Learn to hear the uncomfortable things about yourself from someone else's point of view...
It doesn't mean they'll be right, but your willingness to listen and attempt to see things from another angle is guaranteed to make you a better friend/lover/parent/sibling/child/spouse...
Just a thought... x
Saturday, 12 December 2009
Monday, 21 July 2008
I HEART LONDON
I LOVE LONDON....
I have never felt that more than I did last week. Each day proved to be another 'London blessing' as I wondered around the capital on my various journeys.
The first of my blessings occurred on Tuesday evening. Whilst waiting for a friend to finish work, I wandered around bored, slowly becoming aware of the way in which the streets come alive with the help of a little warm weather and a few classy bars. I noticed the street vendor, playing buckets for drums. The vendor and his saxophone playing chum together provided the soundtrack for my evening of wandering. The sound of their music literally sailing through the night air. It sounds cliche, but the feeling I got was an undeniable love for London, an uncontaminated sense of carefreeness. The fact that they were impressively talented was hugely independent of, yet key to, the fact that they were busking.
The city workers, in the midst of their early evening drinks at the surrounding bars, seemed to appreciate the melodic racket coming from the middle of the street - as did I.
I walked through side streets looking in shop windows, bright-eyed at the effort put in to lure consumers into the well laid out retail spaces. I became acutely aware of their attention-to-detail; their desire intrigue. Their attempts were actually rather inspired, clever and extremely effective. I stood at the window of the Nokia store watching the new advert over and over, impressed by the mind that could come up with such an incredible concept.
The Apple store on Regent Street closed as I looked on, the employees having their bags checked as they exited. Apple, proving to me how they managed to keep the profits they earned. The unique glass fascia of the store struck me as impressive, but what I found more so was the surrounding buildings. I realised that during my usual visits to the centre of the capital, I didn't tend to find the time to look up and take in the just-out-of-my-peripheral-vision sights. The obviously listed buildings were beautiful and my mind wondered as to what they had housed before the Apple store and other retails giants came along.
By 22.30, I met my friend who had finally finished work and all that I had taken in was once again forgotten in a subconscious second, the hustle and bustle of the journey home taking priority in my mind.
However, my love of the capital didn't end there. On Friday, as I was walking back from a lunch date, I was stopped by a charity street-canvasser named Hannah. Hannah asked me to talk to her for just a second, but instead of my usual polite but firm declination, I stopped to have a word with the girl that seemed to have a light behind her eyes for the work she was doing. Her charity, www.everychild.org.uk, seemed to be legitimate and she sold the concept so very well.
Instead of asking me for money, Hannah's spiel about how the charity's overheads were the lowest of all UK charities due to the fact that they did not pay for huge mail outs or other costly gimmicks, really resonated with me. She did not badger me into giving, but we held impacting conversation about the effect of the organisation and they work they do. The discussion moved onto our passion for the welfare of children and our own personal endeavours.
Hannah's approach made me smile. She had changed my expectations of how a street-canvasser gained their commission. The fact that she gained no commission from her chat with me, or anyone else, probably had a a big impact on the creative way in which she dealt with me. The focus was the children, not the money and I could see that. The difference was huge!
I left Hannah, smiling. She had given me something else to write about and I remembered my earlier encounter with 'London' on Tuesday night.
I began to think about the many occasions on which I had made my way through London with blinkers on, hating everything about the stinking, dirty city. I thought about the fact that, actually, there is so much to love about London town, the UK's pride and joy. Hyde Park, The London Eye, London Aquarium, Oxford Street, Brent Cross, Vertigo 42, The Oxo Tower, The Ritz... All of these and more are what London is known and loved for.
In retrospect, I know it would be realistic of me to admit that I will probably revert back to slandering my city the next time I smell rotting garbage that has not yet been picked up by an ever-late council bin service, or that I will despise the life I am forced to live here with the next sighting of a rat crossing my path, but all in all, I have to admit that it's not that bad. It can't be: We are the city that won the 2012 Olympic bid - we must be doing something right....
I have never felt that more than I did last week. Each day proved to be another 'London blessing' as I wondered around the capital on my various journeys.
The first of my blessings occurred on Tuesday evening. Whilst waiting for a friend to finish work, I wandered around bored, slowly becoming aware of the way in which the streets come alive with the help of a little warm weather and a few classy bars. I noticed the street vendor, playing buckets for drums. The vendor and his saxophone playing chum together provided the soundtrack for my evening of wandering. The sound of their music literally sailing through the night air. It sounds cliche, but the feeling I got was an undeniable love for London, an uncontaminated sense of carefreeness. The fact that they were impressively talented was hugely independent of, yet key to, the fact that they were busking.
The city workers, in the midst of their early evening drinks at the surrounding bars, seemed to appreciate the melodic racket coming from the middle of the street - as did I.
I walked through side streets looking in shop windows, bright-eyed at the effort put in to lure consumers into the well laid out retail spaces. I became acutely aware of their attention-to-detail; their desire intrigue. Their attempts were actually rather inspired, clever and extremely effective. I stood at the window of the Nokia store watching the new advert over and over, impressed by the mind that could come up with such an incredible concept.
The Apple store on Regent Street closed as I looked on, the employees having their bags checked as they exited. Apple, proving to me how they managed to keep the profits they earned. The unique glass fascia of the store struck me as impressive, but what I found more so was the surrounding buildings. I realised that during my usual visits to the centre of the capital, I didn't tend to find the time to look up and take in the just-out-of-my-peripheral-vision sights. The obviously listed buildings were beautiful and my mind wondered as to what they had housed before the Apple store and other retails giants came along.
By 22.30, I met my friend who had finally finished work and all that I had taken in was once again forgotten in a subconscious second, the hustle and bustle of the journey home taking priority in my mind.
However, my love of the capital didn't end there. On Friday, as I was walking back from a lunch date, I was stopped by a charity street-canvasser named Hannah. Hannah asked me to talk to her for just a second, but instead of my usual polite but firm declination, I stopped to have a word with the girl that seemed to have a light behind her eyes for the work she was doing. Her charity, www.everychild.org.uk, seemed to be legitimate and she sold the concept so very well.
Instead of asking me for money, Hannah's spiel about how the charity's overheads were the lowest of all UK charities due to the fact that they did not pay for huge mail outs or other costly gimmicks, really resonated with me. She did not badger me into giving, but we held impacting conversation about the effect of the organisation and they work they do. The discussion moved onto our passion for the welfare of children and our own personal endeavours.
Hannah's approach made me smile. She had changed my expectations of how a street-canvasser gained their commission. The fact that she gained no commission from her chat with me, or anyone else, probably had a a big impact on the creative way in which she dealt with me. The focus was the children, not the money and I could see that. The difference was huge!
I left Hannah, smiling. She had given me something else to write about and I remembered my earlier encounter with 'London' on Tuesday night.
I began to think about the many occasions on which I had made my way through London with blinkers on, hating everything about the stinking, dirty city. I thought about the fact that, actually, there is so much to love about London town, the UK's pride and joy. Hyde Park, The London Eye, London Aquarium, Oxford Street, Brent Cross, Vertigo 42, The Oxo Tower, The Ritz... All of these and more are what London is known and loved for.
In retrospect, I know it would be realistic of me to admit that I will probably revert back to slandering my city the next time I smell rotting garbage that has not yet been picked up by an ever-late council bin service, or that I will despise the life I am forced to live here with the next sighting of a rat crossing my path, but all in all, I have to admit that it's not that bad. It can't be: We are the city that won the 2012 Olympic bid - we must be doing something right....
Friday, 27 June 2008
Confessions of a Commuter...
WHY OH WHY OH WHY is this man's derriere in my face.... This morning I hope-upon-hope that this is the day when manners are second-nature to my fellow Bakerloo Line commuters...... Urgh! He just sneezed on my shoulder! Sigh, alas my hopes are dashed - manners must have caught an earlier train.
This train is packed. If I karate-kick the sneezer very hard, can make it out of Maida Vale Station before they figure out that the rude man has not just fallen asleep, but has actually been assaulted by a do-gooder? Hmmmmm, my right shoulder suddenly feels very heavy. Oh, it must be my conscience warding off the bad thoughts. Oh well, no worry. If I tried, I would only lose my seat and in rush hour, my seat is my life. If I was standing up, like her in the corner, being squashed in the side by a pregnant man and squashed in the back by a pensioner with obvious OCD, I think this may just be the morning that I do something 'silly'!
My conversation with my friend opposite is strained, as the suited and booted gentleman is anything but gentle with his huge bag swinging violently close to my head. I am sure everybody on this train is out to get me! What did I do to deserve this?!? I know it's because I look like I'm polite. My theory is that the more polite you are, the ruder people become.
*Sigh*
Ahhh, a Metro! Now how do I grab it without losing my seat! Using my eyes, I signal to my friend calling attention to the paper but just as I do, old smelly over there reaches over my friends head, armpits exposed nonetheless, and grabs the very thing that would have kept me sane for the next eights stops.
I see stars! Bag man has knocked me out during his rush to be first off the train at Paddington. The embarrassment will subside, but will my fear of travelling on the tube, after this!?! The knock wasn't so bad, I am more bothered about the fact that my hair got attached to the bag's cheap Velcro fastener and I too ended up at the door. I lean on the door as the train tries to pull away. The doors open once more. 'I know it's crowded back there but if you would kindly not lean on the door, we'll be on our way'. The train drivers announcement calls attention to me. I feel as if the whole carriage is glaring my way...
My friend is nowhere to be seen as the sea of people engulf me. My seat long gone, I stand at the door, bruised and tired. The doors close.... The pregnant man that now squashes me from behind, yawns loudly, I feel the breeze of it brush swiftly against my neck. I try to scream but by now the dizziness has taken hold and I just want to be sick. The little old man in front of me holds the pole with his hanky, taking intermittent puffs on his blue inhaler. Perhaps he too is wondering whether MRSA is airborne on this train, travelling in yawn form. This journey is taking forever..... Argh... Help!
*Screech* The train pulls to a halt: Oxford Circus, my stop. Just as well. I think, I've had enough of these rude people and this dirty journey. I am batted off the train by the throngs of travellers changing at or leaving the station. I'm never travelling during rush hour again!!!
Until tomorrow....
This train is packed. If I karate-kick the sneezer very hard, can make it out of Maida Vale Station before they figure out that the rude man has not just fallen asleep, but has actually been assaulted by a do-gooder? Hmmmmm, my right shoulder suddenly feels very heavy. Oh, it must be my conscience warding off the bad thoughts. Oh well, no worry. If I tried, I would only lose my seat and in rush hour, my seat is my life. If I was standing up, like her in the corner, being squashed in the side by a pregnant man and squashed in the back by a pensioner with obvious OCD, I think this may just be the morning that I do something 'silly'!
My conversation with my friend opposite is strained, as the suited and booted gentleman is anything but gentle with his huge bag swinging violently close to my head. I am sure everybody on this train is out to get me! What did I do to deserve this?!? I know it's because I look like I'm polite. My theory is that the more polite you are, the ruder people become.
*Sigh*
Ahhh, a Metro! Now how do I grab it without losing my seat! Using my eyes, I signal to my friend calling attention to the paper but just as I do, old smelly over there reaches over my friends head, armpits exposed nonetheless, and grabs the very thing that would have kept me sane for the next eights stops.
I see stars! Bag man has knocked me out during his rush to be first off the train at Paddington. The embarrassment will subside, but will my fear of travelling on the tube, after this!?! The knock wasn't so bad, I am more bothered about the fact that my hair got attached to the bag's cheap Velcro fastener and I too ended up at the door. I lean on the door as the train tries to pull away. The doors open once more. 'I know it's crowded back there but if you would kindly not lean on the door, we'll be on our way'. The train drivers announcement calls attention to me. I feel as if the whole carriage is glaring my way...
My friend is nowhere to be seen as the sea of people engulf me. My seat long gone, I stand at the door, bruised and tired. The doors close.... The pregnant man that now squashes me from behind, yawns loudly, I feel the breeze of it brush swiftly against my neck. I try to scream but by now the dizziness has taken hold and I just want to be sick. The little old man in front of me holds the pole with his hanky, taking intermittent puffs on his blue inhaler. Perhaps he too is wondering whether MRSA is airborne on this train, travelling in yawn form. This journey is taking forever..... Argh... Help!
*Screech* The train pulls to a halt: Oxford Circus, my stop. Just as well. I think, I've had enough of these rude people and this dirty journey. I am batted off the train by the throngs of travellers changing at or leaving the station. I'm never travelling during rush hour again!!!
Until tomorrow....
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Dedicated, with love, to all 30'somethings out there!
**NEWSFLASH**NEWSFLASH**NEWSFLASH**NEWSFLASH**
I turned 30 on 15 June 2008! (Cue the garish music, violins and doves)
Indeed, as you might expect, it was an altogether frightening, depressing and sinister experience for the six months leading up to the day. I had never been a worrier, but I had become decrepid in the space of weeks!
However, contrary to my expectations, on Sunday 15 June, there were no life-changing revelations.... The sky did not blacken and roar with thunder, my skin did not instantly wrinkle, my magnifying glass refused to expose the grey hairs I assumed would sprout from my ears at the stroke of midnight on the anniversary of my birth, and the ambulance that I pre-booked to take me to the 'old people's home', conveniently lost its way.... My family were the same, my friends were the same, I was the same.
It turns out that the amount of sleep I lost worrying about this new stage of life was wasted. Many had done it before me, and many would after me. Convincing myself of that was easier than I had imagined. The negative tantra of 'Sam, what do you have to show for your 30 years on this earth?' turned into 'Sam, what do you want to achieve in your next 30 years on earth?'. Negatives became positives, depression turned to joy.
I realised that I have so much to look forward to that wasting time worrying about my age, was not a sensible thing to do at my age! And let's face it, 30's not that bad after all - just ask any 40 year-old!
Happy 30s!
I turned 30 on 15 June 2008! (Cue the garish music, violins and doves)
Indeed, as you might expect, it was an altogether frightening, depressing and sinister experience for the six months leading up to the day. I had never been a worrier, but I had become decrepid in the space of weeks!
However, contrary to my expectations, on Sunday 15 June, there were no life-changing revelations.... The sky did not blacken and roar with thunder, my skin did not instantly wrinkle, my magnifying glass refused to expose the grey hairs I assumed would sprout from my ears at the stroke of midnight on the anniversary of my birth, and the ambulance that I pre-booked to take me to the 'old people's home', conveniently lost its way.... My family were the same, my friends were the same, I was the same.
It turns out that the amount of sleep I lost worrying about this new stage of life was wasted. Many had done it before me, and many would after me. Convincing myself of that was easier than I had imagined. The negative tantra of 'Sam, what do you have to show for your 30 years on this earth?' turned into 'Sam, what do you want to achieve in your next 30 years on earth?'. Negatives became positives, depression turned to joy.
I realised that I have so much to look forward to that wasting time worrying about my age, was not a sensible thing to do at my age! And let's face it, 30's not that bad after all - just ask any 40 year-old!
Happy 30s!
Thursday, 7 February 2008
I want to be engaged....
Today was my first day back at university since December. It was an early start, my first class due to begin at 9.00 (well, that's early for me!)... Still, I was raring to go and after finding out that I had passed semester A, was looking forward to a fully interactive and inspiring experience! What a let down....
Our lecturer started off by reading the rules for the semester ahead. There was to be no talking, no eating, no lateness, no phones, no blinking, moving or breathing. Fair enough, the last three are my own additons, but her list was extensive and it sure felt that way. We were urged to note that the doors to the lecture theatre would be locked 15 minutes after commencement, to disable late-comers from entering, and those in the class, from leaving. The mind boggled at the health and safety issues a threat of this nature would cause. Our lecturer took up a good portion of the time allotted, telling us what we could not do and it seemed she was letting us know that she would not tolerate a mature approach to studying, leaving no room for us to be the adults we are. At various intervals she would seek reassurance from us by stating 'I sound moany, don't I?', giving an unsure chuckle and telling us how awful her past classes were, only to be met with a stony silence that I fear only served to compound her paranoia.
Seemingly satisfied that we had sufficiently been read our rights, she began the lecture. My interest piqued again! The Television Audience promised to be an interesting module and one that would explore areas not yet researched by my peers and me....... However, this was not to be. The delivery was as engaging as watching paint dry and I began to feel that the module would be a struggle after all.
Still annoyed by being penalised for the faults of previous classes, I became distant and wondered at a woman that would blame her students for the lack of attention, imposing gestapo-like rules yet, would not take responsibility for the fact that she herself had made no effort to engage the class. The delivery was bland and did not seem to tell us anything more than was in the module reader and guide. Whose fault was it that her classes, in previous semesters, would leave part way through, or eat their sandwiches whilst listening to the lecture. It interested me that as university-age students, we were still being treating like pre-school children.
It's not that I do not understand the trials our tutors face, my point I guess, is that is I am paying £3000 a year for a service, I expect to get what I pay for and today, I didn't.
I guess that I cannot judge the whole module on one class and, I have to concede that as a mature student I probably took more offence to this form of teaching than I should have but, I really hope that this was just a glitch because heaven knows, I want to be engaged!
Our lecturer started off by reading the rules for the semester ahead. There was to be no talking, no eating, no lateness, no phones, no blinking, moving or breathing. Fair enough, the last three are my own additons, but her list was extensive and it sure felt that way. We were urged to note that the doors to the lecture theatre would be locked 15 minutes after commencement, to disable late-comers from entering, and those in the class, from leaving. The mind boggled at the health and safety issues a threat of this nature would cause. Our lecturer took up a good portion of the time allotted, telling us what we could not do and it seemed she was letting us know that she would not tolerate a mature approach to studying, leaving no room for us to be the adults we are. At various intervals she would seek reassurance from us by stating 'I sound moany, don't I?', giving an unsure chuckle and telling us how awful her past classes were, only to be met with a stony silence that I fear only served to compound her paranoia.
Seemingly satisfied that we had sufficiently been read our rights, she began the lecture. My interest piqued again! The Television Audience promised to be an interesting module and one that would explore areas not yet researched by my peers and me....... However, this was not to be. The delivery was as engaging as watching paint dry and I began to feel that the module would be a struggle after all.
Still annoyed by being penalised for the faults of previous classes, I became distant and wondered at a woman that would blame her students for the lack of attention, imposing gestapo-like rules yet, would not take responsibility for the fact that she herself had made no effort to engage the class. The delivery was bland and did not seem to tell us anything more than was in the module reader and guide. Whose fault was it that her classes, in previous semesters, would leave part way through, or eat their sandwiches whilst listening to the lecture. It interested me that as university-age students, we were still being treating like pre-school children.
It's not that I do not understand the trials our tutors face, my point I guess, is that is I am paying £3000 a year for a service, I expect to get what I pay for and today, I didn't.
I guess that I cannot judge the whole module on one class and, I have to concede that as a mature student I probably took more offence to this form of teaching than I should have but, I really hope that this was just a glitch because heaven knows, I want to be engaged!
Sunday, 25 November 2007
What would you give for success?
The vista of Central Park out of my 75th floor office window is beautiful. I should be working but I am reclining in my director’s chair, the seams of my expensive suit stretching to match the contours of my body. The office phone rings once... twice... I hear my PA, Lucy, pick up... 'Red Cherry Communications, Executive Office....' I wait, expecting her to announce a caller. But, there is no announcement - as per usual, Lucy has perfectly redirected the time-wasters.
My diary is as full as my bank account and I shake myself into action as I hear my fourth appointment of the day, introduce themselves to Lucy in the Executive reception.
I am content; excessively happy because the dream I had many, many years before has come true and all it cost me was.....
...........well nothing yet, because sadly, it's still just a dream.
I sit here writing about my imaginary success but for now, I am jolted back to reality as I get a text on my phone - it's T-mobile telling me that my bill is overdue.
I let my mind wonder: just what would I give to get that level of success? I know I would give up all my spare time for a year if success was guaranteed. I would live in the gutter for a month, if success was guaranteed. I know, I know, nothing in life is for sure, but what would I give to ensure that I do all I can to make my dream, my reality.
To be honest, I really don't know, but what I do know is that, right now, I will work as hard as is necessary to be the best I can be, then, if I achieve all I want to, great but if I don't, at least I will know that I gave it all I had.
After all, no regrets. I have many more dreams.
My diary is as full as my bank account and I shake myself into action as I hear my fourth appointment of the day, introduce themselves to Lucy in the Executive reception.
I am content; excessively happy because the dream I had many, many years before has come true and all it cost me was.....
...........well nothing yet, because sadly, it's still just a dream.
I sit here writing about my imaginary success but for now, I am jolted back to reality as I get a text on my phone - it's T-mobile telling me that my bill is overdue.
I let my mind wonder: just what would I give to get that level of success? I know I would give up all my spare time for a year if success was guaranteed. I would live in the gutter for a month, if success was guaranteed. I know, I know, nothing in life is for sure, but what would I give to ensure that I do all I can to make my dream, my reality.
To be honest, I really don't know, but what I do know is that, right now, I will work as hard as is necessary to be the best I can be, then, if I achieve all I want to, great but if I don't, at least I will know that I gave it all I had.
After all, no regrets. I have many more dreams.
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Just plain stubborn...
There's a reason that London Underground tell us to 'mind that gap between the train and the platform'.
For as long as I have been using the underground network in London, there have been intermittent announcements asking passengers to 'mind the gap between the train and the platform'. I know that as you read this, you can hear the well-spoken taunt of the woman who was paid far too much to tell us how to use our common sense.
But, it seems she was not paid enough: last week, as I was making my way from the Central Line to the Northern Line at Bank station, I noticed a young woman making a mad rush for the ready-to-close-and-beeping-like-mad train doors. It was quite obvious that she had missed the train but none-the-less, she thought she would try her luck.
Her piercing scream as she fell in the gap, was not only heard in 5 boroughs, but was a reminder to all those on the central line platform that there was a reason London Underground have the announcements in the first place. I was shocked and confused. My initial reaction was to rush to the woman's aid, but I noticed that most commuters carried on as if it hadn't happened. Were they so used to those kind of mistakes that they did not bat an eyelid regardless of the consequence? I looked toward the CCTV cameras expecting that any moment, there would be a rush of LU staff attending the scene. Nothing. Perhaps they were also used to the stupidity.
Don't worry, the woman was fine, nothing more than her pride was hurt. But, the situation posed a time-old question to me: why is it that we choose to ignore the subtle messages we are fed, until it's too late? While the woman was not hurt, it reminded me of the many lives that are taken on our roads every year by those that have been drinking heavily but still think that they are capable of controlling a ton of metal at a high speed.
There is no longer an excuse for our ignorance. The woman on the tube could have been seriously hurt or even killed. But what would her demise have achieved? With constant information about the hundreds killed on the roads and injured on the tubes each year, we should have all the incentive we need to be safety-aware.
There is always a chance that 'it might not happen to you'. I guess what makes the difference is whether we are willing to take responsibility for what could happen. After all, it's got to happen to someone; let it not be you.
For as long as I have been using the underground network in London, there have been intermittent announcements asking passengers to 'mind the gap between the train and the platform'. I know that as you read this, you can hear the well-spoken taunt of the woman who was paid far too much to tell us how to use our common sense.
But, it seems she was not paid enough: last week, as I was making my way from the Central Line to the Northern Line at Bank station, I noticed a young woman making a mad rush for the ready-to-close-and-beeping-like-mad train doors. It was quite obvious that she had missed the train but none-the-less, she thought she would try her luck.
Her piercing scream as she fell in the gap, was not only heard in 5 boroughs, but was a reminder to all those on the central line platform that there was a reason London Underground have the announcements in the first place. I was shocked and confused. My initial reaction was to rush to the woman's aid, but I noticed that most commuters carried on as if it hadn't happened. Were they so used to those kind of mistakes that they did not bat an eyelid regardless of the consequence? I looked toward the CCTV cameras expecting that any moment, there would be a rush of LU staff attending the scene. Nothing. Perhaps they were also used to the stupidity.
Don't worry, the woman was fine, nothing more than her pride was hurt. But, the situation posed a time-old question to me: why is it that we choose to ignore the subtle messages we are fed, until it's too late? While the woman was not hurt, it reminded me of the many lives that are taken on our roads every year by those that have been drinking heavily but still think that they are capable of controlling a ton of metal at a high speed.
There is no longer an excuse for our ignorance. The woman on the tube could have been seriously hurt or even killed. But what would her demise have achieved? With constant information about the hundreds killed on the roads and injured on the tubes each year, we should have all the incentive we need to be safety-aware.
There is always a chance that 'it might not happen to you'. I guess what makes the difference is whether we are willing to take responsibility for what could happen. After all, it's got to happen to someone; let it not be you.
Friday, 19 October 2007
What It Means To Be Black
The term ‘to be black’, means different things to different people. For some, it means remembering our history as slaves and acknowledging the progress we have made. For others it means that you have rhythm and can shake a leg. But for most, it simply means, the colour of your skin. When I was growing up I knew I was black. I was the only black child in my class, one of only six black children in my year and the only other black person in my school was a teacher, Mr Richards. On my road, there were black families but not so many, that we did not know each other and even then, the families were scattered far and wide. Still, being black had never been an issue for me and I progressed through school and life, without any issues relating to my colour.
As I got older, I realised that there was a whole world out there aimed at black people. There was black literature, black films, black hair shops and even all-black events. These were things that I was aware of, but with exception to the black hair shops, did not part-take in. I was happy being myself, not the black me, just me.
As naive as I wanted to remain, it was not to be and last week, my cousin phoned me asking my opinion of black people that hold all-black events. The question stopped me in my tracks right away. Should black people have black only events? We discussed this for many moments until I realised that I had the perfect article. We said goodbye and I started my research.
I have friends of many ages, races and cultures, so T-Mobile had their work cut out for them as I started calling. They threw all sorts of questions back at me ‘What is black?’; ‘In England or anywhere?’; ‘Do you mean events to which only black people are invited?’ I felt overwhelmed and answered as best I could, but reiterated my question, ‘Do you think that black people should have black-only events?’.
The first person I asked had a strong answer:
‘Yes, we need to understand ourselves. Black people need to meet role models like themselves and have people to look up to in order to see success and know that this is where we come from and what we can aspire to.’ Monika Gittens
Of course, the question of the Music Of Black Origin (MOBO) awards came up and as expected, many were confused as to the context or real purpose of the awards.
‘You could question what music of black origin is. Elvis’ music could be seen as music of black origin. I mean, doesn’t our perception of what black is, have to do with what the slave masters told us it is? Mixed race people are considered black if their hair is curly, but if they have dead straight hair and blue eyes, aren’t they considered more white?’ Paul Boldeau, Black Professional
I realised that the discussion of what black actually was, could blow the context of the article apart, so I stated that black, in this context, meant people of West-Indian or African descent.
My friends were as passionate as I was about the question I posed and before long I had a headache. However, that did not stop my quest for the right answer. Many recalled slavery and civil rights:
‘No, having black events for black people should not happen any more. How can people call themselves civil rights leaders if they only deal with black peoples civil rights? ‘ Jenard Dyer, young black student
Paul and Jenard made valid points, but I knew that I had to get a broad range of answers, so I spoke to others:
‘If black people have black events, it’s being as discriminatory as white people holding white-only events. Equality is not equality if they have the black only events.’ Aaron Sokell, white vocalist
I got to the stage where most people were against the black-only events and I was beginning to think this article may just be too easy. What about the Asians and the Chinese, don’t they have events for their own cultures? Was that wrong too? Were my friends just against black-only events because they assumed the black people we spoke of were English-speaking? Would it have made a difference if I had been asking about Hispanic events instead?
I continued to call. My phone bill was getting higher, but my call list was getting shorter and I was finally getting a range of responses, all different but all perfectly valid.
‘If they want them, black people should be able to have them. There are Asian only clubs in Leicester Square. I was walking down the road with my Chinese friend the other day and someone offered her a flyer but wouldn’t give me one because I am not Chinese. I wasn’t offended...’ Kayleigh Lewis, white student
‘Yes, they should have black only events. They should all be in the same place so that they can be monitored’ Bill, Asian Prison Officer
I wondered whether Kayleigh’s viewpoint would change with age and whether Bill’s opinion was bourn out of experience. How much did our experiences affect our answer to this question?
With all the answers I had acquired, I was no closer to coming up with a definitive answer. I had gotten the perspective of people of all races, colours and cultures.
It then dawned on me, maybe that was my problem. I was looking for an answer. Perhaps there was no answer. Wasn’t it all about perspectives?
I sat at my desk. I had stopped typing. As I read through all of the quotes people had given me, I asked myself, what did I think? I realised that before I started to get the opinions of others, I thought I had the answer. I was sure that there was no way that black-only events should be tolerated, and while my fundamental view had not changed, my eyes had been opened to the perspective of others. How could I possibly judge Bill or Monika for being pro all-black events, when I had not walked in their shoes?
I powered down my laptop. I would sleep on it. Maybe, I would change my mind tomorrow.
As I got older, I realised that there was a whole world out there aimed at black people. There was black literature, black films, black hair shops and even all-black events. These were things that I was aware of, but with exception to the black hair shops, did not part-take in. I was happy being myself, not the black me, just me.
As naive as I wanted to remain, it was not to be and last week, my cousin phoned me asking my opinion of black people that hold all-black events. The question stopped me in my tracks right away. Should black people have black only events? We discussed this for many moments until I realised that I had the perfect article. We said goodbye and I started my research.
I have friends of many ages, races and cultures, so T-Mobile had their work cut out for them as I started calling. They threw all sorts of questions back at me ‘What is black?’; ‘In England or anywhere?’; ‘Do you mean events to which only black people are invited?’ I felt overwhelmed and answered as best I could, but reiterated my question, ‘Do you think that black people should have black-only events?’.
The first person I asked had a strong answer:
‘Yes, we need to understand ourselves. Black people need to meet role models like themselves and have people to look up to in order to see success and know that this is where we come from and what we can aspire to.’ Monika Gittens
Of course, the question of the Music Of Black Origin (MOBO) awards came up and as expected, many were confused as to the context or real purpose of the awards.
‘You could question what music of black origin is. Elvis’ music could be seen as music of black origin. I mean, doesn’t our perception of what black is, have to do with what the slave masters told us it is? Mixed race people are considered black if their hair is curly, but if they have dead straight hair and blue eyes, aren’t they considered more white?’ Paul Boldeau, Black Professional
I realised that the discussion of what black actually was, could blow the context of the article apart, so I stated that black, in this context, meant people of West-Indian or African descent.
My friends were as passionate as I was about the question I posed and before long I had a headache. However, that did not stop my quest for the right answer. Many recalled slavery and civil rights:
‘No, having black events for black people should not happen any more. How can people call themselves civil rights leaders if they only deal with black peoples civil rights? ‘ Jenard Dyer, young black student
Paul and Jenard made valid points, but I knew that I had to get a broad range of answers, so I spoke to others:
‘If black people have black events, it’s being as discriminatory as white people holding white-only events. Equality is not equality if they have the black only events.’ Aaron Sokell, white vocalist
I got to the stage where most people were against the black-only events and I was beginning to think this article may just be too easy. What about the Asians and the Chinese, don’t they have events for their own cultures? Was that wrong too? Were my friends just against black-only events because they assumed the black people we spoke of were English-speaking? Would it have made a difference if I had been asking about Hispanic events instead?
I continued to call. My phone bill was getting higher, but my call list was getting shorter and I was finally getting a range of responses, all different but all perfectly valid.
‘If they want them, black people should be able to have them. There are Asian only clubs in Leicester Square. I was walking down the road with my Chinese friend the other day and someone offered her a flyer but wouldn’t give me one because I am not Chinese. I wasn’t offended...’ Kayleigh Lewis, white student
‘Yes, they should have black only events. They should all be in the same place so that they can be monitored’ Bill, Asian Prison Officer
I wondered whether Kayleigh’s viewpoint would change with age and whether Bill’s opinion was bourn out of experience. How much did our experiences affect our answer to this question?
With all the answers I had acquired, I was no closer to coming up with a definitive answer. I had gotten the perspective of people of all races, colours and cultures.
It then dawned on me, maybe that was my problem. I was looking for an answer. Perhaps there was no answer. Wasn’t it all about perspectives?
I sat at my desk. I had stopped typing. As I read through all of the quotes people had given me, I asked myself, what did I think? I realised that before I started to get the opinions of others, I thought I had the answer. I was sure that there was no way that black-only events should be tolerated, and while my fundamental view had not changed, my eyes had been opened to the perspective of others. How could I possibly judge Bill or Monika for being pro all-black events, when I had not walked in their shoes?
I powered down my laptop. I would sleep on it. Maybe, I would change my mind tomorrow.
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
Laziness Can Kill
Today, i had the option to take an opportunity or let it pass.
The lazy part of me wanted to 'leave it until next time, there will always be a next time and if not then what the heck...' the more sensible part said 'you may as well, how much do you really want this' - so, I took it and I am so glad that I did. We are shown our true potential and if we are honest, we already know what it is!
We choose what opportunitues to open ourselves up to. The laziness in us can sometimes overrule the hard working, ambitious people that we are, but we have to have an inner fight to come out on top. Our nature is to fall short and to take the easy route but for true satisfaction and quaility of life, realise the potential you have!
Samantha Wiggins x
The lazy part of me wanted to 'leave it until next time, there will always be a next time and if not then what the heck...' the more sensible part said 'you may as well, how much do you really want this' - so, I took it and I am so glad that I did. We are shown our true potential and if we are honest, we already know what it is!
We choose what opportunitues to open ourselves up to. The laziness in us can sometimes overrule the hard working, ambitious people that we are, but we have to have an inner fight to come out on top. Our nature is to fall short and to take the easy route but for true satisfaction and quaility of life, realise the potential you have!
Samantha Wiggins x
My Parallel Universe
Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if 20 years ago things had taken 'the other' turn?
This is what I have been contemplating these last few weeks. What if... But what if.... Then what if... The conclusion I have come to is this: I am here now and actually 'this is what I have achieved, this is where I wanna be, this is where I am going and in order to get there, I need to do I need to be here...'
I, by no means, came to this conclusion by my self, God helped me a little - ok, ok, it was all Him! He keeps on putting me in testing situations and I am finally starting to appreciate the value of them. It doesn't mean that they are easy or even that I like them, all it means is that I am able to recognise the difference and can appreciate the change in me once I have OVERCOME the trial. Yep, you heard me, overcome!
After all I have been through (and am still going through), I am still here! I'm here! I am going to achieve all that I can (quote me on this) and nothing but death can keep me from it! (ok ok, I know this is not the Colour Purple but the words ring true all the same).
Watch this space cos God has cleared my mind and there is much for me to do!
Much love x
This is what I have been contemplating these last few weeks. What if... But what if.... Then what if... The conclusion I have come to is this: I am here now and actually 'this is what I have achieved, this is where I wanna be, this is where I am going and in order to get there, I need to do I need to be here...'
I, by no means, came to this conclusion by my self, God helped me a little - ok, ok, it was all Him! He keeps on putting me in testing situations and I am finally starting to appreciate the value of them. It doesn't mean that they are easy or even that I like them, all it means is that I am able to recognise the difference and can appreciate the change in me once I have OVERCOME the trial. Yep, you heard me, overcome!
After all I have been through (and am still going through), I am still here! I'm here! I am going to achieve all that I can (quote me on this) and nothing but death can keep me from it! (ok ok, I know this is not the Colour Purple but the words ring true all the same).
Watch this space cos God has cleared my mind and there is much for me to do!
Much love x
Monday, 1 October 2007
Help me to blog...
Hi-de-ho neighbour…
As you know, I have begun a blog site (www.perceivethat.blogspot.com), but that means nothing if I don’t have content…
Do you have any ideas/topics that you might like a view on?
Mail me via the comments box below, with your proposals.
Look forward to hearing from you.
Sammi x
As you know, I have begun a blog site (www.perceivethat.blogspot.com), but that means nothing if I don’t have content…
Do you have any ideas/topics that you might like a view on?
Mail me via the comments box below, with your proposals.
Look forward to hearing from you.
Sammi x
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
With this ring I thee wed... (as long as you banish your exes!)
A few weeks ago, I overheard a young and obviously newly-wed couple talking about facebook. The husband, Alan, was gently but firmly assuring his wife that he had not 'added' his ex to his page and therefore should not be held accountable for anything she posted on his page. His wife, Emma, dutifully replied that not only was it his responsibility to veto each post made on his wall, but that he should also remove his ex from his 'friends', as this would prove his love and devotion to her.
I laughed as I imagined just what kind of couple they would become in 20, 40 or even 60 years. But my laugh became a smile and my smile, a grimace as I realised that there was a real issue at hand - who was in fact, right and would they ever come to a conclusion?!? Was it right for Emma to expect that, with her wedding ring, she would also have the right to exclude parts of her husband's past as she wished? Or, was he right in thinking that as long as he was not the instigator of the renewed 'friendship', it was fine to have old exes 'find' him, at the cost of his new wife's sanity?
I needed answers, so at my monthly 'girl’s night out', I asked a few of my girlfriends the question and not surprisingly, they stated that they 'would be extremely uncomfortable with their partners being in touch with their exes', an answer I expected. I followed up with the question I knew they all dreaded, 'Did that mean that they did not trust their partners?'. The answers were as varied as the ocean is deep, but with a common theme of exasperation at my brazenness. 'How could I dare link the two?', 'It's not that they did not trust HIM, they did not trust HER'. I ran like the wind to get out of there... Proverbial bullet-proof vest or not, they were acting like women scorned and they had not even met Alan!
After that, I was no closer to finding the solution that would put my mind at rest. But instead of risking life and limb again, I decided to look closer to home - I asked myself 'What would I do in that position?' I weighed up whether my marriage was more likely to break-down because of my lack of trust or, because of an ex that was probably less of a threat to me, than I was to the staff in Next, during the mid-season sale! My mind ran back over the employee that nearly lost a finger during a 5am stampede and my question was answered. Not only did these women not trust their men enough, but they could not even admit their own insecurities.
Secure in my thinking that I had the answer all women needed, I wished that I could find Emma and tell her to let it go, but in a lucid moment, I knew that she and Alan would be long gone. I decided it was just as well as I am sure that the advice of a random, looney stranger that had been eavesdropping on a lovers tiff, was the last thing they would have welcomed.
I took a deep breath and moved on to what was to be the bain of my life for the next few days - could I really expect 100% of the compensation as promised on the Claims Direct advert? My mission was set. I fired up the laptop 'Dear Claims Direct....'.
[End]
I laughed as I imagined just what kind of couple they would become in 20, 40 or even 60 years. But my laugh became a smile and my smile, a grimace as I realised that there was a real issue at hand - who was in fact, right and would they ever come to a conclusion?!? Was it right for Emma to expect that, with her wedding ring, she would also have the right to exclude parts of her husband's past as she wished? Or, was he right in thinking that as long as he was not the instigator of the renewed 'friendship', it was fine to have old exes 'find' him, at the cost of his new wife's sanity?
I needed answers, so at my monthly 'girl’s night out', I asked a few of my girlfriends the question and not surprisingly, they stated that they 'would be extremely uncomfortable with their partners being in touch with their exes', an answer I expected. I followed up with the question I knew they all dreaded, 'Did that mean that they did not trust their partners?'. The answers were as varied as the ocean is deep, but with a common theme of exasperation at my brazenness. 'How could I dare link the two?', 'It's not that they did not trust HIM, they did not trust HER'. I ran like the wind to get out of there... Proverbial bullet-proof vest or not, they were acting like women scorned and they had not even met Alan!
After that, I was no closer to finding the solution that would put my mind at rest. But instead of risking life and limb again, I decided to look closer to home - I asked myself 'What would I do in that position?' I weighed up whether my marriage was more likely to break-down because of my lack of trust or, because of an ex that was probably less of a threat to me, than I was to the staff in Next, during the mid-season sale! My mind ran back over the employee that nearly lost a finger during a 5am stampede and my question was answered. Not only did these women not trust their men enough, but they could not even admit their own insecurities.
Secure in my thinking that I had the answer all women needed, I wished that I could find Emma and tell her to let it go, but in a lucid moment, I knew that she and Alan would be long gone. I decided it was just as well as I am sure that the advice of a random, looney stranger that had been eavesdropping on a lovers tiff, was the last thing they would have welcomed.
I took a deep breath and moved on to what was to be the bain of my life for the next few days - could I really expect 100% of the compensation as promised on the Claims Direct advert? My mission was set. I fired up the laptop 'Dear Claims Direct....'.
[End]
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