I am now blogging at this new address…
Because insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again and expecting different results.
And I am nothing if not a bit mad.
Archive for About
Loss.
There’s now one less person in the world who loves me. And life feels that little bit heavier.
I spent my whole life dismissing the love from my family on the grounds that it wasn’t “chosen”. Well of course they loved me, they had no choice! I would feel miserable over the fact that I had never managed to “earn” the love of anyone outside of my family. No one with a free choice to make had actually chosen to love me. Silly me. Where on Earth did I get the idea that the love from your family is less important (or less worthy) because they have no choice but to love you? I blame the meritocracy. I wish I could write a book decrying the meritocracy. Of course my family didn’t choose to love me. No one ever chooses to love anyone! Love just happens. The highest expression of love between humans, that between the parent and the child, in particular the love of the parent for the child, is not chosen. Parents never choose their children. And who hasn’t fallen for someone they wished they hadn’t fallen for?
We have it all backwards. I got it all wrong. Obsessing about whether I was lovable enough or not. And of course, only someone with no bias towards me could be objective enough to judge my “lovability” correctly. Yes, I was, subconsciously, rationalizing love in those cruel terms.
What about my love for my family? After all, I didn’t choose to love them either. I guess I never even thought of my love for them being worth much.
I am a very loving person. And it’s one thing that comforts me: knowing that my family knows I love them.
And I wish these words were better written.
An Update On My So Called Life
Four months and eight days ago, I asked for help on the life creating adventure I was to embark myself in. Help came to me in surprising ways and from many people, to whom I’ll always be infinitely grateful. And one day, someone out there will get a nice gift with a big pink bow on it from this here person.
After a series of tumbles, I somehow managed to settle down in my own place, supported by my very self through a remarkably crappy job. Oh yes. I am writing these very words from my own sofa, purchased by my own self with my own money, and from my own flat, not actually purchased by my own self, but rented, which is close enough. I tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve lived on your own. Who would have known that eating from the pot and walking around with your hairy legs exposed could bring so much satisfaction?
My job can only be described with an expression I learned nay three days ago: pants. But should anyone’s curiosity be piqued to the extent of keeping you awake at night, or should you have nothing better to do this very second, let me add the following bullet point remarks which, if mixed in a blender and served cold, would amount to a fairly close picture of this job I endure. Fast food chain; coffee shop; minimum wage; crazy hours; no security; occasional free croissant.
Overall, conditions are less than ideal. But I’m living, and that’s what matters.
As for the location, I am pretty sure I am somewhere between Liverpool and Edinburgh. Everyone speaks English and the food is tasteless.
I am never leaving this place.
So now that I have a roof above my head and a hot meal guaranteed, at least when my job and the whether give me a long enough break to walk the 549 miles that separate me from the supermarket where the groceries are actually affordable for someone on the minimum fricking wage, which is almost NEVER the case, I can get to more important issues.
Like the Feminist – Leftist Revolution.
And no, I have no idea where to begin. Suggestions are always welcome.
There have been some changes in my political self. I can’t quite decide whether I’m becoming more radical or more conservative.
I don’t believe in democracy anymore. Or pacifism, for that matter. But I do believe in love, life, goddesses, gods, spirits and demons, which is a primer for me.
I am growing more and more sceptical of the real values of science, technology, education, language, rationality and the whole idea of “progress”.
I am also growing more and more intolerant with “liberalism”, “postmodernism”, and any other “individualistic, free market infused” ideology out there, particularly of the “progressive” and/or “feminist” variety.
And any feminist out there who thinks that “capitalism is a good thing” can kiss my grandiose butt in all its grandeur.
Oh, and I have drunk alcohol a couple of times. No change in behaviour has been perceived. At least none above the usual uncertainty in the measurement of my “normal” behaviour.
From now on you can expect a fair amount of controversial posts in this blog. Assuming I can get off my bum and actually write something.
It’s time to raise Hell. Just what I was put on this planet to do 😀
A Plea For Help
Thanks everyone for your support on my “coming out” post. I’ve been overwhelmed by the niceness. You guys rock!
Like I said, I am going back to the UK. Yay for me! I’m leaving my parents house (hopefully forever) to become an independent, grown up woman and to make a life for myself! Isn’t it exciting? What an adventure! I’m fricking terrified to death!!!
When one moves somewhere, it’s generally useful to have somewhere to move to. So here it is.
I need help in finding somewhere to live.
I thought I had nothing to lose by asking you, kind readers, for some help. This is not something easy for me to do. It’s one of the reasons why this post has taken so long. The last time I was in a similar situation and asked for help from people whom I thought cared about me, I found indifference. In the end, I discovered that help can come from the people you least expect. Which is why I’m giving this a try.
I was thinking on moving around London, but it’s not written in stone. On the plus side, I will have a higher chance of finding a job, I’ll be closer to the airport (kind of important if something happens and I need to run away; also convenient for visiting parents), and I’ll be where everything seems to happen. On the other side… well…, London is, after all, a city, and I’m a creature of the wild. If it were up to me, I would live in a little cabin in the middle of the woods. (Though with internet connection).
I can only afford a room in some flatshare / houseshare. Ideally, I would be sharing the place with a bunch of feminists working to bring the Feminist Revolution. The second best scenario would be sharing the flat / house with nice people, but living somewhere close to a bunch of feminists working to bring the Feminist Revolution.
I’m already trying the “traditional” intertube approach of placing an ad in Spareroom (and others) and contacting people that way. But it’s particularly difficult when you are living abroad. And besides, I would much rather share a place with people I have something in common with.
I have some savings but I’m not rich, so rent price has to be, ehm, moderate.
I’m not picky. Really I’m not. I know things are gonna be tough for me when I arrive, that’s OK.
So…
If you know of someone around London with a room to rent out…
If you know of someone somewhere else in the UK with a room AND a job…
I you’ve heard something from someone…
If you have any advice for me…
If you have any words of support…
Please contact me, either through comment or mail at:
beyondfeminism at gmail dot com (without spaces)
(I know these are difficult times; that we are in a recession and all. But I am not happy where I am right now, and I really need to leave, like, a year ago. If I could wait until things got better, I would. At worst, I can always come back.)
Coming Out Into The Sun…
If you’ve been following this blog, you probably know very little about me. I have been keeping a low profile, which is strange for me since I’m usually an “over shearer”. I think hiding in the intertube’s shadows has been a reflection of my emotional state. Unable to accept my life; or to accept that I am alive. Afraid of being rejected if anyone found out who I am. (It’s not that I’m particularly “bad” or anything, it’s just that I’ve been rejected many times in the past). It’s been rather important for me to not be rejected in the intertubes, since the people in it are practically the only ones I interact with. It’s also the case that in the intertubes I’ve found the closest thing to a place I feel I belong to.
I have recently made a commitment to stay on this planet. In short: to live. This means accepting my life and moving to change it; being open and honest. And learning to accept rejection. In order to do this, I am going to reveal who I am. I hope it helps me.
[Don’t worry if you don’t understand any of this. Read if you are interested in my humble story.]
My real name is Maria. I was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, on the 25th of May, 1983. This means that, much to my dislike, I’m currently 25 years old. I’ve had depression for as long as I can remember. It seems like I am slightly better now, but it could be a false alarm; there have been some in the past.
When I was 20 I moved with my family to Barcelona, Spain. After 6 months I moved to St Albans, England, UK to study Astrophysics at the University of Hertfordshire. Four years later, I (somehow) graduated. Because I had run out of money, I had to come back to my parents’ in Barcelona. I descended (further) into a depressive black hole out of which I am barely coming out today.
My nationality is both Argentinean and Spanish. I am a “Latina” for the USatians and a “Spaniard” for the UKazians. So I would define myself as “white”, but not “white enough”. (In case anyone wonders, I was conceived after the Malvinas/Focklands war ended).
I want to be a writer/(f)artist one day. (Oh noes, not yet another young feminist who wants to be a writer!). I know it will be particularly difficult for me since I write in English, which is not my first language. But I don’t care.
Part of the reason why I fell into depression for so long was because I had spent 4 years studying a course that will not lead me nicely to a stable job. I cannot work as an “astrophysicist” unless I spend another 10 years studying and get a PhD and two post docs all before retiring. I feel like I’m back to square one; only with considerably less money and more years on my back.
I don’t have much idea of what I’m going to do with my life, whether I’ll be able to survive as a writer or even as a feminist. But I’ve made a commitment to stay on this planet, and I’m planning to stick to it.
Some months ago I (somehow) found a job. It turned out to be Hell on a stick but it has allowed me to save money to return to the UK. And that’s going to be my next move.
(more to come)
Beyond Feminism 