[翻轉視界 8]逃離禁錮之地:離開北韓我學會自由與憐憫
“If you don't know the words, that means you don't understand the concept, and therefore, you don't even realize that concept is even a possibility.” —— human rights activist Yeonmi Park。
「如果你不知道某些詞彙,那就意味著你並不了解某些概念,因此你也不會意識到,那些概念可以是一種可能。」——人權鬥士朴延美
對出逃前的她而言,自由與溫飽是很奢侈的理念,更無法了解「愛」的全貌。當我們無法得知世界發生了什麼,無法想像那超越自身認知的世界,我們便無法真正地同理他人。今天我想邀請大家,以不同的角度,重新感受自由、溫飽與愛的可貴。
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I was born in 1993 in the northern part of North Korea, in a town called Hyesan, which is on the border with China. I had loving parents and one older sister. Before I was even 10 years old, my father was sent to a labor camp for engaging in illegal trading. Now, by "illegal trading" -- he was selling clogs, sugar, rice and later copper to feed us. In 2007, my sister and I decided to escape. She was 16 years old, and I was 13 years old.
1. on the border with 鄰近邊界
2. labor camp 勞改營
3. illegal trading 非法的交易
1993年我出生在北韓的北部,一個名叫惠山的小鎮,鄰近中國邊界。我有愛我的父母與一位姐姐。在我10歲大的時候,父親就被送去勞改營,因為他非法買賣一些東西。所謂的非法買賣,其實他是賣一些木鞋、糖、米,之後還賣了銅,只為了餵飽我們。2007年,姐姐和我決定逃跑。她當時16歲,而我13歲。
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I need you to understand what the word "escape" means in the context of North Korea. We were all starving, and hunger means death in North Korea. So it was the only option for us. I didn't even understand the concept of escape, but I could see the lights from China at night, and I wondered if I go where the light is, I might be able to find a bowl of rice. It's not like we had a grand plan or maps. We did not know anything about what was going to happen. Imagine your apartment building caught fire. I mean, what would you do? Would you stay there to be burned, or would you jump off out of the window and see what happens? That's what we did. We jumped out of the house instead of the fire.
4. in the context of 在⋯⋯的情境中
5. concept 概念;觀念;思想
6. a grand plan 一個遠大的計畫
7. catch fire 著火
你們要知道,「逃跑」這兩字在北韓意味著什麼。我們天天挨餓,而飢餓在北韓意味著死亡。所以逃跑是我們唯一的選擇。我當時還不了解逃跑是什麼意思,但晚上我能看見中國那邊的燈光,我想著如果我能到有光的地方,也許就能找到一碗飯。我們沒有什麼遠大的計畫或地圖。我們完全不知道,接下來會發生什麼事。想像一下,你的公寓失火了,你會怎麼辦?你會坐以待斃,還是跳窗然後再看著辦?我們就是那樣。我們從大樓上跳了下來, 而不是等火燒上來。
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North Korea is unimaginable. It's very hard for me when people ask me what it feels like to live there. To be honest, I tell you: you can't even imagine it. The words in any language can't describe, because it's a totally different planet, as you cannot imagine your life on Mars right now. For example, the word "love" has only one meaning: love for the Dear Leader. There's no concept of romantic love in North Korea. And if you don't know the words, that means you don't understand the concept, and therefore, you don't even realize that concept is even a possibility.
8. unimaginable 無法想像
9. no concept of... 沒有⋯的概念
10. romantic love 浪漫愛
北韓是難以想像的。對我來說,要回答住在北韓是什麼感覺,非常困難。老實說,我可以告訴各位——你無從想像。沒有任何語言可以描述,因為那是個截然不同的星球,就像你現在無法想像自己在火星上的生活一樣。比如說,「愛」只有一個意思:愛偉大的領袖。在北韓沒有那種浪漫之愛的概念。如果你不知道某些詞彙,那就意味著你並不了解某些概念,因此你也不會意識到,那些概念可以是一種可能。
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Let me give you another example. Growing up in North Korea, we truly believed that our Dear Leader is an almighty god who can even read my thoughts. I was even afraid to think in North Korea. We are told that he's starving for us, and he's working tirelessly for us, and my heart just broke for him. When I escaped to South Korea, people told me that he was actually a dictator, he had cars, many, many resorts, and he had an ultraluxurious life. And then I remember looking at a picture of him, realizing for the first time that he is the largest guy in the picture. And it hit me. Finally, I realized he wasn't starving. But I was never able to see that before, until someone told me that he was fat.
11. an almighty god 一個全能的神
12. tirelessly 不屈不撓地;堅忍地
13. a dictator 獨裁者
14. it hit me 突然想到、意識到 
15. resort 度假地(此處係指北韓獨裁者有很多度假別墅)
16. ultraluxurious 極其奢華的
17. have a…life 過著⋯⋯的生活
讓我再舉一個例子。在北韓長大,我們真心相信我們偉大的領袖是全能的神,他甚至能看穿我在想什麼。我在北韓甚至不敢思考。我們聽說他為我們挨餓、不眠不休地為我們工作,而我為此感到心痛。我逃到南韓後,有人跟我說他其實是獨裁者,他有很多車、很多很多渡假別墅,他的生活極為奢華。我記得自己看著一張有他的照片,第一次意識到他是照片裡體型最大的那個。這件事讓我大受打擊。那時我才終於了解,他沒有挨餓。但我以前總無法看清這些,直到有人跟我說他很胖,我才恍然大悟。
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Really, someone had to teach me that he was fat. If you have never practiced critical thinking, then you simply see what you're told to see. The biggest question also people ask me is: "Why is there no revolution inside North Korea? Are we dumb? Why is there no revolution for 70 years of this oppression?" And I say: If you don't know you're a slave, if you don't know you're isolated or oppressed, how do you fight to be free? I mean, if you know you're isolated, that means you are not isolated. Not knowing is the true definition of isolation, and that's why I never knew I was isolated when I was in North Korea. I literally thought I was in the center of the universe.
18. critical thinking 批判性思考
19. revolution 革命
20. dumb 愚蠢的*
21. oppression 壓迫;壓制;欺壓
22. isolated and oppressed 與世隔絕的與被壓迫的
真的,要有人教我,他這樣叫做胖。如果你沒學過批判性思考,你看到的就只會是別人跟你說的。其他人對我提出的大哉問還有:「為何北韓沒有革命?我們傻嗎?為何歷經70年的壓迫,卻沒人發動革命?」我回答:「如果你不知道自己是奴隸,不知道自己被與世隔絕、壓迫,你要如何為自由而戰?我的意思是,如果你知道自己被與世隔絕,那就表示你並非真的與世隔絕。與世隔絕的真正定義是無知,所以我從不知道,在北韓的我與世隔絕。我真的以為我們是宇宙的中心。
*dumb: https://bit.ly/3fG5XOk
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So here is my idea worth spreading: a lot of people think humans inherently know what is right and wrong, the difference between justice and injustice, what we deserve and we don't deserve. I tell them: BS. Everything, everything must be taught, including compassion. If I see someone dying on the street right now, I will do anything to save that person. But when I was in North Korea, I saw people dying and dead on the streets. I felt nothing. Not because I'm a psychopath, but because I never learned the concept of compassion. Only, I felt compassion, empathy and sympathy in my heart after I learned the word "compassion" and the concept, and I feel them now.
23. inherently 與生俱來地
24. justice and injustice 正義與不義
25. psychopath 精神病患者
26. compassion, empathy and sympathy 憐憫、同理與同情*
我覺得值得分享的想法是:很多人以為,人類生來就能分辨是非對錯,懂得正義與邪惡的差別,我們值得被怎樣對待。我跟他們說:放屁。所有的事,所有的事都得經過教導,包含憐憫。如果我現在看見有人在路邊奄奄一息,我會不顧一切來救他。但我在北韓的時候,會眼睜睜看著有人橫死街頭,卻沒有任何感覺。並非因為我是心理病態,而是我從未學過憐憫的概念。只有在我的內心感受到憐憫、同理與同情,我才學會「憐憫」一詞與其概念,而如今我已能感受到這些。
*compassion: a strong feeling of sympathy and sadness for the suffering or bad luck of others and a wish to help them
empathy: the ability to share someone else's feelings or experiences by imagining what it would be like to be in that person's situation
sympathy: (an expression of) understanding and care for someone else's suffering
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Now I live in the United States as a free person.
現在我以自由人的身分住在美國。
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And recently, the leader of the free country, our President Trump, met with my former god. And he decided human rights is not important enough to include in his agendas, and he did not talk about it. And it scares me. We live in a world right now where a dictator can be praised for executing his uncle, for killing his half brother, killing thousands of North Koreans. And that was worthy of praise. And also it made me think: perhaps we all need to be taught something new about freedom now. Freedom is fragile. I don't want to alarm you, but it is. It only took three generations to make North Korea into George Orwell's "1984." It took only three generations. If we don't fight for human rights for the people who are oppressed right now who don't have a voice, as free people here, who will fight for us when we are not free? Machines? Animals? I don't know.
27. agenda 議程
28. be praised for 因⋯⋯獲得讚揚
29. execute (v.) 處決
30. worthy of sth 適合某物或具有某物的特徵
31. fragile 脆弱
最近,自由國度的領袖,我們的川普總統,和我以前的神會面。他認定,人權沒那麼重要,不需排進議程中,所以對此他隻字不提。這嚇壞我了。我們竟身在一個獨裁者處決伯父還能獲得讚揚的世界裡,他殺害同父異母的哥哥、殺害成千上萬的北韓人民,竟還能得到讚揚。這不禁使我開始思考,也許我們現在都要學習自由的新涵義。自由很脆弱。我不想嚇你,但事實如此。短短三個世代,就讓北韓淪為喬治.歐威爾筆下的《1984》。只花了三個世代。如果我們不為人權而戰,不為受壓迫、不為無法發聲的人而戰,當身為自由人的我們不自由時,誰還願意為我們而戰?機器嗎?動物嗎?我不知道。
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I think it's wonderful that we care about climate change, animal rights, gender equality, all of these things. The fact that we care about animals' rights, that means that's how beautiful our heart is, that we care about someone who cannot speak for themselves. And North Koreans right now cannot speak for themselves. They don't have internet in the 21st century. We don't have electricity, and it is the darkest place on earth right now. Now I want to say something to my fellow North Koreans who are living in that darkness. They might not believe this, but I want to tell them that an alternative life is possible. Be free.
32. speak for oneself 為某人發聲
33. alternative life 另一種生活
我覺得我們能關心氣候變遷、動物權益、性別平等諸如此類之事,真的很美好。因為,我們關心動物權益,就代表了我們的心地有多善良,也代表我們關心無法為自己發聲的對象。北韓人民現在無法為自己發聲。身處21世紀的他們,沒有網路可用。我們沒有電,那裡是當今地球上最暗的地方。現在我想告訴那些生活在北韓黑暗中的同胞。也許他們不會相信我,但我想告訴他們,生命仍有其他可能——意即自由的生活。
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From my experience, literally anything is possible. I was bought, I was sold as a slave. But now I'm here, and that is why I believe in miracles. The one thing that I learned from history is that nothing is forever in this world. And that is why we have every reason to be hopeful. Thank you.
34. slave 奴隸
35. miracle 奇蹟
就我的經驗,真的什麼事都有可能發生。我被人買走,賣給別人當奴隸。但我現在在這裡,這也就是為什麼我相信奇蹟。我從歷史上學到的一件事,就是世上沒有什麼是永恆的。而這也是我們無論如何都能懷有希望的原因。謝謝大家。
資訊出處:https://bit.ly/32p5HiK
圖片出處:https://bit.ly/32n2zEe
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如何增進同理心:https://bit.ly/34qSKnC
#ChangingPerspectives
#翻轉視界
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翻轉視界系列文章: https://bit.ly/3fPvKUs
同時也有10000部Youtube影片,追蹤數超過2,910的網紅コバにゃんチャンネル,也在其Youtube影片中提到,...
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An incredibly beautiful, sad, brave, wise, inspiring post by Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg. Early this year, I read her book 'Lean In', a book encouraging women to achieve their dreams and ambitions, and was so grateful it was written for such a time as this. I especially loved her chapter about David being so supportive of her. I'm still stunned by all that's happened to them.
Here's to beating the heck out of Option B.
Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first thirty days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourning known as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva, most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim that marks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.
A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Let me not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave. Now I do.
I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well.
But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning.
And this is why I am writing: to mark the end of sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While the experience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who have shared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.
I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser.
I have gained a more profound understanding of what it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when my children scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. She has tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I cry myself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room for mine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own and my children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her own eyes.
I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.
I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that in the ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate every car that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving at their destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I have noticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.
I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last thirty days, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiple rugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatest need.
I have learned to ask for help—and I have learned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are still doing so much to support me and my children.
I have learned that resilience can be learned. Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that I can work on all three. Personalization—realizing it is not my fault. He told me to ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault. Permanence—remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will get better. Pervasiveness—this does not have to affect every area of my life; the ability to compartmentalize is healthy.
For me, starting the transition back to work has been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quickly discovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mention it, what the hell do I say? I realized that to restore that closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, not sure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around, worried he might say the wrong thing. Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.
At the same time, there are moments when I can’t let people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show their parents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So many of the parents—all of whom have been so kind—tried to make eye contact or say something they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so no one could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.
I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude for the things I took for granted before—like life. As heartbroken as I am, I look at my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate every smile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told me that he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him and said through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to have each one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined to celebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.
I am truly grateful to the many who have offered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have never met, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree—something she had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, I believe as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men—from those I know well to those I will likely never know—are honoring Dave’s life by spending more time with their families.
I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.
I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He put his arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”
Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.
my sister has no empathy 在 Michelle Phan Facebook 的最讚貼文
Beauty is everywhere. Spread the Love gorgeous ♥ ∞
Dear Ones -
Can we talk about something?
For the last few months, I've been growing uneasy about a phenomenon I've seen playing out in the media over women's bodies and women's appearance.
And no, this is not about the USUAL thing that makes me uneasy in the media (the exploitation and hyper-sexualization of women's bodies, etc. etc...) That hasn't changed, and I'm not tackling that today.
This is about something new.
This is about prominent women publicly criticizing other prominent women about body image questions, and about each other's private beauty decisions.
I don't want to see this anymore.
The history of women's bodies and women's beauty is a battlefield of epic (and sometimes violent) proportions. The last thing any of us need to be doing is judging each other and turning on each other.
What really frustrates me is the patronizing tone that is sometimes adopted, when a woman who has made a certain set of decisions about her own face and her own body criticizes another woman who has made an entirely different set of decisions about HER own face and HER own body.
You know the tone. It goes like this: "I just think it's so sad that she felt she needed to do that..."
This is a tone of voice that fills me with ire, because: REALLY? Does it make you feel "sad"? Are sure you're using the word "sad" correctly? Does your neighbor's boob job really make you feel "sad"? Does that movie star's plastic surgery genuinely make you feel "sad"? Are you honestly crying into your pillow at night about somebody's Brazilian butt lift — the way you would cry about a death in the family? Honestly?
Or are you just judging a sister, and hiding your judgment behind a screen of moral appropriation?
Check yourself.
No decision that any of us make about our appearance makes us morally better or morally worse than any other woman.
The scale of beauty in our world is vast and complicated and often politically, socially, and culturally confounding. At one extreme, you have the "all-natural" obsessives, who judge anybody who artificially alters her appearance in any manner whatsoever as vain and shallow. At the other of the scale are the extreme beauty junkies, who will do anything for an enhanced sense of beauty, and who judge everyone else as slovenly and drab.
We all have to figure out where we land on that scale. Lipstick, but no hair dye? Legs shaved, but not arms? Hair processing, but no Brazilian wax? Short skirts but no bikini tops? Two-inch heels, but not five-inch heels?
It all sends a message, and it all comes with complications. None of it is easy to figure out. And this is not even taking into account larger questions about religion, history, and cultural ethics. What looks like modesty on a woman in Rio de Janeiro looks like flagrancy in Salt Lake City. What looks like modesty in Salt Lake City is flagrancy in Cairo. What looks like modesty in Cairo is flagrancy in Riyadh. What looks like flagrancy to your grandmother looks like frumpiness to your teenager. What looks beautiful to me might look grotesque or even offensive to you.
IT'S COMPLICATED.
My experience is this: once we have decided where we land on that scale of beauty, we tend to judge all the other women who have made different decisions in either direction around us: This woman is too vain; that one is too plain...it never ends.
It also bothers me that women who define themselves as liberal, left-wing feminists (like myself) will stand on a picket line to defend the right of another woman to do whatever she wants with her reproductive system — but then attack that woman for what she decided to do to her face.
Let me break it down for you: It's none of your business.
Every single molecule of woman's body belongs to HER.
Yes, even her lips.
Yes, even her butt.
To judge a fellow woman for her choices about her own appearance is not only cruel, it also speaks to a fundamental insecurity that says, "I am so uncomfortable with myself that I have now become deeply uncomfortable with YOU, lady — and I don't even know you."
So have some compassion for the fact that it is difficult for any woman to figure out where to place herself on that vast and emotionally-loaded scale of female aesthetic. And check your own vanity before you criticize someone else's vanity. (And do not kid yourself that you are not vain because you do not partake in certain beauty rituals that other women partake in — because you are also making decisions about your body, your face, and your clothing every single day. With every one of those decisions you are also telegraphing to the world your own politics, your own opinions, your own needs and fears, and yes, often your own arrogance.)
No matter what you're wearing, you are dressing up, too.
As the great drag queen RuPaul has said: "We are all born naked. Everything else is just drag."
So be sympathetic. Everyone is facing her own battlefield in her own manner. And the only way you can express empathy about another woman's vanity IS TO BE HONEST ABOUT YOUR OWN.
Once you have reached that place of authentic honesty about your own struggle, you will only ever show kindness toward your sisters.
So here's what I do.
When I see a woman who has lost weight, I say, "You look terrific."
When I see a woman who has quit dieting and embraced her curves, I say, "You look terrific."
When I see a woman who has obviously just had plastic surgery, I say, "You look terrific."
When I see a woman who has let her hair go grey and is hanging out at grocery store in her husband's sweatpants, I say, "You look terrific."
Because you know what? If you are woman and you managed to get up today and go outside, then you look terrific.
If you are still here, then you look terrific.
If you are able to go face down a world that has been arguing about your body and your face for centuries, then you look terrific.
If you have figured out what you need to wear, or do, or not do, in order to feel safe in your own skin, then you look terrific.
If you are standing on your own two feet and the stress of being a woman hasn't killed you yet, then YOU LOOK TERRIFIC.
To say anything less than that to (or about) your fellow woman is to add ammunition to a war that is bad enough already.
So back off, everyone. Be kind.
You're all stunning.
ONWARD,
LG