NO, I won’t be writing about LOVE!

NO, I won’t be writing about LOVE!

Yesterday I received a link with the story of a man who was acting aggressively in the Vancouver subway frightening all passengers, and the 70 year old woman who managed to calm him down by simply holding his hand. Full story here

 

Random acts of compassion happen all over the world on a daily basis but we seldom hear about them in the news, can we share more of these with the world? 

I believe that there’s goodness in everyone, some people are just too scared, confused and/or lonely to be able to see it and live it.  

 

The ones that knew Gandhi say that he was a bit of a womaniser, Mother Theresa was considered to be quite ruthless and bossy by the people who worked with her, Nelson Mandela had a good few dubious friendships. You don’t need to be perfect to change the world!

 

We are so used to the good deeds of people who inspired us that we forget that they too had faults like all of us. Whether they were aware of them or not, they didn’t let these faults define them, they focused on the purpose and went about to fight for their causes & positively affect the world we live in.  

 

One single weed doesn’t ruin a whole garden so please be kind and compassionate with yourself and the ones around you!

 

I cover my eyes and nod my head, I am ashamed of you western world!

On my latest Cuban tour someone had the brilliant idea to gather a bit of money to contribute with goods for the poorest families in Baracoa. It was with a sincere desire to help and an open heart that the idea was accepted and everyone contributed to it.

Once asked what could be a good item to buy, our guide suggested cooking oil, which is an expensive supply and generally doesn't last the whole month if the family depends exclusively on the rations provided by the government.

Money in hand we bought twenty bottles of oil and distributed them while driving through the area of Barracoa. The decision where and when to stop was entirely up to the driver and guide, we stopped mainly in front of the poorest houses and in front of residents talking on the street. 

Every person who received a bottle showed appreciation for the gift, some got emotional, others looked rather confused.

The delivery of bottles quickly shifted from an act of goodwill to a circus. Reclined on my seat, I take a sneaky picture, trying not to be noticed by the old man that looks incredibly surprised by the sudden stop of the tour bus and the consequent delivery of a bottle of golden liquid. ‘Make it quick and fuss free this time’, I whisper, but no, once again, half a bus descends with their cameras and tourist eyes. They make people pose for their cameras holding the bottles of oil. 

Bottom line was when the guide approached a woman washing clothes in the river and handed her his shirt in exchange for the bottle of oil that he had placed on the rocks just beside her. Puzzled, the woman took it and was going to wash the shirt but he stopped her saying that he was joking.

I cover my eyes and nod my head, I am ashamed of you western ego!

Is it right to make fun of poverty????? A bottle of oil is not going to change their lives. A bottle of oil certainly doesn't entitle us to flash people with our fancy big cameras while they pose, reticence and shyly for the tourists (and guide), that suddenly think they are gods and so have the right to invade people's privacy in one click that immortalises that moment that should have been subtle and egoless.

The 'white' man syndrome is still very much alive these days, it is shameful how we think we can rate ourselves from  the amount  of goods we own or can have access to. I saw 'richer' people in Cuba than I see around me, I saw people who value and respect each other more than money could ever buy! 

...it's all new and wonderful but I can only think of the other one...

He's sitting in the corner of the room. So full of hopes and expectations, it's all new and wonderful but I can only think of the other one, the one I know inside out and I wish I could just bring  back to life to avoid having to deal with the newness of a new computer. In the meantime I use the old iPad that has limited functionality and doesn't allow me to edit text. 

Change?! It used to be incredibly easy for me, change country, change job, change hobbies, change hair colour, lately I realised that I take the idea of change with some resistance. 

Is it a sign of maturity (thinking about the long term goals instead of instant gratification), or a sign that I've accommodated to my life? 

December 2002 I climbed the stairs ecstatic. My flatmate was home and I went straight to the kitchen to give her the wonderful news. 'I was accepted...hurray, I am off to Hungary for a pos graduate experience!' (well it ended up being Ireland but that's a whole new story...).

'What? Really? Her face saddened, she started crying and locked herself in her room. 

Glued to her door I said but 'Hey, but I got it, you should be happy for me, not sad.... I'll be back, don't worry!' I did come back but it was for a couple of months and I've been living abroad ever since. 

Two days ago my best friend said she was moving to the countryside and even if I didn't run out the door or cried, inside I felt something cracking. ' You can't do that, said the little silent voice in my heart', ' Ah that's awesome' I vocalised genuinely as I know she has been feeling like moving for a while. Actually we have both been feeling like that but hey she is moving ahead of me which sucks (as it is the part of being left behind that is painful). 

Then it hit me that for the last couple of years I've been resisting change, and oh boy, it is so overdue. Every time I get bored I start off another course and that keeps me motivated but that doesn't change the fact that I've been postponing my future because I am avoiding what will certainly be a huge change.

I now understand how my best friend felt in 2003, change hurts people, but it will hurt you even more if you don't move because you are afraid of it. 

I shall be brave! Now, Lenovo Yoga, come here let's be friends..

I'll miss him, longest relationship i've ever had!

So, what's the diagnosis? 

It's bad! 

A virus? 

No, not a virus. 

Oh no... Manflu? 

Worse... 

What's worse than manflu?

I am afraid it is terminal. 

Terminal?? Cancer you think? 

Lymphatic!... It spread to the whole RAM

This is terrible, how long?

Get your external drive for a backup. 

Jzzzz..that bad?! 

I have hidden the harddrive in such a brilliant place (robbers will never think of it), well now I can't think of it. 

I am becoming my mum, she would find Easter eggs around Christmas and we still eat them, along with Santa. Chocolate is chocolate, never mind the wrapping! Speaking of wrapping, I've bought chocolate in Cuba from a local artisan and it came wrapped on the chemistry school work of her daughter. The first tablet unwrapped had the cover of the exercise (pic)' the second contained notes of what it looked like a chemistry recipe.

'What happened to your homework Laila, the teacher asked?'

'My mum needed the paper to wrap chocolate tablets for some greedy tourists.'

The big bars were disgusting, I've offered one to K&G bragging the deliciousness of the product and the poor guys reacted better than I did when I first tried (spit the whole thing). I am sorry.....the tiny bars were soo tasty! 

He died peacefully in his sleep last night, after the backup. I'll miss him, longest relationship i've ever had! I've dropped it on the first week I've bought it, he reacted well. A few months later I spilled a whole cup of tea on top of the keyboard, it took him three days to recover. I think he realised from the start that he needed to be sturdy if he wanted to last so he did just that and because of it I started treating it better, no more falls or drops and we lasted almost seven years. Should apply the same technique to men I think! 

I need to engulf big chunks of air to expel the excess fire from the stormy heat

I've been sitting on the most uncomfortable chair ever made (too long to allow my feet to reach the ground, too short to allow me to lean backwards and still be able to read). The backs of my knees hurt from the wooden support against the legs, but it is just too hot  and humid to move elsewhere or to even move any muscle.
Sweat drips down my back and my skirt is glued to my legs. Every couple of minutes I feel like I need to engulf big chunks of air to expel the excess fire from the stormy heat.

I can hear the dominos clashing against one another on the improvised table set on the street downstairs, while I can visualise the four old men that play every day on the same place for hours in a row.

From the pateo of 'casa Tony', my presence seems to mingle with the afternoon atmosphere. The noise that would have otherwise annoyed me elsewhere; here it just feels natural, it is the sound of living.

Republic's street in Baracoa isn't the noisiest but certainly not the quietest either in this stormy cloudy afternoon. Spanish tv is audible from the neighbours house, the cock sings at four in the afternoon and the dominos now being shuffled, topless and barefeet kids play with marbles after stripping off their impeccably clean communist school uniforms.

House doors and windows are left open, allowing the passants to peep inside, greet the babies that nah nha nha in their own language. Door to door sellers announce their passage by beeping their bike or van horns. House ladies come to the windows and doors to buy fruits and bread for their guests.
Casa's particulares share the similar concept of B&B in the western world, except that here the family life seems to intertwine with the tourists that come through family spaces such as living rooms and kitchens where people snooze and cook.

There is constant movement, Cuban late afternoons are packed with activities. Cigars are more a myth than reality. They are offered at fancy hotel lobbies and tourist shops but are certainly not seen hanging from the mouths of many Cubans and in fact I have only noticed two or three being smoked on the streets.

The 'system' gives me mixed feelings. Everyone is fed, at least half of the month. ( rationed food isn't enough to feed a family for the whole month), school is free and mandatory, healthcare is also covered. Having some needs met, a good share of Cubans aren't too pushed to make money and instead begging for pens, clothes and exchanges between cuban pesos and cucs (foreign currency).

It is a fascinating place, full of colour, life, beauty and rhythm

May McDonald's, Ikea and supermarket chains never invade this country!

As if it was an alien voice I am surprised by that discovery

I am sitting inside a pitch dark dome at 10:30 pm. The only glimpses of light that once in a while reach the place are the result of silhouettes that come and go, opening and closing the heavy curtains behind them.

I am enjoying the experience of just being here until the moment I start thinking… Are there spiders around? I slip the shoes back on and focus on the soothing drumming sound that resembles a heartbeat and is gently leading me to a lovely comforting place inside my mum’s womb.  I feel protected and cared for and somehow lose track of time and even space. Swirling white and golden filaments can be seen in front of me. 'Is this really happening I wonder?' I stretch my hand and try to touch them but they evaporate. Once I come back to the physical realm I realise that the drumming has ceased and the room isn't only pitch dark but also incredibly silent. 'Am I alone here?' Heart starts racing imagining all sorts of demons but somehow manage to quiet the dragon as I stand up and find my way out.

Outside the bonfire is still burning and my shamanic partner persists in drumming to the last flames. There are a couple of people chatting in the circle but oblivious to the fire. I can see a few ambulating through the grounds showing up from around bushes and tops of trees as the night falls upon us in the forest. I stand there with E observing the flames until the cold takes over my humanity I walk inside for a warm shower before falling asleep in the dorm. Can't recall when was the last time I shared one.. luckily I brought the earplugs as sound sensitivity makes  me a nervous sleeper if I hear snores in the vicinity.

Sunday morning I am told to connect with the energy of the plants, trees and nature. We are let to wonder for an hour under a drizzly sky. The grounds are beautiful and lively and I decide to follow the opposite route to the previous morning. My final destination is the majestic tree near the arches that I sat by the earlier day in meditation.

To connect with the elements we are told to use a rattle a drum or a song. ‘Singing? Are you mad…I can't sing!’ I grab a tiny rattle and follow the path along the lake in a slow pace and contemplative mode.     

I am stopped by a beautiful bushy tree whose branches reach all the way down to the lake, connecting earth and water in the gentlest way.

I sit down by the lake edge just beside the tree’s root and before I notice a humming melody has originated in my chest and is being vocally expressed.My tree doesn't want to be rattled, she wants a song. As if it was an alien voice I am surprised by that discovery. The humming continues with different tones and I feel it reverberate in my heart. It feels good! At the distance another humming echoes mine. It is an exquisite experience that my self conscious mind has been denying to my adult persona. ‘Did I sing as a child? I am pretty sure I did.’ We used to sing, dance and even choreograph our own theatre shows for the parents and neighbours.   

I return to the room full of people in wonder and exploration mode, the shamanic journey continues until later in the afternoon.  

The energetic dancing, drumming, journeying and connecting for over two and a half days finally takes over me and I pass out on Sunday evening happily convinced that Shamanism isn’t a distant practice but very much something that has been within me ever since I first read those Castaneda books in University. Fifteen years passed and I am reminded of the Anthropological curiosity that lead me to go beyond the initial fear of death and darkness as a youngster and the search for that truth and strength that lies within. The Journey of self-discovery lasts a whole life time. Looking forward to find what lies around the next corner in the forest or that rabbit hole in the trickiest lands. The lioness in me has never been this fearless!

At this stage my hands are as dirty as mechanic's hands......

Could you do this for me now he asks? Why is it always an after hours request I wonder? I should have left work on the dot! 
When i put the yoga bag on the back of the bike i check my pocket for the phone, 5:10 dammit i am already late. Suddenly the bike stand gives in and the bike collapses on the ground breaking my mini pink rear-view mirror. Argh I pick up the bike and as I stand up, the high vis jacket grips on to my tights and as I briskly pull it back it rips off my tights. The bike slides again and I hear a crack. Noooo this can't be happening? The bike chain pops out!  My bike is a cute thing but the fact that there's a yellow rail protecting the chain it makes it really hard to bring it back in place without removing the protection rail and I obviously don't have the tools with me. 

At this stage my hands are as dirty as mechanic's hands and I am getting frustrated thinking that I will have to give up and walk. 

A colleague that I had never come across offers his help. After a few attempts we eventually manage to fix it. When I finally put the bag back on the bike he is already cycling at the speed of light so I can't thank him properly.

As I am leaving the work gate I realise it is now  5:20 which means that I've missed my class. This was the only thing I was really looking forward today! 

Feeling defeated I cycle home, as am arriving at the complex a black cat crosses my path and as I am reaching the gate yet another dark cat chances his luck in front of the wheel.

Cutie pie ( my cat) is waiting at the door with meows that say: ' I really don't care about your day, feed me now!' 

I walk in and go straight to the bathroom to wash my hands, the shirt is stained, the tights are ripped and as I look in the mirror I can't help but laughing when I see what it looks like a 'Dali' moustache on my upper lip.

Note to self, do not touch your face with dirty hands, do not put a heavy bag on the back of the bike, but ultimately ignore your boss's  request after hours!