Hit The Ground Running.

My name is Tyson Redman Goddard, and this is my third blog. My first blog “Sparrow” began as a collection of my emotional revelations and eventually branched out into product reviews. It is still essentially “me”, and from time to time I will continue to blog about my personal life, but I also think that the things in my life that I take interest in such as music, fashion, books and movies are all part of who I am as well, which I guess is why the blog “Sparrow” took a turn in that Column- like direction.
The second is one I co-write with my best friend Maia Simone called “Red Sands” a continuous fictional story in which I am writing one character, and Maia is writing the other.

This blog however, is a blog of... another kind.

The night before I left for Japan, I returned home from my last church service at C3 Kingscliff. That was followed by a rather impromptu yet fun farewell dinner at my good friend Chantal’s house.
I knew I was going to miss those people, it felt kind of strange, I grit my teeth at the term but it really did feel like I was “in a dream” , like it really hadn’t hit me that in the morning, I would leave and most likely not see this family of friends for two years.

I didn’t cry.

Returning home and taking some time to pack I jetted across the road to Nanny’s house, all my life I have lived across the road from my maternal grandmother, you wouldn’t be mistaken in thinking that we’re best friends. But she was, and still is, so much more. A confidante and spiritual mentor, Nanny has trained me from a young age into the young man I am today, all without me ever knowing that she was carefully guiding me with a gentle hand and steady faith in the Lord.

I barely got to spend any time there that night as it was almost already midnight and the packing had taken a little longer than I had expected.
I really can’t bring myself to write too much about this moment for fear that I will become emotional, again, but what I can say was there was one of those moments that seems to come crashing down on your reality with so much noise that it seems to hurt. For me that moment was the last wave.

The wave that I had often shared with Nanny was something of a tradition, every time I would leave her house and cross the street to mine I would stop once I reached the boundaries of the car port, turn and wave, Nanny would always be there waiting and watching, and of course waving.


This last time, that last wave. I scurried inside the house, I couldn’t speak for fear letting my sorrow pour out of my mouth like a wailing child, but I so dearly wanted to do just that.
Mum asked me something, maybe if I had had a good time? Or if we watched any good movies? I just nodded to whatever she had said and hurried to my room. Closing my bedroom door behind me leaning against the door, slowly, in the darkness of my room streaked by shafts of light from the street lamp outside I began to sob.
Walking to my bed I sat on the edge of the mattress and hugging my pillow to my chest I doubled over and almost uncontrollably began to cry, not prettily or stylishly like in the movies, but in that childish, gasping manner where you become blinded by your tears and you know your face must look very ugly as it contorts into an extreme frown and your eyes try to squint through your salty tears.
I’m not sure how long mum might have been standing there, but it can’t have been long. She’d even turned the light on, I must have had my eyes closed. Sitting on the bed she wrapped her arms around me and began to cry with me.

“I can’t do it, I can’t leave Nanny, I have to stay and look after Nanny, who will look after Nanny?”
“Don’t be silly, you can darling, you can. It’s time for you to go out there, make your own way in the world, and prove your faith. Don’t worry about Nanny, we’ll look after her, and the Lord will look after her.”
Through our tears I accepted my mother’s encouragement, shortly after, I went to bed. At least I think it was shortly after. I guess everything kind of blurred after the last wave.

In the morning, my cousin Te Aaka came down to say goodbye. I looked at her and found that yet again she was another person who simply by being around me, gave me hope. I really had no reason to complain with such a wonderful family around me.

But at this point I guess I have to stop and say something about Te Aaka.

She was the second eldest of four children to my aunty Margy. She's a dancer, a singer and a total bundle of fun. Over the years she became so much more like a sister then a cousin, and funnily enough the story is the same with my other cousin Kimberly. Yes, the three of us were so close, we often joked around about how we were the three members of “Destinys Child”. I think that our respective counterparts really were quite accurate. I’m not sure how they saw it, but this is my perception.

I was always Beyonce, Kimmy was always Kelly, and Te Aaka was always Michelle.

I laugh when I think back on our little adventures as this trio. But honestly, I felt that in being Beyonce, the leader of the group, there was just so much to be insecure about, I guess I always thought in my own life, like in Beyonce’s, people were constantly scrutinizing, waiting for the moment I would slip up and fail, in reality these fears were totally unjustified, but I guess that’s typical that the thing one fears most is the thing that is most unlikely to occur.

As Kelly, Kimberly was always the sister who had been there from the start, more than capable of standing on her own two feet but instead choosing to forfeit much of her own independence because she knew others needed her at their side. Kimberly, like Kelly, always is so softly and politely spoken, I barely ever hear a word of critique leave Kimmy’s mouth, and instead I’m more likely to hear a constant stream of encouragement. I often wonder when Kimmy will realise that while she tends to look up to those around her in wonderment, she herself is an amazing work of art that many people admire, many more people than she realizes.

And finally Te Aaka, our Michelle, the new comer who seems as if she has always been with us from the beginning, whose grace and humour meant an easy transition into the family that most never make. Michelle, always such a live wire, a person who is as deep and spiritual as they are the life of the party. The change between the “party animal Te Aaka” and the “spiritual leader Te Aaka” is often almost bi-polar in manner. She really has the duality down to a perfect art, like something inside her flips a coin, on one side, Michelle, on the other, Te Aaka.

It was Te Aaka who came to see me the morning I left, not Michelle, no crazy dancing this time around. Watching her wave as she walked up the street and away, the last “I Love You” being carried on the wind, I turned and with a heavier heart, went to flip my own coin, and become the other person I had created, my own Michelle, my own “Sasha Fierce” if you will.


“There are just some things a girl can’t do without her lipstick”

The famous line from, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, can sometimes be so true, we each have that one thing that gives us confidence, whether it actually be a tube of the perfect shade of lipstick, a new pair of shoes, hair extensions or even a new gadget like a phone, we each have something that gives us a little boost.

The morning I left, I began the process I had been doing every morning for most of my teens. I created, I painted, I sculpted.

After my shower, I stood before the mirror. I caressed into my limbs sweet smelling cream, rubbing product between my hands I glided it through my curls, watching them bond and hold, jet black and shining beneath the heat lamps of the bathroom. I then lacquered the top layer with hair spray, ensuring the curls would stay exactly as they were.

Taking the lip moisturiser that smelt so strongly of pine and rosewood, I brushed it across my lips with my finger, my mouth, another feature that displayed my mixed heritage. I’m adopted, and mother was half Fijian. Half Chinese. My mouth was a perfect mixture of the two, my lips are large and plump from the Fijian side, but have that distinctive rose bud shape and curve that belongs to an Asian. Like my eyes, large and almond shaped set in a frame of thick lashes they curved up at the ends in a distinctive Asian flare.

As I finished with the lip balm I wondered how my features might be perceived in Japan.

Pulling the blue chequered scarf around my neck, adjusting the beige vest and pulling the neckline of my shirt up a little I stared into the reflection I had created, the mask that often gave life to the confidence I thought had often lay dormant.

Walking out into the kitchen, my family waited, as did my luggage, we were ready. We prayed together, committing my life into the Lords caring hands, and putting on my large pare of sun glasses I walked out the door into the crisp august air. If my spirit had not already been numb from the impending changes that were about to take place, I’m sure the cold would have done it for me.

Chantal and Lizzy came to say good bye at the air port. I’m not sure if my thinking is correct but both girls have always struck me as two people who seem un-aware of just how beautiful they are, for the last three years we have grown with each other, and faced some of the hardships that teens face together.

Lizzy is small and dark, she reminds me a lot of Te Aaka to a degree, one moment being someone I could laugh myself into hysterics with, then in the next someone who I could trust with my deepest and most embarrassing secret. Large eyes that always seemed to sparkle even in the most boring of times and one of the most infectious laughter’s I had ever heard in my whole life.
I honestly look forward to the day that Lizzy becomes a mother, when ever that event should take place I know that we’ll all look on and remark on how blessed her family is.

Chantal, what can I say about good old Chan. I’ve always thought of her as something of a duchess, a girl who can wear the most immaculate clothing, whose actions and graceful ways display an age older than her nineteen years, and yet someone who I’m sure wouldn’t turn her nose up at the chance to join in on a spot of boyish fun, someone who would delight almost devilishly in a well planned prank. A queen on the outside, regal in every way with commanding beauty and noble heart, but also a little girl whose heart is for others happiness. Tall, strawberry blonde, a beautiful dancer.

Like everything else in the lives we shared together our departure was a mixture of heavy emotion and humour, waving goodbye as they left the terminal, again I felt so strange, I wanted to cry, and yet I didn’t.

When the time came for me to make my own departure I felt heaviness in my limbs. Nanny, Poppy, Mum, Dad, and my two brothers Emmett and Robbie had made somewhat of a circle around me as we walked to immigration. When the time came the tears started flowing on everyone’s part, I hugged each of them, trying to remember the smell and feel of each person’s embrace.

Again, I won’t go into too much detail.

What I will say, is that I cried all the way across the tarmac. My Sunglasses hiding my reddened eyes, but failing to hide the tears. Clutching to the letters my loved ones had written for me to read on the plane I tried to avoid eye contact with the ever smiling flight attendants.

Sitting in my seat, I didn’t care to look out the window as it took off, all that I knew was that outside that window was everything I’d ever known, and once the planes last fibre left the ground, I was leaving it all behind.

Taking a deep breath I resigned myself to a future that for all I knew was uncertain. But little did I know that getting on the plane was probably the least of my worries, that my ability and my faith in God was about to be tested beyond measures I had not even comprehended.

Checking myself in the bathroom mirror I looked at the calm and collected reflection. I knew that even though this mask had been years in the making, if I faltered in the slightest, at any moment it might shatter to pieces in my lap.

Flicking the end of my scarf over my shoulder, back straight, chin out, I opened the bathroom door. The staff had noticed me crying, and had been keeping a watchful eye on me, giving me wary glances as they passed by my row. But I would not afford them any more tears, walking down the aisle, with the stride I’d perfected over the years that exuded confidence and a love of one’s own essence and at the same time hiding the knotted feelings of loss within me.

TOUCH DOWN.

Touchdown felt like a whirlwind of movement, you basically just go where you’re told and do what you’re told and then you’re released. If you’ve ever released gold fish into a pond as you tip the plastic bag they begin to quickly pour with the water and then suddenly they’re falling so fast in a stream of water and air and then suddenly they hit the water and in an instant their lives are slow and gracefully fluid.

That’s how I felt when I was rushed through customs and then was suddenly set loose in the airport throng, a mixture of fear and determination swirling inside me, each emotion struggling to surface as the victor, sometimes one would shuffle its way into the daylight and I’d feel a little over whelmed before its competitor switched places and a new wave of un-easiness would encompass me.

Pushing both to the side I steeled myself, I chose to no longer look in envy at the people leaving the airport who knew exactly where they were going or had someone to pick them up.
As the last few months events would have it, I had booked my ticket to Osaka airport, and unfortunately after a chain of events I now needed to get to Tokyo, which was on the other side of the main island.

Luckily I had heard that you could catch a night bus from Osaka airport to Tokyo, so I set about trying to find someone who could help me find this night bus. I eventually found that I needed to catch a bus to Namba Bus Station and then from there I would go direct by night bus to Tokyo.

Of course, I didn’t know where in Tokyo I would be when the bus dropped me off, I was tired and worried and being summer in Japan I was hot and felt disgusting. Arriving at Namba Station I went to the bathroom to wash my hot face in some cool water.

standing in front of the mirror I looked at my reflection, it seemed that Tyson had surfaced, scared little boy Tyson who was lost and hungry and could easily and without shame stand in a crowd full of people and wail for his mother.

No, I couldn’t let my nerves get the better of me, the Lord had not taken me this far for me to fall flat on my face.

Somewhere inside me I heard the distinctive “ting” of a silver coin being flicked by some ones finger, the coin spiralled into the air flipping over and over again, Tyson on one side, that un knowable creature on the other, the coin landed in his palm, opening his fingers for me to see, it was his side that had landed face up, and it was "he" that emerged ontop, that version of me with the perfect hair and immaculate clothing, the one who walked and talked with a contrary lilt to their voice, who never simply “looked” at a person but glanced cheekily out from under their eye lashes, the person who never just “smiled” but smirked with confidence at the situation that might otherwise discourage.

He shook his head at me, hands on his hips he turned and walked away, hips rising and falling with that distictive strut. Leaving the other Tyson standing in the lonley grey of nothingness.

It was mid-night, my bus would arrive any minuet.

Sometime in the middle of the next morning, when the world takes on that crisp cold appearance and the sunrise hasn’t yet become that attractive pink or yellow, and it’s still white and shadowy, my night bus arrived into Tokyo. Amidst the creaking seats and stirring passengers I squinted into the darkness of the cabin, all the curtains were drawn and sitting in an aisle seat I dearly wanted to take a glance out of a window but I couldn’t.

When the bus finally stopped in central Tokyo I stepped out of the small door way and into a crawling hive of black business suits and tourists.

I knew there was no way I would be able to find my way to the YMCA on my own, I had to ring one of my contacts Dad had given me.

Her nick name is Nobby. I’m not sure what it might be short for. She informed me that I had to catch the Yamanote line and ride the whole way around the line till one stop before Tokyo, then I would be in Kanda, which is the region where the YMCA would be found.

A lot of wandering, asking “do you speak English?” and lugging around a huge suitcase and I finally managed to shuffle my way onto the right train. I was on my way, I felt the small seedling of hope begin to blossom inside of me. Slowly, I felt the real Tyson coming into his own, I didn't need that other me anymore, and he became nothing but a shimmering haze of fantasy. Flipping the coin again it was me who came out ontop, tucking the coin in my pocket I turned and walked away from his smirking face and hand on one hipped stance.

I stepped off the train at Kanda, I was a little relieved to see that this station was nowhere near as busy as Tokyo station, turning a corner I was faced with an impossibly long flight of stairs, no escalators in site, and I had my huge baby elephant sized suit case to lug all the way to the top. Drawing in a sharp breath I tugged and pulled my suitcase over each step, my scarf becoming un-ravelled and my lap top satchel falling from my shoulder a few times. I eventually made it to the top alive and found myself on the street.

I had written the address of the YMCA down in my travel journal, I wandered the streets going into small cafes or corner stores hoping someone could direct me at least in the general direction of the street, but it seemed like I was going in circles.

Apart from the fact I was afraid my suitcase was about to break, my feet were hurting and I was hungry and dirty, I felt so alive, I felt like I was in my own movie as I’d pass from a bustling main street to small little alley where it seemed time had stopped still, where there were still little two story rice paper doored houses with bamboo blinds hanging from windows. It was truly amazing the almost instant contradiction.

Finally I relented and decided to catch a taxi, I’d been avoiding this because I wasn’t used the currency exchange and I’d heard it was quite expensive, and I wasn’t sure how much I would need to spend.

Reluctantly I flopped into the back seat of the cab and showed the driver the address. Through his broken english he told me that he knew where the address was but not the YMCA. How could that be? I wondered, if he knew the address surely he must know that it was the YMCA, unless the website was wrong?

He stopped in front of the building with the right address but no YMCA. Within minutes he’d unpacked my luggage put it on the sidewalk and driven away.

Disdained I sat down on the decorative garden wall outside the building that was meant to be the YMCA and felt like crying.

Somewhere down the street I could hear a small bell tinkling, I looked up and moved my sun glasses down the bridge of my nose a little. A wind chime dangling outside of a small rice papered door seemed to call to me, inviting me.

I stood up and pulling the handle of my suitcase, wheeled my luggage down towards the little door. It was the door of a charming little book store, sliding the door to one side I found behind the rice paper door was a glass sliding door, another cultural contradiction. They were everywhere!
Stepping into the crowded little store a small woman about middle aged was sitting behind the front desk stacking what looked like Kabuki magazines.


“Excuse me, do you speak English?”

“Oh, a little bit”

“Do you know where the YMCA is? I was given this address but it seems to be wrong”

“Oh, the YMCA? It has umm moved, it was torn down at last year”

My heart dropped with a thunderous crash, I’m sure my eyes showed my horror. When all seemed to have become that much harder the little woman pulled a pile of posters out of a white envelope. They were posters that had been delivered to her the day prior she explained, and they advertised the new premises of the YMCA. I couldn’t believe it!

She gladly gave me a poster and within minutes I haled a taxi and found myself checking into the YMCA. Half trudging half stumbling into my room I collapsed on the bed and thanked the Lord for his miracle working.

I knew that he’d sent an angel to aid me in my path. Who knew they could live in book stores!?

Although I relished my long desired shower and the chance to lie down horizontally on a bed for the first time in a day and a half I knew that my seemingly epic adventure was far from over and there were more hurdles ahead.

To Be Continued.