Merry Fucking Christmas bitches!

So Christmas is in a couple of weeks. Hur-facking-ray. You may not be surprised to learn that I'm not really what you would call a Christmas person. Christmas songs in November, oh just kill me now. Cleaning the house for Christmas, because you can't clean the house in March? Buying presents for more than you can ever afford, really?

Have a holly jolly Christmas, It's the best time of the year

Oh shut up Michael Bublé, changing the CD to Wu-Tang Clan. Because I'm a badass. Here's a Christmas song for ya with some a-tude, happy B-day Jesus!

It's not really that I don't like Christmas, I actually like the idea of sitting down to spend time with your loved ones, forgetting all about work (if you have the luxury of not working on Christmas, I have worked oh so many times) and watching candles flicker in the dark. I don't mind baking gingerbread and eating the dough 'til my stomach hurts. I don't mind decorating the Christmas tree (even though I'm allergic too them and we've only had plastic trees for the last many years). So what is it about Christmas that I so despise?

Christmas Russia style. I spent Christmas with these East European badasses in the city that never sleeps.
Best. Christmas. Ever. (PS. these dudes were super nice even though they might look like they be packing a Glock 38)

Before I answer this gut-wrenching question, let me tell you what I did today. I was at my apartment that is currently a mess of concrete floors, broken walls, lacking everything that makes a place liveable. We were working on making it closer to liveable with my paps and suddenly it came to me: it doesn't matter what the inside looks like, what really matters is what floor tiles I choose, what extravagant wallpaper I put up, what expensive lamps I buy. The only thing that matters is the outside, the shell, what is visible to the eye.

I'm proud of the interior design in my apartment, especially of the expensive lamp.
The colors I also think are very nice, concrete grey is the new black, I hear.

If you took the time to read my last post you might wonder how I can, on the one hand, write that longer lashes don't matter when you are living on a waste dump and, on the other hand, write that the only thing that matters is how it looks on the outside. Because that is the truth, whether I like it or not. And here you have the answer to the earlier question. Why do I loath Christmas? People. People is the reason I don'l like Christmas. Or more accurately, what people do.

People want to show off their best sides. This is a fact. They only let you see what they want you to see. The same goes for apartments and Christmas. We want to make it look good. Buying a lot of presents tells others that you have the money to do it. Hence, you are successful (or you might also just be a really nice person that is very giving, mostly I would say it's a combination of the two). The more you buy, the better. And the stores are happy as ever, Holly Jolly Christmas, buy all of our shit! Perhaps one reason we like reality TV so much is because we then see the true colors of people. It's impossible to keep up a facade 24/7.

"My nipples won't stay in my shirt" and "my vagina's killing me" says Snooki from Jersey Shore who's probably a really smart person in real life.

Look at these hoes and whatever  the term is for man-hoes. I am certain these are all wonderful and intelligent
people that I can learn to respect and look up to. I would also love for all kids to watch this show, it probably
teaches a lot about a lot of stuff that is, like, really super important.

Look at these pros.

Look at these clothes.

Look at this dough.

Look at this go, looking evil.

Look at me then look at these hoes.

These bitches ain't fucking with me. Killa!

Thank you Santigold for these beautiful words! As Aretha would put it, R E S P E C T. But back to my question, why I sneer at Christmas. I told you it was people, but I think it's more society than people. Personally I feel society has forgotten what Christmas is really about. See, it's not about the presents and the food and gingerbread (okay, it's a little bit about the food and the gingerbread), it's about spending time with the people you love. It's about taking time out of your busy life to sit down and do nothing. It's about remembering to forget stress, not stressing about what you've forgotten.

This pic is from last Christmas. My eyes are a little red from all the Christmas beer I drank. Sorry 'bout that.

I know kids love presents, I'm not saying you can't buy presents. This is just a reminder to You, yeah I'm looking at You, to take a chill pill. Last year I gave my family members letters, nothing else. Well okay, I also gave my sister a glove I had accidentally stole from her, but that's IT. I promise. So this Christmas, instead of stressing about food, cleaning and presents with red bows, focus on giving the best gift you can ever give: time. Give time to your friends, give time to your family and, most importantly, give time to yourself. Don't let society make you who you are, make society what you are. Giving is never wrong, but giving isn't always about buying the most expensive present, giving can be so many things. This year I'm continuing my new tradition of giving nothing. I'm gonna spend time with family, I'm gonna eat lots of chocolate and gingerbread, I'm not making one single red bow, using no wrapping paper and instead of Michael Bublé, I'll be singing Merry Fucking Christmas by Mr Garrison.

Yet again, hoping I haven't depressed you to the brink of X-mas suicide, Christmas is really not all bad. Look, even I get excited about big red balls. But then again, who wouldn't?

Last but not least, Merry Fucking Christmas bitches! Red Balls over and out.

The things you own end up owning you

A few days ago I saw a talk show, hosted by the almighty Sarasvuo (a well known Finnish businessman), presenting Arman Alizad as one of the guests. Arman told the audience about his experiences in Cambodia, a touching story with videoclips from his show were he travels and puts himself in uncomfortable surroundings. This got me thinking about my own time in Cambodia and I realised I have yet to tell you about my experiences. Experiences that changed my life.

Cambodia offers visitors plenty of beauty, one example is Ankor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world

Before I continue my story, I would like you, dearest reader, to make yourself a cup of tea and strip yourself of all prejudice, relieve yourself of all stress. This post is not aimed to make anyone feel sad or bad, but simply an honest attempt to share a time in my life that touched and shaped me in a way no other experience ever have, and probably ever will. It is a careful attempt of lessons learned, so sit down and enjoy the ride.

When I turned 20, I suddenly realized this world makes no sense. What is the meaning of life and what good does my existence do? With all the wisdom of a 20-year old, I decided that I was to do something. Anything. My goal was to help someone at some point with something. If I could do that, my life would not have been in vain. Pretty deep for a 20-year old, I admit, but then again the world looks different at 20 then it does at 27. I found an organisation online called The Centre for Children's Happiness. It is a Cambodian orphanage run by a Cambodian man, who himself was an orphan. Or is. I guess that is something you can never grow out of. So I decided this was the place I was going to go to bring some meaning back in my life.

The purest kind of joy

This orphanage takes in children mostly from a waste dump in Phnom Penh called Steung Meanchey. Around 2000 people live at this waste dump, collecting garbage that they sell to make just enough money to make it through the day. Or not. They go through the burning rubbish to find a plastic bottle or peace of aluminium to sell off. Most of the children at the orphanage come from this godforsaken place. I visited the waste dump a few times my self. I don't think I need to further explain the smell of burning rubbish, air so thick with smoke it hurts both lungs and eyes, children literally walking in shit, barefoot. You all get the picture of hell on earth, you all have an imagination after all.

Lesson # 1
Poverty is a concept that can vary depending on the surroundings. Selling garbage on a waste dump is poverty. Living of social services can also be poverty, but the difference is quite striking. 

Now if history is not your thing, let me recap the history of Cambodia for you. It starts with the Khmer Empire at around 800 AD and continues with king this and emperor that. I don't really much care for this part. In the mid-19th century, it became a protectorate by the French and gained independence in 1953. However, the interesting, and heartbreaking story, starts in 1975, when the Khmer Rouge (the Red Khmers) with Pol Pot as their leader, took Phnom Penh. Basically the idea was to torture and kill all educated people. Robert Kaplan, a well known American journalist said "eyeglasses were as deadly as the yellow star" as they were seen as a sign of intelligence.

Skulls organised by gender and age at the Killing Fields. These were real people.
Real people murdered by the Khmer Rouge

It is estimated that roughly two million were killed during the genocide. That means the Khmer Rouge killed around a quarter of the population. Two million of their own. For wearing glasses. The era gave rise to the term Killing Fields, or mass graves. Just outside Phnom Penh you can find one of these mass graves turned in to a memorial. Walking around the now lush field, you can still see peaces of bones and clothing sticking out of the ground.

Lesson # 2
There is more cruelty in this world then I could ever imagine. Doctors, teachers, engineers, lawyers. All dead and buried. I have lived through no war, no genocide, no tragedy. I have lived a sheltered life and know nothing about such tragedies.

So far we have genocide, waste dumps, orphans and extreme poverty. If you don't feel depressed enough, do not despair, there is more to come. Below you can enjoy part of an episode of Madventures, a Finnish travel show produced by Riku Rantala and Tunna Milonoff.

The video gets interesting at around 2.20, when the boys find themselves at Steung Menchei, aka godforsaken place. In case you feel you don't have time in your busy life to look at this video (no, not trying to guilt trip you at all), I'll write down one comment from this video.

- Who the fuck has the nerve to say that the rich western countries could not, and should not, help more? Do something about this already!

In case some of you didn't catch that, I'll repeat it

Who the fuck has the nerve to say 

that the rich western countries 

could not, and should not, help more? 

Do something about this already!

Now set down your warm cup of chamomile tea and take ten seconds to think about a good explanation, just one good explanation.

One. Two. Three. Four. Oh fuck it. Did you think of one? No? You know why? Because there is none.

We live in a society where 38 percent longer lashes and two times the softer skin is the bed time story. A society that praises a big salary and encourages us to buy more useless shit we don't need from stores that should never exist in the first place. Pardon my language, but what the fuck? Do you really think 38 percent longer lashes will help the children walking barefoot through burning shit? If you can afford a TV, if you can afford a car, if you can afford a roof over your head, please explain how you cannot afford to help?

Still enjoying that nice cup of chamomile tea?

Lesson # 3
Helping others is not a matter of resources. It is a matter of time and care.

Now let me ask you, have you ever gotten a birthday present? I have gotten many. I can even remember a few of them. Especially this red bike I got once. It was a really nice bike. I learned a lot of things at the Cambodian orphanage. One thing I learned, from a twelve year old, was that she had never gotten a birthday present. She cried when she got a watch for her twelfth birthday. Another thing I learned was that a boy had hiked from the countryside with his baby brother to live at the waste dump after their parents died. He was eight when that happened.

Would you rather drive a BMW than that old Toyota? Still lacking that iPad?

Let's forget about the godforsaken place for a while and travel back to circa 1490. All of you know the Vitruvian Man, a drawing created by Leonardo da Vinci. It depicts a male figure and is based on the correlations of ideal human proportions described by the ancient Roman architect Vitruvius. The ideal body, supposedly, should be eight heads high. Imagine this. Already the ancient Romans knew what the ideal body should look like, eight heads high. A body so ideal, every inch is perfect. Every stray of hear, every muscle and every vain. All perfect. Now turn on your TV, or actually don't, but imagine the commercial you see when you do turn it on. Fast cars, posh clothes, dyed hair, wrinkle free faces and cream for the ones that are wrinkled. You can buy beauty, you can buy success, you can even buy bigger tits. Anything your heart desires, you can buy.

Up to a 65 % lift. Don't just apply, style your lashes!

It is better to be beautiful than to be good. But ... it is better to be good than to be ugly.
- Oscar Wilde

Now lets go back to Cambodia. Erase the big tits and imagine these black haired darlings, playing games with old shoes and sticks. One girl, Srey Leah her name was, she hardly knew any English, despite my brave efforts to teach her. Everyday she would come up to me and ask the same question with her jentle girly voice: Cecilaia, teach English today? And every day I would answer her: yes, teach English today. One day she came up to me with something in her hands. It was a peace of paper. But it was not any peace of paper. It was a beatiful peace of origami paper that this young orphan, that owned hardly anything, gave me. I almost fell to small peaces of origami paper right there and then. My throguht choked, my eyes filled with tears. She then ran off, picked up a shoe and started playing the same old game the children played every day. I still have this peace of paper. I've held on to it for over seven years, cherishing the memory it resembles to remind me of what really matters in life.

The things you own end up owning you.

Wise words. You could think these words were said by a very wise man or woman. It is in fact a movie character, Tyler Durden, but I guess you already knew that, smart as you are.

Lesson # 4
Stuff is useless. Beauty fades, dumb is forever.

May I remind you, this post is not intended to make anyone feel sad or bad. Before I depress the living bejesus out of you, let me tell you there is hope. There is a glimmer of goodness left in this world.

The thing about happiness, that mothers, teachers and old wise men will tell you, is that it cannot be bought. Much like love, friendship and other useless crap we are taught do not matter if you have 38 percent longer lashes, happiness too is not tangible. It does not come in pink wrapping and cannot be bought by the pound. Also, it is not dependent on tangible things. See the kids in the above picture? I guess they are hard to miss, I made the picture extra large. Srey Mom, the girl in the red shirt, had only just arrived at the orphanage when I came to Cambodia. She had no parents, no siblings, she owned nothing and she did not have 38 percent longer lashes. What se did have is joy. Love. Happiness. Friendship. Dreams. Hope.

So lets wrap it up. Cambodia, orphanage, children playing with old shoes, fast cars and bigger tits. What does this all mean? The thing that happened to me in Cambodia, as I resently told someone, was that I came back a happier person. Why? Because my happiness is not measured in materia. I am not happier or less happy if I can buy this or that, not to say buying shit sometimes feels really good. The thing is, once you are stripped of everything, once you have lost the ideal body and your lashes are no longer 38 percent longer, once you stop letting your job or your chateaus and chandeliers define you, all we have left is what is in our hearts.

Strip yourself of prejudice, releaf yourself of stress. Let go of the things that never really mattered anyway. That one peace of origami paper defines me. It has defined me since that day and will keep on defining me till the day I draw my last breath. I will continue to cherish it for all that it is and all it is not. My lashes are not 38 percent longer, but my happiness and love are 100 percent bigger, stronger and faster. How 'bout that sales pitch?

Lesson # 5
The things you own end up owning you. Don't let them.

Picture perfect paradise

This is by far the hardest post I’ve written so far. I’m struggling to find the words, to express myself. Why? Because I just spent two weeks in paradise. If you look up “tropical paradise” in the Oxford dictionary, I’m sure you’ll find a picture of Havelock Island in there. Just when I thought India couldn’t get any better, India showed me how horribly wrong I was. And it’s not just a tropical paradise, but also a quiet one. You can sit at the beach for hours without anyone around. However, a couple of days after my arrival, the island didn’t seem so quiet any more. It was time for Holi, the color festival in India. The war was on…

Holi girl

Holi warrior boy

Holi is mainly a North Indian festival where people go around throwing colors on one and another and I thought it wouldn’t be celebrated on the islands. Boy was I wrong. We were walking to the market when we realize we were in the middle of a war. Kids with guns filled with red and green ammo, aiming at our still spotless clothes, we realize we aren’t going to make it. We are going to be colorful before the war is over. Very colourful.

At the market it self, the atmosphere is vibrating with music and colorful people dancing around. “Way too clean” I hear someone say and next thing I know I got a hand full of blue in my face.

No one is safe! Except the spotless policemen handing out candy in the street.

The first time I get hit by The Bucket of purple water I’m thinking, “this can’t be happening”. By the third bucket or so I don’t even bother. After a few hours of Holi, we’re pretty exhausted and pretty colorful as well.

The result of The Holi War

At the time, I was a blond. Several months after Holi, I still had pink stripes in my hair.

Not so blond any more...

The next day we go to beach # 7. The beaches and villages have the exiting names of Village # 1, Beach # 5, Village # 6 ½ (no, I’m not joking) and so on. Beach # 7 has been named best beach in Asia and it is not hard to see why. At the end of the beach is a lagoon of crystal clear water changing from a light turquoise to the deepest blue. The white sand feels warm under my feet and the whole beach is lined with a green jungle. The beach where we are staying, beach # 5, has a different beauty. It is lined with trees that are pretty much growing on the beach, thick branches resting at the edge of the water. Words like beautiful, scenic, mesmerizing all fall short, there are no words to describe this beauty.

Beach # 5

The island has a nice vibe to it too. One night we enjoyed a couple of live acts with travellers from all around the island gathering in one place, the smell of cigarettes and sweat filling the evening air, purple haired and sunburned people sipping on beer, sitting on the hard wooden floor, mosquito bites itching, music filling the entire space. It feels magical and the evening simply makes me very, very happy. Another night we arrange a small campfire at Summer Camp Havelock, as we like to call our little community at the El Dorado resort, sitting around the fire singing kumbaya, roasting marshmallows. Ok, so the kumbaya is replaced by my Canadian friend’s compositions and the roasted marshmallows by a not so chilled Kingfisher...

Summer Camp Havelock!

You hear people say they go to India to “find yourself”, whatever that is supposed to mean. That’s not the reason I came to India, but I must admit I did find a piece of me that had been lost for a very long time. It happened on my last day in Havelock. I left for beach # 7 early in the morning, taking a jeep instead of the bus for once. Watching the scenery that makes postcards look ugly and dull from the back of the jeep with some crazy Hindi pop song blasting through the speakers I arrive and do the 15 minute walk to the lagoon. I’m sitting under a tree watching the waves wash up on shore and it hits me. I feel infinitely happy and my life feels fulfilled. At this very moment I feel no cravings, I'm longing for nothing, perfectly and utterly content with my life as it is. I guess a couple of weeks in paradise will do that to you! With that I would like to thank Picture Perfect Paradise and all the people who shared the place with me. Thank you!

Beach # 7 at sundown

So that's my worthless story of paradise. For some awesome pictures on Holi I'm hoping my favorite American will post sooner rather then later, go to mattwicks.wordpress.com, because a picture is, after all, worth a thousand words!

Brach # 5