It’s been a long time since I put pen to paper and shared something with my friends. So after arriving home at 9.00pm after two magic days on the road, here goes. It’s going to be short and sweet cause I’m tired. But I hope it encourages you, no matter where you live, to get out and explore the countryside, and yourself!

I’ve been in Melbourne for almost 17 months. It hasn’t brought me exactly what I’d hoped for, but then again, I probably didn’t know what I was hoping for. A new beginning perhaps? An opportunity to try and settle back after an incredible life experience? A new challenge? I’m at a bit of a crossroads – I can hear my mum telling me to stop being a dreamer, settle down and to make something of myself. But then again, if I’d done that every time she had told me, I would not have done anything I’ve done – I’ve been hearing it since I was five.

I’ve been going to the Vietnam Vets Centre for the last month, and can honestly say, it’s one of the best things I have ever done in my life. I never share my past with people because I fight hard to not let it come into my life, so you will be surprised to hear this. Being a Vet’s daughter isn’t easy. The depression, the anger, the negativity, the broken relationships – I’ve fought 36 years to not be like my family and I’m finally learning that I don’t have to try so hard. It’s not easy for me talking about it, but it has shaped me, and I have found the last four weeks extremely difficult, hence my need to get away. To take out all the emotion. And just have some fun.

I woke up Friday. The weather was magic. My soul was in need of some nourishment. And the forecast was for a perfect weekend. So I planned to take one of the top ten things to do in Oz off my list and head to the Great Ocean Road. So at 7am on Saturday I headed off for some snacks and hit the road – the thought of two days visa shopping blazing in the dust as I flew down the Princes Highway towards my target – a weekend of randomness.

Most people who will read this, have travelled with me, and know what I’m like doing something I love. This journey was a little different. I was by myself. Had a lot on my mind. Had been crying too much the week before. And really was just looking for an excuse to get out of town. What I found however, was an incredible opportunity to just do whatever I wanted and totally immerse myself in the two days of exploring, both this incredible part of the country and myself.

I probably did over 700km in the two days, and that is just in the car. I walked to Erskine Falls, spent two hours sinking my feet into the sand along Apollo Bay, soaked in the history of the Otway Lighthouse, meditated with the sounds of the bubbling stream and birds amidst the solitude of Maits Rest, walked down Gibson’s Steps and along to the mmmm… third apostle if you count the one that has crashed into the sea, got lost in the tundra of the Bay of Islands, soaked up the sun under a willow tree while enjoying some local cheese and wine at Timboon, walked to Trinity Falls, quivered my way up 47metres above the ground at the Otway Fly, watched the sunset over the 12 apostles, was amazed at the sheer size and number of crater lakes I could see from Camperdown, and to top it all off, thought there was only one way to really do it all justice, so I jumped into a helicopter and flew over this amazing part of the world.

Uh huh…. my calves are killing me. My eyes are wilting. Everyone knows I always ask the locals what not to miss. But really…. did my neck really need that 20km unsealed Lavers Hill – Cobden Road – 40 minutes on a one lane dirt track through tropical rainforest, with not one other vehicle passing – I must go back and thank John and Di – wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

I was taking my own advice on the weekend. It wasn’t a race, but I was grabbing every opportunity. I bypassed every town – who needed cafes, tourist shops and mmm people when there was magic out there waiting. And needless to say, I figured out why it’s tagged great – large in size, powerful, wonderful and most certainly remarkable. It certainly should be on the list of things to do, and I’m really glad that I went by myself. Because as much as it would have been amazing to share it all with someone, I didn’t have to worry about being selfish, because for a rare time in my life, I just did anything I wanted, and more.

No one was incredibly brilliant when the names were being handed out… although I was liking the Sow and Piglet story told by my very nice… ok hot… helicopter pilot. Yes, it’s a road along an ocean, and pretty remarkable, ok, great scenery. But I found another definition for why it has the ‘great’ appendage.

Spending two days alone certainly does give one time to reflect and look forward. As an adult, we are rarely given opportunities to grow. And over the last two days Carl Jung finally made sense: our vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.

I think my mum has always been right. I have been a dreamer. But the great thing about spending time watching the power of the waves as they reshape kms of limestone cliffs, walking amidst the tree tops and flying above such a remarkable landscape – it gave me time to look inside. To not just dream. To know who I am. To really identify what starts the fire. To think about what I want to achieve, and not just about how I can help someone else. And most importantly, what is going to give me the simple fun life I really want. Not the world I get caught up in. But the one I want to be in.

I think I might be curling out of my slumber…. and there’s a golden glow like the one about 8.50 this morning as the first real light hit the apostles… and me, as I’d fallen asleep on the sand.

The dictionary is wrong. Life is a verb. Not a noun. I proved that on the weekend. Now I’m looking inside… and there’s plenty of movement. But this feels different. It feels great! Five weeks coming up in Asia – chilling, fun, simplicity and above all doing something I am passionate about. A place that always makes me feel alive. How could it not?

Skidding across the tarmac I was welcomed to Bangkok by more than 100 pictures of King Bhumibol.

Having reigned since June 9, 1946, Bhumibol Adulyadej, translating as “strength of the land, incomparable power” is the world’s longest-serving current head of state and the longest-serving monarch in Thai’s history. Long Live the King is imprinted on every airport entrance (if you’ve been to Bangkok airport, you would know that this translates to a lot) and stories of the royal family headline each of the papers and airline magazines.

Somehow I don’t see Australia ever getting to the point where hundreds of pictures of Johnnie or Kevvie will ever grace our cities, but am sure the headlines will continue.

As I wander around the airport with Bhumi watching my every move, I can’t help but wonder why the majority of travellers feel compelled to shop when they have a few hours on their hands.

I’d much rather enjoy the culture of the country in which I’m travelling and so instead of putting myself in the hands of my visa, opted for the hands of another and headed straight to the massage centre.

I can assure you there is no equivalent to the touch of a young Thai woman as she massages 11 hours of travelling and 4 months of emotion out of your aching calves and shoulders.

The Thai’s calm and gentleness was transferred through Ob’s hands into every knot inside me. With every knead and pummel, the journey of the last few months was transferred from tears and anger to that of appreciation, reassurance and calmness.

Thanks didn’t seem enough as I walked out of the room. I was finally excited to be back in Asia, my head was clear and I was ready for some great experiences and fun.

And so, feeling back to my old self, it was off to Ho Chi Minh. Vietnam has always pulled me and it isn’t just for the warmth of the people, the appealing scenery and culinary delights. My Dad’s tour of not so much duty, but hell, has always given me a purpose to travel here. Although over 30 years have passed since he was stationed here, as much as I try to encourage him to move on, this country has left an indelible imprint on not only him as a person, but his relationships, future and attitude, which saddens me deeply.

So it is with a newfound acceptance and calmness that I head to Vietnam, safe in the knowledge that even if my Dad can’t, I can move on and grab this journey with hands open to everything the next few weeks will bring. Then again, I’m also going to have my hands in there to ensure this trip is an incredible experience for everyone on it.

Arriving at the newly opened Tan Son Nhat international airport, I managed to take a record two minutes to pass through customs. I was very impressed with the modernity of the architecture, but there was a small part of me that missed the drabness of the old airport with its military presence and hour long queues: no more searching the faces of weary travellers, unaware of the chaos they were about to encounter.

Grabbing my bag and 22kg of gifts for Sunrise, I head to the taxi rank and the 45 min drive to Pham Ngu Lao.

When I was here last year, I managed to find a secluded haven amidst the deluge of noise, bikes and people this backpackers area exudes in every square inch.  Walking up to the door, I wasn’t surprised by the recognition: as much as I’d like to admit I’m unforgettable, the Vietnamese have an infallible memory for faces and the Nguyen family welcomed me back into their home.

I have always loved walking the back roads of this city, but was shocked to find the tremendous increase in the number of motor bikes, and smog that enveloped the already chaotic kaleidoscope that is Ho Chi Minh.

As I sat down and chilled on a street corner savouring the sweetness of my first Vietnamese caffeine fix, my friend Sau told me that with the dollar, bikes are now much more affordable, with a good second hand bike available for around $100. So for the price of one good night on the town, the freedom a bike can bring is now available to most, but with that the cost of increasing pollution and congestion is evident.

Sau enquired how my Dad was, as we had spent a few days together last year when I brought Dad back for the first time since he was stationed here. My response: same, same. Sau contemplated it for a while before surprising me with his response: “it is difficult for him to find balance, but it is important for him if he wants to find peace”. Funny how he knew, even though he had only shared a few beers with my Dad last year.

After farewelling Sau and organising my pick up for tomorrow, I headed off to order a flag for the Amazing Race and searched out a street vendor to buy my first bowl of pho. After catching a heady waft of broth, basil, chicken and lime, I sat down on the toddler stool and enjoyed not only this iconic Vietnamese dish, but the scene unravelling on the footpath in front of me.

I fully appreciate the local past time of sitting in a cafe for hours on end, watching the scenes as they change quickly, colourfully and randomly.

And then it came – rain I had not seen in a long time. Ducking into a local cafe, I sat for 40 mintes waiting for it to pass. When I realised that it wasn’t going to ease any time soon, I decided to make a run for it back to the guest house. By the time I was two blocks away, I found myself in 40cm of water as a river was soon being formed where a road had been an hour before. I didn’t want to contemplate too much the objects I was feeling with every careful step, and was glad to make it back to the dryness of the hotel.

A result of a typhoon in the Philippines, the rain is unusual for this time of year and it is expected to continue for the next few days. With lots to do, I’m off to buy a fluorescent poncho and will try not to be too distracted by the scene I am a part of, and yet, watching with heightened senses.

….I’m looking out the doorway and glimpse a man carefully scrubbing away the remaining hairs of a pig trotter, a young girl with a pile of books taller than herself, and a grandmother whose teeth have been stained by one too many betel nuts…

Firstly, thank you for the emails asking how I am? I have been off the grid for a while, but now in Vientiane for a few more days, so making the most of internet (is that a good or bad thing) and the croissants. Thank goodness for the French. There have been plenty of journeys that I do not have the time to share on this blog, but rest assured, every experience I have had, and person who has inspired me: their stories will be shared and you will have the opportunity to be a part of the journey. So stay tuned.

After a long day with meetings from 9am until 6pm, I took myself down to the Mekong and ordered a large beer Lao with some morning glory, shrimp and sticky rice, and still came out with change from $4. I thought I deserved it. The rat, pig’s ear and wasp pupa, compliments of my northern Lao experience, although tasty, won’t be joined by any other local delicacies between now and my departure.

As I watched the sunset and a team of rowers trying to scull themselves against the Mekong’s heavy current, I could hear Michael Buble blaring in the background. As I contemplated my five week journey, I certainly felt it was “like I’m living someone else’s life” but the only difference was, I didn’t want to go home.

Marcel Proust said: “The real voyage of discovery consists not only in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes”. I don’t want to go home. The more I learn, the more I want to keep learning. And the more I have my new eyes open.

As I dig into my bag for water, I sift through the samples of children’s books being delivered to rural villages, graphic pictures of UXO (unexploded ordinance) victims who have lost limbs, silkworms still spinning and a camera filled with over 600 photographs of places, faces and change. I recollect a movie I saw today: the depth of a mother’s grief as she recalled the death of her child through a bomb explosion. I will never forget the eyes filled with tears, the bowed head, the silence. The anger inside of how a ’secret war’ could still be causing so much devastation, was quite overwhelming. Estimates predict that it would take another 400 years to clear the country of all the UXO hidden underneath the landscape. And yet the exhibition I saw focussed on the approach of education and allowing us “into the lives of the people that it serves” in order to reach out and create change.

The realisation that I have new eyes really hits me, along with that of not only the journey I have travelled, but the adventures ahead and the desire to ensure I fulfill the commitment to myself and others to make this project a success.

Apart from the fact I have spent five weeks researching, writing and experiencing the world of change through the eyes of those who are creating the change and those whose lives who have been changed, I have also hung out in brothels, slums, communes, villages, walked the streets at night and learned about some incredible projects. Why would I spend 11 hours in a car travelling 250km dropping off silkworm eggs (and that’s just one way) when I could have just sat at home and learned about these projects by email?

Because unless I travelled the path, I could never truly understand. I spent five days with a Nobel Peace Prize nominee, who, despite calls of “crazy woman” from friends and family, has persisted with a lifetime of commitment to providing opportunity to those who have none. This is something that you just cannot learn via email. You have to follow the path and see, hear and experience the work being done.

For one who has spent years experiencing the privileges of travel, it certainly has had a different purpose this time around. I would encourage anyone contemplating a journey to travel with new eyes, or at least, be willing to have one’s eyes open to learn and see a little more than just the major sights and culinary delights of any new destination.

My American friends, Jen and Trev, introduced me to the tunes of Sister Hazel, and I now find myself humming to the tune of my favourite song “you should see the world inside my head”.  As I so often do, tonight, I watched the sunset, “like it’s a big surprise”. And not because I have an extremely vivid imagination, but because I have different eyes.

This will be my last post on this blog for a while. I have a lot to do. Websites to finish. Stories to write. Products to code. Accounts to be finished. Photos to be selected. Wrapping to be decided upon. BAS to be done. Braces to be fitted. A job to find so I can eat. And a return to Melbourne to contend with.

The vision of give.com.au has been strengthened through the humbling, moving and powerful stories I have witnessed. There is still a lot to be done. There are still more stories to be heard. There are still more countries to visit, partnerships to be strengthened and projects to support.

Thank you for your support. Thank you to my friends who continue to encourage me. Thank you to Rob McIntosh, my knight, for his creative support and genius. And importantly, thank you to Frank and Mary.

I look forward to the next twist of the rollercoaster as it spirals upwards full throttle and with the element of unknown as to which way it will twist next. Let’s hope you will continue the ride with me.

So as Sister Hazel sings, I encourage you to get up early tomorrow and “watch the sunrise, like it’s a big surprise”. Think about your passions, what you love to do, and something you are always talking about but never get around to doing. I guarantee you will get a little more than you bargained for. Perhaps it’s the first step onto your very own rollercoaster. Trust me, it’s worth it. You’ll never be afraid of them again. The rollercoasters, or the mountains!

There will be hard work. There will be tears. There will be pain. There will be journeys down one path to only hit a dead end and have to turn around and come back. There will be opportunities to dig deep and push onself to new limits.

And besides. Rollercoasters and mountains both have great views from the top! I’ll see you up there.

x

After five months of not getting outside much, my skin is a little pale. This is deemed to be quite beautiful, with many of the Khmer women spending their hard earned dollars on whitening creams and gels. But beauty in Cambodia has gone to a whole new level. Highly toxic chemicals are being spread onto the skin, resulting in massive blisters. Like the bud of a lotus, the loose skin is peeled off removing the top dark layers, and uncovering the beauty hidden within. The pressure we women face to be beautiful to find a husband – I think Ill stay single.

Never hop into a taxi when the driver is sitting on the lap of a passenger. Its a good indication the rest of the vehicle will be a little crowded.

What is it with me and men in uniform? First it was the immigration officer at Dhaka airport. Now it is my travelling companion who just happens to be a policeman returning to work after a few days visiting his family.

Vanna doesnt speak much English, but excitedly whips out his Khmer-English dictionary when he finds out I am single. So we chat via translations for most of our journey. From Phnom Penh to Sisophon near the Thai border, Vanna travels the seven hour journey every second week to his job at the local police station. His mum and dad own the Casanova tailor shop in Phnom Penh, so I may pick up a few things on my return now we are about to get married – I think the tailor shop was named after him.

I am always talking to people – it really is the only way to learn about the culture, what the locals enjoy doing in their spare time (Im booked in for a karaoke session on my return), their hopes for the future, their family and what they really think about the $100 million + Khmer Rouge tribunal. Vanna was more than happy to share with me.

He also didnt hesitate at any of the toilet / snack stops to fill me up with food. For every stop, there were a couple more local snacks to try: my taste buds worked their way through bananas coated in sticky rice, boiled peanuts, guava and chilli salt, stuffed eggs, pomello, sour soup, steamed vegetable buns. I think I ate more in seven hours than I had in the previous week. But I enjoyed the taste sensations and the rarity of a local shouting me.

On our arrival at Sisophon, Vanna insisted on taking me to the taxi station on the back of his moto. Two wheels, two bodies, four bags, two bunches of bananas and a 1m ruler later, we headed to the taxi station to bargain my seat on the 30 minute trip to Chupvary. As most locals had already come into town and headed back home, I was the only one around who wanted a taxi, and I wasnt keen on paying the cost for the entire taxi. After liaising with Houen in Chupvary, she organised a taxi to come and pick me up – it just meant I had to wait until the taxi had only one seat left, otherwise I would have to cough up the $10 for the fare.

Vanna didnt want to leave me. He was worried that the taxi wouldnt find me. That I wouldnt be looked after. That I wouldnt be fed. He wanted to be my bodyguard and refused to head home when I said Id be fine. So, we waited. And waited. zzzzzz. And waited. Finally, my taxi arrived. As we said our goodbyes, I got the feeling Vanna would not have minded if the taxi never turned up.

To ensure you have the pleasure of a true John West sardine experience, you will find the taxi drivers in rural areas squeeze in as many people as possible into their taxi. So as Vanna dissappeared into the dust (literally due to heavy roadworks on the highway), I was on one butt cheek with two others in the front passenger seat. In the rear, were five adults, three children and two babies. At least I respect the driver for not being selfish and taking a seat all to himself. After a little bit of shoving, one more managed to squeeze in with his legs around the gear stick and an army major offered his lap to the driver. So all up, 16 of us headed off on our bumpy ride over countless potholes to the village of Chup. All in the size of nothing bigger than a Toyota Corolla.

On a few occasions, we veered off the main road into villages, tucked behind vast rice fields and sugar palm plantations. The major also needed to get back to the base, so we headed into the military zone to drop him off at his door. One of the babies needed a feed, the toilet was desperately required, some bananas needed to be purchased, three phonecalls had to be made and parcels had to be picked up and delivered. Just over an hour after departing Sisophon, I was the sole sardine, surroundered by a slick, oily residue of tissues, banana peels, plastic and nappies.

My trip to Chupvary is one of many off the beaten tracks I have taken over the years. The only difference is, this time I have a small reminder of the journey. Vanna wanted to provide me with a permanent reminder of our seven hour bus ride, and tucked inside my bag is a photograph of him outside a miniature replica of Phnom Penh´s Grand Palace. Together with a nice shiner from the gear stick jammed into my leg, the photo lays testimony to a journey well worth making. Food, entertainment, people, hilarity, kindness: I don´t mind having that kind of residue sticking around for a while to come.

Asalam walekum (hello). Welcome to Dhaka city. You are lucky to have chosen today for your city tour, as we have a three day holiday, so the traffic is not so bad and many people are sleeping as they were up last night feasting with friends and family for Shabe-e-barat. It is one of our main muslim festivals when we believe god comes a little closer to earth and will listen to our prayers. Perhaps he heard mine as I have a good customer today – life is a little difficult for a rickshaw wallah: there are over 600 000 of us in the city and the government has banned us from working in many areas of the city. So I am glad you have chosen to take your journey with me.

As we head into the snakepit that is Dhaka´s congested peak hour traffic, you will have to make sure you keep your hands in – the buses tend to bite around here as you might have guessed by the number of dints and scratches covering their bodies. I´d also hate for you to have your bag stolen, so tuck it behind, sit back and prepare yourself for the infusion of colour and movement that will surround you at every turn.

If you get a little hungry while on our tour, just let me know. There are plenty of opportunities to fill the stomach – a market stall on every corner. Look at the size of the mangoes, fresh pineapple, guava or perhaps you might like to try a giant plum, which when squeezed and cooked on the stove with some sugar makes a delicious local treat, a bit like jam. One of the best quick snacks around is poprice. Look to your left at the young boy helping his father control the heat from the gas tank. We mix the rice with some sand and turn it very quickly until it pops. No oil. It takes a little while but well worth it. Sometimes we add fresh tomato and onion, but I like it with some spices and chilli crisps mixed in.

Would you like some tea?

What is your favourite colour? You only have to look around to see every shade and colour imaginable. Saris, rickshaws, even our trucks are covered with decoration and colour: images from our lives, our country and our hearts.

Can you hear that noise? It is the humming tones of our city´s entrepeneurs. Let´s head towards the market and I will show you where it is coming from. Each vendor is calling out what he is selling and the prices – perhaps you would like some tshirts, jeans or dresses. We have so many garment factories in our country – in fact many western clothes are made here. Perhaps a vibrant sari or some rickshaw art?

I am glad you aren´t too heavy, it´s pretty hard work on this bicycle. Pity some of the beggars cant work a little harder. For some of them, it is their job. And they make pretty good money. For some, it is their only means of existence – with 50 million living in the city, there is not opportunity for everyone to have a job. So the only opportunity for some is to beg. Mothers with babies, young children who look like they have never washed, amputees, disabled – the city is filled with them.

Let´s head somewhere that will get you out of this congested traffic, and to another form of transport. Water is the lifeline of many Bangladeshis considering the number of waterways in our country. We have the largest delta in the world, with a multitude of rivers winding across the country´s landscape. Sadarghat is a main boat terminal in the old town and the panorama of life on the river is vibrant. You can see all aspects of life in a 360 turn – cooking, washing, trading, eating, sitting. Down to the right is the wholesale market – traders coming in from all over the country to sell their fruit and vegetables to the city´s market stall holders. Would you like some fruit to take back to your guesthouse?

Perhaps a hair cut? Or do you need something mended? Look at them cutting up that cow – oh, perhaps I shouldn´t have pointed that out. Anything you like can be found in the laneways of the old town and everything you would do at home in a shopping centre is done out in the open – we have no space to hide ourselves away in buildings, nor the money to pay rent, so our offices are the lanes, the footpaths, the bridges: infact any space where a stall will fit, you will find someone selling something.

As we head back towards your guesthouse, you will have noticed it´s a little quieter in this part of the town. The government does try to clean it up as it is where all of the embassies are located. I don´t think it shows most visitors the real Dhaka – but they will learn soon enough. I don´t think you should hide yourself away from our city, but attack it with a desire to learn, admire and be shaken.

Donnobad (thank you) for riding with me. Enjoy the rest of your journeys. May you always remember your visit and our journey.

Life does not stand still in Dhaka – it is a constant flurry of movement and colour. We could learn something from it – the raw energy oozing from every square foot of the city is addictive, engaging and dynamic. Life should be like Dhaka. I will be back.

¨Where are you going?¨

¨What is your father´s name?¨

¨What is your occupation?¨

¨Tina Louise Jensen. Born 13 June 1971.¨ (read out very loudly)

¨Are you married?¨

¨Would you like to be?¨ (glistening smile bigger than all of Bangla´s waterways in the rainy season)

Bangladesh is not the only country obsessed with asking the tough questions. I´d heard the same query from pretty much everyone I met during my stay, along with the subsequent dismay when they finally learned I was a 37 year old single white female, travelling alone, with no children. Shock crossed their faces, along with the lines of speculation as to what was wrong with me.

But at 1.00am in the morning (no wonder the tourists don´t come with the flight times in and out of the country), I wasn´t particularly in the search for an immigration officer as my potential new beau, especially given it would be a long time between visits.

In a society where having a child is as much an obsession as world politics, the Banglas just can´t understand why I wouldn´t be married, or at least have a boyfriend. Now I realise I´m no Jennifer Hawkins or Miranda Kerr, and apart from the fact that I wouldn´t have to look up to everyone I spoke with, I can only imagine what life would be like with Elle´s legs. However, there is the small fact of singledom that I look over daily.

Even the boys in the airport cafe who upgraded me to the Hawkins´ ¨first class¨ league didn´t even get a look in, and I´m still feeling a little guilty about their request for my phone number to which I declined their request.

This is a pretty incredible journey I am embarking upon, and there would be nothing greater to share the experiences with someone special. After incredible days out in the field, there is no one to share the emotions, the experiences, the laughter and the raw honesty about what one has heard, seen and felt. Besides, I intend to keep travelling this incredible planet of ours, and really don´t want every person on the planet thinking I´m odd.

So my friends, I´ve had a day of chaotic imagery and I have no one to share it with. So I ask you to imagine yourself in a rickshaw in the middle of Dhaka town as I, your rickshaw wallah, take you on a ride. It´s not safe to take a camera around, so on our journey I ask you to observe and listen – it´s the only way you will have any record. Like me, the journey may not be first class, it won´t all be postcard perfect, but you´ll let your hair down, observe, try new things, learn, be challenged and learn a little about yourself on the way.

Step up, and as you do, don´t forget to check out the paintings adorning the rickshaw – the beauty of water lillies and cinema celebrities – I chose the design myself.

Which way do you want to go?

It’s been a while. There’s been illness. Isolation from the world. Time for reflection. Realisations. Acceptance. Personal challenges. Soul searching.

Tomorrow commences August 2008. In eight days, I will commence the second part of a personal journey that will take me from the inner, to five countries in south-east Asia. In eight days, the realisation of a dream takes me away from my computer where I have been glued for the past few weeks, and into the future. A future filled with passion, compassion, excitement, the realisation of dreams and self.

On my birthday this year, I gave myself the greatest gift. Registration of an Australian company that is dedicated to unsung visionaries who create change around the globe. Someone once said to me that a mind once stretched by a new idea will never regain its original dimension. Over the past six months, mine has been stretched to new extremes, and I will be forever changed.

Two years ago, I had a dream. I woke up and checked the availability of www.give.com.au. Astounded that it was there, I paid my fee and for two years, have tortured myself as to what I was going to do with it. I have spent a life giving to others, to the point of exhaustion, and yet at this point in time, feel I can conquer anything.

Why? Because there is power in vision. There is power in dreams. And there is power in self. Combine these three, and one can create anything. www.give.com.au will be launched later in the year and is a site dedicated to individuals, communities and organisations around the globe who give opportunity to others.

For me, this new path is one that has been a long time coming. A windy path with lots of detours, mountains and challenges to cross. But one that now fills with me fulfillment and the knowledge that finally, I can be happy.

I am about to embark on an incredible six week journey to Bangladesh, Cambodia, Vietnam, Lao and Thailand. During this time I am meeting with the founders and artisans of 14 organisations that are creating change. It is not just a journey of the world and the people in it. But it is a personal journey filled with all that I am passionate about – people, change, compassion, commitment and life.

Six months ago, I did not want to be here. I was in pain – physically, emotionally and spiritually. But I didn’t want to listen to the doctor and dug deep. It truly is incredible what we have inside us that we really don’t give ourselves the opportunity to find.

I have spoken with many. I know the power of the secret. Always have. I just didn’t know what I wanted. It’s never been about ego. Never about money. Nor what others can give me. It’s always been about what drives me and makes me feel alive. Finally, I have found it.

I would like to invite you to join me on my journey over the forthcoming weeks as I share with you the experiences I am soon to have, the people I will soon have the privilege to meet, and the satisfaction I will have in following a dream.

I don’t want to just share the end result as it’s not what it’s all about. I want to share the experiences of A to Z. For I believe that unless you stop every now and again and really soak up what is happening and what you are feeling in your life, you are not grabbing each rich opportunity that will only cross your path but once.

So join me on this world journey. I’ll be taking you to genocide hospitals, rural villages, fashion boutiques, amputee centres and street children hostels. I’ll be interviewing nuns, nobel peace prize nominees and ordinary people who have chosen an extraordinary life of giving and creating change.

I hope that by sharing these stories, it will encourage you to look at yourself and your community, and perhaps do one small thing that puts a smile on another’s face. You don’t have to see it. But somewhere out there, someone in the world is smiling because you will have made the choice to give. And that face may just be yours.

x

As I sat writing a few emails, I couldn’t help but notice the young girl next to me was hiding behind her dust mask, with tears almost as heavy as yesterday’s rain, running down her cheeks.

After asking her if everything was alright, she proceeded to tell me about her Italian lover who hadn’t responded to her emails in six months after leaving the city and proclaiming he would return in two weeks.

Broken love affairs are difficult at the best of times, but even in a town filled with promiscuity, one night stands and a string of broken hearts longer than the Ho Chi Minh trail, I couldn’t help but feel for this young girl who had simply been used for a little bit of fun. Thuy shared the following email with me, and was content when I asked her if I could share it.

Girls – bring out the kleenex

i have just one thing that made me happy honey
that is my realy love. I missing you so much. I want hear in your word.
i want you said to me the true that you are still in love in me or no?
i have feeling alone here in this city not because i have no friends
because i missing only you honey
I want to here what it your feeling
i have feeling that you want make me far away from you honey
not letter not call
so all the free times you are thinking not thing about me?
that ok tell me traid what it you want honey?
i want here really clear you want to do the true.
where is your love for me? i don’t think so!
The world is not always good and i very sad for you.
If I choice not be!
The true love never have the cost honey?
maybe it late to tell you
it realy true.
That i’m in love in you!
hug

After telling her everything would be alright, Thuy hurriedly packed her bags and thanked me for listening. Having been absorbed writing her email and listening to Westlife, she had forgotten the time and was running late for work at italian restaurant ‘Pendolassco’. As she jumped on her bike and pedalled into the distance, I felt certain this wouldn’t be her last bout of dust mask tears.

I then went to visit my friend Quan and told him about the young girl. After sharing a few stories of broken hearts and empty wallets (watch out guys), he likened love to instant noodles – millions of packets on offer, cheap, quick, tasteless and unfulfilling. He said that to really know love is to spend time preparing, making sure you have all the ingredients, everything goes together well and then not only will you enjoy it, but no matter how much it changes each time it is made, you will look forward to the same meal time and time again.