Thursday, 30 January 2014

The view from here

When I'm ready to give it up,  kick it in,  throw up the towel, 3 things happen.

I get an FOI decision overturned about the Ministry of Justice and Michael Spurr's refusal to hand over details of correspondence between Ministry of Justice officials and G4S.  Part of that disclosure is the panic and fear surrounding the inquiry and in spite of being ordered by the Information Commissioner to give me the data requested,  they give a hundred reasons why not.  Watch this space. I'm winning.

Then a lovely message confirming a meeting with a changemaker, not another Hungry Ghost or Voldemorte come to suck up my air. I tell him I'm struggling and keep finding the wrong people with the wrong values to help me build my field of dreams.

How hollow I feel,  having had my faith in humans excavated by a man I thought I knew like I knew me, but who's just a 2D cut out of a person. Mind the papercuts.

The email from the person who has done social enterprise and built things of value on a global scale helps to or things back into perspective. Of course it's hard.  Of course it's going to attract people who want to be part of something big and worthwhile,  it's like blotting paper for all the sordid things they're doing in other parts of their lives. Your vision and values become their lifeboat.  But drowning men make dangerous bedfellows and I don't like pleasure boats or the view from the deck of the Titanic,  even first class.

Finally, I see an old friend for a drink.  My old life is resuming its patterns and people and the old inner safety which I'd completely lost is creeping back. People tell me how creepy they thought D was, how invasive and inappropriate and clumsy socially.  I wonder why they didn't tell me before.  Louder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're crazy,"  my eyes grow larger in disbelief . I tell my friend he's mad and a ghost of a pre Christmas conversation echoes on my mind.

...................
I recall one of our last conversations, In December when I knew I was ending it and I didn't really care anymore.  He was telling me about his children all blessed with idiotic biblical names and how the second youngest had moved out again, aged 8.

We'd bought fish and chips from Fish in Borough Market and were standing by the river. It was one of those London in the sunshine days that makes sin city look beautiful.  The river was like molten mercury, a patch of water had caught the light on the opposite side and appeared to be galloping towards us and staying still. It was hypnotic. It was also one of those perfectly observed moments when you realise that your lover isn't perfect, that the shape of his world, messy, deceitful and selfish is like a dust cloth, covering up all kinds of inefficiencies. I've said something and he reacts.

" You know Farah, you say Jesus a lot."

You're not serious.  My heart sighs. How did I get here again with Mr Churchwarden? The Talking Heads song plays in my head.

"Does it offend your Christian sensibilities, my love?  I swear a lot too."

These subtle manoeuvres designed to gently deflate, make me question, feel a little insecure,  these sleight of hand attempts to try and reign me in,  make me fit the shape of his world feel like shackles.  But he's a smooth predator.
.......

Back to my real world,  into the now. My friend is trying to set me up with a friend of his while I'm extolling the blood bath of my last relationship massacre. I'm not ready.  I don't think I might ever be ready again.

I'm aghast.  I've tried comfort and rebound sex, which usually works, a couple of times since Dan, but I craved the intimacy we shared and both times I've ended up crying. I was grieving.  It was far too soon. I feel like a tap has been turned off at its source and sex is not appealing. I just needed to be held.

"He's sharp as a tack. Had a successful IT business and its now on an alternative lifestyle pathway," my earnest friend begins, trying to sell his friend.

"No no and no.  Tell him to follow me on Twitter. Or become a Facebook friend.  It's all happening there." I still feel damaged and although I'm rapidly forgetting his presence,  love and sadness linger.

"He doesn't want to be your Facebook friend. You met him in Paris... do you remember,  the restaurant in the Bois de Boulougne, I think we went on the Thursday... He was with the Swedish blonde. "

I do remember.  Big smiling man,  I remember his smile and his blue eyes and how tall he was and that his calming presence filled the room. I remember thinking how beautiful the woman was and how she shone every time he looked at her or spoke to her. They were perfect together.

"What happened to Scarlet Johanssen,"  I ask,  curiosity piqued. The man had started to tell me about his life style change from capitalist carnivore to shaman and healer but the restaurant was loud and there were a dozen other people at our table. We lost the thread of our conversation.  I got drunk.

"They're finished," my friend says coolly. "He asked for your number. "

I sit still with my discomfort and try and understand the feeling.  I'm scared.

"I just don't feel ready.  Maybe in a few months." I wonder if the healer can hold my fragile heart  which appears to have gone cold, in his gentle hands and bring it back to life.

"In a few months he'll have met someone else and you'll still be self destructing with these awful men you find. " He retorts angrily,  as if I go out and search for them like truffles or unicorns. Since Jeremy Clarke, it's been a succession of assorted frogs. And blood curdling vampire bats.

"Oh for fuck's sake. I don't want to meet anyone
. Anyway I'm busy," this is true. I don't have a free evening until March 18.  I've started pilates
,  art classes and joined a book club. I'm seeing friends and I have filled my diary and blocked out time for myself.

I don't have a man shape hole in my life.

"Farah he wants to meet you.  Not take over your life or marry you or fix you.  I've said we'll meet him for a coffee on Thursday.  He's a healer,  he's pretty good."

So that's that then. Out of the wreckage curiosity rises, phoenix like. I'm meeting the Shaman, chaperoned of course.

I have no expectations.  Life is suffering.  The Buddha said so.  But being held in the generous heart space of a shaman has great appeal.

We spoke last night.  I inelegantly blurted out everything, all the current mess and hurt. He has a lovely voice and made me laugh. Maybe all humans want is kindness and to love each other.  I tell him I feel disconnected from my sexuality.  He says we'll find it together.

I'm glad we are having tea first.

I'm looking forward to seeing him  I've ditched my chaperone. I have a reading to get to after,  so it feels safe and there's an exit.

Green roots of recovery?




PS I missed the reading.

Thursday, 16 January 2014

Damages

" I want you disgraced. I want history to erase your every achievement. I want you to feel the disgust in your children's eyes when they look on you in shame."

God I loved Patty Hewes...cold hard and brutal. "When I'm done with you there won't be anything left,"

Poor Constance and Vicky. Hilary has the right idea. Clever women don't take it personally,  they accept liability and that rage is complex and needs military strategy to manage. There's light in destruction too.


Wednesday, 8 January 2014

Rising:

Honoured to be  at Southbank in an audience of (mostly) women who are there to find out about this year's One Billion Rising. This year we're rising for justice for all women.

A domestic worker tells how she saved herself from being raped by her employer. Warm tears start rolling down both cheeks. Helena Kennedy catches my eye and I see her clear eyes are cloudy with tears too. The Philipina domestic worker's pain catches us both, probably all, by surprise and we have all been there.

Fucked by the patriarchy whether it is by being compromised to our own truth and under selling our value as women,  catering to a narcissist who steals our light for his vanity, or in a death lock with Eros, love with conditions and constraints. Helena asks poignantly what makes for an appropriate woman? How can the criminal justice system work for women?

Stella Creasy hard headed MP and former shadow equalities minister says she's ashamed of the Britain that locks up asylum detainees and treats women the way we treat asylum seekers who are women. I tell her she's brave and thank her for inspiring me and others to not shut up or back down. She says she's not brave, "I'm just bolshy."

I find myself uplifted,  these women with our stories find a common place to come together to weep, to shed our pain, to laugh and rise again.

This year, one billion women will be raped across the world. More than one billion men and women will rise for justice for these women and will dance.

I wish you'd been there. My heart spilled over with love and I reconnected with who I am and why I'm here. I'd forgotten, living in his grey world and shadows.

Thandi Newton finished with some freeflow about fear, and why the trolls on Twitter had taken against Stella and Caroline Criado-Perez  with such vengeance. Fear of the unknown,  fear of change and fear of losing control. We are being controlled by fear.

How refreshing to assert that we are not afraid, that by "pooling our voices we liberate each other," says Stella into Eve Ensler's river of justice.

Tonight my heart sang in poems and reflected love all the colours of the rainbow. I find Helena and the woman ex offender who also spoke and  I'm so happy to see both. Helena and her book  Eve was Framed, have inspired me for years,  before I know her, to have a voice and to speak out loud for those who can't.

Tonight I feel connected to the me I've abandoned, the woman my children love, my friends celebrate though the success they project,  the words they use to comfort me- warrior woman, fighter and champion for human rights, passionate believer that justice can prevail.  I don't know how I've been living, like a stray, eyes wide shut in a dangerous world, letting someone treat me and talk to me and others in a way I can't accept. I had to cut him out like a cancer and let him go back to his sleeping state in suburban purgatory. Not for me.

I get home and blast the theme Rising.  Michael Turner QC calls. He's shocked by something I tell him, he assures me it will be alright and offers to call the person who is lashing out and in pain. I ask him not to,  this person doesn't belong in our lives. We showed him love and acceptance.  He abused it with easy intimacy and power games.

"Promise me you're going to stop picking men who need saving?" He says, "I'm in Southwark,  I'll see you after court? I'm around." I tell him to send dates to go and see Helena Kennedy so we can plan our book launch for Women vs. The State (UK).

I can't argue with that,  really. No more fixer uppers. "Let me meet your friends first," he offers helpfully.

"Yeh. You really liked Dan." We all did.

"Yes, but you crossed the rubicon,  Farah."

I have a life beyond my wildest dreams, with love and people who remain, through thick and sin. I want all women,  I want my beautiful daughter and her friends to know what safety feels like,  what boundaries and trust with men are about. I want them all to have a great man,  at least one,  who loves them entirely unconditionally,  without judgement when they serially fuck up, like a Michael Turner in their lives.

Mr Gove: in case you're reading this,  our mission this year, one billion women will rise for sex and relationship education to be made compulsory in all schools. We don't care about compost and fractals, empower our children to learn safety in relationships in order to end all forms of violence against women.

To all the women there tonight who made me feel safe again, grounded and in my core, I love everyone of you.  To all the billion women who will be raped across the planet this year,  we will rise for you.

Sometimes you just have to dance it out.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YS8NIBc-z0&feature=youtube_gdata_player


Friday, 27 December 2013

the shape of my heart

This is what love looks like.
Rebuilding broken bridges and seeing things shift which I didn't even dare to dream about.

Truly the best and much, much brighter than me, my sun and my moon.




Thursday, 26 December 2013

Daniel's swansong

And so the end of an affair, and the same questions about why I make appalling choices.  In reality this ended ages ago, but there was still something about his pale blue eyes and how they twinkled when he laughed and how we each came alive, when with each other. I don't mean only sexually.

Sometimes, not often, maybe 3,  I've met a man I thought I could love. There have been others whom I thought I did but the infatuation passes. Or I did indeed love but not in a grown up whole hearted way. Then when they think they have nicely caged my beast and she won't run away or need feeding, or fucking or watering, they flirt with my best friend. They start treating me like a caged bird, rudeness replaces tenderness. The roughness around the edges becomes a cheesegrater to my emotions.

Apologies are thrown about like toffee. It's already too late. My heart turns to stone with finality.

 The lies start. The trying to make me jealous with butch Lesbian rugby players begins, when he accidentally on purpose leaves her picture open on his iPhone. Only he doesn't tell me she's gay. But I don't care. I'm not sexually jealous.

Then something in me recoils, I don't want to be caged. And I certainly don't put wedding rings or GPS satellites on anyone. Freedom to roam is integral, privacy is part of that. Then I realise we're just part of a tsunami of his incoming, that he needs constant distraction and avoidance to stop feeling the cancer of hypocrisy and lies his entire life is cloaked in.  And you (I) became part of that. Unwittingly we are the lie, love vanishes like the delicate crushed violet scent of a fragrant candle lingering the next day. It's just a memory and I crave it and stay, in spite of rudeness,  callousness and blurring all the boundaries between what I know and who I see, this insecure inadequacy standing in front of you.




Then love and desire turn to contempt swiftly, like milk left out over night. When my best friend says "You've been used," the truth slaps me hard in the face. Yes, that is what it was.

Actually I got to a place of resignation in myself, that I had the courage and saw this man's greatness, where perhaps none existed, because there was a gap or perhaps he projected something I think I lack, just for a moment. I stepped into the gap and allowed the vision to become real. But he never could own the reality, he couldn't live up to whatever reflected glory he aspired, I aspired him to.

How glad I am that I got out now, sent him back to his big, fake, God schmearing life, Kermit the frog and mewling family, now and not later.

Affairs. Remind me, not to have them anymore.

Fx





Tuesday, 24 December 2013

and so your sleeve got stained, cos you wore your heart on your sleeve. so Sing!

M: If I'm weird what are you because you are my mother therefore you must also be wird also weird people don't know they're weird and I knoe im weird isnt that weird?

F: Don't be horrid to me.
Is Friday good for lunch?  I'd like to see you and am going to Paris before you.  X

M: You know that painting with the translation of 'This Is Not a Pipe'?
Okay, that sounds cool. (Because it's December and cold?!)

F: What sounds cool sweetypops?  Ceci n'est pas une pipe.
Renee Magritte
Surrealist. French.  Where shall we go for lunch? Tryna book train. Don't be horrible. I have had to end sthng with smne I care about and I feel really sad.

M: Do you want to talk about it?

F: No. Too sad right now. Manchester 3pm? X

M: And sure you're sad now. But remember a time when you where purely happy? You'll feel like that again. But you'll also feel sad again. But the women you work with also feel sad yet they'll be happy soon. And one day you'll find a reason to be smile and cry at the same time and that's when you'll feel infinite. And it's a New Year a new start,  a new smile and a new life, right?
 I'm really bad at making people happy. Mostly because the language I speak is Obnoxious Awkwardalite.

F: YOU always make me happy. Nutter. X

M: Did you get the card + painting? It's really bad and looks like a seven year old swallowed Christmas and vomited all over a poor, innocent canvas. And why a partridge and pear tree? Why not a drunk aunt and cake crumb?

Nuts are delicious and very, VERY good for your health. ;)

F: He's an amazing incredible guy. Just confused and trapped in a yukky world.

M: Yes, well you're an incredible woman who helps people, nobody, not even the goverment will help! What goes around comes around. Someone will help you be happy, next year.
Joke No. 2 though might as well be No. 1. Wanna hear a joke?! The Government. Duh duh sche (awkward drumroll from someone who doesn't know anything about music... so Justin Bieber.)

F: Euww. Gimme Robbie.

M: But I'll be there at 3:30. And oh so you are also tired?  *crying at how lame drumroll* Ma will give me the gift of moving while sitting. AKA: car. So what you doing tonight? And why sad? You don't do love and men, remember? You must be tired. Early night!

F: Missed dinner gonna catch up with friends soon.
Carols at midnight (11pm for oldies really) with a really good friend. And another one and his gorgeous 12 yo girlie. Not as gorgeous  as you of course.
Not sad.
Not tired.
A bit low.
I really liked him.
Proper love.
Not just sex and fun like Jeremy.

M: Ask Izzy if she believes in the Bee Apocalypse because that's how you judge a person. If she transforms your life life Optomis Prime,  and gives you an answer as beautiful as Hayley Williams, then keep her. In a honeypot because Izzy rhymes with Busy. And bees are busy. And bees like honey. Mmm. And sing your heart out so your sleeve is stained because you wore your heart on your sleeve. And sing like you're in the shower because thats when you sing best.

F: WHAT are you on Reenz? Must finish hoovering.  Got a bunch of my waifs and strays coming for lunch 2moro. X

M: Oh and Happy unChristmas. I'm so original.

F: G'nite, my heart. X

M: *WET*


Thursday, 28 November 2013

Best Foot Forward...a winter's tale.

So Tuesday night,  off we trot with some friends to Anton Chernikov's fantastic event "How to be a social entrepreneur," organised by the very brilliant Michael Norton you know, Buzzbnk, CIVA all that good stuff. You must get there for their fascinating series of talks

Michael has an idea based on the talents in the bible: he wants to give us £20 and for us to return £30 having made a profit in a social enterprise in 6 weeks.

We have to team up with people we don't know in real life. Way outside my comfort zone, then.

I "win" Ben Ramsden the genius behind ethical underwearness company Pants to Poverty, the original pantrepreneur who says "we're Facebook friends. That doesn't count,"

 
 

Our *brilliant* idea is BFF or Best Foot Forward. With Michael's generous start up cash (repayable, Ts and Cs apply but we've signed up, anyway,) we're going to buy £20 of eco friendly cleaning products to shine your shoes. You know how *great* you feel when you step out in a new pair of shoes? That's the feeling we want to recreate for you, and in the process we want to rebuild fragmented social bonds and get excluded people involved, too.

Vulnerable women we work with, homeless women, young kids outside of mainstream education,  those who have been excluded from  society, will get paid to shine your shoes before that Christmas party, the all important board meeting, a really hot date so you can put your Best Foot Forward.  They also get a social enterprise in a box, to start their own enterprise empires.

It's by donation (minimum £5) and we're looking for a minimum of 5 pairs of shoes to buff up in a location  so if you and your colleagues fancy a special treat to put a spring in your step, Facebook us, call us, Tweet at us and watch this space as this becomes a million shoe march towards empowerment and shiny shoes!

@farahdamji
@Pantstopoverty

Above are 2 pairs of shoes.
Can you guess. ..