Being Easter and all it's fair enough to remember what happened about 1980 years ago in Jerusalem where Jesus was betrayed by one of his apostels. I must honestly admit, my Christian history knowledge is not the same now as it was during my primary school years, but anyway, I've been thinking a bit about betrayal lately.
It all started on Monday when Cristina, Marco and I were all cramped up on Cristina's couch in Bologna reading up on www.fmylife.com and www.parentsshouldnttext.com. To be warned, these are absolute rubbish sites, massively time consuming when you're trying to write an exam, but my sense of humour is about as rubbish as these sites, and I cannot help it but laugh out loud over and over again. So naturally, not something I do during the Human Rights Council. Anyway, although hilarous accounts of why peoples' life sucks, there's also quite a lot sad stories behind:
Today, I went on a date with a girl. We drove separately and met at the restaurant. Over the course of two hours she drank a gallon and a half of beer, then her boyfriend picked her up because she was too drunk to drive home. FML
Today, my girlfriend openly admitted to me that she wouldn't have gone out with me if she hadn't been drunk. FML
Today, I confronted my husband about him being unfaithful. He said his reasons were because he's just not attracted to me anymore and my current weight repulses him. I'm six months pregnant with his child. FML
Today, my girlfriend of 3 and half years broke up with me, just after I fixed-up her house that took me about 3 and a half years. FML
That just sucks. I know getting things down on paper (or online) is an instant pain reliever, but it does not mean it didn't hurt.
But from people experiencing betrayal to the betrayers themselves. I'm a fan of Indian novels, and I engulfed Shantaram and Balansekunst. Nevertheless, I remember some of the disappointment when I Googled the Shantaram author and realised that quite a lot of his encounters were more fiction that facts. One might call it pathetic to get upset over this, but I normally believe people until proven guilty, and when realised I've been lied to, I'll just feel rather stupid afterwards. So when Gregory David Roberts' "true" account turned out to be fiction, and him himself went from being the Viggo Mortensen-aka-Aragorn-Robin-Hood-type I'd pictured him as, to a rather chubby, whitehaired, not-so-charming-Australian (and there's a few of them too), I felt truly fooled.
The last couple of weeks another story has leaked, this time about Greg Mortenson, the author of Three Cups of Tea. With an educational and developmental background, and as a board member of EduNica and Utdanningshjelpen it was like getting the Nobel Peace Prize reading about a man who is promoting peace by building schools. It is what I have spent the past years studying, and my interest in this area is the reason why Lånekassen is sending me enormous bills every third month. Now they want value for their money, and reading this book actually gave me some hope that educating girls matters. Then having 60 minutes (which, Murdoch, really, should be called 39 minutes if you don't include all the ads) tear the book, the facts and Mortenson's vision to pieces was rather unpleasant. Mortenson himself is in hospital and can't defend the allegations, while I am left confused and unsure. Have I believed something totally rubbish? I even sent the book to a friend to inspire her, was it all in vain?
I'll leave it up to Mortenson to prove 60 Minutes wrong, and from now on be slightly more critical to what people serve up as the story of their life, the inspiration behind there book, or the reason why they got home so late from soccer practice. Still, of course, giving people the benefit of the doubt.
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