A Day to Yourself is the Best Day Ever

It’s Friday. Everyone’s posting on Facebook where they’re going to be tonight and whether they’re going to be there. Everyone’s pumped. Emojis are out in full force. They are as excited as I would be if Michael Fassbender, Eddie Redmayne, Douglas Booth, Benedict Cumberbatch or Tom Hiddleston all said they wanted to take me out for a nice lunch and a walk around the Harbour. However, this is not the case, because the thought of going out on Friday night scares me as much as a victim in an episode of Criminal Minds and appeals to me as much as as cricket does (hint: there’s no appeal in it).

I recently spent a week in Melbourne with some good friends of mine and I’m pleased to say that I survived. No friendships were broken and I didn’t need to plan the perfect murder. I’ve heard horror stories about travelling, mainly about personality clashes and disgruntled room mates. Luckily, the trip was short enough not to have been graced with that, but it did highlight something which I’ve always known, but hadn’t quite confirmed:

I like love my alone time. 

Growing up at an all girls school which was emphatic that relationships was key to growing up, going to university was a suddenly like the first day of kindergarten all over again – as if Mum was still standing behind me, asking me to go and play with friends.

Admittedly, the beginning of university was also a stepping stone for me. Suddenly, every second person was talking about sex, there were boys and there was much more to life than one’s academic success. Very abruptly, life became about fitting in, and whether that was through going to parties, having people to hang out with at Ubar or being on the mooting team like everyone else, university was all about being somewhere with someone.

My mother always says that change is a part of life, and that twenty-five years after marrying Dad, both of them are completely different people, and yet they still love and cherish each other (cue: ‘But you’re not allowed to tell him that I’m saying nice things about him!’). It’s safe to say that four years after starting university, I’ve become very comfortable with who I am. I had always believed myself to be an extrovert, a social butterfly with the burning to desire to be somewhere all the time but I’ve since come to recognise that that isn’t the case. I’ve come to see myself as an extroverted introvert; extroverted in my professional and academic endeavours, but personally introverted. In a lot of cases, I’ve found myself being comfortable as a wallflower.

I cherish my friends, and I adore spending time with them, but there is a limit. I need ‘me time’. I need a room to myself, a laptop or a good book or a good film/tv show, and a nice glass of wine. I don’t need people. I don’t need to have someone talking to me. I don’t need someone to ask me ‘how’s things’ or ‘what are you doing’ every five minutes. I need time to myself, to take off my mask of the quirky chatterbox and just chill as the weirdo blob that I am. That’s why when some people see lonesome dining as a very depressing thought, I see it as sanctuary.

I’ve struggled with clinginess in relationships in the past. I’ve often gotten phone calls or texts from the significant other telling me that they feel like I don’t care about them or don’t appreciate them because I don’t text or call them every second minute. I don’t need them to be around the whole time. I need space. I need air to breathe. Cuddles are great, but being able to be in a room with them, know that they’re there from the warmth and security they give, but still have the privacy I desire, that’s when I know I’m comfortable.

With a boyfriend over in Germany, I often get asked ‘don’t you feel lonely?’ or receive the comment ‘long distance never works out’, the fact is that it suits us just fine. Alex and I are an ‘us’ as much as we are ‘him’ or ‘her’. Unlike my previous relationships, Alex tells me that he enjoys space just as much he enjoys our time together, and that to me is what is healthy. He misses me just as much as I miss him. It’s a first, because we share the desire for space and togetherness. Though we can share a bottle of wine between ourselves, both he and I are happy to have one to ourselves.

From Bored Panda. Artist Unknown – information would be appreciated!

It’s important for my identity to have that alone time. I am not a clingy person. I’m not a social butterfly. I’m not a person who needs to be surrounded by friends. I’m not a person whose emotions are known to everyone (despite the bipolar ‘n’ all!). I’m a person who enjoys the prospect of a cabin in the middle of wheat fields with a strong internet connection and a hot mug of tea with an empty 30km radius around me. Though I, like almost everyone, have qualms with who – or what – I am, I am also the person most accepting of who I am: an independent, solitary soul who enjoys alone time.

Last night, a friend called me. I was about to shove a mouthful of chicken laksa into my gob when I saw my phone rumble. Someone was calling me.

new doc 16_2I can’t tell you how much I hate phone calls from people other than work but I will say that I absolutely hate them. I can’t exactly explain to you why either. For whose who know me, I’m an awfully awkward but chatty person. I can talk about anything, so long as it’s mundane enough for the person to lose interest in me. It often backfires because of how strange I am as a majority of the topics I pursue are often both obscure and/or odd. But that’s face-to-face. I’m perfectly social and I am capable of small talk, as much as I hate it.

But I just kind of just sat there and stared at my iPhone.

There was a moment of agony, pondering as to whether I should pick up the call or continue reading about the Roman naming customs.

new doc 16_1

There are a few reasons why I dislike phone conversations. I rarely call people, and if I do, it’s because it’s actually for a purpose. I remember in grade school, the popular kids used to telephone each other to chat over the weekend, Now that I found was odd because they saw each other all week; surely they’d want some time away from each other. But maybe that’s just me.

I find phone conversations disruptive so I often have my phone on silent. But it’s not even the sound of it; it’s the mere notion that someone would like to talk to me. For whatever reason, I find it mildly absurd that someone would just like to chat because most of our conversations are probably like this.

new doc 16_3

It’s not that I’m antisocial probably because I’m antisocial. I enjoy the company of alone time and I don’t really need anyone to be there a lot of the time. And I dislike pointless conversation. It’s very different to banter, which I do enjoy. I’m selectively social, so there are people I will pick up the phone for, but for most. I won’t.

new doc 16_4So alas my poor friends need to text me instead. So yes. Please don’t call me. Texting suits me just fine.


I apologise for the lengthy absence! I’ve had a thousand and one things in life and now that I only have a thousand, I have time to update again :)

You know what freaks me out? It’s October already. While I was lying in bed last night, I found myself super irritated. Why? Because October isn’t the eighth month of the year; August is. Despite oct- indicating eight, it’s the tenth month. Like September is not the seventh month but ninth. Silly Romans, adding January and February in and not bothering to update. Think about that. It’ll annoy you soon too.

Life has been so intense for me lately, but not in a bad way. In fact, I am at the best I’ve been in years!

Three things just quickly though…!


In the last few weeks, I’ve packed away The Winter Station and have accidentally started a new book. Probably inspired by the fact that my partner is German, I’ve started writing March. The novel is an alternate history novel which takes place in Nazi Britain, 1960. The novel focuses upon the exploration of young doctor, August Buchanan Westgarth, and his involvement in the fictional West London Dominion Treaty under the Third Reich. In less than a few weeks, I’ve completed almost 3/4 of it, and am well on the way to completion.

It’s funny how much you fall in love with characters and how much it pains you to guide their path. Whilst March is mostly a political thriller, I’ve gotten so many questions in my head about how to go about the ideas. It’s not a linear book, and I hope to explore a lot about humanity, love and morality in it, but how to do it! I can’t wait until I can continue work on it today :)


I don’t think I can reiterate how much I love my tiny furry drunk. It’s been just over 9 months that I’ve had Coco, and she has completely changed – for the better :) She used to be such a tiny little terrified puppy, afraid that everyone was out to hurt her. Nowadays she has grown up so much to become a loving and beautiful puppy dog who plays gently and loves you more than life itself. She has so much personality; a goofy, scatterbrained, ungraceful little lump. I take her everywhere, as much as I possibly can. I adore her company and I adore her.



Relationship Person

So after years of on-and-offing, Alex and I finally became a thing. Then the dickhead buggered off to Germany. But it’s nice to go to your postbox and find a delivery card for you, and find that he has sent you one of your favourite novel (Birdsong by Sebastian Faulkes) and the BBC Film of it <3 I miss that kid, I want him home. I’m a strong independent woman! All I need is my Xbox and some internets!

Channel Ten

Probs the most exciting bit of life in the last few months has been my involvement with KYDS Youth Development Service and Channel Ten. I was recently invited to a very hush-hush event at Pyrmont last Thursday 9 October for a super secretive event. This was exciting for me for several reasons:

1) I got to represent KYDS and help them out with their awareness campaign;
2) Having had no interest in The Bachelor, I might be able to see Blake Garvey around the studios and maybe punch him in the face tell him what a wonderful guy he is
3) Oh my god, Channel Ten.

Many things were amazing about the experience. It really started with being able to park right in front of this guy.

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Who is this Mr Abs anyway?

Walking into Channel Ten was all sorts of amazing. It’s one of those things you don’t really expect when you walk into a television studio because Sandra Sully’s news desk is RIGHT THERE. And I got to sit in her spot.


The event was to launch Channel Ten’s new internal charity program known as ‘Ten Gives’, and is in partnership with Un Ltd, a not-for-profit foundation representing the media, marketing and advertising industry. The experience was incredible, getting to hear the kids from MMAD (Musicians Making A Difference), then getting up to be able to tell others exactly why it is so important to support organisations like KYDS and MMAD. It was such an exciting day, and I’ll definitely have more to write about it soon, so for now, have a picture dump :) 

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Clearly having no clue what I’m doing.

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Myself and Melinda Nucifora, a pioneer of this initiative!

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Cups! They went the full way!!

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Also cupcakes! It made my tongue blue though :(


That’s all for now. See you soon! :)

So here is the post which got me riled up this morning. 



I am a motor enthusiast. It’s really no secret. My first car was a BMW 318i E36 which I have affectionately named ‘Beewar’ after the first three letters of my number plate. Having been car-mad since I was probably 13 years old, I own countless Wheels magazines and have watched every single Top Gear episode to date. I have attended pretty much every single Australian International Motor Show until it died this year and can name pretty much every single supercar with additional specs when it passes by. So yes, I would consider myself a motor enthusiast. 

I adore my cars, and since receiving Forza Motorsports 5 as a lovely gift with my Xbox One, I have loved nothing more than to look after my vehicle with the love and passion I show my beautiful puppy dog (of whom my boyfriend is rather jealous). I recently purchased a Mercedes Benz A200 CDI EDS. It is a beautiful 2L turbo diesel. Do I sound like a wanker already? Here is my reasoning…

Safety. Power. Efficiency. Fun. I am pretty much the poster girl of Mercedes Benz.

That being said, the post itself questioning P-platers and the regulation surrounding performance vehicles did not anger me at all. It’s the uneducated and impractical commentators who get me cranky. 

Firstly, [Blanked Out Name], I don’t think ANY young person would want to be caught dead driving a Tarago. Secondly, I did my L’s in my father’s 4WD Subaru Outback and drove it well into my P1s. I fail to see why it would be reasonable to have it banned for P-platers as 4WDs are safer and have more responsive steering and therefore are more suitable for young people who need more assistance in controlling their driving. It needs to also be considered that the 4WD may well be the only family vehicle and creating exceptions for every single P-plater who wishes to drive the family vehicle is just creating another tier of bureaucracy to an already highly inefficient government regulator.

But besides that, what are my thoughts on performance vehicles?

I agree with the motor enthusiasts; more Government regulation means reduced motorist responsibility. There is a fine need to consider both personal responsibility and respect for other people’s safety as opposed to simply slapping more regulation. When getting into a motor vehicle, an individual takes on the understanding that they are controlling a machine with the capability to kill. The danger is implicit, which is why motorists take into consideration each of their actions in providing increased safety to not only themselves, but to everyone around them – motorists, pedestrians, property.

Increasing one’s safety can indicate a few things: not texting and driving, wearing a seatbelt, using indicators for merging, and not falling asleep at the wheel. This also includes not speeding. It is everyone’s responsibility not to speed. It’s everyone’s responsibility to be in control of their vehicle because despite bans on performance vehicles, you will always get the inconsiderate idiot who will do 45km and over and put other people’s lives in danger. They could be doing it in the family’s standard Mazda 3 though. It doesn’t have to be a performance vehicle. 

Unfortunately though, regulation upon performance vehicles covers the idiots. This is no different to other regulations. Common decency says don’t go and murder someone else, but you always get the person who will have a drink then punch someone in the back of the head. Legislation and regulation is determining what happens to these people when they do commit the crime. ‘Do the crime; do the time‘ they say. It’s common sense to the everyday person not to speed. Little old grannies could be crossing the road or a car could be turning out from another street and you’re going too fast to see them. Mistakes cost others and regulation is created to dissuade people from committing the crime. 

The problem is that there are the P-plate hoons who pimp their vehicles to make them performance vehicles. They swap parts, install new engines, supercharge the turbos and generally make their cars as loud and as obnoxious as they can possibly be. They then go and street race and put a black mark to our plates.They’re the idiots who break the law and the rest of us have to pay. 

Performance vehicles don’t always mean speed. Though historically, performance vehicles are designed specifically for speed in the design and construction of the power trains, brakes, gear box and steering. Performance vehicles differ from race vehicles as they are designed to be street cars which deliver transport capabilities. Many performance vehicles are also luxury vehicles as they do seem to go hand-in-hand with one another. For example, many manufacturers produce only performance vehicles, but are designed for the luxury market. These include Ashton Martin, Ferrari, Maserati and Porsche. Even Porsche’s neglected mutant, the Porsche Panamera, was designed to be a performance vehicle, but appealed also to the everyday family who wanted a little power with the luxury. 

For some manufacturers, performance vehicles are an art form. As opposed to having mass produced robot-assembled engines, the Mercedes-AMG line has each of their engines handcrafted by a single technician from start to finish, completed with their signature upon the engine plate. It’s beauty for a beast, but shows an expression of human perfection in the AMG line. Though there is speed, Mercedes-AMG boasts perfection in its performance vehicles. 

But all that being said, how do I regard these laws? 

I applaud the NSW Government on lifting restrictions on turbo-charged vehicles which are for environmental purposes (such as my own vehicle which had previously been banned under the laws prior to 1 August 2014). Before then, it was almost pathetic that one could not drive a Ford Fiesta with an EcoBoost engine simply because it had a small turbocharger. Now it makes sense to calculate the kilowatts to the mass of the vehicle, and thus the power output capability of the vehicle and it astounds me that the NSW Government didn’t think of it before. 

But for the rest of us, I agree with the ban on performance vehicles for P-platers. It’s a necessary regulation in place to stop the casual idiot from testing out the horsepower of their turbocharged monster on suburban roads. But we must remember; the P-platers are not the only ones who need to be responsible. You can put a performance vehicle into the hands of the everyday fully licenced man and they can be just as tempted to floor the gas and go all out. It does not make them any less dangerous. 

The problem is that we don’t talk about it in the media as ‘the fully licenced man ploughed into the sedan at over 130km/h’. We only ever hear about the ‘provisional driver’ or the ‘the P-plate 21-year-old’. It’s always the fault of the younger generation. There is always something wrong with us. 

But for the rest of us, keep safe, keep sensible. 

Helpful Links:

NSW Roads and Maritime Service P1 and P2 vehicle restrictions conditions:


Link: http://www.rms.nsw.gov.au/licensing/gettingalicence/car/p1p2faqs.html 

P1 and P2 Performance Vehicle Search: 


Link: http://roadsafety.transport.nsw.gov.au/stayingsafe/drivers/youngdrivers/vehicle-restrictions.html 



For some people, their birthday is the highlight of their year. For others, it’s one of the shittiest days of the year. I only realised the other day exactly why I have always hated birthdays – it’s not so much because of the birthday itself; it’s the people

When I was in kindergarten, I remember there already being the ‘popular’ girls in my year; Grace and Caitlin. They were the pair who everyone loved and wanted to be. Unfortunately, that also meant that they were colossal bitches, even at 5 years old. 

Around rolled 28 July 1997. I was turning 5 years old. Having trouble finding friends, Mum encouraged me to invite 20 of my ‘close’ friends in Kindy for my McDonalds party (they were all the rage back in the day!). I remember sitting down and pointing to all the people in my grade from our annual school photos of people I wanted to invite. It didn’t include Grace and Caitlin. My only task was to hand out invitations at school. 

Handing them out at recess, I remember Grace and Caitlin both asking me whether they had been invited because ‘they were my best friends’. I hadn’t, but I lied though; I said I left theirs at home. I remember going home and asking Mum to write invitations to invite them too.

What I had done was unintentionally started the annual tradition of hating my birthday. 

My birthday was no longer about me; it was about them. Everyone loved them, and so everyone wanted to play with them on the playground rather than spend time with me inside the party room. Funnily enough, I remember crying, asking Mum why nobody liked me. 

Ever since then, I’ve hated birthdays. 

Frankly, as it’s rolled around again today, I’ve come to the point where I dislike people doing anything for me on my birthday, or even acknowledging it. The more people do, the more I hate it. 

Either way, it’s agonising when you have to pretend to be thankful and happy for your birthday because for me, a birthday simply means another year has gone without killing myself. 

Happy birthday to me. 

Text exchange with one of my students: 

Student: I did my assessment task today. The people who watched said it was intimidating to follow. Which I guess is good but I hope the teachers think the same. 

Me: Glad to hear! That’s how it should be. Keep your hopes high, we will have more to go through before you can conquer the world. 

Student: But the fact is that I will conquer the world.

Me: Even dictators need good mentors. 

Student: Caesar had to learn from somewhere

Me: And look at his legacy!

Student: I shall one day have a great salad named after me. I promise you. 




 This is Coco. She is my 1-year old Bull Arab puppy. I adopted her on 17 January 2014 from the Hawkesbury Companion Animals Shelter. The reason why I did was because I was lonely. 

In 2012, the world was inhabited by 7 billion people. It’s perhaps a little sad for me to realise that of that 7 billion people, the one I am closest to is my dog. 

I’ve always had trouble connecting to people. From as early as I can remember, I have had trouble making friends, and I have always been insecure about making friends. 

My earliest memory of friendships was when I was in kindergarten. My best friend at the time was a girl named Rachel. As deep as any kindy relationship can get, our friendship was built entirely upon her love for lions, and my star sign as a Leo. With the Lion King being newly released, we both pretended to be lions and had a great love for them. While I remember her being my best friend, I wasn’t hers. Hers was Belinda. They had known each other through their older brothers, and had been friends since before Kindy. I remember wanting to be her best friend, but I never was. 

It’s not really a sad story though. As soon as I left high school, I had decided to get used to being by myself. I see movies alone. I go to breakfast alone. I’ve learned that a book is better company than a person. It’s strange because being alone is a double-edged sword for me. I am happiest when I am alone, but I am also at my saddest.

I can go days without getting an SMS, and I can go weeks without receiving or making a phone call. Socialisation to me is a mere Facebook comment, and my contact with the world is in a Facebook like. Nobody posts on my wall. Nobody sends me a message. I like it that way because I don’t have to impress anyone, and I don’t have to pretend.

It comes in waves though, the feeling of sadness in loneliness. I’m generally fine not going out. Sometimes I don’t go out for weeks. I’ve long since been invited to birthdays or dinners or outings and now that I am growing up, almost all of my close acquaintences have partners, and thus they no longer need another person around. I see their photos on Facebook and oddly enough, I don’t feel anything despite what research claim I should. No jealousy. No isolation. It’s just more news on my newsfeed. 

Every once in a while though, I feel loneliness weigh on me and I think about where I went wrong. Tonight it was my mum getting angry at me and storming off. I wanted someone to talk to about it, but then there was nobody I could talk to without feeling like I was bothering them. Everybody else has their own lives to lead, why would they be concerned with mine? 

But that’s why Coco is so special to me. In a very lame way, Coco is my everything. I’m a boring person. I’m an introvert who becomes extraverted when I need to be. I’m weird. I’ve got quirks. I’ve got the inability to be like everyone else. But Coco doesn’t care. If I’m somewhere, she’s right by my side. Not because she wants food, but because she loves me. She is sad to see me leave for work each day, and she’s over the moon when I get back home. When I stretch my arm out for a hug, she’s right there in my embrace. When I cry, she licks my face and smiles and seems to just understand that her being there makes all the difference to me. 

I know my parents love Coco too, but they’re forever bitter about her. She is my dog, and I bought her on spur without their informed consent. It’s often the only reason why my mother gets angry. But ultimately, I know that Coco has been the key reason as to why my bipolar hasn’t gotten any worse. My bipolar has a lot to do with loneliness, and she has been my buffer and my company and the reason why I’m still alive. 

But it is sad that I should feel this way. But I guess it’s a girl and her best friend. We are inseparable, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 


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