Caution: Mixed Gender lab. Beware of crying or falling in love.

Recently I was asked to do a writeup on what it's like to be a woman in science for a project called "Projeto Redomas". It is a project organised mostly by girls who take part in the Brazilian Christian Union, and was made to give attention to stories of women who, at some point in life, in some christian environments, were exposed, treated as objects, classified and shut down. The idea is to bring out interesting, respectful and constructive discussions; for a sense of empathy and love to prevail above that which is determined by society. If you're a portuguese speaker, I recommend having a look at the project. 
In any case, this is the original text which was later translated for the project, hope you enjoy! 

Source: Pipet monkey blog

Luke was born a very large baby. He grew strong and tall, and everyone was sure that Luke would be an amazing basketball player – after all, he was so tall. He was told his whole life about how he would be a legend on the basketball courts. Luke grew up, played basketball but always felt a mediocre player. He hated it. His actual dream was to become a chef. But how to tell all the people that had told him he must be a great basketball player that he, in fact, had no motor coordination for the sport?

Luke knew that chefs that were as tall as him earned less – in some places in the UK, tall people earned R$ 29.354,00 less; in other restaurants, the difference went up to staggering R$ 123.286,78 . He also knew that there were only 30% of the people working with cooking that were as tall as he was. Many of his exceptionally tall friends also had had trouble with painfully average sized chefs stealing their recipes to publish. He found himself presented with both options: either to give in to the expectations so many people had of him – even if he were mediocre, at least it would be easier…  -- or to face the barriers in cooking to his heart’s content.

Luke isn’t real, and no, the cooking industry has nothing to do with one’s height. But the statistics presented in this story are very real. This is just a metaphor for women, and the kitchen is actually a lab. This is what being a woman going into science looks like. This is the real daily struggle every woman knows they will have to live with if they decide to go against the ‘more feminine’ professions.

For a group of people who claim to regard the truth highly and who attempt to be unbiased  in assumptions until an analysis of the data is made, the scientific community assumes many things of minorities within its community.

Society thrusts upon us the responsibility of living up to the expectations of the stereotypes we may seem fit for, when, in reality our individual personal experience has lead us to be very different from the stereotype attributed to us. Unfortunately, women still struggle under many stereotypes in the workplace, and science is no different.

Very often women are regarded as being unfit for the scientific work due to differences between stereotypical female and male ways of thinking. Yes, men and women do have different brains – it isn’t news that during development we have different neurological formation and neurone distribution, but the thought of one type of brain being better than another is, at best, a naïve assumption – at worst, plainly foolish.

“Women are too emotional. They cannot be unbiased for producing and evaluating scientific data.”

Yes, us women have to struggle with peaks of hormones once a month much larger than the fluctuation in hormones a man suffers during his entire life. However, having emotions does not overrule every other functioning part of our brain. If hormones are an actual issue, one could say men are unfit for working as researchers because of how much more testosterone they have, which increases their tendency of getting angry and thus their evaluation of data would be clouded by it if they thought a certain result might be different from what was expected. Men and women have different struggles, this does not mean one is more or less suited for such a career.

“Men focus on one task and become experts in it – women think of too many things at once to be as good as a man.”

Focusing on one task/skill very much is regarded as a male characteristic and, almost by default, is considered better. But my question is: why is it considered better in the first place?

First of all, not all people fit the stereotypes presented for genders. And, even if we do consider stereotypes exist for a reason, this still does not affect my main argument. In the book “What’s wrong with the world”, author G.K.Chesterton has an exceedingly chauvinistic claim that a woman’s skills in domestic work are far more impressive than that of the man. While the man has to focus only on his one selected career, a woman has to be a cook, a cleaner, a philosopher and theologian to children’s questions, and care for a child all simultaneously. But my question is: who decided the ability to multitask and link multiple fields ought to be restricted to the household? Many skills and tendencies in the way a woman works can be exceedingly helpful when balancing lecturing, researching and publishing.

One of my favourite examples of how a multidisciplinary brain linking different fields can have impressive results is Marie Curie. She still is the only person to be awarded with Nobel prizes in two different fields, Chemistry and Physics.

“Women will try to use their looks or emotional blackmailing in their favor.”

In an interview, Nobel prize laureate, scientist and lecturer Tim Hunt from University College London claimed he did not like having women in his lab – “They fall in love with you, you fall in love with them, and when you criticize them, they cry.”

I cannot lie – I have seen girls who would attempt to get higher grades and pass subjects by wearing short skirts, cleavage and emotional black mailing or whining. I also saw male lecturers give in. On the other hand, I have also seen male students attempt to compliment lecturers to pass a subject, and the lecturer being unyielding.

The whole issue in this matter is not a question of gender, but of ethics – and using the poor examples of women who can attempt to make use of female stereotypes in their favor, is because they are giving in to a notion they at some point began to believe: that it is better to achieve a certain goal in any other way than doing your job properly and efficiently. The issue is both in those who accept this (and reinforce the conditioning that appealing sexually or emotionally is good) and in those who resort to such unethical tactics. Not on the gender.

“Science and motherhood don’t go together.”

I know a researcher who was pregnant when defending her Doctoral thesis and suffered from hearing in a sarcastic tone – both from men and other women – that she was ‘clever’ for defending her thesis pregnant, to get people to feel sorry for her and ‘take it easy’. This same woman, when in a meeting, had to leave earlier than expected due to her child taking ill and – in the same context that a few weeks ago the people saw a father leave to pick up his children was seen as a “loving and caring father” - she was treated badly and people pointed out how bad it was to have mothers working outside the household.

Being a mother and researcher and lecturer certainly isn’t a walk in the park, but if being a father, researcher and lecturer is, then there is definitely something wrong.

“Women are more suited for jobs which involve empathy and emotional attachment such as nursing and teaching, and not for logical thinking or power positions.”

Last time I checked, all human beings have feelings and, again, perhaps for women they may be heightened at certain times of the month. However, if our feelings cloud our logical thinking or our decisions made due to power, there is definitely something wrong – and it is not if it’s a woman or a man deciding, but that someone is making themselves (and all who work under them) susceptible to something as volatile as feelings. More than a diagnostics on gender issues, it is so of social issues which classify feelings as being something bad – to be ignored – or something good – to be listened to all the time. The thing is, feelings exist and must be acknowledged and dealt with: but what is right or wrong is what we do with them.

“A man’s work is more trustworthy.”

A lecturer and researcher said this, in a classroom. Though it is not something often spoken, the fact that much work researched by women and many discoveries made by women in the fields of astronomy, mathematics, physics and biology has only seen the light of day and been considered relevant when published by men who stole and published their work and ideas. Much of the credit still is not attributed correctly to the female researchers.

I could talk more of experiences I have seen and experienced of what it means to be a woman in science. The truth is, if there are women in science, it is because we are standing on shoulders of giants – of women who have fought through social expectation and convention to prove that women, too, can pursue truth and want to take part in the pursuit for the truth about the universe and the laws that govern it. But there is still much to be done for the generations to come, so that this dialogue is no longer necessary.

Something, though, both society and the scientific community still struggle with is something I have repeated multiple times along this text: men and women have different struggles and benefits from the way their minds and bodies function. However, this does not mean they are better or worse in a certain task, career. Stereotypical female or male characteristics are not better or worse in their essence, despite what we are told. In the end, we are just different, and differences can only enrich and aid the field.

Perhaps, next time, before looking down a microscope at the smallest of fungi, or looking up through a telescope at the celestial bodies, we could take some time to appreciate and understand the complexity of the beautiful human being standing beside us in a lab coat that is not defined by labels and stereotypes - and see that, like us, they too are human. Maybe learning to see each other accurately, together we can work better to understand this amazingly beautiful and complex cosmos we are in.

Love is inconveniant

I haven't been on this planet for too long, but I have been on it long enough to be sick of seeing the same old story of young women who wait, and wait for love, impersonated byprince charming - aka, handsome, brave, determined, leading, kind, protector, loving, a savior of all their emotional and past issues who will redeem them from every other poor choice, and add to this list any particular adjective according to personal preference - and, upon the disilusion of discovering such a man does not exist, deciding to marry the first guy willing to marry. All because "they want to be married".

People advertise this strange idea that marriage is the end of our problems, because once you're married, that's it; afterall, in all the stories, that was all that the "Happy ever after" is, right? Suddenly, vows made, you will have a natural inclination to love, because your spouse also went through the magical transformation of "I do" and all became easy and wonderful. But...upon the sudden realisation this is not the case, after arguments and tears, fights and dishes broken, they go their seperate ways to 'seek love and happiness'.

Where I believe it all went wrong, is when the dreamers failed to foresee that love is no easy task, and involves a great deal of pain (unlike what the world sells). Now, many may object to this statement. Multiple people I know who have divorced stated that "they were no longer happy" and so decided to see if they would be happier separate than together, and so they consider that the way to allow the other person to be happy is by letting them do what they want*.

However, though happiness is a wonderful thing, our society pizes happiness above all else, whilst I believe, though a wonderful thing, there are many things far greater than happiness in the realistic scheme of things.

And example:  Current parenting believes a parent must make their child happy at whatever cost, and must yield to the child's every want. If they want the dad or uncle to dress up as a pricess, they should. If the child wants a gift, they should get it. The only thing this produces is not a happy child, but a spoilt brat. Or, in a worse case, it can produce physical or psychological harm to the child if what they want is something harmful. In this case, making the child happy (giving them what they want) is not to be regarded as highly as the child's safety. The objective of this metaphor is not to say that in any romantic relationship one has the role of a parent, for instance. In love, a discipline which many times limits happiness (and may even cause pain) is to be applied to ourselves, rather than attempt to apply it to anyone else. Perhaps having an affair with a younger woman would please a man and make him happy - however due to love and respect for his wife, he know he oughtn't pursue such a fantasy. Perhaps you would like to go to a game or had plans that would make you happy, but out of love it is many times necessary to leave this aside to spend time with a loved one.

What this means is that, appart from happiness not being the most highly regarded and protected thing, it is most certainly not your happiness that is the priority in a relationship. When I hear a number of lovesongs singing "I need you to make me happy", that, apart from not being love, is the thing most unlike love - that is pride; that is believing the other person's sole objective ought to be to make you happy. And pride and love cannot coexist by their very nature. Pride states that ones self is the most important thing in the world, which prevents all of the exercises of love - service, forgiveness, understanding, repentance - from taking place. After all, why should one who believes to be perfect and sovereign go out of their way to look at the point of view of anyone other than themselves, or be concerned with the well being of another?

The beauty of a relationship where there is no pride and of perfect love on both sides is that one serves the other, and one must never seek out their own happiness or well being - for they can trust that the other will be concerned with that.

Now, when one feels love for another, the work in this task many Joules easier. However, loving someone does not mean neither that there is the feeling of love present, or that one even likes the other person all the time - after all, it is almost impossible to like anyone (even ones self) all of the time. I dare say, love proves itself most in the moments where the feeling is entirely absent, and still is acted upon as though it were present. More than a noun, a place to be 'in' or something to be felt, love is a verb: not to be spoken of in far off theories, but in actions of self sacrifice.

This does not mean any bloke who shows up at a lass' door ought to be the one to marry because "love isn't easy" afterall, but the evaluation to be made is if this is the promise one wishes to make to a potential spouse - to live in self sacrifice constantly, to be willing to bend and serve and be faced every day with your natural tendency to be self centred (and being constantly reminded by this other person that you shouldn't). The Bible never ordered anyone to marry; it is a gift and a metaphor for a love far greater. Still, aside from what is sold to us, singlehood is, yes, an option to be contemplated - however it is valid to keep in mind that  marriage is only a very intensive school of a love which we are told to live by in all circles - friends, family and acquaintences.

Upon thinking of all of this, I am always brought back to think of the one who came to show us what true love is. God, himself, who made himself vulnerable to the point of being a helpless child in the hands of an inexperient mother, and gave his life for those who could never repay his love. If Christ taught us anything, he taught us that the one who loves is the one who suffers and cries. He taught us that the one who loves is the one who give everything, expecting nothing in return. The one who loves is the one who, in this world, is spat on, beaten, cursed, damned. The one who loves is the one who dies at the hands of the ones who don't.

So, to all the lass's and pet's around the world, wishing to find the perfect boyfriend or girlfriend, or even walk the aisle, I leave a small reminder. I'd say that from Christ's example, it's safe to paraphrase The Princess Bride:

"Love is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." 

Note: I am not married, though in a relationship. Therefore, much of what is mentioned here comes from books such as The meaning of marriage (Tim & Kathy Keller), Mere Christianity (C.S.Lewis), The Single Issue (Alber Y. Hsu); other things come from observations of both multiple broken marriages close to me and healthy marriages; so, when treating about marriage, I'm definitely not an expert on hands on experience, and there's still much to be learnt in non-romantic relationships. So, sorry if it's too theoretical/idealistic and little practical!

* I of course understand there are multiple cases in which divorce is necessary, and I do not believe relationships in which there is infidelity or are abusive (emotionally or physically) ought to be tolerated. When I describe love as being "pain", is that there is a great deal of sacrifice that goes on, however, though Christ gave us his all, but because God loves us and has established what is a good relationship in hiw word (Mt 5.32; Col 3.19; Eph 5.25; 1 Peter 3.7; Eph 5.28). We are all humans made in the likeness of God, and as such the abuse or destruction of dignity of his likeness is an offence to God himself.

Third (fourth, fifth...) culture kids

"Brazilian? But how come you don't look brazilian?" they ask me, shocked and frustrated after realising any attempt to guess where I'm from is wrong. "And your english is very good! You don't talk like the other brazilians I know!". I nod and smile and briefly explain my family and how we function. Depending on the person's interest, I can go more to depth in explaining or not. 

To many people, it is strange the idea that people can not have one standard and stereotypical cultural origin. People who genuinely understand generally are those who have either spent a considerable time abroad, or people who have in fact been raised between two or more cultures. 

There is a particular name for people raised between cultures, Third Culture Kids. It's a term used to describe children whose families are from a first culture, but they live in a second culture - therefore, the child has a third culture, which involves both of the ones they have contact with. In 2013, 220 million third culture kids were estimated in the world. 

I wouldn't call myself a standard third culture kid because of being of the second generation on both sides of the family. Both grandparents on my mother's side are Northern Irish, whereas my grandfather on my father's side was swiss, and his wife was brazilian with portuguese and/or spanish roots somewhere far off. What this means is that my european cultures were slightly more diluted. This still didn't make growing up much easier. 

Firstly, though Brazil has many races, my very pale skin, blonde hair and green eyes still aren't treated as standard. But more than that, I always felt like this outsider trying to decode my friends and acquaintances, trying to live as though I were as normal as possible. Faking an accent in English, not talking about how my home was different, hardly ever having friends over. 

Our british side always regarded honesty very highly, and I was always told I shouldn't lie - but my blunt honesty from a very young age has over the years certainly hurt people I met. When I was told to be honest, I foolishly understood I ought to say what I was thinking.  What to me was 'being honest', to the brazilian culture was being rude. Instead of saying "We should go out some time to catch up and have some coffee" (aka, I do not have the intention to go out and meet you, but I don't want to be rude), I would say... I didn't think it would work out. I thought I was avoiding being deceitful, they thought I was being rude. No one was wrong or right, we wanted to communicate the same idea - we just said it in very different ways and thus couldn't understand each other.

Growing up, much energy had to be put into consciously trying to read expressions and micro expressions, body language and speech nuances to try to see when people understood in a different way than I meant something, and thus begun trying to shape the way I spoke to be understood. 

What I didn't know was that at that time I was trying to understand the cultural iceberg: 

Although inserted in the Brazilian culture lots of the time, I really only knew better the Brazilian surface culture (behaviour, language, some customs and traditions), while at home I was taught mostly the british and some of the swiss deep culture. I felt like a fake, because my surface and deep cultures, in many senses, were clashing cultures.

Brazil vs. Britain

Writing in this, I am going to describe my experience in my family that is a traditional christian Northern Irish family, so much here will not be according to other people's impressions of the current UK culture. Also, I love both cultures in different ways and am continually learning with them; I also understand that many people do not fit into the general stereotypes I will probably exaggerate here: my objective is to explain the different basis of each culture, rather than particular actions - and, obviously, people are people and the basis expresses itself uniquely in each household and human being. I hope I don't hurt any feelings, and if you disagree in any way, please give your point of view in the comments! I'll be delighted to hear more.

All the feels British and brazilians regard feelings in very, very different ways. Brazilians, like most latin cultures, regard feelings very highly and many of their decisions are many times governed by their feelings. If a brazilian is happy, they will laugh, if a brazilian is sad, they will cry, if a brazilian is angry they will argue. Music, soap operas, stories, all have fantastic examples of how important their feelings are, and showing them is definitely not an issue.
British are most definitely not like that. David Gilmour put it very eloquently in one of Pink Floyd's songs, Time: "Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way". Well, that was how I was taught to live. If something hurts, you ignore it. If you want to cry, you just stop talking (and if you cry, do it behind closed doors without anyone EVER seeing you). If you are happy, don't go over the top. You have feelings. People don't have to know about them.

The british blues Maybe it's the grey skies, the rain, maybe british are just very good at hiding their feelings, but they seem to have this need to be slightly on the down side, it's like the mood baseline. On the other hand, brazilians are generally happy people, and I really admire that. They may not have food to eat, the government may be complete and absolute and utter - pardon my language, but I need this to get the point across - crap, but they are still happy people. Give them a pair of havaianas to be the 'goal posts', a ball (many times made of old socks), and they're happy. They smile a lot, and party even more - I still don't know why they party so much, but apparently, it's a big thing. There's always a reason for a big party, celebration, gathering and food (mostly deep fried, or packed with sugar, or better still, both). Let them watch a soccergame, and they're happy (as long as their team wins).

Tea or coffee? British tea and brazilian coffee are just the beginning of the differences in food between both countries. Brazilians cook with lots of oil and really (really) like their red meat - by the way, brazilian churrascos are fantastic. They also have lots of rice and beans - practically every meal. In britain, potatoes are the big deal in every shape and form. British food tends to be much more bland and to have less seasoning, brazilians like their peppers and seasoning.

Relationships The fact that Brazilians are very governed by their feelings means that this will affect their relationships a lot in good and in bad ways; they tend to be very warm and very touchy-feely - girls kiss cheeks of both guys and girls they meet, guys tend to shake hands or hug other guys (if they know each other very well). Sharing, being together and hugs are important. Couples have no issue with being exceedingly affectionate in public, to the point it gets awkward. Bus stops, subway stations, shopping centres, restaurants. You name it. Much french kissing goes on anywhere and everywhere. Even in restaurants, couples rather than sit in front of each other to look at each other as they talk, they tend to sit side by side to be closer physically.
This physical touch thing seems very alien to my home, by which I was surprised one day my granny just came and gave me a hug for no reason whatsoever. Also, Brazilian relationships tend to be very intense (varying swiftly between extreme love and extreme hatred), and even unfaithfulness is a big thing in relationships (I wonder how much this comes from the soap operas that often portray cheating on a spouse as a good thing, or how much the soap operas reflect the already existing culture); an example is the fact that the adultery website that was hacked had the highest concentration of people in a city signed up on it was in São Paulo. This shoots up divorce rates to 69%, whereas britain has a 47% divorce rate.

Say what you want to say Communication is very different in both cultures, as I described earlier. Brazilians seldom say what they mean, and will very rarely answer "No" to a question they have no intention ever saying "Yes" to. Also, honesty is not valued as highly as being "clever", "not hurting someone" or "being friendly". Meanwhile, the british culture is not necessarily concerned about being friendly to everyone, and are much clearer in saying this (as long as they do not relate to feelings). This can be hurtful to other cultures and perceived as rude.

Punctuality I was always taught to be punctual and was told making someone wait is disregarding their time and assuming your time is more important than theirs. Brazilians are almost always late, though its not done to offend anyone. If a party is scheduled to start at, say, seven o'clock, if you arrive at 8 you will be one of the first to arrive - most people will arrive an hour and a half to two hours late. People already assume it, and time is not a concern.

Proudly third cultured

I could list many other differences, but I think you get the point of what I'm saying - I was raised between two very different cultures and have had to learn a great deal. I wouldn't say it is better to not be a third culture child, in spite of the fact that there were some challenges I only came to recognise many years later. They are different ways of growing up and have their own benefits!
But the truth is that the benefits from being raised between multiple cultures are much greater than the issues coming from it. From very early on third culture children learn that there are multiple ways of seeing the world and interacting with it, and learn to try to read and respond adequately to people. Many times, we have to change the way we speak, but we (many times awkwardly) always try to be understood. We learn that the world is a vast place with many cultures.
Perhaps that is why it is so much easier to be friends with and have lasting relationships with people who also understand this and also are third culture kids - even if the first and second cultures are entirely different between the people. You don't really know what fitting in entirely is like, and thus know what it's like to not really have roots anywhere. It is like this secret world that both of you know, and can both explore together. It's the sudden realization of "You've been through that too??".

Therefore, the next time you ask "where someone is from", if they hesitate, know they aren't being cocky - it's just hard to explain a culture that is different from all others. We don't think we're better than anyone, it's just hard to be a citizen of a world only you and maybe half a dozen other people know. But I still think it's totally worth it!

Lost at sea

When I had a piece going to an exhibition one person asked what I was thinking of doing, and so I explained briefly the symbols I attributed meaning to and which I wanted to put in my work; another person listening in then said "No! You can't plan it out, you have to let it flow and put your feelings out in your art!". My response in disbelief was "Sorry, that's not how I work."
Don't get me wrong - I like art. I like music, drawing, painting. My great difficulty is this generalized feeling that anything and everything is art, much which came from the dada artistic movement and has survived many decades.
Over the past century, artists have been putting a lot of effort into removing the need of a reference in art - paintings no longer had to look realistic, or based on the physical reality; music no longer has to be bound by the rules of what constructs harmonious sounds; poetry does not have to have structure, rhythm or even relevant content; contemporary dancing is a general mixture of feelings and concepts. The efforts put in by artists certainly have been paying off, art is no longer bound by rules, structure or even thought.
However the great issue in this that I see is: I wonder if old forms of art are still considered art at all. In an attempt to relativise and remove rules, that which is according to rules by many is no longer considered art. The effort of the 'brain' is not as valued as the effort 'of the heart'.
 I strongly believe that art is merely an accurate reflection of a struggle that our society is in. Currently all things are tolerable, to the extent that the only thing intolerable is intolerance. In an insane attempt to make all things right, the definition of 'right' has been lost. There is so much 'freedom' to think, that, unless you 'freely' think with opinions that also relativise concepts, you are no longer free to think such things.
My line of thought may have become confusing, thus I will explain with the first example I presented, the one about my painting. We have been investing so much on labeling all things, even without structure and merely feeling art, that when there is structure and no feeling, it is no longer considered art. In a second example, we have put so much effort into being able to think anything (or nothing) that often I wonder if we have been thinking at all
The feeling I have is that absolutes and rules are an island that bound us for very long, and we were always told we oughtn't travel out of the land because it was too dangerous, and it was 'the wrong' thing to do. Because we knew what wrong was, we had no issue with that and the majority of the people lived their quiet lives on the land, never knowing what lay beyond the shores. A few thinkers, philosophers, adventuorous people over the years did explore the shores, and did so progressively more. Over the 1960s, crowds of people invaded the sea. They decided they were no longer going to be bound by the island and wanted the freedom of exploring the sea.
Now, I have no issue with thinking outside what we are told. Questioning, wondering, even seeing other islands to decide what we see as right, wrong, good or bad in accordance with our beliefs. However, what seems to have happened is that we have gotten lost at sea. In leaving the island, we have gotten lost in the vast nothingness surrounding us. And, not only that, we also shoot down anyone trying to swim to any island. We believe so much that the sea is the ultimate freedom, that in order to 'protect freedom', we prevent people from seeking land.
Having any belief - any island you call 'home' and believing that is the best land to be in, is seen as foolish. And so those who live in the sea believe themselves to be the 'wisest' and the 'thinkers', when what actually happens is that they believe nothing, defend nothing, and have no home. Someone may live on an island - having a religion, defend a political, moral or ethical view - and know just as much (if not more) than anyone of those lost at sea. The great difference is that a decision has been made as to what they choose to live by.
Of course, not all people at sea are like that, and sometimes they just respect that others have their islands. As well as there are extremists on their islands that profoundly hate people on other islands or at sea. But that isn't the point I want to discuss here.
The main point I want to reach in this metaphor is the fact that recently more and more people are lost at sea, driven by the tides in their lives and susceptible to the waves of feelings. We were told to swim, to explore the world, we were told to follow our feelings and marry whoever we 'felt love' for, to work in 'whatever makes us happy', and to 'follow our hearts'. Of course, keeping in check things we like and people we have affection for - investigating islands and being able to choose which one we like most - does not seem a bad idea at all, much better than being assigned an island. However, we did not count on how much the sea can change. We sought places where we had both the safety of an island, and where we could follow the current of the sea (only to find that in the sea, the waves go up and down). And so, in despair, continue in the sea looking for that wave that will keep us up continually without ever breaking; wondering, where it was that we went wrong because everyone seems to be on the top of the wave.
Our music is now a mess of layers of instruments with no sense or coherence. Our art, is a mess of colors with no sense and which each person sees one thing. Our poetry is lost in small concepts of feelings, of emotions vulnerable and restricted to the microuniverse of relationships - nothing more is written about the islands. We are lost. We are at sea. We are roaming aimlessly, and we don't even know why we left the island in the first place.
The thing is, if you stay in the water, floating in the sea long enough, sensory deprivation starts to kick in. And all the feelings there were - they begin to get lost. We grow weaker, and stop swimming and merely float. We dived in to our feelings, and with time we begin to realise we don't actually feel anything at all.
Many of our generation depend on our parents to be our islands, to provide and to keep us going. We depend on others to make the decisions that will keep our society - the relationship between islands -running. Because we are spoilt children who ran away from home, got lost at sea and refuse to grow roots on any island at all. All because we are free, and wise, and thinkers. But who will be left to care for the islands? To make sure that there is communication between the islands, if we shoot down every ship sailing?
We have no anchors and we have no hope. We want so much freedom, we don't care if that means taking away someone else's freedom. We are decaying islands - we believe they are only illusions in our minds to make us feel safe.
We have failed to understand that, yes, we must have freedom to think, but that that doesn't mean we do not have an opinion. As Aristotle put it in one of my favorite quotes:

"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."

Or, if transporting this to the metaphor regarding wandering between islands:

"Not all those who wander are lost."

But all we are is shipwrecked at sea, following what the tide brings, vulnerable and fragile, basing decisions on the waves. Entertaining thoughts to the extent that we accept none, wandering and being lost.

Still we wonder why so many of us our drowning.

And yet, we believe that being lost is the price of freedom.

Wherever you are, be there.

Coming back, I was already making myself ready to be busy at a thousand miles per hour. I was  hoping to work, study, learn, go back to ballet, and be as busy a bee as my name has described me to be. However, I was surprised and taken aback by how quickly all that changed - I suddenly realised my plans wouldn't come through as I had expected.
Confused, I began to pray and wonder what in the world God was doing - after all, I had been praying about being 'useful' to him while back at home for however much time he wanted me here, and being useful (in my mind) meant being everywhere at once. I wanted the freedom I had while away - being able to walk, be independent and go everywhere and anywhere; then my health just halted me, and though all is well, I can't do as much as I thought I would do due to waiting for a minor surgery to be done.
I felt in a cage. I felt my freedom stolen. I felt my offer to 'be useful' had been dismissed unceremoniously.
As I was reminded what it feels like to stop, I began slowly to take less interest in offence with the events and rants about it, and took more interest in stopping to listen. The more I read the Bible and prayed, I was reminded that all the things we do are to be done for the Kingdom of God - not only work, studies and ABU (or Christian Union). But also the simple daily living on a slow pace.

"So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you."
- Romans 12.1-2 (MSG)

Staying at home can be as much of a gift to God - pottering around, doing dishes, cooking, baking, cleaning, organising and even doing things I like such as painting, reading, drawing I could do this as a gift - as those big things done all over the place. 

On Sunday, I was reading for the second time in two days a parable Jesus tells about the Kingdom of God in Luke 13:21-22 (NIV) which again brought me back to this same concept:

Again he asked, “What shall I compare the kingdom of God to? 21 It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds of flour until it worked all through the dough.”

As I read it, I had a moment of epiphany: how extraordinary it was that in that social context - in which a woman had little rights and were in the margin of society - that Jesus would choose to talk about the Kingdom growing in the hands of a woman, in a wee kitchen in the back of beyond, making bread. In such an unlikely and unexpected scenario, something so small made the bread grow and bless many people that could be fed! (I was even more surprised to find that who was talking about the text exactly focused on these aspects of the parable as well!)
So my mind began to function in tune with this - that in the most ordinary, unexpected things I could be just as useful to Him as i was at a thousand mph. I focused on the notion that, yes, this is where He wants me for the moment and thus I ought to make the best of it! Wherever I am, there I should be with all my heart, and mind and soul.
Today as I sit and think of my last couple of days - an afternoon spent yesterday listening to Grannie's stories about her childhood in Ireland, listening to my uncle's stories about trips in Africa, South America, and all kinds of countries, conversations I have had through skype with friends, being able to pray with my family and talk a wee bit about things I have been thinking about and learning... I am finding what a blessing it is to listen and to learn. I am finding that my want to be on the go could have stolen me of the incredible opportunity to be still.
I am currently thinking thankfully that I was put into a non-optional hold, and how it has been a blessing.
One of my favorite verses comes to mind: "Be still and know that I am God". The word "still" comes from a hebrew word, raphah, which does not mean 'to cease moving or working', as we could understand, but to 'let go' and 'let yourself become weak', in the notion that it is not us that have control, but God. It is not for us to stop doing every work, but to stop doing work we are weak and unfit for (like trying to determine every moment of our lives). And I like that - although find it very hard to live by.
In a sense, God has literally made me be still for some time, but for me to learn to be raphah (which is all the harder and more important to learn). But I am  glad. It has taught me, yet again, to quiet down my heart, my thoughts and my will to trust him to do that which I am weak for - and to just quietly continue with the small works, simple maybe as mixing bread, and letting him use it as he will. Being wherever he put me with all my heart, focusing on the tasks at hand and giving up on losing my mind over concerns I can do nothing about.
In a little metaphor, it's like I was rushing on the highway trying to 'be useful to him' and unexpectedly He pulled the breaks of my car  - and now I'm getting to appreciate the birds, butterflies and bees, the landscape and the flowers he put for me on the highway to just appreciate and learn a wee bit more about Him.

Time travelling backpackers

“Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.”

It sounds catchy when describing Star Trek. In a way, we all sort of believe it - that space is the final frontier, that its exploration is what makes us adventurous.
In a certain way, that can be correct. In another… I’m not quite sure.


Lately I’ve had lots of friends traveling, and have even travelled a bit more myself, and there’s something about it that opens our minds, makes us more understanding and perhaps even wiser. There’s something about seeing cliff formations that formed thousands or millions of years ago in the bottom of the ocean that makes your life feel like a whisp of smoke. You start to question the great importance of your existence when seeing buildings and monuments that have withstood wars, weather, revolutions and changes over thousands of years. Seeing in a museum - or even in the streets of a foreign country - that the way you live life is most definitely not the only way to live life. The way you make your rice, the type of bread and the clothes you were. What you think is ugly or beautiful. None of it is a universal concept - it is mostly influenced by your culture. You are not the only one with a ‘right’ way of doing daily things. In that sense, yes travelling in space - going to other cities and countries - is an amazing frontier, exploring new worlds and civilisations.

However, I do not believe that the only way to be brave, bold and an explorer is by taking a walk, driving a car, getting a plane ticket or even travelling for years in a space ship. The truth is, I find it hard to believe that that is ‘going boldly where no man has gone before’. Most places we go - as in us, usual non-astronaut people - aren’t somewhere unique. Many people have gone there, even if you go to the most inhospitable regions of the planet.

On the other hand, I do believe we are all explorer - every single being inhabiting time. Time goes by, and the space - the places - remain. There is a certain security in that, in going to huge monuments that have survived so much. However, travelling in time, there is no security to grasp, there is no certainty. This second of this day will never come again, and in the next second you will already be a different person - not necessarily due merely to experiences that change our personalities and minds (even though those play an important role too on a more long term basis) but molecules are being substituted, tissue is being remade, we are different people in every single moment in time we inhabit.

When we explore time, although many times against our will, we are pushed on to explore literally where no man has gone before, for it has not yet come to pass. And once you pass it, you cannot go back. There is no way to know where time may lead, the changes that it will bring to our hearts, minds, souls, bodies, or even to the physical world around us.

Perhaps that is why we cling so much to space, to all that is material and tangible - for keeping our minds on that allows us to have a false sense of security. It’s like carrying with us in our journey through time whatever home we imagine our past to be. We cling to that which remains, that which we believe will not change - but time changes that too. Photographs fade, metals rust and get tarnished. Pages of letters go yellow and the words in ink dissolve, stain or disappear altogether. Time is merciless, taking away any sense of security or homeliness. Even the hugest monuments suffer with time - the acid rain corrodes, structures get worn and broken.

Mountains crumble, oceans rise and we are reminded over and over again that whilst inhabiting time, we will be trapped in the unknown. We are aimless, exiled explorers of the ever changing dynamic present we inhabit. We may try to build our home, instead of in nostalgia and the past, but in the future: only to find our wishes and desires are meaningless in light of the unpredictability of changes that come in time. We hold onto expectations which, mostly, cannot become part of the present.

What is left then? Despair? And eternal homelessness? Possibly. Homesickness for a home we have never known? Probably. But that is not bad. The same way that when in our humble travels in space we fear losing what we leave behind, we learn to love what we get too - we learn that missing is probably good, because it means having good things to remember. We learn that dwelling upon our home country or our next destination prevents us from enjoying the mountains and forests and fields before us - and this is also true in our time travelling.

Accepting homesickness is a lot easier when having a deadline to strive towards. It allows us to enjoy what we have without loss in imagining and longing. And with time, it is the same. Ultimately, as christians we can look forward to eternity, when time will not bind us anymore. We can enjoy our temporary journey away from home, learn from it that we have no control over events, learn that we are most certainly not the centre of everything, learn to live in the temporary homes our hearts are given: friends, family, church, things we have a healthy love for. We learn to keep our eyes on eternity while living in the present - but never being encouraged by God to mistakenly think our vulnerable camping tents to be our home.

Until then, if I may paraphrase:

“Time: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the human souls. Their lifelong mission: to explore strange new futures, to seek out new life and new civilisations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.”

Homo dividuus

There is a strange species of half people in the world nowadays, Homo dividuus. There's something missing in their eyes, there's a feeling of longing hanging from their shoulders of what they left behind. Sometimes you talk to them and wonder if they are all there with you; if you ask them, they will gladly tell you about where their other half was lost, but you have to ask. They may be surprised and with a glint in their eyes of saudade ask: "Do you really want to know?" You might learn of foreign cultures, names you never imagined, foods you never tasted. These people are stories, but they are also story tellers. Give them your ears, and they might give you a piece of their hearts.

It’s hard to be the half human, the one that got away. To be made of mismatched pieces from all over the globe. To not be the one scheduling the next meeting in the pub, the next movie or coffee - but the next Skype chat. To be the one getting souvenirs, not presents. To be the one sending a card instead of being at the wedding, the birthday party, the visit at the hospital. The one interrupted by bad internet connections.

When you leave, you learn to live of stories told rather than lived events; you also become a story teller, because much of the time, that’s all you are. Whenever people ask of you, you’re just the story you managed to conjure enough courage to tell - the pretty picture, not the struggles, the everyday fight to be alone away from home, trying to find out where ‘home’ exactly is.

Your family doesn’t know anything about your routine, where you live, where you work. Actually, no one does: just you know where you came from, where you are. Your new best friends, when you tell people back home about them, become names that all seem to blend together in a mess of impersonal sounds, surnames and occupations. You want to tell the stories so that they come alive, so that they know you and your new friends as you do - but you fail. So much is just names. How do you put a life into a 40 minute talk? Into a two paged long letter? You can’t. The emphasis you gave was the wrong one, the one was not accurate, and you start to wonder if anyone really does know you. Heck, you’re changing so much even you don’t know you.

Suddenly, no one else knows about your quirks and routines - you live amongst strangers. You have no one to talk to in a nostalgic tone, and if your friends are also in that situation, you all learn to enjoy what is happening now; to have the late night conversations that bring together everything you’re scared to share with others, because the world suddenly seems so foreign. Maybe you venture to tell old stories to each other, but they don’t quite know where you came from. It doesn’t come across as sad as it was, or as funny as it was.

The ones you left expect, and the ones you are with too. The ones you left all feel you ought to be the one coming after them - after all, it was you who left, right? They are convinced your new life still revolves around the things you left. They assume your time away has been in a time capsule and that nothing will have changed. And then when you go back, they have to get to know you all over again.

You do not love what you left any less, but it’s hard to get that across. You wanted to be at the party, take flowers to the hospital personally than send a stupid e-mail. You wanted to actually attend the meeting and have a conversation having a drink of coffee or after a night out in the pictures, instead of struggling with internet connections sitting in your room frustrated.

The thing is, you can’t hold onto things as you used to when you were there: if not, you aren’t really there or here. We live here, and we do our best to show we still think of the ones far away, but technology isn’t magic. In the end, are we ever in only one place - mind, body, soul - at once anymore?

We try, honest we do. But we’re torn people, us, the ones that left. We never feel we’re good enough daughters or sons, we’re not great friends, because everywhere we go, everything we do, there’s just half of us there. Every person we meet, we hand a part of us to them, and we will only be with that missing part when we are with that person: and so we are damned to never be whole. The price of flying is being broken. The price of leaving is never being good enough for everyone. It hurts and it breaks us that much more every time we disappoint someone, whenever we forget a postcard, email or letter.

And there’s nothing more we can do about it, because we have no home anymore. We can’t forget any of our homes, we don’t have - nor want - selective amnesia. We wouldn’t change it even if we could, because all those we meet, all that we lived, it helped to break us into who we are - and that’s what love does, it breaks us for others. And is there any way to love more than to give away who we are? Our time, thoughts, feelings? No, we wouldn’t. Because when we left, we lost, but we also gained. We lost part of ourselves, but we also were given parts of more people more amazing than we could imagine. We learn that the world doesn't revolve around us, and that doing our best will just have to be enough.

The wings we are given can't carry all that we are, but sometimes half is all we need - it leaves plenty of room for what we're given overseas.