Sunni Dawson

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How do I make decisions? It starts with this…

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A question I was introduced to in my 20s was: what is the worst case scenario? 

 
In any given situation, I would ask, what is the worst outcome that could happen? Now this may seem a little morbid, but I found this incredibly helpful in understanding my own or other people’s fears. Once understood, better decisions could be made. If I could imagine myself being able to live with the worst outcome imaginable, then making a decision that may seem risky, possible.
 
As a lawyer I would advise clients of the range of potential outcomes that could be possible in any given legal scenario. This would include the best possible outcome, compromised outcomes (based on changes in stories, independent reports, the negotiation abilities of either party), what the judge ate for breakfast and the worst possible outcome.
 
The worst case scenario is an imperative consideration. Particularly when it comes to legal matters. More often than not, the worst case scenario, more often than not, happens. Especially when it comes to family law. People are emotionally volatile, the courts are under-resourced to deal with the cases and the judges are tired (understandably listening to allegation after allegation of all manner of things, I imagine it gets weary on the soul of a judge), and stories change. A lot.
 
‘So what do you think I should do?’ Would be a common client question.
 
‘Well, I think you need to consider all the options and potential outcomes I’ve outlined, there could be more that I haven’t envisaged, then come back and we can discuss it further.’
 
‘But what do you think I should do?’
 
‘Well, I think its important for you to consider the emotional and time impacts of taking this matter to court. Can you survive the stress? Can you get the time off work? What will be the impacts of this on other people/children in your family?

 

You need to consider the worst case scenario here. If the worst happened, you lost the case and your children were to live with your ex-partner, how would you deal with that? What would you do? What resources and support would you or your children need? What would your children need from you?’
 
I would ask them to consider all the possibilities, so that they would have some sort of preparation for any outcome. 
 
I found that people always wanted to rush to the quickest answer. The short and easy conclusion.  
 
They wanted a result. Now. They didn’t want to sift through the various possibilities and potential solutions. They just wanted an immediate answer to their heart wrenching situation.
 
 
But human relationships rarely offer quick fixes. Especially when lives become so entangled. Untangling them is a very difficult task, particularly when there are other humans to consider.
 
And after a while patterns would emerge: the people that would get so entrenched with their legal case that they stopped living their real lives; those that would make up lies and untruths, which often ended with dramatic disclosures; and those that eventually emotionally gave up, succumbing to the stress and heartache. 
 
I encouraged them to get emotional support and assistance. I got them to think about and sift through the options, considering each potential worst case scenario, whether they could live with that and whether their fears were real, perceived or imaginary. 

 

 
I started to apply this technique into my own life.
 
I did this before I went travelling for the first time. I never thought I needed to travel. I always thought that people who travelled were ‘running away’ from something in their lives. I never felt the need to run away or to find myself. I could do that from wherever I was :). And I always made the excuse of finances, partners and work. They were good excuses. I believed them!
 
When I first thought about the worst case scenarios for travelling by myself this is what I came up with:
 
  1. I will die.
  2. I will be raped.
  3. I will be robbed.
  4. A person will plant drugs in my bag and I will die by firing squad.
  5. A combination of the above.
 
It is true that the above happens. And that this is a possibility. Should this stop me? What is this fear about and where does it come from?
 
Well I saw the movies about people living out their lives out in squalor in a Thai prison, for drug charges that they would serve at most a few years in Australia. I am being honest here, I really thought that a dodgy customs officer would plant drugs in my backpack. 
 
And then I went through the list again. Number 1: I could die. True. I could die with or without travelling. I could get hit by a bus outside my home. Numbers 2 and 3: that happens everywhere. Yes, Australia is fairly safe compared to some other countries, but it happens everywhere. I should know, I am a lawyer!
 
Number 4: well it is possible, but not probable. What could I do to mitigate the possibility? I could buy locks for my bag. Wrap my bag in plastic. Not accept love bowls of cocaine from men I just met.
 
 
Then I asked myself what some of my other fears / worst case scenarios were. I came up with the following:
 
6. It’s costly. I won’t be able to save for some stuff I want. Fear: I’ll never get what I want!
7. My partner doesn’t want to go. Fear: My partner will leave me!
8. I don’t trust anyone to look after my cases at work whilst I’m away. Fear: My clients won’t be looked after properly and their cases will fail because I’m not there.
 
 
Number 6: I can save a little bit for travel and a little bit for the other things I want simultaneously. Number 7: It is unlikely we will break up. A few weeks of travel and separation does not mean the end. Other couples do it all the time. 
Number 8: I know I care more than most, but there are other competent lawyers out there, it is not the end of the world.
 
Then I went even deeper.

 
What if I used up all my savings, lost my partner and all my clients cases failed? What would be the worst thing about that for me?
 
Answer: I would not be a success. I would die alone, penniless and miserable.
 
This sounded familiar to me. I realised these fears were similar to the fears of my family. I asked myself whether these fears were useful to me now. How are they helping me?
 
Answer: They are helping me by keeping me in my perceived ‘safe zone’. I could stay in this ‘safe zone’ forever, or I could step out and see what else is outside of this ‘zone’. Maybe ugly monsters? Maybe some amazing and beautiful things? Only one way to find out!
 
I also realised that I had a lot of ideas about myself invested in my work, partner and making a living.
 
Knowing what these fears were, made me realise how much I held onto ‘old’ stuff and stuff that was not perhaps so helpful for me in living a life that I truly want to live. Looking back at me now from my current perspective, I would be jumping up and down at me, saying ‘Step outside this zone! Now!! More wonderful things than you could have EVER have imagined are out there. Do it!’

Of course, that would be hard for my late 20s self to see. It’s clear now, not so clear then. But it was the beginning. The beginning of spending time to question me, why I did what I did and find out what was truly behind my fears and decide whether it was useful for me to continue on the same path or choose a different one.





It all started with questioning the worst case scenario. The worst case scenario questioning helps you get to your core fears. When you understand these fears, you can choose whether they are helpful for your life now and into the future.
 

 

Good luck with it. Let me know how you go!

What do you mean you have no plans?

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I was recently interviewed for an article by a very talented writer, Ruby Hamad, on my current life journey and the choices I’ve made in my 30s that are very different from most of my friends, well actually, all of them.

 
I am in my mid-ish 30s (which I’ve had trouble announcing that to the world for some reason since I turned 35). I can get away with telling people I’m younger. With my exuberant spirit people easily accept me to be 6 or 7 years younger than my real age (and depending on where I am I can get up to 10 years younger – gotta love that!). I’ve also dappled in refusing to tell people my age. Not because I’m afraid of my age, but because much of society expects that you should be doing certain things by certain times. I have watched people in conversations change towards me depending on the age I determine to tell them. I’ve noticed a strong desire in others to compare. Match up.

 



In your early 20s you explore the world. Travel. Make bad decisions. Do crazy things. Study. Work. Get crazy drunk. Fall in love. Fall out of love. Be invincible. 


By your late 20s you really should be progressing in your career. Thinking about promotions, working you way up that invisible and ever changing ladder of success. You may travel to some exotic locations for that all elusive 2 week vacation. Take selfies of sipping Mai Tai’s on an over tanned beach.

 
By your 30s you should be settling down. Breeding. Its time. Before its too late. Get a house. Create something you can pass on. Your travels become smaller, limited to local beach locations or group family holidays where discussions revolve around current childhood allergies, swimming pools and Miss 6 year old’s sporting prowess.
 
By your 40s you should be establishing and bedding down everything you’ve worked towards since your 20s, I think, (caveat here: I haven’t really thought about this decade much since I haven’t reached it). I presume a pressure to ‘get it all settled’, make massive advancements in work, home and your life.

Annapurna Ranges, Nepal

I could say I’ve done all this in reverse. But that’s not accurate in a few ways. Firstly, I don’t have children. I have never had a great desire to have children. I like children, I could even say I love them. They are fun, open, curious little creatures, but they are also exhausting! I’ve always known that if I did decide to have children I would not be able to do all the other things I want to achieve in my life. I give 110% to everything I do and if I was rearing children I know that would be my entire focus. 

 
Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal


Secondly, I don’t do crazy things, by which I mean get insanely drunk every night, cuddle a bucket as my best friend, and decide to move locations every 2 days because having as many places and countries as you can ticked off the list is what its all about.

 
I did have career plans when I was in my 20s, and I worked some ways to fulfilling that. I achieved success in my working life. And I loved it. I still love working. I love contributing to the world through the work I do.
 
But these days its a bit different. I no longer have a 10 year plan. Or a 5 year plan. The truth be told, I don’t have any plans. And that is for everything. No work goals, life, family or social goals. I don’t have a 7 step plan for success for anything.
 
And I like it. Its different. Previously I was a highly controlled, fanatical planner and lawyer. I had set ideas about what I needed to achieve and by when. Anyone who perused my work files would comment on how ‘neat and organised’ they were, what well structured arguments and approaches I had.
 
Well, not anymore! (insert: delightfully evil laugh here).
 
I don’t even know where I’m going to be living or what I’m going to be doing in a few months time! Oh the liberation! The previous me would be filled with dread, talking about it with everyone she knows, thinking about it endlessly and wondering what might befall her next.
 
The current me is excited about what might happen in a few months, having know idea, I am content with the glorious adventure of it all. When people ask me, ‘So what are you going to do after France?’
 
I smile a big, radiant smile and say ‘I don’t know!’. 
 
There is genuine delight in this. I like the blind folded surprise moment of what’s next?
 
Ancient temple in Bagan, Myanmar


When I left Australia over 12 months ago I had a general intention of living in Thailand for 3 months to write a book. That extended to 6 months and included the luscious explorations of two Malaysian cities for the dreaded Thai ‘visa run’. I always wanted to explore Myanmar and after meeting some wonderful Burmese people in Thailand, I thought I should go. So I travelled there for 2 weeks. 

Dhanyabad Nepal!

 



Then I decided to go to Nepal. Despite the earthquakes and all tourists leaving like fleas in a dog bath, I thought I could volunteer part time and write part time. But volunteering entirely captivated me for many many months. 5 months flew by. I loved contributing and using my vast variety of work and life skills to the organisations and people I assisted.


Me and my little Griffon companion!







But the inner calling to write poked me once again. I realised I could not do this in Nepal. I was offered an amazing 3 month opportunity to pet and house sit in southern France, wine country. And here I am. Looking after a beautiful 250 year stone house, 1 dog, 3 cats and 9 chickens. 



Me with one of my cat companions!

At the start of this year, I was speaking with my friends on my beach, my island, ‘I love it here, but its too hot. And I get into too many great conversations. What I want is a warm cottage in the snow for 3 months with no-one around so I can focus on my writing, with great wifi and a cat.’




Sunset reflections!

 


In less than 9 months, here I am, with a few more creatures and countries in between, in a more beautiful spot than I initially imagined.


So I know in a few months something else will show up, or it won’t. But that is the fun of it. I will continue to follow what interests me, and enjoy whatever comes. It surely will awe and absorb me. It always does.

My beautiful view over vineyard!

I will be writing more in the coming weeks about more of my journeys and share some of the tools that have helped me make bold decisions in my life!

Kathmandu: the first 24 hours

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Exiting the plane my whole body smiled. No humidity. No humidity! NO HUMIDITY! Yes, yes, YES!!!!
Sunshine and rubble
A pleasant 30 degrees Celsius and no humidity. I just came from Myanmar, at 8pm at night it was 31 degrees, dark and I had dribbles of sweat emanating from my brow, knee creases and behind my earlobes. The word ‘unbearable’ does little to describe how overwhelming I found the mixture of sun, dust and lets just say at least 152.59% humidity was. Needless to say I could not be found outside between 10am and 5pm. 
 
But here, it was 31 degrees, in the mid afternoon heat and I could actually breathe! You little ripper!  I looked around the airport runway and noted the many massive plastic wrapped packages, supplies yet to be distributed.
 
I walked amongst the throng of 250 Nepali men swarming around me with an ‘all-in’ survival mode determination to the baggage claim. I was one of three white people in the plane and the only white female in amongst a handful of women. I had gotten used to the gapping mouths by everyone in Myanmar, but this plane ride took it to a whole new level. A captive prey, with every tiny move scrutinised with magnetic gazes and not so subtle filming. These cat eyes found a new fascination: the conveyor belt. 
 
The conveyor belt was packed full of packages of all ranges of sizes: TVs, stitch tied boxes, large cheap suitcases. These men were coming back home from working in Malaysia. The air host explained to me, ‘We have a lot of Nepalese workers in Malaysia, normally this plane is sold out, but there are a few empty seats today’ (note: I didn’t see many spares). 
Support perhaps?

 

My taxi driver was a very affable young Nepalese man. Smiling and friendly without the open mouth thing. I asked him about Kathmandu since the quakes.

 
‘Many people are scared. Very scared. A lot of people are homeless.’ He pointed out the vast numbers of tents in the small spaces of land that were not taken up by buildings or rubble.
 
‘Many people’s homes collapsed, but some people, even if their homes are okay, are too scared to stay inside incase another earthquake comes. Many people have left Kathmandu. They are too scared to stay here.’
 
‘Have they gone back to their villages?’
 
‘Yes, to help their families and work for them. Most people come to Kathmandu for work, but they are too afraid to stay here. For example, it normally takes during the day one hour to get from the airport into Thamel. It now only takes 15 minutes. Everyone is gone.’
Life continuing

I look around to see the swarming motorbikes, cars, trucks, people, dogs and (so much inner excitement here) cows! I haven’t seen roaming cows for a few years since my venture to India. I love cows. And free cows especially. I wondered what this unorganised beehive would be like in its ‘normal’ state.

I ask him how his family is. ‘My family is from a small village an hour or so outside of Kathmandu. They are okay, but their home was destroyed.’

‘I am sorry to hear that.’
 
He smiled. ‘No, don’t be sorry, its okay, they are not the only ones. A 1000 homes were destroyed in my village.’
 
Ummm, wow. My mind wandered back to the responses of people in Queensland’s (Australia) worst natural disaster in recent history in 2011. I was apart of the recovery efforts. I remember hearing many people (not everyone, granted) complaining and blaming the government (for a natural disaster mind you) for their homes being damaged or destroyed. Of course this is horrible and devastating, I too was affected, but I reflected on this very different reaction to a natural disaster that killed over 9000, injured thousands more and rendered over 450 000 homeless (in Queenland’s disaster, 38 people were killed and thousands of homes were destroyed) and people with no insurance.
One of the many nice restaurants here.
A stark contrast.


Most foreigners who are in the Thamel area (the tourist area of Kathmandu filled with beautiful restaurants, mountain gear shops, cashmere and trinkets) are here for recovery assistance. This makes Thamel currently an interesting place to be. Most businesses and almost everyone in Kathmandu are helping the recovery efforts in some way. One restaurant I ate at had installed a sample monsoon shelter for the homeless they are raising money for.

On the outskirts of Thamel
There are a lot of local people and groups that have taken initiative in recovery efforts. These groups are facilitating assistance in ways larger organisations are not (for a variety of reasons). I am going to be documenting some of the fantastic work these groups are doing here.
 
One of the initial inspiring things I’ve heard about within my first 24 hours is two guys who have come from the Philippines to teach locals how to make homes, using local materials of mud, bamboo etc, earthquake proof. They are going out into villages to teach locals adjustments to their current building style or completely new techniques.
 
The Eco Brick!

One of these men is also into building ‘Ecobricks’. Plastic bottles filled with plastic bags. This Ecobrick has about 60 plastic bags in this one bottle. Eco bricks are about turning plastic that is not biodegradable into something that is an incredibly useful solution to a huge environmental problem. PET plastics will last 300-500 years if kept away from direct sunlight. And they make incredibly good bricks / building materials that can be used over and over again!

ecobricks.org website has a free kit that anyone can use (including info for teachers and schools) and they are currently getting it translated into Nepali as you can see, this is the first draft.
The Eco Brick guide in english, its first Nepalese translation and a sample brick!
Many more inspiring stories to come!

One of those days.

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Outside noises woke me at 12.30am and 1.40am. I kept checking my phone, worried I didn’t set my alarm, or that it wouldn’t go off. I went to bed at midnight.
 
Crickets chirped on my iPhone waking me at 4am. I blearily headed to the bathroom, splashing myself in an attempt to make something come alive. Anything.
 
I dressed for a 16 hour day of travel: a roomy comfortable t-shirt and Thai pants (both cool and ever so flexible). 
 
I was downstairs outside my hostel at 4.45am. The colourful 19th century Chinese colonial houses were lit by soft fluro lights, providing me some light between the pillars. I looked to both ends of the street. Not another animal in sight.
A few motorbikes drove past. I stood at the side of the pavement so that the minivan could see me. I made several calls the day before confirming my early pickup. 
 
5.15am. I make a Skype call. ‘Hi, I am waiting for a pick up, it was suppose to be here at 4am. Just making sure the driver knows where to find me?’
 
‘Yes, I have your pick-up. The driver will be there soon.’
 
Another motorcycle went past. It turned around and drove back down to the end of the street. It turned around again and drove back down to the other end of the street. Again the motorcycle passed. It turned around for the fourth time.
 
On the fifth time it slowed down almost pulling to a stop about 2 metres away from me. My stomach started knotting. Feelings of both anger and unease washed over me.
 
‘Fuck off!’
 
The solidly built man stared at me. 
 
‘Just fuck off.’
 
He bike reared into action. He turned around pulling up the bike so that he was just a metre from me.
 
‘What did you say to me? Your stupid mouth. Shut up your stupid mouth.’
 
I stood there looking at him. I involuntarily took a step backwards. I looked around me. There weren’t any escape routes. I couldn’t get back into the hostel, I had locked myself out as requested. I could run either right or left with my heavy backpack.
 
‘Your stupid mouth, you think you’re that beautiful. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Your stupid mouth.’
 
‘Fuck off.’ 
 
‘You wanna fuck? Your stupid mouth needs this cock.’ He grabs himself. ‘You stupid woman. You stupid whore.’
 
He continued to hurl such pleasantries at me for another few minutes. I knew it was pointless to respond. Pointless to run.
 
I stood motionless. Please make him go!
 
In a pause I repeated. ‘Just fuck off.’
 
He stared at me again. I stared back. 
 
He started up his bike. And drove slowly down the street. 
 
I started to become more anxious. He could come back. With friends. Is the minivan ever going to get here?
 
 
I looked at my phone. 5.25pm. 
 
‘Hello, I am still waiting for my pick up.’
 
‘What’s the address again?’
 
I sigh and explain the roads the hostel runs off. ‘Ok, ok, driver will be there.’
 
 
Another bike drives past. The driver looks at me and slows down pulling to a stop on the other side of the narrow road. 
 
He waves with a big smile, ‘Hello baby!’
 
‘Go away.’
 
‘Ok, ok.’ He drives off.
 
I breathe out. His energy was different than the first. Friendlier, but my emotions were marching up and down my blood stream on high alert. I hope the first doesn’t come back. Or bring his friends. Shit, I hope the minivan comes soon.
 
I begin to move back behind a pillar, trying to make myself less obvious to the random bike driving past.
 
5.40am. 
 
‘Hello. I am still waiting for the driver.’
 
‘Can you get a taxi?’
 
‘There are no taxis in sight. I would come to you, but the streets are dark and there’s no-one around.’
 
‘He’ll be there. Where is it again?’
 
I patiently explain the address again.
 
‘Will I need to call back? Are you sure he’s coming? I’m getting harassed on the street. I really need to know he’s coming.’
 
‘He’ll be there. No need to call back.’
 
I started to get the overwhelming need to go to the toilet.

Desperately. The kind of desperation a person gets after eating something from a grimy food stall in Asia. I needlessly looked around the street again. I couldn’t miss the minivan. I couldn’t get back into my hostel. 

 
Could I go on the street? What if a motorbike came past and caught me? How much worse would that be? And what about the poor pedestrians later in the morning?
 
I banged on the door of the hostel in the vain hope someone might hear me and get up. Nothing.
 
I tried deep breathing. I tried to focus on something else.
 
 
5.55pm
 
A female voice answers.
 
‘Hi, I had a 4am pick up. I’m at … Is the driver coming?’
 
‘Where are you?’
 
I explain the address again and the streets it borders adding ‘I’m not very far from your office.’
 
‘Ok, I’ll let the driver know.’
 
‘I’ve already called three times this morning and twice yesterday. I need to get this minivan, I have to get to Thailand this morning.’
 
‘Ok, I’ll get the driver to pick you up.’
 
6.13am
 
Same female voice. ‘The driver can’t find you, he’s gone to Thailand. You’ll have to wait for another bus midday today.’
 
‘I can’t wait. I have to get to Thailand this morning, my travel is coordinated so I can get the last ferry.’
 
‘There is nothing I can do.’
 
‘What? This is my fifth call this morning, I called yesterday. I have been harassed my men on the street. I am desperately in need of a toilet, and I can’t get back into my hostel.’
 
Two young loud men walk past me on the street, ‘Hey girl? What do you want to do?’ Waving their arms in an unsavoury manner at me.
 
‘Look, I’m getting harassed again. This is too much. Its unsafe. I need to get to Thailand.’
 
‘The driver can’t find you. He’s Thai, he’s not from here.’
 
‘That’s his job! That’s not good enough. You need to show him. I have been calling all morning. I have been waiting alone in the dark and been harassed on the street. Do you know what that’s like? I have to get the last ferry…’ 
 
Silence.
 
She’s hung up on me!

I bang on the door to the hostel again. I’m beyond emotional. The closest I can get to describing myself at that moment is a fish on dry land trying shit and breathe at the same time. 

 
I start pacing. The dawn was on its way and I saw more movement of cars down one end of the street. 
 
After about 5 minutes, I reluctantly make myself call back.
 
‘Hi, its me.’
 
‘I have asked the driver to turn around. He’s coming back. Where can you go that he find you?’
 
‘Umm I know this hotel a few streets away, do you know..’
 
‘No.’
 
‘Look I can walk into your office in about 15 minutes. Its lighter now and there’s more people, so I think it’ll be ok.’
 
‘Do you know where we are? Maybe you could meet him at a bank.’
 
‘No, I know where you are. I’ve been there before. At least we’ll both know where it is.’ Side note, I had been there once, at 9pm at night, two nights before after a 16 hour travel day, but I was sure I would find it again.
 
‘Have you got a number so I can call you?’
 
‘No, I don’t I’m calling through wifi.’
 
‘Take my number then.’
 
I walk briskly down the end of the street. I notice a restaurant off the main road. I ask the first person I see for a toilet. Relief is the wrong word. More like that fish getting another chance of life-water kinda feeling.
 
I’m almost there. I walk around the huge building trying to recognise all the entrances and exits. Eventually I found the right looking one.
 
I walk up to a woman looking up and down the under-building street.
 
‘Its you? Quickly, quickly.’
Hot, cramped mini van style.

And with that, I’m scramble into the minivan.

 
I wish I could say that was the end of the delirium that continued to unfold throughout the day. I was over and above exhaustion. Missing transport connections and being put on others. I witnessed corruption (many times). I lent a stranger a lot of money, not knowing if I’d see it again. I did. I had to fight again to be fairly treated. I lost.
 
Leaving my island

I made the last ferry by 2 minutes. 

I was crying by the time I made back to my bungalow. I cried myself to sleep. I was safe, but alone and feeble.
 
The only solution the next day was to eat pancakes and chocolate. And organise Skype chats to debrief with friends. It took more than a few days to get back to feeling somewhat normal. I felt numb and overwhelmed. I cried some more. 
 
Making the ferry just in time!

Of course there were a range of factors in this event that played its part. Not the least of which was that I was also menstruating. 

 

This is one of the worst kinds of days you experience as a solo female traveller. No-one to share the burden. No-one to help negotiate. No-one to stick up for you. No shoulder to cry on. No-one to debrief to. No one to be kind to you.
 
Except you. 
 
And I survived. But it took its emotional toll. It ran me dry. More than depleting. So I took care of myself in the following days reading, eating and talking to close friends (thank you!). I am fortunate enough to have been able to do this. Some others aren’t.
 
I wanted to share this day because of the unique experiences of being a woman travelling by herself. I know much of what I experienced as a woman I would not have experienced if I was a man (sexual harassment, being treated differently on pick up, not having to fight to be taken seriously, feeling more personally comfortable to walk in dark streets, and the list goes on. I won’t list all the research on all this, needless to say, its universal).
 
But this day (and those I’ve had before), does not make me want to stop travelling. These days are extreme. And the good days, the magnificent sights, learnings, sharings, wonder and pure joy strongly outweigh these types of days for me. 
 
But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish for a travelling companion. 

The sunset temporarily brightened my mood

The Bum Gun: an update.

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I’ve been requested to do an update on the bathroom situation here in Thailand.
 
Remember this blog post?

 

Yes, that’s me with the dreaded hose. 
 
My new Aussie friends affectionately call it the ‘Bum Gun’. An apt name I think. Squeezing the hose shoots a blast a water making one stand to attention. Great, alert, attention.
 
But, if the truth be known, I’ve grown to like it. A lot.
 
No, not in that way.
 
But in the refreshing, I’m here, I’m alive kinda way!  Not in the use half a toilet roll type way to make sure I’ve dabbed or scraped every last inch of… AND subsequently causing a dry sandpaper against sensitive skin irritation. But in the soft, super clean, invigorating kinda way.
 
Its a breath of fresh air! Or a blast of water. Or both.
 
And I really don’t need toilet paper anymore. Did I just say

that? Yes, I just did. 

 
Me, sans toilet paper??? Oui.
 
It makes sense in tropical climates. I mean the dribbles do dry relatively quickly. Including ones’ pants (that lovingly absorb the drips). And after all, it is only water. Its not stuff that can actually smell after a few hours. 🙂

My aim

And you will be pleased to know, my aim is much much better. Its now only on very rare occasions that I get my neck sprayed with shots of water.



This is a massive improvement. 

However, in saying this, just yesterday, I was squatting over a toilet, grabbed for the hose, stumbling slightly, and aimed in the general direction… Two seconds later the toilet cistern, walls and my back were covered in water. This happened twice yesterday. Two separate toilets. Two different hoses.

I gingerly hung out near a fan to help my clothes dry out. 

The general wetness

And I’ve kinda got used to the general wetness. Those slippery, smudgy floors that continue to grow in stages of wetness, like the ebb and flow of a 2 year old’s bath.
 
And I’m ignoring more and more the general mouldy growth emanating under the basin tap, rearing its green eyes at the base of the toilet bowl and its furry ears in the bottom corners of these wet rooms. We’re slowly becoming friends. Mr Green and I.
 
But still…
 
Although Mr Green and I are somewhat friendly, if the truth really be known, I have other friends that I whip out on occasion: Mr Anti-Wipe and Ms Gel. I love them both. A lot. They help me navigate new terrain, where Mr Green is not so friendly.

 

Hot tips for your own explorations!
 
So I thought it might be useful to give you some handy hints on navigating bathrooms in Asia, if ever you have the good fortune of coming here:
  1. Be prepared for wetness. A lot of it.
  2. Go in naked.
  3. Walk into the rooms very, very slowly. Think steady snail. Steady, slow snail…
  4. Practise shooting the Bum Gun into the toilet before using it on yourself. Test its strength. Its eagerness.
  5. Go in naked. It really helps. It really does.
  6. Definitely leave your bags outside.
  7. Non slippery thongs are very helpful. Or moon suction boots.
  8. Breathe in deeply BEFORE you enter. Then short shallow breaths throughout the process. Breathe out, a lot.
  9. Bring your friends. Mr Anti-Wipe and Ms Gel. And Captain Tissues (for those not yet ready to embrace Bum Gun’s full force).
  10. Go in naked.

Any other words of wisdom or advice gratefully received.

 

The power and danger of a single story

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I recently watched a powerful Tedtalk by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie entitled ‘The danger of a single story‘. Its inspired me to write this post. 

The concept that Adichie so beautifully and eloquently presents is that we as humans like to understand other humans by creating ‘single stories’ about them.

For example, when I was in primary school, my single story about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in Australia was that they were poor, not very smart and needed to be looked after. I had not had any real contact with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, did not learn much about their culture and believed what I was taught, which is that they are one homogeneous group that needs to be looked after.

 
I learnt much later that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are as diverse and multifaceted as white people, that they come from over 250 nations and language groups, that they have as many strengths and weaknesses as everyone else and certainly don’t need the archaic notions of ‘these people need our protection or our laws to survive’. Much more than just a single story I created in my childhood.
 
Recently I discovered I had a single story of Pakistan. I had no idea that there was a substantial christian population of 2.8 million (this only represents 1.6% of the population, but is nevertheless a large number of people). 
 

We create so many single stories about people, places and culture. Sometimes people create these single stories without having direct experience of a place or culture.

 
For example, I knew the Taj Mahal in India was acclaimed to be one of the most beautiful buildings in the world, that everyone should attempt to see at least once. I didn’t know that its not just a stunning building, but its a mausoleum, built out of grief for the Mughal emperor’s wife who died at childbirth. I did not know it was also an exquisite story of love and loss. It was not until I went there that I understood this, and the many other stories of this masterpiece. 
 
I began to wonder how many of these single stories I have created about people, places and culture that I need to reconsider.
 
In one workplace, I developed a single story about a woman I worked with, it was that she was a spoilt princess, brought up in Sydney with a silver spoon in her mouth. I didn’t see her as a young mother struggling to be accepted in a community that she was not from and that did not accept her.
 
We are all guilty of creating single stories about other people or groups. What single stories have we developed in our communities or countries? Have we developed as a nation a single story of foreigners? Of refugees? Of our employers? Of our government? 
 
What single stories do our politicians focus on?
 
What single stories does the media put out?

As a lawyer, I quickly understood that there is never just one story, or two. There are usually 6 different stories to each case. Especially in family law.
 
Yet my clients would focus on single stories. Their single stories of their ex-partner, of their children, of their time together. I used to wonder how these people ever got together or lived together for so long. 
 
But there was always so much more. Of love, and experiences that could never be encapsulated into a two page Affidavit.

Extending the concept further

I think that this concept of creating single stories of people, places, religions and culture can be extended further. To ourselves. What are the single stories I have created about my own life?
 
For example, the single story I developed about myself in my 20s was that I was a lawyer. It was the defining story of my life at the time. It was what I introduce myself as, it would define how I work, how I thought. I would have my lawyer filter goggles on in most interactions I had inside and outside of work. It is also how others viewed me.
 
A regular refrain from my friends at the time, ‘Such lawyer speak!’, and ‘Ok pick the lawyer in the room!’
 
I was a lawyer. Not a passionate cook, hobby photographer, friend, family member, yoga lover. I had so many other stories about me and my life that I pushed aside. 
 
We clutch onto single stories. I listen to people everyday that repeat the same stories about their lives.
 
‘I was never good at school. That’s why I can’t learn go back and study now.’
 
This single story affects many areas of a persons’ life including relationships, financial gain, satisfying work. This story is repeated, continuously. And then often adopted by those closest.
 
Defining oneself by a single story like this prevents other stories that could be more helpful becoming more prominent in a persons’ life. For example, there would have been something that a person ‘never good at school’ enjoyed or subjects that s/he were better at than others.
 
Introducing stories that are more than one dimensional offers a richer tale. It also shows a person that everything does not have to be defined by a single story.
 
For example, the person may have been better at history than maths. If they are better at something, then the story of ‘I was never good at school’ does not need to be the sole defining characteristic of a person, (or that particular story), thereby opening up possibilities for the future.
 
If I continued to solely focus on the story in my 20s that I was a lawyer, I would have prevented myself from having wonderfully diverse work opportunities and growth. I would have also prevented myself from taking life risks that I now feel very comfortable in taking.
 
I would have stayed in my single story. And boy am I happy I didn’t!
 
What are your single stories about you? About your loved ones?
 
Everyone’s lives are made up of so much more than just one story. What new stories would you like to discover or create about you or your loved ones?