Limb-Loping and Reality Checks

A wise professor made an interesting analogy today - one that struck a chord with me, as I've been mulling over similar thoughts lately. Here I will paraphrase to the best of my memory: We have to lop off pieces of ourselves that don't fit society, so we constantly live in a state of secret melancholy. Within the boundaries of society, we do not know ourselves. To have self-knowledge would be profoundly shattering.
Of course, it was an English Literature class, and of course, we were talking about Shakespeare and his play The Merchant of Venice. The argument the professor was making was that the character Antonio was homosexual, and that in this Shakespearean comedy, his character provided a foil to the ultimate jubilant celebrations that befall the "good Christian" characters in the end. A foil?! Oh yes. I thought Antonio was one of the good Christians?! Oh no. While Antonio is not bad or sinful in the obvious way that Shylock the Jew is portrayed, his covert homosexual nature (as the professor argues) leaves him in his own lonely orbit, a world apart from the happy lovers that decorate the end of the play. In his Venetian society, he cannot (and really, he should not) admit to his homosexual love for Bassanio. Now, is Antonio really that different from Shylock? Both cannot be his true nature: one is a supposed homosexual and the other is a Jew. Both are effectively barricaded from society because they are fundamentally deviants of the social norm. There's a good Shakespearean comedy for you: you can get the happy ending if you're "normal". Oh, and the Christians get to define normality. Yay!
So, fair readers, what's in a happy ending, a triumph? Who fits and who doesn't fit? If you're too short we will stretch you out on the rack; if you're too tall we will just lop off the parts that don't fit. That's all.

Because somehow in my head this makes perfect sense to add on at the end of a limb-lopment: I will admit that I sometimes get in over my head and go to extremes. Or in other words, I forget to lop off my daily ration of fingers and toes and whatnot. My secret self that must hide in melancholy from all the world sometimes gets too much nourishment (now is it too much university education? too much time for frivolous thinking? the internet and the horrible things that I can get my hands on?) and thus grows too large and fast. Thank God I have my sister, the pharmaceutical student, to remind me of my manners.

Oh, slow day.

I am probably the only person above the age of twelve who gets depressed when her parents are out of town. Call me dependent, needy, clingy, whatever. I don't particularly think I'm any of those (but who knows, sometimes you know yourself the least). Actually, I'm more likely to describe myself with the polar opposite: independent, headstrong, a singular organism likely to whack away at any poor guest hoping for a symbiotic relationship. So my parents have been gone a week, and what, life sucks? Am I just throwing a passive inner tantrum at being left behind on a trip to Thailand? Is it the dirty dishes that pile nightly in the sink? The groceries to shop for, the food to prepare, the responsibility of myself being piled solely on my shoulders?
All there is to do is to do everything. Each and every thing slowly, individually, methodically, silently. Each plate needs to be scrubbed clean and rinsed, dried off, and returned to its place. Stacking the pieces together, tucking the whole away. Behind closed doors.

Because when my parents are away, that leaves me more vulnerably alone.

Summer

When you're something like the age of seven, the first thing you do in school in September is write a report of what you did that summer. Those sneaky teachers. Oh they know your mind is still glazed over with visions of dripping popsicles and swimming suits and goggles. What a better way to know your new next-desk neighbour than to write - just a summary! in case they get too long, you know - about your summer vacation. And then to go around and share! Go on, share!

I'm past the age of writing down my summer in words at the start of school, or so I thought. Yet here I am trying to squeeze in a last few sentences. This is going to be tragic if I don't blog past the day I actually start a blog.

Briefly: I went to school for almost three out of the four months for a six-credit course that I had no regret doing as I really enjoyed it and hopefully got the most out of it. I lost a job at the very beginning and eventually scraped up a super casual one that pays well for the amount of time and energy I put into it (next to none) as well as it being nicely located and gets me in touch with people who I have never known in my life (bonus) and who come from all over the planet (bonus) and who are cool in the I'm-learning-how-to-speak-English-and-I'm-international-so-let's-be-nice-and-buddies! way (bonus). Makes me want to learn a new language, in a different country. I checked off an item on my list of things to do before I die when I started ballet classes at a local adult dancing centre. Ballet! I'm so terrible at it that I'm having fun. I've been hanging out with my dog. Lots. We're great pals. I did some cooking and baking. I had my wisdom teeth pulled out. I almost applied for a four-month volunteer position in Thailand next summer. Oh lookie, I went to New York!

Well it was definitely the way to end my lacklustre summer. It was hot, sunny, and the streets were teeming with people and activity. And lots of pretty buildings. If we had half as nice a building as the post office there, it'll be our storied museum. Or city hall. Also, the New York Public Library I deem to be too gorgeous to really be a library. The people sitting along the long rows were really actors paid to look the part. Wasn't Breakfast at Tiffany's filmed there anyway?

So we did the whole tourist thing, where we hit all the hot spots. Our hostel was literally steps from Times Square, and we were easily within walking distance of Central Park, Columbus Circle and Time Warner Center, Rockefeller Center, and Grand Central Terminal. I also noted that at the most, everything in Manhatten seemed like a comfortable subway/bus ride away. I couldn't help comparing the public transportation system there to the unreliable, unfulfilling system we have here. We took advantage of the subway, which seemed to take us everywhere we wanted. The diversity of New York City is awesome. You think Vancouver's diverse? It's even more so in NYC. And it's not only the people. The diversity in activity mixes into the bustle of the city, sometimes leading to ironic results. In the Financial District, I went from being coerced into being an illusionist's assistant to passing by the site of the WTC (which was going under quick construction - no time to waste and no space to spare in the Big Apple!) to visiting the memorial in St. Paul's Chapel to shopping at the giant discount department store, Century 21. We also went to attractions more likely to be filed under "arts and culture", going to the Met, the American Museum of Natural History, and the New York City Museum. You can't imagine the pace we were on in seven days! It's exhausting, yet exhilarating.

We have a lot of funny anecdotes to tell - stories with matching pictures, to boot. But I'm much too lazy to go through them all, and I'm disinclined to put up all the good stuff on the Internet. Plus, I doubt it'll be the last I see of New York, so pictures are always in the future. And I'm sure Google Image has a much better shot than I of the Empire State Building*.

I almost forgot to add that the food was amazing. I was spoiled with awesome V stuff there for a week, and it was so hard adjusting back to a normal homecooked diet. I didn't take any pictures, except for the one time we went to Candle 79 for lunch, and even though the food porn looks great, I had awful stomachaches after it, so I'll probably think twice before going there again. One thing though: Cafe Blossom (brunch) was the best meal we had there for sure! And then you must get a shake and a muffin to go.


*which we didn't go to.

Might As Well Start Anew

Today is significant in three ways:

1. It is the last day before school starts.
2. This morning, Pippin was reunited with his brothers and sisters for the first time.
3. I'm starting a blog. Significant, obviously!

(It is also Labour Day, but that's lost nearly all meaning for us except for the scramble of many for the barbeque tongs and the chilled beer and/or to the line-ups for a last trip down south of the border. Thanks, workers and their social movements!)

I'm very good - scratch that, very practiced - at amusing myself, so if I don't get some kind of self-indulgence out of posting something, I won't. If I do, I will.