Tag Archives: Family

Revisiting your roots

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I left Kalgoorlie 24 years ago, but it’s amazing how much like home it still feels to me.

The Old House, 24 years later - Hard to believe it's still standing

It’s a pleasant realisation, as I sit here reminiscing about the weekend spent revisiting my roots, catching up with family, and sharing the experience (and the 8 hour drive each way) with my partner Denis, his 2 kids, and my dog Kahlua.

So much to see on the one, long road to Kalgoorlie...

[In case you don't know, Kalgoorlie is a large goldfields town, famed for its gold rush history, infamous Hay Street, old buildings, interesting characters, pubs, present day gold mining (of course) and red dirt.

Mining in Kalgoorlie

(I tell you now, it took us years after having left Kalgoorlie to get rid of the layers of red dirt over everything!).]

Why is it a pleasant realisation?

After two weekends in a row spent away – the first at the coastal town of Yallingup, 4 hours from Perth, and the second, 8 hours away in Kalgoorlie – it becomes so much more apparent to me that I love this country, especially for its diversity – the people, the cultures and its landscape.  [Seriously, I never thought I would ever appreciate the red dirt and intensity of the bush...especially being a pale, red-head with freckles who can burn after 10 minutes in the Aussie sun!]

Deep down, I think I am a country girl at heart.

You can take the girl out of the country...

 Do you still have a connection with where you lived when you were younger?

 

 

Body, Mind and Soul: Some Time Out

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One of my main goals for 2011 was to put my health first, and to not go through another year constantly stressed, with recurrent colds, stomach upsets and endless fatigue.

If you have followed me at all this year, you would know that I tanked so badly at it, it’s not funny.

BUT

I must give myself some credit for noticing the error of my ways before 2011 ticked over to 2012 – and a few months early at that!

Quitting the old job, going part-time in the new job, eating better, seeing a naturopath, commencing light exercise, pushing back on…everything…Sure I went a bit too hard with the whole ‘changing my life thing’ to start with, but I do now believe that I am heading towards a more balanced life.

Which brings me to last weekend, where I took some time out.  On Friday I drove to Yallingup, a coastal town about 4 hours south of Perth, to spend a long weekend with some of my family, notably my sister-in-law Rachel, and my beautiful nieces Charlotte – 3 – and Emily – 8 months.

Yallingup beach

I had the best time hitting the road by myself, allowing the country and ocean air to successfully rid my brain of its cobwebs.

It was wonderful eating great food and spending some quality time with my sister, brother and their friends.

My brother Luke and I

It was relaxing spending a girly night with my sister-in-law watching ‘chick flicks’.

It was absolutely joyous just being with my nieces, especially little Charlotte who has succeeded in stealing my heart.

My niece Charlotte and I

And it was satisfying spending time with my man (who joined us a day later) and my camera (I took 140 photos in the first day).

I thoroughly enjoyed the time out from my day-to-day life, from chores, from the internet (I even managed to go internet and computer-less throughout the entire weekend), from my brain and stress…I even managed to get a healthy dose of Vitamin D!

Sun, surf and sand - Yalingup

I vow to myself to do this more from now.  Lucky for me there’s another road trip planned this coming weekend!  On Friday Denis and I hit the road, on a 7 hour drive to Kalgoorlie with his 2 kiddies and our dog.  From breathtaking beaches one weekend to the striking vastness of a mining town.  It is with this thought that I realise I really do love this country after all.

The long country road to Kalgoorlie

Simple really is best

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Today’s post for ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes from yours truly :)

Janine, The Bogan Teenager

Wikipedia defines the term bogan as:

‘Australian slang, usually pejorative or self-deprecating, for an individual who is recognised to be from a lower class background or someone whose limited education, speech, clothing, attitude and behaviour exemplifies such a background’.

Interesting.

I’ve never quite thought of myself or my family that way…I mean, we wore black Faberge jeans and flannelette shirts. My Dad rode motor bikes, wandered around with a pack of Winnie blues up his sleeve, and loved to drink rum. We all loved rock music. And yes – we didn’t have a lot of money.

In the 80′s we lived in a mining town called Kalgoorlie, populated by men with tattoos who road large, loud motor bikes, and came home every day from working in the mines – and having stopped at the local TAB to place a bet on the races – grotty and smelling like oil and beer. The women, well, half of them did it tough looking after their families, and rarely themselves. The other half worked in the infamous Hay Street brothels or as ‘skimpy‘ (scantily clad) barmaids.

I spent a lot of time riding my bike on the big, wide roads or gravel tracks, ‘growing’ frogs in the steel drum at my friends place, staging dance concerts to Mum on the wood pylons lying on the back yard (notably to the Bangles ‘Manic Monday’), and freaking out at the site of a monster red/orange centipede.

As kids, my brother, sister and I hung out at the pub with our folks and their friends, listening to Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and The Doors, trying to imitate the adults by playing pool and darts, or wishing we could get lucky on the used bingo cards lying around the place. We also sat around the open fire in the bush at night, listening to music, the reverberations from the sounds of the motorbikes going through your chest, pretending to sleep, but really waiting for the spuds (potatoes) to cook under the ashes – only to be slathered by butter and salt and devoured.

Sure, it wasn’t paradise, and it certainly wasn’t all good, but I’m grateful for growing up the way I did. It taught me the value of money – especially thinking back to Mum skipping meals so that she could feed her three kids baked beans on toast – and then worrying about what to feed the three dogs.

It taught me not to not judge people by appearances – ‘scruffy’ people, or people who rode bikes, wore black or looked rough, well they can turn out to be the most funniest, lovely or most philosophical people.

It also taught me to care for every living thing – so much so that I can’t even kill an ant. Mum and Dad brought home injured birds and lizards, we had horses. Mum tried to resuscitate a chicken once because it accidentally drowned.

But, most of all it taught me to be grateful for what I’ve got, for the family I have, to not be embarrassed of my roots, and that simple really is best.

Pushing Through the Fear

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When I first met Marisa Wikramanayake in 2010 I knew she was ‘different’.  She wasn’t like any other person I had met. She held herself differently, she had her own style, she told you how it was, and she was doing exactly what she was passionate about in life…writing.

I was impressed, terrified and slightly intimidated sitting in that coffee shop during that first meeting, watching as she poured over a collection of my writing, waiting for some kind of ‘critique’. And she gave it to me honestly, openly, and most of all constructively. That could have been the end of it – our ‘friendship’ and my attempt at getting back into writing.  If she was any other person, and if I was any other person, it would’ve been, as the feedback wasn’t all positive – it was real. But I took it, and look where I am now.

I’d like to introduce you to my friend, and mentor, Marisa.

Growing up

Marisa was born in Sri Lanka. When talking about her birth country, she tells how they have gone through a lot as a nation, a culture and people, and that it is ironic that as a tropical paradise they are always in some state of war, whether it’s fighting for identity, for pure principle, or against marginalisation.

She started to write at the age of 9, from what she now believes was loneliness and boredom. Born in a country in constant civil war, Marisa found herself limited in things to do – she couldn’t just ride a bike or run around the streets like many of us were able to do when we were little. Growing up in the 80′s and 90′s, and with no interest in dolls like other girls of her age, she took to entertaining herself by reading everything she could get her hands on.  She also took to creating her own stories – feeling the need to recreate the reality around her. It was at the age of 11 that she had the idea for her first character.

[In describing the character creation process, Marisa likens it to schizophrenia, for once you create the character, they stay with you. It wasnt until she met another writer a few years back that she realised that this was typical in writers].

I’m a ‘Writer’

As a girl Marisa didn’t know what she wanted to be ‘when she grew up’ and questioned why she didn’t know – especially when others around her were certain about becoming doctors, teachers, and so forth. The one thing she did know was that she could write well – in her own country at least. She didn’t know if her writing would be up to standard outside of Sri Lanka though, and it took a long time to acknowledge that it was.

It wasn’t until people started telling Marisa she was a writer that she started considering it as an option, and it wasn’t until 2008 that she actually recognised and called herself a ‘writer’ – this was after she had come up with an idea for a book, and she just couldn’t ignore her calling anymore.

Choices

Marisa is thankful that she didn’t grow up in any other family, for she may not have had the support she has had in order to pursue her passion. Her parents have a high appreciation for the arts and have been very supportive, and her mother was the one who pushed her to publish her first book at the age of 17.  Her family would rather her get a stable job one day and have writing as a hobby ‘on the side’, but they also read what she has written and understand that the best way for her to write is to devote her time and attention to writing her book (plus they want to see her book finished!).  Her parents are also stubborn in nature – which has been passed down to Marisa and her sister (who dabbles with being a circus performer). In the wise words of her mother

‘We can tell you what to do but you will just go off and do your own thing anyway’.

Deep down Marisa worries that her choice of career path rebounds on her family.  Still living in Sri Lanka, her mother has had to explainin Marisa’s career choice to people, as well as fend off questions as to when she would be getting a real job and how she planned to survive and earn money. People have at times also attempted to draw her mother into complaining about her children who aren’t living the ‘atypical’ life.

It does make Marisa feel bad as she never intended for her family to be placed under pressure, but thankfully her mother believes that it would be a shame to waste the talent her daughter has of putting words together (and she would know as she is an English Teacher).

In the end:

‘It all comes down to your personal definition of success’.

And her gut instinct tells her it is right.

The Business of Writing

Marisa perceives her profession as that of ‘running a business’ rather then of ‘being a writer’.  Time – well time is a commodity, and this is what she finds that people – generally, do not understand as they tend to forget how long things take.

The greatest advice Marisa provides to budding writers is that you cannot get by without experiencing life.

‘You need to see what the world is like. You can’t just be a tourist going through life.’

In order to write one needs to observe detail, dialogue, mannerisms.  If you don’t how will your characters be believable?

Marisa also admits that to this day she is still scared, and that she will never stop being scared, but every year she is still ‘in the business’ she gets a thrill.

‘You can never escape the fear – but nothing worth having is ever easy. Yes, things will scare you, but if you push through the fear your life will become richer for it, and you will get through the obstacles – no matter how hard it is. If the obstacles stop you then its preventing you from wasting time on it so you can go in your true direction’.

Marisa reiterates that it’s important to remember that the path you travelled up until that point was always the path you were meant to be on as it made you who you are.

Marisa glows with pride when telling me that doing what she does has helped to start others off, and that if she hadn’t pursued her path then maybe they wouldn’t have. In a way, she sees it as helping to give people a voice, and likens it to a trickle down effect – one should never underestimate the impact they have on others, and as a bonus to helping others it drives you to become better.

‘Savour the thrills and learn to live with the fear, as everyone has to start somewhere. It never hurts to dream big BUT take baby steps’.

 And I will do just that. Will you?

Marisa Wikramanayake

Marisa plays with words for a living as a writer, editor and journalist. Science Network WA pays her to talk to fascinating scientists, prior to which she penned a four year long weekly column about politics, popular culture and life in Perth for The Sunday Leader newspaper. She has also written about gaming for Specusphere and about the latest independent music.

She cannot seem to stop blogging either: continuing Perth Diary on Saturdays, cross posting her Emergen “How to write a book” posts on Wednesdays and discussing general freelancing on Fridays. She also plays around with a camera and writes about books she has read, hoarded or hated. When she isn’t working, she’s – well – working: on her novel Sedition.  As an editor, her clients have included Diabetes WA, the Centre for Policy Development and Dorian Gray Pictures.

If you want to know more about Marisa, you can find her on LinkedIn,  Facebook,  Twitter or look at her portfolio.

How A Different Past Led to a Happy Present

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As described on her blog 40blog Spot, Muriel Jacques is ‘a French Yummy Mummy in London, and corporate Mum of 2 cheeky little girls’. 

As it turns out Muriel is embarking on a similar journey to myself at the moment.  We both found ourselves resigning from our corporate jobs within a few weeks of each other, in pursuit of our dreams. Unfortunately, Muriel is based in London, and I am in Perth (Australia). We couldn’t get any further apart really…but that hasn’t stopped us striking up a supportive friendship.

I am pleased to be able to bring you today’s honest and heartfelt post  for ‘The Beauty of Difference’ Series from Muriel Jacques.

Heritage

Photo by Murial Jacques

I grew up in a small village in Provence. It is fair to say that I couldn’t be more French: my Grandmother has found that an ancestor was living in the very same village more than 400 years ago.

Provence is often the ultimate romantic destination in books and novels. For me, despite the beautiful landscapes and the Mediterranean Sea, it felt completely different. We had no friends and barely travelled. I felt stuck there.

Photo by Muriel Jacques

Growing up in the shadow of a mental illness

When I was 19, my Dad was finally diagnosed as a bipolar. He had just tried to commit suicide by jumping out of a window.

Understandably, we were in shock. However, for me, it was also a huge relief. I had known that something was wrong for a long time.

My Dad could be the sweetest guy – taking good care of his family, playing with us. But from time to time, he was a different person. He could start shouting at me, explaining that I wasn’t worth anything and would never go anywhere in life. The abuse was mostly verbal and it could be about anything – my haircut, my intelligence, my homework, the way I dressed…However, once, the day before my baccalaureate (The French A-level), he hit me on top of the usual insults. My Mum wasn’t home yet, and I was physically and emotionally hurt. We had no friends, so all of this happened behind closed doors.

Taking matters into my own hands

At around 10, I started writing pages after pages in my diary, detailing my Dad’s latest outbursts. And I made two decisions. They proved to be lifesavers.

The first one was to always be honest with myself, even if it meant saying stuff like “I hate my dad”, which I wrote at the time.

The second one was to escape from home as soon as possible. I worked hard and despite being humiliated and sometimes hit, I passed my exams with flying colors. I managed to escape to university at 16 – or two years in advance compared to the usual age, far away from home. I successfully rebuilt a life far from this toxic familial atmosphere.

Making peace with my past

Eventually I learned to accept that my Dad was ill and that it was not his fault. He is in pain. That being said, I still resent the fact that he doesn’t accept his illness, and, still today, we can’t talk about bipolar depression – he plays it down and blames the break-up of his relationship with my Mum for what he calls his “breakdown”.

Let me try to explain how I feel:

‘You can’t resent someone who has broken his leg, but if he/she doesn’t want to get cured then yes, you do resent him/her.’

As for me, this experience has made me less judgmental and more human. I believe that people who have had a tough time and somehow got over it to change for the better. It has also taught me (the hard way!) to fight for myself and to have the job and life that I wanted. I became the first female Project Manager in a train manufacturing company and inaugurated Line 14 in Paris (the driverless one).

I have also learned to ignore condescending comments such as “you know bipolar depression is genetic, don’t you?”

Well, I am fine, thank you very much. And very happy. There is a genetic element to bipolar depression as there is for addictions or depression but, out of two identical twins, one can be bipolar and not the other. It is amazing how some seemingly educated people are willing to put you down.

The Beauty of Difference

I am also finding happiness in the small moments of life, like my morning’s coffee or watching my children sleep. I think that I am actually happier because of my past. It is as if life was more colorful and interesting now. My “different” past has changed my perspective on everything and I am almost sad for people who haven’t experienced something “different”. They don’t know it, but they are missing out!

Photo by Muriel Jacques

If you would like to be a part of ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, please contact me at janine.ripper@gmail.com.

I would love to share your story.

Inner Beauty Shining Bright

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The honour of my first interview for ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series on Reflections From a Red Head goes to my dear friend Siti.

I met Afifah Mohd Salehan – nicknamed ‘Siti’ – during a 7 month Young Women Leadership Program in 2010. I was immediately taken by her enthusiasm, generosity, sense of humour, and the beauty that shone through.

Siti is currently studying for a Bachelor of Psychology, turns 22 soon, and is the oldest (and shortest) of  6 siblings – 5 girls and 2 boys.

Heritage

Siti’s Father is Javanese (from Jawa Island, located in Indonesia) and her Mother is Malay. She describes herself as ‘half Malay, half Indo’, a fact of which she only just found out this year after going back to Malaysia to visit some of her family. She had not been aware that her Father was Javanese, and that he could speak Jawa – a native Indonesian language.  This initially made Siti feel lost, and made her question what else she did not know about her family. Today, it makes her want to explore her heritage even further – she just doesn’t know where to start!

New Beginnings

Siti and her family came to Australia in 1994 when she was 3. At the time Siti could not speak a word of English. She recalls at the time wondering why people didn’t wear head scarves, and it wasn’t until she grew older (around year 5-6 years old) that she became conscious of people having different faiths, etc. Her mind was still in the progress of processing and understanding how the world worked.

Being ‘Different’

Siti recalls certain ‘memorable moments’ when she was young where she was perceived as ‘different’. At the age of 7, she was in the super market and a little boy – about her age – just kept looking at her. She also remembers overhearing a little girl asking her Mum why ‘she had that thing on her head’. It was nice to hear the Mum explain to the daughter that Siti was Muslim, and that she wore the head scarf because of her faith. Unfortunately, even in the present day, she still gets stared at for what she wears.

Cultural Beauty

Siti believes the most beautiful thing about Islam is that as long as they posses a sound relationship with ‘Allah’ (God), then everything is okay. Siti explains that without him she would be lost. He plays an important role in her life – like a councillor in a way:

‘If there is no one to turn to, there is always prayers, and by the end of the day I get my answers – be it from other people, or from inside myself (the ‘unconscious process’ in psychology terms).’

Cultural Misconceptions

To Siti, the biggest misconception about her culture is regarding arranged marriages. Some people actually believe that within her culture parents arrange marriages for their children. Siti explains that within Islam, it is actually recognised that you DO have the right to choose who your partner is – as long as he is a Muslim and has faith in God.

Another misconception is that of the headscarf. Siti explains that rules are provided by Allah as to the where and how a woman is to wear a scarf, and for her – in a way – the scarf is protection. By wearing the headscarf, people understand that she doesn’t drink alcohol, do drugs, and it also protects her from sexual harassment. It also provides Siti with a feeling of security. As to where she should wear a head scar, she explains that it needs to be worn in the presence of someone she could marry (i.e. a man). She actually doesn’t have to wear it in her own backyard or around her family, or in the presence of other females.

The other cultural misconception is that all Muslims are terrorists. Siti has had the experience of being approached by a man at a train station, cursing and accusing her of bombing various places. This was, to Siti, scary and intimidating. It made her sad, and she cried a lot. (Note from author: This actually happened to my partner, who is Anglo-Indian – he is a tall, 40 something year old man. Siti is tiny, and doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly.)

Words of Wisdom

I am asking everyone I interview to share some of their ‘words of wisdom’ as I believe quotes hold such power. This is one Siti shared with me:

‘A girls dream is to be perfect and to feel beautiful all of the time. A guys dream is to prove to himself and to the world that he is a true leader and that he is a leading man.’

To Siti, this quote expresses the importance to a girl in feeling beautiful and special. It is a shame that a lot of people forget about that, with many girls starving themselves to attain what is perceived as the ‘perfect’ image as is portrayed in many magazines and on the cat walk.

What is it people should know?

Siti displays so many characteristics I adore – along with her youth and exuberance, she displays such wisdom and humour. I wanted to know what it was that she wanted others to be aware of, and here is what she shared with me:

‘Just because I’m covered, it doesn’t mean that I am always warm.  I do have my moments in winter when I shiver and am freezing…And just because I wear a scarf all of the time doesn’t mean my head is always warm – it does get cold!’

And with that, I will leave you to ponder Siti’s final words:

‘When communicating with people, don’t judge them. Treat people how you want to be treated. Prophet Muhammed says a true Muslim is one who loves people because of the way they want to be loved, the way they want to be treated’.

 

If you would like to be a part of ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, please contact me. I would love to share your story.

What Makes You REALLY Happy

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Happy pose I

Image via Wikipedia

What makes you feel really happy? You know, when you just can’t contain that smile. When the cackle escapes your mouth, but you don’t realise it until after it’s out and realise how loud it was.

Here’s some of the things that make me REALLY happy:

  • Walking in the door after work and seeing my dog bounding towards me. This makes me smile, without fail.
  • Seeing my Mum happy.
  • Good morning kisses from my dog.
  • Going to the movies. There is just something about seeing a film on the big screen, accompanied by popcorn, a coke and a good friend (although I have enjoyed the movies by myself, and it can be just as good!).
  • Seeing my man content and happy. He’s a stress-head like me, so it’s great to see him when he is relaxed and himself…notably when he is drawing.
  • Blogging. It really does. The experience, the exploration, the people I’ve met and the opportunities it has created.
  • Cartoons, my favourite being ‘Monsters Inc.‘ and ‘How to Train a Dragon‘…so much so that I want a dragon just like the one in the toon : )
  • Listening to music I listened to in my teenage years. 
  • An evening out to dinner with friends. Thank you to Lynette whom accompanied me to dinner during the week to a restaurant called Bistro Felix, Subiaco. Lovely. Shame about the shell left in her Morton Bay bugs…
  • My nieces, of course. Hugs, kisses, smiles. 
  • Chilling with my family.
What makes you happy? Share with us – you never know who you might make smile!

Monday Photo-day: Mothers Day

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Yesterday was one of the most gorgeous Mother’s Days that I can recall.

Mum and I went for a coffee, and then went for a walk along Rockingham Beach. The weather was lovely for May, still, calm and warm. The sand between the toes felt glorious, and it was so beautiful to see everyone out with their Mum’s and Grand-Mum’s, smiling, laughing and just enjoying their time together.

As we got down to the beach, we noticed an art exhibit in the sand – and I am so glad I took my camera.

Here’s a few pics as homage to Mother’s Day 2011:

Art in the sand

Art in the sand

Mothers day 2011 - Mum

Mothers Day sunset

Do I hear a clock ticking?

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I became an Aunty for the second time last weekend. Emily Ripper was born the Saturday night of May 9, and she is beautiful. I went to visit Mum and daughter the day after the birth, and they were both doing well after the trauma that is childbirth.

Whilst at the hospital, the newly anointed ‘sister’ arrived for a visit – Charlotte, now 2 and a half, with Dad in tow. Dad was as proud as punch, and little Charlotte was very gentle. It was touching to see her staring at the new little baby, kissing it gently on the head and softly hugging it, whilst whispering ‘sister’ and ‘beautiful’ (the later due to my prompting : ) ).

I can’t post photos of my nieces up here, although I would so love to show them off as I adore them. The family request I refrain, as you just never know who will be looking at the pics – the world we inhabit today : (

Needless to say, I am basking in my new-ish role of Aunty extraordinaire, and only wish that I lived closer so that I could see them all the time. In consideration of the fact that I may never have any children of my own, and I do believe that I feel sometime ticking…it might help (or it could in fact make the ticking worse!!).

Becoming like my mother

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I recently replied to a comment on a post I wrote (What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger) that I was turning into my mother more and more every day. I got to thinking that it may have be taken in the negative.

I wanted to clarify that it wasn’t! I know most of us cringe at the thought of ‘turning into’ our parents, but I actually don’t mind.

Sure my Mum and I have had our issues, misunderstandings and have not always liked each other. But these days I recognise her for who she is and was – and that is a really cool Mum.

My Mum is beautiful. I pour praise on my Nan for being a beautiful spirit, but the fact is that she succeeded in passing that down to my Mum. Combined with the fact that Mum has had a pretty rough life, she has managed to come through it with youthfulness, a smile and the ability to constantly laugh…or should I say cackle, which is what my sister and I have inherited. I swear, when you get us together, look out! I think it’s awesome, and contagious – but we do tend to get lots of looks! And that’s because we are just so god damn gorgeous!