Christmas seems to bring out the very best in people, and the absolute worst. We become the very epitome of charitable arch angels digging deep into our  feather filled jackets for loose change, simultaneously becoming the devil incarnate when we lose our merry christmas rag in the shopping centre car park.

In other words, something about this farcical spectacle commonly known as christmas, turns us all into a bunch of senseless gnomes that would never in a million years qualify for an apprenticeship in Santa´s prestigious workshop. Emotions are high, as the holiday season is so intrinsically linked to our fragile childhood memories of mum and dad… then mum then dad, those melancholic church hymns, a tangerine or two, and lest not forget a sack full of plastic. I´m pretty sure that when I was I child, as soon as December struck, I stopped praying to Jesus and pledged my loyalties to that pagan god called Santa… or did I just mix the two up?

Don´t get me wrong, I´m not bitter or ungrateful. It´s just that the view from my philosophical armchair observing my fellow humans concerning themselves with christmas loneliness, charity, poverty and at the same time concocting christmas wish lists that look like something a weary Santa might find on the desktop of the Sultan of Brunei, causes my eyebrows to rise.

Is it possible that our overambitious, glutenous christmas expectations also bring forth a guilty conscience that only kicks in once a year? Why don´t we the hell care about the cold and the lonely in January? Maybe we do? But since we´re all so impoverished after our xmas spending orgy those old folks are gonna have to wait till next christmas for a cuddle and a sherry.

Listen to this humble word of advice, coming to you from my cynical little armchair in the midst of this season of extremes: Take one step back from the table of excess and simply chill. Remember this cosy little festival of hysteria in reality only lasts ONE DAY, so do your soul a favor and don´t leave it feeling as empty as your bank balance.

I sometimes wonder, with all the worlds injustices spilling out from our daily papers, how privileged ordinary folk such as myself can best utilize this information?

The crisis/s in the middle east, Syria, Africa to name but a few, and not least today´s headlines reporting that it´s now been seventy years since the deportation and murder of millions of Jews.

In the case of the latter I am reminded of the plight of my mother and grandmother, whom as Jersey Channel islanders were deported to Germany in the autumn of 1942. Indigenous Channel islanders were not summoned for deportation, but seeing as my grandmother had married an Englishman (my mothers father) it was enough to qualify my maternal seniors for three years internment.

I remember feeling a kind of asphyxiating sensation in my throat on hearing my grandmother recollect her three day Biberach bound journey, nursing her nine month old baby (my mother) on her lap.

I have seen the ancient letters my grandmother wrote from the internment camp to her family back on Jersey, asking for them to send powdered milk and clothes. I can empathize, but I cannot imagine for a second what it must have been like. Strange also to think that in the face of this immense hardship, they were in fact the lucky ones.

I think about how little it takes to be happy, and little it is. Happiness appears to be hard for us to obtain, and by “us” I mean, us privileged, ordinary folk who actually have all we need, but who seem to fall victim to luxury syndromes that apparently society causes?

Perhaps it is wrong of me to compare the human state of emergency to the human state of non-appreciation (in other words the state that´s called “society is wrongful and bad and I and my afflictions are the results of it!”). Am I wrong to suggest that if we became more grateful of our circumstances, we may accidentally stumble onto the outside of that cosy little “me me me” prison?

I don´t think it is possible for us to really put ourselves in the shoes of a displaced, war-ravaged family, nor do I think that there would be any point. The point I believe lies in the message I´m trying to convey from my humble little pocket of privileged peace, entitled “hardcore appreciation”. I believe, that this is what we owe those who suffer. We can use this information to remember our own divinity, stand up to that impersonal machine called society,  stop the f**k complaining, and be appreciative of all that we have… everyday!

Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.

-Epicurus

Bobbing about in the sea of liberated modern woman, I cast my eyes about me, on a quest to find myself  represented. I paddle from one prototype to the next searching for a match. The waters swirl, the shoreline fades, waves build, time to call for a lifeline, before I drown in the void.

Back on dry land, I delve into my mental fishing net and examine the catch. In anticipation I survey the intriguing contents.

Unsurprisingly the net yields an identity-hungry gang… the mascu-woman, the yummy mummy, the fashion panther, the angel woman, the domesticated headless chicken, the self discovery predator, the ambitious burnout, the tutti frutti, and some feedback munching facebook casualties… to name a few.

It is not my intention to be sanctimonious, and it is very likely that I too have assumed the role of some, if not all of these bizarre characters. However in my fervor to respect my womanhood, I have chosen to overdose on “undefined female” detox tea.

Can we place the responsibility for these feminine conditions on our western societies´ ambiguous view of how a woman should perform? Or has woman in trying so hard to be the man she can never be, or in simply tried to hard, voluntarily relinquished her female compass, and lost the plot?

If equality is the name of the game, I firmly believe we have a duty not only unto ourselves, but to our marvelous sex, to define our feminine selves. This contribution is never about becoming a variant of man, men are better at being men than us, so why would we forsake the joy of being entirely female? Creating a competition of the genders is absurd, and it is this absurdity that surmounts to the opposite of us reaching our feminine zenith, namely males gaining superior gender definition. Only when we have firmly established that we are not men or a hybrid of them, can we start to embellish what it means to be a defined woman, and one that is nobel enough to not only be pro woman, but pro man.

It inspires me to read about the suffragettes, the mighty and courageous female army that fought for our right to vote. They lived a perilous existence, not unlike the suppressed lives endured by many women in today´s developing and third world countries. The suffragettes used their feminine strength to build us a solid platform on which we could confidently work and rest as women. In some cases it cost them their lives.

I am not suggesting that we blaspheme over the hard earned legacy of the suffragettes by starting a mummy blog or having broods of children, or that we test out an unmotivated Joan of Arc routine on our partner who´s too tired to vacuum the kitchen. What I do wish to communicate is that it is our responsibility to flush away that non-defined, amoeba-woman, and release ourselves as the architects of our own well-defined femininity.

Stemningen var amper idet jeg kom inn på møterommet. Lærene og ledelsen fra SFO holdt sammen i en liten klynge og drev med det tekniske, ordnet litt i papirene og mannet seg opp til å ta imot opposisjonen (foreldrene). Selv hadde jeg noe på hjertet, men merket fort at med dette “edgy” førsteinntrykket, fikk jeg heller lyst til å innta rollen som observatør.

SFO var kveldens første innslag. SFO-lederens foreldreorientering ble møtt med en offensiv uten sidestykke. Da foreldrene hadde tømt seg for sine halvfunderte frustrasjoner, vaklet lederen ut av rommet, med en hurtig tiltagende jernmangel.

Dette var lederen for plassen hvor glade barn leker i trygghet. Hvorfor hadde hun blitt et mål for foreldrekundenes frustrasjon, basert på temaer som i det store og hele luktet småpirk?

I 1995 kom jeg som nittenåring hit til Norge. Jeg husker den tiden som om det var i går, båtturen over Nordsjøen, og hvordan havet skummet bak meg, som en blå og hvit sløyfe. En livslinje. Jeg kjente den rene og uskyldige nordavinden blåse gjennom meg. Solen, og en kriblende frihetsfølelse fylte lungene mine. Dette visste jeg var slutten på et kapittel. Bak meg lå England, og jeg var reddet.

Norge var annerledes den gangen, og jeg var overbevist om at det bodde nisser her. Men allerede den gangen visste jeg at den norske uskylden ikke kunne vare. Gjennom mine innvandrerøyne var det nettopp denne uskylden som gjorde nordmennene så sterke, så annerledes, så ulike resten av verden. Jeg var et barn som vokste opp i en indre bydel av London, der det var farlig å leke ute etter at solen gikk ned. Siden jeg flyttet hit har det dukket opp mer enn et par anledninger hvor jeg kunne flyttet tilbake til det spennende men hissige England. Men, nei, barna mine skulle vokse opp i frihet, gå etterhvert alene på skolen, og få lov til å kjenne på bygatenes puls når de kom i tenårene.

I våres begynte minstebarnet å gå alene hjem fra skolen. Dette var en naturlig og fin del av hennes utvikling og hun følte seg stor. Så viser det seg at det faktisk ikke går an lenger, hvis man tar for alvor det man leser i avisen. Tenk om det var trafikken som var den største trusselen for barn i Norge, hvor er nissene når du trenger dem?

Skyldes alt dette her fremgang? Progresjon? Eller landets selvforakt over sin tidligere uskyld? Norges større synlighet på verdenskartet i løpet av årene, og gode relasjoner med supermaktene oppfatter jeg som positivt, men kan dette har brakt med seg en “nå tøffer vi oss”-holdning? Som i tillegg gjenspeiler seg i Norsk media og underholdning? Har såkalt snillisme skapt en akutt motreaksjon, hvor oppmerksomhetssøkende sjokkmedia, eller realityporno nesten er det eneste vi får servert på TV?

Etter å ha sagt dette er det urealistisk å tro at det finnes land som kun ønsker å bli kjent for fiskeboller og uskyld. Men finnes det ikke noen mellomløsning? Hvor ble det for eksempel av den samvittighetsfulle empatien, nemlig den som adskilte Norge fra resten av verden? Hva med å foreslå en “nasjonal makeover” som resulterer i en oppdatert politisk og menneskerettet holdningsmodell som heter empati? I motsetning til snillisme, eier holdningen kvaliteter fra både hode og hjerte.

Aung San Suu Kyi snakker om verdien av empati. Dette mente hun var en essensiell nasjonal egenskap, som Burma måtte dyrke frem og etterhvert bruke i overgangen fra politistat til demokrati. Empati har en viktig rolle fordi den fasiliterer våre interaksjoner og forbindelser til menneskene rundt oss. Empati er et fundement som vi kan bygge på for å skape et harmonisk og fornuftig samfunn. Empatien gjør at vi setter oss inn i skoene til andre, som igjen gjør det lettere å respektere andre menneskers synspunkter og verdier. Empatien sørger også for, at vi viser hensyn til oss selv og andre når vi tar viktige avgjørelser. Etter min mening kan empati ernære alle samfunnets ledd, og det alle første leddet er den intravenøse behandlingen vi overfører til våre barn.

Neste gang jeg sitter i et foreldremøte ønsker jeg fortsatt å kjenne det utopiske ekko i gangene. Det som forener foreldre og lærere, slik at de erkjenner hverandre som kollegaer, ikke stridende fraksjoner. Jeg ønsker at foreldre fortsetter å tilsette barnemelken generøse mengder empati, ikke fordi vi trenger å gjenopplive nissekulturen, eller leve i påtatt uskyld, men fordi én gang for lenge siden skilte Norge seg ut fra resten. Kystlinjen var sølv, og luften var ren…

Counting down the days to their first day of school, is for many tender souls either an exhilarating preparation before blastoff, or a nerve-racking, second counting nail bite, before mental freedom is swallowed up by atmospheric pressure.

If for a second you think about it, there really is no other interface, aside from the home, where the species Child and Grown up are so inextricably bound.

The day finally arrives where they land onto planet school, as if spat out the end of a Willy Wonka candy stripe shoot, braced for an involuntary indoctrination into institutional life. The indoctrinators it seems, despite many a good intention, have erased the memory that they once where children too. The initial school years appear acceptant and mild, individuality is seen as an asset to the class, and Child´s freedom of expression although monitored, openly encouraged. However, after a while Child needs to fit in. Gradually and as scentless as carbon monoxide, the behavioral modifiers advance. Tiptoeing into the creative and free mind of Child, school clamps down. Parent may not have noticed, we are too busy focusing on what politically correct actually means. Whilst our backs were turned planet school decided that all children have the bullying gene, and hereby assigned friends to them.

To create a bully, you need to germinate seeds in an atmosphere that encourages an ethos called different is wrong. Remember, Child is slowly learning from Teacher, that their own differences are wrong, so how on planet school are they supposed to allow differences in any of their peers? It is even possible that Child´s prejudices arrived lightyears before the input from planet school. Did well intentioned Parent get there first?

After many years of listening to schools surreptitious propaganda, where different is wrong, older child is becoming immune and possibly developing free thought.

Is it non-legitimate to raise the notion that Teacher is now under the threat of payback, and that they themselves become the bullied?

It is my firm belief that the relationship between child, parent and teacher should be built here on earth, on principles of mutual humanitarian respect. This respect starts between parent and child, dominoes onto parent and teacher, from teacher to child, and finally from child to parent and teacher. Maybe if we employ these values, the bizzare threat of difference will eventually subside and disperse in its ridiculousness somewhere in outer-space.

Apart from our childhood keenness, we were alone in that afternoon. Above our heads tracing a heaven, some playful swallows.

That autumn air, I well remember. The smoke in it, and how, with chesty breaths we absorbed the fragrance of wilting roses.

When our baskets were full, we crafted cake with care, for it was ours to share with all fellows.

Falling into evening slumber, we made a plan to write about our adventure in a poem. So that others may know of true friendship.

Life soon joined us, bringing adulthood upon us. There followed rain and thunder, soon fairy tales were washed away.

I can recollect my friend, I can hear the delighted chatter, leaves on the path…

Now, facing dawns hard light, clinging to old robes of responsibility. I finally relent to the feeling that none of this matters.

Voldstrenden: Har underholdnings-bransjen og media generelt, forvekslet sjokktaktikker og manglede kreativitet med kunst og opplysningsplikt?

Kan trenden inspirere til mer vold, og resultere i at vi overbeskytter våre barn? Eller til at vi som samfunn ender opp som “punchdrunk” veteraner i en voldsfiksert verden?

Merker at hendene mine rister mens jeg skiver dette, er nok viktig jeg beherseker meg snart, for er ikke dette et samfunn som helst vil begrave lidenskaplig uttrykk under mange lag blyplater? Voldsskildringer derimot, utsetter vi oss gjerne for, og vel så det, med en svær og feit sekk merket “underholdning” takk!

Jeg må innrømme at jeg har kanskje glippet på mine fakta her, men det ser ut som om vi lever i et kultur som idioliserer vold? Har man ikke utmerket seg på et eller annet tradisionelt felt, går det alltid an å bli berømt ved å begå en voldshandling eller to. Eller du kan velge å hoppe over det og heller bidra med å skildre vold, og kalle det “en tankevekker for samfunnet”. Det er klart to vidt forskjellig ting, men bidrar disse ulike handlingene til det samme problemet?

Jeg leste nylig at på en førpremiere til en norsk film som slippes denne høsten, forlot et par tre stykk salen….  Surprised? Ikke så veldig. Jeg er mer overasket at det bare var tre. For min del står jeg mer enn gjerne over ekstremscener hvor en kjent norsk skuespiller rundjuler sin kvinnelige motspiller (på liksom) i bar overkropp i et perfekt “stylet” Kvikk kjøkken. “Jeg er forebredt på å bli hatet!”, uttalte han. Han lot være å tilføye det åpenbare: “All PR er bra PR!”. 

Jeg må rose opp i skyene timingen av denne lanseringen, som i all sin sensitivitet velger å ikke ta hensyn til en kjent og knusende tragisk sak som peprer avisene våre om dagen, og som omhandler et nokså lignende tema… på ORDENTLIG. Dette er bare ett eksempel av unødvendig voldsskildring, men det finnes tonnevis av lignende sadistiske filmer, som feilaktig beskives som kunst. A Clockwork Orange, Silly Games,  The girl with the Dragon blah blah. Var det ikke noen som ville ha oss til å tro det lå noen skjulte visdomsperler under den kvikksølvstunge voldskaken? Vi er i tillegg flaue vitner til at et tidigere talentfult popikon slenger geværer rundt seg på scenen på nonchalant vis. Tidligere fantes denne type film- eller artistsjanger på øverste hylle, var det virkelig ingen som la merke til at de listet seg forsiktig nedover?

Svaret er nei. Hvorfor? Fordi vi er blitt herdet, hypnotisert av den snikende voldstrenden som tydeligvis skremmer våre barn, men som likefullt sklir tvers over oss mediamanipulerte polyesterkledde sauer. Når jeg av og til spør bekjente hva de får ut av slike filmer, får jeg veldig ofte høre “Det er jo ikke ekte”. Det kan se ut til å stemme når det gjelder film, men leser man avisen, registrerer vi at disse skildringene er mer nærliggende enn vi liker å tro. Klarer vi da å skille virkelighet fra fantasi i det hele tatt? Hadde det ikke vært greit å begynne å stille oss selv spørsmål før voldstersklene våre er fullstendig slitt ned?

Vi må være tilstede og varsomme med hvordan vi velger å underholde oss. Dette betyr ikke at vi må holde oss til “feelgood films” som går an å spise is til, om evig kjærlighet, eller at vi må stille tv kanalene slik at vi kun tar inn Discovery eller BBC Prime. Det handler heller om en bevissgjøring slik at vi forstår alvoret i voldskulturen, og dermed rekker å bekytte barnets sensitivitet før den rekker å døyves i samme grad som vår.  Og alt dette bør vi ordne før de er redde for å gå skoleruten,  eller for å legge seg alene. Tro det eller ei men det er faktisk et sunnhetstegn, ikke redselen, men sensitiviteten - nemlig den samme mekanismen som gradvis sløves hos oss.

Store deler av filmbransjen og media generelt vil sannsynligvis alltid komme til å favorisere oppmerksomhetshungry, pengermotiverte “cheaptricks”, fordi det motsatte krever både ælighet og enda mer dyktighet. Vi plikter å lære barna våre at det ligger en hinne mellom fakta og virkelighet som er så tynn at den til tider nesten er usynlig. Til gjengjeld burde mediakraften huske sin egentlige oppgave, nemlig å underholde og informere deres samfunn. De som ønsker å benytte seg av voldssjangeren bør, etter min mening, finne fram stigen igjen og begynne å klatre.

Det er selvfølgelig vesentlig at et samfunn utvikler seg, og det ville vært feil å skjerme eller sensurere bort alle livets brutale sannheter. Men jeg personlig gleder meg til en mulig “re-sensitivering” av mennesker, slik at vi er i stand til å filtrere bort glorifiserte mediaavfall, og beholde de mere genuine fortellinger og fakta. Nemlig en arena som lar oss kjenne på, og muligens lære av det vi ser på. Som mennesker, ikke maskiner.

Do feminine feminists exist?

Is there a difference between the adjective feminine and being a feminist?

Has true femininity been swallowed up by a society that constantly misunderstands and undervalues feminine qualities in both women and men?

Firstly a soupcon of general info from my CV as woman: I do not own an apron, I keep a non orthodox wardrobe, I have, and am in the process of educating myself, I share making the family dinner with my husband, I do have a softer voice than men, and I love picking flowers. I have also been known to write the odd poem, crack dirty jokes, drive a car and swear loudly (thankfully not at the same time).

Where am I going with all of this you may ask?

Bear with me, I´m just taking you on a gentle little stroll to a door almost hidden within us. Each of us possess such a door, and by carefully pressing on it we can immediately reveal a possible imbalance. If this door is easily opened there may be a problem. You see, this doorway leads us to our inner garden, and the more troublesome it is for us to open the healthier we are.  If your garden is thriving and bursting with sweet fragrances and magnificent blooms, you will have to push hard for the door to open, indicating that your feminine or “yin” side is perfectly balanced.

A garden dominated by yang is barren. The air is dry, allowing only for the occasional tumble weed to blow across in the intense heat. Nothing grows, and the grass under your feet is nothing but a threadbare carpet. Think ghost town.

There are dozens of ways of illustrating these two contrasting, yet inseparable sides, yin/yang, masculine/feminine, yielding/contending, etc… so how do we unite them?

Let´s go back to my initial question “Is it possible to be a feminine feminist?”. Our innate yang qualities of initiative, structure and extrovert or aggressive expression will serve us well in a situation that craves for us to be positive and dominant. Feminists know that when push comes to shove, they must be well prepared when counter attacking the ammunition of a chauvinist. The trick is to combine the spine of yang, with the inspiring calmness of the yin, or feminine. Naomi Wolf, Rosa Parks and Gloria Steinem are good examples of balanced feminism to name but a few.

The pace of society today demands us away from our feminine sides. If we´re not training, we´re working, if we´re not working we´re studying. All of these things in greater or lesser degree, literally dry us out.

But I would be a fool if I stated that the aforementioned activities did not also have value for our environment. However it is vital that we make time for rest, listening, loving, and for silence. Passivity is a strength which allows us to refill on our femininity, and replace lost moisture, thus allowing the rain to water and replenish our inner garden. In some cases, through doing this we can even allow the opposite sex, or yang dominant people, to find the masculine/feminine balance in themselves – possibly causing some males to rediscover their inner prince? In other words the yin quality of nurturing and allowing ourselves to be nurtured, is one of the surest ways to good health.

Lastly, I maintain that the one clear difference between that which we call feminism and that which we recognize as femininity, is a simple matter of changing our perception from fighting for our femininity, to claiming it.

As life goes through its various stages, those organically displaced of us probably encounter a kind of disapproving curiosity. Its may not be uncommon or surprising to experience comments such as, “you´re so weird” or a little more discriminatory angled superlatives such as “flakey”, “oddball”, “precious” or maybe even the seriously overused noun “freak”. These random observations from inner box dwellers can after a while take their toll on the freethinking outer inhabitants.

The life of a lateral thinker is not an easy one, and if they haven´t completely grown into their lateral boots, they may even believe the unfounded hype. What happens next?

They take themselves on an inaccurately motivated mission into the box. The problem with this is that however curious they may be about the inner box culture, they will not be able to survive inside the inner box air. And this goes without saying both ways.

The crux of my message is, that it really is ok not to follow a herd. Take root in your individuality, trust that you won´t  become a lonely, out of touch old soul. On the contrary, your courage will reap you plenty of free thinking comrades. Thus, If you do try to take up residence inside of the box, you might really run the risk of  becoming a faker. The law of the universe actually needs both in- boxers and out- boxers to create a type of plus minus harmony. Steer your creativity in a way that is right for you, no compremising, and on no account should you ask permission to be on the outside.

Wether we are parental figures now, or plan to be, it goes without saying that the safety of our children will always be paramount. When our children are small we effortlessly follow, comfort and sleep close by them,  our very presence functions as a kind of on tap surveillance nurturing system. We give our bond of motherly love unconditionally to our children. It is us that protect them, that´s natural law.

However, as time goes by we no longer share our lives with children, but small adults. These post children are eager to experience the world, just as we did, exploring the energy of the street, their absolute birthright.

So how can we continue practicing our parental protection scheme? The simple answer is: We cannot. Time to face up to the fact that the days of cotton security blankets and floppy bunny rabbits are nothing but soft, sweet memories.

But what, if anything, can we offer now? We must evolve, developing new skills to match the increasing curiosity of our once children. In other words let them live their lives, whilst we assume the role of invisible passenger in that unpredictable teenage chariot. Hence, maybe our most important task at this point is to trust the mothering we have already given. Also, if we are to ensure the safety of our daughters, we must be mothers to our sons. It is unrealistic to suggest that motherly love may enhance a more balanced and harmonious masculinity, promoting the role of protector, rather than aggressor?

Obviously there are no single guarantees for the ultimate personality results of our children, but it is clear that if we are to steer our children away from the threat of violence outside of the home, we must nurture the seed of non-violence within it.