 |
| Rock and...Dest? Of course. |
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| Now is this people who love films or the people who play lovers IN films? This t-shirt makes you think. |
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| Probably not. |
Saturday, 26 October 2013
Do you know what your shirt says part 2
Tuesday, 15 October 2013
Do you know what your shirt says?
 |
| Always sound town of record red zone OK! Well....OK? |
 |
| This guy is not impressed if you ogle his footwear. |
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| I'm lookin' cool in the whip. You dudes lookin' Jell-O. Obvs. |
Thursday, 10 October 2013
To make you feel my love
Sri Lanka is a beast. It is a gorgeous, reckless semi truck crashing into my chest everyday. Sometimes it hits so hard that I think I can't breathe, but I blame the exhaust fumes, suck air through my o-shaped mouth and focus on something else. To focus on what it actually is, this force that is forcing me to relent to this bone-crushing weapon of mass emotion would be too much, because it's too many things.
I get asked daily "do you miss home?" My answer is always the same "no." Because to allow myself to feel that would be taking up space where I could feel something else. Of course I miss home, I miss him and I know that intellectually. But I can't feel it. I can't feel anything. I won't.
I've seen the most incredible people doing the most amazing things. And we overuse that word. Seriously amazing things that probably don't seem amazing because you've not lived without it long enough to miss it. Building and laughing and touching hands and hair and creating choruses of laughter. They guide and create and they use themselves all up and then find more stuff to use up from somewhere else. A somewhere else I don't have anymore. "Do you cry when these people leave?" Of course the answer is the same- "no." I can't. I can't feel it. I won't.
When my plane touches down, when I am in the taxi on my way home...maybe then, maybe I'll let myself feel it then. When I'm surrounded by people who know me and love me...maybe then. But not now. Because once I start feeling I won't be able to stop and then there will be tears of happiness and of sorrow and for everyone who has left and for everyone who is coming and for everyone I will leave here. And I won't want to leave here.
I can't seem to think straight. The twine of the net around my chest strains and frays from the pressure and I'm dying for a release. Always just one second away, but I can't let that happen. I won't. Because this isn't about me. It's bigger than that. Bigger than I ever could have known and maybe if I'd known I'd have been too scared to come. But I'm here and it's so beautiful. Even shutting it out is beautiful. This dull persistent aching is the sole reminder that I'm still human, I haven't lost the ability to feel, I've just put it on hold.
So please don't be offended that when we speak I cut it short, or that my smile is hesitant and all at once fixed to my face like a hook in the wall. Try not to think it odd that I stare at your jumper and not into your eyes. I'm just holding it together and making sure that everything is great and please know that everything is great, it's just a different kind of great than I'm used to.
I get asked daily "do you miss home?" My answer is always the same "no." Because to allow myself to feel that would be taking up space where I could feel something else. Of course I miss home, I miss him and I know that intellectually. But I can't feel it. I can't feel anything. I won't.
I've seen the most incredible people doing the most amazing things. And we overuse that word. Seriously amazing things that probably don't seem amazing because you've not lived without it long enough to miss it. Building and laughing and touching hands and hair and creating choruses of laughter. They guide and create and they use themselves all up and then find more stuff to use up from somewhere else. A somewhere else I don't have anymore. "Do you cry when these people leave?" Of course the answer is the same- "no." I can't. I can't feel it. I won't.
When my plane touches down, when I am in the taxi on my way home...maybe then, maybe I'll let myself feel it then. When I'm surrounded by people who know me and love me...maybe then. But not now. Because once I start feeling I won't be able to stop and then there will be tears of happiness and of sorrow and for everyone who has left and for everyone who is coming and for everyone I will leave here. And I won't want to leave here.
I can't seem to think straight. The twine of the net around my chest strains and frays from the pressure and I'm dying for a release. Always just one second away, but I can't let that happen. I won't. Because this isn't about me. It's bigger than that. Bigger than I ever could have known and maybe if I'd known I'd have been too scared to come. But I'm here and it's so beautiful. Even shutting it out is beautiful. This dull persistent aching is the sole reminder that I'm still human, I haven't lost the ability to feel, I've just put it on hold.
So please don't be offended that when we speak I cut it short, or that my smile is hesitant and all at once fixed to my face like a hook in the wall. Try not to think it odd that I stare at your jumper and not into your eyes. I'm just holding it together and making sure that everything is great and please know that everything is great, it's just a different kind of great than I'm used to.
Friday, 4 October 2013
Bitch, please.
It's been awhile since I tapped into the real world and had a look at what was happening outside of Sri Lanka. Terrorist activity, government shutdowns, Kimyae stepped out post baby, but all of this news was overshadowed by the most important issue in the world right now...Britney Spears' new video.
Now I know that I should have known from the catchy title: "Work Bitch", that I wouldn't enjoy the song. And I don't. But the naive part of me expected the video to be about strong, powerful women excelling at their professions. I wanted to see mothers, farmers, CEOs and a damn female president in this video getting shit done. I should have known better to expect any kind of feminist statement from someone who once declared herself "not a girl and not yet a woman."
Now I have no beef with Britney as an artist usually. I've even paid good money to watch her lip-sync her greatest hits, but the images in tis most recent video skipped past sexy and landed in "ring the alarm" territory for my feminist sensibilities. In order to "get a Lamborghini and drink martinis" you gotta "work bitch." And the suggested profession in the video is that of a prostitute. A woman who is blindfolded writhes around in a glass box up lit with red light a la Roxanne.
Anyone who has been to Amsterdam knows what this image suggests. The Red-Light-District is not the place to gaze at affluent women who "party in France" as the song would suggest. It's where the most trafficked women from Eastern Europe end up after being promised things similar to Britney's lyrics. Most of them are held against their will and living in hell. But hey, Britney's advice remains the same "You gotta work bitch."
I'm sure Britney will defend her creation by claiming it empowers women, but how is it ever empowering to be called a bitch? I get it, we're reclaiming the word, it's ours to use, blah, blah, bullshit. It is a word that we should be trying to eradicate, not perpetuate as some pet name for all women. It's a nasty, negative word and we shouldn't be using it to describe each other, especially not to encourage each other. Call me a bitch, I feel vindicated in giving you a bitch-slap. Hey, you earned it.
My issues with Robin Thicke aren't to dissimilar from those I have with Britney at the moment. Why do we have to degrade women to sell records? Calling women bitches, parading them around bare-breasted or whipping them as they choke on a Dr. Dre Beats speaker system is the new normal; and all of it is gagging me on it's misogynistic stench. More so it's worrying that this is trendy. Miley Cyrus can ride butt-nekked on a wrecking ball all she likes. It's her body. But Britney whipping the already barely-there panties off a woman who is crawling on her hands and knees doesn't say empowerment to me. Yet this shit song will be a floor filler. Can you imagine a band putting out a song called "Work Dickhead" and all men flocking to the stores to buy it or knock people over to dance to it in a club to prove that they will work, because they truly are the biggest dickhead of them all? No.
Ladies. Let's cut this shit out. Don't call each other bitches, even to sell records. Going to work means a lot more to most of us than getting spanked or sold, so let's keep it real. This shit is eroding the position in society we have fought so long to achieve. And before anyone accuses me of overreacting, I'm not. I'm reacting full stop. Something many of us have stopped doing when we believe something is wrong. I am reacting to a world-famous pop star calling every other woman out there a bitch. I am reacting to her video that perpetuates the idea that women are objects. Objects to be sold, beaten and called names and if we buy this record or dance to it we are telling her that it's ok.
Now I know that I should have known from the catchy title: "Work Bitch", that I wouldn't enjoy the song. And I don't. But the naive part of me expected the video to be about strong, powerful women excelling at their professions. I wanted to see mothers, farmers, CEOs and a damn female president in this video getting shit done. I should have known better to expect any kind of feminist statement from someone who once declared herself "not a girl and not yet a woman."
Now I have no beef with Britney as an artist usually. I've even paid good money to watch her lip-sync her greatest hits, but the images in tis most recent video skipped past sexy and landed in "ring the alarm" territory for my feminist sensibilities. In order to "get a Lamborghini and drink martinis" you gotta "work bitch." And the suggested profession in the video is that of a prostitute. A woman who is blindfolded writhes around in a glass box up lit with red light a la Roxanne.
Anyone who has been to Amsterdam knows what this image suggests. The Red-Light-District is not the place to gaze at affluent women who "party in France" as the song would suggest. It's where the most trafficked women from Eastern Europe end up after being promised things similar to Britney's lyrics. Most of them are held against their will and living in hell. But hey, Britney's advice remains the same "You gotta work bitch."
I'm sure Britney will defend her creation by claiming it empowers women, but how is it ever empowering to be called a bitch? I get it, we're reclaiming the word, it's ours to use, blah, blah, bullshit. It is a word that we should be trying to eradicate, not perpetuate as some pet name for all women. It's a nasty, negative word and we shouldn't be using it to describe each other, especially not to encourage each other. Call me a bitch, I feel vindicated in giving you a bitch-slap. Hey, you earned it.
My issues with Robin Thicke aren't to dissimilar from those I have with Britney at the moment. Why do we have to degrade women to sell records? Calling women bitches, parading them around bare-breasted or whipping them as they choke on a Dr. Dre Beats speaker system is the new normal; and all of it is gagging me on it's misogynistic stench. More so it's worrying that this is trendy. Miley Cyrus can ride butt-nekked on a wrecking ball all she likes. It's her body. But Britney whipping the already barely-there panties off a woman who is crawling on her hands and knees doesn't say empowerment to me. Yet this shit song will be a floor filler. Can you imagine a band putting out a song called "Work Dickhead" and all men flocking to the stores to buy it or knock people over to dance to it in a club to prove that they will work, because they truly are the biggest dickhead of them all? No.
Ladies. Let's cut this shit out. Don't call each other bitches, even to sell records. Going to work means a lot more to most of us than getting spanked or sold, so let's keep it real. This shit is eroding the position in society we have fought so long to achieve. And before anyone accuses me of overreacting, I'm not. I'm reacting full stop. Something many of us have stopped doing when we believe something is wrong. I am reacting to a world-famous pop star calling every other woman out there a bitch. I am reacting to her video that perpetuates the idea that women are objects. Objects to be sold, beaten and called names and if we buy this record or dance to it we are telling her that it's ok.
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
Killer of cockroaches.
Yes that's right. I have in the past 2 1/2 weeks killed 15 cockroaches. Drowned them, squished them, sprayed them. trapped them and fed them to the alligator fish...you name it, I've murdered one of the massive buggers that way all with the help of may incredible roommate who suffers from night terrors. The other night I was woken up to the news that there was "a man wearing a mask in the room." W.T. actual F.? I took this news surprisingly well and explored the room reluctantly with sleepy eyes and the light from my phone. Upon inspection there was no man, just a mosquito net. Perhaps it was at one time wearing a mask, but by the time I shined the light its way it had cleverly removed it. She and I are an awesome team though, she gets scared and I sleep through it usually. I really have pity for the poor bastard who takes my place in the room once I've cleared out unless they are a heavy sleeper. She says some insane stuff in the wee hours, but I adore her. Crazy nocturnal behavior and all.
As well as cockroach genocide; I've also been doing other stuff. I've been playing with a parachute, clinging for dear life to the outside of bus doors as we snake through the streets and my butt gets grazed by countless bike's handlebars. I've been doing the Hokey Kokey (Pokey to those of you in the US and those of you who do it RIGHT), I've been being bullied by children and laughed at by adults for no other reason than that I'm white. It's all a bit different, but it's never boring and at times this place feels like home. Hot, sweaty, stinky, crazy home.
My house mother enthralls us with tales of her unhappy marriage and has advised me to get my own "special friend" in Sri Lanka, as going without "the sex" for three months for a married lady is the worst thing she can possibly imagine. Although she herself is not having any of "the sex" with her own husband. Opportunities are rife in Sri Lanka. Not a day goes by when someone doesn't get felt up on the bus or shouted at in the street. The sight of our reflective flesh apparently really does it for them. Porn is very new here and all the porn that they get is western, so they are under the impression that all us white girls are up for it. Even the monk at the temple I teach at is a bit flirty. Naughty monk.
I have become accustomed to the dirt and now eating with my hands is a less messy affair, though now I've gotten a bit complacent. At one point I was using anti-bac every 15 minutes. But now I've gotten a bit slack. Eating without washing your hands here creates the same fear as I imagine having anonymous unprotected sex does (never done it for the record.) At the time you know it's wrong and dangerous, but you're too focused on the joy of the act to pause and potentially ruin the moment and the pleasure. Why stop at a sink that never has any soap? It's more about ritual than practicality then. It's a risky game, this bacterial roulette and every time it happens I spend days wondering what the consequences of my poor hygiene choices might be. Touch wood I've not been sick yet. Or gotten lost. All in all I'm doing OK. In fact I'm doing bloody marvelous. I may just open my own extermination business once I return to the UK.
As well as cockroach genocide; I've also been doing other stuff. I've been playing with a parachute, clinging for dear life to the outside of bus doors as we snake through the streets and my butt gets grazed by countless bike's handlebars. I've been doing the Hokey Kokey (Pokey to those of you in the US and those of you who do it RIGHT), I've been being bullied by children and laughed at by adults for no other reason than that I'm white. It's all a bit different, but it's never boring and at times this place feels like home. Hot, sweaty, stinky, crazy home.
My house mother enthralls us with tales of her unhappy marriage and has advised me to get my own "special friend" in Sri Lanka, as going without "the sex" for three months for a married lady is the worst thing she can possibly imagine. Although she herself is not having any of "the sex" with her own husband. Opportunities are rife in Sri Lanka. Not a day goes by when someone doesn't get felt up on the bus or shouted at in the street. The sight of our reflective flesh apparently really does it for them. Porn is very new here and all the porn that they get is western, so they are under the impression that all us white girls are up for it. Even the monk at the temple I teach at is a bit flirty. Naughty monk.
I have become accustomed to the dirt and now eating with my hands is a less messy affair, though now I've gotten a bit complacent. At one point I was using anti-bac every 15 minutes. But now I've gotten a bit slack. Eating without washing your hands here creates the same fear as I imagine having anonymous unprotected sex does (never done it for the record.) At the time you know it's wrong and dangerous, but you're too focused on the joy of the act to pause and potentially ruin the moment and the pleasure. Why stop at a sink that never has any soap? It's more about ritual than practicality then. It's a risky game, this bacterial roulette and every time it happens I spend days wondering what the consequences of my poor hygiene choices might be. Touch wood I've not been sick yet. Or gotten lost. All in all I'm doing OK. In fact I'm doing bloody marvelous. I may just open my own extermination business once I return to the UK.
Sunday, 11 August 2013
In 2 weeks it will hit me...
But not yet. I'm not freaking out yet.
Sure, no one was there to get me at the airport. So what?! I threw my hands up, laughed at the sky and after 45 minutes called in the reinforcements (Steve ) for help. But panic I did not! My voice cracked but I did not cry. Even after an hour passed I remained dry-cheeked. This is an accomplishment.
Once collected, the car drive that threatened a premature death with every swerve and honk of the horn was taken in stride. I gripped not the shit-handles or clenched my teeth. I merely surrendered. I almost freaked out, but not yet...
Being escorted into my prison barracks with a single, paper-thin mattress on a dubiously twisty metal frame invoked no anxiety. "Charming!" I screeched as I mentally swept the cobwebs from the ceiling and the bugs from the walls. I have identified 4 kinds of ants in my residence so far; kitchen ants, bathroom ants, table ants and bed ants. But I am not freaking out yet. Not just yet.
Crossing the street with it's choking fart-smelling streets and crazy "get out of my way motherfucker" scooters and buses like a demented Frogger has proven both challenging and rewarding! Every time I make it to the other side I yell in my head "I lived!" No freaking out.
My host family has 5 dogs, 50 roosters and a gigantic alligator fish (yes. it is what you are picturing) that co-habitate with me. They bark, crow and threaten at all hours. They smell and itch and lick in equal proportion but I am not freaking out yet.
My house is shared with 9 other people and my room is shared with 3 of them. None of whom I have met, but apparently they all have an empty water bottle collection and enjoy sprinkling the floor with various food stuffs like wedding confetti. But no one is celebrating. Our communal areas are filled with once lavish furnishings and crawling walls, what I thought was a jar of coffee turned out to be ants. I am the latest contestant on Sri Lanka Survivor and I am not freaking out.
There is no Wifi and no internet without a journey. There is no Facebook and no Blogger and no communication with my husband I can access by craning my head round a door. There is no one here. Not yet. But I am not freaking out.
Currently 4 volunteers are in hospital.
There is no hot water. Anywhere. Ever.
It is horrendously hot. Everywhere. All the time.
No air conditioning anywhere. Ever.
I booked my stay too long for my 90 day visa, so I need to change my flight.
But I'm here. I'm doing it. I can never undo it and I won't regret it. I will learn to love it like a replacement hamster and forget that I ever didn't love it before. I will pilgrimage to beaches and run into the sea. I will put smiles on faces and teach people new things, I will be of use and make myself useful. They say anything worth doing is never easy. One day I will say this was worth it.
But not today. Today I'm freaking out.
Sure, no one was there to get me at the airport. So what?! I threw my hands up, laughed at the sky and after 45 minutes called in the reinforcements (Steve ) for help. But panic I did not! My voice cracked but I did not cry. Even after an hour passed I remained dry-cheeked. This is an accomplishment.
Once collected, the car drive that threatened a premature death with every swerve and honk of the horn was taken in stride. I gripped not the shit-handles or clenched my teeth. I merely surrendered. I almost freaked out, but not yet...
Being escorted into my prison barracks with a single, paper-thin mattress on a dubiously twisty metal frame invoked no anxiety. "Charming!" I screeched as I mentally swept the cobwebs from the ceiling and the bugs from the walls. I have identified 4 kinds of ants in my residence so far; kitchen ants, bathroom ants, table ants and bed ants. But I am not freaking out yet. Not just yet.
Crossing the street with it's choking fart-smelling streets and crazy "get out of my way motherfucker" scooters and buses like a demented Frogger has proven both challenging and rewarding! Every time I make it to the other side I yell in my head "I lived!" No freaking out.
My host family has 5 dogs, 50 roosters and a gigantic alligator fish (yes. it is what you are picturing) that co-habitate with me. They bark, crow and threaten at all hours. They smell and itch and lick in equal proportion but I am not freaking out yet.
My house is shared with 9 other people and my room is shared with 3 of them. None of whom I have met, but apparently they all have an empty water bottle collection and enjoy sprinkling the floor with various food stuffs like wedding confetti. But no one is celebrating. Our communal areas are filled with once lavish furnishings and crawling walls, what I thought was a jar of coffee turned out to be ants. I am the latest contestant on Sri Lanka Survivor and I am not freaking out.
There is no Wifi and no internet without a journey. There is no Facebook and no Blogger and no communication with my husband I can access by craning my head round a door. There is no one here. Not yet. But I am not freaking out.
Currently 4 volunteers are in hospital.
There is no hot water. Anywhere. Ever.
It is horrendously hot. Everywhere. All the time.
No air conditioning anywhere. Ever.
I booked my stay too long for my 90 day visa, so I need to change my flight.
But I'm here. I'm doing it. I can never undo it and I won't regret it. I will learn to love it like a replacement hamster and forget that I ever didn't love it before. I will pilgrimage to beaches and run into the sea. I will put smiles on faces and teach people new things, I will be of use and make myself useful. They say anything worth doing is never easy. One day I will say this was worth it.
But not today. Today I'm freaking out.
Wednesday, 7 August 2013
It's been awhile
Hello from sunny, beautiful Thailand! They say one night in Bangkok makes a hard man crumble, well I've had 14 of them and I'm feeling a little crumbly myself. So I have done a little reflecting...
5 things Thailand will teach you
1. This is not your fucking country. Things move slowly here, people don't necessarilly queue up and just because those two things are facts, you can't decide to be a dick to people. No one here is on your schedule. No one here cares what you need to do. They are busy living too and shouldn't we all be a little more considerate of each other? Thailand will teach you patience.
2. You can buy anything in Thailand, but that doesn't mean you have to. Girls, drugs, animals...it all has a price. But think about it. That girl is someone's daughter, those drugs will make you act like an idiot and probably land you in Thai prison and that animal is drugged to fuck. Stop touching it. Thailand will teach you restraint.
3. It's damn hot here! Remember why you escaped your own country? Probably because you were cold! Try to remember that when you are navigating the humid, sulferic, smothering streets and stop pushing people and sweating on them. Relax for a minute and feel how nice the heat is on your pale, western skin. Why are you wearing your Chloe kaftan with your cashmere leggings anyway? That's just idiotic. Thailand will teach you modesty.
4. You will never look as good as the Thais look. Leave your makeup at home, forget your blow-dryer. Bring tinted sunscreen for your face and a lot of hair-ties. Get used to how you look in a ponytail. Jewlery is unnecessarey. You will sweat under it and it will leave what I lovingly call a "sweatlace" on your shirt. Gross. These beautiful Thai women and Ladyboys will make you look stupid. You'll be a graceless, red turnip of a woman hobbling along like a wounded animal on her too-high heels and we will all laugh at you. This is the perfect time for you to buy those harem pants you think are cute, but that you daren't wear in NYC for fear of being laughed at. Wear them here and be a hero! Thailand teaches you confidence in your natural self.
5. Smile for fuck's sake! You're in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Get that judgy, shit-smelling look off your face and give in to the charm of this amazing country. You'll be a better person for it. Thailand teaches you to not take yourself so seriouly.
There are many other fantastic lessons from Thailand, but these are the essentials. Now go pack your bags. I'm waiting for you.
5 things Thailand will teach you
1. This is not your fucking country. Things move slowly here, people don't necessarilly queue up and just because those two things are facts, you can't decide to be a dick to people. No one here is on your schedule. No one here cares what you need to do. They are busy living too and shouldn't we all be a little more considerate of each other? Thailand will teach you patience.
2. You can buy anything in Thailand, but that doesn't mean you have to. Girls, drugs, animals...it all has a price. But think about it. That girl is someone's daughter, those drugs will make you act like an idiot and probably land you in Thai prison and that animal is drugged to fuck. Stop touching it. Thailand will teach you restraint.
3. It's damn hot here! Remember why you escaped your own country? Probably because you were cold! Try to remember that when you are navigating the humid, sulferic, smothering streets and stop pushing people and sweating on them. Relax for a minute and feel how nice the heat is on your pale, western skin. Why are you wearing your Chloe kaftan with your cashmere leggings anyway? That's just idiotic. Thailand will teach you modesty.
4. You will never look as good as the Thais look. Leave your makeup at home, forget your blow-dryer. Bring tinted sunscreen for your face and a lot of hair-ties. Get used to how you look in a ponytail. Jewlery is unnecessarey. You will sweat under it and it will leave what I lovingly call a "sweatlace" on your shirt. Gross. These beautiful Thai women and Ladyboys will make you look stupid. You'll be a graceless, red turnip of a woman hobbling along like a wounded animal on her too-high heels and we will all laugh at you. This is the perfect time for you to buy those harem pants you think are cute, but that you daren't wear in NYC for fear of being laughed at. Wear them here and be a hero! Thailand teaches you confidence in your natural self.
5. Smile for fuck's sake! You're in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Get that judgy, shit-smelling look off your face and give in to the charm of this amazing country. You'll be a better person for it. Thailand teaches you to not take yourself so seriouly.
There are many other fantastic lessons from Thailand, but these are the essentials. Now go pack your bags. I'm waiting for you.
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