Things that kill me

In your twenty's you sift though unending phases of vocabulary slaughter. From the over use of certain adjectives like "super" and "legit" to the misuse of words like "literally" and "retarded". Pop culture encourages us to remove what grammar and punctuation we have left and replace it with various hip hip bars and/or movie quotes, whether it makes any sense or not. And of course we oblige, because frankly clear and proper communication is too mainstream. And like many of our generation, I too have unequivocally annihilated the true sentiment and meaning of words, that are now useless to me in sentence structure. One crucial point in my vocabulary phase was the substitution of  "Oh.My.Gosh" with "Dead". If a situation, a person, a type of food or anything that I see conjures a reaction similar to a heart attack, then I would simply be "Dead" and/or "be killed". So ultimately, what might be described as otherwise morbid and actually horrendous is an expression of euphoria and elation. So with that useless paragraph being said, this is a bunch of things that "kill me" as well as make me "dead".

Weet-bix:

Let's not be daft about this, this is the greatest thing to come out of the Southern Hemisphere since Super Rugby and Tim Tams. I eat this cereal every single day and every single time I die, no lie.

The end of every Game of Thrones episode:

I'm another death away from applying for a heart transplant, no one's safe not even me.

The RSA Springboks:

I mean what the hek are these boys made of? Valyrian steel with a hint of Smaug blood and slices of Jinchuriki DNA?

Peanut butter:

A good friend of mine recently asked me if I was seeing a "special someone". I told them yes, his name's PB. 

Anime Food:

I want it more than the actual edible food before me, in other words I am prepared to consume my computer screen.

Lupita Nyong'o on every red carpet:

I have no words to describe her ability to look like the most extraordinarily breathtaking human, then she throws a piece of heavenly tailored delight on and it's just "dead dead dead dead" from there. Two of my fav looks from her.

Acai Bowls:

I had my first one on a recent trip to Hawaii, and then proceeded to have one every day till I had to leave. The acai berry itself isn't sweet like one would assume, instead it has this beautiful bitter, dark chocolate and blackberry taste which is more evident as an after taste. It's prepared as a type of smoothie, which then becomes the canvas for crunchy granola, fresh fruit and honey for sweetness. I completely died with the first spoonful. And then my friends took me to a place where they put a ice cream scoop sized dollop of peanut butter on top and I went into cardiac arrest. Here's a pic of that same one.

Celtics vs Lakers: 

Finding out the Boston Celtics wins and losses record for the 2013-2014 season (25-57) were just as pathetic, if not more than the Lakers (27-55). I say more because while we were on the longest losing streak in Laker history (go team), the one team we happened to break that streak against was Boston. BECAUSE SHOOT I don't care if the Lakeshow lose every game, as long as it's not to Boston. It just made me exceptionally happy that even though we sucked beyond recognition, so did Boston.  

So tell me you bunch of clevers, what "kills" you?

(Source: http://style.mtv.com//wp-content/uploads/style/2014/02/lupita-nyongo-colors-full.jpg)
(2nd image: Gabriel Olsen/Getty Images)

live free

I have no desire for the beautiful anchors of life - being loved up, being settled in, belonging somewhere and having someone wait for me when I'm gone. That's not the chapter I'm willing to open. Most people I know are buckled down, successfully transitioned into the adult life. I'm the furthest I've ever been. I have a deep desire to live nomadically, never settling, never meeting the same person twice, walking in solitude and learning the depths of a lost human heart so that maybe I could be a sign post to quite ironically, a final destination. 

A while ago I wrote a wee post about this woman and then I found this which only confirms why I wrote it in the first place. Brows, wing tails, dot precision and radiance is what Lianne La Havas is.

They call me a "Plastic Fijian"

I love my culture right down to the parts I am clueless about. Of course I am ashamed of my failed attempts of understanding something that I claim to derive my identity from. But as I grew up a little bit, I realised that maybe my cultural insecurities are a result of a socio-cultural standard and pressures that belittles those who lack knowledge. I would squirm at the label “plastic” or “inauthentic”, but who was I to say any different. There are contemporary versions of my culture that exist in bodies, emotions and values that move in sync with the rapidity of globalisation and technology. In result a cultural hybridity emerges. A merging of traditional & modern worlds if you will. What is birthed are people like me, “plastics”. People who are filled with cultural conviction but physically do not seem to reflect it. This is not an excuse for ignorance. While coming to terms with these processes and possibilities, I’ve come to the revelation that though I’m not as “authentic” as society claims, whatever that means. My identity truly, is in Christ. I am a Christian first & a Fijian second.

Where's Home?

I asked my younger brother if he ever felt like he belonged back home in Fiji and he simply said no and I couldn’t have put it better myself.

 

 

Since we were 5 years old we’ve been forced into the processes of cultural and social assimilation, unpredictable nomadism, gripping farewells and constant personality and tolerance adjustments. We quickly developed a knack for establishing relationships and deepening them swiftly. We became adept to the liberation of lingering emotions that places and people often left upon our brief settlements. We seemed to easily permeate through the boundaries and walls of cultures and various social orders, creating within us a great appreciation for multiculturalism, minorities and general knowledge about the world and the vast array of people that crossed our paths every day. And inevitably we incorporated pieces of these different cultures, people and places within us, which of course sounds exciting and possibly even exotic yet it also rendered us without a sense of ownership not even to the place of our passports.
 

(Source: Adrian Bautista http://vimeo.com/41264088)

Although, my brother and I are only a fraction of what other children have and are going through. We have many friends that we incidentally went to school with as well as grew up with that experienced the same circumstances much more radically than we. Imagine living in a new country every 2-3 years from a very early age till your mid-20s. Born is the “Third Culture Kid” (TCK). An interesting species that thrives on short-lived relationships, carries temporary intentions and expectations, is socially awkward yet,  also socially practiced and speaks with a hybrid other worldly accent normally found acceptable in International Schools.  And with that general overview of the complex layers of a TCK, I arrive at my point, my brother and I never felt like we belonged in Fiji or any of the other countries we’ve lived. There will always be a part of me that will never fully identify with the deep ancestry that runs profoundly through my veins. In no way am I dismissing this beauty of heritage and history that many I have come to find cannot even claim within their own bloodlines. Instead I emphasize that although I know who I am, sometimes I struggle to know where I am from.

I remember in my first year of university I use to think about why I never really felt like I belonged, not even among my own family and every time I would entertain the thought I would hear a small sweet voice tell me that in fact I didn’t belong, that this was only a visit and I was foreigner waiting to return Home. I found solace in these words and I soon would understand my insecurities from a much larger scale. My lack of ownership to any particular place was never a constant nagging in my head growing up, I was definitely aware of the complexities that this word and question possessed especially when encountering others who did not share a similar background. However, I never saw it as a burden, I saw it as something quite funny if anything. At times I find myself loosely using the word origin and sometimes I don’t. Either way a fully confirmed physical origin is not a necessary route to identity, knowing who you are is.