Wednesday 18 February 2009

Between a pineapple and time

I was peeling a lovely tiny pineapple in the downstairs kitchen of our building and said to my colleague laughing: this pineapple is more skin than pineapple! He said, well, you could peel it differently. You can cut the skin thinner and then the pineapple will get lots of “eyes”, then you can take those eyes out one by one with a knife.

I thought of me taking the little eyes one by one and remembered we used to do that when as children we were served a round slice of pineapple with the borders full of “eyes”. We used to bite them off and eat the rest of the piece. And then he said: but it takes a lot of time and time is more valuable than pineapple… time is money! And then he walked away.

I thought… time is not more valuable than a pineapple! - It depends for whom. The people who spend their days shelling the kernels from the maize cob to sell them per pounds in the open market came to my mind. – For people who have little money to spend in food and a pineapple is a weekend delight, time will not be more important than a pineapple, the pineapple deserves the time spent in saving as much of its pulp as possible.

Then it hit me… “time is money” The sole thought of such an affirmation made me angry. Time is not money… money is paper with some given value. Time is infinite. Time has been here before we did, before money did and will be here after we are gone. Time was here before we realized its existence and will be here when we actually understand its nature (if we ever do). Time is not money, time is time, time is eternity.

Sunday 21 September 2008

Violence Epidemy

It's the second time this week that I come to read and hear that 1 in 3 women are beaten or violated around the world. That's an incredible proportion!! What's it hidden behind this fact? Why so much gender hate? Where are the vestiges of ancient civilizations where women and their feminine attributes were honored because of their capabilities to bring life?

I kept thinking and thinking on this amazing numbers, I could not believe that the range was so vast… I thought that if the number of people suffering this kind of abuses was so large, I should know a lot of cases. So I started thinking on my surroundings. I tried to recall the people I knew from whom I've heard stories of rape and violence (mental and physical violence), and the result was terrifying, 1 of each 4 women I knew had told me about a violent or abusive story.

I was angry at the injustice of this reality and at myself, for not having realized earlier its enormous impact. For thinning that a “group hug” or some words of consolation might mitigate this fact. Angry for not had being conscious of the magnitude.

I suppose this is the first step for change. See it, grave it and change it. My home country as much as other macho-societies needs to bring this to a public and honest dialogue where specially women but also men can share openly this tragic stories and bring light upon this dark of abusive anonymity.

In sharing this stories is where the end of this chain is, because being informed is a step to being conscious. Hearing and sharing the horror of the victims is our contribution to never let their stories repeat again.

Saturday 16 August 2008

De esas Pocas Personas que Admiro

Of all those few people I admire, reads the title.

Con el tiempo he aprendido a perderle el miedo a la opinión publica y a los cyber-copiones, que anteriormente creía, podrían apropiarse de mis escritos y arrebatarme la propiedad intelectual de mis ilusiones y vivencias.

También contribuyó el hecho de que, en un asalto de psicosis, un antiguo conocido se torno en un desconocido desquiciado quien creyó que al eliminar todas mis creaciones virtuales, visuales y semi-literarias, rescataría de alguna intrincada manera un lugar privilegiado en mi corazón, el mismo que desvalido tras la pérdida se refugiaría en el perdón y el amor, hacia quien había demostrado tras tamaña acción, la calidad de su pasión.

Había perdido todo lo que tan cuidadosamente había creado en los últimos 6 años. Creaba para recordarme a mi misma (ya que la memoria nunca me ha sido muy fiel) de mi vida y mi pasado. Toda creación era una metáfora alegórica y bohemia de un hecho verdadero. Así recordaba yo, la situación misma con lujo de detalles y la sensación que esta me había producido. Así me divertía creando al mismo tiempo que le peleaba al olvido, dejando los hechos grabados. Pero el olvido me había a tomado por sorpresa atacando repentinamente por la retaguardia, usando por instrumento la paranoia de un pobre romántico alienado.

Muchos meses después, aun incapaz de recobrar el amor al arte, la sed por el detalle y las ganas de crear (que hasta hoy no recupero en su totalidad), decidí que si alguna vez volvía a crear, debería buscar un lugar más seguro donde guardar mis memorias escritas, pintadas, fotografiadas, ilustradas, filmadas y animadas. Finalmente decidí que el Internet sería un lugar más seguro contra la pérdida y el olvido, aunque esto significase desprenderme de mi total potestad sobre las obras y exponerlas a la critica ajena y hasta al hurto de los que no encuentran sus propios medios para expresarse.

Así empecé, sin mucho entusiasmo ni ganas a publicar lenta y cautelosamente algunos escritos triviales en un blog. Poco a poco, fui venciendo mis prejuicios contra el dominio publico de las creaciones humanas. Me di cuenta que la copia no es mas que la forma mas elevada de halago y que si solo una persona guardaba uno de mis poemas, antes tan celosamente guardados, este estaría más cerca de la inmortalidad y más lejos de la destrucción y del olvido. Entonces cree otro blog y otro más, hasta uno en el que publico sin censura todo lo poco que me quedó en papeles de lo que solía ser mi pasión por la poética.

Y así fue como finalmente empecé a escribir con menos temor a la crítica y más amor a las palabras, sin perfeccionar mis notas, ni dudar por un segundo en nombrar a las personas cuyo arte y cuyas letras admiro, por que al pasar sus links a otros, también bloyo ayudo a inmortalizar estas obras en la memoria de unos cuantos.

Sin embargo, no todas las obras merecen ser inmortalizadas sin antes tomar en cuenta la acción que demanda su esencia. Algunas nos llaman a la acción, y aquí también, la divulgación es prioridad, el arma más potente siempre ha sido la información.

Este es el caso de un blog tan grácil, tan real y tan humano como el de la cubana Yoani Sanchez, quien lucha con puño y letra contra la cobarde veda de información y comunicación que sufre Cuba. Yoani sufre esta discriminación en carne propia, ella no publica directamente sus artículos sino a través de amigos en el exterior, ya que su blog se encuentra vedado en Cuba.

Ella cuenta simples pautas sobre la vida diaria en Cuba, y así sutil pero tenazmente le quita la máscara a la realidad de su país.

http://www.desdecuba.com/generaciony/


Siempre he creído el narrar es vivir. Que la verdadera muerte no es la muerte del cuerpo, sino el olvido, y que si no contamos nuestra historia de grandezas y faltas, corremos el riesgo de que se vuelvan a cometer infamias, y de que el espiral de la vida se convierta en un circulo, del que nunca salimos y que nunca se acaba.

Así pues, aquí esta ella para contarnos los suplicios de la gente común, en un país donde un solo hombre piensa poder controlarlo todo, y que con la intención primera de traer bienestar a muchos, termina por descalabrar la vida de todos. Estas son el tipo de verdades que todos debemos conocer, para concientemente evitar (a toda costa) que alguna vez se repitan.

Friday 1 August 2008

Some Thoughts on Stalking

It's crazy to think that one in 5 women are victims of stalking. It's like saying one in 3 people are obese in America (except that the last ones -in my opinion, have infringed this upon themselves).

From all the different types of stalkers, one particular type caught my attention: t
he Paranoid Stalker. It's said that this one is by far the most dangerous one, because he lives in an inaccessible world of his own invention. He can not be reasoned with and usually thrives on threats, anxiety, and fear, and basically, you cannot communicate with a him (a paranoid) because he is likely to distort everything you say to support his persecutory delusions, sense of entitlement, and grandiose fantasies.

This kind of stalking derives from a former relationship. So most stalkers are ex-partners who developed an obsession during the relationship or shortly after the break up.

A great number of this offenses are never reported to the police when they first occur, since the fresh broken ties of the relationship prevent many women to accuse their ex-former lover, thinking they could appeal to his feelings, but ignoring that you cannot appeal to his emotions he has none, at least not positive ones.

Stalking is a terribly annoying situation to deal with, and certainly the word "victim" puts the offended in a helpless position. However, stalking is a severe crime in most countries, and I can definitely imagine why. It makes no sense that some individual shows up with obsessive tendencies and propensity to paranoid thoughts, and as a wondering decease, watching his environs for the first
unwary person, who will have to pay for the encounter with years of harassment, aggression and vengeance, all for a delusional not-corresponded love illusion.

The paradox is that the abusive and paranoid ex-partner blames it all on his stalking victim. As far as he is concerned, she recklessly and unscrupulously wrecked a wonderful thing they both had going.

I still have to think of a conclusion, the matter is that this fact is something to keep in mind. Not everything can be terrible if the stalker accepts that his behavior is unacceptable. It doesn't happen often, but while many stalkers view their actions within a delusional framework and therefore see no need to get help, a few do actually do approach professionals. I feel these individuals have well ingrained values and through the veil of obsession, recognize that angry and vengeance thoughts affect terribly oneself first and then the others. But these people are the minority of stalkers, those who actually have a sense for beauty, who appreciate (and are grateful for) their lives, who have some respect for themselves, the others, and take responsibility for their lives and their actions.

Unfortunately, the rest of stalkers need others to interfeer and take action, since they on their own, are not able to live and let people live in peace and joy.

Tuesday 22 July 2008

India's Gulabai Gang

In this place where woman have no rights to education and are married to have children before they reach puberty, living with no voice and being victims of abuse, this gang brings hope, support to individual cases and a very touching/inspiring story. Women together for their rights and a better future.


Tuesday 15 July 2008

Monday 7 July 2008

For those who search dispearely for the activity of others to interfer and difame

Something interesting to digest, which might increase your emotional intelligence:

"The great source of both the misery and disorders of human life, seems to arise from over-rating the difference between one permanent situation and another... some of these situations may, no doubt, deserve to be preferred to others, but none of them can deserve to be pursued with that passionate ardour which drives us to violate the rules either of prudence or of justice, or to corrupt the future tranquility of our minds, either by shame from the remembrance of our own folly, or by remorse from the horror of our own injustice."

Adam Smith
"Turgid Truth"
Theory of Moral Sentiments, 1759