Not all people are nice.
We were all born good and innocent, I agree with that. Still, some of us grow up to be complete assholes. There's no need to pretend otherwise.
So, no, I don't like everyone, simply because they exist. I respect all human beings and give everyone a chance, or at least I try really hard to. But when I see a traitor, a pathological liar or a hypocrite, I don't pretend to look at Gandhi.
I like very few people. Those who consistently demonstrate that they live by the values I observe as well.
Being excluded by some groups comes as a compliment. They confirm I have not forgotten what is important in life.
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Compassion is so rare
In the time when needing is shameful and anything but perfect is a turnoff,
compassion as an essential interpersonal skill has become dramatically
neglected. Socially desirable interactions revolve exclusively around the
positive, no matter what people want, think or feel. How are you is a
formality and any other answer than fine makes the interlocutor uncomfortable.
And we cannot afford putting others in a weird spot in this pleasure dominated
age, so we hide or split into two Selves, the popular one and the other.
We meet, we talk, but we say nothing.
We spend tremendous amounts of time in the same schools, neighborhoods and workplaces, yet we know nothing about each other.
In a place with seven billion of us, it’s never been so hard to really talk to someone.
We meet, we talk, but we say nothing.
We spend tremendous amounts of time in the same schools, neighborhoods and workplaces, yet we know nothing about each other.
In a place with seven billion of us, it’s never been so hard to really talk to someone.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Less flower, more power
On Friday I rushed to Vama Veche hungry for sunshine, good music and a horizon line uninterrupted by buildings. I had been fantasizing all week about chocolate pancakes (bye bye diet, so long calories count), swimming, drinking beer on the beach, laying on the sand at night and gazing for hours at the star-soaked sky. I was prepared for that, but nothing had announced the lessons of courage and tolerance I came back home with.
For all you non-Romanian readers, Vama Veche is an iconic summer destination on the Romanian seaside, supposedly the summer capital of all hippies, rockers, unfulfilled artists of all kinds and any other sensitive, creative souls that resiliently distance themselves - some more than others - from the modern society and all its obvious flaws. It should be noted that while this was true for a few years in the 90s, more recently the village has been taken over by the heartless, improvised business men who charge Bucharest prices in the their cotton colorful disguises. In any case, Vama Veche remains one of the few local seaside options for people young at heart, or body (if you know the other resorts available, you understand).
But I digress, this is not a touristic review.
Vama Veche hosted this weekend a folk festival creatively named…. hooold for it… Folk You! So a lot of folk (you’d figure) and rock bands were invited to participate. In an interesting experiment, artists from completely different genres were also asked to contribute, probably in an attempt to point out that values, authenticity and passion are way higher than any hair style or instrument. An experiment or demonstration, as you wish, that failed terribly on Saturday evening.
Puya is a hip-hop artist that gradually made a name for himself in a place and at a time where speaking in rhymes about political and social issues was (is?) completely unsexy. His background in a well-known but controversial rap group apparently made him very unpopular with crowds like the one in Vama Veche. The hostility this particular audience felt became quickly apparent when Puya took the stage this weekend. Boos and swear words were pouring. A compact group of long-haired, pierced, tattooed, shirtless men were standing frozen in front of the stage, with their hands raised. As I approached them, I realized they were all giving Puya the middle finger. The rapper continued his show; the public got angrier, the shouting got louder. Puya and his crew became open targets for plastic bottles thrown forcefully at them. Puya continued unfazed, and kept dropping verses while making feints to avoid projectiles. He noticed, at a certain point, that the public in Vama Veche is more about the power than the flower, and I could not help but laugh despite the tragic circumstances.
For the first time in my life, I was scared to applaud an artist, but this weekend in Vama Veche I cheered for Puya looking over my shoulder. I cried looking at the screaming men and women who did not take five minutes to listen before attacking. Puya eventually interrupted the show and left the stage, the only wise thing to do in that situation. I tried to go backstage and tell him he did the most inspirational show I had seen in a long time, but no one was allowed there. So I’m telling him here, now.
I was impressed with the courage to stand in front of thousands of furious, irrational, drunk people and risk your safety to make a point. Not any point, but a valuable one.
I admired the inner strength and deep confidence in his work one must have to take so much rejection, yet continue to perform.
I applauded the professionalism of not missing a single beat, not one word in those awful circumstances.
As of Saturday night, I am a fan.
So Puya left and several hours later Vama Veche returned to being the iconic summer residence of flower-power devotees, you know, those peaceful, tolerant people who would rather make love instead of war. Still, somehow, I could not wait to get back home.
For all you non-Romanian readers, Vama Veche is an iconic summer destination on the Romanian seaside, supposedly the summer capital of all hippies, rockers, unfulfilled artists of all kinds and any other sensitive, creative souls that resiliently distance themselves - some more than others - from the modern society and all its obvious flaws. It should be noted that while this was true for a few years in the 90s, more recently the village has been taken over by the heartless, improvised business men who charge Bucharest prices in the their cotton colorful disguises. In any case, Vama Veche remains one of the few local seaside options for people young at heart, or body (if you know the other resorts available, you understand).
But I digress, this is not a touristic review.
Vama Veche hosted this weekend a folk festival creatively named…. hooold for it… Folk You! So a lot of folk (you’d figure) and rock bands were invited to participate. In an interesting experiment, artists from completely different genres were also asked to contribute, probably in an attempt to point out that values, authenticity and passion are way higher than any hair style or instrument. An experiment or demonstration, as you wish, that failed terribly on Saturday evening.
Puya is a hip-hop artist that gradually made a name for himself in a place and at a time where speaking in rhymes about political and social issues was (is?) completely unsexy. His background in a well-known but controversial rap group apparently made him very unpopular with crowds like the one in Vama Veche. The hostility this particular audience felt became quickly apparent when Puya took the stage this weekend. Boos and swear words were pouring. A compact group of long-haired, pierced, tattooed, shirtless men were standing frozen in front of the stage, with their hands raised. As I approached them, I realized they were all giving Puya the middle finger. The rapper continued his show; the public got angrier, the shouting got louder. Puya and his crew became open targets for plastic bottles thrown forcefully at them. Puya continued unfazed, and kept dropping verses while making feints to avoid projectiles. He noticed, at a certain point, that the public in Vama Veche is more about the power than the flower, and I could not help but laugh despite the tragic circumstances.
For the first time in my life, I was scared to applaud an artist, but this weekend in Vama Veche I cheered for Puya looking over my shoulder. I cried looking at the screaming men and women who did not take five minutes to listen before attacking. Puya eventually interrupted the show and left the stage, the only wise thing to do in that situation. I tried to go backstage and tell him he did the most inspirational show I had seen in a long time, but no one was allowed there. So I’m telling him here, now.
I was impressed with the courage to stand in front of thousands of furious, irrational, drunk people and risk your safety to make a point. Not any point, but a valuable one.
I admired the inner strength and deep confidence in his work one must have to take so much rejection, yet continue to perform.
I applauded the professionalism of not missing a single beat, not one word in those awful circumstances.
As of Saturday night, I am a fan.
So Puya left and several hours later Vama Veche returned to being the iconic summer residence of flower-power devotees, you know, those peaceful, tolerant people who would rather make love instead of war. Still, somehow, I could not wait to get back home.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Who am I and why this blog
Hi there. Welcome!
My name is irrelevant here. I am a regular 30-something years old woman living in Bucharest, Romania. I am sitting comfortably in my living-room couch, snacking on almonds, drinking lemonade and admiring the sunny, windy day outside. I feel great. Today, more than usual, I have a clear sense of being blessed.
I am indeed blessed for being alive and healthy; for being born in a place and at a time when I am able to speak freely, earn myself a decent living, use birth control or practice religion. When I think about it, it’s just insane how good I got it. There are millions of other people for whom fresh water represents their wildest dream.
Life is a wonderful gift we should, and could, enjoy intensely every day. I know that. But, and I ashamedly admit it, that is not how I feel most of the days. By 10 a.m. I am usually disappointed, hurt and angry, by 5 p.m. I am grumpy and tired. I feel too often overwhelmed by the aggressiveness, lies, negligence, pettiness, injustice, superficiality, narrow-mindedness and cowardice of my fellows.
I am told to get over it. Grow up. Understand. Fit in. Adapt.
I tried to, I honestly did. I lost precious years fighting myself, trying to accept what I felt was just wrong. I looked the other way, but I became sad. I said the ‘right’ things, but I started experiencing anxiety attacks.
Of course I was. That s&*t is toxic.
It seems that most people have gotten used to the ugliness of this world (our own ugliness, make no mistake about it) and take it as a natural fact. And that, to me, is absurd and damaging. Things don’t have to be this way. We can live better. It is my firm belief that if we just stopped living on auto-pilot and began (re)opening our eyes on all the absurdity and wrongfulness happening around us every day, we could go back to living healthier, happier lives. If we spoke the truth more often, our lives would be simpler and more fulfilling. If we replaced these ridiculous, media-inflated role models and started paying more attention to regular people accomplishing amazing things in the most difficult circumstances, we could achieve more meaningful things and reclaim our congenital state of well-being.
It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would get better.
So help me out. Read this blog and share it with all your friends. Comment. Let’s bring together all those people who ponder on similar thoughts. I, for one, need to speak out. If you want to contribute and share your own stories with me and the world, get in contact with me at thebreakthroughepisodes[at]gmail[dot]com. Let’s support each other throughout this beautiful, surprising and sometimes excruciating road that life is.
My name is irrelevant here. I am a regular 30-something years old woman living in Bucharest, Romania. I am sitting comfortably in my living-room couch, snacking on almonds, drinking lemonade and admiring the sunny, windy day outside. I feel great. Today, more than usual, I have a clear sense of being blessed.
I am indeed blessed for being alive and healthy; for being born in a place and at a time when I am able to speak freely, earn myself a decent living, use birth control or practice religion. When I think about it, it’s just insane how good I got it. There are millions of other people for whom fresh water represents their wildest dream.
Life is a wonderful gift we should, and could, enjoy intensely every day. I know that. But, and I ashamedly admit it, that is not how I feel most of the days. By 10 a.m. I am usually disappointed, hurt and angry, by 5 p.m. I am grumpy and tired. I feel too often overwhelmed by the aggressiveness, lies, negligence, pettiness, injustice, superficiality, narrow-mindedness and cowardice of my fellows.
I am told to get over it. Grow up. Understand. Fit in. Adapt.
I tried to, I honestly did. I lost precious years fighting myself, trying to accept what I felt was just wrong. I looked the other way, but I became sad. I said the ‘right’ things, but I started experiencing anxiety attacks.
Of course I was. That s&*t is toxic.
It seems that most people have gotten used to the ugliness of this world (our own ugliness, make no mistake about it) and take it as a natural fact. And that, to me, is absurd and damaging. Things don’t have to be this way. We can live better. It is my firm belief that if we just stopped living on auto-pilot and began (re)opening our eyes on all the absurdity and wrongfulness happening around us every day, we could go back to living healthier, happier lives. If we spoke the truth more often, our lives would be simpler and more fulfilling. If we replaced these ridiculous, media-inflated role models and started paying more attention to regular people accomplishing amazing things in the most difficult circumstances, we could achieve more meaningful things and reclaim our congenital state of well-being.
It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would get better.
So help me out. Read this blog and share it with all your friends. Comment. Let’s bring together all those people who ponder on similar thoughts. I, for one, need to speak out. If you want to contribute and share your own stories with me and the world, get in contact with me at thebreakthroughepisodes[at]gmail[dot]com. Let’s support each other throughout this beautiful, surprising and sometimes excruciating road that life is.
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