MY THREE GIANT ISSUES WITH FACEBOOK CULTURE

A picture of me, sick and without makeup, sitting alone, at a computer, for an hour, writing this for you.

My Three Giant Issues With Facebook Culture

I thought about deleting Facebook.

I thought about blocking people.

I decided to post this instead.

1)It’s All an Illusion.

This is the issue everyone constantly recognizes but still lets it affect them. If you are under the age of 25 and complaining that you will never get married or have children, you have let this effect you. If you think that everyone is doing fun adventurous things while you sit bored on your couch, you have let this affect you. Everyone posts the most glamorous and fun parts of their life on social media. You, as a user, only receive the good parts of others lives while still going through your own not-so-ideal circumstances. This means you are giving yourself the constant burden of other peoples’ high points. They may be miserable, but they aren’t telling you.

Facebook has become a power struggle. You want to feel “right” or “cool” so you post something in order to receive affirmation about your opinions. Then you sit and stare at your phone as you let the likes roll in. If you receive enough likes, you feel affirmed. If you don’t, you don’t think anyone cares about this part of your life that you enjoyed or found humorous or interesting.  So then you start lying to yourself. You decide that you should post things that look cool or interesting to other people, things that may not have been good at all, but in order to get affirmation you give it a silly caption and wait.

Last week I posted a picture after I decorated my room. I got a bunch of response on social media, but really I just wanted someone to come over and talk to me in the space that I created. I didn’t feel the satisfaction of sharing coffee on my bed. I didn’t get to talk about why the things I put up on my wall were important to me. After people liked it, it was forgotten and I now know I should have just invited people over. I recognize that.

American culture has lost a lot of spirituality. It used to be that things would happen and people would see them as signs from God. Fate/karma/blessings would fall into our hands and we would recognize them. Even if people were wrong about what the events meant, they were allowed to backtrack and say “I was wrong” because they didn’t document it with hundreds of people on social media. I think we have replaced a bit of this spiritual thinking with the way we interact online. I put something out there not knowing who will see it. I trust that people will log on to their computers and look and understand. When I have a lot of people respond, I applaud myself for cleverness. When no one responds, I have been unsuccessful.

This isn’t real life. This really isn’t spiritual. Sometimes silence is exactly what I need in order to find clarity. Sometimes I need to feel lost or alone in order to allow myself to be free. Maybe I should be posting that I had horrible lice two months ago, lice that left me crying alone in my apartment. Lice that got me to call my Mom and drive home at midnight just so that I could have someone help me dump chemicals on my head and comb through my thick hair. Or maybe I should post that I threw up on stage at church last Sunday while singing the first song. I was and continue to be sick and congested and overwhelmed by my lack of movement and adventure. I feel unsuccessful because I sit and look at others successful moments all day. Maybe I should post these heavier things… not in a way that makes people laugh and applaud, but to say sometimes I feel broken as well. Where all my broken people at? That’s the kind of affirmation I could truly appreciate. And if I hear no response, I can simply be content with my confession and transparency.

2) Instant Gratification.

There is a man in Houston that I have come to know. Each week, he carves out some time to write letters to people all around the world. Somehow, he began writing me letters and I have been greatly moved by the exchange.  Today I sat down to write to him. I let him know about my big and frightening plans for this next year. I talked about my dreams and the things that make me feel like I can fly. I told him my favorite color for the first time and I thanked him for his commitment to reach out to others. Then, I spent way too long addressing the envelope, writing his name in multiple pens, and putting a stamp on it. I put a leash on my dog and walked barefoot out to the mailbox. I dipped the corner of the letter in some rainwater that had just fallen to the ground moments before. I went from tiptoeing on the side of the street to pausing for a moment so that Holly could relieve herself on my neighbor’s lawn. I carefully placed the card in the mailbox and pushed it in so that it had settled. Then I waited uncomfortably for a moment. The fact that I was not hearing back right away really bothered me then. I wanted an instant response. Don’t get me wrong, I love sending letters, but it is a definite exercise of my patience and will. It means that I have to think fondly of someone who is not present with me at the moment, whose name doesn’t pop up on my computer screen through some algorithm. I have to be intentional about sitting down with paper and pen (or typewriter in some cases). I must carefully address and package the letter, make a trip to the mailbox, and put it in. Most importantly, I must wait for a response. This is a lost art. Email, text, Facebook is great. Calling on the phone is fantastic; but sitting down and meditating on your friendship with another person for 30 minutes can change your relationship. I hope to become much better at this.

3)The Wall of Social Anxiety is Broken Down

This one is the hardest for me seeing as I am an introvert who struggles with anxiety. For those of you who know me, you know that I tend to be quite unvocal about political matters. I rarely pick a side. Being born into a mostly liberal Canadian atmosphere and moving to the suburbs of Houston where conservatism reigns strong taught me to be quiet and listen. I honestly understand both sides. Both ways are right in different contexts. Facebook has been full of political standpoints for me lately. People spouting off what they think is most important. They think that they will change the world by letting people know what they think. People like me sift through the posts from biased sites to fall upon actual information. Because people aren’t afraid to post anything, my anxiety is heightened. You might say “Alison, just unfriend the people who are posting such outlandish statements”, but I care about people too much. It’s not that I don’t want to hear people’s opinions. It’s that I want to talk about them in person over a beer. I want to have dinner with you and hear how you are and what you think; but instead of that, next time I see you I will be afraid to talk to you because I was an immigrant once.

This is all just to say be careful out there. Although it is new and important and good, like all good things, it can be dangerous and harmful. Don’t post things you wouldn’t share over coffee in public. Don’t believe everything you see and hear. Call people to meet in your bedroom that you carefully decorated. Write letters to people you miss. Don’t forget that in order for people to post things on the internet, that means they had to sit by themselves at a computer or a phone and take time in solitude to do so.

I thought about deleting Facebook.

I thought about blocking people.

I decided to post this instead.

Be careful, be loved, and know that if you are ever feeling burdened (whether I know you well or not) that I am here to listen, pray, and understand the frustrations of the world alongside you.

Thanks for reading

Trying to dig up the gifts that I've buried.

Not to be boastful, but I was raised to be quite modest.
I rarely talk about myself in a promotional manner and I have trouble sharing big things that are going on in my life... even with the people closest to me. I soon forget about them after they happen because I don't talk about them, and quickly I forget what initially stirred me emotionally. 
That being said, I've kind-of done the same thing with this blog. I should be better about talking about myself, but I start to tell myself that I'm being whiney or obnoxious and I put the computer away.

I have trouble receiving compliments as well. I never thought this to be true until I started sharing my music with people and realized that I didn't believe them when they said I had a good voice or that I had written a great song. I thought they were being nice. It always sort of ended there. I would forget that I had written a song I was proud of and I would wonder why none of my well developed and thought up projects ever took off. I stopped sharing things and became a hoarder of my art. I would write mass amounts of poetry and songs, and the only people I would share it with were two beautiful friends who lived in a different country. I took their compliments, but I kept all of them at an arms length. I thought "maybe if I sing for these friends that I love and respect (and that live really far away), then I will become comfortable singing for everyone". But that wasn't the case and I still have trouble standing up with a guitar and playing my songs for people. I still feel inadequate and undeserving of attention, and I still don't let people see my gifts because I am afraid that their compliments are true.

Art is not easy to make. Whether it is painting, writing, singing, or acting; it is an emotionally exhausting exercise (not to mention expensive to market). I've hit the point in my creative process where I'm worn out. I'm not saying that I have writers block or that I am not creating anything. I'm actually writing more than I ever have before. I've written at least one poem every day for the last month. I've written three songs in the last week. The issue is that no one knows... and that I don't know how to tell them. When I finish a song or a poem, I want to show it to everyone. I want them to smile and dance and say "wow, that moved me". I want them to react because I've exhausted myself making it. On the other hand though, what if I get the attention I seek? What if they are right about what I make and they decide they want more? 

What if their compliments are true?

Then I will have to be vulnerable and make more music. Then I will have to pour myself deeper and deeper into my poetry because they may show more people what I make. This is not intrinsically negative, but it is exhausting. 

What if the compliments are true, and I pour myself out, and then the reactions stop?

Will I be alright with creating if no one cares anymore? Will I feel unheard and unappreciated? Will I create for creations sake like I did at first, just to explore something new and colorful... just to feel newness in the wrinkles of my hands. Just to say "This is good" to myself?

When God created everything, did he want more the way that I am aching for it right now? Didn't he want to share it with someone? He created a variety of people just so that they could join him in chanting "It is good". He took the compliments and when he saw that people didn't recognize his art, when he saw that people didn't recognize what he made for them, he said "I want to understand where you are coming from so that I can make more, just for you". 

I feel the frustration of God. I understand what he must feel when people drive past a field of flowers and instead of opening their windows to smell them, they open their window to flick off their neighboring car. I feel in my core that I was created to mimic The Lord's creating heart. Right now, that heart is aching for someone to listen to it beating. Its music is for the listener. 



I had a good friend of mine give me his memoir to read. I was in a phase of life where my attention span was shot, and I couldn't sit down for half a second to read anything. I read it anyway though, because I respected this friend and I was intrigued to learn more about him through his writing. I flew through the memoir with ease because I was reading about a friend. I was reading someones heart. With every book I have picked up since, I have approached it the same way. I have become dear friends with the writer through the process of reading. I have been moved by every sentence because I understand that it was written to be read by my eyes. It was written to be a vulnerable expression of life. Its words are a connection from one beating heart to another.

I have not thought out this post as well as I normally do. It was more cathartic than anything, but I really feel as though I need to make a declaration:
I am going to honor my gifts better. 
I am going to let myself be seen and heard and read. 
I am going to share my stories and poems and songs without fear of silence, because that is what God does. 
I am sorry if in the future I annoy you with my art. 
I will share with you what He has given me; 
because he has shared with me, and I am overflowing with reverence.



That being said. I am really thinking about self publishing a book of poems for the church. God is calling art back into the church and I want to be a part of answering this call. This will not be an easy feat and I am prepared for the battle, but I need your help. I need support, I need encouragement, and I need a lot more faith in what I have been gifted in. Please let me know if you have any interest in this book. It won't happen unless I am sure that it will sell.

Thanks for reading,
I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-Alison

You have the constitution of the constellations
if they were multiplied four-score.
And we breathe them in as you breathed them out before.

O Maker
O Creator
from dust to dust again.
But though our world is a speck in your eye,
you've made it your delicate plan.

Let us cast ourselves upon the colors
of the coral in your sea of grace,
and endlessly pursue
the ageless rivets in your face.

"Blessed" vs. Privileged

I want to start out this post by giving you all an update and then I will let you know about what I've been learning here in Uganda.

First of all, I meant to post sooner than this but I found myself with internet and in need of more so I had to wait until the store was open and until I had the courage to go by myself and buy some more. Everything here seems to be a fight for courage for me. No matter what I do, I have to muster up some scap of courage to go out and do it. I suppose that this is true everywhere, but it is especially true here where I don't know the culture and I stick out immensely. Aside from gaining courage, it's also just hard to proccess things when there is constantly so many new experiences going on around you.

This past two weeks were interesting. I got to work with some special needs children which made me incredibly happy! At the beginning of last week I went to a special needs nursery school called Small Steps in Buwenda, a village outside of Jinja. I had met Cat, the woman who runs it, before and she agreed to meet me there. She sent a boda-boda driver to come and pick me up from the apartment in the morning because I didn't know where the school was. When I got out of the gate to the apartment, a boda driver came up on his motorcycle and said "Alison, get on!". I suspiciously asked him if he knew where I was going and he gave me the Ugandan nod and complimentary eyebrow lift to signify that he did. I climbed on his motorcycle and he drove off. We got two blocks away and he stopped at a corner and said "which way?". I was furious. I said " YOU LIED TO ME! TAKE ME BACK TO THE BANK!". He took me back and before I got off, I sternly said " You do not pick up people like that!". Waiting at the bank was my actual boda driver, Charles. Cat's boyfriend was waiting there with him. I hopped on and we rode towards the village where the school is located.

As soon as I got there, I was met by many "you are welcome"s and a small child grabbing to hold my hand. Cat gave me a tour of the facility before leaving me to teach the children in the class. There were four children in the special needs class that day. Cat told me that there are seven all together but some of them can't get transportation and some of them come only a couple of times a term.

Two of the kids in the special needs class were deaf. Their names were Eshraf and Shifrat. They both have very similar features and were wearing the same yellow uniform, so I had some trouble telling them apart. Cat told me that Shifrat is more social than Eshraf. Most of the time, these two were off with another teacher, but I did get a chance to interact with them for a little while. Neither of them vocalize much and they don't know Ugandan Sign-language either, so I tried to get them to speak up more. I took Eshraf's hand and placed in on my throat so that he could feel it vibrate when I talk. I hummed different pitches with his hand on my throat and then moved it onto his throat so that he could try. It got him making lots of new noises which was encouraging to me and made the other instructors in the room giggle.

The other two children were Destiny and Peace (or Mirembe). Peace was very sweet. She was always asking me to sit next to her and attempting to be carried and get hugs. She had an easygoing quality about her as long as she was getting all the attention.

Destiny is an amazing little boy who is on the autism spectrum. As soon as he met me he was grabbing my arm and welcoming me to the school. Cat and I went into the office to discuss some of the childrens' files and Destiny came along. As we talked, he continuously pushed the office chair so that it would spin around in circles. At this point, I still wasn't sure whether Destiny was a boy or a girl because of the red skirt he was sporting. Cat told me that he recently got a circumcision so he had to wear a skirt. She said that it is fairly common in Uganda to do it at that age. Cat told me that her boyfriend remembers the procedure and crying for days. He says that his family decided to either get it done at a younger age or not at all with the rest of their children because of his reaction. Destiny was very rambunctious the whole day andd Cat said that he has been kind of unruly since the procedure... I suppose I can understand why. I tried to teach Destiny to match pictures. I attempted to get him to put the laminated bus picture on the other laminated bus, and to put the laminated boda picture on the other laminated boda. Just when I thought he was understanding he would flop down onto the floor and lie there. I grabbed his arm and he sat up until I let go of him. As soon as my hand would leave his arm, he would flop down again. I told him "you sit up now" and he got up for a couple seconds. At this point I realised that maybe sitting was a better lesson to be learned. In America when children have special needs, many of the parents have access to therapy, books, articles and other information about how to help their children succeed in social settings. Here, I would assume, that if the child lies down, they don't take the second to get him to do things on his own. Instead, what I observed from the other teachers, is that they stand him up by their own strength. I was affirmed, while working with Destiny, in the fact that learning can be a slow proccess that requires a lot of patience. 

Sadly, the boda driver I took to get to Small Steps did not pick up his phone later so I wasn't able to go back, even though I enjoyed it so thuroughly. No one else knew where the nurery school was and I didn't know directions to get there and didn't want to risk it by telling them to go in the correct direction and getting lost.

Later in the week, I went to Ekisa special needs orphanage. It was very different from my other experiences in Jinja because of the efficiency in the way the orphanage conducts itself. They have a well developed program and a lot of volunteers that come in and work there. 

Very quickly after I arrived at the orphanage, I was handed a sweet boy by the name of Josh. He has hydrocephalus and has trouble supporting his head. At first I cradled him because I didn't know his limits and I tried to get him to play with blocks with me, but he kept looking very uncomfortable and unhappy. A timer went off which signaled that everyone was switching to a new activity. Josh and I went to sensory where we sat down in a small homemade ball pit. I decided to try and see if Josh could stand up if I supported him under his arms. As soon as he stood, a huge smile formed on his face and he was lit up with laughter. It was amazing the difference that it made. I think he was feeling babied by me when I was holding him as such, but when I stood him up, it's like he aged two years right in front of me. I met many adorable children at Ekisa and got to encourage them, teach them, and feed them. When I left Ekisa, I got my boda driver to drop me off at Akola Project where I made necklaces with a beautiful woman names Sensa who told me about her four children.

This last week I committed myself to Jinja Connection, the organization for street kids. As I walked into the class room there were new faces that I had never seen. Little Esa, an eight year old that I have seen every time I have visited, looked up from his picture book and said my name with a big smile on his face. I sat down and read books with the boys. That day, I taught a boy who is about nine years old named Ashraf. We worked on learning capital and lower case (small) letters. Compared to the other two boys that I had taught there, he was very quick. He listened and tried very hard to do his best. I made sure to soak it all in because I knew that once one of the more frustrating kids came back, Rachel was going to give them to me to work with. 

At one point the kids went outside to have an active time. Normally we play a game called "in the pool out of the pool", but Rachel brought out the jump rope, gave an end to Wesswa, and started turning. They started out just jumping, then trying to make it through the alphabet in the middle on one foot, then playing another game that really confused me. After, we all went back inside for more class. At lunch time I talked with one of the teachers named Myko. I asked him what Wesswa's name meant (most of the ugandan names have been chosen for their meaning). He told me that it meant "first twin" and that normally the younger twin is given the name Kato. I asked Myko where his twin was and he said that he was probably dead. "Oh" I thought out loud, "Do you think it would be hard having your name's definition be a reminder that your twin has died?" Myko said, "It's not the same here. People do not take weeks off of work after a loved one has died. It is not a big deal. They wake up the next morning, get dressed, and go to work because they must. People die all the time." I guess I always knew that this was true, but it hit me a lot harder coming out from someone's mouth. I live a very priviledged life.

On Friday, I went to Jinja Connection again. In the morning, after breakfast, all of the boys went out to the nearby field to play soccer. I decided to join in on the fun and play defense. I watched as every single child ran toward the ball. They are all very good despite their age, but there isn't too much formula to go along with what they do. I later asked Myko if he had ever tried to teach them positions and zones. He rolled his eyes as he said "Soooooo many times. It never works". As I was playing, I looked up for a moment and set my eye upon something like 50 birds, most of them marabou storks, floating in majestic circles in the air. The birds here seem to enjoy floating in the distant sky in whirpool fashion. It is one of the most amazing and overlooked parts of nature in Jinja.

After playing soccer for half an hour, I decied that I would stand behind the goal and watch the boys and the birds move around in circles. As I stepped to the side, the birds started settling down from the sky into the tops of the trees surrounding the field. It made me feel like I was one of them.

After soccer, we all went inside and I was allowed to lead the rest of the mornings activities. I decided on two of my favorite games and we all sat in a circle with some desks pushed together between us. The idea of the first game is that one person in the circle starts with a rhythm and then the next person adds onto it until everyone has joined in. I think the boys really enjoyed the fact that they were allowed to be loud and crazy. We played a couple of times until it started to get out of hand. Then we went outside for the next activity. As the boys filed outside, many of them were continuing to make noises; most of them with a loon call as their noise of choice. Outside, I tought them a nonsense game called Togi-Togi that we play at Camp Blessing in the summer. Normally, the game is conflict free. People mess up and they back out of the game, but with the boys it turned into a game of call-outs and tattling. We played three times and then decided to stop because they were getting frustrated. They then asked Rachel if I could give them a dance lesson. One of the boys, Louis, was doing the wave with his arms in the morning and I joined in. I think he thought that meant I was a very experienced  break dancer. Anyway, they kept asking me to teach them dance moves and after I exhauted myself of all my hiphop knowledge, I taught them some ballet. They were really awful at ballet.

My cousin, Erica, came back this weekend which makes me happy because she is good company. I stayed up on Friday night until the early hours of the morning waiting up for her because she didn't have her key. Now I am overcoming jet lag with her (I woke up later than I wanted to this morning). 

I have recently found a boda driver who knows where the special needs nursery is, so I am excited to say that I plan on going back there this week. I think I will start rotating between there and Jinja Connection. I feel like those are the two places in which my help is going the furthest.

--------------------

Finally, I want to share something that has become more obvious to me while I have been studying the culture here and learning more about myself. I've started to realize that many of the things that I thought were helping my quality of life in Texas were actually hindering it. 

There is that story in the bible about the rich man asking Jesus how to get into heaven. Jesus tells him that he must give away everything and give it to the poor. I'm starting to realize how hard that is. I have been raised from birth with a certain cultural subconscious. I am white, therefore very rarely have I had to think about my race. I was raised in a family that taught me to manage money, therefore I have rarely had to learn or worry about financial things. I have always had a grocery store, therefore I have never had to worry about finding ingredients from various vendors in order to make things from scratch. Plumbing has always been there, therefore I have never had to walk miles in order to pump water from a well. 

I have heard so many people say "I am so blessed that I live life with such convenience". I am learning that my God is not a God of convenience. Yes, sometimes His way is easy, but most of the time the harder path teaches you so much more and builds character in an unbelievable fashion.

Now, I'm not trying to say that going to the grocery store is wrong, and I'm definitely not trying to glorify anything that I am doing here as if it is so incredibly fantastic, because honestly it's HARD! What I am trying to say is that convenience shuts our souls down. I think that part of the reason I am always so anxious in Houston is the fact that my soul becomes bored. I have this adventurous heart that doesn't ever get stimulated. I don't get to walk down the street in fear and come home feeling like I accomplished something by going to the bank or by getting groceries. It is normally just another exhausting task that I must mindlessly do by the end of the day. But what if we started opening our eyes to the adventure around us no matter where we are. What if we started looking into people's eyes and seeing THEM and not just their shell. 

I'm starting to wonder if Jesus was telling the rich man to give up his money, or if he was telling him to give up everything: his ideas about what life is, his comfort, his friendships, his family, his understanding of the world around him. The rich man was not blessed with wealth. The rich man was priviledged.

As I'm preparing for my last few weeks here in Uganda, this is what I'm preparing to focus on. I have trouble living life here with the Ugandans because I have been educated in a completely different way. I know that if I eat their meals every day I will become incredibly sick. I know that if I walk with them, my feet will blister and I won't be able to walk tomorrow. I am learning that I am in a place where my education holds me back from life. My understanding keeps me from understanding. I have not allowed myself to be blessed by God in many facets of my life. I have only been priviledged, and the world has convinced me that "priveledged" is synonymous to "blessed"... But it isn't. It holds you back immensely.

That being said, don't think that you must give away everything and move away to be blessed. But know that being thrown out of your comfort zone helps you realize what is truly helping you and what is truly hindering you. Let yourself become uncomfortable. Look for adventure and newness. Give yourself away. Be blessed.