Feeling: POOLSIDE

Feeling: POOLSIDE

1. It’s quite funny; in my time, I’ve tried out being a fair few variations of people. Like a bag of RJs, I’ve been all sorts.

The sporty girl in high school, the “dress up doll” (as termed by a group of girls in my form at the time) towards the end of my time at Baradene, aloof and independent (as starting out at CHS; though I maintained the independence, self-imposed isolation is something that will never be a natural part of me). I was quite alty there for a bit my first year of uni (I cringe when I recall some of the outfits I used to wear); second year I was rather withdrawn and studious; Brisbane saw me as a carefree partier (well, on the surface), and the last couple of years have send me see-saw between intrepid nomad and workaholic collecting funds to enable the swing back to the former. Times I’ve been truly happy, others it’s a more forced, aggressively sunny demeanour, but I genuinely feel it is who I am right now – or who I’m making massive inroads to becoming – that is who I want to be. (Still need to extend certain aspects and eradicate a couple of not-so-hankered-for).

It’s funny. Before now, always always always, I’ve been accustomed to shaping my own agenda without having to consider someone else. Sure, there have been relationships and people I probably should have attuned to when making a choice, but for the most part I made selections selfishly, blithely not involving or contemplating a significant other in my plans. I’ve always been a, I’m going to Europe” kind of girl, rather than a, “What do you think of going to Europe with me?” sort of someone.

But being in deep with a certain cyclist now, I’ve realised not only do I need to consider someone else, but I actually want to. Plans for next year, 2020, beyond; I want to involve him and hear his ideas and sort of shift myself around him. This is how I know The Pedaller is a bit different to anyone before now – and it doesn’t instil a sense of tremendous terrification like I expected it might do.

Unfamiliar territory mate. I feel like Abel Tasman coming across an unexplored land; while his was lush NZ, mine is a pure patch of caring.

2. Two days ago in class Martinet absolutely blasted me for being on my laptop and “not listening”. (I had previously checked it was ok for me to take my laptop into theory class, promising her I would not go on Facebook or any such site during lessons. And I kept to my word and truly didn’t). I assured her I had been listening – I genuinely could have recounted word for word the entire class as yet; at the crucial moment, she had been telling us about the time she did yoga for kids and the sheer skill of some of the back bending boys), and she responded with, “Close your screen and stop communicating with your boyfriend.”

I was fuming. Absolutely livid. Granted, I had been on Linked In, but to imply I was a foolish young girl tittering on with a young love like some pathetic pre-teen made me mad. I was so close – so close!! – to storming out of the session, but I breathed in a surge of surety to stay and sat for the next half hour with my hands clasped in a calming mudra.

On my walk a bit later, I was still incensed. Trundling along imagining situations where I had stood up and sassed back. Then I stopped (figuratively; I kept trooping on in the hiking sense) and thought about it; so much resentment was surging through me I needed to get rid. I needed to negate the negativity, not expend any more energy on indifference or dislike, and feel feelings of warmth rather than wrath.

(I know, I know. I sound like a new-age Rhonda Byrnes).

Rather than resent the way she reprimands, I need to accept it and not take it to heart. It’s who she is, how she acts – it doesn’t mean I have to take it on board and hurt myself with it. (Though sometimes the desire to sit with a bowl of Kellogg’s, pint of beer and a slab of steak right in front of her almost overwhelms me).

3. I’ve realised how I “need” recognition for all my right-doings and conducts. When I do something, I expect some sort of acknowledgement or admission for it. And I don’t like this ugly aspect.

I want to be more like my dad. Papa Henio needs no such concession or cognisance; he acts with no need for someone to say something. I really respect this attribute, and would really like to have it intrinsically in myself.

Last night I got a piece of paper and wrote down all my negative aspects in black felt pen. With the aid of my online thesaurus, I brainstormed all the traits of myself that are not so desirable. Negativity, impatience, unpleasantness, being a bitch. Then I ripped up that piece of paper into tiny shreds, and shoved it in the bin outside along with the cursed Faber Castell. (Had a brief twang at the not-recycling, but this was a symbolic moment, ok?).

I went back into my room and wrote out a new A4, this time with a myriad of colours. Attributes I want to be – generous, kind hearted, flexible with time, there for others. Then I folded it up and pocketed it between the pages of my diary, my secret sheet of wished-for idiosyncrasities.

Man oh man, I am becoming so different to how I once knew myself. What is this somewhat airy-fairy, happy-lappy actioning?

4. Just back to that quote I included in my previous post, about God separating coloured persons and what not; (“Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, Malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. The fact that He separated the races shows that He did not intend for the races to mix”). I was admiring my deluxe set of Faber Castells, when this line of thought entered my consciousness. And it made me mad (seems to be happening a bit, doesn’t it?). Why, here was even a felt pen manufacturer segregating the blacks from the yellows and the greens! How bigoted! How xenophobic! I was to change this at once.

So I unclipped all the connectors and mixed them all in a melting pot. The deep blue alongside the petal pink and the wooden brown nestled next to the neon yellow. I reviewed my work, satisfied with the result, then laughed out loud.

You know your attempts at do-goodiness have gone beyond ridiculous when you see your set of coloured pens as being racist.

5. I see so much of Martinet in me. The same dosha composition (that inherent vata-pita); the same knocky left knee, both with a bout of mild right-side scoliosis. Personality traits so shared, that tendency to flare up and elude impatience, overt disapproval so seen (though I do attempt to cover mine up).

But I don’t want to end up like her.

She’s smart. Fiercely so. Full of knowledge and performs yoga like a true professional. But she lacks warmth, connection, that sense of approachability.

I genuinely believe I was meant to criss cross with her right now to teach me some lessons in life, that of modifying myself, learning patience and purity and also, how to rightly do asanas.

6. And today is a day off, with us four friends having discovered an upmarket hotel where you can pay 500 rupees (about $11) to spend anytime between 9am and 9pm by the pool. It’s absolutely exquisite to just recline with my book, calm to the greatest degree I can be, jumping in the h20 for lengths when restlessness rises.

Life is giving me some lessons. But life is gosh darn good.


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