Oh, yes, the dream of the tropical paradise, who hasn't heard of it? Basically, it's the same as the kitschy Xmas film, or the documentaries on the lifestyles of the rich and famous in Hollywood: it's eternal playtime, people have time to meet and greet, life's easy.
I live in a hot climate, and can get to a beach in about 40 minutes by public transport. The rain is measured in mm/year, and palm trees are native to the area. It's a 1st World country, so I have all mod-cons. Basically, it's quite close to the basic requirements of the dream.
So, do I live in paradise?
Well, no, I do not.
For one thing, I don't like the heat and miss the seasons. Also, being fair-skinned, I cannot really go to the beach too often, at least not during sunlight time. Additionally, I have a job! Which, I agree, is wonderful in that I'm done at 4 pm, thus I have a lot of free time every day; but, still, it's not like I am on holidays every day. Plus, yes, there are all the sociopolitical issues in the area, nothing to scoff at, although honestly not that big a daily deal once you stop listening to the news.
So, do I feel cheated?
Well, no, I do not.
I have moved (let's be honest, I might move yet again in future!) countries, continents!, a few times. Every place has elements that throw us for a loop, some more than others. The magic, the real magic, is in the fact that I can help adapt any place to what I consider a better version of it. If that does not work, or if the idiosyncrasies are too great for me to live with, I can choose to pick up and leave!
We are not trees. We can move.
People, sometimes, complain about their lives, comparing them to what they dream they should be like. They forget that their lives, at any point, could change. They forget that that change can be given, sure, but mostly that they, themselves, can effect that change. True, it may be that they have obligations (children, jobs, mortgages...); still, the main obstacle is their own perception of those obligations as chains. And they laden the chains with the responsibility for their lack of movement.
I do not live in a tropical paradise. No, I do not. I live in a real place, in a real moment. For now. Because this is my choice. And if I grow roots, fine; then, like a tumble-weed, I'll detach myself and seed somewhere new.
What about you? Where do you live? Is it your paradise? And, were you to choose it, can you tumble free?
Monday 10 June 2019
Sunday 12 May 2019
Remember your victories - gratitude lists
Victory - the word sounds grandiose, bellicose, or historical. Yet, there are small victories we accomplish each and every day, which can keep us afloat when we feel most adrift.
Battling depression, recognising and celebrating one's victories is a major element of daily practice. Gratitude lists, so en vogue nowadays among the self-help crowd, have long been a part of therapy. Some evenings, the list fills up so fast, your hand feels nearly unable to keep up; other times, it takes effort to make up the 3-5 minimum elements (each person has their own minimum number). The crux of the problem resides in the fact that, for it to be truly effective, a gratitude list has to be genuine - you must feel honestly grateful for that bit of reality in your life.
It needn't be a massive blessing. Nevertheless, it must bring you real joy, even if just a spark.
Some of the things I have been grateful for, as time has gone bye and I revisit the technique, include family members, jobs, locales. They also include clothes, being awake to see the sunrise, or the colourful bounty of a fresh salad. Sometimes, they repeat themselves, which is only natural as we grow bolder in going for that which we love, that which justifies our smile, our need to live and experience.
The secret, you see, is that a gratitude list is actually a memento of the instances we allow ourselves to come up for air, and revel in it. These are moments when we have defeated the inertia to sink, choosing instead to act, to experience, to thrive. These are the moments we have loved ourselves again, enough to show, and keep a record of, them.
In the lifelong journey that is depression, gratitude lists are some of your most powerful weapons.
Today, I am once again grateful for many things. Among them, I am grateful for being able to read and write.
What are you grateful for, today? What is you victory?
Battling depression, recognising and celebrating one's victories is a major element of daily practice. Gratitude lists, so en vogue nowadays among the self-help crowd, have long been a part of therapy. Some evenings, the list fills up so fast, your hand feels nearly unable to keep up; other times, it takes effort to make up the 3-5 minimum elements (each person has their own minimum number). The crux of the problem resides in the fact that, for it to be truly effective, a gratitude list has to be genuine - you must feel honestly grateful for that bit of reality in your life.
It needn't be a massive blessing. Nevertheless, it must bring you real joy, even if just a spark.
Some of the things I have been grateful for, as time has gone bye and I revisit the technique, include family members, jobs, locales. They also include clothes, being awake to see the sunrise, or the colourful bounty of a fresh salad. Sometimes, they repeat themselves, which is only natural as we grow bolder in going for that which we love, that which justifies our smile, our need to live and experience.
The secret, you see, is that a gratitude list is actually a memento of the instances we allow ourselves to come up for air, and revel in it. These are moments when we have defeated the inertia to sink, choosing instead to act, to experience, to thrive. These are the moments we have loved ourselves again, enough to show, and keep a record of, them.
In the lifelong journey that is depression, gratitude lists are some of your most powerful weapons.
Today, I am once again grateful for many things. Among them, I am grateful for being able to read and write.
What are you grateful for, today? What is you victory?
Wednesday 1 May 2019
Remembering
NB - This is not a happy post, be aware.
As the sun sets, and the stars come out, we light candles and remember.
6 million - more people than the population of some countries. Imagine a city, such as Miami, or Riyadh, or Singapore, and all its inhabitants rounded up, tortured, murdered, and desecrated.
That is what we remember on יום השואה (Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day). At least, that's the main idea.
The full name is יום הזיכרון לשואה ולגבורה - (Yom HaZikaron laShoah velaGvura) Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day. Behind the title, there is the pain of loss, as well as the remembrance of the heroic fight for life each of those people engaged on, whatever form it took: rebellion, submission, adaptation. And then, the heroic continuation of life for those who survived, fighting daily with their own memories, with the weight of survival where so many others did not make it. We cry for those who were taken away, but also for those who carry the horrors within them. We cry over the photographs, the mementos; we embrace the children whose souls have also been marked by the shadow of the horror.
We light candles, we stand still while the tears flow yet again, trying to heal the collective pain of a mutilated society, a generation lost.
And throughout, we will keep in mind that despite all odds, we are here: to continue, to remember, to remind others that ignorance, if fuelled by fear and sad rhetoric, may turn any human into a monster.
We remember, because we have to make sense of the lessons we must not forget.
For more information:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_HaShoah
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_urban_areas_by_population
As the sun sets, and the stars come out, we light candles and remember.
6 million - more people than the population of some countries. Imagine a city, such as Miami, or Riyadh, or Singapore, and all its inhabitants rounded up, tortured, murdered, and desecrated.
That is what we remember on יום השואה (Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day). At least, that's the main idea.
The full name is יום הזיכרון לשואה ולגבורה - (Yom HaZikaron laShoah velaGvura) Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day. Behind the title, there is the pain of loss, as well as the remembrance of the heroic fight for life each of those people engaged on, whatever form it took: rebellion, submission, adaptation. And then, the heroic continuation of life for those who survived, fighting daily with their own memories, with the weight of survival where so many others did not make it. We cry for those who were taken away, but also for those who carry the horrors within them. We cry over the photographs, the mementos; we embrace the children whose souls have also been marked by the shadow of the horror.
We light candles, we stand still while the tears flow yet again, trying to heal the collective pain of a mutilated society, a generation lost.
And throughout, we will keep in mind that despite all odds, we are here: to continue, to remember, to remind others that ignorance, if fuelled by fear and sad rhetoric, may turn any human into a monster.
We remember, because we have to make sense of the lessons we must not forget.
For more information:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_HaShoah
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_urban_areas_by_population
Monday 22 April 2019
Matzah, consecrated bread and wine, and chocolate eggs
Last Friday was Leila Seder, the beginning of Pesach, also known as 'Passover'. For Jews, it is one of the major holidays, when they celebrate leaving slavery behind in search of their Promised Land. It is thus additionally known as 'The Holiday of Freedom', although among the more lay of the community, it is often referred to as 'The Holiday of Spring', given it usually falls around the time the weather warms up and winter wanes.
Last Friday was also Good Friday, when Christians remember The Crucifixion. This took place after Jesus was captured when he and his disciples were celebrating Leila Seder, which is also probably why the bread given out during communion in mass is flat. During Pesach, there is no leavening agents used in cooking - no sodium bicarbonate, no rising agents, nada. This is to commemorate that, as the Israelites were fleeting Pharaoh's lands, they had no time to sit and wait for the dough to rise for bread. Instead of yummy, airy bread, Jews eat matzah, flat and unleavened, for the eight days of Pesach, and Christians partake in it.
I grew up in Spain, where on Good Friday one can witness one of the most important procesiones - large groups known as cofradías, dressed in robes and hoods to forgo pride, follow a millennial tradition taking large effigies depicting the stages of the Passion along the streets of the cities. Even to those who are non-believers, these events are impactful in their reverence, pomp, and time-defying continuity. On the other hand, it can be quite discomfiting in its paraphernalia, particularly the pointed 'capirote' hoods. These are activities intended to make the watcher think about death, and hope for resurrection.
Good Friday, however, is also the beginning of Easter for most Anglo-Saxons, and thus much closer to Pagan celebrations of birth and Spring than to the pain of death. Communities gather to decorate, then hunt for, colourful eggs. Bunnies and fluffy chicks reign on cards and toy form, whilst chocolate reigns at picnic tables. There is no staying indoors to read at night, like during Seder; there is no burning incense and silence only broken by drums, like at a Paso. Instead, children scamper while adults smile blinking in a still-chilly sun.
Do you know what I find most relevant in all these three overlapping traditions?
They are all excuses to celebrate life. They all encourage us to be together, they are all magnificent and worthy of learning about, hopefully also learn from. I have done all three, in different years, and I cannot choose one over the others. The wealth of experiences the world offers us is amazing.
Freedom, Rebirth, the joy of Seasons, all are fantastic reasons to go out there and celebrate Life with those you love.
Which motive, how, and with whom you celebrate, that is up to you.
Blessed holiday!
For more information:
http://www.jewfaq.org/holidaya.htm
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Week
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Week_in_Spain
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Easter-holiday
Last Friday was also Good Friday, when Christians remember The Crucifixion. This took place after Jesus was captured when he and his disciples were celebrating Leila Seder, which is also probably why the bread given out during communion in mass is flat. During Pesach, there is no leavening agents used in cooking - no sodium bicarbonate, no rising agents, nada. This is to commemorate that, as the Israelites were fleeting Pharaoh's lands, they had no time to sit and wait for the dough to rise for bread. Instead of yummy, airy bread, Jews eat matzah, flat and unleavened, for the eight days of Pesach, and Christians partake in it.
I grew up in Spain, where on Good Friday one can witness one of the most important procesiones - large groups known as cofradías, dressed in robes and hoods to forgo pride, follow a millennial tradition taking large effigies depicting the stages of the Passion along the streets of the cities. Even to those who are non-believers, these events are impactful in their reverence, pomp, and time-defying continuity. On the other hand, it can be quite discomfiting in its paraphernalia, particularly the pointed 'capirote' hoods. These are activities intended to make the watcher think about death, and hope for resurrection.
Good Friday, however, is also the beginning of Easter for most Anglo-Saxons, and thus much closer to Pagan celebrations of birth and Spring than to the pain of death. Communities gather to decorate, then hunt for, colourful eggs. Bunnies and fluffy chicks reign on cards and toy form, whilst chocolate reigns at picnic tables. There is no staying indoors to read at night, like during Seder; there is no burning incense and silence only broken by drums, like at a Paso. Instead, children scamper while adults smile blinking in a still-chilly sun.
Do you know what I find most relevant in all these three overlapping traditions?
They are all excuses to celebrate life. They all encourage us to be together, they are all magnificent and worthy of learning about, hopefully also learn from. I have done all three, in different years, and I cannot choose one over the others. The wealth of experiences the world offers us is amazing.
Freedom, Rebirth, the joy of Seasons, all are fantastic reasons to go out there and celebrate Life with those you love.
Which motive, how, and with whom you celebrate, that is up to you.
Blessed holiday!
For more information:
http://www.jewfaq.org/holidaya.htm
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Week
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Week_in_Spain
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Easter-holiday
Tuesday 16 April 2019
Touch
Touch is essential to human beings. Our skin is our largest organ, with its millions of nerve ends connecting its surface to our more innermost centres. Even if we lose any of our senses, touch will remain, may it because we actively touch someone else, or because we are being touched.
That may be the reason why we use expressions such as 'it's a very touching story' to imply that our emotional compass has been affected; or 'keep in touch', when what we want is for the other person to remain a part of our tribe, for we care for them and their presence is precious to us; and why most of us relish being caressed, hugged, and so forth.
In the last 24 hours, I have experienced all of these three aspects:
To begin with, I went for a massage. I do so monthly, to help keep my back in shape despite a sedentary job. I only recently realised that it also helps supply the physical contact humans require to live. I am not particularly keen on being randomly touched, despite growing up in Spain. However, I do miss how much more I used to hug friends and family. It is important to let down some of one's physical barriers, I am learning, and we are becoming less able to understand how it all works. I guess that is why there are even events like cuddle parties, where people can re-learn how to exchange simple human contact.
When I left the therapy place, I got on a bus, only to sit right next to a friend I had not seen in years - despite living a mere 20 minutes from each other. She used to be my flatmate, and we 'kept in touch' over the years, mostly thanks to virtual means, but also in person, meeting up for a cuppa (or coffee, in her case) when I visited the country. It was interesting, to not have planned it yet come across one another like that. Catching up with what is behind those FB posts, having a giggle, updating each other about work. Encountering, reconnecting, and nattering away with her for a bit was a wonderful surprise.
I have many friends and family all over the globe, which is a blessing. On the other hand, 'keeping in touch' with them is not as easy as one might think. Technology notwithstanding, one has to take into account time zones, work schedules, family lives, etcetera, thus being able to see the other person, to feel their actual presence right by you, gives all words an added dimension, an extra truth. I also had the chance to share some video-call time with such a physically distant but ever present friend later on today, after months of trying to get it organised. Her little boy was feeling a little under the weather, hence in need of her solidity, her hugs, her kisses, her warmth. We cut the chat short, but it was a victory to get it to happen at all.
Finally, I was touched by the stories surrounding the fire that broke out at Notre Dame in Paris. In general, tragedies do indeed bring out the extremes in people, be it good or bad. What touched me this time was everyone's muted sorrow at the loss of a shared beauty, of communal experience, the link to culture and values. And then, the small joys at the positives: the fact that the structure was saved, as had been the statues and other artwork; the drive to bring it back; the appreciation for the firefighters who worked for so many hours to save the building.
Touch affects us in many ways. We're all just lucky that way.
What touches you? Who have you recently kept in touch with? Whose caresses do you enjoy, or whom do you caress (human or otherwise, all gentle contact is a blessing)?
For more information...
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/infant-touch/
http://www.in-mind.org/article/that-human-touch-that-means-so-much-exploring-the-tactile-dimension-of-social-life
https://www.quora.com/What-is-a-cuddle-party
https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/gabrielsanchez/notre-dame-fire-paris-witnesses-reaction-pictures
https://www.york.ac.uk/news-and-events/news/2019/research/expert-reactions--notre-dame-cathedral-fire/
That may be the reason why we use expressions such as 'it's a very touching story' to imply that our emotional compass has been affected; or 'keep in touch', when what we want is for the other person to remain a part of our tribe, for we care for them and their presence is precious to us; and why most of us relish being caressed, hugged, and so forth.
In the last 24 hours, I have experienced all of these three aspects:
To begin with, I went for a massage. I do so monthly, to help keep my back in shape despite a sedentary job. I only recently realised that it also helps supply the physical contact humans require to live. I am not particularly keen on being randomly touched, despite growing up in Spain. However, I do miss how much more I used to hug friends and family. It is important to let down some of one's physical barriers, I am learning, and we are becoming less able to understand how it all works. I guess that is why there are even events like cuddle parties, where people can re-learn how to exchange simple human contact.
When I left the therapy place, I got on a bus, only to sit right next to a friend I had not seen in years - despite living a mere 20 minutes from each other. She used to be my flatmate, and we 'kept in touch' over the years, mostly thanks to virtual means, but also in person, meeting up for a cuppa (or coffee, in her case) when I visited the country. It was interesting, to not have planned it yet come across one another like that. Catching up with what is behind those FB posts, having a giggle, updating each other about work. Encountering, reconnecting, and nattering away with her for a bit was a wonderful surprise.
I have many friends and family all over the globe, which is a blessing. On the other hand, 'keeping in touch' with them is not as easy as one might think. Technology notwithstanding, one has to take into account time zones, work schedules, family lives, etcetera, thus being able to see the other person, to feel their actual presence right by you, gives all words an added dimension, an extra truth. I also had the chance to share some video-call time with such a physically distant but ever present friend later on today, after months of trying to get it organised. Her little boy was feeling a little under the weather, hence in need of her solidity, her hugs, her kisses, her warmth. We cut the chat short, but it was a victory to get it to happen at all.
Finally, I was touched by the stories surrounding the fire that broke out at Notre Dame in Paris. In general, tragedies do indeed bring out the extremes in people, be it good or bad. What touched me this time was everyone's muted sorrow at the loss of a shared beauty, of communal experience, the link to culture and values. And then, the small joys at the positives: the fact that the structure was saved, as had been the statues and other artwork; the drive to bring it back; the appreciation for the firefighters who worked for so many hours to save the building.
Touch affects us in many ways. We're all just lucky that way.
What touches you? Who have you recently kept in touch with? Whose caresses do you enjoy, or whom do you caress (human or otherwise, all gentle contact is a blessing)?
For more information...
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/infant-touch/
http://www.in-mind.org/article/that-human-touch-that-means-so-much-exploring-the-tactile-dimension-of-social-life
https://www.quora.com/What-is-a-cuddle-party
https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/gabrielsanchez/notre-dame-fire-paris-witnesses-reaction-pictures
https://www.york.ac.uk/news-and-events/news/2019/research/expert-reactions--notre-dame-cathedral-fire/
Saturday 6 April 2019
Sisterhood
Sisterhood. Sorority. The union of women.
I grew up in a female environment: my mum, my grandma, my sisters. Even the cats were female. For the earliest period of my life, I attended a nun-run, female-only school. I even define as a witch, a traditionally female role. I may not have intended it, but I certainly learned the value of female inter-support.
Many people talk about the strength that a sense of brotherhood grants its group; army life, for example, is highly dependent on the feelings fraternity brings to the battlefield. Similarly, one finds it creeping through as a sign of sturdy reliability on each other for organisations such as the Masons, gangs, or even college houses. On the other hand, female relationships are often observed with a certain level of mistrust, women considered more prone to backstabbing and 'catfighting' over minor issues. As such, their unions and clubs, their societies, receiving less praise, are kept in a greatly shaded area.
I'm here, today, to stand for sisterhood, for female connection, for all the gifts inherent in being in a community of women.
I'm not interested in bashing male bonding, let along flagellate anyone into submission to feminism (I'd first have to choose one kind, then fully believe in it). I just want to remind us all that female cooperation is constructive to all its members, and to those around them; that in a time where bullying and sexism insidiously undermine us all, hidden under language PC codes or over-sensitised negation, there is beauty in supporting other women while breaking gender stereotypes.
So, here is to the women who have inspired me throughout life: my mother, my sisters, my aunts, my grandmothers, my stepmother, my friends, and all the women who have shown that community is magical, that we can get ahead by propping each other up, rather than by stepping up alone. Female communities, like hives or colonies, promote the care of all its members, allowing for more generous behaviours within and without the group. Each one of us, feeding on the emotional and physical closeness granted to females, feed in turn those around us.
Sisterhood, the blessing of being a woman among women
I grew up in a female environment: my mum, my grandma, my sisters. Even the cats were female. For the earliest period of my life, I attended a nun-run, female-only school. I even define as a witch, a traditionally female role. I may not have intended it, but I certainly learned the value of female inter-support.
Many people talk about the strength that a sense of brotherhood grants its group; army life, for example, is highly dependent on the feelings fraternity brings to the battlefield. Similarly, one finds it creeping through as a sign of sturdy reliability on each other for organisations such as the Masons, gangs, or even college houses. On the other hand, female relationships are often observed with a certain level of mistrust, women considered more prone to backstabbing and 'catfighting' over minor issues. As such, their unions and clubs, their societies, receiving less praise, are kept in a greatly shaded area.
I'm here, today, to stand for sisterhood, for female connection, for all the gifts inherent in being in a community of women.
I'm not interested in bashing male bonding, let along flagellate anyone into submission to feminism (I'd first have to choose one kind, then fully believe in it). I just want to remind us all that female cooperation is constructive to all its members, and to those around them; that in a time where bullying and sexism insidiously undermine us all, hidden under language PC codes or over-sensitised negation, there is beauty in supporting other women while breaking gender stereotypes.
So, here is to the women who have inspired me throughout life: my mother, my sisters, my aunts, my grandmothers, my stepmother, my friends, and all the women who have shown that community is magical, that we can get ahead by propping each other up, rather than by stepping up alone. Female communities, like hives or colonies, promote the care of all its members, allowing for more generous behaviours within and without the group. Each one of us, feeding on the emotional and physical closeness granted to females, feed in turn those around us.
Sisterhood, the blessing of being a woman among women
Tuesday 19 March 2019
Give your body the love it needs
I'm used to being strong and healthy. Sure, I have had issues over the years, but in general, I'd say I've enjoyed mostly health. I also used to do a relatively nice amount of exercise - not machines, more yoga, Pilates, swimming and walking.
Then, a couple of years ago, that changed.
I find that I have to take days off because I'm dizzy, so I cannot function comfortably. I also realise eating junk leaves me exhausted, moody, and that I 'have to pay' for it. Worse of all, the whole situation means I struggle to do any exercise, which in turn pushes me to feel less able to enjoy being in my own skin.
Of course, I know that it is a reality, that it happens. One minor complaint left unattended led to another, seemingly unrelated, condition. On and on, until I am so far away from the initial point, that I appear lost in a maze of my own frustrations. Because, in all honesty, the worst thing of it all is the frustration. Sure, being unwell is painful and uncomfortable, but above and beyond is irritating as all heck when I cannot do what I want to do, when I want to do it, with whomever I had wanted to do it. Life, it seems, takes a second row seat so that you can just focus on... what?
The thing is, if this is a lesson, I should have already learned it! I had severe back issues back when, which taught me to take time, to listen to my body, to exercise regularly, even. And I did. So, why has this happened again?
I've had time to think about it, needless to say, and I have come to the conclusion that the usual advice to 'listen to your body' is not the same as learning to 'love your body'. I listened, and did what I had to do. But love it? Ah, that, I realise, is less true.
We all know that 'in sickness and in health' vow at weddings, right? When we promise to love and support one another. I realised, I never thought about how much more I should promise to love and support my body, my self, at every stage. I take it for granted, in a very utilitarian fashion, that my body is part of me, and will thus do as I want or need.
Except, out body is not a car, not a partner. Our bodies are not 'part of' us; our bodies are US. My mind is my brain is my body; my emotions are my chemicals are my body; and my flesh and bone - well, what are they but my body?
I see ads calling for a body-positive attitude, but also for a lot of control over the body.
Control is good, but love is better.
Give your body the love it needs. It might surprise you.
Then, a couple of years ago, that changed.
I find that I have to take days off because I'm dizzy, so I cannot function comfortably. I also realise eating junk leaves me exhausted, moody, and that I 'have to pay' for it. Worse of all, the whole situation means I struggle to do any exercise, which in turn pushes me to feel less able to enjoy being in my own skin.
Of course, I know that it is a reality, that it happens. One minor complaint left unattended led to another, seemingly unrelated, condition. On and on, until I am so far away from the initial point, that I appear lost in a maze of my own frustrations. Because, in all honesty, the worst thing of it all is the frustration. Sure, being unwell is painful and uncomfortable, but above and beyond is irritating as all heck when I cannot do what I want to do, when I want to do it, with whomever I had wanted to do it. Life, it seems, takes a second row seat so that you can just focus on... what?
The thing is, if this is a lesson, I should have already learned it! I had severe back issues back when, which taught me to take time, to listen to my body, to exercise regularly, even. And I did. So, why has this happened again?
I've had time to think about it, needless to say, and I have come to the conclusion that the usual advice to 'listen to your body' is not the same as learning to 'love your body'. I listened, and did what I had to do. But love it? Ah, that, I realise, is less true.
We all know that 'in sickness and in health' vow at weddings, right? When we promise to love and support one another. I realised, I never thought about how much more I should promise to love and support my body, my self, at every stage. I take it for granted, in a very utilitarian fashion, that my body is part of me, and will thus do as I want or need.
Except, out body is not a car, not a partner. Our bodies are not 'part of' us; our bodies are US. My mind is my brain is my body; my emotions are my chemicals are my body; and my flesh and bone - well, what are they but my body?
I see ads calling for a body-positive attitude, but also for a lot of control over the body.
Control is good, but love is better.
Give your body the love it needs. It might surprise you.
Saturday 9 March 2019
On language
I love languages. I speak several, having been blessed with growing up in a multi-cultural family, as well as lived in a number of countries. Moreover, I used to work in language education, in addition to proof-reading, translating, editing.
Languages, I find, are fabulously rich tools to understand culture. Languages have to be rich, since they have developed over thousands of years to explain all the experiences all the members of a community have lived through, everything they needed to convey, to teach, to share, to remember.
There are families of words, of languages, of histories. Some languages have been nearly static for a long time, their isolated peoples unchanging as well. Others, have developed flexibility in order to accommodate invasions, empires, new cultures that intertwine into a new, greater community. Then, there are the languages used as mementos, whose social anchors have disappeared, e.g. Latin, or artificial creations for specific groups, like Esperanto, Klingon, Elven.
Languages enable us to create the most beautiful tales. If one is gifted enough, think of Shakespeare, we can even create new words, yet still be understood. We can play with sentence structure, with vocabulary, with voice, with punctuation, so that mere letters become ideas, narratives, instructions to see the world under new eyes.
It is therefore understandable, I'd assume, that I find myself confused at the loss of language in modern songs. I'd go even further, and say I find myself in pain at the trend. Song is a synonym of poem, and while I accept seemingly un-poetic genres such as rap, hip-hop, etcetera, these at least use language to the fullest of its capabilities. Yet, lately, I notice a repetition of shorter lyrics, and, of these, a high percentage of swearwords. Not even creative swearwords, just mere re-use of the same four-letter simplistic expletives. Worse, in most of the cases, these are clearly fillers, adding little, if anything at all, to the message of the song.
I mourn the loss of wealth to an enemy I don't quite understand. We are succumbing to a mediocrity of thought, a paucity of expression, which bodes ill for our cultural future. I cry for the loss of the millions of words that remain unsaid day after day, millions of meanings withering, shades simplified to the most basic hues, greys gone either white or black.
I love languages, and will endeavour to keep them alive.
Promise yourself to express your thoughts in as many hues as words can provide. Love language, love your culture, love yourself.
Languages, I find, are fabulously rich tools to understand culture. Languages have to be rich, since they have developed over thousands of years to explain all the experiences all the members of a community have lived through, everything they needed to convey, to teach, to share, to remember.
There are families of words, of languages, of histories. Some languages have been nearly static for a long time, their isolated peoples unchanging as well. Others, have developed flexibility in order to accommodate invasions, empires, new cultures that intertwine into a new, greater community. Then, there are the languages used as mementos, whose social anchors have disappeared, e.g. Latin, or artificial creations for specific groups, like Esperanto, Klingon, Elven.
Languages enable us to create the most beautiful tales. If one is gifted enough, think of Shakespeare, we can even create new words, yet still be understood. We can play with sentence structure, with vocabulary, with voice, with punctuation, so that mere letters become ideas, narratives, instructions to see the world under new eyes.
It is therefore understandable, I'd assume, that I find myself confused at the loss of language in modern songs. I'd go even further, and say I find myself in pain at the trend. Song is a synonym of poem, and while I accept seemingly un-poetic genres such as rap, hip-hop, etcetera, these at least use language to the fullest of its capabilities. Yet, lately, I notice a repetition of shorter lyrics, and, of these, a high percentage of swearwords. Not even creative swearwords, just mere re-use of the same four-letter simplistic expletives. Worse, in most of the cases, these are clearly fillers, adding little, if anything at all, to the message of the song.
I mourn the loss of wealth to an enemy I don't quite understand. We are succumbing to a mediocrity of thought, a paucity of expression, which bodes ill for our cultural future. I cry for the loss of the millions of words that remain unsaid day after day, millions of meanings withering, shades simplified to the most basic hues, greys gone either white or black.
I love languages, and will endeavour to keep them alive.
Promise yourself to express your thoughts in as many hues as words can provide. Love language, love your culture, love yourself.
Sunday 24 February 2019
I didn't know that was there...
Last week, I had an appointment to meet up with a friend after work. Once bitten, twice shy, I realised getting on a bus, any bus!, would mean time stuck in rush hour traffic jam. I checked my map, and found out I could be at our meeting place within 40 minutes if I were to go on foot - roughly as long as it would take me by bus, on a good day. I actually like walking, so I set off.
The route, it turns out, is pretty much a straight line: leave work, turn right, over the bridge, a slight zig-zag, oh, look! The city Court building! I didn't know that was there. Even more, I didn't know there is a little area to sit around a pool. In the pool, which at that time had no-one around, there are water lilies (only pads, as it's winter). And, oh! wow! in between the pads, flashes of bright red, white and black - there are koi fish there! Looking even closer, there were other varieties of fish, tiny and dark, darting around.
I had to continue, lest I be late! So, off I went, again on (pretty much) a straight line, along a quiet street with beautiful trees. Then, there was a gap in the trees and a fence with something like posters on it. Since there were words written, what could I do but stop to read them? Ah! This, it turned out, is an Embassy. I didn't know that was there. The posters, half in Czech, half in English, explained how each of the images shown are representative of particular architectural styles found in the Czech Republic. How enticing, which one did I prefer? I could really get lost, travelling again. But no, maybe some other day. I was still a few minutes away.
Nearly at my destination, my friend was still on a bus. I decided to continue on my straight line as it would lead me to the beach. Alas! It started to rain, so I changed my mind. Instead of continuing ahead, I turned left, looking for a cafe that looked inviting and quiet enough. I didn't find one, rather I came across a square that had been under remodelling for about 2 years. I hadn't clicked onto the fact that that was there! I took a video for a friend who loves architecture, with whom I had seen the square as it used to be mere days before the works started, before taking refuge in a shopping centre.
Finally, I went back to our meeting place. It was a mere 10 minute walk away, despite all that meandering. I sat down at the restaurant, pondering about habit, about what we define as comfort, as opposed to 'trying something else', with its wonders, its surprises. I acknowledged I was happier than I would have been had I simply got on a bus, followed familiar streets, or simply sat in a coffee shop to kills time.
Thanks to that 'adventure in spite of the rain', I now had an idea where to go to see koi; the beautiful buildings in a far away country I rarely consider; how easily I could get to the sea after work, if I so wished; how nice the new square looks, even though the fountain still has to be re-clad. I had simply rediscovered some of my city, and how marvellous its nooks and crannies can be.
When was the last time you went exploring in your city? When did you choose to simply try the next high street, instead of the regular mall? When did you get surprised by a café where they have no idea what venti, pumpkin flavouring, or Styrofoam mean?
We live in glorious environments, if only we dare try them out. I know I am glad to now know that was there. I am looking forward to learn of other spots, of unexpected corners.
Whether you live in a city, a village, or the middle of a forest, I wish you adventures and the joy of new places to call your own.
The route, it turns out, is pretty much a straight line: leave work, turn right, over the bridge, a slight zig-zag, oh, look! The city Court building! I didn't know that was there. Even more, I didn't know there is a little area to sit around a pool. In the pool, which at that time had no-one around, there are water lilies (only pads, as it's winter). And, oh! wow! in between the pads, flashes of bright red, white and black - there are koi fish there! Looking even closer, there were other varieties of fish, tiny and dark, darting around.
I had to continue, lest I be late! So, off I went, again on (pretty much) a straight line, along a quiet street with beautiful trees. Then, there was a gap in the trees and a fence with something like posters on it. Since there were words written, what could I do but stop to read them? Ah! This, it turned out, is an Embassy. I didn't know that was there. The posters, half in Czech, half in English, explained how each of the images shown are representative of particular architectural styles found in the Czech Republic. How enticing, which one did I prefer? I could really get lost, travelling again. But no, maybe some other day. I was still a few minutes away.
Nearly at my destination, my friend was still on a bus. I decided to continue on my straight line as it would lead me to the beach. Alas! It started to rain, so I changed my mind. Instead of continuing ahead, I turned left, looking for a cafe that looked inviting and quiet enough. I didn't find one, rather I came across a square that had been under remodelling for about 2 years. I hadn't clicked onto the fact that that was there! I took a video for a friend who loves architecture, with whom I had seen the square as it used to be mere days before the works started, before taking refuge in a shopping centre.
Finally, I went back to our meeting place. It was a mere 10 minute walk away, despite all that meandering. I sat down at the restaurant, pondering about habit, about what we define as comfort, as opposed to 'trying something else', with its wonders, its surprises. I acknowledged I was happier than I would have been had I simply got on a bus, followed familiar streets, or simply sat in a coffee shop to kills time.
Thanks to that 'adventure in spite of the rain', I now had an idea where to go to see koi; the beautiful buildings in a far away country I rarely consider; how easily I could get to the sea after work, if I so wished; how nice the new square looks, even though the fountain still has to be re-clad. I had simply rediscovered some of my city, and how marvellous its nooks and crannies can be.
When was the last time you went exploring in your city? When did you choose to simply try the next high street, instead of the regular mall? When did you get surprised by a café where they have no idea what venti, pumpkin flavouring, or Styrofoam mean?
We live in glorious environments, if only we dare try them out. I know I am glad to now know that was there. I am looking forward to learn of other spots, of unexpected corners.
Whether you live in a city, a village, or the middle of a forest, I wish you adventures and the joy of new places to call your own.
Sunday 17 February 2019
Do you love your job?
Do you love your job?
I love my job. I do, why do so many people look at me questioningly? Some think I am just trying to keep up a positive vibe; others, that I am faking it; yet some believe that I am pushing their buttons. But nope, honest to goodness, I love my job.
My job is not the kind I thought I would ever have. Actually, I knew nothing about this industry before getting the position. Added to that, I left my previous post, as a manager in the field I had experience, to a degree I'd even say mastery, without any need to do so. Just because I felt I needed to grow, to try new things. So I did, and I don't regret it.
My job is not glamorous, it won't make me famous, and beyond the salary (which is good, but nothing outlandish) it is no crazy scheme to make me rich. I also cannot really talk about the details with other people, not because of matters of National Security or similar, but because of simple client confidentiality. By the way, I work in a lab that certifies diamonds, see? Nothing major. I work in the dark, with microscopes and loupes, computers and music in my ears.
To be perfectly candid, I'm not even completely sure why I enjoy this so much. I certainly love the quiet environment, the individual beauty of each stone, the little quizzing moments from time to time, the fact that everything is black on white. Of course, I miss some elements of my life in the education sector: seeing people gain skills so they can move further in their paths; greater socialising; the different subjects discussed. In fact, I also loved teaching and teacher training, it just came to an end for me.
Most people seem to work in jobs they don't really like, just because they need a salary. Of course, we all do, and I have done so too - I really didn't like having to work in a coffee shop, or at a food stall at a Xmas Market. They are stepping stone roles, to be used temporarily while searching for what motivates us. They also are supposed to be there, so we can identify what we like and what we don't like for ourselves: in my case, I loathe anything to do with sales, marketing, and so forth. I feel dirty trying to convince people to buy something, probably because I hate feeling coaxed or tricked into anything in life. On the other hand, I love learning, thus I loved teaching and now I love exploring a new field. I also enjoy polite environments, and non-competitive roles.
When people complain about their jobs, about feeling trapped, about ... I feel saddened for them. Not because they have bad jobs, but because they don't utilise them to develop towards something they do love. Yes, I know, it's not necessarily an easy process, with the job market being tough, responsibilities (payments, shopping, rent, children-related expenses, etc.) playing a role, and so forth. Still, situations are created, not perennial realities. I am saddened because they have not had the will to move on to what they truly would love. In some cases, because they cling on to what was, what they used to enjoy, hoping it will repeat itself.
People, like the frog in the heating water, seem more willing to adapt until death, than to leap out looking for a new pond.
Whatever it is you do, I wish you strong legs for a mighty jump; a brave heart to make the choice; and constant growth to make your soul sing.
I wish you, too, love your job.
I love my job. I do, why do so many people look at me questioningly? Some think I am just trying to keep up a positive vibe; others, that I am faking it; yet some believe that I am pushing their buttons. But nope, honest to goodness, I love my job.
My job is not the kind I thought I would ever have. Actually, I knew nothing about this industry before getting the position. Added to that, I left my previous post, as a manager in the field I had experience, to a degree I'd even say mastery, without any need to do so. Just because I felt I needed to grow, to try new things. So I did, and I don't regret it.
My job is not glamorous, it won't make me famous, and beyond the salary (which is good, but nothing outlandish) it is no crazy scheme to make me rich. I also cannot really talk about the details with other people, not because of matters of National Security or similar, but because of simple client confidentiality. By the way, I work in a lab that certifies diamonds, see? Nothing major. I work in the dark, with microscopes and loupes, computers and music in my ears.
To be perfectly candid, I'm not even completely sure why I enjoy this so much. I certainly love the quiet environment, the individual beauty of each stone, the little quizzing moments from time to time, the fact that everything is black on white. Of course, I miss some elements of my life in the education sector: seeing people gain skills so they can move further in their paths; greater socialising; the different subjects discussed. In fact, I also loved teaching and teacher training, it just came to an end for me.
Most people seem to work in jobs they don't really like, just because they need a salary. Of course, we all do, and I have done so too - I really didn't like having to work in a coffee shop, or at a food stall at a Xmas Market. They are stepping stone roles, to be used temporarily while searching for what motivates us. They also are supposed to be there, so we can identify what we like and what we don't like for ourselves: in my case, I loathe anything to do with sales, marketing, and so forth. I feel dirty trying to convince people to buy something, probably because I hate feeling coaxed or tricked into anything in life. On the other hand, I love learning, thus I loved teaching and now I love exploring a new field. I also enjoy polite environments, and non-competitive roles.
When people complain about their jobs, about feeling trapped, about ... I feel saddened for them. Not because they have bad jobs, but because they don't utilise them to develop towards something they do love. Yes, I know, it's not necessarily an easy process, with the job market being tough, responsibilities (payments, shopping, rent, children-related expenses, etc.) playing a role, and so forth. Still, situations are created, not perennial realities. I am saddened because they have not had the will to move on to what they truly would love. In some cases, because they cling on to what was, what they used to enjoy, hoping it will repeat itself.
People, like the frog in the heating water, seem more willing to adapt until death, than to leap out looking for a new pond.
Whatever it is you do, I wish you strong legs for a mighty jump; a brave heart to make the choice; and constant growth to make your soul sing.
I wish you, too, love your job.
Monday 11 February 2019
Sound and silence
I like silence, be it the kind that makes you hear ringing at night; the kind that spreads wide on a hill surrounded by space; or the kind one finds in libraries and similar locations.
There is also the murmuring silence, where there is a group of people, sometimes even a large group, yet everyone speaks softly, shortly, secretly. This is the sort one finds at a centre of prayer such as churches or synagogues; the sort before a classical concert; the sort that populates the water, once we are totally submerged, or bathes in a crackling log fire on a cold winter night, cosy in fleecy socks.
Yes, I like silence, with its comforting hush and pillow-like sense of emptiness, of potential.
Living in a society plagued with noise, silence has always been a precious commodity. Particularly when one attempts to share its joy with other people. Most people, I'm sure you'll agree, claim to want 'peace and quiet'. Except, dictionaries to the contrary, their quiet does not mean silence. Most people, it seems, need to fill silence with sound; particularly, the sound of their voices. And, the more they hear their voice, the louder they get, until silence succumbs, leaving dejectedly at being so unwanted.
I have always ended up torn between frustration and the need to socialise. I was brought up to be polite, where polite means, in this sense, responding nicely to others (even when they are interrupting) when spoken to by someone. This is particularly trying at queues and on public transport. How to tell people that no, I am not interested in chatting and would rather just enjoy being? My brain noise is more than enough in and of its own, thank you. So is hearing the person on their mobile two rows back, the children squealing in excitement at the sweeties their grandmother is giving out, and the radio playing so our driver (bless 'em) remains sane while facing yet another traffic jam. And yes, I do love reading, thank you, that's why I have a book wide open on my lap. And I'm glad your niece, who also loves reading, is a lovely girl, but really, I don't think I need to know anything about her.
Then, today, I was granted silence. Yes, there were noises all around, but the person who sat next to me on the bus simply gave me a glance, then looked at my book, smiled and looked away! When my stop was coming up, I lifted my eyes again, and noticed the lady had fallen asleep. More than that, the people in front of us were practising murmuring silence. I felt grateful for the little miracle I was just then aware I had been living through. What made it even more magical was that, in this case, silence had been the one to spread, rather than noise, and with it, restfulness.
I will enjoy noise later on, while dancing to some rock, or pop, or whatever music tickles my fancy then. But, for now, I'll bask in silence, the one only broken by the noise of the keyboard taps and my breathing.
tap - tap - tap - - - - - - -
There is also the murmuring silence, where there is a group of people, sometimes even a large group, yet everyone speaks softly, shortly, secretly. This is the sort one finds at a centre of prayer such as churches or synagogues; the sort before a classical concert; the sort that populates the water, once we are totally submerged, or bathes in a crackling log fire on a cold winter night, cosy in fleecy socks.
Yes, I like silence, with its comforting hush and pillow-like sense of emptiness, of potential.
Living in a society plagued with noise, silence has always been a precious commodity. Particularly when one attempts to share its joy with other people. Most people, I'm sure you'll agree, claim to want 'peace and quiet'. Except, dictionaries to the contrary, their quiet does not mean silence. Most people, it seems, need to fill silence with sound; particularly, the sound of their voices. And, the more they hear their voice, the louder they get, until silence succumbs, leaving dejectedly at being so unwanted.
I have always ended up torn between frustration and the need to socialise. I was brought up to be polite, where polite means, in this sense, responding nicely to others (even when they are interrupting) when spoken to by someone. This is particularly trying at queues and on public transport. How to tell people that no, I am not interested in chatting and would rather just enjoy being? My brain noise is more than enough in and of its own, thank you. So is hearing the person on their mobile two rows back, the children squealing in excitement at the sweeties their grandmother is giving out, and the radio playing so our driver (bless 'em) remains sane while facing yet another traffic jam. And yes, I do love reading, thank you, that's why I have a book wide open on my lap. And I'm glad your niece, who also loves reading, is a lovely girl, but really, I don't think I need to know anything about her.
Then, today, I was granted silence. Yes, there were noises all around, but the person who sat next to me on the bus simply gave me a glance, then looked at my book, smiled and looked away! When my stop was coming up, I lifted my eyes again, and noticed the lady had fallen asleep. More than that, the people in front of us were practising murmuring silence. I felt grateful for the little miracle I was just then aware I had been living through. What made it even more magical was that, in this case, silence had been the one to spread, rather than noise, and with it, restfulness.
I will enjoy noise later on, while dancing to some rock, or pop, or whatever music tickles my fancy then. But, for now, I'll bask in silence, the one only broken by the noise of the keyboard taps and my breathing.
tap - tap - tap - - - - - - -
Monday 4 February 2019
What we choose to celebrate
Last week, it was my birthday, but I was away for a week, so when I came back to work today, I got all the best wishes. I thanked my coworkers, then went on with my life. I don't really get why people celebrate birthdays. Actually, I do, but only for people who've had a life-threatening scare or are fighting a life condition, which they have overcome (maybe just for now, but a day at a time). In these cases, the people have sort of 'earned' the understanding of what an amazing achievement completing another solar year really means. For the rest of us, who simply live by inertia, unconsciously grateful for modern medicine and a comfortable environment, it has no real meaning.
So, why was I away last week, if not to celebrate my birthday?
To celebrate life.
In a few days, it will be my mother's 7th death anniversary, and my sister and I decided it was time to let her last remains go free, as she loved being. We decided to release her ashes, close that cycle. More than anything, we decided to celebrate my mother's life and the joy she meant to us.
I went to visit my sister for a week, enjoying the company of people I love, people she loved. My nephew, whom my mum used to call 'shrimp' (he's about 1.80 m tall), also came to celebrate her. We got her the kind of box she liked, we placed with her some of her loved flowers. We set up a play list full of fun, full of funky beats, full of gumption. We placed her in the sea, where she can float and swim, go anywhere in the world, under the brilliant sun she worshipped. We laughed remembering her quirks, and her no-nonsense approach to discipline (wide open palm, once, across the face, which we all resented yet made us laugh that night). We made a feast, ate and drank in her memory, ended up with some fresh strawberries and rich whipped cream. We cried a bit, together; we mostly laughed, together.
We said goodbye, not to celebrate her death, but to remember her life. We chose to embody her joy, to release her by reliving what she loved. We were finally able to love her enough to do so with honest zest. We go on with life, as she urged us on, all those years back.
Life and death, they are a constant, which can be very sad and scary, or life-full, love-full, courage-full.
Last weekend, we chose love, we chose life.
Letting my mother go was the most exquisitely painful and loving moment of my birthday week.
I couldn't have asked for anything better, anything more.
Celebrate those around you, not once a year, but with every laugh, hug, chat, tear you share.
I celebrate you.
So, why was I away last week, if not to celebrate my birthday?
To celebrate life.
In a few days, it will be my mother's 7th death anniversary, and my sister and I decided it was time to let her last remains go free, as she loved being. We decided to release her ashes, close that cycle. More than anything, we decided to celebrate my mother's life and the joy she meant to us.
I went to visit my sister for a week, enjoying the company of people I love, people she loved. My nephew, whom my mum used to call 'shrimp' (he's about 1.80 m tall), also came to celebrate her. We got her the kind of box she liked, we placed with her some of her loved flowers. We set up a play list full of fun, full of funky beats, full of gumption. We placed her in the sea, where she can float and swim, go anywhere in the world, under the brilliant sun she worshipped. We laughed remembering her quirks, and her no-nonsense approach to discipline (wide open palm, once, across the face, which we all resented yet made us laugh that night). We made a feast, ate and drank in her memory, ended up with some fresh strawberries and rich whipped cream. We cried a bit, together; we mostly laughed, together.
We said goodbye, not to celebrate her death, but to remember her life. We chose to embody her joy, to release her by reliving what she loved. We were finally able to love her enough to do so with honest zest. We go on with life, as she urged us on, all those years back.
Life and death, they are a constant, which can be very sad and scary, or life-full, love-full, courage-full.
Last weekend, we chose love, we chose life.
Letting my mother go was the most exquisitely painful and loving moment of my birthday week.
I couldn't have asked for anything better, anything more.
Celebrate those around you, not once a year, but with every laugh, hug, chat, tear you share.
I celebrate you.
Saturday 19 January 2019
Of love and other distorted wonders
There is a song by Spanish group Amaral, whose lyrics go something like 'without you, I am nothing / a drop of water wetting my face / my world is small and my heart is shards of ice'. I liked the music, thus I didn't pay much attention to the lyrics until Maite, a friend, called this a song by 'Amar mal' (to love badly, unwisely). It has been years since that quip, yet it still keeps me alert to my own conditioning.
I am hardly the first person, let alone the most qualified, to point out how very unhealthy most 'romantic love stories' and 'romantic gestures' truly are. And no, I do not blame cinema or pulp fiction, since they are simply providing that which the consumer will buy. Love is another one of those marvelous elements of life, like food, dance, parenthood, even alcohol or adrenaline (to name but a few) that make us, humans, reach the highest peaks of joy and excitement for our mere existence. Love, like all of the others, has been bastardised to keep us wanting, from peak to peak, in order to validate ourselves, our measure , our capability to achieve/deserve joy.
It is no great conspiracy, there is no evil 'capo' or 'secret society' pushing forward an elaborate scheme to control the world through love. Still, even though I am aware of that aspect, I cannot help but try, shift the blame. How else can I accept that we, humans, have taken those wonders that fill us with life and held them hostage? That we have outsourced our capacities and capabilities for awe, fun, jubilation?
Even worse, we have taken our very awareness, pushed it to extremes, in order to stretch so thin, reach so many instances in our world, that its very vitality tears apart. We're no longer awake, but 'woke' - the very validity of our capacity to evaluate and reject old paradigms has been lost to populist oversimplification. Our concerns are so many, we are kept constantly trying to reach all of them but for a few instants per day. Our cries are so constant, over so many details, they have become a background of white noise.
Never the less, I refuse to go back to sleep. I refuse to accept jealousy and possessiveness as characteristics of love, but will rightfully insist they are the children of fear, of self-worthlessness. I refuse to laugh at, or normalise the acceptance of, repeated heavy drinking, but will enjoy a wonderful time with people who savour their drinks. I refuse to ask people about their having children or getting married, but will celebrate with those who chose to do so as I do with those who do neither.
I will dance, and then stay home to rest.
I will eat, then lay down my fork.
I will laugh, then cry if I feel like it.
I will refuse distortion, call it out, encourage enlightenment. Then, I will be on my merry way, let others live as they will. I will hope for life, dispelling lies.
I love me, you, life. Maybe my way of loving is selfish at times, seemingly lacking in passion, cold. It is certainly not a jealous or possessive love. I choose to love you to be you.
Have a think, how do you love? How do you love me? Above all, how do you love you?
ps. I know this is not necessarily what you'd expect after such a long hiatus, but I think it is important enough to break that silence. Feel free to comment, share, and/or suggest subjects to talk about.
I am hardly the first person, let alone the most qualified, to point out how very unhealthy most 'romantic love stories' and 'romantic gestures' truly are. And no, I do not blame cinema or pulp fiction, since they are simply providing that which the consumer will buy. Love is another one of those marvelous elements of life, like food, dance, parenthood, even alcohol or adrenaline (to name but a few) that make us, humans, reach the highest peaks of joy and excitement for our mere existence. Love, like all of the others, has been bastardised to keep us wanting, from peak to peak, in order to validate ourselves, our measure , our capability to achieve/deserve joy.
It is no great conspiracy, there is no evil 'capo' or 'secret society' pushing forward an elaborate scheme to control the world through love. Still, even though I am aware of that aspect, I cannot help but try, shift the blame. How else can I accept that we, humans, have taken those wonders that fill us with life and held them hostage? That we have outsourced our capacities and capabilities for awe, fun, jubilation?
Even worse, we have taken our very awareness, pushed it to extremes, in order to stretch so thin, reach so many instances in our world, that its very vitality tears apart. We're no longer awake, but 'woke' - the very validity of our capacity to evaluate and reject old paradigms has been lost to populist oversimplification. Our concerns are so many, we are kept constantly trying to reach all of them but for a few instants per day. Our cries are so constant, over so many details, they have become a background of white noise.
Never the less, I refuse to go back to sleep. I refuse to accept jealousy and possessiveness as characteristics of love, but will rightfully insist they are the children of fear, of self-worthlessness. I refuse to laugh at, or normalise the acceptance of, repeated heavy drinking, but will enjoy a wonderful time with people who savour their drinks. I refuse to ask people about their having children or getting married, but will celebrate with those who chose to do so as I do with those who do neither.
I will dance, and then stay home to rest.
I will eat, then lay down my fork.
I will laugh, then cry if I feel like it.
I will refuse distortion, call it out, encourage enlightenment. Then, I will be on my merry way, let others live as they will. I will hope for life, dispelling lies.
I love me, you, life. Maybe my way of loving is selfish at times, seemingly lacking in passion, cold. It is certainly not a jealous or possessive love. I choose to love you to be you.
Have a think, how do you love? How do you love me? Above all, how do you love you?
ps. I know this is not necessarily what you'd expect after such a long hiatus, but I think it is important enough to break that silence. Feel free to comment, share, and/or suggest subjects to talk about.
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