Meandering whilst in Melbourne

Things I like about myself (V3.0)

1. I am highly creative, whether that comes out through singing, writing, photography, drawing, in conversation, fashion, everyday 'choreography' or through other ways.

2. I am highly intelligent. I also cultivate a mindset that values high intelligence in myself and others.

3. I am a nonconformist in many ways.

4. I have prioritised travel in my life whenever possible.

5. I am good with money. (e.g. I'm good at staying within budgetary restraints.)

6. I have hopes and dreams for the future.

7. I have continued on my unique and self-curated educational journey, which has seen me experience two top universities, and ultimately move beyond them, so that I can learn in ways better suited to my nonconformist outlook. I value learning, education, curiosity and asking questions.

8. I have learned (broken) Spanish through disciplined study of the online DuoLingo course.

9. I have also spent time studying other languages: French, German and Swedish.

10. I am an avid reader. This year I've read 25 books.

11. I have overcome misogynistic violence to empower myself through feminism. My feminism involves in-depth reading, as well as volunteering in the community.

12. I value volunteering and enjoy helping other people.

13. I am politically engaged.

14. I practice self-compassion, mindfulness and I sometimes meditate.

15. I value friendship.

16. I seek inspiration from other writers and creative people. (e.g. I listen to podcasts, attend film festivals, speeches and other events.)

17. I have been blogging for about 13 years. Writing regularly is a good way to hone my talents.

18. I am doing my best to enjoy the aspects of my family life that can be enjoyed, while seeking intellectual and spiritual satisfaction elsewhere.

19. I am openminded.

20. I seek not to hurt other people.

On with the show

The tremour in me lost its way

It’s been a while since it came this way

I’m attuning myself more to me

Away from a distracting everybody

My head hangs heavy

I disrupt myself at will

Tingling from imagined touches

Basking in goodwill

Not long ago I listened

To a couple of disgruntled authors

Carrying the weight

Of dreams undivulged, of laughter

Unindulged and processes abandoned

It was all too much

I shivered as I summoned expectations

Simulations of ambitions dashed

When I know that, looking back, I’ll gather

That I wouldn’t want to be 

Anybody 

Else

Writing Itself & Identity Formation

I haven't been writing very much at all recently. I'm starting the process of volunteering with a feminist organisation, which makes me want to pay attention to what is going on with me, and the world, with renewed focus.

In addition to the volunteering I am listening to two separate podcasts by feminist psychotherapists - Kimberly B. George and Kara Loewentheil. I am yearning for a deeper comfort with my bisexual identity, and it occurs to me as I write this that I don't listen to any queer women that I can think of. An oversight?

In any case, 'Unfuck your brain' by Kara has been a balm for the soul. There are many different aspects to Kara - she is not easily defined. She herself is not looking for external 'personality types' to inform her thoughts, which means that she is free to transform daily, hourly, by the minute. Thoughts are just thoughts, and thoughts change. If you cling onto an identity as 'an introvert', or 'an Aries sun with Libra moon' throughout the years, you will be less likely to reconcile supposedly contradictory information about yourself into your self-concept. 

I am now interested in the concept of passion. As a person who diligently cultivated a performance of intensity, congruent with the Scorpio designation, I'm still gathering new identity formation when it comes to connecting with passion and sharing it with others. What does it mean to be deeply engaged? Hanging onto every word? 

What does it mean to be a philosophical feminist at a time when nothing can be about feminism but everything must be? I'm finding out how to hold my head up higher and more often while I inspect the damage of the legacy of 45, ScoMo et al - anyone who does the work of patriarchy on steroids is in urgent need of disregard. 

The Conflicted Feminist

Feminism in Australia isn’t what it used to be. Ever since 45 ascended there has been an acceleration of aggressive social control exercised by men over the women of this nation. I cling to whatever scraps of empowerment I can find, and in this post I’ll consider my relationship with Ariana Grande’s song, ‘Needy’.

It is simultaneously an assertion of self and a self-defeating narrative. Ariana lets herself assume the position of being ‘way too damn needy’, but self-critically so. Maybe the problem isn’t that she “loves too much” but that the men in her life can’t deal with her depth of feeling and gaslight her into thinking she’s the one at fault.

Maybe ‘thinking [I’m] not enough’ is a symptom of patriarchy minimising her efforts to self-actualise to the utmost - not so much a personal failing as one that is shared by most women.

I only criticise because I deem this music good to listen to.

My search for feminist role models feels like it’s not greatly successful, and I worry that I am becoming less resistant to the dominant ideology in the USA. I’m surrounded by right-wingers, it feels like. And yet my very knowledge of this shows that I’m still swimming against the tide, perhaps even ferociously.

Sketch #1

Just the thing, she thought. 

A thin residue of soy milk infused tea clung to the base of the cup. At that moment she remembered that she had intended to write about how China's battle with the USA for global hegemony should be no less condemned than that of the more familiar superpower. 

I suppose T2 isn't really helping make the world less problematic, what with their glorification of pimps and geishas, her inspection of the cup mixed with craving and contempt. That said, what isn't problematic these days?

Tired. She felt tired. The small group of people who lived in English-speaking nations but fought against the military-industrial complex could wait. Even though she knew that her self care was tied up with political activism, no matter how hard a series of psychologists had tried to dissuade her from this intuitive stance. She was counting on herself to let go.

For the teacup to offer another vision. 

Poem for the Climate Crisis

Finding intrinsic motivation
Is my pathway forth
Breathing deep, just out and in
Even though pacing back and forth

I've endured a little too much
Seen one too many cruel things
Buoyed by some deep inner hope
Still, there's juice that cannot be squeezed

Capitalism as a threat
Has been brought to my attention
It really does seem like
We're in need of intervention

Now from which sources must we
Draw our inspiration?
We've never been more in need
Of glocal imagination

Single Again

I dreamed a dream

of you and I

Lying face to face

A library floor

All the seminal Russian texts

Couldn't stop us as

We set up camp

From place to place

But I miss you 

Even as you fly

Reaching your peak

Hitting your stride

Even as I know that I 

Am better off alone

~*~

Half-baked Dream Analysis

Last night I escaped a totalitarian country as part of a stream of outgoing emigrés. I was faced with the option of taking the train to England, but through waiting discovered I could board a carriage to Wales. I had a boyfriend on my escape journey, a sturdy presence, as smart as me, who outmanouvred the vigilant guards as craftily as me. We hid clear candy wrappers in the sleeves of our dark clothes. We were in Europe, or perhaps simply "south."

My boyfriend wasn't there - somewhere between waiting for the train to England and dodging it in favour of Wales, he would not be part of my journey. I still thought about him. But I would face the oranges, yellows and greens of the UK alone. 

The totalitarian space was gray, like climbing up a slide - it has been easy to descend. 

*

Given that my former girlfriend was from Wales, and very proud to be out, I consider "going to Wales" as a worldview shift, pro-queerness. 

Who knows what that original dark, gloomy totalitarian space was about. My childhood? And yet it seems I can't escape my upbringing, which impedes my kaleidoscopic vision as readily as it can. My mum is someone from who both help and harm originates. The harm is perhaps most pronounced in her denial of my queerness. She won't even talk about her dispute with my sexual identity. No doubt she fervently wishes I could 'revert' to some generic heterosexual mode that never was and never will be. 

*

Little Bit out of the Way

I saw the world today, gave it a good shake. In the land of the conscious, we Sundayed into a place called Little Bay, a semi-secluded community with a certain industrially decorated charm. Yawning golf courses intruded on our paths, but we sashayed just shy of the sand and found shimmering jewels trapped in the sea. Guarded by extravagant green, the path was too tight to linger long, but we committed the moment to memory. Those mobile snaps won't hurt with evocation of detail. 

Work through your Emotions

Sometimes I can sense that I need to catch up in terms of taking responsibility for my emotions. Sometimes I wonder how deeply I should take writing. I know that if I were not on drugs, I would be applying myself ardently in order to summon the Money Gods. Also, because it's rewarding emotionally. But mostly I'm happy to avoid my god-given talents as part of my ongoing eff yoo to the world. (The eff yoo doesn't apply to the readership of this blog.)

All That's Good Friday

There have been a number of positive developments in my life lately. A Zadie Smith essay in 'Feel Free' inspired me to join the Randwick City Libraries, and I've already checked out my first book, a smashing, powerhouse novel called 'America is Not the Heart'. I've also attended my first author talk by the charismatic Jane Caro, who promoted her brand new 'Accidental Feminists' at my closest branch! 

In all the fabulously sculpted words Smith used to leave the impression that libraries are worth saving, it was her tribute to their non-capitalistic credentials - that is, that you don't need to spend money to spend time in a library - that moved my curiosity and saw me walk in the door. 

I am not a paper book sentimentalist - Kindle was the tool that sparked my reading voyage. I felt that I was tricking myself into reading instead of spending the time browsing the net, just by virtue of being in front of a screen. Now, it's the faith I've accumulated in the world of published narratives that sees me taking a chance on a novel (for I usually stick to non-fiction) in its hard copy version. 

Perhaps this is the next step of me embracing an identity as a reader. 

Reading is not the only thing that happens in libraries: I've noticed an art class every Tuesday, and have picked up the equipment to join: a sketch pad and a charcoal pencil. Let's see what happens next week... 

In terms of books I've read this month, there was 'Not That Bad', Roxane Gay's immersive collection of essays on rape culture, which retraumatised me at times, but felt crucial to my understanding of how our society operates. How can something debilitating that affects so many women be so monumentally hushed up? Violently swept under the carpet. Airbrushed out of mainstream discourse. To talk about my experience as a victim of rape and sexual assault is to retraumatise myself, but to stay silent is to be complicit in patriarchy's sadism. It can feel like a lose-lose situation, but thankfully feminist movements like #prataomdet and #metoo have got us talking, and the number of people willing to speak out is too big to be shut down. 

'The Nordic Theory of Everything' by Anu Partanen was most interesting for me when she focused on the strengths of the Nordic "well-being" states, and less so when she tried to endear herself to an American audience by extolling that country's virtues. There is so much to learn from that clutch of European countries, like 'the Swedish/Nordic theory of love', which is that if you supply each individual with the tools they need to be independent of each other, then, and only then, can genuine loving relations flourish. The 'love' is any kind of warm bond between two people, be it child and parent, a friendship, or a romantic relationship. If you're not dependent on someone, you're free to meet them on equal terms within the relationship, which leads to greater happiness all around. 

The best yearly phase of my relationship with my parents is when I've saved up enough of my own money to go overseas, and call back to Australia in the warm glow of my independence, so I would say that this 'theory of love' makes instinctive sense to me. 

**What does it say about the quality of the heterosexual relationships when the guy is *still* the one expected to pay for the dinner date? What about when the woman gives birth and takes time out of *her* career to be financially dependent on the guy? Do heterosexual relationships in Australia (or the US) really have much chance at being truly equal? I think not.**

I think this is a good place to end this post. Perhaps I'll write some more about the books I've read soon. 

Clarity

Seeking clarity is a dangerous thing
20/20 vision to size up the stings
Administered to your flesh
It's a powerful thing -
The force against you

Burgeoning aptitude but
Who really cares
The skill set you work on
Erased or displaced

I think it's a powerful thing
Extra duty perception
When the visionary does sing
People can stop and listen

*

And the sad thing, though
Is that she doesn't know
What she's up against
There are too many menaces
There are too many stories
To follow, to disavow

And the sharpest thing she's got
Is still her mind
And that's a lot
But how?

She's supposed to have lost
Long ago
Surrendered the narrative
The overarching control

Finding a reason to shine
Is the hardest thing in the world
When she's up against dullness
In every sense of the word

Detecting the salient
Cause for disruption
It takes motivation
Dedication to clarity

Plodding through the earth

Have you ever noticed how, when someone spends most of their time living in a suitably conspicuous city, they tend to conflate it with the entire country? I used to think of myself as living in "Australia" more specifically than Sydney, though recent visits to places like Melbourne and Hobart have changed that. I do catch myself saying that I spent two days in "New Zealand" though, knowing that I can get away with it by having flown to one of its two major cities.

My time in Welly was fleeting, but it perked me up somewhat. Insomnia forgot to make way for holidays, I came back home so I could sleep soundly. Or at all. I felt the kindness, though. The leadership style flowing, top-down. Jacinda Ardern's presence being felt in a way that reminded me of Julia Gillard's effect on my society. As another female commentator noted, we recognise in Ardern's empathy, compassion and solidarity with the Muslim community our own repressed need for same. For too long has Australia been steered by psychically damaged, misogynistic homophobes and shift racists. Please, for all our sakes, let's change the game.

My dad beats me up emotionally for my political imagination - he finds it mostly incomprehensible and definitely unpleasant that I root for the Nordic countries and "hate" the US & UK. (Even though I don't hate them - I just think their more rightwing tendencies are not serving their considerable leftwing populations. There is hope for us all.) He is an attack dog, cruel and sadistic.

But nothing can shake my Democratic Socialist convictions, even though sometimes it feels like I am psychically mauled. Sometimes, I need time to recover from the bruising. Like right now. It takes time for my imagination to reassert myself: those Nordic countries are a long way away. I'll be back and it will soothe me, and I will renew my visions, but now I feel squeezed. Right now I feel like lashing out in non-violent ways. Something has been punctured within me. 

Disowning my suffering

I am no stranger to distress

Society has told me I should

Push it down so that 

It doesn't notice

Collect dust

I become one

Of the ignorant souls

Disowning my suffering 

Unearthing

The last week has been a dramatic one, and drama can often lead to the type of anxiety that prevents me from shining. I am plagued by the annoying urge to somehow find that a university education would be just the thing to ride off into the sunset with. There are no doubt benefits to having a diploma I can then use to access jobs, and I'm not too old to study. But when I gain access to the course, I feel overwhelmed. It all gets too much, and the commitment scares me. I reach a thick wall of can't.

Maybe even writing about this is part of the addiction to 'quick fixes'... and my respect-starved way of reminding myself that past academic success (still) makes me eligible for most of the top universities in this town. According to Johann Hari, we human beings each have a need for respect within our communities. It doesn't do great things for my self esteem that I am stuck in a sort of existential void: neither studying nor working. Maybe I need more therapy? A thoroughly intensive type?

Let's go back to the concept of riding into the sunset... I have a fantasy that I will get my life "back together" to conform to someone else's notion of perfect. Without knowing much about me, a Facebook friend opined that I seemed like a Golden Girl. Well, maybe one day 'a Golden Girl' will encompass the development of various mental health disorders. Probably not anytime soon, though. I don't feel I'm ready to be the Germaine Greer, agenda-setting writing sensation, for the cause of disability rights... worthy as that would be. I'm okay, though. I'm surviving. I'm getting through. Occasionally, I reach new summits. I want to learn. Curiosity is my stimulant of choice.

My curiosity led me to book a ticket to Wellington, New Zealand for this Tuesday.

The Fear of Insanity

I am someone who enjoys listening in on random conversations in a café setting. Very often, the conversation will reach a point when one person declares, “it’s crazy!” about something they have evoked. I do believe we each have a fearful side of ourselves that is always censoring our public discourse with in/sanity in mind. I used to know someone who didn’t want to write down their thoughts in the medium of long-form email, because they didn’t want to unintentionally write something that seemed crazy. They preferred to get constant feedback on their conversation in person.  What to do with a society which collectively fears having thoughts so outside the norm that they are stigmatised?

Sometimes I think the only difference between those locked up in psychiatric wards and the those who are not is their ability to signal sanity. To participate in modern Australian society is to continually affirm the righteousness of your worldview, and to exclude those that don’t play along.

Sometimes I am scared to think in certain ways. How much of society’s norms can I challenge without being seen as a lost cause? Do I have the energy to question everything? “Question everything” may be a good motto, especially when you’re a teenager or in your early twenties, and that questioning is foundational, but what happens when you wake up to a new reality where you have to choose a few norms to conform to for the sake of navigating the world in a simple and/or safe manner?

I mourn my lost explorer, my Alternative Reality Generating Mindset, my ‘question everything’ mode. I’m not sure what I have gained is ethically sound from the most radical of perspectives. (Perspectives I still have affinity with.) But I will keep modifying myself in relation to my environment. I will strike the balance necessary to remain safe in this world, with all the compromise that it involves. Perhaps kind and revolutionary souls will build on my work in the present and future, as I have noticed them doing in the past.

The Climate Change Refugee That Can’t Be

The trend for Australians to move to the colder climates of countries such as New Zealand, Northern Europe, Canada and possibly Japan seems weak as yet. I found what the ABC described as ‘anecdotal evidence’ that people are moving to Hobart and Tasmania from places like Queensland, Melbourne and Sydney. But how long before we reach a tipping point of climate change immigrants flowing out of this country, into ones better able to handle the pressure?

HSBC (and possibly others) recently ranked the OECD countries accordng to how vulnerable they were to climate change, and how prepared they were to deal with the consequences. The five countries with the best scores were Finland, Sweden, Norway, Estonia and New Zealand. The US and Australia were two of the worst performing rich countries. 

Now, I am not in a position to relocate. I dont have the financial power to pack up and leave my parents home, and they havent identified global warming as the threat that it is. But I can gather information and be ready to act when the opportunity finally comes around. I just hope that immigration laws wont work against me. Which is why I’m anxiously identifying the trends that shape them.

Things I like about myself

1. I have a more or less healthy body. I can walk, I can talk, I can laugh, I can see, I can feel. I can even dance!

2. I am often in touch with my innermost feelings and thoughts. While I cannot always honour the deepest parts of myself, striving to do so means that I’m often there.

3. I have confidence in my own perception.

4. I have chosen a partner who treats me with the dignity I deserve.

5. Poetry comes easy.

6. I have a keen sense of anti-discrimination activism.

7. I have a strongly developed sense of aesthetics. This comes out in everything from what I wear, o the photography I make, to the formations I make with my body.

8. I believe in building women and non-binary people up.

9. I have a can-do attitude and moral fortitude. 

Pushing through

It's been refreshing to note the 2019 Oscars Best Picture race was chock-a-block full of queers and POC (sometimes at the same time). It makes me feel like things have been shaken up to some extent, even if the faux-camp veneer of the sociopath running America is still intact. (Honestly, I get so tired of people in Sydney walking around mimicking the foul tyrant's facial expressions.)

Here is Oz, too, I'm witnessing a flourishing of queer and POC culture. The 'Feminist Shorts' of the Mardi Gras Film Festival all forefronted brown or black women - a bold celebration of how people from the margins can rise up and dazzle all with their perspectives. 

I am thinking, too, of Laurie Penny's tweet about more and more women refusing to take part in heterosexual partnerships, in which they are almost always worse off in some way, while the man benefits at their expense. This is not news to me: I have been excluding cis men from my pool of potential partners for at least four years.

Laurie and her followers have highlighted many facets of the sacrifice women make when they partner up with the oppressor class. There's the emotional labour you are expected to do endlessly, and for free. The domestic labour you are expected to do endlessly, and for free. There's the discrepancy between the male supremacy's comfort with rampant inequality and the utterly inadequate counter-actions men can be mobilised into enduring. It just doesn't sit right. 

I don't loathe myself adequately to take my chance on cis men. This polyamorous, gender non-conforming person can be found cuddling up to the finest of the non-binary and cis/trans women folk... even if right now what I have looks very much like a monogamous relationship. My polyamory isn't much advertised, just something I list on my dating profile, and hope potential lovelies can puzzle out the nuances of my desires.

Being single turned out not to be an ongoing phenomenon once I redirected myself towards people who hold me in higher esteem. Queerness now soothes more than startles.  

Self-Compassion

This is where it gets interesting

This is where opportunities lie in wait

This is where old mes shatter

And they have truly been aching to break

Looking to my strategy for self-acceptance

Comfort mingled with acute sadness

It’s okay to feel it all

Let the facade shatter

Speaking the truth

Gets me in trouble

Sullenly mulling over

The texture of truth

Reclaiming it now

Or trying to cope

A once luxurious connection

Exposed as bare bones

Longing for safety

It is the latter half of 2016 and I'm on my way to my partner's birthday party. Instead of my usual high-necked T-shirt I am wearing a low-cut, bright pink top, and feeling ashamed. It's been so long since I stopped dressing in low-cut tops that even my staunchly feminist conditioning can't prevent me from manifesting anxiety. I'm worried about how I could potentially be read, even as I know that this uniform (a cut so popular that it's from Kmart) is the swathe of choice of an expansive army of women at any one time.

I get on the train, making sure it's the carriage with the train conductor aboard. The blue light is my beacon. There's no-one else on the upper floor for a while, but eventually a couple enters from the other side.

The man looks at me from the back, and makes a short, disrespectful vocal summary of me, into which I read that he is angrily eyeing a woman who exhibits sexual impropriety. His travelling companion, a woman, follows up: "What's that, a slut? A whore?"

I try to see the light-hearted humour in the situation as I rise from my seat and walk (playfully, disjointedly) across the aisle, still not facing them. The woman snarls at my rebellion, and I duck my head - but only so I can see my feet on the stairs, past my stomach. I walk into a different carriage and release some adrenaline.

I feel like there's a heavy cloud hanging over my day, yet I nag at myself to cease ruminating. I call my girlfriend when I arrive at Central, describing the events, minimising the intensity of my emotions. Whatever her response, it doesn't soothe me.

My partner's girlfriend echoes what I told my partner about 'that [random abuse] has nothing to do with you.' But it doesn't sink in. I feel turbulent.

I end up waiting for people to arrive in Newtown, where I duck into Tree of Life - the visual stimulation of the Asian-themed garments and items insufficient distraction from the noise in my head. I try to reach out again. "I was just called a whore on the train!" I exclaim to a shop assistant. She expresses shock and mirrors my half-hearted righteousness, but it's not enough. Some part of my fighting spirit has died. Or is it a lack of self-compassion?

It's 2019, and I make self-compassion my project.

*

Back in late 2018, I am catching the train to meet a new psychologist in the city. The petite Asian girl in front of me has earphones on and is carrying on a conversation on her mobile. I find her incessant chatter slightly annoying, because it pulls me out of my inner monologue.

A man twice her size in a gray suit sits down right next to her, although vacant seats remain on the train, his thin lips a fraudulent smile as he turns to face her.

I wonder how long she's going to sit there. Not long! A minute or so later she stands, erect to her full height, and non-verbally demands that he let her pass. I will later see her continuing her conversation in the standing area right before we both leave the carriage. The man's head lowers as she leaves the seat behind.

I think about invasive bodies for the rest of the trip.

*

All this is just the tip of the iceberg. I could write for days and not transcribe all the patriarchy-related injustices that inform my present-day anger, fear and sadness.

I don't want to get on a Sydney train again. Hell, I don't want to walk down a Sydney street again. Patriarchy oozes out of 50% of the population as they regard this body of mine. Without the drugs I'd be tense and frenzied; how I am currently is dissatisfyingly numb. But I know the danger is real, even though the emotional repercussions don't catch up with me.

I'm relying on my parents to eventually relocate to another country. A country that makes me feel less like prey.

How long will I wait?

*

Safe Space

Staying up allows me to find a floating expanse of fresh air in an otherwise polluted suburbia. Noise pollution is the worst. The hours between 1am and 4-6am are my respite from traffic, children, babies, blaring hip hop, and the all-too-dynamic population that makes up this neighbourhood.

Dad goes to bed after Mum, but he's the strong, silent type, and I can read alongside him on the couch horseshoe without too much distraction.

I've read four books since the start of the year. Ben Nash's 'Get Unstuck: How to live a life unlimited by money' confused me then, and it confuses me to date. It's not that I don't understand the concepts - it's that I don't know how to divide my savings up into the two or three goals I've identified as worth pursuing.

Long-time readers of ~Epiphanie Bloom~ will know [redacted for confidentiality purposes] I am shaping whatever future I will end up having right now!

Then there was 'The Year of Living Danishly' - a blast for the most part, with frequent passages of the unputdownable variety. I learned more about Danish culture than I was expecting, especially since Copenhagen was but a weekend trip's worth of stories, while rural Jutland was the locus from which all things originated. Would I move to Denmark myself? Oh yeah. Just because it's unlikely to eventuate, doesn't mean I can't dream...

It's sweet that the emotional state of cows upon first reuniting with grassy plains after a long, snowy winter, is something that Jutlanders value. I can only imagine how much Australian workplaces would improve if communal singing took place in the office at regular intervals. Affordable daycare is rightly something the politicians cared about and got integrated into the system... however if I want to read a book about the lessons Bulgarian-Australians can learn from Nordic feminism, I'm going to have to write it myself: Helen Russell wasn't one to dwell on my favourite topic.

In addition to these (rather different) books was 'Rest: Why you get more done when you work less' by Alex Soojung-Kim Pang. It may have been written more for professionals with conventionally high-flying career trajectories (esp if male), but valuable lessons for the likes of me were in abundance too. Approaching the concept of rest from a number of complementary angles, I'll try to integrate more walks along the beach into my schedule, sleep longer, and maybe someday experiment with naps (I'm afraid of napping and crying), just to name a few of the methods explored.

I was surprised to read an article by the author over at TED.com which explained that, scientifically speaking, you will benefit more from travel if you take one week off every three months, instead of waiting for that one-off four-week period. That was a cool way to discover the book.

So 'Rest' had a conspicuous dearth of female influence. It seemed like 93% of the famous or noteworthy figures whose relationship with work and rest Alex examined were cis men, and there were no two ways about it. If a writer wants to include women significantly, they will find a way to do so.

Finally we have 'Finding Sisu: In search of courage, strength and happiness the Finnish way', my liking of which was more subdued than the previously listed titles, but eh, they can't all get five stars. Katja Pantzar aims to make the most out of relocating to Helsinki by embracing the concept of sisu, which it turns out has very practical implications. With an emphasis on physical activity that makes the most of the beautiful Nordic environment, Katja discovers the benefits of bathing in icy water and cycling through green spaces, to name a few. While the theme is sisu, this journey is also about cultivating wellbeing in the face of depressive tendencies. I feel the focus could have been enhanced to incorporate the "messiness" of one human being searching for zest in a world that frequently gets her down, with sisu perhaps part of a trifecta, but not the unifying theme.

This post is already longer than usual, so I won't try to make many links between the books, except to say that each has allowed me to explore new avenues of thinking, and has been rewarding in its own way.

Onward to the next! (Reading is life.)

Places I've Been in Europe (Updated in Dec 2023)

As of the 24th of December 2023, I've been to the following places in Europe:

1) Iceland

- Reykjavík

2) Norway

- Oslo

3) Sweden

- Stockholm

4) Denmark

- Copenhagen

- Roskilde

- Humlebæk

- Helsingør

5) Finland

- Helsinki

- Turku

6) England:

- London

- Stratford-upon-Avon

7) Belgium

- Brussels

8) The Netherlands

- Amsterdam

9) France

- Paris

- Versailles

- Lyon

- Nice

- Cannes

- Marseille

- Cassis

- Aix-en-Provence

- Arles

- Carcassonne

10) Germany

- Berlin

- Frankfurt

- Munich

- Magdeburg

- Leipzig

- Quedlinburg

- Hannover

- Celle

- Bahrendorf

- Hitzacker

- Sillens

- Hamburg

11) Austria

- Vienna

12) Switzerland

- Zurich

- Geneva

13) Portugal

- Lisbon

14) Spain

- Barcelona

- Figueres

- Madrid

- Valencia

- Murcia

- Granada

- Orgiva

- Malaga

- Sevilla

- Zaragoza

- Bilbao

15) Italy

- Roma

- Caserta

- Napoli

- Pompeii

- Sorrento

- Positano

- Amalfi

- Firenze

- Pisa

- Venezia

- Milano

- Palermo

- Torino

- Bologna

16) Greece

- Athens

- Aegina Island

- Santorini

17) Monaco

- Monte Carlo

18) Vatican City

19) Poland

- Warsaw

- Opole

20) Czech Republic

- Praha

21) Slovakia

- Bratislava

22) Latvia

- Riga

23) Estonia

- Tallinn

24) Hungary

- Budapest

25) Serbia

- Belgrade

26) Bulgaria

- Sofia

- Plovdiv

- Samokov

- Borovets

- Malyovitsa

27) Turkey

- Istanbul

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Progress Made

That feeling when... you speak your mind in all honesty, and you lose a friend over it. That happened late last year. What is it worth to know she had been trying to explain to me why she was in love with the cis guy I hated? It's true that her initiating the relationship led me to grow some distance between us. Knowing the kind of misogyny she was exposing herself to meant I was hesitant to share my deepest feminist thoughts within earshot. Perhaps she interpreted that as a universal fear of intimacy. But really, I didn't feel safe.

I didn't feel safe with her ease around the flatmate who I last heard talking about mashing up Britney Spears' 'I'm a Slave 4 U' and The Prodigy's 'Smack My B*tch Up'. The one who claimed that Paris Hilton released her own sex tape into the public sphere. The one whose own sister thinks he's a pedophile. The one who, more recently, won't consider a female as a relationship partner unless she's 'good-looking enough'. F*ck that guy. And the misogynistic boyfriend? He decided he, too, liked that guy. The alliance of women-haters. It surprises me what some people are willing to put up with.

I am privileged to have such an intensive relationship with the light that is feminism. I have put in the hours, read many a book, volunteered with the appropriate organisations. I am actively engaged in making the most of my limited experience here on earth, which includes protecting myself from male supremacy (which is everywhere). I'm yet to meet a cis man whose sexism and misogyny has been whittled down to an acceptable level. I decided, as a response to Trump's election, that their lack of revolt meant that they were worthless as life partners and friends. I would no longer concern myself with making myself likeable to them. They didn't deserve my energy.

So yeah, I've been going out without a bra more often this new year. I've been withdrawing as much energy from cis men as is possible. Only women and non-binary people can win me over. #sorrynotsorry