Don’t Cut the Australian Aid Budget

I looked at him and I saw myself,

humanly features, characteristics,

movements between two limbs that are universally shared.

 

I looked at him and I saw myself,

how easily it was to picture

my own soul in his situation,

his family, abundantly caring,

abundantly alike mine.

 

I talked with him and I felt

the depths of his desires,

and they were no different

to mine.

 

You see, we live in a society that

relates to those just like us.

I met this man,

and I saw no differentiation.

 

Now when I hear stories of

children taken in Nigeria,

or communities bombed in Syria,

I ask;

“why were they not newsworthy enough?

 

Do they not suffer like we suffer?

Do they not feel pain like we feel pain?

Is it easier to hide the truth than to face the reality?”

 

For I once met a man,

who lived in a house made of straw.

I felt the depths of his desires,

and the pureness of his heart and I saw

myself.

 

I’ve visited Australian Aid Projects in Timor-Leste,

projects which are fighting against malnutrition,

I’ve touched the walls inside of a  Maternal and Child Health Clinic

which has decreased the rate of infant deaths in the past 3 years…

by 40%.

I saw members of the community reach towards equality,

where women were being empowered.

I watched as clean water taps were being built,

children were being educated and

seeds were getting planted.

 

I went back in November,

excited to see the further change that these projects were going to make,

only to find that maternal and child health clinics,

amongst other successful development projects were

cut

because of the mid -2015 budget to Australian aid.

 

Numbness,

the feeling I felt

as I saw a community with such potential for growth,

was stripped of the ability to provide basic human rights to its people.

 

Go on,

tell me these stories are so different from ours.

tell me that our problems are worse,

or that they caused their chaos.

The only difference I see is

your blindness.

 

There is no depth to your desires,

no purity within your heart.

Open your eyes,

see the world.

See it for what it truly is.

 

If you did,

you’d see a child without reliable access to food and ask;

“how can I help?”

you’d see communities without access to water and say;

“something needs to be done.”

And even better than that, you’ll be the someone who will get that done.

 

Your words have the ability to change the world,

Jacqui Lambie, Malcolm Turnbull, Scott Morrison.

Do it with desires that are deeper than we can fathom,

and hearts that are more pure than Australian soil.

 

 

The Maternal and Child Health Clinic, funded by Australian Aid. Photograph: Lucy Aulich.

The Photograph

I lean down with one arm stretched out and pick up the photograph. The memories all come flooding back. I hear the echo of laughter inside of my mind, it goes around and around and around like a carousel, bringing back the same warm recollections, and much needed smile to my face. Inside the photograph I see our faces, all seven young women ready to take on the world. I can only just read the faded black letters on the thickness of the contrasting white frame. It reads, “We love you, darling Jani”. I bring the photograph closer, to get a clearer view. It smells damp, like a forgotten newspaper that’s been sitting outside in the rain. This place, one meter wide, just for you, feels forgotten. Surrounded by polyester fabric in shades of baby pink, these fake flowers were placed side by side, made to last. Loved ones leave them instead of the real ones to save time, instead of replacing them each week. But you weren’t fond of fake flowers. For fake flowers don’t smell like how it smells in spring. Fake flowers cannot be torn by each petal, as we left it to question the fate of our lives. Fake flowers don’t get the chance to be born, to grow from a seed so small, to live amongst the beauty, and then to readily die. But, then again, neither did you.

I remember the moment that I got the call. I was boarding a plane to Melbourne for my travels overseas. Squeezed in on a seat between two others, I sit down, buckle up, and reach my arm below, to turn off my phone. I was so excited that I was almost bouncing out of my seat (luckily for the buckle). I remember thinking to myself, “This is the day I’ve been waiting so long for.”  Just as I pulled it out of my bag from underneath my seat it buzzed and I answered. Some words and silent cries were muttered, “She can’t be gone” I said. A thousand tears left my eyes in that one and a half hour flight. Not once did the passengers either side ask me if I was okay. Maybe they didn’t know the right words to say.

Before this day I never asked, what does it feel like to lose someone you love? Is it like tearing a photograph down the middle, keeping one side for yourself, and ripping the other into a million pieces? Is it then like trying to tape those pieces back together like a second-hand puzzle which has forever lost a few?

For some it is, but not for me. For me, grief is when her memory is alive, but because of our suffering, we cannot see. It is merely hidden. It is us who are dying. We stop smiling, stop seeing our friends, stop enjoying small moments of joy; eventually this death becomes who we are. The flowers they grow old, they fade, shrivel, and drop. Just like the skin on my hands, but yours will not.

For you are not dead.

Beneath my two small feet is where your body lies down, the seedlings are sprouting in the shade of a sharp green in between. The ants they crawl over the tombstone of cement, searching scavengers. The brown and white plover can be heard in the distance, squawking, sending out a warning to stay away from their young. It gets me thinking, how can a grave be built around so much life?

Death does not equal darkness. Death does not equal despondency. Death is like a wild fire dancing around the kitchen table. It tells stories and shares memories whilst we eat our dinner in celebration. Death is free; it’s not bound to any body, to any movement process between two limbs. Death does not need time to process its actions or thoughts. Death is alive.

I look back at the photograph, I stare right at you. I smile and I think back of the day when we were ready to take on the world. And now I realise that since you’ve been released, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

The highlight of Timor-Leste – meeting Elisa.

When I travelled to Timor-Leste earlier this year, I was burdened with the grief of losing a close friend, a mere 2 days prior. But sometimes, I think that we are placed in certain situations to learn, to grow and to move on. This was definitely one of those moments.

Elisa and I. Photo: Lucy Aulich, World Vision.

In a desert village laid a row of small straw huts. Sitting inside of the car, I was being prepared for the family I would meet next. I had no idea that the incredible woman I was going to meet in a few short minutes would ultimately change my life.

Entering into a small, dark hut, I sat next to an elderly woman named Elisa, and she warmly held my hand into hers. The sun, peeping through cracks in the straw frame, drew light upon our faces. Her daughter, Nicolina, shared stories of what it was like living in their situation. She, and her husband, earned a combined wage of $15 a month, to support their family of seven. I remember how much I wanted to cry, and how my chest was gripping on tight to hold back the tears. But I didn’t cry – I couldn’t show them how much their stories affected me. Instead, I asked light questions. I asked about how Nicolina met her husband, they were next-door-neighbours which developed into a romance. I remember asking, what I thought was a light question, “What makes you happy?”. Elisa didn’t say anything, Nicolina didn’t say anything, there was just silence. After about a minute, Nicolina said, “Nothing makes me happy. I am constantly worrying about being able to provide enough food for my family. But I can’t – so I worry.”

We then left the dark room where Nicolina and two other Youth Ambassadors collected water with her, whilst Elisa and I were able to have a chat. There was an instant connection between us. It really was fate that we met – because we learned so much from each other.

Elisa and I in her garden. Photo: Lucy Aulich, World Vision.

Elisa talked a lot about her family’s situation. She pointed to the crops on her left and said, “The wet season wasn’t wet enough. Our crops have failed. We have enough food for the next two or three days, but after that, there’s nothing.” It was so overwhelming. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Seeing a human suffering right in front of you is something that the car talk could have never prepared me for. I asked Elisa, “What’s the hardest thing that you’ve overcome?” and she replied, “when my husband died two years ago, I was all alone. I lost my best friend. But I have hope because God never gives up, and that’s what gets me through.”

How is it that I found healing in a woman who needed healing?
How is it that I found hope from a woman who had lost everything?

Elisa’s story is a story of faith and perseverance. I’ve never met anyone who has been through so much, and is thankful for the opportunities and life she has – instead of asking “why?” The marked lines on her face were not signs of age – but signs of joy. Joy in the little things. She has hope for the future. Elisa knows that life won’t always be this way – and she’s right, it won’t. Elisa and I prayed together before I left that day – we prayed for her future and for the development in her community.

Elisa taught me that there is always, always hope, no matter what.

From her I learned to never let go of that glimpse of hope because it can help you get through the hardest of situations. When I came home from Timor-Leste I was so inspired by Elisa that I wrote this song – dedicated to her.

Elise,
You taught me to believe,
when everything seems to go wrong,
Stay strong.

And hold on to that glimpse of hope,
and have faith in a better day.

Elise,
You taught me about love,
and everything above.
I just wanted to say that I love you today.

Elise,
You showed me what is strength,
you’re stronger than a thousand seas,
and your boat is sailing softly in the breeze.

Elise,
You know that life’s not fair,
but somehow you don’t care.

Elise,
I just wanted to say,
that it won’t always be this way,
just have faith in that better day.

Elisa and I. Photo: Lucy Aulich, World Vision.

The Wet Season

The wet season

Sky sheltered
A blanket of white,
Thick smog covering the surface
Until reaching higher ground
It was easy to go higher
A country covered in mountain terrain
Always driving up – and up – and up
Head hitting the ceiling
Waves and smiles becoming blurred.

I remember,
Reflective puddles
Green turning to grey
The distant growl of thunder
Sky angered
Clouds crying out
Why?
I didn’t have the answer.

When everything felt lost
The wind – harsh
Her response – overwhelming
Their hands – infatuating
Stories – devastating.

A flash of hope
A moment we shared
Two hands,
Two bodies
One prayer.

The sky was still angered
The clouds still cried
But oh, my heart,
Came alive.

5 Months On: You’re Gone

Yesterday you were a soul, but I don’t know what happened,
You’re gone.

You were a light that shined so bright,
A rainbow full of colour, that’s faded to grey,
You’re gone.

I miss you, now,
I need you to help me stand,
I can’t hold back the tears anymore,
Because you’re gone.

My tears are flowing with heavy pain,
I’m all alone in the darkness,
And you’re gone.

I can’t erase the fact in my mind,
That I won’t see you again,
Except at your grave,
You’re gone.

I miss you, now,
I need you to help me stand,
I can’t hold back the tears anymore,
Because you’re gone.

A Single Moment

A single moment.

Air filled with a perfect gradual descent of blue to red.
Air filled with a smoky silver lining of thin and frail clouds.
Disappearing softly.

A single moment where my mind is silent.
My heart, beating softing.
My eyes, glistening in awe.

Awe of the beauty of this world.
Awe of how a single moment can spark inspiration.
Awe that we live in a world so beautiful, so breathtaking, so beyond comprehension.

A single moment…

I am…

I am the soul which this body lives in.
I am not the walls that contain myself.
I am not the flaws which are visible from the outside.
I am the inside.
I am my thoughts.
I am my dreams.
I am the bigger picture.
A picture so detailed that often the naked eye cannot even see the lengths of my abilities and the distance of my desires.
I am the fire burning inside.
I am the light ever present.
I am hope.
I am the rope that’s still holding on by its last string.
I am optimistic.
I am filled with energy and somehow at the same time I am filled with an abundance of sadness.
I am a deep-thinker.
I am curious and a constant questioner.
I am just trying to get through each day.
I am the soul which this body lives in.
And this soul will continue to live on even when my body grows old.

Creative Writing Piece: The Weight of the World

So this year I’ve just finished my first year of Uni. My major which I’m studying is Creative Writing. Over this last term we’ve been asked to create a ‘Chapbook’ with a theme – mine being emotions.

Usually we view emotions as they are, because aren’t they, what they are? But some-times happiness can be more than just smiles and or excitement, and sadness can be deeper than depression or weakness. I hope to show that each emotion I write about has a different perspective, one that you maybe haven’t considered before to give a deeper meaning behind its purpose.

This is Anxiety in a form I’d like to express to you:

I feel myself slipping away.

You know that feeling you get, when you’re holding something heavy and it all just becomes too much to handle? When your hands become sticky and wet, and your fingers begin to peel off, one by one, until you feel like you’re holding on with your frail ring finger, the weakest of them all. It seems like the easiest thing is to just give up completely because sometimes it can all be too hard. That’s how I feel with myself. But this time, I’m not a heavy box that’s being carried upstairs into the living room. I’m me. But I’m not even that much anymore, because I no longer know who I, exactly, am.

It started at the back of my mind. I tried to push it back, to suppress it, and pretend it didn’t exist. I tried to focus on other things. But the harder I tried to push it out of my memory and into a world of imagination, the harder it pushed me back. I felt it crawl down the nape of my neck, to my spine, slowly making its way down, an icy sensation that sent shivers which strike deep into my throbbing heart, right to the tips of my toes. It’s this ever-present feeling which no longer seems to leave my body, and my mind. It’s no longer a simple thought of my imagination.

It’s there.

It’s real.

I can feel it running through my veins and fluttering inside of my core.

It’s taking over me.

The other day I looked in the mirror for the first time in months, and it’s like I didn’t even know the girl who was looking back at me, my own reflection. I picked at my pores, trying to scratch off the false pretence, to dig underneath the surface of who I used to be, the person that I remember. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find her. I was losing myself. My thick blood burst through my pale skin each time I picked at my insecurities, leaving even darker scars. It’s like I suddenly woke up one morning, a stranger.

The sound of heavy raindrops tapping against my window pane won’t cease to echo in my mind. But as I open the curtain to the garden outside, not a cloud in the sky can be seen. Is this too, a fragment of my imagination, or am I slowly turning insane? Although I close the curtain shut so that darkness fills my bedroom, I can still hear the tapping of the raindrops, but this time it’s not coming from outside, but, deep within. My heart is beating louder and faster than clockwork. My ticking, trembling hands are no longer in sync with my mind. Time, something I’ve always had a lot of, seems to be running low lately, unknowing when my time is up. The long hand constantly moves from the small, and I am the ticking second, forever chasing after hours I can’t get back. If only I could take it back to a clockmaker and get it fixed, back to normal.

If only.

I’m facing a constant battle of barely holding on and barely letting go. I’m stuck at crossroads, unknowing what to do. Although I’m slipping away, I’m scared of what will happen when I let go of the handlebar completely. Will I be unable to steer myself in the right direction?

If I let go, will I have any control? Or will fear takeover completely as I slip away.

Because when you tear off the tape, and lift open the folds of the box, I’m not some shiny new TV that comes with a remote – to mute me when you’re bored with what I have to say. When you open me, I’m scared of what you’ll think and what you’ll see, and if you too, want to let go of me.

Am I Enough?

“I remember when I was in school, the whole reason I started writing songs was because I was alone a lot of the time. I’d sit there in school and I’d be hearing people like, ‘Oh my god, this party that we’re going to is gonna be so awesome on Friday. Everyone’s invited except for [Taylor].’” – Taylor Swift.

A few days ago I began thinking about how in high school I struggled to find my place in the world. It seemed like everyone had their cliques, even if they weren’t popular, they still had a group of friends that that they could depend on.

For me it was never that easy. I never really had a group to call my own. I moved schools a couple of times and really struggled to fit in.

And it got me thinking that if I didn’t fit in, then surely, there would be others out there who felt as isolated as I did. I want these people to know that they’re not alone. High School isn’t everything – I’ve surely learned that over the past 5 years.

But what struck me was that some of the most inspirational celebrities also didn’t fit in during high school, like Taylor Swift and Jessica Alba. Chad Michael Murray especially felt out of place

“I hated high school. I didn’t have any friends, because I didn’t fit in.”

So I wrote a song called ‘Am I Enough’ for all of those people out there who doubt their existence or are still looking for a place to fit in. Don’t worry. You fit in, just not in a world as stupid as High School. You’re so much more than that. *The audio is underneath*

enough

Verse 1:
Sometimes the world feels like it doesn’t get, like maybe if you were born in a different year or place.
Sometimes the world can feel so against you, like they were wanting you to come in last place.
Sometimes the world can feel so dark.
Sometimes the world can feel like it’s tearing you apart.
And you say…
Chorus:
Am I enough in this world? I don’t know where I belong, or even if I fit in.
Am I enough in this world? I don’t know where I belong, or even if I fit in.
Verse 2:
Sometimes the world always seems to forget you, like no one takes notice of you anymore.
Sometimes the world feels like the odds are against you, now what’s the point of trying anymore?
Sometimes the world can feel so dark.
Sometimes the world can feel like it’s tearing you apart.
And I say…
Chorus:
Am I enough in this world? I don’t know where I belong, or even if I fit in.
Am I enough in this world? I don’t know where I belong, or even if I fit in.