Perspective and a ripped $20 bill

Winter is back.

Today was cold, so I waited for the bus instead of walking from the train. The bus was late. I was late. Late for an evening to spent by myself, doing the necessary chores of life so that I would have clean, warm, woolly socks for tomorrow. My plan didn't go accordingly.

You may already be able to tell, but I like structure. I like things to be ordered, and I like my evenings to go according to planned. Go home, drop bag, go to bank, take out $20 for groceries and enough left over to get change for laundry. Go home, make soup, put on laundry, study. Put away laundry. Write. Sleep.

But, like I said, the bus was late. And then I took a ripped $20 bill out of the bank.

A ripped $20 bill! Could I spend this? I didn't have the missing part to tape on, and if I couldn't get change, then I couldn't do my laundry and my whole night's routine would be thrown off! Pheewwwwww!!!!

I fretted all the way to Safeway, and still shopped according to planned: $16, nothing more, so that I would have exactly $4 in change left over.

After club card savings, the total came to $15.55 - I know how to shop - and I nervously handed over the $20 bill with an entire corner ripped out of it.

The cashier looked at me - I glanced back nervously. Did he think it was a fake? Should I explain, or would that look like I was trying to cover something up?

"It's ripped," I said, shrugging my shoulders casually.

"I see that..." he replied in an obvious tone. As he put the bill in the register. A few seconds later my changed popped out of the automatic dispenser.

"Wait - can I have 4 loonies please?" I asked taking the toonies that were dispensed and handing them over. "I need to do laundry."

Without answering - what did he care if I had to do laundry - he handed me the requested change and my receipt.

I was home free. And back on schedule.

Part of that schudule involved a five minute walk back home where I could ponder the night's sequence of events, as well as my own apparent neurotic behavior. Beneath the moon-lit early evening sky, it suddenly dawned on me - I freaked out over a ripped $20 bill! But what's worse, I was freaking out over something as mundane as screwing up my routine - getting out of sync with my own reality that I pretend I am constantly in control of.

And then - something much more significant came to mind - I was upset over the loss of routine for 30 minutes, when thousands of Haitians have been living without routine for two weeks. For two weeks, the inhabitants of the shattered Island have been living as raw, unsheltered, uncalculated of a life as one could imagine. What they would probably give for the promise of a routine meal. A routine shower. A routine existence. And they have none of that, just the routine practice of the rising and setting sun - letting in the theoretical day, and shutting light's blinds at night. What they would give for a decent hours sleep on a comfortable bed, in a familiar home, which is something I go home to every night, no matter how unroutine my day has been. I always know there will be a fresh start tomorrow, when I can start over and have a second chance. Buy the groceries I forgot, see the friend I didn't have time to see, or take the minute to relax that I missed. In Haiti - all life is dedicated towards survival, nothing more.

My chance to shift perspective tonight might not have happened had I not finished the last few pages of Sartre's No Exit on the bus on the way home. (I remind myself here, that if I hadn't waited for the bus, I wouldn't have had the time to finish the play). In true existentialist fashion, Sartre's play reminded me that in life, and only in life, I have the unique ability to make choices that affect how I perceive my reality of the everyday. These choices do not only affect my actions, but more importantly, they affect my state of mind, which is important for overcoming the obstacles that life throws at us.

However, the privilege of choice is only thrust upon us with the condition of death. By facing the inevitability of death, we are reminded of life and thus the power to choose our existence.

So today, in honour of Sartre and in hour of Haiti I choose to a life where I acknowledge the unroutine - where I acknowledge my privileged ability to take a day like to take and see it for what it was - special.

In Haiti, the days ahead will be special, but special in a much more challenging way as its citizens, aid workers and government officials begin to choose a new path for the country's existence.

Let's just hope they choose the path of life, but a life that forever remains conscious of the power of death.

What kind of Feminist am I?

Feminism is a concept that I have been wrestling with for many years now, yet have still failed to grasp.

I began university with the idea that I was a feminist - after all I was emerging from a prestigious girls school where I was taught to value my femininity through independence, determination and the belief that I could be anything I wanted to be (so long as that "anything" included being a lawyer, doctor, accountant or business woman). With these strong headed ideals I headed east to university where I believed that I would find my authentic, feminine self and live that out.

My naive understanding of what it meant to be a young female in the world was quickly exposed when I moved into the campus residence, where I was introduced to the stereotypical 18 year old res boy. It quickly became apparent that my interactions with the male sex had been a heavily unrealistic exposure, as I had really only interacted with boys of a similar social stature, namely those to attend private boys school. In res, I was shocked by the level of disrespect I immediately experienced from my male floormates, but what shocked me even further was the fact that their rude comments against my own sex were made with a seemingly unintentional manner. They simply thought they were making funny jokes, and to make matters worse - the majority of the girls responded as if they found the jokes funny.

Well I certainly didn't, and I wasn't about to undo the idea of male-female relationships that I had grown to know, so I did what I knew best and called them out on it. At first my resistance to their "light-hearted" comments (can I even come up with a euphemism for sexist remarks?) was not taken well. I was ridiculed to the point that I sometimes just had to leave the room. There was no hope for turning these minds around - or at least so I thought so.

After a few months, the jokes started to dwindle when I entered the room and instead were replaced with comments that I was present in the room, so careful not to offend the sensitive women. Well these references to my emotional well being initially angered me, I began to see them more as a feat on my part. At least the boys were learning that the jokes they once saw harmless did have a not so humerous impact on at least part of the opposite sex's population.

Eight months after my first post-high school encounter with sexism, I was free of rez, but the effects of this experienced followed me through university, helping to carve a new understanding of my gender's identity in the non-sheltered world of co-ed existence. Throughout university I encountered several incidences of sexism, from remarks by fellow male students in classes who insisted that women have all the same rights as men and should quit their whining, to a personal argument with a male acquaintance who kept insisting the only reason I wanted to debate him was that I eventually wanted to sleep with him.

While these incidences all frustrated me immensely, they have also lent a useful hand in shaping my belief that feminism is still relevant today. The problem, however, is that I'm not quite sure exactly what kind of feminism is relevant.

Framing feminism as the belief that women are entitled to "equal rights of men" is almost irrelevant, considering this belief only works on the theoretical playing field where all players have an equal understanding of the game. Instead, I think it would be much more useful if we re-opened the debate to what exactly we mean by equal rights. Do we mean the theoretical right to be considered equally for the same jobs as men, with the same pay scale, or do we mean the right to be perceived as an equal human being with the same opportunities for self-exploration that men are offered? As a good friend pointed out to me recently, will there ever come the day that we question whether or not the man of the household risks losing his job when the new baby arrives and he needs to stay home? Will there ever be a question as to whether or not a man has to choose between his biology and his right to the pleasures of pursuing a fulfilling a career?

This sudden questioning of the relevance that feminism has in my life was spurred on by a talk I attended tonight about Women and Theatre, in relation to an up-coming performance of Little Women by the Calgary Opera. Through a critical examination of Little Women, this talk started me thinking about my own self from a critical perspective, as well as the type of woman that I want to be. Through my family and high school education I was raised to be an independent, free thinker who should have the opportunity to pursue a professional career. However, as I look back - specifically upon my same-sex education, I can't help but wonder what the motives of such an education was.

Was I truly raised to be what ever I want to be, or was I raised to be a woman in a man's world? Will I be forced to bear the fate that so many women before me have had, to choose between a family and a career, or will I be offered a world where these two pleasures become compatible for a woman?

If I choose to pursue the career which I have been raised to believe will give me utmost satisfaction, do I risk denying the true part of myself that brings true happiness, yet that society tells me will make me weak?

The problem here, which is appearing as I write, is that I am still measuring forecasted ideas of happiness, satisfaction and pleasure against the ideas that have been presented in a male context. I am using society's current measures of happiness to predict a future that exists in an undetermined world.

So, as I head along into the second decade of the 21st century, I can't help but feel that feminism still has an incredibly relevant place in the lives of women. However, rather than reflecting the rhetoric of past decades, perhaps what we need is a new feminism dialect - a vocabulary that provides new measures of happiness and success for new generations of independent and determined young women to make sense of their lives.

Humanity's Tears

Tonight I attended the first in a lecture series offered at the Calgary Public Library entitled "The Refugee Experience." The series, as is offered by its title, attempts to shed some light on the many challenges that refugees face upon arriving in Canada, as well as the few services that are available to assist those with transitioning to their new home.

Tonight's introudctory session cataloged the experience of "coming to Canada" through the eyes of one Calgarian who is one of the lost boys of Sudan. While I was expecting this evening's seminar to be informative and interesting, I did not anticipate the level of emotion that it would be loaded with, but with the harrowing details of this lost boy's journey to Canada, it was inevitably an emotional experience.

This lost boy - Jame's journey to Canada has been anything but easy, but too say it was "hard" hardly provides enough emotion for anyone to relate what he has been to. From escaping the brutal masacre of his home village at the age of 7, to joining thousands of other lost boys on a trek to Ethiopia, where once again they were forced to flee because of brutality, to the safety of a Kenyan refugee camp and finally to Canada, one would think that James finally found refugee in the calm and peaceful land that us Canadians call home. However, James' arrival in Canada became anything but relieving as he faced barrier after barrier in trying to access what he knew he needed most to succeed in Canadian society: an education.

The details of Jame's struggle to be accepted into Canadian society and to receive his right to an education are frusterating to hear in their own right, yet their importance in high-lighting the mistreatment of refugees accepted into Canada are highlighted further when we learn more about the real dilemma of Jame's existence.

After learning that the mother he had long thought was dead is still alive, James returned to Sudan to put her greatest fears to rest once and for all: her own long lost son was alive. Witnessing the plight of his family is hard for us outsiders to witness, yet how hard it must have been for James, who was finally making some sort of a life for himself in Canada, to see.

When asked whether or not he will use his current university education here or in Canada, James replied that he was a committed citizen of Canada, that he had to give back to his community. While his family remains in Africa and his heart may be torn, he believes his duty now lies in his new country.

The commitment this young refugee shows to his adopted country highlights what I see to be a grave ill of Canada's immigration system, which often offers refuge without the support that is needed to make it permanent.

Without assistance for an education, how are these people supposed to survive? How are they to reach their potential? And from what I have witnessed, their potential runs deep, as they are determined to mold themselves into something great - into a human being who has the capacity to turn a situation of grief, poverty and horror into something positive for the new world they have become a part of.

In reflecting upon the way Canada welcomes refugees - and all immigrants for that matter - I was drawn back to a moment of intense emotion I experienced during the movie highlighting Jame's reunion with his mother. As he approached her, she began to flail her arms out, sobbing uncontrollably - as did he when his mother drew him close to her chest. They both cried tears in the same way any human being who is overcome with grief, emotion or utmost relief does. Their cries symbolized the great significance of their reunion, but to me it also symbolized something greater. Their tears also symbolized humanity - the common thread that links all of us, from Africa to Canada, the United States to Japan, from Afghanistan to Australia and to the Northern most reaches of the world. As human beings, we all have the capacity for great compassion, for our loved ones, but also for those that we do not know anything about except their stories.

As I looked around the room during this dramatic reunion, it was apparent that many had tears in their eyes as I did. Those tears of compassion reminded me that we all have the ability as well as the responsibility to care for one another - even if they are not their own.

At the end of his presentation, James reminded us that Canada is a nation with a great capacity to care for those who are unable to care for themselves.

Let us not forget that. And let us not be afraid to shed tears for those we have welcomed into our home to take refugee.

Perhaps those tears will be a reminder of the great capacity we have to care for others. Especially when we adopt those others as our own.

Navigating the familiar

My mother and I often spend time arguing about the importance of traveling.

I sit traveling as an opportunity to open your eyes to new experiences and reach into different aspects as your soul.

My mother sees travelling as a frivolous waste of time that masks personal entertainment under the guise of "cultural experiences."

While my initial reaction is to disagree with my mother - "you just don't understand," I tell her adamantly, "You grew up in a different world." I've grown up in the age of globalization, cheap trans-Atlantic flights and with a much richer palet that is well versed in the world's rainbow of culinary treats. I grew up in an age when many students post-poned their first year of university to take off around the world on a personal mission to find themselves in Europe, or try to gain a deeper understanding of the ills of the western world by visiting Africa. For my generation, it is almost expected that at some point in your 20s, you will embark on a voyage that will take you to the other side of the earth and back. Traveling has practically become a resume requirement, as more and more businesses and organizations are seeking out those youth who understand how the globalized world works and who have a deeper respect for the values of diversity and multiculturalism.

I myself am tempted by these arguments. I plan to take off in the next year or so to have my own array of cultural experiences, but as much as I love to argue with my mother, their is also an element of truth to her argument that I cannot deny.

As more and more young people set their sights on leaving Canada to fix the ills of the world, there seems to be a growing disconnect with one's own city, or country for that matter. While people my age love to brag about their knowledge of the unfortunate in Africa, ask them a question or two about the travesties facing their own city and they are likely to have a response. As more and more young people turn their attention towards fixing the developing world (and not to say its not in good conscience), I can't help but wonder - who is left behind to critique the practices of the governments here in Canada? Who is here to take initiative on the issues of poverty and homelessness in Calgary?

This is one question I have asked myself in the past, and one that I also use to keep me in check with reality as I dream about fixing all of the world's problems.

I'm not sure why it is that young people have such a desire to turn their altruistic efforts towards another country, but perhaps this desire has something to do with growing up in a globalized world, one where we have always had access to the world's problems through television, but more importantly through the internet.

The benefits of living in a globalized world also has it downside - for not only have we grown up in the age of McDonalization, but we have also grown up to the tune of sweat shops, child labour and now an increasingly hostile sector of the world that seems to think the west is to blame for all the ills on the planet. Perhaps our desire to flee the comfort of the western world has something to do with the sense of guilt that lays stuffed into all the conveniences of modernity that we tend to enjoy.

While this theory (and yes, that is all this is, a whimsical theory from one of those confused young people whose sense of duty is divided across the planet) may hold some truth, I think that its important for young Canadians to realize that it is not everyone's duty to find their calling in a land five timezones away. Instead, if we just remember to look around, to recognize the plight of our fellow citizens, there are also plenty of opportunities to make Canadian cities better places to live.

And, improving the quality of our cities doesn't simply amount to feeding the poor. It also includes the duty we all have to enjoy the spaces we exist in and the people we interact with.

So, the next time I am day dreaming about the endless possibilities that are waiting for me across the sea I'm going to stop and think of all the endless possibilities that lie waiting within the city around me.

You never know what you might learn when you meet a stranger on the street. No matter where you are in the world.

On Avatar

Yes, yes. That's right - I gave into all the hype surrounding James Cameron's new block buster hit Avatar. So shoot me, but before you do, at least let me justify my position and provide a little critical feed back on the film.

If I had only seen the trailers for Avatar, then I probably wouldn't have been lured into the magical commercial spell the film appears to be casting. What really got me interested in the film was reading a selection of reviews/interviews as well as speaking to several acquaintances who gave some pretty convincing arguments to see the film.

I was primarily drawn to see the film for the critical acclaim it was receiving for its apparent critique on the state of the modern world and our continued destruction of the planet. So, pushing aside the obvious hypocrisy surrounding the film's gross budget I ventured out to see this apparent masterpiece - in IMAX 3D mind you.

Settling into my decent, but not fantastic, seat in the theatre, I prepared myself for a mind blowing experience while listening to the excited chatter of the audience as they tried to justify to their friends why their seat was in fact the best seat in the house. (I guess after waiting over an hour in line up requires some sort of justification). I slipped on my over-sized imax goggles, but as stylish as I felt there was one more thing to remember. After studying communication studies for four years in university, it was become almost impossible to watch a film with putting on my critical media lens. So quietly, not to disturb the hype and anticipation that surrounded me, I slipped on the good old critical lens under the guise of a 3D experience.

Avatar was no doubt an experience that involved being fully engulfed by a magical forest world that closely resembles the eco-system we might commonly associated with the bottom of the sea. Jelly-fish like spirits that float lightly through the air, stopping only to mark the spiritial importance of a chosen individual; trees that come alive with the spirits and the voices of the past; and a serious group of aliens who believe strongly in the importance of their version of mother nature, and who will stop at nothing to protect their beliefs.

Amongst the many undertones of the film, I definitely sensed the confrontation between faith or belief and reason, as well as a lurking criticism of the western world and its exploitive history. While I applaud Cameron's efforts to expose the "true nature of the west" and provide a warning against the destruction of planet earth (what, we are destroying the earth through the depletion of its resources...really, who knew) - I fear that any depth to this film is simply swallowed up by the complete hollywood-ization of its ideas.

There is a true sadness to be felt in watching our fellow man destroy the indigenous population of an imagined planet, however, I think a more important question to be asking here is where was the sense of sympathy when the colonial powers of the old world did the same to the indigenous populations of North America?

From one glance, it looks as though Cameron has taken the history of North America's indigenous populations hostage in order to make his next big blockbuster; however, on the other hand, perhaps Cameron's purpose is not to reflect the past, but rather to provide an alternative interpretation of reality.

What if things had gone differently? What if - like in the film, the indigenous populations of North America, and the world for that matter, had won the right to protect the resources that belong to the earth - not to man or the world's greedy corporations. What would the world look like today?

While it is useless to look back and wonder, there is room for us to look forward with such optimism. Optimism is definitely needed if we are to continue fighting for what may turn out to be our most sacred and important right - the right to stay alive on this planet that we call home.

However, optimism is also the lens I am speaking through, as in order to believe that this film can have any profound effect on society, I must abandon the critical perspective. While those retro IMAX goggles look much cooler than a nerdy critical lens does, I believe their is a greater danger in their ability to distort reality. For a film that has great potential to shock society into understanding the dirty secrets of success simply becomes a commodity. Entertainment that shocks us, not with its message, but with the excessive of entertainment, that masks any hope for true critique with the lure of a 3 dimensional experience.

Life is like a box of chocolates...

As Forest Gump once famously said...you never know what you're going to get.

While I agree with Forest, I have also recently learned that life is also very similar to a game of chess, because you never know what your opponent's next move is going to be.

Through existence, we are often ill fated against one dominant opponent, and that is life itself. No matter how much we plan and set goals we will inevitably always face a number of obstacles that show up just in time to ruin the party.

I was only able to draw the comparison between life and chess very recently, as I just learned to play chess over the Christmas holidays. After only five games or so (at which I was beaten very badly), I began to reflect on why I was loosing so badly. The answer to this question brought me to a much deeper conclusion, not just about myself as a chess player, but rather, myself as a player in the game of life.

I approached chess with the same attitude that I approach life with: a very structured, presupposed attitude. Each time, I thought I could beat my opponent with the master plan I constructed in my head before hand, however, through each game it became more and more clear that one cannot win the game with a plan, because this plan, inevitably, always excludes your opponent's moves.

Instead of being proactive, it seems as though chess is better played by responding to each of your opponent's individual moves. It may be possible to anticipate some moves, or even try to distract him from what you are really plotting in your head, but in the end the game will always been won unpredictably.

In relating back to the game of life, I am beginning to understand that those people who win at the ultimate game are likely to have a more reactive attitude towards life. They are the ones who are able to respond to upsets and challenges by seizing the opportunity to learn something new and move on to the next square.

Learning how to shift my own perspective is definitely a challenge I have been struggling with for months - if not years. I have always been a planner, and thus have often been the victim of failures, upsets and disappointments. Not to say that everyone doesn't have disappointments, but I think the blow comes much harder when you always expect that things are going to turn out exactly how you planned them. They usually don't.

As I continue on my journey to find my own winning strategy for life, I am going to hold faith that the chess board has something to teach me in the mean time. Once I have finally figured out how to beat my opponent, then maybe I'll be on the road to having a better understand of myself and my relation to the world.