Most people who know me, know I want to go to India more than anything in this world. I have wanted to go to India for as long as I can remember, even when I thought India was occupied by Native Americans. Children are so stupid.... Yes, I also wanted terribly to go to Australia, but that was because of the animals they have there. India was another story. I have no idea why I wanted to go there when I was 5 or 8 or 15 or now. I just NEED to visit that portion of Asia. Visiting Nepal and Thailand are also on the list, but they are not quite as high on the "To Do" list.
One thing most people don't know about India (actually, I don't think most people actually know much about India), is that it has quite positive relations with Israel. There are very few countries that can say that! I think it's quite fantastic. Part of this may be because Indians have a shared disdain for Muslim countries. More specifically, both countries are sick of Muslim-related terrorism. Both have fought off terrorism most of their existence, and continue to hold certain... opinions on the Muslim faith. More so, some of its most devout followers.Not they I personally have any qualms with Muslims, but I can see why some folks in India or Israel may have their concerns. Basically, I'm just saying it's a commonality between the two countries, and this makes them allies.
That is not all that bonds the two countries, though. The two countries also have an extensive economic, military, and strategic relationship. The two countries connect through military equipment and partnership. This means, these two countries actually train together. The U.S. trains with Israel, as well, but Israelis are *not* impressed with the American soldiers and their equipment. From what I've seen and been told, I don't blame them. Apparently, however, Mahatma Ghandi wasn't completely onboard with the creation of Israel. This was because he did not like the idea of a country being created based on a religion. Considering that most of the countries in the world are Catholic or Muslim, I hope it occurred to him that this was a silly concern. Although, I can't disagree with his point. Most other following leaders and influential people of India were totally into the Israel scene. They celebrated it, even.
India recognized Israel as a nation in 1950, so they were kind of ahead of the game. As a matter of fact, in 1954, Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru said he would not "be a party to a resolution which stated that the creation of Israel was a violation of international law". He also wrote a letter to Frances Gunther expressing his support for the general Jewish behaviour in Palestine. How 'bout them apples?
India has been very kind to Israel, and visa versa. They make a good team. As a matter of fact, according to various tourist websites, about 40,000 Israelis visit India each year. Considering their low population, that's a pretty good number! There was also a Jewish-Hindu interfaith leadership summit in New Delhi in 2007. The chief Rabbi of Israel and Swami Dayanand Saraswati attended. What they had to say was that, "[t]he Jewish and Hindu communities are committed to the ancient traditions of Judaism and Hindu dharma respectively, and have both, in their own ways, gone through the painful experiences of persecution, oppression and destruction."[ Mertzger quoted:"For thousands of years we have marched on parallel causes and have now built bridges of cooperation between the two religions. Jews have lived in India for over 2000 years and have never been discriminated against. This is something unparalleled in human history".
At this point, India is pushing more and more for Israel, particularly as they view the Muslim community in a different light. Ties between Jerusalem and Delhi are only getting closer and more positive, and therefore, India is actually considering changing its pro-Palestinian stance at the UN, as you can read further into at: India may change stance at UN
The two countries have really begun to rely on one another for military action and protection, as well as on a more personal level of relations and camaraderie. This is wonderful news, I think, and I can't wait to see what comes of this bond over time. This connection only gives me further reason and desire to visit India. I think it will be a great relationship for years to come.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Friday, January 9, 2015
Zara: The Princess of Everything
Zara was always told that she was the Princess of Everything.
From the day she was born, her grandmother loved her unconditionally,
like no one else ever would. She reminded Zara constantly that she
was the Princess of Everything and she could do anything she wanted
to do, be anything she wanted to be, and have anything she wanted to
have. Her grandmother believed it, too!
When Zara was a little Princess, she believed this. Although most people weren't very nice to Zara, she stayed calm, smiled, and remembered that she was the Princess of Everything. It wasn't always easy staying cheerful. Sometimes people hurt her. Both, physically and verbally. It didn't matter, though, because she knew that one day she'd have everything she ever wanted.
Also, since Zara knew she was the Princess of Everything, she felt she was also responsible for taking care of everything. This meant that she had to make everyone as happy as she was. She did what she could to bring smiles, food, and love wherever she went. If anyone needed help, she knew it was her job to help them.
As Zara got older, she began to notice that no one else thought she was the Princess of Everything. Her grandmother still believed it, but Zara felt she didn't have anything. She didn't have all the toys or all the books or all the puppies, not even all the stickers. Not to mention, even when she helped people, they didn't seem to care. She knew this couldn't be how the Princess of Everything should feel. Her grandmother kept reminding her that she was indeed the Princess of Everything. She told her that even though it would take lots of time and lots of tears, one day, everything would belong to her. With this in mind, she fought on like a trooper. No matter how angry or sad she got, she kept taking care of everything, making sure everything was okay.
When Zara got very sick one day, no one came to make her better. She didn't understand. When Tommy was sick, she got him soup. When Tulip was sad, she hugged her. When Danny was scared, she protected him. Now that she was sick, no one came to help her. Finally, her grandmother came to make her better. Zara asked her grandmother what she did wrong. She knew she must be such a bad Princess that no one wanted to help her when she was sick. Her grandmother reminded her that as the Princess of Everything, she would sometimes have to be a little lonely. The boys and girls who weren't princes and princesses didn't care as much as she did. She hugged her Princess and told her it would be okay, in a few days she'd get all better, and one day she would have everything.
Zara didn't get better, though. As a matter of fact, Zara got worse. Much worse. When she woke up the next time, a part of her heart had fallen off and turned black. Zara jumped up and grabbed the piece of heart from the floor. Her breathing got faster and she started to sweat. She did the one thing she knew to do when she was scared, she called her grandmother. When her grandmother answered, she sounded different. Her grandmother told her she too was sick. However, instead of losing a piece of her heart, she lost a piece of her stomach. A very large piece of her stomach had fallen to the floor and turned black overnight. This terrified Zara. Something like this had never happened before! In the past, she had control over everything. She could make good things happen so easily. When she tried to fix her grandmother's stomach, it didn't work. Just like the piece of her own heart, it wouldn't glue back on.
Her grandmother was also upset, but reminded Zara that she was the Princess of Everything. That meant that even if her grandmother's entire stomach fell apart, Zara would still be a princess, she could still have everything and be okay.
For the first time ever, her grandmother's words did not comfort her. Zara couldn't find the strength to smile anymore. Each day, as more of her heart fell off, she felt more and more sad. She kept helping everyone, but she found it harder to smile, harder to laugh, harder to do things she used to love to do. Instead, she stayed inside all day. She didn't want to eat cookies or sing songs. She didn't want to talk to friends or play with puppies. All she wanted to do was sleep and, sometimes... sometimes she would even cry.
One day, when Zara's heart was nearly completely gone, she decided to visit her grandmother. She was ready to feel better and take over as the Princess of Everything finally. As Zara was going to visit her grandmother at the doctor, she came across a doorway. The door was white and brightly lit. It didn't seem to be attached to anything. This confused Zara, but it was so beautiful that she couldn't resist the urge to grab the handle, which was pleasantly cold, and pull the door open. On the other side, it was so bright that she couldn't see anything. It looked amazing, though! She knew what she had to do. Even though it was a risk, she wanted nothing more than to enter the door and find out what was on the other side. Just in case anything went wrong, she took the juicy, ripe plum from her pocket and ate it up.
When she lifted her foot, she ended up scratching her ankle on a poorly-placed vine. Although the cut bled a bit, she ignored it, and entered the door, with no doubts or fears. The last noise she made while on the grassy ground was a gasp.
When Zara was a little Princess, she believed this. Although most people weren't very nice to Zara, she stayed calm, smiled, and remembered that she was the Princess of Everything. It wasn't always easy staying cheerful. Sometimes people hurt her. Both, physically and verbally. It didn't matter, though, because she knew that one day she'd have everything she ever wanted.
Also, since Zara knew she was the Princess of Everything, she felt she was also responsible for taking care of everything. This meant that she had to make everyone as happy as she was. She did what she could to bring smiles, food, and love wherever she went. If anyone needed help, she knew it was her job to help them.
As Zara got older, she began to notice that no one else thought she was the Princess of Everything. Her grandmother still believed it, but Zara felt she didn't have anything. She didn't have all the toys or all the books or all the puppies, not even all the stickers. Not to mention, even when she helped people, they didn't seem to care. She knew this couldn't be how the Princess of Everything should feel. Her grandmother kept reminding her that she was indeed the Princess of Everything. She told her that even though it would take lots of time and lots of tears, one day, everything would belong to her. With this in mind, she fought on like a trooper. No matter how angry or sad she got, she kept taking care of everything, making sure everything was okay.
When Zara got very sick one day, no one came to make her better. She didn't understand. When Tommy was sick, she got him soup. When Tulip was sad, she hugged her. When Danny was scared, she protected him. Now that she was sick, no one came to help her. Finally, her grandmother came to make her better. Zara asked her grandmother what she did wrong. She knew she must be such a bad Princess that no one wanted to help her when she was sick. Her grandmother reminded her that as the Princess of Everything, she would sometimes have to be a little lonely. The boys and girls who weren't princes and princesses didn't care as much as she did. She hugged her Princess and told her it would be okay, in a few days she'd get all better, and one day she would have everything.
Zara didn't get better, though. As a matter of fact, Zara got worse. Much worse. When she woke up the next time, a part of her heart had fallen off and turned black. Zara jumped up and grabbed the piece of heart from the floor. Her breathing got faster and she started to sweat. She did the one thing she knew to do when she was scared, she called her grandmother. When her grandmother answered, she sounded different. Her grandmother told her she too was sick. However, instead of losing a piece of her heart, she lost a piece of her stomach. A very large piece of her stomach had fallen to the floor and turned black overnight. This terrified Zara. Something like this had never happened before! In the past, she had control over everything. She could make good things happen so easily. When she tried to fix her grandmother's stomach, it didn't work. Just like the piece of her own heart, it wouldn't glue back on.
Her grandmother was also upset, but reminded Zara that she was the Princess of Everything. That meant that even if her grandmother's entire stomach fell apart, Zara would still be a princess, she could still have everything and be okay.
For the first time ever, her grandmother's words did not comfort her. Zara couldn't find the strength to smile anymore. Each day, as more of her heart fell off, she felt more and more sad. She kept helping everyone, but she found it harder to smile, harder to laugh, harder to do things she used to love to do. Instead, she stayed inside all day. She didn't want to eat cookies or sing songs. She didn't want to talk to friends or play with puppies. All she wanted to do was sleep and, sometimes... sometimes she would even cry.
One day, when Zara's heart was nearly completely gone, she decided to visit her grandmother. She was ready to feel better and take over as the Princess of Everything finally. As Zara was going to visit her grandmother at the doctor, she came across a doorway. The door was white and brightly lit. It didn't seem to be attached to anything. This confused Zara, but it was so beautiful that she couldn't resist the urge to grab the handle, which was pleasantly cold, and pull the door open. On the other side, it was so bright that she couldn't see anything. It looked amazing, though! She knew what she had to do. Even though it was a risk, she wanted nothing more than to enter the door and find out what was on the other side. Just in case anything went wrong, she took the juicy, ripe plum from her pocket and ate it up.
When she lifted her foot, she ended up scratching her ankle on a poorly-placed vine. Although the cut bled a bit, she ignored it, and entered the door, with no doubts or fears. The last noise she made while on the grassy ground was a gasp.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Working the detox shift!
My latest and newest and fanciest job role is as a volunteer/intern/thingymadoo at a hospital in Brooklyn. I am working in the detox inpatient ward. To cover the basics, my co-workers are absolutely lovely, my atmosphere is grand, and the patients are at their very best. That is, considering the horrors of withdrawal, I have been very impressed with their smiles and decency. More amazing than that is the types of people I've met. These patients are coming into the E.R. of the hospital, are then interviewed, and then, depending on their rating on the "You an addict, son!" scale, they are then sent to outpatient services, inpatient services, or sent out to stop whining, get a cab, and go home.
Now, I want you to imagine the type of person you would meet at an inpatient detox center. Be honest. First thoughts. Are they old? Young? Professional? Extroverted? Depressed? Mean? Sickly? What do you see? Who is this person?
You can erase that person. Well, maybe not.... Most likely, however, the person you just drew up is unlike anyone I have met in the hospital yet. Not to say that whoever you viewed is not the more typical type or overall, more commonly seen in these settings. The surprise to me was how many of these people were NOT who I was expecting, nor who you would expect, I am sure. I've seen people in their 30s, 70s, 50s. Women, men, muscular, heavy, thin, blonde, bald, tattooed, with glasses. Some homeless, some with respectable jobs. Others don't want to get well. They just came to detox for a place to sleep and free food. Although, the fella who did this was the one who saw me watering the plants one day and the next day said, "I watered them for you today, flower girl."
They all had one thing in common, though. They all wanted to call their mother. Many of them relapsed because their mother was sick. Many are addicts because their parents were addicts, or because their kids are addicts. Others because they became addicted to prescribed medication or they were stressed or lonely or depressed. I met a chef, an introverted intellectual, a mother whose daughter graduated from John Jay.... There have also been many couples. They detox together, they relapse together. As one co-worker said, "They're starting to call us 'Sandals Detox Center' because of all the couples who are starting to come."
Some of these individuals only drink, only do benzos, only do opiates. Some think smoking cigarettes is awful. Though, cigarettes aren't allowed, anyway. Most of these people have been hospitalized or detoxed or in a special community for addicts before. Others are in for the first time and are very nervous and scared of being judged. They're not bad people. They know they're not bad people. And they want everyone else to know their not bad people. Some of them are just better at showing it than others. We don't know what they've been through, where they've been, what they've seen.
There's no real point to this blogamadoo.... I just wanted to share the experience, the stories. This is just a beginner's tale that I may add future stories and facts to for your benefit, and my own. We can learn about these people, their illness, and the path to a cure (or treatment) together.
Not to mention, the reminder that it is indeed a disease. An illness. A sickness. As another co-worker explained, just like any other disease, we have medication and upkeep. Sometimes we forget to take out medication and take care of ourselves, so our body warns us. Seizures, blackouts, shaking, hangovers, quivers, and various other symptoms remind these people that they are unwell. However, fortunately, they have some control over this sickness. They can get better and overcome it. As a matter of fact, at least half the staff are ex-addicts of one sort or another. They got better, they made a life for themselves. Judgment and cruelty are not cures. My view is: help these people, be part of the solution, or get out of the way.
Now, I want you to imagine the type of person you would meet at an inpatient detox center. Be honest. First thoughts. Are they old? Young? Professional? Extroverted? Depressed? Mean? Sickly? What do you see? Who is this person?
You can erase that person. Well, maybe not.... Most likely, however, the person you just drew up is unlike anyone I have met in the hospital yet. Not to say that whoever you viewed is not the more typical type or overall, more commonly seen in these settings. The surprise to me was how many of these people were NOT who I was expecting, nor who you would expect, I am sure. I've seen people in their 30s, 70s, 50s. Women, men, muscular, heavy, thin, blonde, bald, tattooed, with glasses. Some homeless, some with respectable jobs. Others don't want to get well. They just came to detox for a place to sleep and free food. Although, the fella who did this was the one who saw me watering the plants one day and the next day said, "I watered them for you today, flower girl."
They all had one thing in common, though. They all wanted to call their mother. Many of them relapsed because their mother was sick. Many are addicts because their parents were addicts, or because their kids are addicts. Others because they became addicted to prescribed medication or they were stressed or lonely or depressed. I met a chef, an introverted intellectual, a mother whose daughter graduated from John Jay.... There have also been many couples. They detox together, they relapse together. As one co-worker said, "They're starting to call us 'Sandals Detox Center' because of all the couples who are starting to come."
Some of these individuals only drink, only do benzos, only do opiates. Some think smoking cigarettes is awful. Though, cigarettes aren't allowed, anyway. Most of these people have been hospitalized or detoxed or in a special community for addicts before. Others are in for the first time and are very nervous and scared of being judged. They're not bad people. They know they're not bad people. And they want everyone else to know their not bad people. Some of them are just better at showing it than others. We don't know what they've been through, where they've been, what they've seen.
There's no real point to this blogamadoo.... I just wanted to share the experience, the stories. This is just a beginner's tale that I may add future stories and facts to for your benefit, and my own. We can learn about these people, their illness, and the path to a cure (or treatment) together.
Not to mention, the reminder that it is indeed a disease. An illness. A sickness. As another co-worker explained, just like any other disease, we have medication and upkeep. Sometimes we forget to take out medication and take care of ourselves, so our body warns us. Seizures, blackouts, shaking, hangovers, quivers, and various other symptoms remind these people that they are unwell. However, fortunately, they have some control over this sickness. They can get better and overcome it. As a matter of fact, at least half the staff are ex-addicts of one sort or another. They got better, they made a life for themselves. Judgment and cruelty are not cures. My view is: help these people, be part of the solution, or get out of the way.
Monday, December 8, 2014
The Great Irony
What do you say when a friend texts you late at night, "I want to die." ?
You ask, "Do you really want to die? Should I be concerned?"
"Of course I do. My life is f*cked up"
This conversation continues. You ask several times, "Do you plan on harming yourself? If so, how do you plan on doing it?"
Followed up with, "Do you plan to be alive tomorrow?"
He responds with vague answers; not truly answering, or just changing the topic altogether. He seems serious.
You put aside the books you were studying. You minimize the document you were just working on titled, "What is a counselor?" and you open a webpage with a list of suicide hotlines.
---------------
This means you have put aside your education, your future career and livelihood to help someone. Not a client or a patient, possibly not even someone you consider a friend. Many professionals in the mental health field would say that it is not your job. That the person should contact someone and you should focus on your own stuff. However, that wouldn't be their advice if the person texting you were willing to pay, would it? Of course, if you don't have a license, that would be illegal... but you're getting off topic. Point being- what do you do? No compassionate and decent human being would just go back to their schoolwork after hearing something like that.
This is the sort of conflict anyone with empathy and patience has encountered. No doubt, the older one gets, the more calls of desperation you are likely to receive. And the answer only lies in the person in the moment facing the situation. There is no wrong answer (between speaking to them or pawning them off to someone else), from a professional and ethical aspect, this is entirely subjective. It depends on how capable you view yourself to be, what you believe your role is in this person's life, and how you think you will respond in the worst case scenario. If things go downhill, there is no good solution or outcome. Most people in this position will find a way to blame themselves, no matter how much time and effort they devoted to the person at risk, or how many resources they recommended. On the other hand, if things turn out being okay, you need to learn to take credit. Not necessarily dancing around singing, "I saved a life! I am the best person who has ever lived!!" but... just taking a moment to recognize the good deed, the skills you have, and an appreciation for yourself. This is the part most people forget to celebrate. Saving a life is not minor feat. Many (if not all) of the biggest names in the mental health field have experienced losing a patient or client. Win or lose, it will be traumatic. So, no matter what the outcome, self-care and even therapy may be necessary.
Of course, sometimes you may also get impatient with the people you are dealing with. Oftentimes, self-harming people will ask for advice, then tell you everything you advise is stupid and wrong. This can be so, so very frustrating. Or they make the horrible statement, "I have the hardest life ever." Pretty sure you're not from Sudan or Syria, dude! Keep in mind, however, that to them, their life is THEIR hardest life ever. This makes it a lot easier to empathize. It's no competition, but everyone who is hurting is looking for a reason. An explanation for the bad things and the pain, even if there is nothing there to blame. Sometimes you just have to tell them, "Yep. Life is hard."
Validation is way more comforting than hearing, "No! Life is good! Stop being sad, chum!" I can say from firsthand experience that when you're bummed out, being told you're wrong and that everything is sunshine and lollipops, you just want to stab yourself (and the other person) in the vulva and watch the knife come out through the larynx. Positivity is not always the answer. While hope for the future is nice, it's not always realistic. Feeling understood and less alone is the goal. Of course, maybe don't convince them that there is absolutely no reason to hold on and they'll only become more miserable throughout life. That might not be the way to go, either. Let's aim for a healthy middle, shall we? Life is awful, but we're all miserable together. So, we aim to enrich other people's lives and we try to make our own lives as decent as possible. Being dead is super boring, anyway. If nothing or no one else, you, you who is giving them your love and care, you'll be there and you want Mr. Sadface dude or lady to improve your life. You probably benefit from this person being alive in some way (accept it- we're all selfish jerks), so let them know that. Maybe they're working on a project that you want to see completed, or they owe you money (but they have all the time they need to pay you back) or... whatever. If it's someone you've yet to meet in person, all the better! Try, "My goal right now is go to _____ with you!"
Keeping someone alive is NOT easy. Keeping them from harming themselves is an exhausting, long-term process. So, I think common sense is key. Whether you're up for the task or not is the first step. Don't take it on because it's the "right thing to do" or it's a new challenge. That's stupid. Don't be stupid. If you KNOW you can handle it on all levels, and the person at risk refuses to contact anyone else, then giving it your all is worthwhile. Of course, there should still be 911 on the other line. It shouldn't be all on you, anyway. Don't tell the whole neighbourhood and have a suicide block party... no. That might be fun, but probably not helpful. Just contact a close friend or family member (of yours AND of Mr. Sadface) and see what wisdom they can offer or if there's anyone they think you should talk to that may help. Again, that's if Mr. Sadface won't contact a hotline or anyone. A professional is ideal. You may feel like you're betraying this person's trust or they may get angry at you, but... get over it. Priorities. His/her life or his/her trust?
So... that's all my suicidey advice for today! I hope you don't run into a situation like this anytime soon, but now you're fairly prepared if so.
You ask, "Do you really want to die? Should I be concerned?"
"Of course I do. My life is f*cked up"
This conversation continues. You ask several times, "Do you plan on harming yourself? If so, how do you plan on doing it?"
Followed up with, "Do you plan to be alive tomorrow?"
He responds with vague answers; not truly answering, or just changing the topic altogether. He seems serious.
You put aside the books you were studying. You minimize the document you were just working on titled, "What is a counselor?" and you open a webpage with a list of suicide hotlines.
---------------
This means you have put aside your education, your future career and livelihood to help someone. Not a client or a patient, possibly not even someone you consider a friend. Many professionals in the mental health field would say that it is not your job. That the person should contact someone and you should focus on your own stuff. However, that wouldn't be their advice if the person texting you were willing to pay, would it? Of course, if you don't have a license, that would be illegal... but you're getting off topic. Point being- what do you do? No compassionate and decent human being would just go back to their schoolwork after hearing something like that.
This is the sort of conflict anyone with empathy and patience has encountered. No doubt, the older one gets, the more calls of desperation you are likely to receive. And the answer only lies in the person in the moment facing the situation. There is no wrong answer (between speaking to them or pawning them off to someone else), from a professional and ethical aspect, this is entirely subjective. It depends on how capable you view yourself to be, what you believe your role is in this person's life, and how you think you will respond in the worst case scenario. If things go downhill, there is no good solution or outcome. Most people in this position will find a way to blame themselves, no matter how much time and effort they devoted to the person at risk, or how many resources they recommended. On the other hand, if things turn out being okay, you need to learn to take credit. Not necessarily dancing around singing, "I saved a life! I am the best person who has ever lived!!" but... just taking a moment to recognize the good deed, the skills you have, and an appreciation for yourself. This is the part most people forget to celebrate. Saving a life is not minor feat. Many (if not all) of the biggest names in the mental health field have experienced losing a patient or client. Win or lose, it will be traumatic. So, no matter what the outcome, self-care and even therapy may be necessary.
Of course, sometimes you may also get impatient with the people you are dealing with. Oftentimes, self-harming people will ask for advice, then tell you everything you advise is stupid and wrong. This can be so, so very frustrating. Or they make the horrible statement, "I have the hardest life ever." Pretty sure you're not from Sudan or Syria, dude! Keep in mind, however, that to them, their life is THEIR hardest life ever. This makes it a lot easier to empathize. It's no competition, but everyone who is hurting is looking for a reason. An explanation for the bad things and the pain, even if there is nothing there to blame. Sometimes you just have to tell them, "Yep. Life is hard."
Validation is way more comforting than hearing, "No! Life is good! Stop being sad, chum!" I can say from firsthand experience that when you're bummed out, being told you're wrong and that everything is sunshine and lollipops, you just want to stab yourself (and the other person) in the vulva and watch the knife come out through the larynx. Positivity is not always the answer. While hope for the future is nice, it's not always realistic. Feeling understood and less alone is the goal. Of course, maybe don't convince them that there is absolutely no reason to hold on and they'll only become more miserable throughout life. That might not be the way to go, either. Let's aim for a healthy middle, shall we? Life is awful, but we're all miserable together. So, we aim to enrich other people's lives and we try to make our own lives as decent as possible. Being dead is super boring, anyway. If nothing or no one else, you, you who is giving them your love and care, you'll be there and you want Mr. Sadface dude or lady to improve your life. You probably benefit from this person being alive in some way (accept it- we're all selfish jerks), so let them know that. Maybe they're working on a project that you want to see completed, or they owe you money (but they have all the time they need to pay you back) or... whatever. If it's someone you've yet to meet in person, all the better! Try, "My goal right now is go to _____ with you!"
Keeping someone alive is NOT easy. Keeping them from harming themselves is an exhausting, long-term process. So, I think common sense is key. Whether you're up for the task or not is the first step. Don't take it on because it's the "right thing to do" or it's a new challenge. That's stupid. Don't be stupid. If you KNOW you can handle it on all levels, and the person at risk refuses to contact anyone else, then giving it your all is worthwhile. Of course, there should still be 911 on the other line. It shouldn't be all on you, anyway. Don't tell the whole neighbourhood and have a suicide block party... no. That might be fun, but probably not helpful. Just contact a close friend or family member (of yours AND of Mr. Sadface) and see what wisdom they can offer or if there's anyone they think you should talk to that may help. Again, that's if Mr. Sadface won't contact a hotline or anyone. A professional is ideal. You may feel like you're betraying this person's trust or they may get angry at you, but... get over it. Priorities. His/her life or his/her trust?
So... that's all my suicidey advice for today! I hope you don't run into a situation like this anytime soon, but now you're fairly prepared if so.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Money, Monet
Let's get the elephant in the room dealt with- I am most definitely a "privileged white person". Am I a "privileged Christian" or "privileged man"? No. I am just a very fortunate white person. I was born white. Thus, no one hates me for being black or otherwise. Being a Jewish female, on the other hand, has gotten me into some sticky situations. That's okay, though. Well, not okay. It shouldn't happen. Stop picking on me, guys! BUT, it is not a unique experience I've had, because, unfortunately, everyone at some point or another suffers for being who they are. Unless you're a white, male Mormon. I think bullying a Mormon is punishable by four years of feet-dangling.
And... this doesn't have much to do with my topic today. Well, it does, as, money certainly helps one be privileged. On the other hand, I don't have said money because I am caucasian. I have it because my parents are very intelligent and hardworking people. They came from the nether-regions of New York City and they worked their way into a new tax bracket.
If your grandparents or great-grandparents arrived to America from Neverheardofit, Pakistan, Dontcare, Mexico, or Weate Ourkidz, Russia; they definitely suffered. Woe is them! How they suffered.
Then, they had kids who worked hard and achieved "middle-class" status, despite their religion, gender, or background - believe it or not, growing up in the Depression as a Jewish (in my family's case) immigrant from Wemightaswellbedead, Austria, was no easy task.
So, these fine men and women all went on and had families. One kids, three kids... whatever it was, they had those kids and they made them live together; shoved into a one-bedroom apartment or studio like lox in airtight packaging.
These children went on to become doctors, lawyers, and engineers. Again, in my case, literally. Thus, money came into play. Money was not plentiful at first, but with a lot of hard work, dedication, and wacky tobaccy, (but not really. Or, maybe!) these kiddos became successful in their field(s) of choice and moved into the upper-middle class, or possibly even the upper-class. Ooh la la!
The next step was the tricky part, however. When these children grew up and achieved great things, they then had children of their own. Now, these children were in a difficult position. They were growing up with the luxuries of wealth and privilege, so where was "up"? They might be able to do better than their parents. They might make more money and have a fancier job title... but that would require twice the time, money, and effort. Plus, the more modest children would then feel like a spoiled, overly-ambitious copy of their parents.
They could do just as well as their parents, but that wouldn't be too interesting. Or, they could do less than their parents due to laziness, disinterest, fear, or self-doubt.
Not to mention, the years of being told, "You don't understand, your life is perfect. You have money..." pays its toll on a person's conscience. Depending on an individual's personality and experiences, money and success can really mess with one's head. Guilt may lay on one's shoulder like a sack of Moonpies filled with steel instead of cream, and result in depression, anxiety, self-loathing, and way too many cats named "Mitzy Boo Boo".
So, the real question here is, does money make the man? Can we assume someone's life is easier, happier, better... because they have money? Or, does it come with its own stressors, challenges, and not make living life any easier? My vote is "Yes."
Yes- having money means you can travel, eat well, buy gifts, go out, stay clean, maintain a little more safety in your life, pay bills... so on.
No- having money does not make you immune to diseases and disorders, lost friends, no friends, friend who take advantage of you, people who hurt you, stress, expectations, fears, anger, loss... so on.
If your entire life is defined by what you can pay for, or not pay for, (which is perfectly legitimate, as most things cost money) then, you may see the Yes. You may assume your life would be perfect if you could pay your mom's medical bills, buy your kids Christmas gifts, pay off your student loans, or not have any in the first place, and take everyone on a trip to Disney.
However, if you have all these things, and still feel a sense of loneliness, confusion, and fear, along with all the emotional, and sometimes physical symptoms of life, then you may disagree. Wealthy or not, humans are made to hurt. No human is made to never be sad, but some humans are made to never be happy. Whether there is a fair and right reason for this, that is not the issue. The point I am making is, well, I don't know. I don't know if wealthy people understand unhappiness and suffering as others do. I don't know if it's equal. No one can understand the pain another person is going through. There is no equal or worse pain, there is simply pain and obstacles.
Personally, I don't feel any sympathy or empathy for those who disregard the pain of others. If you get by in life with the mantra that money isn't everything, there is no room for you to treat a "One-percenter" as if they are not human. That they are a different, heartless, cold species that doesn't get how hard it is to be you. Of course, this doesn't work for either side. You can donate to every cause in the world and I still may not respect you if you are doing it for the wrong reasons or partaking in a slave trade on the side. Or, if we learned anything from Plato's Republic, as we should have, we have no use for actions if there is no intention. Sometimes the actions are good enough, but typically, intention is a huge part of things! Huge.
And... this doesn't have much to do with my topic today. Well, it does, as, money certainly helps one be privileged. On the other hand, I don't have said money because I am caucasian. I have it because my parents are very intelligent and hardworking people. They came from the nether-regions of New York City and they worked their way into a new tax bracket.
If your grandparents or great-grandparents arrived to America from Neverheardofit, Pakistan, Dontcare, Mexico, or Weate Ourkidz, Russia; they definitely suffered. Woe is them! How they suffered.
Then, they had kids who worked hard and achieved "middle-class" status, despite their religion, gender, or background - believe it or not, growing up in the Depression as a Jewish (in my family's case) immigrant from Wemightaswellbedead, Austria, was no easy task.
So, these fine men and women all went on and had families. One kids, three kids... whatever it was, they had those kids and they made them live together; shoved into a one-bedroom apartment or studio like lox in airtight packaging.
These children went on to become doctors, lawyers, and engineers. Again, in my case, literally. Thus, money came into play. Money was not plentiful at first, but with a lot of hard work, dedication, and wacky tobaccy, (but not really. Or, maybe!) these kiddos became successful in their field(s) of choice and moved into the upper-middle class, or possibly even the upper-class. Ooh la la!
The next step was the tricky part, however. When these children grew up and achieved great things, they then had children of their own. Now, these children were in a difficult position. They were growing up with the luxuries of wealth and privilege, so where was "up"? They might be able to do better than their parents. They might make more money and have a fancier job title... but that would require twice the time, money, and effort. Plus, the more modest children would then feel like a spoiled, overly-ambitious copy of their parents.
They could do just as well as their parents, but that wouldn't be too interesting. Or, they could do less than their parents due to laziness, disinterest, fear, or self-doubt.
Not to mention, the years of being told, "You don't understand, your life is perfect. You have money..." pays its toll on a person's conscience. Depending on an individual's personality and experiences, money and success can really mess with one's head. Guilt may lay on one's shoulder like a sack of Moonpies filled with steel instead of cream, and result in depression, anxiety, self-loathing, and way too many cats named "Mitzy Boo Boo".
So, the real question here is, does money make the man? Can we assume someone's life is easier, happier, better... because they have money? Or, does it come with its own stressors, challenges, and not make living life any easier? My vote is "Yes."
Yes- having money means you can travel, eat well, buy gifts, go out, stay clean, maintain a little more safety in your life, pay bills... so on.
No- having money does not make you immune to diseases and disorders, lost friends, no friends, friend who take advantage of you, people who hurt you, stress, expectations, fears, anger, loss... so on.
If your entire life is defined by what you can pay for, or not pay for, (which is perfectly legitimate, as most things cost money) then, you may see the Yes. You may assume your life would be perfect if you could pay your mom's medical bills, buy your kids Christmas gifts, pay off your student loans, or not have any in the first place, and take everyone on a trip to Disney.
However, if you have all these things, and still feel a sense of loneliness, confusion, and fear, along with all the emotional, and sometimes physical symptoms of life, then you may disagree. Wealthy or not, humans are made to hurt. No human is made to never be sad, but some humans are made to never be happy. Whether there is a fair and right reason for this, that is not the issue. The point I am making is, well, I don't know. I don't know if wealthy people understand unhappiness and suffering as others do. I don't know if it's equal. No one can understand the pain another person is going through. There is no equal or worse pain, there is simply pain and obstacles.
Personally, I don't feel any sympathy or empathy for those who disregard the pain of others. If you get by in life with the mantra that money isn't everything, there is no room for you to treat a "One-percenter" as if they are not human. That they are a different, heartless, cold species that doesn't get how hard it is to be you. Of course, this doesn't work for either side. You can donate to every cause in the world and I still may not respect you if you are doing it for the wrong reasons or partaking in a slave trade on the side. Or, if we learned anything from Plato's Republic, as we should have, we have no use for actions if there is no intention. Sometimes the actions are good enough, but typically, intention is a huge part of things! Huge.
Friday, November 7, 2014
¡Viva México!
Let's talk Mexico, shall we? You know- tacos, sombreros, chihuahuas.
No.
Just, no.
However, this year's "huzzah" goes out to the citizens of Mexico. They've finally caught the fever. The revolution fever, and they are kicking their government in the groin!
"Why?", you ask? Let's discuss.
Forty days ago, forty-three Mexican college students disappeared. Yeah. Like, literally, just vanished! Now, one might say, "That's sad. That's terrible. how awful! But, protesting doesn't bring people home!"
True. It does not... directly. Just like guns don't kill people. Except, nothing like that. In this case, however, the saying is, "Protesting kidnappers doesn't help, but protesting a useless government may!"
Forty days later (and hereon,) tens of thousands of demonstrators are protesting in Mexico City. They are there demanding more action from federal authorities. These protestors are sick of the government corruption, and sick of the cooperation they have with the drug cartels that are overtaking their country and causing their people harm.
The popular chant they are repeating is, "They took them away alive, and alive we want them back."
The sad reality is, we don't know if they were alive when they took them, or if they still are at this point.
To put the situation into perspective, the federal authorities have reported 26,000 disappearances between 2006 and 2012 in Mexico. The causes of death and involvement with illegal activity was not mentioned.
This particular sad case began on September 26th. On this day, students from a teacher training college went and protested and raised funds. Later on, after police stopped the students, six people were found shot shot, and the 43 students were gone.
To add to this tragedy, while searching for the lost students, authorities have come across many mass graves with the remains of hundreds of unknown corpses.
No.
Just, no.
However, this year's "huzzah" goes out to the citizens of Mexico. They've finally caught the fever. The revolution fever, and they are kicking their government in the groin!
"Why?", you ask? Let's discuss.
Forty days ago, forty-three Mexican college students disappeared. Yeah. Like, literally, just vanished! Now, one might say, "That's sad. That's terrible. how awful! But, protesting doesn't bring people home!"
True. It does not... directly. Just like guns don't kill people. Except, nothing like that. In this case, however, the saying is, "Protesting kidnappers doesn't help, but protesting a useless government may!"
Forty days later (and hereon,) tens of thousands of demonstrators are protesting in Mexico City. They are there demanding more action from federal authorities. These protestors are sick of the government corruption, and sick of the cooperation they have with the drug cartels that are overtaking their country and causing their people harm.
The popular chant they are repeating is, "They took them away alive, and alive we want them back."
The sad reality is, we don't know if they were alive when they took them, or if they still are at this point.
To put the situation into perspective, the federal authorities have reported 26,000 disappearances between 2006 and 2012 in Mexico. The causes of death and involvement with illegal activity was not mentioned.
This particular sad case began on September 26th. On this day, students from a teacher training college went and protested and raised funds. Later on, after police stopped the students, six people were found shot shot, and the 43 students were gone.
To add to this tragedy, while searching for the lost students, authorities have come across many mass graves with the remains of hundreds of unknown corpses.
Yesterday, alongside Live Streamer and much-more-informed-than-me-activist, Matt Hopard (www.ustream.tv/stopmotionsolo) wandered uptown to one of these Mexico protests. Unfortunately, at this point, it was down to a small number of demonstrators. Maybe about 10-12 chanters were walking in circles within the limits of a tiny gated-off area. There were signs and chants, but not nearly as many people as there were in the past weeks. Cold weather, daily life, and less-than-enthusiastic passersby must dishearten these folks, but the brave few left still keep chanting and circling; like vultures eyeing below, their goals and dreams for a safer tomorrow. *dramatic exit music*
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Impressing the Ladies!
How to impress a girl (according to my date last night):
1. After trying to meet up for 3+ years, make sure you are 2 hours late to your first date. Now, I don't mean for work reasons or family issues or anything mature or responsible; I mean, you're showing up two hours late because you were getting drunk with your buddies. Oh, yeah...
2. Get drunk with your buddies beforehand. Not too much, so she can sense it and knows to run right away. No, no, just to that point where the two more drinks you have with her will send you over the edge. To the point where you are slurring, wobbling, and falling asleep as you speak.
3. Obviously, you should be falling asleep throughout the conversation. Which, might I mention, is understandable, since the conversation is incredibly dull. You're either pretending to listen, but not responding, talking about yourself (including, but not limited to, showing her pictures of yourself on your phone), or texting/chatting on your phone every 5 minutes. Along with the fact that you only have one passion in life. Only one thing you do in life. No time for hobbies or a life outside your artistic endeavor of choice. This will mean you have absolutely nothing to discuss. Because, you wouldn't show interest in her hobbies, after all.
4. Speaking of every 5 minutes, make sure to go to smoke or pee every 10-15 minutes. Hey, if she waited two hours for you already, I'm sure she'll be perfectly content waiting alone at the bar for you as you go across the street and buy a new pack, or a sandwich, or get married (as, you'll be gone ridiculously long....)
5. If you have a beard, and I do hope you have a beard, it'll be all kinds of scraggly and unruly. This way, when you take a swig of your bourbon, it will be soaked up by said beard. Then, when you insist on trying to kiss her every now and then, your beard will act effectively as a sponge and instead of your intended lips touching hers, your beard will squeegee out all the bourbon onto her face. This will leave her smelling cigarettes and beard bourbon (beardbon?) This is super attractive.
6. Finally, when she rejects your offer to either go home with her or take her home with you for the 8th or 9th time, you will them promptly check your phone and, coincidentally, your band mate will need you present immediately. Thus, you leave in a hurry, leaving enough money to cover your drinks (which you requested be the cheapest liquor they have available) and a 2 dollar tip, despite the bartender being a fan and complimenting your music, as well as offering to let you play at his bar sometime.
Follow these rules and your new lady friend will be chasing you around like a bloodhound on a fox's trail. Hot diggity dog!
And, hey, even if it doesn't work out, the bartender will remind you that you just weren't meant to be with a "4'3'' hairy and broke accordion player who showed up late and drunk." I guess it's not for everyone!
1. After trying to meet up for 3+ years, make sure you are 2 hours late to your first date. Now, I don't mean for work reasons or family issues or anything mature or responsible; I mean, you're showing up two hours late because you were getting drunk with your buddies. Oh, yeah...
2. Get drunk with your buddies beforehand. Not too much, so she can sense it and knows to run right away. No, no, just to that point where the two more drinks you have with her will send you over the edge. To the point where you are slurring, wobbling, and falling asleep as you speak.
3. Obviously, you should be falling asleep throughout the conversation. Which, might I mention, is understandable, since the conversation is incredibly dull. You're either pretending to listen, but not responding, talking about yourself (including, but not limited to, showing her pictures of yourself on your phone), or texting/chatting on your phone every 5 minutes. Along with the fact that you only have one passion in life. Only one thing you do in life. No time for hobbies or a life outside your artistic endeavor of choice. This will mean you have absolutely nothing to discuss. Because, you wouldn't show interest in her hobbies, after all.
4. Speaking of every 5 minutes, make sure to go to smoke or pee every 10-15 minutes. Hey, if she waited two hours for you already, I'm sure she'll be perfectly content waiting alone at the bar for you as you go across the street and buy a new pack, or a sandwich, or get married (as, you'll be gone ridiculously long....)
5. If you have a beard, and I do hope you have a beard, it'll be all kinds of scraggly and unruly. This way, when you take a swig of your bourbon, it will be soaked up by said beard. Then, when you insist on trying to kiss her every now and then, your beard will act effectively as a sponge and instead of your intended lips touching hers, your beard will squeegee out all the bourbon onto her face. This will leave her smelling cigarettes and beard bourbon (beardbon?) This is super attractive.
6. Finally, when she rejects your offer to either go home with her or take her home with you for the 8th or 9th time, you will them promptly check your phone and, coincidentally, your band mate will need you present immediately. Thus, you leave in a hurry, leaving enough money to cover your drinks (which you requested be the cheapest liquor they have available) and a 2 dollar tip, despite the bartender being a fan and complimenting your music, as well as offering to let you play at his bar sometime.
Follow these rules and your new lady friend will be chasing you around like a bloodhound on a fox's trail. Hot diggity dog!
And, hey, even if it doesn't work out, the bartender will remind you that you just weren't meant to be with a "4'3'' hairy and broke accordion player who showed up late and drunk." I guess it's not for everyone!
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