When I was 21 I was introduced to a book titled "Dear Me: A Letter To My Sixteen Year Old Self". This book contained letters that celebrities, sports stars and "high calibre" people have written to themselves at 16 years old - pretty self explanatory from the title. This book changed my life. It changed the way I perceived situations and made me a more positive and enlightened person. I read every letter carefully, word for word, and realised that life is a self fulfilling prophecy. You should never be too worried or distressed about anything because, quiet simply, life goes on. I learnt that You will ALWAYS look back and think "wow, that was so silly and trivial", and my personal favourite "from that situation I have learnt..." You will laugh at what once made you cry.
I wrote one of these letters to myself. In fact, I am certain that I have posted it on this blog site.
Now I am 24 years old and have reached a tough spot in my life. I would not call it a "dead end" because I refuse to turn back - I will persevere. I have completed my degree and still don't know what to do with my career, I ended a relationship after 2.5 years because being with him made me realise what I do not want in a partner. I know that sounds harsh but it I suppose its one of those "learning" experiences.
I want to travel! I want to learn! I want to discover! I want so much! I want it all! I want it now!
I wrote a letter to my 24 year old self. In this letter I am not looking back I am looking in. I am telling myself what I need to hear. I put pen to paper in the hope that the words will grant me inspiration.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Dear Me: A Letter To My Twenty Four Year Old Self"
Dear Me,
Don't be so sad.
If anyone is not going to treat you right then they are not.worth.it.
You are strong, brave, smart and loyal. Anyone would be more than lucky to have you in their life.
Be strong. Be brave. Know your strength. Exude your strength. Don't let anyone stumble all over your heart. They are not worth it.
Live for yourself and believe that there are so many opportunities out there waiting for you. Thats right, get excited, smile and feel the butterflies in your tummy because it is going to be one hell of a ride.
Yes, you want to be loved, who doesn't? Just make sure they are worthy of your love and devotion in return.
FAITH.
Faith is such a strong word. But you must have faith. Have faith that things happen for a reason. Have faith in the fact that people come into and leave our lives for reasons beyond our control or comprehension - but the reasons are there, and even if you do not completely realise or understand them you just need to have faith that they do exist and that they will always play out for the best.
Have faith in timing. Everything happens precisely at the right time. Come to peace with this. I know it is hard to understand and believe but whatever happens does so because it is meant to at that exact moment.
People will enter and leave your life precisely when they are supposed to. This phenomenon is out of your control. Do not try to keep people in longer than they need to be in your life. Let them go.If they return, then you can be sure they are truly meant to be there.
Have faith in karma. Be the best person you can be, even in the worst situations. Always maintain the best intentions. You will be rewarded. Every experience is a learning curb. Take what you can and be done with the rest. Let it be history. Your history. Whatever.
Smile!
Be true to yourself!
Value yourself!
Shine!
These truths will allow karma to taste so sweet that the teeth of whoever bites into you will rot.
Do not worry about the future. Do the best you can TODAY. Do not berate your past. It's the road you took to get here. It may have been bumpy, but you're hear nevertheless.
Let yourself loose control. Let yourself be.
Whatever.
Let it be.
Let it happen.
It won't always go the way you like, and thats okay. Remember you have faith, and faith is what makes it all worth it.
Don't stop laughing.
Let yourself cry.
Feel with your heart.
Think with your head.
Never loose faith.
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Tuesday, 24 July 2012
Chicken Soup
I made chicken soup for the first time last night.
I was not feeling sick, and I have not read the book so it had nothing to do with my soul. I simply thought it would be nice to concoct something wholesome on a cold July night, especially when I had nobody to see and nowhere to be.
"Dad could you bring a whole, fresh chicken with you tonight, I am going to make soup."
When I arrived home I couldn't see the chicken. Mum usually left it in the sink so that it could defrost, but she was overseas and there was no chook insight.
Disappointment surged through me. He promised he would buy me a chicken and he hadn’t. I was about to pick up the phone and blast into his ear thought the tiny speakers when I opened the fridge…and there it was. It looked as though Heaven was shining its light and an angel choir was humming soulfully. I was especially impressed when I looked at the packaging and saw that this bird was “certified organic.” Mum never spoiled us like this. That was when I decided I would ask dad to buy me things more often.
Suddenly I began to panic. How was I going to make this soup? I had planned to look up recipes on the internet throughout the day, although I never got the chance and now this “organic” chicken was staring me right in the face and I did not have a clue what to do with it. I didn’t want to waste this “certified organic” chicken and make tasteless gunk with it. I thought back to when mum had made soup. “Rice, lentils, vegetables and tomato paste.”
Okay, here we go.
The first thing I did was make sure there was water in the kettle. Then I turned it on. We have one of those fancy ones that sirens once the water has boiled. It sounds almost like a police alarm when you are being pulled over. As soon as I heard that loud, incriminating sound I knew that it was game on…
The chicken was in the pot and the water was boiling ferociously. I began looking through the pantry to see what lentils we had. This was going to be a healthy soup. I found orange kernel-looking things that seemed edible. I opened the jar and popped my nose in, wafting, trying to determine whether they smelled familiar. Nothing. I scurried over to the computer to Skype mum. I succumbed to the pressure of the “certified organic” chook and decided that I needed help.
“Mum what is this? Can I use it for chicken soup?”
I held up the large jar to the camera at the top of the screen.
“No, that won’t go with chicken soup. Just use rice. If your are going to use whole meal rice boil it before you put it in with everything else because it takes longer to cook.”
Okay. Back to the kitchen.
I switched the kettle on again and lifted the two-kilogram bag of rice from the bottom of the pantry. Rice was the first thing I learnt to cook. I was thirteen or fourteen years old, and whenever I was on school holidays and mum would head off to work I would get out the frozen veggies and the basmati rice and pretend that I was hosting a cooking show. I would even speak into the imaginary cameras in a British accent. As I got older I started adding more “exciting” things to my generally tasteless dish. Sometimes chicken and other times curry, but no matter what I put in or how it tasted I was always so proud of myself, perceiving myself as a “domesticated Goddess.” Mum and dad always refused to eat my rice though, so my sister had no choice but than to taste my concoction, continually telling me that it “had no taste” or that “it need[s] a lot of salt”. I have come a long way since my amateur days…I hope!
The big wooden chopping board was out now. First I sliced the carrots, then the spinach. There were no other vegetables in the fridge. I opened the freezer to see if there was anything in there that I could add to my soup, “Stir-fry mix?” The picture showed that there was cauliflower, snow peas, corn, carrots and broccoli in the bag. I hate cauliflower and this was not a stir-fry. What else? I kept searching until at the bottom, tucked away where nobody would ever find it was a scrunched up bag of frozen vegetables. There was not much left but I thought I may as well use it.
By this time my chicken had boiled so I emptied the broth into the sink and re-added water into the pot. I did this because I had seen mum do it. She told me that the first round of water carried all the gunk and fat of the chicken, and it is always with the second batch of water that you should make the soup with. I added salt, dried aromatic leaves and black pepper into the boiling water. I also started cooking the brown rice. “What was the formula again? Ah yes, two cups of water to every one cup of rice.”
The chicken smelled scrumptious. I picked a bit of the breast and put it in my mouth. “ Oh yum!” I am pretty sure that it tasted even better because I knew it was “certified organic.”
I removed the chook from the broth and slowly placed it on a plate. I imagined dropping it; just watching it fall out of the tongs, smeared all over the floor, with puddles all over and steam escaping from its flesh. “Get it out of your head.” I carefully placed it along the open window to cool.
The broth was still boiling. I added ginger paste, tomato paste, garlic paste oregano, basil and mint. Just a pinch of each. I also cut open a lemon squeezing as much as I could into the broth. Same with the lime. “What else can I add?” I opened the fridge and saw lemongrass paste. “Yep in that goes.” And then I added the vegetables. The carrots and spinach were swimming within the broth, coming to the surface with the bubbles. It was fun watching my creation come together. I added the rice and let it all the flavors fuse.
There was only one more thing left to do. I needed to add my chicken into the soup so I began shredding the meat off the bone. It had not cooled down completely, so I burnt my fingers a few times. Served me right for being so impatient, but I was just so hungry and did not want to wait any longer to taste my first real chicken soup. I added all the meat into the fiercely boiling soup, allowing it to mix with everything else. The smell that was searing through house reminded me of my childhood. When I was sick mum would always make me chicken soup. I felt better once I had eaten her terrific concoction, not because it was wholesome and hearty, but because I knew that it was made with love and care.
I turned the stove off, placed the lid on the pot and allowed the soup to simmer. I packed everything away and wiped the marble bench tops. “Let me check if there is anything else I can add into the soup.” I opened the fridge, looked inside the vegetable compartment… and that’s when I saw the parsley.
I was not feeling sick, and I have not read the book so it had nothing to do with my soul. I simply thought it would be nice to concoct something wholesome on a cold July night, especially when I had nobody to see and nowhere to be.
"Dad could you bring a whole, fresh chicken with you tonight, I am going to make soup."
When I arrived home I couldn't see the chicken. Mum usually left it in the sink so that it could defrost, but she was overseas and there was no chook insight.
Disappointment surged through me. He promised he would buy me a chicken and he hadn’t. I was about to pick up the phone and blast into his ear thought the tiny speakers when I opened the fridge…and there it was. It looked as though Heaven was shining its light and an angel choir was humming soulfully. I was especially impressed when I looked at the packaging and saw that this bird was “certified organic.” Mum never spoiled us like this. That was when I decided I would ask dad to buy me things more often.
Suddenly I began to panic. How was I going to make this soup? I had planned to look up recipes on the internet throughout the day, although I never got the chance and now this “organic” chicken was staring me right in the face and I did not have a clue what to do with it. I didn’t want to waste this “certified organic” chicken and make tasteless gunk with it. I thought back to when mum had made soup. “Rice, lentils, vegetables and tomato paste.”
Okay, here we go.
The first thing I did was make sure there was water in the kettle. Then I turned it on. We have one of those fancy ones that sirens once the water has boiled. It sounds almost like a police alarm when you are being pulled over. As soon as I heard that loud, incriminating sound I knew that it was game on…
The chicken was in the pot and the water was boiling ferociously. I began looking through the pantry to see what lentils we had. This was going to be a healthy soup. I found orange kernel-looking things that seemed edible. I opened the jar and popped my nose in, wafting, trying to determine whether they smelled familiar. Nothing. I scurried over to the computer to Skype mum. I succumbed to the pressure of the “certified organic” chook and decided that I needed help.
“Mum what is this? Can I use it for chicken soup?”
I held up the large jar to the camera at the top of the screen.
“No, that won’t go with chicken soup. Just use rice. If your are going to use whole meal rice boil it before you put it in with everything else because it takes longer to cook.”
Okay. Back to the kitchen.
I switched the kettle on again and lifted the two-kilogram bag of rice from the bottom of the pantry. Rice was the first thing I learnt to cook. I was thirteen or fourteen years old, and whenever I was on school holidays and mum would head off to work I would get out the frozen veggies and the basmati rice and pretend that I was hosting a cooking show. I would even speak into the imaginary cameras in a British accent. As I got older I started adding more “exciting” things to my generally tasteless dish. Sometimes chicken and other times curry, but no matter what I put in or how it tasted I was always so proud of myself, perceiving myself as a “domesticated Goddess.” Mum and dad always refused to eat my rice though, so my sister had no choice but than to taste my concoction, continually telling me that it “had no taste” or that “it need[s] a lot of salt”. I have come a long way since my amateur days…I hope!
The big wooden chopping board was out now. First I sliced the carrots, then the spinach. There were no other vegetables in the fridge. I opened the freezer to see if there was anything in there that I could add to my soup, “Stir-fry mix?” The picture showed that there was cauliflower, snow peas, corn, carrots and broccoli in the bag. I hate cauliflower and this was not a stir-fry. What else? I kept searching until at the bottom, tucked away where nobody would ever find it was a scrunched up bag of frozen vegetables. There was not much left but I thought I may as well use it.
By this time my chicken had boiled so I emptied the broth into the sink and re-added water into the pot. I did this because I had seen mum do it. She told me that the first round of water carried all the gunk and fat of the chicken, and it is always with the second batch of water that you should make the soup with. I added salt, dried aromatic leaves and black pepper into the boiling water. I also started cooking the brown rice. “What was the formula again? Ah yes, two cups of water to every one cup of rice.”
The chicken smelled scrumptious. I picked a bit of the breast and put it in my mouth. “ Oh yum!” I am pretty sure that it tasted even better because I knew it was “certified organic.”
I removed the chook from the broth and slowly placed it on a plate. I imagined dropping it; just watching it fall out of the tongs, smeared all over the floor, with puddles all over and steam escaping from its flesh. “Get it out of your head.” I carefully placed it along the open window to cool.
The broth was still boiling. I added ginger paste, tomato paste, garlic paste oregano, basil and mint. Just a pinch of each. I also cut open a lemon squeezing as much as I could into the broth. Same with the lime. “What else can I add?” I opened the fridge and saw lemongrass paste. “Yep in that goes.” And then I added the vegetables. The carrots and spinach were swimming within the broth, coming to the surface with the bubbles. It was fun watching my creation come together. I added the rice and let it all the flavors fuse.
There was only one more thing left to do. I needed to add my chicken into the soup so I began shredding the meat off the bone. It had not cooled down completely, so I burnt my fingers a few times. Served me right for being so impatient, but I was just so hungry and did not want to wait any longer to taste my first real chicken soup. I added all the meat into the fiercely boiling soup, allowing it to mix with everything else. The smell that was searing through house reminded me of my childhood. When I was sick mum would always make me chicken soup. I felt better once I had eaten her terrific concoction, not because it was wholesome and hearty, but because I knew that it was made with love and care.
I turned the stove off, placed the lid on the pot and allowed the soup to simmer. I packed everything away and wiped the marble bench tops. “Let me check if there is anything else I can add into the soup.” I opened the fridge, looked inside the vegetable compartment… and that’s when I saw the parsley.
Monday, 11 June 2012
Gaps Within Generations
My mum’s Spanish Filipino friend, Maria, hosted a dinner party last Saturday night. The guest list was limited. Some might even argue that it was “exclusive.” My dad, mum, aunt from Lebanon, myself and Maria’s her 28-year-old daughter Monica were invited. That was it. Because she was from the Philippines, Maria yearned to cook authentic Seafood Paella for us, a common Spanish dish about which she boasted, saying “my dad says I cook it well…so I must cook it pretty fucking well!”
But cooking and condiments is not what this piece is about. What screamed out to me during the evening were the behavioral differences between the generations, and how obviously different Monica and I treated this dinner party compared to our middle aged parents.
I have always prided myself on having a “young mum”. She is into fashion, good restaurants and movies, and I love that I can share my joys and interests with somebody so close to me even though she is a whole generation “older” than me. But like I said before, Paella night at Maria’s acutely reminded me that she is not my age and she did grow up during a different time to me.
Lets begin with when we first walked in. I haven’t mentioned yet that I am 23 years old, even a few years younger than Monica, although it seemed we shared the same outlook on social behavior. As soon as “my parents” hustled through the front door, they put down the delicious ricotta cheesecake that they brought as a polite gesture. The next event was my mum declaring, “…We all have a drink.” So the middle-aged people did exactly that. Maria, my parents and my aunt sat outside with two bottles of wine and began drinking.
“Caroline would you like a drink?”
“No thank you I do not drink.”
“Oh Goodness. Mon does not drink either.”
Monica and I sat inside on the couch in front of the heater, talking and chatting over a bowl of crackers. Then they started smoking. Benson & Hedges, Marlboro and Winfield – such an array of cigarettes for only 4 people.
“I think I am drunk.”
Laughter.
“No really I am tipsy.”
We decided to join our fun loving parents outside, who seemed to be having a blast. We could barely breathe due to the thick layers of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, but it seemed as though my mum could not stop laughing and Maria was swearing and…well…acting drunk.
Time to eat. Monica and I enjoyed small portions of Paella and large amounts of salad. Our mothers had the opposite. And they were drunk. As soon as they had finished eating, they bolted back to the balcony to feed their other addictions. More wine and even more cigarettes…
Monica made herself a cup of herbal tea. I was ecstatic as I also really enjoyed a cup of tea after my dinner but thought it would be out of place to ask for one. She made me one too and we headed to the balcony, holding our mugs, to join our “cool” mums.
“Here come the grandmas with their tea.”
Laughter.
That was what it hit me! What on Earth was going on? The 50 somethings were drinking and smoking and having a great time, whilst the 20 somethings, also having a fine time, were holding mugs of hot and healthy herbal tea and sitting on a couch, under the blanket engaging in deep conversation.
I am not berating the older generation and praising my own, but I was surprised and stricken at the difference in social comportment between the generations. Is it because Monica and I have been educated, both formally and socially, that we don’t see the need to drink and smoke when getting together with friends? Actually, when my friends and I get together for dinner at one’s house we prepare healthy foods, cooking and including a lot of salads in our meal. Ordering pizzas or picking up greasy hamburger and takeaways is a thing of the past. And what about the herbal tea? I am sure it is not just Monica and I who are into it. During my most recent visit to the “Aroma Festival” at The Rocks in Sydney, the organic tea stand was extremely busy, as impatient 20 somethings waited in line to take home their organic jasmine and green tea cylinders.
Perhaps it is that we have both grown up in Australia -a developed country- rather than in the Philippines as Maria had or in the Middle East like my parents and aunt. In both these countries smoking and drinking is rife, and government interference with substance abuse and addiction is kept to a minimum.
Another thought that crossed my mind when thinking about the generational differences was how society excludes smokers and drinkers from “being with the rest of the group.” When you go to a restaurant you need to go outside to smoke-usually far away from the restaurant. Think about it. Just picture how much it interrupts your lunch or night out with friends. You physically need to get up, excuse yourself, stand in solitude (sometimes a friend may join you), fight the elements and then come back to your seat, where the rest of the group would have continued with their conversation or moved on. Tough guidelines regarding smoking have almost made it a “criminal act”, demonizing the smoker and turning them into an outsider. Monica and I have grown and up and developed our social skills in this kind of strict environment and for that reason consider smoking and drinking a burden more than a “cool thing to do.” I voiced my observations to mum once we arrived home from the party and she said that she had noticed the generational distinctions too. I explained my “burden” theory and she said that when she was growing up, in the 1980s, it was cool to smoke, and if you didn’t smoke you were an outsider. She explained how her friend had an electronic cigarette that omitted smoke, so that he may feel like he was “part of the group.” Boy how times have changed. These days nicotine patches, gum, vapor drops and nose sprays are rife, all to deter people from smoking.
I would argue that the two main causes for generational distinctions when it comes to social behaviors are education, which has taught us the dangers and consequences of an unhealthy lifestyle, and subsequently the benefits of healthy habits and social deterrence, drilling the “rules” so deeply into our culture that it has become apart of our lifestyle. No longer will I go to a bar and have an alcoholic drink at 10pm, because I will be at the bustling coffee shop, which is open until midnight every night, enjoying my healthy and refreshing pot of green tea.
But cooking and condiments is not what this piece is about. What screamed out to me during the evening were the behavioral differences between the generations, and how obviously different Monica and I treated this dinner party compared to our middle aged parents.
I have always prided myself on having a “young mum”. She is into fashion, good restaurants and movies, and I love that I can share my joys and interests with somebody so close to me even though she is a whole generation “older” than me. But like I said before, Paella night at Maria’s acutely reminded me that she is not my age and she did grow up during a different time to me.
Lets begin with when we first walked in. I haven’t mentioned yet that I am 23 years old, even a few years younger than Monica, although it seemed we shared the same outlook on social behavior. As soon as “my parents” hustled through the front door, they put down the delicious ricotta cheesecake that they brought as a polite gesture. The next event was my mum declaring, “…We all have a drink.” So the middle-aged people did exactly that. Maria, my parents and my aunt sat outside with two bottles of wine and began drinking.
“Caroline would you like a drink?”
“No thank you I do not drink.”
“Oh Goodness. Mon does not drink either.”
Monica and I sat inside on the couch in front of the heater, talking and chatting over a bowl of crackers. Then they started smoking. Benson & Hedges, Marlboro and Winfield – such an array of cigarettes for only 4 people.
“I think I am drunk.”
Laughter.
“No really I am tipsy.”
We decided to join our fun loving parents outside, who seemed to be having a blast. We could barely breathe due to the thick layers of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, but it seemed as though my mum could not stop laughing and Maria was swearing and…well…acting drunk.
Time to eat. Monica and I enjoyed small portions of Paella and large amounts of salad. Our mothers had the opposite. And they were drunk. As soon as they had finished eating, they bolted back to the balcony to feed their other addictions. More wine and even more cigarettes…
Monica made herself a cup of herbal tea. I was ecstatic as I also really enjoyed a cup of tea after my dinner but thought it would be out of place to ask for one. She made me one too and we headed to the balcony, holding our mugs, to join our “cool” mums.
“Here come the grandmas with their tea.”
Laughter.
That was what it hit me! What on Earth was going on? The 50 somethings were drinking and smoking and having a great time, whilst the 20 somethings, also having a fine time, were holding mugs of hot and healthy herbal tea and sitting on a couch, under the blanket engaging in deep conversation.
I am not berating the older generation and praising my own, but I was surprised and stricken at the difference in social comportment between the generations. Is it because Monica and I have been educated, both formally and socially, that we don’t see the need to drink and smoke when getting together with friends? Actually, when my friends and I get together for dinner at one’s house we prepare healthy foods, cooking and including a lot of salads in our meal. Ordering pizzas or picking up greasy hamburger and takeaways is a thing of the past. And what about the herbal tea? I am sure it is not just Monica and I who are into it. During my most recent visit to the “Aroma Festival” at The Rocks in Sydney, the organic tea stand was extremely busy, as impatient 20 somethings waited in line to take home their organic jasmine and green tea cylinders.
Perhaps it is that we have both grown up in Australia -a developed country- rather than in the Philippines as Maria had or in the Middle East like my parents and aunt. In both these countries smoking and drinking is rife, and government interference with substance abuse and addiction is kept to a minimum.
Another thought that crossed my mind when thinking about the generational differences was how society excludes smokers and drinkers from “being with the rest of the group.” When you go to a restaurant you need to go outside to smoke-usually far away from the restaurant. Think about it. Just picture how much it interrupts your lunch or night out with friends. You physically need to get up, excuse yourself, stand in solitude (sometimes a friend may join you), fight the elements and then come back to your seat, where the rest of the group would have continued with their conversation or moved on. Tough guidelines regarding smoking have almost made it a “criminal act”, demonizing the smoker and turning them into an outsider. Monica and I have grown and up and developed our social skills in this kind of strict environment and for that reason consider smoking and drinking a burden more than a “cool thing to do.” I voiced my observations to mum once we arrived home from the party and she said that she had noticed the generational distinctions too. I explained my “burden” theory and she said that when she was growing up, in the 1980s, it was cool to smoke, and if you didn’t smoke you were an outsider. She explained how her friend had an electronic cigarette that omitted smoke, so that he may feel like he was “part of the group.” Boy how times have changed. These days nicotine patches, gum, vapor drops and nose sprays are rife, all to deter people from smoking.
I would argue that the two main causes for generational distinctions when it comes to social behaviors are education, which has taught us the dangers and consequences of an unhealthy lifestyle, and subsequently the benefits of healthy habits and social deterrence, drilling the “rules” so deeply into our culture that it has become apart of our lifestyle. No longer will I go to a bar and have an alcoholic drink at 10pm, because I will be at the bustling coffee shop, which is open until midnight every night, enjoying my healthy and refreshing pot of green tea.
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Quaint, Friendly and Down To Earth
My Review Of Jasper Hotel - Melbourne
If you are looking for a flashy, posh and bustling hotel where men constantly hold Blackberries to their ears, wear business suits and carry watches even more expensive than their vintage Rolls Royces, then this is not that place for you.
But, if tranquillity and personalized service is what you are after, then Jasper Hotel is your mini goldmine, conveniently located at the tip of Melbourne's CBD.
The reception staff must have been anticipating our arrival, as upon walking in they greeted my boyfriend and I by his name, which is unusual since he has a Middle Eastern, excruciatingly hard to pronounce, but all the while exotic name.
Tim, the manager escorted us to the elevator and showed us to our room. I have always stayed at large, more bustling hotels and never had I been treated so attentively by the reception staff.
Very refreshing.
The rooms were clean and well presented. Our beds were made each morning, and toiletries adequately replenished.
The hotel was conveniently located across the road from a major tram station, allowing us instant access to every angle to beautiful Melbourne city.
I preferred that we were not located directly in the heart of the CBD, as it allowed us to walk and discover gorgeous boutique restaurants and book stores that we wouldn't have visited otherwise.
Breakfast was amazing!
I did not even have to try the food to decipher this, as Jasper Kitchen was hustling and bustling morning after morning after morning after morning. The gorgeous aromas of fresh bread and coffee wafted through the lobby and into the elevators, and my boyfriend and I just couldn't wait to devour our meals. I must say, the poached eggs are simply fantastic!
Finally, I would like to thank Karl, who organized an airport shuttle bus for us within a few hours, when one would generally need to give 24 hours notice.
I would definitely stay here again, and recommend anybody who is looking for a quaint and down to Earth haven that is close to but far enough from the shops (just in case you run out of money) give it a try!
If you are looking for a flashy, posh and bustling hotel where men constantly hold Blackberries to their ears, wear business suits and carry watches even more expensive than their vintage Rolls Royces, then this is not that place for you.
But, if tranquillity and personalized service is what you are after, then Jasper Hotel is your mini goldmine, conveniently located at the tip of Melbourne's CBD.
The reception staff must have been anticipating our arrival, as upon walking in they greeted my boyfriend and I by his name, which is unusual since he has a Middle Eastern, excruciatingly hard to pronounce, but all the while exotic name.
Tim, the manager escorted us to the elevator and showed us to our room. I have always stayed at large, more bustling hotels and never had I been treated so attentively by the reception staff.
Very refreshing.
The rooms were clean and well presented. Our beds were made each morning, and toiletries adequately replenished.
The hotel was conveniently located across the road from a major tram station, allowing us instant access to every angle to beautiful Melbourne city.
I preferred that we were not located directly in the heart of the CBD, as it allowed us to walk and discover gorgeous boutique restaurants and book stores that we wouldn't have visited otherwise.
Breakfast was amazing!
I did not even have to try the food to decipher this, as Jasper Kitchen was hustling and bustling morning after morning after morning after morning. The gorgeous aromas of fresh bread and coffee wafted through the lobby and into the elevators, and my boyfriend and I just couldn't wait to devour our meals. I must say, the poached eggs are simply fantastic!
Finally, I would like to thank Karl, who organized an airport shuttle bus for us within a few hours, when one would generally need to give 24 hours notice.
I would definitely stay here again, and recommend anybody who is looking for a quaint and down to Earth haven that is close to but far enough from the shops (just in case you run out of money) give it a try!
Thursday, 17 February 2011
A Letter to my Sixteen Year Old Self (inspired by the novel of the same name)
Dear Caroline,
Just because you have a lot of clothes it doesn’t mean that you are stylish, so stop buying! You already know this, but I feel that I need to remind you. Rummaging through cheap Asian stores in Darling Harbour trying to find the cheapest and brightest item before anyone else is are not going to make you feel or look better. The same goes for "Vinnies." I know you tell yourself “its for charity” but the junk you buy doesn’t fit, and in a few years, after mum’s incessant hassling, you are going to throw out about 5 rubbish bags full of them. Sponsor a child instead.
Another piece of fashion advice is to stop wearing skiivis! They don’t look good! You think your boobs are too big and that, I understand, and that skiivis conceal them, but they in fact make them appear much bigger and rounder. Also, and probably most importantly, stop buying them in light colours! You are going to review photos and experience a real “what the hell was I thinking” moment, whilst hating the people around you for not tackling them off you thread by thread.
Stop looking back when it comes to love! I know that you are ferociously in love right now, but the truth is, dear girl, he does not love you back. You are wasting your time and energy and quiet frankly Aleen is sick of hearing your poems. The two of you will laugh about this in a few years, but for the time being it is really annoying her.
This is not to say that you shouldn’t fall in love, because you will, and it will feel wonderful! But, you should also learn when to fall out of it. Do not sacrifice your time and beliefs for people who only put up with you. Stand up for what you think is right, and when you have had enough say so. This will make people respect you, and most importantly allow you respect yourself.
Follow your intuitions, they almost never fail you. In fact, you are going to “meet” (if you have not so already) the man that you are going to want to marry because you did.
Like yourself. I must warn you that you are going to gain a heap of weight, but this is only because you do not like your body. Accept it, embrace it and you will find that things will change. I do not want to disclose too much but lets just say your boobs drop down to a 12B.
Be patient with you sister; she is going to surprise you. Right now, she is the 13 year old brat who mum is begging for you to take everywhere, but she is going to grow into a very determined young lady who, believe it or not, drives a better car than you! She will never stop taking your clothes, so it is most important that you keep hiding them (and remember where you put them).
You are going to learn that you parents are people too. They are doing the best they can so just be patient; especially with your mum. She is about to go through a lot so just be there for her. Although you don’t know it now, she is very intelligent and is going to set up you future in a way that will shock everyone.
One thing I will commend you on is your hard work. Well done on achieving great results at school, this will help you a lot in the future. Speaking of which, stop worrying, things have a funny way of falling into place.
Keep in touch with old friends. You will be amazed at how you can so easily pick up where you left off.
Do not settle for the first car you come across when you are shopping for a brand new one, despite what your dad says.
And lastly, and probably most importantly, cheap jeans fit the best!
Love always,
Caroline
Just because you have a lot of clothes it doesn’t mean that you are stylish, so stop buying! You already know this, but I feel that I need to remind you. Rummaging through cheap Asian stores in Darling Harbour trying to find the cheapest and brightest item before anyone else is are not going to make you feel or look better. The same goes for "Vinnies." I know you tell yourself “its for charity” but the junk you buy doesn’t fit, and in a few years, after mum’s incessant hassling, you are going to throw out about 5 rubbish bags full of them. Sponsor a child instead.
Another piece of fashion advice is to stop wearing skiivis! They don’t look good! You think your boobs are too big and that, I understand, and that skiivis conceal them, but they in fact make them appear much bigger and rounder. Also, and probably most importantly, stop buying them in light colours! You are going to review photos and experience a real “what the hell was I thinking” moment, whilst hating the people around you for not tackling them off you thread by thread.
Stop looking back when it comes to love! I know that you are ferociously in love right now, but the truth is, dear girl, he does not love you back. You are wasting your time and energy and quiet frankly Aleen is sick of hearing your poems. The two of you will laugh about this in a few years, but for the time being it is really annoying her.
This is not to say that you shouldn’t fall in love, because you will, and it will feel wonderful! But, you should also learn when to fall out of it. Do not sacrifice your time and beliefs for people who only put up with you. Stand up for what you think is right, and when you have had enough say so. This will make people respect you, and most importantly allow you respect yourself.
Follow your intuitions, they almost never fail you. In fact, you are going to “meet” (if you have not so already) the man that you are going to want to marry because you did.
Like yourself. I must warn you that you are going to gain a heap of weight, but this is only because you do not like your body. Accept it, embrace it and you will find that things will change. I do not want to disclose too much but lets just say your boobs drop down to a 12B.
Be patient with you sister; she is going to surprise you. Right now, she is the 13 year old brat who mum is begging for you to take everywhere, but she is going to grow into a very determined young lady who, believe it or not, drives a better car than you! She will never stop taking your clothes, so it is most important that you keep hiding them (and remember where you put them).
You are going to learn that you parents are people too. They are doing the best they can so just be patient; especially with your mum. She is about to go through a lot so just be there for her. Although you don’t know it now, she is very intelligent and is going to set up you future in a way that will shock everyone.
One thing I will commend you on is your hard work. Well done on achieving great results at school, this will help you a lot in the future. Speaking of which, stop worrying, things have a funny way of falling into place.
Keep in touch with old friends. You will be amazed at how you can so easily pick up where you left off.
Do not settle for the first car you come across when you are shopping for a brand new one, despite what your dad says.
And lastly, and probably most importantly, cheap jeans fit the best!
Love always,
Caroline
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Social Media and SMEs
A decade ago the Internet was thought of as a giant encyclopaedia, used by students for their homework, whilst their parents called up the Internet company, pleading to block any sites with the phrase “xxx” in them.
Today the World Wide Web is utilised differently. As a keen and active user of this great marvel, I can distinctively argue that it has evolved into a giant social networking forum, where anybody anywhere can log on and immediately communicate with people around the world.
The Internet is used by almost everybody; and this is not to just indicative of newer generations. People are shifting the way the consume media to be completely digital, and with it’s increasing affordability and availability, this technology has become the best platform for marketing and advertising for small medium enterprises (SMEs). Gone are the days where people sit in front of the television and watch streams of advertisements that may be targeted to them, generally switching channels. Instead, the personal nature of the Internet allows for material to be directly targeted to users based on the personal information they have submitted into social networking sites, making the campaign for that particular SME successful.
Digital social networking also allows for the immediate delivery of information. Any Internet user will come across review sites and/or snippets, where a consumer may upload their feedback about a product or service even whilst trying it out. It is also important to note that their thoughts may not always be positive, but businesses have to be willing to deal with such a negative aspect of social media.
The Internet is everywhere. With the evolution and subsequent perfection of wireless web services and smart phones, consumers are arguably suffering an “information overload.” Users are automatically “buzzed” as soon as a company uploads a new dress on facebook, announces a sale on twitter, or responds to their request on ebay. This incessant vibration in the user’s handbag or pocket constantly reminds them of the company and their product or service, further enforcing that social media sites are very effective as a marketing platform for SMEs.
Relationships are built and enhanced through constant social network updates and uploads. Many SME owners post comments, videos and images of subjects that concern their business on pages such as facebook and twitter in an effort to appeal to others within their community. No longer is it the product, which is being advertised, but rather the personality of the business itself. For example, a sporting goods storeowner may post the results of the Australian Ashes, or the AFL, or even announce their support of a local charity, touching base with communities interested in these sports, therefore exposing their business name.
Social networking has proven to be an effective advertising platform for SMEs, as it means that people of the same demographic and interests throughout the world may be targeted. It’s dynamic, fast and evolving nature means that people are kept up-to-date with the offerings of companies, as they are constantly exposed to their marketing campaigns, fuelling interest and subsequent sales. Social networking sites also pave the way for new online communities, who through becoming followers of a particular business, may develop an invested interest in it’s success.
Today the World Wide Web is utilised differently. As a keen and active user of this great marvel, I can distinctively argue that it has evolved into a giant social networking forum, where anybody anywhere can log on and immediately communicate with people around the world.
The Internet is used by almost everybody; and this is not to just indicative of newer generations. People are shifting the way the consume media to be completely digital, and with it’s increasing affordability and availability, this technology has become the best platform for marketing and advertising for small medium enterprises (SMEs). Gone are the days where people sit in front of the television and watch streams of advertisements that may be targeted to them, generally switching channels. Instead, the personal nature of the Internet allows for material to be directly targeted to users based on the personal information they have submitted into social networking sites, making the campaign for that particular SME successful.
Digital social networking also allows for the immediate delivery of information. Any Internet user will come across review sites and/or snippets, where a consumer may upload their feedback about a product or service even whilst trying it out. It is also important to note that their thoughts may not always be positive, but businesses have to be willing to deal with such a negative aspect of social media.
The Internet is everywhere. With the evolution and subsequent perfection of wireless web services and smart phones, consumers are arguably suffering an “information overload.” Users are automatically “buzzed” as soon as a company uploads a new dress on facebook, announces a sale on twitter, or responds to their request on ebay. This incessant vibration in the user’s handbag or pocket constantly reminds them of the company and their product or service, further enforcing that social media sites are very effective as a marketing platform for SMEs.
Relationships are built and enhanced through constant social network updates and uploads. Many SME owners post comments, videos and images of subjects that concern their business on pages such as facebook and twitter in an effort to appeal to others within their community. No longer is it the product, which is being advertised, but rather the personality of the business itself. For example, a sporting goods storeowner may post the results of the Australian Ashes, or the AFL, or even announce their support of a local charity, touching base with communities interested in these sports, therefore exposing their business name.
Social networking has proven to be an effective advertising platform for SMEs, as it means that people of the same demographic and interests throughout the world may be targeted. It’s dynamic, fast and evolving nature means that people are kept up-to-date with the offerings of companies, as they are constantly exposed to their marketing campaigns, fuelling interest and subsequent sales. Social networking sites also pave the way for new online communities, who through becoming followers of a particular business, may develop an invested interest in it’s success.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
A Letter to my Year Four Teacher
Hi Mrs Johannes,
Do you remember me? You were the one who believed me in me, who told me that I had “real talent.” And now, I believe in myself. Each time I thought about giving up, your words would resonate throughout my mind.
“You have such talent. You’re the only one who can read at a 4th grade level in the whole class. You have a big future ahead of you.”
I wasn’t always your favourite student, though. Remember on the 1st day of year 4, you told me that you were going to keep your eye on me for the rest of the year? And you did. During the first term, anyway. You picked on me, continually punishing me for the smallest mistakes; rocking on my chair, having my hair not tied up properly and not wearing matching socks, as though it was my fault that mum matched up the wrong pair, and during the dreariness of the morning I did not notice such a minor disparity. I tried explaining to mum that you were “bullying” me, but of course she disregarded my tears as a ploy not to go to school, and ordered me to do my homework.
I proved you wrong, though. I produced an outstanding literature assignment based on the novel we were studying, The Indian in the Cupboard. You told me this during our annual parent/teacher interview after term 1. Mum explained how I was unhappy, and you apologised. You also admitted to giving me a hard time on purpose, because you had made up your mind about me, convinced that I was the Devil’s spawn.
Because of this you had cast me into the background, as an orphan, for our rather large production of Oliver. I had never before felt so displaced. In every school production that I had done I was in the forefront. And then you called me into a meeting, telling me that I was going to take on the role as the narrator, one you had created just for me, because you wanted me to be in the spotlight. Mum was so happy. If I remember correctly, I think she sent you a box of chocolates.
You also taught me a beauty tip, which, 12 years later, comes in very handy. You recommended that I use cut up stockings rather than elastic bands to tie up my hair because it was (and still is) so thick and curly. You would watch me, as my eyes would tear up while I tried to undo the huge knot caused by the flimsy elastic band that was barely holding up bushy my hair.
I still look out for the non-existent mango tree that we planted outside of our year 4 classroom. Do you remember, Mrs Johannes, when you saw me stuffing my face with that huge mango, with all the juices flowing down my arm and smeared into my hair? You waited for me to approach the bin with the leftover seed, and as soon as I was about to drop it in, you stopped me, and accompanied me outside with a shovel. The seed never became a tree, but I was really excited to have shared that experience with you.
During our annual speech night, you awarded me with two certificates. I won the title for HSIE and Literature. Although I was nine years old, I remember that moment, standing upon the stage holding one more award than anyone else, as one of the proudest moments of my life. You taught me to believe in and stay true to myself, even if nobody else did, because your efforts are always bound to pay off.
Do you remember me? You were the one who believed me in me, who told me that I had “real talent.” And now, I believe in myself. Each time I thought about giving up, your words would resonate throughout my mind.
“You have such talent. You’re the only one who can read at a 4th grade level in the whole class. You have a big future ahead of you.”
I wasn’t always your favourite student, though. Remember on the 1st day of year 4, you told me that you were going to keep your eye on me for the rest of the year? And you did. During the first term, anyway. You picked on me, continually punishing me for the smallest mistakes; rocking on my chair, having my hair not tied up properly and not wearing matching socks, as though it was my fault that mum matched up the wrong pair, and during the dreariness of the morning I did not notice such a minor disparity. I tried explaining to mum that you were “bullying” me, but of course she disregarded my tears as a ploy not to go to school, and ordered me to do my homework.
I proved you wrong, though. I produced an outstanding literature assignment based on the novel we were studying, The Indian in the Cupboard. You told me this during our annual parent/teacher interview after term 1. Mum explained how I was unhappy, and you apologised. You also admitted to giving me a hard time on purpose, because you had made up your mind about me, convinced that I was the Devil’s spawn.
Because of this you had cast me into the background, as an orphan, for our rather large production of Oliver. I had never before felt so displaced. In every school production that I had done I was in the forefront. And then you called me into a meeting, telling me that I was going to take on the role as the narrator, one you had created just for me, because you wanted me to be in the spotlight. Mum was so happy. If I remember correctly, I think she sent you a box of chocolates.
You also taught me a beauty tip, which, 12 years later, comes in very handy. You recommended that I use cut up stockings rather than elastic bands to tie up my hair because it was (and still is) so thick and curly. You would watch me, as my eyes would tear up while I tried to undo the huge knot caused by the flimsy elastic band that was barely holding up bushy my hair.
I still look out for the non-existent mango tree that we planted outside of our year 4 classroom. Do you remember, Mrs Johannes, when you saw me stuffing my face with that huge mango, with all the juices flowing down my arm and smeared into my hair? You waited for me to approach the bin with the leftover seed, and as soon as I was about to drop it in, you stopped me, and accompanied me outside with a shovel. The seed never became a tree, but I was really excited to have shared that experience with you.
During our annual speech night, you awarded me with two certificates. I won the title for HSIE and Literature. Although I was nine years old, I remember that moment, standing upon the stage holding one more award than anyone else, as one of the proudest moments of my life. You taught me to believe in and stay true to myself, even if nobody else did, because your efforts are always bound to pay off.
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