A Boxing tournament Episode #11
One year after another passes us by. We think that our daily battles change while all what has changed is that we moved to a more advanced level of the game; the same game.
A few weeks ago, I learned that no matter how hard others try to understand the boxing tournament, only those who “chose” to take part in it would understand the game. The rules, the maneuvers and of course the injuries. Only those who “Chose” would understand how a photograph, an accumulated series of past event and a long long long heritage of a culture of silence would make of a girl who “Chose” to question, reject and accept find sleep a major challenge after a small in depth thought that pre-occupied her very –old for her body- mind. A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with a friend who happens to be two decades older and still plays in the same league of the very tournament we both “Chose” to be part in. She literally stated in her calm tone: “If you manage to put your brains in a freezer and forget how mutilated for its surroundings it has become then go for it. It would save you a lot! But we both know it’s too late for you so choose your battles to minimize the damage that comes along with the process of the life that makes its beholder in a fight club character”
Don’t get me wrong this is not a sympathy request nor a claim of bravery. People like me are fortunate enough to make things happen. We can find jobs easily, make friends and travel the world. And when we are done claiming and pretending that we are heroes? We can easily use one of many articles used to attack us or even make one up and apply for asylum somewhere where this quote from the Turkish novel “Snow” by Orhan Pamuk applies: “In a brutal country like ours, where human life is 'cheap', it's stupid to destroy yourself for the sake of your beliefs. Beliefs? High ideas? Only people in rich countries can enjoy such luxuries.”
But do you know the hardest part? It is simply getting something like this piece published : -) It is a piece that says the reality behind us “Activists”, how full of shit we are and how we keep on counting so-called victories one after another while the only victory we should seek is enough bravery to admit that we never CHOSE.
Two years ago, I wrote about September 18th. 2011. I portrayed the details of my day; that day. Two years later, all I can write about is everything I have NOT become since then as everything I have become being a “Fruit of the misery” of a day like that one among many is clear in a small strike on an internet search engine stating how a girl from the country of “Oppression” has been active as an “Activist” but on the ground only me, myself and I know very well that personal battles say a lot when 3 meals a day and 8 hours of sleep become a way more of a philosophical dilemma than all the politics and the package that comes with.
Yes, we may have been able to participate in a protest, survive a bullet, write an article, speak in a conference and of course start a blog, but how many of us have actually protested against the skeletons in the closet, survived alienation from a family member, written an article about the truth of how difficult it is to keep one’s emotional and physical health in the world of western materialism vs. eastern social schizophrenia, spoken about how challenging it is to communicate fears to a partner or started a blog on how it is not a girl’s fault that she cannot be everything she has put on her list to prove that she can meet all standards? Oh yes! I forgot –Luxuries- come first. After personal content and happiness do not make glory.