On September 26, 2014 a group of students were on route to Iguala, the capital of the State of Guerrero Mexico, to hold a protest. However, their trip was cut short by the Mexican police who had blocked the roads leading to the Capital. Hell ensued. By next morning, 6 people were dead, 25 more were wounded and 43 students had been forcibly disappeared.
The rest is a surreal story that should belong only to the realm of the dystopian future genre. Yet, stories like this one are common in many parts of the world, including Colombia. Not in the history books of those countries, mind you. Oh no. In their every day reality.
I invite you to read the Wikipedia entry if you dare.
And if you do, I hope it doesn’t escape to you that those students in Guerrero were allegedly planning on attending the upcoming anniversary march of the 1968 student massacre in the Plaza de las Tres Culturas* in Mexico City. How’s that for an irony of fate?
I did a quick Google search for the 43 murdered Mexican students. I used mexico murdered students as key words. Google spat back about 17,600,000 results after 0.65 seconds.
Here’s an excerpt of the results in chronological order, not Google’s hierarchical one.
The newest article** (second first on the list, after the Wikipedia entry) is from November 19.
There are more recent news, of course. But you have to dig deeper to find them. The truth is, America and the rest of the world doesn’t really care.
As the Chicago Tribune aptly puts it:
After the mass murder of these students, Mexico is on the brink. But America is largely oblivious
However, there are 43 families who will never forget. They will grief their children forever. There is no possible comfort for them.
43 young men were forcibly taken, tortured and murdered because they dared to dream of a better future. Because they loved their country and they believed in standing up for justice and in changing things for the better.
Instead, they were betrayed by their own corrupt government. They were handed over to a drug gang by the police under orders of one of Mexico’s elected Mayors.
Let me say that again. They were handed over. To a drug gang. By the police. Under the Mayor’s orders.
People – MY people, continue to be kidnapped, tortured and murdered with impunity. Every day.
The world may not not care but they matter to me.
Every life matters!
* Incidentaly, I visited Plaza de las Tres Culturas in June 1983. I have a picture of myself with the three historical buildings in the background but unfortunately it is currently in storage. Perhaps I’ll add it at a later time. Also, this little bit of history was hidden from us tender tourists by our tour guide.
** Yes, I know one can select “news” instead of “web” when doing a Google search in order to get up to date results but honestly, how many people are aware of this?
And now, for something completely different. It is “Embarrass Your Kids Publicly” time!
There is no such thing as too much when it comes to embarr… er… telling your children you are proud of them.
Being proud of your children doesn’t mean agreeing with everything they do. It’s about supporting them in their life decisions even if you would have made a different one in the same circumstances. It’s being happy for them even if their journey takes them away from you both physically and ideologically.
Because being proud of your children should not – does not, depends on whether they adhere to the same religious or political beliefs you do or whether they get good grades or whether they become famous or important people.
I am very proud of my children because they are not afraid of speaking up and they are not concerned about fitting the mold. Because they are bravely embracing life, mistakes and all. Because they are not afraid of laughing, of crying, of loving immensely and generously.
Truly, a parent can’t ask for more.
This proud moment has been brought to you by whatever they put in the water in Windsor, ON
“This evil happened not in my land, the dead are not my kin…but I share the pain, I suffer the ache.”
Perhaps this phrase explains more accurately what I have been trying to explain. They are no my kin, and yet, they are.
Originally posted on Artist Within Me:
••He woke up that morning only to see darkness!
He- who lived only to see the funeral of his classmates!
He- who might be called lucky, is the unluckiest of all!
He- who will never see his friends again, never will hear them call!••
The apocalypse is no longer a distant propaganda. I WITNESSED IT TODAY.
6 armed demons – enter a school in Pakistan – target the innocent – spray machine-gun fire – howls and screams of children – they run for rescue, all in vain – firing continues – hours later, all that remained was the chaste blood: blood and limbs and torn pieces of children’s flesh.
This evil happened not in my land, the dead are not my kin…but I share the pain, I suffer the ache. The sin that was witnessed is a disgrace on humanity. Blind on revenge, man has committed unjustifiable crimes. Look where…
View original 76 more words
Another day, another tragedy.
Some men walked into a school in Pakistan and massacred over 100 kids and their teachers.
I just can’t go about my day knowing that so many mothers and fathers are mourning their children right now. I just can’t. And the fact that it is getting so little media coverage compared to other news just adds to my pain.
I often ask people why is it that they don’t say much or anything at all about this kind of despicable acts.
I am often told something like this:
I can’t watch the news. I’ve been told I don’t care about important issues, but it just hurts too much. I can’t process such cruelty.
It is not that I don’t care. It’s that I care too much. I avoid watching things I can do nothing about.
And then there is the nagging feeling that some things are not talked about as much because they happen in parts of the world that matter less. Very disturbing. Continue reading
A cat purring on your lap is more healing than any medicine in the world, as the vibrations you are receiving are of pure love and contentment.- Author unknown
This quote usually -but most likely erroneously, attributed to Francis of Assisi, fully exemplifies my day yesterday.
I spent the whole day with Jay by my side, with a healthy sprinkling of kneading, purring and headbutts by my new friend, sweet miss Patches.
I didn’t go out at all. Which makes me feel guilty because I didn’t go looking for Satchie. But on the other hand, today I am in a lot less pain, which is always nice. My body needed the break, for sure.
But most of all, I am in a much better state of mind today. Being reunited with Jay has made a huge difference. Even if he had to go through the stress of being in yet another brand new place, the third one in the same week. I hate putting him through all this but I would like to think that being with me also helps him. He’s starting to settle by now and I love to hear his heartwarming cooing every time I touch him or call out his name.
I am still worried, of course. I am still heartbroken and my heart won’t heal until I have Satchie again with me. I am still anxious about not having secured a place for January 1st. I am still angry that I will have to spend the holidays alone because of some stupid Border agent.
But I now know that this too shall pass and that eventually things will be okay.
Yeah, yeah, you were all right. You all knew I would. Even I knew I would.
Damn. I’m too stubborn to give up even when I try to convince myself that I do want to give up. I hate it but there’s nothing I can do. Millions of years of evolution hang heavily on me. We are all wired to survive no matter the pain.
That’s where it’s at!
Oh, and coffee. Let’s not forget coffee. Thanks to my current host for welcoming me with a cup of coffee and to the fiance for bringing me some of that good old Colombian magic beans!
I decided to write this FAQs because I keep being asked the same questions by well-meaning people.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not being snarky. Or having rock star delusions. I am simply under severe stress and just one step away from doing that thing that makes people uncomfortable when spoken out loud. So if you asked and I gave you a link to this post as an answer, please don’t take it personal.
FAQs about Claudia being in Windsor, ON
Q: Why did you move to Windsor? Or its most common variant, why would you leave beautiful Ottawa to come to Windsor of all places?
A: For love. My fiance lives in Lansing, MI. The commute from Lansing to Ottawa is too long and too difficult when you struggle with anxiety and/or panic attacks. Windsor is as close as I can be to Lansing without leaving Canada.
Q: Why did you come to Windsor without first having found an apartment?
A: Because I actually had a plan which was not by any stretch of the imagination, being stranded in Windsor. When it became obvious I wouldn’t have a place for December 1st (having to vacate my Ottawa place on November 30th), I decided to put everything in storage in Windsor, and then continue to Lansing. The initial plan was to come to Windsor, get settled at the new place, stay here for a week or two and THEN head to Lansing to spend the Holidays with the fiance and the Sidlets. Going straight to Lansing on the same day wasn’t too much of a deviation of the plan anyway, so that’s what we did.
Q: Why are you still here, then? Continue reading
All I want for christmas is…
How many times it has been said.
A dad. A job. Love. A house. A promotion. A raise. A miraculous remission. Those skates. That bike. A pair of shoes for my daughter so she doesn’t have to walk barefoot to school. For the war to end. For that bastard to die.
I, too, have said it from time to time. Not every christmas. Most years, I had everything I needed. It seemed ungrateful to ask for more.
As this year’s christmas approaches, I sure have a few things I wish for. [All I want for christmas is] For this stupid farce of a life to end, for example. Continue reading
I hate life.
There I said it.
I have spent decades finding gratefulness for what little I had. No parents? oh, who needs parents anyway, I can totally fend for myself. Pain? Oh, at least I have a roof under my head and I have food on my belly. Being told that everything is in my head? Oh at least I have my books and a great imagination. I can always escape to better worlds in my mind when nobody is looking.
I have tried to find strength and peace in the beauty of the little things. The birds coming to my balcony. My cats. Later on, when I finally made it to Canada, the falling leaves, the snow. The squirrels and chipmunks. The groundhogs. The Rideau canal. Swing Dancing.
But the truth is my life has been crap since day one. I was born extreme premature and spent the first months of my life in an incubator. The doctors told my mother not to get too attached to me because I most likely wouldn’t make it. And yet I did. I am pretty sure some god(s) with a lot of time in their hands and a very twisted and sick sense of humour had something to do with that. Perhaps they even made bets on how long I was going to last after all the things they had in store for me.
I spent my the first two years of my life in and out of the hospital and after that in an out of the pediatrician’s office with recurrent ear and throat infections which are the cause of my bilateral hearing loss.
I had no friends, as it is so common for children from very dysfunctional family environments.
Nonetheless, I puttered along. Hating every minute of it. Continue reading
Of pain life is made
intense pain and grief.
In pain we are born
and in pain we leave.
We may loudly profess
our chains we can break
But the embrace of the shackles
no, that, we can’t shake.
Hoodwinked and confounded
we reach for the stars
forgetting our fetters
despite the old scars.
Cruel are the gods
always laughing at us
hurdles and moats
putting in our paths
And what do we get?
and for what, I do ask
well, nothing but pain
now, where is that mask?
Who mourns our losses,
who dries our tears?
We’re here to entertain them
throughout the long years.
Surviving is not living
but that’s all we can do
and then one day, maybe
we will be gods too.
I moved from Ottawa to Windsor last night. My precious Satchie got out of the Motel room we were staying at. She is a female DSH brown tabby. She’s spayed but not microchipped (what was I thinking?) and wasn’t wearing a collar. We spotted her under a porch in a house nearby but she got away and into an empty field. PLEASE IF YOU KNOW CAT RESCUERS IN WINDSOR, ONTARIO, PASS ALONG THIS MESSAGE. We need help retrieving her as she’s not coming to my call.
She escaped from the Royal Windsor Inn & Suites 2100 Huron Church Rd. Windsor, ON N9C 2L5. Presumably she’s still in the area.
Here is my contact info.
Phone number: 613-882-5837
Email is the best way to contact me as I still have an Ottawa number and I’ll get charged long distance rates.