Hello, Hej, Hola

You may have noticed that I haven't been writing much. I hate to admit it, but I'm sort of feeling like my writing isn't of much use lately. I'm afraid to write about feminism and mental health to the extent I want to, for fear of backlash. This post marks my unwillingness to give up my presence, however marginalised, in the blogosphere, yet I can't yet claim to have recovered my faith in myself enough to offer you doses of me as regular as they used to be. What little I can offer will have to suffice.
I'm sorry that my fear and withdrawal means that I'm not the role model I aspire to be. I hope you have other people in your life that you look to for inspiration when it comes to breaking new ground.

How have I been keeping myself entertained? I read quality articles and books every day, trying to keep up to date with the local situation in many (mainly Western, admittedly) a country. Tonight I'm going to watch a lesbian film about cross-cultural romance set in Japan, which should be a treat anthropologically even if the plot/script/narrative falls short of fulfilling. I have finished reading Eat, Pray, Love, and it made me wonder why a woman always has to find the ultimate meaning in life with a relationship. It's repetitive. Not that there isn't much about Elizabeth Gilbert's book to commend. Let's face it, relatively few American women turn to Eastern spirituality to the extent that they're willing to spend months at a time in an ashram in the middle of nowhere, India, or be taken under the wing of a Balinese traditional healer. I learned many things about Balinese culture in particular.

I actually bought a ticket to Bali last year, but then a nearby volcano spurted ash in the air and I had to get a refund as it was no longer safe to fly in. Instead I'm planning to travel to Europe in late June, hitting a new place or two, and enjoying the company of my ex (with whom I am still good friends). That's right, I'm no longer seeing the girl with the sky blue eyes. A little sadness still remains, but it's better this way.

I feel relatively okay these days. Daily walks on the beach fill my evenings with bursts of serenity, as the wind blows in my face and the sun warms my path. My psychologist reminds me that reality is subjective, and that what I like/dislike about others says more about what I like/dislike about myself. I still wish my circumstances were different to the extent that I could live in Western Europe, but I am continuing to appreciate the luck I've had in winding up in Aus.
I wish you peace, equanimity and self-love. May you be safe, inspired and find much meaning in life.

'Why did she say that?' and other random thoughts

Why did she say that? Doesn't she know that she's only perpetuating the vicious cycle of guilt women are expected to maintain in a patriarchy? I mean, I know Gwen Stefani isn't a feminist, but it's hard to reign in the part of me that says "You can't do that!" The goal for me would be to be more comfortable with my feminism. That way I won't feel influenced by former platinum blonde role models when their misogyny comes out to play.

My journey as a feminist has been a difficult one. My parents didn't bring me up to believe in equality between the genders. While they're both gender atypical, neither of them are overtly unconventional. They are some of my closest companions these days.

I am continuing this post in the next day, listening to Fever Ray's 2009 album on YouTube, thinking about Italy and Europe, since that's where the first part of 'Eat, Pray, Love' is set. My psychologist recommended the book to me as an example of an autobiography that, while still a good read, wasn't Shakespeare. She said I needed to read more books like that, so that I wasn't always comparing myself to la creme de la creme. Amazon reviewers have given it 3 1/2 stars out of 5, but I'm aware that books featuring a strong female presence get a lot of negative backlash, which is why I'm willing to bet it is worth more. 4 stars, at least.

I am not the most open person in the world, but I can articulate things that prove a pleasant surprise. I trust my inner voice fervently. I understand that the world doesn't offer many people who will be unconditionally kind to me, and it makes sense to me to protect myself, even at the expense of being as open as possible.

Continuing this post hours later from the last two paragraphs, I'm now finished with the Italian section of Elizabeth Gilbert's book, and I'd be lying if it didn't make me feel a twang of longing for Italy... Sicily has been on my list of places to visit for some time now, and I'd love to visit some Tuscan towns as well. Not to mention the birthplace of Italo Calvino, Turin. And while I'm at it, the Italian tourism industry has been promoting Puglia, which strikes me as sweet on the eye... maybe if I pray to the travel gods they will help me see all these sorts of places?

Emotions

I felt the drug working in my system, and a part of me died. The part that wanted to experience passion to my full capacity again. I felt like somebody might as well have said to me: "We don't care about you as a living, breathing, emotional human being. We want you neutered." I had no choice in the matter. I felt like a cat that had been desexed and declawed, and I should probably abstain from comparing myself to animals, since to be a mental health patient is to be dehumanised by so many, and maybe I'm even in on the action myself(?), but I can't help it.

Emotional problems persist to this day. While I was unwell I digested the paradigm of an emotionally repressed person. I somehow thought mimicking him was the bright thing to do. I was in a moral panic. I believed that I had to suppress my intellectual curiosity to prevent emotional pain. I've relaxed since then, but I'm also still haunted by trauma from a past relationship. Often it feels like I will never emerge from this state. Yet I keep doing what I can to keep hope alive.

I recently had a falling out with a man who identified as a feminist, yet acted in some distinctly sexist ways. I don't want to be too harsh on him, because he had done more emotional work than most guys his age, but a big part of me is relieved I no longer have to put up with his male entitlement. Even so, I feel his absence. I'm not a socially gregarious kind of person, and I don't have many friends. The loss of a budding friend makes itself known. I suspect most of us feel lonely and misunderstood, so ironically I'm not alone in that. *Sigh*

Tomorrow I will finally see my psychologist, after a two week absence. I expect the time to fly.

Epiphanie in Lyon

- Armed soldiers patrolled the Central Station, which my (lovely) hotel was a stone's throw from. I caught the televised Bastille Day celebration along the Champs Elysees in Paris. I felt more comfortable being flirty if I so pleased, because the Europeans are generally relaxed about sexuality than the Australians. I made the mistake of flirting with an American who had just arrived in the country, who very quickly referenced his family and shunned my newly liberated ways. I brooded about this for a while, then got on with it. That's the best thing about travel - you just keep on having new experiences, and it's hard to get stuck in an emotional groove.

- Lyon is famous for its food culture, and the best thing I had all year was a fillet of duck with herbs. I have no idea what they did to it, but it melted in my mouth and turned the tinnitus in my ears into music. I think it was made 'rural style', though the menu was in French and that doesn't help with the remembering. Another memorable meal was a salmon baguette affiliated with Carrefour (the supermarket) - such a simple thing, but each ingredient sang.

- I discovered a new side to Jenny (my long-time traveller friend) over lunch near a stunning cathedral we had just visited. We were emblematic of a culture of global intersections: an Australian and a Taiwanese bonding over a French holiday. She had brought fruit and told me about how she had enlivened her daily routine by selling things at the local market every once in a while. Her enthusiasm rubbed off on me, as did my appreciation for art on her - we spent a day floating around a famous gallery, silently ohh-ing and ahh-ing over room after room of vibrant, sophisticated brushwork. 

The practical value of art

At my birthday gathering I was asked the question: If the world were to end and you were part of the small number of survivors, what would you do? I said "I would write about it." Another friend said something to the effect that she would ask me to be more practical, because there were certain physical realities that we would not be able to escape, e.g. building houses, growing crops, etc.

My answer to this is that art is very valuable. It gives people a reason to keep labouring away at whatever it is they do. When the day's work is finished and we need a break, we turn to books or music or something along those lines to keep us inspired. Texts help us develop our ideals, which can be the reason we keep building things of immediate functionality. In fact, we wouldn't have the idea of 'immediate functionality' without an examination of human psychology.

What about the houses and other structures we build? They, too, are informed by ideas. We might decide to create curves where there would ordinarily be edges, to be aesthetically pleasing and/or original. We might decide on a colour scheme for our individual building which blends in with the surrounding buildings, or stands out. We could even alter the skyline of the city with our unique creation. It all start with an artistic concept, even if that concept is unobtrusive conformity.

Much has been made of the power of stories. A good narrative has the power to inspire people to take better care of themselves and each other, to reach out to the sick and the needy, or to aim higher in what they can achieve. A good narrative can make us happier and more fulfilled as we go about our daily lives.

I would even argue that inspiration is a very practical business. If I'm not inspired, why would I want to work in the first place? There has to be a point to life, otherwise it would be very bleak indeed. Someone, there, post-apocalypse, would be needed to keep morale high. I elect to be that person. :)

Free flow

'Somewhere in between Turkish ice cream and my own self-doubt

I stand here waiting for a new vista of experience to jump up' -

I feel oddly in control as I recall that day

When the concrete pavement held my gaze 

These weeks I'm striving to get out

Of self-imposed despair

I go up and I go down

But there's always someone there

She brings structure and rhythm

Child-like enthusiasm

And I love to hold her gaze

Her eyes glint like the skies

As we air hug through the days

Pockets of wisdom

I'm always looking for new insights on how to live better. I seek to enrich myself with things like TED Talks, vibrant music, and I seek out progressive people who love creativity.

It pleases me to receive feedback that I've become more openminded than I used to be in the past. To quote a long-time friend, I used to be "the most judgemental person" that she knew. I think things started to work differently in my mind when I was introduced to Buddhist theory. It was all about finding acceptance (of yourself and others) deep within - realising that which was already within you, instead of learning something radically new. I started to genuinely embrace my contradictions and mental differences, and I found that, not only could I function like this, I was functioning on a much more satisfying level. It's hard to explain the specific elements of Buddhist theory, but it had to do with giving up perfectionism, giving up thinking of being 'sharp' as a good thing (I see sharp as a synonym for judgemental here), and moving towards a love of all things and people. I remember reading about how even a knife was alive - the pressed metal was constantly interacting with the outside world, and was always in motion, even when ostensibly still. I also loved to expand my sense of sentient beings to insects and other animals. I avoid stepping on grass now, because I don't want to trample on another living being.

The parts of Buddhism I do have trouble with (and the biggest reason I don't identify as a Buddhist atheist when prompted) are the essentialism. It can be found even in the most basic instructions, such as 'just be'. I can work around it, but my postmodern inclinations prevent me from resonating with notions such as 'oneness' to the extent that it becomes my overriding philosophy. I like to think of myself as an eclectic collector of wisdoms from all over the place.

I can't really claim to be wise, because I engage in many self-destructive habits, but I aspire to fill my world with as many of these wisdoms as possible. A pocket here, a pocket there, and suddenly my garment is swimming with them. I am perfectly imperfect, and I find myself worthy of love.