So here I am, back to blogging, and the best part of it is, as I read my intro to this blog, I realized that I’m writing here again for the very same reasons: I’m in Bangladesh for the summer, and I desperately need a medium to relieve myself of the stress and drama that being around my parents necessitates. And once more, with feeling: Good times! But I guess all sarcasm aside; this summer has really taught me a few things. Maybe when I’m feeling less de-motivated or stressed, I’ll get around to writing about all these great life lessons. For now, I’m just going to rant (yeah, it’s that time of the month! Who’da thunk it?) about something that’s been rattling around this hardly used brain of mine.
I think I’ll start by rephrasing the old adage from boys will be boys to kids will be kids. And so shall we all be. Kids, I mean, not boys. I guess what I’m saying in my usual haphazard manner is that we’re all really children inside. We all crave the same kind of love and attention throughout our lives that we’re born needing as babies: starting from that first breathy, lung-busting, heart-wrenching cry of a newborn to our final shaky, equally lung-busting, probably heart-wrenching breath before a hopefully peaceful death. We spend our entire lives looking for love. Whether it’s the love of a parent, sibling, friend, partner etc. what we want from each and every relationship is love. There are those who claim to have no need for it, and there are those who claim they are done with it after the first time they’ve been dumped, and then there are those who give it endlessly and are hurt when it’s not reciprocated. Let’s face it, the first two groups are liars, and the latter group is just plain, excuse my French, stupid.
When you say you don’t need love, you’re not only lying to another person, you’re lying to yourself, because deep down, all you really want is for that person to overlook the words and realize that you’re a person in need of love. When you say that you’re done with love, you’re just foreshadowing the fact that you will be made to eat your words in a very near future, because you will fall in love again. More importantly than this, when you give love, and you secretly hurt because you feel it’s not returned, there are several things you need to notice: what’s the other person like? Are they likely to display their affections outwardly in words or actions? Think about this before you start wallowing in self-pity that the object of your affections doesn’t love you back. Maybe they do it in their own way. Figure out what that way is.
When I was a child, my father always told me that a parent’s love is always unconditional. But I’ve never believed him. Even now, I find it difficult to believe that anyone can love unconditionally. Yes, you can love someone deeply: maybe you’re willing to die for your child, or willing to break your back doing physical labor when you’re an arthritic old man, just to be able to feed your children and give them whatever they ask for, or maybe, like my parents, you’re just doing the best you can. That just means you know how to love, and you have a way of showing it. Unconditional is a realm I believe humans have yet to fathom, let alone learn. No one can love unconditionally, because inside, everyone does it for the same selfish reason: to be loved back. Whether it’s a mother continuously cooking food for a son who doesn’t seem to notice or care, or a father refusing to call his children who are abroad simply because he feels that they don’t have time for him, and he wants to give them their space; inside, both these parents just hope that whatever they do, their children will one day realize, and show them some semblance of love back.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
And What Are You? The Language Police?
Yeah I know that title is just dripping anger and frustration, but having been the target for this "language" control trend that's been going around, I've developed a soft spot for everyone else who's in the same boat at I am. So just to clarify things: my mother grew up mostly in Karachi, Pakistan, and she did her schooling in Urdu, unlike her sisters who studied in Bangla/ Bengali. Her spoken and comprehensive Bangla is therefore a little better than atrocious. And it is this same mother of mine, who keeps teasing, scolding and basically demoralizing me in any way possible, because my spoken and written Bangla is not as strong as my grasp of the English language.
Let me tell you a story. When I was in the pre-schooling stage, my teachers felt that I would never be able to learn English. Why? Because while I was fluent with my Bangla alphabets, I just could not memorize the English ones. And so they called in my mother and told her that because I was a little "deficient" in my language learning capabilities, they did not think that I would ever be able to learn English, and it would be better if she placed me in a Bengali medium (Bangla based) school, instead of an English one. My mother took me home, and after much tearful ranting, decided that her child (she did her undergrad in English) would most certainly speak in English. And so she began cramming me. The end result? I'm currently doing my undergrad in English from Skidmore University in Saratoga Spring, New York.
Yeah, my mother is certainly someone who gets what she wants. But the problem is, living in Bangladesh, she's captured completely by these societal norms and diktats. In Bangladesh, people believe that being able to speak English is a status symbol: those who are not as proficient in the language are obviously "lower class" people, even if they are economically labeled "lower middle class." The problem is, even though the British reign has been over for decades, and the Indian "caste system" (which was definitive of class) was outlawed in 1949, Bangladesh still suffers under a rigid "class system." This system is defined firstly through economic status: whether a family is rich, middle (which has it's upper and lower brackets), or poor. Next on the checklist is education: whether the members of the family are all educated, whether they have studied abroad or in the country, whether they can all speak correct and fluent English. I am sure there are various other topics on that checklist, but I'd like to dwell more on this second one.
English is a globally accepted language, and in order to "become someone," it is indeed necessary for someone to be proficient in the language. However, I do not see why it should become a class symbol. I mean there are various Bengali medium students whose written English is grammatically stronger than that of English-medium students, even if their pronunciation and vocabulary are not. Eventually, when enough people decided that this should not be a factor necessary for entry into a certain social class bracket (probably because there were so many new money rich people who were definitely NOT so well read in English), the trends shifted slightly, and Bangla became the new "it' language. I think a certain shift in the "coolness" of being "patriotic" also had something to do with it (India and America really capitalized on this trend!). So it turns out that now Bangla is all the rage, and speaking in English just means that you're putting up a front, and you're begging to be more "westernized," and therefore people will look down on you. My own mother, unfortunately, fell prey to this, and the reprimand which is most often on her lips is, "Do you think you're all that because you can speak, read and write in English? This is nothing to be proud of. You should be ashamed your Bangla isn't that strong. Stop being proud of not being able to speak Bangla."
I just really want to say: "I'm not ma. I'm not proud that I'm weak in Bangla. But neither am I ashamed of it. I'm just more comfortable in one language than the other, and this is entirely YOUR fault, so stop blaming me." The thing is, not every child has the capacity to be bi-lingual, and yet because it is a matter of social status, all children in Bangladesh try their damned best to become exactly that. For me, I would have been excellent at Bangla if my mother didn't put so much stress on teaching me English at that early age, when children are most vulnerable to learning. Now at age 22, I'll have a harder time learning a language than I did at age 4. And because she put so much stress on English, the Bengali escaped me. And now it's too late. Not to say that I can't get by. My Bangla is strong enough for me to communicate clearly. My vocabulary is just not varied, and my written and spoken spelling is horrible. But at least I'm not losing my "mother tongue," and when I get very emotional, I usually find myself lapsing into Bangla, and failing at expressing myself in English. What does that say about me? That deep down, no matter what language I choose to speak in, the Bangla will always be a part of who I am.
And I think most children face this problem, same as me. My father was complaining the other day about how children are weak in English because they are weak in Bangla, suggesting that because they do not have a "thinking" language, they cannot translate their thoughts into either language. But I beg to respectfully disagree. The problem with these children is that their parents put so much stress on learning English, that the children feel that it is more important to speak in English than in Bangla. However, in the home environment, these children find that their parents cannot communicate well in English, and are therefore forced to speak in Bangla. This jumbling of the language gave rise to what is known as "benglish," which is a mixture of the two languages, the best of none. And so why should these children not have trouble speaking? There are those children, like my brother, who are equally good in both languages, but even they have a problem. My brother hardly ever speaks in English, and then too, only when he is forced to. Having been living in America for the last three years, he's definitely been forced to. Even then, I've seen him looking for excuses and moments when he doesn't need to, and can resort to Bangla instead. The thing is, even though his English is excellent, he's not fully confident about it (maybe he is now, but back when we were in school, he wasn't). English became a language he was indifferent to. But again, not all kids are the same. So when I became well versed in English, I started reading books, and writing, and basically doing everything in my power to enhance my grasp of the language. And that is what a lot of other children do as well, with whatever language they feel comfortable with.
My point in writing this enormous rant is simply this: understand that your child may not be comfortable with a bi-lingual education, and allow them to have a stronger base in either language. Do not try to make them feel bad or guilty if that base language happens to be different from their "mother tongue." And most importantly, just support them in whatever they feel comfortable with: if they are better at speaking in English than in Bangla, it's about time you started brushing up on the language yourself, and keeping up with your children, rather than forcing them to keep up with you. Age is NOT a restriction or a valid excuse anymore. Everyone can change, and it's time you changed for your children, rather than ruining their lives and futures by making them change for you.
Let me tell you a story. When I was in the pre-schooling stage, my teachers felt that I would never be able to learn English. Why? Because while I was fluent with my Bangla alphabets, I just could not memorize the English ones. And so they called in my mother and told her that because I was a little "deficient" in my language learning capabilities, they did not think that I would ever be able to learn English, and it would be better if she placed me in a Bengali medium (Bangla based) school, instead of an English one. My mother took me home, and after much tearful ranting, decided that her child (she did her undergrad in English) would most certainly speak in English. And so she began cramming me. The end result? I'm currently doing my undergrad in English from Skidmore University in Saratoga Spring, New York.
Yeah, my mother is certainly someone who gets what she wants. But the problem is, living in Bangladesh, she's captured completely by these societal norms and diktats. In Bangladesh, people believe that being able to speak English is a status symbol: those who are not as proficient in the language are obviously "lower class" people, even if they are economically labeled "lower middle class." The problem is, even though the British reign has been over for decades, and the Indian "caste system" (which was definitive of class) was outlawed in 1949, Bangladesh still suffers under a rigid "class system." This system is defined firstly through economic status: whether a family is rich, middle (which has it's upper and lower brackets), or poor. Next on the checklist is education: whether the members of the family are all educated, whether they have studied abroad or in the country, whether they can all speak correct and fluent English. I am sure there are various other topics on that checklist, but I'd like to dwell more on this second one.
English is a globally accepted language, and in order to "become someone," it is indeed necessary for someone to be proficient in the language. However, I do not see why it should become a class symbol. I mean there are various Bengali medium students whose written English is grammatically stronger than that of English-medium students, even if their pronunciation and vocabulary are not. Eventually, when enough people decided that this should not be a factor necessary for entry into a certain social class bracket (probably because there were so many new money rich people who were definitely NOT so well read in English), the trends shifted slightly, and Bangla became the new "it' language. I think a certain shift in the "coolness" of being "patriotic" also had something to do with it (India and America really capitalized on this trend!). So it turns out that now Bangla is all the rage, and speaking in English just means that you're putting up a front, and you're begging to be more "westernized," and therefore people will look down on you. My own mother, unfortunately, fell prey to this, and the reprimand which is most often on her lips is, "Do you think you're all that because you can speak, read and write in English? This is nothing to be proud of. You should be ashamed your Bangla isn't that strong. Stop being proud of not being able to speak Bangla."
I just really want to say: "I'm not ma. I'm not proud that I'm weak in Bangla. But neither am I ashamed of it. I'm just more comfortable in one language than the other, and this is entirely YOUR fault, so stop blaming me." The thing is, not every child has the capacity to be bi-lingual, and yet because it is a matter of social status, all children in Bangladesh try their damned best to become exactly that. For me, I would have been excellent at Bangla if my mother didn't put so much stress on teaching me English at that early age, when children are most vulnerable to learning. Now at age 22, I'll have a harder time learning a language than I did at age 4. And because she put so much stress on English, the Bengali escaped me. And now it's too late. Not to say that I can't get by. My Bangla is strong enough for me to communicate clearly. My vocabulary is just not varied, and my written and spoken spelling is horrible. But at least I'm not losing my "mother tongue," and when I get very emotional, I usually find myself lapsing into Bangla, and failing at expressing myself in English. What does that say about me? That deep down, no matter what language I choose to speak in, the Bangla will always be a part of who I am.
And I think most children face this problem, same as me. My father was complaining the other day about how children are weak in English because they are weak in Bangla, suggesting that because they do not have a "thinking" language, they cannot translate their thoughts into either language. But I beg to respectfully disagree. The problem with these children is that their parents put so much stress on learning English, that the children feel that it is more important to speak in English than in Bangla. However, in the home environment, these children find that their parents cannot communicate well in English, and are therefore forced to speak in Bangla. This jumbling of the language gave rise to what is known as "benglish," which is a mixture of the two languages, the best of none. And so why should these children not have trouble speaking? There are those children, like my brother, who are equally good in both languages, but even they have a problem. My brother hardly ever speaks in English, and then too, only when he is forced to. Having been living in America for the last three years, he's definitely been forced to. Even then, I've seen him looking for excuses and moments when he doesn't need to, and can resort to Bangla instead. The thing is, even though his English is excellent, he's not fully confident about it (maybe he is now, but back when we were in school, he wasn't). English became a language he was indifferent to. But again, not all kids are the same. So when I became well versed in English, I started reading books, and writing, and basically doing everything in my power to enhance my grasp of the language. And that is what a lot of other children do as well, with whatever language they feel comfortable with.
My point in writing this enormous rant is simply this: understand that your child may not be comfortable with a bi-lingual education, and allow them to have a stronger base in either language. Do not try to make them feel bad or guilty if that base language happens to be different from their "mother tongue." And most importantly, just support them in whatever they feel comfortable with: if they are better at speaking in English than in Bangla, it's about time you started brushing up on the language yourself, and keeping up with your children, rather than forcing them to keep up with you. Age is NOT a restriction or a valid excuse anymore. Everyone can change, and it's time you changed for your children, rather than ruining their lives and futures by making them change for you.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Something Old: "Something New"
Wait.
The word plays in repeat
I struggle to push it
Outta my head and mind.
‘Cuz thinkin’ back to then
Just brings me pain and
The dim reminisces of us.
What we used to be
Is gone forever; thrown away.
Stop.
Maybe I should’ve listened
When you said to hold on;
To not lose each other
In the mess we’d made.
The panic waves came crashing
And washed us both away.
We might’ve worked things out
But now it’s gone forever.
But hey, here’s to something new.
A fresh start I’ve made without you.
I thought I’d feel regret
‘Cuz it would be hard to forget,
But to you I’ve gotta be true:
I’ve just felt relief and
A freedom long overdue.
Stay.
I’ve yet more to say.
Before I wipe you away
With the other fading memories.
Maybe that’s our problem, baby
We never learned to listen.
It’s always just been talking,
And gestures and a lotta pacin’.
But finally that’s all gone, forever.
But hey, here’s to something new.
A fresh start I’ve made without you.
I thought I’d feel regret
‘Cuz it would be hard to forget
But to you I’ve gotta be true:
I’ve just felt relief and
A freedom long overdue.
© Rohini Alamgir (7 June 2008)
The word plays in repeat
I struggle to push it
Outta my head and mind.
‘Cuz thinkin’ back to then
Just brings me pain and
The dim reminisces of us.
What we used to be
Is gone forever; thrown away.
Stop.
Maybe I should’ve listened
When you said to hold on;
To not lose each other
In the mess we’d made.
The panic waves came crashing
And washed us both away.
We might’ve worked things out
But now it’s gone forever.
But hey, here’s to something new.
A fresh start I’ve made without you.
I thought I’d feel regret
‘Cuz it would be hard to forget,
But to you I’ve gotta be true:
I’ve just felt relief and
A freedom long overdue.
Stay.
I’ve yet more to say.
Before I wipe you away
With the other fading memories.
Maybe that’s our problem, baby
We never learned to listen.
It’s always just been talking,
And gestures and a lotta pacin’.
But finally that’s all gone, forever.
But hey, here’s to something new.
A fresh start I’ve made without you.
I thought I’d feel regret
‘Cuz it would be hard to forget
But to you I’ve gotta be true:
I’ve just felt relief and
A freedom long overdue.
© Rohini Alamgir (7 June 2008)
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Okay, Okay, K'Naan! We're Waving Already!
When I get older I will be stronger
They’ll call me freedom, just like a wavin’ flag
So wave your flag, now wave your flag, now wave your flag
- K' Naan "Waving Flag" (Official FIFA World Cup Song)
I cover my ears as the song threatens to literally blow my mind (and eardrums), yet with a goofy smile on my face. And the crowd around me continues to sing along. For the first time in my life, I see my countrymen come together in large groups, not for a political riot, not for a religious gathering, and definitely not for a mob fight. No, they're...I'm sorry, WE are all here to join the rest of the world in the ONLY sport that can make us all come together, a sport that inspires rivalry, and yet due to it's very nature, ensures that the enmity stays covered by the face of friendship: The FIFA WORLD CUP! Yes, maybe I am being a bit dramatic, but football has been my love since as far back as I can remember trying desperately to be my older brother's younger "brother." The attempt failed, for obvious biological reasons: I'm female. However, ever since I took on the role of being a tomboy, football was my sport of choice. I've tried to play basketball, badminton, tennis, volleyball and even cricket, but none of these other sports really held my attention the way football did. And even when my parents disallowed me to play with my brother and his friends because i was "getting too old to be playing in the dirt with boys" (they used these exact words, I kid you not), I continued to enjoy the game vicariously through my league team: Manchester United. Sometimes I'd sneak out and go play with the boys regardless of my parents inhibitions, but I got caught too often and found myself grounded enough times to realize that perhaps it was safer to just limit myself to watching and enjoying the game. And resigned to that fate, I persisted in being a football fanatic.
Oooooh woowoo ooh Wooo ooohh ooohoh
And everybody will be singing it
Oooooh woowoo ooh Wooo ooohh ooohoh
And we all will be singing it
I've always been surrounded by football fans since childhood. My older brother is an avid football player, and is a die hard Inter Milan supporter. All my cousins are football fans: Bayern Munich, AC Milan and Roma being some of their teams of choice, and my father and I have always been truly UNITED. I think my love for the game pushed me to seek out other girls and boys who felt similarly, because today, when I think about it, most of my closest and best friends are football freaks too. Even then, the leagues never really brought us all together, or really created the atmosphere that is so strong around my country right now that it can almost be seen and touched, and not just felt. That's what the World Cup does to you I guess. Who needs to push plausible ways to achieve world peace when you can just keep having FIFA World Cups which bring people together from all over the world, sharing the same dreams and hopes for their countries? Yeah when one country wins, most people are disappointed. Whenever a country is out of the running, the people are devastated. But the point is, even then, people continue to watch. They continue to be a part of this amazing experience, and like true teams they maintain their team spirit, and like true sportsmen, they behave with decency towards opposing teams (maybe light jokes thrown about, or intelligent discussions, or witty repartee), and take a loss with as much grace as possible. Truthfully, I have never seen people change so much. Especially people at home. On most days people on the streets are irritable, because everyone is hot, tired, in a rush to get somewhere, but undoubtedly stuck in traffic, and therefore fights break out, and people snap at each other. Not a smile or a nice word. Now, people stop to speak statistic to someone wearing their team's color, jersey or sporting the flag. There are smiles all around, and excitement, enthusiasm and anticipation charges the air seeming to smother the neat layer of smog that is the usual backdrop of a Dhaka City scene.
Lets rejoice in the beautiful game,
And together at the end of the day.
We all say
Yes, K' Naan is right. At the end of the day, we are all indeed TOGETHER as we stay glued to our TVs, waiting for the games to begin. Whether you're in USA, France, Australia, Somalia, Honduras etc, if youre country is in the running (and even if it isn't), and even if you're not that big a football enthusiast, I'm sure you'll be watching the game tonight. And when you do, think about the hundreds of thousands of people out there who are watching with baited breath, just like you, who probably share the same dreams and hopes (and maybe even support the same team) as you, and allow yourself to FEEL that connection. Tonight, we'll all be connected. We'll all be ONE, "as we lose our inhibition..."
Celebration, it surround us, every nations, all around us...
So wave your flag, now wave your flag, now wave your flag!
Progressive Thoughts?
Progress. What is that, really? I just watched this film, right? And one of the protagonists put forth the argument that for today's world, progress is all about becoming more "westernized;" about adopting the values and attitudes of America and Europe and basically selling out to those same people whose ancestors once oppressed and dominated ours. Somehow I don't quite agree with this assessment of the situation: not only because wounds created eons ago have long since healed, but also because it shows a lack of "progressive" perspective. Living in the States currently has allowed me to glimpse both sides of the coin, and I've come to realize that it's like a trick coin with both heads and no tail. When we see a young boy or girl dressed in western clothes on the street, we all stop and stare, and some (or maybe most) of us instantly think: SELLOUT! But the question is, why? What people fail to realize is that the West is just as interested in our culture as we are in theirs, and allowing an easy intermingling of both could easily solve many political strifes that are unnecessarily created. To me, progress means exactly what Websters defines it as: positive move/transition; going forward. I feel that if we took the time to realize that most of us essentially follow the same religion (belief in ONE God or higher power) and that different locations, clothing or even language is NOT a barrier to peaceful coexistence, only THEN can we consider ourselves "progressing." You might say that I'm being a romantic idealist, and you would be entirely correct. I am. I am quite aware of the various other factors that affect us all, and stand in the way of this idea of "world peace." What surprises me is why people are content to point out the problems and possible solutions, and yet make no move to change. Yeah, one person cannot make a difference, but it needs to start somewhere, right?
I mean, think about it. Who starts fashion trends? Movie stars? Other celebrities? Designer houses? It hardly matters where it starts and how it spreads, because the point is, if fashion can start and grow, why can't one do the same with a good idea? You know what's funny? You'll read this with a smirk on your face and say, "Why not? Go ahead and do it, since you've thought of it." And you'd be right. Maybe I should. But guess what? Now that you've read this, how about some help? This is the point when you realize that you think it'll never work out, and would therefore be a massive waste of your energy and time. My father always says, "time is money." And he's right. It is, and money does make the world go 'round. But what if you decided to help anyway, and with enough time and effort, we networked to a great extent and it started working? What if? Then it's worth it, right? My father also taught me about "opportunity cost." Life is like a giant economic chessboard that we need to navigate through, Harry Potter style. There will always be a choice. I guess I do believe that our destinies are set, but I also believe that Allah / God / Bhagvan / an unknown Higher Power / an omnipotent Powers-That-Be or simply FATE (whatever you choose to call it), allows us to pick from the gazillion destinies that belong to us. I'm being rather unclear, so please, bear with me while I try to clarify this vision for you. You see, I'm thinking of a pond or maybe a tree bearing fruits. The water in the pond or the fruits of the tree are the various destinies that are set out. None of them, however, belong to anyone specific. This pond/tree is in the center of an enormous, confusing jungle. People pick out their own separate paths through the jungle till they reach the pond/tree. Then they either pick a single fruit, or take a single sip of water, and their destiny becomes their own. So we do get to make our own future, and find our own destinies; the only catch is that someone (with a very imaginative mind) has thought out every possible destiny for us.
Maybe this rant is getting too airy and vague and creative for you. Don't bother about closing this screen, because I'll end here, with this one last thought: ?
I mean, think about it. Who starts fashion trends? Movie stars? Other celebrities? Designer houses? It hardly matters where it starts and how it spreads, because the point is, if fashion can start and grow, why can't one do the same with a good idea? You know what's funny? You'll read this with a smirk on your face and say, "Why not? Go ahead and do it, since you've thought of it." And you'd be right. Maybe I should. But guess what? Now that you've read this, how about some help? This is the point when you realize that you think it'll never work out, and would therefore be a massive waste of your energy and time. My father always says, "time is money." And he's right. It is, and money does make the world go 'round. But what if you decided to help anyway, and with enough time and effort, we networked to a great extent and it started working? What if? Then it's worth it, right? My father also taught me about "opportunity cost." Life is like a giant economic chessboard that we need to navigate through, Harry Potter style. There will always be a choice. I guess I do believe that our destinies are set, but I also believe that Allah / God / Bhagvan / an unknown Higher Power / an omnipotent Powers-That-Be or simply FATE (whatever you choose to call it), allows us to pick from the gazillion destinies that belong to us. I'm being rather unclear, so please, bear with me while I try to clarify this vision for you. You see, I'm thinking of a pond or maybe a tree bearing fruits. The water in the pond or the fruits of the tree are the various destinies that are set out. None of them, however, belong to anyone specific. This pond/tree is in the center of an enormous, confusing jungle. People pick out their own separate paths through the jungle till they reach the pond/tree. Then they either pick a single fruit, or take a single sip of water, and their destiny becomes their own. So we do get to make our own future, and find our own destinies; the only catch is that someone (with a very imaginative mind) has thought out every possible destiny for us.
Maybe this rant is getting too airy and vague and creative for you. Don't bother about closing this screen, because I'll end here, with this one last thought: ?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Progress. What is that, really? I just watched this film, right? And one of the protagonists put forth the argument that for today's world, progress is all about becoming more "westernized;" about adopting the values and attitudes of America and Europe and basically selling out to those same people whose ancestors once oppressed and dominated ours. Somehow I don't quite agree with this assessment of the situation. Living in the States currently has allowed me to glimpse both sides of the coin, and I've come to realize that it's like a trick coin with both heads and no tail. When we see a young boy or girl dressed in western clothes on the streets, we all stop and stare, and some (or maybe most) of us instantly think: SELLOUT! But the question in, why? What people fail to realize is that the West is just as interested in our culture as we are in theirs, and allowing as easy intermingling of both could easily solve many political strifes that are unnecessarily created. To me, progress means exactly what Websters defines it as:
Saturday, June 5, 2010
I think I'm turning Japanese...
This past Spring term at college I took a Japanese film class, simply because I needed to get out of my dance course, but I still needed the credits, and also because one of my closest friends was doing the course with me. In any case, the course did not require overmuch, since all we did was watch movies and write reflective and/ or comparative pieces on the films and the directors. In fact, other than learning to appreciate a different genre of films, and understanding the varied style of the Japanese filmmakers from Western or even other Eastern ones, I did not really learn much. What I did learn though, was more insightful than anything several books about Japan could teach me. The country is rich in its culture and its traditions. Right? Well, somewhat. Japan is really simply a concoction of several different cultures, assimilated from China and the Western countries. The concept of noodles: Ramen, Soba, Spaghetti etc are all either Chinese or Italian, and even the Yakuza, the Japanese underworld gangsters who are featured in so many of Japan’s films, have evolved into simply a Japanese version of the Mafia. What is more, most Japanese manga (comic strips) or anime (animated film) depict characters who have excessively western features, like big, blue eyes etc.
Japan seemed to me to be like a person with split personality disorder. On one hand, I saw a Japan which was all about the pride and honor of the Samurai, the beauty and peace of the cherry blossoms, and the frightening yet heart wrenching performances of the Noh and Kabuki theaters. On the other hand Japan was also the place where there are countless “love hotels,” most of which are themed based on western places, films, celebrities etc, and there are themed bars and a craving for everything Western. As one documentary noted, Japan is like an onion, and peeling back each layer gives one a new aspect of the country. So which layer is the true Japan? What strikes me as extremely hilarious, however, is their antagonism towards foreigners. Though they love everything that looks and sounds western, and much of their culture has been based off western cultures, they do not really like the presence of foreigners in their country. While many would feel that this is simply hypocrisy on their parts, to me it only reflects their unshakeable pride. Because though Japan does build itself up based on other cultures, the important thing to notice is that once adopted, those traditions and cultures no longer seem western or Chinese, because Japan makes everything truly its own. From the slurping sound made while eating rice noodles, to the way they sit very stiff and correct on chairs, every action is very “Japanese.” What makes Japan the way it is, is not the cultures and traditions it adopts, but rather the unique and original way in which those customs begin to feel more Japanese than anything else.
Japan seemed to me to be like a person with split personality disorder. On one hand, I saw a Japan which was all about the pride and honor of the Samurai, the beauty and peace of the cherry blossoms, and the frightening yet heart wrenching performances of the Noh and Kabuki theaters. On the other hand Japan was also the place where there are countless “love hotels,” most of which are themed based on western places, films, celebrities etc, and there are themed bars and a craving for everything Western. As one documentary noted, Japan is like an onion, and peeling back each layer gives one a new aspect of the country. So which layer is the true Japan? What strikes me as extremely hilarious, however, is their antagonism towards foreigners. Though they love everything that looks and sounds western, and much of their culture has been based off western cultures, they do not really like the presence of foreigners in their country. While many would feel that this is simply hypocrisy on their parts, to me it only reflects their unshakeable pride. Because though Japan does build itself up based on other cultures, the important thing to notice is that once adopted, those traditions and cultures no longer seem western or Chinese, because Japan makes everything truly its own. From the slurping sound made while eating rice noodles, to the way they sit very stiff and correct on chairs, every action is very “Japanese.” What makes Japan the way it is, is not the cultures and traditions it adopts, but rather the unique and original way in which those customs begin to feel more Japanese than anything else.
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