Antonio's

The gospel according to Saramago...

2010-06-18T18:22:00.000-04:00

Saramago has died. A good reason to awake my dormant writing. His words have inspired me for a decade now, since I first read The Cave. His craftsmanship combined with the wisdom of he who sees beyond the surface, and manages to reach the core of the fruit without destroying its beauty, has left us today at 87. Poignant, relevant, critical of this world but intimately in love with it, Saramago managed to raise important questions about the open wounds of the human condition, our creations and destructions. A great loss because his words will no longer procreate. Yet a great gain because he was… because he existed, and left such a legacy behind him. He won’t be going to heaven because he didn’t believe in it, he won’t go to hell because it is too small for him… he’ll come back as a tree, as Cipriano Algor, or as the man with the black eye patch, or as the seeing woman or simply as the cellist, who surprisingly will not die!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/José_Saramago

Feb 13 Strasbourg and the legacy of Gutenberg!

2010-03-12T14:57:00.006-05:00

Au Crocodile has been passed on through many generations and now hangs, lifeless, from the ceiling of the Strasbourg restaurant bearing his name. Dinner is not cheap but it is flavoursome, très français, very ceremonial, and surprisingly light. I could type up the menu but that would mean more delays on posting this blog entry. I’d rather upload a photo of the St. Valentine’s carte du jour!

Strasbourg, a European Union capital in the Alsace region was built on and around water. Its canals trick you into feeling like you're in a “bike-less” Amsterdam. A nice mix of German and French cultures make it clean, conservative and interesting. Wikipedia says that the city's name has been “Gallicized” from a Germanic origin meaning "Town (at the crossing) of roads". Gutenberg might have been inspired by this busy intersection when crafting the most influential invention of our modern times… the printing press. He lived here for a while. As a crossroads, Strasbourg was a pleasant surprise in my transition between Africa and the former Soviet Union.

The Hotel Regent Petite France where I stayed is a modern gem built within old walls, tastefully renovated and relatively inexpensive compared to what you can get in Frankfurt for double the price. Another restaurant I savoured was Les Deux Gourmandes. Smaller and family run. A cozy living-room-type bistro, equally reptile-friendly, detailed and as full of ritual. I love the French eating pace. One can spend hours at the table without the pressure of humming waiters asking cliché questions such as: “how are you guys doing?” or “here’s your bill but don’t worry, whenever you are ready” …right! In Canada tables are often double booked thus one is expected to leave shortly after the last sip of coffee… Not in France… it is like “you stay, you enjoy, we take our time as well… life is rude but belle!

My selected book for the moment, pretty much in tune with Valentine’s weekend, was The Lover (1984) by Marguerite Duras. I have read the two versions of it, one in Spanish and the other one in English. The Lover was written in the form of an autobiography as the young Duras narrates in first-person. The Lover from Northern China (El Amante de la China del Norte), released concurrently with the film version, was written in film script form and in the third person. I enjoyed both. Duras is sharp, short sentenced, extremely detailed in single terms and in bold observations. She says it all in petite sentences like: "Very early in my life it was too late." Definitely one of my favourite authors. When I visited Saigon (Ho Chi Min City), I endlessly thought of the way Duras described food, colours, steam, humidity… wow, that was a genius showered in sweat in the expanding borders of "French" Indochine!

Feb 11 - Ghana

2010-03-07T12:50:00.005-05:00

Despite the infernal heat, the drive to Cape Coast in Ghana was my gift from the gods. And my companionship: god’s angels. How lovely the people, how cordial, how thriving, how inspiring. My friend BG was right. The coast is natural, ages old with fishing villages by its shores and hunters on the road selling rodents (some smoked, some still breathing). Gospel on the radio and Nana, my group leader, telling stories about religion, traditions, politics.

We stopped at the University of Cape Coast to talk to students. Impressive. The sculpture of mother wisdom feeding her child caught my eye. I also found bright smiles that tell you stories, colourful fashion, elegant talk. I was treated very well. I was told that is how officials treat foreigners... often better than locals. I used my “foreign-ness” as a charming way to grab their attention… and to invite them to come to Canada with me. We then visited boarding schools, for girls, for boys, private, public, wealthier and not so, uniformed, organized, old enough to be soon celebrating their first century.

On the way back, we visited one of the various fortresses or castles used to gather slaves before shipping them away. Most of them were Portuguese but this one was Dutch. A bit dilapidated, although recently renovated, it sits as a silent reminder at the top of a hill in the midst of a crowded neighbourhood. A tired-looking man in his forties is the key holder. As we walked into the small dark rooms where people from the region were ‘herded’, I felt my pores jump and my eyes pour. And there was that “door of no return” through which stolen generations of men and women walked off their land and disappeared onto the ocean… under the supervision of greedy traders and the ambitious colonizers of the Americas.

I come from Africa too. I felt at home in Ghana. Colombia is also a multicultural society where races have mixed again and again. It is difficult to trace one’s heritage. We are an amalgamation of Europe (with all its combinations and permutations), Africa (mostly from this region of the West Coast) and from the local sedentary inhabitants of the land, rich Aboriginal families (Muiscas, Chibschas, Quimbayas) who lived on “Pacha Mama” for centuries before Columbus. I’m sure African blood runs through my veins… I felt it in the beat of my heart drumming as I saw the boat makers make boats and followed the waves that bathe their bare toes…
Back in Accra the bi-colour cabs buzzed. There were ads welcoming Obama in full smile along John Atta Mills, the Ghanaian president. From North Ridge where I stayed (at the Alisa Hotel) to the steaming streets of a city with a large football stadium, I melted with the inclement sun but suffered no pain. For the first time on my trip I saw traffic police. I noticed that my driver uses the emergency break instead of the pedal break to stop and the highways are divided by fence-like barricades adorned with chicken wire to ‘encourage’ street-crossers to use pedestrian bridges. Along the road I saw big markets, informal vendors. They sell wedding dresses, iron bars, stereo speakers, fridges, evangelical churches, remedies for tumors and other malformations, food.

As we listened to the radio there was a catchy tune that I started to whistle. Nana, Collins and Cynthia laughed. What do the lyrics say? I asked. “Give me a quarter, I'll forget all my sorrows and I'll pay you tomorrow”. It refers to getting a shot glass of ‘akpeteshie’, the 40% alcohol local gin… that helps one forget about the daily burdens so that tomorrow never comes…

I missed the akpeteshie. If there is a tomorrow, I must return to Ghana for my quarter.

Feb 6 - The Lion and the Jewel - Lagos

2010-02-15T12:11:00.005-05:00

With the challenge of technology comes this delayed video from Lagos... no, it was not filmed at the beginning of the 20th century. My writings and postings have been as slow as uploading these videos onto YouTube. I am now in Ukraine... a lot to share. This video was shot on February 6

Unlike Chinua Achebe who has an Ibo (Igbo) tradition from Nigeria's South East,Wole Soyinka has a Yorùbá cultural heritage from the Lagos region. He was the first African to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1986 for his extense work. In 1959 he published his comedy The Lion and the Jewel which I depict here. An amusing short play filled with colour, sense of space and creativity.

Feb 7 - The Blowfish Hotel - Lagos

2010-02-10T18:59:00.004-05:00

Blowfish expand like globes. They are cute water versions of porcupines. Nevertheless, I would have never expected to stay at a hotel with this name. I did in Lagos. Everyone locally calls it the Blue Fish, it sounds more pristine and inviting. I agree. I have never scratched the surface of a blowfish but I imagine surprises. That’s what I have found at this relatively small boutique hotel in the heart of Victoria Island. It is so secluded that it has no sign on the door (apparently you pay a lot of money for such signs in Nigeria); so one enters the place like a secret guest through the garage front door.

Bright pink external walls, the Blowfish invites you with its furniture, its many bellmen, porters and other uniformed staff. Wow, it seems like it is going to be a good stay! Oh, wait a minute… my newly assigned tiny room hasn’t been cleaned, it looks like somebody just got up… and the toilet, oh no… what happened? Not a nice welcoming ceremony. Ok, after a few minutes, the baby-looking manager with an Arab accent comes to my rescue. He apologizes a million times and ‘upgrades’ me to a corner room where I can actually walk a bit. I like the windows facing the street and I settle down for one night. The internet is not working… but it must be down for now, maybe tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes. I cannot even see the wireless network on the list of available ones. I’ll have to live for 4 days without access to my inbox. My consolation, phones and blackberries work just fine.

I find this hotel a resemblance of the two extreme realities of our world. On one hand a very wealthy elite who “enjoys” the benefits of good food, fine shelter, and a social life. On the other, the vast majority a nation (and many nations), working hard to please that elite, trying to make ends meet (sometimes at whatever cost).

The Blowfish administration is trying to fill the gap between those ends. Good luck! And here we are, westerners, asking for lotion in the bathroom, clean water, reliable internet… when I complain about the service I am left with this bitter sense of guilt inside… How can I dare to ask for more?

The same combo goes for luxury cars driving on dirt roads and the poorest people talking on cell phones. We forget, I forget, how this is, because in Canada things seem much different. Although, we can always scratch the surface, and dig a little deeper to find out that the poor will always be there and be more than we imaines (ask the organizers of the Vancouver Olympics). We are sitting on a very privileged chair in a small dining room. Although… chairs can always tumble and fall…

I wrote this in the silence of my secluded fortress:
“In the open night, abandoned at their mercy and with no tail to rid them of mosquitoes, two men lay down on a straw mat. Instead, they scratch their legs with their toe nails. Their dusty sandals as pillows. The heavens as the infinite end they could sink into. They try to sleep. They toss around while the palm trees hardly move. The only street light in their faces is a reminder of the cement floor on which they try to rest. They are lying on the backyard of a big house besides a shiny Land Rover. The humid air weighing on their shirtless bodies. They evaporate in sweat. Rub their chests with naked hands. Once in a while, get up to pray… on the same mat. They kneel and stand, kneel and stand with silent prayers. They also play with the keypad on their cell phones. They call people and throw laughs around in retaliation. They seem restless. They go out onto the road to shake hands with other pals. They piss on the walls. I see them through the window of my air conditioned room on the third floor. I wonder when they are going to start the next revolution. And I see motorcycles stop. People chat. Passing cars give me snapshots of life with their beam lights. I see hollow roads, and moving shadows that bounce around. I hear ghosts of the past; I see spirits of the present. And they talk with loud enthusiasm and even smoke despite the pressing heat. But the sounds of engines swallow any singing”.

Requirement of the day: reliable internet and laundry.

Feb 4 Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (Posted in Accra Feb 8)

2010-02-08T18:48:00.007-05:00

I am finally in Lagos. A bit tired after a long day. The city welcomes me with the humid heat of a port. The Virgin Nigeria flight was short, calm, full and relatively on time. Adekoya waves at me with the Canadian Embassy sign. He will drive Tushar (a colleague) and myself to the Blowfish hotel. Vendors on the street, blowing horns, taxi drivers wave some kind of an ID at us. We drive through the crowds as if we were celebrities. A huge green billboard displays a beautiful woman and a Nigerian flag. It prays: “Be still and know that I am God”. This city is anything but still: Women carrying kids beg through the traffic, many sell water, a young girl signals cars to stop as she crosses the busy road with a tray of fruit on her head. Welcome to the buzzing Lagos, largest city in Nigeria.

Soon after we drive out of humanity to enter a long highway… It could be Buenos Aires, Shanghai, Ho Chi Min City or anywhere in India as Tushar states. The road is bumpy but steady and we advance like a sail boat in the sea. As we get off the free way we enter a higher-end neighbourhood, we see a mall, we pass by the higher buildings and end up across from a garage door: That’s the blowfish; almost a pension, a boutique hotel.

P.S. I just Watched the video and noticed it didn't upload properly... darn... I can see it well on my computer. Oh well... Things Fall Apart, what better conclusion...I'll try to fix it soon, for now I think it is fun!... Cheers).

As I wait for a chicken and avocado sandwich in my room, I lose faith in blogging tonight. The internet is not working. Neither was my first room. They assigned me one that hadn’t been clean. The benefit of my complaint was an upgrade, but it came with a price, no internet on sight… I have also lost my faith in recovering my camera. The local Lufthansa people told me "it had not been found". I hope whoever has it, can do wonders with it. It contains my latest video from the Frankfurt-Abuja flight… where I was sharing the clouds with all of you. What can one do? Just move on. My webcam seems to be in conflict with YouTube and I burnt a converter last night… I just hope I can share my Nigerian books with you before I depart on Sunday.
My chicken and avocado has arrived. And as I am starving I will stop for a little while. The fries are very salty but my palate doesn’t seem to mind.

Feb 2 Fela Kuti and my journey to Abuja - Nigeria

2010-02-02T17:58:00.007-05:00

Some technical difficulties and a loss… but here I am. I have arrived in Abuja, capital city of Nigeria. It is my first time visiting West Africa. As we flew over the Mediterranean sea and entered Africa through Tunisia and Morocco (waving to my friends P+B)... my interest in the dessert grew. The flight satellite image looked like this massive extension of yellowish/orange land that ended on a green bank… Nigeria. Desserts are maegestic (Sheila, you should follow your dad steps and tell us that story...)
I am a bit sad because I left my video camera on the plane. That means that I may not be able to video blog the way I had planned. The unexpected happened… I was just wondering what everything had gone so smooth… I have this idiosyncratic believe that there’s always a stone in the shoe… perhaps because I know how distracted I can be. I can pack the perfect suitcase and forget the most important item from my list… oh darn!
So far so good. Entering Nigeria was simple, friendly, easy. Yes, it was warm but manageable; and the Canadian embassy people were there waiting for us. I got a new phone SIM card and exchanged some US into Naira. Two things I forgot to bring: a 3 leg converter (those which look like fridge plugs) and my iPod charger. The hotel is ok, and the Tuesday’s seafood buffet was great as well as the local beer, Star. I can hear the reggae like music on the different patios. I swear I heard Spanish Salsa music on the elevator before. I am now fighting with the internet connection for the service to work. It did earlier on but now it is simply dead… and I called the front desk to ask for assistance and they promised to call me back… 10 minutes ago.
I slept on the plane and listened to music; but also finished my first book by a Nigerian author. I shall talk about it tomorrow. It was fun. I also started a play by another famous Nigerian author (clue: he has one of the most amazing hair-dues... can you guess?). I can already see some similarities between the two storytellers.
What does this city smell like? Hard to say. It’s a combination of smells: the air conditioning, fried sweet plantains, sweat combined with expensive perfume, liquor, serene forest breeze. What does it feel like? It feels like things work but at their own pace. People are way friendly but extremely laid back. They do their minimum possible as not to stress and assure you everything is going to be fine. I kind of like that. They are pretty, well groomed, some men tall and strong; women play with their hair and their hips. They greet you as you pass by, but not with the Asian ceremony… it is more like a next-door neighbour type of attitude.
Fela Kuti (from Wikipedia) was born in 1938 and left this world in August 1997. He was a Nigerian multi-instrumentalist musician and composer, pioneer of afrobeat music, human rights activist, and political maverick. He's been my friend and travel companion since S and I watched The Visitor a couple of year ao. Here goes excentric Fela!

And of course, the movie of the day: The visitor (2008) directed by Thomas McCarthy. If you've watched the TV series "Six Feet Under" you will recognize Mr. Richard Jenkins who plays cold Professor Walter Vale.

Feb 1 Is God dead? Nietzsche and my Frankfurt stop-over

2010-02-01T11:35:00.004-05:00

I land in Frankfurt before dawn. I see snow on the airport tarmac for the first time. I had never been to Germany in the winter-winter. I am surprisingly not as sleepy as I should be. I cross customs with ease and walk to the train station instinctively. I've been using this route for quite sometime now and know my way quite well (although this airport seems to be under constant construction). Germans are friendly at a distance. They look at you with neutral eyes (they may wonder about your existence but won't hesitate to show it).

As I walk on ice to my destination I decide to stop at a corner on kandleStrasse... to shoot. My question of the day is a controversial one, that some of us may dare to wonder about at times... is God dead? or is he/she alive? Nietzsche got into this dilemma and he stated it in "Thus spoke Zarathustra", a slightly complicated read, that as most philosphical accounts, leaves one with more questions than possible answers.
This novel was published between 1883 and 1885 and besides its remark on the "funeral of the deity" it also deals with a theme I found amazing at the time: the "eternal recurrence of the same". Inspired by Nietzsche, I wrote a short story that I included in my novel Humanum (2001). It is entitled 'David y su Eterno Retorno'. Thus spoke Zarathustra is much denser and esoteric, Nietzsche uses the style of the Bible in order to oppose Christian and Jewish morality and tradition... an interesting concept.

Dusk is hitting Frankfurt and I am going back home to share with my warm hosts. I'll try to be on my blog as much as I can. I am leaving to Abuja tomorrow before noon.

My tip of the day: the best remedy for jet-lag is a good coffee, a short nap, a couple of tylenols and waiting... waiting, waiting as long as you can before going to bed at night. I'll let you know how it works. Cheers!

Jan 31 Journey to the East - H.H. - Ottawa

2010-02-01T11:08:00.004-05:00

No matter how far a specific date may seem, that day will arrive... time never stops. When I was a kid I used to see the year 2000 as a distant moment in the far future. I knew I would be 28 at the time, and in my mind that seemed like an eternity! Well, the year 2000 came along and is now long gone; in fact, it's been a decade ever since (you do the math).
Days inevitably arrive and the 31 of January, 2010 is now here. What does it mean? My trip to Africa and Russia is imminent.
I farewell Ottawa on a warmer day (-5 degrees). My first destination: Frankfurt, as a via point on my way to Abuja, capital of Nigeria. My author of the day is Herman Hesse, whom I thought to be a pure German but he happens to be a Swiss depsite his Black Forest birth in Southern West Germany. Journey to the East (published in 1932 as "Die Morgenlandfahrt)is a relatively short novel that involves famous characters such as Plato, Mozart, Pythagoras, Paul Klee, Don Quixote, and Baudelaire. They are all involved in this search-for-ultimate truth journey. "Truth" (as we may know) is a controversial word often charged with heavy expectations. Philosophy can certainly theorize about it, and Hesse does it quite well... but the truth about Truth is mirage.
I like journeys. They imply a great deal of learning and adventure. I am about to visit four countries I have never been to. I am glad I am starting in Frankfurt; a place that has become familiar to me, since it is an easy stop on the way to Africa and Eastern Europe. Frankfurt is the hometown of Goethe... another big thinker of our times... wished I had a moment to re-visit "his" house in the heart of the city.
I am a bit tired but not as jet-lagged as I thought I would be.

My tip of the day: Read on planes, it shortens distances and brighthens one's night. If you can accompany it with music... I recommend 'Bose' headsets and a good iPod playlist!

Jan 28 Avatar and the 20,000 leagues under the sea

2010-01-29T10:21:00.012-05:00

After arousing my brain cells in front of the big screen with Avatar, I exposed my head to the freezing cold by walking onto the front entrance of the Coliseum theatre in Ottawa at minus whatever. That’s my disclaimer for “swallowing” the word “thousand” for Jules Verne’s 20,000 leagues under the sea. Instead I said 20!

I loved Jules Verne as a kid. He was a synonym of fun science and fiction. As soon as I could read I was given this beautiful collection of illustrated books and 20,000 leagues was one of them. A Journey to the Centre of the Earth (1864), From the Earth to the Moon (1865), Around the World in Eighty Days (1873) and one of my favourites, the Courier of the Czar, Michel Strogoff (1876), which I will talk about once I get to Russia!

A great number of us have heard of Nemo… but not only referring to the lost clownfish in Andrew Stanton’s film but also for Verne’s Captain Nemo and his submarine Nautilus. If you haven’t read the book … there is a “ride” in Florida’s Disney World with this theme…. And there’s also a movie from 1954... with Kirk Douglas playing Canadian master harpoonist Ned Land(a classic in technicolour)

And I am going to sound old, but I used to accompany my reading with what is now considered a toy: my red viewmaster (created in 1939). Remember the seven 3D stereo images rotating on that paper disk? I had one of the Nautilus being attacked by the gigantic squid (or octopus, according to the French version). ‘Twenty thousand leagues’ refers to the distance traveled by Captain Nemo, and his experience with New York professor Aronnax. They travel from the Arctic to the Antarctic through the seven seas. A ‘modern’ resemblance of Homer’s Odyssey and the ‘revolutionary’ vision of a free anarchic submarine detached from any land-based government (in times were devices of this kind were unthinkable).

Verne has been a best seller in most languages for years (after Agatha Christie); and so is James Cameron, Mr. box office success. I thought I would compare the Avatar of the 21st century to the creative and constructive science fiction mind of the 19th century. Verne’s submarines, balloons, rockets, trips to the centre of the earth and all other journeys… were beyond people’s imagination in his days. Cameron has managed to bring us to a different era as well, connecting the thematic reality of today (military powers, unfriendly-profit-oriented enterprises, endangered indigenous communities) to a modern computer-designed mythology. I liked Avatar… although I found some stereotypes that could’ve been avoided (like the ‘nature-oriented, spiritually inclined, animal-friendly’ portrayal of the Na'vi people). The script serves the standards of a good movie, and today’s technology facilitates the transition between the fragile human bone and the resilient blue flesh. Avatar has magic moments and its use of light and colour is literally ‘fantastic’.

Suggestion of the day: let’s dust our view-masters and have a theme party… stereograms predate digital photos and were a great way to see tourist attractions especially from those places far from our reach.

Jan 27 - Blindness/Ensayo sobre la Ceguera - Ottawa

2010-01-28T12:43:00.011-05:00

No, Canada doesn't have a President... that was a Lapsus Línguae on my video of the day... although, I am sure our Prime Minister would love to become the King of Canada (over our unpopular Prince Charles)!!!! Anyway, Canada is a parliamentary system unlike the US which is a Republic (you do your research).

And Yes, I hate the shiny light reflected on my glasses as well. I didn't have much time to find the right spot for my video entry last night... darn... oh well... it kinda goes with the theme... that layer of shine that may cover our eyes at times, preventing us from seeing.

Blindness is a wonderful essay on human condition and human interdependence. Beautifully written, quite disturbing on occasion, it is impossible to drop it. There are moments when you literally suffer the pains inflicted on the characters. Brilliant work of Nobel Prize Laureate Saramago. This book is my second favourite of his after the Cave. If you don't like reading, watch the movie. If you like reading, go for it... and then watch the movie. I thought the film wasn't going to be as interesting (it didn't get very good reviews in North America)... but it was actually quite good... the audience may not have been prepared to see themselves reflected on the screen! Fernando Meirelles the director (City of God, 2002) is a genius. The cast is excellent... and what about the slightly cheesy ending? Well, we all need some optimism after all... Hollywood endings are more popular than we think.

I like open endings... endings that leave you wondering, that allow your imagination to complete the scene. Those are rare... there's a little bit of that in this book and film (despite the spark of optimism). There is rebuilding ahead, and that is not shown... that part is left for us to reflect on.

I've chose this book because I see how Haiti will disappear from the TV radars soon. After two weeks a catastrophe becomes history... a Wikipedia entry... we will soon forget how the earth roared on January 12, 2010... killing thousands of already impoverished Haitians. We will forget because the earth rotates at a very fast speed. The struggle for survival in Haiti will get shadowed by Apple's new iPad, or by the State of the Union speech... we just throw more rubble on what is dated, and move on... is it nature? is it choice? is it just short-attention span?

Actual news, which is supposed to mean "information on a recent event or happening", is associated with 'media news' (which is what media outlets and media associations, i.e. AP...consider is a 'recent event')... well, if official media newscasts stop broadcasting an event... should we forget about it ourselves? Should we move on to the next catastrophe? This is today's open ending to ponder on...

Tip of the day: We, as citizens have more media power nowadays than we did before, because of the Internet and other social media outlets... let's continue to empower ourselves. Citizen journalism is IN!

Jan 26 El Limonar/The Lemon tree.. a song - Ottawa

2010-01-26T20:59:00.006-05:00

Al saber que muy pronto ibas a volver,
la fuente silenciosa empezó a cantar,
el limonar del patio a reverdecer,
y el jazmín de la huerta volvió a aromar.

Al saber que muy pronto ibas a volver,
florecieron las rosas en el rosal;
y hasta la enredadera de tu balcón,
abrió ya sus capullos todos en flor.

Y están los naranjales llenos de azahar,
y las palmeras vuelven a suspirar,
tiene la primavera una nueva luz,
y es por que ya muy pronto regresas tú

This is a "Danza" song by Colombian composer Rafael Barros became my family's anthem for who knows what reason. There is no celebration where El Limonar is not requested.

The song says, not in a literal translation, that "as soon as I heard the news you were coming back, the silent fountain began to sing, the lemon grove in the backyard turned greener, and the jasmine flowers in the orchard released their fragrance. As soon as I heard the news you were coming back, the roses in the rose bush bloomed, and even the ivy hanging from the balcony had its buds flower. The orange groves are blossoming, and the palm trees are sighing, there is a new light for this Spring day, and it is all because you will soon return".

Lovely words...

Jan 25 - Intimacy and mediated relationships - Ottawa

2010-01-26T09:48:00.009-05:00

I loved this book. and I warn you, it may be disturbing for some. It is very well written, modern... with the sincere confusion of people finding their ways, especially when they reach that middle age... and want to question everything all over again, relationships being one of those items.

Experimenting with my camera and web cam, I noticed the delay in my speech. And how my image, reflected on a computer screen and mediated over and over, resembled that approach to online intimacy. We are close but distorted. We can develop a sense of intimacy because the natural physical barriers allow us to open up to strangers, and yet, we are pixels away, hiding behind the comfort of a screen and a cheap web cam.

These thoughts remind me of two modern thinkers located perhaps at two opposite ends of the spectrum. One is Canadian educator Marshall McLuhan and "the medium is the message", meaning, as stated by Wikipedia, that "the form of a medium embeds itself in the message, creating a symbiotic relationship by which the medium influences how the message is perceived" (you go figure that one)and the other one is Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek (this goes for my friend E)who talks about the impersonal forms of modern life, where we get to "experience" things without their essence... many products are deprived of their "malignant property": coffee without caffeine, cream without fat, beer without alcohol... and virtual sex without sex!

Tip of the day: we may want to revisit the term intimacy but especially its actual sense of existence.

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Jan 24 - The Kite Runner and sharing found books

2010-01-24T13:35:00.010-05:00

By the way, I didn't keep the Kite Runner to myself... I passed it on the same way I found it. When my friend EH moved to Germany I gave it to him as his farewell present. It'd be great to know if E has read it and what his thoughts of the book are. Share your input if you read this blog entry. Let us know how far the kite has flown!

As a kid I used to fly kites. August is the windy month in Colombia. There is actually a very famous kite festival in Villa de Leyva (Boyaca). The fun part was to make one's own kite with string, wood sticks and colourful cellophane... and an old bed sheet that you ripped into strips of fabric for a tale... My own kites never went very far so my family ended up buying me one every year. They of course didn't last very long... they get caught in trees, they fall far off the hill where you're standing, they go flying on their own with a surprising gust of wind or they get stolen... Nevertheless it was so literally uplifting to see your kite flying higher than others, conquering the skies... right before circling and falling. Kites are magic, and the Kite Runner has the ability of reminding you of that innocence of childhood, and also the subsequent fall... when we as youth awake to many other realities we ignored out of excitement.

Here is a the "cheesy" trailer to the movie:

Jan 23 "Pierogies for lunch" and the Prince by Machiavelli

2010-01-23T16:56:00.006-05:00

I had never tried pierogies until I came to Canada, they are some kind of dumpling filled with stuff. When the government of Stephen Harper decided to "prorogue" parliament last year (cancel it/postpone it)to avoid a vote of confidence, the words prorogue and pierogi were matched up. "Pierogies are for lunch" was one of the lines that rally goers scream in front of the Parliament in Ottawa today as we got together to oppose the decision to close the House of Commons until the Olympics in Vancouver are over."Go back to work", "Don't shut democracy" and "Pass that bill" were some of the other popular lines.

Beautiful day to protest, somebody said that Mr. Harper may want to take credit for such a bright day as he believes to be "the king". I don't want to go that far, I'll call it "The Prince" as I choose this book by Machiavelli to be the one of the day.

Mr. Harper may think that "the end justifies the means", but he may be wrong this time. We certainly hope so... in the best interest of the country. It is hard to believe that he represents the vast majority of Canadians.

For more videos on the rally, please visit my YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/alvalle

Tip of the day: Never take for granted that the members of parliament represent us as the people of a nation and they are accountable to us because we elect them and give them the power to act on our behalf.

I'd like to thank Julie Laurin (A first-time rally-goer as well) for sharing her comments with me. This is the first of a two-video story that she's posted on her blog. You can follow her at: http://julielaurin.com/?p=582

Jan 22 - Manufacturing Consent and the conspiracy theories - Ottawa

2010-01-23T00:38:00.003-05:00

The two conspiracy theories are: On one hand... Pat Robertson

On the other one... Hugo Chavez

What's your take?

Jan 21 No book or author of the day - Ottawa

2010-01-22T22:27:00.003-05:00

I like to start by thanking my friends and readers for subscribing to this blog. It is a great incentive. I promise to share engaging moments during my upcoming trip of Africa and Russia. My sister sent me a sweet message today and at the end she mentioned this blog. She hadn't been able to check it out before as her speakers were down. She said "y pues obvio el 12 de Enero tus lindas palabras que me pusieron a llorar ahogada, sos un papasote lindo.Muchas gracias".
Translation: "And obviously, on January 12 your beautiful words that made me breathlessly cry, you are a sweetheart. Many thanks". The 12 was her birthday... it is amazing how we can communicate our feelings through this cold and seemingly impersonal medium...

Keeping this blog up to date is not easy. I like the discipline and commitment to it; but on ocassions I am simply swamped. Today is one of these days. You can see it in my eyes, "mirror of my soul" as a Spanish saying states.

Tip of the day: a few hours of non-stop sleep are much better than many restless hours in bed.

Jan 20 On being a Canadian - Ottawa

2010-01-22T00:04:00.006-05:00

I am actually writing on the 21, a day after the fact. I am tired... it's been an emotional week. I am happy I took the oath. some people at work "welcomed" me to the bunch... I thought I was already in... but I guess it is like being baptized... it gives you a name, a blessing and it prevents you from going to Limbo!

My book of the day is a twofold. One i have read (and learned) and the other one I haven't seen yet. A look at Canada is the booklet I had to read in order to prepare for my citizenship test. It is a very basic recollection of Canada's history... very "sanitized" and somehow outdated. Discover Canada (http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/resources/publications/discover/index.asp#pdf) is supposed to be a "more realistic" How to be a Canadian booklet... we shall see. If anybody has read it, please share. I have attached a PDF version on this entry.

Going to bed now. More on the topic soon. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Jan 19 On the eve of my citizenship oath - Ottawa

2010-01-20T00:44:00.005-05:00

I have watched two movies recently. Youth in Revolt - a Juno-like coming of age movie (It must be the Michael Cera style) and the Living Bones, somewhat cute, disturbing, Hollywood pretty with a good cast. Nothing earth shattering.

The restaurant: The Black Tomato, 11 George Street (Ottawa) in the Byward Market. Great location, good menu, abundant plates although relatively pricey.

Event: Daniel Ghur on Social Media and Canadian Education Marketing

Cultural remark: Russians look severe and may come across as rude, but they are quite friendly and efficient... if one follows their rules. This is a conclusion based on my Russian visa application submitted this morning.

My book of the day" as I get closer to having two nationalities, my choice is How to be a Canadian by the Ferguson Brothers Will + Ian. The book jokes about the concept of "Canadianness" and it is told with grace and asserted humour... from the weird spelling of words, to the use of "eh", to the neighbours of the South and the Canadian symbols. A funny essay for Canucks and non-Canadians alike.

As of tomorrow, God and the Queen willing, I should have two nationalities.

Tip of the day: take risks even if you have to apologyze for mistakes made.

Jan 18 Via Rail and the Fifth Business

2010-01-20T00:43:00.002-05:00

Jan 17 - Rideau Canal and The Kingdom of this World - Ottawa

2010-01-17T16:43:00.007-05:00

My book of the day is The Kingdom of this World/El Reino de este Mundo, by Swiss/Cuban Alejo Carpentier. Alejo is not from Haiti but his story is. He actually grew up in Havana and took exile in France. This intellectual, influenced by European Surrealism, was one of the pioneers of Magic Realism in Latin America. The Kingdom of this World was published in Spanish in 1949 and it is about the history of Haiti before and after Haitian revolution against French colonizers. Carpentier uses the voice of slave Ti Noel to narrate the four chapters of this short novel, not exactly interrelated, but connected as a whole. In the face of disillusionment following independence, Haitians turned to their African traditions and rituals to give their lives meaning... History is an important legacy that can help us understand the present. El Reino de este mundo was published in English in 1957.

The Rideau Canal is Ottawa's waterway. Inaugurated in 1832, this UNESCO World Heritage Site connects the city of Kingston with Canada's Capital city. It is perfectly navigable during the late Spring, Summer and early Autumn... Once it freezes it becomes the longest skating rink in the world (7.8 K). I went skating on it today and it was awesome. You can see families, kids, visitors, volunteers flying over the smooth surface of the ice... mind the bumps though!

Tip of the day: When skating in the Canal (a MUST DO when you vist Ottawa in the Winter time), do not miss a great cup of hot chocolate and especially... our famous beavertales (more on this delicious pastry when I talk about Winterlude!

Jan 16 A Leon de Greiff Feeling - Ottawa

2010-01-16T18:17:00.006-05:00

It is a quiet Saturday in Ottawa. I've been listening to Juanes all day. Leon de Greiff, Colombian poet, visited my mind this afternoon, and his voice called me from within... to recite his poem Relato de Sergio Stepansky. Leon de Greiff was born in Medellin, Colombia at the turn of the 20th century. His work has an invaluable legacy. I had to learn the Relato in the 8th grade for my Spanish class. Quite nervous about making a mistake when speaking, and not knowing where to place my hands, I decided to accompany it with a guitar arpeggio. It saved me and it helped me get the best grade I've ever been awarded, an 11 over 10. I visited Leon's marvelous poem again during my first year at University, and played it once more with the support of my guitar. Many years later, alone at this lonely hotel suite, I recited it again... in a different format.

Jan 15 - Night and Standing by Haiti!!!

2010-01-16T00:28:00.004-05:00

"When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me"

Stand by me - Ben E. King

Que pronto cese la horrible noche en Haiti...

Jan 14 A minute of silence for Haiti

2010-01-14T22:16:00.007-05:00

"No words to say
No words to convey
This feeling inside I have for you

Deep in my heart
Safe from the guards
Of intellect and reason
Leaving me at a loss
For words to express my feelings"

Tracy Chapman: For You

Jan 13 – Haiti and the Pedagogy of the Oppressed - Ottawa

2010-01-13T22:41:00.005-05:00

Redundant as it may sound; mirrors show a reflection of ourselves. The mirrored image often serves as the mental image we have of ourselves. Photography and video have come to play that same role. A friend has called me “brave” for recording myself on camera. Don’t we hate to see ourselves reflected? Our voices recorded? Our “bad angles” photographed? Mirrors and images of us can be “horrific” as they make us self-conscious… However, the best thing about them is that they are not really us (Rene Magritte’s “Ceci n'est pas une pipe" -"This is not a pipe"), they are just a reflection… and reflections can be deceiving, certainly subjective, altered by external components like the mirror itself and the influence of light. But also by internal elements such us our minds, our eyes, our senses. Descartes dedicated part of his life to theorize about the unreliable effect of our senses and the unpredictability of perception.

On today’s video, I play with my reflection, altered by the effect of mirrors. What we see is something similar to what it was, but never the act per se. Paulo Freire, questioned the role of traditional pedagogies and called them “banking education”, information that is not neutral, that serves a system of thought, a moment in time, and that is often deposited in our brains like we deposit cheques in the bank. We call ourselves skeptical these days, but we are not sure of what… paying attention to the way we do things, trying to understand how we see, how we look at things, how we analyze and draw conclusions… is a good path to awareness. And awareness is what we need in order to discern our times and what we are accountable for… now and tomorrow.

Catastrophe is defined online as “a momentous tragic event ranging from extreme misfortune to utter overthrow or ruin”. Catastrophes alter our sensitivity and awake a sense of solidarity. We get in the mood to help, to change, to pray… but we soon get bored, tired, we forget, we move on. Catastrophes can be like mirrors, reflections of a horrific moment in time… but not the real image, not the embodiment of the course of history (the before and after the event). If we could only dig deeper and unearth what lies beneath?

Thought of the day: Haiti has been perceived as the “cinderella” of the Americas, impoverished and caged in its own misfortune… but the beauty of its people, of its nature, of its history, combined with the strength of its roots can change the course of history…and soon shine. I believe I’ll see it in my lifetime.

Jan 12 – Earthquake in Haiti and the Life of Pi – Ottawa

2010-01-12T23:45:00.003-05:00

The force of nature is like death, unknown and absolute. Death is like a thief that comes in the night, unannounced, and so are earthquakes. I have experienced a few of them in my life, the last one in Tokyo, Japan in 2008. Colombia, located in the Pacific rim of fire, is prone to tremors. Growing up, I woke up to several of them. The strongest one of my era occurred during Easter Thursday 1983 in Popayan, capital city of the state of Cauca in southwestern Colombia. On January 25, 1999, at about 13:00, an earthquake measuring 6,4 on the Richter scale destroyed the city of Armenia, in the central coffee region. We felt it very strongly in my hometown of Cali, a 4 hour car ride away. That afternoon I flew down the Buga-Tulua highway towards the epicentre, with food, water and blankets. I did not think much about it. That evening I stayed with a friend’s family and shared the event with thankful survivors. The city was destroyed, dark, cold, still in shock. It was hard to move through the debris… but of course one doesn’t think about more dangers when a huge catastrophe such as this one has hit a community… what can be worse?

A 7 degree earthquake just hit the already depressed half-island of Haiti today. My thoughts are with the Haitians. Bravery and strength, support and determination are necessary to rebuild Port-Au-Prince and the morale that has fallen with this tragedy.

I can’t think of a tip of the day.

Jan 11 – For the lack on an entry permit – Ottawa

2010-01-12T00:35:00.003-05:00

On Friday I was told I would soon become a Canadian citizen. Today I got a phone call telling me that I do not qualify for a visa to Kenya. One welcoming message and one not so… I am glad I am not basing my self-esteem on visa policies; otherwise I would be in a mental health recovery clinic right now. My first visa rejection came at age 8 when my aunt and uncle wanted to take me to Disney World. It was all overcome at age 12 when I was able to meet Mickey Mouse with a group of other Colombian kids my age. My next big hiccup came in 2000 when my Opera Prima was released in Spain and I traveled from New York City to Madrid via Lisbon. The travel agent reassured me it was just a transit. For the Europeans it was a port of entry and I soon faced deportation. “I just want to get to Spain” I kept repeating “I have no interest in Portugal”. Well, their best solution was to send me to Switzerland, to enter Madrid through Zurich, a non- European Union city. I was late but I made it. And I liked Spain so much that I went back to live in there soon after. One fine day my friend E and I decided to visit the City of Light. We bought coach train seats to Paris and prepared ourselves to sleep. Everything went well until we crossed the border with France. Soon after we were waken up abruptly and escorted out of the train, through our sleepy shame. They asked us for the names of “Mon Pere et Ma Mere” (still don’t know why) and then drove over to Spain, where they just “welcomed us back” and asked us to leave the station and find our ways. Two in the morning, cold late spring in northern Spain… San Sebastian was a closed city that could hardly greet us. The only place to stay away from the winds of humiliation, a phone booth.

My very last two bitter entry experiences happened in the Tanzanian border last summer and in Seoul, South Korea this past November. One was more negative than the other. But I won’t tell it all, because it’s time for bed and the Kenyan chapter is not yet finalized.

My book of the day, the Bell Jar should be followed by the movie, Sylvia. Gwyneth Paltrow incarnates this American confessional poet of "undeniable" talent.

Tip of the day: visa denials are not personal rejections but glitches in foreign policy standards.

Jan 10 - The Move - Minto Suite Hotel - Ottawa

2010-01-11T00:38:00.006-05:00

At some point we need to move. Sort through our stuff, get rid of stuff, pack it and take it away. Today was moving day. From my condo to a hotel suite in DT Ottawa. Reason: hmmm... A toilet seal broke in my bathroom, water leaked through the plywood, the wood got rotten and all of a sudden, one fine day, linoleum tiles and the hardwood floor in our room bumped up... result: we not only had to fix the plumbing issues but we needed to have our floors re-sanded, because when new wood comes in, it is impossible to match the colour unless you do the whole floor again. I live in a loft, and the floor is connected from room to room. I'll be out of my place for two weeks. It's a bummer but it almost feels like a vacation. I don't mind hotels, and although this one looks quite "classic" (let's say), it is ok... I have decided that I like its laundry room and its solarium: facing west towards the War Museum and the Ottawa river.

I am planning on taking the bus to work tomorrow... well, I should say later on this morning as it is almost 1 am right now. It will be interesting. OC Transpo 95. That will allow me to read, if I get to sit down. There is a book I want to start in preparation for my Africa trip.

Tip of the Day: Squeeze in some exercise on busy days, it always helps your body recover faster from the demands on your time and energy.

My book: the ABC of Art - My last minute Restaurant: Shawarma King, Bank Street Ottawa... a life savior. Today I've been in the mood to listen to Caetano Veloso, beautiful voice from Bahia, Brazil. One of my favourite scenes in Almodovar's Hable con Ella (Talk to Her) is the scene where Veloso sings Cucurrucucu Paloma. A classic. His music has also been featured in another movie favourite, Frida.

Here it is Caetano Veloso a la Almodovar!

Jan 9 – The Word of the Decade – Ottawa

2010-01-09T23:15:00.010-05:00

Morning coffee in hand, and sunlight shining through the stained-glass fortress on my window, The Ottawa Citizen tells me that the word of the decade is “GOOGLE”. Wikipedia states that the name "Google" originated from a misspelling of the word "googol", some kind of a numerical formula followed by a whole bunch of zeros. The verb "to google" was added to the Merriam Webster and the Oxford English Dictionaries in 2006 and it means "to use the Google search engine to obtain information on the Internet”… don’t we often say: “Google it?” I registered my first email with hotmail over a decade ago when I was still living in Colombia and working for a small NGO where we had dial-up Internet. It is amazing how the Internet has changed our lives. Growing up, when I had to answer difficult homework questions, my “modern” tool was the phone. Once my personal encyclopedia and the Larousse dictionary failed to provide me with the answer I was looking for, my grandma had to call her friends to ask their kids if they knew what the “light blue stripe” meant of the flag of my province, or how many children had Columbus had. It often worked… those were the earliest stages of “social media”.

I was reading in an article the other day that in times of Francis Bacon, “knowledge” was power. Some researchers think that it is no longer the case as we can have access to anything we need to learn. “Knowing” things is not as valid anymore because one can easily “google” meanings and find almost any if not all answer(s).

Chosen movie: Tom ford’s A Single Man. Book: Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.

Tip of the day: when you have some time, google the expression “knowledge is power” and share what you find.

Jan 8– The Citizenship Oath – Ottawa

2010-01-09T01:23:00.004-05:00

I wanted to be transparent, go back in time and record dreams. One could do so many good (and bad) things with these powers. I still believe a machine will be able to record dreams at some point in time. Filmmakers could eventually produce their own movies by plugging in their brains into a computer. Nevertheless, we would also need to train our cerebral nerves to control those dreams… and that’s a different story. My friend N says she was able to control her dreams in the past, not anymore. I didn’t ask her how, but I found it interesting. What I am writing is actually inspired by an MSN chat we had right before I started this posting. I was telling her how I got my invitation to take the Canadian citizenship oath in less than 12 days… exciting… and then we got into dreams!
What does it mean to be a Canadian? That’s a tough question that transcends maple syrup, maple leaves, hockey, curling, beaver tails and polar bears. It is not only about Celine or Shania, Atwood or Burton, Rogers or Loblaw, the Barenaked Ladies or the Group of Seven, Macdonald, Pearson, Campbell or Trudeau… it is not about the weather or the vast extension of the land (from sea to sea to sea)… it is about the people… Canada is a true mosaic of entangled talent… of survivors and negotiators, adventurers and thinkers, low key, laid back, low profile, ethical, cold friendly… but, above all, diverse. Canadian population is complex. Faced with the need to populate the land, the nation has embraced millions of new immigrants. Once an Aboriginal land, the French and the British settled in and formed, with all its difficulties a bi-cultural society where assimilation was imposed. But it moved on, and reviewed its books, and rethought its course, and opted for multiculturalism, pluralism, inclusion. Today’s Canada is Aboriginal, bilingual and multifaceted. Can it be better? Of course… but I have not been to other place on earth, where differences are cherished and embraced with such humbleness like in this beautiful land. Yes, I am proud of becoming a Canuck… and to wave the red maple leaf alongside the Colombian tri-colour. I was and have always been a Colombian… but I am and will always be a Canadian from now on… long live the Queen, eh!

Jan 7 - Theory of mile dependency - Ottawa

2010-01-07T23:42:00.003-05:00

My taste for traveling may be due to a geographic tongue. I didn’t ask for it. I came with it. That’s what my dental hygienist said tonight during my regular teeth cleaning session: “Did you know you had a geographic tongue?”. Apparently, it runs in families and the cause is unknown. I also have a sore arm for a non natural cause. My travel doctor shot me twice this afternoon for tetanus and meningitis. That’s what traveling does to me. I am not only genetically predisposed to it but also addicted in the kinkiest of ways to the extent of becoming a pain-seeking masochist. The idea of vaccination is to obviously immunize me from greater threats, but one has to like it, I must admit.

I am a nomad. Tracy Chapman sings it beautifully in “I used to be a sailor”: I don`t like being stationary, she says, I like the rocky wavy motions of the sea… By definition, nomads cannot stay in one place. I may be a pastoral nomad, often looking for better pastures. But the industrialized era has made us sedentary and war has forced people away from their land, often again their will. Being a nomad becomes a spiritual metaphor, a desire more than a fact. I like to move trying not to become an island, not to park my boat, not to get used to my padded walls.

Jean Barman is a Canadian Historian from British Columbia and my chosen author of the day. Her book is the first non-fiction one I have recommended since the start of the year. Stanley Park’s secret is an eye opener, the bones and flesh underneath the perfectly mowed pastures of a graveyard. Every big family has a best-kept secret. The city of Vancouver has its own, and it lies along one of the most beautiful evergreen parks in the world.

Tip of the day: walk, jog, bike, skate along the 22 k (13.7 miles) of Stanley Park’s seawall… It’s amazing!

Jan 6 Orthodox Christmas Eve – Reyes – Ottawa

2010-01-07T01:30:00.003-05:00

It is believed that three wise men brought frankincense, a form of incense, myrrh and gold to this nativity scene. Charged with symbolism, these gifts have remained part of an old tradition. Interestingly enough, these types of elements are found in Yemen, at the moment “demonized” by our Western societies. The Magi or three kings are celebrated in some parts of the Catholic Christians today as the Orthodox Christians commemorate Christmas Eve.
As the day fades, I fade along… and I want to end this short note with my book of the day, referenced on my video. Nobel Prize Laureate Ivo Andric tells us a story about the construction of this ambitious project over the river Drina in Yugoslavia… and how the town of Visegrad celebrated differences with humbleness and overcame obstacles with bravery… coexisting with the realities of its time and “bridging” heavy pieces while embracing life. A jewel!
Tip of the day: Airport body scanners are a political move to look good to the public, there’s very little they can do.

Jan 5 From Cosco to Vincent Lam - Ottawa

2010-01-06T01:07:00.006-05:00

Warehouse/wholesale stores lack personality. They shine in the glitter of massive packaging designed to make you spend more with the promise of helping you “save in the end”. For lack of a better plan, I ended up in Cosco tonight aiming to buy their triangular multi-grain bread, a bag of almonds, peanut butter and maple syrup. The list grew as I walked down the bursting aisles… razor blades, limes and detergent appeared “magically” in my shopping cart… it was too late to have some “passport-size” photos taken upon departure… $6.99 for four… a great deal. It’s almost double at Shoppers Drugmart.

Recipe of the night, Lima bean salad.

Ingredients:
A bag of frozen Lima beans (rinsed and dried)
5 chopped cloves of garlic
Powder chili peppers
Cilantro to taste
Half a lemon
A cup of black olives
½ a cup of Olive oil
200 g of Bocconcini

Mix them in that order and enjoy!

My chosen book: Bloodletting & Miraculous Cures by Canadian Emergency Physician/Writer Vincent Lam.

Tip of the day: If you get a negative comment about a particular behaviour of yours, don’t over-react… make the necessary adjustments if feasible… and shine through the darkest clouds… that’s where the clearest water drops come from!

Jan 4 - Ghana High Commission – Ottawa

2010-01-04T22:26:00.002-05:00

I read on a few Facebook status entries today that” it was hard to go back to reality”… and reality in that context meant: getting up early to return to work. Reality may suck but every day is reality. The truth is that we have to get up in the morning no matter what… even if it is to face unemployment, to care for one’s children or to enjoy a longer holiday. Getting up this morning wasn’t so bad… it felt almost like that first day of a new school year (I was even wearing a brand new sweater).

In the afternoon, I welcomed a pleasant surprise. I got my visa to Ghana from the High Commission! If all goes well, I should be in Accra in early February attending an educational fair promoted by the Canadian Trade Commission. I have to admit that I don’t know much about Ghana. From recent current affairs I know it is the homeland to former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan and that it served as a stop point for President Obama during his first African tour. I could Wikipedia it for more tips but I’d rather discover facts on my own soon… those that can only be experienced in situ. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghana

Today’s book: Divisadero by Sri-Lankan/Canadian Michael Ondaatje. My chosen movie: Broken Embraces (“Abrazos Rotos”) by Spanish director and scriptwriter Pedro Almodóvar. I watched it in April 09 along with my friends P&B in Palma de Mallorca. That night we lost our only house keys. Did not find out until a few drinks later and upon driving for several km into Alaró where P&B live. One thing was clear, their windows are theft-prove. Back in Palma and overflowing frustration, we ended up spending the night at the house of P’s mom. But happy endings happen and ours took place at lunch time the next day when the administrators of the movie theatre confirmed the janitor had found our beloved keychain. Lost & Found stories are way more fun when the latter precedes the loss. Despite its drama, Broken Embraces also leaves a happy scent in the air… a la Almodóvar: filled with colour, irony and dark humour (Stephanie Meyer could gather some ideas from Harry and Diego’s vampire story: Dona Sangre/Give Blood). It was inspiring to watch it once more, this time at the Bytowne theatre … Ottawa’s pride and only alternative cinema (http://www.bytowne.ca)/...

Tip of the day: If you like Almodóvar’s work, you can rent Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and compare it to Broken Embraces. If you do, please let me know what the key is to a great Gazpacho!

Jan 3 Home - Ottawa - Canada

2010-01-03T22:29:00.005-05:00

The holidays are over and it is time to set the mind for work. I am enjoying this experience of blogging as I review my day. I know there are going to be busy days when I will have no time to shoot a video or to write... I hope to have the discipline to catch up. This will make more sense at the end of the year when I can look back.

I had my annual physical today. Results are great. Blood pressure: 121/78 almost ideal. It’s snowed on and off in Ottawa and the roads are slushy. I had leftovers for lunch but decided to cook for dinner. Saša barbequed some pork shops while I baked my second-ever gužvara.

Ingredients:
350 g Feta Cheese
350 g Philadelphia
4 eggs
A glass of Club Soda
½ glass of grape seed oil
The rest is a family secret.

TV series of the moment: Brothers & Sisters (3rd season). My chosen author Portuguese Nobel Laureate Jose Saramago and my fauvorite of his, The Cave.

Tip of the Day: Get a physical!

Jan 2 Chateau Frontenac – Quebec City – Canada

2010-01-03T16:09:00.003-05:00

La Ville de Québec was founded in 1608. It recently celebrated 400 years of existence and resistance. This walled city, one of the oldest European settlements in North America has remained a symbol and a beacon for French Canada. The Château Frontenac is an imposing hotel within the old city overlooking the Saint Laurence river, la Citadelle and the famous plains of Abraham where the British army lead by General Wolfe fought French General Montcalm (neither one lived to tell about it). The Château, ‘the castle’, was inaugurated in 1893 as another stop point along the Canadian Pacific railway.
As I shop at Simons along rue Saint Jean, under a constant fall of snowflakes, I remember meeting 'Bonhomme' during my first and only winter Carnival in 2004 at -35 degrees (http://www.carnaval.qc.ca/2010/fr) . 'Le Carnaval' is a freezing excuse to visit Quebec in the winter time.

I love this city for its preserved history, for its surprising jewels, for the randomness of its curvy streets. It's got style, it tells stories. One can easily entertain in ghost tales, war stories, and narrations of heroes and princesses along with political disagreements, younger revolutions and the contemporary evolution of the French language. The past smoothly meets the present while the youngsters sunbathe on the edges of the fortified city walls and the horse carriages tour visitors right behind an electric bus. In every season, this UNESCO World Heritage site is worth a visit.

Tip of the day: I recommend the “3 Quick & Easy Walking Tours of Old Quebec” guide. Each of the three tours starts at the Samuel de Champlain monument. You can request the guide at the Maison Historique James Thompson (47, Rue St. Ursule). Greg, the owner, is very nice!

Jan 1 Auberge Saint Antoine – Quebec City – Canada

2010-01-03T15:24:00.006-05:00

The Saint Antoine (my patron) is the kind of hotel that gives you decoration ideas. Excellent use of space. Its theme: archeological findings. The auberge has exposed foundations as well as these neat glass cubes within the stone walls displaying “recovered artifacts”. I bid farewell to 2009 with a 6-course meal at Panage (chef executif Francois Blais)… Saint-Sylvestre menu: Duck Foi Gras with Pear and Almond (Vin Gris semi-sweet L'Orfailleur, Canada 2006); Atlantic Scallop with New Brunswick Caviar Mousseline Sauce (Villa Bucci wine, Italy, Reserve 2004); Liquorice Perfumed Veal, sweetbread with Rosemary Sauce and Lemon Pulp (Lithos la Clape, Fench wine, 2007); Nunavut Wild Caribou "En Panade de Cepes" with Porcini Mushroom Mustard Sauce (Ernie Els Wine, Elizabeth Els Vineyard, South Africa, 2004); Organic Blue Cheese "Le Bleu D'Elizabeth" with Candid fruit (In Pincis Wine, Agricola San Felice, Italy 1997); Chocolate, Cigar and Rhum (Ron Santa Teresa).

And before I could start the countdown (distracted by those 5 glasses of wine and a shot of Venezuelan rhum), the New Year was upon me. Personal resolutions: can’t think of all but I’d like to cook more and exercise the art of eating slowly. In addition to my gourmet ambitions I’d like to attempt a photo-video project that involves this blog. My job as an international marketer and recruiter for Algonquin College in Ottawa requires much traveling. I constantly meet prospective college students from around the world and try to lure them to Canada. As I visit all these places, and meet interesting people, taste local foods, I plan to record my personal impressions. A year in snap shots. I aim to quote local authors and explorers who have written about those places while I add my notes as the voice of a curious onlooker. In a previous life, or in the core of my alter ego, I was or have been a writer… my blog shall serve as the window to my personal take on our intriguing world.

Today’s author is Quebec City born Claire Montreuil (1914), popularly known as Claire Martin. Martin is a winner of the Governor General’s award in 1966 with La Joue Droite ('The right Cheek'). Her autobiography "In an Iron Glove" (Dans un Gant de Fer) narrates her nightmerish experience at the Ursulines Convent in QC.

Tip of the day: Quebec City, La Ville de Quebec is a place one must see in this lifetime.

I guess people read my blog

2009-03-31T10:00:00.003-04:00

I've had two interesting reactions to my comment of Dan Halton's Montreal Protest coverage. I never thought anybody read my blog. Interesting. I guess it is a public display... another form of media. That makes me think of Yoani Sanchez in Cuba, and her Generation Y blog... a window to the world, a way to "hang your dirty cloths out in the public sphere".

I am glad debate is being generated somehow. That we as viewers, and public in general, have a say on what is being presented to us on the news... it is a principle of democracy.

I just hope my comments don't become problematic. I don't have the power to face corporate interests.

Beauties and Beasts: there is always more than one side...

2009-03-19T18:58:00.004-04:00

"The monster of Amstetten", the Austrian Josef Fritzl, was condemend to life in prison today. I could almost hear the clapping of the media followers... "Yes, burn the monster!"

Interestingly enough, this world needs monsters for the rest of us to "feel better about ourselves". Monsters are cruel, wicked and inhuman creatures. They display psycho-pathologies that sit at the extremes of the spectrum. They are "what we are not" or "what we fear to become". They need to be pointed at, taken out of the bunch, segregated, sentenced to death because they are poison, bad weed, malice, perversion.

Josef Fritzl did committ "serious crimes", those perfect capital sins, sweet desserts for a sensational media feast. Hungry photographers harrased him around the courthouse to capture his evil nature and reporters drooled over their computer keybords while narrating the list of human rights violated by the monster, the beast, the raper, slaver and murderer.

Why are we obssessed with such "creatures"? is it their uniqueness or their similutude to ourselves? Is it our fear of them or our fear of being like them? Our hunger of such details is almost pornographic... it generates excitment and sells quite well in the shock value, attention-grabbing market.

I have an idea. Monsters are clear examples of what "we shouldn't be". They are easy targets that remind our society what happens when we misbehave. They are warnings of how justice can implacably reach the violators, grab them and punish them. Monsters cause chaos, and we don't want chaos, we want order, we want good people, obedient people that behave, follow rules and orders, respect others... wackos and outsiders should be taken out of comission, caged... so we can exhibit them as samples of what has gone raw.

We often centre our attention on the weak and vulnerable, meaning the ones who have suffered the impact of "monsters". The monsters don't matter, they are monsters, and they have to be treated as such... their remorse is non-existent... remeber, they are monsters... And what about their mental health?... hmmm.. that's an excuse to let them go free... and be careful... they are dangerous!!! What about our social responsability in their acts? Well... there is no such thing, it is all about individual actions, we cannot take charges for what other people do...

When "mosnteres" arise we hardly ever take a look at ourselves... we don't look inwards, we search outwards... Hardly ever societies take resposability for the "success and the failure" of individuals, or try to understand differences, or consider the beast as much as the beauty... isn't that the paradox of such tale? That there may be the "haunted soul" of a human being behind those beast-like features? Beauties and Beasts form part of the Black and White world we love to believe we live in... but our societies also produce many grey offspring like the ones conceived from the incestous relationship between Fritzl and his daughter Elizabeth.

Austrians (and with them us all) may prefer to identify ourselves with the "victim" than with the agressor, because it sounds and feels better to be the tortured beauty than the raping monster.

Society: all the bridges that you burn may come back one day to haunt you!

Dan Halton: Show me the other side of the story!

2009-03-15T23:54:00.003-04:00

I just watched the first segment of the CBC's Sunday show and I am disgusted. There was an anti police brutality protest in Montreal today, and as expected, police showed its brutality against the protestors. What are we viewers being shown? Only how "brutal" the protestors were? The police...hmmm... they were just protecting innocent bystanders and vulnerable businesses? Fine, the protestors threw bananas at the police (and some stones), they set fire to garbage cans and broke some VIP corporate windows... let's say they "should be penalized"... but come on mr. journalist... show me the other side of the story... have at least one protestor express his/her viewpoint... don't only ask police their view, they will always find a way to justify violence... I expect a right wing agenda from our government not from our national broadcaster. I am skeptical enough about news and the distorted power of media, but don't give me such easy reasons to justify my claim... trick me a bit more so I can generate debate, try to confuse me, make me believe you stand on every side, that everybody has a voice... don't be so obvious...

Shame on Dan Halton for such a poor report. His background in Political Science and Masters in International Relations should give him deeper insight into the core of news stories...

per secula seculorum?

2009-02-09T18:32:00.004-05:00

I just read a story on Eluana, an Italian woman who has been in coma for 17 years. She died today while in the Italian congress her life was in debate. Mr. Berlusconi (cheered by the Catholic church) was trying to pass The “Eluana law” that prevents hospitals and families to take "a person's life away". What is life, I ask? What makes Eluana’s life… a life? There is no universal definition of life. Scientists define it in broad terms to avoid unequivocal assumptions. If life is defined in relation to a natural course that exhibits certain biological processes and chemical reactions, Eluana’s life would be considered “artificial”. If she has been attached to a machine that feeds her and breathes for her, and her brain is completely or partially damaged, and she’s been asleep for almost two decades in what science calls a "coma" (a state of “deep unarousable unconsciousness")… how is this type of life not artificial? Should the state decide on these matters? How long is too long to wait for an awakening? How short is too little? “We” (the people) should have the right to decide on our own bodies and lives. What happens to our bodies after we "die" should not be regulated by the State (or by others). If these machines did not exist she would’ve died a good number of years back. How can the Church, and their believe in an Almighty God, apply “scientific” technology to their convenience and deny it when it suits them? The life of Eluana becomes a “diversion”, but not as a past time or amusement but as something that distracts the attention of the public from bigger issues. Eluana’s body is not tight to an artificial machine anymore, it will disintegrate as the rest of her once did.

The Reader

2009-01-31T16:09:00.002-05:00

Kate Winslet's eyes spoke their language. She has the ability to mutate from an unconventional housewife living on a Revolutionary Road into an illiterate lover linked to the dark passages of Auschwitz. And she has the ability to get excited, and excite us, with the verses and lines from universal masterpieces that enter her ears and trigger her mind with pain, lust, sensitibity. Scarce moments of delight and a life journey filled with puzzle pieces that would hardly paint a clear image in the end. Reading and writing as a route to connect to the outer world when one is imprisonned (literally and metaphorically).

A question arised, what is it that reading offers that audio-visual cannot? my answer, when reading, a voluntary action that requires an intimate effort, we get to paint our images and recreate characters in our minds... audiovisual gives us painted pictures as we watch passively...

De tú a tú

2009-01-31T15:56:00.000-05:00

Dice la niña, hoy una amiguita cumple años y mañana otra amiguita cumple años pero a la otra amiguita no le tenemos sorpresa, ¿tú sabes qué le podemos dar? Ella es vanidosa, tres cosas que a ella le gustaría, tu elijes, la número uno es una lámpara brillante, la dos una bufanda peluda con espejo y con gafas de plástico, y la número tres, déjame pensar, un bebé.

- Yo le digo, si yo fuera la niña vanidosa pediría la lámpara brillante (para verme mejor).

- Bueno ya me tengo que ir, dice la niña, mi pregunta es, ¿cómo se inventó la nieve?

- La nieve es lluvia que se congeló en un día muy frío.

- ¿Cuál fue el primer hombre que descubrió el fuego?

- El fuego es un rayo que cayó sobre un árbol en un día de tempestad, el árbol se encendió y los habitantes de la región, donde vivía aquel árbol en llamas, se llevaron cada uno un pedacito de fuego a su casa... lo pasaron de unos a otros por años... hasta que alguien se inventó los fósforos...

- ¿Quién es la primera persona que descubrió a Rusia?

- Rusia... hmmm... ahí sí que me corchaste... vamos a tener que investigarlo juntos.

- Bueno chao, dice la niña.

- Chao, que tengas una semana llena de sorpresas lindas.

Revolutionary Road

2009-01-29T14:58:00.003-05:00

All roads should be revolutionary. I find that some of us loose hope as time goes by. Schemes and paradigms become the barriers we want to build instead of break. We become accommodating. We fear that drive that once enticed us to do meaningful things... that passion that wanted to change the world. I once packed up my few garments, sold off my scarce goods and embarked on a 10-year journey. Today, when I am about to reach a harbour the temptation is there to take off again. Why not? I'd love to yet again jump in the water and swim away. Along these years I have found companion. My significant other is not an anchor, he's a wing, a fin... we should not stop here, we have a longer journey ahead of us.

We've been watching some of the 2009 Oscar nominated feature films. Everybody talks about Benjamin Button, another recycled Forrest Gump (1994) with a more interesting premise and Slumdog Millionaire, A Bollywood soap opera with great camera shots and 2004 born-into-brothels-like characters aimed at breaking some Academy members' hearts. My choice is Revolutionary Road... scheme-breaking... well done! (in recipe and flavour)... so far my favourite above Doubt (Seymour and Strip are great but so what?) and Freeze/Nixon (Too predictable, too "beginning, climax and happy end")... we'll see what happens with The Reader.

I like the name!

Blindness

2008-10-08T15:06:00.003-04:00

Poverty and violence walk hand in hand. Fear and social madness are one wall apart. I recently watched the movie "Blindness", inspired by Jose Saramago's Ensayo sobre la ceguera... An interesting portrait of human condition under social and physical pressure.

As our well-praised capitalist economy is crumbling and its evil daughter, the stock market, is plunging not only in the States but worldwide, some old communist must be celebrating... "it is the end of the empire as it's known", they may be saying... and perhaps, they aren't wrong. Things are changing and they ought to. It is time to revisit our view (and the needy-greedy rules) of the financial system, reconsider the vulnerability of the free markets and the wonders of a corporate world, not as safe and sound as once portrayed. Blinded by easy cash flow while exploiting non-renewable resources has led us to a crisis that Western governments are trying to bail-out. Would the expenditure of the hardly earned tax-payer money do the trick? I think our actions, as civil society, should go beyond this desperate measure... we have a chance to review the books and think this over. The market, as well as "the empire", are no longer safe... nor are we and our environment. Before this whole crisis unravels and the heart of recession awakens more violence, we should continue to listen to alternative voices that have been setting off the alarms of "danger!" for quite some time now. Sadly but true, the only "triggering passives" that seem to be affecting the political spectrum of this world are the purse string and our empty pockets... the rest is ignored green rhetoric. I'd hope that green means yet to ripen.

I saw a snake!

2008-07-29T21:24:00.001-04:00

I did my afternoon of stair cleaning at the cottage. This time I did the front entrance (the wood steps). And then went down until I reached the storage room. What I basically do is rake, get rid of autumn leaves, get rid of grass and wild herbs. I was a bit tired, especially of the black flies. I had repellent on but it wasn’t enough.. they found my unprotected spots. It is the buzzing what “bugs” me the most.
I then trimmed my head’s hair a bit with the machine. Just the sides as I looked like a patriot. Swimming comes next but when I got down to the lake I thought I should go for a pedal boat ride. The lake was calmed like a pool. The rock looked inviting. So I pedaled with the sun on my back. The temperature went up to 26 today. I got to the rock. I tied the boat to a ripped orange rope that was hanging from a tree, jumped into the water and swam to the area where it is easier to access the diving part of the rock. I was all excited like a little kid who’s exploring a mystery island. I went up as much as I could barefoot and checked the boat, I was afraid the orange rope would not be strong enough to hold it… but it was there waiting for me. I then heard the grass move. I am used to the sound now because I hear chipmunks all day. It was a snake. Black and yellow, rather long, sticking its red tongue out. I found it amusing but a bit scary. I wasn’t sure if it was poisonous, it may not be, but I didn’t want to try… I jumped in the water right away. It felt great… and I wanted to try it again and again. I went on the rocked and walked up. I saw the snake rolling down again. A bit closer to the bottom of the rock. I would say it was close to a metre long and middle body rather thick. Thicker than the rope that tights the pedal boat. I didn’t feel like seeing it again so I jumped from a higher point this time. Swam a bit, got on the boat and swam back against the sun.
Lovely. Today I’ve seen a wood pecker, a beautiful blue jay and a snake . There was something in the water on the way back but I couldn’t see what it was because I had the sun in my eyes. It was on the surface for a while and the dived in and disappeared...

Summer shower

2008-07-25T17:35:00.002-04:00

I hear this whispering sound of leaves being blown by the wind. But there is no wind. It is a sunny day, birds are singing, there is no sign of disturbance. And suddenly the rain. Out of nowhere. Full. Thick. Steady. Falling over the trees... refreshing… watering the flowers on the front deck. I sense there is a cloud over the house. Like in the movies… it only rains in that one area where the scene is happening. I am part of this bucolic scene. And I am imbued in it with its magic but protected under a roof. It pours freely. It stops, leaving a transparent mantle on every flat surface. And then the wind. It must’ve blown the grey cloud away. It will do its trick elsewhere.

Devon

2008-07-23T12:01:00.005-04:00

My Devon is a growing gentleman. He's come a long way... he can reach altitudes now and jump and swim in this world that has challenged his path with tremendous obstacles. But he's managing thanks to his inner determination and his new family environment (where he's taken care of, understood, supported). We went swimming last weekend and crossed the pool a couple of times. He can dive into the deeper side and knows every life guard at the community centre. He proudly introduced me. Also gave me some of his drawings, a math text with excellent results and told me he had drawn his family and home including me. More than I could have ever expected. We met in August 2005 and have been "big brothers" since. I'd love to take him to Ottawa someday and do a few rode trips with him as he gets older. He reads and writes now so it is easier to communicate. When I told him I wanted to go for my doctorate degree, he said, he too wants to become a doctor. I pray for that day!

The Joke...

2008-07-23T01:52:00.003-04:00

... a very serious thing! His first novel.

Reading Kundera again is going back to my own origins as a writer. His pedantic knowledge and the singularity of his characters fascinate me. Love stories full of political sense and existentialism. Happy to see commonalities with my latter story... a man who returns to his native city after years in some kind of exile... and an allegory of history... as a role player. I am lacking "the love element" in my tale... and I should be inspired by my own love story... that inner light that is shinning through my eyes. My book marker is a photo of S on that Thai boat that took us scuba diving around Phuket. When I look into those eyes I see a universe that knows no limits.

It's time to go to bed.

It's over

2008-07-22T01:42:00.003-04:00

"Happiness is finding another world to live in, a world where you can forget all this poverty and tyranny. Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world" Orhan Pamuk

1:38AM I just finished reading Snow with tears in my eyes.

Naked Truth

2008-07-17T18:43:00.002-04:00

Wreck Beach is a cult. It would be easier to sell Vancouver away to corporations, including the Olympic Games, and to all those international real estate investors than to close down this nudist paradise. It smells of pot, mushrooms and booze. Any kind of prejudice is gone when you put your underwear away. It’s got its own rhythm: the alpha males doing dirty work, the feminist carrying statements on their privates, the vendors with an infinite variety of products, the old, the homeless, the fat, and the kinder. Not everybody goes there to show off, but there’s a bit of chauvinism in those who pass by you jogging. It is impossible to feel intimidated though, when you are also part of the big zoo.

Just going up and down the well-maintained staircase is worth the effort. I loved it! That ocean breeze visiting untouched spots, the image of that Asian elder wearing a bathing suit (or should I say parachute) up to his diaphragm; the shaved ones, the tattooed, the shy ones, the curly woman who cuts hair or gives massages, the blond model holding her stilettos, the guy on a blackberry conference call, the couple flirting, the chubby girl that screams “finally free”. What a morning! Too bad I was burning… otherwise I would’ve stayed for the concert night. A huge pilgrimage of wreckbeachgoers was arriving as I left the borders of that ecosystem. And yes, tourists come to take pictures. As I hit the street, a group of six “un-tanned” Korean girls asked me in broken English where the wlek bitch was! Follow the crowds, I told them as I pointed my finger into the bushes…

Metastasis of Thoughts

2008-07-15T17:11:00.001-04:00

The moon had given up on me. My tides became arrhythmic. My zodiac sign found me no longer predictable. I was abandoned to my own faith as if no god felt the need for my prayer. My sacrifices were in vane. Nightmares were black flies all over my orifices. Left alone to choose I went blank. It was easier when the future was foretold. I could effortlessly see when my action was a sin. I could beg forgiveness and plead a second chance. But the internal voices have vanished. Destiny is no longer the wind that blows my boat. A universe of possibilities is pouring rain of stars. I ought to decide. Swim to the bottom of my core. Hold my breath. Opt amongst that cosmos of potential actions. There’s no crime, there’s no judge. Everything is feasible. The door is open to this infinite garden where the sweet and the bitter, the poisonous and the sour grow. I am to sow, collect and feed my soul. At times I wish I was told what to do so I wouldn’t have to be the master of my emotions. But I’ve been freed and freedom is the scariest thought. A borderless outline is a blank canvas with no frame as boundary. I am to paint with my own colours. I am to draw the picture and pull it out of its cave.

Unwritten Poems

2008-07-13T16:08:00.002-04:00

Poems marinate in hope.
The morning has been shining like a lost mirror in the grass. I sneeze intermittently and it feels endless. Dirty plates are sitting on the table from the night before. I blow my nose and wish the day had started earlier. I overslept. I am waiting for an unwritten poem to descend from heaven or ascend from hell into my brain. I haven’t written poems for a while. I was told I wasn’t good. But reading about Ka and how poems visited him, I remembered how they used to visit me when I was unaware:

I burn the edge of a thread of hair
It curls and smells
It sparkles and lights
It sounds like a drop of water
sprinkled in hot oil

Vancouver

2008-07-11T18:20:00.002-04:00

Days in Vancouver smell of tangerine, herbs and sea breeze. Nights spread azalea and yeast aromas. I like the rainforest, the greenery it provokes and the sempiternity of Spring. The humidity it craves, the ecosystem it forces or sustains. The mountains that not only make the dull prairies abrupt but also retain the clouds that turn into rain and into life. It is the best temperature in the country and this atmosphere enlightens the lives of many who seem happier, fitter and more relaxed. In Vancouver you are greeted, talked to, acknowledged. The growing architecture is mixing with a blend of nationalities. There is a surprise waiting for you in any corner. It's got its flaws, of course... but as it isn't a pretentious place it may recognize them sooner than later. It's become expensive, a bit exclusive of its own but it's got all the potential I haven't seen in any other city in recent years.

Therefore, my days in Vancouver have been bright. I've gone through the hassles that brought me here. My first week has gone by. I feel relaxed, connected, fulfilled. I should end this night with an acrobatic orgy at Cirque du Soleil. Greta and David will join me. At a sunset on Kits' beach the other night, I thought that dusk looks even better when you return. We take for granted the seagull flight or the friendly smile until is gone. I will continue to worship this city until it proves me wrong.

I am a rat

2008-07-10T14:04:00.002-04:00

I am a rat. A water rat. Deserted in the West and praised in the East. A rodent of sewers, a wise animal. When An Min gets on the car he tells me: You are 36, you must’ve been born in 72… you’re a rat. Yes, I confirm. Don’t know much about it… but I do know I am rat.. Sleazy and tactful… I can smell raw flesh miles far. You’re wise but stubborn, he says… and you’ll have money some day… focus… stay focus! Hard for me. My mind always goes in every direction. What else? I ask. Wear green, and blue… or beige… it’s safe. He goes on to talk about other elements of my sign. His accent needs concentration and I loose it at times. I go off to the wealth I would gain some day. A lot of fortune tellers have predicted it; I don’t quite see it yet. I see myself full of resources… I’ve done more than I ever thought possible, I’ve been to places far, far away… but… I often struggle to reach that state of balance… but, I’ve found love… and it is my source of inspiration.

My neck is sore. I stretch it throughout the drive while Min goes on. He’s a PHD student at Ottawa U: economy. He’s got a Masters in Physics and a bachelor in Math. He must be smart, he should be rich… he’s humble. An Min’s wife and three kids live in Toronto. An Min lives in Ottawa… he has for the past ten years. I don’t ask about his arrangements… it’s not my business. He tells me that his son, 16, is great in math. Vietnam is still a patriarchal society. The father owns the wife, his kids and his kids’ kids. When his father died, his mother became the head of the family so she owned Min until he got married. Then he freed himself and owns his family. He’s a great mathematician and must know a lot about economy, but is his wife who handles the money at home. It is tradition he says, we men don’t know how to deal with it. I give her money, she gives it back to me when I need it. He must’ve married when he was in his early forties. He’s 58 now… born in 1950… a rooster. He was imprisoned and learned how to work with wood. He escaped communism. First to Indonesia, soon after Malaysia and Singapore, then Canada. Here for 20 years. A Canadian citizen. Wow, I understood all that! His voice became familiar as the highway 416 brought me to the 401.

He’s brought two kinds of bread for me to choose: Red bean or coconut? I go for the latter… I must have palm tree sap running in my blood. He’s had a hot dog stand... he's seen it all. Veteran of the war, dislikes the Americans, does not hate them… but hopes they pay. They are paying for their sins in a way, I say. He’s a catholic, he knows about sins. Vietnam, a colony of France in times of Indochina. Threatened by China but never feared them. Destroyed by the Americans but holding the pride of having defeated them. Vietnam, a growing nation with fantastic Pho. An array of beliefs and religious syncretism. I believe in God but not in religion, he says… Nevertheless, he knows the Catholic church across from my building in Ottawa. It used to be Vietnamese, but they overgrew the temple… they sold it to the Koreans. I don’t like this Pope, he sighs… he’s too human… and he visited the enemy in Washington. How could he? After all the killings in Iraq… Benedict didn’t condemn it… he’s after power, not with the poor.

I posted an ad on Craig’s list looking for a travel partner. Min emailed me. I charged $40. He bargained; wanted to pay $25. I settled for $35… the price of gas is high. I used to fill iup my tank with $40, then $50, now almost $60. $50 takes me to Toronto. $35 was a good deal… though, when I dropped him off at the Eaton Centre in downtown TO I felt guilty. I should not charge you, I said. He smiled and left. He will email me again and invite me for a vegetarian dinner. I would bring the wine.

The Revolt

2008-06-30T09:41:00.000-04:00

One fine day the people of Larsa got tired of enjoying the fruits of freedom and democracy. Not that they clearly knew what these two words meant but they did feel that there were discrepancies somewhere along the way between the written representation of the terms and the implications attached to them. In a figurative way, and since almost all their government speeches had become a sole metaphor, once the harvest had arrived and it was time to collect the produce, the crop was found bitter and rotten.

The day had come when nothing was as presented but made believed as such. “It is as obvious as when they tell us that the world is flat even though we know it is round”, said Eliades, “and we see it flat though it is clearly round”. The truth, which significance had changed over and over for the past decades, was purely a fabrication, like any other product of the financial ruling system that the State of Larsa had embraced for as far as anyone could remember. But wasn’t it okay to create and produce as there was not other way of surviving? Surviving wasn’t enough, they wanted to live… but fear inundated their glands and it was released through sweat and tears. No one had ever hesitated to question the operations of their society because, all of the answers had been provided and as they had well learned in school, “when wondering arrives then close your eyes and count to ten as you pray”.

“We need to start all over”, said one of the elders while meeting in a barn. No one replied. The elder himself did not know where to start as his life was almost reaching an end. And the rest, if they happened to contemplate any idea that would help them exit the crisis, they were afraid to express it as they were induced to control their thought. “It is clear”, said Eliades, “if a fake reality has become our daily routine, let’s make them believe we are not aware of it while we come up with a plan”. But the walls had ears and the news boiled the venom that ran through the tentacles of the medusa. The early stages of a nascent philosophy were one-day flowers.

“We are very concerned”, said the Leader of the Church to masses of parishioners, “a seed of division has fallen into the cracks of our hardly-built community and wild mold is growing amongst us, let’s pray, so our minds, receptacle of God’s grace, do not succumb to the contaminating threats of evil”. But no one prayed including the priest. Praying was no longer an act of meditation but a scenic representation of an imposed tradition. “We are aware”, said the Chancellour of State, live on television, “that subversive agitators have infiltrated the peace of our households. In a free society like ours, innocent families should not be disturbed by such nonsense. Dear citizens, exercise your rights, denounce those upsetting minorities and we will implacably enforce the law on them, peace and order will always reign amongst us as it was written in our ancient Constitution and exercised by our beloved patriarchs”.

The viewers stared at their TV sets as the official credits faded away on the screen. A sensation of emptiness invaded their bodies as if mites had eaten their organs from inside-out and they were suddenly hollow. Silence was the early stage of their unconscious revolution. Their consent had been inoculated in order to respond to certain stimuli, but a stronger virus had started to spread within their heads and no one, absolutely no one, was prepared to vaccinate it.

Nevertheless, it was not the hollow feeling what disturbed them, not even the recurrent lies presented as truths, or the uncovered wolf-like repression dressed in sheep-clothed laws what invaded their organisms as a pandemic illness. It was death itself what hit them in irrecoverable spots.

“Our pure society is not a perishable democracy”, had said the Foreign Affairs Minister to the Congress, “we have survived multiple attacks on our international settlements for centuries. It is not new. Year after year we have had to strengthen our military strategies to contra-rest the attacks of those enemies of freedom and individual liberties. We have eradicated terrorists and planted democracies were corrupted tyrannies attempted to erupt. We would do the impossible this time to protect our own people and we will set the record straight to enlighten a world which leans to obscurity and violence.

After a standing ovation all the parties voted unanimously to empower the Head of the State. The new inland security law, Operation Eagle’s Nest, brought troops out to the streets before dawn and military armory raised up on every corner as the dark sun of the day. “But this time executions began on our own territory”, said Eliades, “contrary to what must residents were accustomed to. In the past, thousands of heroic citizens had immolated themselves for unknown causes in foreign fields where unspeakable languages were muttered”. Official history recorded the great courage of young privates, the audacity of war veterans who had collected medals on their chests and roses on their graves and the altruism of sacrificial mothers who gave their children away to a just cause, cause that gave them in return a vase filled with ashes to be placed above the fire place. But it was no time for outer glories and history had to be rewritten. The battle moved freely along barren roads. The blood of the curious, the unsatisfied, the fearful, the poor, the disoriented, the insane, the bohemian, the utopian, the drunk, the brave, the night workers, the radical, the early risers, the old, the disadvantaged, the discrepant, the indifferent, the different and the undermined, Eliades included, painted the walls with the scarlet colour that was to coat a new waving flag. The massacre of the innocent inaugurated the first Remembrance Day of a future era.

“We were not blind”, said the elder in clandestine antagonism “we just didn’t want to see”.

Latest Readings

2008-06-30T09:40:00.001-04:00

The Fifth Business by Robertson Davies (Canada). I liked the narration style and the development of characters (their transformation). The use of time, going into the past and moving into the present in a broad life span. I thought it would make a good movie due to the elements involved (an old rural town, religion, a circus and its magician, the study of saints, World War I, Toronto’s society of the 50’s and 60’s). I am planning to read What’s bread in the bone from the same author.
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel (Canada): The interesting epic of a young Indian castaway (Pi Patel). The narration is great and full of metaphors. The end lacked the enthusiasm of the whole story.
Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje (Canada): A beautiful narration set in California and France. Ondaatje creates this lively characters filled with life and emotions. The story is fantastic yet real and close to one’s heart. The only element I disliked was the description of card games like poker.
I am now reading Snow by Orhan Pamuk (Turkey). I like his slow pace in narration and the description of an environment that is not familiar to me but seems as so.

Love Tenses

2008-06-22T06:25:00.003-04:00

- When I woke up in the middle of the night and felt the warm life of your body, I loved you.
- In the past tense?
- In the past perfect
- I love you in the present continuos.
- And I in the present perfect.
- I love you, my perfect present!
- I will always love you...

The brand next demonic

2008-06-22T04:36:00.001-04:00

It is pouring rice grains. Transparent umbrellas intertwine. My days in Tokyo are fading away like yesterday’s anti-perspirant. He’s gone. A part of me departs when my life-partner goes. I’ll meet him at home where our mutual memories lie. I am wearing my Harley Davidson t-shirt. In Japan everything goes. I read foreign slogans that say nothing. Who cares? Why would they have to say something… anyway? : “The brand next demonic”, “The void ultimate suddenly”, “peace counter-insurgence sweet”…

No one enters this island if not approved. The only territory for imperial ordeals is Media. I see many Angelinas Shimizu and Hirokis Pitt; a flow of exotic hair dues and brand-name walkers. They add their twist, ne? La vie a la Japanese! The filter is the culture of the bullet train, of the bowing waiter, of the talking robots and those omnipresent vending machines. Order is emperor. Balance is shogun. Subtle changes, unstoppable trends. I’ve passed by those timid eyes that see beyond. I’ve prayed in shrines.

At 7:59, as printed on the voucher, the Hikari arrived. Not before, nor after. Past one minute we fly at 400 KPH on the Shinkansen. It is an attempt to visit Mount Fuji; an excuse to re-encounter Tsuchiya, Hiromi san. But Mount Fuji is wearing a coat of mist. No point in diving to its shores. We will have to come back. Hiromi and us settle for green tea, instead. The best leaf in Japan: Shizuoka’s.

We talk about slang, idioms and dialects. And as the afternoon irrupts I wish I would write forever. Shall my muses arrive before I head off? If this summer is propitious, and the triggering whispers of creativity find me at work, I should produce some arousing thoughts. Neon would light me as I stroll through the water fields of sanitized Tokyo. One can get lost in random alleys even when stationary. Moving one’s eyes to the rhythm of varied stilettos is enough. I learn that sake is any source of alcohol. Let’s toast. The scent of okonomiyaki, and that of cigarette smoke, has already attached to my soul.

The Spirit of the Needles

2008-06-17T04:13:00.005-04:00

We discussed Margaret Atwood's Lady Oracle in a noodle restaurant across from the Shigenji Temple. I told her I was interested in writing her love story. The one from 22 years ago and the most recent one. Their first meeting and their re-encounter. Do you think I should write my own version? she asked. The salad arrived: fresh devil canes and fiddle heads from Sapporo. We should write it together, I said, I'll say what happened and you'll tell what would've happened if the ending wasn't sad. She paused for a second. I am not sure I want to expose myself.

I prayed to the spirit of the needles, I told her, so they help me weave stories from old seamstresses and tailors. A few minutes before walking into the restaurant we had visited the temple. She told me how there is a piece of tofu inside that people stick an old needle into. It's so the monks can pray for its spirit afterwards. I threw a five yen coin, the copper one with the perforation, into a ceremonial container to buy a prayer. I was glad to hear that needles had spirits. I saw my mom's thumb and index finger sewing an old sock. Every artist has to come to terms with their tools. Tools are animated in Japan, as is any object considered inanimate elsewhere.

Grey noodles followed the salad. I got acquainted with the art of eating them as we toasted with cold sake. She was smiling. Her sore heart was being visited by an interim joy. Five ladies in their spring kimonos stood from their tables and lined up at the door. Their see-through vests were new for me. We followed their Geisha walk with admiration as we undid our own steps along Shimokitazawa. Wild flowers grew through the cracks of the asphalt like tiny miracles. I thought of my needles and how I needed to find some thread. Back at the station we embraced each other before we parted ways... in silence.

Fear of chaos 2

2008-04-25T15:21:00.008-04:00

In an egalitarian society where there is freedom of speech and thought, individuals would be able to make free choices (aside from justice, from government policies, from formal education, from religious indoctrination). In a democratic society, 50%+ of the population (called the majority) has "a say" to decide over the rest of the population (with limited fractions of participation: on staged elections, limited number of political parties, arranged referendums, etc). Freedom of speech and thought that go against the mainstream order and that become civil disobedience or take more violent forms have very little account in democratic societies. A free society of individuals, where each person could make decisions (above the law and established order) is closer to anarchism than to democracy. Anarchism is linked with chaos and that fear of "chaos" invites political elites, economic powers, educational institutions... to establish control measures over their populations. The enforcement of the order can happen "peacefully" through institutional indoctrination, law enforcement and fear of punishment (by earthy or divine justice)... but can also be violent through the use of force, correction, imprisonment, torture, intimidation, harassment, etc. A perfect society seems to be the one that moves within the permitted boundaries of a system and where people believe that there is freedom of choice. "Chaotic" societies are less indoctrinated and have a social potential to rediscover new ways of socializing and governing. Even though capitalism, in principle, seems to be opposed to democracy, it uses the "free market trade" and the "equal opportunities for all" speech in order to spread its values. It is true that capitalism as well as democracy empower very small elites... but there are deep internal difference between a true democracy and true capitalism. Political and corporation elites seem to work hand to hand to support an economic system that does not seem to be challenged enough (despite the poverty rates on the planet). But there is no true democracy nor true capitalism. We are closer to monarchic societies, tyrannies and dictatorships... more than ever... our limited participation in the say of our governments is almost nonexistent . Why is Canada still invading Afghanistan and the US killing/and being killed in Iraq? The elites made that choice "and they know better" (we, the people who elect them and who oppose these wars,"know very little" that's why we elect elites to represent us).

the unspoken

2008-04-19T14:10:00.003-04:00

He was the man of my dreams even before I was dreaming of men. It was around the time we could still communicate with our eyes and understand each other without words. Sometimes our eyes understood more of what they were seeing than what our brains could really be conscious of.

La Ardilla

2008-04-04T11:20:00.004-04:00

Alguien anonimo acaba de morir. El ciclo de una vida que se acaba... o que cambia de forma... y nosotros aqui, esperando nuestro turno.

Ayer camine al cine desde casa... a lo largo de la calle Bank hasta la calle Rideau donde esta el parlamento canadiense. Mi proposito: ver una pelicula colombiana llamada Bluff que presentaban en La Biblioteque et Archives du Canada. Una tarde soleada y un poco menos fria... ya casi se ponia el sol y al pasar por la Corte Suprema de Justicia se me ocurrio darle un vistazo al rio Ottawa (justo detras). Camine hasta alli en contra del viento. Un ocaso solitario y tranquilo. Me encontre con un pajaro y una ardilla. El pajaro emigro enseguiday y la ardilla ni se inmuto. Cortaba ramitas de un arbol para su nido (supongo). Cuando no le cabia una mas en la boca, salto de copa en copa y termino en un hoyuelo del arbol mas cercano a mi. Pense en la vida... para que estamos aqui? no encontre respuesta... simplemente estamos, pense... y tratamos de encontrarle sentido todo el tiempo... hasta que un dia nos sorprenda la muerte.

Alguien anonimo acaba de morir. El ciclo de una vida que se acaba... o que cambia de forma... y nosotros aqui, esperando nuestro turno.

Meeting J

2008-04-01T15:40:00.003-04:00

It had to happen...

I took the Queen's way up to Island Park and drove down to Wellington. I was 20 minutes early so I drove around the block as the butterflies augmented in my stomach. At 9:26 I parked the car on a plate of ice that has survived global warming, right across from the house. Sushi spotted me first, I wasn't the post man at whom she barks loudly everyday but I did pick up the newspaper and delivered it in J's hands as I also gave them a box of cookies from the Wild Oat. We were both nervous we confessed to each other later on. It was expected, it was necessary, it was what it was.

The house was spotless and natural white blooming lilies air-freshened the quiet environment. We sat at the kitchen while she made tea. What to say? We talked about the city, the weather, the snow, the rain, our families, the past.. an slowly moved into the present, our present, our shared part in the intersection of two different sets with common elements. Everything was deep but handled with sobriety, heart-felt in opposition to staged or preconceived. There are fears and unknowns and that's the magic of it.

It had to happen, we had to meet, and it didn't hurt.

Where is Dona?

2008-03-24T23:27:00.004-04:00

It isn't what everybody is thinking about. It cannot be. It is too much expeculation... But that's what people like, they say, we don't know what to think. Ask Pedro, said the red-haired lady, and I walked towards this slim guy with the shades on... What do you think, Pedro? Don't know, he says, ask the masses, people know better... They are governed by fear, says the red-haired lady, they make up stories and forget about the origin of their lies... they end up believing their own creations and living by their myths... that's why we don't know what to believe anymore. Pedro walks away, he's wearing a blue tank top and bleeched green shorts, flip flops, he smokes. Pedro, I call him, don't leave yet... but he ignores me while he greets a group of elders playing poker in front of their home. The red-haired lady takes her reading glasses off and scrubs her eyes with index and thumb. I think she's crying over the news but I don't comment. It could be the dust. I feel abandoned in the midst of this burning place. Abandoned in the outskirts of hell. Dona, my translator has gone for coffee while I have ventured to speak to the locals in my broken dialect. Dona takes forever; I dehidrate. The steam of the unpaved road freezes the scene. The elders play in slow motion; the dogs don't bark. I am sure things aren't as bad as they say they are. They cannot be. It is too much expeculation.

COOLIE VERNER AWARD

2008-03-24T02:47:00.002-04:00

With surprise and joy I have been communicated that UBC has granted me the CV award for my thesis proposal. This is an encouraging injection of energy that ads challenge and a bit of pressure to my project. I am excited! This is the note from UBC professor Shauna Butterwick:

Dear Antonio,
It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the Adult and Higher Education faculty in the Department of Educational Studies has determined that you are the recipient of the 2007-2008 Coolie Verner Research Prize which is accompanied with a $500 stipend. You should be receiving an announcement from the Financial Services and Awards office soon. This Prize honours the first Professor in the Department of Adult Education, Professor Coolie Verner, who was on faculty at UBC from 1961 to 1977. It is awarded annually to the student who best combines high academic standing and research potential. In the nomination materials, the timeliness and significance, as well as your creative methodological approach to your MA research were noted. We are excited about the topic--the ways in which the inukshuk and other Aboriginal symbols have been 'adopted' by the Vancouver 2010 Olympics, how visual and textual Aboriginal representations have been incorporated into the public education mandate of the Vancouver Games, and how this relates to the Aboriginal Participation Goals of the Vancouver Organizing Committee. We are also impressed with the use of visual research methods, such as content and semiotic analysis, as a way to examine material presented on the official Vancouver 2010 Olympic website and two related websites. It was also noted that you have presented a talk titled, "The Vancouver Olympics Emblem (Inukshuk): Opportunity or Opportunism?" at the Northern Communications Conference in Whitehorse, YT (March 4-5, 2008). This research will make a significant contribution to critical public pedagogy and community education. Your solid A and A+ academic standing was also considered. Your name will be added to the Coolie Verner Prize plaque situated in the entrance to Ponderosa G. Congratulations.

Dr. Shauna Butterwick, Associate Professor & Graduate Advisor
Department of Educational Studies, Room # 10, Ponderosa G building. University of British Columbia

On the arbitrariness of the relation between thoughts and the words to describe them

2008-03-21T17:11:00.000-04:00

What I am about to write is not necessarily something I need to say… I just have it somewhere in my brain… and I want to let it go as it is stuck somewhere within. I would hope it flows as I start to write. I am not sure it would but why shouldn’t I try. Perhaps, as much as we don’t know the universe and many other “solar systems”, we also don’t know this microcosm inside of us… our brains have been picked-on and dissected but we do not understand the nature of thought and all those interconnections we make every fraction of second (many people have studied this but it isn't common knowledge). I want to understand something as arbitrary as language. I am writing right now in a foreign language. My mother tongue is arbitrary too. I know it better than I know English as a second language. I am writing in it.. but does it matter? I would never be able to decode thoughts purely and put them into paper. That is the drama of a writer… language and how we decode thoughts as if they floated in our minds and we were trying to fish them and then package them and send them into our nervous system for them to be processed in the area where the western alphabet has been engraved… right there the thought starts being carved, shaped, as we try to find the word that would define it according to the cultural paradigm that associated a meaning to that signifier… the signifier is the floating thought and the meaning is given by me according to the conventional word I find more appropriate to it… the one that seems to fit the mold of the thought, according to my limited knowledge of this foreign language. It is bizarre… how much of what I think cannot be translated into words? That’s the tragedy of the writer and the beauty of literature. Despite these limitations we insist on trying to grab those thoughts and express them on a written form. We also add style and literature imagery… that makes the thoughts flamboyant or practical… yet, we censor or transform those thoughts once again because we cast them as we want them to be represented. They exist, they say, in their natural form, and when we manage to apprehend them in our brains… and when we package them and transport them to the alphabet centre… then we apply norms of conduct, stereotypes of time, cultural elements, learned knowledge… we chose the form we are going to translate them into… they get transformed… shaped to fulfill a style, a public, an idea… the cannot come raw… like… straight from the garden to the table. They need to be processed, washed, cut, cleaned… their roughness is sharpened and their smell refined… like we do with most products. That’s a second tragedy… not only we are unable to grab thoughts in their natural form but we also dress them according to a determined idea (and please not that I don't want to get into the unconscious mind and Lacanian psychoanalysis). I, right now, am trying to avoid thinking too much and just letting go to see what happens. I still have to go back and erase, re-think... correct misspelled words… think about the option I am using and whether it expresses all I am meaning to convey… convey to whom? A possible reader… S? E? P? Someone who visits my blog… a philosopher who may think that my ideas are revolutionary… or not… boring… the “same shit someone else has thought about” before… perhaps thoughts can only exist because of language? Saussure would disagree with me… language is the subjective shape of objects… yes, like my theory of objective/subjective… the object exists out there and as we name it, it gets transformed. Words are not even as accurate as printers (and printers aren’t accurate at all)… printers decode an image from a source, let’s say a computer or a digital camera… and try to convey that image in a “realistic way”. Words try but would never do so… to start with… the image of an object is nameless but we have given it a name (Foucault would disagree with me… things had names and what Adam did was just ‘read them’)… … according to a language or a dialect… let’s say… an apple… hmmm… I am thinking of another object that I can express in a different language… all I can think of is this sticky rice cake filled with tuna and wrapped in seaweed… in Japanese it is named “onigiri” I don’t know how to spell it or what it means but when I think of “onigiri” I think of this rice cake… does the word “onigiri” describe it? Define it? I don’t know, perhaps it does… but as I do not speak Japanese I just refer to the codes I understand… rice cake… thus I limit the object to my limited knowledge… however, I am able to convey and idea and perhaps order “onigiri” in Japan… If I order it in Mexico… not many people would know what I am talking about… if they do at all.

I am sitting in a café, downtown Toronto… people pass by before my eyes, walking north or south… they seem to be in a hurry like most Torontonians… I wonder what their thoughts are… and how they decode them… they may be silent… but their thoughts take the shape of a sound that can also reverberate in their minds… even if they don’t speak their minds… they think they think what they think they are thinking… as they name their thoughts, they manage to agree with the idea of the sound or visual image of those thoughts… we are not talking “deep meaning”… they are not necessarily decoding those thoughts to understand additional loaded signification to them… they are just thinking and naming their thoughts… let’s say: “I am late, I better hurry up”.
This person has just looked at her watch and thinks… “shit, it is 3:55 and my meeting is at 3:45” She looked at a conventional way of telling time… a watch… and she knows how to read either digital numbers or analogical watches… she remembers that she had an appointment at a specific time and by the look of it… she’s late because ten minutes have gone by past that time… somebody (or a group of people) must be waiting for her. She assumes that… therefore… she tries to find a way to decode that thought… and she then translates it into the expression “I am late”. She’s not really taking the words apart to analyze each of them individually… or trying to identify the origin of the expression “being late”… from the Greek or the Latin adopted by the Anglo or the Saxon… “I” refers to “me” (in this case “her”, the first person singular”, “Am” is the conjugation of the verb “To be”, also in the first person… and “late” is the word that is used to express the opposite of being on time… “late” may have other meanings (“at night”, “at an older age”) or look/sound like other words (latte, lait, plate)… but in her context the word seems to translate what is happening to her. She doesn’t need to try to understand the grammatical quality of her choice, its ideological meaning of it (is she being subjugated by a system which exploits her, slaves her to the point that she’s being stressed and nervous?)… “she’s simply late”… and her degree of “lateness” could depend on many factors (how realistically she set up the appointment, how reliable public transit or traffic is, if she’s often late, if she was not paying attention to time, if she had a problem at home, etc)… it could also be that her watch is ahead of time… which may mean that she’s not actually late but she feels that way… it could also be that the person or group of people she’s supposed to meet are also “running late” consequently “it’s ok to be late”… Attached to the idea of being late, there is a code of conduct… “it is not polite to be late”, that may be motivating her thought… or her appointment is important hence it is not ok to be late… she’s not seeing a friend, it is someone who will offer her a job… etc… that could be the reason for her second translation of the thought “ I better hurry up”. She’s giving herself an order, and also connecting her first thought to an action that, despite the fact she won’t make it “on time”, she doesn’t want to be “too late” or try to ameliorate her “fault” by running a bit faster… it may show people at the other end some respect, or make her feel less guilty… or less nervous about the appointment… But… when she translates thoughts into words thus into actions, is she fully conscious of what she’s saying? Of how she got to speak that language that made her translate thoughts the way she does? Perhaps her language is also associated to the culture that tells her that “people should arrive on time, especially to appointments with third parties”… Did she use the right words? Could she have used alternative options “I am a bit late” ( the expression “a bit” would change the meaning of her statement a bit… as she gives it less importance)… she could’ve said “it’s late” (in that case it is not putting the pressure on herself… but on time itself. Time is running “too fast”)… she could’ve blamed the others… “I told them to set up the appointment for four”… or say… “Good, I don’t want to be the first one to arrive!” It is possible that she’s “ironically saying that she’s “on time” by saying the opposite. She could also have her own “code” where the word “late” has a meaning she herself has given to the word… so it doesn’t have a negative “connotation” but a “good meaning” for instance… “things are going well, I am late”. All this translations belong to different feelings and she could’ve grabbed any of them. The abovementioned expressions are not strictly related to the statement “I am late” but are “personal approaches” (feelings). Those would be different reactions to that specific “time” than to the linguistics of thoughts and words… If she wanted to translate her thoughts by using “synonyms”, she should’ve said “Voy tarde” (“going late” in Spanish), “I am behind schedule”, “I am delayed”, “I am not on time”… the use of these expressions could depend on “knowledge of vocabulary, of other language, on habits, laziness to employ “difficult” terms, etc”. Is there anything wrong with a “person approach” to language? Not at all… we all do it… but it becomes less conventional. Some couples may use their own codes of understanding and they add “coded or symbolic meaning” to certain expressions, sayings, objects… “it’s sunny” may mean “ I love you”… so if they use this expression between them, nobody else would understand it but them.

As Saussure said, the relation between thought thoughts (objects) and the names we give them is arbitrary… not only by the language used but by the person who chooses the words. My questions are… are thoughts richer out in the space where they float… or we make them richer as we acknowledge them and name them? Is the perfection of the language a way to enrich thoughts? Are there thoughts that cannot be translated into words… like certain feelings or dreams? Do words limit thoughts thus our main priority should be to perfection a language before we attempt to produce knowledge?
Thoughts and words to ponder on… I should talk about non-verbal communication some other time.

Inmigracion Desenfocada

2008-03-19T12:11:00.000-04:00

Ayer me encontre este articulo en el periodico El Pais de Cali. Me parece que esta persona habla desde una realidad social muy diferente y su discurso me reulta facilista, elitista y racista.
Vale la pena leerlo primero y despues hacer el comentario.

Candilejas. Por: Alberto José Holguín
Inmigración descontrolada
Marzo 19 de 2008

La inmigración es buena cuando obedece a una política seria y los ejemplos son muchos. Uno es el de Estados Unidos, país que, gracias a los millones de inmigrantes que llegaron a hacer patria, se convirtió en el más importante del mundo. Otros son Australia y Canadá que, por su enorme tamaño, tienen una densidad muy baja, por lo que ofrecen grandes oportunidades a quienes van a residir en ellos.

Pero la inmigración es mala cuando no se planifica, porque atenta contra el bienestar y la estabilidad de los residentes originales. Por eso, Europa, el continente más civilizado del mundo y con una alta densidad de habitantes, la está regulando cada día más, especialmente cuando se trata de inmigrantes que, se supone, van a aportar muy poco.

En cuanto a Cali, un alto porcentaje de la inmigración fue funesta para la ciudad desde hace cerca de 50 años y el caso de los desplazados por la guerrilla agravó el problema últimamente.

El cuento de la ‘Sucursal del Cielo’ en que corrían ríos de leche y miel y sobraban las oportunidades le hizo mucho mal, porque una enorme cantidad de gente de buena fe se vino para acá buscando el paraíso que les habían pintado. Y, a medida que la población creció a índices mayores que la generación de empleo, se oficializó la informalidad laboral, la inseguridad aumentó, surgieron los niños de los semáforos, que desafortunadamente tienen un futuro tan incierto, y las cosas se fueron complicando.

Así nació Aguablanca, inicialmente un barrio de invasión que, ante la indiferencia de las autoridades municipales y debido a las falsas promesas de algunos políticos que para conseguir votos ofrecieron el oro y el moro, fue creciendo como un monstruo insaciable que lleva más de medio siglo acaparando un porcentaje desproporcionado y altísimo del presupuesto, tanto de Emcali como del Municipio.

A través del tiempo se gestó otra ciudad dentro de Cali y hoy tenemos dos ciudades en una. La Cali original, con un millón de habitantes y muchos problemas, pero que en una u otra forma es manejable, y el Distrito de Aguablanca, con otro millón, que es el prototipo de la informalidad, el desorden, el desmanejo, el desempleo, la inseguridad y el aportar poco y exigirlo todo.

¿Cómo sería Cali sin Aguablanca? Una ciudad sin ínfulas de ser la segunda de Colombia en habitantes, índice que ya nada significa, más amable y segura que la actual, con pocos huecos en las calles, bonitos parques, zonas verdes, fuentes funcionando, buenos servicios públicos, ciclovías, campos deportivos sin mugre ni maleza y respirando optimismo y prosperidad. ¿Por qué? Porque su índice de desempleo sería muy bajo y podría dedicar todo su presupuesto a fomentar su propio desarrollo y dar una buena calidad de vida a su gente.

La verdad es que Aguablanca se volvió un problema de Cali cuando debería ser un problema de Colombia. Ojalá se buscara la manera de que, teniendo en cuenta su enorme población, se convirtiera en municipio independiente, que nombrara sus propios gobernantes y manejara su propio presupuesto, en vez de seguir siendo una especie de hijo pródigo de Cali.

Comentario:

Con todo el respeto del sr columnista... su mensaje me resulta facilitista, elitista y racista. Facilista en cuanto reduce una probematica tan compleja como la del desplazamiento forzado a una accion "simple" como la de la inmigracion "organizada". Esta comparando peras con manzanas... es muy distinta la realidad de nortemerica y australia a la de europa y a la de Cali. Elitista... porque esta hablando desde su posicion social, desde la derecha, desde la riqueza... desconociendo el conflicto social generado por la aristocracia calenia. Racista porque genera el rechazo a una comunidad que "deberia ser exterminada". En su columna le sugiero ironicamente la posibilidad de proponer un "muro" como el que divide a Israel y a Palestina.. O un campo de concentracion "para acabar con todos los indiseables" que le recuerdan a diario su propia miseria... En otras palabras "alla los pobres con los pobres" y que nadie se venga a meter en "mi club, mi ciudad linda y con parques, el colegio bilingue de mis hijos, etc". Muy mal por este articulo... creo que mis palabras son demasiado blandas para el analisis que merece este pedazo de informacion que habla mucho de la "elite calenia".

Mother Punk

2008-03-18T13:55:00.000-04:00

If I were running for Governor of NY this picture would get me into trouble. It may be a good thing that the photo does not show the skirt I was wearing or what I "wasn't" wearing underneath the skirt. Is everything as relative as the verge between Utopia and Continuity? Are our moral values as thin as the borderline between Fascism and Anarchy?

Desde Cuba

2008-03-14T12:19:00.001-04:00

Ayer conoci a Yoani Sanchez a quien entrevistamos con S. Yo en calidad de interprete. Muy interesante ver la situacion de Cuba desde otra perspectiva. En los ultimos anios he abordado la isla desde una posicion mas idealista y romantica. He pensado que las dificultades que atraviesan los cubanos tienen una justificacion utopica que esta por encima de su realidad individual ... Yoani me hizo ver otra cara de la moneda... cuando haga la traduccion completa del documento, asentare algunas de sus ideas en mi blog. Por ahora, el que quiera leerla puede encontrar sus escritos en http://www.desdecuba.com/generaciony
su capacidad de expresion es impecable.

RECORD ME

2008-03-13T14:17:00.001-04:00

They just simply woke up; the sun was burning their feet.
- I want you to paint me, I had this dream, I was taking my shirt off in front of the mirror and my face was deformed
- Was it?
- Not really, but because the T-shirt’s neck was small it stretched my eyes and nose, it was kind of cute actually.
- I like the idea
- Paint me
- How?
- The way I am, here, naked, sleepy, with my swollen eyes, with my messy hair
- Kiss me first
- Of course, good morning sweetheart
- My feet are on fire
- The sun is ferocious out there, I can tell.
- Coffee?
- Paint me first, just a sketch, grab a pencil
- Why the rush?
- Don’t ask, just go for it, pretend I don’t know, pretend I am still sleeping, and you wake up first, you see me here, abandoned, and you just let your inspiration flow
- If you tell me how to do things they won’t flow at all
- Come on!
- I just don’t get you, the more you beg the least I get inspired, I don’t like to be told, it just doesn’t work with me
- Ok, forget it, I’ll make the coffee, I just wanted to feel immortal for a few seconds

THE UNJUSTIFIABLE – Another paradox of our times

2008-03-13T14:12:00.000-04:00

My land has no name on their map. “There is no such land”, they say. They don’t want to name us as if that would stop our existence. No acknowledgement, no existence. They believe our land is a geographical term. That it used to designate a region in those days when there was no nation or state in the area. But that’s a lie. We’ve been here all this time. They have forced the facts for their own convenience. I was born here. I know what I am talking about. I have seen my people suffer. We have watered their trees with our tears.

My land has been occupied and we expropriated. Most of the world pays blind eye to our condition and has agreed to call my land a different name. Everybody knows it but they do nothing. They are loud because they own stronger weapons. We are confined to inhabit corners, basements, bordering towns. We still remain stateless, homeless, refuges in neighbouring lands. They have the right, we don’t. Why? I don’t know.

I was born landless. My people believe otherwise. I believe my people. But if in their eyes we owe nothing, what does my brother have to loose when he immolates himself and kills their people? They believe he is a terrorist, I believe he is a saint. I am sure he wakes up in heaven where world borders are unknown. If they kill hundreds of us no one knows it but if we kill a handful of them, the whole world grieves them. It is not fair.

“Be careful with justifying the unjustifiable”, they’ve told me “do not mix olives with dates”. Hypocrites! I think that principle applies to both sides. God knows it well.

Before my memory fails

2008-03-11T00:35:00.001-04:00

"Just because I don't remember what I did, it doesn't mean that my actions were meaningless". Paraphrased from Memento/Christopher Nolan/2000 (watched once again yesterday... just to realize that, as Leonard the main character, I had completely forgotten the plot of the movie).

I also watched The Battle of Algiers/1966 (Gillo Pontecorvo). Excellent account of the Independence struggles of Algerians. Filmed just 3 years after the independence battle in documentary style b/w. I loved the soundtrack.

A third movie: The Anatomy of Hell (Anatomie de l'enfer/2004) directed by Catherine Breillat(based on her own book by the same name). Very French... meaning: psychological, pseudo-intellectual, and with strong characters (especially the female ones - The Piano teacher-type of thing). Interesting to see nude Rocco Sifredi playing a non-porno role.

Castalia and the Only One.

2008-03-08T23:45:00.000-05:00

Castalia was named after a Greek nymph. Carlo says he wants to drink her waters and listen to her quiet sound. Castalia just moved to town but has not been to church yet. Carlo's mom thinks she's not a devout follower of the town's God; Carlo is sure she was sent by the deity herself. The God of this town is a she.

It has not rained in Delphi since Carlo was born. The people of Delphi quit ancient Gods and embraced a female one. The only one. Carlo wants to campaign to name Delphi's God Castalia after the miraculous visit of his nymph. "God has no name", says Carlo's mom. Carlo shuts up. He does not want to be kicked out of Delphi now that there is a reason to stay.

Castalia is having a lemon drink on the corner's store while talking to Hermann. Carlo sees them through his window and burns in hell. He does not want to be in Hermann's shoes but kill him and burn his shoes. Shoes are sacred in Delphi because they take you to the presence of God. Yes, she's God indeed. And Hermann got to her before him. Castalia is not aware of the lust in Hermann's eyes. Carlo is. He's got to save her and save himself.

Hermann is out of words but Castalia is enjoying her carbonated drink while looking at a poster of Juliana Day. "She's the town's pop star", says Carlo as he runs into her. "She's a gem", says she, "the only one". Hermann steps out disgusted as the bells of church call him away.

Carlo and Castalia look at each other in silence. They both know why they're there.

The storm begins.

Latin Melodramas

2008-03-08T23:17:00.000-05:00

And the latest episode of "Bordering with the Enemies" ended with a hug! the trilogy of Chavez, Uribe and Correa succumbed to the euphoric applause of a hungry audience and decided to kiss each other on the cheek during the closing ceremony of the Rio Group Summit in the Dominican Republic. Meanwhile in Colombian territory FARC themselves were killing their own brethren (Ivan Rios) and shipping his limbs to the House of Nariño. We'll see what the next season of this breathtaking soap opera has to offer.

My own melodrama started this morning when my father called me to let me know that my stepfather had been informed of my own sexual orientation. I could almost picture my dad knocking on my mom's door and saying to Fernando: "Prepare yourself for the news... my son is gay!" (ouch) that must've hurt. My mom has been the victim of her own worse nightmare... Another "dead secret" surfaced the soil of the graveyard where it was buried... now it is just a public eulogy. Good for my dad who spared me the hustle of going through a closet-come-out once again. He has certainly spread the good news of my most recent gospel!

Food for thought.

Pride through Culture

2008-03-08T22:33:00.000-05:00

Unexpected shot from the NCC; welcome dance performed by "Grandma Susie and Grandpa Charlie" (Sharon Shorty - whom I had the priviledge to meet and have lunch with - and Duane Gastant' Aucoin).

www.sharonshorty.com

Great memory.

The Decline of the American Empire

2008-03-08T22:14:00.000-05:00

Not many people want to believe it but as Hugo Chavez says it, “the empire is about to fall and we will see it in this century”. I don’t necessarily agree with all of Mr. Chavez’s approaches, especially with his loud volume, but I do believe that the United States is falling on its own principles. They have made believe their population that the resources of the world are endless and that their credit cards will pay for everything they want… when reality hits (and it is starting to do so) … each family will have to get rid of not only 3 of their SUV's per household, but also sell their mega TV and move out of the suburbs to a smaller house in town because their bank will be taking their million-dollar home away along with their 40-year mortgage.

An interesting documentary to watch on the topic: The End of Suburbia: Oil Depletion and the Collapse of the American Dream. Not the first time I see something on the topic… another good documentary on a similar issue is A Crude Awakening/The Oil Crash

http://www.endofsuburbia.com/

http://www.oilcrashmovie.com

Some interesting statements to ponder on:

"What’s good for business is the fantasy" (good reason for Media and Governments not to talk about the peak of oil reserves...)

"We are addicted to oil and we don’t want to hear that it is going to run out"

This is a funny one: "The name of the suburban neighbourhoods is based on the nature they have destroyed around them. i.e. “Fresh Water Creek”, “Cedar Sunset Forest”, etc"

"The future of the globe is the reverse of globalization"

My own homework... I should look into: New Urbanism Movements

The Inukshuk Emblem: Opportunity or Opportunism?

2008-03-05T19:23:00.000-05:00

I was invited to participate at the Northern Communications Conference in Whitehorse (March 3-5, 2008). My presentation was based on the research project I am currently conducting as part of my Masters’ thesis. I am a graduate student with the department of adult education at UBC in Vancouver (http://www.ncconference2008.ca/Speakers/tabid/54/Default.aspx)

In 2005 the Vancouver Organizing Committee for the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games (VANOC) launched its emblem Illanaaq, a stylized inukshuk, with the aim to “illustrate” the Games. Perhaps for the first time in the history of the Olympics, particular attention has been placed on Aboriginal participation in the pre-Games. Indigenous participation in past Games, such as Calgary and Salt Lake City, has focused primarily on ceremonies and cultural programs. VANOC has said that they plan to go beyond that “to set the bar higher, with the hope that future Organizing Committees can be inspired and learn from our experience”. I am attracted to images and their meaning. One of the source texts I am reading is Gillian Roses’ Visual Methodologies in order to refine the approach I will be taking in my image-based research project. The visual is central to the cultural construction of social life in contemporary Western societies. We are constantly bombarded by images that offer views of the world. Research in the area of visual culture suggests that the rendering of the world in visual terms is never innocent. Images interpret the world and display it in very particular ways. The purpose of my critical qualitative study is to identify, describe and analyse the information made available by VANOC.

By using a document case study I intend to observe, understand and critique the images made available for learning by this organization. My aim is to contribute to creating awareness of commonly overlooked symbolic elements that could be taken for granted in this context. I chose the title Opportunity or Opportunism, because I believe there is great potential for sharing and learning before, during and after this event. I would like to take a close look at these opportunities. An opportunity is a favourable time for progress and advancement but opportunism takes advantage of an opportunity to achieve an end but often with no regard for principles or consequences. Where does the creation of the VANOC emblem fall? I thought this conference would be a very important space to discuss this topic. For that reason I came here to share some of the sample materials I will be studying, discuss them and raise some questions. My main hope was to have enough time to get participants’ feedback. I knew in advance that the objective of the conference was to continue to figure out ways of communicating the realities of the North to the South on issues that would go beyond the stereotypical northern topics “polar bears and igloos”… or those issues that specifically affect the south, “global warming and sovereignty”

The following is a VANOC’s press release from April 23, 2005 http://www.vancouver2010.com/en/OrganizingCommittee/MediaCentre/NewsReleases/2006/01/13/92_0601131509-781

“The Vancouver 2010 emblem is a contemporary interpretation of the traditional inukshuk, a stone sculpture used by Canada's Inuit people as directional landmarks across the northern Canadian lands of snow and ice. Over time, the inukshuk has become a representation of hope, friendship and an external expression of the hospitality of a nation that warmly welcomes the people of the world with open arms. The distinctive formations are found across the country - from coastlines to mountaintops, from small towns to large cities - in a variety of styles. Unveiled during a live nation-wide television broadcast, the Vancouver 2010 emblem shows the deep connection between Canadians and their breathtaking environment. The emblem features five stone-like formations depicted in vibrant colours found in both the natural features of the Vancouver-Whistler Games host region and across Canada. Green and blues represent coastal forests, mountain ranges and spectacular islands. The red is for Canada's signature maple leaf and the gold evokes images of the brilliant sunrises that paint the Vancouver skyline and snow-capped mountain peaks. The Vancouver 2010 emblem is named ILANAAQ - the Inuit word for friend”. Questions such us the following were raised soon after reading this article: what purpose does Ilanaaq serve? What is the connection between the North and the South in this context? Is this emblem’s aim to represent Canada? The artic? The Inuit people? Vancouver and Whistler? How is that portrayed? I also shared a page from the VANOC’s website which I incorporated into my thesis’ proposal.

http://www.vancouver2010.com/en/LookVancouver2010/Vancouver2010OlympicGamesEmblem

In brief statements I discussed the photographs and the content of this excerpt. I clarified that the photos were taken in Vancouver and Whistler respectively and that the three images from this webpage are not from the north. According to Norman Hallendy (2000), “inuksuit have become icons used to sell telephones and financial services, beer and sugared drinks. The figure adorns ball caps, sweatshirts and coffee mugs, and is much sought after as an object d’art” (p. 97). The sad irony, he says, is that in the growing interest in Inuksuit the wisdom of their creators is dying with the passing of each of the elders who once had lived on the land. I mentioned that in my view, the organizers of the Games have made a de facto promise to give Aboriginal communities a level of prominence never before seen at the Olympics. Some of the questions I raised were: Is this just clever marketing or a real attempt to show Aboriginal people respect and to show the rest of Canada (and the world) something more about First peoples and the North? In other words, there is a clear opportunity here to share aboriginal knowledge but is this opportunity being used to get across all these ideas and realities of life in the North and issues that the North faces (the ones that go beyond stereotypes), or is it nothing more than a cynical use of a northern symbol that the organizers of the Games have no intention to use to communicate important ideas about the North but simply use it as a marketing tool to promote other set of corporate ideals?

My crowd was full of government officials, most of them from the south but living in the north. They raised their own questions about whether my findings were going to be available and if I was planning to involve some elders in my research process. I clarified that for now I was planning to concentrate on the promotional materials made available by VANOC but I would hope that this research project would open other doors and invite some people to look beyond the surface of images. Somebody asked me if I was suggesting to change the emblem to what I answered that the emblem was already in place… and I was trying to understand the motivations behind it.

An Inuit elder told me that they were very happy when they found out that the “Inukshuk” had been chosen amongst 1,600 entries to the emblem contest. They saw it as a great Northern victory in the South… many people applauded his comment. I was happy to raise some questions. I had a very short time to convey further ideas. There was a quote from Bellfy (2005) whoch I couldn’t share with the participants but that I firmly agree with. It says that “popular culture norms are designed to remind everyone, Native and non-Native alike, that there is a dominant culture that has determined how Indigenous identity is to be constructed, and, who owns and controls their images”. Some Inuit people approached me after the presentation to offer help. They gave me their email address and welcomed my questions… any time. A young Caucasian fellow from Yellowknife, who’s graphic company is designing some packaging for souvenir inuksuit to be sold in Vancouver soon, told me that he would be interested in my research as well… as they are trying to decide how they are going to present this “can or package” containing an inukshuk.

It was overall very interesting to be there. First of all because it is my first “official” presentation of my project (it certainly helps to be presentation the idea in front of an audience) and second because it gave me some feedback about the different possible reactions this project could generate in people. Somebody asked me if I was planning to share my findings with VANOC, I said I would invite them to attend my thesis’ defense!

The Unknown

2008-03-05T18:47:00.002-05:00

As the afternoon flows and the sky gets grayer I wonder around Whitehorse before departure. I seem to be in constant search. The butterflies in my stomach won't fly away until I find what I look for. I first have to find out what it is I am in search of.

The impossibility of the objective and the fear of chaos

2008-03-05T02:35:00.000-05:00

Objects exist in nature, their presence is blatant, unavoidable. They present shapes and mass or form before our eyes. The natural sciences have tried to understand them, analyze them… yes, understand them. Language has given them a name and our imagination has given them a place in our brains, either because we’ve been taught how to go about them or because we have experienced them ourselves. We were never part of the battle of Waterloo but we have heard about it. Napoleon and his era exist in our heads.
In the case of “heat”, for instance, we have experienced it on our skins or seen it… when we feel the sun’s rays, a water-boiling pot or a fireplace. It is impossible to say that those elements are not objective, that they don’t exist out there. That rain, those cars and computers are tangible items that exist and can be approached without emotions. Yes, they do exist on their own. They can even be a product of nature: a stone; or human made: a plane. Their existence does not imply their objectivity. We make them objects in our brains, and we translate them from their original form into a virtual thought in our minds just like a video camera does on tape or disc. The image we see on the screen is not the stone or the plane, it is a representation of it. The image we have in our brains of every single object is a representation of the object, the result of a chemical processes that brought that object from its natural form to our heads through our eyes, our nerve cells… to a spot in our brains where objects of that kind can be processed. But that’s not all. If we all processed objects the same way and translated them into thoughts exactly the way they are, we could say that objects are represented inside of us the same way… we have to take into consideration that there are other created factors that affect our perception of those objects; this factors could be physical limitations: we wear glasses, we have a hearing problem, we are colour-blind. And not only that, but our particular culture, the worldview we have, the way we’ve been taught, whether we are left or right-handed, our own language would call those objects in a different way… and the images we see, yes there could be a table but is not the same table that a different person sees… the value of the table is different, there are emotions attached to them… it is a table that belonged to my ancestors, it was the only furniture left after a family crisis, I was punished by my father at that table when I was a kid, I used to make love on it with my ex partner, it is too big for my place… the measures of this table, the size we perceive in our head and even the way we remember it, if we never see it again, will change fromperson to person… and even within me as I change myself.
If we go into the core of tables, they are also not the same; tables differ in shape, size, measurements. Some people represent them as square, others are round, others rectangular but they could be amorphous. They can be used to eat, to operate patients, to play table games or to pray. Their value and their representation varies, therefore when we say the word “mesa” the Spanish word for table, people would think of million different tables; provided that they understand the Spanish word. A table is not just a table. A table is a universe of tables represented in our brains that clearly differ from the object “table” itself even if we have it in front of our eyes. An indigenous colleague told me the other day, that in his native language, names represent the actions you perform with those objects, tables for instance, are linked to the food you eat on them, therefore they have a very important value… different than the persons who eats on their desks because they don’t “have time” to take a lunch break.
Objective is defined in many different ways: not biased, or existing in the real world outside the human brain. Subjective should be the opposite. After this introduction, if we consider that every object goes through our brains to be apprehended, the object looses its unbiased value and takes a subjective form, a representational one, the interpretation of the idea of the object.
If tangible items take this form, the description of values and emotions, rules and laws, is even more difficult. How do we understand truth, responsibility or terrorism? In order to have a “common understanding” of ideas, the different sciences and humanities have approached these terms to try to define them; we have created dictionaries that enunciate definitions that we assume as valid; if we didn’t have a “common language” (by this I mean a relatively close approach to the definition of objects an ideas in the different existing languages) we could barely understand each other; not that we really do but we have created “conventions” that make us believe we do. In order to create conventions we need to have a plan, and this plan is closely linked to the ideology of cultures, religions, political and social instructions. We have created systems that allow us to form patterns of behaviour that people can follow in order to avoid chaos. If we were all abandoned at birth and we managed to grow up without anybody’s instruction we would probably create our own sense of values. Yes, we do have the ability to create all these systems, to communicate through different means, to use our brains to try to understand the environment. We have created machines to “measure” this world’s phenomena and we call those measurements objective, but are they really?
One metre is one metre, that’s objective… but metres were created, so yes, they are conventions created to measure, and we accept them; so when we say that we are one metre and 80 cms, people understand us… There is a need for order, for uniformity, mutual assimilation of behaviour in order to prevent chaos. We have created religions and these religions have created books of reference (or vice versa), we have constitutions, codes of ethics, etiquette, etc… we create definitions, like contracts do when you are to purchase property… terms that are defined by “someone” in order to agree in terms. Even if we believe that “TRUTH” is out there as an “OBJECT”, the definitions of truth we get to write down, will never be objective, therefore there is not TRUTH in its objective form, because, again, even if there is one out in the space, how do we know that we chose the right definition when we interpreted the idea?
With constitutions and “human made” laws, it is easier to figure it out; a whole bunch of people got together to produce a document, they commit to make it as accurate as possible and out of consensus… so yes, if we agree to it, we know it is the product of a committed exercise. When it comes to religions, the arena is not as solid; we need to trust the existence of an external source that has defined all these terms for us and has dictated them to a human being, who “objectively” wrote them down centuries ago. We also need to believe that this information, that could’ve been an oral narration at some point, has been transmitted exactly the way it was “originally” inspired… it means that no translation, no interpretation, no distortion to its core has been changed throughout the years. Is that possible? Perhaps it is, that’s why we have created a term called “FAITH” defined by some as “complete confidence or trust”.
Unfortunately, all of these terms don’t mean the same for everybody. If “objects” don’t represent the same idea in every culture, neither do these more ethereal definitions. We have tried to generate international conventions to determine what a crime is, or what plurality is, etc… but all of these ideas are mediated by beliefs, faiths, doubts, fears, geographical conditions, traditions, languages, experiences… even what I am writing, makes only sense in my own mind, and there may be some people who identifies with what it is written and some others that could think I am CRAZY (Stupidly irresponsible).
In my opinion, even if processes and natural physical actions are happening objectively out there, they are interpreted through our minds and our senses, and all of them our biased. Seeing is a physical objective process, but how we see and what we see is completely individual… even if we “all agree” it is a table. We cannot generalize, we cannot assure that what it is is what it is… yes, we’ve made an effort to get there, perhaps because it is necessary for us to do so, but systems like “democracy, or deciding by consensus, or mutual agreement” are biased. We want to believe we agree, we want to believe we see the same… but we don’t.
States and institutions have managed to educate people to think one way or the other, it is not new, and it is considered for the own convenience of that system, state or institution. We create culture (very loaded term) in order to feel identified with a set of values and make it easier for “all of us” (especially the ruler in power). Those who dissent, or simply don’t cope with that set of values are considered “outsiders” and we reject them because they are not “like us”. The need of homogeneity serves the purpose of societies because it prevents chaos. Chaos is feared by most because there seems to be a need of cohesion. The problem here, is that there is no room for individuality. We often use this other created expression “Freedom” (right or privilege of unlimited access); we cannot claim FREEDOM because it is impossible. If we have limits, if we haven’t decided what was before us and we won’t be able to decide what is after us, we are not free. That’s an illusion reinforced by some systems… and like freedom, there are many others. But, why do we need to make others believe that? Why is it important that we uniform the world? It is important because some people BELIEVE that’s the way to make it work… that’s a mechanism of control… a political system like democracy, a monetary system like capitalism, a religious system like Christianity, a new order like Globalization, serve certain purposes. A set of values, have been attached to these ideas, and only a few people get to participate in the decisions made by these systems. They control behaviours because they have understood our vulnerability, our fear of chaos, the subjective form of thought and how it can be so random that it may be “dangerous”. It is necessary to punish those who oppose the mainstream thought, that’s why “terrorists” are being prosecuted… because they dissent and they express themselves by generating “chaos”… (Complete disorder or confusion). “Terrorists” may not be able to change systems, but they alter them, they destabilize them, by breaking the “organized order”.
But ORDER is also subjective; we have encouraged it as the way to function in order to “succeed”. But there is tendency to chaos within the order... and we continue to punish it because we are unable to revise these systems of values. We are spreading philosophies that benefit the systems we have created, and this is all subjective. Unless we understand the subjectivity ruling these systems, we won’t be able to “understand” each other. But these systems don’t favour free thought, free thought is dangerous, it again, may generate chaos, we have to shape peoples’ minds in order to achieve order. How do we do it? By creating or reinforcing certain values, by creating or re-shaping the definitions to those values, by making people believe certain goals are attainable like freedom, wealth, happiness. How do we do it? Through the school system, through media, through politics, through literature, through church, through institutions like police or organized institutions like courts, parliaments, boards. Our subjectivity has been repressed, and as it is malleable and subject to influence, it has been “objectivised”. We have been instructed to believe that something can be objective. Objectivity exists as a ideal in nature but it doesn’t exist as a practical term in humanity. Everything is mediated by thought and emotions, therefore a chemical, physiological process that gets distorted once it reaches our senses. The table we film exists as an object but we will never be able to say that the photograph we take of it or the film we make of it will capture the integrity of that object… it is the same with us. Not even science can claim objectivity because it is mediated by us, and we are all, ALL, biased.
Take an example: copper… it is objective in its original form in nature… but our approach to it, its name, its chemical formula, its melting point, etc, are conventions created by us… the abstraction of copper is a human process not present in nature… and its make copper subjective. We would never be completely sure about the nature of copper, and that vulnerable approach makes it subjective because we cannot approach copper as a whole.

hasta mañana

2008-03-05T01:02:00.000-05:00

Controversy and contradiction mixed in the vase of my dying daisies. The heavy night has fallen down to smash the artictic's evolving midnight sun. Darkness has dropped with its full weight on the timid temperature and its little warmth has fled. Most of my words have also gone places and I've been left speechless on the corner of this bed. A glass of inpirational poison should be landing on my lamp table... instead I drink saliva at a slower pace. No one can really read my mind, the language of my brain is elusive and the verses of old lyrics are beginning to vanish at this final hour. I should be careful; my ghosts may wonder around the crime scene to laugh at me. I may be found guilty of an undefined crime projected on this wallpapered walls by my paranoia. If I turn the light off I'll sink into a worse nightmare, my solitude. When there is light there's potential for company. I fall asleep with open eyes. Good night Whitehorse.

the human value

2008-03-04T18:46:00.000-05:00

What is the inner philosophy of a corporation? is it profit making? is it investment? is it talent hunting? Perhaps all of the above but at a very high cost for human lives.
I just left a mini corporation after 4 years of committed dedication. When I first started to work for them, my initial step was to prove that it was worth giving me a chance. Once I reached that level my next goal was to pursue the company’s ideals and dilligently administer the resources I was given . I constantly wondered where people were placed within the value chart of the organization. Most staff seemed to be appreciated when they brought "value" to the place, and "value" meant: money, numbers, action (in this case: students, agents and lots of applications). What else could one expect? That's ok I thought, we all need to make money... we all need to profit in order to survive... but I also noticed that sometimes people would leave the company feeling undervalued and I always hoped it would never be my case. I managed one of their branches for 3 years, and I did what was necessary in my mind. I started by hiring a team of people I felt comfortable working with and who I thought would be committed to their specific role. Some people stayed for a while some people found it hard and left after a short period of time... either because they had different goals to pursue or because they felt they weren't getting enough income in comparison to their working hours.
I was hardly ever given direction. My three bosses never showed up and when they did, they often walked around for a couple of days and found things to be in place.
It wasn't until recently, when I decided to leave the place, that they came to visit and took a closer look at the way we had set things up. I am assuming they weren't fond of my decision to leave but they had no choice. I had my own dreams to pursue and I was also moving to a new city to establish my own enterprise, living together with my partner.
Overnight, many of the things they never "saw" or didn't want to see, started to surface... and I was told that my whole administration had been a disaster... teachers sucked, customer service sucked, programs sucked... everything sucked and it had to be fixed immediately. I tried my best... but my morale had already sank. I looked around and I found a wonderful team of people sinking along with me... I tried to remain positive until my last day despite my often stomach knots and my anxiety attacks. The performance review I submitted to my direct boss was returned to me with negative remarks and my annual bonus was denied on that basis. I had nothing else to say, I was speechless... even though I could've gone back to argue that they were being unfair. They listed all this numbers and measures that didn't correspond to anything I had been informed of... but I had no energy to rebutt it... I didn't want to argue back... I just thought they had a mind set about their expectations and they were not going to move an inch... but... what was I doing there for so long? why didn't I leave before? I guess the fact that I was left alone for so long helped. I was able to create a friendly environment where people really cared about each other and was happy to come to work everyday... that environment obviously didn't correspond to this workaholic idea of fear and control... no one felt threatened, no one felt uncomfortable to be there until they saw the bosses' real aims... our blood, our brains, our energy... with no mercy.
I was let go without a farewell, without a thank you note, without a phone call... but lots of students, and teachers and co-workers did try their best to make me feel fantastic... that was the human value I was missing and which the top blinded management couldn't see... they are not interested... because the minute they let their emotions get involved with the company they won't be able to exercise their inquisitional measures. People are numbers and wages per hour... people should be machines and they are given a favour when being hired... they should be thankful... I see a tyranic aaproach in this corporate mind that no one can question, and this credo is sacred and divine... In a conversation with one of my bosses, whom I call after I left... I said... it is unfortunate that the value of people is below the value of profit... his answer was... yes, it is very unfortunate that it is so!

Reflections on Colombia

2008-03-04T01:05:00.000-05:00

As expected, the United States has backed the Colombian government as much as most average Colombians. It is a democratic crisis that has revealed a series of dark holes. On one hand there is the question of violating Ecuador's sovereignty and on the other, the dilemma of prosecuting an "insurgent guerrilla leader" (I refuse to use the word "terrorist" which I find sickening and abused). I know very little about the Colombian guerrillas. I should know more. I know they have been discredited by the media and that Andres Pastrana claims that he managed to place them on the list of "the most-wanted rebels of the world"... but who are they and what do they want? S and I discussed the possibility of interviewing Chavez and I am going to try to arrange it. I'd like to hear his loud side of the story. I am not fond of Uribe because I link him to militarism and right wing measures, but I also have to admit that I know very little about him. He's popular... his iron hand and workaholic attitude has placed him high on the public opinion polls. Some claim he wants to avenge his father, who was killed by the FARC; some appoint him the creator of the paramilitary forces (Autodefensan Unidas de Colombia). His closest allies have been splashed with the tint of corruption and have been put on trial for alleged links with paramilitary and drug dealers... who can be saved in Colombia? The Colombian society has been intoxicated with an addiction to easy money and with a conflict between oligarchy and left wing guerrillas. The white money from cocaine has tempted both sides of the "peso" and has encouraged the rich (or new rich) to promote the formation of alternative protection forces that would allow them to stay alive. This conflict is far from reaching an end... but a nice way to divert the thoughts of the general public has been the prosecution of guerrillas... and their protrayal as "terrorists, kidnappers, left-wing-chavez-sympathizers"... no wonder why chavez is misunderstood in Colombia as well as the Polo Democratico party. Meanwhile, Ingrid Betancourt - the former Colombian presidential candidate and a French citizen, kidnapped by the FARC five years ago - remains the symbol of a meritless conflict between Creole mentality and the old ideals of a stubborn communist organization. She dies slowly in the midst of an undetermined jungle camp while these different factions play chess with their demons.

Raul Reyes y Dawson City

2008-03-02T21:58:00.000-05:00

Ayer me entere de la muerte de Raul Reyes y del conflicto diplomatico con Ecuador y Venezuela. No se que pensar. No creo que acabar con las vidas de las personas sea un camino hacia la solucion de un conflicto armado tan viejo como el colombiano. Lo que si veo, es que contrario a la reaccion diplomatica de los paises vecinos, la percepcion interna de la situacion en Colombia respalda al Estado con efervescencia. Los medios y la forma en la que el conflicto se ha vuelto del diario "comer" del ciudadano promedio... han animado a muchas personas a respaldar la politica militar del gobierno.
Yo mientras tanto estoy en Dawson City, Yukon... a menos 25 grados centigrados... acabo de conversar con el alcalde de la ciudad, John Steins sobre politica, arte y cultura local... sobre su historia y como llego a Dawson en el 74. Me he animado a pensar que puedo regresar por unos meses a este lugar para escribir, tal vez en ingles, por primera vez.
Ahora vamos a visitar a Lulu "alias" Peggy Sue!

Yukon

2008-03-02T16:05:00.000-05:00

Whitehorse, -19, we take off on the road to Dawson City, nest of the Gold Rush. 6 hours through mountains that look like piles of refined sugar. When there's no heavy wind it never feels that cold... but the temperature drops as we add kilometres. It's amazing. I have learned that snow starts to squeak at 5 degrees F.

One thought for a story... jumping off a plane and deciding during the free fall whether to open or not the parachute.

Meeting A&O

2008-02-24T15:37:00.000-05:00

We were of course nervous. It's normal I guess. He had to pick them up and bring them over here before we went either bowling or skating. They chose bowling and that was fine with me. Bowling shoes are quite funny; god knows how many feet have been in them. The lazes quite fluorescent... and the afternoon bright enough for a cold winter day. We played for about 2 hours and I was lucky enough to win the 4 matches. By the time we left and got to Mexicali Rosa's we were all starving. Fajitas and chili... also some nachos and sangria (not may "fave" as S would say). We talked and eventually laughed at silly jokes. We didn't shake hands upon departure but there was a good vibe in the air. I didn't take them home, I stayed at my new place and waited for S. We couldn't have asked for more. We loved each other again and again as we rewinded fresh memories... the end of this story is actually the beginning of ours.

a stroll

2008-02-20T00:58:00.000-05:00

Contanza paints the night with her breath; I can't hardly see her face... not that I want to but she insists on blowing air out onto this frozen night. She walks behind me and our shadows are one. We are a chubby giant. It's the jackets.

"Plethora" , she mumbles.
"Is that your new word?"
"An embarrassment of riches".
"Not again".
When I silence her she gets lost in the cloud she exhales. She's a walking dictionary or an obssesed empty head.
"Why go to extremes?".
"Yes, in one hand overabundance and in the other one excess of need".
"We are here!" I cry.

We knock on the door and no one hears us. It is the eternal ending. They are never home. "Don't knock next time, just walk in" we were told. But we can't, what if a dog jumps on our chests and bites our eyes... we resign and undo our steps in frustrated silence; this time Constanza is the monter's head while she plays dragon on the surface of the night.

the return

2008-02-19T20:37:00.000-05:00

the working day is almost gone. I'll be fed by business partners in 20 minutes. It will be a farewell and a welcoming ceremony. I am moving to Ottawa and my replacement at work has just started. The dining ritual will be partly natural, partly fake. Business is business but traces of humanity may surface when least expected. I am at the verge of a huge change. The change has already started but I am going through its second half... back to its ending edge therefore its verge. I haven't written thoughts in ages. "Welcome back!", new beginnings are always welcome.