Already gone.

2013.

Taking stock of past events is a favourite pastime around New Years Eve, probably since the concept was invented. It seems almost like a rite of passage into the new year. We like to think about what went well, but mosly we like to look back on things we'd like to change. And then we make resolutions and we toast ourselves at midnight, quietly promising that things will be different after the turn of the clock. Like that second is magical. It'll change even us... Or so we hope.

2013 was definitely a weird year. I've had my fair share of disappointments and oddly enough, I'm ending it on a completely different note than how I started. Proof that the supersition about ending a year the same way you started it is nothing more than hot air. Last year I counted down the seconds in a happy drug-fuelled haze and this year... Well, let's just say that neither happy, nor drug-fuelled will happen. It's more contemplative than anything else.

I finally got over the fear of writing for publications and managed to publish for my school newspaper. Nothing big, definitely not major, but a step forward for my personal development. Hooray. I'm still nowhere near where I want to be, but they say something about every journey beginning with a small step. So I think I'm on the right path.

Attacked by a small bout of depression when the cold season hit, I realised that my rose-colored glasses were just an illusion. I've spent almost an entire year hoping that the happy tint will rub off the glasses and splash into life. And then I crashed and finally saw that that's something that belongs in magic shows. Life is more of a cautionary tale than it is a fairy tale, and towards the end of 2013, I'm learning to deal with that. Key word: still ongoing. Love is not a universal cure for anything; love is a modern invention for people to fool themselves into believing that any other person could ever give a damn about someone else. There's practical and then there's insane. And love falls completely under the second category.

Another year, gone. Life always hands us the same things until we learn. I'm still a fool. I'm still trying to convince myself that life is more than just 'getting on with it'. But I haven't learnt this year either. Maybe next year.

Dream a little dream.

She came into my life when she didn't want to. She came into my life when I didn't want her, but needed her nonetheless, even without knowing it. She stole my heart, this pathetic life-giving organ I'd put a padlock on and decided it was forever out of business. Forever wasn't long enough. She breaks it, swirls it, makes me choke on it. I'm scared my poor little heart won't take it. I'm scared every day. I'm scared of losing her, of keeping her and of everything in between. I'm terrified of this being the right thing, the IT people spend lives and fortunes to find, but which itself elusive to most. I'm horrified to wonder what if she is the one for me, but eventually she'll outgrow me and leave me behind.

And then, she smiles. She doesn't say much, but when she does, my fears melt away. Her person surrounds me with joy. Painful jolts of consciouness, letting me know I'm alive. I can't even remember the last time I was paranoid about something. I also don't recollect ever feeling so sure and unsure at the same time. Like in any given moment, I'm required to take a leap of faith, but that there is an invisible cord making sure I'll land safely.

Who knows. She's fast asleep in bed. Her breathing is regular and calm, her expression peaceful, the corners of her mouth slightly turned upwards, in a weak smile.

I hope she dreams of me.

Wanderlust.

May. Saturday morning. I’m sitting here reading a travelling blog whilst trying to ignore my daily to-do list. The woman on the front cover is a typically 20-something American, who just happened to leave her home in order to ‘slowly and thoroughly’ (her words, not mine) explore the world. I go down the page and it slowly dawns on me that her life seems quite appealing. To just leave everything behind and make your way through the world, as days go by… It definitely has a magical air to it. Maybe just today, cause I have job applications to get back to and list of newspaper contacts to pursue.

But still. I often think that it shouldn’t be this hard. Putting everything behind and just embracing other cultures and countries, not having to worry about what will happen when (and if) you finally decide to return home. Such is life, though. Instead, we must travel on holidays and in between, we must make sure that our resumes are consistent enough, our haircuts are conventional enough, our lives are bland enough. I still believe it shouldn’t be this hard. And then I stop to think about why I’m paralysed in the human circle that is ‘normal’.

Sometimes I think it’s the lack of courage. I certainly am not brave enough to face the world while not knowing what’s going to happen next week. Despite it having a Jack Kerouac sense to it, which is entirely tempting and even possible at times. Or maybe it’s the bundle of responsibilities that comes with moving away from home and having to fend for one’s self. As much as I want to hit the first airport that I happen to see, I keep thinking that I still need to finish school, get a ‘proper’ job (what is that, even) and generally, just figure out what life is; what my life is. And then I catch a glimpse of her, and she’s doing something mundane like reply work emails or talking to her parents, and I understand that among all the other things, she’s also keeping me here. Not consciously, because if I wanted to leave she’d be the first one to wish me a safe flight. And then she’d get lost in the midst of memories that I’d eventually accumulate. That is definitely not something I want. Ideally, I’d drag her with me, so we can both experience the world and get to know ourselves and each other in the process. Even more than we’re doing it now, living together. They say travelling with another person is a sure way to know if a relationship is for real. Among many other things.

But then, if I press the matter even further, I get to the bottom of the problem. The only thing stopping me is me. I want to travel the world, but I also want to make sure I get to do something with my life. That when I reach my old age, I won’t be sitting in a chair, wishing I had stayed put and built a future, instead of waiting for it to happen. So in the end, it turns out that my own worst enemy is just my very ‘normal’ desire to belong in a society that ever so often shuns me out and calls me abnormal. Mindgames.

In the meantime, I’ll keep reading other people’s travel blogs, occasionally feeling a tinge of jealousy, but knowing that ultimately, I’m only doing what I really want to do. Off to my applications I go.

On reading between the lines.

They say reading between the lines is vital. One can always learn more from what is not being told, rather than spoken words. Perhaps it's true, or maybe it's just a ploy to cause the overuse of one's brain, thus giving people an occupation. It's a fine art, knowing when you're 'reading between the lines' and when you're just overthinking every word, every gesture, every pause.

I've always been gifted in this department. It has always been extremely easy for me to read people. Interpreting body language and anticipating certain moves or reactions have been a part of me for as long as I can remember. It was never particularly interesting for me, I just seemed to be good at it. So good, that now I can even guess what strangers will do, if I have a few crucial details. People I've never met, seen only through the eyes of my close friends, they all become predictable.

I thought it was a good thing. For years, I told myself that knowing people like the back of my hand can't ever be a bad thing. But here's the thing that no one told me. With people's predictability also comes the inability to be surprised. I walk around knowing more or less what people are going to say or do and that takes away some of the fun of finding out things as I go along. I can't even remember the last time I've been surprised or shocked about something. And as much as I want to say that it's for the better, it really isn't.

For being able to predict something, particularly something disappointing, doesn't actually take away the feeling. Being exceptionally good at reading between the lines doesn't take away the pain of being abandoned by friends. Or the knowledge that people you love don't exactly feel the same, although they do care about you a lot. Not even the few moments of happiness when you wake up and she cuddles you in the same way as she always does. Knowing how to read people helps with expectations. Because when people end up doing exactly as predicted, you find out whether or not the expectation was really there.

Sometimes, it's best if it's not. Other times, expectations are good. If you get hurt, at least you had a clue. Even though it doesn't hurt any less simply because you 'read it between the lines'. The anguish is still there.

A Marrakesh dream.

On a cold Friday morning, after spending a few hours in an impersonal London airport, we finally boarded a short three hour flight to North Africa. Visiting Morocco has always been a dream of mine, ever since I was able to read a world map. But then, what place isn't...? The excitement had been bubbling for weeks and whilst on the plane, it finally spilt and spawned in expectations of what we would find on another continent.

North Africa is highly different from any other continent I've been on. Marrakesh is the liveliest place I've ever seen and not always in a good way. From the airport, we made our way to the little riad that would host us for the weekend, in hopes to find a home away from home. Which, to an extent, it was. While it didn't have any of the comfort we have at home, it was magical. The winding, dusty, always unpredictable alleyways kept us company as we explored the maze that can only be Marrakesh. The lounge upstairs showed us views of sunsets poets only speak of. The colours, the atmosphere, the life infused into everything as the evening falls... That can only be witnessed in a country so socially repressed as Morocco.

I spent quite a while fighting it all. I'm not so easy going when it comes to holidays, so it took me some time to adjust to being so far out of my comfort zone. So far that it was scary. But I like to think I did it, with her help, of course. I let her guide me through it all and we ended up having a good time, despite the few annoyances we had to deal with.

The old town, the Medina, is an authentic bazaar. You can find anything and everything in these souks, regardless of what you might or might not be looking for. Somehow, things have a way of finding you. The panoramic cafes gave us a chance to see how Moroccans get ready for the entertainment of the night: the food stalls, the people playing different instruments, the ladies offering henna tattooes, the vendors bargaining for every dirham. It is more than just the entertainment of the evening, it's a lifestyle. Even with a stubborn attitude such as mine, resisting anything unfamiliar, I couldn't help but be completely amazed and mesmerized.

It is a poor country by any of the First World's standards. But it has something that we have lost long time ago: pure, authentic liveliness. Seems as though people there live, rather than just exist in an environment. They're not confined by any Western rules, nor the technology we so desperately seek. Far from Marrakesh being uncivilised, though. Yes, men are rather rude and women are often invisible. Yes, the level of cleanliness was far from ideal. But the knowledge that we were walking around in North Africa, exploring a Muslim country, observing and taking in all it had to offer, all that goes beyond any modern rules.

We came back after three short days. But we'd seen Marrakesh, who was simply magical, albeit hard to convince me in the beginning. We saw Ouarzazate, the door to Sahara and it was intriguing to see how people lived there, in an 11th century city, which they have to build and rebuild every year, with new soil. The devotion they have to their religion, their culture and the passion for people is something the Western World has long forgotten. For the better or worse.

P.S. Must remember to take ear plugs next time. The prayer call at 5am is still ringing in my ears! I think that's my only real complaint.

Regulating free press - friend or foe?

Everyone has heard of the Leveson inquiry. Everyone who has any inkling in finding out about the world, that is. Lord Justice Leveson was given an important task in the matter of whether or not the press needs an independent body to slice and dice. The inquiry followed the demise of News of the World, after their royal editor and a private investigator were convincted of illegal interception of phone messages. It seemed to transpire that the media was going rogue in attempts to sell.

Free press. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that "everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference, and impart information and ideas through any media regardless of frontiers". This concept is also covered by the same laws as freedom of speech, which gives equal rights to published and spoken opinion. It's probably worth noting that not all states are considered to have freedom of press, as it is a democratic concept not widly popular in totalitatian states such as China or Nepal. That, of course, leads to the concept of censorship, seeing as you can't have one without the other. The democratic ideology of freedom of speech dates back from the Ancient Athens, but it has its limitations, even in the 21st century.

In the case of the result of the Leveson inquiry, introducing an independent royal regulatory body in a country that has valued freedom of speech since the 17th century would probably end in disaster. Sure, the idea behind this is a respectable unbiased organisation, supposedly there to protect people's basic rights to privacy and freedom of speech. But seeing as it has been agreed among the country's main political parties, that is sufficient proof to understand how biased this ideal body would be. Like in any other country, independent of the regime, politics is a source of power and that means that people at the helm of this country can, and will, influence just about everything. It doesn't matter how much they try to convince us their objectives are the welfare of the system, ultimately all is reduced to a battle for power. And that's exactly what politics is. Every politician wants to leave something behind. But in order for them to achieve anything, they need power.

The regulatory body in charge of watching over the freedom of the press will end up in censorship. By applying the simplest of definitions of freedom of speech and censorship, any regulation of the now free press is censorship. Once newspapers and magazines sign on to this, there is no say to what they will or will not be allowed to publish in the future. And what about the Internet? How does the Leveson inquiry apply to a medium designed especially for the freedom of the media? I am in no way arguing that invading people's privacy in order to make the news is excusable. But it seems ridiculous to cripple the very basic definition of 'media' in order to make politics.

Alternative Media.

As I've studied just recently, alternative media is the kind of media that isn't commercially appealing. It isn't the same as radical media, although radical media can be considered alternative (as it doesn't fit into any mainstream area). Alternative media can be different in content, structure, economics and participants, as most well known studies have shown. But this isn't about the media in itself. As I was reading about the principle debate on mainstream and alternative media, it got me thinking about the social rules and order.

Heterosexual relationships are considered, if we apply this notion, to be mainstream. The society acknowledges and facilitates such relationships, because this is what we've come to know as 'normal' and 'expected'. We're brought into this world, we grow up and eventually old, and society expects us to go to school, get married, pop out a baby or five, then grow old with your more-or-less ideal mate. So. Let's take the four different elements that differentiate mainstream from alternative.

1. Participants.
One woman, one man.
2. Structure:
Heterosexual relationship.
3. Economics:
Usually, following the old-fashioned hierarchical pattern, where she earns less than him (if any), mostly in order to not wound the male ego.
3. Content:
Hopefully, those teeny-tiny babies I mentioned in the above paragraph. Maybe a holiday house somewhere mediocre at best. One joint account, holding savings for rainy days. A two-car garage, accompanied by your regular 3 bedroom house somewhere in the suburbs. And mostly nothing to talk about other than finances and brand diapers/cereal. He watches the game, while she sets up the dinner table.

That's socially acceptable. That's what mainstream is and while being utterly wrong, the media actually perpetuates that. Moving on.

Same-sex relationships. Ah, the alternative that this represents. Considered by many the devil incarnate, for it (apparently) breaks marriages and forces children to grow up abused and emotionally scarred. May I be the first one to point out that people in same-sex relationships were also brought up with the same societal rules? But just like alternative (not radical!) media, they may have taken a different path.

1. Participants:
Two people of the same gender. (i.e. two women, or two men)
2. Structure:
Same-sex relationship.
3. Economics:
You'd be surprised. Many people in same sex relationships also feel threatened by their spouse earning more, but we're just not inclined to make such a big deal out of it.
4. Content:
Again, what a surprise. With a slight variation, they too want the same boring things. A house of their liking, a car, some money saved for retirement and maybe even a toddler or two. Coming from a socially oppressed medium though, they will probably have more to talk about. Should they choose to do so.

The coverage in the media has made it quite clear that although same-sex marriage will be legalised (mostly likely), it would never mean the same thing as whatever it means now. I say 'whatever' because I'm fairly sure most people have lost the perspective on this issue and are just following the trend. Some say it's bad? Mainstream it as bad. Some claim it as a good thing? Hooray with the marriage (same-sex) bill.

There is a huge but in this whole thing, though. Most alternative media started out as outlandish and unheard of, but then got picked up by the mainstreamers and turned into something usual, common. Unless you think same-sex relationships are radical (which would mean they aim to change social order), that's exactly what's going to happen to this alternative idea. And then you have to wonder. What are you fighting for or against?

The art of editing.

I recently took part in a creative writing workshop, as part of my mandatory curriculum at a London University. Although I write fiction since I was nine years old, I rarely thought about taking a serious course on it, as it is my personal opinion that one cannot teach writing. You can write, or you simply can't. And thus, I started this workshop a little skeptical, curious to know whether I was right or not. After all, we may all possess imagination, but the skill to put thoughts into words is not as easily acquirable.

I realised soon that rather than being a medium where people learnt how to write, it was more of an editing and self-editing process, all whilst being observed and judged by fellow peers. I say peers, but I often felt like I was sitting in a room with people who had never tried putting pen to paper. Albeit, it must not have been true, as we'd all picked out this particular course and it does involves reading and writing. Not to make myself seem Mary Sue-ish, but I consider years and years of writing proper experience for such an environment. Or at least a starting point.

My story for this project was in no way innovative or outlandish. It merely recounts the events in my character's life, allowing for some development and emotional impact. My editing process involved quite a lot, as I'm not very keen to hear criticism, but I knew I had to learn how to accept it and incorporate it in my writing mechanism. There is no journalist without critique, for sure. In the end, my story got edited for the better, although my characters ended up the very same way I envisioned them at first. However, it was the process I went through along with my characters that caught my attention and has me writing this entry.

I sat in a room with the same twelve people, for several weeks. I watched them come up with ridiculous ideas for stories, stuff with no substance or plots that needed serious work. Furthermore, some of the stories remained as non-lucrative as they'd originally been thought out, but that's beside the point. As we all sat there, Tuesday after Tuesday, criticising each other's work with no knowledge whatsoever of what it means to edit someone's work, I realised it's exactly what we do in life.

We meet someone and we instantly put them in a box, stereotyping them. It's the natural course of life, I suppose. It's what we did in my workshop. My story was about a lesbian couple whose love story ends on a rather painful note, due to traditions and foreign laws. It's meant to make people think that we can't stereotype simply because we don't understand. It got me labelled as the lesbian feminist who thinks it's wrong for women to fight against traditions, and also as a weird Eastern European because I chose to represent a legal process that most people never encounter. Not to mention I got told it's so much easier to write from a gay perspective. It really isn't.

It's odd. Sitting in a room with people you've never met before, listening to their critical remarks and realising they're not actually talking about your story, but you. Writing is personal, we all know this. But it doesn't have to be all we writers are. There is more to the writer than the writing in itself, and it would be nice if people remembered that before putting you in a box. They may confine you there forever.

No parade for lost souls.

People have as much power as you give them. I may have given certain people too much of me and thus, I find myself stuck in a bit of a rut. Socially retarded, I said to her today. She's just as great as ever, of course, even when I'm annoying and act like a spoiled brat. She's always great.

I'm not that great. I know I have to let go of the past to make the most out of the amazing present I'm currently living, and ultimately to make a better future. What is it that they say....? The best way to predict the future is to create it. I hope they're right, because I've always been idealistic like that. Perhaps thinking I can create something so existentially big is a foolish thing. Let the dreamers dream, I say.

It's been over half a year. Round the same time that I found myself in the most rewarding and challenging relationship, I also learnt the hard way that people are fickle sheep. They all claim to know what's right and wrong, but when it comes to actually listening to the facts, many discovered they had a deaf ear. It doesn't even matter if it was the right or wrong ear. I didn't expect that. Is it why I'm still stuck over what happened?

I swore I'd get over it and I have. You don't matter to me at all anymore. I don't feel the need to stick your face in a wall when I see you. I don't avoid places we used to go together, simply because you don't count at all. I've pushed myself forward and I now have a meaning, a purpose in life, a direction. All along, you were holding me back.
...No. I let you hold me back.

Am I sorry? Not exactly. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be here today. And while I feel stuck and without a way out, I wouldn't change it for the world. I bet it sucks to know I found the happiness of my life because you decided to turn everyone against me. Which, you have. It doesn't matter. What matters is she makes me happier than I've ever been. She gives a different meaning to every day. She challenges me, she changes me, she makes me see who I want to be. And who I want to be with.

I have given you too much power. But I'm taking it back now. Some live to have fun. Others live to make something out of this life. I'd like to think that, as much as I love to have fun, my desire to leave something behind is a lot bigger than the need to drink.

I think the trick is... Find someone that makes you feel complete without defining you as a person. Afterwards, pieces of life's puzzle seem to fall in the right places, somehow. I've yet to fully understand how. I don't think I want to know. Not everything has an explanation. Just like not everyone has a bright future, some people are meant to be average while others are destined for greatness.

Disclaimer: Yes, this is aimed at someone in particular. It's also a life lesson in itself. An experience that redefined my ideas about people and society. One that opened my eyes a little bit more.
This is also the last time I plan to think or mention this said event. I'm locking it on this page, for all eternity. Or for all of blogspot's eternity, at least. Farewell. Tomorrow is a new day.