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I met Nate last year in the street when I was walking home with a friend of mine. We met him a couple more times after that. It was always very casual, a nice hello then we both went our separate ways. The neighbourhood kids always chased him around. Then one day, no more sign of him. I slowly got used to the idea I would never see Nate again. He was always so happy to see me and I was always happy to see him too. Now I was sad. I didn't know where he lived so I couldn't really look for him. But that's life, isn't it? Life went on as usual, lectures, grocery shopping, spring past, then summer, I went back home, came back to Preston, fall passed, then winter. This morning I had planned to take my bicycle and go check out the new Waitrose that recently opened a couple of miles away. I opened the backyard door and saw that it was gone. Half-shocked/angry, half "there's nothing I can do" attitude, I decided to walk there.When I arrived back in my street ...

Tehran, Iran, 20 June 2009. People are protesting, they want freedom: they shout, they are angry. The streets are crowded with people. In the middle is Neda. Neda Agha Soltan was a very special 27 year old, she was a gifted musician, was spiritual, she had dreams and aspired to be a mother, she loved the arts and travelling, and was hoping to live in Istanbul one day. The kind of person you would want to know. But most of all, Neda, like many other young people in Iran, longed to be free. Neda died before she was given the chance to make her dreams come true. When young Neda left her house in that spring afternoon, she didn’t know she would never see her mother again. “She left the house mid-afternoon. I couldn’t join her but I said I’d keep in touch with her.” said Hajar Rostami Motlagh, Neda’s mother. Hajar, as any mother would be in times like these, was worried for her child. She managed to get through to Neda twice during the protest. When Neda told her mother the str...

Yesterday I watched two documentaries. The first one I watched was about children preachers and it was questioning their motivations, it was quite good, it's a National Geographic documentary called Pint-Sized Preachers . The second film I watched was the 2010 “Killing Us Softly 4” by Jean Kilbourne . Killing Us Softly 4 is an update on three previous films she made about the same subject, only in different decades, the advertising’s image of women. And then, wow. All these small ideas and theories that I had about media and feminism and women’s image, they all connected. Jean Kilbourne is my new hero. I admire her work just in this film so of course I will look into her work more deeply (once I finish writing this). Everyone should watch this film! “Jean Kilbourne, Ed.D.  is internationally recognized for her pioneering work on the image of women in advertising and her critical studies of alcohol and tobacco advertising. Her films, lectures, and televis...

Je suis peine. Combien de personnes auront partagé ce texte de Florian Henin sur les réseaux sociaux ? Combien de personnes se sont dit « bien dit ! » ? Florian Henin qui fait des amalgames et qui n’a sûrement pas entendu parler de cet Anversois (blanc) qui a tué une jeune nounou (noire) et ce bébé de deux ans à peine dans la rue. Il n’est sûrement jamais allé à Jérusalem dans le quartier Orthodoxe o ù les enfants jettent des pierres sur les passant seraient-ils un tant soit peu découverts et s’en donnent à cœur joie et à Hébron ce ne sont pas les touristes qui sont visés mais les Palestiniens (Arabes et sans doute Musulmans). Tu te souviens l’été passé, il y a eu des émeutes en Grande-Bretagne. Sur les vidéos, on pouvait voir des blancs (athées ?)voler un noir, blessé, gisant au sol, en prétendant l’aider. Dans mon quartier de Preston, il y a des Pakistanais (Musulmans) et des blancs (athées). Quand les blancs arrivent, je te promets, tu...

Very busy interesting week it has been and still not over yet. Saturday - I was at a charity ball (I danced with 70-year-olds, there was an old man dancing like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction and I just wanted to take my heeels off and dance with him but I did not). I met Amy who told me about this week's events. Sunday - I accompany a friend to Church. We get to see an architecture exhibition then we run away during the service because it was just not cool. People there weren't friendly like a congregation usually is and they let their toddlers run around - there must have been at least 13 children under the age of ten, Monday - nothing. Tuesday - I visited a Buddhist temple, the Central Methodist Church and a Hindu temple where there was a giant picture of the Sun God Surya (it's my name - yay) then attended an intro to the Bahai Faith. Then got free curry. Father John who is an Italian missionary dropped me at University. Father John made me recite his address by...

I am probably getting boring going on about Jerusalem in every single post... I shall change the subject soon. This shall be my last post about Jerusalem before I go on to other places such as Masada, Ein Gedi, Yam HaMelakh (The Sea of Salt aka the Dead Sea), Haifa, etc. somewhere near the tomb of King David. Near King David's tomb, I met an old guide, and again, I told him I had no money but he still wanted to show me around eventhough he was a real guide. It was a little late and I already had plans so he told me to meet him at Sha'ar Zion at 10am the next morning. So I went back the next morning and he was late so I sat waiting. Some people obviously working there started asking me who I was waiting for so I described the man. They got all worried when they identified him. "Are you sure?", "did he bother you?" "did he do anything to you?" and so on... I got a little worried when I finally saw him arrive but I made sure we stayed in cro...

!! שבת שלום I met so many people in Jerusalem, from the weird guy selling bread at Sha'ar Iafo to that homeless free spirited religious man who hangs out near the Kotel and the Golden Menorah Replica who invited me for a walk around the old city ramparts before buying me tea. And his friend who lives underneath his shop on Rehov Chabad who gave me a picture of an aerial view of the Old Jerusalem and a large bottle of water for no apparent reason then invited me inside to watch french tv which he did not understand. I am glad I am writing this, in a certain way it allows me to relive things I did not especially wrote down in my diary. At the hostel, I met David who was volunteering there and told me about a Rabbi (of whom I have forgotten the name unfortunately) who welcomes anyone that shows up for Shabbat dinner on Friday night, Saturday at lunch and Saturday night for the Havdallah. And the word is on the street so sometimes the house located in Mea Shearim is too sm...