Thursday, June 17, 2010

Racism within ones own race


Racism within ones own race might seem to be a nonsensical concept. Still, it exists as a quiet part of the perception of beauty in the black community. There is a hushed hierarchy that pits light skin against dark, the lighter being held in an esteemed place of admiration. Looking at popular entertainment, fair skinned black women dominate the media spotlight more often than their darker counterparts. Classically, this type of discrimination would be looked at as a marker of institutionalized racism. The blame would fall heavily on the shoulders of the prejudiced views held outside the black community that perpetuate it. However, this is an internalized prejudice shared by the very people it oppresses.


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Facebook has become a staple of youth socialization and identification. It’s rare to find a young person who isn’t heavily enmeshed in its use. It’s appalling to see the number of young black girls who have chosen to reference their light skin tone as part of their online moniker. Type ‘light skin’ into Facebook and you’ll see dozens of young black girls with names like ‘light&sexy1’, ‘lightbarbie’, or just plain ‘light skin- insert name here.’ Lurking under these playful names lives a fear of being identified as unattractive to others. A fear of not living up to the North American standard of beauty that endorses white women with long flowing hair as the ideal. Changing that standard requires pride in one’s race, not acquiescence to the standard rule. Agreeing with the stringent cannon is a form of participating in the discrimination. Prominent African- Americans like the Obama’s or Oprah provide an example to youth of what they can accomplish, but little has changed in reference to the aesthetic identity of the black woman. Lighter skin and longer hair are widely considered to be more desirable than darker skin and an afro.


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In 1940, African- American sociologists Kenneth and Mamie Clark published groundbreaking work from experiments and research they conducted on black youth. Their work figured prominently into the desegregation of schools at the time. Using identical dolls that differed only in their skin tone, they gauged young black children’s perceptions about their race and appearance. The findings were astonishing and at the same time heart breaking. Most of the black children only wanted to play with the white doll, referring to it as “good” and “pretty” while they perceived the black doll to be “bad” and “ugly.” When they were asked which doll was most like them, the majority of the children picked the white. At that time there was no identification between them and the doll coloured in their own tone because they didn’t want to feel negatively about themselves in the way they did about their race. Earlier this year ABC decided to reproduce portions of the experiment to ascertain the potential difference time and progress could make to the results. The male children passed with flying colours choosing both dolls as equally pretty. The girls however, mostly chose the white doll as prettier, though they identified themselves with the black doll. These girls identified with an idea that crushes self esteem.


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Young black women are not trying to discriminate against their own appearances but have instead unwittingly assimilated a powerful prejudiced perception. They are reaching toward what is considered beautiful without realizing the destructive nature of the belief. When it comes to beauty, discrimination is a long standing and acceptable form of judgement. Beauty standards are attuned to the notion of the ideal and easily exclude those who do not fit the bill. This stands whether a person is too fat, too old or too dark. The revered African- American beauties of today are not dark afrocentric representations of blackness, but often very fair, long haired beauties that resemble a Black Barbie doll. Black Barbie is usually a doll that exactly mimics the white version except for the colour of her skin. Her features, hair and body proportions do not represent the way black women look and instead depict a black counterpart that exactly matches the white doll. Recently Wal-Mart has come under heavy criticism for discounting the price of black Barbie dolls in comparison to the white due to a reported lack of sales. The differentiation between the two price points is another example of how beauty standards are perceived. The perception of beauty is based on how close to white the doll is.


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Ideas of beauty that define the enviable aesthetic are produced by popular media. Black women like Beyonce and Halle Berry are often in the spotlight and are well revered for their beauty and so-called exotic looks. However, most of the popular African-American beauties in our culture, like Beyonce, Halle and many others, are very fair and sport long Caucasian looking hair. These are the images that young black women look at when forming their ideas about beauty. As a marker of that, the majority of black women in North America choose to straighten and/or augment their hair with chemical relaxers and extensions in order to appear more acceptably beautiful. The practice of straightening and extending naturally textured black hair is a multi million dollar industry that profits greatly from the prejudice that produced it. The documentary Good Hair which came out in 2009 delves into this practice in an attempt to dissect this apparent wide spread confusion about beauty. ‘Good hair’ is considered to be long, straight, shiny and flowing, while bad hair is anything that reveals the natural texture often referred to as nappy. Many notable black celebrities appear in the film including actor Nia Long who describes the drive to make African-American hair appear more Caucasian as a ‘pressure’ from within the black community to attain a sought after look. Model Melyssa Ford confesses that from an early age “what I looked at as good hair was white hair.” Actor Vanessa Bell Calloway sums it up best saying “you look at the magazines and you want to be that girl.” The black girl in the magazines is rarely a dark skinned beauty sporting natural hair. Instead she is closer to a modified version of white influenced beauty utilized to fit outdated standards.


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Toni Morrison, a renowned black author, addresses this very confusion in her first published novel, The Bluest Eye. Set in the depression era, the lead character a young black girl named Pecola, wishes that she had the blue eyes of a little white girl in order to be received in the same manner. The novel abounds with reference to the racial divide between black and white and even features a light skinned black girl who is a friend of Pecola’s. The light skinned friend often receives the attention and praise which Pecola so desperately seeks. In many ways little has changed from the time of this depiction to now. Gillian, a 13 year old Toronto student who is a light skinned black girl, often feels a sense of envy from her darker friends who identify her as being ‘the pretty one’. Although all of her black friends take great pains to straighten their hair, only the darker ones also seek ways to lighten their skin. One of her friends actually saves her allowance money so she can regularly purchase bottles of a skin lightening cream available at the local drugstore. At 13 years old, these girls are attempting to change their genetics with a series of harsh chemicals designed to seriously alter the hair and even the skin tone. Little or no thought is devoted to the dangerous long term effects of using these chemicals. These processes are hazardous not only to the body but also to the mind. From a young age these girls are training themselves to believe that they need to change their appearance, no matter the cost, in order to be accepted and therein accept themselves.


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There is great room for change across the spectrum of black women’s self identity. Michelle Obama is proving a great role model for young black women and is especially interested in developmental initiatives for youth. Having a black family in the White House goes a long way to bolster the confidence of young black people who view the Obama’s as the embodiment of potential. Canada’s Governor General Michael Jean is also an exemplar of beauty and success for black women and even chooses to wear her naturally textured hair. Popular artists like India Arie and Erykah Badu also provide alternative images in African-American beauty that youth and women alike can look to as a recourse to the standard. Arie’s 2005 song ‘I am not my hair’ is a testament to the fact that some black women are looking at their perceptions about beauty with a more critical eye. There is even a new Barbie out called ‘So In Style Barbie’ that better represents the appearance of a black woman designed by African-American artist Stacey McBride-Irby. The dolls feature a closer depiction of black features to represent a more authentic and accurate image. It has only taken Mattel 50 years of Barbie doll production to approach getting it right.


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The black community’s identification with inferiority when looking at imposition of beauty standards is nothing new. It is however an issue that black women are only beginning to wake up to. In 2005, then teenager Kiri Davis made an eye-opening short documentary about how black girls perceive their appearances entitled A Girl Like Me. The award winning short shed further light on the need for change in regards to the perception that black women have of their beauty as limited. This is an issue that is being visited with increasing frequency and that shows there is hope. For the black women to overcome generations of set perception, the problem first has to be realized. It is a long process that begins from a point of awareness but it is happening. Perhaps in the not too distant future, black women will see and understand their beauty as a point of equality between them and every other race.



Watch Jane Run!


Elephant

Tigers!


More;

Frowns all around

Problems

Is it too much to ask for things to go smoothly through one simple passage of life? Even for a week, it would be an overwhelming shock and relief for things to float by on a smooth course. There are so many variables in life that fall outside our control. We can’t control other people’s actions, the natural flow of events or the weather. But wouldn’t it be a lovely treat if for just a few days there were no problems and stop signs flying up in our faces.

It is true that life would be boring if everything simply went free of Newton’s law. If everything we did fell into place in perfect course and flow without any waylays or difficulty. Yes, life is the journey, but what if for just a brief moment life was free of all the jagged edges. It would be like a break, a short vacation for the anxiety in our minds. This current rant is being given life from the person that supplied me incorrect information for my latest story. The fact that she is the head press relations officer for a major government outfit doesn’t seem to stop her from passing out random information as fact for copy release. It’s easy for me to blame myself for not double checking and making positive assumptions about my source. But is there no time that this can be done? If you ask the president when the country’s birthday is, is it so bad to expect a correct answer? This being only my second official story for this magazine, my clear reaction is to be incensed. In my mind I am envisioning an alley way sneak up involving a bat. In reality, I now get to run around trying to reformat a story which is due tomorrow though it was initially done days ago. The gods of ease are not smiling down at me, they are not in my corner. But it always seems this way. Especially when it really counts, we brace ourselves for the monkey wrench to add texture and dimension to an otherwise stable flow.

Some say that the key is personal temperament and peace of mind. It’s all about how you choose to perceive the bumps in the road and how you choose to navigate them. To me, I think this means that you should brain wash yourself into being a permanent version of Mr. Rogers, plastic smile always in place. But of course there is a point to this thinking. Instead of wanting to bash this ladies head into the sidewalk, I should just accept that a mistake has been made and move forward. But like most average humans, I rarely do what I should do and even less often what is good for me. Instead my blood pressure is rising leading to yet another angry rant filled with the violent images playing out in the back of me head. But for chrissake, can’t a girl get a break!?

I want to be a writer. I do not have famous parents, or perfect grammar. I didn’t take the best undergrad course, and I don’t live in a place with a rampant publishing scheme. Nor am I Sarah Palin, who seems to need no logical qualification for anything. I am a girl climbing an uphill battle in a life that seems to make a point of kicking against the pricks. My current prick is the P.R. secretary who is incredibly unlikely to get back to me in a timely fashion. In a developmental scheme, this is a hitch.

This reminds me of when I was on my way back from Florida and my luggage was lost. I really felt that I needed to return to my home after a three week stay in a facility, to at east a day of relaxation. Naturally, what I got was a three day search for my luggage fraught with tension and annoyance. As if to test me new found skills. A break would have been much preferred.

A few deep sighs and some melancholic music is doing the trick just now. It makes me feel like others are wallowing with me, experiencing the same wave of grief stricken irritation that has overtaken my day. Always better together, the world takes a selective sigh. I am not alone. Of course, in reality I am just one insignificant person who is trying to become even a touch more significant and is having a small and solvable problem.

The bigger problem is trying to turn my passion into a career without encountering so many roadblocks that I again, decide to give up and give in to the comfort of my couch. I would rather not let my frustrations get to the point that I end up asking why one too many times. That is the road to quitting and I have just begun.

I will again contact her with increasingly angry email and continue to wait for a reply. In the meantime I brace myself for the next major blow-up… though I think I may have already found it. I just lost a valuable page of my feature to extended content from a more experienced writers much better piece. Mine will be cut down to accommodate his and I will bolster myself later with about 5 drinks. I am smiling on the inside.

This is all a leaning experience. Perhaps I will crutch on a video game instead of 5 glasses of wine. lol

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Jealousy Lousy

Gives way to anger. I want to be a better writer. I want to be a better writer than. I want to be what I am not yet. I am tired of waiting to be better. I want to be better now.

My face always drops when I read his writing. It’s so much better than mine, I think. I’m not sure. He is just as self absorbed and immature as I am but with much more experience at it. I want my own flag that tells me I am good. So few of us actually garner assurance from ourselves. We take it from others and their assessment of our experience. Everyone seems to see me as a baby writer. But I am not a baby, I am 30 years old. I simply haven’t written enough (here cometh blog).

There is one shred of beauty in this sad self pitying diatribe. I can see myself improving. Creeping but with certainty.

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Ugly

When I close my eyes and look into my mind, (a constant and self absorbed tendancy), I see myself chocking and forcefully, painfully throwing up toxic black glue. A small necrolized chunk of my innards surrounded in acidic black tar like goo. That is what it inside of me today. The frustration, the anger, the fear, the doubt that I am facing over the future of my writing career is coming out of me today and I am spewing it with a force that scares me.

I want to smash my lap top. It’s odd because it is my tool. Full of work never backed up and half finished, lately I find that I am growing attached to my laptop, as though it were a person. I have this feeling that is experiencing the cringing frustration that is clearly beginning to eat at me. Sitting here at this intership and looking at the other writers, wondering if I will get there. Black hole sun.

I will channel this into energy. I won’t give up

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4.3

Expectations are the most unintelligent things in the world though they are inspired. I expected things from this trip and from myself. I am learning. I am enjoying. I am sad. I am happy. I am not so different as I am in the regular shingles of my life. What In should have expected was to experiment more. I am experimenting with myself and my limits for accepting myself.

I see how beautiful it is to get away from the judgement of what I am supposed to be, needed to be, in my everyday life. It’s gorgeous and comfy not having so many judgements to live up, (and down) to and from.

The Bender

Speaking on addiction, Ram Dass says that we only make it worse by bashing and punishing ourselves with shame after the act is over and that this only begets a cycle of negativity that ends with more bad behaviour. Well it’s the day after and I am trying not to punish myself anymore. Of course in the back of my mind all I can think is that I’ve been a very bad girl, which is all the more irritating because I am not a girl anymore. Sure, I am no longer running my life into the ground with daily ritualistic substance abuse, but I am still on shaky ground. Having shaky moments and shaky days. Nothing is solid, it’s all a fluid mess of my intentions and my desires. Still, I plan to push forward by refortifying my intentions and for the umpteenth time, attempting to stick to them. The more I observe others, the more I realize this is the human condition.

We all do things that are not good for us for temporal satisfaction. But is that really so bad when nothing is permanent, even life itself? While this reeks of a hippie theory laden excuse, there is some truth here. We as humans are unsure of every moment and are often unsure of our own motivations and even feelings. If something is clearly not good for you why continue doing it? If the result is bad does that not trump the experience? The answer is no, because we live our lives in the journey not the conclusion of our actions. Furthermore, we are animals and are not as intelligent and evolved as we would like to think. Defending chronic addiction isn’t the purpose of this exposition. That is a life ruiner, which I know from past experience. But it is a past experience that I am ever drifting to and from at this point. Although not a ritual addict, I tend to gravitate back to the short-term mind altering experiences of my past with an expectation of enjoyment. And I do enjoy myself, I let go and feel free and then become again trapped in the afterthought –The guilt and discomfort of having done something I previously labelled as wrong. I find myself totally unable to live by the rules of my own theories (this being why they are theories and not truths). Ram Dass would sigh.

I take great comfort in being with like kind. There are thousands of us and we can use each other to justify our potentially stupid behaviours. It eases my guilt to find older people grappling with the same woes as myself (makes me feel less stupid). But then I wonder, is there ever a point of acceptance? I would joy to find a place in which I do not hate myself the next day. That is the beauty of being part of a community of recreationally fun people that alternate between states of pleasure and self loathing. Anything worthwhile is better done together. The community can be co-workers or friends even family, anyone that will share in the bubble of negative self absorption created by a bender.

As I sit here at work, at my desk, I realize that I am actually proud of myself in a twisted way. I am in my own esteem for simply sitting at my desk today and not being crashed out on the floor. I am internally patting myself on the back and using this bolstering to remind myself that I am not a complete loser but a person who remains productive under fire. Real productivity would be accepting my behaviour, as I should be able to look at the last 10 years, note the trend and just work around it. Why must we as humans always want to kick against the pricks and change what is? While I don’t think we should accept our behaviours that are fatalistically destructive, there has to be an understanding of who we are within them. But we don’t operate that way, instead we idealize the image of what the perfect human should be, and go along with that. That human is invariably never bored, never fat and certainly, never drunk. With all the things we are held accountable to and for in our lives it would make sense to ease up when it came to our own inner diatribe. Instead, that is where the bashing is the worst. In dealing with ourselves, it is the instance in which we are most cruel and intolerant.

This goes far beyond the scope of the semi perpetual happy hour. It reaches into every idealization we make as humans. Even when we reach our goals and realize that what was coveted still hasn’t turned us into stars, we continue to set up these schemes of reaching for a sense of perfection in our own minds. In relation to beauty, women are experts at thinking this way. Women will look at others, and think that they look great, but are always able to find fault with themselves. Female self image is a scary thing when you examine it, having been pushed and prodded in every direction and finally reduced to a shade of what it should be. The picture of the perfect woman is unattainable, and usually contorted and airbrushed. Most women know very well that the pictures in magazines are little more than illustrations, so photo-shopped they barely speak to the human they are modeled after. This however, doesn’t stop most women for unwittingly and without wanting to, burying these images deep in the subconscious. It is the same for us all, we have ideas of what perfection is supposed to be and it’s based on standards we didn’t decide upon and barely believe in. This of course does not stop the average person from attempting to follow these standards.

Yes, I am trying to develop this theory right now as a way of alleviating my own guilt. This is what I do, I find ways to alleviate. Real strength is supposed to be facing up to your demons and fears and tackling them head on. The fact that so few of us do that makes me question that idealization as well. There is nothing wrong with aspiring to something better, something outside of the humanity that we know. But would it be so bad to tinge it with some realism as well?

Still, I must admit there is a place for the conscience. Without it, we would be little more than hedonistic wastes, fucking, killing and eating randomly. Humanity requires a semblance of structure in order to survive. Doing only what feels good with no admittance for consequence is likely a dangerous path. Still, there is no forgoing for the need of a bit of ease. It would be intelligent to exculpate ourselves from guilt and forge a balance between conscience and acknowledgement of who and what we are.

I liked this one


This is Buddha fasting

Link to other pics;

Stupid girl stay with me

I didn’t expect that I would be less alone. I didn’t expect that I would somehow be less lonely. I just thought that maybe I would handle it differently. I think now, that that is just as silly as the thought that it would be different. Of course it all seemed different for a bit. But then I went ahead and settled into the old me again. The same old me that is always there, not really an old me. I haven’t changed quite yet just my surroundings have. Nothing earth shattering has happened but my surprise at being the same.

I don’t like myself. I realize that. I’m not sure I can expect others to do so. There are so many things about myself I despise and am embarrassed about. With that present it makes it more difficult to navigate any new contacts. And I am crushingly blunt and honest. I’m not good at lying to myself and often don’t see the point in lying to others. This is often a mistake. If I would cover myself more less to dislike would be seen.

I’m not sure what it was within me that made me decide to come here. I know I wanted something much more than an internship. Either something I lost or something I needed to discover. I think deep down I thought I would be different here because it is such a new place. But ever so sadly it is still me. Except I can’t remember what I loved. Oops

I think that his decision to not like me back has reminded me of all the bad things in life. And it has reminded me that I don’t know what I want or why I do things. Somehow, it sucked all the light out. Somehow the darkness came here with me. I haven’t felt so unimportant in some time. And I cannot forget. I’m not sure I even want to. I have sold myself on a concept I don’t even understand.

Travel Thailand Time

It looks like downpour but the sun in just obscured…

I’ve been reading a lot about living in the now. Nothing like a 16 hour flight to help you do that. I have become acutely aware of my surroundings and my physicality while cramped in this small space. I can barely think, much less sit with the future or the past. All there is, is the now. And a subconscious desire to stretch. Finally, I can see the benefit and point of spending extra on first-class.

I took a few moments during this flight to draw out of my body and look at myself, twisted and pretzel trying to sleep. Kind of watching myself from the outside. I am flying across the ocean. I am flying across the world. I am flying from night to day. What did I leave behind? What part of me didn’t make the journey? The familiar is thousands of miles away, and I am left with the unknown. Notably, there are things that I am hoping to leave behind, things I don’t want to retrieve on my way back home in two months. And things I bet I will want to keep from this trip, tucked away safely inside of me… I am getting ahead of myself. I don’t need to worry about parasites for two months. I have been a bit afraid and tense all day. That is the adventure, accepting the unknown.

I love waterslides. I honestly think they are the most fun in the world. When I slide down a water slide there is noting but the joy and exhilaration of that moment. But I can’t ever seem to carry that forward. I cant seem to take that shaky clarity forward. I want this trip to be a waterslide. I want it to be a long experience of bliss. I don’t expect every moment to be awesome. I expect myself to take it all in as an exciting series of moments

Really, I should expect nothing and simply accept If I want it to be bliss. I just want it to be. How’s that?

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--I wrote an article this week about travelling. I am hoping to edit it and publish it at some point--

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Article I wrote about Travel

Travel is a form of escapism, a way to subvert routine reality and break out of the bubble like confines of life. While the motivations behind exotic travel can seem very personal differing from one traveller to the next, there is a common denominator in the desire to get away. Adventurous voyagers often feel suffocated within the construct of their environment and seek out new locales to explore new forms of personal self expression. Resort tourists are after relaxation and the pampered comfort of controlled exploration. Jet-setting flyers are looking for excitement and a way to connect with and learn about a new culture. Wayfaring expatriates try to fulfill a deeply rooted fantasy of a different kind of life. All of the above in one form or the other are seeking to vacation from their own minds; they are looking for a way to take a breather from the self.

When on vacation, we dress differently, try new things and go to new and foreign places. This is all in an attempt to change the reactions and perceptions that form our ideas about who we really are. Everyday life is filled with expectations and judgements about how to act, what to do and who to be. We are all well aware of the social and cultural norms that govern the people we have become. There is a specific way we are supposed to react or to present ourselves in any given situation. When we are at home in our environment we know all too well what those reactions and presentations are expected to be. Travelling allows for the opportunity to rediscover how we choose to package ourselves based on different cultural and social rules. It provides a way to escape from the otherwise routine yet random assortment of everyday thought. It’s easier to act out in a place where no one knows your name or your employers. Going to a new place can be like a rebirth, discovering ideas and making decisions all over again, as if for the first time. Long term travel is an opportunity to become more deeply immersed in a fresh way of perceiving the world and oneself, perhaps through an unseasoned eye. Simply transporting yourself from one place to the next isn’t a ticket to sudden enlightenment. Yet it can provide the opportunity to escape from the cultural filters that define the way knowledge is perceived. People don’t travel to find the self but to clear the baggage that obscures what is already there.

When we are children, everyday is a new journey experiencing many feelings and thoughts for the first time. Once we have lived for a while, very little seems new and often even less seems truly interesting. We feel that we have done it all, and that the outcomes have become predictable. We become bored soothsayers in our own lives, easily foretelling the routines and results that make up our daily lives. While we do entertain ourselves, little happens that has any possibility of forming new synaptic pathways in the brain. To most, vacation seems to be a temporary way out of this rut. For the expatriate however, those feelings of boredom are akin to a slow death. They view their environments as a part of a long suffering which robs them of the forgotten blissful feeling of childhood discovery. Here we speak about expatriates who have embraced withdrawal from their home environment, not the ones who are simply shoved or promoted elsewhere by their employers. Eager expats have a specific place they desire to go to and a specific set of ideals about that place. They want to extend the vacation indefinitely to match the fantasy they have in their minds about themselves. Weather they see themselves as exotic trekkers exploring some outback, or socialite city dwellers, they see them selves as someone other than the person they are in their current environment. Expats envision themselves as being trapped in places that can never adhere to their ideals in the same way a dream can. This is likely part of the reason that many expatriates fail, especially those from North America. Reality rarely lives up to or exceeds fantasy and when the honeymoon period is over expats often realize that their chosen place has many of the same problems as their former home. They begin to see, after a time, that they too have many of the same problems because they are the same person. Changing locales can shake up the ego, but it takes much more too fully root it up.

Before the industrial revolution, migration was a matter of necessity. Humans only moved around for reasons of safety, commerce or conquest. Technological changes of the mechanized age introduced the ability to vacation, an idea based in desire. It’s easy to simply point, click and arrange to go anywhere with comfortable and pleasing accommodation. Yet many humans still exhibit the same innate fight or flight desires that we did in times past. To satisfy the urge to explore and conquer, extreme adventure style holidays have become increasingly popular. People climb mountains, camping overnight on tiny ledges thousands of feet up. Groups trek through the wild in search of campgrounds and fresh water. Even arctic expeditions have become respites of fun and fodder. These tourists are looking for a different aspect of humanity that has become obsolete. They are investigating a temporary return to the survival of the fittest, the need to experience the world Viking style. In truth there are no undiscovered lands left, but buying real-estate simply cannot satisfy this kind of urge in the way extreme trekking can. Although there are no unmapped territories left to discover, there is always room to house new knowledge and experience in the mind. Modern life has become exceedingly simple and sedate. It can be absurdly refreshing to sample even a modicum of what it is like to use the physical body and the mind to survive. There is no question that it is more comfortable to sleep in a bed than on a desert floor, but the challenge of the desert can fend of the atrophy of the mind habitual life inspires.

Of course there are also those who don’t want travel. Not people who cannot afford the time or money to do so, but the people who aren’t happy to temporarily escape the idea of home. They are the people who exchange wanderlust with the desire to know exactly what’s coming up and use that knowing to gain a sense of comfort. They are the people who imagine that they understand what they need to know about the world, others and themselves and can learn that information at home if it be otherwise. They could well be right. It is possible to change the way you think and what you do without ever leaving your doorstep. It is possible to break away from the familiar even in a place you think you understand. It’s not inconceivable to be content looking into the same horizon each day. But most of us do not have the inner fortitude to change or to settle our minds about life by simply staying stationary. Dropping yourself in a completely new surrounding is a fairly easy way of changing a dim light bulb in the mind to brighten the outlook. A trip or even a permanent move won’t swap your brain out for a fresh model, but there is always a hope that the temporary change will inspire something to carry forward. Even a few fresh memories can help to move out the stale.

I’ve decided to take a short leave from my life; my own temporary disappearing act from the ordinary and mundane triviality that rules my everyday. After years spent dreaming of exotic cultures and new locales I’m finally heading to Thailand for two months. I will miss my partner, my friends and my family. I am missing the chance to complete two well needed summer school credits. I will sorely miss my dog. Hopefully, I will also miss the parts of me that I’m tired of living with, at least for a short while. When I imagine my getaway, (naturally a trip this long in the making is mired with sentimental fantasy), I imagine myself in flowy white tunics and sunhats fearlessly navigating Bangkok. I feel exhilarated and am impressed by my own adaptability and acquiescence. In the back of my mind I know I’ll be roasting away in wilted t-shirts and my even suffer a touch of culture shock. I expect the reality of the trip will land somewhere between my dream like ideal and my dread. Still, I would love to look in the mirror and see a different light in my eyes. For a brief moment, I am hoping to shed the construct of my self- image which I am becoming weary of preserving. Even if only for two months.

I was sitting on my balcony wondering what is real

I stopped for a moment. The whole world stopped. And I realised that I am always travelling. This whole life is a journey into the mind. And out of the mind we create the world that lies in front of us. The world we always see, it is nothing more than what we think we see. It is no more real that a unicorn. Deep inside there a vision, a construct that directs the path of what we see. What we think we see. But it is all a construct.

The truth lies in the broken ridges in between our thoughts. The imperceptible real. I lie in those ridges. Planning from moment to moment. But it is the ‘from’ that lies in between the moment that is real. As we struggle to realize the meaning of what lies between the moments, that is the truth. My life is no more real than what I think I see, what I plan to see.

When I am broken, out pops the truth. The things you automatically think matter, never really do. Instead, there is something so deep you can only touch it, never express it. I have always been concerned with where I would travel, not seeing that getting there is life.