Movie meme

I've been watching quite a few movies in the past couple of weeks. My good friend in Inuvik sent me a flash-drive with scanned pages of a Social Studies textbook that I needed for my students. He also managed to fill up the remaining memory on the flash-drive with assorted movies, which I've been enjoying during the dull evenings here in Fox Creek.

I must say that my life here is too humdrum to blog about, so I'm resorting to a meme about movies that my friend A had tagged me for:

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times. Bridget Jones's Diary, The Hours -- two movies that I always dig up when I have the blues.

2. Name a movie that you've seen multiple times in the theater. Contact

3. Name an actor/actress that would make you more inclined to see a movie. Cate Blanchett, Johnny Depp, Kate Winslet, Sean Penn

4. Name an actor/actress that would make you less likely to see a movie. Adam Sandler, Will Farrell

5. Name a movie that you can quote from. Little Women

6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs. Moulin Rouge

7. Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with. The Sound of Music

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see. Me and You and Everyone We Know (It's not a movie for kids though.)

9. Name a movie that you own. I own waaaaay too many to name just one!

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.  Queen Latifah

11. Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what? No, I've never been to a drive-in....

12. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven't yet gotten around to it. The Reader -- but this will soon be remedied.

13. Ever walked out of a movie?  Almost walked out of The Butterfly Effect, and was so glad I didn't.

14. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater. The Secret Lives of Bees -- I sobbed pretty nearly all the way through.

15. Popcorn?  No, I'm not fond of the way it sticks to my teeth.

16. How often do you go to the movies (as opposed to renting them or watching them at home)? I used to go at least once a week, but living in small towns without movie theatres has made it immeasurably more difficult.

17. What's the last movie you saw in the theater? New In Town -- despite what the critics said, I found it sweet and charming, albeit fluffy and predictable.

18. What's your favorite/preferred genre of movie? Drama for sure

19. What's the first movie you remember seeing in the theater? Snow White

20. What movie do you wish you had never seen? My Winnipeg

21. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed? I love all of Charlie Kaufman's movies, and they're pretty weird.

22. What is the scariest movie you've seen? Silence of the Lambs -- saw it when I was ten and it traumatized me.

23. What is the funniest movie you've seen? Bridget Jones's Diary -- both the movie (the first one) and the book were hilarious.

We just came back from another weekend in Edmonton.  Here are a couple of photos, one of the wide prairie skies along the highway, and one of the provincial legislative building at night, courtesy of my dinky cellphone camera:

Darker days, but better things

After turning the clock back an hour over the weekend, I've been shocked by how dark it's been by the time I'm done on campus. Just last week, I was able to see the pink glow on the horizon as I walked home from the Skytrain station, but this week, the sky is already a dusky blue by the time I step out of the classroom.  On the train, it's lights against a velvety black that I see now.

I've reached a plateau of sorts, after several weeks of emotional nadir. It's been my friends who have helped me through this tough time. Yes, they're always there for me, always supportive, but they're also not enabling my self-sabotaging, self-pitying behaviour. Last night, I touched base with my friend K who had been on vacation for a few weeks, several long weeks it seemed to me. She knew me so well that she made me cry.... It was a good cry, one that was cathartic, that made me see that I was quickly becoming a person that I didn't like at all. I was too hung up on the past, and allowed myself to be haunted by past ghosts that I missed the important things of the here-and-now. I had allowed my schoolwork to lapse, when it should have been one of my priorities, something that I had aimed for and had wanted badly for myself.

Another friend, J, made a pact with me last night. We would not see each other or talk to each other any more if I were to continue on this self-destructive path. We're going by the honour system, and I know I must honour this pact because she has honoured me by being so brave as to suggest it in the first place.

Oh, and there's nothing like a good movie to vicariously resolve some emotional turmoil. I saw The Secret Life of Bees the other day, and was weepy throughout. I had to try very hard not to sob out loud, and there were such enormous lumps in my throat that I was visibly shaking at times. But it felt wonderful.

Tomorrow, I'll be taking an important exam for my statistics course. I feel prepared for it, as my focus is back now. I'm ready to kick some stats butt! I think it's my best course so far, when ironically, it's the class I had been most afraid of at the beginning. If I do as well as I hope to do tomorrow, I'll come away with a final mark of 100% in the course, or very close to it anyway. It's something I've not been able to do since my high school days, when it wasn't so hard to get "perfect" on tests, assignments, and exams.

Thanks to everyone who has been there for me. Not all of those people read this blog, but I thank them all the same. And to those of you who do read my blog, thank you too. You've helped me by letting me have this forum to vent.

Here are some pics of the beach in West Vancouver, on one of the last beach days of the season:

Once

A guitar takes a journey. It travels from the streets of Dublin to my heart via the medium of film. In the hands of one passionate singer-songwriter, it sings of loneliness, of love, of possibility. This guitar makes me want to be a better musician, to live more passionately, to smile at the simple things. This guitar is witness to the connection between two people. It creates music that echoes from within the void in my heart. It makes me cry and yearn and ache, but also search and wonder and find.

Is there anything more beautiful, more ethereal, more powerful than two voices, a guitar, and music that weaves their lives together?

Run out and rent Once.  Seriously.

Six-word stories

Ernest Hemingway once wrote a story in six words: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” He is reputed to have said that it was his best story. To me, the story is about innocence and tragedy existing in one seamless whole. Last night, I watched Pan's Labyrinth, one of the most profoundly beautiful and tragic films I've ever seen. The protagonist, Ofelia, escapes the horrors of her life in a world where cruelty and injustice seem to reign, into a fantasy world where innocence, courage, and love thrive. In the end, the question is not whether the fantasy elements are indeed real, or whether they are just within the mind of a lonely, grieving child, because innocence has the miraculous ability to transform magic into reality. So, even though the film is distressing, as we witness the ravages of war on the innocent, there's an uplifting quality fighting to be felt as well.

In Norway, there were thousands of children known as "Lebensborn" at the end of World War II. They were the products of Heinrich Himmler's experiment to create a “pure” Aryan race, when he encouraged German soldiers to breed with Norwegian women. These children were often abandoned by their mothers, left for the Norwegian state to do with them what it will. Many were institutionalized, ostracized by all who met them. They were called “Nazi brats,” and became targets of revenge. I can't imagine what it must have been like to grow up and to be treated like a monster from the moment of birth. Everyone is born innocent, regardless of who his/her parents are. In a world where innocence is so easily tainted, shouldn't we try our best at maintaining it where it exists, instead of taking our own anger and hurt out on those who do not deserve it?

I'm just particularly disillusioned today. My students are all teenagers, all jaded and disillusioned themselves. However, I catch glimpses of innocence in them still, and I want so very much to protect them at all cost. Most of the time, though, I just feel helpless.

Pardon my pessimistic outlook. I've been feeling poorly since Sunday, and am in denial about having caught the bug that's circulating around town.

My six-word story: In search of something, but what?

Disparate worlds

On Sunday, I went to a friend's house and had a big turkey dinner. It was to make up for not having a Christmas feast. The tree was still up, and the company was lively. I was never a huge fan of turkey, but it was perfect for dispelling the mid-winter blues. Amongst the guests was a man who had just returned to Canada from Afghanistan. He is a biologist who was there to help with national park-planning in an area devastated by the Taliban. To me, the occasion was more of a Thanksgiving. I was grateful for the warmth within and the beauty without, while on the other side of the world, a nation tries to pick up the pieces after decades of terror.

A friend dubbed me a couple of DVD's – Babel and Blood Diamond – and delivered them to my house with a large bag of my favourite cheesies. I absolutely adored Babel. It showed how disparate our experiences truly are, yet how universal loss is. Have not gotten through Blood Diamond yet. Somehow, the opening minutes of the horrors of civil war in Sierra Leone were just too much for me to take alone. I'll have to invite someone over to watch the film with me. I've seen plenty of blood and gore in movies, but sometimes, for reasons unbeknownst to me, certain films strike an emotional chord. I remember watching The Killing Fields in Social Studies class in high school: I was fine, until I went to my next class. In the middle of English class, I completely lost it and broke down uncontrollably. I was excused from the room. I have a feeling that watching Blood Diamond will be a similar experience. I remember reading articles about the child-soldiers in that war, and how horrified I was at the mental images that formed in my mind: children toting guns instead of building sand-castles, children becoming pawns, numb to feeling, cruel yet innocent. I don't know if I'll be able to bear watching those images on the screen. (A note about dubbing movies: In theory, I don't agree with pirating movies.  However, I love films, and living in a town that doesn't have a movie theatre, my normally keen sense of morality has deteriorated a little on this front.  I would never download a movie, but would not refuse if someone passed one along.  And, the fact that downloading is not illegal in Canada has made me feel slightly better, although I strongly believe that it should be illegal.)

Sometimes, I feel so far removed from the rest of the world when I'm up here, in this sleepy northern town. I'm trying to remedy that by turning on the noon-hour news when I come home for lunch, even though it's perhaps easier to be ignorant and willfully blind to the ugliness of humanity.

I can't leave this post on such a distressing note. So, here is proof that there is good in the world, both despite us, and because of us. “Despite” because there's sunlight, there's wonder, regardless of whether we take the time to enjoy it all. And then, there is beauty that we create, such as the paintings of the northern lights that adorn the foyer of the high school, created by the art students, in collaboration with their teacher.

Disembodied Musings and Embodied Readings

In recent months, it feels as though I've lived half my life in a world of pseudo-reality online. I don't frequent chat-rooms or strike up relationships with strangers, but nevertheless, I have a sort of double identity – that of my everyday interactions in the “real” world, and the self that I assume when I'm in front of this computer screen. Somehow, when I'm typing, my physicality fades away, as do my experiences. I realize that the entries I write are about my experiences, but they have become detached from this body and this mind, and become events and situations that have happened to vivacemusica, whoever that is.... All of my thoughts and descriptions of the happenings in my life have taken on a more “pure” form, floating freely and completely disembodied.

Things that I've learned about myself recently from my online activities:

• I live in a world that doesn't exist in the minds of others: The scourge of having internet at home is the temptation to purchase everything, useful and otherwise. I had put an order for cat supplies through Amazon.com, and to my dismay, received several e-mails telling me that my order could not be processed because of my incomplete address. Apparently, Northwest Territories is not a real place – they had wanted me to fill in my “province,” -- and the cats who live here are just going to have to suffer.

• As much as I like litzines (particularly Dogmatika and 3 am), I've grown to dislike readers who write in nasty comments accusing the editors of selling out and going too “mainstream.” What does that mean? One reader was upset that Virginia Woolf was mentioned in a blog entry. Virginia Woolf is widely-read, yes, but her ideas had been landmarks in feminist literary theory. Since when is that “mainstream”? I used to be (and, admittedly, still am) a bit of an inward snob when it came to books and films that I consumed. I still regularly skip the big blockbusters and bestsellers in favour of something that no one has ever heard of. Now, I've come to realize that obscurity does not mean brilliance. At best, brilliance is subjective anyway. The books and films that I have liked best are those that have, in some capacity, captured the spirit of the times, or an internal spirit within me. Even as I felt manipulated by the flourishes of Dickens's stories, I somehow allowed myself to be moved – hence, Great Expectations remains a perennial favourite of mine. I will always feel an affinity to young Pip and his yearnings. However, The Notebook (the film – I've never read the book) just annoyed me to no end with its blatant tugs of the heartstrings. I guess what it comes down to is a readiness or a reluctance to be swept away. Once I have allowed or forbidden myself to be taken on that journey, there is no going back. Back to the point: I may still avoid “mainstream” films and books, but I'll acknowledge that my like or dislike for something has to do not as much with any superior sensibility on my part, but to that certain magical intersection of time, place, and spirit which makes or breaks one's experience of taking in a story.

Our Translated World

“We're not comfortably at home in our translated world.” These words from Rilke's Duino Elegies have struck home. All of our interactions are negotiations/translations between the mind and the heart, between ourselves and others, between ourselves and nature, and between the layers within ourselves. These negotiations are fragile and tenuous at best. The end of June is fast-approaching. My circle here will once again need re-organization. Never have I felt as though I do indeed live in a “translated world” as right now.

There have been numerous kindnesses done unto me these past few days that have made me feel less forlorn. A friend was thoughtful enough to assemble a huge bag of freebies from the petroleum show for me, in case I didn't get the chance to attend. A stranger notarized a document for me free of charge even though I caught him when he was busy working with customers. Another wonderful friend taught me how to cook an incredible meal.

I've been busy these past couple of weeks with wrapping up with the Brownies, having our last hurrah. I've also been enjoying several barbeques and get-togethers with friends. I can't wait until the Boot Lake trail is accessible; when we checked yesterday evening, we discovered that part of the trail was flooded still. Whenever I walk that trail, I feel less “translated.” I feel more at home, more at peace.

Watched the movie Shopgirl last week in my new TV room, and it has been on my mind, particularly in keeping with Rilke's sentiments. Everyone has such a sad yearning and tenderness and such vulnerability; however, instead of seeing all those qualities as linkages, we stand infinitely apart still. I think that this is one movie that might leave many viewers completely dissatisfied. The protagonist doesn't necessarily end up with the “right” man, because perhaps the point is that everyone has the potential to be equally right/wrong. I see myself reflected in all three of the characters.

Sometimes, by watching or reading about others' separateness, and by acknowledging it, we ironically feel less alone. Other than Shopgirl and Rilke's poetry, here are several more texts (in all senses of the word) that have helped me recently:

- Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide (inspired my rediscovery of Rilke)
- the poetry of the clouds (along with the music of the leaves)
- Shyam Selvadurai's Funny Boy (has provided more healing than any self-help book ever could)
- Chopin's Nocturnes (particularly when shared with someone who has the same musical yearnings)

My Africa

Last weekend, I attended my friends’ wedding in Fort McPherson. It was a few hours’ drive away from Inuvik, and the day was brilliant. On the way down, some of the trees that stood on the top of the little hills looked like spires of a medieval cathedral. We had Neil Diamond blaring from the stereo in the car – not exactly my taste in music, but somehow, the perfect soundtrack for the drive. I don’t think that there will ever be a time when I won’t think of Inuvik when I hear “Sweet Caroline.”

The wedding was simple and tasteful. The bride was gorgeous, while the groom was beaming from ear to ear during the entire proceedings. Someone had painted fireweed bursting upward from the bottom hem of the bride’s gown; it was such a charmingly perfect touch, bringing the landscape of the north into the union. After all, the north has been the setting of my friends’ fairy-tale romance. It was here that their happily-ever-after began.

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been obsessed over Africa. Let me rephrase that – I’ve always been obsessed about Africa, but I had allowed that flame to die, and it wasn’t until recently that the passion was rekindled. I remember the book that made me love and yearn for the African wild: Elspeth Huxley’s The Flame Trees of Thika. Even though I was still a child when I read the memoir, I already knew instinctively that the Africa in the book no longer existed. This knowledge has in part inhibited me from travelling to Kenya to find those flame trees. This past week, I read a couple of books lent to me by a friend: They’re two books from Alexander McCall Smith’s The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. The stories take place in modern-day Botswana, and although they describe none of Huxley’s colonial wilderness (an oxymoron!), they have sparked something in me again. My friends and I watched The Constant Gardener last night, and I was overcome with such sadness and yearning, seeing the harshness and endurance of both the people and the land in Africa. I’ve been researching online for tours to Africa, Kenya in particular. I think it could be a trip that would change my life and give me a whole new perspective.

Last weekend, on the way down to McPherson, we stopped by Tsiigehtchic, a tiny community sitting atop a cliff where the Mackenzie and Arctic Red rivers converge. We caught part of their jamboree, and saw a few dog teams take off up the river. In many ways, the North is my Africa. It is my wilderness, with its history of injustice and colonization, with its unforgiving harshness and breathtaking beauty, and its people and communities propelled forward inevitably by time, hope, and inner strength.

Love, Highs, and Lows

It’s funny how I gather snippets of wisdom from books and movies. One such snippet that I’ve been trying to live by is, “We are what we love, not what loves us,” from the movie Adaptation. Although this seems to be a way to be willfully, albeit blissfully, unaware, it’s also a way to salvage my core being and not let others dictate my emotions. Someone asked me what love meant to me last year, and I said that love could not be genuine unless it was reciprocated. Now, I no longer think so. I think that we love someone because we believe in his or her goodness, and this reflects more on ourselves than it does the person we love. So, it doesn’t matter whether the feeling is reciprocated – the very fact that we’ve kept caring (even to the point of foolishness) defines us as hopeful souls that believe in the good in people.

Some of my friends have been experiencing some lows recently. We’ve all been questioning our purpose and direction: Have we settled and become too complacent? I’ve been telling my friends that feeling lows is part of living life intensely; it’s part of wanting to experience everything more, and wanting to enjoy everything more. I’ve had a couple of years of highs and lows, but I’m moving forward constantly, and that’s all that matters.

I’ve started on my attempt to improve my French again. I get many a grin when I say that one of my new year’s resolutions is to learn French, but I’ve started, and I’m proud of myself for persevering. I’ve picked up some French books at the library, and have been reading a chapter a day. My five years of high school French shall not go to waste. Now, if only I could stick to my other resolutions….

Pieces

The world is warm and gorgeous yet again. At times like these, I can’t help but relish in existential theory; I used to turn my nose up at existentialism, thinking that my stance was anti-elitist and therefore somehow more superior. Plus, I had thought of the theory as depressive and debilitating. Now, however, in this bright sunlight under the “true blue dream of sky,” I think of just simply being in the moment at hand. It’s me sitting on this rumpled bed, typing my thoughts onto this page. Language doesn’t even seem to matter – it’s imperfect at best. So, it’s true that I can never fully express my thoughts to my satisfaction, and that another person can never truly comprehend what I’m thinking and feeling, but so what? I am content right here, right now. I demand no understanding from the world, and the world demands nothing of me.

This past Wednesday, I was at the community feast hosted at the high school to celebrate finally having the school foyer and gym done, to have the students fully back in the building and resuming a sense of normalcy. The turnout was fantastic. It’s a great start in trying to improve the school’s relationship with the community. All the staff were wearing their “Survivor SHSS” shirts, and I was, for once, glad to be part of a group, and to feel a sense of belonging.

Yes, it has been absolutely the dream week: The weather has been amazing. Work has gone great. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of the lack of challenges this past week, I have been feeling as though I need to escape Inuvik. I was looking at my students this week, and thinking, am I foolish to think that maybe if I show them that they can write an expository essay, that they will eventually see that they can do so much more? I used to think that what would eventually drive me away from here would be the transitory nature of the town. It has been hard to have a new circle of friends every year that I am here. Now, though, I think that what will drive me away is an ingrained despair that I see in people here. I feel my lack of cultural understanding as a barrier between me and my students all the time. All I can do is bring in as many northern resources as possible into my classroom. The girls can read about their cultures and the histories of their peoples; they can be proud, but that’s not enough. There isn’t enough for them to cling onto. Inuvik has never been an insular society, and it has to move forward. I want my girls to dream of becoming anything they want, to know that they have that potential, and to actually see that it’s possible. Lately, I’ve felt that my being here has not been helping. I am one of the score of teachers from down south, who say that they know what’s best for the students, when who are we but another version of the colonizer? How can I pass on knowledge that can’t be taught – that knowledge of a collective moving forward toward something better?

Watched Pieces of April last night. It’s one of my favourite movies, and gets better with each viewing. To me, it’s about salvaging relationships, creating goodness, rebuilding from the rubble. I can completely identify. Perhaps that’s the way I need to look at things here – I need to create moments to purge myself of all the built up bitterness and resentment. Maybe I’ll start with where this entry began: simply being, and demanding nothing of the world right here, right now. Take in all of that infinite sky and play my favourite music.