Dear Amanda

Hey Sis,

I can't believe it's been 10 years since we last spoke on your 25th birthday. I'll always remember that conversation and your hilarious comment about Grandpa being so racist that he'd shout at the TV when a black person won on The Price is Right. Writing this letter is something I've thought about for a long time, but just couldn't get the balls to write it. No one in our family has ever dealt with emotional pain well, always opting for some drug, alcohol or food to avoid our feelings and ease our broken minds. The day Mom called to tell me you were dead was the worst day of my life, everything in me went cold and numb. I'm not sure how I made it through the following days, I just remember being weirded out by Mom and Dad standing next to each other at your funeral, Sarah and I knew you'd have felt the same.  Oddly I don't feel much different or older since we last talked but holy shit have things changed! You'd absolutely shit yourself if you could see me now; I'd also like to think you'd be really proud of me.

The 22 year old graduate student you left behind, morbidly obese with a sedentary life and shitty eating habits, drunk more often than not, and a mean streak like a viper; she's totally changed. It took place so gradually I'm not even sure how the hell it happened. Things got worse before they got better. When you first left I kind of lost my shit and took to getting utterly wasted and being reckless, laughing madly as I drove around Denver knowing full well that I was compromising everything I had, my license, my degree, my freedom and even my life; I didn't care and it scared me.

I want to sincerely thank you, Amanda. Your death caused a couple of shifts that I'll be forever grateful for; mostly that it brought me closer to Sarah and made me take stock of my own life. It reminded me that no one knows how much time they've got left and if there's something we want to do we'd better damn-well get on with it. At some point all the times I felt disgusted with myself and my body became too much so I decided to lose weight but went on a bit of a different diet than you did, though everyone believed I'd just become addicted to crack too, hahaha. The first time Mom saw me after I'd lost about half the weight she couldn't hug me because I looked so much like you. Everyone at the bar back home kept mistaking me for you as well, which gave me mixed feelings of shame and pride. Still more years of seemingly endless trial and error in the pursuit of happiness led me through countless changes; I left my PhD program, spent some time with a guy I thought I'd marry (I'll spare you those details!), moved to Kansas of all places, burned through many jobs low and high from McDonald's to Pharmaceutical Management, and finally found myself in New Zealand where I finally figured out how I could find peace and happiness within myself, or at least as much as I'm likely to obtain. You'll never believe it but I'm a health and fitness coach, personal trainer and Pilates instructor! I can almost hear you saying, "what the fuck is pilates?!"

The ASS Sisters: Amanda, Summer and Sarah

Sometimes I miss you so bad it stops me in my tracks, a distinct pain I feel in my chest. I'll look at a phone and want to call you, hear your voice. I unexpectedly found a couple of letters you had written me from jail a few years ago; I read them from time to time, laugh at your horrible spelling and smile at your descriptions of jailhouse antics. Mostly I wonder what you would say, so many things things have drastically changed in this crazy world since you left, no doubt it would involve copious amounts of swearing. I'm sorry for the times your addictions made me distance myself from you. As I get older and become more aware of my own mental demons, I can't imagine how badly you suffered and feel comforted by the fact that wherever you or, you're better off there then you were here. I keep my share of you and your many body piercings in a pretty blue bag that hangs on my wall; I bet you never thought you'd live in New Zealand! Luckily the people at customs didn't notice I had illegal ashes in my pack. You'd be happy to know you slightly resemble cocaine now, and Sarah and I used to joke that you'd snort yourself if you were here.

I think what scares me the most now is that all I have are memories which no doubt have been distorted over time, but since you were a pathological liar I doubt you'd have an issue with that, haha. What's real are my memories of the odd combination of cold metal and soft lips when you'd kiss my cheek as well as your voice; how it sounded when you said "You are my heart, I love you Summie" so many times that night you were drunk and high, and I had brought my ultimate frisbee team up from Rochester for a game in Canada. I was so fucking embarrassed then, but I'm thankful now that it was burned into my brain.

I'm not sure when we'll meet again or what our bodies will look like, but I look forward to the day I'll recognise your Soul and smile, probably as you slap me for some reason or another.

Love You Sis,
Summie

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Thought of the Day 18-Jul-15: I Could Be The One

I just seriously think everyone should see this video. Wow, just wow.

Zombie Fingers Part II: The Last Piece of the Puzzle!

Today I mentioned my finger/anaemia issue to a co-worker that I only see on my Sunday shift. They took one look at my blotches and said, "Well Mate, you may be anaemic, but those spots aren't going to go away with vitamins. That's called Chilblains, I get it too [showed me their hands], it's actually really common. There's nothing you can do about it but don't worry too much, you'll only see it in the Winter." WTF?!

Apparently I should be wearing gloves 24-7

Two seconds on a Google image search confirmed their diagnosis, and once I read about the condition using the link above there was no denying that's what is ravaging my fingers. I wondered why the Virginian MD failed to mention this dermatological scourge, but I assume she thought the anaemia was related, if not the cause, so addressing that issue took precedence. Interestingly, all the information about this malady comes from sources outside of the US. It doesn't seem to be a popular topic there, probably because it can't be cured by something made by Pfizer.

So, Chilblains afflicts people with poor circulation and therefore experience frequently cold extremities. The majority of people get sores on their feet, but hands and even earlobes and noses are also common. Though my feet seem to be fine, my hands haven't been warm sine 2007 (seriously, that's when I broke my internal heater my burning off it's fuel source; aka, lost weight). I believe the most likely cause in my case is, again, poor nutrition; going back to my anaemia and related issues.

Anyway, something squirrely happens to the underlying vasculature when people, like me, have cold extremities and they touch something hot or otherwise warm up these areas too fast. When I read that statement I thought back to the first time I noticed my sore spots. I was in the lab at Hospira, and my favorite way to pass the overnight shift was to load and unload the dishwasher. The dishes that came out of this washer were no less than a million degrees, and since my hands were always freezing I loved putting them away fresh out of the washer. Coincidentally it was also dead Winter and I'd run out of Vitamin D pills, a disputed remedy for Chilblains. Interestingly, I'd been washing dishes for months in that lab, but never developed the sores until then. Flash forward to my NZ migration. I can pin-point the reappearance of the blotches and precisely two things come to mind: One, I had ran out of both my Vitamin C and Multi-Vitamins, and two, I had started doing a protocol for Total Ash almost every day. This particular protocol requires me to heat silica crucibles to 600C. I'd always wear an oven mitt when removing them from the furnace, but people marvelled as I frequently took them in and out of the 105C oven without any gloves to weigh them to obtain my result. Not to mention that since my hands are perpetually cold, I love to submerge them in hot-as water or just rest my hands on top of heaters, ovens and steam baths. I've even been known to place them in my toaster oven for a bit when I'm particularly desperate.

So, we've now identified the cause, what about the treatment? Amongst many debated remedies such as vitamins and ointments, the only real treatment for Chilblains is to stay warm and not allow the extremities to experience intense temperature fluctuations. What kind of fucking treatment is that?! It presupposes that I'm cold and/or have poor circulation by choice. If I stayed in an environment that was maintained at my optimal temperature I don't think I'd like my other companions, because surely I'd be in Hell. Shit, sometimes I actually think that my high heat tolerance means I'm the Mother of Dragons, or at least have Targaryen blood! I've said it before and I'll say it again, shedding my insulation and thus my ability to keep myself warm is the only thing I regret about losing weight. It was an unforeseen consequence. The only time I feel authentic internal warmth is after 15 minutes of high intensity cardio. It's no wonder I'm a gym-junkie! Anyway, the only remedy I plan to try is to stop picking up things that would melt the skin of an ordinary person and hopes that helps. 

On the bright side my outbreak, painful and ugly though it may be, is nothing compared to some of the more severe cases I saw on my image search. Be thankful that I didn't share them, but if I wanted to inspire nightmares, I could have shown some. Though images of Chilblains aren't nearly as bad as 'Black Hairy Tongue.' (Note: WebMD link does not immediately show a picture, give it serious consideration before actually looking at an image; it's impossible to un-see.) 

Thought of the Day 04-Jul-15: Zombie Fingers

A: Hi, I'm your diseased digit, can you please go see a doctor before I fall off?!

I'll be the first to admit that I tend to worry about shit that isn't really a big deal while ignoring signs of legitimate concern. See exhibits A and B, respectively. I had been trying to hold out for a Permanent Resident visa status so that my health insurance would kick in, but yesterday I finally gave in and had my slowly dying fingertips looked at by a doctor.  Suspecting I had contracted some sort of flesh-eating bacteria or fungal infection, I made the call when I noticed new spots on my other hand which meant it was spreading. I would never have guessed, not in a million years, the nature of the underlying issue.

B: If you're fingers look like this, it is NOT NORMAL!

After a 2 hour wait at an urgent care facility because my immigrant status does not allow me to schedule regular doctors' appointments, I was (embarrassingly) relieved to be called by a doctor with an obvious American accent. For some reason knowing that she was trained in the States (even in Virginia, Zing!), put me at ease. Also, becoming qualified to practice medicine in New Zealand as an immigrant is damned-near impossible, so I was fully confident in this doctor's competence, despite her Southern origin, haha. I immediately launched into the tale of my zombie fingers: The first appearance of these strange, red, sore, dry, hardened, blotches on the fingers of my right hand occurred about ten months ago in the US, shortly after beginning work in a chemistry lab. When I left that job and moved to New Zealand they went away, but reappeared about four months after taking up similar work here. Surely I had some kind of hand dermatitis, an allergy to a chemical ubiquitous in such laboratory environments; right? Wrong. 

Dr. Daisy Mae took my hand, turned it over to look at my fingernails, then asked me to looked up towards the ceiling as she inspected the white areas of my eyes. She then asked me if I was a vegetarian, to which I proudly proclaimed "hell no." Yet with 100% certainty and without hesitation she stated that I was anaemic. Uh, no, sorry; she must have thought she was talking to someone who did not meticulously analyze and plan everything they put into their body, taking in the perfect portions of protein, fat and carbohydrates to keep their preciously well-oiled machine in ship-shape. That is the person I am. Not too mention the fact that the primary sign of anaemia is fatigue and lethargy, qualities I disdain above all others, and had certainly never experienced. Shit, I'm a bundle of energy at the worst of times, if I'm anaemic now and correct the issue, I may well spin off into outer-fucking-space!

After hearing her out and seeing the images of anaemic fingernails (see below), however, the evidence was irrefutable. Dr. Miss Virginia went on to explain that the patches were caused by a lack of oxygen to my extremities; my fingertips were, in fact, becoming necrotic and the tissue was dying which in turn causes soreness from inflammation. Awesome. That's also about the same time I realized that both times these red spots materialized were instances when I went off my otherwise extremely faithful regimen of abundant vitamins (both multi and extra vitamin C). The most recent lapse being that I had run out of my US supply and I simply refused to pay the exorbitant price of vitamins in New Zealand. Well guess what the current treatment was to be? A daily high potency multivitamin as well as an iron-vitmamin C combo supplement. Over $100 bucks later I just hope they kick-in in time to stop my fingers from craving brains.

My nails have looked like this for a very long time; how could I have known?

Imagine my shock when I saw (what appeared to be) my nails on an anaemia diagnosis website.

More concerning, though I may eat plenty of iron and other essential fuels thanks to my fastidious eating habits, that doesn't necessarily mean my body is absorbing them. Thus, this anaemia is likely a sign of a bigger issue, but that investigation really will have to wait until I have insurance. I suspect that the ultimate diagnosis will also link to both my chronic constipation and struggle with low blood sugar levels. Clearly, my body is not properly absorbing or responding to nutrients.

So, not consciously realizing that this news affected me on any real emotional level, my flatmate made the observation that I was acting a bit more abrasive than normal. And oh the beauty of my filterless mouth, speaking the truth that had been eluding my Mind until I heard its own words: "I don't want to be anaemic! I do everything right, eat all the right foods; so why is my body still broken?! I lost weight to be healthy, yet ever since I did my body has been in a slow decline." Sad though it may seem, this is how I view my current situation. 

In comes the difference between knowing versus believing. I know I am whole, I know I am a good person with good intentions, that my Body is not completely failing me; but I don't believe it yet. Hearing this medical report reminds me that I am very much fallible, and it's frustrating. Another reminder that I can't control how my body processes what I eat. Still, I'm grateful that I don't have a flesh-eating bacteria. It's also easier to accept given my naturally optimistic tendencies. My one glimmer of hope is that this anaemia, which has been longstanding without my knowledge, has been causing other issues that I did not attribute to an actual medical problem such as moodiness and persistently cold extremities. As such, the treatment may bring relief of ailments I didn't even know existed, realized only in their absence. Yes, that is where I will place my focus, because choosing the positive isn't always easy but it is certainly better than feeling sorry for myself. I am no victim, it doesn't suite me; I'm going to take my supplements and use the iron to kick this anaemia in the nuts!

Confessional

I'm not quite sure how to write this article, but I'll commence by saying it is a true account of how I feel about myself in regards to intimate relationships, and perhaps why I find them extraordinarily difficult. It will be emotional both to read and write, but these things have been on my mind heavily for the past week (with a sort of happy ending), and I therefore believe that writing it all down may function to allow me to let go of the more damaging issues.

Development of a Hopeless Case

Having grown up surrounded by dysfunctional, broken and loveless relationships, I largely did not understand cuddly partnerships when I did witness them (usually friends parents, or people I'd see in public). Add to this the fact that I grew up obese with a razor sharp personality which lent me to being 'one of the guys', one has an exquisite recipe for an utterly confusing love life. Though I had no lack of male attention in the form of formidable friendships, it was devoid of anything intimate. I would often day dream of someone wanting to touch me in some loving way, but from 10 to 23 I found myself so unattractive that when someone did show an inclination for such activity I'd shy away; sometimes I would even shake involuntarily. I could never do anything intimate without the assistance of booze until I was with my future fiancé for about a month. This is an issue I actually still struggle with, the fat is gone but the instinct remains. 

To be fair I did have a 'boyfriend' in 6th or 7th grade, but it was on/off and we never did anything past holding hands. In fact, I'd never genuinely dated or had another boyfriend until I met CJ (only real relationship/future fiancé) at 24.9 years old, a late bloomer indeed. My first 'kiss' happened when I was 18 and was a pretty weird experience. Though it was my first time, I didn't think it was normal to lick someone's teeth while making out, hahaha. I lost my virginity at 21 exactly as I knew it would happen: a booze-sodden misadventure devoid of any genuine connection. Worst still, it happened on the first night of a 3 day Graduate school interview, and made the rest of the weekend pretty awkward as all the other interviewees had easily deduced what had transpired. Even severely hungover, I got into the PhD program! Every time afterward was basically a duplicate of that affair, lacking the self-esteem to actually enjoy the experience. A scientist tried and true, it was almost as if I did it as a series of experiments; chasing the supposed feeling of affinity that chicks usually developed afterwards. No such feelings ever materialized, however, and I feared that the series of unreciprocated crushes throughout high school and college, as well as lack of intimacy, had left me emotionally broken.

Despite these issues, I've been in love with exactly 4 men. The first 3 relationships were all the same: I'd become enamoured with a male best friend who, though caring for me deeply as a friend, did not return any sentiments of love or the intimate inclinations that I felt. There is no way to articulate the acute pain that that repeated rejection conjured in my Heart, but the damage is evident now as I try and sort out these issues.

A Love to Forsake All Others

How do I know I was in love with these men? Because those feelings still persist. Each of those people hold a special place in my heart, but except for one (and it's not the one anyone would guess, namely CJ) I've allowed those feelings to ebb and flow out with no lingering emotions attached. To this day I'm affected by that one loss in particular. A profound friendship that spanned distance, time and personal transformations but came to a sudden end by his doing after I had lost weight and returned to Denver after some time away in New York in Florida, while I was on leave from graduate school. A love so strong it led me to start a replacement relationship without realizing my inner motives because I was incapable of being honest with myself; that I had loved this person much more intensely than our friendship allowed, a relationship which I thought was impenetrable. We were simply inseparable, never having to talk to understand each other and laughing constantly together. His family even paid for my plane ticket home when my sister died, knowing that my family could not afford to bring me home for the funeral. When I came back to Denver, however, he had a new girlfriend who took an immediate dislike to me. Polar opposites, she was a 'girlie' girl and I was the loud, crude and odd best friend. No doubt I was explained away as a harmless portly friend who swore a lot, instead I returned a pretty and thin threat, though I was still rough around the edges. There was no room for me in this new relationship, so after a 13 year friendship that remained steadfast from LaFargeville, to western New York through college, and finally to Denver where we even lived together for awhile, the calls stopped and the relationship died in its worldly form. It lingered in my Heart, but I suppressed that sadness because I couldn't deal with the emotional pain. I dreamt of him, painful dreams that we were together. To this day I still do, after 6 years. 

About a year after the split I saw him at the end of a Rockies game, 30,000+ people leaving Coors field yet we somehow locked eyes as I descended a staircase. I'll never forget the way I felt. Wanting to flee but knowing I couldn't, I walked up to him saying nothing. We had never needed words. He said he'd been thinking of me, wanted to call me to catch up or take me out to lunch; I wanted to believe him. I tried to speak but couldn't find words, instead I burst into tears. Those who know me understand that speechlessness is an extremely rare occurrence, and therefore comprehend that any situation that silences my ceaseless chatter is indeed significant. I distinctly remember the sadness I felt knowing that I would have been the only person to love him, despite his many flaws, and never expect or ask him to change; she would alter my best friend into someone unrecognizable. That was the last time I'd ever see him.

The last dream came only a week ago and led me to finally understand myself. I left Denver fat Summer, someone he loved, but I returned skinny Summer whom he rejected; from that day forward I began blaming this new version of myself and that self-hatred manifested in many ways. All of which were unhealthy. Yet I must accept that he did what he felt was best, and I take solace in the fact that he married that girlfriend and started a family. I sincerely wish him all the happiness in the world, but my priority must now be to focus on eradicating this crippling fear of being hurt so that I can have a functional loving relationship.

A Relationship Doomed to Fail

Even after 3 years I have not the strength to recount the whole of my union with CJ, but in parallel with this article I will publish a previously written work that comes as close as I ever got to recounting the episode. Like any partnership at times it was beautiful, other times gut-wrenchingly painful. Having suppressed emotions for the majority of my life, my relationship with CJ helped me reopen and feel a plethora of confusing and distressful emotions; uprooting scars from my past that I failed to recognize until he elucidated some of my unconscious behaviors. I will always be grateful for the better understanding of myself that I gained from that exchange. Like Humpty Dumpty, though a pain so severe I avoid legitimate relationships to this day, the break-up led me to disassemble and reassemble myself (though only in retrospect upon years of self-transformational work). Building a strong foundation of self acceptance, I moved forward in life as a whole unit albeit a little more selfishly, guarding my inner happiness with the ferocity of a pitbull.

Bringing the scenario full circle, while working through Step 4 of the Twelve Steps of AA with my Stepmother Brenda, I made a mind numbing discovery: my entire relationship with CJ had been about the love that I had lost. My attempt to replace my best friend and the only relationship I had ever wanted; it was never about CJ at all. He was the first person to show me the love and attention I had always craved, so I latched on to him, rationality be damned. I immediately both pitied and admired CJ for two reasons. One, he had authentically loved a crazy person, someone rife with inner displeasure and even hatred, and who continually starved herself as a revenge tactic. Two, he had loved me despite the fact I made it fairly evident he would always fall a bit short in my eyes. It was never him I truly loved. He was a Body, a shell I filled with the Soul of another in an attempt to experience the love that was denied me. How could I not pity him, and myself as well? Finding him on Craigslist of all places, the fundamental premise of that relationship was founded on an enthusiasm for a twisted cartoon on Adult Swim that my friend and I had constantly quoted to one another. Additionally, I fell in love with him the night he displayed that we could duplicate the unspoken communication that I had shared with my best friend. Worse still, after my habit of falling for guys who did not return my love, I never truly believed CJ when he told me he loved me. Now it's clear that mistrust was a manifestation of the fact that I didn't love myself. Without inner self acceptance and love, how could I hope to believe that anyone else could love me? 

A Sort of Reawakening

As I've said many times, the agony I felt after the end of these relationships has led me to an emotionally incapacitating fear of beginning another. Alas, there is hope, though it takes an odd form. Despite a few failed attempts at dating, for the first time since CJ I have an authentic crush on someone. Feelings I hadn't experienced in so long they look me utterly by surprise, made more surprising given the person on whom the crush formed. Giddy anticipation, dreams of reciprocated affection, all those odd behaviors so long elusive to me have magically found their way back into my Mind; the excitement of a new connection. It's awakened a part of me I had feared would remain in its endless coma, or had died altogether. This fervour is bittersweet, however, as I know there is no possible future with this particular person. Regardless, these feelings have formed and although I know they must come to an end, I'm relieved at having felt them at all.

Having mentioned him in a couple of previous posts, I won't go into details; but any logical person can deduce the object of these feelings. Physical and Spiritual polar opposites, he is not at all the type I'd ever imagined myself to be attracted to, yet he makes me laugh constantly by both the silly and shockingly profound things that he says. Indeed, it takes nothing less than formidable logic for me to change my stubborn mind, yet in the month I've known him he has altered my perspective on many subjects. For example, earlier today he suggested that every component of our emotions are driven by an underlying desire. Additionally, humans cannot be blamed for these desires as they have no control over them since they arise from the primal, animalistic, parts of our Minds. The control freak in me was extremely disturbed by this notion, yet I couldn't ignore its validity. All I can say is that if my driving force is a desire, it must be my honest desire to rid myself of the constant fear that plagues my Mind, keeping joy and happiness at an arms length. I aspire to be free, whole, carefree and jubilant; difficult conditions to evoke in the face of irrational fear and its companion, unrelenting anxiety.

Later on the conversation turned towards how I might allow these thoughts and fears to flow out, enabling me to invoke and cultivate relationships in the future. My friend suggested that by writing on the subject, I might feed these thoughts and make them worse. Instead, I feel my writings assist in delineating and organizing my issues, bring them to a conclusion. The sentiment of finality thus allows me to put these concerns to bed, once and for all (sometimes). He suggested I simply 'let them go'. Yes, well, there's a damn lot of things I'd like to let go, and if I knew how to do that I wouldn't be in this situation to begin with! After some interrogating as to how I might accomplish that task, he shocked me with something I had once known very well (the proof of which lies within Thoughtful Diffusion): don't feed these insecurities by analyzing them, trying to fix them, or yielding any other form of emotional energy which feeds them and makes them grow. Instead, just let me be there and accept them for what they are, thoughts that are not real, floating them down the endless stream of other thoughts that constantly and involuntarily arise in my Mind.  I may fear that I'm incapable of love and will never have the relationship I desire, but that thought is no more real than thinking I'm a Hobbit. Interestingly, at some point during this existential conversation I also realized that, just like my frustratingly unreasonable fear of both eating and not eating, I have a fear of both falling in love and living a loveless existence. Ordinarily I find such irony amusing, yet I remain unamused.

I once wrote about the critical components of a future partner and one of them included self-awareness, the ability to survey one's own thoughts without judgement (the hardest part) and to surmise life's enigmatic conundrums, drawing subconscious thoughts into the light of consciousness. I've understood my awareness since the age of 3, when I asked my Mother a question she did not understand: "Why are we here? Who put me here?" She could never have understood the depth of that question as it was coming from her toddler, but I remember pondering this question throughout my life and couldn't understand why others weren't asking the same. Today, my friend said that at around the same age he had likewise asked his mother this question. Her reply was,"'because it's nice." At the time he was chewing on what he actually described as 'a delicious rock, limes' and was banging away on pots and pans, so he agreed with his mother and was satisfied. [Important linguistic aside: I assumed up until a couple of days ago that he was chewing on a limestone rock or pebble, which creates a hilarious image. Instead, he meant he was eating lime flavoured rock candy, like pop rocks] Though I don't recall my mom's exact answer, two statements she repeated frequently were "life sucks and then you die," and the infamous "life isn't fair." Those, along with my Father's steadfast belief in both working hard and not trusting anyone, shaped my impression of this world we live in as well as the person I ultimately became; a confused, analytical, anxious mess. I think he was better off with his rock concert, but it's a relief to see this quality in another.

So, why is there no hope of a future? For one, I'm 99.99% certain he doesn't think of me 'that way.' In that, it seems I'm repeating my emotionally rocky high school trend. My hope lies in my awareness, self acceptance and esteem, which allow me to understand it's nothing to do with rejection. Most importantly however, he is precisely like me in that we both have a natural selfish instinct to keep ourselves happy, which seems to include constantly moving around the globe, regardless of the feelings for those we leave behind; making hard decision in the interest of self preservation. In two weeks he's off to Asia the same way I was off a month and a half ago to New Zealand. I hear the excitement and relief in his voice when he talks about it, and I understand those inclinations better than most; accepting the probably end of our friendship with authentic admiration. He's already given me all that I needed, simply knowing that I'm capable of feeling again is enough for me. Reciprocated and elemental love is meant to come from another, and someday I will meet him.

Thought of the Day 21/03/2015: Friendship Therapy

I wanted to write about my last couple of days to gratuitously gloat about the fact that I have returned to the realm of the living. I once again, after around 5 years (pre-relationship era), have friends with whom I actually do things; it's phenomenal! Laughing and feeling genuine happiness is the best form of therapy in existence, a concrete remedy against all ailments be they anxiety, depression, addiction or chronic anger. Anyway, here is what my new friends and I are getting up to in Palmy.

Friday Night at DH's

DH and his beautiful wife, MH.

SK, me and CF: International Chemist Squad!

DH, whom I've written about previously, had the fantastic idea to have CF, SK and I over for an international dinner where each had to make a dish from someone elses cultural origin. For instance, I  (American) was assigned a British dessert, DH (Kiwi) made a French appetizer, then CF (French) and SK (Brit) were asked to make American and Kiwi entrees, respectively. It was such a delightful night stuffed, pun intended, with some seriously bad ass food! PS There home was basically a mansion by Kiwi standards, complete with a full-on bush/garden. DH collects really rare and expensive crotch rockets, so he showed us his bikes and we got to play with their Griffon, Valentino. After dinner we all took turns showing the group our favorite obscure videos on You Tube. I chose the one where some friends record their other friend tripping on acid and animate it. It's hilarious!

Aside: SK recently got the tattoo he's always wanted. When he showed me the day after he got it, my immediate reaction was to ask him why he felt a need to label is ovaries.

DH cooking up Steak Diane. The cow was born, bred and slaughtered in the pasture right next to NZP. It's called the Cow Club. You pay $400 and in about 2 years you get half a cow that's free range, raised sans nasty chemicals and is grass fed. I think it's a phenomenal idea, and once I have enough space for a chest freezer I'm totally joining!

Not to mention he was absolutely delicious. First course, success!

I forgot to take a picture of CF's main dish of Pork Chops with Applesauce, but it was also breathtaking. She cooked the chops with rosemary and made the applesauce herself, chunky apples with onions: tres bon! SK slow cooked this Lamb Stew as his Kiwi dish. Another phenomenal course! At this point I was getting a bit nervous as I'm a bit hesitant in my cooking skills. What's more, DH unknowingly put a chick with an eating disorder, who doesn't cook with fat or sugar, in charge of dessert, hahaha!

To my delight, however, my take on Bread and Butter Pudding (which SK actually requested of me) was a resounding success. I substituted sultanas for blueberries then added in some lemon zest and ginger, not to mention the fact that I used trim milk and cut the amount of sugar significantly. Seriously, the recipes called for 500g (2.5 cups!) yet with only 1/4 cup it was plenty sweet. Everyone loved it, and I was pretty damn impressed myself!

Saturday Yum Cha

I mentioned to SK a couple of weeks ago that I love Dim Sum. He was confused at first, so I explained that it was just all sorts of Chinese dumplings that were distributed on carts. After that he understood and said that it's called Yum Cha everywhere else, Dim Sum is actually a type of dumpling, and then organised an outing for everyone from NZP who was interested. I had all my favorites (Fried turnip cake, steamed BBQ pork buns, steamed pork dumplings and steamed bean paste buns), plus some great new stuff (chicken with sticky rice, roast duck and some sort of creamy fruit dumpling). Best of all, we were all stuffed and it only cost $15 apiece!

Bringing someone who speaks Chinese is a must when going to Yum Cha!

Fellow NZP Peeps. Sadly, the above pictured JS, along with his lady, are moving to Australia. CF is actually JS's replacement. I replaced someone else, so I'm the new queen of Cholic. Joy!

Still more depressing, Mr. SK is also moving away. Never staying in one place for more than a couple of years, SK is heading to India in April to take up his previous post of World Wanderer. He was my first really good friend here and I'm going to miss him very much! The shit he says literally makes me laugh so hard I cry. That is a priceless quality in a friend, and it made me realise how long it's been since I've genuinely and copiously laughed. Thanks to him, now I remember how and am resolute to never again forget.

After Yum Cha CF, DC, SK and I headed to The Square to have coffee and walk around the cultural festival taking place this weekend. After a bit CF decided to go home so DC, SK and I went to a nearby pub so that DC could try and teach me the ins and outs of Cricket. Way fun, but I'm no nearer to understanding Cricket!

What else can I say? I'm fucking LOVING LIFE! I'm healthier here in every aspect of my life: Mind, Body and Spirit, and I have my new friends to thank for a lot of it. No panic attacks, I'm eating about 75% more fat than I have since losing weight which has stabilized my hypoglycemia, I've not weighed myself or counted calories in well over a month, and I actually want to spend time with other people for the first time in years. I'm just so grateful......

Tomorrow I'm heading to Wellington to do an all day Lord of the Rings tour. Rest assured I'll be writing all about it and posting pictures. Stay tuned!

Thought of the Day 16/03/2015: Analyzing Kiwish

I've figured out the Kiwi Accent! Do you remember your SAT analogies?

Kiwi : UK :: Boston : American

Basically, Kiwi's sound like Englishmen, just a bit more annoying. Their A's are more nasally and the overall tone is a bit softer and less punctate. They pronounce 'so' as soooou, with a hard s. I'm getting keen on it though. Oh, and here's a good question; how is it that Kiwis and Brits can say 'reckon' and it sounds charming, yet every time I hear an American say it I get a very clear image of a fat redneck in ripped bib-overalls with one strap undone and a piece of straw coming out of their mouth? It's just not fair. It's commonly used here, but because of that negative connotation I simply can't bring myself  to integrate into my own lexicon. Kind of the same way I find it hard to hitchhike though it's so incredibly common, and safe, in New Zealand. 

Thought of the Day 15/03/2015: Manawatu Gorge Walk

Manawatu Gorge Walk [Link to All Pics]

Fact: I love hiking. Nothing in this world can describe how I feel alone and among nature. I savor the sights, sounds and smells of the Bush (haha, aka forests, woods, etc.), walking at my own pace and stopping to eat, drink or piss whenever I please. Most importantly, I revere the silence, it clears my mind and eases my anxiety. Stopping every quarter kilometer on a ten kilometer tramp to watch an old dude whack caterpillars off leaves, talking about trees I couldn't distinguish from one another, while waiting for the slow pokes bringing up the rear, is not my idea of hiking. Admittedly, going on a guided tour probably wasn't the best idea, but I thought I might meet some people and decided to give it a go. As my frustration mounted, however, it was clear to me that my hike would be ruined it I didn't do something. As politely as possible I asked the tour guide if it was ok that I go ahead of the group. Like all Kiwis, he was phenomenally understanding, and assured that it was no trouble but did give me some pointers on staying to the correct path; bless his caterpillar obsessed heart!

The second I was alone my stress disappeared and I came alive, but the incident got me thinking about my basic human tendencies. Should I have been less of an impatient control freak? Probably, but berating myself for doing what comes naturally to me is no longer an activity I practice. I've said it before, and I'll say it again; though a harsh truth to face, it's a fact that I'm the only person guaranteed to stay with me for my entire life (true for all Humans). Once I realized that a few years ago, I made the critical decision to be nice to myself and life has been more enjoyable ever since. Any other person could be an asshole to me, but I'm not allowed to be one of those assholes. Moreover, knowing that I'm there to support and encourage also serves to take the sting out of other peoples' displeasure. I've lived life with negative self-talk before, and it was a miserable fucking existence. I may not always be pleased with the things I say and do, but I acknowledge that I always do my best and accept who I am regardless of any other feelings.

Along my tramp I began to muse over the fact that while hiking, I never look behind at the path I've already traveled; always staying focused on what is in front of me and the task at hand. Suddenly it struck me that thought is also a phenomenal analogy for life in general. It's well known in both psychology and spirituality that one can best avoid feelings of depression and anxiety by keeping focused on the present. Eckhart Tolle calls it "The Power of Now." Specifically, one who dwells on the past often suffers depression and regret, and those who reside in the future tend to be anxious, worrying about things that may never come to fruition (that's me!). Hiking is really the only time I can remain in the present without letting in other stimuli, and it's why it makes me so authentically happy. True to my yearning to split from the group, I couldn't bear to linger in one spot, wanting to forge ahead without looking behind nor worry about what to do when I reached the end. I can't hike all the time, however, so I've recently implemented a new tactic for my anxiety that seems to be working well. Every time I ask myself a negative 'What if' question ('What if I die on the toilet straining to take a shit like Elvis?'), I consciously counter it with at least three positive 'What if' questions ('What if I'm absolutely fine? What if I meet the love of my life in the next five minutes? What if I get a promotion at work?). It's becoming as easy as it became to change my inner speech from negative to positive, the pivotal change I mentioned above, and has a similar calming effect.

[Read the following paragraph with the understanding that I speak only for myself and how I personally feel. There is no right or wrong. Everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and feelings, these are mine.]

Despite breaking from the tour group, I still met many people along the way. While hiking in the US, especially Colorado, people are friendly and say 'Hi'; while hiking in New Zealand, people become your friends. During my lunch I met a few people and had an epiphany. I was explaining that I felt the need to leave the US because it was a stress factory; I could never quite attain a sustainable level of comfort, so I left. Shortly after, continuing my hike, I realized that the same stress stimuli exist in New Zealand: work, money, food, chronic constipation, traffic, relationships (or lack thereof), etc. The critical difference, however, is that here people are so nice, giving and supportive that it's difficult to become overly anxious. There is always someone to help me, whatever my needs may be; a ride back to Palmy, help with my immigration visa, fingerprints for an FBI check, an speedy Australian visa, an apple to raise my blood sugar, or a coffee date offer to ease interview anxieties. In American, though people are superficially helpful, they certainly don't go out of their way to help each other and I always end up feeling like I owe them something afterwards. Here, someone usually offers their help before it's even requested. Interestingly, I don't feel that this originates from a need to please others as in the Indian culture, instead it's purely genuine. The essence of New Zealand culture centers around doing what's right which encompasses helping others, it's their way of life and anything else confuses them. Why wouldn't people be friendly and helpful? Why, indeed! No joke, when I lived in Denver a girl was raped at DIA in a terminal full of people, no one stopped to help her. Unfortunately that pretty much epitomizes how I feel about America, which is sad because I KNOW there are neighbourly people there too; I've met them, and have been one! In the end all I know is that I told myself I'd never be happy in the US, so I wasn't. For my own sanity's sake things had to change here, and they did. I'm a legitimately a happier person here, and I'm not going to question or analyze the sentiment; I simply want to enjoy life.

Thought of the Day 02/03/2015: What's Wrong With This Treadmill?

It was my first day of work (which was kick-ass, but an article of its own which I don't have time to write just now), so naturally I wanted to start my day out right with a run at my new gym, CityFitness. I entered my normal speed of 6.3 and began to move with the belt. Imagine my confusion, however, when the pace the belt achieved barely hit my walking speed. Immediately I suspected that the treadmill was faulty, but that only latest a moment before the face-palm set it. The speed, of course, was in kmph and not mph! Literally giggling out loud, I began to play with the setting to figure out my normal pace in kmph. Due to its nice even number and easy light running speed, I settled on 10.0 which is actually 6.2 mph, so I got it pretty damned close!

Into the metric system at 10 kmph!

Anyway, all these little differences (which I've mentioned in my previous blogs) is what keeps NZ novel and fun. Simply altering the way things are spoken of or presented in stores keeps me on my toes, typically having to rely on social context to pick up on meanings before my ignorance is  made apparent. Here are some more examples:

NZ Weight
During my health assessment for work the nurse took my weight, which I assumed would be taken in kilograms, a pretty easy conversion from pounds (1kg = 2.2lbs). Instead, she declared that I was a little over 8 Stone. Since weight is a topic I'd rather not think about, I was extremely happy that that number was positively meaningless to me; and I plan to keep it that way!

Capsicum 
I actually had to google the term before I realized this word simply meant bell peppers! For some reason the word reminded me of capers and I thought it was a spice. 

Jandals
The first time I heard this phrase, I assumed the speaker was attempting to pronounce sandals with a speech impediment.

The NZ Light Switch
Since my arrival I found something odd about these switches, but didn't realize what it was until last night. This switch is in the off position, one presses the switch DOWN to turn the lights ON. It's opposite of its US counterpart where you lifts up for the on position. 

Kumara
I suppose a cuisine savvy traveler would not have as many 'huhs?' as I've had, because most of the terms that stumped me related to food. Kumara crisps (another vocabulary deviation itself) are very popular here. I assumed it was some sort of root vegetable, but not so, it's simply a sweet potato chip!

Crisps Vs. Chips
 More than a couple of Kiwis have expressed their frustration at receiving potato chips instead of french fries upon ordering chips in America, haha. Here, crisps are 'chips' and chips are 'fries.'  

Thought of the Day 01/03/2015: Unconditional Love

Recently my Sister sent me a text that succinctly sums up what I consider to epitomize unconditional love:

"Sis. I'm always proud of you. Even when your a control freak with an eating disorder! Look at all you've done. That's pretty spectacular considering what we've come from. I love you!"

I'll leave out what prompted this response from her, but when I read it I instantly teared up. Admittedly, I struggle with the concept of love and anything considered intimate, including physical intimacy. Unconditional love almost completely escapes me, conspicuous entirely by it's scarcity in my life. For me, unconditional love is a feeling I get, a deep knowing that no matter what a person says or does, to me or anyone else, I could never create a resentment against them. I may not agree with or like how they conduct themselves or their everyday lives, but I love them wholly despite my misgivings or their humanly faults. In fact, only two people are encapsulated by my unconditional love, and one of them is my Sister. 

I could go on and on about how our childhood and death of our older Sister shaped the way I feel about my Sister, but suffice it to say that from an extremely young age I have admired her for being the one thing I will never be: relaxed, and without worry. Growing up she never cared what other people thought, nor let our unstable familial relationships work her into the frenzy that they inspired in me. Never verbose and always honest I simply worshipped her, whether she knew it or not. That praise is higher now more than ever as she continues to be the best mother to the best children I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I'm absurdly proud to be a member of that family. I love you Sis.

My Sister, best friend and idol.

. 

Thought of the Day 22/02/2015: To The North!

The lovely town of Picton, where the Interislander sets sail.

Harbour view from the deck.

Inter-Island Travels 

I assumed that Kiwi travel between the North and South Islands would be as common as Americans going from one state to another, no biggie. My trip over via the Interislander, however, has me thinking otherwise. The sheer expense of the trip ($176 for Hank and I to cross, one-way at that) is enough to prohibit much transposition. Also, everyone keeps asking me if I’m going on holiday, which must be the common reason South Islanders go to the North Island, and vice versa. There’s also the fact that the S’s haven’t seen much of the North though they’ve been dual citizens for 20+ years. I didn’t think much of it when they told me, but now it does seem a bit odd given their outgoing and adventurous natures. They’re always taking people around the South; perhaps I surmised they simply preferred the South, which is the general rule among all Kiwis. I too will be likely working in the North, but playing in the South. Fingers crossed!

Hank on the boat.

There was a lady coming through the line of cars ready to board asking about bio-hazard potentials, and I instinctively looked down at my bag of apples hoping I could keep them. Instead she was looking for hiking boots and camping/fishing gear that may have come in contact with South Island rivers and lakes, and could therefore be carrying harmful bio-organisms that they attempt to keep out of the North Island. I thought that was pretty neat. When she asked if I was visiting, I told her I was immigrating and going to the North for a job interview. After congratulating me, she wished me luck. It still astounds me how nice people are here.

The Interislander looks like a friggin’ cruise ship, complete with shops, lounges, cafes, and a live band! Apparently, covering ‘Mad World’ is incredibly common for New Zealand bands because this band did it, as well as the band at the brewery Friday night. Both renditions were very similar, merging the calm sadness of the Gary Jules version with the more poppy electric sound of the Tears for Fears version. They also played the Punjabi rap song and it was actually really good! At least part of my exorbitant ticket went towards entertainment.

UPDATE! Ok, I just got the skinny on this situation by chatting with a local from Christchurch who I’ll refer to as M. M also bought me two glasses of wine, which I drank without considering the fact I’d have to drive off the damn boat and find my way North for a 2 hour drive. Definitely not my smartest move. Anyway, besides travel to Wellington, the North Island Port, taking the Interislander is almost unheard of except if the person traveling has to bring their car (like me). Flights from Christchurch to Auckland are only $59; so it may not be that there isn’t much travel, it’s just not by sea, which now makes a lot of sense! The travel is typically restricted to Holidays or business needs and involves flying and renting a car rather than taking the Interislander. He also informed me that this is the roughest and most expensive straight to cross in the world, though thankfully it’s not too rough today.

This was the Tuscan Dream pizza I hovered at a Mediterranean restaurant north of Wellington to kill my ill-advised buzz. Yum!

Oh and get this, while chatting with a Pennsylvanian park ranger on Holiday, I discovered that her parents own a house in Cape Fucking Vincent?!?! Unbelievable! One thing I always realize while traveling is just how small this world really is! [For those of you who don’t know, I went to Cape Vincent Elementary school!]

I Heart Hank Nummer Zwei

I literally can’t lock myself out of this car. At first I found it annoying that the doors automatically unlocked when shut if I had locked them while the doors were open. Now I realize the genius of that plan, and I’m grateful! Especially given the fact that I only have one key, unsurprising for a ’97 car that’s had more than it’s share of owners.

Pet Eels?

The S’s took me to this cool little place in Nelson called the Jester House where they advertised their tame eels; eels that would slither up on the rocks for food one could buy in the shop. We must have gone at a bad time of day for the eels because they were nowhere to be find, but I thought the idea fairly comical and certainly unique. At least until I was driving through Marlborough on my way to Picton and passed a placed that advertised about its celebrity, ‘Eddy the Eel.’ So apparently pet Eels are a thing here, seems a bit creepy to me but I suppose it’s no different than owning a snake or fish.

Hot Pies

This place is obsessed with hot pies, they’re mostly like chicken potpies of meaty varieties like mince (aka hamburger, but usually from multiple animals), steak, beef and cheese, Bacon and egg, chicken and vegetable, etc., but they’re all basically them same components of meat, starchy filling and buttery crust. Needless to say, I may opt out of this societal norm. It reminds me of America’s obsession with frozen burritos, but somehow they seem healthier.

Some other random food facts include:

- There’s no turkey lunchmeat, it’s all ham and salamis of varying quality. This is chicken sometimes, but it’s really expensive.

- Muesli is huge here, as it is in Europe. As an American is just seems weird to eat oats without cooking them first; but this is likely contributed to my newfound regularity, which is a welcomed novelty!

- Skim milk is called Trim milk. I think it sounds more elegant.

Fanny Fact

Here, a Fanny is a vagina. So I was cautioned against saying anything about wearing a fanny pack, because in NZ that’s akin to wearing some sort of sanitary item in the nether regions. Also, females should avoid getting confused at receiving a ‘pat on the fanny.’ I’m really glad M decided to share this information with me!

World Series? Really?!

Apparently the one thing Kiwi’s find hilarious about the US is that they call their annual Baseball tournament the World Series. M boldly asked, “How many fucking countries compete? One I reckon! Wouldn’t you need at least 2 to be considered a World Series?!” then he laughed heartily. Once I thought about it I started laughing too, he was totally right!

Fun Phrases:

- My shout/No need to shout back/Next shout is mine. = I’ll buy this round/There’s no expectation for one to reciprocate the round/I’ll buy the next round. (All in the context of drinking)

- Sweet As! = Cool, Great, Sure; really just a typical reply to say ‘good,’ buy they use it very versatile ways.

- Good on you/him/her. = Good for you/him/her, and can also mean congratulations, etc. 

Random Update

That roadkill was a Possum! We spell ours Opossum but they spell it Possum, and they’re typically red in color. They do have our variety as well, but they call them silver backs. My roadkill intuition is exquisite!

Possum, not Opossum