Christmas – AGAIN?

IMG_2003It’s the end of September and high time to share my thoughts concerning Christmas with you! Basically, I only need four words to describe them! Wanna guess? No? Well, here they are: I don’t like Christmas! Shocked? Or are you thinking now: Thank you, dear M, I feel the same but would never dare to speak it out loud!

For those who are shocked, stop reading! Right now! For all the others … the long version: I REALLY don’t like Christmas! If you start seeing gingerbread cookies and Christmas decorations in every single store at the beginning of September you know Christmas is not far away. (Yeah, right, only four months to go! It’s absolutely impossible to get your Christmas shopping done in a mere four months! You might even consider driving to the next forest to secretly hack down a fir in case you fear you won’t get the perfect tree in time! It’s illegal to do so, of course! But, what’s a short stay in jail, at least you’ve got your perfect Christmas tree in September!)

Anyway, although I do like to eat gingerbread cookies, I always feel embarrassed buying them in the middle of summer. Which is why I have a very clever method. First, I circle the Christmassy looking gingerbread packages for a few times, deciding silently which cookies I want. After quick glances left and right to make sure the coast is clear, I snag my package and race to the cashier’s, dodging as many other customers as possible, hiding my cookies as best as I can. Quite ingenious, huh? I’ve become a real pro over the years …

But, back to the real reasons I’m not the world’s biggest Christmas fan anymore.

Number 1: we’ve already established that!

Number 2: the music, everywhere you go those dreadful Christmas songs. Wham’s “Last Christmas” is one of them … and whenever “Silent night” is playing I start crying. Cause it reminds me of Christmas with my parents and relatives, most of them dead now. It was a family tradition to cry to “Silent night” when we heard it the first time on Christmas Eve.

Number 3: the decoration – blinking lights everywhere, kitschy glittery reindeers, Santa Clauses, … do I have to say more?

Number 4: the shopping! Don’t get me wrong! I love to shop! But it’s no fun if A) you don’t know what to buy for your friends / relatives / your boyfriend / your boyfriend’s relatives and everyone else you can think of; B) you have to use your elbows to at least grab a pair of cheap panty hose and C) the shop assistants are so stressed and harassed that they start shouting at you just in case, even though you don’t even need their assistance.

Number 5: the holidays themselves! In my case it’s because they just make me sad, dreading the actual Christmas Eve, being alone, having to remember what it used to be like with my family. The hugging, the laughing, the crying … In your case it might be too much family, too many obligations. Instead of having a couple of peaceful days just to yourself, relax with your partner from stressful working weeks you have to endure your relatives who NEVER EVER leave or rush from one relative to another, trying to squeeze in everyone so to not disappoint anyone.

Whatever your reasons are … try to find a way to spend Christmas the way YOU like it, the way it makes you happy! Maybe one day I will like Christmas again too!

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How not to be the perfect housewife

IMG_1456DO buy TV dinners – they can be healthy too – or (even better) engage a cook! That way your kids will harass HER (or HIM) when they don’t like their pizza / spaghetti / burger / whatever exists that doesn’t contain vegetables! And you are the good mother again!

DO NOT cook! Ever, ever, ever! Your husband will demand home cooked meals every day and the kids will NEVER be satisfied with anything you’ve prepared in long sweating and annoying hours in the kitchen! Which will then get eaten in a mere ten seconds, wolfed down by your hungry brood.

DO make a mess! Your family will appreciate it even more then when you finally decide to put the dirty plates into the dishwasher at least once a week. Or will learn to do it themselves because they can’t take it anymore …

DO NOT tidy up! Let your kids do it! What else are they here for? It’s never too early to teach them that housework is fun (yeah, right)! They’ll love to tidy up while you just pretend to and have lots of time on your hands to do what YOU want.

DO buy paper plates! Use them and throw them away! Don’t worry about the environment, you only need to cut down a few acres of the rain forest for your paper plates!

DO NOT wash the dishes!

  1. It’s a waste of water.
  2. It’s a waste of energy.
  3. It’s a waste of detergent.
  4. China plates are dangerous! Just imagine you break them, you cut yourself so deeply picking the pieces up you have to get it stitched at the emergency room. The pain and suffering is nothing compared to the pain you will feel when you receive the medical bill for your treatment! So better get real dishes out of your mind! Quickly!

DO buy a huge throw that covers everything! Or get a loft bed! No one can see what’s up there and you’ll never have to make the bed again!

DO NOT make the bed! What’s the purpose? You’ll get in at night again anyway! Crumpled sheets feel so much cosier!

DO buy plastic flowers! For inside and outside the house! Or do you want to water your flowers every day? Week? Month? By using fake plants and flowers you save lots of time!

DO NOT decorate! Forget candles, family pictures, bowls of potpourri, travel souvenirs … sleek and impersonal is so IN right now! Decoration is totally overrated! And no annoying dedusting of all those trinkets …

I miss you, Dad

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It’s been eight years! Eight years without you! And I miss you every single day! I remember sitting next to you at the hospital bed, with you having been put into deep sleep to make it easier for you to go … and as usual I was writing, while Mum was dozing in the other bed. It’s as if it was yesterday …

I’m sitting here, watching you sleep, watching every move, as your chest rises and falls, touching your cool skin, listening to every sound you make. And thinking! Thinking about all the little things I will miss so much about you. Your smile, your jokes, even your stubbornness. What will I do without you? Who will give me advice? Who will open surprise eggs with me? Curious about the contents? Happy as a child about something to put together? The evenings watching TV. Documentation? Of course! Me – sometimes a little bored – you zapping from Phoenix to wherever something interesting might be. And me, sitting in front of your comfy couch, playing one of your hidden secrets games on the notebook you so loved these past months, resting from the exhausting chemo therapies. And I never failed to show up without another PC game for you on my visits from Styria, mostly secretly, I think. Mum doesn’t even know how many games you possess. But they were so much fun, weren’t they?

Now I’m here, in Villach, it’s September 15th – already -, 1:05 am and we’ve been here for 5.5 hours. Mum, my sister, her husband and I. Watching you, we don’t want to leave you alone for a minute. Scared you might have to go through your probably last hours alone. We want you to glide over in your sleep. No more suffering, you don’t deserve to suffer. You’ve suffered enough. As hard as it is for us, we love you and only want the best for you.

Your skin is as soft as a child’s and I wish I could just take you into my arms, hold you tight and never let go. But I have to let you go. I just have to. I’m so tired and I wonder … what are you dreaming? Are you dreaming? I’m holding your hand, caressing it in the hope you can feel me near you. I’m watching over you. Mum is dozing in the 2nd hospital bed, my sister and her husband in their chairs. And I’m awake. My eyes are bloodshot and I try not to cry. Even though sometimes I can’t hold back the tears. You look so frail as the cancer is eating up your body. Wherever you go, Dad, we’ll meet again! That’s what you always said, one day we all will see each other again!

You died peacefully two days later, shortly before we arrived. You loved us so much you wanted to spare us even that. You knew from the beginning when you got the diagnosis that you probably had not more than two years. You never told us. You were still always smiling, and so patient and content with everything, never complaining during your difficult chemo treatments. You worried more about Mum and her cancer than about yourself.

There are so many things I wanted to tell you and couldn’t. Even though we talked so much, about everything! You have no idea how much I miss your advice. All the time. In all aspects of my life. Which has turned out so differently than I had anticipated or wished. All you ever wanted for me was to be happy. And I’m trying. I’m really trying. But it’s so difficult right now, I feel so incredibly lonely with everyone gone who was close to me. I will have to see whether I too will be lucky enough to one day find the one, my one and only, the way you and Mum felt for each other. There is someone who might be it … but I will have to see where it leads us. Mum held out until the end, Dad! And then I had to let her go as well, she was so brave and in so much pain all the time. It was her decision to not continue with her treatments. Her strength was just depleted.

One of the things I regret incredibly is not having had the chance to be alone with for you for a few minutes to tell you thanks. Thanks for always having my back, always supporting me, giving me a wonderful childhood, youth and adulthood, allowing me to be a kid again when I was back home, joking around, even at 30, making knots into your PJs was a daily ritual … and never got old. But I couldn’t tell you all that with Mum and my sister around. So I’m telling you now! Thanks for everything! Love you, Dad!

Weird? Really?

Lunch time is the most important part of our working days. And whoever wants to contradict me, don’t even try, you know I’m right. Sometimes I take lunch from home to eat at the office, sometimes I join my colleague(s) at our usual haunts: an Italian pizza delivery restaurant without a single Italian in sight, a mostly empty Vietnamese/Thai place (I wonder why), a Chinese one, a greasy Greek snack bar, Burger King and McDonald’s. (I know, terrific selection! If you’re Vegetarian, you’ve basically already lost … good thing I’m not!) The choice for our two American fast food joints mostly comes from me in case of a bad need for comfort food or – which is another weird thing but not for me – if there are new burgers around. And since they will only be available for a few weeks, guess who needs to be there first to try them. Yep, ME, ME, ME! Convincing my fellow lunchers with girlishly fluttering eyelashes that we just NEED to go there.

My colleagues as well as our regular lunch places already know that A) I want my apple juice served with plain water (with just one fourth of juice topped with the plain water), not sparkling, B) I prefer my French fries without salt, C) I always have special requests in general. Which would fill a whole post itself and I don’t want to annoy and bore you with them now before you’re even coming to the good stuff. But lunch with me is not the only thing they think is weird about me.

  • My morning hot beverage: which is either Ovaltine (or Horlicks Malt Drink) or plain hot chocolate (with less plain Vanilla coffee creamer). For my beloved colleagues it’s an absolutely unthinkable concept to order Ovaltine from Britain. After all, one can get Ovaltine here as well (so the misconception). Nope, you can’t. Because you can’t get Ovaltine with just water to be added here. So, what am I supposed to do? Plain hot chocolate is just my emergency supply and doesn’t come near to any malt drink.
  • My British car: Yep, you already know that! And of course my guys consider this another weird thing about me. How incredibly crazy to NOT buy a German car in Germany. Before that? I was driving a French one. And that was even worse. But guess what? I’m a rebel … and will keep buying non-German cars. They would never admit, though, that it IS the coolest car around. (They want ME to drive all the time … so that should tell you something …)
  • My Austrian food supply: as you already know, I can’t live without my Austrian ketchup. Neither can’t I live without my Austrian mustard, mayonnaise, bread, bacon, cheese, pumpkin seed oil, dumpling mix, special sweets, tea bags, and much more. Because … you can’t get food in Germany.
  • My lists: for absolutely everything! To Do lists are only the tip of the iceberg. I have a shoe list, expense lists, car fuel list, bucket list, go on vacation list … and a lunch list. Usually my best lunch buddy and I switch times paying. Sometimes we don’t go out for lunch for days … and guess who then knows who had paid last? Yes, ME. Cause HE doesn’t remember! I rest my case!
  • My shoes: I wouldn’t call 87 pairs of shoes weird, do you? No wonder I need a list to keep track of them all … as a woman I still have to face the shoe tragedy from time to time: that I don’t have a single pair in my meagre selection that goes with this one specific outfit. Men will never understand that one can never have enough shoes!
  • My vacations: contrary to the German’s favourite holiday destination – Spain – I try to avoid it at all costs. Because, once again, I don’t want to do what everyone else does. Oh no, I’m crazy enough to undertake a transatlantic crossing on a luxury liner on my own, fly to Leeds to take part in a murder mystery weekend – being the only non-British person there -, undertake regular London shopping trips (what else), … and you don’t even want to know what’s on my schedule for future trips. Nope, won’t tell you now! Where would be the suspense then?

Well, speaking of the tip of an iceberg … I guess this is merely the beginning of what they think is really weird about me. I don’t think, I’m weird. Just different. Maybe.

 

From one coffee to another

I don’t like coffee! Basically! Although I’m coming from a country where drinking coffee is a life art. Vienna’s coffee houses are legendary, not only for their unique 19th century atmosphere with grumpy waiters, still frequented by journalists and writers to exchange their philosophy of life, but also for their different kinds of coffee. I’m not talking Starbucks kinds of coffee. I’m talking about Verlängerter, Milchkaffee, Melange, Kleiner Brauner, Großer Brauner, Einspänner, Häferlkaffee … coffee breaks with a piece of Danish or cake, Sacher Torte, Esterhazy Schnitte, Kardinalschnitte, brioche or “Kipferl” are cherished and if you don’t have anything better to do you meet at a coffee house! Me? I must be the only Austrian who – if not drinking Earl Grey British style – prefers American coffee! I love American coffee! Weak coffee where one drop of milk lightens up the dark brown liquid. A laughing matter for real coffee lovers who merely talk about “dishwashing water” coffee where you can see the bottom of the cup.

Even though coffee is not my No 1 favourite hot beverage I do like the smell of it! I could sit at a coffee house or coffee shop for hours, enjoying the smell of freshly ground and brewed coffee. But getting a nose full of coffee is not the only reason I like to lounge around other coffee lovers. The background noise of slurping and chatting is kind of relaxing. And even though some of my best friends tend to laugh about it, I’m lost without a scrap of paper and pen, my iPad or Macbook. It’s like an addiction. Let me free in a coffee shop and I just have to start writing. Something! Anything! It inspires me and I can’t be talked to until I’ve satisfied my writing needs and filled at least ten pages and used up my ballpoint or my electronics run out of juice.

My absolute favourite coffee is Latte Macchiato. Any kind will do, caramel, vanilla, cinnamon, pumpkin spice, gingerbread, … or simply with a spoon of honey. Ohhh, I’m getting all twitchy! I think I need one right now! Have to go …

 

Hot Dog

Beware, dear readers! This is another one of my “older” pieces! But the images are still in my mind … I’m not gonna tell what those images are or you won’t keep reading to find out … so, here it is, from some time ago:

I nearly fell off my couch the other day when the latest news hit me in form of a German TV broadcast. The opening of the first dog disco was announced!

Alright! I got used to the idea of seeing toddlers in weird PINK-Donald Trump-Bob Marley wigs! But a dog disco? A dog disco??? Fascinated I was glued to the TV screen, watching young – blonde – women not only sprucing themselves up but also their barely there Paris Hilton style dogs. And with Paris Hilton style dogs I mean tiny, often naked – as in without fur – yapping, ankle biting creatures. I have difficulties calling them “dogs” since they neither look like dogs – although their loud, whiny barking and sharp little teeth they sink into everything and anything that resembles a moving object proves them otherwise – nor are treated like dogs, more like “cute” accessories being carried around in designer handbags.

They are being bathed – the most luxurious bubble bath -, dried in fluffy pink towels and with special dog hairdryer, styled with doggy hair products, dressed in pink / light blue or any other “in” colour and off they go.

The dog disco itself serves alcohol to the dog mummies and different kinds of bottled water to the little darlings, who can then spend their “evening out” chasing each other and peeing everywhere on a small green patch while the ladies dance to the latest songs of Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson! (Well, I realize they are not quite so hot anymore, but remember, this little article happened to be written a while back!)

I’m sure those blondies are among the dog disco’s best clients. But, I have to admit, kudos to whoever had the idea of making money with it. Congratulations! You are brilliant! A dog disco is the perfect enterprise for a city like LA! With model and actress wannabes, the highest percentage of beauty surgeries in the country and more crazy people than anywhere else. But I’m sure the other big cities will follow suit in no time, dog discos and parties swapping over to the other continents as well.

By the way, I’ll let you in on a well-kept secret: I’m a natural blonde as well, who has chosen to darken her dark blonde tresses some while ago. The reason? That’ll be another posting altogether. So … I’ll always be allowed to poke fun at blonde women … 😉

I never wanted to be a mother

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Are you sighing now, loudly, taking a sip from your still hot morning coffee, trying to decide whether you should even bother continue reading this week’s posting? Are you wondering, “Who the hell is this woman? She’s from a little insignificant country (your words, not mine), more liberal than anyone I know, insults our faith AND doesn’t like children?”

Well, yeah, what can I say! I’m not a big kids’ person and I’m not afraid to admit that. Even though strangely they seem to always get drawn to me! I’m scowling at them, ignore them and absolutely refrain from making cow eyes and cooing sounds at the mere sight … maybe that’s exactly why they like me. Cause I don’t treat them like idiots but normal persons.

Women pushing their strollers around? I’m keeping clear from them so that I don’t have to feign interest in a squealing little something! Mothers with toddlers? The circle is getting wider until they are of a certain age and I dare to creep closer again!

I can see you shaking your head, wanting to throw your smartphone, tablet, laptop, desktop PC far away and swear never to read my blog again? Don’t! I’ll give you a quick rundown on WHY in general I’m not the biggest kids’ fan!

Years 0-2: they need constant supervision! Being fed, changed, played with … going out, just to get a simple cup of coffee, is pure hell! You stop putting on makeup, run around in sweats, are leaking milk and are constantly tired! Not to mention those damn extra pounds hugging your hips and just won’t go away! Your partner is annoyed by having to play second fiddle and sex becomes a pleasure between feeding times – if ever and in case you are not too exhausted!

Years 3-5: the toddler is demanding more and more of your free time! It starts to speak, wants to know things not even scientists could answer and you have to have them in your sight all day long so as they won’t do anything stupid! (Which they usually do like eating anything they can find in the dirt, from worms to …) Kindergarten starts, you have to drive them to play dates and talk to other mothers about – yeah, guess what – KIDS! The sex? Still not better! Maybe you can arrange for a babysitter from time to time to get away – just to be called back home because your little one suddenly got sick! And there goes the hot sex again …

Years 6-neverending: school starts! Ah, finally, a few hours to yourself! But don’t worry, they will be filled with other school activities like meetings with other mothers to discuss the horrible school food, the even more horrible horrible teacher who dared to announce that your kid is a little brat, … Then there are the PTA meetings, taking your kids to sports, music classes, art classes, the psychologist … until 18 years have passed, your kid moves away to attend university and you wonder where the past years have gone! You’re divorced by now cause your partner couldn’t take it anymore. That he married a lover and got a mother and housewife instead …

Enough reasons NOT to become a mother? For me it was and still is! Even though I have to admit there are brief moments I wonder what it would be like when I’m looking at HIM, picturing him with our little one. But those moments are gone in a flash again and I appreciate the freedom to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Being able to be spontaneous. Travelling, dinners, museums, concerts … and all the other things one enjoys so much.

An Italian love story

As you probably have realized by now my travel preferences usually take me to the Northern hemisphere like England, Ireland, the North Sea, USA, Canada … because usually the Mediterranean mentality is just not my thing … which distinguishes me clearly from probably 80% of the inhabitants I share this country with. Germans love, love, love Spain and the Balearic Islands. Together with cheap all-inclusive trips to Turkey and Greece. Which is one of the reasons I absolutely avoid going anywhere near there. Even though I’m sure there are very beautiful parts too … I’m just very reluctant to do what most people do and be a mainstream tourist.

Ah, now you wonder! What’s different about Italy? What Spain is for the Germans, Italy is for the Austrians. True, I guess! While the Germans flock to the Ballermann, Austrians head to the small Italian beach villages like Lignano, Bibione, Caorle … but this is not the Italy I’m talking about! My Italian Love Story is all about one of my favourite cities in the world: Venice! Famous for its canals, hundreds of bridges, beautiful palazzi … tourists and pigeons! Which both are, by far, the worst accessories Venice has to offer. Loud, obnoxious tourists trampling through the city day after day, snapping away with their cameras and smartphones, listening to their tour guides, standing in incredibly long lines to get into the Basilica di San Marco, overrun the Rialto Bridge-Piazza di San Marco route and nag about the ridiculously high prices of everything. And to make the horror complete, all those pigeons which either look like from a romantic movie or Hitchcock’s “The Birds”, depending on your mood and your personal experiences. Being crapped on from all directions or being lucky to escape unharmed. (My advice: Keep close to the buildings and beneath the arcades at all times! Let those other stupid tourists become the target of bird droppings, wondering how to get rid of the white stinking gunk again since public restrooms are basically non-existent!)

Doesn’t sound like a love story to you so far? It is! I love Venice! Some say Venice on rainy or foggy days depresses them, even makes them suicidal! That’s just nonsense! There’s nothing more beautiful than Venice in rain or fog! It’s so wonderfully mysterious you feel like Casanova himself, sneaking around the narrow “calli” (streets), escaping from bedroom windows and fleeing from the husband of one of his paramours. Or you’re transported back into the best film noir times! To sum it up, it’s as eerie as it’s beautiful, soothing … at least it is to me! I visited Venice at several stages in my life. As a kid with my parents, as a teenager on a school trip, as a young adult with friends for the carnival, alone and with one of my best friends. Summer as well as winter, spring and fall.

I love to wander around, away from the usual tourist treks, sit in small cafés or ristorantes and shop in even smaller Venetian shops or real Venetian products and not those ugly masks cheaply produced in China. I even found a genuine 20s theatre coat I couldn’t resist buying …

And of course, the “Café Florian”, the first and most expensive café on the Piazza di San Marco, is always on my schedule. I love the beautiful antique interior, the waiters with the white gloves, the feeling of the past … and I don’t mind paying 10€ minimum for a small pot of hot chocolate (real hot chocolate, by the way). And I really despise those tourists who basically know that having coffee there is more expensive than anywhere else and are still indignantly complaining. Which usually results in my desire to look at them from head to toe with disgust and tell them to just get out and not spoil my “Florian joy”.

Venice for me – especially in winter – is one of the few places on earth where I can really find inner peace. It’s not just the city and the delicious food (if you avoid the tourist traps), it’s also the real Venetians, those few who still live there and avoid the usual tourist places in summer, trying to get away at all or moving to another part of the city. That’s Venice to me! One of the loves of my life!

Mum …

IMG_1439Five years! It seems so long ago and on the other hand it seems as if it had happened yesterday. The last time I saw you. The day you decided you didn’t want to continue the treatments. The day you called your closest friends to visit you at the hospital to say goodbye. Because you were exhausted and we all had to accept that. With Dad gone much too early … he would have been so proud of you, Mum. Your strength, to hold on for me … and we all understood, as hard as it was. You had fought long enough, we granted you the peace, not to be in constant pain anymore.

I know we didn’t always have the best relationship. We were too different and you were overprotective, always wanting the best for me.

But no matter what, you were always there for me. Driving me to ballet lessons and wherever I needed to go in my elementary school days, picking me up from the train station in the middle of the night when I returned from my weekends in Styria during my high school years, being a stay-at-home mum which I treasured so much. Having a warm home cooked meal when I returned from school every day. The fun we always had as a family before you became sick and were in pain most of the time, struggling through the days, every step, every little thing an ordeal with you having to use those crutches because after three tries they couldn’t risk implanting another hip replacement. I don’t know how you did it after Dad died. We admired you so much for going on, day after day. And we all would have been lost without some close friends of yours and my aunt, your little sister, who – apart from my sister and cousin – is basically all I have left now.

I had a great childhood, Mum! So many happy memories. Like waiting in the kitchen, looking down on the street from the 8th floor, playing word games while waiting for Dad to return from one of his business trips. Or counting red cars and singing in the car on our occasional way to Styria. Or helping you make vanilla crescent cookies during Xmas time. Or …

It’s the little things I miss the most. Not having a home anymore. Not having a place to go. Not being spoilt and cooked for. Not being able to call to ask for advice. Not being hugged by you. No Christmas, no birthdays, no funny gifts. No one who puts some effort into anything. Like you and Dad did. I try to keep up our traditions, to keep the memories alive, but it’s so incredibly hard sometimes. Missing the fun we had at our holiday feasts in Styria and Carinthia, the warmth, the laughter, the silliness … and realizing that everyone is dead apart from my aunt, your sister.

I was lucky, Mum, to have parents like you and Dad, supporting me, making me feel loved all my life and that makes it even harder for me to not feel completely lost at times. Even though you set me free to start a new life, my life, as difficult as it was to move to another country and start new, alone, knowing no one.

Dad always said that one day we all will see each other again. And I imagine you all sitting around a huge table up there, enjoying a cold Gösser beer, laughing and partying the way we did, all of you looking healthy and not ravaged by the cancer that took nearly all of you, looking down on me, protecting me from beyond. And that’s giving me the strength to go on …

The Ori

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I bet once again you’re wondering what I’m up to this week! The Ori? Who or what the hell are the Ori? Why is she writing about the Ori?

I’m letting you be part of a big secret! Once upon a time – a few years back – I was a big “Stargate” fan. I started watching it because of Richard Dean Anderson, the hero of my teen years in the role of MacGyver. And he’s just become more handsome as he got older. And me too. So, I bought the first season … and now still possess the remaining 9 seasons. Hidden away in the depths of my Ikea Kallax shelf. (Hope you are not too disappointed with me now!)

In seasons 9 and 10 a new enemy appears on the stage: the Ori. Ascended beings feeding off the beliefs of their followers. The more believers, the more powerful they become. Their will is being executed by the “Priors” and those who do not give in are punished by, well, being wiped off all kinds of planets. (Just a little background information for you! Considering to stop reading now? But then you’ll miss the good parts! The really good parts … so bear with me for a few paragraphs longer!)

What first struck me was the incredible resemblance to every fanatical religion, including Christianity. How many unbelieving human beings were murdered in the course of history? And the sad thing? It’s still going on! Every single day! Where Westerners are condemned because they are not still stuck in the dark Middle Ages like others? I mean, how … (insert appropriate word) can one be to bomb himself to pieces, taking dozens of other lives with him? Do they really think our ascended being called God or Allah or whatever else you want to call the old man with the white beard wants us to MURDER each other? Well, if you look at history, “God” has always been a good excuse to commit the most horrible crimes. Killing in the name of God? How convenient! You shoot your neighbour because his dog pooped on your pristine front lawn for the hundredth time? “God told me!” Burning down hospitals because they do abortions? “God told me!” Kidnapping planes, cars, trucks and crashing them into buildings and people? “God told me!”

You wonder what my point is? And you wonder what is wrong with me? After all, faith is the highest treasure, isn’t it?

My point is: faith has got nothing to do with religion. Every church’s / sect’s main motivation is power and money. It always has been and always will be. My hope? See the light, people! Don’t you have better things to do than running to church every Sunday, praying, pretending to be holier than God … and then quarrelling with your neighbour because he cut back his hedge too much on your side!? I rest my case …

Well, I still wish you a great weekend and hope you’ll forgive me for my critical point of view.