A Hobby of Mine

Fishkeeping is as much a science as it is an art, and I find an intricate aquarium more captivating than any book or form of hi-tech entertainment. I certainly find running and maintaining a healthy aquarium just as rewarding as watching the behaviour and interactions of the fish species within.

These are my three current tanks:

1. "Guyana Blackwater"

Volume: 200L/52 US Gallon

Flora: Amazon Sword (Echinodorus amazonicus/Echinodorus sp.), Crypt (Cryptocoryne sp.), Pygmy Chain Sword (Echinodorus tenellus), Vallis (Vallisneria sp.), Ambulia (Limnophila sessiliflora), Water Sprite (Ceratopteris sp.), Java Moss (Vesicularia dubyana/Taxiphyllum barbieri), Java Fern (Microsorum pteropus)

Fauna: Freshwater Angelfish (Pterophyllum scalare), Pristella/X-ray Tetra (Pristella maxillaris), Bristlenose Plecostomus (Ancistrus temminckii)

My Guyana Blackwater biotope is my largest and most recent setup, and my pride and joy! As its name suggests, this tank represents a small blackwater creek or pool of Guyana, northern South America. To recreate the conditions of this ecosystem, I have subdued the lighting and water-flow in the aquarium, and I use Indian almond leaves to replicate the tea-stained colour and slightly acidic conditions of a blackwater pool. Of course, all of the fish species (and most of the plants) are native to South America too.

I decided to keep the stocking of this tank simple, as I find a simplicity and neatness make for a much more aesthetically pleasing aquarium than one that is heavily stocked and busy. The current stock are four juvenile angelfish, which are the heros of the tank and from which I hope to acquire a breeding pair (or two!). With them are a shoal of pristella tetras and a single bristlenose catfish. With a 100% survival rate in three months so far, I'm glad that to have been able to put all my years of fishkeeping practice to good use and give the project a very successful start.

Ancistrus temminckii

Pterophyllum scalare

Pristella maxillaris

The view from my bed

2. "Community"

Volume: 110L/29 US Gallon

Flora: Vallis (Vallisneria sp.), Ambulia (Limnophila sessiliflora), Java Moss (Vesicularia dubyana/Taxiphyllum barbieri), Java Fern (Microsorum pteropus)

Fauna: Kribensis (Pelvicachromis pulcher), Emperor Tetra (Nematobrycon palmeri), Harlequin Rasbora (Trigonostigma heteromorpha), Neon Tetra (Paracheirodon innesi), Kuhli Loach (Pangio kuhlii), Bristlenose Plecostomus (Ancistrus temminckii)

I have had this community setup for six years, whereby it has gone through many changes in terms of look and stocking. I picked it up on a roadside verge in 2006, and hastily went about starting my fishkeeping hobby - and so with this tank lie the many a past mistakes of a rookie fishkeeper. From terrible stocking choices to the disastrous attempts at growing live plants, unsuccessful breeding efforts and countless suicidal fish; this tank has seen it all! However, after many years of trial and error I have fine-tuned my fishkeeping enough to develop a healthy and fun community aquarium.

This 29 gallon is currently home to a breeding pair of kribensis cichilids; two parents still with a lot to learn (they have eaten their first few spawns!). There is also a shoal of emperor tetras, along with a couple of neon tetras and harlequin rasboras, long-term survivors from previous communities gone. Rounding off the stock is one bristlenose pleco who keeps the algae levels down very effectively, and four kuhli loaches, who have been with me for around four years. One day I hope to raise a batch or two of kribensis fry, and hopefully make a cheeky profit while I'm at it!

 Pelvicachromis pulcher (Male)

 Pelvicachromis pulcher (Female)

Pangio kuhlii

3. "Honours Desktop"

Volume: 15.5L/4 US Gallon

Flora: Java Moss (Vesicularia dubyana/Taxiphyllum barbieri), Java Fern (Microsorum pteropus)

Fauna: Siamese Fighting Fish (Betta splendens),  Western Blue-spot/Swan River Goby (Pseudogobius olorum)

I got this tank in the middle of last year while I was in the midst of my honours degree; I had this little setup on my desk to add a bit of interest to what was my otherwise bleak office. Severus, the Siamese fighting fish, was my wily companion during those long days and nights spent writing my thesis, and he's still going strong today! Also in the tank is an Australian native Blue-spot goby, which was collected by my friend Syngeon during sampling up on the Gnangara Mound. This tank has also been home to a few other native fish and invertebrate species, including gobys and glass shrimp, which have all come and gone since. In the future I plan to turn this tank into a native Western Australian-wetland setup featuring gobys and a plethora of invertebrates. 

 Pseudogobius olorum - A true survivor

Betta splendens - "Severus"

Thanks for reading! 

Yellow

When I stepped outside this morning, I knew something was different. Besides a single pillar of rainbow shooting up into the heavens, the world was bathed in a shade of yellow, like a series of sepia images moving before my eyes. The air was uncannily warm and the wind was heavy with the smell significance; of change.

Had I woken up into a new life? Was I the same as I was the day before? As Alice once pondered: Had I changed in the night? No. That was too simple. It was not I who changed; it was the world around me that had.

And still all was yellow. The colour of sunshine, of joy, but also of decay, and cowardice. I did not know whether I felt a sense of foreboding, or happiness. It was definitely the latter.

I never understood what the Coldplay song was about until now.

Congratulations to my beautiful mother on her engagement. She deserves everything. 

The Odd Couple

If you saw them from afar, you would consider them an odd couple. Two boys sit on the inky blue slide at Drumsite Park, Christmas Island - one is tall, dark and lanky; the other is rather short, stubby and red in the face. As they watch the sparse procession of cars roll along Murray Road, little do the boys know that, despite the slightly juxtaposed appearance, their lives will follow strangely similar parallels. As they will find out however, behind every great friendship is an even greater story. 

This tale starts, as you may have gathered, with these two boys, one of whom happens to be myself (the short, stubby, red-faced one), and the other is one of my best friends. Looking back, I can't help but feel that Jensen Tan (or 'Jens' as he as affectionately known) and I were always destined to become good friends. For one, we were both stuck on the same dog-shaped rock in the middle of the Indian Ocean for a vast majority of our childhood years. Add on top of that the fact that we lived two houses down from each other on the same street on said tiny dog-shaped rock, and it's impossible to see how we could not have become friends. Some call it destiny - I just call it good luck! 

Circus days: Unfortunately I am not doing the 'Two High" with Jensen in this photo - I'm top right and he's third from the left in the front row.  

We spent our youths tearing up the streets of Drumsite on our push-bikes (and Uncle Burt's quad-bike, which almost cost us our lives on countless occasions), dodging crabs, going on treks to all the best beaches, playing soccer and cricket, and schooling together at CIDHS. Our bonds were tightened closer still as the annual circus came to town, and we were always Two-High partners (and even attempting the dreaded Three-High on occasion) - now if that isn't going to create virtually unbreakable trust between two people, I don't know what is.

 

Shenanigans: Jensen, Aidan and myself. 

However, the Island life is a harsh mistress for young futures, and the day came where all who had become so close had to be separated, and thrown into the crewel reality life in the big smoke... of Perth. The strange thing is, despite living highly separate lives since the Island days, the stories Jensen and Chris tended to follow freakishly similar parallels. There are tales of love and loss, or adventure and travel, of nightlife shenanigans and friendships, eternal and unlikely. We both went through highschool and uni, still listen to the same music, partake in the same activities, and enjoy the odd queerly flavoured vodka every now and then. We both fell in love with our respective partners within 6 moths of each other, and we both entered the brave new world of full-time work on exactly the same day in 2012 (without planning to do so in the slightest). 

Still friends: New Years Morning at Kings Park, 2011 - What a year it would turn out to be  for the both of us!

Jens and I have both come a long way since the days of the tall lanky and squat chubby boys sitting on the blue slide down at Drumsite Park, and although the time we spend together now is fleeting, it never feels like we've missed a beat. They say time is the destroyer of all things, but if given the opportunity to reamend this statement I would change it to say this: "Time is the destroyer of all things trivial". And friendship - true friendship - is not one of them.

Because I know I will have this one to my dying day.

The Orange Ghosts

The months pass by and fade away, and the darkness begins to settle. A long cold winter beckons. The orange ghosts drift endlessly on, seemingly unaware of the impending chill. On them, they carry the sullen look of the dusty plains, the red dirt and the stifling heat. As I watch them pass toward another life, I can do nothing but sit and stare.

My eyes are drawn to the faded eyes and the weathered skin, and the brown stains like stab wounds across their chests. I wonder about their stories. What drew them into the light? What created the ghostly stares and the empty looks? What will become of them in the years that they wish on past?

What does one do when you escape from Hell, with your freedom on a roster?

CEAC in Pictures

Humble beginnings - The first meeting.

The first board - Semester 1, 2010.

A welcome drink after a successful barbecue.

Barbecues.
Good times.
The CEAC Band.
The members.
The First Green Party - Semester 1, 2010.
Lab coat pub crawl.
Volunteering.
The Ignite! Ball.
Controversy.
Second coming - O-day 2011.
Birth of the CEAC Green Men.
The Green Party legacy continues.
A quizzical night.
The Recycle Party - Semester 2, 2011.
Deserved winners.
A new era.

Backyard Cricket

It's summer. It's late afternoon, as the sea breeze takes over from the sweltering sun. The barbecue sits warm but inert, leftover chops and sausages attract the last of the flies. A dozen half-full beer bottles litter the outdoor setting and garden, their drinkers no longer interested in drowning the refreshing amber ale. The tennis ball is dug out from the depths of the shed. The one-hand-one bounce and six-and-out rules are laid down. The battle in the backyard has just begun...

For the every-day Australian, backyard cricket is tradition on a balmy December/January evening. Growing up as a kid, the only thing I looked forward to about Christmas or New Years or Australia Day was getting the bat and ball out and having a hit. I was always the first out amongst the prickles and the bees, winding up the Hills-Hoist so it wouldn't obstruct my bowling. I took great pride in bowling out my Uncle Nik one day with a perfect off-cutter, which jagged back of a length and just clipped the top of off, and making a magnificent Christmas Day century at Auntie Sharon's, whacking the ball to all parts. And I always felt the pang of disappointment as David sent the only ball flying over the fence and into the neighbour's yard, never to be seen again. It was out, but it also meant the end of the game.

Now I'm a little older, the backyard game means something a little different to me. I still enjoy getting out there and having a hit (I'm still usually always the instigator), imitating my favourite bowling actions and prodding the ball around the garden. But I no longer argue the case when I get given out with a terrible LBW decision made by the bowler/umpire. I never get upset when the one and only ball disappears onto the roof. For me, the best part about backyard cricket is watching everybody get involved. Out of the house. Into the fresh air. Everyone loves having a bat, rolling the arm over, or diving around in the field. Smiling, co-operating, and having a great time. In a day and age of social networking and online gaming and flat screen TVs, it really is a magical thing.

The Man For Whom TIme Stands Still

Throughout the course of human existence, God has sent to Earth two men. One was God's son, destined to heal the suffering, perform miracles, and then rise from the dead. The other was meant to play cricket.

Although of Jesus Christ's existence I cannot be certain, I know Sachin Tendulkar does. I've watched him on the television since I was a young boy, for longer than I can remember. And I've seen him in the flesh. I gave him a standing ovation in Perth as he walked on and off the ground in 2008, thinking to myself that this would be the last chance I would ever get to see the Little Master bat again. Yet four years later, now at 38 years of age, and on the cusp of 100 international centuries, he's back. And he hasn't changed a bit.

My fore-mentioned statement that he is sent from the Divine is not unfounded. Off the field, he is a beautiful man, one of the nicest, well mannered people you will probably ever come across in professional sport. On it, he stops time...

When word gets across in the ever bustling streets of Mumbai (or Kolkata or Delhi or Bengaluru for that matter) that Sachin Tendulkar is about to walk out to bat, the city stops. It is the only time the city stops. People flock to the ground or to televisions or radios to witness another innings from the their hero. And when (or if) he gets out, the city falls silent. Word is, you can hear a pin drop in normally deafeningly loud Wankhede Stadium. And for a moment, it seems, time stands still.

Sachin is also a master of time with bat in hand. From the time the ball leaves the bowlers hand, to the time it reaches him, he seems to have an absolute age in which to choose and play his strokes. And when he does, he times them to perfection, effortlessly caressing the ball to the boundary, at will. It is a wonderful thing to behold.

Like Christ himself, Sachin has not always had it easy. It is now impossible for him to walk the streets of his own city for fear of being swamped by thousands of cricket-mad fans wanting desperately to get a glimpse of the Little Master. And who could blame them, really? Like Christ, the day Sachin leaves this Earth, the repercussions will be hard felt. For the 1.2 billion Indian people, and cricket lovers alike, Sachin is a religion.