when its time to let go…

Okay…so the go cold turkey on the smoking didnt quite work out this round. I managed to last two days before my emotions blew out of control and I caved in, begging Darks to buy me a packet. I was juuuuust about there too. If I had hung in there one more day, that ‘its the end of the world’ mind frame that I find myself in when I havent had a hit of nicotine would have passed. The shakes would have subsided. The urge to kill Darks for no reason other than being himself would have lessened. Pfffft…and I thought I had some semblance of control over my mind. In the nicotine area, my control sucks. The first three days are the hardest, no shit. But…I’m working on it. As I do.

But even though I havent managed to end the nicotine spree just yet, something else has come to an end. And not quite abruptly, if I might add. When the reality hit, it never really came as a surprise to me and, if I were to hazard a guess, I don’t think it will come as a surprise to anyone really. Least of all me and Darks.

Me and Darks. Chalk and cheese. Night and Day. He the logical, me the emotional. He the popular, me the loner. He the responsible and open, me the reckless and secretive. He all cold and detached on the inside, and me forever burning with emotions that, right up until this day, he has never been able to fully comprehend. They say opposites attract, and that’s us – thats always been us. Even after some ten plus years, nothings changed. Only difference is we have alot more calmer way of dealing with situations now. No more scrapping it out, no more screaming and shouting and throwing things at each other. No more running off for days on end, or at least on my part. Old age and maturity I think. In that way, me and Darks have grown so much. But the core issues are still there. Always have been, and if I stay, they always will be.

In a way, I think Dark is going to be very relieved when he realizes that I am summoning up every ounce of courage I can muster to finally let him go. Even though this isn’t exactly out of the blue, as we’ve been talking about it for a year, I still sense that he’s going to be hurt. But I also sense that hes going to be ok. As for me…well, there are times when I feel I’ll be just fine. Then there are times like now, where I feel lost and uncertan and harbour this gigantic fear of being without the one person I could always rely on to be there for me when life got dicey. I’ll be surprised if loosening my hold over this relationship for good doesn’t kill me. Its been pretty much the only constant thing in my life, and the only semblance of stability I have, even if I do spend countless of hours each day trying to understand where hes coming from, where I’m coming from, and wondering how the hell we’re supposed to find the middle ground amongst it all.

Twelve years of doing that…and I just cant do it anymore. I’ve exhausted all my efforts and have finally thrown in the towel. I have nothing more to give. I cant keep fighting it, or denying the obvious, nor can I make this relationship into something that it is not. And I can’t hush that inner voice anymore, the one that has always blasted me with that truth over the years despite my stubborn refusal to hear it. Even if I did cover my ears and refuse to listen to it then, I’m listening to it now. And its slowly but surely beginning to sink right in.

Its never easy for me to let go of something that means so much to me. Thats always been me. I’ve been clinging onto Darks like hes my life raft – my anchor – the only one that can keep me from drowning. The people I consider close to me – my friends and my family – they only know me to a certain extent. They know only what I choose to let them see. Darks – he knows all of me. He knows me in all my uncensored glory. He can see what lies beneath the many different layers, and can read through the many veils of pretense that I can drape over myself on any given day. Pretty ironic, how I let the walls come down for him, and pretty much gave him the key to my heart and everything that lay within. And hes the only one I’ve ever really let in, truly and completely. Yet he still doesn’t seem to understand me. But I understand him. I understand his needs and his wants, and feel like I’ve supported him accordingly. And with each day that goes by, I’m coming to understand about him the most important aspect of all. That he is never going to change. And neither am I.

I think a big part of why I’m scared to let him go has more to do with me than him. Actually, when I think about it, its probably the absolute reason. I have a hard time accepting the real me sometimes. At times, I confuse even myself. I have days where I question and doubt myself so much that it drives me crazy. And because I spend so much time on that wavelength, I naturally presume that others are thinking along the same lines. But I’m learning to get over it. As for Darks, he may have never understood me. Nevertheless, I always felt like he accepted me – exactly as I was. I fear of never experiencing that acceptance again. But I’m working on learning to accept myself, which, I think, is going to be the hardest – yet most profound lesson of all.

But the pain…oh…like razor blades slicing away at my heart. It aches yet now knows that what I want can never be. But…I’m determined to get through it, because getting ‘through it’ is something I’m good at doing, so I take a bit of comfort in that. I think I’ll always love this guy. And if I could write a list about the things I’ve learnt from him, that list would be a page long. Being with him has not only been an honour and a privilege, but it has also been the greatest learning experience of my life. Though we are currently under the same roof, the gap between us is already beginning to widen, so its now only a matter of time. Despite the heaviness in my heart, and despite the turmoil going on inside my head, I know I have to fade out of his life somehow, and see it through to its inevitable conclusion. He will be ok. And, I think, so will I.


Its all about…

Being YOU






Imperfection – nobody is PERFECT


Keep the faith


Making memories

Not giving up

Overcoming obstacles

Pushing yourself when things get TOUGH

Quiet, yet solid self-CONFIDENCE


STRIVING for what you want

Taking each day as it comes

Understanding and empathy for others




Zest for living!

Hairy Catepillars and Google

I had a close encounter with death this morning.  And it wasn’t the least bit amusing…at the time.  I woke this morning at the ungodly hour of nine o clock, which is a world record for me, as I have trouble rolling out of bed at ten.  After congratulating myself for improving my horrendous sleeping habits by at least one hour,  I stumble out of bed, trudge my frame into the kitchen and, with coffee on the brain, flick the kettle on.

I decide to go outside to breath in early morning fresh air while I am waiting for the kettle to boil.  It’s still kind of semi-dark due to overcast clouds, but in my just-woke-up-and feeling-kind-of-disoriented state, I am under the impression that it is six o clock in the morning just because it so happens to look like it.  I know  the early morning of the first of this month of 2013 has come and gone, but shit.  No harm in pretending.  I only imagine that it is six in the AM because I can’t remember the last time I woke up that early.  I really can’t.  I’m not sure what six o clock in the morning even looks like anymore, but I assume it looks something like this.

So then I paddle back into the kitchen, make my beloved coffee, then walk back out into the garage to enjoy the peace and the fresh air.  And I didn’t notice it, slyly crouching down on the concrete.  It was about the size of my thumb. To be honest, it looked like the fur off one of babies fluffy toys so I didn’t pay it much mind. And also, as I said up there somewhere, my just-woke-up-and-feeling-kind-of-disorientated buzz is still, at this point, very much valid.

And then suddenly it moved.  And even though it was only a little piece of fur, I couldn’t have got a bigger fright if IT the clown jumped around the corner and yelled boo.  I screamed a big fat ‘argggh’ and had  to shift my weight suddenly, because I very nearly stood on the furry ‘thing’ with my barefoot.  In the process, I almost sprained an ankle.  And then my coffee decides to go flying out of my hand and, in a flurry to save it,  I slipped, knocked my head on a nearby chair and manage to sprain my ankle anyway.

As I lay there, head kind of throbbing, coffee spurted all over me and all over the ground, I watched the ‘furry thing’ quickly make its way towards the table.  In my messed-up state, it looks like it is laughing at me, the evil fur ball, and I am reminded of that tune in Halloween when Jamie Lee Curtis is getting ready to open the shower curtain.  I stare at it, stand up, stare some more and think to myself what the fuck is that?

So I rush inside, grab a camera, rush back outside and take a pic of it.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  After taking the pic, I decide I’m going to put it in a jar and show Darkman when he gets home from work.  Except when I come outside, Nescafe jar in hand, the fur ball has completely disappeared!

Which means that, until I find it, or until I drag every table, chair and couch out of the garage and hunt it down, baby probably won’t be going out there anymore, and I will probably take to smoking my cigarettes out the front of the house from now on.

I jumped on Google as soon as I had the chance and found out that this’ hairy caterpillar, or the Ochrogaster Luifer (its flashy name) are not as uncommon as I presumed.  They have this thing where they spit venom, which isn’t as poisonous as, say, a Red Back sting. but it was still rather dismaying to read because there could possibly be one in our shed.  They are everywhere in Australia, and that seems so odd to me because, in the whole six months I’ve been here, I aint never heard no mention of Hairy Catepillars.  Redbacks, Huntsmans, toads and frogs yes.  But hairy catepillars.  No way.  And ones that sting?  Hmmm….okay.

Which brings me to the whole point of this post.  It has nothing to do with catepillars by the way.  If you know me by now, then you should know how unpredictable and wishy washy my writing can be.  Hence the name, the yoyoblogger.  I chop change subjects because I can. I chop change writing styles because I can.  And because, well, because it is MY BLOG.

So anyway, hairy Catepillars, that was just sort of the instigator.  GOOGLE is the topic.  After the hairy catepillar incident, and after reading up about five Google-fied posts about hairy caterpillars, I got to pondering about Google because in all the time I have owned this laptop (3 months coming up) it strikes me that my Google does not know me.  At all.  So I spend a good twenty minutes this morning fooling around with Google, and laughing and clicking into links I’d never been into before, and continuously being baffled because of the Auto Suggestions that jumped out at me.  I was going to upload screenshots, but the picture was too small.  So I am just going to write them out instead.  Because, as I said…it is MY BLOG.


WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – FAT, SICK AND DEAD….(about a man called Joe Cross.  Was rather inspiring)


WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – DUCKFACE SPAGHETTI…??? (not an actual recipe.  More like girls doing the duckface…while eating spaghetti.  The mind boggles huh?)


WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – CREEPY PASTA (holy shit, a site about creepy stories!  On another note, nothing whatsoever to do with pasta)


WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – WEED BROWNIES (a first thumbs up.  Must try this recipe one day)


WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – INTERCOURSE TIMING CALCULATOR (no you won’t get tips on how to last longer when having sex…but you might get pregnant?)

WHAT I TYPED – SLUT (I was bored, okay)

WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – SLUTWALK PERTH (Woman in Perth walking to raise awareness for sexual assault victims.  Wow.  Gives the word ‘slut’ a whole new meaning)


WHAT GOOGLE FIRST SUGGESTED – THE FIVE NEEDS OF LIFE (food, water, oxygen, living space, proper temperature.  A Q&A WIKI thing. Not the exact ‘needs’ I had in mind)

Conclusion?  Google, you don’t know JACK about me boy!  BUT interesting links I found nevertheless.

I really, really need to get out of the house more.

A girl named KC

My lesbian days are well-known to those who knew me so, in a way, I guess you wouldn’t call this a skeleton exactly.  Back in the day, experimenting and (uh-hmm)) getting ‘down’ with females was sort of like a hobby to me, and one I enjoyed immensely.  I can count on two hands the number of females I’ve hopped into bed with, and have no fingers left over.  Thats how into it I was.

When I think about it, it had nothing to do with being fiddled with when I was younger (I’ll pull that skeleton out later on sometime) nor was it some kind of sinister hatred against men.  To put it bluntly, I just found the female form more attractive than a male’s.  Even now, when I see a beautiful woman walk by, I’m more likely to be staring along with Darkman rather than slapping him on the back of the head.  And though I hold fond memories of that phase in my life, I know I’ll never go back there.  Darkman has made his position clear on this one (he’s very square which, I think, explains it,) and also, you can’t fool around forever.  You gotta grow up and draw the line at some stage of your life.

I started my farming career on a small farm in Ngakuru, which is some fifteen kilometres North of Rotorua.  And this is when I met KC.  Every Friday, our Agriculture Course met up in Ngongotaha for units and assignments.  On one of these days, it was lunch break, and I went doodling to a nearby shop alone, mainly because I was hungry, and mainly because, of all the guys on my farming course, I didn’t get on with a single one of them.  I sat in the takeaway store,  waiting for fish and chips and pretending to text someone on my phone, when I heard a voice say,  “Is this yours aye?”

I looked up and KC stood before me.  The first thing I remember thinking was that that soft, melodic tone of a voice didn’t seem to suit the person it belonged to.  The second thing I noticed was the chinese symbols tattooed on her wrists and the multiple piercings she had embedded in her lips, chin, her cheeks and all up her ear lobes.  And the third thing I noticed was that, despite the fact that she looked for all the world like a child that belonged to Ozzy Osbourne,  she was very attractive.  Maybe a bit too slim, though.  Jet black hair that was mainly slicked to one side, fair skin and deep green eyes that seemed haunted and dark, despite the friendliness in there.  I’d seen that look before.  Ages ago.  It was the look I use to see every time I looked into the mirror.  Dead eyes.  Eyes looking for a way out because life, this life, was just too hard to hold onto.

She held a crumpled twenty-dollar in her hand.  Someone must have dropped it on the concrete outside.  I shook my head and remember saying to her “your shout,” to which she threw back her head and laughed.  She placed an order, sat down opposite me, and began talking.  Which was kind of embarrassing, as I had left my hearing aids in my bag, and couldn’t hear shit.

“Oh shit sorry,”  she said, practically yelling it out when I told her about my hearing issues.  Then she said, just as loud “I have borderline disorder, so we’re even huh?” And I remember thinking to myself how is it that you compare borderline disorders to being deaf? I didn’t say it out loud though, only because the ching behind the counter was staring at us oddly, as if we were two aliens from another planet.

She paid for my fish and chips with the lost and found twenty-dollar note, and we swapped numbers.  I waltzed back into class where the boys were having a debate about heifer cows and how to avoid being kicked.  I hadn’t even sat down when my phone went off. I jabbed the message button.  It was KC.  ‘Boo.  Do you miss me yet?LOL’

That was the beginning of our affair.  We spent a whole week sending messages back and forth.  They started out innocent at first.  Until she sent me this message,

‘You know your pretty hot?  You know that, don’t you?  I want some of that hotness on my tongue.’

And so things got pretty hot and heavy after that.  Saucy messages filled with sexual suggestions were fired back and forth.  It was kind of exhilarating for me because, even though I’d had plenty of one-night stands with women, they were mostly always drunken trysts that were never talked about again.  But here was one girl who was chasing me down and seemed intent on getting it on with me, drunk or not. I knew, right from the start, that the girl was trouble.  Sometimes her messages veered on the edge of plain crazy.  I remember this one came, just two nights after I met her.

‘I feel like I’ve known you my all my life.  Don’t go to bed yet.  Stay with me.  Please.’

I picked her up the following week, and took her down to the lakefront.  And I have to say, she certainly knew what she was dong when it came to pleasing a woman!

We lasted for about half a year.  As the months passed, I got to know her more and realised that she was, as I’d first suspected, very suicidal indeed.  She had jagged scars up her arms from where she’d cut herself.  One night, we were parked outside the lake front.  The rain was pounding down hard.  The windows were all fogged up from  our lovemaking.  She hadn’t even put her clothes back on when suddenly she was grabbing me by the hand, and asking me if I wanted to go ‘home’ with her.  I knew what she was talking about, but pulled my hand away and tried to laugh it off.  She then jumped out of the car and I remember watching in horror as her skinny little white form drifted towards the water.  I jumped out and, while the rain was pounding us both, struggled to hold her back when she would heedlessly throw herself in the water – and probably drown.  I yanked at her arm, yelled at her, slapped her face a couple of times, and in the end, just held her as she collapsed in my arms and cried.

She wanted to die.  She’d said it enough times before, but it was only on that rainy night when I realised just how much. She wasn’t just talking crap.  She was dead serious.

To be honest, dealing with her was very emotionally draining.  I tried so hard to talk to her.  Her father sexually abused her constantly when she was a little girl, and her mother sent her to her uncles here in Rotorua – because she didn’t believe her own daughter.  I told KC her mother was an idiot and I was constantly at her to report her bastard of a father.  I encouraged her to jump on my farming course when she expressed an interest in it.  I told her that she was beautiful because, when she wasn’t acting all crazy and hyper, she was.  I tried with her, I really did, but it was like talking to a brick wall.  I’d been there and done that, so what did I expect?  Seriously…how do you talk to someone like that?  What would I have said to my younger self when I was going through all that shit that could have lifted me out of my depression?  What are you meant to say to people these days, people that can’t handle life and feel like they don’t deserve to be here?  Back then, when I had KC in my life, I was at a loss as to what to do to help her.  Because the truth was,  I didn’t know how to help her anymore than I knew how to help myself.

In the end, I had to pull myself away from her.  It was either that – or go down with her, and I wasn’t ready to go down.  But I did manage to pull myself up again.  There are days when that same old depression comes creeping up on me, but I  I’m strong enough to deal with it now.  As for KC.  I heard, through an old friend of mine in Rotorua, that she finally got her wish.  She died sometime in 2011.  She would have been 27 that year.  I’m not sure exactly how she died, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was by her own hand.  Of course, there’s that part of me that accepts some of the guilt.  I could have done more to help her.  But I can confidently say that the guilt is only minimal now.  Because if there’s one thing I’ve realised, it’s that you can’t help people who can’t help themselves.  No matter how hard you try.

The world can be a cold, harsh place to some, but I’m living proof that it can – and it does get better.  The main regret I have when it comes to my friend, KC – and to all the people out there who have succeeded in taking their own life – is that they didn’t live long enough to realise just how beautiful life can be.  All you have to do is hang on to it.  Firmly and tightly and with both hands.

I think about her now and then.  This is probably going to be a selfish thing to say, but I totally believe that, wherever she is now, she is probably far better off.  I say that because some people are just too good for this world that can, at times, show you no mercy.  I don’t believe in suicide.  But I do believe that KC is in a better place, even if she did kill herself. So, from me to a very dear friend – I just want to say R.I.P beautiful girl.  No more bearing the sins of your fucked-up parents, no more hefty burdens on your tiny little shoulders. Just…free now.

Free to be anything you want to be.




New Zealand

No more working…only living…

I remember the exact moment the epiphany hit me. It was like something had fallen down hard on my head, stunning me into a sort of reverie that lasted for two whole weeks. I had just moved to Swan View, Perth, with my baby.  Six months prior, I was living with my brother in Newman, a little rugged red town in the middle of the Pilbara. Oh my god, I really hated it there.  Which is going off topic, I know, but I’ve just got to emphasise that I really hated that place. Like really hated the place. With a passion.

Anyway, back to the epiphany. So me and my baby had just arrived in Swan View, where my baby’s father, and on/off  now officially back on boyfriend, had been residing since February. We both came to Australia with big plans, lured away from the comforts of our beloved but economically useless home town of Opotiki, in search of a better life. The day I finally got out of the Pilbara and landed in Swan View was a fortuitous day for me. My head was bursting at the seams with all kinds of big plans. Getting a job. Making twenty plus an hour doing manual labour (a rarity in New Zealand, unless your qualified at some trade). Giving my baby more opportunities, having money, saving money, spending money and all that jazz. The first thing I did was go all-out-mother-effing craaazy trying to set us up in our own place and find a job that will do for now. Which I did, in record time. I’d found a really nice place  and landed an easy as 1-2-3 job stacking shelves at Woolworths, in just two weeks – no lie. My man was already working, making security doors at Westral, so the transition into our own place, and into an exciting new independent life was a smooth one.

“…Me and my boyfriend both came to Australia with big plans, lured away from the comforts of our beloved, but economically useless hometown of Opotiki, in search of a better life…”

The job I snagged wasn’t all that glorious  the people I worked with were even less so. But it was a job. Pay was twenty-two dollars an hour. The work was physical, but that was fine because I loved physical work. The boss was Indian-Fijian, and to this day, I still don’t know what her name is. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was one of those complicated, hard to pronounce Indian names. Blame it on my hearing. It’s excellent. So excellent, I have to wear hearing aids. You get my meaning.

I think it started during my last week there. The stirring of something unpleasant in my gut. It didn’t take long for the initial excitement to wear off. For one thing, going to work amongst a group of really unhappy-looking people began to bug me. Everyone has bad hair days. We’re entitled to them, right? But when a large majority of your co-workers can’t summon the strength to smile, walk around the place with dead, blood-shot looking eyes from erratic sleeping patterns, push trolleys and stack shelves like automated robots while giving off the impression that life has somehow cheated them, that’s gotta be worse than just a bad hair day man. The atmosphere was, to put it bluntly, just down-right depressing. I only lasted there three weeks, and it had nothing to do with the job itself. Maybe I just read it wrong but, judging by the high employee turnover, I doubt it.

It was getting me down big time.  In all my working life (and let me tell you, I’ve had some shit bosses) I’d never had this problem before. I’d get home from work, plop myself in front of the TV, weary and despondent, wandering, always wandering what the hell I was doing. I don’t why the attitude of some people bugged me, but it did. It bugged me relentlessly. I mean, I had enough going on in my own backyard, who gives a flying fox what’s going on in the next person’s? Truth was…I did. A little more than I should, actually.

I believe it was an unfavourable incident that happened after my last night shift that really made me go for the kill. We didn’t (and still don’t) have a car, so I had to catch the bus to and from work three times a week. I didn’t mind. Coming from a small rural town with more hills and cows than people, it was actually an adventure. Until that night I stood in the dark waiting for the eleven thirty bus. A black car with tinted windows, trembling with the Bass of some god-forsaken music I’d never heard of before, pulled up beside me. The occupants of the car were friendly at first, then insistent when I refused their offer to take me home. I suppose what followed could probably be highlighted as one of the most startling moments of my life, and there’s been more than a few of those. If it weren’t for the Maori dude who was asleep in his cappy in the loading bay of Woolworth’s, I probably would have been toast. He came to my rescue, scared the white boys off, and sat and talked to me until my bus came. Top guy. I didn’t get his name (thanks again to my awesome hearing skills) but one day, I hope to find him and send him a card or something. You know, just to say thank you.

I never went back to Woolworth’s after that. And two weeks later, I realized something else. The epiphany. That I didn’t want to work for anyone else. Ever. I see the bigger picture. It’s been there all along, but in the background, murky and unfocused.  It’s clear as crystal now. I don’t fancy spending the rest of my life working my butt off to make someone else’s dream come true. I don’t want to be an automated robot, walking around with bloodshot eyes thanks to erratic sleeping patterns, or pushing trolleys and shelves and looking as if life has cheated me somehow. Then you got people higher up in the ranks, mercilessly competing with each other, gotta have the latest, man. The latest Holden, the latest iPhone, the latest iPad. Worrying about whose kid has the trendiest gear, and which house is the biggest house on the block. And let’s not forget those that struggle from pay check to pay check, taking on anything they can get solely just to put food in the cupboards. People everywhere, everywhere, all over the bloody globe, always on the go, go, go, working themselves to the bone and neglecting the one and only thing that can help them be truly happy. Their dreams.

“I don’t fancy spending the rest of my life working my butt off to make someone else’s dream come true…people everywhere, everywhere, all over the globe, always on the go…working themselves to the bone and neglecting the one thing that can truly make them happy – their dreams.”

This is the norm. This is society. I’ve never believed in its path, but what I do believe, now more than ever, is that I think it’s high time I follow my own path. Because one day, when I’ve completely freed myself from the chains of society, I want to help others break free, too. Thats my ultimate goal. I want to help people resurrect and begin living their dreams.

But first, I’ve gotta resurrect and start living my own.

When I talked to my man, he was, understandably against it. I told him I finished at my job. He didn’t make too much noise at first. Until I told him I wasn’t looking for another job ever, and then he thought I was joking. I told him no, I wasn’t kidding, not even a little, and that I planned to stay home and do what I’ve wanted to do since I was chubby pre-teen. I plan to write. He yelled. He accused me of being lazy and unmotivated to work. He threatened that he wasn’t giving me any money for anything, smokes included. I told him I plan to give up to which his reply was a scoff (understandable, because I’m always trying to give up). His next objection was that it was a waste of time us being here in Australia if I wasn’t going to go to work. I reminded him that we were here, not just for ourselves, but for baby too. With the PSA vine disease threatening the Opotiki and NZ economy, and pregnancies on the rise at an alarming rate in our home town, you don’t gotta be a genius to figure out that there was no future there.

He’s thawed a little since then. It’s probably going to take some time before I can get him to trust me on this one.  In my heart, my soul, my gut, and every other anatomical part of me, I know I’m onto something good here.