Maria seemed to be the most attentive in the room. It was a skill she developed over time. Be there, but not really there. Though she was physically in the room and in the moment; Mentally, Maria was lost in her own thoughts. Everything was passing over her, like in a dream. Her memories were now reality, and reality a mere memory.
Russia was, (coming back to reality for a moment), a modern state. Free of Imperial rule. It had been since Nikolas' murder. The President of the Federation rose, stepped to the centre of the room in front of the throne. He bowed his head at the neck and then moved to stand in front of a microphone, to deliver a speech.
Maria was already lost in her memories of Nikolas and the Russia she once knew. It was alive once again. As Maria conscienciously blinked, her sub- conscience transported back to the time she was a girl of six- teen. A woman due to marry.
Like a movie playing back, in her minds eye, she saw it all again. She felt it all again. Being that woman the royalty of Europe all wanted to claim.
In that blink, in that second, she was taken back to relive the life she knew would end up the same way. This was why she couldn't bare Tikhon. His reminder. It posed the "What if" possibility.
*****
Maria was to be presented to the court that very night. She was anxious, a little afraid, and a little nervous. It was somewhat daunting to be in front of all those prying eyes, that didn't care about her, per se, but what connection and advantage she provided. At six teen, however, her time for marriage had come. She had to choose. Maria couldn't do anything about it all now. The royalty of Europe had already begun to flock into Copenhagen.
Young Maria was always told not to show fear, but, instead, to maintain a commanding aura. At least, in this venture, there was still some dignity to hold on to. Duty first, self second. It was the way of Royalty. For the people, you do what you have to. Think of yourself only once you have done what you are supposed to. It seems like a virtue lost to us, nowadays. However, the practice of such an ideology would make Maria famous in the up- and- coming future before her. Of course, she had no idea about this.
Maria was close with both her parents. On that day, however, she became a woman. She got ready, with the help of the maids. The last thing she was told: "Don't forget what you must do first for the people, from your heart. Then look after yourself." This was the first time that Maria would put that to practice. She didn't want to marry, but she was going to. Maria, in her stubborness, forced herself to believe: Duty first, self second.
The satin white dress she wore was similar to the one she was wearing at the moment, sitting on the throne. It had a floral theme, and was floor length. Maria was striking in it. Her black hair was long, straight and neat. Her blue eyes; Gentle, kind, but steeled. Maria was a picture of beauty. She made her way to the entrance of the ball- room in the Yellow Palace of Copenhagen. Her father and mother were already waiting for her. This was to be her first entrance to a formal event, alone.
The guards at the doors bowed as her parents made their way into the ball- room. The guests had parted in anticipation of their entrance. They all bowed in respect to the King and Queen of Denmark. Maria's parents sat at the high table. Right in the centre, where else!
Maria's heart beat ever faster. Now it was her turn. She composed herself, and breathed deeply. The guards looked at her, waiting for a sign. The orchestra had stopped. The King and Queen were seated. Maria breathed again. The guests now waited on her. None dared move a muscle. The intensity rose. Maria, her ice- blue eyes steeled, stared into the one of the guards eyes. He looked taken aback. He didn't know if he'd done anything wrong but watching her. She softened her gaze. Smiled gently. Nodded slowly and shortly. The doors opened again for the Princess.
c. John Apotsis 2008- 2009
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
A Curse For Life Pt.1
The throne- room was silent. No- one spoke. They all listened. The orchestra was making all the noise. It was a perfect spring evening. The entire room, the entire county, the entire world, was watching. Russia was celebrating her Imperial past. The colour, the religion, the mystique, the gradeur; It was all very much alive once again. For some this celebration was merely something out of a story book. Something they only knew because it was told to them by their grandparents. For others, it was the memory of a childhood. For others still, it was the memory of a life destroyed, a life betrayed; a life cursed.
The Alexander Palace was alight and shining. Outside, for the first time, in a long time, there was a crowd at the gates of the Palace. All day, they had been there. Watching, waiting. Old and young alike. The world's press was watching the proceedings. From the Kremlin, to the twin Palaces, there was a buzz. The emperors, monarchs, princes, dukes, nobility, peers and politicians of the world had gathered for the event. For the moment the world was looking through the vortex of time, back into the period of the golden days of Imperial Russia. For that wrinkle in time, Imperial Russia was alive again.
The orchestra stopped. The room was now dead silent. The intensity, it rose. The world stood still on its axis as it watched and waited. What was going to happen next?
The guests rose as one. They turned to face the isle that ran the length of the throne room. From the top of the room, a servant walked down the isle to the stand in front of the french double- doors.
He took a breath. He held it. They all watched. He spoke. His russian formal, ordered, rich. Not many understood at first. They didn't make it known. At worst, they stared ahead. He stopped. They watched him again. He spoke. His english was perfect. There was no hint of an accent.
"Your Royal Majesties, Your Highnesses, Lords, Ladies, honoured and respected guests; The Holy Clergy of the Russian Orthodox Church, followed by His Holiness, Patriarch Tikhon." He dissappeared. To where no- one knew. The doors were opened by two guards. One on each side. The orchestra begun to play again. The clergy filed into the throne room. Deacons first, of which there were two, priests, bishops, followed by the Archbishop of Saint Petersburg. He walked in next to the man of the moment. The Patriarch was the only one, apart from the deacons, dressed ceremoniously. The Archbishop of Moscow had stern feaures. Although, he really was gentle. He still looked fairly young, but he was two years older than the guest of honour. He was old, truely, and tired. How he kept on going was only a mystery to him. He would take it up with God later.
Tikhon made his way to stand in front of the throne, just in front of the three steps leading up to it. The guests followed his progression. He stood before them, one of the deacons, (father Vasili his name was), handed a golden crucifix to the Patriarch in his right hand, kissing the Patriarchs hand as he did so, (as is custom in the Eastern Orthodox Churches). Tikhon raised the golden crucifix and made the sign of the cross in the air. The guests bowed their heads at the neck. The Patriarch handed the crucifix back to Vasili, then left centre stage. He now stood to the right of the throne.
The guests turned back to the face the isle and each other. The world stopped once more. This was familiar. All watched and waited, now in anticipation. Something was going to happen. What? They didn't know. Not many knew the rituals, and ceremonies of Imperial Russia. The few that did were all at home, watching, remembering, crying; their hearts aching. The announcer appeared before the doors again. They were closed. Like a jack- in- the- box, they all watched and waited for the next surprise. Some guessed, but most knew. He broke out into Russian again. Like a well trained automaton, he then switched to english.
"Your Royal Majesties, Your Highnesses, Lords, Ladies, honoured and respected guests; Her Imperial and Royal Highness, the Dowager Empress of Russia, Maria."
He dissappeared again. The orchestra begun once more. Hearts beat faster than before. This was it. She was here. The mother of the last Tsar of Russia. All looked towards the double- doors. If anyone paid any attention to the front of the room, they would have seen that Tikhon was the only one who looked to the left of him. He was the only one who couldn't look this woman in the eyes any more. It killed him. It enraged him. It destroyed him.
The doors opened. Maria stood there. Her snow white hair complemented the silver, diamond encrusted tiara she wore. The floor- length floral white gown she wore matched beautifully with the lavendar purple robe, drapped over her shoulders. The dress was made of satin, the robe of velvet. The dress trailed behind her at one meter, the robe at six. The robe was carried by two boys of the Imperial court. Maria's steps couldn't be seen, but she walked with such grace, it looked like she was floating. She bore a soft, gentle, and friendly smile. Although, she had the iciest blue eyes, complementing her regal character, which demanded respect, even in her old age. It was clear: she was old, kind and gentle, but she still held a regal command; she deserved to be Grand Duchess, a member of Imperial class, higher than a prince, princess, king or queen. She was "it".
With three meters between Maria and them, the closest row of guests bowed and courtseyed low. They didn't rise till she passed the third row. There was always three meters between the bowing row and Maria, and three meters between Maria and the row that was rising out of their bow. This was Imperial Russia. Maria would look to the rows ahead and smile gently at a face. She knew them all, some by name, others because of television. As she reached the middle of the room she looked to the destination ahead. She felt sorrow. He wasn't there. Nikolas was missing from this picture of memory. Without him nothing was the same. It was all...just there. Maria's eyes moved to the right. She felt her heart ache more. Tikhon wasn't looking at her. His head was now bowed. That hurt more than ever. She looked to the left, and there he was. Nikolas was standing, his hand resting on the top of the throne. He smiled down at Maria. She steeled herself.
Maria approached the steps now. The guests all followed her. Tikhon moved in front of her, took the crucifix in his hand and blessed her. Maria bowed her head. This was hurting her a lot. Her heart was aching at the memory of Nikolas, and was hurting at the living reminder she had of Tikhon. The living reminder of what could have been, of what had been, and what she was now reliving. She looked up. The throne was before her. She couldn't move. Maria was rooted to the spot. It wasn't right, she couldn't sit on that throne. It wasn't hers. It had been stolen from Her Tsar, it had not been given to her. She looked to Nikolas. He stepped down to her left- hand side. He touched her hand without looking at her. She felt some comfort. Together they walked up the steps. Maria turned, the guests bowed low again. She seated herself in the throne, in the moment she took her eyes off Nikolas and scanned the crowd, he dissappeared. When she looked again, he was gone. Just like before. Duty first, self second. Maria didn't cry. That would have to wait. Till when? She didn't know.
c. John Apotsis 2008- 2009
The Alexander Palace was alight and shining. Outside, for the first time, in a long time, there was a crowd at the gates of the Palace. All day, they had been there. Watching, waiting. Old and young alike. The world's press was watching the proceedings. From the Kremlin, to the twin Palaces, there was a buzz. The emperors, monarchs, princes, dukes, nobility, peers and politicians of the world had gathered for the event. For the moment the world was looking through the vortex of time, back into the period of the golden days of Imperial Russia. For that wrinkle in time, Imperial Russia was alive again.
The orchestra stopped. The room was now dead silent. The intensity, it rose. The world stood still on its axis as it watched and waited. What was going to happen next?
The guests rose as one. They turned to face the isle that ran the length of the throne room. From the top of the room, a servant walked down the isle to the stand in front of the french double- doors.
He took a breath. He held it. They all watched. He spoke. His russian formal, ordered, rich. Not many understood at first. They didn't make it known. At worst, they stared ahead. He stopped. They watched him again. He spoke. His english was perfect. There was no hint of an accent.
"Your Royal Majesties, Your Highnesses, Lords, Ladies, honoured and respected guests; The Holy Clergy of the Russian Orthodox Church, followed by His Holiness, Patriarch Tikhon." He dissappeared. To where no- one knew. The doors were opened by two guards. One on each side. The orchestra begun to play again. The clergy filed into the throne room. Deacons first, of which there were two, priests, bishops, followed by the Archbishop of Saint Petersburg. He walked in next to the man of the moment. The Patriarch was the only one, apart from the deacons, dressed ceremoniously. The Archbishop of Moscow had stern feaures. Although, he really was gentle. He still looked fairly young, but he was two years older than the guest of honour. He was old, truely, and tired. How he kept on going was only a mystery to him. He would take it up with God later.
Tikhon made his way to stand in front of the throne, just in front of the three steps leading up to it. The guests followed his progression. He stood before them, one of the deacons, (father Vasili his name was), handed a golden crucifix to the Patriarch in his right hand, kissing the Patriarchs hand as he did so, (as is custom in the Eastern Orthodox Churches). Tikhon raised the golden crucifix and made the sign of the cross in the air. The guests bowed their heads at the neck. The Patriarch handed the crucifix back to Vasili, then left centre stage. He now stood to the right of the throne.
The guests turned back to the face the isle and each other. The world stopped once more. This was familiar. All watched and waited, now in anticipation. Something was going to happen. What? They didn't know. Not many knew the rituals, and ceremonies of Imperial Russia. The few that did were all at home, watching, remembering, crying; their hearts aching. The announcer appeared before the doors again. They were closed. Like a jack- in- the- box, they all watched and waited for the next surprise. Some guessed, but most knew. He broke out into Russian again. Like a well trained automaton, he then switched to english.
"Your Royal Majesties, Your Highnesses, Lords, Ladies, honoured and respected guests; Her Imperial and Royal Highness, the Dowager Empress of Russia, Maria."
He dissappeared again. The orchestra begun once more. Hearts beat faster than before. This was it. She was here. The mother of the last Tsar of Russia. All looked towards the double- doors. If anyone paid any attention to the front of the room, they would have seen that Tikhon was the only one who looked to the left of him. He was the only one who couldn't look this woman in the eyes any more. It killed him. It enraged him. It destroyed him.
The doors opened. Maria stood there. Her snow white hair complemented the silver, diamond encrusted tiara she wore. The floor- length floral white gown she wore matched beautifully with the lavendar purple robe, drapped over her shoulders. The dress was made of satin, the robe of velvet. The dress trailed behind her at one meter, the robe at six. The robe was carried by two boys of the Imperial court. Maria's steps couldn't be seen, but she walked with such grace, it looked like she was floating. She bore a soft, gentle, and friendly smile. Although, she had the iciest blue eyes, complementing her regal character, which demanded respect, even in her old age. It was clear: she was old, kind and gentle, but she still held a regal command; she deserved to be Grand Duchess, a member of Imperial class, higher than a prince, princess, king or queen. She was "it".
With three meters between Maria and them, the closest row of guests bowed and courtseyed low. They didn't rise till she passed the third row. There was always three meters between the bowing row and Maria, and three meters between Maria and the row that was rising out of their bow. This was Imperial Russia. Maria would look to the rows ahead and smile gently at a face. She knew them all, some by name, others because of television. As she reached the middle of the room she looked to the destination ahead. She felt sorrow. He wasn't there. Nikolas was missing from this picture of memory. Without him nothing was the same. It was all...just there. Maria's eyes moved to the right. She felt her heart ache more. Tikhon wasn't looking at her. His head was now bowed. That hurt more than ever. She looked to the left, and there he was. Nikolas was standing, his hand resting on the top of the throne. He smiled down at Maria. She steeled herself.
Maria approached the steps now. The guests all followed her. Tikhon moved in front of her, took the crucifix in his hand and blessed her. Maria bowed her head. This was hurting her a lot. Her heart was aching at the memory of Nikolas, and was hurting at the living reminder she had of Tikhon. The living reminder of what could have been, of what had been, and what she was now reliving. She looked up. The throne was before her. She couldn't move. Maria was rooted to the spot. It wasn't right, she couldn't sit on that throne. It wasn't hers. It had been stolen from Her Tsar, it had not been given to her. She looked to Nikolas. He stepped down to her left- hand side. He touched her hand without looking at her. She felt some comfort. Together they walked up the steps. Maria turned, the guests bowed low again. She seated herself in the throne, in the moment she took her eyes off Nikolas and scanned the crowd, he dissappeared. When she looked again, he was gone. Just like before. Duty first, self second. Maria didn't cry. That would have to wait. Till when? She didn't know.
c. John Apotsis 2008- 2009
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Don't Generalise Me
I'm sure we'd all like to think that we are different, and have a respect that no- one else has. This may be true if you look at the notion of uniqueness, and individuality. Rationality may argue that these notions are simply ideas, and thus, don't really exist. They exist, rather, as concepts in one's mind, which attempt to explain why people are different from one another, whilst maintaining a commonality.
If you know me, then you know how kooky and eccentric i can be. I have my "moments", as i like to put them. Times when i am silly, weird, and often appear stupid. Another thing that makes me who i am, is the fact that i am an easy target for jokes and pranks. Maybe it's because people know i will not bite back, or that i will embarrass myself by doing so, that i am such a target. So it's established; I am different. I have certain qualities, and characteristics that may not be unique to me, but that my experiance of life has adapted to suite my "being".
So if i am different, then why can't i escape the generalisations that i constantly have to combat against, for the love of someone who i hold in high esteem. Granted, i haven't been perfect in my treatment of this person. Although, i have never sworn, hit, or raised my hand to hit this person, like another that i know. B's treatment of M has been as far away from respect as you could get,(you wouldn't even treat a stray animal they way M has been treated by B).
The disrespect reaches so far, that M now expects the same treatment from E and myself. The fact that M is now waiting for this bad treatment is understandable. The only problem i have is exactly what i've said above. B has treated M with disrespect for a long time now. I haven't. All of a sudden, however, i have been generalised. It is now a possibility to M, that i will treat them the same way. This hurts.
As i said: my treatment has been the best, we've had our moments too. However, i have not done what B has, and, whilst i don't know what the future holds; For now, i don't see myself treating this person with such disrespect. First of all, seeing as M is a person, and no person deserves to be treated the way B has treated them. Secondly, i wouldn't live with myself if i disrespected M. (I know this last sentence may seem repetitive, but it's only because i will not divulge the identity of M or B. Although, i don't believe it is difficult to decipher the code, and figure who is who).
So i guess the only question left is: What do i plan to do? The answer is simple; Nothing. I can only emphasise how i feel again and again. I won't stop, it may seem pointless, but i will persist in this case. It could, therefore, be fair to say that all i've been doing is whinging. Fair enough. It could also be said that i have to stop caring so much. The less i care, the less power someone has to hurt me. Touche to that as well. My only argument is: How do you stop caring, when it's someone you love, and in my case, someone who i hope to maintain this love for.?
Not many people do get away with generalising me. It is a pet hate of mine. For some reason, this person is the only one who can, so far, get away with it. It's what i find maddening. It's almost as if this person does it on purpose to see how far they can go; It's almost like provocation. Like i said: I don't know what will happen in the future. For now, i will persist. I am only a human, not a saint, so i don't know how long i can really last. I only hope that one day, soon, this person will see me for who i am. Despite the fact that this person should know me as well as anyone else.
If you know me, then you know how kooky and eccentric i can be. I have my "moments", as i like to put them. Times when i am silly, weird, and often appear stupid. Another thing that makes me who i am, is the fact that i am an easy target for jokes and pranks. Maybe it's because people know i will not bite back, or that i will embarrass myself by doing so, that i am such a target. So it's established; I am different. I have certain qualities, and characteristics that may not be unique to me, but that my experiance of life has adapted to suite my "being".
So if i am different, then why can't i escape the generalisations that i constantly have to combat against, for the love of someone who i hold in high esteem. Granted, i haven't been perfect in my treatment of this person. Although, i have never sworn, hit, or raised my hand to hit this person, like another that i know. B's treatment of M has been as far away from respect as you could get,(you wouldn't even treat a stray animal they way M has been treated by B).
The disrespect reaches so far, that M now expects the same treatment from E and myself. The fact that M is now waiting for this bad treatment is understandable. The only problem i have is exactly what i've said above. B has treated M with disrespect for a long time now. I haven't. All of a sudden, however, i have been generalised. It is now a possibility to M, that i will treat them the same way. This hurts.
As i said: my treatment has been the best, we've had our moments too. However, i have not done what B has, and, whilst i don't know what the future holds; For now, i don't see myself treating this person with such disrespect. First of all, seeing as M is a person, and no person deserves to be treated the way B has treated them. Secondly, i wouldn't live with myself if i disrespected M. (I know this last sentence may seem repetitive, but it's only because i will not divulge the identity of M or B. Although, i don't believe it is difficult to decipher the code, and figure who is who).
So i guess the only question left is: What do i plan to do? The answer is simple; Nothing. I can only emphasise how i feel again and again. I won't stop, it may seem pointless, but i will persist in this case. It could, therefore, be fair to say that all i've been doing is whinging. Fair enough. It could also be said that i have to stop caring so much. The less i care, the less power someone has to hurt me. Touche to that as well. My only argument is: How do you stop caring, when it's someone you love, and in my case, someone who i hope to maintain this love for.?
Not many people do get away with generalising me. It is a pet hate of mine. For some reason, this person is the only one who can, so far, get away with it. It's what i find maddening. It's almost as if this person does it on purpose to see how far they can go; It's almost like provocation. Like i said: I don't know what will happen in the future. For now, i will persist. I am only a human, not a saint, so i don't know how long i can really last. I only hope that one day, soon, this person will see me for who i am. Despite the fact that this person should know me as well as anyone else.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Over- analysis
I was in my Children's Literature lecture today. The focus text we had to have read in time for tutorials was Roald Dahl's: "Matilda". Having read the book when i was young, i was familiar with the story. Having watched the movie, too, i thought nothing of the story. Reading the book again, as an adult, admittedly, i was somewhat taken by some of the themes, and some of the things that Dahl presents. However, i reminded myself that the book was simply a children's story.
In the lecture today, the lectureer, a female feminist, focussed on the negative criticism that Dahl recieved, without looking at the positive. In all fairness, she presented what Dahl himself had said in response to the criticism, but there was no direct praise presented, for Dahl's work. After a while of hearing about more than one critic, and what they had to say about "Matilda", i snapped and raised my hand. I was acknowledged and given the floor. I proceeded: "Do any of these critics actually realise just how in- depth they are looking into the themes of "Matilda", and how much they are over- analysing the book?"
The point was acknowledged and even the lectureer agreed that the point was valid. Thus, the lectureer proceeded to read a quote from Dahl himself where he says that he focuses on themes that adults would find vulgar and disrespectful because children themselves have a sort of black humour about them. They are cruel and can have the capacity to see light in something mean. The event of Matilda getting back at her dad, by putting super glue in his hat, and putting a concotion which changes the colour of his hair, he said, is shocking to adults. It has the capacity to teach children to rebel against their parents. However, Dahl underlines that the cruelty is under- played by the language and the humour that he sourrounds the event with.
Studying this subject, i guess it is expected that i will analyse texts, yes even the one's for children. However, all the while, i couldn't help but telepathically yell out, "IT'S JUST A KIDS BOOK!", every time the lectureer read out another negative criticism. It isn't hard to see how such a subject has the ability and capacity to turn people off liking, or reading books again. However, i am happy to say that i haven't faltered as yet. I stood up for Roald Dahl today, and was proud of it too. I think that, for the moment, i am still able to see the fun, and magic in children's books. I can only hope that it remains so. Undoubtedly, if all i will be hearing is the negative criticism, i don't see why i will actually change. I will only enhance my love for such books of childhood fun and adventure.
It is the over- analysis that kills the magic. Sure, it's good to inspect. However, it is one thing to inspect, and another, totally, to critique. By critiquing, one is picking out certain things, and thus, misses the real point of what the book is trying to convey. Watch too closely, and you miss the rest of the fun. Don't watch hard enough and you risk missing the whole thing. I think that's why some people are drawn to reading children's books again, later on in life. Finding the balance is essential. As a child, most of the important things adults pick up on, go right over our heads. Till we're old enough to understand.
Simply analysing, and reading too much into things, (which may be relevant for adults to know), really does take out the fun for adults too. Sure, not everything can be taken for face value, but, isn't this something we all learn when we get into school anyway? Therefore, wouldn't it be fair to allow children to read all sorts of books under the Children's Literature umberella, to allow them the opportunity to be children; These little, care-free, mini- me people, who are innocent and oblivious to descrimination, hatred, and hostility?
Analysis for meaning isn't bad. Although, it's no wonder i don't find the idea of "Critic", a very nice one. The idea that someone believes they know best, and claim to have experiance because of their, seemingly, "openness". Personally, i know that being a critic is a job for some people. However, i don't appreciate what it entails. Particularly, the way some flaunt it, and attempt to look really more sophistocated than others. As i've said before; Even the lowest form of literature, or art, or film, has more meaning, than the criticism that designates it as such. Some people, who over- analyse children's books, either had a very poor childhood, or they're someone who has little to no life at all.
In the lecture today, the lectureer, a female feminist, focussed on the negative criticism that Dahl recieved, without looking at the positive. In all fairness, she presented what Dahl himself had said in response to the criticism, but there was no direct praise presented, for Dahl's work. After a while of hearing about more than one critic, and what they had to say about "Matilda", i snapped and raised my hand. I was acknowledged and given the floor. I proceeded: "Do any of these critics actually realise just how in- depth they are looking into the themes of "Matilda", and how much they are over- analysing the book?"
The point was acknowledged and even the lectureer agreed that the point was valid. Thus, the lectureer proceeded to read a quote from Dahl himself where he says that he focuses on themes that adults would find vulgar and disrespectful because children themselves have a sort of black humour about them. They are cruel and can have the capacity to see light in something mean. The event of Matilda getting back at her dad, by putting super glue in his hat, and putting a concotion which changes the colour of his hair, he said, is shocking to adults. It has the capacity to teach children to rebel against their parents. However, Dahl underlines that the cruelty is under- played by the language and the humour that he sourrounds the event with.
Studying this subject, i guess it is expected that i will analyse texts, yes even the one's for children. However, all the while, i couldn't help but telepathically yell out, "IT'S JUST A KIDS BOOK!", every time the lectureer read out another negative criticism. It isn't hard to see how such a subject has the ability and capacity to turn people off liking, or reading books again. However, i am happy to say that i haven't faltered as yet. I stood up for Roald Dahl today, and was proud of it too. I think that, for the moment, i am still able to see the fun, and magic in children's books. I can only hope that it remains so. Undoubtedly, if all i will be hearing is the negative criticism, i don't see why i will actually change. I will only enhance my love for such books of childhood fun and adventure.
It is the over- analysis that kills the magic. Sure, it's good to inspect. However, it is one thing to inspect, and another, totally, to critique. By critiquing, one is picking out certain things, and thus, misses the real point of what the book is trying to convey. Watch too closely, and you miss the rest of the fun. Don't watch hard enough and you risk missing the whole thing. I think that's why some people are drawn to reading children's books again, later on in life. Finding the balance is essential. As a child, most of the important things adults pick up on, go right over our heads. Till we're old enough to understand.
Simply analysing, and reading too much into things, (which may be relevant for adults to know), really does take out the fun for adults too. Sure, not everything can be taken for face value, but, isn't this something we all learn when we get into school anyway? Therefore, wouldn't it be fair to allow children to read all sorts of books under the Children's Literature umberella, to allow them the opportunity to be children; These little, care-free, mini- me people, who are innocent and oblivious to descrimination, hatred, and hostility?
Analysis for meaning isn't bad. Although, it's no wonder i don't find the idea of "Critic", a very nice one. The idea that someone believes they know best, and claim to have experiance because of their, seemingly, "openness". Personally, i know that being a critic is a job for some people. However, i don't appreciate what it entails. Particularly, the way some flaunt it, and attempt to look really more sophistocated than others. As i've said before; Even the lowest form of literature, or art, or film, has more meaning, than the criticism that designates it as such. Some people, who over- analyse children's books, either had a very poor childhood, or they're someone who has little to no life at all.
It's Magic!
I watched the film "The Prestige" the other day. Now what a film that was! Fantastic, Intelligent and very witty, filled with all the elements of a good magic trick. There were no wands, spells or big flowing capes. These magicians were simple, modern, but just as effective.
Apart from showing the story of two magicians looking to constantly out- do one another at every possible opportunity, this film holds some truth. The way the truth is presented makes the film sophistocated, witty and clever. I doubt there are few who could watch this film and not agree. The truth "The Prestige" reveals about the audience of a magic show is that we are always seeking to be amazed. Searching for the one who can do something that will makes us want to see it again and again until we find the secret. This obsession is one of the main themes of the movie. Wanting to know, to be better. This truth isn't insinuated, or alluded to. It is put forward in the most sophistocated manner, it makes it hard for the audience not to agree.
"Every magic trick consists of three parts, or acts. The first part is call "the Pledge". The magician shows you something ordinary...He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it, to see that it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But, of course, it probably isn’t.
The second act is called "the Turn". The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. But you wouldn’t clap yet, because making something disappear isn’t enough. You have to bring it back. That’s why every magic trick has a third act. The hardest part. The part we call "the prestige".
Now you’re looking for the secret, but you won’t find it, because, of course, you’re not really looking. You don’t really want to know. You want to be fooled."
It's simple, and straight forward. In my opinion, (which may not be worth much, seeing as i'm no film critic, or anything of sorts), i don't think there is a better way of explaining why people are so fascinated by the idea, and notion, of "Magic". It's also no wonder we are always told to "Watch closely". Throughout the film this phrase is used quite a bit. Particularly in moments when the audience "knows" that something will occur. The action itself is a magic trick, and the audience, like trained automatons, watches the screen carefully, not wanting to miss the moment. What we probably fail to notice, is that by watching closely, we've once again been fooled. So the film itself, thus, becomes a magic trick!
Viola! and Hey- Presto...Magic! This is an intelligent film. Masterfully directed and produced. The actors do a fantastic job of role- playing each character. The story itself is captivating and appealing. Whilst the setting of the time- period may make some think of the themes as inconsistant, or irrelvant, i think it is something of a ploy, or trick, (if you wish to put it as such), by the crew. A distraction which attempts to conceal, in a way, the truth that the film contains.
I don't think that i am quite so good as to not fall for the same trick twice. I don't even think that this film has helped me, in a way. Though i know now that secret to the trick is all in the observation of the audience, i don't think i am so good, that i still won't be mesmirised. Undoubtedly, i think i will be the first to applaud a good trick. I don't think it will be an easy feat to try and remain unfazed by a magician who "knows his stuff". In this sense, i won't try to take the fun out of being fooled. Isn't that part of the fun anyway? Sure knowing "How" would be cool too. Although, that is the "art", if you will, of magic. No matter how hard you try not to look, you will look, and because you look, you will be fooled!
So...Watch Closely
Apart from showing the story of two magicians looking to constantly out- do one another at every possible opportunity, this film holds some truth. The way the truth is presented makes the film sophistocated, witty and clever. I doubt there are few who could watch this film and not agree. The truth "The Prestige" reveals about the audience of a magic show is that we are always seeking to be amazed. Searching for the one who can do something that will makes us want to see it again and again until we find the secret. This obsession is one of the main themes of the movie. Wanting to know, to be better. This truth isn't insinuated, or alluded to. It is put forward in the most sophistocated manner, it makes it hard for the audience not to agree.
"Every magic trick consists of three parts, or acts. The first part is call "the Pledge". The magician shows you something ordinary...He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it, to see that it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But, of course, it probably isn’t.
The second act is called "the Turn". The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. But you wouldn’t clap yet, because making something disappear isn’t enough. You have to bring it back. That’s why every magic trick has a third act. The hardest part. The part we call "the prestige".
Now you’re looking for the secret, but you won’t find it, because, of course, you’re not really looking. You don’t really want to know. You want to be fooled."
It's simple, and straight forward. In my opinion, (which may not be worth much, seeing as i'm no film critic, or anything of sorts), i don't think there is a better way of explaining why people are so fascinated by the idea, and notion, of "Magic". It's also no wonder we are always told to "Watch closely". Throughout the film this phrase is used quite a bit. Particularly in moments when the audience "knows" that something will occur. The action itself is a magic trick, and the audience, like trained automatons, watches the screen carefully, not wanting to miss the moment. What we probably fail to notice, is that by watching closely, we've once again been fooled. So the film itself, thus, becomes a magic trick!
Viola! and Hey- Presto...Magic! This is an intelligent film. Masterfully directed and produced. The actors do a fantastic job of role- playing each character. The story itself is captivating and appealing. Whilst the setting of the time- period may make some think of the themes as inconsistant, or irrelvant, i think it is something of a ploy, or trick, (if you wish to put it as such), by the crew. A distraction which attempts to conceal, in a way, the truth that the film contains.
I don't think that i am quite so good as to not fall for the same trick twice. I don't even think that this film has helped me, in a way. Though i know now that secret to the trick is all in the observation of the audience, i don't think i am so good, that i still won't be mesmirised. Undoubtedly, i think i will be the first to applaud a good trick. I don't think it will be an easy feat to try and remain unfazed by a magician who "knows his stuff". In this sense, i won't try to take the fun out of being fooled. Isn't that part of the fun anyway? Sure knowing "How" would be cool too. Although, that is the "art", if you will, of magic. No matter how hard you try not to look, you will look, and because you look, you will be fooled!
So...Watch Closely
Sunday, August 17, 2008
It's Personal!...
Maybe this isn't such a good idea, but if i don't say this, and keep it in, then i will go insane. If i haven't already. Illogical behaviour, and an irrational mantality, does not impress me. In fact it really annoys me. It's one of my pet hates. I've said before that there is a clear distinction of character in my family; and it affects the eldest child, right down to the youngest. I've also said, this distinction may not be healthy. Whilst one side of the family is patient, quiet, and reasonable; the other is stubborn, egocentric and vindictive. Of course, pro's and con's exist for both cases. These few, however, can be noticed instantly.
There is nothing wrong with being different. Even in marriage. I think these differences are the things some couples come to cherish about their spouses. Although, it could also be the cause for some problems. The difference in character, between my mother and father, is noticeable. Over the years, and looking back, i've come to see just how different they really are. With recent events taking place, i've come to question just how they did really last 27 years of marriage? Of course, i don't doubt that there is love between them. However, when two people find that they no longer see eye- to- eye, and have lost the common- ground that their relationship was founded on, i don't think others are left with any other question, but this.
My parents are seriously considering divorce. Why is this such a problem, seemingly, for me? I'm the dreamer. I want the happy family, the family that sticks together like they do in movies. Naivity, i believe it's called. I don't think i've grown up so much as to realise that things aren't the way they are in movies. Whilst we would all want them to be, things don't often go the way we want them to. Worse still, for some; often, you find that the control you thought you had over certain aspects of your life, is taken away. You have no control, and find yourself in a votex, being sucked dry.
I understand that sometimes people don't often get along after a while, and that being away is sometimes better for both. It doesn't mean that they stop loving each other, necessarily. It just means that they can't live together. I don't think anyone wants to be apart of a broken family or home. It is damaging. Whilst it may be time for me to exert some independance, i worry slightly over the fact that my little sister and i may be torn apart. This one little factor is the one thing that worries me, and scares me. My parents will always be there. That much, no matter what, i know and can guarantee. The psychological damage this could have on my little sister, however, is something of a different nature.
If i could do anything to keep my family from falling to peices i would do it, withoug second thought. That much i know. I love these people to much. Maybe that, in itself, is something which shows a sense of insecurity or weakness. Of course, i don't think that pulling a "Romeo and Juliet" stunt, by killing myself, will actually help. It may make matters worse. Besides, i wouldn't be here to enjoy the reunion. Come to think of it, i think anyone would do what all they could, and more. It could also be, perhaps, that the best thing to do is to do exactly nothing; "Go with the flow", as the saying goes.
My parents have made their life. I know. Now it's time for me to make my own. I can't do that if i'm going to spend my time worrying about them. They are capable of doing things by themselves. They are capable of working things out if they really want to. This is out of my control. No matter what i say or do, if they are set on divorce, then i will only be able to stand aside and let them destroy all they've worked to build these past 27 years. Maybe "destroy", is to over- board. It is what i think they are doing anyway.
As i said in the beginning. This may not have been the ideal topic; but, i do think that i hadn't relieved myself of it all, i would have gone insane. It's personal. In fact, not to me, but to my parents. Although, this is affecting me, nonetheless, and i am apart of the family that is currently breaking down. Whilst i can't do much about that, i will try and live my life, enjoying all the things i am to do, see, hear, and experiance. Maybe, just maybe, my example may prompt them to attempt to find common- ground once more. One thing i do know: I can't force them, beg them, or ask them to try any more. It would not be fair to them or to my little sister, or to myself.
What will come will come, and i hope that i will be able and prepared to meet it, whatever it is, when it does arrive.
There is nothing wrong with being different. Even in marriage. I think these differences are the things some couples come to cherish about their spouses. Although, it could also be the cause for some problems. The difference in character, between my mother and father, is noticeable. Over the years, and looking back, i've come to see just how different they really are. With recent events taking place, i've come to question just how they did really last 27 years of marriage? Of course, i don't doubt that there is love between them. However, when two people find that they no longer see eye- to- eye, and have lost the common- ground that their relationship was founded on, i don't think others are left with any other question, but this.
My parents are seriously considering divorce. Why is this such a problem, seemingly, for me? I'm the dreamer. I want the happy family, the family that sticks together like they do in movies. Naivity, i believe it's called. I don't think i've grown up so much as to realise that things aren't the way they are in movies. Whilst we would all want them to be, things don't often go the way we want them to. Worse still, for some; often, you find that the control you thought you had over certain aspects of your life, is taken away. You have no control, and find yourself in a votex, being sucked dry.
I understand that sometimes people don't often get along after a while, and that being away is sometimes better for both. It doesn't mean that they stop loving each other, necessarily. It just means that they can't live together. I don't think anyone wants to be apart of a broken family or home. It is damaging. Whilst it may be time for me to exert some independance, i worry slightly over the fact that my little sister and i may be torn apart. This one little factor is the one thing that worries me, and scares me. My parents will always be there. That much, no matter what, i know and can guarantee. The psychological damage this could have on my little sister, however, is something of a different nature.
If i could do anything to keep my family from falling to peices i would do it, withoug second thought. That much i know. I love these people to much. Maybe that, in itself, is something which shows a sense of insecurity or weakness. Of course, i don't think that pulling a "Romeo and Juliet" stunt, by killing myself, will actually help. It may make matters worse. Besides, i wouldn't be here to enjoy the reunion. Come to think of it, i think anyone would do what all they could, and more. It could also be, perhaps, that the best thing to do is to do exactly nothing; "Go with the flow", as the saying goes.
My parents have made their life. I know. Now it's time for me to make my own. I can't do that if i'm going to spend my time worrying about them. They are capable of doing things by themselves. They are capable of working things out if they really want to. This is out of my control. No matter what i say or do, if they are set on divorce, then i will only be able to stand aside and let them destroy all they've worked to build these past 27 years. Maybe "destroy", is to over- board. It is what i think they are doing anyway.
As i said in the beginning. This may not have been the ideal topic; but, i do think that i hadn't relieved myself of it all, i would have gone insane. It's personal. In fact, not to me, but to my parents. Although, this is affecting me, nonetheless, and i am apart of the family that is currently breaking down. Whilst i can't do much about that, i will try and live my life, enjoying all the things i am to do, see, hear, and experiance. Maybe, just maybe, my example may prompt them to attempt to find common- ground once more. One thing i do know: I can't force them, beg them, or ask them to try any more. It would not be fair to them or to my little sister, or to myself.
What will come will come, and i hope that i will be able and prepared to meet it, whatever it is, when it does arrive.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Break the Peace, Loose the Priviledge!!
I feel as though i've been slapped in the face. After my appraisal of the Olympic Games, and all they stand for, Russia and Georgia are in a fall- out. In my opinion...Disgusting! Call me a dreamer, call me naive, call me whatever you want; I don't think there is a better for a country to disgrace themselves and the spirit of the Olympic Games, than to actively participate in a fall- out, during the Games.
This may be idealist of me, but i don't think that two- weeks, out of every year, every four years, is to much to ask, is it? Have the standards of the Olympics become that high, that even our super- power nations find it hard to control themselves? Has it become to much for the globe, already, seemingly, war- torn and ravaged, that two- weeks of peace, and friendlyness is simply an impossible task?
Answer: Obviously it is the case.
Personally, and this may seem rather stupid, but i think that both Russia and Georgia should be stripped of the priviledge of participating in the Games. Russia is due to host the Winter Olympics in 2014, they should be stripped of that priviledge too. Despite how "unrealistic", the ideals of the Olympics are, i think that they serve as a reminder of how people should attempt to treat and get along with one another. I find it hard to believe that we can call ourselves people, lest of all intelligent of all species, when we often act just as bad as animals.
Sure, it's human nature to hit back if you get hit. This Russia- Georgia incident has been brewing, apparently. It was bound to happen. I will not, however, condone that such attacks are occuring during the Olympic Games. Strip them both and send the Olympians back. All that hard training and effort, all those expectations, all those hopes and dreams, resting on the success of the Olympians. Shatter the dream, and break the spirit! Send the representatives home, in tears, see if they can make their leaders see some sense...Yeah right! Guess i should go back to sleep.!Rationally speaking, this would be stupid very stupid. It would be fighting fire with fire. It would almost be a case of committing the crime for which one is punishing another. The Olympians aren't to blame.
The last blog was partially about my pride in my heritage. All this anger is probably a result of wounded pride. However, this is more than just about being Greek. The Olympics are categorised for the morals and values they work upon. Every IOC President has mentioned the values in his opening speech at the Opening Ceremony of every Olympic Games. I guess i'm just upset that the one event that is supposed to promote peace for a period, which comes, sometimes when the time is right; Is now being undermined by the actions of two countries. It undermines the spirit of the games, changes the nature of competition between the countries, and then changes the nature of the Olympics. They are no longer "friendly", or "peaceful", or "fun". They're just the same like everything else. A farce with idealistic morals and values, out- dated for today's society that it comes redundant.
This is more than just a small issue, "like water under a bridge", for me at least. These countries have disgraced themselves, and the Olympic Games in the process. This is disturbing and, sadly, perhaps a sign that the Games, and their legacy, are on the way out. What a shame! I thought they still had a while to go..obviously it's not the case. I feel as though i'm apart of another world that, dreams of the days of peace, in a society, seemingly, becoming more and more accustomed to war and strife; It's almost scary to think that it may be so common, that it stops bothering some people.
Maybe it's precisely that i care so much, that this is a big deal. Okay, remove the Games for a second, at you're still left with people dying, as if there wasn't already enough of this going on! The fact of the Games going on at the same time is only adding fuel to this fire. In spite of all the anger and frustration, i won't stop caring, neither about the lives of those involved, or about how this will damage the Olympic Games. I guess i'll have to wait, to analyse the effects this will have on the Games, when they close for yet another Olympiad. Till then, i will hope against hope that, by some miracle or luck of chance, that things simmer- down.....Yeah, i'm definitely in need of some serious sleep!
This may be idealist of me, but i don't think that two- weeks, out of every year, every four years, is to much to ask, is it? Have the standards of the Olympics become that high, that even our super- power nations find it hard to control themselves? Has it become to much for the globe, already, seemingly, war- torn and ravaged, that two- weeks of peace, and friendlyness is simply an impossible task?
Answer: Obviously it is the case.
Personally, and this may seem rather stupid, but i think that both Russia and Georgia should be stripped of the priviledge of participating in the Games. Russia is due to host the Winter Olympics in 2014, they should be stripped of that priviledge too. Despite how "unrealistic", the ideals of the Olympics are, i think that they serve as a reminder of how people should attempt to treat and get along with one another. I find it hard to believe that we can call ourselves people, lest of all intelligent of all species, when we often act just as bad as animals.
Sure, it's human nature to hit back if you get hit. This Russia- Georgia incident has been brewing, apparently. It was bound to happen. I will not, however, condone that such attacks are occuring during the Olympic Games. Strip them both and send the Olympians back. All that hard training and effort, all those expectations, all those hopes and dreams, resting on the success of the Olympians. Shatter the dream, and break the spirit! Send the representatives home, in tears, see if they can make their leaders see some sense...Yeah right! Guess i should go back to sleep.!Rationally speaking, this would be stupid very stupid. It would be fighting fire with fire. It would almost be a case of committing the crime for which one is punishing another. The Olympians aren't to blame.
The last blog was partially about my pride in my heritage. All this anger is probably a result of wounded pride. However, this is more than just about being Greek. The Olympics are categorised for the morals and values they work upon. Every IOC President has mentioned the values in his opening speech at the Opening Ceremony of every Olympic Games. I guess i'm just upset that the one event that is supposed to promote peace for a period, which comes, sometimes when the time is right; Is now being undermined by the actions of two countries. It undermines the spirit of the games, changes the nature of competition between the countries, and then changes the nature of the Olympics. They are no longer "friendly", or "peaceful", or "fun". They're just the same like everything else. A farce with idealistic morals and values, out- dated for today's society that it comes redundant.
This is more than just a small issue, "like water under a bridge", for me at least. These countries have disgraced themselves, and the Olympic Games in the process. This is disturbing and, sadly, perhaps a sign that the Games, and their legacy, are on the way out. What a shame! I thought they still had a while to go..obviously it's not the case. I feel as though i'm apart of another world that, dreams of the days of peace, in a society, seemingly, becoming more and more accustomed to war and strife; It's almost scary to think that it may be so common, that it stops bothering some people.
Maybe it's precisely that i care so much, that this is a big deal. Okay, remove the Games for a second, at you're still left with people dying, as if there wasn't already enough of this going on! The fact of the Games going on at the same time is only adding fuel to this fire. In spite of all the anger and frustration, i won't stop caring, neither about the lives of those involved, or about how this will damage the Olympic Games. I guess i'll have to wait, to analyse the effects this will have on the Games, when they close for yet another Olympiad. Till then, i will hope against hope that, by some miracle or luck of chance, that things simmer- down.....Yeah, i'm definitely in need of some serious sleep!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Beijing 2008 Olympic Games (Games of the XXIX Olympiad)
Despite the rumours, despite all the threats, despite the hick- ups, Beijing put on a spectacular performance for the Opening Ceremony of the 2008 Olympic Games this morning. To say the truth, each and every host city has brought something new to the Opening Ceremony, indeed, to the legacy of the Olympic Games in the modern era. Naturally, there will be improvements. In 2000, Sydney put on a performance that show- cased the best of Australian culture. In 2004, we got the best that Athens had to offer. In 2008, we get an improvement again, with Beijing doing its best. Perhaps in 2012, London will do even better.
I'm not one to boast. Being Greek, however, i felt a sense of pride as i watched the proceedings of the Opening Ceremony. Knowing that i, through my cultural heritage, was in some way connected with this Ancient event, which begun in the country of my ancestors, it sent goose- bumps up my spine when i saw the country i belong to come out first. Sure, i was born in Australia, and i support Australia too, however, there is something about being able to say: "I'm Greek", around times like these, that makes the phrase mean more than i ever understood.
The Greeks are not "God's gift to man", as the saying goes. Although, like all civilisations, the Greeks had something to offer, and over time, Western culture developed these early ideas, and eventually we ended up with modern, and contemporary ideologies. The Olympic Games are something of this sort. Founded out of a religious festival, meant to be a national event and holiday. The ending of hostilities for the duration of the festival and games, the friendly competition, the crowning of the champions of the games of Zeus, the union of all the nation for a common purpose; all these simple ideas were developed and eventually given back to civilisation by Pierre De Coubertin, the Father of the Modern Olympic Games.
Watching the proceedings i felt proud to be able to say that i was of Greek heritage. I'm sure if i knew my family tree, or was able to trace it back that far, i'm sure i'd find some evidence of one of my ancestors, or relatives, actually attending the Games, as they were back in Ancient Greece.
For the past three Olympiads, there has been this running theme of preparation and time. Sydney was faced with the prospect of Central station not being able to capacitate for the amount of commuters during the games. Interestingly enough, Central station development is still not complete. Athens caused a mighty big stir. It was the home of the games. The Greeks were made a bad example of, and recieved unfair media coverage by international press. Australian press seriously doubted that the Greeks would be ready in time. In spite of it all, the Greeks worked against the clock, were still working on the day before the games, but were ready in time.
Unfortunately, the Greeks also had to deal with the fresh fear of the 9/11 attacks, which meant people were still worried about flying and travelling. Beijing, by far, has been worse off. The recent unpleasantness with the torch relay, and the Tibet issues, really placed pressure on the Chinese Olympic Committee. The polution that had also been reported on didn't make things easier, i'm sure. Like in most instances, the country pulled together, and was making progress till the earth-quake struck and recked havoc in the province of Sichuan. Again, the Chinese people worked together and came out of it to produce what was, in my opinion, by far the greatest Opening Ceremony of the Olympic Games in the modern era.
I think it's human nature for people to band together in tough times, or challenging times, and to rise to the occasion, putting their "best foot forward", as the saying goes. Regardless of what was reported in the news, the headlines in the papers today, tomorrow and at the closing ceremony of this Olympiad, will tell of the Beijing Games, and the success they were.
Despite all this, however, there is only one host country of the Games that will always have an impact like no other...you guessed it, Greece.! Whilst i won't say that the Games belong to Greece any more, i will say that the Games still, and will always, call Greece home. Despite the time- lag there may be in Greece hosting the Games, it will happen again. The first time i saw it, all the National Olympic Committees of the world attended, all 202 of them. It was the first time since the beginning of the modern Games in 1896 that all the NOC's had attended the Games.
With new countries forming, and other countries gaining independance, this number has already increased another two since Athens 2004. Beijing plays host to a total of 204 nations in the 2008 Olympic Games. The next time Greece hosts the Games, it'll be bigger and better than before. It will be something to remember. The Games returning to Greece will be the equivalent to Jesus Christ's parable of the prodigal son. The only difference is, that this "son", was given away willingly, as a gift to civilisation, collectively.
Unfortunately, in a time when war and destruction has, seemingly taken over the evening news, i must admit that i did not quite feel the "Spirit" of the Games as i did in 2000 or in 2004. I can only hope that the Games remain as the one and most important symbol of hope and friendship and peaceful times. It would be a big shame seeing the Games fall into a state of unpopularity because of war ravaging the globe.
I'm not one to boast. Being Greek, however, i felt a sense of pride as i watched the proceedings of the Opening Ceremony. Knowing that i, through my cultural heritage, was in some way connected with this Ancient event, which begun in the country of my ancestors, it sent goose- bumps up my spine when i saw the country i belong to come out first. Sure, i was born in Australia, and i support Australia too, however, there is something about being able to say: "I'm Greek", around times like these, that makes the phrase mean more than i ever understood.
The Greeks are not "God's gift to man", as the saying goes. Although, like all civilisations, the Greeks had something to offer, and over time, Western culture developed these early ideas, and eventually we ended up with modern, and contemporary ideologies. The Olympic Games are something of this sort. Founded out of a religious festival, meant to be a national event and holiday. The ending of hostilities for the duration of the festival and games, the friendly competition, the crowning of the champions of the games of Zeus, the union of all the nation for a common purpose; all these simple ideas were developed and eventually given back to civilisation by Pierre De Coubertin, the Father of the Modern Olympic Games.
Watching the proceedings i felt proud to be able to say that i was of Greek heritage. I'm sure if i knew my family tree, or was able to trace it back that far, i'm sure i'd find some evidence of one of my ancestors, or relatives, actually attending the Games, as they were back in Ancient Greece.
For the past three Olympiads, there has been this running theme of preparation and time. Sydney was faced with the prospect of Central station not being able to capacitate for the amount of commuters during the games. Interestingly enough, Central station development is still not complete. Athens caused a mighty big stir. It was the home of the games. The Greeks were made a bad example of, and recieved unfair media coverage by international press. Australian press seriously doubted that the Greeks would be ready in time. In spite of it all, the Greeks worked against the clock, were still working on the day before the games, but were ready in time.
Unfortunately, the Greeks also had to deal with the fresh fear of the 9/11 attacks, which meant people were still worried about flying and travelling. Beijing, by far, has been worse off. The recent unpleasantness with the torch relay, and the Tibet issues, really placed pressure on the Chinese Olympic Committee. The polution that had also been reported on didn't make things easier, i'm sure. Like in most instances, the country pulled together, and was making progress till the earth-quake struck and recked havoc in the province of Sichuan. Again, the Chinese people worked together and came out of it to produce what was, in my opinion, by far the greatest Opening Ceremony of the Olympic Games in the modern era.
I think it's human nature for people to band together in tough times, or challenging times, and to rise to the occasion, putting their "best foot forward", as the saying goes. Regardless of what was reported in the news, the headlines in the papers today, tomorrow and at the closing ceremony of this Olympiad, will tell of the Beijing Games, and the success they were.
Despite all this, however, there is only one host country of the Games that will always have an impact like no other...you guessed it, Greece.! Whilst i won't say that the Games belong to Greece any more, i will say that the Games still, and will always, call Greece home. Despite the time- lag there may be in Greece hosting the Games, it will happen again. The first time i saw it, all the National Olympic Committees of the world attended, all 202 of them. It was the first time since the beginning of the modern Games in 1896 that all the NOC's had attended the Games.
With new countries forming, and other countries gaining independance, this number has already increased another two since Athens 2004. Beijing plays host to a total of 204 nations in the 2008 Olympic Games. The next time Greece hosts the Games, it'll be bigger and better than before. It will be something to remember. The Games returning to Greece will be the equivalent to Jesus Christ's parable of the prodigal son. The only difference is, that this "son", was given away willingly, as a gift to civilisation, collectively.
Unfortunately, in a time when war and destruction has, seemingly taken over the evening news, i must admit that i did not quite feel the "Spirit" of the Games as i did in 2000 or in 2004. I can only hope that the Games remain as the one and most important symbol of hope and friendship and peaceful times. It would be a big shame seeing the Games fall into a state of unpopularity because of war ravaging the globe.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Fond Memories
Doing a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Notre Dame- Sydney, i'm taking four subjects a semester. Last semester they were new and different; this semester, they are different again, though some not as new. Children's Literature, World Literature, the Theory and Practice of Modern Theatre, and Philosophy, (which is one of the three core subjects that all ND students will study, along with: Ethics and Theology).
You could say that in all UNI subjects there is a lot of reading. Clearly, three quarters of my subjects this semester are English Literature subjects. Hence, reading, and lack of reading material are two things i can not complain about for a while. Apart from the reading, however, i have been presented with the opportunity to re- live some of my childhood. Children's Literature is giving me the opportunity to re- read: "The Chronicles of Narnia", "Matilda", "The Bridge to Terebithia", and a few other great novels, not of my time, but childhood classics nonetheless.
Of course, this reading will be a breeze. In truth, it is. However, it was something that my unit lectureer said in our introduction lecture that caught my attention. Reading these books in year five or year six, in other words as a "child", there were different things we noticed and different things we may have liked, or understood. Reading these books again, but as an adult, there will, again, be different things we understand, notice and like.
So far, however, not only have i enjoyed them, much more than i did when i was first introduced to them, but i've come to appreciate them and appreciate the style, techniques and didactic lessons that i can extrapolate. The childish laughter and enjoyment only returns, stronger than before. Beatrix Potter, Ursula Le Guin, Roald Dahl, Katherine Paterson, and yes, even J. K. Rowling. They are all childhood favourites of mine. Undoubtedly, Potter's images, Le Guin's style, Dahl's humour, Paterson's heartrending story of friendship and strength, and Rowling's dish of cat- and- mouse, all make for a banquet of fine reading.
Feeding the mind with images of "the old- days", when i'd be sitting in class listening, or when i'd be in my room reading, it felt good to re- connect with something i lost, but hadn't forgotten. Whilst i lost my childhood, i'm pleased to say that i haven't lost the memories i have, nor have i lost the excitement of reading books, that i first read in primary school. Two things happen to me when i read these books again, after so long. Not only do i see the story playing out before me, i also see the younger me, in the various environments that i would sit and read, or sit and listen to these stories.
If a good writer can be judged so by their ability to make the reader feel as though they are seeing the action of the story taking place in front of them, then is it fair to say that a great writer can be judged so by their ability to take you back to "days of old", when you first read the story, and make you feel just as excited?
My imagination is extremely limited! All this admiration for people and things. For so much admiration, it's no wonder to me, looking back, why there are certain things, of a creative nature, that i can't complete. My imagination is not made for being admired, but rather to be the admirer. It's not so bad, thinking about it for a while. At least i have fond memories to look back on and cherish. Always looking ahead to the next thing that comes along to be admired.
You could say that in all UNI subjects there is a lot of reading. Clearly, three quarters of my subjects this semester are English Literature subjects. Hence, reading, and lack of reading material are two things i can not complain about for a while. Apart from the reading, however, i have been presented with the opportunity to re- live some of my childhood. Children's Literature is giving me the opportunity to re- read: "The Chronicles of Narnia", "Matilda", "The Bridge to Terebithia", and a few other great novels, not of my time, but childhood classics nonetheless.
Of course, this reading will be a breeze. In truth, it is. However, it was something that my unit lectureer said in our introduction lecture that caught my attention. Reading these books in year five or year six, in other words as a "child", there were different things we noticed and different things we may have liked, or understood. Reading these books again, but as an adult, there will, again, be different things we understand, notice and like.
So far, however, not only have i enjoyed them, much more than i did when i was first introduced to them, but i've come to appreciate them and appreciate the style, techniques and didactic lessons that i can extrapolate. The childish laughter and enjoyment only returns, stronger than before. Beatrix Potter, Ursula Le Guin, Roald Dahl, Katherine Paterson, and yes, even J. K. Rowling. They are all childhood favourites of mine. Undoubtedly, Potter's images, Le Guin's style, Dahl's humour, Paterson's heartrending story of friendship and strength, and Rowling's dish of cat- and- mouse, all make for a banquet of fine reading.
Feeding the mind with images of "the old- days", when i'd be sitting in class listening, or when i'd be in my room reading, it felt good to re- connect with something i lost, but hadn't forgotten. Whilst i lost my childhood, i'm pleased to say that i haven't lost the memories i have, nor have i lost the excitement of reading books, that i first read in primary school. Two things happen to me when i read these books again, after so long. Not only do i see the story playing out before me, i also see the younger me, in the various environments that i would sit and read, or sit and listen to these stories.
If a good writer can be judged so by their ability to make the reader feel as though they are seeing the action of the story taking place in front of them, then is it fair to say that a great writer can be judged so by their ability to take you back to "days of old", when you first read the story, and make you feel just as excited?
My imagination is extremely limited! All this admiration for people and things. For so much admiration, it's no wonder to me, looking back, why there are certain things, of a creative nature, that i can't complete. My imagination is not made for being admired, but rather to be the admirer. It's not so bad, thinking about it for a while. At least i have fond memories to look back on and cherish. Always looking ahead to the next thing that comes along to be admired.
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Cute Reverse
I was sitting at the dinner table with my father a few nights ago. When he's on his day off, this isn't an unusual sight. The food was still hot, and wonderful. The bottle of wine sat between us. Our glasses were full. It's something of a custom for my father and i to sit and have deep discussions between ourselves. It's strange, but there is a clear division of character one can see, in my family.
My father, older sister and i are all alike in character. My mother, older brother and younger sister are exactly alike. Sometimes, these characters clash, (it's like the titans attempting to besiege Olympus). Total mayhem. Whether or not this clear distinction is "healthy" or not i don't know. Needless to say, we all possess characteristics of both our parents. I know that i have my father's patience, but i share my mother's ability to get very sensitive, and angry.
Anyway, it was just the two of us. With no older sister to complete this Un- Orthodox trinity, it was better than nothing. It was just the way i liked it. Food, drink, company that i always loved and never got tired of, and never will. It was in these amiable sourroundings that my father relayed to me the events under which my paternal grandfather and grandmother got married.
My grandfather wasn't from a rich family in Greece. Quite the contrary. My grandfather knew nothing but poverty, even when my father was born, and during my father's childhood. It was touch for my grandfather, and the lack of support he recieved from the people who lived in the village, whom my grandfather had helped, is the reason why he refuses to return to the village today. It was my grandmother who came from the rich family. After seeing her a few times, my grandfather approached my grandmother's father and asked for her hand in marriage. (Like most old stories, filled with romance and drama), My grandfather was turned down for his lack of money, hence, it was believed he had no means of providing for my grandmother; rather, that he would have to be provided for.
My grandmother was presented with many suitors before. Naturally, she was reaching the age to be a perfect bride and wife. It was time. Apart from this, she was rich, there was bound to be someone out there that would take her. However, my grandmother turned them all down. She only wanted one; my grandfather. During the night, on the day when my grandfather had asked for her hand in marriage, my grandmother crept out of her house, having no cars back then, she organised a walk to the next village. She went to my grandfather's house, woke him up and, literally, stole him. They eloped and went to the next village to be married straight away. They got married in the village called Orma, and stayed there three days after their marriage.
They returned after three days a married couple. Neither family knew, thus, there was nothing to be done, but to accept the union. It was blessed and sanctified after all. However, my grandmother and grandfather were faced with dissappointment by my grandmother's brothers, mainly. They remained that way towards her and my grandfather till the civil war of democracy and communism broke out in Greece. By this time, the men were being shot, beaten or taken prisoner by the Greek army. My grear- grandfather, John, was one of the relatives shot by the Greek army. It's unclear as to why, when he actually helped the Greek army fight against the communists. My grandmother spend some of her time trying to track the bodies of her brothers, to no avail.
My grandmother wasn't one for riches and extravagence. She loved simplicity. It's what made her beautiful. At least, from the pictures that i've seen of her. The simple life she led from then on was all that she could have asked for.
I couldn't help but laugh all through this story. It was cute and funny and romantic all at once. At the same time, though, whilest my father was busy remembering, i was busy painting a picture. I was, unfortunately, un- born at the time before my grandmother's passing to have any memories of her, (May She Rest In Peace). The story, thus ending, my father and i realised that the bottle was empty and that we were all eaten out, to the point of bursting. We'd eaten, we'd drunk, we'd spoken, we'd laughed.
The memories remained, and the good times left once more. Reality struck, but the nostalgia remained in my dad's eyes. Within me, the memories only sparked a sort of unhappiness. An aching in the heart, a longing, a desire. To have been able to see, just once, to have a memory of my own would not have caused this unhappiness. I didn't see her though, and i will always have this longing, this desire. It may be for this reason, that i hang on to every memory that others have. They all help me paint a picture of my grandmother.
If things were anything like "Harry Potter" it would only be to easy to steal the memories of my relatives and delve into them at my own leisure. Things, reality, however, is not like "Harry Potter", no matter how much i want or hope or wish it to be. It's a simple fact of life that i have to deal with. Stories like this "cute reverse" are all i have to go by. Rather than sit here and soak in my own misfortune, i'll try and make the most of what i have to work and go by. Who knows, if there is a God, and there is a Heaven, maybe i will have the chance of seeing her in passing. Even if it only for a moment, i think it will be enough to see her and hear her voice.
My father, older sister and i are all alike in character. My mother, older brother and younger sister are exactly alike. Sometimes, these characters clash, (it's like the titans attempting to besiege Olympus). Total mayhem. Whether or not this clear distinction is "healthy" or not i don't know. Needless to say, we all possess characteristics of both our parents. I know that i have my father's patience, but i share my mother's ability to get very sensitive, and angry.
Anyway, it was just the two of us. With no older sister to complete this Un- Orthodox trinity, it was better than nothing. It was just the way i liked it. Food, drink, company that i always loved and never got tired of, and never will. It was in these amiable sourroundings that my father relayed to me the events under which my paternal grandfather and grandmother got married.
My grandfather wasn't from a rich family in Greece. Quite the contrary. My grandfather knew nothing but poverty, even when my father was born, and during my father's childhood. It was touch for my grandfather, and the lack of support he recieved from the people who lived in the village, whom my grandfather had helped, is the reason why he refuses to return to the village today. It was my grandmother who came from the rich family. After seeing her a few times, my grandfather approached my grandmother's father and asked for her hand in marriage. (Like most old stories, filled with romance and drama), My grandfather was turned down for his lack of money, hence, it was believed he had no means of providing for my grandmother; rather, that he would have to be provided for.
My grandmother was presented with many suitors before. Naturally, she was reaching the age to be a perfect bride and wife. It was time. Apart from this, she was rich, there was bound to be someone out there that would take her. However, my grandmother turned them all down. She only wanted one; my grandfather. During the night, on the day when my grandfather had asked for her hand in marriage, my grandmother crept out of her house, having no cars back then, she organised a walk to the next village. She went to my grandfather's house, woke him up and, literally, stole him. They eloped and went to the next village to be married straight away. They got married in the village called Orma, and stayed there three days after their marriage.
They returned after three days a married couple. Neither family knew, thus, there was nothing to be done, but to accept the union. It was blessed and sanctified after all. However, my grandmother and grandfather were faced with dissappointment by my grandmother's brothers, mainly. They remained that way towards her and my grandfather till the civil war of democracy and communism broke out in Greece. By this time, the men were being shot, beaten or taken prisoner by the Greek army. My grear- grandfather, John, was one of the relatives shot by the Greek army. It's unclear as to why, when he actually helped the Greek army fight against the communists. My grandmother spend some of her time trying to track the bodies of her brothers, to no avail.
My grandmother wasn't one for riches and extravagence. She loved simplicity. It's what made her beautiful. At least, from the pictures that i've seen of her. The simple life she led from then on was all that she could have asked for.
I couldn't help but laugh all through this story. It was cute and funny and romantic all at once. At the same time, though, whilest my father was busy remembering, i was busy painting a picture. I was, unfortunately, un- born at the time before my grandmother's passing to have any memories of her, (May She Rest In Peace). The story, thus ending, my father and i realised that the bottle was empty and that we were all eaten out, to the point of bursting. We'd eaten, we'd drunk, we'd spoken, we'd laughed.
The memories remained, and the good times left once more. Reality struck, but the nostalgia remained in my dad's eyes. Within me, the memories only sparked a sort of unhappiness. An aching in the heart, a longing, a desire. To have been able to see, just once, to have a memory of my own would not have caused this unhappiness. I didn't see her though, and i will always have this longing, this desire. It may be for this reason, that i hang on to every memory that others have. They all help me paint a picture of my grandmother.
If things were anything like "Harry Potter" it would only be to easy to steal the memories of my relatives and delve into them at my own leisure. Things, reality, however, is not like "Harry Potter", no matter how much i want or hope or wish it to be. It's a simple fact of life that i have to deal with. Stories like this "cute reverse" are all i have to go by. Rather than sit here and soak in my own misfortune, i'll try and make the most of what i have to work and go by. Who knows, if there is a God, and there is a Heaven, maybe i will have the chance of seeing her in passing. Even if it only for a moment, i think it will be enough to see her and hear her voice.
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