I've just read an article on The Guardian, called Hanrietta Lacks: the mother of modern medicine, talking about this woman who died of cervical cancer in 1951 and whose cells have since been used in medical research to provide cure for many diseases.

Henrietta was poor and black. All her children suffered poor health and didn't have medical insurance to cover the treatment of their conditions. But more significantly, they didn't know how important their mother had been to many thousands of patients all over the world for the past fifty or so years.

Rebecca Skloot, who became fascinated by Henrietta since a biology class in her college years, decided to investigate the life of the woman hidden behind the simple acronym HeLa cells. She investigated the case and finally had to unfold Henrietta's children the story after their mother's death.

The point Rebecca has tried to make referred to the fact that so often in medical research, there is a tendency to approach cells and tissues as mere tools to experiment with. Rarely, the life of the people who provided those cells and tissues is taken into account.

I had the same feeling two weeks ago when I went to the exhibition Skin at the Wellcome Trust: a powerful exhibition exploring the anthropological, sociological, artistic and medical meaning of the tissue that protects us from the outside world and puts us in contact with it at the same time: the skin.

Many memories and flashes from my life and my family sprang to mind: the skin condition at the elbows of which I suffered once at 16, the fungis that my father has on his back, a photo of wrinkled hands reminded me of my grandfather.

And then there was this photo: a magnified photo of a cancer cell. It was blueish, like a little bubble of foam, it looked soft and light. Yet, it was a cancer cell. Yet, it belonged to someone whose life might have ended by the time I was looking at the photo.

I thought at how impersonally we can look at the photo of an ill cell. We have already seen the image in a science book, perhaps. But there's an entire universe behind that cell. There's a life, there are relationships, there are feelings. I am reassured to know that other people have my same thoughts.

Muslim vs Atheism - The case for women

"I don't shake hands with women."

It was those words that pulled me down and humiliated me. I went to a debate where I had to feel uncomfortable from the very beginning. "Sister, sister...that way," a man said pointing to the side of the room, where all the women were supposed to sit -stupidly facing the centre of the room instead of the stage, so then I was forced to assist the entire conference twisting my neck.

At the end of the debate, "Muslim vs Atheism", I went to the Muslim speaker, unconvinced by his argument on the existence of God based on the fact that the universe must have a beginning and therefore a cause, God. Mr Hamza Tzortzis answered my question and cut short saying that he's available via email to answer further questions. I then politely thanked him and stretched my hand forward for a respectful shake.

And there he stabbed me: "I don't shake hands with women." It is not the fact that he denied to shake hands with me that bothered me. If it was not culturally acceptable for him to shake hands with people, for whatever reason, I would have accepted it. But no, the fact that he denied to shake hands on the principle that I am a woman just pissed me off. I felt humiliated, scorned, angry.

Mr Ed Buckner, in his defence of atheism, forgot to mention how religions, Islam in particular, have contributed to lock women out of society and put them under the dominance of men. Men who claim to be rational and base their belief in God on rational grounds, but then have to cover up their women because they are too irrational to resist the temptation of women's beauty. How silly of women to accept this and believe it is protective of them in any way.

The fact that men and women should be treated differently because God, or Allah, or whoever claims to be the divine said so, is something that I cannot accept. You may call it a cultural bias. But entering that room tonight, being denied a shake of hands, a sign of respect and equality on the basis that I am a woman, made me feel like I was back in 18th century, if not earlier. And no religion that claims that there should be a difference of treatment of men and women on the basis of gender should be supported.

There is no intrinsic difference between men and women, other than biological ones. Therefore, a difference in treatment between men and women is no more acceptable than a difference of treatment based on the colour of skin or on the colour of someone's eyes. It is DISCRIMINATORY AND RACIST. If that is what Islam preaches, then I assume it is a discriminatory religion.

Brits are freaks - World Cup Fever

Flags are hanging from the windows. From the windows of cars and houses alike. Coming back home a guy walked past me, proudly waving a flag.

The atmosphere was quite weird, almost eerie. I had the impression some shops closed earlier and people wearing suits or office outfits were rushing home, or to some friends' house, or to the pub.

Rushing to watch England play against Algeria tonight. After the draw against the US, they can't afford to lose.

You can feel it in the damp air, the pressure, the vibe of the World Cup Fever. And if you just glance up, you will also see it all around.

White flags, a red cross. England. How nationalist one can be because of football...

Rihanna's concert

So I went to Rihanna's concert last night. And it was AWESOME! She's not the best singer ever, but she's definitely a good performer. She had the vibe, the moves, the passion. She laughed, smiled, had fun and she got even a little emotional when she introduced Rehab.

"Have you ever been in love? A friend of mine, Justin Timberlake wrote a song for me about being addicted to love....because I was."

I honestly shivered. And most importantly went home thinking I spent my money in a good way.
Enjoy the pics.

Wanna see more? Check out my Flickr account!

Brits are Freaks - Homeless Mothers

It was Mother's Day. I was on a night bus from Victoria to Angel. An old woman got on. She was carrying a sort of trolley and wanted to sit exactly where I was sitting, on the back seat in the corner. Fair enough. I helped her carry her trolley and shoved up. At a certain point she started blowing kisses to a couple of clerks working at a pizza-place. To my amusement she felt like explaining such a behaviour.

"I'm homeless," she said. "They give me a cup of tea when I go there." I couldn't really understand all what she was saying -her thick accent and her toothless mouth didn't help either- but she kept talking and I listened. I asked her how she became homeless and she told me her husband kicked her out. After having 4 children together.

Speaking of which... I asked her why her children didn't take care of her. "They don't have space, and I don't want to a burden for them anyway." How could she possibly be a burden for her own kids? I didn't go into details. And it's not my business anyway. But I thought there was something deeply wrong in the idea of this woman's children not taking care of her, just letting her sleep on the bus. She might have been a terrible mother, but still.

It is true that children are generally ungrateful towards their parents. But letting them be homeless, when they almost definitely have a sofa where their mother or father could sleep, now that is over the top. And it was even Mother's Day.