Favela Rising

I went on a date last weekend with the boy from the last post. Although he didn't do so well the weekend before, he did rather well this time.

He took me to see a documentary called Favela Rising. It really made me think. The filming took place between 1991 and 2004(ish). It's about a man named Anderson Sa who was born and raised in the ghetto, or favela, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. After a terrible murder of his brother, the drug trafficker decided he wanted to fight the violence in his favela. He founds a music group with a man by the name of Junior. It revolutionizes not only his favela, but many other surrounding favelas. Gangs dissolve. The number of druglords deplete-all through music and getting kids of the streets. It's an amazing story. You'd have to see it to believe it.

My favorite part of the movie is that Anderson and his group make phenomenal music. An international record company signs them. I'm thinking, "Great. That's the way it always goes. He tries to make a difference, gets fame, and sits pretty the rest of his life. He won't help anybody but himself." Well, he doesn't. He refuses to leave the favela. Many asked him why he would do that, when clearly he can afford a better life. He tells them he can't help his community from the outside. Those are his people and he's not leaving them. All their proceeds go back to the community. Back to the kids. Back to the music.

The living conditions in the favelas of Brazil are far worse than anything I have seen here. I couldn't believe the way some people live. My first thought was how unbelievably lucky I am to be born where I was born in the conditions of living that I was raised in. I take so much for granted. So much. There's much more suffering in the world than I realize. Daily suffering.

My next thought was this; if he can make such a difference in such a hopeless place, then surely there must be something that can happen here. At one point in the movie, the government wanted Anderson to branch out and found a group in a neighboring favela. He explains how he can't. He doesn't know their problems. Music has solved problems in his favela, but he doesn't know the conditions there. He doesn't know the heartache there. He explains how they have to want it. They have to know what to do, then he can go in and help them do it. The solution lies with in. It made me feel somewhat helpless. I don't know their conditions. I don't live their lives, and I don't know, really, what goes on. It has to come from within the community. This change that I seek for them.

At what point do we say "Enough" and change our worlds? Although it's wonderful and truly amazing what Anderson did, he had to wait until all his friends and finally his brother had died before he did anything. What can be done?

The dating game

Games. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. I love winning, unless it's Phase 10 with the Vellingas. It's better to lose then. But that's beside the point. The point is dating is, whether we like it or not, a game. So many people complain about the head games involved in dating, and they want to get past them, yadda yadda yadda. But they still play the head games. And when they find someone who doesn't play games like they think they wanted, they get bored. It's unsatisfactory.

The truth is, we need the head games. They aren't just games. They are tests. Every little thing is a pass or a fail. Not the whole time. Not eventually. Just initially. It tells us whether it's worth it to invest our time, and more importantly, our feelings. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

So I'm in the game. I'm playing my cards. I've learned new tricks. One's I've never known before. I'm excited to try them out. This game, like every game, is a little different. They all have their quarks and variations. I've studied this player (not to be confused with playa) for a year. I've been interested, but circumstances wouldn't let us start our game. Circumstances have changed. I'm excited. He's cute. He's got character. I like him.

The game has dealt me a new hand. He goes for surgery.Twice. I can't say I've been in this situation, but it's nothing I can't handle. Besides, this gives perfect girlfriend opportunities. I can visit. Bring him food. Entertain him. Perfect, if I can play them right. Things are going well. One thing I didn't forsee. Medication. This one threw me for the loop at first. I didn't think about that, and he acted kinda funny. I didn't like it. But be patient. That's only temporary. He'll be back to himself in no time. I think I played that round pretty well. Too bad I'm not sure if he can remember it.

Next round. First kiss. This rocks. I liked it. But post first kiss is scary. There's pressure on the first one, but not pressure like the second one. First kiss could've been a fluke, or happened on a whim, or just something that happened because he was there, and I was there, and sometimes that happens. The second kiss is where it's at. That one is more planned. That one is more than a fluke. That's going out on the limb. That's pressure. Is he gonna kiss me the next time? Will we acknowledge it? Who knows? I hope it's not a fluke. It wasn't for me. 3 days go by. He never calls. I certainly don't call. That's a bad card. But I'll see him tonight. It's institute. We'll both be there. Is he gonna sit by me? Show in public that we like each other. That things have changed between us? It doesn't go so well, but things were crazy. There were lots of loose ends to tie before the big campout weekend. That's understandable. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. This round is left slightly confused and unsure of the next round.

Next round. Camping. One whole weekend for opportunities. This boy is shy. I understand that. In rounds past, I have had to be slightly more obvious that I liked him. It's part of the game. He needed more motivation. But now we are post first kiss. The chemistry is there. Still pressure, but not as much since we have seen each other since. He makes opportunity for alone time. Good move. I take it. Second kiss happens. Nice. Pressure relieved. It's not a fluke. Still the question of "so what now?" He's feeling better from surgery. It's his turn to make things happen. Time for me to step back. Gotta do the dance. See what happens. Hmm. Not much. Doesn't do too good a job at making himself where I am. You know, being around each other. Sitting by me, or standing around me, or going to activities I go to. He makes conversation with others he's more comfortable with. That's ok. He's shy. But he doesn't acknowledge in public very much that I'm there, or that there's something more between he and I than he and everyone else. Not digging that. Campfire that night after not-so-well-played day. I'm feeling kinda done. I'm not gonna try. It's all up to him now. I concentrate on hanging with my friends. We went off to go catch fireflies. Perhaps to avoids some of these stinky he-didn't-play-it-right feelings. But when I join the others around the fire, he does manage to come sit by me. Good move. It shows me something. We sing as he and another play the guitar. He eventually passes it on to somebody else. His hands are free. That's a good sign. He ends up sitting in front of me and leaning on me. Ok. That's acceptable. Everyone's there, so he's being a little more public. That's good. Everyone goes to bed. We walk around in the night, talking. Not holding hands. He doesn't do that very much. We say good night. I get a nice hug. People are still up and talking in their tents, so a kiss would've been no good. The next day, hardly anything. Not very much opportunity for anything, though, with packing and church. When saying good bye, he did give me a hug in front of people. Thats a good sign. That rounds over. Still feeling unsure, but more done. He didn't play his hand well at all. He ditched me in Niagra Falls. He didn't sit by me in the pageant, or in church. That's no good. Also, somewhere in there, I wandered in some poison oak and had a terrible allergic reaction. He didn't act very concerned for my well being. Not a good sign after all the care I took after his surgeries. Not good at all.

Today is the day after. I haven't gotten a phone call. Still nothing. I don't feel like he's puting much effort in this at all. I'm feeling more done as the day goes by. I'm still not completely closed off yet. But if I don't get a call before thursday, I'd have to say I'm done. I need some effort. He's got to take some intiative. I did do more chasing with him than I normally do, just because I undertand he's shy, but I don't do all the chasing. I am, after all, a lady.

Sadness

My ward is great. It is a very...unique....ward. I'm definitely not in Utah anymore. On one hand, you've got the very rich and rather wealthy people. Some families have expensive *cough* nine million dollar *cough* mansions. On the other hand, a majority of my ward is from the Ghetto. The ghetto of ghettos. The poverty in this place is unbelievable.

Last week, I had the oppurtunity to miss sharing time and go to relief society. A woman was there who was baptized, but hadn't been there for years. She took the oppurtuntiy to speak out about how we're hypocrites and unfaithful because we aren't bringing her to church. We don't dare go in the ghetto. Those of us who do have cars, myself included, have a full car everysunday. I know a couple that brings two cars just to get others to church. I have gone in some scary neighborhoods to pick people up. I know another family who only has one seat in their car, but still goes to get someone. Some families come in pieces just to get to church, and they all meet up at the building later. There is a lot we do. We just don't have enough cars to get everybody. My ward as about 5-600 members, but only 100-150 show up. There are a lot of inactives. We do our best, but it's impossible to seek them all out every sunday. Those who want to go, go. They find rides. They call around. It gets done. Sometimes I even make two trips just to get people to and from church. It happens.

This last sunday, I was sitting in sharing time, and it seemed there was an abundance of adults there. The kids were behaving well, and it was rather sparse because of 4th of July weekend. I thought, "I could probably sneak out unnoticed and go to relief society." But then I thought, "No, I like to sing with the kids." So I decided to stay in sharing time. It was grand. Appearantly, in relief society there was, once again, quite an uproar. The lesson was, of course, patriotic. How we should be thankful for our freedoms. One woman piped up about how america is fake. There is no real freedom for black people. That got everyone fired up. Another one talked about how they lied to her when she left africa. She thought this would be a better life and now she's stuck. She's stuck in poverty and danger. Although I can't completely understand what they go through everyday, I still would like to say that the only think that keeps us stuck is not the color of our skin, but the state of mind we are in. Oprah Winfrey was raised in aweful circumstances. Look at her now. I could say the same for Condaleeza Rice. The color of their skin didn't limit them. I know that of all the people in the ghetto, I can only really think of 2 examples, but still. It's not impossible.

I was discussing with a friend (who also missed this uproar) on monday night about a dear lady in our ward. She is a single mother of six children. She is raising them to the best of her ability, but they are barely surviving. She struggles and has stress i could never imagine. I have been to their neighborhood to pick them up for church. Frankly, it terrifies me. I hate being there. I hate getting out of the car. I would hate to have no choice but to raise my kids there because I have nowhere I can go. Her power is being turned off this week. She's scared and stressed. My friend and I were discussing ways we can help her. What can we do? Just listening to these circumstances and what a loss she's at, it just...it breaks my heart. All of this breaks my heart. Sometimes I think, if I were a millionare, I could help so many people. I'd build a big house and they can stay there and live, and their children could be raised well. But really, that's impossible. Then they learn to be mooches. It's not so much money thats the problem (although it can be a big part of it) it's mindset that's the problem. It's not what we can do for this woman. Frankly, I have enough in saving to help keep her power on for another month, but that's not really what she needs. She needs to learn how to live. How to budget. How to save. How to earn. They don't need gimmies. They need life skills. That's when I don't know how to help them. I'm barely only learning these life skills as well. It's only a matter of months before I have my first appartment. I'll have rent, and groceries, and utilities. It just breaks my heart that I can't help them more.

I was also thinking how lucky I am. How grateful I should really be. I take way too much for granted. At this point in life, as I date and find the person I want to marry, and find the life I want to lead, I weigh my options. I want a college graduate. Someone with ambition. We don't have to be millioinares, but I'd like to not have to live paycheck to paycheck. But even if we were living paycheck to paycheck, I know that we would never be in that kind of neighborhood. I know that no matter how bad things got, we would never ever wind up there. That is not even an option. I have family that would help out, and I just know that I will never live in that part of town. But some just don't have that option. That is all they've ever had, and that's all they ever will have. It's hard to escape the poverty. It's such a cycle. It really just breaks my heart.