Związki na uczelni

Relacje międzyludzkie są dość ważnym punktem jeśli chodzi o cudowną uczelnię. Niestety czasem nawet taki banał jak znajdowwanie nowych przyjaciół jest trudne. Serio. 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/conchur/525596627/

Przyjaciel jest jak dwadzieścia złotych - nie znam takiego szczęściarza, który na codzień znajduje je na ulicy. Jeśli jesteś jedną z osób, która posiada duży krąg przyjaciół - szczęściarzu, trzymaj się ich, póki możesz. Zwiążki kiedy jesteś studentem pierwszego roku i mieszkasz w akademiku są jednak dość trudnym tematem. Sam koncept mieszkania w przypisanym budynku - na początku zakładasz, że każdy mieszkaniec tego cudownego przybytku, który przez kolejny rok będzie twoim domem, zostannie twoim przyjacielem. Po jakimś czasie jednak zdajesz sobie sprawę, że... tak to nie działa. Przykro mi cię uświadamiać w tak brutalny sposób, ale biuro akomodacji nie miało pojęcia kto z kim będzie mieszkać i był to przypadek losowy. Czasem owsze, może działało też przeznaczenie, ale w większości przypadków jest to zwykły... rzut monetą.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/msrd/577607765/

 Mogę to opisać na własnym przykładzie - we wrzesniu, kiedy dopiero co zaczęłam studia w UK rozmawiałam tylko z dwójką moich współlokatorów, resztę konkretnie olewałam i unikałam ich jak ognia. Fakt faktem - dalej zdaję sobię sprawę z tego, że jesteśmy od siebie choleernie różni, ale nie działa mi to już na nerwy. Zaszły jednak pewne zmiany - z jednym szkotem, z którym wcześniej przez dwa miesiące zdołałam nie wymienić innych zdań niż "Cześć", "Co u ciebie?", "Dobrze? To dobrze". Teraz nie wyobrażam sobie dnia bez gadania z tym chudym pierdolcem, choć czasem doprowadza mnie do szewskiej pasji. To samo z jednym z moich współlokatorów, którego nazywamy Jezusem. Choć nie rozmawiamy za dużo, to nie wyobrażamy sobie iść na imprezę bez niego. Nie jestem już tak bliską przyjaciółką z szaloną dziewczyną studiującą ilustrację, nie widziałam jej przez ostatni miesiąc i gdyby nie cudowny wynalazek "snapchat" to możliwe, że nie byłabym pewna tego, czy ona w ogóle żyje. Dalej rozmawiam z moją coursemate. Nie mówię, że nie działa mi na neerwy, ale z moim wybuchowym charakkterem mało jest osób, które mogą bez problemu egzystować koło mnie i nie sprawiać mi swoim zbyt głośnym oddychaniem jakichkolwiek nieprzyjemności. No cóż.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/beegee49/32132697783/

Niezręcznym jest, i to cholernie niezręcznym, spotykanie swojego przyszłego niedoszłego na korytarzu. Szczególnie po tym jak zaproponowanie obejrzenia razem filmu zostało przyjęte jako propozycja małżeństwa (conajmniej). Jeśli myślisz o zamieszkaniu w akademiku -go for it. Jest to esencja studenckiego życia i uważam, że każdy, kto ma taką okazję powinien tego spróbować, ale pamiętaj, że wioska akademicka to nazwa, która ma w sobie bardzo dużo prawdy. Nie musisz wszystkich znać osobiście, żeby wszyscy wiedzieli co zrobiłeś ostatniej nocy. Nie potrzebujesz mieć dużego grona znajomych, aby plotki o twoim życiu rozchodziły się z prędkością błyskawicy. Nie ma wczegoś takiego jak bycie anonimowym. Bo w końcu wszyscy mieszkamy w małej wiosce, gdzie nawet kasjerka wie co Baśka robiła trzy dni temu o piętnastej z Markiem.

"The elephant man" - portrayal of the disabled in the media

Media, as I wrote multiple times, is an important part of our everyday life - we consume media content all the time and we have to finally accept that. Unfortunately, the influence that media hold over all of us has not always been used to our benefit. Take the representation of the disabled people for example. As Barnes said in his article about discrimination (1991) the media can’t be held responsible for all what’s going on but on the other hand, its impact cannot be overlooked.

“The Elephant Man” (1980) is a movie about Joseph Merrick, he suffered from proteus syndrome which according to Wikipedia “causes skin overgrowth and atypical bone development, often accompanied by tumors over half the body”. Considering the study of Paul Hunt (1991) in which he described 10 stereotypes that media use to portray disabled people this character would score 8/10. Joseph is portrayed as pitiable object of curiosity and violence, atmosphere, his worst enemy, non-sexual, laughable, a burden and being unable to participate in daily life. Even going to a train station is a huge deal for him, people laugh at him and perceive him as a disgusting creature when he is just suffering from a very rare syndrome.

As Shakespeare said (1999;64) “impairment is made the most important thing” and disabled characters are “objectified and distanced from the audience”. John is portrayed as a pitiable human being, in one of the scenes he screams “I’m not an elephant, I’m not an animal, I’m a human being” which is his biggest dream to be perceived as a human not weird creature. Character of John Merrick is shown as a laughable one – he’s treated like a thing by an owner of a ‘Freak Show’.

Haller argues that “even something as mundane as the words used to refer to a group are important because they have ramifications both for the self-perception of people with disabilities and what the general public believes about disability’ (2006; 64). It’s a main point in the story of Merrick. Dr. Frederick Treves treats Merrick as a human not looking first at his disability which leads to building a true friendship between those two characters. On the other hand we have also the rest of the society which looks at Merrick as a freak, not a human being which leads him to feel bad about himself and finally accepting the fact that he is a freak and believing in it to be true.

Disability is unfortunately still a hook that writers and filmmakers use to draw an audience into the story. Shakespeare was right writing in 1999 that “Above all the dominant images [of disabled people] are crude, one-dimensional and simplistic” calling it a lazy shortcut as well. The saddest thing about this particular character is that it’s based on a true story – John Merrick lived in the UK in XIX century and this movie is a great insight into his life. Summing up disability is a key point only if media makes it be so. Fair representation can change so much not only in the media content but in other people’s lives so next time looking at a picture of “the super cripple” don’t be afraid to say it out loud that disability is not a thing that defines who the person is.

Sources I’ve used to write this blogpost:

1) Barnes, C. (1992) Media Guidelines. In: Pointon, A., and Davies, C. (eds.) (1997) Framed: Interrogating          Disability in the Media. London: British Film industry.

2) Shakespeare, T. (1999) Art, and lies? Representations of disability on film. In: Corker, M. and French, S. (eds.) Disability Discourse Buckingham: Open University Press.

3) Haller, B. et al. (2006) Media labeling versus the US disability community identity: a study of shifting cultural language. Disability and Society, Taylor and Francis Group Ltd, 21(1), 2006

4) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proteus_syndrome

5) http://disability-studies.leeds.ac.uk/files/library/elliot-r-Robert-H.-Elliott-Dissertaton-Final.pdf

Ramona Mag Publication! 'Liars'

GUUUYS! My piece got published at Ramona Magazine! To check out their page - click - here. And I hope you enjoy reading it. Cheers!

Liars

Writing by Monyca Piter // Photograph by Olivia Dileo

I didn’t want him to leave. I was slowly examining every part of his face. One by one. Touching every spot, each mole, his thin cheeks, red marks. Trying to memorise as much as I possibly could. Blonde hair fell on his pale skin hiding few pimples.  He was lying on my lap looking at me with those big green eyes, the same way as he did when we first met. His eyes were filled with happiness back then, not watering, not looking away. He didn’t realise that I was already missing him terribly. I was scared that he would do something stupid. Well… I knew that he was not one of those guys making smart decisions. Twenty-five years old, but behaving like a kid.

I kissed the red, heart-like mark on his forehead and looked at him smiling. He was holding my hand. Slowly pressed my palm to his mouth at the same time showing “always&forever M2” on his wrist. The tattoo he got few nights ago. I told him that was stupid of him to mark his body for his entire life just because of a girl he met in a store, but now I felt happy about that. A quick sigh escaped from my lungs. I was sad. My heart got stumped with millions of needles at the same time. Slowly falling apart, drifting away from each other and neither of us could do anything about it. I bit my lip trying to say something, but remained silent. It was so quiet, almost calm. His eyes closed. Looking so vulnerable, so innocent. I knew it. No-one had to tell me about it, explain it or translate into another language. He knew it as well.

We had spent a wonderful three months lying to each other. Living an illusion that would soon disappear. Just like him. I wouldn’t visit him in Malaysia, he wouldn’t stay with me. We wouldn’t be able to call ourselves a family, he wouldn’t be the father of my kids. We would never settle down. Maybe we would meet one day. Different. Being strangers to each other, knowing so much about ourselves. Hugging instead of casual greeting, getting to the same club as we used to, he would introduce me to his new girlfriend secretly gazing if I still had that ring. I would smile seeing a little tattoo on his wrist, which used to mean so much. We would talk about those few years when we were not keeping in touch, maybe we would even go out together. Just the two of us. Just like old, good friends trying to catch up after months. And again I would laugh at his jokes. But in the end he would not be the one on whose lap I would be sitting on in a pub. He would not get my name tattooed on his forearm, nor would I be the one kissed on the forehead by him. I wouldn’t dance with him, he wouldn’t say anything about how nice I was looking. I knew it and I was also sure that it had to be like that. Was I about to do anything with it? No. Nobody is able to stop the time running away from us, I didn’t want to hold even a single minute of those months. Trying to remember only good things about him.

Everything has its end. Ours came way too soon. In a month time I would be in Taipei, while he was moving to Shanghai. Meeting new people, making bad decisions, falling in love one more time, even though he was so sure that I was the one. Just as he came to my life, quickly, without saying a thing, not asking for permission, he would disappear the same way. Leaving me in an empty kitchen sitting on an old, dirty sofa that once used to be brown. Saying how much he loved me, that I was the one and would always be. Kiss my forehead and leave. What about me? I would stay and not even a single tear would go down my cheeks. I would not feel sad or alone. Nothing would change. Next morning he would seem so distant to me, as if he never existed, as if we never met. Only once would I sit alone crying, wondering if I should call him, to ask if he was alright. But I wouldn’t do that. Maybe one day I would forget about that handsome, charming guy who could always cheer me up. After years I would probably forget his name. Not saying hello when seeing each other in a public place. Remembering would be just too painful, too many lies had been told already, we didn’t need more of them.

I touched his neck, slowly sliding my finger towards his chest. I could feel his breath on my cheek. Slow and controlled. I had enough. Somebody had to stop this, end the illusion. I stared at his luggage for a minute, then I got up and briskly came to the doors. That was it, it was his time to go and to never come back. He got his bags and came to me. My hair was stuck between his fingers. My breath stopped for a second. Sudden warmth came through my body one last time. His eyes reminded me of flooded meadows. No flowers could be rescued. Not this time. And then… there was just an echo, old, dirty sofa, broken microwave and a cup of unfinished coffee. Still warm. It seemed to be so empty although the room was filled with furniture and electrical equipment. My heart broke into thousands of pieces. He left me. Quick. Quiet. Without any sign of regret. Without a single word. He left me and we were supposed to never see each other again.

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Monyca Piter

Monyca Piter is almost not a teenager, but desperately avoiding being called an adult. As an aspiring writer and journalist, she studies journalism and creative writing in England. Blogger, (time) traveller, model, daughter and a dog person. Tea lover and coffee addict trying to find the best way to live, not just exist. Pierced and inked, fluent speaker in 3 languages. You can find more of her creative work at her blog – www.make-it-to-the-top.blogspot.co.uk

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Olivia Dileo

Olivia Dileo is 17 and lives near Rome, Italy. She recently started to be fascinated by photography; she loves the fact that sentiments are stuck inside photographs. Check out her work here.

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