I first left Bulgaria with my family and moved to Ukraine at the age of 15. I then graduated from high-school and relocated to the UK, to do my university degree there. I've always said that moving is temporary, that I love my country and that I will always love Sophia, my home city. To this day, this is the case, when I go back there, it is home. But I no longer see the people there as any group of people I want to identify with. Never mind the "chalga", never mind that education has gone down the drain and people my age can't write a single grammatically correct sentence. Never mind that they don't care about ecology, smoke like chimneys next to their infants, that their priorities in life are the same as the priorities of hip-hop artists: golden chains around their neck, the bitches around their cock and money to show off their status.
There seem to be а handful of people who understand the meaning of human rights. We're notoriously bad at understanding that just because someone is different, it doesn't mean they are worse than us.
This is clearly proven to be the case this time every year, when the talk of LGBT (gay) pride happens. The media enjoy the sensationalism and the average Bulgarian seems to enjoy the idea of beating up a fag or two. We know that most of 'em are just attention-seekers, and the real queers are mentally ill. A real man would never take it in the ass. What else is new?
Is only gets more disturbing when we talk about people with disabilities or mental health issues. While fags are annoying, we at least see them. Disabilities and mental illnesses equal social death, it seems to be. No. In fact, having a mental disability equals real death. [the article is in Bulgarian but I think it's worth passing it through Google Translate] A 15 year old girl was in a foster home, started throwing up, lost weight and by the time anyone bothered to call a doctor, it was too late, she died. The doctors, hell, God himself couldn't have saved her: in the month before her death she had swallowed about 5 kg of garbage. In her stomach doctors found 25 insoles, 8 rags, 3 foam sponges, 6 socks, 3 pieces of paper and 3 stones (3-4 cm in diameter). The first problem is that this isn't the first time where monstrous things have happened to children in foster homes. The second problem is that the child was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Highly likely, given what the attitude seems to be towards the disabled, that doctors would have been called much earlier if it wasn't considered that having a mental illness means that you're lower quality person.
There are bad people everywhere. Here we're talking about something else- a culture which reinforces the belief that if you're not a rich, white man who has traded any chance for intellect for a Mercedes, then you're a second class citizen. No, you're a woman. Then if you're not that, then you are, in decreasing order of importance, a gypsy, a muslim, a negro, a fag, a tranny. I don't think you're even on the hate-radar if you have a mental disability. The girl died 6 years ago, it has been decided by court that it was nobody's fault. A friend of mine put it succinctly: "today the Bulgarian Helsinki Committee is suing Bulgaria. And I hope they win."
Monday 14 May 2012
Saturday 12 May 2012
Why did the polygamous hen cross the road? She wanted to have her cock and eat it too...
Love and relationships are a territory where you should make up your own rules. I personally support anyone's right to choose their lifestyle- be it straight or gay, man, woman, transgender, monogamous, polygamous, poly-amorous, swinger. If you're happy with your partner, then that is all that is important.
I myself have danced all over the spectrum of possibilities. I wanted to be monogamous, get married and have children, when I was with my first boyfriend. My second partner and I had a different relationship, at which point I found enjoyment and respect for the more open lifestyle. Third relationship, and my most serious one to this point, we explored different options, but when we broke up, he wanted children and marriage, and I wanted no children and just a commitment ceremony. Not even why we broke up. But I remember one night, a few months into that relationship, we were talking and I was ranting about my desire for freedom- while I loved him, to me there was no relation between what you feel for one person and whether or not you sleep with others as well. He wanted us to not see other people and I was generally OK with that, but wouldn't it be nice if opportunity presented itself and we were able to take it? Yet, I am suddenly in tears and I think only someone who has been of the polygamous mindset can understand the paradoxical beauty of monogamy. Here he is, a man who can choose to have sex with other women and still have the woman he comes home to, have his cake and eat it too, but all he wants is that one person, me. And I was playing the part of the reluctant bitch.
It was a moment of realisation, certainly. The biggest commitment has nothing to do with rings and promises. It comes with this strong desire within you to just see one person, even though you have a world out there, just waiting for you. To have the option and to choose to, rather than be forced to, decline it.
Perhaps I was genuinely converted that night. I've only just started a new relationship and about 10 days in, it is a record in my book, we randomly picked up the topic. What are we doing, where are we going, what do we call this? We had the conversation. My first reaction was to postpone it, to delay monogamy, to keep my options open, even though all I wanted was this one boy. But he called me up on it, and I got butterflies in my stomach when he suggested we were exclusive. The gorgeous man had a choice, yet he chose me.
I myself have danced all over the spectrum of possibilities. I wanted to be monogamous, get married and have children, when I was with my first boyfriend. My second partner and I had a different relationship, at which point I found enjoyment and respect for the more open lifestyle. Third relationship, and my most serious one to this point, we explored different options, but when we broke up, he wanted children and marriage, and I wanted no children and just a commitment ceremony. Not even why we broke up. But I remember one night, a few months into that relationship, we were talking and I was ranting about my desire for freedom- while I loved him, to me there was no relation between what you feel for one person and whether or not you sleep with others as well. He wanted us to not see other people and I was generally OK with that, but wouldn't it be nice if opportunity presented itself and we were able to take it? Yet, I am suddenly in tears and I think only someone who has been of the polygamous mindset can understand the paradoxical beauty of monogamy. Here he is, a man who can choose to have sex with other women and still have the woman he comes home to, have his cake and eat it too, but all he wants is that one person, me. And I was playing the part of the reluctant bitch.
It was a moment of realisation, certainly. The biggest commitment has nothing to do with rings and promises. It comes with this strong desire within you to just see one person, even though you have a world out there, just waiting for you. To have the option and to choose to, rather than be forced to, decline it.
Perhaps I was genuinely converted that night. I've only just started a new relationship and about 10 days in, it is a record in my book, we randomly picked up the topic. What are we doing, where are we going, what do we call this? We had the conversation. My first reaction was to postpone it, to delay monogamy, to keep my options open, even though all I wanted was this one boy. But he called me up on it, and I got butterflies in my stomach when he suggested we were exclusive. The gorgeous man had a choice, yet he chose me.
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