history, friends and a group of flaming homosexuals

Sitting out on my balcony soaking up the sun I was stricken by a thought. Before explaining the thought I must first give you a description of my surroundings: I was lying on my beach towel which has the Australian flag printed on it, I was taking a break from reading and gazing in awe at the three large eagles that were soaring over head, and the book that I was reading is Confederates in the Attic, a novel surrounding deep exploration into the civil war and how it effects the South of today. My professors voice was ringing in my ears talking about how Horwitz (the author) was exploring that perhaps what brings us as a general people together is shared history. That a common past is the sole reason we have an individual culture.

Pondering this atop my Australian memorabilia I was propelled into the questions of where does my culture come from? What culture do I belong to? What the hell do I identify with? And before you zone out at yet another adolescent questioning who they are, where they come from, and where they want to be, I have an insight. A reason that perhaps my mismatched group of friends back home is still unified.

It is indeed our common history, albeit not dating as far back as a war fought in the 1860s, but it is our shared experiences that keep us from completely falling apart. I am a firm believer that our experiences are one of the driving forces in shaping who we become, and with the pushing of my professor I believe that this could be adopted in not just an individual sense but also for a group of people.

When people ask me what Australia is like I often draw a blank. All I can think of is my drama-filled group of flaming homosexuals that I have grown up with. And when questioned about what we do back home for fun all I can think of is drink. Surely there must be more to it than that? Alas my teacher has enlightened me (as they are surprisingly paid to do…shock horror) that whilst I fail to come up with a concrete example of life back home, it is the fact that I have lived it, and shared it with these people who I have grown to know as friends.

So perhaps he wasn’t suffering a brief moment of insanity when he put forth that people are united through history. And that indeed that history is interpreted differently by each individual, but it is still a common past that brings them together.

Just a thought… perhaps history could be important.

world war 3?

So I haven’t really posted a blog in quite a while. But I would like to take the time to set out the full, complete, and truthful reason as to why this is. I have been held hostage by a large number of steroid taking bees and bright red wasp’s who are staging world war 3 on my balcony.

It all began when the weather changed from freezing cold to stifling hot (which happened in a matter of days might I add) and the number of insects begin to increase in an exponential manner. At first I was mildly amused by the bees and only slightly afraid of the wasps.

These bees are not like the small and humble bees which can be found back home, but instead a giant monstrosity of a bee. It is the size of my thumb from the knuckle to the end. Huge right? They used to just come and scope out the area, buzzing around in the one spot but then moving out without much problems.




The wasps were always a bit of a problem, but in all honesty I appreciate their honesty. They are a pest, and they don’t pretend to be anything else. They have set up camp in a nearby location and are often flying around sneakily. They have even been known to enter my house (I think it’s because they are spying on me and scoping out the territory that they are trying to win).




Like I said, these bees had lulled me into a false sense of security. I stupidly thought that these oversized bugs were simply gentle giants. The other day I had bravely ventured out on to the balcony for a little bit of sun and to read a paper. I was just sitting there minding my own business when I suddenly felt as though I was being watched. I was content to ignore the crazy stalker stare until a small but distinctly yellow blob of liquid landed on my paper.

“You have to be fucking kidding me?!?! Did a bee just pee on my homework?!”

I think up to this point I had been pretty tolerable of their imposing presence. I hadn’t called in anyone to exterminate the pests, even though I had every right. I had been stared down, I have been swooped, I have been chased inside, barricaded in my room, and now a fricken bee had peed on my homework.. COME ON!

The anger took over me and I looked up and I came face to face with the menacing eyes of a bee. I read somewhere that one should never make eye contact with an angry animal and I wondered fleetingly if this applied to bees. As I was preoccupied with my life that was flashing before my eyes I noticed the buzzing had been upgraded from slightly annoying to intolerable.

There on my balcony, open for everyone to see the wasps had finally launched their attack on the bees. There were aerial battles going on everywhere. I ducked and weaved through the battling insects and tried with little success to get into my apartment whilst keeping the war outside. I had witnessed bees attacking wasps, wasps attached to bees, even a set of bees attacking each other. I was shocked. I was appalled. I was scared.

And this, my friends, is the exact and truthful reason that I haven’t posted any blogs lately.