Location: @Work
Time: 2:49AM Nov 12, 2009
Batteries: 75%
Morale: A-
First of all, it was yesterday Rememberance Day in Canada, where we, a younger generation especially, are supposed to remember things that happened in World War 2. It mostly passed by without me knowing since I was working overnight and so I slept through the bugle call and all that.
I probably wouldn't go as far as to say that people dying is good, but you'll have to hear me out as far as thinking about that goes-- and this especially because I've worked several jobs in a row in government service.
No, in case you were wondering, I've never served in the military.
I wouldn't go as far as pushing a Big Red Button or squeezing a trigger, but I do think that people need tragedy in order to really appreciate what's good in life and to have a grounded sense of reality.
The world nowadays is so virtual-- whatever happened to going out there and making violent mistakes in the street that got you beat up, or your friends and family hurt?
Mind you, a lot of people have lives free of a lot of suffering. But the truth is that for those of you out there who are shaking your heads and saying things like "I've been in those violent streets" or "my parents beat me" or "nobody ever loved me," you are the broken bits of humanity that I might respect the most. There are many people who write blogs because writing is the only voice they feel they have. These people write about the abuse they've suffered.
Somehow, you people are the ones I'm interested in. Because you're the only ones who, if you get your shit together and live differently from the circumstances that tried to dictate you, you're the ones who will have real character, real stories.
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But most of you who tell me you're thinking about the war? Please.
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"Are those..." I take a closer look at the mesh pocket of his bag. ".. eyeballs?"
"They sure are," said [Jay]. If you don't remember, Jay is the one who trained me to work overnights. Out of all the clerks here at the Montreal Childrens' hospital, he's my favorite. He's got the most interesting life stories and he's got one of the most honest personalities here at the hospital.
"What do you do with them?"
"They're superballs," he explains. "One time, I was holding one in my hand and then pretended to sneeze, and dropped one on the floor. Man you shoulda seen that kid's face."
I laughed. Because it's funny. And if you don't think it's funny, it's because you're not a fun person.
He continues to talk: "Man, she is a fickle mistress, but I do so love her."
"Who are you talking about?" I asked. He wasn't on the phone, so I just assumed he wasn't talking about his girlfriend.
"Coccaine."
For the sake of not scaring you too much, I won't go into details about how I suspect that at this very moment, he's actually high on coccaine, because that might shatter all your faith in the Quebec medical system. Just like how I shouldn't remind you of the time I was working overnight while high on marijuana once, or more than a bit tipsy another time.
Because, you know, it'd be a public disservice and it'd be downright irresponsible to shake your faith in the system.
If you ever tried to use this blog as evidence, I'd tell them that this is all fiction.
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The truth is,
no amount of pictures, footage, or testimony is really going to get me to feel more than a certain amount about World War 2. It's about on par with the destruction of Alderaan, in my head.
The same goes for any appreciation you want out of me of my mostly North American upbringing in relation to events over the past couple of decades in the Middle East, Africa and Asia.
Should I say that I tip my hat to soldiers and thank them for the freedoms I enjoy?
I might at best admit that I'm lazy and have grown fat in my freedom, and that I do enjoy it.
Appreciation though? You're pushing it. As tough as I've lived my life, it's always been this easy, so you have nothing but my imagination to appeal to when you ask me for appreciation and sincerity on the subject of mass destruction. I'm just being honest-- it's not that I don't give a fuck, but simply that for the most part, I'm incapable of it in any meaningful way.
You can't ask me to feel sympathy outside of my box. I don't have that much to spare for things that I don't understand firsthand.
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"It's not as if, if I didn't eat this food, I'd ship it off to Africa!" exclaimed [Supergirl].
"Wellll.... I mean. I think if I understand the moral of the story, I should eat every last grain in this bowl of rice so that the starving Africans can't have it, in principle right?"
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It's not that I'm not appreciative of things-- but I think it's just that I have a grounded and realistic appreciation of things that I actually have experienced. I'm not saying that I don't believe in evolution just because I haven't been around for billions of years to see it happen-- but I think Beaudrillard was onto something.
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For the longest time while I was in South Korea, [Ty], who was a former Windsor "bad side of the tracks" bouncer at clubs turned teacher and devout Christian, tried to help me see the light about God.
Like an idea of God, it's not that I don't believe in the importance of past events in history of such magnitude that it wasn't just a war, but a World War. It's just that I'll agree in principle with things, but if you expect me to really take a leap of faith and believe or praise or anything dedicated, I'll have a hard time.
What I can't stand is the moral highground that some people like to take when it comes to "remembering" and all that. Take issues of similar importance, like people who fight for racial causes like discriminations that happened years ago, before they were even born.
It is all, to me, entertainment at best.
Culture itself is an arbitrary mess of love and hate-- hate for the other cultures who tried to erase their culture, and love for their ways which they'd like to think are unique.
But through it all it's the distinctions, the definition, the need to 'make a big deal' out of something that makes culture self-important. It sorta just wills itself into existence.
Things like Rememberance Day are the same, it is pure thought. The majority doesn't really remember-- you just sorta imagine what it'd be like to suffer.
The majority will not think twice about soldiers in the contemporary world in this or that corner of the world fighting this or that battle-- they'll be thinking of their Christmas lists, and if that's your style, the next thing you'll sympathize for is the importance of Jesus' birthday.
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I guess I'm bouncing around a lot but what I'm trying to say is that it strikes me as odd that we go through so much trouble in finding external things to believe in when really, I think that the first step to really being human is to believe in ourself.
Being human has nothing to do with scapegoating the responsibility of heroism, generosity, or sacrifice to others. That's only imagination superimposed upon basic animal indifference and self-preservation.
Being human, in the exerted, self-affirming sense, is to do all those things yourself in whatever degree you can.
You don't need to go out there and fight the Axis forces. Just... I dunno. Instead of shuffling the work to someone else, like throwing money to some fashionable charity, maybe you can go up and buy a bum some lunch?
I mean, just... take responsibility and time for the personal connection to things you want to admire.
