Ok, this is not fresh news, but I haven´t had much time to blog about it, so...
A couple of weeks ago I read this news on BBC about the three muslims that were killed in North Carolina. The headline went something like "Three muslims killed in North Carolina". Other news websites had similar headlines too. The news talked about some three muslim students that had been killed, supposedly after a fight over a parking place, though there was a possibility that it would have been a hate crime.
Well, here is something that would not have annoyed me two years ago. Even more, I wouldn´t even have noticed it. But the headlines did say "Three muslims". "Three muslims", or "Three muslim students", or "Three young muslims", everywhere I checked. Also in the NY Times.
Quoting directly from the latter: "The victims’ families described it as a hate crime. The police said that the shooting appeared to have been motivated by “an ongoing neighbor dispute over parking,” but that they were investigating whether religious hatred had contributed to the killings."
So, as I was saying, two years ago I wouldn´t even have noticed they were saying "Three muslims", instead of "Three people". In Spain, for some reason, we always specify if the person we´re talking about is south american, or black, or asian (and actually, we use "chinese" for asian). But now it sounds weird to me. The headlines should have read three "people", and then the text should have mentioned that a hate crime was suspected because these three people happened to be muslims and the killer happened not to be. Otherwise, we´re making assumptions we shouldn´t make. We´re actually turning a crime into a hate crime.
Speaking about hate crimes... This whole thing is getting crazy. The day after the killings in France, I survived a fake bomb alert when I was trying to go back home after work. It was about 7pm and I took the Metro to Chamartín station, where I would transfer to the RENFE train. When I got to the station, they were shutting down all RENFE lines running to Atocha, which happens to be my last stop. They were announcing trains wouldn´t run because of government orders.
After the previous day events, people were nervous. Even I was nervous. Of course I imagined something like a bomb alert, and I didn´t want to stay in a big station like Chamartín. I thought of an alternative route to get home, but then they announced some Metro lines were being shut down too. Finally, I decided it would be easier to avoid the main train and metro lines, and go to my parents´ house instead. On my way, I got a message about the bomb alert in Nuevos Ministerios station, and I texted my family not to go there.
At the end, of course, it was a fake alert. Someone had forgotten a package with the word "STORM" at the station. But I have to admit it, I was scared. And I felt stupid after.
The last few weeks, when I got off the train in Chamartín every morning, there were three cops at the entrance, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying a huge machine gun. Actually, I´m not sure if I can say "huge", because I don´t know how big a regular machine gun is, but it does look huge to me. The cops stood there and did nothing. Sometimes they took a few steps to the left, a few to the right... I wondered why they were there.
Last week the cops disappeared, and I wondered why they were gone.
And today, I saw four of them in Atocha station. Dispersed, this time. Standing with their vests and their machine guns and taking a few steps from time to time. And I wonder why they are here. They look pretty intimidating, sure, but they won´t stop me if I carry a bomb in my backpack. I could kill all these hundreds of little ants heading to work if I wanted to. And their sole presence there makes me feel insecure.
It would all be so much easier if we realized how unimportant it is whatever each one of us thinks comes after... We all are nothing but (bio)chemistry.
viernes, 27 de febrero de 2015
miércoles, 11 de febrero de 2015
Disrupted
Ok, this posting has nothing to do with me feeling disrupted, or with disruption, or with anything starting with "disrupt-" or remotely related. But, because it´s my blog and I can do as I please, I want to use the title to inform you that yes, I feel disrupted, and that word, in English, just like that, popped up in my mind on my way to work this morning, and the only reason why I´m telling you about how disrupted I feel is to notice that I haven´t been able to find a word that better expresses how I feel in Spanish. Weird?
And now, let´s move on to the real subject of this posting which is, again, Catch-22. Let me give you the real title for the posting: "A stupid masterpiece".
As I keep reading, I wander about how incredibly stupidly brilliant the book is. From page 62 now, I still doubt that I will be able to finish it, but every single paragraph I read, I want to share in the blog. Even whole pages I want to share. It´s amazing. The language is absolutely not correct, neither it is the content of it, and no general plot has really started to unfold so far. It´s all about some Col. Something, Lt. Someone, names and more names and nicknames and short anecdotes and more anecdotes that lead one to the next and so on, in the middle of a war that puts the most insane of people together and makes them even more insane.
I will try to be very, very picky and restrictive about the fragments I share, but here´s a few of them that I hope you enjoy.
[“It was a godsend,” Doc Daneeka confessed solemnly. “Most of the other doctors were soon in the service, and things picked up overnight. The corner location really started paying off, and I soon found myself handling more patients than I could handle competently. I upped my kickback fee with those two drugstores. The beauty parlors were good for two, three abortions a week. Things couldn’t have been better, and then look what happened. They had to send a guy from the draft board around to look me over. I was Four-F. I had examined myself pretty thoroughly and discovered that I was unfit for military service. You’d think my word would be enough, wouldn’t you, since I was a doctor in good standing with my county medical society and with my local Better Business Bureau. But no, it wasn’t, and they sent this guy around just to make sure I really did have one leg amputated at the hip and was helplessly bedridden with incurable rheumatoid arthritis. Yossarian, we live in an age of distrust and deteriorating spiritual values. It’s a terrible thing,” Doc Daneeka protested in a voice quavering with strong emotion. “It’s a terrible thing when even the word of a licensed physician is suspected by the country he loves.”]
[“Every time another White Halfoat was born,” he continued, “the stock market turned bullish. Soon whole drilling crews were following us around with all their equipment just to get the jump on each other. Companies began to merge just so they could cut down on the number of people they had to assign to us. But the crowd in back of us kept growing. We never got a good night’s sleep. When we stopped, they stopped. When we moved, they moved, chuckwagons, bulldozers, derricks, generators. We were a walking business boom, and we began to receive invitations from some of the best hotels just for the amount of business we would drag into town with us. Some of those invitations were might generous, but we couldn’t accept any because we were Indians and all the best hotels that were inviting us wouldn’t accept Indians as guests. Racial prejudice is a terrible thing, Yossarian. It really is. It’s a terrible thing to treat a decent, loyal Indian like a nigger, kike, wop or spic.” Chief White Halfoat nodded slowly with conviction.]
[The nightmares appeared to Hungry Joe with celestial punctuality every single night he spent in the squadron throughout the whole harrowing ordeal when he was not flying combat missions and was waiting once again for the orders sending him home that never came. Impressionable men in the squadron like Dobbs and Captain Flume were so deeply disturbed by Hungry Joe’s shrieking nightmares that they would begin to have shrieking nightmares of their own, and the piercing obscenities they flung into the air every night from their separate places in the squadron rang against each other in the darkness romantically like the mating calls of songbirds with filthy minds.]
[It was a night of surprises for Appleby, who was as large as Yossarian and as strong and who swung at Yossarian as hard as he could with a punch that flooded Chief White Halfoat with such joyous excitement that he turned and busted Colonel Moodus in the nose with a punch that filled General Dreedle with such mellow gratification that he had Colonel Cathcart throw the chaplain out of the officers’ club and ordered Chief White Halfoat moved into Doc Daneeka’s tent, where he could be under a doctor’s care twenty-four hours a day and be kept in good enough physical condition to bust Colonel Moodus in the nose again whenever General Dreedle wanted him to. Sometimes General Dreedle made special trips down from Wing Headquarters with Colonel Moodus and his nurse just to have Chief White Halfoat bust his son-in-law in the nose.]
Now, to finish, a brief reflection that occured to me while I was waiting for the train this morning, and after I shook the word "disrupted" off my mind: Why do I keep saying "One day I will write something good" but that day never seems to come? I could come up with a lot of fair excuses, all of which could be contained in the very reasonable and honest statement "I don´t have the time right now". But the truth (the other truth) is, I might just not be a good witer after all. It might happen that I start writing and I turn to be a bad (even a crappy) writer. Whereas, as long as I haven´t tried yet, I´m a potential good writer.
So at the end it´s all about cats in boxes.
And now, let´s move on to the real subject of this posting which is, again, Catch-22. Let me give you the real title for the posting: "A stupid masterpiece".
As I keep reading, I wander about how incredibly stupidly brilliant the book is. From page 62 now, I still doubt that I will be able to finish it, but every single paragraph I read, I want to share in the blog. Even whole pages I want to share. It´s amazing. The language is absolutely not correct, neither it is the content of it, and no general plot has really started to unfold so far. It´s all about some Col. Something, Lt. Someone, names and more names and nicknames and short anecdotes and more anecdotes that lead one to the next and so on, in the middle of a war that puts the most insane of people together and makes them even more insane.
I will try to be very, very picky and restrictive about the fragments I share, but here´s a few of them that I hope you enjoy.
[“It was a godsend,” Doc Daneeka confessed solemnly. “Most of the other doctors were soon in the service, and things picked up overnight. The corner location really started paying off, and I soon found myself handling more patients than I could handle competently. I upped my kickback fee with those two drugstores. The beauty parlors were good for two, three abortions a week. Things couldn’t have been better, and then look what happened. They had to send a guy from the draft board around to look me over. I was Four-F. I had examined myself pretty thoroughly and discovered that I was unfit for military service. You’d think my word would be enough, wouldn’t you, since I was a doctor in good standing with my county medical society and with my local Better Business Bureau. But no, it wasn’t, and they sent this guy around just to make sure I really did have one leg amputated at the hip and was helplessly bedridden with incurable rheumatoid arthritis. Yossarian, we live in an age of distrust and deteriorating spiritual values. It’s a terrible thing,” Doc Daneeka protested in a voice quavering with strong emotion. “It’s a terrible thing when even the word of a licensed physician is suspected by the country he loves.”]
[“Every time another White Halfoat was born,” he continued, “the stock market turned bullish. Soon whole drilling crews were following us around with all their equipment just to get the jump on each other. Companies began to merge just so they could cut down on the number of people they had to assign to us. But the crowd in back of us kept growing. We never got a good night’s sleep. When we stopped, they stopped. When we moved, they moved, chuckwagons, bulldozers, derricks, generators. We were a walking business boom, and we began to receive invitations from some of the best hotels just for the amount of business we would drag into town with us. Some of those invitations were might generous, but we couldn’t accept any because we were Indians and all the best hotels that were inviting us wouldn’t accept Indians as guests. Racial prejudice is a terrible thing, Yossarian. It really is. It’s a terrible thing to treat a decent, loyal Indian like a nigger, kike, wop or spic.” Chief White Halfoat nodded slowly with conviction.]
[The nightmares appeared to Hungry Joe with celestial punctuality every single night he spent in the squadron throughout the whole harrowing ordeal when he was not flying combat missions and was waiting once again for the orders sending him home that never came. Impressionable men in the squadron like Dobbs and Captain Flume were so deeply disturbed by Hungry Joe’s shrieking nightmares that they would begin to have shrieking nightmares of their own, and the piercing obscenities they flung into the air every night from their separate places in the squadron rang against each other in the darkness romantically like the mating calls of songbirds with filthy minds.]
[It was a night of surprises for Appleby, who was as large as Yossarian and as strong and who swung at Yossarian as hard as he could with a punch that flooded Chief White Halfoat with such joyous excitement that he turned and busted Colonel Moodus in the nose with a punch that filled General Dreedle with such mellow gratification that he had Colonel Cathcart throw the chaplain out of the officers’ club and ordered Chief White Halfoat moved into Doc Daneeka’s tent, where he could be under a doctor’s care twenty-four hours a day and be kept in good enough physical condition to bust Colonel Moodus in the nose again whenever General Dreedle wanted him to. Sometimes General Dreedle made special trips down from Wing Headquarters with Colonel Moodus and his nurse just to have Chief White Halfoat bust his son-in-law in the nose.]
Now, to finish, a brief reflection that occured to me while I was waiting for the train this morning, and after I shook the word "disrupted" off my mind: Why do I keep saying "One day I will write something good" but that day never seems to come? I could come up with a lot of fair excuses, all of which could be contained in the very reasonable and honest statement "I don´t have the time right now". But the truth (the other truth) is, I might just not be a good witer after all. It might happen that I start writing and I turn to be a bad (even a crappy) writer. Whereas, as long as I haven´t tried yet, I´m a potential good writer.
So at the end it´s all about cats in boxes.
miércoles, 4 de febrero de 2015
Caught!
I'm reading a new book. New for me, I mean. And I want to share something.
I usually don't share parts of a book before finishing it, but with this one, Catch-22, I don't know... I'm liking it a lot, some paragraphs are just amazing, but it's not easy reading for me and I hate it but I'm afraid I might not finish it. And I'm telling you from page 36..., so yes, there's a real chance!
But I want to make this clear, if I don't finish it, it won't be because the book is not good enough, but because the reader isn't.
And now, the excerpts.
"In a way the C.I.D. man was pretty lucky, because outside the hospital the war was still going on. Men went mad and were rewarded with medals. All over the world, boys on every side of the bomb line were laying down their lives for what they had been told was their country, and no one seemed to mind, least of all the boys who were laying down their young lives."
"Actually, there were many officers' clubs that Yossarian had not helped build, but he was proudest of the one on Pianosa. It was a sturdy and complex monument to his powers of determination. Yossarian never went there to help until it was finished; then he went there often, so pleased was he with the large, fine, rambling shingled building. It was truly a splendid structure, and Yossarian throbbed with a mighty sense of accomplishment each time he gazed at it and reflected that none of the work that had gone into it was his."
"But there was no enthusiasm in Yossarian's group. In Yossarian's group there was only a mounting number of enlisted men and officers who found their way solemnly to Sergeant Towser several times a day to ask if the orders sending them home had come in. They were men who had finished their fifty missions. There were more of them now than when Yossarian had gone into the hospital, and they were still waiting. They worried and bit their nails. They were grostesque, like useless young men in a depression. They moved sideways, like crabs. They were waiting for the orders sending them home to safety to return from Twenty-seventh Air Force Headquarters in Italy, and while they waited they had nothing to do but worry and bite their nails and find their way solemnly to Sergeant Towser several times a day to ask if the order sending them home to safety had come."
I must say, not too often have I found so brilliant lines condensed in so very few pages!
So I really, really hope to have the strength, time and patience to finish it. I will let you know how it goes...
I usually don't share parts of a book before finishing it, but with this one, Catch-22, I don't know... I'm liking it a lot, some paragraphs are just amazing, but it's not easy reading for me and I hate it but I'm afraid I might not finish it. And I'm telling you from page 36..., so yes, there's a real chance!
But I want to make this clear, if I don't finish it, it won't be because the book is not good enough, but because the reader isn't.
And now, the excerpts.
"In a way the C.I.D. man was pretty lucky, because outside the hospital the war was still going on. Men went mad and were rewarded with medals. All over the world, boys on every side of the bomb line were laying down their lives for what they had been told was their country, and no one seemed to mind, least of all the boys who were laying down their young lives."
"Actually, there were many officers' clubs that Yossarian had not helped build, but he was proudest of the one on Pianosa. It was a sturdy and complex monument to his powers of determination. Yossarian never went there to help until it was finished; then he went there often, so pleased was he with the large, fine, rambling shingled building. It was truly a splendid structure, and Yossarian throbbed with a mighty sense of accomplishment each time he gazed at it and reflected that none of the work that had gone into it was his."
"But there was no enthusiasm in Yossarian's group. In Yossarian's group there was only a mounting number of enlisted men and officers who found their way solemnly to Sergeant Towser several times a day to ask if the orders sending them home had come in. They were men who had finished their fifty missions. There were more of them now than when Yossarian had gone into the hospital, and they were still waiting. They worried and bit their nails. They were grostesque, like useless young men in a depression. They moved sideways, like crabs. They were waiting for the orders sending them home to safety to return from Twenty-seventh Air Force Headquarters in Italy, and while they waited they had nothing to do but worry and bite their nails and find their way solemnly to Sergeant Towser several times a day to ask if the order sending them home to safety had come."
I must say, not too often have I found so brilliant lines condensed in so very few pages!
So I really, really hope to have the strength, time and patience to finish it. I will let you know how it goes...
jueves, 29 de enero de 2015
For my right to complain
Like I said some postings ago, I would like to write in defense of my right to complain.
Objectively, I am actually not the happiest person these days (or these months). But whenever someone asks how I am, I will say "I'm fine", "Not bad", "I can't complain".
I can't complain because I have a nice job, a nice family, good health, some very good friends and a comfortable life. I can waste a bit of money from time to time and still have enough to pay the rent, go out for dinner, go to the theater, travel, get some chocolate... I have literally no responsibilities other than myself, and even if I couldn't take care of myself, I would have good social support. I am relatively well educated, enjoy reading and even studying, which is great because both are things that don't require much physical effort or other people's intervention. I speak english, so I could potentially get along with many people from all over the world, and also travel to most destinations fairly safely. Comparatively, my life has always been easy. I have never known war or hunger. Even when my parents didn't have enough money to buy us new clothes when we were kids, they managed so that I never had a perception of scarcity. And economy is pretty good right now. Again, comparatively.
I can't complain because, if we draw a horizontal line that divided the world's population into the fortunate and the unfortunate, I would be, comparatively, scraping the top.
So, if I complain, it doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for the life I have. But it means that I know things could be even better. It means that I am aware of the aspects in my life that are not, comparatively, as good. And I am just pointing them out so I can make them better. Because, like I said, life is a succession of goals and achievements.
A few days ago someone thought I might use a self-help book. It's called "The glasses of happiness". I have only a few pages left.
In this book, the author tries to give me (because I'm the one reading it) a few tips on how to be happy. One of his main points is, "In order to be fine, all you need is food and drink. Everything else is bonus."
Well, I see how this maxim can work, but I don't exactly agree with it. Rather, I do, only I don't think that is the key for a happy life, but for a comfortable one. Which is quite a different thing. A comfortable life is the kind of life that passes by unnoticed while you content yourself with what it puts before you. And I'm reading the book, supposedly, because I want to be happy, and not just fine. Otherwise I would go for "The glasses of fineness".
Each person could probably give us a different definition of "happiness", while such thing most certainly does not exist as a permanent condition or state of mind. I wouldn't know how to define it, but if I had to, I would say it probably involves some effort from my side. Because, in order to be happy, I need to believe that I can, in some way, be better. And make it a goal. Otherwise, if I'm just fine with what I already got, what's the point of going on? I could just die right now, and I would die happy.
So, after all, maybe it's a good thing that happiness is not achievable.
Because unhappiness is precisely what allows us to hope and makes us keep moving towards something better.
Therefore I will keep complaining, from time to time.
* NOTE: "Happiness" is just a fake concept created by a society that had already achieved the goal of "surviving". So it all depends on your glasses.
Like Machado said, "The sea and the mountain change, as does the eye that beholds them."
Objectively, I am actually not the happiest person these days (or these months). But whenever someone asks how I am, I will say "I'm fine", "Not bad", "I can't complain".
I can't complain because I have a nice job, a nice family, good health, some very good friends and a comfortable life. I can waste a bit of money from time to time and still have enough to pay the rent, go out for dinner, go to the theater, travel, get some chocolate... I have literally no responsibilities other than myself, and even if I couldn't take care of myself, I would have good social support. I am relatively well educated, enjoy reading and even studying, which is great because both are things that don't require much physical effort or other people's intervention. I speak english, so I could potentially get along with many people from all over the world, and also travel to most destinations fairly safely. Comparatively, my life has always been easy. I have never known war or hunger. Even when my parents didn't have enough money to buy us new clothes when we were kids, they managed so that I never had a perception of scarcity. And economy is pretty good right now. Again, comparatively.
I can't complain because, if we draw a horizontal line that divided the world's population into the fortunate and the unfortunate, I would be, comparatively, scraping the top.
So, if I complain, it doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for the life I have. But it means that I know things could be even better. It means that I am aware of the aspects in my life that are not, comparatively, as good. And I am just pointing them out so I can make them better. Because, like I said, life is a succession of goals and achievements.
A few days ago someone thought I might use a self-help book. It's called "The glasses of happiness". I have only a few pages left.
In this book, the author tries to give me (because I'm the one reading it) a few tips on how to be happy. One of his main points is, "In order to be fine, all you need is food and drink. Everything else is bonus."
Well, I see how this maxim can work, but I don't exactly agree with it. Rather, I do, only I don't think that is the key for a happy life, but for a comfortable one. Which is quite a different thing. A comfortable life is the kind of life that passes by unnoticed while you content yourself with what it puts before you. And I'm reading the book, supposedly, because I want to be happy, and not just fine. Otherwise I would go for "The glasses of fineness".
Each person could probably give us a different definition of "happiness", while such thing most certainly does not exist as a permanent condition or state of mind. I wouldn't know how to define it, but if I had to, I would say it probably involves some effort from my side. Because, in order to be happy, I need to believe that I can, in some way, be better. And make it a goal. Otherwise, if I'm just fine with what I already got, what's the point of going on? I could just die right now, and I would die happy.
So, after all, maybe it's a good thing that happiness is not achievable.
Because unhappiness is precisely what allows us to hope and makes us keep moving towards something better.
Therefore I will keep complaining, from time to time.
* NOTE: "Happiness" is just a fake concept created by a society that had already achieved the goal of "surviving". So it all depends on your glasses.
Like Machado said, "The sea and the mountain change, as does the eye that beholds them."
martes, 13 de enero de 2015
Je suis pas Charlie
Ok, first of all, I think what happened in Charlie Hebdo's building is absolutely unjustifiable and I am not even remotely suggesting otherwise.
But.
I am not Charlie. Charlie was extremely irrespectful to muslim community, as it is probably to so many other collectives I'm unaware of (because it has not transcended and i didn't research). The images they published were really offensive. I've seen some of them. And they had the right to publish them, of course, because of this thing we call freedom of expression.
But let's not be cynical now.
Two years ago, a french television showed a program mocking spanish sportsmen, making it look like every single one of them took drugs before a game/race/competition. Spain didn't care about freedom of expression then. We were offended and we demanded an apology from France. I don't see any differences between that case and Charlie's, apart from the fact that Rafa Nadal and the Gasol brothers didn't massacre the anchors.
So I'm not saying we should not protest, I'm saying we should protest for the right reason. And the reason here is not one of freedom of expression, but one of religious tolerance. Not one of broken pencils, but one of broken brotherhood. (Btw, religions are a fallacy anyways, and they are doomed to extintion sooner or later - freedom of expression!).
I've seen a lot of people these days "taking revenge" on the terrorist acts in France by posting Charlie's images on facebook, along with comments such as "You won't silence us" and that sort of things. I think we are confusing the terms here. Just because two (or three) crazy fanatics killed these innocent people who didn't believe in their god, we should not respond by offending the majority of muslims who have nothing to do with that and most likely condemn the killing as well. Let's say that an offended crazy woman kills a comedian who told sexist jokes. We would not hate women and publish sexist jokes on facebook. And even if most women would feel insulted by the comedian, also most would not get a kalashnikov or wish him dead.
In the last years, or since I have political consciousness - which is not so long ago -, partly promoted by the US and mostly promoted by islamic fanatics there's been an increasing hate/fear from the so called occidental society to muslims and everything related to islamic religion. Whenever we think of muslims we see fanatics, killers, suicide bombers. That is also what we learn from Holliwood movies. Muslims are always the enemy. Thank god the United States of America always defeat them.
So I want to share this, even if you already know. I'm sure you know about the cop that was killed at the street right outside Charlie's building. You might know as well that his name was Ahmed Merabet and he was muslim. You might have heard or read "Je suis Ahmed". "Je suis Ahmed. Le policier mort. Charlie s’est moqué de ma culture et à ridiculisé ma religion et je suis mort parce que j’ai voulu défendre son droit de le faire." "I am Ahmed. The dead cop. Charlie mocked my culture and ridiculed my faith and I am dead because I wanted to defend his right to do so."
This is the real hero. Charlie's editor and columnists and cartoonists are just victims, no less, but no more. So in case we choose to "be" somebody, somebody who truly represents the ideals we think we are fighting for, we should at least choose wisely.
Even if that means choosing a muslim.
I won't extend my thoughts any longer. There's already a lot of debate out there to reflect on.
But.
I am not Charlie. Charlie was extremely irrespectful to muslim community, as it is probably to so many other collectives I'm unaware of (because it has not transcended and i didn't research). The images they published were really offensive. I've seen some of them. And they had the right to publish them, of course, because of this thing we call freedom of expression.
But let's not be cynical now.
Two years ago, a french television showed a program mocking spanish sportsmen, making it look like every single one of them took drugs before a game/race/competition. Spain didn't care about freedom of expression then. We were offended and we demanded an apology from France. I don't see any differences between that case and Charlie's, apart from the fact that Rafa Nadal and the Gasol brothers didn't massacre the anchors.
So I'm not saying we should not protest, I'm saying we should protest for the right reason. And the reason here is not one of freedom of expression, but one of religious tolerance. Not one of broken pencils, but one of broken brotherhood. (Btw, religions are a fallacy anyways, and they are doomed to extintion sooner or later - freedom of expression!).
I've seen a lot of people these days "taking revenge" on the terrorist acts in France by posting Charlie's images on facebook, along with comments such as "You won't silence us" and that sort of things. I think we are confusing the terms here. Just because two (or three) crazy fanatics killed these innocent people who didn't believe in their god, we should not respond by offending the majority of muslims who have nothing to do with that and most likely condemn the killing as well. Let's say that an offended crazy woman kills a comedian who told sexist jokes. We would not hate women and publish sexist jokes on facebook. And even if most women would feel insulted by the comedian, also most would not get a kalashnikov or wish him dead.
In the last years, or since I have political consciousness - which is not so long ago -, partly promoted by the US and mostly promoted by islamic fanatics there's been an increasing hate/fear from the so called occidental society to muslims and everything related to islamic religion. Whenever we think of muslims we see fanatics, killers, suicide bombers. That is also what we learn from Holliwood movies. Muslims are always the enemy. Thank god the United States of America always defeat them.
So I want to share this, even if you already know. I'm sure you know about the cop that was killed at the street right outside Charlie's building. You might know as well that his name was Ahmed Merabet and he was muslim. You might have heard or read "Je suis Ahmed". "Je suis Ahmed. Le policier mort. Charlie s’est moqué de ma culture et à ridiculisé ma religion et je suis mort parce que j’ai voulu défendre son droit de le faire." "I am Ahmed. The dead cop. Charlie mocked my culture and ridiculed my faith and I am dead because I wanted to defend his right to do so."
This is the real hero. Charlie's editor and columnists and cartoonists are just victims, no less, but no more. So in case we choose to "be" somebody, somebody who truly represents the ideals we think we are fighting for, we should at least choose wisely.
Even if that means choosing a muslim.
I won't extend my thoughts any longer. There's already a lot of debate out there to reflect on.
martes, 6 de enero de 2015
Saint Francis the Good
This is no news, but I happened to read it today. On facebook, I must admit. Some friend of mine posted it.
So it turns out that Pope Francis said in October that the theories of evolution and the Big Bang are real, and this is perfectly compatible with the existence of God, moreover, this "requires" the existence of God.
I guess Unamuno happened to be not too far away from my thinking when I saw this, and the Pope´s speech reminded me of San Manuel Bueno, Mártir (Saint Emmanuel the Good, Martyr). This is a novel written by Miguel de Unamuno in 1930. It tells about the life of a priest in a small Spanish village.
Now, spoiler alert. This will be a real spoiler.
I warned you.
So the novel starts with Manuel, a catholic priest, arriving to the village. The three main characters are Manuel, Ángela (a local) and Lázaro (Ángela´s brother, recently arrived from America). The story presents Manuel as the perfect, merciful, calmed, conciliatory, righteous, virtuous priest whom everybody in the village loves and admires and even venerates.
Until -and here comes the spoiler- Lázaro raises doubts on whether the priest is actually a believer. In his words, "He is too intelligent to believe everything he teaches." So finally, it turns out that Manuel, the perfect priest, in fact does not believe in God or an afterlife. But he´s doing what he´s doing because he thinks the simple people in the village need to have hope and consolement in the promise of eternal life. At the end, Unamuno even suggests that Christ himself didn´t believe in God.
So I read this news -old news- about the Pope and I couldn´t help thinking of "Saint Emmanuel". I don´t know what this man believes or not. I am not in any way suggesting he´s an atheist. But I do think the guy is smart. Smart enough to foresee that, if the catholic church doesn´t change its doctrines, there´s no way the institution, and the religion with it, can survive. Everything he´s done so far goes in the way to cleaning the image of the christian church: he apologized for the church´s "mistakes" during the middle ages, for the rejection of homosexuality, for the opulent lives of many priests. He had a word on the use of condoms. He´s trying to make peace with society, which is probably the only way to go, but something his predecessors didn´t know how to do, He´s being brave enough to confront the most conservative sectors of the church. He, believer or not, understands that religion, as opposed to science, cannot compete with science. And he´s trying to make religion evolve along with science, so that sheeps don´t miss the right path.
Don´t take me wrong, I don´t consider myself better than most sheeps. But I am a lost cause, I don´t have hope and I never will. And what is worse, I hope I never will, because, the way I see it now, that would mean embracing a lie. The biggest of lies. The cruelest, maybe, as it is the fake promise for something that will never happen. Just imagine you´re dying, meh, it´s ok, no biggie, will see you all on the other side. And then you die. And fuck you, there´s no other side! Game over.
So I´d rather live my life knowing that it is what it is, and everything I want to do, I must do here. And everything I didn´t do will stay undone. But I do understand how sheeps feel and why they need hope. So I think, for those who hope, keeping that hope alive is a good thing to do.
Therefore, I like this pope.
I could go on and on, arguing about how ridiculously important religious ideas are to society, how stupid it is that you must pretend to believe in the christian god if you ever want to become the president of the US, just as stupid as if you´d have to swear that your favorite pizza is ham and mushrooms. May the mushroom pizza be with you. I swear on mushroom pizza. Religions are just ideas, shared and very rigid but ideas, and they should not matter at all, for anything, as long as they are respectful between them. I could, like I said, go on and on.
But I will not.
So it turns out that Pope Francis said in October that the theories of evolution and the Big Bang are real, and this is perfectly compatible with the existence of God, moreover, this "requires" the existence of God.
I guess Unamuno happened to be not too far away from my thinking when I saw this, and the Pope´s speech reminded me of San Manuel Bueno, Mártir (Saint Emmanuel the Good, Martyr). This is a novel written by Miguel de Unamuno in 1930. It tells about the life of a priest in a small Spanish village.
Now, spoiler alert. This will be a real spoiler.
I warned you.
So the novel starts with Manuel, a catholic priest, arriving to the village. The three main characters are Manuel, Ángela (a local) and Lázaro (Ángela´s brother, recently arrived from America). The story presents Manuel as the perfect, merciful, calmed, conciliatory, righteous, virtuous priest whom everybody in the village loves and admires and even venerates.
Until -and here comes the spoiler- Lázaro raises doubts on whether the priest is actually a believer. In his words, "He is too intelligent to believe everything he teaches." So finally, it turns out that Manuel, the perfect priest, in fact does not believe in God or an afterlife. But he´s doing what he´s doing because he thinks the simple people in the village need to have hope and consolement in the promise of eternal life. At the end, Unamuno even suggests that Christ himself didn´t believe in God.
So I read this news -old news- about the Pope and I couldn´t help thinking of "Saint Emmanuel". I don´t know what this man believes or not. I am not in any way suggesting he´s an atheist. But I do think the guy is smart. Smart enough to foresee that, if the catholic church doesn´t change its doctrines, there´s no way the institution, and the religion with it, can survive. Everything he´s done so far goes in the way to cleaning the image of the christian church: he apologized for the church´s "mistakes" during the middle ages, for the rejection of homosexuality, for the opulent lives of many priests. He had a word on the use of condoms. He´s trying to make peace with society, which is probably the only way to go, but something his predecessors didn´t know how to do, He´s being brave enough to confront the most conservative sectors of the church. He, believer or not, understands that religion, as opposed to science, cannot compete with science. And he´s trying to make religion evolve along with science, so that sheeps don´t miss the right path.
Don´t take me wrong, I don´t consider myself better than most sheeps. But I am a lost cause, I don´t have hope and I never will. And what is worse, I hope I never will, because, the way I see it now, that would mean embracing a lie. The biggest of lies. The cruelest, maybe, as it is the fake promise for something that will never happen. Just imagine you´re dying, meh, it´s ok, no biggie, will see you all on the other side. And then you die. And fuck you, there´s no other side! Game over.
So I´d rather live my life knowing that it is what it is, and everything I want to do, I must do here. And everything I didn´t do will stay undone. But I do understand how sheeps feel and why they need hope. So I think, for those who hope, keeping that hope alive is a good thing to do.
Therefore, I like this pope.
I could go on and on, arguing about how ridiculously important religious ideas are to society, how stupid it is that you must pretend to believe in the christian god if you ever want to become the president of the US, just as stupid as if you´d have to swear that your favorite pizza is ham and mushrooms. May the mushroom pizza be with you. I swear on mushroom pizza. Religions are just ideas, shared and very rigid but ideas, and they should not matter at all, for anything, as long as they are respectful between them. I could, like I said, go on and on.
But I will not.
miércoles, 31 de diciembre de 2014
Goals (welcoming 2015)
Old year dying, new year arising...
Stupid or not, I have got used to this routine of blogging by the end of every year, to take a look back and see how the year was, and also take a look forward and set my goals for the next year.
Last year I decided 2013 had been my best year so far. And for the 1st time, I didn´t write down a list of goals or expectations for 2014. This is what I wrote:
"It´s all so uncertain right now, that I cannot make many purposes for the new year... So I will stick to the immediate: pass the MIR, come back to NY, start studying for the damned USMLE and the TOEFL... And make the path by walking."
Well, I can say I did it all, so 2014 was a good year too.
I welcomed the new year in NY, dancing with a guy I got to really admire (yep, me, dancing). I did quite well at the exam, well enough to get the post I wanted. I came back to NY. And I also visited Philadelphia, Boston, Washington and Columbus. I loved, I laughed, I cried. I got the chance to observe in an american hospital. I had a wonderful 3 year old kid sleeping by my side after he peed on his mattress. I got a job I really like, I met quite a few people and made quite a few good friends. I moved back to my crappy apartment, where you can practice roach hunting even in the shower. I got serious about the USMLE. And, the most important thing, I learnt where I want my life to go -- and I´m working for it.
As for the year to come, I have it very clear what I want from it, but for the 1st time in my life I feel that it´s only up to me to make it happen. So once more, I won´t write down a list of expectations, though I have to say that, in 2015, I hope I get the chance to read more, write more, meet more interesting people and keep growing and getting wiser. And I also hope to get my green card -- karma owes me. The rest is entirely on my hand. Though my wish to have a dusty wooden attic with a piano, a guitar, a huge old chest containing who knows what, old books, an easel and oil paintings is still there...
But instead of talking about my goals, I would like to take about "goals", just like that, in general.
This is something I´ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I want to share a brief reflection with all you people of the world who will never read my posting. I have been wondering why it is so important to me to pass the USMLE, to get another observership, to come back to the US, etc. I have been seriously considering if that was what I really wanted, after all. I have been trying to convince myself that the fact that I wanted to do all that did not obey to rational but to emotional reasons. And myself ended up convincing me otherwise. I guess she´s a better arguer.
I don´t care about how things turn out. Maybe one of these days I will meet somebody, and I will decide to stay here a little longer until we see how things unfold. Maybe within a few years I will be a happily married proud mom and I won´t want to leave this decadent country anymore. Who knows. But right now, right here, I don´t want to feel trapped. And I want to know that I will be able to do whatever the fuck I want to do, to live wherever the fuck I want to live. I know I will be good at what I do, because I have a clinical experience that most of my peers lack. But I want to know that I can be good wherever it is that I want to be good.
Also, and you might think this is stupid, the fact that I was able to be by myself in a foreign country made me feel incredibly free, and I don´t want to lose that feeling. And I know that, even if I finally decide not to leave, the fact that I passed the exams, that I had the choice, will make me be proud of myself. And I want to keep learning from a culture I used to consider arrogant not long ago (and I still find funny sometimes).
But anyways, I´m losing my own thread here. I did not want to discuss "my" goals, but the importance of having goals.
Because I think life is just a succession of goals and achievements. You need to have one goal to keep you active and motivated. You need to achieve that goal to feel proud and fulfilled. And then, you need to get a new goal so you don´t get lost in your own comfort and self satisfaction. And I guess our goals are one of the things that can best define us. When we meet someone, their goals (call them plans, ambitions, hopes...) are what make us get more or less interested in them. The way they work to achieve their goals is what gives us an idea of their credibility and makes us keep or lose interest. And the way they react to success or failure tells everything about their attitude towards life.
And if you don´t have any goals, then you´re lost. That means you don´t expect anything from life, you just keep going no matter where. No ambitions, no purpose. No chance to be proud of yourself.
So you better get one.
So yes, back to my goals for 2015, I do have quite a few. I don´t know if I will achieve them, but I´m working on it. I don´t know if I will change my mind, but that´s something you can never know. I just want to know that, by the time I have to make my choice, I will have opened as many doors as possible. And then I will complain about how difficult my decision is, and I will have earned every right to complain.
Speaking of which, "the right to complain" will make a subject for an incoming post very soon.
In conclusion, I hope you and I succeed in our new year purposes, so that we can feel proud of ourselves, set new purposes and keep moving.
(And I hope one day I will get my dusty attic)
Traveler, it´s up to you to make the path.
Happy 2015!!!
:)
Stupid or not, I have got used to this routine of blogging by the end of every year, to take a look back and see how the year was, and also take a look forward and set my goals for the next year.
Last year I decided 2013 had been my best year so far. And for the 1st time, I didn´t write down a list of goals or expectations for 2014. This is what I wrote:
"It´s all so uncertain right now, that I cannot make many purposes for the new year... So I will stick to the immediate: pass the MIR, come back to NY, start studying for the damned USMLE and the TOEFL... And make the path by walking."
Well, I can say I did it all, so 2014 was a good year too.
I welcomed the new year in NY, dancing with a guy I got to really admire (yep, me, dancing). I did quite well at the exam, well enough to get the post I wanted. I came back to NY. And I also visited Philadelphia, Boston, Washington and Columbus. I loved, I laughed, I cried. I got the chance to observe in an american hospital. I had a wonderful 3 year old kid sleeping by my side after he peed on his mattress. I got a job I really like, I met quite a few people and made quite a few good friends. I moved back to my crappy apartment, where you can practice roach hunting even in the shower. I got serious about the USMLE. And, the most important thing, I learnt where I want my life to go -- and I´m working for it.
As for the year to come, I have it very clear what I want from it, but for the 1st time in my life I feel that it´s only up to me to make it happen. So once more, I won´t write down a list of expectations, though I have to say that, in 2015, I hope I get the chance to read more, write more, meet more interesting people and keep growing and getting wiser. And I also hope to get my green card -- karma owes me. The rest is entirely on my hand. Though my wish to have a dusty wooden attic with a piano, a guitar, a huge old chest containing who knows what, old books, an easel and oil paintings is still there...
But instead of talking about my goals, I would like to take about "goals", just like that, in general.
This is something I´ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I want to share a brief reflection with all you people of the world who will never read my posting. I have been wondering why it is so important to me to pass the USMLE, to get another observership, to come back to the US, etc. I have been seriously considering if that was what I really wanted, after all. I have been trying to convince myself that the fact that I wanted to do all that did not obey to rational but to emotional reasons. And myself ended up convincing me otherwise. I guess she´s a better arguer.
I don´t care about how things turn out. Maybe one of these days I will meet somebody, and I will decide to stay here a little longer until we see how things unfold. Maybe within a few years I will be a happily married proud mom and I won´t want to leave this decadent country anymore. Who knows. But right now, right here, I don´t want to feel trapped. And I want to know that I will be able to do whatever the fuck I want to do, to live wherever the fuck I want to live. I know I will be good at what I do, because I have a clinical experience that most of my peers lack. But I want to know that I can be good wherever it is that I want to be good.
Also, and you might think this is stupid, the fact that I was able to be by myself in a foreign country made me feel incredibly free, and I don´t want to lose that feeling. And I know that, even if I finally decide not to leave, the fact that I passed the exams, that I had the choice, will make me be proud of myself. And I want to keep learning from a culture I used to consider arrogant not long ago (and I still find funny sometimes).
But anyways, I´m losing my own thread here. I did not want to discuss "my" goals, but the importance of having goals.
Because I think life is just a succession of goals and achievements. You need to have one goal to keep you active and motivated. You need to achieve that goal to feel proud and fulfilled. And then, you need to get a new goal so you don´t get lost in your own comfort and self satisfaction. And I guess our goals are one of the things that can best define us. When we meet someone, their goals (call them plans, ambitions, hopes...) are what make us get more or less interested in them. The way they work to achieve their goals is what gives us an idea of their credibility and makes us keep or lose interest. And the way they react to success or failure tells everything about their attitude towards life.
And if you don´t have any goals, then you´re lost. That means you don´t expect anything from life, you just keep going no matter where. No ambitions, no purpose. No chance to be proud of yourself.
So you better get one.
So yes, back to my goals for 2015, I do have quite a few. I don´t know if I will achieve them, but I´m working on it. I don´t know if I will change my mind, but that´s something you can never know. I just want to know that, by the time I have to make my choice, I will have opened as many doors as possible. And then I will complain about how difficult my decision is, and I will have earned every right to complain.
Speaking of which, "the right to complain" will make a subject for an incoming post very soon.
In conclusion, I hope you and I succeed in our new year purposes, so that we can feel proud of ourselves, set new purposes and keep moving.
(And I hope one day I will get my dusty attic)
Traveler, it´s up to you to make the path.
Happy 2015!!!
:)
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