citizen of the planet

I guess, due to the nature of the things Labour Day just ends up marking the end of one parcel of time and the start of a new one. Somehow, even after all this time, the thought of this day still dredges up memories of high school back-to-school jitters, the mental determination to perform, and the freshness of the school uniform after not having worn it for months. I can still imagine the maroon cardigan and the smell of starch in my ironed shirt. Back then, that was my life. I had nothing else to do than to study hard and to get the grades. I don’t think I even had a concept of having good grades getting me into the right universities. No, for the longest time I just did my best in my classes because that’s what school was all about. In some sense, it was all kind of like a game, wasn’t it? Life was simple in that regard.

Fast forward to today, now. Here I am thinking about my career and how I should be positioning myself. I’m wondering about how I should be furnishing my own place, and about what types of maintenance I should be doing around here during these precious days off. I was happy to have time to tidy up. Is that so wrong? I’m pondering my social statuses, and what I can do to present myself in better lights. All of these are such adult concerns. When the heck did all of that really start kicking in?

Seriously. It all kind of just sneaks up on you. It starts off with one thing, then another, and another. All of a sudden you realize that you’re pretty much an adult. I guess it’s sort of like boiling frogs, right? If you dump a frog in hot water, it’ll jump right out. If you put it in room temperature water and slowly crank up the heat the frog won’t jump out.

…or so they say.

If it all came crashing down on me all at once I’d probably freak out and buckle under the weight of it all. As it is, I can kind of shrug it off, thinking “Yeah, that’s what life is like. I’ll deal.” I guess I’m fortunate that my life took the long winding path that it took. It’s not that I wouldn’t have survived if I was forced to mature much earlier, but…at this point I can’t imagine my life turning out any other way, you know?

You know, due to the nature of the engineering program I was in (back in the day), I’m not really a stranger to moving.  Back then, my schedule was such that I had four months of studying then four months of work.  This cycle repeated over and over for six years.  Each time I had to switch I had to pick up all of my gear and lug it all 90 minutes down the highway.  Over time, I became really efficient at making the move.  Back in 2000, during my first few moves I basically took anything and everything.  It resulted in a minivan load or two.  By 2006, I got everything to fit into my car.  That’s just the way things went.

I’m just mentioning all of this because this moving process that I’m going through right now reminds me of those days a great deal.  The big difference this time is that I’m not supposed to pack light.  This is a case where I have to pack just about everything.  While doing so, I have to also pack efficiently such that I can carry most of my things in minimal car loads.  I’m trying to transfer as much as I can today, but I also recognize that I can leave some stuff behind to pick up another time.  It’s tough striking a balance.  I’ve heard stories of people taking months to fully move out.  I’d prefer to not drag it out, honestly.

Well, the process is now under way.  Wish me luck.

Just another lazy Sunday today.  Back on Thursday, at the end of the work day I emailed a document I was working on to myself in hopes that I’d work on it some point between Friday and today.  Well…at least I had good intentions.  Thing is, I know very well that I was unlikely to spend time at home working on it.  It would have been a different story if I was far from being finished, but no, the document has decent progress on it.  There are also some open questions against the project that need to be answered before I write about them, so I would have been stalled anyway

Funny how I seem to be attempting to justify it.

Anyway, since I’ve got nothing much I figure I’d pick a picture that showed up in the “Random from Viewport” widget on the right and give a few words on it.  I ended up choosing a picture from my trip to Japan in June 2006.  On one of my first days in Tokyo, me and a couple of travel companions headed over to the beautiful Meiji Shrine complex on the west side of the city.  If I recall, it’s pretty much adjacent to Harajuku station and a short walk to Takeshita-dōri which is that fashion forward place that Gwen was going on about in her pop albums. It’s accessible from the JR Yamanote line via Harajuku station, or the Tokyo Metro Chiyoda line from Meiji-Jingūmae station, which can be translated as “in front of Meiji Shrine.”  How descriptive.

Anyway, Meiji Shrine is a Shinto shrine.  This is where you would go to pay respects to Emperor Meiji and Empress Shōken.  What’s pictured here is a part of the complex where there are a huge number of these wooden plaques.  These are called ema.  You would buy these ema prayer boards and then write a prayer or a wish or some form of thanks on them.  You then hang these boards on a designated rack.  Now, what’s pictured here is just one rack, but at the Shrine there are many more racks right next to this one.  These are meant to communicate with the spirits.  Now, when you consider the fact that these boards hold what amount to the hopes, dreams, and wishes of thousands of people, it’s an extremely powerful symbol.

I’m not planning on heading back to Tokyo anytime soon.  However, if I somehow found myself there again at the big Meiji Shrine I would buy an ema.  What would I write on it?  I would pray for peace.  I would wish for someone to come into my life to change my life for the better.  Most of all, I would give thanks for all of the blessings I have in my life: family, a place of my own, a job, and nice things.  I wonder if that’d all fit.  Guess I’d just have to write smaller.

Hey, so what would you write on an ema prayer board?

Over at 20SB every now and then they have this Blog Carnival thing where they get people to submit a blog post on a certain topic. Then, the powers that be pick a few entries (based on some unknown criteria) and “publish” them out. I’ve submitted a post or two before but they never got picked. How’s now going to be any different? Well, it probably won’t be. I’m just doing it for free ice cream (if it hasn’t already run out). What? Ice cream?

Disclosure: This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and readers!

The topic? Well, this time around they wanted people to pick out a post from the first two months of the archives of their blog. Those who know the history of my blog will know that I actually started writing back in April 2002, but lost everything in a database accident of sorts. So, my archives only go as far back as February 2003. I looked back at stuff I still have, and man, I complained a lot back then. I suppose it’s not like I’ve stopped complaining now, but, apart from my occasional emo periods, the tone is a heck of a lot more positive. A few years of experience really does go a long way. Back in February 2003, I was 22 years old and still finding my feet. At the time I was on a work term and commuting a lot. My family and I were in the process of moving from an apartment by the Don Valley Parkway to our current house. At the new house, I had dislocated my kneecap. Yikes! There’s a picture of my leg in a brace here.

The stuff I wrote back then was largely observational and rather random. When I read it now, some bits just feel manic. There was a bit of a lack of focus. I wonder why that’s the case. Maybe these days I feel like I’ve got more of a sense of purpose such that when I write I’ve got some sort of driving force guiding things. I don’t know. Maybe Twitter has changed the game somewhat. I mean, back then I got away with writing entries like this:

Excuse me…what is it with people looking at my crotch?

Ha! No kidding, eh? It’s gotten to the point where I can weed out the random thoughts, post the appropriate ones as tweets, then have a clean blog post.

Anyway, what post did I choose? Well, with a two month time frame the pickings are kind of slim. In the end I picked a post that kind of shows the fact that even if my writing lacked focus back then, my writing style was always kind of verbose, eccentric, but vivid when I allow myself to let the mind wander. I also already had a good knack for making random thoughts kind of flow into a nice train of thought. The title of that old post is: Wish I had my camera. It was posted on February 4, 2003.

It’s been one of those mornings where I wish I had my camera with me.

I got on the elevator feeling tired and sick. All the other flu symptoms that I’ve been lacking have finally caught up to me. I have a sore throat, I’m achy, I’m a bit dizzy…but I’m still going to work. I’m resolved to stay in my cubicle though. Lucky my boss isn’t here today. Anyway…

Back to the elevator. As I got off the elevator on the first floor, here I was shocked to see this line of brand new toilets sitting in a row down the hallway. It was quite the sight. You’d think you were in some sort of wongo dream or something. There were just so many. I know that the building will be upgrading plumbing fixtures in the next month, so that explains why it was all there.

Today, walking to the bus stop I had to deal with the effects of freezing rain. The sidewalks were still covered with snow yesterday. The temperature became quite mild causing things to melt a bit. It then started raining causing even more melting. By this morning, it had all frozen over again causing a hellish walk to the stop. This guy in front of my decided to walk on the road. I started to do so but I felt my feet slipping every step or two. I didn’t want to end up slipping and falling at an inopportune time causing me to be crushed by a vehicle. In the end I ended up walking through the snowy grass.

Now, because of the rain the snow was quite crunchy making the walk tougher than usual. On top of that I had to keep a close eye on the ground for piles of dog shit. Now, I don’t know what’s wrong with some dog owners, but if your pet happens to pinch a loaf in the snow it will not disappear when the snow melts. I saw lots of turds, uncrushed, and crushed by unfortunate souls who had to walk on the side like me. I thought I had successfully avoided the land mines, but then when I sat down on the second bus I could smell this faint odour of urine or fecal matter. Man, was I self-conscious. Luckily, it wasn’t me…which leaves me to question the hygiene of some of the people whom I ride with.

The other day, I read something on Julius’s blog that caused me to thing back to my time in the gifted class in elementary school.  Back in grade 5, I was made to take an IQ test of sorts.  I actually remember thinking about how fun the darn thing was.  It was all like a small game show in my mind.  Anyway, I think my teacher noticed that I was advanced and getting a little bit bored with the material, so she recommended that I get tested.  My parents, God bless them, had no clue about all of this gifted business, so just consented.  Hey, whatever works, right?  When the results came in, it was recommended that I be transferred, so that was that.

When I joined in grade 6, I was joining a class that had already had one grade to bond together. You see, the gifted programme started in grade 5.  So I have to admit that I didn’t really feel like I could mesh with everyone at the time.  Hell, I was already socially awkward–almost used to being an outcast and ostracized from my time previous years for the greivous sin of knowing too much–so, I figured it was just par for the course.  Thing is, despite not being entirely able to mesh, this was the first time that I was in a group where I felt like I belonged.  How can I describe that?  It’s more like, it was the first time I understood that no, being smart wasn’t something that should be stifled or hidden for the sake of fitting in.  Being in that class, among similar people gave me free license to let me mind expand, to which I’m entirely thankful.

As you could imagine, a class like that sort of generates a bit of a clan mentality.  See the school didn’t consist of purely gifted classes.  There was also the “regular” class.  God, I hate that term because it makes me sound so bloody elitist.  Anyway, just due to the nature of the split, there was a definite rift between us and our counterparts.  It wasn’t uncommon for them to taunt us and call us “brainers” as a derogatory.  I don’t ever recall us fighting back.  I mean, it’s not like we did anything to intentionally put us above the other class.  We just put up with it.  Early on, we were in our own silos, not really interacting with the other half.  Within our classes we relied on each other as a survival mechanism.

That all sounds well and good, doesn’t it?  As is the nature of things though, things weren’t so clear cut.  Within our class, there were outcasts among the outcasts.  I consider myself fortunate.  I think I was more one of those floater types; I didn’t really belong to any group and was really on the periphery of a lot of things.  I felt like I was just “there” and didn’t get much attention.  For my personality especially, I think I was fine with that.  I think I had too many eccentricities and quirks for that to work.  You know, I might even consider myself borderline outcast, but really that was self-imposed.  Anyway, as an observer, looking back now I almost feel sorry for some of the people that got the brunt of the taunting.  That’s not to say some of it was undeserved, but God, I pray that some of them have gotten so much stronger from having survived all of that.  I know some of them have and have gone on to bigger and better things.

Through the wisdom of the teachers, we eventually did start sharing certain subjects with the other class.  See, both sides had the same curriculum, but maybe we had a little bit more enrichment.  Does that make sense?  Anyway, over time, due to all that integration it seemed like a lot of the sniping died down.  By grade 8, I could swear that it wasn’t so much an us vs. them thing anymore.  We were just the other class.  Sure, still “brainers” but whatever.

A lot of this just sits in my memories as a time when I was just coming into my own, trying to build a sense of self.  I am thankful for this period as a time when I realized that I’m not so broken.  It wouldn’t be until late high school that I’d start feeling that way again, but…that’s another story.

Out of the blue this old commercial popped into my head and I haven’t really been able to get it out.

In my mind, I associate this PSA with grade 6. It reminds me of this guy named Luke who used to sing this damn tune on the bus. I’m sure he thought he was being funny, but in the end it just made me think of that guy as being a nutjob.

What do I remember about this guy? Well, he took a liking to pretending to have trashy orgasms on the school bus. It became routine for the school driver from hell to bellow out: “Luke-a-shuttuppa!” He used to howl when you said “snare drum.” On a dare, I got him to do a snot rocket in the school yard. Unfortunately for everyone, he found enjoyment in doing them. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the guy was brimming with mucus. You could hear it in his voice. I’m sure that he would have suffocated if he didn’t expel that glop somehow.

I had to do a dance routine with the guy once for gym class. Fuck, I don’t know what to say about that event. There’s a midpoint somewhere between having fun and being mortified. I’m sure I leaned toward the mortified end of the spectrum, but that guy was pretty damn shameless.

I remember being stuck with him on a research project on the Galapagos Islands. At some point early on in the process he announced that he’d be going on vacation in the Caribbean. He said that he wanted to help out but his computer suddenly came down with serious virus. Bullshit. He even printed out a sheet with some bloody garbled junk on it: “5the 5the 5the”. Of course, back then I had no idea about computer stuff back then so I just accepted it while knowing he was a being an outright bastard about it. It didn’t matter anyway: I was perfectly capable of doing the work on my own. In the end, I submitted the report without his name on it. What could he do about it being off in the Caribbean?

In the end, the guy moved to Buffalo. Prior to, he kept bragging about being enrolled into Nichol’s Academy, and making a joke that they had a high school named “Dime’s.” Ooh Lord. The joke wasn’t funny the first time around. Interestingly enough, it didn’t get any funnier by the 23rd time.

That’s all I care to drag out of my head for now. It’s quite enough for me to remember his telling me not to put it in my mouth.

ICK.

This anniversary sort of came and went. This blog now has entries going back 5 years! I really should have a bit more fanfare regarding this birthday. I think I was originally planning on writing out some long account of how it got to this point, but I just never got around to it. At this point I think I’m just a little too lazy to get into all of the fine details.

Of course, some people who know the history will know that I actually started writing almost 6 years ago in April 2002. Just, out of a moment of sheer stupidity and really bad software I ended up losing entries from April 2002 to February 2003. There were a lot of good things in there–it’s really a pity that those posts disappeared into the Internet ether, you know?

If I still had those posts I’d have a bit of a better record of my personal growth; a lot can happen in 5-6 years. Of course, that doesn’t mean I hold the five years I have recorded in lower regard. Oh hell no. Reading back on things I wrote in the early years, it really triggers memories of various crises involving social acceptance and realizations of self-worth. I think back then I was fond of saying that I was undergoing an internal revolution. I had to go through this period because I was tired of feeling like my worth was based solely on what people thought of me. Due to certain conditions, it was hard to break free of old habits and to not see myself through the eyes of others. When I realized that I don’t have to be tied to people who made me feel like I was worthless, I became freer. That was part of my revolution. I’m not saying I’m no longer having any issues regarding self-worth, but I now have a bit of perspective that maybe wasn’t as strong in my younger self.

Maybe also worthy of note is my transition from writing about the sheltered academic world to writing about the working life. The shift in focus is interesting to me, at least, because I can compare and contrast how I’m applying my personality to these two distinct worlds. In school, success is (for the most part) directed inwards. In contrast, the working world relies more heavily on how well you interact with your colleagues. The transition hasn’t been without the occasional hiccups. From what I’ve written, it seems like my personality is very much the same between the spheres of existence. It’s just…mmm…now I’m finding more facets to who I am now that I’m being forced to put myself in these new situations. Does that make sense?

Sharon’s told me in the past that since early high school I’ve had a bit of that “this is who I am–take it or leave it” air about me. That kind of attitude can be dangerous because it’s often associated with pretentious bastards who try too hard to seem important. I don’t want to say that I’m not like that, but because of my introverted nature (outgoing as it may be, it’s still introverted) it’s internalized and left for other people to discover on their own–leading them to love or loathe. I guess these past 5 years of writing are a good window into that internal engine.

So, what lies ahead? Five years from now I’ll be in my 30s. Maybe life will be totally different. Maybe it’ll be the same. Either way, I hope that I continue to make the effort to write so that by my return of Saturn I can look back and see just how far I’ve come after all this time.

Here’s to another five.

I’m not really sure why I’m writing about this event that probably took place 16 or 17 years ago. The memory suddenly popped up in my mind, and it’s sort of festering there. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m currently wearing braces. Who knows? So I’m going to write about it in the attempt of letting it go.

This actually took place way back in grade 3 or 4. It was recess and I was walking around the schoolyard alone as was kind of standard back then. I’d just moved to that school in grade 3 and fitting in wasn’t easy at all. I don’t know what it was but unlike my previous school I was a social outcast. Sure, I had a few friends, but I was often the butt of sneers or whatever it is that school children do. Maybe it’s just that I hadn’t gotten used to the idea of reeling in my intelligence to fit in, or that I was too serious for my age, or that I wasn’t dressing like the others. Well, whatever the case was that made me “weird”, walking around the yard alone was normal. It’s sort of sad when I think about it.

Anyway, back to the story. As I was wandering around, Tommy to class clown/irritant came up to me and said: “do you want to be really cool?” Well, how can you pass that up, eh? He said, “go up to Lena and call her a beaver!” I guess I thought it was innocuous–you know, harmless name-calling. Lena was a girl in my class that I didn’t really talk to. So, I spotted her on the bench over at the baseball diamond. She was flanked on either side by her friends. I casually walked over and did my duty.

“Beaver!”

I started walking away shortly after, but not before I heard one of her friends yell out in anger “go away, Jason!” I didn’t notice it before when I was approaching her, but after the fact I noticed that Lena was almost in tears. Her friends were actually there consoling her from some previous hurt. At the time I hadn’t drawn any connections and just moved on with life.

After school, we were all in the process of leaving the school grounds. There were a couple of classmates around as we left the playground area. As I was leaving the school to walk home, I overheard Lena speaking to her mother: “There! He’s one of them!” The mother asked which one, and she pointed in my general direction. I was still oblivious to any relevance to whatever had transpired earlier.

The next day, in French class, a teacher from another grade came storming in demanding apologies from several people. She told certain people to stand up. I think that included Tommy among others. I wasn’t actually told to stand up. I didn’t know what was going on. Then she started: “How dare you make fun of Lena! What gives you the right to make fun of her front teeth!” EH??? Finally, it dawned on me what that whole “beaver” business was all about. I felt horrible. One of the few that were singled out started protesting. He was saying that he never made fun of Lena. Outside of this incident I knew this guy to be very honest and polite, so I really believed that he wasn’t involved. Then I realized that the day before this guy was walking close by to me when I was leaving for home the day before. I guess when Lena pointed me out her mother thought it was the other guy. I gave a quick glance over to Lena, and she glanced back. She was really wanting to correct the teacher and point out that it was me. It’s just that the teacher was on such a tirade that she couldn’t really get a word in. She raised her hand and quietly tried to correct her: “but…!” There was no use though. The damage was done.

I never did apologize to her because I was fighting my own struggles back then as well. It’s probably all inconsequential now at this point in life. However, I sort of feel bad now thinking that I unwittingly became a part of the problem that was making my life difficult as well. It’s hard being different at that age. There’s a certain amount of cruelty that exists in that setting. The cruelty fades over time in more ways than one.

People mature. People heal. Some people don’t forget though–I’m one of them.