You’re on your own, and you know what you know. Oh the places you’ll go.

I can safely guarantee you I have not ever thought into such detail of my own identity as I have this week. To the point where I am pondering whether the oxford jumper and pyjama pants I am wearing while I type furiously on my iMac whilst at the same time coordinating a sneezing fit contribute to what I shall ascribe as my self selected identity. Who would have thought that these effortless decisions I make regularly contribute to the way I am seen and my identity? Yet it is through these few personal characteristics and choices I make which create my self selected image. I strongly believe that while there will always be inevitable imposed factors attributing to a sense of identity the way the human race achieves uniqueness is through the carefully selected decisions in life that form their image and as a result their identity.

I believe my identity has been modified over 20 years by factors such as my family life, being the youngest of three girls with my parents I have always had a very stable upbringing which has allowed me to grow and develop freely. Decisions I have made have led me to taking a year off and spending that time immersed in a completely different setting in England and making my way traveling through Europe experiencing everything from the Notre Dame in Paris to bed bugs in Prague! Yet of course in order to make these decisions there were obvious imposed identities on me those being a caucasian Australian female coming from a very privileged background. I think in this case it is important to consider During’s idea that ‘individuals differ as to the degree of intensity in which they connect to particular identities,’ there are hundreds upon thousands of people who would share the same demographics yet it is the ways in which we connect to these particularities that divide us. With a strong maternal Lebanese heritage along with thousands of other Sydney-siders one would not be quick to associate me with that heritage as I go against any preconceived ideas or stereotypes commonly associated with Lebanese people.

A few days ago I was shocked to find out that in order to commemorate their daughter’s generation her parents named her ‘Like’…if you haven’t already made the connection it is clear that there is something lacking in YOUR identity yet I was astounded yet not surprised as to the extent of the profound impact Facebook is having on our lives. Literally governing our decisions it is becoming a common basis of identity for many people leaving not much left to be discovered by others. It is this imposed identity formation that does make it difficult to sustain a self selected image. Hearn’s article, “Variations on the branded self,” reinforces this idea where websites such as Facebook foster a “detachable, sale image or narrative of self.” Personally I have come a long way in regards to my social networking. From the days when I would write essays ‘about me’ on my Myspace profile to now limiting every piece of information of myself on Facebook I like to keep people guessing. I make a conscious effort to not be a pretentious and downright annoying newsfeed ‘polluter’ so I only update my status on strictly funny, emotive, or interesting topics which I feel reflect a certain part of my identity.

All in all, identity is a huge concept which I really don’t think can be defined but it is to me the associations one makes with others and the way they reflect an image they would like others to see of themselves. The common understanding is that identity is imposed however I still strongly believe it is what we make of our imposed and given characteristics or demographics that help shape our ultimately self selected identity.

The Cake Man

Sam taking a break from his non-stop
15 hour work day.

Mary, Alexandra, Kathryn: one would be easily forgiven for thinking these names belong to certain ladies but when inside the glass doors of a small shop in Lane Cove, these names belong to the chocolate, ganache, raspberry and meringue components of the overly popular cakes of Beligian pastry chef, Sam Campisi.


“It all started back in Belgium, I was 14 eldest of 5 kids, I was walking home from school and I see an ad in the door saying: apprentice wanted and I walked in and said how old did you have to be? He told me 14 and so I got the job. I went home and told Mum who at that point was working from 5am to 5pm that I was leaving school and going to help her out.”

The aroma of expensive coffee beans linger as Sam takes a seat and a break from his ritualistic 15 hour day to reflect on his journey. Brushing the residual flour off his hands and unbuttoning the top few buttons to his dirtied chef’s uniform his unshaven face breaks into a cheeky grin and those piercing bright blue eyes prepare to tell their story.
“The pressure of being the eldest was too much, from 10 years old I was looking after everyone and by the time I was 18 I cracked it. They were going to put me in a home. It was then that I got in touch with my Dad who was living in Australia and it was him who convinced me to leave.”
Not needing much more persuasion, Sam ended up in Tamworth with his Dad, however it was not long before things didn’t work out and with his poor english he found himself in the heart of Sydney knowing that he would have to make a life for himself here.

As Sam speaks there is not a flicker of a doubt to say that he is not Australian. “I taught myself how to speak English…I had no choice but to learn. I taught myself by reading comic books: spiderman, phantom.”

Being a fluent speaker of Italian and French and a self taught English speaker, the inspiration behind his story evidently becomes clearer. “I did it all for my Mum. I wanted to make her proud. I always felt inadequate.”

After working for 10 years in a nearby patisserie and consistently working for someone else, the freedom is endless for Sam. “I am being myself – I let my personality run wild….before you could see I was a bit of a larrikin but now there is no stopping me. I can do whatever I want.”

“After only properly opening the business two weeks ago having moved from my last cafe, here I am doing the business I thought I would do in a month’s time. I would say this is my biggest achievement.”

The self described “cool, sexy and strong” persona shines through the cheeky grin and it is not hard to see the gleaming pride behind it. For what seems like a life long effort of hard work, the best part is only just beginning. His eyes find mine and it only takes one look at his face to see how the fifteen hour days are taking their toll but then he is the first to acknowledge “this is my time – it is worth it.”

Un Bon Hiver?

In light of the atrociously cold weather that has beset itself on the unknowing residents of Sydney, what better way to praise it then with the glorious tunes of none other than Justin Vernon...Bon Iver. If you haven't already guessed, the band name Bon Iver which is otherwise always associated with Vernon himself is a sly purposeful mis-spelling of the french Bon Hiver. This relates directly to his self imposed four month wintry isolation in his Father's cabin in Northern Wisconsin in which he produced the songs which would make up the record For Emma, Forever Ago. 


Now that you know a little about my ultimate singer and songwriter, I believe it is time to delve into the purpose of this post and that is his latest cd the self titled, Bon Iver. Not meant to be released until mid-June, I somehow managed to secure a copy and what I can tell you is music like this is just meant to be heard. I often wonder that when I like an artist is the only reason why I like their newest tracks because I feel I have a psychological obligation or do I genuinely like them? 
This I can safely assure you is no obligatory listening. 
It is divine. 
He reaches absolute new heights through the album and each song has an underlying ambiguity which makes it all the more compelling. 


This is no proper review, only a confession of my undying love of Bon Iver. 


Due to be released June 21 2011, make sure to pay a little extra attention to Holocene.

Parlez vous français?

I have been asking myself this question a little too much lately as I near the end of my first semester of learning a language I have only aspired to one day be able to speak. Lucky for me, with a past 5 year knowledge of Italian combined with multiple trips to France last year, I have been able to grasp the broader knowledge of the language and have really connected with it (to the point where I resemble something like a 'teacher's pet' in my French class)...regardless I believe people are doing themselves a disfavor through not listening to the music of insanely beautiful Carla Bruni. Personally I believe it is through songs like Quel'qu'un ma dit which extracts an unknown passion of foreign languages for everyone. 
The first time I heard this was off the 500 Days of Summer album which on a completely different note is well worth A) watching and B) indulging in the music soundtrack.


Enough from me!


Now mollycoddle this...

I feel pretty!

Due to my incumbent association with public transport that has evolved this year I have witnessed some weird and quirky things which would make any normal person's brain tick but when it comes to my overly-stimulated mind it literally sends me crazy. I tend to be that person who is often found smiling to herself or in some special cases laughing or in extreme cases unknowingly mouthing a conversation to herself that is going on in her head. Here you are most definitely thinking wow she is crazy and to a certain extent I don't blame you. Today was one of those special types of days. Being the coldest day in Sydney for a long time, I had no complaints upon stepping on board my refuge Hornsby bound train yet it wasn't until I was sat down and started to unravel my multiple layers given the extreme stuffiness of the train's cabin that I saw my victim. This man would have been in his early twenties and of Korean/Japanese heritage. He casually pulled out his iphone and kept bringing it closer and closer to his face. Here I am, obviously intrigued as to what he is doing as this is the point where I am usually pressing the centre button and swiping furiously to unlock my phone yet he just keeps bringing the phone closer. Some people may not have any problem with this whatsoever but it wasn't until he started fixing his fringe and patting his hair when I realised that what he was doing was utilising his iphone as a mirror. I don't think I would be forgiven for bursting out laughing at this point...and luckily for me I refrained from doing so. It wasn't until this action repeated itself for the continuous 20 minute period that I really felt I could not contain myself any longer and little did I know I let a laugh that resembled a snort escape me. As you would guess I did receive looks I probably deserved but still I was just simply so shocked about how narcissistic people can be! I genuinely thought looking at your reflection in the train as it is pulling into the station was bad or even staring at yourself in the window when the train is going through a tunnel...but checking yourself out on your iPhone? 
I really hope it was worth it.