Phew. I promised myself to quickly a quick re-entry after the previous one just for kosher reasons, but alas I have failed to meet my modest expectations yet again. I think I may develop an inferior complex towards myself for not even meeting my babiest steps of generally steps of goals. however, i was saved when i ran into a quote when dictionarying a word: To err is human, to forgive divine. That's fresh.
So although slightly outdated, I wanted to talk about my week of teas. This was two weeks ago, so I hereby declare, in my miniature universe with a 2 km radius, the second week of December as the week of tea.
It started on the 11th. After returning from a two-week course on Gandhi and Globalization on the toe nails of the Himalayas, I was embraced harshly by the empty smell of the dusty stale air of my apartment room. The place gets no sunlight or fresh air and the only visitors are dust, cockroaches and the confederate depressive elements all stars. The American philanthropist that I am, I resolved that some good will Chai tea is what was needed to bring light to this gloomy corner of my room. Chai is sold everywhere here, in the hotels, restaurants, the streets, sidewalks and alleys. If such a ubiquitous tribute to the small beauties of the world is not present in my house, of course there will no justice nor peace. The revelation was brutally simple, the execution gently terrifying.
As much as I consider myself a nominally experienced person with occasional sparkles of boldness, without the community backbone buttressing my jello legs, my timid snail element shells me over and subsequently snails me over. being timid makes things hard, but being an awfully persnickety (don't really know what it means, but had to use it cause it sounds so, so, fine...) yet apprehensive consumer makes brewing something as simple as tea something akin to trekking through the himalayas to get to the tea gardens. Especially when one, whether for spiritual reasons or for rupee-pinching reasons, insists on entering into consumer relationships with products not that I choose, but rather chooses me; never happens with mundane things like strainers. In short, and in consideration that my writings are too long, I needed to get my ass to some stores and I was scared to do so
Due to some ethnic ambiguity i am not sure how i am perceived nor if anyone is actually looking, but when i'm navigating through the chaotic narrow alleys i feel like i stand out like an egg plant burrowing among potatoes. I sense the looming buildings and all the chilling cows gossip to each other and see through me as if i were transparent. Most of this is due to my fear and as a result a projection of my own inner insecurities, but whatever the rational thought may and should be, leaving the room sometimes feels like embarking upon a tiathlon. additionally, because of crazy urbanization i haven't been able to create a coherent cognitive map of my area so i get lost all the time and have absolutely no clue where anything is. everything pointed towards a very bad brew that smelled only of disaster.
This is getting long so i won't go into more details, because it's pretty much i just went to stores and bought things without my fear of being gobbled up by the city materializing. But i almost did give up, and i heard the referee counting to 9 before i got up again and fought it out like a true American Rocky-esque fashion. in fact after i initially mustered the courage to set my right foot over the door-sill, i immediately got lost, ran into an alley where goats and chickens were being slaughtered (literally), found potential stores but felt too awkward/scared to enter, and decided that i had to retreat and regroup. i then asked myself, 10 years from now will i be able to look myself in the mirror for running away from this trial? and so i set out once again and methodically made purchase after purchase until i was drinking my trophy tea triumphantly in my room. Just for a reference to how historic this was, i think armstrong setting foot on the moon has nothing on me except his cool space boots. you had to be there to feel it cause i don't know what was in that tea but i flew to the moon.
That was the first part of tea week (yes there's more...). the following day i received an invitation from Fulbright foundation to have High tea at the Imperial hotel with the director or peope high up in the department of education or something like that. This tea was effortless, and probably cost more than how much it'll cost me to drink tea for a month. i will most likely never be able to afford, or at least if not for financial reasons then for emotional and moral reasons, to go there again. But it did highlight how with position, privilege and connections i easily gained access to what in a credentialist society is more valuable, whereas my little adventure was spiritually and physically lot more satisfying and soothing, as well as much more tasty, but meaningful pretty much only to me. The week revealed exactly how privileged i was to be in this program and the Imperial hotel was a fitting site because without power acquired through imperialism and exploitation that hotel wouldn't have existed and i would not have took part in it, because i was born into a position where i can surf the waves of history, while others were and are drowned in it, and it could have easily been the other way around.
All and all a very humbling experience and reveals the courageousness of many immigrants who are able to make ends meet despite the everyday paralyzing forces that abound, especially in xenophobic racist, self righteous countries. Finally, simply and plainly it made me realize how much i miss my community and my people and people with whom i can share a nice cup of tea.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Eggy Burps, Bubbley Ears and Jet-Stream ejections
I'm back! After two weeks at a course titled "Gandhi and Globalization" I'm back in Delhi and trying to scramble to knit together a coherent life in this very chaotic city.
So i feel somewhat awkward about making this my second entry but i have a couple of inspirations a.k.a. malfunctioning frontal lobe that entertains bad ideas not even remotely worth pursuing as tappable. I am writing about this A. because it was a desolate and solitary sojourn into the unknown and i must process communally :) B. someone once said a writer's task is to find the universal in the most mundane, therefore if i can find some universal truth other than the fact that getting sick sucks i will feel pretty good about myself C. i fortunately, but really most unfortunately, have at least 8 months till i see most of you so by the time you see me this entry will be long lost in the cracks of cyberspace where the cockroach reigns supreme D. i've thought about this enough to make me feel like execution is the only remaining option. Plus i've made a journal entry and trying to emulate Gandhi, i would like to live such an honest life where i am proud to share everything in my life, even those that some would share only to a journal, because my life is my example and what i want all of us to be. Plus i already made a jounal entry in my lovely pink journal that nicole gave me and so to desecrate that holy institution and leave the blogsphere unsullied would be sacreligious in a eating Mcdonalds in India kind of way, and i nor do you want me to become such a creature that so the only alternative that remains is to invite you to hitch a ride with me to the most hidden exciting crevices of the toilet stall.
Mid letter PS. Sometimes i feel like stupid endeavors are better done without disclaimers becuase rationalizing spontaneous stupidity really just surrenders the best excuse ever, which is "i did it cause i felt like doing it." hmm...
Eggy Burps, Bubbly Ears and Jetstreams of semi-processed food that initially seemed like a superb idea to stuff into my mouth, my time in india is off to a great start! So just as one has to travel through customs to get into a country, i have passed the second inevitable hallmark gateway of digestive-dissonance. In retrospect, having passed the most turbulent of times, I feel all i am left with is 4 pounds less body weight and the gift of being able to say "it had to happen at some point" and, and, and a, er, i guess that's really it. There really is no valuable insights to be had at 5 AM on a freezing toilet seat except an appreciation for the functioning body, which is sort of the bare minimum of what i expect for it as long as it serves as my carnal vessel, and given that i have not been equipped with Carl Lewis or Aretha Franklin type skills, i will unremorsely take advantage and take for granted (no matter how shameful this seems my spiritual development has not yet reached a stage of unconditional love and appreciation of my body) of the blessings i have been given.
Some journies reveal people's inner strength to overcome the impossible, others show the immeasurable wealth we all have and share inside, mine is neither adventurous, heroic, touching or epic, well maybe sort of epic in that at the time i kind indentified with Frodo in that only Frodo and I can understand kind of way, but basically the only adjective it merrited was frequent.
Day 1, T minus 7 hours (I'm using this format so time and experience can be conflated for your convenience)
I would have liked to start where the actual volcanic substance was consumed but as the suspect is unidentifiable at this point in time as every food in unfamiliar territories appear to have the potential to be a triumphant success or a disastrous failure, i begin my story somewhat arbitrarily. Pre-Bed, the coast is beautifully clear with stars glimmering above, and the moon shining so gently on my slightly dust covered skin. Stomach feels pressingly full but not quite i should be concerned level, thus all signals indicate normality. Ian proceeds to sleep, expecting another night of joyous night of silence and peace.
Day 2. 5 AM. The moment of truth where one must face the consequences of one's decisions. Subject, i.e. me, has been owned by what he presumptuously thought could be swallowed without harm. Feelings of queasiness, perception of moisture down under, subject immediately recognizes the gravity of situation and curses the heavens for the bestowal of such an unfortunate fate. After coercing the body to shove aside the blankets of slumber, he trudges to the stall where one usually leaves with a feeling of refreshment and rejuvanation, but now a max security prison where recividism is so high he knows he can escape for a bit but will return every so often because our parole system sucks and california just made it worse with Prop 9. Thanks you all.
From here time ceases to exist as every second in the sinisterly lit stall lasts for an eternity and every motion is repeated repeatedly. What really made process exponentially eternal, though, was the accompaniment of the eggy burps. oh yeah, not to leave out the bubbley ear which was a dagger in the heart. When i started feeling bubbles in my ear, because i properly couldn't adjust to the air pressure, my only thought was "ear you have nothing to do with this, stay out. You get enough action so stay out of this one. You nosey punk." But the eggy burps, i will most remember the eggy burps, in fact i remember it like it was only yesterday. i think they're basically very acidic belches but i'm not really sure. it just tastes really really bad and smells terrible in the mouth. The worst though is unlike flatulation which is pefectly designed to impact others, especially those behind, the burp is perfectly positioned to affect mainly you and only you. So everytime i had one of these i had to A. Quickly duck under my covers and B. widely flap my blanket in hopes that the smell would disperse, so the toxicity could be suffered equally between me and my room mate. Interestingly i only have gotten these in Ecuador two times and never before nor after. at the time i thought i had narrowed the culprit down to one fruit so when i first tasted this smell i thought i would never have to literally face again, i felt a sense of betrayal that there is another assasin out in the vegetble/fruit kingdom trying to get me. As i shared with my dad i had a Cesarian moment where i uttered or perhaps muttered the words "Et tu Brutas?" because i thought it was only one rebelious fruit in the kingdom but in fact there were more that were out to get me. what treachery...
Ultimately it was only two days-ish so wasn't a big deal but it was pretty miserable. Through this simple entry i hope you have been able to commiserate with me and realize that this research grant isn't simply just about free money. It involves jumping, ducking and battling through putrid smells...
PS hopefully next entry will have more substance
So i feel somewhat awkward about making this my second entry but i have a couple of inspirations a.k.a. malfunctioning frontal lobe that entertains bad ideas not even remotely worth pursuing as tappable. I am writing about this A. because it was a desolate and solitary sojourn into the unknown and i must process communally :) B. someone once said a writer's task is to find the universal in the most mundane, therefore if i can find some universal truth other than the fact that getting sick sucks i will feel pretty good about myself C. i fortunately, but really most unfortunately, have at least 8 months till i see most of you so by the time you see me this entry will be long lost in the cracks of cyberspace where the cockroach reigns supreme D. i've thought about this enough to make me feel like execution is the only remaining option. Plus i've made a journal entry and trying to emulate Gandhi, i would like to live such an honest life where i am proud to share everything in my life, even those that some would share only to a journal, because my life is my example and what i want all of us to be. Plus i already made a jounal entry in my lovely pink journal that nicole gave me and so to desecrate that holy institution and leave the blogsphere unsullied would be sacreligious in a eating Mcdonalds in India kind of way, and i nor do you want me to become such a creature that so the only alternative that remains is to invite you to hitch a ride with me to the most hidden exciting crevices of the toilet stall.
Mid letter PS. Sometimes i feel like stupid endeavors are better done without disclaimers becuase rationalizing spontaneous stupidity really just surrenders the best excuse ever, which is "i did it cause i felt like doing it." hmm...
Eggy Burps, Bubbly Ears and Jetstreams of semi-processed food that initially seemed like a superb idea to stuff into my mouth, my time in india is off to a great start! So just as one has to travel through customs to get into a country, i have passed the second inevitable hallmark gateway of digestive-dissonance. In retrospect, having passed the most turbulent of times, I feel all i am left with is 4 pounds less body weight and the gift of being able to say "it had to happen at some point" and, and, and a, er, i guess that's really it. There really is no valuable insights to be had at 5 AM on a freezing toilet seat except an appreciation for the functioning body, which is sort of the bare minimum of what i expect for it as long as it serves as my carnal vessel, and given that i have not been equipped with Carl Lewis or Aretha Franklin type skills, i will unremorsely take advantage and take for granted (no matter how shameful this seems my spiritual development has not yet reached a stage of unconditional love and appreciation of my body) of the blessings i have been given.
Some journies reveal people's inner strength to overcome the impossible, others show the immeasurable wealth we all have and share inside, mine is neither adventurous, heroic, touching or epic, well maybe sort of epic in that at the time i kind indentified with Frodo in that only Frodo and I can understand kind of way, but basically the only adjective it merrited was frequent.
Day 1, T minus 7 hours (I'm using this format so time and experience can be conflated for your convenience)
I would have liked to start where the actual volcanic substance was consumed but as the suspect is unidentifiable at this point in time as every food in unfamiliar territories appear to have the potential to be a triumphant success or a disastrous failure, i begin my story somewhat arbitrarily. Pre-Bed, the coast is beautifully clear with stars glimmering above, and the moon shining so gently on my slightly dust covered skin. Stomach feels pressingly full but not quite i should be concerned level, thus all signals indicate normality. Ian proceeds to sleep, expecting another night of joyous night of silence and peace.
Day 2. 5 AM. The moment of truth where one must face the consequences of one's decisions. Subject, i.e. me, has been owned by what he presumptuously thought could be swallowed without harm. Feelings of queasiness, perception of moisture down under, subject immediately recognizes the gravity of situation and curses the heavens for the bestowal of such an unfortunate fate. After coercing the body to shove aside the blankets of slumber, he trudges to the stall where one usually leaves with a feeling of refreshment and rejuvanation, but now a max security prison where recividism is so high he knows he can escape for a bit but will return every so often because our parole system sucks and california just made it worse with Prop 9. Thanks you all.
From here time ceases to exist as every second in the sinisterly lit stall lasts for an eternity and every motion is repeated repeatedly. What really made process exponentially eternal, though, was the accompaniment of the eggy burps. oh yeah, not to leave out the bubbley ear which was a dagger in the heart. When i started feeling bubbles in my ear, because i properly couldn't adjust to the air pressure, my only thought was "ear you have nothing to do with this, stay out. You get enough action so stay out of this one. You nosey punk." But the eggy burps, i will most remember the eggy burps, in fact i remember it like it was only yesterday. i think they're basically very acidic belches but i'm not really sure. it just tastes really really bad and smells terrible in the mouth. The worst though is unlike flatulation which is pefectly designed to impact others, especially those behind, the burp is perfectly positioned to affect mainly you and only you. So everytime i had one of these i had to A. Quickly duck under my covers and B. widely flap my blanket in hopes that the smell would disperse, so the toxicity could be suffered equally between me and my room mate. Interestingly i only have gotten these in Ecuador two times and never before nor after. at the time i thought i had narrowed the culprit down to one fruit so when i first tasted this smell i thought i would never have to literally face again, i felt a sense of betrayal that there is another assasin out in the vegetble/fruit kingdom trying to get me. As i shared with my dad i had a Cesarian moment where i uttered or perhaps muttered the words "Et tu Brutas?" because i thought it was only one rebelious fruit in the kingdom but in fact there were more that were out to get me. what treachery...
Ultimately it was only two days-ish so wasn't a big deal but it was pretty miserable. Through this simple entry i hope you have been able to commiserate with me and realize that this research grant isn't simply just about free money. It involves jumping, ducking and battling through putrid smells...
PS hopefully next entry will have more substance
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