A Candle in the Wind

So I recently watched My Week with Marilyn.  For those of you who haven't heard of it, the film documents a week in the life of Colin Clark, a love interest of Marilyn Monroe. Through Colin we are given a window of insight into the world of Norma Jean (Marilyn Monroe).  We see her not as the sex symbol that has been so boldly portrayed but as a soul, a person, a human being.  I was enlightened.

I, unlike the rest of the world was not a Marilyn fan.  I didn't understand why we were giving so much credit to the person who was arguably wholly responsible for the phrase 'dumb blonde'.  I was irritated by the voice, the walk and the entire persona.  In all honesty, I didn't even see the attraction.

But I was intrigued by the film.  And I think a part of me wanted to be enchanted in the way that the rest of the world had been.  And I was.  I was captivated.  It wasn't just about the beauty though.  If it was simply appearance, her legend would have died long ago. It was something much more rare than that.   Something else that I still can't seem to define.  It would probably be known today as The X Factor.  But all the enchantment I experienced came secondary to the overwhelming sympathy that I felt for her.  I surprised myself.

She was a shell of a person.  The Marilyn the world knew was just an act, a one dimensional character.  She wasn't real.  Reality showed us a lost little girl who self-medicated to cope with the pain of portraying the 'person' people wanted to see.  She was a cash cow, a money maker.  Men either saw a business opportunity or a sexual object.  One of the lines that stayed with me from the film was a quote from her agent stating 'we keep her on the pills because she's easier to control that way.'  Marilyn was used and abused by almost everyone in her life.  It was a true tragedy.

However, I am not as naive to assume she was a complete victim.  We are all in control to some extent of our own lives.  But she seemed so driven by her desire to be loved that this dominated her entire existence. She floated through life, from lover to lover never feeling good enough for anyone.  She once said that when her lovers realised Marilyn Monroe didn't exist, they'd quickly lose interest.  Norma Jean wasn't who they wanted.  And so she sacrificed Norma Jean for the sake of Marilyn Monroe who was just a falsity and a lie.  As a result she became an icon but lost the person in the process.

There is no doubt she has become a legend.  But through discovering Norma Jean, I don't feel her legend is something to be celebrated.  She was sad, lonely and desperate to be wanted.  She was consistently moved from different foster homes as a child, suffered three miscarriages and three divorces.  Her one wish to be truly loved in life was never fulfilled.  The natural sparkle she possessed was persistently poked and prodded to create the persona of Marilyn Monroe.   She was made to be what others wanted.  A sexual object.  A glamour girl.  A bimbo and at times, a joke.  She forgot how to be Norma Jean.  But the most tragic thought is that she didn't feel that she could just be herself.  She never realised that her natural beauty and talent was more than enough to give to the world.

But she did not live in vain.  If we ignore the pretty pictures and iconic images we can really learn something from Norma Jean.  Be true to yourself and never let the world define you.  You should define the world.

All Mixed Up

I've always appreciated the value of surrounding yourself with people from different backgrounds to your own.  I like to believe that we embrace friends who present different experiences and perspectives.  So collectively, we learn from each other and grow both in tolerance and understanding.  We broaden our horizons.  Our worlds merge.  We gain the ability to converse with any kind of person in any given situation.  This was my theory.  But recent experience had perhaps shown me otherwise.

A conversation with a male black friend about relationships lead to his declaration that he 'wants to date white girls but marry a black girl.'  Honestly, I was appalled on several levels.  Firstly, to be told that white girls were not good enough to marry.  Secondly, to his aversion to mixed raced marriages.  If you are an avid reader of my blog, you'll probably have read In the Mix, where I declare my love of my Irish and Indian roots.  Of course I am aware that not everyone is in favour of mixed race marriages but what shocked me was the fact that these opinions were not those of an obscure political party but within my own friendship group.  I couldn't believe it.

I couldn't believe that a member of my own generation at university, mixing in a multicultural educated environment held this perspective.  I appreciated that he told me the truth.  But I would be lying if I said this didn't change how I felt about him.  I took offence.  I was disgusted that he couldn't see the soul beyond the skin.  I was disappointed that he feared the unfamiliar so much that he has vowed to just 'stick to his own.'  But perhaps what burnt the most was that he considered it better that his babies were purely black rather than of a mixed origin.  As if mixed raced babies are somehow of less value.  It felt like apartheid was occurring all over again.

But there's a few reasons that comforted me.  Firstly, love transcends everything.  In the end even if she has one leg or is half chinese it doesn't matter if there is enough love.  And this might sound like a fairytale to you but I've seen it for myself.  Love breaks all barriers and gives you the strength and the courage to face the unfamiliar.  Love is what saw my Irish mum buying Indian cookery books, wearing a sari and visiting a mosque.  Love is what saw my Indian dad renewing his wedding vows to my mum in a Catholic church because he knew how important her religion is to her.  Love is what I grew up in.  So petty preferences about the colour of your skin seem weak and insignificant in comparison to the richness of love.  

Secondly, it might surprise you that I'm not severing all ties with this friend and have decided to keep him around.  My wish is that he falls in love with the unexpected and can find the audacity to follow his heart.  Or at the very least I can eventually change his mindset.  But refusing to be his friend would just mean I am as intolerant as he is.  I refuse to fall to that level.

Finally, I know we're winning.  By 'we' I refer to the mixed race minority.  The fact is we are the fastest growing ethnic minority which really does speak for itself.  So change or get left behind.  Either way, this is the way the world is developing.  Deal with it.