Category Archives: How I see it…

Black Friday

Standard

As funny as it is, it was only yesterday when I learnt what this Black Friday is about. I received this email from a massively popular online retailer telling me to celebrate the Black Friday by getting those amazing bargains on their website. I actually went and read a little bit about this Black Friday thing and it wasn’t without a tragic disappointment to find out that such magically beautiful name has been abused as a name for a day marking the massive pre-Christmas sales and discounts. Apparently this is the fourth year of celebrating Black Friday in the UK and I’m wondering why I haven’t realized what’s happening the day after Thanksgiving earlier. Not that I think I missed too much by not knowing about it.

I complained about this to my friend, who asked me how I am today and in response, she asked me how would I imagine Black Friday then? This got me thinking.

I’m sorry if this sounds funny, but I would want to celebrate the day called Black Friday by doing something riskier than witnessing some stressed out bargain hunters fighting over no name HD TV in an overcrowded supermarket. I imagined the black in the name of this (in my mind) beautiful holiday day representing the blackness of our own souls, the beasts within ourselves. The fears slumbering in the darkest depths of our hearts. The queen mother of all our despair and torment. And we would be celebrating this day by conscious efforts to go into this blackness of ourselves carrying only the little light of hope, completely unarmed.

I’m reading this book about ultra-long distance running and there’s this girl who’s looking forward seeing the beast, which is how she describes the moment when she gets to the point of almost unbearable exhaustion. But there’s still so much of the track ahead. So how does she beat this beast? Well, with love, with embracing it like a long lost friend. I’m not a runner at all (although I can feel I’m getting excited about it deep in my heart), but I can totally see her coming to this huge black beast, as calm as one can be facing the power so primeval, so old, so beyond human imagination, realizing that only an act of absolute and purest courage can save her. And what is more powerful than love? It must be an amazing view to see someone coming back from such battle. And this is what I would imagine being the center of Black Friday. After giving thanks for everything nice in our lives, we will be going down to the darkness of our souls to greet our demons. I have read many stories of people finding the most beautiful light within the blackest places of their hearts, during their darkest days. Now of course nearly none of them have brought this kind of battle upon themselves willingly. They didn’t plan it. It just happened. They have been thrown into it by whoever, whatever is behind our seemingly chaotic universal laws. Was it a blessing, was it a course? I think it’s up to each of us what we make it when we face it. So without pushing it too far, on Black Friday we should go just a bit further into our darkness, do something daring, courageous, bold. Say something we have been afraid to say, try to find something beautiful in something we loathe, do something nice for someone we don’t like too much, who we might even hate. I’m not sure if this is what you would imagine being the center of today’s day if you never heard of Black Friday before, but this is how I would like it to be.

Couple of months ago I started to write a short story about “something that wasn’t”. It would be a minimalistic comic story and I can use its end to show that even the blackness can make us smile if we let it to be a part of us, without fighting it like an enemy.

The unlikely hero of my story is represented by a totally uncool full black circle.

01 black

It wanders through the vast land of pure white feeling lost, abandoned.

Until finally

.

.

.

it finds its place.

02 black

Before it finally returns to where it belongs a kind of a smile appears …

03 black

And after that.

Only

black

nothing

exists.

04 black

It’s very minimalistic, almost non existing story, but I somehow wanted to share it with you today, on Black Friday, reminding you all, that even blackness deserves its place in our lives.

And although it might seem,that I have taken it harsh on celebrating today hunting bargains, I would like to tell you that if that made you happy, so be it.

Happy Black Friday everyone.

Advertisements

I’m getting there

Standard

Every now and then I tell my friends a story about what happened to me one cold morning at my usual bus stop about a year and half ago. I was always telling it as a joke, but now I am not sure if I should keep telling the story in the same way as I always done. I cannot change what I have seen, but I decided to re-tell the story. I am not sure if I have changed so I see it all now from a different point of view, but I just realised, that in past few days I keep using verbs with re- at their beginning (like re-discover, re-define, re-tell) and I find it actually funny how time and life will show us what we haven’t seen when things were happening. I guess the writer, or teller always progresses with his stories so it probably wouldn’t hurt to look back and allow myself to repent.

Here’s the thing, there’s a strange older woman in our neighbourhood that I meet quite often and when I’m alone she asks me for a cigarette and when I’m with my daughter, she just says “You’re right lovies? She’s gorgeous. Oh how she’s grown up”. Now, normally I get bit angry about her when she says that, like why does she care it’s none of her damn business, but if a nice young woman said exactly same words, I probably wouldn’t mind it at all. This is being judgmental, right? It’s probably understandable, but it’s definitely not something to be proud of. So the is a story of my re-discovering the humanity in myself and this woman.

Anyway, I met her couple of days ago on my way from work as I was walking alone with earphones on. I saw her getting ready to ask me for a cigarette like I ever given her one, so I slowed down at least not to rudely ignore her and waited till she asked. Of course she did. I said sadly I don’t have any cigarettes and thought we’re done here for another day or two. But after my resentment disappeared, I realised that this is not how it always must be. I don’t need to feel this way, right? For some strange reason I tried to imagine how it would be if our encounters would became less bitter (well, from my side, as I haven’t notice any embitterement on hers, it was always me who was embarrassed by them).

Although I am not a smoker, I occasionally buy a pack of cigarettes. So I tried to imagine how it would be if one day, I would actually give her one. Or even give her the whole pack and never buy new one again. Would it create a connection? Between her spirit and mine? Would it change something? In me? In her? Possibly. It wouldn’t mean much, but I would have at least acknowledged her presence in this world, on this plane, by a gesture of good will and understanding. And it was this last encounter with her that made me write this post. But back to the story.

There’s not much point in beating around the bush here so I’ll tell you what happened without any glamorization. That day I saw her wandering with her head down searching for any reasonably long cigarette butts as she sometimes does (at 6:40 in the morning) and as she went to pick one up she exposed herself a bit more than would be appropriate in public and I saw what I didn’t want to see. I cannot remember if I actually felt disgusted, but I think I was quite close to it. Again, maybe understandable, but (again) not something I should be proud of. There was a desperate human being in front of me and instead of feeling empathic, or at least sorry for her I felt disgust. Not beating around the bushes here, I told you. The thing is, she was completely oblivious to what happened and although I’m not entirely sure if what she found was good to her or not, I’m sure that I missed the opportunity to realise that life can be dirty, sad, depressing, hard, painful, but it’s still a life that should not be judged. I don’t think there was anything I should have done differently, but there definitely was something I could have thought, or felt differently. When I said this story to my Muslim colleague at work I think I said I wished Allah would erase my memory of that event and also something ridiculously stupid about removing my eyes that have seen it all. I’m sorry about that. Really, really sorry. Basically, nothing that she has done was wrong. So she forgot, or couldn’t put the pants on, so what the fuck? There’s no need to get upset about it. Can I know how I would live when I would be her age? Would I like it if people would turn away in disgust from me? Would I like myself if somehow I’ll lose my cool? Probably not.

So, you know the story now. What you think?

I don’t think it matters what you think. You haven’t been there and you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re merely witnesses to my failure of being human, respectful and embracing. I know you wouldn’t judge me, we all been there right? We do this often, day in day out. We judge and… as a result WE ARE BEING JUDGED. Some say only God can judge us, but let me tell you this, I somehow think that it’s actually us who do more judging than any God would ever do. We are bringing this down upon us, this fucking judgement, resentment, distance between ourselves and our kind.

Is this a confession? I don’t know. It’s a story I wanted to re-tell. Return to that moment of disgust and tell myself not to judge. To accept what is. To let the other person be. To find it all blessing rather than curse. To remind myself that this is where I did something wrong and although I cannot undone (or unthink, or unsee) what has been done I can turn it into a valuable life’s lesson. And that’s what I am trying to do. No true story-teller should turn away from story if it gets bit dirty. It’s part of life. We all have some dirt to dig out and throw away. Maybe it’s not always required that we do it publicly, but recently I have heard and read few stories about people digging their shit out of their lives and it actually made me feel good to see their courage to get dirty on their way to better selves. The truth is, sooner, or later we all have to do it. So might as well start sooner.

I’m not sure what will people think of me after reading this, but I personally appreciate anyone who has done some dirty digging. In a way it creates a space for something that wouldn’t be possible if we all constantly wore our perfect masks. I will not hide my shit, neither will I hide my magnificence.

I still feel that process of turning into a beautiful human we all came here to be isn’t finished and that this is merely a child’s step towards its divine self, but I am thankful anyway. Even if life will teach me one step at the time, it’s ok. I’m getting there.

Yours

~uth~

It’s right to write

Standard

October 23rd-26th, 2014

~ Letter to Jennifer (I saved this post on my mobile as Letter to Jennifer and it was because of re-discovering my passion for writing after I read few unbelievably beautiful posts by Jennifer Pastiloff (check her website here) and I wanted to let her know, that she had touched me and helped me, I couldn’t write it as a letter in the end, but I wanted to mention this, just in case I will forget how did it all started. Thanks Jen 😉

Last night I woke up at about midnight, after sleeping from about 10pm. I knew I would not fall asleep again easily so I started to think what should I do, how not to waste an hour of being awake in the middle of the night. While I was trying to figure out what my next action should be, my four year old daughter gave a little cry, her beautiful face haunted by what seemed to be a bad dream (a very rare sight) and so I stroked her slightly sweaty, messy brown hair and watched her kick up the duvet away as if that was the object of her unrest, exposing herself dressed in new cute onsie pajamas. Then she found a comfortable pose, whispered something and it seemed that the bad dream was gone. So I went downstairs to get a glass of water.

I am not sure if this is the right place to bring up the topics on which me and my wife disagree and which seems to give us a cause for arguments, but since this is my space and I have no need to be hiding the truth from anyone (I still reserve the right to not be telling the full naked truth all the time, which I think is impossible anyway) I will let you know how it is. Basically, our daughter, which as I mentioned is four (in case you missed it) should be, according to her, sleeping alone in her own room, because so many other kids of her age do. But she doesn’t. So me and Anneke are constantly told names of all kids of her age that already do, which somehow in her opinion puts them so far ahead of her in this race that I think I should feel embarrassed how underdeveloped our daughter is. But I don’t. I think our daughter is beautiful and very clever (actually, make it very beautiful, she really is).

It’s like if enough people do certain thing in certain way it must necessary be the right thing and God forbid you event attempted to think or act differently. When my wife explains how it is in other families and, how by what seems to be a default way of parenting, it must also be in ours (otherwise we are bad parents or something) I really have to control myself not to say too much of what I think. I have to admit that I have no exact knowledge how to raise a healthy child and I might be wrong in many cases, but I keep reading how every child is different and although there probably are certain points in their life when they should be able to know this and that, I think it’s undeniable fact that just because someone does, or knows something, it absolutely doesn’t mean that someone else must do, or know it too. Kids will catch up with anything  faster than any of us adults will. She only has one childhood. The time to play and be fully herself. Soon pre-school and school will teach the magic away from her and she will fall victim our painful system of uniformity, obedience and modern slavery. Or maybe not, may she will find her way. Maybe if she will see enough freedom as a child, she will keep just enough magic in her innocent heart to wake up one day and remember herself as she once was. Wild and free.

Please understand that I am not trying to argument with anyone here, I had this idea to start writing a blog, where I would be trying to write about myself and my observations of life (mainly mine) trying to figure out how to be happier, how to recognise things that need changing, communicate with the outside world sharing ideas and connect in understanding. At this moment you probably cannot connect enough dots to see how what I am just writing would make me happier, but let me explain.

English is not my native language, I try not to think I speak or write perfect English, because I don’t, but I also don’t think I cannot (occasionally) come up with some good text, or phrase. There isn’t much space where I can improve my language skills and since I carry my phone everywhere and sharing things is piece of cake these days I decided to open myself a bit to the world outside, hoping I might come up with a text or two, that will attract some strayed souls and we can start an interesting dialogue about life and things and see where it can take us.

Please forgive me any mistakes I will make, if anyone will see some terrible grammar, typos, or anything that isn’t as it should be, please drop me a message and I will correct it.

Feel free to comment and interact in any way you like.

Yours

~uth~