Flo la vita

Social commentary and think pieces

Signs in a pharmacy window, Stroud Green Road - 18.5.20
NHS poster, Finsbury Park bus station - 18.5.20
Corona Virus signs in a window, North London - 18.5.20
Signs at Finsbury Park bus station - 18.5.20
NHS sticker on a phone box, Stroud Green Road - 18.5.20
Shops that closed their doors, Stroud Green Road - 18.5.20
Man wearing a mask, Finsbury Park bus station - 18.5.20
2 meter apart lines for Tesco, Stroud Green Road - 18.5.20
Sign for key workers, Crouch Hill - 18.5.20
Signs for key workers, Crouch Hill - 18.5.20
Sign in support of key workers, Finsbury Park - 18.5.20
A green grocers on Stroud Green Road - 18.5.20
Corona virus signs, Finsbury Park - 18.5.20
Sign outside a supermarket, Finsbury Park - 18.5.20
2 meter apart lines for Tesco, Stroud Green Road - 18.5.20
An abandoned face mask, Hampstead Heath - 4.5.20
Car washers in Finsbury Park - 18.5.20
A sign by the Parkland Walk, Crouch Hill - 18.5.20
Signs in support of the NHS, North London - 18.5.20

Notes To Self - Emilie Pine   5/5

Notes To Self is a collection of essays by Irish academic Emilie Pine. In six essays she lays bare the most difficult periods of her life - caring for her alcoholic father, the childhood pain of her parents separation, her unbounded teenage years, infertility and sexual violence - allowing her, ultimately, to let go.
She looks back on these moments of her life with a perspective that one can only access retrospectively, making the essays all the more reflective, thoughtful and honest. Pine manages to balance the complex feelings with accessible writing, allowing the reader to relate and take reassurance from her perspective. It was honest and fiercely feminist, and undoubtedly one of the best essay books I have ever read.

"Men got promoted ahead of women because they, of course, were bold, daring, uncompromising ; all those coded ways of saying men didn't need to bother about being likeable because they were too busy being powerful." - This Is Not On The Exam

"I can try to have a baby and I can fail every month and be unhappy. Or I can not try to have a baby and not fail every month. The number of children I have had remains the same, a big fat zero." - From the baby years.

Exposure - Oliva Sudjic   3/5

Exposure is an essay on "the anxiety epidemic, auto fiction and internet feminism."
Sudjic writes of the dangers female artists face when exposing themselves, drawing on her own experiences as well as the experiences of others such as Rachel Cusk and Elena Ferrante. During which she writes of the danger that comes from society's tendency to dismiss the female narrative, considering it far less "universal" than that of the male narrative - "Male readers, however, often seem to baulk at the prospect of entering the mind of a female protagonist... women, by contrast, are conditioned to accept a male narrator at the controls and to accept the male intrusion and colonisation of their minds."

She also writes with eloquence on the harsh realities of Anxiety - "anxiety makes me feel as if I have two selves, the real me and the anxious one" - whilst not failing to to critique social media and the impact it has on the anxiety epidemic, writing of the dangers of celebrity endorsement when it comes to mental health.

Talking To Strangers - Malcom Gladwell   4/5

In Talking To Strangers, Malcom Gladwell challenges the human default to truth - the assumption that people are being truthful until they have enough doubts to believe otherwise.
Gladwell asks why we so often get people wrong, and through a series of fascinating historical events and infamous legal cases (Amanda Knox, Emily Doe, etc), he makes the reader painfully aware of the detrimental impacts human psychology can have on us, especially those who don't conform to societal norms.
Why do we assume someone is deceiving us if they are behaving abnormally? Why do we so often ignore red flags, and warning signs, favouring what we want to believe; that what we are told is the truth? Gladwell speaks of the dangers of defaulting to truth whilst exploring the darker side of human nature and the impacts our hardwired psychology can have.

I would highly recommend this. Its fascinating and one of the best books I think I've ever read.

Salvador - Joan Didion    3/5

In Salvador, Joan Didion trains a merciless eye on the terror she witnesses in El Salvador, 1982, at the height of a terrible civil war. Didion reports on what she sees, from battlefields to body dumps, from interviews with corrupt government officials and puppet presidents, all the while learning the truly Salvadorian meaning of the verb 'to disappear.'
Salvador has no records. How many people are living or dead,  they don't know, and who those people are they're even less aware. In Salvador, Didion looks at why this is and learns the danger of simply living in the midst of this war.
In an unflinchingly honest account of her experiences. Didion never sways from the truth - despite the Salvadorian governments desperation to shape her approach to telling such a tale. No matter how gruesome, her words are honest, making it all the more hard-hitting in fact. Its fascinating. I would recommend it.

"Its quite impossible to deny the artistic brilliance of her reportage. Didion brings El Salvador to life so that it ends up invading our flesh." - The New York Times.

When God Was A Rabbit - Sarah Winman    5/5

When God Was A Rabbit is a difficult book to describe. Its hard to give much away without spoiling the plot. In all, its incredibly ordinary, which subsequently is what makes it such a heart-warming story.
The book follows Eleanor; a kooky and inquisitive girl with a pet rabbit called God, from her birth to her late twenties, documenting her life in England in the 1960s and 70's, and New York in the aftermath of 9/11. Most importantly, though, it documents her intense and loving relationship with her older brother, Joe, and her fascination and love for her best friend, Jenny Penny.
The characters are kooky and entirely likeable in a way I've never seen before in a novel. Eleanor's inquisitive nature is endearing and her basic philosophical yet entirely complex questions - "why do good things happen to bad people?" - and the imaginary voice she uses for her pet rabbit, God, will make you fall in love with her and her family. Its the most beautiful novel I have ever read. Its essential that you read it.

Sweet Sorrow - David Nicholls     5/5

Sweet Sorrow follows Charlie Lewis, a sixteen year old boy who's just finished his GCSE's and is looking at a long, empty summer stretching out ahead of him. He feels lost and unsure of what he wants from his future, especially as problems at home have resulted in him failing most of his exams.
Then he meets Fran Fisher; a bubbly, kind and confident girl who allows Charlie to feel hopeful about life beyond school again. But, in order to see Fran, Charlie must join a theatre company in its production of Romeo and Juliet, where Fran plays the leading role. Its not Charlie's scene at all and he feels shy and out of depth but persists in order to see Fran, and ultimately gets a lot out of the experience.
Sweet Sorrow is written from Charlie's perspective, as he looks back on that life changing summer and coming of age love, in his adult years.

Last summer I read One Day, also by David Nicholls, and it quickly became my favourite book of all time. So, when reading Sweet Sorrow I was constantly asking myself; is it as good as One Day?
I don't think it is. It was a brilliant book, I really enjoyed it and would definitely recommend it, but it lacked the same magic that One Day had, which surprised me as I expected to find the subject matter in Sweet Sorrow far more relatable than that of One Day.
The last chapter - Curtain Call - was my favourite. It had a reflective nature and managed to put the entirety of the story into perspective, through hindsight, finishing the story with a true sense of completion. It acknowledged that first love doesn't last. There was no sugar coating of that reality, which was refreshing. That chapter, I think, was on parr with One Day. The rest of the book wasn't as good. Though I would still highly recommend you read it. Its a beautiful story.

In 2019 the James Bond filmmakers announced that in their twenty-fifth instalment of the James Bond franchise, No Time To Die, the next 007 would be played by female actress Lashana Lynch. Unsurprisingly, there was an uproar, as you could only expect there to be when a narrative which so many know so well is changed. People simply didn't want to see a female 007. But why?

Against the notion of a female 007 is the argument that you cannot simply change the gender of a character who was written to be male. James Bond was written a male and so male he should remain. Its a perspective I understand but don't agree with. The original James Bond films starred Sean Connery so, on this basis, it is arguable that you shouldn't be able to change the actor portraying Bond to Pierce Brosnan, Daniel Craig or any of the other Bond actors; because they didn't star in the original. Gender does delve deeper than merely appearance, but what is most crucial to remember is that 007 is not James Bond. In the new film, No Time To Die, Daniel Craig continues to play Bond. However, he has left Mi6 and is working against a new villain in Jamaica. In his absence, there is a new 007 agent, played by Lashana Lynch. James Bond is still very much present in the film and is still male, so is the real problem that society can't accept a female in a stereotypically male role?

Many have also tried to argue against this change by asking "how would women feel if we changed Wonder Woman to Wonder Man?" In saying this, so many have entirely missed the point of why Phoebe Waller-Bridge - who was involved in writing No Time To Die and is credited with the introduction of a female 007 - pushed for a female in that role; because women so often lack representation in such genres. Wonder Woman is one of few female superheroes among uncountable men. Women's voices are scarcely heard in films of these genres, particularly in James Bond where women are, quite often, objectified and seen as something to "win" and posses, so isn't it about time we saw some women being fairly represented in these roles?

This uproar merely exhibits how, as a society, we are both unimaginative and misogynistic. We seem to be forgetting that Bond is a fictional character, born from the imagination of Ian Fleming. The fact that we have the capacity to imagine a fictional character living that of James Bond's wildly unrealistic lifestyle - leaping from building to building, killing the bad guys and driving off into the sunset with a girl he's just "won", you can imagine him winking at the camera as he passes, like a bad perfume ad - but cannot fathom the idea of a female in that role is both astonishing and reflective of how truly misogynistic we are to be so unaccepting of the female narrative.
And its not just James Bond. Dr Who's thirteenth doctor Jodie Whittaker has faced discrimination too, simply for being a woman and existing in a role considered to be traditionally male, despite Dr being a genderless term. Since Whittaker took on the role of Doctor, ratings have gone down. The season finale starring Whittaker attracted 4.69 million viewers, compared to previous Dr Peter Capaldi's 6.48 million. Considering Dr Who's predominantly male audience, this speaks volumes of the lack of acceptance of the female narrative. Put simply, 1.79 million people lost interest when the female narrative was introduced.

Furthermore, in 2013, HBO conducted an experiment on their TV viewing public. They aired two new programmes back to back, both buddy dramas and both alike in the quality of their production. Both programmes belonged to one genre but were hybrid to many others  and both ended with the reasserting of the platonic bonds of friendship. The only thing differing them was the gender of the two leading protagonists. These programmes were True Detective and Doll and Em.
The way in which both were critically received differed drastically. True Detective was analysed to the point of parody, whereas Doll and Em was brushed aside, inaccurately labelled "satire" and forgotten. The male programme got far too much credit and the female programme far to little, despite them being deliberately compatible. But, what drives us to be so dismissive of the female narrative?

In her essay, Exposure, Olivia Sudjic writes "Male readers seem to baulk at the prospect of entering the mind of a female protagonist... Women, by contrast, are conditioned to accept a male narrator at the controls, and to accept male intrusion and colonisation of their minds." Considering the predominantly male audience of both James Bond and Dr Who, Sudjic's words are powerful in reflecting the mentality of fans of the Bond and Who franchises and why so many seem to be against the idea of a female lead.
Its why male-led films and books are considered more universal than those led by women; because the male experience is so often considered more universal. Its why films starring women are classed "strong female leads" and why female-centred comedies and categorised "chick-flicks." Its why we dismiss the art behind the female narrative, labelling femininity a genre, and not taking it in all of its seriousness. Its blatant misogyny. But, we aren't born misogynistic, so where does it come from?

In a 2018 article for GQ magazine on the psychology of misogyny, George Chesterton wrote "Masculinity, then, appears on a sliding scale, usually depending on the boy's childhood environment and trauma. All children experience negativity, with indifference or neglect at one end and physical or sexual abuse at the other, and the more painful childhood is, the more likely a boy is to emerge as 'hyper-masculine'. Meanwhile, the more masculine a boy is, the more he represses his feelings about women, so the more misogynistic and abusive he is likely to be. This also works in reverse, with the hyper-masculine men also more likely to be emotionally vulnerable, even helpless." Put simply, Chesterton says that the more hyper-masculine a man is, the less accepting he will be of the female narrative.

As well as psychological factors, conditioning has a lot to answer for with the extreme presence of misogyny within our society.
For the most part, misogyny - internalised or otherwise - is firmly ingrained in us all. It comes from decades worth of conditioning by the media and general societal attitudes towards gender that have fooled so many of us into believing - wether we realise it or not - that men are simply above women and that the male narrative is simply of more value than that of the female. Its not surprising that so many of us are even slightly misogynistic. How can we expect not to be when we live in a world where masculinity is in crisis, men are criticised for showing any form of vulnerability and women are marginalised and put down as "pussy's" for showing emotion? Misogyny effects us all, but our refusal to entertain the female narrative goes to show how women are criticised to a far greater degree than men.

In an article for the Guardian, Lili Loofbourow says "Anefarious impulse strikes when we look at faces. Its a result of advertising combined with energies of male-dominated image-making. Perhaps you have noticed; when you look at a face you have been told is female, you critique it at a much higher resolution than you would if it had been labelled male. Women's skin should be smoother. We detect wrinkles, discolourations and pores and subtract them from the women's beauty in ways we don't if that face is presented to us as masculine."
This is true. As a society we are undoubtedly more critical of women than we are of men, and its due to decades worth of media conditioning which has resulted in a society of misogynists. We are all misogynists to an extent.

As for misogyny within the representation of women in stereotypically male roles, I don't think we always shun the female narrative in such genres.
Consider the success of Killing Eve, in which Jodie Comer stars as - female - assassin Villanelle. Its wildly popular, though it appeals far more to women.
Admittedly, I don't think I would be such a fan of Killing Eve if the two lead roles weren't female and if Villanelle were a male assassin. Part of the appeal of Killing Eve is that its refreshing to see a women in a stereotypically male role, possessing the stereotypically male trait of cruelty, and doing so so unapologetically. However, despite its mass appeal - to both men and women - it hasn't reached the same level of global success as either James Bond or Dr Who, both highly successful franchises.
Many factors contribute towards this - Killing Eve has only been on air since 2018, whereas Dr Who first aired in 1963, just one year after the first Bond film was released. It takes time to develop a fanbase and form a franchise and so its not surprising that both James Bond and Dr Who have outdone Killing Eve in terms of audience size. Especially when you consider that the male narrative is, like I said, far more "universal" than the female narrative.
However, there's also the fact that Killing Eve doesn't solely focus on action or science-fi genres. What likely makes it such a successful TV programme is that it delves far deeper than the surface genres - action and crime - immersing itself in the psychology of the mutual fascination between Eve and Villanelle, who are continuously drawn to each other, despite the detrimental impact it has on their lives. Killing Eve abandoned James Bond's materialistic focus on wealth and the objectification of women, instead giving far more focus to the complexities of the characters who are never simply one thing or the other.
But, I do think that a largely female audience being able to fathom the idea of a female assassin where a male audience, in regards to James Bond and Dr Who, so often can't speaks volumes about our attitudes towards female narrative and how accepting we are of it depending on gender. But, for the most part, I think we just don't like change.

We are far more accepting of a female assassin in Killing Eve than we are of a female spy in James Bond because that's how it was written. Villanelle was written as a female assassin and wasn't originally a male character . But, James Bond was and so maybe the fact that we can't accept a woman "replacing" a man in a typically male role reflects a male fear of being "bettered" by women? Maybe we are just so used to stereotypes that we struggle to accept change.

My parents split when I was four. I scarcely remember a time when my family was "whole" and even the few memories I do have, I'm not certain if they are legitimate of false versions of reality, constructed around familiar family photos. My brother was too young to remember at all. They split on his second birthday.

Whether its fortunate or not, I remember very little about the period of time before my parents split. I don't remember much arguing, just the occasion when my Dad shut the fridge door on my Mum's wrist - of that was intentional, I don't know.
I remember my Dad sleeping on the sofa. I remember, when they eventually did break up, going on holiday to Wales for the weekend so my Dad had time to collect his belongings from our Flat. I remember that he took the TV.
I remember receiving special treatment from the teachers at school. I remember a teacher telling me she would take me in her "secret rocket" to get some new reading books. I remember feeling deflated when I saw that it was just a lift.
I remember going to see the school councillor but not knowing why. I remember wishing I had never told her anything because it just made my relationship with my Dad more difficult. And that difficulty would last for years to come.
I remember screaming and crying every other weekend when my Dad came to collect me for my fortnightly stay at his house. I remember, on those days, hiding from him in the garden whilst, inside, my parents argued about it. I remember pissing in the front garden because I was too scared to go inside, even just to go to the Bathroom.
Even now, twelve years on, when visiting him - an event I'll admit is conspicuously rare - I get the train home early because its  just too difficult. That's not to say that I haven't tried to make our relationship work. I've tried tirelessly for years on end but with so much work and such little result, I've given up.

Attempts at days out rather than weekend stays at his house ended abruptly with me walking home from the Tube station on my birthday, alone and in tears, after my Dad stormed off on hearing that I had not yet bought my Grandma a birthday card, with two weeks to go until her birthday.
Ferocious arguments have emerged from nothing. I don't want an Ice Cream and I'm accused of being a stupid teenage girl, too conscious of her weight. In reality, I just don't like Ice Cream.

Still, I don't fail to recognise that he isn't intentionally horrible. Rather, he is unable to emphasise, and though his inability to do so is alien to me, I have learnt to accept that the ability is simply beyond him. He can consider how he would feel and react in a situation if it were happening to him, but its not the same as empathy.

That tendency to consider things from the perspective of "what would I do and how would I feel if ti happened to me?" make him also, entirely unable to understand peoples differences. If my brother and I don't enjoy something that he does, its "but why don't you enjoy it? when I was your age I loved this!", seemingly oblivious to the fact that when he was our age it was the early 80s and he was growing up in suburbia with two very conservative and old-fashioned parents. My brother and I are growing up in 2020, in London with one very liberal Mum. But, aside from that, he is oblivious to the fact that we are different. 
Despite this, his inability to understand me is not something I would complain of. I wouldn't expect him to understand me, I gave up trying to make him understand years ago when it became painfully obvious to me that - that too - was beyond him.

He doesn't know me at all. Over the years there have been re-runs of conversations, each time the same thing said yet each time its as though he's hearing these things for the first time.
Last summer, my cousin died suddenly at the age of twenty-eight. It was an event that forced my family together and on the car journey from London to Leeds for his funeral, I bought with me a Smiths CD, hoping it would be, in some ways, a peace offering. Something that my Dad and I could bond over I had thought, remembering the time that he had played How Soon Is Now? to me in the car, with such great enthusiasm at the overwhelmingly depressing lyrics. As I revealed the CD to him, a look of surprise crossed his face.
"You like The Smiths?" he asked, excited.
I nodded, remembering the time we had had this conversation before. I inserted the disc into the CD player and he laughed "better hope Girlfriend In A Coma isn't on there!" - my cousin was in a week-long coma before he died. Nobody laughed.
But, my Dad was pleased that we had something in common, a shared love of The Smiths, and for a moment, though a fleeting one, I thought maybe he was beginning to understand me. I had a glimmer of hope that we could, at least, get on for the weekend of the funeral. But, since June we've had this conversation - "I didn't know you liked The Smiths?!" - at least five times and so I've started to think that maybe he doesn't listen, at least not as closely as his excitement at our shared interest that time in the car had fooled me to believe.

I   K N O W   I   H A V E N ' T been the easiest daughter, though I am conscious that putting the blame on myself for my relationship with my Dad, which has been anything but smooth-sailing, is wrong.
I stopped going for fortnightly visits years ago, though my brother - F - still goes, for which I feel immense guilt. I know he struggles with their relationship too but F is far more easy going than me.
When he feels he's been treated wrongly by my Dad, he has the ability  - an ability which is beyond me - to block it out. Whereas, when I feel I've been wronged, I won't hesitate to, politely I might point out, stand up for myself. Though this angers my Dad far more, which I why I think I have been treated with more cruelty than F.

But, I do feel an immense sense of guilt as my brother now carries all responsibility towards my Dad. Note my use of the word 'responsibility'.
A child should not be made to feel responsible for their parents general happiness, but this is not the case for me, and its certainly not the case for F. My Dad may have accepted that my relationship with him isn't great and likely never will be. But, for F there is a pressure to be there, which come with an immense sense of guilt as we - or he - is part of the little life my Dad has left.

You see, my Dad lives a very sheltered life. After my parents broke up, twelve years ago, he moved back to the suburban village in which my Grandparents live and has remained there since. Likely, because he is extremely emotionally dependent on my Grandparents. He hates where he lives and he hates his job, which he has been working for the best part of thirty years, but has made no effort to change this. He has few friends, a distant school friend and a cycling partner, and a girlfriend who he rarely sees as she lives in Spain. They have been together for about ten years but have never closed the distance, likely because both are so emotionally dependent on their elderly parents, who they live so close to. He also has two children who he rarely sees and a daughter who he believes to hate him.

When someone's life is so seemingly empty, and when that person tells you their life is empty, its hard not to feel some form of guilt for their unhappiness when you are so distanced from them. Especially when what that person says to you exerts that guilt and especially when that person is your Father. This is why I spent so many evenings after being dropped home, after another argument, worrying that my Dad would kill himself. Because, if you are made to feel that you are all that person has, and your relationship is so clearly that of an unhappy one, you wonder what they're living for now?

A T   T H I S  P O I N T,  I think I've made it fairly obvious that, though my Dad is my biological Father, I've never seen him to be a Father-figure to me.
Something I vividly remember is a car journey back home from spending the weekend at his house when he complained - not for the first time - of a man he worked with. He said the man he worked with had been complaining to him that week of the stresses of taking his children to and from there various different extra-curricular activities. My Dad told us how he would do anything to have that kind of involvement in the lives of F and I and asked us to involve him more, to give him the opportunity to be a Dad to us.
Even at eight years old, I could see fault in this. I could see that my Dad seemed to misunderstand that parenting is far more than taking your kids to and from football practice, and that doing so doesn't make you the father-figure he had requested we let him be.
Now, in hindsight, I am able to critique this further. Asking your child to provide for you the opportunity to be paternal, completely defeats the notion of being paternal. A child should not have to to give opportunity for parenting, a child should be parented unconditionally.
At the time, I wondered, if he truly did want that kind of involvement, why wasn't he making the effort to arrange it with my Mum, rather than my brother and I who, at ages six and eight had little control over who took us to and from school? He never did, and the topic was never bought up again.

More than anything, this is a prime example of the complex roles of mine and my brother's relationship with our Dad. Yes, he is our parent and we were - and still are - merely children. But, more often than not, these roles seem to shift and it feels he depends on us for reassurance as a child depends on their parent for reassurance.
He often gets annoyed with my brother for not responding to texts immediately after receiving them, or for not wanting to FaceTime, not quite accepting that at times F is busy and not available as a constant source of entertainment for my Dad. "But why don't you want to FaceTime? I never see you!" he'd ask, in the same way that a small child might ask their parent "But why do you have to go to work? I want you to play with me!"

L I K E  I  S A I D, I don't see my Dad as a fatherly figure in my like, and I think at this point its clear to see why. I've already said that fathering is a role that delves deeper than simply providing for your children. But, aside from the legal cost - a monthly £200 - that any split couple has to pay to the primary carer, and the weekends I have spent at his house, my Dad has not provided and has no such involvement in my life. Financially, my Mum does it all. She is a single parent working part time as a primary school teacher, a role notoriously underpaid, but a job she has chosen in order to be a present and involved parent.
For twelve years, my Dad has had little involvement and has seldom been present. For him to think that, at this point, his input is wanted, at least by me, would be delusional.

With his lack of paternal nature, and lack of involvement in my upbringing, I found it infuriating the other week that he texted me - after months of silence - to remind me that it was Mothers Day the following Sunday, as though had he not reminded me, the date would have gone forgotten.
I was - and stil am - angry that he deems it reasonable to pick and choose when to be fatherly. After years of such little involvement, he cannot simply adopt a fatherly nature and think it something I will simply accept, especially considering the cruelty I have endured from him. He reminded me of Mothers Day as if he were an involved and caring parent, which he is not.
I typed out a furious reply, telling him of his nerve to remind me of Mothers Day, like the involved parent he fails to be, but quickly deleted it, thinking it better to let my silence speak volumes. I didn't respond.

I N   T H E  P A S T, I may have longed for a family that mirrored that of my friend's. A family with two parents. I may have felt shame and embarrassment for my three-person family. When friends who came round after school asked, I may have told them that my Dad was at work, to mask the shame I felt that we didn't live in the same home. I may have been ashamed of my family, which I did not conciser "whole".

But, now I realise that though I certainly haven't had an easy ride in the family department, I do not come from a "broken home". Perhaps, the cracks that appeared in my parents marriage over time were what was "broken" and in splitting those cracks have been filled and maybe, that is what has "fixed" my home?
Thats not to say I haven't been affected by what I have endured. Though I have, for the most part, come to terms with the fact that I will likely never have a good relationship with my Dad, I still wonder how I will ever be part of a healthy marriage, when I don't truly know what a healthy marriage looks like?

But, though my family may not resemble a traditional set ip - a mum, a dad, and some children - we are a family all the same. Because a family is not simply a married couple and their kids, it is a unit of unconditional love. And that, is what my Mum, my brother, and I have.
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