Where Does It Hurt?

This past week we have heard about and seen the news from Ankara and Beirut about terrible terror attacks, so many people died, and it has been devestating to see and read the news, and then find the responsible part's careless claim of responsibility for the attacks. 

Last night, in the middle of "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey", the news came there had been shootings and explosions just outside the entrance to the football stadium, where France played a friedly soccer match against Germany. 

We became aware of the terror attacks, because my husband drove me crazy clicking back and forth from the movie to the soccer match, and suddenly the game was paused, and we were told. Otherwise we would have been happily unaware of the tragedy for a few more hours.

Not long after more news ticked in: Paris was attacked by terrorists, numerous casualties. Then we learned about several attacks. And a sad and horrific scenery was described:



Attack sites:

La Belle Equipe, 92 rue de Charonne, 11th district - at least 19 dead in gun attacks

Le Carillon bar and Le Petit Cambodge restaurant at rue Alibert, 10th district - at least 12 dead in gun attacks

La Casa Nostra restaurant, 92 rue de la Fontaine au Roi, 11th district - at least 5 dead in gun attacks

Stade de France, St Denis, just north of Paris - explosions heard outside venue, three attackers dead

Bataclan concert venue, 50 Boulevard Voltaire, 11th district - stormed by four gunmen, at least 80 dead

What we know

Images of aftermath of shootings

Eyewitness accounts from the scene

'I saw people on the ground and blood'

#Paris: Power, horror, and lies

The 1,500-seat Bataclan concert hall suffered the worst of Friday night's attacks. Gunmen opened fire on a sell-out gig by US rock group Eagles of Death Metal, killing 89 people.

I don't often speak up, protest, demonstrate or in any other way make my voice or vote count. I consider myself a peaceful person. I carry out my right and duty to vote. Not just to cast a vote, but also to support our democracy.

An important part of our democracy is freedom of speech, which I embrace and cherish with my entire being, but which I also see is a huge problem. It is a question of "I absolutely disagree with what you are saying, and how you say it, and the reason why you say it, but I strongly defend your right to say it". Freedom of speech rely on the, at best, questionable logic in people. Their abily and willingness to double check and find the truth. The habit of misunderstanding people correctly and not take everything said as a personal insult.

Freedom of speech gives room to everybody who likes to take advantage of any event to advocate their own cause. Like Mary Hughes Thompson who shortly after the first news tweeted: "I haven't accused Israel of involvement. Still, Bibi is upset about the European settlement boycot. So who knows?"

Frank Bruni wrote about similar cases: The Exploitation of Paris.

It feels like such a violation when they belittle the tragedy, and promote their own cause. They feed on the rage and hatred already raised by evil. It brings about nothing but disheartened frustration.

Nonetheless, I am impressed by people who speak up and bother to argue, discuss, dispute and otherwise make their point of view come across and be heard. Regardless their conviction. Of course I would prefere everybody shared my values and moral, but such is not the world.

There are many people who seem to have strong opinions on causes they feel are unjust. Often I admire the involvement, but fail to see the logic or the knowledge which is put to ground for their point of view. We use whatever means we feel possible for us to make our tool, and to do that, we turn to what is most convenient to us. Only thing is: internet, however common property it is, has a way of going viral.

It has become more of a fashionable thing to do to announce support this way, but I don't think they understand how they continuously stir up strong emotions. Emotions which are not only misplaced, but which also by the blink of an eye turn into hateful attacks. Attacks because people feel stamped on, belittled or tried enticed. More often hostile replies are stated when those who read and react run out of good points yet still feel the urge to have a say.

I was determined not to express my opinion on this week's terror attacks. I was determined to stay coward and let others flog each other with harsh and hurtful words. I managed to keep my thoughts to myself for maybe as long as a couple of days.

I strongly believe that words have a meaning; that they lead to thoughts and actions. The last few weeks have proven my belief truthful. I have the utmost respect for those who write well enough and talk well enough to be confident in presenting their point of view in respectful manners.

It doesn't feel like there is such a thing as justice. Maybe we are incapable of making the world fair. Maybe there is too much evil. Still I have trust in a future coloured with the shiny colour of kindness.
Maybe what is left is to tell the story of those innocent who suffer, and hope true empathy will be awakened.
I am ashamed to admit my feelings are stronger the closer to home tragedy strikes. For that I am sorry. It's not that suffering is less important far away, it is my capasity to take it all in which fails me.

As I write I see the identity of the victims in Paris begin to emerge. I am saddened by the thought of them, their family and the haunting thoughts. The "what ifs" which will be part of their mourning process. I hope they will find it in them to forgive. Hatred eats you up inside, and kills what's in you to love, and it kills the love you have in you to give.

There is hope, though. On social medias now people change their profile pictures into images covered in red, white and blue, to show support and condolances.

Long time ago, I wrote a blog posting I called “How To Speak Up”. I chose to write about a clip I found on youtube, which really and profoundly disturbed me. I still believe most of us have common grounds in values. And I believe we have it in us to be brave and yet not try to be bigger by putting others down.

I live such a comfortable life it is hard to imagine what it is like to live a life permeated with danger and total comprehensive fear. I am not so sure that I would be brave enough to do what I constantly claim I would do: never to let threats and random violence put any restrictions on my everyday life and lifestyle, simply because that would mean the wrong side won.

It's raining outside. Usually I love the rain, but tonight it feels like tears from the sky. It feels like the entire world is cried upon, an immersive hurt has struck.

“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?
it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.”

― Warsan Shire

Hard learner.

I have never been a good student. I work as a teacher, so I know a good student when I come across one, and I know I am not a good student, either, even though i know the importance of doing the best I can. The minute I take on the role of a learner the guide I live and work by: "Be the best version possible of yourself", just vanish into the state of ignore.
I know very well what a bad student is, it's a matter of the pot calling the kettle black.

I praise myself lucky knowing I never have to teach myself.

Thinking about it, there are a lot of things I am not, which I should have been. I should have been an active exerciser, I should have been a woman on diet (the number -25 kilos is screaming in the back of my head now), I should have been a good... okey, a better.. mom, I should have been a better educationist, I should have been one of these women who take great pride and joy in keeping the house clean and tidy, I should have been a better friend.

Instead I limit myself to walk the dog, just far enough to let him pee... and do his other business, I enjoy crisps (and yes, the dip too), wine and scrumptious dinners.
I am a madcap mother, who let my children delay doing their homework so we can finish our game of Settlers.
In the morning I come in for landing at work like an albatross, my mind scanning through the contents on my laptop in search for something academically I can use for the upcoming 8 lessons of vocational English.



The laundry piles up and is washed in bursts, usually when my son comes in, dripping wet from the shower wondering where all his boxers have disappeared? Usually they are to be found in the laundry basket, the dirty still-not-been-attended-to pile of clothes and towels. The kids use an impressive number of towels; some times I suspect them of just rinse the towels under the tap, just to make them appear used and dirty.

I totally trust my bad conscience, so to be reminded of my evasion of folding the clean laundry and put it away, I bank the pile on the easy chair in the living room. I am bound to be constantly reminded of its presence there, every time I enter the room. And it stares accusatory at me while I'm there. It's quite impressive how something just present can dominate the environment. It's very uncomfortable. I spend a lot of time in my home office.

For some reason the easy chairs, which looked huge and very comfortable at the furniture department, shrink. So much so I need to occupy two of them, before I run the gauntlet, face up to the agony and deal with it.

My biggest drive, however, is not to have a perfectly staged house, it is the fear that my aunts will come by. I am not a teenager; I am a 45-year old woman with a profound fear of my mother's apoplectic fits. And I would experience one, on the phone, shortly after their visit.

My friends are giving up on me, there is no point in calling me on my phone. I don't like talking on the phone and avoid it if possible. I actually conveniently set it on mute and put it anywhere unlikely, just to have the excuse I didn't realize they called.
I have heard the accusatory complaints often enough. I know I should have taken it in, at some point, and keep it close always, but I get so stressed out of being available at all times. It's strange and contrary to nature. At least it is to me. But then again I am a quirky person, unlike a lot. Most can't put their phone away at all.

More often than before I end up drinking tea at the kitchen table with friends who ring the doorbell late at night. They have to show up to get to talk to me, because I don't answer the phone. I don't pick up, answer to messages or check my social media accounts as often as they wish... to be honest I go through email and messages around breakfast time... in Australia.

So we sit there, late at night, drinking tea and having the best of friendly time, while I feel the aggressive vibe from the overloaded sink pinch me in my neck.
I comfort myself knowing the dishes will be done, sometime soon.

If I were a dieter, I would probably have been one of those with 20 diet courses, in bookform, meticulously sorted by year and month on the bottom shelves in my bookcase. Courses I had every intention to complete.
I would feel so guilty having dinner I would swallow it down with a full nutrition diet shake, just to write in the foodlog I actually did drink it.

I get things done, in a while. It's just that I am comfortable while procastinating.
After many years of "on time" (which is a lovely expression meaning almost too late), instead of "in good time", I should have learned by now how unpractical it is to always have a deadline of some sort in the near future...

I guess it's hard, not impossible though, to teach an old dog new tricks, but is it getting too late for me to learn?