Final Post

It has been almost a year since I last posted, and since I submitted my thesis. I have been aware all this time that I left Academic, Hopeful in a soggy state so I am finally and formally finishing it now. I probably needed the time away from it, from all things related to life in Oxford and my thesis. After I left, Oxford took on a distasteful quality, even though I missed my friends and could remember being, for the most part, happy, even sometimes very happy, there.

Things have certainly changed for me. I don't punt or go to debates at the Union or cox or drink red wine with Germans. I write and perform comedy. I don't hear violin-playing at night. I speak more slowly. I don't talk as much about the future. I can better listen to other people. I don't jump when cats pounce at night. My face is brighter, but more lined. I can no longer watch dance shows or reality TV. You can't keep it all.

Last month I returned to Oxford for my DPhil graduation (see if you can spot me). I was able to enjoy the town again. Not as a student - I did not sit with the freshers in dingy bars to talk about whose country is better than whose, then shriek with laughter, or share dreams, and quietly worry. This time I was the visitor in the table beside, charmed by the place. And that was perfect.

Thank you for reading and your comments.

Best Wishes,

AH

Things Brought into My Life....

...which I want to pass on to you.

I have been receiving some incredibly considerate emails lately. Most are simply words of encouragement or quick reality checks, some set forth life lessons, while others are solid attacks on the enemy, as if it were shared. All to get me through the next little bit. I think you need all of these at various points along the way, occasionally all in one day.

I have also been given some lovely things from people who get to see me in real life (the lucky few!). I wanted to pass these on, not least because I have noticed a hefty measure of burnout in blogland at the moment - in both hemispheres. Hoping they will help a little.

Aspire Style tea

This exact mug and Happiness tea were given to me by a friend, Emily. Pretend to warm your hands on it and take a sip. It's a very large mug:

Cath Kidston mug

The boyfriend set me up with the best, chunky (organic) vegetable soup to watch a handful of TED talks. (If you're not all over these by now, sort it out!). Here is one we watched given by (pop) philosophy essayist Alain de Botton, on a kinder, gentler philosophy of success. Some twitchy eye moments particularly when he makes his conclusions, but certainly some helpful tools to manage the Sunday (status anxiety) blues. (The comments are also worth a browse).



We also watched some oldies. Probably the most thought-provoking of this oldies lot (and certainly the most kooky) was Amy Tan's talk, Creativity:



And, finally, The Journey, a poem by Mary Oliver (not easy to find without a photograph of a sunset or waterfall), sent to me by a friend whose pretty name is so distinctive that I can't name her here:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Thanks to my supporters and as the Brits say: Chin up, tigers!

Perils of Marrying a Student

image

On Skype (with camera) last night.

Sister-in-Law: Go and get my new BMW.

My brother shakes his head, ducks off and then comes back holding a large, rather stylish shopping trolley.

Brother: It's for grannies.

Sister-in-Law: When I bought this, your brother immediately asked how much it was. I said, 'Some women ask for a BMW and actually get one. It's my BMW.'

Creativity as Frippery?

My grandmother is accomplished. She's fiercely bright, high-spirited and decisive, she's a doctor and a giver, and she's creative and thoughtful. She's also from one of those generations that doesn't exchange complaints all the time. A short while back, she helped my family move house (and sort through thirty years of encumbrances) and was, I recall, the only one of us not to grumble. Part of this package deal is modesty - she would see my description here as possibly gushy or improper and definitely unnecessarily fussy.

One of her hobbies is photography, and from time to time she worries that it amounts to mere frippery. I think it's interesting how certain types of creativity are harder to justify to oneself than intellectual pursuits or the service of society (or the market!). But I guess there is a scale of things in life, right? And pure commitment to aesthetics would preclude so many other possibilities in life. Although, I am not sure who has the authority to judge the useful from the (merely aesthetic?) rest. Do we need to justify these things? Some claim that usefulness is hideous, and that art is serious. How do you guys see your creative endeavours, including, for instance, your blogs? Is it essentially about having both in your life, about covering both bases - the useful and the aesthetic?

In the meantime, these are some of her beautitful photographs that were recently highly acclaimed by her peers. How delightful are those droplets?!

When it Comes to Siblings...

photo by: Iapidim

A while back, a reader asked me to help her improve her relationships with her siblings. It has taken me a while to tackle this because I think I was subconsciously pooped after analysing my relationship with my twin.

I come from a vast litter so I feel reasonably qualified to say something about this. From my experience, deciding and being prepared to work (for a long time if required) to redefine the terms of engagement with your brothers and sisters is crucial. It's not a given that these relationships make the transition from childhood relationships (and the mentality that goes with being needy, super-sensitive little people) naturally. This, of course, involves being honest about what you're bringing to the relationship table and whether and how you're allowing it to grow or not.

You can start by stating (calmly and sometimes repeatedly) to yourself and potentially to your a sibling things like, "I do not want to talk to you like this. This is a negative pattern that may have been OK when we were younger, but we're adults now."

I have had to say statements like this (in a more natural, me-form) to certain family members, and it's definitely been the general ethos for my own reflections. It's a delicate blend of big and small things. The small things, in my experience work better.

To this end, I have asked myself things like: Are my brothers and sisters balcony or basement people? Are they cheering me on and affirming me or dragging me down? Which one am I to them? I have borrowed these phrases, by the way, rather recklessly from Joyce Landorf, whose work I have never read and whom I am fairly certain is more clappy (and giving, and great!) than me. But I think it's a wonderful metaphor for nicely streamlining people in your life (often just for a short while) and also for being more honest about your behaviour towards others.

Of course, there is a lot more guilt and obligation when it comes to family and sometimes, particularly with parents and older relatives, you can never fully escape these expected patterns of behaviour. It's often very difficult and unsettling for family, particularly parents, to revise their concepts and expectations of you.

In some distressing cases, I think having a clean, finite break is healthy. It's often hard enough to be kind and aware to strong, positive people around you, let alone people who are emotionally greedy and manipulative etc. so sometimes you need a circuit breaker. You don't have to announce this in some impassioned way. You can just quietly give yourself some time and space to recharge.

I think when there is tension with family members the main things to work on from your end are being aware and self-disciplined about your own mental state before entering conversations, and carefully watching how much emotional baggage you bring into an interaction.

I think that last point's essential, really. You have to be able let go of the trailer of rubbish from the past; to not expect some kind of definitive, consensual, formal family statement of what exactly happened in your childhood and adolescence and who was treated how and to what effect. Part of being an adult, I think, is to decide to endorse your own version of reality, knowing that memory distorts and tends to focus on the negative, traumatic, mortifying experiences over the more normal, and even blissful ones, and then to put it away on the shelf.

Of course, siblings often want you to sign off on their versions too, which can sometimes mean getting embroiled in history wars. This requires knowing when to validate or gently test their histories and when to simply avoid these moves. You have to make your own boundaries according to what you're prepared to suffer and lose (sometimes you just don't want to lose a couple of hours of your time trawling through the archives and then an evening after recovering).

As with all relationships, relating to siblings is about constantly working on being present, calm and assertive (using as much 'When this happens, I feel...' language as possible, as distinct from 'you are a...' language). I read somewhere that often we think we're being adults when we criticise others by using behaviour-based examples, but this tone can often disguise a childish tendency to start introducing evidence from every part and time of the other person's life. Sometimes we get empowered by others (finally!) agreeing with our frustrations and that can give us a surge of energy to start tackling all the grievances you've ever had with that person. That's not fair.

Another thing that is often not fair (or useful) is that, with siblings, we are so much more likely to solve their problems when they actually seek validation (simple recognition of the underlying emotion). To make it even more fraught, we're also more likely to bring in examples from ten years ago, or to stitch the incident to another one, or worst still to use it against the person as an example of some wider, less functional characteristic they have or have had. These approaches are too blunt to make any pretty affinity shapes and should be traded in.

It's a big deal when a family member gives you a compliment. We're often still like little doggies in need of a Pedigree Gravy Bone. Give compliments, laugh, enjoy them.

I am lucky that my family is loving, fairly open, intelligent, humourous, and very supportive. Sometimes we can sometimes be a little rough in our delivery (the funny and the harsh are not always distinguishable chez nous), but I think for the most part we try to be gentle and positive with each other. There's an implicit understanding that now that we're all over 21 and living our own lives, it's a choice to be in each other's lives beyond family get-togethers. "You can go off people, you know"- this is something I say to my family sometimes to playfully remind them that my love and admiration are not unconditional! No, really, I think we actually want to be friends and simply like each other and these make it easier.

The last thing I would say though is that it's very important not to catastrophise when you have a tense or horrible interaction with a family member. You have to avoid linking the incident to the many other similar instances stored away in your file. You also have to challenge thoughts like, "We are never be able to get along" or "[name] is always going to be a negative influence in my life."

At the risk of sounding like I am trivialising individual cases (there's a spectrum of hurt and complexity in family backgrounds), sometimes when you argue with siblings you're just hungry, overworked and/or tired, and simply don't quite have the mental resources or social sanctions (that help regulate other friendships) not to fall back into bad habits. But that happens and you have to forgive yourself quickly and just try better next time.

For what it's worth, I have to deal with that pattern daily with almost everyone in some small way. I am often saying snippy things, declaring my worries or painting potential crises to my loved-ones only to realise after that I just needed a hearty meal, a walk outside, a quick kip or a kind word. So, yeah, being able to feed, walk and assure yourself and put yourself to bed when necessary are also important skills in adult relationships, including kinships.

Anyone else have any ideas for dealing with sibling difficulties?

Family: Please read 'comments' for clarification. I am certainly not in any conflict with any of you guys. It's all very peachy and positive (and tacit), as it is, thankfully, almost all of the time...

On Being a Twin

photo by shashchatter

A friend, make that a great friend, asked me to describe what it's like to be a twin. I wish I had more time and energy to write a proper, coherent story about it, but as it is, with 30 000 words due by the end of the weekend, I can only manage stream of consciousness-style snippets.

I am a fraternal twin, which is very different to being an identical twin, but not as different as you may think. We're both female.

I see being a twin as entering a marriage in the womb. It's intense, with all these feelings of joy, security, investment and trust in the other. But seeing as it's a marriage that starts when you're a bunch of cells, you don't have all the skills and presence of mind you need to manage this relationship in a healthy way throughout all the different phases of life, to let the other person grow, be loved by other people, to allow their needs to change. It requires a constant building and rebuilding to work.

When you are young as a twin, you don't know what it is like to have your own time, and when you do have it, say on a humid Saturday afternoon, it feels like an act of defiance or betrayal (either yours or your twin's).

I always felt bitterly insulted when cousins and friends only invited one of us to play, which was usually her because she was less likely to be bitter about anything as a child. I remember I made a rule to myself at a school friend's birthday party once (I'd say I was 7 or 8) that if the two older sisters were nicer to my twin than to me, then I would have to take some action. I was sick of being the one who introduced us both at the door, but got no recognition for it. As I had predicted, they picked her up and tickled her. She laughed more freely than me and had lighter hair and a lighter presence. I felt completely justified in taking a take-home lolly (sweet/candy) bag up to my friend's room and eating them on her bed. It wasn't comfort eating (I am less likely to eat when stressed), it was the world's punishment.

I remember my childhood as connected to my twin, brimming with this simple affection of ours. We sang songs to ease the other to sleep, stuck to our agreements about who would turn off the light each night, gave each other back rubs, washed each other's hair in the bath, walked to the shops and the park together, organised our clothes, role played with our antique doll collection (instead of Barbies because new toys in our house tended to be more "male", like Transformers, Lego, Star Wars figurines and The Castle of Greyskull), we made up dances and plays. We liked to keep things equal between us, which meant we would make sure any gifts, lollies or food - any external goods really - were allocated evenly between us. We had a little commune situation going on.

My twin was a prodigious gymnast and athlete, and made friends very easily because she was so warm and theatrical. Whenever she had public successes of any sort, I would feel immensely proud and even possessive in the way I imagine a parent feels. But it's different when you're in a little body that is bursing with exultation. It's quite overwhelming. Later on, I would sometimes feel regretful that I could not show this pride to her as easily as I did when I was younger. I felt like someone who had been abandoned, the forgotten parent who knows they will only get acknowledged at the end of the movie when the hero says that they were in their heart all along.

A perfect day was usually at the beach during the Summer holidays when I organised where we would put our towels and she would encourage me to swim further out towards the surfers.

We made each other laugh a lot. Sometimes just a facial expression or a hinted gesture would be enough. That's all it takes when you know someone.

If things were momentarily distant, then an easy way to bridge the gap would be to tell the other person about some routine injustice or unpleasant incident at school or at home, which would be followed by ritualised comfort and support from the other. Sometimes this would amplify into formal pledges to stick up for each other against anyone and anything. Often my twin would cry if I was crying about something. It made me feel so safe to have one person who I knew was on my side and who understood my position in the world.

This promise to defend one another was most often implied. A twin is always very careful not to outright disagree with the other. We learn (the hard way) to suggest the things the other may not like to hear, just as you need to do in a romantic relationship. But ultimately we know early on that we have to make our twin aware that we're on their team regardless of how irrational or sentimental we think they are being. I have noticed this in many twins. If you breach this secret code, it is the most tragic, awful, crushing thing. It's a form of treachery. That doesn't change, from times when you join in schoolyard teasing of your twin or choose a team of any sort that isn't the same as theirs, to shaming or rejecting them in front of your high school friends, to siding with siblings in adult confrontations, the list goes on. These things don't change.

Twins hurt one another in a way that no one else can. This means that they can also soothe and love one another in a way that no one else can. It's an intense affair.

photo by il0vePullip

Growing up, my twin was involved in all sorts of accidents, medical emergencies and physical injuries. I still remember all these things so definitely: a near drowning at three while I stood paralysed by the pool and watched her red, panicky, crying face bob in and out of the water, on a skiing holiday having to let go of her 8 year old hands to let her fall off the rising chairlift that hadn't scooped her up properly, around the same time hearing her plummet into an orchestra pit at a ballet rehearsal and me laughing in the wings because I was so full of adrenaline. She chipped her head twice, and was severerly allergic to bees and various bushes.

When you are a twin, you watch suffering and illness from a vantage point that you wouldn't as a single child even with siblings, especially when you share a room (as we did until we were 15!). I never got used to hearing my sister start to cough in the night because she was choking on a nose bleed. You hear the other person have restless or tearful nights.

I developed a sense of super-responsibility for my twin, something I came to resent later on, in my early teens because I was far more interested in creating the right impressions in front of my friends. I struggled with it again in my early twenties as we both sought to separate from the family, and particularly the twinship bond that seemed so heavy.

My twin is very generous. From an early age, she would often tell me that she would have a child for me if I could not bear my own. I used to tell people that she had made this promise. My twin said something to me a decade ago that checks my behaviour to this day. She said that being stressed and tired is not a valid excuse for repeated unkindness.

I think my twin and I developed as a perfect human but in two separate bodies. If you put us together we would be one of the most intelligent, compassionate, athletic, talented, creative, courageous, humourous and socially capable people going around. I am not saying we only got half these things each or that there is a clean demarcation of traits (we are still full humans, not to mention siblings in a wider community of people!). But it would be true, I think, to say that we fostered certain aspects of our personality in response to the other. If we thought that the other twin was probably going to be more successful in a certain area or find a certain personality trait or skill a little easier to ripen, we'd more or less hand it over. This was in part out of generosity, and in part out of competitiveness.

This growing against each other was a result of both nature and nurture. Looking back now, I would say more nurture than nature. Outsiders (even if well-meaning), particularly family members, tend to categorise twins; to put limits on the identities of the two people involved. This can be done in small, but significant acts, like asking a twin who is better/smarter/sportier/prettier/taller/skinnier/more popular etc. It can also be done in big ways with labels, entrenched expectations, and favouritism. It was hard as a young person to resist all these divisions and we started to define ourselves against each other and even take some pride in those concepts. Then we began to hate the concepts.

We both tend to become anxious if we spent too much time on our own, and like to reach consensus and understanding with people. We're used to having a partner in crime, someone to share life with. We both find it difficult to let go of relationships of any sort even when they may not be good for us.

Someone in Oxford recently said that I don't seem like a twin. But I know I have the mindset of a twin - the well-being of my twin has always affected my own even while I have been so far away from her. If she is not 100% healthy and happy, I am not. No matter how positive my own material and emotional circumstances, if she is not at peace, I am not. I identify with the life of my twin in a way that is distinctly different to the ways in which the rest of my family's lives impact on my self-concepts and behaviour.

You always give a twin another chance, which is something that is abused over and over, but also something that allows you to be truly tender and gives you a quiet sense of freedom from everything else.

photo by +fatman+

Family Time

Families, they're alright. I am in Budapest with my brother, his wife and their super cute baby. My brother, who is currently singing J Buckley's Hallelujah to his son as he bathes him, had drawn up an itinerary of three activities per day before we arrived and pinned to the kitchen pinboard amongst a few random photographs and cards. He is not the most organised of people, but he is an adventurer at heart; he puts as much as he can into his hours, until he finds a café with some good coffee and some chat.


Today we were hoping to go ice-skating (He is now on Pop Goes the Weasel) as per the plan. We took the metro which is like a funride at a fair, not least because the annoucement at each stop is accompanied by something generated by an ice-cream van or honking a clown's nose. The rink was closed so we ended up (now onto You Can Call Me Al) walking for hours, past all sorts of victory monuments, romanesque, gothic and baroque tribute buildings (not because there aren't real ones in Budapest, we just happened to stumble upon the tribute fare built 100 years ago), genuine Succession buildings, and communist appartment blocks. The streets here are wide and today they were almost deserted. Today or this evening is the time for Christmas celebrations (over fish) in Hungary. I am not sure how we figured we would be able to do more than just walk and look at the few passers-by.


The women here wear a lot of brown clothing, with gaudy (orange, gold and red) accessories, their hair dyed black or red and black eye-liner drawn heavily along the bottom ridge. I write this fully aware that I probably seem like a small boy to them, like I don't make enough of my looks. The men look like weather-beaten sailors or possibly pirates, but perfectly nice ones. (My brother is now singing a demonic version of Silent Night).

As the three of us strode into the wind that was puffing up our full length coats, I sensed that we were about to do Matrix slow-motion backarches then reach into our coats for our guns to blow the crap out of something. Instead we tried in vain to withdraw cash at several cash machines (ATMs), and struggled to identify and explain the significance of various monuments – both are not so easy in a country with a complex political history. Finally we spotted a dull yellowish light and some dark movement – a cafe was open! We ordered coffees and hot chocolate (or cocoa). The cafe was airy and smoky, bohemian and potentially revolutionary yet stately, a place for scheming as well as mindless drinking, friendly yet surly, cold yet warm. This paradoxical style of writing is not only good and bad, but good and evil.


My brother and I talked about our family, everyone in it. We analysed each member's motivations and childhood traumas, factoring each of the possible combinations and permutations. We were fortunate that everything was closed today otherwise we would not have been able to have a proper catch up, which, in a family like mine, means reaching agreement on the causes behind the major frustrations, disputes and tragedies of the day, with a sense of love and humour of course.

It's root vegetable soup time.

Sheer Indulgence!

salimfadhley

I have been tagged twice - by Kate at love you big and Alice at The Plot Thickens, which essentially means I have been firmly prodded to write about myself. This has not taken much convincing. The main reason for the delay is that I have been overseas for the week visiting my mother in hospital. I feel very glad and grateful that I was able go over there to nurture and comfort her, and to make my father's experience a little less intense. I am about to write to my College to thank them for helping pay for my trip. They're good like that, Oxford Colleges.

But while I am on this train and just to balance out my otherwise fairly positive post, there's nothing quite like a shared room in a hospital to get one more susceptible to agitation and neurotic hand-washing (it was, of all things, clean hands awareness week at the hospital so I couldn't walk two metres without a sign reminding me of the micro-beasts going around), and probably, to slight misanthropy, which came for me in the form of resenting my mother's lung-challenged neighbour and his family. They happened to be Chinese. I know I am treading dangerously here, but the Chinese language is a more shouty than English and, generally, Chinese people are less concerned about dance space or sharing bodily fluids than others. That said, perhaps it was just that this poor guy was a moaner and that his large family (as distinct from Chinese people in general) happened to be loud-talkers with colds that needed immediate relief by violently snorting the matter out, who did not mind half sitting in my mother's section, thinly demarcated by a rather dirty sheet. As you can see, stress and anxiety about a loved one can lead to clawy, distrustful thinking. There's something in that.

Anyway, back to the task at hand. I am supposed to share seven random, curious facts about myself.

Fact 1: I am obsessed with banana smoothies. I think about them fondly a lot of the time, and excessively at least twice per week. There is only one place in Oxford - G&D's if you need to know - where one can buy adequate smoothies. The problem is that the English aren't really into smoothies or milk and fruit based drinks. They're just getting the hang of juice drinks with more than one fruity ingredient - what they often call smoothies - and their milkshakes are most often made with artificial flavourings. It's most distressing. Sipping a cold banana smoothie - soft, creamy, potassium-rich with a light bubbling on the surface - is one of life's true delights.

Fact 2: One of my strengths and beloved pastimes is working out (in less and less time) where people's features come from. I thoroughly enjoy dividing up people's faces according to what they received from which parent, relative or side of the family. I use this model when working out whether a relationship will last, based on research at the Ponds Institute (code name for research of questionable validity, usually evidenced by an attractive woman in a white coat pointing out how red dots turn into blue dots). I advise my friends to make sure that their chosen mate has some prominent features in common with themselves or with their family members. One of my brothers (who is married to someone who could be mistaken for my cousin) believes that this model could account for everyone since nearly everyone has 'noses' or 'eyes'. Of course, an explanatory theory that explains everything and therefore cannot be disputed is completely useless. But I would argue that he really doesn't appreciate its finer nuances. My sister and my aunt are exponents. They understand my love of baby photographs (particularly those with the blubbering parents nearby for comparison).

Fact 3: I love a hobby. My hobbies include life drawing, belly dancing, coxing, watching debates at the Union, reading, netball, bike-riding, watching films, listening to Stephen Fry's podcasts, happily selecting fruit and veg at the local farmers' market (with all the North Oxford parents in faux hippy threads) and going on nature walks. Yes, I do love a hobby. That said, I always feel a bit self-conscious about including my hobbies on a CV. I think writing 'reading', for example, sounds a bit silly or self-important. I tend to only include official hobbies.

Fact 4: I am a very good teacher. I love to share knowledge and ideas (not least because it also helps me learn). I enjoy helping other people learn and reflecting on how to better make this happen. I also take the pastoral care element of teaching quite seriously. The teacher-learner interaction makes me feel far more grounded and calm. I have taught various subjects to loads of people from each level of schooling since I was 15 and I can't wait to get back to it. I hope that didn't sound like a self-statement in a CV!?

Fact 5: I am a middle child and possess many of the traits associated (again see the Ponds Institute research archive) with a middle child, such as an acute sense of drama, a need for attention and assurance (sometimes a terrible combination), an informal tone, a good (thoughtful, reliable and regular) communicator and family messenger, emotional maturity and a desire to support and care for others in a quiet way, and a striking respect for authority (which does not always work well with the informal tone).

Fact 6: I have this enduring desire to learn more about Astronomy (not to be confused with Astrology, in which I am already an expert*). I have managed to buy myself Astronomy for Dummies, but I think I need some structured learning. I can't seem to get past the first few pages. I am not sure what that says about me.

Fact 7: I do not like symmetrical things.

Now in complete breach of the rules ('what about that respect for authority?' you might ask), I am not going to keep the tag going, if only because I have very few people to tag in blogland and I fear they have barely caught up with my last prod (the blog award!). But if anyone on blogland reads this - Alana for instance - please do join me on this wonderful identity-affirming slippery dip! It's fun!

Here are the rules:

1. Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself, some random, some weird.
3.Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

*I lie.

Blue Day 2008

October 10 is World Mental Health or Blue Day! A day when the tech and social media community in Australia can work together to raise the awareness of anxiety and depression. Register your support today.

One of my family members has depression and one thing we spoke about last night on the phone was their frustration that depression was often perceived by others as an all encompassing trait, unlike say Diabetes or a lost limb. But she also acknowledged how hard (and I would add tiring) it is for people to know what the symptoms of depression are versus what would count for any one else as 'normal' neurotic (negative, obsessive, sentimental) behaviour or critical thinking.

Fortunately, she is feeling far more balanced these days, and probably the most positive she has felt in a decade, which is wonderful. Although, I have got to say after such a sustained period of intense lows, the sudden change has left me with some vague (and not admirable) feelings of 'Hang on a minute, I have yet to catch up! No one warned me!' Overall, of course, I am feeling excited and smiley too.

Keep going! We're all here to share in it!

Tea and Tigers

Tea Flower by Autan

This week's been pretty rough. I say that, and yet I am not entirely comfortable with starting out my post on that basis. I feel quite content actually. I have a welcome breeze at my side, as part of the best of Autumn weather series that we're currently enjoying, and I have a conference paper to edit before meeting a friend for a hot chocolate on North Parade this evening. I have just received an email from Apple to say that my iPhoto book of family photographs has been shipped. I have been working on it for a while now, an epic family album for my parents, and I am quietly pleased that they can only send it to me (in the U.K.) which means that I can take a quick squiz before sending it on to its home in Australia. It's a surprise present from all the kids, so don't tell them.

But it has been rough, I've got to say. My Mum is seriously ill in hospital and it is uncertain how long she will be there and whether there will be a full recovery. I was told on Monday night. I feel like a small bird making quick darts into a caged wall. Add a family emergency and some jumpy sleeps, and Oxford can shift very quickly from haven of liberal scholars to prison of self-important shits. There have been some other difficult things to deal with as well, but I don't feel like writing about them here.

Nevertheless, after a massage yesterday, and a more restful sleep last night, I feel far less overwhelmed. I am trying to keep it manageable - one day or even one step at a time, as two friends (one in Oxford, one in Oz) have reminded me. My priorities are: (1) To do what I can to make my mum feel more comfortable, loved and positive (phonecalls, flowers, iPod of her favourite music, open communication with rest of family); (2) To finish my paper for next week's conference; (3) To give myself what I need to feel less alarmed (or ready for a tiger to swipe then munch me and my babies in the night): good food, fresh air, routine, the presence of older friends, and some space from the College scene.

One of my friends here told me that things in Oxford are far more tangible and secure than they appear when you're in crisis mode. He said that I just have to reach out and lean against its walls. It's true - a lovely friend from College treated me to tea and sympathy yesterday, my College has offered to pay for a flight if necessary, and even someone whom I have known for only a few days offered to run errands for me. Note to self: just as I would always try to help out someone else in need, most people would do the same for me. I just have to ask.

Getting Crafty

One of my cosmic siblings (no, not in a SWF kinda way), Kate, continues to astound me with her Crafty McCraftiness. She sticks and varnishes maps onto shelves, pops out swanky badges, bakes robot cakes for her preciouses and creates breathtakingly sweet cross-stitched hankies. You should check out the stuff she sells...especially while her September sale is on.

So this morning, I decided to get a bit of tactile time in before tending to the little bastard (next chp). I made some fairly cute cards. Half of my family and friends, it seems, were the product of shameless (Australian) summer lovin.' They arrived into this godforsaken world therefore in the already crowded months of September and October. I am going to unleash my cards onto them although they don't necessarily deserve them more than anyone else.


Otherwise, am about to finish Coetzee's Slow Man, watching snippets of The Mighty Boosh and getting a lesson in Debussy from The Boy (who wants his babies).

Fragmentation is Freedom

This is my first post in a while. I have been preoccupied. It's been so tragic and lovely.

I had an old boyfriend in town. He's been travelling. We ran from College to College, avoiding the angry rain and the hordes of Italian teenagers. We passed neat quadrangles, stone corridors and important man paintings, shouting out things over the heads of school teachers like 'So you didn't find yourself in India then?'

I had to say goodbye to a new friend, on the last corner of Queens Lane. He did not like how I kept on looking away. His eyes made me feel uncomfortable.

And The Boy thinks that I, as a PhD student, am making him grey. I did back-hand the pile of my birthday cards off the table and onto the floor in front of him two days ago. I was raging against my unruly conference paper. It has been causing me trouble for weeks and I have no one to talk to about it. I didn't feel ashamed by my tantrum, but I do feel a bit bad that I am quickening The Boy's decay.

I had a long telephone conversation with one of my brothers recently. One by one, he listed our family members and his complaints, peppered, of course, with careful qualifications and some more generous remarks. I understood. He hadn't seen them in a while.

I had a friend, Kate, come over to play. She took the photograph of the two of us in our 50s party dresses in the bedroom next to where I work. I was a little bit scared.

A local man from the village with a big face and a hidden chin told me that as an Australian, and with Australia lower on the Olympic medal tally than Great Britain, I was a miserable peasant, a bad loser and without electricity. It made me think about some things.

So these are some fragments of my life and only glimpses. I have only been offered glimpses by them too.

I found this little gem from Eric G Wilson, a professor of English at Wake Forest University:

To be against happiness is to embrace ecstasy. Incompleteness is a call to life. Fragmentation is freedom. The exhilaration of never knowing anything fully is that you can perpetually imagine sublimities beyond reason. On the margins of the known is the agile edge of existence. This is the rapture, burning slow, of finishing a book that can never be completed, a flawed and conflicted text, vexed as twilight.