Basia Unleashed

Once upon a time there were three little girls (well, there will be four involved but that comes right at the end, just to keep you reading). Two of them grew up with nothing but love and hard working parents; the third had a fairytale princess childhood with everything a girl could want - but did she? The first two, Irina and Anna, knew the third one, Helena, because Helena's nanny lived in their tenement block. Helena's father was a pharmacist - they had a big house with a garden and she had all the dolls a girl could want. Anna and Irina's parents were just shopkeepers and factory workers, but that's childhood for you, no one's counting the pennies when you are just a girl. They were all nine years old.

Then one day, not to put too fine a point on it, shit happened. Helena disappeared. Anna and Irina did not understand why. And then Irina disappeared. And Anna was all alone. Anna was alone for the next sixty years.

So here comes the fourth girl. For her to be introduced at such a late stage of the story requires artistic license, so you are just going to have to bear with me and accept that as circumstances go, she got involved. Here's where it gets interesting: Helena hadn't disappeared, well not literally, someone had saved the day and saved her life.

And girl number four found her. After sixty years, after being hidden in a wall in a house in Lodz, after displacement and a lifetime of wondering, she had been found. Helena was alive and well and suddenly, thanks to girl number four, on the phone to Anna, crying and laughing and talking like nothing had happened to spoil the endless summers and the ice cream and the music.

So what about Irina? The missing girl? Well girl number four tried her best; she asked everyone, the saints, the scholars, everyone who might know. Until she went to the place where the ultimate truth lies and asked: Where is Irina Borenstein? But they had never heard of her. No one had ever heard of her, it was like she had never existed. So, that's six million and one.

Helena and Anna met up again. Girl number four never saw either of them again but she thinks of them all the time, like she did today for some reason. And at least three people know that a nine year old girl growing up in the Warsaw ghetto did exist and deserves to be more than a name that never even made a list.

__this was first posted in September 2006 but Irina will soon have made the list at Yad Vashem. I promise.

Posted by Basia at 1:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

When someone we love dies, we become selfish. Death becomes not about the person who died, but about those of us who are left behind. I remember when my mother died, my father kept it all in and if he cried about it, I never really knew. A year later when Sophie, our Burmese cat died, he cried inconsolably for days.

Losing an animal seems to bring out stronger feelings because, unlike humans, our animals never judge us, never bear grudges, never say things they shouldn't, never wound us with harsh looks or comments. They never stop loving us, no matter how mean, petty, disagreeable and wretched we are. This is what we need to learn to be like with other humans and this is why losing the one who loves you above all others cuts like knife.

Last year when I was in Australia and so lost I didn't know which end was up, a labrador dog came into my life. People come into your life for a reason and so do animals. My friend didn't need another dog, but there he was anyway, small and blonde and beautiful and suddenly in her garden and in my life. There were days when I thought I would go completely blind with the pain that was inside me, but everything changed when Toby came to town. He grew big, I mean huge, he wagged his tail so hard every time he saw us that it could have powered enough electricity for a small town, but there was something about his eyes that gave me a lifeline.

Toby could see right into my soul and in his eyes I could see the power of the universe. I could go on endlessly about how he would suddenly get up off the floor, come over and stick his big face on my thigh and stare up at me, or how he would sit beside me and cuddle right up close as if he knew what I was feeling, but all dogs are good at that. We could be like that too but we just never learn to read the signs in others. We could do it if we stopped thinking about ourselves alone, like Toby.

He taught me patience, because by God you need patience with a puppy; but mostly he taught me how to love again. Toby, I don't know who you were, or who sent you, but you came when you were needed the most and you gave of yourself so selflessly. To people who would say that you were just a dog, you didn't get the chance to experience Toby's love in your life, to have that full on joy to the world experience or be taught what is the most difficult thing for human beings to do - love unconditionally.

Nineteen months is not a long time to be on this Earth, even for a labrador dog. Often I have wished I wasn't so sentimental about animals because when they die, the pain, the loss of that unconditional love is almost too much to endure. But if I hadn't had him, I'd have lost so much more. Today has been a sad day because mourning the loss of a beloved animal reminds me that I still have so much learn and so much to give and I'll never quite match up to his high standards. But then again, he wouldn't want me to, he loved me for being me. He loved us all equally, the good and the bad, he made no distinction.

Today should be a celebration of pure love. Because love is pure and it rises to the top of all the mess in our lives and we should embrace it and reach for it whenever we can, no matter where it comes from. Today is the day that love came to town.

For Toby - March 2006 - December 2007

Posted by Basia at 12:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just over a year ago, Leah, who was just two weeks past her third birthday, was taken to a Spanish hospital where the doctors thought she would not survive the night. She was diagnosed with leukaemia and a particularly vicious strain of the disease at that.

This past year has seen Leah fight back; her tiny body has been attacked and hurt and injured more times than you think you would be able to bear on your own body - and yet she still fights back. Laying down in defeat is not her style, nor is self-pity or depression or rage. Perhaps you need to be a four year old to be able to do that, but knowing her is a lesson in life for us all.

Last week, Leah celebrated her fourth birthday, unaware as always of the poignancy that this particular birthday brought. It was a day for cake, presents and a bouncy castle. The police closed off the road around her party venue so that everything could be organised. That's how highly she is regarded in our little Spanish village. A superstar.

Superstars, as is their right, win awards, and so it was fitting then that last night, Leah won the Child of Courage Award at the first ever Pride of Spain Awards, her victory sealed by votes cast by the public. Votes no doubt cast by the entire village, people who have rallied around the family from the beginning, sending the bright white light of love to their stricken baby over and over again.

The light of love, the healing kiss of hope, travels fast and travels far. People in New Zealand and Japan, people in South Africa and Ireland, who don't know this little girl, have devoted hours of their time to help. From famous All Blacks to 15 year-old schoolboys - there is something about Leah, who in a world of sick and desperate children, has inspired people to do something. She is the single inspiration for the formation of a new foundation, the BKS Foundation, which will continue to raise money globally for children and their parents in the same situation.

At her fourth birthday last week, Leah bounced on her bouncy castle as if the lifeforce itself was propelling her. She had to be pinned in a chair beside her beautiful sister Tasha to have her photograph taken (again) when all she wanted to do was hurl herself around the castle defying the odds, defying death, defying just about everything that is ever, ever gonna try and stand in her way for the rest of her life. It was the biggest display of lust for life that I have ever seen; it was breathtaking in its sheer power.

To those of us who have come to know Leah, her sister Tasha and parents Dave and Cal, her win at the Pride of Spain Awards was no surprise. There simply could be no other recipient of the Child of Courage Award than Leah. It was written in the stars, it was a done deal, every angel in Heaven cast a vote for her.

When people are forced outside their comfort zone, only two things can happen. They can lay down and die, or they can stand up and fight back. Standing tall is what Leah's parents have done, their humility, gentleness and grace and their unshakeable faith in their daughter and their family bond saying as much about the strength of the human spirit as Leah's own fight for life and health.

Leah still has at least 15 months of intensive treatments to endure before the dedicated doctors in Alicante will even consider giving her a chance of life without chemotherapy. It is still a long and winding path this child of courage has to walk but she will never walk alone.

for more information on The BKS Foundation and how you can help please email bksfoundation@gmail.com

Posted by Basia at 6:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I learned from you that beauty need only be a whisper... I couldn't bear to lose you again

Posted by Basia at 1:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

nothing really matters love is all you need, everything I give you all comes back to me...well do you believe it or do you not? May not surprise you at all, but I do. So you're probably wondering about all the bad stuff that comes to me, you know, the health scare stuff, the so-calleds who chase after your man or your woman, the people who lie, the people who're fake, the people you give your heart to and they use it to stab you in the ribs, you know, the kinda peeps we all meet every day of our lives, you're wondering, what'd I give out to attract that?

Honey that's a good question. The minute I point the finger, the road of my life, sang Bob Marley, becomes rocky. The second I criticise someone, someone else is judging me. I think about this everyday and I think about pulling back that heavy curtain made of solid velvet jealousy to let the light in. But it's hard, dammit, it's so hard not to slap a sentence on some fabulously famous rugby player who won't sign a photo to save a terminally ill three year old when other people are offering blood from their bodies for her....it's not just a full time job to not judge, it's a lifetime's work.

But so we get to the real crux of this post. Leah. Three years old, heart like a lion, strength of one too. Got leukaemia. Bad. I mean, BAD. To her, it's just her sore leg. To everyone else, she is something we struggle to understand. How she can endure lumbar punctures (yes plural) and hours and hours of chemo everyday and still smile for the camera; how it's all just a bit of an adventure even though it hurts a wee bit; how she still has spirit and we throw ours to the void in the face of her adversity.

BKS was started out of a love of Leah. And the desire to help her family, who had to give up work to be with her throughout her treatment (and as I write this it's still ongoing). And the subsequent desire to help other children in the same situation. BKS is something I think I have been waiting my whole life to do. It is not easy yet at the same time it feels like I was born to do it. But I struggle with those who ignore requests for help and we don't ask for money. And I try not to judge. But it happens.

I may be as weak as a ten day old kitten when it comes to personal relationships, but when it comes to Leah and kids like her, I'm Marley's lion. BKS may be just one more foundation out there trying to help kids, but this one is born of love. There are people around the world who have never met Leah who are turning themselves inside out for her because I asked them to. This is not the time to condemn those who don't or won't help. This is the year of the lion, the iron zion lion. This is it.

Posted by Basia at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had grand plans to write here last night while I was under the influence of the Grey Goose and several copas of vino, when my head was full of questions and my heart full of emotions, but the link wouldn't work and I had to hold my fire, which, for those of you who know me, will know is something of a gargantuan task.

And now it has been brought to my attention that a whole year has almost come and gone since the Taoist gave me this platform and when did that happen? How did a whole year just go, just like that? And where is the love and why are people scared to show it, when really there is so little time to find and give your love?

What is the fear in people when love is shown to them? Some act like they never had love and they want me to go without too. I am talking, of course, about all love, not just the kind of love you give to someone in a bed for 48 hours straight and even though I know this flies in the face of all those hours with Madge in Kabbalah class, we only get one shot at this life, one chance to make it all right, just one chance. And mostly we throw it away.

Over the last few years, I have lost people I cared about very much to a terrible disease and then the possibility of me joining the ranks was brought abruptly to my attention last year when I was in Sydney. Now there is a three year old child seriously ill with cancer and we have embarked upon, me, my sister and Stan Afeaki, a little fundraising foundation for her and it's hard, it's so hard and slap my thigh and call me naive but I really, really didn't count on people's blunt disinterest. And I struggle with my feelings about this on a daily basis.

I've always been too emotional, I've always felt too much of other people's pain, but this is part of me and now I am old enough not to make any apologies for who I am. I have been around the world and seen astonishing beauty, sadness and ugliness and I have been blessed by the kindness of strangers; angels in the midst of the unbelievers, their love shown unconditionally, even in the smallest way - and angels, like love, find you, not the other way around:

so, to the man at Hawaii airport who knelt on the ground and cradled my stricken sister's head in his lap until the ambulance came; so, to the woman on the train from Buenos Aires to Mendoza who shared her food with me upon the realisation that all I had for the 23 hour trip was a bottle of water and a biscuit; so, to the South African rugby team who sat in a circle around my sister all night while she slept to protect her from being sexually harassed at Dubai airport; so, to the six year old child who spent her savings to buy me a gift; so, to Diego Ghersi, an officer and a gentleman; so, to the unknown German man at Frankfurt airport, aka the Hellmouth, who saw me in distress and offered his help; so, to the unknown man in a London restaurant who mysteriously paid for my dinner; so, to the people who for some reason smile at you across a busy street; so, to the people who don't build a fortress around their hearts, I thank you for your love.

Time goes by so quickly that a year seems like no time at all. Show your love, give it unconditionally, whether or not it is returned, whether or not you think it is "deserved". It's the most difficult thing in the world to do, but it's the only way...

Posted by Basia at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Out of the horror (said in a Marlon Brando Apocalypsey way) that was working for DeathStar there came a light and I was lucky enough to have that light as a friend. My most potent memories of her are from London, for that's where I decamped to after DeathStar, back to the world of tellyvision where my talents were appreciated and allowed to blossom, and are thus: gin, wine, vodka, a Spanish restaurant in Canary Wharf, Pimms in Greenwich, feeeling queasy on that really high footbridge over Royal Victoria Dock, Hamilton making medicinal peppermint teas, gin, wine, vodka, my big birthday bash in Hampstead (and the next morning when horribly hungover having to endure the arrival of a birthday card from my ex and his wife), gin, wine, vodka and shopping for shoes.

There is of course, much more to it than that but this is a time for celebration, for celebrating the fact that my beautiful friend is getting married to a lovely Anthony Head-alike, will complete her PhD and move to Cork for the start of another wonderful chapter in the life of a wonderful person.

Sometimes I still can't believe my luck that I have friend like you. When I had nothing and you had even less, you still gave me what you had, no conditions attached. I owe you more than that, I owe you so much more. I wish I had been in the right hemisphere to have seen you doing a Riverdance with your knickers on your head; I wish I had been in the right hemisphere to have witnessed the return of the hangover-ridden nosferatu creature known as 'the murderer' (still at large in east London, I believe!), but most of all, I wish that I could be in the right hemisphere to see you on the happiest day of your life.

I miss your sense of calm, your gentle spirit, your razor sharp tongue and your unconditional love. Most of all, I miss you. This is for you, Bronagh, this is my gift to you on your wedding day.

Posted by Basia at 2:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I just thought I would add a quick thank you to my friends who sent me messages of love and support during what were a few very difficult weeks for me. Luckily I was able to get the tests done quickly and fortunately, everything is fine. It made me realise how lucky I am to have you all, and that once again, I have been shown that life is too short to piss about and not tell people how much you love them. Thanks for sharing your hearts, flowers, endless bottles of wine and jacaranda trees with me. You know who you all are xxx

Posted by Basia at 7:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So what's a girl to do when she finds a lump on her breast and given her family history with this randomly diabolical disease, has a bit of a girlie panic attack? Well it's obvious innit? She goes to the SHOE PALACE. Where she lashes out on a fabulous pair of kinky boots and somehow manages to get a pair of strappy sandals thrown in for free. Well, I didn't exactly lash as the Italian boots were on sale in Norton Street's Italian Forum and I do need them. So they're not a luxury item at all. See how I can justify this? S'easy....

What's not so easy is dealing with the feelings about the other stuff. Sure I know that it will turn out to be nothing and everything will be peachy once more, but it's now I can hear the voices of my mother, my aunt, my grandmother and my great-grandmother, all of them lost to cancer. I can also hear you too Marie, it's been a year now since you too were stolen by cancer. A whole year, I can hardly believe it.

The next time I write about this, gentle readers, I do fully expect to say, well, that was a whole big dog and pony show about nothing. Say a little prayer.

Posted by Basia at 6:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Donna Tartt wrote in The Secret History: "The dead come to us in our dreams because it's the only way they can make us see them." She went on to say that when we "see" the dead in our dreams, it's akin to seeing a star....if that is true, and I think it might be, then the dreams I have of my mammy, each one portraying her ever younger and ever more glamorous, and always laughing and always the force of nature she was, is pure light from a dead star.

Let me set the scene.

My mammy and daddy met in a small village. She told me she loved him the minute she set eyes on him. She was 14, he was 15. They got together shortly after. They stayed together. They got married. Had me and my sister. He would never leave the house, not even to the post office, without telling her where he was going. He called her bird. She loved the very bones of him. This is my standard, this is what I have to live up to.

My mammy died of cancer two years ago. Today. She was living her dream and she loved every single moment of it. We had an inexplicable mother-daughter bond, yet in some ways I am half the woman she was. She was afraid of nothing. Nothing.

In the end, she went very quickly, once she knew I was on my way from London. All she was worried about was that my dad would be ok, that I would be there for him. I just hope she heard my healing prayers of hope across the miles and that she felt the bright white light kiss of my love.

She sang everywhere, my sister said she was singing some Irish song shortly before she died. It wasn't a party until my mammy showed up. She was cute and funny and rude and bawdy and bloody bloody beautiful.

And I would give up every single thing every single thing just to have my beautiful bird song mother hold me one more time...

for Ruby. with endless love. 02.04.2004.

Posted by Basia at 8:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)