Thursday, July 9, 2009

Identity - Part 1

This is gonna be a 2 part post, so pull up pants (or take them off!) and put your reading glasses on. I've meant to rite about this for a while, but just haven't felt like getting all the feeling down.


The past 2 weeks had two significant dates for my part of the world (not counting my birthday!): St-Jean and Canada Day.


Celebrated on June 24th, St-Jean is Quebec's big provincial holiday, where everything is mandatory closed and everyone (regardless of age) is found partying. The day is named for the patron saint of Quebec & French Canadians. No, I have no idea how someone can become a patron saint of a region or entire people...


6 days after Quebec's big holiday, on July 1st, is Canada. As you should be able to guess, it's Canada's big holiday that celebrates our breaking away from Britain to become our own independent country. People celebrate this holiday all across Canada, albeit a lot less in Quebec since a week before was St-Jean.

These two holidays rubbing up against another has always had a more personalized significance to me due to my political, cultural, provincial and national identity.

A quick review of Canada & Quebec history shows us that most of people in Quebec have not gotten along with the majority of people in Canada. Up towards the 1960s, the French-speaking majority of Quebec experienced heavy amounts of prejudice and were regarded as somewhat of a 2nd, lower class. Since the British and French showdown in the mid 18th century, that kicked France out of North America, the British & its English Canadian descendants always regarded French Canadians as people to be pushed out of jobs & higher employment, to be assimilated or just ignored. If visiting Montreal at the beginning of the 1960s, you wouldn't even realize that Quebec had ~5 million French speakers and only 400 000 English speakers, since French would never be heard in the downtown stores, business, hospitals, universities...

Fast-forwarding the 1960s to today, an influx of French Quebecers that championed the English language then overthrew the prejudice system from the inside to equalize and even raise French above English. Two new pro-Quebec separating from Canada parties would come into existence and rally their Quebecois French-speaking compatriots behind the banner of Quebec breaking away from Canada to become their own independent country.


A side effect of the newly-emerging, and justified, pro-French and pro-Quebec was the rise of anti-English and anti-Canada. The message of linguistic and cultural equality or independence became muddled with hate for English-speakers and English Canada (a.k.a. most of the rest of Canada). Necessary laws meant to protect the endangered French language in Quebec, such as Bill 101, would become over extended: hence was born the language police. Nope, they aren't nifty, swat gear-clad soldiers that beat people down if they speak poorly...although that would be pretty awesome (and horrible) to see. The extremist Front du Libération du Quebec (Quebec Liberation Front) would briefly appear in the late 60s and 70s, a violent separatist group responsible for robberies, riots, as well as the bombings of English-related institutions (Montreal stock exchange, English schools) and homes in predominantly English neighborhoods. The group's acts would culminate with the kidnap and execution of Quebec's Minister of Labor and a member of the British diplomat.

Two provincial referendums would also be held, asking the population the question of should Quebec separate from Canada. The first vote in 1980 showed a significant win for the No-to-separation vote. The second vote, when I was 9 years old in 1995, had us (and everyone else in the province) sitting around the TV waiting for the results. The No side barely won over the Yes-to-separation, by a 50.1% to 49.9% vote.

The last 40 years in the rise of French and Quebec has not gone without reaction by the other provinces of Canada. The anti-English and anti-Canadianism has been answered with anti-Quebecism and anti-French. A strong feeling has been that Quebec should just shut the fuck up and stop whining to be coddled for special status, which isn't a very wrong reality. Within Canada, Quebec is treated better and more equal than the others, to the point of an unfair advantage in spending resources and representation.

With a better idea of the history, my identity is quite a complicated one. This two big holidays celebrating Quebec and Canada do have an awkward stance against one-another Personally, it's very easy for me to feel sandwiched between two cultures, as part of both but belonging to neither according to the other members. Unfortunately, you will need to wait for the second post before I fill in this part.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

WoW

Some people get presents for their birthday and others give out presents on their birthday. Here's my cheap present to you all:



I'm not sure if it's real, but I find it all so hilarious. The best parts are:

- screaming like a pterodactyl
- headbutting the bed
- shaking as if he's possessed
- his sudden wardrobe change
- trying to shove the controller in his ass

Enjoy.

Thoughts on my Birthday

My relationship to birthdays has always been an awkward and unusual one.

I love going out to make a big event out of someone's birthday, but when it comes to my own I am the exact opposite. Outwardly, I don't like to make a big thing of my birthday, but secretly I do.

There's never an urge to plan anything; no "Hey let's all go get shit faced to celebrate!". It actually has a lot to do with guilt and self-confidence: I don't like to tell people that it's my birthday because I don't want them to feel obliged to come out for it. I want them to call me up and say "let;s go drinking" from their own choice. On the other hand, I never feel obliged to go out and have a bash for someone's birthday, even if it's a big arranged celebration. It's hypocritical, and I know it, but I just don't want people to feel forced to show up. Along the same line of thinking, if the evening doesn't end up being lots of fun, I don't want to feel guilty for "forcing" them to have been present. I'm weird like that.

My process of thinking only harms myself - I know that. Typically, by the late hours of my birthday, I tend to feel down on myself. Common thoughts of "Man, this sucks...I didn't do anything for my birthday" float around my mind. As I replay those thoughts over and over again in my mind, they get twisted to "My friends don't care about me" or "I'm not worth it". It's actually really pathetic.

Yesterday's birthday was no different - I was at home all day and felt down on myself. I ended up really unhappy by midnight and kind of felt like crying, although I didn't. (You don't realize how much of a loser it feels to even admit that). I ended up

The feeling only lasts for that day. By the next morning I'm amped up to go out and have fun with friends. Today, on Canada Day (there'll be another post about this), I hung out with Liz, Mike and others. We celebrated my birthday, with inferior generic-cake, to which I was embarrassed but inwardly very happy. Uh, I'm so weird.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Birthdays


My family has one tradition that is extremely important, even sacred, to us: the birthday cake.

For every person's birthday, we need to serve the Jamocha Almond Fudge Ice Cream birthday cake, made by the local Baskin Robbins ice cream store. It has always been so, since my oldest brother was born, and as long as those types of cakes are available we will be eating that. We've never intentionally chosen to eat or serve any other type of cake.

People who are aware of our tradition have asked why does it need to be that cake? Clearly none of us need to answer them because they've never eaten the Jamocha Almond Fudge Ice Cream cake. You probably haven't either. Just understand: it is amazing.

A few years ago, the ice cream shops was out of cakes; so were the other stores on the island of Montreal. My middle brother understood that it wasn't any of our faults that we didn't get him the right cake, but we still didn't feel like it was the right type of birthday. As soon as the store had some new cakes in stock, we bought one, invited the whole family together and then re-celebrated his birthday anew.

We like to joke that we're the only reason that the ice cream store, Baskin Robbins, is still in business.

This is a very lose way of saying that it's a family members birthday:

Happy Birthday Thomas!

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Tallness

Going to Chinatown for dragon beard candy is perfect for making me feel extremely & awkwardly tall.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Crushing

I've never been the type to crush over my male friends. In my mind, there's always been an invisible separation of my straight male friends from guys in general (whether straight or gay) that I find attractive. I've even asked some of my female friends why so many women find some of my friends attractive, because I just didn't really understand why people thought they were hot. Don't take that the wrong way: no, I don't think I don't consider myself a model compared to their raggedy-ass selves. My brain just doesn't consider my guy friends in terms of hot or not.

The funny thing, though, is that over the 2 day period of our camping trip, I really started to understand why Kieran's girlfriend finds him so attractive. His pro-active attitude, his handyman demeanor, his joking mind and yes, his nicely muscled body. Who couldn't like short blond hair, stubble of a short blond beard and light blue eyes? When we were lying next to each other in the tent, the thought did cross my mind that I'd love to just throw my arms over him, snuggle up and make-out.

Kieran

Oh Kieran, you're so bad at taking photos


Nothing other than a strong friendship will ever occur between Kieran and I. I know that and I am very happy with this. I thought it was just a funny, and odd moment for me to actually be crushing on a close friend of mine.

PS-1: Thank god I'm not some gay guy with delusions of converting his very straight friends

PS-2: Oh god, I'm actually blushing from admitting to myself that I felt attracted to him during our trip! Bah, it's not my fault. He was shirtless most of the time anyway!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Weeeeee!

Let's add some happy music to preface by below post.


Cut Off Your Hands - Happy As Can Be

Couldn't Have Asked For More

Camping with Kieran was the best choice I could have made.

Turns out the place we had found last year wasn't nearly as good as this place. 5 hours from Montreal, lost on some backwater dirt roads, untouched by electrical line, running water, we found a a perfect little piece of natural heaven. God, I love the Canadian Shield.

And to think, had we chosen to not ignore the Pont Barré: Danger! (Bridge Closed: Danger!) sign warning that the wooden bridge was highly unstable, we would have never found the place!

There were giant, gaping holes at each corner of the bridge.
Someone had tried to make their own wood & nail repairs too.


There was a perfect space for our tent and fire. Just beyond the threshold of plants was the wonderful river, with giant polished rocks, fed by a mini-waterfall and double set of rapids. We even had a natural sand beach and cliff overlooking the area.


Looking out at the upper rapids

Our first thing was to throw on our life jackets, jump into the river current and ride down some small rapids. If you lie back, with the tips of your feet sticking out of the water (use those abs!) you slide straight over the rocks...well usually. My ass bounced off one and is still a bit sore.

View from the cliff

The whole two days were spent eating hotdogs on the fire, exploring our land, reading and hanging out. I'm pretty sure Kieran thought the no-stress getaway was a success.


We decided to leave a little marker to show that we had been there: we made a [very crappy] Inukshuk. I realize that the region has no relation to this Inuit cultural creation, and that ours is a white man's poor attempt at making one, but I still love it. It's named Sammy; Sammy the Inukshuk.

You probably need to click on the picture to really see it...

I'm now sun burnt, a little chewed up from bugs bites, but very happy. My feet also didn't hurt one bit while I was there.

This place is going to be a wonderful little secret for our group of friends.

Monday, June 15, 2009

A Camping We Will Go

And camping it is!

Let's all assume that because Justin commented on my previous post, absolving me of the potential guilt of not letting my feet rest at home, this little camping adventure is justified. Thank you Mr. Guy From Chicago!

Kieran has told me that the theme of the next 2 days will be no stress. It shouldn't be too tough, since it's only us two. For some reason, no one else has a job that's as flexible with getting time off as us...suckers.

Kieran's university undergraduate convocation passed (that means he graduated!), so one would think that he'd have nothing much to stress over. Of course that is a mistake, because his severely depressed-closeted-wacko Dad decided not to attend the ceremony or even recognize Kieran for the last few months. Unfortunately timed uprisings of crazy have also stricken other close friends/family members/girlfriend of his, so he just wants to get away for two night.

I'll make sure that Kieran has no choice but to relax. If not, it'll be another axe to his head.


...I'm only somewhat joking about the ax part.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Snapped

The last few days have not seen my mind in a positive head space. My days were spent focusing on work or brimming with anger and frustrations at the lack of feet-healing progress. You can probably imagine that the rage has taken precedent over concentrating at the job. Luckily for me though, co-workers and customers seem to be really entertained by my bitter, sarcastic comments.

Yesterday was the last day I was going to stand for it though. I could not go another day of sitting on my ass, brooding and doing nothing.

So I got on my bike and peddled. Hard. I just wanted to punish my feet, and get this anger out of me.

I had forgotten that all this non-exercise has turns my calves and thighs to weak jelly. The Me of last-summer could have biked for 2 hours, without getting much of a sweat. The Me of today could last 15 minutes before the knees were sore.

I eventually got back home, lied down, and awaited what I assumed would be my well-deserved reward of pain in my feet. It eventually throbbed its way in, but you know what? It wasn't that bad.

Come this morning, my feet are a little more tender, but it just isn't that bad. Even though my family doctor have given me a run-around on why this pain exists (i.e. he have no clue what's the problem), this gives me some hope that I'm slowly getting better.


Upon hearing this news, Kieran has invited me camping next week.

So a choice must be made next week: I should stay home, relax and keep taking it easy, BUT I want to go camping.

We've been to the spot before...and it's amazing.