The heated discussion about the new documentary Diana: In Her Own Words made my phone go mad with notifications, as I had subscribed to all Diana-related news. I had heard some of Princess Diana’s tapes previously on YouTube as they had been broadcast by the American television long before, and could not understand at first, why make all this fuss about them being shown in the UK. Now I am even doubting whether I was right to hear any of those recordings, even if they were posted for public. The thing is – I am thinking hard whether a person of historical importance should be deprived of privacy even after her death?
Diana was haunted by the media throughout her life. It is reasonable to suppose that the huge public interest in her gave the newspapers enormous profits. Does public interest equal people’s love? Every single detail of her personal life was hungrily read both by fans and haters. It was an obsession. Now that she is dead, I am convinced that haters and obsessed followers should step back and quietly respect her for what she was. Keep her memory alive, the best memories of her, and not make a sensation out of what she would not like it to be made of.
This is not just for her children’s sake. It is also for Diana’s sake. For her name’s sake. And you will never convince me that her life belongs to history and everybody has rights to know it. Do the tiniest details of her personal life matter to the history? Have they changed its course? No. We all know that she experienced difficulties in her marriage which ended in a divorce. Why do you want to hear more of it? I just do not see why it is so important.
If we truly love Diana, her will must guide us in everything we do about her memory. Would she appreciate excessive publications of her private affairs? Hardly. She always wanted to be remembered for the work she did. So why we do not make more films about her charity patronages, landmine campaigns, the famous auction where she sold most of her marvelous dresses?
She was a woman with a complicated personal life, yes. But she was more than that. Let us put an emphasis on that MORE. If we do, it will turn out that she has enough of her personal space. As any other historical figure should have. Let us respect it!
Inspired by Why I won’t follow you back! by Naya on My life book, and Follow by Jeff Cann on The Other Stuff, I decided to explore the significance of WordPress likes rather than follows (since it has been done thoroughly by my fellow bloggers) and compare to those on Facebook.
First of all, let us see what you invest in one blog post versus fb profile pic (probably the most “liked” item on your timeline). Your article equals brainstorming + editing + formatting + wish to appeal to the audiences + courage to share your passions and opinions. A profile pic requires maximum some hysteria about a dozen unsuccessful selfies and a mini heart attack because of low battery on your phone. As you see, writing on WordPress is much more challenging and the appreciation of your efforts then costs infinitely more.
Now let us answer the question who are your “likers”. On Facebook, those are (mostly) people you know in person, somebody who will hit a “like” just because they know you, and not because your latest photo is really as ravishing as Angelina Jolie’s. A Facebook “like” is (most often) either the fulfillment of an unwritten rule of friendship (you are my friend = you like my profile pic), or a way to attract your attention and flatter you a bit. On WordPress, you hardly know anyone – we are here from all around the world, many of us even do not reveal our faces or tell everything about our personal problems. We are here to express ourselves. Thus, a WordPress “like” means that the way of our self-expression is valued, our ideas are appealing to someone, our brain content is worth being published because is appreciated by another creative, thinking individual.
Hence, when I press a “like” on your post, you may be sure that I really-really mean it. I am very proud of having a sidebar called “Posts I Like” – and yours appear there as soon as you trigger my thoughts or move my feelings. I am extremely happy to see the orange dot by the notifications bell and discover that some of my efforts have appealed to you, too. Tiny red squares on Facebook never affect me the same way.
On Facebook, you are who appear to be. On WordPress, you are what you think.
Where am I today? = What do I want to do now?
You never know what you want – this is your main problem.
I have no opportunity to fulfill my dreams. Statement false.
What stops you from going on? How can you overcome it? Examine your personal qualities, find your faults (be cruel – they are there as long as you are not where you want to be) and imagine you are a superstar who has no rights to have them.
No money. Wealth does not equal willpower.
No time. There are two types of people – those who never have time and those who always do. You are the second, because we all have 24 h a day.
I have failed. Not an excuse. You are still closer to where you want to be than where you were before. You can create a new aim – and move there from where you are – with an experience and newly acquired resources.
Measurement of your success – your satisfaction. A satisfaction of somebody who is a champion of self-criticism (yes-yes, no tears, no pity, no forgiveness). To earn a praise from yourself is a great achievement. The moment you feel it – you are on the right track.
But remember – no matter how much you have achieved, you have no excuse to stop.
Image taken from Earth Porm
We imagine things. Our smiles and tears do not depend on what really happens – they depend on what we think about it.
We do not like doing something when somebody else tells us to do it. Without obligation, it’s much more fun.
We are never ever sure how somebody else feels about us – and therefore are shy to reveal our own feelings, missing a great chance.
We listen to music even when we do not hear it – our fan memory works better than headphones.
We watch Titanic all alone, just not to confess that we also cry every time Jack dies.
We hate wearing glasses until we remember that Harry Potter also did wear them.
We have rehearsed our potential Oscar-receiving speech at least once in a lifetime (if you haven’t, it means you just don’t remember it).
We would love to switch our phones off so that nobody disturbs us, but we still have a mini heart attack every time we forget our phone at home.
We are unique time managers, complaining about not having enough time and wasting time.
We want to be perfect, but we are just people.
Image taken from Pinterest
Nobody feels anything about this strange number. Eleven. It is between the top ten and fairytale twelve.
Eleven is also a fairytale. Eleven elves. And in German elf means eleven.
Eleven a.m. is too late for getting up. Eleven p.m. is too late for arranging meetings. Is eleven too early in any case? No. Always too late. Or in time. Simply because there is no other option.
What can you express in eleven words? Too strange a word-count to think about it.
Eleven steps away? Too precise to ever find a place like this.
Eleven roses? Probably an acceptable present to your sweetheart. At least something.
Eleven songs on an album? Frequently observed.
Cannot think of anything more.
Eleven deserves more of existence. In our thoughts, associations, realisations. I am glad to think that this blog post sounds like one more day in the life of number eleven. One more day in the life of an elf.
I’ve started the countdown from eleven seconds. Now I am pressing the “publish” button.
Image taken from WallpaperSafari
We are obsessed with finding all kinds of keys. A key to success. A key to somebody’s heart. A key to paradise.
What does it really mean? A plan of actions in order to achieve what you want? Maybe. But there are always some circumstances working as evil forces against you. A key is not enough. You need luck.
Luck cannot be found. It can only be given to you by somebody. Can you attract the luck giver like entrepreneurs attract customers? I cannot imagine what marketing campaign would be successful here.
Luck is magic. Do you believe in magic? You should, if you do not want to lose all your hopes.
Your key, then, is a miracle. So, watching Disney movies when you were small was not at all silly. And being a fan of Scottish fairytales is also fine.
Just believe. Fairy Faith is here – with Hope as a support. With Love as a gift.
Image taken from WallpapersCraft
Nelly presses the cherry-red lipstick to her lower lip until it hurts; tears gather around the dark-blue eyeliner; the face toner makes her skin itch with irritation. The image looking back at her from the mirror is polished and refined, but it feels even worse than the blister in the new high-heeled shoes.
She lets herself bite the freshly drawn lips and cry, cry until mascara and powder paint bizarre lines on her cheeks. She takes off the shoes – they are not worth the pain. She does not care what she is wearing as long as there is a chain of N’s hanging around her neck. She runs out into the rain and lets the rain wash the remaining traces of the make-up away. The invitation is left behind – torn in two.
Why does she have to paint herself like a doll? For fear that people will not accept her as she is? Pretense is saluted – truth is repented. But lies hurt more than contempt. This is not an anti-makeup propaganda. Only, if you give it a thought, drawing a new face and hiding your own behind it has many names you would never want to be called: Hypocrisy, Egotism, Artifice, Dishonesty.
Nelly fights against it. She is throwing the HEAD out of her HEART: Humbleness, Emotion, Affinity, Respect and Truth. A spoiled party is the smallest price to pay for freedom, for the right to be loved for what you are. She is happy now: her hair a rainy-curly mess, her face desperately wanting some soap. She will go home, wrap up in her favourite old sweater, drink some peppermint tea and read Jane Austen.
Tomorrow will be different to her, now that she has felt the pain of lies and destroyed them. It will also be different to you, if you have arrived at the last sentence.
Image taken from Margaret May – blogger
© 2017 Cathy Sanju, My English Paradise. All rights reserved.