Why I have struggled to write happy poetry

When people ask me about my poetry, I say that I’m a ‘sometimes poet’. Yes, I write poetry, even perform them from time to time, yet I’ve never committed to it enough to improve my craft. The words sort of just fell out. I feel like some of my best writing came from a woman who was angry, self-loathing and lacked direction, even if I was always on the move. Think of the impact Alanis Morissette’s ‘Jagged Little Pill’ album had on the 90s woman. She gave you an anthem for unspoken bitterness and a voice for the scorned lover.

These days, I’m more grounded and have learned to focus my energy better. My relentless questioning of what is possible has taken me up incredible mountains, swimming in glacial lakes, and listening to life stories of fascinating strangers. Even better, I can say that I’m finally happy where I’ve landed in life. When I got back into poetry slam last year (my first in three years), I wanted to write poetry that reflected the changed woman who came back from Perú. I felt like a butterfly tentatively waking up from its cocoon. It was interesting to discover that even though I felt I had let go of so much already, it was much harder to break the muscle memory of my writing.

For five years I was a woman on a journey - walking away her sadness after the traumatic end of a relationship. Writing and sharing those adventures was cathartic because it gave me something tangible to focus on. Writing made me experience nature at a much greater depth - words flowed because I was more present, more open to be affected by what I was experiencing at that moment.

How I found peace in a global pandemic

When crossing rivers, the first thought should always be, “Do I need to get my boots wet? Can I see a safer and easier way to cross?” I feel like the last two years have been one bloody long river crossing. As each of us do our best to navigate through these weird times, one thing’s for sure, we’re so far down the river that whatever awaits us on the other side, there’s no going back. The ‘new normal’ just becomes, well, normal.

There were plenty of times that the river looked calm and getting my boots wet didn’t seem so bad. I remember the days when wearing masks was a fashion accessory more than a necessity. Videos of Six60’s massive summer concerts in New Zealand beamed across the world and jaws dropped. Apart from a couple of lockdowns, my life pretty much went on as usual until the last six months.

As the Omicron community cases kept climbing at the start of the year, we could see the waters start to get murkier by the day. Even though we had watched the rest of the world experience our current reality, there was so much we as a country had to figure out on our own too. The river wasn’t only just rising, it was in flood.

Same, same but different - what's your love language?

When I told my workmates that I was going to spend a week in the South Island, one of them asked cheekily if I had anything romantic planned for Valentine’s Day. I had a giggle. I’m the only single one in our team and I guess it’s been awhile since I talked about my dating life. “Not really, probably just coffee with Katri.” We all laughed. Katri and I used to work together and both live in Whakatāne. We were doing the Routeburn Great Walk together.

How do I describe our friendship? Katri’s curious, with a refreshingly straightforward honesty. She will hit me with life questions out of the blue - out on the street, scrambling down Conical Hill or mud deep in the bush. If she’s thinking about it, you bet she will ask the question. Normally, if anyone else asked me personal questions in such open settings, I would tip toe around my answer. I guess our friendship has taught me to be more honest with myself, to have the courage to say how I really feel, which has made me a more honest communicator too.

Be the river, not the rock

My friend Tamizan is what 12-year-old me wanted to be growing up: Smart, independent, financially stable and a homeowner. She’s only in her mid-thirties and already kicking ass at adulting.

Like me, she's a cultural milkshake too - a child of Indian parents who immigrated to Canada. Tamizan was born into Western society with the traditional expectations of Asian culture. We’ve had plenty of discussions about our upbringings and how it has shaped us as women - our sometimes strained relationship with our parents as we seek out independence. A lot of that has spilled over into our dating lives.

In Frederick Travis’ book, ‘Your Brain is a River, Not a Rock,’ our brains are said to be an interface between us and the world, and will change based on our experiences throughout our lives. These shape our perspective of ourselves and the world around us.

Last year, Tamizan got sick. She was bed ridden, lethargic and in pain. The kind of sickness that even after months of tests, the doctors couldn't figure out why her body has suddenly begun to attack her body from the inside out.

What is enough, and how will you know when you have it?

Like Alice, I went down a hole recently. YouTube recommendations took me down the Stoicism rabbit hole - quite the change from my usual tarot readings, 80s ballads and the Ink Master tattoo series. What the heck, I don’t even have a tattoo! One morning I clicked on a YouTube short from the ‘Daily Stoic’, which gives you bite-sized learnings from the classics of Stoic philosophy. YouTube shorts are like short reels on Instagram - they’re quick, snappy videos that are designed to keep you scrolling for more.

‘How To Find Enough With Stoicism’ talks about a conversation between Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller (author of Catch-22 and Slaughterhouse-Five). They were at a party hosted by a billionaire, where Vonnegut teases Heller that the billionaire made more money in a week than both his books would make in his lifetime.

“But I have something that he doesn’t have,” Heller says. “I have some idea of what enough is. I have enough.”

I replayed it over and over that morning. If it was on a cassette tape, the stereo would have surely eaten it by then. “If you don’t have an idea of what is enough, the goal posts will always shift.” Those words looped around in my head all day. At night. Then again the next day.

What is enough, and how will I know when I have it? Honestly, I didn’t have an answer for that until I met up with my friend Travis recently.

Own your awesome and work to your strengths

I don’t remember my first day of school, but I still have memories of being in Ms Nagit’s class. She must have been in her early thirties (adults all look older when you’re a kid, right?), usually dressed in a corporate two piece with heels that would echo as she paced the classroom. Ms Nagit was my last teacher in the Philippines before we moved to New Zealand and it wasn’t until I started teaching dance and TEFL that I realised how much of a profound influence being in her class had on my internal tapes.

My sister and I went to Dominican School, a private Catholic school in Manila. A quick Google tells me the uniform hasn’t changed much since we went there in the eighties - it always reminded me of something out of the Sailor Moon cartoon I used to watch as a kid. Even though I did enjoy going to school, based on the Philippine education standard I was at best, pretty average. On the other hand, my older sister Khristina was almost always at the top of her class.