*NEWS FLASH*
I received some positively splendiferous news today and ever since I’ve been (figuratively) bouncing around my room, shouting out ‘Fuuuu~~~!’ and ‘Wooooo’ and making any other excited noises that one might make. My neighbours must think I’ve gone absolutely mad.

The news is that I was offered a graduate work position with AXA in Melbourne! So as of December, I’ll be back in Melbourne. Thank you to all who were so supportive during this rather taxing process.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!!!!!!!!!!!!

Woooooooooooooooo!!!!


I’ll write a proper entry when I’ve calmed down a little bit.

Until then,

Take care.

The case of the missing laundry basket
Things have been quite hectic lately, however I certainly don’t seem to be alone in this respect; everyone I have spoken to lately seems rushed off their feet. Quite a lot has been happening generally, and mostly everything was turning out wrong until one momentous day in the laundry room. You see, at college we are given a laundry basket that has our room number on it, but in the chaos and confusion that occurs in the laundry rooms, the baskets (which all look the same) get mixed up, and this is what happened to mine a while back. Some how I ended up with room 3075’s basket and had no idea what had happened to mine. Recently though, I saw my original basket perched on a shelf in the laundry room and I immediately claimed it back. It was quite amazing, once I had it back, my fortunes seemed to turn around; I got a second interview with AXA, my Microsoft Word started working again and I began to reconcile an important friendship.

Of course that is not to say that I have an emotional attachment to my laundry basket, it was just an interesting coincidence I observed. Some people at college do however seem to have a particular emotional attachment to their laundry baskets. I have seen signs around my floor notifying others that their laundry basket has been ‘stolen’ and ‘legal action’ will be taken unless it is returned. I found this quite hilarious really; I honestly think we are turning into America. We are part of the British Commonwealth damn it, if we are going to copy anyone it should be the British, not the boisterous and tasteless Americans. That’s not to say there is anything wrong with America of course, I guess I’m just a bit of an Anglo-phile. I can just imagine ‘The case of the missing laundry basket’ going before the courts, please grow up people! And another thing, why are there some escalators that go up on the right side instead of the left these days? Even our escalators are being Americanised, AHHH.

I realise I haven’t spoken about some of the interesting characters at college for quite some time, and feel that I should. Firstly, I must write again about my neighbour. If you recall he was the Italian guy who called me ‘Tee-Rav’. Well he has changed slightly, now he likes to call me ‘Travesty’ Hmmm… He and several others in my corridor, derive endless amusement at yelling out to the college across from John’s. “Hey Burgman,” he will yell at random times, “Hey Burgman,” he’ll yell again, and then once more. One weekend he invited his mates over and there must have been at least seven of them who packed into his tiny college room. For fun, they ran over to Burgman College and ran around yelling out “Hey Burgmanm,” which caused a chain reaction of yelling “Hey Burgman,” throughout my corridor. I guess you just have to laugh.

Oh there are so many characters, but I’ll only mention one more this time. One guy is obsessed with German culture, in particular, Hitler. When I’m studying, I sometimes hear him wandering the corridors drunk, yelling German phrases at the top of his voice. He seems to think any German phrase sounds unbelievably cool, so he is probably walking around screaming something like “I would like to know how to get to the flower shop please.” He listens and sings along to a German heavy metal singer, called Ramstein, at ungodly hours. The funny thing is though, he was actually born in England. Oh dear.

I left off last time on the somewhat negative note of being rejected for a graduate work position. That weekend, I decided I wanted to get away from things and fortunately a PhD student named Magnus, invited me to go bushwalking. So he, Ludovic and I set off to climb a mountain. As I was driving there, specs of rain fell on the windscreen, which caused all three of us to look nervously at the sky before staring straight ahead. After a lengthy silence, we almost all simultaneously said, “It’ll clear up.”

The road turned from highway to a deserted winding country road with a high speed limit, which I absolutely adored. I perhaps went a little bit faster than I normally would have (or should have) with other people in the car, but I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity of enjoying such a lovely stretch of road. To me it was highly therapeutic, even more so than the walk.

Eventually we got to the mountain and started walking to a place called square rock. It was a jagged limestone rock formation atop the summit, which offered mesmerising views of the lush valley below. We stared out to the horizon and basked in the utter silence. The only sound that could be heard was the occasional crunching of the seaweed rice crackers that Magnus had brought along, which were very tasty incidentally.

The college ball was fast approaching and I was quite looking forward to it. At that stage, only one of my good friends was planning to go and the rest were uncertain if they would. I remember last year I had quite an exciting time at the ball. The band, I remembered, was superb and played jazz and pop covers with funky looking electronic instruments. Everyone was dressed in their finest and all danced along joyously to the upbeat tunes. I think formal wear is the pinnacle of fashion; a woman never looks better than when she is dressed in a slender elegant evening gown (umm... actually I can think of another ‘outfit’ when women look even better than that).

I got a call one evening from Harry, who passed the phone over to Irwin, who was down in Melbourne for the week. It was the first time I had heard his voice since that bitterly cold morning in Yokaichiba, Japan, when we had said our goodbyes. He answered in true Japanese style, “Mushi Mushi.” Anyway after that 10 minute conversation, somehow I was convinced to ditch the ball and fly down to Melbourne for the weekend instead.

Honestly the whole thing came at a bad time. Now everyone, it seemed, was going to the ball and it was shaping up to be a fantastic night. And the last thing I wanted to do was more travelling around, but mates are mates and it is part of the code that you would do anything for them. So I found myself on a jet again flying to Melbourne.

When I had left Melbourne after the break, I had set myself goals of what I wanted to achieve by the time I stepped back into my room. I remembered this and felt quite guilty and disappointed that I had achieved none of them. But how was I to know how everything was to turn out? It felt a little strange being back, almost as though I didn’t deserve to be there. See for me, Melbourne represents the reward after enduring a strenuous semester of uni, a kind of sanctuary if you will. I guess the experience and the general feeling seemed a little surreal, as though I was still in Canberra and I was just seeing my family and friends through some virtual image that we were all somehow able to share.

Anyway despite this, I headed into the city to meet up with my friends. We eventually all met up in a bar called Spleen. For some reason that I have no idea why, a visit to this bar has always tended to coincide with a defining point in my life. A few years ago, I met up with Chris and Irz in that very bar and came to realise something very important. And this time I was also working through a lot of issues. It is quite a nice bar actually; the upstairs area has low lighting, relaxing tones and comfy kitsch furniture. Derek, Chris and I waited with beers in hand for Irz to arrive.

Soon enough, a familiar figure bumbled up the stairs and approached us with knowing grin. I was quite surprised; a completely different looking Irwin shook my hand. He had hair in the style of a trendy Japanese pop star and wore the clothes to match. I couldn’t recall him ever being that fashionable, but after talking to him for a while, I realised it was the same old Irwin. It certainly felt good being reunited as a group again and we reminisced, laughed and caught up over beers, Stella naturally. Once again in that bar, after drifting into a deep thought whilst the conversation went on, I came to another important realisation. I’m certain there is something special about that bar.

Soon though, it was time to move on, and we went on a bar crawl (of sorts) around the city. Of course I’m not going to divulge many of the details of the night, for that would breach both the mates’ code and the gentlemen’s code. One highlight for me though, was (after we had had quite a few drinks) singing ‘living on a prayer’ as a tribute to the good times we’d shared on our holiday in Japan. We all sung with passion, vivaciousness and volume, which received several strange looks and laughs, but gee it felt good. Besides, Irwin and I didn’t care what people thought of our singing; we were from out of town. It was a different story for Chris and Derek though.

Curiously later on in the night, we bumped into a bunch of old guys in suits, who were also singing together. I remember wondering at the time if that would be us in 60 years. Chris and I joined in their song, Derek asked one of them who the president of the UN was and Irwin was otherwise, umm occupied.

I really needed a night like that and arrived back in Canberra with greatly improved clarity. Who knows when the four of us will get a chance to all meet up again. I just hope it isn’t too far away. Although I feel I missed out on a fun night at the ball with my friends in Canberra, I don’t regret my decision to fly down to Melbourne.

On Wednesday, it was time to fly down to Melbourne again, this time for a job interview with AXA. After the interview I had the chance to catch up with Sherly. I was waiting for her and when she arrived, she had come straight from the computer labs, and was wearing casual clothes and glasses (which I’ve never seen her wear before). I was quite amused and charmed by a side of Sherly that I’d never really seen before. She was a cute little nerd and I found it to be quite cool. We said our hellos and then ‘nerdy Sherly’ disappeared in to her room and then magically ten minutes later, ‘supermodel Sherly’ came out, sunglasses and all. It was kind of like ‘Superman’, except she didn’t get changed in a phone booth, she took a lot longer to change than Clark Kent and I thought she looked a lot better than superman.

We had a rushed dinner, but it was still really nice to catch up. I felt quite bad, as I hadn’t realised that Sherly had a major project due the next day and couldn’t really afford to take time off. Still, I am very thankful that she did.

Uni started to get really busy and I reverted to my hermit like state, only leaving my room for meals and classes. After some time of intense study, I felt as though I was going a little loopy and decided to take a night off, so I went to a karaoke night that was organised at college. A ‘singstar’ game was set up on a big screen and singers could select their preferred song from any one of the versions of the game. The room was packed with college residents, who were all singing along. I mustered the courage to get up and sing ‘eye of the tiger’ – an eighties classic. As I was about to perform, I heard some smart sarcastic comments such as, “This should be interesting,” but I feel that I shut those people up quite sufficiently after doing a performance that earned me a third place for the night. The night went on and only the most hardcore karaoke fans remained.

I’m sure some keen observers may have realised that Caz (who featured quite regularly in my early entries) hasn’t been mentioned at all in any of my recent entries, and there is a good reason, which I’m not going to share. Anyway, let’s just say our friendship hasn’t been in the best shape of late. As the karaoke night wore on though, at one point we ended up sitting next to each other and so naturally started a conversation, given that we are both civil adults. After a bit of talking we ended up agreeing to perform a duet together, which was followed by several more duets. Caz incidentally is a superb singer and on the night came second only to Robin, who is a singing sensation. Soon, we began to talk and joke like old times and I began to realise how much I missed the close friendship we used to share. I think we made some progress that night and I hope we can restore our previously strong friendship, but I guess only time will tell.

Well now I am in Melbourne once again. I flew down this morning for a second interview with AXA. I was running so late in the morning I almost missed my flight, and then fog in Melbourne delayed the plane from taking off, which resulted in me touching down in Melbourne only 15 minutes before I had to be in the city.

As I was rushing out of the exit, a tall man approached me and asked if I needed a car to take me to the city, which was quite fortunate as it meant that I avoided having to wait for a taxi. The car was a luxurious limousine and the driver spoke in a strong commanding voice, which was very similar to that of the driver in ‘Transporter 2’. He got me to the AXA building, in fairly good time, so that I was only 10 minutes late for the interview.

I really hope I get the job, but again I guess only time will tell.

Until next time,

Take care.

Come fly with me, come fly, let’s fly away.

The past few weeks have been incredibly exhausting. I’ve been travelling around so much so that now my bank balance is low, yet my frequent flyer points are high. Right now, I feel as though expectations are tugging on me to a point where I feel completely stretched out. I’m physically in Canberra, yet Melbourne is tugging on one arm and Sydney on the other and I don’t even know where I belong any more. It is really quite ridiculous. I warn you that the graduate work application process is a real strain; it is equivalent to taking on at least one extra subject in terms of workload and perhaps 3 in terms of emotional weight. Still, I can’t complain, I am thankful for everything I have achieved so far and I’m sure one day I’ll get a good job. *fingers crossed*

I wasn’t even back at college three days before I had to jet off again. I arrived at college on Sunday evening and fortunately missed out on the ‘Sunday Roast’ dinner. As I stepped through the door and walked up the stairs, I was overcome by the feculent stench that one would typically associate with three hundred students living together in close quarters. It is amazing, when you have been living there for weeks you don’t tend to notice it, but when you come back it seems intolerable. I guess there is a lesson in that somewhere: sometimes you are not even aware a problem exists until you revisit the situation. Having said that though, the smell of college isn’t a problem that one can fix, so in that situation it is best just to adapt; not even be aware of the problem. Anyway, on Tuesday I left for Sydney.

I was surprised to see that the plane I was to board, was a small propeller driven one, which didn’t seem highly trustworthy. I thought arriving in Sydney in that plane would be much the same as handing the keys of an old ‘Datsun 120Y’ to the Vallet at a premiere ball. I was very sceptical and I swear I heard banjo music as I stepped on board amongst the other heftily sized Canberrans. Although I must admit, I was quite charmed by the little aeroplane; more than anything it made me realise what is actually involved behind flying. The props roared to life ferociously, buzzing in their torment, moving the plane faster and faster. We took off and the landing gear rose and clunked back inside the holding bay. We maintained quite a low altitude compared to a jet, which made for some spectacular scenery. The sun was close to setting at the time and so its rays were reflecting off the multitude of little dams along the way. There were hundreds scattered everywhere and they looked remarkably like shiny teardrops on a harsh arid desert.

The plane approached Sydney and the landing gear folded out in anticipation. I stared at the tyres finding a sudden connection with them. I know that may sound a little strange, but the reason for this was because I saw much similarity between what this semester of uni has felt like. As the tyres were lowered, they could see the runway approaching and what was required of them, but there was little they could do to prepare, then suddenly the ground was upon them and ‘thump’ they were thrust into action spinning frantically to deal with all the forces exerted on them. Although quickly, I found consolation in the fact that that is what tyres are designed for, it is their purpose, and for them to sit idly by on a shelf somewhere would be a total waste of what they are capable of doing. I smiled to myself at being reassured by an aeroplane tyre.

Sydney was dreary and the footpaths and roads were soaked. It happened to be Anzac day, so hundreds of guys were walking around the city in their sailor uniforms. I’d booked into a hotel that was supposedly close to the station and right next door to PwC. I think the sheer volume of teasing I gave Irwin about his inability to find hotels when we were in Japan, came back to haunt me. Like him, I’d failed to write down where it was or memorise the directions, I was confident that everything would be fine. While walking down Market Street I saw the large neon illuminated letters of “Mecure Grand Apartments” on the side of a building and so I was brimming with confidence. All I have to do is head towards that building, simple, I thought. My bag was heavy and my shoes began to get wet, but finally after a long walk I reached the building and walked around it to find the entrance. To my dismay, I couldn’t find anything that looked like a hotel lobby and so I had to resort to stopping and checking the name of where I was staying, which to a man is a signal of complete defeat (not quite as bad as asking for directions however). “Oh, what the Dickens?” I muttered under my breath, causing a Sydney-Sider to look at me strangely and walk in a subtle wide arc to avoid me. The name of my hotel was actually “Medina Grand apartments”, how could I be so stupid, I was thinking to myself. Fortunately I had a map of Sydney and found where the place was: it was ages away! I drew a deep breath, picked up my heavy bag (filled with books) and walked in the direction of where I had come, my feet getting further soaked by the pools of water lying on the ground.

My misadventures didn’t end there, for when I found the right building, I couldn’t find the entrance. I walked around and around and found myself in the lobby of some apartment complex and in doing so freaked out some more Sydney-Siders. Finally though, I found the lobby and felt an overwhelming sense of achievement, the magnitude of which should never have been able to be derived from the simple task of finding a hotel. I checked in, stepped into the lift and hit the button for floor six twice. Nothing Happened. I noticed a slot with red and green LED’s and so I swiped my hotel card and hit the button for level six, twice. Nothing Happened. I hit the button a bit harder this time, hoping this would achieve something. It didn’t. I was beginning to feel a sense of claustrophobia and the lift stunk of cigarettes and alcohol. Finally though, the doors opened, HAHA success, I thought. Unfortunately though, it was just another guest using the lift and I was still on the ground floor. He looked at me inquisitively in a way that seemed to question why I was standing in a lift (that stunk), not doing anything. As if to explain myself, a pre-emptive explanation if you will, I spoke to the large man, “I can’t seem to get to level 6.” The man confidently swiped his card and pressed the button for level 6. Nothing Happened. “Hmmm…” he mumbled to himself proceeding to examine his hotel card, before giving up. After all, there is a limit to how kind you can be, especially to a strange boy in a smelly lift who looks like Mr. Bean. “Well I’ll get you to level 5,” he conceded. I thanked him.

I thought once on level five, I could take the stairs to level six, but after wandering around the floor, I found nothing. What kind of a hotel doesn’t have stairs? I decided I would go and see the concierge to sort things out. As I stepped back into the lift, I felt as though I wanted to give it one last try, so I swiped my card at tapped the button for floor six, twice. Hurrah. The button stayed illuminated and I felt the lift move. Again I felt an overwhelming sense of achievement that one really shouldn’t be able to derive from successfully using a lift to get to a certain level.

I walked through the corridors to find my room. As I examined the card to see what room I was in, I chuckled to myself as I discovered I was staying in ‘room 101’. I wonder what will be behind the door? I tried to think what my greatest fear actually was… Don’t worry if you missed that, I thought I’d be snobbish and tie in a literary reference, it won’t happen again.

Anyway, I heard the most horrible mechanical grinding sound as slotted my card in and opened the door to a dark room. I’m pretty sure I didn’t jump, but I was scared, it serves me right for finding literary significance in a hotel room number. The room was typical, but looked the height of luxury compared to my college room. The first task, I thought, is to relax and go for a swim, so I put on my bathers and went down to the pool.

The pool was quite secluded and dimly lit and I was the only one there. I jumped straight in, kicked off the wall and started my freestyle stroke. Immediately all the stress in my mind and the aches in my body washed away and I imagined them leaving a greasy trail behind me as I swam onwards. I swam and swam, lap after lap until I was feeling really good and then got out.

It was amazing, everything seemed far more tolerable after that, the lift even smelt like expensive cologne now. What a difference a swim made. I strolled around the somewhat beautiful Darling Harbour and tried to find a place where I wouldn’t feel strange eating alone. I found a cool little ramen bar and decided it was perfect. I ate while looking across the harbour, thinking about what all my friends would be doing at the same moment.

For a long time I really enjoyed living in that swanky little hotel room, but a somewhat disconcerting feeling came over me. As I was lying on one side of the double bed, I looked over at the cupboard and saw my suit hanging loyally, and I suddenly imagined that it was ten years in the future and I was a lonely business living far away from my friends and family. I hated that feeling and prayed that I would always be able to balance work life and a life where I could see my friends and family. I don’t want to be one of those cold hearted workaholics that obsesses about the market 12 hours a day and goes home to a lonely well furnished apartment.

In the morning I checked out of the hotel wearing my suit, looking far more respectable than when I had arrived. I was refreshed and ready to start the big day. I got stuck with an interview first, then had to do a numerical and a written test followed by group activities. The whole day was draining and I was glad to see the end of it. I caught the train back to the airport and flew home, on a jet this time.

Over the next few days I was a looking at my phone almost every second of the day, waiting for a response. Finally it came, when I was at work, tutoring a student. My heart sunk as I heard the key word ‘unfortunately’ and I knew I had been rejected. I thanked the man for his feedback and went straight back to tutoring. What else could I have done? I can’t believe I came so close to getting a good job and ending the taxing grad work application process, but I’ll have faith that it was for the best. Hopefully I will get an even better job in Melbourne, so I can be amongst the people I love in the city I love.

Until next time,

Take care.

A project

Inevitably at some point in his life, a budding actuary gets delusions of grandeur and thinks he can write a book. This has occurred to me at the ripe age of 22, and so I have begun to write a story. I’ve finished the first chapter and I’d love it if you let me know what you think about it. Please be gentle though, it is the first time I’ve written before. I have no doubt there will be errors and I think the whole thing needs to be refined and tightened up a bit, but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. I’d appreciate any comments, suggestions or criticisms (as long as there aren’t too many). So please, print it off, sit down on your favourite chair, with a glass of wine on a rainy afternoon and read. If you need further motivation to read it, you might like to know that there is a steamy love scene at the end of the chapter ;)

Anyway, here is the link.

http://gargomania1story.blogspot.com

Back amongst politicians, government workers and old people

Canberra is undeniably beautiful at the moment; the natural surrounds are exhibiting a spectacular display, one final proclamation, before winter. Strolling around campus, one can see a cacophony of rich bright reds and yellows. Withered leaves flutter gracefully to the ground, forming haphazard coloured piles. The paths are covered with crisp leaves that make a familiar ‘crunch’ sound as you trod on them. The leaves linger in and flood the gutters of the roads and when a car drives past, they leap, swirl and dance behind it before falling once more.

Although I have always tried to appreciate each of the seasons, I never really had been able to appreciate winter until my trip to Japan. For me, winter always marked a time of sadness, emptiness and death; the leaves have fallen off the trees, the nights seem everlasting and generally there seems to be a lack of life. Finally though, I have realised that winter is an essential part of an endless cycle, a time for reflection. An image that sticks in my mind is that of a Japanese garden we visited in Kanazawa: a bustling microcosm of life suspended in the thick pure white snow and the translucent frozen lake. I think this was the turning point for when I started seeing beauty in winter. Winter is the time for nature to rest, recover, revitalise and reflect before spring arrives, when trees burgeon and the birds do whatever it is that birds do in spring (I’m not going to give you the ‘birds and bees’ speech). After all, how can one decide where they are going if they don’t stop and think where they have been?

Before I mention any more about Canberra, I’d like to talk about the remainder of my holiday in Melbourne. On the Wednesday I had to make another ‘fly by’ visit to Sydney, this time for an interview with PwC. I must make an effort one day to visit Sydney when I’m not half asleep and out of my mind with stress and nerves, I’m sure it is a lovely city, not as nice as Melbourne, but nice in its own ‘obvious’ way. Anyway, the interview was quite informal and seemed to go well. Afterwards I went straight back to the airport, flew home and spent far longer in traffic getting home than the flight took.

On Thursday night I went to Sherly’s place for dinner. This was arranged, because almost every time I spoke with Sherly online whilst in Canberra, we would always discuss what we had eaten for tea.
“Have you had dinner yet Trav?”
“Ahh yeah Sherly… There was cartilage in the chicken schnitzel they served us. I don’t want to think about what else was underneath the layer of crumbs. Oh and they gave us crunchy rice as well. Have you had dinner yet?”
“Yeah I have Trav. I had: quenelles of eggplant, pecorino, raisins and pine nuts on tomato ragout with grilled zucchini”
“… Please cook for me Sherly when I come back.”
“OK Trav…”

I had tried Sherly’s cooking before at Cheryl’s housewarming and was impressed, yet I still didn’t really know what to expect. When I arrived at Sherly’s place, she took me to her room, where four delectable dishes were siting atop a small table. We sat down on the IKEA stools and began our meal. Each dish was truly delicious and, to comment in the style of ‘iron chef’ judges, took me on a wild culinary adventure. The way the ingredients were accentuated reminded me of the spring time and I felt that the ingredients had served their destiny and were happy being part of such a tasty dish. It was a lovely meal and lovely company, I can’t thank Iron Chef Australian, Sherly enough! Next time if she agrees to cook for me, I think I’ll give her a themed ingredient and have her prepare the meal within a time limit of one hour. Allez Cuisine!

The following night I again had the pleasure of Sherly’s company. We decided to see an act at the comedy festival and all in all had quite a fun night. Before the act started, Sherly was ‘warming up’ her jaw in preparation to laugh, by opening and shutting it, which was really quite amusing and unbelievably cute.

Soon though my holiday was over and it was soon time to go back to Canberra. After a frantic day of finishing off uni work, I had a lovely dinner with my family at a Thai restaurant and spent the rest of the night in the city celebrating Cheryl’s new job at AXA. I met up with Sherly and walked her over to Alfred’s apartment, where we met up with Cheryl, Dennis and Alfred. Our destination was Robot Sushi, a bar dedicated to Neo-Tokyo culture. We met Winnie at the bar, took a seat and ordered drinks. The general consensus was that the bar was disappointing and so we headed to ‘cookie’, a bar that never fails to please. After sitting at ‘cookie’ for a little while, we decided just to head back to Alfred’s place and have a few drinks. Unfortunately I couldn’t stay long, as I had to drive to Canberra the next day, so I said goodbye and left.

Sherly was kind enough to walk with me back to my car and when we got there, I drove her back to the party again and walked her to the door. We said our goodbyes and then she slipped through, caught the lift and was gone. I stood watching her, waving helplessly. A wave though, a simple flapping of the hand, does not and cannot adequately describe all things felt or needed to be said. Goodbye, Take Care, I’ll miss you, Look after yourself, It really was nice seeing you again, Thanks for making my life brighter, I hope to see you again soon. *Flap flap flap*

The next morning I said goodbye to my family. *Flap flap flap*