On the greatest lessons I've learnt

Me and my primary school teacher.
She taught me my greatest lessons.

In the last week, several events close to me and others we’ve been able to witness through the media have made me think a lot about my own mortality and what things we’d like to leave those close to us. Most people assume this means monetary inheritance and other ephemeral things of that nature. In my case, I was born without these things and so they are of little importance to me. I got to thinking, however, of the legacies and the truly valuable things I have acquired that I would love to leave to my offspring, my peers, and to any and all who care to know of these things that Vanessa really cherishes. So, below, I’ve written a list of the most important things taught to me, or the greatest lessons I’ve learnt.

1. Education is the one thing that truly pits people as equals.

Why is education important to me? Because it was important to my mother, and it was important to her for her children to have it. My mother has a primary school education but was smart enough to know that what would keep her children out of these perpetual cycles of poverty that have dominated my family and ancestors – and that was/is within the reach of most people – is education. My family had always been peasants and servants, hard-working people but with little possessions to their name. Our name was nothing important; we are commoners. We didn’t have the money, the social or political connections, or much else. But my mum made sure that she worked very hard to be able to provide for her children not only food and shelter, but almost at an equal importance, also education. She taught us that we had the same potential to learn and succeed academically as any other person, even those with money or connections or whatever other perceived advantage. Then this, and not the name or money we didn’t have, would open our world up to as many opportunities as we were willing to accept and work hard for.

2. The single greatest thing you can teach a person is a hunger to know more, a lust to achieve more, and a passion for your subject matter. Passionate people don’t know satiety, and they also never learn defeat.

Great teachers aren’t the people who taught Nobel Prize winners the knowledge they used to achieve their success, but rather the ones who were able to transfer to them a passion into the field of their success. Passion, a burning insatiable desire, is the only antidote to failure.

3. “We are poor – not because of God”. No more effort is required to aim high in life, to demand prosperity and abundance, than is required to accept misery and poverty.

Two Napoleon Hill quotes. Why are they important to me? Well, the first I’ve discussed previously so I won’t go into it again, but the second took me a while to get my head around. It’s hard to be poor or to not attain your dreams, right? But it’s really really hard work to get what you want too. If you work hard, and I mean passionately and relentlessly hard, you probably can become a famous movie actor, a celebrated artist, a professional in a field with strict entry criteria and few spots for newcomers. It’s going to take a lot of very very hard work! But what’s the alternative? The alternative is actually equally hard. This is what blew my mind. It takes a lot out of you feeling crushed every day because you’re not working the job you’re really keen for. If you’re poor, it is really really hard to do physical labour to get just the bare minimum to feed yourself and go to bed hungry and know that you have to wake up tomorrow to do the same thing again so you can go to bed with a half-empty stomach the following night. It’s really very hard to be poor. So if both roads are hard, and I am suggesting here that they are equally hard, why not risk your pride and show some faith, and follow the path of your dreams? I mean, the alternative is just as hard.

4. You don’t fail until you give up. Failure is experienced only by those who when they experience defeat, stop trying. The only thing that separates success and failure is the number of attempts.

5. Improbable does not mean impossible.

6. You miss every shot you don’t take.

7. Be willing to risk failure in order to succeed.

8. Every soldier dies a hero.

I believe the thing that holds human beings back more than fear is pride. I will consider the last five points together as I believe they are intrinsically linked. Often people list a dim statistic for success as an excuse for not trying or for not going for the thing they really want. I always ask these people, “So? Someone has to get it, so why can’t that someone be you?” Oh yes, they tried that one time and they failed. Or they would try, but it’s just going to be a waste of time and effort as they will most likely not succeed. You know, because somehow these people believe they are fortune tellers too! The one 100% fool-proof method to guarantee failure is not to try. I mean, you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket, right? So, as small and as uncontrollable the probability of attaining your goal on the next attempt is, it’s still greater than zero if you at least attempt it. So what if you don’t succeed? You’re only one attempt closer if you’re courageous enough to keep trying and don’t let that stupid pride convince you that lack of success in an attempt means failure forever.

That last statement came to me rather unexpectedly one day when I happened to be listening to the radio in my car to some news about a soldier’s death. Some days you have to contemplate that you will die, and you may die soon without warning. What if you died and you still had not achieved that one goal you had dedicated your life to? Does that mean you’re a failure? Does that mean you’re a loser? Well, think about soldiers. They literally risk their lives in order to achieve an outcome: to defend from the enemy and to destroy an attacking enemy. But sometimes soldiers die in battle, and when they die in this way you could say they have failed in their goal. Now, do we consider these soldiers who died in the line of fire as failures? No! We call them brave and courageous and war heroes. Yes, they didn’t succeed in what they were trying to achieve, but they weren’t failures because they died trying to achieve that outcome. I believe that similarly, in civilian life, we don’t die as failures if we died trying to achieve that one thing we really wanted.

9. Anger and hatred are the most successful ways to waste energy and to keep our enemies in power. People may hurt you in the present by some wrong action, but the anger and hatred we pay them well into the future is how we continue to hurt ourselves on their behalf.

This is one I learnt from experience when I was about 20 years old. I was getting so run down, so upset all the time, feeling so much anger and (I’m ashamed to admit it now) hatred towards one person. Now, this person had stopped tormenting me years ago and yet I kept feeling all these negative things towards them; they had probably forgotten I existed, and yet I kept hating them. It really takes so much energy to remain angry and sad! One day I realised this, that I must have been barely a speck of this person’s world and that was so long ago, and I still kept dedicating so much of my life to them, feeling for them, even if was hatred and anger. And I came to realise that I had given them enough of my life. I closed my eyes one day and said a prayer. I told them in my prayer that I forgive them, that I forgive myself, and that I wanted to forget the whole experience and become me again without traces or stains of their existence in my life. You know what? It was the best thing I could have done for ME to make my life about myself and not the people that have hurt me.

10. Money is the world’s most renewable resource. There’s no glory in being the richest man in the graveyard.

Mark Bouris once said that in business you don’t want to hire a man who has always produced a positive result, who has always managed to make his company profit. You want to hire the man who has had nothing, possibly being bankrupt due to his own mistakes – but that has managed to build himself back up. Money has a way of always renewing itself, so it’s not worth all the effort and value we place on losing it. Personally, I think we risk far too many valuable things like relationships, health, and true happiness to attain or maintain money. Eventually we will all die, and our deathbed it will probably be more comforting to have your loved ones by your side rather than the knowledge that in a bank somewhere there sits a big dollar figure associated with your name.

11. Do unto others as you would like have done unto you.

Every religion and most human philosophies will rephrase this in different words and attribute this concept to one of millions of God-like figures. That’s irrelevant, but the concept is more about the preservation of humankind, of our humanity, and of our own self-esteem. It actually comes naturally to most human beings from a very young age, but later it becomes a conscious choice of our own integrity. Mark de Moss defines integrity as, “Integrity is not what we do when it serves us. It is who we are in the dark and how we treat people when it makes no difference to us”. That’s one thing that would benefit anyone (and everyone) to learn, I think.

12. To be a man is to be responsible; to be ashamed of miseries you did not cause; to be proud of your comrade’s victories; to be aware, when setting one stone, that you are building a world.

Somewhere in the past century we all got so caught up in the various human rights movements that a corrupted self-entitled attitude came to develop from it and a lot of us came to forget about responsibility.

13. You have to tolerate the caterpillars if you want to see the butterflies.

Another Antoine de Saint-Exupery quote. Life isn’t always easy and it’s unreasonable to expect it to always be. Sometimes you just have to stay focused on what’s coming or what you want to come next.

14. Let every occasion be a great occasion.

Yes, a lot of the things I’m sharing above are of course not mine but things I’ve learnt from others. Some things I’ve learnt from experience; most are out of a book called ‘Success through a Positive Mental Attitude’, co-written by Napoleon Hill; some from my theological study; and some are probably from Oprah or the Dr. Phil show! There’s no shame in how you came to learn a thing, only that it is valuable to your own life somehow.

On owning a house

I have always been scared of owning a house, but until the last week I haven’t really been able to explain it even to myself. Everyone has always told me that I should want to own “my own” home, that it’s the adult thing to do, that it’s the Australian dream, that it’s the successful person’s dream, that it’s the most financially savvy thing to do, etc… And yet at the same time knowing that it’s not my dream, I thought that I may be lacking something: maybe maturity, maybe the drive to think big. The thing is that I have rarely met people who “own” their houses, just a lot of people who think they own homes and really only own mortgages. In other words, in my eyes I know a lot of people who own large debts. I also, and not coincidentally, know a lot people who feel enslaved to jobs they no longer enjoy, a lot of people who feel a constant pressure that if they don’t earn they will lose a large sum of money and pride. I know a lot of people whose prisons are their jobs for the crime of loaning large sums of money to buy the illusion of owning the structure they take shelter in. Is the illusion worth it? Is a house really worth the slavery most people submit to for 20-30 years? But, people tell me, I am missing the point. See, they tell me, at the end of it you’ll own the house! And you were already going to be pay rent, so may as well use that same money you were already going to spend on the same thing (shelter and a living space) towards something you will eventually own. Yes, something I will own when I am over 50… and which serves me for what? Oh yeah, to live in. That’s it. That’s all the good I can see come of this.

But wait, you don’t have to just own one house, you can own several. You can own one and rent the other/s, or resell them at a higher price. And if you’re smart, you can earn a profit from doing this. Profit? Yes! Of course that is how people like Donald Trump have amounted massive amounts of wealth. However, I have to admit that I haven’t met many Donald Trumps. At the very least I haven’t met anyone who is made happy purely by the fact that they own many properties or have a lot of money. Is my view in this skewed? Yes, for two reasons: 1) I don’t know a lot of people who are made happy by money or property because I don’t share the same values as them and so don’t associate or attract these people as friends; and 2) it means little to me or my happiness how much money or property I own. If I am to be convinced that owning property is going to be beneficial to me, I have to be able to see how it would help fulfill me; unfortunately the properties and the money to be made from them would not make me feel more fulfilled.

What do I care about? My family, participating in and enjoying life while I am alive, and not making a world a worse place for anyone or anything. Call it Christian values or call it hedonism or my own particular philosophy, but it’s as simple as that for me. Yet wouldn't having more money allow me to spend greater time with my family, or “enjoy” life more, or participate in life to a greater extent, or increase my likelihood of what I could do to improve social justice or the environment? Probably. And don’t get me wrong, I usually support thinking “long-term”, but I have come to realise that life is actually not that long. Perhaps it’s as a result of the environment I grew up in with the life-expectancy of those around me being so unpredictable due to poverty and warfare, or perhaps it’s because of the job I do, but I think it’s not always wise to put off living. I genuinely worry that if I spend too much time engaged in earning (to provide for my family or enjoying life, etc), I may well miss out on my family or the time to enjoy life. Sure, most of us in Western society can quite safely expect to live past the time we would've finished paying our mortgage and past retirement, but should we really wait until then to start enjoying the profits of our labour? Maybe it is my yet immature thinking or the fact that I don’t yet have children that clouds my vision, but I don’t want to it put off too long.

Now, what if -worst case scenario- and I work, pay off my mortgage, and then die? Shouldn't I be proud and glad that at least I will have provided for my children a house for them to inherit? I mean, that’s good, right? Sure, that’s noble. How many of us, however, have not inherited houses and still turn out quite OK? I’d say that’s the majority of people. So I’m not convinced at this stage that that is a good reason to own a house. I think it was the billionaire businessman Warren Buffett who said that the perfect amount of money/things  to leave your offspring is "enough money so that they would feel they could do anything, but not so much that they could do nothing”. That is exactly what my mum did for my siblings and I and she never owned a house or anything of that cost; she just made sure to be supportive and educated us. I want to do exactly that for my children. The rest they will provide for themselves if I manage to teach them responsibility and self-reliance well enough.

OK, OK, now back to the financial reasons as to why buying a house would be good for me. I am told that if I continue to rent, then I am throwing away money, that it is “dead money”. Dead because I can’t profit from it, apparently. But you know what else is “dead money”? The money paid on interest on a home loan. Yes but I’m forgetting about the part where I get to keep my house after I have finished paying the bank back the loan and the interest! Yes, that’s nice, don’t get me wrong; and I do get the fact that you can do whatever you like to a house you have a mortgage on as opposed to one that you’re renting. For all the money I “throw away” by renting, I could be slowly paying off my house, wouldn't that be nice? Yes… if things in life could be guaranteed. I wish someone could guarantee that I will want to work with the same agility, strength, passion, and desire in 10, 20, or 30 years as I do now. Because if I lose my enthusiasm, that is when work becomes my jail for the crime of owing my house to a third party: the banks.  So most people have to keep working in order to avoid defaulting on their loans, working past the time that work became enjoyable, and working with the pressure and fear of keeping the bank fed. That is stressful! It kills the joy in life. How do I know this? Precisely because I meet people who are overwhelmed by these stresses every day at work.

I know there is stress also to pay the rent if you are renting, but I have noted one fundamental difference between those who are happy to rent and those who want to own a house: those of us who rent may stress about getting the money together at the end of the month also, but we don’t share the stress of potentially losing a large sum of money that people who default on loans take on. When you’re renting and you move house, that is it; you pay again for the chance to occupy a space you can live in. Renting is the same as any other consumer product. When we move house or as time goes by, rarely do those who rent sit to add up all the money we have “lost” by continuing to pay our rent. It is the same way that I don’t feel bad when I buy food that I have spent a small amount of money for something that is gone after I eat it when I could have instead put the money aside to buy a farm so that I could grow my own food, which eventually will overall turn out to be cheaper than all that food I bought over the years. Housing to me is just another consumer product. But those who have a mortgage and are unfortunately unable to keep paying it for whatever reason, end up owing a lot of money – and that scares me! Houses cost a lot of money and I don’t enjoy the pressure of having a debt that big.

I met someone a few years ago that told me that he was overwhelmed by the amount of work he had to do in order to provide for his family and maintain all the properties he owned. I asked him why he had so many houses. He said that it was because that was the Australian dream. It wasn't his dream, though. And I started wondering to myself ‘who is selling us these dreams, then?’ And then I read an internet post recently that answered this question and summarised the financial reasons of my fear of getting a home loan: “It is necessary that you be forced deeply into debt, and therefore forced into slavery, for the banks to make a profit”.

On making "the unhappy" happy - Part 2/2

Of the war veterans I meet with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and depression, do you know what they value most in their lives? Not finding a “cure” for PTSD and depression, but just appreciating and being able to be with the people in their lives. They accept very courageously – not cowardly – the goals of treatment of these disorders: minimizing symptoms, moving forward from the last exacerbation, and decreasing the number of further exacerbations. They don’t seek a cure, though of course if it were feasible, they’d pay any price to have it. But why fight futile battles? So, I say again that they very courageously choose to expend their energies on the things that matter instead: love, productivity, enjoyment. But before you assume that I am making a claim such as “there is no cure for depression”, let me clarify that that is not the broad statement that I am making.

I used to think, naively, that once I fell in love, once someone loved me and I had someone to share my life with, I’d be happy. I wondered why the people I met who had the things that I thought would bring me happiness weren’t happy. How could they be depressed when they had a partner, children, a job they didn’t hate, generally good physical health, etc.? Why hadn’t the love they had in their loves not cured their depression? Because lack of love didn’t bring about the depression, nothing that was correctable did. Yes, they had love; but completely unrelatedly they also had a mental disorder. Finally I realized why people give flowers to sick relatives in hospital: the flower isn’t meant to “cure” the illness, just make it more tolerable by giving you that warm feeling inside that you’re not alone and reminding you that people care about you.

In persons who have become depressed or suffering PTSD as a result of some psychological social trauma, there is nothing in this world that can erase the memories and/or the cognitive processes that get programmed into your brain. Remarkably, though, a human being can go about their lives being perfectly functional and socially involved despite these demons we carry around in our head. When you have a chronic depression or PTSD of this kind, the best you can wish for is not being “cured”, but having people around you who understand you and stick with you on the journey. Not even “love” can erase the inner hell we experience with these mental disorders, but love can motivate the people around us to give us the all vital support and understanding. Conversely, if you find yourself in a relationship with a person who has depression or PTSD or a similar complaint, you will only hurt yourself by believing that your role is to bring about “cure”; it’s not. Your role is no different to that of anyone else who ever loved: to love, to give (including understanding), to receive, and to share life together.

On making "the unhappy" happy - Part 1/2

One thing that took me a while to understand when I was younger is that “love”, or having a romantic relationship, doesn’t cure everything. In fairy tales, people fall in love and love rids you of physical “ugliness”, of having an evil heart, of disease and death, of financial poverty, of social oppression, of emotional and physical abuse, of low self-esteem, of disability, and of every negative thing that can happen to a human being. And don’t get me wrong, I like those stories as much as anyone else, and I'm also aware they are often metaphors for what love can actually achieve. Essentially love, being in love, being loved, loving, discovering love, etc. has the effect of giving human beings courage to believe in their own strength and to take risks. The greatest motivator for positive change and the strength to bring about that change is love. Love can conquer all…

The second most difficult thing for a human being to do is to bring about change in this world. The single most difficult thing in this life for us to do is to bring about change in ourselves. Love is supposed to make all things possible, right? That’s what the fairy tales tell us. That is what we have learnt personally from life. I still believe this is true. But there is one scenario unique to human beings I find particularly interesting when considering all that love can do.

Depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) result in unique states of mind where the “enemy” and the “villain” that we fight everyday lives exclusively within our hearts and minds. He may have been created by exposure to psychologically trauma or neurobiochemical imbalances or social oppression and abuse, or any of a myriad of negative human experiences. Yet the outcome of these situations are so common that someone has been able to make lists of the cognitive effects that result. They are described commonly in books and medical and scientific literature and classified into categories that receive the names of “mood disorders”. Depression, anxiety, and PTSD are very common diagnoses given to the people who suffer the effects of having these internal enemies to fight; the low mood, the lack of self-esteem, the sense of worthlessness, the compulsion to self-harm, the feelings of inability to better one’s own situation, and the inability to envision a future different to the inner world they seem trapped in.

I have seen many patients with PTSD, mainly war veterans, but all survivors of some sort of abuse or extremes of human experience. These people have lived through horrible things – and survived! If anybody can be called strong and honorable, it is them. Yet, they often are the first to believe they don’t deserve to be alive or to have good things in life. Bullets kill many soldiers in combat; depression and PTSD kills way too many survivors. People don’t choose to suffer depression, anxiety, or PTSD, the same way none of us choose to voluntarily suffer. And the worst part is that with these psychiatric complaints, you also can’t choose to “just snap out of it”. The goals of treatment in these disorders are not aimed at cure, but at managing symptoms, learning new ways to process information to help stop triggering these inner beasts, and minimizing the number of exacerbations. Of course, there are many ways we go about doing this (medication, psychotherapy, self-directed education, meditation, etc.), but generally there’s no way to completely cure these problems.

But wait, what about love? Doesn’t love “conquer ALL? Doesn’t love give you strength, courage, motivation, hope, etc. to achieve anything in life – even to change the world? The thing with depression, PTSD, and other psychiatric complaints is that the thing to conquer lies within. But love should be able to help you achieve even that, right? Isn’t love also able to change a human being? I used to believe just that.

On what I've been doing

Mexibunny and me :)

I’ve been a bit erratic in my postings the last few weeks and I’d like to take this time for a confession-type activity. Writing, and especially this blog, is my passion. Self-expression, more rightly, is what drives me, and writing is the tool I feel most able at using. So when I write, I write because it makes me feel good to express myself. In the last few weeks there have been some things that have interrupted my usual weekly spiel. Basically, here’s a list of the things that have been taking up my time (and this I am sharing for my own selfish benefit in that it helps me sort through my priorities:

Exams

Oh gosh, there are only two things you need to study any field in life: time and memory. Really, that is all. They tell you that ability to reason is the key, but the truth is that at the end of the day our knowledge is evaluated not by someone inspecting our brains and seeing the cognitive connections we make when problem-solving, but by exams. A question for which an answer has already been assigned as right is asked. You want to pass an exam, you have to know the answer to the questions. That’s it. That’s life. How you memorize or acquire that knowledge is not important when it comes to assessments; answers, results are. Ha!

I have been studying for RACGP exams. I don’t know whether I passed or not, but right now in my life it makes little difference. In a few weeks when I know my results it will matter, but then even then, it won’t for too long. If I pass, well, I just move on with the next step. If I fail, well, I just move on with the next step, which is to study some more to take the exam again. That’s it. Everything else makes little difference. Whether I am excited or disappointed, expectant or nonchalant, makes no difference at all.

Trying my hand at new relationships

So the RACGP exams were the biggest exams of my life so far, no doubt about it. On the morning of this exam, at 3am, someone who I thought may be a worthy person in my life calls to ask a favour. Can I give them a ride to the airport? Yes, some people are considerate; others only know how to take from those of us “too nice” to let ourselves get walked on. This relationship made me realise that perhaps I am too accepting of others, that I do settle for too little, that as long as I allow others to be ok with only taking and taking from me, they will continue to do so. I have never thought that we waste our time with other people, but this relationship truly pushed me to almost believe this. I guess I can only call it not a waste of time by realising that it taught me that people like this exist  - and that I want to stay away from them.

Friends

Making friends is hard; keeping friends is even harder. When we were children all we needed to make a friend is to have them be in the same vicinity as us, and all we needed for them to remain our friends is to do the things they like, avoid things they dislike, and to apologize when we got it wrong. It’s harder as an adult. But it is so rewarding. When a friend wants to spend time with me, at my insistence or theirs, I always oblige to make it happen. It’s always a rewarding experience.

New nephew

What is it about babies? For the first few days they all look the same and do (and don’t do) the same things. You see one baby picture and you’ve seen them all, right? And yet, we can all find something about these little beings to love. Love? Yes, this is the amazing thing about humanity! We love those who offer us nothing in return, those whose only take and take and give essentially nothing in return, those about whom there is nothing “special”. And yet we all have a sense that they are unique and special human beings, full of potential, innocent, charming, entertaining, and worthy of our love, care, and protection. That’s it, that’s why babies give us that warm, fuzzy feeling.

I have a baby nephew, one of thousands born on the same day as him. What’s special about him? He does all the things that human babies do. What’s special about him is that he doesn’t need to be special, all he has to do is be the recipient to our affection and love. He asks no questions and he sets no conditions, if you want to love him he will not stop you from doing so. That’s his gift, that’s what he gives us. The bible rightly said that there is more joy is giving than receiving. It’d be good if my little nephew could love me, but the fact that I’m allowed to love him and shower him with affection is a gift to myself.

My “daughter” being sick

Mexibunny, my little pet, has been destroying my house. More recently, she has also hurt her ear so I’ve had to pay her a little more attention. She’ll be ok and it’s only minor, but I am just like the worried mothers I see every day coming in to my consulting room with their mildly-ill children terrified that they’re suffering something graver.

Family

It’s strange, they’re always there, and yet there is just something about family that makes us aware that we can’t relegate them to second place. We could skip or pass up on anything, even once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, if the alternative is to see to your family. Nothing else can justify if, not work, possibly not even our own problems; when family must be seen they must be seen. At least, that is how it is in my family.

On the Eminem thing

People think I’m trying to be purposely funny when I describe myself in the “About Me” section as being like Eminem. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never met Marshall Mathers III, and I’ve never even had the good fortune of being to an Eminem concert. I identify a lot with most of the lyrics of Eminem’s songs, though. A lot of people must; he sells records in the millions of copies. Personally I believe he is a great expressionist, and not only that, he has a very common human story.

There is an Eminem song (Same song & dance) where he is considering different ways to tell his crush how he feels about her (he’s a shy, socially-awkward person like so many of us) and he postulates: "Should I cut off one of my ears and mail it to her? Send her pictures of my collections of skeletons? Or footage of me impaling myself on an elephant's tusk?" This kind of strategy may not occur to everyone, but it does to Eminem because he is he and he thinks the way he does… I keep a small collection of animal skeletons and to me Eminem’s proposition of sharing something dear to him does not seem strange.

I won’t go try to analyse Eminem’s lyrics for anyone, but I would like to share some of them which are the reason I identify with him so much. I guess, the way Jorge Luis Borge’s words always come to mind: ‘each man is every man’ and each man’s story is shared by every man. I have been the “dark phase” Eminem, as much as I have been the Eminem who rejoices in his blessings. We all have to different degrees, I think J

I'm not afraid /To take a stand

Everybody /Come take my hand

We'll walk this road together, through the storm

Whatever weather, cold or warm

Just lettin’ you know that you're not alone

Holla if you feel like you've been down the same road…

****

I got some skeletons in my closet /and I don't know if no one knows it /So before they thrown me inside my coffin and close it /I'm-a expose it... (Cleaning Out my Closet)

Well since age twelve, I've felt like I'm someone else /’Cause I hung my original self from the top bunk with a belt...

And by the way, when you see my dad, /Tell him that I slit his throat in this dream I had. (My Name is)

All I know is I don't want to follow in the footsteps of my dad /’cause I hate him so bad /The worst fear that I had /was growing up to be like his f*ckin’ ass /Man if you could understand /why I am the way that I am... I never dreamt I'd get to the level that I'm at /This is whack! This is more than I ever could have asked... (Saying Goodbye to Hollywood)

Yo, never was a thug, just infatuated with guns...

/I'm a soldier, these shoulders hold up so much /They won't budge, I'll never fall or fold up... (Soldier)

My thoughts are sporadic /I act like I'm an addict /I rap like I'm addicted to smack... (‘Til I Collapse)

Sometimes I feel so alone /I just don't know /feels like I been down this road before /So lonely and cold /it's like something takes over me /Soon as I go home and close the door. (Deja Vu)

I'm just so f*ckin' depressed /I just can seem to get out this slump... I think I'm starting to lose my sense of humour /Everything is so tense and gloom... (Beautiful)

Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds /It's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me...

But what's this sh*t you said about you like to cut your wrists too? /I say that sh*t just clownin’, dog /C'mon, how f*cked up is you? /You got some issues, Stan. I think you need some counselling... (Stan)

If I, were to die murdered in cold blood tomorrow /Would you feel sorrow or show love, or would it matter?...

But there's way too much at stake for me to be fake /There's too much on my plate, I’ve come way /too far in this game to turn and walk away...

The only way I'm leavin’ this bitch is suicide... I'm not what ya think /I appear to be f*cked up, mentally endangered /I can't stay away from a razor...

 It hurts when you see your friends turn their back on you, dog /And you ain't got nothing’ left but your word and your balls /And you're stressed from the calls of your new friends /Begging with their hands out...

Death itself can hurt me /Just the thought of dyin’ alone that really irks me (When the Music Stops)

Sometimes I think, there's nothing to live for /I almost break down and cry /Sometimes I think I'm crazy; I'm crazy, oh so crazy! /Why am I here? Am I just wastin’ my time?..

People make jokes, cos they don't understand me /They just don't see my real side /I act like shit don't phase me /Inside it drives me crazy /My insecurities could eat me alive... Sometimes it feels like the world's on my shoulders /Everyone's leanin’ on me /Sometimes it feels like the world's almost over... (Hailie’s Song)

I never would have dreamed in a million years I'd see /so many motherf*ckin’ people, who feel like me /Who share the same views and the same exact beliefs /It's like a f*ckin ARMY marching in back of me (White America)

Yet everybody just feels like they can relate /I guess words are a motherf*cker, they can be great /or they can degrade. Or even worse, they can teach hate /It's like these kids hang on every single statement we make /like they worship us... They say music can alter moods and talk to you /Well can it load a gun up for you and cock it too?... That's why we sing for these kids who don't have a thing /except for a dream and a f*ckin’ rap magazine /Who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long /Idolize they favourite rappers and know all they songs /Or for anyone who's ever been through sh*t in they lives /'Til they sit and they cry at night wishin’ they'd die /'Til they throw on a rap record and they sit and they vibe /We're nothin to you - but we're the f*ckin’ sh*t in they eyes /That's why we seize the moment, try to freeze it and own it /Squeeze it and hold it, cause we consider these minutes golden /And maybe they'll admit it when we're gone, just let our spirits live on /through our lyrics that you hear in our songs... (Sing For the Moment)

(If it looks like you’ve seen this before, I have posted most of it on my facebook notes before.)

On me... and turning 30

It’s funny, if you ask some people who have really gotten to know me intimately they’ll tell you that I have several different personalities. These people have at times asked me who is the “real” Vanessa. I can tell you straight out that ALL of them are. If you’d met me some years ago and asked me to list the things that to me are the most important in life I would have told you: family, love, expression, enjoyment, spirituality, and work. If you met me at another point in my life I would have answered exactly the same thing – but in a different order! That is where my “inconsistencies” lie, but actually I am just very average J

The self-hating years

The single most hurtful thing ever said to me was “you’ve had a perfect life”. Yeah, it was hurtful because it was said by someone close to me who obviously didn’t know me much at all. I don’t believe there are such things as perfect lives or perfect childhoods, everyone does the best with what they’re given. I don’t know if I am (or was?) autistic to a degree, but I never really connected with anyone as a child. And it didn’t bother me to have no friends; I was quite happy in my own inner world, my make-believe play, and reading books to learn something that interested me. At age 10 I was faced with circumstances that are actually very common in most cultures but that I would never wish upon anyone. As a result of this I lost the ability to trust, to believe, to feel safe and worthwhile. From then on I started hating more than just my own physical self, but also my future self, believing that I deserved nothing good to ever come to me in my life. It was very draining, and my inner world grew increasingly darker and I became more and more self-deprecating.

At about the age of 20, after I had finished my undergraduate degree in science, the self-loathing and self-denial of my own need to be human finally climaxed. I started psychotherapy for the first time then. What came of it? My single greatest victory was to forgive those that had hurt me and to forgive myself for being hurt. It seems so miniscule and meaningless that I can summarise it in one sentence, but the amount of healing the simple act of swapping the words “sorry” for “thank you” is hardly able to be explained. I finally stopped apologising for being Vanessa, for allowing myself as a child to be hurt, and I stopped apologising for the simple fact of being alive. Instead I started to be grateful to be alive and I allowed myself to have (and not feel guilty about having) human needs of personal fulfilment and achievement. It was a very slow process to accept myself, to disrobe myself of the self-loathing, to finally become and be comfortable in being Vanessa in all my forms.

At 24 my curiosity and interest in spiritual matters brought me to commit to Christianity after having studied several theological and philosophical systems for many years. What lead me to finally make this commitment was that I came to understand that it’s ok to not be perfect, it’s human nature, and that the ability to feel connection to God is not barred to me or anyone else regardless of their past, present, or future. That was spiritual commitment and to some extent also fulfilment. During and after this time I also gradually learnt to not hate or feel ashamed of my physical appearance, of my lack of social skills, of my naivety, and of all these things I had for which I felt I couldn’t be like “normal” people. I guess in all this I may have eventually overshot the mark  :P

The self-loving years

I was around 26 before I could bear the thought of being ok with being seeing as me, as a complete and separate person of my own. I guess by that stage I had allowed people to get to know me, all aspects of me, and to become my friends who I could trust and expect some trust and caring in return. I grew more confident in many things also. I finally was not afraid or concerned to be seen for me. I was nearly 27 before I finally allowed myself to remove my clothes off in front of another human being – someone of my choosing and with my full consent. This part was the hardest step for me, the rest was quite easy. And in fact it probably got to be a bit too easy J

My mistake was that after I learnt to love myself, I probably started to love only myself. I started to consider romantic partners as purely things to increase my own enjoyment and happiness. They say that people with histories of abuse most often become either one of two things in their future relationships: the abuser or the abused. I had decided from when I was 20 and started therapy, that I would never again be a victim of abuse. And so here I was, playing out another role. I had never had a time in my life when I didn’t feel guilty about being alive, but maybe at times it would have been good to at least feel pity for others. Needless to say, several  partners later, I still wasn’t a winner. Despite me finally being able to love myself and form sort of bonds with others, I still hadn’t learnt what it was like to love others. I mean, of course, what it was like to be in love.

The loving years

Wait, having sex and making love aren’t the same things?... No. I eventually learnt that too. June 2010, or sometime after that, I fell in love for the first time in my life! How did I know it was different? Because I found myself missing someone else, wanting someone else’s approval, feeling safe and confident to be associated with someone, feeling a part of something very special. It didn’t last long and I was a different kind of sad to what I’d previously known when it ended. But you know what bothered me most about it ending? Because after all those years it had taken me to convince myself that I was a worthy human being, the overwhelming message I was getting was that I wasn’t worthy of another being’s sacrifice to be with me. My partner wouldn’t sacrifice any of the things I would have sacrificed in a heartbeat to be with them. And that hurt me so much. It was like being told all over again that I wasn’t a worthy human being. But this time I didn’t believe it for long, because sometimes all you can do is let go and remember that regardless of what someone may think of me, I am still Vanessa.

And then the unthinkable happened and I fell in love for the second time in my life. Wow! What a blessing it was. It was beyond what I had ever imagined;  my new love met and exceeded every standard I ever had. This was truly the love of my life, the one person you could have sworn was fabricated purely using every guideline for a good person I had in my mind. Words can’t do this story justice. Of course, I was in love with this person so you’d be right in saying I am biased, but I didn’t care what anyone had to say. The only approval I needed in this world was from this one person . Truly, never have I felt so secure, so safe, so myself, so part of something greater than special, than when I was part of this partnership. Then the worst thing happened! The worst thing to have happened to me at this moment in time after what I’ve been through, I mean. There were reasons for it, but I was left alone again. I only wish I had been given a chance to correct my flaws, that whatever good was at first seen in me (what I think I see in myself too) would have been worthy of another chance, of a sacrifice. Or am I really not as worthy as I think I am?

The years of being loved

I hope in future to be loved, but it’s not enough just to be loved here and now. I hope to have someone fall in love with me truly, to want me, to wish to be with me, and that this wish is enough to motivate the things every successful relationship needs: compromise and self-sacrifice. I am worth it, right? I think I am. It’s been 30 years, and I’m ready to be loved the way I eventually learnt to love too. I am ready for so many things. But I am ready mostly to say that only God can judge me for my life.

On adoption

A family... and not one drop of shared DNA.

As I was growing up in El Salvador the concept of “adoption” wasn’t something I’d encountered. You’d hear of certain families taking in children with no parents or parents who were not able to care for them. Occasionally you’d hear of women “selling” their children into the care of other families because they couldn’t afford to raise them or they needed the money for their own survival. And of course there was always the boogieman everyone “knew” about but no one had ever personally witnessed: the children who were snatched away to be sold to families the USA either because they were infertile couples or because their own biological children needed organ transplantations. They were the stories I grew up hearing in that third world country. My own personal experience was nothing I could call adoption, but it was what I saw.

There was a young girl in the town I grew up with that was thought of something like homeless or a ‘street kid’. Later I was told she did actually have a mother but for whatever reason, this girl was essentially fending for herself when I first came to know of her.  I was lucky enough to live with my mum and her partner, my four siblings, and at times also my grandmother, two uncles, two aunts, and a cousin. I had a family. I had a house to live in, food, and the essential things we needed to study. This girl, the ‘street kid’, had very little of what I had. At one point in my childhood I remember my mum took this poor soul into our house. I remember the first day she came my mum washed her hair to get all the head lice out because she didn’t want me and my siblings catching them. She took some cooking oil and put it through her hair and then combed it with a fine-tooth comb. The most bugs I have ever seen in my life came out of her hair, there were clumps of them with each stroke. It seems another world to think back to it now, but I guess it was a different world to the comfy life I live now. When the cleaning up was done, this girl became one of us, one of the family. She ate at our house, mum enrolled her in school and got her a uniform, she had books to read and learn. My siblings and I were old enough to know she was not one of “us” but to anyone else, it may have seemed my mum really had six children and not just five. That is the memory I have always had of what is now commonly called “adoption”, and for that reason I admired mum even further (though she would never had personally dared to call it anything akin to adoption).

Since about the age of 12 or so, I thought it’d be great to have children. It seems strange to say it because I would have been a child myself at the time. My family thought it was funny too and they’d ask me how many children I wanted to have. I’d always say 3 or 5 or 8 or 10. Yes, I thought I wanted to have ten of them and I’d buy a minibus to carry them all around in – and I’d have them all by the time I was thirty. I couldn’t wait to be eighteen, but not for the reason most adolescents do, but rather because I thought at eighteen you can marry and then start to have children. I had a maximum of 12 years in which to gather as many kids as I could, I thought. And I knew, or decided, by the time I was very young that at least some if not all my children would be adopted. I guess two things played into this: the fact it never crossed my mind to want or expect to have a husband or male partner, and the fact I admired so much the people who don’t get caught up in “genetics” and ownership and recognize that the ability to raise a child is a gift in itself – to a child and to a parent.

As I got older and older, I started to tell people (my mum and friends) that I wanted to adopt a child (or children). Ironically, my mum was not very supportive of the idea. I understand now that her reluctance is based on her not even realising the example she set for me when I was a kid in El Salvador, and the fact she thinks having a child, especially an adopted one, will interfere with what she thinks I should have: a husband and children “of our own”. I grew up without a father, I never expected to have one around for my children either. It’s not that I did or didn’t want one, I just never expected I’d have one – and this does not bother me, really! I had a family without having a male father figure, surely I can build one of my own similarly and I would never think of it as second-best, as less-than-ideal. Never.

The other (often uninvited) group of people that tried to discourage me from my idea to adopt a child were friends of my mother, an older generation of perhaps misinformed individuals.  Why is adoption bad (according to these people)? I can summarize their basic arguments as 1) ownership, and 2) tradition. Traditionally a family consists of a mother, a father, and their biological children. By extension, the tradition is that the parents remain married for life, that there is no infidelity within that married life, that the two parents are of different sexes to each other, that the children will be healthy and fully able-bodied, that the father will be in full-time employment while the mother tends to the household and the child-rearing, etc. etc. That is not the world we live in today, everything that was once tradition has changed, some things you could say changed for better and some for worse, but nevertheless human beings have proven a million times over that we are a very adaptable species.

And now about ownership. Think of yourself and ask ‘who owns you’? Most of us will probably have thought that no one owns us, or we own ourselves. Maybe if you’re an adolescent or a child, you may have said your parents own you. But who as an adult says they are owned by their parents? You have the same parents from when you were a child into adulthood, so why should ownership change? Because it actually doesn’t. The truth is any thinking parent will acknowledge that their children are not their property, you don’t own one as you own a shirt or a shoe. Parenthood is a task, a role, a responsibility; it’s not a similar thing to land- or property-ownership. You don’t ever own another human being. You can influence, shape, teach, or affect them, but you won’t forever own anyone. When children are babies until adulthood, parents are charged with the task to protect and provide for a child. As a parent of a young child that is your job, your expectation, but you couldn’t similarly say that a security guard in a jewellery store owns the expensive jewels he looks after just because it is his job to safeguard them. Do you have more right to ownership of a person because you share biological matter with them? Is it a prerequisite for something or someone to share DNA with you for you to see merit in them? Should we marry only our brothers and sisters because strangers are otherwise less-than? A person who is loving, who is a true parent, need not share anything other than love, experience, and sustenance with a child to call themselves a parent.

Throughout my life as I shared my aspirations to one day be a parent, and my dream to adopt children, I received further “advice” as to why I shouldn’t. You’d think I was proposing to become a suicide bomber or a career criminal to be so strongly opposed. People would tell me that adopted children are bad because the majority come from drug-addicted, mentally unwell, criminally insane parents with all sorts of genetic and congenitally infectious diseases. Adopted children are defective, and not only that, but they also grow up to be bad, mad, or sad people. They become drug addicts, criminals, mentally ill, and/or perpetually resentful of being adopted children. Unfortunately the one example often quoted to me as proof was an acquaintance that did not disclose to their child he was adopted until he was well into his mid-twenties. Of course he was resentful but of the deceit and non-disclosure, not of the love and opportunities he was given in his adoptive family! There was some selective filtering of the content of this adoptee’s complaint. Nevertheless, this person was someone I knew and so the example is blown up in its probability value. Maybe he was one of a minority, maybe he is quite typical, but knowing no other adopted people, he was painted as more than representative of the sampled population, but as the 100% of the population.

And then one day I met a woman who told me she was adopted. I have never once heard her refer to her parents as “adopted parents” as opposed to “REAL” parents. It was strange to hear what I suspected all this time: that not all adopted children are resentful, defective, or feel eternally unloved. It blew my mind to hear her say once that she wasn’t born to her parents, but that she was born for them. She couldn’t imagine a different life, she didn’t need to, she had a loving and supportive family as it is.

And there it is, there’s what I heard and what I think and what I’ve seen about adoption – and you know what? I am occasionally reminded by people that I have three half-brothers and a half-sister, but you know what? I only know I have three brothers and a sister, the people I grew up with, the people I share more than “half” my DNA with, the people who share in the full extent of my life. And sharing life, being a family, is more than about ownership and about biological material. Personally, after having heard it all, all the evils of non-traditional families, I’d still love the opportunity to build a family around a child that needs only my love and caring and not just my DNA to survive.