connect the dots

It is always that one moment that defines us. When you choose to turn left or right. To stay or go. To say the words you know you can never take away the moment you say them. Split-second decisions that change our lives so irrevocably, you don’t even know what's happening, or understand the full consequences, until it is three years down the road, and you wonder how you ended up a thousand miles from where you came from. I remember my defining moments clearly.

I was twelve, and locked myself in my bedroom to write a book, which I never finished, planting the seed of a dream that I have only begun to acknowledge. I was 19, and I decided to leave for the United States, on the other side of the world from my home in Malaysia, leaving everything I’ve ever known and loved behind. I was 22, and rather than pursuing my initial plan of moving to Chicago, I followed an instinct I didn’t quite understand and returned to Malaysia. I was 23, and decided to switch from a well-paid job in PR to begin a career in writing, and taking a hefty pay cut to do so. I was 25, and decided to move to Auckland, without a clue what I was going to do here or how I was going to do it. I was 26, and decided he was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

My moments. With some rather obvious patterns. Like the fact that I’ve always been rather flighty. Spending a year or two here and there, before feeling the need, no the urge, to move. They call me restless. I simply think I have a yearning for freedom and change, more pronounced than anyone I have ever met. And I'm not afraid of split-second decisions. I love not knowing what lies ahead. I don’t know anyone else who would pack up their bags, and move to a country they know nothing about, where they know no one, without a job, or an inkling of what laid ahead in their future. But I did. And I would do it again, husband and family in tow. The world is too big, too fascinating, too exciting, too colourful, to stay in one place - the same place, for the rest of your life. And I'm glad that The Husband, while being a little more settled, feels the same way.

I make split-second decisions, knowing they will change the course of my life, but I embrace these changes. I can think of nothing worse than never exploring, never being challenged, never feeling so bewildered and lost in a world of strangers. Never feeling the fear of simply not knowing what lies ahead. Because strangely enough, it is those moments, when I feel completely invisible, that I feel the most alive. When I am so terrified and lost, that my senses are truly feeling and experiencing what’s all around me. When I am so lonely, that I have to force myself to break out of my comforting solitude, to search for a friend in the vast unknown.

Moments are like dots in those picture books you used to draw in as children. Connect the dots and it forms a picture.

My moments are dots in my journey, making a picture of who I am.

This is who I am.

confused

I haven't been very focused lately. My mind wanders, and my heart goes along to see what it's up to. I've been simultaneously filled with overwhelming restlessness, desire and boredom. There is so much I want to do, but I can't seem to bring myself to do anything, because the minute I do, I want to do something else - hence, the inability to focus. 

So I'm going to try and write down my thoughts in as coherent a manner as possible, in the vain hopes that it translates some meaning back into this cotton-brain of mind that is determinedly refusing to absorb. 

• I want to write a book.
  
• I really want to stop working for other people and do something for myself instead.
• I want to find something I can do for myself, without breaking the bank.
•  I want to own my own home and stop letting hard-earned money disappear each week into someone else's pocket.
• I want to travel. First to France, where I can be inspired by her romance, her poetry, her beautiful  architecture and the gentle melody of a complex culture that's captivated me from the very beginning. And then I want to go New York where I'll be caught up in the buzz and movement. Where street lights and neon signs, yellow cabs and jazz bars assault my senses. And then I'll double back to Europe and spend a month in Prague, doing nothing but inhaling, writing, walking, matching the rhythm of my heart to the sound of my footsteps on the cobbled-stone sidewalks. 
  
• I want to be satiated. On books, on wine, on words, on sex, on anything.
• I want to learn how to speak French and German. Fluently.
• I want to find daily meaning in the work I do, and not feel like I'm wasting my days doing something that I could lose and not really care. 
• I want to indulge without feeling guilty.
  
• I don't want to be conventional - or have a conventional life. 
• I want to be around people and not feel so detached. 
  
• I want to dance. 
• I want to feel the warmth of a baby's skin against my heart as I sing her to sleep. 

The truth is, I haven't always been able to admit my desires to myself. Much like I don't admit how comfortable I actually am being alone, more than I am when surrounded by loud, boisterousness. And so, there are many things I don't say out loud. Preferring to let others come to their own conclusions about me. Which more often than not, brings the word aloofness to mind. 

These days however, everything I do makes me feel guilty. Buying more than two books at a time. Wanting to take the day off work just so I can stay home and write. Dining out instead of staying at home. The voice in my heart that tells me maybe having a child now would complete us - why wait another few years? The voice in my head that tells me why. The heart that longs for more than what it already has. These days, I'm starting to care - that I don't really have any good friends. That I can spend a whole Saturday night reading, and not really be bothered by the fact that I'm not going out or having 'fun'.

Then again, I'm tired of feeling guilty. We only have one moment, one life, which we can make ours. Which belong to us. This is my life. And I shouldn't apologise for who I am or the things I desire. 

Or perhaps it would simply be easier if I did.

my name is Jo Lene and I'm a bookaholic

It is wholly and entirely The Husband’s fault that I am now completely entranced with author Lee Child and his creation – the ever-elusive but oh-so-brilliant character that is Jack Reacher. The Husband, who was previously allergic to books, has been spending hours each night reading with me for the past two weeks, ever since he discovered Child through his uncle.

Needless to say, I was curious as to the kind of book that could actually catch his attention, and keep him reading voluntarily every night. And so when he was done with his very first Lee Child book, I picked it up and started reading it too. It took me awhile to get use to the slightly abrupt conversational writing, but by the tenth page, I was hooked. Like a movie I couldn’t pause, I wanted to see and simply had to know what happened next. I finished that book in three hours.

The Husband has since bought another Lee Child, and I’m impatiently waiting for him to finish so I can get my hands on it. To stop myself hovering at his shoulder while he loses himself in Reacher’s crazy world, I have been busying myself with other books from the likes of Tony Parson, Lionel Shriver and Audrey Niffenegger, whose book The Time-traveler’s Wife really is quite splendid too.

Nevertheless, I am anticipating curling up on the couch wrapped up in a fluffy duvet this upcoming rainy weekend, following Jack Reacher’s exploits from one adventure to another. Now if only The Husband would hurry up and finish!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is the face of an addict.

Winter in the South

The Husband's aunt and uncle runs a beautiful homestead in Kekerengu, Marlborough in the South Island, which we've both been longing to visit for the past two years. Last weekend, we finally made some time off to escape the hustle and bustle of the city and spend four days in the beautiful countryside with Aunt Helen and Uncle John.

Kulnine Homestead is idyllic for a city getaway. Tucked amongst acres of land, mountains, vineyards and next to the coast, I have never breathed fresher air - even as the chilly winter wind turned my cheeks and ears a bright red, and the morning frost covers the estate's ground in a light dusting of ice.

John, being a chef for the past 30 years, whipped up wonderfully delicious meals everyday, and made it look all too easy. Our afternoons were spend walking for hours along the coast, through the farm land, and hearing nothing more than the braying of sheep and the softly chirping birds. We spent evenings by the fire, talking, eating, drinking, before retiring to our bedroom, snuggling under the ever-so-comfortable duvet and reading ourselves to sleep. 

Have I mentioned how much I love mini-breaks? 

On the Interislander, from Wellington to Picton

The Rimu room, where we fell into deep, dreamless slumber

Wine and conversations

Grounds of Kulnine Estate

Making friends on our afternoon walks

Very sweet Shetland ponies

In the middle of nowhere

Stepping stones

Gorgeous pebble beach

Wild and windy coast

The smallest church I've ever seen

Whatcha looking at?

Snow-capped mountains

Sheep on the estate

Gate to Kulnine Homestead

Contentment

John preparing dinner

Delicious home-made pizza fresh from the oven

George, the resident cat

Enjoying morning coffee at Hunter's Vineyard, Marlborough

The ride home