashed through my mind that I actually have quite a view.

You can see something everyday and not realise it’s worth, this neighbourhood is amazing.

You can walk anywhere within reason and be totally unmolested by negativity.

Caesar’s

Something has been troubling and perplexing me of late, a friend told me what Jesus purportedly said when asked about money which in those days was Roman denomination.

He held a Roman coin which I think in those days had the Emperor Caesar’s head on it and said quote-” Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and give to the Lord what is the Lord’s!”

Now of course anyone familiar with my blog knows that I struggle with religion having basically been indoctrinated in such practically from birth in the United Church in PNG.

Now I do believe in the existence of a God but I also believe that everything written about him or her has come from the hand of man, I don’t trust the hand of man for I also believe that a God is beyond the limited comprehension of man and unfortunately his vocabulary.

God to me is an intangible entity and anyone who claims to have any understanding of him usually has an agenda to follow. Now back to the confusion, everything around us I mean everything is Caesar’s, the whole world of man is Caesars including religion or religions as it or they stand today.

I mean in the USA evangelism is very big but they bind ‘religion’ with money and that has been exported to the western world and other nations including PNG.

Its a fatal mix, two opiates together you see and of course this ‘Philosophy’ gains traction especially in disadvantaged populations and then ends up driving sections of those in power and their agendas relegating poorer churches, like the United Church to the sidelines of political discourse.

My point is that God is intangible so in our handicapped understanding of him maybe nothing is what we give because we just don’t know what he or she wants from us.

Maybe we just understand that there is a sentient being out there and acknowledge that fact, so in my very limited comprehension of religion the poorer churches are the ones who are truly giving to the Lord what is the Lords because they have nothing to give but themselves, their limitations and needs.

And on that note,Happy Mother’s Day! to all the long suffering Mothers out there and some words of advice. If you truly want to be a good mother you will take care of yourself first.

Its the first rule of survival that way you can then take care of whoever you are.

It’s no good investing everything into your children because unfortunately they probably wont be around when you get older or realise all the good advice you gave them after you have passed on.

As difficult as it is you have to live for now if you are going to make it through the marathon of motherhood, of course if you can plan for the future but enjoy the now because as Rapping 4Tay said in the song ‘Problems’ -“you think you promised another day!”

Loser!

Why is everyone so afraid of being a loser? I’ve been a successful loser for the majority of my adult life, the expectations of boarding school that started at age thirteen faded away into insignificance in early adulthood.

Primarily based in Australia from then on I always wanted to go back ‘home’ ie Papua New Guinea but through circumstance or design that never eventuated, not that anyone there was sufficiently moved to keep me there.

So I was a transient entity based in the inner west of Sydney stumbling from circumstance to circumstance, with friends that came and went along with the women, a loser.

I lost so much I ended up being of no worth to religion and useless to the devil, it’s better this way, at least there are no lies and I can see people clearer and in high definition, 8K even!

When you are a loser you are of no worth to hold a conversation with, an object of derision regardless of the fact that the main reason that you don’t get along with people is that you don’t adhere to their personal narrative, some of them being mainly religious, employ-ability or lifestyle.

You’ll find if you don’t appear to be even partially receptive people don’t complete their sentences even when you ask them to or my personal favourite…jumping to conclusions.

If there’s even a vague chance of writing you off it will happen regardless if you have a perfectly logical explanation.

Oh and yes it’s not all gravy, people expect you to explain yourself verbatim so to be a hard core loser you must resist the temptation to do so.

It’s not all doom and gloom when you are a serious loser you actually tell people what you think of them, probably too low brow for English etiquette but totally satisfying.

This has it’s risks as when dealing with all poisonous reptiles their tiny reptilian brains get aroused with revenge being the operative word.

At this point it is especially advantageous to arm yourself with a forked stick… for targeted prodding of revenge addled little beasts

So even though I don’t have a permanent home here this is where I’ve decided to lose the last vestiges of my life’s ‘respectability and climb the ranks to be a knowledgeable bogan, Trog, westie, fin dick or feral as to qualify as a toolie you need a trade.

As Beck rapped in his song Loser “-I’m a Loser baby, so why don’t you kill me!”

Don Quixote Mindfulness

Mindfulness is fantastic but what happens when it’s a bright, hot day outside and your head feels like it will explode from sheer frustration.

Try being mindful then! And isn’t that the point of it, to help you focus and calm. It’s all very well to use mindfulness when you are calm or bored but what about now.

It’s just a poor man’s opiate that you can use to accentuate your mood rather than change your frame of mind.

That is the only way I use it, what works for me is to remove myself as best as I can from the aggravating situation, keep cool and wait.

Then you begin again minutes, hours, days or weeks later, as a layman I have only ever used mindfulness supported by a therapy setting.

Now that is removed I am all at sea like any other addiction I guess.

There was a sweet lingering aftertaste of nourishing mindfulness but COVID 19 reality bitterness cleared the palate and so I ended up at the beginning of of this piece.

I guess it is drop dead easy to adapt to a framework but nigh impossible or seemingly so to breathe on your own, that is where I am.

I have seized up as the starting pistol has gone off, the memory of decades of training, volunteering, working and concentrating on my mental fitness shattered by its report.

It is just me now and that is the reality that others less fortunate than I face, not having had enough time in therapy.

I have had enough time now I have to do things for myself, it is complete but what do you do? Mental illness has been my life and occasional employment, and acquaintances.

It was who I was and am, not very good timing to begin again and as what? I am completely alone.

All that I have experienced before means nothing, no one knows me, all I have to do is breathe and get my legs moving.

The other runners have retired, I am in my own race now, breathe.

Start thinking even though your mind feels like it is filled with liquid cement, think, think anything just think.

Now focus!

Witches Coven

” Night has fallen and I’m lying awake, I can feel myself fading away -” Streets of Philadelphia by Bruce Springsteen on the soundtrack of the movie.

I am one of the invisible now like the Bob Dylan song ‘Rolling Stone’ “- You’re invisible now, you’ve got no secrets to conceal! – “,.

” – As you look into the vacuum of his eyes and say do you want to make a deal -” He was rather bitter in that song.

Well the neighbourhood is coming round from the coronavirus blow, stirrings of life at night when it was as deathly quiet as a freshly dug cemetery in the witching hours .

More planes overhead, traffic on the road.

As of midnight on Friday travel within a fifty kilometre radius and non essential business will be open here in Queensland, the Sunshine State.

We seem to have dodged the bullet down here , the southern states haven’t fared so well.

Ahh witchcraft, so beyond the realms of possibility that it almost seems romantic, well white witches at least.

I think in the present day they would be quite a welcome change from “- steel eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm-” ‘Shelter from the Storm’ by Bob Dylan.

Ahh “-to dance beneath a diamond sky with one hand waving free-“‘Mr Tamborine Man’ by Bob Dylan.

Winter is coming.