spontaneous birthings
head fluff when illuminated can reveal some very special thingsArchive for July, 2006
taking sides
“What’s your opinion on all of this?”I had been listening to the conversation between two new friends, their voices rising as they made their points, their hand movements growing more animated as they talked, the other waiting for a pause so he could jump in and continue, making the same conclusions but from a different angle. I sat and listened for about 10 minutes, occasionally nodding in agreement, ocassionally shaking my head, but was silent.We were talking about the Israeli attack on Qana. One of my friends who faithfully practices Judaism (let’s call him “A”), expressed frustration, “You know, I’ve always supported Israel. But they have got to stop. They’re killing women and children over there.” More was said, but I don’t recall the exact words, but as he spoke, he inched closer and closer to the table. His face turned red, and the words stuttered from his mouth filled with anger.My other friend (“B”) admitted, “You know, it’s hard for me to stay neutral. From my experience, I’ve found that the Arab people are the nicest people.” He had been born in Beirut, and was raised in Cairo. “They both have reasons to be angry and to want revenge.”
“A” pitched in, “Israel learned to become a combatative nation. It had to. It had to protect itself from the time of the Crusaders. This goes way back.”
Both couldn’t agree if the Israeli-Palestinian conflict would ever end.
I couldn’t even answer the question. My knowledge of the conflict is minimal. I am ashamed to admit that I understand little of the politics behind the daily headlines and top news stories. However, whenever I read them, my heart drops. I fear that it is has become an expected part of our daily lives — Every morning I read The Washington Post’s Express, a paper for metro commuters, and every morning I expect another bombing and more civilians killed. Will we become desensitized to the brutalities? Will it keep going on?
Recently, I’ve developed a deep interest in Arab culture and the tumultous timeline of the Middle East. I wonder if, in a way, I’m taking sides. If there’s a side I’m on, it’s definitely for hugs.
chit chat tree
a tree full of staccato chit and chats
cannot help but to whistle along
to the songbirds’ conversation –
a blending of scattered chatter
and the hush of evening
in between symphonies,
a cluster of birds flee, as if dared
by jokesters that shriek
to the thrill of the tree’s sway
a calm that carries me
Thoughts unclench and reveal open palms,
The body rearranges and shifts to disarm
Stiffness in hypocrisy, Emptiness in self-conceit,
And instead is charged from the energy of humility,
The harmony in unity, the beauty in simplicity –
Its the calm that carries me
Free from borders the “I” slips from duress,
Hums to the tunes of life’s daily tests
And instead of giving in to the ugly face of stress,
I float on the blessings I’ve gathered from a day spent
The alleys are dark in the shadow of the soul
Where pity and indifference desperately flow
Creeping in the mind, trying to gain control
But the heart is constant and fears not the load
Words slow down, thoughts are a-stuttering
Awareness matures, flawless in its delivery
I breathe in and out –
Focus on serenity, focus on tranquility,
And with gratitude sigh
for this love complete.
Generation Lazy
In the continuum of generations, I float somewhere between Generation X and Generation Y. Born in 1980, but having arrived in the United States in 1985, I quickly immersed into a culture of Sunday morning cartoons, VH1 and MTV videos, and in due time, the world wide web. I’m like the Older sister in the Generation Y of web-heads. When I was 7 or 8, I played with dolls, and did strange things that only kids would find fun – like collect all the acorns on the front lawn simply for the sake of…who knows what. I created things by hand – lego houses, battery-operated machines that had wheels or plastic buoy-type things that would make them brrrrrrr in the bathtub. And I (gasp) read a lot.When my parents got Internet, somewhere between 1990 – 1992, I didn’t understand what it was. Back then it was a grown-up thing. I didn’t know what was grown-up about it, but I just knew it wasn’t for kids. For my report on leaves, and the different species of bear (2 very important subjects for a 4th and 5th grader), I used the encyclopedia for information and content. There was no Wikipedia then.For a true Generation Y-er, the encyclopedia is obsolete and has been replaced by a shiny Mac or PC screen and the numerous (and often invaluable) websites that contain the keyword of choice. Wikipedia offers alternative names for the post-Generation X-ers – the Net Generation or the Google Generation. I have definitely gained quick membership to the Google Generation (google is now part of our everyday vernacular, but that is a whole new discussion), but would not want to be identified as such. It sounds slothful, mindless, and completely uninterested about what’s actually happening in the world.All that being said, regardless if I’m more Generation X or Generation Y, I am reminded that I do belong to a group of twenty-somethings perhaps more aptly named Generation Lazy. Call us web-savy; call us the Google Generation; call us the Now Generation; call us the Generation of Me’s; call us I-pod Crazies. The fact is simple. My generation is definitely more lazy than that of my parents. We want things when we want them, without doing anything (but to click buttons), and we want it now.
I like to think I’m not that bad. I am a hard worker. I pay my bills. I still read (gasp) books. But I am an avid googler, and I am quickly reminded of whose generation I belong.
True story:
Every morning, I come into my office, turn on my computer, then fill my Starbucks coffee mug with 1 cup French Roast and 1 cup Hazlenut decaf, return to my desk and start the day.
True conversation:
Me, to a coworker: “Good morning.”
Coworker: “Oh you can go first. I know it takes you a while to fill your mug.” Emphasis on “your”.
Me: “I don’t have it this morning. It’s sitting at home in the dishwasher. I’ll have to come back for my 2nd cup.” I say it in a tone that’s very close to complaining.
Coworker: “You know, Kristen. You can wash it by hand.” I look at her. “I’m serious.” I continue to look at her. Then it hits me.
Me: “Oh!” I say, “I didn’t even think of that!”
If my brain automatically associates dishwashing by my inserting dishes into a dishwasher, then I shamefully admit that I am part of Generation Lazy.
At least I wash my pots and pans – what’s now, the old fashioned way.
