There are few things that make me angry enough to Hate. In fact I avoid using the word Hate at all costs as I believe we use it way too often in our language. But I can say that the thing that gets me angry enough to use the word Hate is Injustice.

I hate Injustice more than anything.

It is guaranteed to make me so angry that I can’t sit still when thinking or discussing the issue. It goes deep into my psyche that Injustice is so important to me. When I watch a documentary or read an article or hear an opinion, I just cannot contain my rage – I feel debilitated and utterly powerless.


When I was at University I once participated in a group activity designed to highlight how children in minorities feel in modern society. It’s a pretty famous group activity called “Blue Eyed”. The participating group, in our case it was 28 peeps, is then split into smaller sub-groups. Each sub-group is given a set of standards that define them. Eye colour, hair colour, description of housing and level of education. Areas of the classroom were then delineated as socially accepted areas of popular culture; banks, universities, employment, clubs, special groups. The objective of the ‘game’ was to attain as much wealth as possible by using the defined standards.

Can you guess which sub-group I was assigned to?

Yep. I was placed in the most disadvantaged group. As a collective we were repeatedly told that we could not have access to a resource or join a group or be enrolled in an institution. The Lecturer concluded the activity when he discovered I was planning a coup. I’m not exaggerating! I got so pissed off at the Injustice of it all, that I pulled aside everyone in my sub-group and pointed out that we were in effect being barred from every possible opportunity and therefore our only means of progress was to take what we wanted by force. I was never sure if the Lecturer had placed me in the lowest sub-group deliberately or if it had been pure coincidence.

I have always had a keen sense of trying to be fair and balanced. Seriously. I still try to do as much with my left hand as my right hand, simply because I don’t want my left hand to feel it has lesser value to me. I also named one of my earliest stuffed toys with a ‘weird’ name, Mushka, because I wanted my world to be varied and unbiased by my Western upbringing.

I was 8!

And so my journey on this Earth is quite strongly defined by sense of being fair and balanced.
Being Just.

So you can imagine, that in the world we live in, where the stupidity of the masses and the ego of politicians and the control of big business all rule – that my mind is in constant conflict and where my Clinical Depression has the potential to fester and grow bigger, each and every day.

And to live each day feeling and thinking like this, without the love of a Mother or Father or siblings or nephews and nieces or even just one truly close friend – is bleak.

Bleak and lonely.



But still,
I get up every day and try to be happy and make things and be Creative and try to find small wonder in the clouds or flowers or a child’s laughter.

I am trying to educate myself to fully appreciate the truth about the world and civilisation, and how enlightened people actually survive this Unjust world. How the truth of human behaviour and it’s need to be collectively controlled by religion and/or borders and/or cultural identity: is in fact a state that has existed since we first became bipedal hunters and gatherers at least 40,000 years ago.

And that those who can recognise the truth of Human Behaviour, and their propensity to repeat all successes and failures generation after generation, manage to find solace and fulfillment and peace by eking out their own version of a Happy Life.

I am trying.
Each day.


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