Emotions took over

In the last few years I managed to control my emotions quite well. This does not mean I am totally cool and controlled, after all I am not a fish, there is blood in my veins. But today I sort of lost it.

I was going to buy a Sunday newspaper. Approaching the newsagent I heard swearing coming out of the shop. The man working in the shop was arguing with a young man. “F” word was flying frequently. This was rather unusual and I wondered if it is OK to enter the place. The argument did not stop even if there were few customers inside. Three women. I entered, got my newspaper, put myself in the queue and waited till the salesman stops arguing. Rather unusual and confusing situation. And then one of the women in the queue said with anger “Ah, those migrants!” I just noticed that the young man was Asian. I am not sure why I reacted to this statement in rather assertive way. It could have been a reaction related to accumulated frustration triggered off by racist mood in Europe and especially Poland. I was shocked, sad and frustrated listening to the news in the recent weeks. And here, such a comment coming from a nice looking elderly lady. This was too much for me and I had a bit of a speech. “Migrants have nothing to do with this unpleasant situation. The sales person is Australian and swears as much as the other. I am a migrant myself and do not swear, am well behaved and make contribution to Australian life”. The second lady was on my side judging from her smile and facial expression. She started “ Such people…” I must confess that I interrupted (not such a good behaviour I claimed to practice) “There are no SUCH people, there are only PEOPLE, we are all people.” My transaction was completed so I left the place.

The reason why I write about it is because I was surprised to hear such a comment from a nice looking lady. I was also surprised at my own reaction. It seems that nationalistic sentiments are raising its ugly heads in many places of the world. But in Australia??? The place build on migrants? 

Today is an important and sad day for my second country, Poland. This is the parliamentary election day. It is almost certain that Law and Justice Party will win and this means that Poland will change dramatically. Not for the better in my opinion.

The Guardian says:

 "Call it the Polish paradox. As voters head to the ballot box on Sunday to pick a new parliament, the mood is decidedly at odds with the facts.

The country has taken in few refugees during Europe’s year of desperate migration – yet the campaign is marked by introspection and xenophobia (“migrants carry very dangerous diseases,” said the head of the frontrunner rightwing party last week).

The Polish economy is one of Europe’s most robust – but the talk is of mismanagement, tax avoidance and surrender to Germany. Poland should be a confident, big European player but it appears mired in fear, recrimination and an almost pathological antipathy to the idea of change."

And the people who have such views will win. They talk already about forthcoming recriminations directed to people who think differently. 

Not at all too much information!

Since my last post I found myself in a different mood and have read a couple of hundred pages of My Struggle more. I do not want to take back what I have written but the parts of the book which I found confronting tell more about me than the book. Sometimes I do not want to see un-esthetic realities of life, so I did not like some too realistic description in the book. Not my kind of literature.  I confess one of my weaknesses. There were only fragments that put me off momentarily and then my fascination and admiration of the book continued.

My Struggle is an autobiography so by its nature a kind of a bildungsroman and tells the story “of formation, of education and coming-of-age” of Karl Ove who in the course of the book becomes a famous writer. The man is obviously very talented and he was determined to become a writer when he was very young. Writing starts with reading and the young Karl Ove read an unprecedented number of books. There was no book at the town library he would not have read. When he was sixteen, he already knew that he wanted to be a writer. Mind you, when I was about that age I also started to write my first (and the last so far) book. Such dreams do not necessarily indicate promising literary future.  But it meant just that for Knausgaard, a great literary future.

He was a solitary child even if he had friends he got into mischief with and he liked to hang around with them. But there was something in him that he was on the outside. He did not like it and he did not want to be known the fact that he was often left without a friend to spend time with. He pretended that he waited for someone or looking for inexistent friends. He did not have social skills and being good at many subjects at school and talking about it did not bring friendship but competitive envy. It was not an easy childhood also because of his father. Nevertheless it had many happy moments. I found very touching the way he writes about his brother. There is so much love there expressed in a Scandinavian way, without big words or long dissertations. I was moved in a Slavic way.

       

                                                                           

Knausgaard brothers

                       

There is a lot written about getting drunk, for the young boy who was not particularly popular at school, getting drunk was a way of freedom to behave the way he felt like. Without a need to score points or appear to others as one of them without feeling on the outside.

Amazing book. He writes about a boy and a young man and I find in his stories and thoughts such relevance to some of my dilemmas. 

Too much information!

I am reading the fourth volume of the six-volume My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard. On the cover of the book there is a comment by New York Times Book Review. It reads: Why would you read a six volume, 3,600-page Norwegian novel about a man writing a six-volume, 3,600 page Norwegian novel? The short answer is that it is breathtakingly good and so you cannot stop yourself, and would not want to.

                                                            

As I am reading the fourth volume already I must have read close to 2,000 pages and I am asking myself the same question. I accept the short answer by New York Times but I am asking myself the next question what it that I like is? The answer is not that simple. I think I like the openness of Karl Ove telling his story. Warts and all. And there are many warts in his stories. Some belong to people in his life but most of them are he owns. Sometimes I want to scream – too much information!! I do not need to know all the details of his bodily reactions to the previous night over drinking. Maybe some of them I can cope with, but not all for God’s sake! But no, we really get it all, with colour, consistence and more. Is this what I particularly like about the book? In a way, yes, strangely enough. Maybe not necessarily post overdrinking bathroom details but the concept of telling it as it was, no make up applied. That makes the book really authentic and I feel like I really know young Karl Ove. He is eighteen in the fourth volume and for the next hundreds of pages will be trying to loose his virginity. Mind boggles. I will know the boy well by the end of the volume. Will I like him? Will I get the next book? I am not sure yet. But most likely, I will. They say that I will not be able to stop myself. Hmm… My knowledge of the men’s world will increase considerably.

I like the sincerity of the book, I also can relate to Karl Ove’s problems, interests and fascinations. And I come from a different world to his. I would say that my interests are very different to his preoccupations. This is one of the values of the book, it covers universal issues but it reads like a rather simple story. Deceivingly simple.

During one of management courses, I have attended in my life, my colleagues assessed me as sincere. Not a bad value or a characteristic but it bothered me somehow and I still, many years after, I ponder on that. While I consider sincerity close to honesty and I highly value both, I sometimes feel concerned that I disclose more than healthy and that it may turn against me. I know that at times it does. Knausgaard is painfully sincere and searching for his truths. Sometimes I shouted in my thoughts – too much information! Stop it! He has some court cases on the go as a result of writing as it was or as he remembered it was. He became also very famous, very fast. His sincerity of total disclosure is a great component to it. He is at times accused of too strong self-focus bordering on narcissism. I forgive him that.

After some research I found out that the book number 6 is not translated yet and that I will have to wait for it a while. The book contains Knausgaard thought on Breivik. This should be very interesting.

On reflection, I think I will keep reading My Struggle until it finishes, if it ever does. In the meantime I will read and write about two first books by Donna Tartt. I already have bought them.

The Intern – feminist reflections again

It is strange how I go to see movies more in Sydney than in Gdansk. Similar movies, often even the same, cheaper tickets but I saw only one film in three month during my stay in Poland. I went to a theatre play once but this is in no relation to the frequency with which I go to see movies in Sydney. I have been here three weeks and I have seen Holding the Man and The Intern, and I am planning to see Walking in the Woods later this week.

 I have been encouraged to see The Intern by another blogger and his post. Ramana and I write about the film from different perspectives but we both liked the film a lot. This is in spite of the film not at all being ranked high by critics. I watched the review by The Guardian critics and I heard – the film is crushingly bad! I thought that the review by the three men was crushingly arrogant, in fact. It is a feel good film, fun and light, absorbing and amusing. This is in my book a good film and The Intern definitely serves its purpose to amuse and not only that.

The Guardian critics argue that the film puts women in a bad light, makes them look silly because they cry, they like to loose weight and they want to be loved. I see it differently. Yes, women are different to men in many ways. This is not a particularly deep observation. Is it bad that even if professionally successful, they cry sometimes? Do they really have to behave like men to be considered professional? I do not think so. We all can be ourselves even if most women were conditioned by our societies as well as men. That creates certain expectations. But people can be successful in their professions and deserve respect based on what and how they have achieved and not if they go on a diet or cry in moments of weakness, or swear or go to rugby matches for that matter. And who would like women and men behave the same way?

The film does not argue with stereotypes or wants to change them. I like that. This is not this type of a film. For example, it shows that men prefer younger women, like the hero of the film. Even though I accept this preference, I must say I found it a bit disturbing to watch the scenes with a woman more of Robert de Niro age being ridiculed and younger one making very obvious advances pictured in a positive light. I do not intend to make a big point here. I just noticed it as a little dissonance. 

             

October – Month of Declutter

I like new beginnings. They have promise, are optimistic and I can make new plans. I like planning. I declared this month a Month of Declutter.

                                                         

I have moved house three times in the last 15 years. Each time it was an opportunity to get rid of no more needed or loved things. Being a hoarder I had difficult time saying goodbye to things I have owned for many years. Moving to a much smaller house it was absolutely necessary to leave some of the things behind. I did that, but I could have been stricter with myself. Anyhow, I already have too many things again.

I remember my old friends who came to Europe from India. They taught me new things in few fields of life. One revelation was that a thirty something old man may not know how to do his shoe laces as he was not called to do that himself until coming to Europe where servants were no longer available. I am still not sure if he was not pulling my leg. There was another lesson relating to not having possessions. Prem, was the name of our new friend, maintained that having few possessions gave him freedom and that made him happy. Coming from a country where too many people remembered their parents loosing their homes including all things in them during the war, I had a real problem in accepting this pearl of wisdom. It was many years ago and I was just building my new home and accumulated rather than simplified. Now, I would like to have less to feel free of clutter. The message came home after many years. I realised that I have too much of almost everything except for friends, love and money. One can never have too much of those, maybe with the exception of money. I feel the weight of that unwanted abundance and want to travel lighter.

                                                                          

My plan is to go though my wardrobe, all cupboards, shelves and drawers and tidy things up. How much I will manage to dispose of, I am not sure. I need to be gentle with myself. I may discover old treasures and wake up few memories. It will be fun.

                                          

Today is the day two of my de-cluttering project. I have gone through some drawers, found few tops I had forgotten about, but no revolutionary simplification in sight yet.

There is another part of my life in a need of de-cluttering. I want to spend my days better, more productively and on things that are important to me. I want to have a feeling at the end of my days that I have done things that matter to me. As a certified life coach, I should not have any problems. I have made a list of most important “projects” and there are ten of them after the first go. Hmm…I may know how to lead others in achieving good balance in life but I do not know how to apply my coaching knowledge to myself. I need a coach!

Before I organize my coaching support I will make one change in my imperfect daily routine. Over time I have accumulated few gurus. I learn from recently departed Wayne Dyer, very much alive Brian Johnson, Rich Hanson, Terry Patten…

I like doing courses lead by Coaches Rising and this takes some reading, listening to recordings, writing and reflecting. All of that takes a lot of time and before I manage to go through my in tray, it is the middle of the day already. As a part of my decluttering project I decided that I will go through one self-improvement item and delete the rest, not even thinking that I could file it for later.

Old love, new reflections

When I was a young girl, only fourteen, I went with my mother and my brother on holiday to a very beautiful small place at the Baltic seashore, Jurata. I have mentioned the place in my previous posts. It seems that the magic times of seashore holidays are still on my mind and heart. During my stay in Gdansk this year, I was reminded why my associations with Jurata are still very strong. There were formative years in my life and in Jurata I met and experienced my first love.

 My first holiday in Jurata

The story seems like from a different era and a different life. In some sense it was a different lifetime and now it is just a story and maybe some sentiments. It makes me mushy though.

There was a girl and a boy. It took us more than one year of thinking of each other before we said the first hello. The reason why it took such a long time was that after one month holiday I went to my home town and came back for the next holiday one year later and one year older. A sweet sixteen. He was still there! Not very surprising as he was a local boy. He also remembered me and this time it did not take long, maybe a week or two, before we plucked up courage to smile at each other. It was a speedy affair, ha? Such were the times and such was innocence of us two. After few more days we went for a walk, this was awkward and nerve racking. Be both blushed a lot and did not know what we should be talking about. We both rehearsed it before but it was not easy to act it out. The time was passing and the short one month of summer holiday was coming to an end. Heather bushes started to show their delicate lilac colours, rowan trees were already covered in rowanberries. There were signs that August in Poland was coming to an end and that it will be time to leave the place were the first love was waking up in two young hearts. Ever since that time, when I see heather blooms or rowanberries I get the feeling that something wonderful is inevitably coming to an end. When we took our last walk along the path surrounded by the symbols of autumn, he kissed me! Wow! This was quite an experience even if it lasted only few seconds. I was to remember the feeling for many months. It was the last thought of each day, before I fell asleep and sweet dreams followed.

At home looking nostalgically at dried heather blossoms, waiting for the next chapter of the love story

Later on I heard that my boyfriend, as he already had this status in my heart, went through a crash course in kissing and was appropriately instructed by one of his more experienced pals. He was told where he should place his hands, how to tilt his head and was given some other technical instructions. Mind boggles. I thought that he executed his instructions masterfully. Alas, I could not make any comparisons.

The next year my family came back to Jurata again. We were like Polish boomerang in this respect. I was very nervous about meeting my dream boy. Will he remember me? Will he have another girlfriend? Being sixteen, eleven months is a very long time and a lot can happen. But he was there and he looked so happy to see me! The feeling was extraordinary. Now we were seventeen, quite grown up really. Or so we thought. The whole month together, till the heathers bloom. If you think, sex, think again. There were different times.

We walked along the beach, took some dips in very cold Baltic sea, ran, kissed during walks, laughed and touched each other hands lightly or played some fighting games. Need for physical contact was evidently there.

During my time in Gdansk we met after many, many years of not having any contact and I got photos of young us. Boy, we were beautiful!

Our relationship lasted another two years. We corresponded and he even came to my prom to be my partner. I do not remember much from the time unfortunately. But we definitely were a couple then.

The next year we both moved to Warsaw and the romance became more of an every day life. Were going out together until, fickle me, met a man about the town who later became my husband. A sophisticated man from Warsaw, already a student, riding his Lambretta, smoking, dancing modern dances… He was too strong a competitor to my first love. I wanted to experience more.

I wonder how my life would turn out if, if…I do not have any regrets though, I love my life as it has been. But the memories are really, really beautiful. Was it really me? Hmm… 

A very good film; I wish I did not see it

This is my feeling about Holding the Man. An Australian film about love.  A very, very moving; very, very  sad and very, very cruel film.

As I just came back to Sydney, I checked my local cinema for what’s on. Interesting that I went to a cinema only once when in was Gdansk. I must have had better things to do? Maybe I just had a better selection on TV than I have here and this is why I went to see a film in the cinema only once in the three months I was there.  It was Irrational Man. I was disappointed with the film.

Holding the Man was definitely not disappointing but very difficult to take for a sensitive person like myself (lol). This is about homosexual love, very beautiful and shown with sensitivity and also full technical details. This was confronting, too much information sort of a thing. After an initial shock I was accepting the scenes without  prude reactions. The boys who grew into men really loved each other. This was a beautiful, giving and forgiving love. I almost wonder if anything that close and true can happen in a heterosexual relationship.  

                                                                    

                                                                    

The film is based on a book and the book is based on life of the author Timothy Conigrave. As the love affair started early, when the boys were at school, later on, the author of the book wanted to learn more about life and experience more than monogamy with his lover. This lead to a short lived break up in the relationship. Tragedy happened, Tim contracted AIDS.  From the first scene of the film we know that both of the men will die before the story finishes, I was prepared for tragedy but at the end I could not take the explicitness and cruelty of medical procedures and the suffering of the two loving each other men. I left the cinema before the film finished. This has not happened to me before and I am now wondering: am I too sensitive or is the film so good?

I have not missed much of the film and the scenes are still flashing in my mind. I can not get rid of them even though I would very much like to. I am not sure if I am recommending the film of warning against that. Both at the same time.

The film is very well acted by all and Ryan Corr playing Timothy Conigrave in my opinion is absolutely exceptional. I have seen him few times on television. He also played The Water Diviner. There is something in his face that is particularly expressive and when he plays sadness, one really gets moved. He matches well tragic characters of Dostoyevsky; he would play many of them very convincingly.