White Christmas

Christmas to me means hot days at the beach, the smell of sunscreen and sand sticking to my sunburnt skin
Piercing sun and afternoon rain showers, but there is always an electricity of excitement in the air.
When we were younger, we would pile into the car and head to Kingscliff. I miss the smell of dry pine trees and all us kids running wild through the park, playing with our new loot, than cooling off in the crashing Pacific waves.

The year before last, we found ourselves alone on Christmas day, me and my twin, in our St Kilda apartment. After opening our single present to each other, we spent the majority of the day cooking up a storm, with no hungry mouths to feed. Instead of letting the food spoil in the 40 degree heat, we had the ingenious idea to roll ourselves a little green happiness, eat and reminisce about previous Christmas's.
This year, a distant memory away, I watched the first snow flakes float down and settle on my sleeve. I didn't believe my eyes at first, but the feeling that started to flow through me was undeniable.
Pure Joy 
Not nearly the first snow I have experienced, but the effect began to restore a figment of Christmas spirit that had dissolved in my late teens and completely stamped out during my disappointingly dull visit to Hollywood last year. 
I may as well have been in a movie set, sitting by a warm fire with hot cocoa, carols playing softly, Christmas tree twinkling in the background - In reality I was on a crammed bus with a smile from ear to ear.

Another December rolls around, bringing with it all the triumphs and tragedies of the year past. All the stitches, and quick-un-picks, the sketches, the silks, the crooked hems, and perfect silhouettes ...
and all those gorgeous dresses I didn't make!
Each December I make myself a promise for the new year. That I will make that dress. The one I have dreamed up over all my years. Im not exactly sure what it looks like - I havent been able to quite get it down on my page. But its perfect. Its everything that is me...
Maybe my 25th year will bring it to me

Rada Priya 


I moved to Italy for love...

day 47. 
Its cold.
Un-fashionably cold. Forget lace leggings, suede pumps, full skirts with cropped jackets, colourful scarves and matching berates, delicate gloves under cocktail rings, red lips and sleek eyeliner...
Its snow gear cold. Forget the female figure, and dont mention make-up. Its so wet and muggy that the Italian fashionistas have been forced into hiding, onto jet-planes somewhere warmer, or into triple quilted snuggy looking outfits that render them unrecognisable.
Maybe this trip to Germany on Sunday is just what I need. Its a regular freeze there, so I trust the locals are better equipped to fashionable handle the cold.
that, and to relocate my spiritual center.

Back in August my mum convinced me to meet her in Spain to do a training course in Breathwork/Rebirthing. It is something I have grown up with, but have always been afraid to explore. Plus what teenager is going to want to follow a spiritual path that involves lavender smelling Hippies coming up to you and asking in a slow monotone voice "How do you FEEEEEL?"
It seems that in general it takes a blow that knocks you completely down, before you start to ask questions about your existence and place in the world, and begin that inevitable search for God.
I guess the same can be said for myself. I was at the bottom for a long time, but chose to leave it to destiny - or my 25th birthday.
When me and my twin sister were born, our father had an Chinese astrology reading done for our life path. The astrologer predicted that we would come into our own upon our 25th year. Don't ask me why, but this is a truth I have chosen without any good reason to believe in.
When I was in Florence this June, I called my Mum, who had been living in America for the previous months. When she told me she was working again (She is past the age where society tells you to retire, and she has conquered illness and survived 9 children), and not just any work, but teaching breathwork and running seminars, which is something she has participated in for most of her adult life, whilst working as a full time nurse.
Im not quite sure what it did to me, but I sat in that tiny internet cafe phone booth and cried my little eyes out.
People have always pointed out what a special person my Mum is, and for the first time I saw it. She is no longer my Mumma, but my friend and someone whom I look up to.
Anne Marie

When the opportunity to go to Spain arised, it was as though the whole European trip was meant to happen so we could meet there.
Now 5 months later I have an opportunity to go to Germany to continue my training...


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...