I think I just have a regular cold. It’s been a while, so ehhh… I suppose it’s due time. I have a nasty sore throat and a bit of a cough, some congestion, and riDICulous sneezes. So, yeah… The Usual. Nothing to feel too much pity over.
When I am sick, I crave things of comfort. We all do, right? I thought for today’s truth, I’d share mine:
My mother’s cooking. In particular, pasta e fagiole (soup) and jambalaya. I’m not sure why these two in particular. Actually, I think this changes from time to time, but this was what I was craving today.
My cat. Luckily, she was here with me all day, though I did have to negotiate over some space on the couch. Sheesh.
NeoCitran. WHY o WHY do I not have this in my home?! I must remember to buy this on every trip to Canada. 🙁
Poetry by Margaret Atwood. I love Atwood, but there is something about her poetry that takes me back to simpler times in my life. My favorite poem of hers is “Variation on the Word Sleep.”
Someone to read to me. I know this sounds weird, but I don’t care. I really really love being read to, and when I’m sick, I miss this. I’ve been living alone for a long time, but it’d be nice to have someone come read the newspaper to me… or a story… or something.
That’s all. I’ve taken some (apparently addictive) cough syrup with codeine in it so hopefully I will sleep. I slept a grand total of 7 hours last night and then another 4 today. My body feels exhausted — apparently it is in recovery mode. I feel totally zapped. I’m taking lots of vitamin C + zinc + ColdFX (another Canuck med) + liquids to flush it all out. Wish me luck!
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen.I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my headand walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fearI would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center. I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & becomethe boat that would row you backcarefully, a flamein two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and you enter it as easily as breathing inI would like to be the airthat inhabits you for a momentonly. I would like to be that unnoticed& that necessary.
I am not sure if I’ve mentioned before that I listen to music while I run. Until really recently, I’ve mostly been listening to rap while I run. The reason for this is primarily that the energy in rap and hip-hop is so intense that I think it helps me run. It also sometimes makes me angry, and that emotion seems to suit how I feel about running. Heh.
When the Beastie Boys or K’naan come up on my playlist, I find myself motivated and it (maybe) even makes the run easier. I even sometimes recite the lyrics while I run, though I try to make sure I’m not shouting the most vulgar lyrics while I’m within earshot of another human — that would most likely not help me make new friends in my neighbourhood. 🙂
Kanye‘s music is in my playlists. In particular, there are several tracks from his masterpiece album, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. I have some serious and deep-running respect for rap artists, and this album is one great example of why. It is a piece of art in its own right. It weaves stories and paints pictures from start to finish. Each song is already a complete work on its own, but together they are magnificent. It might be tough to access the beauty of rap music if you’re not familiar with its culture. I’ll be the first to admit that I come from a very different culture than that which created rap and hip-hop — I’m “white as” (as the Kiwis would say) and grew up in suburban Calgary, for starters. But if you’re willing to learn about the contextual history and the stories behind the music, with a wee bit of research and a lot of paying attention, I do think you can come to appreciate the genius that is behind what many perceive as just rhyme with a buncha curse words and nasty things being said about women. Rap and hip-hop is rich with subtext, metaphor, and constrasts, and offers sharp insights into culture that may be difficult — if not impossible — to access unless you have experienced it… but it’s certainly worthwhile accessing, IMO.
(Upon reflection, I’m realizing that perhaps I might like to post more about my personal feelings when it comes to hip hop and rap culture. I feel like I’m just scratching the surface here, and that’s okay, because this post is about only one aspect.)
As much as I love Kanye’s music (what I think of him as a person is another story), I realized last week that I was going to have to take some of his tracks off my running playlists. The reason was simple, actually: I love listening to his music, but the lyrics of some of his tracks are just way too intense for me to be exposed to on a regular basis. I’m running 3-4 times a week now, and hearing some of these lyrics so often was just wearing me down. They are so negative.
I get it: art imitates life. Kanye writes about things he has experienced, and they are very real. And while his songs tell his stories, like many pieces of art, they inspire the listener to draw on his/her own experiences, and bring those to the piece, too.
This is true for me.
Of course, I have not had Kanye’s life (d’uh), but I have experienced many emotions and situations similar to those he writes about, and dangit… so many of them are just flat-out negative.
Take Blame Game as an example. (Important sidebar: if you’re not familiar with this song, and you’re at all a sensitive listener / reader, be warned. It is graphic and has language that many could find offensive.) This song is widely known to be autobiographical in detailing how Kanye felt after his split with Amber Rose, and the bitterness that ensued as she dated someone else, and as she used (or so he felt, anyway) his influence and fame to get what she wanted. If you don’t know that context about the song, however, you could think the song was just about the bitterness that ensued after a very dysfunctional relationship ended… or was in the process of ending. I didn’t know the song’s context right away — I went several months before I did a bit of sniffing around about Kanye’s lyrics. It’s still a very accessible song, if you’ve ever been in any kind of dysfunctional relationship.
Well, here’s the thing: I have.
And so there is a lot that I can relate to in this song — as much as it pains me to admit that… gulp. And here I’m doing so publicly. (I hope you don’t think less of me.)
So while on the one hand this is why I love this song — it’s so raw, so real, so observant, so attentive to details — on the other hand, this is exactly the reason it pains me — it is too close, too raw, too real, too observant, too full of details for me to enjoy hearing it so often.
I can’t listen to the details of a dysfunctional relationship — that I can relate to — multiple times a week. I just can’t. Love your work, Kanye, but I can’t keep re-reading those previous chapters of my life. I gotta move on, yo. I got bettah chapters comin’ on up. Hell, I’m livin’ em right now. If I keep hearing this sh!t, I’m afraid it’s going to keep me from being the better person I’ve become since then.
As brilliant as Kanye’s work is for its storytelling, artistic aesthetic, word play, metaphor, rhythm, rhyme, and energy, I need to keep it out of my ears so often.
FWIW, I’m just using Kanye’s track here as an example — there are a few others I will have to re-think… I’m thinking a handful of Jay-Z and Snoop Dogg will have to go too. But y’know… ATCQ and De La Soul… I just can’t find anything too negative in their tracks. Not yet, anyway. Hmm…
If you’ve never heard Blame Game… well, here you go. (Note: There is no official video. I prefer the studio version over the live version mostly because it’s been mixed so well — listen with headphones for the full effect — it’s so well done.)
I don’t get as much sleep as I should. And this is bad. And from time to time, the universe pops in to remind me of this. Today’s reminders were, in order:
waking up with a scratchy throat and sneezes (never good)
a long session with year 7s reminding me of the amount of patience required to help all 20 of them (at once) with technical requests, during which my temper was much shorter than usual (a tell-tale sign, really, as I love year 7s and normally will bend over backwards for their regular requests)
my resident street kitteh, out on the sidewalk tonight, reminding me that it was after 10pm and I was not home yet. Her (his?) snuggles were sweet but of course clued me in that I should have been home a few hours ago and that Flower would be crazy jealous once I got home.
I hate this about getting older. Hate it. I hate knowing that I will have to see more and more people I love leave me as they pass onto “the next level,” as my mum called it tonight.
(the next level… like it’s a game and we’re all just trying to get there… except in this game, you don’t even have to try, as it’s inevitable you will get there.)
When I was a child, I dealt with death differently. As an adult, the loved ones who have left me have left big gaping HOLES in my life. I find it more and more difficult each time this happens — so much so that I can’t think about it too much, lest I start to think I won’t be able to handle the next one. Really. This terrifies me.
I do wonder if the reason why the deaths of others affects me more now than it did when I was a child is because now I am an adult with a very rich history which includes mountains of memories of those people who are now leaving, passing, moving on. The amount of memories I have now is double what it was 19 years ago. That is a LOT of freaking memories. And it pains and hurts me to think that the longer I am alive, the more memories I will have with people I love, and therefore the harder it will be to endure the inevitable pain that will envelope me when their time comes to pass. The mere thought of this is almost debilitating… I cannot think about it for more than a second or two or I start to fall apart. How will I handle this? Really. Really really really this thought stops me in my tracks and breaks me down.
I realize it’s a morbid thought, but this is how my brain works, I guess. It keeps getting harder, not easier, this saying goodbye stuff. I don’t want to think about how hard it is going to be when it happens again… and again…
… because I know it’s not over yet. It is inevitable. It is not over yet. It’s not over for a long time. Not until it’s actually my turn, right?
… and I intend on being here for as long as I can, as I’ve said before. So … I suppose this is simply the penance I pay for all those birthdays… right?
I’m earning my birthdays by practicing reslience.
You might say it’s a fair trade, but it’s a lot harder than it looks.
We had had a string of messages. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Some were functional, some sentimental, some funny, some trite. All purposeful. But they were messages. And we were communicating. And we both understood. And this was fine. It was normal.
And then he called. At first I didn’t even recognize the sound of my phone ringing. (Really, when I thought about it — it doesn’t ring very often. When was the last time I changed the ringtone? Christmas?) But then I realized what was happening, and I answered, cheerily. We talked — on the phone — for a good 15 minutes. It was nice. We laughed. We made plans, wished each other a good week, and hung up. I sat there marveling at how unusual it was to actually talk on the phone — and how wonderful it was to have done that today.
Not an SMS. Not WhatsApp. Not a Skype video call — or an IM. Not even an email. No Google Talk. A real, old-fashioned phone call. Spontaneous — not set up in advance, not pre-arranged, not scheduled or even “maybe”d. Unscripted and raw, real and immediate. I loved it.
—-
I messaged. She replied. I messaged again. She replied. She asked me another question. I replied. And so it went, over a few days. Then one question — and a quick quip of a response indicating preoccuption. She was busy.
“Well of course,” I thought. “These are just messages, after all. I don’t actually expect you to respond right away. Respond whenever you can.”
But then I looked back at the message history and realized that most of our responses — from both of us — had been nearly immediate, in real time. And I thought, “Is this what it’s like now? We message in real time?” Well, I guess it is.
So what is the point of a message, then? If I had wanted an immediate response, I would have called.
But would I have? Do we make many phone calls any more? Have phone conversations become tedious? Too difficult, too unplanned and unwieldy?
I didn’t respond. We worked it out later… via text, of course. And all was well. Hey, there was nothing wrong to begin with.
—-
Today’s phone call made me wonder about the purposes of our messaging habits. While often convenient and even at times more clear than a phone call, particularly when there are language issues, are messages always the best method of communication? Do our personalities get lost in messages? Are different parts of our personalities lost in phone calls, too? Or is it just in the one and not in the other? What’s lost and what is gained?
To what extent do I really know my friends if we’re only ever communicating via SMS, WhatsApp, email, and Instant Messages? What is there to be garnered from a regular, spontaneous phone call? And why is this no longer the norm? It’s not as if we’ve lost the technical, logistical ability to call. It’s still there, in front of us, in our hands.
—-
I definitely have more questions than answers today. I’m not even sure what today’s nugget of truth is, but I’m certain it is something to do with how our communication choices reflect our values and personalities and ultimately, they say much about the value we put on relationships. I am just not sure I can say anything conclusively about what they say….
Today someone said to me, “You travel a lot, don’t you?”
“Well,” I responded, “it all depends on how you define ‘a lot’.”
You see, I am a teacher. I get a lot of holidays, as teachers in most parts of the world do. It’s true: I travel much more than I did when I was a teacher in Canada. Then again, I’m also earning a lot more than I did when I was a teacher in Canada. And, a quick weekend away to something beachy and exotic in Thailand, Malaysia, or Indonesia costs me the same amount here as would a weekend trip from Calgary to Edmonton, once you factor in hotels, etc. Without meaning any offence to Edmontonians… it’s a bit more exciting to get away for the weekend to Bali than it is to Edmonton.
So… do I travel more than I did while living in Canada because I am earning more, or because there are more travel opportunities? A little of both, I reckon. (I reckon! Did you hear me say that? I have been working with Aussies for too long!)
Regardless of the reason, I know I am fortunate. But it’s also one of the reasons I chose this lifestyle. I knew that if I stayed in Calgary (or even Vancouver), even with the same number of holidays in the school calendar, I would not be seeing as much of the world. I would likely be choosing to travel to places like B.C., the USA, Mexico, and maybe the Caribbean or Western Europe for special trips on special occasions. And while all of those places are wonderful, I felt they would get “tired” after a while — at least for me. I need to be exposed to the exotic fairly regularly to feel like I’ve truly gotten away. I also love love love learning about and experiencing new cultures and societies, so visiting places that are too similar to my own culture doesn’t hold the same attraction to me.
But yes, I do have the opportunity to travel “a lot.” I mean, compared to my peers, I feel like I travel less often — I have co-workers and colleagues who travel far more often than I, jetting away for a weekend here and there at least once every fortnight, and exploring far-flung places like South Africa and Turkey on their longer holidays. I don’t go nearly that far on my travels, preferring to stay within the region or just return to my home country. So, compared to them, I feel like I don’t travel nearly enough! Hah. But I realize that compared to those outside education — namely those in corporate industry — I do have a lot of opportunity to travel.
I could go into a long diatribe about how important travel is to who I am, and how important I believe it is for any human being, and how I think every child should be forced to travel… but I’ll save those truths for another time. Tonight, I’ll just leave it at this:
Travel is good. It subconsciously expands me and nudges my mind open. It forces me to get outside my comfort zone and into someone else’s. Through travel, I’m better able to see more of who I am. It allows my self to be more clearly identified. Further, travel completely clarifies that my self-identity is mostly relative and very little of it is absolute. And this is okay, because the world is not absolute.
Travel helps me be me. And I’d like to think it helps others, too.
Tonight I had the grand privilege of being able to watch some real, live hockey here in Singapore. (Thanks, Seb!)
It was a bit odd: trek all the way out to the west side of the island to watch teams from all around Asia battle it out on the ice for … just some tournament fun. Well, hey — I did get to see two ex-NHL players, too. Incidentally, both play for the same team and they left me thinking they must get pretty bored…
Aside from the sheer novelty and fun of watching some hockey in the tropics (including the crazy mist coming off the ice due to the heat, even in an air-conditioned mall), I got to catch up with my friend Seb, who was playing for the Flying Farangs, a team based in BKK. It was such fun chatting with him and hearing his crazy stories. Seb always has great stories. Tonight I was entertained with tales of riding camels in the desert and living in a remote town in South Korea.
But tonight’s truth is about being hockey literate.
When I first arrived at the tournament, I paused to watch through the window. It took me a full minute for my brain to register, “OH! We’re watching THIS. Right!” It was probably another 4 minutes for my brain to fetch everything it could from the memory annals about hockey. I couldn’t find the puck right away, and then I was distracted by the guy body-checking this other guy. I was not focused. But within a few minutes I was back on track and fully into the game. Another 30 min later and I was shouting (not too loudly, but still) things like, “Move! You’ve gotta pass it to him, don’t just keep it!” and “How did you lose that? Keep it outta there!”
It took a gooooood 10 minutes for my brain to become hockey literate again.
It reminded me of a conversation I’d had not too long ago with a colleague who was asking me about hockey (“Is it true all Canadians like hockey?”). One of his most concerning questions was about watching the game. He is an avid sports person both as a player and a spectator. He asked, “How can you follow the puck? It’s just so hard to keep your eye on.” I had told him the story of Fox’s blue puck disaster, and how Canadians just basically threw up on it. I bascially said, “You know what? When you grow up watching it, you just become accustomed to watching it, and following the puck becomes pretty natural. You don’t have to think too hard about it after a while.”
Well, tonight, I had to think hard about it for the first 15 min of game-watching. After that, I was totally fine and back to “normal.” But it would be a lie to say this is a skill I have that has never dissipated.
I had to retrain my brain and eyes for those 15 minutes and remind myself where I was.
“I am watching a hockey game. A HOCKEY GAME! PAY ATTENTION!”
And it came back. Quickly! And I enjoyed watching.
But I imagine it is so hard and boring and … too fast, maybe? for the uninitiated. It takes practice to learn how to watch the puck in such a fast, hard-hitting game. Because after today, I sympathize. Those first 10-15 minutes involved some serious concentration. Then it was fine and I was relaxed and shouting at the players and chill chill chill.
Another truth: tonight felt like a place transformation. I did not feel like I was in Singapore. I was surrounded by WHITE people. It felt very bizarre. And we sat in Chili’s afterward, also with mostly white people.
I’m sure it was a fun weekend for all involved. I had a great evening tonight, Seb, and hope we can do it again soon!
(could you hear my Canadian accent there when I wrote that? heh)
So, yeah. The last week has been a bit mad. I did say this was going to happen, that I would have an insane schedule. Well, yeah. I’ve had barely enough “lonely time” to sit and just be. Birthday celebrations, a trip to BKK, and extra events at school. But don’t worry — I’ve already decided that I’m not getting out of this. I will still post. In fact, I will post extra to make up for what I’ve missed. So… I owe you (me?) 7 posts. I may have to double up, but they will get written. I have so much to say!
Tonight, for now… I thought I’d reflect a bit on birthdays — appropriate seeing as that’s when it all fell apart in terms of posting to this blog. Heh. Last Thursday, exactly a week ago, was my birthday. It was wonderful. I am so blessed to have such kind and thoughtful and generous and FUN friends who cared enough to come out for a laugh and a drink with me last Thursday.
I love birthdays — and not just my own. I love celebrating birthdays of all people. I love them because each one signifies one more year that I (or you) have been on this earth. I see a birthday as a true celebration of life, because not all of us will be here for our next birthday. So if you are here for it, it’s a true reason to jump for joy and live it up. As much as I grumble about getting older, my goal is to accumulate as many birthdays as possible. I want to keep being here!
I have had some interesting birthdays. Most have been spectacular, but not all. I’m not going to list them all here (dear gawd, that would be way too revealing!), but rather reflect on a few significant ones.
Fact: I have left two of my own birthday parties. In one case, I was sick and feeling unwell — but having SUCH a good time, it was actually hard for me to leave and go to bed while others were still dancing and partying. In the other case, I was having so much fun I knew I needed to take the party to the streets. My dear friend Anne ushered me and a few friends out the door and offered (!) to clean up for me. Both of these incidents were in my home. Both of them were in Qatar. Anne is a bit of a crazy saint. She’s still a friend I love, though she sadly lives way too far away to come to any more of my parties.
The two above birthday parties were also probably two of the most memorable, and for the right reasons. The first one — where I was sick and went to bed, in my own apartment, while the party continued — was my 30th, and I hosted a HUGE party with a very serious (as in seriously fun) disco theme. It was probably the biggest party I’ve ever hosted. People showed up whom I’d never met before, but I didn’t care as long as they were wearing an afro wig and sparkly pants. I planned the playlist for MONTHS in advance. I bought a lava lamp. My friends Rachel and Nadine and I had costumes specially made — we were the Bee Gees. It was one of the best times I’ve ever had — really, truly.
I’ll leave it at that for now… I can’t give away every birthday memory at once. 🙂
I know some of you reading have been with me for birthdays that I haven’t mentioned above. Please know that I’m thinking of you RIGHT NOW. 🙂 You know who you are. If you’ve spent a birthday with me, I think of you as someone with keys to my heart, as birthdays are special… therefore you are too!
And regardless of if you’ve spent one birthday with me or many, recent or long ago — I really want to say THANK YOU. Thank you for making it memorable. Thank you for being with me as I “cheers”ed another year. Thank you for being in my life! And I do hope you’re around for many more of both of our birthdays!
I was on my way to purchase my first grown-up furniture piece (at the age of 38, finally– haha!), after many months of searching for That Ultimate Cabinet I Have Been Picturing In My Head That Would Be Perfect For My Space. I was thrilled at the idea of finally having found the closest thing yet, and so I was in a good, relaxed mood as I headed there after school. I’m sure that getting a “free pass” out of my last meeting of the day helped my mood, too! (Thanks, Andrew, if you’re reading this!)
I exited the bus on Outram Road and realized I needed to be on the other side of the street. I found the walkway overpass thing-a-ma-jiggy — pretty standard for Singapore, or any urban city for that matter. But this one was a bit different. It was in two “flights” of steps, with one flight stopping at the edge of what looked like a hill of green space. I wondered, as I was walking up the first flight, what the green space was. I didn’t recall a park being nearby in Tiong Bahru or Outram. I checked my phone: Google Maps showed me just a green, empty space, no names or anything. When I got up to the first flight landing, I was really just going to keep going, but I was still wondering what the space was for. In central Singapore, why wasn’t there a building on this patch?
It wasn’t until I had taken 5 or 6 steps — that is, I was a bit higher — that I noticed the stylized traditional Chinese statues. I think these are called Pi Xiu (mythical dragons?) but I really do not know, so please correct me if you do know. Anyway, I noticed them from that higher step, and thought, wow… those look old. They were hidden, only partically viewable, but I could tell they were covered in moss.
I walked back down the 5 steps, to the landing, which was wedged into the side of the hill. From here I noticed a sign slightly further up the hill that said something to the effect of “State Land: No Trespassing No Dumping.”
No trespassing? But if it’s state land, doesn’t that mean that everyone owns it? I pay taxes. So I thought I’d go have a look…
I walked up some very steep cement block steps that were directed into the hill — maybe another 5? It was clear that they weren’t designed as steps – they were huge, platform-like steps. And then I saw this.
After reading it, I had even more questions. Why, I wondered, wasn’t this part of a national heritage project? Why wasn’t it more well-marked? This site was the burial place of two significant members of Singapore’s history, and here it was, laying inconspicuously on the side of a hill in the Central Business District.
Shortly after I snapped these photos, I heard a rustling on my left. Out of nowhere came something black and furry… and… it was a DOG. A wild dog! He clearly lived here and did NOT want me there. He barked, and I very very quickly ran back to where the overpass footpath steps were. From my vantage point 6 steps up, I looked back to see the dog pacing around the tombstone. This was very clearly his territory, and he was at his guard post.
Well, at least there’s someone (thing?) keeping the spirits at bay for Madams Chua and Wuing, I thought.
And I went on my merry way across the street to the furniture showroom, thinking how wonderful and perplexing and curious it was that I had found this site.
So often, when I tell people I live in Singapore, I get responses such as these:
“Oh, but it’s not the real Asia.”
“You mean Asia light?”
“It’s so sterile it doesn’t feel like it has a culture — it’s so over-developed.”
I could easily take on and refute each of these statements, but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this: Singapore has many of the same aspects of other Asian cultures — and then it has much more of its own. Yes, it is urban, flashy, and in even upmarket in places. But the cultures and histories of this country are deeply embedded into its current identity — which includes both the old AND the new. If you can’t see these, you either haven’t been here long enough, or you’re living in a bubble. These cultures and histories permeate into daily interactions on the MRT, in business, and in regular “hellos” if you pay attention.
I am so glad I was in the kind of headspace that allowed me to be aware of the Chinese lion/dragon-ish (?) statues in my periphery as I climbed the steps over the street. It reminded me of a Singapore past which has greatly influenced the Singapore of today. Sometimes you have to really look for it, this history. But if you look, you will find it, and it won’t necessarily be in a museum.
——
Epilogue
After I purchased my cabinet, I stopped at my local hawker centre and downed a plate of the spiciest Mie Goreng I’ve had in my life (not even joking — I always do tell the aunties that I like it spicy, but this lady wasn’t messing around). I was able to finish it (hurts so good!), thankfully.
Upon returning to my condo complex, a woman who lives in my building held the elevator doors for me, which was kind. She asked me what floor I was on, and then asked, “Have you taken your dinner yet?”
I have a great life. I am so lucky. Here are some things I am grateful for today.
Living close enough to green space that I can be there in less than 10 minutes and am surrounded by birds, trees, water, lizards, and grass. The air feels so different there, and it changes my entire breath, posture, and headspace. It makes me a better person, and I imagine it makes me much easier to work with and be friends with. 🙂
Having been born a female into a country where women are, for the most part, valued as highly as males. Of course, my country of birth and citizenship still isn’t “perfect” and has some work to do, but I have far more opportunity afforded me than a female born into… say… Pakistan or Lesthoto. I’m grateful that I grew up being told — and knowing that I could — do anything. And I’m pretty much living proof that this is true. I’ve done nearly everything I’ve set my mind to. Nearly.
The opportunity and circumstances that allow me to choose where I work. This is in part related to #2, but in other ways it’s related to demographics and family circumstance. I don’t have a young family to feed. I don’t have elderly parents who are requiring care. I am very very lucky in this regard. I am not restricted by family needs and therefore I have the privilege to be able to follow my passion (as cheesy as that sounds) and do the kind of work that I find truly fulfilling. In that, I can also quite freely choose which individual employer I want to work for, as I do not feel the need to be tied to benefits or salaries or tax rebates due to needing other things for children or parents. I don’t have to sacrifice job satisfaction for money. This gives me tremendous individual freedom — and I know it won’t last forever, so I’m even more grateful for my current situation.
Having fresh, abundant, and affordable healthy food near me every day. I’ll admit, I never truly understood this to be a “luxury” until I lived in NYC. And really, it should be a right, not a luxury! The number of families living below the poverty line who do not have affordable access to groceries (other than processed foods and burger joints) is truly astonishing, and should be against the law. This should be a goal for all places on the planet. Human beings need to be nourished, not starved.
Having access to quality affordable healthcare. This was another “aha” moment for me while living in the USA. Those who follow me on Twitter will recall the heated debates I had with my American (right-of-centre) friends who did not agree with me that health care is a basic human right. No one chooses when s/he will be sick. Therefore, this is a social issue of the highest order, IMO, and should always be publicly subsidized unless an individual opts out. I will never forget what I learned in NYC after my ankle injury, where on one of the “best” healthcare plans in the country, I had to pay a $30 co-pay for every physical therapy visit. This was a relatively minor injury, and yet if I had been poorer than I was (I was already “poor” as I was a full-time graduate student living on <$20K/year), I would not have been able to afford these visits. It amounted to 3 visits / week… or $90 / week, for roughly 12 weeks. That many Americans could not afford this just about made me cry each visit to the PT office. What it means is that poor Americans — those who could not afford this co-pay — who have a simple injury like mine such as an ankle sprain caused by tripping down the subway steps (and which is EASILY recoverable from, with the proper care) will be crippled for life — literally! crippled! — because they cannot access this care. This is ABSURD and WRONG. If I were an American living in the USA, I would be fighting this fight to my death, without any doubt. It’s not a political issue: it’s a human rights issue.
That’s all for now. These are just the things on my mind today. Each has crossed my mind in the last 24 hours for one reason or another.
(Yes, I think a lot. Perhaps too much. I tend to enjoy myself more when I’m not in my head all the time, but I just can’t help it.)
