Society

Damn myself and my not listening carefully to the lyrics of songs. It's kind of a tongue-twister but it says it all: 

Oh, it's a mystery to me
We have a greed with which we have agreed
And you think you have to want more than you need
Until you have it all, you won't be free

Society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me

When you want more than you have, you think you need

And when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed

I think I need to find a bigger place

Cause when you have more than you think, you need more space

Society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me

There's those thinking more or less, less is more
But if less is more, how you keepin score?
Means for every point you make your level drops
Kinda like you're startin' from the top. You can't do that

Society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me
Society, crazy indeed
I hope you're not lonely without me 

Society, have mercy on me
I hope you're not angry if I disagree
Society, you're crazy indeed
I hope you're not lonely without me




 

Conventions

These last days I focused my attention on conventions. Society rests on conventions.

The other day while visiting my family at the beach the middle aged R.P., was talking to his 10 years old daughter who was sitting on his lap, they were laughing and it was just a happy, lovely family moment. While talking to her, dad said “it's time you start shaving, you know?!”.

The sentence struck me for the simplicity and the lightheartedness and at the same time for its brutality. A 10 year old girl should think about becoming pretty —or at least what society tells us it's pretty, the norm— and she should do it for herself and for those around her.

In the evening we went in town and looking at the people strolling around was striking. All of them —no exception— were dressed exactly the same respecting a strict social and gender code. After a day at the beach they would shower —using copious over-smelling skin and hair killing soaps and shampoos— and put on their best summer dresses: shortish pants and clean t-shirts for the guys, different types of fancy dresses, shoes and accessories for the girls. Some of them even wore unbearable high heels! Appearance is important because if you don't conform you're the weird one and nobody wants to be.

Even the beach code is quite strict. I know it seems unlikely in a place where everybody is almost naked, but females need to cover their nipples, even though they're basically the same as men's. And I'm not talking about the booby part, which is perfectly accepted. Just the nipples. If you stop and think about it ONE second it sounds completely nuts. This extremely good article (in Spanish) explains these issues perfectly. The more I think about it the more I realize that the concept of women nipple banishment is not much different than the ever-opposed chador, burqa and the likes...  And not much time has passed since women wore bathing suites that covered them much more.

Those who don't conform are a very small minority, obviously stand out of the crowd and are always noticed and most of the times judged, to say the least. Some days ago I went to the beach with some friends and I was very refreshed to find that it was normal for them not to use the upper part of the female bathing suite. A.T.'s carelessness, A.L.'s joy and happiness, P.D.'s relax and calm. Just people being themselves.

The day after visiting my parents I went to visit M.P. My mum's aunt where my grandmother was staying.

Kisses and hugs and then we were to go and visit one of my grandmother's brothers who is spending his holidays in the countriside and lives 50 meters away form where we were. My grandaunt said that she wasn't prepared to receive me and that if she knew someone was coming she would put on something else over her chemise... She wasn't brave enough to go visit her brother in law without dressing properly, though.

Conventions are very scary and of course the scariest ones are gender conventions. Even for kids. One of my mum's cousins told me that she would paint her 5 year old son's toenails since he wanted to. Maybe something's changing, I thought, but then she said that she would do it because no one could really see them and that she'd see what to do in case they were more visible... I thought about an interesting article (in Spanish) I read about the same subject.

Things might be much more difficult for parents if it's not just a boy wanting to have funny nails, but if they show signs of being possible transgender kids, like the boy in this very interesting article. I say it's difficult because not very many people are as open minded as the parents in the article and society's critiques and conventions are always around the corner, ready to strike!

Guiri

Una volta che emigri sei emigrato a vita

Gino Pirelli

Tenho tenho entre as pernas um engenho. Dele como, dele bebo, dele pago o que devo.

Sabedoría popular São Pedrenha 

É muito fixe ser o único estrangeiro (não português) de uma aldeia na fronteira entre Portugal e Espanha. Ser o bicho raro, como me disse o Bruno. No Portugal não há uma palavra parecida, mas são um 'guiri'.

O galego axuda, mais entender é moi difícil. Entendo o necesario para coñecer un grupo de xente marabillosa e chea de enerxías. Artistas xoves. Amigxs —a maiorí­a mulleres— que se reuniron aquí para organizar un festival nesta aldea rural —onde algunhas delxs viven— lonxe das luces da cidade. Tempo de Aldeia. Un grupo que me acolle, mais ao que son evidentemente, necesariamente externo. Un guiri.

Aquí en São Pedro do Río Seco as cousas son diferentes. A vida de aldea é moi bonita e relaxada, aínda que esta esta sexa unha aldea particular. A vida de aldea quere dicir que todxs se coñecen. Quere dicir que se poden alugar dous (2!) casas por setenta (70!) euros. Quere dicir que se pode deixar o coche no medio da rúa, coas xanelas abertas e as chaves postas. Quere dicir que cando xs urbanitas senten a necesidade de estar nunha cidade van na vila do lado onde é difícil atopar comida ás 21:30.

Mais esta aldea é particular porque está xusto ao lado da fronteira con España e coma todas as zonas de fronteira as particularidades —sociais, linguisticas, etc.— sonche moitas.

E nunca fun tan estranxeiro. Nunca vivín nun sitio sendo tan guiri. Nunca me pasara antes aínda que sexa estranxeiro desde hai moito tempo. Gosto de selo. Se es estranxeiro fáltanche moitas cousas, claro, mais ao mesmiño tempo tes moita máis liberdade. Todxs te coñecen aínda que ti non coñezas todxs. Mais sempre fun estranxeiro en situacións “controladas”, vivindo en grandes cidades (Wangaratta —que non é una gran cidade, mais onde estaba con outrxs italianxs—, Roma, Sevilla, Vancouver, Santiago de Compostela, Barcelona). Controladas porque es un dxs tantxs, tes a túa situación persoal, mais encontras outras persoas na mesma situación e en xeral a xente do sitio está acostumada a xente coma ti. Mais levaba moito tempo sen ser un guiri. Fixe!

Oda aos guiris!


PS Falto de Santiago de Compostela desde hai un ano, mais nese momento tan difí­cil para a miña patria adoptiva a lingua saí­u naturalmente. Moita forza compañeirxs!

Astronautas

S.F. El meu germà és un astronauta

A.A. Perquè?

S.F. No el veus? Menja coses de astronauta, cuinades al microones. Fa una vida de astronauta. Va al treball per la manyana, torna a la casa i es posa a ver una peŀlicula, menja, algunes vegades va al teatre o al cine però sempre així [amb les mans S.F. fa un quadrat entorn a la cara] sense preocupar-se de res, de des-d'on vénen les coses que menja... I no es estúpid, s'interessa de moltes coses... però fa aquesta vida d'astronauta

La conversación siguió un poco más, y en un catalán mucho más rico y correcto —por lo menos por parte de S.F.— de lo que puedo escribir yo (y pido perdón a E.D.).

pero esta discusión me dio mucho que pensar.

Astronautas. No lo es solo el hermano de S.F. Quien más, quien menos todxs lo somos. Es muy fácil caer en los hábitos y quedarnos en nuestros pequeño mundo, en nuestra zona de confort. La clave es salir de ella, encontrar personas, cambiar, conocer gente, ser parte de comunidades o crear una , mejor varias. Atreverse.

People Are Strange

People love to receive orders. People love to execute orders. Someone says A and they do A. B and they do B. That's why people who follow the rules unconditionally are so beloved (N). Their heavenly god says A and they do A. B is B. No questions asked. Their terrestrial god (master, boss, slaver) says A and they do A. B is B. Because people don't like to think. Life is easier. People like to be in a box where they know every corner. They like to define and put things in boxes.

And some people like to give orders. They love to show all the power they have.

That's why people love dogs. Today in the park: “Charlie come here” and Charlie comes. “Charlie sit” and Charlie sits. And there's no reason to come or sit. [He's so intelligent. He understands what I say]. Human being's best friend is a slave, who's a “good boy” or a “good girl” when they follow the orders.

And man's companion is the woman. Another slave who society doesn't teach —from the very moment she's born— to think or decide, but who's taught everything about the pointless and idiosyncratic aberrations they have to undergo in order to please men or so that they don't please them too much. They're taught what their happiness should be, what their behaviour should be. They're taught what's simply natural for all women. They're taught they're happy when they have a nice family with some muscled, violent bone-head around to perpetuate patriarchy over again. Don't think. Someone else will do it for you.

Men are taught to keep their privileges too, but that's nothing in comparison.

Queer

That's why people are scared when the roles are not so well defined. Two men. “Who's the girl?” Two girls. “Who's the man?” It's easier when you know who rules. Other gender conditions, other ways of seeing the world don't even enter people's scope.

Things are (slowly) changing, at least for a (small) percentage of people, but dismantling a status quo that's so well established is really hard and the power to do it is relying on the actions of everyone of us. Big ones, but especially small ones. Everybody. Every day. All day.

My Farts Don't Stink

On last Monday we went to visit Montserrat, the totemic mountain of Catalonia that we see every day from Can Valldaura. 

It was a day of travelling and a day of walk. We went down “our” mountain at 7:20am and we got back at 1:30-ish am. While climbing up and down the mountain of Montserrat (between 10-ish am and 6:00pm)

there was an informal farting contest mainly between A. H. and myself probably due to the ginormous quantity of lentils we ate for days. 

During our long walks, between the many chats I had with my friends I thought about farts. Since I also sweated a lot I thought about sweat too. My farts don't stink. My sweat doesn't stink. Or at least they don't stink anymore. Why is that?

I thought that probably my farts don't stink since when I am a vegetarian and also because of my good digestive system. Regarding my sweat, though, things are pretty different. I think the reason is that the bad smell is usually connected with stress. In the last period I've been experiencing the best quality of life I ever had. I am a very relaxed person by nature, however since I live in Can Valldaura I realized how stressed I was in the city, with the necessity of being on time —or in time— in order to do things. Everything. Go to work. Go to a concert or a cultural activity. Just stroll between a googol vehicles with a googolplex people around with smog and noises everywhere. Everything is stressful. Everything makes you sweat. And your sweat stinks.

But try and live in the countryside working every day with other friends. You might sweat —I haven't sweated that much so far, due to the uncommonly cold months of April and May— but you won't stink, because there is no stress in the work you do.

Lying in the shade after a half-day work. The music of a guitar, elder flower champagne, some nice chat, a sleepy dog.

                                                                                                   Just enjoy.

Taking a Step Back

Once you enter the “Permaculture mode” you start seeing things as a permaculturalist. Everything. Life.

For some days we didn't go out to work because it was rainy. On Monday we watched a couple of videos —an interview to David Holmgren and a movie about Peak Oil— and the discussions we had after watching them were really very interesting and really made me think a lot.

The best idea you can have when you need to buy something, to build something, to make something, to do something is to take a step back and ask: why should I do it? What do I need it for? Do I really need it? Most of the times you don't. Most of the times it's mass society which convinced you that you really need whatever-it-is. Or it simply makes things appear normal.  

Don't conform. 

Don't do things “because everybody does them”. 

Take a step back. 

Question. 

Think. 

People are not accustomed to think because it's too much work. Because it's easier to adjust and to let someone else do the thinking. It's easier to complain and to wait for someone else's help. But no matter how hard things are, how difficult they seem, you just have to do the best you can and everything is going to be fine.