null
null
null
i am writing a book.
i write it here, because i need feedback, and corrections and additions. you can see this because i invite you to collaborate with me in writing this.
add it in your comments at the bottom, i will continually add and edit as i have spare time.
My name is Brenton Tarrant. I was born in Grafton, NSW Australia. Grafton is a small city in the north of NSW, not far from Queensland border. I was born on 27 Oct 1990. I am the only son of my parent, Sharon and Rodney. My mother is a school teacher, and my father is a garbage collector.
The city I was born, Grafton is located on the banks of Clarence River. Grafton is famous for jacaranda trees, which bloom in late October and early November. I attended Grafton Hugh School, but I didnt do well, poor grades and academic life didnt interest me.
My parent have an old bungalow built around the 40’s. It has high slanting roof with wide verandah at the front. The bungalow was built on stilt, which is common in tropical Queensland and New South Wales, to keep the vermin and snakes away from the house, and to keep above the occasional flooding after heavy rain.
I started attending gym since high school. It is a way to shore up my self confidence. I wasnt good academically, and some kids bullied me. By attending gym, I built up my strength and coordination skills. So the kids stop bullying me, and when I finish high school with poor grades, I got the job at the gym training kids and be their personal trainer.
The money was good, and I live cheap at home. I saved a lot of money.
The money I saved while working at the gym building up, and eventually I invested in Bitconnect, a cryptocurrency. I made some profit, and took it out.
In 2010, my father Rodney died of cancer. I have become disinterested with my job at the gym, and used the money to travel. I wanted to see the world.
With that money, I traveled the world, Europe, Pakistan and North Korea among others.
I have traveled to Pakistan, where I visited Gilgit and Baltistan as well as Pakistani Kashmir. Hunza Valley is beautiful in autumn. Snow capped mountains all year long, and when the trees start shedding leaves you would see the most colourful vista imaginable, red, yellow and orange. Beautiful. The people are the most earnest, kind-hearted and hospitable in the world. They treated me like their own, let me into their houses and shared their food.
this is intended for the end of this chapter
August 2017
The flight from Sydney to Christchurch was uneventful. Brenton managed to catch some sleep. As a white Australian, he didnt raise any suspicion from the immigration nor the custom officers at the airport.
“They are keeping an eye for potential asylum seekers or ‘visitor that look for work’.” Brenton tells himself. He doesnt fir description for any of these categories.
Normally asylum seekers are people from war torn countries; Iraq, Iran, Syria, Lebanon and Afghanistan. People with Arab looking features. And the job migrants are mostly people from emerging countries.; Indonesia, Pacific Islands, Asia and South Asia. Their modus operandi is simple, come into the country as tourist, then look for job, whatever job available and then continue renewing their visa or just overstay.
Brenton passed through immigration without a problem, and he didnt bring in any food in his luggage to warrant close scrutiny by the customs. They just waved him through. Out of the airport, he caught a taxi to the city. The driver was a Somali man. He detested this fact, but kept quiet. Somalis have dark complexion, but not as dark as people from Malawi or Zimbabwe. Some of them are olive skinned with dark curly hair. Most SOmalis are tall with Arab features. Brenton can see stringed prayer beads and a disk with Arabic script engraved on it, probably verses from the Quran.
“Where to Sir?” the taxi driver asked.
“George Hotel please.”
this poem, I intend to put at the back cover:
Look in the distance
Under the golden dome
beyond that black plastic wrap that cover the steel fence
inside the white walls
a gate of Paradise opened at 1.30pm on
15th of March 2019.
wide expanse of greens, as far as eyes can see..
beautiful trees framed the periphery
then the flowers...in thousands upon thousands.
Look at the flowers, how beautiful they are.
vibrant in colours, red blue white and gold.
more colours than the rainbow.
even at a distance, the path to the gate of heaven is filled with flowers with many colours, beautiful, pleasing to the eye...
I will visit this place again and again...
so close yet so far away
my brothers and my sisters,
believe me,
I have heard with my own pair of ears,
of the opening of this gate of Heaven,
and I have seen it opened..
and I have smelled the sweet pleasant smell of inhabitants of Heaven,
smell of perfumes much like the one you buy from Arab perfume shops at Jalan Masjid India,
whereby the inhabitants of Heaven share the little bits that they have and rub it on the back of their hands...
