Category Archives: Life

About Me, Life, Living, Nature and Climate Change, Nature and Environment, Stories, Women, writing

The Sisterhood of World Bloggers Award

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World Sisterhood Blogger Award

I want to sincerely thank MillieThom for nominating my blog, Tribalmystic, for, The Sisterhood of World Blogger Award. Millie is the author of Shadow of The Ravens. Millie makes history sound like hot romance. She writes about various subjects with many fascinating historical content, and that’s why I enjoy her blog.

Once again, the show of kindness is deeply touching. Thank you Millie, fellow bloggers, friends and readers for supporting this blog.

The Sisterhood of World Bloggers Award

Five rules to follow:

  1. Thank the blogger who nominated you, linking back to their site.

  2. Put the Award logo on your blog.

  3. Answer the ten questions sent to you.

  4. Make up ten new questions for your nominees to answer.

  5. Nominate seven blogs.

Ten Answers About Me

1. What do you like best about blogging?

I love the writing or storytelling in blogging. This becomes more valuable with the responses I get from the readers and respect from the blogging community. I also love reading and learning from other writers/bloggers. I am driven to seek new or interesting stories for my readers. These stories can be  humanitarian news, environment and nature stories, inspiring human stories or stories about beautiful things.

I enjoy writing fiction, but on this blog, most of my stories are about life. I love writing about my culture and heritage and that helps maintain my sense of identity. I also understand the greater world we live in, therefore, I cannot ignore the realities of cruelty and poverty; what we humans do to one another. As a victim of violence myself, I want to see an ending to violence against women, children and the helpless – so I write about these topics. When I feel something is not right when I am reading an article, I share the post or write about it too. My passion goes beyond mankind. It includes other living things in the ocean and all nature. Blogging about the real and the living is the least I can do. Many risk their lives every day to fight for what is right, or to save other lives. I can only do it with my keyboard and posts on this blog, from the safety and comforts of my home.

2. If you could visit any place in the world, where would that place be and why?

I would like to go to Zanzibar, Africa one day. I would learn to dance like the Zanzibar women. Sounds crazy? Well, in 1998, I was in World Festival for Island Cultures in Cheju Island, Korea. I was pregnant with my second son. In a very rhythmic  performance, I saw large women from Zanzibar dancing at the festival like I had never seen before. They were big and heavy but so light on their feet and movements. It was incredible. I come from the islands and we dance, but not like this. From that day, I thought, I would like to go there and learn to dance like that. I am sure, the music ran through these women like their own blood. I tried to learn while on Cheju but my stomach was in the way. This trip is on my bucket list.

3. If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

I would like to change my pace of doing things – from fast to slow. I feel sometimes that I need to slow down and relax. I do not sleep enough. Writing is helping me to slow down, sit and think more than I have ever done in my life.

4. List 3 things that you are proud of doing / having done.

  1. Being a mother.

  2. Standing up for Women’s Rights.

  3. Being a Climate Change activist

5. What was your favourite subject at school, and why did it appeal so much?

I have never had one particular subject appeal to me – I loved many. I really enjoyed Maths and History apart from Arts, Philosophy and Literature. I loved problem solving and satisfying my curiosity. I enjoy old stories and understanding meaning of life. Social science and Geography were fun too. I could be in nature and interact with insects, animals and also people.

6. Is there any particular environmental issue that causes you concern?

What deeply concerns me is Climate Change and sea level rise in small Pacific Island nations, less than two metres above sea level. These islands will be lost soon. I would like the developed countries to lend their ears to hear us. Help us work together for a better planet for our future generation. It is not only about us sinking. We only have Earth to live on. Our earth deserves better treatment. In Australia, Prime Minister, Tony Abbott announced last week, his proudest and best decision he made was to reverse the climate policy. Two days ago, he employed a climate skeptic. The ignorance and denial of developed countries such as Australia is shameful.

7. What is your favourite childhood memory?

Being in the swamp, catching fish with my grandmother was what we did daily, for our food. One day, my grandma and I went to town with almost $5. She made this money from selling betel nut. She told me, she felt like eating bread so we went to town. It was a long walk and then a bus ride. We headed for the bakery in Lae City (Papua New Guinea). Grandma bought a whole loaf of white, unsliced bread; still hot and straight out of the bakery oven. The smell of the bread was unbelievable. Hugging the hot bread, I walked with grandma to the supermarket and she used the change to buy a tub of butter. Then we searched for a shady tree and she broke the loaf in half. She told me, it was half each.

“Eat it all” she said.

We dipped the halves in butter and ate the whole thing under the shade of a tree in the middle of Lae town. Bread was a treat. We never had that in the village. I cannot believe how much I ate that day. I can still smell the bread, 40 years later.

8. Who is your favourite character in a novel or film and why do you like them so much?

I love too many. One worthy of note is the common decency and friendship developed in Shawshank Redemption. I loved it because life has a way of rewarding us if we listen and feel more. Sometimes, because of our own perceptions, we miss the truth, opportunities and friendships.

9. What is your greatest ambition in life?

To teach more about LOVE by showing more LOVE. Hopefully it will grow and help others feel the same way.

10. What is the biggest compliment you have ever had?

I have been told that I am a good listener. That compliment is a kind one because, I am a very good talker too. I believe that being a good listener, takes skill. I hope they are right.

I have chosen these sister blogs because I really enjoy reading them, and I learn a lot from the writers. Some of these ladies make me laugh and I really like that because life is not all about being serious.

  1. A Refugee’s Journey – Vietnam to Australia

  2. Razorbackwriteraus

  3. Fifty Shades of Reality

  4. Altitude of Art

5. Poetheart

  1. L.T.Garvin

  2. Love Letters to Spam

Ten questions to nominees

  1. What makes you want to blog?

  2. What inspires you in life?

  3. What are your three favourite things and why?

  4. What is the most important thing you have ever done?

  5. Describe where you would like to live in the future and why?

  6. What do you miss most?

  7. Is there something special you would really like to do for someone and what is it?

  8. Do you have a lucky charm? Tell us about it.

  9. Have you or anyone close to you had a near-death experience? What happened?

  10. Name one thing you would like to do to change the world, if you could and how would you do that.

 

 

 

Life, Living, Nature and Climate Change, Nature and Environment, Stories

How Whales Change Climate

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Art, Life, Living, Nature and Environment, Stories

Shakuhachi – One Man’s Meditation

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I found this beautiful story on Jonnathan Dunnemann blog.

I come from Papua New Guinea where traditional bamboo flutes are played in most of our regions. My mother plays the flute. It was a beautiful sound I grew up with.  The Shakuhachi is a Japanese bamboo end-blown flute, which has a rich culture and history associated with it. It is believed the Chinese brought Shakuhachi to Japan in 6th Century.

Blind New Zealander Kevin Falconer has made the sound of bamboo his own by developing his own relationship with bamboo, the craft and the Shakuhachi music. I found his story very moving and at the same time very inspiring. We are only limited by what we set for ourselves.

Kelvin Falconer walks through his bamboo groves, with tall shoots of bamboo towering over him. The bamboo littered with beautiful hand-made terracotta tags that Kelvin has made for knowing how long each culm has been growing for.
Once he finds a suitable shoot he proceeds to patiently craft the bamboo using only his senses of touch and hearing. At a glance Shakuhachi appear to be simple instruments but the understanding and skill in shaping even a basic flute is something which requires Kelvin to have an acute knowledge of the physics of sound and a finesse to fine tune each unique culm of bamboo.
Through playing the Shakuhachi, Kelvin is able to develop a calmness which he describes as ‘Meditation through Sound and Breath’. Through watching him craft a flute from beginning to end we are witness also to a craftsman putting his all into every detail.
Kelvin shows us that the Shakuhachi is a tool that can bring calm and focus to distracted and stressed Minds. His flute becomes a metaphor for what we ‘make’ in our own lives and through his craft he transcends his perceived disability and the limitations of Blindness.
Type: Documentary
Country: New Zealand
Year: 2012
Filmmaker: Michael Hobbs
Format: Digital 1080
Language: English
Subtitles: N/A
Colour: Colour
Film Ratio: 16:9
Sound Type: Stereo
Running Time: 11m38s

Life, Living, My Art, Stories

The Melody That Stole Me

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Anhang 2

“The music of the “2 Days and a Year” album tells stories of the world of daydreaming, falling snow, sunlight glimmering on the water, night skies, and not least, the value of the fragile moment,” said Jens Felder.

Imagine taking all those complexities and depths of nature, seasons, feelings and thoughts then combining it all into music. No wonder the music sounded so good. I guess that is what all artists strive for when creating something wonderful.

When I first heard Jens Felder play 2 Days and a Year,  a few weeks ago, I let this melody steal me. I wanted it to. It was a piece of music that I could go places with.  I love music and I have a large collection. hen’s is a combination of many types of music from many parts of the world. I played Jen’s music over several times, just to see if I could get tired of it. I didn’t. I don’t mean this in a negative way. Part of me wanted to play it again, but the other part kept wondering why I wanted more. I do not know how to explain it in words. I am sure every once in a while, we find something beautiful and it affects us. Life is beautiful and mysterious. I could not imagine life without music. 

Like everything we do in life, there is a story. In Jen’s story, his music is his life story.  I could not write his story better, therefore, I left my interview follow in Jen’s own words:

I am playing guitar for over 30 years now. I can’t remember the first time I had a guitar under my fingers. The feeling is still very present. When I held the guitar, I knew immediately that it was exactly what I was missing in my life. Playing music feels like a meditative experience, like “being in the moment“. The silence is expectation and excitement, and gets filled with sound. The silence returns images and echoes back, what gives me great joy and peace. My goal was and is, to communicate the emotions I experience in the music through my instrument.
My heroes were the old masters and so I studied classical music for many years.  I completed a postgraduate study with Andreas Higi at the music college in Trossingen and attended various master-classes by i.e. Frank Bungarten, Carlo Marcione and the amazing Aniello Desiderio.
The learning was followed by many solo concerts with classical programs. I was fortunate to play in chamber music ensembles with violin and vocals and also worked as a soloist with orchestras.
I now live with my family in southern Germany and work as a freelance artist and music teacher. The old masters are still my good friends, but now I play my own music. In my pieces melds classical music with elements of world music. You can hear African or Asian modes and even some nods to rock music all within the context of solo classical guitar playing. It feels like a trip around the world with the language of classical music.
As a composer, I have worked with various artists from different regions of the world, including also music for short films.
In early December, I published my first solo guitar album “2 days and a year”, available on iTunes and Amazon as a download.
The title piece “2 Days and a Year” is a story about time perception in music. I have written this piece in 2 days, but the emotional experiences have accompanied and influenced my music all year thereafter. So this piece has become the title track of my album. I’ve written a text, which describes the emotions of this time (also in the booklet of my album):

“Time is different in music. Close and friendly it is
drifting by – sometimes flying, sometimes even
standing still, but never passing. Nothing gets lost –
the first tone is not older than the last one.

All music is a child of its time, but not bound by time.
It arises from moments and lives in people. Musicians
capture that moment in time and listeners make
the music their own. These moments are present, and alive.

iTunes link to “2 days and a year” album: https://itunes.apple.com/de/album/2-days-and-a-year/id946450529?uo=4

Soundcloud link to the “2 days and a year” piece: https://soundcloud.com/jens-felger/2-days-and-a-year

 

Life, Living, Stories

A multi-award winner short film: Home Sweet Home

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This is the story of a house which escapes from its suburban foundations and sets off on an epic journey.

A short movie by Pierre Clenet, Alejandro Diaz, Romain Mazevet and Stéphane Paccolat, made in Supinfocom Arles during our last year in 2013. Original music by Valentin Lafort.
// Synopsis //

Life, Living, Stories

The Spirits Deeply Buried Within Us

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Sorcery in Papua New Guinea

I grew up in Papua New Guinea, and the people of my country are fearful of sorcery. Although my family members were devout christians (Kauckesa, Tamang, my grandfather was a teacher and clergyman for the Lutheran Church) there are other traditional beliefs and practices that culturally and spiritually linked our people to the nature and the environment. These beliefs and customs have helped us survive for many years. Sanguma (sorcery) was not one of these beliefs.

In my own life, I have seen and written some stories, recalling incidents and events that have been directly associated with sorcery and the beliefs of our people. I know of many killings that were alleged to be sorcery related. I have seen family members wasted to their last days, and buried because they refuse modern medicine. They suffered immensely, but believed witchcraft and sorcery was causing their illness for some reason or punishment and their ailment was incurable.

On the other hand, a different kind of societal treachery occurs in a community fearful of the occult, where the accused is judged and attacked or killed. No courts. No help. Often the community or village would stand back, hands held up with reluctance, letting the crime take place.

My grandfather used to call it Satan’s work. Evil striking on a whim, and prayer was the only thing to offer in efforts to rescue or heal. It has never been clear to me – I have felt each one of us have spirits deep within us. These spirits are so powerful and they create the characters and the people within ourselves. We choose the spirit, the one or the ones that become us. What clearly stands out in the sorcery violence is, the accused are mostly women and children. I wonder, is sorcery merely offering another avenue for blood-thirsty, violent men in PNG?

Rampant Fear

Sanguma and the fear of it, is rampant in Papua New Guinea. Education makes little difference. The deep-seated, hysterical terror of sorcery and its consequences is unfathomable, to the extent that it is so easy for anyone to pick up an axe, knife, or spear to hurt the next person based purely on the suspicion. An uncle can kill a nephew. A husband can kill a wife or daughter. Anyone could be a witch. Our culture allows violence and our culture allows the beliefs to exist because we allow it to.

A friend, Almah Tararia shared an article which led me to a website. http://www.stopsorceryviolence.org 

“Stop Sorcery Violence” wants to highlight the work of local women and men bravely taking a stand against sorcery and witchcraft accusations, providing assistance to victims and survivors and advocating for a positive change.

I wanted to share one of the organisation’s success stories tonight. Please be warned, you may not like what you see or read on the website.  Some of the stories are horrific.

simbu-kid-978x500

 A boy is accused

A nine-year-old boy from Simbu Province is happy in his new home after surviving terrible torture because of sanguma accusations.
In July this year Peter was admitted to the Kundiawa hospital with severe cuts to his head and body,  and with the loss of blood, there was a slim chance of survival. Peter’s own uncle attacked the boy with an axe after accusing him of practising sanguma (being a witch).

When taken to Kundiawa Hospital, quick action by the doctors, miraculously pieced Peter’s body back together, even some of the severely damaged tissues.

In over two months, Peter made a remarkable recovery. It was not what the doctors had expected. He regained most of his movements and ability as a normal person.

Then, came the daunting questions, now that he had survived, where would Peter go? The boy’s parents were both dead. His own home and extended family were not safe for Peter to return to. No relatives had visited him in hospital, and the option of him returning back to his village was too dangerous.

Several members of the Catholic Church: Archbishop Douglas Young, Bishop Don Lippert, Father Philip Gibbs and Father Jan Jaworski worked on finding a place where Peter could go and be with other children, to continue his education and develop a normal life. The public responded very positively, and after identifying some places in the Highlands, he was relocated to a safe place to start a new life. Peter was one of the lucky ones.

Sanguma Accusations

Regarding Sanguma accusations and their related violence, women and children are the targeted victims.  For each woman or child that has been saved, another is tortured, banned from her family and village or murdered.  There are many people standing up against sorcery related violence. Many are working hard to prevent violence and assist victims. Human Rights Defenders, the Catholic Church, Community-Based Organisations, International NGOs and some  government bodies including police are realising the extent of the this specific kind of violence and have started to develop strategies to save lives. For the PNG people, every person is encouraged to take a personal action by joining the fight to stop the violence.

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Life, Living, Stories

Documentary: Leaky Boats

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Life, Living, Nature and Climate Change, Nature and Environment, Stories

Together, We Are Stronger!

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The song titled “Oceania – a Hymn for the Pacific”,  features Pacific island artists. Set in a series of images from across the Pacific islands region, the song was a fitting symbol of the growing recognition of the need for collaborative partnerships and journeying together on “one vaka” – one canoe.

 

https://www.sprep.org/biodiversity-ecosystems-management/sprep-side-event-highlights-collaboration-and-coordination-for-conservation-at-the-world-parks-congress

Life, Living, Stories, Women, writing

Pushing Up Daisies

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images

Chapter One: Casting Shadows continued

Viola flung the rest of her stale drink into the garden and carelessly dropped her glass on the day table. She turned and watched the remaining yoke of the sun slide away and as quickly, the darkness enveloped her. The evening breeze caressed her, nudging her silk cream blouse under her full breasts. Her navy linen pants hung loosely about her short fat legs. It felt weird but nice. No-one has touched her for so long. She made no attempt to rejoin her guests inside. The time had crawled to 6:30pm, when the automated sprinklers were due to start spitting. She paced the verandah to check if the entire irrigation system had come on to water her beloved garden. Her mind went back to events earlier.

Nora had asked her if she was all right – the stupid girl. Viola felt anger rising in her like bile, but swallowed it, only responding with “good”. For years, she had been telling her friend about how ‘he’ had treated her. Nora knew. Just like she had, Viola gritted her teeth and told Nora everything was good.

To Viola, “good” was a great word. When people ask how she was, she would reply on a reflex, “good”. According to Viola, the word good was so vague and final that anyone who asked could not ask any other questions. They left her alone. The word ‘good’, Viola thought, had protected her all these years. Kept her safe from the pity and concern that exhausted her so. Viola hesitated, as she paused and put the lights back on. They instantly flooded the lush bushes enclosing two carports and her guests’ extra two cars parked next to her black BMW and his silver Nissan 280Z. He would catch the $150 cab ride home tonight. She felt glad, she was not picking him up from Brisbane airport.

Over the years, she had kept all her feelings deep inside her, in the smallest pocket of her heart, layered with obligations and responsibilities as the daughter, mother and wife. But tonight, she was going to tell him everything when he came home. She would tell him she has had enough. She began thinking of her plan. Letting the scenario play out, she strolled back to the front of the house. Viola noticed at the end of the verandah that the sprinkler at her rose garden, nearest to her neighbours was off. Without thinking, she stepped bare feet onto the dying lawn and walked straight across towards the dark shadows to turn the sprinkler on. The light switch was near the tennis courts.

To read part one, see my earlier post and for more – visit my Wattpad:

http://www.wattpad.com/myworks/27925992-pushing-up-daisies

 

Life, Living, Stories, writing

Becoming a Stranger

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In the mirror this morning, the stranger looked back at me . It took her one week to take my body. Her hair, smile and the colour of her eyes were familiar. It was the shape of her face that was different, disfigured and daunting, creating her new identity and making her who she was. This woman looked 20 years older. Saggy eye bags, and burning and bulging red patches on her forehead from the illness that had engulfed her body and giving her the extra years on her face.

I stepped away from the mirror, afraid. I took my bag, car keys and left the house. It was 6am.

I got in and took the wheels of the Honda, staring at my swollen, bluish red fingers trying to bend over the steering and grip tight. It was painful. The auto-steering had a mind of its own and often spun back. My joints were not co-operating. Discomfort and unco-operative joints was something I had envisaged later in life, not today. I did not want to look at the rear vision mirror as I reversed. I did not want to face the stranger again.  I forced myself to ignore the pain and itch in my deteriorating body. The fever stood tall. I was glad my feet could work at the pedals better than my fingers. This, gave me some comfort and reassured me, I could still drive in my condition. I needed to get to the doctor quickly. The medication my Gp had prescribed seemed to have failed and my health worsen in the past three days. Last night, I thought I would die with the high temperatures of summer, fighting against the rising temperature of my body.

After ten minutes of driving, I had to slow down because the saggy tired eyes wanted so badly to sleep. I stayed on low gears and concentrated until I arrived at the shops. I parked and took a cab into the city to see the doctor. The cab driver looked at me suspiciously. His eyes went from the large red patches on my arm and elbows to my neck and forehead. I wondered what went through his mind. I was too sick to care.

“Can you take me to Wickham Terrace?”

“Yes”. He forced a smile and I tried one, knowing, my smile would have been ugly.

I stepped into the cab and when I gave him the doctor’s address at Wickham Terrace in Brisbane City, he muttered something and drove off. It must have been the face of the stranger from the mirror that got to him. Usually, the cab drivers liked to have a conversation with me during the course of my cab-journeys.

I shut my eyes and slept until the cab stopped. I paid the driver and made my way to the specialist doctor. Everyone at the foot of the lift stared. Could it be that bad? I wondered. This tower houses many doctors. I was sure, I was not the first weirdo to appear on the scene. Several floors upstairs, I saw an opened door and asked the receptionist if I could stay; I had come one hour early to see my doctor.  Secretly, I also needed the cool air-conditioning. My skin was burning like fire although it was only 7:15am and the air was cool. The receptionist smiled kindly and said it was OK. I sat down on the comfortable chairs and closed my eyes, relieved. My mind drifted to my girlfriend Marina. Yesterday, Marina heard my voice on the phone and came to get me.

“You don’t sound good, but you have to come with me”.

“OK” I gave in.

When she had arrived at my house, she was shocked at how I looked. I told her that I had been ill, but it seemed to have gone longer than usual. She told me there was more to it and it was best to swim in the ocean. She believed salt water was the cure. So, we packed our change, some food I left the sick-bed I had been in for a few days. We drove an hour away to Bribie Island.I had joked to Marina that once I completely surrender my whole body to the disease, perhaps it would leave me alone. I would get better.  The swelling started on my back and everyday, it the symptoms had moved up and over my head. Yesterday, after day six, the burning swells starting coming down on my forehead and neck.

The saltwater was amazing. It was good to feel the force of the waves hitting against me and the salt stinging me. The healing was working. I soon forgot how sick I was as I played with the waves and swam like a fish again. 

After our swim, we ate crab, fresh cucumber and drank hot tea with lemon and honey. Then, we spotted two black cockatoos and Marina, who is half Chinese and Papua New Guinean told me it was a good omen. She insisted we drive to a news agency and buy lottery tickets, so we did. At the same time, the Specialist doctor had called me back and said I could come in this morning instead of January 15. It was a good omen.

A knock on the surgery door forced me to open my eyes. My doctor’s receptionist had arrived. She popped her head in next door.

“The lady is not mine, she is yours”, the first receptionist said.

“Oh”, responded in hesitation.

I laughed and said, I had an appointment with the skin allergist.

Soon, she ushered me into the surgery and the allergist arrived. Two patients went in for fifteen minute consultation each and then he called for me. The allergist looked me over and asked me if I was alright.

“No”, I said. He would not know the difference between the stranger and I because this doctor had never seen me before.

He gave me a chair and I quickly told him what was happening to my body and showed him the lumps. I was tempted to show him a pre-hives picture of me and say: “Doctor, this is me”. He asked all the questions and guided me through the history of my hives’ problem. After a 45 minute consultation, he decided my issue was not an allergy as previously diagnosed and the medication given was incorrect. He told me he had never seen such a severe case before but all the symptoms pointed to a viral infection of the immune system – not an allergy. I was surprised. He made a joke about the disease not being something else and specifically said it was not contagious. I then joked if it was puripuri, which was witchcraft. The doctor rolled his eyes. As it turned out, doc had spent his early medical training Madang Hospital, Papua New Guinea.

I asked the doctor if he could cure me, something like giving me an injection because I was sick of being sick and there had to be something to fix me instantly. He laughed.

After examination, he said there was one thing that could knock this “thing” over, but I had to follow a stringent routine with the medication he was to prescribe. I waited for him to write everything out and I repeated his instructions back to him. I needed to get better.

I missed a week’s pay. That was what I paid for the specialist. I took the lift to the ground floor to have breakfast as instructed, and take my first prescribed magic pill. My cousin arrived with her ten-year-old and three-year-old daughters. The girls ran up the footpath to me, giggling, excited and ready to give their aunty a big hug but as they came up to me, they both stopped and looked at me like I was a stranger. It was only then, I realised, how bad I must look. Children are not good at hiding their feelings, I already knew I had become a stranger within my own body. My cousin rang her partner and described me as “unrecognisable”. She bought her daughters chocolate and cream and I spent the next ten minutes trying to convince them; the doctor had said my condition was not contagious.

“I am not contagious. I am your aunty”. They gave each other looks.

There were no hugs and kisses when they dropped me off,  just wave-goodbyes. My older son had earlier said: “Mum, I love you, but I am not going to touch you, you look gross”. (He was joking). His brother, on the other hand kept hugging me and telling me, “I’m scared mum and I don’t want to look at you”.

It has been 12 hours and the magic pill has started working. I feel a lot better. I took a walk to my greenhouse and spoke with the birds. The swelling is going down and I hope in the next few days, the pill will help me get rid of the stranger.