Hanna, never let me go

Art often deals with the definition of humanity.

Who is human? Who shows human characteristics? How much "difference" can we accept?
These are central concepts that (like so many other things) seem to be revisited time after time, in movie after movie, in book after book.

Hanna is such a story. Born "special" due to a secret American CIA program, Hanna is raised like a killer, ready for when Uncle Sam comes looking. Unaware of her being "different", she fleetingly tries to blend in. Yet, Hanna looks and very much acts like a girl her age. Is her difference really significant then? Isn't she human?

In "never let me go" the characters are raised in a dubious school, where all their lives they feel something is not exactly as it should be. When they finally figure out their fate, they try to reverse it by appealing to the people that they think might classify "humans" as "beings who can love". They, too, want a "normal" life, a chance in normality.

Why would we even care about what defines humanity?

I guess because of what being human implies.

If an embryo is classified as human, you cannot abort it, it's considered murder.
If a clone is considered human, you cannot use it to take it's organs, it's considered murder.
If a genetically modified kid is classified as human, you cannot use it like a killing machine, it's considered "inhumane".

The world's most important definitions are nothing but a big fat slippery slope. No-one really knows (or agrees) when an embryo starts being human, or when it is just a collection of cells. Any attempt to define it is arbitrary at best.

No-one known if someone eating shrimps is really a vegetarian.

In short, millions of years down the line of human civilization, we are not so sure about how to define many important things.

Definitions are futile. Philosophy has failed.

Art, with all its ambivalence, is all we have to debate and discuss these important things.

As always, then, art saves.

And still, I cry

I love Harry Potter, I really do.

After getting courage from him to finish my PhD, in times when I thought that nothing could calm me down and my mouth was in pain with tension, I decided to revisit him in time for the grand finale. Though I always thought that the books were far from perfect, the world that JKR created is undoubtedly amazing. The symbolism, the complexity, the details, HP's world sucks me in every time. I hadn't read the books, since before the end, where reading served one goal and one goal only: to look for clues of how it would all end. This of course obscured the whole experience and made me devour the books without thinking much, without enjoying them properly. So I thought, this time I will do it differently. Indifferent to the ending, I reread all books slowly, sluggishly tasting every detail. I started the last book this morning and I really don't want it to end, for when it does Harry will be gone forevermore for me, at least until July when I will queue with all the rest of his fans to see the last installment in the movie series. I never liked the movies too much, they left so much out. And, I think, HP is not about the big things, it is about the small ones. The details that the books include, the nuances of the relationships, the inner thoughts of the characters, the little traits that page after page make these kids my friends.

So, now you know why I have been so absent lately, I have been sucked back to HP land, reading and reading, spending my days, the sunniest days Belfast had seen for a while, inside a book and not outside in the gardens, the river and the sunshine. But I really don't care, sunshine will come and go. Harry though will always stay with me, my friend forever. When I read the passages that I love - Sirius's death, Voldemort's rebirth, the Yule ball, Hermione's isolation in book three, Harry's constant quest for love and affection, Snape's story - I cry. And I always cry as if these things are happening to a friend.

Because, I guess, they are.

Strangers?

Blanche Dubois from "a streetcar named desire", famously professed that she "always depended on the kindness of strangers". I, myself have been prone to it in this blog, here and here.

But today I want to talk about sort of the opposite feeling, the comfort that comes from being with people you know, people you know very well. Strangers can be exciting and fun. Nothing is at stake with them, if they are nice, all is good, if they are not, nothing is lost really. But people you know, people you know and love can bring another dimension to your life.

With the exception of one person, I live my day to day life here surrounded by strangers. They are all nice people, I've known them now for 4 years (!) but they are not really my friends, my emotional investment to them is sort of minimal. We meet regularly, we talk about work, we moan about life, we bitch about bosses/boyfriends etc but in the end, perhaps solely due to the fact that we don't know each other for long, our relationships are shallow.

Nothing wrong with shallow, don't get me wrong. But we need more, I think. I pass my days thinking that it's ok, I can talk to my real friends on skype/phone, it's all fine. But then, when my friends come here, and I spend a couple of days of normality, with normal people that know me well, going for coffees and all, I think that, fuck this, fuck strangers, love is all that matters.

To make up for my laziness... enjoy

Ah, and happy April fool's day. Will you tell any lies today?

Growing up

March hasn't been a good month for posting so far, mostly due to me being über busy at work. Today's post is about exactly that: challenges at work when you're über busy.

Normally, what I do when I am busy is that I sit down and do things. Sure, I am master procrastinator, but I am also fairly efficient when my work also involves others. Unfortunately, when people decide to collaborate two things can happen: either people do what they need to do or the want to fuck each other over and do fuck all because they know that there are people around to clean up the mess and do their work. I have had to put up with the second possibility many times and I usually say nothing, I sit there and take it. Why? Don't know, I often reply that it is because I am "not a confrontational person", but I think that's bullshit. It's not that I am not confrontational, it's that I am a wimp. I cannot tell people what to do. Who am I to tell people what to do anyways? If people don't behave like adults why should I try to turn them into ones? People like not to respect others, unless they are specifically forced to do so. It is sad but true. And the only person that can inspire respect towards yourself is you.

So this week, I didn't do what I normally do, I didn't turn the other cheek. This week I bit back. I sent emails, I confronted people, I called a spade a spade. In the process I had a terrible headache and I cried often. But in the end, I was ok. And I felt very strong. I felt that people should not mess with me. Does this mean that life is a jungle? I guess so, but then again, this is how it is.

Note to self

: write something about 'the fighter', this year's most accomplished, best movie.

Write something about the predictability of the Oscars (not)

I hate facebook

I have been meaning to write a post on why I hate facebook for a long time, but I always postponed it. And then today i read this and i can postpone it no more.

Although I see the point of it all, I still regard facebook as a giant gossip machine, complete with narcissism and need for procrastination and all. Don't get me wrong, I, too, am a narcissist. I, too, am a procrastinator (and a huge one at that). Also, most of my friends are on facebook. But for some reason, and without trying to be holier than thou, I just cannot bring myself to join a thing where you state your relationship status for the world to see, I cannot join a thing which will send email alerts to my 'friends' if I break up and I cannot ultimately join a place where friends come in inverted commas. You can opt out of all these hideous little details, some of my friends tell me, you can only use facebook as a way to keep touch with old friends. To which I defiantly reply: I don't care, I really really don't. If I like these old friends, I am going to call them, email them, make some time for them. I don't need 150 virtual friends seeing my pictures from my last holiday- or my idiotic narcissistic self-portraits, with an angle, from above, to look thinner.

I will just continue my lonely self-imposed facebook exile and will miss out on all of these things. I have no idea if some people from primary school would like to find me and giggle hysterically at my pictures. I am sure I can live without all this.