my most embarrassing school moment(s)

There have been many - I’m not going to lie about it. When it comes to interacting with my fellow peers in an academic setting, I often end up making a fool of myself. This generally stems when my focus is on one thing, but I’m being forced to interact with another. I am the epitome of the whole ‘men can’t focus on more than one thing’ stereotype.

This embarrassing moment however, was not when I failed to correctly open up the common-room door while trying to walk through it at the same time (I reached for the wrong side of door to open the handle), nor was it when I immediately failed to open said door again (I tried to pull it instead of pushing). When it’s a wintery day and all of your fellow students are all crammed into the small communal space, it’s kind of hard to escape unnoticed from this traumatic event.

The embarrassing moment in question occurred in Year 8, with a 13yo Camden. This rules out the moment in Year 11, where one of my classmates thought it would be the funniest thing to declare to the teacher that I had a deep and unspoken affection towards her (I didn’t feel that way at all - both in terms of comedy and romance). My instinctive reaction was to just sigh, and facepalm. In hindsight, this probably looked more like embarrassment rather than apathy… which probably explains why the teacher just kind of blankly stared at us and walked away. I’m so sorry Mrs S.

An incident in Year 10 somewhat rivals the ultimate incident, but doesn’t quite top it. The school was holding a series of ‘mock job interviews’ over the course of the day in order to prepare our 15yo selves with some experience when going out into the workforce. As such, we were expected to dress appropriately for the interviews. At first, a teenager at uniform-enforcing highschool would consider this a great form of excitement - I could dress up as I wished! JEANS AND CONVERSE ALL THE WAY! My parents didn’t like this view point, and made me done some op-shop blazer (I’ll admit I looked pretty spiffy in it), and my one pair of dress slacks. Of course, I didn’t even think to organise this until the morning of, so it would be understandable to confess that I had no idea where my dress pants were hiding in my labyrinth of a messy closet. As a result, my dad handed me a pair of his khaki slacks. At this point in my life, I had not really had a growth-spurt at all. These pants were 999999x bigger than my current size would allow. I looked so ridiculous. Because of my last-minute skills, I arrived at school five minutes late. Normally a teacher wouldn’t mind such a tardiness. My home-room teacher however, was a stickler. I was immediately questioned as to the reasoning behind my lateness. “I couldn’t find my pants” only caused the class to erupt with laughter, and I’m fairly certain I was hated from that moment on.

In truth, after writing out these other few embarrassing moments (I assure you, there are hundreds more), what I consider to be my shameful highlight might not be all that shameful. Ah well, I’ll tell it anyway.

My class in Year 8 was filled with a rather noisy bunch of fantastic students. I was with almost all of my best friends, and there was more than enough comedic relief among the remainder of the class. At this point in my life, I wasn’t a sarcastically-informal-student, but more of a serious-nerd. It was during a particularly droning Health class (situated in the period before lunch) that it took place. The class was as rowdy as ever, and the teacher had taken enough of it. She announced that “WE HAD ALL BETTER SHUT UP OR SHE’LL HAVE A HEADACHE BY PERIOD SIX AND WE DON’T WANT TO SEE HER GRUMPY”. The class went a little quieter at this silence. To reinforce her point, she asked us politely to repeat what she had just said. No one replied. She asked again. The silence grew unbearable. I was focused on my work, so I wasn’t paying much attention - but I was annoyed of the silence so I raised my hand and offhandedly remarked “We need to be quiet or you’ll have your period at six and no one wants to see you grumpy”. 

Anyone who knows me understands that there are times when I get a tad tongue-tied. This was one of them. I just got my words out of order. It took me a moment to realise what had just been said. I just put my head on the table - blushing like a sunburned tomato. Those few seconds are the longest of my entire highschool experience. I was wondering if I would be sent out and publicly shamed, or even expelled. The phone call to my parents asking them to come and pick me up would just be unbearable.

The class burst into a mirth-filled ruckus, with a good majority of the hooting and hollering coming from the teacher. I was forgiven, and everybody rushed out to lunch.

school periods are the worst

I threw together some quick design for my buddy Miguel and the band he’s in - Wunderkind. While they’re still a smalltown group, they are insanely talented. Be sure to keep an eye on them as they start to publish more work! (
Miguel also has a side project known as Rapscallion Rues, where he tends to focus on folk music. It’s some pretty rad stuff. Check him out! ( I threw together some quick design for my buddy Miguel and the band he’s in - Wunderkind. While they’re still a smalltown group, they are insanely talented. Be sure to keep an eye on them as they start to publish more work! (
Miguel also has a side project known as Rapscallion Rues, where he tends to focus on folk music. It’s some pretty rad stuff. Check him out! ( I threw together some quick design for my buddy Miguel and the band he’s in - Wunderkind. While they’re still a smalltown group, they are insanely talented. Be sure to keep an eye on them as they start to publish more work! (
Miguel also has a side project known as Rapscallion Rues, where he tends to focus on folk music. It’s some pretty rad stuff. Check him out! (

I threw together some quick design for my buddy Miguel and the band he’s in - Wunderkind. While they’re still a smalltown group, they are insanely talented. Be sure to keep an eye on them as they start to publish more work! (

Miguel also has a side project known as Rapscallion Rues, where he tends to focus on folk music. It’s some pretty rad stuff. Check him out! (

cinema folk and society in general

To make some moolah while endeavoring in my educational pursuits, I spend a lot of time working at a small, local, and independent cinema. Such a place has many advantages, and some cons to go with it. Getting free tickets whenever I want is certainly a perk. Working next to a popcorn machine in a non-air-conditioned lobby in Melbourne’s freak 45 degree heat wave for a week is not all that great. Thankfully, the good generally outweighs the bad.

I knew that this job would be the perfect casual position for me to have while completing highschool. My first shift there involved making fencing swords out of straws and cup lids, and dueling my manager behind the candybar. The staff there form a really tight group, and you’re never without someone to either help you out, or crack a joke.

I’ve watched as the cinema has gone from an older, rundown theatre to a flashier, modernised establishment under the new management. I’ve seen the old movie-reel projectors get replaced with digital high definition. I’ve sweated out long summers waiting for the slurpee machines to get installed. 

One of the greatest perks of working at the cinema, is being able to witness the great vastness of humanity that exists. Working where tickets are $8, you see every kind of person in existence; the families keeping a tidy budget, where the children are always saying adorable “thank you“‘s after you give them their tickets, the bogans who get aggressive when you explain that Iron Man 3 left the cinemas months ago, the lonely people who come in as part of their routine and just like to have a chat, and the people who try to scam you for free stuff unwarranted. My favourite folks however, are the elderly patrons who come in without fail to see the movies they value so.

They tell you stories of how they used to come to the cinemas as children, when things were only in black and white. This week I got to talk to some older women who recounted their experiences during the bombing raids of WWII after watching a movie on the subject. My favourite interaction with the older patrons however, is when I’m required to ask for presentation of a Senior ID card to receive a discount. 

After the ever-asked question of ‘What, don’t I look old enough?’, it’s always safest to reply with ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t believe that without proof!”. This is generally a rather well taken rebut, and the responses I get from it are priceless. "You cheeky monkey" can be replaced with "You smooth talking devil" or "You clever [profanity]". While being told that I’ll "go far in life" with that kind of response, the true value in it is the smile and entertained expressions I get out of it. It’s not as though it’s the only compliment or jest they’ll receive - it’s more about how strangers are able to engage in open, uplifting discussion instantly.

It just makes me think how sad it is that we aren’t more open to do this kind of thing on a regular basis. I take public transport on occasion, and I tend to stand in a lot of lines while waiting to get my lunch from Subway. Why is it that we’re so oriented to avoid interacting with everyone? I get that not everyone is social and may feel uncomfortable, or that maybe they’ve had a bad experience… but why are we often so hesitant to go "Hey, you’re a person. How’re you doing today?". Sometimes we’re able to strike up a decent conversation, but often times we’re afraid of making a fool out of ourselves, or afraid that it’ll just be awkward.

Henceforth, I suggest that from now on those interested in randomly embracing our fellow humans in uplifting conversation don a symbol. It would need to be visible, but not permanent - so no tattoos or piercings. You would probably want to be able to use your hands for other things while waiting to be talked to, so no gang signing. Constantly repeating “TALK TO ME PLS” is rather inconsiderate to the general public - so no chanting. As such I recommend that everyone interested in random social chitchat should wear a rubber glove on their heads. Or something link that.

boom social interaction get on it

wild things

There’s a rising Australian band known as San Cisco, and they’re receiving attention worldwide for their catchy, unique sound. Some people prefer sounds like “Fred Astaire” with it’s catchy guitar riffs, or “Beach” with it’s funky vocals. However, my favourite song does not earn its position in my mind due to either of these things. “Wild Things” impacts me so highly because of its message - and how its represented in the music video.

While possibly being an acquired aural taste, the lyrics really manage to hit home for me. Honestly, I’m cynical by nature. It’s one of my greatest faults. I generally see the bad before I see the good. I’m can be rough on those around me, and especially on myself. As a result, I often get sick of this negativity, but sometimes you just get weighed down with it, and get to sit it the filth like a toddler in a soiled nappy. 

That’s where the song comes in. “Wild Things” focuses on these negative thoughts, and the side effects they can have upon your life. Using the metaphor of wild creatures attacking, the song deals with how “the wild things will chase you down” and how “they’ll steal your throne and break your crown”. It specifies how “ it gets worse, late at night - After the long day, when you can’t fight”.

Maybe it’s because my music taste generally has me listening to songs which debate what a fox says, but I haven’t ever really heard lyrics which apply to this type of thing before. It’s pretty straightforward - you’ve got to “stay away from where the wild things play”. Everything that these wild things will present to you is merely but “a nest of lies”.

The music video reinforces this. Not much occurs during the video itself, but it’s the message of it that leaves its impact. Watching as two people have been chained down by such ‘wild things’, and then sent to their deaths… it just really leaves an impact.

Anyway, I guess the purpose of this post if just to emphasize that there’s no way you can overcome such wild things, if you are willing to get tied down by them. Sometimes you may not be able to break free on your own. Sometimes you need help from others.

"You’ve got the hatred that you,
You’ve always hated in you,
You’ve got to face them now”

It’s what’s on the inside that counts.

(via dreamondreamcatcher)

my first smooch

Smooching is an activity, which when you think about it, is rather absurd and somewhat bizarre. "Hey, I really like you - let me smush my food hole up against yours." Isn’t romance just terrific? Anywho, humans are humans and habits carry on for whatever genetic reason.

My first encounter with smooching was a real kicker. Based on some statistic I read, it took place when I was younger than the average age for such activities. She was a little older, but not all that much. We tended to spend a lot of time together, and hung out in the same areas.

I’ll make it clear that I was not really ready for such things. There was still an obvious need for further emotional development on my behalf before I would be regarded as ‘prepared’. Then again, it’s commonly viewed that such things just happen when the time is right - there’s no exact planning or science to it. Was this the case with me? I don’t know.

It caught be off guard. I wasn’t really expecting it. It was pretty out of the blue. Being the oblivious male that I am, nothing but shock coursed through my mind as I realised what was happening before me. She was obviously keen to express her affection - but I was less so.

Turning my head aside at the last minute, I narrowly avoided the onslaught of misguided romance and scraped by with merely a peck on the cheek. Needless to say, the entire experience was more of a scary and negative one for me. I reacted in the manner which any other boy in kinder would have.

i told on her to the kinder teacher and had her change seats from next to me.

my most embarrassing moment

As I have mentioned before, my father is a pastor. With this, there are many possibly unexpected responsibilities/honours which entail. Sometimes these take a level of effort, but most of the time they result in a positive impact on my life. Most of the time.

When I was around 9 years old, I was bestowed with the task of standing in front of an estimated 400 people on Christmas Eve, and reading a small passage of the Christmas Story. It was simple enough. I would be given a piece of paper which contained a couple of sentences I’d heard every year multiple times. All I had to do was move from my position in the children’s choir (yeah…) onto the main section of the stage, mosey on up to a microphone and read off of the paper. That’s literally all I had to do. That’s not what happened.

As the choir completed its chorus of “It Was a Very G’day” (an Australian themed song which I suppose somewhat foreshadowed my life), my time has come. This was my opportunity to step into the spotlight and showcase my extraordinary literacy and public speaking abilities. At this point in my life, I did not quite fully understand the concept of ‘serving’… and I can’t honestly say my focus was fully on giving the kind church-folk an opportunity to reflect and be thankful. This did not help.

Emerging from the sea of red coloured sweaters and khaki pants, I calmly advanced towards what I knew would be the beginning of public relations career. As I walked forward, the choir exited through a side door, leaving me alone. Drawing out the scrunched up, folded scrap of paper from my pocket, I took a deep breath and began reading of how angels appeared and foretold of things to come. Once you are on stage, a sense of nervous tension can take over you. It freezes your hands, your feet, and can make you stammer. Thankfully, the bright lights shining in my eyes blinded me from seeing the congregation before me - if they hadn’t I may have derped the whole thing altogether. Even with this pseudo-benefit, my mind kicked into panic mode, and was forced to go ahead. My mouth started moving, while my brain just chilled numbly. Everything that was said came from an afternoon’s worth of practicing the passage. It was more of a recital than a reading on my behalf.

Everything was going rather smoothly, until I arrived at a small gap in my vocabulary. It was a word I was unfamiliar with. I had heard of it on multiple occasions, and had perfected the art of saying it during the afternoon. Unfortunately, I had not practised it enough for it to become ingrained in my instinct, and it required a great deal of thinking and sounding out. As my eyes and mouth moved along the paper, my brain was left behind at the start. Thus, when I arrived at ‘betrothed’, I paused. My brain caught up a few minutes later and realised something was not as it was meant  to be. I wasn’t talking, but I hadn’t arrived at the end of the paper yet.

Looking back on it, I’m thankful for what my mother did. She took what she knew would be the least traumatic option for my psyche, even though it was not one that would leave me with my pride in tact. As I kept repeating ‘better’ in an attempt to sound out the dastardly word, adrenaline was being produced in quantities which could assist in thousands of anaphylactic shocks. After a few seconds, I became quiet, and a hushed, awkward silence fell over the sanctuary. From the audience, my mother coolly rose before gently saying the proper pronunciation of the word. Following this, she gave me a nod and sat down. 

Muttering out a quick “Thank you”, I bumbled along the remaining few sentences. After completing the passage, I shuffled out to the side door. I had messed up. I, the pastor’s son, had messed up reading from a piece of the Gospel - at Christmas. I needed my mother to stand up from the audience to help me say the word. Upon realising my public speaking career was over, I did what any other person would have done.

i ran into the boy’s room and cried until the service was over