kelly uncut

This is a lot right here. 

Not easy, not light, trigger warning, I'm going to swear, this is messy and it doesn't always make sense. And please let me know in comments, emails or private messages somehow if there is something here that does not sit well with you, if I've misstepped/overstepped/wrongly defined or defended something, used incorrect/bad language. This comes not from prejudice but from ignorance. I'm in a forever state of learning. I ain't perfect. And I'm angry, so that's always risky business. 

Okay.

There's a lot that's been happening that is super connected for me lately. The sexual assaults on UBC Vancouver campus, following issues over rape-y/racist chants, conversations on rape culture, my intense battle with the abyss the other week, comments by professors in class, feminism and the necessity of it, finding fellow readers, running into institutionalized shit, trying not to be mad all the time, being mad all the time, trying to keep the conversation productive, never knowing how. 

So there have been a slew of reported sexual assaults that have happened in the last month at UBC, and by a slew I mean 3 (or 4, depending on what you want to count as reported legitimately), and by reported sexual assaults, I mean these have occurred in a frightening kind of pattern not typical of most sexual assaults but typical of some of the myths of sexual assault, i.e. stranger, walking alone at night, dark/unlit area somewhere. Which has of course produced an outcry/response from the UBC community. The RCMP are saying 'don't walk home alone at night, we will ramp up security, etc and catch this guy', UBC admin are talking different safety measures, Safewalk is increasing their hours, etc. If you're at/in/near/involved with UBC, you probably have heard/know this. 
   And I'm angry. Angry because it happened. Because it is happening. Because although it was not explicitly "She drank X amount" "she was wearing X clothes""SHE WAS WALKING ALONE AT NIGHT", these are often reported as near-justifications, or at least reasons to feel less shocked/concerned about assault/sexual violence. But that's...fucked. 
These are nothing but bullsheeeeeet and all the more reason to rise. 

But I'm also angry because this is a piece of a much larger, much nastier, much more difficult to pin down or pick up kind of pie. And apologies for calling this a pie, because pie is tasty and delicious and this is fucking not. 
    Yes, it is a good action to increase security and surveillance. And yes, it is fine to advise people don't walk alone at night when there are such security threats. And yes, it is highly recommended to take personal precautions as you see fit. Do you hear me? I am negating none of this. 
But.
But safety precautions are not dismantling a society where "80% of assailants are friends and family of the victim". 
"Of every 100 incidents of sexual assault, only 6 are reported to the police." 
"1-2% of 'date rape' sexual assaults are reported to the police." 
"1 in 4 North American women will be sexually assaulted during their lifetime." 
(http://sexassault.ca/statistics.htm) 

THIS SHIT HAS NOT STOPPED. 
IT DOES NOT STOP. 
IT NEVER FUCKING STOPS. 

The abuse goes on everywhere, in every possible fashion, to literally ANYONE. 

AND just so you know: the only person to blame, the only one whose fault it is, in any instance of sexual assault/abuse/rape, is the PERPETRATOR. THE ONE WHO COMMITTED THE ABUSE/ASSAULT/RAPE. 

that's fucking it. (unless you wanna get meta about it and also blame the patriarchal structures and systems of discrimination/inequality/privilege that perpetuate ridiculous standards of masculinity, normalize sexual violence, and send out impossibly fucked messages on consent, etc)

not the person who was assaulted/abused/raped. 

ever. 

do you hear me? 

if you have survived something like this, it's not your fault.

it's not your fault. it's not your fault. it's not your fault. 

and there is help (start here: http://www.gotconsent.ca) 

And you would totally think that the perpetrator being the criminal was an obvious thing.

But it's not. 

And that is why you may have heard 'rape culture' tossed in conversation. Because that's what this is, in addition to rape culture being so many other things (TW), and all of it makes me mad. 

And there have been comments and conversations that have shown up the last few days (doubtless that have been going on for a long time, but still), and they looked like this, especially the part where men say "but mostly we're good guys and xyz this should be about equality and don't blame an entire gender for the actions of a few". 

Granted, generalizations are shitty and not productive and shouldn't be pasted over everyone. 

However, 

HOWEVER

There is a lot to be said for the different ways in which privilege and patriarchy work together. And sometimes we all have to take a hit on these privileges and realize our position. As in, like, shut up and sit down and LISTEN to what is being said (make sure to shut up before you sit down because sometimes people take a long ass time trying to find their seat). Remove the ego and try not to feel personally attacked about it. Also known as "checking your privilege", it does no one any good when all one hears are accusations and not the issues being raised with much deeper and more systemic issues that AFFECT US ALL. 

Patriarchy isn't this thing created so men get off totally free and don't have anything to worry about and lalala their lives are perfect and women get shit on. Nah (well, women/members elsewhere on the gender spectrum do get shit on, but it's not because men aren't affected). This honestly affects everyone, from standards of beauty to rigid gender binaries and gender roles to really shitty ideals of masculinity and femininity (this is what feminism is about, for me, but more on this later),etc. But at the same time, there are different degrees to which everyone is affected. Arguably (cisgendered) men inherit certain privileges from this system that they don't often realize, because hey, that's how systemic things work. 

So when privileges are called out or challenged, it hurts. And it is shocking. And it is uncomfortable. And one is all like "well what the fuck am I supposed to do about this?" This being the awareness of privileges, and there are many, and some have evident names, and some not so much. This being the realization that there are things at play that are above and beyond what you thought you could control. 
    This being the ugly little fact of life that inequalities exist. 

Our society(ies) is built on them. 

Our lives are not this comfortable and cushy and filled with cheap garments and snazzy devices and fast cars because this world is just. 

Because this world is fair or equal. 

And it's like that moment when you realize that....when you look at what is built around you, what you have, what level of comfort and wealth you live in, and you go-- fuck. Someone had to pay for all this, and does pay every day. And you know it's not you. And yet, what do you do about it? What *can* you do about it?  

I don't know. 

I'm dealing with that every day of my life, how to do something about this. Educating oneself is a pretty logical step (love this blog, it's got so much on it.)

Which is maybe why I'm drawn to study political science, to study gender, race, sexuality and social justice. Although I admit a severe lack in indigenous politics/policies/issues, which, as a Canadian, are crucial. I'm working on this. 

Because something needs to change, and I want in on that change. Even if my place is just to support. Or listen. Or whatever. 

If privilege still isn't making sense, this article/blog/post is really helpful in moving towards understanding: http://www.amptoons.com/blog/files/mcintosh.html  It's on white privilege (specially in the US), but has takeaways for all of us and draws interesting parallels to male privilege. And if you're white, all the more so. 

Right. 

Yeah. 

So there's all that that's going on just now and it's something that's like constantly on in my head. I can't turn the feminist off. 

And then there have been a few truly WTF moments in class here this/last that just...no. 

1) In my class on current issues in the international community, while we are discussing different theories on global political economy, the discussion of gender/feminism arises. To my delight and surprise, there are a few voices talking total sense in terms of what feminism is/does/aims for, the not-enough-ness of current practices/solutions (read: just put more gender analysis into reports, just put more women in power and boom, that means equality, right?). And I'm like, heck yes, I like this, and so I'm all passionate and the few other voices are all passionate and it's like, awwwh yeah, amidst all the neoliberal bull crappy crap-ness of economic what what yadda yadda. So the professor goes, "before in my classes if there were a lot of girls I would always make sure to mention feminism, but no one seemed to be very eager about it. I'm glad we can have this discussion now"

BECAUSE ONLY GIRLS CAN BE FEMINISTS. THANKS FOR "MAKING SURE" TO MENTION IT. 

2) Professor in class on social capital, in discussion on trust, gives us a scenario. "If you're a girl and you're walking home on campus at night, [at which point I'm like, wow, this is actually relevant to life situations] and your campus is near Harlem, let's say, and there's a young black man following you, would you run?" 

WHAT THE FUCK. 

no seriously. I was so stunned. I could not speak. (I should have spoken.) I looked around me. No one seemed rattled. I looked around me. Everyone was white. I looked around me. 

3) Discussing the movie "Darwin's Nightmare" in class on social movements and global inequalities. Trying to figure out/dissect/move through the ugliness presented in the film, how global inequalities are reproduced, etc. Girl says, "I think it's just like this. In Europe, our governments care about our people, but in Africa, African governments just don't care about their people." 

NO BUT REALLY? WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

4) In class on gender and violence, when asked if we need feminism, the response is generally "no, not any more". Prof: "so then do you think we're all equal?" Most: "well, it's not really necessary, it's just one of many different issues now, look at how equal everyone is now, women can vote, it's not necessary here in the West but 'maybe in other countries that have worse records for women's rights' etcetc" Me: "It's not the same feminism as when it first began, of course not, but still necessary, here as everywhere. Look at the victim blaming in sexual assault reports. Look at the perception of women (and men) in the media. Look at the number of women in power there are not. No but look at how sexism functions every day." Another student (female):  oh yeah, *gives example of how sexism still functions re: everyone's mentality/attitude.* Another student (female): *gives example of how sexism still functions re: everyone's mentality/attitude.*Another student (male): *gives example of how sexism still functions re: everyone's mentality/attitude.*Another student (female): *gives example of how sexism still functions re: everyone's mentality/attitude.*Another student (female): *gives example of how sexism still functions re: everyone's mentality/attitude.*

WE'RE ALL EQUAL SO IT'S ACTUALLY OKAY THOUGH LOL 

(if you're not sure why this things are problematic, please message me) 

X_____x

And then today, after attending a videoconference on social work in Belgium vs Slovenia, I met a most wonderful Slovenian student and we started chatting and then got a coffee and then got dinner and four hours later I walked away from the most satisfying and reassuring conversation yet this week. Because after all that shit, all of it, I was feeling quite like I needed to decompress. Like IS THERE ANYONE ELSE OUT THERE WHO GETS WHY I'M SO MAD/WHY THAT WAS SO RACIST/SEXIST/CLASSIST/etcetcetc? And facebook likes on an angry status of mine can only go so far (though like...thank you for expressing virtual getting-it-ness), I needed some kind of face to face Kelly, listen, I hear ya. 

    And she was speaking my truths, you know? Like, on all of it, the racist stuff and the sexist stuff and the feminist stuff. On gender and privilege and position and pretentious-ness-ness, politics and how to change and if to change and where to start and why to start, on charities and problematics there, the "mainstream alternative", on apathy and decision makers and generations and reality, on travel and Friday nights and language. 

It's just...gosh, after all this, all these feels and frustrations, it's just so affirming to have someone totally get where you are, and know how you feel, and know where this comes from, and speak the same language. It reminds me of the immense value in human connection still to be found in real live conversation. 

    Because I have people in my life (thank the universe) where we are lucky enough to be reading the same book, somewhere close to the same page (HOLLA AT YOU, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!!!!) , but...you're in Canada. And I'm here. 

So it's just really good, I think is what it is, to have discovered that this book we're reading isn't some exclusive check-out from the library. That it's available in all languages and to everyone, really, if you take a chance and look it up. 

And I kinda maybe found that here. 

    

Yoh.

And then there are ridiculous moments where I get letters from loves back home and it's beautiful and I want to cry and I get to stretch out luxuriously across my bed (safe, clean, spacious, gratefulgratefulgrateful) and the trees have dropped all their leaves in heady falling colours and that very specific smell of damp leaves on the autumn ground that makes me a child again and jumping in leaf piles and Halloween cookies and candy corn (it's kinda gross, I kinda like it, but not really, but sort of), and blasting music loud and cooking things (MADE TWO RECIPES FROM MY COOKBOOK BOO YA) and my landlord is still reliably great and kind, so there's all this stuff, in all these layers, and at no single point am I so consumed that the little joys in life disappear. That's not how life works, not for me at least.

And I'm not sorry about this all, and I'm not about to apologize because I was (am still) angry. 

But I don't think anger is devastating, and I don't think it needs to, or should, be destructive. Although I get the reason why it can be, and why radicals do what they do (mostly). So I want to channel this rage (vagina mother*ckers) into something, and maybe it shall fuel everything I do, and maybe one day I'll recognize this anger is not anger, really, but passion, a passion made of rage and realizing that it's lottery that I'm here and that's not okay that this defines so much. 

Because like I've written on before, there is so much not right, so much to fight, so much to dig through and change and shift and move, on so many layers, it's nearly impossible. 

But I will not be overwhelmed, and I will not be undone. I will not be beat by that. Stare back all you want, abyss, but I will not be conquered.  

I am lit, I am fire, I am life, alive

I will breathe, and I will

keep going

-k

park benches

He leaned over his empty seat and told me "ten minutes". 

It was 11pm, we were crossing the border into Croatia, and I had no idea what was going on. 

Understandably so, because everyone on the bus was either Italian or Bulgarian, and the bus driver spoke about one lick of English. 

The man who told me ten minutes...to be honest, I was in love with him by the time he said that. Mostly on account of earlier he said something to shut up the chatty ladies who were outraged I had sat down in my seat when I boarded in Ljubljana. I appreciated him very much for that. And then he told me ten minutes for our break before entering Croatia, and then we chatted when we boarded again. By chatted I mean he spoke about three licks of English, so I kept my answers to a smile and a yes, or no, and then tried my best to explain simply why Ljubljana. 

Not like that's an easy task. 

And then when the obnoxious fat man started saying going on and on and the old lady in front of me tried to respond and he totally shut her down, my ten minute man approached her after and apologized, or something like it. In a not-creepy, not-condescending way. Two thumbs up, and thus me being in love. It's the little things, I tell ya. 

I said, hello, 3am moon, 3am stars, 3am Serbia. 

By morning we were almost at the Serbian-Bulgarian border.

This is what Serbia looks like to me, almost too tired to keep my eyes open even in the bright morning sunshine. And cats, three mangy cats twining around bus wheels and passenger feet at our stop in Serbia. And these falling apart tin sheds, just absolutely crumbling, beside red brick houses, red rust dust shingle roofs like everywhere here. Clothes hanging on dipping lines, dogs chasing cars. The occasional man in a thick coat on a bicycle, old woman tottering down a dirt driveway. 

I shook out my arms and legs and the sky was blue, the breeze cutting in a sort beyond refreshing, I said, this is Serbia, pieces and bits. 

As we crossed into the Republic of Bulgaria, the passport lady looked at me strangely. "Alone?...You have very much courage." She asked me where I was staying and I said I had a hotel...which was vaguely the truth insofar as I had written down several addresses of several hostels I would inquire about upon arrival. 

Ten minute man joked as we waited for the bus to roll through, "nice day, but cold. Cold like Canada!" 

I think somewhere along the line of european education, Canada became synonymous with freezing weather "minus thirty minus forty all days!"... uhhh...yeah. Sure. 

Bulgaria was...is...hm. I think what's throwing me is their alphabet, actually. I don't know what it is, kind of Greek looking, sort of Russian maybe?, kind of h's and backwards n's..but there's no way I could read it let alone pronounce things.  

In the countryside, they have these brick houses, some of them still under construction. And I kid you not, they look almost exactly like the half-finished brick houses we would pass on rare occasion in Nepal. 

Moving closer to the city, these apartment-type buildings would be there. Looking old, like if you rewound time to the 1980s, it would be exactly this. Towels and sheets hung over solid white-washed balconies. Everyone bundled up so as to negate the sunshine. You feel cold before even getting off the bus. 

When we pulled in to the main bus station, my ten minute man shook my hand and said good luck. 

Thank you so much. Truly. You're the reason I still believe in people. 

I found a tourism stop that changed my money and gave me a city map. 

Literally I think my game plan for life is to change currency and get a city map. The lady was kind, of course, but hesitating with English. Not like obviously, but in a way that Slovenes don't. I understand so much less here than in Slovenia, and even less than when I was in Nepal (again, totally different alphabet, everything nowhere near close to anything familiar). Not because things are less familiar here (I mean, McDonald's, coca cola ads, all that, trams and buses and cafes and things I know), but because I'm in a very different headspace. Here's a bit of ignorance revealed: I guess I just had no idea that things got so different so fast. 

Hm. No, let me elaborate on that, because it's not that everything is totally foreign (Nepal). It's that I just didn't expect it (because going to Nepal I knew, new continent, new country, new religion, culture, keep your eyes totally wide because none of this has happened before). Granted, none of this has happened before either. It's a feeling thing, I think. Because the feel in Ljubljana is this cozy, small, clean-street kindness. People will switch to English in a second. You can't read the signs but you can recognize the letters. 

    The feel here is different. Harder, in a way. And I think this is just as easily a fabrication of not enough sleep on a bus ride and no real food till now (I asked the lady at this Moroccan restaurant for a litre of water and she looked at me like "a whole litre?"), so disregard if this goes against your sensibilities or experiences in Sofia. 

Oh, shoot but that makes it sound like I'm not enjoying it. No no no! This is AMAZING. I walk down these streets like, holy shit, look where I am, and I shamelessly snap pictures of stuff like this

and this 

and take some prime selfies

not dead but looking pretty travelled/haggard...wearing some harem pants to compliment the look ;) 

It's so cool. 

fall colours are here in force

and people sell corn kernels, sweet and yellow, in carts on park corners, and boys skateboard and flip and turn over the park benches and between the turning trees, and old ladies walk slow in spots of sunshine

but you must watch your step because the curb doesn't always cut and nobody asked the broken bricks to appear over the cobblestone but they do. 

The buildings are old old, grey streaks by windows telling tales, and some streets are new and wide and no cars, and the traffic is hectic moving around and around old churches, magnificent parliament buildings

But you must watch your step.

Do you get what I'm saying? Am I making any sense? I wouldn't be surprised if I'm not. 

In which case I think I will leave this here for you, keep going, and get back to you. 

light like this. 

-k

Oh oh oh.

Oh.

I finished my meal with a coffe with milk and some Moroccan cookies. And as I sat and sipped, I suddenly realized how happy I was. Like the complete thought of "I honestly love this so much" crossed the entirety of my being. Alone, sipping something, music from another place, streets of another place.

Alone. 

Just Kelly. 

And I am sitting here 

and these two men just finished playing guitar. 

And I am in serious danger of crying alone on a park bench. 

Because I said to myself "follow the moon", big as it is in this dark dusk sky, so I did, down a shiny street of jewellery sellers and boutique coffee shops, and there was this fountain. And these green lights under the trees, and the trees against the now dark sky, and lover sitting on benches, and people walking by me. 

And the music. 

And I. 

I am alone. 

I am somewhere I never could have imagined 24 hours ago leaving lectures. 

I am, I don't know how to say this, I don't know how to describe it, but maybe this

I am alone

and this is freedom,

is wanting nothing more than to watch the fountain fall, nothing more than this, cold fingertips and a heart beating warm on my body 

this is sitting in an absence of ego, because there is now this quiet in my head, in my heart, and whoever walks by me can just continue doing so, and I want nothing more than just that, no desire to be noticed, to be talked to, about: just me. 

please

in learning how to let go of that

I have found this. 

complete and entire, myself in my shoes, my journey, 

alone. 

How to be alone. 

Lessons that could not sink more truthfully into the weight of me right now. 

I am free, I think this is my freedom, to have only this and be perfectly where I need to be, of no longer waiting or expecting or wanting: just here. 

Oh. 

And tomorrow Catarina will get here and we will explore together but for now, for now, for now this is everything. 

I feel it in streetlamps and footsteps, shadows along the night, this exactly .  .  .

staring into the abyss

I'm thinking

How did they do it? 

How did every actor of civil disobedience, every day-hero and night-heroine who stood up and spoke out and was silenced and stood again and spoke again, every freedom fighter and writer and banned-book-distributor and school teacher and parent and activist, how did they do that? Day and day after night and night of this system they knew was not right, to fight. To be spit kicked whipped burned mocked raped shot mutilated torn stopped broken up dismissed, again and again and again, only to return to the march, to the papers, to the protest, until something changed. 

All of them, all over the world, in every victory, in every battle, every jostle for justice. 

Just...how, how did that courage, resilience, brilliance, whatever you can and do and should and will call it, stay, how did those human, human people do it? 

Because I was sitting there in my "current issues in the international community", heated as fuck over feminism in global political economy, post colonial theories, debates, attitudes, and listening to these soothing solutions...open the markets, regulate the markets, increase intervention, just educate more women, just be more transparent, etcetcetc. It looked so easy. So simple. So clean, like the inside of this liberal institution of university, clean with chalkboards waiting and orderly desks and the occasional poster for moderate rallies, devoid of that heat. That grit. That motherfucking mess that's been made in and around this world. 

And it sounded so much more universal and cleaner than it is, to do 1 2 and 3. Even when theory tried to get messy. It still boiled down simply. Ingredients. 

The mess. Where is it? Why does no one seem to feel it, to hear it, pressing in on political systems and economic structures and financial "crises", a lingering and dangerous oppression? Why do these theories and rhetoric not have a pebble in their shoe every time they try and advocate for xyz market blah-blah...feel it in the shadows at night, some kind of haunting taste of legacy and injustice and the shittiness that continues and continues and continues because it's 'the system'? Because it's the only way we've known things and only way to know them. This 'system'. 

So I'm wondering how 

How did the people who fought and fought, how did they do it? 

How do the people who fight and fight and see no change--how do they keep on? 

Because it is such a difficult thing. There are always stones in my theoretical shoes, highly flammable ones, cuidado, and I want to believe it, I do, the 'it won't always be this way' bit. Because look how smooth and clean the solutions seem, "just do more fair trade". Listen to that.

Mm. MM. So sweet. Like cotton candy or iced tea. 

    Except even then. Even then, the things that don't seem to grate, don't seem inflamed with capitalist desire/ego/'human nature as self-interested-greedy', even then. Is it really reaching into the scarred heart and scooping out the ashes? Or else just adding a slightly more aesthetic scar to it all?

Fuck. 

It's devastating. 

To see something that should be enough of 'okay' but not be able to stand up completely. Because of a stone, in my shoe, in many, on the road, down the stairs, a stone called justice. 

And wanting it. So badly. So, so badly to be out, to be here, to be present. to be EVERYWHERE. To not feel constantly this nagging reminder that it is not a just world. That it won't be, can never be, until we can all walk free and softly over a healing earth. 

To take all the stones and build a circle, build a home, build a world that needs no invisible hands or axioms or Truths. 

And so and so and so

No. 

I can't. And I don't know how to balance the realities of "oh but this has to be the better way" and look what has been accomplished this way with my stupid kind of ideals that won't let me quit just because it 'looks' better. I am a little bit stuck in a spot of cynicism, wondering if enough can be done to change the system. 

I want it to be better, to be some kind of just for the past and for the present and for the future, some kind of something fucking else than how it goes. 

I will work every second of my life for that world. And I know it will not be, and everything will fall into the "good enough" of theory. fuck. 

and-but this will be okay. 

Because it will look at me with human faces and human hands that will tell me Kelly, look how far we've come. Look how we are doing. We are okay, we are getting there. We will make this system work for us. We will not let what was perpetuate into what will be. 

And I won't have anything left to say because there is only so much patience and so many breaths in a lifetime to see change happen. 

And maybe the only way to get through is to believe in the one, the one amongst the many, that changing one life or one policy or one treaty will be at least one step more than before. 

Because I am overwhelmed to think of the alternative, that it will never be. 

so i guess what they did, all they could do, was keep going. 

-k

I miss

Nepal.

in stunning amounts right now.

so much so that I have sat and stared at a picture for five minutes while songza takes me through some mellow playlist (if you haven't caught the general vibe, since getting the songza app I've just filled my apartment with music at all times, and it's amazing. this isn't a plug, just a testament to awesome).

it was this picture, for the record.

the balance of it and the colours of it and the exact moment of it. I couldn't look away because I couldn't leave it, couldn't somehow pull myself back through time zones and time spent and going and leaving and everything in between, couldn't bring myself here now.

Because I am running into all my personal politics getting into a true kerfuffle over readings I have to do and having to set that aside for a moment to do them anyway, and I am running into that wall you hit when you know that something learned unwillingly is gladly forgotten and I am staring at myself staring into the distance.

How hot the stones were underneath our bare feet. The sound you made walking around and through the temple, the colours that seemed unreal, the flowers floating in the fountains. How Dinesh rode with me in our rickshaw and his patience and kindness with all of us, the threatening grey of the sky and how comfortable it was still. Hot, humid, pressing heat, the kind that crackles at night with lightning, the kind that rolls in one marching band line down your back, remembering, remembering.

I want to say 'take me back' but there is only one person who needs to hear that...and that person is me. I am the only one who will orchestrate a return, who is in charge of where my feet fall and my dreams lead.

So Kelly, take me back.

Take me back, to where it will not be the same but the sun still sets.

Take me back to the rooftop where I stood for long, long minutes looking into a night sky I would not feel again and I thought, around and around, "what if I stayed", and around and around, and I did not. 

Take me back to the spice and the blisters and the sweat and the people, the vehicle horns on no-line highways, where it is wide and open and the roads and dusty and staring and waving, until one day I am nothing to look at. 

Take me back, 

take me back

take me back. 

And all I have to say to myself is that yes, yes you will. yes I will. Return. And keep going, all together and all at once. 

 And to get there, I need to be here. 

All the language and schooling and classroom and pens and learning agreements and bicycle lanes and bus passes and hvala's and dober dan's and facebook acquaintances and nights that turn into mornings, and books and articles and rental cars and weekend trips and receipts for things and rivers, forests and photographs and who will be and what is now and all of this

is to happen 

and the rest will come as it does. 

keep going

-k

taken care of

Okay so there is this wonderful thing that the universe does, namely that it really does take care of you, provides what it is you need when you need it, and does it all in ways you'd never expect. 

Without sounding too hippy-dippy here, I experienced this in the most wonderful of ways yesterday. And it had to do with opening up and being vulnerable with myself about who and where I am, and then resolving to be happy, to be okay, to be strong in the face of it all anyway. So then I proceeded into my sun shiney day and made this friend 

whom I named 'Trubee' after Trubarjeva ulica, the street I found him on, and I pedalled back through the city and as I rode the little bicycle bell would twinkle on every bump on the flat bike lane and generally lifted my spirits like times a million to hear that, plus the view going home was wide afternoon streets and mountains in the background. I felt good. And I did some proposal writing for a project I will confirm soon, and I started my readings like a good kid and it was good. And I thought, exactly, see, your whole heart is right here. 

And then I was bombarded, quite honestly, with love. At the end of reading one email from a dearest heart, another rolls in, all excited life and cheer, and that sequence of events (also content of) hit me in that feeling place we all get hit in occasionally. And I sat on the edge of my sofa-bed, laughing and crying, overwhelmed by how wonderful it felt, how better timed it could not have been. This, oh this. 

So I will leave that at that to say I am very well now. 

But what a hectic week it's been, an overload of everything in the goodest of ways. 

Monday was orientation at FDV, fairly basically laid out, twas good but not super illuminating on anything in particular. Except of course to introduce me to a nice Austrian girl and we chatted for a while, to nod hello to my Spanish amigos from dinner last week, everyone sticking slightly closer to home for now. And then I went to FSD, the faculty of social work, to meet with the Erasmus coordinator there, Borut. This is where I a little got set on fire. He spoke about the smallness of the faculty, the criticality and advocacy work of the profs, how much he loves students with ideas. So I said "well, there's this play I want to put on..." and he said we can make it work, can try at least. And he made me feel so welcome and included and my mind was racing when I left. To the doctors for this ear infection, and I found again how nice everyone is when you ask for help and maybe we do just need to be a society that asks each other for help more often...

My amazing landlord Marjan helped me set up an Internet contract and even drove me into the city. Big ups to how awesome he's been. 

Tuesday was class test-out day. First was social capital, where there was a girl from Canada(Laurier!!), next 'international economic relations'....which I walked out/ran away from on break because :| economics, which I didn't have enough background in to understand fully. Had some hardcore zone out moments. Then I wandered from building to building only to be told wrong building in order to register myself as living here. Came home exhausted. 

Wednesday was an early morning class on spatial sociology (?!?!????????), shame because the professor is so hilarious I that 'I honestly don't give a f*ck' way about him. Went to a first introductory meeting on some social work classes--a pretty dismissive professor, but it felt SO GOOD to talk about gender and race and inequality on like real human terms in an academic setting. Like there is some kind of not-just-opinion validation of the angry feels out there. Good good good. Got to the right building but didn't have the right papers (merr), although I filled out a form that called me an alien. 

Now, okay. I've always had this like behind-the-eyes discomfort with 'illegal alien', etc, because it entirely dehumanizes people who are, well, people...but it took until the moment it meant me to really hit home. And this was in a strictly bureaucratic manner, not in constant debate or widespread xenophobic attitudes around immigrants. It made me feel unwelcome and fucking weird, not attached to my most basic identity as a human...and this was fine print on a form. How the hell must it feel to be labelled and known and talked about as an 'alien', an 'illegal alien', all the damn time? Which is more than reality for way too many people. And this may seem like some kind of Kelly don't get worked up over words kind of thing...but...fuck these words. This is more than just some kind of rhetorical issue. Like, yeah, maybe changing the term 'alien' into something like 'applicant' won't solve the world's migrant issues, but you can at least return a bit of dignity. Fuck this eh? Like are we living seriously in a day and age where you can call someone an ALIEN, can label someone  ILLEGAL, and be okay with that? 

And I don't mean to change this for like my comfort in bureaucratic bullshit, because for me it was temporary and not forever. Like that's whatever, really. It's an inciting incident, something that got me really considering all this. I am angry about it because of the lives that have to live with being labelled so grossly. 'Alien'. Like really? Fuck. 

*ahem* 

So I returned to class, on politics of globalization (perhaps appropriate), but the prof wasn't there, so I won't be able to get fired up on institution(al injustice and structural violence) till next week. That class is full, but about 3/4 are Erasmus/exchange kiddies and 1/4 exasperated Slovenian students who have to roll their eyes at the temporary exhibits of party animal-ness of most Erasmus cats. It will be interesting to experience lectures and seminars like that.

A word--for FDV, classes are 4 hours-ish, in that 2 are lectures and 2 are seminars, usually. Everything seems like it's going to be less hands-on activity/participation than UBC, because it's like a 1/3 essay and 2/3exam, usually. 

Thursday I went to a meeting for 'current issues in the international community', a class you had to apply to get into on account of it being INTENSIVE. This looks like it will be UBC third year standard of work. International law, humanitarian aid, regionalism and the like. Only 40 kids, half-half (Erasmus/Slovenian), so I expect some like really illuminating debates and discussions there. HECK YES. 

Speaking of debates, my class later that day, 'North South Relations'...whooooooaaaaaa everyone better just sit down. It's technically on/about "development studies", which even now has my veins running hot. The 'developing world', country case studies, 'development economics'...heeee so excited for it. The professor looks anything but a development prof--she looks a little bit dull, a little bit monotone, but she has this light in her eyes when talking about this that I love. I'm on tenterhooks because of how critical Thursday conversations have made me (hat tip Simon and Maneo for that), plus having travelled to this 'developing world', quite intimately. When asked if anyone has travelled to 'the developing world', the response was small....one British guy said Uganda, some Slovenians said like Montenegro, Kosovo, "does Croatia count?"(which on another note, Southern Europe I've got my eye on as travel destinations for this year, get a feel for the divide here)...that was about it. Maybe this is like some shiny privilege coming through (eww gross it probably is), but I guess I thought that Europeans were a little more like in-depth travelled than that survey showed. Hmmm. But yeah. So I'm going to keep my eyes/ears wide open and challenge what arrives as like unjustly drenched in ignorance or inequality. And hopefully be challenged as well, called out and the like. 

     We talked about the MDGs, which reminded me like brutally of this morning in South Africa when Maneo and I read the report on the MDGs so far, and read the like proposal for the next goals, and how gross gross gross the wording was, to "involve people, including women, the poor, youth, disabled, indigenous, the elderly,"etcetcetc along that line and we both just couldn't even.  Ahhhhh yeah. Yup. 

Andbutso we ended class with a fascinating debate from the BBC called "Why Poverty?" (hosted in Johannesburg, actually) I suggest you check it out, even is just for the sheer hilarity of it. I was chuckling and snapping through it all. Tony Blair got scolded properly. It was wonderful. Though I didn't get to watch the whole thing, so I shall do that sometime. And I mean  hilarious in the sense that when the going gets debate-y, I can't help but feel like way invested in it, and just by default on the side of like local-interest issues and the underdog....which is never the government/the side of governance. Sorry not sorry for that. But anyways, not to get too polticky here...yah. It shall be interesting. 

So it is definitely safe to say that it has been one heck of a week, and all over the map, and everywhere. Definite highs being the kindness of everyone, and their willingness to speak English to me, and a few of my classes, and having this excited-almost-now feels of starting things, and beginning to recognize some Erasmus faces. It is going to only go up from here as we all stretch ourselves into the next four months together. Lows being the small frustrations of wrong directions and wrong buildings and learning to be patient in lines and waiting rooms because you can't always fuck the system. And then having to say goodbye from so far to our dog, Frosty, who was put down on Thursday, what was a "beautiful autumn day", from my mom. He was 12, suffering from some kind of bowel cancer, we think. Been around for more than half my life. 

So I choose to remember him at our old house, chasing crows, running tirelessly around the pool, becoming a brown dog when we went camping, as a puppy and the most cuddly, his funny habits of barking at the vacuum cleaner and how he never mastered the art of 'fetch'. How amazing a dog he was for us. 

    And I say all this now but I'm saying it from a distance. It won't really sink in until I return home and he isn't there, raising his head from his doggy cushion, knowing where he would sleep, where he would be. He was a fixture of life, truly. And I'm sorry he had to suffer at all towards the end, but at least the pain is over now. 

And I guess that is how life goes. As in...it goes on. It doesn't stop for anything, and death is just as much a part of that. I've sometimes struggled with remembering how life continues on all fronts for everyone at all times, regardless of where I am. Like camp, for example. How after those two weeks you return to the 'real world' and oh look, this happened and they went somewhere and this person said that and etcetcetc. 

   But this last week (and I realize this now) has really hit that home. Whether it be hearing from friends back home, or knowing my parents had to put my dog down, or seeing updates from Dinesh in Nepal, or pictures on Instagram from South Africa...I am not alone in this living thing, experiencing and feeling and all that. Not that I ever was, but I mean...like I'm not alone in this. I do not have to be alone and I am not. You are all here with me, just as I am with you, and together we can experience and feel and sing and cry and laugh at ourselves and the incredulity of this. 

Distance really is mental. 

And isn't that a wonderful uphill battle to be wrestling? 

I think so. 

You let me know. 

from my streets to yours

-k