In our bedroom there are three windows, over which hang 3 white venetian blinds, 120cm x 155cm, from IKEA. They have been in situ for some time. When we first arrived, there were curtain rods from which hung blue, I believe, linen curtains, which divided in the middle and were pulled either side of the window to let the light in. They had been left by the previous owner. When we arrived here, some 23 years ago, this room was used as a store room for most of our furniture from our previous dwelling. There are three bedrooms on different levels and we started out using the back bedroom on the middle level. There were occasions when we shifted to the first level bedroom, next to the living room, which was initially used as an office/sitting room/library. Over time, the office was moved up to the loft area, the furniture was spread around the flat, the store room became our bedroom and the sitting room became just that, with bookshelves housing the remaining books we held on to. The majority of our books have been given away to a charity shop. It has taken some time for the present configuration to emerge, although it now seems as if it has always been what it has become. That is clearly not the case.
I am lying on our bed, looking at the three windows, behind the television at the end of the bed (yet another different configuration from when this room became our bedroom) and wondering why it is that I have the feeling I have always been what I have become, when that is clearly not the case. Looking back at the various incarnations of my life, or should I say, thinking about or recalling past events, I consider what changes have taken place. Incidents scroll across my brain, presumably emerging from the hippocampus in the limbic system of said brain. The grey matter with which I was born is the same grey matter which currently occupies the same cranium. Nothing about that has changed and I can presume that what was ‘then’ is what ‘is now’. But that cannot possibly be the case. The accumulation of incidents have crowded this life and somehow shaped what is known as character in the person I am now. Yet I wonder whether the cumulative effect of these incidents has had any real effect on the nature and personality with which I was born.
I like to think that I am better behaved than I was or have been. Or is that merely a social adjustment as a result of greater interaction with people that comes with age? My mother was of the view that I was always what I was from birth. Perhaps she came to this view from her parental efforts, in that, no matter how hard she tried to correct the behaviour with which she disapproved, she failed. Yet, I have to confess, that it is probably from my parents that I lean to the left of the political spectrum and have no religious beliefs, not even of any kind, other than in the rule of law.
Be that as it may, it appears to me that positive character changes are extremely slow to occur, if they happen at all, and if they do, it does not seem to the person concerned that there has been any change at all. As to what one can view as negative character changes, they are very quickly rationalised as having never happened at all. One sees this in particular in the likes of the present United States administration and its supporters. The volte-face is a major character component of the Trumpian entourage, as well as the instant indignation and counter attack at any perceived criticism. This is, I believe, a classic behavioural pattern of the spoilt child syndrome which persists in the mirror stage of development and from which some individuals never grow out of. It also appears to be something some people admire or are crassly prepared to use to gain position and power through flattery.
Now why is it that my idle thinking comes back to the question of the way of the world, particularly in the United States? There is much to contemplate in the UK and other areas of the globe. A possible explanation is that, in the last 80 years no other President of the United States has made his presence felt in the same way as Mr Trump. Ever since first becoming president in 2016 and the lead up from 2015, he has garnered acolytes and supporters and moulded them into a sort of cult following. He has also become one of the most despicable men on the planet. He has no honour and no code of conduct, save a love of himself. The power of the office of President of the United States has never been made more apparent to the entire world because of its misuse, abuse and corruption by the current incumbent. We would all like to see the back of him. We will all be glad to be rid of him.
In the meantime, people are being displaced all over the world. They seek refuge and support from the western democracies. They are told that there are countries that will provide them with the security and quality of life they dream of. Because of the propaganda and reputation put out by these countries, as safe havens and guardians of freedom and democracy, they are easily exploited by con men and gangsters who, for a fee, will provide them with an entry to paradise. They do not need much coaxing.
One of the tragedies is that they do not truly comprehend the problems they are causing their prospective hosts from whom they seek asylum. Having possibly spent their life savings for a ticket to that paradise, they do not understand why countries that are apparently so rich and bountiful cannot afford to welcome them with open arms. They are not aware of the already 354,000 homeless local citizens in the United Kingdom or the 770,000 homeless Americans. All they seek is asylum and refuge. They are not aware of the already crowded local queue. They do not understand the resentment they cause by being seen as trying to jump that queue. It does not take much for bigotry and racism to raise its head.
My anxieties over the conflicts and horror of Gaza, Ukraine and other areas of disaster, are nothing compared to those living it; yet, it affects my health and well being nonetheless. Displacement activity is one way of dealing with it, so I contemplate the Venetian blinds on the windows in my bedroom and wonder whether I’m right about the blue curtains. They might have been yellow.
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