Power of the Written Word

I was contacted a few days ago by Melanie Bowen, a contributor at the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance Blog. At first, when I heard who she was, I wondered why on earth she would be interested in writing a post for my blog of all places. I support her cause, of course, but I wondered to myself how I could help. I told her exactly that, but it didn't deter her, and when I read the post that she wrote, I realised just how well it fits into the theme of my blog (not that my blog really has a theme). Perhaps, actually, that is exactly why it fits in so well. A blog is not just there for a specific purpose. Well, it can be, but mine certainly isn't. It is there to write down thoughts, not caring who reads them. It is there to help those who might be feeling the same way, just to show them that they are not alone in the world. It helps the writer know that they are not alone in the world! And I can kinda see, especially after ready Melanie's blog, how that can help. So, I'll stop my rambling now and hand it over to Melanie.


THE POWER OF THE WRITTEN WORD
By Melanie Bowen


There is a magical quality about putting down our thoughts, our
dreams, our hopes, out goals, into words--it makes them seem more
real, more concrete. From the experienced writer crafting his or
her story, to the mesothelioma treatment patient expressing hopes
and feelings, writing is not only the art of self expression, it is
a powerful tool in inspiring us. Writing helps in motivating us to
achieve our ultimate goals.

A recent oncology study indicated that writing for as little as twenty
minutes a day could help a cancer patient think and feel more positive
about their disease and increase their quality of life. Researches in
Georgetown University further found that expressive writing, which
involves writing one's deepest feelings and thoughts, can result in
immediate changes of thought about illness and improve the patients
perception of a better physical quality of life in just three short
weeks. There are other advantages of writing especially for those
suffering from depression or chronic illnesses.


Seeing is Believing

From to daily to do lists to grand "bucket list" life goals, seeing
the things we want to get done on paper helps us organize our thoughts
in a way that breaks our smallest tasks and grandest hopes into real,
doable steps. It makes them real, and motivates us from the inside
to go for them and relish the satisfaction of crossing them off our
lists. Don’t let daily task or a stated prognosis or treatment stop
from from living a quality life of wellness.


Hope during Hard Times

We all have good days and bad days. Writing down our good days reminds
us during the rougher times that good things happen and keeps us
hopeful that the present darkness will give light to dawn once again.

Writing the Blues Away

We can sometimes get 'lost' in our thoughts and writing is a way
out. It helps us see the ridiculousness of irrational fears, applaud
ourselves for the noble moments, and gives even the smallest thoughts
and actions a new sense of meaningfulness that lifts the spirits no
matter what one's life situation is.

Tangible Reminders

We learn by repetition, and when we write down our hopes and our
positive thoughts, they tend to stick more. Whether in a personal
journal for your eyes only or if it is a public blog on the Internet,
both serve on the behalf of positive rewards. What is stopping you
from starting your own blog today?

Our Stories Inspire Others

When we share our defeats, perseverance and our victories, we inspire
others to push through and make it as well. There was a time when
in order to get one's story out, one had to write a lengthy book or
submit a professional article to a newspaper. But in this day and age,
anyone can share their story online through a blogging website which
reaches a vast population of young and old. It is a powerful tool and
medium to mutually encourage each other and has proved over time hope
through the written word is contagious.

Ignorance was bliss

A friend of mine wrote the following blog post and asked me to publish it in my blog. Since I tend to agree wholeheartedly with her assessment of the situation, I didn't hesitate to say ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY! And so, without further ado...

Ignorance was bliss

You know what I’d like? For the world to be fair. This morning I arrived in town for work and decided to go for breakfast at a lovely little café near to my office. This was idyllic, until I made the mistake of picking up a newspaper.

This newspaper informed me that, at this very minute, South Africa’s esteemed president,  Mr Jacob Zuma, is having his houses and offices revamped to include, amongst other things,  a steam room, a dressing room, wooden window frames and doors, and  a larger swimming pool. The reported amount that will be spent for this varies, but it hovers around R190 million. I kid you not.

YOU are less important than me.

This for the man who, more than anyone, has a responsibility to be aware of the situation in which the majority of his constituency find themselves; jobless, homeless and with no prospect of any help from the government. It was pointed out in the article that the money spent on the revamping of two already far-from-modest houses could have been spent on thousands of RDP houses for the millions of South Africans living in deplorable conditions in shacks, wendy-houses, or on the street. People who have had their names down on lists for these aforementioned houses since the dawn of democracy (ha ha) in 1994, but who have been told that there has been no money nor manpower to build the houses. And yet, for our dear president and his who-knows-how-many wives and mistresses (yes it’s a cheap shot, but bear with me) it seems that the money, builders and chandelier-fitters are in abundant supply. And let’s not pretend it will take fifteen years for this job to be done.

On the next page, we have ANC Youth League President Julius Malema, the county clown, spewing yet another racist insult, this time at Indians. Heck, at least the boers get a break. Oh, wait, what? No, it appears he found time in amongst the speech-making to sing a little song about killing white folk. Phew.

But poor people are just so BORING.

This isn’t the first, nor the last time that Juju has poured forth about how much he hates…well, everyone who doesn’t look like him, really. Remind you of something beginning with N and ending in P? Julius’s job seems to be to go out into areas of greatest need in South Africa, tell the people what they’re missing, rile them into a frenzy of anger (it’s understandable; they live, undeservedly, in squalor), tell them what they deserve, equip them with a sense of entitlement and rage…and then leave. After all that mud slinging, a vindicated Malema heads off back to his none-too-shabby abode and eats something expensive, while the frustrated people sit outside their shacks, still poor, still hungry, still jobless, and even more frustrated. Malema has told them what they already knew, but repeatedly fails to address any of the problems, even when he seemingly has the influence, power and finances (how many designer suits?) to make a change.

Shame. He doesn't know who he is.

My wish for these two, and indeed anyone who abuses their powerful situation, is for them to be regressed. Remember when you were a child (think back, aged ones) and you got a bit uppity, or tried to bully the smaller children? What happened? Someone bigger than you, presumably your parent, teacher, or the weedy kid’s scary older brother, gave you a klap. Or detention, or the cane, or a stern talking to, depending on how lax corporal punishment laws were when you were young. Either way, you emerged feeling rather sheepish, rather sore, and rather disinclined to do it again.

But when one is at the top of the proverbial food chain, no effective structures exist for discipline. Who is there to klap the greedy head of state, the potty-mouthed Youth League leader, the insane dictator (yes, Mugabe, I’m talking about you) or even the abusive Man of the House? Perhaps by the time they have reached that lofty perch, it is too late for them to be brought down. Perhaps in this case, prevention is better than cure. So if you happen upon a child shouting down his smaller friends in the sandpit, remember; your hand might just save the nation. Just try and explain that to his mother…