How would children ever learn to walk if they were afraid to fall?

Randomness Extracted from 2007....

"How would children ever learn to walk if they were afraid to fall? A bearded man orchestrating jovial arms through a brown tweed jacket; coos at who I'm assuming to be his grandchild. Clutching the two-year-old inside the fluffy pink dress, blond curls topped with a bow, squeals in delight as her grandpa picked her up and swung her into the air, never letting her go. Unconsciously safe within her grandfather’s grasp, the child laughed freely into the sky. The two unaware, through the crowds outside of FAO Swartz , I'm sitting next to my crutches, and my eyes are watching them.

When in life do we begin to hold on? When do we start looking for railing by the staircases? Once we’ve balanced our choices on the assurance and stability of the ground, are we disabled from unfolding our arms and trying to fly? Are we constantly eyeballing underneath us, into our future in search for a net? Find some inflatable cushion to pad our fall, so gravity doesn’t throw us against the floor too hard, physical pain teases mental sanity, but it’s temporary, and easy to forgo. The mental stuff… that stays locked in our memory forever.

My laptop teeter-tots on my left leg as I pound my thoughts into Microsoft Word, the movements of the laptop shake and stir with the hesitation and hurry as each letter, like each pigment, creates a word, like pigments makeup a picture. The process of remembering feels similar to fingernails on a snare drum, a lone beat, penetrating silence, echoed with a rattlesnake voice that erects goose bumps. The single tap on the snare ignites sound, and although it fills the air with a single octave, the sound is empty of rhythm. Without the base, the cymbal, and the lyrics, the beat of the snare rips through time momentarily, only to remind us how alone a sound can feel. The single snap of a snare can shatter a daze, but it cannot rummage inside of our hearts without the help of another sound, the resonance of two hits you differently.

Sometimes silence is far more deafening than noise.

The vision of the child dissipates into the autumn foliage as I slowly crutch away from the crowded sidewalk. I'm invisible to the street venders and New York businessmen briskly scurrying through their day. Only aware of themselves, they are tending to the necessary tools of cell phones and watches, reminding those of importance to quicken their cadence against the New York Tar."

The Sinister Wittiness of Australians!

So as I continue my ramblings while abroad… I must apologize for any incoherency you might find in this letter- it is 4am here on St. Patrick’s Day and for some odd reason I’ve decided it’s imperative I inscribe installment 3 right now- while my brain is a ticking!

St. Patrick’s day in Sydney isn’t all that different from any other large city- except one in Ireland, bustling with people attempting to claim they are 100% Irish and feigning terrible Irish accents. I wonder what spending St. Patty’s day in Ireland would be like? Similar to mardigras in New Orleans?

Regular Nourishment:

The food here is delish/questionable. The Thai is amazing! Our main street is lined with various BYOs (bring your own wine!!!) A few nights a week my girlfriends and I stop off to purchase a ten dollar bottle of New Zealand Sav la Blanc- and cozy ourselves into our favorite, The Spicy Box. For the interesting part: The 3am food of choice is a meat-pie. Yes- I know- us Americans associate pie with fruits or crèmes- dessert yumminess. Occasionally we think of a quiche or very rarely we remember the pock-pie from Boston Market eons ago, but a meat-pie? Heavens No, it sounds like a punishment for prisoners. So just like Aussies and Europeans call the “loo” a toilet- the term “Meat-pie” doesn’t render a sour expression here at all! There are little shops dedicated to the meat-pie, cooked with mystery-beef/pork/???? The guys gobble these hand-held delicacies by the dozens, which is repugnant to the girls (aka: Me!) who avoid hot-dogs, even at fourth of July.


The Sinister Wittiness of the Locals:

Assuming us abroad students are dull and foreign to humor entirely- the study abroad guys (all handsome Aussies searching for the gorgeous American gal- to be their pal for a definitive 6 months) heave sarcasm at us, while at the same time incessant compliments! These guys are so smooth and tell stories and Australian with such sincerity and vigor- how would we know they are just gauging how gullible we are?

So last night I learned (wink-wink) during the dry season the Koala bears get drunk on Eucalyptus trees- the Eucalyptus leaves produce an alcohol, so the poor Koala bears get hallucinogenic, tumble to the ground from their perches, and tall Aussie’s are hired to put the fallen ones back on the trees.
All of us girls oohed and ahhhed at the empathy of these Koala caregivers… until one of the guys could not contain his laughter, spoiling the image all of us had of a Koala in the strong arms of an Aussie. Erupting in sinister chortling- us American’s were a lost cause and targets of their arid sense of humor. And because I’m SO not in the market for a 6 month Aussie boyfriend (I’m quite complacent with my amazing boyfriend at home) I’ve made it my goal to retort in a spicy tongue- giving these Aussie’s a taste of their own malicious sarcasm.

An example I’m very proud of occurred yesterday: When telling an Aussie I was from Denver… he exclaimed in a very interested voice, “Really? I actually have a good friend that is from Denver.”
Trying to formulate a strategy that would leave one of these Aussies aghast of my ability to outwit them… I reply to his comment with a fabricated fascination, “Who is it? I might know them?”
Naively saying the name, “Brian Walters.”
Taking a stab, I thought of the most common looking guy, “Wait a second . . . is he sort of tall with brown hair???”
Gleefully buying that I actually knew his friend (Come on in a city of 3 million) he grew excited, “Yes, Yes, That is him.”
Remorsefully staring off into space, I slowly whispered, “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss.”
“Wait, Wait… what are you talking about?” He slowly pieced together what I was saying.
“Didn’t you know that Brian died?”
“Wait What?”
Feeling the triumph of my successful jaunt, I fessed up, “Ha-ha I don’t actually know your friend…come on, can’t you take a joke?”
Without guilt I sauntered into the next room… my inner dialogue asking, “Auna who are you turning into? Is this country really bringing out this horrible side in you?” And then I thought again… that was hilarious!

Outdoor Activities:

Clouds have lately taken residence in the sky- covering up any sun. I believe my skin is paler here than it was in Colorado, in the dead of winter. All of us study abroad students are rather confused there is a lack of sunshine- we believed when coming to Australia laying out would be a daily ritual, whereas toting an umbrella was not!

Beach sitting is really fun mostly for the people watching. I am unsure if there is anything more entertaining then watching an older couple in their usually matching swimsuits walking down the beach together (most likely a couple that retired here) totally smitten. Or there is always innocent couple in their early teens… sort of holding hands… nervous that maybe they shouldn’t like the opposite gender quite yet. Reaching over to pick up the random seashell, shining it off with his hand and presenting to her as a small gift. My second favorite is seeing the children sometimes naked, kicking sand with tiny feet. The parents always parents trying to relax, yet watch their playful children with angst. Whenever tiny kid voices speak with squeaky Australian accents, they seem to sound so smart and well behaved. How I reached this conclusion: I haven’t a clue.

Drum roll. . . . My all time favorite beach pastime: I think its uber fun to watch the Europeans (usually German) throw a Frisbee in itsy bitsy Speedo’s. I enjoy watching them not for any pleasure derived from watching the rock hard figures flex and flaunt much pampered muscles, but because they are men with shaved heads that take this Frisbee tossing ridiculously seriously. Weaving and skipping through the labyrinth of basking bodies… these guys run after that plastic plate similar to how a lab would run after a bone. And, so the entertainment value is high when they miss or trip into the sand, yes slightly disgusted with myself… I promise if any of you would see these Frisbee tossers on “German’s funniest home videos” it would be difficult not to chuckle.

On to the academia at University of New South Wales:

The population 40,000! The campus is so large I often meander the matching buildings, like a lost pup, searching for my classrooms. This being my fourth University and by far largest- the maps with arrows, helping you locate your attempting location by red “you are here” are life-size! The tropical trees and immense flowers remind me of Rodeo drive… although the immense focus required to understand my professors Australian enunciation has reminded me of my actual whereabouts.

Cheers!