Beautiful Cynicism III

If the day was rushed and stressful, my evening was relaxed. After work I went to the hospital (of course); for the first 45 minutes or so, my Baba was peaceful. One of her brothers was there; he had put on some revivalist music and was doing his thing. The family is entirely Ukrainian Catholic, but this uncle has broken off and become an evangelist. Some describe him as charismatic; others as just plain kooky. I see it all as relatively harmless, as far as it goes. He quotes Bible verses and prays aloud, while some man with a southern accent shouts out “praise the Lord” through the stereo speakers. To each his own. Shortly after, though, Baba became restless, and for the next 2 hours or more she just cried and wailed. I was alone with her for most of that time, and it became difficult to stay. Nothing I did or said seemed to help. And the more she cries, the louder she is, and strangers in the hall start to come into the room, to see what’s happening. Most give me hard, accusatory looks, clearly blaming me for either making her cry, or at least not being able to stop it. Some obviously think I am doing her some harm, as they keep returning to the room to check on us. I just smile nicely and say, “Can I help you?” – not one of them answers; they just keep staring for a few seconds, then leave. Nurses and staff are nowhere to be found. One is truly, utterly alone in the hospital.

Quand je suis retourné chez mon chum la soirée, il avait déjà préparé un dîner pour moi. Nous avons dîner, fait un peu de shopping, puis nous avons passé une nuit agréable avec du thé Chai et des biscuits de gingembre. Je me suis tombée endormie vers 11h45, mon chum à mon côté. Maintenant il est 6h32 et c’est bien douteux que je retrouverai le sommeil ce matin; en tout cas, il va falloir que je me lève à 8h. Peut-être une autre tasse de thé, accompagnée d’un bain chaud, sera indiqué…

Le langage humain ne répond pas seulement à des besoins pratiques et utilitaires. Il répond aux besoins de communication affective. Il permet également de parler pour parler, de dire n’importe quoi pour le plaisir de communiquer avec autrui. (Edgar Morin)

Am I back? I’m not sure. I don’t have anything particularly brilliant to say: I just wanted to say hello. So, “hello”.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders’ Fields.
-John McCrae

I am a pacifist. But I’m also not naïve enough to simply say: let’s just all get along. I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. I would love to be able to believe that every culture, every religion, every ethnicity could live in peace with one another, respecting our differences, forgetting old disputes, working hard to avoid new ones. But I know that it is human nature to be selfish, to be wary of those different than oneself, to band together with ‘like’ individuals to further the group’s interest – even if to do so would cause harm to others. I know there are some disputes that seem to have no solution. While I never advocate violence as a means of conflict resolution (the only resolution involves annihilating the perceived enemy), nor do I support attempting to impose one’s will on anyone and everyone whom one disagrees with, I also know there are some tragedies unfolding that are too large, too painful, too dangerous to ignore. The attempts at decimating a religion, a gender, a culture. Genocides in Rwanda, Bosnia, Sudan, and the largest genocide of all, sadly deserving of its own name, the Holocaust. Live and let live? Imagine, indeed.

If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker. -Albert Einstein

All the peace marches, all the impassioned speeches by world leaders, all the earnest ribbon-wearing, sign-waving, Bible-quoting people urging us all to lay down our arms and join hands instead. A fine sentiment. Yet utterly unrealistic. Those same leaders imploring us all to forgive and forget are sending their country’s youth into dubious battles under false pretenses. Those same peace marches often descend into chaos, where the supposedly passionately pacifist people hold signs declaring “Death to (fill in your choice of politician or country here)”, or burn flags and effigies of world leaders.

The world has achieved a brilliance without wisdom, power without conscience. Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living. -Omar Bradley

Je vous dis adieu au revoir.

Soyez pas étonné; ce n’est pas une tragédie. Ce n’est qu’une coupure de la vie virtuelle.

I don’t feel like myself lately. I find I’m lacking focus; my waters are diluted, muddied, unpure. I feel as though my eyes aren’t seeing properly, my heart isn’t feeling properly. I feel detached from my own life, though I live it every day. Je me sens vide, tout simplement. Je n’ai rien de valeur à dire; je n’ai rien à contribuer au discours global. Je suis statique, plutôt que dynamique. Je ne suis qu’un ennui, au moins à mes yeux.

Comme j’ai précisé à une amie hier, ce n’est pas une déprime, exactement: c’est une douce réalisation qui m’est venue lentement. I rarely have bad dreams; those nighttime flights of fancy that I do remember are generally neutral (though often bizarre), acting to clarify my thoughts and bring me a sense of peace. This morning, after waking from a bad dream for the second night in a row (and for the fourth time this week), I had to ask myself what my mind was trying to tell me. These negative, abstract dreams contained pieces of me, random thoughts and opinions and memories and fantasies all interwoven around familiar characters. While I don’t remember specifics, I know I keep waking up feeling unsettled. I can’t seem to glean any insight from them. Ils sont assez dérangeants qu’ils troublent toute ma journée. Tout ça me dit qu’il y a quelque chose d’incertain et instable en moi, et je dois l’étudier.

C’est un thème familier dans ma vie: je me perds de vue un peu, le ‘vrai’ moi, et tout autre chose se casse et tombe en morceaux autour de moi. Sans une base forte, la maison s’éboulera. Ou, si vous me permettez de changer mes métaphores: je me sens comme un navire sans ancre, dérivant sur la mer. Je peux voir la port; maintenant je dois trouver les moyens de m’y rendre.

C’est illogique; plus les choses s’arrangent, plus je me sens mauvaise. Et je ne veux pas transmettre mes sentiments négatives ici. Je veux que ce blog soit un lieu de beauté, un endroit doux où je peux m’exprimer dans ma façon et peut-être apporter un sourire ou un moment de paix à ceux et celles qui me lisent. Je ne veux pas mettre des choses bêtes ou tièdes. Je ne veux pas parler si je n’ai rien d’intéressant à dire.

Ainsi je dis adieu au revoir au sites, au forums, au méssageries, et au blogs, y compris le mien – au moins pour le moment. Pour vous qui connaissez mon adresse, sachez que je répondrai toujours à mes courriels.

November is many things, but it is also, since 1999, National Novel Writing Month – in which participants compose an entire 175-page (50,000 word) novel between November 1 and midnight, November 30. Well-considered and carefully-composed it’s not!

From the website:
“Make no mistake. You will be writing a lot of crap. And that’s a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down… As you spend November writing, you can draw comfort from the fact that, all around the world, other National Novel Writing Month participants are going through the same joys and sorrows of producing the Great Frantic Novel.”