The Rose in the Lily Pond

I have become dependent on my “Breaking Bad” fix.  It’s a tv series about a chemistry high school teacher diagnosed with terminal cancer who decides to cook meth as a means to earn enough money for his wife, son and daughter to live a comfortable life after he’s gone.  I’m an absolute addict. Just as the show depicts meth heads craving their next hit, I’m at work counting down the minutes, itching and biting my nails at 5 to 5, gagging to get home and watch Walt and Jesse self destruct in their next big venture. A friend gave me seasons 1-4 and I have been staying up to the wee hours of the morning on the edge of my seat, covering my eyes then rewinding to see what I was too scared to watch the first time round, and I’m finished. I’m out, and my flatmates and I have the withdrawal symptoms bad. We sat in silence for about 20 minutes after the end. Depressed that we wont have it to look forward to after a hard day’s work. We knew that there was a season 5, and se

Ok, ok, ok, I can tolerate the mountain of baby photos, the incessant need to post whatever culinary delight you may be eating but the line has to be drawn somewhere and I believe I have found it. I logged on today to find a picture of a potty with a little puddle of wee in it. I don’t care how proud you are that your little darling has done her first, “mummy wow – I’m a big kid now” moment – that should never be shared – not even your family and close friends want to see that let alone the hordes of facebook acquaintances you have made over the years. Instead of blame you, I am going to blame the cause - smart phones. They’re dangerous - they’re too instant and something that can seem like a good idea at the time is really not...  I think there needs to be a ‘count to 10’ application: 1.     I wouldn't put this on my kid’s 21 st board so why would I put it up on facebook? 2.     Would I show my mum this post? 3.     While we’re at it, my boss? 4.  

After that horrible anxious moment of waking up and thinking you’ve slept through you’re alarm and now you’re really late for work, and you’ll probably be fired, and forced to do something treacherous to make a living and... then, realising that it’s Sunday and you snuggle back into your covers not caring about the time. It’s the first Sunday that I’ve had absolutely nothing to do, and after relishing it, I was a bit lost. What can I do? I feel like you need knowledge to have fun in the country. There’s an amazing surf beach, but I don’t know how to surf, I want to learn eventually but I’m a bit scared of drowning at that rough west coast beach, you see people riding horses, but I don’t have a horse, and I don’t know how to ride one. I have no interest in hunting or fishing... but I do have legs! So off I go down Turkey Flat road in Te Koporu. First off, it wasn’t flat, and I didn’t see one turkey, so misleading if you ask me, but it was lovely... Peaceful. Rolling coun

Hiking up from the lakes and overlooking the longest drivable beach in NZ. It’s an absolutely stunning area to live. Fresh water, Kai Iwi lakes is only 30 minutes away, and the rough beauty of the wild west coast is accessible at Baylys Beach, a short drive away, but living in a small town will take some getting used to.    I remember coming up for my interview and feeling very much like an outsider. I got a flat white at a local cafe which could compete with any cafe in Auckland, and observed people coming and going. I didn’t feel at ease as I usually do when I enjoy a solo coffee, and I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but now I can – in Auckland, I’m anonymous. No one really cares who you are or what you’re about when you’re sipping on a latte in Auckland which kind of gives you privacy in public spaces. I could happily read ‘50 shades of grey’ for example, but in Dargaville – and I’m not sure if I’m imagining this or not – comers and goers gave me sideways

Going to eat a lot of peaches. Well kumara at least. I have snagged a job at the Kaipara Lifestyler newspaper in Dargaville, Kumara capital of New Zealand – and well, I guess, the world. Even people from Dargaville are asking – why? Why make a move from Auckland where I have a close network of friends as well as my family to Dargaville – population 5,000 and friend count, 0. At this point, I’m not sure of the answer but I figure the tag line on this blog is, “have an adventure, they are amazing” so I might as well live up to that. It’s my first “real” job and it’s been a bit tough so far, I’m not going to lie. My friends tell me that this 40 plus hour a week stuff is “real life” – gosh take me back to travelling the world and working in coffee shops or doing a masters and working in a pub part time. Actually scratch the masters part - has to be better than doing the masters. The stories that I’m doing are a bit different than the investigative journalism that I

One: Don't, don’t do it. Thinking of doing a masters? My biggest piece of advice would be – don’t! Don’t do it, don’t start. I know it’s pretty rough out there and landing a job is like New Zealand breaking a world record on the first day of the Olympics (oh wait – we did that!) but  work for free if you have to. Anything but put yourself through the torture, the pain, the suffering. Save yourself a lot of sleepless nights, panic attacks and oh, probably about five kilos and turn around now. Are you still with me? Of course you are – because we all have that little light bulb of denial, “Oh yeah, but that won’t happen to me.” Well fellow masochist, maybe I can help you out. Two: Start by looking at past examples. Simple right? Look at past examples of people’s work. I did a practical thesis which meant that I also had to write an exegesis. Don’t know what an exegesis is? Until about a month before it was due, I didn’t either. Then I was in panic mode – tryin

Our BFG  It may stand for the Big Friendly Goat, but he had many of the qualities of a Big Friendly Giant. Big, kind, gentle and always ready to give you a nudge of affection every time you come and visit. I have fond memories of feeding him out of a bottle when I first started high school.  I used to walk through the goat paddock on my way to school and he would chew on my uniform so I had to go to class covered in goat slobber.   He died last night. My mother thinks he fell over and he couldn’t get up but I tell myself that he died peacefully in his sleep. He never slept in his goat house, he just never could get comfortable, so he’d sleep outside in the freezing cold and rain which gave him bad legs and foot root. It never seemed to bother him though. He still enjoyed his treats each morning, and head butting his sister, Gerry.   Mum and Gerry After my brother said matter of factly, “Tom died last night” my mother and I made our way down to the goat paddock to

We live in a world where fruit have their own facebook page. You can’t rummage for a ripe lemon without the white “f” with the blue background staring at you - begging, pleading for you to “like” it. Every website now has a range of favicons saying, “like me”, “talk to me”, “watch me”. It seems that every company is now that fat kid picked last for sports practice jumping up and down saying, “pick me, pick me, pick me” to the cool kids. As well as making companies look a bit like your aunty Mildred, it has also revolutionised the way that we communicate with our friends and family. When I say friend, I use the term loosely - it can be anyone from your closest and dearest childhood pal to that dude you met at a that party that one time. Facebook is marketed as a communication tool, a way to keep in touch and keep connected with your “friends”, but how well do we really communicate on facebook? And when does keeping in touch become downright stalking. While travelling

This week, a guest author, Wilson Chau, examines the themes of Old Love (Read it HERE ). It is like he got inside my head and wrote down my inner most thoughts! Of course Mave and Grant’s relationship is an exact mirror image of the European Union and the United States! I am Rose Rees-Owen, writer, and international relations specialist! Thank you Wilson for this wonderful analysis and tribute :-) This is a dedication to Rose. Over coffee, I suggested to Rose that I would read this particular piece and deliberately micro analyse it with the intent of applying the themes and messages to contemporary international relations. Warning, this is deliberate BS :) 1. Introduction - "Old Love" - A critical commentary on transatlantic relations Rose Rees-Owen’s critically acclaimed classic, Old Love, has been touted as a moment for all of us in the West to reflect and ask questions. Old Love is a commentary on US-European relations set in the context of the po

The kettle gives a satisfying BING. Mave heaves herself off the couch hobbles over and makes a cuppa. She fumbles one of her home made bikkies out of the cupboard and critically examines the delicate petals that adorn the biscuit. The decorations are OCD perfect, but Mave tuts that one of the petals is slightly smaller than the others. She preps her tea the way she has for the last 60 years. Milk first. No sugar, no, her father would roll over in his grave if she dared thought of adding sugar to her tea. She stirs it exactly 5 times, and washes the spoon straight away. She settles in for a lovely night of telly. Oh how she loved watching “The Biggest Loser”, especially when they fell off the treadmill like oompa loompas. She just couldn’t help but chuckle. The floor boards  below creak, and a loud thud thud thud sounds. Mave’s smile turns to a grimace. Not even the fattest contestant rolling around in a pathetic mess of tears could cheer her up. Grant’s stomach sound

Never before have I cowered into my friend's shoulder at absolute disgust of what was on screen. 24 teenagers forced to fight until the death, with only one sole survivor. It is all televised in a twisted combination of Bear Grylls’ “Man vs Wild”, “Big Brother” and warfare. Set in the future but not that far from the present, Suzanne Collins, author of the bestselling novels that the movies are based off, tells how she came up with the story line. She was channel surfing and on the one hand the likes of Jersey Shore, or Big Brother, or dear I say our own crappy reality show (that is funded by the STATE no less) The GC was on, and then on the other hand there was war. In her tired state, these two concepts blurred into the story that is now The Hunger Games. In this future world, there are 12 districts, and a class system that ranks district 1 as the richest, and district 12 as the poorest. Katniss Everdeen played by Jenifer Lawrence, comes from the poverty stricken d

After two years of travelling the world, Queen’s Ferry Hotel was the perfect place to come home to. It was full of travellers, and it felt like I was still on an adventure. Kiwis were the minority, and around me were Americans, Canadians, Scots, Brazilians, Irish, English, Swedes and many more. Just like when you travel, you form such tight bonds with people, because it’s not a job, it’s a family and a lifestyle and I will never forget it!     So let’s raise our glasses one last time: Cheers Queen’s Ferry, here’s to all the memories with all weird and wonderful people! Two Mysterious Australians: Two Australians walk into a bar. Two bartenders mischievously look at each other. Bridget was the other bar tender, she was from Boston, she would buy people a drink if they told her a joke she hadn’t heard, and every time ‘Tiny Dancer’ comes on I think of her. This night isn’t one to remember because of mysterious Australians, it’s one to remember because of mi

It’s been 3 months, 28 days and 12 hours since I’ve heard from you. Every morning I race to the letterbox and every morning is the same. Nothing but a few bills. I can’t do anything but wait. Wait for a letter from you, or wait for a letter from the Government. Please Jeremy, please write. I don’t want that letter from the Government. I don’t care about sentiments. Don’t tell me how much you love me. Don’t tell me how much you miss me. All I want is two words. I’m alive. That’s it… Please write Jeremy. Please. Yesterday I smashed a plate. For no apparent reason I picked it up and threw it on the floor. A shard cut into my leg, and you know what Jeremy, I savoured it. I relished in the pain and let the blood drip down my leg and onto the ground. I stared at it with relief; all this pain and frustration finally had a release. It was cleansing Jeremy. It was good therapy. Please write Jeremy, Please. A young girl sits on the bus. She has her iPod plugged in and she stares out the