Standard of living

When I left my apartment in Sweden the flat had to be inspected by the landlord, this is a norm in that nice proper society.

In an inspection they look for scratches of the parquet flooring, for many or large holes drilled into the walls and make sure that all electrical outlets work.
If you have decorated the flat during your stay, like repainted the walls they could ask you to change it back to the original colour, if the new colour is too drastic or if one has used the wrong kind of paint or even if they consider that you’ve just done a lousy painting job.

In Israel I think things are a bit different in this matter.

An apartment comes as it is, as far as I’ve been able to gather, there is no minimum standard state an apartment has to be in.
Luckily for us our new little student flat was just recently repainted white and if one doesn’t mind dried paint on the windows, floors or all over the bathtub I must say it looked fresh.
That is until I noticed the little black spots of mould in the bathroom ceiling that they’ve painted over.

In my Swedish bathroom the landlord checked for cracks in the toilette bowl and the sink. I had a tiny crack in the sink but blamed the previous tenants so I didn’t have to pay for a new one. The landlord replaced in anyway.
In our little student flat here in Jerusalem, the sink in the bathroom only has one big crack and if I am careful when cleaning it I don’t get cut on the sharp edge.

They go a bit too far in Sweden I think, I don’t mind cracks or spots or scratches, as long as the place is liveable. But before one moves out of an apartment one gets a list of things to think about and places to clean:

Clean the windows and don’t forget the windowsills
Dust the walls (?!)
Wash the floor (obviously)
Clean and unclog the drains in kitchen and bathroom (eiuh!)
and to forget to clean BEHIND the stove and refrigerator etc

Its no wonder Sweden has a high standard of living. Every apartment has to be spick and span when one moves in and even if you only get a rental apartment, one is entitled to complaining and getting reimbursed for anything that might have been missed. One can get money for repainting the whole apartment if one is lucky. Also, it is standard to have central heating, triple paned glass windows, a stove with oven, a fridge and a freezer. People in Sweden really do take these things for granted.

Our nice two room apartment has big splashes of dried paint in the bathtub, cracks in the walls where the draft comes in and all the floors are askew so every table or chair wobble slightly. Only one glass pane in the window which makes it pretty cold when the temperature at night is below zero. But I don’t care, I love it anyway!
We have a fridge and a stove but not an oven. As a housewarming gift we got a small portable oven but when we plugged it in, it blew the fuse.

Of the entire building.

Hehe…

Arrival

The loved one picked me up at the airport, it was five o’clock in the morning, I had been awake for more than 24 hours.

My first encounter with another person in these 24 hours was with a policewoman who shouted at me for being illegal. Actually she looked more like a policechild, she couldn’t have been older than 18 but wearing enough make up for a clown in a circus and with nails long, fake and red.

And what a nasty girl it was.

I told her I was married and that I intended to stay, but she said, a visitor is only allowed a 3 month tourist visa per year and that I had used up my allowance for this year (I was in Israel for three months last winter). I said that I had called the Israeli embassy in Sweden and asked about a visa and they’d told me to go to Israel first and then applying for it at the Ministry of Immigrations. She retorted in a hysterical voice verging on breaking

“Well you can go back to YOUR Embassy and tell them that a POLICE-woman told you this is ILLEGAL, you are doing an ILLEGAL thing!!!”

I did want to point out to her that the Embassy was in fact her Embassy and not mine and also that if she put a stamp in my passport I think she would be the one doing an illegal thing and not I. Also, if it was so very illegal maybe she should just not let me into the country.

But then I thought it might not be the smartest thing for me to do. Being logical with such a young hysterical person, made up like a working girl with the unfortunate job of being an authority would maybe harm me more.

After abusing and screaming me for a little while longer whilst I nodded and said “sorry” she stamped my passport fiercely and let me through.

So it was with quite a shocked and saddened face I went out in to the arrivals hall.

I found him before he found me, jumping on his back and kissing his neck - I think.
Looking happy - I think.

That was the intention anyway and that was how it was supposed to be. This was the beginning of a new and exciting life together with someone I love. It is not every day one is granted the opportunity of being with a person one loves. It is not every person who is even granted with the possibility to finding a person to love or who will even love you back.

Israeli Ms. Golden-Claws vs. Swedish Proper Flight Attendant

Already as I get to my seat on the plane in Stockholm I notice the differences between our two cultures.

In the seat in front of mine, a good looking woman in her early forties is doing a Hebrew cross word. Her seat is reclined so I can’t put my big bag underneath it. I pat her shoulder and say “Can you pull your seat forward so I can put my bag underneath, please?” I smile at her, she looks nice, big Israeli tits, tanned skin, lots of black around her eyes and her fingernails are well manicured - the very tips of them are painted in glittery golden nail varnish.

She smiles at me with a lost look that I know very well, it’s a look that says, “Oh dear silly me! I had no idea I was in your way!” and at the same time she is thinking “I very well know that I am in your way but I was hoping I would get away with it.” Slightly mischievous but not mean in any way.

She says sorry and pulls her seat up but then adds “Can I put it back down again when you sit?”

“Yes, of course, I don’t mind, but I think the flight attendant will tell you to raise it up until we are up in the air”

“Oh yes, until we are up in the air” she says with the same mischievous smile.

The flight is calm and comfortable since I get three seats to myself.

The Israeli Ms. Golden-Claws makes friends with the timid Indian boy next to her and they exchange numbers within five minutes. Then the family in the seat in front of Ms. Golden-Claws realise they are from the same country and a wild babble begins, the two little kids pop up and down on their seats like those things at the funfair that you have to hit with a large rubber sledge hammer. They are screaming and laughing so much that I actually wish I had a large rubber sledge hammer.

The light for “fasten your seatbelts” goes on and the pilot announces that we will land in 15 minutes and could we raise our seats up in the upright position and fold our trays up and fasten our seatbelts…

The flight attendant walks slowly up the aisle doing his thing, until he reaches Ms. Golden-Claws who is comfortable in her reclining chair, tray down so she can do her crossword on it.

Twice he tells her to put her tray up. The first time she does, but as soon as he takes a step she folds it down again. He backs a little and smiles patiently at her and asks her again to fold her tray up – and could she please also raise her backrest!

“Oh dear” Ms. Golden-Claws giggles as if caught in the act, but raises her seat.

As soon as he is out of the way she puts it back down again.

Another stressed flight attendant rushes forward and urges her to do as she is told, Ms. Golden-Claws apologises and does what she is told – again with the mischievous smile.

The plane starts to descend.

Suddenly Ms. Golden-Claws is standing up and leaning over the seat in front, talking with the Israeli family. The annoying three year old also unclasps his seat belt and starts jumping on his seat. The mother and Ms. Golden-Claws chat for 2 minutes before a very red faced flight attendant comes up to them and says that they really have to sit down and fasten their seats belts since we are landing very soon. Ms. Golden-Claws flashes a great big smile at him and says impatiently “Yes yes, wait, I must give her my phone number”

The flight attendant argues with her “No I must insist, you can get hurt, you must sit down”

Just as Ms. Golden-Claws says “that it will be she who maybe will get hurt so it is her own responsibility”, just as she utters these words, the plane does a sharp turn to the left and Ms Golden-Claws is thrown head first, passed her Indian friend and into the aisle.

I start to laugh, can’t help myself and get a nasty look from Ms. Golden-Claws who is helped up by the malicious flight attendant.

This contrast. The breaking of rules. The non respect for regulations and norms, this is the culture I am going to.
I am coming from the country with the people who love queues, adore regulations and would never ever even consider doing something that someone else might find wrong.

It takes a while to get used to and I don’t know if I ever will get used to it completely. Some days I'll probably be irritated by the lack of respect for rules or ways, cause with rules and norms life can be smoother.

A bit more boring but smoother.

But then on the other hand I hate to follow the stream or to do as I am told.
So most days I will probably just smile at the unruliness of the Israelis and feel a bit sorry for them because in their strife of living a life “doing what they want” they trip themselves up.

The amount of time it takes to shop, to drive through town, to get an official stamp is so much longer when everybody has to do it his own way.

What and Why

There is of course a lot of research about depression and there are many kinds but the three most common are Major Depression, Dysthymia, and Bipolar Disorder.

Major depression is a combination of symptoms that interfere with the ability to work, sleep, eat, or enjoy anything. Some people have a single episode of depression, but many have episodes that recur.

Dysthymia is a less severe type of depression that lasts a long time but involves less severe symptoms. A person with dysthymia will probably lead a normal life, but may not be functioning well or feeling good. People with dysthymia may also experience major depressive episodes.

Bipolar Disorder (also called manic-depression) is another. Bipolar disorder is thought to be less common than other depressive disorders. If you are bipolar you have cycling mood swings - usually severe highs (mania) and lows (depression). The mood swings are sometimes dramatic and rapid, but usually are more gradual. When in the depressed stage, a person can have any or all of the symptoms of a depressive disorder. When in the manic stage, the individual may be overactive, over talkative, and have a great deal of energy. Mania affects thinking, judgment, and social behaviour, sometimes in ways that cause serious problems and embarrassment. A person in a manic phase may feel elated, full of grand schemes that might range from unwise business decisions to romantic sprees. Mania, left untreated, may worsen to a psychotic state, where the person is out of touch with reality.

According to scientists there are three factors that may be the cause of depression, the factors are biological, genetic or environmental.

Biological - hormones for instance. Or it could be that one has an imbalance in the neurotransmitters serotonin or norepinephrine, these are natural substances that allow our brain cells to communicate with each other.

Genetic – difficult to point out what and why and how, but pi-polar disorder is one of the depressions that has a strong connection to heredity.

Environmental factors – normal but tough stuff that happens in life can cause depression, death, break-ups or stress are some of those things that can affect you.

For me these things, that I just told you about, were once important.

WHAT? WHY?

The “what” I refused to acknowledge until I spent a lot of time with a friend who was suffering from post-natal depression. To try to help her I found a book for about Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. Since she was too “gone” to read, I read it for her.
The more I read the more I began to realise that the book was for me.
The list of symptoms was like a blue-print for my life, a description of my universe.

The “why” was imprinted in me, just look at my movies. Not only would I watch movies of things to come but I always watched movies about moments that had passed. Things that were no more and could have been done differently…

It doesn’t really help, you know, to think “I should have said this and that…” or "he hit me because I am not a likable person" it only makes matters worse.
But for me it was a simple reason to why I felt blue - I was a failure and therefore I should feel low.

Darkness - My Acquaintance

Ok, so let me finally breach this painful and difficult subject. I don’t really know how to go about it but here we go…

I didn’t always know that it was there, I used to think that I was meant to feel the way I felt. That “this was life” take it or leave it. It didn’t matter that I saw other people of other dispositions or another outlook on life, I for some reason, couldn’t see that my way was probably not alright.

It didn’t either matter that many people around me tried to tell me that “No you are not supposed to be accompanied by this darkness, you are young, this is the best time of your life – you are supposed to be happy!”

I don’t know what I thought on the many occasions I was told this, I do remember thinking that most of these people were idiots and I never wanted to see them again.

One was a very sweet doctor I used to see once a year to get “the pill” who every time for six years patiently listened and then booked a time with someone to “talk to”. I never showed up to those meetings - once I did get as far as the waiting room but when they called my name I didn’t respond and soon afterwards I left.
Another was a teacher at university, who gave me a business card and said “I am worried about you, call this person, she is expecting your call” The card was for a psychiatrist. I threw it away and never went back to class.

It is strange, the people who told me “to talk to someone” were always people who were not close to me. With my family and friends I hid the darkness or disguised it, I think or rather I hope…

My mother, sweet but self centred as she is, even if she would have seen my need she would NEVER have advised me “to talk to someone”, the prospect of her child being “insane” would be too much. Although just talking to someone doesn’t mean one is ”insane”. But if I did “talk to someone” I would automatically be qualified “mentally instable” in the books and records of the state. Big brother sees us and it would always be on my shoulders, I would never get a job or a man and probably no one would ever love me, I would never be rich and consequently of course never be happy…
(that’s her view)

And still when I speak to most friends about my depression, they will laugh a little and hit me on the shoulder and say “Oh you are exaggerating, ok, you might have been down but you’ve never been really bad, like suicidal…”

Even if I say “Yes I was or have been or am” they will still laugh it away.

And I don’t blame them. I don’t like to talk about it, I hide it and I do joke about it – a lot. I mean would you take a person seriously if when you met them and asked how they were they would answer with a shrug and a laugh “Oh, today I am just a little under the weather but yesterday I was nearly under a train”?

Wisdom Toothless

Prickly business

We have a restaurant in our office building, my company a service management company is in charge of this restaurant. We are also in charge of information regarding the building and events within the company. That is my job amongst other things. I manage a few television screens on which I put important or interesting pieces of information which will then go in a loop.

During the last couple of months the restaurant (a self serve place) have been getting a tray back into the “dish area” on which lies a needle from an insulin pen.

A needle that someone pricks themselves with at lunch time and then they leave it on the tray.

After a while the restaurant asked me if there was anything we could do information wise. First we put up notices in the restaurant in various place. Asking people not to leave sharp objects on the tray on which the restaurant staff could hurt themselves.

It has now been three months and the needle on the tray business has not stopped. Last week one of the staff actually pricked herself on the needle. I was asked if I could put some more information out onto the television screen.

So I wrote a short piece in and we put it on the screen today.

My boss was standing behind me whilst I was writing, he read it and didn’t say anything.

An hour after it goes up on the screen my boss comes in and says to me in front of everybody “I used my VETO and shut it down!”

“Shut what down?” I asked cause I hadn’t got the faintest idea of what he was talking about.

“The television screens with your message” he said “I don’t think it is appropriate with our role here, the screens are supposed to be used for information regarding the workplace!”

“Well first of all, the message does regard our workplace and also it wasn’t MY personal message, people have been hurt from a needle and no one knows what the needle contains, it is not safe” I replied. “And besides, you read the message before I put it on the screen so why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Erm I didn’t think of it then but anyway I think the message you wrote was bad, it had a testy/nasty tone” he then told me and marched off.

I was not a little hurt and embarrassed and angry, my work mates were also slightly embarrassed.

So tell me is this message so nasty or testy or inappropriate?

“During the last few months a needle, the tip of an insulin pen, has been left with the dishes on a tray. Although it may seem that the needle is protected there has been an incident were an employee of the restaurant was pricked by the needle.

Please discard you insulin needle elsewhere.”