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.

Loss and Mourning – a universal constant

I am not a grief counsellor. I am not an expert in loss. I have little first hand knowledge of mourning anyone. Why, you might ask, am I writing this piece about loss and mourning? Well, it seems that the whole world has been gripped by the unthinkable. Sudden, untold grief has poured over us as we hear story after story of innocent lives, many of them children, who have had their lives ripped away from them by one or many people who feel they have the right to terrorise and to victimise.

This piece began on December 15^th when an armed man held 17 people hostage in a café in Sydney. This is my city and I love my city, but this is not how I want the world to see my city. Unfortunately, this is now part of the fabric of my city, part of the tragic underbelly of the city I love. In the end, 2 innocent lives were lost. Two beautiful, innocent people are now mourned by an entire city.

Photo courtesy of abc.net.au

A floral tribute has sprawled across Martin Place near to where the siege took place. It is the visual expression of a city stuck by grief. For many it is the only way they can display their sense of loss and dismay. The flowers will eventually give way to a more permanent memorial but the spontaneous, beautiful, peaceful tribute that spreads across the ground is somehow the perfect way for my city to define its overwhelming sense of loss and mourning this Christmas.

Just when we, as a city, were beginning to get our collective heads around what had happened in the heart of our financial district, news began to filter through of a far worse loss. In Nigeria, a militant group known as Boko Haram stormed a village, taking over 200 residents hostage and killing over 30.

This was the same group that kidnapped 200 schoolgirls earlier in the year who are yet to be found and presumed dead. The utter confusion surround events such as this is highlighted by the fluctuating numbers surrounding not only how many are being held, but how many have lost their lives as well. How do you mourn an indeterminate number of people?

Photo courtesy of bbc.com

As the number increases over the days, then subsides, then rises again, what do we do with our grief? Does it turn to frustration? Should we be ashamed of our shifting view of the unfolding tragedy? How do we temper our grief with the need to carry on with our own lives? Is our grief limited by distance or sheer size of the group?

Sometime I feel we mourn the one more so that we mourn the many. It can be hard to know how to grieve for a large group and when we were faced with another massacre, this time in Pakistan, it felt like the underling feeling, while still a terrible sense of loss, was “not again”. It was a tragedy that would grip the hearts and minds of every parent, every educator, every citizen with an ounce of compassion, but maybe due to the distance or the overwhelming magnitude of the loss, the mourning took on a surreal tinge.

A normal school day for military families ended in bloodshed when Taliban fighters entered the school and held over 500 people, the majority being children, hostage. Students and teachers lost their lives in the brutal attack that can only be described as a massacre. Reports came through of children witnessing their classmates being executed, of playing dead to avoid the fate they had seen befall so many others and of families devastated.

Photo courtesy of bbc.com

One wonders how a town recovers from a tragedy such as this. Are they united in their grief or does it tear them apart? I cannot begin to imagine how I would feel if over 100 people from my community were taken from me in such horrific circumstances. Even as I write this, thousands of kilometres away, I am fighting back the tears. I did not know any of those who lost their lives, I have never experienced anything remotely as heartbreaking as that which they are going through right now, yet I feel the burden of their grief and I mourn with them as only I can, by sharing their story.

And now, as I sit here writing, the Australian community is trying to understand yet another senseless tragedy. The loss of 8 children in Cairns, possibly at the hand of the mother of some them, is unfathomable. We not only feel the loss as a country, but we grieve on behalf of the brother that found them. We grieve on behalf on the relatives that must someone come to terms with that fact that not only have they lost 8 young members of the family, but that a member of the family may be responsible.

Photo courtesy of abc.net.au

Coupled with the grief are a sense of helplessness and overwhelming anger. In all cases, we are unsure as to how best to help, how best to show our support for those who are left, how best to grieve. We sometimes feel uneasy in our grief, as if we don’t have a right to grieve. We did not know these people, we did know anyone connected to these people, what right do we have to grieve for these people?

Of course, we have every right. It is an expression of our compassion or sympathy or empathy, or all of the above. It is a stand against the crimes that have been committed, a public outpouring of the grief and anger which demonstrates, in the most raw of manners, that we will not let the tragedy be for nought. Their deaths mean something, not just to those who knew them, but to a city, a country, maybe even the entire planet. They will not only serve the living as a reminder of what terrible atrocities have happened, but of what courage humanity is capable of, what generosity of spirit, what selflessness and what this season means regardless of colour, creed, culture or religion.

If you are grieving, mourning the loss of a loved one, then allow it to happen. There is no end point to grief. It is something that we carry with us always and use always as we traverse this path we call life. The pain may lesson, the day-to-day mundane activities may once again take the foremost place in our mind, but our grief allows us to remember, to show compassion towards those that are suffering, to sympathise with anothers loss and to empathise with those whose loss may be so much greater than our own.

Tonight, I will hug my son a little tighter, give him an extra kiss goodnight, and be thankful that I am not faced with the loss of someone close to me in such tragic circumstances as those we have seen this week. My heart goes out to those affected by recent events and, though my grief pales into insignificance beside theirs, I feel their pain and hope they can find peace in their heart in time.

White Ribbon Day 2014

A year ago, I wrote a piece called White Ribbon Day: A day I wish we didn’t need. It was the 10^th anniversary of the national movement in Australia. I cried writing it, just as I cry every time I re-read it, and just as I will cry writing this one, and will cry re-reading this piece.

You might think that I must have been a victim of domestic violence to be so affected simply writing a blog piece. You might think I must have some personal first hand knowledge to continue to be voice in the dark.

I am not a victim.

I have no first hand knowledge.

I am affected, however. Every single person you know is affected by domestic violence, either directly or indirectly. For those who suffer at the hands of their father, boyfriend, husband, partner or even a total stranger, it is easy to see the affect. For those who know a woman who has been the target of violence, either personally or professionally, the affect can be huge, especially for those working in counselling or health care setting, or who are close friends or relatives of victims.

However, I do not fall into either of those categories, so why am I so affected?

Because the violence against one is the violence against all. We are a society, a community, who must work together to stamp out this insidious act. We are the shopkeepers who see you flinch when someone brushes past you in the aisle. We are the friends who lend you a shoulder on which to cry. We are the boss’ who give you time off to recover from injuries. We are the sports instructors who wait with your children because you’re covering up the latest bruise. We are the teachers who see how broken your family is every time you come in for parent-teacher interviews.

 

There may not be much I can do to stop violence against women on my own; however, many hands make light work. Violence against women does not only affect women. We can do something to stop it if we work together. We cannot judge women who haven’t yet found their way out and we cannot apportion blame to these women for the violence they experience. Women do not ask for it or enjoy it.

There is no stereotypical perpetrator; they can be of any religion, any education level, any sexual orientation, any occupation, any strata of society and any cultural background. Abusers aren’t limited to alcoholics and drug abusers; they can be so-called respectable, contributing members of society.

Likewise, there is no stereotypical woman who suffers from violence, and the number of women who experience some for of violence is not small. In fact, it is large. Scarily large. Depending on the age group, it could be as high as 1 in 3 women. If that statistic alone doesn’t scare you, I don’t know what will.

If the thought of violence against women scares you, take the oath. It doesn't take long. Actually, you can do it right now:

 



If the thought of that not being enough weighs upon you, be proactive: financially support the White Ribbon campaign, volunteer your time or spread the word.

If you are struggling to find a way out of a situation, know someone who is in a violent relationship they can't get out of, or want more information, please check out the following information -

 



Maybe next year, I won't need to write one of these ...