Oh those helycon University days!

Oh those helycon University days! I had a close group of girlfriends. We were all pretty innocent. We were all from one island or another (well actually, one was Maori, and was actually male, but still). This wasn't planned, we just all somehow gravitated towards each other, finding a similar sense of humour and a deep unspoken understanding. I don't make friends that easily. This always seems to surprise people. I'm not one for false modesty. I know that I'm outgoing and I talk a hundred miles per hour (the latter being no cause for boasting in any event). I'm a daughter of a diplomat, a social butterfly, flitting and flirting through any social occasion, confident in any company. Still I don't make friends easily. I'm always happiest with a few close, long-held, dear friends.

But these girls quickly inveigled their ways into my heart. I have so many stories for each one. But in consideration of your time and busy schedules will only retell a couple. When I got off the plane, bright in a puletasi (because that's what you dress your 17-year-old in when she's going off on scholarship, the brightest blue and red puletasi you can find so noone can miss her- or the fact that she got a scholarship). Yes I was a FOB- 'fresh off da blane', literally, and about to struggle with my suitcases (bursting with more bright puletasis). There were no trolleys to be had for love or money. Obviously they had been snapped up by those on earlier and bigger flights. I was wrestling with my luggage while looking around dispairingly for a trolley (or a hunky man with big muscles- at that stage of my life I was very used to men coming to the rescue- this is not a testament to my good looks, but rather to the fact I have three brothers). Soon a gorgeous athletic girl zipped up next to me, grinned and slung my suitcases up on her trolley. I looked on in awe as she pushed the precariously balanced load. Our hostel rooms only contained a single bed, a huge desk and a cupboard, with very little space for anything else. But my dad was going to be stopping over for a couple of days. Another girl turned up at my hostel room door armed with blankets, canned tuna and tupperware full of mixed lollies. How could I harden my heart to girls like these?

We shared what little money we had. Some of us were on scholarship and some on NZ student allowance. It was fortunate that these two sources of income came in on alternate weeks. It meant one of us was sure to have some funds by Thursday of each week. This bounty normally lasted till about Saturday. We were young and we were away from our parents for the first time. Drinking and dancing to that song 'Freeeedoooom, freeeedom, he' was not unheard of.

Yes inevitably we spent an inordinate amount of time at the university pub. We played a game called 'I never' sometimes, because it was a little bit naughty and a little bit fun. To play each person got to make a statement-'I never cheated on an exam','I never ate a packet of tim tams in one go', 'I never kissed four people in one night', and if you had, if the statement was true for you, you acknowledged it by skulling. Then we would all accuse each other of cheating and collapse lauging. The questions would quickly turn to relationships and sex. Especially if we played with boys. It was like the uni 'spin the bottle' (which I was always a bit too goody-two-shoes to play in school). I especially loved this game because, as a virgin, I was at a distinct advantage. I could sip sensibly and make outraegous 'I never' statements secure in the knowledge I wouldn't have to skull.

So it was one of those evenings when we were in the pub rather than studying. There was a group of boys there. A group of boys that several of us liked to flirt with. Naturally we started playing 'I never'. 'I never imagined Maria naked' I announced grinning cheekily at my friend Maria. All the boys skulled. And on it went. We were all getting sloshed. 'I never masturbated' slurred one of the boys. And all the boys skulled. Of course. And one of my girlfriends. Probably the most innocent amongst us. We all collapsed laughing again. More merriment ensued. It was a great night. The next day my lovely innocent friend said to all of us, 'I can't believe none of you have ever...'. I laughed, 'Of course we have hon, we just didn't admit it'. More collapsing laughing. My innocent lovely friend was outraged at our deception.

I recount this story because I have watched in horror from afar, as a girl, younger even than what we were then, a child, made a silly mistake. When I say silly mistake I don't mean masturbating. That's only natural, at least for 99.99% of us (even if only 10% of us, maybe less, ever innocently admit it). But capturing it and sending it to a creep, was obviously a mistake. I'm sure that poor kid knows that now. I realise enough has been writen about this. So I recount my own story of youth. Of inebriation and innocence. My own story of friendship, foolishness and fun (where all names have been changed to protect those likely to hunt me down and kill me otherwise). To put forward a personal perspective.

As a postnote, I am horrified that this child pornography has been posted, forwarded and watched. My personal perspective is that each of these actions should be prosecutable. There should be laws to protect children (even from themselves) and to make people think twice (whatever the motivation) before pressing play.

A fairy godmother

Methodists don't do Godparents. Not that I'm a particularly good Methodist in any event. I am the granddaughter of a Methodist Minister. His wife, my grandma, was also the daughter of a Methodist minister. My uncle is also a Methodist minister and we have ministers in each generation dating back to the missionaries. So I am Methodist. It's something I identify with deep in my bones. However with a divorce, a much loved baby out-of-wedlock, and a much loved fiance who I haven't got round to marrying yet, I am far from the 'no playing cards as it is too close to gambling' religion I was brought up in. I was at church the other day and had to laugh as a 70-year-old stood up and was talking about the 'old' church 'where you knew someone had slid back because she was wearing lipstick'. Now that's more like the church I grew up in.

The truth is, prior to my baby being born, I hadn't been to church in forever. You know we are all super church going when we are in Samoa because that's what we do on Sundays. But overseas, some of us, how did that old man put it, 'slide back'. I remember a few years ago going to church with a very good friend in Canberra and feeling so happy. The beautiful hymns had tears streaming down my face. I thought then, why don't I go to church more when it makes me feel this good. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe just the fact that I love to sleep in on Sunday (and laziness wins again). But when Lagi was born it was such a miracle. I hadn't even had a boyfriend a year before (yes a scandalous and long promised blog about that is still to come). I had realised that I would rather not have children, than have children with the wrong person. I had resigned myself to the fact that this might mean I wouldn't have kids. That I would be a childless but eccentric and well-travelled divorce. Then in quick succesion I met my love and had Lagi, my little miracle (although actually he is not that little- being a hefty sturdy 5 month old who is way off those palagi charts- I refer to him as island sized). And I knew I had to start to go to church again. Not just because that's how I want to bring up my child. And not because I think church is in any way necessary for being Christian. Rather because my beautiful baby boy, made me so grateful, I wanted to celebrate and praise and thank God for him (and the many other blessings in my life but mainly him).

The church nowadays (both the Uniting Church in Sydney and the Ekalesia Metotisi Samoa) has welcomed both me and my baby into its folds. Never were there people more welcoming and less judgemental. Lagi was baptised at Matafele by my beloved Uncle and it was one of the most moving experiences in my life.

But Methodists don't do Godparents. But I do. Blame it on Disney but I have a romanticised notion. I don't want the wand or the pumpkin carriage. But I want someone my child can go to, depend on, divulge his innermost feelings to (especially as he grows up and he realises he is not happy with his mummy), someone who will love him and guide him outside the family. My best friend is not Methodist. I don't even know if she's Christian. But she is one of the most beautiful, wonderful, generous people I know. There is noone I know more sensible, noone I know who has a bigger heart, and noone I would rather have to guide my child spriritually. Because when it comes down to it, whether or not she has faith, she has LOVE, and to me, that's really what God is all about.