Hoist The Freak Flag!

This thing that I'm about to tell you may sound extremely odd. OK, here goes. Lately, I have been worried about my freak flag. Let me explain what that means. A freak flag is a symbol for a person's level of weirdness. Everyone is a bit weird and, usually, a person's freakishness is visible to others by their flag. Brave people let them fly high up in the air. Like colorful birds, they tell the world that they are flamboyant, unique beings. The higher it goes, the farther you will see it. Hah, space even!

OK, so, in regards to my own freak flag: I think it has been in hiding ever since I had my first kid. Especially having a special needs child, I felt it was time to tuck it in. The thing is, I was afraid that people would link my boy's condition to me, and somehow look for an easy answer to why he is the way he is. I'd rather let them judge and diagnose him by an objective standard. Don't get me wrong, I think it's quite normal trying to figure out why a person is tuned a certain way, and looking at the parents for clues is one of the first things we do. Personalities vary though. My boy is odd. He's very unique. I am too. But while I'm quite shy and introverted, he's the opposite of that. Unlike him, never in a million years would you see me throwing a tantrum in public.

He's suspected of being on the verge of the autism spectrum, but, as things are progressing right now, it could still be a delay in his general development. There currently is no diagnosis that exactly fits his condition. Since most of his problems are centered around speech and social abilities, that area is where his oddity is most visible to others.

So in trying not to be at the center of blame, I made an effort to be less suspicious. I even got accustomed to talking to people. Yes, people. This may not sound like a big deal to the major part of the population, but it is to me. I'm not much of a conversationalist. Small talk makes my palms sweaty. Remembering names and faces and details to me is like playing Sudoku. Once I get it, and I know someone, I'm OK, but it's hard getting used to it. So, when my first kid was born, like all parents, I knew I had to let the world in a little. Talking to other parents, moms, professionals, doctors. And while I got a little bit of practice in doing so on a regular basis, I still feel uncomfortable at times. I think in trying to hide the freak flag, it has become even more elbowing. Because nothing is more odd to people than talking to someone who tries to hide a freak flag. It's like trying to hide a speech impairment by not talking. It's super freaking weird. And that's what I think has happened.

I should have known that overcompensating for my inner freak would not create "normal" behavior. Sometimes over-compensation works that way, with minor flaws it certainly does, but not with a whole personality. So in my quest to appear normal and together to the outside world, I forgot about my own well-being. I got a lot of stomach trouble. Now I want to go back to the old me, at least meet her halfway between crazy town and where I live now. That old me was a super creative, sensitive person who would look at her world through matted glass. I want to be her again. I am her. Freak flag, get out from under there. You're all sad and crinkled. Get up there. Fly.

To be continued!

My Kid's in Color

My kid is really strange. He's odd with words and people, and sometimes with his hands and feet. Watching him among others is watching him being in his own world. Most of the time, he doesn't even take note of the world around him. Nor does he seem to care. He doesn't participate in other children's play, and he doesn't get the rules they set up amongst themselves. To his own world, their rules have no meaning.

He walks across the blanket two girls spread out to have a picnic. He does that over and over. I think he likes the color, red and white, and the fact that there's squares on the fabric. And he likes the feeling of walking on it, because it's soft and he has no shoes on. That is all. In the meantime, the girls get furious. "Don't walk across that blanket anymore. How hard is it to understand, stupid?"

I can tell you now: it is very hard. Yes, my kid is stupid. He's not really noticing that he's upsetting the girls. But they, in turn, are also stupid. Because they're not getting how great it is, to just be walking barefoot across a blanket without thinking of anything but your feet. Without thinking of the rules of girls, the rules of having picnics in public, or properly socializing with people. I mean, seriously, how cool is it, to not care about anything besides what it feels like to walk across a blanket?

And how awesome is it, to just run around without a destination until your cheeks are all red, and you get so exhausted, you're barely able to breathe? How awesome is it, to be that weird? I can tell you, it is super crazy awesome! Because normal is boring, and normal is redundant, and throughout history, normal has been done to death. And while normal probably would be easier for me to handle and easier to explain to the outside world, I wouldn't want to have it any other way.

You see, I gave this boy some of my traits. I may be partially more aware of what's going on around me, but that doesn't mean I always agree with the demands of world. In fact, many a times, I do have some problems getting along with world.

I can feel your vibe, little boy. I see what you're all about. And if I were just a little bit braver, I'd be doing what you're doing. I'd be walking without my shoes, just walking and feeling the soft fabrics of my world.

Activism Part IV

I now find it ridiculous, stupid, useless, even dangerous. Activism that is, --activism as in promote, impede, direct. As you may remember, I was quarreling with the whole concept of Activism through Parts ->I to ->III, trying to find the right angle to it, and dealing with people bustling around me. Now I don't anymore. This parental unit is proudly sitting on the couch, two cheeks fast asleep. Lazy. Still useful to some extent, but not in a world-changing manner, more in a "I'm watching you" kind of way. I'm eating while I write this. That's how useful I am. Sitting. Eating. Writing. Wow, that is some world-class multitasking, my friends!



Sometimes I think about what would happen if I weren't able to pay my bills - I imagine scenarios that result in me being in the gutter, and what I would do, that kind of thing. I consider that the everyday worries of human beings. DNA-wise, there's not much difference between a homeless person and Taylor Swift, besides varying degrees of busybodyness. I wouldn't call thinking about social decline as being stricken with sorrow, since those are concerns that move around aimlessly in (I'm guessing) everyone's head.

But now there's the extravagant stuff. Stuff, humans care about and put it in big letters on the magnet board next to the fridge, because those things presumably define them as a person, most of all a social media person of interest. Hah, and aren't those some wonderfully abstract things to worry about: climate change, pollution, sustainability, which by the way has quickly turned into my number one rage word. Things, world, possibly all that exists needs to endure. Because we want it to. Why does it always have to be so exotic?



I find that people are on a mission of self-denial. They're thinking big and I find that disturbing. Why can't you start small, damnit? It is quite arrogant to want to save a whole planet. What kind of a narcissistic ass starts with the big one? Don't you work your way up towards the big dreams anymore? Go clean up your room, do your taxes, whatever, and if you're still thinking big, why not try not to die of cancer next? That's pretty big, too. That should be a main concern on your way to saving everything. If the whole Lemmy-Bowie-Rickman incident has taught us anything, it is that our number one concern should be our immediate survival. Not on a large scale, but on a very small, singular scale. Don't die, you! Everyone's ass is on the line here, so please make yourself sustainable. The world may not need you, but you need you. What else is there to worry about?

There's Spiders on the Interwebs

I had a blog on the interwebs at the foot of the Ngong Hills...well, duh. I still have a blog, though deserted at daytime, I'm always close by at night, never far from putting down thoughts in writing. And I seriously realize I need to do some spring blog cleaning before spring turns into summer, and summer makes me want to do everything but clean, even on and between those dusty interwebs.

So, how have you been doing lately - she asks - casually. Are you OK? Have you been shaken by the various crises of this earth or did you just stop caring? I mean, seriously. Horrific news, every day. We are being sold, our private lives being spied upon, our data being inflationary goods for intelligence worker drones and the nations that employ them. They doodle on our love letters, and draw funny faces on our porn collection. The guy with the mustache got an even bigger mustache. Funny stuff. They rated our naked holiday pictures from 1 to 10. If there has ever been a moment to uprise, that moment is here, staring us in the face. Unfortunately, we let it pass. We just shake our heads in disagreement if we're not too busy having insignificant thoughts about nothing. We're all fresh out of disappointmental energy. And anger is that much harder to come by. We feel as though we're the smallest link in the celestial alignment of our existence. We're just too damn unimportant. I have to ask this of me, of everyone: are we? Are we the insignificant ant in this equation? Let's see: human - check. All limbs and brains intact - check. Human Rights being beaten with a stick - ding ding ding, jackpot! Hey there, you with the sad eyes, we do have some power. Confidence, please. We have all the power. It's not us and them. It's only us, and we control what we do. This idea of big nobs separate from us, it is an illusion.

You could hold the view that we had it coming. We got lazy, we let things run into the ground. But I'd like to think there is a slight ticking noise going on in the background, and it gets a little louder every day. At some point, there'll be an explosion. It's what happens when people are undermined, cornered. People and wolves. It's what needs to happen, so we can be free for a while. Until the next election, take-over takes place, coup, whatever you want to call it. Because wolves will remain wolves, and the balance between freedom and security will always be fragile and fleeting. And nature will catch up with itself eventually.

What To Expect When You're Not Expecting

I can't say that I ever officially decided to have children - I as in my conscious decision-making self making a choice. I was quite unsure until my thirties if it would be a good idea for me at all. I presume what happened after the glorious age of 30 was that my primate brain did something to me. The cliché of the loud ticking noise, I suddenly began to hear it. First unobtrusively, then, all the time. The tinnitus I got from this must have smashed the insubordinate parts of my brain, the ones that used to yawn whenever I got the feeling I had to do something or to be a part of something, to fit some kind of stereotype. I never exactly knew how to behave around children. I was not relaxed being around them, still am not, at times. Yet it happened one day, when I saw a mother lovingly with her child in her arms, that I noticeably gasped for air. It felt liked suffocation. I wouldn't define the feeling as wanting something. I realized I didn't as much want one, as I needed a child. For my sanity. For my primate brain. This post is not a guide. This is about how I tried to remain sane during the long years of not having one, but needing a child, and badly so. In hindsight, I merely partially succeeded.


Let me think. No. Let's say you've already found out you want a child and you're working hard towards that goal. You've tried for a while and it didn't work out. Or maybe it worked, but then it didn't. What do you do to pass the time until it does? I've had three strikes in five years. Unfortunately none of them made it through the first trimester. Starting fresh after a miscarriage was hard each time. You're losing confidence in your body. You're getting super obsessive about every little circumstance that may or may not be responsible for you not getting pregnant. First of all, you have to accept, that certain things are simply out of your hands. Think positive if you can muster up the strength, but if you can't, don't feel bad for being angry. It is frustrating. It makes you crazy. Babies is probably all you can think about. If all you can think about is what you can't have, that is one very sad mental spiral to be in. It may seem as far out of reach to you as sitting on a rusty bike and dreaming about a Porsche. And then again, it may just be around the corner. Your body is torturous. Biology is a bitch. You know.

<< Don't put your life on hold This is important. You can't stop everything else, because you want a child. If you live as though you were pregnant to become pregnant, you're not doing yourself any favors. Eating raw fish, cheese, or drinking coffee or a glass of wine, lifting stuff, it's all allowed. Yes, you may blame yourself if it doesn't work out at the end of a cycle. You will do that no matter what you do, what you eat, if you did or didn't do sports, if you ate or didn't eat certain foods. I wrecked my brain each time I miscarried or didn't conceive for what I might have done wrong. The list is incredibly long when you're looking for something that can't be found. It's not that third cup of coffee. The most likely thing is that it didn't work out for a myriad of reasons. None of them are in your control. Nothing you do will guarantee the right circumstances. What did I do right when it finally happened? Nothing. Everything. I ate whatever I craved for, chocolate, mainly. I drank lots of coffee. I was too lazy to work out, and around conception time, I read a really boring fantasy book. Find the answer anywhere in there? If there is one, it says, try to mentally detach yourself from the biology behind getting pregnant. You can't finetune the incubator. Trust it, for it knows best.


<< Create your own voodoo You feel like you need to do something. Yes. Doing something seems to put people in an exceptionally positive mood. Treat your body like a temple. Imagine you're a fertile riverbed or whatever. Be aware that voodoo is voodoo. There is no medicinal value in dancing around a totem pole except the one you create in your head - placebo the hell out of it! Your state of mind is important. Placebo is your friend. Go massage your stomach with your left hand. Bath in mud. Stick needles in your chi, feng shui your bedroom. It's all good and healthy as long as it makes you feel good and there is no real chemistry involved. Stay away from strong substances. Let the doctors handle strong substances. You go to your happy place and relax.


<< Be aware of hormones There's one tiny little piece of chemistry you need to be aware of: progesterone. Especially if you have passed the presumably best childbearing age of 20. Progesterone can have influence on the actual occurrence and continuation of a pregnancy. If you're having trouble conceiving or sustaining a pregnancy over a period of time, go see a doctor. Let them monitor progesterone and hormone levels throughout your trial runs. It will help you figure out a possible deficiency and help you fix it. I took progesterone during my last (successful) trial. It may have helped. I took it some time earlier that year and it didn't. No guarantees, but chances are, it will more likely help than hurt your efforts.


<< Don't be mean to your partner (unless he or she is responsible - then, go ahead and nag him or her endlessly about it) Kidding, of course! It's so hard to stay rational. I've tried to explain this to men several times. Being theoretically able to father children until they drop, they don't seem to fully grasp the pressure-filled window we're in. It can put a serious strain on relationships when fertility is an issue. Fertility. Even the word sounds discriminatory. Whatever you do, try to hold on to the big picture. Testicles are not baby juice jars. A man is not just a donor, a woman is not an oven. Don't reduce people to their baby-making qualities. I know it sounds like a d'oh sort of thing to say, but it can be hard when you're on emotional edge. What you should think and talk about are possible consequences. Talk much. You need to be able to talk about your options. How much do you want children? More than you want to be with your partner? Think about it, and without being resentful or fearful, just play it through in your mind. Can you imagine alternative scenarios? Then think about it some more. The important and excruciating part is to not guilt your partner into staying the childless course if the problem is on your end. It's scary to think that way, but you need to do it for the sake of your relationship.


<< Cuddle your inner child

Be kind to yourself. You're of worth, you are or were at some point someone's child. What you do and how you feel is important. Find an outlet for your frustration. Do things you want to do, things you know you couldn't do with a child. Travel the world, take that crazy job offer in Helsinki. We're all just finding ways to pass the time. Having a child means passing over time to someone else entirely. You will stay the center of your own life if you don't have a child. There's an upside to that way of existing. People say that having children is the most important thing in life. I know it has changed a whole lot for me, and opened my eyes to another perspective entirely. I have never felt such love for anyone or anything in the world. It's unbearable at times. But in a larger sense, it's not that important for the world if I do or do not have children, at least not as much as it is for myself. I find that caring for someone, for a partner or a pet can do that also. My cats were my babies long before I knew my son. It doesn't matter that they never needed me as much as he does at the moment. Cats are self-sufficient beings. My son will be self-sufficient as well at some point. The transition will be painful, but I care for them either way. Cleaning the cat toilet or cleaning a diaper. One's a little less messy than the other, but in the end, it's all coming out of the same area. Poop, everywhere! Doesn't matter whose. It's all love. Good old sappy love.

Sexism Rant *Explicitly Offensive Content*

(I have been wandering around this post for days. I almost didn't publish it. I almost called for male protection aka asking hubby to publish it on his blog. And my chicken-ness infinitely disgusted me, so I had to do it. I think it speaks volumes about how dicey this actually is. Here are my two cents - I may be wrong.)

I'm sure every woman has experienced being hit on in certain situations at least once in her life. What the people who do this usually want is quite obvious. OK, I'll just say men, because they mostly are the ones to do it, fully aware that it's utterly sexist to call the bull by its name. But since women initiating flirtation with men doesn't seem to be that big an issue I feel like I'm allowed to say it. Anyways, every woman instinctively knows how to react; what to do if someone shows interest in them. If the feeling's not mutual, she usually doesn't respond or she responds negatively by saying "No, thank you" to the guy. 99,9 % of all men accept that and don't automatically cross over to raping mode. I bet most of them didn't bank on shouting "hubba-hubba" as the woman walks by would get them anywhere closer to their pants.

There's degrees of subtlety when it comes to flirtation, some approaches are more socially accepted than others. Some men say stuff like "I think I know you from somewhere" and offer to buy drinks. Usually not a problem, because it involves a polite line and freebies. Others don't beat around the bush and tell women more directly what they want. And there are those minimalists who simply grab a butt in passing. These are basically all varying degrees of the same thing, except at least one of them qualifies as harassment. Sexual advances against one's will are, of course, at all times completely illicit. No discussion necessary. But since harassment is not only a legal term but also a matter of personal interpretation, the boundaries can be quite blurry.

Call me oldfashioned - but when did the mere act of making contact become a cause for alarm? I'm talking about that infamous video with the woman walking through Manhattan. Why is it considered sexist to tell anyone that you're sexually interested in them? To my understanding it's not discriminatory to declare your interest, except if there's a disadvantage for the other person in case she does not reciprocate the feelings, like in a situation of subordination eg. But is it disadvantageous to be any random person's object of desire? Even if this person just thinks about you in a certain way, no real world consequences? I say, flirtation itself is not discriminatory, well, except, of course, to those trolls men have a preference over by choosing you. But since they're not the target, they will never file a complaint.

The way I see it is that legally we're either heading towards a unified gender - because pointing out the differences between them is considered an act of sexism - or that we're approaching an age where every remark, every lecherous glance, even every perceived un-materialized intent will be cause for legal action. I clearly woke up in the wrong century.

And these so-called modern feminists do nothing to further the cause for gender equality. And I mean true equality, not tiptoeing-around-alleged-offense equality or - yes I have to say it - professional victimhood. Equality means that certain things are either allowed or not allowed - regardless of gender. Like me, walking down the street, randomly wolf-whistling men. Allowed, and so far, none of my victims ever screamed rape. Or could it be this newfound need for awareness in truth is all about the prejudice in regards to a woman's lack of physical and or mental strength compared to the alleged male "dominance"? I have this nagging feeling some women may think that. And if that's the case, it's at the core of the deepest and darkest sexism there is, women seeing themselves as helpless victims of the much-cited patriarchy. Ladies, you seem unaware that we as a species have evolved. We have acquired laws. In fact, why do you feel the need to diminish our foremothers achievements by pretending we still live in the stone age? Thanks to legislature it is not common practice to hit women with clubs and drag them away to some remote cave. I fear that since you ordered that Victorian, we'll all be going to pay for it at some point. No freebies. Holy shitballs!

A list of all sexisms listed in this rant according to modern feminist standards

Naively calling the abuse of women "hitting on".

Degrading canine behavior to the level of male humans through the use of "hubba-hubba".

"Getting into pants" as an expression of sexual advances when clearly every woman is allowed to wear a skirt.

Calling women cheap, because they like freebies.

Using the vulgar expression "beating around the bush".

Discriminating against unattractive people by calling them trolls.

Using the term Victorian as a cocktail. A Victorian is not a drink, but a dark age of oppression which no one should ever be allowed to make fun of.

"Holy shitballs" - Accusing men of being such pigs, fecally soiling their babymakers is a natural occurrence. Blasphemy also. My guess is most women wouldn't have a problem with either of that.

Motherhood's Kicking in!

I was wondering about this for a while now, ever since the moment the other little strip turned a faint shade of pink. Surprise! The idea of pregnancy wasn't something my mind could fully grasp, the consequences being too extensive to even imagine a world beyond ginormous belly.
Sentenced to 9 months to life!

The first 12 weeks of any pregnancy are known to be shaky, a fearful stretch of hit-or-miss, and to be completely honest, I had no reason to believe it would stick this time. It tried to pay as little attention to it as possible plowing through NaNoWriMo. And it stuck. Now that it's past half-time and actual proof is hitting me from within with violent little earthquakes, I'm still having trouble believing it.

Thoughts like is that belly that has long begun to cast a shadow really a baby or did I just let myself go over the winter? Are these strange bursts I'm feeling coming from my intestines after all? Are these kicks telling me that my bowels are in trouble, do I have some kind of abdominal epilepsy?

I don't know whether it'll ever start to feel real in a way that will allow me to fully commit to the idea of having a child before it's factually there.

To go out there and buy stuff for the nursery, because I am certain it's going to happen. No way. I will give birth to a human being. Seriously!? I can tell myself that over and over. I'm two people now, one of them living inside the other. Get that: one of them is not a woman... Still not quite sure if it's me after all?! Him? There's going to be a him? Maybe I'm just fat and schizoid!

I feel motherly towards my cats, and even more so than towards children. I have never been needed by a child. I think we're biologically prone to like whomever we're responsible for. (Or what we've tamed, in the words of The Little Prince)

I'll have a lifetime to make horrible mistakes once it's in the world. I'm sure I'll never feel like I'm doing a good job, or that I'll be making the right choices; living up to some absurd standard of parenting that I don't even know I'll have. That's just how I am in life. Let's hope the mistakes I'll make will be glorious ones, and my shortcomings will make me smile rather than want to make me beat myself up.

Also I'm not sure I'm ready to accept that once I'm a parent, a part of my life will be in freeze mode, the parental stage of preservation. Worrying and caring override any impulse to run for your life and join a cult in search of self-fulfillment. Parents are a different species. Biology forces them to zone in on a tiny piece of life other than themselves  - at least for a little while. Some people go nuts, others blossom in new-found meaningfulness, and others yet again see their children as some kind of investment opportunity.

The only thing I ask is that you, lovely baby, will not make me stupid..at least be kind enough to merely put my brain on ice. Don't eat it. I'm not ready to give it up for good...

June. Not too far away. Still some time to get acquainted. If not with baby, then at least with the concept of change. If that's ever possible before it is thrown upon us. Bloody hell!

Activism, Part II

There is this other form of activism, the frightening kind. It has nothing to do with holding hands in protest or shaking heads in silent disapproval. It's the only statement that sets out to take a drastic step: the violent kind. Violence is the voice of the powerless, as life is a value to be threatened anytime, by anyone.

It's the 1300s. Picture peasants with pitchforks in front of the house of a landowner. He kept them under for years, oppressed them as he got richer and richer. Now they are knocking on his door. Him being afraid for his life is the only leverage they have and it's the making of a good and clean revolt right there. His head may end up on a pike, or his body, hanging from a lamp post in the course of events. Someone loses his life in order for someone else to get a new house. In ECON, we call this redistribution. In politics, it's coup d'état. Let's mingle human loss and reset our finances. This is the kind of activism I can get behind.

Peasant's Revolt: any day now

Everyone knows that the way wealth is distributed amongst people is far from fair. Our personal financial state doesn't necessarily represent the things we earn, even less deserve. There is some obscene prosperity accumulated by a privileged few, in many places all over the world. In the USA, the top 20% of Americans owned 85% of the country's wealth and the bottom 80% of the population owned 15% (year 2007, source Congressional Budget Office). How does that not scream revolt in loud and bloody letters? How does that not make you want to kick in some doors?

The powers that be keep us down and we buy into what they tell us. We'd rather believe that they worked long and hard for what they have. That they started from nothing, same as we did. That we, if we work long and hard, can be one of them some day. It's all a big bag of lies. They had a head start in being born with some privileges. They may have worked hard, and cheated even harder, but they didn't tell you about the selling of soul which has to be done as well. That's were the real money is buried. Because they have long passed "being wealthy" now, since it's all about being filthy rich. They know how to get it. They know where to take it, and who to take it from. And hide it. Another bonus this year, just for being 'you'! Congrats!

This makes me sick. So sick, in fact, I think vomiting could become a chronic problem for me. I proved myself wrong. There is some use in activism. I just don't think judging the guy next to us for his lifestyle choices is where it should begin - or end. We should take out the ones that cause the real damage. Let's go now, you take the banner, I'll get the axe. Let's head out and make a statement, red on white.

Activism, Part I

We are getting old and we are void of problems. We sail on smooth sines and cosines towards the bright light. How do we pass the time until we make our last exit? Most of us fuss with growing up, paying the bills, finding ourselves and a partner, having kids. According to the laws of nature and society, that's what has to be done.

The old Witch Procrastinia on the other hand says, we should hang out and relax more, enjoy ourselves, let arms and legs dangle from a giant beach chair while having a sip of Woo Woo. Yes, we may do that. In fact, we are doing that. Unfortunately, it's not enough, it's never enough to only do that. We need to get out of that chair and do something productive.

Bear with me, this is going somewhere.

We have to get up. Take a look through the spy-glass. Then complain. That's what we do and do best. Complain. There are people and they are doing things wrong. They are not living life according to plan. Maybe we can see someone who doesn't care about the environment. He drives two cars, sometimes three. He buys airplane seats, like others do tickets for the merry-go-round. Just because he can. He is one decadent human being. Eating meat with a side of meat, tossing back inorganic wine with a tea cup. One iPad for every room, maybe two. Electricity bills must be skyrocketing with this guy. Does he not care that nuclear power is irresponsible these days? He sure does have the money to run his own hydroelectric plant. Why doesn't he switch? Why does he not care that he ruins this planet?

Let me tell you what is wrong with us people. We judge others, constantly. How they live life, assuming, that we know how to live it - and they don't. We are all guilty of it, it's a human crime. Why would we have a better idea than any other person on how to live life? Why would our expertise count more? We are the same self-absorbed apeheads as they are, and we know exactly as much as they do.

It's fine that you don't eat meat, do not smoke or the thought of genetically modified food makes you sick. Don't do it then, don't eat and inhale. But leave other people out of the equation. It's their right to do what ever they want. It's their right to not get sick by all these things. They don't have to answer to you. You are the ones to make a political statement here, not them. Feel free to not do all the things you don't want to do. By all means, I'm not stopping you. Why are you trying to stop me?