I hate it when we do this. In all fairness, however, it must be done. I am on the verge of punching somebody in the face next time I hear the  phrase “my favourite film of all time’.

I planned to scrutnise every film I love to the point where each had its own list of pros and cons, and use this information to chronicle my ten favourite films. But for obvious reasons, this snowballed and I developed a headache trying to remember, arrange and perfect a microscopic portion of a virtually endless catalogue. Eventually, I figured that the movies that come straight to mind when I ponder this question are going to rate very highly regardless.

I apologise for not discussing why some of these films make me feel the way they do – they just do. It all got too difficult for me. They affect me in ways that no other films do, and merely being a part of this list is enough explanation as to why I love them. So here it is, after minimal amounts of headbanging and more “oh! but…’ moments that I care to admit: Ten Films Sarah Loves (and will still love for always).

1. Almost Famous

A loose representation of Cameron Crowe’s life – an autobiographical piece, if you will. William finds himself touring with band Stillwater, living their life complete with Band Aids, promiscuous benders and his old-fashioned, overprotective mother begging him to come home. Eh; I could give you a full synopsis of the plot of this incredible piece of amazing film history, or if you haven’t yet seen it, you should STOP READING THIS IMMEDIATELY AND GO AND WATCH IT. GO!!!

2. Moon

How do you think you would cope, with only your own company for three years? With nowhere to go, nothing to do that is not your job? Would you go insane when you meet yourself? Could you handle learning that you are merely a clone? Moon is simply stunning, it floors me. And this has nothing to do with the fact that it was the first film I watched in 1080P.

3. Fight Club

I am my own sheer awe at the brilliance of this film.

4. Garden State

Zach Braff: well, I don’t particularly like him. I love his work, though – I just don’t think I could be bothered befriending him if I ran into him at a bar. Like Scrubs, Garden State is so beautifully executed, it has the optimal amount of emotional drive and uniqueness that makes something able to be noticed. I love the sombre mood this movie delivers, I love Natalie Portman and her giant dog, I really do like the print the bathroom and shirt were made in, and I am fucking amazed by the music! Zach Braff: you are a very talented individual, and thank you for introducing me to The Shins.

5. My Girl

My “My Girl” VHS was taped from TV. The first ten minutes of the video was of footage of a Romanian gymnast that dad couldn’t bear to part with. I watched the film so much that not only did I destroy the cassette, I can vividly remember Nadia Comanecis perfect ten routine when I close my eyes. I could also confidently tell you all about the ads that channel 7 were broadcasting at the time, and that according to those ads, License To Kill was on the following Tuesday evening at 730pm.

6. Lion King

“Everything the light touches, is our kingdom”
Whilst visiting from far north Queensland, my brother Daniel took me to the cinema to watch this, and I am pretty sure that an old family friend bought me the video the following Christmas. That being said, I should mention that this was the other VHS cassette I wore out completely…

7. Candy

If you want to reduce me to tears, sit me in front of Candy. Well executed love stories send me a bit crazy, probably because of a combination of me being a lady and being in a very happy, loving relationship – This film utterly destroys me.

8. Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind

“Sand is overrated. It’s just lots of little rocks.”

9. Across The Universe

I grew up loving the Beatles, and can say with complete confidence that they are my favourite band of all time. Combine this with a musical love story set in what my mum blissfully reflects on as ‘the best time of her life’ and the astonishing talent of Jim and beauty of Evan, and you have yourself Across the Universe – a utopia in my mind. This may or may not have anything to do with the circumstances surrounding the discovery of this film, but I will happily admit to watching it several times since and thoroughly loving it. The only negative thing I can report is that it turned “Strawberry Fields Forever” into a sad song for me.

10. Le Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain

I wish that my persona were so enriching that I felt the need change the world for the better, one small step at a  time. Also, Audrey Tautou is gorgeous.

Special mentions to Grease, Vanilla Sky and Eurotrip, three films that were removed at the very end…

April, my friend, you came along a lot sooner than I was expecting.

It only seems like yesterday that I had an idea – that I thought to be a pure stroke of genius at the time – to make a sort of visual journal, some kind of nutritional impact somewhere. Although I am armed with a sketchbook and Dave’s tin of Derwent Studio pencils, a plethora of inspirational pieces in the form of recipes and what I just know will be an interesting medical story once it finally eventuates and hopefully fizzles out into bubbles of happiness and good health, I AM STILL NOT READY FOR YOU, APRIL, DAMN YOU.

Okay, so there is actually a story behind this. To be honest, when it all began I have no recollection, but it has been so important in my life that I really don’t remember how I survived beforehand. I do remember however, deciding to conduct what I thought to be a small scale experiment. It was encouraged by both my GP, and the common sense of myself and my husband. After blood tests, elimination of iron, overdosing on fibre and whatever else we tried in vain to make me feel better, I stopped eating meat. Not just gradually decreasing my intake over a period of weeks or months, but 100 percent cold turkey.

It was not easy.

Imagine yourself as me in September last year. Only a week into this trial, your husband cooks himself up a succulent kangaroo fillet for dinner – which just happens to be your favourite meaty meal. TORTURE. But you survive on your vegetable whatever-it-was… barely. However, that weekend you venture out to dinner with friends. Still not used to being almost exclusively restricted to pasta and risotto whilst eating out at restaurants, the night ends in you throwing a childish tantrum and grumpily ordering the random fish meal they had on the menu.

Even now, I am being told by the professionals to eat more fish, more fish, MORE FISH.

So, as the weeks totter past and the cravings for meat gradually subside, I notice that I am beginning to willingly eat more Italian style foods, and more potatoes on the side, and actually getting sick of fish as it’s been on my plate almost every day since this whole affair started. Who’d have thought?

All of a sudden it is March of the following year, I am wearing my vegetarian cookbooks thin, branching out and experimenting with the likes of quinoa, lentils and rice pasta, and I only eat fish when I have to or when I am feeling particularly guilty for not being nutritious enough (thank you Doctor). I don’t even know when or why, but I have completely eliminated 95% of dairy from my diet. With the exception of a scattering of parmesan over my puttanesca, I have recently learnt that for some reason I can’t even enjoy a tub of yogurt anymore without suffering for days afterward.

What the….??

So, armed with my pretty purple sketchbook and a tin of coloured pencils, I endeavour to show whoever is vaguely interested a month of my life. This may include the aforementioned toddleresque scrawls of my eatings, ponderings and whatever inspiration I choose to ride; it may include recipes and heavily opinionated blogs posts of why I feel the way I do about food, ethics, vegetarianism and veganism, and it will most definitely touch on what happens when I embark on my long overdue visits to particular specialists to hopefully solve the mystery as to why food never seems to agree with me in the same ways that you take for granted, despite the huge changes to my diet over the last few months. If nothing else, it will at least make me more consciously aware of… something. Anything that may possibly matter someday.

Oh, dear. What have I just gotten myself into?

Today, a simple idea began in my mind right after reading a Facebook friends status update. I would dearly have loved to say a friend, but in reality, the terms ‘friend’ and ‘Facebook friend’ are not always interchangeable. This particular entity I have met three or four times. And I think she is great. But unfortunately in no way can I negate the ‘Facebook’  in my prior statement, and call her my friend.

However, all of this is far from important.

I had an idea. A mere foundation for something more beautiful, more amazing. This idea somehow managed to weave its way through my heavily tangled thought processes and idioms and make itself something. A fever, a rash… an itch to get this disease out of my mind and onto virtual internet paper with a virtual internet pen.

The aforementioned status update was vaguely along the lines of “I don’t understand how in such a sort period of time people can change so much. The people I thought were my friends three months ago I don’t even know anymore”.

The comments delved into the depths of branching out, meeting people, living life, creating memories and making new friends.

It made me think about my life, and my own social circle and the bunch of people I have chosen along the way to befriend. I went on to ponder the human gems that I have discovered, the duds that I have abandoned and the suspicious few that I am still very, very uncertain of. I know, am, or have previously been quaint with an insanely huge number of individuals, especially in the more recent six years that I have lived in the city. There are always new people to meet at new potential frequent haunts – places you love but once, so easily forgotten about in the weeks after. But that’s all well and good; such is life as a young lady who can successfully be referred to as a random, bubbly, quiet social butterfly in the same sentence by her peers.

Mind, why must you make such a circus over this? Well, dear mind, you see… We need to have a chat.

Over time I have carved myself a very prestigious circle of friends. Circles within and around circles, now that I think about it. Moreso,  individuals I find charming, attractive, trustworthy or just simply awesome… but they are so selectively chosen that it would be completely impossible to engage every single one of them in the same social activity simultaneously. Maybe two or three concentric circles, if it was aptly planned… but no. It’s all too hard. And too organised.

So, anyway. My Facebook friend, like I said, is somebody whose company I enjoy immensely, and why am I not reality friend with somebody I like? If it pure opportunity, circumstance or underlying decision?  Why do I bother to ask myself this when on the flip side, I continue to be civil to certain people in reality that I cannot tolerate? People that I purely have no time for?

Why do people change? Once you meet somebody, you should treat them like an egg. If once you crack them, they smell, obviously they are not good people. It’s intensely painful for a conflict and confrontation avoider such as myself, but it’s necessary. Perhaps I need to crack some more eggs, filter out the bad (also not good for a lady who likes to collect random items), latch onto the good… get out there and find some more great friends, and fuck the ‘acquaintances for the sake of it’ off.

But the people that I don’t know, I don’t know because simply, they don’t exist. If I knew them, I would possess opinions about them. Because I don’t, how can they have the right to be so important in my grand plan to achieve serenity?

It did occur to me, that maybe I’m the changing one. It’s possible that I am at a stage of my life where I’m not to be the one who chooses the people I love. Maybe I should sit back, live my life for the coming Summer and see who is around at the end of it. This idea seems very daunting and horrid, now that it’s more than a tangent within the confines of my brainspace, but… perhaps this is what must happen if I were to change my outlook and my habits… Change. Something I embrace so willingly yet at the same time have a great deal of trouble fathoming.

This year has been mostly less than interesting, to be honest. For myself – Apart from the huge change that happened not two months ago, at least. I did something this year that I have been wanting/needing/craving for so long – I moved into a home with high ceilings within the city square. Moving house may be no big deal, but such a change as this for Dave and I also meant a lifestyle change, and a Sarah who no longer feels that she is stuck in the working persons rut.

She is happy with her life.

Maybe, just maybe, she is possibly perhaps potentially happy enough with her life to discard this entire idea, continue to just go with the flow? Maybe, the change that she is so terrified of yet so adamantly welcomes into herself needs some more stimulation?

It is a win/lose/tie situation. No matter what happens, the Sun will rise on the third Saturday of next month and nothing will have changed.

Outside.

An adventure, merely to run what errands must be ran.
Happiness is within reach… I can feel it inside me, bursting to escape.
Blue sky. Slightest breeze.
The lovely weather man told me it is sixteen degrees today.

Happiness – there it is.

I can taste it.

It envelops me whole, eagerly joined by its accomplices hope, anticipation, nostalgia and inspiration.
Inspiration – the big one.
Blue sky. Sky so blue I couldn’t venture any deeper if I looked into my own blue eyes.
Blue eyes, blue as the deepest, cleanest water…
Errands that must be ran are completed with absolute ease -

I have not yet realised that I have done it again.
I have looked outside at the gorgeous day, the beautiful world, and automatically dressed in summer clothing.
A floral mini dress, sheer stockings, and platform wedges.
The jacket unintentionally stayed in the car while those errands were taken care of.

And then it happens, even if only inside my mind.
Sixteen degrees. Sixteen of them, combined with sky so blue I want to dip my feet in a pool somewhere.
Mangoes and short shorts and sunscreen and feet burning from the unbearable heat the ground you walk upon has absorbed. Air conditioners.
Iced water – nothing else will suffice.
The weather man is unnecessary.
He always tells you the same thing: It’s hot. This is a heat wave. It is thirty five degrees. thirty nine degrees. Oh, wow, it is fourty three degrees. And you should stay inside. And blah, blah, blah.

I can feel it.

Although, tomorrow is yet another day, according to the mean weather man.
Bastard. I bet he does this just to make me sad.
Tomorrow, Tuesday, Wednesday… Rain. Cold.
It doesn’t matter – in the van Aalst household we have a tradition; Lazy Sunday Afternoons.
According to the time keeper, noon has passed.
I cannot contain myself any longer. It’s time to soak up as much vitamin D as possible.
I’ll take my book. I’ll embrace the world, once again… for today is just a sneak preview of what is to come. Oh, Summer, please hurry. I have missed you terribly.

All my love,

The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

Meet my good friend, Julien.

It is Friday morning, and he is off to work.As you can see, it is raining buckets right now. Luckily, his office is not so far away; it’s right around the corner, in fact. He has a perfectly feasible reason as to why his ‘documents to review’ and lunch are in a plastic bag, as opposed to the expected briefcase of his white-collar type.

Work; it’s hardly something to look forward to.

Work is the alarm rousing him from his first good sleep in days, weeks perhaps. It is still night outside; the time reads 6am.  Like anybody else, he does not want to wake from his pleasant slumber, much less drag himself from the warmth of his bed, only to eject himself into the frigid cold of the tiled, unheated bathroom.
The shower takes far too long to heat up, his extremities burn from the icy water long before it adjusts accordingly to smother him in a steamy, hot flow. So hot and steamy in fact, that he dreads with all of his might  turning the faucet off and leaving the shower, only to end up naked and once again cold in the dismal tiled bathroom.
It’s raining outside. As he’s fumbling in the clean clothes pile on the floor for socks, he realises that his grey trousers are outside, willing themselves to dry on the now drenched clothesline. Oh, fuck… so is the blazer.

Work; it’s the realisation that he must purchase some new attire to parade himself in – all he really has that is suitable is a) on the aforementioned line b) in the dirty clothes basket c) practically beyond wearing if one merely dreams of making an opinion today. It looks as though the three suits he bought on sale a year ago are just about his only option, and it is damned lucky he bought himself a new black belt to keep them from slipping too far down for public eye-consumption throughout the morning.

Juliens car was broken in to on Monday night, and unfortunately because of the hot water system failing over the weekend requiring an emergency $1200 replacement, he has not yet been able to afford to get the central locking installed on his beast. Nor has he the option to replace his [luckily] empty brief case, much less pick up groceries more extravagant than 50cent noodles, reduced-to-clear bread and pre-packaged vegetables to get him through to Thursday night.

That $1200 – it was his entire savings, plus what was budgeted of his last pay to purchase food, necessities and pay a small portion of the never-ending bills. Luckily pay day is tonight. Thursday night, 11pm, or so it seems.

Julien will be sleeping by then, with any luck. One requires a good nights sleep before confronting the all important weekend… a weekend of loneliness, solitude, and despair over his most recent misfortunes.

Only a month ago, he’d have a salvation to turn to, his lovely Keira. Keira, the belle of Juliens life… she’d have carefully caressed him, assured him that everything will indeed be okay, that it had to be – after all, it was just he and she against the big, mean world, and their bond could overcome anything life was to throw at them.

And Julien believed those words, with every ounce of his being, and more.

Only a month ago, he had fallen so desperately for this woman, head over heels if you will accept the terminology. He had been seeing his love for close to six months, simply ‘taking it slowly’ as not to dampen the situation with fear, over zealousness or intimidation. Julien and Keira: Match Made In Heaven. Everybody said so.

Six months in, Julien made his love eternal to Keira. Not with a proposal – their whimsical relationship was far too volatile for that. He simply told her that he loved her, and presented her with a pendant.  A pendant which was to accompany her late grandmothers white gold chain, that she proudly embellished her neck with.

It only took days, weeks perhaps [to be generous to the poor broken soul], for the following events to fully unfold. These are events that Julien refuses to delve into with even his closest friends… but from what we can gather they are not pretty, and he is now the pure, correct definition of lonely.

Loneliness [define] Julien Hamrow  - The handsome, well dressed, successful man that is not yet thirty. It is the beginning of August, and he has stepped off the train, making his solitary way to his work as a Communications Advisor on a dreary Thursday morning. Unseasonal rains suddenly make themselves welcome, and the roads and pedestrian paths become immediately drenched. Julien is thankful that he has his umbrella to keep him company, as people around him try in earnest to hail cabs or duck into coffee shops to escape the weather. As the streets gradually empty around him as he becomes late for work, he feels peace in his solitude, because really, who can be bothered keeping up with the hustle and bustle of everyday normality, of all of the social circumstances one is to navigate their way happily through, day after day, anyway?

Image credit to the wonderful MaRco(s).

Dawn. It occurs simultaneously with her profound contemplation, while sitting on the white sand of the beach. Allowing the water to absorb her worries; rob her of those petty insecurities and irrational fears. The world is much more marvellous than she will ever believe.

Ambient temperature. Almost cold enough to warrant the regret of not staying curled up in bed, but the air is so still… so silent that the certainty of yet another warm, sunny day is beginning – another rung on the ladder of existence is ready to be conquered.

How can these feelings be so abundant within her? She is so insignificant – just a lost soul, swimmin’ in a fish bowl… Immersing herself in her very own ghosts of memories past.

Memories, or merely dreams?

She experiences a minor epiphany: It’s difficult to look back if you haven’t let go. Those emotions, the ones that seem to envelop oneself with each important experience are wickedly powerful. The smug smile her mouth and heart can’t help but produce upon thinking about the good times; the fun times… How does that compare to all that addictive laughter, the utter overload of endorphins and such strong, powerful passion for the moments and love for the people she shared them with?

She silently imagines tossing pebbles into the water in front of her. The ripple effect – pure symmetrical beauty at first, fading to absolute nothingness. The ebb and flow of the ocean calms her to the point where the tears from prior times could very well be forgotten, if only temporarily.

Why is life inside her head so real? How can she escape her thoughts, her psyche, just to have a break? A proper dreamless sleep for once in her life, a waking moment where the most prevalent thought she can make sense of is to simply wake up. No confusion, bewilderment or utter amazement regarding the weird and not so wonderful worlds she so surely visited during the night?

As the sun gently awakens the sky from its midnight coloured slumber, the atmosphere inside her mind changes in ways that the sky, the beauty of today cannot. It is just another day, afterall, and the cycle will cease for nothing.

A family with their dogs to her left; somebody eagerly ‘getting their exercise on’ coming from her right. Life resumes as normal, the life that never really stops to begin with. People springing back to normality, ignorant or oblivious to something… anything, as long as it’s their unconscious choosing.

As she lays back into the sand, closes her eyes and allows the beginning of sunrise to sooth her body, she decides to save the nostalgia for another day. A rainy, cold one, perhaps… one where misery is going to happen regardless of all of the external factors that are deliberately making this morning so important. As for now? There is no time to worry – losing herself in this moment is not going to get her anywhere. The glorious transition into a new day, a new beginning… it was only experienced so poignantly with the assistance from the hour she stole from today. She has things to do, missions to accomplish; a life that must be lived.

The world will never slow its pace. The most she can hope to acheive someday is the ability to become part of her own audience, to sit back and enjoy the show…

Roughly five months ago, I had a horrible realisation. So very subtly, over time, I was noticing a real sensitivity in my vision – it was suddenly necessary to upsize the font on my monitor and sit much farther away from it, and reading a book was impossible without getting my squint on. About four months ago, I trundled off to the eye doctor, already speculating the appointment, the outcome, and freaking out over whether getting glasses was going to be incredible or utterly soul destroying.

Secretly, I love glasses, and have for years. I believe they have the potential to add style and intelligence to a character. I’m going to dare to assume that you are currently thinking that is a stupid view to possess, but really. Is it?

You see, when I was really young I sported my very own coke bottle specs. And when you’re very young things that make you individual aren’t considered classy or unique, they’re just fuel for the tease monsters to absorb. Combining my glasses with my bucked teeth, speech impediment and tomboyish love for lego and toy cars pretty much ensured I would have below the minimum requirement of friends to be classes as socially acceptable through majority of my school life.

Anyway, that is enough nostalgia/total bitterness from my early life. What I am really trying to say here may have something to do with individuality, but also with the raw, uncooked process of choosing the perfect spectacles.

Upon the results of my examination, the opticion carefully said to me “Well, you are definitely long-sighted. And while glasses aren’t an absolute necessity for you, they may just help you to focus better whilst on the computer or reading…” blah blah. The primary thing cycling through my mind was “Oh my gosh, glasses. Something new! Yay!! Now go and let me pick some frames.” This, of course, is exactly how I DIDN’T reply. I wonder if he and I agree on the sentence prior to this one…? Oh well. The point was, I had a decision to make.

I spent a very gleeful hour perusing the racks, trying on anything and everything, and eventually narrowing it down to about seven completely different frames. One of those was the perfect pair; a gorgeous black and clear Dolce & Gabbana set. The $500 [frames alone] price tag tried so hard to refrain me… and magically worked for just long enough. Luckily for me, it was a very quiet day at the Optometrist, and my assistant was just pleasant enough to patiently offer his opinions, suggest items and be lovely in general. D&G frames. Nothing else. And then he merrily chirped “Oh! We have this cabinet of older stock! What about these, and these, and….” Seven or eight more frames swam out to be judged. And then I fell in love, all over again. Ray Bans. These were truly sexy frames; neutral enough on the face but to look at just gorgeous with their purple and gold opalescent finish.

I was highly frustrated now that I was narrowed down to two options. Those of you who know me will simply laugh at my inability to make a simple decision. And for those of you that don’t, well lets rewind to this morning – breakfast time. I was starving. It took me 45 minutes to choose between toast and oats for breakfast, even with my husband quizzing me and trying to encourage me one way or the other. It turned out that I made the wrong decision by having toast, and spent the next half hour rhetorically beating myself up because all I wanted was to go back in time and have oats instead.

I took advantage of my metaphorical “Call A Friend” card. And called Dave, and my mum. Both, of course, didn’t care either way and were probably just annoyed that I was yet again being so quizzical over nonsense. Another 45 minutes passed me by. In the end I just made the decision I knew I was going to make since the beginning, and very reluctantly/excitedly purchased the clearance Ray Ban frames, for at least $300 less than the boring black designer ones would have set me back.

Today? I couldn’t be happier. I will carefully fail to mention the week or so of agony I endured having my eyes adjust to wearing glasses for short range vision, and the absurd amount of times I complained that they were just doing more harm than good, how the doctor was useless and the unbearable headaches were beyond ridiculous. I can see clearly now, and I no longer struggle to keep my eyes awake after reading three pages of a novel. Clarity is not always a bad thing. And whilst I hardly wear them in public, they are yet another addition to my case of individuality – something that is mine and mine only that is content enough to sit alongside my psychedelic stockings, patchwork hat and hot pink velvet boots.

The spectacles have unlimited potential to make me feel smart, and even a little bit sexy. Maybe I could be like those sexy nerd girls – the ones with nice bodies, gorgeous faces and black plastic rims surrounding their seeing organs. Those sexy nerd girls, the ones everybody fantasises about, the ones everybody envies. Or maybe, just maybe, I could be me. Can I instill this new confidence in myself enough to be a different person? No matter what I need, what I wear, I am still just going to be me. And like a great percentage of women out there, the grass will always be greener on the other side, and no matter what I do or how I experiment with the unique flavour I will still just be me. So perhaps I’ll just work with what I have, and be satisfied with reality.

I can’t deny that I like being noticed. Isn’t that what expressing yourself is all about? Let me know how you express yourself in the big, bad world.

Secrets are not fun when you absolutely MUST keep them inside yourself. Surround yourself with your favourite trustworthy friends and taking some time to enjoy great company and tasty cocktails. Naturally, the evening will gradually become more perfect, and ever so gradually you will begin to burst with anticipation at that incredible secret piece of news. So much so, that it hurts to say anything at all, for fear that it will spill out of you before you notice your error… and the world ends.

Trust me. I know. It nearly happened to me – a lot.

Recently, I kept an unfathomably enormous fact hidden from the world for quite some time. As it got closer to revealing this surprise to my loved ones, it became more and more difficult. It was so difficult, in fact, that it reached the point where I’d ‘let it slip’ to people I was certain I’d never see again, such as my beautician, the lady at the jeweller, and the staff at the very swish cocktail bar that just opened around the corner. I found myself thriving on their reactions of sheer excitement and elation, and suddenly realised I was only days, hours away from commencing two weeks of much needed holiday leave.

I, the lady who was always too frightened to even begin planning a wedding, married my fellow blogger/fiance Dave van Aalst on the 14th of this month. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful, less stressful wedding. In fact, I wouldn’t have believed such a perfect day possible. The weather was to die for, and our wedding lunch was purely orgasmic… You see, we did the crazy thing and eloped, while celebrating what was originally just going to be a fun weekend away for his birthday. As exciting and magical as it was, people continually ask why we chose to do it this way; without having our family and close friends there to share the day. Oh, we have our reasons!

We have been together for a hundred years.
Well, Six and a half years, if you want to be correct about it. It feels like forever. When we discuss our history, all we can remember is that blurry time when we were young and futile, before we met, then fell instantly and insatiably in love with each other. We have since created our own fairy tale, and had several ups and downs and excitements and epiphanies… the latest one being that we are surely going to be together forever, as there is no other way. And, we have been engaged for about four years, and quite frankly; I was SO sick of people asking us when our big day was.

I am somewhat afraid of spending money.
(I am getting better, though!) I will still, however, go without buying new work shoes for months at a time until mine have holes in them, even if it means Dave forcing me, dragging me to the shops, and not letting me out until I have made my purchase. Sure, the week that we wed and celebrated cost more than an average week away would, but even with a wedding ceremony, seafood platters, hotel rooms, designer sunglasses and flights and this and that, it was still several thousand dollars cheaper than the wedding I had planned in my head. Screw budgets, compromises and all that rubbish – a womans wedding is one day to be the beautiful bride and call their very own day. Eloping, without having to worry about guests, catering, a proper dress, a DJ/MC… I still managed to make absolutely no compromises whatsoever and could not be happier with the result.

There is nothing more special to us as time away from the rest of the world, together.
We had a whirlwind holiday all planned months in advance, with stacks of quality time planned, but realised we had nothing to do while there. What’s a crazy getaway without a full agenda? Anyway, it was totally worth it to call our family and friends and embrace their reactions, and it’s already making for a highly entertaining story that I don’t believe I will tire of telling in the near future.

So, we ran away, got married, and didn’t tell a single important soul until that afternoon. You can see how it was by far the hugest secret I have ever successfully kept almost exclusively to myself. Almost. The sneaking around and private conspiratory gestures that seemed blatantly obvious to us sounds delightful in retrospect, but was anything but. It was definately 100% utterly, totally and completely worth every minute of stress, my weeks of confusion and bewilderment, and Dave’s clearly exhausted uncanny ability to keep a steady head about everything in life.

Someone has to welcome the new me into the world, so I shall take the liberty to do it myself: Hi, Mrs Sarah van Aalst! The world thinks you are incredible and we can not wait to read more of your lovely writings in the future.

It’s time to break the silence! Regrettably we have been a bit quiet here at Ok, to begin with… I hope you will all understand how busy life can sometimes be, and how the days just seem to mesh into one big blur. There have been vacations and numerous other excuses for our laziness – so I’d like to share something with you. This is one of my few attempts at fiction, a style of writing that has been interesting me more and more in recent times. Enjoy. :)

Dear Aaron..

Do you even remember what we shared together? Oh, the times your name has silently escaped my aching lips. I spotted you across the aisle in the hardware store today, Aaron. Picture me, please. I am standing foolishly alone, perusing the seedlings I can potentially purchase to give my balcony a small slice of life. You, on the other hand, have a power tool in your cart, and a gorgeous blonde woman under your muscular arm.

Oh, the pain. I became uncomfortable inside my skin, even moreso as your eyes scanned the aisle and slid right over me; not even the slightest sense of recognition. September 25, Aaron, it was only four months ago. Don’t you remember?

I was dressed to kill that evening, the evening of a girlfriends hen’s night. Somehow, I had wrapped my short and entirely untoned, pale body into a torquise halter neck evening dress that even made me look okay – at least combined with the killer Louis Vitton stilettos that had been hiding in the depths of my cupboard for so long. Even before our drunken bodies found each other on the steamy, crowded dancefloor, I had promised myself that I was going to do something completely different and have a fun night out, for once in my life. It was working out quite nicely, many thanks to my fantastic friends Bacardi 151 and Lemonade. However, keeping up with my party animal girlfriends certainly proved to take its toll on my sense and sensibility.

You bumped into me, Aaron, and together we spilt your beer onto the already stained floor. I fell in love with you as you smiled, and apologised. You smiled at me. Your alluring brown eyes, and your sexy mouth, all perfectly enclosed in that ever handsome face that is you. I knew you were the one, even before I took the time to check you out, so to speak – and fully appreciate your tall, lean athletic physique, all dressed up in a pinstriped suit. Heaven in a human.

As we began talking, the kind of small talk that happens in broken shouts over 120 decibels of typical dance music, you told me that you were indeed Aaron, and you had been out for a work related dinner for something formal. Or something… I don’t remember, exactly. Bacardi and music combined with the beer you had so kindly bought me in apology may have possibly stunned my memory temporarily. But we had a mutual agreement that the music was absolutely terrible, and that the beer garden outside seemed like a much more apt place to get to know each other.

I do remember noticing the size of your pupils, and the way you couldn’t seem to resist chewing down on your bottom lip when you weren’t talking. You talked a lot, even more than my work colleague Jim, who annoys me to no end. But your conversation seemed as intense as it did shallow, and combined with the sweat lurking on your handsome brow turned me on even more. I fell in love with you, Aaron. Perhaps I was too drunk to have a concern; I just knew you had to be my man.

Frumpy old Bella, nearly 30 years old and without a proper life to call her own, or a happiness that she can readily succumb to. All she does is work her boring accountant job, cook herself boring, bland dinners, tune into Neighbours at 6.30pm and then walk her six year old Collie cross for an hour every evening. She doesn’t even own a car. What could you ever find interesting in her?

I have to tell you one thing, though: Beer and Bella do not like each other. Do you remember how I vomited on the ground between us? Soon after, that angry bouncer picked me up under my arms, and kindly but firmly escorted me out of the bar and into a taxi. Freaking god damn! I screamed. The love of my life is in there and I’m going home?!

The next morning arrived with a horrible fever and a pounding headache. I must shamefully admit that it took me a few minutes to remember you, Aaron, and for this I apologise profusely. I realised exactly why I fell in love with you though; my beer glazed memories reminded me just how gorgeous you really were, and I knew for certain that you gave me the time of day in that horrible, nasty youth-filled nightclub. You sat with me, you bought me a drink… you even held my hand!

Do you realise, Aaron, that I went out again last weekend, to the same bar, and you weren’t there? I had my eyes open for you all night. There was absolutely nobody I can compare to you – the only person who looked sideways at me was the lady who helped me up after I’d tripped over a bottle and put a very embarassing run in my tights. I could only stomach two fruity vodkas before I didn’t want to be out anymore, and I sauntered home at a very mere, very weak 11pm. Old Bella, she fails again.

You and your hot blonde mistress make your way past the seedlings section of the asile – past me. Past stupid old lovesick Bella. I watch the back of you as you make your way to the checkout, and ever so gently kiss your lady friend on the cheek as she pays for your big, mean and sexy power tool. We shared something, Aaron. I don’t care that I am unaware of your last name, and that you no longer seem to have any idea that I exist in this world… we shared something beautiful that horrendous evening four months ago. Something in your plate-sized black pupils told my alcohol-addled brain that was happening. And then all of a sudden, it wasn’t…

And poor old Bella no longer existed.

Aaron, it was my first night out in almost three years, and it was only because of the ever persistent begging and pleading of my friends… who really aren’t my friends. Thinking about it now, as I gaze at you walking calmly through the hardware stores exit point, I realise that these girls are just young and ripe party animals who keep me around to remind them of their eternal youth – who wants to end up as old and haggard as Bella, anyway? I am going out again, tonight. This time with an older, more mature girl from work. Please come out, my love. I would kill myself if only it meant I could see you again.

Forlornly, I chose the coriander seeds. I don’t even eat coriander. But maybe you do, Aaron. Perhaps, maybe, just possibly, I could conjure an amazing Indian curry and use these very coriander seeds to fertilize its very essence for you, and even your bombshell, if I must?

Please remember me, someday. I love you, Aaron, Mister love of my life.

xxoo Bella -
Jan 29.

Freedom: (noun) Exemption from external control, physical restraint; the state of being free or at liberty.

I find it hilarious that the first thing I thought of when I ate the tasty mushroom of inspiration this evening, was about the word freedom consisting roughly 60% of the word ‘free’. Free is a great word. But, I didn’t immediately think of it how I would have initially preferred, and ended up imagining things being free in a consumer world, very much like the Xbox 360 my work is giving away as a bonus with a particular TV in the current catalogue. Bonus, awesome!! So, why are 90% of customers who enquire about this astronomical special we are promoting wanting to upgrade to something bigger, something better? Let me tell you why. Free equals exempt, but the grass is always greener on the other side. No matter what, the circumstances could and should be far better suited to your ideals or cravings. We are a selfish bunch.

As happy as we are, I don’t believe we as human beings will ever be truly free. I am still, and always will be a victim of society, fashion, and the economy…not to mention life itself. Even things that I choose not to partake in, such as religion, are still abundant in my life; there is a Christian church right across the road from my house, and a prominent Adelaide Catholic school right by my work. It’s hardly important, but the fact that they simply exist around me makes them a compulsory shadow in my life.

As I clarified earlier, freedom is the feeling of exemption of restrictions and restraint. Whatever, and fair enough… I can see this working very nicely for somebody who has just rid themselves of something that was holding them back – such as the milestone of finishing school, finally moving out of home and away from your parents, or even escaping a relationship they were not happy in. In reality though, is the transition really as seamless as it appears to be?

When I think about finishing school and the way I accomplished that feat, it was certainly as glorious as I intended it to be as I walked out of those gates for the last time that had closed me into such a solid routine for most of my life. I admit I also felt a rather prominent pang of sadness. I realised, especially over the month or so following, that although I liked to hate the routine that was school, lessons and being present for 8:45am role call, it was the foundation of my life. I was now bored, working very similar hours as a cashier at the local supermarket as I was when I was occupied with study. So, this left 40 or so daytime hours each week, previously consisting of maths and history and dreaded homework that I now had to fill by my own means – it became a simple, hollow void. Now that recess and lunch no longer occurred, I begrudgingly found myself associating with my friends a lot less, as it now required effort and none of us were used to that. Sure, we were all free from horrible school, but now we had to face the real world, and decide what the future was all about. Glamour factor? Next to zero.

The next real epiphany I experienced came about four months after finishing Year 12. It was ‘moving out’ time, or in my case, leaving the small country town I knew back-to-front to leap head first into the unfamiliar and exotic city lights with my boyfriend. Dave and I moved to Adelaide, both got full-time jobs, and began planning the next stage of our future. It was all too overwhelming for me, this freedom thing. I realised that I missed my mum, my friends, my home…and I was having a very hard time struggling to adjust to all of this. So when everything fell to pieces, I crumbled. One hundred percent, my life fell apart around me. Freedom sucked. It was not all that I promised to myself, in actual fact it turned out to be a load of shit that didn’t exist, no matter now much I dedicated myself to chasing after it. But there was this switch in my mind that had flicked, and gotten itself well and truly stuck… I was out now, and I was indeed ‘free’. There was no going back to living at home, in the town I had so gleefully and pitifully left only six weeks prior. That would be rewinding to the past. Who wants to do that at 18 years old? The world is supposed to be your oyster.

After many calamities and decisions that in retrospect I can only think of as life-changing, and after four years and an immense amount of growing up and finding myself, I have realised something else.

I am free from my youth and the silly immaturity that encompassed it. Fantastic! But, is it really as good as we imagine? Sure, I feel relatively happy, but now I have rent to pay, bills to keep on top of, and a fridge to keep stocked. Which is fine, as I work a full-time job as an Assistant Manager. Excellent! I am also free from being treated as Miss Inferior within the workplace, I don’t have to deal with being constantly told what to do. But because of this, I have the responsibility to maintain an electronics store, the staff I have significant input in hiring, stock levels and its overall performance. I have to contribute myself to the store… You know that it’s not easy. It’s actually rather stressful… With the freedom I have worked so hard to earn for myself has only come with more restrictions, bigger restraints and all in all, I am less exempt from the world’s evil grasp than I was as a bright eyed youth, when this was all I could dream of.

We as a race work to our utter limits for freedom. We are (mostly) lucky enough to have been raised in the country that is Australia, where freedom of thought and speech and life in general is embraced, and never drastically frowned upon. But, do we take this for granted? I feel as though we might, possibly. But who’s to know? Who’s to make this ultimate decision? If only peace was as easy to achieve as freedom, as we imagine it. “Imagine all the people…”

I have an inkling that nobody will ever be free. Not physically, anyway. Mental or spiritual freedom is only temporary -  in my eyes, anyway. Those amazing, gorgeous hippie people that listen to Bob Marley and grow dreadlocks out of their heads and don’t shave their armpits or wear clean socks seem to be eternally at peace with the world. But don’t they have to deal with waking up in the morning, and living the life they’ve welcomed in just the same way as we do?

Freedom is peace. And if you can give me eternal peace, with myself and my mind and the world and everybody that lives their lives in the world, do it, now. Make me as safe as you can.  I will probably give birth to a shiny green kitten in cowboy boots, that I conceived out of sheer suprise. Do it.