Red Rose

the beautiful rose petals have long since withered away, and i am now left with a stem, and a thorn in my side. how i had overlooked the danger, blinded by the evident, but temporary beauty and happiness the of red. each day a realized it was not lasting, things were changing; the rose would darken, the petals would fall and beauty was giving way, quite rapidly to sadness.
time spent with you, something i used to love, and admire, was turning into something unrecognizable and dark. i had a choice to make: should i hold onto to something and continue reminisce about its beauty, or should i throw it away and move on? but then i came to my senses and thought: there is no point in keeping what has obviously dried up, and now lacks beauty. every time i see you, you bring and add sorrow and pain to my life; sorrow i never ever thought would be possible from a beautiful red rose fading, and pain from the realization that things will and can never go back to how they used to be.

Beauty

is beauty something we own, or is it something much deeper, is it apart of us?

is beauty something you possess, or is beautiful something you are?

do they have beauty, or are they beautiful?

someone said something to me, and i found it so interesting how other languages use different expressions, words, tenses, etc. to mean the same thing essentially;

it causes you (or at least me) to think about words literally to see how it could make sense.

a classic example is in french: hungry is not something you are, but rather, hunger is something you have.

now i ask my question again: is beauty something you have, or is beautiful something you are?

So About Your Last Name…

today in class (sociology of poverty) we were doing group work, and were discussing immigration and employment.

one of my group members, another black canadian female with jamaican parents, shared what she learned about her last name/her heritage on a side note:

did you know that my last name, edwards, comes from the last name of the man who owned the plantation my ancestors worked on? that is my family history and i feel a sense of pride knowing where my last name comes from.

i found that interesting, but had to play devil’s advocate:

i do not feel a sense of pride knowing that my last name more than likely was imposed onto my ancestors from people of english descent. i feel a sense of annoyance that my dominant history was disrupted and that there was an attempt to recreate the history of millions of people and their future offspring through a simple name change and adoption of ways. just because i am unable to pinpoint what my african last name could have been, i refuse to accept the current last name i possess as a way of tracing or understanding my ancestry or heritage. at the same time, i am open to the fact that somewhere down the line one of my ancestors could very well have been a white man with my current last name, and that the “plantation” family name could have been something different.

but who really knows. i found the conversation rather enlightening personally. this girl is exactly like me in terms of age, gender, ethnicity, race, ability but prides herself in something i never really took pride in, or had even given much thought to: the possibility that her ancestors inherited the last name of their plantation owner.

Reintroduction

after a lengthy absence, i have decided to start blogging again.

so what happened, what brought you back? 

to answer these questions, let us rewind, back to the first week of school, at about 10:40 on wednesday, to be exact.

we were doing those annoying introductions, tell us your name, tell us your major, tell us your ethnicity when one introduction caught my attention. my name is h a, my major is communications, and i am an exchange student from the united arab emirates.

i love photography, for those who do not know. by no means am i a photographer, but that does not mean i do not or cannot appreciate good photography and photographers. she must have the coolest pictures of her country i thought to myself. i decided then i wanted to get to know h.

imagine my delight then, when she sat beside me the next week. are you into photography? do you have instagram? of course she did. we then swapped handles, followed each other, became mutually awed, and clicked from that point on.

i love your captions, they are so interesting, i can tell you write. do you have writing anywhere, a blog, anything? she asked me the following week. naturally, i pointed her here to my wordpress which i shamefully have not updated in over a year. i had been contemplating it for a while now, to jump back on board with my blog, to be honest.

but it is what she said after she read my scanty blog that inspired me to really log back in: your posts on the blog are so clear and meaningful! please write some more! i wished there were more posts to read, they are all so intriguing, honestly speaking.

and so that is why i am back here. i received that kick, that push start i personally needed.

Run

Regardless of where you were born…you will always have advantages and disadvantages based on being born and raised there. For example, some look and say you’re more disadvantaged if you’re born in a third world country over a first world one…but I don’t fully agree. That’s just where the material things are concerned, that people conclude first world countries are more advantaged. But like I said before, there are advantages and disadvantages, each merely highlighted and focused on when two countries are compared.
Where my life is concerned, I feel my head is filled with mostly book knowledge, but not enough about life’s general knowledge. Which is a disadvantage for me. I look at my mom, who stands opposite to me; she had more knowledge and skills pertaining to life than me at my present age. No doubt, because of where she was born and raised, and where I was born and raised. Moving along however, I wonder if she knew, that by the age of 22, she would be in Canada? I wonder if she was prepared to leave her whole family and life behind to follow my dad and start fresh? I wonder how she did it? I wonder if she wanted to move here? I wonder if she was prepared? I wonder if she knew she wouldn’t go back home for decades to come? If she knew, would she have left?
For me, as much as I want to leave Canada, I know I will eventually be drawn right back here. When the things I like get overbearing, I get sick of them. I put as much space as I can between myself and the thing, if only temporarily. I want to move to France, but I don’t see myself living there for more than 5 years. And besides. I don’t know if I could leave everything behind like my mom did. I guess the reason for my unwillingness to run, is because I’m not running from much. I don’t think France would necessarily offer me a better life. It would not offer me anything much, that Canada could not or can not offer me.
From my mom’s standpoint now, her running to Canada meant running from a little, to a lot. She grew up in the country side of Jamaica, near a fishing village. With so many siblings, I will not say how many, it was hard to make things stretch. She heard about “farin” (Jamaican Patois for “foreign,” foreign meaning of course any over developed English speaking country such as Canada, America, and England) as a girl but never once dreamed she would get the chance to live and have children there. Now in her early 40’s, my mom like other Jamaican born people, has established a comfortable life over here in an “overseas” (Jamaicans sometimes use that word interchangeably with “farin”) country. But I wonder if they are all happy. I know materially some may have more, but I wonder if it was worth losing who they really once were for it all. I wonder if it was worth shifting mentalities and changing their way of thinking for. I wonder if it was worth severing most ties with their island for. I wonder.
Below are some photos of what my mom’s community in Clarendon, Jamaica looks like today
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Canadian Pride

I notice Nova Scotians and Quebecers have the most pride as Canadians.

I want to pride myself in this land. I want a rich Canadian culture and history like they have.

I do not just want to be Canadian because I was born here. I want to feel Canadian.

Before I die, I should to visit every Canadian province and territory, the capital cities of each.

Then maybe then I will say I am proud to be Canadian, and that I finally feel Canadian.

Then maybe then when I hear the national anthem, it will mean more to me.

Then maybe then when people ask me what I am, I will tell them with pride and sincerity,

I am a Canadian, born and raised.

 

 

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Wanting More

Perhaps there are some things I am taking for granted. But I still fail to see what’s so special about this country I am living in.

Canada isn’t bad, but it’s not that great either. It’s whatever to me.

I want more from my country. I don’t feel Canadian. I want to feel Canadian, I really do.

But I wasn’t raised Canadian. I was raised in Canada. But not as a Canadian.

(On a side note, I’ve never understood how immigrants try and learn Canadian culture when they come here. I feel that when they come here and try and learn to be Canadian, they’re really learning the acceptable way of living in the west. They’re learning western ideals. Their idea of beauty changes, their way of thinking, and even doing.)

So because of my detachment, I find myself comparing other countries to live in,

and concluding that Canada is peaceful & boring.

It’s a wannabe Britain

Like a student who pays utmost attention in class and desperately tries to please the teacher

And a less rowdy America

Like that same student, that is surrounded by other distracting students, and notices that her neighbour would rather not listen to or pay attention to the teacher but rebel. Our once focused student unfortunately, ends up losing her attention span, and joining in with her other peer.

Your background, where you or your parents are from will sometimes influences how you see the current country you live in.

For example…My Afghan coworker loves Canada, she thinks she has more freedom here, and appreciates the peacefulness.

Freedom and peacefulness, I personally take for granted. I’ve never had either threatened in the same way…

And how would I? Look where my parent’s are from. They’re not from some kind of suppressive or communist regime.

Sure life would have been more rough if I were born where my parent’s were and not here.

I am not blind, I see for myself what kind of life I could have been living.

But even then. I don’t appreciate Canada the way I should.

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