That thing money can’t buy


To whom it may concern,

I’ve struggled this year to write this blog. When I was younger, sharing my sober and drunken mishaps – to make strangers feel better about their lives seemed comical and frankly a public service. You’re welcome. However now that I’m studying to be a journalist it’s dawned on me, albeit a little late, future employers will be judging its content with a slightly more critical eye. Rest assured, I’m still making 1000 mistakes a day if anything they’re only getting more embarrassing.

Mostly, the constant wrong turns have been greatly overshadowed by the splendor of my new home, the city of Christchurch. From the minute I touched down, started at Broadcasting School, It has been one adventure after the other. It’s been a few months since I’ve started learning the ins and outs of Journalism and the many reflection essays that Media Ecology held – so bear with me as I write, yet another reflection.

Money has always been a factor I’ve considered since entering the world of adult decisions. Not in an ambitious way, and oddly not for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Mother Teresa – there’s a very specific dream list that includes classic Louboutins, Valentino flats and a roomful of Chanel-everything.

Mostly when I think of money, it is for my mother, who comes from a family of six girls who grew up with few things to call their own. The six Chelliah women share a lot of their mother’s features but mostly her selfless nature and generosity – they give all they have for their children. I grew up with my mother bending over backward, working long hours and still managing to single-handedly take me to every music lesson, fruitless netball practices and keep up with the annoying amount of extracurricular activities that she herself made me join. Though we definitely couldn’t afford it, she moved mountains and took out many a loan to send us to good schools.

Anyone who watches the sacrifice a parent makes feels the need to one day repay them and look after them. While I have a long list of things I’d like to buy for my parents, and many a piece I’d add to my wardrobe – my most recent sugar coma made me ask myself what I would do with my life if money weren’t an object. I’m not sure if this is a foolish answer but I would want to be learning exactly what I am now. If anything I’d only use the money to help me gain more journalistic experiences in different countries. I have become one of those annoying people who love what they do. That lame quote “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” finally makes sense. I’m so content and happy, even I find myself annoying. So while it took a few detours and the horrendous idea to initially study law to get here – I’m so bloody glad I made it.

With the sinking feeling I have now jinxed my good fortune, I’m going to leave and knock on every wooden item I come across. Like most evenings, I am grateful yet again for my mother and her incessant nagging for me to come down for the open day that set me on this path. I’m grateful for my father for waking up at 4am in Melbourne to greet me “Good morning” and for his detailed knowledge of every assignment I have due. Together, they are one heck of a support system. I’m grateful for the lovely humans I am lucky enough to call my new friends who really make Christchurch feel like home.

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