We are always torn between our want and ought, the bad and good, emotion and reason, impulse and restraint, desire and duty, selfishness and obligation.
It leads to an overall feeling of discontent and sacrifice, compromising our lives for the benefit of others, negotiating terms with god and the devil, existing in the opinion of others, created in their image.
I wonder what a world of want would look like?
We do what we ought to do because we do all things out of love and fear, we rationalize these emotions by acting for and through them, when in truth, the only love and fear one ought to want is for oneself. If you love and fear only yourself, you can choose actions based on an internal sense of well-being.
For example, I ride horses becasue I love to. I love calling some freinds and not others. I fear that I would love cocaine, so I never tried it. I fear not being in love with myself so I try to be the best peron I can be -- although mistakes are rampant in my life, but that's how I have learned the things I never want to do or say again.
The attachment to things outside of yourself, love and fear of others and other things, will tear your soul apart.
To paraphrase Marx, once we restore human dignity, only then can we truly abolish the class-system and become universally equal.
In order to restore human dignity, we should be able to work and create the things we want to.
(As long as it does not infringe on another person's freedom or life.)
REVITALIZE HUMAN DIGNITY.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
bookstore basics
My mind is watering, salivating, to digest the new-to-me used books that I purchased at my local bookstore, here in San Telmo. Walrus Bookstore, run by an American named Geoffrey and his wife, whom I have not met. Quaint and perfect.
The two books I picked up were none other than the Early Political Writings of Karl Marx and a couple of combo-shorts by Nietzsche. What before seemed like a task, an obligation for school, now feels like an opportunity. Already delving into Marx, making my heart swell with admiration, and hoping to draw from his ideas even more now than before.
Reading the Introduction was a moment of enlightenment -- an epiphanic eureka-moment. For so long, I have been trying to explain to people how Marx was not a Communist, invoking quotes from Capital and Political Economy. When reading Easton and Guddat's intro, who summarize the three earliest periods of Marx's pensive dialectic, I noticed that Marx often uses the term universal when explaining his Idea. As he describes: "the capacity of the universal class to be actually universal, that is, to be the class of every citizen", meaning removing the fictitious value of money, the value as an ends as opposed to a means, which would eliminate the current class-system. Marx's argument is that the obsession with money, materialism, alienates man from his potential, almost endenturing him as a slave to the system. He calls for a revitalization of human dignity. My heart swells and my eyes well-up.
Can he be considered a universalist? No. In all honesty, I don't even think he would have considered himself a Marxist -- ideologies act as a form of religion, alienating man from his true purpose. Eureka!
Do you ever have excitement bubble in your belly for sudden realizations? Perhaps not the belly, perhaps a flutter in the heart or a bounce in the step, a patter of a foot or a fist-pump in the air.
This fine piece of political prose has not only gained a permanent place on my bookshelf, but in my heart, a swell. Such is the importance of a basic bookstore principles.
The two books I picked up were none other than the Early Political Writings of Karl Marx and a couple of combo-shorts by Nietzsche. What before seemed like a task, an obligation for school, now feels like an opportunity. Already delving into Marx, making my heart swell with admiration, and hoping to draw from his ideas even more now than before.
Reading the Introduction was a moment of enlightenment -- an epiphanic eureka-moment. For so long, I have been trying to explain to people how Marx was not a Communist, invoking quotes from Capital and Political Economy. When reading Easton and Guddat's intro, who summarize the three earliest periods of Marx's pensive dialectic, I noticed that Marx often uses the term universal when explaining his Idea. As he describes: "the capacity of the universal class to be actually universal, that is, to be the class of every citizen", meaning removing the fictitious value of money, the value as an ends as opposed to a means, which would eliminate the current class-system. Marx's argument is that the obsession with money, materialism, alienates man from his potential, almost endenturing him as a slave to the system. He calls for a revitalization of human dignity. My heart swells and my eyes well-up.
Can he be considered a universalist? No. In all honesty, I don't even think he would have considered himself a Marxist -- ideologies act as a form of religion, alienating man from his true purpose. Eureka!
Do you ever have excitement bubble in your belly for sudden realizations? Perhaps not the belly, perhaps a flutter in the heart or a bounce in the step, a patter of a foot or a fist-pump in the air.
This fine piece of political prose has not only gained a permanent place on my bookshelf, but in my heart, a swell. Such is the importance of a basic bookstore principles.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
dill & pb, iron & rotisserie
Traveling to a new country is all about the give and take. You miss out on luxuries from back home, but you gain new luxuries in whatever place you land. A basic trade-off would be expensive fast food, but cheap steak. In all honesty, I prefer the latter option and I don't know one person that wouldn't agree.
Good coffee and bicycles for fresh fruit and cheap, comprehensive transit.
Dark music for tango.
Etc.
For these reasons, the information I am about to share is necessary for any North American who wants to venture to Argentina for any prolonged period: I have never craved dill nor peanut butter the way I do now. The reason for my cravings is because I can't have it, or it is difficult to have it. Back home, I would occassionally nibble on some dill, usually satisfied by the odd Vlask, but here, here, I need it. As if a mission for pickles, or some sort of dill by-product, makes me travel to the ends of the universe -- being the other side of the city -- in search for a tiny bushel of eneldo. The Chinatown market sold-out. Of course. Because it's dillicious.
Peanut butter is also a rarity. Back home, maybe once a week, I would dip a spoon into an extra-crunchy and satisfy the craving until the next weekly dip. The peanut butter sweet and smooth, one spoon fills as a semi-meal. Here, nada mucho. In health foodstores they sell pb that is purely pureed peanuts. Although it has been sustaining me for the past 5 months, I still crave Kraft, despite the company's notorious reputation. In Bariloche, a girl had a jar of peanut butter that she got in Chile. I grabbed a spoon and for a moment was, as my comrade Maggy would say, "talking to God".
Nevertheless, these are minor luxuries when it comes to things that, ethically, account for more. Walking into a pharmacy, you don't need a prescription from a doctor for some pills. Now, I'm not talking about hard stuff, but I wanted pills of iron and it was the easiest thing to purchase. It did frighten me, slightly, reading the "Method of Dosage". It said to consult a physician, which is almost impossible to do quickly here, because you can overdose. Obvio, tonta, smacking my head. It's a metal. So, although I was impressed with the lack of bureaucracy around pharmaceuticals, I still need to see a doctor to be recommended a dosage. In Argentina: First prescription, then medical consultation. I see.
Another luxuriant mentionable is the way people do business here, for the most part. It is a rarity to find big-box stores and major corporations, although there are some. When you go to a rotiseria for some chicken, odds are that it won't be Swiss Chalet. What is amazing about small mom&pop shops is that they are usually run by mom&pop, not some pissed-off, hormonal teenager who wants to go home and hang-out with friends.
Last night, we ventured to the rotiseria to grab some chicken (because we are having beef tonight). The spot was closed, protective grate down, but the door was still open with the owner looking out onto the street. Maggy asked the man what times he closed at. He had been closed for nearly half-an-hour. Nevertheless, he asked what we wanted and we told him, "a whole chicken". Well, he had half a chicken but would throw in two chicken breasts. Come in, come in.
He unlocked the grate's tiny door and we ducked in. He closed the Alice In Wonderland-sized door and locked it, then loaded up a tray full of chicken, then came back around, unlocked the grate-door, wished as well and "No, no. Gracias a vos", and locked the rabbit-hole back up. If this was back home, this would not have happened.
Point of the many stories is I traded dill and pb for iron and chicken. It was the give and take that goes with changing cultures and countries. Some may enjoy their native culture so much and wish to stay. That I understand. For example, getting a doctor's appointment would be nice and, maybe at times, necessary. But, when it comes to the litte things, the food and drink things, the shopping and transport things, one shouldn't be bothered.
Instead, if it is truly an issue, stock-up or get boxes delievered. Noted.
Good coffee and bicycles for fresh fruit and cheap, comprehensive transit.
Dark music for tango.
Etc.
For these reasons, the information I am about to share is necessary for any North American who wants to venture to Argentina for any prolonged period: I have never craved dill nor peanut butter the way I do now. The reason for my cravings is because I can't have it, or it is difficult to have it. Back home, I would occassionally nibble on some dill, usually satisfied by the odd Vlask, but here, here, I need it. As if a mission for pickles, or some sort of dill by-product, makes me travel to the ends of the universe -- being the other side of the city -- in search for a tiny bushel of eneldo. The Chinatown market sold-out. Of course. Because it's dillicious.
Peanut butter is also a rarity. Back home, maybe once a week, I would dip a spoon into an extra-crunchy and satisfy the craving until the next weekly dip. The peanut butter sweet and smooth, one spoon fills as a semi-meal. Here, nada mucho. In health foodstores they sell pb that is purely pureed peanuts. Although it has been sustaining me for the past 5 months, I still crave Kraft, despite the company's notorious reputation. In Bariloche, a girl had a jar of peanut butter that she got in Chile. I grabbed a spoon and for a moment was, as my comrade Maggy would say, "talking to God".
Nevertheless, these are minor luxuries when it comes to things that, ethically, account for more. Walking into a pharmacy, you don't need a prescription from a doctor for some pills. Now, I'm not talking about hard stuff, but I wanted pills of iron and it was the easiest thing to purchase. It did frighten me, slightly, reading the "Method of Dosage". It said to consult a physician, which is almost impossible to do quickly here, because you can overdose. Obvio, tonta, smacking my head. It's a metal. So, although I was impressed with the lack of bureaucracy around pharmaceuticals, I still need to see a doctor to be recommended a dosage. In Argentina: First prescription, then medical consultation. I see.
Another luxuriant mentionable is the way people do business here, for the most part. It is a rarity to find big-box stores and major corporations, although there are some. When you go to a rotiseria for some chicken, odds are that it won't be Swiss Chalet. What is amazing about small mom&pop shops is that they are usually run by mom&pop, not some pissed-off, hormonal teenager who wants to go home and hang-out with friends.
Last night, we ventured to the rotiseria to grab some chicken (because we are having beef tonight). The spot was closed, protective grate down, but the door was still open with the owner looking out onto the street. Maggy asked the man what times he closed at. He had been closed for nearly half-an-hour. Nevertheless, he asked what we wanted and we told him, "a whole chicken". Well, he had half a chicken but would throw in two chicken breasts. Come in, come in.
He unlocked the grate's tiny door and we ducked in. He closed the Alice In Wonderland-sized door and locked it, then loaded up a tray full of chicken, then came back around, unlocked the grate-door, wished as well and "No, no. Gracias a vos", and locked the rabbit-hole back up. If this was back home, this would not have happened.
Point of the many stories is I traded dill and pb for iron and chicken. It was the give and take that goes with changing cultures and countries. Some may enjoy their native culture so much and wish to stay. That I understand. For example, getting a doctor's appointment would be nice and, maybe at times, necessary. But, when it comes to the litte things, the food and drink things, the shopping and transport things, one shouldn't be bothered.
Instead, if it is truly an issue, stock-up or get boxes delievered. Noted.
Friday, March 26, 2010
when you start thinking about home
It sucks to be thinking about it, but rather than be stressed, I am going to flow. In fact, I tried to stress myself out, just to see if I could, and I couldn´t.
Checking for flights with the realization that I am on my last leg of life in Buenos Aires. At least for now. What is exciting is that I am not sad, mad, or happy. I have come to accept it as an ¨is¨, living where my hands are, in the present with an awareness of the past and what is to come.
The other day, I picked up Paulo Coehlo´s, The Valkyries. Despite my consideration to become a born-again atheist, I am swept with Coehlo´s fascination and romanticization of magic and God. The story is a semi-non-fiction, which means he merely embellishes his experiences with his wife in the Mojave Desert. The couple journeys through the desert to find a band of lesbians who call themselves the Valkyries so that the women can help Coehlo and his wife meet their resprective angels. Throughtout the process, they feel their ¨souls grow¨.
The growth of the soul coincides with the ability to be in the present and to be in the present, one must look to the horizon, look outside one´s immediate space. Perhaps in the past I would have laughed, cynically, at such nonsense. You can´t even see the horizon in a city. But, then I thought to myself: This change of mood, my elation, it happened in the South. Maybe I saw the horizon. Maybe my soul has grown.
Recommended read.
Checking for flights with the realization that I am on my last leg of life in Buenos Aires. At least for now. What is exciting is that I am not sad, mad, or happy. I have come to accept it as an ¨is¨, living where my hands are, in the present with an awareness of the past and what is to come.
The other day, I picked up Paulo Coehlo´s, The Valkyries. Despite my consideration to become a born-again atheist, I am swept with Coehlo´s fascination and romanticization of magic and God. The story is a semi-non-fiction, which means he merely embellishes his experiences with his wife in the Mojave Desert. The couple journeys through the desert to find a band of lesbians who call themselves the Valkyries so that the women can help Coehlo and his wife meet their resprective angels. Throughtout the process, they feel their ¨souls grow¨.
The growth of the soul coincides with the ability to be in the present and to be in the present, one must look to the horizon, look outside one´s immediate space. Perhaps in the past I would have laughed, cynically, at such nonsense. You can´t even see the horizon in a city. But, then I thought to myself: This change of mood, my elation, it happened in the South. Maybe I saw the horizon. Maybe my soul has grown.
Recommended read.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
where to go for health
Now that some personal health issues have arised, which do not need to be stressed about but need to be confronted, I have been on a mission to discover the Argentine health system. I am fortunate to have an Argentine friend who hooks me up with information whenever I am in need. She is a saviour.
Not only did I want to check out the hospitals or sanitarios but I wanted to see what "natural" options Buenos Aires offered as well. The truth is, not much for the latter. Compared to Toronto, with its crazy black-market for FDA-banned natural products, Buenos Aires is a little behind in the health revolution. Toronto has a natural practioner on every corner and for everything from muscle spasms to pinky toe pains to toxin reduction. It's almost epidemic for the GTA.
Buenos Aires has its barrio chino, Chinatown, that has no homeopathic doctors, a couple reflexologists, and 3 supermarkets where you can buy herbs and sweet bread. The kind of sweet bread that reminds me of the ones you could buy in Taiwan and Chinatown in Toronto. The supermarkets carry some herbs but not enough to constitute an adequate movement towards healthier living. They carry a lot of anti-celulite pills and intestinal-balancing teas for this carnivorous culture, but lacking in pretty much every other aspect of health. I wonder if the treatments don't exist because there are no ailments to address or if those ailments are best treated with modern medicine. I have met a lot of students in school for medicine (and why not? It's free.)
I was given a bunch of links for hospitals and sanitarios by my friend and was happy to see that it costs between $100AR and $180AR ($27CA - $50CA) for private healthcare, depending on where you go. Of course, health insurance can reimburse you, but it's good to know that a consultation won't cost one an arm and a leg, literally, at the desk. My friend also explained that you can go to the University's clinic, which is free, but you will be attended by a student (who is supervised by a licensed practioner). She also said that any emergencies are treated as so, without the harrassment of signing papers to get health insurance information or if the comatose, perhaps fatally wounded, person will be able to pay for treatment.
This country is a lot more advanced than most Western countries when it comes to social programming, -- despite government corruption being pervasive, as it is everywhere. At least here, they know about it. It's a model Canada can truly learn from, the only obstacle is, what they call here, la plata (cash).
The only problem with the Canadian Health Care System is the greediness of our most gifted, usually opting to move south to make more money. Money, money, money. What we are left with are some lengthy waiting times, but not as bad as people think they are, and half-present doctors who dispense prescriptions like candy-machines so that they can get more plata from the system. (Pharma gives them compensation for every prescription filled.) Instead of wanting to heal a patient, with my lengthy experience with healthcare professionals, they are brainwashed to just perform treatments, of no fault of their own. Treatments mean more visits to the doctor which means more plata but less healthy people.
Looks like this is a battle for Briz Wevera, taking what she has learned from the outside and using it inside-out.
Not only did I want to check out the hospitals or sanitarios but I wanted to see what "natural" options Buenos Aires offered as well. The truth is, not much for the latter. Compared to Toronto, with its crazy black-market for FDA-banned natural products, Buenos Aires is a little behind in the health revolution. Toronto has a natural practioner on every corner and for everything from muscle spasms to pinky toe pains to toxin reduction. It's almost epidemic for the GTA.
Buenos Aires has its barrio chino, Chinatown, that has no homeopathic doctors, a couple reflexologists, and 3 supermarkets where you can buy herbs and sweet bread. The kind of sweet bread that reminds me of the ones you could buy in Taiwan and Chinatown in Toronto. The supermarkets carry some herbs but not enough to constitute an adequate movement towards healthier living. They carry a lot of anti-celulite pills and intestinal-balancing teas for this carnivorous culture, but lacking in pretty much every other aspect of health. I wonder if the treatments don't exist because there are no ailments to address or if those ailments are best treated with modern medicine. I have met a lot of students in school for medicine (and why not? It's free.)
I was given a bunch of links for hospitals and sanitarios by my friend and was happy to see that it costs between $100AR and $180AR ($27CA - $50CA) for private healthcare, depending on where you go. Of course, health insurance can reimburse you, but it's good to know that a consultation won't cost one an arm and a leg, literally, at the desk. My friend also explained that you can go to the University's clinic, which is free, but you will be attended by a student (who is supervised by a licensed practioner). She also said that any emergencies are treated as so, without the harrassment of signing papers to get health insurance information or if the comatose, perhaps fatally wounded, person will be able to pay for treatment.
This country is a lot more advanced than most Western countries when it comes to social programming, -- despite government corruption being pervasive, as it is everywhere. At least here, they know about it. It's a model Canada can truly learn from, the only obstacle is, what they call here, la plata (cash).
The only problem with the Canadian Health Care System is the greediness of our most gifted, usually opting to move south to make more money. Money, money, money. What we are left with are some lengthy waiting times, but not as bad as people think they are, and half-present doctors who dispense prescriptions like candy-machines so that they can get more plata from the system. (Pharma gives them compensation for every prescription filled.) Instead of wanting to heal a patient, with my lengthy experience with healthcare professionals, they are brainwashed to just perform treatments, of no fault of their own. Treatments mean more visits to the doctor which means more plata but less healthy people.
Looks like this is a battle for Briz Wevera, taking what she has learned from the outside and using it inside-out.
Friday, March 19, 2010
dilemma drama
The most important thing to note about learning a language is that you will never know it all.
The other day it hit me, kind of hard, that I will be leaving Argentina in just over a month. Tears kind of welled up, not just because the weather is great or that I have met some pretty wonderful people that I will miss dearly, but because I won't get to keep talking Spanish everyday. Actually, I don't even talk Spanish now, it's porteno castellano with funny accents and lisps. I love it.
Moving back means regressing into the habit of speaking English with everyone. It means that, not only will my vocabulary not be expanding, but from the lack of use I will lose it. It makes wells of water under my eyes just thinking about it.
Some people have suggested that I stay here and keep learning more of the language, keep practising until I am fluent, can dream in castellano, involuntarily count in castellano. In all seriousness, I gave this idea a lot of thought. I bounced it around, corner to corner in my brain, wishing an easy answer would come. I have had moments where I said to myself,
"No. Not going back." Then, I would have moments of nostalgia for delicious coffee and bike rides with friends, Vietnamese subs and Kensington Market's natural-food selection. Will that stuff always be there? Will it wait for me?
Probably not. Like any modern city, changes happen quickly. Independent bookstores and run-down cafes disappear. New ones take their place. Perhaps I can return for a short while, stock on supplies and bring them with me.
My dilemma has been resolved, for now. I have compromised the decision in my mind, a little give and take between two wants. What is most comforting is knowing I can always get back to Buenos Aires. I have had a little taste, know the neighbourhoods well enough, know where to look for places to stay, know where to look for jobs. If the burning desire to return ignites, then I will know for sure where my home is and what language it speaks.
The other day it hit me, kind of hard, that I will be leaving Argentina in just over a month. Tears kind of welled up, not just because the weather is great or that I have met some pretty wonderful people that I will miss dearly, but because I won't get to keep talking Spanish everyday. Actually, I don't even talk Spanish now, it's porteno castellano with funny accents and lisps. I love it.
Moving back means regressing into the habit of speaking English with everyone. It means that, not only will my vocabulary not be expanding, but from the lack of use I will lose it. It makes wells of water under my eyes just thinking about it.
Some people have suggested that I stay here and keep learning more of the language, keep practising until I am fluent, can dream in castellano, involuntarily count in castellano. In all seriousness, I gave this idea a lot of thought. I bounced it around, corner to corner in my brain, wishing an easy answer would come. I have had moments where I said to myself,
"No. Not going back." Then, I would have moments of nostalgia for delicious coffee and bike rides with friends, Vietnamese subs and Kensington Market's natural-food selection. Will that stuff always be there? Will it wait for me?
Probably not. Like any modern city, changes happen quickly. Independent bookstores and run-down cafes disappear. New ones take their place. Perhaps I can return for a short while, stock on supplies and bring them with me.
My dilemma has been resolved, for now. I have compromised the decision in my mind, a little give and take between two wants. What is most comforting is knowing I can always get back to Buenos Aires. I have had a little taste, know the neighbourhoods well enough, know where to look for places to stay, know where to look for jobs. If the burning desire to return ignites, then I will know for sure where my home is and what language it speaks.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
st patty in baires
Neat night in Buenos Aires with the comrades. Since on of my comrades is or Irish decent, Irish-Canadian to be politically correct, we headed to a St. Patty´s street party located in B.A.´s Microcentro.
The roads were blocked off, steel gates sectioning off the drunks, cops standing around chain-smoking, porteños dressed in green, none of who had the faintest glimmer of Irish-blood. So neat to see others celebrating for others. Kind of like Canada. Kind of like Christman, actually.
We arrived around 2AM to commence beer-drinking. That´s how it goes here, and we don´t do it often, but when we do, I take a nap at 11PM in order to prepare.
All in all, the experience was interesting to see because the area was highly policed, yet people were obviously publicly intoxicated and still drinking on the streets. And it was approaching 4AM.
Why not?
Pure happy beer buzzes.
The roads were blocked off, steel gates sectioning off the drunks, cops standing around chain-smoking, porteños dressed in green, none of who had the faintest glimmer of Irish-blood. So neat to see others celebrating for others. Kind of like Canada. Kind of like Christman, actually.
We arrived around 2AM to commence beer-drinking. That´s how it goes here, and we don´t do it often, but when we do, I take a nap at 11PM in order to prepare.
All in all, the experience was interesting to see because the area was highly policed, yet people were obviously publicly intoxicated and still drinking on the streets. And it was approaching 4AM.
Why not?
Pure happy beer buzzes.
Monday, March 15, 2010
change
The other day I sipped some mate with a friend whom I hadn't seen in a couple of months. Both of us have been busy and found it difficult to find a common time to meet. She had gotten a new number not too long ago which also made it difficult to arrange a get together, as some poor pibe was receiving my texts for a little while.
My friend is from Louisianna. She moved to Buenos Aires a couple of years ago and has made a very good life for herself here. She speaks Spanish fluently and has picked up on porteno preferences like mate and Fernet - a stronger, medicinal Argentine Jagremeister made from artichoke hearts.
We were chatting about whether I would consider moving here permanently, if I could find some work, expand my Spanish, get a Master's at the University of Buenos Aires, all things that I have considered over the past month. This moved us onto discussing the difference between people who can adapt to a new place and those who cannot. She brought up the question of whether those who cannot adapt to a new place were just not given the opportunity to live like the locals.
In particular, we were discussing a group of ladies she had recently met that have been living in Buenos Aires for up to 3 years. They are stay-at-home moms and mothers whose husbands were transferred from the U.S. to Buenos Aires for a limited contract. After 3 years of living in an area in the city set-up by the company, where all the families are from the States supporting the husbands on contract work, the ladies barely speak any Spanish. On top of that, their children who take Spanish lessons in private, English-speaking schools, do not speak Spanish.
How, my friend asked, can a kid, a sponge, soak up another language, a language that is the native-tongue of the city the family lives in?
She then suggested, maybe it's because the families are put into these compounds, suburbs with no Argentine culture. The suburb is more like a little America, away and secluded from the real life of the city. Perhaps, if the families were better integrated they would like the city more.
Apparently, when my friend asked the ladies if they liked Buenos Aires, they said "no". Essentially, they were counting down the days until they could return to their American suburbs. They looked at their time in Buenos Aires more as a prison sentence, their luxuries taken from them, as opposed to a neat experience. The question we asked each other was, could they adapt if they were forced to? If they were put in the middle of a downtown barrio with an indefinite time-period, could they fall in love with this city, the same way her and I have.
My answer is this: In all honesty, the first 3 months here was hell. I would compare everything that I lacked here to the things I had at home. However, eventually I discovered that there were things I had here that I could never get at home. I realized that things that held me back from fully experiencing this place were the strings that I never thought I could cut. Strings are dangerous things if you are living abroad. I have a friend who went to Asia to teach English. He had some attachments to a life once lived at home. He even went back after a couple of months because the change in culture was so shocking. When he went back, he realized that the knots, the basis of his relationships with family and friends would always be there, even if the strings were cut: They can always be retied. So, he traveled back to Asia where he has since been living for 2 years, learning Mandarin and has a lovely lady.
The short answer is, yes, I do think everyone can adapt and fall in love with a place wherever they are, warzones excluded. You may always call one place home, but can be able to enjoy the experience given to you. The amazing thing about people is their ability to change, not only their selves, but their perception of the space around them. Everyone can do it, but not everyone has the desire to cut strings. It doesn't make one better over the other. It just makes different outcomes.
My friend is from Louisianna. She moved to Buenos Aires a couple of years ago and has made a very good life for herself here. She speaks Spanish fluently and has picked up on porteno preferences like mate and Fernet - a stronger, medicinal Argentine Jagremeister made from artichoke hearts.
We were chatting about whether I would consider moving here permanently, if I could find some work, expand my Spanish, get a Master's at the University of Buenos Aires, all things that I have considered over the past month. This moved us onto discussing the difference between people who can adapt to a new place and those who cannot. She brought up the question of whether those who cannot adapt to a new place were just not given the opportunity to live like the locals.
In particular, we were discussing a group of ladies she had recently met that have been living in Buenos Aires for up to 3 years. They are stay-at-home moms and mothers whose husbands were transferred from the U.S. to Buenos Aires for a limited contract. After 3 years of living in an area in the city set-up by the company, where all the families are from the States supporting the husbands on contract work, the ladies barely speak any Spanish. On top of that, their children who take Spanish lessons in private, English-speaking schools, do not speak Spanish.
How, my friend asked, can a kid, a sponge, soak up another language, a language that is the native-tongue of the city the family lives in?
She then suggested, maybe it's because the families are put into these compounds, suburbs with no Argentine culture. The suburb is more like a little America, away and secluded from the real life of the city. Perhaps, if the families were better integrated they would like the city more.
Apparently, when my friend asked the ladies if they liked Buenos Aires, they said "no". Essentially, they were counting down the days until they could return to their American suburbs. They looked at their time in Buenos Aires more as a prison sentence, their luxuries taken from them, as opposed to a neat experience. The question we asked each other was, could they adapt if they were forced to? If they were put in the middle of a downtown barrio with an indefinite time-period, could they fall in love with this city, the same way her and I have.
My answer is this: In all honesty, the first 3 months here was hell. I would compare everything that I lacked here to the things I had at home. However, eventually I discovered that there were things I had here that I could never get at home. I realized that things that held me back from fully experiencing this place were the strings that I never thought I could cut. Strings are dangerous things if you are living abroad. I have a friend who went to Asia to teach English. He had some attachments to a life once lived at home. He even went back after a couple of months because the change in culture was so shocking. When he went back, he realized that the knots, the basis of his relationships with family and friends would always be there, even if the strings were cut: They can always be retied. So, he traveled back to Asia where he has since been living for 2 years, learning Mandarin and has a lovely lady.
The short answer is, yes, I do think everyone can adapt and fall in love with a place wherever they are, warzones excluded. You may always call one place home, but can be able to enjoy the experience given to you. The amazing thing about people is their ability to change, not only their selves, but their perception of the space around them. Everyone can do it, but not everyone has the desire to cut strings. It doesn't make one better over the other. It just makes different outcomes.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
my first encounter with a thief
It has been almost 5 months since being in Argentina and, despite being repeatedly warned, I have yet to experience any danger. I travelled to Patagonia on my own, walk the streets solo at 3AM, enter the "roughest" neighbourhoods and do not feel frightened.
Danger, here, means something different. When someone tells you to keep an eye, it means that you might be robbed. There is a very small rate of violent crimes, despite Buenos Aires being one of the top-ten largest cities in the world. As I previously stated, since being here I have not need to keep-an-eye. Until Saturday night.
I was waiting for a friend on the corner of the Plaza Dorrego in San Telmo, the barrio we are currently living in. A drunked local approached me and tried chatting me up: asked me if I like Argentine boys, asked me for a kiss. The men are very forward even when sober. I laughed and turned away, telling him I was waiting for a friend. He moved on a little up the street, so I took my phone out and, jokingly, told my friend to hurry up because there were shady characters about the plaza. As I was texting, the drunken local jogged towards me and, in a half-fluid, half-drunken motion, tried to jack my phone. He failed miserably at the task, mumbled mierda and continued to jog away and down the street. I laughed and yelled en serio, seriously? What a joke. He should change his profession. A couple sitting on the wall asked if I was ok, and that they saw everything, and that the guy was an asshole. I just kept chuckling and saying it was fine, the whole time thinking to myself, that was a half-assed robbery.
Danger, here, means something different. When someone tells you to keep an eye, it means that you might be robbed. There is a very small rate of violent crimes, despite Buenos Aires being one of the top-ten largest cities in the world. As I previously stated, since being here I have not need to keep-an-eye. Until Saturday night.
I was waiting for a friend on the corner of the Plaza Dorrego in San Telmo, the barrio we are currently living in. A drunked local approached me and tried chatting me up: asked me if I like Argentine boys, asked me for a kiss. The men are very forward even when sober. I laughed and turned away, telling him I was waiting for a friend. He moved on a little up the street, so I took my phone out and, jokingly, told my friend to hurry up because there were shady characters about the plaza. As I was texting, the drunken local jogged towards me and, in a half-fluid, half-drunken motion, tried to jack my phone. He failed miserably at the task, mumbled mierda and continued to jog away and down the street. I laughed and yelled en serio, seriously? What a joke. He should change his profession. A couple sitting on the wall asked if I was ok, and that they saw everything, and that the guy was an asshole. I just kept chuckling and saying it was fine, the whole time thinking to myself, that was a half-assed robbery.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
righteous rant, or something to think about?
With the world borders becoming increasingly porous, some are questioning what will happen to culture. More specifically, the other night I discussed this issue over asado and vino tinto with my friend.
She is an Argentine from Santa Fe, currently living in Buenos Aires and has been for the past 5 years. She wants to learn how to cook typical Argentine-cuisine and decided to take some classes. She called up a spot in her barrio, neighbourhood, that had a good reputation from many foreigners who had taken classes there. The instructor was an American guy who taught classes out of his home. He told my friend that she had to speak English in the class and that he couldn't teach her in Spanish. My friend was slightly flabbergasted at the pre-requisites to enter a cooking class to learn Argentine cuisine in Buenos Aires in English. She did not have the proper requirements for that class.
She told me it, not only frustrated her, but that it hurt to have someone enter her country, teach classes in a foreign language, and tell her that she couldn't take classes on how to cook her own country's food. I agreed that there was something wrong about that picture.
With people ebbing and flowing through borders, usually the middle- to upper-middle class of the West, people are becoming frustrated. For Argentines, who were once referred to as the richest people in the world, it is tough to see one's country and culture torn away from their hands. Now, especially since 2001, it is tough for Argentines to travel as they don't have that luxury the way Westerners do. Instead, they hold onto their country with pride and a little bit of contempt.
Is it not a little crazy for people to enter a country, impose only the things that they know, not accomodate to the best of their ability the very people who call the place home? Is it not ignorant and selfish to think that we, as Westerners, are the only ones who have anything to contribute? In all honesty, I have learned much more about life from the Argentines than I have taught them. That's why I came here: to learn.
We moved onto the topic of tourism in Argentina and how backwards it can be. This country is beautiful, not unlike Canada in landscape, and many want to see all the sights: Iguazu Falls, the red deserts of Salta, the Perito Moreno glacier, the end of the world in Ushuaia... the list is endless. I also wanted to see some of these sights, which I got to do just over a week ago. I can say, without a flutter, that this country is beautiful. However, I revel in my experience, my journey through Patagonia as opposed to the postcard places I saw.
I traveled by bus, which was tedious and exhausting, but I met some really fascinating Argentines on the bus. An old man who had never left the province of Santa Cruz, a young man in his last year of free-med school, a seatmate from La Plata who had the thickest accent I have heard since being here... 95% of the people riding the bus were from Argentina. The flights to anywhere are just too expensive for them.
Whilst in my various tourist hot-spots, I hung out with Argentines and Chileans, speaking in choppy Spanish the entire time. The Argentines would correct me, "no, pozsho" for chicken, then the Chileans would, later, correct me, "no, poyo". Why couldn't I just say pollo the way it was spelled? A member of the entourage was French whose Spanish was better than his English and my Spanish better than my French. So, when in Argentina...
The trip was a humbling experience that I hold dearly because of the people. The places were more of a let-down than I had anticipated. I got to see a beautiful things, but I met even more beautiful people. We talked about politics and art and music while grilling fresh trout from the stream. Que lindo.
At the Perito Moreno Glacier, there were a lot of Dutch and French tourists. Most of them who I talked to had just taken a flight from Ushuaia or Buenos Aires, were staying a few days and then flying onto wherever else. They just kept bouncing and hopping, seeing the things but not knowing the people. To top it off, a lot of the older tourists, which is the majority in El Calafate where the glacier lays, stay in the hotels. The very hotels owned by the very corrupt Argentine government. It's what they call a barbara, here. Hypocritical. A double-intentioned joke.
I don't want to sound preachy, nor come off as righteous. I think travel is important, but important to learn from. A lot of people travel to find themselves, or love, or a new home, and they bounce around borders, chasing after some ideal. They may change their scenery, but does it change anything inside, whatever lies in their chest, their gut, their mind?
Hopefully.
She is an Argentine from Santa Fe, currently living in Buenos Aires and has been for the past 5 years. She wants to learn how to cook typical Argentine-cuisine and decided to take some classes. She called up a spot in her barrio, neighbourhood, that had a good reputation from many foreigners who had taken classes there. The instructor was an American guy who taught classes out of his home. He told my friend that she had to speak English in the class and that he couldn't teach her in Spanish. My friend was slightly flabbergasted at the pre-requisites to enter a cooking class to learn Argentine cuisine in Buenos Aires in English. She did not have the proper requirements for that class.
She told me it, not only frustrated her, but that it hurt to have someone enter her country, teach classes in a foreign language, and tell her that she couldn't take classes on how to cook her own country's food. I agreed that there was something wrong about that picture.
With people ebbing and flowing through borders, usually the middle- to upper-middle class of the West, people are becoming frustrated. For Argentines, who were once referred to as the richest people in the world, it is tough to see one's country and culture torn away from their hands. Now, especially since 2001, it is tough for Argentines to travel as they don't have that luxury the way Westerners do. Instead, they hold onto their country with pride and a little bit of contempt.
Is it not a little crazy for people to enter a country, impose only the things that they know, not accomodate to the best of their ability the very people who call the place home? Is it not ignorant and selfish to think that we, as Westerners, are the only ones who have anything to contribute? In all honesty, I have learned much more about life from the Argentines than I have taught them. That's why I came here: to learn.
We moved onto the topic of tourism in Argentina and how backwards it can be. This country is beautiful, not unlike Canada in landscape, and many want to see all the sights: Iguazu Falls, the red deserts of Salta, the Perito Moreno glacier, the end of the world in Ushuaia... the list is endless. I also wanted to see some of these sights, which I got to do just over a week ago. I can say, without a flutter, that this country is beautiful. However, I revel in my experience, my journey through Patagonia as opposed to the postcard places I saw.
I traveled by bus, which was tedious and exhausting, but I met some really fascinating Argentines on the bus. An old man who had never left the province of Santa Cruz, a young man in his last year of free-med school, a seatmate from La Plata who had the thickest accent I have heard since being here... 95% of the people riding the bus were from Argentina. The flights to anywhere are just too expensive for them.
Whilst in my various tourist hot-spots, I hung out with Argentines and Chileans, speaking in choppy Spanish the entire time. The Argentines would correct me, "no, pozsho" for chicken, then the Chileans would, later, correct me, "no, poyo". Why couldn't I just say pollo the way it was spelled? A member of the entourage was French whose Spanish was better than his English and my Spanish better than my French. So, when in Argentina...
The trip was a humbling experience that I hold dearly because of the people. The places were more of a let-down than I had anticipated. I got to see a beautiful things, but I met even more beautiful people. We talked about politics and art and music while grilling fresh trout from the stream. Que lindo.
At the Perito Moreno Glacier, there were a lot of Dutch and French tourists. Most of them who I talked to had just taken a flight from Ushuaia or Buenos Aires, were staying a few days and then flying onto wherever else. They just kept bouncing and hopping, seeing the things but not knowing the people. To top it off, a lot of the older tourists, which is the majority in El Calafate where the glacier lays, stay in the hotels. The very hotels owned by the very corrupt Argentine government. It's what they call a barbara, here. Hypocritical. A double-intentioned joke.
I don't want to sound preachy, nor come off as righteous. I think travel is important, but important to learn from. A lot of people travel to find themselves, or love, or a new home, and they bounce around borders, chasing after some ideal. They may change their scenery, but does it change anything inside, whatever lies in their chest, their gut, their mind?
Hopefully.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
worth considering
Alright, I bite my tongue. Yesterday's post about the fear of getting teeth done in Argentina was an impulsive move, mostly driven by the pain in my lower left jaw.
Last night I had the pleasure of chatting with my Argentine friend about education and healthcare here, in Buenos Aires. What an eye-opener.
Although Argentina is rifed with corrupt politicians and thieving presidents, it does have two of the most important tools any society should not be without: free education and free medical care. The free education includes everything up to and including one's doctorate as long as you attend a State University like UBA or Universidad de Cordoba. You literally pay nothing, other than for books and materials, for as long as you are in school. I have met students studying architecture, law and medicine who are in school for 6 to 7 years with no tuition costs. Not only will they leave school with a skill, but debt-free, able to save whatever scrimpings they can to buy a home (with money, not with credit) or have a family (with money, not with credit).
Free medical costs cover everything as well, up to and including dentistry, a huge oversight in Canada's healthcare system. A healthy mouth is a healthy body. If you get into an accident, you are treated. If you are sick, you are treated. I have a friend who knows someone with HIV and he just walks into a hospital, they run tests, give him his medication and he goes home within an hour. For some reason, despite this public-system, there are no ardurous wait times. If you want to get a "cosmetic", dental surgery, like removing painful wisdom-teeth, it costs nothing if you go to the Dentistry School and, literally, a fraction of one's earnings if you don't. Here, in Argentina, there are options.
What was more impressive was being told that foreigners can have these "luxuries" (Iprefer to call them basic human rights) as well. I am looking at Master's programs here at UBA which could entitle me to a little piece of the basic-human-rights-pie. It is an affordable post-grad program and, if I am a student, as I was told, I could get access to the social programs offered here.
And I say to myself, what a wonderful world.
Last night I had the pleasure of chatting with my Argentine friend about education and healthcare here, in Buenos Aires. What an eye-opener.
Although Argentina is rifed with corrupt politicians and thieving presidents, it does have two of the most important tools any society should not be without: free education and free medical care. The free education includes everything up to and including one's doctorate as long as you attend a State University like UBA or Universidad de Cordoba. You literally pay nothing, other than for books and materials, for as long as you are in school. I have met students studying architecture, law and medicine who are in school for 6 to 7 years with no tuition costs. Not only will they leave school with a skill, but debt-free, able to save whatever scrimpings they can to buy a home (with money, not with credit) or have a family (with money, not with credit).
Free medical costs cover everything as well, up to and including dentistry, a huge oversight in Canada's healthcare system. A healthy mouth is a healthy body. If you get into an accident, you are treated. If you are sick, you are treated. I have a friend who knows someone with HIV and he just walks into a hospital, they run tests, give him his medication and he goes home within an hour. For some reason, despite this public-system, there are no ardurous wait times. If you want to get a "cosmetic", dental surgery, like removing painful wisdom-teeth, it costs nothing if you go to the Dentistry School and, literally, a fraction of one's earnings if you don't. Here, in Argentina, there are options.
What was more impressive was being told that foreigners can have these "luxuries" (Iprefer to call them basic human rights) as well. I am looking at Master's programs here at UBA which could entitle me to a little piece of the basic-human-rights-pie. It is an affordable post-grad program and, if I am a student, as I was told, I could get access to the social programs offered here.
And I say to myself, what a wonderful world.
Monday, March 8, 2010
pain in the ear
Last night I woke with a sudden urge to dig out my ear. It wasn't an offensive urge, merely annoyance at the fact that my lower wisdom-teeth are growing in. Or tying to.
My lower jaw has become a bit swollen from their valiant effort to rise and mash up some delicious, Argentine steak, and the pain is bearable. Nonetheless, I know they need to come out and the question isn't when, but where?
I have just under two months that I have allotted myself in beautiful Buenos Aires, and I could stay longer if I wanted. However, I want to see my family and friends, share some good coffee and hop on my bike, Blue Velvet, whom I miss terribly. Within this two-month allotment, I have the option of getting my teeth pulled, instantly relieving the discomfort and allowing my gums to heal before I go home. In Buenos Aires, it is an affordable procedure but I still have some concerns: would the procedure be done to my Canadian standards?
Since moving here, I have noticed similarities between Argentina and Canada. These countries share similar terrain, the people are nice, they are multicultural (in a European-mix sense), they have MTV, hipsters and corrupt politicians, eating disorders and big slabs of beef. Nonetheless, I have noticed one pervasive difference: half-assedness. If such a word exists.
Don't get me wrong. I believe that some things don't need to be done to perfection, especially when you have bigger problems like a thieving president. However, the streets are dirty, there is dog-shit everywhere, the people litter, and have a general air of "je ne care pas". Although rates of plastic surgery are high - boob jobs and botox - I am a little concerned when it comes to my teeth. I had been told by some Argentine friends that I should just go for it, but my overall concern isn't my mouth getting messed up. The repercussions that make me hesitant. Having to deal with the half-assed aftermath dental surgery is manageable in Canada. I am a citizen there and HealthCare can save me. Although travel insurance can covers costs here, the convenience of having a system dedicated to its citizens is a bonus (if we could straighten out the administration of our taxes and make the system more transparent, well, that would be utopia).
So, I will see how it goes, weigh some more pros and cons, see where the pain goes and, as always, keep you posted.
My lower jaw has become a bit swollen from their valiant effort to rise and mash up some delicious, Argentine steak, and the pain is bearable. Nonetheless, I know they need to come out and the question isn't when, but where?
I have just under two months that I have allotted myself in beautiful Buenos Aires, and I could stay longer if I wanted. However, I want to see my family and friends, share some good coffee and hop on my bike, Blue Velvet, whom I miss terribly. Within this two-month allotment, I have the option of getting my teeth pulled, instantly relieving the discomfort and allowing my gums to heal before I go home. In Buenos Aires, it is an affordable procedure but I still have some concerns: would the procedure be done to my Canadian standards?
Since moving here, I have noticed similarities between Argentina and Canada. These countries share similar terrain, the people are nice, they are multicultural (in a European-mix sense), they have MTV, hipsters and corrupt politicians, eating disorders and big slabs of beef. Nonetheless, I have noticed one pervasive difference: half-assedness. If such a word exists.
Don't get me wrong. I believe that some things don't need to be done to perfection, especially when you have bigger problems like a thieving president. However, the streets are dirty, there is dog-shit everywhere, the people litter, and have a general air of "je ne care pas". Although rates of plastic surgery are high - boob jobs and botox - I am a little concerned when it comes to my teeth. I had been told by some Argentine friends that I should just go for it, but my overall concern isn't my mouth getting messed up. The repercussions that make me hesitant. Having to deal with the half-assed aftermath dental surgery is manageable in Canada. I am a citizen there and HealthCare can save me. Although travel insurance can covers costs here, the convenience of having a system dedicated to its citizens is a bonus (if we could straighten out the administration of our taxes and make the system more transparent, well, that would be utopia).
So, I will see how it goes, weigh some more pros and cons, see where the pain goes and, as always, keep you posted.
Friday, March 5, 2010
the difference between "ought" and "want"
As Westerners, we are trained and encouraged to act, and then feel, based on what we "ought" to do. We ought to be good to our neighbours, we ought to volunteer at the local shelter, we ought to be selfless and altruistic. In the same stroke, when we feel compelled to ought to do something, we are eliminating our capacity to want, a word we have learned is synonomous with greed and selfishness. This is what we are taught, but it is not how humans actually think.
I would argue that we focus on the wrong kind of want - I want that new Fall jacket, I want that mansion, I want that Ferrari - instead of truly digging deeper and discovering what we really want in life - like love, meaningful relationships, freedom from tyrrany, fulfilling our inherent potential. To counter balance our materialistic, superficial wants, we beign to perform acts of "ought", feeling socially and morally compelled to do so. This has, at least on a personal level, been the struggle. After feeling guilty for doing these acts of materialistic-want, we pay penitence through acts of ought. We feel good about these acts of ought and treat ourselves, reward ourselves, with more acts of materialistic-want. And so the cycle continues.
But, what would happen if everyone was able to do what they truly wanted to do? Would we step into the dark realms of a Hobbesian society where life is nasty, cruel, brutish and short? Or, could we, as human beings, transcend into the utopia of Marx's dreams? Before we can even begin to imagine what could be, we have to look at what is.
I would argue that what people truly want is a prescribed fiction of the State, the Corporation and the Church: to live as tax-paying, consuming, God-fearing creatures. To live just above sustenance in order to live as long as possible in a life of mediocrity. The only benefactors of this system are the Leviathans listed above. They have created this world, one where the individual is barely living, so that you can live longer, not better, making you pay taxes longer, but not better, making you consume more things, not better things, and prolong your inevitable meeting with a rathful God, but not a better God. They have created these false idols of want which alienate people from their souls. In the end, for penitence, people "choose" an altruistic output to deflect the shame of their imposed selfishness.
However, I believe that, inherently, people are good. In general, we want to help those in been because, one day, we will need to be helped, too. We enjoy seeing people succeed because it inspires us to do the same. Just below the superficial skin, we want everyone to experience freedom from oppression and disease because it is part of our species survival.
In the end, it turns out, what we ought to do is exactly what we want to do, we have just been fooling ourselves into thinking that we are independent creatures who do not want, nor require, anybody else. Our creativity is individual, yet our evolution is a group effort. The truth is, we do not have fur to keep us warm, nor sharp teeth to rip hyde from our prey. We move on two legs, disabling our speed to hunt. Some of us are great at math whilst others excel at drawing. Some of us have an aptitude for cooking whilst others are better drivers. If we could being to see our personal strengths, make them better, and bring them to the community, people could start working as a team, each player a valuable asset. We would want to help those in need or want to teach others because it would benefit the whole. Instead of many cogs in a machine, we could develop a living, breathing, growing organism of progress.
In the end, what I am trying to say is: the difference between "ought" and "want" is that "ought" ought not exist.
I would argue that we focus on the wrong kind of want - I want that new Fall jacket, I want that mansion, I want that Ferrari - instead of truly digging deeper and discovering what we really want in life - like love, meaningful relationships, freedom from tyrrany, fulfilling our inherent potential. To counter balance our materialistic, superficial wants, we beign to perform acts of "ought", feeling socially and morally compelled to do so. This has, at least on a personal level, been the struggle. After feeling guilty for doing these acts of materialistic-want, we pay penitence through acts of ought. We feel good about these acts of ought and treat ourselves, reward ourselves, with more acts of materialistic-want. And so the cycle continues.
But, what would happen if everyone was able to do what they truly wanted to do? Would we step into the dark realms of a Hobbesian society where life is nasty, cruel, brutish and short? Or, could we, as human beings, transcend into the utopia of Marx's dreams? Before we can even begin to imagine what could be, we have to look at what is.
I would argue that what people truly want is a prescribed fiction of the State, the Corporation and the Church: to live as tax-paying, consuming, God-fearing creatures. To live just above sustenance in order to live as long as possible in a life of mediocrity. The only benefactors of this system are the Leviathans listed above. They have created this world, one where the individual is barely living, so that you can live longer, not better, making you pay taxes longer, but not better, making you consume more things, not better things, and prolong your inevitable meeting with a rathful God, but not a better God. They have created these false idols of want which alienate people from their souls. In the end, for penitence, people "choose" an altruistic output to deflect the shame of their imposed selfishness.
However, I believe that, inherently, people are good. In general, we want to help those in been because, one day, we will need to be helped, too. We enjoy seeing people succeed because it inspires us to do the same. Just below the superficial skin, we want everyone to experience freedom from oppression and disease because it is part of our species survival.
In the end, it turns out, what we ought to do is exactly what we want to do, we have just been fooling ourselves into thinking that we are independent creatures who do not want, nor require, anybody else. Our creativity is individual, yet our evolution is a group effort. The truth is, we do not have fur to keep us warm, nor sharp teeth to rip hyde from our prey. We move on two legs, disabling our speed to hunt. Some of us are great at math whilst others excel at drawing. Some of us have an aptitude for cooking whilst others are better drivers. If we could being to see our personal strengths, make them better, and bring them to the community, people could start working as a team, each player a valuable asset. We would want to help those in need or want to teach others because it would benefit the whole. Instead of many cogs in a machine, we could develop a living, breathing, growing organism of progress.
In the end, what I am trying to say is: the difference between "ought" and "want" is that "ought" ought not exist.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
off topic
One of the most difficult questions I have had to answer, more frequently due to my travels south, is: "what do you do?" In all seriousness, I have no idea how to answer the question. I even started making things up like, "I'm studying Spanish" (which is partially true), or "I write for a magazine" (also, partially true).
Nevertheless, there is still a sense of grittiness I get from stretching the truth. In truth, I do nothing, which, at times, can be just as pressing as doing everything.
One Californian named Ryan asked me how it was possible to live in Buenos Aires for 6 months without working or going to school. Those were the words he used, but deep down I knew he was asking how much money I was worth. This was a rather forward question, as well as embarrassing as I was sitting next to an Argentine (most really don't have any money and are quite aware of this fact), but I bucked-up and tried to answer as appropriately as possible, given the circumstances. I casually explained that I had worked my ass off saving money for a year and that I lived on a very tight budget (ok, also partially true). The reality is that Buenos Aires, when you rent an apartment, cook at home and not travel, is very affordable by North American standards. But, how could I say that sitting next to an Argentine guy from the bustling city who just told me that 50 pesos (U$S15) was way too much to pay for dinner.
The resounding conclusion is that Argentina has poverty, as most Argentines keep telling me. Most of the people from the country have told me it is impossible for them to travel as it is so expensive. When there is a girl working at a hostel 6 graveyard shifts a week for $2000AR pesos (U$S600) a month, I can believe it. Life does not have luxuries here, in Argentina, but the people's spirits are admirable. They seem to take the state-imposed poverty with a graceful frustration. For example, in El Calafate I saw Kirchner's hotel and mansion, built with whose money no one knows. But there is no vandalism, no graffiti on the buildings (probably from fear of disappearing), and there seems to be a quiet acceptance.
So, needless to say, I felt a sting. Here I am, doing nothing because I can and Argentines working relentlessly hoping for a change to come. Do I feel sorry? Hell no. Now, I can spend some time stirring the pot, enacting a change. I am grateful to be where I am and how I am living. Now, all I need is to choose to spend my time wisely instead of frivolously.
In the end, I believe this is the way Argentina will go until the people realize that they are the many and the corrupt politicians are the few. After all, this is Che Guevara's country.
Nevertheless, there is still a sense of grittiness I get from stretching the truth. In truth, I do nothing, which, at times, can be just as pressing as doing everything.
One Californian named Ryan asked me how it was possible to live in Buenos Aires for 6 months without working or going to school. Those were the words he used, but deep down I knew he was asking how much money I was worth. This was a rather forward question, as well as embarrassing as I was sitting next to an Argentine (most really don't have any money and are quite aware of this fact), but I bucked-up and tried to answer as appropriately as possible, given the circumstances. I casually explained that I had worked my ass off saving money for a year and that I lived on a very tight budget (ok, also partially true). The reality is that Buenos Aires, when you rent an apartment, cook at home and not travel, is very affordable by North American standards. But, how could I say that sitting next to an Argentine guy from the bustling city who just told me that 50 pesos (U$S15) was way too much to pay for dinner.
The resounding conclusion is that Argentina has poverty, as most Argentines keep telling me. Most of the people from the country have told me it is impossible for them to travel as it is so expensive. When there is a girl working at a hostel 6 graveyard shifts a week for $2000AR pesos (U$S600) a month, I can believe it. Life does not have luxuries here, in Argentina, but the people's spirits are admirable. They seem to take the state-imposed poverty with a graceful frustration. For example, in El Calafate I saw Kirchner's hotel and mansion, built with whose money no one knows. But there is no vandalism, no graffiti on the buildings (probably from fear of disappearing), and there seems to be a quiet acceptance.
So, needless to say, I felt a sting. Here I am, doing nothing because I can and Argentines working relentlessly hoping for a change to come. Do I feel sorry? Hell no. Now, I can spend some time stirring the pot, enacting a change. I am grateful to be where I am and how I am living. Now, all I need is to choose to spend my time wisely instead of frivolously.
In the end, I believe this is the way Argentina will go until the people realize that they are the many and the corrupt politicians are the few. After all, this is Che Guevara's country.
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