Sunday, 27 April 2014

When the Police made me walk like Naomi Campbell.


One of the so many lessons in life my Mother taught me was to have respect for others, for people in general. She strongly instilled in me to have respect for adults, elderly people, superiors and for the authority. I grew up nurturing a very solid sense of respect for others, which I still uphold today. Even when it came to refer verbally to those who I should be respectful to, in Spanish, unlike in English, we use 2 terms, “Tu” – which is the informal way (You), and “Usted” which cannot directly be translated into English, but to give you an idea, it could be a formal “You” we must use if we are going to speak to a “Mrs or Mr” xxx 

The intention of explaining this is to give a clear picture on how adamant and strict my mother was on such matter. It was a golden rule and God would have to “protect” me if she caught me using the informal way when I was not supposed to, there would have been murder! But, again, those were my formative years and I’m sure she was trying her best to make the most of the way she was rearing me.

I have never minded to have an authority over me. Let’s say I have always tried to be a good citizen, but when that authority is abusing their position of “power” for no reason, my respect will certainly go straight out of the window, and all I can feel is a deep feeling of sorrow for them, since they’re allowing their ignorance take over their intelligence – if they have one.

This is common place in Venezuela within the police forces - and I was twice victimized by it. First time, for being reckless; second time, innocently - and it was then when I became Naomi Campbell.

The area where I lived can be dangerous at times, even though one tries to be careful, we kind of get used to what’s going on in terms of crimes and/or delinquency. Some neighbors made a complaint to the police about 2 men causing a bit of hassle in the area. They described the 2 men as being skinny built and dark-skinned in appearance (yes, profile I fitted perfectly). The police raided the area and arrested every single man that could fit this description, and I was one of those!

We were brought to the Police Detention Center for processing and to establish if we had any criminal records. I was not concerned because I knew I did not have a criminal record, therefore I knew I would be released once this was cleared up. We all had to wait in an enclosed yard, we were called in one by one to provide our personal details. When I started talking one of the policemen started making fun of my voice. He grabbed me by my arm and brought me back out the yard, where all the other ‘suspects’ were waiting and shouted “Look what we have here, a crazy faggot” and everybody laughed loudly.

 He made me speak out loud in front of the crowd so everybody could hear my voice. He then told me that I could be a model like Naomi Campbell, because I was skinny and looked like a girl. He was having the time of his life by trying to bully me in such a raw way. He told the crowd “we should have a modelling show”.  He forced me to walk up and down, with my hands on my skinny waist, I was so embarrassed, but he kept forcing me to walk camper and more feminine over and over. It was an extremely humiliating experience for me. He made fun of me for such a long time until he got bored and went back to the office.

I have to say that recalling this episode in my life today gives me a bit of sense of pride, because that moment was and still has been the closest I have ever been on a catwalk, and also being compared to a super model, even though for the wrong reasons. 

I was only 18 years old then and I had not gone through my therapy to understand the miserable inner world of bully’s and to understand why someone in a ‘power’ position can use that ‘power’ to try to diminish their ‘vulnerable’ victims.


Bullying or an act of bullying is conditioned or triggered by an inner discomfort – in most cases aggression- with oneself and life in general. The main victims of the bullying are the bullies themselves. This pattern of hatred is learned in childhood and – if not helped – will continue in adulthood, causing irreversible psychological damages.
In this case of police bully’s using their position to target victims who have little or no power to defend themselves, and the bully’s behavior is to create distress by trying to humiliate others. Because they’re so riddled by self-hatred they feel an inner need to project that hate onto others. Sometimes, wrongly thinking that it’s the only way they can feel good about themselves. When in fact they feel painfully miserable deep inside themselves.

I would always promote being a good citizen and respect for the authority in any shape or form. I would always promote to try to understand that whoever tries to humiliate you, in any way, is someone who is a victim of their own bad feelings within themselves. I would always encourage anyone who is in a “powerless” position and feel they are being treated poorly to stand up for themselves. Do not allow anything or anyone to try to put you down, always try to reconcile and make peace of hostile situations, but never ever devaluate yourself by allowing people or situations to try to get the better of you as a person or human being. And if it’s necessary, peacefully confront them and/or report them.

My Naomi Campbell episode taught me a huge lesson in life, and that’s why I wanted to share it with all of you. It was humiliating, but I learnt something from it, I learnt that in countries more organised than Venezuela, like Ireland, the Police have a different and better perspective on their positions of power. It may not be perfect, but at least it’s much better than in countries where the abuse of power is so rampant on a daily basis, and as civilians we can easily be victimised by it.
I was amazed by my first Gay Pride in Dublin, where the police were organised and lined-up for us gays to enjoy our parade, I remember having shivers down my back and thinking “Wow I am so glad that I am now living in Ireland” and I felt like being in Gayland ; )


The word according to Marlon!
Marlife.


Sunday, 20 April 2014

The reason why I love Mondays...



I have heard so many people, so many times complaining, moaning and hating Mondays. This is something that took me a while to understand when I first came to Ireland as I wasn't fully integrated in the Irish mentality when it came to talk about Mondays.
                     
I came from Venezuela, where I didn't have a job. I was unemployed for a good number of years. Then when I did have a job, I was so painfully underpaid which meant every penny I earned was gone in a blink of an eye (I know you're already thinking that it is the same here in Ireland, but believe me guys, I assure you, it is not the same). I was always broke and always longing to have a bit of extra cash to do something exciting with my weekends such as going to the cinema, eating out, getting together with friends. Something that would represent entertainment and joy, simply, wanting to have a good time. I didn't have that for a very, very long time and when I did have it, if I tried to have a social life, I would spend the rest of the month penniless, struggling to survive or just getting by.

Those financial constrains meant I did not have any choice other than staying at where I lived, where things were violently bad. A house - not a home - where the main components were fights and shouts, insults and more insults, especially at the weekends when alcohol was the perfect visitor in our household.

People in Venezuela - or at least in my poor circle - do not usually drink during the week, but only at weekends. I could say it's a cultural thing, but I could also say that the reason being is because we can't really afford it. It's one of those situations where if you drink during the week, you will be even more broke at the end of the month, so for those who would love to have a drink they would have to wait until the weekend.




And it was those weekends when my love for Mondays was born and nurtured.

After my mother's death, I moved to live with one of my sisters and her family. She was married and had 3 children. It was my decision to live with them - I think now about how did a 11 year-old choose which family to live with? - but I realistically did not have another option. They were kind enough to take me because, obviously I could not live on my own.

Life at my sister's house was traumatic not only for me, but also for her 3 children and herself. Her husband was a weekend alcoholic (this is how it's called in Venezuela when you drink every weekend) and he was frequently violent at home. He regularly beat my sister and the children, for all the wrong reasons only an alcoholic brain can 'comprehend'. In addition, he was a womaniser. He was repeatedly unfaithful with other women and he made no attempt to conceal this. 

Weekends were the worst time for me. I dreaded the weekends as I knew that the same pattern would likely occur. He would find a reason, more so when he would get drunk, to get verbally offensive and physically violent. He always, for some reason, respected me, but nobody in the house would escape his wrath. I always tried to be the peacemaker, but until one day, when I was in the middle of his punching, trying to protect one of my nieces, I received a hard punch in my face, and my lower-lip was split and I was bleeding. It was awful to be the victim of someone riddled by anger and rage for no apparent reason.

My anxiety levels rose as each weekend approached, as I knew exactly what to expect. I hated the weekends with passion, but I loved Mondays with passion too, because peace would return to the house. I will describe it this way: I was happy and feeling great on Mondays and Tuesdays, but a sense of discomfort would start to invade me on Wednesdays and by Thursdays and Fridays, my anxiety levels were so high that all I would want to do was run away from that house and disappear for the weekend and come back when my beloved Monday had return.

It's funny to realise that - in most cases- the reason why people in Ireland hate Mondays is because they had a great weekend and loved the weekend, but for me the reason why I loved - and still do love - Mondays is because I usually had a horrible-violent weekend.

  Now that I live in Dublin, Ireland, my home, I love Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I love Saturdays and Sundays and I love Mondays, too. But I love Mondays even more when I have been out over the weekend and I am wrecked and tired on Monday, because I can tell myself that the reason I'm tired today, Monday, was because I had a fantastic weekend, full of dancing and drinking so Mondays always remind me of how amazing - quiet or not - my weekend was and that's why I keep finding reasons as to why I love Mondays.




Have a happy Monday

Marlon/Marlife
I have heard so many people, so many times complaining, moaning and hating Mondays. This is something that took me a while to understand when I first came to Ireland AS I wasn't fully integrated in the Irish mentality when it came to talk about Mondays.

I  came from Venezuela, where I didn't have a job. I was unemployed for a good number of years. Then when I did have a job, I was so painfully underpaid which meant every penny I earned was gone in a blink of an eye (I know you're already thinking that it is the same here in Ireland, but believe me guys, I assure you, it is not the same). I was always broke and always longing to have a bit of extra cash to do something exciting with my weekends such as going to the cinema, eating out, getting together with friends. Something that would represent entertainment and joy, simply, wanting to have a good time. I didn't have that for a very, very long time and when I did have it, if I tried to have a social life, I would spend the rest of the month penniless, struggling to survive or just getting by.

Those financial constrains meant I did not have any choice other than staying at where I lived, where things were violently bad. A house - not a home - where the main components were fights and shouts, insults and more insults, especially at the weekends when alcohol was the perfect visitor in our household.

People in Venezuela - or at least in my poor circle - do not usually drink during the week, but only at weekends. I could say it's a cultural thing, but I could also say that the reason being is because we can't really afford it. It's one of those situations where if you drink during the week, you will be even more broke at the end of the month, so for those who would love to have a drink they would have to wait until the weekend.

And it was those weekends when my love for Mondays was born and nurtured.

After my mother's death, I moved to live with one of my sisters and her family. She was married and had 3 children. It was my decision to live with them - I think now about how did a 11 year-old choose which family to live with? - but I realistically did not have another option. They were kind enough to take me because, obviously I could not live on my own.

Life at my sister's house was traumatic not only for me, but also for her 3 children and herself. Her husband was a weekend alcoholic (this is how it's called in Venezuela when you drink every weekend) and he was frequently violent at home. He regularly beat my sister and the children, for all the wrong reasons only an alcoholic brain can 'comprehend'. In addition, he was a womaniser. He was repeatedly unfaithful with other women and he made no attempt to conceal this. 

Weekends were the worst time for me. I dreaded the weekends as I knew that the same pattern would likely occur. He would find a reason, more so when he would get drunk, to get verbally offensive and physically violent. He always, for some reason, respected me, but nobody in the house would escape his wrath. I always tried to be the peacemaker, but until one day, when I was in the middle of his punching, trying to protect one of my nieces, I received a hard punch in my face, and my lower-lip was split and I was bleeding. It was awful to be the victim of someone riddled by anger and rage for no apparent reason.

My anxiety levels rose as each weekend approached, as I knew exactly what to expect. I hated the weekends with passion, but I loved Mondays with passion too, because peace would return to the house. I will describe it this way: I was happy and feeling great on Mondays and Tuesdays, but a sense of discomfort would start to invade me on Wednesdays and by Thursdays and Fridays, my anxiety levels were so high that all I would want to do was run away from that house and disappear for the weekend and come back when my beloved Monday had return.

It's funny to realise that - in most cases- the reason why people in Ireland hate Mondays is because they had a great weekend and loved the weekend, but for me the reason why I loved - and still do love - Mondays is because I usually had a horrible-violent weekend.
          Now that I live in Dublin, Ireland, my home, I love Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I           love Saturdays and Sundays and I love Mondays, too. But I love Mondays even more when I have               been out over the weekend and I am wrecked and tired on Monday, because I can tell myself that the           reason I'm tired today, Monday, was because I had a fantastic weekend, full of dancing and drinking             so Mondays always remind me of how amazing - quiet or not - my weekend was and that's why I                 keep finding reasons as to why I love Mondays

Monday, 14 April 2014

My first letter to my love...

This coming 15th of July, I will be celebrating my 10th anniversary together with my beautiful husband, and our 3rd year married. Time flies so quickly, and in that passing, our love has grown and become stronger. We love each other to bits.

When you are such a romantic person - like I am - you can see the pink side of love shining all the time, even when you are going through a rough patch. When you are gay and romantic, like I am - oh me nerves! You can become cheesy and you can see and assume that the side of love is sparkling like a colorful rainbow. That couldn't get any gayer, could it? This is one of the many advantages of being gay, that you can be as cheesy as you like - and get away with it. Well I particularly always do, anyway!

I have expressed my romantic feelings to my man in so many cheesy ways, but I would like to make public the very first love letter I wrote to him. We were going out only 5 months at the time, and I decided to write a letter to him as part of his Christmas presents. I am going to literally transcript the letter and you will realize that my writing English back then was not as good as it is now. It has mistakes, those mistakes have improved now, but the heartfelt emotion I put into it those years back still remains the exact same today. I love my man, I really do, with every single cell my heart is made of, and this is exactly what I wrote:



                                                           We got the above picture taken that morning.

                                                                                                          "Dublin, December, 2004

My Wonderful Baby:

Words fail me to write the perfect message where I can tell how much I love you! You have gradually become part of my life and happiness that it would be difficult for me to go on in life without you. 
Since we are together, I have been trying to find something beautiful deep inside of me to give it to you as I want you to be the happiest person in the entire world.
My Baby...You are the best part of my every day. It's amazing how all my senses change when I think of you. It is also great when I've dreamt of that you are now My Inmortal Beloved...I truly mean it! In my reflections I have realised that God has given us a nice gift: The Nature. But you certainly are one of the most beautiful gifts the same God has given to the Nature...and it's even greater for me to know that such a treasure (You) is with me like a part of my heart.
This year, which is nearly dying, has been a good one. I got my "irish status" that is the beginning of a better life for me. I got good new friends, etc...Yet I have to say that you have been the best achievement of all, that's why I want you to be linked to me by love...pure love.
Let's enjoy together this magic time of the year (Christmas). Let's keep our faces lighting with a sincere smile. Let's hope next year 2005 be a better one for both of us and our families, too. Let's happiness continue to be part essential part of our lives as persons, human being and boyfriends.

                                        John, My Baby...

                                        Merry Christmas 2004 and  Happy New Year 2005!

                                        With all my heart! Your Baby who loves you a lot

                                                            Marlon"






Tuesday, 8 April 2014

The benefits of adversity.




I have proclaimed repeatedly how painful was to lose my mother at such a young age. I was only 11 years of age. She was the light of my life and she cared me for me in such a loving way that all her love planted in me was the seed to emotionally succeed in life. Life with my mother was a very happy time for me, she made me feel so special. However, everything changed one fateful day when I was in school, my mother collapsed while watering the plants in our garden. She suffered from a brain hemorrhage, which rendered her unconscious at home. A neighbor saw her collapsed and rushed her to hospital.

I was told what had happened when I returned home from school. I burst into tears because I had a terrible foreboding that my mother would not recover and she would never return home again. I was taken care of by one of my mother's closest friends. However, the light  in life had gone out. My worst fears came true when my mother died shortly afterwards. It was a terrible time, and my entire world crumbled. I vividly remember screaming, howling inconsolable and jumping up and down. It felt like a very sharp sword penetrated my heart, causing me the most painful feeling in the whole world, to the extent that I felt breathless. I cried so much that  at some point  I vomited - from exhaustion- I guess.

Words can not describe that painful, hard moment. The very moment my life changed forever. And I am in tears as I type, recollecting that experience. But...

For a moment, think of this: What does a beautiful diamond, a beautiful, colorful flower, a shinning piece of marble and a very symmetrical statue have in common? They have gone through a very harsh process in order to achieve the enchanting beauty they posses and project. In order to now sustain that well-conditioned state of being, they had to go to a very 'painful' procedure - first.  This is the best metaphor example I have constructed to be able to translate what adversity could - in a positive way - represent in many people's lives.

Paradoxically, and this is something I learnt while in therapy, as painful and tragically compelling as it was, my mother's death left me with a huge emotional legacy as a person. I am - in a very startling way - defined by that horrible episode in my life. It sounds ironic, I know, but it is true. Experiencing such tragic event at a very young age, equipped me with a bundle of resilience that is stored in my emotional 'vault', and which I always reach to every time I need it.

Adversity is like the protein that feeds and fortifies our resilience 'muscle'. And makes us stronger to face and fight adversity again and again whenever it comes back.

My own adversity brings me to a story I read in the newspaper a few days ago, and I would like to use this writing to celebrate parenthood in general, but in a very particular way to celebrate all those parents who are parenting children with  'special' conditions and/or needs. Parents who has to face an everyday double challenge of facing the reality of having that beautiful person under their protection who needs extra care, tenderness and love.

I was on the bus on my way into town, reading this moving, sad, but lovely story. I remember the reading engaged me in such a powerful way that I was crying, my tears wouldn't stop and they kept streaming down my face as I was reading.

I don't know them on a very personal level. I know him - Keith- from being in the media, and I know her- Lisa- because she goes to where I work. I approached and told her about my idea of writing a piece based on their newspaper article and she loved it.

You don't need to know them that well to clearly realize that they have their golden hearts in the right place. They have this 'aura'  that conveys the message 'everything is gonna be OK'. An 'aura' that we are not aware of, but that we just magically develop when we have been winner victims of the adversities of life. You meet them and you can see that they have become the great people and human beings they are, because adversity - one unexpected day - decided to knock on their door and faced them with the reality that their beautiful daughter was sufferer of autistic spectrum disorder.

Since then, they have become true ambassadors for all those families that are going through the same, or similar experience. The work they have done to raise awareness to this issue is outstanding, and their contribution to this cause is invaluable. Their story have touched many people's lives!

This is the story of  Lisa and Keith Duffy on raising an autistic daughter.














http://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/boyzones-keith-duffy-raising-autistic-3337683

For more information on World Autism Day visit http://www.autismspeaks.org or go to Keith's own website

http://www.officialkeithduffy.com/autism

It would be wonderful to make a contribution of any kind!

Regards

Marlon/Marlife















Friday, 4 April 2014

Therapy and how it helped to shape my self-esteem!


After my castration thoughts left my mind vacant, I realized that I would have to try again to face my psychological conflicts to find a solution to gain some sort of mental structure in order to compartmentalize my feelings and emotions. To my very own surprise, I encountered something that opened the door for a new ocean of discovery and it was exactly there and then when I made my first deep contact with my inner-self. This new discovery could have gone either way, because I was about to face and fight my own demons, in order to be able to become the strong person I am today. It was not an easy task, but I did it and I gained more than I expected.

I was 23 years of age and studying  at university. I was also working in a hotel to support myself. I was a little bit more mature and more wordly-wise by then. I believed I was in a better emotional position to gradually address my psychological difficulties and to start constructively to shape my future, not only as a gay man, but also as a person and human being - little I knew by then that I would end up in beautiful Ireland, but this is a new whole topic for future writing.

I went to a hospital and asked for an appointment to see a psychologist. I clearly explained my psychological and emotional circumstances to her, which she totally understood, but she advised me to go and see a psychiatrist. I accepted her advise and I was referred to this extremely intelligent and warm woman whose understanding of human and mental behavior was beyond belief. She became my doctor for the next 3 years, but to this date I have to declare she still is one of the most remarkable people I have had in my life. The marks she left in my existence are indelible.

I first explained to her that I wanted to change my sexual orientation, that I did not want to be a homosexual. She understood my plight, but she also suggested that before going any further with our therapy, I needed to make a well-informed and documented decision. She provided me with rich literature about homosexuality; with a bundle of reading covering human development issues; sexual anatomy and all sorts of literature related to emotional human progression. All of this was like Nirvana to me.

I read all the material she gave me and visited her once a week. Every session was different, but in some ways there was a continuity. Some sessions were painful, but others were very happy. In every session, it felt like I gave her the keys to the door of my soul, and after the session she would return the keys to me in order for me to re-enter my soul.  When re-entering, I learned that my mother tried to redeem herself with me, because she made so many mistakes with the rest of my siblings (she had 10 children, out of 7 men). I learnt that she carried the gene that procreates hearing impaired people (I had 1 brother and 2 unindentical twin sisters who are victims of this condition). I learnt how to face and fight my demons; I learnt how not to be a victim of my own anger; I learnt how to look inwards and not outwards. Basically, I learnt a lot about myself.


In terms of sexuality, I learnt how to sexually understand myself and others; I learnt about the benefits of self-stimulation and pleasuring, which I now call 'sex-exploration'. This is something I still enjoy nowadays - even though I am happily married. I learnt how to emotionally, physically and psychologically enjoy sex and to be able to give myself fully in such a vulnerable moment. I learnt how to differentiate between emotional sex and 'meaningless' sex. Having all this understanding has allowed me not to have any sexual issues, which is - at least for me - very important.

In terms of how my self-esteem was shaped and solidified, she advised me to put myself in situations that, at the time, I considered threatening or judgmental. The judgmental bit travels back to my bullying episodes in school. The threatening bit travels back to learn how to just be yourself and not to feel that you need to apologize for who we are, think or feel. This helped me hugely to face social and moral prejudices.

I'm sure you're wondering how I achieved all of this. This is the answer, therapy works in different ways for everybody, depending on the individual circumstances. Mine was based on relaxation, my doctor thought me how to relax, and from that relaxation stage, how to travel through my thoughts, feelings and emotions; and how to touch base with my inner-self. This is something I still put into practice today, and something that provides me with the essential tools to face the challenges of every day life. That's why I feel and think that nothing and no-one represents a threat to me. Something or someone may represent a challenge, yes, but never a threat, in any way.

The message I'm trying to convey today is that psychological help does work and help - it did for me. However, I would like to outline that if you need help - in any way- go and look for it, make it happen, because it does help. Whatever it is, whatever you might believe in, whatever is going to help the core of your psychological, emotional and even - spiritual - well-being, go for it. Some of you might believe in doctors, some of you in angels, some of you in the horoscope, the card-reading, the spiritual healer. That's OK, that's fine, because at the end of the day, you will benefit the core of yourself and, in one way or another, the shape of your self-esteem will be touched and altered - in a very positive way. Remember, you are the most  important person on earth. You are important to me, to god, to the doctor, to your family and friends, but you must learn to believe that you must be - primarily - relevant and important to YOU, that's the secret and I genuinely hope it will work for you.

Marlon/Marlife