Closing Pandora's Box

It is often said that the ultimate transformation is comparable to that seen in nature; as being like the caterpillar turning into a butterfly. But we tend to forget two important things. Firstly, all caterpillars have the potential to fly. And secondly, only the butterfly knows what it went through to get those wings. 

There are moments in our lives where we feel cocooned off from the world, isolated and alone, vulnerable and powerless in a dark and unmerciful world. Not just one but many moments in our lives, were we found ourselves in a place not too dissimilar from that where caterpillars go to grow their wings. The butterfly, so beautiful and graceful turns and says, “These humans always speak of my transformation which I can undergo only once in my life.  They are strong, yet so oblivious to their own strength and have the ability to transform at every moment of their lives and in innumerable ways.”

Cocoon moments are like fixed points in one’s existence. A person is not defined by a particular moment, but how they got to that moment and what they do in response to it. Those moments are like a crossroads, a choice. When you feel alone, remember you can either let go and watch your world be ravaged by monsters on the ground below, or you can keep the faith and learn to fly.

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Photograph of drawing and writing, taken from personal photography.

closingpandorasboxx.blogspot.co.uk

I shall be changing the blog URL to the above in a short while. Note the double x at the end of the word box. Please remember to update your various readers / feeds.

My mum has been diagnosed with breast cancer and is undergoing surgery on Monday 17^th December. I am humbly writing to ask you to remember her in your prayers. Thank you.

There was meant to be a few changes happening to the blog and elsewhere on the 18^th, however these have been put on hold for a later time.

The following post is by a good friend who used to blog herself once. She had posted this before on her blog, but seeing as it is a highly pertinent issue today, which many people may find themselves in, I asked her if I could use it to share with my readers. She agreed. Thank you ever so much Smiley, you gem.

*****

“So, did anyone call today?” Zack asked popping a spoonful of spaghetti into his mouth. He was starving.

“Mum rang this morning asking whether we had received the parcel she sent and then Ryan rang later this afternoon,” Sammy said pouring a glass of water and taking a huge gulp.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, Ryan from London. You remember him?”

“What did he want?” Zack asked starting to chew slowly.

“Oh nothing much, we were just talking about stuff, you know,” Sammy said reaching for a spaghetti string from Zack’s plate. She slipped it into her mouth and took a seat next to him on the couch.

“What stuff?”

“Well, he told me he went to see his mum today. I told you his parents are separated, didn’t I? And then he said we should come down to London during the summer break. He said he'd love to meet you,” Sammy laughed, remembering Ryan’s words.

“How long did you guys talk for?”

“About forty five minutes I think, not sure. It was good to talk to him. He said he left me something on my Facebook wall,”

“Did you check?”

“No, didn’t get time. Been revising all day,” Sammy stifled a yawn, took the empty plate from Zack’s hands and placed it on the table. She sat back on the couch, stretched her legs out and placed her head in Zack’s lap. He reached for the remote and started flicking through the channels.

“How’s that going?”

“Booooring. I missed you today. The day just went on and on and on,” Sammy said looking up into his face. Strands of dark unkempt hair fell into eyes. She studied the long column of his throat as her fingers played with the buttons on his white shirt. They'd been married for forty four days now.

“Really? That bad, aye?” his eyes twinkled with warm amusement. “And don’t you ruin this shirt of mine, I think it’s the only wearable one left in my whole wardrobe, thanks to you!” He grinned. Sammy laughed and tugged a little harder at the button.

“You’re worried more about your shirts, huh?” she said, looking away pretending to pout. He turned her face back and kissed her cute button nose.

“So what you say, we go to London this summer?” He pulled the ribbon out of her hair and let it fall loose. He loved her hair.

“Yeah that would be great,”

“We could go to Bath and visit my old uncle and aunty too, ain’t seen them lot for ages,” Zack said smirking remembering how his wife disliked his old fashioned family.Sammy punched him in the chest.

“Ha ha. Very funny! Ryan mentioned Bath; he said it was a lovely place to visit for a day,”

Zack’s hand paused its play of her hair.

“Can you just stop that,” he said suddenly.

“Stop what?”

“Ryan. You’re always talking about him. Ryan this and Ryan that,”

“No I’m not,”

Sammy sat up, lifting her head from his lap. The moment was gone replaced by something else.

“Yes you are. It’s always you and Ryan,”

“There’s no me and Ryan. What you talking about?”

Zack got up off the couch and faced her. His face was turning a slight shade of pink and all humour had vanished from his tired eyes.

“I bet there is,” He said ever so quietly.

There was silence in the room as Sammy stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“That’s just crazy. He’s just a really good friend that I met on Facebook. The guy lives a million miles away, don’t know what…”

“Oh so that’s what it is, is it?” he cut her short. “So if he was closer things would be different, is that it?”

“Hell no. That’s not what I meant. You’re taking it the wrong way Zack,”

“Am I? I don't think so!” He was shouting now

“Look, he’s just a friend. He’s helped me through a lot….”

“You care about him?”

“What?”

“I asked do you care about him.”

“Well of course I care about him, he’s my friend, Zack,” Sammy said, her voice quivered. She was hurt. She didn’t know where this was going.

“You know when mum and dad got divorced he was the only person I had who I could talk to. He’s always been there for me. Our friendship is special. I don’t see what the big deal is," She looked away as the memories came flooding back.

“The big deal? You want to know the big deal? You’re always going on about him and I’m sick and tired of it! Before the wedding you couldn’t stop talking about him and all your incredibly fun times together," he waved his hands around the room, the words coming out like a fierce storm. "You were even talking to him on our wedding day. And now look at you. How do you think that makes me feel? He’s helped…”

“What on earth is that supposed to...”

“Just shut up!” he spat the words at her and Sammy’s eyes widened. Zack never spoke to her like that. His jaw was tight, his eyes icy. He was angry. He looked up into her face and took a step towards her. Fear suddenly gripped Sammy. Zack would never hit her.

“It’s either me or him, do you hear?” he whispered the words close to her face. She didn’t say anything, too shocked to open her mouth. She didn’t recognize this Zack.

He turned around, grabbed his mobile and keys from the table and walked towards the door.

“Zack! This is crazy,” she said to his back as he walked out the room.

“Zack!” she called.

She heard the front door open and her pulse raced.

“Zack! Where are you going?”

There was silence.

And then the door slammed shut.

@Smiiiiiiiiley_x

*****

What do you think? Have you ever been in such a situation, be it as Zack, Ryan or Sammy?

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I told my dear friend Rosaline I was having trouble writing and she recommended that I should grab my pen, and just free write. “The words will flow by themselves.” The only catch being, there’s a time limit. “Try 3 minutes.” I did. Except I gave myself 5 minutes. This is what became of it. Below is an un-edited extract from a letter I am writing to B, written in 5 minutes. It’s not been changed in anyway so excuse all the mistakes. I hope she doesn’t read this before I give her the letter next week!

*****

It’s been a long time since I last wrote to you. A week I think. What’s the date today anyway? I can’t check either, well I can but I can’t be bothered as I always write it at the end of the day’s scribbles. Where did I end the scribbles last time? I don’t really like endings if I’m perfectly honest with you. I wonder why they say goodbye. Where is the good in bye? Do you know? I have spent hours pondering that question but to no avail.

But what is a beginning? No more than another beginning’s end. And just like the last paragraph, starting on this virgin page, first line, came to an end, so do many other things. For sometimes an ending marks something new. It’s a delicate moment, like the starting of a new diary. You open the first page, your pen hovering in your hand, the molecules of ink waiting to burst out and bring life to the page. And yet you hesitate. You wait as your mind thinks of the that first stroke, that first dot, that first line, that first word, that will flood the page. But you make sure, perfectly sure that that first contact is perfect. For how many pages do we rip out of the diary because they were “not right”? A collection of first-page-less diaries. The real delicacy comes after you’ve written that first letter, or the first word, or the first line, or the first page. The real delicate moment is when you lift up your pen and look at what you have done. The real delicate moment is then when you ask yourself if that page stays or whether it ends up in the bin. B, if and when you ever find yourself at such a delicate stage of a beginning just remember the seed in the soil. The farmer throws them haphazardly, orientated in all sorts of ways. No two seeds land the same. Probably. And yet only those that persist and persist and persist rise to the surface and feel the wind in their shoots and the rain on their roots. It doesn’t matter how bad your first word looks, just keep going. And keep that first page, so it reminds you of that delicate beginning. So it reminds you, that the beginning doesn’t have to be the end.

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Photograph of the letter to a friend, taken from personal photography.

A few months back, while sweating away over my dissertation I asked Snowy if she would be kind enough to write a blog post for me. Being the genuinely kind person she is, she heartily agreed. I hope you enjoy what she wrote as much as I did. Thank you very much Snowy.

*****

Dawn was breaking, the whole world was fast asleep but she was wide awake. Her mind and eyes tired, but full of questions. Sleep ran away from her, and today she was tired of chasing. As she stared at the heavens, a smile emerged on her lips. How could one not stare at the beauty above with awe? The stars twinkled mischievously as though they were hiding a secret from her. A secret she would so often ponder on those rare but peaceful moments. It was breath taking. Her arm’s itched to reach up and pocket herself a little diamond. One that would warm her with it’s resonating light and could be worn as a talisman around her neck when time’s were hard. Sighing with longing, reality hit her like a whip hits bare flesh. Sharp and painful. She gazed down and in front of her saw the path she took everyday to make her dreams come true. How ironic it was, that it was paved with nothing but broken dreams. Filled with paddies of flowers and thorns, it meandered like a river twists and turns - maybe it represents the unforeseen turns her life took? Instantly, she shook her head. She diverted her attention back to the velvet canopy above. No, she wouldn’t think about that. Not today. Why waste a beautiful night contemplating on bitter thoughts? She had tasted the flavour of bitterness before; it had almost engulfed her. Infected her even! She would seek refuge in the stars tonight.

Then she begin to think. What if the sky was just a canopy? An intricate architectural overlay which could only be looked at - never touched. Or a mirror? Reflecting a reverse image of all that took place down below. Maybe, behind it lay the secret of the heavens? That no human can ever bear to know. What if the luminous stars were a reflection of the bittersweet symphony playing below? And what of those stars that shone quietly and just as luminously as the moon? Heavily underestimated, overlooked and forgotten. But then again, it was all quite simple. They represented the people on earth who shone quietly and as luminously as the moon. Who silently emitted rays of light into even the darkest corners of the earth. The Saints. The one’s who flourished out of the media spotlight - who never made a dictionary definition of themselves or insisted their name be uttered by many. They were happy to be remembered by a few. A supernatural phenomenon which scientists and physicians were oblivious too, but which philosophers ached to know. When alive, they lit the earth and when dead, they lit the sky. So so beautifully - one’s eyes have to blink a thousand times to capture the serene miracle. Guiding all the lost souls below in the dark but so iridescently. These stars - are more than just pretty, glowing specks of light. They were symbol’s of hope. Why?
Because
they
never
stopped
shining.

Snowyy ★
@Snowyy_
http://snowyy22.tumblr.com/

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Unfortunately I do not have a source for the picture used in this post, for which I apologise.

It was one of those mornings; falling out of bed the wrong way, narky moods and that heaviness in the heart which dragged you down into the murky waters where visibility was markedly reduced. And when drowned in the darkness, if you even tried to open your eyes, the particles in the water would cause a burning pain making you shut them again. No matter how much you yearned to see, the pain of doing so would stop you. That same heaviness in the depths of your heart, as it sank, pulled with it a string that tightened the noose around your insides; suffocating and leaving you gasping for happiness. Somewhere in the darkness is a light they say, one that you cannot find and you wonder whether it's too far away or whether you are blind. Yeah it was that kind of morning.

She hadn’t called like she promised she would. Promises, made with such vigour and feeling, yet broken so easily like the snapping of a stalk on a windy day. What are words if you don’t mean them when you say them?¹ Lies portrayed as honest truth. Do not make promises when engorged on the elixir of happiness and neither take decisions when hate has its hooks lodged firmly in your heart. She always apologised when this happened. Maybe not straight after, maybe the next morning, or after a few days, or when she remembered. So he didn’t mind too much. He knew he would hear from her. He didn’t know when, but he knew.

A bench, empty and desolate. Seats covered with moss and insects crawling all over, on seeing it however, he smiled. And the rush began. There were those memories he had always wanted to forget. But he realised that by spending so much time and effort keeping those unwanted memories at bay, he may come to resemble that statue of the grieving parents; transfixed and petrified by the past, looking over the garden that never grew.² Mourning till eternity.

The beauteous yesterday is fading away
like a blushed twilight;
Though nothing can bring back
the hours of sweet treasured past,
I will grieve not but rather find
splendour in the memories.³

The bench looked old and forgotten, but it reminded him of a memory. Many years ago, they had promised one day they would sit on a park bench and read the story of their lives together. And smile. And laugh. And poke. And have fly inviting moments. He remembered the walks at midnight in Hyde Park, hand in hand as they talked, discussing the mysteries of life and all its treasures. He remembered the late night calls and the choking on red bull to stay awake. He remembered the nicknames, sounding so irrelevant to others, but full of meaning. He remembered standing in the rain after lectures and listening to her as she mourned her losses. He remembered the coffee dates and burning his tongue on his first ever mocha while sitting on the train. He remembered craving pizza and it was carried all the way from the other side of the city for him. He remembered the anniversary they celebrated every year and how she always left him speechless. He remembered her last words the day before she died.

Though there were lines in his diary he wished he had never written, there were pages upon pages that he wished to never forget. For every memory that brought about the shackling heaviness in the heart, there were countless more, priceless and pure, that set him free.

He never forgot people. He remembered every memory and smiled. There is always a reason to smile.

*****

These two posts (part 1, and 2) were written in response to a tweet I saw a few weeks ago in which the person had said how the “suckish people” made it so hard to appreciate the loved ones in our lives. I couldn’t disagree more. For every “suckish” person I come across it makes me realise just how blessed I am with the family and close few close friends that I have. And it makes me love them even more.

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Photograph of a book of memories I made for a friend from personal photography, available here.
¹ “What are words if you don’t mean them when you say them.” In reference to a previous post, available here.
² Reference to the statue of the Grieving Parents, by Käthe Kollwitz, in the memory of her youngest son who died on the battlefield during World War I, and was buried in the Vladslo German war cemetery.
³ This was a quote from a very small diary I once gave to someone. Some one from the past, who used to be a friend.

The web of life. Sprawling. Interconnected. Laced together with fine strings of silk. Each thread, a different moment, a different relationship, a different entity, held together with the glue of emotion. Each fine fibre holds firm another, supporting and being supported. And yet at times it feels so flimsy and weak. All it takes is the blink of an eye, a moment, an incident, the breath of a single word to tear it all apart. And then you are left with the pieces of your life scattered across the floor. Battered, broken and longing for a reason to believe.

The silk of a spider is stronger than steel, they say. It acts as a place to sleep, a place to catch food and much more. Who taught the spider how to spin its web? We humans regularly demolish these beautiful structures. What do spiders do? They move on, and rebuild their lives, from scratch.

Bad things happen, but life goes on.
It is not long before we go are gone.¹

God gave everyone the ability to make a life for themselves. Yet, “we do not rise to the level of our abilities, but fall to the lies (sic) of our excuses”.² When it feels like it is all disintegrating, remember the spider. Every thread you lay, make sure it is stronger than steel. And try again. Remember, when it all seems to be falling apart, it may just be falling into place.³ Remember, and keep the faith.

*****

Thank you to B for giving me the idea for this post. I dedicate this to Tutti Fruitti and all others who are going through testing times.

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Photograph of an exposed web just after sunrise from personal photography, available here.
¹ A couplet from a poem I once wrote.
² This was a quote I posted on Twitter in the last couple of weeks, but I can no longer remember where / who it’s from.
³ This is another quote I posted onto Twitter a month or so ago. Unfortunately I cannot remember its source.

She said she would call at midnight. The beginning of a new day. But not the beginning of a new story. They had not spoken for a long time and he had waited and worried. It wasn’t the first time either.

As the second hand moved to mark quarter to, he slid into bed, propped himself against a pillow with a book in hand and the phone resting on his legs. And he waited. With sombre excitement. The words on the page became like raindrops, merging into each other, their beginning and end undistinguishable from those around them. He checked his phone again. 23:48. What would they talk about when she called? He had many things to ask her; the lack of replies to his texts, her quietness and where she kept disappearing to. He also had many things to tell her too, but he never got the chance as she would go on and on and on about herself. There were many words unspoken. But that was okay, he didn’t mind. As long as she was okay and said what she wanted, that’s all that mattered.

The alert on his phone vibrated telling him it was time. Midnight had come. He was always punctual unlike many of his friends. People came into his life like seasons. Unexpected and bringing with them a range of emotions, ideas and promises. But when their storms passed and the rains had cleansed away the dirt and the virgin sun put a spring step into their steps, they too would leave. He never forgot the people. The blessings and the curse of keeping diaries. Images of what he had seen and felt remained in his mind, many of them too painful to be allowed into full awareness. Our memories, which lend us a pattern to our lives, also condemn us to relive our past. His eyes bore witness to the struggles and other episodes of trial he had seen through his life. No matter how many times he tried to bury them; the burning of the pages, the avoidance of places, they would shift in their shape like a constantly mutating virus causing infection. A constant struggle to banish those stubborn memories, would only result in them coming back, again and again.

00:27. What if she didn’t call? The last time they had spoken she had been brief and left half way through. He never even had a chance to say goodbye. But she told him why and he understood. He always understood. But sometimes he wished there was some magic to reverse those memories, but no matter what he tried, it didn’t work.

Sleep stole him while he waited. The time was 01.03. She didn’t call that night.

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Photograph of burning letters from personal photography, available here.

The URL for this blog will be changing on the 18^th of December 2012 to:

closingpandorasboxx.blogspot.co.uk

Note the double x at the end of the word box, for there is already a blog URL by the name of closingpandorasbox. Please remember to update your various readers / feeds. I’ll also be unveiling a few other links at that time.

Thank you,

Nas

[This is a scheduled post]

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?
You, my Queen, are fairest of all.¹

The mirror and the timepiece tell the story of your beauty. Mirror mirror on the wall, the glass hides not neither does it stall. Who is the fairest of them all, would my beauty silence the hall, a question many would lie in response to. Not the mirror, nay, for it speaks that which it sees. It flatters not and neither does it deceive.

Your glass, be it hanging on the bedroom wall or hidden away among the contents of your bag, shows just how  your beauty goes. When decades pass; the soft needles of the winter snow, dig deep trenches upon your brow. Your beauty, a radiating field once the envy of many, will be covered in weeds, no longer gazed upon in want or in need. What worth will it hold then?

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?
Queen, you are full fair, it is true, but Snow White is fairer than you.¹

Then when they ask, where is your beauty now, what will you have left to show? Hidden in the lines on your forehead or behind the sunken eyes, which saw your lustful days? And your timepiece will show you the precious moments that went to waste as you tried to outwit time’s thievish ways.

Why ask others, do I look beautiful, when men lie to please for in that is ease. Question the one that never lies, not intimidated by royalty or repelled by a ragamuffin. If your eyes tell you, you are beautiful when you look in the mirror then be it so and be you grateful.

But what is beauty? For that which is skin deep only lasts as long as the skin holds its keep. Be like that flower which catches the eye in its prime but still gives off its sweet scent even as it is about to die.

[This is a scheduled post]

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Catachresis – (noun) 1. The misuse of a word; application of a meaning to a word not its own, as asset used in the sense of advantage; also a mixed or strained metaphor, as a paradox for example. 2. The use of a wrong form of the word, through a misunderstanding of its etymology. – Taken from Webster’s Comprehensive dictionary.
¹ Mirror mirror on the wall – from the fairy tale, Snow White and the seven dwarfs.
Image of mirror taken from here.

26 letters. That’s all there is in the English alphabet. Arrange them in different ways and you have at your disposal means to change the world. When Sir Winston Churchill rallied the nation during World War II, telling the people, “Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days - the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable,”¹ he used the same 26 letters. When Martin Luther King told the American people, “I have a dream today,”² he did so by rearranging the 26 letters. The quotes we so dearly love and copy down for rainy days or those that we sign off emails and letters with, “I’ll see you soon then,”³ are all made from those same letters.

A bunch of plain letters linked together can have a worlds worth of meaning in them at one point and then they can be utterly meaningless, devoid of any emotion at another point. Or for someone else. – Rosaline

Words, that once people gave to each other as gifts, as inspiration or as binding contracts are now thrown around and kicked about like trash; uncared for and unwanted. Devoid. Empty. Shallow. Words. A person would once say, “I give thee my word,” and that would be all, for their words upheld their honour. Now people plead to one another for their words to be listened to, but they are heard only by deaf ears. Those that once would trust now build their walls higher and higher and those that talk the talk hand out the bricks.

Why can’t we just believe and be trusting? Everyone can talk the talk but it takes an honest, upright man or woman to be able to walk the walk. Say only that which you mean, and mean what you say.

_________________________________

Title: What are words – Chris Medina
Photograph from personal photography, available here.
¹ “Never give in” – Wartime speech by Sir Winston Churchill. Full transcript here.
² “I have a dream” – Speech by Martin Luther King Jr. Full transcript here.
3 “I’ll see you soon then” – Quote from the film Dear John.

“So this is it then?” she asked, staring at him intently.

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding slowly.

“But why? Why now?”  He remained quiet and continued to stir his latte. “Will you stop that please?” She said irately.

“What? I’m just mixing this,” he retorted.

“You haven’t even added the sugar yet, what are you mixing it for?”

Quiet.

“Is it because of the haters?” she nudged trying to understand.

“I’ve had a lot of haters. Some people hate because they’re jealous of what you have. Others hate because they are unable to refute what you have to say due to ignorance or stupidity. But sometimes, just like I don’t necessarily like everyone I come across doesn’t mean they gotta like me either,” he said quietly, eyes still not meeting hers.

“What about the others? Surely not everyone is a hater?” She said.

“Are you trying to make me change my mind?” he asked, a flicker of a smile in his eyes.

“Just shurrup and answer the question,” she retorted.

“No, not everyone is a hater. There’s balance in everything. With the bad there is always some good.”

“So then why?” she asked for the second time.

His latte was cold, lacking in warmth just like the words that came out his mouth. Resigned words that had accepted fate, cold and calculating. He finally looked up, held her tenderly in his gaze and let his words fill the empty gaps that remained. “Everyone talks these days,  but there’s only a few people who actually say something worth listening to,” he explained. “I just need some time to deal with a few things and find the one that used to own this place. It’s his responsibility to bring this place back to its former glory.”

“Deal with what?”

He shook his head but didn’t speak.

“But will you be coming back? So this isn’t goodbye?”

The poker face was back. The mask had fallen. His eyes gave nothing away. “I just don’t know yet. I don’t even know if I want to be back. And what if I don’t find the person who built this place from scratch? What point will there be then? None.”

Silence sat in between them again. No-one else seemed to notice. The waitress cursed trying to clean the marks left by the man with his Swiss army knife. What mark will I leave behind he thought to himself. Will people curse when I am gone too?

[5^th May 2012]

*****

I wrote the above before I was leaving but didn’t finish it so it never got posted. I thought now was an appropriate time to do so.

If it is time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. – The Doctor (Doctor Who)

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and foes, girls and boys, giraffes and giraffesses (?) I am back!

_________________________________

Title: Leave out all the rest – Linkin Park

Silence. It can be very loud at times, almost suffocating. Sometimes that same quiet that is just so peaceful and serene grabs you by throat and squeezes the breath out of you. And claws at your skin and silently seeps right through you, twisting its way beneath the surface. Then you're running around looking for the damn remote. It leaves an emptiness in the stomach, as if you're floating in nothingness. You know it is hurting but the numbness stops you feeling anything. And you wonder if this is really it. That you're meant to float. "Float like a butterfly. Sting like a bee," said Muhammad Ali. A loved one asks what your plans are. "To float," you hear yourself say. They look at you crazy. "That's bullshit, you're no floater!". But the world sometimes pushes you as if you are no more than a feather, weightless and without direction. You float where it takes you whether you like it or not.

This is an unedited text conversation I had with Rosaline at midnight. <3

_________________________________

Title: Firework – Katy Perry

While waiting for my train home from uni a few weeks ago I sat down and watched the men with the long coats brushing their ears, suitcase in one hand and the Evening Standard in the other, the boys from school sprinting to buy some chips, the old lady rubbing her hands for warmth. People were running to catch their trains while others waited and planned their journey. It made me think. There are always many trains to choose from, but before you get on one, you gotta know where you wanna go. Same with life.

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Title: Last train home – Lost Prophets

But lately her face seems slowly sinking,

“If the girl wants to learn, let her, my dear. Let the girl have an education.”

“Learn? Learn what, Mullah sahib?” Nana said sharply. “What is there to learn?” she snapped her eyes towards Mariam.

Mariam looked down at her hands.

“What’s the sense schooling a girl like you? It’s like shining a spittoon. And you’ll learn value in those schools. There is only one, only one skill a woman like you and me needs in life, and they don’t teach it in school. Look at me.”

“You should not speak like this to her, my child,” Mullah Faizaullah said.

“Look at me.”

Mariam did.

“Only one skill. And it’s this: tahamul. Endure.”

“Endure what, Nana?”

“Oh, don’t you fret about that,” Nana said. “There won’t be any shortage of things.”

[Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns, 18]

~

Wasting. Crumbling like pastries.

Sarah stood in front of the mirror studying the angry bruises which decorated her face. She could hardly recognise herself from all that purple and blue business that was going on around her left eye and down her cheek. Her upper lip was swollen from his swinging punch. Her right ribs throbbed and she was could feel the bruises on her arms from where he had gripped her. Everything hurt. Even the slightest bit of movement couldn’t be done without her hissing in pain

But nothing compared to the ache which had settled in her heart.

Her gaze ran from her forehead in the mirror down to her lips. She couldn’t believe they were the same lips which had spoken words of love to him, who had now destroyed her in the worst way possible. Tears suddenly stung the back of her eyes, as the pain and helplessness rose rapidly in her throat like a raging forest fire and exploded. The tears, mixed with sorrow and agony, frustration and weakness escaped from her sore eyes like a waterfall.

It was the salt last night. It had started off with the salt. There was too much of it in the cooking. And then it was the remote control for the telly. The kids had misplaced it. And now here she was after another horrific sleepless night of souvenir and scars. She didn’t bother to wipe away the tears and wetness that gathered beneath her eyes, she let them flow like she always did. Through the mirror she saw the window in her room. It was tightly shut. Her mother had said she should stay.

“It’s your home. You have to stay. Try to understand. Where will you go? Think of the kids?” she had said the last time Sarah had gone to visit her. The words made her angry, yet she was convinced that this was another dark tunnel she had to walk through. Walk through alone. This was another trial God was testing her with because He loved her. And with patience and strength she was going to pass it. Wasn’t she? There was pain but what could she do? Just hope and pray that his temper would go away. Night after night, she would clutch her hands to her chest, desperately praying to God to let the next day pass in ease, and the next one and the next one.

“Mama, why are you crying?”

She suddenly jerked away and swung round. Everything made her flinch now. She hated it. She turned to her six year old son, who stood in the door staring up at her with huge eyes filled with concern and worry.

“I’m not crying, sweetheart. Come here,” she said, quickly sniffing and wiping away the tears. She bent down and held out her weak arms for him. He slowly walked over and entered her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Mama,”

“Hmm?”

“Why was…was Baba shouting?”

The innocent question made Sarah panic for a minute. She hesitated. Then gulped.

“He wasn’t very happy. But he will be now,”

“Why wasn’t Baba happy? Was it something we did? Did I do something wrong, mama?”

A fresh set of tears clogged her throat; she pressed her lips tightly together and squeezed her son closer to her chest.

~

And they scream. The worst things in life come free to us.

I have come across many women who struggle in their daily lives, whether it’s issue of domestic violence, unhappiness in a marriage or desperation for freedom. It’s a really sad state of affairs and each time I hear a story or witness the destruction of misery on a woman’s face, it leaves me with one big question.

Why do they stick around?

Because they can’t face the rest of the world with their sadness? Because they have become so accustomed to living like this that they treat it as normal? Despite all our advances and open minds we still live in a society where women suffer. And they believe that they have to suffer in silence, that this is a test of their patience. But who is forcing you to stick around? Is it the situation or is it you? Is it your mind set that stops you from reaching out and attaining what you thought was unattainable all along? I think for some women they actually believe that they must endure this suffering; whatever kind it is, because that is the way they must live. That’s life.

No it isn’t.

You can’t just hang around and wait for things to get better for you, because the truth is you’re going to be waiting forever and life doesn’t work that way. You need to stand up, push away the barriers, and wave goodbye to the pain and misery. Every day is not about a silent struggle and agonising acceptance; it’s about moving ahead, embracing yourself and believing that happiness resides inside you.

It is not an easy ride, but who said living was easy? It’s the giving up and hiding away that’s easy. Remember you don’t deserve this, no woman does.

By Smiley
http://twitter.com/Smiiiiiley_x

_________________________________

Subtitles: A Team – Ed Sheeran

I stepped onto the conceited weighing scale, dreading the outcome. The cursor began to move as fast as my heart was racing. It should have stopped by now. The vacillating cursor found its place at a number. At that meticulous moment, my entire life changed. Countless thoughts circled my mind; they rapidly overcame me until looking at my own reflection became hazardous. I felt repulsive, I hated myself. Nothing was ever the same again.

*****

Every single ounce of my reality was directed towards being thin. It started with only skipping one meal a day in order to avoid suspicion, but it wasn’t working, I looked exactly the same. I decided to skip two meals, and gradually my body became accepting. I stopped getting hungry but I knew that I needed to stop eating altogether to make any sort of difference to my physique. Eventually the headaches became customary. The dizziness became my vision. The aching became habitual. My eyes began to sink into my skin like coins in water. My skin became pasty and lifeless. Tasks became futile. I could not walk up the stairs without getting out of breath. My smile became a façade.

Sometimes it wasn’t about being thin, it was about making myself feel good. The satisfaction of not eating for a whole day was blissful, knowing that I was losing weight, that I was making something happen, that I was in control of something. I began to live for that feeling. Everything around me was moving so fast, I was being dominated. I continued to starve myself, but it was never enough. I was not thin enough. I was not good enough. It became a living nightmare and a dangerous routine, until one day I collapsed in a clothes store beside my mother. Reality should have prevailed, I should have reformed myself, but my only concern was that she would know. My reflection should have notified me that I was beyond unhealthy; instead it screamed ‘FAT.’

I needed to eat, my body was desperate for food but my mind would not allow it. The two debated furiously. Eventually they came to an agreement; I could eat and then make myself sick. It seemed to work, what a genius idea. My bones were already aching from the lack of food. Making myself sick seemed to aggravate them further. The pain intensified, sometimes suffocating me to the point that I wanted to die. I would spend nights watching endless hours of television to distract me from the pain, to try and make myself feel better. The television gradually polluted my mind. The girls on the screen mocked me for my weight; they told me that I needed to look like them to be beautiful. I watched how the pretty girls at school had everybody’s attention and I gradually became a breathing corpse with no soul. What was wrong with me? I wanted people to like me, I wanted to be pretty.

People stopped caring. My best friend was preoccupied with her crush. She knew what I was going through, but she failed to realise that it was about more than wanting to be thin. It was about my perception of myself, my confidence and my self-worth. My parents failed to realise that I seemed to physically be disappearing. My skin became sheer elastic stretched over my bones, ready to subside at any second. I was ugly, the pages of the magazine said so. The girls on the billboards ridiculed me. My mind taunted me. I was drowning in my own clothes but I still did not look like them. I was lonely and afraid. Nobody in my life even cared enough to help me, a voice in my head kept reiterating that people wouldn’t even notice if I was gone. I loathed myself; I should have made it easier for everyone and disappeared. Suicide became a daily thought.

I lived in this malicious world for months and months. I had lost my place, I became insignificant. I watched the boys in my class become fixated with the girls on magazine covers. I wanted to be loved, I wanted to feel good. I would if I was thinner. Eventually it became a way of life; there was no other way to live, until one day I found myself on the floor in the kitchen. How did I get here? I was alone; the dizziness had overpowered what was left of my body. I had fallen and I couldn’t lift myself up.

I was in so much pain, my vision had become blurred and I couldn’t even lift my own limbs. What was I doing to myself? Something needed to change. It had become increasingly difficult to make myself sick, the pain was too powerful, it was as if my body had given up. I wanted to die. I was losing control of my body, it was slowly shutting down. I was trapped in my own delusion and I couldn’t see a way out. When I gathered enough strength to lift myself up, my first task was to keep food in my system. Eating had become a punishment; a horrible chore. I ate as if I was being asked to consume poison, but I furtively knew that it wasn’t going to reside in my system for very long. This time it needed to. It took every ounce of strength not to make myself throw up, I couldn’t do it.

I found myself crying at how weak I had become; I needed help. The next day I tried again but every single time I ate, my body wanted to throw it up. It was routine. Eventually I kept it down, but it took months to eat a whole meal without being sick straight afterwards. I had only participated in two P.E lessons in the entire year. I gave the teacher excuse after excuse until one day I finally revealed the truth. Saying it out aloud made it real.

I stopped talking to my best friend and started spending time with people that taught me how to enjoy life. I looked in the mirror everyday and told myself that I was good enough, that nobody could tell me any different. Gradually my life came together, but my best friend never understood. She stood amongst the people that will never understand, those people that label eating disorders as attention seeking, those that claim that it is for vanity purposes. It is simple for people to say these things about something they have and will hopefully never experience. It is horrifying and it is difficult to find a way out.

I sit here today, 6 years later, still affected by what I went through. Today I weighed myself; I watched the cursor move until it stopped. I sighed at the number and decided that I would skip the snack that I originally came downstairs for. Eating disorders are dangerous; a relapse can occur at any time. Even as a 21 year old, I still cannot cope with being called ‘fat.’ The sizes on clothes still possess the ability to affect my mood. I am a girl, living in a society that dictates the way that we should look. Plastic surgeries are becoming common because people are unhappy with themselves. We are encouraged to undergo procedures that will keep us looking young. New diets are advertised, weight-loss schemes, everything is directed at keeping us thin. The media tells us that we are not good enough, that there is always something more that we should be doing in order to improve our appearance. They dictate what is acceptable; they determine the definition of beauty. New cosmetics are promoted, manipulating us into believing that we should aspire to be perfect, that we are and never will be enough.

Eating disorders are a disease, not a fashion statement. They can kill.

By Special K
http://bringmeacupcake.blogspot.com/
https://twitter.com/likecherrypie

Elder abuse in the United States is a bigger problem than the majority of us know. It is a problem difficult to fully understand; it is a silent victim’s problem as many times the elderly are too scared to turn in their abusers. As a result, the government is unable to identify with certainty the size of the problem. What various governmental and non-profit sources do know is based on surveys and research of samples of senior citizens; these are the facts on elder abuse:

· Millions of senior citizens, an estimated 11 percent, suffer from some form of abuse every year.

· Senior citizens are more likely to know their abuser than not know him/her and not report the abuses they endure.

· Domestic elder abuse is believed to be unreported in 13 out of 14 cases.

· Financial exploitation is believed to go unreported for 24 out of 25 cases.

Women are especially prone to be victims of elder abuse. According to the National Center for Victims of Crime (NCVC), “Older women (67%) are far more likely than men (32%) to suffer from abuse….” And according to Adult Protective Services, the more advanced one’s age is, the higher risk said person will endure abuse. Age is not the only thing that puts elderly women more at risk however; one’s financial status is also a factor. A 2009 OWL International report stated the following:

Elderly women also face economic barriers. According to the U.S. Census, nearly one in five single, divorced or widowed women over the age of 65 is poor, and the risk of poverty for older women increases with age. Women ages 75 and up are over three times as likely to be living in poverty as men in the same age range. Their health care may be tied to their husbands’ employment, creating additional disincentives to leave abusive relationships.

Despite all of this, little has been done in regard to a wide-spread effort to educate people on women’s increased risk of elder abuse. And what is truly sad is that women physiologically have less physical strength than men, and thus are less capable of defending themselves against physical abuses.

Amber Paley is a writer who has devoted her life to educating the public about the problems of elder abuse in the United States. Though she does guest posts regularly, she also spends much of her time writing about nursing home abuse lawyers

Hi Readers,

Back in Late October, Nas proposed a series of articles to investigate why is it that society often mistreats and disrespects women, though they are our mothers, wives, and daughters. I think this is a great idea and hopefully will bear some good fruit that everybody can learn from. I had a few ideas of my own that I wanted to contribute to the discussion, so I reserved a spot on Nas' list, and well, here I am. I'd like to thank you all for the opportunity to speak my mind here.

I haven't read any of the other articles that Nas will post as of the time of this writing, but my guess is that most of the readers, including myself, will agree with their ideas and the conclusions that they reach. They will bring to light important moral problems that we must face as a society, and they will propose solutions to the problems. Everyone, including myself, will probably agree with them. This may not be the case for this article, as I anticipate a divided readership on my conclusion. I'd like to simply state in advance that there is no disrespect intended to anyone here.

There have been many excellent articles written on this blog and others that speak of the many injustices and immoralities that are subjected upon people, and women in particular. They range from the 'adult' material where women are objectified for the viewers to lust after, or in ordinary society where men and women 'check out' or talk about members of the opposite gender in indecent ways. Apart from the immorality of these actions in themselves, this leads people to a mentality where they judge others based on physical looks rather than their moral character. Just a few weeks ago, I was discussing home-schooling with one of my friends. During the conversation, he mentioned a girl he knew who was home-schooled from K-12, and he remarked to me that she was a loser. When I asked him why, I was taken aback when he declared it was because she did not shave her legs.

Most of us here agree that such behavior is immoral, and extremely disrespectful, to put it mildly. Even if the other person consents and is a willing participant to be thought of in such a manner, we understand that it is wrong to treat someone's daughter in such a way. It's my impression that most of us here believe this regardless of our religion or belief system. Some of us are Muslims, and so we believe that we are commanded to 'lower our gaze' to not disrespect someone and to keep our minds clean. Most readers here who are Christian, Jewish, non-religious, etc., probably believe generally the same thing for the same or similar reasons.

But what I disagree with is the idea that once two people are married, many of the rules of decency obeyed outside it suddenly disappear. I don't mean rape in marriage, or one or the other member being pressured to engage in behavior which they are not comfortable with it, which most everyone agrees is wrong. What I mean is that it is common belief that once two people are married, it is acceptable for them to engage in sexual behavior or thinking which outside of it is considered wrong. As an example, it is considered indecent and unacceptable to ogle at indecent pictures on the internet or at people who are walking by for one's own pleasure. However, within the bounds of marriage, it is perfectly acceptable for a husband and wife to view each other in such a manner. It is my conclusion that this behavior and thinking is just as wrong within marriage as it is outside it.

A husband and wife engage in intimate behavior for different reasons, and I want to clarify what exactly I believe is wrong. People do the intimate things they do, such as touch, look at, etc either out of love for the other person or out of some type of physical lust. I consider the latter to be the immoral one, but the former to be okay, and I'd like to explain why.

When a person looks at or thinks about indecent material on the internet or in other ways, we find this to be objectionable for a two particular reasons.

First, because it is disrespectful. This is exactly why, when people speak of the spread of pornography, they speak of the 'objectifying' of women. Women (and men as well), are not objects so that anyone can look at them to satisfy their desires. If someone were to suggest that they look at pornography or 'check out' women in a respectful way, we would say they were crazy. Respect and lust don't go together at all, in fact they are the opposites. This is apparent to us in our everyday life. Suppose a group of people are telling dirty jokes, and then a nun sits down beside them. Most people would instantly stop, because society still respects particular groups of people, such as nuns, as noble people. If we meet a person who we respect deeply due to their high character and morals, it makes no sense look at them with lust at the same time. If we were to do that, it would be a case of cognitive dissonance.

Yet, why should there be an exception carved out of this rule for two people who are married? We are supposed to respect the person we marry as the mother of our children (or father for the women). This is not a meaningless position. This person would deserve our respect more than almost any one else in the world, yet we participate with them in certain disrespectful ways that we don't with others. The fact that they consented, or wanted us to behave in such ways with them doesn't change the equation any more than it does with pornography. Actions speak louder than words. We can claim that we [will] respect our husband or wife, but if our actions don't show it, then the claims are meaningless.

I believe that most people deep down actually agree, even if they may not realize it. I recall watching one episode of Seinfeld, where one main character has a girlfriend who he deeply respects, as she is always charitable and helping anyone in need that she can find. The main character tells his friend that he cannot even imagine her doing or thinking about anything sexual, as she is so good. "No depravity!" he says of her. Now, if we asked the writer who wrote this episode if he thought it was disrespectful to look at the person you're married to, or in love with or whatever with lust, he would probably say it was all okay like most people, but he's already revealed how he really thinks deep down. I once saw a movie where Robert DeNiro played a mob boss who goes to see a psychologist. Now, this mob boss is married, but he has a girlfriend on the side. He is asked by the doctor why, and he replies that there are certain things he cannot do with his wife. When asked why not, he replies, "Hey, that's the mouth she kisses my kids goodnight with! What are you, crazy?" He recognizes that there are certain things he can't do with his wife because he respects her.

In fact I would guess that most couples have some line in the sand that they will not cross with their spouse, some particular behavior that they do not want to see them perform, just like in the example. But if want to be consistent, then we should not want to perform any such behaviors, or engage in any such thoughts, not just those beyond a certain arbitrary point. I don't believe moderation is a virtue, as it is a synonym for inconsistency. No one advocates moderation in murder, or child molestation. There is certainly a big difference between murdering millions of people like the Nazis did and just five or six. But difference is only a matter of degree, not a difference in kind, and the same argument applies here.

Second, we find such thoughts themselves to be vulgar or disgusting. When a wife doesn't want her husband to watch pornography, or to lower his gaze when looking at other women, the complaint she has is not simply one of jealousy. She is not only complaining that he is paying attention to other women and not to her, but that the actual thoughts that he's having about the other women are themselves filthy or un-clean. The complaint is that there is something actually vulgar or polluting about thinking about people in such a manner, and that it makes him less moral to do so. If this is the case, then surely it is also true if the two people are married. A husband looking at his wife to fulfil his physical desires is just the same as if he were looking at someone on the internet, and if one of those thoughts are unclean or disgusting, then surely the other is as well, as they are the same. I often read where it is encouraged for us to get married so that we can 'lower the gaze'. But this is not lowering the gaze at all, it is simply shifting if from looking at many different people to one particular person. To me this makes no more sense than if one were to advocate only watching pornography on the internet, so that one may 'lower the gaze', and stop having the desire to look at anyone outside the internet.

Marriage is obviously a complex thing, and when a married couple are together, they do not only interact with each other with physical lust as their intention, but out of love and many other emotions as well. This is certainly true, and it could be suggested that therefore there is something qualitatively different between watching pornography and interacting with one's husband or wife. But I believe that the same principles still apply. For example, suppose that a person gives charity, but gives it due to two different intentions simultaneously: to show off as well as out of concern for the poor. In this case, we would say that part of this action is right, and part of it is wrong. And the same thing would apply in our case. If a person performs an action both out of lust as well as love, then perhaps part of the action is right, and the other part is wrong. We can simply separate the two parts out.

In conclusion, I believe that striving to live a more clean and decent life is something that all of us here aspire to, and that it is a worthy goal which is well worth the extra effort. I believe that the worth of an individual is not the color of their skin, or their gender, or how attractive they are, but is determined by the content of their character. I believe that one particular determinant of our character is how we show respect to others, as well as to ourselves, by abstaining from indecent actions, and I've submitted a few ideas in this article to clarify. I mean no disrespect if you disagree, and I'm hoping to hear from the readers as to your opinions on the matter. Farewell.

By Dr. Squirrel
http://doctorysquirrel.tumblr.com/

Selfish.

That one word sums up the attitude that society had for working mothers and to some extent still does.

Even recently I saw an admin post on a Facebook page using the word selfish and clearly stating that working mothers are the reason that there is a rise in young people committing crimes etc.

There are many studies which suggest that a working mother can harm her child’s development but also studies which contradict this. But I do not feel it is as simple as comparing a working mother against a stay at home mum.

I am a working mother. So…..am I selfish?

No I do not believe so.

I went to work when my daughter was 1. Did my daughter lose out? No. She was with my parents and I was only working for 4 hours a day. She got to spend some quality time with her grandparents and I got to get out of the house and earn some money.

Now that she is 5 my working hours fit around her. I drop her off at school and I pick her up.

Is the fact that I am a working mother adversely affecting her?

No.

She is advanced with her reading and is pretty much in the top groups at school. We take holidays, and although I am not with her 24/7 in the summer holidays, I make sure we do a number of activities. So I do not think that anyone can say that she is missing out.

I do realise though that some working mothers do neglect their children. For them their careers are more important, and their children hardly see there parents and are raised by child-minders and nannies.  Or some working mothers do not manage their time wisely and find the right balance; then the children suffer.

I work because we cannot manage on my husband’s salary alone. We could if we claimed benefits and I refuse to do that. I would rather work for my money. And I resent people who sit their in their comfy homes passing judgement on working mothers without knowing the full facts or generalising.

Just because a child has it’s mother at home all the time does not mean the child will turn out to be a well balanced child, in fact some mothers do more harm to their children being IN their lives. So I believe the debate of working mum v stay at home mum is unfair. It depends on the mother herself, the kind of family life they have, it can even depend on whether the mother is educated or not.

Being a working mother is a challenge in itself and yes it can be stressful at times; in fact it can end up being a juggling act. However if you remain organised and manage your time wisely then it makes life easier. I have sometimes felt it has gotten a bit too much and on odd occasions I have gotten stressed and angry; I sometimes want to just come home and put my feet up like hubby does but unfortunately I don’t often get that luxury.

By Foz
http://www.muslimmummies.com/
http://twitter.com/@muslimmummies

While women represent half of the world’s population, they work nearly two-thirds of all working hours, but receive only one-tenth of the world’s income and own less than one per cent of the world’s property.

These statistics alone demonstrate the extent of the gender inequality that women face every day, and I want to explore this multi-faceted problem that is often brushed under the carpet.

Birth

Much of the inequality that women face begins when they are very young. For some, it begins when they are born. Even in this day and age, in specific cultures but across the board, baby boys are preferred to girls. A recent study of families in India uncovered that up to 6 million female foetuses have been aborted in the past decade. This was particularly prevalent in families who had already had a baby girl, and found out their second child was going to be a girl. As a Pakistani, I understand the cultural implications and the pressure that mothers face to conceive boys. Boys are given a higher status because in Asian cultures, bloodlines and families are highly significant, and a baby boy is treated as an heir as he will carry the familial status, whereas girls are highly likely to take their spouses surnames once they marry.

From an Islamic historical perspective, as the Prophet Muhammad (May peace and blessings be upon him) was growing up, it was commonplace for baby girls to be buried alive simply because of their sex. However, the Prophet himself discouraged this barbaric practice, and as example, advocated the well-treatment of daughters and wives.

Education and the workplace

From reading the book by Feminist Kat Banyard entitled “The Equality Illusion”, I learnt that the gender divide comes into play as soon as children start school. It is in school that girls learn that they must like all things pink and fluffy, that they must show a disinterest in sport, and that they are naturally quite creative but do not have a flair for maths and science- so they don’t even try. Chemistry sets and building and construction toys are packaged in such a way that sends a subconscious message that they are only for boys, and girls are only encouraged to play with Barbie dolls and kitchen sets.

I was reading a blog a few weeks ago in which the packaging of toys was being discussed, and prior to the early 1990s, the free toys in McDonald’s children’s happy meals were unisex. It was only after 1990 that employees asked the parents if the meal was for a girl or boy. Recently, the toy store Hamley’s announced it is to remove the signs “girl” and “boy” from its toy shelves, and not to divide each section into pink and blue.

It is in school that we all have our first experience of making friends, and very quickly, there is a divide of the sexes within friendship groups. It’s clear that school is a place where the clear gender boundaries, roles and identities are laid down, which is a societal flaw.

Despite this, girls are flourishing more than ever academically and are constantly out-performing boys. However, this success does not translate to when girls actually enter the workplace, as females performing the same work as males get paid up to twenty per cent less. So why is this happening? This is partly because of the subjects girls are choosing to study and consequently the fields they end up working in. Girls are sticking to entering “traditional” fields and apply for posts such as sales assistant, healthcare or secretarial jobs. This could be because these are the types of jobs women aspire to but they only aspire to such jobs thinking they are “appropriate” for their gender and skills-base.

Women are also more likely than men to take up part-time jobs, due to caring commitments, which widens the pay gap. Part-time work may be useful, but it is less secure and part-time workers are often not protected by legislation or unions.

For me, and other like-minded feminists, the key to achieving equality simply requires a change in attitudes. If women were regarded as the same way in which men were- simply as fellow human beings, then women and society as a whole could progress and achieve so much more. Women’s role as mothers is downplayed but is so vital in educating and rearing the future generations and future leaders of this world. Change must come from within, but men can also help the feminist cause, by pledging to treat the females in their lives as equals, and not relegating them. And it is also up to the women to respect and value themselves and know they deserve better.

By Hijabi Hippie Hypo
http://glandtastic.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/hijabihippie

_________________________________

Sources:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/may/24/india-families-aborting-girl-babies

I am sorry but what evidence do you have to prove that all of us are created equally? There is no evidence whatsoever. But there is evidence that we are NOT created equally.
Some people are born with inherent diseases. Some people are born with inherent qualities and they always outperform you, whether it be academics and sports (I am jealous of them). Why such injustices on those who were born (un) equal.
Evolution does not give us equality. Evolution has made all of us unequal in one way or another. Us trying to harp about "equality" is only damaging to our evolution as an animal species.
Inequality is the sole reason why there is diversity in life. Some are strong, some are weak, some are white, some are black, some have blue eyes, others have brown. Yet all of these traits have benefits. Blue eyes for example are interpreted as sign of beauty and good genes and this increases the sexual selection pressures on the female possessing blue eyes and increases her chances of attracting a genetically fit male and hence a fit progeny. What was the fault of the woman with brown eyes?
I can go on and on.

The above was a comment by the user doomedlions left on my post introducing the guest post series regarding women rights and equality. I wish to reply to some of the issues and questions raised.

When was young I remember my dad bought me a puzzles book full of word searches, cross words, number puzzles and mazes of all shapes and sizes. As well as this there were many spot the difference pictures where you would be presented very similar pictures and would have to spot subtle differences between the two. Being the little Sherlock Holmes that I was (only on Thursdays as I took on other roles on the other days of the week including, doctor, train driver, bike racer and tree) I would spend my Thursday evenings after school, magnifying glass in hand, trying to solve them. In nature itself, we notice that humans who are so similar in so many ways are also so very different. Between animals of the same species, plants and trees, you name it, there’s bound to be differences. Identical twins, who arise from the same fertilised egg and thus are genetically identical can be un-identical depending on the environment in which they are bought up.

If you put 2 people of different sexes, ethnicity or developmental stage in front of a young child, they will easily tell you the differences between them. It’s not rocket science. The user above wrote “we are NOT created equally” and I concur. No we are not. But that is elemental observation to make. When the phrase “We were created equal” is used, the wisdom behind it does not apply to physical aspects of a person regarding their gender, health, strength, eye colour, height or capabilities. Instead, it alludes to the fact despite our differences from one another we all deserve equal rights and not be recipients of discrimination and or persecution as a result of those differences. There are countless examples one could use to explain this point, but seeing as it will soon be happening in the UK, I’d like to mention the Olympics and Paralympics. Disabled people have an equal right to enjoy and compete in sporting events as do non-disabled people do. 

*****

Starting this Friday I shall being posting the Guest Posts I have received in this regard. I would like to thank each and every person who took time out to write a piece. Though you may not agree with some of the points raised by the authors, I am sure you will concur however that each one is extremely well written, thought provoking and enlightening.

Please Note: The views and or opinions expressed within the guests are solely of the respective authors and are not necessarily my own.

*****

Seeing as it is also the beginning of a new year, I’d like to send you all my warmest regards and I hope and pray that during this new year you see happiness, love and joy. May it be productive, rewarding, successful and peaceful for you all.

_________________________________

Title: And Justice for all – Metallica