having a gay husband in india

Pushkar Lake Sunrise

I met Farrel years ago as I went for my job interview at Naked Communications. I remember thinking how kind he was as he wished me luck and I smiled to myself as I realised how camp he was. Admittedly I may have admired his beauty and I cringe to myself at the idea of checking out Farrel now as gorgeous as that man is. On my first day, he led me to the kitchen and gave me my first ever Argentinean mate. Next thing I knew I was in a workshop for a biscuit company and buzzing confidently with the biggest caffeine high ever and spilling with ideas. Farrel became one of my closest friends in Sydney and I was fortunate enough to stay with him post-breakup. One day, when I explained that my four-year visa in Sydney was up and that I was thinking of what to do about it, he got down on one knee and proposed to me.

“Marry me Jessica”, he said romantically, “I have always wanted a British passport”. He clumsily knelt on the bed that we had been snuggled up in watching something profound from Eckhart Tolle.

“Dude, I love you, but you are totally gay. The visa people will interview us and know immediately that it's fake!” I laughed.

“What? People tell me I don’t sound gay” he said.  I wondered to myself 'which one of us is naive here?'. Farrel and I never formally married but when he decided to pass through India en route to his move to Israel, he gladly took on the role of gay husband. My very, very, gay husband, especially when he cackled and of course, what did we do together the most? Laugh. We even found ourselves doing laughing yoga.

Raz-ma-taz

Having a husband in India seemed rather practical. At my age, most women outside of the major cities are already popping out sprogs and hence, there’s a sense that there’s something wrong with a woman in her late twenties if she’s not been married off. Thankfully Farrel, my gorgeous gay husband loved to hold my hand and tell everyone about our family together. Sometimes I would feel incredibly on the spot as I’d realise he’d been spinning so many tales that I was unable to even know the names of my apparent three-year-old son and newborn child. He really took the role of stand in husband seriously. The attention I was getting was quite bizarre. The glares and stares from the locals. People were asking for my photo and the local men’s attention was exhausting. I later discovered that I had a strong resemblance of a Pakistani Bollywood actress much to my husband’s frustration as Farrel soon felt like he was going out with a celebrity.

Krishna, a lovely gentleman who made real chai in the small village of Bundi took a special shine to me that may have got a little tainted on one visit when my “husband” shouted at me for not ordering him his second round of chai.

“Right, that’s it, divorce!” he shouted playfully, little did I know that we had an audience as I went to kick him only to hear the shouts of Krishna in absolute horror as he witnessed a wonderful wife going for her husband with her feet. A blatant display of disrespect, especially given the use of my feet and how Farrel loved the display he’d created.

“Respect me wife” he said with a coy grin.

“You bastard” I whispered back to him as I played the humiliated and abiding wife and ordered him his goddamn chai.

Pushkar Lake blessing

One morning Farrel and I forced ourselves to peal out of bed and trek up the hill before sunrise where a beautiful temple stood overlooking the Holy lake and town of Pushkar. The story of Pushkar’s lake made me laugh in a sad way.  It's the most sacred lake of the Hindus. The Hindu scriptures describe as it as "Tirtha-Raj" – the king of pilgrimage sites related to a water-body and it is associated with the mythology of the creator-god Brahma. However, in recent years due to pollution, this Holy Lake had got so lined by plastic waste that the powers that be brought in the diggers and removing the waste along with the ancient Holy lakes basin. The lake drained itself of its sacred waters and left no alternative, I guess, but to line the basin with concrete and get the hoses out. It was beautiful nevertheless but the story spoke to me in volumes of the ignorance that seems to disease our world and consequently our lands, even the most revered evidently.

dog karma

Watching the sunrise over the town was beautiful and as Farrel and I enjoyed a masala chai. We admired glow of light through our squinted tired eyes. Suddenly Farrel freaked out and I saw him kick the dog next to him.

“No you f*ckin' mongrel!” he yelled at the cheeky dog that had popped his eager nose in to Farrel’s mug in his frustrated gay voice. 

“Farrel, don’t kick him!” I said in the dog’s defence. “You’ll get bad dog karma” I joked.

And what a joke it was as within moments the recently beaten dog was hitching his hind leg up over Farrel’s jacket and marking his territory by urinating all over it. 

I could not stop laughing at the scene.

“And that’s instant karma” he said.

facing the challenges of being a dreamer

"All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them" - Walt Disney

I am in the 'make your dreams come true' business. Going from 'reality' to 'reality' and traveling to different places around the world has been a brilliant opportunity to help me open my mind to endless possibilities. In a very practical sense however, while it is all very good and well being a witness to different experiences and feeling inspired by the faces, the paradigms, the worlds, the lessons etc. things also need to get done.

There can be so many ideas that fill the mind with "and then I can do this... and then I can do that" which is a wonderful place to be in (as someone who also remembers what it feels like to be stuck and uninspired) but I have found the challenge comes in when making these inspirations manifest. In making ideas real. In the doing. In walking the talk. In fundamentally putting in the work, screwing self-doubt and procrastination while focusing on some goals and taking responsibility for your life i.e. taking the helm and contributing to the world.

I am always learning and so I can only say from the little time I've had on this planet of how wonderful it is to realise ones potential. I'd love others to do so too.  

Here are some fun tips that I use for any dreamers out there wishing to ground ideas in to reality:

1. Brainstorm, visualise, workshop. Get some post it notes or a note pad and start writing it all down. The ideas. The dreams. The wishes. Ask yourself "what would I do if I knew I could not fail?" Try S.W.O.Ting yourself and working on things that stir your soul and ignite your passion. I've made the notorious mistake of telling so many people about things I want to achieve and have been haunted by those who continue to gently prod me in "so how's this children's book going?" for example. Secretly I am actually grateful for this. Cole from the Ideas Bodega was a very important lady in helping me get unstuck a couple of years ago and her relentless reminders paid off.
2. Select the one's you want to make happen. Pick your favourite ideas and start to flesh them out. Start tearing up magazines and create a dream board for yourself. Embrace your inner child and be creative. Dream. Create. Go blue sky. Think "what would get me fired?" if you have a job or "what would make my work famous?" if you don't (beware of the latter however, it might happen and then you may want to escape from your own name). Curiosity without direction can be a taxing and ultimately unproductive endeavor. Choice is how we tame and channel and direct our curiosity, where we choose to allocate our time and energy, and ultimately, what we choose to pay attention to.
3. Make a game plan. This is where some dreamers get stuck. This is where one steps in to the dreaded time dimension and starts looking at what steps are needed to make these dreams come true. Putting timelines in place. Potentially deadlines to set yourself. Writing a to-do list with empty boxes waiting to be ticked. Write affirmations in the present tense and sticking them to your fridge. Get organised and set yourself up for action. 
4. Inspired action. Small steps towards that goal will take you closer and closer to you living your dream. Its magical when the Universe starts to bend towards making this happen. Its empowering and it makes one realise that anything is possible. When I find I've drifted off from this, I take a deep breath, do some yoga, clear my mind and re-focus on the intention with an affirmation to make it happen while reminding myself that I could die tomorrow. Remember: You've got nothing to lose.

Aligning and being impeccable with one's intentions, words and actions is the ultimate key to being a master dreamer whilst making awesome things happen. It's not always easy and sometimes you might struggle, but putting in work towards designing a life you love is personally one of the most important journey's I've gone on and continue to go on... Perhaps one day I'll even write a book about it...

If you're starting you're own business, feel free to refer to jectaspecta's approach to digital planning.

Keep having faith in yourself. You are awesome.

that time when my mother's worst nightmare came true

Bodhanath, Kathmandu

That night was horrific. Oh my goodness I felt like I’d stepped in to my worst nightmare. It had been three days in Kathmandu when this demonic cramp plagued my being. Myself and Henry the German were doing the three laps of the giant stupa at sunset at Bodhanath. The giant stupa represents the five elements of Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Ether which glowed beautifully as the golden hues dowsed it while pilgrims recited “Om mani padme hum” circling around it. It was meant to be a special, pensive meditation while spinning wheels and making some positive affirmations. It was meant to be in my mind, but the truth was a sickness was falling over my body that was taking my concentration away and breaking me out in sweats. My head was so light that at moments I thought I might pass out on a Tibetan Buddhist monk and cause what could potentially be a tragically embarrassing ‘foreign freak’ moment amidst a praying congregation. I took some breaths before spending the rest of the sunset at a restaurant racing between the bathroom and an awkward chat with Henry with this epic backdrop of a glowing candle lit Stupa in the background.

This night a savage sickness had taken over and as I lay in my guesthouse bed sweating and spinning, I mustered the energy to head downstairs to get water from the very cheap and dirty guesthouse’s water filter only to find it empty. Mingma, the owner, took a look at me and his face said it all. Next thing I knew I had him sat next to me, as I lay horizontal on my bed next to a saucepan of water having my brow mopped over and over. He gave me some medicine and tried to keep me alert. I couldn’t work out whether he was over reacting or if I was actually on my deathbed. This is where my naivety has seriously played to my advantage because at no point did I genuinely freak out when I was having such kind attention. The Chillean boys, Jose and Daniel walked past and seeing me in my sick bed, said something gorgeous to me in Spanish along the lines of “Ok hermanita, we will make sure the sound is kept down”. “No, no” I replied wearily “I really like your music”. And those Chillean boys were so gorgeous, we had sat together on the rooftop singing songs, playing instruments and talking about the monastery I wanted to visit in the Everest region of the Himalayas only the night before.

I persuaded Mingma to let me try to sleep and before long was out like a very-nearly-but-not-aware-of-it corpse. Until this moment. This horrific moment when I woke up with the intense desperation to explode out of my backside with absolutely zero energy and hallucinating in a sweat. I stumbled up and my head spun as I fumbled down the shadowed hallway to the toilet. The power was down. No lights were to be seen, just glares from a couple of street flood lights through the ornate windows. I perched on the toilet and with a giant exhaustive sigh, relieved my body of whatever it was that needed an out. And half collapsed on my hovering shaking knees. “This is not fun” I am sure I would have said to myself. And shortly after a remark would have followed along the lines of “This is hell” as I realised that the toilet had decided not to flush. “Nooooo” a little whining why-me moment spilled over me, I just couldn’t believe the nightmare, no lights, no water; other guests. Dear Lord, I realised I was leaving my little explosion in the toilet with absolutely no way to wash it down and the prospect of sharing the experience so graphically with fellow guests had my British prudishness cringing in horror.

I spent the following 2 hours doing the same exhaustive stomach quenching runs switching between the three toilets, in the hope that one of them would have at least some dribbles of water to clear away the waste alas to no avail. Towards the end of my painful stomach cramps, it was about which toilet was the nearest and when I finally found myself squatting on the saucepan next to my bed because I couldn’t physically get on my feet, the grown up in me said to herself “Jess, you know, this is pretty bad.”

I felt terrifically horrid the next morning when I overheard one of the guests shouting at Mingma “This place is disgusting. I can’t stay here, the toilets…” and I shut my ears, hid under my sheet and cringed to the German girls angry shouts at the poor owner. I peered beneath the bed and saw the saucepan, it wasn’t a nightmare despite my senses being too numb to even consider the look and smell of what I’d left there and a part of me that realised that I was in a bad way. I spent that day in bed and had a kind visit from Otto from Finland, a lovely gentleman I befriended on my first day in KTM and shared the most awesome night stroll through the jetblacks of Kathmandu's curfewed streets and sitting on the temple steps having a DIY yak cheese sandwich at midnight. We put the world to right that night.  As I write this I realise, yes it was the Yak cheese that gave me a terrible stomach. Oh bless him he felt bad. I just told myself it was some crazy karma that I had to experience but actually, I’m thinking now it was probably the cheese. “Same, same, but different” as they say in Thailand I had to surrender to it nevertheless. Anyway, the same man who may have been an accomplice in my own food poisoning came with some medicine to ease the demons grasp on my being. At first I questioned whether to take it or not. I’d realised the strength the body built when going through sickness using the natural remedies but I was wise enough to know when to accept a very kind gesture from a friend in disguise as an angel or the other way round.  I took it and my stomach settled after he forced me to drink some electrolytes.

My legs and the plague

That night, I woke feeling really itchy and as I startled awake I saw a rat scurry by my bed. That’s when I told myself that I should probably find another less grubby guesthouse. Its going to cost me more and I don’t get to play on the rooftop with the Chilleans but the words of my father “health comes first” came to my mind. I didn’t freak out nevertheless - I was far too sick and tired as I slipped back in to the comforts of unconsciousness. The next morning I awoke to see giant welts all over my legs and arms. I gasped. The welts resembled the plague and they itched and hurt like hell.  Some cretin had had an absolute feast on my blood. Again I surrendered to the disbelief that following a night of death a la toilet, I was now suffering from some intensely raw skin disease.

on our way to the organic farm

I showed the Danish girls in the room next door and chatted to them about how its good meditation because seriously there was nothing else I could do beyond observe it and perhaps cry every now and then when it was too uncomfortable. Relentless optimism in hellish moments is such a good medicine for the mind.  I probably should have treated this disease but instead I eagerly went to the organic farm with the Chileans and the Danish girls only to feel weak, sweaty and so ill that I ended up hitch hiking back to the city and falling asleep in the wonderfully air-conditioning car of a kind family that had picked me up. 

the Danish girls

This is how I learn things I guess. How to take care of myself when alone on the road and unfortunately when dealing with the extremities of living; sanitation and survival become much more paramount than being a lady.  Because I was so far from the lady I was when I started travelling at that point and after seeing the hairy legs on the Danish girls I felt inspired to take my boyish unfeminine social rebellion to another level. I didn’t shave for the following 6 months and I didn’t really need to given I ended up living in the Himalayas where hair provided an additional layer of insulation especially when living amongst celibate Tibetan nuns. 

There's an expression "lose yourself, to find yourself" and I wonder if that's the lesson I was really learning here. Because as a British lady one might admit that all the above sounds so rather disgusting and yet, being a human being its actually natural. Shit does happen. One can hide it. Run away from it. Deny it. But it can happen one day and shame the hell out of you... and... hmmm... unfortunately.... the guesthouse owner... 

animal sacrifices in the depths of a valley

One day, I was making treks from the holy hot springs of Kheer Ganga back to Kasol village in Parvati Valley, tucked in the Himalayas of India. I was still working and inspired by the clean up the mountains campaign we were running and was carrying a bag of garbage down with me from Kheer Ganga, one of the many villages that doesn’t have any facilities for garbage management nor roads to get there.  

People were so grateful for the work we were doing that I would often be invited for tea in the local teashops or to stay with families in the area which was a very new and humbling experience. There was a beautiful spot on the trek down where a holy waterfall cascaded alongside a temple, named Rudranath, dedicated to the God Shiva. Here I sat at a little shack having been invited for chai while I overlooked the mountains and the waters that were shimmering with glitter from the minerals buried in the rocks.

I noticed a few local men across the way in their traditional tupi’s and recognised them to be the tribal people of Malana, one of the oldest tribes in the world. These people will not touch a foreigner and there are rumours that they are the descendants of Alexander the Great's army. They are one of the eldest democracies in the world and maintain ancient traditions that make them incredibly unique people’s of the Himalayas.

As I looked over to the waterfall and watched this group of men, I noticed something strange was going on. A wooden post had been erected, there were drums beating and, as I looked harder, I saw red splatters along the ground. They’re doing an animal sacrifice, I realised. My mind went all over the shop if I am honest, a curious part of me wanted to watch and then another part of me was a little disturbed by what I was witnessing, as I sat there on my own nursing a chai with a bag of garbage at my feet. I knew that the traditions of the area could be as culturally surprising to me as the behaviours of westerners can be to the locals and, hence, a mutual respect was there despite meeting one of the most challenging cultural activities thus far witnessed with my naked eyes; an animal's decapitation.

I decided I would wait for the procession to finish in order to continue walking. I turned to look away and nailed my tea. I took some deep breaths and had a moment of “well, I guess that doesn’t happen everyday” to myself as I pondered on what was going on next to me. As if they had heard the voice in my head, a Malana man walked past me to go in to the kitchen of the little tea shack. In his hand he held the head of a lamb by its ears, its beady eye’s staring right at me, as its little tongue hung out of its mouth and a ragged bloody edge lined its throat. “Dear God... I don’t think I can ever eat lamb again” I said to myself a little shaken while wondering what the tea house owner was going to do with the head.

This was not the only sacrifice I saw while I was in the mountains and when I got to the end of my trip 5 months later and was staying with my surrogate family in a little remote village, a larger procession took place where the whole village was celebrating the sacrifice of a goat. I got to a strange place when it came to morality.  These people don’t usually eat meat and survive mostly on rice and beans with vegetable curry. The sacrificed goat was distributed amongst the whole village and a prayer was made for them all. Sure they also made a sing and dance about it but it certainly made the occasion an auspicious one. More than what we might say for the churn, plump and dump factories of the Western world's farming system. 

On the last night I was invited to eat some goat curry and as a guest I didn't refuse despite me being vegetarian. I personally cannot say where I stand with animal sacrifices but certainly being a witness to a lamb's decapitation shook my soul and had my eyes opened to some of the most powerful cultural encounters one has whilst being on tour.

dont hate the player. hate the game.

via Zoe Scaman

I don't really believe in choosing hate. Its such a strong word. Nevertheless there are situations that can really trigger the anger within a person.

Have you ever felt that feeling of intense, frustrating anger at someone or something because, for example:

a.) You're not getting your own way, or

b.) Someone is saying all the right things to push your buttons so you're impermanent personality is being severely offended, or

c.) I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT I HATE THE WORLD RIGHT NOOOOW!!!

Hate tickles all the wrong places and often by all the wrong people. The people you want to love sometimes, behaving like naughty children, like little angels equipped with heartbreak bows and arrows nakedly and innocently stabbing you in all the painful spots while fluttering along unawares. Naughty angels they are and that lovely English idiom "Don't shoot the messenger" really sings true sometimes.

Life does not come with a remote. It cannot always be controlled. Our reactions however can be as can who we choose to engage with.

When hate comes knocking at the door, I've tried taking a big step back from the situation. I might slip in to my wee anarchistic-revolutionary-onesy and realise that rubbish behaviour is rather consequential to a crazily out of balance world, bad upbringing or unconsciousness. This world that has taught us to think in foolish ways. To compare. To be greedy. To want more. To compete. Sure sometimes its important to say "dude, that's not cool, turn round 3 times and take what you said back" while also knowing when to walk away compassionately because someone who's on Team Hate must be really suffering. And hate sometimes arises because it's showing you a side to yourself that is truly vulnerable. That needs working on. That is less emotionally developed.

“That I feed the hungry, forgive an insult, and love my enemy…. these are great virtues. But what if I should discover that the poorest of the beggars and the most impudent of offenders are all within me, and that I stand in need of the alms of my own kindness; that I myself am the enemy who must be loved? What then?” ~Carl Jung

I think there's power in doing something about the madness in this world we live in and channeling those annoyed feelings about it towards that. We are co-creators. We all have to accept responsibility for what society has created and can at least try, a little, to do something to change it in my opinion as much as we can to self-improve and take responsibility for our life and our darker emotions.

pornstar pumkin soup

I went to Munich recently and played silly buggers by getting amongst it at Oktoberfest. I couch surfed with a lovely girl called Jordon. Toward the end of my visit we were both a little exhausted from all the festive shenanigans and so we decided to treat ourselves to some yummy, heart-warming, homely pumkin soup (vegan).

Ingredients

1 x traditional orange looking pumkin

1 x Spaceship shaped white pumkin

1 x lovely leak

Some grrrrrlic

Sundried tomato bruschetta for extra yumminess

Seasoning

Chop up all the vegetables in to chunks & go "grrrrrrr"

Smile. Boil them together with water and put a lid on it. Its steamy boil time.

Season for extra flavour. Hmmm....

Once soft, blend together, serve in a bowl with some crusty bread and yummy.

Got to love the taste of keeping it simple.

For a brief education on healthy food combining read this insightful article.

its all about family

The biggest and bestest lesson I have learned on my travels is the importance of family. In my world at least. Seeing how families unite together and supported one another in the remote parts of India made a huge impression on me. It was humbling.

Western society is very different. Urban environments can create fragmented experiences and expressing ourselves openly can, for societal reasons, feel "awkward". So we go it alone. Headstrong ready to take on the world. Tormenting sometimes on the inside with a reluctance to burden others with our pains.

"What are feelings without emotions?" - La Roux

I spoke to a Japanese hairdresser in Thailand who explained to me that in Japan, if a man cried, he was seen as weak. "Have you watched The Notebook?" I asked him (yes I know its cheese on toast but its a jerker). "Yes and no, I didn't cry... I just can't" replied my stylist in his camp Japanese-English accent.

I don't believe its healthy to suppress our feelings. Creative expression. A big run. A blog. A photograph. A poem. A film. A hairstyle. A campaign. A project to express unconscious frustration. A good chinwag... these are all wonderful examples of self-expression. Its no wonder that Japan is so 4-dimensional. A culture that might not recognise those who have travelled the world for over a year as their own and that only opened to foreigners in the 18th Century (the Dutch to begin with - why does everyone love the Dutch?) has a unique way of disconnecting themselves from one another. The wall is thin in my experience though - perhaps one day it'll crumble.

Seeing people who live without family or have a family that doesn't seem to understand them or care for them, really made me appreciate those that stick around even during the hard times and are there when you just need to go "eurgh....ahhhh....grrr...booo...yey".

My folks, despite my disappearing acts in to the wilderness and having pushed their love away at times, are greatly appreciated. As someone who has lived apart from them for so long, its been so important for me to get to a place of gratitude. They have historically placed expectations on me, which I suppose parents do because they feel like they know what is best for their children, but eventually, we all have to work it out for ourselves. Me not having a 'conventional' lifestyle at the moment has had the old man on edge but I think he's also realised I am a big girl despite being vertically challenged and embracing my inner Mowgli at times.

"Family is important" said the baba I stayed with in Kheer Ganga, a little worship village with hot-springs in the Himalayas when I explained how torn I was between staying to work on the recycling campaign and returning back to the UK.

Family stand by through thick and thin, near and far, sometimes we might not get on at face value, but we love one another. Its human nature.

Thankfully technology enables connectivity to pull faces, chat and catch up when there's distance between us.

Now even Venezuela has tinternet so I can also pull faces at my Abuela (grandma) who has alzeihmers and give her virtual hugs. On my last visit to Venezuela, earlier this year, I asked Abuela what the most important thing in life is, as a woman perpetually living in the present I had faith that her response would be somewhat divinely inspired.

"La salud" she replied, which translates to "well-being". 

If I could wave a magic wand and make a wish come true, it would be for the well-being of my family.

Today it is two years since I left my desk-job. Its not always easy, certainly no constant holiday and eventually I had to learn to be my own superhero, but to come to a place of gratitude for my family is quite sentimentally heart-warming in a way.

Its also my brother's 27th birthday today so I dedicate this to him.

its an endless mystery to itself

I must be a fool to append anything to this.

"I love. I let go. I don't try to force... Its the same thing as humility." - Alan Watts

This is a tad sentimental but in essence just a reflection. I went in search of something at the beginning of my travels. I remember saying "I want to let go" yet had no idea what it was I was letting go of. Its all very strange and funny in hindsight. Kind of like an awkwardly cast dark comedy with wonderful adventures, interesting characters and kind friends. The world is an amazing place to explore on a budget with an appetite for inspiration - there is so much we can learn from one another.

But like any scuba diver would know, the deeper you go, the darker it gets and if you come up too fast you might get the bends. Being a wonderer requires an open mind to grasp some of the most mind bending and eye opening ideas and cultures soberly (from oceans to mountains, quantum to philosophy) and learn from them. I would conclude that at some point, after being well indulged, a surrender to appreciate that certain things will always remain unknown creates a more pleasant snorkelling experience where the waters warmer and the fishes have more colour yet the journey of getting there is worthwhile and I'm sure wondering off again is too.

Facing the unknown is a scary yet a wonderfully rewarding journey. It rekindles a thirst for life that encourages people to have the courage to ride unicorns while doing headstands or something of the sort and then writing about it supporting people going through some of the painful parts... because there's always something beautiful about life poetically speaking. Even the bitter sweet goodbyes.

 “There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own Soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” - C.G. Jung

I've mentioned before how the word 'passion' comes from the latin word meaning 'to suffer'.  There's something beautiful about heartbreak. Its everywhere. Its global. I've not been able to escape it. When you see some of the crazy things in this world or experience it firsthand, one shares in that suffering but perhaps the saving grace is the passion it also inspires to create and find the power to do something about it.

sorry, I'm sorry, you're sorry

Stepping out of shame is very, very, tough in this day and age. We live in a world that perpetually reminds us of something we need to apologise for or feel sorry about.

As a half-British lady who spent her youth growing up in the UK before emigrating 6 years ago, certain conditionings have been engrained in to my subconscious. British-isms such as lots of apologising along with talking a lot about the weather, and thankfully, a sense of humour.

Shame is quite a dark emotion. Self-pity feels like a prison. It's like being a victim of circumstance and brings other people in to the prison to share in the sadness to release the pressure and loneliness.

The difference between self-pity and being stuck in a rut is whether you have the power to change the situation. If you don't like where you are; you have the power to change it.

Self pity can take you to a place where you were a victim (like a glass cage of emotion here). It has taken me a while to find the shame which was buried in a place when I was 8 years old during my parents divorce while I was getting bullied at a new school. Blur's The Great Escape along with my black and white cat, Mollie, were my saving graces at the time. I was just a child and hence, bless my socks, had little power to do anything.

As an adult, one does have a choice. We have the power to say "No I don't want that" and to do something to change what's in the space causing us to suffer. This extends beyond personal power but, I believe, collectively too. It is incredibly scary doing so. It means taking a stand. Facing the music. Perhaps compromising a personality that is 'always nice'. It doesn't feel nice stepping out of self-pity but its great once you do.

At some point the shame picks at you, frustrates you or in my case (before traveling) starts to make you numb and withdrawn. That is when one might ask, without sounding so dramatic; "Do I want change or do I want to die?" That's when you can find your feet and walk. 

Act with power. Walk with purpose. Be authentic.

If one chooses to remain in self-pity others can help, but they're not your feet that you stand up with.

That's when you bring back your power and do something. It may require you to get angry at the past, honour it and act, or cry about the past, honour it and act. Unfortunately the tears and anger of a victim repeat over and over. Anger with power changes something (e.g. No means "NO"). Tears with power opens something. Then its finite it will fade away and you can make a fool out of yourself all you want with funky chicken dance moves in public or trying to save the world.

I found myself stepping out and doing the things I thought I could never do. I became real and a little less fearful and averse to new experiences like eating bananas and mushrooms. Personally this was the hardest emotional part of my lovely little journey thus far and I do believe it was the power behind a lot of the volunteer campaigns I worked on where I was motivated to "Be the change you want to see in the world" because I found the power to act. To just plant a seed, water it and see if it grows.

Eventually I had to ask myself "Am I really alone?" and my answer was "Yes girlfriend.", I'm alone with lots of other awesome people who are also alone, united ironically by our collective aloneness and appreciation of how that feels. A much lighter feeling than feeling sorry for my very existence because of a story from the past or a story that's conditioned in to me by my thank-you-please-sorry-sir upbringing. I hope I am not going to deep here... because some people are sorry about being sorry for being sorry and it is a word that carries a lot of weight despite it being so often used in the British customs.

Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrong-doing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean. - Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

So amongst my random ponderings, I suppose what I am saying is, I hope we get beyond shame, move beyond it so can can focus on the things we truly care about by standing on our own two feet. While I was in Australia the government created a National Sorry Day for the gross mistreatment caused to the Aboriginals in the past. This is just one example of the many human devastations that have happened in the past (by the Brits too no less) and continue happening now in the present day. But sorry doesn't change anything unless there is action and the slate is wiped clean, one moves on and we learn to start again.

Otherwise, will we continue life long wars while technology advances and we face the shaky grounds of economical instability? Will we end up bombing one another arguing over who started it until we experience Hiroshima again?

Which is a really, really sad place.

That's the only museum I've been moved to tears by. A harrowing example of the insanity in this world.

Our culture doesn't really offer a healthy container to deal with the sense of loss and sorrow but hopefully through a more united consciousness we can heal and breathe through the dark stuff and smash some glass cages of emotions feeling a sense of freedom and aliveness with our power to do something awesome and perhaps even a little remarkable in our lives.

more of this please world

I don't know about you, but my world is making some crazy shapes at the moment. There are big changes going on; economically, romantically, ecologically, politically etc. Apparently the Universe is expanding faster and faster, phew, I'm feeling it. Sometimes I feel like I am on a roller-coaster dancing between a multitude of worlds; nevertheless there's one powerful uniting force; LOVE.

I'm such an ambassador for this stuff that I embarrass myself openly in public. I'm certainly not perfect but I love inspiring people to consider being more active citizens in this crazy world.

Pops does like to remind me how "we have to live in the 'real world' of the daily grind", but what if we could give a little more thought and action to caring for others' needs? I know its tough for all of us, but, loving thy neighbour through random acts of kindness is a beautiful way of uniting and supporting one another through challenging times. I feel its time to move on from this endemic of apathy, consequent to an industrious materialistic world we're living in, and take those little opportunities to care for another.

Simple kindly gestures can create a butterfly affect in to an increasingly united, conscious and better world. And if this video doesn't fill your heart with hope, check yourself. This is real superhero behaviour.

Of the wall idea: Please can the Road & Traffic Authorites put a warning sign on their Traffic Alert motorway banners reminding drivers to; "BREATHE".  Too much road rage is bad for the heart. Fact.

the leaders of tomorrow

"Be careful of what kind of leaders you are producing here"

A powerful speech from A Scent of a Woman that tickles all the right places.

We live in a time where the major powers of the world have education systems yet to evolve to the 21st century. Besides that; they're elitist.

And so it does make one wonder... what kind of leaders are we creating for our future?

Ken Robinson has a very powerful talk on TED putting a case forward for creating an education system that nurtures (rather than undermines) creativity.

the power of introverts

This is a lovely insightful talk on the importance of solitude in a world that, especially in the West, values extroverted people of action and often louder, charismatic voices over the more introverted, yet creative minds.

I love spending time with myself. Cooking myself dinner or going for a nice walk to the beach or in the woods. I also love connecting with people and sharing ideas, however, much of my travels I have enjoyed my time alone in nature and moments getting to know myself.

The lesson I learned is not to take solitude to extreme - I am very blessed to have a family that loves me and friends that enjoy my company. However, in those introspective moments I had some fantastic ideas and inspirations that I know I wouldn't have found chatting to a bunch of backpackers in a busy cafe or guesthouse regardless of how inspired the conversation was. I love going in to my 'cave' and working on projects without the distractions of extroversion.

Some tips:

1. Stop the madness for constant group work; freedom, autonomy, time alone in workplaces and schools
2. Go to the wilderness, unplug and get inside our own heads; explore in solitude
3. Share your joy, whether your an introvert or an extrovert, the world needs you

Have the courage to speak softly.

that awkward moment when you're dad calls interpol

I seem to have an adventuress spirit with extreme wanderer tendencies. From my galavants through mountains, jungles and the deserts I have enjoyed satisfying my explorative nature when in places a world away from Western civilisation. Something I recommend we all do to gain alternative perspectives and have some 'life stranger than fiction' experiences. You might imagine the shock I had the day I returned from an 'exploration in the wilderness' to learn that Interpol were looking for me.

After trekking to Everest Basecamp (EBC) and heading to Pokhara, Nepal, I hit a little low. I craved peace and solitude and found the vibe there, with its multitudes of impressions from all the travellers that pass through, quite exhausting despite it being monsoon season.

So I developed a little routine for myself which was to wake up, have a shower with cold water, sit on the bamboo tables of Freedom cafe and enjoy a cup of chai tea while doing some writing or sketching admiring the beautiful scenery across the lake. Given I had been living with Tibetan nuns and then gone on the mission to EBC it was no surprise that I wanted to have some downtime to climatise and get my feet back on the ground. And so I decided I would go to the Vipassana meditation retreat nearby for some transcendental zen while resting the weary limbs (this was not the case at all. Sitting still for nearly 11 hours a day was evidently hard work!)

I gave my folks a heads up that I would be offline for a while during the retreat and then upon my return, being overwhelmed by chatterboxes, I decided to accompany some friends to the hillside peaks of Panchasse on a trek. 

Panchasse is a beautiful yantra pilgrimage site and an incredible trek. Panchasse, literally meaning Pancha: Five, Aasan: Seats, is the meeting place if 5 peaks covered with lush green forest of diverse flora and fauna. Before leaving I dropped Mum a note on Skype explaining I would go on the trek really not elaborating nor having any idea on time.

My Australian friend James accompanied me along with my Nepali friend and guide, Ram and his brother. James is an incredibly beautiful boy who was turning 25 years old and we shared some amazing inspirations and perspectives together. On the trek up he went for a dip in the waterfall, only to later find that he had taken his passport and wallet in with him. "I think the Universe is telling me to abandon my identity for my birthday" he joked as he spread the contents of his wallet and his smudge passport out to dry on the rocks.

James and I headed to Panchasse alone, leaving Ram and his brother in the Gurung village nearby, while we decided to embrace our inner mowgli's and venture in to the wild. Nobody besides a Russian Baba (spiritual man) was living up in the peaks of Panchasse and from there you could see the epic views of the Annapurna range and trek from peak to peak where there were temples and shrines of Buddhist and Hindu descent. The place was a powerfully mystical place.

The Tower & infamous rock in the clouds

James and I, without a place to sleep, went on mini missions around the mountaintops searching for places to sleep above the cloudscape. The first night we slept on a rock which had a crazy mandala inscribed on to it which provoked our curiosity. I recall giggling away with James saying that there could be animals looking at us thinking "what the f**k are these tourists doing sleeping on a rock?" until James explained that he imagined a wild jungle cat watching us from the bushes in the dark... then I got a tad freaked with the realisation that I was sleeping out in the wild on a rock with mysterious inscriptions on it in cave man speak. Not your average couchsurfing spot. More like rock surfing. A hard mattress indeed.

The Tower

We woke up to rain. Lots of rain. Our humble sleeping bags were getting absolutely drenched. "James, we need to relocate!" which we did to "The Tower" the white concrete viewpoint where the Baba was living in the room below but would prove good shelter for us from the rain.

There we made a protective wall out of the wooden benches and resettled in to the darkness to the sound of raindrops and nature. The next morning we woke up to the birds and the sunrise over the clouds. The views were stunning despite the 5 hours or less sleep.

The baba who lived downstairs sporting a simple grey and dusty loin cloth saw us waking up. He had taken a vow of silence but through his simple hand gestures, it appeared he was inviting us to join him for a cup of chai. A uniting language in this world. So in to his little den we went. Over tea, Baba told us through sign language of another potential location for us to sleep and we learned that the pilgrim kitchen was open so we could have some tasty Dal Bhat before embarking on our next adventure, through the wilderness in our bare feet picking off leeches and scaring off cows to the lakeside temple area. I told you; Mowgli style.

Morning view.

Having a giggle in Ajay babas den.

Russian Ajay Baba

Lake Temple where we spent the night

The lakeside temple is where many pilgrims come during their holy ceremony the Balachuturdashi Festival (info on Panchase here) and there were remains of the celebratory decorations around the area. James and I scouted for a place to spend the night like a couple of ferrel kids while enjoying the beautiful scenery. In the end, we decided to clean the temple and spend the night inside it.

That was when things got incredibly eerie. In the evening we sat next to the lake under the moonlight as James did one of his magical intention healings. Before I knew it, I was shedding tears like a baby and taking some deep breaths. Not my style at all, but hey, what's a bit of human vulnerability? I sniffled up my tears, shared a joke or two with James, saying thanks for a good cry before we called it a night.

Seriously, what is the boar God?

"AAHHHOOOOOOOOOOO" I woke up startled. "Oh my God the killer jungle cats are coming after us!!" my imagination said. "That or, of course, Aliens". The loud indescribable noise continued. "James..... James..." I whispered as I looked up to see a shadow of the temple boar God staring down at me with his multiple limbs and weaponry. "AAHHHHOOOOOOOO" the potentially killer jungle cat noise continued as my mate next to me was still fast asleep. "We're safe" I told myself looking at the closed door at our feet. I decide to stay put and try to get back to sleep but then my bladder kicked in. Gosh darn, you know that feeling you have at the cinema half-way through a movie, when you really really need to pee? Well that happened. "Ow." I realised I needed to get outside and face the aliens or killer wild cats to go for a lady squat in the dark. I wriggled around, still calling out James' name and started trying to nudge him awake with my feet.  Finally he looked at me, saw I was a tad unnerved and offered kindly to be my torch bearer as I braved the darkness to take a jungle leak. No wild cat or alien attacks after all.

James, fellow traveller

The next morning, before James had chance to really wake up, I had packed up everything and was ready to move on. While I loved being Mogli, I was also ready for some comfortable sleep and I knew we would be stopping in the Gurung people's village Sidhana on the way down to stay at a family farm where they made everything from scratch and the most delicious food.

By the time we made it back to the main tourist hub, Pokhara, we'd been away for over a week. We were both tired and yet feeling very much alive after the wilderness experience. I recall realising I should get in to an internet cafe to reconnect with the virtual world and speak to my folks. I logged in to my email and had multiple emails from my Mum and Dad progressing from "so where are you?", "please contact us" to "we've called the embassy and interpol are looking for you."


My immediate reaction, after the surprise, was a little bit of annoyance if I am totally honest. It felt like I wasn't being trusted to take care of myself and pretty dramatic. I responded letting everyone know I was safe and sound while venting my disbelief to my friend Ram. Ram listened and looked at me sincerely; "Jess, you're lucky you have people out there who love and care for you". His words cut me deep. Ram's father had passed away when he was 3 years old and he put it all in to perspective. I realised that my Dad had slipped in to panic after googling "missing person nepal" and the first story that came up was of a 23 year old Belgian girl who went trekking on her own and was found decapitated nearby with all her belongings still on her person. I suppose every parent would be a little freaked out and concerned after hearing a story like that in an area where their daughter was 'exploring'.

That time in Panchasse, with my brother James and the Russian baba will remain one of those remarkable and enriching experiences that could never be repeated. It was weird and yet magical. I don't even think words do the experience justice. Nevertheless I learned so much, from appreciating nature, the simple things and now also having a silly joke to share with my Pops (along with a deeper sense of gratitude for him).

"Worry is a wasted emotion" is a saying my Pops would always tell me. I believe him. Nevertheless its much easier said than practiced.

Local Garung School Headmaster

Gurung village lady