Under the Purple Magnolia Tree

A new page

2010-05-23T13:38:00.000+12:00

Hi everyone,

Just a quick email to let you know that I'm still blogging but have moved to a new home at http://purplemagnolia.wordpress.com/

Hope you come to visit me there.

Tesni/B.

P.S. also blogging under my real name (or at least my real initial), B.

A brief update on life

2009-11-23T22:11:00.000+13:00

Well I may just about be one of the slackest bloggers out there at the moment, but I haven't completely forgotten about you dear readers. Life is (as per usual) busy, though is becoming somewhat frantic of late. The great omnipresent thesis is doing it's best to fill my life, and the deadline rapidly approaches...18 days to go! But here, dear readers, is a small snapshot of my life:

1. Nia, my darling girl (who should always be number one!. We move in together in less than three weeks, I can't wait!

2. Summer research scholarship, I'm doing some work for my supervisor on a very interesting language project over the summer. It's a bit stressful at the moment as I try and finish my thesis, but so far is proving manageable.

3. Thesis, 18 days and counting. 2 more chapters to go, and one conference presentation, then it's all over!

4. Wellington - Nia and I have been trying to make more of an effort to actually go out in the world and do things, a concert last weekend, a dance performance this week, a dinner date the week before. It's actually quite nice being out in the world - who knew?!

So that's pretty much my life at the moment. It seems a little boring all laid out on the screen like that. So I will leave you with a youtube video I've fallen in love with...a little food for thought...

Reflections on Love and Live

2009-11-12T16:14:00.001+13:00

This year I have felt more deeply than ever before. This year I have opened myself to love and life in a completely new way. This year I have been challenged to grow, spiritually and emotionally. And I have responded, intuitively, in ways I never dreamed I would or could.

A year ago, a wonderful woman walked into my life. Quietly at first, she lingered at the door, then chance and fate collided, bringing us together, showing us a glimpse of a shared connection. The connection grew stronger and deeper and at Samhain, at the year's end, we learnt to see. We learnt to see that fate and chance, goodness and love, beauty and life had conspired to bring us together. And so we looked, and we saw that we were standing at the edge of a precipice, and that below us lay life, spread out in a patchwork of experience, green and blue fields stretching to a purple haze at the edge of the earth. And standing there, we came to realise that we had a choice, take a deep breath and step off the edge risking life as we know it, or turn around and take the safe road back down the cliff, never knowing what it is like to soar. You see, love isn't always easy, and it doesn't always feel safe. It's a big risk, but like Erica Jong said, "it's really worth being brave for, fighting for, risking everything for, because the trouble is, if you don't you risk even more." And so, with these words ringing in our ears, butterflies in our stomachs, and hands tightly clasped, we took a deep breath and stepped off the edge. Together. And we flew.

I know with the utmost certainty that this wonderful woman is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I every day I am deeply thankful for her presence in my life. She fills my life with laughter, love and light. With her, I am complete.

The Danger of Telling a Single Story

2009-11-10T11:40:00.000+13:00

Marianne over at Zen and the Art of Peacekeeping just posted this wonderful video from Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. She speaks on the danger of telling a single story about a country, a group of people, a single person. She talks about the fact that we all have multiple stories that make us who we are and to focus only on one of these is to flatten our experiences and reduce us in some way.

What else can I say? Plenty I'm sure, but really just watch it. She's absolutely amazing.

What role does community play in your life?

2009-11-09T08:46:00.000+13:00

I think of my community as my spiritual community mainly, but I also have an academic community. My spiritual community is my tribe, it's my extended family. They're people who love and nurture me, respect me, challenge me, and in turn I love them, help them, and have the utmost respect for them. I'd be so much poorer for never having known my tribe.

My academic community challenge me too, they inspire me, and encourage me to keep going, keep trying and keep striving.

What is the relationship between health and spirituality?

2009-11-09T08:42:00.002+13:00

For me they are so interlinked. I don't think I could be wholly happy and healthy unless I was nurturing my spiritual being. Similarly I don't think I feel at my spiritual best when I am not feeling well. I use a lot of natural therapies, and as I'm a druid it is pretty difficult for me to draw a line and say spirituality ends here, and health starts here. It's such an interwoven web of ideas and concepts, and to be honest I kinda like it that way.

My god! A post!

2009-11-05T22:32:00.000+13:00

No wait look! Now there are two - and in one day! Okay so it's been considerably more than a little while since I posted. Life has been distracting (in all the best kind of ways) of late, but I thought I would pop back up with another post just to tell you that I am alive. Because I don't have much time to write tonight, here is the annotated version of my life.

1. Thesis, thesis, thesis - it's now at 14,007 words and counting!

2. Thesis - what can I say? It's all consuming. I have less than 6 weeks til hand-in! Stressed much?

3. Nia - really she deserves to be number one. She's fantastic, and has been doing a brilliant job at putting up with all my stress.

4. NGO governance stuff - major meetings coming up this weekend. I'm a panelist for part of the afternoon about the governance changes we are working on, and presenting the next day. Busy, busy, busy!

5. I'm going to be a primary school teacher - for a while anyway. I got accepted to the one year grad diploma of primary teaching for 2010. Yay! (I think - I'm not insane right?)

6. Thesis - did I mention a got an abstract accepted for the national linguistics society conference? Which equals more work to before the end of November.

What does personal freedom mean to you?

2009-11-05T21:41:00.002+13:00

The wonderful people over at Gaia Community, who I have just reconnected with after several years away have started sending daily questions, so witness the new section to this blog - Gaia questions. Today's question:

What does personal freedom mean to you?

Quite simply, it means the world.

A day for Wishing

2009-09-14T19:32:00.002+12:00

Inspired by Susannah's beautiful post at Ink On My Fingers, I had a day for wishing last Thursday. Of course I missed the 9.09.09, but the day after is good too.

Dear reader,

Today is a day for wishing your deepest wishes and dreaming your biggest dreams. Tonight before you go to sleep open the curtains and look up at the starry velvet sky, breathe deeply and let your heart open.

What are your wishes?

I wish for love to a last a lifetime and beyond. I wish to kiss my darling Nia in the summer rain and dance with her under the moonlight. I wish for a gorgeous little house filled with light and laughter and love. I wish for happy and healthy babies one day in the not-so-distant future. I wish for a hurricane lamp with a beeswax candle to place on the kitchen table - a sign of hearth and home. I wish for a year and a day spent living in Wales. I wish for a future with little pairs of gumboots lined up next to two big pairs. I wish to write a book. I wish to read all the books on my book list. I wish for a lifetime spent waking up next to the one I love. I wish to travel to Morocco and Southern Spain. I wish to sail along the coast of Croatia and Greece up to the Aegean Sea to Turkey. I wish for a world where no one knows pain or suffering. I wish for the courage to do something with my photos - to put them out to the world. I wish to always see the inner beauty in everyone. I wish to find a good contemporary dance class and find the courage to dance again. I wish for a lifetime filled with laughter, love and light.

Tonight just before you fall asleep, whisper your wishes to the world - she is listening! All you have to do is ask.

yours from underneath the flowering magnolia,

Tesni

Knowing Zaan, Loving Zaan

2009-09-10T16:11:00.002+12:00

I was 12 years old wheh my brother Zaan died of cancer. I wrote this piece last year, it's completely true. It's my story, and his. It's one of the most brutally honest things I've ever written, and one of the hardest things I've ever written. Zaan was 8 when he died, and this year on October 16th it will be 9 years since he died. When I wrote this story I felt like I had to. All my life I've always said I want to give people a voice, to tell the world the stories it needs to hear. But I realised when I was writing this, that first I had to tell my own story, and give Zaan a voice. So this is it.

Lately this story has been feeling like it wants to take wings and be set free, but it has only been in the last month that I have found the courage to let it go off out into the world.
Knowing Zaan, Loving Zaan

Laughter, love and light always
Tesni

Calling Wellington Home

2009-08-25T20:19:00.004+12:00

[Image credit - Me!]

The wild winds of Spring have descended on Captial City today. It's crazy. Yesterday was gorgeous, but today we have gale force winds, rain and grey sky all round. You'd think I'd hate it but really I don't, quite the opposite in fact - it's really rather inspiring. I've only been living here for two years but there is something about this city that speaks to me. I feel at home here and as though I have roots. There is a fantastic quote by Kate Camp (a Wellingtonian writer and lit critic) that sums up Wellington perfectly:

"Like a beautiful, moody lover, Wellington doesn't need to treat you kindly. Your friends sometimes wonder what you see in it, but when the city is good to you, with its days of almost painful gorgeousness and clarity, you can forgive its bluster, its temper tantrums and cold shoulder. You may be clutching a lamppost, but at least you know you're alive."

Find beauty in every day

2009-08-24T18:39:00.009+12:00

One of the books I am reading at the moment is 'A Cup of Sunlight' by Juliet Batten. She's a New Zealand author and in her book she talks about ways of becoming aware of the sacredness in everyday life. This is one of my favourite books, and I often find myself dipping into it every so often, especially when I'm feeling in need of a little spiritual rejuvenation. I was reading through this last night and thought I;d share some of my thoughts.

Find beauty in every day
I have come to love the daily reminders of the sacredness in my life:

sipping a mug of hot lemon honey and ginger from my beautiful green pottery mug while feeling grateful that I have the time and space to indulge in little luxuries

dancing around the kitchen and singing my heart out while cooking dinner
curling up in clean sheets after a long bath
the little bowls of crystals on top of the bookshelf

making dinner for Nia, my partner
the purple magnolia trees that burst forth in bloom about this time every year
the little coal dragon a friend brought back from Wales that sits beside the portrait of my great great grandmother

the way Nia always saves the red mug for me when she makes tea
unexpected hour long conversations with my mother that are full of laughter and joy
my pot plants growing out in the sun
my brown leather journal waiting to be taken up and filled with thoughts

lovely emails from friends that full of love and light
walking the early spring sun
the silver koru (spiral) on my key ring

the way everything seems possible at the beginning of a new day

[image credit: all photos are mine]

What are the reminders for you of the sacredness in everyday life? What makes you stop and pause for a moment and appreciate this world we live in?

Rotorua

2009-08-23T21:30:00.006+12:00

Well it's been a while since I posted. I have been very busy, of course you know that though. It's pretty much normal for me really. But I have decided to make more time for blogging in my life because I really do enjoy it.

About two weeks ago I went up to Rotorua for two days. You may recall a few months ago I mentioned that I was going to Europe, well I was there for youth conference for the not-for-profit I'm involved in. As part of going over for the trip, I knew that I would be expected to give some talks about when I came back. Well, I was asked to do a talk at a charity auction in Rotorua. The dinner was wonderful and I got heaps of positive feedback, but the highlight for me was the next morning when my parents came drove and hour and a half to come and spend the morning with me. I hadn't seen them in about 4 months, so we spent a blissful 3 hours walking around the lake. Of course me being me, the camera had to come too.

Early morning on the Lake truly is such a peaceful time.

There were swan babies! So cute....

Messing with camera settings produces some really cool effects!

But most of the time nature itself is just so beautiful that it's a privilege and a joy to try and capture the beauty on film.

The plight of the abandoned thesis

2009-08-01T06:56:00.004+12:00

I'm back, I'm here, and for the first time in a very long time, I actually have time to post. Can I just start by saying yay! for weekends. No seriously. I'm so ridiculously excited that it is the weekend. This week has been a week from hell, though I don't believe in hell so uh, a week from uh, a really really bad place, like umm a sewage plant or something (I know that's just such a charming metaphor, I'm all class - really!). Anyway, my week has been a series of stupid emails from upset people wanting to blame me for something, and getting frustrated/upset/emotional/angry over nonexistent issues. It's been joyous! On top of all of this there a silly little political games going on at work which I refuse to be a part of but somehow end up getting caught in the middle of anyway.

And oh, what's that you mention? My thesis. Yes, well about that, you see it hasn't really had much attention in the last few weeks. It's gotten pretty bad lately actually. My thesis is now trailing me around with this mournful look of abandonment in its eyes, if I stand still long enough it starts pawing vigorously at my leg and making pathetic mewing sounds. I've been ignoring its desperate attempts to capture my sympathies for most of the week, so it's been going off to sulk in the corner in a little huddled mass. However on Friday I decided that actually 5 weeks was too long, and really I should go and talk to it again, you know make some conciliatory peace gestures. Turns out I played right into the little bugger's hands, it came running and leaped into my arms for joy, and you know what I actually kinda liked it. Turns out my thesis is actually rather interesting. Who'd have thought?

A quick note

2009-07-05T12:01:00.001+12:00

Since I haven't posted in a while, I thought I'd just leave a quick note explaining why... I've been away in Europe at a youth conference in Italy and Switzerland. I'm not back in NZ yet, still in the airport at Singapore. But I'll tell you about my trip in more detail later.

Autonomy of the Self and the Right to Choose

2009-06-18T22:01:00.003+12:00

What do I value most in this world? Of all things I value, and there are many, I value autonomy of the self most, the right to choose my own path, whatever that may be, wherever it may lead. I believe that the right to choose your own path is and should be a fundamental right of every single person on this earth. It is a deeply sacred gift, and one that should be held dear. There are many people in the world who do not have this right, and that saddens me that something so basic and simple, autonomy over one's own person, is denied to so many.

For some women, autonomy of the self means choosing to be a mother and a wife, for others it means being a business executive, a journalist, a religious leader, or an academic, for some it means being both, for others it means being neither. What one chooses to be is not so important as the fact that they have the choice.

So in the interest of relevance, let me now explain something. You may recall me mentioning briefly a few weeks ago that I had a new love interest in my life. Well, let me elaborate. I have a partner, we have been together some months now, but were very close friends for about 9 months before. In fact you've probably already worked out who it is if you have been paying close attention. Her name is Nia, I've mentioned her before, and she occasionally leaves comments here. Of course Nia isn't really her name, just a pseudonym I chose for her, meaning beautiful and intelligent, because she is, she really, really is. I don't really have too much more to say about this here, except to say that we are very settled in our relationship. Now my point in bringing this up is that the right to choose this path, to be with Nia, is a sacred right that I have and it is something I value almost more than life itself, because what would life be if I couldn't choose my own way?

As a Woman

2009-06-08T10:42:00.000+12:00

As a woman I am here.
Always at your beck and call, waiting for whatever it is you need.
As a woman I am property, an object to be bought and sold.
As a woman I am branded by my body.
My fate is sealed by my womb.
I can give the gift of life.
Yet still I am treated like dirt.
Is this equality?

Times change,
People change.
You say that there is now equality between the sexes.
Where?
Define equality.
It is not what you think.

As a woman I am not of this country, nor that.
As a woman I am of the world.
United as one,
Cutting through race, religion, and culture,
We are one.

I wrote this sometime ago, but rediscovered it this morning, and as I was feeling rather feminist today, I thought I'd post it here.

Thoughts on life, love and humanity

2009-06-08T10:40:00.000+12:00

It has often been said that love overcomes all obstacles and boundaries, how true! But people do not see the truth behind that statement; they are blinded to it by self imposed limitations. What people do not realise is that the principle applies to life in general, if we can learn to love others, nay, not even love them but simply tolerate them, then wouldn’t the world be a much better place?

Life is a sacred and delicate thing, and should be treated as such. Too often in this world that we live in one hears only of hurt and pain and suffering, of people beating each other, of lives being taken without cause. To be alive is a miraculous thing, to breathe, to sleep, to dream, it is amazing. How cruel it is to take this away from someone.

Feeling Crafty

2009-05-30T22:07:00.007+12:00

I was in a slightly random mood this afternoon, and I decided that my boring black all-knowing daily planner was actually far too black and boring, and needed a makeover. It was also in need of a little repair as it has a fairly hard life. So I decided to get crafty, and spent an hour making prettyful collage to cover it with. A very useful use of my time I know, but now I'll easily be able to tell that it's mine!

Pre-makeover daily planner:

Post-makeover daily planner:

Just ignore the bad attempt at putting the plastic covering on. But see now, isn't that an improvement?

A note on the practicality of being super-organised

2009-05-28T21:11:00.002+12:00

I had a great plan for today in my head last night when I went to bed. I was going to get up super early so I could catch the early bus to Uni. You know, the one that leaves at 7.25am and doesn't have 50million people on it, or anyone on it actually. It's a really nice time of day to be catching the bus...except that it's so damn early! Anyway the plan was to get to uni early so that I could sit in my office and pretend to - uh sorry, I mean get lots of work done. Not only was I going to get heaps done, I was going to feel all wonderfully virtuous for a) having beaten most of the university staff to Uni, and b) actually being organised (*sigh...I love that feeling, if only it happened more often...). Of course for all my great planning, I overlooked several small factors 1) leaving the house at 7.10am requires getting up at 6am, 2) it's still dark at 6am, 3) my bed is really comfy, especially when it's dark out, and 4) I really don't like getting up in the dark when it's freezing cold. I'm sure you can all see where this is going...my great plan failed miserably. I didn't get up at 6am, I didn't even get up at 7.30am, but I did eventually get to my office, and in the end managed to having a very productive day transcribing. 110 lines of text in fact, and 1572 words transcribed which is I think equivalent to around 15 minutes of recording.

There was a second part to my plan as well; not only was I going to get up early, I was also going to go swimming in the evening. Because, you know, that whole exercise thing is actually a really good idea, and flexible though I may be, fit I am not - not for anything more than brisk walking anyway. The swimming plan almost worked. Almost. I stayed late at uni so that I could go straight to the pool about 6.30pm. All was going well, I had my desk cleared and my bag all packed, coat on (and gloves and scarf!), computer shut down, I left my office, went down 7 floors, opened the door to go outside and went "seriously?! Are you kidding? Swimming? Tonight! Really??! Or not!". Then I got on the bus and went home instead.

Lesson of the day - doing anything that involves early mornings or being in minimal clothing (even if the water is warm) when it is freezing cold outside and wildly windy is so totally not a good idea.

Things I have learnt this week

2009-05-25T21:36:00.000+12:00

1. Most people have no clue what it is like to have food allergies (I do!). I was in the postgrad students' cafe at the university the other day, having just traipsed to 3 different cafes before trying to find food that was both vegetarian and didn't contain yeast or potatoes (I'm intolerant of both and try not to eat them when I can help it), when I overheard this conversation between two girls that went as follows:

Girl one: What did you order?

Girl two: A soy latte

Girl one: Soy? Are you lactose intolerant?

Girl two: Yeah, I try not to drink much milk.

Girl one: Oh I'm so jealous, it seems like everyone has some kind of intolerance. I want one. I think I'm going to pretend to me gluten intolerant, 'cause I mean it's like not that hard to be gluten free now.

Seriously??!! Has she tried?! It's damn hard to be anything intolerant. I was just sitting there listening to this conversation in disbelief.

2. Sometimes unexpected victories pop out of nowhere. I had an unexpected victory at the board meeting on Saturday. It was about a controversial topic, on that I really support but had given up even suggesting, when someone brought it up again out of the blue. In the end it came down to a vote - 5 vs. 4. Talk about close!

3. I have no desire to be a journalist, although I do love writing. A year and a half ago I was convinced I wanted to be a journalist, about 6 months ago I realised that actually I really just want to teach people. On Friday I realised just how true this is.

4. It is truly a wonderful thing to have good friends. (I already knew this - it was just reaffirmed).

5. I spend way to much time at work. How do I know this? I knew that one of the other staff at work was at the dentist but the full-time receptionist who deals with everyone's calendars everyday couldn't work out why this other staff member wasn't at work.

6. Loreena McKennit is awesome. So is Jewel. And Joni Mitchell.

7. Wearing bright blue cotton scarves in the rain will result in dye leakage, especially on nice white tops.

8. 3 days of not talking to my wonderful love is really really hard.

9. Snuggles on wild wintry nights are awesome.

Research Interviews

2009-05-25T20:43:00.002+12:00

I just had to write a quick note to say that I have now officially completed my first research interview (last Thursday). As I was at a conference Friday and board meeting Saturday, today was my first opportunity to sit and play back the recording, and aside from having to listen to myself on tape, it was a really great experience. I had thought at the time that it went relatively well and that I would get at least three potentially useful narratives. After having done the preliminary analysis, I have discovered that there are in fact 13 potentially useful narratives!! And I only need 20 for my whole project. Of course not all of these will be ideal, and I need to have a wider cross section of people, than just 5, but I'm still excited.

2009-05-17T20:06:00.003+12:00

I have been somewhat absent and distracted from my blog of late. You may have noticed, the lack of posts does kind of give it away. But I am back today, and hopefully will have time to write more often though I can't promise anything. I suppose you are wondering as to the reason I have been distracted, well I have a new love in my life. A wonderful person who I love spending time with and who gets me and understands me so completely, it's amazing. It's still kind of new and very exciting, and that's about all I'm prepared to say on the subject at this point in time.

Anyway, aside from the wonderful distractedness of a new relationship, life goes on much as it always does. Uni, and work, spending time with my spiritual community, and meetings for the not-for-profit I'm involved in. My thesis research is with the Muslim community in the area I live in, so I have been busy going to the mosque and organising participants for interviews. I'm hoping to interview 8 women this week, and I have a one day conference to attend as well as a two and a half day board meeting for the not-for-profit. So it's going to be a crazy week this week, however I am quite determined to make it a successful and productive week.

I got an Award!

2009-05-17T18:12:00.002+12:00

I got at award for my blog! How cool is that. Jo gave it to me. So I'm feeling very honoured, not only does someone read my blog, they think it's cool enough to give it an award.

The rules: List seven things that make me awe-summm and then pass the award on to seven other people who I think are fabulously awe-summm.

Umm...okay, well

1. I love to write.
2. I take way too many photos, and have a blast while doing so.
3. I can't stand around and do nothing while others are busy, especially in the kitchen.
4. I love to help others and teach people things.
5. I make seriously good amaretti (Italian biscuits).
6. I don't like following recipes but somehow my cooking/baking usually turns out really good.
7. I'm learning to play bodhran (Irish drum).

OKay so to pass it on, I'm giving this award to Tremmy, Anne-Marie, Sabrina, and Salimah.

Knowing Zaan, Loving Zaan

2009-05-09T15:27:00.002+12:00

About a month before I turned four, my little baby brother Zaan came along. I never did the jealous sister thing, I was always far too protective of him and perhaps a little mothering too. I don’t remember this, but I am told that when visiting him and my mother in the hospital, I told my Gran in no uncertain terms he was not hers, that he was my mother’s. What happened you see, was that Gran was holding him in her arms and as grandmothers are wont to do, she was a bit clucky, talking to him, you know, as you do with babies, and she called him her ‘little man’. I apparently turned around and said “he’s not your little man, he’s mummy’s.” Of course, I do not remember this, and so cannot vouch for the authenticity of this anecdote, but both my mother and my grandmother swear that it is true.

True or imagined, this moment, I think, set up the kind of relationship Zaan and I would have in the years to come. It was an incredibly strong relationship, we were both fiercely protective of each other, not in a jealous way, we simply cared so much for each other that we wanted to protect the other from suffering. As it were to turn out, that was something neither of us could do.

When he was eighteen months old my brother was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour. It all happened so fast, and I was so young, that the memories seem to me now to be a blur, but I remember the basic sequence of events. We were travelling north to my grandparents’ when Zaan was sick all over himself then suddenly went very stiff. We were on the motorway and Dad immediately pulled over to the side of the road. Of course you’re not supposed to stop on the motorway, so it took all of two seconds before a policeman pulled up behind us. He took one look at Zaan and gave my parents directions to the closest hospital. Unfortunately that hospital turned out to one that couldn’t deal with children, but eventually we found ourselves at the Starship Children’s Hospital.

My mind seems to go blank here and the next thing I remember is Mum coming out with Zaan in her arms. He had a drip in his foot and in an effort to make a joke, Mum lifted up his foot and said “Look Tesni. Look at my sock.” My mind goes blank again here, but I have since been told that the doctors thought he was dehydrated and decided to keep him in overnight for observation. This was Friday night. Sometime very early Saturday morning Zaan started to seize violently. I only heard about this much later as a teenager. I can’t imagine how terrified Mum and Dad must have been; it breaks my heart to imagine how they were feeling at this moment. I suppose it was sometime on Saturday that he was sent off to have an MRI scan, not only was he sent to have the scan, he had a full resuscitation kit go with him, the doctors didn’t know whether his tiny body would survive another seizure.

I didn’t know the half of this at the time, which was just as well since I was only 5. I have found most of it out from my mother in recent years. It stills scares me beyond belief to write these words, but that only makes more determined to write this down, I need to tell it, for me and for Zaan.

I don’t remember much of what happened on Saturday but that evening he was rushed to have emergency brain surgery. He was eighteen months old, and my tiny perfect baby brother had a brain tumour. I vaguely remember seeing him before he went to surgery, I don’t think I had any idea that I might never see him alive again, but that was probably for the best. He was in surgery for something like eight hours and I have no idea how my parents survived those hours.

The next thing I remember was very early in the morning, or maybe it was late at night, going to seem in him in Paediatric Intensive Care. He looked so tiny and small lying there with so many tubes in him. He was in a drug induced coma then and on life support so that he wouldn’t move, to give his brain a chance to heal. I don’t think the doctors or my parents knew whether there would be any damage, or even whether they had removed all of the tumour.

I don’t really remember what I felt, seeing him there. I think of all the vague recollections I have, the thing that stands out most is love. My baby brother was lying there and right from the start I had wanted to protect him, to love him, to save him from pain, though it is only now, that am able to look back and even recognise that those feelings were there.

This moment and the days that followed are, I think, some of the most defining days in my life. Since I was only five when he was diagnosed I have nothing to compare myself to. I do not know how much this changed me, whether I would have been so very different had this not happened. But one thing is certain, to whatever degree it did change me.

At five I learnt that life was fragile and delicate. A gift, and a treasure, something to be held sacred and valued above all else. Although it is a belief I value very highly, and am glad to have learnt, it was a weighty thing for a five year old to deal with, and perhaps, it was at that moment that I was set apart from other children my age. It seems that all my life people have told me I have a maturity, and that there is something which sets me slightly apart from my peers. I know that it was this, this moment of learning the value of life that set me apart.

Zaan did recover and much faster than anyone expected. It seemed that while everyone was surprised at this, I was not. Perhaps it was a child’s naive way of thinking, or perhaps it was that I knew something of my brother. Though I never could have articulated it at the time, somehow I think I saw this inner strength in him. As I watched him fight to become whole and well I learnt about strength and resilience. I saw that though he was small and young he could conquer, and though at times it may drive me too hard, I learnt to do this too. I learnt to believe that even the smallest people have fight and drive.

In my family we have a saying “you’ve just got to have faith”. We don’t mean faith of a religious kind, for we are not a religious family. We mean faith in yourself, faith that if you do all that you can, do the best that you can and put yourself out there things will work out. It is this belief that has kept us strong all these long years, and it was this belief that Zaan embodied.

Although he recovered from this operation and childhood went on as it does, we, as a family, were forever altered by this. But you take what you can from these experiences and try to move on, and we did, for a while. Brain tumours, though, especially the type that Zaan had, have a nasty habit of returning. I don’t think the doctors told my parents this at the time, and though this always angered them, I am grateful the doctors spared them this piece of news. I am not sure they could have coped had they known that the tumour almost always returned and that almost everyone who had had this type of tumour had died before their fifth birthday. Most died in infancy.

Zaan, however, was a fighter.

Almost two years to the day after he had first been diagnosed Zaan was back in surgery once more.

I do not remember how many surgeries Zaan had in his lifetime. Mum tells me it was four. I do not remember, I was young and the memories are blurred. One surgery blends into another and I confuse dates and ages. I do not know when Mum and Dad were told he was dying. I think he was about 7 at the time, which would have made me 11. I do not remember being told he was dying either. I think I kind of knew.

In April of 2000 we went on our first overseas trip, to the Gold Coast in Australia. We were so excited about the trip. I remember getting up early to catch the plane, it was cold in Hamilton when we left, and I had put lots of layers on. It was still early when we touched down in Australia, but already the day was hot and I was sweltering under my layers.

We rented a car and drove up the coast to Noosa. The first morning after we arrived, still on New Zealand time which was several hours ahead, we woke up ridiculously early. So we decided to watch the sun rise from the top of some cliff overlooking a beach. It was the first sunrise I can actually recall, and the first one I ever took a photo of. It was amazing, I remember feeling so alive and anything seemed possible. I know that sounds slightly silly, but there is something somewhat magical about sunrises that just speak to me.

I don’t remember anything else about Noosa, but I do remember the place we stayed at. Right outside our rooms was a pool with two spa pools next door. I think Zaan and I spent almost all our waking hours in those pools. Dad finally had to drag us out of the pool at about 9 o’clock at night.

After Noosa we headed down to Brisbane to do the theme parks. Zaan had his wheelchair with him, and that combined with the fact that he could charm anyone made him the centre of attention. Not that I minded I’ve never been much of an attention seeker. Although I’m not sure that he was really either, he loved it to be sure, but he was always very gracious about it and was always careful not to exclude me. I think it was one of the things I loved so much about him; he had this amazing kindness and compassion. He could be loud and outgoing but there was a gentleness behind it, and a quiet acceptance and understanding of people. It wasn’t so much that the needed to be the centre of attention, it was just that he loved people, he really did. It’s not something I really understood, I could understand loving people but unlike him I didn’t love being around them. I have always found that people drain my energy. I think this was the fundamental difference between the two of us.

We saw most of the theme parks, but then Zaan started to get sick, and a couple of days later he was in hospital in Brisbane. Of course my parents had already known that he was dying, that was they had gone to such efforts to arrange this trip for us. I think it was at this moment that I truly realised he was dying. I remember sitting crying in the car in the hospital car park with Dad. That was the moment; when I look back, I can pinpoint it to that moment. That was when I knew with absolute certainty that he was dying.

The last few days in Brisbane are a blur, but I remember flying home. It was very late at night and the plane was almost empty. We touched down in Hamilton and were rushed through customs; Mum and Dad got straight in the car and drove to Starship Hospital in Auckland. And for the first time in my life, I chose not to go with them. I stayed in Hamilton with my best friend’s family. Two days later we went to visit him. He had had surgery again, this time at the front of his brain, they had put a shunt in, which is a kind of drain to relieve the pressure and fluid that built up as a result of the tumours. By this stage the cancer was all through his brain and there was no chance that they could remove it.

He looked so weak laying there, just a shadow of his former self; of the self he had been little over a week earlier. He never walked again after that surgery; the doctors must have damaged part of his brain in putting the shunt in. I know my mother regrets consenting to that surgery. I can’t imagine how that must feel, to regret something so big. But it wouldn’t have made a difference, he still would have died.

He came home a week or so later and went on to palliative care. That was April, and he’d just spent his eighth birthday in hospital.

The next six months were some of the hardest of my life, I remember very little of them really. I watched for six months as my brother got weaker and weaker, to the point where he couldn’t sit up, and eventually couldn’t even talk. Everyone around us was amazing at that time and I really don’t know how we coped, even with their love and support.

I think I experienced the full range and breadth of emotion during those final months. There are three emotions though that stand out to me. The first is fear. One night Zaan started coughing blood and struggling to breathe. It was the middle of the night and my parents had called an ambulance. I have never been more frightened than that night, seeing the ambulance pull up in our driveway. My brother paler than anyone should ever be. I was a bewildered and frightened twelve year-old thinking I might never see him alive again. I didn’t know what was happening or what to think or do. It has taken me many years to be able to look at an ambulance without that night automatically replaying in my head. Even now I can see the doors and hear the sirens reverberating in my head. It scares me beyond belief.

The second emotion I remember is anger. I remember being furious with my parents one night when they were too busy looking after Zaan to take me to my gymnastics class. Although my parents say I was generally very well behaved and understanding I remember some moments of such violent being, when I wished he would just hurry up and die. It’s hard to write that, to admit it, but I did think it. I know that no one would blame a twelve year-old child for feeling that way at times, and I like to think that it wasn’t just me being selfish, that I wanted Zaan released from his pain. But in all honesty I don’t know what the intent behind it was. I only remember one or two such moments, and do remember feeling immediately guilty afterwards for even thinking it. I hated the guilt it was the kind that lasted for days.

The final emotion I remember is the prevalent one, and it is love. I recall spending hours next to Zaan, playing games with him, talking with him, imagining and dreaming with him. I’m not sure I did much homework that year, because all I seem to remember is coming home and spending my evenings with him.

It’s funny. Even though love is such a prevalent emotion I remember from childhood, it is so hard to write down and record. So hard describe. Maybe it is so very difficult to explain because it was always there. It was overt and ever present but subtle and understated too. It was said and explained but it didn’t have to be, because it was implied and known too.

Zaan died on Monday night. Monday October 16th 2000. He died knowing his family loved him, and we were all there. I remember saying goodbye to him that night, telling him it was okay, that he could die and we would be alright, we would find a way to survive. Telling him that we loved him, and even though it hurt so much, we could let him go, because it hurt more to see him lying there like that, unable to move, unable to speak.

I wasn’t in the room when he died. Dad and Grandad came and woke me. I remember going into the room, seeing his lifeless body and hugging him, hugging Mum. There is a photo of Mum, Dad and I sitting on the bed next to him just after he died, I don’t remember who took it, but that image will stay with me forever. The look of such grief and pain on my face is unbearable. I look as though my heart is breaking, my darling little brother gone, released and set free, but gone from my life forever.

It hurt so much to know that I would never be able to see him again, or play with him again, but what hurt most was the fact that I would never be able to hug him again. For months afterwards I used to lie in bed, my arms forming a circle in front of me, hands linked, creating a big empty space, wishing with all my heart that Zaan could between my arms hugging me back.

Life without him did get easier, and we did survive and get on with life, you have to, there isn’t any other choice. You get on with things because you have to. Much as you might want it to, life doesn’t stand still and the world doesn’t stop spinning, although sometimes it sure felt as if it had.

I missed him terribly in the first days, months and years. I still miss, him but it is a different sort of feeling now. It is no longer that awful grief that just makes you shake and sob until there isn’t anything left to cry. It is a bittersweet sort of grief now, a sadness mixed with the memories, diluted after so many years of life without him.

I still think of him, imagining what might have been, who he might have become. I do wish that it had never happened, that he hadn’t had to live through cancer and die, but I would rather the reality than never having had the chance to know Zaan at all. I am so grateful and so thankful that I had the chance to know Zaan and to love him.

It's all a matter of timing

2009-05-04T19:18:00.004+12:00

All week I have been wondering how on earth I am supposed to follow on from that last post. But finally tonight a new topic popped into my head.

It's all a matter of timing. No, really, it actually is. You know when you have those moments when the universe reaches out, and you can feel it's touch on your life? I've been having lots of those this week. I have one close friend in particular, Nia, who is very good at knowing just when to call or email or text. Actually, we've been doing it to each other all week. Well, this got me thinking about timing, and how the simplest gesture, perfectly timed can be the most profound. Whether it is a phone call from a friend, a letter in the mail, or just a smile from a stranger on the street. I love that sudden surge of warmth, that feeling that breaks through whatever else you are thinking or feeling and makes you feel alive and connected, when the world reaches out and reminds you it's still here, and so are you. I love that feeling of pure joy when an unexpected email from a friend pops up in my inbox, especially at the end of a tough day.

Dreaming of a Life

2009-04-25T10:29:00.005+12:00

There are plenty of things I dream about and aspire too. I look forward to the day when I'll finish my thesis, to the day when I will actually get up and do yoga every single morning without complaining that it hurts. I can't wait for the day when I actually have a real job that gives me enough money so that I can save for something useful (like a house or travel).

And yes, I definitely want a partner and children (although maybe not just yet). But you know what I like to daydream about most? A house, and the wonderful life I'll have when I'm 50 or 60. I dream of living in an old white wooden house with a gorgeous big farm-style kitchen, plenty of light and lots of wood. I want a wonderfully sunny conservatory with shelving and space for all my herbs to grow. I want to have white cane chairs with green cushions and a small white wrought iron table sitting peacefully under a purple magnolia tree. I want a massive vegetable garden with neat little stepping stones set through it, and a low wooden fence around it. I want to plant rosemary at my front gate and lavender. I want to eat breakfast outside at the little table every morning until it's too cold to do so. I want to cook delicious soup in winter, and eat it snuggled up in a comfy chair in front of a cosy fire, watching as my two cats snuggle up together on the rug, enjoying the warmth of the blazing fire. I want to grow pumpkins and make pumpkin pie in Autumn and every spring I want to watch the leaves return to the trees and hear the birds sing in the morning. I want to watch the sun rise and set everyday for a year. I want to do yoga under the magnolia tree in summer and walk barefoot across the earth in spring. I want to measure my life with the passing of the seasons. I want to go for long walks early in the morning, or late in the evening. I want to wear a big floppy hat, and long flowing skirts, and warm cosy cardigans in earthy colours. I want to spend my days writing novels, and poetry. I want to tell my grandchildren the most wonderful stories, and I want adults to be enthralled by my stories too. I want to describe with eloquent words every sound I hear and everything I see, I want to capture the world as I know it in ink. I want to understand life in all its forms and see beauty in every little thing. I want to be eccentric, a little crunchy and not quite normal. I want to be that person, who does her own thing, and doesn't let anyone tell her who to be or how to be. I want to be me.

Is this really such a crazy dream? I like to think it's not.

Ethically Approved

2009-04-24T10:15:00.001+12:00

I'm now officially ethically approved. Well, my research is at least. So now I have no excuse for not getting on with data collection and field work. But not today... Today is the last day of mid semester break, and although I technically do not get mid semester break as postgrad, I'm choosing to ignore that and have a day off doing work (or doing very little work at least). Surely that's only a guideline anyway...

I am feeling decidedly disinclined to do work. I had a student to work with at 9am this morning and I have one at 3pm, so I am stuck here all day, in my office. But I don't really feel like being useful. So instead I'm blogging and reading other people's blogs. Hmmm...I must find a way to link this to my research, then it's justified blog reading (the BEST kind).

Well, I seem to be rambling now. Best I stop before I lose myself completely. Maybe I'll wander into town for a while and go shopping for pumpkins. Yes, that's right pumpkins. My friend Nia is having an autumn potluck dinner on Saturday and because it's pumpkin season we decided to carve pumpkins. Did you know that if we translated Halloween to the right season in the southern hemisphere it would be next Friday? Anyway, since it is Anzac day tomorrow, I need to get pumpkins today. Preferably little ones because my attention span is usually quite short and I'd probably get bored before I finished carving a huge one.

Anyway, I'm off. I will be back in all my glory later to write something infinitely more coherent, witty and charming and altogether more deep and meaningful later. Maybe. I may just be back with more of my mind's incessant wanderings, but I shall leave you in suspense.

2009-04-22T17:24:00.004+12:00

I'm back. Briefly, becuase I have a friend coming around in about six minutes(ish). I finished my ethics application, so hopefully since it was only a few small amendments it should be back tomorrow, and then I can get on with fieldwork. Yay! (she says in a slightly aprehensive voice). I have had such a productive day. It didn't get off to the fastest of starts and it was cold so I decided to work from home. I got all my thesis stuff out of the way then spent the afternoon catching up on laundry (I know, this is just what you want to hear about right? My dirty laundry...), and sorting out my books, and airing out winter clothes because the other thing that cold mornings make you do is run to the wardrobe looking for thick woolen turtle necks and cosy pajamas.

And now on a completely different note, I have made a cartoon Tesni. Do you want to see? I made her at Desgin Her Girls . To be perfectly honest, I think she's pretty awesome.

See isn't she great? Yes, I am tragic. But in my defense so is the friend I was talking to last night, who insisted I make one for her. I'm not sure how the helps my defense...

Cold Mornings

2009-04-22T09:07:00.003+12:00

I love the cold, really I do. Except in the mornings. I do not want to get out of bed when it is so cold, my bed is warm and cozy, and to be perfectly honest I'd much rather stay there for a while. Or all day. This morning the clock beside my bed informed me that it was 13 degrees (celsius) in my room. 13 degrees! That is insane! And it's only April. I guess this is what happens when you live in a 100 year old house! They just don't retain the warmth, even after they've been renovated! On the upside though, it did make my hot shower this morning seem extra wonderful after crawling out of bed and braving the cold air.

Okay, brief rant over. I shall write more later, but right now I need to get to finish off my ethics application for my research. It's kinda urgent really.

Yoga and the gift of conversation

2009-04-19T21:41:00.003+12:00

You know I really think that sometimes there is nothing better for the soul than good conversation with wonderful friends, especially spiritual conversation, and arty creative kind of conversation. I just had a wonderful day today. I caught the train to a friend's house, she hosts most of the spiritual get togethers that we have and often on Sundays she runs informal yoga sessions. So I decided that today, in the spirit of doing something for myself (I'm working on this - it's my project for the next few weeks), I would make the effort to go. And it was fantastic, we did an hour and a half of yoga (yes I'm feeling very virtuous!), which is more yoga than I have done for quite some time. It was great to get back into it. I still have that nice slightly strechy, slightly floaty, very contented and relaxed feeling that yoga always gives me.

I wasn't planning on staying that long as Brigit had other things to do, however her other things got postponed, and some unexpected guests turned up. And I happily whiled away three hours in delightfully easy conversation. We talked about all sorts of things, art, spirituality, my research, feminism (an all time favourite topic of all three women present - myself included!). It was so wonderful to sit in the sun and just enjoy each others company and thoughts. I left feeling very wonderfully fulfilled. I felt that I had been given a sacred gift.

About me

2009-04-18T15:18:00.002+12:00

Now that you know my name, maybe you'd like to know something more about me...

Well, I'm a postgraduate student working on my Masters thesis in the social sciences. I also tutor undergraduate academic writing too. That keeps me pretty busy most of the time and I'm usually found hiding out in my office during the week. In my spare time I'm (very!) involved with governance in a not-for-profit organisation, and I also spend a lot of time with my spiritual group just enjoying their company and helping out when and where I can. When I'm not doing any of those things, I try and fill my time writing (blogs, poetry, short stories, articles - anything!), reading books, practising bodhran (Irish drum), taking photos, walking and doing yoga... of course sometimes I just end up watching movies instead!

My life is pretty much dominated by my thesis at the moment, which makes having a social life a challenge. Fortunately my closest friends are also thesis students or first year teachers, so they have no lives either and are very forgiving if I don't see them for a few weeks at a time. As for my post-thesis plans (wow post-thesis...that's hard to imagine...), they're a bit up in the air at the moment. My first love is creative writing, and one day I'd love to teach that, but it's not exactly a surefire way to make money, and I'd like to actually be able to earn enough money to live. So that leaves me with my other loves, researching and teaching. Translated to the job market in the city I live in, that means a government job as a researcher, or training as a school teacher. But we'll see what happens, it's nice to have options though.

The Art of Naming

2009-04-18T15:00:00.004+12:00

Welcome to my blog. I'm Tesni. You may be wondering about my name. First let me start by saying this isn't my real name, it's a pen name, but it fits me quite well all the same. The name is Welsh and means 'warmth from the sun'. I think it's a really beautiful name, and appropriate in many ways.

As to the name of my blog, well, I really love Magnolia trees. It's very symbolic, I think, the way the flowers bloom before the leaves, giving the flowering tree a very distinct look. This name "Under the Purple Magnolia Tree" was the name I was going to give to a book I was writing, maybe one day I will call a book that, but for now my blog has taken the name.