Restless

I’ve been reading some posts recently about family and relationships and how complex and related these two can be while shaping one’s personality. Family dictates relationships. Family is the place where we learn how to treat others, how to behave and how to form social patterns. You represent your family.

It is not only about the spoken and directed instructions, but also about imposed role models. There are things that we inherit and the things that we look at or listen everyday, so those become our behavioral models. We adopt them wanted or not and represent them in our adolescence and later in adulthood.

When the models are bad, you’re bad even if you’re not being aware of it. But you try your best still because someone explained and rooted into you that a certain thing is a good thing.

Looking inside myself I can name all the bad things I have adopted from both of my parents. Some characteristics are disgusting for me and I believe that others can see them very well. I’m afraid of it.

I think that in my family we’re all living in an illusion. On one side there’s my mother who’s so transparent. She affects only a little. There’s my father on the other who neglects us. A lot.

Talking about role models what I could adopt from him was poor behavior and relation to others, not appreciating anyone in current surrounding or doing it in a very rough way, selfishness as an usual act, no tolerance and underestimating other people, alcohol issues. That’s what he offered to me.

As nothing is black and white, I can only thank him for giving me the money with which I used to live one fine life here, paid my university and vacations, gave me home to live in. But there’s a gap that I can feel between us and it is so dark.

I’ll explain this as a girl. As a feminine confronted by other man, the close one. When I was about eight years old some of the girls in the class had their hair done by lightening hair strands. I asked my mother to do the same for me, so she took one strand and made it lighter. It was nice and I was so happy and proud to have that strand, but my father called me a slut, although I was only eight. That happened in front of my mother so I asked what does that mean and she started an argue. If you ask me that was a mild reaction of my mother since it ended soon and affected my father 0%. Later on I learned the meaning of the word so I can call this my first unfair defeat.

When I was about 12 he got home drunk and beaten me up with a cable for no reason. He broke my glasses. I told that to my mother and then again she made an argue about it. So when he got sober he made one quiet apologize to me and continued to whistle.  Basically, nothing happened to me in a physical manner, although it looks a bit dramatic, but I felt jeopardized inside. I learnt that he can do that just because he want to and it is ok, and it will pass, but I can’t feel free in my own home. Again I lacked mother’s support.

When I was 15 he took my dog away from me because he wanted to. It was a big one, Dalmatiner. The dog was sad and melancholic in our home because no one would walk him. I wanted but he was too strong so I needed help. Besides, he wasn’t vaccinated. Whenever I asked for money for vaccine he’d answer ironically: “well pay it with your own money”. The dog was always locked in his fenced place in the back yard. He was howling and that bothered neighbors. Twice, he managed to get away. Both times we found him, but my father wouldn’t let go of his idea of how the dog should be kept so he put him in a trailer and drove him to countryside and let him go. I was so depressed. He never listened to me and he never wanted us to take care about the dog although he brought him… Month and a half after that the dogcathers found him. They called father first because he’s a vet. They asked if he’d maybe like to take the dog back since it is a quality breed etc. He told them to kill the dog… This makes me sad even today for various reasons. Not only that he didn’t care about my emotions at all but he didn’t care for that dog either, so he just killed him. If he thought he’d never manage to take care of him, he shouldn’t has bought him at first place.

At 21 we shopped together by chance in a local drug market, when he molested a female marketeer in front of me. I was sad and humiliated and felt bad in front of all the people who heard it and saw it. I tried to ask him what was he doing, what is wrong with him when we got out but he just laughed. Later, he made fun of it, of myself and my reaction when we got home…

At the age of 24 I’ve met a boy who I liked at first. But at some point of dating he called me a “gold digger“. I didn’t take it to my heart because I believe you must be quite of an idiot if you call a person you date like that. Soon after that ended I took my Swedish course that autumn, because I wanted to convince myself, beside I liked the language,  that I also have a purpose, that I’m progressing and that I’m good and hard working and that I have a merit. My father’s comment was: ” You’re throwing our money away, it won’t use you, why are you doing it?”. Never mind. I continued doing it for almost two years. At some point in the autumn I was about to go on a friend’s birthday party. It wasn’t that cold although it was October so I wore jeans and jacket and heels. When my father saw me like that he called me “a gold digger”. I’m not sure did he know what that means actually, but  again I felt bad. It is the second time that someone calls me like that, no more no less, but a person who brought me up, who should be my protector and who should teach me how to deal with all those rude comments made by other unknown men, but no, he stepped on their side to call me less worthy, a slut, a person who f***s for money… I felt bad. I was sad and unprotected. My mother drove me to my friend’s house from where we should be heading to a local bar or something like that. I was crying in the front seat. But her reaction again, was indefinite, even awkward. She asked me why am I crying when he meant nothing bad, it’s nothing, he wasn’t serious, those words weren’t as they sound… That wasn’t the only time he called me like that. He did it before. And my other parent never actually acknowledged that and protected me, but she silently accepted it as true…

I’m full of bad experiences in relationships with other men. I’ve never been pretty to anyone, attractive, accepted or smart. Maybe it is true that we seek for our fathers in other men we date. We seek for those characteristics of others that broke us into pieces when we were younger; we want to prove that we are different, that they are wrong, that we are not as they perceive us, that we are good and worthy, we want to heal.

I can’t compensate my bad relationship experiences at home. At home those bad experiences get confirmed and by that mean I get defeated. I am bad, worthless, shameful. Relationship experiences, same as all the other experiences. But why I highlight relationships is because it is the sphere of my life which I somehow can’t conquer, which is unclear to me and full of bad and painful emotions which I can’t explain. People are social animals. We always seek acceptance in each other. It is normal and it is in our nature. We need other people’s support. Those who are close to us. We just need them.

The same thing repeated when I started with my Hungarian language lessons. The father said: “it’s pointless, you’re not smart enough to learn it. I can’t actually see that you’re progressing…”

But I do. I will leave once because my inner self is suffering. I need to protect the kid in me. She’s crying because she’s at her best and again called shameful, offending names by others especially, those who should be on her side. I keep comforting her that she is pretty and smart and good; that she has a big heart and that she is better than all those people who tend to trip her. But still, she can’t be fixed completely. There are things that she’ll bring with herself wherever she goes.

What’s interesting was one dream I’ve been dreaming a lot while I was about 4 or 5. It repeated for years and that’s how I remembered it so well. Beside, it was unpleasant. It kept tormenting me and I couldn’t understand it quite right until recently. It was about my dad and I, we were driving in a car. He parked the car in front of a health center in my town, where there was a small parking lot. We got outside the car when he told me: “Wait for me, I’ll come back for you”. Then he came back in the car and left. I saw him leaving, but it was foggy around me. So I got scared and tried to look up for him and come back home. I was wandering that foggy street. There was no one, it was all cloudy and grey, all the doors and windows were closed, as if it was abandoned. I was still wandering. The scenes kept repeating. There was no one and I was going round and round. And then I’d wake up. It was one of the most unpleasant dreams I’ve ever had and I kept dreaming it over and over again for some time. I would be sad every time I’d wake up. That feeling of being abandoned scared me a lot. Once I told him about the dream, but he laughed at it: “I’d never leave you like that.” So my adult self must laugh to this, in return.

Speaking again about the idea of girls seeking father figures in other men they date scares me. I don’t want someone to disrespects me. I have emotions and I can say or do lot of things. I’m not just someone. At least I wouldn’t like to spend my life beside a person who treats me just as “someone”or even worse. Knowing that this pattern could transfer to my partner life with someone scares me. I don’t want to live life that way. It is awful and sad. I don’t need that kind of relationship neither that kind of person.

 

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Synchro

I believe that the most suitable form to be is to be average. When you’re average you fit in perfectly. People around you don’t have much problems understanding you. You use basic words and sentencesn so expressing yourself is quite usual and others perceive you in a range totally understandable to themselves without cutting your parts of own expression off and partially getting what you just said. Simplified – you fit precisely in other people’s frame.

When I was a kid my mother brought me up pretty strictly. I was always forbidden to speak. Whenever I tried to comment something or to express my own opinion I would be criticized and immediately quieten. I understood it as “everything you say is wrong”.

My parents signed me in kindergarten at very young age, I think I was about 4. I didn’t get along good with all those children. Most of them were uninteresting to me, even intrusive.

During elementary school I’ve had a communication issue. I wouldn’t talk. When teacher asked me something in front of the whole class I would answer in a silent tone. In other situations when no one asked me anything I’d be just quiet. Why should I speak if I had nothing to say? So I was recognized in class as someone who can’t speak. “There’s that girl who can’t speak.” “She’s clumsy that’s why she has nothing to say” “She’s stupid, stupid kids don’t speak” etc. So my teacher recognized the problem and talked to my mother about it, so “they two could fix it (me)”. That teacher was “not-for-people person”. Even her adult colleagues jibed at her and her older son tried to commit a suicide some years after. So yes, they built up my self esteem. Somehow I got over social anxiety and managed those speaking skills, although it was still present. And still is. I’m kind of afraid of people and their reaction, even in older age.

I lived through elementary school and somehow got a bit used on it, but it was soon over. The new challenge was high school. In the beginning it was of course awful. I lightly knew only three persons in my new class. And of course some people didn’t like me. At that time I was a boy. I didn’t put any make up. I wore comfy clothes. I lived trough people issues again. It was better than elementary school experience.

As I’ve said in my earlier posts, the highest recognition I felt in Capitol. During that part of my life I’ve met all kinds of people, but the most valuable thing was understanding I found. It is completely fine to think and say and do that in front of people who’ll listen to you and (try) to get your point instead of exclude you as some weirdie.

The thing about social phobias is that they are partially inherited and partially shaped by surrounding you’re in. At least one of your parents is constantly convincing you that you shouldn’t speak because you’ll: offend someone, be rude, represent yourself in a bad manner by whatever you say. That is because someone taught THEM the same thing and now they’re doing it to you with an addition of sharp criticism. Being silent isn’t equal being polite. And continuously showing that pattern in front of strangers you communicate to you send one clear message: “it doesn’t matter what I say, all that matters is what you say, I’ll say nothing” and they accept it and accept you as someone transparent so your phobia is even more intense.

People live their whole lives with it. Can that kill you?

My mother has the same problem. She does people related job. She never speaks out but keeps it in herself. She suffered severe autoimmune disease last year. She’s better now but her lifestyle changed. Except personal expression and communication. She kept that unchanged in order, again, not to offend anyone. She taught me that. Never say anything to anyone but stand quiet. And one major phenomenon that shaped my mother’s personality was also her mother and her sisters. Most of the time they criticize her and they have lack of understanding for her although she’s their closest relative. And on the other hand, she never countered.

I’ve had troubles with getting rid of that standard. So my aunts now often call me rude and impolite.

Which one is worse – saying nothing and letting it kill you or say all the stuff that’s on your mind and letting that kill you?

Both.

It is normal and humane to be kind to others and respect their thoughts and emotions. In order with that you must find a suitable way and the right words to express yourself and by that not to offend the other one. So nothing is black and white. The trouble is that, by my personal statistics only a small percentage of people respect others and treat them in a neutral, really socially acceptable way. And you must find a way to talk with that kind of people also. And of course not offending them either.

Communication is a challenge. It is even more challenging when you have an inner struggle. Finding yourself and finding your own place is the only solution to get yourself together and consolidate your own ideas and attitudes. Others will get along with it or they don’t, but either way it is pointless winking at the blind man.

Don’t hesitate, speak out. As an introvert you observed and saw lots of things that others couldn’t. You have so much to say. Even more brilliant stuff than other louder people would ever shout about.

 

Look at me with the eyes of a child

I’m not a political person neither an activist. It doesn’t matter who I am or who anyone here is as long as we’re all progressing.

I don’t love my country. I’m not a patriot.

There’s a song in my language which goes like this: “Ovo je Zemlja za nas, ovo je Zemlja za sve naše ljude. Ovo je kuća za nas, ovo je kuća za svu našu decu…”

“This is the Land for all of us, this is the Land for all our people, this is home for us, this is the home for all of our children…”

 

This home is for none of our children. For a long time now.

Our grown ups hate us. They neglect us and give us nothing but on contrary, they steal from us. I don’t blame only politicians but the everyday people who we see on the streets, who we help, who we work for. They hate us. But still, they want to take all from us. And all of us.

There are two types of young people in my country. One large group tries its best to leave and many of them are succeeding. They might be smart, talented or simply hard working (which is one great trait), but excluded from our biting society and under the impact of many malicious comments and critics by those who humiliated them and left them no other choice. The second ones are those who are still here. They either have no will or no where else to live, so they continue to despair in their own misery, devastated. Or some of them like the situation as it is.cf779a56a414a0cd4bf3c3d568037d06

And the adults, they try nothing to stop the leaving ones, to lift the desperate ones and to give a good example for those mindless; but to mark them as less intelligent, useless and spoiled.

Sometimes they do these stuff directly. What they taught us?

  1. 1. That there is no protection. Someone can steal from you and get away unpunished. That sends you a clear message: your worth is 0 and you mean nothing. Whatever you have or do is worthless. That no one cares for you or your material or intellectual belongings.
  2. That there is no reasonable evaluation. Quality is being pushed aside. You can be God-knows-how brilliant, but you won’t succeed because that’s not important.  What is important is how good you can lie and how many people you can trample by one foot.
  3. You’re a joke. If you’re trying – you’re a joke, they’ll make fun of you.
  4. If you’re young plus woman…That opens a whole new spectrum of ideas how bad you are at something…Balkans… I already explained how much do I hate gender prejudices…. I remember once, I was 23. Police stopped my car, “just for a check up”. Although everything was fine it ended up with molesting, threats and gender based insults just because I didn’t get that I should give them (there were 2 of them) some money. I’m not talking about a fine, but about money. No, I didn’t know I should. But if’d tell someone that I didn’t know, they’d laugh at me, because it is completely usual and fine to give money to the police in order for them not to molest you. Even if you’ve done nothing. It is normal for you to surrender. It is normal for them to take it from you instead to protect you from experiencing it.
  5. That we’re irrelevant and underrated. If you’re on a position, earned by your scholar degree, to give a person advice related to a problem they have – they won’t listen to you because you’re too young and therefore too stupid. They’ll check your legal advice first at fortuneteller’s.
  6. That we have no right to have a home, since they’re selling all of our land.

And we’re bad because we’re leaving.

Our adults left us long before we did.

****

I started to volunteer at local health center. It was everything but voluntarily. Besides that I work for no money, my aunt called me happily to announce that she talked to health center director and mentioned our relation, since they two are in the same party. By her story, couple of months ago she was blackmailed to join the party or else she’ll lose the job. Something similar happened some time earlier when my father tried to trick me to join a party and get a job in Capital.

No one asked me anything.

But my aunt also made an addition in order to remind me to “be polite and behave while I’m in health center, to be good with patients and assistants, because director appreciates it”. That probably means that I’m bad behaved and rude most of my time, but now I must show myself in a very good manner in order to get the job. I must impress those who already undervalued me and the rest of us. 

How do they see me? Do they see me at all?

How do they see all of us?

Am I the person with no option and how funny is it? Do I have qualities at all?

And those often reminders of how should I behave in order to be “better” and “accepted”.

You should be more polite. You should be more polite. You should be more polite…

You should be more polite in order to join the party made by scum so they can provide a job for you since you’re a sack of garbage. Then you’ll be good and useful.

In the Land for all of our children….

 

The jar of fractured minds and myself in it

I already explained my point of view of gender issues through my own egalitarianism which emphasizes the idea of tolerance and comprehension which is sex-unrelated. In other words, there’s no purpose of “you being you” if you’re ignorant enough.

As a pole dancer I perceived the whole new dimension of mind and opened thinking. It is true that people see what they want to see. If there in front of you is a typically covered female  dancer who does stunning and demanding exercise on a pole, what is the first thing you think; how do you see her and what exactly do you see?

This question helped me to get the people and filter my social surrounding. The same pattern could be used concerning tattoos, for example. And of course, free person will never judge other one’s expression. I appreciated a lot when a male would approach me and tell me: “Wow, it must be hard, you must be very strong and enduring.” That’s the person who sees me as an athlete who works hard on it’s strength and elegance and understands the effort which is being put in it in order to lift up my whole body and not just that but also understands your expression of inner self. He sees me as someone who cherishes outer image equal as inner.

In the return I regard them as those who see the talent and persistence before attractive body, which, as a matter of fact, is not the goal, but the bonus…

On the other hand, from time to time I hear rude comments made by typical orthodox Kosovo liberators who see me as an immoral male attention drawer and who knows what else.

The “I-m-a-pole-dancer-test” never failed me. If you want to know them, ask them perceptual questions.

Patriarchy never died. It is changing it’s shape constantly as it’s being misused by many. It causes degradation of both man and women. It is a false idea of a man being supreme and woman being underestimated. In conditions like these, male is taught not to appreciate woman’s needs and personality and at the same time to depend on actions she’s doing in his favour and for him instead doing it by himself. And a women convincing that it is right to listen to instructions how to behave, feel and think in order to be accepted and “treated”. The result is a dysfunctional (grown up) man who doesn’t know how to take care of himself but only to expect of others to do it for him, and socially and emotionally challenged woman with imposed rules taken as something usual, expected and right. Those people will never find themselves and they’ll continue the tradition they’ve been taught is right carrying it over to the next generation of narrow-minded.

It is funny how, patriarchy in the same way as feminism emphasizes superiority of one sex over another. Like it is some kind of self defense mechanism (from what?). By pointing out differences in order to prove them as only truth there is they don’t get that it is one thing they have in common and by itself it makes them – equal.

To speak out or to sneak out?

It is almost a year now since I moved back to my cosy, little hometown. I spent six years in a place which gave me full freedom to seek myself, find it and express it in a very own way. That place hugged me, as the lyrics of a famous folk song describe.

I remember stepping on its grounds seven years ago. As an average kid from province I couldn’t believe that there’s a place on Earth like this. Messy, crowded, noisy, with beggers on every corner. I cried for my countryside. I thought this place would never accept me. But the show went on. I was a mess, although I wasn’t quite aware of it and at the same time – bigoted! When you’re a kid, they tell you what’s good and you keep following it.

Anyway, I’ve met all kinds of people: odd, talented, beautiful, sharp, dominant, stupid, regressive, silly, eccentric, different from everything I have ever seen by then. But those six years were also full of love, expectations, understanding, hate, misery, heartbreaks, stresses, exploration, separating and new personal inventions. I knew that city had truly accepted me when I felt free to speak out and present myself as someone different than I used to be before,  loudly and freely without any doubts or fears that I could be abandoned, criticized, marked and rejected. I did whatever I want because it had sense. It had clear sense to me. And the relationship I had with this city was the best I’ve ever had. The city is the one who said to me: “I love what you’ve become.”

And me of course… I love what you gave me.

I am a dancer. As I said in my first post, I always go round. And I’m not just a dancer, I am also a doctor. It is not the title that makes me so proud, really. It appeared that anyone who’s enough stubborn can become one. Without any other qualities. I used to be a lot, but these two I’ll keep as my personal badges, my two selves, one old and one new, different, merged in my present self.

About this time of the year I came back home bringing heaviness in my chests. But no matter what, that’s how it is. I kept carrying out myself the way I liked, the way the city loved me and the way I loved myself. I promised I’ll keep in touch with the city and my favourite people who are still living there. I promised I won’t give up my pole dancing classes. But after a while, I felt what distance feels like and that it is not that easy now to manage all the promises.

My old-new surrounding started pushing me a bit. My parents kept repeating me that I’m a doctor now. Although, I can’t suit in that role completely. I don’t even like when people call me a doctor. Soon I should start seeking for a job right here. I came back to the place where I was born, where everyone I’ve known since I was a kid live, where people I used to see in the streets but never met them personally live, where all my old loves and crushes live, where all my friends and their friends, and friends of their friends live… Somehow everyone knows who I am. At least they’ve heard. They were all around me, but still it happened to me that I began loosing people. Lonely surrounded.

The first shocking act of rejection was made by my very old friend. That rejection started some time earlier, but emerged that night. I came in that place wearing myself as I always do. I was in a company of three people, we’ve had a great time, music was brilliant, vine was tasty … and so was my cigarette! It passed less than a minute when I received a threatening message saying: “leave that cigarette at instant!” At the moment, I was a bit confused, since I’ve never faced a situation like this before. There were several questions that bothered me related to that kind of acting:

  1. I’ve got a message filled with this kind of content from a person who is not here, who was invited to be here, but turned it down as if I was some irrelevant marginal person
  2. Why so heavily writing and so harsh if I’m not doing anything to you, since you’re not here?
  3. How do YOU know, since again, you’re not here?

I didn’t have to look around much since two tables far there was sitting “a friend of friend” – person. I replied politely: “what was going on?” since I had no idea what else to reply. Couple of minutes later a cell-phone-long-distance argument was set up. By the acting of my spy I saw that they two were collaborating (?!) sharing screenshots of a conversation I had with my friend. As the argument progressed many disgusting  stuff unrolled, lies and told secrets. I realized that the person who I’ve known for a decade, almost half of my life, striped my being bare naked in front of an audience who have known not so much about me, until then and represented me as a less worthy.  I felt a cocktail of emotions, but the thing that defeated me the most was my own reaction. I should have just let it go, as if I never received it and end that fellowship in a more suitable way. But no, I told her: “stay away.” And so she did. She never called neither messaged anymore. Not even tried to fix it up, to bring it to some more civilized level where we could at least say: “hi” one to another when we pass by in the street.

I fell into a trap. Like I’m some kind of a badger. I fell into a trap and degraded myself hidden under the idea of integrity defense.

People are people. They will always make idiotic moves. What moved me in this situation is the fact that I’m still growing. I need to tie up my emotions and become a real adult from the inside. I need to learn a lot. I need to conquer a lot. I need to get the communication right. I need to raise. And the thing that scares me the most is that I’ll drown in this place and become same as everyone here, that I’ll fail, that they’ll convince me that I am wrong and that they are right.

In order to protect my personality, my thoughts and believes I signed up for language lessons. Those lessons were the days in the week when I sat down for an hour and a half with people who have had the same goals – to be better and to succeed. That kept my mind and soul together.

And constant suppression, it is not the cigarette, it is also the dance, the hair, the speech I’m using. The words I’m saying, the sentences I’m making, they call me odd, often they don’t understand a single word of my story, but then they freely conclude that I’m offending them. In the politest case they call me different. They don’t appreciate my tolerance and comprehension; it is categorized as something bad, useless and characteristic of the weak.

That night, I was that cigarette. It represented all I was. It’s an ugly habit. But more than a cigarette then was ugly.

I quitted  smoking couple of months ago. Not because of others, it’s just not my vice. But I’ll profoundly cherish the rest of my deviations. Or finally just sneak out…

Juggling hypocrisy

Lately all of us are being bombed with different kinds of propaganda, racism judgments, political rights, women rights, human rights, national identity and somehow people think that they’re defending the right side just because they’re proclaiming certain life standard and so called “moral”.

What made me think of this is an argument I had lately with a group of middle aged women, by my personal estimation old maids, who probably spend their days feeding pigeons, cursing men and comforting themselves that they are probably too good to be true, so that’s why they’re still single and no man can handle them. And many more hidden under term of “women’s rights” and “feminism”.

The comment made by myself which eventually enraged them was about my own idea of sexuality and genders. Of course we were talking about women in army.

In my opinion there are and there always will be crucial differences between men and women which build us in certain ways. Those are not insults. It is just the way we are. What is wrong with male-only professions? Or women-only? Is it humiliating? Is it offending someone?

Speaking of these differences I always like to point up the first and basic thing that was given to us when we were born and that is gender. It is the reason why I am Mary and why Peter is Peter.

When we were grumpy newborns, placed in rows in maternity hospital we were indeed all the same. Bald, ruddy, wrinkled, crying and had no idea at all who we were and what were we doing.

Later on, we got our first teeth, we straightened  up and step by step we walked! By some serious statistics, girls do it earlier than boys. Of course, that means nothing. As we grow we keep playing and fighting. Sometimes girls win. Sometimes they don’t. But anyway, violence is not allowed. We grow, we grow, we grow. At some point, our whole body is full of hormones. We’re changing. We still grow. Girls start getting feminine body shape, tiny waists with wider ties, some describe it as hourglass-shape. On the other hand, boys get taller, their baby-beard is appearing, their jaws are getting bigger and their shoulders wider. They tend to be musculous and tall. Of course, these are not standards. My point is – estrogen does it’s parts of the job to feminine body, same as testosterone does to male’s. Simplified.

I noticed that stress differently affects women and men. In the same stressful situations they react in different ways. While I took part in taekwondo competitions often I saw girls bursting in tears at some point of a fight.  Also, boys never showed that kind of emotion during the same type of activity. They are sometimes bit aggressive and typicaliy revolted. My friend Katherine, who used to take part in those competitions even longer than I have first came up to me with this idea and made me think of it. She told me: “Girls just can’t handle it emotionally”. Can we actually? Yes, there are great feminine athletes and yes, every one is born to make a personal success. But the thing I am trying to bring up to this story is constant sex humiliation and degradation covered by “women’s rights”. Talking about that argument from the beginning, I just mentioned that some professions are better handled by men, and some other by women. And that’s how it is. It doesn’t offend women or men.

War has always been done by men. And so far, they’ve done it very well. Their testosterone provided them huge arms, shoulders and mindset which combined with a bit of practice equals  one fine warrior. On the other hand estrogen makes women’s body fatter especially when emphasising it’s shape which some relate to fertility and also during some typical days of the month when it is bringing out their intensive emotions, which would weaken them in a position of a fighter.

Just because most of women aren’t good warriors and have no interest in war doesn’t make them bad or less worthy. Also some women who actually take part in war actions are not better men than we already have. They are not men at all. And they shouldn’t feel that way. I don’t say that the army is not for women, but I think that men would do it better.

And the thing that I hate the most is when certain women keep degrading all the men under excuse of equality.

There are women who desperately need help, who are molested by their husbands, male co-workers, neighbors etc. And they should be protected. But what I hate is when others who suffer inner problems  use other one’s real misery as their own frustration therapy and mask for their own idiotic attitudes.

If a woman thinks that she’s better than some men, or even worse that all the men are ignorant, clumsy and useless she should keep it to herself and achieve whatever she has to achieve. Also, I feel the same disgust when a man disrespects a woman in the similar way.

There never will be gender equivalence and there never should. What should be there is tolerance. Love me and respect me as a woman and I’ll love you and respect you as a man. The true beauty is in diversity. What an ugly world would it be if we were all the same, with the same bodies, faces, minds.

No dogs in Heaven!

Since I liked this story a lot, I had need to share it with the rest of the anglosaxon speaking world. You may heard it already somewhere, but here it is again:

An old man and his dog were walking down a hot, dusty road lined with a beautiful white fence on both sides. As they walked along, the old man and his dog became very thirsty and tired.

Soon, they came to a gate in the fence where, on the other side, they saw a nice grassy, wooded area surrounding a cool clear pool of fresh water. “Just where a thirsty ‘huntin’ dog and a man would like to rest!” thought the old man. But there was a sign over the gate that read “No Dogs” so they walked on.

Further on, they came upon a man in flowing white robes standing just inside a strong iron gate across a path that led to a beautiful, sunny meadow with a cool clear stream running through it.

“‘Scuse me Sir,” said the old man, “My dog and I have been on this road all day. Mind if we come in and sit in the shade for awhile?” “Of course!” The man said. “Come on in and rest. You look thirsty and tired.” The old man said, “We sure are!” and started through the gate with his dog.

The gatekeeper stopped him. “Sorry, you can come in but your dog can’t come with you. “You see, this is Heaven, and dogs aren’t allowed here. He has to stay out here on the road.” “What kind of Heaven won’t allow dogs?” said the old man. “Well, if he can’t come in, then I’ll stay out here on the road with him. He’s been my faithful companion all his life and I won’t desert him now.”

“Suit yourself,” said the gatekeeper, “but I have to warn you, the Devil’s on this road and he’ll try to sweet talk you into his place. He’ll promise you anything, but dogs can’t go there either. If you won’t leave that dog on the road, you’ll spend all Eternity on the road with him. Better if you stay here.”

“Well, I’m stayin’ with my dog,” replied the man and he and the dog walked on. Gradually, the fence became more and more faded and rundown until they finally reached a spot where the boards fell away completely leaving a gap. Another man dressed in old, ragged clothes sat just inside the broken fence under a shady tree.

“‘Scuse me Sir,” said the old man, “My dog and I have been on this road all day. Mind if we come in and sit in the shade for awhile?” “Of course!” The man said. “Come on in and rest. There’s some cold water here under the tree. Make yourself comfortable.”

The old man paused, “but what about my dog? Can he can come in, too? The man up the road said dogs weren’t allowed here, and they had to stay on the road.” The other man answered, “Well, you look pretty tired and thirsty. Would you come in here and rest if you had to leave that dog?”

“No sir!” the old man replied, “A glass of cold water and some shade would be mighty fine right about now but I won’t come in if my buddy here can’t come too. I didn’t go to Heaven because my dog couldn’t come with me, so I sure as how ain’t about to go to Hell without him neither.”

The man smiled and said, “Welcome to Heaven, and bring your dog!” The old man exclaimed, “You mean this is Heaven? And my dog can come with me? Then why did that fellow down the road say they weren’t allowed in Heaven?” The man replied, “That was the Devil and he gets all the souls who are willing to give up a life-long companion for small comfort because they think it will make their lives a little easier.”

The man continued, “They soon find out their mistake, but, then it’s too late. The dogs come here, the fickle people stay there. God wouldn’t allow dogs to be banned from Heaven. After all, He created them to be man’s companions in life, why would he separate them in death?”

Isn’t that the best story you’ve ever read?

It represents an average man in it’s own shallowness. Not the old one from the story himself, but man in general.

But the dog, loyal and emotional can’t actually see. It is not just a dog, but anyone being put in a position of a good friend.

How far can we go accomplishing our own goals, delusively believing that “there is no other way”?

How many people suffer then in order for one to succeed?

Is there justice, standing with her eyes folded, holding scales in one of her hands and a sword in another?

 

People, be good owners to your pets. Love them and sing to them 🙂

Psi ne idu u raj!

Ovo je jedna odlična priča koju sam davno čula. Ide ovako:

Jednog dana jedan starac i njegov pas su išli stazom prašnjavom i vrelom, oivičenom belom ogradicom. Odjednom postaše veoma žedni i umorni.

Ubrzo su naišli na kapiju koja je vodila u lepo, travnato prostranstvo, puno drveća na obodima jezerceta sveže vode. “Pravo mesto za odmor žednog psa i njegovog gazde!” – pomisli starac. Ali znak na kapiji je bio jasan – “Zabranjeno za pse”, pa su nastavili dalje.

Nastaviši dalje, sreli su čoveka u belim haljinama koji je stajao ispod velike, olovne kapije koja je vodila u divnu, sunčanu poljanu kroz koju je proticao potok hladne vode.

“Oprostite”, reče starac, “moj pas i ja smo na putu ceo dan. Da li bi Vam smetalo da sednemo u hlad na kratko?” – “Naravno”, odgovori mu čovek. “Uđi i osveži se. Izgledaš žedno i umorno”.

“Nego šta smo!”, odgovori starac dok je sa svojim psom prilazio kapiji.

Ali, čovek u belom ga zaustavi. “Možeš da nastaviš, ali bez psa. Znaš, ovo je Raj, psima ovde nije mesto. On mora ostati na putu.”

“Kakav to Raj ne prima pse?”, upita starac. ” Pošto on ne može unutra, ja ostajem sa njim ovde. Bio mi je veran čitavog života, neću da ga napustim sada.”

“Kako hoćeš” odgovori mu čuvar, “ali znaj da ovim putem luta Đavo. Pokušaće svojom slatkorečivošću da te namami u Pakao. Obećaće ti sve, ali ni tamo ne mogu psi. Ne napustiš li tog psa, provešćeš Večnost na ovom putu lutajući sa njim. Bolje ostani ovde.”

“Ipak ostajem sa svojim psom”, odgovori starac nastavljajući put. Odlazeći, kapija iza njih je bledela dok nije potpuno propala ostavljajući prazninu.

Drugi čovek, obučen u staru, poderanu odeću, sedeo je pod hladom drveta, unutar neugledne, propale kapije.

“Oprostite”, obrati se starac, “moj pas i ja smo na ovom putu čitav dan. Da li će vam smetati ako se malo osvežimo i odmorimo u vašem hladu?”

“Nikako”, odgovori čovek. “Uđite i odmorite se. Ima i hladne vode ispod drveta. Osećajte se kao kod kuće.”

Starac zastade. “Ali šta da radim sa psom? Da li i on sme da uđe? Čovek koga smo sreli uz put me je upozorio da je psima zabranjeno da uđu i da moraju da ostanu na putu.”

“Izgledaš prilično umorno i žedno”, odgovori mu čovek. “Da li bi ušao ovde da moraš da ostaviš psa?”

“Ne, gospodine”, reče starac. “Čaša hladne vode i malo hlada bi mi dobro došli u ovom trenutku, ali ne ulazim ako ne može i moj drugar. Kako nisam otišao u Raj, jer on nije mogao sa mnom, tako ni u Pakao ne idem bez njega.”

“Dobrodošli u Raj!”, nasmeja se čovek, “I povedite psa!”

“Kažete ovo je Raj?”, uzviknu čovek, “I mogu da povedem psa? Ali zašto je čuvar u belom rekao da psi ne idu u Raj?”

“To je bio Đavo. On skuplja duše onih koji se odriču prijatelja zarad sitnog zadovoljstva”, reče čovek. “Ubrzo shvate da su pogrešili, ali tada već bude kasno. Psi dolaze ovde, a prevrtljivi ljudi ostaju tamo. Bog nikada ne bi dozvolio da psi budu nepoželjni u Raju. Na kraju krajeva, napravio ih je čovekovim vernim pratiocem za života, zašto bi ih onda razdvajao u smrti?”

Zanimljiva i poučna priča o čoveku i njegovom psu. U naznakama stoji da je zasnovana na epizodi Zone sumraka. Završetak je malo “kliše”, ali ideja je sjajna.  Jedna je od mojih omiljenih iako prevod na srpski zvanično ne postoji.

Opisuje čoveka onakvim kakav on zaista jeste – promenljiv i nestalan. Prema sebi i prema drugima. Pas, emotivan i zavisan, ne vidi i ne shvata. Ali nije samo pas, već i svaki drugi čovek, stavljen u svojstvo prijatelja.

Poverenje košta. Stoga se ne kaže bez razloga “Čovek je čoveku vuk”.

Koliko daleko možemo da idemo u ostvarenju svojih ciljeva, u stanju kada mislimo da se “borimo za goli život”, koliko njih ispašta za jednog čoveka i da li pravda zaista negde čeka vezanih očiju, sa vagom u jednoj, a mačem u drugoj ruci? Koliko je zaista dostižna?

 

Budite dobri vlasnici svojim psima, dragi ljudi. Volite ih i pevajte im ❤

circles

As many other phenomenon brought out by Eastern cultures, accepted by Western cultures and presented as something only theirs, unique and unrepeatable at the same time degraded as a three-years-old toy.

I’ve been loving it at 13s, at 23s and now at 26s. The only path that is fair enough which brings me back to the point I started at without a fear of falling out and breaking my neck.

 

They used to say that the term of carousel is highly related to cavalierly and knighthood. During 12th century Turkish and Arabian army forces came up with a new drill which required extreme horsemanship. The horsemen would ride horses in circles while throwing and fetching a ball. The rule said that the ball shouldn’t be dropped down. Later on, Crusades brought this kind of fun on European land with minor differences in rules of the game – horseman would take of a ring places between two columns. This kind of fun soon repressed jousting.

 Anyways, lets get back into the circle.

Everyone enjoyed it – ladies, children, youth; not only aristocracy but common men also.

It was usually seen at fairs. Coaches and wooden horses would be manufactured during winter months, and as the warmer days turned up the whole construction would built up and ran up by animals pulling platforms. Sometimes men would do the same instead. .

 

By the end of the 19th century carousel was ran by steam engine and coaches and horses would go up and down. In the 20th century it was modernized using electrical engine, more comfortable coaches and unique carousel melody.

Going circles for someone has no further meaning, no sense at all, but not a single moment can be lived twice. Circle is never straight lined since life is not about geometry. But we can keep it straight. Every time is a new beginning; from another perspective the same thing can look quite different. Repeating you learn. There’s no going back, although carousel is a round trip.
I like circles. I like beginnings and endings. Never half and never pointless.