tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91950929795541262012024-03-13T05:33:56.798+00:00Sen La'Noire's BlogSen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-71205970425304148462023-07-07T17:28:00.002+01:002023-07-07T17:28:10.683+01:00Return<p>After years of silence, I feel a return coming. Watch this space...</p><p><br /></p><p>Sen X</p><p>Find me</p><p>Instagram: @sharonkaurart</p><p>Threads:@sharonkaurart</p><p><br /></p>Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-34507826855431959192021-06-30T12:46:00.000+01:002021-06-30T13:35:59.122+01:00Bardcore<p> What a year it has been for everyone. I suppose we will all talk about this after a good few years have passed. We all felt a sense of loss in some way, some directly losing someone they cherished to the plague, others a sense of freedom or freewill- a loss nonetheless. </p><p>What didn't surprise was the online amenities popping up that were never available for those who have to stay inside most of the time outside of Covid. However, I did wonder, will these people realise the yearning the 'invisible' folk feel of wanting to connect that they created ever so quickly and easily. Of course, I feel bitter. </p><p> In Cambridge, I saw people gathering online to take care of our homeless population. I made boxes for food banks as we could no longer donate in the local supermarkets. Yes, the world came together to help each other. But there was still an ugly underbelly of this beautiful sight. People not following the rules; going outside in troves on a sunny day, refusing to wear masks, or the most basic of things- to stay in. Now, I understand that in many European countries they were doing the Herd Immunity, however, that was not what we were doing. it's hardly going to help anyone if we start doing different things. Look, I like to see myself as a Rebel, but not when it puts others' lives in danger.</p><p>I should really confront the elephant in the room, I have been gone for a long time, and each time I thought about you, I felt as though there was so much to say and so very little. The issue with popularity is its harder to be honest, or rather a few years back I became so self-conscious that I felt anything I wanted to write about may not be what anyone wants to read about. On top of staying inside during lockdown, all my inspiration got zapped away. I felt like an empty vessel, or as if all my veins were clogged up and none of my thoughts could escape in the form of lines or words. </p><p>Now, I want to be as positive as possible here and the inspiration did return and I have to say, I feel my art has improved, and to top it off Bard music is back, medieval inspired music now known as Bardcore, the music some say that was around the time of the Black Plague, now back in fashion due to what we are facing today. Some dark humour there... </p><p>Here are some examples:</p><p><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ugqQlB5fpuc" width="320" youtube-src-id="ugqQlB5fpuc"></iframe></p><p><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3okjFDo2aSU" width="320" youtube-src-id="3okjFDo2aSU"></iframe></p><p>I hope you all stay safe,</p><p>Until next time.</p><p>Sen x</p><p>Find me on:</p><p>Rudbubble: <a href="http://senlanoire.redbubble.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #4b11a8; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">http://senlanoire.redbubble.com/</a></p><p>Instagram: @senlanoire</p><p><span style="background-color: #f2f2f6; color: #19124f; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Inter, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-33384212326251658202020-02-18T03:34:00.001+00:002020-02-18T03:40:24.205+00:00My-graines and My online store! <div>
Migraines are the worst. Unless, of course, you only get them once every few months, for then you can say that cheesy yet deep line, "this too shall pass". Hey, it helps, and once the migraine vanishes, the light headedness is pure euphoria. </div>
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Unfortunately, for me I have been getting them nearly every single day, not just once but multiple times a day since last year. I can't tell myself that this too shall pass every time now. I used to, it was a great comfort when I got them once a month or so. How something so comforting has now transformed into a punching bag is quite crazy to me.</div>
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Migraines are the worst. I hope you don't get them, even you, my worst enemy, of which I have none but I wanted to add that just in case. I miss going outside for walks without feeling dizzy, or looking bewildered in Sainsbobs (Sainsburys) that I scare the language school students. It happened. I miss breathing in fresh ish air and not being nearly knocked out by the werewolf like senses I've developed that make every smell a 100 times stronger that make me sick. I have shrunk the size of my mouth because I am constantly unconsciously clinching my jaw because I'm afraid I will throw up. Lurvly.</div>
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Anyway...</div>
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I just thought you ought to know, being absent so long. I have instagram now, not that I'm regularly on it, though I do use it quite a bit more. I'll add a link below. I also opened an online shop. I'm not managing it as well as I should, again because of the above. But I did put some stuff on there. I will most likely, soon, I hope, put a post up about it, but having been silent on here, I thought I may as well share it here.</div>
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So, you can buy my art prints themselves or the drawings on various other things like scarves, mugs, cushions, etc if you wish. I already tested them and it's good quality. I have the tote from the first picture below at the bottom. There's more designs available in the store, check it out. </div>
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Here are some pictures. </div>
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Price's are most likely going to be different. </div>
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The best thing is the website Red Bubble only make the items when ordered which means that there's no extra waste. Here's the link:</div>
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<a href="http://senlanoire.redbubble.com/">Senlanoire.redbubble.com</a></div>
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You know, I feel less annoyed, irritated and grumpy from when I started typing up this post. Thank you for reading. </div>
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Until next time, </div>
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Sen x</div>
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Follow me:</div>
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Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/senlanoire/" target="_blank">Senlanoire</a> </div>
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Twitter : <a href="https://www.blogger.com/Take%20a%20look%20at%20Sharon%20Kaur%20(@senlanoire):%20https://twitter.com/senlanoire?s=09" target="_blank">@senlanoire</a></div>
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Online store: <a href="http://senlanoire.redbubble.com/">Senlanoire.redbubble.com</a> </div>
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-16145007681203424542019-11-20T00:53:00.001+00:002019-11-20T01:00:13.913+00:00Life in PainWell, I'm still here, thoughts moving so fast that it's been hard to catch one thread tight enough to write something. When I'm drugged up on intense pain killers- which is how I've been like for the past year or so that I feel as though I'm not even in the same dimension as my thoughts and feelings. I feel like a fetus in the womb trying to communicate with the people outside touching the belly of the person carrying me. It is all mumbled up, nothing makes real sense. I can't see let alone discern this mish-mash of the world beyond the very outer layers of my consciousness.<div><br></div><div>And yet without these pain killers, I am too conscious, all the thoughts become so overwhelming that I get crushed by the reality I face. I can't help but wonder why I have to suffer so much, why I've been in so much pain for so long, and why it's so bad this time around, why I am unable to fight and overcome it this time. I worry about my future and the dreams I have that will be quite simply snuffed out. Most importantly, I worry that I have let those around me down. Without the pain killers, I may as well never get out of bed, because I won't be able to. It's hard enough with the cold temperature as it is. </div><div><br></div><div>There are so many people out there who are in pain, have been in pain for so long without a clear diagnosis. You are not alone. No wonder chronic pain and mental health illness go hand in hand. So we keep popping pills to make us marginally not feel the pain that largely zombifies us, and the antidepressants that make us feel blind hope. I demand a diagnosis. And apparently at 32 they listen to you more closely than when you're 19. No more false hope, no more blind faith. They did their tests, they found anomalies. Soon, I will finally know what's been wrong with me. I love the NHS as a concept but it has really let me down when it has come to my chronic pain. I've been let down so many times, hopes of a cure dashed, ambiguous answers and a few times even a crying for help. After 13 years of suffering, I feel closer to an answer I've been searching for. </div><div><br></div><div>I honestly don't care what it is that I have. I've already lived with it for years and years. Just give me the name and I can address it head on. Give me a clear path so that I can restart my life. </div><div><br></div><div>Until next time, </div><div>Sen x</div>Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-5847808864669817652019-03-24T21:38:00.000+00:002019-03-24T21:38:43.246+00:00*B£€£€t* Free Zone (though it is about that)My hope for this blog post is to keep it the 'B' word free, though no promises.<br />
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Like many people, I am sick and tired, angry and ashamed of the UK government. But one thing that really made me want to be violent is people lacking the understanding of what democracy is. I will admit that I have frothed at the mouth when I have read comments in social media or other website using the referendum as the only democratic part of this whole thing. And though I have gotten angry thinking these people are idiots, it is only recently that I have realised that our education system has been broken for a long time. These adults who were once students never got taught anything about civil education. Because has they been taught this, they would know that marching and protesting was not undemocratic. They would know that another vote was not breaking any codes.<br />
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To be fair, just having a go about the lack of understanding of leavers voters would be narrow minded. This is because leave voters aren't just fighting against another vote because they believe it would be undemocratic. Many of those who voted in parts of the UK voted in large numbers voted in spite of the Tories who had and have forgotten them. It also isn't surprising that these same people read tabloids which have been spewing lies about the EU for YEARS. The UK has been the 'Dunno' nation of the EU for many years. But really, the broadsheets that have maybe a little information are more expensive. It doesn't help that they are mostly written by privileged people whose lives are in stark contrast to those who live in the forgotten lands. Evem I am privileged, living in the city that wasn't really affected by the recession.<br />
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This creating generations in clusters of the country that are intolerant, angry and perhaps racist didn't just happen in that last couple of years. They are indicative of the years of work by the government. Just think back to they last time we had Tories were in government. They don't want everyone to have civil education. They certainly don't want everyone to have some agency.<br />
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So, the next time you read someone going on about democracy and saying remainders are snow flakes, just remember that this maybe have been the one thing they've won in a while. Of course, there are privileged folk who voted leave, but this post isn't about them.<br />
Until next time,<br />
Sen X<br />
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Find me on instagram, Twitter and Facebook: @senlanoire<br />
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(PS apologies for mistakes, written very quickly with the words running faster than I could tap into the tablet whilst on very high doses pain killers.)Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-25997707105422243662019-01-22T19:55:00.001+00:002019-01-22T20:00:11.371+00:00(Fish) and Chips All AroundI spent a long time wondering whether I should carry on writing about all the obstacles I faced to get to the stage where I could graduate- as part of flipping the bird at my father series. The last two posts took a lot out of me mentally- going back to the darker memories of the past has brought a lot of hurt back. But I must go on. Also, I keep having a thought that perhaps I might be bringing shame upon myself, but the truth will hopefully shine and finally show the dirt on that man's face.<br />
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It's not necessarily that I am doing this to get revenge, it's more that I need to get it all out. I finally feel that I can distance myself enough. I guess its a bit like writing painful memoirs. It's metaphorically letting go of the dark, dirty and heavy rope one has been pulling along from behind and as the words are printed, tapped away on the keyboard, the rope is turning into pastel coloured ribbons, which in time will finally turn into thin net curtains. I won't have to hide or guard my past, and I certainly won't be haunted my it. Finally, I will be able to enjoy being around people who have have a pretty traumatic-free upbringing rather than feeling bitter towards them. I mean, I'm sure there will be other good things that will come out of this, but that would be a good start.<br />
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#Now, this is a story about how my life got flipped upside down, and I'd like to take a minute just to sit right there, and I'll try you how I came to think working in a Chippie would be rock bottom, not the times I couldn't even afford a loaf of bread.#<br />
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I distinctly remember, one early morning, my father driving my sister and I to the bus stop for school. I remember him asking, "What's more important... satisfaction in you career or being paid a lot of money even if you hate that job?<br />
I thought about this for a few moments and replied, "Satisfaction". He sniggered a little, and said, "wrong answer, money is more important!"<br />
After that, I became even more a Public Enemy No.1 in his eyes.<br />
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On many occasions, I remember him telling my siblings and I that we "could never survive without his money or influence". The most important thing for him was us not bring shame to him.<br />
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Now. 'shame' included the following but was not limited to the following:<br />
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<li>not getting all A grades in GCSEs (subjects chosen by him for me) and A Levels, </li>
<li>not doing degrees in the subjects he had specifically chosen for us,</li>
<li>not taking up musical instruments</li>
<li>not behaving like 'intelligent' children who never made a sound</li>
<li>dancing at weddings or functions (my mum wasn't allowed to dance at her wedding)</li>
<li>polishing nails</li>
<li>putting on make up</li>
<li>not playing golf- this got my mother in trouble as I refused to at first. I wanted to play hockey.</li>
<li>eating too slowly</li>
<li>having male friends</li>
<li>not having a personality</li>
<li>getting an achievement in a subject at Sixth Form as it wasn't the best Sixth Form (it was in English)</li>
<li>Eating certain foods that were not meant to be eaten at that meal time, e.g eating toast for tea</li>
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Now, I have to say, I thought this is what it was like living in a Sikh family, but that could not be further from the truth. My paternal grandparents were over the top strict and their way of thinking which obviously my father took up was flawed. Having been sent to live in India for many years in our childhood, most of these were naturally a part of our lives as we were raised by our paternal grandparents. If anything life became much more difficult when I came to live in Cambridgeshire with my parents. it was supposed to be a happy reunion, at last, we were a family, having spent living apart up until the point. </div>
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I started in Year 9 with meant that immediately after starting, I had to sit STATs which would affect the classes and grades i would sit in for the rest of my school life. My sister luckily started in Year 8, the first year of middle school. No life altering exams for her. I have to say, I didn't know anything about about anything. The subjects I did well in like history and geography unfortunately were part of the long 'shame list'. They were all chosen for me (I remember getting a lot of beatings because I tried to secretly change a couple) by him. Now, inevitably, I did pretty bad in the subjects that I was forced into, having already be behind in. It looked like to my parents and teachers that I was no good at studying which is the no.1 biggest shame of all time to bring on the family. I did quite well in graphics and design but that was ignored. I was an annoying, rusty nail sticking out of my father's neck, he couldn't understand why I was so bad, not taking into account that the beatings and threats were most likely not helping me.</div>
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All in all, I didn't get A grades at GCSEs, more like a few Cs and two Ds. I had to go to a sixth form to retake English and Maths GCSEs, I also took up Human Physiology and Health as well as Psychology at the same time. This sixth form I went was amazing, I really liked it. After retaking them and doing well, I was yet again told what subjects I could take in A Levels. So, I wanted to do English, Psychology, Music and Art, After a lot of beatings, I got English, Psychology, Maths and Religious Studies, and my father rued the day that he chose the latter subject as I confessed at dinner that we should all convert to Buddhism. </div>
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For a long time by then, the beatings were no longer taking the effect they should have, instead of making me fear him and do things his way, I was beginning to feel resentment. While I was kept on a short leash, beaten for the smallest of things, my younger sister could do no wrong, she was never beaten- left to study, trim her hair, chat to strangers online, colour her nails, which was fine because i wasn't interested. It was the comparing that really got to me. </div>
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Every beating I got for not doing well as STATs, choosing the subjects, choosing the musical instrument, choosing anything and everything for me was done because if I didn't do it, I would end up working in a chippie like his sister. which according to him was the worst thing in the world. When my sister did well at the STATs and GCSEs with the subjects she got to choose, when she got into the 'better' sixth form, when she wore a dress and not a Punjabi suit to Prom- were also the times I was emotionally tortured for being a failure. I abhor that word, calling someone a failure is inhumane- but that was my nickname that my father and siblings called me.</div>
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The punishment for bringing shame, which I was really good at, was always us ending up working in a 'Fish and Chip shop' like our aunt did as she hadn't gone to college or uni.What that idiot ignored was the fact that her husband and her owned a lot of those shops and have gone on to be rather successful. She's pretty well off now and he's pretty much lost all his wealth.<br />
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For some time while living at the homeless shelter, I couldn't even afford milk or bread, I still prayed I would not end up in a Chippie- that, to me, was worse than starving. I didn't want him to win, but most importantly, I feared he would be right that I couldn't survive without him. In the first few years, I wouldn't even eat fish because of that. The idea that I would beg to go back never even occurred to me- not once. But working in a Chippie was my worst fear, not being malnourished or not being able to buy shampoo to wash my hair for a looong time- I used soap so....</div>
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It wasn't until a couple of months ago, when my mother, other half and I were laughing about my father and his stupid philosophies he brought us up with that my mother finally taught me the lesson he should have done from the very beginning. She told me that no job is beneath anyone. I finally felt that fear in me melting away. For many years, I had set the bar at working in a fish and chip shop at my lowest. But there I was that day finally able to let that go. </div>
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Over the years, I have begun to realise most things he told us were utter rubbish; ramblings of a mad man. But being absolutely terrified and petrified of him has also brought its advantages. I have never been afraid of any one since. People have tried, but I have relented- whether that's good or bad remains to be seen. But that hasn't meant that there aren't any residual effects. Some behaviours in people do make me feel very unsafe. I find it frightening to be around drunk men, I sadly admit that men speaking with raised voice still makes me cry. People pointing knives at me feel suffocated- even if they are just talking while cooking. I've already written about my issues with resilience, and making mistakes- I still get scared when I make stupid mistakes that I will get told off at the very least. </div>
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The one thing that has been hard work, but now not so much is getting a personality and the right sort of characteristics. I remember my father being tremendously proud of all of us having unique and great personalities. Perhaps because of all my experiences, I have to say, humour was definitely not part of blueprints he had drawn for us, but later acquired- it's a sort of dark, dry kind.<br />
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It goes to show that children need freedom to taste and decide what they want. I wasn't going to stray, I just couldn't go on. I broke out, soared into the sky, and I am really glad that I did.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">Get in touch with me:</span><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">Twitter: <span style="color: #6699cc;"><a href="https://twitter.com/senlanoire" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">@senlanoire</a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">Email: </span><span style="background: rgb(246 , 247 , 248); color: #141823; line-height: 17.0775px;"><a href="mailto:senlanoire@facebook.com" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration-line: none;">senlanoire@facebook.com</a></span></span></div>
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-67093552196542755492018-08-29T23:51:00.001+01:002018-11-23T18:17:19.409+00:00When the Girl Strikes BackCW: domestic violence- difficult read, graphic<br />
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This is the second post that is part of the series of posts dedicated to my father- but this one is quite cool with action in it towards the end. When you imagine me in that scene you'll see, please see me as a fierce warrior girl!<br />
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Looking back at where I was, not just 8 months ago but 13 years, I find myself astounded in how far I have come. Time doesn't stop for anyone to pick up the pieces, only to take a deep breath, to have a little cry, and then get on with it. We all have multiple things going on constantly, some aspects of our past stays longer with us than others.<br />
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I was recently advised to send my father a copy of my degree(s) to show him that I made it without him. It got me thinking about the past, and his actions and whether it would be a good idea. I wonder how it will or whether it will have a any sort of impact on me. Do I have to prove anything to him? In many ways, unbeknownst to him of course, his words have made impact in my life as discussed below. And his stupid morals that he passed on to me have only flourished and developed me into who I am today. So, this post is basically me rambling and looking at the past to make a decision about whether to send him the copies of my academic achievements or not. Does he even deserve them?!<br />
<br />
For me, the aspects of my past I can't seem to lose are the words my father spoke to me. Especially the things he said to me about being a failure, and not making it in the world without his aid. It's actually those words that have driven me forward all these years, but they are also the words that have resulted in negatively affecting me physically and mentally, where upon nothing has been enough. For a long time I never knew when I was enough. The way in which I was brought up- it was never okay to make a mistake- it often resulted in getting a beating or bullied, which after I escaped the hell still remained internally in me in terms of beating myself up when I made a mistake- even at the smallest laughable things.<br />
<br />
I have often wondered why it is that my other siblings don't 'seem' so affected- I reckon they are, though being the eldest of 4, I believe I got it worse. I had hoped that by running away my father may change and realise his flaws. That's what I hoped for the most, though I believe he made me a villain in their lives, for abandoning them- which is what it looks like. But after years of facing violence and abuse from my father, my mother completely lost her mind, there were times when my other siblings were either asleep or outside playing that we would be beaten, though my mother and I would often try to shield each other from his punches, he would then become a rabid dog, unable to think past his anger, so full of rage that he would lock my mother and I out of the house in the freezing cold. We would cry, shivering in the cold, often just in 'lounge wear', sitting either on the door step or by fish pond staring at the frozen layer of water. Sometimes, he wouldn't let us in the whole night, and we would hold each other to shield out finger from freezing.. That's when I became fond of star gazing. It would take me away from staring at me frozen feet; at the reality we were facing. I became fond of writing and words when he would beat me in the kitchen, I would stare as the branded names of cook ware and the message board, there was a jacket that used to hang by the door, it was a <i>Ellesse</i> brand. I would stare at that word, and the logo continuously as he hit me.<br />
<br />
Since we lived on a private road with fields surrounding us, we had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. The amount of times I went to school with huge bruises on my back and my head swollen is countless to me. I was really bad at PE, other students thought I was just really lazy, but they didn't know that my back had been beaten with his golf shoes the night before. My mum, bless her, would ask me to gently comb out the tangles in her hair which he used as a weapon to swing her around like he was exorcising her. I began to feel anger, and this anger steadily turned into rage. When I was little, I would hide in my wardrobe crying every time she was getting a beating that I learnt to keep myself as far away from him as possible, but this became futile as I got older. When I became a little older- 13, to him I became old enough to get beaten too. But one day- when my mother was going insane- I decided to stand up- I was 15 and I couldn't take another beating.<br />
<br />
Everything had to be perfect for him. He wanted his food freshly cooked every night (apart from Friday nights). As my mother's mental health deteriorated, the first thing that unravelled was her cooking. It started with the salt, the dishes either lacked or had too much of it. One night, after calling out that the food was ready, my father didn't come immediately as he was watching a golf match on on the TV. Now, the food wasn't going to remain piping hot, and we waited until joined. It was over 10 minutes when he came in- he sat down and had a bite of roti and aloo gobi, his face began to look enraged and he flung the bowl across the room hitting the tiles by the sink, screaming that it was not hot. He stood up and began shouting at my mother, we both knew what was coming. I remember seeing black and flinging the plates at him. I remember thinking,<i> 'no more'.</i> I would not receive anymore beatings. He, of course, was shocked, my mother immediately began to beg him to spare me as he looked at his clothes now covered in a mixture of daal, dehi, and chicken curry, and a little bit of aloo gobi. At that moment, I felt fearless, of course it was the adrenaline, nonetheless, I was a she-wolf; ready to take him on and take him one I did. My sibling were terrified. He came at me with fists, but like Neo in The Matrix I managed to dodge a punch and hit him back. Now he was so shocked that I had dared that his brain couldn't make sense of it. I hit him again and that's when we got pulled away from each other by the rest of the family. He saw that I was coming at him again. He must have seen the fierceness in my eyes and was ready to lay more on him that he stopped and left. He was gone a while. I remember my sister, the second one telling me I was breaking up the family.<br />
<br />
He never touched me again after that night. And in me I noticed a power I had never felt before. Maybe it was my Sikh warrior spirit, or maybe it was his dormant psychopathic traits in me that had awoken. But even though he stopped hitting me physically, it was far from over. So much happened after that night that it deserves another post altogether.<br />
<br />
My father is an intelligent man when it comes to academia. But overall, he lacks in everything else. When I lived at his house, he was seen as a community figure. Everyone was charmed by him. He was seen as a part of the community. He won golf matches and competitions, and of course he was part of a country club. As I mentioned, I believe that he has traits of a socio/psychopath. Because of this charm with the wider community, and being a member of so many groups, it was impossible to seek help. Of course there were a few people that did help us. They recognised our pain. But so many others didn't. He never hit us on our faces, or somewhere that would be visible apart from one time. My mother had a black eye, it was so visible that people in the surgery waiting room were staring and even looked concerned. Our Sikh doctor said nothing at all about it. He didn't ask any questions. My mother and I had hoped he would help us, he was our only chance, and my mother's black eye was clear evidence. Instead, he told her that she was depressed. Our one and only chance turned to dust as yet another Sikh male ignored our situation and waved us back to the lion's den. Living in in a little village near a mostly White city, there weren't many Sikhs, those that were there knew everyone. So this doctor, seeing us in our states ignoring us was even a bigger kick to our teeth. That day and what happened after are yet again far too much to write about here, but<a href="http://www.senlanoire.co.uk/2013/01/a-short-memoir.html" target="_blank"> this post</a> explains some of it.<br />
<br />
What my mother and I endured under this man's reign, I would never wish upon anyone. And both my mother and I didn't come out of it unscathed. Today, we see our scars for what they are but we look ahead with happiness. As I said in the last post, thriving not just surviving.<br />
<br />
Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-51482577822825004282018-08-29T23:13:00.000+01:002018-11-23T18:15:55.248+00:00The Family Secret No one Knew But MeCW: Sexual abuse<br />
<br />
A small note:<br />
My last post attracted some interesting feelings from acquaintances and readers. I asked why I wasn't hiding my identity. Well, the thing is that I was anonymous for many years (this blog is old). But when this blog became a little bit popular, especially when I was writing about current affairs, and I use Sen La'Noire as my 'internet name', I realised there was very little point in attempting to hide, and with Google monopolising everywhere, it was pretty easy to find my identity, so now, I am scared to write, and I don't write as often, but when I do, it is with greater consideration. Every time I publish a post, I feel I can stand behind it with firm confidence.<br />
<br />
This post and the ones that follow hereafter are a series of posts that are part of a bigger plan. I am having difficulty in deciding whether to send copies of my academic achievements to my father, and I am hoping that this series of posts will help me untangle my past so that I can decide if I send him the copies, and send him link to these posts.<br />
<br />
<br />
As a child, I always had a certain firm belief, and when I was angry I said loudly, and though I was laughed at by my siblings, it angered my parents. To me, it is still something that sounds a lot more realistic than the actual truth. You see, I always believed that I was either adopted or switched at birth (seriously), Perhaps it's an issue many other eldest children face but it was something, as a child, I believed in more than Father Christmas! I guess it grew from feeling like an outsider, looking in. I just didn't have anything in common with this family that I felt forced to live with.<br />
<br />
I suppose when I think about it, it might have had a lot to do with deceit. On my part, and theirs. You see my father was quite violent towards my mother and I, but the world outside believed he was a good, well to do man, and he of course bathed in this; behaving like a gentleman outside and a brute inside. I was also holding onto a secret that I only opened up to my mother a year ago. It involves a sleazy 'uncle' in India.<br />
<br />
Within the Indian culture, there is still a strong stigma attached to girls and rape/ sexual abuse, though they are the victims they are seen as bringing shame to the entire family and many are treated like they have the plague thereafter. In fact, when I told my mother what happened to me repeatedly, for a couple of years, her immediate reaction was not to tell anyone else for fear of shame. And she also wondered why I had told her. My paternal grandmother knew about it. She had caught him once, she told me not to tell anyone, and stopped his visits. He was her nephew, so it was even more important for her to keep it quiet. I was holding on to this secret for over 20 years. I wanted to write a letter to my father to tell him but my mother stopped me, fearing that if more of the family found out, it would affect my siblings getting married in the future. I felt like I had done something wrong, and this in turn made me realise that had I told my family what had happened to me 20 years ago, I would probably have been treated far worse.<br />
<br />
Going back to my childhood though, I was fighting inner demons from the age of 8 and believed that while my other siblings seemed happy, they had grown fat on their happiness, whilst I had literally become weighed down and become fat on all the sorrow and hate.<br />
<br />
This post is not for attracting sympathy. It is in fact a part of a series of posts that I am writing to my father, as well as you. I want him to know. I want him to see that despite all of this, I am not merely surviving by thriving.<br />
<br />
Until the next post,<br />
<br />
Sen x<br />
<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-59609937457349538282017-09-11T02:53:00.000+01:002017-09-11T02:54:03.891+01:00This is Me Right Now Though Don't Worry, I Won't Do Anything Scary***<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9fYIXnt-1qBloB_zp78bOxhYDwTfVOmS22OAdO2eQjClvKhZa9kW5J8onKqmxz_TckxAgnwGo9EOIAkcmxK_VX7-2rZaspHYubvT0sIM2M_qH5-iBRRtVa-IaBLmqccoR6zbWxZ7JU0/s1600/IMG_20170911_022925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9fYIXnt-1qBloB_zp78bOxhYDwTfVOmS22OAdO2eQjClvKhZa9kW5J8onKqmxz_TckxAgnwGo9EOIAkcmxK_VX7-2rZaspHYubvT0sIM2M_qH5-iBRRtVa-IaBLmqccoR6zbWxZ7JU0/s320/IMG_20170911_022925.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
*** please don't contact me unless you are a trained professional, I am out of fucks to give about how my depression affects your life... Unless you belong in my immediate circle.Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-18065909710355263852017-05-18T15:52:00.002+01:002017-05-18T16:02:37.184+01:00Seeing Grey Again<div class="MsoNormal">
I sometimes find myself thinking that I was not made for
this world. I had a good run after my last bout of depression. With help via CBT, I
climbed higher than I thought possible. I worked hard and graduated from my
undergraduate degree with a respectable final mark, applied and got accepted
for a Masters degree in the top 12<sup>th</sup> university in the UK. I climbed the ladder
in a local political party and stood as a candidate in the local elections last
year coming 2nd. Became very comfortable speaking and listening to strangers.
Made new friends, took down some defences. I even gave speeches publically. But
of course it didn’t last... I think I did pretty well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I feel right now is as though I am once more on a dinghy
somewhere in the middle of an ocean, surrounding me is not salty water but heavy, sticky oil, and it has managed to cover almost everything around me and it will get to
me, no matter how hard I try to avoid it. The inevitability of it all is starting
to make me feel hopeless. I know that rather than avoiding it, it is a waiting
game.<br />
<br />
Through this dark time, what I have managed to accomplish is
get help- within a week of self-referring, I have managed to get an initial
appointment with a therapist to go through what’s happening and the best way to
help me. It doesn’t really matter about who or how I got here, the best thing I
did was get away from the catalyst or the root of my anguish, and I recognised
that I was going off the deep end.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It isn’t easy to accept that you’re mental health has deteriorated
once again, especially if you have had help in the past. It really doesn’t matter
what other people think, because we will never truly know what they think. This
idea of bringing shame and feeling shame should not be connected to our mental
well-being- something we have little control over, especially when put in pressurised
and stressful situations. Learn to recognise when the black dog starts to show,
ask for help, don’t ignore it for too long. And definitely don’t medicate on
alcohol- it makes things worse (been there, done that). If you feel too scared
or embarrassed to go alone, get someone to go with you. I self-referred myself
online on Sunday afternoon, I got a call today to have an initial appointment
on Monday. It’s that easy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sen x<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">Get in touch with me:</span><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">You can find me on:</span><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">Twitter: <span style="color: #6699cc;"><a href="https://twitter.com/senlanoire" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">@senlanoire</a></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17.0775px;">Email: </span><span style="background: rgb(246 , 247 , 248); color: #141823; line-height: 17.0775px;"><a href="mailto:senlanoire@facebook.com" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration-line: none;">senlanoire@facebook.com</a></span></span></div>
Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-14772032390077869262017-01-21T19:08:00.004+00:002017-01-21T19:19:30.635+00:00A Speech that Never was<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I got asked to give a speech at the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/CambridgeSUTR/" target="_blank">Cambridge Stand Up To Racism</a> event which was earlier today called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1143643285749773/" target="_blank">Celebration of Diverse Cambridge</a>. Unfortunately, due to feeling unwell, and my throat hurting, I realised after practicing out aloud, that I would not be able to give the speech. I went anyway and still marched alongside the people who were there, though feeling flushes of hot and cold and faint.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel so down for not having made the speech, and curse the cold for making me unwell to do so. But I still want to share the words that had I been well, would have said them with gusto and all the power I could muster. Having shared it on my own personal fb account, I think it only right to share it in this space that I have always tried to be honest in.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
"Last year it was my first time
standing as a candidate in the Cambridge City Council elections. It didn’t take
long before a public figure said that I was there just to get minorities votes... as if I was some kind of a ploy… or that because of my heritage, only one section
of society would vote for me. In that moment I felt so boxed in…. Not once had I
thought that I was in anyway just representing one group of people… because not
once in my time living in Cambridge had I been made to feel different.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
When I spoke to people from
different ethnic backgrounds, they said to me they didn’t always vote because
they didn’t feel their councillors cared about them, they didn’t feel
represented by them and they didn’t feel that they could relate with them…. And
yet I was the one who would only get the minorities vote because of the colour
of my skin and my heritage. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
During my campaign, I also spoke to
people who were hell-bent on convincing me that immigrants were the reason that
everything was going wrong. When I would ask why… most of the time they would
tell me that they read that in a newspaper or that they just knew…. They blamed
immigrants for the long waiting lists at hospitals, and the NHS for falling
apart. Of course, as per usual when I told them ….that my parents were
immigrants- they would say- “O, but we don’t mean you”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Thinking about last year… and all
the things that have happened, I have come to realise that it would be easy to
blame people or groups for their actions. But the real enemy in this situation
is the establishment that has created policies that work against certain groups
of people… the establishment that lets the media get away with hateful and
discriminatory reporting… and the establishment that has created an education
system that lies about the real history of the British Empire. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
It’s the government that has
created an education system that teaches children about World War 1 and 2 but
not about the sacrifices of Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, Gurkhas, the Polish and the
many more. It is the government that has created a criminal justice system that
is unfair towards Black and minority ethnics. It is the government that lets
the media get away with their horrendous reporting of certain groups of people,
blaming them for a whole hoard of things that our own government is too ashamed
to admit is due to their own wrong doing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
When somebody says that someone
like me can only represent one group of people, they are creating a division,
making them all the more real. But if councillors are largely ignoring certain groups
of people, they are responsible for the divisions they have already been created.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Now is not the time to shirk from uncomfortable
subjects. We need to face them head on. We need to challenge concepts like,
what does a typical Brit even look like? Rather than just blaming racists as if
it’s just down to people and groups, we need to challenge the establishment and
their irresponsible policies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
No one should be made to feel like
they don’t belong here. For every racist attack… we need to ensure our status
quo of living in harmony stays intact. I’m proud to live here and call
Cambridge my home. We need to ensure everyone has this positive experience, no
matter what their mother tongue is, what their struggles are- we have one
common identity- to feel proud of living with each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Thank you."<o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Even though I could not give this
speech, I am thankful to Cambridge Stand to Racism for giving me this great
opportunity. They helped to explore this issue further and though I don't go
very deep into any of the topics in the manuscript, I researched and explored
them thoroughly to come to these conclusions.In many ways, I feel like though I
will continue to explore my identity, I have found some answers to some of my
questions.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
<br />
Get in touch with me:</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">You can find me on:</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">Twitter: <span style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://twitter.com/senlanoire" target="_blank">@senlanoire</a></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">Email: </span><span style="background: rgb(246 , 247 , 248); color: #141823; line-height: 115%;"><a href="mailto:senlanoire@facebook.com"><span style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">senlanoire@facebook.com</span></a></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-21632979935205848982017-01-09T19:44:00.000+00:002017-01-09T19:44:02.326+00:00Thinking Out Loud: IdentityRecently I have been thinking about my identity, and where I stand in the grand scheme of things. I am not the first person to explore this and I won't be the last. It is especially an issue for people who are 1st, 2nd, 3rd etc generation children of immigrants. On the one hand, we have our identity at home that is very much based on our ethnicity while on the other hand, outside of the home and away from our family we have another. Normally, people can juggle both and while some may have qualms about the interchanging identities, mine is a little bit different to that.<br />
<br />
I fully understand that 'I can be whoever I want to be'. I have been wrestling with this for a while but feel things have changed recently. In some ways I feel that the day I ran away from home (fortress) was also the day I lost my identity as a Punjabi. I mourned for it for a very long time. It was a few years back that instead of letting it slip away, I realised that despite what I may think of myself and humiliate myself by calling myself a 'coconut', others would always see that just because of my skin colour I am always going to be different. I also realised that my family did not have the keys to my identity, that I did. Throughout this time I struggled to find my place, and in some ways, thanks to my mother, I became the hermit within my relatives, who though I hardly ever saw, still asked after me. This in a way created a space for me in that universe. This also meant that I could be a Punjabi again, and I was able to decide what that meant for me. I was so lost for such a long time, surrounded by people who did not know who I was that even I forgot who I was. It was the most bland point in my life.<br />
<br />
Now I look at my identity and think that to some extent, the foundations are already laid- my skin colour already gives me some sense of identity, though I don't carry a mirror around to see or notice that I am different to other people. But I can't help but think that some people have it easier that others- in regards to identity- than others. What is a typical British person? And what is a typical Indian person? What do they look like?<br />
<br />
For years I thought that I had to assimilate myself into the British culture (whatever that is), that for other people if I pretended to be British, they will be at ease, but then I realised that I am also Punjabi and by trying to put others at ease, they have not bothered to learn about the beautiful culture I come from. When I was in Punjab over a year ago, though my punjabi was very well received and I was complimented for it, my outlook and perception of the world were accused of being too British. Some of those close to me haven't bothered to learn a single thing about my Punjabi culture. They may be doing this because they don't want to come across politically incorrect but by ignoring someone's identity is a huge problem too. The other day I was told that if I am British then I have to respect the Queen! I think that's when I decided to break away from the charade once again.<br />
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I am meant to be giving a speech on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1143643285749773/" target="_blank">Celebrating Diversity in Cambridge </a>on 21st January and realised that I really need to figure out quite a lot of stuff before I can do that.<br />
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So hopefully this can mean that I can now work out other things and before I know it- I can be that little bit more wise and clear on the message I need to give come the day I stand in front of people. I hope to give a message of hope and something constructive. Let's hope I do that!<br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Until next time,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sen x <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Facebook Green party Campaign page: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharonkaurgp" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/sharonkaurgp</a></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Twitter: </span><a href="https://twitter.com/senlanoire" style="color: #6699cc; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">@senlanoire</a></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Email: </span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-size: 14.4444px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="mailto:senlanoire@facebook.com" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">senlanoire@facebook.com</a></span></span></div>
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<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-80176028052455829332016-11-13T00:14:00.003+00:002016-11-13T00:20:25.032+00:00Byproducts of Racism<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my earliest memories is of when my family lived in
Harlow, Essex. One of the things that is still clear to me is how scared, no-
terrified my parents and grandparents were. I was only about 3 or 4 at this
point, and to see older people so alarmed was terrifying. Our house had been
egged- but from what I've been told it wasn't the first time this had happened.
But that is the only time I remember it happening. I also remember men
shouting, "P*#i, p*#i p*#i!" and "Go back" at the door as
they threw the eggs. I remember my parents saying something about them being
'skinheads'. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Another time, I remember our garden fence been spray painted
with that horrendous word on it and another time, it being smashed. I remember
my father and grandfather painting over the fence and fixing it silently, as
quickly as possible- the fence was what kept them away from us. Just thinking
back to those days makes my chest tighter, and only recently have I realised
how this affected my parents and now me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My parents, especially my father, tried to ensure we were
always safe, the house that I last lived in with my family had a big gate, no
one could get into the grounds very easily and our parents always knew where we
were. It was surrounded by overgrown bramble and hawthorn bushes, all 2 acres
of it. It looked like the big spiky bushes from Sleeping Beauty that the witch
created to keep people out. Ours was left like that for a similar purpose. He bought that house because it was on a
private road; no one went there without reason. We had guard dogs- they should
have or could have been pets but they were trained to kill. My father had an
arms license, and had trained me in using a shotgun in case someone trespassed
or worse- attacked us while he was away on business. At night, big lights came
on that shined all the way around the grounds. It felt like we lived in a
compound. All the exterior doors were checked 3 times at night before bed. The
house was in the middle of nowhere, away from fascists that might attack us,
but I think that the days in Harlow really affected him. By trying to keep us
safe, he almost shut us away from everyone; we lived so far away from our
relatives that we hardly ever saw them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This need for remaining safe became part of my life too. This
same almost paranoid safety issue means that I cannot sleep with my bedroom
door shut. I cannot walk with someone behind me, and I cannot sleep until I have
checked that my front door is shut at least 3 times. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The skinhead element has also played a big part in my life.
Of course, now I know that there were 2 different streams of skinheads, and it
was only by speaking to a skinhead, who bless him, was shocked that his
appearance scared the hell out of me, for me to learn about the history from
him and then doing my own research that I started seeing people who wear Dr.
Martens boots in a different light. But for many years I associated these
people as racists. In the same way I get told, ‘But you’re alright, we just
mean other immigrants,’ line, I too held similar thoughts. <o:p></o:p><br />
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I was bullied at school and racially attacked all the time
throughout in Year 9 and 10. With only 5 BAMEs in the entire school, my
teachers were ill prepared in taking action, thus I was left to defend myself.
It affected my performance immensely. It was when I reached Sixth Form and saw
south Asians only hanging out with other south Asians that I realise now, was
their form of creating their safety net. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We know that we learn our values and morals from our family.
Mine was so scarred by their treatment in the 1980s, that it had ensured its
safety by creating an impenetrable fortress. My views changed and developed
because I ventured further, spoke and started dialogue with people. We found
common ground. But there are so many people out there scarred by their
experiences who have never opened up to the idea of even trying to break away
from their safety net, to see that there are good people out there, on both
sides. And now with another surge in racist incidents, I wonder whether these incidents
are going to create another generation of people, who feel untrustworthy of
creating friendships with people from other backgrounds. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Until next time,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Sen x</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Get in touch with me:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You can find me on:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/senlanoire" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">@senlanoire</a></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Email: </span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="mailto:senlanoire@facebook.com" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">senlanoire@facebook.com</a></span></div>
Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-76568103019830823322016-05-30T01:22:00.002+01:002016-05-30T01:33:14.825+01:00The Time I Stood Up <div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Late last year I decided to stand as a Candidate for the Green Party in the ward that I live in. Being a candidate was a real eye opener for me in dipping a toe in local public life. I was very lucky though to have the support of my friends and the party around me. I had an overall positive experience, though there were times when I wish I hadn't stood. In this post I will be just talking about a few of those points and experiences. </span>Just as a precautionary, in case someone decides to use anything against me or the party, these are my opinions, not the party's.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">My </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Hopes:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I went in w</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">ith this thought that maybe other councillors worked together despite the pressures and cuts from central government. I thought that perhaps in local government people worked together to solve the issues facing their people, in this case, the residents of Cambridge. I was so wrong. But, the beast that reality is didn't show itself until about a month before the election. I may sound naive with my preconceived ideas of how the city councillors worked. I had been to a couple city council meetings a few years back to watch as a member of the public. Both of the meetings went without incidence. But I think my notions were very much based on the workings of Cambridge Green Party. I was made to feel very welcome from Day 1 and got involved in many aspects of the party. At every meeting I went to I felt so included; everyone was nice and really just amazing to me and to each other. I don't think I thought things outside, as in within the council would be different. I was </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">wrong</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">, obviously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The reality:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I was shocked when I saw a <a href="http://www.rtaylor.co.uk/bick-insult-sinnott.html" target="_blank">video clip </a>of a Lib Dem councillor insulting a Labour councillor at a local Homelessness Strategy meeting. I felt sick. Here were councillors meeting to find better ways to help one of the most vulnerable group of people but instead they were behaving like Westminster oxygen thieves. As you will know already if you have read my older posts, I experienced homelessness when I was 18 until I moved into my current home. To have these people that we voted for wasting time really made me question what I was really standing for. Because I would never become them, but if I was never going to become them, then who would I be? When Oscar Gillespie, the Councillor from Green Party told us about the poor behaviour amongst the councillors, I realised that it perhaps didn't matter if I won, because perhaps even then other councillors would probably shout me down. Would I be able to enhance the daily lives of my residents with all the politics and shenanigans? I also realised that there was a reason why Trump was doing so well in USA. As much as people love to hate ''Career Politicians'', it’s only a certain type of people who do well in politics. None of this stopped me from trying to win. I wanted to win. But I also worried about how this would affect my life financially. I am currently finishing a degree, and seeing that city councillors get such a low allowance worried me about how I would be able to carry on paying the rent. It also made me realise this position really is for the rich or the retired. You see, even though it is meant to be a part-time, I can't see how anyone can be a good, competent councillor as well as work full-time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The shock:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">One of my actions created a mini Twitter storm, and looking back at it now, yes I did feel like standing down, mainly due to fear, but also the abuse. I didn’t do anything hugely bad, I corrected a mistake as soon as possible. I put a poster up in public property; a bus stop by Pizza hut on Mill Road. It had a QR code to my video that a local hero- Antony Carpen had made, and it also contained my name and saying to vote for me. I didn’t think to add the imprint on it (don’t ask, I’ve already had a hard time with it as is).I took this poster off as soon as I realised my mistake- the very same evening, I also put a poster in a local shop- they accepted it, and it was also missing an imprint. Now, if I had known I was doing something wrong, I would not have put it on Twitter. That would be silly. But anyhow, someone retweeted it and it opened the </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">floodgates</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">. Another political party got hold of it and told me I would get my agent fired and the usual scaremongering. They also threatened to fine us. We didn’t have a lot of money anyhow and it really scared us. Friends came to my defence and one friend even wrote a <a href="http://www.wobblywomble.co.uk/2016/04/hamlet-or-tempest-something-is-rotten.html" target="_blank">blog post</a> about it here. While this was all happening, another party member added me on Facebook, I thought to myself that people were adding me to show their support, but I was completely wrong. I was in a panic, and wrote a Facebook post about it, and being reassured by friends to not stand down. This person added me to just spy on my personal account and then write a scathing email to all the campaign team- which maybe they didn’t realise that I was a part of- something I really didn’t need it at that time. Perhaps other parties are different in not having such a close knit family feeling, but we certainly do so that made the shock even more real and it really hurt to see that. But to see friends and one other candidate putting themselves in the firing line was greatly astonishing. I also went to the shop the next day and put in the imprint. The photo I shared on Twitter included the photo of the poster with a smaller QR code with a message written in English but phonetically in Punjabi, Hindi and Urdu. Thinking back on it now, I feel like maybe the other party people were just angry that I was trying to get people involved that they largely ignored: the ethnic minorities. During my campaign, I spoke to a number of people who are not white, and they all said they felt disenfranchised. I think that says more that I need to. I will write a post about that soon, one day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Accomplishments:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Since December, I have I feel really become an active member of the party. Obviously standing as a candidate would do that, but I’m also a part of the Campaign Committee and Co-Chair of the local party. I initially decided to stand because I was pretty depressed. I was going to Cognitive Behaviour Therapy sessions every week, and had a very bad year; I had had a break down earlier that year. My close friend Ed had cancer and it was very difficult to come to terms with his illness, and then in October he passed away. All in all, including other things, I was having a very shitty year, and part of the CBT is to make changes to your own life and to really work at getting better. I thought by standing I would be able to combat a lot of my issues surrounding depression and anxiety. I did and I feel tons better. But I really don’t think I would have been able to come out of the Twitter storm stuff and the horrible emails without the help of everyone at the party and my friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">My other achievement was writing the Homelessness policy for the Cambridge Green Party Manifesto 2016. I sent a copy of it away to 2 prominent charities in Cambridge and received positive feedback from them. It has a seal of approval from people who work with homeless people every day. For me, that is a great achievement. I feel like although I don’t know where my career is headed at least I have done something with my degree even before graduating. The very short version of it can be found <a href="https://cambridge.greenparty.org.uk/site/Cambridge/files/CamGreens-2016_manifesto_final_online_2.pdf" target="_blank">here</a> ( pp.15-16). I guess a minor achievement was not embarrassing myself in front of Natalie Bennett who came to our fundraiser in April. I was star struck- we all have our own heroes- she’s one of mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">A Long Day:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">On the day of the election, we were out before the sunrise and got in the next day at sunrise too. It was a long day; I spent a lot it walking back and forth from our headquarters to the Polling Station to leafleting. We even had Natalie Bennett come to see us and give a speech! By the time it came to going in for the count, we were all pretty exhausted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">An Incident:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">At the Guild Hall, a few of us were in the Petersfield counting area and next to us was the Queen Edith’s count. I had heard of a certain other candidate standing there but hadn’t met him before. Then around some time after midnight, in between the next batch of counting, he approached me and started asking me about my parentage- I told him where my family are from in India. I thought perhaps we could talk about something we had in common- he is from another part of India himself- something he told me as a reply. I asked him about how it was looking for him and he told me it wasn’t good and about how many “resources” the national party put into his campaign and how Lords had helped him with canvassing- very much showing off. And I said it was a shame, and that local politics was different to central politics and asked what he stood for. He started telling he was a businessman and also made certain comments about ‘working hard is the only way to make it’. When I tried to tell him about recent research that says social mobility is no more. He told me to shut up as he hadn’t finished. He said it in such a way that was rude and also in a way that he thought that we were in India in the 1950s, and to be quiet. I decided to overlook that, mainly because I didn’t want to muddy the name of my party by saying what I really should have said and I was also very shocked. He then carried on telling me how he came to England with not a lot of money and made a lot more by working really hard, and that with hard work anyone can be rich. He then asked me if I was married, I pointed out my fiancé who was helping us the whole day since 4.30 am and was now helping with the counting. He looked shocked and was visibly 'disturbed', as my fiancé in his eyes and my </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">mother's</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> eyes is unacceptable because he is an English, white male. He quickly realised this and just said, ‘Oh! O-kay!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">He then asked me, ‘Can I ask… I don’t understand why second generation girls always sleep with goras?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I mean shocking right? I really didn’t want to speak to him anymore. He was trying to embarrass me, trying to 'cut my nose'. I told him I loved my fiancé and just tried to be pleasant despite that. He asked me about my family and I was honest with him. Though when I told him a little bit about my childhood, he did start showing me more respect- mainly due to telling him what my father did for a living, even though it has nothing to do with me. He then also went on to tell me that next time I visit India, I ought to go to his state, as it’s clean unlike ‘Punjab which is very dirty’ and not very nice, that I should see ‘the real India’, that has ‘educated people there’. Luckily, a fellow party member came and sat between us and it kind of ended the conversation. But in our first ever meeting, he tried to embarrass me and insulted me, made sweeping generalisations about a whole group of people- of Punjab and 2<sup>nd</sup> generation British Indian women. On top of that, he showed off how much the national party threw money at him. I really don’t think I would have come out of it not feeling shame- had I not been so tired and feeling happier in myself as a person. Shame and honour are 2 things that are very important to many people from South Asian communities, I am confident that he knew what he was saying- he was trying to bring shame upon me and question my honour. We also discussed integration of communities and trying to get more ethnic minorities to vote and stand, and we also spoke about other things- we didn’t agree on a lot of stuff and we agreed on other stuff, but what he said to me personally is what I’ve highlighted the most here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Also another incident took place as I was going into the main hall for the results- a lady who was from another party observing the Petersfield count decided to come up to me and patronisingly told me how great it was that I tried unlike the 2 other parties. It was said in a bitchy way and, having already suffered from remarks by someone else, I really didn’t need that too.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">So, we didn’t do so well, I came second. I didn’t really knock on doors as much- mainly due to having 2 bad experiences from residents who were really rude- it really scared me. I also don’t think we as a party realised how much Jeremy Corbyn would affect our votes. But we live and learn, next time, I’ll be even more confident. I did my best, and I will stand again. We as a party will improve and learn from this. I personally feel that I have grown as a person, and next time I will make sure I work on door-knocking but also I hope people will be nicer too. Just because we are standing in local elections doesn’t mean we don’t have hearts. If we’re meant to take crap then we have to become heartless- do people really want people with tough skins to stand for them or do they want people just like them? Career politicians or everyday folk? Which is it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">A really amazing feeling was walking down the road on the day and people just stopping me and telling me that they had voted for me. It was a surreal feeling, people had voted for me and they believed in me. <a href="http://www.cambridge-news.co.uk/Cambridge-City-Council-elections-2016-results/story-29236399-detail/story.html" target="_blank">321 people</a> voted for me, and though it’s a fraction in the grand scheme of things, for me it’s 321 individuals who believed in me. I am most thankful to you. I am also thankful to my friends both old and new, who despite their ill health and or busy schedules came out and helped me by leafleting. My special thanks also goes my fiancé who helped put up the poster boards around the city and got sun burnt as a result. He also leafleted with me come rain or shine, and walked over 18 miles on the election day delivering early morning leaflets, telling at the Polling Stations, going home to feed the Chairman Meow (I will write a post on our cat soon), and then helped with the count as well as doing his own life things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Until next time,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sen x (aka Sharon Kaur)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-84729381582565173112016-03-30T02:35:00.000+01:002016-03-30T03:06:04.130+01:00BBC's Murdered By My Father ReviewI just watched 'Murdered By My Father' on the BBCiplayer. It's about an honour killing where the father ends up killing his daughter, Salma, for having a boyfriend despite being matched to a young man whom she never chose to marry. Of course there's more to it but I would highly suggest watching it.<br />
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I have been aware of honour killings since I was little. It's not a new phenomenon. I'd heard of incidences happening in India, once where a young lad was found in his farm well dead because of being sweet on a girl from the same village. And I even heard about them here, where the in-laws burnt their daughter-in-law for wearing western clothes outside (yeah, I know), despite growing up away from the Asian community. Perhaps it's just my family- I doubt that- the incidences weren't discussed as being something evil- in fact it was always as almost something to be justified in a way- most of the time it was blamed on the girl for bringing shame. Whatever the girl suffered- it was explained away as punishment for her own wrongdoing. It was discussed as gossip, people delighted in someone else's downfall- as if the girl's family were at fault; the remaining siblings would be 'written off'; the entire family would be outcasted; small trivial things would be blamed such as the mother working instead of mothering. It was something that I was threatened with as a 'if' I ever did anything to bring shame or as my father put it- 'cut his nose', he would kill me. It nearly happened to me when I ran away and it was something I only narrowly escaped. Though the reasoning behind my near honour death was very different to the one portrayed in the film, it still held a lot of similarities. Mainly the aftermath- I had guilt trips from my paternal grandma to go back, Salma got the texts. Thankfully I refused, regrettably she fell for it.<br />
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Whilst watching the film, I kept wondering when the father's mask would slip, and out would come the anger that you can just lurking under the surface. The reality of the sex scene at the wedding is pretty unrealistic. Those aunties at the wedding would have smelt a fishy situation a mile away. The actor who played the father was amazingly good at portraying the character, it was easy to see the undertones. I watched through it, didn't skip despite worrying for the girl, just because I wondered how it would lead up to the inevitable ending, and afterwards some thoughts came to mind.<br />
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Okay, so, I thought it was way too downplayed; the whole affair was too sedate and perhaps because it was a film for non south asians to watch. I apologise it that sounds a bit bad. I also wonder how much damage this will do the muslim communities, it's not just a muslim issue. It happens in other South Asian communities too. I feel that because of what's currently happening in the world, another culture may have made a bigger impact. It would have been nice for muslims to not be seen as bad people for once by the BBC (just listen to Nihal on the BBC Asian Network). Because of this, had they chosen another culture, it would have come forth as more shocking and just as realistic.<br />
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I wasn't that shocked by it as I thought it would be, sure the murder is just horrible. Now, because I know and have heard of girls/ women being burned alive, perhaps it wasn't as bad. It doesn't mean that I think that honour killings aren't horrific. I still remember an incident that I was told about 12 years ago and it has stayed with me ever since. I spent 3 years trying to get a regional level Black and Minority Ethnic organisation to make awareness of honour killings it's top priority. They didn't listen. So back to the film, making non-asians aware of the issue of honour killings is very important. But if it doesn't shock me and other people from the South Asian community then how will that make a difference? Perhaps it was an awareness film, but even if it was also to shock or shame people, would it even work? Shame is a complicated concept, in that there's no one way to bring it onto the family. Perhaps I have lived outside the community too long as what I did find shocking was the father's friend telling him that Salma doesn't need an education- that it'll make her too free or give her ideas.<br />
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I also felt that perhaps there should have been more of an emphasis on the fact that it's the pressure of being judged and shunned by 'the community' that can have a huge role to play in some incidents. Sharam/shame is such a massive concept in South Asian communities- often only linked to the actions of a female. The father refers to the shame his daughter has brought to the family. My mother won't accept my own personal choices because she's scared of what her community will think. The community has a huge part to play in this film and in honour killings, and I believe that it's true ugly side wasn't shown enough. Some people will kill, others will disown or simply brush the shame under the carpet. Shame and honour together can have devastating results.<br />
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I remember asking my grandma what would have happened if I was a boy and ran away from home? She told me she would have broken my bones. But we both knew that she was lying. <br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-5722459233704517752016-02-01T14:55:00.000+00:002016-02-01T21:19:49.297+00:00Mill Road Depot Site Supplementary Planning Document Second WorkshopOn Tuesday, I attended the workshop regarding the future of the Mill Road Depot site, and what it would become in the future. The site is council owned and is soon to become vacant. Back in November at the first workshop, the local residents had discussed wanting more affordable housing along with some community and green space, and as the space is owned by the council, it seems that this was possible. The meeting was attended by various councillors including the Green Party Market ward councillor Oscar Gillespie, local residents, and the council consultants working on the future of the site. The consultants started with the feedback of what they learnt from the meeting and then presented us with what they had put together from the feedback.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZBJAdZaxt_el77us1l8ZXpKOOT1G7iXbmdd1ckrDttgLgV1jlSBYiJ_Aabo3SP8cITacYSz70lbFoB6C85opTtPqvXqrpP6HtHvNUOxH9qoVzHNdVA8UNzws9RY6fyvZ22_VXS3RsxM/s1600/20160126_172341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZBJAdZaxt_el77us1l8ZXpKOOT1G7iXbmdd1ckrDttgLgV1jlSBYiJ_Aabo3SP8cITacYSz70lbFoB6C85opTtPqvXqrpP6HtHvNUOxH9qoVzHNdVA8UNzws9RY6fyvZ22_VXS3RsxM/s400/20160126_172341.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
There were 3 important things of note regarding the site:<br />
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- 2 areas on the site that contained contamination of fuel tanks<br />
- there was a broad deficiency is open spaces in the area<br />
- they wanted to incorporate the Chisholm Trail into the site<br />
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At the last meeting, people had put forward ideas about having social and affordable housing. There were mixed views about student housing and having a space for small businesses. People had also wanted green spaces with play areas. The consultants showed us various different ideas of green spaces that included linear and pocketed parks. There was also an idea to plant more trees. Within the concept of having around 167 homes on the site, people put forward the idea of having a car-free zone and the possibility to have an area to charge electric cars.<br />
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With regards to the housing element, people wanted sustainable design that was incorporated with the architecture of local design. There were strong feelings against pretend victorian houses the likes of which can be found on Cromwell Road. There was also a mutual acceptance that there should be only one point of entrance for cars.<br />
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With regards to the design evolution, the consultants spoke of the key constraints on the site. This included the existing garages towards the Hooper Street end, the railway to one side and Mill road at the entrance. The contamination would need cleaning up and there were also existing grade listed buildings made up of coach houses towards the Kingston street side and further a listed building at the entrance. There was also a school near the Mill Road end of the site. There was talk of having a linear park against the railway, but it would only serve the local development rather than the wider community. The pocket parks were seen to be a better use of space but we were told they could only be in certain areas due to the existence of trees, This was problematic due to the park is the north that was too close to the Mill Road bridge. There was a possibility of having a north/south entrance. <br />
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The general consensus was to have tall apartment buildings about 5 storeys- against the railway and have a contemporary design to the houses with garages, the likes of which can be found near the Grafton Centre. I felt there was a sense of horror from the majority of people present at the idea of something similar to that here. There was a general no-no towards having pretend victorian houses. The consultants also suggested that the coach houses could potentially be reused by being converted into 2 bedroomed houses. They presented us with 6 options, of which I felt most people liked option 5 (pictured below).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKoKsvYubf6UxmGt1Jb_6fH_NhbOy6v9dZzP13JJa1N9OQoTWYyc3aPxnS4MLwS74iY1TVuAviAgBFJP5OU-1A3HAXUngCblKhvheCLiVv13AV1IGzEdLy4oEaX9YAo1vHIw5G76iMkA/s1600/millrddepot.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKoKsvYubf6UxmGt1Jb_6fH_NhbOy6v9dZzP13JJa1N9OQoTWYyc3aPxnS4MLwS74iY1TVuAviAgBFJP5OU-1A3HAXUngCblKhvheCLiVv13AV1IGzEdLy4oEaX9YAo1vHIw5G76iMkA/s400/millrddepot.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzEEFZyWcOc7x90amUejOnvFWoKj9_0bFuvXqKpvyWO-XNJ-48KXRNIGBZYdW4vZwf1S-83WNR1f3tJDwRBFAUCl_uqxALrM5exhaxLbkUUpETsLmsmfI3ZlZAJHl19Atsv0_VEoB3CE/s1600/20160126_195945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzEEFZyWcOc7x90amUejOnvFWoKj9_0bFuvXqKpvyWO-XNJ-48KXRNIGBZYdW4vZwf1S-83WNR1f3tJDwRBFAUCl_uqxALrM5exhaxLbkUUpETsLmsmfI3ZlZAJHl19Atsv0_VEoB3CE/s400/20160126_195945.jpg" width="400" /></a>With about 50 people in attendance, there were around 6 tables with 8 people huddled around it. During the workshop, I found out that the small organisations that exist at Hooper street would also have to leave. This includes the Women's Resource Centre. And seeing as Anglia Ruskin University are closing down its Nursery, I felt it was important that we ensured that our feedback form on our table said that we needed both of these services in the development. My suggestion was to used the 4 separate coach houses as spaces for local organisations and small businesses. Oscar Gillespie also suggested having a safe haven for LGBTQI young people from Cambridge who currently do not have a place to meet. A PACT- Petersfield Area Community Trust member also suggested having solar panels on each household to make the development sustainable. I also strongly suggested not having the Chisholm Trail go through the development and keeping the area car-free, with no garages attached to homes. This is where the idea of having an underground car park was put forward by Richard Robertson, Petersfield ward councillor. The main concern of the current garage tenants was what would happen to the garages if the land was to be developed.The current garage tenants who use it for their cars agreed that they would be happy if they too got a space within the underground car park. On our table, we discussed the possibility of perhaps having 40% social housing instead of the 20%.<br />
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I've just edited the photo above with what ideas our table came up with.<br />
The following list is some of the ideas other people from the workshop came up with:<br />
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- A tall building like Dale's Brewery to have it match the area so over 6 storeys high<br />
- Gallery/ Artist's studios within the development<br />
- a few households given to Cambridge Housing Society<br />
- Rather than 0.6 cars per household there should be 0.3 per home<br />
- it was pointed out that the Mill Road entrance was dangerous<br />
- A comment that the garages for each household was unnecessary<br />
- Youth housing<br />
- only one entrance<br />
- The development should have a theme e.g Love Identity<br />
- There should be a car club, or a community car<br />
- Anti-social behaviour possible to be designed out<br />
- Some were concerned about the skyline<br />
- Ideas to have a wildlife planting schemes<br />
- concerns over shading by big, tall buildings<br />
- Someone else also suggested the coach houses could be used by start-up and organisations<br />
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There was a moment during the workshop session that I realised just how much and what this site meant to so many people. It's possibly the first time so many people have had the power to have their views heard in this capacity, and in that sense it is exciting. But it is also a development where people have so many things depending on it to deliver the many things that the area is lacking in. We, the Petersfield residents are starved of a community space, a green open space, and affordable housing. I feel a little concerned that perhaps by trying to build all these elements we will end up with sub-par level of everything,<br />
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Key dates gone and for future to keep in mind:<br />
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Evidence Review September-December<br />
Design Development November- January<br />
Preparation of SDP February-March<br />
6 weeks of consultations Mid May-June<br />
Prepare Final SDP for Adoption September<br />
Committee/Adoption Autumn<br />
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As always,<br />
Until Next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-24284437181889945042016-01-14T06:47:00.001+00:002016-01-14T07:01:08.698+00:00India- Part 1: The JourneyAt this time of the year, the Northern part of India lays under a bed of thick, winter fog for most of the day. It looks quite similar to the smog that Beijing is suffering from, though this <i>dhond</i> is 'definitely not pollution'. It gets thicker nearer rivers, and let me tell you, you'll know when you're near a river, because it's so thick that you can't see anything at all apart from white cloud like smoke in patches. But because of the dhond, it becomes quite dangerous at times to drive, delays almost all the flights, and makes the sun look quite pretty.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0KW-3b75jyWzoALE-J8IhWeebFMmQvF2-SZO5XJAOD20NuG-e3fcZR0t-I7NH9h0eMDFlhr1aniFJMdxzgi7Wa7TuKiPzy0B5wSZFABzfKuWhIeT85rzy230PGNK2-HEfPuyW4WATWE/s1600/20151206_105511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0KW-3b75jyWzoALE-J8IhWeebFMmQvF2-SZO5XJAOD20NuG-e3fcZR0t-I7NH9h0eMDFlhr1aniFJMdxzgi7Wa7TuKiPzy0B5wSZFABzfKuWhIeT85rzy230PGNK2-HEfPuyW4WATWE/s200/20151206_105511.jpg" width="200" /></a>Getting to Amritsar from England was hard going. You'd think Air India would know that due to the fog at this time of the year- every year, they would change the timings of their flights beforehand, but they didn't so we ended up stuck at the New Delhi Airport for hours. The first thing that struck me was the sticky heat, as we got off the plane even though it would be the same plane that we would get back on to get to Punjab. The next was how rude the security staff were, as we had to have another security check when we got off the plane. The female security lady, unbeknownst to her that I am fluent in Hindi, insulted me, calling me a lot of names just because she was in a bad mood. That was the first instance I wanted to board a plane back to England. We were kept in horrendously hot conditions for almost 2 hours without being offered water, even though the stop over wasn't meant to be longer than 30 minutes. With us was my mum's elderly aunt, who was joining us for this leg of the journey.<br />
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When we finally got on the plane, it took everyone over 40 minutes to find their seats, as most people just sat wherever they wanted. Then of course the stewardesses had to move people and find their correct seats. I got told by the elderly gentleman that this was normal, and it was kind of funny to watch too. In the end, and elderly Sardar decided to take it upon himself to help the other lost passengers whilst Stewards went off, probably to hide. Finally, after everyone was seated, the wouldn't get any clearance so we were stuck on the runway for almost an hour and a half. So there we were, thirsty due to the dry heat, most of us were exhausted from the 12 hours previously spent on another flight coming to India, now going to Punjab. Because of the mean, rude Air India lady mum and I got when we checked in at Birmingham Airport, we didn't get seated together, something everyone in our cabin agreed was out of line. Instead, I ended up a few rows and seat across from her. It was probably a good thing, as I got chatting to people and realised Punjabi people are actually quite nice, and friendly, funny people. That may sound odd but I don't really know many Punjabis. Everyone treated everyone else like family, made jokes to pass the time, a man shouted, 'We're here!' after the plane sped up to go but then slowed down. It was pretty hilarious. I felt really happy at that time. It's a good memory.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHooCH8zN-7XSnafwbuKv_Cta5qtyKiY8i0xqIvlI6P_w97G4DBIOP9Abzit7-zrhrr8Vvlq4nkTeyvW20YIJLvHqa004vbfWGV0v9MZxxI5xAPeG-HarN8VKOQK9KoOvikQkFf4fQdmQ/s1600/20151201_115639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHooCH8zN-7XSnafwbuKv_Cta5qtyKiY8i0xqIvlI6P_w97G4DBIOP9Abzit7-zrhrr8Vvlq4nkTeyvW20YIJLvHqa004vbfWGV0v9MZxxI5xAPeG-HarN8VKOQK9KoOvikQkFf4fQdmQ/s200/20151201_115639.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAtcqfGB7s1ek-jsds33fTrPlerzFDlmRHrTq09H9Q1Vk7Q1TKa24PsiQNH2l1bDSCHQ59-0NHqRmjkGzIVnejiMWFRfnHHRxdponZctGnzf97Z9acTTDp0HLNWtVUaywQID0qm2bgCsc/s1600/20151201_115651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAtcqfGB7s1ek-jsds33fTrPlerzFDlmRHrTq09H9Q1Vk7Q1TKa24PsiQNH2l1bDSCHQ59-0NHqRmjkGzIVnejiMWFRfnHHRxdponZctGnzf97Z9acTTDp0HLNWtVUaywQID0qm2bgCsc/s200/20151201_115651.jpg" width="200" /></a>I was meant to go for 10 days but stayed for only 6 nights (more on that later). What I found was a place that in many ways was completely unfamiliar, but in others shockingly the way I left it as a child. As some of you will know, I lived in India for most of my childhood, after my parents sent me there from England aged 4 or 5. When I lived there, I was in Goraya, District Jalandhar, for about 4 years before being sent to a boarding school in Dalhousie, Himachal Pradesh.<br />
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At first glance, the India I left behind 16 years ago seemed to still be there. If only it was a little more dirtier, and dustier but then that could just be because I haven't been back for a long time. The highways were pretty well made. These did not exist 16 years ago. Of course some people still drive on the wrong side but still- no pot holes. I even saw a Sardar riding motorcycle whilst texting! We got off the plane in Amritsar (Ambarsar, as the Punjabis call in), 3 hours later than intended, totalling almost a 22 hour journey by the time we got to my mother's village. Because of these new highways, I couldn't recognise any of the towns leading up to Goraya which saddened me. It was only when we got near to the railway line in Goraya that I finally recognised where we were. For one thing, there wasn't an overhead 4 lane highway when I used to live there. I even recognised the shoe shop I always went to!<br />
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My biggest surprise lay as we touched down; <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sri_Guru_Ram_Dass_Jee_International_Airport" target="_blank">Amritsar Airport</a> looked amazing. I did think beforehand that it might be a small runway with tractors bringing our luggage, as I saw in Bride and Prejudice film, in fact it's feat of architecture, and brought tears of pride to my eyes. That's really when I realised that there are gems in amongst the dhond which isn't pollution, as my 2nd uncle kept telling me...<br />
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I'll try to write up the next part as soon as I can. That's where I meet my mum's family, stay at the farm house and talk about sewage! What fun!<br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-5675923341227266842016-01-13T18:20:00.002+00:002016-01-13T18:20:42.890+00:00EdI've been finding it hard to write anything of value for the past few months. I've written a few posts but have found that because there's something I have been trying to hide, I can't quite focus on anything new. This is my attempt at trying to let out what I'm feeling so that perhaps it will help me feel less anguish.<br />
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As I've written before, I am at an age where I am having to experience grief more often than I would ever want. We all reach an age where we become conscious of death and its impact on us, and for me this process began a couple of years ago. In my own opinion, our grandparents passing away isn't the same as when our friends do. Maybe it's because we never think that our friends won't be there when we have kids, or at our weddings or when we're old. We do know that our grandparents will go at some point. I suppose we don't consciously think that one of our friends will pass away at any moment.<br />
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My best friend passed away on October the 6th last year. As he lay there in the hospice, fighting to live, I was told by his wife to say whatever I needed to say as he wasn't long for this world. Ed had been breathing heavily, struggling to keep hold of life. How had it come to this? There was so much I wanted to say but I just couldn't. He squeezed my hand, acknowledging my presence. He had held on until I arrived at half 9 that evening, waiting for me. Two hours later, he was gone. And he fought, he wasn't going to go without a fight. I wondered whether I deserved to be there. I had been a shitty friend. He had been fighting Cancer for a while and at one point I had gone dark on him. I just couldn't cope. Thinking about it now, I am glad his wife didn't have to go through it on her own. I wished, prayed and pleaded to god to take some of my life and give it to him. It sounds absurd now. But at the time, I just thought- anything to stop this<br />
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'Who knows what the future holds', as he would always tell me, kept going through my mind constantly, and it still does. I keep wanting to call him- he always knew how to calm me and put some sense into me. Most of all, he knew how to comfort me at a terrible time, then of course I realise with the greatest dread that it's his death that I mourn. </div>
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For the past few months, I had lost all hope, not wanting to go on. He wasn't supposed to go yet. Fairytales are a lie. Life is not fair. I had stopped doing everything. I wasn't functioning. My mother couldn't understand why I was feeling this way for someone who wasn't family, let alone just a friend. But that's the thing, my friends took the place where family is meant to be. And that was the thing about Ed, he saw the best in everyone. He managed to see something in me that I didn't know I had. He saw me as a fierce young woman, and helped me find it, and overcome so much. He was patient and kind to me when I had no one in this world. I was so proud to have him as a friend.<br />
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It hurts every time science has a new discovery related to cancer. It hurts when I see messages from his wife and realise that her and their little son are always going to feel his absence. It was only by accident the doctors found his tumour, and it is only recently that I am thankful of the fact that from that day on he received the best care and treatment he possibly could. He knew he was loved, supported, and cared from until his last breath and for that I'm deeply grateful.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x</div>
Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-42828754240079561372015-11-02T14:24:00.000+00:002015-11-04T13:19:43.782+00:00Exploring Sikhi and Interfaith WeddingsThis is not going to be an easy post to write, especially because of the repercussions I may face. And it is because of these repercussions I must speak out even more. I have been weighing up writing about this for the last few weeks and have decided that though I might endanger myself by writing this, it is even more important that our society is better educated about this after it has been read.<br />
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I have had a tumultuous relationship with god. In my teens,I ran away from the family home, and turned my back to Sikhism, mainly due to my father's apparent devotion to the religion and yet being a monster. It wasn't until I was around 22 or 23 when I was once again drawn to this spiritual religion that I realised that despite leaving it behind, it had always been there for me. I realised that through all parts of my life, I had inadvertently followed what Sikhi aspired to teach us. It was then that I realised that my father was actually a very bad example of a Sikh and I found a new appreciation for Sikhi. Today, when I think of my belief in the Gurus' teachings I feel serenity and peace. It brings peace to my mind. <br />
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Over the past few years, there has been a greater presence of fundamentalism within the Sikh religion. Some gurdwaras are being used to forward the agenda of the Khalsa Brigade- a group of Sikhs who believe that the state of Punjab in India, birth place of Sikhism, ought to become it's own country. They give lectures at gurdwaras about their cause, I've been at gurudwara when they have been giving speeches and it was scary as it sounded a lot like brainwashing. It's probably no different to how terrorists recruit young impressionable people. Some of the more extreme fundamentalists even want 'Khalistan' to be a Sikh only country. What's strange is that despite these people having been born outside of India, their priority is turning the state of Punjab into it's own country and making Sikhi into a fundamentalist religion rather than focus on 'cleaning up' the many problems facing the people of Punjab today. For one thing, there is a huge <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/indiahome/indianews/article-2850879/It-s-time-end-Punjab-s-drug-epidemic.html" target="_blank">drug problem</a>- drugs come through Pakistan, go through Punjab and then through the rest of India. <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-11925617" target="_blank">Young Punjabi men</a> in particular are getting addicted to hardcore drugs. But these fundamentalists don't care about any of that. Another huge problem is <a href="http://www.slideshare.net/xtrmn8R/female-infanticide-in-punjab" target="_blank">Female Infanticide</a>- though there is a law to stop women from having fetus gender scans and abortions due to finding out that it's a female, this is still happening <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/female-infanticide-affects-sex-ratio-in-punjab/article398285.ece" target="_blank">illegally</a>, and has caused huge disparities in the ratio of males to females.<br />
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A few weeks ago, something that has been happening for a while was published in a mainstream newspaper. Interfaith Sikh wedding ceremonies have been getting <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-21721519" target="_blank">disrupted</a> for years by groups of men who think that Anand karaj- the sikh marriage ceremony- must only be undertaken by sikhs, discarding completely the decision by the gurdwara to let it take place- which they have been allowing for decades. It needs to be said here that from observations, not statistical data, many people have found that most of these disruptions take place at the weddings where <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/religion/11836456/Religious-protesters-force-mixed-faith-couples-to-abandon-wedding-ceremonies.html" target="_blank">Sikh women</a> are getting married to a man outside of the Sikh faith. There have been countless incidents (all hushed up) but <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/religion/11836456/Religious-protesters-force-mixed-faith-couples-to-abandon-wedding-ceremonies.html" target="_blank">The Telegraph</a> got hold of one such story, which started a whole new debate within the sikh community as well as the British Society as a whole. <a href="http://naujawani.com/blog/why-british-sikhs-must-oppose-this-drive-to-ban-inter-faith-marriages-at-gurdwaras" target="_blank">Sunny Hundal</a>, a journalist had been writing about this for a while before they published the story. The amount of publicity (both positive and negative) he was getting amongst British Sikhs was overwhelming. I kept my eye on it and read the arguments by both for and against it. Many Sikhs were accepting that when one Sikh marries outside the religion they ought to be able to take part in the Anand Karaj whilst others said it was a ceremony between two sikhs only. What I saw was a lot of hatred towards people who wanted to marry outside the religion, and these radical minded people accusing these people of only wanting the Anand Karaj for show. From experience, I don't believe mixed couples would want to marry in a Gurudwara just for show after all the shame and adversity they have most likely had to face. Why would they put themselves through a ceremony that may get disrupted unless one of them is devoted.<br />
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This whole situation also brought to light other important questions, and I did wonder at one point how many Sikh- Sikh couples actually take part in the Anand Karaj just to appease their families, whether these couples are actually practising Sikhi or are they automatically allowed to have the Anand Karaj ceremony just because they were born in a Sikh family. The last part was even more important as there were reports that a wedding was disrupted this year when a sikh woman was marrying a white man who had converted to Sikhi. Despite him talking to the thugs who disrupted their wedding, demonstrating to them his knowledge of the Sikh faith, the thugs were still hellbent on interrupting the ceremony. This really does make me wonder whether the real issue is based purely on racism. There have however been non-racist based arguments too, but mainly it's been a bit of a liberals versus religious fanatics, and the religious fanatics came across a lot like <a href="http://dailysikhupdates.com/sikh-youth-uk-to-protest-all-interfaith-weddings-in-gurdwaras/" target="_blank">radicals</a>- very similar in their stance- verbally attacking people who stood up against their ideals. I found this article by the <a href="http://www.sikhnet.com/news/mixed-marriages-anand-karaj" target="_blank">Sikhnet</a> quite educational on the issue and welcomed their stance on it.<br />
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I have spent quite a lot of time sitting on this article and feel that I can now finally publish it. Having explored my own views a little widely on the matter, I believe that the Anand Karaj should be open to all Sikhs marrying outside the faith, though I disagree with couples who hold 2 different religious ceremonies. But I also believe that the person who is not the Sikh ought to fully know and understand the ceremony and at least the basics of the Sikh religion. There is also a bigger picture to look at here, which is the future of the children from that marriage. If the couple are welcomed into the faith then the children will more likely be brought up in the faith. Sikhi is not a religion that converts people, but it shouldn't become the religion that is borne of hatred either.<br />
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A few months ago, The Sikh Council UK made a decision:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-1a0znIrI_6ZhXOO1sAtxwGuxIfL1DJtnWQVVfnB8UqIx_EL7WPoYdpZybx2VCz8R_w5cKdSjHAzYm1aG1htIo2rQ_YKQymaxGkusGnHtYh-YHG6OoK_w_TjyLn1vgUBTN7pSnO-sAM/s1600/sikh1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-1a0znIrI_6ZhXOO1sAtxwGuxIfL1DJtnWQVVfnB8UqIx_EL7WPoYdpZybx2VCz8R_w5cKdSjHAzYm1aG1htIo2rQ_YKQymaxGkusGnHtYh-YHG6OoK_w_TjyLn1vgUBTN7pSnO-sAM/s320/sikh1.png" width="256" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WWfhtmH1k9-M7O-28oOpa1v9Ep86pn-idfJW_Dfdp3LVyulPrx4j_ExpYH7e-RZXDYTksqiqN8cGLEpElHZ1o648LH01mg8tJhOjPnS58zX6xkCmXN1KJpIfYMty5S9Es32Za8bI1cw/s1600/sikh3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WWfhtmH1k9-M7O-28oOpa1v9Ep86pn-idfJW_Dfdp3LVyulPrx4j_ExpYH7e-RZXDYTksqiqN8cGLEpElHZ1o648LH01mg8tJhOjPnS58zX6xkCmXN1KJpIfYMty5S9Es32Za8bI1cw/s320/sikh3.png" width="278" /></a><br />
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References, for those who want to further explore:</div>
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<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/sikhism/history/history_1.shtml">http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/sikhism/history/history_1.shtml</a></div>
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<a href="http://exiledonline.com/war-nerd-classic-in-praise-of-sikhs-the-coolest-warrior-tribe-around/">http://exiledonline.com/war-nerd-classic-in-praise-of-sikhs-the-coolest-warrior-tribe-around/</a></div>
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<a href="http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/concoughlin/100193886/where-would-the-british-army-be-without-the-sikhs/">http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/concoughlin/100193886/where-would-the-british-army-be-without-the-sikhs/</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p030k8hd">http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p030k8hd</a><br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/sunnyhundalorg/posts/879516755451742">https://www.facebook.com/sunnyhundalorg/posts/879516755451742</a><br />
<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/jodylan-castle/interfaith-marriage_b_6208502.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/jodylan-castle/interfaith-marriage_b_6208502.html</a><br />
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-21721519">http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-21721519</a><br />
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-34043575">http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-34043575</a><br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-65255815763911326062015-08-24T17:14:00.001+01:002015-08-24T17:14:23.231+01:00RecoveryI had the operation on my back in late June, and while I was incapacitated I began to really appreciate freedom. Once I was completely unable to do anything did I wish I had my wings returned to me so that I could fly again once more. I think it was then that I realised that I had been behaving like my wings had been clipped long ago, which has never been the case. I realise now that I have been ignoring a lot things, or I pushing a part of myself out of the way so that I don't have to see the stark truth in front of me. But as life is, those hidden parts hiding away in the shadows always find a way to come back bigger and uglier, and usually unannounced. Life tends to not give us the warnings, or shall I say that we tend not to see them. I had been hiding a huge part of me away from myself, that when it finally emerged from the shadows, I could not recognise it, and the story it had to tell me pretty much crushed me...<br />
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So while I was waiting for the pain to subside, I shamelessly daydreamed about some of the adventures I want to undertake. In these dreams I tended to be dressed as a Lara Croftesque figure climbing (steep) hills, hiking into giant caves or riding a horse. I know it sounds lame, but I kind of feel too afraid to dream any bigger. In the past couple of weeks, I have become hopeful, nay adamant that I will have no pain soon. For the most part it feels like the back was aggravated with, like someone has been flapping around with a car air fresheners letting off strong aromas, in my case causing the pain. I feel like I have been thrown up in the air mutiple times- handled roughly by a circus man. Or been thrown around the dance floor by an overly enthusiastic male lead. The one thing I have noticed is how much strainghter I am standing. The curvature has lessened and I can move parts of my lower back I haven't been able to in a while. The whole area feels less like it's made of stone and more like it could be made out of flexible wood.<br />
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Though I am delighted at the prospect of not feeling pain soon, I am also very afraid. This pain has been my constant companion for the past 10 years, and longer if I count the bouts of back pain I suffered as a child. So in a way, it's feels like I am divorcing myself from it, though I am relieved in one way, I realise that I am cutting ties with a one of the few constants in my life . And though it sounds demented, it really was always there for me when I was alone. Before this turns into a love letter to my bane of my life thus far, I must stop. breath and move forward.<br />
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The next few weeks in my life are very important. I feel like I have put all my hopes in this procedure, and in the back of my mind I have fears of it not working and how the failure will affect my life.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
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Sen x<br />
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PS- I know this is the second post of the day, but I seem to have written many posts but ever got around to posting them. This next post will be about a serious subject, so watch this space!Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-55539409270964823982015-08-24T17:07:00.002+01:002015-08-24T17:07:35.690+01:00RamblingsI recently achieved a highly personal goal, something that I believed would make me completely happy once it was achieved, a goal I had only somewhat of a control over. Once it happened and I was on the other side, I of course realised that there is always a snag to goals. They never really end. So, really, I am happy that goal was achieved but now I'm running towards the next step. I did imagine these metaphorical clouds parting and I would be covered in pixie dust of happiness. I imagined that I would level up at least and feel even for a few moments that I had reached something. Of course, life isn't exactly like a video game.<br />
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It occurs to me now that, we humans are always chasing after something, some goal, and we're never really satisfied, and we're not that different in our thinking to be following that different a goal. With the media and internet ever so over-bearing, I wonder how many of us are able to really think sophisticatedly, and independently of what it is that we want from our lives, without any kind of an influence. I believe there's too much pressure as it is to find that end goal of happiness without being told inadvertently by TV programmes as it is, and of course now you have a streaming newsfeed with so many links to "advice" type memes. And of course there is the now exhausted social media facade, where we share only what we want people to see. So, of course when we see our friends sharing their happiness, we think they're happier than us when really they're not really sharing the other parts. There's also the old consumerist argument about being told what to buy to make you happy. And it's sad that most people tend to think of other people who carry on believing that money doesn't buy happiness as hippies, or over-privileged. In fact, I've believed in that same statement for many years now, I started off as someone who would have been seen to be over-privileged, to someone who couldn't afford nice things and was deluding herself to now as someone who examines things and see if she can make them herself (with a small aubergine ha). I guess culture and family values also play a big part in what become our goals. But in my mind, family influences are a little more organic than the other influences. Even though there comes a time when we all rebel against even those.<br />
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Of course we also have to wonder with all this significance based primarily on finding internal happiness, where does making other people happy go? Perhaps it's just me but on my newsfeed I would be hard pressed to find people sharing posts of themselves making other people happy, it's all rather sad. From my experience, I have felt the happiest helping others and it is a real shame that we are losing that message.<br />
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Breathe. Pardon me for my ramblings.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
<br />Sen x<br />
<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-49482715624944768292015-06-15T15:51:00.001+01:002015-06-15T15:51:38.621+01:00RevivalIt's been more than a month since I last wrote. I couldn't lift the silence as I didn't know what to say or how to say that I didn't know what to say. I had typed out one paragraph about how things were going, but that wasn't really a substantial amount for a blog post. I feel I am now ready to express myself once more. Since the last time I posted, things have progressed positively. I am now undertaking Low Intensity Exposure Therapy and I am glad to report that it is finally helping. We started off with me taking walks at night, as this was the time I felt less anxious to be outside, and today I have been told I am ready to undertake the walks gradually towards the daytime. Though I am still full of anxiety and feeling depressed, I am beginning to have moments of 'clarity'. And it is in these moments that I am beginning to build up my strength and determination to begin my assignments. And it is also in these moments that I feel inspiration to write a little bit of my novel. I still have little gaps in my memory and for a while keeping up with the world news became a chore, though I think a lot of it was because the news the world had to give was rather grim.<br />
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Life is still a chore. It's not so much a suffering as it is a struggle to keep up and keep going. I think for me the worst thing is the self-doubt and the voice in my head that keeps putting me down. It doesn't say 'You are...', in fact it says 'I am...' which I believe is even worse because it feels like I am those horrible things. For the last 8 weeks I kept thinking back to when my father told me I wasn't academically inclined, and an overwhelming part of me believed him. He also used to say, as an insult, that I would end up working in a Fish and Chips shop. For the last 8 weeks I felt I couldn't even do that. I was even lower than that.<br />
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Slowly though this has begun to change. The amount of work I have to hand in had turned into peaks that I could never reach, today they feel like hurdles that I will overcome. This level of certainty and determination is something I felt when I began my degree, it's a feeling so old, yet such a familiar part of me. It feels like it was hidden away under the many layers of such self doubt that cleared away enough for it to rise once more. I think this change in myself also has a lot to do with an event that took place last week, when I saw my brother face to face for the first time in 10 years. It became clear that my father has not changed, in fact it is now my brother who has taken my place. After I saw him I realised that I had spent far too long on worrying about meeting my father's expectations, and while trying to run away from his shadow I had inevitably let it envelope my own soul. Even though I had left home, I did not leave him behind. I realised that just like I was never good enough for him, no one would ever be good enough for me until I shed away his thoughts about me. It is not an easy admission to make, especially as I always excused that part of me with ambition but all along it was his expectations of me that I also reflected onto others.<br />
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I feel like I am going through a spiritual rebirth. I want to use the knowledge I have today and wake up tomorrow not feeling as crap as I did yesterday. I am hopeful, no- I am certain that I will become my own person one day, unhinged by a man who has no bearing in my life any more.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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<br />Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-451296621874599482015-04-26T22:45:00.000+01:002015-04-26T22:55:51.937+01:00Weathering The Storm...The thing about having an inner storm is that unlike a weather storm, there is no sunshine afterwards. If anything, the thunder keeps erupting every time you think there might be a gap in the clouds, because not everything has been cried over or even dealt with. Unlike a thunder storm outside, a break down is a long and exhausting process leaves your body unfunctionable.<br />
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This time I cried for almost everything, especially for the sorrow I feel from the lack of having my siblings in my life, or me being in theirs. Though I have learnt to live without them, the guilt has created a deep, dark unending pool inside of me that holds a lot of woes, a never ending ache for them that will always be there. Sometimes I wonder why I feel heartbroken when I shouldn't be and only now realise that it's from the all the yearning to see my brother and sisters. The gap that no one has filled, I guess it's difficult for people to understand this gap unless they too have been through something similar. But I think everyone can appreciate that unlike lovers who go in and out of your life, your siblings, if you have them, remain in your life forever. (<a href="http://senlanoire.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/a-short-memoir.html" target="_blank">This</a> may put things into perspective, if you don't know why or how the way things are in my life.)</div>
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I get the whole 'making peace with your past to move forward', I really do and with almost everything else, I have done just that. But this one thing has got me stumped. The worst thing is that before Friday night (when I broke down) I could almost see the light, I was seeking help, I was nearly at the end of the long waiting list, I had been given the date to my first therapy session. I knew that all I had to do was hold everything together until then- May 7th for the first therapy session or just after May 15th when my last deadline was but as you can see, it didn't go to plan. I suppose the trouble with doing that is that you end up creating jenga like towers of everything, eventually something will slip, resulting in the avalanche that I experienced. Going back to the beginning though, it's only been a couple of days, and I still don't know if was a good thing or a bad thing- this inner storm. </div>
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I cringe and feel tight chested thinking back on everything I went through that night. I just lost it and started crying over something that I would not normally cry about. I locked myself in the bathroom, sat on the floor in complete darkness. I questioned every fiber of my being. Just to interject- I had had a good day, I was content with my day- I had gone for brunch with two friends, we'd had a good time. And in the evening I had shut myself away in the bathroom- a room that I go to for solace when the going gets tough sometimes. I questioned my place in the world, my place amongst my friends, my degree, my home, my siblings, my achievements, my motivation, my strength. I even questioned my progress since running away from my father's and I questioned my life there after. I even messaged my friends to stay away from me. I cried until I lost all hope, until I had belittled away every inch of my heart, mind and soul, until I so small that I had become nothing. I was defeated. </div>
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Thinking back on it right now, I realise that I still haven't got past it. I feel fragile. I think it would be worse if those friends hadn't come to my rescue, if my knight in shining armour hadn't sat outside the door trying to pull me out from the darkness I had let consume me, and had a friend not kept messaging me to try and lift me out of the dark pool. Now, this is a sensitive subject- I did not want to commit suicide at any point- I just simply didn't want to exist. And you may be wondering why I'm writing about this, I guess it's because when I'm writing, I feel free, unbound by those dark thoughts, and though I know that many people will read this, right now I feel like I'm only typing this to an extension of myself. </div>
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Until next time,</div>
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Sen x</div>
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-12555995036895486102015-04-22T00:32:00.001+01:002015-04-22T00:32:02.550+01:00Acceptance Life is sometimes akin to being on a dinghy in the middle of great storm in the middle of a giant sea. The destination you were headed towards is suddenly lost as you are twisted around endlessly, the waves beating out all your sense of purpose, the rain dampening away your motivation, and the enthusiasm to go on is weakened further by the mist surrounding you, evading your sight from everything. It gets worse when the only oar you have is useless, not letting you move the dinghy in any direction you think might be the way to where you ought to be going. Everything, you realise, is out of your control.<br />
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I feel like this is similar to having a chronic pain and depression/ anxiety. Both of them are always there, bubbling away, sometimes one is more chaotic than the other and trying to keep both or even either one is exhausting. If I were to give them colours, Red would be the pain and Blue would be the depression/ anxiety, and as we all know, if mixed red and blue together they turn into purple, and as the painters out there will know, if one colour is too prominent in the mixing stage, it can completely affect the outcome. There have been times when I have added the wrong amount of either colour and ended up with a horrible brown, rendering it useless. Back pain mixed with depression and or anxiety has a similar outcome, although I don't get a lovely purple unless both of them are behaving.<br />
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I think it's a lot worse when one doesn't accept that initially, there's something wrong, and then finding out this is what's wrong. I don't think I've ever accepted that I am less abled, when I clearly am, and as inspiring as it may sound, it has also had a negative effect on me. This is because I want to be like other people- to believe that I am fully bodied, that I need to work harder- only I end up hurting myself which means that I cannot move for a long time after doing things that I perhaps ought not to have done, or just taken a break in between doing. Of course the latter also means that I would be forced to ask for help.<br />
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The argument that a lot of other hard headed chronic pain sufferers have used, and in turn made me take on their bad habits is, "If I don't do it, it won't get done". I wholeheartedly disagree with them- they need to learn to ask for help. This is a good skill to have and takes a long time to master, so why not begin now. Asking for help is by no means easy, in a way it's exposing your weakness, and for me, for a long time and even now feels like showing a weakness, but really it's showing to people that you are human. What we think of our ourselves and how others see you is very different- and there is no way of changing that apart from opening up and letting them in. Even then they won't see the whole picture, but at least they can see your struggles and at least appreciate how difficult your life actually is. I'm not the one for people pandering around me, but I think having that understanding with someone is important, for them to acknowledge it is a good feeling. You also then have someone to talk to, not off load to but talk openly. I am fortunate enough to have friends with whom I can talk to and share each others' pain. It really helps to have this.<br />
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Over the past few months I have begun to come to a realisation. I feel like the way I have been measuring success has been having a terrible impact on me. I always forget that both my inner self and outer shell are somewhat damaged and I should give myself a break once in a while. If I don't give myself a break then who will? I've also realised that my mind and body shut down when my inner self is conflicted with it's outer shell. Of course I push myself hard and of course I have deeper disappointments when I shut down. What I am trying to tell and teach myself lately is to understand that I need longer, more patience and more importantly, accept me for who I am. Because this is the only vessel I have; this is my mind and this is my body. The more pressure I put on me the worse pain and suffering I cause myself. My personal goal for now is to relax for once and not beat myself about it.<br />
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And I realise now that measuring success is an important component here. It isn't just measuring success in itself though, but also whether the type of success is appropriate to each individual. I know I must accept that I need to take more time. If I keep comparing myself to others, I will surely fail. I am capable of just as much, and perhaps even more. But in order to get there, I need to allow myself extra time and patience or I will keep setting myself to failure. How can I possibly achieve all that I can when my mind and body are left in chaos. The one thing I can count on is my determination. As long as I have that I know I will make it, eventually, with both my heart and my soul hand in hand with me.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9195092979554126201.post-56592747207859377062015-03-25T19:28:00.002+00:002015-03-25T19:42:48.222+00:00Be The Change- Community Action Meeting<a href="http://bethechangecambridge.org.uk/" target="_blank">Be The Change Cambridge</a> is an on-going project rather than an organisation. This way I feel it feels more as an open door rather than a closed one, here everyone is welcome rather than a select few, which seems to be what much like the growing trend in Cambridge. Because of it being a project, they are always looking for more people to join in or volunteer, or both when they throw these amazing events because no matter who you are, they believe that you will bring a new perspective and ideas to something that no one else may have even thought of.<br />
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I am a great believer in group work and I feel that Be The Change are going about things the right way. But the little girl inside of me is always surprised by the amount of different views people have about one subject and even though we really do want the same thing, no one really thinks of the same approach and no one ever arrives at the same conclusion. In many ways, I believe that this in itself is a beautiful thing as it shows that many different perspectives of human thinking. If everyone thought similarly, no one would really think widely on issues and no one would make an educated decision. Having said that, from what I have learnt, people who are supposed to represent us hardly make decisions based entirely on information or education. Everyone has their own agenda and the most important decisions end up being made based entirely of personal opinions.<br />
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The latest event took place on the 20th March, and this time I facilitated a workshop and tried to help out in the planning as much as I could. I have to say, this time my experience was very <a href="http://senlanoire.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/a-short-and-rather-simple-review-of-be.html" target="_blank">different</a>, I didn't take part in the event as much but was at hand to help and do anything I could to see the smooth running of it. But from what I have heard from people who attended it, they really enjoyed themselves and felt empowered.<br />
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There were a couple of issues outside the event's sphere, but connected through the political paradigm nonetheless. Firstly, the same certain person from last time took over the discussion in the workshop I was facilitating. Last time, I was in their group and was felt very deflated and sad for being effectively gagged for not having the same opinions or approach to Green Spaces as them. But this time with the help of a volunteer, we were able to steer the discussion away and include everyone in that group. This does not reflect the event as it was just an individual overtaking the space that was meant to be used by everyone in the workshop. I did begin the workshop by laying down the ground rules such as listening to one another- just because I saw that this individual was there. But I think that this is something that is a wider issue in a lot of areas of life in general. Certain people see themselves as superior for a number of reasons and see others as inferior for whatever reason. Perhaps because they think their ideas are the best or because their needs are the biggest.<br />
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Secondly, we didn't have our MP or the other candidates, although we did see all four party representatives coming in at different points of the day. I am still surprised at the MP Candidates not showing up, especially as we are so close to the general elections. They could have at least shown up for 10 minutes. But of course of the 4 candidates, there are still disputes of how many actually live in Cambridge, apart from of course the Labour candidate Daniel Zeichner and the MP Julian Huppert. I say this because the last time we had this event, Chamali Fernandez- the Tory candidate- had no idea about the social problems in Cambridge, she didn't even know there were homeless people in Cambridge, it seemed to me like she either hadn't walked around before, or just stayed in the more Utopian side of Cambridge. She also said that she was from London (figures). But as it was self-evident, she didn't really live here and she wasn't from here. And finally, Rupert Read, representing the Green party, actually lives in Norwich. So, of the 4 candidates only 2 live in the city and understand the dynamics probably more deeply than the other two.<br />
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If I had one negative, it would be about Anglia Ruskin University the host who okayed the rooms we would have and yet forgot to let us know that there were exams taking place on the day in the exact rooms we had booked. So this meant that we began a little later. Because the event was determined to be bigger, we had rooms throughout the Lord Ashcroft building, on the ground level as well as the 1st floor. I can say that I really preffered the first event, with its compatibility, so next time, I would like to see the event take place in the rooms on the ground floor perhaps, closer to one another. But as Antony Carpen- the founder said, we got the rooms for free and we'll take what we can get.<br />
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Now on to the positives, I would like to thank Antony for letting me participate in this event. One thing he wanted this time was the participation of young people- students. I thought this was a great idea, and looking inwardly I realised what an amazing thing this event would be for fellow students on my degree and so got a lecturer to email all our students in the faculty, alas I was the only one that I am aware of from the degree that actually turned up. I would say that that was a missed opportunity. We did however get a lot of students from the sixth forms and the other university, and they seem to really enjoy the event.<br />
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Another positive of the event was the conversations I had with a variety of different people, from being taught how to speak in public by a professional to speaking to the Mayor and her Consort about my workshop on Cycling. <a href="http://www.cyclingweekly.co.uk/news/latest-news/cambridge-councillors-holland-bound-to-view-cycling-infrastructure-163212" target="_blank">Cycling</a> is a topic that a lot of local people have <a href="http://www.cambridge-news.co.uk/Calls-Cambridge-cyclists-registered-insured-pass/story-26189320-detail/story.html" target="_blank">an opinion</a> about. Our local newspaper always has cycling related stories. People are passionate about it, positively and negatively. I feel that it affects all of us, whether we cycle, walk or drive as we all use the roads to get from A to B. It was insightful to learn about the processes of how things get done in this area- which by the way is very slowly in Cambridge, and how things are very messed up and confusing when the different local authorities are involved. I was a little surprised to realise that there were a lot of childlike tactics used in that people in politics throw their toys out of their boxes a lot.<br />
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The one thing I have started to do quite recently is to see things more objectively- I believe this partly due to having attended these two events and also due to the degree I am currently undertaking, as well as time spent studying in Sweden. I am attempting and most of the time looking above the clouds filled with drama so that I can recognise the real enemy and the real issue. I think we spend too much time being bogged down by the fake enemy and end up spending too much time on things that won't really solve the problem; we often ignore the root cause. It's like gardening- there's no point cutting down the weeds, there's just keep growing, we have to pull at the roots. The event has taught me that there can be so many different solutions to the many problems people face in Cambridge, and yet I wonder why is it that the changes aren't being made. Of course it depends quite a lot on the politics and the agendas of those with power but I believe that with enough pressure, we can make those with power accountable, and ensure that our solutions for our communities are heard. And really, I think this is what Be The Change Cambridge is trying to do. I'll keep helping, supporting, and taking part in their future events, and if you want to really make a difference in the world, I believe going to their events is a good place to start.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
Sen x<br />
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Sen La'Noirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01251785633806105624noreply@blogger.com0