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Archive for April, 2012


…Fishing!!

I have always wanted to actually catch a fish myself, and, if it was edible, cook it and eat it.

Finally, I have done just that.

I went fishing with Mr. Mo a few weeks ago in Fremantle, and the weather was perfect. No wind, cool ambient temperature. It was around 8.30pm and we decided to just go for a quick fish at the E Sheds. Yes, I know, not the place to fish, but still decent.

We caught 5 fish; but all were inedible (trumpeter!). Still, it was so much fun.

What made it less fun was a bunch of stupid teenage boys (or maybe they were in their 20s but they sure acted like juveniles) who were using a net to catch fish. This was not the problem for me. The problem was, they emptied their net all over the ground – dozens and dozens of writhing fish, their silver bodies glimmering against the black asphalt – and what did they proceed to do? Pick each one up and launch it back into the water with a hard kick. Basically, they were practicing their footy skills on those poor little fish.

Stupid people; they’re everywhere, evidently.

Anyway, despite that awful sight, I still had a good time. It’s always a thrill when your line gives a couple of hard jerks and you’re reeling something in that’s fighting back. I can’t believe how much fight even the littlest fish have! Imagine when I actually get good at fishing and can start taking on marlin and other fighting fish!

A few days later we fished off a jetty in Mandurah. Aaah, now there’s a perfect fishing spot! I caught two fish, a herring and a bream. Mr. Mo didn’t catch anything this time (lol) but his sister did and she generously offered us her herring to take home, which we did.

I was terribly excited about eating fish I caught myself for the first time. We took these home and cooked the bream first  (with lime, butter, salt and pepper in the oven – mm, mm!), after Mr. Mo expertly cleaned and gutted it.  A week later we grabbed the two herring from the freezer, Mr. Mo cleaned and filleted them, and I pan-fried them Hungarian style (according to a recipe I found online), with salt, pepper and flour. It was delicious!

Can’t wait to go fishing again… in a couple of weeks, down south in Pemberton! Woo hoo!!

Yeah, I know. I’m living the life. Heh.

*Note: I still haven’t gotten around to actually cleaning and gutting the fish myself but… as long as Mr. Mo is happy to do it, I’ll, er… let him. Hey, at least I can tie a hook onto fishing line and stick the bait on the hook nice and securely, getting gross prawn juice all over my fingers!

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Blonde Ambition


This post is about childhood ambitions, or ideas we had about our future selves.

I have to ask: did anyone else think they were going to grow up to become a blonde, white woman?

Yes. I did just ask that.

You see, when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I was certain that when I grew up, I would be a blonde, blue-eyed white woman named Robecca [sic]. It wasn’t because I yearned to be Caucasian and hated my dark hair and olive skin. Nor was it because I planned to have surgery or bleach my hair.

I just assumed that’s what I would grow up to be.

Don’t ask me exactly why I assumed that; suffice to say, daily exposure to my mum’s Cosmopolitan magazines and American TV shows made my putty-like young brain believe that white was normal. White was status quo. White was people. And that it just eventually happened to you.

It’s funny how, despite being far wiser about these things (and happy with my naturally tanned skin and deep brown hair), that white is still viewed by the world at large as being the status quo. I mean, if someone was half-white and half-Asian, they are identified as Asian. Same with black. Or Australian Aborigines. And so on.

Why? Because being white is seen as being of ‘pure’ “race” and even a single drop of another “race”‘s blood means contamination and expulsion from the White-Only club?

Discuss.

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