Memory, Revisited

Because one post just wasn't enough. ~

The importance of memory in society today has been greatly diminished. ~

Educational systems have begun scorning rote memorization, arguing instead for more inquisitive-based learning. ~ Shakespeare speeches are no longer committed to memory and recited flawlessly. ~ Formula sheets are given and detail such equations as F= ma or even a² + b² = c². ~ Information is literally just a click away - on that shiny new Android device or that sleek new Ultrabook. ~ (Some self-criticism here - I own a Samsung Galaxy S II phone and an ASUS ZENBOOK Pro Ultrabook.) ~

It seems that with as technology advances in leaps and bounds, our minds shrink back to accommodate the very devices that are intended to accommodate us. ~ We rely so much on writing and digitization of data that perhaps we're losing the sharp edge and descending into laziness when it comes to thinking about the daily parts of life. ~

In my own life, I've realized how terrible my memory has become in relation to my new university schedule. ~ I recently registered for all my classes, spending a good few hours slaving over the timing, professor ratings and available option courses. ~ Just a week later, when a classmate asked me what classes I was taking next semester, I found myself unable to name more than three of the five courses each semester, much less the professors teaching each course. ~

That's why I'm skeptical to the typical advice of "just write it down!" to remember "it." ~ Day planners, agendas, online calenders... Admittedly, they're great tools, especially for busy university students/workers; however, I cringe when I see people scheduling in things such as "walk the dog" or "practice piano." ~ If we have to write down every single thing in order to remember it, activities beginning losing their meaningfulness, especially because I believe that looking forward to a special event contributes to half of its appeal. ~

Yet in today's society, we don't need to memorize something, so we don't. ~ Things are more accessible, cheaper, routine. ~ We have the nice, warm safety blanket of the notebook in case our memory  falls through. ~ I'm not trying to undermine the achievements of modern society - far from it. I'm as avid of an agenda/calendar-user as the next perfectionist, and I take notes that are so detailed, they may as well be a regurgitation of each lecture I attend. ~ Rather, I'm trying to draw attention to the inevitable flaws that accompany our very Western thinking - forward-driven and always improving our tools to facilitate our lives. ~ There is no legitimacy placed on the human memory anymore, because the goods delivered by consumerism provide an easier, more appealing means of remembering things. ~

So what are we losing? ~ A valuable skill, for one. ~ Indeed, the feats of memorization of our ancestors become truly remarkable when compared to the fact that best friends can no longer remember each other's phone numbers or birthdays without checking their contact list or Facebook. ~ See, back in the day, the epic poet Homer delivered oratories for hours on end, when a writing system hadn't been concretized as it is today. Yet somehow I can barely remember how I worded the starting sentence to this blog post (do you?). ~ In the past, memory was not just a convenience, it was necessary to pass on culture and traditions. ~ Sure, memory is fallible, which explains how myths have been blown out of proportion, but memory also helps each individual mold a story in their own mind and add a personal touch that just isn't the same as linking someone to a subreddit or online news article. ~ Indeed, there's something about memorization that's profoundly intimate. ~ When you memorize a text, you don't just study it - you absorb it, play with it, modify it to your own needs and tastes. A memorized piece of work no longer solely belongs to the author anymore - it belongs to you just as much as to the creator. It's personalized. ~

A devil's advocate might argue that memory is the exact opposite of personalized - it's rigid. ~ For instance, let's go back to rote learning. For anyone who's ever struggled in a class and miraculously discovered that simply memorizing the formula or idea could mean a pass on the exam, it's evident that memory can sometimes help us bypass the very important process of learning itself. ~ Yet in reality, memory should be treated as a much more fluid process than simple repetition. ~ It's becoming familiar with something - so much so that instead of simply knowing a fact or an idea, you begin developing synaesthetic connections to it - such as making up a mnemonic for the Linnaean classification system (Katy Perry Came Over For Great Sex, anyone?), or remembering a person based on their scent, or visualizing a scene from a novel when caressing the words of the story on your lips. ~

Memory can also denote some interesting aspects of a person. What we choose to remember (because I think memory is often a choice) reflects what type of person we are. "Forgive and forget." We often erase or modify the worst memories we have to soften their blows, and that's a healthy thing to do. However, over long periods of time, memory can indeed end up distorting the truth, which can be harmful to the overarching, lifetime process of self-discovery. ~ That's where writing down things comes into play. ~ Reading back on my old blogs is not only a trip down memory lane, it also shows me how my writing style has changed, and how deep down I'm still very much the same person. ~ As always, there is a fine balance between pure memorization and total digitization/documentation of our knowledge and memories. ~ But it sure wouldn't hurt once in awhile to reinforce those neuronal pathways and spend some time getting to know pieces of information by heart. ~

Why I Stay Up Late

Sleep has always been my Achilles' heel. I might be a food aficionado, and enjoy listening to all sorts of different music, but the real thing that I cannot go without is sleep. ~

The problem has gotten much, much worse this past year. ~ Since university allows greater freedom with schedules, I've started waking up at 12 pm to make it to 1 pm classes (note that I live 45 minutes away from the university), despite vowing to make it to the library at 9 am to study. ~ On weekends, I sleep in to 2 pm, 3 pm, 4 pm... It gets so bad that when my mom tries to shake me awake in the morning, I firmly yell, "No! No! No!" and turn over disgruntedly, despite not consciously being aware of my own actions. ~ Six hours later, I angrily call her, demanding why she let me sleep in. When she tells me the story, I am aghast. ~

My friends have attempted to help rectify this problem. ~ Several have been on alarm duty, calling me to wake me up. ~ I am ashamed to say that I often take their call, agree to get up, and then promptly fall back into bed, out cold. ~ Someone tried to get me using an app called "Sleep if U Can", whereby you dutifully take a picture in another room the previous night and have to get up in the morning to take the same picture in order to turn off your alarm. ~ Gleefully, I tried it, making all sorts of hopeful promises to myself about getting back on track. ~ The next morning, I sleep through three hours of my alarm going off. ~

I've missed many outings with friends because instead of waking up at 6 am, I find myself blinking away sleep at 3 in the afternoon. ~ One day, I missed the first bit of my 1 pm class because not only my ten alarms, but also my carbon monoxide detector going off, failed to wake me from my dreams. ~

My new house has only aggravated the issue. ~ My family now lives in an extremely quiet neighbourhood, where barely a car drives by all day. ~ My room faces the north, so that no sunlight streams through my shutters in the morning (not that that would help wake sleeping me much). ~ After my parents leave the house in the mornings, I might as well be the last person alive, unknowingly sleeping through the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse. ~

I can fall asleep absolutely anywhere. ~ As many of my summer camp friends can testify, neither heat nor cold nor loud noises can prevent me from catching a few Z's or a billion. ~ Whether it's sprawled across my desk, leaning against a wall, cuddled up in a library chair, or cramped atop a lab bench, sleep settles over me like a gentle blanket, engulfing me in darkness. ~

By this point, you're probably wondering: "If she loves sleep so much, then why not sleep more?" A simple question, posed to a complicated person. ~ You see, the reason sleep has become such an issue for me is that I'm wide awake at the worst times possible. ~ 1 am? Time to start a new TV series! 2 am? Let's launch into a full-length MCAT practice exam (which lasts for 4 hours straight)! ~ 6 am? Time to start banging away on the piano, rousing the entire house. ~ I'm a classic night owl. ~

What set me on this horrible routine? ~ Well, it's progressively gotten worse over the years. ~ It began when I snatched a few extra minutes past 10 to finish a project, then after 11 to read another page of my novel, then over midnight to finish up a report, then 1 to squeeze in another episode of Friends... It just seems that when no one else at home is awake, I'm most productive and alert. ~ Also, late night conversations are often the most meaningful and the most interesting. ~ Staying up just that much later gives me the chance to either spend some quality time catching up with a friend who's in the US, or getting in some last minute studying. ~
There's also an odd sense of excitement to be the last one awake. ~ It feels like the entire world has stopped for you, and everything you do will seem like you've warped time to people who wake up the next morning. ~ The adrenaline probably has something to do with this as well - you're forcing your body to extremes, so it responds duly and gives you that rush, that extra burst of concentration, so that you can achieve so much more. ~

This second life has begun to take its toll on me, however. ~ I'm often sluggish during the day, having to rely on coffee or tea in order to function properly. ~ I'm also a horribly cranky person in the morning, giving my mother sullen looks for having woken me and dozing in the car on the way to work (not behind the wheel, of course). ~ I'm always amazed by people who can wake up at 5 to spruce themselves up for the day, showing up at school or work like they've just been airbrushed into being. ~
So tonight, I'll be heading home, telling myself I'll go to bed "early" and wake up feeling refreshed and happy tomorrow morning, while knowing full well that I'll end up having some sort of epiphany at 11 pm and decide to stay up for the next few hours developing the idea. ~

Sweet dreams, everyone. ~

China Chronicles: Assault on the Olfactory and Gustatory Senses

Possibly the most memorable part of my past two China trips has been the delicious meals/snacks I've had the chance of savouring. ~ Although I maintain that taste and smell are two very distinct senses, my attempts to write separate posts for these two in my Assault on the Senses series has only led to repetition and redundancy. Therefore, I present a combined senses post. ~ Writing this late at night made me crave authentic Chinese food all the more - hopefully I've managed to convey a sense of that through the upcoming ramblings. ~ Also: I have so many pictures of the foods described here that I felt it necessary to break my one-picture-per-post tradition. Perhaps it's cheating to use visuals to complement a post on the olfactory and gustatory senses, but the inner foodie in me just can't resist. ~

Smells in China are very... strong. ~ There are two extremes - my nose either crinkles in disgust and I feel an uncomfortable roiling in my stomach that indicates I have enjoyed a meal much to rich for my usual tastes, and must now suffer in face of the abominable smells pelted at me - or my mouth waters at the delectable aromas that are so enticing, I can nearly feel the texture of the odours tickle my taste buds. ~

Below the apartment where my grandparents live (and where I spent most of my days in China this past summer), there's this little food market/street vendor alley that's always teeming with cars, people, bicycles, and smells. ~ In the mornings, I stroll down to grab breakfast. Delicious local Tianjin dishes are cooking everywhere: 煎饼果子 (Chinese pancakes), 锅巴菜 (sliced pancakes in broth), 豆腐脑 (tofu pudding)... It is perhaps a testament to how wonderful these smells and tastes are that I cannot help but worry over how I will find enough room in my stomach to satisfy my gluttony, or enough meals to even begin curbing my cravings. ~ I dart from booth to booth, placing orders, catching glimpses of the dishes made on the spot, gingerly accepting the little plastic sacs containing the steaming foods and paying the vendors. ~ It's lots of fun, and everything is so cheap and convenient that no one bothers to make their own breakfast at home. ~ The sizzle of frying 油条 (Chinese donuts) cooking next to the pure white soy milk make a perfect combo. ~ Freshly diced pineapples stand guard in a row, while newly picked strawberries line a wooden crate in perfect, soldierly formation. ~ Yet underneath all of the cooking smells, I also detect the ever-present hint of garbage that soils my mood somewhat. ~ The vendors don't bother with real garbage cans, throwing cracked-open egg shells and pouring dirty dish water right onto the streets and into the gutters. It saddens me that such a merry, fresh place should be dirtied repeatedly everyday. ~ The smell of rot reaches my nose and I wrinkle it in disgust. The source? A putrefied peach that's been lying on the sidewalk for the past two weeks now. Mold and all sorts of nasty bacteria have rendered it nearly unrecognizable, and its smell has morphed from a sweet perfume to a revolting stench. ~

In the evening, the scene transforms. ~ Spices fill the air, mixed in with the heady smell of coal smoke. ~ The breakfast vendors have been replaced by the night vendors - an assortment of cold veggie dishes, fried noodle concoctions, stinky tofu, and, of course, the kebabs. ~ In China, people will put anything and everything on a stick and grill it: eggplants, some sort of red meat that passes for lamb, squids, bok choy, fish balls, curly bits of spiced noodle, asparagus... The list is endless, and the customers many. ~ Every time I pass by the nightly motley (which is nearly every night, since it's much cooler out after nightfall, and I'm a night owl by nature), the smells draw me in, while my poor stomach screams "no!" at the recollection of the cramps and unfortunate visits to the loo that have inevitably followed my splurging in these hygienically-questionable foods. ~ Nevertheless, I stop for something every time. ~ My new favourite this year was a dish called 哈尔滨烤冷面, which roughly translates to "baked Harbin-style cold noodles" - interesting name, I agree. ~ Having watched the entire cooking process, I can confidently assert that it's a sheet of noodles cooked with rice mixed in with many different spices that constitute the vendor's secret recipe. Add in a dash of parsley, and the mini-meal is complete. ~  I dig in, savouring the sweet-n'-salty overtones mixed in with the strong cumin and fresh parsley. ~ 

While my favourite dishes are all under 10 RMB, the cost of food in China can skyrocket if you choose to visit a high-class restaurant. ~ A few hundred for a family of four is a regular occurrence at a middle-class restaurant. ~ Take Pizza Hut. ~ It's considered high-end cuisine because anything occidental carries a foreign - and thus luxurious - taste and appearance with it in China. ~ Sweet caviar shrimp balls, savoury escargots in oil, deliciously cold drinks... No wonder the decor inside the restaurant is so fancy. ~ Up it another scale, and you get places where there are napkin rings (napkin rings, of all things!), valet service, chandeliers, personal bathroom suites that smell like mint... ~ Although there is a certain delight to be had from acting all poised and grown-up in such settings, I must admit that the food is always average at best. ~ Then again, the Chinese always were known to place great emphasis on saving face and pride, though I much prefer satisfied tummy. ~


Yet another interesting meal was for my grandpa's birthday. ~ Our family booked a table at 海底捞火锅 (which translates very roughly to Deep Sea Fishing Hot Pot) - one of a chain of restaurants of the same name, known for their exceptional customer service, especially for a Chinese restaurant. (If you're a regular frequenter of dim sum restaurants or noodle houses, you should know what I mean - service tends to be rude and rushed compared to what's found in other culinary establishments.) ~ 海底捞 was a completely different experience. ~ Taking into account that some of us wore glasses, the waitress brought in soft cloths so that us bespectacled guests might wipe off any of the fog that so annoyingly accumulates when we tried to slurp up some fresh-out-of-the-pot noodles or tofu. ~ Seeing that we had a toddler and child with us, the waitress brought over two bowls of soft steamed egg so that they might eat something suitable for their teeth - or lack thereof. ~ When my uncle unveiled the ornately decorated birthday cake (which tasted just as fluffy as it looked), the waitress brought a lighter and lead us in a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" amidst the smell of burning wax. ~ A skilled young cook came over with a dollop of dough and put on quite a show by weaving is around and around in the air until the unsightly lump had become one long, continuous strand of 长寿面 (longevity noodle) - a traditional dish for the celebration of birthdays, with the length of the noodle supposedly reflecting the lifespan of its consumer. ~ Finally, the waitress brought over a spiked massage tool, wishing good health and good wealth upon my grandpa. ~ All in all, we were treated courteously, thoughtfully and warmly. ~ And he cherry on the cake was the lack of questionable odours in the bathroom. ~ Smells are such an integral part of the dining experience that they often linger in my memory long after the taste of the dishes have evaporated. ~

Indeed, even past their immediate effects, the flavours and scents of China left an incredibly complex and strong impact on me. ~ Much as I enjoyed the food, I could not help noticing the less appealing sides of Chinese society that were so openly reflected by the putrefying smells. ~ If there was ever a more poignant physical reflection of the apathy that results from living in an overcrowded space and being just another number among the millions, it's the sorry smells wafting off of some of the streets in China. ~ Much as I love my home country, I wasn't able to fully quell the desire to organize a huge city-wide clean-up every time I rode down the 23 floors from my grandparents' to the street vendor quarter below. ~ And perhaps that's what's contributed to the fact that I approached my second trip to China not as an adventure, as I had done the first time around, but rather as a critique. ~ I began noticing that the reason no one picked up the rotting peach was that no one paid it any attention anymore. ~ I fervently hope that the zombie-like, blank stare of Chinese people walking obliviously down the street isn't a future reflection of what all populations in a crowded country will look like. ~ Nor do I wish the smell of clean air and freshly mown grass to be tarnished by the forgotten rotting peaches of disregard. ~

Not the most optimistic ending to this post series, but certainly an accurate reflection of my current views and fears on the future of civilization, as pompous as that sounds. ~

China Chronicles: Assault on the Tactile Senses

Been nearly a year since I last blogged. University jumped on me and I got caught up in the novelties, as well as a few good TV shows, much to the detriment of this blog. But here I am, back from yet another China trip - so what better time to take up the "China Chronicles: Assault on the Senses" posts again? Check out my auditory and visual senses posts from last year if you haven't yet, then see what's changed of my perception of China this second time around. ~

The dirty wind crawls over my skin, weaves between my clothes, catches in my hair. ~ Sweat trickles down my back, adhering my shirt to my skin. ~ My shoes kick up the dust in the construction zone I am walking through, overlaying the rocks around me like a fine layer of powdered sugar. ~ One word pops repeatedly into my mind: shower. ~
Later, I walk through a dimly-lit, crowded shopping centre. I run one hand over cheap fabric, plastic toys and stacks of stationary, while protectively keeping the other over my shoulder bag. ~ "How much?" I ask a store owner, pointing at one of her items. "35." We haggle over the price. I eventually flip through the dog-eared, rough bills to hand her a five and a ten. The packaging of the product is dusty from having been on display for so long. ~ My fingers feel grimy. ~ Shower, whispers my brain. ~ I ask for a bag and am handed a tiny, red one. ~ Swinging it up and down, I walk away, the new owner of an iPhone 5 case for my friend. (It is only later, much to my chagrin, that I learn he owns an iPhone 4. The matte case seems grossly wrong in my hands as I play around with it, twirling it to and fro in a vain attempt to hide my embarrassment.) ~
I head back out. I pull out my cap and don it. ~ It fits snugly over my ears, with bits of hair sticking out at the sides like stray straw. ~ I tuck the strands behind my ears and pull the cap forward. ~ It's a vital need under the bright Tianjin sun, and quirky as well - camouflage-green, with a red star painted in the centre. ~ A lady at the grocery market asks me if I'm joining the army. I hide my snort under an embarrassed smile. ~ She then lights a cigarette right next to her own booth, releasing fumes of smoke in to the air that seem to find purchase all over my clothes. ~ Shower, grumbles my head. ~
Clammy hands. ~ Shower, presses my mental voice. ~ I clutch my cousin's little hand in mine as my head swings left and right, carefully judging the distance and speed of the dozen incoming cars. ~ His hand is limp in mine, his backpack bobbing up and down in rhythm to his footsteps. ~ We cross the wide street and I let go, releasing him to bound ahead. ~ The typical after-school scene. ~ Mondays, he wears his white school uniform - sweater and sweatpants, despite the cloying heat - in honour of the weekly flag raising. Today, he's wearing a yellow pinny indicating he's to act as hall monitor for the week. ~ I smile, then run to catch up. ~
At night, the city cools slightly. My shoes barely graze the ground as I race my cousin around the yard, at times chasing him, and at others being chased by him. ~ We come back huffing and puffing, falling into the chairs in the living room and kicking off our shoes. ~ Shower, my brain tuts disapprovingly. ~ The air conditioning washes over my arms and I rub them as sudden goosebumps pop up. ~ We share some ice cream, then sit down to watch an episode of Friends on my uncle's iPad. ~ The screen is smooth under my fingertips as I select the video, its clean surface smudging as I trace outlines. ~ We settle back against the couch; the bamboo covering digs into my back, but is better than the sticky sofa I'd be sitting on if it wasn't there. ~
I see my other cousin - the tiny infant I have named. ~ Candace. ~ Her skin is unbelievably soft and smooth as I hold her in my arms, marveling at how chubby she is. ~ She stares at me with huge, solemn eyes, then suddenly grins and claps her hands, gurgling happily. ~ A trail of saliva dribbles down her chin and lands on me, pooling. ~ I laugh and hand her to my aunt, running to grab a Kleenex. ~ Shower? asks my inner self hopefully. ~
I head back to my grandparents' in the dark. ~ Entering our apartment, I take a sudden turn away from the elevators and endeavour to take the stairs - all 23 flights of them. ~ By floor 8, I'm huffing and puffing, my hands pushing against the roughly-painted walls and my knees bent under the weight that has suddenly become so much harder to bear. ~ By floor 18, my leaden feet are pulling down on me, the strap of my shoulder bag is strangling me, and the uneven stairs nearly trip me. ~ But I push through, and emerge victorious on the 23^rd floor, leaning into my grandparents' doorbell and nearly getting flattened by the heavy door as it swings outwards. ~
Shower. ~ The chant has reached a crescendo by this point. ~ I rush to grab towel and pajamas. ~ In the bathroom, I gratefully step under the hot water and sigh in relief. ~ I'm not even bothered anymore by the fact that most showers in China aren't partitioned off - that is, they open up onto the entire bathroom, so that the whole room is sprayed with water every time I shower. ~ I take my sweet time, knowing that tomorrow, this whole cycle of tactile squalidness will just start all over again. ~ But for now, my neurons have stopped pestering me and the word shower plays through my mind as softly as a refreshing summer Calgary breeze. ~

China Chronicles: Assault on the Visual Sense

This post is the second in the "China Chronicles: Assault on the Senses" series (see my previous post on the auditory sense assault). ~ Be prepared for something different this time around. Think camera flashes - quick, memorable, vivid, and now preserved. ~ Collage created using Photovisi and pictures from the broken camera featured in my karma post, and my uncle's cell phone. ~

Buildings everywhere. None of that familiar Calgarian flatness - no, rather, thirty-story apartments, gigantic shopping centres fashioned in all kinds of shapes, train stations with tall clock towers proud as sentinels parading on the battlements of a strongly-defended fort... ~

Seas and seas of people. Umbrellas floating over each head like a tiny beacon - blue, purple, pink. ~ Faces rushing by. Clothes that look different, yet the same - swirling skirts, collared shirts, impossibly high heels, rainbow-hued sun visors, a Dr. Seuss quote (“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”) on a white top. Bows, bangles, jade pendants, silver bracelets (one of which I am now a proud owner of). ~

Countless temples, statues, postcard-worthy scenes. ~ Click, flash, picture taken, move on. ~ Smile - your face is right next to Mao Ze Dong's! ~ Move your face a bit closer to that lion - now it looks like you're kissing its nose. ~

Flashing low battery sign. ~ Secret relief. ~ Putting down the camera, turning actual eyes onto century-old artifacts. Drinking in the sights gluttonously. ~ Tiny blue cranes fashioned on a queen's crown. ~ Lances, crossbows, arrowheads. ~ A meticulous reconstruction of an early-settlement village, complete with dozens of pointy trees and even windows in the huts, all facing towards the centre as a sign of man's first sense of community. ~

Darkness. But no - lights. Lights everywhere. ~ Flashing helicopters emitting police-like blue and red flashes as they spiral up and up and up into the sky, then float lightly down to crash gently onto the pavement, just as the eager owner runs up on his short legs and grabs the toy for another run. ~

Smoke. Twinkling strobe lights peeping through the haze, merrily calling out to tired wanderers. ~ Tanned men grilling fresh lamb kebabs, fish kebabs, vegetable kebabs. ~ Rows upon rows of food waiting to be consumed, enjoyed, licked off of greasy fingers. ~ Spices upon spices. ~ Blood red soup, with globs of crimson oil floating on top. ~

Dancing. ~ People swaying to the same beat, clapping their hands, shaking their sweaty bodies, stomping and turning and twisting. ~ Freedom, restrained into one square. ~ A sudden impulse, a rush of boldness - and then running up to join them, twirling like I know what I'm doing, laughing at my inability to keep up, smiling at the knowledge that it doesn't matter if I don't know the steps. ~ Anonymity in numbers. ~ Just another face, black hair, brown eyes, glasses. ~

Beautiful, perfect lighting in ceramic bathrooms, shining rays off of every reflective surface - which, incidentally, is every surface. Dismay at opening the first stall and finding the now-familiar hole in the ground, with the rib-like indents on the sides of the filthy ceramic toilet. ~

A whole spread of lotus leaves and flowers, bobbing gently as the motor boat sends soft ripples across the surface of the lake. ~ Strolling in a park, scabs on my knees, dirt under my fingernails, skin slowly browning. ~

An aunt, belly swollen with pregnancy. ~ An alarmingly pink newborn, tiny fingernails perfectly formed and little button nose, eyes not yet open, with the world waiting for her firsts. ~ Figuring out how to prepare infant formula, stirring as the yellowish-white powder dissolves into the hot water. ~ Some blood. ~

Chickens. Chicken poop. Sows. Barns. Hay. Ramshackle doors. ~ Makeshift locks, CO2-spewing motorbikes racing and bumping up and down hilly roads. ~ Staring up at thousands of twinkling stars and getting lost in their endless meaning, yet cold indifference. ~

Hills. Mountains. Valleys. Lakes as smooth as mirrors, deep with shades and hues of green, blue and indigo. ~ Water falling, trickling, streaming, so clear in places that each rock, fish and aquatic plant seems to have an even more distinctive outline than in the air. ~

One cousin's shy smile, another's grinning bunny imitation, complete with arms tucked close to the torso and hands bent at the wrists, just begging for a carrot to be clenched between those curved fingers. ~ A grandfather shouldering a pink backpack halfway throughout the day, looking like a pre-schooler, revisited. ~

The sky. Clouds. Above clouds. LAX, with its beautiful, interminable ocean and its thin strip of beach. ~ Landing, landing... impact. ~

Blue, red, white, yellow, orange, green. Up, side, down. A bright smile as the colours match and the Rubik's cube is solved, once again. ~

Then, suddenly - emptiness. ~ No lines to the bathroom. ~ No one pushing and crowding to be able to see the baggage carousel and claim their luggage. ~ Empty roads, open stretches of highway. ~ Home. ~ Comfort, loneliness, and familiarity. ~ What now? ~

Time to make a collage. ~

China Chronicles: Assault on the Auditory Sense

Remember the Six Senses post series I drafted up two years ago? (Wow, has it really been that long?) ~ Well, in China, I noticed some alterations/differences to my usual sensual experience. ~ Thus, here's a retake on my impression of the senses, China edition. ~ Let's do them in the same order as last time, shall we? ~

Audition. ~ This truly hit me whilst I was in Tianjin, though Beijing certainly had its fair share of noise pollution. ~ Even at around midnight, the commercial streets were a bustle of activity and people. ~ Peddlers selling their wares, children screaming in delight or anger, girls giggling over their phones, men loudly proclaiming their acts of valour or business profits of the day... It made no difference as to who I saw. ~ Then, there's sleeping - or rather, trying to fall asleep. Even on the sixth floor of an apartment building, you hear all sorts of noise traversing the polluted air to snake its way into your tender ears. ~ Most notably, of course, are the honks. ~ While I understand that honking is actually considered a kind, "polite" act in China (after all, it's a warning that will prevent you from being run over!), I still think it's excessive to blare your horn at every intersection, turn or even pause in the flow of traffic. And there must be something wrong when cars are so decrepit that they have doors that won't close properly, windows that won't roll down, and non-existent seat belts, but horns that sound as healthy as cows in their prime, demanding to be milked. ~

There's also the infamous "欢迎光临" that greets you no matter what store you step - or don't step, and merely pass by - into. This loosely translates into "welcome, customer" and sounds uncannily alike no matter who is saying it to you. ~ And the store keepers following barely half a step behind you don't take away from the Big Brother experience either. In fact, sometimes I felt myself resisting the urge to pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time merely because I was afraid of being tackled and accused of thievery if I did. ~

With all this going on, you might be wondering - how is one ever heard above this miasmic chaos of sound? ~ Not to worry - the tour guide leaders have mini speakers to travel over/add to the din. With their flawlessly memorized and delivered speeches at each tourist attraction, these people seem unfazed by anything, nearly robotic in their perfection. ~

As an aside regarding speakers here: One of my fellow Beijing adventurers bought a set of speakers that attach to any surface and transmit vibrations from a sound device, thereby amplifying the sound. ~ We had much fun testing out the amplifying power of different surfaces, and one of my most memorable experiences was strolling down the street at one in the morning, holding up a large piece of discarded Styrofoam attached to the speakers and an iPhone, blasting "Don't Stop Believing" into the pitch-black night. ~

Onto a different topic: Something else that surprised me was the sheer homogeneity of the language. ~ While I was not naive enough to expect that I would be regularly hearing English or any other foreign language on the streets of China, I had somehow developed the impression that I would feel at ease being surrounded by exclusive Chinese speakers, despite the fact that I only converse in the language with my parents. ~ Not so. In fact, after the week spent with English-speaking friends in Beijing, I discovered that I could not slip back into the Mandarin pool like the red fish I'd thought myself to be. ~ Instead, I found myself seeking any English lifeline I could. Sometimes, that included secretly shadowing tourists if I was lucky enough to hear the familiar English or French words rattle off their unsuspecting tongues. Other times, it meant delving into a bookstore and booking it (pun-intended) for the Foreign Languages section, losing myself in the works of George Orwell or F. Scott Fitzgerald. ~

Finally, there were also the numerous accents to consider. ~ I started off fairly easily - Beijing speaks Mandarin, after all. ~ Tianjin wasn't much harder to comprehend, though I was still mildly amused when I heard a middle-aged lady loudly talking in a strong accent into her phone, as mindful of the bus-full of people around her as us Calgarians are of a hailstorm in the middle of summer. ~ That's why Chengdu hit my eardrum and ear bones with such strong force. ~ The people's lilting, song-like accent seemed just beyond my grasp to understand. ~ I remember tilting my head to the side with a confused, plastered smile on my face when a waiter offered to take my offer in a restaurant. ~ Things got even worse in Gansu, where I spent two weeks with my relatives on my dad's side. ~ I became really good at holding my tongue - mainly because the only word I could contribute to any conversation seemed to be, "what?". My cousins did attempt to teach me the accent, which simply resulted in many gales of laughter and instances of mirth, albeit at my expense. ~ I didn't mind, though - after all, I can proudly say that I survived China and fit in well enough that people even came up to me to ask for directions on the streets of Tianjin and Chengdu... as long as I kept my mouth shut. ~

China Chronicles: Karma

This post is labelled as having been published on the 26th of July, despite today's actual date being the 19th of August. The reason being that the silly Chinese Internet seems to regard my blog as a profanity, choosing to block it from the general public's screen. ~ While dismayed that I couldn't post this on the proper date of its conception, I deliver to you "China Chronicles: Karma" with as much legitimacy as I can provide. ~

I haven’t really been a great proponent of the karma doctrine until recently. ~ The universe operates with a certain balance – that’s evident in the basic laws of physics, which seem to apply conservation laws to just about anything, from energy-matter to momentum. ~ Yet humans are beings with a will of their own, so shouldn’t that disrupt the natural harmonious flow of the universe? We’ve messed enough with our planet that it should be apparent we don’t always obey the natural laws to a T. ~

This last year has made me rethink karma, though. ~ A few simple things came along that suddenly shed a new light on the smallest details; yet, these are the ones that make all the difference. ~ It all started when my friend complained about too much high school drama, lamenting that everything seemed to happen to her. ~ I remarked with a quirky smile that she would regret saying that later in the year, when she would surely be bored of the lack of drama in her life. ~ Teasingly, she poked me and quipped that it was only because I had not suffered through any drama myself. ~

Those words doomed me, I am certain. ~ Right before spring break, just as I was least expecting any sort of upheaval of events in my life, karma deemed it necessary to dump a bucket of drama right on my brain. ~ I can see it crystal clear in my mind: I had just finished delivering my English IB Oral Commentary and was finally breathing a sigh of relief, looking forward to a week of being able to relax at last. ~ Then, that very evening, it all began. Like bullet shots, little doses of drama were administered here and there, until I felt myself cracking like a smashed window pane. ~ Talking to my friend again some time later, she reminded me of our previous conversation together, and I could only smile wryly and fight the urge to facepalm. ~

Karma has hit those around me, as well. ~ My dad recently bought a beautiful new Canon camera that became his pride and joy. He studied the instructions manual like it was the Bible, and he played with it with a quiet pleasure that was evident through the care and precision of his picture-taking. ~ Over and over again, he warned me to be careful when I used it, and to take care that I always had the protective wristband on so that I wouldn’t drop it. ~ Annoyed by his endless pestering, I shrugged off his advice, knowing that no harm would come to the camera in my hands. ~

Here is where the "China Chronicles" portion of this post really comes into play. ~ I visited Beijing for an entire week in July. ~ Before leaving, my dad entrusted me with his camera, holding it lovingly and advising me once again to not drop it. ~ I sighed in exasperation and promised that I would bring it back to him in one piece. ~

As predicted, the camera was still fine by the time I had traveled to Tianjin and my dad’s airplane had landed. ~ Tired of taking pictures (because in truth, I much prefer seeing things with my own eyes than through a camera lens), I gladly relinquished the prized possession to my dad. ~ This is where the karma really kicked in. ~ The day after my dad had arrived, it was burning hot outside. ~ In China, no one sane travels without a water bottle or some spare change to purchase some refreshing drink in the sweltering heat. ~ Thus it was that barely a day after the joyful camera-to-man reunion, my dad raised the camera while attempting to hold a water bottle, all in one hand. ~ I watched, ready to have my picture taken, as in seemingly slow motion, my dad’s hand slipped and the camera plummeted to the ground in one direction, while the water bottle fell in the other. ~ For an insane moment, I felt myself lunging for the water bottle first, not wishing to believe that any harm could have come to the camera – not now. ~ My dad had no such qualms. With a look of dread, he bent down to retrieve his love, heart evidently in his throat. ~ He tried opening it, but discovered with horror that the screen had cracked and the camera was speckled with little dents here and there. ~ His sadness and anger were palpable. ~ 

Despite my genuine regret and sympathy for my dad’s unfortunate turn of events, some little, mean corner deep inside of me could not help reveling in the justness of karma’s delivery. ~ Later on, when the wound no longer stung so bitterly, but had rather subsided to a dull ache, my dad admitted in a rueful tone that this seemed to be karma’s work. ~ For the rest of the trip, we made do with lower-quality cameras and cell phones, so that every blurry picture taken seemed to be some more salt sprinkled on my dad’s injury. ~ Oddly enough, knowing that karma played a role in our camera’s demise lightened the loss for me, in part because my dad seemed to feel bad enough for the both of us, but also because I reserved myself the right to whisper “I informed you thusly” to myself every once in awhile. ~

In the end, karma makes you realize that no one is infallible, and that everyone tries to hide away their weaker and darker side in order to impress. That in itself is a sign of innate vulnerability. ~ Karma evens out the suffering, but also the joy in the world, if only by that little bit. ~ No, I’m not naïve enough to believe there is equality anywhere. But karma can at least soothe our fierce burning welts with a little aloe and help make the pain of injustice a tiny bit more bearable, if only in our minds. ~