Guerrero

I turned 35 a few days ago. It had been my quietest birthday to date, and I was happy to keep it that way. No false pretences that life had been great. Because the truth is, it had been an emotional battle in the last 2 years.

How do we live in loneliness, unworthiness, and shame? Emotional wounds from my battle to escape my third world fate and prove to the world that I matter.

I had been quite proud of how I had been winning over my illness. My family’s privilege allowed me to jump over barriers or crawl back to safety. I was beaten many times, but I nursed my broken bones again and again until they healed much stronger.

But there are booby traps along the way that I cannot dodge. And in the last 2 years, I had been repeatedly hit by arrows and fists. I thought I’d have enough time to let myself heal or patch up my armour and shield, but the blows kept coming and my bones kept snapping in the same fractured spots that had no time to heal.

In the last two years, my worth had been questioned again and again…and again. And when I thought I’ve had worn my new armour, I got hit on my blind spot and caused an old wound bleed without an end.

I had been reduced paper thin. They only saw everything that I could not be. Everything that I cannot have or give or be. Everything that this illness has prevented me from becoming is a gaping hole in my being. Every burden that this illness would cause others became my steel bars in this little cage that no one wanted open.

My knees tremble at the thought of all the versions of myself that I could not give. I felt ashamed of the mere thought of wanting to co-exist with others. I felt shame in my own existence. Because my existence equates to everything nobody did not want to have.

How do I tell people that I am more than my illness? How do I live in a world that only sees what I am not? But most importantly, how do I tell people that despite all the negative things this illness made me become, it gave me my biggest and strongest driving force to be something?

Truth is, I have pushed myself to be everything I wished to be so that I can be bigger than my illness. My illness is the very reason why I chose a profession that allows me to help hold that space for others. My illness is my biggest cheerleader telling me that I am doing the right thing by walking alongside people who would rather die than live because there is no more pain in death.

I matter. My contribution to this world matters. I am more than all the impossibility that the world had chosen to see. And I? I will no longer be apologetic for everything that I cannot be. I choose to let go of every person who would rather not have me in their lives because of the burden they believe I would one day be. If I do not matter to them, they do not matter to me. And that is how I choose to live my life.

I am an outcast, a misfit, a square peg in a round hole. I am a woman undefined by every stereotype of a woman and their worth. My illness is my driving force that pushes me to help build a better society. And I boldly burn bridges with every person who does not see me for what I am.

I am a woman. I am a force. And yes, I am worthy. I refuse to be defined by everything I am not.

Borrowed Lives of 2021

I continue to try to read as an adult. “Try” is the operative word.

Having left a stressful job early last year, I was able to finally set up a time to actually read books and try to compensate for all the years I never touched a single book outside studies.

And so here are the books I’ve read last year, starting from a single book in the first half of the year and then restarting this never-ending attempt to read by August. Having focused on books that interest me, I was able to enjoy my squished-in 30-60mins of reading every morning without dread.

I have always had this bad habit of buying books and never reading them. I’ve now sworn to myself to keep reading until I’ve read all the books I’ve accumulated in 4 years. That is around thrice as much as this, so I guess I have to keep going.

The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog and When it is Darkest (both non-fiction) are my most memorable read. One talks about childhood trauma and the other, suicidality. The Song of Achilles (fiction), despite it being quite an ordinary story, is my next favourite one.

Love

I am writing this as soon as I’ve received confirmation that I no longer have to take the witness stand today and that my beautiful 8 kids are no longer going back to their mother.

I worked in child protection for a short period of 8.5 months. This case was one of the first cases I’ve handled. It was a case I held dearly and spent most of my thinking time for because I just can’t seem to take this family out of my head.

This case had all kinds of abuse – physical, emotional, psychological, sexual, and neglect – and it opened my mind to what neglect and problematic parental mental health could do to otherwise beautiful young children.

The children’s mother has multiple mental health diagnosis, one of which is Borderline Personality Disorder. If there is anything experience in this role taught me, it was that this disorder is one nasty beast. A lot of the parents who have this along with other mental health issues (especially Bipolar Disorder) usually do not get their children back, so I was told.

Living with a parent who suffers from this mental health disorder may mean chronic exposure to unpredictable and extreme anger, neglect, lack of affection, lack of appropriate parent-child bond, inappropriate blaming and suspicion, and many other awful things. The children live with their guards up every single minute of their lives because their parent is so volatile, they just don’t know which side of their mother they will have at any given time. The mother can swing from angry to withdrawn and then to emotional in a span of an hour. For young children, this means they may grow up with their guards up – constantly. Their brains are always firing up stress signals, making their brains develop abnormally, moulded from insecurity, fear, longing for love and attachment, and the need and instinct to survive. This abnormality translates to inability to control their emotions and anger, low self-esteem, experiences of anxiety, depression, and dissociation, further diagnosis of Attention Deficit Disorder which if untreated in childhood will eventually become all sorts of mental health disorder diagnosable in adults.

In my time managing this case, I’ve learned about children whose only response to stressors would be to scream and cry the entire day. Their cries and screams are different, as if to come from deep down the bottom of their bereft emotional well. They are almost always described by their foster carers as whaling. When experiencing anger, they growl, unable to manage it as no one has ever made them feel that it is possible to control anger.

The children from this family do not cope with stressors or too many stimulants on the background. There are kids who would hide under the desk while in class because that’s their only way to lessen the stimulants around them. Interestingly, this way of hiding from stimulants and threats made this their natural reaction to stress. They also hide under a desk when they feel too emotional, as if the desk would cover them from any emotionally painful events.

With this case I’ve learned about kids whose tired and scared brain would suddenly fire up with unknown triggers and would make them curl up like a ball and start saying “no no no” until their brains relax. While children may not necessarily remember abuse, associated smell, sound or taste can easily trigger emotions that they do not even understand.

The children in this family have a constant feeling that they “will not survive.” Children who grew up in loving households would most likely only fear about being punished and being hurt. But these children lived in survival mode their entire lives and have experienced extreme physical harm as punishments which us adults have never even experienced. They have had their faces smashed on furniture and walls. They have been thrown to their rooms and locked up when all they needed was a parent who would hold them and make them feel that things will be okay.

But this kind of trauma is complex because as children, we love our parents. These children’s mother was the only constant person in their lives. The only parenting they learned and accepted was the abusive and neglectful parenting of their mother. These young children love their mother, no matter what. I remember explaining this to one of my kinship carers who thought that just because the child loved her mother dearly, it meant that they have a safe and loving home. Unfortunately, we cannot measure a child’s safety by just looking at how much a child loves his parent.

Damage done to these children are difficult to repair. While the children may seem normal and happy from the outside, their abnormally developed brain would no longer change its shape. Our brains fully develop by the age of 4. Past this age, all we can do is rewire them – a challenge that most experts find very difficult.

The youngest child was 3 years old when I got the case. He does not fully understand schedules so there were no signs of distress prior to his time meeting his mother. But after every visit with his mother, he pees behind his bedroom door unwilling to step out of his bedroom and go to the toilet. He also wets the bed a couple of nights after seeing his mother or refuses to hop inside the car no matter the purpose. And like his older siblings, he screams so loud when he is angry, and whales and whales without an end when he is upset.

The book The Boy Who Was Raised As A Dog gave a really powerful potential solution to minimise impact of childhood trauma to children – LOVE. Only children who were afterwards given to morally upright and loving foster carers are the ones who have a chance of having some parts of their brains rewired. Unfortunately, even love cannot fix everything. Some children are too damaged to be helped.

Of all the children I’ve had, these were the children I firmly believe should stay away from their mother. And as much as I know it would hurt the mother to finally give up her children’s guardianship to the State, I also know that it would be best for all 8 children to be away from her. They can continue building relationships with their foster carers, teachers and friends, and one day heal from their experiences of abuse.

When I left child protection, I left with guilt due to having to leave the children who have very limited social networks. I felt bad for I knew that some of them living in residential homes with only support workers (care givers) have always looked forward to my visits with them. In some small yet significant ways, I have become a huge part of their lives. I left wishing to at least see this case through. And today, I learned that we won the case to put the children in foster care until they are 18 years of age. If it is true that love can heal some of their wounds, then I will sleep soundly at night knowing that at least some of them will perhaps have a bright future ahead of them.

Today is a good day, and I know the Universe is celebrating.

Written 07 April 2021

Contrary to popular belief…

Dear Universe,

Being a new graduate in a country that always looks for work experience is not easy. I feel like, in one way or another, job search in this country slowly kills a person’s drive after graduation. Of course, for the optimists, it may be seen as the world’s way of leading you to a different yet meaningful path. But hey, I am not a pessimist to think otherwise. I think, realistically speaking (yes, I believe I am a realist), my personal experience is just a testimony to the extremely frustrating experience of job search in Australia for those straight out of Uni. I am aware of many other new graduates who still haven’t found professional work more than a year since graduating. I am thankful that while COVID, my culture (working only once you have a degree), and my “new graduate” status made it all the more difficult to find a job, I still secured one within 6 months of graduating. Let me talk about my observations as a non-Australian job seeker:

• While Australia generally does not care about degrees and educational institutions, it is notorious with work experience.
  • I’ve heard so many people say not to worry if you have not had experience in your area of study because most skills are transferable. In theory, that is true. In reality, it is mostly a wish. Most employers would prefer an applicant who has former experience in similar work. I have had numerous rejections due to “high calibre” candidates who eventually got the job. It does not matter if you have the degree for that job. If their company does not require a degree, another person who has 5 years of similar or related experience would most likely get the job even without a Bachelors.

• Australians can legally start working from the age of 14 (13, for part-time light work) …and they start working at around this age.
  • Australians don’t necessarily start working because it is a need, but because it is an essential component of becoming an adult. In fact, high schools support traineeships for high school students. They help the students find part-time works while they finish their high school. This is part of their curriculum, traineeship at least 1 day a week. By the time they finish high school, they have an option to either go to a University/Vocational school or continue with the traineeship/apprenticeship and start training and earning in their trade. And so at my age, being a new graduate with no actual work experience in the field is difficult. Everyone else who is also a “new graduate” and possibly in their early 20s would have had experience one way or another. By the time I am ready to apply for work as a sheltered Asian adult, I am already so much behind in skills and work experience.

• Graduate roles are not really for new graduates.
  • While graduate roles are advertised as roles for new graduates, they are not really for people without an experience. They will only hire you if you actually have some experience in a similar role. Some major hospitals usually have 1-5 graduate roles every year, but only those who would already know their system/process would get the role. They would most likely be their former students (interns) who would get hired. So for anyone who did not do their placement in a hospital and only have general knowledge of what the work is, better not apply. In Metro Brisbane, there are only 2 hospitals that offer this. In one hospital I applied for, we were told there were 90 applications for 5 graduate roles. Of course, I did not expect a call back after my interview.

• Job interviews are so difficult to come by.
  • Cover letters are extremely important. It needs to answer a couple of criteria which the employer requires. You have to make sure you answer them and not submit a generic flowery cover letter for your applications – flowery cover letters were of course all I needed to get an interview back in the Philippines. Well, in my limited experience at least.

• Job interviews are like oral exams.
  • Again, I have had very limited experience with this as I only ever had 3-4 interviews in the Philippines. All of which were mostly interviews to get to know the person. In here though, interviews are like oral exams. Sure, you get asked about a few things that will give them an idea of who you are, your work ethics, and how you fit in the role. But I dreaded situational and objective questions that test your knowledge in the field AND THE ROLE. I never knew how to prepare for them and of course introversion and social anxiety do not really help that much. With those things combined, I end up answering back with single phrases because I was too nervous that I even go out of breath every time.
  • And on that note, I also need to highlight that Australians are trained to be opinionated since they start school. They are always encouraged to voice their opinion in class. You see, that is not the same in our culture (which I’ve observed among my other Asian classmates, too). We are mostly reserved and don’t readily voice our opinion. So going back to job interviews, my single phrase exact and nervous answers would of course be nothing in comparison to Australians’ lengthy and most likely more confident explanation of the same thing.

• Most new graduates without much experience go to regional areas to gain work experience.
  • Perhaps my willingness to move to a regional area is the only reason I was able to work within 6 months after I graduated. I applied for a job with high turn over and learned that most people new to the job were also from Brisbane and surrounds. And most if not all those who just left were also from Brisbane. They decided to go back home after gaining 6-12 months of work experience.

I tried to check in with other Asian graduates and a lot of them in Brisbane still have not found professional work. Sadly, most of these people are also from the sheltered Asian background with Asian sounding name. While I have not experienced it myself, some of them have expressed frustrations over having Asian names and not getting call backs. Lucky me, I have an English name and a Spanish surname. I can pass for someone with European background.

While I was at Uni and hearing other Social Workers talk about wanting to work in one area, but finding job and eventually passion in another, I felt very optimistic. It is true that new roles may lead you to another path where you would find your calling. In fact, I did contemplate on specialising in childhood trauma while working in child protection. Those speeches, they sounded like the world may lead you to something pre-destined for you. Happy ending! However, it is not exactly that. The lack of opportunities may mean you would get any job to start your career. This means you would be working in a field you may not even feel strongly about. It may dampen a person’s drive to be the best in his field. It may delay the person in pursuing a career they would thrive in.

I can’t imagine how the others who still haven’t found a job feel right now. In that 6 months that I was unemployed, I felt that I wasted time and fortune on my degree. That it is useless. And that my willingness and my burning desire to be in Mental Health are all for nothing. I can only imagine that those who have not found a job until now feel the same way, most likely even worse.  I bet they may even question if they are worth anything as a professional. I know someone who completed his International Relations degree in 2019 and works as a fruit picker in a regional area until now. I wonder how he feels. I wonder how many others like him feel.

Holding the space for others

By December 2014, I had all the ingredients of sadness which were all slowly churning deep inside, awaiting the right pressure to explode. On 1 April 2015, I learned about my friend’s murder. I experienced shock, disbelief, and denial. There was something heavy in my chest, but I could not feel my emotions. It was like standing at a bus stop, waiting and waiting for that bus that would never come. At that bus stop I shook hands with an unwelcome visitor who has crept through all the dark corners of my mind and had illegally called my mind home. Her name is depression. It was not a result of one circumstance, but my friend’s death was a trigger to what had been building up for 3 years since my diagnosis.

I will never be able to put into words how grief felt. I’ve found that our denial to acknowledge grief in our culture has in turn made it difficult to translate profound sorrow into recognisable and familiar concepts in words. As cliché and ostracising as it is, one would never understand how painful and numbing grief can be until he has himself experienced it. It is like an exclusive membership club, with each member having a unique brand of grief to offer. And as much as I would like to write my emotions down, grief silenced me for so many reasons. One of which is the lack of words to describe what felt like a bottomless well of sadness, as well as the darkness and numbness that came and went with it.

Grief can crush you, but it can also change you. Luckily in the months that followed, I had people around me who genuinely walked with me through that foggy dark forest. These were people who did not even realise how they have been instrumental in my grief recovery. People who, fortunately for me, had all the time in the world to ask, listen, and never judge. People who unknowingly connected with me in different ways and helped me pick myself up to walk with my sorrow hand in hand. People who made carrying the weight less overwhelming. People who made it possible for grief to change me, instead of break. My friends and my sorrow walked with me until I found a comfortable spot inside where my grief and I could watch and experience the world together and carry on.

Some people have that one significant experience in their life that would dictate how their life would be. To me, it was this experience of recovery. It became my life purpose to become exactly what my friends have been for me – that one single person who can make another person in emotional crisis feel that he is heard, that he matters. A person comfortable in both chaos and silence. A person who would hold the space for another while he slowly figures out how to move forward.

Tomorrow, I will start my career in Mental Health to be exactly that. I will be supporting people who attempted suicide pick up bits and pieces of their lives and access supports through the community so that they do not re-attempt (again). I will be able to just “be there” for them while they go through the most difficult time in their lives. I am thrilled and honoured to be one of the first practitioners of this new program in Australia. It will not be easy. It may consume me. But I’ll take my chances and learn the ropes of proper self-care because this role means I’d be saving another soul who may one day choose to do the same for others. Aja!

…and again

9 DEC 2019. Class of 2019! Photo not mine.

I’ve recently completed my qualifying master’s degree and hope that it changes a lot of things in my future. If I do not get to stay here permanently, at least I wish that this degree will allow me to continue living AND working in a country with better health care system than my own. Of course, working for people I want to work for will be the cherry on top! Or is it the other way around?

Completing this degree felt like a second chance on things that I missed out on after I was diagnosed with PH. For one, I have never really been an adult. I have been blessed to never be required to provide for myself back at home. I was not required when I was a student, and not even after I have completed my degree. Indeed, having been a newly diagnosed PH patient at that time had a lot to do with it. But the bottom line is, I never really fended for myself.

This brings me to a speculation or justification (or whatever one makes of it) that had been brewing in my head ever since I have recovered enough from my grief: my family’s overwhelming love and protection, and the stagnant years that followed my diagnosis kept me from maturing into a fully-grown responsible adult. When I came here, while I have always enjoyed the idea of being independent, I realised how my mental age seemed to be that of a recent university graduate. I have not been physically and financially independent, and much of my decisions were weighed upon the approval or disapproval of my family. If I let that old me put this in words, she would say “I felt like I missed 2-3 years of my life. There were years of nothingness. I only aged, but I did not really mature. I did not progress.”

9 DEC 2019. Jobless and penniless me wanted to treat my family out to a celebratory dinner. I just had to. I saved my tax return for them!

When I started my studies, I was working 2 jobs and 1 side job. I had to earn while I study fulltime. I was a working student living independently and working on my limited physical capacity (PH causes the heart to overwork, making the person tired and sleepy every time). My sister paid for my rent, my Bosentan, and a good fraction of my tuition fee. I, on the other hand, had to pay for my daily expenses, a small amount for my tuition fee, monthly Sildenafil, doctor’s consultation, and my Echo tests. While my family told me I can quit 1 job, I did not. I did not want to add anymore financial burden to any of my sisters, and my boss was so dependent on me that I could not just leave. Because of all these, I’ve written rushed papers in less than an hour before deadline, I’ve missed deadlines for work, and I’ve completed a subject without even reading about 80% of the required text. I almost failed 3 out of 4 subjects during my first semester. And while I should be sad about my grades, I actually feel some triumph when I look at them. There is this sweet sense of pride in knowing that I was a struggling working student.

Things got better, eventually. My student placement (internship) required me to quit my jobs. I maintained only one regular job that kept me working for a year. I also eventually got my final placement in a regional area which required a 5d/w commitment. Although I lived on my savings, I finally (and still) had a taste of being a jobless fulltime student in my final semester. I also had better grades, despite my innate absolute laziness.

Completing a master’s degree also felt like I worked harder on my study requirements than I ever did before.  I completed more work than I did in my bachelors, but in a much lesser time. I’ve read and written more papers than I did in any 2 years of my student life. But because I have a better idea of what and where I really want to be, I appreciated reading and writing so much more. And since I am almost a decade older than I was (or at least I believe), I found it harder to actually sit down and write even a 1500-word paper on a topic I felt passionate for. If I tally my papers, I have more late submissions (with deductions of course!) than I have on time.

My studies further required me to face my demons. One particularly significant demon I have is my Social Anxiety. I’ve always known I have a problem with social interactions. But because Social Work is about 80-90% human interaction, I had to name and recognise the problem. When I worked for a client with complex traumatic past, I studied what Social Anxiety is and realised that a lot of its symptoms apply to me. I have been slowly working on my Social Anxiety and I hope I would eventually get better with people. If my client got better, well then, I should, too.

Most importantly, completing my degree helped me define my approach and passion to this area. Almost all of the papers I submitted for Uni were justifications and validations of my experience as a PH patient. I knew I wanted to work for people with chronic and/or terminal illness, but Social Work is such a big discipline that it was difficult to pinpoint and name the area where I wanted to work. Fortunately, a few of my subjects, my final placement, and an AASW professional development course helped me brush off the dusts and see the finer details of my interest area. I want to explore the psychology of loss. I want to be able to practice in the area of grief and bereavement.

I now have a plan. Eight years ago, I was no longer able to see beyond a year. These plans, these are now dreams I have for my future. I feel like a 21-year old who recently graduated, weighing up her career. I even feel a bit of embarrassment just gushing about how excited I am going back into the labour force in a field a feel passionate for (there goes that word again!). But, hey, my PH and I now have a different pace. It’s something that I am still working on – to accept that my life will move in an absolutley different speed and direction from others. And so while I am back on track a decade later than people my age, I still feel a sense of achievement in reaching this far.

My master’s degree is really just like picking up where I left off years ago. But unlike last time, I feel like I have more direction and a better way of coping to my future losses when this illness starts to turn my new world upside down again. I still fear the day that my illness worsens, but I am not that scared anymore. If there is something this PH has given me in the past 8 years, it is the resilience I developed while I faced such dark and draining dimension of this awful disease. While I might have missed out on life career-wise, I feel like PH also made my emotion and psychological wellbeing 10x better…and stronger.

Graduating last month was a big deal for me. A milestone. It was not the degree that made this accomplishment so significant, but the regained ability to plan my future again despite AND WITH the limitations. I and PH are inseparable, and that is how my future plans are all laid out. A lot of people will not be comfortable with me mentioning this disease again and again, but I can no longer really define myself without PH. I cannot talk about my life without it. My PH has defined my life so much that it is one of the biggest reasons why I am where I am and why I do what I do. I made this little promise to myself that I will never be apologetic or reluctant again in mentioning and explaining this disease to anyone.

This post was supposed to be just a summary of everything I wish I have written in the last few years, but it has gone all over the place. What I just really want to say is this: fuck you but thank you, PH – I now have a master’s degree!

MMXIX

This 2019, I moved 3 times, learned to change diapers and wash baby bum, found myself LSS-ing on nursery rhymes almost every day, discovered my fondness for audiobooks on long drives, toured my sisters around places I found interesting, wrote 2 literature reviews for Uni and actually had fun, named and faced my demons (hello there, social anxiety and xxx!), joined a profession I love, finally refined my practice framework (thank you NP for the much-needed explanation!), and narrowed down the area I’d specialise in.

When I started my studies, I worked 3 jobs and rushed my papers in 1-2 hours before the deadline. This professor failed me in one of my papers. During my last semester, I had no choice but to resign so I can handle a fulltime student placement and 1 more subject. Oh, the difference it made! This, together with my clients’ feedbacks, is unquestionably the highlight of my year. I can apparently help make other people’s lives better.

This year was a continuation of the things I left behind after PH and a reboot of a mind that constantly dreams. It wasn’t an undoing of a chronic disease’s psychological impacts, rather it was the reauthoring of a story once told from a ‘deficits’ arch.

If the past 4 years were about healing, this year was about dreaming. I am thrilled for 2020 and all the plans I’ve concocted for the years that follow! May this year be even more fulfilling, and may no atrocity ever again break this spirit.

(Hey PH, you’ve been such a meaningful aberration!)

Rare

Dear Old Friend,

You said that you are in pain. That on a scale of 1 to 10, it is always a 4. Everyday. It is as if someone stabbed you with a knife, twisted it inside, and left it that way. And only when the pain reaches 9 do you ever call for an ambulance.

You see, you remind me so much of my father. Or should I say, you remind me so much of my father’s cancer. The way it disabled him. The way it made him stay in bed for days because the treatment was too painful it left bruises on his abdomen. The way I could no longer hug him in bed because if I did, I would send him screaming in pain.

Everytime I think about you, I think about my father. How I wish my father was as strong as you. I admire your decision for choosing not to get treatment for your cancer. And I am glad you chose not to get any form of treatment. Because if you did, your 4 would have been an 8. Or a 9. Everyday.

Once in our lifetime we meet people who touch our hearts so deeply without them even knowing it. You’ve always touched my heart eversince we stood on that terrace and asked each other if we are ready and if we are alright.

I wish I can tell you how wonderful it is to meet people like you who truly understand what it means to stop holding on to hopes. May this Universe bless you with an even stronger faith to the joy of being present and unattached.

We are here, and we are here now. Thank you for being present.

Written 29 May 2017

VI. Thou shalt do no murder.

FREMANTLE PRISON, PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA. A prison built by convicts in the 1850s.

FREMANTLE PRISON. Limestones.

FREMANTLE PRISON. Gun Tower 4.

FREMANTLE PRISON. My sister and I went to visit this old prison. I have never been to any museums or any cultural attractions with her, but this one we had to visit together. My sister and I are huge fans of The Walking Dead, so coming here was us being two of Rick’s people.

FREMANTLE PRISON. This one, on the other hand, is Resident Evil. Minus the safety nets which were placed there to prevent suicides.

FREMANTLE PRISON. 

FREMANTLE PRISON. This place was a minimum to maximum security prison. For convicts under maximum security, the cells were usually ‘personalized’ based on how each prisoner would most likely escape. 

FREMANTLE PRISON. Kitchen. 

FREMANTLE PRISON. Four toilets for around 600 prisoners. 

FREMANTLE PRISON. 

FREMANTLE PRISON.

FREMANTLE PRISON CHAPEL. This Chapel was built in the later years. It was built the same way other chapels were built. What was interesting here was what was written in The 10 Commandments of God. Usually, people write “Thou shalt not kill.” In this chapel, though, the prisoners wrote “Thou shalt do no murder” to avoid offending the military who were trained to kill.

To Brisbane (BNE)

PERTH AIRPORT. I am getting fond of taking pictures of boarding passes and tickets. A documentation of sort. I’ve kept my bus tickets almost everytime I traveled by bus and glued them when they matter. I kept my tickets to and from Baguio City and pasted them on my diary. It was one of the most important trips I’ve had. I kept my first ever bus ticket to Manila when I finally moved back to Baler. I keep those that mark important chapters of my life. I have always been a hoarder of things I like, but have always wasted them in the end for staying unused or even forgotten. Right now my addiction is in memories. I am a hoarder of my own memories. This one I shall add to my collection of invaluable yet valuable clutter. It is a record of another solo trip to a foreign land I have yet to explore. I now take photos of important things, taking advantage of technology and having a back up memorabilia in digital format when I need it. You see, I sometimes play the role of an old granny in my mind. And in my head, I tell my grandchildren stories about my wonderful younger years and the scene usually starts off like, “this was my ticket when I went on a very special trip to…” and then I will go on narrating how those days were. – 07 January 2017

PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA. I thought I should better take a souvenir photo of this trip, so I took this one. I could have cropped that guy from this photo, really, but I had to include him because this photograph tells me so many things about this day and this time of my life. And somehow I remember how it felt seeing him smiling at his phone (he was grinning, even) just when I really believed he was tired and all. – 07 January 2017