To take or not to take: the Australian refugee crisis

Recent events have once again brought to light the racism, bigotry and prejudice that pervades our society. It isn't a nice topic to talk about. Often people are confronted by their own shortcomings and react defensively instead of proactively. What do I mean by that? Well, instead of looking at themselves and wondering how they can improve their situation or their outlook, they become hostile to that which is other. We've all heard the adage that the best form of defence is attack. That's what happens. We see it over and over again, in the media and in social media.

In Australia, the recent attacks have been against Muslims, and the Islamic community generally, as they are seen as an easy scapegoat for the anger and fear people feel in reaction to the various worldwide incidents. Since 9/11 there has been an undercurrent of anti-Islamic posturing by a small minority of the population. This has grown and grown. In fact, it has grown to such an outrageous level that people aren't even ashamed of their discrimatory language. Posts, such as the one below, have become more commonplace. Some are so offensive, I could not bring myself to use them in this piece.

The problem with images such as this is that they allow people to justify their intolerance. If we look into what this image tells us, it is quite disturbing.

Firstly, "not taking in Syrian refugees and closing our borders is not being mean or heartless." Yes, it is. You are admitting that they are refugees, fleeing from their homeland with barely a possession amongst them, in need of assistance from foreign lands because they are in fear of rape, torture and even death if they stay in their country. Turning away people such as this is incredibly mean and heartless.

Secondly, "I lock my doors every night, not because I hate the people outside, but because I love the people inside." No, you lock your doors to keep robbers and murderers out. You lock your doors because you fear what would happen if you left them unlocked. Yes, you do that because you love your family but don't pretend that fear isn't a predominant factor.

This whole argument falls down when we look at a simple comparison: the child in danger on your doorstep. If a broken and bloody child arrived on your doorstep asking for help, what would you do? If we go by the logic of the above image, you should not unlock your door. They are not your family. They do no "belong" in your home. You have no responsibility towards the child. How many of you would actually say no to that child? So why do you feel that as a country it's ok for us to say no to the refugees when they are no different to that child on your doorstep?

People like guarantees. It's like when you buy a product from a shop, you want to know that it works, and if it doesn't you want to know that you can exchange it for a similar product or get your money back. Unfortunately, people don't come with guarantees. That frightens people. This is part of the reason why we have locks on our doors. Common sense tells us that 99% of the people outside our door aren't after our valuables or out to murder us as we sleep. We have locks to protect us from the 1%.

Given this, you might think that image we discussed was pretty accurate. Well, let's back it up. A lock can be unlocked to let some people in. We've already established that we'd probably let in the bleeding and bloody child. There's no guarantee that the child won't steal your wallet while they're in your house. You let them in because it's the right thing to do.

So now we are faced with potentially 12,000 Syrian refugees. Border control is the holder of the key to lock on our national door. They can let in those they deem to be an acceptable risk, just as we do with the child on our doorstep. They also keep out those they deem an unacceptable risk but here's the thing: there's no guarantee.

I wrote the above passage on my personal Facebook page. The people on my friends list who are very against taking refugees did not comment. I don't blame them. It can be hard to reevaluate your position. It can be confronting. It can be embarrassing. I don't think any of my Facebook friends are bad people. I don't think they are particularly racist or intolerant. I simply think they have been sucked in by the fearmongering done by the media and government.

The cynical side of me thinks the government has played this very well. They have been seen to be doing the right thing by saying they will take the refugees. They have also done little to quell the growing hysteria around the potential danger of the Islamic religion. This gives them an automatic out. Taking in refugees requires a lot of money from the government - from processing them to the benefits they receive until they are self sufficient - which could, in theory, be spent on other (much neglected) areas that would garner more support from the general public. Of course, governments being what they are, the spend would be nowhere near what the public think it should be and only a fraction of what they would have spent on bringing in refugees.

The media are in it for the story, not the truth. The story is what sells, whether it is based on fact or not. They will play one side of against the other and both sides off against the middle, all in the name of raising their own revenue. What sells the most copy? What will headline TV news? What will get shared on social media? Fear! Lots and lots of fear! The occasional good news story about a Muslim can't counter the vast reams of stories about terrorism at the hands of hard-line extremists who use religion to excuse their own bigotry.

 

The article on the left illustrates perfectly the habit the general population have of tarring all with the same brush. It's common throughout history. Different groups, different eras. Same result. Apparently the message of "not all Muslims are terrorists" just isn't getting through. There are millions of Muslims around the world who absolutely detest what is happening in the name of their religion. Blaming every Muslim for ISIS/ISIL/Daesh is just like blaming every Christian for Westboro Baptist Church or the Crusades. It just doesn't make sense.

The article on the right illustrates that it is not just the Western Countries who come under attack from extremists. The Western-centric media was full of the awful attacks on Paris, as you would expect. Hardly a whisper was heard about the attacks in Beirut. An Islamic area being attacked by Islamic extremists doesn't rate in Western countries. Even though the attacks were carried out, or attributed to, the same base organisation, the attacks in Beirut were deemed, media-wise, as less relevant.

People need to see that the extremists are not the same as the moderates, just as they are in every other religion or ideology. By saturating the airwaves and newspapers with one event and not the other, we allow the misconception that this is a Christian versus Islamic battle when it is, in reality, an extremist versus the rest of the world battle.

In the end, we all must stand as one. Regardless of religion. Regardless of colour. Regardless of creed. We must put aside our reservations and unlock the door. We must trust our Border Control to weed out as many of the extremists hiding amongst the refugees as they can. We must trust our fellow citizens to not stand by and allow our children to be radicalised. We must trust our police and our justice system to deal with those who break our laws in an appropriate manner. But most of all, we must trust the refugees who do make it to our shores because, after all they have been through, don't they deserve that which we have enjoyed our entire lives?

From Goodes to Great

There are great players in very team. There are great leaders at every club. There are great supporters and great journalists and great triumphs of spirit. Sport, in and of itself, can be the greatest thing in the world - both to play and to watch. Regardless of your level, there is greatness to be found.

Sometimes the greatest players find themselves facing a barrage of unwarranted abuse. This year saw the culmination of an ongoing torrent of abuse levelled at one of the greatest AFL players of all time. People often think that bullying only happens in the school yard, or in corporate settings. This simply isn't true, and it affects people in very different ways.

This campaign of abuse began in 2013 with prominent Sydney Swans player, Adam Goodes, being abused by an opposition supporter. Many believed that his reaction was an overreaction. I do not. Many said that because she was 13, the opposition supporter didn't understand that it was racism to call an aboriginal an ape. Many said that he should not have pointed her out as he did. Many said he was arrogant, attention seeking and racist himself.

From this point on, Goodes was boo'd. At first, it was a minority of the opposition. By mid-season 2015, it was every team, every game, every time he touched the ball. While every excuse under the sun was raised as to why it was ok to boo a star of the game, the simple fact remained that at its root was racism, and that by continuing to boo for whatever other reason they were giving the racist somewhere to hide.

If we look at Goodes' achievements, they tell of a player who is not only good at what he does but greatly admired as well:

2003 and 2006 Brownlow Medalist (AFLs Best and Fairest), has also polled well in 5 other years, and polled votes every year bar one from 2001 through to 2015. This statistic seems to fly in the face of him being a dirty player who staged for free kicks, as many of us detractors would have you believe.

2005 and 2012 Premiership Player, as well as playing in every finals campaign with his team. This contradicts those people who claim he was having difficulty finding form.

2014 Australian of the Year. This award, one of the highest in the country, was awarded to him for his work in fighting racism and for the work he had done within the indigenous community to promote health and education for those in remote areas, or at a socio-economic disadvantage.

During Goodes' time as Australian of the Year he came under fire from the racist quarter who were confronted by their own intolerance. He called them out over the atrocious behaviour suffered by the indigenous population since the white settlement. He called them out over the ongoing abuse and discrimination faced by modern aboriginal people. He called them out over their bigotry. And so did the fans, especially after he chose to perform a dance he had been taught during the round specifically to celebrate indigenous culture.

It is this sort of misplaced vitriol that so many indigenous people must put up with. The "I'm not racist but ..." crowd all get their nickers in a twist because someone is proud AND outspoken about their heritage. It is the "uppity black man" who should pipe down and let the people who know nothing about aboriginal culture sort out the problems. It is the "loud and proud" indigenous people who should stop making such a fuss because white people don't carry on when they are called names. It is these same people who say, "Well, I don't boo Lewis Jetta so how can it be racist?"

Well, let me lay it out for you, very clearly:

- if you boo an black player for staging, but not any other player, it's probably racist.

- if you use the colour of someone's skin as an insult, it's definitely racist.

- if you object to black players bring proud of their heritage, it sounds like you're racist.

- if you continue to boo a player despite being told it's racist, my guess is you're racist.

This whole series of incidents surrounding Adam Goodes has shown just how far we, as a nation, have yet to go when it comes to indigenous affairs and racism generally. What it has also shown is that Adam is not just a great player, but a man of great integrity, great courage, great character and great humility.

Can we afford to be so ignorant that we would allow the racist minority to hold the cards? Can we not make out country as great as this one man, who has consistently shown a wisdom beyond his years and a maturity some never achieve? Can we instead teach our children, like the ones who were part of the wonderful painting below, that race is irrelevant in determining the worth of a person? Can we be proud Australians all together, regardless of colour or creed?

White Ribbon Day: When does it end?

White Ribbon Day is about raising awareness and combatting violence against women. The work that White Ribbon does, however, is year round. Day after day, month after month, year after year. Given human nature, it's a job that will probably never end.

This is my son. He is 10 years old. He gets it. Hopefully, White Ribbon is an organisation he will never have to call on in his lifetime. At 10 years old, he understands that no-one deserves to be abused, no-one is a possession and no-one has more rights than anyone else.

In the lead up to the 2015 White Ribbon Day, I took the picture above to use in my fundraising drive for White Ribbon. My son agreed, without hesitation. It's not the first time he's had his photo taken showing his support for White Ribbon. The picture below was taken at the beginning of the year.

He wore that ribbon proudly all season. He was excited for people to see that and know he supported not only the cause but the message behind the cause. Next season, no doubt, he will see the White Ribbon sellers and ask to get another, not because it's cool, not because it's the latest fashion, because it's part of who he is - the most gentle, caring, nurturing child you could ever hope to meet.

So, when does it end? I said at the top of this piece that, given human nature, this job of raising awareness of and trying to put a stop to violence against women will never end. There will always be a small minority who think the world owes them everything. As a society, we can never cease in our efforts to protect our citizens from those people.

As individuals we can reduce the need for such organisations. As individuals we can declare that we do not support violence against anyone. As individuals we can be vigilant in making sure we are part of the solution and not part of the problem.

As a society, we can never let this campaign end. So will you be man enough to stand with my 10 year old? Will you take the oath? Will you be part of the solution so that one day, maybe, we can say that this does end.

Eulogy for my father

Hans Bruno Busch
24.07.1939 - 28.04.2015

Bruno was born and grew up in Germany. He was a bright child with a love of nature and music. As a child and into his teens he was a keen skier, with trips to the Austrian ski fields a welcome treat. But never one to be satisfied with what he could see every day, he began a life of travel and adventure when he embarked on a trip half way around the world to this wide brown land we all call home.

In Germany he had worked for the newspaper where his father was chief editor and this career carried him throughout his life. In Sydney he began his working life at a printing firm as a compositor before moving to The Daily Telegraph but it was while he was working at the printers that he met the woman who would be his first wife and the mother of his only child, Gloria. They tied the knot in 1964 and lived in Bondi for a short time before moving to Germany, then England and Canada.

Arriving in Canada in the midst of a printers strike, Bruno found employment hard to come by. Toronto offered only work driving a forklift so he and Gloria packed up their Vespa Scooter, which they had brought with them from England, with a tent and some clothes and set off across the breadth of Canada to Vancouver. They were quite a sight to behold, and probably appear in many old home movies taken by American tourists in their large cars and camper vans. The intrepid pair spent many a night camping in road side sites, even living to tell the tale of their encounter with a black bear.

Vancouver offered no more work than Toronto did and Bruno and Gloria made their way back to Sydney. Setting up home in Cronulla for the first of many times, Bruno returned to the career that had been the backbone of his working life. Travel was not off the agenda, however. Trips to various locations around Australia, including a venture to far north Queensland after a severe tropical storm had passed through. They were met by swollen rivers, which Bruno suggested Gloria walk through to find out how deep they were before he drove through them. It was only after getting back into the car after doing this half a dozen times that they remembered that they were crocodiles.

After four years in Sydney, despite trips away, the urge to change scenery struck again and with housing prices increasing, the couple moved to the Adelaide Hills. During their time in Adelaide, Bruno joined the Volunteer Country Fire Association and even had to put these skills to use fighting a bush fire on his own property. He also set up his own landscape gardening business while also keeping his hand in as a compositor at the Adelaide Advertiser.

Bruno’s wanderlust kicked in again and at the end of 1979, he and Gloria moved back to Cronulla, where they welcomed their daughter, your author, into the world, and though the couple separated in 1985 and were divorced in 1987, they remained good friends throughout the years, even surviving a short lived second marriage in the late 80s.

It was during his time at the Herald that he met Lynette and they formed a lasting friendship.

Lynette first met Bruno when she was a copy person for the Sun Herald. He approached her and asked if she would like an apprenticeship in compositing. Lyn knew nothing about this area of newspaper production  but took on the apprenticeship and it was during those years she struck up a good friendship with Bruno.

Being the generous person he was and knowing of her circumstances Bruno offered Lyn his spare room. His generosity was not limited to Lynette, but extended to helping her grandmother and nothing was ever a problem.

As the years went by, his love of travel rubbed off on Lynette and they visited many states in Australia, and Bruno always had a tale or three for each one they visited. When Lyn mentioned a desire to go to America, Bruno suggested he accompany her, but why stop at America? The globe trotting pair visited many places, and Bruno was able to visit his family in Germany one last time.

All through his life he had a love of music, and especially of the piano. He could play almost anything, from intricate classical pieces to soulful jazz. But music was not the only art form that captivated him. His skills with a paintbrush are evident from the pieces on display here today.

From the beauty of nature up close to sweeping landscapes and portraits, Bruno could capture the essence of his subject with unerring accuracy, flavouring each piece with his own style. His art took its inspiration from the world around him, and he spent many hours bush walking, especially in these very gardens in his later years.

On retiring from the newspaper his urge to travel went up a notch. He sold his flat in Redfern and bought a house in Tasmania. Before moving there he bought a four wheel drive and a caravan and traipsed about the countryside taking beautiful photographs, some of which he translated into stunning art works.

His many years of adventures around the country, and around the world, came to end when ill health began to take its toll and a move back to Sydney, to be nearer family and friends, became his new priority. He  asked Lynette and her now husband, Jeremy, if he could build on top of their house. As if they would say no to someone who had been such a great and loving part of their lives for well over a decade.

Bruno didn’t the meaning of the word no and, boy, didn’t that get taken advantage of by the next generation. His grandson, Richard, and his honorary grandchildren, Liam and Jayden, were spoilt from the day they were born. He may have been a grumpy old man at times, but he loved those boys as only a grandparent can, and they loved their Opa.

Bruno was impatient, he hated waiting in a queue for anything, and he was as stubborn as a mule (and they were his good qualities) but one of his better qualities was his bravery. This was evidenced in volunteering to teach me to drive. Trips down Bulli Pass to teach me how to corner would have tested anyone’s mettle, but he stepped purposefully into the breach and survived.

Bruno loved to have a good time. A beer after dinner. A coffee before lunch. A late breakfast with the works. He enjoyed nights out to see a good band, or nights in with a good book or a good movie. He could talk your ear off and had a story for every occasion. He was, and is, one amazing man.

He was generous with his time and never expected anything in return. He never wanted to burden anyone with his worries but was always there for his friends to shoulder their troubles. He would have been most embarrassed by the fuss being made of him here today and would be urging everyone to get to the pub and have a drink, rather than stand around waxing lyrical about his life.

He was an avid reader, and a frustrated writer. He loved words, exemplified by the Jonathan Swift quote, “Proper words in proper places make the true definition of style”. He inspired a love of words and literature in me also, especially poetry.

This is one of my poems, entitled Requiem.

Light a candle, let it burn
And in this sacred place sojourn

I have left this world at peace
So have your eyes their crying cease.

Think of me when I was small
Or, if you didn't know me then at all,

Think of me at my best
Now that I am laid to rest.

Be quiet in your heart so dear,
I say this now to allay your fear,

For wherever it is that I am now
I promise to you a sacred vow:

That I will watch over you
In the good and the bad times, too;

I will listen to every prayer
And know that I will always care.

So while I cannot hold your hand
Or show you that I understand

I hope you'll remember all I've said
And, at night before you go to bed,

Smile up at that star so bright
And I will be your guiding light.

Though far away and sadly missed
(No longer hugged, no longer kissed)

I will be there every day
If you remember in some small way

The way I smiled with my eyes
Or my softly sounding summer sighs

And thought it was my time to go
Always know I loved you so.

Bruno was diagnosed in late 2014 in throat cancer after previously being diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. He underwent radiation and chemotherapy in early 2015. He died in Campbelltown Hospital of aspiration pneumonia.

If you are reading this, please donate to a reputable Cancer Research Charity in your area to honour the memory of my father and the millions of others who battle against all forms of cancer. The money you donate now could help fund the treatment or cure you or someone you love needs in the future.

Lest We Forget: ANZAC Day 2015

I wanted to write something profound tonight. I have sat and stared blankly at the lines on the page for quite a while now. I looked over previous piece I have written for some kind of inspiration but all I found were tears and a lump in my throat.

This ANZAC Day I don't feel profound, or even eloquent. Today I feel raw and sad and simply unable to convey half of that which I normally would.

The magnitude of everything that ANZAC stands for has overwhelmed me. I am laying in bed, tears dripping from the end of my nose onto my pillow, silently sobbing as I write, wishing for a flash or clarity, the thought striking me that I have no reason to feel this way.

I have never lost anyone to war.

I have never lived through war.

I have never know the hardship of war.

Yet I cry. I cry as if my heart were breaking.

Maybe because it is. It breaks for the millions of families who have suffered and do suffer. It breaks for the children who grow up never knowing one or both of their parents. It breaks for the displaced people who seek shelter over borders and across seas. It breaks for every soldier who can never fully explain what they did, why they did it or how it made them feel.

But mostly it breaks for selfish reasons. It breaks my heart for the little girl I used to be, sitting at my grandfathers feet, telling him my stories when now all I want to do is hear his.

R.I.P. Richard Arrowsmith (1903-1989), Leading Aircraftman, RAAF

 





For Previous ANZAC posts, please use the following links:

ANZAC Day 2014

Not Fighting the Tears: ANZAC Day 2013

Australian Pride

Today is Australia Day. It's a day which is all-encompassing and dividing. It is a day of mateship and of racial tension. The duality of this day is a microcosm of Australia as a nation. On the surface, there is a welcome that speaks of friendly locals, fun things to do, cute animals and stunning landscapes. Underneath, however, there is a decidedly nasty current of casual racism.

But I am not going to write about that. I am not sweeping it under the rug, it is simply not something that I could do justice to in a single piece, in a single sitting. What I am going to write about is that which makes me proud to be an Australian and for which all Australians should be proud, regardless of their roots.

I am proud of my democratic right to voice an opinion. It may not be the same opinion as yours. It may not be the same as my neighbours, or your neighbours, or the local shop keepers, or the farmer in the bush, or the yuppie in the beachside café. My opinion is just as valid as anyone elses and I have the right to voice my opinion, excepting slanderous, defamatory or libellous utterances.

I am proud of the police service which enable me to live in relative safety. I can walk down the street without fear. I trust in the emergency services should I find myself in difficulties. I am proud of their efforts in keeping me safe, in their efforts as part of peace keeping forces around the world, and in their efforts to maintain law and order.

I am proud of our education system in which I could, if I wanted it badly enough and worked hard enough, be anything that took my fancy. Our public and private school provide an education which would be the envy of many nations around the world, our universities are held in high esteem. No matter what profession you might choose to pursue, there are opportunities to do so.

I am proud of the immigrants that mean I can eat food from every nation in the world without having to leave the city that I love. I can thank those who left their homelands to make new homes in my homeland for the variety of cuisines in the local shops, from Chinese to Mexican, Italian to Thai, African to Greek. There is no sense of losing my identity because of their arrival, in fact, it enriches my life.

I am proud of my sporting achievements and the achievements of my fellow countrymen. Whether it is in their suburban club team or representing their country, there is much to be proud of in Australian sport. Their is a perception of Australia as a nation obsessed with sport and this is true to a certain extent. It brings us together like little else in the world. The love of a particular sport can bring together those of different backgrounds and cultures. For the majority of Australians, the friendly rivalry of sport is something which forges bonds rather than creating divides.

I am proud of our acceptance, in literary, musical and artistic terms, of difference and multiculturalism and the lack of censorship in what can be a highly contentious and controversial industry. It doesn't matter if I like a piece, or if I am offended by a piece, the fact that I live in Australia means that I have every right to not like it, or be offended by it, and that it has every right to exist.

I am proud of my country, with its sweeping coasts, its intricate coral reefs, its vast deserts and its dense rainforests. This land which I call home brings me such joy, it inspires me to share it with the world and it envelops me every day. There is nothing in this world quite like home. I may travel around the world, to places on natural beauty, to remote lands, to man made wonders, but I will always come home, to my little place in the sun; and if I go nowhere else in the world, the wonders of the world are in my own backyard for all the world to visit.

But mostly I am proud of my people. Some trace themselves back to the very beginning of this nation, coming here in canoes, living off the land, and telling stories from the dream time. Some trace themselves to the first white settlers in fleets of tall ships, whether convicts, soldiers or free settlers, they built a modern nation in the shadow of their motherland. Some came in leaky boats, fleeing war ravaged nations with little more than the clothes on their backs. And some simply flew, wanting a better life for themselves and their future generations. These are all my people. They are my family, my friends and my neighbours. They are my community and my nation. They are my people and I am proud.

Goodbye 2014 ... Hello 2015

Well, 2014 started off like any other year - hope, expectation, as yet unbroken resolutions - and finishes today with me wondering what the hell happened in this last month. Usually, I finish any year with the feeling that I am happy to be rid of it and bring on the new, as if it will be a fresh start. A new year, I have come to realise, is nothing more than a new day and that if we fail to make fresh start of each new day, then we have learned nothing from the previous day and must repeat it, and repeat it, and repeat it, until we change something in our lives, and that something is usually ourselves.

 

I have to say, there were some pretty good moments this year, mainly centred around my son!

 He was into sports. Whether it was AFL rep teams, Modball Under 13s (at 9 years) or graduating to a new swimming class, the success of our children warms our hearts and makes us puff up with pride.

 

He was brilliant at school. Most parents would brag about their child being in that sports team or topping that particular class. My proudest moments were seeing my child do what he loved, as part of the senior boys dance group and the dance sports group, and being rewarded at the school presentation night for citizenship.

 

I loved that he surrounded himself with friends. At school, in sports, or just hanging out at the beach, there's not much that's better a group of good friends. I love that his friends are all different: different genders, different ages, different personalities.

 

But life this year wasn't just about my son. There had to be a balance of work and home. I love my job. I might not love everything about my job, but the good certainly outweighs the bad. I love that, through work, I got the opportunity to travel through some stunning Australian countryside from Sydney to Cooma to help our centre down there.

 

Work has also allowed me to feel a part of something and to do something for the first time by joining the work team in the Sutherland to the Surf, an 11km "fun run" in our local area. I also had the opportunity to attend the staff recognition awards, where I received my 10 years pin. Though, probably the most enjoyable thing was sharing lunch with the third generation of a magpie family who build their nests in the trees outside our building.

During 2014, I made a point of visiting places that brought me happiness and peace. I crave those places that nourish my mind and my soul. From peaceful gardens to cultural events and museums, I would go to one every day if I could.

The Camellia Gardens are about ten minutes from where I live. It is somewhere I have gone since I was a child and try to go at least once a year. It is a calming influence in my life. It is somewhere I can go and be completely alone, and completely happy about being alone.



 Another place I have always enjoyed is The Chinese Gardens. I don't get here as often as I would like to but when I do, I am always filled with the love for it, its beauty, its simple elegance, and its timelessness. I introduced my son to it this year and I hope I have passed on my love for it to him.

There are some events which come along that capture the imagination. Vivid is a spectacular light show that happens every year in Sydney and it brings out the child in me. My feet and knees hate it as you end up walking around half of Sydney but my mind loves it more!

Another place that captured my curiosity was a bit further from home. In fact, it was in another state. The museum of Melbourne was somewhere I had always wanted to go but had never gotten around to, despite numerous trips to the city. Having some time to kill on a trip this year, I took the opportunity to explore and I wasn't disappointed.

But, no matter far I might travel in any given year, I always return to the place I call home. My little oasis in the madness that is life. If I am down, I can sit watching the rain, if I am happy I bask in the sunshine, if I am angry I can yell at the ocean, and if I feeling inspired I can wander along the coast and be drawn in by its beauty.

I was fortunate enough this year to have three pieces of jewellery come into my possession which all reflect a very important part of me. The sparkles of my soul, given to me by my son; the swan, given to me by a Sydney Swans Cheer Squad member; and the TARDIS, given to me by a colleague and friend.

 



This year was a time for celebration. Easter and Christmas play a large part in our lives and, though our family is not religious and the events hold little significance in that regard to us, we still mark them as an opportunity to spend time together as a family, to enjoy each others company and to share an experience.

 

 

And, though much of the year was filled with all the love and happiness one could ask for, the year came to a close with much sadness. From an event that shocked an entire city to personal grief and pain at injury and illness to my parents, the end of the year was marred by this overwhelming pall of tears. So while 2014 may have been a good year, it is hoped that 2015 will be better and that flowers will not cover the streets of Sydney, tears will not run down the cheeks of my kin and the hearts of those I love and admire will not continue to break.