I spent the last week planning and stressing over my brother’s wedding. The long nights beforehand were filled with me staring at a blank document trying to find the right words to say in a speech in front of hundreds of our friends and families. I struggled, but I think I found the right way to articulate our relationship.

You see, my brother and I are 7 years apart. At one time there were only a couple of people close to me in age. I guess that’s why I stuck with them. It sucked that there really was a massive age gap between us, and to this day I get constantly asked whether or not I regret not having a closer relationship with him growing up.
My answer was yes, until very recently when I realised how important it was to both of us, for everything to turn out the way it did. Mostly because we are both very different.

From our favourite colours to our personalities, we couldn’t be any more of the worse pair of brothers on the planet. Besides general things like sports, movies and comic books, we don’t have that much in common at all. In fact, we ’re pretty much polar opposites.

For example,
His favourite colour is blue. Mine is red.

He loves the NFL…I love the UFC.

And even though we grew up in PENRITH in Western Sydney and have NO affinity with Newcastle in any way… he supports THE NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS.

I, however, remained loyal to the Panthers.

And of course the obvious, I am an incredibly handsome, former model for West-point Blacktown, and he is …well…he is what he is.

Despite that, the most painful difference is that while we were celebrating his marriage to a beautiful and kind woman…I was still depressingly single and alone.

Its weird, because the list for our similarities are heavily outweighed by our differences, and somehow we lived with each other for just over 20 years. I remember times where we would walk past each other and not say a word, and other days where we would engage in fist fights over the tv remote that was so vicious that our small St Clair house would shake.
Our lives and personalities were so complex…but despite all of that we had one thing in common. Our love for family and our love for each other.

But there is a reason why I am the way I am today. The first is because I learnt from his every mistake…and the second is because he made sure I survived life before it got any easier or harder.
He paved the way. And more often than not I chose a different path…but in the end, it brought us to where we are. Me MCing at his beautiful reception, surrounded by loving friends, family…and more importantly an even more beautiful bride.

I never expected for him to get married. It never entered my mind. Maybe its because I’ve shared a bathroom with the guy and I just didn’t picture anyone else, who wasn’t related to us, to deal with someone like that.

He’s big, he’s clunky and he’s hairy. He’s pretty much a bear. And that’s a lot coming from me. While the rest of us love going out and drinking and partying, He would rather sit at home and play board games, watch the game or glue his eyes to a screen of some sort with one of his favourite tv shows or the latest DC or Marvel movie.

So when I heard that he had met his now wife, I was shocked….who was this Wonder Woman who had taken interest in this beast I called my brother.
Was she blind?
Or maybe she was deaf?
Or more likely both?

I wasn’t sure at all. But when I met her for the first time, all my assumptions went out the window.

She was and is kind, compassionate, lovely and bright. She always has a smile on her face and loves talking and having a good time. She was sweet and pretty…and most of all…she balanced out my brother.

Us Alexanders are emotional beings….we sometimes forget to think with our brains and instead act on our hearts. And it was nice to see someone who understood and appreciated that.

She is perfect for him, and now I think he is perfect for her. Because he’s actually changed… a lot.

I know he’ll be a great husband, and hopefully one day, a great father.
I know because he was a great brother.

And even though we don’t get on as well as we should, despite our loving and understanding parents, we will always love our family more than anything in the world.

Life wasn’t easy for both of us.  Our differences are what made us who we are today, which is what he and I needed. But her kindness and compassion is what we all needed. I myself am very excited to now have a sister and even more relieved that he finally found someone….seriously, we were all worried for a second there.

SO this is for my older brother, his new bride ….and also, my new sister.

I hope your day was as amazing as it was for all of us.
I hope I did you both proud.
And I hope that there is nothing but love and happiness in your future.

I don’t have all the answers. Everything I’ve ever experienced isn’t a solution to a specific problem…it’s just a suggestion for whats to come.
I think I figured that out the last time I got my heart broken. It’s a cold feeling when you realise that the world around you can change so quickly and for the worst. But its an even worse feeling when you’re not prepared for whatever comes after.
Sometimes there are no blessings or silver linings and all you’re left with is this punishing feeling that has to be made into a lesson.

Maybe its all because of people…maybe each individual makes decisions that they are oblivious to and don’t understand the full extent of anything they may do.
As a young man, women often seem like the biggest culprits for this. You forget that they are human and that some are good and some are bad, just like everyone else. But when you live your life thinking that you’ve done everything in your power to be the right man you and everyone else wanted you to be, it becomes a hard pill to swallow when you get humiliated for showing some heart.

Now, in my mind, I think of everyone as being volatile and random just because you can never really count on anything staying the same.

I think what I’m trying to say is that we’re all unconventional and unpredictable.
Everyone is different and hard to read. Society is a never-ending puzzle where the pieces barely fit together.
I know that’s why I take things so hard. I’m emotional and in constant flux, just like everyone else. It sucks when you want something and you try your utmost to care for it, but it just doesn’t work out. You do what you can, with whatever power you have to keep it safe, to make sure it feels love, compassion, warmth and kindness. But instantly it can become your biggest nightmare. It can make you feel lost and alone. It can tear your heart apart.

Now, being older, I see heartbreak as that and more.

It’s like when someone steals your bike.

I was 13 when my bike first got stolen. I loaned it to this kid up the road from where I lived. A friend of mine told me not to trust him and, in a way, he was right. I got the bike back, but he took these fancy silver caps I had on both of my tyres.

I confronted him about it but he denied it.
I then tried to do everything I could to make sure nothing would happen to my bike again. I kept it safe, I didn’t let anyone borrow it unless I knew and trusted them fully and I did my best to take care of it, to make sure that the value of it would never diminish.

I fucking loved that bike.

So when it went missing out of nowhere, I was devastated.
I stupidly left it on my driveway, leaned up against my gate in plain sight. The next day it was gone…just like that.
I left it alone and unprotected for one night and it was taken from me.
I didn’t realise it was actually stolen until I saw this stupid, skinny, weasel looking, blonde kid roll passed my street, with handlebars that had the same unique silver spray-painted-look that mine had.

The worst part of it was that I let him go. I just watched as he raced up the road, not a care in the world.

 

He took what was mine. He took something I truly loved..and now looking back on it, I felt like I just gave it away.
I felt like I had let it slip through my fingers.

My mum told me not to blame myself, that there was not much more I could do but be more careful next time. But in truth, I hated myself for ages…all because of a bike.

Girls aren’t like bikes though. They aren’t objects you can own or just look after and expect to be there when you want.
I want to make that clear.

But heartbreak is like losing your bike.
When you love something or someone and when you care for it or them…losing it can change you entirely.
People say you value someone more when they’re gone… but I think, more often than not, it makes you angry and sad. Not with the person but more with yourself. You wish you could’ve been better sooner, you wish that you could turn back time, rectify your mistakes and try again.
Maybe that could’ve made all the difference.

One of the things I’ve learnt is how out of control I actually am. That realisation that I can’t go back in time and that none of us can, even if we wanted to.
There are no do-overs or repeats and you cant change anyone else’s actions either. That was, is and always will be their own decision, whether they choose to own it or not is up to them.

No matter how much pain you articulate to them, it will never change how much they feel and more importantly, how you feel. It may make it worse or it may make it better, but the bottom line is that you will never be able to change what was. Not how you felt and not how it affected you.

I guess there is no other option but to become stronger. To, as I said before, turn that punishment and pain into a lesson. To learn and to grow because after all, when a seed grows into a plant, it has to battle the elements before it becomes a tree that bears fruit.

That’s life.

 

Sometimes everything works out, but that doesn’t mean it won’t suck….it doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. It doesn’t mean that you or I will get what we want, what we cared for…or even what we needed.

And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m ever getting my bike back.

I wasn’t shit before I started writing.

I had nothing else.

That’s how I felt anyway.

I know now, how harsh my views on myself were, but saying that’s not how I felt would be a lie.

There came a time when I had to acknowledge what was best for me. The many decisions I had to make involved separating what was good and what was bad. It seemed to be the only way for me to truly understand who I wanted to be.

Writing helped a lot.

It’s hard to understand your purpose sometimes, but when you become proactive in trying to change your life, things do tend to become clearer. I’ve always loved connecting with people. The everyday man and woman were who I grew up with. There were no riches or wealth in the form of anything tangible that I could comfort myself with. Instead, I turned to people. It’s why I chose a Social Science degree and it’s why I chose to study Communications. I wanted to know more, not just about the individual or about society, but about myself.

So naturally, choosing that line of study became the right choice for me. It was the first step and kick-started a whole new chain of events that eventually brought me here.

Despite that, when I look back on the last couple of years, my thoughts wander on where I would’ve been if I never chose to put pen to paper.
Contemplating it made me go to places in my mind I never thought I would go back to or ever think about in the first place. Eventually, it all came down to one thing… fear.

The fear of not amounting to anything more than a dried up, dishevelled version of myself.

As a young man, there are certain moments where you become emotionally triggered, especially in regards to fear. You are reminded of times, places and things that make you feel better or worse.

I remember a time when things weren’t the best for my family and me.

I remember coming home from school and seeing my mother sitting on the couch with her head in her hands. As I walked towards her, she raised her head and smiled at me. It was strange because I had dirt on my nice blue uniform and my hat was tipped to the side. She would usually have a frown on her face and proceed to tell me clean and straighten myself up. At the time I had walked myself home because I thought that she would still be at work. I remember thinking how odd it was for mum to be home so early….and that her eyes were so red and swollen.

It wasn’t until some time later, when I was older and could understand, when I was told that was the day that my mum was forced to resign her job.

I remember feeling a sudden sense of sadness…and then frustration, and then anger. My longtime fear for her superiors sparked hatred towards them. I wanted them to know her suffering, I wanted to shout and scream and yell.
In the end, I couldn’t do either. Instead, all I could do was try and be better…so she wouldn’t have to suffer again.

That constant fear which buckles me at every obstacle is because I am more afraid of being disappointing than anything else in this world, not just to myself but to the people I love and care for.

However, in the process of being better, I failed to understand one thing. Which is, that being human means I don’t always understand things the way I should.

I noticed that when the world passed me by… when I felt like I got left behind, I started to become sour and petty. I started to complain and attack the things that I once loved. In reality, the contempt that I had developed was actually misplaced. The truth is that I actually felt this way towards myself. I was afraid of admitting that I was to blame, that I was going to make the people I love suffer.

I had to learn that no matter how much someone has wronged you, no matter how much you think you deserved better, the truth is that you will always eventually blame yourself. Which is what mum did for quite some time. She was sad, not because she lost her job, but because she thought she let down her family…and much like me, she began to blame herself.

The difference is that she chose to live on, she worked and worked hard…and had no regrets for anything, not even for her own fear of what was to come.
She wanted to make the next step count.

I have learned from her example.

Fear drove me to try and make a difference. Whether I’ve succeeded in any way remains to be seen, but at least now I know that I am trying to be more than what I was. No fulfilment was coming from any other aspect of my life. The one thing that remained constant was all of this. Life was in my writing…my eyes saw it and my whole existence worked desperately to try and make it work. All of this was my next step.

I never gave up. I kept on going.
Even when I get no attention, when I felt isolated because of the lack of response, I kept on going.

Writing gave me new meaning…it simultaneously made me remember the past and think more of the future.

I started to value myself again.
It was the right decision. Maybe one day I’ll truly understand how much it all means. Maybe more than a few people will connect with what I have to say. But despite all of that, the fear of regret…of not doing enough at all, is still strong. That’s what matters right now.

I know fear can be paralysing, but when it does stop me in my tracks I remember that day and I remember my mother. That is all I need…because moving on and moving forward is all I have left, I have no other choice.

I have this weight on my shoulders. I see it all the time.
I see it on streets and neighbourhoods every afternoon.
I see it on the bus and on the train.
I see it eating lunch outside in the park and I pass it by on a walk with my dog.

A middle-aged Indian, walking along with their child.

Whether its smouldering hot or blistering cold, they’re always around. I can’t quite describe it, but every time I see them, I’m reminded of a time when things weren’t the best. I don’t just see another set of parents that happen to be Indian, I see my own. I see my mother and father, and everything they did for me. The tired look on their faces as they trudge along a footpath, holding a little brown hand belonging to their curious son or daughter. The flustered look as they hurry out of grocery stores and catch a bus with a handful of plastic bags filled with shopping. The stony look of exhaustion as they sit on a park bench watching their child eat an ice cream cone. Their story has been told and lived out by so many other migrant parents, and it seems to never get easier. I don’t know what it is, but for some reason it makes my stomach drop.

I am constantly reminded of a story that was more sad than it was inspiring.

I think I just feel guilty. Many 1st generation migrants would empathise. Our parents really struggled when they chose to settle down here. The world was working against them…and to some extent it still does. But they learnt to adapt. They worked hard.

So when I compare myself to them…to their courage, hard work and dedication to and for their families, I can’t help but feel like I’ve failed. The constant little reminders of how long it took them to assimilate and create a life, how the struggle shaped them into what they are now…it makes my efforts look dismal at best.

I know how harsh that may sound, many would probably say that their sacrifice was for me to make the mistakes I’ve made so far, something they didn’t have the luxury of doing. Others would say that I am to be ashamed …that I am a disgrace. Strong words that to them, might be accurate.

 

The truth is that when I see the children of those men and women who grow up in small houses in rough neighbourhoods, I see myself. I know the problems they face because I have faced them as well. That’s why I don’t think I can ever escape this sense of guilt. It’s a hole that leaves me wondering whether or not I did everything the best I could. Whether this story could’ve been different if I just chose a different path. Whether I’d be happier if I made a different decision or whether I made any right decisions at all.

There is this hole that gets left, this overwhelming sense of something to prove. The feeling of missing something that should’ve been there.

It haunts me just as it haunts everyone else. We all feel it… A lack of fulfilment, an absence of achievement. As a result, we are exposed to the idea that we are not living to our full potential…and that leads to the absolute worst thought anyone can have. Something that can kill anyone from the inside out.

That you are nothing more than a waste.

Nothing more than a malfunctioning, useless sack of meat and bone. No worthwhile contribution to society, no notable impact and no reason to keep on going. A waste of hard work from parents who shouldn’t have wasted their time.

The fact is that it takes a lot to realise that being 22 is too early to judge any of that. Our realities make it so much harder to move on from what shouldn’t be a thought in the first place. Regardless of what others may think, despite the success others may have at a young age, allowing yourself to think like that will never allow you to grow.

I spent so much time thinking about what I could’ve done to be better, that I forget how far I’ve come. Comparatively, it may not be a lot, but at least in this mindset, I can actually understand and be content in knowing that I am in fact trying. As much as it hurts to be constantly reminded of the sacrifice of others for my sake, it hurts, even more, to admit that living in that shadow will only leave me worse off.

The bottom line is that there is no escape…not from our past anyway. We will always be reminded of what we were and what we have become, whether that be good or bad.
I think that guilt that weighs me down is a constant reminder of how much more I could be doing, which can either be bad or good. But either way, it shouldn’t matter.

Understanding that we are all still young, that we haven’t even fully developed yet is why we should be excited about the future…not tormented by the past.

We all have demons, and we all have sad moments that we wish to walk away from, but deep down we know that without these things, we can never truly be strong.

Rather than wallow in our own self-pity, we should live by whatever sacrifice got us here. To not take anything for granted and not let the idea of ever being a waste poison our minds.

With the intensity of Passion Week and Easter just having passed, the thoughts of church and all that comes with it are still very strong in my mind. Being as religious as my family is, the commitment to the yearly grind of 5 am starts on Easter Sundays and 8-hour services on Good Friday seems to now be the norm. Especially now more than ever.

I think it comes with age, but when I was younger I didn’t really put much emphasis on actually participating in church. At times I thought it was a hassle and boring, but seeing my parents age in the last 5 or so years has really made me empathise with why they’re so committed to something so controversial.

That’s what I think all religion is by the way…controversial.

It’s hard to believe that hundreds and thousands of years, of spoken and written word can still have so much of an effect on modern day people. I mean to be fair, every religion has its flaws… if it isn’t the teachings or the messages, it’s the people.

To many, its offensive to even insinuate that their religion has blemishes, but objectively speaking, it’d be hard for anyone to find a fully perfect faith.

Especially when you think about who follows religion in the first place. Human beings come from a variety of different backgrounds and hold many different perspectives. So naturally, the interpretation of something as ancient as religious texts, teachings, customs and traditions can all be moulded in so many different ways. Either way, it all comes down to paying attention, and that choice is why some people are so devout and others are not.

I first started paying attention when I was 10 years old. I remember the day because our church had just built and opened up our brand new cathedral out in Wattle Grove in Sydney’s West. It was a massive deal, we had a bishop come down from India and we had a big function to help celebrate. It was a big day for me as well because I was to be ordained that same day.

For those of you who don’t know, being ordained means to make someone a Priest, Minister or in my case, an Altar Boy. I was the second in my family, after my father, to take on the white robe. It was an even bigger deal to my parents because my family was one of the founding members of our now ever-growing parish.

It was a proud day for mum and dad.

Of course, I wasn’t the best fit for the holy life. 10 years old, untidy black hair on a dark-skinned lanky young frame coupled with a lack of discipline and general waywardness, sufficed to say it took many people by surprise when the Priest at our church had asked my dad if I was keen on it at all. They were even more surprised when I said yes…rightfully so, being I didn’t seem interested in anything church-related.

Nevertheless, I thought it would give me a new perspective on things, challenge me in different ways and it also seemed pretty cool as well.

The boys upstairs had great voices, they were always reading in this tune that was almost like singing but really wasn’t…if that makes sense?

They seemed like real life angels …calm, collected, busy and important. For the most part, the visual appeal seemed to have more of an effect on me than the actual responsibilities itself.

So you can imagine my surprise at all the work that came afterwards. No longer could I laugh or laze around. I had to ring a bell, read the bible out loud and sing, even if my voice was horrendous. This was all grouped with the fact that I was now on a pedestal that allowed everyone in the congregation to judge anything I did. My whole young life seemed to change.

I think I kidded myself into thinking that id ever be able to experience faith the same way again. With all the politics and rules I found it difficult to find peace and quiet in prayer, something I still struggle with to this day.

Its hard to say, but I think now it stems from a loss of faith in a manner of different things. The last couple of years have been a blur but the constant testing and fails of anything seemed to make the whole spiritual side of my life fade into a distant memory.

I never really fit in at church either. When the other boys picked up tasks and ideas quickly, I struggled. I felt like no one took me seriously …and as a result, I don’t think I took God and religion seriously either.

You see, growing up in a strong Christian faith means you live mostly in fear. There’s a clear-cut right and wrong way to do things. Culture and traditions are to be practised, taught and respected by everyone. If it’s not…well sufficed to say, that hell hath no scorn like an elderly brown person’s fury.

I think I reacted a little different to it though. I chose to be myself because it was easier than being like the rest. I chose to take it for what it was but never chose to take it as seriously as other people did. The hierarchy might call it rejecting “our way”, but I’d just call it keeping a fearful and mindful distance.

That’s not to say that the culture is bad or horrible. I just found the system and some ideas to be hurtful to the real messages. More so that the fear that comes with failing to do anything whether that be meeting expectations or not being able to do good by the culture. In my opinion, it muddled the true and fundamental teachings of Jesus Christ.

I struggled with faith because of two things. Fear and failure. That’s a hard combo. But my reasoning was sound. I had a list of things that went on in my life that really rattled my faith. Relationship breakdowns, family disconnects, alcohol abuse, loss in academia just to name a few. So it wasn’t like I was in some kind devastating rut. There was a real problem that came from not only a lack of faith in spirituality, but also in myself. I stopped thinking I could be anything. I accepted that every failure had become who I was. Which was wrong.

Failing is a part of life. It’s apart of you and me. It’s apart of all of us.

Faith is what gets us through it. Not just in some divine force, but in ourselves.

Over time I realised that if I was going to take a break from religion… from Sunday morning services, candle holding, bible reading, hymn singing, and more specifically, from the church, I needed to at least have faith in myself.

Because that’s one of the most important lessons that Preachers and Pastors failed to teach me. Funnily enough, though, it’s the most important lesson that the Bible is responsible for.

I’ve been an Altar Boy for 10 or so years. I thought I knew everything. Because of everything else in my life, the depression, the anxiety and all those toxic things that poisoned my body, I left my spirituality out and away. I scoffed at it. Because I thought I had the answers.

But the one thing I was right in, was that the world can be cruel and mean.

Culture, traditions, the Church… all of that couldn’t keep away any pain that I felt.

But that didn’t make it bad…because the real lessons were muddled up by falsity and hypocrisy. Finally, I found a real answer…God can’t always save you, but you can save yourself.

Religion is a way for you, as an individual, to learn and understand whats best for yourself, and that was the most important lesson Sunday School never taught me.

Faith drives us each and every day. Through struggle and through fear, we should never give up on ourselves…that’s something that no man in cloth could ever teach me.

It’s confusing when you grow up in a religious environment and years later when you’re a young man people from not just the church but many faiths tell you that you have to be selfish to survive.
Over time I think I’ve realised that they’re somewhat right, but I still couldn’t help but feel critical of putting myself above others.
By no means am I a saint, but my sometimes annoying way of giving a shit about people, places and things somehow makes me feel like I’ve lost my edge.

I think that’s why I suffered a lot mentally in my late teens and early twenties. It was then that I began to understand the complex, fickle and often cruel nature of the world.

Some win and some lose, that is how it ends up for all of us. Life is a race, and if you cant compete, you get trampled. You either toughen up or jog on somewhere else. At the core of this is the idea that to win, you have to put yourself above everyone and everything else.

As much as I hate losing most of the time, the idea of being a completely selfish person makes me uneasy. I spent so much time trying to be a better person that it would seem that the last 20 odd years would end up being for nothing. Like I said, I am no saint, but I didn’t like the chance of me becoming an even bigger asshole.

The world seems to have a lot of them anyway, so somehow the thought of morphing into that didn’t seem original. Politics, media, sports and everyday life seemed to be filled with people who don’t care anymore. I think the appeal of being a good person has somehow been made out to mean that you’re a pussy or that you’re naive.

And while I do agree that the world is not all sunshine and rainbows…that it is at times, a mean and nasty place, I don’t think that that means we should lose one of the most important traits that make’s us human.

Empathy.

Feeling for another person, trying to understand where they are coming from is what makes us a cohesive society. There are obvious exceptions…racism, bigotry, sexism and discrimination, all aspects of a human that we should never be tolerant of. But when you look at the broader picture, this community that we live in holds so many different types of people, from a variety of different backgrounds. It’s almost vital for us to at least try to empathise.

Understanding what people do, and more importantly why they do it gives us better insight, not only into other peoples lives but also our own.

I was listening to a podcast not long ago, the hosts were talking about suicide and hostage negotiations. The topic of using the good cop, bad cop routine came up and was immediately dismissed as ineffective. The host said that the most effective way to handle hostage situations was by treating the person like a human being and NOT a criminal.

I recount to days where I was at my lowest. Where I felt like I didn’t matter. I couldn’t help but think that if I could just say something out loud to someone, just to vent every little thing that was building up and starting to bother me, then somehow, someway that would’ve made a massive difference. Instead, I sat there on my bed each night, covered in sweat, shaking in anxiety, fresh from whatever nightmare my mind decided to take a trip into.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that people just want to be understood. They want someone to talk to, they want to feel like they can be heard and our biggest mistake as a collective species, is our inability to WANT to hear another person. Its all about the individual, its all about me and you…its never about us.

The massive problems that we face today are all OUR problems.

Sexual assault and rape, domestic violence and child abuse, global warming and pollution, homelessness and world hunger…these are all issues that affect so many more people than we realise. On top of that, the people that are affected come from so many different situations and backgrounds.

Everyone has their own stories but these issues that we face are those that we have to face as a collective. But, because we cant feel for the people next to us, these problems continue to grow.

Plain and simple, we choose to forget about the less fortunate and we aren’t educated enough about the effects of so many negative things…all because we are so caught up in our day to day problems. Understanding the unique perspectives of so many people might change your whole entire life, but no one seems to have the balls to at least try.

If we were given a chance to listen to all those women who were affected by Harvey Weinstein just a little bit earlier, then maybe the problem could’ve been solved much sooner and we could’ve stopped a monster before it was too late. Instead, we chose to live out our lives and call it the norm.

If we had listened to scientists who told us that the world was going to suffer if we were to continue to emit CO2 and pollute our air then maybe the ice caps wouldn’t be melting from global warming.

And maybe, just maybe if we had listened more closely to that one guy or girl who was talking down about themselves, who were truly lost and was suffering on the inside…then maybe our suicide statistics wouldn’t be so high either.

Empathy leads to compassion and it doesn’t just change lives…it moulds and shapes a better future for more than just the next generation. It helps shed the toxicity that kills our humanity and it makes way for a more cohesive society.

You see, we don’t own anything besides our actions, even the material things we have can be ultimately stripped away from us. However our actions are what makes us who we are, its the only tangible thing that can make real change.  Empathy, choosing to feel for the other person…understanding that it isn’t cut and dry and there might be a totally different story that we may be oblivious to, maybe the one thing that makes a difference.

I watch a lot of movies, so it’s safe to say that I can tell when someone is being genuine or not. Actors do a great job of performing a character. That character may emulate a facet of who they are, but for the most part, it is a fictitious makeup of someone else’s imagination. Unfortunately, in the world we live in, the people around us can be just as good at acting out whatever character they want.

We live in the social media era. Everyone has an Instagram, Twitter or Facebook… and with the large success that has made hundreds of different people into stars because of it, the idea of being someone else has been more sought after than ever. Actors and performers are no longer the most entertaining liars in our world. Rather it is the everyday person that you might never have imagined to be fake.

I use that word with all due respect. I do not disparage a person’s grind at all. You do you; But when you see carbon copies of something or someone constantly, it begs the question of whether originality exists anymore. Our imaginations were once the hub for innovation and creativity, and yet even though many people have one, that hub that was once celebrated through the likes of Mozart, Shakespeare, Rowling and Brando, is now a dry and misplaced wasteland that few people tap into.

There’s a reason why people make it online. They are attractive in a number of different aspects, to their audiences…but the real ones are the ones that have the most amount of attention because sooner or later their audience will understand what is genuine and what is not. Time tests us all… so it won’t take long for that façade to fall. We can always emulate and take inspiration, but that mask that you have created will over time be your demise.
I know I sound cynical, I know I sound like a hater, but in God’s honest truth I say this because I believe in the power of being you. People may not like it, but that is not why you are here. I have said this many times before and I won’t hesitate in repeating myself, the best you can be is you.

Social media was supposed to celebrate that. Instead, you have more of the same rolling in on your feed. I sit here not as some divine intervention that knows everything and judges everyone (although my name might suggest otherwise), but rather someone who is equally guilty of an ongoing problem. We live in a cyber world where we copy the recipes of others, just because it tastes good to the masses. However, what we fail to realise is how good our own recipe would be if we just cook it ourselves. By that, I mean that it’s better to showcase the world who you really are as opposed to what they want to see. Because that, first and foremost, is the truth.

WE have to stop celebrating lies. Not everyone is what they seem, but there is a difference between what is fake, and what is a mystery. A magic trick may not be revealed for every secret that it may have, but at least we know that it is still a trick. The same cannot be said for people and an unfortunate result is the unreal expectations that are placed on millions of people around the world.

I guess what I’m trying to say in and amongst this sea of words, is that we should have faith in ourselves. We all have the power to make a difference, but we will never be able to make it if we’re constantly playing a character. Seeing what we can do for ourselves and nothing but that, allows us to follow a path in which no one can infect. It allows no one else the ability to take away or steal anything from you and gives you supreme confidence in your mission.

You are who you are, they are who they are, and without that, the world would be a dull, boring place filled with nothing more than copies that will eventually cease making a difference.

The dangers of social media are outweighed by the good you can do with it. It is our responsibility to make sure that it doesn’t corrupt us because it will never be worth it. Whether you are creative or not, your mission is what you choose, but more than that it is your unique perception that adds life to those around you.

We are the main characters in our own story, but unlike the stories we know, there is so much that is unknown. Who we trust is a big factor in what we do. How we conduct ourselves can be seen in who we are, but in the real world where so many of us have so many different experiences, it is too hard to tell whether or not someone is what they seem.

I have struggled with a lot. I still do. Not unlike many of you reading this now. That’s what we were taught that this world would be… a struggle. A giant climb that has risks at any turn. A fact of life, no doubt, that many of us have come to terms with.

However, our struggles and our obstacles are not something we should bear alone. Being independent and being alone is not always the same thing…in fact, I don’t think they ever are. We choose to be independent. That part of life that gets hard is tackled through independence, our ability to put our own foot down and keep pressing forward is how we survive, and that’s to our own choice. Being alone is something different. It’s more than just being by yourself. It’s not being present, it’s not being recognised…it’s not being heard.

As humans, we are in some way pack animals. We love interaction, we build off of that. Our communities and societies work in that we speak to each other in some way, shape or form. We’ve developed modes of communication for those who can listen and those who can not. We can talk to people all over the world through words on a screen and videos sent from the palm of our hands.

So why do we all still feel alone?

Those late night deep thoughts that consume and feed off of your sleep, they haunt you and I. In particular, it is that one thought that really destroys us bit by bit every moment it comes to mind.
We know deep down inside that it is our biggest fear. To walk around this earth not being recognised. Having people move straight past you without a second thought. To have no meaning to anyone or anything. To not be heard or not be understood. To really be alone.

There is a whale out in the Pacific ocean that has been dubbed as the “Worlds Loneliest”. Scientists have been monitoring this particular whale for years because of one unique fact. Its call is significantly higher than that of any other Blue, Fin or Humpback whale they have encountered. Most of which call between 10-40 Hertz, the “Loneliest Whale” is said to call at 52 Hz. It was once said that because of this, the whale could not find a suitable mate. Its call was never received and was not heard by any of its kind… and so it wanders the oceans by itself.

There have been no reports of anything being wrong with him or her. The call being continuously heard for years indicates that he or she is healthy and has matured… but that doesn’t change how sad this story sounds.

We are not that different.

To be truly alone means to not be heard. Just like that whale, our biggest trials are when we feel like we don’t matter. No matter the cause or the reason, you and I will always go crazy if we are left completely by ourselves. Abandonment feels like a punishment and solitude, although beneficial at times, can hurt even the strongest of peoples.

Embracing loneliness isn’t bad, and at times being alone is good for you. It gives us a chance to think and evaluate ourselves, something that can be forgotten when surrounded by different types of people. However, being by oneself for too long keeps us from actually growing, and over time the very real thoughts of abandonment, lack of fulfilment and overall sense of loss, chips away at our being.

This is where who we choose to surround ourselves with is important.

We need people that will LISTEN.

Not when its convenient for them, not when they’ve finally heard your voice, but whenever you have something to say.

Whether they appreciate it is up to them, but having respectable and open-minded people who care about you and what you have to say, are part of the reason that you keep on going. What you represent is more than what you try and say. It’s the words that come from your mouth, it’s the way you look at something or someone and more importantly, it is what you do.

If nobody sees or hears it, then it was all for nothing. The right people will not only hear you, they’ll talk to you…they’ll make you better and better each and every day.

Life is too short to live it alone. We spend one-third of our lives sleeping…our dreams are where we find solitude. Yes, being by yourself is a good thing…but the people around us make life a whole lot better. There is no value on real friendships and there is nothing quite like being heard. The world needs you, and it won’t hear you unless you let it.

I remember how old I was when I realised that trying to be something I wasn’t, was not going to work out. I was 14 and I was playing handball with my mates during lunch. At the time I was at an all-boys school out in Penrith so the vibe was very rowdy. If your ball was hit too hard and escaped your reach, it wasn’t uncommon for an older boy to kick or chuck the shit out of it in the opposite direction. It wasn’t personal; it was just for their own amusement.

This particular time I chased down a stray ball and managed to rip it away from a burly year 9 kid. I remember him saying something smart. Now you have to keep in mind, I was a skinny, lanky, awkward young teen with tangled black hair and a voice that broke every sentence. It was safe to say that I wasn’t getting any girls and being a nice kid was probably my only redeeming quality.

Unfortunately, this one time I thought I’d be a tough guy and say something smart back. I can’t remember much of what I said, but I do remember walking away with a smug look on my face thinking I was top shit.

I was walking back to my mates when I felt a large ball like object smash into to the side of my head. It splattered everywhere… dazed I looked down to see a half-eaten apple rolling down onto the ground. My face went red with embarrassment and to this day, I still remember the vivid image of all the other boys, including my best friends, laughing hysterically while I hurried back onto the court.

The apple was a reality check, and despite being completely unnecessary and kind of cruel, it taught me a valuable lesson: never try and be something you’re not.

At the time I wasn’t a tough, edgy kid that could take on anyone. I knew it, the burly year 9 kid knew it, and so did whoever threw that apple at my head (probably the same kid). Don’t get me wrong, I always worked and wanted to be more… to be tougher, to be sterner and to stick up for myself. I realised early on that being true to myself was more important than playing a fake version of who I think I should be. I don’t think I ever wanted to be that guy, but because of the different personalities around me, somehow that version of Nickin seemed very appealing to me at the time.

That experience may have taught me a valuable lesson, but it would take years for it to actually make any effect on my life. The last two years of high school and the first couple of years at uni exposed me to different characters and types of people from all walks of life, something a large majority of you all reading this can relate to. No longer was I in a bubble of the same types of people, but rather a cliché melting pot that was the very definition of diversity….and just like a melting pot, the wrong ingredient can make it taste bland.

The only way it seemed to all work was when I chose to let go of any idea of who I should be and just start being myself. It didn’t matter how I looked or sounded, but rather whether my personality shone in conversation and interactions on a daily basis. You can’t be a functioning and interesting person without being true to yourself, and that sometimes means wearing your insecurities on your sleeve and accepting them.

An example of this is classically explained through how you look. I remember man buns and beards were a massive deal a year or two ago. I’m ashamed to say that I tried to grow one. Not because I liked it, but more because I wanted to “fit in”. It wasn’t too long before I realised how much of a bad idea that was. First of all, my hair didn’t grow the way I wanted it to, and second of all, I hated the feeling of having too much hair around my head in general. I already had a beard at this point, something I was incredibly proud of, but with the added hair around my face, I knew for a fact that it wasn’t going to work out.

I made the mistake of doing something I knew I was not going to like. I was building this weird image of what I wasn’t.

The façade we may walk around with can be useful at times. Those that say that you should suffer in silence are not always wrong, but there comes a time where you have to realise that it is not a real representation of who you are.

As corny as it may sound there really isn’t anyone else like you on the planet. Other people may have the same interests, the same habits and the same tendencies…they may even look like you, but no one is ever going to be exactly the same as you.

Even if you try to be something else, life tends to either swiftly or violently make you realise that it isn’t going to work out. Whether that be in the form of your own epiphany or an apple that hits you directly in the head.

Frustrations boil over, the world starts to work against you and the people around you, if they are smart enough, will notice the cracks in your character that will most definitely start to form.

It was, is, and always will be a better story if you just accept who you are. No one can take that away from you, not the experiences that you have and not anything that you have achieved… because the strongest you will ever be is when you’re being you.

In an earlier post, I spoke about the importance of rebuilding.
Developing yourself as a human being is always important and understanding that being able to build who you are, is vital when working towards someone you want to be.
But before you ever rebuild, you must cut and burn down any part of you that you think is toxic to your life and your character. You cannot grow fresh new fruit with the rotten pieces still attached to the tree. They must be cut away, to make space for the new.

Those rotten fruits are not who you are, rather they are what slows and limit’s your capabilities. Bad habits like waking up in the afternoon and sleeping to absurd hours doing shit all. Spending time inside taking in the same air that you breathe out. Having an unhealthy diet, or even keeping and hoarding the same negative and destructive people that somehow manage to weasel their way into your life.

This limits ourselves and coupled with a lack of vision, awareness and open-mindedness we develop a fear which shifts our focus and muddles our mind, ultimately tarnishing our end product.

Anything that gets in the way of your work, anything that feeds on your persona and does not offer anything positive, will eventually cause you to fail.

So naturally, the best thing to do to anything negative is to let it go, burn it or throw it away.

Shed anything that keeps you from who you could be…not your flaws or the little blemishes that you may not be able to control, but more so the long-dead metaphorical tree branches that don’t bear your fruit.

Before I started writing, I was scared of what people would say and how it would affect me. I didn’t know whether what I was saying was of any substance and I felt like my credentials were just life experiences that barely made me a functioning adult.
I think that fear is the reason why it took me so long to put pen to paper, and even longer to get back into it.

I began to understand that I had to burn that fear, and I did that through writing and posting again and again. Even at times when I thought it wasn’t my best work or when I wasn’t overly proud of it, I still chose to face it head on and continue, something which I am glad I did. If not for myself but for the people who told me I could make a difference.

Being noticeably uptight and resistant to new experiences, I was encouraged to let go of anything that was bogging me down, this included all the fear that I was holding in my head. Having gone through recent turmoil and hating myself for not being better, I began to understand that to move forward I needed to let go of all the resentment, the heartache and even some of the good memories that I had hoarded. Pretty much anything that was preventing me from any creative or personal growth.

Which worked …but not straight away.

Although it allowed me to have a process of letting go, the change I felt was not instantaneous. It took some time for me to actually move on, but burning those horrid feelings made way for me to build something new.
When we rebuild, we need a solid foundation to work from, an idea that I have written about previously. This solid foundation had to be free from any shackles that wore me out… much like a tree.

You see, when you plant a seed into the soil, it has to be deep enough so when it grows, the roots won’t wrestle above the ground. Unstable roots means a weak tree and a weak tree gets easily picked apart during any kind of pressure it faces.
In order for the roots to be strong, they need to grow deep, they need to be nurtured through water and proper sunlight and have enough room to grow.
Just like a tree, I had to be able to open myself up to new experiences and ways of life to become a better person.

All this took assertion. I had to be prepared to confront anything and anyone that once instilled fear and doubt in my mind. At times that meant being calculating and careful but to be honest, strongly standing up to any negativity was probably how it ended up being such a worthwhile endeavour.

Letting go of toxicity and dissecting something that could potentially cause you harm, may be the only way’s you can move on from anything. Whether that be people, places or things, all that matters is whether or not you are capable of taking a step away and in a better direction than where those things were taking you.

Letting go doesn’t always mean saying goodbye, but it does mean we have enough strength and self-respect to know what we are worth, something that we all tend to forget at times. Showing courage and strength in our choices is what is most important and in order to move forward, one must be prepared to say no to any person, place or thing that could destroy you.

The life we lead ultimately comes down to the choices we make and the path we choose to walk. Don’t wait for the wrong decision to bite you in the arse, rather ensure that you can look after your roots and grow the fruit you choose to bear.