Fell really sick yesterday. Could barely move around. Managed to do a little reading, and spoke with an old friend who called after I text him. He must have figured I wasn't in trade. Told me he's moving to Australia with his family. I said good for him.
Life here can be quite a pain for those that cannot tell the pradas from the gucci's, cannot appreciate the soulless-ness of the country, cannot understand why everyone's flocking to the ION, and attending Halloween parties in ultra thick makeup and pretty, sexy evening dresses.
I took some time to log on to facebook to look at a picture that a friend was upset over. It was a picture of her husband. There was a lady in the picture. Her head was resting on his. In another, she was holding his hand. My friend's not the hyper-sensitive kind. After going over the husband's album, I know why she's upset.
Since I was logged on, I checked out a close friend's wife. The pair has had some problems before they were married and I was asked to mediate. I met up with them separately to listen to them. Shortly after, they tied the knot. That was almost a year and a half ago. Anyway, I was looking at her pictures and felt really sad for my friend. I could barely recognize her. While she was definitely really sweet looking before and had the most innocent smile, she is a complete sex bomb now. Pictures of her at numerous parties and holiday trips show an extravagant lifestyle (ok, I do recognize the brand of her shades, tote bags, dresses, even the fake eyelashes) that I think my friend is probably having a very hard time supporting (he's young, his family isn't rich, he just set up his own business and hardly surviving). Her bubble bath and bikini pics had me frowning the whole time I was going over them. I am judging. Yes. I can't help it. I am a rebel, but I am traditional. I believe that a lady that's married is a lady that has lost all her rights to flaunt her body for ALL to see. And I believe that a man who enjoys having others go gaga over his wife's body is a sick man. And I know my friend's not sick.
30 minutes on facebook made me feel 30 years older after I logged out.
I should be in bed, but I'll rather read and review my charts. These are things that always make me happy. Work makes me happy. Following the real life story of a woman from New York who travelled alone to Italy and India, spending a whole year away from people that she was close to but who hurt her - makes me happy.
Yes, I live in a world of my own. But I'm happy here. I wish I'd never have to step back into that ugly reality out there, where people pretend to like and care for others when they can barely spare a thought for their own spouse, where people genuinely feel sorry for homely looking poor Janes that are not invited to parties, where people would not lend a mobile phone to a kid whose friend was SEEN struggling for his life in a calm river (the kid drowned in the end - he was REALLY not a swimmer, and neither was his friend, and they really thought he could wait til the civil defense got there. It's a shame that the passerby - a swimmer - was not willing to dive into the filthy river to save the boy; neither did he want to hand over his phone. An incident from years back that I never forgot and won't ever want to).
I hated this place the moment I touched down. It was the day that I stopped a fight that hundreds of others could have done before I got there, But they did nothing. Not only did they not do anything to break up the fight, they gave the bullies enough space to beat the daylight out of a 15-year-old boy so they could watch with their wives and kids. The boy was bleeding. There were families on weekend outing, there were M1 service personnels promoting their service at booths just meters away from the scene. There were a dozen gangsters older than the boy and they were kicking and punching him - and a girl with her 3 inch killer heels was stepping on his face! And no one did a bloody thing. I yelled at them so loud I nearly broke my voice and approached them holding my cigarette (I was having my smoke break when I heard the commotion). I had really wanted to put out my cigarette on the girl's face. The gang was gone in less than a minute. None could be found afterwards. The boy asked if I could walk him to the opposite side of the street where he lived. He didn't want to file a report. Seriously, I don't care if that was some sort of a gang fight. A dozen against one is outright bullying.
Parents who chose to do nothing that day but stood by to watch are imparting a certain set of values to their children.
That was 12 years ago.
Today, I live among people who were taught from young to not meddle in other's business, to not care, to not feel, to not be interested in activities that do not generate immediate monetary benefits for them.
I live among people who are obsessed with their looks, with showing off their material possessions and with getting into the "right" social circles, people who cannot tell right from wrong.
Well, ok, they do know the right from wrong. Here, to be poor is wrong. Damn wrong.
D was collecting his pants from Armani last weekend, and while waiting, he overheard a lady demanding specifically for ANY pair of jeans that says "Emporio Armani". That particular outlet carries only "Armani Jeans" - which to her, is inferior to E A. She was clear in her instruction. She didn't care about design. She just wanted the brand name to be prominently shown on her jeans.
Yes, D likes Armani. And Gucci. And Dolce & Gabbana. And Valentino. And Versace too.
But D's compassionate.
D's like my Dad.
And D plays the piano.
Life here can be quite a pain for those that cannot tell the pradas from the gucci's, cannot appreciate the soulless-ness of the country, cannot understand why everyone's flocking to the ION, and attending Halloween parties in ultra thick makeup and pretty, sexy evening dresses.
I took some time to log on to facebook to look at a picture that a friend was upset over. It was a picture of her husband. There was a lady in the picture. Her head was resting on his. In another, she was holding his hand. My friend's not the hyper-sensitive kind. After going over the husband's album, I know why she's upset.
Since I was logged on, I checked out a close friend's wife. The pair has had some problems before they were married and I was asked to mediate. I met up with them separately to listen to them. Shortly after, they tied the knot. That was almost a year and a half ago. Anyway, I was looking at her pictures and felt really sad for my friend. I could barely recognize her. While she was definitely really sweet looking before and had the most innocent smile, she is a complete sex bomb now. Pictures of her at numerous parties and holiday trips show an extravagant lifestyle (ok, I do recognize the brand of her shades, tote bags, dresses, even the fake eyelashes) that I think my friend is probably having a very hard time supporting (he's young, his family isn't rich, he just set up his own business and hardly surviving). Her bubble bath and bikini pics had me frowning the whole time I was going over them. I am judging. Yes. I can't help it. I am a rebel, but I am traditional. I believe that a lady that's married is a lady that has lost all her rights to flaunt her body for ALL to see. And I believe that a man who enjoys having others go gaga over his wife's body is a sick man. And I know my friend's not sick.
30 minutes on facebook made me feel 30 years older after I logged out.
I should be in bed, but I'll rather read and review my charts. These are things that always make me happy. Work makes me happy. Following the real life story of a woman from New York who travelled alone to Italy and India, spending a whole year away from people that she was close to but who hurt her - makes me happy.
Yes, I live in a world of my own. But I'm happy here. I wish I'd never have to step back into that ugly reality out there, where people pretend to like and care for others when they can barely spare a thought for their own spouse, where people genuinely feel sorry for homely looking poor Janes that are not invited to parties, where people would not lend a mobile phone to a kid whose friend was SEEN struggling for his life in a calm river (the kid drowned in the end - he was REALLY not a swimmer, and neither was his friend, and they really thought he could wait til the civil defense got there. It's a shame that the passerby - a swimmer - was not willing to dive into the filthy river to save the boy; neither did he want to hand over his phone. An incident from years back that I never forgot and won't ever want to).
I hated this place the moment I touched down. It was the day that I stopped a fight that hundreds of others could have done before I got there, But they did nothing. Not only did they not do anything to break up the fight, they gave the bullies enough space to beat the daylight out of a 15-year-old boy so they could watch with their wives and kids. The boy was bleeding. There were families on weekend outing, there were M1 service personnels promoting their service at booths just meters away from the scene. There were a dozen gangsters older than the boy and they were kicking and punching him - and a girl with her 3 inch killer heels was stepping on his face! And no one did a bloody thing. I yelled at them so loud I nearly broke my voice and approached them holding my cigarette (I was having my smoke break when I heard the commotion). I had really wanted to put out my cigarette on the girl's face. The gang was gone in less than a minute. None could be found afterwards. The boy asked if I could walk him to the opposite side of the street where he lived. He didn't want to file a report. Seriously, I don't care if that was some sort of a gang fight. A dozen against one is outright bullying.
Parents who chose to do nothing that day but stood by to watch are imparting a certain set of values to their children.
That was 12 years ago.
Today, I live among people who were taught from young to not meddle in other's business, to not care, to not feel, to not be interested in activities that do not generate immediate monetary benefits for them.
I live among people who are obsessed with their looks, with showing off their material possessions and with getting into the "right" social circles, people who cannot tell right from wrong.
Well, ok, they do know the right from wrong. Here, to be poor is wrong. Damn wrong.
D was collecting his pants from Armani last weekend, and while waiting, he overheard a lady demanding specifically for ANY pair of jeans that says "Emporio Armani". That particular outlet carries only "Armani Jeans" - which to her, is inferior to E A. She was clear in her instruction. She didn't care about design. She just wanted the brand name to be prominently shown on her jeans.
Yes, D likes Armani. And Gucci. And Dolce & Gabbana. And Valentino. And Versace too.
But D's compassionate.
D's like my Dad.
And D plays the piano.
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