From Carnivore to Herbivore

By Morgana Hassan

 

I recently went on a detox that made some profound changes in my eating habits and the way I look at food. I used to LOVE meat however after having to eat like a vegan for 15 days for my detox program, I became much more attuned to eating fruits and vegetables.

At first having to cut meat and all meat products from my diet was very painful and I was having withdrawals, but now I can’t stand meat! I realised this when my partner cooked a steak for me and I couldn’t find the nerve to actually eat it.

What also encouraged my reformed eating habits were paying visits to vegan friendly restaurants throughout the 15 days. This truly opened my eyes to the vegan/vegetarian world. Such places like the Tofu Shop, Chi Kitchen, Krua Thai, Crossroads and the Veggie Bar have inspired me to remain a vegan (or at least a vegetarian) after my detox.

It’s been about month since my detox and apart from a few accidental times I’ve had meat I’ve stayed far from it. In addition, I no longer crave coffee or processed foods and soft drinks. I have much more energy than what I used to and now I can think with clarity without being interrupted with any daydreaming of junk food.

I feel much more healthier with the way I am now and I know my body is much more happy since making the switch.

If you feel like being inspired by some of Melbourne's best vegetarian and vegan hot spots, pay a visit via the link below.

http://www.urbanspoon.com/f/71/7056/Melbourne/Vegetarian-Restaurants

Leeloo Love

By Olivia. C
Okay, it’s official: I’m a crazy cat lady. Guilty as charged. I can’t help it, I have a serious case of Leeloo love, big time.

 

 It all started six years ago. I was just about to start high school, with only a few weeks of my summer holidays left to go. Dad and I were on our way to Tullamarine airport, heading for the Australian air express pick up area. We were on our way to pick up my Christmas present. She had come all the way from Queensland. Her name was Lily, and she was to become the latest addition to the family. 

A snowy white Bengal kitten, Lily was yet to get her spots and stripes and had a chubby little tummy. She didn’t really take a liking to either of us at first, often preferring to hide under the couch and hiss at us whenever we tried to get too close. She loathed being picked up and ran away as fast as she could if I tried to pat her. Lily wasn’t exactly a cuddly kitten. You could say she wasn’t much of a people person either.

Six years later, and Lily hasn’t changed that much. Her spots and stripes have come through, but she still retains the right to hiss and yowl at me when I pick her up. But truth be told, she is a big softie at heart and loves to squeeze herself beside me on the couch when I’m watching a film. It’s times like these that I can’t resist the urge to whip out my iPhone and take a photo. To date, I have approximately taken 64 photos of Lily. Ten are on Instagram. This may sound excessive, obsessive even, but I’m not the only one who likes to catch their furry friend on camera.

Those of you who have an Instagram account will have undoubtedly come across an account that is solely dedicated to displaying photos of one’s beloved pet. Wherewallaceat, Tunameltsmyheart, Balkibones are but to name a few of the many Instagram accounts that are dedicated to this sort of thing. Such accounts boast an enormous audience, some reaching 1,000 followers. Yet it doesn’t stop there. Facebook, Tumblr, Youtube and even Pinterest have all become regular forums in which pet owners from around the world upload pictures, videos and even blog posts about their pet’s daily antics.

 Yet like all of these pet owners, there is method to my weirdness. I too experience the undeniable warmth that we all experience when we see a loved one, human or animal. Taking photos of Lily is one way of expressing such warmth and my appreciation of the companionship she has offered me over these past six years.

 Lily is indeed a special cat, and she will always be my special little snow blossom from the North, my snow leopard, my Leeloo. I am grateful for having the privilege of being her owner, and look forward to spending many more happy years with her by my side (on the couch). Happy 7^th Birthday Lily, lots of love from your proud crazy cat lady x

Martha Marcy May Marlene film review

By Olivia. C

Source: Google images

The film title Martha Marcy May Marlene may be a mouthful to pronounce, but it is a title like no other that portends to the sinister nature of the film itself. Winner of the directing award for best drama at the 2011 Sundance Film Festival, Martha Marcy May Marlene tells the story of Martha (Elisabeth Olson), a fragile young woman who has recently escaped a cult. Taken in by her uptight sister Lucy (Sarah Paulson) and brother-in-law Ted (Hugh Dancy), Martha struggles to reclaim her identity and sanity as she is haunted by the memories of her experiences in the cult.

Like many indie films, Martha Marcy May Marlene is big on the well known ‘show not tell’ principle. Though cleverly done through choice camera shots, sparse dialogue and an almost non-existent music score, this technique creates a certain ambiguity that leaves many unanswered questions for the viewer. Good news for those who enjoy a good cinematic challenge, but bad news for those who like their film to be visually and audibly spoon fed.

From the get go, director Sean Durkin prompts the viewer to fill in the gaps through the power of observation. Nothing is ever deliberately said or made obvious; it is up to the viewer to pick up on the subtle nuances that mark the character's actions. This is established early on, as the film opens on a seemingly peaceful scene on the farm in which the cult resides. An Amish-like impression of the farm is left on the viewer, as modern machinery and technology are blatantly absent. It is as the men eat before the women at dinner, however, that viewers gather that something is wrong, and that all is not as it seems. Such archaic notions seem out of place in the film’s modern day context and causes an unease within the viewer to grow even further, as we see Martha the next day making her escape through the woods.

The age-old chase ‘n pursuit scene is enough to make anyone’s adrenaline pumping, and this scene is no exception as viewers cling to their seats and cry “RUN MARTHA RUN!” Thankfully, Martha is able to make her escape but whether she has made a clean break from the cult is up to the viewer to decide.



Still frame of John Hawkes and Elisabeth Olson (Source: google images)

Elisabeth Olson’s portrayal of an ex-cult member is haunting, and is made all the more impressive as her first major film role. You can’t help but sympathise with Martha’s plight, as she is plagued by her memories of her brief yet disturbing “relationship” with the cult leader, Patrick (John Hawkes) and her struggle to resume a normal life. The mental and emotional implications on not only a cult victim, but on their family is further explored through Martha’s tenuous relationship with her sister and her brother-in-law. Lucy and Ted’s inability to fathom Martha’s fragile state of mind, nevertheless what she has experienced, is infuriating at best and encourages the viewer to view them as the smug, self-righteous married couple they are.

Rated MA 15+, Martha Marcy May Marlene is one film that will make you guessing what the f*ck was going on long after the film credits roll. It is a bizarre but fantastic film that is a must for any one looking for a decent thriller, but is not for the faint hearted or for that family film night with your parents.

8.5/ 10
 

         For more information or reviews about Martha Marcy May Marlene, read more here

OUR BEAUTIFUL SADNESS

Consider this. Something that in most circumstances would really excite you has been arranged. It will happen in an idyllic spot and you will be transported there in luxury. Your favourite people will be there, who ever you want. You have nominated someone you greatly admire to greet you when you arrive. Everything you could wish for will be on hand: wonderful food and drink, sweetly scented flowers, even a performance by your favourite musician, or a play you love, or a special dance. It's your choice, anything really.

You receive a message that your driver will collect you in two hours and everything is ready to roll.  You leap out of bed, shower, make yourself as handsome or pretty as possible, dress in your very best (or most comfortable) outfit and wait breathlessly at the front window? Or perhaps not.

As unlikely as it may sound, you stay in bed. Or you go to the fridge, and finding nothing worthwhile, you eat some peanut butter straight from the jar.  You then go back to bed. Once there, you pick up the book you have been reading since you finished the last one the day before and read on, not really taking anything in. You hope to fall asleep. Not so much because you are tired, but because sleep means that you don’t have to think about what to say when the driver arrives, or what people will think when they realise you aren’t coming, or whether you’ll regret not meeting Scarlett Johannson, or The Dalai Llama, or Morgan Freeman, whoever it is you have chosen.

Most of all, you want to get past the point where it’s too late to go, past the point where going or not is still a live issue, to get to where it is no longer something you have to deal with. Once this time comes the relief is palpable, you can relax; if that’s what you can call it. It’s probably more like sinking back into your lassitude for a few precious minutes, or if you are fortunate, a few hours.    

Of course the respite is temporary. It will only last until the next demand arises, the next question is asked, the next decision needs to be made. When that happens you will again be paralysed with dread, unable to exercise any kind of choice, even over something as seemingly simple as what to watch on TV.

So what on earth is it with you, what is behind this wrongheaded behaviour? You are despondent for no apparent reason, you are loved yet unresponsive to those who love you. You have shelter and are comfortable but still you are sad, extremely sad. 

This is depression, the black dog, the daylight demon. In this case a depression that comes on without warning and lifts just as unexpectedly. While it always passes, during these episodes it is difficult to see an end point. The dull, numbing sadness is not about anything. It is simply there and must be endured because the alternatives are either too hard or unthinkable. 

And yes, the subject here is me. This malaise has been with me for a very long time and most likely always will. I don’t like it, but in some ways it partially defines who and what I am. I have come to a kind of acceptance that these episodes are somehow necessary, that they involve a form of healing of something that has come unstuck in my head, or my heart or my soul, (whatever that might be). I’m also convinced that there is a strange beauty in my experience. The words that follow are a poem or a mantra or a song about the beautiful sadness I share with so many others. 

Dare your soul to reach further than it can see

Become still and quiet and speak without sound

Accept that what you cannot feel is there and will so remain

Listen to your heart’s knowing beat

Embrace a special wisdom that you cannot now recognise

Shelter in your sadness for to fight it is futile

Yield to it but resist total acquiescence

For to give in is to slowly slowly die from the inside

Let the tears well up and stream down your cheeks

Savour their salty sweetness for to weep is to allow release

Seek not to understand the beauty of your sadness

For its mystery is unknowable and knowing will surely be frightening

Ache for but never demand the empathy and the touch of others

Simply cherish their nearness

Take comfort in knowing that your sadness will surely pass

And when it does

Treasure and share the special knowing that has remained with you

Michael D Hansen
   

http://au.reachout.com/Helping-a-friend-with-depression

Afterword : That book I read back then was very good, I just didn't know it at the time.

Poi for moi

By Morgana Hassan

My latest hobby I’m fascinated with is poi twirling.

You may have seen this on television, at music festivals or even in your local park. I picked up on it when I was introduced to another friend who is a guru at this practice. Once you watch someone twirl it becomes very contagious and you can’t help but want to learn for yourself.

I’m a proud owner of my first set of neon glow poi. They just came in the mail a few days ago and I haven’t been able to them down ever since. I was inspired to order a pair off eBay after purchasing Rainbow Serpent tickets (which I’m super excited for!!!).

At most camping festivals there are groups that meet up and twirl together, it’s a great way to meet people and learn new tricks. There are also performers who come from abroad who attend these festivals to entertain and inspire their audience with their sleek skills.

Poi twirling has many physical and mental health benefits. It increases your endurance, reduces stress and balances your bi-lateral motor skills just to name a few.

It originated in the Maori culture in New Zealand as a practice for swinging weapons and story telling, now the practice is renowned worldwide as an art form for entertainment.

So if you were looking for a new hobby, I’d recommend poi twirling. It suits all ages and is beneficial to your health and well-being.

http://www.homeofpoi.com/

Bats, Bogans and Burnouts: Welcome to Suburban Hell

-        By Olivia. C

Source: Google images

If you were given the choice of living in the country or in suburbia, what would you choose? After returning from a six-year stint at Boarding School in Western Victoria (or "jail" as my Grandpa once put it), I would have to go with the former. A city girl who wants to live in the country? Who would've thought!

But it's true. Yet it wasn't always so.

After being acquainted with the almost ear –ringing silence of the country, I have come to realise that the ‘burbs aren’t what they seem. Peace and quiet, along with mutual respect towards others and the general upkeep of one’s nature strip are all but lost on some in my neighbourhood. A silent consensus that nature strips should be left to their own devices and become a safety hazard to others seems to be ok. No one seems to mind that their nature strips are becoming nature “paddocks”, with knee-high grass and overgrown weeds spilling out onto the road. An emphasis on letting nature take its course over public safety is certainly evident here.

If bushwhacking through one’s nature strip wasn’t bad enough, wait until you meet the neighbours. In most parts of suburbia, considerate neighbours are becoming a rare species. Their extinction is imminent, with the Bogan take over well under way. With the sound of engines revving, tires screeching and lonesome dogs barking all day and all night you can be sure that a decent night’s sleep in my street is out of the question.

Yet despite the immense despair and irritation my neighbours inflict, a new element has been thrown into the suburban works. “Billy” the bat (otherwise known as a common Pipistrelle bat) is one night time fiend who is a big believer in the element of surprise. If it weren’t for my ninja- like peripheral vision, I would be oblivious to Billy’s swift but silent relays between the kitchen and the living room. A tiny brown bat, “Billy” is by no means a welcome houseguest. He may be a harmless little critter, but “Billy” terrifies me nonetheless.

Source: Google images

Who knows what will happen to “Billy” in the coming weeks. Perhaps he will move out and terrorise the neighbours next door. Or perhaps he will be eaten by one of the cats. Who knows, but both options are equally as good. If only the next-door Bogan paradox could be as easily resolved as getting rid of a bat. But I guess that’s the joy of living in suburbia for you. 

Cravings

By HH

So I’m on a 15min cafe break at school and baby #3 is demanding an orange poppyseed muffin. The urge being too strong I hastily scan 6 cafes in Degraves Street only to find that today there are no muffins to match my craving! I’m desperate and look for a suitable substitute and at my last stop find my treasure- an orange and poppy seed is there waiting for me. I go to order and baby does a backflip as it sets its sights on a fat mouthwatering dark choc and raspberry muffin sitting along side my initial selection. I get tongue tied ordering and ask for the choc raspberry only to change my mind after she has bagged it and go with my original craving. The girl behind the counter looks annoyed to say the least and yes I guess I am too. I can’t have both but I sure as hell want to- I blame the baby to the girl pointing at my expanding belly and smile sheepishly. I walk off tearing the top off the muffin and throwing out the rest- that’s all I wanted anyway.