Confessions of a Chick in Paris

Confessions of a Chick in Paris

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Slowing Down Time, From Paris to Italy…

April 18, 2017

It all started on an early morning in Paris…

I’d been sleeping over at a friend’s apartment, as one sometimes does when the friend is in fact a best friend you’re potentially obsessed with (and someone whose presence you feel lucky to enjoy for every second that it’s available).

On that early morning, the best friend was already going about his early routine, on account of his pets and also his psycho internal clock (if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for calling you a psycho). I stirred awake, my attention drawn to the sound of his podcast or non-fiction web series or what have you (EDIT: an episode of Strange Mysteries). I only heard muffled bits and pieces like “slow down time” and “the age of your consciousness,” but it was enough to drag me out of bed to find out more.

I shuffled down the corridor with my hair all askew and only one eye squinted open, since I’m either a vampire or a bitch who hates the world before her morning caffeine (it’s still up for debate). I may have also hissed like a cobra.

I swung the bedroom door open, and as I watched him happily fold his laundry in the way that early-morning psychos do (sorry once more if you’re reading this), I listened more intently to the words flowing out of the iPad. The explanations were technical at times, but here is a summary of what I heard:

…As we go through life, our consciousness ages along with us, and the older we get, the more exponential and rapid the aging of the consciousness becomes. As you can imagine, I found this fact to be deeply disturbing, and although I was very tempted to grab my phone and google “consciousness botox,” I decided to keep on listening.

Okay…so the aging of our abstract self/soul/being or however you want to call it was explained to me as such: when you are four years old, one year represents an entire quarter of your life. And so, as this child of four, you perceive one year to be extremely long in duration. This explains why childhood summers seem endless, and why the joy of building snow forts can last for hours without a semblance of feeling cold. In other words, when a year is 25% of your life, time feels slow.

Fast forward to being say…30 years old, and one year is approximately 3% of your life. 3% eh? What’s 3%? Basically nothing, that’s what. Using that logic…if a year is only 3%, then a month is minuscule, and a week is even less. And guess what happens when time represents so little: it flies. Which basically means…when you’re an adult and time flies, you’re getting exponentially older and barrelling through life on a rocket headed straight towards death…

HOLY. SHIT.

Best friend and I froze as we had our realization. “Wait a minute…” we said. “Is this why we always hear adults saying ‘where did the time go?’ Or ‘it’s like I blinked and suddenly summer’s over’?  Or ‘I feel like nothing happened this year and it’s already almost another new year’s eve.’ Is this WHY?!?!?!? 

I was about to have a nervous breakdown, but we kept on listening, and the next thing we heard was a little more promising. The episode talked about how slowing down time would slow down the aging of our consciousness, allowing us to stay “young at heart,” if you will. It went back to describing children, and how they value play and carry with them a sense of wonder, which gives every moment and minute the chance to be fascinating. And so the theory was…if we do more with every hour and every day, time will feel slower, and slower, and slower…ultimately keeping our consciousness “young” and prolonging our abstract life (and hopefully that can also erase eye wrinkles too? Yet to be tested and proven).

The episode then got crazy and talked about stopping time altogether, but then it was getting into “black hole” topics and I hadn’t had my coffee so we turned it off.

Afterwards I couldn’t stop thinking about it. For days it was on my mind. Then I started testing it out, just with the littlest things. I started enjoying nature more…making more plans to see friends…eating more meals without Netflix in the background, and so on and so forth. I’m not going to pretend that within a week I anti-aged my consciousness to resemble a nubile fourteen-year-old, but I have to admit, the more things I did with my days, even when it was just doing more interesting things while alone, the more that my days started to feel a little longer.

And then it got much bigger than that.

How so, you ask? (or probably not but you feel obligated to finish reading this?) Well, since you asked, I never would’ve been so spontaneous as to plan a long weekend in Italy with only 20 hours notice, if I hadn’t listened to this episode about slowing down time. There’s just no way I would’ve done that, since I’m a PLANNER and an ANALYZER; it’s simply not in my nature to quickly pick up and go somewhere by myself.

But I did it.

I’ve only been back for two days, but that 3-day weekend in Italy legitimately felt like two weeks. When I returned it was with an exhausted sigh, as if I hadn’t seen Paris for ages. And even despite the crappier weather, I felt like I’d missed belle Paris.

Were my days feeling slower because I’d enjoyed every minute in Italy?

I believe that’s true, which for me, makes this more than just a theory…

To be fair, I’m certainly not saying that all of life’s stresses are solved by running off for a long weekend getaway (sure they are, YOLO!), but it seems to be true that the more you do in a day that’s outside of your subconscious routine, the more you will immerse yourself in actual conscious life, and therefore, the more you will savour every minute. I know this isn’t always easy to do, since there are deadlines and obligations and responsibilities, and no we are not the same as four-year-old children who can play in the sun all day, I get that. Still, imagine for a second all the time we spend thinking about what’s lacking, or worrying about what hasn’t happened, or trying to plan for something later that distracts you from today. I’m not saying I’m any better, because I do it too. Despite that, lately I’ve been thinking about: what would happen to my day if I spent even one less hour watching Netflix because I’m lazy? Or one less hour replaying a bad conversation in my head? Or one less hour wondering why my life hasn’t progressed at the rate of my dreams or compared to others? Or one less hour punishing myself for the times in the past I stole a heart but couldn’t keep it? (please stay with me on this abstract plane, since I’m not referring to an actual stolen organ in a cooler)

When I think about how I could change the way I use my time even just a little, and make my words and actions towards others just a little more meaningful, I already feel like so much more could happen in a day. I guess what I’m saying is…when we do what we say and say what we mean, without the games and the pride and the coolness, I suspect life becomes more genuine and real, like this actual thing you’re inside of, rather than a show starring you, a performance you’re just observing from start to finish, until the credits roll and the lights go out and oh guess what you’re a corpse, too late to rewind all those past regrets now! (morbid tough love, I know, but hey, I didn’t promise you roses)

So that’s what’s been on my mind. And the fact that the food in Italy is as amazing as everyone says.. 🙂

Now as a disclaimer: when I talk about saying what you mean, which implies being true to yourself and others, I’m not suggesting that we behave TOO honestly. For example, when pushed into a corner, I will always say a baby is cute, even if I secretly believe it resembles a miniature old man, and I will always say someone’s haircut is good, even if it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen (except when it comes to a certain world leader’s hideous carpet of hair, but that is a different blog post I will never write, because well..fuck that guy). I would expect the same lies in return, a.k.a. thank you for all the compliments on my February haircut! So yes, we need small lies for society to function, but it’s when it comes to the “big things,” the “life things,” I think that’s when we should always be true, because it makes the ride more real, and the time spent living it more meaningful.

So do that. And eat lasagne in Italy. And that’s all.

Until next time, ciao bitches, and here are a few pics from beautiful Milan (and the picture at the top is Genova which is beautiful too).

 

 

Love Notes to Paris on a Cloudy Day…

November 13, 2016 3 Comments

There are many ways to mark a sombre day, and for me…quiet reflection is a warm-up exercise to focusing on the good, so I’ll spend this time sharing aspects of Paris I’ve loved in recent days…

***

…I love how in Paris in the briefest moments, you can end up having random conversations with absolute strangers in a way that leaves you with a smile. This happens to me more in Paris than in any other city, and even extends to the seemingly rigid and soul-less guards that protect President Hollande’s residence.

The moment I’m referring to traces back to last Sunday, when my best friend and I, with our tired wobbly legs, were returning from our running group’s 10km affair (another thing I love about Paris: running groups that force you out of your lazy slumber). We decided to make our return along the ultra posh Rue de Faubourg Saint-Honoré, because we were, after all, dressed in our ridiculous running clothes, and sometimes we enjoy breaking convention by making a scene :-).

Along the way down “designer lane,” we approached the president’s residence. Before passing by, we were stopped by one of the guards. I wasn’t surprised, as we certainly stood out, but when we told him of our Canadian and Mexican origin, he immediately seemed to warm up to us (maybe “President Dump” can learn something from this…).

The next thing I knew, we had become best friends with this guard, sharing our hopes and dreams, he in his perfect French, and me with French sentences spoken in Canadian tones. He didn’t seem to mind.

His name is Thierry.

Thierry composes music in his free time.

Thierry hopes to one day write the musical scores for films produced in France.

Thierry is a dreamer.

Now for all you cynics out there, you’re probably wondering how Thierry can protect the president and surrounding citizens, when he’s busy telling my friend and I all about his hopes and dreams. It’s a common concern, but let me assure you that while Thierry’s eyes sparkled as he shared his most profound wishes, those shining eyes never once stopped surveying the scene around him. And his hands never loosened their grip on his intimidating automatic weapon. So take heart, concerned Parisians, Thierry understands his responsibilities. I hope I see his name in the credits of a film one day, because even though he’ll otherwise always be a stranger, for a brief moment, through Thierry we accessed the hope that lives in all people. And it’s something that happens to me often in Paris…

…Wow, that was a long love note. Thierry is clearly an attention whore. Well the rest of my notes are much shorter…

…I love how when it’s cold in Paris, and your nose is running from the cold, and you know you have a long way to walk, and you have every opportunity to be miserable, you’ll encounter some beautiful part of Paris you’ve seen many times, only that then, in that specific moment, in the right light, and with the absence of a crowd…what your eyes observe will silence all your bitchy complaining. There are many beautiful cities, but when it comes to the abundance of beauty, this quality is specific to Paris, where seemingly around every corner, there lies some stunning architecture, or a charming street, or endearing shops, and I could go on and on…

…I love how Paris is an emotional-eater’s paradise, a place where at a moment’s convenience and for just a few euros, you can stuff your face with all manner of viennoiserie, and let yourself be enveloped in amounts of butter that will make you forget about unpleasant things, like elections and the horrifying people they represent, and…as long as you can remember to go for a 10km run so the butter doesn’t find a permanent home on your ass, well…I’ll call it guilt-free emotional support at its finest…

…I love that when you put on your coat at midnight, because you think you’re about to leave a quaint little French party, it’s suddenly 2am, and you’re in the kitchen, having the most laugh-out-loud addictive conversation with people you’ve just met, even though you’re still ridiculously wearing your coat. I love how at last you’ll realize that it’s time to be rid of the coat, because of course you’re not going to leave, as the champagne flows and the laughter flows along with it. I love how at these various parties and gatherings and wine bars and apéros, you can arrive a near stranger and leave with new friends. And I love how it always somehow happens that in Paris, these friends take the form of people from everywhere; France, Spain, Ireland, Singapore, England, Colombia, India, Brazil, the US, and on and on and on. I love that in Paris, I always feel like a citizen of our common home, which is earth, a place where no one should feel unwelcome, and I love that when I’m in Paris, I never, ever do… ❤

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Paris Version 3.0: Loving Every Minute…

February 23, 2016 2 Comments

tuileriesI’ve been back in Paris for a week now, and to everyone back home who’s been wondering “is Paris safe? Is everyone paranoid and afraid and unfriendly? “

Well…yes, no, no, and no (did that cover everything?)

Nothing is forgotten, but the streets of Paris seem full to me, and the only danger I’ve encountered so far is temporarily forgetting that drivers in Paris are always trying to run you down with their cars or scooters or giant looming buses. How had I forgotten this obvious fact after living in Paris twice? Perhaps the streets of Canada had made me a bit complacent, because in Canada the symbol for “walk” means “hello pedestrian, you dear sweet pedestrian, please enjoy this time frame, in which you are the king of the world.” You can skip, dance, or even crawl across the street in Canada, and the driver waiting to make the left turn has to sit there until you’re done.

Fast forward to Paris in 2016, and I found myself as a very comfortable pedestrian. That is until…4:30pm today, when I was nearly flattened like a human pancake on Rue de Rivoli.

This gentle “flattening” reminder is one that I will never forget, and one that I’ll interpret as follows: don’t trust anything with wheels in Paris (except for those attractive cops who roller-blade in the streets and smile—but only in summer, I think).

The other main aspect of returning to Paris revolves around the upcoming half marathon (only 12 days away!), and I, the non-runner type, who is registered to make it to the finish line.

In the last seven days I’ve run four times in Paris, with fitness levels ranging from “I’m going to vomit into that garbage can” to “Hey, that actually wasn’t bad!

It started with 4km on day two in Paris, went up to 9km on Sunday, and was a cool 7km runningthis afternoon. Through it all, I’m starting to slowly convert the naysayers who laughed when I said that I would do this (well not all of them…you bastards). Most importantly, I’ve started to build my biggest motivation, courtesy of the greatest competition of all…which is myself. As I outlined in my previous post, I am a hyper-competitive person, and that’s all the motivation I need. And so, as long as I can push myself to the finish line, I’ll be pretty ridiculously happy, but you won’t be able to see my face, since most of it will be buried inside the 6,000-calorie brunch I shall enjoy soon after I finish.

And the best part of all about the race? My teammates and I are raising money for a damn good cause (the Red Cross). I talked all about that in my previous post, but here’s the link to donate if you’ve somehow forgotten, because forgetting is the only reason you wouldn’t have donated yet, right? RIGHT??? (http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserPage.action?userUrl=FootstepsinParis&isTeam=true)

Aside from all the running I’ve been doing this past week (look at what a cocky running snob I’ve become!), I’ve been reconnecting with the people I call my “Paris family,” and every single moment has filled me with happiness. I know that sounds incredibly cheesy, but even when I’m on my own, remembering a dinner I had, or a recent conversation, or a sunny stroll with a friend, I’m filled with an immense sense of gratitude (oh god, this is so cheesy). Maybe it means that Paris is magical, or maybe it means that amazing people gravitate towards other amazing people, and we are all just so fucking amazing (and humble too). Or maybe…maybe it just means that home is where the heart is. If that’s the case, then Paris sure feels like a special kind of home right now.

Now that I’ve filled this post with so much cheese, I will tell you that this past week in Paris, I had blue cheese, and I actually loved it! This is significant, because before that moment, I had never even liked blue cheese!!! I can’t remember the name of the cheese at this particular moment, but it was orange with flecks of blue, and it was absolutely delightful (Paris, eh? The new experiences never end…)

À bientôt!

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Running My Way Back to Paris…

February 2, 2016 3 Comments

parkThe last time I wrote about Paris, the tone was necessarily grim, and though we all remember November 13th, “joie de vivre” stays strong. This resilience is one of the many reasons why Paris is so inspiring, so thank you for that, great city!

Speaking of Paris…six or seven months ago, I was told of the existence of a Paris half marathon in March. I was also told that we should and could and would run it. My response was laughter, followed by “yeah sure,” and an eye-roll that Whatsapp couldn’t see. It was one of those crazy schemes you talk about but hopefully forget, because who actually wants to run 21 kilometres?!

Before 2015 ended, I was reminded of this promise. Had it actually been a promise? Is laughing and rolling your eyes while sarcastically saying “sure” considered legally binding? Apparently so, because the Paris half marathon is 34 days away, and yes I have officially registered.

In the grand scope of the world, a half marathon is only a “half” marathon, and the people who run a “full” one are the people who are actually crazy (42 kilometres?! You’re a PERSON, not a Honda Civic. Take a seat).

In the smaller scope of myself however…I am not a runner by nature. I mean…I guess most humans aren’t, unless they’re being chased, but I don’t actively seek out opportunities to run, at least not for longer than twenty-five minutes. I also don’t use a Nike running app to share on social media, so everyone can know how I’m way more active than they are, and in turn feel guilty about their twelfth Oreo cookie.

T25

(GET IT DONE!!!)

Though I haven’t yet used an app to athletically shame others (key word being “yet“), my routine has required a brisk and harsh change since signing up. I’m one of those people who loves theories like “interval training,” where you can actually get a good workout by sprinting hard for two minutes and walking for five, then multiplying that by four, and being finished your entire workout in twenty-eight minutes. I’m also one of those people who owns the T25 workout DVDs, where you can actually get an amazing workout with only 25 minutes of effort! (which by the way is insanely hard, and I always have to stop and take water breaks when I’m doing it). Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, pictured here is my tantalizing T25 workout DVD collection. I mean really, how can anyone say “no” to the shirtless man with the sixteen-pack abs, who’s telling you to “GET IT DONE”?

(the Lauterbrunnen hike; Iike heaven on earth!)

(the Lauterbrunnen hike; like heaven on earth!)

What was I saying? Oh yeah…running for over two hours? Or however long it takes me to struggle to the finish line?

It’s mad I tell ya, mad! The only time I was thrilled with lengthy exercise was during a day of hiking in Switzerland, and only because it contained the most beautiful views I’d ever seen in my life.

But wait…there is a flip side.

ram

(highly aggressive depiction of the Aries ram)

The flip side to choosing a challenge beyond one’s skill level is…being a competitive person, and accomplishing it out of spite. Once my competitive nature takes hold, any challenge is suddenly realistic. After that, my Aries nature takes hold, and I picture my astrological symbol of the ram crushing the competition with metaphorical horns. That’s all it takes, baby.

And so…I am excited. Very, very excited.

As an added plus, the training thus far has not been as horrible as I’d imagined, and with each incremental workout, I’m enjoying running more and more (oh god, I’m about to become one of THOSE people…). Even so, I’ve been training on a treadmill, and I seriously need to get outside. This of course means that two weeks from now…rain or shine, I’ll be pounding the Paris pavement, and seeing how closely I can follow the recommended training schedule (which I started five weeks late, no biggie). All I know is that I seriously need to catch up, because the last seven days have included the stomach flu, a hacking cough, a clogged nose, nasal drip, and absolutely zero running.

But that’s okay! Because today is the first day of the rest of my training life, and I’m clearly super excited about it:

workout

If my own competitive nature isn’t enough to help me finish the race, my friends and I are running on behalf of the British Red Cross. I really respect the Red Cross charity and all that it does with swiftness and transparency, so much so that I sent out donations in people’s names instead of Christmas presents this year. Everybody was really thrilled about that, because any reaction aside from being thrilled would’ve made them seem like assholes (entrapment!). Little did I know that a few months later I’d be making my own appeal to others, but here we are,  which brings us now to the five ascending pressure stages of fundraising:

  1. Write this blog post, which is open to all anonymous lurkers, but gives me no actual avenue to follow up with readers for donations (i.e. zero pressure).
  2. Share non-targeted links on Facebook and Twitter, which lets people arrive at the “donate” decision on their own (i.e. little to no pressure).
  3. Send out a group email asking for participation. This method is a little more targeted, but it still includes the “bcc” email option, so recipients can assume they are one out of a hundred people asked, and surely someone else will take the plunge and donate! (i.e. moderate pressure which eventually fizzles out).
  4. Send out small batch Facebook group messages, which makes individuals uncomfortable, since their name is being shown and the goodness of their heart is being targeted. (i.e. medium to high pressure).
  5. Appeal to individuals directly, those whose charity runs/Kickstarters/Indie GoGos I’ve donated to in the past. This makes things incredibly uncomfortable, and potentially destroys friendships (i.e. maximum red alert pressure, head explodes).

After this post, I will have completed the first three items on the list, and despite the expected Screen Shot 2016-02-01 at 5.38.17 PMpaltry success rate of 0.5 percent, our team of three has actually gotten some donations! For that, I thank you, but we are only 18% of the way there. Furthermore, while I may limit my level of hustle when I’m trying to sell my books, there is no upper limit to how shameless I’ll be when I’m hustling for a worthy cause.

That’s right guys, I’m comin’ at you with items #4 and #5, so you might as well make it less awkward by donating in advance! Here’s the link: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/team/FootstepsinParis

See you in Paris,

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PS: I offer my sincere thanks to anyone who’s able to donate. We’ve all got our own priorities, and charities are a personal thing, so I greatly appreciate any amount you’re able to give!

PPS: I’ll be back in Paris from mid-Feb to mid-April, to train/try new hangouts/finish a script, so expect regular updates on this blog and on instagram!  (“Paris is always a good idea“—> quote from my coffee mug, est. 2013)

Continuing Love For Paris and Thoughts About Humanity

November 19, 2015 2 Comments

Attentats a Paris, la tour Eiffel aux couleurs du drapeau francais, tricolore, bleu blanc rouge Hommage aux victimes *** Local Caption *** Vue de nuit

It’s been less than a week since the attacks in Paris, and before I ruminate and pontificate on the city of lights and the world at large, it’s an incredibly sad thing. So many people lost, so many friends and families who must be suffering immensely right now…it certainly makes me reflect.

I’ll be the first to admit that after the Paris attacks happened, I had a blind spot for similar tragedies in other parts of the world. The attack in Beirut, the attack in Baghdad…I was so concerned with how my friends were doing in Paris, and how my favourite city was doing, that I didn’t even pay attention to what else was going on. I don’t think it’s ill-intentioned to worry more intensely for people you care about or a city you’ve lived in versus people you’ve never met or a city you don’t know, but if I’m being honest, even before this happened…was I always the most aware of what was going in every part of the world? Did all events affect me equally? Or are there so many things going on, that sometimes I read a headline and forget about it five minutes later? I think it’s okay to admit that sometimes we in the western world have our heads up our own asses, as long as we realize that from this point forward, humanity is at a crossroads; that we’ll either thrive together…or utterly destroy ourselves together.

 

Speaking of utter destruction (I’ve never used that term before; hmm…sign of the times?), it’s only been a few days since the terrible attacks, and we already seem to be falling for Voldemort’s trap. You’ll notice that I just said “Voldemort” of Harry Potter fame, because I’m not going to use the famous acronym which identifies the terrorist attackers. I won’t use it because…the people who google that term are either 1. in the group and reading about themselves; 2. researching how to join the group and therefore already full of evil and hate; or 3. functional racists who exist all around us, those who seek out articles and stories about the group, so they can use that as evidence to support their asinine theory that “Muslim equals terrorist.”

 

Why would I want to look at that acronym over and over as I type it, and then SEO optimize my blog to invite all those fuckers for the ride? I’m writing this for the rest of us.

 

And so, I will henceforth say “Voldemort” when referencing the terrorist group responsible for so much evil (an appropriate substitution, given Voldemort’s “piece of shit” status in Harry Potter).

Now, where were we?

 

Oh yes…so it’s only been a few days, and people are already falling for Voldemort’s terrorist group trap. The trap of course involves paranoia, prejudice and acts of hate against Muslims, simply because they’re Muslims. This is precisely what Voldemort wants, i.e. eliminating the “grey zone,” to pit one side against the other. They even wrote about it in their piece-of-shit terrorist documents. The hate they’re trying to perpetuate has been going on since 9/11 and long before, but since November 13th, 2015, there’s been a marked increase in the troubling trifecta: paranoia, prejudice, and acts of hate. In Canada, this can be summarized by the following events (and certainly many more I haven’t heard about): a fire set to a mosque in Peterborough, a Muslim woman in North York who was attacked by two men outside the school where she was picking up her kids, and a Muslim woman at a Loblaws grocery store, who accidentally bumped her shopping cart into another woman’s cart, which led to the other woman saying: “please don’t blow me up” (the truth of which I don’t doubt for a second, on top of which it happened to a friend of a good friend).

 

I saw the article for the woman attacked in North York as a viral post on Facebook, and even though I know you should never read the “comments” sections of articles (as they are filled with the bottom layer of society’s slime), I thought to myself: “These commenters aren’t anonymous, they’re using Facebook profiles connected to their friends and family; surely they wouldn’t make themselves look stupid? Surely the vast majority will speak out in the woman’s defence?”

 

I was wrong.

 

I saw a lot of crazy-ass things in that comments section, written in calm language from seemingly normal-looking people. Things about how Muslims aren’t “true Canadians”…things about how those male attackers are brave protectors of us all, because this woman in her hjiab somehow threatens our children’s safety…and the bestselling number-one chart-topper ignorant remark…”Muslim equals terrorist.”

 

The “true Canadian” comment was probably the most ridiculous, simply because it’s a new form of idiocy I’m hearing; not only was our country built on the shoulders of immigrants and their subsequent descendants, but we’re not even a hundred and fifty years old. The oldest person to have ever lived? A one hundred and twenty-two-year-old woman. So umm…to do some quick calculations…our entire country’s history spans the lifetime of one old woman, plus a hot twenty-six-year-old dude. And yet apparently….we have some deep historical symbol of what it means to be a true Canadian? I’m pretty sure we’re very much still forming our country’s history, yet here we are, making our legacy racism.

 

Seriously, you dumb fucks.

 

I wanted to say all of this in the comments section; I mean come on, I had so much logic and so many facts and so much common sense to support me! For example, *ahem*…if  “Muslim equals terrorist,” then how come white women from England who’ve clearly never read the Qur’an are running off to join the Voldemort army? Or if religion itself fuels terrorism, then why wasn’t Christianity banned in the United States, after twenty years of mass shootings by so many Christian white males? I had all these comebacks and more!! How could it go wrong?!

 

Before I typed my first word, I took a closer look at the comments section.

 

What I saw was people just like me, being the voice of reason, presenting irrefutable logic, and denouncing racist attitudes. Somehow though…the other person chose willful ignorance, and continued to argue back. And then the voice of reason would argue back…and on and on this went.

 

It would’ve been SO easy to spend the next hour embroiled in that debate, but I realized that spending my time like that, would not make the world any better. I don’t want to argue with people who, in the biggest irony of all, now work for the Voldemort terrorist group they’re so adamantly trying to combat. Yes, fuckers, by helping Voldemort spread paranoia and hate about Muslims, you are creating your own war on humanity, and you are now an unpaid employee of Voldemort. Voldemort doesn’t even have to do anything anymore; Voldemort can relax in a leather armchair and eat Cheetos and laugh about how easy this all is, thanks to all these people who should probably update their LinkedIn profiles, to reflect their volunteer hours for the Voldemort cause.

 

All of this makes me wonder how such OBVIOUS irony can be lost on people; i.e. even if a person is quietly racist (ugh, you suck), how can he/she NOT realize that by now being loudly racist or even loudly paranoid, they are aiding their greatest foe? I wonder if these irony-deficient people listened to the song “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette one too many times, and therefore ended up learning the incorrect meaning of irony. Seriously Alanis, if a black fly in my chardonnay is irony, then I guess walking down the street and stepping on a piece of gum is irony, because according to you, Alanis, irony is simply “when not great things tend to happen.” What the fuck, Alanis.

 

As I leave my disdain for Alanis’s lyrical choices in the rearview mirror, I will simply say that while I choose not to argue with those who won’t listen, that doesn’t mean I’m feeling hopeless. The ironic employees of Voldemort might have a loud obnoxious voice, but if we stop listening and stop engaging, they’ll just be talking into the wind, while we’ll be over here, focusing on positive interactions. This might not be an easy approach for Muslims, as many are already hearing words of hate directly, while simply trying to live their lives (and as that North York woman knows, the words can often escalate to worse). For that, I am truly sorry, and I wish it wasn’t so. For the rest of us, we can diminish the dumbass voices ever so slightly, by choosing to ignore them altogether. Seriously guys, if an asshole says stupid shit in a forest, but no one’s around to hear it, did that asshole really even speak?

 

So what about those positive interactions? Well I’m not naive, and I know that being nice and holding hands won’t fix all the problems. But here’s the thing: I’m not in the government strategy rooms, planning the next military mission; I’m not in the police force, having to lead raids and make arrests to help keep people safe. I’m here, on my basic humanity level, believing that each little positive interaction can make a difference. It’s all about percentages, and if the number of positive interactions is able to out-weigh the negatives, then maybe humanity won’t crumble. These things can include smiling at the Muslim person on the subway instead of avoiding eye contact, sharing links for positive stories (if you can find them in this mass-media hell hole), or using these unexpected savings if you got them, to donate to a person or cause in need:

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(Thank you Rogers, you usually annoying corporation with sub-par customer service).

 

As I leave this act of writing, I acknowledge that the darkness isn’t over, and that more tragic events might happen in the future. I won’t however, contribute to the self-fulfilling crumbling of society. Not for a second.

 

And to my adopted family in Paris…I am so relieved you’re all safe, and your resilience and positivity is an inspiration. Let’s fill up another insta-collage real soon… xo.

 

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PS: if you’re still here, you might want to try this clip, which beautifully (and much more efficiently!) encompasses what I’m saying, in a 3-minute narration by the late bestselling author of COSMOS, Carl Sagan (along with compelling imagery to accompany it)