Occasionally I find myself arguing against people who I would usually not want to argue against, and arguing points that I know will make me seem (in their eyes) intolerant, conservative, etc. etc. One of these typical cases is when I mention that the world is dangerous, and that people should take precautions to keep themselves safe. As sound as this argument sounds when I say it, if I took it into the context of rape I would probably instantly be accused of victim blaming. I am not going to go into it. The blame is on the raper. It always has been. It always will be. I still suggest being watchful when you walk home on your own at night, I still recommend being careful who you drink with.
I feel at these times like I am on the border. I consider myself left-wing. Very much so. I think abortion is a right of all women, I don't believe in the death penalty, and socially I believe on relatively high taxes in order for a good health system and a good education system to be in place. I am a pacifist (and generally against armed intervention in conflicts), I am an environmentalist (though you probably wouldn't believe this if you looked at how I live my life, unfortunately I cannot defend myself, I have let my standards on this are slip considerably), I believe people should have equal rights and equal access independently of means (to an extent).
And this to an extent is why I'm on the border. Yes, I believe that education of a high standard should be provided for all children by the state. This does not mean that I believe that everyone should go to University (especially not "because it's the right thing to do").
I believe that there should be an excellent healthcare system that provides for people when they are sick. This does not mean that I believe every intervention and every treatment should be paid for by the government.
In general, I believe that the state should provide (within its means) systems to make societies more equalitarian, I believe that the state should take care of the people who want to be taken care of. This does not mean that it's a free for all and that everyone has a right to everything for free. And it doesn't mean that the state has any right to tell me how I live my life.
A few years ago now (was it 2006?) smoking was made illegal in bars in Spain. I disagreed with the measure. Not because I smoked, but because I thought it was reducing the freedoms of smokers. People told me I was in the wrong: it was smokers who were making it impossible for others to enjoy bars, it was them who were reducing freedoms. And as much sense as this argument made I couldn't help but be annoyed by it. Any bar could decide to make smoking illegal on its premises. No one was stopping them from doing so, yet very few did. Making it illegal to smoke inside takes away the freedom of choice. I would never have been against campaigns to make bars smoke-free (I personally love smoke-free bars, and have welcomed the difference the law has made), but I am against making things illegal. The idea that the government has any right to take away my freedom of choice horrifies me.
And yes, the following question is where do I set the limit. The government illegalising anything at all is the government taking away freedom of choice. Should we legalise murder? Stealing? Assault? Rape?
No. I don't know where to draw the line. Previously, I thought that any laws regulating things that are outside causing physical or mental harm to other people or their property were out of order. Then I realised that good educational and health systems were impossible without these laws. I have said it, I don't know where the line of the law should be drawn, but I think it's definitely a step before what they should do in private spaces (bars are by definition a private space, since they belong to the owner of the bar who has the right to refuse admission).
Friday, 23 May 2014
Thursday, 22 May 2014
What is a trigger?
Today I'm going to talk not so much about trigger warnings (there has been a lot written about it lately, especially since US students started requesting trigger warnings on potentially distressing material taught in class) but about content. Obviously, this isn't saying much: trigger warnings are about content. But I'm not so much keen to discuss what type of content requires trigger warnings or why these warnings are good or bad. As I've said, enough has been done. What I will do is discuss an article by my usually much admired Laurie Penny.
First, a short history on trigger warnings in the internet can be found here. This is important because in order to understand what I am going to say next it is essential to understand where trigger warnings first appeared. It is important to know that trigger warnings have been used predominantly in feminist spaces, which is directly related to what I want to discuss.
Secondly, link to the aforementioned Laurie Penny article that I want to discuss.
Thirdly, it is important for me to say that I agree with the content of the article. I agree with what Laurie Penny is saying and I agree with her emphasis about trigger warnings and context. I agree.
And now, to what bothers me about the article:
"potentially disturbing texts - reading material that might, for example, contain graphic descriptions of violence against women"
"The objection seems to be that since so much classic literature involves violent misogyny, racism and brutality against minorities, whinging leftists should pipe down and read without questioning, analysing or reacting to the canon."
"stern dismissal of "trigger warnings" has become a proxy for dismissing women, people of colour, queer people and trauma survivors as readers"
Firstly, the article seems to imply that only people who have been discriminated or attacked need or benefit from trigger warnings. This is not true (I personally enjoy having trigger warnings, especially when it comes to very graphic violence whether on film/television or books), and as much as I hate it, I feel that it weakens her argument (I hate it because I feel like I'm saying "me too", when the conversation isn't about me, which I hate because I realise I'm using my privilege a little bit here).
Secondly (and to me this one is more serious) it seems to imply that content that requires trigger warnings always has to do with violence or discrimination against minorities. And here I don't feel like I'm just seeing it from a privilege point of view. I happen to think that a trigger is a trigger, and that extreme or graphic violence against a human being might be just as triggering, independently of who the person being subjected to the violence is. I also happen to think (even though this goes into "what trigger warnings should go where") that triggers are different for each person, and something that 99% of people will not consider triggering (the description of a certain set of clothes, for example) may be a trigger for another person. Ignoring that triggers can be everywhere, that nothing is "safe" and that the world isn't safe, is important.
I won't go into my thoughts on whether material in class should come with trigger warnings or not (in essence, I am not against it, though I'm not for it, and I worry that practically except it could mean that students will have an excuse not to study part of the curriculum, and some students might use that to their advantage rather than to protect themselves).
Anyway. Just wanted to say. Enough for today.
First, a short history on trigger warnings in the internet can be found here. This is important because in order to understand what I am going to say next it is essential to understand where trigger warnings first appeared. It is important to know that trigger warnings have been used predominantly in feminist spaces, which is directly related to what I want to discuss.
Secondly, link to the aforementioned Laurie Penny article that I want to discuss.
Thirdly, it is important for me to say that I agree with the content of the article. I agree with what Laurie Penny is saying and I agree with her emphasis about trigger warnings and context. I agree.
And now, to what bothers me about the article:
"potentially disturbing texts - reading material that might, for example, contain graphic descriptions of violence against women"
"The objection seems to be that since so much classic literature involves violent misogyny, racism and brutality against minorities, whinging leftists should pipe down and read without questioning, analysing or reacting to the canon."
"stern dismissal of "trigger warnings" has become a proxy for dismissing women, people of colour, queer people and trauma survivors as readers"
Firstly, the article seems to imply that only people who have been discriminated or attacked need or benefit from trigger warnings. This is not true (I personally enjoy having trigger warnings, especially when it comes to very graphic violence whether on film/television or books), and as much as I hate it, I feel that it weakens her argument (I hate it because I feel like I'm saying "me too", when the conversation isn't about me, which I hate because I realise I'm using my privilege a little bit here).
Secondly (and to me this one is more serious) it seems to imply that content that requires trigger warnings always has to do with violence or discrimination against minorities. And here I don't feel like I'm just seeing it from a privilege point of view. I happen to think that a trigger is a trigger, and that extreme or graphic violence against a human being might be just as triggering, independently of who the person being subjected to the violence is. I also happen to think (even though this goes into "what trigger warnings should go where") that triggers are different for each person, and something that 99% of people will not consider triggering (the description of a certain set of clothes, for example) may be a trigger for another person. Ignoring that triggers can be everywhere, that nothing is "safe" and that the world isn't safe, is important.
I won't go into my thoughts on whether material in class should come with trigger warnings or not (in essence, I am not against it, though I'm not for it, and I worry that practically except it could mean that students will have an excuse not to study part of the curriculum, and some students might use that to their advantage rather than to protect themselves).
Anyway. Just wanted to say. Enough for today.
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
Euthanasia
Euthanasia (from Greek: εὐθανασία; "good death": εὖ, eu; "well" or "good" – θάνατος, thanatos; "death") refers to the practice of intentionally ending a life in order to relieve pain and suffering.
Taking the Wikipedia definition it's hard to tell who is responsible for ending the life. Would suicide count as euthanasia?
The way I understand it, euthanasia only applies when a person's life is ended by a third party, because the third party considers that the person in question is in too much pain or suffering too much to want to continue living.
This is why I was surprised reading one of El País' "Cartas al Director" ("Letters to the Editor") today. It was talking about sick people's right to die, and it says that "people who are against euthanasia claim that it's not within the list of human rights". Indeed, this is true. But of course it's not. Because the problem isn't whether someone has a right to commit suicide (in fact, in many countries one doesn't, but it's a difficult act to punish), the problem is whether anyone in any circumstance has the right to take someone else's life. Especially in a situation where the "someone else" can't decide for themselves.
Personally, I whole heartedly agree with the right to being euthanised, as long as one has signed a document indicating in which circumstances they would like it to occur or as long as one has the mental capacity to decide that it should happen (if one weren't able to commit suicide due to physical circumstances beyond their control). I think one should have the right to die, because one should be able to have a choice over their own life, and whether they want to live it or not. The discussion in euthanasia is not about the person dying. It is about the person ending the life.
The person ending the life is effectively killing someone. They are committing a homicide, or a murder or whatever one wishes to call it. Personally, I would not want to do it. But I would, depending on who asked me. If someone close to me were suffering and they asked me to end it I would do it. If I thought there was no other way out. If I thought all they had left was either suffering or being passed out under the influence of narcotic drugs, I would euthanise them. If they asked me, I would do it. They would make me a killer, but I think I would still do it. Because I respect people. And I respect their wishes.
Laws should be made to protect the individual from the actions of others. No one should ever be able to decide for me. But laws should not exist to protect the individual from themselves (except in cases of mental incapacitation). Individuals have the right to choose for themselves.
Some may say that choosing to die is wrong because it affects others, it harms others. I am tempted to agree. But if someone is ill, and they're going to die anyway, suffering, why does the state have any say in the choice of when or how they die? But it's more than that. An able bodied person, who is not in pain, can choose to die (almost) whenever they want. This can be made illegal, but it cannot be stopped, and it cannot be punished (I repeat this, but this is important: laws should make sense, and one that punishes a person killing themselves is ridiculous). Why is a person who is physically incapacitated stripped of this choice? Of course it will be said that a physically incapacitated person is being stripped of many other choices, such as murder or robbery. True, but this one choice makes a difference only to them. A huge one. Most of the time, their families support them in this choice even if they don't like the idea. Most of the time, these people have thought about it. For months. For years. Why can't they just decide over their own lives?
And I go back. Because it's not about them. It's about the person helping them.
I don't know what should be legal. I know I would do it if someone close to me asked me, but I don't know if that should make it legal. Maybe there should be a legal blank here, a no man's land. A hole in the legislation, where it wouldn't be murder but it wouldn't be "right" either. I don't know.
All I can think is that the person who has helped a loved one die (or not a loved one, simply someone, a person who asked) has to live with that for the rest of their lives. They probably did not want to do it but did it out of love and respect. They probably did not enjoy doing it. Is that not punishment enough?
Taking the Wikipedia definition it's hard to tell who is responsible for ending the life. Would suicide count as euthanasia?
The way I understand it, euthanasia only applies when a person's life is ended by a third party, because the third party considers that the person in question is in too much pain or suffering too much to want to continue living.
This is why I was surprised reading one of El País' "Cartas al Director" ("Letters to the Editor") today. It was talking about sick people's right to die, and it says that "people who are against euthanasia claim that it's not within the list of human rights". Indeed, this is true. But of course it's not. Because the problem isn't whether someone has a right to commit suicide (in fact, in many countries one doesn't, but it's a difficult act to punish), the problem is whether anyone in any circumstance has the right to take someone else's life. Especially in a situation where the "someone else" can't decide for themselves.
Personally, I whole heartedly agree with the right to being euthanised, as long as one has signed a document indicating in which circumstances they would like it to occur or as long as one has the mental capacity to decide that it should happen (if one weren't able to commit suicide due to physical circumstances beyond their control). I think one should have the right to die, because one should be able to have a choice over their own life, and whether they want to live it or not. The discussion in euthanasia is not about the person dying. It is about the person ending the life.
The person ending the life is effectively killing someone. They are committing a homicide, or a murder or whatever one wishes to call it. Personally, I would not want to do it. But I would, depending on who asked me. If someone close to me were suffering and they asked me to end it I would do it. If I thought there was no other way out. If I thought all they had left was either suffering or being passed out under the influence of narcotic drugs, I would euthanise them. If they asked me, I would do it. They would make me a killer, but I think I would still do it. Because I respect people. And I respect their wishes.
Laws should be made to protect the individual from the actions of others. No one should ever be able to decide for me. But laws should not exist to protect the individual from themselves (except in cases of mental incapacitation). Individuals have the right to choose for themselves.
Some may say that choosing to die is wrong because it affects others, it harms others. I am tempted to agree. But if someone is ill, and they're going to die anyway, suffering, why does the state have any say in the choice of when or how they die? But it's more than that. An able bodied person, who is not in pain, can choose to die (almost) whenever they want. This can be made illegal, but it cannot be stopped, and it cannot be punished (I repeat this, but this is important: laws should make sense, and one that punishes a person killing themselves is ridiculous). Why is a person who is physically incapacitated stripped of this choice? Of course it will be said that a physically incapacitated person is being stripped of many other choices, such as murder or robbery. True, but this one choice makes a difference only to them. A huge one. Most of the time, their families support them in this choice even if they don't like the idea. Most of the time, these people have thought about it. For months. For years. Why can't they just decide over their own lives?
And I go back. Because it's not about them. It's about the person helping them.
I don't know what should be legal. I know I would do it if someone close to me asked me, but I don't know if that should make it legal. Maybe there should be a legal blank here, a no man's land. A hole in the legislation, where it wouldn't be murder but it wouldn't be "right" either. I don't know.
All I can think is that the person who has helped a loved one die (or not a loved one, simply someone, a person who asked) has to live with that for the rest of their lives. They probably did not want to do it but did it out of love and respect. They probably did not enjoy doing it. Is that not punishment enough?
Monday, 19 May 2014
Truths and Promises
"No cuentan cuentos si no son verdad, ni prometen lo que no van a cumplir"
("They don't tell stories if they're not true, or make promises they won't keep")
These are two lines from a song. The song is less than memorable, but the lines have stuck. For some reason they seem like rules to live by: tell the truth and keep your promises. I personally don't take the first one too seriously. Not because I think the truth is worthless, but because I value lies. Not just my own, but other people's too. The lies we tell to protect ourselves, the lies that don't hurt others, I have nothing against. It's when lies hurt someone else that they begin to be problematic.
I have been lying about being late my whole life. It all started when I was 9 or 10. Our neighbours had a dog, an Alsatian, a gorgeous creature. His name was Agus, and his owner let him out every morning. Agus was a fantastic dog. He always came back, rarely got into fights with other dogs. He died of leishmaniosis when he was 7 years old, but that's another sadder story. I loved him, and he liked me quite a lot.
One morning, we were heading off to school, and Agus saw us as we left. He started following the car. Our drive to school usually took about fifteen minutes, but that day, about five minutes in, we had to stop, put Agus in the car and drive back to leave him at home. He was chasing us in the street and might have gotten run over by another car.
I wasn't late for school that day, but the story has served me (in a couple of occasions) as a fantastic excuse for being late. No one has questioned it. It's just original enough not to be counted as one in a long list of excuses, it contains a good action, and (because it's rooted in truth) it rings true.
That's the single most important thing when telling a story: invent as much as you like. Tell your wildest dreams, your darkest perversions, your scariest nightmares. But make them yours. Make sure they are deeply rooted in experience, that there is a bite of truth in every single story you tell. It is not just important, it is necessary.
A friend once said to me that he didn't read fiction, because he had enough with the lies he was told every day. I didn't say anything. I tend to respect people's stupidity. But he was wrong in thinking that fiction means lies. Good fiction is an exercise in telling the truth. The author's own truth, for sure, but the truth. Anything that isn't the truth, anything that is an imitation of the truth but not the truth itself, will unfortunately not be good.
That is why I can never write the story Deyanira, the princess who had a snake as her best friend, and her first day of school (the diskette is lost, must be somewhere in the attic, I think I made it to chapter three), but I could write Trotski's story. That's why I can't tell you about aliens, but I can tell you that there is a witch. She has a pumpkin head that looks like it's computer animated, and a broom. And she tried to kill me on top of a tower once. And that was the last real nightmare I had when I was 11 years old.
Promises are different. I don't understand people who break their promises, because it's easy not to make them. Don't give your word, you don't need you, few people expect you to. And if you do, only do it if you mean it. Otherwise it's worthless.
People say "you must keep your promises" and what they mean is that without them you're worth nothing. I say "don't make promises unless you mean to keep them", because all I ask of anyone is that they don't betray their own word.
In general, I couldn't care less if you lied to me (unless the lie is designed to hurt me, or to hide something from me that will hurt me), but I will probably never trust you again if you break a promise. Not because you gave me your word, but because I never asked you to give it.
The last thing I say is: promises should be given freely and truly. One should never ask for a promise. After all, promises are like drinks: if you've had to ask for it, they weren't buying you a drink, and if they weren't buying you a drink, it means you owe them one back.
("They don't tell stories if they're not true, or make promises they won't keep")
These are two lines from a song. The song is less than memorable, but the lines have stuck. For some reason they seem like rules to live by: tell the truth and keep your promises. I personally don't take the first one too seriously. Not because I think the truth is worthless, but because I value lies. Not just my own, but other people's too. The lies we tell to protect ourselves, the lies that don't hurt others, I have nothing against. It's when lies hurt someone else that they begin to be problematic.
I have been lying about being late my whole life. It all started when I was 9 or 10. Our neighbours had a dog, an Alsatian, a gorgeous creature. His name was Agus, and his owner let him out every morning. Agus was a fantastic dog. He always came back, rarely got into fights with other dogs. He died of leishmaniosis when he was 7 years old, but that's another sadder story. I loved him, and he liked me quite a lot.
One morning, we were heading off to school, and Agus saw us as we left. He started following the car. Our drive to school usually took about fifteen minutes, but that day, about five minutes in, we had to stop, put Agus in the car and drive back to leave him at home. He was chasing us in the street and might have gotten run over by another car.
I wasn't late for school that day, but the story has served me (in a couple of occasions) as a fantastic excuse for being late. No one has questioned it. It's just original enough not to be counted as one in a long list of excuses, it contains a good action, and (because it's rooted in truth) it rings true.
That's the single most important thing when telling a story: invent as much as you like. Tell your wildest dreams, your darkest perversions, your scariest nightmares. But make them yours. Make sure they are deeply rooted in experience, that there is a bite of truth in every single story you tell. It is not just important, it is necessary.
A friend once said to me that he didn't read fiction, because he had enough with the lies he was told every day. I didn't say anything. I tend to respect people's stupidity. But he was wrong in thinking that fiction means lies. Good fiction is an exercise in telling the truth. The author's own truth, for sure, but the truth. Anything that isn't the truth, anything that is an imitation of the truth but not the truth itself, will unfortunately not be good.
That is why I can never write the story Deyanira, the princess who had a snake as her best friend, and her first day of school (the diskette is lost, must be somewhere in the attic, I think I made it to chapter three), but I could write Trotski's story. That's why I can't tell you about aliens, but I can tell you that there is a witch. She has a pumpkin head that looks like it's computer animated, and a broom. And she tried to kill me on top of a tower once. And that was the last real nightmare I had when I was 11 years old.
Promises are different. I don't understand people who break their promises, because it's easy not to make them. Don't give your word, you don't need you, few people expect you to. And if you do, only do it if you mean it. Otherwise it's worthless.
People say "you must keep your promises" and what they mean is that without them you're worth nothing. I say "don't make promises unless you mean to keep them", because all I ask of anyone is that they don't betray their own word.
In general, I couldn't care less if you lied to me (unless the lie is designed to hurt me, or to hide something from me that will hurt me), but I will probably never trust you again if you break a promise. Not because you gave me your word, but because I never asked you to give it.
The last thing I say is: promises should be given freely and truly. One should never ask for a promise. After all, promises are like drinks: if you've had to ask for it, they weren't buying you a drink, and if they weren't buying you a drink, it means you owe them one back.
Saturday, 17 May 2014
Final Few Weeks
The 6th of June I'll be handing in my final year project thesis or report or whatever you want to call it. The week after that, I'll have my project viva. And after that most likely I'll be free. Done. My degree will be finished. No more exams, no more assignments. Done. And it scares the hell out of me.
I've not been as diligent as I could have been during my project work, and that scares me. I am really scared that I won't be able to pull off a good enough report, that I won't be able to get a good enough grade to either pull the rest of my grades up, or in the very least, not pull them down. I am petrified, and as usual, my reaction to fear is not working harder or attempting to do my best, but hiding. I hide when I'm scared. I do less, I work less, I try less, because what's the point? The scariest part is that I can't listen to my own advice. If it were a friend telling me this I would tell them to calm down, get a schedule, stick to it, and work through it. It's only a few more weeks after all. But it's myself and I can't seem to do it.
Instead, I read. I go out. I write. I write a lot. I look at the internet and at what I will hopefully be doing next year if I don't fuck up monumenatlly in the last minute. And when I think about it I stress out and I'm scared. I don't like it. I had thought that by now I had learnt to do things right, to work through things, but apparently I haven't. Apparently, I'm still better at exams than I am at coursework, apparently, I'm still better at telling other people to work hard and to organise their time than I am at doing it myself. I'm not disciplined, I'm just scared.
Who cares anyway? I've got A Song of Ice and Fire to read and shows to watch, friends to hang out with and generally time. A lot of it. Especially if I do no work. (Or this is what I tell myself when I think about the worst case scenario.) But this isn't what I want, is it? No. I hope I can get over it and just work. That's what I need. To get over it and work.
Wish me luck.
I've not been as diligent as I could have been during my project work, and that scares me. I am really scared that I won't be able to pull off a good enough report, that I won't be able to get a good enough grade to either pull the rest of my grades up, or in the very least, not pull them down. I am petrified, and as usual, my reaction to fear is not working harder or attempting to do my best, but hiding. I hide when I'm scared. I do less, I work less, I try less, because what's the point? The scariest part is that I can't listen to my own advice. If it were a friend telling me this I would tell them to calm down, get a schedule, stick to it, and work through it. It's only a few more weeks after all. But it's myself and I can't seem to do it.
Instead, I read. I go out. I write. I write a lot. I look at the internet and at what I will hopefully be doing next year if I don't fuck up monumenatlly in the last minute. And when I think about it I stress out and I'm scared. I don't like it. I had thought that by now I had learnt to do things right, to work through things, but apparently I haven't. Apparently, I'm still better at exams than I am at coursework, apparently, I'm still better at telling other people to work hard and to organise their time than I am at doing it myself. I'm not disciplined, I'm just scared.
Who cares anyway? I've got A Song of Ice and Fire to read and shows to watch, friends to hang out with and generally time. A lot of it. Especially if I do no work. (Or this is what I tell myself when I think about the worst case scenario.) But this isn't what I want, is it? No. I hope I can get over it and just work. That's what I need. To get over it and work.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, 8 May 2014
Choosing
I'm sitting in the office area of the lab. Been here for about... an hour and a half now? I'm waiting for a protein gel to finish running. It should have finished over an hour ago, but the machine doesn't seem to be doing too well. Sigh. This is science. I know this is science. I might not like that this is science, but I do love doing it.
As a scientist, you live for the moments of excitement: this morning we spent twenty minutes huddling around the microscope, looking at some crystals. Maybe we had successfully crystallized our protein with calcium! Maybe we would get a structure! As luck would have it, the excitement soon died down: the crystals were hard, most probably potassium sodium tartrate (the salt used in the crystallization screen) and not protein (though we will X-ray them tomorrow to check for sure). Doesn't matter, those twenty minutes we spent checking the crystals were fun, hopeful. And the disappointment wasn't as bad as some might have thought. In science, you learn to expect disappointment, that's why success is such a celebration. I should have taken a picture really, the whole of our lab, all looking at a computer screen or directly at the plate, all hoping.
Now I'm writing this blog when probably what I should be doing is getting started on my Final Year Project Report. I don't know what's going to go into that report. It's going to be incredibly strange. A succession of failed or semi-failed experiments? There's at least some common thread, but I have no idea how to put it together yet. However, put it together I must, so I can finish my degree and move on to the next thing. The next thing being a PhD. Occasionally, I wonder if I was crazy to accept the offer. Yesterday I was in the lab, working, from 10AM to 8PM, and that's not even a particularly long day for most labs. How will I do this for four years? Somehow, I know I just will. What scares me even more, is the fact that I might want to continue doing this after. Once my PhD is done. The plan for now is to go into science writing, to become a science journalist and stop researching... but the thing is, research is fun. If there weren't pressure to publish or get grants, if you could (really) structure your days how you wanted, and work at your own pace, biological research would probably be the best job ever. You fiddle around with cool machines, you make solutions and gooey gels, you get to do stuff to animals (not everyone likes this, but some of it can be very fun and not painful for the animal, I swear)... It's fun. It's hi-tech. It's exciting. And you can discover new things. Who would ever want to stop?
Yes, the idea is to give up science to do what I love to do (what I don't get tired of doing, that is), writing. I love to write. I write almost every day, and if I don't, there are ideas in my head to be written down. I write when I'm sad, but also when I'm bored and stressed. I write when I'm angry. And I write because it makes me happy. It makes me smile. It makes me think of how ideas go from one place to another. But science is ideas. How to choose?
I probably won't. I probably will give up the "writing professionally" thing for doing it on my spare time, when I have a few minutes in the lab when I should be doing something else. Because, yes, I could write all day. But writing does not challenge me. It's pure pleasure.
As a scientist, you live for the moments of excitement: this morning we spent twenty minutes huddling around the microscope, looking at some crystals. Maybe we had successfully crystallized our protein with calcium! Maybe we would get a structure! As luck would have it, the excitement soon died down: the crystals were hard, most probably potassium sodium tartrate (the salt used in the crystallization screen) and not protein (though we will X-ray them tomorrow to check for sure). Doesn't matter, those twenty minutes we spent checking the crystals were fun, hopeful. And the disappointment wasn't as bad as some might have thought. In science, you learn to expect disappointment, that's why success is such a celebration. I should have taken a picture really, the whole of our lab, all looking at a computer screen or directly at the plate, all hoping.
Now I'm writing this blog when probably what I should be doing is getting started on my Final Year Project Report. I don't know what's going to go into that report. It's going to be incredibly strange. A succession of failed or semi-failed experiments? There's at least some common thread, but I have no idea how to put it together yet. However, put it together I must, so I can finish my degree and move on to the next thing. The next thing being a PhD. Occasionally, I wonder if I was crazy to accept the offer. Yesterday I was in the lab, working, from 10AM to 8PM, and that's not even a particularly long day for most labs. How will I do this for four years? Somehow, I know I just will. What scares me even more, is the fact that I might want to continue doing this after. Once my PhD is done. The plan for now is to go into science writing, to become a science journalist and stop researching... but the thing is, research is fun. If there weren't pressure to publish or get grants, if you could (really) structure your days how you wanted, and work at your own pace, biological research would probably be the best job ever. You fiddle around with cool machines, you make solutions and gooey gels, you get to do stuff to animals (not everyone likes this, but some of it can be very fun and not painful for the animal, I swear)... It's fun. It's hi-tech. It's exciting. And you can discover new things. Who would ever want to stop?
Yes, the idea is to give up science to do what I love to do (what I don't get tired of doing, that is), writing. I love to write. I write almost every day, and if I don't, there are ideas in my head to be written down. I write when I'm sad, but also when I'm bored and stressed. I write when I'm angry. And I write because it makes me happy. It makes me smile. It makes me think of how ideas go from one place to another. But science is ideas. How to choose?
I probably won't. I probably will give up the "writing professionally" thing for doing it on my spare time, when I have a few minutes in the lab when I should be doing something else. Because, yes, I could write all day. But writing does not challenge me. It's pure pleasure.
Thursday, 1 May 2014
Pleasure
Today I read two pieces defending, or appreciating, literature. One of them was openly lamenting the low appreciation for literature in the current economical and social climate, with many people claiming that the arts are unnecessary. The second, pointed out a link between literature and innovation. (Here, and here, links are in Spanish, but definitely worth a read, especially the first one.)
I happen to be of the group that thinks that art should be done for the pleasure of the artist, that money comes later, and only if you can get it. I will never begrudge a successful artist their riches, but I do not think they should be appreciated more than anyone else's work.
On the other hand, both of these pieces reminded me of pleasure. The pleasure I take in reading, and in knowing what I have read. The pleasure I take in having read certain authors comes from the fact that having read them and loved them, I become a part of an exclusive club: the club of the readers. This may sound ridiculous, but let me explain.
I first started reading "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" when I was 8 years old. A friend lent it to my parents for me to read. I read the first few pages and hated it. Returned the book to the person who had lent it to me and forgot about it. A few months later my parents took me to Madrid and we went to Pasajes, a bookshop in Madrid that sells books in many languages. I found a copy of both "Harry Potter and the Philospher's Stone" and "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" and for some reason I decided to buy them. I cannot really tell you why, I had hated it so much initially, but I bought them. And I read the first book in the series and I fell in love. And for ten years (fine, for a bit less than that, for 9 years) I obsessed over the Harry Potter books. Didn't miss a release or an article or anything. They were part of my everyday. By the end, films had been made and it was stranger to find someone who didn't know Harry Potter than someone who did; but for a brief period of time, between 1998 and 2001, finding someone who'd read the books and loved them as much as I did was a special treat. I was part of a club, and the members of that club were automatically on my team, and we could talk for hours, and we had more in common than I can imagine.
Literature is always a bit like that. It is a source of joy and pleasure, but also a secret vanity and pride: to have read someone fantastic, someone that not everyone else has read; to have discovered a new author (or an old one you hadn't known); to have someone recommend a book because they know you will like it. Because they know you are a person of good taste and discernment and you deserve the pleasure of that book.
For a long time, whenever I went to a birthday party, I gave a book as a present. After a time I realised a lot of people weren't into books, and this saddened me slightly, but it also gave me something. Nowadays I only give books to people I really appreciate. People who I know will enjoy them and will return the favour. And even then, not everyone gets books. Not people who don't like reading. Not people who have never recommended a book back. The people who know me best probably know that giving me a book, especially giving me a book they have read and loved and think I will love, is (almost, most of the time) the best present they can ever give me. Yes, reading brings me pleasure. Incredible amounts of it. And for some time I have thought that movies and certain shows could give me the same sort of pleasure. I was wrong. To me, there's nothing quite as good as reading. There's nothing that gives me as much freedom as a good book in my bag.
So in defense of books. I don't think they are necessary. I think the world could exist without them. But we would lose so much: ideas, shared experiences, understanding the pain of others, and also the pleasures. Fiction, and literary fiction at that, is an effort not only to tell a story, but to give someone an experience. I admire authors who publish their work for their work (writing is hard work) but I also admire them for giving people they don't know, people far away, people who may not be their friends and people they might not like a piece of themselves, of their life and their view of the world, and also a piece of joy. Reading is pleasure, and I hope it is never taken away from me.
I happen to be of the group that thinks that art should be done for the pleasure of the artist, that money comes later, and only if you can get it. I will never begrudge a successful artist their riches, but I do not think they should be appreciated more than anyone else's work.
On the other hand, both of these pieces reminded me of pleasure. The pleasure I take in reading, and in knowing what I have read. The pleasure I take in having read certain authors comes from the fact that having read them and loved them, I become a part of an exclusive club: the club of the readers. This may sound ridiculous, but let me explain.
I first started reading "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" when I was 8 years old. A friend lent it to my parents for me to read. I read the first few pages and hated it. Returned the book to the person who had lent it to me and forgot about it. A few months later my parents took me to Madrid and we went to Pasajes, a bookshop in Madrid that sells books in many languages. I found a copy of both "Harry Potter and the Philospher's Stone" and "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" and for some reason I decided to buy them. I cannot really tell you why, I had hated it so much initially, but I bought them. And I read the first book in the series and I fell in love. And for ten years (fine, for a bit less than that, for 9 years) I obsessed over the Harry Potter books. Didn't miss a release or an article or anything. They were part of my everyday. By the end, films had been made and it was stranger to find someone who didn't know Harry Potter than someone who did; but for a brief period of time, between 1998 and 2001, finding someone who'd read the books and loved them as much as I did was a special treat. I was part of a club, and the members of that club were automatically on my team, and we could talk for hours, and we had more in common than I can imagine.
Literature is always a bit like that. It is a source of joy and pleasure, but also a secret vanity and pride: to have read someone fantastic, someone that not everyone else has read; to have discovered a new author (or an old one you hadn't known); to have someone recommend a book because they know you will like it. Because they know you are a person of good taste and discernment and you deserve the pleasure of that book.
For a long time, whenever I went to a birthday party, I gave a book as a present. After a time I realised a lot of people weren't into books, and this saddened me slightly, but it also gave me something. Nowadays I only give books to people I really appreciate. People who I know will enjoy them and will return the favour. And even then, not everyone gets books. Not people who don't like reading. Not people who have never recommended a book back. The people who know me best probably know that giving me a book, especially giving me a book they have read and loved and think I will love, is (almost, most of the time) the best present they can ever give me. Yes, reading brings me pleasure. Incredible amounts of it. And for some time I have thought that movies and certain shows could give me the same sort of pleasure. I was wrong. To me, there's nothing quite as good as reading. There's nothing that gives me as much freedom as a good book in my bag.
So in defense of books. I don't think they are necessary. I think the world could exist without them. But we would lose so much: ideas, shared experiences, understanding the pain of others, and also the pleasures. Fiction, and literary fiction at that, is an effort not only to tell a story, but to give someone an experience. I admire authors who publish their work for their work (writing is hard work) but I also admire them for giving people they don't know, people far away, people who may not be their friends and people they might not like a piece of themselves, of their life and their view of the world, and also a piece of joy. Reading is pleasure, and I hope it is never taken away from me.
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