I need this day off.
I need it, to be tired.
I need it, to be sick.
To wander if I want to.
Aimlessly.
To sit outside and enjoy the sun.
To read a book, if I want to.
To take a nap, if I want to.
To need a nap but choose to blog instead.
To blog then nap with no obligations.
To NOT go to a funeral.
To grieve.
To cry.
To not cry.
To have hurt feelings.
To remember and laugh, if I want to.
I need the next week to be seven Saturdays just like today,
To do what I want to
In my own time
With my own agenda.
I need a break,
This time.
To look at the blue sky for hours.
To fall away into the day forever.
To be stunned.
To funnel all the pain away
If I want to.
To not help anyone.
To not feel guilty.
To be overjoyed, grateful, lucky.
I need you to come to me for love
To give to me and receive from me
Love.
That is all I need today.
The rest has no business with me.
Not today, no matter who wants to.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Far Far Away
Nearly a month it has been since we made a delightful little discovery.
A pleasant enough afternoon for early Spring. The air was still cool but the sun was out and the outdoors begged for explorers.
My little family went out for an afternoon walk, we followed the music. Seduced by dissonant voices and instruments, sounding vaguely familiar yet foreign. Slightly intangible as the breeze swept in a new direction, seeking newcomers to its land.
Our child dances along the way, mimics the wooden drums, eager to discover this (new) world of sound.
We arrive at the neighbourhood shopping centre. A good portion of the parking lot is fenced off so that none can see in or out. We saunter over to the gate, along with a small crowd of others who have come to listen. I ask the man at the gate if this is a concert ... "sort of" is all he replies with a smile, nothing more. It is $5/person to go in to watch. I see a sign that says "profit donated to Haiti earthquake relief". We decide to enter and find a seat.
Along with our ears, our eyes are now dazzled with dancing on a large stage. I was transfixed by the presence on stage, a woman dancing & singing a Punjabi song; telling a story. I didn't know what the story meant except that to hear it and to see it was beautiful.
The act finishes and onto the stage come a handful of official looking men in suits and formal dress. I wait for the English translation ... it doesn't come.
Ever so slowly I begin to notice the people around us, maybe ten minutes or so since we had arrived. Oh I see, it is a Punjabi event of some sort. Many people are dressed in traditional garb, our daughter loves it! Imagine the sequence, sparkles, bangles, flashy sandals and sheer colourful fabrics. (and colourfully wrapped hair). What's not to love!
Did she notice what I noticed (albeit much too late considering I am usually not so naive), does she see colour so markedly? Of course I mean people, not outfits here. Did she notice that we were just not like the rest of the patrons, not even remotely, by appearances anyway. A few hundred people in attendance for the afternoon and we three were the ONLY Caucasian spectators. That can't be right, I look around again.
Oh.
Yes, its right.
What does that mean? Are we encroaching on territory we have no place being? I study the faces & mannerisms of the crowd. No, I wouldn't say that anyone feels (or, at least, shows outwardly) that we shouldn't be there. I begin to feel self conscious, why? I notice that those who are standing on the sidelines, enjoying the show and not necessarily because there weren't enough seats (because there were) were men. Absolutely no women whatsoever were standing along the fences. Just men, socializing & watching the show. Curious. I didn't know what that meant, if anything. But it got me thinking ... wondering if I was doing anything (inadvertently) offensive. Nobody seemed to think so. In fact when we were leaving, a man asked if we understood the language and what the stories were about. No, but we enjoyed it. And we were happy to contribute to a relief effort.
As we exited, I noticed something that hadn't occurred to me on the way in; the crowd. I thought we were just walking among the train of people to a place of music. Like a folk fest of sorts. I recall that when I did look up on the way over to the stage area, I saw a Punjabi family. Had no idea that everyone around me was Punjabi. It didn't go unnoticed on the out & away from the event.
Two things were reiterated for us. First, how sad it was that we were the only white people present. Second, how brave people are who immigrate to a foreign country. Especially one where they are visually set apart by appearance and not just race, religion, culture and customs. For it is fairly intimidating to be in a crowd and be the visible minority.
It was an odd little experience, not unpleasant, quite adventurous, enlightening and a learning experience. I wonder what our daughter will grow to think of situations like this at different stages in her development. Will she ever have to think like this? One day her innocence will be pulled from her beautiful soul and sadly, yet simultaneously thankfully, this is a necessary evil to better understand humankind.
Is it?
To her it was simply a fun event with interesting people. To me, it came to be more than that, yet in an ideal existence, it really needn't be.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaisakhi
A pleasant enough afternoon for early Spring. The air was still cool but the sun was out and the outdoors begged for explorers.
My little family went out for an afternoon walk, we followed the music. Seduced by dissonant voices and instruments, sounding vaguely familiar yet foreign. Slightly intangible as the breeze swept in a new direction, seeking newcomers to its land.
Our child dances along the way, mimics the wooden drums, eager to discover this (new) world of sound.
We arrive at the neighbourhood shopping centre. A good portion of the parking lot is fenced off so that none can see in or out. We saunter over to the gate, along with a small crowd of others who have come to listen. I ask the man at the gate if this is a concert ... "sort of" is all he replies with a smile, nothing more. It is $5/person to go in to watch. I see a sign that says "profit donated to Haiti earthquake relief". We decide to enter and find a seat.
Along with our ears, our eyes are now dazzled with dancing on a large stage. I was transfixed by the presence on stage, a woman dancing & singing a Punjabi song; telling a story. I didn't know what the story meant except that to hear it and to see it was beautiful.
The act finishes and onto the stage come a handful of official looking men in suits and formal dress. I wait for the English translation ... it doesn't come.
Ever so slowly I begin to notice the people around us, maybe ten minutes or so since we had arrived. Oh I see, it is a Punjabi event of some sort. Many people are dressed in traditional garb, our daughter loves it! Imagine the sequence, sparkles, bangles, flashy sandals and sheer colourful fabrics. (and colourfully wrapped hair). What's not to love!
Did she notice what I noticed (albeit much too late considering I am usually not so naive), does she see colour so markedly? Of course I mean people, not outfits here. Did she notice that we were just not like the rest of the patrons, not even remotely, by appearances anyway. A few hundred people in attendance for the afternoon and we three were the ONLY Caucasian spectators. That can't be right, I look around again.
Oh.
Yes, its right.
What does that mean? Are we encroaching on territory we have no place being? I study the faces & mannerisms of the crowd. No, I wouldn't say that anyone feels (or, at least, shows outwardly) that we shouldn't be there. I begin to feel self conscious, why? I notice that those who are standing on the sidelines, enjoying the show and not necessarily because there weren't enough seats (because there were) were men. Absolutely no women whatsoever were standing along the fences. Just men, socializing & watching the show. Curious. I didn't know what that meant, if anything. But it got me thinking ... wondering if I was doing anything (inadvertently) offensive. Nobody seemed to think so. In fact when we were leaving, a man asked if we understood the language and what the stories were about. No, but we enjoyed it. And we were happy to contribute to a relief effort.
As we exited, I noticed something that hadn't occurred to me on the way in; the crowd. I thought we were just walking among the train of people to a place of music. Like a folk fest of sorts. I recall that when I did look up on the way over to the stage area, I saw a Punjabi family. Had no idea that everyone around me was Punjabi. It didn't go unnoticed on the out & away from the event.
Two things were reiterated for us. First, how sad it was that we were the only white people present. Second, how brave people are who immigrate to a foreign country. Especially one where they are visually set apart by appearance and not just race, religion, culture and customs. For it is fairly intimidating to be in a crowd and be the visible minority.
It was an odd little experience, not unpleasant, quite adventurous, enlightening and a learning experience. I wonder what our daughter will grow to think of situations like this at different stages in her development. Will she ever have to think like this? One day her innocence will be pulled from her beautiful soul and sadly, yet simultaneously thankfully, this is a necessary evil to better understand humankind.
Is it?
To her it was simply a fun event with interesting people. To me, it came to be more than that, yet in an ideal existence, it really needn't be.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaisakhi
Monday, 3 May 2010
Free Ride
I saw something today that really rubbed me the wrong way. While on the public transit, the bus stopped to pick up some passengers and one guy gets on, in his slippers. That aside, he demonstrates other cues to his intellectual challenges. A genuine person, struggling through his day. He asks the bus driver for a favour, "I was wondering if you could spare a free ride to Bonnie Doon so I can get to my Mom's to get some money?"
The bus driver responds that he can't help him and sends the guy back out into the rain, slippers and all. The challenged fellow thanks him and steps back out.
Fair enough. The bus driver is not here on this planet to solve the woes of the world's disadvantaged.
HOWEVER! Two stops down the road Mr. Slick high school dude with a rock star hairdo hops on and whines about not having his new bus pass this month yet but that he's only going to Bonnie Doon Mall anyway. The driver lets him on. FOR FREE! Mr. Slick rock star hairdo dude leans back, oh so cool, pulls out his blackberry without a care in the world and gets his free ride.
Huh?
That ain't right (as my Dad would often say).
Did the driver suddenly feel remorseful for not having let the first guy on so he lets the next guy on? Did he discriminate? Did he know something about each of the guys that I wasn't privy to? Perhaps.
Should I have spoken up about this (possible) injustice? Who knows. Maybe there was something I was unaware of and only would have made a fool of myself. So what. That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it? Although, had I said something to the bus driver about his seemingly unfair decision to let one guy on the bus for free, who appears not to be disadvantaged, and not the other poor guy ... maybe he'd never give anyone a break again.
This is the everyday of our nonsensical beautiful world.
The bus driver responds that he can't help him and sends the guy back out into the rain, slippers and all. The challenged fellow thanks him and steps back out.
Fair enough. The bus driver is not here on this planet to solve the woes of the world's disadvantaged.
HOWEVER! Two stops down the road Mr. Slick high school dude with a rock star hairdo hops on and whines about not having his new bus pass this month yet but that he's only going to Bonnie Doon Mall anyway. The driver lets him on. FOR FREE! Mr. Slick rock star hairdo dude leans back, oh so cool, pulls out his blackberry without a care in the world and gets his free ride.
Huh?
That ain't right (as my Dad would often say).
Did the driver suddenly feel remorseful for not having let the first guy on so he lets the next guy on? Did he discriminate? Did he know something about each of the guys that I wasn't privy to? Perhaps.
Should I have spoken up about this (possible) injustice? Who knows. Maybe there was something I was unaware of and only would have made a fool of myself. So what. That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it? Although, had I said something to the bus driver about his seemingly unfair decision to let one guy on the bus for free, who appears not to be disadvantaged, and not the other poor guy ... maybe he'd never give anyone a break again.
This is the everyday of our nonsensical beautiful world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
