Goodness Gracious Goddess

It's Sunday and I've done two loads of laundry, mopped the floors, emptied out the compose bin and cooked tuna and sweetcorn pasta for the dog I'm looking after for two weeks, she thinks she is human. Little does she know how it's hard being a human when you've been a goddess for a day! I'm back down on earth after a whole day as the most beloved Chinese goddess - Guan Yin.

Yesterday's Silk Screen celebrations in Birmingham, London, Manchester and Glasow ran simultaneously throughout the day and was a huge success. The day was organised by the BBC and Emergency Exit Arts who did a grand job of co-ordinating the event and finding great entertainment. The aim was to promote British Chinese culture, mark the end of the China Now festival and highlight the BBC Videonation diaries that had been made (click here to view 'Adopted Identity' ) by the British Chinese community all around the nation.

My dad Ron!

The other people from the Birmingham Videonation group were also there yesterday - so it was a mini-reunion. Their films can be seen on the Videonation website.

My personal favourite is Julie Sohoo's film West To East as it's endearing and I've never met anyone from 'the Valley' before so it's interesting how we have things in common despite growing up on very different places. We realised we went to the same University at the same time, and were in the same building! I think I might remember her (there were very few British Chinee students in at Uni back in 1995/6), but I'm not one hundred percent sure. We both had English friends and at University I thought I was a basketball playing (yet quite academic) gangster! It's funny how your identity changes over time and you realise that really you just need to be YOURSELF!

I love Julie's grandmother too! I love Chinese grandmothers. I've recently got to know my own a little bit more after meeting her a couple of years ago and she's an wonderful woman. My first fictional short story 'Lychees and Bingo Balls' features a Chinese grandmother who braves it in the U.K and I think people who are older and move somewhere totally different in terms of culture, cuisine and basically everything are amazing. I know that small cultural enclaves form around ethnic communities, and I saw that this weekend during the festivities where a lot of the Chinese community turned out to support the Silk Screens event.

I think the local Chinese people were happy with my portrayal of their beloved Guan Yin (they called me 'Gwun Yam' in Cantonese, no, not Yam Yam!) and one lady told me: "Gwun Yam, she is dignified. No big grinning!" I put on my best demure yet compassionate face during the day and only grinned when my friends were about!

I had done a lot of research on the goddess and discovered that she was a lot like me (although I've yet to reach Bodhisattva status!). The goddess Guan Yin has many legends told about her and is quite a multi-dimensional being. You can't always find one definition of who she or or what she represents (very much like me I feel). In some representations she is androgenous, and in others she is a feminine beauty with a bust and a full face of make-up. In some stories she has helpers, and in others she sits on her lotus in a contemplative mood, happy in her solitude.

I enjoyed the whole process of 'becoming' the goddess too. My good friend Ramona, a Buddhist and very creative person helped me make the costume. Together we bounced ideas off each other as the best way to personify this important deity for her manifestion in Victoria Square and I think the end result did us both proud.

I discovered a little of my own inner goddess as a result of participating in the Silk Screens Festival. I also got to know about the Chinese myths and legends surrounding this important figure and told members of the public who I was and why she was so important for Chinese people.

I think Guan Yin's universality is a trait I would very much like to have as a writer, and so not only was it an honour to 'perform' and be a goddess for a day but I know that other good things will come of it - both in terms of my personal journey and as a developing writer seeking new ways to connect to humanity (cheesy? Yes, of course I'm cheesy...I dress up as mythical figures in my spare time!).

Creative Writer Seeks Illustrator

Must be patient, imaginative and good with their hands.
GSOH and non-smoker essential.


“As in marriage, the rules of collaboration are communication and surrender. Afterall, it's all a learning experience.”
Syd Field - Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting

Title Page by Elaine Brambil

Collaboration One: Constructing Tina Freeth

As part of the National Academy of Writing Professional Development module we are required to work with others in creating a piece of work. I had managed to make contact with a Birmingham City University lecturer and artist Chiu Kwong Man in the hope that I might be able to meet some of his illustration students to work on a collaboration. He put me in touch with his third year student Elaine Brambil, whose illustrations weren’t what I imagined illustrations to be…that is drawings. Elaine’s work is subtle collage and nostalgically layered images, stuck, cut and pasted together to create a visual narrative. Elaine wanted to collaborate with a writer to experiment with a narrative that was already in place. Her previous work assembled from bits of discarded pieces (postcards, old tickets, old photographs) and trinkets sold cheaply in the Rag Market or passed down to her from her parents or grandparents. I have to admit this kind of collaboration was not what I had expected to do, but the more I thought about it the more I came around to the idea.

Elaine discussed her initial ideas about a fictional person dying and leaving behind objects which form the basis for a narrative. On hearing her ideas I began to formulate my own in alignment with hers. My mother had died a few years back and I inherited the family photographs and old documents. I offered these up to Elaine for her use and agreed that I could write some pieces of fragmented memoir. Unbeknownst to Elaine I had started my memoir last year, but had reached a blockage when I had to begin writing about my distant past and the 70s. I knew this project would get me thinking about memories. Elaine was very much interested in secrets and the emotional and quirky parts of families we rarely see beyond the smiling family portraits, so I wrote fragmented accounts of my family and of my childhood growing up in a council house in Birmingham.
The result of our collaboration is a dummy book made by Elaine featuring my words and her illustrations.

This is the prologue:
I used to have recurring dreams of Mom dying. Some nights I’d wake up sobbing with snot and sorrow drenching my pyjamas. The terror of not having her in my life was larger than my phobia of snakes and my fear of the dark. She was just like the light on the stairwell - always switched on helping me to navigate the ups and downs of life. I was twenty-six when my light went out. Mom died on the 6th August 2003 whilst I held her hand. As a child I used to sneak into her bedroom asking for pain relief from cramped calf muscles. ‘Put your foot on a cold floor,’ she would whisper, as she rubbed my hardened leg with her warm hands easing my pain away. It always worked, like some kind of instant magic. The one person who used to take my pain away, was gone. The woman whose apron strings I was tied to, had left me as others had left me before. She was the person I loved most in the world and suddenly I felt very much alone.

Collaborating with Elaine has been great for me as it enabled me to look at my past creatively, we went through my old photos together and she picked out the ones she felt were visually interesting. I began writing whatever came into my head about my past, using the photographs as memory joggers. If I was stuck with knowing what I should edit and cut I would look at her illustrations and vice verse, she would looked to my writing for inspiration on visual content and composition.

Collaboration Two: The Lonely Lemon

After working with Elaine for a few weeks, Chiu then asked me if I wanted to collaborate with him, a kind of see-saw experiment where we both draw and write. I have to say that I was unconfident about my drawing abilities and also Chiu’s style is rather dark compared to my own happy-go-lucky conversational writing style. We began with a sentence:
There was a lemon boy, how he came to be nobody nose (yes, a homonym!).

This collaboration began quite rocky with my social realism drawings not working alongside the art I know Chiu produces. I didn’t see how it would work. After a few attempts to create a working path that we would both be happy with, we decided on sticking to what we did best, him drawing and me writing. Chiu produced eight illustrations featuring a lemon boy and a host of other strange characters and left me to get on with writing a first draft response to the creatures that had broken free from his imagination.

I wanted the story to mean something and so it is about the human condition, I also wanted to get as many lemon references in there and play with language and the meaning of various words. The whole first draft can be read on Chiu’s website http://www.myeyeisonfire.net/ (The Lonely Lemon) and I’m currently in the process of rewriting it as a children’s story inspired by his family’s collaborative follow-up to my initial draft.

From collaborating with other people and visual artists in particular I’ve realised how creative we can encourage each other to be. Collaboration, like Syd Field said is like a marriage, a relationship where both parties should get what they desire but with the overall outcome foremost in your mind. From these two projects I’ve decided to write some short stories using my friend’s photographs of Hong Kong as starting points and visual stimuli for creating a narrative. I’ve also recently been to Paris and bought some postcards written during the early 1900s. Anything can be a made into a story – all you need is that creative spark ignited, whether by another person or an object or memorabilia.

A split personality and her two blogs

I've been keeping TWO (that's right count 'em, two) blogs. The BLOGSPOT one which I rarely post to (and only really set up to boost the chances of GOOGLE picking up my website), and the one on my website, that I post to more frequently. I'm not sure if there is a way to post simultaneously, do one with my left hand and the other with my right? Can I kill two birds with one stone? From now on I'm going to cut and paste my writing so that both sites have the same posts. If you have missed my other blogs (not that they are very enlightening or exciting, I talk mostly about what I ate and what I've not been writing) then you can find my other one at: http://www.tinafreeth.com/page6.htm

I was all ready to go out today. I imagined myself at a Starbucks with my laptop occasionally staring out of the window, whilst my fingers typed away for hours. Now and then I would sip on peppermint tea that tastes like chewing gum and costs one pound fifty. However, it's miserable outside and I thought I'd clear up my blog mess instead. Back in the day I had a Myspace blog where only friends were allowed to read about my heartfelt feelings about someone or other who didn't reciprocate, yes, back then I wrote a lot about unrequited love. Or I moaned about my boss who ran her charity like a dictator calling it her 'regime' - apparently I was a threat to the 'regime'. Now I know that I don't need to blog that stuff anymore because I've got fiction and screenwriting to explore all the things in life I want to talk about. My overly-emotional blogging of the past did help me unburden things stored up that needed to come out in words, so you know, writing does help get all the crap out of you, a bit like a colonic.

I'm reading a few books at the moment and one of the authors has a kind of split personality, like myself. Peter Ho Davies has a new book out called The Welsh Girl...that's not the book I have. I have his short story collection called Equal Love and I didn't mean to buy it. It kind of winked at me from the shelf in Waterstones. I had only intended to buy a copy of Starfishing by Nicola Monoghan (my tutor at the NAW) and on way to the till, something pulled me over to the shelf, it's not the cover as I don't particularly think it's an eye-grabbing one. I think it was the HO in the middle of his name. As an amateur Chinese person I'm getting very good at spotting people with Chinese names. I'm not sure how I saw the HO sandwiched between the PETER and the DAVIES but I did. That's why I bought the book, the HO had me.

In the book, Davies does what I would like to do, and that is he writes about everyone! As a half Chinese/half Welsh expat in America he has the ability to write characters from all walks of life. His characters are white, black, Chinese, working-class, academics, English, American, children, and the list goes on. I love it. Right now my writing is very British, but I would like to write more American style fiction as that has influenced me a lot, I studied it and I lived over there for a short while during my first degree. I used to take yearly trips back to California and New York but I've been unable to do that recently. My mate called me from San Francisco and I told him about one of Davies' stories called 'How to be an expatriate' it reminded me of my friend who has moved from his West London environment to be with the woman he loves, last night he said the word 'awesome' far too many times. When we lived in Berkeley in '97/'98, I'd get a sharp reprimand from him if I said the word 'elevator' instead of lift.

I also just finished a great book called The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen. It is a very American book and its characters remind me of American people I know of a certain age. But what I liked about it most was its descriptions of mental health and how we cope when people we love have mental malfunctions and they don't know what to do and you don't know what to do. It was very touching and well done, and written with a wonderful pace and generosity.

I think I might tackle Atonement next as my expat mate said it was "brilliant" (not just "awesome", it was "brilliant"). After that I'll watch the film and hope that Kiera Knightly has a facial expression I've not seen her do yet. She is beautiful though.

As a multi-tasking reader, I'm also reading Syd Field's Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting. He talks about how everything in life and in the Universe is connected. It's like he's giving you a spiritual lesson as well as a screenwriting one, my new agey side likes that a lot. Syd's ok by me. I find that when I critique someone's work often I'll give it a intuitive/holistic once over before I look at things like sentence structure and character development. It's probably not the best way to judge somebodies work but I tend to do it, I'll think about the work and whether the author put their love into it, because often if they didn't, you can really see that. Yes, you have to work on editing and getting the little things right, the parts are connected to the whole, but I think it's very important that you do have a connection to your work as it is a little piece of you. I might be talking complete and utter bollocks! That would be the other personality.

Where I'm at...

SO...where to begin. I last blogged here some time way back in 1957 when food was short. Oh, no that wasn't me that was someone else. September 2007 was the last time I bothered to write anything here and that my friends is because I was focusing on my website http://www.tinafreeth.com/ and writing for my friends' amusement. If you look at my guestbook on that site, it's all my pals saying 'well done' etc, etc. I paid them half a sixpence to tell me how great I am. I think a lot of people were shocked that I created my own website. But hey, I'll try anything once.

I'll do a brief summary of the months preceding this one so you can catch up on the thing I call 'life', sometimes I call it 'flailing cows intestine soup'...

October - was manic depressive. I was part of two events at the Birmingham Book Festival, which was really amazing for someone like me, who was all new and starry eyed (still have one star in my eye) to the literary world. It was going well, then, suddenly my roots were yanked out and I had to dismantle my rundown and manky childhood home as my dad was offered a place in sheltered housing. It was perfect, but it was very painful at the same time.

November - I spent three hours at Heathrow and on a bus, with this circus (slash) actor (slash) dancer (slash) stripper gay guy that I'd been in love with since 2003. He was transfering from the airport to a cruise ship. Not a gay cruise I'm told. I'd been to see him, whereever he was, every year since we'd met (I'd flown to LA. Montreal and Taipei to see him), or he'd come here to visit me here - so that was nice, but weird. Three hours....probably the perfect amount of time really. We didn't want to kill each other for a change. When the book is written you can read all about this strange relationship we had. Other than that, I can't think of any other defining thing that happened in November, how sad is that? I got business cards, that was kinda sorta exciting...I learnt in Taiwan that everyone has to have business cards! Joined local gym, hoping to be ten stone or under sometime soon.

December - Obviously Christmas came and (thankfully) went. I always say I'm boycotting it, but I never do. I lost my cat Mo for three days, I roamed the streets calling 'Mo! Mo! Come back Mo!' - she came back on Boxing Day, emaciated and walking like she was drunk. Had she been to a cat's only piss up? I had three Taiwanese people, a Chinese friend, my dad and a Moroccan over for Christmas dinner. It was not as diverse as the Christmas before with Congolese and Japanese guests. Oh I had the flu over the festive period too. It kicked my ass.

January - I handed in my notice at the British Red Cross as I wanted to focus more on my writing and even though I loved the cause and the people I worked with, it was more responsibility than I wanted. I decided that my years as a fundraiser should come to an end. The charity world will see me again, but not for some time (I'm still volunteering, I'm out with my fancy bucket on friday as it happens). I still want to start my own charity some day but I need to do a lot more work on mysel before that happens. I went to the launch of BBCN (British Born Chinese Network). I also received a Wing Yip bursary which was brilliant as the students that apply and win are always the best in their field. I would say I've little competition in my field. There aren't many BBC writers out there. I started work supporting disabled students temporarily, and wonderfully I've chosen all arty students which is helping me be more creative too. I started ashtanga yoga and that is what I want to write about when I started this post...but once again, I digress...

February - no Valentines for me. But I wasn't shocked. I've only ever received one card in my entire life and that was from a friend who did it out of pity. Went to London to see Varekai which was the first Cirque Du Soleil show I'd ever seen, it was in L.A last time with that gay guy. I've seen six others since then in Birmingham, Montreal, and San Francisco. It's a enchanting show. I met Lord Melvyn Bragg of Wigton and gave him a copy of 'Original Skin' the Anthology my story is in. He's very charming and I'll make more of an effort to watch him on the tele now that I've met him. He does have amazing hair. I didn't know this was common knowledge, anyway, it's true.

That brings us up to date - It's now March and I feel like I'm working like a nutter. I'm working on two scripts (ten minutes or less) for a BBC Writersoom initiative. Part of me knows that I am once again I've gone for the affirmative action route. Is that wrong of me? I've being fortunate because there is a need for British Born Chinese writers to be writing. I know a couple of BBCs who have heard of Helen Tse, who wrote Sweet Mandarin (a memoir) and the BBC have a writer called Jo Ho whose short films are great. The BBC is actively looking, and that's great. When I studied at Berkeley in California, I always wondered why Chinese-Americans were more prolific in the arts and in creating a voice for themselves then us BBCs over here. There is a general feeling that Chinese children aren't encouraged to be artistic (except perhaps to go to ballet or to learn the flute like affluent white, upper middle-class kids). I was fortunate to have parents that didn't really care what I wanted to do. My dad is happy now I'm writing, but he thought I'd make a good air steward, my legs are too man-like for that job. I'm taking part in BBC Videonation too. I'm doing a SCRIPT screenwriting course during the weekends and I want to get a Penguin submission in by April as well as a couple other articles I have to write. AND I've about a hundred ideas for childrens books as I've been working as a support worker in a class where students have to design and make a childrens book. It's been inspiring being around creative and enthusiatic people. Manic! I just wanna be paid to write. My perfect day at the moment would look something like this:

Tina awakes with the sunlight held back behind her thin white curtains. The kids next door cannot be heard screaming at their mom, perhaps they got up for school this morning without fuss. Tina merrily skips downstairs to the front room which is warm and inviting. Lighting her nag champa she devotes herself to an hour and a half yoga pratice, followed by a brief swim in the pool and a stint in the sauna. She then has a healthy breakfast, roasted museli, made by good friend Rena who has supplied her with enough for one year! Tina then has lunch in a well-lit and friendly cafe where classical music plays in the background. She sits with her laptop (that isn't slow on that particular day) and types for five hours straight. Her story is perfect and not in need of editing or revision (obviously this is fictional). The story is e-mailed to someone with lots of money who then wire transfers an amount (6 figures) to Tina's Swiss bank account. During the evening she relaxes with friends, hosting a dinner party where the catering is carried out by gourmet chefs from the Andes. When the guests leave she begins to paint abstract shapes over her spare room where she converses with the dead.


I'm going to bed now....tired.

Seeking the gate of heavenly peace

I nearly brought home an asylum seeker. You've already got preconceived notions about who I might be talking about...someone with no real status anymore, someone who can't work, , you might have an image forming in your mind...what does he look like?

There was a young man, twenty-three years old in the reception of my office today. I wanted to bring him home, give him my bed to sleep in with it's clean crisp sheets and teddy bears to hug. I wondered if he'd slept in a brass bed before -I would take the couch. I wanted to take him to Chinatown and buy him the best meal he'd ever had. Dim sum perhaps, watch him chew on chicken feet in black bean sauce if that's what he wanted to eat. Get him a beer, would he want Tsing-Dao or would a Stella suffice? He was Chinese, spoke good English...had heard of the Congo. Was a very sweet, unassuming man trying hard not to let despair rise up through his throat and end up as tears in his eyes. All he wanted was a place to sleep at night...to be considered a human being.

I have a massive amount of respect for my colleagues who work day in, day out with people who are like the man I met today, they often meet people who are probably in worse situations. I do not know how they deal with the constant tales of human suffering. I'm sure I would not be able to do what they do, I'd want to bring them all home and cook them dinner.

I came home feeling very rich and also wretched in some ways. I often lament that I haven't had a holiday in a year, that I don't have this or that but I know how well off I am. I've never gone hungry, I overeat. I eat enough to feed myself and the homeless man. I have never had to beg to have a place to sleep. Or ask strangers for help because I've no friends or family to turn to. I found out during Refugee Week that China is in the top ten countries where refugees come from. I was shocked...the land of my ancestors. Surely not. The young man today was totally alone, there doesn't seem to be any network available locally for Chinese asylum seekers or refugees. A lot of the other refugees and asylum seekers seem to be able to at least communicate with each other, sign post, refer and advise in their own languages, at the very least that is something.

My eight months of Chinese language study did not come in very handy, I could understand him when he spoke and knew he had repeated (to my Chinese friend on the phone) what he had told us in English. But I could not speak back to him. I was mute. I was impotent.

Rollerskating with Thor....

Well, today I went rollerskating with Thor, God of Thunder...only kidding. I didn't hang out with anyone today, mortal or divine.

I painted a little whilst the neighbours were quiet (for once). The kids have kicked the football over and I haven't thrown it back over the fence. I'm being mean! If I throw it back then the incessant thump thump against the wall will begin again and I'll go insane with annoyance. There is a beautiful park in walking distance, actually two parks.
Kids + Park = Good.
Peace + Quiet = Very Good.
I'm only thirty and I've turned into an old moaning woman already. I can put up with some noise, but I can't compete with thump thump...

I painted what turned out to be a green swirl. I really love it, the swirl and painting in general. When I was five years old I won an art competition at school, my picture of Red Riding Hood (her middle name was 'Riding'?) was put on the wall in Selly Oak Library (built in 1905 people). I was so proud to have it displayed for everyone to see. I won another art competition the same year and was given a five pound note as a prize. I bought some blue leg warmers...I never wore them. I don't remember painting after that little spell back in 1982.

Oh I watched 'Iris' last night and bawled my eyes out! It was an amazing film. I cried not so much because of her deterioration but because of the love between the character John (Iris Murdoch's husband) and the main character, Iris. It was so deep, I'm sure that in real life it surpassed even the film's depiction. I rarely write about love in my stories and if I do it's usually a complicated entity that is prodded and altered by external forces. Someone once told me 'd write books of love. I don't know where he got that idea from. I think I'll pick up some Iris Murdoch novels and see what she wrote about.

Window Shopping with Kuan Yin - Part II

Part II

I ate my noodles, the bowl held up near my face, my chopsticks swept the squirmy strands into my mouth. Kuan Yin placed her chopsticks down and let out an audible burp.
"Ah. I am satisfied. I feel so happy now." She looked peaceful and content. She placed her hand on my shoulder as I finished the last noodle.
"Nice?"
"Not bad, could have been more soy sauce."
"I did not realise how much I had missed the delicate taste of fish. The Japanese, they're so cultured."
"Yeah, well so are the Chinese," I could feel myself becoming defensive and competitive, "we invented dim sum you know - it means 'a little piece of heart'. It's pure perfection." Of course, she already knew this but she let me speak, she felt no malice, no need to justify her love of sushi.
"You know you will write about me one day. Not to make me famous, but to spread joy and laughter." I looked at her, putting down my empty bowl. She looked serious.
"Well, I don't know about that. I don't usually write about deities. " I hadn't told her my thoughts of giving up writing for a while to concentrate on singing. I wanted to start my own Chinese ABBA tribute band.
"That is why you will write about me, to let people know who I am and what I am here for."
"I know you're a goddess and all, but I'm sure you lot have got a whole marketing department that does that kind of thing anyway." She smiled and got down from her stool. I did the same.
"Shall we go window shopping?" she said linking her arm around mine.
"Yes, let's get out of here." It was comforting having Kuan on my arm - a mother, sister and friend rolled into one.

We paid and moved away from the sushi bar with it's conveyor belt. Kuan Yin's empty plates were stacked high like the leaning tower of Pisa, threatening to fall at any time.

Shoppers brushed past us unaware that the goddess of mercy and compassion floated in their midst. To them, we just looked like another couple of Chinese girls window shopping. Their heads were consumed by thoughts of iPods and Rocket Dog shoes, the new Heroes dvd boxset and three for two offers on knickers at La Senza. I felt sad that no one could see my friend's divinity, even the glass ceiling with the sun's rays shining through could not illuminate a light in comparison to that of Kuan's.

Window Shopping with Kuan Yin

Today, I went to the Bull Ring with Kuan Yin, it was her first time. She descended from a cloud that hovered above our meeting point by the Bull statue. Usualy, Emo kids meet when they're not hanging out by the cathedral, and Asian tourists are snap happy with their cameras smiling at Birmingham's very own sacred (male) cow. But today a mist obscured my view of the passers by as Kuan held her hand out to me. I helped her down and gave her a hug. It had been quite some time since our last day out, we had gone to Merry Hill during the sales. She was looking good, slimmer than last time. Rosily glowing like a baby's face after they've passed wind.

We walked around Selfridges food court pulling each other's sleeves, prying one another away from sweet temptations offered by Krispy Kreme donuts and rainbow coloured Jelly Bellys. We're on diets -Kuan Yin and I. Together we weigh in at three hundred and thirty three pounds. We're heavyweight deities for sure. Not that I am in her league where divinity is concerned, however, I like to think I'm fully stocked with a pint or two of strawberry flavoured compassion and over flowing with unconditional sherbet love. I'm imbued with an energy efficient white light of my own.

She told me that her weakness, despite the compassion she exudes - is sushi. Not terribly compassionate towards the dead, raw, skinned fish is she? The Yo! Sushi store caught her eye, she almost dropped her pearls. Her nose began to twitch like a cat sniffing out it's supper. Instantly, she forgot her sweet craving, the donuts became a past memory. Barging her way through the aisles, I followed picking up the debris that fell from the shelves. She knocked down three shelves of Oreo cookies imported from America. "£6.95" was stickered obnoxiously on the box teasing me to buy them. Arrogant fucking imports I thought as I put them back on the shelves. I preferred Hobnobs.

"I must have sushi," she cried.
"But Kuan, it's not friday. In England, fish is eaten on friday with chips and mushy peas. It's a tradition. If we don't live by British society's standards then they'll make us take a British Citizenship exam."
"I need fish. I've not had fish for three hundred and thirty-three years. Oh Tina, please can I stop for some Temaki and Unagi? I know we said we would not eat out but I will forever be in your debt. I can bestow your children with unending love and compassion. Eh? How does that sounds?"

I did want my children to be kind to others and share their sweets with those less fortunate. Perhaps a little sushi would be ok, it's only rice and raw fish. She wouldn't put on much weight with a couple of those diddy pieces, I thought.

"Ok, but I can't eat them with you. I had a bad experience once with raw fish."
I remembered how violently ill I had been after an ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT sushi buffet. I knew I shouldn't have rode on the Ferris wheel straight after, but I wanted to see the city lit up at night. "It was terrible, the worst food poisoning ever. But you have some sushi, I can have some soba noodles." I told her.
"I cannot thank you enough my dear Tina, your children will grow to respect others and share their love with all of humanity."
"Yeah, ok. Just don't make them into whores, I don't want them 'making love' to all of humanity. Got it?" I looked at her with slight apprehension.

English-Chinese translations often went horribly wrong. I had once tried to say: "I most love..." but instead I told my boss "I want to make love." My boss had looked very frightened by my amorous statement.

I had faith, but only up to a point. I had also been disappointed by other deities with their promises and extra limbs. Once, I was pruning a privet outside in the front garden, when I felt four hands grabbed my fleshy bits. I won't name names, but all I'll say is be wary of handsome gods with multiple digits.

Kuan Yin sat down on a high stool. The sushi dishes moved past her like traffic in a slow to medium paced race, the Unagi was beating the Maguro, whilst the Ikura was lagging way behind the California Rolls. It was making me feel sick, the constant movement of the pale reds and salmon pinks made me turn to face Kuan Yin. I watched as she torn the paper and freed her chopsticks, rubbing the wooden sticks together to remove any splinters. She became the worshipper instead of the worshipped, the worshipper of fish. Raw fish. She picked up dish after dish, tossing the sushi pieces into her wide mouth with glee. I eventually lost count, but I'd estimate thirty three at least. Her face emanated a kind of grace as she ate. I had never known fish to produce such effects before.

to be continued...

Flapjacks at midnight

Will I dream of oats or pitta bread? I've just scoffed down two flapjacks and two toasted pitta bread smothered in tomato puree. I had a stomach ache and instead of not putting anything else into my ailing stomach, I decided to add more food. It's past midnight and I've got the munchies. Wait. Not what you think. I've been no where near any illegal substances. I think it is a consequence of me simply being awake.

Eleven months and all is well

It's been eleven months since I posted my first blog on this here Blogger site. It all went tits up when they wanted me to get a GOOGLE account and it all seemed like too much hard work. I then proceded to lose the log in password, and then I didn't realise I could start a new account and attach the old blog to it. So finally after a few hours of mooching about looking for ways to link my old blog back to myself - I'm back baby! So much has happen since last October when I posted my first blog. I met my Chinese grandmother who is fantastic and I love her very much. I met about twenty more members of my biological family, I got a place on the National Academy of Writing Course, I got a part-time job with the British Red Cross, I moved house, stopped taking driving lesssons and I've had work published in various places. Oh, I've not been on a plane either. That's unheard of in the World of Tina Freeth because I usually end up on at least four planes a year. I'm desperate for a holiday but I've got work and writing committments until mid-October at the earliest.

Oh, I almost forgot I've got my own website!!!

http://www.tinafreeth.com/

I'm very proud to say I did it myself. It's blood red, a bit like a whore's boudoir! But I like it. I've got a blog on there but all I seem to write about is food, maybe I should use it to write about my writing more and use this to talk about what I had for dinner...

In the beginning....

It's raining as I sit at my free second hand (but looks unsused) pine desk. I have to admit I rarely use it to do anything apart from keep my books and laptop on it. I had the idea that I would use it to create masterpieces whilst staring out at the green wonderment that is Summerfield Park, well without the drunk black and Irish men who happen to congregate around the diamond shaped concrete meeting point in the middle of the main path.

My first post and like my past blogs on headfuck.com or as I should call it myspace.com I will probably just waffle and use it as a place to air out this cobwebbed brain of mine once in a while. Maybe one day, I will create that novel and finally see myself on the shelves of Waterstones in the 'New Books' section that people often see on the left as they walk in through the automatic doors.

I'm on my period and I need to go buy supplies. I've been sneakily abducting non-branded sanny towels from one of the two lesbians that lives upstairs (just one really - I ran out it was an emergency). I can't tell which one would be 'femme' enough to use ones with pretty flowers on the packet. But I wasn't surprised when I saw a box advertising sun dates (the dried fruit, not speed dating on a beach) that housed lots of non-applicator tampons. It just makes sense that lesbians would use Lilets somehow, more precision with poking fingers in those regions and all...

Today, my biological father Jason Chan is picking me up at 2.30pm so I can meet his mother, my Grandmother for the first time probably since I was a wee bairn. I'm not Scottish but I think its cute calling babies 'wee bairns' its a lot nicer than 'bab' which I have been called a few times and worse still 'babbie' - bless my Mom, I love and miss her loads. I think the finding of my biological family, although it seems they were around the whole time in some ways, I feel like I appreciate even more the working class, very real exsistence I grew up with. I've been having dreams with my Mom in it the past few days and she is alive and living with me in our old house in Dale Road. So I feel comforted that she's not mad at me that I did choose to meet up with my biological father after finding him online. I do remember how much she disliked him and in turn made me dislike him. But everything does happen for a reason. And now I want it all. I do feel healed or am going through some kind of healing spiritually by connecting with that blood side of myself, an essential component to who I am. I used to negate it saying that blood wasn't thicker than water. I would say that blood is an important part of our make up, but we'd die without water too. Water is what sustains us, like my Mom did growing up and even now I feel she still watches over me. I hope she would be proud of me, I know she is...what am I saying!