Men in false cloaks: Trapped in the jaws of feminism

I began thinking of the the issue of feminism again when i read on yahoo personals today of a girl complaining vehemently about her boyfriend always insisting that they go the Dutch way when paying for dinner bills. Read about what she wrote below.

Should the guy pay for the date? I'm struggling with a money issue with a guy I've been dating a few months. We make similar money -- not much, but not minimum wage. We were splitting the bill when we first started dating. After we had been dating for a while, I asked if we could treat each other to dates rather than split the bill, because it's nicer. We started doing this, and he does take me out sometimes, but not all the time. Now I'm anxious every time we go out: Is he going to pay? Isn't he?The truth is, I prefer to be taken out by the guy. I know it's antiquated, but it makes me feel wanted, taken care of, special. I don't mind paying for dinner or drinks every second or third time. Most guys seem to take it as a point of pride that they're paying ... this guy doesn't.Even after several months, and my paying every other time for nicer dinners, etc., He still makes it known at times that we are going Dutch or that he's not paying for the entire evening. It brings him down in my esteem ... but I don't know if I'm being overly demanding. Is he a tightwad? Or am I ridiculously old-fashioned?

Three interesting responses.

• It's funny how women haved pushed for equality for somewhere around 35 years, except where it comes to money.

• I agree. having been on dates with several men a guy that picks up the bill at least on the first date, shows he is masculine and that he does want to look after you. following that turns can work out fine but the first date is the deal maker/breaker..

• Men should always pay. End of story.

Of the fifty comments that followed the above post, a majority suggested that men should pay for the dinner bill. They bring up issues like showing masculinity, manliness and showing that one is affectionate and cares! Paradoxically, these are the same issues feminists are campaigning against. When a man shows hospitality especially in the western world, an indirect intepretation of it is always that he seeks to repress the woman.

I am not a chauvinist but rather i find this topic grossly confusing and that several women have totally misconstrued and exaggerated the meaning of real feminism.Women are egnimatic. For all the qualities that women feel they are entitled to find in their man, they do not feel bound to reciprocate. They seem to feel that being a woman is all that is required of them in order to deserve the moon. And, they are inherently perverse. Not "perverted," but perverse -- meaning, for example, they want a man to provide them with every consideration, complement, and to live to fulfill her every desire -- and yet the man who actually does that for her will most likely be scorned as "weak." In brief, women have a huge set of contradictory demands that no man could possibly satisfy -- or even know about. Women love to keep what they want secret, or even deny it; then when her man doesn't come through with what she has said she doesn't want, she is then indignantly disappointed.

The above story tells it all. While I pay for bills during my dates, inside I sometimes feel exploited because this is one area where most women dont step up to claim their feminine rights! In the real sense of things, my understanding of feminism today in its most exaggerated form is that women seek to become men. I have met feminists that argue strongly that biologically there is not a tinge of difference between man and women. Even when I pointed to glaring physical attributes such as facial hair, breasts and so on the they refused to budge.

Lately I talked to a mother who has a six month old daughter and she seems not to be able to accept the fact that nature has made it that a baby will be more physically attached to the mother than to the father especially when it came to breast feeding. There is absolutely no way a man can breast feed a child and that is not up for dispute.Feminism in trying to become a man is wrong and only takes away the attraction that exist between the two genders. I for one will not want to be with a woman that looks and behaves like a man. I will simply if it was possible go get myself a man for a partner.We cannot break the biological barriers that differentiate us into our different genders.

We cannot eat our cake and still want to have it. Equality in terms of having the same rights to everything is what I consider healthy and that is what feminists should be pushing for and not trying to transform to some false male copy. Women can still be women but achieve equal rights as men such as in terms of earning the same wages, being elected to key managerial positions in companies etc. Certain norms like paying for a ladies' dinner in my world has nothing to do with looking down on a woman.

Certain etiquettes just make the society function better and instill respect and appreciation. I will not buy a lady a meal if I did not really fancy her company. I will never turn down an offer from a lady offerring to pay for my dinner if I desired her company . It will only make me appreciate her the more. This has not nothing to do with the fact that I am a man nor that she is a lady. The driving force of this is attraction between two people.

Catch 22!

Songs and Lyrics

Fictional writing

This is a fictional story but based on real events I have been following up on really life events. I will update this gradually untill the whole book is completed! Its not censored yet, so expect a lot of topological, spelling and grammatical errors!


Chapter 1
Tarifa, Cádiz Spain 1980
The nurse looked down at the dead girl suddenly unable to push back the tears; the girl without a name, the girl without an identity, the girl without a country.
As a nurse, she had seen people die in all sorts of mysterious circumstances; people of all ages, sex and heritage but she had never witnessed any bereavement that welled up so many emotions like that of the lifeless naked girl lying on the cool mogue slab in front of her. A neat reddish clot of blood from an operation cut horizontally across the dead girl’s lower abdomen. The nurse reflected on her own life on the spot.

She eyed the wooden polished sculpture of the soft features of a child with a streak of tear running down one cheek. It was worn on a black-hand woven cotton string on the dead girl’s neck. The nurse had noticed that even unconscious, the girl had clutched on the sculpture as if her life depended on it.

The girl had been brought into the emergency two days ago. The Spanish guardia civil had found her floating half dead off shores of the Mediterranean coast of Tarifa in the province of Cádiz.

To the shocking horror of the guards, she was almost full term pregnant! Her half naked body was crisscrossed with dark bloated mosaic torture lines seared by salty sea water forming purplish scars. The lines spread over her entire back to her swollen pregnant belly. When she was brought to the hospital, she was unconscious and two days later, she had died without uttering a word or opening an eye.

At the hospital, the doctors had grappled whether to keep on the fight on reviving her or cutting her open to deliver the baby before it was too late. She had lost a lot of blood and was severely dehydrated. The child in her had a faint heart beat. Any delays, the doctors knew would have led to the child dying.
“What a waste?” the nurse murmured and pulled the white sheet over the ashen dead face.

Systematically switching off the life saving devices the nurse left the room. As she walked away, she dabbed the tears clouding her dark eyes spilling her make up in a trail down her tan longish straight Hispanic beautiful face.

As a reflection, the woman wondered how she could use her own life to save all the poor little girls of the world; all the poor little girls that were dying at that very moment on a bed giving birth to a child, all the poor little girls that at that moment were being abused, raped, forced to genital mutilation and into endemic servitude.

First she had to take care of the little baby that will never know the warmness and comfort of a real mother’s hug and will never have a real father to guide her through life. The little baby girl was healthy and will be in an incubator for at least a month to attain the expected size of a baby her age.

A thought occurred to the nurse as she left the room. Without hesitation, she went back into the room where the dead girl was waiting to be transferred to the mortuary. She took off the sculpture from the girl’s neck and clutching it in her right palm she left again.

Nurse Josephine Moreno knew exactly where the sculpture belonged and who the dead girl would have wanted it to go to.



Chapter 2
Ceuta Spain 1980
As a young woman dies, twelve miles away, a lonely hungry and thirsty man in his twenties showed up at the door of a Spanish Ceutan farmer begging for water and food. He is turned away as he pleaded barely able to speak.

His voice is low and husky from fatigue and many sleepless nights. The man stank badly. Without warning, the angry Ceutan unleashed a dog. The man tried running away but his weaken legs wobbled and buckled under him; too hungry and debilitated to make progress as the dog pounced.

He stumbled and fell. The dog leaped onto him gnawing at his legs, arms and face. A big canine fang sank a gash on his left cheek leaving him bleeding profuriously. The dog owner satisfied called his dog by blowing a whistle.
The young man is left alone on the pavement as still as dead. The Ceutan hopes that the intruder dies on the street. After all they were all tired of immigrants coming in and vilifying their beautiful island.

It was several hours later that another Ceutan farmer, this time a kind one riding by on a cart spotted the crimson colour of blood trailing across his part. He took the young man on his cart to his home where him and his wife cleaned his wounds and stemmed the bleeding with some healing herbs. “Tomará un milagro para que él se recupere.” The old man told his wife that it will take a miracle for the young man to recover.”

Around the unconscious man’s neck they noticed a sculpture of a weeping African child worn on a black-hand woven cotton string. “El dios bendice,” his wife said. “God bless,” the kind greying Spanish man repeated after his wife.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Insights on life Experiences

Preamble

On this blogg I will recount on some of the day to day experiences i read online, experienced for myself and some of the thoughts that gallop with me when i reflect on the state of human nature, our pursuit for happiness and physical and financial quest. What is the driving force of human greediness?

I am not a philosopher but i guess like most of us here we are aware of the things that have come to shape our experiences and the stereotypes and prejudices that have besieged different people of the world! Read on and hang on fellas!

These comments do not make the person I am but rather represent an extension of thoughts that are built on instantaneous mind bugging issues. Once I leave this forum i shove them far away like a can of herring or vergimine and remember that life is to be lived now.

Now will make tomorrow and if today is good then tomorrow had a good foundation on which to be based!

In Pursuit of Happiness!

The moment I heard my brother's voice on the phone this morning, I knew something was not right. I held back the burning instinct in me to provoke an explanation from him. We went on and chatted about banal issues for a while. I cracked some jokes which in another instance would have spurred fits of laughters from him. Didnt work! He tried but the outcome was far from convincing. We finally hung up without me getting to know what was wrong with him.

Bang five minutes later the phoned buzzed. I snatched the reciever off the hook and jammed the mouth piece to my left cheek. "Ernest on the phone." Gosh i hate answering the phone this way. There he was again. This time he didn't hesitate. He vented out his dilemma. "I dont know what to do with myself." he said. "What do you mean?" I said in a joking voice. "I say mean things to my girl friend." I could hear him breathing hard over the phone. It felt very close. "I can hardly believe I say the things I say," he went on. "Calm down," I said and added "So what did you say that is troubling you so much?" After a giffy he said "I told her last night to leave me alone and go somewhere for a while." I smiled. I guess my reaction should have been like saying you-crazy-son-of-a-bitch why would you say that? Hell no experience has taught me much this far even though I'm still learning everyday. I simply asked, "and why is that troubling you so much?" His response was as expected. "Because I am supposed to love this woman and not hate her."

I anchored the phone between my cheek and left shoulder and quickly typed a response to a requested chat from one of my MSN buddies. On the phone. Can we chat later? I wrote. In today's world, one has to learn how to perform many chores at a time if one was to keep up with everyone and everything else. This must be a hard one for men I guess going back to stereotypes!

Well so ensued a long discourse and later on big brother trying to be responsible and dispense experienced advice (dont know if I was convincing, but i tried). Anyway, if I was experienced, why was I single? Well the answer is simple. I once lived a life just like that of my brother. Met a girl, believed I was madly in love and so moved in together with her. I could have sworn that it was me speaking three years ago when I listened to my brother this morning.

Meeting someone, hanging out for the fun of the moment and having a good time is probably one hundred times lower in the commitment rung when compared to living together. It means primordially changing one's life style to accomodate another's. Having to plan everything for two (cooking, laundry, movies and you can name it). We all know that the beginning is fun when we all have butterflies tingling in our stomach. Its amazing that the same things we used to enjoy together suddenly will boil down to a horrendously boring routine. At that instance, I began questioning myself what I got myself into.

The questions is why do relationships fail? Why do we get bored in each other? Why do we always loose track of the beautiful things that came with meeting someone? This doesn't only apply to conjungal relationships but also to all sorts of partnerships. I will not try to answer these questions as I am sure they will warp my mind into a state of numbness due to their complexity.

I simply told my brother, in every relationship we need space. The best we could do is to ask for it when we need it. Telling his girlfriend he needed that space at that particular time was not a sign he loved her less which was his greatest worry. I told him that as we move from one relationship to the other, the bliss in the beginning will always end at some point and then we have to work damn hard every blessed moment to keep that spark going which is needed to fan the flame of love between two individuals. Unfortunately, humans are a damn lazy bunch at that!

Of course this is the same brother who two years ago came to me with tears of joy in his eyes that he had found the greatest girl in his life. It is the same brother whom I spent last December with in Africa who was driving me insane with jealousy and irritation from his frequent utterances of how much he was missing her and just wanted to return home to be with her. He even said he was gonna have that baby that she had been nagging about. Yeah right its been seven months ever since we returned. I am still to see her develp a protruding ominous belly.

So the big question again is what is happiness and how do we reach it? Sorry misters and misses I dont have an answer to that cos I am looking for that myself. I am not a depressed individual just one that thinks one step ahead. So be careful where you place me. One thing I know for sure is that happiness in my world is often maddeningly beyond my control as I dont live in isolation.

Lets follow this sequence: I might get out of my bed in the best energetic and happy mood but not assured to return to it at the end of the day with a smile on my face. Isn't it great to have a bed? Think about it, it welcomes us regardless of what ever mood we are in. It doesnt complain, we ride horses and climb undulating mountains on it. it doesnt complain. We snore and even drool on it, it doesnt utter grievances! We mess its cover. It doesnt complain and so on and so forth! Think about that.

Back to where we were. Take a typical scenario of me getting up in the morning, run a warm shower while whistling, grab a great breakfast, don a good outfit and feel like I am on top of the world. Then there I go out into the warm summer breeze with the strong beams of the eastly rising sun filtering from the horizon stroking my body and heating it up. My blood begins to boil with relish and i get a rush of adrenaline in anticipation of a beautiful day. I quicken my steps lissomely in bliss and in total satisfaction as I pluck a pink rose near by on my way to the bus stop. On the way I again contemplate how great my life is. What a good family I have and how lucky I have been to study up to the Ph.D. level, or what an amazing career am having with all the bunch of renown scientist scattered all over the globe!


Well this was a good morning indeed cos my happiness did not end at my door this day (probably if the weather was horrible I would have hated that very moment when i stepped over the door threshold into murky poodles of run off). Then bang in the bus some bloody drunk offers a racist statement, at the office a colleague who had a bad day at home is not doing his stint of the daily work. Then at twelve noon, the phone call I have been eagerly waiting for from the girl I met on friday did not come and I am forced to have lunch with some boring colleagues that all they talk about are crying kids at home and plans to celebrate yet another birthday for another child of theirs. Not that I dont like children, I just dont care because I dont have any myself at least not now and its my least worry for the interim.

So out goes my happiness straight through the window. Before the day ends, so happens other series of events before i finally return to sleep in the same bed that I went up from with an inflated ego and filled with joy. But not everyday is a bad experience. Maybe the lady calls the next day at noon and invites me out for lunch and the tragic rejection the day before turns into a pleasant suprise or maybe my colleague who was incensed the previous day gets out of bed on the positive side and so on. Turn it whatever way you like, the bottom line is that, our happiness is hinged on others and our immediate surrounding. No single living entity on this planet is an island.

The madman we shun today will become the most precious thing tomorrow if he was the last person left on earth with us. We need each other, we depend on each other just like my brother called to debunk the burden that was crushing his day. My talking to him helped me understood myself even better on the other hand. For one thing I understood why I am sinlge despite the number of girls I meet regularly. The answer is simple, I have become caught in the twisted vice of the modern world. Like everyone else, I am looking for ultimate love and happiness. Dont giggle! I am sweating in the crook of my palms thinking on how to make sense of where the word ULTIMATE came from.

I write a lot, see a lot; probably more than I should. I talk sometimes too much cos my head is brimming with ideas good sensible and crazy. Some times horribly dumb too. In my world everything has a place. I fantasize and sometimes hate when those fantasies come true. Even though I had wished for that. I like people at first glance but it has never really worked hating them in the same way. I am infectiously spontaneous to a fault sometimes but still shyness has its place when it derserves it!

My academic mind is sometimes warp in imaginary romatic display that perplexes me. However, as i get up each day while I have gotten older overnight, I go "here comes another day, hey dude what we got here?" It has taken me so many years to come to understand that the basic instinct to search for satisfaction in life is in parity to hunting for happiness.

I am sometimes dismally disappointed that despite my search for happiness on a day to day basis, I have never been able to fully grasp it in its entiety. As a literal example, one goes to his best retaurant, eats and gets satisfied, three hours later one is as hungry as hell again. You meet a magic girl and bang one is blissfully happy. A week or take what ever time span one starts going like hmmmm am not so sure about this. I have known people that up to date, despite thier desire to persue an academic degree they never were able to find that right education that fit their mental desire. Who is a superstar? He or she is someone that spends a great part of his or her life working hard to gain success and recognition and then when it comes, he or she spends the rest of it behind shades hiding from paparazzis, fans and stalkers! You can name the rest for yourself.

The question then is; is there anything like maximum happiness? Is there a thing like maximum satisfaction? My concept about falling in love today is that as our societies become much more modernized and advanced there has been a tendency to shift to individuals looking for ultimate satisfaction in everything. I am sorry to say, this blogg triggered by my brother's early morning phone call tells me nothing but that ultimate love and happiness is utopic. There is no consistency nor neither is there any constancy. There aint no such things. Did someone just slap me?

For Food and Shelter: Emigrate or die my friend

I was on BBC news online and a story headline captioned ‘Attacking Europe's border fences’ vividly captured my attention. In this compassionate narration, the author traced a group of young Africans willing to face all the huddles and risk to cross to Europe by braving the treacherous 23 km stretch of the Mediterranean Sea waters that luxuriantly wash the shores of Spain in wealthy Europe and the shores of Morocco in poverty stricken Africa. Inhabitants of both shores are now accustomed to dead bodies of Africans being washed up upon their once beautiful shores now turned into a dead trap and burial ground for many.

These young people get drowned as they try to reach the coast of Spain (where it is believed that milk and honey is abound) in small boats usually overloaded or not fit to stand the strong currents of the Mediterranean sea. I can hardly imagine that a 23 km distance is the determining factor between wealth and poverty, between two continents so close but so different from each other. Between 2 continents one in which food is bountiful and one in which children die everyday from malnutrition, one in which life expectancy of its inhabitants towers by a factor of 2 above that of the other. One in which literacy rates of 100 % are a norm and one in which in some places less than 50 % of people can read or write. Sounds to me like the Mediterranean, represents the big chasm of death separating hell from Heaven indeed.

The quest for shelter and food is ancient. Early men sojourned the earth in search of basic comforts of life. Sailors braved the dangerous seas to conquer and explore exotic lands in quest of wealth. The Vikings were roving plunderers with intent to cease and accumulate wealth. Several million Europeans immigrated to America, some to South Africa, Kenya etc in a similar venture. Migration has therefore always been and is still a common phenomenon in all realms of living species. People, like birds and other animals migrate for several reasons. Today, the western nations are attractive destinations for people emigrating from poor countries. To get a clear view of the underpinning forces of immigration, in the early 20th century, Sweden one of the most prosperous and rich economies in the world Today was one of the poorest and almost 1/4 of its population emigrated to the US to look for greener pastures.

I read everyday about how political leaders are looking for ways of curbing illegal immigration. Some countries are building walls several meters high, on the US/Mexico boarder, it is common to find several kilometres of barb wired fences manned by gun tooting guards. The solution to illegal immigration must be obvious even to the stupidest of all minds. Make the world a better and equal place for all. The ability to live a good life regardless of where one is located will harmonise human existence. I am looking forward to the day when one will fly to the horn of Africa and see all healthy and smiling kids. When one will stop in India, Bangladesh and places in South America and realise that they can live a long and fulfilling life as it is elsewhere in the developed nations. Then it will be time to start breaking down the high walls and fences we have built around ourselves in embarassment because no one will bother coming near them.