#FuckCancer

A couple of months ago I wrote a post, #FuckCoke. This is not the same. This post fucks posts like that over, tears their soul out, throws it in a ditch, pours a spoonful of contempt over it and leaves it to rot. Warning given, continue at your own risk.

I have a colleague. I hope she won't mind me writing about her, but she keeps a blog (in Swedish) of her own where she writes about her struggles, so I'm going to assume she doesn't. She inspires me, which is why I want to share some of her story to remind us of a silly little thing called life.

Some time has passed since she found out she has leukemia. It is not the first time she gets these news. She has been sick before. I was at a happiness seminar at work when my boss tells me to come upstairs. Talk about life's irony. We learn she won't be coming back for a long time. Silence. Shock. Tears.

I know she's been writing her blog, but I can't bring myself to read it. I know that when I finally do, it won't be pretty and so I put it off like a coward. Like a scared little mouse I hide from the words that I know will snap around my neck like a mousetrap, suffocating me in despair. So I keep putting it off, pretending it's not there. Until yesterday.

Who Will Comfort Toffle? by Tove Jansson

I make the utter foolish mistake of reading her blog and it's like the light of day disappears, like the earth is emptied of life, leaving only anguish. I read her words that turn to a blurry smudge while tears fill my eyes. I feel guilty for my tears. How do I dare cry when she is the one in the hospital? I want to throw the computer out the window, scream to this cruel world that breeds sickness and hate and disease. Why are people who spread so much light beaten down time and time again? I curl up under my covers, feel helpless. It's so unfair.

It's so fucking unfair!

In one of her posts she talks about a story, Who Will Comfort Toffle. Toffle is piteous little creature alone in a dark and scary world. She says she feels like Toffle. Alone in her hospital bed at night she feels the heaviness of the dark, the weight of her fear. My heart twitches and wrenches while reading her words. I feel contempt toward the world, toward the entire universe. People are literally running through life and for what?

It is like we do not realize that life is right in front of us, in every heartbeat. In every moment. Do we only understand that when our heart is threatening no longer to beat? When the moment in front of us may be the very last. Is it the irony of life, the wickedness of our existence that we only learn to appreciate life once it threatens to leave us?

The world needs Jenni!

A couple of weeks ago I see my news feed on Facebook fill up with the same picture. I go to her timeline and I'm breathless. A sunflower with the words "Fuck Cancer" written on it, and over it "The world needs Jenni". I keep scrolling down but the pictures never seem to end, forming a virtual garden of sunflowers. Her friends, family and others that feel the need to show their appreciation of her, have taken pictures of themselves wearing a "Fuck Cancer" shirt. They have all changed their profile picture to this picture and tagged her in it to fill her profile with flowers.

Someone might say that this is the power of social media, but I disagree. This is the power of people who care. Of people who still give a shit about a silly little thing called life. Of people who stop to take time to give, not wanting anything in return. Except perhaps that God step down from heaven for a while to take one look at this beautiful person and stop this twisted game.

The Virtual Garden

I keep reading her blog. I can taste her sickness while my throat thickens. But then she does what she always does. She dazzles with her positive attitude, amazes with her spirit, puts us all to shame with her incredible fire. She answers her own question. Who will comfort Toffle? Everyone, she says.

Everyone. Always. All the time.

Whatever you were doing before you started reading this, whatever you were thinking, by now I'm guessing you're thinking one of two things. One, you think I'm an emotional wreck of a person and you can't believe you wasted all this time reading this sentimental crap. If this is the case I suggest you stop reading right now, I promise you it won't get any better. On the other hand, you might be thinking that your own struggles and problems are worthless crap compared to the struggles of a woman, fighting cancer for the third time. Fighting for her life. It's not. Everything that you feel is important in your life is. However, there are a few things to consider before closing the Internet and going back to glance at the newspaper while watching The Biggest Looser and tweeting about whatever is hot right now.

First, life is so fucking precious. Every day you wake up is a victory. Everyday should be memorable. Second, why are we in such a hurry all the time? The more we hurry, the faster the end will come. Instead, slow down and enjoy the moment. Third, every single thought of hate or anger is one less thought of love or compassion, so concentrate on the good, not the bad. And last, your life is now. Every second you use on unimportant crap is one less second lived, so use every second wisely. Care. Feel. Hope. Give. Love. Dream. Laugh.

She inspires me with her words, with her positivism, with her life. Even in her struggles she inspires me. With every vibrating muscle, every inch of my body I hope for her recovery. There is nothing I can do, except hope and believe that she's gonna be OK, because the world needs people that fill it with good. That Care. That Feel. That Hope. That Gives. That Loves. That Dreams. That Laughs.

The world does need Jenni.

#FuckCancer

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.