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In the last few months, two people to whom I am very close have been diagnosed with breast cancer – one HER2 (Human Epidural Growth Factor Receptor 2) positive and the other ER (Oestrogen Receptor) positive. Both recently began their roads to recovery within weeks of each other, both in different countries, neither one knows the other, together they straddle fifty years old. These are not the only two women with whom I am friends to have received this dreaded diagnosis. Just over ten years ago, another dear friend had a double mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation treatments. She was in her early forties and now thrives as a survivor. That said, it’s been a very rocky road – and I don’t mean the ice cream, but maybe I should take her some! Another sweet friend of mine got her news during the pandemic and she is still on her arduous journey. Then there are the women whose jobs literally involve fitness and health – two of them whom I know were diagnosed last year. Oh, and what about three of my mum’s best friends who have had it – sadly, only two survived. And let’s not forget the men – rare as it is, men DO get breast cancer. I personally know of three.
Each one of these aforementioned people knows others with breast cancer and I have not included the people I have heard about through others, nor have I included the strangers whom I interviewed for an article about breast cancer, which I wrote several years ago.
Do we see a pattern here, folks? The anecdotal pattern: there are a trailer load of ladies who have breast cancer and the risk factors are being a woman and growing older! The good news is that most breast cancers are treatable, especially if detected early.
Statistics coming out of the United Kingdom predict 1 in 7 women will get breast cancer in their lifetime, while in Jamaica it’s 1 in 21 women. However, in the UK the NHS (National Health Service) automatically sends women letters with a set date for a mammogram, and further breast screening if deemed necessary, when they turn 50 years old. And, by the way, the NHS is free for UK residents. We don’t have this type of vigilance in Jamaica. Are there simply many women who are never screened? Which begs the question: are our statistics accurate? Should our government be doing all it can to ensure that more women get screened, and earlier than they currently do? In the USA, 1 in 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer and the recommendation is for women 40 years to 74 years old be screened at least every two years, in some cases every year, and starting younger if they are at a higher risk.
There is also a lot of talk about whether your breasts are dense or not and how this relates to screening. It is harder to detect breast cancer with a mammogram if one’s breasts are dense, so an ultrasound is also advisable. And, by the way, breast density has nothing to do with the size or firmness of your breast, rather how much fibrous and glandular tissue is in them. So, my fellow itty bitty, not so firmy, ladies, please don’t assume you are safe because you don’t “feel” anything out of the ordinary. Please, all ladies, get screened for breast cancer.
Have you ever listened to a story being told by a reader who has a monotone voice? When you are reading a book, how does the story “sound” in your head? Do you even enjoy reading, or do you find it boring or “difficult”. Is it only the writing that gives life to a story, or does our imagination play a part?
In writing, a useful adage to go by is “Show, don’t tell.” When actors go on stage, or they are being filmed, the same applies. They use their bodies – how they hold themselves, how they walk, their facial expressions, the movements of their limbs and even a tilt of the head, to show the story they are telling. They also use the varying intonations and volumes of their voices, so the audience can understand the real meaning of the words they are saying. True, each member of an audience interprets what is presented to her or him in a way unique to herself or himself, but there is likely a common idea of what the story is about, even if little nuances and meanings vary from person to person. The actors “show” rather than “tell” the audience the story. If an actor is able to do this successfully, she or he has done a great job.
When we read books to small children, we are more likely to grasp their attention if we recite with varying expressions – different voices, volumes and beats. To be honest, the same goes if we are reading something aloud to adults. They will be far more inclined to stop what they are doing and listen, if we intonate, accentuate and enunciate with a fluctuating voice.
So what happens when we read books to ourselves? Some people say they “hate” reading and would rather watch the movie of the book or an adaptation made into a series. Why is this? Is it because the screenwriters, producers, directors and actors of these do a better job at “showing” the audience the story than an author of the book from which the film or show was adapted? I don’t think this is the case, as most people, who read the book and watch the film or show, say, “The book is much better.” So why are there many who simply do not like reading? Let’s not include those who find reading difficult in real terms – in other words, people with dyslexia or anything similar. There are a lot of other people who are able to read easily, but simply do not enjoy it. Why is this? How can one help them to change their views about reading? How can reading be made more interesting to people who generally don’t enjoy it?
If you’ve read the blog I wrote yesterday, you’ll know that I have rekindled a hobby that I had in my teens – acting. I attend an acting class once a week and in the first class we focused on “show, don’t tell.” This led us to reading lines from two great plays (‘A Raisin in the Sun’ by Lorraine Hansberry and ‘Tale of the Bellywoman’ by Jonathan McLaughlin). What I noticed was it was much easier to follow the storyline of what we were all reading when we fluctuated our voices (see aforementioned). Of course, when we then had to act while reading, the stories came to life even more. At the end of the class, we were sent the full scripts of these plays, both of which I have now read.
Truth be told, if you read a play in your head in a monotone “voice”, it is going to be quite boring. So, do you know how I brought these plays to life? I gave each character an actual voice, an accent, in my head, and I read the lines with those voices/accents in my head. Each of the two scripts instantly came to life for me. I also made sure to read the stage direction notes that are included in the script, because this helps to stir up one’s imagination. When an author writes a book, she or he includes descriptions of the people, scenery, weather, noises, and so on, in her or his story – setting the “scene”, so to speak. Some authors use more description than others, some use more dialogue than others.
Whatever we are reading, I think it helps to picture the characters, imagine who they are and how they sound and even read the words in the accents or voices we imagine the characters to have. I believe that if we all approach reading this way, we could all enjoy books. Some books are long and often this may put someone off because she or he doesn’t have the time to read. Play scripts are much shorter than novels and non-fiction books in general, ergo play scripts are quicker to read. There are countless scripts, which tell incredible stories with so much depth, ones that carry valuable humour, heart and life lessons, yet we are not reading them. Why is this the case? Is it because we think they are only for the actors? Why can’t play scripts be read by us all? They can be.
Recommended Play Scripts: ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ by Lorraine Hansbury; ‘Sweat’ by Lynn Nottage.
Recommended Novels: ‘The Diamond Eye’ by Kate Quinn; ‘The Maid’ by Nita Prose; ‘Wrong Place Wrong Time’ by Gillian McAllister
I have had writer’s block for over a year. I just didn’t know what to write, nor could I figure out where to start when ideas did come to me, let alone which idea to follow.
I spent 4 months in the hospital last year, but for the last 21 months, since COVID kicked my Scleroderma and Behçet’s Disease up several notches, I have really not been well. Sure, I have had days of great energy, driven by my natural adrenalin and my personality, which can override days of bad health. However, my body has been uncomfortable all the time. It still is. It has become my norm, but it can be all-consuming. So, needless to say, my illnesses take up a lot of time – taking medications at the correct hour each day; monitoring what my GI tract is doing at every moment so I know which days I have to take those medications; moving through the pain every morning I get up until I get used to it and no longer feel it so badly; figuring out if I can get to sleep at night without pain pills (I save them for truly special pain!); respecting when my body simply cannot go on without me taking a rest in the afternoon or getting into bed by six in the evening; nourishing my body with enough food so that I can function while being careful not to eat something that is going to make my GI tract go bonkers; and so on. No wonder I have not been able to write!
Now, it’s not like I have been unmotivated in other areas – quite the opposite actually. I am active when it comes to helping with fundraisers and projects at my children’s school and I teach cyber safety to the students, so that’s taken up some of my time, but I am a doer and a thinker and a writer, and I need all those cups to be overflowing for me to feel fulfilled. The writing is fundamental to who I am.
I needed something to generate my creative juices. I read a lot, but this has still not been motivating me to write. I started to do some research online a couple months ago – looking perhaps for a writing course to do, but the truth is, I don’t need other people around me to motivate me to write. What I need is something to stimulate me to write. I go to therapy once a week – I am all talked out of my emotions, so I don’t really want to write about them as well. Anyway, I came across an acting class at Edna Manley College’s School of Continuing Education and Allied Programmes. Instinctively I felt this was the right course for me to do.
I did drama as a hobby at school, taking Speech & Drama exams all the way up to Guildhall Grade 8 Level, scoring distinctions in all. I enjoyed playing lead parts in Frederico Garcia Lorca’s ‘Bodas de Sangre’ and Noel Coward’s ‘Private Lives’, and smaller parts playing a horse in Peter Shaffer’s ‘Equus’ and other school productions. I then went on to take a course at the Central School of Speech and Drama while I was completing my Bachelor’s at LSE. I never pursued my mini passion for acting beyond this because it was not something I dreamed of doing as a career. When I was a little girl, I did want to be an actress, but when I announced this to my parents, my dad told me it was a hard life and he asked me who did I think would look after me. To which my youngest brother, who is two years my senior, replied, “I will look after you, Ems.” What a sweetie, right! Alas, other passions took over and I pursued those.
Coming back to the present day, my first acting class at Edna Manley College took place last Wednesday evening. Well, that was all it took for me to overcome my block and here I am, after more than a year since writing my last blog – I have blocked writer’s block.
Why don’t you just eat more? If someone had given me a dollar for every time I’ve been asked this, I’d be a rich woman. Okay, maybe not quite, the Jamaican dollar is hardly worth much, but you catch my drift, yes?
The photo attached caught my eye this weekend and I thought it quite uncanny because of what’s been on my mind over the last few weeks. I’d love to know what your initial thoughts and feelings were when you first looked at this picture, and I’d equally love to know if these thoughts and feelings changed over a period of time pondering said picture. I don’t even want to put any ideas in your head, but rather hear exactly what came to YOUR mind without anyone else’s suggestions.
As many of you may know, I have been extremely sick for two and half months, losing weight by the day without realising just how much I was losing. In hospital, there was only a mirror above the bathroom sink, so I couldn’t really get a grasp of how skinny I had become. Sure, I knew that I had lost weight, but I was not prepared for what I saw in the full length mirror when I came out of hospital. I could barely look at my reflection, cringing with agony at what was staring back at me. I hardly had much of a bottom to being with, but what had become of my body was not something I could psychologically stand. How disappointing it was to fully understand that my physical self had let me down. The impact of my illness resonated deeper than before; what it had done not only to me but also to my children, the rest of family and my friends. I was now seeing what they had been witnessing through recent weeks. What a horror show!
Indeed, some understood why I had physically become this way, but what of others who did not know why? What would they think? I literally looked deathly anorexic. The only difference between my state and the definition of anorexia was the fact that I did not want to be this thin. At 112lbs two months prior, I was skinny enough as it was! Now I had lost more than 15% of my body weight and my BMI was 14.6. All I can say is thank goodness for Osmolite, which is therapeutic nutrition that provides balanced nutrition for patients with increased protein requirements. I would have been in a far worse position without it. However, the real difference began as treatments began to work and I could add solids to the all liquid diet of smoothies, soups, yogurt, juices and kombucha. I am stronger, feeling better overall and the weight is piling back on. Okay, maybe not “piling”, but there are considerably less creases in my skin where my backside is supposed to be!
Now I’ve painted a not so pretty picture of what I have been looking like, let’s get your attention back to the photo attached. Too large, too small? What would you think if both women were eating a bag of Cheetos? What if both were eating a plate of cucumbers? Where would your thoughts go then? What if the larger lady was chowing on the Cheetos and the little lady was guzzling down the cucumbers? And vice versa? We all have preconceptions of what we think would be the better scenario for the situation we believe we know. Now bring an eight fluid ounce bowl of broth to the story, along with a serving of the same size of oatmeal porridge with flax seeds and blueberries. Which do you pass to whom? What if I told you that both were suffering from constipation: one of them is generally healthy, with no known disease; the other has severe gut dysmotility, caused by a rare autoimmune disease, would you know who was to get which bowl of food? Are your preconceived notions influencing your choices?
The truth is, we don’t actually know what either of these women’s stories are (well maybe some of you do), and there are unquantifiable variations, but we do tend to take our limited experiences and use these to tell grossly inaccurate narratives. As I look at this image, my personal experiences are certainly influencing my thoughts, moreover they are giving me pause and reflection, making me rethink and wish that I could ask each of these women what her journey has been.
Many believe that there is life after you die. I do not. When I die, the only thing that will remain is my broken down body, which will continue to break down as it decomposes or gets cremated. I know this will upset and madden many of you, but please understand that while I do respect your beliefs, truly, I would like you to accept mine.
I cannot wrap my head around the idea that my body will just waste away and no longer be, but I simply do not believe I have a spirit that can live on beyond the death of my body. It’s a problem, of course, because I have a fear of death: https://serveyouwrite.wordpress.com/2022/11/23/fear-of-death/ (a piece I wrote in November last year), or rather, I used to.
Since sharing my fears, I have discovered a new lease on death. My mum gave me a book “All That Remains: A Life in Death” by Professor Dame Sue Black, a Professor of Anatomy and Forensic Anthropology. This story is a memoir of her career, scientifically based, but also tied with her own personal contemplations about death. While Black has held positions at several universities within the United Kingdom, namely St. Thomas’ Hospital, University of Dundee, Lancaster University and, more recently, St. John’s College, Oxford, her work as a forensic scientist has taken her globally to war zones in Kosovo and to the Indian Ocean Tsunami aftermath in Thailand. I would highly recommend you read Sue Black’s book. It has changed my views on death and I no longer fear death per se.
There are few people with whom I connect on what happens to us after we die. One such person is a very dear friend of mine. She lost her son four years, seven weeks and one day ago. He had a medical emergency and he died. The loss for her and her daughter, his sister, was insurmountable. It still is. The pain only worsens as time passes. No one can remove this pain, because no one can take away the love. For as long as love remains, so too shall the pain, forever.
When you don’t believe in life after death, it can be a curse. You have no hope of ever seeing the person you love again. Those who believe there is more after living on earth, these people have faith that they will meet their loved ones someday, in the wake of their own death. No matter how many people I speak to about this, I just know that there is no such thing as life after death. However, I can wrap my head around my own mortality after reading “All That Remains: A Life in Death”, because I have definitively decided what I would like to happen to my body after I die. You read it here, everyone, and I hope that my wishes are honoured by my family. I would like to donate my body, in its entirety, to the University Hospital of the West Indies Medical School. I would like medical students, doctors, nurses and other medical scientists to respectfully use my body in order to further their medical knowledge and expertise. Once they have finished using my body for medical science purposes only, they may return my remains to my family to do what they wish. This gives me a sense of purpose and a sense of peace, and I truly believe this will do the same for my family.
When people get sick, they often recover. Sometimes they do not, despite the great efforts that can go into saving someone’s life. We are never going to know for sure what will happen, but when we do get sick, we get a semblance of just how delicate and precious life is and how important every aspect of our health is in order for our body to survive illness, or even function as it should. I have been connecting with a young woman who has been sick for 11 months with a rare and aggressive form of cancer. Every blessing that one could wish for from family, friends and a career came to this beautiful lady, likely because what she gave, and clearly still gives, of herself to others and to the earth, the universe has rewarded her. But life is not perfect for anyone, not even for the best of people on the planet. She has been dealt a hand that no human would wish on another, ever. She is amongst many millions of people, even billions, who suffer something, but she tells her story publicly, so we connect with her, what she is going through, what her family and friends are going through, and we choose to take her story and learn a few of our own life lessons. When she first spoke out about her diagnosis, my heart ripped in two for her and her family. Every day, I could not stop thinking about her. I still think about her every single day. We all wish we could help people in these times, find a cure, take away their illness, somehow change the fate of statistics in medical science. But we can’t do that, can we? We just have to be there to lend an ear, a shoulder, a hug, whatever they need from whomever. It has to be on their terms. Their sickness is not about you. It is about them. Just be there to listen.
At the moment, I am very sick with my own illness. I have two autoimmune diseases, Behçet’s disease and Scleroderma. While both have been in inflammatory, “flare-up”, mode for a couple months, the latter has brought on my third acute bout of gut dysmotility, which statistically has a mortality rate. According to the CDC “A mortality rate is a measure of the frequency of occurrence of death in a defined population during a specified interval.” However, I am a stubborn brute when it comes to certain things and I am not a statistic. Sure, my body is not completely obeying my mind at the moment, but my mind never gives up and my mind will not let this disease kill me. Not on my watch. My aforementioned friend has surely shown anyone who has been reading her social media posts this lesson. The mind is a powerful tool. Her mind is a powerful tool. It has defied so many acute and emergent medical problems, which she has endured, much more recently in particular, and her mind is not accepting what is happening to the rest of her body. The mind is the brain. The brain is the super organ, in my opinion. In fact, your brain controls everything in your body, so technically it really is the super organ. Even when something goes horribly wrong with parts of your brain, the other parts take over. The brain can literally rewire itself. It is the SUPER ORGAN!
I am not saying that any of this is easy, trust me, it’s not. But having someone whom I admire open up and share what her journey has been like is helping me right now to share my journey and to keep fighting each day. This is not my first rodeo, but it’s been 17, 14, 12 and 9 years, respectively, since I have been in desperately acute stages with my health. Her willingness to share is helping me fight today. Her determination and defiance of medical statistics reiterates the knowledge that I can fight this and solidifies the willpower to use my brain to fight this. There are certain things I cannot change, but there are plausible alternatives, ones which did actually seem impossible for me to wrap my head around even a month ago. When something acute happens with your health, putting your life at risk, you learn to accept the shortfalls about your usual normal-functioning body because you simply want to live. You simply know that the most important thing that must remain right now is your life.
Grab several bags of popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show, people, because this is going to take longer than a couple weekends of binge-watching an entire suspense series on Netflix. Even ‘Madoff: The Monster of Wall Street’, a four episode documentary series that was released on Netflix on January 4 this year, could be watched in one night. The SSL scandal, which has hit the pages of traditional and social media alike, will hardly be resolved by next weekend, but Jamaicans are currently riveted and addicted to what is being called one of the largest fraud cases ever to hit our island’s shores.
Of course, we Jamaicans are furious. Not only has the legendary sprinter Usain Bolt, a national treasure, our hero, been massively affected by this fraud, but others have come forward to claim the losses that have jeopardised their livelihoods. It stands to reason that there could be many more clients who have lost funds through shares, bonds, etcetera, which they may have bought over the last decade or so. Those who follow the stock market and make investments do know that there is always a risk of losing some money. However, we can keep abreast of the situation and make choices according to how the financial market is going. Sometimes, we do solicit the service of investment/brokerage/wealth management firms. We place our trust in them because we believe we have done due diligence by doing research, getting recommendations, seeing successes, and so on. No-one with integrity could ever imagine this trust would be discarded like used toilet paper! Yet, here we are. Jamaicans have been gypped.
There have been all kinds of accusations spinning around social media, some of which may well be true, or false, but speculation is not going to help the crime-solvers get to the complete truth. While there are people who would like Bolt to extrapolate on his business, I do feel he is doing the right thing by giving the bare minimum of details. I have to imagine that he is not only getting sound advice from his legal team, but also Bolt is not going to suffer fools lightly. In fact, from the countless comments I have seen on social media, after certain “disclaimer” statements were made in traditional media, Jamaicans are not going to suffer fools lightly either. Nor should they!
What is interesting is why this devastating news only broke two weeks ago. Why didn’t someone else come forward before Bolt? Surely there are other large investors who have lost their retirement funds. If so, did they hold back through fear? Did they turn a blind eye because they didn’t want to defecate in their own backyard, so to speak? Did they keep quiet for the sake of social standing? Perhaps they didn’t understand they’d been fleeced, but thought they’d simply suffered a loss from a poor investment. All food for thought.
Speaking of food, I hope the supermarkets are stocking up on their popcorn supplies, because if we want justice, we are going to have to be in this for the long haul.
By the time our children in Jamaica reach Grade 7 (Form 1), they will be mentally burned out. Of course, there are always exceptions to statements such as this, but I will try and explain why I believe it to be the case for many, if not most.
In the late 1950s, the Common Entrance Examination (CEE) was introduced in Jamaica. Children leaving primary education would take three exams (Mathematics, English Language and Mental Ability) in Grade 6 and, pending their results, they would be placed in a government high school. The exam changed some forty years later to Grade Six Achievement Test (GSAT), whereby Grade 6 students would take five exams (Mathematics, English Language, Science, Social Studies, Communication Skills) and, pending their results, they would be placed in a government high school.
As we Jamaicans know, all schools are not academically equal for a plethora of reasons. Thus, notwithstanding a small number of exceptions, the results of your exams would determine in which high school you were placed from the list of your choices. Due to high competition, very few actually got their first choice or even their second choice, out of the five preferred schools chosen by the individual students and their parents. I knew children scoring 90% in GSAT who believed themselves to be failures because they were placed in their third choice schools. In which other country is an average of 90% deemed a failure? To give some perspective within Jamaica itself, an overall term average of 90% or above in your academic subjects at Campion College awards you a First Class Honours.
The year before the Covid 19 pandemic hit, Primary Exit Profile (PEP) was introduced to the then Grade 6 (graduating class of 2019) and to Grade 5 (who would be graduating in 2020). The former students took a total of seven exams (one Ability Test, two Performance Tasks – Mathematics and Language, four Curriculum Based Tests – Mathematics, Language, Science and Social Studies) and were placed in a school from their seven choices. Some did not even get into one their seven choices! The latter students took four exams (Performance Tasks in Mathematics, Language, Science and Social Studies) and were slated to take seven exams, like the previous Grade 6, in 2020. Alas, all children across Jamaica were sent home on the afternoon of 12th March, 2020 and “homeschool” began on Friday, 13th March, a few weeks after Grade 6 students had taken their Ability Test and before the remaining six exams were given. The then Grade 5 students were also unable to take any of their PEP exams.
For the next two years, the majority of school students in Jamaica remained in “online” school. Meanwhile, the government attempted to keep “business as usual” when it came to these entrance exams for high school. The Grade 4 cohort of 2020-2021 had been slated to be the first Grade 4 class to take two PEP exams (Performance Tasks in Mathematics and Language), but were unable to do so because of the pandemic. So, while immense stress was building for these younger children, the real pressure was presented in the academic year 2021-2022, when Grade 4 students across the nation became the first year who would have to endure a total of 13 PEP exams, taken over three years. Their first two exams were taken at the very end of June 2022. Almost seven months later, there have been no results. Yet these students, who are now in Grade 5, are scheduled to take the next four exams (Performance Tasks in Mathematics, Language, Science and Social Studies) in less than five months. These same students will take another seven exams (aforementioned in the paragraph above) when they are in Grade 6 next year. Like I said, 13 PEP exams within three years, and the competition remains as stiff as it ever was, if not more.
If you are already exhausted from reading this blog, imagine how the children feel. They begin this preparation from nine or ten years old and continue right through to when they turn 12 or 13 years old. Please note that this is all before they have even reached Grade 7 (Form 1)! While there was always pressure on Grade 6 students to ensure they did not mess up any of the three CEE exams, or the five GSAT exams, for 60 years, we have come to a place whereby the stress has been pasted and layered upon our children so thickly, they cannot afford to mess up one single exam out of the total 13 exams that determine the school in which an individual is placed.
Do you know how they come to achieve this? Extra lessons. It is very difficult for all teachers to cover the entire curriculum and to prepare all their students for all these PEP exams within school hours, so what does one do? Extra lessons. Your child may already be at school from eight o’clock in the morning to three o’clock in the afternoon, but now you have to consider extra lessons so that your child can compete at the level expected? You must now find academic tutors, conjure up the funds to pay these tutors, subject your child to more classes after school ends during the week, as well as on weekends, and they must also find time to complete their school-assigned homework, participate in sports/activities, be transported home, eat and get enough sleep! We, as parents, will also expect our children to behave nicely at all times and get the academic results we believe they should be getting. Do you see how unrealistic this is? Yet this is REAL. This is actually happening in my house and I know it is happening in yours.
Do you now understand why I believe the burnout on young students is real? Our media has reported that our government is concerned about the mental health of Jamaicans. To our Prime Minister, our Minister of Education, our Government, the Senate and all other powers who can effect change, I ask these questions in earnest, with no intention of blame (yet!): “Do you believe that it is truly in the best interest of our children and our country to place such young students under so much academic pressure? Do you think that this will truly benefit their futures and the future of our country? Is there a possibility that the current (and extensive) curriculum and rigorous examinations are adversely affecting the mental state of young students and their families? Could you and would you possibly consider an immediate revision in the current curriculum and examination process?”
There are scores of other countries that have a healthier approach to raising and educating their children, Scandinavian countries included, and I am truly wondering if we could just take a serious look at the education systems across the world and find one that would be better suited for our children. I am under no illusion that there is a simple solution, nor do I think this will be an easy task, but I truly believe we are in dire straits here and if we do not change the status quo imminently, then we are in for a multitude of mental health problems, which have probably begun already.
I have been watching “The Morning Show” recently and I am completely drawn in by Reese Witherspoon’s character, Bradley Jackson, who is known as the loud-mouthed “truth-teller” in the series. At the end of the first season, Bradley’s words and actions finally resonate with her co-star Alex Levy, played by Jennifer Aniston. The pair, supported and aided by their co-workers, make a live, on air reveal about the CEO of the network at which they work. Indeed, Fred Micklen has been directly facilitating the insidious sexual misconduct executed by powerful men within the organisation. More details will not be given here, as I believe it’s a show that should be watched by all. Aside from its characterisations, which pull on a plethora of people I am sure we have all come across in our lives, one of the main themes that threads everything together is misogyny.
Recently, a national newspaper here in Jamaica published the headline, “Wasteful Girlz lose 2-1 to Paraguay”. In the headline, the author uses the word “wasteful” as an adjective to describe the proper noun “Girlz” (the Reggae Girlz, the trademarked name for Jamaica’s women’s football team). While the term “wasteful” is often used within sports, it was extraordinarily insulting to many women across Jamaica because it was used as an adjective to describe the women on the team, rather than used to describe the play they made. There were numerous complaints online, including my own post on Instagram and Facebook, which garnered support from women, as well as backlash from men. I described the decision to publish such a headline as an act of misogyny, to which several men objected, thus proving my point that Jamaica is seeped in a culture engulfed with misogyny.
What I found upsetting at first, then interesting, was the fact that men, who have previously spoken up publicly on my posts in support of my advocacy for women against misogyny, were now speaking against my claims that this headline was misogynistic. Not one to shy away from conflict on any human rights issues, I replied to these men’s replies, explaining as much as I could at the time. Often, when one is heated, one can’t quite find the correct words for a conversation that’s essentially a bunch of replies on social media. I did the best I could, but still failed to comprehend how these men couldn’t see in which way the journalist and the newspaper had acted against women’s rights.
The realisation hit me when a man said to me, “I am not being misogynistic. I don’t hate women.”
Misogyny is “the hatred or prejudice against women, typically exhibited by men. It is generally accepted that misogyny is a consequence of patriarchy (male-dominated society), and the term may be applied to certain individuals, as well as larger systems, societies, or cultures.” (https://www.britannica.com/topic/misogyny)
There are many people of a certain race who do not hate those of a different race, however, these people may still be prejudice against said different race. There are people who have built-in privilege because of their race and there are people who suffer atrocities because of their race. We must insist that the fight for those who have suffered these atrocities do get the largest platform and do get to call out any and every prejudice (and hatred) against them. Do you know why? Because this is the only way to stop the prejudice (and hatred).
“The Morning Show” does not portray the male characters as hating the female ones, but it does depict, you guessed it, their misogyny. They are prejudice against women and this is a consequence of a patriarchal society. Likewise, the journalist and the Jamaican newspaper that published the aforementioned headline showed their prejudice against women, I am guessing subconsciously, and I am fairly certain this was a consequence of the patriarchal culture in this country.
“There is nothing to fear but fear itself.” This has been quoted countless times in various forms over the last century. I am sure it was quoted way before as well. I have fear. I am fearful of death. It doesn’t plague me, nor does it consume my every waking hour, but if someone asks me, I would say, “I am afraid of death.” I don’t believe in reincarnation. I don’t believe in an afterlife. When we die, we are no more. Thus, I fear death because someone can go from being alive to simply gone. It doesn’t matter that it is an inevitable fate for each one of us. The fact remains, being gone is devastating.
This blog is not about religion and it’s not about whether or not you believe in a god. I suspect many of you do believe in a god or gods. I respect your beliefs, please respect mine.
I would bet that we would all do anything we could to prevent the death of people whom we love. We would probably sacrifice our own life to save someone else – a child, mother, father, sibling, niece, nephew, other family members and friends. Okay, maybe some people would not, but I truly think most people would. So, now we have established this “fact”, let’s talk about the fear of losing our own life.
Airing one’s health woes on social media generates all kinds of responses. It’s interesting to me that some of those who read these posts have anything negative to say about a person’s choice to do so. I find it admirable when a person, who is ailing, pulls on an inner strength to reveal their disease/illness, describes the nuances of said disease/illness, speaks about their appreciation for certain things and of course airs their fears.
When I see other people post about their health, I am drawn in by their journey. I feel deep empathy and I want to know more so that I can understand what they are going through. I can never truly know what another feels as they go through their own story, none of us can. However, I do have my own benchmark, which does give me some semblance of what they are likely to be going through. That said, I have never been able to tell my entire story in a public forum. It’s not because I don’t want people to know. I don’t really mind people knowing my business when it comes to my health. When someone asks me, I will tell them, but never the whole story. This would take too long, for starters, but I become very detached when I talk about my health and thus I do omit key elements. It’s the only way to avoid getting emotional about it. A few close friends and family get to deal with that side!
I’ve tried to figure out why I get detached and I think it’s linked to my fear of death. If I allow myself to feel, that’s when the fear comes. What if I die while my kids are still young? This would devastate them. What if I die before my parents do? This would devastate them. What if I die before I get to the acceptable old age when one would say, “Well, she lived a very long and happy life, so it was time.”? This would devastate many. I say this without arrogant presumption, but merely knowing that I have a huge support system of friends and family who would be devastated if anyone within their “circles” passed away, particularly at a young age. The truth is death sucks no matter what age it happens and I am afraid.
She was a mother, a grandmother, a sister, a daughter, a niece, a granddaughter, a friend and an aunt. She loved her children and grandchildren fiercely, prepared to do whatever it took to be with them and protect them. She meant something to a lot of people and she was everything to some people….. everything but a pushover.
The youngest of four children, my aunt did not take kindly to anyone who defied her morals and beliefs. She was adored and I think she knew it. She had a particular way of doing things and only accepted a certain kind of behaviour from those around her. She was capable of doing absolutely everything herself and I vividly recall her adversity to accepting help from anyone. All these qualities are what made her special, but they are also what made the end so incredibly difficult.
My aunt loved dogs, especially Rottweilers. I lost count over how many dogs she had over the years a long time ago, but I am sure she never did. Scores of people across Jamaica have also purchased puppies from her and she would probably have been able to name them all if she had to. If you needed advice about raising dogs, my aunt gave it – solicited and unsolicited!
Aunty Jo was the young and fun aunt. Jokes in her country kitchen (a favourite of mine) were often had, and she could tell us some stories that would have us doubled over with laughter on her verandah. It was such a joy to visit her and to have the family together.
One of my earliest memories of my aunt was when my belief in the magic of Christmas wavered one year. We had spent the night at her house, waking Christmas morning to find our stockings at the foot of our beds. The minute I came out with some logical explanation as to why Santa Claus was not real, she nipped this in the bud by telling me she and her son, my older cousin by six months, had spotted Santa, his sleigh and the reindeer in the sky the night before. Just like that, the magic was back! She was convincing.
In life, we have choices, but we also face unpleasantries and traumatic experiences, which we do not choose. I think we have to accept the latter, but I also believe we should use the former wisely. When we lose someone whom we love, it is devastating. We must face that devastation, feel it and live it. We have no choice in the matter. However, we can choose how we want to continue in this world. We can choose to hold on to the family and friends whom we have. We can choose to accept their help and support. We can choose to have them around us. We can choose to let in their love and kindness, so that we won’t feel so alone. In death, we have no choice. In life, we do.
CyberBright 