The red umbrella

A few days ago, I don't know what I was thinking - or obviously, not thinking - I made the rookie mistake of going out without my umbrella. 

Kid in the baby carrier, bib in the pocket, keys in one hand and phone in the other. I had everything! Except for the umbrella. But well, it was ok! After all, I was only supposed to be out for a few minutes and those clouds were so far away! Or were they?

I wasn't farther than 300 meters from home when it started raining. Not a light rain. The real deal! The real tropical, drops like cherries, rain!

At this moment, I just looked at my son and sadly "covered" him with my hands. Yes, my two huge 10 cm hands! And I started running back home. Run? Well! Have you ever tried running with your baby on your belly (thank you baby carrier), your tiny hands covering him as much as it is possible, shoes soaked and almost no visibility at all? Well, let's just say it's hell on earth!

And in all this darkness, I started believing again! We were saved by the xerox lady and her red umbrella! 

At only 50 meters from our condo, a lady stopped her car in the middle of traffic, got off and came to me with this brand new, still in the plastic bag, red xerox branded umbrella and quickly returned to her car never to be seen again.

At this point, it could have just been a shopping plastic bag that it would have meant everything, just because it made it possible for me to protect my child.

I am so thankful!

That day, just like that, I regained faith in mankind! Faith in the people of Singapore. Faith in the men and women of our world. And even faith in Xerox!

Thank you xerox lady, you made my day!

Good morning and good day!

This really bothers me! 

How can we consider ourselves living in a civilized world if a basic 'good morning' to our neighbors and colleagues is unimaginable?

I was just a little girl when, one day, in a walk with my dad, I asked him why he had said 'hello' to that one neighbor we had. I know, I know, sad question. But in my defense, she really was a bad neighbor and a nasty person. Oh well... And my dad quietly lectured me on how it was polite to do so to everyone, it showed good manners and proper education; and even if the lady wasn't very nice, everyone is entitled to a 'good morning'!

Lesson learned dad! Now, I am totally shocked when this basic principle is ignored. And in Singapore, this basic simple is just non-existent! 

We luckily live in a nice condo where a mix of expats and locals live in a nice community and believe me or not, the only neighbors replying to my 'good morning' are european. It saddens me, I feel like I'm rejecting a group of people saying that, but that's the reality! Here, the only non-european people who will smile and have a kind word for us are the cleaning lady, the pool boy, the security guard, the sitter or the helper. Isn't it sad?

Zowjee asked his coworkers once and they acknowledged that fact and when asked why, they simply replied - and I quote: "it's not natural." So, let me see if I get the story straight: wishing someone a pleasant day isn't natural?! So, rudeness is? Natural? This is just even more unacceptable for me! This is something I'll carry forever as being a Singaporean attitude and not in a good way!

But! Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of nice people in Singapore too! What I came to realize is that, maybe - and this is just my two-cent-worth opinion - they are shy and scared of invading other people's lives, because when you deal with someone professionally or in a regular basis, Singaporeans are very nice people! And they even smile!

What I guess I am here to say is: People! 'Good morning', 'good evening', 'hello' and 'good day' are not invasive at all! So please, use them! You will never over-use them!

Good day to you.

shame on you

Today I am ashamed of being a citizen of this world… a world where people kill each other for ego boosts and retaliation, stupidity and barbarism… whether you are russian or ukrainian, israeli or palestinian, you all deserve to be judged in a court of law by the real owners of the land you so much want, us, the only ones who deserve to be called humans; Judged for your crimes against Humanity! You killed innocent civilians and children for your eagerness of power and superiority. You are absolutely blind and fail to see you are nothing but worthless barbarians! You don’t need to have actually pulled the trigger to be guilty. You were guilty from the moment you engaged in this spiral of hate and terror.

Today I am so ashamed of being a citizen of this world.

Adeus avó.

I don’t quite remember how I got there. I know I drove, but can’t remember seeing cars or people.

And now I was facing this huge yellowish closed door. Behind it was everything and nothing. I couldn’t move. I just started to cry, at the beginning just tears rolling on my cheeks but quickly I was sobbing profusely until my knees couldn’t hold me anymore and I had to kneel. A nurse then came to see me: you were ready for me to see you but you were no longer there. And she opened the door for me to step in and gave me her hand shifting to me just the bit of strength I needed to stand up; and I walked in.

The nurse had opened the bag and I could see you looked at peace. I caressed your face and your hair. You were still warm. Suddenly, I was at peace too.

I said goodbye and went away. They all needed help, they all needed me. When I was walking away, nurses and people I had never met before, came to me, held my hand and told me how sorry they were for me… for you… But I barely could hear them. I barely could notice them. Something else was happening, like an ongoing connection I can’t explain, but it’s like I wasn’t there anymore either. It felt like you passed your strength onto me and most importantly, your mission: bringing us all together and it’s like silently, I promised to you I would.

“Avó, I promise I am trying; you know it’s not an easy task, but I’ll keep trying.

Adeus avó.”

smoking. no smoking.

It was almost normal, a cigarette, many times an ice breaker. I was a social smoker.

As laws were passed to prevent smokers to pollute everyone else's fresh air, it almost left like I was an outlaw. Obviously, I am painting a much more dramatic picture here than what it really was, but this was the spirit of the situation, the pressure that I left at the time.

Today, It's been 8 months since my last cigarette. (In all fairness, I have had a couple of smokes since, in a few social situations, but that was it.) I feel liberated not to have to look for smoking coffee shops or where to buy my next pack, and this has been a very agreeable experience but on the other side, it brought me some weird feelings as well, something I wasn't prepared to face, the still-smoking-judgmental looks that would now be part of my new smoke free life. I don't quite understand why but it's like the still-smoking feel I am crying out loud that I succeeded where they failed, which I am not! But still, I feel I am guilty of something. When at a dinner party, people step outside to have a smoke and I decline the invite, I see those dark looks demanding that I mustn't show their better halves or their families, kids, that quitting is possible. It is quite a weight to bear to have quit smoking as my friends put all their I-can't-quit-smoking guilt on me. I sometimes just feel that maybe I used to be too harsh on the non-smokers and the new laws they keep finding to prevent smokers from polluting the environment.

So to avoid all this, I just accept all invites to step outside and have a smoke: no one realizes I am not smoking and I get to socialize with my dear friends; only down side is that I must find a way not to catch every single cold or virus the precious wind and air brings to me, but I'll manage.

gay/lesbian/straight, a family concept

Every gay couple adopted child was
created and abandoned by a straight one.

In the past few weeks, Portugal’s been shaken by lots of chattering and all around co-adoption and I wonder why this matter is so controversial: why is adoption by two gay people or two lesbian women such a conflict in people’s minds, shouldn't we discuss the whole concept of family instead? In my opinion, we are mixing things up, what makes a family a family? I would dare think that a family grows around love, understanding and respect, and even the will to pass on one’s experience, knowledge, wisdom and traditions. I don’t understand where sex or genetics influence anything in these concepts. Can I ask someone smarter to explain to me why a mommy and a daddy raise a better child than two mommies or two daddies? Come on people! Focus on what matters! Open your minds!

I’d like to share a drawing from Bruno Gaspar (https://www.facebook.com/bruno.gaspar.731?fref=ts), author of Pela Estrada fora (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pela-estrada-fora/391738394258613). For me, we should be keeping an eye on him, he seems to share a pretty interesting spirit.

Qu’on m’explique !

Je ne parviens pas à comprendre ces attitudes… Par contre, je comprends de mieux en mieux ces politiciens dits racistes qui en ont assez de voir leur pays « envahis ».
Je sais ce que c’est que d’immigrer. Mon père a immigré en France dans les années 60 avec ses parents. La quête était bien celle d’une situation meilleure, d’un emploi, d’une éducation décente pour leurs 4 enfants et cela passait par l’abandon d’un régime dictatorial qui se vivait au Portugal, à la recherche d’une démocratie, d’une liberté !
A cette époque-là, les immigrés, étaient connus pour être sérieux, travailleurs, respectueux, ou n’était-ce déjà que par rapport aux immigrés portugais ?
Plus tard, j’avais 21 ans, et bien que je sois née dans ce merveilleux pays, pays des libertés et des droits de l’homme, je suis moi aussi partie. La quête était différente, mais j’emportais avec moi toute ma culture française et toute mon éducation luso-française. Et j’en étais fière. A vrai dire, je le suis toujours.
Pendant les 9 premières années où j’ai vécu au Portugal, j’étais Catia et non Kathy. Ça ne m’enchantait pas ! Ceux qui me connaissent le savent bien, et bien j’ai dû m’y soumettre. En 1978, l’alphabet portugais était plus réduit que celui de la France, donc quand j’ai été déclarée au Consulat du Portugal, eh bien j’ai changé de nom, je m’appelais Catia. Bien sûr, les lois avaient changé 21 ans plus tard, mais les services administratifs n’étaient pas des plus coopératifs, et puis j’étais fatiguée, alors ça m’a pris 9 ans pour officialiser mon nom, celui que mes parents m’ont donné à la naissance, celui qui faisait partie de mon identité pendant les 21 premières années de ma vie.
Eh bien, voilà, je continue à croire malgré tout, que si l’on décide d’immigrer dans un autre pays que le nôtre, et bien on doit se soumettre aux lois et coutumes. Je ne comprends pas que l’on puisse imaginer que l’on a le droit de changer tout ce qui ne nous convient pas dans notre vie et n’en faire qu’à notre tète alors qu’on nous offre la possibilité d’opter pour une amélioration.
Oui, c’est un choix ! On choisit d’immigrer ! On choisit de respecter !
Je suis pourtant bien pacifiste et prône sans cesse les « cherche ta place », « sois heureux dans tes choix », mais est-ce que cela doit être au détriment des autres ?
Pourquoi mesdames musulmanes ne pouvez-vous pas accepter que si vous vivez en France et bien il faut vous soumettre aux lois ? Pourquoi continuer, malgré les amendes, à n’en faire qu’à votre tête ? Vous avez choisi la France pour ses valeurs et ses opportunités, ne devez-vous pas à la France, le respect de ses lois ?
Mes immigrations ne sont pas terminées. Aujourd’hui et depuis 1 an, je vis à Dubai. Dubai est sans nul doute le plus occidentalisé des pays musulmans, la vie y est très agréable. Cependant, les lois sont là : je ne peux pas boire d’alcool, je ne peux pas avoir les épaules trop dénudées, ni des shorts ou jupes trop courts, … et je dois respecter l’islamisme (comme ils respectent mon Catholicisme), le Ramadan. Je dois respecter les lois. Sinon, c’est simple, c’est la prison !
Mais vous, mesdames, vous choisissez de dire « je fais ce que je veux, donnez-moi les amendes que vous voulez, et puis je n’irais pas aux cours d’éducation civique auxquels vous voulez m’envoyer. » Cette lutte était-elle justifiée ? Si vous n’aimez pas les lois françaises, vous avez le choix aussi d’émigrer.
Pendant le Ramadan, j’ai choisi de me balader avec une amie dans les souqs, ces marches traditionnels, et bien sou un soleil de plomb, près de 50 degrés, et après près de 4h de promenade, mon amie et moi nous sommes senties mal, une insolation, faut dire que l’on n’a pas le droit de boire en public pendant le Ramadan, c’est interdit. J’ai choisi de me balader, et bien je me dois de respecter la loi, et je m’interdis de boire en public.
Je ne suis ni pire, ni meilleure que quiconque. Je pense cependant, que parfois, il faut se remettre en cause. Soi. Ses traditions. Ses coutumes. Ses choix !
Moi j’ai choisi.







http://www.leparisien.fr/societe/voile-integral-une-femme-condamnee-a-15-jours-de-stage-citoyen-12-12-2011-1764989.php