Double Trouble!

What being single looks like to me

As a kid, like all the girls my age, I used to excitedly calculate how old I would be in the year 2000, that big year that represented the future, I used to daydream about what I would become, of course I was already aware of my potential and the fact that by the year 2000 I would probably be happily married with someone amazing, it  was simply a matter of time and that was only part of the dream. After all that’s what grownups seem to do, they get great jobs and get married.

Today in a grey day of the year 2015, I realise that not all grownups have to follow the norm, so like many out there, I too remain single, the years came and gone, love came and left my life and somehow I remain steadfastly certain that I would one day be reunited with that promised special person who gets me and doesn’t annoy me and if I wasn’t going to meet this rare person who doesn’t annoy me well then I will be OK and life will still have meaning and challenges! Of that; I am certain and have understood it very early on.

But it seems society hasn’t made its peace with it and doesn’t recognise my choice as valid or acceptable, to them I am a desperate damsel, a relationship reject or a potential home wrecker. I am often looked at with puzzlement, some friends pity my continuous single status otherwise referred to as “predicament” and constantly try setting me up with single men (that’s it, that’s the criteria), others secretly envy it (being single) whilst others have simply stopped inviting me to their parties because it proved difficult trying to box that single girl who turns up to kids parties with no kids and a bottle of booze! Especially when that said girl answers questions like “Where’s your little one?” with “I thought BYOB stood for bring your own booze not bring your own baby” .

But for the most part people seem to be outraged that I remain single yet don’t seem to suffer the consequences of it, I want to tell them to wait a few more years but there’s no fun in that!!

They want to see you suffer the dire consequences of your terrible ill-advised choice and suffer the harsh reality of being over 30 and single, after all that’s the only way they could justify their mistakes choices.

So instead of letting the married friends include me into their circles as a third or fifth wheel, I created my own circle, and believe me, the pass mark to get in is very high! Just recently I had to make it a bit higher based on the comments of some angry bitter unhappily married “friend” who asked if I ever did get marriage proposals, to which I said yes sure, last year I had 3 (poor sods).

“Three!!!” he said, “Isn’t that a too much??”

“Too much for whom exactly??” I said…

So he said “anyway, they’re just messing with you, you ARE over thirty remember!!”

POW! Double shamed, single-age-shamed with one sentence.

And this is the crux of the problem, people don’t seem to want to accept, or simply fathom, even in the 21st century, that a single woman might be quite happy not conforming to societal norms; that she might simply not want to be in a relationship or have a husband.

Singletons are not anomalies or glitches in the matrix of your sedated married minds; they are people with choices who simply took those choices. The End.

Dz-chick…happily single.

A few thoughts and a lot of Chocolate!

Every time you decide it’s time to attempt to lead a light, fun and worry-free life because what you have on your mind suffices as torture and you decide you have your share of grey hairs for your age, another tragedy hits, a bomb in Iraq, an ex-terrorist starts a political party in Algeria and threatens to Islamise us, famine in Yemen, a toddler’s little body drifts dead on a beach in Turkey and gathers far less attention than the last beached whale, or that last white person who needed stitches on his pinkie.

Several Syrian people peril at sea trying to flee their war torn land, more Ebola in Sierra Leon, more people die in police custody, all of them black, more violence against women, more cases of rape and FGM somewhere you don’t remember, more right wing policies and more anti-immigration noise made, more Anti-Islam this and more terrorist organisations now than ever, some have embassies others are just imbeciles.

You don’t know where to look anymore, you feel lost, wherever you look, there is despair and struggle, when once you felt you could help change things, today you feel useless and unimportant, so you eat chocolate and you try not to think about what would happen to the world in a few years, they say Gaza will be uninhabitable and the world will be drier than ever, death tolls will be higher, the planet will be warmer, well at least the reasons for war will be clearer!

Despondent, pessimistic, fat and possibly hormonal, you yearn for better times, when you try to remember the last time you were thin there was peace in the world, you can’t remember, so you eat more chocolate and try to maintain a shallow thought pattern, it’s for self-protection you understand, at least we can achieve that with chocolate, what does it take for the directly afflicted to feel safe again, to feel home again? Certainly not chocolate!

Dz-Chick…I'll aim for a more cheerful post next time!

August...Sort it out!

Image via Flickr user Jesus Leon

August is proving a challenging month this year lifetime; it’s like the Tuesday of the week, the middle of a book, the second year of college, the dry bit of a sandwich!

You wake up with no real purpose, you know you have to go to work but you hate your work and “activity” seems to have come to a standstill, hardly any shouting in the office these past couple of weeks, Thank god for Greece, it’s really keeping us busy this summer; in, out, in, out and no climax to show for it! (You’re welcome)

Trains are full of either single or barren people, you know, because all people with kids are on holiday ….it’s summer holidays or half term or whatever it’s called! YAY! Which means trains are mildly bearable, sometimes I even manage to get a seat if I stick out my belly enough and hold my hips. The weather likes to pretend it’s summer but really we all know summer has come and gone during those 5 days in July (during Ramadan).

Tube strikes and general disruption to your life seem to be finding a niche with August like it was the only month of the year where making your life miserable was ok, it’s like a punishment for not having kids and not going away on holiday like normal Homo sapiens!  Even the IS has gone quiet thankfully, perhaps their president is on holiday too, I hear Hell is cheap this time of year!  

As for me and I am sure you as well, no holidays to look forward to, apart from the ones my boss takes, I really look forward to those and he’s French so we know he’s gone for at least 5 weeks!

5 Sundays is a long time “must not waste time”, “must not waste time “(in a robot voice)! So I ogle my friend Cheraz’s DAILY holiday snaps! She seems to be living in a bikini this year, provides valuable entertainment to all my facebook friends who enjoy her toned ass every time I give her a like! (You’re welcome).

I will finish this article when my conclusion comes back from holidays, until then…don’t forget the sunscreen and always use a pseudo when commenting.

Dz-chick…Thank you for your comment, I am out of the office myself until September, I will however get back to you upon my return, Bestest regards, Me!

Confession: I am so bored, I played the lotto! Twice!

The Cautionary Tale

 

It’s probably time I announced to you if you care, that I am planning on moving back to Algeria. Many years and a thousand reasons later I thought it’s about time I returned home.

Reasons? Besides the fact that I miss my family, besides the fact I watch as my parents get visibly older and my nieces and nephews visibly and scarily less innocent.  I find myself missing out on so many things and finding myself alone here always trying to find a justification to it all, usually it’s of the type “What? It’s my life and I decide how to live it”, but more often than not I can find no real justification (to myself) for my lingering here on this island, where I am deeply happy and unhappy at the same time, where I am crowded and alone, lonely and lively, positive yet so gloomy, Always going but inevitably always staying.

So like every couple of years, I declare to all my friends and family that this was it, I am leaving! everybody shake their heads laughing and say “ah what you like!!” and I get a bit indignant but then give up on the whole idea and resume my life of miserable commuting to a shitty job working for a knobhead of a boss and get paid some dineros, half of which is spent on the miserable commute to the shitty job working for the knobhead of a boss.  BUT not this time, not anymore. This time I mean business; and LITERRALLY...well and a bit of fun!

So my mind starts to wonder about what my life would be like in Algeria, when I know I am there for the long haul and not a fleeting week where my mum makes my favourites dishes and my dad suggests to take me out to touristic sites and thinks it’s cute when “Je fais mon anglaise”.

What will I wear? I fear a wardrobe reshuffle would be in order? What do I speak? Algerian, French of English? What will I do? Can I get a job there? Will I be able to drive on the left hand side? Can I go to the cinema when the mood strikes? ; can I go out for dinner and stay out with friends? Will I get used to the infernal traffic, the driving antics of Algerians with their 7 lane motorways (actual lanes: 3) and their “Normaaals” and whatnots! I wonder about how long my grace period will last with my dad before he starts to scrutinise my everything and make me feel like I made a massive mistake!  

I think about how loud the local mosque call to prayer is but how comforting to hear the Adhan again, not so much for its religious meaning as for being one of the only things that never fails or changes, no matter what happens, there will always be that soft magical velvet voice singing, floating on the warm air making you feel home safe .

I think about how life seems so difficult yet so simple! I Think about constant stares in the street that often make me trip, I think about all the French speaking that seems to determine social class! I think about so many things, important and trivial that my head spins and I just want to take a big nap and throw it all to the wind and decide that what you were used to before, you will get used to again.  

But I decide that nobody should force exile on themselves just because there’s a lack of cinemas, first class gyms or Costa Cafés or even freedom, democracy and justice in their country! Not because of the level of corruption or nepotism or the number of things that will rub you the wrong away on a daily basis, or the fact you will hate everyone and want to throw in the towel after about a month.

Time only will tell…

Dz-chick... Announcement one of two!

Let’s talk ...Period!

Day 19 of Ramadan, Day 5 of period

Yes my period, you know that time of the month when women bleed from their vaginas and sometimes have red spots in the back of their skirts (not me)…of course these are not the only symptoms or consequences of this monthly torment but that was already covered, remember?

I find myself increasingly eager to talk about my period to anyone willing to listen or not, something so overwhelmingly natural, half the earth's population endures from the ages of 12 (sometimes even 9) and reluctantly until menopause yet we are not supposed to discuss it openly and without shame and men refuse to acknowledge it unless it brings relief, because the wife or girlfriend is not pregnant or bad news because it means no sex (unless he's into that sort of thing) because the flow came to town (I love this expression haha)!

I like to talk about my period, I just blurt it out nonchalantly like discussing the weather, I say things like I am in pain, I have my period, I am a woman, can I have a box of tampons please?, What’s your strongest period pain drugs?, I am due any minute now I can feel it, I think we’re synched now, I say things like “urgh get over yourself, it’s just a period, we all know it happens”.

Men get squeamish and twitchy and pull faces like you just said Bogie sandwich, some women get a bit timid, most get horrified with shame, others only discuss it in whispers and euphemisms, whilst others just laugh and add on a layer of much needed girly complicity, I personally just like to put in on the table! Yes I HAVE MY PERIOD, I BLEED FROM MY VAGINA and I have several hormones playing havoc with my body! The sooner you deal with it, the sooner you’ll grow up.

And no I am not one of those vulgar girls who likes to talk biology and anatomy in unscientific words, I am not a rebel, I am not a “feminist”, I am just a woman who recognises that a period is something very very natural she’ll experience about a thousand times in her life and would like the world to stop behaving like it’s witchcraft and get “au fait” about it, would like for people to stop behaving like bleeding women are the devil and that menstrual blood is bad, and stop thinking that vaginas are evil, because they don’t seem to mind them when they’re not bleeding.

And now it’s Ramadan, so really I am not supposed to talk about Vaginas or women in general because a woman is really just a vagina.  I am certainly not supposed to eat in public when menstruating because it’ll mean that I have my period and that is shameful; to whom exactly it’s still unclear to me! I certainly don’t want people to start having mental pictures of what’s going on in my knickers but I will not hide my period, or the pain it causes me or that my reproductive system is functional, because really, that’s all it means, if anything it should be welcomed news!

I do not need to be brave, courageous or have a big mouth to discuss my period, my moon cup or which tablets work the best, it’s a natural biological process of the female body, I am proud of my body, when it runs a mile, when it lifts 80Kg, when it withstands 9 months of pregnancy, when it fasts 19 days in a row or when it bleeds for 5 days!

Dz-Chick…You’re Welcome.

A carefree life

There’s a strange feeling around, like the silence before the storm or perhaps the silence when you’re in the eye of the storm, you can feel the general uneasiness of the conscious people, those who know the world is broken.

I have to keep going, have to keep fasting, keep working, keep living deafened by the ticking of my biological clock and the shootings of innocents, I continue planning my future holidays steering clear of certain areas of the world where as a woman I am not really tolerated and realise soon there’ll be nowhere safe, I continue planning my life as if there were no Wars, no double standards or apartheid occupation in the 21^st century and have to keep smiling and be happy.

Feels like a full time job trying to keep as a normal life as possible, to feel the need to adjust certain aspects of your life so that your own friends can see you as the same person you always were and not this Muslim potential explosive person who they look at with bewilderment and suspicion.

Sick of this topic, so let’s just change the tune!

Day 13 of Ramadan today, only another 16 to go! Piece of cake!! I’ll just spend my time reading the news through the main source: Facebook, read irritating comments and dumb opinions that offer nothing but agreement with the first opinion for lack of a better one like “No comment” and “totally agree” and “you said it all” and “ha ha ha”.  

Watch funny videos posted every 3 seconds on various topics, failed hidden Cameras and Muslims trying too hard to show the good side of Islam by overdoing charity and trying tirelessly to mend their tarnished image!

I stalk some old friends on facebook; I find therapeutic the routine they give me, I wait for their 5 daily selfies, posted generally in the changing room of a Luxury shop, at a restaurant, in a bikini at the beach, in the car carefully positioned to show off the horse-logo and of course in bed because they wake-up looking impossibly fresh and gorgeous.  They look good; they’re rich and have more money tide-up in promiscuity futures, they lead extravagant lives full of luxuries, careless fun and beauty, free of Don’ts and Harams (sins)!  They make me loathe my self-destructive thoughts, religious-guilt and deep existential questioning; I am jealous of how careless they seem so I find it easier to question what they would be like if they looked on the outside as they did on the inside. Jealous much!?

Online shopping also proved a good time-killer; I don’t always press on the Purchase button but I do so enjoy to collect items in the basket and drool over them before my anti-consumerist broke self takes over, I shake off the shopping urge and resume actual work which I hate passionately and carefully.

Of course blogging and whining also helps!

 

Dz-Chick…pressed on purchase eventually!  

Day 8: Practically half way..innit?

Today is day 8, and like every morning I had to fight the urge to go and buy a large coffee and a chocolate twist! I don’t even eat chocolate twists in normal days (non-Ramadan time), it’s fascinating the things you do during Ramadan that you don’t do in regular times…

Like fast, pray? , stop drinking, stop , sleep at normal godly hours, and quit masturbating? , trying not to think about sex,  don’t tell anyone to f*ck off when they really out to, be tired and have bags under your eyes without your boss blaming it on Ramadan and generally just behaving like yourself, without the guilt and forgetting the hunger, thirst and general depravation! Another thing you do in Ramadan times is attempt to cook; actually concoct a recipe not just bang a salmon fillet in the oven!

I generally call my mum at the beginning of the month to enquire about recipes, the same she gave me last year but it’s nice to hear them again from her, I have them written in a notebook entitled fondly “Les Recettes de Mama” but I still ask her every year, it’s like a ritual to call my mum and ask for her help when I am sure I can probably (NOT) work it out myself. Then I attempt to cook it, take a picture of it (if it looks good) and send it her to make her proud, although admittedly the last time I attempted to make Galette bread (which is a round flat bread) it came out triangular.

There are a few Algerian restaurants in London! Just ask google

 

Dz-Chick....ceinture bleu!

Taking no prisoners!

It’s starting to grind, the number of Muslims who think they’re God’s answer...well to everything…

Every Muslim nation thinks Islam emanated from its bosom, the Arabs by right of birth as they seemingly and sanctimoniously hold the ultimate right to Islam, in fact if you look close, they all bare the sign somewhere on their scalp or their nether regions; they are the chosen ones! The Asians and African and the rest of the Muslim nations don’t really count, I mean they can’t even speak the lingo!! Each nation practicing a different Islam to another and calling it the Prophet’s way, throwing in some backward customs, some charlatan hokey pokey nonsense and a bit of spice and call it Religion! Enough already!

I am sick of these pseudo-Muslims, who brandish their religion so proudly yet so wrongly it does nothing but push people away and alienate Muslims and non-Muslims alike.

Enough with the over-zealous bogus piousness, enough with the hypocrisy and the deluded sense of self-greatness, enough with the backwardness, enough with the “I am Muslim, therefore I am perfect” bullshit, enough of fasting all day and eating for a small country all night, enough with the fake social media charity, enough with the antagonisation of other faiths groups, enough of turning people against us and leaving it to others to answer for your mistakes, enough of playing the religion card on every occasion, enough of playing victims when you’re fasting and making the whole world uncomfortable just because you can’t stand to see someone else enjoying a coffee or a pizza! What are you 4? Enough of your shit already! We get it you’re Muslim and a shit one at that.

Keep it to yourself; you’ll do us all a great favour.

Dz-Chick…6 days in!

Practice makes near-perfect!

Perseverance makes good, makes perfect. I decided to continue fasting, sticking to an as-per-normal lifestyle, work, gym, out with friends, park, shopping, drooling over stuff and dinners amongst friends when the sun decides to piss off!

I rationalised it as a challenge, if not by faith in something out there than by faith in me and my abilities to complete what I started and maybe my faith in God will come back as they say practice makes perfect.

Around the office, only my French colleagues seem to be aware of Ramadan, it made first page on Le Monde, big news in France! it’s the time of year they can hope to catch Muslims slip up or lose it or something and point out really how different/weird/crazy/uncivilised they are.  In the office they come to ask questions, of the annoying kind like “Alors, tu as faim?”.  I feel like I have to prove something to them, like I am unphased by my strong desire to march into the kitchen and ingest a café late fresh off the machine, unphased by the interminable hours I have to fast and yet remain chirpy and alert just to prove them wrong and prove to myself that I am strong. In the end it’s more exhausting to act for their benefit and put on this smiley nonchalant face than to actually fast. Hmmm I see a negotiation plan is born here…

My English colleagues on the other hand, are still offering me cups of teas, totally oblivious to Ramadindong and frankly it’s refreshing, I’d rather take the cup of tea and smile than go through the usual explanation and the awkwardness of it all, of people not knowing how to react and the follow-up questions like my favourite “what not even water?” . Yep, just air and good will...

...And London weather permitting, a beautiful promissing SunSet...Ahh Ramadan Porn!

Dz-Chick…5 days in!

Slowly...but surely?

Everybody seems to be concerned about Ramadan, more so than me, my boss who is a royal bitch has a massive issue with Islam and isn’t afraid to say it, he keeps calling me into his office for lectures on how Islam has a problem with modernity, how none or very little Muslims ever won Nobel Prizes…he says a bunch of other awful things too but it’s harder to repeat and be funny!  

So my Boss is Uber gay, so naturally he thinks the whole Muslim world wants to stone him to death, I am also pretty sure he’s subscribed to some fascist website of sort that keeps him updated on all matters “Islam” , because he always has all the scoops on anything even remotely related to it, the decline of the Muslim world or Muslims causing trouble and he doesn’t shut up about it, he comes out gloating, pointing and laughing, making jokes, some people laugh awkwardly whilst gaging my reaction, others just laugh and shake their heads at the same time, thereby condoning and  reprimanding which really cancel each other out, so nobody says anything and it really doesn’t matter because he’s actually really funny …but also because he’s gay and one must be careful apparently not to offend minority groups …ah the irony!

Dz-Chick...Love thy gay neighour!

Losing my religion!

This year like the last few years, I find myself questioning my faith; questioning my motives, questioning the whole thing! Why do I have to starve and deprive myself, why do I have to only be with someone of the same faith or be sad and lonely forever and ever, why can’t I enjoy a glass of wine from time to time (don’t worry I do), why so many Dos and Don’ts? Why so many sacrifices, why is it so difficult and complicated to be a Muslim.

A lot of the times I have to have a talk with myself in order to regain perspective and decide it was important and that I stick to it for reasons that I tell myself I understand and accept. If Islam is the religion of submission, I want to submit and cease all questioning and probing but I can’t, is it because I am getting older and all this religiosity is taking its toll on my body or is it because of the prevailing discouraging anti-Islam and extremist era we’re living in?

Am I a Muslim because I was born into a Muslim family? Or I was truly born a Muslim like everyone else is believed to be? Am I a Muslim because it’s easier to comply and submit than to face the threats of hellfire and the family disownment or I am simply too cowardly to want to truly know so it’s easier to just keep my faith or semblant of just to avoid hellfire, just in case it exists!

But I persevere, I fast, it’s Ramadan day one and I am going through the motions, hoping it’s out of faith and not out of tradition, total guilt and contriteness, every year I hope to revive my connection to someone bigger than me who will tell me everything will be ok.

The thing is I understand why we are here on earth; I just can’t accept that that’s the only reason.

Dz-chick....hoping to regain it by mid-month 

The Time Thief

When I went to work this morning it was the 10^th January; then a hundred hour later I looked at the clock to drool over my favourite digits of the day (18h00) flashing at me in that glorious fluorescent green and was met with the 11^th June…Where did it go? Who stole January? Give it back!! Give it back I say!

So I started thinking (more thinking aaaahhhh) about the notion of time, I researched Einstein because I always fancied myself a woman of science (Tozz*). I wanted to understand what makes time feel like it’s passing quickly, flying by and leaving me with unfished tasks, unticked lists and an unfulfilled life …so I started to read about theories!

Apparently this can be down to the different methods the brain uses to judge the passage of time, like the more fun you’re having the faster time is perceived to pass and the more bored and anxious you are, the slower it seems to be, but in reality it’s about the memories you’re making during the passage of this time, so if you are sitting in a waiting room and you’re at all thinking you’d be repeating previous thoughts and it will seem like nothing really happened, a waste of time, and that’s a fact, nothing did happen, nothing new, it’s the same memory so the only indicator of the time is really the making of new memories like it’s 4 o’clock, now it’s 5 o’clock then you look again and it’s the 11^th June.

So if this is in any way sensical and if I go by my random yet effective analytical methods, it would mean that my life is a busy one, full of joy, new memories and stuff! This would explain why time seems to be flying so rapidly and extraordinarily, or there’s a time thief lurking around me stealing my precious time and not giving me memories in exchange!! Well come to think of it, thieves never give you anything in exchange except for grief …and germs!

So that led me to think about how time is somewhat subjectively constructed within the brain…bla bla bla….Gawd I am boring myself!

So the point of this is really to say, I am kind of bored and time is not playing fair! Bored of constructing the same memories or similar ones to the point of having a life of Deja-vus and jaded repetitions, bored of fooling myself into thinking I am leading a worthwhile life (ok maybe I am too hard on myself), bored of waiting for change when I am not doing anything about it and frankly I am boring myself with these same repetitive thoughts and the same faces in the same trains in the same places, even across the globe in distant continents and different time zones, finding the same faces with the same annoying angry ungrateful and uncultured features fill me with dread – thank you shallow globalisation, you bitch!

So whoever stole time; stole particularity and individuality and turned us all into a mushy cloned mess which is getting in the way of my happiness and making me cranky and random. Thank you again mushy cloned brains!

Anyway, I better get on with some stuff or time will never move and I wouldn’t have marked its passage like a needy little achievement-hungry little brat ! Also you know what they say “A watched pot never boils”…

Dz-Chick….time really is of the essence

------------------
*Tozz = a noise that could mean “yeah right”, it could also mean fart but I am too much of a lady for that shit! Obviously...

Not all who wander are lost

What I want to be when I grow up? Mmm…A pilot …or… a military doctor…I ran out of choices that I liked enough to admit I want to do and that I felt complied enough with the list of "things to be" when you grow up, the list that society has written in the fabric of its own flesh, a Doctor, an Architect and a Lawyer. That's it, everything else would mean you'd struggle through life and your mother would struggle to be proud in the midst of the social gatherings and crumble under peer pressure until financial capital or gain is attained in the hope of readdressing the situation and regaining some social standing.

Well, I never became a pilot or a military anything, what if I got it wrong? What if somehow I missed THE THING that I was supposed to do with my life? This thing that I was supposed to just know at the age of 16 when I still didn't work out my own body or what my little pinkie was for!

---------

Years later I still don’t know what my pinkie is for and find myself forever struggling with this intrinsic urge to go somewhere, to find myself as the hippies would say, the need to get lost, the need to wander…maybe my calling is to be an explorer!

I would pack my backpack and bare essentials, lots of tampons since I seem to have my period every two weeks (what's the opposite of menopause?), a strong deodorant, cotton wear, a map (of the world), some money and other stuff that would save my life or at least make it as comfortable as possible then go into the wilderness. I’d walk and walk for days, stop off to set up my tent, cook some dehydrated food or live off the land where possible (I can’t hunt or fish to save my life and I am scared of cockroaches), I write my travel journal and think about life, wonder what my family are doing and if they understand what I am doing and why?

I want to get lost so badly, start new, I dream of this often and everywhere I look, I see what I take as signs, I want them to be signs, like a divine intervention guiding me somewhere I am supposed to be…Every time I open my cupboard I give a nod in the direction of my ginormous hiking boots as if to reassure them that I didn’t forget about them and that I was working on it, I put on my painful courts (they’re shoes with heels for you boys) that give me bunions of indiscriminate colour and shape, and wish it was time to ditch the heals and don my safe hiking boots again.

I took them out for a walk, I wore them to the cinema, I even went to watch “Wild”, then I went home to watch “Into the Wild” on dvd, then read snippets of other wilderness books and explorer tales, by then I was so enthralled with the idea and challenges of getting lost that I managed to force myself to watch the excruciating “The Island with Bear Grylls” and if you can watch that, you can probably do anything ...probably (you know …because it’s so shit)!

But then I'll miss facebook, I'll miss all the attention from friends and strangers, attention that is wanted and sometimes provoked and the likes we're all seem to be getting addicted to albeit in denial about, we crave them like a fix we have to score. I guess I will miss my comfort and my friends and my family, or will I?

Perhaps I am just using this as a pretext not to take the plunge and disconnect, because I know my parents will never understand why I feel the need to do it, my parents who I use like a shield from the eyes of God like he can’t see what I do because they’re my protection, I will be forgiven all sins because they’re my salvation, I often wonder if I didn’t have my parents would my faith be stronger? What would stop me from going where I want to go but not sure I want to go?

My friends will probably think I am attention seeking, then I feel guilty for things I didn't do as per usual (pathetic really), then will probably start doubting myself along with my motives, I will doubt myself like I do so many things and will give up and blame it on society.

Why do I feel so shackled and unfree? Forever struggling with choices! Does everyone else feel the same? We who proclaim our freedom, are we truly free? I am single (yes still), I have no responsibilities that I can’t shake off, no commitments I can’t break from, yet I feel like to make the move would be to let down so many people and the pangs of guilt would kill me slowly, so I sit miserably still to make others happy and forget my dreams and wants, afraid of upsetting or offending others whilst ignoring my own desires and feelings! Resenting myself instead of others in that giving, generous and modest way we’re brought up to be, the way that eats at you slowly until there is nothing left but bitterness and regrets of not packing up when I had the chance to.

Dz-Chick...wondering still!

The hard life of the activist …

So I tried to become a famous …writer, blogger, singer, actress, hooligan, a famous Algerian…a famous anything! Nothing seems to stick, it’s almost as though I was unmemorable, despite my huge knockers and shockingly orange-ish hair…it’s a hard world to break into when you are a talentless nincompoop!

I decided to study the field, see how famous and popular people get so famous and popular.
Turns out it’s just a damn popularity contest. If you use a lot of long and complicated Shakespearean words or a number of ISMS you’ll get a few likes for a few days then people will eventually stop trying to pretend to understand what the hell nepotism and expansionism mean and go scouring for the next cause of the week to follow, like, tweet or photograph next to.

So I started working the anger angle, indignant angry Facebook status, as much indignation and revulsion as the twitter 140 characters permit and other aspiring activists followed through like lambs to the slaughter.

I scour the internet for a new cause on a weekly basis, slavery week, Arab week, fanaticism, Islamophobia week and as ever the Palestinian occupation and the shale Gas issue even if I understand squat about it, it’s got to be bad for you…and me…probably!

Sometimes I find scoops, I like scoops, the joy posting a scoop on my Facebook gives me is only comparable with the joy sex would provide, but I wouldn’t know…I am a virgin, always have been.

Topics I pick have to be relatively easy if deep and complicated, I run the risk of being challenged by some know-it-all smart-ass, I better be ready with some copy and paste argument I found on some obscure book no one can google and I will just omit to use the quotation marks! If found out, there’s always “Ooops, sorry”.

Maybe I’ll just talk about fuel prices, that’s kinda easy enough, what is there to say anyway, “prices have gone up GRRRRR, DOWN WITH CAPITALISM”

I also like to join any going protest, I don’t tend to start them because that’s obviously hard work but I will join them and the hardest job for me is really to get to the front line and borrow someone’s placard so I am photographed to death and filmed shouting abuse at the imperialist governments, at Apartheid Israel, at racist America etc...It’s important I capture the attention of the photojournalists etc! Better make my causes bloody and violent that’ll definitely get the western media interested, maybe they’ll invite me for an interview! That’d be swell.

I can sit there looking western and confusingly white-ish with my orange hair comparing to my fellow African people, so they’ll trust me more after all I am almost white. And as my name and the word activist appear on the screen, the farce has been proved. I am now a renewed activist, a regular revolutionary with many mild opinions about many things.

Then I would push things to get arrested, that would be the pinnacle of my activist career, when I come out, I could attempt to write a book about 24 hours life behind bars, perhaps steal a couple of tales from my cell mate, it could be a best seller…doubt it! But who cares…I will be a renowned activist.

But my dream really is to go to Africa, live somewhere cool in West Africa or even South East Asia or wherever there’s trouble (will google it before deciding), join an NGO that helps educate children, maybe help the Kids Who Can't Read Good and Wanna Learn to Do Other Stuff Good Too and provide them with clean water and vaccinations, so I attend a number of meetings, I check in from different locations wearing old t-shirts and look scruffy, bad hair and a poor wardrobe are essential to the image of the activist. Because they’ve evolved past materiel needs and possessions that come with the prevailing consumerist… blah blah blah …


I would get involved with a few causes whilst I am there, always putting my name down on collective articles and films and projects so my name would come up on any google search.   

I always pick the easiest job, like communication or PR, that way I get to communicate to the world through Facebook, Instagram and twitter all the while working that tan. I can always say I’m always out on the field and a lot of the time I get burnt from the hot African sun. No one will ever question my skills, how tangible or relevant my work really is. They will just like my posts, respect me, secretly envy me but unwillingly keep following me with keen interest like the National Geographic.

Most people will probably hate me but that’s only because they’re jealous of me, obviously!! They don’t know that whilst they’re slaving away at their desk-bound jobs in the city earning big bucks and paying it all back in taxes and whatnots, I’ll be living it up on the very government funds I am supposed to be opposing and UN money of course! Cunning!!!

I know a lot of people will finally start talking about me, of the work that I do, of the causes I support and of the sacrifices I made to become the ever unfulfilled activist whose hobbies are collecting twitter followers , facebook likes and photos in impoverished and war torn areas (these will be mostly photoshoped, I ain’t going to no war zone) of the world, but through all of this amazing life of mine, I know really that I have mastered the art of acting and could always fall back on a Hollywood career, after all I am almost white and almost famous.

 

Dz-chick….taking the active out of Activism ...or somink!

Are we there yet?

 

I have been known to moan and whinge a fair amount, I've also been known to be sarcastic, ironic and a tad bitchy and that as you all know has served me… and you by extension very well over the last few years.
Unfortunately I have grown out of it, I let go of a lot of my negativity and anger which gave way to sedation and boredom. Dull dull dull

So much to whinge about, so little will to do it, I seem to have developed this thing where I see the better side of things, good side of people, of shit, as a result I became what some would consider a wise person, I try to excuse every prick that says something stupid, I don’t slap the slapables, I smile when annoyed now, I almost made friends with a stingy busy little bee God forbid, I say things like “it’s ok they’re just kids”, or in other words I became a pushover and to overcome that problem I thought it's safer if I stopped hanging out with people who would take advantage of my Buddha-like demeanour (whaaaat?) and eventually I stopped going out altogether.

London has become a challenge to overcome, like a purgatory waiting to know where you'll end up heaven or hell, or maybe that's a bit dramatic!! Alright ....it feels like a groundhog day, repeating itself tirelessly waiting for something to change to break the cycle. Taking the same train to the same job, working with the same insane boss, doing the same workouts yet looking exactly the same even when I dye my hair orange and think I dropped a couple of kilos, walking the same streets, hearing the same natter between the same idiots who still to this day rave about the 70% Sales, about Big Brother and XFactor.

So I take a different walk, try to do something new, see if I can trip this groundhog day up, I decide to walk, I walk in the park, see so many faces and I get the feeling that they’re all new here, I keep walking until I find myself by a pond, I don’t know where I am but you always know you’re in the royal borough when they’re throwing ciabatta at the ducks, so I don't roll my eyes and I just move on, I want to be around people who aren’t fooled by status and possessions, I want my feet to take me somewhere I can meet someone interesting and fun who stands for things and doesn’t run a mile when I open my mouth, who looks beyond what is expected of us and dares to be different.

There’s no shame in saying, I always felt it was ok to talk about this as long as I was writing anonymously but pretty soon everyone else will know who I am and it’s about time I took responsibility for Dz-Chick, maybe Groundhod Day will soon be over…

Until then…still walking in the hope of stumbling on a different path or waking up on a different day!