Who?

Living here means being without identity. My language is being phased out. Even I don't often read it. Obviously, I blog in my second language. My nation is the historical monster, bent under guilt. My country is so multi-everything that it is nothing. My leaders are either well-intentioned but clueless or corrupt. My gender? We are abused and neglected. The men in my world? Some are confused by our power. Others find it beautiful, but they are few. The list goes on.

So who am I? Do I identify with any of this? Yes. This is who I am. No. I am more.

Many are raging, singing, writing, politicking, talk showing, conferencing, dialogueing, chatting, blogging, arting, playing, rhetoricking about this. New text about all things mentioned is being generated to promote, criticise, advertise, analyse, celebrate and denegrate. I am no closer to knowing who I am.

I do know this: I like who I am. Your problem if you don't.

Some thoughts on crazy people and why I am almost crazy

People are described as crazy for all kinds of reasons. Mental illness is the obvious one. An insane temper is another. Being willing to take wierd risks makes you look doolally. Choosing clothing, body art and hairstyles that don't fit the norm is an easy way of getting labelled crazy, however unfairly.
In this jaundiced, sceptical world, those of us who believe in pure things like love and the sanctity of relationships of all kinds have been described as crazy.


These are all interesting, often entertaining ideas, but off the mark.

Crazy people are people who do not want relationships to work. I watched "Into the Wild" last week. It's a brilliant movie. Beautiful scenery, great cast, etc. The story, based on true events, is powerful and touching. Ultimately, though, the story of Alexander Supertramp is the darkest, most unsettling I have encountered in a long time. In the film, he is depicted as wanting reconciliation with his family. In reality, I don't think we will ever know. What we do know is that he made a deliberate effort to get away from his family and, ultimately, all human contact. He may have had his reasons, but it remains heartwrenching to contemplate.


So this is why I am almost crazy. I almost chose being right and having my opinion proven right over being part of something wonderful. Almost.