Face to Facebook

I'm 'bout to do something cray and give up Facebook.

As it stands I can only make this promise to myself for a week and then I'll have to see if I am still a person after seven whole days of no one 'liking' my photos or posts. Tomorrow begins the first of my seven 24-hour periods where I don't spray my verbal diarrhea in the bar that innocently asks 'What's on your mind?'

I've been thinking about this since I returned from Sri Lanka. Whilst away, my life became increasingly virtual. My interactions and my thoughts were shared through the medium of Instagram and Facebook and it felt normal. Now that I'm back in the land of free time and beer, I'm worried that I have nothing to say, or at least that I've forgotten how to say it. Am I capable of more than one thought at a time? Am I able to respond authentically to your words without a little blue thumb? Because that's just it. I feel that my dealings with other people are becoming less and less intimate and authentic. Yuck.

I'll still be writing. I hope that this exercise will improve my writing, because right now what I'm writing in my tiny text box is making me sad. I don't want to engage in a conversation about Ferguson or Israel on Facebook. I'm not interested in reading inspirational quotes that tell me how to live or how not to, as is usually the case. I don't want to be bombarded with images of people dumping buckets of ice on their heads or videos that play without my permission and without sound that me make me panic momentarily that I've gone deaf. I fucking hate that.

It's not that I don't want to talk to you. I do. Very much. But I want it to be a conversation. A conversation that not everyone can see or weigh in on. A conversation that doesn't creepily produce ads that are linked to our conversation. I'm curious to see how many of you will talk to me. How many will email me and start an actual correspondence that may result in me hearing your voice or seeing you. Facebook has made me so lazy. Why get on the train and meet for a coffee when we can catch up through our screens? Why go to the cinema together when we can each download the same film, watch it and then exchange notes via status updates? Why have dinner when it's easier to eat mindlessly in front of the TV and then get back on the internet.

I've justified for years that I needed Facebook because I'm so damn international, but I don't. It's a convenient excuse and maybe I'm just afraid that if I don't log on I'll be lonely. But I'm kinda lonely right now. I'm in a city with my best friends and a bazillion great things to do and I'm sat on my ass reading about the lives of people who I don't matter to.

I think what I worry about the most is that I won't see enough cat videos each day. How the hell am I going to cope with that? If you care to help me detox you can email me on kandykorn143@yahoo.co.uk or subscribe to my blog. I'll be posting here about my progress, and my failings. I look forward to our conversation. 

You've got your Zion Me...

Today I read a story about how a 90-year-old Jewish woman in Belgium was denied medical treatment due to her religion. The doctor refused to see her and instructed her to ‘Go to Gaza to be treated.’ In Belgium… That’s a fucking long way to travel, Doctor Douche. This highly educated imbecile later acknowledged his outburst and blamed it on an ‘emotional reaction’ he was having to the current Israel/Palestine conflict. Correct me if I’m wrong, but as the doctor actually instructed the woman to travel to Gaza he must have known that geographically she had not a damned thing to do with the current climate in the Middle East. Nothing to do with firing bullets or launching rockets…this man knew this logically, but he couldn’t understand it emotionally. This is a problem.

Earlier last week I wrote about how I was offended that the majority of news sources who were supporting Israel’s right to defend itself (as I do) were falling back on the lame argument that because the same people who are protesting against Israel may or may not have protested against other humanitarian atrocities like Darfur and Syria they were Anti-Semites. I call bullshit. There are better arguments than that, more accurate than that, and a journalist accusing those demonstrating against the humanitarian crisis in Israel of being Anti-Semitic is ludicrous. But people demonstrating against Jews is a different story.

Fact. I am a Jew. Fact. I am not an Israeli, nor do I live in Israel. Not all Israelis are Jews, not all Jews are Israelis. This is a truth that cannot be denied. I am linked to Israel by religion, but so are Christians, Catholics and Muslims. Fact. I do not support the Israeli occupation of Palestine. 2005 blah, blah, blah anywhere else in the world we would see this as colonialism and occupation. It doesn’t make it right just because they keep trying to kill each other. It doesn’t make it right just because it’s in a part of the world that few have visited and even fewer understand. I don’t get it either. Not a clue.

I can be Jewish and I can be pro a two state solution. I can be a Jew and want you to stop killing people. These two things are not mutually exclusive. So if you refuse to treat me at your hospital because you watched the news last night and were unhappy with a terrible situation in a whole other country which is neither sanctioned nor approved by me, then yes, you Dr. Douchebag have become an Anti-Semite. If you put a sign on the door of your cafe that says ‘Dogs allowed, Jews are not’, you, bastardo are an Anti-Semite. The Israel/Palestine conflict did not create this poison. For the people doing these things so close to home, that poison that has always been there; fermenting, rotting and now it’s starting to seep out. And now I can smell it.   

When a B&B in the UK refused to let a gay couple stay the night at their establishment, like any good Brit I wrote a strongly worded letter. I got pissed off and I wondered who the hell raised those people? Those hateful, miserable assholes? I stood in solidarity with my friends and agreed that that is not how you treat people. I signed a petition to boycott their establishment and I posted my disgust on Facebook. As per usual, I never left anyone doubting exactly how I felt about that situation. When Russia was/is hunting gays in the streets I protested, I fumed, I posted articles and raised awareness. I boycotted products from China for three years until South Sudan became independent and China stopped sending weapons to fund the genocide there. And no one is looking for a pat on the back...However, today I saw the post about the Belgian doctor on Facebook three times. All posted by Jewish friends all with comments made by their Jewish friends. It’s starting to feel a bit lonely out here, guys.

You can hate violence and policy and war without hating me. Do I think that anyone who opposes the war is Anti-Semitic? No I certainly do not. Do I think that anyone who does not speak up and oppose Anti-Semitism is an Anti-Semite? No. But it does hurt. Many of you whose voices boom for peace and cry out for a stop to the war are very quiet when in your own backyard I possibly wouldn’t be seen by a doctor or would have my place of worship burned to the ground, not for fighting and killing children, but just for existing. Just for having Jewish parents and having had a Bat-Mitzvah. I would stand with you. I have stood with you.

I am not this conflict. Neither are you. We are so much more than that and if we lose sight of this then I’m afraid we’re all doomed. 

Once

I went to Israel once

But before I went I was quizzed by those who would fly me there
Torah portions needed explaining because at 26 I could have been anyone
At 26 I wasn’t just free to board and for the first time in my whole life
I had to explain myself, convince someone else that I was safe
Safe enough to be let on the plane to go there, to her

I went to Israel once and I saw the lines
On her face they were deep and curved, whittled from suffering mouths,
they were rivers with no water
But on her streets I saw nothing and I walked a lot of those streets
Too stupid to be afraid and too wild to know I was stupid I just put
one foot in front of the other as I smoked like the Israelis smoke
Like rockets smoke when they hit, but not just between lips
This smoke courts a different kind of cancer

I went to Israel once and I felt free
Not the kind of home of the brave shit, but like the wind shit
The kind where you might be prepared to die if you were asked to fight
But fighting doesn’t work and it hasn’t worked and it’s not working
Blue veins of division clogged with rubbish and with tents
Whose beds are slept in, but whose children want better beds, bunk beds
Not to hide under but to climb

I went to Israel once, but it was just once
So I can’t beat that drum or point my finger because
I only know how it felt and how it looked and what kind of beautiful voodoo
It did on my soul and how cocktails and falafel danced on my tongue
But now my tongue is steeped in bile that tastes like wax
and causes the juices from my jaw to run like tears run and
tear tracks down my face like desperate fingers twisted into claws
attached to hands pushing up soil from graves
So many graves, shallow and numerous
Streets full of them, them that carry bloodied children in their arms
Them that don’t build bomb shelters for their own

I went to Israel once and I would go back
I’d go back because that’s what we do
We keep going back and forth, but always back to where it all remains
To where the ghosts of our millions found the strength to finally give up
I use the word ‘we’, though in this seemingly eternal conflict I will pull no triggers
I will throw no grenades and I will never put on a helmet
But I will ‘we’ until I can no longer because I am a Jew and for that I will not be sorry
I will not defend this fighting and I will not be baited to debate
But I will feel every death, every ounce of blood spilled will be a little bit on my hands
Every rocket fired will be a little closer to my house and I am so fucking lucky
That I live here, that I get to live here
And that I went to Israel once

Answering a question that has no answer

People often ask me what it’s like to be away from Steve for so long. And the truth is…it’s not like anything. It just is.

I can’t compare how our relationship works to anything. It’s not like I’m away at war or at sea. It’s nothing as romantic as that. I’m just away. He’s just away from me, right now. To have a partner like Steve is what I imagine it feels like to be independently wealthy; I never really worry about much and I always feel secure. And as much as I’d like to credit blind luck with this, it’s really nothing to do with luck and all to do with him.

Sometimes people don’t understand me. It’s been that way my whole life and it’s clearly my problem, and something I work on every day, though at times I forget, become complacent and hurt someone’s feelings. I probably hurt Steve’s feelings a lot, but I’d never know it. Because hurting sometimes is just a part of loving me and it’s certainly not nice or fair. It just is.

When I got offered this job I never considered that I wouldn’t do it. I believe that two happy people make the best couples and if I went back to the job I had before this, I would be ok. We would be ok, but I wouldn’t be happy. That’s not to say that every day is like my birthday now, but much more often there are candles to blow out.

I don’t call as much as I should. I separate my year into pieces and portion them out methodically like vegetables on a child’s plate. I know I have time with Steve and time without Steve and that’s just how it is. I know I have time where I will never get what I want to eat for breakfast and then for that I will be rewarded with anything I want in a few months’ time. I always thought I had no patience. It turns out I do. It turns out I am a lot of things I thought I wasn't and I do a lot of things I thought I couldn't.

With every discovery I am a different form of myself. No more, no less, just different but the same. Ultimately showing yourself to someone is not a luxury afforded to all, and I know many who spend a great deal of time censoring themselves or polishing their corners until they bleed. I know people who bite their tongue so often it is now just a piece of meat in their mouth that they try to avoid. I used to bleed too, because the polishing never lasts and you have to keep at it. Eventually my corners would cut and I’d be back to where I started. I haven’t wasted time or energy on buffing my edges for many years, and though my flesh is not smooth and I do not feel particularly nice, I am very loved.

Mine and Steve’s story is not unique. We met and I loved him. He loved me back. Isn’t that how most love stories go? We rent a little flat and have no children. We have no pets and we have no plans. We are just navigating the changeable waters of intimacy, of companionship and of time. To say I love him never seems big enough, but it’s all the vocabulary I have.

So what’s it like to be away from my husband for six months of the year? It’s not like anything. It just is. 

Like a girl? Like a boss.

The last time I gave any great thought to a maxi pad commercial was when I wondered who the hell they thought they were fooling with that blue liquid shit. Let’s be honest ladies: Nothing. Like. That. Then today all over my Facebook news feed (which is where I get all my news in Sri Lanka) my friends were posting this advert from Always. It features some young women and a boy at a casting call where the director instructs them all to do things ‘like a girl’. Fight like a girl, run like a girl, throw like a girl…you get it. Anyway, many people thought that this advert was really poignant and I suppose it is, but mostly it's just more bad news for women.

These young women in the commercial who when asked to do things 'like a girl' threw pathetically and ran ungracefully whilst fixing their hair are old enough to know better. The little boy is not, so I’ll cut him some slack. Years from now his parents will play that commercial at his wedding and he will be doubly mortified that he a) was in a commercial for maxi pads and b) that he was a sexist prick. 

I digress…these young women in their 20’s and 30’s, when asked to throw ‘like a girl’ threw nothing like they would throw. They threw the way someone in a full body cast would throw. When the director explained to these women that they were doing themselves a disservice and asked them if they’d like to try again; they all jumped at the opportunity and even went on to make bold statements like ‘why can’t running like a girl win the race?’ Well, it can. Why do we as women need someone's permission to be strong? To be sexy? To be who we really are? 

The whole point of this campaign is to empower young women to keep throwing and fighting and running like girls. The commercial states that between the ages of 10 and 12 most girls lose their confidence and are already feeling undervalued in their tiny social realms as well as in the bigger world. So why then do we continue to lose confidence even when we’re old enough to know better?

In this commercial, when the director later asked a group of 7-10 year olds to do the same actions ‘like a girl’ they all kicked major ass. They all fought strong, ran fast and threw straight. Being a girl is not a handicap and at 10 years old we know that, but at 25 we have no clue. Did we forget? Or are we just conditioned to become caricatures of ourselves? I have a vagina and I am a perfectly capable human being. I can do anything you can do and I do it ‘like a person’.

So who is this advert targeting? It’s targeting women. Those 10-year-olds aren't buying maxi pads. It’s targeting us women who have no idea that running like a girl is just regular fucking running. The same women that believe their vaginas spout blue liquid once a month. We need to recognize that this is a problem. We are selling ourselves short every day. We can physically and mentally do everything anyone else can do, but if we don’t believe this ourselves how the hell are we going to fight for the big stuff like equal pay and better benefits? Do we think we don’t deserve these things? My genitalia is not a determining factor as to whether or not I'm good at anything. Except maybe having a penis. My vagina means I'm really bad at that.

The reality that some women still see themselves as less than just because of their gender is so sad. And that fact is put under the spotlight in this advert. All these fabulous little girls reminding us of who we once were are great, but the tragedy is that many of us have become these young women who have no idea who we are.  A maxi pad commercial is not inspirational. You are. Now go fight this busted-ass system like a girl. 

Stop with all the raping

Another woman is found hanged in India. The third in two weeks and all three are suspected gang rape victims. We all remember the unbearably tragic incident where a young medical student was gang raped by a group of men on the back of a public bus and then thrown from the moving vehicle in 2012. That story cut something inside of me and inside the rest of the world deeply, but despite our global condemnation and revulsion at such a crime, these incidents continue to happen and actually appear to be on the rise.

According to the National Crime Records Bureau rape incidents have increased in India by ten times since 1971. In 41 years the country has gone from 2,487 incidents of rape to 24,923 in 2012 (NCRB). Of course, as we all know, these are only the incidents that have been reported and in countries where women are marginalized or seen as unequal to men it is less likely that women will report an incident of sexual assault.

So why is this happening? I've heard so many excuses batted around that it’s hard to know where to start. Some blame Bollywood culture for propagating the image that a woman is just a possession to be obtained and though at first she may protest, she can always be won over. Most disturbingly I've read the argument that ‘boys will be boys’. What the fuck does this mean exactly? In an article posted on TIME.com under the heading ‘Opinion Feminist’ Mallika Dutt very rightly observes ‘Let’s stop saying that half the human race is inherently aggressive, predatory and incapable of transformation’ Yes. Let’s. In Uttar Pradesh, an incredibly densely populated area with highest amount of HIV infected individuals in the world ‘three to five rapes of women and girls, mostly Dalit occur daily in Uttar Pradesh alone.’(NCRB) This has to stop.

I work in Sri Lanka 6 months of the year and it’s here too. Every time I come back it’s here a little more. Lurking and threatening just beyond the periphery. The reluctance of Indian authorities to impose stronger punishments for rapists is sending a dangerous message to India and the rest of Asia. ‘Boys will be boys. They make mistakes’. These are the words of Mulayam Singh, the head of Uttar Pradesh’s governing party. Mistakes? A mistake is pulling a girl’s ponytail or pushing her in the sandbox, not forcefully penetrating her and then hangining her or throwing her from a speeding bus. These are not ‘mistakes’ these are acts of unspeakable violence and we as women are systematically being asked to shut the fuck up about it and accept that it may happen to us. It may happen and no one will give a fuck if it does.

We teach the girls who volunteer with us to make a scene: to shout and to push and to never accept someone else’s hands on your body. Are we setting these poor girls up for failure? What India’s government is saying is that if she makes a fuss you silence her. You kill her and you’ll get away with it. This is terrifying. As a woman and as a woman living in Asia this is terrifying.  We need to do more. Arming women with knowledge and weapons will never be enough if men are not equally armed with knowledge and they can use their body as a weapon.

Don’t rape. It’s simple really. Why do we not teach our boys not to rape? I refuse to believe that every man has it in them to commit this crime, but we should be talking about it just in case. ‘Boys will be boys’ is bullshit. This dangerous ignorance is costing freedom, security and lives. No one deserves to be raped and no rapist deserves to be free. We need to do something about this. This isn't a foreign problem. It’s a human problem. 

Are we there yet?

It's Saturday morning and I'm supposed to be asleep. I've been surviving on about 4-5 hours a night and packets of Hawaiian biscuits for sustenance. I'm supposed to be asleep, but this beautiful, sunshiney Sri Lankan morning has pulled back my blankets and coaxed me awake with its smells and sounds.

I'm nearly at the two week mark of my time in Sri Lanka and it feels like I've been here for months. The weather is cooler, the storms more intense and the obstacles feel at times like stairs too steep and dangerous to attempt, but they have been attempted and for the most part I have stood at the top and wondered how the fuck I made it up. I made it with the help of the incredible people I work with and with the help of being too stupid not to try.

Putting people on planes and keeping people from getting on planes has been the sum of recent events. Every day I feel a little helpless, a little important and a little sad that on that day I couldn't do more. But I also feel a little proud that shit got done. No matter how small it seems, shit gets done. My heart is engorged by working with the best team with the best intentions. My heart is broken for sometimes falling short and for having to make decisions that no one wants to have to make. I'm constipated both emotionally and physically and have reached all new levels of intimacy with my room mate due to the walls of the toilet not reaching the ceiling.

However, despite the cozy conditions we are living in luxury and there are no complaints from either of us. As seems to be that pattern with me and moving in Sri Lanka, the house that was chosen as our residence never actually prepared for our arrival, despite the month's notice and we were met with plywood and dirt where there was supposed to be beds and cupboards. As a solution we have been moved into a hostel with air conditioning and wifi. We have a kettle and according to the gossip, we're married. We will leave this beautiful oasis tomorrow and move back in with our previous family.

These past few weeks have been filled with dirty-ass butt pants, wanting two things and Big Mackrels, and they have been great. I'm both terrified and excited for the rest of the summer and looking forward to meeting the rest of the inspired and inspirational people who will come here and make this place theirs. It is all very much the same but different. And that's just what I wanted.