Wanted: Ruby Slippers

Must be in good, working condition, i.e. when I click my heels 3 times and repeat "There's no place like home", I'll end up back in Samoa.

It's time for the semi-regular homesick blog post, so tune out now if you're sick of it.

You know what really grates me? When some middle-class people from NZ visit another country where things don't run at the standard they expect and services may not be as good as they expect (or are just downright crap ... or non-existent even), then they return with "horror stories" about how awful it was. I turn double-Hulk especially when those people are Christians. (By the way, those "other countries" include but are not limited to Samoa).

I hate, hate, hate it when I see people so eager to pray for the lost, the less fortunate, the poor, etc and yet when dumped into a situation amidst those poor unfortunate people and all that is really reflected is self. I had a terrible time because the service was slow. I couldn't understand anything because no one spoke English. I didn't get what I want. I complained about their standards. I'm so glad I left. You had to pay to swim at the beach!

Pisses. Me. Off. Listen up, I've got a few things to say, and I'm gonna say it real nice:

If you voluntarily decide to buy a plane ticket and visit another country for recreational purposes, please do not expect everyone there to learn your language so they are able to understand you and cater to your every whim. If you really wanted to understand and be understood, learn their language. That country is their home, they have the right to speak whatever language they choose to.

You are no longer in your country. Whatever standard of service you receive here does not count for anything. Without having the full picture of the standard of living, cultural differences and economic situation (amongst other things) in that country or area, you don't really have a basis to determine what is an "acceptable" standard of service for what you are paying.

Have you ever considered that the unappetising food you received at the hospital, the long waits for whatever approval processes, the corrupt officials and the mosquitoes are what the locals are faced with. Every single day. Can you honestly tell me that your anger and complaints were for the "better good" so that the standards can be "raised", or were they really out of self-pity, or your expectation of what you think you deserve from life, or a misconception of what hardship can really mean? Did you take time out from drowning in your sorrows to bless someone? To put yourself in the shoes of those around you? Oh wait, they probably didn't have shoes. How unhygienic of them. Maybe that's why they couldn't run as fast to fetch the silver platter.

I miss home. Warts and all.

Where The Heart Is

In the (weird little) movie "Where The Heart Is" a pregnant Natalie Portman says of her bump "You hear that? That little bom-bom-bom? That's where the heart is."

What if the heart, or at least a small part of it, is somewhere else. Somewhere far away?

The past several weeks, I have been feeling an overwhelming sense of homesickness. Samoa is calling me. I am guessing that it was triggered by the whole World Cup hype. Watching Samoans coming together to celebrate and cheer on their team, I felt myself bursting with pride. But at the same time I felt so alone...so far away from "our people". Now I know there are plenty of Samoans in Wellington, but from what I could see, it wasn't really visible in town. (And besides, I'm antisocial, so I'm not exactly going to go LOOKING for this community that I yearn for) So I continued to go to work (no Samoans) and to church (one other Samoan...woohoo!) Home was the only place where I felt a sense of belonging. Home and online.

My craving for Samoan food, which is a normal thing for me, only intensified from the usuals (faalifu kalo, pa'u mu, panipopo) to the really intense only-in-Samoa type dishes (vaisu, alili, makamalu, limu, faalifu ufi, and that yummy dessert made of mashed ulu and a kind of coconut cream based syrup).

I reminded myself of the things I would miss about New Zealand. My income. The climate. The road code. People that follow the road code. My church. The food (yum char!). Comfort. Affordable broadband. Privacy. Did I mention my income?

I reminded myself of things I hated about Samoa. The sweat. The pefu. Flies. Mosquitoes. A whole new/different set of working standards. The politics. The constant faalavelave's. Everyone commenting on how fat I am ... especially the fatties.

And then there was the small fact that I have never actually lived in Samoa as an adult (which even I still find a bit shocking), having left the country at the age of seventeen.

But my logical analysis does not seem to have any effect on what seems to be a matter of the heart. I want to go home. I feel like I'm in that illogical state that one is in when they are "in love". You may be able to see the logic, the arguments for and against what you want, and despite it all, your heart will not give in.

Is this my RWC patriotism in overload? Is this just what happens when people get old? I don't know. All I know is, I want to go home.

Old-Married-Couple-Dom

How do you know that the honeymoon period is well and truly over, and there is no return from the land of old married couples?

Here are three hints, fresh from personal experience tonight:

1. When on a Saturday night you, the hubby and kid get ready to go out. To do your grocery shopping at Pak'nSave.

2. As you are getting dressed (old married people tend to forget to get dressed while wandering out their old married home), your hubby looks at your much-loved trackpants and says "You know who you kind of look like? Sporty Spice."

Excuuuuuse me? First of all, honey, Mel Chisholm stopped calling herself "Sporty Spice" only...what, ten years ago? And secondly, Sporty Spice? Really? Not even Ginger? Or (gulp) Scary? No, I was Sporty Spice, the most unsexy of them all. To make it worse, I'm not even sporty, I just like trackpants because they're comfortable. Tragic!

3. While navigating the maze of aisles that is Pak'nSave, your husband looks at your trackpants in horror and asks what those white handprints are all over your butt, like mine did.

It's ok, I assured him. As I was testing the icing sugar pack for holes, it kind of exploded and I got sugar all over my hands. Then I had to crawl under the lowest shelf to get another one and the sugar marks were from me dusting myself off after.

He still looked confused...how could I be ok with walking around in public knowing there were white marks all over my pants, and specifically in the shape of handprints smack on my behind?

He summed it up quite well, the old hubby of mine: How times have changed.



Imagine this chick with a rugby jersey, brown skin and an extra 40kgs.
Apparently that's me.



Hard

Yesterday I made a one-night-only return to Manurewa, Auckland. I flew up from Welly at noon, and returned the next morning. Like some kind of superstar, or super-paranoid-about-being-away-from-my-kid nutcase, or a too-poor-to-book-non-Grabaseat-fare person.

The reason for the quick solo trip was to attend my only brother's engagement party, but I tried to squeeze in a bit more Rewa and Manukau into my itinerary.

Manukau mall
A full van of fans family picked me up from the airport and we went straight to Westfield Manukau mall ... straight to the food court. Where we could have something to eat but more importantly have a good chinwag session before any shopping (mostly of the type "window") was done.

$10 Speso
One of my first memories of takeaways in Manurewa is a $10 chicken "special", which consists of some deep fried chicken nibbles and chips. It is also known to be called "Family Special" or "Family Pack" etc. You get the point. I had one of these.

The Warehouse - Clendon
Small but has just what you need. Popped in to grab a last minute gift.

Movies
We went to the Reading cinemas in Wellington once. The cinemas parks are sooooo far away and not free. The seating is super squashed...well, maybe not super squashed, but I've become accustomed to the very generous seating at Manukau and Sylvia Park. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper. And while fidgeting to get comfortable I kicked my popcorn over, then spilt my drink while trying to fit it into the weirdly placed and shallow cup holders.
So last night I went to the 11:10pm movie session at Manukau. I needed to see Harry Potter and there was no way I would suffer through another Reading experience. Being 11:10pm on Saturday the crowds and action in Manukau were actually at Guada's across the street, not at the movies, and especially not for Harry Potter. More space for me! If there is a Sundance Film Festival movie you want to see...Event Manukau is the place to do it!

Clendon bakery
There are no bakeries near our Welly home. A lot of cafes, but nowhere you can get a juicy good quality potato top pie and a simple but delicious cream bun for less than $5. So that's where I (well, Mum actually) bought breakfast this morning. So on my return flight, when I got asked if I wanted a cookie or a handful of sweets I could smile sweetly and say no thanks, I had a meeeean breakfast ow.

And just like that I was on the plane and on my way back to Wellington. My South Auckland fix squeezed into less than 24 hours. Until I see you again my old home ... Rewa Hard!