#when your “real” name is more foreign to you than your assimilated name..it can be a deeply personal decision to reclaim that

[jesncin]

so... at what point does your lois officially start using her last name liando pubically, or does she still use her step-dad's last name except in private? just curious.

I think narratively it makes sense for Lois to eventually reclaim her surname publicly, and as Sam Lane becomes more villainous, she would grow to resent his name and what it represents. I just don't know when that would be! Since it'd be a big decision that affects her reputation. Lois' family would use the Liando surname in private, but especially after Ella marries Sam Lane, they don't use the surname anymore.

[kseniyagreen]

Love is...

Today is Valentine's Day, and this is a good reason to repost an article about my favorite love drama.

The problem with most romantic stories, in my opinion, is that they use formulaic moves. As a result, showing love only on a very superficial level. While true love is not expressed only in isolated romantic scenes, it is woven into life, becomes part of the personality and permeates the world in the eyes of the loving person. This is exactly what we are shown in Beyond Evil. In honor of this, let's look at Beyond Evil as a love story.

1. Love is - mystery

Love begins with a meeting with a stranger (even if you are friends with them from school). Interest, the desire to know a person for who he really is, and not just to use their resources - that distinguishes a real feeling from a superficial attraction.

The ability to see the other person as a mystery, interesting in itself, an unexplored land.

2. Love is - to go out into foreign territory.

In another person, we are primarily attracted to what we lack in ourselves. But here lies the main problem. What we lack in ourselves is what we could not assimilate, what causes confusion or even fear.

And falling in love, we sometimes have to meet with what we have been avoiding for so long and diligently. And learn to understand and appreciate it.

3. Love is - desire to touch

This is how the great director Stanislavsky defined love. Behind this is not only sexual attraction, but above all the need for a sense of reality. The reality of the other, and the reality of oneself in contact with them .

Each of us needs someone else to feel the reality of our existence, we need a touch - with someone with whom we want to share this reality.

In Beyond Evil we see a great example, how love can manifest itself in this desire to touch, even before the person realizes their feelings

4. Love is - to see

Loving means being willing to see a person for who they are, even in those aspects that they prefers not to show to others or even trying not to see themselves . But the person who shared your darkest experiences becomes really especially close to you.

5. Love is - to protect

In love, we begin, often quite unconsciously, to extend to the other person our own instinct for self-preservation and our own sense of boundaries.

6. Love is - to share life

The desire to share - impressions, ideas, memories and just food. Sharing food is like sharing life, letting the other person into your personal space and giving them some of your life energy.

7. Love is - strive to be seen

Love energizes life. Raises the desire to be brighter, more noticeable, live your life more fully and, of course, attract the attention of a loved one

8. Love is - "Ram into you and bite"

Partner love, unlike other types of love, involves more than just gentle touching.

It is natural to want to penetrate lover’s borders - and in this desire there is something annoying, sometimes even aggressive. The desire to tease, to provoke each other, may be born from the desire for a sharper and more intimate contact.

9. Love is - compassion

In light infatuation, people use affection as a source of positive emotions, but leave as soon as it becomes stressful. But truly loving, we inevitably share not only the joy, but also the pain of a loved one. In the end, the lovers share each other's fate.

10. Love is - to Let go and to Catch

This is the name of the last two, final series of Beyond Evil and in these words the dynamics of harmonious relations. Intimacy is a wave, not a straight line.

We catch and release each other, only to catch again later. And it takes a special trust in both cases - to let go and wait for the return. To fall into the arms of another and know that they will catch us.

11. Love is - to share a common silence

Particularly deep relationships are distinguished by the ability to be together in silence. And to withstand that special level of intimacy when there are not even words between you.

12. Love is - to walk beside

It is hardly possible to stay in a long-term relationship if you make completely different decisions, choose different paths. The ability to look in one direction, to create some kind of joint world - this is what makes people a real partners.

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

Learning to Trust, Part 5

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 1757

Series Summary: Things with your boss were becoming complicated, but they became even more complicated when an Unsub sought you out and began targeting you. Can a relationship that hasn't even officially begun survive this?

Garcia set up a mobile system in the conference room so that she could verify and cross reference as you tried your best to piece together everything you could remember about the woman. Reid sat on one side of you, listening intently, and occasionally interrupting to ask a qualifying question. Emily was writing things on the board that stuck out more so than other details. 

Rossi was still trying to find more on Hiálmar - combing through some books that were so old their pages were yellow and crumbling. Reid would have read it faster but Rossi had a hunch. You couldn’t shake the familiarity of it still. 

“Ana was there before me,” You confirmed when Reid cut in, asking if you had gone to school together, “She was older then I was, maybe 21 or 22 when I first met her.” You could see her face like she was in the room with you now. Pale skin and bright blue eyes, long blonde hair she nearly always kept in a tight french braid. She had a strong brow and jaw. She never smiled, not with her lips, almost like such a display was beneath her. But she did smile with her eyes, and over the years you had missed that. 

“She was my friend,” Your voice was slightly strained as you spoke before you cleared it, looking away from Reid and Garcia. Your eyes landed on Aaron instead. He had been relatively quiet since you’d found Paul’s body and your last message from whoever was doing this - and it was beginning to eat at you.

Aaron met your eye and held your gaze for a moment, his eyes were slightly probing. He was checking on you. You offered him a tight smile and he nodded slightly. Much was said for two people who spoke no words. 

“Is Ana her real name?” Garcia asked, “Is there a last name?”

“Lundgren,” Your voice felt foreign on your tongue. Aaron moved around the outskirts of the room towards Rossi, glancing down at the man’s current work - attempting to give you the impression of privacy as you spilled your guts on the floor. “That’s her real name.” You knew that. 

The smell of bread filled the small studio of the cabin. You were currently assimilated into an organization that was holed up in a fishing village in the North. Ana’s gentle singing filled the room as you laid on the sofa, staring at the woodgrain of the ceiling. For a moment life was peaceful here with your friend. 

The singing quieted and Ana approached you, placing the bread on the table, already sliced and steaming, along with a small bowl of homemade butter. 

“You’re a gem,” You smiled, lazily reaching for a peace, “You love this shit don’t you?” Homesteading, as she called it. You grew up in a city, this was a new lifestyle for you. 

“I do,” Her eyes crinkled and you smiled, unable to help it. “My ma did a lot of this when I was a girl,” She told you, eyes glistening at the memory. You two had become close friends during the months you spent with the organization. Little contact was held with the rest of your team, some monitoring from afar, some elsewhere in the organization.

But that didn’t mean you talked about your families. “Sarah,” She spoke, garnering your attention again. Sarah. The name you’d given yourself when you joined the NIS - someone else entirely. “Do you ever worry?” She asked and you considered the question. Of course you worried. 

“Sure,” You agreed, biting into the bread to give yourself another moment to think, “Worry about plenty of things - are you worried?” 

“Sometimes I think,” She stopped. You knew what she was about to say. Not really - but you knew it was something you shouldn’t know - something you didn’t want to know. When joining this team you had all had to take an oath to leave your personal lives behind. You were no longer sons or daughters, friends, brothers, sisters. You were a team who was set to do a task and to do that task as efficiently as possible, there was no room for anything like that. In order to look humanity in the eye so closely - you were told to abandon your own. 

“I know,” You agreed, smiling tightly, “Me too,”

“My name is really Ana.” She looked at you, her eyes dull and watery. You didn’t like this Ana. “My last name, it’s Lundgren.” You palms felt sweaty, why was she telling you this, she shouldn’t be telling you this, “If I die you tell my ma, okay?” 

“Her mother’s name is Ulla. She’s passed but might help you track her down.” You pulled yourself from the memory, looking at Garcia who looked at you gently. “Ana is bottom of my list for suspect,” You told Garcia, like you were trying to reassure her, reassure yourself. 

“Then why are we starting with her?” Morgan asked. 

“Of those left, she probably knows me best,” You explained, “And,” you paused, “I’m worried she’s most likely to be the next target, if we can track her down, maybe…” you didn’t need to finish, he understood. Preventative. 

It was late when Garcia got a tentative contact number, half past one. She had an address as well, a family friend in Southern Pennsylvania. 

“I will call the local PD and request a wellness check,” Hotch stepped forward and you stood to meet him. 

“No, if we freak her and she goes into hiding no one will ever find her,” You assured him, “Let me try and call her first,” He looked at you seriously, and you could tell he didn’t think it was a good idea, “Please,” 

“Call. Once, if she doesn’t answer, leave a voicemail and I am calling the local PD. Then everyone,” He looked to you pointedly, “Is getting some rest.” He had his no business Hotch voice on, and a glare to match. In another world under different circumstances you’d be fawning over the handsome display, you may even argue to rile him up a bit more. But right now you were tired - emotionally - physically - and he was right. You hoped he was right. 

You dialed the number from a secure line and hit call before placing the phone to your ear and counting the rings. One. Two. Three - voicemail. 

“I’ve been sent to voicemail,” You told the room.

“Sent?” Garcia asked, typing furiously at her computer. 

“Please leave a message after the beep,” The robot told her before a ‘beep’ emitted from the phone, you were silent for a moment before you swallowed and spoke. 

“Hey,” You breathed, “It’s me, call me back at this number - please - we - Kod röd, fara sång i soldat.” Another beat of silence and you hung up before looking at Aaron, “You can call the local PD. If she listens to that message she’ll call me back - if she doesn’t.” You shrugged slightly before turning and walking from the room. Not bothering to say anything to your team as you went - though you could feel their eyes, those pitying looks - on your back as you walked towards the elevator. You hit the down button, and someone stopped beside you. You knew who it was. You waited for the elevator in silence before stepping in together - he hit the button for the floor of the parking garage and you rode the elevator together in silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron finally spoke and you looked at him surprised for a moment.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You reminded him. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry it’s happening,” He reminded you, and your lips threatened to tug into a smile momentarily. 

“Thank you,” You sighed and he nodded his head, “I’m sorry,” It was his turn to look surprised.

“For what?”

“Bringing this to the team.” The elevator doors opened and you stepped out into the dark - nearly empty parking garage. 

“No,” His word was firm and final, he stopped to face you, a hand going to your elbow and squeezing. “You’re not going to blame yourself for this - not if I have anything to do about it.” You stood there for a moment before your eyes began to burn. 

“It is my fault,” You told him, almost feeling an anger bubbling within you, what did he know? He didn’t know what you saw, what you did, what your nightmares replayed over and over, “These people - for years Aaron they were my world for good or bad.” He looked sad, his hand tightening on your arm and tugging you slightly closer as a stray tear threatened to escape. 

“You were a child who was recruited into a government organization, you were used.” His words feld sharp and you flitched. Aaron saw and the fact that anyone - at any moment could come down that elevator and stumble upon the pair - didn’t matter anymore. The man pulled you forward fully, guiding you into a hug, wrapping firm arms around you and holding you tightly to his chest. You broke. The tears fell forward dampening his dress shirt as you sobbed into his chest. Sobbed hard. Sobbed for your childhood, sobbed for the girl you were, sobbed for the years you lost. Sobbed for you now - having to deal with this all again. And when you had no more tears left you hiccupped into the man’s chest - catching your breath. 

The whole time Aaron had stood firm and strong and held you in his arms allowing you to get it all out. He had one arm wrapped tightly around you, keeping you to him, and the other hand rubbed reassuring circles in your back the entire time, even as you calmed yourself down. 

But now you didn’t move to step back. You smelled his cologne, masking his sweat and the scent of coffee. Now you were embarrassed. For breaking down so dramatically and in front of Aaron Hotchner nonetheless. If you stepped back now, you’d have to face him. 

“Are you alright,” He whispered and his chest rumbled in front of you. 

“Yes,” You whispered, finally pulled back from him, but his arm remained around you, not letting you go far, “No, well, better.” You laughed, “Sorry, thank you I needed that.” He smiled gently and nodded.

“Never apologize to me for crying, alright? You’re allowed to.” You nodded. You believed him - for the first time someone had given you permission to feel vulnerable around them, and you believed him.

Tag List

@ivebeenthearchersstuff, @emalynvtgtgfhvgg , @flashyflash23-blog

[triviareads]

re: your feelings on the name Kathani.

I agree that Kathani is not a real name -- in fact, that's my primary issue with it as well. It's not traditional by any means and the closest approximation I can find is "kathan" which literally means sentence in Sanskrit. So no, I don't like the name itself. I much prefer Katyayani (another name for Durga) -- if one wants to keep the "Kat" at the beginning -- or even Kalyani (in fact, I much prefer Kalyani).

But as to your point on it being an unsavory example of Indians having to assimilate in foreign countries like Great Britain, I don't find that aspect as troubling as it is historically accurate. Our ancestors were forced to give up their culture when they moved, whether out of necessity or desire for future economic opportunity. We still have to give up large portions of it today. My first and last names get mispronounced every single day, despite my best attempts to correct them (I live in the US, by the way).

Given that Mary in the show was raised by English parents and seems Christian, it makes sense that she would prefer to give Kate an Anglicized name, even if that name is not Kate's birth name. I find that aspect of Kate's upbringing interesting -- moreso than Edwina, it was Kate who was truly caught between two worlds. As an Indian immigrant, I heavily relate to that aspect of her character and I enjoy seeing it explored (respectfully) in fanfiction. It makes me uncomfortable when people arbitrarily dismiss it.

Was the Indian representation in Bridgerton good? God no. They completely fucked up the background of the Sharmas with the last name (North Indian), the terms they called their parents and each other (Amma/Appa - South Indian, Bon - Bengali, Didi - North Indian), and it seems like they know how to speak Marathi and Hindi which would point to a North Indian/Maharashtrian background but is supported by very scant information about the Sharma family background. Ultimately, it was culture soup and I hated it. But I don't understand why it's a crime to keep Kate's Indian name in fanfiction and have her background fleshed out more.

I want her to be a non-Anglicized Hindu Indian simply because that is what I am and being able to imagine her background makes me happy. Is that wrong?

No it's not wrong. It would just involve ignoring a portion of my family's history I'm personally not able to and would rather Kate have a white name and be from Somerset.

"Our ancestors were forced to give up their culture when they moved, whether out of necessity or desire for future economic opportunity. We still have to give up large portions of it today..." It's true to some degree (but not if say, you moved from India in the nineties vs. like, the 1800s where it would have been forced on you. And progress means that we wouldn't have to give up our culture in the name of economic opportunity), but do you not find that disheartening? I'd rather remain defiant to whatever degree I can rather than just be like "oh well we were bound to assimilate anyway". I refuse to give up my name, my religion, my culture, and my language and will do my utmost best to pass the more vital aspects of my culture onto my children. And I have the privilege to be able to do that while someone like Kate likely didn't, which is why I personally can't see myself in her.

Regarding giving Kate an anglicized first name and a part of the diaspora having anglicized last names because their parents gave it to them or they're Christian, yes, I mentioned that when I said in my original post "This is obviously discounting those who were born with "white" names for whatever reason...". But Kate was not given an anglicized name upon birth; her birth name is apparently Kathani.

And look, as a modern child of Indian immigrants, unlike you, I can't imagine myself in Kate's shoes because that would be ignoring my history. I know the history of women like Kitty Kirtpatrick and Helene Bennett who were forced to give up their names and religion upon moving to England. I know that in the year Kate and her family immigrated the British East India company were waging war against the Marathas, the Nepalese, and continuing to annex parts of the subcontinent via violence, genocide, and war in an effort to subjugate the Indian people. I personally differentiate myself from someone like Kate because and can't really see the my modern immigrant experience reflected when I watch someone like her on TV. I see Kate as a woman of the past, and someone whose background was not given the respect it was due. Rather than twist my mind into imagining a racial utopia I just can't bring myself to, and because this story was supposed to be primarily romance, I'd have rathered her be Kate Sheffield from Somerset, played by Simone Ashley.

[calciopics]

Kylian Mbappé is Born to Run

The France forward grew up in the suburbs of Paris, steeped in the culture of football. At 22, the World Cup-winner is already a global superstar, and only now entering his prime. Will Euro 2020 be the moment when he overtakes Messi and Ronaldo to become recognised as the best player on the planet?

Kylian Mbappé was 18 when he walked into the changing room of the French national team. “It’s very difficult,” he recalls, “because great players don’t want to give you their place. That’s what makes them great players. They especially don’t want to give you their place if you arrive with the label of ‘Future Great Player’.” Within a year, Mbappé and France had won the World Cup in Moscow.

Three years on, we are talking in a room of his mansion in the leafy, old-money streets of Neuilly, just outside Paris. It isn’t even his home; he bought it to house his foundation, which offers after-school activities to rich and poor children alike. In conversation, Mbappé resembles a veteran TV presenter more than a young footballer. He makes short speeches in complete sentences, as precise in his footing as he is on the field. He sits as straight-backed as he runs. His expressive face keeps breaking into smiles: he likes talking, and is almost unburdened by the usual footballer’s fear of saying the wrong thing.

His burly father Wilfried sits beside us, but only once during the interview will he feel impelled to intervene. Meeting Mbappé, you come to understand how he hit football seemingly already fully formed. At 22, he has achieved more than most great players ever do. Can he take one more step and become the world’s best footballer?

His story starts 10 miles and a universe away from where we’re sitting today. His hometown, Bondy, is a multicultural suburb just northeast of Paris that looks as if someone plonked a Soviet town on top of an ancient French village. The old church is surrounded by fast-food joints and fading 1960s’ apartment blocks, one of them now adorned with a giant mural of Mbappé.

His parents grew up in Bondy: Wilfried, of Cameroonian origin, and Mbappé’s mother Fayza, of Algerian descent. Mixed marriages are common in the Parisian suburbs, the banlieues, but the couple did have to defy some local disapproval.

If a wannabe footballer had to choose the ideal place on earth to grow up, it might have been the Mbappé home in Bondy. Mbappé’s father and uncle were both football coaches, and Fayza, who ran after-school activities, played handball in the French first division. His parents had adopted an older boy, Jirès Kembo Ekoko, who went on to make a long career as a journeyman professional footballer. “I didn’t bring a new passion into the family,” Mbappé says with understatement.

He grew up practically inside the local football club, AS Bondy. “In the Parisian suburbs there are football fields everywhere,” he enthuses. “People here live for football. I was born with the sports ground facing my window.” It’s no wonder, he adds, that Paris’s suburbs are perhaps the deepest talent pool in global football, producing players such as Paul Pogba, Blaise Matuidi, N’Golo Kanté and Riyad Mahrez.

As a non-white kid from the suburbs, did Mbappé always feel accepted as French before he became a French icon? “I’ve always felt French. I don’t renounce my origins, because they are part of who I am, but I’ve made my whole life in France, and never at any moment was I made to feel I wasn’t at home here.” In the banlieues, he says, “We have a love of France because France has given to us and we try to give back to it.”

Mbappé’s parents made him take school seriously, and he was also a not-very-talented flautist at Bondy’s conservatory, but football came first. At AS Bondy, he says, “My father was my coach for 10 years. He helped construct the style of player I wanted to become. But I never felt the pressure of, ‘You have to become a footballer.’ Above all, it was a passion.”

Tagging along with his dad and uncle on their coaching jobs, the child acquired an unusual gift: he became a footballer who thinks like a coach. “Very young, I was always in the changing rooms, listening to the tactical talks and the different points of view, because football is made up of different viewpoints. I learned to have this tolerance, and I think it helped me, because being a coach is putting yourself in somebody else’s place. I think I have the gift of doing that. It helps in football, because if you’re a player, generally you think about yourself, about your own career. I can see, for instance, when something in a game is frustrating a team-mate. I can put him at ease.”

When you’re in the World Cup final, you’re convinced you’re going to win. You walk onto the field, the trophy is there, and you tell yourself it is impossible the other team will take it

Mbappé turned out to be that perfect sporting combination: a natural who is coachable. “He assimilates advice quickly. You ask him something once, and the second time he does it,” Antonio Riccardi, his former youth coach at AS Bondy, told me. Even as a child, Mbappé was an efficient footballer: decisive, never just decorative.

By adolescence, he was being courted by the big European clubs, which all keep close tabs on the Paris region. He visited Chelsea, and celebrated his 14th birthday at Real Madrid, which cannily found him the perfect babysitter: the club’s then assistant coach Zinedine Zidane, the greatest French footballer. When Zidane offered Mbappé a lift in his fabulous car, the overawed child offered to take his shoes off first.

The Mbappés sifted the countless offers and chose Monaco, where the route to the first team looked shortest. Mbappé arrived there, he says, “with my [footballing] baggage well filled.”

Kids in performance-sports families learn that they never arrive. Each step up is just another learning opportunity. In Monaco’s first team, the teenaged Mbappé encountered the veteran Colombian striker Radamel Falcao, freshly returned from unhappy loan spells with Manchester United and Chelsea.

“He was a star,” says Mbappé, “but he had a desire to transmit. He was like a teacher to me. He’s someone who always wants to score, but he left me the space to express myself. He’s very cool in front of goal, calm in his game, and he transmitted this serenity that I didn’t have, because I was young, excited and wanted to go at 2,000 kilometres an hour.”

The kid who didn’t yet have a driving licence scored 15 league goals in his first professional season to help Monaco win the French title in 2017. He added six more in the Champions League knockout rounds. He also passed his baccalauréat, France’s equivalent of A-levels.

Mbappé marvelled at the tension on the faces of other professionals, because he didn’t feel it himself. Everything came easily to him, without great sacrifice, he has said. When I ask about stress in a profession of hypercompetitive men, he shrugs: “Daily life is easy.”

His vertical ascent didn’t surprise him; it just happened a bit quicker than he’d expected. But others were stunned. Here was something new: an 18-year-old complete forward. Built like an Olympic sprinter, Mbappé ran upright, looking around him. He could dribble, cross and shoot. He was more advanced than Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo had been at 18.

How does he describe his style? “The modern attacker who can play anywhere,” he replies. He explains that forwards used to be specialists: “There’d be a number nine, or number 11, or number seven.” Mbappé, though, is the all-in-one. “I think my CV can speak for me. I’ve played alone up front, I’ve played on the left and the right. In all humility, I don’t think it’s given to everyone to change position like that every year and keep a certain standard of performance at the highest level. That didn’t fall from heaven. If I speak of the baggage given me in my teens, it’s all there.”

In one regard he has always been unequalled: the counterattack at speed. He says, “I’ve managed to work on my weak points but above all to perfect my strong points, because I was always told that it’s through your strong points that you’ll exist.”

In March 2017, Mbappé became the youngest player in 62 years to debut for France. Five months later, his hometown club Paris Saint-Germain agreed to sign him for a fee of £166m. He drew on his childhood experiences to navigate two alpha-male changing-rooms. At PSG, his good English and Spanish helped him deal with foreign team-mates. With Les Bleus, France’s assistant coach Guy Stéphan told Mbappé’s biographer Arnaud Hermant: “He knows the codes of the changing room. At table or in the bus, he doesn’t just sit somewhere randomly. For a youngster, he isn’t timid or introverted. He expresses himself.”

By summer 2018, picked for the World Cup in Russia, Mbappé was comfortable enough to claim the blue number 10 shirt — previously worn by Zidane and Michel Platini — and to say in public that he was gunning for the trophy.

“I went to play the matches calmly like I always have. I didn’t want to change just because it was the World Cup,” he says. “We were lucky to have a young squad. We were totally carefree, just a band of mates.”

Hang on, surely a football team isn’t really a band of mates? “No,” he acknowledges. “Just like the baker doesn’t get on with all bakers. You don’t have to eat with your team-mates every evening to win.”

In the World Cup round of 16, his two goals and a 37kmph gallop through Argentina’s defence made his global name. The night before the final against Croatia, he admits, “I was a bit stressed. I didn’t manage to sleep much. But the nearer the match came, the less stressed I was.” Before kick-off he was joking in the changing room. Stéphan recalls: “He experienced the final as if it were a PSG-Dijon game.”

Mbappé says, “When you’re in the World Cup final, you’re convinced that you’re going to win. Even the Croats were convinced they were going to win. You walk onto the field and the trophy is there, between the two teams, and you tell yourself it’s impossible that the other team will take it. That’s why there’s such disappointment afterwards if you don’t win.”

Half of Bondy gathered in front of a giant screen to cheer on the commune’s own “Kylian national”. Scoring in France’s 4–2 victory, he seemed to have reached his career apogee aged 19. He didn’t see it like that. Interviewed the night of the final, he described winning the World Cup as “already good” but only a start.

The next day, as the Bleus’ bus edged along a packed, ecstatic Champs-Élysées, writes Hermant, the ice-cold kid mused to the French Football Federation’s president Noël Le Graët: “Was all this really necessary?”

Mbappé explains now: “For me, it wasn’t an outcome, a finality. I don’t think of that trophy now at all. I don’t look at pictures of the World Cup before going to sleep. Honestly, it’s people on the street who come up and say, ‘You’re world champion, merci, merci.’”

He understood that his early triumph had upset football’s all-important hierarchies. Returning to PSG, he immediately reassured Paris’s Brazilian star Neymar: “I’m not going to walk on your flowerbeds. I’ll be a candidate for the Ballon d’Or [the award for world’s best footballer] this year because you won’t be, but I promise I don’t want to take your place.”

Soon after, he took the World Cup trophy to Bondy, where thousands came out to greet him. “It was a way to say, ‘Thank you.’ I’ve never forgotten which soup I have eaten. So it was important for me to return there after my first World Cup and first international title.” (Note that word, “first”.)

France’s coach, Didier Deschamps, recalls falling into “physical and moral apathy” the season after he lifted the World Cup as a player in 1998. Did Mbappé experience a hangover? He grins: “I finished as best player in the league, highest scorer, best young player, I was chosen in the team of the season, and we won the league.”

Winning the World Cup made Mbappé a national hero. Does he consider himself a star? “I think so. If your face is everywhere in the city, everywhere in the world, that’s for sure. Being a star is a status, but it doesn’t make me a better person than others.”

He lives like a luxury prisoner, who cannot leave home without being mobbed. “It takes an organisation just to go out,” he says. He has joked that when his future children ask him about his youthful adventures, he won’t have any.

“A fan gives you enormous love,” says Mbappé carefully, “but sometimes maybe an excess of love, and he might not respect your intimacy. We give our lives to the people, because we give them pleasure every three days, and we give them our time. It’s impossible to hope for a normal life, but just a little respect for one’s private life isn’t too much to ask for, I think.”

As a young man of non-white origins, he has a particular vulnerability with the French public, one-third of whom voted for the far-right candidate Marine Le Pen in the run-off of the presidential elections in 2017. Even so, he has begun to speak out against police violence.

“I took time to start talking about it, because I wasn’t ready,” he admits. “I had a lot of things to digest: my change of status, my new life. But I have always opposed all types of violence.”

When I note that French police violence is disproportionately directed against people of non-white origins from suburbs like Bondy, his father stirs from his silence: “We’re not answering that. You’re orienting it as if the violence were only against people from the banlieues, which is false.”

In high-level football, nobody will make a place for you. Ego, self-love, isn’t just the caprice of stars. It’s also the will to give the best of yourself

French fans like their stars humble. Mbappé has explained “the French mentality” to Neymar, who favours a bling-bling, poker-playing party lifestyle. Mbappé says, “In Brazil, they are more festive, in France more serious. Here it’s not considered good to display your passions. People will think he’s neglecting PSG because he plays poker. I think he has begun to understand that. At first it was hard for him because he experienced it as an affront. When he arrived, they put his face on the Eiffel Tower, and six months later they’re asking him why he’s playing poker. In France, people know what you have but they don’t want to see it. They just want to see you playing football, smiling.”

But Mbappé believes humility isn’t enough. He thinks great footballers need big egos. “In high-level football, nobody will make a place for you or tell you that you’re capable of things. It’s up to you to persuade yourself that you are. Ego, self-love, isn’t just a caprice of stars. It’s also the will to surpass yourself, to give the best of yourself.” Every time he walks onto the field, he says, he tells himself, “I’m the best.”

In truth, he knows he isn’t the best — Messi and Ronaldo are better. “It’s not only me who knows that,” he laughs. “Everyone knows it. If you tell yourself that you’ll do better than them, it’s beyond ego or determination — it’s lack of awareness. Those players are incomparable. They have broken all laws of statistics. They have had 10 extraordinary years, 15.”

Still, he admits: “You do always compare yourself with the best in your sport, just as the baker compares himself with the best bakers around him. Who makes the best croissant, the best pain au chocolat? I watch matches of other great players to see what they’re doing. ‘I know how to do this, but can the other guy do it too?’ I think other players watch me, too. I think that pushes players to raise their game, just as Messi was good for Ronaldo and Ronaldo was good for Messi.”

Does Mbappé compare himself with the other great forward of his generation, Borussia Dortmund’s Norwegian Erling Braut Haaland? Mbappé’s reply sounds a touch patronising: “It’s his second year, we’re getting to know him. It’s the start for him. I’m happy for him, for what he’s doing.”

The more you become an important person, the more duties you have. I’m no longer the little kid. I’m Kylian Mbappé

In this elite individual competition, the top spot may be coming free. Messi (34 this month) and Ronaldo (36) are “nearer the end than the beginning”, acknowledges Mbappé. In February, his hat-trick helped PSG thrash Messi’s Barcelona 1–4 at the Camp Nou. “The best match of my career,” Mbappé says, “because it was complete. I helped my team both offensively and defensively, and I succeeded in the creation and finishing of my moves, in one-against-ones. I won 90 per cent of my duels, if that stat is correct. All match, I never had a moment when I felt extinguished.” He then scored two at Bayern Munich, before PSG fell to Manchester City.

Some opposing teams now rearrange their entire tactical systems to combat the Mbappé counterattack. “There are quite a few anti-Kylian plans every match,” he says. “It means I’ve been recognised as a great player. It requires you to have multiple strings to your bow. I like that, because I adore challenges.”

Surely he’s now too big a player for the French league? He umms and aws: “France isn’t the best championship in the world, but it’s my responsibility, as a flagship player, to help the league grow.” Yet he may well leave this summer, to Real Madrid or England. The decision, perhaps the biggest he’ll face in his career, will be made inside his family. Almost uniquely for a star footballer, Mbappé doesn’t have an agent, just lawyers.

At 22, he considers himself an experienced footballer. He says he and Neymar “are now the two natural leaders” of PSG. When he kicks off the delayed Euro 2020 with France in June, it will be with more responsibility than at the World Cup. “The more you become an important personality, the more duties you have. I’m no longer the little kid. I’m Kylian Mbappé.”

Kylian Mbappé’s prime may have already arrived. Fast strikers usually peak between 20 and 24. A Euro and a World Cup within 18 months, while France’s generation of 2018 remains almost intact, may be his best chance to make football history. What are his career ambitions? That smile again: “To win everything.” (Esquire Magazine)

[wearecaptaingeorgiou]

Captain Georgiou January - February Day 3′s scheduled creation is by Al @dykekeit​. Thank you to Al for sharing this essay!

Here’s the thing: this story isn’t about me. I’m white and Jewish―not exactly lacking for representation in Star Trek, even if I am a lesbian―not with the ta’al itself coming from the Kol Nidre service, not with Benjamin Sisko’s character more closely resembling Moses than any other religious figure. How many times have I seen myself, loved myself, in Trek? I’ve taken heart in Leonard Nimoy’s Yiddish, in Jim Kirk’s Tarsus IV backstory, in Benjamin Sisko the reluctant prophet and in Kira Nerys, fighting for her traditions amidst pressure to assimilate or die.

And yet, the first time I saw the trailer for Discovery, I almost burst out crying hearing Michelle Yeoh’s voice—her accent, the way she pronounced Shenzhou, seeing her in the captain’s chair—because it felt so much like home.

Like I said, this story isn’t about me. This is a story about my sensei.

I still don’t know what name she was born with, growing up just outside of Hong Kong. When she arrived in the United States, there was no large Chinese community on the east coast in those days; she didn’t speak English, and no one around her spoke Cantonese. She was alone, totally alone. I still can’t fathom the sheer amount of chutzpah it took for her to stand her ground and carve out her place the way she did, but I know what it took: a skill for organization, a love of scheduling, a gift for disdainful silences, and an intense, rigid sense of etiquette. When you stand barely five feet tall, it’s all necessary.

Sensei loves gardening and darjeeling tea, and hates anything sweet to the point that I have gone out of my way to buy her chocolate above 70% grade dark. Oh, and did I mention? She loves Star Trek.

Sensei gravitates towards characters like Spock, like Data: immigrants, constant strangers among new and adopted cultures alike, repeatedly explaining their differences and saving face and proudly, wholly themselves, no matter if people understand them or not. They are characters who defy expectations and use every difference as a strength, no matter if it’s supposed to be a weakness. I wonder, sometimes, as she’s teaching me about the protective properties of jade bracelets and how the good Jewish delis she knew used to serve thinly sliced beef tongue for sandwiches, but not any more—were the stars visible in Hong Kong, growing up? Did she want to escape to the dark sky, to the other side of the world—anywhere?

How did I meet her? Well, when she was thirty-nine, my sensei took up kendo, the Japanese martial art of fencing, and almost twenty-five years later, she had reached fifth-dan (that’s fifth degree black belt!) Into her dojo I stumbled. Picture this: me, a clumsy, skinny Jewish lesbian, never worked out in my life, thought swords were kind of cool, walking into a dojo and finding a sixty-something Chinese woman who, though she barely came up to my chest, could kick the butts of every single much-younger six-foot-plus male student she had.

I guess it’s not surprising I stayed.

Over the next six years, my sensei taught me everything, and not just about kendo. In between correcting my wrist angles, my posture, my follow-through, my footwork, my uniform, my dojo etiquette, and anything else she could think of, there were moments of life coaching: how to focus, how to be disciplined in everything I do, how to help, how to put other people first. When I burst out crying during practice, she reminds me that the dojo is a safe place for emotions. She introduced me to Hong Kong-style diner food, showed me real dim sum and how to order and eat and share it properly, cultivated a lucky money plant for me to bring home and instructed me where to put it in my house for best feng shui, advised me to begin acupuncture for stress, told me to take more initiative when pouring tea for other visiting sensei. On the worst day of my life, I wanted her advice. Once, I managed to get a signed copy of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club addressed to her personally. When I presented it to her and she learned I hadn’t read it, she turned around and gave it right back to me, insisting with a smile that I read it first so that we could talk about it together.

In the middle of all of it, a new Star Trek show, called Discovery, was announced, and soon, a new trailer dropped. The captain’s name was Philippa Georgiou, and she was played by Michelle Yeoh.

I did nearly burst out crying. It was Michelle Yeoh, but all I could see was Sensei, in command and speaking her accented English, proof of a past beyond a Starfleet that demanded “standard” English for assimilation.

Captain Georgiou was concerned with etiquette, both social and honor-bound: Starfleet doesn’t fire first. In the dojo, I am to bow respectfully, I am to shake hands and thank my opponent after every match, I do not hit just to hit or shy away in fear. The only way a kendo match works is with mutual communication; an opponent is not a faceless thing to be beaten so much as a partner to create opportunities. We may strike first, but we are not aggressors.

Captain Georgiou said: the best way to know yourself is to know others. Take care of those who are in your care. I still remember the time I watched a fellow dojo member rush across the tournament floor because someone had the wrong-colored tasuki to change it without a thought—because he had noticed a problem, therefore he must help. I sat there, frozen. I told Sensei this story later with absolute wonderment and shame and she just smiled, patted my hand, and shared some of her favorite raisin walnut bread with me. She knew the lesson had stuck. Other times, she has snapped at me for forgetting to hold a door open for other people, but—

Captain Georgiou: disciplined, teasing, dedicated, setting stars and valuing candor: your confidence is justified. My shock when Sensei first told a few of the other girls and I some dirty jokes late at night before that same tournament was only matched by how funny it was, and how it was immediately followed with a discussion of our weaknesses in shiai combat, and what our approach both physically and mentally would be for the tournament the following day.

I wonder, through fanfiction and fanart and discussion with others, what Philippa shared of the universe with those around her—with Michael, with Saru, with all those under her care.

I once told Sensei that reading The Joy Luck Club and trying to understand all the Chinese cultural nuances from an outside perspective was like looking through a waterfall, or trying to see through a beaded curtain—seeing outlines, but not being able to grasp details. She smiled, and nodded, and said, “yes.” What she meant was, of course I couldn’t, and no one would be able to explain every detail to me―not if I didn’t live it, but more importantly, not if I didn’t ask questions. When Captain Georgiou brought Michael Burnham to the bridge for the first time, she said, “This can be your new home, if you want it to be.” She asked for little but trust and mutual respect from a certain Vulcan-raised human who needed to re-integrate into an all-too-familiar but still foreign culture. The dojo is foreign, and it is my home, and I must always ask questions.

A human who had seen a life of loss, but still chose hope. A mentor who saw everything as a lesson, full of expectations both written and unwritten. And I, or Michael Burnham, watching her set a star.

Sensei: 谢谢, I love you, and I hope to see you in person soon.

Al

[mrsparknamjoon]

02. family matters | reliability • kth

previous | index | next

pairing: taehyung x reader word count: 2.155 genre: drama, light angst rating: pg-13 warnings: none au: ceo/office trope: enemies to friends to lovers tags: ceo!taehyung, office!au, best friend!yoongi, unresolved emotional tension, mutual pining, slow burn crosspost: ao3

summary: let’s go back a few years to see how tae and Y/N’s relationship started and also get a glimpse into the kim family

A/N: it was important for me to start the series with a flasback so that the reader would be familiar with the kim family dynamics and the tension with Y/N right off the bat

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10 years before

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“There has to be someone else” I said, staring at the Seoul skyline in front of me as I pondered all the possibilities with hands in my pockets. I'm taking over the family business and the only thing that scares me is making a mistake when hiring people. Well, my dad scares me, and getting a complaint call from him questioning how I managed to ruin Vante Enterprises in less than 6 months of his long-awaited retirement is not in my plans.

“Why?” asked the woman sitting on the large and comfortable couch behind me. Her thin face and dark hair complemented her porcelain skin very well and she was, at all times, the most beautiful person in any room.

“She’s inadequate” I replied, making her roll her eyes.

“Nonsense, Tae Hyung. Y/N graduated at the top of her class, in front of you much less, and did an MBA abroad” the woman said nonchalantly while taking a sip of her tea.

“I meant in regards to the company's culture” I sat down next to her, leaning sideways on the back of the couch and resting my head on my hand.

“Oh right” she set the cup down on the coffee table, “I forgot that you Kims only hire who you can control”

“Mom!”

“Honey, this is your opportunity to differentiate yourself from your father” she continued, “Having someone you know in a position like this is important in the long run”

At least in one thing my mom and I could agree on: I would, without a doubt, run the company in a new way. I had already started by choosing people who were suitable for the positions and not because I knew them or my family had some kind of connection with theirs. If, by chance, these two factors intersected, great, otherwise, the best resume wins.

“Known is not the same as reliable” I observed.

Still not satisfied with my answer, my mom got philosophical. “Trust comes with time” she started in a tone as if she wanted to pass for a spiritual being of great wisdom, but I knew she was just trying to be a good mom despite not knowing the exact details of what the family business required.

“I still have six more resumes appointed by someone I know” I leaned over to the coffee table and picked up the papers. “Two of them are former classmates too. How about that?” I waved them back and forth.

“If I remember correctly, neither of them made you stutter for the first time in an academic debate” my mom made a pose like she was thinking, crossing her arms and bringing one hand to her chin. How dramatic... and a liar. I didn't stutter.

“Yup, I think it's time for you to go” I exhaled, slapping my hands on my thighs and standing up. “Thank you very much for coming and giving your input on a subject I did not ask for” I continued in an amusing tone, but low-key serious, taking her by the hand and guiding her towards the door.

“Tae Hyung, you know that Y/N is the right choice” she moved the bag handle over her shoulder. “Be smart” and caressed my face.

“Okay” I sighed, “I love you” and kissed her forehead.

“I love you too” she smirked and left.

I went back to the couch and grabbed the resumes intending to read them one more time to be absolutely sure that I had not missed any relevant information. Very conveniently the first one was Y/N’s.

“She did it on purpose” I thought out loud when I realized my mom had deliberately put it there so I couldn't ignore it. 

Very well then, I started reading Y/N’s resume with legitimate attention, trying to ignore the name and photo at the top. I needed to be objective and impartial, a lot was at stake, but to be completely honest, at first, it was difficult because she has some striking physical features, which most men would find attractive but that was not my case. And even if it was, her personality overshadowed everything else to the point of making me lose any interest. After my common sense settled in, I continued reading, paying close attention to her previous work experiences.

“Hmm, this is interesting” I mumbled to myself.

Unlike the other candidates, Y/N had interned at one of the largest financial institutions in the country during college - something I had no idea, by the way, but not that we were friends back then, of course, because why would she tell me something like that? I really had no way of knowing - and I'm looking for people with experience in acquisitions. Convenient coincidence, I like it.

Moving on, I analyzed two letters of recommendation along with her resume and I must agree that on paper she is the right person. Damn it, I hate it when my mom is right! Still, the matter of company culture is real and I think that a person like her wouldn’t do well here. She is opinionated, impulsive, and hates being told ‘no’. At the same time, she was praised for the exact opposite in the letters, and that made me curious. An interview wouldn't hurt, would it?

I got up, went over to my desk, and pressed the button that put me in direct contact with the secretary.

“Yes, Mr. Kim?” Eun Ae answered promptly.

“I need to schedule some interviews next week” I said while fiddling through the resumes and selecting three, “I’ll email you the information”

“Yes, sir”

“Ah, Mrs. Gwa?” I almost forgot. It was better to hide my identity, otherwise, they’ll try sucking up to me thinking it would affect my final decision. And by 'they' I mean two of the three people because Y/N most likely wouldn't even accept the invitation if she knew that I was in charge of the company. “When contacting the candidates, I ask you not to divulge that I'll be the one conducting the interview”

“Okay” she wrote down and I could hear the sound of her keyboard. “Anything else?”

“No, that's all. Thank you”

Between today and the day of the interview, I had to prepare myself for the different reactions I might receive. My position as CEO has not yet been announced in the media and only shareholders know that a new person will take over at the end of the year. They suspect it will be my older brother, or rather, they expect it to be him but to the general dismay it will be me.

Ye Jun is a lawyer and has been involved in the family business since he started reading. However, two years ago in the middle of Christmas dinner, he had a breakdown when my uncles pressured him about some specific problem happening inside the company and he totally lost his composure (with a little help from alcohol, of course). He made a scene screaming that he didn't want that life anymore or even see any of those people again. Then he went on about how much he hated their meetings and the way everyone was fake in front of my father and in private would even criticize the color of the tie he wore. From the corner of the living room, I watched the whole thing go down without a hint of shock on my face because I always knew that moment would come. Ye Jun wasn’t born to be a leader.

The next day, he and my father were locked in the office for almost three hours. When the heavy wooden doors finally opened, dad left looking tired and announced without looking me in the eye, “Now it's up to you, Tae Hyung.” Confused by that statement, I went in and saw Ye Jun with his head between his hands, sitting in the armchair by the window.

“What the hell did you say to him?” I pointed my thumb back at the door.

“That I’m not doing it” Ye Jun replied, lifting his head and interlacing his hands. His posture seemed relaxed as if he were finally comfortable, although there was an uncertainty in his eyes that made me wonder if he was having second thoughts about the decision.

“Do what?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Ye Jun looked at me and smiled.

“Give in to the pressure, complying with expectations, sacrificing my profession, not being myself”

He paused, standing up and holding me by the shoulders.

“I also told him that the best person for the position is you” Ye Jun's voice was full of affection, “It has to be you, Tae” he patted me on the side and I looked at him stunned.

“Dad will never put me ahead of Vante, Jun” I blurted as soon as I managed to assimilate what my brother had just said.

“Didn't you hear what he said to you as soon as he left?” Ye Jun looked confused for a second “Now it's up to you. You are the next CEO” he said in a firm tone.

I suddenly got embarrassed because it felt like I had just stolen my brother's job. “It doesn't make sense, we have opposite views on how to run a business” I looked away and stared at the floor.

“True, you do, but lately he started to realize that the world is changing and that Vante could be much better off if it started to adapt” Ye Jun stated by squeezing my shoulders and bringing me back to reality. “Of course, there is still a certain traditionalism in our field, but every now and then dad finds himself negotiating with foreign companies where the mindset is what sets them apart and he feels conflicted. Do you continue as you are and please national companies or do you adapt and gain visibility abroad? He wants Vante to remain as the leader in the segment but he is stuck in his own beliefs and he knows it”

After this conversation with my brother, things changed and I started to accept more confidently the responsibility that was placed upon me. However, regardless of how I felt, the criticism would come in full force. Many powerful people will question my father's decision and I wouldn’t be surprised if boycotts took place in the first year.

It was with all these possibilities in mind that my first act as CEO was to completely renew the staff, starting with the most strategic positions and closest to me. One of them was the operations manager, who would act as my right hand, valuing Vante's financial success and setting in motion the vision, strategic plan, and goals I set.

In theory, Y/N was perfect for it, but I wouldn't make it easier just because we knew each other. She was very smart and I was sure that the moment she walked through that door and came face to face with me, her demeanor would change and we would start playing a game of chess.

******

I dedicated the entire day Wednesday for the interviews and the first two had gone very well, exactly as I had planned and prepared — what a relief! It was almost 4:30 pm, Y/N’s appointment was the last one and I was extremely curious about her reaction, I don't know why. Maybe I wanted to prove something to her, like ‘Ha, look who’s running things now’ or ‘I bet you never thought you would see me sitting here'.

Y/N was always better at everything and I couldn't stand it. I had an obligation to excel at something. She was not perfect as everyone liked to think and, frankly, to worship. But, even if it bothered me to admit, we had things in common and she was qualified.

“Yes?” I said coming out of my reverie when the phone rang.

“Ms. Y/LN is here, Mr. Kim” Eun Ae announced.

“Let her in”

I heard a light knock on the door, followed by its closing and a few clicks of high heels on the floor coming towards me. I looked up and Y/N was dressed in a black midi-length v-neck dress with a stand-up collar that made her look formal but not old. Matter of fact, if I was actually paying attention I could even say that this specific fabric was made for her body type and hugged her in all the right places, but I wasn’t.

“Hello, Y/N” I said getting up from my chair, “Long time no see!” I smiled and took off my glasses, placing them in front of me next to the tablet I had been holding moments before.

Y/N shook her head holding a laugh as she bit her lip and stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: “You’re so predictable. I’m amused”

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𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 ❤ 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘀𝗸! 𝗶 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ revised version: 09.25.2021

[holly-mckenzie]

bitch! since no one asked you, I'll ask you myself! What is happening to your version of Sana, Noora, and whoever else you have done an absurd amount of research + written an entire essay about

wow its almost like I sent this message to myself! thanks “anon”

I know, I know, you’re probably thinking... Erica, how are you going to tell your version of Sana in an Indian, Malaysian, and Turkish context (especially because all of ‘em countries either are Muslim Nations or have a Muslim community...) to which I say: BEHOLD! 

9. Introduce us to your version of Sana

GERAM (SKAM Malaysia) : Kalifa Ahmed (name subject to change)

So, here’s the thing... Making Geram!Sana Malaysian makes absolutely no sense, especially because of the overall Muslim population. So I figure that there are three versions to do it 1) make her of another faith (which is tricky), 2) Make her not be Muslim enough, (she doesn’t wear her Hijab, interacts with dogs, has gay friends etc...) 3) or three which is the option I will be going with.

Kalifa Ahmed is a Somali-Malaysian (I haven’t decided if I want to make her half-Malay, half-Somali, or a Somalian who has emigrated to Malaysia). Kalifa, much like Sana is super close to her family, especially her mother. Kalifa enjoys playing the football/soccer and is the member of the group that says it as it is (think SKAM NL Imaan). She’s a bit rough around the edges from all of the things she has faced in life, however, she is super sarcastic and funny. She is super independent, so a thing that I want her season to focus on is her friends realising that she is more than the “strong-Black-woman” and does need help. 

Kalifa constantly feels ostracised from the Malaysian population, due to the large anti-Black sentiment that is rampant in Malaysian. Thus, as a product, Kalifa is very close to her family, due to all the racism that they face on a daily basis. This includes ”racial preferencing” when it comes to apartment hunting, to people avoiding them in public, and constantly hearing racist comments made towards them. 

Before the show starts, Kalifa had a close friend in the character of Jamila. Jamila would probably either be a character that Kalifa met in the apartment that she lives in or to the refugee school that she went too (in Malaysia refugees aren’t allowed to attend national schools and must attend refugee schools). They became fast friends, bonding over their shared experiences of facing racism on a daily basis. However, Jamila feels betrayed by Kalifa for “leaving” her to become friends with the Girl Gang. Jamilla is incredibly hurt by it, especially because Jamilla thinks that Kalifa lets GERAM!Vilde gets away with being casually racist. However, Kalifa, feels pressure because though she does speak out about the racism she faces, she knows that she could face backlash for it. Especially since if you are a foreign worker in Malaysia, you can face deportation for speaking about the injustice. This is one of the reasons that both Kalifa and Jamila don’t like  Geram!Vilde, because Kalifa feels like the prejudice that Geram!Vilde has, goes against their shared Islamic faith. 

An aspect of this that I would really want to touch on is the fact that Kalifa doesn’t face the same sort of “tension” that og Sana faces between having to choose between the secular world and Islam (because that makes no sense in Malaysia. Also, I thought the love triangle was stupid, so it won’t be happening.). Instead, Kalifa is torn because, she feels finally “settled” in Malaysia, however, her family, in particular, her brother, wants to go back/seek refugee status somewhere else (This is my version of the Sana-Yusaf-Noora love triangle). However, this all comes to head when her brother is attacked when he is going to the Mosque (which will replace the whole Elias punching Isak plot). With this we will see, just how ingrained into Malaysian culture anti-Black sentiment is. This will end, with her parents deciding, really deciding to seek refugee status somewhere else (which will replace the Yusaf leaving plot). 

* tw for the season : pain/angst, racism, hate crimes, Islamaphobia

** additional notes: Kalifa is probably really close to Nor (my version of Noora) and they are super cute (e.g. - they fix each other’s Hijab and stuff... it’s ducking adorable). Also, the show will focus on Ramadan (though that’s boring I know)... However, instead of having Kalifa invite the girls to Hari Raya, Nor’s family invites Kalifa’s to their house. (You get the idea that because Kalifa’s family is so ostracised from the community, that this act is super important because they are finally being invited in... Also, Nor’s mom tries to cook Somali food and it's hella cute). Lastly, Geram!Yusaf, is a Sabahan Muslim. He volunteers at the refugee school that I mentioned earlier (hence his whole being good with kids thing). He is also lowkey an activist and is thus, really educated in racism and stuff. One of the reasons that Kalifa falls for him, is because he doesn’t put up with the casual jokes by his friends, and instead corrects them. 

Okay, so I haven’t actually thoroughly throughout the rest of my Sana’s... Partially, because I’m not well educated on the countries/religions etc. So here’s a brief summary:

Mó Bafão (SKAM Brasil): Monica (name subject to change)

Monica is a young Afro-Brasileira (Afro-Brasilian) woman. Monica practices the religion Candomblé, and thus faces a lot of prejudice from her peers for firstly, being Black (because racism and against Black people is a thing in Brasil, regardless of what Josh Boone may think). However, the other prejudice comes from the facts that her peers are mostly Christian and Catholic and see Candomblé as a heathen religion. Thus, due to that belief, many of her peers have grown up learning to avoid signs of the Candomblé faith (e.g. - orange coloured strips of fabric near a tree, or a specific arrangement of "ingredients" or tools). Much like Sana, Monica feels torn between two worlds. However, unlike Sana what it really comes down to is colonialism. Monica has really seen how the Christian/Catholic faith has affected Brasilian society, and how Brasil is still very much facing the consequences of colonialism (the post-colonial hangover is a real thing guys). 

SKAM TURKÏYE : Sera

Sera is Turkish-Armenian. Sera comes from a family where her family is super supportive of all of her dreams and goals. She is the mom friend of the group and constantly wants to care for everyone. She is Armenian and thus the prejudice that she faces is largely tied to the denial and recognition of the Armenian genocide by her peers and schools. Due to this, Sera is very much an advocate for the rights of Armenians, as well as Kurds and Jews. She faces a lot of backlash from her fellow peers who would rather keep the status-quo and not believe that there is something wrong about the world. Much of the season will discuss what it would mean for Sera to live in a modern Turkey and whether that would mean assimilate to the culture or to stand up for her people and her beliefs. Also, I just think it would be neat if we made Turkïye!Yusaf Kurdish. 

7. Introduce us to your version of Noora

Mó Bafão (SKAM Brasil): Grace Lee

At the start of the show, (Marie Vitória Silva’s (Mó Bafão!Eva) season), Grace Lee is a new student at their school. Grace is  Korean-Brasilian, and though her parents offered to send her to Colégio Polilogos (a South Korean international school in São Paulo), she chose to go to the school that she currently goes too, where she meets the Girl Gang. Grace is a super interesting character because though she grew up in Brasil, she also lived in Korea and the States, before moving back to São Paulo. Thus, Grace has curated her own cultural experience, which accounts for the fact that she doesn’t drink, smoke, party, have a boyfriend, or subscribe to traditional beauty standards. Grace would probably be considered fat/thick by most Asian (and Brasilian) standards. She is also quite tall for an Asian and doesn’t have the fair skin that is associated with Asian beauty standards. Grace kinds walks to the beat of her own drum, and because of that, Marie really admires Grace, which is one of the reasons for their tight bond. However, Mó Bafão!Vilde discounts this, believing that Grace’s decision to not drink, have sex, or conform to the standard of beauty is due to the conservative Korean culture or Grace’s family’s religious values. I think an important aspect of Grace’s character that I would like to point out is the place of privilege that Grace has, because she grew up over-seas she hasn’t had the same societal pressures in regards to beauty, partying, or sex that the rest of the girls have had, allowing her to be the character that stands up against it. Grace also is a total foodie and her Insta posts are entirely made up food. She also, posts these really cute Meokbang’s where she and one of her friends go out and try different foods in São Paulo. 

Okay, so here’s where he run into a lot of trouble. Because, I hate the whole Magnusson brothers plot in the original show, and I much prefer what eskam did in that regards. However, I also know for fact that Brasil has a huge sexual violence problem, so... I feel like, I would *really* need to be *way* more educated to be able to tell a beautiful and honest storyline that deals into ideas of consent and what not in the Brasilian context, and I am just not there yet?

* tw for the season : sexual violence + slut shaming + fat shaming ** additional notes : Okay, so I would really enjoy is Grace lived at home with her family and you get to see her interacting with her family. In that scenerio, the Mó Bafão!Eskild would probably be a family member/family friend that lives with them. However, another option would be to make Grace be living in a homestay situation with Mó Bafão!Eskild being the host of the homestay. Another aspect that we could potentially go into is intimate partner violence, with Mó Bafão!Miquel being this super charasmatic dude, who buys Grace clothes to wear that she doesn’t like (they are tight + bright colours she doesn’t like) and encouraging her to diet, all the while talking about how much he likes her for not being like the other Brasilian girls. Mó Bafão!Mique would totally have a TikTok account where he would post one of those TikTok “pranks” that’s straight up emotional abuse. This is sees through Grace’s socials because she stops posting her foodie content and Meokbangs. However, the last social you see from Grace (at the end of her season) is a tiny Meokbang again (maybe with Mó Bafão!Alejandro).  

SKAM India : Nana

Nana’s is from Nagaland, though her family has been staying overseas and have just moved to Bangalore. Nana is super close with her family, especially her father, who is her number one supporter. Nana’s family knows one of Anjali (my version of Eva) extended family. Nana and Anjali are really close. To some degree, Nana’s peers are a bit taken aback by her because she’s from the Nagaland, and there are some misconceptions about whether she is actually Indian. Nana is super smart and a bit of a know it all, which gets her in a lot of trouble at school. She is also super hardworking and lowkey the mom-friend of the group and just wants everyone to be okay. Due to this, she always wants people to be comfortable and treats them with kindness (which is great when it comes to India!Isak, but not when it comes to Kabir (India!Miquel).

So, I don’t know if you have already picked this up, but I am a huge fan of the way that eskam dealt with the Magnusson brother plot and the Miquel vs. Alejandro plot... And obviously, India has a huge issue with romanticising toxic relationships(looks pointedly at Arjun Reddy) and sexual violence.

So, that being said, in the first season we get an introduction to Kabir (my version of Miquel), who is this Delhi boy. He is a shameless flirt and flirts with everyone until he meets Nana. When she doesn’t reciprocate his affections, he focuses all of his attention on winning her over. For the first season, we see scenes of Nana and Kabir talking and it is all framed as harmless and funny, with them having a back and forth about how she doesn’t want to date him. We see, how annoyed she is by his advances, but it is pictured as almost romantical. However, when we delve into her season, we really see into just how much Kabir’s advances affect her, especially because she (though she is friendly with him) doesn’t want his advances, and he keeps playing it off as her “playing hard to get.” Due, to this, he continues to push Nana, whether it is to touch her against her will (hug her, attempt to play footsie with her, touch her face) or insert himself into her life (introduce himself to her family). Due to all of that, plus the fact that Kabir comes from a good family, Nana’s family and friends think 1) she is pretending to hate him (because she actually likes him) so they discount her words and 2) she is making a big deal because nothing actually happened (he didn’t actually “touch”/r*pe her). However, with the encouragement of her friends, India!Alejandro (if he exists) and her grandparents, she is able to stand up against Kabir and pushes him away.  

* tw for the season : sexual harassment + victim blaming ** additional notes : Okay, so in the scenario where we establish India!Alejandro, I thought it would be *really* fun to kinda do a flip on what eskam established. Instead, of establishing Alejandro in the first season, and introducing Miquel later. We establish Kabir in Season 1 where we see their “love” unfold and what not... Then we see India!Alejandro in her season... And he is just so much of the opposite of Kabir, he is patient, and is always waiting for her to make the first move. They, also have a fun back and forth (that’s very reminiscent of the Pakistani film Cake), and when she tells the “Girl Gang” and India!Alejandro about Kabir, he immediately believes her and wants to help in any way (get in contact with his family friend in order to press charges). 

GERAM (SKAM Malaysia) : Nor 

Nor is Malay-Muslim, and would probably be what my Aunt would call a Modern Day Muslim, and what the government of Malaysia would call heretical. Nor, doesn’t always wear her hijab (only when she wants too), but is deeply religious and goes to the Mosque and prays and what not. She also helps out in the animal shelter with dogs (’causing a lot of her friends and family to believe that she is un-Islamic). She is a total activist and is constantly talking about the evils of conversion therapy (a thing that can be forced on gay Muslim folks in Malaysia), the treatment of Orang Asli, foreign immigrants, and the Indian community in Malaysia. At the start of the season, Nor has just moved back from New Zealand, which has created a lot of hub-bub in her friend group because they see her as totally fancy and such. Nor, is really close with her family, who she lives with. Nor and her mom were especially close when Nor was younger, but because of Nor going through the classic teenage drama stuff, their relationship is not as tight as it could be. Nor’s cousin (who is an out and proud gay man) and Nor’s maid combined become Geram!Eskild. Nor, kinda has that rich popular girl thing going for her (think the energy and vibes that Tina has in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai). She is kinda outspoken, which causes her a bit of drama because she sometimes (all the time) says things that get her into trouble. In Geram, I won’t be playing around. Nor, is constantly being harassed by this boy. To the point where it gets really depressed and causes her to lock herself in her room. Her maid Geram!Eskild, finds out about the assualt and tells Nor’s mother. Nor’s mom, finds out and presses charges against Geram!William.

* tw for the season : sexual harassment + victim blaming

** additional notes : Okay, so I have two things to say. I know that most versions of Noora focus on the fact that she doesn’t want to have sex/drink. However, I’m going to subvert that by having her not do that, but instead being such an activist and being willing to talk about “controversial” things thus causing people to give her the label of un-Islamic and slightly heretical. Additionally, victim-blaming is going to be a huge focus this season, with randoms blaming the assault on the fact that Nor doesn’t always wear the hijab + wears that red lipstick, or the idea that she its punishment because of her views. I also, know that most seasons focus on Noora dealing with her issues by herself... however, I really want Nor to have to lean on her family in this time. Lastly, I would probably combine both Magnusson brothers into one person, and have them be Eurasian, making all the girls want him (because of that white-worshipping). Additionally, because he is a rich he tells everyone that Nor wanted it, and frames it as her asking for it. However, everyone that is important in Nor’s life believes her and knows that he is an idiot (even as he posts defamatory things about her on the socials).

[peirates]

‘Did the Romans and ancient Greeks ... ?’

Google autocomplete is a gem and a curse. Inspired by @todayintokyo’s post on questions about Japan, I thought I’d have a look at what people are asking about Rome and classical Greece and, wow...

Christmas holidays leave a lot of time for milling around, so I’ll answer them in case anyone’s interested. (Please forgive me if any of this is incorrect/incoherent, it’s nearly 11pm as I’m writing this lol)

Did the Romans speak Latin?

Yes, Latin was Rome’s (and the Roman Empire’s) official language! Of course, many Romans or foreigners in Rome spoke other languages for the sake of communication, trade and education - Greek was particularly popular among the nobility - but Latin was what they all had in common.

Did the Romans invade Scotland?

Long story short, no. They tried, failed, and built Hadrian’s Wall to keep the ‘barbarian’ Gaels out - southern Britain was already too cold and muddy for the temperate Romans, not much point in losing more lives over more mud. 

(Hadrian’s Wall was what inspired Game of Thrones’ The Wall, as confirmed by G.R.R. Martin himself, but Hadrian’s was nowhere near as high, thick or long.)

Did the Romans have glass?

Absolutely! In fact, their skill with it was much more artistic and masterful than the average glassmaker today, just search ‘roman glassware’ here on Tumblr or on Google images to see what I mean.

Did the Romans invent concrete?

Yep! It’s famed for its durability, which is due to its contents of volcanic ash (Pompeii flashbacks), lime and seawater. The seawater reacted with the ash over time to give it its strength and anti-cracking nature.

In fact, the Roman method was so effective that it lasts for far longer than modern concrete (modernity/Westernisation =/= progression, it seems) and scientists today are trying to find ways to revitalise it.

Did the Romans eat pizza? / Did the Romans eat pasta?

Sadly not, only later Italians did. Their empire deserved to crumble for not inventing either smh.

Did the Romans invade Britain? / Did the Romans invade England?

They did indeed in AD 43 under Emperor Claudius, and they only began to withdraw in the late 300s when the city of Rome was being threatened by a Germanic tribe called the Visigoths.

Did the Romans invade Ireland?

No. Even now, archaeologists have no idea to what extent they communicated or even knew of each other.

Did the Romans celebrate Christmas?

Emperor Constantine only began converting the empire to Christianity from AD 313 (they had been pagan previously), and the earliest evidence we have of Romans celebrating Christmas was in 336 AD, very late in Roman history. Throughout most of Roman history, therefore, no they did not celebrate Christmas.

(They did have a festival which was similarly important and similarly timed (mid-December) called the Saturnalia. It also involved communal partying, gift exchanges and a general spirit of liberty (e.g. slaves could order around and punish their masters) - it was one of the most anticipated festivals of the Roman calendar. However, the purpose was very different: it was to worship the pagan god Saturn, the father of god-king Jupiter and the previous ruler of the world before its occupation by humanity. Namely, the festival marked a return to the ancient ‘Golden Age’ in which nature was dominant, peaceful and uncorrupted.)

Did ancient Greece have emperors? / Did ancient Greece have kings?

No emperors, traditionally Greece was comprised of city-states ruled by kings (or theoretically by the dēmos, the people, if you were Athens). Under Roman occupation it did answer to Rome’s leaders (consuls, then later emperors), but the idea of emperors was much more late-Roman than Greek.

Did ancient Greece celebrate Christmas?

Nope. It was originally pagan and did not celebrate any Christian holidays until a) it was conquered by Rome b) Rome later converted to Christianity, thus enforcing it on the rest of the empire. However, this conversion point was so long after the ‘heroic’ and ‘classical’ periods of Greece that by the time it did become mostly Christian, it was no longer ‘ancient Greece’ in the same sense.

Did ancient Greece have electricity?

Y’all are asking the real questions out here, that’s for sure lmao. 

Nope, electricity wasn’t used anywhere as a power source until Thomas Edison’s studies about two thousand years later.

God though, a good ol’ GPS would have saved Odysseus a lot of trouble.

Did ancient Greece and Rome overlap?

Oh, nelly...

Greece predated Rome by at nearly a thousand years, but Greece’s and Rome’s histories together lasted for centuries, even before the latter conquered the former. It’s why they are studied together as one field of academia. Many Italian settlements were in fact Greek colonies. Classical Greek helped shape Latin. Much of Roman religion was inspired by that of the Greeks. Many Greeks could speak Latin and many Romans could speak Greek. Roman art, philosophy and architecture was particularly fascinated by that which was Greek - to put it in meme format, the crab is Roman culture and the crocodile is Greek culture. And these are just the absolute basics, entire tomes have been written on Greece’s and Rome’s somewhat symbiotic relationship.

TLDR hell yes they did.

Did ancient Greece have a flag? / Did ancient Greece have a constitution?

Nah. Although history often refers to Greece as one country, one culture, it was more a collection of independent city-states with their own identities and constitutions. 

They all had three things in common: religion (+ the moral/social codes which came along with it), language, and (in most cases) enemies from abroad -  therefore in later centuries, as well as their city-based nationalities, they did all call themselves the Hellenes. If you were a fellow Hellenic, you’d be able to work and live in other Greek cities with less trouble than if you were to try, say, in a ‘barbarian’ land such as Persia. Greeks were civilised; everyone else was an uncultured brute. Hence, their sense of unity was more from fear of the outside, from xenophobia, than from internal harmony.

Because of this, there was never an altogether complete sense of assimilation. Different cities had distinct dialects, favoured different gods/cults within the wider Pantheon, often warred against each other (especially Athens and Sparta, whew), fed their own specific cultures and law-sets and reputations. Nationality and citizenship in that age were not really about country or region, the world was just too small for that. You wouldn’t say ‘Hi I’m Phoebe and I’m Greek’, you’d say ‘Hi I’m Phoebe and I’m from the city of Halicarnassus.’ The closest analogy I can really think of is the cities in the dystopian series, Mortal Engines.

So no, they didn’t have a single flag or constitution. There was just not enough unity between them all.

Did ancient Greece trade?

Initially I was going to wave this off as a silly question because ‘hurr durr everyone trades’ but ACTUALLY. 

Along with the rest of the eastern Mediterranean, Greece had its own Dark Ages between the fall of its early society (aka Mycenaean Greece) and the rise of Homeric-style poetry and culture, i.e. between the 1100s and 700s BC. Communication in general was absolutely awful: there were no great armies, no great cultural progressions, and yes, no substantial trade. The fact that Greece was then feeling down in the dumps also discouraged foreign trade. 

It took the bard Homer’s influence to get people to start thinking, creating, travelling and thus mass-trading again - this sudden surge in activity eventually led to Greece’s Classical Period, i.e. 4th century BC, you’ll probably imagine gleaming Athenian pillars. Increased thinking and culture led to increased politics/nationalism, increased p/n led to increased warring and military action, increased warring improved transport and communication, and WHOOSH suddenly trade took off.

So basically, Mycenaean Greek trade was good (as far as we can tell), Dark Ages Greek trade was shocking, Classical Greek trade was quite literally revolutionary.

Did ancient Greece have lions?

Yep! However, they weren’t like the sub-Saharan lions you’re probably imagining right now - those are Panthera leo, but the Eurasian lions that would have been in Greece were Panthera spelaea.

Nevertheless there were indeed lions and they played a huge role in Greek mythology and literature. The Nemean Lion was the first of Hercules’ Twelve Labours; Homer, the trendsetting legendary lad that he was, created a trope of comparing something innocent and vulnerable to something vicious and savage and desperate by using the analogy of a lamb and a hungry lion.

Did ancient Greece have a democracy?

Nope, only one city named Athens did. Don’t get me wrong, it was at the time and still is a big deal considering it hadn’t been done before, BUT there are three important things to note:

It was ONLY Athens which had a democracy - every other Greek city kept their kingships.

The Athenian democracy wasn’t what we’d call democracy. Only free, Athenian-on-both-sides men could vote and participate in local politics - this left out all slaves, all women (even if they were Athenian), and all foreigners or residents of foreign descent (no longer how long you and your family had lived in and worked in and contributed to the city and community).

It wasn’t foolproof considering it eventually got overthrown by power-seeking tyrants.

i.e. a part of ancient Greece had a democracy.

[damiankoh]

Working in a Korean chaebol as a foreigner

For nearly a decade, I worked for a Korean chaebol based in South Korea. While Korean dramas are often exaggerated glimpses of reality, you can often draw parallels, and empathy, in real life. Watch “Misaeng [미생]”, a 2014 Korean television series based on a webtoon of the same name about a group of co-workers in their twenties in a fictional multinational company.

During this period, I have seen my fair share of everyday corporate life. People crying quietly at their desks; getting word from close friends that they heard someone sobbing inside the lavatory cubicle; people getting into a rage; taking other peoples’ work and claiming as his/her own; backstabbing, false accusations, etc.

My time at a Korean chaebol was privileged, partly contributed by my language handicap, and rewarding on many levels. If I were to sum up my personal experiences, these would be my pieces of advice to anyone working or intending to work at a Korean chaebol.

5. Come to terms that you are living in a foreign country

This would mean everything from societal to workplace differences. From how generations of people were brought up to the education system they went through to land a job at one of the top conglomerates in the country. From how hierarchy in terms of title, age and length of service are factored into where you are placed in the workplace ladder to how people should be addressed.

4. Remember your experiences but keep your emotions at home

I have seen one too many people who joined the company with prestigious backgrounds and solid professional resumes, but who often are also the ones who find it difficult to survive in the Korean workplace culture radically different compared with where they came from. While your experiences are what brought you here, emotions, or the lack of, are what’s going to help you survive and thrive in such a complex organization. Leave your personal emotions at home or at a drinking place (suljib [술집]).

3. Speak up when you have to, but know the rules of the game

A Korean chaebol is a massive corporate giant and changes, especially behavioral ones, takes time and generations. Speak up when you have to, but know the right place, time and audience to do so. Voicing something contrary to what a higher-ranking person is saying in a group meeting is often frowned upon even if it was agreed beforehand that everyone speaks freely. Use tact. There is always a follow-up meeting to discuss the meeting prior and meeting notes are usually shared via email after, so any corrections can be done then.

2. Learn the language, or at least pretend to

If you are hired into a Korean chaebol as a foreigner, chances are your role doesn't require you to be fluent in the language. However, it is always good to show your co-workers that you are learning, or trying to, in order to assimilate into the environment. It is the effort that counts and people will appreciate you for it.

1. Nunchi [눈치], the one word that rules them all

If there was one word that would describe Korean society and workplace at large, it has to be “nunchi”.

Nunchi can be verbal or behavioral, and even used when trying to describe the weather. For example, I am planning to cycle outdoors, but the sky is overcast and I am not sure whether it will rain. To ride or not to ride. In this context, I am playing “nunchi game” with the weather. 

Nunchi can be the words you use or the actions you display, but it is most correctly described in English as “emotional intelligence”, that is the ability to read the situation and respond appropriately. It is the art of sensing the collective (people) rather than that of an individual (person). 

However, nunchi is used more often in a negative context, for example, saying someone doesn’t have nunchi rather than the person having an abundance of it. On the contrary, people don’t praise you for having “good” nunchi, but rather “quick” nunchi. That is, you are quick at reading the room. 

For example at a gathering of friends, you don’t talk enthusiastically about a new relationship when someone else just had a devastating break up. You don’t openly correct someone, especially a person who is of a higher rank, in a group meeting where it may cause public embarrassment. You don’t jump in with another question in a group meeting ending late when you sense that people are eager to leave.

Do not confuse nunchi with common sense. The latter is defined on the rational level.

Do you have other experiences to share? Let me know in the comments.

Remember, everyone has a story that you are not aware of.

[the-lulu-one]

Your Life Matters

The way my personality works is that, unfortunately, I care too much; I care to a fault. I love everyone; black, white, tanned, rainbow coloured… It doesn’t matter to me if you have translucent flesh and come from outer space. I don’t care what your skin looks like and I don’t care where you originate from. I don’t care if you’re human, animal or plant. All living things are equally important in their own way. 

There are millions of people who feel the same way as I do. Unfortunately, they are the ones who go noticed because we are too busy focusing our attention on those who make the most noise. We allow the squeaky wheel to capture our attention and manipulate our emotions.

The problem with caring to excess is that these emotions can easily override my sense of what is actually real, which means I end up suffering for no reason. Additionally, as a result of failing to examine my own mental and emotional processes, I put myself at risk of being blindly led to fulfill the selfish agendas of those who really couldn’t give a shit about me (or anyone else, for that matter).

I found the antidote to my excessive care in the practice of an equal amount of reason and logic. I study the facts and then some... I examine statistics before I can allow myself to form an opinion on anything. It is necessary, and the only way to function as a “normal” person in today’s world where we are constantly inundated with information (not all of which is factual, and much of which is based on people’s egos and the desperate need to appear like a moral human being.) It is called people pleasing. Therein lies the danger of following the crowd – people’s motivations are hidden, even to themselves. The result is not good.

If this movement is not about an innocent man being murdered by a corrupt cop, but rather, a black man being murdered by a white man. If this is about the police brutality and the justice system being fundamentally racist. If every single member of these institutions (including blacks, women and those who identify as LGBT) are racist. Then why are black people attacking everybody, without consideration or mercy? Worse yet, why are we actively encouraging it?

Why are we saying it’s okay to behave like criminals, like crazy people? Why is it totally acceptable to destroy all businesses (including the mum and pop stores that are barely surviving as it is)? Why are we saying it’s okay for people to post stolen items on social media, knowing they have ruined the lives of families and children who simply do not deserve such injustice? What about those guys? And what does it have to do with police brutality and racism?

Why are we encouraging people to leave bricks outside protest areas, knowing full well they will be used for destruction? Some people are just a-holes and like to sit back with a bag of popcorn and watch people hurt one another. That is how they get their kicks and it’s sickening. They have no investment in the cause and could not care less about racism. They don’t care that black people are losing their lives in these protests (17 and counting…) and that they helped contribute to such a tragic turn of events. They sleep perfectly well at night, while families grieve. Why has death become the answer to death?

Let’s imagine something for a moment. Let’s imagine that the statistics which show that white people get it just as bad as black people are in fact correct. (The sources that support this statement are incredible if you wish to venture outside the echo chamber.) Not only would this mean the system is hurting everybody, regardless of skin colour, it also means that all those white victims of police brutality and justice system unfairness died in vain. (If we hate white people so much, that fact alone should suffice for cause of celebration. Because racism is not okay. Unless it’s towards white people, yes?)

Getting back to my point, if just as many white folks are suffering at the hands of authority as black folks, then the problem truly is about police brutality and corruption of the justice system. Can we at least agree on this point? This is our enemy, not each other. This is what we should be fighting against. But we are not doing that. We are making all white people our enemy, which is so pointless and absurd that it does my head in. Yes, racism exists in the world. Yes, there are ignorant people walking among us. This cannot be helped. People are racist and ignorant all over the world, not just white folk areas.

In fact, what seems obvious to me is is that white people are the ones who are learning faster than the rest of the world that racism is simply not okay. Clearly, otherwise our little hearts wouldn’t be so hurt and we wouldn’t be fighting so hard. We simply wouldn’t care. White people fought to help end slavery. Does anyone remember this? It was called the American Civil War. It is behind us now. Why can’t we accept this glorious achievement in history? Racism and slavery is still practiced in other parts of the world, such as Africa and the Middle East. Why aren’t we focusing our efforts on this little problem? There are open air slave markets in Libya. That stuff should have ended in the Roman times, but it hasn’t. Nobody bats an eye though.

Why? Because facts require the effort of research and once we reach the Truth, it is really uncomfortable to share it with others. Per chance we might appear “racist”. And right now, all white people are shoved in the same category of racist. We really, truly cannot escape the label, and we dare not try, because we are too nice. And too scared. So we just let it continue and take it from every angle, even if we know ourselves to be loving and kind people. Name calling is the only way some people can make their point and it is something that’s very much on-trend these days. That and hating yourself for being white. 

Because self-hatred isn’t the number one most damaging thing to mankind or anything, and we don’t struggle enough with it, as it is. There aren’t enough self-help books published to help us out of such a toxic mentality. Yes, more guilt and shame is what we need, even if we weren’t personally involved in the enslavement of black folks and even if zero people in our bloodline were involved in such a hideous way of life. 

Let’s just hate ourselves for being white in the name of “solving” racism, because that makes heaps of sense. Let’s not communicate or brainstorm actual ides for it, because that’s uncomfortable. Let’s just self-flagellate till the end of time, to prove what wonderful, caring human beings we are, and how much we love everyone, clearly, because we hate ourselves. No. Just no.

Calling one another racist should not mean anything anymore because it’s become such a common go-to insult, but unfortunately it still has an effect on our fragile sense of identity. Feeling triggered? Name call. Losing a debate? Name call.  Here’s the thing: name calling is not an argument. It is what little children do in the playground because they haven’t yet developed their emotional intelligence. It is not what adults do.

We cannot continue to make emotional noises with out mouth holes and call it an argument. But because tribe mentality is part of our human nature, it’s easy to worry about what people think because nobody wants to be rejected and cast aside at the end of the day. It just isn’t a good feeling. But here’s another thing: we should not fear insults, because it is just sticks and stones. Our fear should center around conforming to illusion and bad ideas instead.

Here is yet another uncomfortable truth: racism is not about skin colour. I should know, I had white Australians as well as Indigenous Australians tell me to “go back to my own country” when I arrived as a newcomer. (I hate the word “immigrant” so I deliberately use “newcomer” instead.) They showed me how intolerant they were of those who didn’t speak a word of English and didn’t fit in with the Australian culture. Regardless of me clearly feeling scared and alone, and trying my best to assimilate to a foreign environment.

* Which is more than I can say for some cultures who refuse to assimilate and want literally everybody to work around their value system by using their “cultural beliefs” as an excuse to get away with horrific behaviour, such as domestic violence against children and the “traditional” practice of repression of women. This is unacceptable behaviour and nobody should stand for it. But we do, because we don’t want to appear racist. At the end of the day, we should be protecting women and children, no matter what.

But getting back to my story, what I was shown by whites and non-whites alike was that I was not welcome because I was different. It was that simple. A brutal lesson. Unfair. And had absolutely nothing to do with my porcelain complexion. It had everything to do with a fear of “other” and an incredible ignorance and laziness of mind to boot.

The looting, theft and violence of the Black Lives movement needs to find a different angle, because it is not about justice anymore. One cannot receive justice through violent acts. One cannot force justice onto society by inflicting pain on the innocent. Therefore, I truly believe that what is happening here is a long-waited for excuse to behave badly and get away with it. And we are all for it, cheering on the protesters and handing them bricks. (Feeling triggered? Name call.) The truth sucks, I know. I almost want to name call myself. But we need to look at this issue clearly with both heart and mind, and not just heart.

It makes me wonder what hope we have as a society when even health professionals are actively putting people at risk by saying “it’s okay to protest in these times”, knowing that social distancing rules will be broken and many people’s lives are at great risk. These professionals are directly going against their Duty of Care for their patients and the code of ethics initially agreed upon when they started their doctoring, or whatever it is they think they’re doing. 

The idea of putting my life in the hands of doctors now terrifies me, because they too are not immune to pushing their agendas onto people, and they too are scared of looking like they don’t support the movement and are therefore racist (because that makes soo much sense!)  If we cannot trust our own health care experts to stop encouraging us to protest at any cost then who can we trust? https://funnyjunk.com/Only+protestors+will+be+getting+sick/jqdmMwd/)

Some of us support the destruction going on around us, not because we are bad people. But because we are sick to our stomachs that racism actually exists and we are letting our emotions run away with us, hoping it will make a difference. What we actually need to do is step back and look at the bigger picture from a bird’s eye perspective and consider all angles. 

However, those of us who love a riot (until it affects us personally, of course) should review our value systems and what we pass down to our children, who are the future. As well as check that we’re not actually psychopaths. That would be a good start. This is what freedom of speech looks and sounds like. If such a thing truly exists (as it claims to do) then I should be allowed to have my say, like everyone else and not be crucified for it. I value freedom of speech. I need freedom of speech. I will hear everyone out, no matter what their point of view, as we are all learning how to properly human in this fucked up world. I will never stop people from expressing themselves. Ultimately, I will check all the facts but come to my own conclusion. As it should be. If I am wrong in the way I am perceiving this movement, I welcome the challenge of my ideas. I don’t mind civilised and honest debate as long as it is not a screaming contest and based on actual facts. I want to learn as much as I can about the world and the human condition, and I will never stop exploring. However I do reject name calling and unnecessary put downs in the name of “being offended”. Because, newsflash! Everybody is offended right now. I am offended, you are offended, the entire world is offended. That doesn’t mean we have to walk on eggshells around one another until the end of time. Please, can we not do that anymore?

In fact, there is great danger in submitting to that sort of game, as Steven Fry would agree: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJKXJNM3W-c&feature=youtu.be

* For some comedic relief after such a heavy topic, here is Steve Hughes’ video on being offended too. It’s much more light hearted but ultimately makes the same point. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHMoDt3nSHs

I am a human being, like everyone else, and I want to live in a better world. I want future generations to have a better planet in which to thrive. This requires me to speak my mind and I expect the same courtesy returned. We are not monkeys anymore; we have evolved from that. Let’s leave the past in the past and invest our energies on further growth and evolution. Let’s communicate. Let’s debate. Most importantly, let’s invest our very souls in the Truth, by allowing the antidote to our vulnerable sense of empathy to be introspection, hard research and the civilised sharing of ideas. It is the only way forward. 

May it be so.

[its8simplejulesblog]

Did I Ever Tell You About The Time I Got Stranded in An Airport In China?

It’s true. I was utterly alone. I mean in retrospect I wasn’t, there were hundreds of people in that airport. The difference, they spoke native Chinese and I didn’t. My family members have always been avid travelers, to the point where my mom let me, 20 at the time, travel to China alone. Of course, I was meeting up with people when I got there, but the travel part was alllllllll me. So naturally, things had to go wrong. 

So here’s the sitch. Before my brother was born, during the dark ages of minimal internet, my mom joined this online group of moms that were expecting around the same time so they could ask questions and go through the experience of being pregnant for the first time together. My mom really clicked with a woman named Sandie in the group who happened to be from Australia. As we grew up, our families became really close. We would meet up with them in Florida all the time. 

Eventually, we decided we would ship ourselves over to Australia for Christmas/ New Years, but that’s a different story. 

More background information: My dad helped start a robotics team 21 years ago, and has become really well known in that community so he’s friends with everyone. We were contacted while we were in Australia to come meet up with another family who is really involved in robotics internationally so we went to have dinner with their family. They are an INCREDIBLE family. You know the type where they always have a ridiculous story for everything you just can’t believe it’s real? That’s what they were like. Anyway, the mom started talking about how they were opening a robotics lab in China and they take students over to teach the kids about programming and lego league and just to be pen pals; and, if you know my family at all, I immediately invited myself to go. I really was like “oh I should go with you,” out loud, and my mom looked at me and instead of saying no, she looked at this lady and she said “yeah, Julia is learning Chinese, she could go with you.” and the lady just said “yeah! ok” and I was going to China...alone haha. 

Flash forward and I have to take two flights to go to China. The International flight goes sickeningly smooth. I have absolutely 0 issues, and my whole family is extremely relieved, BuT WaIT, there’s more. When I go to take the domestic flight to Fuzhou, the province that we were going to be “touring” I see that the flight is canceled. There’s an announcement over the loud speaker but I’m already panicked and it’s in rapid fire Chinese so I go to the desk instead. The lady at the desk is trying to be patient with me, but I’m clearly already freaking out and her English is broken. She manages to tell me that there was a bad wind storm so they had to postpone a lot of the flights. 

Okay, postpone..that isn’t so bad, right? ALSO WRONG, it’s at this exact moment that my phone’s wifi cuts out entirely, so it’s survival mode now. I’m crying on the floor of the Shanghai airport when I hear actual English for the first time in forever (I’m apparently really good at accidental Frozen references) but I FLY towards whoever is speaking English. The culprit turns out to be these 2 guys from Canada. One of them speaks fluent Chinese and they’re helpful for about 5 minutes before they have to abandon me because their flight was rescheduled. So, we’re back to square one. 

At this point, they announce that the flight is cancelled and I want to die, but the good news is my wifi comes back on. I immediately text my mom and my uncle, who my aunt met when she was in the Peace Corps in China so he starts a call with his entire family that lives in China apparently because I don’t recognize any of these people at all. The only thing they can tell me to do is to talk to a flight attendant so that’s what I do. 

Imagine a group of really cute and young sorority girls hanging out when they’re approached by someone that..is just completely a mess. Yeah that’s what it was like when I went over to them. I got one of the girls to help me and again, her English was about the level of my Chinese at the time, so together we were only slightly above idiot. She tells me that the Chinese airport doesn’t let foreigners stay at the onsite hotel, so I would be able to go with her and her friend once she got off of her shift to go to a hotel. 

SOUNDS SUS doesn’t it, but when you’re desperate, you’re desperate. When the flight attendant gets off of her shift I go with her to the parking garage because she booked a hotel for me. When we finally get there, this 25 year old Chinese Troy Bolton looking man whips his car around and we get in with him (completely safe, how could you not trust Chinese Troy Bolton). We drive about 30 minutes through Shanghai and honestly, it’s beautiful. It was one of those circumstances in life we’re you’re looking at the city lit up at night and you really can’t believe you’re there. It was probably one of the scariest, yet most memorable experiences of my life. 

We pull into the hotel and since I finally had native speakers with me, things were going a lot smoother. The flight attendant was talking with my uncle on the phone about scheduling me a flight for the next day and she talked to the lady in the lobby about my room. At this point, I knew her pretty well because, surprise, she was actually 30 years old and had a daughter and I thought that was SO CUTE. I gave the flight attendant a hug and thanked her friend, and it was just me again. 

Here’s the best part of this entire story. The only hotel they could book me in was, wait for it, a honeymoon suite. A HONEYMOON SUITE. The hallways of the hotel were covered in mirrors and the carpets were covered in flowers. Everything smelled like drugs and smoke and clearly everyone was having the time of their lives. The bathroom in the room, completely see through, the bed had a HUGE mural of Barbie’s face above it and the curtains had minnie mouse on them and I don’t know how that’s romantic at all, but you can’t make this shit up haha. If you think I’m lying, here’s a lil (horrible) photo I took of the curtains. If you want to see video, ask me in person. 

At this point, I am way past delirious. I took a shower and time ceased to exist. I was so jet lagged and confused. I called my mom and after I hung up with her I immediately fell asleep. A solid 2 hours later I woke up and SCREAMED because my body clock was so off, I thought it was the next day and I had missed my next flight. I called my mom crying again, and she told me it had only been two hours so I went back to bed. When I finally woke up at the right time my uncle, god bless this man, got on the phone with me and helped me talk to the people at the desk. They got a cab for me and I trudged back to the airport. 

2nd times the charm, except, I need to get my boarding pass printed out at the help desk, which has a line of about the entirety of the Chinese population. Fun fact about China too, they don’t know what a straight line is. This is just fact, they just cut straight to the front and shove each other out of the way. This took me way too long to realize, and after I stood in this line for about 2 hours, I realized that I was going to have to assimilate. So there I was, a puny stick of a human, elbowing grown Chinese men out of my way to get this pass while my uncle and 300 relatives are on the call with me. 

I get to the the desk and surprise, the person is not helpful at all so I do what any actually insane person would do and I just continued walking my way through security to the gates. I get filtered into bag check of which, I don’t even have a bag so I just walk up to the desk anyway to see if anyone else can help me. 

After the longest 5 minutes of my life my SAVIOR of a 22 year old tiny little man decides to give me his attention. I don’t know HOW. I don’t. Know. How. But he manages to print a boarding pass for me and my soul left my body because at this point I had 30 minutes to get to my flight so I thank him and SPRINT and I mean really book it through security to the plane. I finally made it. 

Granted, the trip was entirely worth that stress. The kids I met in China were incredibly kind. They called me a Disney Princess and wrote me love letters and gave me hugs even though it was clear I didn’t know shit about coding. It was just amazing to be there as a friend and role model for them. I stood in front of them and spoke Chinese and encouraged them to keep learning English and it was the most grounding experience of my life, because it was clear that they didn’t have much. 

We went to five cities while we were there to tell the kids about lego league and cooperation and teamwork. I sat in on meetings with school board professionals and on interviews with students that wished to continue their education abroad in America. I learned so much about the systematic education there and there is nothing I want more than to go back there. The kids have already invited me back to their homes, and I have never met anyone more welcoming and kind. So think twice before you make jokes about the Corona Virus. 

At the end of the day, this trip defines what I want to do. There is nothing like stepping entirely out of your comfort zone to explore. There is nothing like shocking a bunch of Chinese men with your ability to use chopsticks. There is nothing like putting aside biases and language barriers and simply treating people like people. Everywhere I go, I think of that place as a new home to me, and I can’t wait to be home there again.

Also..the next semester when I got back, we learned the airport and travel unit at school in Chinese class, such is life I guess. 

Here are some pictures from China. 

-Julia 

[kitsoa]

Can you expand on the KHUX/Wreck-it-Ralph/5th realm of thought line of analysis? I'm sure your head is spinning too because this is veering into seriously supernatural territory but I'm struggling to wrap my head around it o.o

Hiya! I’ll see what I can manage. I assume you are referring to my post about the WiR/”Metacatastrophe” jazz I posted right when that stuff was going down. I’ll say for the record that we haven’t gotten much corroboration on this fact since this was revealed, but I still think this realm of speculation holds up. Of course it runs on this underlying plot twist that the KH world exists as a video game and is become keen to that fact, be it through the characters or the audience. But honestly, this doesn’t even have to be the big endgame twist for this to work (though it is evidence to support the twist). 

I’m gonna walk through the post in a little more detail. 

So essentially, the question posed is Why is Daybreak Town glitching?

The recent updates just before the Game Central Station reveal started with visual glitches, bug-block heartless, and shoddy quality replays of certain events in DT history. Elements that made certain to the entire cast that they were in digital territory. So the first assumption that comes up is-- hey, are we in digital-DT? Because assuming that they somehow, without knowledge jumped to the data-version of Daybreak is probably the most possible and logical answer. It is worth mentioning that this is actually a common theory about the Daybreak Town KHUX situation in general. As the glitching evidence came into light, it was interpreted that this was going to get confirmed, until Brain started contradicting us. In a way, we are finally addressing a common misconception/theory that everything in KHUX is happening in a simulation (as opposed to only a fraction of the events). 

 But Brain does not accept that easy conclusion. He insists that just because things are digital, does not mean that they are in data-DT. And we viewers have to stay keen to the fact that this was brought up at all. Because this stipulation from a writing perspective is only useful to either  1.) characterize Brain in some form for ill or good or 2.) state a truth under the guise of a theory (or 3. both).It is safe to say that Brain has a level of honesty and curiosity in terms of the scientific efforts. It comes from a genuine place no matter his intention, and if Brain is to be trusted on matters of scientific befuddlement then we can trust his refusal of the easy ‘They are in Data-Daybreak Town’ assumption. He’s not just stirring the pot. 

As a writer, we do not shoot down the easiest assumption just to complicate things. We do it to change the question.

So let’s believe Brain’s theory. The Daybreak Town they are in is real. And it is glitching. 

New question: Why is Real Daybreak Town Glitching?

Well that comes down to some deduction and analyzing Brain’s theory-- which is more likely completely right than anything. 

Brain blames the connection to the new world. 

He proceeds to explain how the Disney Worlds are connected to Daybreak Town in the first place. A factoid that could have been clarified much earlier without this context, but came about naturally in the conversation. Both from the organic conversation and narrative standpoint, It’s important to know how the worlds connect to Daybreak Town in order to understand that the connect being formed here is deviating from that process. We as the audience need to accept that this world is foreign.

Usually, the Disney Worlds are connected in their past incarnations to Daybreak Town in a manner that appears to be almost physically. Traversal between worlds is possible but practically unattainable. After the war, the connection was completely shattered and they are definitively unreachable and isolated. Point being established: Game Central Station is not a world typically connected to the Real Daybreak Town. It does not exist in this ancient sphere and nor is it in the Book of Prophecies which depicts the futures of worlds connected to DT. 

So then we ask: And what about Game Central Station would make it digitize and glitch out an entire world?

And the answer is kind of obvious. Game Central Station is a digital world. It, like Space Paranoids, or Data-Twilight Town, is explicitly a data fabrication. So how could a Data World interact with a Real World? Within Kingdom Hearts universe logic... it can’t interact. Things can traverse between the two but, the world completely assimilating another is unheard of. Data Worlds have servers and terminals that are subservient to the real world (because they exist in the real world as a portal). The connection form is one that is not... passively produced. So we stop running on KH universe logic and go on Wreck-it-Ralph universe logic. 

And that logic is pretty simple too. Video Games... hook up to an outlet. Cross-over happens. They talk, and interact. That’s how WiR works. So from... Ralph’s perspective... Ephemera and the gang are just a bunch of JRPG video game protagonists who got connected to the GCS. And... we just have to accept the fact that somehow... Ralph is right. 

And that’s a little more than wild. Because he is right. They are. 

How did a Data World connect to a Real World? -- it connected on their end?

Why is Daybreak Town glitching? --because it’s being interpreted as a data world via a data world. It’s either being digitized or it was in the most macro sense... (and meta sense) never real in the first place. 

It could explain why important scenes are being flickered on the screen. They are actual cutscenes being layered onto the world. The heartless spawns are data versions because the universe is having a literal existential crisis. 

---

If we want to have some real fun, we have to... get into the WiR side of thing. Where KHUX exists as a game in their world. And that it somehow connects plug-in, internet, you name it to a subworld-- that is not alternate to prime KH reality but in fact synonymous. That would bring about this extra... dimension of thought, where KHUX is shared by a mutual universe in it’s form, and there’s interchange of understanding... and dude it gets wild. 

The most tame interpretation has to do with the metaphysics of a digital reality simply forcibly interacting a real reality by nature of it’s laws. But that doesn’t really explain the catalyst for the connection. They didn’t just bump into each other and figure out which crossover rules to obey... at least we can’t assume that happened yet. 

As you can see, that does go down a rabbit hole. But man am I adamant. This is probably the biggest break in my (and many other’s) meta-catastrophe theory to date and we have to wonder if it’s gonna get a tame, but vague explanation to save the reveal for a mainline game or if it’s gonna boldly make it the worst kept secret. 

[stjglobal]

For all of the places I visited, I both intentionally and unintentionally learned more and more about the issues that citizens of the countries were facing.

There is something amazing about being able to see the sights of Europe: The Eiffel Tower, The Colosseum, Sagrada Familia, and so on. And while I enjoyed getting to see the rich history here and learn all about these historical and sacred places, the thing that I’ve taken away most from my trip abroad is the volume of current things going on in Europe that I simply had no idea, or only a vague idea, about. My theology professor here has been living in Italy for eight years or so, and she says that she remembers how different it is in The United States. It’s like being in your own world entirely, so far removed from other countries. Because of the proximity and relationships within the European Union (EU), I think that it simply isn’t as easy to be disconnected from the rest of the world here. When you add in the size of The United States and relationships with the rest of North America and South America, Europe barely stands a chance to truly enter our news network. 

 For all of the places I visited, I both intentionally and unintentionally learned more and more about the issues that citizens of the countries were facing. I have been fortunate enough to travel to Paris, Barcelona, Zurich, Edinburgh, Bucharest, and, of course, Rome and around Italy. In this post, I hope to help you to travel with me and see what I’ve learned about these places and their trials. While most of the information has been compiled throughout the semester, I linked some fact-checkers and ways to read/watch more about these issues below. One of the main themes highlighted by St. John’s University’s Study abroad programs is migration. It is integrated to every class possible, and this has helped me understand the issues. With the current climate all across Europe, there couldn’t be anything more appropriate.

 The first place I would like to focus on is France. My first stop in Europe was in Paris, France, and I was immediately amazed by its wonder and beauty. However, there is no question about the political and social turmoil that has been occurring there for years. While many of us have heard about the attacks on Paris and Nice, there is a much deeper disdain toward foreigners that is not far removed from these attacks. In the United States, we refer to ourselves as a melting pot, a blending of cultures to create a diverse society. In France, it couldn’t be more the opposite. A dirty word in American history, assimilation, is their reality. When you are immigrating to France, you are expected to become French. While I’ve noticed that this is a theme around Europe and the hyphenated identities (African-American, Irish-American, Italian-American, etc.) of the US don’t exist here, it runs deeper in France. The culture that is not their own is washed away here, especially when it comes to religion.

 In 2004, French began the consideration of outlawing wearing burqas, hijabs, kippahs, and large displays of crosses. The one that came into effect is of any sort of face-veil, which directly targets Muslims, but it is widely encouraged to not wear any religious symbols and make yourself a target. Outside of religion but not far from it, immigrants tend to be living in suburbs or lower socioeconomic areas of Paris. They isolate themselves because they don’t feel welcome, and they create their own communities that are segregated from the whole of Paris and therefore France. While this brings in the question of open- vs. closed-borders and integration, it also creates a breeding ground for terrorists. In fact, the Paris attacks of 2015 had French natives involved. 

One of my classes studied how people can feel drawn to join a terrorist group and act when they feel that they are not being represented. In a society where culture erasure is meant to create a unified whole, it instead has created tense relations that have lead to attacks. In the US, we can obviously relate with recent immigrant issues at the forefront of politics. Rome, and Italy as a whole, had similar issues with immigration. Italy quickly has become the liaison between the Middle East and North African (MENA) countries to the rest of Europe. Many people from MENA countries will enter into Italy through the Mediterranean with the intention of staying until they can make it further north. This has caused a great strain on the economy and relationships between natives and the new demographic. In this country, strict self-segregation can also be seen. 

In my economics class, we took a trip to a town called Torpignattara, which has been dubbed “Banglatown”.This town is full of heavily concentrated immigrants, many from Bangladesh as implied by the name, and they have made more of a town of their own than become a part of Rome. Their town is filled with stores with their native clothing, food, and other goods. They support their own small economy, not the whole of Rome. Rather, they send a majority of their money home. All of these issues have brought immigration to the forefront of Italy’s political atmosphere. There have even been talks of leaving the EU to allow them to have more ability to control their immigration laws. Another effect that has happened to Italy is called ‘The Brain Drain’. Basically, well-educated individuals are leaving the country in search of better job opportunities. This makes it hard for the country to continue to develop and westernize since the best of the best are leaving.

 By far the most interesting thing to learn about was the potential secession of Catalonia from Spain. Catalonia is to Spain what, for example, Pennsylvania is to The United States. While it is just a region, it functions more as a state with its own government. This region includes Barcelona, a city that was my first international trip leaving Rome. Upon arriving, it was clear that there was some strong political movement going on. Every single apartment building had plenty of windows donning the Catalonian flag (which I initially thought were weathered Puerto Rican ones) and signs along the lines of “we won’t be silenced” and “free Catalonia”. Out of intrigue, I did some research while there to try to figure out what was going on. Catalonia is the richest region in Spain, and because of this they pay high taxes. However, much of that tax money they don’t see coming back to their own region. Rather, it is used for other regions in Spain. Aside from this main issue, Catalonia has an entirely different culture and even their own language, Catalan. Catalan is more similar to Italian and French than Spanish, which definitely threw me off while I was in Barcelona. I am by no means a Spanish speaker, but I think that everyone in the US picks up a few things. 

Having traveled to Puerto Rico not long ago, I thought I could at least order french fries (papas fritas), but even that wasn’t immediately recognizable (patates fregides). The most interesting part of this whole thing to me was the numbers about who really wants this. 90% of the population that chose to vote in the referendum said that they wanted to secede. There is much more that goes into this whole issue, including violence, some people in jail or in hiding in other countries, and some lost votes. Overall based on what I saw and what the numbers show this is a very real and pressing issue in this area. Because Spain is a country that is in the Western world and there was violence involved, I assume that this is something that I would have heard of. It just enlightened me even further to how little I am in touch with the rest of the world.

Rebeka Humbrecht, Spring 2019 Social Media Ambassador

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta France to Eurovision with king of controversy

T’was a good decision for the French televisions to make Destination Eurovision a thing for yet another year. Sure, I only end up having heard of only 1 name per year beforehand (Nassi from 2018 and Florina from 2019, additionally hearing music from one other act from each year but forgetting their names soon after!), but that doesn’t stop everyone else for me from showcasing their best. Heck, I have listened to quite a lot out of some of my Destination 2018 favourites and I have never had any idea who they were! (They were Masoe and Max Cinnamon, je suis absolutely NOT désolée.)

And honestly I found this year extremely much more better to care about. For the previous edition I ended up not caring for like 5 or more songs, because I spent more of my investment in the finalists. This year I pretty much cared about way many more songs, even those that I didn’t wound up liking THAT much. Seemone for example, AKA “the only best possible choice for France from those that don’t need to have big followship numbers to have fans for the song, unlike Bilal tsk tsk”. I can’t say I was 100% mesmerized with her song, but I do remember her more than June the Girl, which was quite a fan fave but also a disaster from 2018. Oh sorry, I mean, June the Who?

And of course Destination 2019 paved the way for some more exciting plot twists and turns, for example, two of the bigger fan favourites fizzling out in the semis (and I already lowkey discussed them on my other segment, Fanwank Assimilation), and another two lowkey favourites crashing and burning live (one of them sounding like she was drunk and scared, another one being less energetic than her song requires). What did that give out at the end? Why, nothing but a homosexual French-Morrocan social media starlet Bilal Hassani of course. Let’s go ahead and review his entry.

My first impression of this song turned me off a little because of how... poppy bland it sounded. Nothing against Madame Monsieur’s co-crafting (they did make a song I liked for last year’s Eurovision), it’s just that I think that I’m a person that’s looking more into pop songs with expectations full of excitement, but then getting something average at the end. The English lines in this are ‘reasonatable’(?) with though - it’s a self-empowerement against haters, telling to oneself that they’re the “king” (yes Bilal may be wearing wigs a lot but for the last time - HE DOES NOT IDENTIFY AS A SHE) and that they “can see [their] kingdom”.

Though it grew on me overtime, to the very point I couldn’t see anyone taking his way, not even Seemone, not even any other darkhorse of the comp. No. My organism was fully adapted to the fact Bilal will win, so I ended up there lowkey supporting his win, even if I wanted someone else deep inside. (Same for A Dal 2019 but my inner systems refused to bring myself to Joci possibly winning an A Dal again, though they saw it being a likely endgame... just in a different light of events, but more on the Hungarian writeup, buckle up for that one because there’ll be buckets of everything for that one! >:) ) That and Bilal was kind of a runaway choice considering France is huge and the jury in there can’t do shit if the televoting is valuated in stronger numbers than in Melodifestivalen (I mean, look at how many points did he get??? His telescore beat the televote’s runner-up’s one by 87 points!), so if he has that many fans in a big enough country then of course they were gonna flock to him massively, and ain’t no Eurofan can’t object against the French televote numbers like these. Though they might seem too big because last year Madame Monsieur won with 118 as opposed to the artist’s of a song’s they have co-written with him for this DESC 150. And the televote gap between the 1st and the 2nd was much more humble - 29.

Maybe it has had to do it with the fact that it has a pretty damn alright pop melody that doesn’t sound specifically written for an ESC NF (unlike most of stuff that’s been done by Ylva & Linda and the like)? Maybe it has got to do with the golden hands of both Madame Monsieur members (pretty sure it might have just been Jean-Karl) touching upon this track (and some randomer whose name I don’t remember rn and I don’t want to? idk)? Maybe it’s the state of Bilal’s studio voice capabilities that carry this across for me nicely enough? Maybe it’s the persona? Somehow I don’t think I know but I’ll probably choose the first option. This is listenable, yes. Flows through like a normal pop song would. Maybe would have needed some polishing in some places (for that exists an up-and-coming revamp that will only be revealed on rehearsals (youhou Moldova 2014), but actually I only think that it will impact the song in a way that it will now be in F minor rather than F sharp minor?? So that Bilal could avoid being one of those kind of people that did sth like this:

RETWEET IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS PICTURE

Anyways. For all that it is, I savour it, it’s pretty decent, it stands out with its message if you know what it is (a kiss-off of the haters that once doubted this “roi”), I kind of like the way it’s being sung (and that vocal variation at 1:21) and some of the lyrics are not that bad actually, and for the matter of fact, I’d DIE for a possibility to create a song like this at best; I don’t quite know if it can do as well as his fanbase imagines, but I really hope it at least doesn’t do France dirty for choosing its up-and-coming-ish social media icon over the NF acts that I’ll be going off about a little later and brings a savourable result! I cannot remove my like for this song now that the deed is done, period. And I really hope that someday all this outrageousness over Bilal in a bad way will be stopped because poor 19 year old, let him be whatever sexuality he wants to be as of now, let him have his fans, let him wear those wigs, and keep those upcoming TV series about a terrorist man with an intent to blow up Eurovision in Israel (or something like that) at bay. Not to mention, these nasty caricatures. I definitely did not like seeing them. I legit feel like we’re almost talking about Lithuanian situation and what do my country’s citizens think about gay rights and all that (spoiler alert: they’re not friendly towards them). Stop it, get some help.

Oh and I know this is essentially 2,5-ish months late now but can I adress something real quick before finishing off this review and moving down to my chance-o-meters and all? Pretty please?

To all the Nightcore lyric videos of “Roi” that did this and would still do this:

Please consider looking back at the official lyric video for “Roi”, where it says:

and thank me in advance.

Not can’t, can. No wonder he’s a “roi”, ffs. What would be a king who cannot see his kingdom now? I’m sorry but this is just lowkey absurd, ngl.

Anyway:

Approval factor: As of the time I’m finishing this, I sort of approve it for now. The big dilemma though is to where do I rank this big boy - do I think it deserves to go higher than UK or lower? Do I drown it in the bottom 3 just because I had a rather negative first impression for it? God knows. For now though I’ll aprove it and carry on, dreading for the revamp obliterating some of the song’s charm that I had for it, just like maybe for Spain.

Follow-up factor: I think it is quite of a stepdown, considering last year a lot of guys publicly ADORED “Mercy”, and Madame Monsieur didn’t even need to have a huge social media following just to get that far as to win Destination! Bilal, however, did, and most people didn’t even fancy his self-empowerement ‘anthem’. And so did I at first, and eventhough I kind of like it as of now, I still prefer “Mercy” big time. France for the kings of controversial song topics and controversial entrants!

Big 5 factor: at the end of the day, you cannot change the fact that most of the Bilal fans are definitely centered in France (and maybe in some outskirts in Belgium as well) and not around Europe, especially the first time viewers, boo. So Bilal’s memorability levels in there from a Big 5 country will be questionable, unless his massive-ass French fandom decides to mass-emigrate for a week, get some foreign Simcards and start spamming votes for their idol - that’s a guaranteed televote for a guaranteed low jury vote, and if high any-votes are any indicators for where things are heading (like for Poland 2016 for instance), then Bilal will finish decently, but without any high-votes, he’ll be stuck in a low-low, maybe somewhere in the bottom 10. Sorry if you’re reading this, any remaining Bilal fans on Tumblr... you better get ready for your mass emigration for a week then?

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

Destination’s memes are still glorious to look at, even if it feels like it’s been years since them, considering my social media timeline does not have all that many of them remaining, BUT we still got some highlights from them saved and I can’t wait to freshen up the minds of the mutuals that seemed to have forgotten them. As well as some note-worthy NF songs that the others won’t get the chance to see because only one can represent France and Bilal can’t stand in for any other ones but himself, cuz he is he, and you know he’ll always be. Let’s go:

• Silvàn Areg, probably the biggest underdog-turned-overdog-overnight act of them all out there. Back when his song was still “Le petit Nicolas” (it was changed to “Allez leur dire” thanks to copyright turmoil with some book’s publisher - no it wasn’t about Le petit prince, there ARE Le petit Nicolas stories in there), I don’t think anyone really saw THAT much potential in this song to stand out, maybe except a few select others? I mean who’d even DARE to support this upbeat guitar French-like tune that... has cartooney visuals on stage and that way wows the viewing audience??? NO WAY!!! Yeah these visuals made me truly forget this was one of the songs that didn’t come out in full release yet (as of DESC 2019, only 3 songs weren’t released in full yet, along with The Divaz and Doutson (the latter dragged his kid on stage for his performance BTW, maybe that kid liked Silvàn’s stage illustrations despite maybe not seeing them the way they were supposed to be viewed?) and enjoy the king of popup-book visuals taking it away. So much so I ended up rooting for both visuals AND the song during the final as well (and the final had the colouring book painted!). Don’t you love it when your fave has an impeccable staging AND can nail their performance as well? I sure do... Click to find out his performance serve. I stan men who can sometimes rap out of nowhere when necessary and unexpected.

• Looking for typical French chansons/ballads that make you think of how longsome and melancholic (with a hint of happiness) can things be? Look no further than aforementioned Seemone and her alive-father-ballad, “Tous les deux”. If you’re not here for all this French zany, you can sit back and relax with hearing this piano delight with Adele-ish vocals on top and the paternal gratitude intertwined in the lyrics... well duh, if the constant repetition of “PAPAAAAAA” in the bridge doesn’t give it away for you, an unassumer, then idk what does. Noir, compelling, heart-wrenching, stunning, solid and all that it is. For all the ballad lovers out there. Hope her father’s proud of her achievements (for what did she do is to take the Eurofans by storm against this inevitable Bilal-ness with her feelings-over-fireworks and her strenght to carry out this beauty without crying... in the NF final at least, making International juries side with her more than Bilal, for whom we firstly thought it was over until 150 televotes, even getting the Bjorkdaddy on her side in the semis... only to never win the televoting as hoped to (Bilal was in a different semi so another man won over the girl, while in the final Seemone was 3rd and voted just under another experienced artists and Bilal obviously) and just remain the jury darling) and will hold this song up to himself dearly. We love supportive and thankful children <3

• This 25 year old chanteuse/violinist Gabriella Laberge, hailing all the way from Canada but with a passionate love to France probably ever since performing in La voix (je t'aime nuit et jour), I mean, The Voice France 2016, dived head-first into the social interraction game, with being all-round positive with her supporters, retweeting their stuff, liking their posts, being in groupchats... she did all she could. And the international jury still let her flop big time. Probably they were too underwhelmed at how engaging her entry, “On cherche encore (Never Get Enough)”, was on the big stage, with Gabriella out there, rocking her yellow pantsuit and dancing on top of a rectangle with other cello-or-contra-bass player madames inside of it and stairs to get on top of that rectangle besides the rectangle. Oh and playing the piano at the beginning. Were they afraid she was gonna fall off the rectangle with her musical ‘gun’ the next time? Was it the show opening that startled her chances (as people are afraid that the same will happen to Srbuk in Eurovision 2019)? I don’t know, but for one that I know is the fact that the poor woman was robbed to the core for all the friendliness she radiated. And the violin lady realness she delivered. Here’s now hoping her strong friendship ties with Olivier Dion will persuade him to fly to France from Canada next for a Destination Eurovision adventure, then? (tbh he’s pretty decent!)

• UH-OH! GIVE A LITTLE RESPECT for The Divaz! Seen by me as a little bit of those girlies that will definitely be drowned in the results because of their... aura and decision of paying a tribute to the late Aretha Franklin, I was shooketh to the core when I saw them NAIL “La voix d’Aretha”... the passion, the drive, the energy, the sass, the style, the dresses, THEM VOCALS! Needless to say I got incredibly sold and even more so happy I was interested in hearing that song all along beforehand, so much I think I tried skipping our own NF over just to see these gurls S-L-A-Y! Hopefully this ain’t the last of them together, they’re a true cool bunch. Happy to see that the international juries saw something in them!

• Emmanuel Moire... now, his song “La promesse” is even more so boring sounding imo and would do less of an impression if people didn’t know the message of it, but the message (and his status in the French music skies), boy does it shine. He sings about making a promise to stay true to himself and not be afraid to admit that his heart beats... FOR A MAN! And where is the Eurofan community that denounces a ballad unless it’s gay?? Some happen to still denounce gay ballads too, but only if it comes to NFs apparently :F I applaud for this song existing tbh as I find it nice myself. Such a shame the man couldn’t really sell his song THAT strong enough though, as I couldn’t help but crack a smile at hearing his falsettos go terribly off, but still feeling sorry for the guy. His staging (that has two men playing around, further going for his song’s memo) and the fact that he beat Seemone in televoting due to his bigger status than the rest of the most other DESC participants this year (save for Chimène Badi which has a status as big as his?). And this one moment that made me feel like I’m looking at Malena Ernman’s true form:

• So how about these few other bedazzling NF flops in a little bit of blitz summary, seemingly as the paragraphs here are already going out of hand? Sure! Allow me to introduce y’all to the shy French Mélovin named Ugo who was tryna get to the spotlight all by himself with a song about... crushing I think (he’s fantasizing of meeting a gal in some interesting interesting ways), but tanked majorly live due to being nervous and letting the pre-recorded backings overwhelm him majorly. Then comes the other up-and-coming chanteuse Florina which I also talked about in the fanwank flops section (though I published it right after Spain’s NF because I had enough of THAT rattling around my drafts... and same goes for the rest of my 2019 reviews!) but I’ll put up a mention for her because I undercooked my thoughts for her. “In the Shadow” - studio god-tier that sadly reeked of “Chandelier” heavily and another NF underperformance that grew condescencing during the rehearsal-snippets period that maybe made people keep their hopes up during it just like for Rykka’s, Jana Burčeska’s and Sennek’s odd pre-party performances. Who knows if Michela would have followed them suit if she was allowed to attend all the pre-parties despite “rehearsals”! In the end we still got a lackluster performance and a total 0 point score from the international juries. Wow. I hope that didn’t scar her for life. Also worth a mention are Battista Acquaviva, the Basque-singing goddess that had some sort of a potential but heavily crushed it by sounding weak and a bit drunk even (or even similar to this) on her own performance + adding some Roman-esque shirtless hunks for no reason (sweetie if they didn’t work for Anggun then what’s the point saving your live with them? Unless you can mask it up like Demy, just leave), and the other studio fave that tanked that was Tracy de Sá who served a French-Spanish (!! that’s where the title came from, you really thought the song was gonna b called “Par ici” noooo) summer bop with her rapping skills on fleek and her desire for “whiskey cocktails rum rum rum” as a cherry on this delightful cocktail has also got really grinded down by her live performance where she was barely even enthusiastic to live up to her own song and maybe have needed some of those liquors she offered on the song to make it sound better. But hey, at least from Tracy we got 1) studio version leak drama that obviously affected the poor sis so hard she raged about it on Instagram a bit; 2) slapping track about parties n stuff for our own summer 2019; 3) her own little version of that notorious song which wouldn’t probably be remembered so fondly in the memedom if not for some mother’s pasta dish; 4) the light tunnel she emerged from at the beginning of the song during her performance, which in reality is just the NF arena exit tunnel; 5) this meme:

Yeah well, good luck at your hairbuns and your hoop-de-hoop ‘rings trying to save you this time

• I was also gonna add this interesting phenomena of “hot violinist guy” because of course I remember this hype being set up for some dudes (especially for THAT violinist. I remember almost everyone suddenly crushing on him but I couldn’t care enough to buy it because lol!) even without their song coming out to public - yes I’m talking of Lautner who obviously also tanked during their live performance of this song but the international juries loved the shit out of it (same for aforementioned Ugo... and mind you I wrote them down as sure NQs after seeing their carcrash performances live! To think they would have almost MADE it thanks to them and SHATTER my predictions???) and their bromance probably lived on... for another 15 minutes

And the ‘drunken auntie’ of someone’s that sang a rather underrated catchy spring-esque sunflowery song but completely ruined it by her awkward jumping around in red suit on stage, PhilipElise, but that’d require me to brief my thoughts upon like nearly all of the damn roster of the irrelevants, so it’s best if I forget all the rest and move on!

• Not to mention, Bilal himself is a highlight. On an occasion he’s such a mood, as demonstrated on this first biggest ESC 2019 NF season meme down here:

And keep in mind, that wasn’t the final. But for the final this happened, which is still as amusing as the first:

Epic hairspin! Laura Rizzotto wishes she remembered this technique just in time to engage some more audience so that they could at least pull her out of the NQ zone.

• Who cannot forget the occasional thought of Garou, the NF’s host, singing. This year he was one of the final’s interval acts, and his choice to sing was because of honouring a Frenchman who passed away not so long before the DESC broadcast. Truly the dedication <3

• One of those NF cases that had people rallying up against Eurovision being in Tel Aviv and withdrawing the broadcasters from it by their own force because “well fuck you, our feelings and sentiments towards Palestine are more important than this schlager-ridden shitshow musicfest!!” lolno. Some protesters came on stage sometime after Netta’s guest performance during Semifinal 2, and both Garou and the security guards did their best and hardest to chase them away, but some still got on shot because reasons. This is ridiculous (as much as it was when it was found out that some people in Spain were waiting outside RTVE’s headquarters before the OT 2019 ESC Gala just to make THEIR move) and thankfully it didn’t follow on many more NFs to come.

• oh and also the neon cube argh

Feels like a way larger post than I intended to, and this review is waaaaay long overdue, so at least I tried reminding you of the memes, didn’t I? Anyway, I wish Bilal for all the best in Tel Aviv! xx

[awed-frog]

I only just learned that Christine Nöstlinger died last week. It’s the kind of news that leaves you both sad and slightly incredulous, because even as an adult, it’s hard to see someone like Nöstlinger as a real person. To me, she’ll always be a funny, exotic name on the cover of a book - she was one of my favourite writers when I was a young child, and I don’t think it ever occurred to me that those people - people like Roald Dahl, Astrid Lindgren, Bianca Pitzorno or Michael Ende - actually existed in the real world, and did things as mundane as wear pajamas or brush their teeth. In fact, as I was scrolling through a couple of obituaries today, I was surprised to learn Nöstlinger was Austrian, not Swedish (her books were side by side with Lindgren’s on my shelf) and that if her stories were always delightfully subversive, it’s probably because she grew up in Nazi Austria and experienced that reality first-hand. And while I do understand this is a thing that happens - that people have lives, that they must be born somewhere and do stuff and exist in actual reality - as I read of her death I became a child of eight again; what I found myself mourning was that name on my bookshelf - nothing more. I am slightly ashamed of that, of knowing nothing about this person who brought me so much joy, because over the last few years, I’ve gotten to know some YA writers and I now have a new appreciation of how hard they work and how determined they are to make a difference - not only to make children happy, that is, but also to teach them how to think for themselves, to help them engage with the world around them with full awareness. And so, to honour Christine Nöstlinger and her work, I decided to translate a speech she gave to the Austrian Parliament for the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Mauthausen. I couldn’t find an English version of it, and I think it deserves to be more widely read - especially today.

“I was almost two when the Mauthausen concentration camp was opened, and as the last survivors were freed by American troops, I turned eight. For this reason, you could think this is not a subject I remember hearing about or discussing. 

But I do.

I didn’t know the word Mauthausen, but I was certainly familiar with the expression ‘concentration camp’. I would hear it again and again as my grandma grumbled about the Nazis with the dairywoman or at the grocer’s. That’s when someone would whisper in warning: ‘You’ll get in trouble!’, they’d say; or: ‘You keep talking like that, you’ll end up in a concentration camp!’.

One memory is particularly clear and vivid in my mind: my uncle, my mom’s kid brother, is visiting us. He stands in his SS uniform, tall and broad, very close to my mother, and says: ‘Ella, the Jews are all going to pass through the chimney!’. And my mother, who was much shorter than he was, went red with rage and slapped him across the face. I think that was the first and only time my normally placid mother ever hit someone.

Obviously, I didn’t understand what ‘pass through the chimney’ meant, but I could guess it was something really bad. And that was the day I understood that Mr Fischl had passed through the chimney. 

Mr Fischl was a shoemaker, and he’d had a shop in our alley. He’d resole shoes, repair heels and fix the toe caps so that those who couldn’t afford it wouldn’t have to buy new shoes for their growing children. In 1938, shortly after the Anschluss, my mother witnessed a chilling scene as she was coming home from work: a group of SA soldiers had dragged Mr Fischl out of his shop and they were now forcing him to scrub clean the three white arrows some regime opponents had painted on the wall. A truck was parked in the street, full of grinning SA men. Mr Fischl, on his knees, was surrounded by his amused neighbours. My mother, with a heavy heart, moved to the other side of the street and walked on; she later heard Mr Fischl had been taken away that very day. Soon after those events, an ‘Aryan’ shoemaker took over both Mr Fischl’s shop and his apartment. Nobody ever mentioned Mr Fischl again - nobody, that is, except my mother. Again and again, she’d tell my sister and me what had happened to him. She always felt guilty she hadn’t done anything to stop it, and would always justify that choice to herself by saying: ‘If I hadn’t had children waiting for me at home, I would have gone there and sent those thugs packing!’. 

I was a child then, and when you’re a child you need to see your mother as someone who’s big and strong and powerful - especially if your father has been away in Russia for a long time. I hadn’t known then that adults sometimes lie to themselves. For this reason, I was thoroughly convinced that my mother would indeed have saved Mr Fischl if I had never been born. ‘Where did they take Mr Fischl?’ I asked once, and when my mother answered bluntly ‘To a concentration camp.’, I came to believe his death had been my fault.

This irrational sense of guilt started to fade away when I finally noticed that my mother was neither strong nor powerful: she was small and helpless, and definitely not capable of sending anyone packing.

But not being guilty is not the same as not being responsible. Many people have fully accepted this, and have done their best to bear witness for future generations - they’ve tried to explain where racism once led us; they’ve stood up and spoke out whenever the mood was souring against a minority group. 

Now, that’s not an easy thing to do, and many others were simply too uncomfortable to even try. Instead, those people interfered with this effort to remember, pretended they hadn’t known what was going on, complained about what they themselves had lost in the war, and basked in the self-serving idea of a ‘new beginning’. In order to expedite this ‘new beginning’, our post-war governments were not particularly keen to prosecute those who’d been implicated in Nazi crimes. To be perfectly blunt, those people were simply too many to be locked away. Without them, there would have been no possibility to establish a functioning state. Where on Earth would we have found a sufficient number of teachers and civil servants with a perfectly clean slate soon after the end of the war?

Meanwhile, the efforts to welcome back home those Jews and political opponents who’d managed to flee abroad were lukewarm at best. And there was no question of even discussing how to better integrate the Roma and Sinti communities - or, those among them who’d survived. For all of those reasons, my generation and my children’s generation have grown up in a country in which racism, far from being a bad memory, was instead an ongoing, deep-seated conviction passed down from father to son and from mother to daughter.

And today, not much has changed for the better. The only difference is that racism now presents itself under a different guise. Nobody dares to use (and few to even think) words like ‘master race’, ‘subhuman’, ‘Rassenschande’ and ‘final solution’. There is a strong taboo around them.

No, our current form of racism simply rejects all that is foreign. It sees native people as being threatened by an unsustainable wave of immigration; it insists that foreigners have it easy, and what it means by that is: ‘Those people want to live off us, they want to take something away from us!’.

Those who think these things, those who say them openly when they know others will agree, well - they won’t write racist slogans on the walls, won’t vandalize Jewish tombs, won’t insult a veiled woman, won’t beat up black people or set fire to refugee centres. On the other hand, what they do is giving confidence and justification to the people who actually do all these things; the certainty that they’re acting in everybody’s best interest. They are the fertile ground upon which violence grows. 

And the number of minorities against whom people ‘have something’ (in the best case) or ‘do something’ (in the worst) is already increasing. To the traditional victims of disapproval and aggression, today we can add asylum seekers and economic refugees (no matter where they come from); also people with a migration background (no matter whether they’re Austrian citizens or not). And obviously, people whose skin is a different colour. Today, however, unlike what happened in the Nazi era, total assimilation seems to protect from hostility. And I fear that when we’re talking about ‘more integration’, well - to the large majority of the population, what that really means is ‘assimilation’. We do not want to experience and get used to what is foreign and unknown; we want those who only just arrived to adapt to our traditional way of life, and that will rarely succeed. That’s why we are uneasy with living with people from unfamiliar cultures. For a long time now, our politicians’ solution to this problem has been to wait and hope that the issue will fade as those who’re already here slowly become more tolerant and those who have recently moved here slowly learn how to fit in. Often, these expectations have been met; but just as often they have not.

What we need to do is implement concrete measures: for instance, compulsory kindergarten attendance and all-day schools. We need properly trained teachers so that children who speak a different language at home can learn German quickly and efficiently. That way, as they start school, both their language skills and their chances to have a good education will be the same as those of the native speakers. This is the only way to prevent the emergence of parallel societies in vulnerable neighbourhoods. Better schools are also the only viable tool to weaken the deeply ingrained racism of most of our local population. Let’s remember that those who know nothing will believe everything, even the most outrageous nonsense and the most shameless distortion of facts. 

That said, we still need to understand why so many people prefer to believe racists over those who say that it’s perfectly possible to coexist peacefully (if not to truly share our lives with others). Maybe there is a reason; maybe our skin doesn’t have seven layers, as we all have learned, but eight. Maybe this eighth layer is a ‘civilisation skin’. We are not born with it. It appears and changes as we grow up. Whether it’s thick or thin, well, that depends on how well we look after it. If we don’t care for it properly, it stays thin and tears easily. And what seeps from those wounds may lead to consequences that will again cause us to say: ‘No one ever wanted that’.”

Christine Nöstlinger, 2015