The Heroes Journey!

9pm | Mt Eden Scout Hall: Utter chaos.  I heard the wailing guitars and the manic drumming long before I reached the hall. After easing my way through the mob of youngsters loitering outside, I eventually made it to the door and pulled out the 10 dollar note from my jacket pocket. The guy sitting there stashed it in a little safe, scrawled something on his paper and marked my hand with a sharpie. I was in.                (Photos credit to Theo Richards Photography)  Joe Says No were at the front with their instruments, unleashing their high-energy music upon the vivacious crowd of youths. It was loud. It was outrageously energetic. And there was no way to escape the tide of raving teens. I was pulled into the torrent without much consent, and thrown around like a ragdoll. Sweat splashed from the tips of hair; feet stamping, bodies crashing into each other. The rock’n’roll continued to pound at the people and the old wooden scout hall for what seemed like hours. There

It was the most confusing thing in the household. Big, too, seeming to take up half of the study. Old, oaf-like, it gathered dust and was left to its own council. But it was always there - it was a resident of this household before I was.  I had my back turned to it most of the time, pre-preoccupied by the computer screen and its many marvels. Sometimes, though, it seemed lonely, and so I would turn from the computer and try to figure it out. It only ever lead to more frustration and puzzlement. Why are you so hard to understand?! I would complain, striking it with stiff fingers.  I guess the piano didn’t play quite like the drums…  I didn’t really mind anyway. Me, playing the piano? It was a joke.. I had already found my instrument - I played the drums! And that was that. Maybe I could learn the piano in another lifetime. Those keys felt stubborn under my fingers.  Until one day, I was fossicking around in the deep archives of Youtube, and I stumbled on a tremendous

There was so much gold. Pure gold.  ‘Wecome!’ The important Chinese man said with a great big smile. His officials stood by as he clasped Coach Guo on the shoulder, exchanging a formal greeting in Mandarin. We all proceeded into the palatial room embellished with jewels and the finest carving work, taking our seats at the round table already set with tea cups, crockery and chop sticks. I exchanged a wild look to Dad; he wasn’t joking when he said this was the finest Chinese restaurant in all of China.  Everything came at once: the entertainer clapping his exotic instrument, the serving maids wrapped in silk, the food which may as well have been platters of edible fortune. I had to pinch my arm to remind myself that it wasn’t a dream. I glanced over to the other table where Coach Guo sat, deep in conversation with the important man who greeted us, flanked by his accomplices. “He is the Mayor of Tianjin,” Jun told me, leaning in to my side. I could hardly believe it. Coach G