blurb from my school paper

 A voice left unheard is a voice lost. The implications of this in both the future of an individual student and the future of our society are huge. Helping a student to find their voice at a young age will help us to foster strong voices that speak up for the injustices in our society in the future. These voices are what will shape our future.

the chant is like an echo
dropping from my mind
a distant memory

dropping from my mind
the chant is like an echo
a distant memory

my socks are in my suitcase

Life has been going much too smoothly in the past little while. Many things that should have been more stressful have fallen into place, like the way my socks fit perfectly lined up in the groove of my suitcase. I have begun to worry about that unpleasant substance arriving and hitting the fan as it usually does whenever things start to work out too nicely for me. However, people will begin turning their fans off now that the cooler weather is beginning to arrive.

Anyways, while things were going so lovely and smooth again today I started to think of how to describe how lovely they were going. I tend to think in similes, actually tend is an understatement, I almost always think in similes when I'm attempting to describe something (to myself). They are not always good, its just how I make sense of situations in my head...

So here's the one that kept rotating in my head today for some reason:

It's like I'm a kid on Halloween and I've just found the house giving out the full-sized chocolate bars.

A healthy, happy society just doesn't riot.

Art, yo

'I think the joke is on... I don't know who the joke's on - really. I don't even know if there is a joke.' Exit Through the Gift Shop is one of those films you really can't write too much about. Because the minute you do, you're starting to over-analyse. But I love it because it makes a great statement (or non-statement) about the art world today... 

I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centrelight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"
Jack Kerouac - On the Road

And there are people out there who claim not to like literature...

This post may not be "politically correct"

I've recently finished reading Ayaan Hirsi Ali's Infidel. The book is basically her memoirs starting from her childhood in Somalia, following through her various moves around Africa and her eventual escape to Holland. I can't say enough how I think everyone should read this book. You don't have to agree with everything she says, but what's great about it is that it really makes you think and it gives you a perspective on Somalia, Somalian immigrants in the West and Western countries' stances on integrating, assimilating, accepting (whichever you believe) foreigners into their states.

One thing that sticks out is the perspective the book has given me when considering the challenges immigrants face when moving to a new country - gaining this type of perspective is invaluable to anyone who has grown up in a country as diverse as Canada. I experienced a little of what Hirsi Ali describes when she first moves to the Netherlands when I was in France, I can understand the mental cage you could so easily get trapped inside if you react negatively to the challenges that face you instead of taking them on. There were times when all I wanted to do was surround myself with other English speakers - I could have so easily hid away in an English community. I wouldn't dare to say that my experience in France was as challenging as someones who is first arriving in the West, but I can see that the temptation to reject a new culture, language etc. is there and I can see how it can be so appealing. What Hirsi Ali does is give you the background to understand the differences in Somalian cultural (inevitably tied with religious) values and the way they transfer themselves to a Western country. This hit home having had a few friends in the past whose actions have definitely eluded me. I wouldn't take Hirsi Ali's word as truth, she writes from her point of view, but what she has to say is definitely enlightening.

Yet, to counter this perspective, Hirsi Ali harshly critiques the Dutch (and other Western countries') tendency to favour cultural relativism when accepting immigrants' cultures, religions, and values into their commuities. For someone who spent 4 years of her undergrad discussing the issue of cultural relativity, I've never really considered this one before. It's sometimes hard to turn the finger on your own culture, but Hirsi Ali forces you to. She basically says that the Dutch (she doesn't lump all Western countries together, but I think the critique can apply to many of them) are too accepting to a fault - that allowing Somalian, and other immigrant communities, to continue living as they did in their home countries is detrimental to Dutch culture, values and eventually to the stability of the state itself. Once she forced me to, I can see where this comes from. Just look at my undergrad - anthropology is a subject that is pretty much dedicated to understanding other cultures, answering the 'why's' of different groups of people. And its a subject that sprung up in the west (yes, it didn't have the most cleanliest of beginnings, but it arose from the need to understand). I would argue that this need is part of our culture, and its something like a large scale example of 'curiousity killed the cat' that she is warning us of. We learn, we digest, we understand up to the point where Hirsi Ali claims we could deteriorate the environment that was such a safe-haven for refugees like herself. To hear this from someone on the outside, who critiques the way the country, which accepted her as a refugee, allows her people to continue living the way they did in Somalia, is definitely effective.

I originally intended just to tell you to go read the book, I could go on for longer but I think its better if you just pick it up yourself and see what you get out of it. It's not a hard book to read, sometimes repetitive, but definitely worth it.

I wanted to post so here is a post...

Now that I'm done working 60+ hours a week at three jobs I can actually think again! And I've been thinking about what I should write about next. Various things have crossed my mind, like how I despise any term that starts with 'post-'. This I ran across in a graffiti book I own yesterday; the term was 'post-graffiti'. It made me cringe. I will save this topic for another time. Other things like more anecdotes from kindergarten, my hatred for cubicles and other such office related anger were other popular topics in my mind. But really right now, at this very moment, its a time to make it personal. Writing is a form of therapy yes (?) and this is, I would argue, why most writers write to begin with. They do it for themselves, and if it can enlighten or interest someone else than all the better.

I'm entering transition time again, every year for the past 4 years I have lived in a different city, with a different group of friends and each time I've either started new or re-newed old acquaintances. I never meant it to be this way, so far its just turned out so. I told myself when I moved back to Canada from France that I would stay somewhere for at least 2 years - I would settle myself, I would try to be grounded. I've failed. The minute I step onto new or old soil this ridiculous part of me wants to move on again, I have a constant urge to keep on going. I exhaust myself. When I'm somewhere new I can't stop talking about going somewhere newer, when I'm somewhere old I can't stop talking about going back to the new. It's a constant problem. I have trouble understanding people who aren't like this sometimes. This can be a problem too. Every part of me resists staying still and money, if there is spare, will be put aside for future trips to Mongolia or Syria - or internships abroad for school (this being the next escape plan).

All this I have come to admit about myself this year - if I think about it, it's the way I've always been. And recognition is the first step right? I'm not trying to fix it, because I don't think its a problem anymore. It may be different from a lot of people I know who are more settled with furniture and cars and dogs and are ok being in the same place for the next 20 years. But I've realised that for me, a physical place is never going to make me feel grounded or settled - it'll be something else. When I know what that is, maybe I will settle somewhere... for a bit. But at least I'll know I'll be able to take it with me, wherever I go.

et voila, un petit peu de mon coeur pour vous.

Fancypants

I have many many amazing friends. Sometimes its quite overwhelming. Today I'd just like to tell you about one of those wonderful people. She's probably one of the most trusting, brave and free-spirited people I know and I envy her for it all. I really do. She's the sort of person who, on first meeting you, will trust you until proven otherwise. I can be very much the opposite at times - I'll work up my trust for people but if they let me down or betray me, I'll crash hard. My friend, she seems to assume you're just as amazing as her with no grounding to base it on and she makes you want to think so well of people too.

She'll travel across the world on her own, with no clear idea of what she's going to do, but hej that doesn't matter cause she'll meet some interesting people on the way, have some crazy adventures and most definitely learn something new. She'll hitch hike and couch surf solo and always seems to find people to help her out. She's one of the few people I know that has successfully stepped off the conveyor belt - but maybe they don't make them as restrictive where she's from? She's like the real life Luna Lovegood, eternally cool because she doesn't need to be "cool", living free and dealing with everything as it comes and not worrying about it beforehand.

Her most recent risk? The Fancypant Clothing Co and the reason for this schpeel.

She'll probably deny everything I've said about her, but hej you thats what I see and this is what friends do. And yes I did just relate you to a Harry Potter character.

Because I think I might just self destruct if I have to endure another lunch room conversation in which, after stating that I studied Anthropology in university, I get something like, "oh ya my nephew loves that stuff, dinosaur bones and shit." NO. just NO. no.... NO dinosaurs people. NONE. Its called social science. go educate yourselves. Heres a nice little wikipedia link for you. Just... just don't emabarass yourself going on about dinosaurs anymore... I just... just can't even be bothered to correct you anymore because theres just TOO many of you. Just read a teensy bit so that you know ANTHRO ≠ dinosaurs. Ever. please.
you make me sad because its such an exciting subject and the fact that you don't even know what it is means you are missing out on so many interesting things!

RESPECT FOR TREES

...was travelling cross province-ish today via train and saw lots of trees. People are always talking about how humans are such magnificent machines - well... trees are better. Especially the coniferous variety... those things are SURVIVORS. Anyways it was lucky no one was on the train with me.

We should all take some life lessons from the TREES...

This post will have lots of links!

Today I'm thinking too much about Land. Mainly the land I'm living on at the moment. There's something about living in this country that makes you think about Land. A lot. Ownership of land. Rights to land. Land claims. History of the land. Destruction of land. And so on. I recently watched a movie called Black Robe, it wasn't a particularly good story but the landscapes were beautiful and so truly North American. I see images like the ones in that movie and I think wow this place must've been absolutely amazing to see before the Europeans came and built roads through it, started clear cutting the forests. I went to see Niagara Falls a few summers ago and yes, it is still impressive the way it is but I can't even begin to imagine the sort of experience you would have stumbling across it in the wilderness, seeing the falls before half  the water was diverted for hydro, without the scum of human development surrounding them.

I don't know the land nearly as well as I feel I should. I'm a descendant of Europeans. Many of them came here because they were too poor to live in Europe anymore, they came because there was land. Lots of land and if they could survive the winters, make the land work  for them then they could have a better life here. Others came because of famine or they had no choice, like my great-grandfather who was brought over as a home child. The same rules for the immigrants of today, they come more out of necessity than for any other reason. We're a mish mash of people, none of whom have a solid connection with the land. There are no fables passed down through our ancestors about the land we stand on, we have no tales that our so grounded in the forests and rivers, nothing that makes us feel them breathe - not really.

I remember in my Canadian lit class we were talking once about the wilderness in Canadian literature - a topic which crops up quite often. Our professor, a massive Canadian lit enthusiast, asked us if we, those of us who'd grown up here, felt a connection with the land. Most of us said we did - we could site camping trips we'd taken as children, hikes we'd gone on, or little portaging trips in high school - we knew the land that surrounded us. But, I'd argue, not enough to really understand it. Sometimes I'd say, I feel just as out of place in it as my European ancestors must've.

Its those stories that are missing. We haven't been here long enough to have the land pass into legend. But there are those who have. I'm not Native and I don't understand a Native sentiment, but I can see how, if you're ancestors have occupied the land for longer than can be counted, if the stories of your people have been passed on from generation to generation and they are all rooted in the land you stand on - you might understand and feel a connection to it stronger than your 5th generation Canadian. We read the story of the turtle in school and others from other nations. I never really appreciated them. I'd been brought up too Christian to understand, but it feels like that religion just doesn't follow here. It's not rooted in these places.

As a kid being home-schooled by my mom I remember sitting at our kitchen table and learning about the native tribes. I remember asking if they could have had a tipi right outside in our backyard. She said they just could have and this fascinated my 7 year old brain. I stared out the window and tried to imagine how it would have looked. But they weren't my ancestors and I knew that even then. I grew up reading English and Irish fairy tales, grounded in a land I never really imagined I'd get to see. The lands filled with myth and mystery were far away, never here.    

I suppose the point of this ramble is that I think I need to learn more about the Natives, especially the ones who inhabited this land, the Odawa and others who lived along the Ottawa River. Its something like trying to get a grasp on the place you inhabit, its the anthropologist in me maybe - we always talk about stories and myth being so important to understanding a people and a place. As a part of this mish mash society, maybe we need to understand it all to get a grasp on who we are now.

A philosophical discussion occured...

in my senior kindergarten class this morning.
It went something like this:

Nathaniel: No one is the boss.
Trinity: Some people are the boss.
Aryan: Teachers can be the boss, right?
Ahmed: Family is the boss too sometimes.
Mya: God is Boss.
Aryan: God... God is only Indian, you know.
Mya: God isn't Indian!
Ahmed: God is BOSSSSSSSSSSSSS AHHHHHH.
Nathaniel gets a confused face, I'm not sure he knew who God was...

the conversation continued with the same phrases being repeated in different orders. then it was snow time.

kindergarten is great.

OK People,

Sometimes... all you need is a MuhASSIVE dance break in your kitchen. What you don't need is to forget to write down the name of the artist you were rocking out to on Radio3 because then you spend hours looking up all the electro-y bands whose names start with C and the list is long.

you know NO ONE IS WATCHING YOU... so go take that caraaazy dance break now.

and check out Radio3 cause you know... yer good ol' Canadian music is quite good, eh.

I'll post something more intelligent next time. peaaace.

the final sense (if the plot had been a fine one) will not be of clues or chains, but of something aesthetically compact, something which might have been shown by the novelist straight away, only if he had shown it straight away it would never have become beautiful.

The words of E.M. Forester quoted in a foreword to A Passage to India. I think they go quite well with my previous post.

I'm a pinko-gray

I'm in the middle of reading E.M Forster's A Passage to India, and, as I do sometimes when I find myself completely engrossed in a book (other than the fact that I start to talk and write like the book itself) I feel the need to share.

I'm not a literary critic, and I never will be. I found out after dropping my Professional Writing major for an English minor that the two are most definitely not alike. As much as I enjoy writing essays about books and stories I always approached them more as an anthropologist than as a critic. Pretentious English majors with their thick rimmed glasses, vests and cigarettes in hand were the bane of my existence; and I often found myself going head to head with their thick-headedness in class. I remember one particular fat-headed editor of a school newspaper once telling the class that censorship didn't exist in the world anymore. Quite matter of factly. Anyways, the point is not to make myself sound better than them but to simply state our differences.

Critics, in their oh so critical way, tend to strip a book or story of its essence. They leave the words bare and then try to make meaning of them. Picking and choosing symbols and motifs and squeezing out a quote to fit into their 'this is what the book is' schpeels. I'll say straight out - I don't think there's anything wrong with this. I think that literature should be a constant dialogue that is in flux, that changes depending on its reader, that is always up for interpretation and re-interpretation. What I don't like is when those critics believe their search will unveil an ultimate truth. It never will.

We sometimes forget that novels, and short stories alike, are works of art. Like when Picasso interprets his wife in a painting, so does a writer interpret their surroundings with words. A book is like a process of self discovery in which the writer tries to make sense of his or her experiences, society and so on. If we read constantly in search of the 'hidden meaning', the ultimate reason behind the book's existence, we'll inevitably miss out on those gray areas. Its the confusing bits where the writer contradicts himself, reveals his vulnerability, that the heart of a book lies. And it's here that I think we're most likely to find the value of literature; where we can open up a dialogue with the text and begin to challenge ourselves.

This is why I will never be a critic and this is why I love both reading and writing. A writer is a philosopher, who expresses not an ultimate truth but a million possible truths.

In A Passage to India one of our protoganists finds himself impersonating one of those gray areas, not quite sure how to fit into either of the two societies which surround him.

The world, he believed, is a globe of men who are trying to reach one another and can best do so by the help of goodwill plus culture and intelligence - a creed ill suited to Chandrapore, but he had come out too late to lose it. He had no racial feeling - not because he was superior to his brother civilians, but because he had matured in a different atmosphere, where the herd-instinct does not flourish. The remark that did him most harm at the Club was a silly aside to the effect that the so-called white races are really pinko-gray. He only said this to be cheery, he did not realize that `white`has no more to do with a colour than `God save the King`with a god, and that it is the height of impropriety to consider what it does connote. The pinko-gray male whom he addressed was subtly scandalized; his sense of insecurity was awoken, and he communicated it to the rest of the herd.

Poor Mr. Fielding, in a way I feel that he is Forster, trying to articulate his place in not only the British Empire, but in the wider world itself.

story time

I'm writing a story. I haven't written one in a long time. If I finish it on time I might actually enter it into a competition, because it was the competition theme that inspired me to write it. I was just typing up what I've written so far (because I always write by hand first) just to see how many words I'm at and I thought I'd share this snippet with you:

When I was young I used to imagine what it would have been like if he’d made it home that night. If wrong turns hadn’t existed, as if everything was circular and no matter how far away you went you always ended back home. My imaginary life was filled with laughter and whiskery kisses on my cheek. But I stopped myself – for her. I felt if I imagined too much she’d know and I couldn’t bear the thought of betraying her.

Let me know what you think :)