What *really* happened in Monaco: Day 1

The Monaco Grand Prix is known as one of the most glamorous events on the global social calendar, and a definite chart topper in the Formula 1 season. 'A sunny place for shady people' they say, and with the multimillion dollar yachts, billionaires making deals and supercars the norm, you can see why...

I had the fortunate of reporting for Richard's F1 - my third ever Grand Prix as an internationally accredited reporter - at the Monaco GP this year, and I had absolutely no idea what to expect honestly.  My plane arrived on the Friday before the GP weekend and the events that unfolded over the next few hours make up one of my favourite traveling tales to date...

***

I arrived in the French Riviera exhausted but pumped: I had driven three hours from a tiny place in the Netherlands to the Hague and then on to Amsterdam, dropped off the rental car (that had served me so well on the Autobahn, thank you VW) and caught the flight to Nice.

A friend had told me I could stay at an apartment she had sorted in Nice, so accommodation was sorted - or was it? Logging onto the airport wifi informed me that in fact the girls had changed plans and were staying at a villa in Monaco.  Armed with the new address and instructions to message them on arrival, I picked up my new chariot, a turbo Astra.  The two gentlemen helping me with the hire car were lovely, but were interestingly very quick to correct me when I asked if they were from the area.

"Oh no no no, I am from France," one said.  "Monaco is weird. The people are weird, their cars are weird, the lifestyle is weird... you'll have fun though. Enjoy your time here!"

Cheers! My thoughts were joyful as I sped off.

What a drive! Honestly, television does not do the difficulty of navigating that street circuit justice. Driving to Monaco that night gave me a tiny taste of the adrenalin rush the drivers get for 78 laps...

Almost the entire trip almost was on the edge of the cliffs with winding streets and tiny lanes; the blind corners and fast cars are an intoxicating combination. I drove the hell out of that Astra and thought to myself: 'Welcome to Monaco girl. You've made it!'.

It was only when I arrived at the villa that I realised I would need to find a place to park, and unlike places in suburban Australia, not every house has a dedicated car parking spot. Furthermore, streets are not just straight, up and down and grid like - they wind in and out, up and down and across the landscape in an insane manner, meaning my semi-logical mind lost all sense of direction almost as soon as I passed the address.  I did a couple of laps of the suburb looking for a park and eventually capitulated, parking about a couple of kilometres away.

An easy few kilometres... or so I'd thought.

Walking back to the villa, I got completely and utterly lost.

Completely lost. To the point I eventually started going up random streets in the hope I would see something I recognised, and up and down stairs for the faint chance of a spark of inspiration. I couldn't find any wifi for a map, and didn't want to ask anyone - because what kind of non-shady person is up at this time of the night?! At one point I tried to retrace my steps but didn't want to pass by a bunch of guys who were lingering outside a shop...I'd passed them once and if I walked by again it would be obvious I had no idea where I was going.  Dilemma!

After a stroke of luck and a healthy amount of internal praying that I stumbled across the right street after about an hour of walking.  Success! I skipped to the door... and stopped.  There were about 8 different villas for the one address, and I had absolutely no idea which one the girls would be staying at...

Not one to be dissuaded, I perched on the steps in front of the villa and began searching for a wifi connection, which I eventually found (after paying an exorbitant fee, naturally).  My phone was inoperable overseas, thank you Telstra, so I was dependant on the Weefee connection.  I sent off some messages, confident that I would now be all sorted, and waited.

Nothing.

I decided to make a couple of calls via Skype and Viber.

Nada.

Oh dear, I thought. Hmm...

By this point, I'd reached the early hours of the morning and it was quite cold. People were starting to return from their night out, and I was running out of viable solutions.  Hmm...

I googled the nearest hotel and was glad to see it was noted as an 'affordable option'.  Trundling over, I pressed the doorbell and the guy at reception reluctantly buzzed the glass door open.

"Englay?" I asked, hopeful.

His face grew even more unimpressed.

"A leetle."

"Is there any chance you have a room for the night sir?"

He looked at me, eyebrows up.  "Miss, it is impossible! 500 Euros a night, but we have nothing. Very very busy until Sunday."

500 Euros! My goodness.

"Can I use your phone then?"

"Oh no miss, impossible, impossible. Try Olypmica, they may have a room."

I picked up my luggage and shuffled out. No way was I trying another hotel.  What were my options? Well, I was running out of battery on my phone, so option one was to head back to the car and charge the baby.

A seed of thought formed as I made my way to the silver beast.  I sat in the driver's seat and pushed the back all the way down.  There was enough space, I thought. Let's just have a nap...

I slept in the car! Never have I had to do anything like this before, and it was ironic that I was slumming it in the ritziest place on earth...

***

Three hours later I woke up, freezing my rear end off. Although the place is sunny during the day, the temperature drops significantly overnight and my Australian body was not able to handle it.  Heater on full blast, I scrubbed my eyes and contemplated the next step.

If I had checked the wifi, I would have seen my friend message and say the doors of the villa were open. I missed her message by about ten minutes though, and drove again to Nice.  Again, through the crazy awesome roads - stopping briefly to check out the view - and found a parking spot right out the front of the Nice apartment I was originally to stay at.

As luck would have it, it too was in a set of blocks so I had no idea which to choose. Too much effort I thought, and put my mind to the next dilemma.

Where to have a shower?!

Tired, not-very-fresh and in need to head to the media center in a few hours, I needed a shower stat.  However, apparently these are not a readily available commodity in Nice.  I wandered around the streets with my luggage (again) looking for a hotel or a place which would work.

Zip. It seemed like everywhere was closed at 5.30 am...but seriously?! How could this be!

I walked into a bar (the only place open!) and remembered that in French, shower was 'doosh'.

"Doosh?" I asked the lady behind the counter hopefully.

She looked at me puzzled, and replied in French.  A few minutes later, we came to the conclusion that there was no place I could get a doosh nearby.

Le sigh.  What's a girl to do...

It was almost 7am, so attention turned to the stomach.  The bakery in front of the apartment was open and smelt inviting, so I walked in and the baker was a Muslim lady. Success!

"Madam, do you speak Arabic?" I asked, remembering that there was a large population of Arabic speakers in France.

"Wee!"

Double Success! I asked in Arabic whether she knew where I could have a shower.  She didn't, but asked the other customers in the bakery.

A lovely old lady behind me quickly replied in French and the Muslim baker turned to me.

"You can have a shower at her house, she said you're welcome to!"

I couldn't believe my ears!

"Really?"

She nodded, and said some more in French.

"Je parle un pue," I said quickly, emphasising the 'un pue' - only a little French. She nodded and motioned for me to follow her.

***

The apartment was tiny: a single bed, a desk and a sink, adjoined by a tiny bath, but I felt so incredibly grateful. Nicole, her name was, and she opened the doors of her home to me. I had a steaming hot shower, got changed into my Monaco outfit and we sat together in front of a French kids TV show, making broken conversation. She had two kids and a grandchild and was a former French Professor at the University of Cannes.  An accident that had damaged her head meant she was no longer able to work, but she seemed happy and laughed at my terrible attempts speak her language.  She made me tea and breakfast, with a loaf of bread that looked like it came out only on special occasions. I felt so incredibly blessed to have been invited into her home, and found it ironic that it was those with the least to give who gave it most readily...

"What do you like?" I asked, "Qu'est ce que tu aimes?"

She laughed.

"Smoke cigarettes!"

***

I left Nicole's house on a cloud and after lots of hugs and kisses.  I returned to the car, keyed in the address in Monaco and began to make my way to the media centre...

You'd think that is where the drama ends, but of course not.  The rest however, is for another post...

MONACO!

It has been too long since I have written; long enough for it to be too embarrassing to even excuse.  So, instead, I shall regale you with some photos...

I've found myself blessed again with the opportunity to attend a Grand Prix as a journalist for RichardsF1.com.  First Malaysia, then Barcelona and now...Monaco! It has been an absolute honour really, and I do not know how to do the experience justice...

I wrote about walking along the track for the website, and some of the photos are worth sharing.  Check it out by clicking here...

There is also an epic backstory to this trip, but that is for after the race ;) Hope you're watching!

The FIFO Life: Out of a duffel bag

I dumped my oversized waterproof sports bag on the tiles next to the door as I walked in, waving at the taxi.  Off came the steel capped booted, the long socks.  I breathed in deeply; it was good to be home.

Could I really call it home anymore though? I am not too sure.  I don't spend more than a week at a time in this house, and my parents have already appropriated the spaces I used to call my own. The study desk I painstakingly built in high school and lived at during my university days has been taken over by my younger brother.  My room is unrecognisable.  The bed has been moved out, replaced with the spare single.  All signs of life are packed away in cupboards and boxes by a mother who cannot abide clutter.  I don't bother unpacking my work bag anymore as it will only be a matter of days before I head off again and it sits at the foot of my nightstand, disrupting the clean lines...

Working on the oil and gas rigs as a fly-in fly-out worker is an interesting lifestyle, and that of a service hand is slightly more erratic.  Due to the nature of our employment, we don't have regular rosters and are constantly on-call.  Rig crews often gasp in shock (or grunt, because 'men don't gasp!') when we explain how we have no roster: no idea of when we will be needed or how long we will stay in the field for, a life lived by the phone.  It is the nature of the game and we are clearly told so when we start, but it only hits me on moments like this, moments when I realise I don't live at 'home' anymore.  It seems that I have moved out, but it happened without fanfare and anyone really noticing. I didn't move into another home, rather a to a life out of this 18 kilo duffel bag.

You learn what is essential and what you can live without, you learn to take small bottles of shampoo and fewer changes of clothes.  On my first hitch my bag weighed in at 23kg, the maximum QANTAS would take. Now, I am at a comfortable 18kg - and that 5kg makes all the difference when you haul your life around on your shoulder.

You become accustomed to wearing the same two sets of clothes to work for weeks on end, having one set washed for you every night and folded by the morning.  You get used to having your food made for you, because most camps have a 24 hour kitchen to serve the 24 hour rig operations.  Some might consider it a luxury, having your clothes washed and your food cooked, but when after working over 12 hours a day, 7 days a week for weeks on end, you will take any luxury you can get.  It says something about a place when lollipops and stickers are like gold and anyone taking a trip to the nearest town is inundated with requests for packs of red bull, cigarettes or eclipse mints.  It's the simple things that keep you going.

---

The FIFO Life is a series of moments experienced during the Fly-In, Fly-Out (FIFO) life of working on the oil and gas rigs.  Amorphous, random, and usually written on a whim, these are moments that encapsulate the emotion of a strange sort of a life.

How do you eat a prawn with chopsticks?!

I stare into my bowl, the steam slightly clouding my glasses.

'Should have just gone with the beef tepanyaki'...my mind wanders.

***

I enjoy taking a punt on foods and eating things that I don't recognise (as long as they are Halal!).  It keeps life interesting and I've had some great experiences and well, some not so good ones.

This was shaping up to be a 'not-so-bad-but-should-have-gone-with-something-else' category.

I'm sitting at an 'authentic' tepanyaki house, if by authentic it means frequented by locals and staffed by people who look like they know what they're doing.

It is in a mall in Kuala Lampur though, so I am not sure how 'authentic' it can be called really, in the grand scheme of things.  10 meters away from this step into another world is a Burger King.  The magic of globalisation...

***

It was the first non-franchised chain I had come across in the mall and seeing I was running out of Rinngets in cash and didn't want to exchange any more money the prices were relatively reasonable I stopped and looked at the menu.

Beef Tepanyaki - something I'd never had but was always curious about, 12.90 RM.  Sukiyaki, a dish I had never heard of with an interesting looking picture in a pot, 10.90 RM.

Ah, the bottom-line wins! Sukiyaki it is!

I mumbled to the man standing at the entrance, he nodded, ticked a box on a paper and handed me the slip.

I stood there, waiting and looked expectantly.

He gestured again, slightly impatiently.  I ventured into the restaurant, bumped into a lady holding hot tea - sorry! ah, terimakasi! - and sat on an empty stool, one of the many at the large oval table surrounding the cooking surface in the middle.  I placed my paper in front of me, hoping that was the right thing to do. Do I talk to someone? Who knows.  Let's just look at what everyone else does...

***

Eventually a chef walks into center of the oval, looks at my sheet of paper, looks at the paper of those sitting next to me, yells a few things at the kitchen behind the counter, and begins cooking.

Ah! The fluidity of the movement! The gestured flippancy in the applications of herbs and spices as if he was merely miming how to put a dish together. I am mesmerised.

He isn't cooking for me though. My pot comes out after a wait, steaming, and definitely not what I expected.  It is a bowl, hotter than hot, with at least three servings of broth, random eggs and bits of protein and full of thin, clear noddles that prove to have a very low friction factor.

I struggle slightly, sure that all the staff are secretly sniggering at my balancing attempting to balance a ladle with chopsticks, eating with the right hand and attempting not to splash myself.  Such self indulgence, to think everyone is paying enough attention to be laughing at you.

So vain! I mentally kick myself and return my attention to tackling the enormous portion.

A family comes in; mother , father and son, and sit near me on the oval table.  They stare at my pot; perhaps I have ordered a family size my accident? I suddenly feel self conscious and clumsy.

***

Having gotten the hang of the noodles and tackled the bits of chicken in the soup, I am left with copious noodles and...a prawn.  With the head, tail and shell intact.

This was something I hadn't prepared for. I am yet to see anyone use their hands to peel a prawn, and I don't want to make a mess.

How do you peel a prawn with chopsticks?

I try to spear it with my chopsticks unsuccessfully.

Attempting to remove the head with my ladle isn't successful either.

I end up with a chopstick in each hand, attempting to leverage the shell off.  The father sitting opposite me observes me with a strange expression.  The wife and son then begin watching the battle in turn...

For the first time in my life, I have a question that I am too embarrassed to ask. How was I expected to eat this prawn?

***

I arrange the chopsticks and ladle neatly next to the half finished pot and scurried to the counter to pay.

The prawn lies in the black pot, its head slightly peeking above the surface of the broth.

Prawn, you may have won this battle...

***

On the taxi ride to airport I ask the driver what he would do.

"No idea! I would probably use my hands. I am not very good with chopsticks..."

Speech: Responsible Leadership (2013)

I was asked to present a short speech to the United Nations Alliance of Civilisation's Global Forum in Vienna this year, as the Youth Representative. The theme this year was "Responsible Leadership".

Tightness of the schedule meant that I was unable to share this entire speech, but here it is in its entirety nonetheless.

***

When I was at the wise old age of 16, I attended a youth forum in my home town of Brisbane - not dissimilar to yesterday's session - and my eyes were opened up to what existed in my region.  That particular session, had brought together 100 young people from around the Asia Pacific to talk about their projects and initiatives and essentially share experiences.  Very cool and inspiring... but for my idealistic 16 year old self, something was missing.

At home after the third night, I was lamenting to my supportive mother about the fact that there were all these amazing young people working on fantastic projects, but there seemed to be this disconnect between the organisations - a constant dog fight for funding, excessive replication of work that was already being done well, inefficient use of resources... The work that was being done was amazing and inspiring yes, I said to my mother.  But why can't they all collaborate and work together as a pose to seeing it as a constant competition?

My mother, being used to my tirades, said something to me that day, and that simple line has really changed the course of my life.

'Well, instead of just talking... why don't you do something about it?'

Sitting there, I just thought. Hmm, touche.

So the next day, I returned to the conference to convince three other young people that we should start an organisation called Youth Without Borders.  An organisation focused on empowering young people to implement positive change in their communities yes, but also an organisation that is focused on encouraging young people to work together on projects and learn from one another... and alhamdulilah, here is where it led.

The true learning from that experience however, isn't that we should always listen to our mothers - even though that is also very true - but it is that the impetuousness of youth, the willingness to just go out there and do something, to take risks those with different responsibilities might not take... that is one of our true strengths as a demographic.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is an absolute honour to be standing in front of you here today, and I thank UNAOC for the opportunity to address you.

Firstly, it should be said that the young people present yesterday at the forum and sitting amongst you at the moment, are a group of some of the most inspiring, intelligent and creative young people from around the world.  It is a privilege to have worked alongside them, and I urge and encourage you as participants of this Global Forum to meet and have a chat to one - I should warn you however, you may find yourself in awe.

The forum yesterday was a key example of how the collective hive mind of young people can produce true gold.  Recommendations such including ethical religious education from the primary school level up, highlighting the importance of social media as a medium of communication and essential for media plurality, the proposal of an online, open source language resource for migrants and a long term perspective to ensure minorities are engaged in the political process... these are all recommendations that could concretely and realistically impact countless lives in a positive manner. I truly hope that you as a forum consider them with due consideration and see what can be made a reality.

On the topic of responsible leadership however...Oh, how it can be found in the strangest of places.  I could tell you the story of how my high school principal demonstrated Responsible leadership in diversity by admitting the first Hijabed female to a strongly Christian school, disregarding vitriol from other parents.  Or the story of countless individuals in community - or even my father - who sacrificed their particular personal goals in order to provide better futures for their family; a micro version of responsible leadership. Or even perhaps the example of Abraham Lincoln, who, despite all odds and expectations, abolished slavery at a time that it was unthinkable.

I asked my friends this exact question on facebook, and within 15 mins I had responses such as "to lead for the greater good of the group", "to guide people to their own directions and goals without personal benefit", "to be transparent and accountable", and "to expect more of yourself than the people you lead".

Responsible leadership is about transparency, yes. It is about accountability, yes.  It is about ensuring that your duty as a leader to your people is respected and carried out to the utmost best of your capacity, yes.

At the end of the day, Ladies and Gentlemen, Responsible Leadership is about doing what is right, driven by the Universal Values - of Human Rights, of Respect, of Dignity and of selflessness.  Respecting your duty as a leader and in the case of diversity and dialogue, that means that all are equally represented and given equal consideration, that dialogue is open and free.

Doing what is right.

A simple sentiment perhaps...

But sometimes, those simple sentiments are the most difficult to adhere to.

Adhering to them, in the face of that difficulty, is then truly, responsible leadership. 

However, I do not doubt that these are all aspects of leadership that you are well aware of.

From our perspective as young people however, responsible leadership is also about truly respecting the agency of young people and the capacity they bring to the table.

Time and time again, I have been awed and inspired by the work done by young people throughout the globe. Young people that not only smash the stereotype, but render it almost unthinkable.

Responsible leadership for us perhaps, is about making sure that we have a seat at the table - and not the kiddies table - but the table on which our perspectives are heard with equal resonance.  It is about being responsible enough to accept the fact that by young people, for young people is the most effective way of working with, or improving the lives of and empowering young people.

I leave you then, with this challenge.  There are over 1000 of you, and around 150 young people.  I challenge to you, over the course of this forum, to truly engage with at least one participant from the youth forum.  Find out what they are passionate about and working on, and see if that does not inspire you to think about leadership in a little bit of a different way.

SBS Online: Getting to know our neighbours

Defining ‘Australia in the Asian Century’ has been the subject of some debate since the release of the Federal Government’s White Paper in October last year. But how much do we know about the neighbourhood we are calling our own?

Last month I found myself in the hot and humid Malaysian city of Kuala Lumpur with five other ‘cultural exchange’ participants and a diplomatic entourage. I was a guest of the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, and our mission was to learn as much as we could about this nation’s rich tapestry in one week.

Malaysia is often seen as an exemplary model for Muslim countries around the world; a country with a Muslim government where halal food is abundant and hijab fashion shops sit comfortably next to Chanel and Hermes.

For me, the opportunity to delve beneath the surface was an experience that offered much to reflect on, particularly for a migrant Muslim who calls multicultural Australia home.

Read on...and check out my first piece as a blogger on the SBS Online website! 

I will hopefully now be a regular contributor on a whole random range of issues so watch this space!

Malaysia's Identity Issues.

Why the sudden interest in Malaysia? As part of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade's Cultural Exchange program, six young Muslims from Australia are partaking in an exchange program in order to deepen cultural understanding. I have the immense honour of being one of the participants of said initiative.

Traveling through Kuala Lumpur over the last couple of days and engaging in deep and meaningful conversations with various Malaysians has been an enlightening experience indeed.

What has emerged from the conversations?

To an outsider, it seems there is an underlying undercurrent of confusion and frustration in the Malaysian population about identity, politics and religion.

***

It is important to start with the understanding that Malaysia is made up of three main ethnic groups; Malays, Chinese and Indian.

The Malays are the majority, and they are also defined in the nation's constitution as those who are Muslim and speak Bahasa Maleyu.

If you are Malay, you are entitled to many privileges under the 'Bumiputera' policies.

This leads to an interesting dilemma.

1. If a nation is seeking to be truly multicultural, an affirmative action law that racially privileges one over the others makes life difficult for those in the minority (Malays make up just under 60% of the population). What then is a 'Malaysian' exactly?

2. If the criteria to be a Malay includes being a Muslim, how does a nation separate 'Mosque' and 'State'? Does the religion simply become part of an identity of a race rather than a true spiritual practice? How do minorities fit in a society that only 'accepts' one standard version of Islam?

These are the two questions that have been at the root of many of our conversations. It seems clear that the issues are far from resolved, and the results of the recent election raise more questions than they answer.

***

There is much more to be said and shared, but this is only the beginning of the program, and I am weary of making judgements that may be unfair.

Observationally though, it seems there is an insecurity around the idea of identity, of what it means to be 'Malaysian', both individially for Malaysians and for the nation itself. It is clearly still a country that is journeying through the nation building process.

What is concerning is the politicisation of Islam and the use of the religion for political gain, or on seemingly superficial matters. This is one such example.

What this means for the future of the nation, particularly one where the opposition is a coalition of the PKR, PAS and DAP parties (i.e. Muslim Malays and Chinese Malaysians who are varied) is interesting and unknown.

***

I will no doubt learn and reflect more as the week goes by. What are your thoughts though, on how Malaysia deals with the issues of identity, as a nation and individually?

Malaysia: Are you ready for this?

Just a quick community announcement! Heading off for the week to Malaysia for the Australia Malaysia Institute's cultural exchange program...

Stay tuned for blogs, photos and insights from the road!

Any questions and suggestions? Particular things in Malaysia I need to do or check out?

Global migration: Changing the way we define our identity?

This was originally posted on Future Challenges! Check out the [button link="http://futurechallenges.org/local/global-migration-changing-the-way-we-define-our-identity/" newwindow="yes"] Original Link[/button]

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When my parents moved to Australia with me as a screaming baby in tow, the situation in Sudan was dire, true, but it was much more an economic and socio-political decision rather than one of safety. This type of migration is increasingly common, particularly to a migration based nation such as Australia. How a nation and its people – as well as migrants themselves – deal with these global flows currents of people will define attitudes and perspectives of our current generation and generations to come.

I describe myself as either a “global citizen” or “mongrel”, both labels of which I am proud. What exactly does that mean though, for me personally, for many others in similar situations and for our society as this becomes perhaps the norm?

From a purely economical point of view, there is no doubt that migration, particularly skilled and business based migration, is of great importance and benefit to a society. The introduction of policies such as 457 visas (officially known as the Temporary Business (Long Stay) Visa), which allow Australian companies to sponsor employees from overseas has allowed for the development of sectors where skills are required, for example the oil and gas industry. Australia is no stranger to migration by any means; more than a quarter of the population in 2011 was born overseas, we speak more than 260 languages and identify with more than 270 ancestries. With the ease of travel this century and the relative stability of our economy compared to the global status quo, it is no wonder that more people are looking to cross the oceans to call this land girt by sea ‘home’.

If we are to look at this from a cost-benefit point of view, there is no doubt that what is gained from migration – an increase in labour supply, national income, skills, development, cultural depth, awareness and exposure, heavily outweighs any perceived disadvantages; identity crises, housing and services, the cost of humanitarian arrivals (although this is an international obligation), possible rise in community tensions due to a lack of understanding leading to changes in social cohesion.

It can be said that from that point of view as well, Australia is lucky in the sense that it only stands to gain skills from migration. By and large, we are not suffering from the ‘brain drain’ affecting other nations; our Net Overseas Migration (NOM) is 232 000 (497000 arrivals and 265000 departures, ABS and DIAC projections, 2012). It should be noted that NOM is the net gain or loss of population through immigration to Australia and emigration from Australia.

Although the drivers and immediate economic benefits are known and recognised, the effects on the socio-political landscape are those that are more often talked about, highlighted and debated. Migration can be seen as a purely economical factor perhaps, however we must not forget that we are dealing with actual people, who have hopes, dreams, desires and families. Migrants not only bring economic impacts, but their very presence changes the fabric of communities, and it is this change that can turn the tide of opinion. Economic factors are enough to convince a company perhaps, but “not in my backyard” is also a term used…

A cursory look at headlines over the past year or two clearly indicates that migration and identity are in the forefront of people’s minds. The discourse hasn’t always been friendly:

Australia is a nation based on multiculturalism, and we have a great untapped resource in our cultural diversity. It is important that we appreciate the value of our migration and cultural diversity, capitalise on its benefits and ensure that we do not neglect the socio-political effects that it has. We must ensure the communication lines are always open between migrants and those who have been settled for generations, and that we provide the space for young people to discover and mould their own identities to find the balance between their heritage and their current environment in a manner that is comfortable and familiar to them. It isn’t something that will happen overnight or be ‘resolved’ but more one that will change over time as influxes and migratory patterns change.

This level of cross cultural pollination has never been seen in history before, so we are at a unique point in human civilisation where we can create and mould identity based on more than just an accident of birth location – we almost have the choice and freedom to form whatever identity we want. What effects will that have on our society as a whole? Who knows yet. It could mean that nationalism no longer has the same power that it used to, or that it becomes based on something other than race, birthplace or religion. It could mean that cultures become based on hybrids of existing national traditions… who knows? All I know is that it is within our control.

Migration is not a crime, by dkalo on Flickr, CC BY SA 2.0

***

The irony is never lost on the Indigenous population – apart from them, we are all migrants to Australia. So who is anyone to deny the benefits of a concept that brought them there in the first place?

The Lady With The Crash Helmet

On a recent trip back from the States, I realised I had uncovered one of the best conversation starters on an aeroplane or in an airport. Carry a hard hat on top of your hand luggage.

Trust me, it works a treat!  Especially if you are a Muslim chick…

I didn’t quite fit the above stereotype…perhaps fortunately?

I think about 4 people asked me straight out: “So why are you carrying a crash helmet on to this plane?  What do you think is gonna happen?”.

It took all my self control not to crack an awful joke every single time; I am not sure if they would have appreciated my dark sense of humour in this particular situation.

A few others were just curious: “What’s a girl like you doing with steel caps and a hard hat?”

“Oh well, I work on the field…”

Quite a number of interesting conversations followed, and to be honest, one can sometimes forget how interesting the people on the plane can be!

I ended up meeting all sorts of people; some who work in the motorsport industry, some guy who works as a professional tree climbing equipment supplier (and got there in the most random fashion…) and another guy who used to work on oil rigs in the same area, in the 1980’s!

That was kinda a cool one.  He had a few stories, a couple of permanently crooked fingers and a life story which he prefaced with: “All we wore were steel caps and shorts…”

Ah, OH&S has moved on a bit since then.

It was a nice reminder in general though, that instead of walking around airports with headphones in my poor abused eardrums and a “don’t talk to me” look on my face as I struggle through jetlag while carrying too many pieces of hand luggage as per usual…I should take more notice of the people around me on a more regular basis.

You never know who might be sitting next to you…and the stories they might have.

***

Something occurred to me today.

Faces I sometimes forget, names I often do if I don’t write them down or spell them out.

Stories however… they sustain me.

Stories are the colour to the tapestry of life; the details are the richness of the pigment, the texture, the intricacies to something bigger than ourselves.

Stories are what make people people, and everyone has their own story that is worth listening to. 

Isn’t is a basic human desire to have our story be heard?  Perhaps not by everyone, but at least someone.  Perhaps…you.

Suitcase Memories

“This is such a cold town,” I said to my mother, in between blowing my nose. But it took me a while to learn their reaction wasn’t a sign of disrespect or indifference, not the way I took it anyway. New Yorkers are unshockable, it’s true, but they also know that no one gets private space, and the best they can do is to leave you alone and at least pretend you have privacy, even if the crowded sidewalk affords you none. When I see someone in tears on the sidewalk, my instinct is not to rush over and help them—what would I do, anyway?—it is to offer them the dignity of not staring.”

Here is everything I learnt in New York

For years growing up, all I remember saying I wanted to do was travel.  I had this image in my mind of backpacking through hostels in Europe, traipsing about in the Amazon and long, dusty road trips into the sunset…but knew that would never really happen, because that wasn’t part of the “plan” – I had school, university, a career to get onto…

Sometimes when you get what you have been working towards for a long time, you don’t realise you are there until it is over.  Sometimes you realise half way through…and if you are lucky enough to do that, never forget to stop and enjoy it.

I realised in a conversation a little while ago that my dream of travelling frequently and often had been granted, Alhamdulilah.  The penny hadn’t fully dropped yet, but taking a step back and appreciating the larger picture was what I was missing.  It was happening; perhaps not in the way I had imagined, but in a way that was equally enriching, exciting and intriguing.

What have I learned? Ach, I ask this of others but don’t ask myself this question enough.  What I do know, right now, lying on a bed in a room that alternates between freezing and boiling (because hotels don’t like open windows?!) is that at the end of the day, you rely on yourself and whatever (or whoever) you believe in. 

You have to decide what is important to you and base all your decisions around that – if you have your priorities straight and truly believe in them, then decisions are easy.  Just join the dots.

Loneliness is a frame of mind… but it is always nice to have someone to come home and tell stories to, even if it is a fish or an uninterested sibling.

Pack light (easier said than done) because you will definitely go shopping (or maybe that’s just me?).

You are no where near as important or significant as you think you are. There are billions of people in this world, and travelling, in whatever capacity, opens your eyes to what is out there…if you are willing to let it.

That doesn’t mean that your life, my life or anyone’s life isn’t important in itself per se, but the world doesn’t revolve around us…and that is okay.

YOUR world revolves around you, but your world isn’t everyone else’s world.

What a penny to drop! That is honestly, more like a pound… but once I realised that, I began to appreciate how exciting life really is.

How every person you meet is an insight into a totally different way of thinking, a totally different life perspective, a totally different paradigm…and totally different world.

How is that not exciting?  It simply…*is*.  It means every single person you or I ever have the fortune to meet has their own story… and you have been given the gift of interaction, so why not find out what their story is?

After all, some of the most profound lessons I have learnt are from random interactions with people I only met once… and never seen again.  A chance interaction with another world.

***

I won’t ever be able to experience everything there is to experience in the world.  However travelling a little myself, and travelling a little through the eyes and minds of others…well, that is a start for now. 

Pandora’s Box…

Isn’t it interesting that the smallest things are what remind you of how far away from home you are? 

The odd choices in the grocery stores, the strange shows on television and the news anchors you don’t know if you should trust?

Need I say anymore?

The slightly different social expectations, like choosing to drive instead of to walk?

Even the time the sun sets.  It is all…new, and, well, different.

That is exciting, and also slightly uncomfortable.

But I am beginning to think only the uncomfortable forces you to grow and see how far you can stretch.

Isn’t ironic that we think of life lessons as hackneyed phrases and disregard only to appreciate their significance when we experience it directly.

It’s like we sometimes think we are the only ones who have ever experienced such difficulties and trials, and forget there is an entire history of humanity that has gone before us, generations of billions of people who also saw themselves at the center of their own worlds…

It is natural I guess, as we see the world through our own eyes, to think of only our experiences, but we should step back every once in a while to examine our own insignificance.  Scary, perhaps.

Also slightly liberating…