"Let the games begin" I so confidently wrote a few days ago. Yes, my Australian family veers between crazy and wonderful (and is often a curious mix of the two) - but surely it can only get easier from seeing my Great Aunt. I mean, how much vitriol can there possibly be in one family?
As it turns out, a lot...
The day after I went to see my Great Aunt, I decided I really hadn't had enough punishment - and went to see my ('rubbish taking' / boyfriend stealing) Grandmother. Now, being her first-born granddaughter, I feel like I should be special to her. In fact, being her granddaughter at all, I think I deserve to be treated nicely. Like another human being at least.
Well, that was my first mistake. As I go into the house, my grandmother (wearing a maroon shell-suit, oh dear) looks at me and says (with her eyebrows raised so high, they look like they're about to take off) :
"Vot haff you done vith your hair?" 'My hair? Nothing grandma'. "Vell zat is ze problem. It makes you look like a chonta". 'A what?' "A chonta, you know". 'No'. "Like you sell". 'Sell what?' "Yourself".
Personally, I've never been known to take fashion advice from people in shell-suits, and I don't intend to start now. But where the personal attacks had started, a lesson on morality now followed. Purely to see her reaction (I'll admit it), I may have mentioned that I saw her mortal enemy, and my Great Aunt, the day before.
"She is an evil voman". 'Ok, grandma'. "Evil. She deserves nussing". 'Ok grandma'. "Next time you see her, steal." 'Steal?' "Yes, steal her jewellevy. That vill teach her." 'Oh' "She voss hell. HELL." (At this point, whilst smiling and nodding, I started shoving cake at her in the hope that that would be a good distraction. Thankfully it worked.)
Now, this was very dispiriting, I won't lie. There's only so many dysfunctional family members you want to have. I think my quota is more than filled with my Great Aunt alone, but apparently this is a burden I have to bear. And we haven't even mentioned my UK family yet. But anyway.
In a bid to distract myself from the trauma of the day (please, if anyone else has been told that their hair makes them look like a prostitute, or that they should steal from other relatives, do let me know. It would be nice to think that I'm not alone in this) - I went off for dinner with other, younger, seemingly more normal family.
That was my second mistake.
Hoping that the younger generation would be somewhat more human / normal / functional / un-shell suited than the oldies, I turned up with hope, expectation, and a newly-bought handbag sized can of hairspray - just in case.
It all was going so well, until the family bird was let out (in case my grandmother's comments have distracted you, this was an actual bird. There are many things in my family, but chonta's there are not). Now, I'm not good with birds. Or, to re-phrase - I am terrified of them. I don't like anything that flies. (Edward Cullen is an exception, and he doesn't really fly - so that's ok.) I run away when I'm scared, because I am at heart a coward. But hey, I'm with my cousins. I'm with friends. They're nice. They should understand.
To be honest, looking back on the night, I'm disappointed with my own naivety. One look at my white, trembling face (which, along with the rest of me, was hidden underneath the dining table) and the bird was left out for longer. Yes, longer. My ornithophobia was a great source of entertainment.
Boys and girls, here is what I ask for in my life (aside from warmth, good food, good company, accomodation, Edward Cullen etc.): to be protected from the things that scare me (such as birds). And to receive human kindness and a basic understanding of morality from my relatives. That's really not much.
However, as it seems that the greater part of my family is not even capable of this, I think it's time to branch out. Time to make some friends (or stalk people into submission) and get my groove / social life on.
To take a look on the bright side, here are what I think are my achievements in the emigration process so far:
1. Getting into the Australia timezone (that took a while)
2. Finding somewhere with family friends to stay for the indefinite future
3. Getting a job (more on that soon)
4. Realising that family is family, genetic imprinting only goes so far, and thank goodness you can choose your friends.
Being without my London Massive (as they are not actually known. Just in case you were concerned, I really am not "gangsta" in any way)... Where was I? Yes, being so far away, I miss and appreciate my friends even more than I thought I would, and whilst re-connecting with family is "special", it just highlights how much the people I'm closest to are the family I've chosen - my friends. Trying to create a new life in a new continent is taking some work. Making friends / stalking into submission is the next big frontier.
Wish me luck,
Belle de Sydney x
As it turns out, a lot...
The day after I went to see my Great Aunt, I decided I really hadn't had enough punishment - and went to see my ('rubbish taking' / boyfriend stealing) Grandmother. Now, being her first-born granddaughter, I feel like I should be special to her. In fact, being her granddaughter at all, I think I deserve to be treated nicely. Like another human being at least.
Well, that was my first mistake. As I go into the house, my grandmother (wearing a maroon shell-suit, oh dear) looks at me and says (with her eyebrows raised so high, they look like they're about to take off) :
"Vot haff you done vith your hair?" 'My hair? Nothing grandma'. "Vell zat is ze problem. It makes you look like a chonta". 'A what?' "A chonta, you know". 'No'. "Like you sell". 'Sell what?' "Yourself".
Personally, I've never been known to take fashion advice from people in shell-suits, and I don't intend to start now. But where the personal attacks had started, a lesson on morality now followed. Purely to see her reaction (I'll admit it), I may have mentioned that I saw her mortal enemy, and my Great Aunt, the day before.
"She is an evil voman". 'Ok, grandma'. "Evil. She deserves nussing". 'Ok grandma'. "Next time you see her, steal." 'Steal?' "Yes, steal her jewellevy. That vill teach her." 'Oh' "She voss hell. HELL." (At this point, whilst smiling and nodding, I started shoving cake at her in the hope that that would be a good distraction. Thankfully it worked.)
Now, this was very dispiriting, I won't lie. There's only so many dysfunctional family members you want to have. I think my quota is more than filled with my Great Aunt alone, but apparently this is a burden I have to bear. And we haven't even mentioned my UK family yet. But anyway.
In a bid to distract myself from the trauma of the day (please, if anyone else has been told that their hair makes them look like a prostitute, or that they should steal from other relatives, do let me know. It would be nice to think that I'm not alone in this) - I went off for dinner with other, younger, seemingly more normal family.
That was my second mistake.
Hoping that the younger generation would be somewhat more human / normal / functional / un-shell suited than the oldies, I turned up with hope, expectation, and a newly-bought handbag sized can of hairspray - just in case.
It all was going so well, until the family bird was let out (in case my grandmother's comments have distracted you, this was an actual bird. There are many things in my family, but chonta's there are not). Now, I'm not good with birds. Or, to re-phrase - I am terrified of them. I don't like anything that flies. (Edward Cullen is an exception, and he doesn't really fly - so that's ok.) I run away when I'm scared, because I am at heart a coward. But hey, I'm with my cousins. I'm with friends. They're nice. They should understand.
To be honest, looking back on the night, I'm disappointed with my own naivety. One look at my white, trembling face (which, along with the rest of me, was hidden underneath the dining table) and the bird was left out for longer. Yes, longer. My ornithophobia was a great source of entertainment.
Boys and girls, here is what I ask for in my life (aside from warmth, good food, good company, accomodation, Edward Cullen etc.): to be protected from the things that scare me (such as birds). And to receive human kindness and a basic understanding of morality from my relatives. That's really not much.
However, as it seems that the greater part of my family is not even capable of this, I think it's time to branch out. Time to make some friends (or stalk people into submission) and get my groove / social life on.
To take a look on the bright side, here are what I think are my achievements in the emigration process so far:
1. Getting into the Australia timezone (that took a while)
2. Finding somewhere with family friends to stay for the indefinite future
3. Getting a job (more on that soon)
4. Realising that family is family, genetic imprinting only goes so far, and thank goodness you can choose your friends.
Being without my London Massive (as they are not actually known. Just in case you were concerned, I really am not "gangsta" in any way)... Where was I? Yes, being so far away, I miss and appreciate my friends even more than I thought I would, and whilst re-connecting with family is "special", it just highlights how much the people I'm closest to are the family I've chosen - my friends. Trying to create a new life in a new continent is taking some work. Making friends / stalking into submission is the next big frontier.
Wish me luck,
Belle de Sydney x
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