Friday, November 30, 2018

How I Became "Liberal"

"Liberal", "moderate", "conservative": Those are the choices I got to pick for my political views on a dating app. Sure, many people know exactly where they stand. While I have absolutely no problem picking my sexual orientation, this one was harder. That got me thinking. Immediately, I had an explanation for the confusion. We are born with one; the other one is a result of upbringing, background, or nurture, you could say. The generational divide in politics is a testament to that being true. All the baby boomers and grandmas voting for Brexit were not "born this way", they just formed their opinions in a different environment than the majority of my generation. So I was raised to be a gay-loving, refugee-accepting feminist, it seems. But was I?

Of the three choices I had on the app, I went with "liberal". I definitely identify with many, many moderate and some conservative ideas, but since these are labels, I picked one. I was imagining three groups of people, each standing under a banner that spelled out each word. I asked myself which of these groups I would rather stand with, and the liberals often are the most diverse group which, to me, is an attractive feature. They are, like me, seldom the product of a wealthy upbringing and seem to emphasize people over profits. At 16, I had not seen this yet. I asked my best friend's father, a former US military man, what the difference is between "Democrats" and "Republicans". "Sina", he said, "do you believe that you should be able to harvest the fruits of your own labor yourself?" I said yes! "Then you are a Republican", he answered. I believed that for a good while.

Unlike my sexual orientation I was born with, what group I saw myself standing with was obviously a very fluid decision. Political views can be easily swayed and influenced and for a long time, I believed my strong faith would automatically mean I need to be conservative. So when did I become "liberal"? Was it a time that I realized that my friend's father had fed me a very narrow-minded idea of Conservatism? No. Was it my four years studying politics at university that taught me what ends there are in the political spectrum? No. Was it evaluating what history had taught me and that one direction was worse than the other? No. Looking back, I am almost confident it started with my mother.

I have very few memories of my childhood, but I do remember kindergarten. I grew up in a village in Germany, most of the kids were white. At around age 5, a black family from Nigeria moved in next door. They were loud and had a lot of children. Their skin color was not the only thing that was different from all the other families in the street. But my mother never commented on that. They were just another family. That is normal, you could argue, but unfortunately, it is not. When the mother of the children next door was calling them for dinner, she was walking outside calling out their names loudly, almost crying like the kid was gone for good. None of the white parents did anything similar. Instead of complaining, my mother laughed. She found it amusing, not annoying. Other mothers would possibly have made a noise complaint. Instead, my mother celebrated we had someone different living next door.

Although I didn't want to, my mother made me play with the kids. I do not believe my mother did that to teach me to play with black kids. I do believe, however, that my mother taught me to accept everyone, even if they are perceived as different. I was 5 so I probably didn't even know that the color of a skin could even be considered a difference between people, yet as I grew older that is what I witnessed: kids not wanting to play with someone different-looking. My mother also celebrated Freddie Mercury, giving me my very first CD: "Living on my own", saying how exceptional and talented this man on the CD was. I also recall that it was in this context I first heard about homosexuality. The lesson my mother told me about loving people of the same sex must have worked as I do not remember fearing it, like many. A few years later, I chose to go to an all-girls Catholic private school that had a reputation for "creating lesbians" which was made fun of a lot. My judgment of homosexuality came much later, age 16, when I was taking my father's friends advice and thought my pastor had the answer.

It wasn't until I went to uni that I was actually living the life of those who, today, cross out the box "liberal". There I was, in a classroom in Scotland, one of not too many white girls with classmates from countries I never heard of. My roommate and best friend was from Angola, my Volleyball team used chants in a number of languages. Exchange with people from other countries doesn't make one "liberal" but it sure as hell broadens the horizon. I did not start believing in government subsidies because I talked to Chinese exchange students but because I realized how similar all these different people were. I was living the EU dream, having my government with all their "liberal" programmes pay for my education which would never have been possible without them. I was able to get information about things from people who knew about them, not from TV or Facebook. It was an education you do not need books for... 

As a result, I consider myself liberal today because I am a liberal success story. My life has been a testament that one cannot "go it alone"; this principle works for both life in general and politics. I looked for good examples of conservatives sharing my belief for years, without success. My personal beliefs of needing to help each other out, making sacrifices for those less fortunate and accepting everybody the way they are flow seamlessly into my political views. Of course, there are limits to the feasibility of these ideas. But the reason us young, educated millennials are often liberals is probably that we lived a different life from the elders; we already saw different, it doesn't scare us anymore. We can no longer do things alone, we have to cooperate. And we have had enough privilege to know there is enough for the many, not the few. It's a different nurture, but it will one day become nature. 

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

And The "Word Of The Year" Is...

As the year comes to an end, some incredible people who work with words are crowning a "word of the year". Online platforms and dictionaries look at the year and evaluate which word has changed the most, gotten new meanings or just captured the signs of the time the best. As a writer myself, I asked myself the same question: what is my word of the year? I am not choosing for the public but for myself. Funnily enough, I realized, I would have shortlisted the same words. Let's start with the Oxford Dictionary Word of the Year: "Toxic". While the crowd of the Oxford Dictionary is probably referring to the bullshit discussed in pubs about "politics", the blatant hatred between groups on- and offline, and pretty much any piece of information pertaining to Britains future after Brexit, I'm referring to my relationship with the man who shat on my year. Moving on to Dictionary.com which chose "misinformation". Oh look, another reference to Mister Toxic. Words are just amazing!

"Toxic" really is the perfect word to choose for this year. It's not a new word at all, only that before 2018 it was mostly used in Elite Daily or Huff Post articles along the line of "10 Reasons You Should Dump Him, Like, Now". This past year has graduated it from the vocabulary of a dramatic people on Facebook talking about people they simply do not get on with to the wider vocabulary of almost everyone. "Toxic" can be said about people, situations and conversations; even the freaking atmosphere of this planet seems to become it. So all that has changed is how people relate to it. "Toxic" is no longer just a hit song but a word everyone can suddenly relate to.

Including myself. I believed this word to be a dramatization of calling a person a negative word for being negative. Until I met that guy. In 2017, I had two very unhealthy liaisons, and their effects were so unhealthy they could be referred to as poison; poison for my self-esteem, poison for my future, poison for my surroundings. You know, just really bad. One of these two went on to become the trainwreck that was 2018. At least in 2017, there was an element of fun and caring involved in that relationship but anything beyond the first week of 2018 was manipulation and mindfucking. You guessed it, the relationship went from bad to worse, from worse to toxic. It culminated in deep unhappiness on both sides as a result of something that was never working and never could. Like poison, I had been drinking, making myself sick. Weirdly enough, poison is addictive; maybe that's why it's so toxic.

And then we have "misinformation" which also resonates with my year. What does it even mean? Is it just another word for lying? No, not quite. It's not the legendary Kellyanne Conway's "alternative facts" either. Now, "misinformation" is not a new term or word, it has always been there. But today, its meaning is harder to understand than ever. Because when you encounter the entity this word describes, you don't even know its misinformation. When I was hit with some serious misinformation this year in May, I did not realize I was being fed completely incorrect facts that had no foundation in the truth. I was receiving "news" from a trusted source at work, unaware it was completely made up to fit a narrative. It wasn't lying (yet), it was just making facts align to work for the narrator. So I experienced this word and the drastic effects it can have on a life. To think the whole world has to battle it online every day is a sad reality of 2018.

It is almost comical that we also find "gaslighting" on the Oxford Dictionary shortlist. So, gaslighting apparently means "the action of manipulating someone by psychological means into accepting a false depiction of reality or doubting their sanity". Oh wow! As for me, both the aforementioned experiences were wonderful examples of gaslighting. It is so closely related to my toxic friend, the difference between the words "toxic" and "gaslighting" for me is only marginal, one obviously being the result of the other. However, "gaslighting" also indicates that the recipient of such toxic or misinformed behavior seeks the fault within themselves which is sadly what I decided to do. Furthermore, we find "orbiting" on the shortlist which means the action of stopping communication with someone while still following them on social media or public platforms. The person making that shortlist must have been with some toxic guy who then gaslighted her. I feel ya sister, call me. Me, too!

Overall, one could say that according to the dictionaries of the world, I had a classic year 2018. I was misinformed, gaslighted, and orbited by some toxic males. These being the editors' choices makes me feel better about the amount of shit I felt due to these words being realities rather than lingo. But neither of these words would be my word of the year. That could only be "awareness". Awareness, as many words of the year, has been in vocabularies for years, only this year I started using it. Through all of these experiences, I became aware, woke, enlightened. I realized I had many bad traits I always condemned, such as a problem with insecurity, being prone to be exploited and a competitive nature that was stopping me to be happy. But awareness is the first step towards change of these characteristics; without seeing a problem, one cannot hope to resolve it. Much meditation helped me see terms like "toxic" and "misinformation" for what they are: a word, nothing more. Not a feeling or permanent stamp. And certainly not the future. 

Friday, November 16, 2018

Do I Finally Love Egypt? How A Job Interview Changed My Views

This was written November 1 but then I lost the file... Good thing things find me!

Anyone who has been here before will have read my attempts to go back in time. On certain dates, it's easier to look back than others. When I remember where I was on a certain date, one or two years ago, it helps me asses what I have achieved in that year. Today, for example. On November 1 last year, I shaved all of my male co-workers at Amazon, including a senior visiting director, for Movember. That set off the best month I had at Amazon, for many reasons. The night before, I remember vividly, I was dressed up as the corpse bride to scare the children of Victoria Road with absolutely zero success. I was living a settled life, trying to spread the love I had experienced to few people at work, in my street, in my circle. It was a simple time with few things putting my brain to work. Today - yeah, a little different. I'm writing this from a plane, looking down at my former home, Cairo, as I finish what is definitely the most impulsive week of my life you and that's saying something.

Three years ago, almost exactly, I did something that was so spontaneous that I surprised myself. My boss called me and said he would fly me out to a vacation in Dubai if I could be at the airport in an hour and a half, which was close to impossible. Not for mamma, it tuned out. With nothing but a bikini and a book I rocked up at a five-star suite on the Palm and just enjoyed myself. But, you may say, who wouldn't for a free vacation? Sacrifices are easily made that way, eh? Last Thursday, it was a little different. I went to a job interview for which I had very, very little information. I knew the employer needed someone to travel with him and altogether the opportunity sounded too interesting not to at least hear out. So with almost no information, I went to the interview. I was impressed by the man I was speaking to and wanted to ask him a million questions. He allowed me one, and I asked where he was off to next. "Egypt", he said, "wanna come?" My following "yes" made him giggle. "If you're serious", he said, "meet me at my plane in two hours." There wouldn't be a story here if I had just laughed and walked out.

I'm spontaneous and love crazy, yes, but this was a new height. I asked the assistant on my way home for how long I'd be packing and she said 10 days. Before I had actual time to ponder my decision, I was on this man's jet, taking off to Cairo. I didn't know why I was there or what I'd be doing but who knows, ever? Opportunities come and go, and my biggest fear is not taking one. This way I was maximizing the chances of not regretting. To me, this didn't seem like a hard decision and yet, everyone I told was questioning my sanity. I realized that not a lot of people would have done it because uncertainty is scary to people. But what made me proudest was everyone's reaction. "This kind of stuff only happens to you", they said. Every single one of them. And I knew they were right; I'm one of these people. And I'm pretty proud of that.

So suddenly I was back in Cairo, a place I vowed not to come back to. One should never do that, lesson learned. And I always knew that was a stupid vow. Yet, as the plane came down, I started being nervous. Cairo is the place I became a grown up. It is, to this day, probably the chapter of my life that was hardest for me. And as I was considering it had been two and a half years since my departure, my achievements visualized. I thought back to this day a year ago, being a settled little corporate girl trying to make my miserable coworkers a little happier. I looked back to that day three years ago, thick-skinned after a year in Cairo. And finally, I saw this day four years ago, a girl, not woman, in Cairo trying to make a future happen. Whatever decisions I made, I thought, I did it: I grew up and made an incredible life happen. I arrived on a flipping private jet, for crying out loud. Egypt hadn't failed me; it had set the path to extraordinary. Suddenly, I loved it.

Soil that changed you becomes good soil. This country is harsh and threatened to break me sometimes. But I didn't. Quite the contrary: I came out a positive person, deeply appreciative of everything I had. I never felt home in Egypt, and yet here I was watching the life I used to live: buying snacks at the kushk, enjoying the tranquility of a Friday morning and the simplicity of a three-lane street comfortably featuring five rows of cars and one for motorcycles. Its a part of me now and for two years, it was reality. The memory of that makes the grass in Holland Park, where I run, greener, my nights out in a Soho pub surrounded by queer folk more liberating and the work I do, or will do, in the future more profound. But all of that wouldn't be there if Egypt hadn't taught me to fight, appreciate and believe

It's not my life but I understand it now. This super different life is familiar because of the time I spent there and familiarity causes comfort. I feel connected to those who have made the same experience and can, today, look back on these two years and feel gratitude. Overwhelming gratitude. Having had the chance to learn to love something so hard to love is a great lesson. I don't love Egypt and I never will just like I will never love cucumbers, but they are still green and have a great effect on tired eyes. And for that, I can love them although they're not my taste. That's Egypt, too. And it took this quick and crazy visit to realize that. Time doesn't change most places but it changed me. The last year, the days since I left Egypt and the months since I arrived there. Sometimes a gentle reminder such as a visit can remind us how far we've come. 

Spot the Pyramids in the center-left

Tuesday, November 13, 2018

The Ultimate Flaws: Watching Sex and the City in 2018

Have you ever watched your favorite show from the 90s back? Like Friends or Charmed? Watching the Gilmore Girls in 2018 is a vastly different experience than watching it back in 2000, even, when I first did. The themes in there make a 2018 feminist cringe sometimes. I decided a few weeks ago to dive deep and try to rewatch Sex and the City for two reasons: Firstly: I was a child when I first watched it, being 13 when it concluded. In other words, I had no idea what these chicks were talking about when I first saw the show. And secondly, I remember how much of a breakthrough this show was, and I couldn't help but wonder: would Sex and the City still invoke a sexual liberation within me today as it did to women my age in 1998?

The answer was astonishing. I still dislike Carrie, however, this time know why. And I saw some other things that made me realize that progress had actually happened - because some of Michael Patrick Kings advanced, feminist revelations from then are super effing outdated now. And altogether, Sex and the City has some ultimate flaws that might be even more drastic in 2018 than they were then.

Do men really ask for someone's number after seeing an eccentrically dressed woman run through the rain?

Carrie gets a lot of men to ask her for her number - and then they actually call her. Miranda gets a date from meeting someone queuing for coffee. Sorry, no way! I don't know the 90s too well to know if it was really like that. Nowadays experiences are certainly very, very different. I have been asked for my number by a stranger three times in 30 years of this life - and I met a lot of men. A lot. I went out for a living in the first decade of this millennium and the only guy to ever call me was my church friend turned love interest after we had gone from friendship to romance. It was such a milestone that I remember saying to my friends that it was the first time someone had called me. And sure, this is the age of the internet, and Mr. Big didn't have the iPhone but men simply do not take charge and speak, maybe anymore. The existence of a dating app called Bumble, where women HAVE TO make the first step, says it all. Why would it be necessary to have this app if we were still in the 90s where the man calls the woman? Or text because who speaks these days…?

Which brings me to the next biggest flaw: what do some of these men see in Carrie?

Carrie is cool, the writers of the show like to show her as successful but writing a weekly column in a tabloid paper is not success and certainly doesn't pay for her lifestyle, and she doesn't care about much more than shoes. There is no problem with that, everyone can be what they wanna be. But please, Alexandr Petrovsky, the world-renowned artist thinks it's refreshing that Carrie thinks his craft is a waste of time she “just doesn't get”? Why would he? Aidan, the outdoorsy, down-to-earth neighborhood guy likes a woman who is not passionate about his dog or any of his hobbies but a 400 dollar pair of shoes? Then he gets cheated on, in the worst way, and he cannot live without Carrie. I mean, nothing's impossible but at the very least it's a little bit ridiculous. Sure, it could be desperation; but it's more likely Michael Patrick King just chose his plot in the same way he placed products in Sex and the City - The Movie.

Now that we're talking about Aidan, can someone explain his behavior to me?

If a chick cheated on me, she would be a goner. But good for him for reconciling with her despite having absolutely nothing in common with her and being very visibly not loved back. He then wants to share his life with her, builds her a new wall in the apartment, invites her to his countryside abode. And Carrie goes there and does two things: hate on everything he likes about it and invites the guy she cheated with. No self-respecting man would allow that, nevermind really cares about rescuing the relationship. He has a baby as soon as Carrie is gone so he must have had a hunch he wanted a family girl who likes the subs. So why Carrie? It makes very little sense.

And Carrie isn't just a dick to Aidan, she's a golddigger.

The show makes a very poor effort at portraying Carrie as a self-made woman which I would argue is why feminists have a problem with the portrayal. She is a columnist in NYC so like in any other show, her apartment would be completely unaffordable to her in real life. But her taste, yeah her taste, is something else. Manolo Blahniks are not attainable for writers, period. And in one episode we find out Carrie spent 40,000 bucks on shoes but has 200 in her savings account. That's bullshit - and very stupid. But of course, Carrie only hangs out with three super-rich chicks that make anything happen, and when she moves in with Mr. Big it has to be a Park Avenue Penthouse. Her writer boyfriend Jack Berger has to wear Prada. Carrie has no problem having her lifestyle being paid for by her rich boyfriends which, again, is an okay attitude to have. To portray her as a feminist hero, however, just isn't right then. I like the good life, too, yo, but I plan to earn it myself and I would like the chance to do so. Glorifying Carries gold-digging ways does not really send the right message.

Last but not least, why exactly are the four girls friends?

So yeah, Carrie is or should be, poor, the other three are not. The vast differences in wealth have an effect on real-life friends because, when Samantha wants to go to a VIP club, a real Carrie (or Charlotte before the wedding for money) would not be able to afford that. Charlotte is a judgemental conservative, Samantha certainly is not. Maybe Samatha is very tolerant but would anyone like to be friends with people who judge them? Miranda disagrees with almost all they're saying which makes me love her because she isn't a dreamer. Yet, her best friend is Carrie who has a huge poster reading “Love” next to her front door at the age of 40. Friendship, like partnerships, need things that connect people. What connects these girls?

So much for my realistic flaws about Sex and the City. Of course, if we talked about artistic problems, trivializing actual problems, glorifying clothes over human quality, I would have more to say. I would criticize that Carrie goes to work for Vogue, gets harassed by the editor, and the show makes that a funny incident rather than a critique of the existing status quo. Of course, in the post-Weinstein world, that episode would be off the air, thank God. It does show me that we have come some way since 1998 when it was okay for men to treat those four women the way they did sometimes and it being a funny turn in a TV episode. Today, we talk about it. We don't laugh about men dropping their pants at a work meeting, we accept women like Samantha. That was not the case when I watched the show the first time around. I wasn't the same, either, and I don't mean my lack of age, but my lack of different perspective.

Sunday, October 21, 2018

The Problem With The Law Of Attraction

Before the year is over, I know what its central idea will be for me. I've had to learn many lessons but there was one that I embraced more than others: my thoughts make a difference. You won't hear me say it very much outside of this blog but it's been a tough year. It started traumatizing and I felt like my positive attitude towards life was under attack. And as soon as I thought that, more bad things happened. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? It's the basis of the saying "evil travels in twos". It's easy: if you think positively, positive things happen. When you feel the world is coming to get you, it will get you eventually. These simple truths are not new to anyone, yet I found it super, super hard to execute what people simply call the law of attraction. And outside of the reality of keeping a positive mind when things simply are not going well, I have found one thing especially wrong with it: pressure.

When you surround yourself with THIS, love comes naturally!
The law of attraction says that what you think of, you attract. I know this law isn't a lie. I got my last job this way, last week's interview and someone to text me recently. Much bigger than that, the last person who loved me only did so because he met me when my mind was pure, I was exuding love and, therefore, attracted him into my life, cheesily speaking. My best friends were the results of myself making a conscious effort to practice kindness, be good to everyone and really care, so life gave me kind, good people, one of them literally called Jesus as if his personality wasn't enough to make him feel like a blessing. I was receiving signs that things were the results of my thinking in bold letters and I continued with the response to them the law of attraction suggested: gratitude.

With other things, it wasn't that easy. I would say the beginning of the mind change that brought me 2018, all of it, was returning from my trip to New York over NYE where I had been trying to come to terms with what had happened in the summer of 2017. Some bad experiences had not yet caught up with me, but I was waiting for my mind to get the memo and not bury my feelings about these events in a pile of distractions. Because that is exactly what I did. I spent a large amount of time with someone I know now wasn't very good for me and also attracted the opposite of goodness. But of course, when you only spent time with someone because you need distraction, although subconsciously, and that person doesn't really appreciate you and makes you feel more insecure, the law of attraction is already at work; it's giving you more of what you actually didn't want: insecurity, connections completely devoid of a human or kind spirit and continuous burying of feelings.

As a result, I wanted to change the thoughts. According to all the books, it only takes a moment to change the attitude and then, there you go, all your heart's desires are there on a silver platter. With my move to London, all that seemed possible. I was positive, getting responses from jobs, hung out with the people I really love and who love me back and I stopped drinking, went running almost every day and meditated myself to bliss. It was working. It brought me joy and I knew that things would be ok, for the first time in a while. I was starting to feel better after this dreadful year because I had space from the experiences. Meditation and gratitude showed me that deep inside, I am happy although circumstances aren't golden.

Of course, positivity gets a down day. While I was trying to become a kinder person, I realized just how much I cared about some people. And I saw they were not well. My positivity couldn't shake it. It's human, you'd think, but I started to freak out. Within minutes I was anxious, felt helpless and was scared that I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Which, of course, would only bring exactly this into my life, if the law of attraction does work. I worried and so that frequency changed again. I worried more because I felt the pressure that I, myself, was manifesting negative things into my life. The pressure made me more miserable, feeling the urge to change my thinking now and not a minute later. The very thing I believe in making my life better was making me feel bad about when I was just a tad too human to just be positive all the time. So I started to ask myself: why is positivity harder than negativity?

When something bad happens, it's easy to be sad. When good things happen, people tend to take them for granted. I suppose it's natural, having a survival instinct and responding to danger more drastically than safety. This outline for life has made bad times or just a tiny negative thought more complicated though. As soon as negativity creeps up now, I feel I need to contain my brain which I cannot, at least not yet. It seems like I force myself to be positive when I should just give some space to negativity. And then suddenly it hit me: that's exactly what I'm supposed to do. I shall not give negativity room. Yes, it's not just about me and I cannot make people better but I can try to eliminate bad feelings. For everyone. When I think positive, I choose to believe it is powerful. Not just for me. For others, too. Maybe even the world. So yes, bury the negativity. Do not give it space. It doesn't deserve it.

That, however, does take practice. I guess the law of attraction does not just work express.

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

4 Reasons Why Paddington Is The Best Movie Ever!

OMG, so adorable! 
Yesterday, my life changed. After years and years of never wanting to rewatch a movie I saw, I discovered my new favorite movie: Paddington. Or Paddington 2 - I don't even care which one, what a movie. My criteria for movies has always been the same: if it makes me feel like I am jealous of those who were involved in making it, it's really good. Beforehand, I wish I had written A Beautiful Mind, and now I also wish I wrote, directed, produced and stared in Paddington. Literally, the perfect film. It has everything. Let me break it down for you: Here are four reasons why I love Paddington.

Damn, Paddington is so cute!
Paddington is sooo cute, it makes my heart go all happy inside. He looks like a real bear, and I love bears. They even gave him that blue jacket and the hat because he is trying to fit in. What this cuteness achieves is a lot of "Aww"-moments in which I just really want to squeeze him. Loneliness has always made me so sad and I tear up when I think about people being lonely. So that cute, adorable little bear having watery eyes because he is looking for a home or because he thinks the Browns have forgotten about him is too much. It's too much!!! I'm done...

Paddington has such good manners and is always polite
"Paddington is the essence of being English", I once read. I agree: he is a polite little bear, trying his best to make everyone happy. But of course, not everyone is like that. He isn't polite because he's hiding something or because he wants anything in return, he's just a thoroughly nice bear. Other people's fortune makes him smile, not jealous. Christ, he draws happiness from Aunt Lucy getting her 500-pound pop-up book. Who's like that? He's a great example of altruism and should prompt us to actually question our own behavior. What do we do for others? We should all be more like Paddington. Funnily enough, if we were we'd all be happier.

The movie teaches acceptance - of everything
The original author of Paddington wrote the story inspired by children in the Second World War, arriving in the country with only a suitcase and no possessions, merely looking for a place to call home. Sound familiar??? Oh, how times have NOT changed. We live in a world where people use the city depicted in the movie as a haven of hope; they, too, hope that London will open its heart to them and allow them to "fit in". Of course, nobody does - and nobody else is actually a bear. But people are afraid of the unknown, we reject it and we think ill of it. Now if you think about real life examples, those the people in this country have rejected (in, let's say, some sort of referendum) could be a treasure like Paddington. At the end of the movie, nobody rejects Paddington, for good reason. Every other "anormaly" is the same; unique and worth loving. Like, you guessed it, Paddington.

London: a city, a promise
Last but not least, watching this movie right now, two weeks into my own move to London, is a huge factor why I spent all day googling "Paddington 3": it is the perfect depiction of arriving in the greatest city in the world. I have been many places and I never felt the acceptance, diversity, and willingness to be different as much as in London. It has been a dream of mine since I was Paddington's age to call this city home, and my fears about it are similar to those of his. I am promised opportunity, a colorful body of people and wonder at every corner but sometimes, it can appear that the city is too harsh and we sit in our attic rooms feeling we do not "fit". That is nonsense of course; everyone fits in here, even a fucking adorable bear. Damn, I wish he was real. At least I can walk down the road and across Portobello Road in Notting Hill where most of this movie was shot. Thankfully, that part is real, including the weird old shop that is, today, a popular #InstaAttraction. And thankfully, that is now my home.

Fuck, I love Paddington!

Friday, October 12, 2018

Happy Birthday, Papa: What My Father Taught Me About Mental Health


Today, for the 72nd time, it's my fathers birthday. 12 of them, he wasn't alive to celebrate. All the other 59, he wasn't happy enough to celebrate. My father always said he didn't want any presents, he had everything he needed; one of his biggest lies. My father did not close his eyes at 59 to die because he was fulfilled and happy with what he did in his 59 years of life. Quite the contrary: although I was only 17 when he died, I got to know my father as an adult. He was a thoroughly unhappy man, stricken by the mistakes he made early and later in life and he had absolutely no emotional capabilities to ensure these feelings were not going to kill him at a young age. I know all that could have been prevented. It is time the world acknowledges that, too.

This week it was World Mental Health Day and a lot of my friends reached out to an invisible somebody on their news feeds to express support for whatever is going on "inside of them". Companies underlined their support for employees struggling with something. While all these efforts are a great step in the right direction, making people, like my father, hear over and over again that "being strong" should not be the number one priority in life does little in practice. I am not going to talk about stigmas because we will never see anyone consciously admitting that they perceive mental health issues as a proper weakness; talking about it, therefore, does nothing. You cannot change a person's mind, thoughts or attitude on someone else's mind, thoughts and attitude without them acknowledging they have subconscious bias first.

I am not one of these people. I have, in my time on this Earth, met a lot of people struggling with depression and other issues, mostly men. At the same time, I feel that support usually comes from those who have been affected themselves. While I do not consider myself depressed, I do know depression. I watched my father, my mother, numerous friends and loved ones struggle to extents hardly imaginable; some of them lost the fight, culminating their experience in suicide. This all sounds very sad but it really is not sad; it's unnecessary, entirely pointless and unfair. It should not be an issue for someone to speak their mind, keeping up a front and pretending they do not want presents because they have everything they need. Of course, that is a trivial example. But the question remains: Why is it so hard to admit we are not feeling so great?

The answer is: Because of us. The world, all its people, everything is completely different from what a mind can see. People with a mental health issue are, like every other person, only used to their own thoughts and feelings. Their individual brains cannot differentiate between what is their personality, what is their feeling, what will change one day and what won't. If the brain was capable of regulating love, care, appreciation and gratitude, wouldn't we just all be the same, with no feelings? When you put a device in someone's head that can make people happy, that device will inevitably also enable unhappiness. And devices sometimes work in different ways. The problem arises when a specific brand of brain is labeled the Samsung brand, while its owner feels like everyone else has a new Apple-brand brain and only theirs isn't working. But everyone knows, the new Samsung phone can do exactly the same as the iPhone. People still pay double for the iPhone.

This lame analogy is truth though. There is nothing wrong with any brain, it is just a brain. I can't work an iPhone, nevermind my own brain. When my father and I were alive at the same time, I didn't know his brain was different from what he let me see. He was not well, and yet it was harder for him to show that than it was to express his love for us although both emotions have the same origin. Nothing was wrong with him, he just - had a brain. And that brain generated things he did not welcome. Why do we judge one emotion but celebrate the other? It all sounds like nature to me. Without knowing, my father taught me to accept the brain: my own, those of others, "healthy" or "nuts". Feelings are feelings, only concealing them makes them worse because you are not supposed to do that. I will forever be an advocate for people being exactly who they want to be to me, even if they think it is wrong. If my father had done that, we would maybe be celebrating today.