As children being raised by our elders we are brought up and encouraged to be proud of the country we live in, proud of who we are. Being a child of the United Kingdom however, we are often raised, if not by our parents, by our friends and peers, to hate outside of our own country, and in many cases, our own religion or race.
Tonight I watched a program on a country shown to be torn by poverty and war. Yet the communities which formed in this poverty stricken country, were something I had never come across in the UK. I would like to talk about this subject on a much larger scale, but knowing as little as I do so far, I will only go by what I know in fact.
Watching this program moved me, made me think of my own life, and compare the ways in which I grew up, strived, and flourished to the simple ways these children and adults do. I fear that the western world has detached itself so much from these far countries, that there is no possible way of changing the minds of generations to come.
The majority of westerners view these programs, and after they have ended, too has all thought of this matter. They seem to look at what’s in front of them as something of another planet, just a TV program, nothing more. Where as I see it as close enough to be next door. I appreciate more in my own life, and aim to change certain aspects of it when learning of such things, as everybody else continues to go about their same old business. In order to change, a person can only do so if they truly want to. No one wants to change anymore. We are too comfy in our pig-ignorant country.
The way in which these developing countries live, is just the way that they live. To them it is life; it is survival, by all means a harsh survival, but nothing more. I see life in these communities that I envy, that all new generations here will miss out on. Why is it because our country has money, that our families cannot sit around the table together to eat?
Being born to this country, I’ve appreciated every possession it has given me. So being, it makes me sad that I despise the very fibre of our culture and community. We talk about our heritage and our history so proudly, but what do we have to show for it? Crime figures through the roof. Children bred to be adults that can’t cook, clean, or work. It is a Lazy nation. I will now call it United Laziness, for this describes us far more accurately.
Friday, 20 February 2009
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Pack Lightly
If you don’t pack lightly you’ll miss your flight. These are the rules. I didn’t make them; it’s just the way it is.
Life. Life doesn’t come around twice. Nor does it turn back around when you’ve done something not so right and allow you to correct it. That is how, if you are asking yourself, you have come to live the life your living at this present time.
I recon it takes at least eight times moving through an airport to realise how time consuming, exciting, and annoying it is. So if it took at least twenty times to learn from a common mistake, why would we feel a similar anxiety waiting in a never ending check in queue, to waiting for the right job to jump up and slap us in the face? Work in a pathetic dead end circuit for years to come, but don’t you dare have patience in customs.
Ever ask yourself why you’re paying to be bossed around, ignored, and looked down on by “atrocious excuses of human beings”? Next time, stop to think where they would be if you weren’t flying to a destination of your choice. Perhaps somewhere not losing hair over your travels?
So hit me with the typical argument that these people would not have jobs if it wasn’t for you travelling. Maybe too you could add the old “it’s their job, so they should be doing it right” speech, usually loudly utter by some half witted business man.
Yes, it is their job, and they know that, this is why they’re trying to move your arrogant ass through check in. So please continue walking this way sir.
Just move through quietly, and get to the other side. People who make noise stand out. People who get pissed off, stand out. Everybody wants to stand out. We can all band together in one pissed off army of bastards, join enraged forces and make the situation worse but feel better in the process. Then we can, red faced and bloody, get through to the other side and talk about the insanity, the cheek of these people to treat US in such a way. This way we will have something to yammer on about in the hours before boarding.
“Take your shoe’s off please”. Ok. Maybe I’ll take everything off and wander through stark. Just to make sure I’m not going to get frisked or bag searched again.
I love the airport. There’s something about people travelling that intrigues me.
Everyone, that isn’t there working, is only passing through. The limbo between start destination, and end destination. Or the start or end of many flights and bag dragging fun.
Passengers travelling alone, always seem to look like they’re in deep thought. Either that or reading a paper, looking around for someone to raise a smile at, or jittering around like a Telly Tubby to some cheery travel song of choice. Most of these people are probably doing none of the above, but it amuses me to categorise people in my pre-flight boredom, so bare with me.
Travelling with children? Either the whole world is about to collapse in on you, or there’s a dozen other passengers glaring at you enviously that you have something to occupy your time.
Me, I like to travel with my boyfriend, partly because he’s the only person I’ve travelled with recently, and mainly because there’s never a dull moment with him. You’ve got it made if you have a travel partner. It’s not always roses, but go ahead, argue, provide the onlookers with some form of mild entertainment for half an hour. People like to get pissed off; it gives them something to talk about.
Life. Life doesn’t come around twice. Nor does it turn back around when you’ve done something not so right and allow you to correct it. That is how, if you are asking yourself, you have come to live the life your living at this present time.
I recon it takes at least eight times moving through an airport to realise how time consuming, exciting, and annoying it is. So if it took at least twenty times to learn from a common mistake, why would we feel a similar anxiety waiting in a never ending check in queue, to waiting for the right job to jump up and slap us in the face? Work in a pathetic dead end circuit for years to come, but don’t you dare have patience in customs.
Ever ask yourself why you’re paying to be bossed around, ignored, and looked down on by “atrocious excuses of human beings”? Next time, stop to think where they would be if you weren’t flying to a destination of your choice. Perhaps somewhere not losing hair over your travels?
So hit me with the typical argument that these people would not have jobs if it wasn’t for you travelling. Maybe too you could add the old “it’s their job, so they should be doing it right” speech, usually loudly utter by some half witted business man.
Yes, it is their job, and they know that, this is why they’re trying to move your arrogant ass through check in. So please continue walking this way sir.
Just move through quietly, and get to the other side. People who make noise stand out. People who get pissed off, stand out. Everybody wants to stand out. We can all band together in one pissed off army of bastards, join enraged forces and make the situation worse but feel better in the process. Then we can, red faced and bloody, get through to the other side and talk about the insanity, the cheek of these people to treat US in such a way. This way we will have something to yammer on about in the hours before boarding.
“Take your shoe’s off please”. Ok. Maybe I’ll take everything off and wander through stark. Just to make sure I’m not going to get frisked or bag searched again.
I love the airport. There’s something about people travelling that intrigues me.
Everyone, that isn’t there working, is only passing through. The limbo between start destination, and end destination. Or the start or end of many flights and bag dragging fun.
Passengers travelling alone, always seem to look like they’re in deep thought. Either that or reading a paper, looking around for someone to raise a smile at, or jittering around like a Telly Tubby to some cheery travel song of choice. Most of these people are probably doing none of the above, but it amuses me to categorise people in my pre-flight boredom, so bare with me.
Travelling with children? Either the whole world is about to collapse in on you, or there’s a dozen other passengers glaring at you enviously that you have something to occupy your time.
Me, I like to travel with my boyfriend, partly because he’s the only person I’ve travelled with recently, and mainly because there’s never a dull moment with him. You’ve got it made if you have a travel partner. It’s not always roses, but go ahead, argue, provide the onlookers with some form of mild entertainment for half an hour. People like to get pissed off; it gives them something to talk about.
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