Today marks a full three weeks since I got ill. I haven't gotten on the weighing scale for a few days now, so I don't know how much weight I've lost in total, but last count was 7kg.
It's day 3 of the antibiotics, I've passed the halfway mark. I managed to have a proper meal last night. I even managed to make it down to have dinner with everybody else. Achievement. I was so damn happy.
I slept through the night and didn't wake up starving every three hours like I have been. Achievement.
Everything was going really well until about lunchtime today. My stomach got uneasy again, I got really drowsy, and it was a huge blow to me.
I did the idiotic thing of Googling for other people's experience with Giardiasis. That was horrifying. People saying it never goes away, antibiotics didn't work...
Shite.
Julien came home and I was a mess. Crying about how I'm not feeling good, how I'm terrified the antibiotics won't work, how I can't have this keep happening every few months...
I honestly don't know how he's handled me these past three weeks. One of the reasons why it's been so tough on me is because of my emetophobia. Thanks to that, anything to do with my tummy makes me more anxious than it would someone who isn't emetophobic, and rule one of any tummy issue - DO NOT GET STRESSED. IT MAKES IT WORSE.
On top of that, Giardiasis makes you more emotional than you'd normally be because the parasites starve your body of nutrients. Really doesn't help that I'm emotional to begin with.
I am getting better. I can feel it. I'm definitely not messing about though. I'm going for tests after I'm done with the antibiotics to make sure these parasites are gone for good. I am not going through this again.
I think I feel guilty as well because it's my mother's birthday, and she wanted to have dinner out tonight but I got this immense craving for Chicken Rice so we're staying home and having that for dinner instead.
I just want this to be over with. I hate that it feels like I take one step forward and two steps back. I just want to keep moving forward.
I also hate that we have no idea where this came from. It's making me very paranoid.
The antibiotics are giving me this disgusting metallic taste in my mouth. Gross.
Stay healthy, guys. Seriously.
Thursday, 2 May 2013
Thursday, 14 February 2013
There's a grief that can't be spoken, there's a pain that goes on and on...
In June 2010, I married my husband. Quite a few family members flew up to London from Singapore to be a part of the festivities. Among them, my grandmother - Jiddah - and two aunts - Aunty Yah & Aunty Noor. Between September 2011 and February 2013, my family lost all three of these amazing women to cancer.
I wasn't in Singapore for any of the deaths, but did see each of them a few weeks before their passing. All three women played a huge role in my life, they were all mums to me. They were a significant part of my lives. They guided me, protected me, fed me and most of all, they loved me unconditionally. They welcomed Julien into their lives with open arms. I am forever in their debt for everything they've helped me with as I grew up.
Aunty Noor's death has hit me the hardest. I was so unprepared - when I found out, I thought it was a cruel joke. She was meant to survive this, she was meant to pull through.
Aunty Noor used to tell us that we'd all take care of her when she retired and enjoyed those years, and not one of her (many) nephews and nieces would have grumbled at that. She was so loved.
When I was younger I used to get major separation anxiety. I hated being apart from my mum, especially at bedtime. When we had sleepovers at my cousin's place, I'd sneak into Aunty Noor's bedroom when everyone was asleep and climb into bed with her. It was the only way I could fall asleep. It was the only way I'd feel safe.
She was my first Valentine. Every year she would give us personalised gifts that she made herself. She never forgot a birthday.
When I broke my leg, Aunty Noor stayed in the hospital with me when my mum couldn't. She took advantage of me being immobilised to slather creams and lotions on my face. When they finally let me out of bed after a few days and was taking a dump in the bathroom, she found it hilarious that I had to do so with my broken leg on the dustbin, so she took a picture and emailed it to everybody. I had no idea until I was on a cousin's PC a few years later and saw the photograph.
She used to bite my nose as a child, and when I was older she told me she only did that to one nephew and one niece - her favourites. As I grew up and got taller than her, I loved hugging her. I loved trying to make her feel as safe as she made me feel when I was a kid.
I never doubted that she loved me.
I feel like my heart has been ripped out then shoved back in my chest three times, and each time I lose a piece of it. Now there's something wrong. It doesn't feel right, and it just constantly hurts.
It hurts that none of them will see my kids. They used to tell me how excited they would be when I finally have children. It physically hurts my heart to think about it.
It just hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to look at my mum and think about how she must be feeling. It hurts to think of my Jiddah Yon (grandaunt) who's lost her sister, daughter-in-law, and now her daughter. I want to take all their pain away. If I could, I'd take it all, I'd bear the load for them if it meant I could stop the tears.
I don't know what I'm meant to do. Sometimes I feel like these past 17 months can't have happened. Life can't be that damn cruel. Right? Then I go back to Singapore, and they're not there. The 'welcome home' hugs that I always looked forward to are gone. The comfort meals they used to cook for us, the laughs as we sat around the table teasing each other, the holidays, the good times... They're all just memories now. Memories that make me smile in remembrance, but that make me bawl because I will never have new ones to add to the collection.
My grandmother's death pushed my mind towards television, it became my escape from reality. It was the only way I could deal. Us cousins bonded over a show that we'd discuss in a Whatsapp group weekly, that we'd rewatch together, that we'd quote lines from... I can't speak for them, but I would be broken without it.
Is that sad? I don't think so. We all deal in different ways, this is my way.
The pain doesn't go away. 17 months on, there are still nights where I stay up crying because I miss my Jiddah. I've just learnt to live with it. I've learnt how to stop myself from bursting into tears in public when something reminds me of them. But I still feel my heart crumble when I find something they gave me, or see an old picture.
Right now, when it's all fresh, I'm not in control as much. I try my best to stay upbeat in front of everyone because I don't want to make them cry. I choose to be strong for them. Then I get home, climb in bed, curl up into a ball and can't stop myself from cursing the world, from wanting to escape my life.
So please allow me some time to have not so pleasant tweets and spam your Instagram timeline with pictures of my beautiful aunt. I don't mean to be a nuisance, I just can't believe she's gone.
Finally, please join me in saying a huge FUCK YOU to cancer.
Thank you.
I wasn't in Singapore for any of the deaths, but did see each of them a few weeks before their passing. All three women played a huge role in my life, they were all mums to me. They were a significant part of my lives. They guided me, protected me, fed me and most of all, they loved me unconditionally. They welcomed Julien into their lives with open arms. I am forever in their debt for everything they've helped me with as I grew up.
Aunty Noor's death has hit me the hardest. I was so unprepared - when I found out, I thought it was a cruel joke. She was meant to survive this, she was meant to pull through.
Aunty Noor used to tell us that we'd all take care of her when she retired and enjoyed those years, and not one of her (many) nephews and nieces would have grumbled at that. She was so loved.
When I was younger I used to get major separation anxiety. I hated being apart from my mum, especially at bedtime. When we had sleepovers at my cousin's place, I'd sneak into Aunty Noor's bedroom when everyone was asleep and climb into bed with her. It was the only way I could fall asleep. It was the only way I'd feel safe.
She was my first Valentine. Every year she would give us personalised gifts that she made herself. She never forgot a birthday.
When I broke my leg, Aunty Noor stayed in the hospital with me when my mum couldn't. She took advantage of me being immobilised to slather creams and lotions on my face. When they finally let me out of bed after a few days and was taking a dump in the bathroom, she found it hilarious that I had to do so with my broken leg on the dustbin, so she took a picture and emailed it to everybody. I had no idea until I was on a cousin's PC a few years later and saw the photograph.
She used to bite my nose as a child, and when I was older she told me she only did that to one nephew and one niece - her favourites. As I grew up and got taller than her, I loved hugging her. I loved trying to make her feel as safe as she made me feel when I was a kid.
I never doubted that she loved me.
I feel like my heart has been ripped out then shoved back in my chest three times, and each time I lose a piece of it. Now there's something wrong. It doesn't feel right, and it just constantly hurts.
It hurts that none of them will see my kids. They used to tell me how excited they would be when I finally have children. It physically hurts my heart to think about it.
It just hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to look at my mum and think about how she must be feeling. It hurts to think of my Jiddah Yon (grandaunt) who's lost her sister, daughter-in-law, and now her daughter. I want to take all their pain away. If I could, I'd take it all, I'd bear the load for them if it meant I could stop the tears.
I don't know what I'm meant to do. Sometimes I feel like these past 17 months can't have happened. Life can't be that damn cruel. Right? Then I go back to Singapore, and they're not there. The 'welcome home' hugs that I always looked forward to are gone. The comfort meals they used to cook for us, the laughs as we sat around the table teasing each other, the holidays, the good times... They're all just memories now. Memories that make me smile in remembrance, but that make me bawl because I will never have new ones to add to the collection.
My grandmother's death pushed my mind towards television, it became my escape from reality. It was the only way I could deal. Us cousins bonded over a show that we'd discuss in a Whatsapp group weekly, that we'd rewatch together, that we'd quote lines from... I can't speak for them, but I would be broken without it.
Is that sad? I don't think so. We all deal in different ways, this is my way.
The pain doesn't go away. 17 months on, there are still nights where I stay up crying because I miss my Jiddah. I've just learnt to live with it. I've learnt how to stop myself from bursting into tears in public when something reminds me of them. But I still feel my heart crumble when I find something they gave me, or see an old picture.
Right now, when it's all fresh, I'm not in control as much. I try my best to stay upbeat in front of everyone because I don't want to make them cry. I choose to be strong for them. Then I get home, climb in bed, curl up into a ball and can't stop myself from cursing the world, from wanting to escape my life.
So please allow me some time to have not so pleasant tweets and spam your Instagram timeline with pictures of my beautiful aunt. I don't mean to be a nuisance, I just can't believe she's gone.
Finally, please join me in saying a huge FUCK YOU to cancer.
Thank you.
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
Holding On.
I'm not a hoarder. Far from it. Well, I'd like to think so anyway. I'd be lying though if I said there was nothing in my life that I hold on to for certain sentimental reasons.
For example - I have kept pretty much every card or letter that the husband has given me throughout the seven years we've been together. I most definitely am a sap that hoards all that... stuff. (Yes, I was going to say crap JUST TO RHYME but I sensed nagging would be imminent so...)
Last night I was just lying in bed trying to fall asleep when it hit me that there are things in my life I keep around not for sentimental reasons - but because it's a symbol of something, whether it's a symbol of where I came from or a symbol of a dream I had when I acquired that object. Let's concentrate on the latter.
Should I keep that object around? Why do I hold onto it so tight - because I still think the dream's a possibility or because I know it's impossible but can't admit it to myself? It gets even harder when the object itself is something you've always dreamed of owning, like a dream car for example. If you admit to yourself that you're not going to get that dream, unfortunately it means you have to give up that dream object, and what's worse you also have to deal with the fact that you'll probably never get that dream object back.
Nobody likes to admit their failings. It's even worse when those failings are going to pretty much be advertised. "Why did you sell it? Wasn't it your dream (insert object here)?" But how far do you let it go before you realise that your pride is just going to end up hurting you?
So you suck it up and give up the dream, and that beautiful object that's been making you hold on to that dream. And you admit to yourself that you were stupid for thinking you could ever achieve that dream. This is as good as it gets. You just have to learn to live with it.
For example - I have kept pretty much every card or letter that the husband has given me throughout the seven years we've been together. I most definitely am a sap that hoards all that... stuff. (Yes, I was going to say crap JUST TO RHYME but I sensed nagging would be imminent so...)
Last night I was just lying in bed trying to fall asleep when it hit me that there are things in my life I keep around not for sentimental reasons - but because it's a symbol of something, whether it's a symbol of where I came from or a symbol of a dream I had when I acquired that object. Let's concentrate on the latter.
Should I keep that object around? Why do I hold onto it so tight - because I still think the dream's a possibility or because I know it's impossible but can't admit it to myself? It gets even harder when the object itself is something you've always dreamed of owning, like a dream car for example. If you admit to yourself that you're not going to get that dream, unfortunately it means you have to give up that dream object, and what's worse you also have to deal with the fact that you'll probably never get that dream object back.
Nobody likes to admit their failings. It's even worse when those failings are going to pretty much be advertised. "Why did you sell it? Wasn't it your dream (insert object here)?" But how far do you let it go before you realise that your pride is just going to end up hurting you?
So you suck it up and give up the dream, and that beautiful object that's been making you hold on to that dream. And you admit to yourself that you were stupid for thinking you could ever achieve that dream. This is as good as it gets. You just have to learn to live with it.
Monday, 14 January 2013
Les Miserables... Mostly gushing, with some ranting.
If you follow me on any sort of social media, you would have no doubt seen my rants because Les Mis was released mid January here in England when basically every other country got to watch it on Boxing Day. That being said, I didn't have to become a recluse because (a) spoilers were not an issue and (b) I pretty much already knew which actors were going to bomb. That being said, I present my review.
The family went to watch it the day it came out - first showing at our local cinema. We live in a small village. Apart from us, the cinema was filled with 60 year olds. It was about 50-70% full. Let's run through my family shall we:
It was gritty, flowed well, the new song actually fit, and overall just blew my mind. Do I have complaints? Of course. But my complaints are limited to casting choices and the way one song was performed in particular. I have absolutely no complaints about how the movie was put together. It. Was. Brilliant.
I was in tears pretty much throughout the movie. It started as soon as Colm Wilkinson appeared as the bishop. Why? Colm IS Jean Valjean. Seeing him in the Les Mis movie 27 years after the debut in the West End... There are no words. Of course then it continues because it's just a really sad movie. Let's face it. Even the few happy parts makes you cry. Then Russell Crowe and Amanda Seyfried started singing and I just kept crying because I just wanted them to stop.
Hey, Amanda Seyfried did well in Mamma Mia. I have no doubt she can carry a tune. But it takes a certain kind of voice to play Cosette and while I commend her for trying, she just ended up sounding like a kettle. It wasn't nice to hear. At all.
Then again, anything's better than Russell Crowe. You look at him and he's Javert. You hear him speak, and he's Javert. But then he sings. And you pray for him to stop. There were parts where I thought he didn't sound THAT bad, but then I realised those were the times he was basically talking in tune and if he managed to mess that up, then really, they probably wouldn't have cast him. I mean, Hadley Fraser was in the damn movie! I've never seen a better Javert! Why was he just an army officer?!
As for Hugh Jackman & Anne Hathaway - they did well. My only complaint is how Hugh performed 'Bring Him Home'. It's one of my favourite songs from Les Mis, and I wouldn't call myself an expert - but that is NOT how it's meant to be sung. I'm sorry. The best performance of it I've ever heard to this day was Alfie Boe's, and Colm's is a very close second. THAT'S how it's meant to be sung. I was very, very disappointed. I wasn't too happy when Jackman & Hathaway were cast, but they impressed me. I still feel they could have gotten people from within the theatre community who would have done better, but I understand why they cast them.
The stars of the show, in my opinion, were Samantha Barks, Eddie Redmayne & Aaron Tveit. No words. Just amazing. And guess what?! Theatre folk! GASP! I've seen Samantha live and let me tell you, she's brilliant.
Special mention to young Cosette & Gavroche - their performances were mindblowing.
All in all, I'd give it a 9 out of 10. I have no doubt I'm going to be watching it again, and again, and again...
To end, all I have to say is, "To love another person is to see the face of Colm Wilkinson."
The family went to watch it the day it came out - first showing at our local cinema. We live in a small village. Apart from us, the cinema was filled with 60 year olds. It was about 50-70% full. Let's run through my family shall we:
- Me - Theatre & TV nut.
- Julien - Relatively new to an obsession with theatre & TV, but has always been obsessed with movies.
- Dina - Theatre & TV nut.
- Azril - Hmmmm. I'd say not really obsessed with theatre or TV but actively enjoys them.
- Salma - Everyone was watching the movie, so there was nobody to babysit her. She does enjoy what she wathes though.
- Mother - The woman who got us obsessed with theatre.
- Sara - Theatre & TV nut, but she doesn't really understand a lot that goes on in what she watches.
- Father - The dad version of Sara.
It was gritty, flowed well, the new song actually fit, and overall just blew my mind. Do I have complaints? Of course. But my complaints are limited to casting choices and the way one song was performed in particular. I have absolutely no complaints about how the movie was put together. It. Was. Brilliant.
I was in tears pretty much throughout the movie. It started as soon as Colm Wilkinson appeared as the bishop. Why? Colm IS Jean Valjean. Seeing him in the Les Mis movie 27 years after the debut in the West End... There are no words. Of course then it continues because it's just a really sad movie. Let's face it. Even the few happy parts makes you cry. Then Russell Crowe and Amanda Seyfried started singing and I just kept crying because I just wanted them to stop.
Hey, Amanda Seyfried did well in Mamma Mia. I have no doubt she can carry a tune. But it takes a certain kind of voice to play Cosette and while I commend her for trying, she just ended up sounding like a kettle. It wasn't nice to hear. At all.
Then again, anything's better than Russell Crowe. You look at him and he's Javert. You hear him speak, and he's Javert. But then he sings. And you pray for him to stop. There were parts where I thought he didn't sound THAT bad, but then I realised those were the times he was basically talking in tune and if he managed to mess that up, then really, they probably wouldn't have cast him. I mean, Hadley Fraser was in the damn movie! I've never seen a better Javert! Why was he just an army officer?!
As for Hugh Jackman & Anne Hathaway - they did well. My only complaint is how Hugh performed 'Bring Him Home'. It's one of my favourite songs from Les Mis, and I wouldn't call myself an expert - but that is NOT how it's meant to be sung. I'm sorry. The best performance of it I've ever heard to this day was Alfie Boe's, and Colm's is a very close second. THAT'S how it's meant to be sung. I was very, very disappointed. I wasn't too happy when Jackman & Hathaway were cast, but they impressed me. I still feel they could have gotten people from within the theatre community who would have done better, but I understand why they cast them.
The stars of the show, in my opinion, were Samantha Barks, Eddie Redmayne & Aaron Tveit. No words. Just amazing. And guess what?! Theatre folk! GASP! I've seen Samantha live and let me tell you, she's brilliant.
Special mention to young Cosette & Gavroche - their performances were mindblowing.
All in all, I'd give it a 9 out of 10. I have no doubt I'm going to be watching it again, and again, and again...
To end, all I have to say is, "To love another person is to see the face of Colm Wilkinson."
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
The Tragedy of Death
Following on from my previous post, there's been lots of talk of heaven by people on my various social media timelines in regards to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. You know the usual "It's so sad that MY people are suffering and dying, but it's OK because when MY people die they'll go to heaven."
Now, whenever I hear someone say something like this it just rubs me the wrong way. It's also a reminder that I honestly don't want someone who truly believes that in my life - keep in mind the whole "prerequisites" to heaven I spoke about.
Death is tragic. There are no requirements for an individual to meet that makes a death any more or less tragic to me. Not race, religion, nationality, circumstances of death, age (to a certain extent) or even that person's relationship with me.
My grandmother passed away last September. I took her death very badly. She was very important to me. Even so, I never considered her death more tragic than someone else's grandmother. It just broke me because I loved her, just like it would break someone else. More hurtful since it hits closer to home? Definitely. More tragic just because it's happening to me? Definitely not.
I am blessed (read: fucking cursed) to be able to see the propaganda from both sides of this conflict. That makes it easy for me to deduce that the basis of the argument is to deflect blame and to milk the situation for all it's worth.
Group A: LOOK AT THESE PICTURES OF THESE DEAD CHILDREN
Group A Supporters: RETWEET REBLOG OMG THOSE ANIMALS
Me: Yeah let's just ignore the fact that this wouldn't be happening if not for the rocket fire.
Group B: THIS CERTAIN PICTURE OF THE DEAD CHILDREN ISN'T ACTUALLY FROM THIS CONFLICT
Group B Supporters: RETWEET REBLOG OMG THOSE LIARS
Me: Yeah let's just ignore the fact that children are actually dying, even if they aren't in that picture.
I don't make myself out to be some sort of expert on this conflict. I have read propaganda filled history and also the neutral history, so I may know more than the armchair complainer but I'm no expert. However, I am not an "elitist" (read: brainless fucktard) that believes death or suffering must fulfil certain criteria before I find it tragic. As long as you feel that way, I honestly have no space for you in my life because let's face it - how the fuck am I going to fit your big head anywhere?
Monday, 19 November 2012
Heaven
One of my main issues with organised religion is the fact that people truly believe they are right, and everyone else is wrong. It's not the mysticism of it all that gets to me (that will probably be revisited in a future post), it's the fact that you are inevitably raised to think that you have a step up over everyone else.
Concentrating on the three monotheistic Abrahamic faiths (purely because that's where I have experience - having been raised Muslim, studying in a convent then marrying a Jew), a prerequisite to "qualifying" for heaven is being a believer. Now, that just does not sit right with me. Should heaven and God (who we should obviously assume is fair and just, otherwise what's the point) exist, surely the only prerequisite should be that you're a good person (ambiguous, I know - just go with it).
I've had many people force share their opinion on with me on this topic. I will never understand why people feel so compelled to "fix" me. I honestly don't care what you believe, unless it's something derogatory/close-minded and you're clearly talking out of your ass because you know basically nothing about what you're talking about (currently at least 50% of my Facebook feed thanks to the Israel-Hamas situation).
Thing is, at the end of the day, as long as there are more prerequisites than just being a good person - religion, sexual orientation, race, etc. - then that really sounds like hell to me. I would prefer not to spend the rest of eternity with a bunch of people who, let's face it, will be fucking smug about the fact that they were "right".
This just horrifies people. "Aren't you afraid of going to hell?!" Frankly? No. I'm not perfect. Far from it. But I honestly don't think I'm a bad person. If living my life the way I am sends me to hell, where murderers and rapists and paedophiles are sent too, then so be it. I rather not go to heaven that is governed by a God that can justify doing that, because that God is neither fair nor just. That God is vengeful and spiteful. That God is punishing me for acting/dressing how I want, eating/drinking what I want (and obviously so much more, but I highly doubt there's time for this) in the same way he is punishing others for taking lives, for stripping people of their dignity, for destroying families.
That's like a girl getting punished in school for wearing black shoes instead of white, the same way this other kid gets punished for stabbing someone during recess. Nobody would be fine with that - there would be such an outroar! Newsflash - same thing, really.
So why do my personal beliefs affect others so strongly? You'd assume it's because they care for me. You'd be wrong. Most of the people who want to "fix" me are barely present in my life. And yet here they are, veins popping out of their necks and foreheads, eyeballs threatening to pop out of their sockets, as they try so hard to make me believe them. Why then? Easy. "Fixing" me is just something that will fatten up their resume for heaven.
Which leads us to this question:
If the Abrahamic faiths explicitly stated that there is no afterlife, how many people (in your opinion) would actually follow all of these rules and regulations knowing full well they will not be rewarded with heaven nor punished with hell?
Bazinga.
In which I rant about the Middle East...
A couple of nights ago over dinner, my sister asked me to explain the current Israel-Palestine situation, because people were suddenly getting political/religious on her social media timelines. My 11 year old sister Sara was sitting next to me, and I wanted to include her in this as well so I attempted to explain it in a way that she would understand. The conversation went something like this:
Me: If Sara flicked my ear constantly for half an hour, and I finally get tired of it, turn around and slap her, would you blame me? I mean it’s a tad bit overzealous but pretty much justified, right? (Everyone agrees.) But what if I started beating on her so much that by the end of it, you can’t even recognise her? That would definitely be excessive force, wouldn’t you say? Especially considering I’m bigger and stronger than her - there’s no way for her to defend herself. (Again, everyone agrees.) But what if I tell you the only reason she was flicking my ear in the first place is because she’s starving and I’m sitting next to her having a feast while only passing scraps on? That’s not fair is it? But what if I tell you the reason I feel compelled to do that is because Sara has pretty much declared that she wants to destroy me, and to protect myself I rather not give her anything that might be used as a weapon against me?
It was around this point that Sara turned to me and said “Do the reasons end?” and I flat out told her that they don’t. You could go way, way back in history with this, and let’s face it - historical accounts differ. I told her whatever I just stated aren’t reasons - they’re excuses to justify whatever actions people choose to take.
The reason for this post is purely because I am constantly asked which side I’m on, because of my personal situation. The answer’s pretty simple - I’m on everyone’s side. To be completely honest this answer doesn’t sit well with anyone because people want me to agree with their “facts” (read: opinions). Let’s consider this case study I am making up:
Let’s say I’m playing Articulate/Taboo. Two groups of people are trying to describe the Israel-Palestine situation to me. Group A describes it from the Israeli perspective, and Group B describes it from the Palestinian perspective. I’m going to get the same answer every time, even though everyone will be stating what they believe to be “facts”.
Let me tell you the only fact I care about - there are innocent people dying. What usually comes next when I say that to someone is “Yes, but…” There is NO but. None. Zilch. In my opinion, nobody is right. No action is justified if it causes death - whether directly or as a consequence.
I often get labelled a non-believer because I don’t side with my “brothers and sisters”. Excuse me - I have one brother, and two sisters. Trust me, we fight like cats and dogs, and I’m most definitely not always on their side. But if you don’t mean “brothers and sisters” in that sense, then to me, I am siding with my “brothers and sisters”. You are either my brother/sister genetically, or you’re my brother/sister in humanity. I don’t bring sexual orientation/nationality/race/religion/political affiliation into this.
Everyone is someone’s father/mother/son/daughter/brother/sister. We all know this. How do you expect me to feel more for someone’s innocent 11 month old son then somebody else’s? The grief is the same. I want to go to every funeral. I want to hug everyone who’s hurting. I want to promise them that things will get better.
But things won’t get better. Not while everyone is only concerned with being right. I can’t blame them - that’s human nature. I love being right. Thing is, my personal disagreements have never put anyone’s life at risk. Everyone has made mistakes. The only way to move forward is to forget the past - nothing but a clean slate will fix this.
Will this post make anybody happy? It will probably make NOBODY happy. The thing is - I honestly don’t care. This is MY opinion. I don’t need you to be happy about it. I just need you to accept that this is how I feel, and that nothing will change how I feel about it. As much as I might not LIKE your opinion, I’m not going to try to change how you feel about it, nor am I going to try to silence you, because you have the right to feel however the hell you want to feel.
Don’t try to get me on “your side”. Don’t try to convince me that I should sympathise with “your side”. It’s not going to work. I will probably just piss you off, and I bet I already do that without my opinion on the Middle East thrown in. Respect my right to have my opinion, the same way I respect your right to have yours.
Just FYI - I will not sit around and listen to ANYONE say horrible things about ANY group of people, e.g. “Those evil Jews” or “Those Muslim animals”. Which by the way are all things that have been said around me, by people I know. I multi-task very well and I eavesdrop EXTREMELY well. This sort of talk makes me lose all respect for you. I will walk away, I will walk out of the house, I will walk out of your life. I will not stand for any kind of prejudice because that’s not an opinion - that’s stupidity. That’s you believing you’re better than someone else for whatever reason, and that is not the kind of people I want in my life.
This is how I feel, it’s here so you won’t ask me in person because 75% of the time having this conversation in person will likely destroy our relationship. Thank you.
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