Shame and My Lil Blue Card - Part II

When I first wrote Part I, I never really thought there would be another incident that would inspired me to the point of sitting down at my desk to write a follow up. I never thought 9th July 2011 would happen.

The last 36 hours has been nothing but a bundle of anxiety, angst and shame. Traffic disruptions and all aside, I think my main bone of contention was the gripe of terror that took hold of my insides as I watched the events of the day unfold on- and off-line.

The people of the city and country stood up today and marched with one intent, one voice and one purpose - Enough of this bullshit! Clean up your act or get the hell out of here! Of course, they are far more eloquent than I am, hence fewer words are needed.

And while I started today being apolitical, as the sun set and the sounds of traffic on the highway next to my window is still less than what it normally is - I am infuriated! For today, if not for anything else, my government held me a terrorist hostage IN MY OWN CITY!

For the first time in my life, I feared for my own safety and the safety of those I know and care for. For the first time in my life, I bundled the kids in the car and headed out to make sure the larder had provisions to last us at least a few days.

I still recall the last time we came this close, I had nonchalantly told my folks that if anything happened, since I was at the office, I would simply run next door and seek asylum. And in 1998, when the roads in front of the then-office (which was Lee Rubber across from the High Court) was cordoned off much like it was today, I play the eye-in-the-sky ~ providing updates via phone on where the water canon trucks were parked at. Even as the FRU stormed our building to evacuate us and I walked alongside men in amour - it was another day in my city.

But today was a different story. Simply because I waited and waited and waited for a voice of reason, for a voice in power to step up to the plate and call an end to the madness - it never came. I waited and waited and waited for the Main Man to speak yet again. But alas, apparently his voice and words are like the cards in Monopoly - you only get to use it once!

Add to it, the visual and written reports of police brutality just further befuddles me. It is so difficult to reconcile, especially since it is still fresh in my mind how I was advised to head to the nearest police station along the way of my Camino if ever I was in dire need of a stamp for the day and no one else was open.

Today was not the day for you to prove to those who put food on your table that you know which side you are on! Today was not the day for you to be trigger-happy with whatever weapon you were equipped with! Today was not the day for you to cast aside your brain and just be a stupid kambing-biri-biri! And for that matter - NO DAY EVER IS! For aren't you in uniform to protect and serve the people? Instead, you held us all at your ransom. AND, no prizes for guessing what your rationale of it is going to be tomorrow: We were following orders.

When we were away last month, one of the things that hit us really hard was the fact that "there is no place like home". But right now, if this is what home is going to head towards - I'll gladly sing in the metro for my supper and have my kids stand with a tin in hand in front of a phone booth anywhere else in the world!

When you terrorise your people the way you did today - you can only be sure of hell to pay when the time comes.

The Great Escape

Okay so I have not really sat down and blogged much about the great escape that I had in June. I do apologise for that lapse. Having said that, I hope you had also given me the allowance of letting things settle down before committing to words the events of June 2011.

The Camino to Santiago De Compostela

This was the first part of the great escape. 6 days in the Galicia region of Spain, walking 118.5 km through its wilderness, villages and towns on my own. All to fulfill a vow. I shan't elaborate much about it as you can read the whys and the hows in my Camino blog.

Perhaps the only thing that I can add here is this: I found no clear wisdom nor have I learnt anything profound. I do not have any life changing decisions to make. But it was clarifying. Would I do it again? It's a definite NO. Simply because if I do - it only means I didn't clean enough on the first attempt. And if that is the case, then perhaps the Camino is not the place to do some soul cleaning.

Ireland for Work

This trip to Ireland was a partial wash-out. Weather-wise, this was the worst I have seen in my 3 visits. Not only were the skies grey most of the time, it poured at its own whim and fancy! And when it poured, it poured! I kid you not - torrential rains in Ireland?!

I suppose I would also have to add to it that I was ill and in pain. Yup - busted my right ankle and left knee on the Camino and was hobbling about a fair bit. But it gave me time to rest up and rest indeed I did! And yes, I did complete the work that I had to do before me - so no goofing off there.

The Vacation

I suppose for most folks, this is the bit you've been waiting for. The much-talked about vacation with the heard-off-but-not-seen person in my life.

For starters, even as I got on the plane, I still wasn't sure if I would be at Dublin Terminal 2 on the night of 22nd June waiting in vain. Fortunately, it was again all just maggots in my head. Did I go flying into his arms? Nope. In fact, it was a very sedate affair overall - the airport welcome. Let's write it down to me being ill and out of sorts.

I had this immense trepidation of sharing a space with someone else, after being on my own for so many years. And the first few days of Dublin and London was just me trying to shake it off. I do not think there is another person out there as anal as I was about the whole thing. So unless you can tell me that you actually did your business in the restroom of a restaurant not because you really had to go, but because it was an opportunity to go - I win hands down!

And what would a vacation be without any tantrum throwing eh? I must say, it was a fine one that I threw the first night of London after discovering that the B&B meaning of a double-bed is actually that slightly bigger than a super-single. Add to it walking out of the bathroom to find your sleeping partner laying down beddings on the floor for the night - it was a watch me walk out the door event for sure. But I must say, Ben took it all in his stride - leaving me to heave, huff and puff out in the cold on my own, knowing that I will calm down and head back in.

So with that, I do not know why the memories of Barcelona still blows me away. How he let me sleep, went about and got dinner ready (his birthday dinner to boot!) and had a glass of proper warm tea with fresh lemon juice waiting when I woke up. Yups - warm fuzzy feeling all around now!

I suppose it was a trip that was much needed. A break from the norm of the last 3 years. He got to see sides of me that was never shown before and I got to see a side of him that I never thought existed before.

Has anything changed since we got back exactly a week ago? I really cannot say. And I shouldn't. It wasn't happiness that I was seeking from the great escape. Hence, nothing really should happen afterwards.

I was seeking to make a solid memory and boy did I succeed at it. Not only at my end but at his too!

Question that hangs now is: Where to next and when? And hey - that didn't come from me so perhaps if we really had to quantify it - that is some measure of progress then yes?

Wouldn't It...

This sums up the value of the time spent on our vacation: we're willing to pack up our bags, skip town and busk by the streets for our supper.

Now that is time and money well spent indeed!

Loopsided

The mattress shifts just once when I turn my body.

The sound of pillowcase crunching happens only when I turn.

I can stretch my leg across the other end of the bed and there is nothing stopping it from going further.

10 days is long enough a time to get used to so many things, so many habits.

Oh dear.

End or Beginning?

Time flies as we sit here at Doha Airport, waiting for the final leg home.

A year of planning (and fretting), it comes down to this ~ a 6 hour transit?

I am holding on to what a passing stranger told me: You won't know, until you get home and go back to normal life.

Yesterday, by forgetting those words, I was ready to walk off La Rambla straight to the airport and catch the next flight home.

Today, I am wishing we are back on the terrace with peaches and wine.

Nope - I can't and I won't conclude. If this is the end or the beginning.