To You, From Me.

To You, From Me. Abi Keene and Victoria Postlethwaite

To You, From Me.

To You, From Me. _________________________ Abi Keene and Victoria Postlethwaite

Us Against the World. _______________

To me, you are Vicky, pure and simple; beautiful, tiny and the best ‘little sister’ anyone could wish for. You don’t love freely but when you do, you love on such a big scale, with all your heart.

To be honest, when I first met you I never expected our relationship to last as long as it has or be as important to me as it is. I only hope that I have rubbed off on you in the same way that you have done. You have been a huge influence and support into my life. You have taught me so much and I am forever thankful for you.

It took a while for you to come out of your shell and trust me, but eventually you let me see you for you. What I saw back then was a beautiful blonde girl with magical, yet troubled, deep blue eyes. I knew one day I would get your love and respect, but at that point all I could do was strive for it.

What I see today is the strongest young women I have ever met.

Someone, who despite the hard shell, has the most caring and kind heart you could wish for. You can be as stubborn as ever when you wanna be, but other times you let your guard down and that’s when I see your beautiful soul. You have been through more than any normal person, let alone someone your age, should have to go through in a lifetime. I believe all of your experiences will shape you in some positive way, you just can’t see it yet. From someone who has been a teenager not that long ago, I can tell you, it does get better. It makes me so sad to see you write those words about yourself and sometimes I only wish you could see yourself how I see you.

To think you will be forgotten is bullshit. I don’t think anyone who has spent even the slightest amount of time with you, can forget you. I’m sorry; it’s just not possible. You need to realize your worth and stop putting it in the hands of useless guys or people who don’t appreciate all that you are.

You, my girl, have the whole world at your feet and you can do anything with it. You have so much life inside of you and so many dreams to pursue so don’t go thinking for a second that it’s over or that you have nothing to give. Despite all the shit, you just have to keep giving.

Vicky went to Wharenui School back then, just down the road from the local community church. She was in year seven when I got paired with her into a young leaders mentorship programme. I was told that we would work well together because we are quite alike. The aim was to train young people to become leaders in community projects. We had our first proper meeting with all of the other leaders at church one Sunday afternoon, then made a plan to meet up for hot chocolate the following week.

Our first meeting was very awkward as we robotically made our way through that week’s section of the workbook. I wouldn’t be able to tell you where that workbook is now; over time we stopped using it and just met up to talk.

One week, we decided to walk across the road to the op shop. We both loved buying second hand because you could get way more for your money. Being a poor student, I jumped at any chance to go to the Sallies store. Vicky loved it because she could find clothing that no one else had and she could avoid the mall at the same time. Despite us having very different taste, we could always find something that suited us both. I’ve been told numerous times that I dress like a grandma.

Vicky could always find a nice dress or two, even if I thought they were way too short.

By then Vicky had become comfortable with being around me and had opened up a lot. She took great delight in yelling at me across the shop from the changing room. ”Abbbiiiiiii! Does this look good?” she screeched.

I quickly walked over there, bumping into a rack on the way.

“Ssshhh”, I whispered, “It looks great. The colour suits you.”

When we eventually went up to pay, the shop assistant commented that it’s so nice to see sisters out shopping together and having fun.

We didn’t correct her.

That year, the students planted some flax bushes alongside one of the school buildings as part of an organized effort to raise pride in the schools appearance. When we went back to visit the school, Vicky saw how tall they had grown.

“That means I’m old right?”

“I guess so”, I replied.

Things Just Are. ___________

I grew up with good Christian parents with good Christian values. We always had what we needed and more. My parents focused on us Kids.

We knew they loved us, had our best interests at heart and did their best for us, even if this was only realised in hindsight.

Wanganui isn’t the most glamourous place to grow up. It’s a small town where everyone seems to know everyone and there’s not much going on for young people to do. This meant that if my siblings and I ever wanted to do something or be entertained, then we had to invent our own fun, so we did.

I remember our first family home, the one situated along the road of the river. We knew all of our neighbours. I used to stand on a tree stump out the back of our section every afternoon and yell for Jan, the elderly woman over the back fence. She would always, without fail, bring me a biscuit. When my sister was born, we moved to a bigger house, down the river in Aramoho. It had a huge back section that was divided into four parts by a thin footpath. I called them paddocks, they seemed that big.

My siblings and I would run around the backyard and befriended most of the kids on our street. We called our group ‘The Gang’, which is the usual for Wanganui. When my brother and I were about six and eight, we made an obstacle course that ran from the tree house, onto the neighbours shed, along the fence line and back down to our shed, before we’d jump off into Dad’s pile of grass clippings. We used to have races with the neighbours to see who could do it the fastest. Mum quickly found out what we were doing and shut the operation down; apparently it was too dangerous, although none of us could understand why and began plotting an alternative route.

As we grew up, mornings got hectic. We all tried to sleep in for as long as possible as we were lucky to only live 200 meters from the school gates. Like Mytch, my brother had half-hour showers. It was a disaster if he got to the shower first as the water cylinder was really small. Dad tried to implement a timer, but that never worked. He ended up turning the hot water off at the cylinder.

Most of the time we all got along, but like every family we had our fair share of arguments. Dad used to get angry at the smallest things like the dishes or if someone had eaten all the lunch ham. My sister used to argue back at him, which made it worse. Jonathan used to ignore it all and I would try to mediate the situation. Mum tried to keep the peace by yelling at Dad to “Leave the kids alone!” Despite being all grown up, it’s a dynamic that we still have today.

The same thing can be said for both of our families. Through the good, the bad and the ugly, at the end of the day, family is the bottom line.

Family is everything.

When I was first welcomed into your life and home there was such a great sense of togetherness. It took me a while to understand where everyone fit into the scheme of things though. One thing that was very evident was how much love everyone had for each other, but also how unspoken it was. You all function in a way where actions speak louder than words. Sometimes hurtful things get thrown around but at the end of the day, family means everything. From the outside it seems dysfunctional, but when you become an insider, you can see your family for what it is; a tight knit group of people who will do anything for anyone, anytime.

Let me break it down. You and Mytch are full biological siblings. You are sixteen and Mytch is fourteen. Your Dad is Magoo. He owns the house and works on a boat as a commercial fisherman. He provides for the family, but is hardly ever home. Your Mum is Kerri, who takes care of everyone. Your Mum and Dad haven’t been together for a long time but are still good friends and have the same interests in all of you kids.

Kerri also has Adam, nine, whose Dad is Craig, and Terazah, four, whose father we don’t talk about. Adam used to live with his Dad in Wellington but has recently moved down here.

Daemon is your cousin. His father, Marc is your Mum’s brother. Kerri has custody of Daemon and Marc sometimes visits. Kerri doesn’t officially live at the house but is there most of the time with Adam, Terazah and Daemon. It’s a 2-bedroom house. Mytch’s room is the lounge, which has extra beds so everyone has a place to sleep. The kitchen, come lounge, come dining room is the small but social space for everyone.

Everyone is everywhere all of the time.

I see a lot of myself in you. There is an unspoken responsibility that I think we bestow upon ourselves to step up and take care of the younger ones, even if its not appreciated. In some respect, I think we forget to look after ourselves.

Your relationship with Mytch reminds me a lot of my relationship with my brother. He is the quiet observer type. He stands on the sidelines and watches thing. He is not emotional but always knows what is going on, even with the things we never notice. Like my brother, Mytch doesn’t seek praise or appreciation. They both act out of love and don’t expect anything in return.

Growing up with my brother, it was always just us two. Our voices even sounded alike before he hit puberty. We would get up to trouble together and make up games and silly words. When we started growing up we still hung out. We had the same friend groups and started a band together. Even though the love was never spoken, it was always shown.

After I left home, and we stopped seeing each other every day, we kept in contact by phone, but only every now and then. A couple of years ago my sister came to visit. We were sitting on the couch, watching a movie and out of nowhere she is telling me that Jonathan has cancer.

I hit pause on the laptop and sat in silence. She told me that she wasn’t supposed to tell me but felt she should. He had kept it to himself through all of the Doctors visits and had only told my parents when he needed someone to take him to hospital for surgery. I felt so helpless, but also offended that he hadn’t confided in me. Most of all, I felt sad that he was going through things alone. I stopped and realised that this wasn’t about me. He felt a responsibility as a brother to his two sisters. He felt like he had to be the protector. He didn’t want the fuss.

I see this with Mytch and you. On one hand, I know why you didn’t want to let him know what you were going through. You feel like the one that has to take care of everyone. On the other hand, I know how Mytch feels. He wants to be able to make things easier for you, like I wish I could have done for my brother.

So hold on to those good mornings and good nights. Know that they really mean, “I am here for you.”

Tainted Love. __________

Wanganui is built on the banks of a wide and deep river. I know the Avon is no comparison, but nonetheless it feels like it’s all connected.

When I was a teenager, I had this notion that I had to be the best at everything. Most of the time I succeeded. When I didn’t, I used to beat myself up. I was never satisfied. I was popular enough in high school and I got good grades. I had a great friend group and despite all our dramas, we were tight. In saying all of this, I in no way, had an easy run of being a teenager.

Back then was the world of MSN instant messenger and dialup Internet. I was lucky enough to have one of the new flip top cellphones with TXT500 but that wasn’t the be all and end all. Communication with people was more like picking up the landline or just going around to your mates place. Facebook had only just become popular and I couldn’t see the point in it. I didn’t want to create a profile for myself and share photos on the Internet. These days, this whole notion of having an online persona scares me. You get to choose what side of yourself to have on show; you can even pretend to be someone you are not. I guess in some respects this seems really cool, but it can be destructive. Heck, I couldn’t even choose what hairstyle to have in the mornings when I was at school, let alone contemplate hundreds of anonymous people judging how I looked in a profile picture.

I was the one that always had a boyfriend. I was the one that always needed to be loved and I would do anything to hear people say it out loud. I used put my worth in the hands of boys who didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t value myself even though I thought I did. I couldn’t see beyond my own feelings. I guess it’s the same, in a sense, as creating a Facebook or Tumblr. You put your words, thoughts and emotions out there in the vast expanse of the Internet. Your worth is determined by the response; the number of likes or reblogs you get. I guess you never really stop and think how crazy that notion is. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if all my breakups were publicized and everyone openly shared their opinions on it. Seeing him with a new girl at school was enough to handle, let alone it being broadcast throughout a multitude of social plug-ins.

I think that’s part of what being a teenager is, though. In the scheme of things, that small period of life is so insignificant but while you are in the middle of it, it’s all there is. I think the only difference between you and I at the same age, is that now there are so many more ways to try and gain acceptance and validation. Just know that your teen years don’t determine your path in life. You can only grow and learn from your experiences, whatever they may be. Your worth will come from the effect you have on the people in your life, the people you actually interact with. You’ve got to live in the moment rather than the blank space of the status update.

I always remember my first kiss. I had just moved to a new school in the city. It was such a big change from my old country school of fifty students. We had a combined class of year five and six students. He was the year above me. I had liked him from the moment I met him but it took a while for him to notice me.

We were at a combined school swimming sports day at the local pools when one of his friends came over and told me he wanted to ‘go out’ with me. In natural year-five-girl fashion, I avoided him for the whole day, sneaking glances every moment I got.

A few days later his friend came up to me again on the playground and told me that he wanted to kiss me. We met at the big green tunnel in the middle of the playground. I remember thinking it was like a wedding party, we were in the middle and on either side were our friends for support. I was so nervous, I was giggling. He took a plate out of his mouth, which he wore to straighten his teeth and it freaked me out. Why did he need to take it out to kiss me?

Just before the bell rung to end lunchtime, we had a very rushed peck on the lips and that was that. No more messages from his friends. A week later he was going out with Melissa Wilson.

I dated the boy next door. I was 17 when we met, not that much older than you are now. He was 21. I used to babysit his younger sister. He was always in the background.

One night, I had to babysit while he was home. His parents told me I could leave once I had put their daughter to bed. He had different ideas. He asked me to stay with him and watch a movie. One thing led to another and we had our first kiss.

A few days later, he took me to McDonalds for lunch and told me all about his past. I wondered what it was about my personality that made people confide in me. He told me he was back living with his parents because he was coming off a drug addiction and that he had lost his license. Strangely, I didn’t run for the hills.

At this point in time, things were pretty tense at home. My sister, who was fourteen at the time, had started hanging out with a really rough crowd. She was trying to figure out her place in life and had started drinking and sneaking out at nights. She had become a nightmare to live with and had no idea how she was affecting everyone around her.

At night, once everyone had gone to bed. I would run across the road and climb in his window. I’d fall asleep with him and leave at 5am the next morning before anyone woke up. One night, he wanted to take things to the next level. Life with him felt unreal. I wanted to be someone else, so I let him.

It was my first time. I lied and told him I had already done it as not to seem young and immature. I panicked halfway through and told him the truth. He stopped and I rolled over. I stayed wide-awake until 5am, home time. I climbed back through my bedroom window and into my bed. I cried and never told anyone.

Things went on this way every night until I left home for university.

When I moved to Christchurch, we talked by phone or skype every night. I had come to rely on him and he had me wrapped around his little finger. Every holiday I spent money I didn’t have to get to Auckland and see him. I lied to my parents, using my best friend as a cover. One night, I found myself in the middle of Auckland City, high on ecstasy, running away from him and another girl he was trying to hook up with. I have never been or felt so low.

There were always other girls. One night when I was in Auckland, he got a message on his phone from another girl. I read the conversation and was horrified. All I knew was that I had to get out of there as quickly as possible. I wrote a note and ran into the dark night, not caring where I ended up. Eventually I had to go back. I had nowhere else to go. He brushed it off. How could I expect him to stay faithful when he had needs and I was so far away in Christchurch?

Who had I become?

It wasn’t until years later, with him long gone, that I finally found out what it was like to feel loved in a relationship. I regret my time with him, but that regret fades the older I get. It taught me that if I dwell on the past, then my future suffers. I tell you my story in the hope that you realise this too.

I gave you a key to my house for a reason. My place is your place. I know what it’s like to need to run, but have nowhere to go. When things are too hard to think about or handle, I want you to have a safe place to be. A place where no one asks questions and you can have as many hot chocolates as you want. I’d rather know where your head rests at night, even if your thoughts are somewhere else, than have you walking the streets, broken and crying out for love.

Time heals wounds and I’m happy to be your sanctuary, your resting place. I only hope that it helps, even just a little.

The bed is always ready to be made up for whenever you decide you want it. But you know that already.

A Great Guide. ___________

Mother and daughter relationships are

complex because the daughter looks to her mother as a role model of what a woman is.

As she grows up and sees other women who live their lives differently, she chooses between imitating her mother or other significant influences in her life.

As an adolescent she may come to look down on her mother and think that other women are much better. Of course she is not a fully grown woman so she does not understand the challenges and choices that her mother faces.

It is only when she herself becomes a woman that she can fully appreciate her mother. ________________________________

“Victoria is smiling for at least 15 minutes in the mornings. She is just beautiful.�

“Victoria and I got up at 9.00am and had a bath.

Victoria loved it, she was splashing heaps, the wee honey. We went shopping and spent $50 at Pak’n’Sav and about another $40 at Fresh Choice then $20 at the butchers.

We also went window shopping although I bought Victoria a new book. I can’t remember the title of it but it was down from $10 to $2.25. Good score.

I was gonna buy Victoria a wee outfit but I can’t afford to at the moment. Doesn’t matter cause she doesn’t need it right now anyway.

Dad rung up and said he is coming home. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when Victoria says ‘Dad Dad’ (dada).”

One afternoon Vicky came to hang out at my house. We got a cold drink from the fridge and sat in the sunshine. Vicky lay down on the couch with her head propped up on some cushions. She was fixated on her hair. She held the ends of it up close to her eyes, examining every little strand. “Ugh”, she finally said. “I have so many split ends.”

I stretched back in my brown rocking chair, basking in the warm sun on my face.

“Go get a hair cut,” I told her.

“Na, Mum can’t afford it. Have you cut hair before?” she asks, pushing the arm of my chair back so I have to sit up.

“No way!” I said, my eyes opening to look at her. “I’m not cutting your hair.”

“Oh, come on,” she pleaded, putting her hands on my knees. “You’re my only hope.” She pulls my hand up as I reluctantly stand.

“Alright. I’ll give it a go. If I stuff it up you have to promise not to get mad.”

I pulled one of the dining room chairs into the laundry so the clippings would be easier to sweep up at the end. I straightened her hair to get the ends even. I felt so nervous making the first cut, at least until I realised that she had already hacked a chunk out of the front a few days before. I didn’t comment on how bad it looked, just got on with the job. I only ended up cutting a few centimetres off the back, just enough to tidy it up.

She jumped up from the chair, sending clippings flying off her lap and ran into my room to check it out in the mirror. She pulled her hair over her shoulder as she ran my brush through it. I grabbed another mirror to show her the back.

“Wow! Thanks so much. You even managed to cut it straight,” she joked, perched on the edge of my bed, knees together and pouting at her reflection. “It looks so much healthier now.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I sat down beside her and grabbed my lipstick from the dresser.

“My lips are so dry today,” I said rubbing them together.

“Too much kissing, eh?” she replies.

“You’re too young to know about kissing. I’ll tell you when you turn eighteen.” I said with a wink.

My Mum has always been the constant when I have been the one who changes. We definitely had our arguments as we disagree on things all the time, but she is always going to be Mum and I wouldn’t change her.

When people used to tell me I looked a lot like her and that we were very much alike, I hated it. I was my own person, couldn’t they see that? Now, having grown up a little bit, I see things differently. I am honored if someone tells me I am like my mother. I admire her and respect everything that she has done and continues to do for me. Her love is unconditional, as mine is for her.

I will always remember our walks together in the warm evenings. The memory of one walk will always stand out. One night, after dinner, the sun was slowly setting and she suggested instead of our usual circuit around the lake, we could walk down the main street and window shop. I was all for this, as I could probably convince her that I needed a new something or other. We started right at the top of the ave and walked down to the river. When we were halfway up the other side, she stopped and turned to me.

“Am I a bad Mother?” she asked.

I knew this was in relation to my sister.

“No! Of course not.” I replied without hesitation. I was taken aback by her question.

“Bethany knows she is acting up. She is just selfish now, but she will come round. Its not a reflection of you.”

She seemed to think about that for a moment, as silent tears started to flow down her cheeks. I could hear the birds in the trees and the Boy Racers exhausts rattling in the background. I stood there with Mum, not knowing whether to stay silent or try comfort her.

I was used to Mum turning on the water works. It would happen if she was laughing too hard, if there was a sad part in a movie or even cutting onions. This was the first time I had seen her cry because of how she felt about herself.

Eventually she turned to look at the sale price of the desk chairs in the window of The Warehouse Stationary. She pretended like nothing had happened and we continued our walk home. Neither Mum nor I ever brought up this topic of conversation again. We didn’t need to. She knew that I was there for her and that’s all that mattered.

Last year you came to stay with me for a week. You said things were really rough at home and I didn’t ask questions. I was just so happy you came to me.

When you arrived on my doorstep that night, I went upstairs and made the bed. I made you a hot chocolate and we sat on the couch watching funny cat montages on Youtube. The next morning I asked you what your plan was for the day. You said you wanted to stay in bed.

When I got a call from your school counsellor a few days later, he asked if I was OK with being your caregiver and that he was there for support if I needed it. To me, you were just staying a few nights but at that point I suddenly realised I was responsible for you. I didn’t feel any different, but this new title changed things. I couldn’t help but think, ‘What if something happened to you?’ I stayed up late every night to make sure that you got off to sleep all right. I was always there with more pillows, blankets, or glasses of water if you needed them.

You seemed quite happy to stay in bed and watch Vampire Diaries on your laptop but all the same, I kept an eye and an ear out for you.

When I stopped to reflect on the nature of our relationship, I thought there are so many roles that we play in each other’s lives. You are like my sister, like my daughter, my friend and much more. Sometimes it feels like we are equals and other times it seems like I am much older and wiser. I guess that’s the beauty of it though. Whenever we need each other, in any form, there’s no questions asked. We will step up.

“This morning when I woke up with Victoria to the alarm clock, I looked at her as she was talking away to me. I noticed a big difference in her. She really has her own personality.

It’s amazing how a baby can be so dependent on Mum & Dad to do everything for them.

I love Victoria so much but I still find some things are hard to deal with. I just wish there was more I could do for her. She doesn’t know any better, I don’t blame her at all.

I just wish that I could give Victoria more. We will get there. I know we will!”

“Victoria is going to be, or should I say is, a very bright wee girl. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

A daughter would have to be Gods greatest gift ever!”

When I Grow Up. ____________

Around August of my final year of High School, I started to seriously think about my future. Dad was the careers adviser at school so he was always on my case about making sure I was on the ball with applications to universities and halls of residence.

I wanted to make sure I went somewhere all my friends were going.

For that reason, I was always dead set on Wellington. I never gave Christchurch a thought. I had always assumed my parents would want me to do something academic so that I would be guaranteed a job. I never thought that studying art was an option.

One afternoon, my parents sat me down at the dinner table and asked what I was thinking of studying. I only remember one thing from that conversation. Dad said to me, “Don’t go to Uni to study something to please us. Study something you love.” My decision was made. I was going to apply for Fine Arts at the University of Canterbury.

I have never looked back but now, as I come to the end of my degree, the question of ‘what next?’ lingers. As they say, I have to start thinking about taking my place in the ‘real world’. It’s a common perception that students should go to University to study something that leads to a good career path. This was what I thought at one point too. The idea of going to Uni to ‘find yourself’ is something used in a derogatory way, as if students are squandering their money and coming out at the end of it with nothing. I don’t think this is true in the slightest. I’ve needed this time to grow up and actually know what I want to be doing in life.

From society’s point of view, I should be thinking about marriage and finding a real job; none of the retail bullshit I’ve been doing to pay for Uni. Most of my friends are pairing off and I’m the only single one left, but that doesn’t bother me. I have my freedom. I always thought that at this point I’d go to teachers college and become an art teacher.

Now, this just seems like the safe option. I’ve always felt that this was expected of me, as both my parents are teachers. Now, I have other dreams for myself.

Since meeting you four years ago and watching you grow as a person, my passion has changed to working with young girls like you. If I could find a job that helped teen girls and included my other passion, art, that would be perfect. I’ve never been one who is concerned about earning huge amounts of money. I’d rather know I was making a difference. From reading your words here, I feel like I’m already doing this. That is how I measure my success.

When I first sat with you in that café at the start of the year, I was nervous. I wanted to write a book with you. I wanted to share with others how far we have come together. I didn’t want you to feel pressured to say yes. I knew you had many good reasons for saying no.

“Yes, but only because it’s you,” was your reply.

At the start, it was hard for me to define exactly what I wanted this book to say. I felt like I was exploiting you in some way. We made the decision to have weekly meetings even if we felt like just hanging instead. We also decided that you would have an equal say in this project, which is the real beauty of how this book has turned out.

Throughout the course of this year, we have grown closer. At times, I have just wanted to reach out and hug you forever. Other times, I have been beyond annoyed at how flippant and moody you can be. Overall, you have no idea how impressed and amazed I have been by you.

Not only has this project made us grow in our relationship, you have made me grow in myself. Your honesty in your writing and your willingness to trust me in all aspects of your life has taught me a great lesson. From the start I thought this book was for you to see how your life was important and for me to show you how much I love you. Now I realise that is only half true. Its also about you giving all that to me too.

I will never forget anything, ever.

With Thanks. _________ To Kerri, Magoo, Mytchel, Adam, Terazah and Daemon. Thank you for allowing and welcoming me into your lives and your spaces. Thank you for being patient and supportive of the project, and helping in every way you could.

To my tutors, Glenn Busch, who supported me from the start and kept encouraging me to exceed my own abilities. To Tim Veling, for countless edits of text, for challenging me to make decisions on my own initiative and for always helping me see ways to make things better. I cannot be grateful enough for your knowledge and teaching.

To my classmates, Ashlee, Bayley, Bhavika, Emma, Gemma, Hannah and Sophie, you have all inspired parts of my thinking in some way or other. This project would not have developed without your constant advice, feedback and support. To Chrissy, for countless discussions of our projects together. You have been a great support, and have kept me in check when I have needed it. You will always be a great friend and inspiration.

To my friends and flatmates, thank you for putting up with me through the good and the bad. Thank you for being there with coffee and keeping me level headed.

To my family for always believing in me. Thank you for your guidance and your listening ear whenever I needed it. Thank you also, for your financial support; this book would not have been possible without you.

And most importantly, to Vicky. Thank you for everything.