Blog-Hearted

I flick back to the pages of my diary, to April 2013, and read these words:

“I want to create a space for storytelling and exchange, with advocacy and human rights at its core. An online pocket for positivity, creative exploration, social inquiry, and community building.”

Then below, I read this note to myself:

“Remember Leah, to accomplish great things, we must not only act but also dream, not only plan but also believe.”

More than one year on, it’s almost surreal to see these early ideas scribbled among the pages of my ear-bent, post-it tagged, leaflet holding, multi-highlighted diary, which is falling apart at its seams (held together by a large pink elastic band) that has been lugged from Australia and across Europe, northern Africa and into Asia. This very diary has been my comrade on late night bus trips, during flight delays and rocky voyages, on sun soaked beaches and during days in the park, and of course, while sipping on many a chai in cafes and restaurants.

This diary carries with it the very beginnings of what is unraveling day-by-day: my dream, my vision, my penultimate idea.

Photo by Jason Di-Candilo @billthebadger

To create an online space, which shares stories of people, groups and projects that are BEING THE CHANGE we want to see in the world (as an appropriation of the Gandhi quote). Stories which aim to augment people's understanding of the world, bolster greater connection, inspire and build opportunities for collective action, and ultimately, radically change the world.

And what do you know? That’s what I’ve created. A feat aided and supported by the Bright-Eyed and Blog-Hearted online 8-week course by Rachel MacDonald from In Spaces Between.

Life's epic poetry

Smile with your eyes.

Not your face. Not your muscles. Not your gestures.

Smile with your eyes.

All photos by Jason Di-Candilo

Let them sparkle. Let them twinkle. Let them illuminate all you have inside.

Inside, there are stories. Memories. Messages. Words all strung together.

Some are achingly beautiful.

Others are dense; heavy with pain and disappointment.

You can feel the story within your body. The slight pang in your lower back, the tightness in your neck, the stiffness in your shoulders.

When you sit in silence, you can hear the story loud and clear, playing on circuit. 

It clouds your sight; it blocks your vision. It sends you down a spiral of doubt and confusion.

This is life’s epic poetry.

Farm to Face

The food you eat and bring to your face has been grown somewhere. On a farm most probably. But under what conditions?

Maybe on a small hobby farm, or maybe on a large plantation. Maybe its been laced in chemicals and supplements, or maybe it hasn’t. Maybe the stock has been feed, nurtured and fairly cared for, or maybe, on the other hand, it has been cruelly treated and harmed before it made its way to your plate and to your belly.

Two girls – best described as vivacious, young and scandalous at heart, and beyond dedicated to their vision – are setting forth to bring this conversation to light.

They are not on a mission to preach what is right or wrong. But they do want people to have the entitled choice to know where their produce comes from before putting it in their bodies - if they want to.

I met with Melodie Tyrer, one half of Farm to Face, at her apartment over looking London Fields in Hackney in London’s east for a Saturday morning brunch of poached eggs, roasted cherry tomatoes, blanched spinach and sautéed mushrooms. As Melodie stirred, seasoned and routinely tossed the ingredients with an obvious confidence and care for her creation, she traced the story of the project’s beginning and fast evolving big future.

Melodie Tyrer

Melodie begins…

“It all started when I met Georgia at a mutual friend’s dinner party in London last year,” she says. “We got talking and laughing and exchanged numbers at the end of the night, but I wasn’t sure when or if we would see each other again because she was living in Edinburgh at the time studying civil engineering” (Watch this video and meet the girls).

Woman behind the black mask

For those of you looking at me, I am not depressed.

Neither am I oppressed just because you cannot see my curves or my chest. 
Does that mean I do not have femininity to suggest?

For those of you who look at me in utter detest...

I do not care if you are not impressed.

Believe it or not, this is my choice and under this garment, I do have a voice.

Standing before you, respect is all I demand.

And understand this is something I planned although you are right,

I am under a command… but please do not lower it to that of a man!

Western women I hear you… you have your sympathies...

But I urge and ask you, please do not pity me...

For I believe it is my obligation to show you through mere application...

That I know what it means to be free!

Because I have said no to ‘baby come here’...

'Miss World’… ‘Miss Universe’… 'Miss Thang of the year’...

We are quick to judge what we do not understand in a label-filled world.

I will not be part of a brand...

Those who are of rotten minds call it freedom of the female species yet…

They exploit women whenever and wherever they please...

You will never see me in a swimming suit and then for a camera to pose.

No, no, no.

I am the girl in the hijab, more beautiful than a rose...

Don’t be shocked by my confidence or did you prejudge that too?

I am a woman and I feel just as entitled as you do...

So next time you see me on the bus or on the street,

Don’t be afraid to ask...

Any questions to the woman you assume to be behind a black mask...

Miseducation is not needed in mankind.

Let’s get rid of it and choose to live in sight than rather be blind.

And remember, like I said...believe it or not, this is my choice and under this garment, I do have a voice!

This powerful poem was written by Habiba Ali, a 30-year-old Muslim woman of Somali and Canadian heritage. She is a social service worker by trade but considers herself an advocacy artist, using poetry, plays, skits and cultural pieces to share distinct messages about life and circumstance. She is also the proud mother of three beautiful girls and has lived in Canada the past 25 years. Originally arriving with her family on holiday, they decided to stay after civil war broke out in their homeland.

Habiba refuses to live a life defined by stereotypes. “Or let stereotypes define how I see others,” Habiba adds.