Why Just Ask?

” It’s not enough just to dream of your ideas. You’ve got to take action to bring about their creation.”  

Doreen Virtue, The Courage to Be Creative

When I was 8 years old, my mother presented me with my very first journal. She was a strong advocate for journal writing, having kept a journal herself for many years. I still remember the colour of that journal and the feel of the thin cream colour pages. It had a grey cover with accents of black on the spine and on its four corners. It reminded me of the old television static screens. You know, when the channel had finished broadcasting in the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t a flash journal. It didn’t have a lock on it like the ones I had seen other girls write in, nor was it one from the temple bookshop. Those had the word journal embossed on the cover in gold writing and came in three distinct colours: maroon, brown and navy blue. No, I believe my journal was probably from one of the $2 dollar stores that used to line the old strip of Church Street Parramatta.

I don’t remember what my first entry was about in that journal, but I do remember my journal was something I was proud of. It didn’t have the gold writing or the gold padlock on it, but it to me it was just as precious. Within it’s covers it held all my achievements like ribbons for sports, my baptismal program, my first crush and my frustrations at the world and I assume, a plethora of other things that any young Latter-Day Saint girl would write about. The only journal entry that I remember was a clipping from the school newsletter when I was in grade 2. My primary school published a story I had written that week complete with a picture of a house and car. After I had proudly shown it to my family I cut it out of the newsletter and I sticky taped it (because we didn’t own glue),ever so carefully into that journal. I assume I wrote how I felt about being that Star of the Week. I guess you can say that was my introduction to writing.

My next major writing accomplishment presented itself when I was in the 6th grade. I entered a poetry competition at school against the other schools in our district, with the chosen topic being Anzac Day. Shakespere I was not, but I still remember a few lines from that epic poem:

"...See my father go, away away so slow
My mothers tears, are hiding her fears
That Daddy will never come home..."

I won that competition and received a small thick silver medal that had an Anzac soldier on it. It was presented to me in a beautiful navy blue velvet pouch at a special Anzac Day ceremony at the Church Street amphitheatre. I had been asked to represent my school and read my poem to a group of diggers on Anzac Day. I remember one man wiping a tear from his eye as if recalling a memory at my words.

Before technology made everything so convenient with instant messaging and social media, letter writing allowed me to express myself in an uncensored type of way to whoever the reader was. As a teen I used my writing to express my undying love to Antonio Banderas in a journal I unsuccessfully hid under the couch in our living room, unbeknownst to my three boyfriends I had during that time. I also used my writing to get me out of trouble with friends, my aforementioned boyfriends and yes even my parents. I remember I got caught ditching school in 9th grade and I was grounded for it, and rightly so. I believe that occasion called for a poem dedicated to my mother which had a theme of regret and running away. Dramatic much lol. Needless to say that poem ensured I had THE SHORTEST grounding ever.

As I got older mobile phones and text messaging meant long odes to life and love were lost to make way for abbreviated shortcuts within texting limitations. This meant my writing took a back seat and life took the wheel. At the age of 18 I fell pregnant and became a single mother. I moved out of home with my son and started working. I had two more children, gotten married, picked up some mental health and addicition issues along the way and was suffering from domestic violence in silence. You can say I had and racked up quite a bit of life experience by the time I was 24 and had a lot of baggage in the trunk of my so called car. So much so, I had become a master at self-deprecation. I believed there was nothing special about me. I wasn’t beautiful, I wasn’t funny. My body had been ruined due to pregnancy and my self esteem was at an all time low. Who would want me, when all I had to offer was Just…. me

Stay with me, this all ties in with the title

So what changed?…. I heard a rumour

You see, whilst I believed I was nothing special, people in my life found me to be a hot topic of discussion given my situation. Eventually the slanderous stories that were being spread about me and my children found me by way of friends, various members of my church groups and social media.The most hurtful being family. I lost people I considered friends, and trust in those around me. These stories became so outrageous that I eventually started telling people: “If you want to know anything about me, Just ask me. If you want to hear a good story, ask someone else”

That new sentence triggered something within me and for the first time in a long time, I put pen to paper and I wrote. I used the betrayal and lies from those that were close to me as motivation to write “Food for thought”. I recalled my mothers tales of how people viewed her and her siblings stating, “there is just something different about us Pearse kids”. So, I borrowed my mother’s experiences, her mana, her honour and teamed it with my grandathers pride and used it to shield myself from the attack on my character. Food for thought is very special to me. It showed me that there too, is something different about me. That is why it is my first piece in reflections.

I slowly started writing again. I would write birthday posts on facebook, deep quotes on instagram and even made journal entries on my phone. Most recently though, I was told that I needed to do something with my writing, instead of letting it go to waste. It was daunting to think of sharing my words so publicly. Allowing others into experiences that have remained silenced and hidden from the world, thus allowing people an opinion on my life. So daunting in fact, that I did nothing about it. It wasn’t until I watched a youtube video and the presenter said: “If you want to blog, then just start. Otherwise you never will”, after hearing that I decided to do it. And so the conecpt was born.

Finding a name…

Spurred on by the encouragement and support of my little family, we tried to come up with a name for my blog. You would not believe how many Chrissy’s or Chrissy K’s there are across the multiple social media platforms. My alter ego LadyK had so much negativity associated with it that I did an Arianna and Thank you Next it to my middle name. Alena-Shaan. It’s a unique family name and my daughter suggested: “What about Just Ask? Use Ask as an acronym for your middle name and our last name”

I told you it would come full circle and make sense. Just Ask. Just Alena-Shaan Kaufusi. Just…. Me. The negativity I associated with being Just Me, is being reborn.

My Pheonix moment