Thursday, March 26, 2009

The Red Door

I shut down my computer, put on the voice mail, collect my bags of possessions and walk to my car. Ah, the preparation of home time. Home to my bedroom of shabby chic and walk in wardrobe, and comfort and money. To my warm bed in winter, cool in summer and yummy every afternoon bathing in the sun.

But what I over look as I walk to my car at 5:01 (and not a minute later) is the pillows and blankets hidden in the trees. Disguised so skillfully, with the art and precision of someone who does this daily.

At night, the darkness engulfs the city and the shadows are no longer shadows from the light. They are our realities. The truth of our city and what we have ignored as a society and what we continue to perceive as the fault of the victim, rather than a problem with a basic solution.

Every evening they come and gather their blankets and pillows, with relief for a dry day creased on their foreheads. Outside of my office, beyond those red doors, on our doorstep sleeps a person or two, every night. Literally on. my. doorstep.

When you chose love, you give up the right to be right.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Attacker in the station

Have you ever seen something and turned a blind eye? Or thought someone else would interject on the injustice you witnessed? Or assumed another person would make that call to the police so you didn't bother?

Bystander effect.

We are all guilty of it. And it makes me think.

Our generation has access to more information than ever before. We know more than our parents sometimes. Our world view is being constantly shifted and challenged by the media and other peoples opinions.

So really, we can not blame ignorance for our inability to act or move because we know what is happening. We see and hear it.

I experienced this in a life altering reality that took place several days ago.

Myself, B and my friends G and A were running through Town Hall at 450 on a Sunday afternoon to get to a shop before it closed. Let me set the scene. The city, bustling with people catching the train home after a day of shopping. We had left our bags in the car with my friend, as we were literally running into a store and out again to pick up my phone. After a 1 minute run G and I realised A wasn't actually with us. Assuming she had fallen behind and would be waiting for us we got the phone and went back to find her. An hour and half and increasing panic later, we still couldn't find her. With no money, no phone and little knowledge of the city we had no idea where she was. Security guards in several shopping centres and train stations were looking, her husband hadn't heard from her and we had called in a group of guys to help us look. It was like an ugly thriller movie. The night grew dark and the sky poured piercing rain and my heart beat in my mouth as my knowledge of human trafficking and drug rapping ran unprotected through my mind.

Our last stop was the police station. They told us, as unavoidable tears spilt down our cheeks we had to wait another hour to file a Missing Persons report. I could not believe where my night had lead to.

We headed to sit in the protection of a fast food joint, with nothing left to do but wait and watch the streets. Her husband finally called, telling us A was OK. She had gotten on a bus and made her way to her restaurant where she called him. I wish that was the end of it. Unfortunately the ugly truth reared its head. While we were running, she fell behind and called out to me, but I didn't hear. Before she knew it, she had a hand around her mouth and was being dragged into an alley by a Lebanese man. Her panicked eyes scanned the sea of people, as they watched as she attempted to fight off her attacker before being shoved into an alley and his brute power forced upon her. I hate to think what the out come could have been, but thankfully one decent person was to be found in that see of bystanders. A man came and punched the guy and told her to run. Disorientated she found a cop and through sobs and panic begged to use his phone. He refused but offered compensation of a free bus pass. Rarely do I swear but when I heard this, every swear word I have ever known found my throat and like vomit to the stomach these words poured out and I wished they'd found that Dick Head cop.

What kills me more than anything though is not the cop or even the Leb who shamelessly attacked a girl in broad day light, but the people who watched this happen. How do we see something like this, and stay immobile? And would I have the courage to react in this situation?

It is not ignorance we will be punishable for. We are not longer ignorant because we hear and see whether we want to or not. It is our complacency to act and do something. Whether it be a girl being attacked in a shopping centre or a child dying of starvation in Africa, we forget to put legs on our words and knowledge.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

The Art of Love

We are victims of our insecurity. Insecurity is translated into areas of our life we fail to place hope and love.

Does love flow out of life or does life flow out of love?

Love allows hope to transpire. It is a habitat for joy. An incubus for the impossible to believe again.

Love is the beauty of the soul expressed in action.

Our world will not see justice until there is peace. Peace will not be attained until love is placed as president about all other emotion, decision, or desire.

The opposite of love is greed. Greed hungers for It annihilates opposing powers and rebukes love.

Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable; always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest.
Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho, 1764

It has been said ones first love is perfect, until one meets one's second love. (Elizabeth Aston). Remember you first love? That feeling of infinite perfection. The waking at daybreak, and instead of the dread of another day stealing your joy, a smile creeps across your face. You remember their eyes, and their desire for you.

Why has love become a cliched word? How often do we write about LOVE. Our musings are constantly over this emotion. Our soul desire is to love and be loved in return.

postsecret creator says the most postcards he receives are ones fear and desire to find the one whom they can share their deepest secrets with.

Why do we search for a seemingly unattainable thing.

Love is a verb. Love is an adjective. It is an emotion. A knowledge. And yet it is rarely seen in the passing of a day.

We post 'Do not disturb' signs on our heads and proceed the day with not so much as a smile from our colleagues or strangers.

I often finish my conversations with my friends with 'love you'. Sometimes I say it to strangers on the phone by mistake. I hope they laugh and smile, and pass that smile onto someone having a particularly bad day.

Love. is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

New Office Perve

There are about 40 people in our Head Office. Not one of them is good looking. All the men are old and balding, or young and pimply, or can hardly speak English through an Indian accent (the majority of the finance department). I often have drinks with two of the other working girls who are the same age, and we complain over the lack of office perving. Until Web Design Guy arrived.

Yesterday I was minding my own business, not looking nearly as cute as I usually try to in my outfits, (it was a Monday!). So I'm doing all my admin duties, and I see this gorgeous creature. I mean, if you think of Noah from the Notebook when he's got his scruffy beard and is all brooding and sexy, that is what you get. I know right, totally hot!

When I like a guy, my insides forget to behave and they morph into one, swimming from my legs, through my stomach and up through my throat and back again. My eyes shift with readiness to see him watching me out of the corner of my eyes, and my face goes the colour of the sun in the late afternoon.

When I leave my post at the front of office, I have a head set I place precariously on my head, looking not unlike Britney. So I march into the marketing department to retrieve some 'very important documents' and see Event Chick, and we proceed to sing 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' and shake our hips. OMG, what the hell am I doing? I got so awkward after that, (I could see him watching with reserved amusement) and I am now hiding down stairs. But I have also told him to be ware of the stationary room, apparently it's haunted.

Any suggestions in behaving like a mature 20-something working girl who isn't still stuck with the 8th grade crush syndrome?