Category: Thoughts
Merry Christmas!
The Power of Empathy
In this beautifully animated RSA Short, Dr Brené Brown reminds us that we only can create a genuine empathic connection if we are brave enough to really get in touch with our own fragilities. It was animated by Katy Davis, also known as Gobblynne.
The RSA (Royal Society for the encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce) is a constant source of inspiration and machine of awesomeness. It defines itself as “an enlightenment organisation committed to finding innovative practical solutions to today’s social challenges. Through its ideas, research and 27,000-strong Fellowship it seeks to understand and enhance human capability so we can close the gap between today’s reality and people’s hopes for a better world.”
I think Empathy is a very good start. And not disregarding feelings.
Madiba, the story.
Short documentary from 2011 about the life and legacy of incredibly inspiring Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, who died yesterday at the age of 95. Read the story of the ever-positive, ever-fighting and ever-generous icon who moved an entire world and never stopped caring about justice, as presented on the CNN website.
Nelson Mandela Foundation (2011)
If you’re ever in Johannesburg and have a moment to spare, do visit the Apartheid Museum.
“For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”
Terrorists and Lucky
As if it’s some kind of absurd rule – I dreamt about Lucky again. First night in Malmö and there she was, together with me amongst terrorists with very low intelligence occupying some kind of school building that we were hiding in and trying to escape from. Now, I have surrealist and strange dreams quite often and they are usually very entertaining once I realize that I am dreaming – what hurts is having my dog there, as she usually has a very vulnerable position and I feel that I have to protect her. I also kind of know and realize, at some point in the dream, that she is already dead – and that I need to save her because I want to spend as much time with her as possible. This is very strange, I know, and unlike other dreams that I usually realize aren’t real – these actually manage to drag me in and make me sad. The psychologist in me is going bananas with theories, but I guess I better go to sleep now and see if I get to meet her again.
Lost
My beloved Lucky
After being away for a long time, I always notice her absence when coming back to this house. I have the strangest dreams, and she’s always in them.
We spent so much time together, Lucky and I. I would take her for long adventure walks, teach her how to jump really high and play with her for hours.. it was only the two of us – she was like my sister and best friend from when I got her by the age of 10.
At one time when we were away on a trip to Poland she escaped from the family that was taking care of her here in Malmö. They apparently had the police and taxidrivers look for her in the entire city, but had almost lost hope to find hee again. In the morning, an elderly man called the police and said that he had found a little dog that refused to accept food or water from him, she had made her way to the other side of the city and spent the night in a staircase. When we came back home the next day she wouldn’t leave my side for days. I was only told the horrific story a week Iater, but I always hated to leave her behind.
Lucky was with me through the easy happy childhood years and those hard times with dramas and break-ups, she loved going by car and she loved sitting in the basket of my bike with the wind playing with her fluffy ears. She wanted to be everywhere, hang out with me and my friends, and always cuddle up really close to me in bed.
Lucky got blind by the age of 6, but continued functioning the same. She needed more encouragement, physical contact and a leash for guidance, but she was still an energetic and playful little poodle – always up for going by car and going for adventures. She had weak teeth and a pretty bad breath, but she wasn’t afraid of anything.
It was when she got her first epileptic schock by the age of 13 that we realized that she was actually old. I couldn’t find any reasonable way to cure her – keeping her healthy would mean having her drugged and tired and in pain most of the time, it just wasn’t worth it.
She slept with me the entire last week. She was too afraid to sleep alone as she got the attacks when she was asleep. I had to hold her close to me for her to relax and she was shivering with fear, it was breaking my heart. It all took less than a couple of days, but she was gradually loosing her senses and on her last day she couldn’t even hear or smell anymore – she panicked when left alone for a second. Seeing my best friend like that left no place for doubting the appointment with the vet even the slightest.
I was sad, but I couldn’t be anything but truly happy about all the adventures we had lived together for the past 13 years. All the times she had helped me out when I was sad, and all the times I had chosen to bring her along to movie nights instead of just going out and doing something else. I was convinced that she had enjoyed as well, that she trusted me and knew that I always had done everything I could to protect her, and that was what mattered most. We had both done our best.
I do miss her, though. Her intelligence was striking and her cuddliness irresistible. And she just always knew. A wonderful friend.
Mrs. K and her radio.
Found this radiant woman sitting on a streetcorner close to our hotel here in Mumbai. She was listening to her radio, laughing and singing along to some kind of radio theatre show. After having her picture taken, which she happily posed for, she eagerly told me that she used to be a dancer. And a singer.
We’re leaving India in a couple of hours, but Mrs. K will get a copy of her photo sent to her – she lives on the first floor in the house just next to where she was sitting. And I got her address as she speaks and writes perfect English.
It would have been so easy to misjudge that laughing lady sitting on a streetcorner. But she was not crazy, not homeless, not begging for money. She was just hanging out, being happy.
Varanasi – the most real place in the world
Yesterday, after arriving to Varanasi at 11am after a 15 hour trainride from Kolkata, we were taken around the city by an annoying guide who would rush us around and show us a side of the city that wasn’t the Varanasi I knew at all. I was angry and completely heartbroken. “Where is all the magic?” I asked myself and my friends who also know India. “Was I just naïve three years ago? I can’t see through all this commerce and staged shows.. where is the deep, spiritual, and proud Varanasi I once fell in love with?”
And so today, I convinced my mother that we shouldn’t have ANY plan at all. That we wouldn’t look for temples or attractions according to her guidebook or the words of anybody that we were paying, but only walk around and let things happen as the day goes by. Let this place be discovered as it wishes to.
So we did. And Varanasi slowly emerged from underneath the dust, cow feces, and chinese merchandise. And forth came the people, their little family owned shops, the cows that act like dogs, the private temples in every corner, the processions with deceased people carried by their chanting family members on their way to the cremation ceremony, all the colours, spirituality and kindness – and suddenly: “sister, sister – I was looking everywhere for you!” – my bhaia, my Indian brother, Rahul Pandit Cristoforo. The same person who three years ago showed me his Varanasi for three days, insisted that I was his sister, took me to places no tourists had access to, and refused any sort of payment. My very good friend.
With Cristo, Varanasi came to life again – with magical stories of the gods and all of their avatars, with private access to a silk and pashmina factory where we got to buy hand woven beauty at actual retail prices, real food, real shortcuts, and fantastic Indian chai that Cristo insisted on inviting us for. It was different, just like three years ago, to walk around with Cristo. Seeing his city through his eyes, meeting his friends and being introduced as his sister and new “mama”, the upgrade from tourist to “family”. It just wasn’t fake anymore.
Varanasi is still there, with a thicker layer of tourism, commerce and falsehood that takes a day or two extra to dig through – but I got back to the core of what makes this places different from any place in the world, to what makes this the core of everything – where life meets death, animal meets human, and bright colours on pure silk meet the worst kinds of dirt – and all of it is accepted with a respectful Indian side-nod. It doesn’t get more real than this, Varanasi is the definition of balance.
All has its natural place, balance requires patience and an open mind. My heart is back in India to be reminded about all of this and I am truly happy.
