I can't help but chuckle. The line is so cheesy it is best suited to the voice on t.v. that is meant to spark up some passion and excitement. If it's to do with "Big Brother", then forget it, i'm over that, and i was a long time ago. To be honest, i never was a dedicated fan of it. If it's to do with "The Simpson's", then it may just pass. If it's to do with "House", then it passes. Despite this, nothing could pass with flying colours, like the return of that teen wizard, "Harry Potter".
Call me a big kid. One fact still remains, i am a fan of the "Harry Potter" series. Perhaps not as big as some would claim they are. However, i definitely have a soft spot for the magnificent series, and its equally amazing creator, J. K. Rowling. Perhaps one of the most unique criticisms i have heard, in regards to the "Harry Potter" series came from a teacher and a very good friend. He said, and i can't help but laugh at it now as i did back then: "Harry Potter is like chocolate ice- cream; tastes nice and goes down well, but still leaves you empty after a while".
Well, this sweet- tasting, taste- bud apetising chocolate ice- cream called "Harry Potter", is back again. The sixth installment of the movie version of "Harry Potter", "Harry Potter and the Half- Blood Prince", is due to hit cinemas across the country in December. Till then, you may be rest assured that the hype and mania sourrounding this phenomenon will return. To borrow another common cheesy line: "Bigger and better than ever before".
Maybe some of you already know. Maybe some of you simply don't care. Maybe some of you have pondered on the question, and maybe some of you haven't. Why is the "Harry Potter" series such a big deal? I can't speak for the billions of other fans. Although, i can provide you with a little insight, of course from my point of view, as to why i think the series is such a "global phenomenon".
It has been said before, and i see no reason as to why it shouldn't be said again; "Harry Potter", the character, has been created in such a way that there is something about him, which many can relate to. Of course, he's been created by someone who is unique, and has her own characteristics. Undoubtedly, J. K. Rowling and Harry share a lot in common, as i do with my characters, and particularly my protagonist/s. Apart from all that makes Harry unique, i'm sure that if you knew yourself, and knew, in a way, Harry, and thought of him not in the philosphical sense, as an idea, but rather, as another human being. Then i believe there exists the ability for some "common ground", as the saying goes, to be founded. Upon which, one could begin to fully appreciate the world in which Harry lives and finds himself sometimes thrust into.
Of course, while Harry remains the hero of the series, there are other characters; friends, mentors, enemies and even arch- enemies. Even the one's we begin to like, or at least grow accustomed to, are the victims of some hate, or disapproval, when they turn against Harry.
Whilst we all love Harry, there are others, too, that we look forward to seeing as well. On the rare occasion, just as much. Ron for his dimwittedness, Hermione for her Brilliance, Neville for his determination and unfounded loyalty, which one can only look upon and use as a paragon; Draco and Lucius Malfoy, for the way they intend to assert their higher station amongst another society, and use it to their advantage in the one where they lead a bouble life, Snape for the hate he carries towards Harry, and always seems to be in the right place at a time when Harry is doing something wrong, The Weasley Twins for their tricks and jokes, and Dumbledore, finally, for the love, care and sense of security he seems to provide to all apart of his world at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Whilst the line seems no less cheesy to me now that it did when i started, it's true. The mania, the hype, the story, the excitement is back, and it'll be bigger and better than ever for all involved. Even if you aren't, you won't be able to avoid hearing about it on the news, seeing it on television, or reading about it and other things to do with it, in the newspaper, or the magazines that circulate the market. Whilst some of you may choose to fight the mania, or even deny you care, you won't be able to escape it. It will totally annoy you. Fans like me probably haven't helped. Although, at least i was one of the few considerate ones of giving you "Harry Potter" Heretics a heads up; YOU WILL JOIN US...one day :) then again, maybe not.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Eccentric Care
I was on my way to UNI the other day. (After a month off, it was time to go back to that Ancient Institution of great thought and learning, and i'm not complaining!). On the train, reading my newest book, occasionally looking up at the remaining few souls left in the up- stairs part of the carriage i was sitting in, i noticed a pair of middle- aged ladies sitting in front of me, (they were actually two seats in front, but had the seat facing me), and another young man roughly 23 years old. He sat to my left in a two- seater. He was also reading a book, and like me wore his glasses. It wasn't so much his reading that seemed to annoy the women. Of course they didn't express this when he was there, typically, they waited till he was off the train. Cowardice if you ask me.
When the young man got on the train and seated himself. He took out his book and begun to wipe his glasses clean. I saw nothing wrong with this. I am guilty of the same crime: taking care of my glasses, in fact, all my belongings. I couldn't help but notice the particular facial exchange the women made when the young man was cleaning his glasses, particularly, carefully and thoroughly. I thought this exchange very weird, but resumed my reading.
When the young man did get off the verbal exchange begun. The one thing they both agreed on was: "If he's that careful with his glasses you can only hope he's not that careful with life or women...I'd hate to see him in bed if he's that careful." I couldn't help but look up at them with disgust. I didn't bother hiding it either. In fact, i admit i was happy they noticed it. They both saw me, and made another facial exchange. They tried to soften the moment by smiling, and chuckling, but i didn't falter. I continued to look, stare at them. My heart pounded. I was disgusted, and slightly enraged, but held it.
One of the ladies looked at me with a smile and said: "Problem love?" In a way, being thus provoked into conversation burst out into a verbal assault to match the storming of the Bastile. Although, i didn't shout or raise my voice.
"You think that talking about someone like that, anyone, is necessary, or appropriate in a public venue?" was the first question i asked, venomously.
"There's no- one here love, except you." The answer.
"So the guy takes care of his belongings, what you should hope for is that he will take that much care of his wife, or girlfriend, or family...why the hell would you even think about how he'd act in bed?" No answer. So i continued.
"Not only is that sick, in my opinion because he's well younger than both of you, but it's very disrespectful, and only shows me how much you disrespect the act of sex and what it can stand for in a relationship..and then you will go home, hear on the news about teens having sex at young ages and think, or say, "How disgusting the kids of today are!", and yet you can't help yourselves when you're out and about!"
They looked at each other. I don't think they cared so much. However, i think the point about teens and their responses hit somewhere close to home. I didn't continue. I calmed my nerves, and resumed to read. I didn't look up again.
When the train stopped again at Kingsgrove i saw movement from the top of my peripheral vision. I knew it was their stop. I kept reading, determined not to make eye contact again. They tried to linger as much as possible, as much as time would allow safely. I didn't look up. Maybe this stubbornness was wrong. Maybe i should have looked up, it may have been another chance for me to look at them dissapprovingly! Nonetheless, i didn't. I don't know what would have happened if i did. Maybe they would have retaliated, maybe they would have apologised, (though i highly doubt that), then again, i don't know.
Perhaps what i did was wrong. I didn't do it for the young man. I did it for me. I didn't like the way they had spoken about the guy acting, if he was in bed with a women. I may be behind the times here, but the last time i checked, talking about someone and what they did in their bedroom with their partner was personal. In fact, in my culture, the bedroom of a couple is somewhat sacred. If one wants to talk about what happens in their bedroom then they can, but to talk about others, in such a way, that disrespects them and the act of sex and what i believe it stands for, is dead wrong. It was this that angered me. They were middle- aged ladies, supposed to have some self- respect and dignity, and yet displayed nothing but a detesteable character.
Maybe it was wrong of me to speak to them the way i did. Do i regret it now? No. Did i immediately after they got off the train? In a way, yes. I wasn't trying to be noble. I merely stated what i thought was the appropriate way that they, firstly as ladies, and secondly because of their age, should have behaved in public; Regardless of how many, or how few, people there were aboard. Perhaps i am living in a different world and time. However, if i overtly behaved badly, i should like to know.
When the young man got on the train and seated himself. He took out his book and begun to wipe his glasses clean. I saw nothing wrong with this. I am guilty of the same crime: taking care of my glasses, in fact, all my belongings. I couldn't help but notice the particular facial exchange the women made when the young man was cleaning his glasses, particularly, carefully and thoroughly. I thought this exchange very weird, but resumed my reading.
When the young man did get off the verbal exchange begun. The one thing they both agreed on was: "If he's that careful with his glasses you can only hope he's not that careful with life or women...I'd hate to see him in bed if he's that careful." I couldn't help but look up at them with disgust. I didn't bother hiding it either. In fact, i admit i was happy they noticed it. They both saw me, and made another facial exchange. They tried to soften the moment by smiling, and chuckling, but i didn't falter. I continued to look, stare at them. My heart pounded. I was disgusted, and slightly enraged, but held it.
One of the ladies looked at me with a smile and said: "Problem love?" In a way, being thus provoked into conversation burst out into a verbal assault to match the storming of the Bastile. Although, i didn't shout or raise my voice.
"You think that talking about someone like that, anyone, is necessary, or appropriate in a public venue?" was the first question i asked, venomously.
"There's no- one here love, except you." The answer.
"So the guy takes care of his belongings, what you should hope for is that he will take that much care of his wife, or girlfriend, or family...why the hell would you even think about how he'd act in bed?" No answer. So i continued.
"Not only is that sick, in my opinion because he's well younger than both of you, but it's very disrespectful, and only shows me how much you disrespect the act of sex and what it can stand for in a relationship..and then you will go home, hear on the news about teens having sex at young ages and think, or say, "How disgusting the kids of today are!", and yet you can't help yourselves when you're out and about!"
They looked at each other. I don't think they cared so much. However, i think the point about teens and their responses hit somewhere close to home. I didn't continue. I calmed my nerves, and resumed to read. I didn't look up again.
When the train stopped again at Kingsgrove i saw movement from the top of my peripheral vision. I knew it was their stop. I kept reading, determined not to make eye contact again. They tried to linger as much as possible, as much as time would allow safely. I didn't look up. Maybe this stubbornness was wrong. Maybe i should have looked up, it may have been another chance for me to look at them dissapprovingly! Nonetheless, i didn't. I don't know what would have happened if i did. Maybe they would have retaliated, maybe they would have apologised, (though i highly doubt that), then again, i don't know.
Perhaps what i did was wrong. I didn't do it for the young man. I did it for me. I didn't like the way they had spoken about the guy acting, if he was in bed with a women. I may be behind the times here, but the last time i checked, talking about someone and what they did in their bedroom with their partner was personal. In fact, in my culture, the bedroom of a couple is somewhat sacred. If one wants to talk about what happens in their bedroom then they can, but to talk about others, in such a way, that disrespects them and the act of sex and what i believe it stands for, is dead wrong. It was this that angered me. They were middle- aged ladies, supposed to have some self- respect and dignity, and yet displayed nothing but a detesteable character.
Maybe it was wrong of me to speak to them the way i did. Do i regret it now? No. Did i immediately after they got off the train? In a way, yes. I wasn't trying to be noble. I merely stated what i thought was the appropriate way that they, firstly as ladies, and secondly because of their age, should have behaved in public; Regardless of how many, or how few, people there were aboard. Perhaps i am living in a different world and time. However, if i overtly behaved badly, i should like to know.
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Intimate Friendship
For those of you who have read Charles Dickens "Great Expectations" or "David Copperfield", you may be familiar with this concept. Surprisingly, it even made an appearance in J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series. Although, Rowling had to confirm the rumours that Dumbledore was gay, before it was actually realised by the billions of fans.
Looking at these two books, and series, (in particular), at some point the reader is presented with the theme of initmate friendship. This friendship is shared between two people of the same sex. Dumbledore and Grindelwald, David Copperfield and his patron and good friend Steerforth, Pip and his Mr. Matthew Pocket. By today's standards such "Intimate" friendships are considered homosexual. What i fail to see, or notice, is why. Why must friends be afraid to share a level of intimacy, for fear of being labelled homosexual? I don't think that such friendships come anywhere close to being "gay".
Take a deeper look at Pip and his friend Mr. Matthew Pocket. They are friends like all others. What makes their friendship different from most, nowadays, is that during the Victorian era, it was, somewhat, common- practice for boys and girls to "stick together". As the saying goes "Birds of a feather flock together". They were roommates. They shared their up's and down's. Is it, perhaps, this sharing of life- style which makes their friendship, seemingly, homosexual? Maybe. Do i believe the insinuation should even exist? NO! (Then again, this is only my opinion!).
In no part of Dickens "Great Expectations" is there ever the narration, or insinuation, of a friendship between Pip and Matthew that went beyond the boundaries of decent behaviour. Niether by former, or latter, standards. The same can be said for David Copperfield and Steerforth. David's admiration of Steerforth, at the beginning of their aquaintance, founds a strong friendship between the two. Despite the age gap, pointed out by "David", through some authorial intrusion by Dickens, Steerforth becomes a patron to "young Copperfield".
I remember reading an article in the Sunday Telegraph back in 2006. It was an article predicting the top ten celebrities that could be homosexual. Among the article's top ten, surprisingly, was Julie Andrews. At first i was shocked and horrified, and made no secret of this either. However, i was enlightened by a good friend and close relative of one little factor. Julie Andrews is among the few great actors, today, who would have been brought up with a similar concept to that of Dickens Victorian era; Only befriend those of your sex, when you're ready to be married, then you may think about boys, or girls. Even then, the choice was never fully that of the parties involved, it was mainly the job of the parents, namely the fathers.
Of course i am not, but had i been J. K. Rowling, i don't think i would have quite accepted the rumours, or given in to them. Despite the fact that most of the fans, or those that claim to be, would probably still think of Dumbledore as gay. I would have persisted that, in nature, no; His intimate friendship with Grindelwald was innocent. A friendship that was founded in a time when others were dictating the social mores and parameters of decency.
Perhaps the only criticism that stands out for me, in regards to Dickens and his novels, is: The imagery he depicts, of Victorian England, is so realistic, (as some of the images come from Dickens own experiances), that they depict a truth to cruel for the mind. His images paint a picture so real in the readers' minds that the truth is only amplified, and the emotion, it sky- rockets. Insomuch, that some readers can't help but cry when reading of Oliver, or Pip, or David. This criticism, coupled with the fact that Dickens may have also gone through what some of his little heroes do, makes it clear for one to see the psychological damage the Victorian era may have had on Dickens, himself. Thus, it becomes clearer to see the psychological damage the events that take place in "Great Expectations" and "David Copperfield" could have had on the heroes of the stories.
Undoubtedly, friendships, and the nature thereof, have taken a turn since Dickens Victorian England, and the worlds of David Copperfield and Pip. Even J. K. Rowling confirmed the change of heart. Yet i fail to see why, or how, these intimate friendships have to be labelled as homosexual by today's standards. There is no indecent behaviour evident, that suggests or insinuates such an inclination in niether Dumbledore, David or Pip, and their companions. There is, however, an innocent love that they all share for their companions, who've prooven to be worthy of the trust, loyalty and friendship of their counter- parts. One thing stands out amongst all this. All the friendships are founded at early ages. Thus, the companions all grow up together. Hence, their bond of friendship goes far beyond the boundaries of the norm. This in no way, however, constitutes for the labelling of such friendships as homosexual.
I think that the boundaries of a physical, sexual relationship differ greatly from those that define an intimate friendship, by the standards and ways described in such novels as Charles Dickens "David Copperfield" and "Great Expectations", and J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series.
Looking at these two books, and series, (in particular), at some point the reader is presented with the theme of initmate friendship. This friendship is shared between two people of the same sex. Dumbledore and Grindelwald, David Copperfield and his patron and good friend Steerforth, Pip and his Mr. Matthew Pocket. By today's standards such "Intimate" friendships are considered homosexual. What i fail to see, or notice, is why. Why must friends be afraid to share a level of intimacy, for fear of being labelled homosexual? I don't think that such friendships come anywhere close to being "gay".
Take a deeper look at Pip and his friend Mr. Matthew Pocket. They are friends like all others. What makes their friendship different from most, nowadays, is that during the Victorian era, it was, somewhat, common- practice for boys and girls to "stick together". As the saying goes "Birds of a feather flock together". They were roommates. They shared their up's and down's. Is it, perhaps, this sharing of life- style which makes their friendship, seemingly, homosexual? Maybe. Do i believe the insinuation should even exist? NO! (Then again, this is only my opinion!).
In no part of Dickens "Great Expectations" is there ever the narration, or insinuation, of a friendship between Pip and Matthew that went beyond the boundaries of decent behaviour. Niether by former, or latter, standards. The same can be said for David Copperfield and Steerforth. David's admiration of Steerforth, at the beginning of their aquaintance, founds a strong friendship between the two. Despite the age gap, pointed out by "David", through some authorial intrusion by Dickens, Steerforth becomes a patron to "young Copperfield".
I remember reading an article in the Sunday Telegraph back in 2006. It was an article predicting the top ten celebrities that could be homosexual. Among the article's top ten, surprisingly, was Julie Andrews. At first i was shocked and horrified, and made no secret of this either. However, i was enlightened by a good friend and close relative of one little factor. Julie Andrews is among the few great actors, today, who would have been brought up with a similar concept to that of Dickens Victorian era; Only befriend those of your sex, when you're ready to be married, then you may think about boys, or girls. Even then, the choice was never fully that of the parties involved, it was mainly the job of the parents, namely the fathers.
Of course i am not, but had i been J. K. Rowling, i don't think i would have quite accepted the rumours, or given in to them. Despite the fact that most of the fans, or those that claim to be, would probably still think of Dumbledore as gay. I would have persisted that, in nature, no; His intimate friendship with Grindelwald was innocent. A friendship that was founded in a time when others were dictating the social mores and parameters of decency.
Perhaps the only criticism that stands out for me, in regards to Dickens and his novels, is: The imagery he depicts, of Victorian England, is so realistic, (as some of the images come from Dickens own experiances), that they depict a truth to cruel for the mind. His images paint a picture so real in the readers' minds that the truth is only amplified, and the emotion, it sky- rockets. Insomuch, that some readers can't help but cry when reading of Oliver, or Pip, or David. This criticism, coupled with the fact that Dickens may have also gone through what some of his little heroes do, makes it clear for one to see the psychological damage the Victorian era may have had on Dickens, himself. Thus, it becomes clearer to see the psychological damage the events that take place in "Great Expectations" and "David Copperfield" could have had on the heroes of the stories.
Undoubtedly, friendships, and the nature thereof, have taken a turn since Dickens Victorian England, and the worlds of David Copperfield and Pip. Even J. K. Rowling confirmed the change of heart. Yet i fail to see why, or how, these intimate friendships have to be labelled as homosexual by today's standards. There is no indecent behaviour evident, that suggests or insinuates such an inclination in niether Dumbledore, David or Pip, and their companions. There is, however, an innocent love that they all share for their companions, who've prooven to be worthy of the trust, loyalty and friendship of their counter- parts. One thing stands out amongst all this. All the friendships are founded at early ages. Thus, the companions all grow up together. Hence, their bond of friendship goes far beyond the boundaries of the norm. This in no way, however, constitutes for the labelling of such friendships as homosexual.
I think that the boundaries of a physical, sexual relationship differ greatly from those that define an intimate friendship, by the standards and ways described in such novels as Charles Dickens "David Copperfield" and "Great Expectations", and J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
"The Little People"
When i first heard this phrase used by a family friend, describing her stature, it seemed appropriate. I laughed, as did everyone else. Monica even chuckled herself. It was only when she enlightened the group, however, that a scene from "Good Will Hunting" came to mind. The scene was where Sean and Will are talking about the things that Sean remembers of his deceased wife. Her "Idiosyncracies", or imperfections, that made her so perfect.
The joke, as it appeared to the group, was actually something like this. Don, Monica's late husband, believed he was able to see and speak to "the little people". Of course, the group was suddenly taken over by a sense of guilt and sincere regret. We didn't know, Monica pointed this out to us to comfort our awkward silence, but like all jokes this one had its own origins. We all appreciated the back- story. Though, it wasn't something to laugh at.
Don never gave up his favourite chair in the living- room. It was his and his only. In the latter days of his sickness he begun to talk to "the little people". It started with this one incident when Don was sitting in his chair watching t.v. Monica and the rest of the family were at the dinner table having coffee and tea. Don, at one point spoke to the right side of him: "Do you want me to move over?" he asked. Monica and the boys stopped and looked over. Joshua asked: "Who are you talking to dad?" Don replied: "No one mate."
The incident occured once more. This time, when Joshua asked again, Don replied: "I was talking to the little people." It was this second incident that shocked the entire family. For these little people, Don got out of his chair and sat in Monica's. Don passed on soon after, and may He Forever Rest in Peace.
Of course, the group found the idea of "little people" obsured. I, however, both internally and verbally expressed my view, simultaneously. "What's wrong with that?" The looks and expressions around the table told me that was a stupid question, and that something like that wasn't "normal". I did not, and do not, intend on making a farce of this. I honestly believe that there is nothing wrong with someone, or even a group of people, claiming to see little people. Guilliver did, in his travells to Liliput. No one believed him till his son begun to notice them as well.
This may seem crazy, but i think there is nothing wrong with this at all. People believe in aliens, yet no one's seen them. People can't believe in God, yet they believe in aliens, which in itself is a ridiculous notion. Children believe in witches and magic and ghosts and all these other supernatural beings. Of course, children are exactly that. These little human beings with an imagination to wrap the entire world in. If believing in God is hard for some, then i find it hard to believe how some can believe in the notion of aliens.
The imagination of a child is so wild that it allows for adventures and magic and quests and FUN. Why do people grow up and, mentally, loose this imagination? Sure, if we all believed in ghosts and magic and dragons then we may live in a totally different world. Perhaps the argument i'm trying to make here is, whilst there's nothing wrong with growing up, does everyone have to make the choice to loose their imagination. Their ability to believe in magic and dragons and worlds out of this universe?
I don't think the notion of "little people" is crazy or ludicrous or silly. I think that any man who can see something another can't is more sane. It's this ability to "see", or imagine, that allows for people like "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium", "The Spiderwick Chronicles" and even "Harry Potter".
From this story i think that i will take just this away. There is magic in the world, and in our lives, each day. Sometimes our ability to see it depends on what believe it to be. Some may think it's luck, fate, life, or some may believe it's a blessing from God. There are those, still, who believe it's magic.
Perhaps i am crazy. Though, i'd like to think that i still have the ability to believe in things that others find silly or ludicrous. It's fun. It makes my life a whole lot more interesting. I can be who i want, go where i want, and i can rule it all. Yes, this is madness, but i've grown up around adults all my life. I guess i'm sick to death of all the dullness and drabness that old people bring. When the game is said and done, i return to reality. That, too, can be fun as well. Like the "Pevensie children", often, i don't have to want to return to imaginary worlds, they come to me. Like Peter and Susan, however, i walk the line of growing too old for the likes of these worlds; that one day i will have to take all that i've learnt, and leave. I hope it's not the case though.
Take away my imagination and you take away something that makes me who i am. Call me a dreamer, but it's something that i love about me too; My imagination. I can't help but wait for the next time that i let my imagination take me away to some place i've never known.
(Many thanks to Monica Beverage for allowing me to publish this post, using a memory of hers that emphasises Don's perfections, and the things we all loved him for)
The joke, as it appeared to the group, was actually something like this. Don, Monica's late husband, believed he was able to see and speak to "the little people". Of course, the group was suddenly taken over by a sense of guilt and sincere regret. We didn't know, Monica pointed this out to us to comfort our awkward silence, but like all jokes this one had its own origins. We all appreciated the back- story. Though, it wasn't something to laugh at.
Don never gave up his favourite chair in the living- room. It was his and his only. In the latter days of his sickness he begun to talk to "the little people". It started with this one incident when Don was sitting in his chair watching t.v. Monica and the rest of the family were at the dinner table having coffee and tea. Don, at one point spoke to the right side of him: "Do you want me to move over?" he asked. Monica and the boys stopped and looked over. Joshua asked: "Who are you talking to dad?" Don replied: "No one mate."
The incident occured once more. This time, when Joshua asked again, Don replied: "I was talking to the little people." It was this second incident that shocked the entire family. For these little people, Don got out of his chair and sat in Monica's. Don passed on soon after, and may He Forever Rest in Peace.
Of course, the group found the idea of "little people" obsured. I, however, both internally and verbally expressed my view, simultaneously. "What's wrong with that?" The looks and expressions around the table told me that was a stupid question, and that something like that wasn't "normal". I did not, and do not, intend on making a farce of this. I honestly believe that there is nothing wrong with someone, or even a group of people, claiming to see little people. Guilliver did, in his travells to Liliput. No one believed him till his son begun to notice them as well.
This may seem crazy, but i think there is nothing wrong with this at all. People believe in aliens, yet no one's seen them. People can't believe in God, yet they believe in aliens, which in itself is a ridiculous notion. Children believe in witches and magic and ghosts and all these other supernatural beings. Of course, children are exactly that. These little human beings with an imagination to wrap the entire world in. If believing in God is hard for some, then i find it hard to believe how some can believe in the notion of aliens.
The imagination of a child is so wild that it allows for adventures and magic and quests and FUN. Why do people grow up and, mentally, loose this imagination? Sure, if we all believed in ghosts and magic and dragons then we may live in a totally different world. Perhaps the argument i'm trying to make here is, whilst there's nothing wrong with growing up, does everyone have to make the choice to loose their imagination. Their ability to believe in magic and dragons and worlds out of this universe?
I don't think the notion of "little people" is crazy or ludicrous or silly. I think that any man who can see something another can't is more sane. It's this ability to "see", or imagine, that allows for people like "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium", "The Spiderwick Chronicles" and even "Harry Potter".
From this story i think that i will take just this away. There is magic in the world, and in our lives, each day. Sometimes our ability to see it depends on what believe it to be. Some may think it's luck, fate, life, or some may believe it's a blessing from God. There are those, still, who believe it's magic.
Perhaps i am crazy. Though, i'd like to think that i still have the ability to believe in things that others find silly or ludicrous. It's fun. It makes my life a whole lot more interesting. I can be who i want, go where i want, and i can rule it all. Yes, this is madness, but i've grown up around adults all my life. I guess i'm sick to death of all the dullness and drabness that old people bring. When the game is said and done, i return to reality. That, too, can be fun as well. Like the "Pevensie children", often, i don't have to want to return to imaginary worlds, they come to me. Like Peter and Susan, however, i walk the line of growing too old for the likes of these worlds; that one day i will have to take all that i've learnt, and leave. I hope it's not the case though.
Take away my imagination and you take away something that makes me who i am. Call me a dreamer, but it's something that i love about me too; My imagination. I can't help but wait for the next time that i let my imagination take me away to some place i've never known.
(Many thanks to Monica Beverage for allowing me to publish this post, using a memory of hers that emphasises Don's perfections, and the things we all loved him for)
Monday, July 21, 2008
Imagine this...
Here's the storyline to a short story that i'd like to write once i've finished my major novel:
Zachary. 15 and in year 10. He's Greek, (big surprise there ey!?), and is the third child. He's always been known as Zachary, never Zach. He has an older brother and sister, and another sister, Glykeria, who is one year younger than him. He's always wanted a twin, but Glykeria is better than nothing. They have their fair share of ups and downs. As always, and like most families, they get through the tough and laugh about it later.
His parents are hard working and dedicated. As before, they have problems, but they get through. Zachary is a quiet boy. Shy, but extremely loyal when he makes firends. His friendships are based on it. Solid, unfounded loyalty and trust. Often, this naive trust is taken advantage of. Zachary can see it, but functions on the notion that if he were ever in need, then he would recieve help. His true friends alert him to the fact that more often than not his trust is being abused. He doesn't stop being there for others, though.
Zachary is an in- doors person. Loves the out- doors to, but he's more of the quiet type. Anywhere quiet and peaceful is where you'll find Zachary. He is the pondering type. He ponders, sometimes on the bigger questions of life. He loves to read. One of the problems he has with his parents is the amount of money he spends on books. The top shelf of his closet is packed with books. Of course, his parents don't really mind. They just pick on him for being such a book- worm.
Family is a lot to Zachary. Actually, it's everything. It comes before health, school, and self. This may be a good or bad thing, but that is how Zachary is. It's something he blames his father for, in a good way. Sunday's see either Zachary's home, or his cousins place, hosting the weekly get- together lunch after church. Since Zachary's cousins are older than he and Glykeria, they spend most of their time together. Although, the families are close. Both families even have a running joke that even makes appearances on invitations to weddings and baptisms. It's something small, but to Zachary, it defines them all as a family/ clan.
Growing up in a Greek family, religion makes it's way into Zachary's life without question and hinderence. Each sunday, since he was five, Zachary was serving in the altar. Ten years on, and Zachary still serves at the altar each sunday. He's known by practically the entire parish. Since he was five, he even had the prospect of becoming a priest in his sights. This made many proud. However, it also added an extra pressure. One that would come back to haunt him later on. He still has the idea in his head. Amongst all the other stuff running through his mind. He has, however, questioned his worthiness of the job, since growing up. It was one of his teachers that actually made him stop and think. He was reminded that priesthood was a big deal because it was about a person carrying the spiritual well- being of the congregation. This is no small task for the faint- hearted.
So life continues. The weeks roll on by and Zachary continues going to school every day from monday to friday. On the occasion, he'll go out with a friend or two on saturday. Other than that, he's at home. Zachary's room is his sanctuary. It's not a place he likes strangers in. It's his realm. He has posters up of his favourite bands, singers, and football, (soccer) teams. He has pictures of family, relatives and friends hanging up in certain places too. The most noteable feature, though, and Zachary's favourite, is an art work that he bought from an international art student. It was of a crashing ocean at sunset. The red setting sun's rays are reflected in the water of the ocean, making it seem like a sea of blood. The artist used rocks from a beach, chipped the rock and painted over the shattered peices, adding to the texture of the piece. It was a perfect image for anyone who wanted to create the feeling of escape. Zachary had things he wanted to escape from. There was one thing in particular.
It haunted him from the very moment he became aware of it. Whilst Zachary's parents could claim to know their son. There was one thing they didn't. Not even Glykeria, or his closest friends knew this secret. It was a deep secret. Not dark, just deep. Maybe too deep for Zachary's liking. He tried to be honest and true to himself. Zachary didn't like phoney's. Ironically, he found himself in a predicament that he felt made his life a complete hypocrisy. While he was trying to be the person people knew him to be, he was not being the person that he truely was. He was better off being an abomination of humanity, than admit to anyone close to him, what he really was. He was terrified. It was something that haunted him and lurked in the shadows. At school, at home, while he was out with friends, even when he was at church. He was not left at peace.
Zachary was homosexual. It's believed that people who are homosexual are born like that; You can't become it. You either are, or your not. Unless of course, something has happend in your up- bringing that has had an affect. Looking back on his life, Zachary was able to make a few extrapolations. While he was young, his brother and father were at work. This left him in the care of his sister and mother. Where they went, he went. He always dressed well, and took care of himself. He wasn't the rough sort. He didn't like sports much when he was young. He liked to watch, participation depended, (and still does), on the game. Otherwise, he was on the side- line. Growing up around women, he became sensitive, not only to the emotions of others, but also to the needs of others. Thus, he was not only physically affected, but morally he was changed as well.
More than once, Zachary asked himself whether or not he was reading into these signs a little too much. Questioned whether or not he was making a mountain out of a mole- hill. At some point he thought this might be the case. Untill he realised that there was still one thing he hadn't considered. Something big, which he'd almost forgotten to take into consideration.
When Zachary was in kindergarten he was sexually abused by another student in his class. Yes, another boy, the same age as Zachary, sexually abused him, and stole his innocence. Zachary couldn't remember the boy's name. He could, however, remember the colour of the boy's hair, the tone of his voice, and even the instructions he gave Zachary. This boy had, obviously, seen such behaviour taking place at home. The lack of care meant that he took this behaviour with him to school. Being friends with Zachary meant that little Zachary was to be the target. Both didn't know any different. One had seen it at home, thinking it was right, he tried it on his friend. Zachary, not knowing that this was inappropriate, obliged. More frightening, this didn't only happen once. Quite the contrary, it became a dialy routine. Like clock- work. It was so long ago, that boy may have moved on to other things. Even bigger was the possibility that he didn't even remember Zachary. Zachary remembered him though. His face and more than one incident was imprinted on Zachary's retina, for life. (Both the school and place where this abuse took place exist today).
So this is the story, i suppose, of how young Zachary, 15 and in year 10, deals with his sexual orientation. How he plans to cope with being true to himself. I can't help but ask if Zachary actually has any plans at all to cope with being homosexual; whether he'd much prefer to continue living his life the way he has. Being the person all believe him to be, rather than the person he knows he is.
That's it that's all i'm going to reveal. (Note: If any of this piece does seem misjointed, or all over the place, most likely it's my mistake. I will, however, take advantage of the situation and say that i've already revealed too much that there hardly remains any reason for you to read the story any more). Although, i do have a question: Does the excuse i'm giving Zachary make it appropriate for me to include a friend of Zachary's who tells him to get proffessional help, or, cause Zachary to go looking for the boy, in which case he ends up going schitzo!?
Zachary. 15 and in year 10. He's Greek, (big surprise there ey!?), and is the third child. He's always been known as Zachary, never Zach. He has an older brother and sister, and another sister, Glykeria, who is one year younger than him. He's always wanted a twin, but Glykeria is better than nothing. They have their fair share of ups and downs. As always, and like most families, they get through the tough and laugh about it later.
His parents are hard working and dedicated. As before, they have problems, but they get through. Zachary is a quiet boy. Shy, but extremely loyal when he makes firends. His friendships are based on it. Solid, unfounded loyalty and trust. Often, this naive trust is taken advantage of. Zachary can see it, but functions on the notion that if he were ever in need, then he would recieve help. His true friends alert him to the fact that more often than not his trust is being abused. He doesn't stop being there for others, though.
Zachary is an in- doors person. Loves the out- doors to, but he's more of the quiet type. Anywhere quiet and peaceful is where you'll find Zachary. He is the pondering type. He ponders, sometimes on the bigger questions of life. He loves to read. One of the problems he has with his parents is the amount of money he spends on books. The top shelf of his closet is packed with books. Of course, his parents don't really mind. They just pick on him for being such a book- worm.
Family is a lot to Zachary. Actually, it's everything. It comes before health, school, and self. This may be a good or bad thing, but that is how Zachary is. It's something he blames his father for, in a good way. Sunday's see either Zachary's home, or his cousins place, hosting the weekly get- together lunch after church. Since Zachary's cousins are older than he and Glykeria, they spend most of their time together. Although, the families are close. Both families even have a running joke that even makes appearances on invitations to weddings and baptisms. It's something small, but to Zachary, it defines them all as a family/ clan.
Growing up in a Greek family, religion makes it's way into Zachary's life without question and hinderence. Each sunday, since he was five, Zachary was serving in the altar. Ten years on, and Zachary still serves at the altar each sunday. He's known by practically the entire parish. Since he was five, he even had the prospect of becoming a priest in his sights. This made many proud. However, it also added an extra pressure. One that would come back to haunt him later on. He still has the idea in his head. Amongst all the other stuff running through his mind. He has, however, questioned his worthiness of the job, since growing up. It was one of his teachers that actually made him stop and think. He was reminded that priesthood was a big deal because it was about a person carrying the spiritual well- being of the congregation. This is no small task for the faint- hearted.
So life continues. The weeks roll on by and Zachary continues going to school every day from monday to friday. On the occasion, he'll go out with a friend or two on saturday. Other than that, he's at home. Zachary's room is his sanctuary. It's not a place he likes strangers in. It's his realm. He has posters up of his favourite bands, singers, and football, (soccer) teams. He has pictures of family, relatives and friends hanging up in certain places too. The most noteable feature, though, and Zachary's favourite, is an art work that he bought from an international art student. It was of a crashing ocean at sunset. The red setting sun's rays are reflected in the water of the ocean, making it seem like a sea of blood. The artist used rocks from a beach, chipped the rock and painted over the shattered peices, adding to the texture of the piece. It was a perfect image for anyone who wanted to create the feeling of escape. Zachary had things he wanted to escape from. There was one thing in particular.
It haunted him from the very moment he became aware of it. Whilst Zachary's parents could claim to know their son. There was one thing they didn't. Not even Glykeria, or his closest friends knew this secret. It was a deep secret. Not dark, just deep. Maybe too deep for Zachary's liking. He tried to be honest and true to himself. Zachary didn't like phoney's. Ironically, he found himself in a predicament that he felt made his life a complete hypocrisy. While he was trying to be the person people knew him to be, he was not being the person that he truely was. He was better off being an abomination of humanity, than admit to anyone close to him, what he really was. He was terrified. It was something that haunted him and lurked in the shadows. At school, at home, while he was out with friends, even when he was at church. He was not left at peace.
Zachary was homosexual. It's believed that people who are homosexual are born like that; You can't become it. You either are, or your not. Unless of course, something has happend in your up- bringing that has had an affect. Looking back on his life, Zachary was able to make a few extrapolations. While he was young, his brother and father were at work. This left him in the care of his sister and mother. Where they went, he went. He always dressed well, and took care of himself. He wasn't the rough sort. He didn't like sports much when he was young. He liked to watch, participation depended, (and still does), on the game. Otherwise, he was on the side- line. Growing up around women, he became sensitive, not only to the emotions of others, but also to the needs of others. Thus, he was not only physically affected, but morally he was changed as well.
More than once, Zachary asked himself whether or not he was reading into these signs a little too much. Questioned whether or not he was making a mountain out of a mole- hill. At some point he thought this might be the case. Untill he realised that there was still one thing he hadn't considered. Something big, which he'd almost forgotten to take into consideration.
When Zachary was in kindergarten he was sexually abused by another student in his class. Yes, another boy, the same age as Zachary, sexually abused him, and stole his innocence. Zachary couldn't remember the boy's name. He could, however, remember the colour of the boy's hair, the tone of his voice, and even the instructions he gave Zachary. This boy had, obviously, seen such behaviour taking place at home. The lack of care meant that he took this behaviour with him to school. Being friends with Zachary meant that little Zachary was to be the target. Both didn't know any different. One had seen it at home, thinking it was right, he tried it on his friend. Zachary, not knowing that this was inappropriate, obliged. More frightening, this didn't only happen once. Quite the contrary, it became a dialy routine. Like clock- work. It was so long ago, that boy may have moved on to other things. Even bigger was the possibility that he didn't even remember Zachary. Zachary remembered him though. His face and more than one incident was imprinted on Zachary's retina, for life. (Both the school and place where this abuse took place exist today).
So this is the story, i suppose, of how young Zachary, 15 and in year 10, deals with his sexual orientation. How he plans to cope with being true to himself. I can't help but ask if Zachary actually has any plans at all to cope with being homosexual; whether he'd much prefer to continue living his life the way he has. Being the person all believe him to be, rather than the person he knows he is.
That's it that's all i'm going to reveal. (Note: If any of this piece does seem misjointed, or all over the place, most likely it's my mistake. I will, however, take advantage of the situation and say that i've already revealed too much that there hardly remains any reason for you to read the story any more). Although, i do have a question: Does the excuse i'm giving Zachary make it appropriate for me to include a friend of Zachary's who tells him to get proffessional help, or, cause Zachary to go looking for the boy, in which case he ends up going schitzo!?
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The Best i can offer
ok get this; Many a time i've had arguments and rows with my brother over why i read so much. Undoubtedly, reading books costs money, unless you borrow them from the local library. I, however, like to own my own books and know that i can read and re- read them at my own leisure. Apart from the cost, the time i spend reading also seems to bother him at times. Cutting the long story short, most of the time the questions are: Why do i read? and What do i get out of it? At times i've been unable to answer him. Recently, though, i found the answer.
It came to me as i was watching the film version of a book that i'd read. "Freedom Writers". The story about the english teacher who goes to a school and transforms her class from ghetto gangsters into freedom fighters. The teacher, Ms. Gruwell,(known as Ms. G), introduces the story of Anne Frank to the class. She introduces the idea of understanding into the lives of her students, through stories such as Anne's, and of the trials that Anne went through during WWII. When they read of what she went through, and how she coped, they begin to see that they aren't alone in the world. There are plenty of people "out there" who are caught in a rift of life and can't get out. Some of them lived before their time. Some of them are in their elderly years and still live with the pain. Nonetheless, the students learn that understanding has no age limit. Nor does it care from what part of the globe you're from, or live in.
What really caught my attention the most about this story was that, Anne Frank was before the time of these students. yet, her story was able to relate to them so well, that by the end of it, Anne, (God Rest Her Soul), changed the attitude of the entire class. Not only on the collective basis, but on the individual basis, more importantly. Anne's pain, suffering and trials, and emotions knew no boundaries. Her story reached out and pulled the class into her world. Immediately the class was changed.
This idea of people who lived long before my time, writing their story, or a story which includes fragments of their personal experiances, to which i can relate is also explored in another piece that i've read. This, however, is a play; "The History Boys". Mr. Hector describes this very same ability in the best way possible. Reading literature, or what each person considers to be literature, is, in a way, based on the ability of the author, who may have died centuries ago, to reach out, across the ages, and pull you into their world.
When i read, this happens to me. I'm taken from my world and thrust into the world and imagination of the author. Just like the Freedom Writers, sometimes things happen in these books that i don't like. They only act as the reality that we all face: not everything goes the way we want it to. I can't begin to imagine what Anne Frank went through, being cooped up in a hide- out for so long, only to be betrayed and caught in the end anyway. However, after reading her story, i don't think i'd want to. As Hector put it in "The History Boys", a hand reached out, Anne's hand, and pulled me into her world.
So there's my answer. I read because i admire the ability some author's have. The ability to tell their story, yet it's told in such a way, or includes certain themes, that transcend the parameters of time and space, and retain relevance in today's society. Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations" is a perfect example. A selection of Shakespeare's plays. Anne Frank's story. Even J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter". The techniques of the author's captures me and draws me in every time i pick up a book by any of these author's, and more. Not only do i get the thrill of the read, but immerse myself so completely, that time and space have no boundaries and meaning. Anything's possible.
I guess that's what i look forward to when i read a book. The knowing that i will, again, immerse myself in the pages of the book, and the words will come to life. Writing my own novel, my first novel actually, i often catch myself out thinking about ways i can make the story better, rather than just writing it. Wanting to have the same effect on my readers, i begin to check and double check, even triple check the work that i do.
I don't think it's wrong to want to be good from the very first go. Although, it definitely takes time and practice. I guess this is one of those things that makes writing an art form. It varies in style and technique, depending on time and place. Moreover, it ranges from total rubbish to pure literature. Although, even the lowest form of writing has more worth than my criticism designating as such. To say that when i read i am merely thrust into a foreign land is a gross understatement. I am not just thrust into the strange land that is the imagination of the author, i am rocked to my core! Evey time, there is something new to pick up on. Some minor detail that i missed the first time. I read so much because of the ecperiance, the adventure, the learning and the knowledge that i gain. As i said, even the lowest form of writing has more worth than my criticism labelling it such.
It came to me as i was watching the film version of a book that i'd read. "Freedom Writers". The story about the english teacher who goes to a school and transforms her class from ghetto gangsters into freedom fighters. The teacher, Ms. Gruwell,(known as Ms. G), introduces the story of Anne Frank to the class. She introduces the idea of understanding into the lives of her students, through stories such as Anne's, and of the trials that Anne went through during WWII. When they read of what she went through, and how she coped, they begin to see that they aren't alone in the world. There are plenty of people "out there" who are caught in a rift of life and can't get out. Some of them lived before their time. Some of them are in their elderly years and still live with the pain. Nonetheless, the students learn that understanding has no age limit. Nor does it care from what part of the globe you're from, or live in.
What really caught my attention the most about this story was that, Anne Frank was before the time of these students. yet, her story was able to relate to them so well, that by the end of it, Anne, (God Rest Her Soul), changed the attitude of the entire class. Not only on the collective basis, but on the individual basis, more importantly. Anne's pain, suffering and trials, and emotions knew no boundaries. Her story reached out and pulled the class into her world. Immediately the class was changed.
This idea of people who lived long before my time, writing their story, or a story which includes fragments of their personal experiances, to which i can relate is also explored in another piece that i've read. This, however, is a play; "The History Boys". Mr. Hector describes this very same ability in the best way possible. Reading literature, or what each person considers to be literature, is, in a way, based on the ability of the author, who may have died centuries ago, to reach out, across the ages, and pull you into their world.
When i read, this happens to me. I'm taken from my world and thrust into the world and imagination of the author. Just like the Freedom Writers, sometimes things happen in these books that i don't like. They only act as the reality that we all face: not everything goes the way we want it to. I can't begin to imagine what Anne Frank went through, being cooped up in a hide- out for so long, only to be betrayed and caught in the end anyway. However, after reading her story, i don't think i'd want to. As Hector put it in "The History Boys", a hand reached out, Anne's hand, and pulled me into her world.
So there's my answer. I read because i admire the ability some author's have. The ability to tell their story, yet it's told in such a way, or includes certain themes, that transcend the parameters of time and space, and retain relevance in today's society. Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations" is a perfect example. A selection of Shakespeare's plays. Anne Frank's story. Even J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter". The techniques of the author's captures me and draws me in every time i pick up a book by any of these author's, and more. Not only do i get the thrill of the read, but immerse myself so completely, that time and space have no boundaries and meaning. Anything's possible.
I guess that's what i look forward to when i read a book. The knowing that i will, again, immerse myself in the pages of the book, and the words will come to life. Writing my own novel, my first novel actually, i often catch myself out thinking about ways i can make the story better, rather than just writing it. Wanting to have the same effect on my readers, i begin to check and double check, even triple check the work that i do.
I don't think it's wrong to want to be good from the very first go. Although, it definitely takes time and practice. I guess this is one of those things that makes writing an art form. It varies in style and technique, depending on time and place. Moreover, it ranges from total rubbish to pure literature. Although, even the lowest form of writing has more worth than my criticism designating as such. To say that when i read i am merely thrust into a foreign land is a gross understatement. I am not just thrust into the strange land that is the imagination of the author, i am rocked to my core! Evey time, there is something new to pick up on. Some minor detail that i missed the first time. I read so much because of the ecperiance, the adventure, the learning and the knowledge that i gain. As i said, even the lowest form of writing has more worth than my criticism labelling it such.
What makes Them so Different?
Going through some of my old primary school stuff yesterday, (i was surprised how this stuff even made it through the move of houses that i made back in 2003..but there you go), i came across the review i wrote back in year five, of a book that we read in class; "No Gun For Asmir".
Reading the review in my messy year five hand- writing, i couldn't help but feel moved by the argument i put forward then. I made no statement, or alluded, to either liking or disliking the book. There was, however, a question that i asked then, which i still ask today. What made this story so different, and un- like any story of war i'd read about, that it sparked an unexplainable feeling of pain and confusion in me?
This was the last comment i made in that review. After looking at the advantages and disadvantages of the story, and the telling of the story, i finished with that simple question. What made it so different that i felt more sorry for Asmir, than i'd felt for any one involved in war, before? Was it because in year five, i was about the same age as Asmir when he was up- rooted by the war from his home in Bosnia? Perhaps.
What made this all the more freaky was that last night a movie played on Foxtel Greats: "Welcome to Sarajevo". Now whether it was by some divine plan, by chance, by fate, or pure luck that i watched, yet another, story of the war in Bosnia, i don't know, and won't bore with a whole sermon on what i think it was. The point is, they both related to each other. Watching the film, at times, i was moved by the brutality of both armies, and at the same time, i was angered. In year five i was unable to answer the question. Asking it again, only this time, using the film as the stimulus the question still remained un- answered.
In year five, i hinted to the fact that because the war in Bosnia was, in part, a cleansing of the Serbian race of the Bosnian muslims; It was a story that needed to be told to remind people of the things that make us people. Moreover, that these differences should not be the cause of war and turmoil, but should be embraced. Back then i was naive. Whilst every death and bomb blast of Asmir's flight from Sarajevo still echoed in my head, i was more moved by the fact that people were dying because of their differences. Watching "Welcome to Sarajevo", i realised that children, babies, were part of the primary targets of the war in Bosnia.
At one point in the film, there is a bus full of Bosnian children being taken by a UN convoy from Sarajevo into Italy. Both sides have agreed to a one hour cease- fire to allow the convoy to pass un- hindered with the children. However, at one stage, the convoy is stopped by a Serbian squad. The Captain ignores all the protestations of the UN officials, who are telling him that no child is to be removed from the bus, and that they are supposed to be moving without hinderence. The captain boards the bus and demands the children listen and do as their told, or they die. He calls the names of all the Bosnian muslim children, the eldest 15, the youngest 8 months old. They are loaded onto the back of a truck, and are taken away by the Serbian soldiers. Later on, (though it doesn't take a genuis to know what happens), it's learned that the children were shot dead.
I have no intention of preaching that war is bad, and that it kills. Rationally, whilst it does all this and more, it also, on the other hand, allows for evolution. As Darwin put it, "Survival of the Fitest", simple, kill or be killed; It's another form of the life- cycle. What i will say, though, is that this film, and the book, both focus on the one and the same victim of the war in Bosnia: children. Watching the part of the fim where the children are taken away from the bus, and seeing the 15 year old boy walk towards the truck, with dejection, knowing he was going to die, hit a nerve. All the while i kept asking myself: "What is it that makes them so different?"
Looking back now, having grown and perceptions having altered and developed; Now i think i can answer that question. What it is about 'No Gun For Asmir', and 'Welcome to Sarajevo', is that they both focus on a different victim of war: children. Children, being to young to know or understand, don't choose their religion. They don't choose the culture with which they can be associated. In both these texts, Bosnian muslim children are one of the targets. Maybe they aren't, and it's just the way the story's are told that makes them seem so. Whatever the reason, i still don't see what makes them so different, that they have to be killed. I didn't see the logic in it then, and i confess, i still don't see the logic in it today.
Maybe you can help me shed some light on the issue. What is it that makes these children so different that they were killed? If you have felt, in any way, the same way i do about both these texts, even in the smallest of ways, then maybe you can also tell me, What makes them so different, that unlike any war story you've read, or watched, these had a totally different effect. One that was more stronger than ever before.
Reading the review in my messy year five hand- writing, i couldn't help but feel moved by the argument i put forward then. I made no statement, or alluded, to either liking or disliking the book. There was, however, a question that i asked then, which i still ask today. What made this story so different, and un- like any story of war i'd read about, that it sparked an unexplainable feeling of pain and confusion in me?
This was the last comment i made in that review. After looking at the advantages and disadvantages of the story, and the telling of the story, i finished with that simple question. What made it so different that i felt more sorry for Asmir, than i'd felt for any one involved in war, before? Was it because in year five, i was about the same age as Asmir when he was up- rooted by the war from his home in Bosnia? Perhaps.
What made this all the more freaky was that last night a movie played on Foxtel Greats: "Welcome to Sarajevo". Now whether it was by some divine plan, by chance, by fate, or pure luck that i watched, yet another, story of the war in Bosnia, i don't know, and won't bore with a whole sermon on what i think it was. The point is, they both related to each other. Watching the film, at times, i was moved by the brutality of both armies, and at the same time, i was angered. In year five i was unable to answer the question. Asking it again, only this time, using the film as the stimulus the question still remained un- answered.
In year five, i hinted to the fact that because the war in Bosnia was, in part, a cleansing of the Serbian race of the Bosnian muslims; It was a story that needed to be told to remind people of the things that make us people. Moreover, that these differences should not be the cause of war and turmoil, but should be embraced. Back then i was naive. Whilst every death and bomb blast of Asmir's flight from Sarajevo still echoed in my head, i was more moved by the fact that people were dying because of their differences. Watching "Welcome to Sarajevo", i realised that children, babies, were part of the primary targets of the war in Bosnia.
At one point in the film, there is a bus full of Bosnian children being taken by a UN convoy from Sarajevo into Italy. Both sides have agreed to a one hour cease- fire to allow the convoy to pass un- hindered with the children. However, at one stage, the convoy is stopped by a Serbian squad. The Captain ignores all the protestations of the UN officials, who are telling him that no child is to be removed from the bus, and that they are supposed to be moving without hinderence. The captain boards the bus and demands the children listen and do as their told, or they die. He calls the names of all the Bosnian muslim children, the eldest 15, the youngest 8 months old. They are loaded onto the back of a truck, and are taken away by the Serbian soldiers. Later on, (though it doesn't take a genuis to know what happens), it's learned that the children were shot dead.
I have no intention of preaching that war is bad, and that it kills. Rationally, whilst it does all this and more, it also, on the other hand, allows for evolution. As Darwin put it, "Survival of the Fitest", simple, kill or be killed; It's another form of the life- cycle. What i will say, though, is that this film, and the book, both focus on the one and the same victim of the war in Bosnia: children. Watching the part of the fim where the children are taken away from the bus, and seeing the 15 year old boy walk towards the truck, with dejection, knowing he was going to die, hit a nerve. All the while i kept asking myself: "What is it that makes them so different?"
Looking back now, having grown and perceptions having altered and developed; Now i think i can answer that question. What it is about 'No Gun For Asmir', and 'Welcome to Sarajevo', is that they both focus on a different victim of war: children. Children, being to young to know or understand, don't choose their religion. They don't choose the culture with which they can be associated. In both these texts, Bosnian muslim children are one of the targets. Maybe they aren't, and it's just the way the story's are told that makes them seem so. Whatever the reason, i still don't see what makes them so different, that they have to be killed. I didn't see the logic in it then, and i confess, i still don't see the logic in it today.
Maybe you can help me shed some light on the issue. What is it that makes these children so different that they were killed? If you have felt, in any way, the same way i do about both these texts, even in the smallest of ways, then maybe you can also tell me, What makes them so different, that unlike any war story you've read, or watched, these had a totally different effect. One that was more stronger than ever before.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Knowing "Happyness"
This seems to be my week for movies. I watched the movie "The Pursuite of Happyness", it's not the first time i've seen it. Although, this was the first time that i was struck by a statement made in the movie. Will Smith's character, Chris, asks the question: "How did he- (Thomas Jefferson)- know..that happiness wasn't something you could have, but something you pursued."
I found this statement interesting. It is true. We spend so much time trying to be happy, more often than not, people find themselves faced with the question: Am i truely happy? We all "pursue" our own happiness in our own ways. Some get married, some stay single. Some are dedicated to work, some to familes, some to hobbies. Some pursue happiness in the material sense, others in the spiritual sense.
I also found this interesting because of the word "know". It stood out among the rest. This idea that we "pursue" happiness implies, as chris also says, that we are never actually happy. Sure, i can see the truth in that. We spend so much time "pursuing", it's hard not to say that very few of us actually are happy. If we were, wouldn't this pursuite cease? Maybe, or perhaps, when we achieve one level of happiness we are compelled to pursue another level, seemingly, higher than the one we're on. Even this, however, implies that one is never, truely, happy, that all pursuite ceases.
I won't deny, that when i first heard the statement i automatically disagreed. Thinking back, i think i disagreed because i didn't like the idea of someone "knowing" that people, including myself, would never be happy. Rather, would spen a life- time pursuing it, which, in turn, implies the possibility that one could die never fully being happy. I think, however, that all of us have this burning desire to be happy, and most of us would probably react in the same way.
Looking back, however, i can't help but admire the statement; and i'm not afraid to admit that this admiration may also be a sign of how limited my imagination may be. It goes back to what i've already said. It's interesting how Thomas Jefferson, through his own experiances and knowledge, or so it seems to me at least, was able to inscribe on the most famous document in American history, that happiness, with a "y" not an "i", would never be fully achieved. Rather it would exist as a state of being that one works towards. Often, for an entire life- time, and even then one never comes close to saying that they were fully happy.
Personally, i think there are a lot of things and people that i admire. So i think it's fair to say that my imagination may be extremely limited. However, i believe what i lack in imagination i make up for in other aspects of my life. I can't exactly think of any at the moment, so i may come back to that one later on! :) or just leave it hanging as a constant reminder.
I found this statement interesting. It is true. We spend so much time trying to be happy, more often than not, people find themselves faced with the question: Am i truely happy? We all "pursue" our own happiness in our own ways. Some get married, some stay single. Some are dedicated to work, some to familes, some to hobbies. Some pursue happiness in the material sense, others in the spiritual sense.
I also found this interesting because of the word "know". It stood out among the rest. This idea that we "pursue" happiness implies, as chris also says, that we are never actually happy. Sure, i can see the truth in that. We spend so much time "pursuing", it's hard not to say that very few of us actually are happy. If we were, wouldn't this pursuite cease? Maybe, or perhaps, when we achieve one level of happiness we are compelled to pursue another level, seemingly, higher than the one we're on. Even this, however, implies that one is never, truely, happy, that all pursuite ceases.
I won't deny, that when i first heard the statement i automatically disagreed. Thinking back, i think i disagreed because i didn't like the idea of someone "knowing" that people, including myself, would never be happy. Rather, would spen a life- time pursuing it, which, in turn, implies the possibility that one could die never fully being happy. I think, however, that all of us have this burning desire to be happy, and most of us would probably react in the same way.
Looking back, however, i can't help but admire the statement; and i'm not afraid to admit that this admiration may also be a sign of how limited my imagination may be. It goes back to what i've already said. It's interesting how Thomas Jefferson, through his own experiances and knowledge, or so it seems to me at least, was able to inscribe on the most famous document in American history, that happiness, with a "y" not an "i", would never be fully achieved. Rather it would exist as a state of being that one works towards. Often, for an entire life- time, and even then one never comes close to saying that they were fully happy.
Personally, i think there are a lot of things and people that i admire. So i think it's fair to say that my imagination may be extremely limited. However, i believe what i lack in imagination i make up for in other aspects of my life. I can't exactly think of any at the moment, so i may come back to that one later on! :) or just leave it hanging as a constant reminder.
A pinch of Perspective
As an Orthoodox Christian there are certain things that are done differently, to that of the adherents of the Roman Catholic tradition. World Youth Day is just one of the major examples, and the most recent. Today i watched the World Youth Day- Super thursday proceedings from home. In my opinion, the best seat in the house.
Listening to His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI's speech there was one thing that came to mind. Watching him, in his German accent, address the youth of the world that had gathered at Barangaroo made me smile. Watching the proceedings taking place reminded me a lot of the masses i took part in, mostly out of obligation, at school.
I couldn't help but smile ever more, when His Holiness addressed the crowd in various languages; French, German, Spanish and Italian. I couldn't help but think 1) How well spoken he must be in other languages, and 2) How smart he was in doing so, as a way of rallying the young catholics gathered.
Like it or not, His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI, is one of the largest personalities Christianity has to offer. What i couldn't help but admire him for was the way he was doing the job of leading the Roman Catholic faith of the world. Being a priest, in my opinion, is no easy feat. It's about a person, often a man, carrying the prayers, sins, confessions and carrying the responsibility of guiding the congregation. Maybe i don't have the will- power, or the spiritual strength to do that, which is why i admire the ability of others to do it. The office of the Pontiff of Rome, however, being the Pope of the Roman Catholic Church, the Bishop of Rome, means that a person has the entire faith on their backs. It is your responsibility to ensure that the adherents of the Roman Catholic faith are lead in the right way to salvation.
Take a moment to think about how vast the Roman Catholic faith is in the world, then think about one man, the Pontiff, the Pope, being at the head of all this. It's a position that amplifies his mistakes, and failures. Being the Pontiff, the Pope, Peter's successor; there lives this rumour amongst people who prefer to criticise the church, (and i use the term loosely here to refer to both the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions of Christianity), that holding such an office, the Pope's and Patriarch's of Christianity shouldn't be making mistakes. They're the "men of God". What these critcs fail to see is that our Pope's and Patriarch's are, first and foremost, humans. Thus, like all humans, they, too, have the God- given right to make mistakes. We are not all perfect. In fact, we are all far from perfect, and anyone who professes to be perfect is the furthest of all. Save one man who's influence and love and sacrifice is still remembered today.
Being the Pope is not easy. I'm not saying it's the hardest job of all. I'm not saying it's the hardest life- style to live. What i am saying is: Perhaps the Pope is more deserving of the respect of people, than he's actually recieved. Not only from the adherents of the faith that he guides and serves, so well. Perhaps he also deserves the respect of those who don't for being a fellow human being, who is trying to achieve something in his life. So many feel strongly for what he is attempting to achieve, not just for himself, but, selflessly, for the many he does and does not know.
Whilst he may not have done anything for you, think about this. At least the Pontiff, His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI hasn't lied to you as much or as often as the politicians that we entrust to lead our nations and guide us into the future. At least the Pope has been honest and truthful in his mission and Papacy.
At the very least, he deserves respect for being one of the few truthful people in a position of influence. If, in any way, the Pope has been untruthful, then it is not for me to judge him. I am not an adherent of the Roman Catholic faith. Thus, he has not mislead me. I would imagine, though, that he would have much to answer for, if he truely believes in the second coming. Having said this, however, i pray that the Pope of Rome continues to be lead by the Holy Spirit and by the Grace of God.
One day, perhaps one day, either in or after my life- time, there may come the day where Christianity will again breathe with both its lungs, and the word of God will spread throughout the body of Christ, which is the church. Here, again, i refer to both the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic traditions of Christianity.
Listening to His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI's speech there was one thing that came to mind. Watching him, in his German accent, address the youth of the world that had gathered at Barangaroo made me smile. Watching the proceedings taking place reminded me a lot of the masses i took part in, mostly out of obligation, at school.
I couldn't help but smile ever more, when His Holiness addressed the crowd in various languages; French, German, Spanish and Italian. I couldn't help but think 1) How well spoken he must be in other languages, and 2) How smart he was in doing so, as a way of rallying the young catholics gathered.
Like it or not, His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI, is one of the largest personalities Christianity has to offer. What i couldn't help but admire him for was the way he was doing the job of leading the Roman Catholic faith of the world. Being a priest, in my opinion, is no easy feat. It's about a person, often a man, carrying the prayers, sins, confessions and carrying the responsibility of guiding the congregation. Maybe i don't have the will- power, or the spiritual strength to do that, which is why i admire the ability of others to do it. The office of the Pontiff of Rome, however, being the Pope of the Roman Catholic Church, the Bishop of Rome, means that a person has the entire faith on their backs. It is your responsibility to ensure that the adherents of the Roman Catholic faith are lead in the right way to salvation.
Take a moment to think about how vast the Roman Catholic faith is in the world, then think about one man, the Pontiff, the Pope, being at the head of all this. It's a position that amplifies his mistakes, and failures. Being the Pontiff, the Pope, Peter's successor; there lives this rumour amongst people who prefer to criticise the church, (and i use the term loosely here to refer to both the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions of Christianity), that holding such an office, the Pope's and Patriarch's of Christianity shouldn't be making mistakes. They're the "men of God". What these critcs fail to see is that our Pope's and Patriarch's are, first and foremost, humans. Thus, like all humans, they, too, have the God- given right to make mistakes. We are not all perfect. In fact, we are all far from perfect, and anyone who professes to be perfect is the furthest of all. Save one man who's influence and love and sacrifice is still remembered today.
Being the Pope is not easy. I'm not saying it's the hardest job of all. I'm not saying it's the hardest life- style to live. What i am saying is: Perhaps the Pope is more deserving of the respect of people, than he's actually recieved. Not only from the adherents of the faith that he guides and serves, so well. Perhaps he also deserves the respect of those who don't for being a fellow human being, who is trying to achieve something in his life. So many feel strongly for what he is attempting to achieve, not just for himself, but, selflessly, for the many he does and does not know.
Whilst he may not have done anything for you, think about this. At least the Pontiff, His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI hasn't lied to you as much or as often as the politicians that we entrust to lead our nations and guide us into the future. At least the Pope has been honest and truthful in his mission and Papacy.
At the very least, he deserves respect for being one of the few truthful people in a position of influence. If, in any way, the Pope has been untruthful, then it is not for me to judge him. I am not an adherent of the Roman Catholic faith. Thus, he has not mislead me. I would imagine, though, that he would have much to answer for, if he truely believes in the second coming. Having said this, however, i pray that the Pope of Rome continues to be lead by the Holy Spirit and by the Grace of God.
One day, perhaps one day, either in or after my life- time, there may come the day where Christianity will again breathe with both its lungs, and the word of God will spread throughout the body of Christ, which is the church. Here, again, i refer to both the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic traditions of Christianity.
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