Venting my spleen

Aloha!


A unanimous decision was made tonight. My friends told me I need to vent a bit of frustration that I have been keeping bottled up inside. And what a terribly effervescent piece of frustration to keep in such a loosely-lidded bottle - ask any of the aforementioned friends, I have been going on and on about this for days.

--Flashback--
I am at the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet with Yurika, one of my friends in the MIX. We are browsing through some t-shirts and I come across one that I really, really like. Faded grey camo. Perfect fit. And across the front of it is Hawai`i's state fish, the humuhumunukunukuapua'a.

--Flashback within a flashback--
It is the first class in Geology of the Hawaiian Islands. We receive handouts including the class syllabus, a diagram of the earth's layers, and an unofficial guide to pronunciation of Hawaiian words. The author of the guide promises, in the last few sentences of the paper, that even such a long word as "humuhumunukunukuapua'a" could simply roll off the tongue with practice. I commit this particular word to memory.
--End flashback within a flashback--

I stare at the shirt in awe. Here in front of me is a t-shirt that is perfect in so many ways. There is nothing cooler in the world, right now, than this fine piece of apparel. And at $3 per shirt (4 for $11 or 8 for $20), how could I resist? I'll tell you how - somewhere out here, in this seemingly endless chain of market stalls encircling the gigantic Aloha Stadium, I know for sure that I get a better deal. I decide to hide it underneath a stack of similar (but much less perfect) shirts just in case I need to come back for it. Yurika and I continue along from stall to stall and eventually share a huge and delicious lunch between us. We learn from the lunch lady that the stalls are pretty repetitive so there really isn't any point in going all the way around. As we make our way back to the same t-shirt stall I think to myself: "What other three shirts would I like to get for $11?" "Or eight shirts for $20?" However I return to the same spot to find that the one shirt I had fallen completely in love with had just disappeared. Frantically, I search the entire section for it, but without luck. Epic fail. I could try to find whoever now owned the shirt and then buy it from them. Or I could hunt them down and try to win it off them in a fight to the death. That shirt is mine - if I can't wear it, no one can.
--End flashback--

Yeah, so for the past few days I've been a bit bummed INSANELY TICKED OFF about this seemingly one-of-a-kind shirt. I can't find it anywhere else, and every time I do find something really similar it just isn't the same. What do I have to do to get my hands on it again? I have on at least two occasions walked into a store and asked, outright, "Do you have the humuhumunukunukuapua'a shirt in grey?" And I got really excited when I saw the last few syllables of the word on a kids' shirt, only to be let down by the drawing of a pig (pua'a) on it instead.

Seriously, I won't rest until I find this shirt again. I won't leave this island without it. And once I do get it, I won't even wear it. It's too perfect. I'll have it framed. And kept in a safe.

That's about it for today, I think I've gone on long enough. I had a great Labor Day weekend with friends but have reverted back to holiday mode. It is getting harder and harder to study as I make more friends and visit more places. There's one friend I'm about to visit right now:

Sleep.

Mahalo!

Success at last!

I have a place to stay when I arrive on the island!

It's a hostel that is, quite literally, a walk across the road from my uni. Which is great because I'll have so many things to do at uni during that week - attend orientation, get my student card, register for classes, have a tuberculosis skin test, etc. Plus, in my spare time, I can trek the Manoa Falls trail where Charlie was left hanging in a banyan tree by Ethan. And possibly have a photo taken by that same tree.

Maybe even in the same pose.

In other news, I'm going out tonight!

Mahalo!

You only need seven shirts. Max 10...

...said the lady who packed twenty pairs of socks into a Space Bag for me, knowing full well that I'm travelling to a place where 90% of the time I'll be wearing my Havaianas. As my suitcase slowly fills up with clothes, my wardrobe gradually empties. It has come to my attention that I don't wear a lot of the clothes that I own, which isn't many to begin with. Most of them are, as mother would kindly say, "from when I was bigger". But over the past few years - and especially after my trip to the Philippines last year - the number of shirts in my closet has increased significantly, and I can't decide which 7-10 to bring with me to Hawai'i.

Perhaps one for every colour of the rainbow?

In other news, TWO DAYS... (and 20 hours, but still!) I'm a bit worried because I don't yet have a place to stay when I arrive in Honolulu. If it comes down to it, I may just have to camp on the beach for a bit. The thing that worries me about that is the number of, you know, b-o-d-y-s buried in the sand. Most horrifying is the idea of Nikki and Paulo emerging from out of nowhere as if they've been there all along, begging me for diamonds, acting terribly... If there's anything I've learned from Lost, it's that a gun can sometimes be your best friend.

*shoots Nikki and Paulo dead*

Mahalo!

NEW VIDEO

How many Lost references can you spot? I know there are at least two (aside from the music, obviously).

Mahalo!

Twelve things I won't miss about home...

I was talking to my friend yesterday about how some Australian TV commercials really piss me off. In fact I can hear an ad for Colgate in the living room right as I type this, and I seriously want to bitch slap each testimonial-giver in the face. Anyway, I began thinking of other things that I most definitely will not miss when I go abroad, including:

• Sydney’s public transport system: for the past few months I’ve had to pay up to $57 per week for transport, which sucks. Balls.
• Construction work at my uni: they inconveniently blocked off the shortcuts going from building to building, which also sucks balls.
• Idiotic parents of feral rat-children: they disturb the peace at my place of work.
• Bogans: need I say more?
• WESTERN SYDNEY in general: to say “shit happens” here is a vast understatement.
• The federal election: I know I should care about this, but to be honest I really don’t...
• Tony Abbott’s face
• Julia Gillard’s voice
• David Koch: his face AND voice.
• Any Channel 7 personality, for that matter.
• Springtime hay fever: [dust × pollen] ^ itchy, watery eyes = ANGRY JELLY.

I could write an extensive report on the many things I will sorely miss – especially my friends. Whether we’re travelling hours away from the city to unknown locations simply to purchase a pack of Snickers-flavoured cookies, or having dinner at a local café while discussing whom we would have to kill for a good job, as long as I’m with my friends, I’m bound to have a blast. The whole point, however, of me going on exchange is to step out of my comfort zone, away from what is familiar, etc... and, um, yeah!

So hopefully there aren’t any bogans in Hawai’i. Fingers crossed tightly that I don’t suffer from the pains of hay fever while I’m there. And thank goodness for the $20 semester-long bus pass that I'll get as a student at the University of Hawai’i!

Mahalo!