The Internet

Today I was thinking about social media, and the power it plays in our lives.

Within the internet we often create an alternate personality, and in so doing, we can feel dissociated from reality - or our actions online. In itself, perhaps this isn't so bad. People - like me - can vent or speak about issues they don't dare talk about in real life, and we can only do so through the feeling that our identity is protected.
However, this disassociation can also have negative connotations. I would like to compare it - in the extreme - to the infamous 'Milgram Experiment' which occurred in 1961,  the scientist Stanley Milgram conducted a series of tests when one test subject would administer electric shocks to another test subject in another room. Each time the second test subject got their answer wrong, the shock voltage went up. The test subject being shocked would begin to complain, scream, then bang on the wall in protest, then finally, go silent. Although the test subject administering the test would begin to question the experiment, with assurance from the one administering the test, they would continue to what would be fatal or at least very worrying levels. Of course, the shocks were not actually occurring at all, but they didn't know that. Although this experiment was to ascertain the power of authority  (a reaction to the question of guilt in the Nazi trials that were occurring at this time) I also believe that it was in part due to the powder of dissociation. They could not see their 'victim' only hear him. In a way, the internet is the same -it allows you to see only certain reactions, certain parts of a person. You do not see the reality, and thus you can ignore it, continue past the breaking point because you don't actually see the direct consequences of your actions.

Perhaps the link is too tenuous.

What about isolation due to the internet?
We are so often so busy talking to our friends online, we ignore those right in front of us, or miss opportunities completely. I think most of us have had the incredibly annoying experience of visiting friends and them having them distracted, too busy checking their phones to properly talk to you.

I think I see it most when travelling. When I first started off, full of my parents stories of the people they met on their travels, the conversations struck up in youth hostels, buses and coffee shops, I was full of hope for the travel companions I would meet.
But on my travels I was met by an almost imperceptible wall of silence, broken by the clicking of technology, the invisible messages sent to and fro, the communications taking place across countries and continents. And surrounded by all these people, I was alone, facing a wall I didn't know how to break.
How sad that we are surrounded by humankind, yet so alone. What experiences are we missing, simply because we don't look up?

No-one can argue that this isn't the way of the future, and to shy from it is to fall behind, but I don't think we fully realise the power in this invisible world, nor the impact it has on those who grow up surrounded by it.

Technology is a beautiful thing, it offers us opportunities we couldn't have dreamed about thirty years ago, and it is growing exponentially, like a living thing. I can't imagine life without it, nor I suppose, would I want to. But I think it's important to realise that everything, even the most beautiful of things casts a shadow, and the internet is no exception.

Destruction

Why is a child's first instinct to destroy?
They see a bubble and want to pop it, their big sister does a drawing and they want to scribble on it, they see a tower of blocks and want to push it over, they see a bird and want to chase it.

How far does this extend then? Is it inherent within all of us? Society teaches us to build, but beneath it all are our baser instincts, and perhaps it is those that drive us time and time again to war and death.
We want to be the master of all, to conquer what can be conquered, and destroy what cannot.

Is it humanity's nature to destroy?  

Snowflakes

Where do they go
These creatures of snow
On their whimsical dance
Falling by chance
Like fireflies
On a path only they can see

God

If  I was to believe in God, I would find him in the falling snow.

In the storm and the deep thunder booming low  

In the mountains and their unyielding sight

In the taste of rain on my face, and the oceans might 

In the sound of the waves,and the rustle of wind in the trees

His words just out of reach, God is in the breeze 

He is in the candle flame and its shadows, dark and deep

The nighttime whispers, dreaming of what you sleep

And I would find him in our heartbeats, steady and slow 

If I was to believe in God, I would find him in the falling snow 

Human rights and Immigration

Where does the line between what is 'right' and people's rights, overlap?
To put it another way, when what we - the western world - have defined as wrong: cruelty, oppression, sexism, racism etc, occurs, do we interfere?
And how does this change depending on where these 'wrongs' take place? Do we have more right to interfere when it takes place within our own countries? There is a strange and terrible line between what we think is right, and allowing everyone freedom as is their human right. What do we do when these two qualities collide?
It's a question we must all ask ourselves, as it is become a more and more prevalent issue in today's world.

The United Nations' universal declaration of human rights argues for a world where humans can
'enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom from fear', which indicates that everyone should be able to believe in what they wish. However it also unequivocally states the importance for 'equal rights of men and women'. Already this is problematic, as well we know that not everywhere in the world are men and women treated equally, and indeed in many cultures women have very few rights at all - patriarchal societies are not uncommon, even today.
When something is occurring that we deem wrong, is it our duty to step in? Or are we dancing too dangerously with the old concept of ourselves as the civilized people 'saving' the noble savage?
This question of course extends to many cultures around the world. As anthropologists, we are taught that we have no right to step in, only the right to observe. This becomes difficult for cases of ritualistic violence, systematic oppression or -something I have always found personally upsetting - female genital mutilation. Are we wrong to put our own values above others?

These are all difficult questions, however they are not the main issue I am wanting to talk about today. Today my attention was brought to the problem of Muslim immigration in Europe, and especially within France. This is an issue that graces the dinner tables of many in France, a discussion rife with contention and anger.
Are they being racist in that they want these people - who have a religion and set of beliefs they find offensive - out of their country or to change those beliefs?

On one hand, they have a point. What right do these people from foreign countries have, to settle in this homeland and not accept the French way of life? To cover their women and preach their own beliefs? But surely if their beliefs are not harmful, then they have this freedom, as the universal declaration of human rights clearly states 'Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance.'
However, when we go to Muslim countries, we cover up and adhere to their customs, out of respect. Therefore should this not be a two way road? Is it not insulting that they believe our dress to be indecent, that their way is the only right and good way? Is this oppression of women? Can it be if the women themselves believe in it? But what about those that don't, surely they should have the freedom within France to choose - a freedom they perhaps would not have had in their own country. 
One could argue they choose to move here, and thus must choose to accept our rules, and integrate into our society. 

But many of them are a displaced people, are immigrants with no home to go back to. Therefore do they really have any choice either?
Should we really be so offended simply because they have different beliefs from us?
This of course comes with its own problems today, the war on terror and the terror attacks that occur due to a tiny minority of the people accepted into Europe. Yet how dare we consider closing our doors to these people in need, how can we fight to not give them safety? How can condemn the many, for the crimes of a few? Should we turn our backs on those who need help?
Terrorism is a new and terrifying issue which is sweeping Europe. What is the answer to it?

There is fear here; this war is subtle, its soldiers invisible, and how can we fight what we cannot see? Best to not take the risk at all, many say. But will stopping immigrants from coming really stop the jihadists too? Or merely the innocents?
But surely if Muslims would integrate into our society, uncover themselves and embrace our culture, we would only have the extremists to deal with, and these would be far fewer. Would this be better for everyone? Or is it just what we want because it's easy for us - we aren't the ones being asked to give up our way of life.

Honestly, I don't know the answer. There is no easy way to solve this problem, I only know that not accepting these people is like turning the Jews away, back to Nazi Europe and the concentration camps - in many ways we would be sending them to their deaths. Perhaps a more intensive vetting system for who is allowed in? But it takes too long, it's too expensive, and it still doesn't solve the problem that the French people see before them - their country being moved in on by an entire people who refuse to accept the French culture, way of life, and everything they take pride in of their country. They fear they are losing their culture, the old ways and what makes their country french.

 I don't have the answers, but we shouldn't be afraid to talk about it, to express our opinions, and whatever they may be, they should be listened to. One side or the other should not be more or less politically correct as so often seems to be the case. For surely it is only by talking about it that we can understand others opinions and  hopefully, reach compromises. 

But Words are Things

It is only in books that one can lose themselves so completely that just for a little while, all else ceases to exist.

Isn't it funny how getting sucked into a book can change your mood and play with your emotions?

Do other people get so lost in books they take on the main character's feelings? If they are sick I feel I am suffering, if they are sad I feel distraught without knowing why. If they are angry, my mood is black.

Worse still is when that book is over, and there are no longer any pages left to turn. It's like an entire world died, even though it's still right there, in your hands. I call them book hangovers, because you can't bring yourself to start a new one, when the last is still fresh in your mind, and the world feels useless and grey without that book to read, like suddenly everything has become pointless. 

How can I be angry over a world that isn't even real?
But that's the magic of writing I suppose, to have such a way with words that the author can communicate these people from their heads, their triumphs and losses, their laughter and deaths. We grieve with them, their words alive, even though their creators may be long dead.
In many ways I believe that authors are the ones who have transcended death, because their souls are still right here, within those pages. We hold them in our hands, innumerable treasures, and it is for this that the greatest sadness a book can have is to never be read.

Literature is a funny thing. A powerful thing.

Lord Byron himself words it better than me:

“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,      

Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces

 That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;     

 ’T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses 

Instead of speech, may form a lasting link   

   Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces Frail man, 

when paper — even a rag like this, 

Survives himself, his tomb, and all that’s his.”

Myself

How things can change in a year. It's not long, a year. 365 days. Yet every year now, I look back and everything is different.

Last year it was my 21st birthday coming up, I had a party planned with all my family and friends, I was about to graduate, I lived at home. Things were hard, I was full of uncertainty, but also hope. Sadness was just beginning to lose its hold on me, and I felt ready for this new adventure.

Now look at me. Its my 22nd in nine days, and I will be completely alone. I am adrift in Europe, with no direction. I'm braver now, more certain of myself.
It's an adventure, but a lonely one.

Perhaps that's what I need. I need this time to grow into myself, into the adult I want to be. Leave that child behind, her broken hopes, her naivety. She didn't know what the world would hold for her, and she was trapped because of it.

When you are free from expectations, you can do all the things you only dared to think about long into the night, and never voice. Who can judge you now, when no-one knows who you are?

I can be anyone, and maybe, just maybe I can finally be myself.

Romance is Dead

Not mine, someone who writes far more eloquently than I could ever hope to do. But reading her lines (and in my mind, it is a her, I wonder why) makes me wonder what bitterness she has gone through, to speak of romance so coldly. And yet the harshness of the words resonate with me, telling me there's no use pretending: this is real life.

 Tell me a story before it all ends

 Something that’s wonderful, something pretend 

Give it a moral and maybe a lie 

Fill me with laughter, then make me cry. 

You know how it starts; “once” and then “time”

 And don’t worry much if it doesn’t all rhyme 

Throw in some danger, then throw a rope

 Lace it with irony, dose it with hope. 

But don’t get caught up love, and don’t start to feel

 Remember, my darling, that none of it’s real

 The dragons and damsels are all in your head

 Real life hails no heroes and romance is dead.

                                                                         -Violet Matter

Europe

Europe, the beating drum within my chest, shuttered like wild thing within this cage of flesh. It thrums it's beat against my own heart beat, building within expectation.
One week. One more week. Am I running away? Or running towards opportunity? I still haven't worked it out. Regardless, with trembling timid steps, I'll board that plane, the one that will fly me to Europe, that mysterious continent that calls to me like a Siren, willing me home.

Will Europe be my place? The one that quells this wanderlust of mine?
I'm feeling so poetic today, on edge with excitement and fear the words are flowing from me with little thought or regard. I'm going, really going.

I'm leaving all my problems behind, the depressing job, the cold winter, my broken heart. It stays in New Zealand as I fly away to become a new person. Is this cowardice or bravery?
I could  be whoever I want to be, collect my best qualities in a jar and display them proudly at the forefront, saying 'yes, this is me!' A new name, a new attitude, a new person. Intoxicating ideas.

She will always be a part of me, that sad solemn timid girl who's heart is lying smashed at her feet. She still is me in many (too many) ways. But I don't only want to be her anymore.

 I want to be someone more. I want to be something more.

Coriolanus

My new favorite Shakespeare line, though I don't know why. It just flows so well and rolls off the tongue. It brings to image that of a worm, blind and writhing in the dark, to something greater, a serpent to be feared. Or maybe it's time for me to go to bed.
 Regardless, here it is:

This Coriolanus is grown from man to dragon: 

he has wings;

 he's more than a creeping thing.

                                                 Act V-Scene 4