Tag Archives: wishful thinking

everyone has a christmas

This post is inspired by this post at Racialicious. The comment I posted there appears at the bottom of this page.

I don’t know about you, but I had the best Christmas this year.

I grew up vaguely celebrating the holiday, since my father is Catholic but he and my mother raised me and my sister Jewish. Like, we didn’t really give gifts to each other on Hanukkah but rather waited until the 25th (we did that up until this year, actually, when my parents were out of town and my sister was with her husband’s family), we would sometimes remember to buy a tree (and they smell amazing, so I’m always down for a Christmas tree), and I’ve been to Mass a handful of times in my life. But this December 25th was particularly awesome because I was alone in my house, I slept late, I took a bubble bath, I watched a movie, I did a puzzle, I read a book, and in general I did all the lovely, lazy things I always want to do when I have the day off from work, but this time I didn’t really have any chores to do or errands to run, so I got to do them all, instead of just some.

I don’t really understand Christmas anyway. I know it’s the reappropriation of Jesus’ birthday to a more convenient time coinciding with the winter solstice, but I don’t really understand how a jolly old man who fits into chimneys got added into the mix. And of all the people I know who celebrate Christmas, both the religious ones and the non-religious ones, the holiday is mostly about tone-deaf people singing aesthetically unpleasing music, cookies, and presents. That’s all fine, because that’s just how it goes in America, and other holidays have gone that way, too. And in a way, I think the fact that Christmas is forced on everyone makes it even less religious and more just a national pastime, like watching the Superbowl or giving each other Valentines. But if you happen to actively practice a religion that doesn’t care so much about Jesus, people stop seeing Christmas as that American consumerist holiday and try to tell you how religiously significant it still is, and how you must have your own Christmas, like Hanukkah! Because they come at the same time of year, so Hanukkah is totally the Jewish Christmas, right?

Except it’s not, because Hanukkah isn’t even canon; it’s just extra. And fun as it is to have a holiday that basically requires you to eat fried food, it’s not all that important aside from that. If you want to say that Christmas has a huge religious significance, the “equivalent” has to be Passover for the Jews. I hate it when people think that everyone has to have a Christmas, first because it makes Christmas the norm and other holidays the other, and because it mistakenly assumes that Christmas has a religious significance that for most people it has lost, and because it assumes that all religions are the same. And in a way they are, but I think they’re the same in that their mythologies all have some essential truths or storylines that are similar, not because they all celebrate a virgin birth by going to the mall every day in December.

This is all a diatribe of how little I care for or about Christmas, because I don’t feel like it’s a holiday that has any tie to my personality, my religion, or my budget. I’m also realizing that I just don’t care about most holidays, period. I abhor finding something to do on New Year’s Eve, because personally, I find it rather stupid. At midnight the calendar is going to change. Well, newsflash, but that happens every midnight. Yesterday was a different day, too. Also I hate any holiday that purports to be about inherent, incumbent personal change or that requires you to have a boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife/whatever or that has all these social rules tied to it about what you can wear and how much you have to drink, etc. Usually I watch movies on New Year’s Eve and fall asleep before midnight. But I feel obligated to do something because we’re all socialized that it is the correct thing to do. And that is, I think, the problem with Christmas as well. I mean, I participate in Secret Santas and all, too, because it’s easier to do so than to explain why I’m not going to, and because it’s always nice to get a present. And if you really feel as if Christmas is personally significant, whether it’s because of religion, the fun family dinner, getting presents, or because you somehow enjoy how crowded the mall is after Thanksgiving, then you should celebrate it. But I think Christmas and other holidays, at least in the United States, are more about socialization than anything else. We are obligated to participate, whether or not it goes with our religious, personal, financial, or social identities, because that’s the way society is set up. Our lives revolve around moving from one holiday to another. It would just be nice if we tried a little harder to see that not all holidays are created equal, and not all people care about all holidays equally.

And here is the comment I left at Racialicious:

I work at a children’s museum, and from November to February, we have various “festivals of friendship,” where we center an afternoon around a holiday or cultural celebration and have various folk art crafts, musical/dance performances, story readings, etc. We started with a luau, then we had Hanukkah, then Christmas, and next on the list are MLK Day, Chinese New Year, and Carnaval. I think it’s a nice start, even if it is missing things like Diwali and Eid, and even if Hanukkah is a fairly unimportant holiday religiously (Passover is far more important, I would say, and even in terms of kids’ celebrations, Purim would be far more entertaining). But I do have people wondering if, because I’m black, I’m going to be celebrating Kwanzaa (our daily craft on Sunday was an mkeka mat), which confuses them, because I’m also Jewish and “celebrate” Hanukkah, and I’ve never met a single person who celebrates Kwanzaa. Not to mention, things like decorating in “Christmas colors” and “Hanukkah colors” (I don’t consider Hanukkah to really have colors, since the ones we use just seem to be based on the fact that those are the colors of the Israeli flag) or baking Kwanzaa cakes are all ways of making other holidays seem like Christmas. It’s especially funny given that most people, when only talking about Christmas, bemoan its lack of religious basis nowadays, since it’s mostly about consumerism, and it’s not as if Jesus brings you presents to celebrate your birthday, so it’s already become muddled with other mythologies and traditions and holidays.

My favorite thing about the holidays, which was also my least favorite thing, was the other day at work when we made candy cane reindeer, and four Orthodox Jewish boys wanted to participate. For one positive thing, theirs were the most creative and interesting reindeer, probably because for them, it was just a craft, not something that had to end up resembling Rudolph to be correctly made, and for the negative thing, they weren’t sure if they could eat the candycanes, because the box didn’t say anything about whether it was kosher. I had to go and google the box and call Target, and ended up getting no information and assuming they were not kosher, because they were cheap, and cheap candy companies can’t usually afford to be kosher. I would say those boys are an example of what inclusiveness should be about–participating in a “seasonal,” holiday-specific activity just to have fun and learn a little, but also an example of how inclusiveness fails when the dominant culture won’t make concessions. I wish someone would be as willing to dress up for Purim or celebrate Diwali as these boys were to make Rudolphs that they couldn’t even eat.

movies about true events; movies where white people don’t belong

I posted a Facebook status today after reading the amazing story about the Chilean miners. It’s pretty amazing to see what a system for living they came up with during the two months (!) they were stuck inside. I really do have a lot of respect and admiration for them, and I wish them the best, but that’s so not the point of this post. My status was about how I bet it’s not long until Hollywood makes a movie about it and puts a bunch of white guys in it to star as Chilean miners. Brad Pitt, Ethan Hawke, or Jake Gyllenhaal will be the lead, and there will be one Mexican guy with the wrong accent to make it “authentic” (because everyone who speaks Spanish looks and sounds the same), kind of like how Rita Moreno was secondary to Natalie Wood in “West Side Story” but made it more legit, because at least she’s actually Puerto Rican.

Another thing I could talk about is how it’s actually okay for people of one race to portray people of another race in a film. Because films are art, not life. Right?

Except that art imitates life. Also, it’s really not okay, because it’s only okay in one situation, and that unfairness means that really, it should just be considered completely not okay. You should only play the race that you are. Here’s why: white people play everyone, but if I wanted to be in a movie that takes place in 1700s upper class Britain, I would be told that that would be anachronistic, because black people wouldn’t have been there. Or if I wanted to play Hillary Clinton in a biopic, I would be told that that’s not right, because she’s not black. But if Lindsay Lohan wanted to play Imelda Marcos, they’d dye her hair and do her makeup to make her look Asian. If it’s okay for the white people, it has to be okay for everyone. Or it has to be not okay for everyone. Pick one, Hollywood.

I have no doubt that in the next five years, there will be a film about this. I think that’s a little crass. It’s like movies about 9/11. Or the new movie about Valerie Plame. It’s too recent. Give it time to die. Give the people in it time to die, or at least time to scuttle back into their lives. (Also, in general, Hollywood needs to write its own stories every once in awhile and stop stealing from books and current events. That would be nice.) And, though I know this will never change because it’s not how society works, it would be really nice if, when those movies do get made, that the cast at least looked like the real people would have looked. That is, not all smolderingly attractive, and NOT ALL WHITE. This will do a lot of things: a) make Hollywood look less racist; b) not appropriate stories belonging to a group of people and decide that they belong to a different group; c) help the general public see value in people who are not usually depicted in films; d) allow struggling actors who are not usually the kind of people cast in films to be cast in films; and e) be a more valid film. The other option is for people to come up with their own original stories and do whatever they want with them, rather than taking something real and fictionalizing nearly everything about it to suit a studio’s agenda. It’s one thing to combine minor characters or take out a few storylines. It’s another to pretend something is “real” or “history” and make it as unrealistic and historically inaccurate as possible.

black hermione

Don’t you love it when things you thought about all the time when you were younger and assumed were silly are validated by other people who also secretly thought the same thing? Enter this article.

The problem with articles like this is that it’s preaching to the choir, which is self-gratifying, but rarely does it accomplish anything. It makes me sad.

Then there’s also what Neesha Meminger said, which can be applied to literature, movie casting, political party affiliation, and tons of other things:

But here’s the thing. For some people, being “political” is not a choice. Stating that racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, etc., exist – to some folks – is simply stating a reality, while others have the luxury (privilege) to choose not to address it, engage with it, or even acknowledge it. I’m not really sure what a polarizing political post is – maybe a call to action? But I do think it’s good for agents to state their preferences, just as I think it’s good for writers to continue stating their views. Because, really, there are no apolitical views. The political runs through our day-to-day lives, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. Choosing not to write political posts IS a political act. Choosing not to see “colour” or race IS a political act. Choosing not to engage in discourse around power and privilege is exercizing that very privilege, and it is most definitely a political act.

I guess this little compilation is just my way of saying that I want to be a part of the people who engage in political acts that counter the dominant norm. And that’s not even going to do much, because for the most part I am in Meminger’s group–that is, the people who have no choice not to acknowledge those things, because they are a reality. So I hope people who do have the choice make the better one–to acknowledge it.

why learning literature is silly

This is the first college semester that I have felt challenged and educated. Truly. And it’s the first semester that I’ve really thoroughly enjoyed. It’s not that every class I’ve taken has been awful, but a lot of them have, and even the ones that were awful were not really challenging. Honors classes are generally shitty, except for my intro to ethnomusicology class and the honors contract I did in my literary analysis class. And there is a difference between a class being hard and a class being challenging, which is why I’m not counting music theory or neuroscience. Theory started out challenging and quickly turned into a place where I was completely lost and just maintained a B every semester by luck, and neuroscience was horrible, because everything we learned in this supposedly general education course was prefaced with “But you already know all this other stuff, so we’re just going to build on that,” when nutrition and weather gen eds in no way taught me anything about actual science.

Anyway. This semester I’m taking Spanish lit, which challenges me because my reading skills and my formal writing skills in Spanish are really poor. It drives me crazy that I don’t know conventions or rules about the tone to take, whether to say “we,” “I,” or “the reader,” etc. And even though many of the people in my class are terrible at Spanish and have no idea what’s going on, it challenges me to have to work out my ideas about literature in another language. I was finally getting to the point that I really felt like I had an aptitude for literary analysis and conversation in English, and now I have to find a way to do close reading in my second language and to find the vocabulary to discuss things. So that is good.

Then I’m taking three English classes: non-fiction prose, Victorian literature, and British literature through 1660. They are all going well, and it’s giving me the opportunity to finally read those things that everyone has read, like the Canterbury Tales and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I have a lot of homework, but not so much that I can’t handle it, and it’s keeping me on my toes.

But it’s also pretty sad that I’m 22 and have never read most of this stuff, even though I’m pretty well-read. There is a problem when you’re reading Tennyson’s “In Memoriam” for the first time and you think that one stanza is making the point that “it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before,” and that’s when you learn that this poem is where that freaking line is from. And it’s also sad that we read books and watch movies inspired by classic literature, or using things that are now cliche that originated in classic literature, before we read the actual works. I was disappointed when reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, because I didn’t know if I would actually be surprised at the twist at the end, because the whole effing world knows that they’re the same guy. It’s not a difficult book to read, and there’s no reason that you couldn’t study it in 6th grade instead of 16th.

Reading more classic works at a younger age would a) make you smarter and probably more apt to be a good reader on your own, b) make you less stupid when you enter college, c) leave you to discover more obscure works from historical periods once you’re in college, and d) give you a chance to also study contemporary literature in high school and college, because it’s just as valid to know what’s getting written now and what was written recently as it is to know literature’s foundations. I really hate that I know next to nothing about the 20th century post-WWII, because neither my history courses nor my literature courses, in high school and college, found them valid to teach. That, or they had no time to teach them, because my teachers were busy catching me up on Christopher Columbus.

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t also read contemporary literature when you’re younger. I think it’s great that in elementary school and middle school I studied Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963 and Stargirl. But let’s be honest. Most of middle school is a waste of time, because it’s the worst time of adolescence, and you don’t even get to escape by actually learning things, because somehow administrators think that they shouldn’t make puberty harder on you by providing you with an education while you’re going through it. Honestly, you’d probably be better off being truant for three years than going to middle school, at least in Tucson. So I propose that middle school become the time when you start learning real things, so that other people don’t have to go to college and feel positively behind and stupid because they never got around to teaching themselves Middle English when they were 14.

the ashamed american

I hate that I cannot speak Czech, and yet here I am in Prague, walking around and enjoying myself and not even trying to learn how to say thank you, even though I bought a little phrasebook. I hate assholes like that, and I think it’s making me not enjoy myself as much as I could be. And that’s a bit silly, because so far I just try to be polite and smile, and most people do speak a lot of English, so I don’t think it’s actually a problem. But I think this may be the last time for awhile that I go somewhere where I don’t speak the language or where I can’t fake it convincingly, so that leaves only places where romance languages and English are spoken.

My favorite thing about everyday life in Prague is that, even though there is a subway and a bus system, I basically only need the streetcar to get to my classes and readings and dorm, and streetcars are the bestest (that, conveniently, is my tram and the photo is taken near Charles University, though I just googled it to find it). Today I was on my way back to the dorm, nearly falling asleep from having stayed up way too late last night, and the tram was fairly crowded. A woman with a cane got on, and since I am that bitch foreigner who speaks no Czech except “please” and “good night” (“thank you” is such a difficult word that I cannot remember), it didn’t really occur to me to offer her a seat. I’ll chalk it up to being out of it and sleepy. Anyway, she didn’t look at me and instead asked the girl across from me to give up her seat.

Totally valid. I can’t think of a public transport system I’ve ever been on that didn’t have a sign asking you to please give up your seat for the elderly, disabled, or pregnant (which, according to health insurance, is a disability anyway….yay, America!). But I’m pretty sure she didn’t ask politely; she just told the girl to get up. (And then I had this flash dream of her telling me to get up, me not understanding, and her beating me with her cane. This is my linguistically challenged terror.) There’s something about language that is totally understandable even when it’s unintelligible. I always knew in Kenya when I was being talked about, even when my head was down in a pile of potatoes I had to peel and the women were speaking Kikuyu. I understood Portuguese in my heart long before I took a college course. And I come from a family in which one set of grandparents uses Yiddish all the time and the other speaks only Spanglish. Language is fluid.

So should that make me feel less guilty? I still feel guilty. There are lots of things I love, but generally I am ashamed of my nationality, and it also saddens me that we cannot have a collective national identity (even if that’s kind of silly to assume any country can have one) in the way that the Czech Republic or many other countries do, because we have such a tradition of dissent and marginalization and because being either subversive or rebellious is the way to be and because patriotism these days only implies Republicanism. So here I am, an ashamed American who cannot quite be called an expatriot. What am I?

(Also, every time I hear a language that I don’t speak, I want to speak Spanish. I’m not sure why.)

i was made for cloudy days

Just streamed and preordered the new Stars album. It sounds better than their previous album, though nothing will ever beat Set Yourself On Fire. Still, it seems weird and a bit depressing, just like how I like most of my music most of the time. I also preordered the new Weepies album, which is happy music that makes me happy without lifting me too much.

Is it weird that I prefer to be moody? I’m just so used to it. I work better if I’m not happy. Not being happy isn’t the same as being sad, I think, it just means not being so giddy that you can’t concentrate. I’m a little scared to find the love of my life, because I’m worried about whether I’ll be able to write when I find him. What if I have to stop because I keep getting distracted by wanting to be naked all the time or having his head in my brain all the time? Love inspired Shakespeare, but depression or melancholy sparks me.

I spent a lot of time on the new playlist today, and I also worked on some others. I keep a running journal of playlists in a notebook separate from my journal or my writing notebook. It’s silly to actively make a a playlist rather than let it be inspired by what I’m listening to, but I have so much music I’ve forgotten about. I see the names of artists when I scroll through my iPod, but they’re not like actual names, just these images I’ve seen so much that I know them by heart but have no idea what they are. So it was good for me. And the title is fitting, because I actually find most of the songs quite sad. Maybe it’s because I’m not there yet. Thinking you’re amazing? Sure. Being amazing back to you? Not so much.

I like cloudy days with a cup of tea and a notebook and a pencil, not a pen–unless I’m journaling. Everything else is less permanent and requires an eraser or a backspace key. I like buying cute stationery and writing my sad, angstgirl thoughts on it and sending it off into the world, never to see it again until my archivists request it.

This mindless creativity and this forced procrastination has only been such a problem since I began college. It’s not surprising, given the many issues I’ve had to deal with. But if I don’t learn how to get back into my own writing self when I’m in Prague, of all places, I think it will be time to throw in the towel.

writers and [insert label here] writers

I leave on Saturday morning for New Jersey, where I will be attending the Rutgers English Diversity Institute. It’s a week-long English seminar for minority students who want to study English in graduate school. It’s not that I go around thinking about writing and ethnicity every second that I breathe, but I’m realizing that it is something I am incredibly concerned with. This is partly, I hope, just because I am well-educated and liberal and American, and anyone who considers themselves interested in literature (or in history, sociology, anthropology, or a variety of other fields) should be similarly concerned with this. However, I know that this is also because I am a person of color (a phrase I never felt comfortable with until I started reading blogs like Racialicious and more magazines, from Essence to Lilith to the Atlantic, and I think I prefer it to calling myself African American, which seems disingenuous, somehow, when coming from me) who loves to read and write and feels pigeonholed by the ethnic designation she chooses to give herself. I struggle with this more than some people, perhaps, because I am half black and half white but grew up in a white and Chicano family with an affinity for Brazil, so I don’t have the clearest of ties to any one group, and in many ways I grew up with white privilege.

I just read this post at Racialicious, in which a reader asked about literature written by people of color and how white readers should respond to it. There is a lot going on in the post, way too much for me to respond to coherently now. I did have quite a few thoughts about it, though, and it also illuminated many of my own ideas in much better language than I could.

There are lots of allusions in literature that we don’t understand, be they religious, ethnic, racial, cultural, regional, generational, or what have you. Make a joke about Lyndon B. Johnson and I will probably not understand it, because I was born in 1988 and can only remember Clinton, Bush, and Obama. I can talk about fry bread and you probably will not understand what that is unless you’ve been to the Southwest. But if I write one sentence in a story about a character eating fry bread and then I move on with the story, it will probably not deter you from reading. So why are white readers so deterred from reading the writing of people of color, when people of color will read tons of books by white authors in their lifetime, whether it’s for academic or personal reasons, and they will be expected to understand them? And why is white literature just literature, but literature by any other person is defined by their ethnicity?

the fact of the matter is that all writers write, consciously or not, for a particular ethnic audience. When you go to read a book, don’t assume who the audience is either way. It should become clear soon enough who the book is for. In any case I would try to avoid pigeonholing writers of colour in general; read our books on their own terms, just as you would any other book.

The post author also acknowledged that there is nothing particularly wrong with that. I think a lot of writing is about investigating yourself and your surroundings, so of course a book would reflect one’s upbringing, culture, religion, community, etc. Great! The problem is that anything not from the dominant culture is considered inaccessible to people from outside that non-dominant group. Maybe you won’t understand every single thing, but that doesn’t make it less valuable or give you less of a reason to read. Did I enjoy reading Joy Harjo as much as I enjoyed reading Lucille Clifton last semester? No, because Clifton felt a little more understandable to me. But I still found much in Harjo that I did find accessible, and I found other things that I could identify as cultural markers that I would understand more if I had either grown up in a community similar to Harjo’s, or if I would just read more literature by Native American writers.

What is wrong, I think, is that works of literature by people of color are assumed to be about people of color (not all that strange of an assumption to make, I think) and works of literature by white people are assumed to be about white people. This is not a huge problem; what I think is worse is that works of literature about people of color are assumed to be primarily about being that minority and the main conflict in the novel/story/whatever is perceived to be either about dealing with being a minority or about dealing with a problem considered strictly a problem for that minority (i.e. stories about black people dealing with welfare, absent fathers, and teen pregnancy). Here’s where the assumption becomes a problem. I am currently working on two novels: in one, the main female character is a high school senior who likes indie music and goes to private school and likes to paint. She dates the white protagonist. The second book is about a young woman who sings in a bar and falls in love with the piano player. Out of the four characters I mentioned, two are mixed race and one is black. Would you have guessed that? I doubt it.

Talking about this gets me nowhere, though. While the post on Racialicious was well written, it was preaching to the choir. And, like most issues dealing with race, especially these days, it often serves no purpose except to preach to the choir, make a couple of good points, and make racists think that people of color are just angry. The problem with intelligent arguments is that they’re often made to impress upon people who are in fact not intelligent, and therefore they won’t understand the argument or change their ideas. Telling people who are racist about institutional racism doesn’t usually have the effect of making them less racist. So I’m not sure that talking about this will have the effect of making the publishing industry or the countless people in MFA programs across the country more aware of racism in literature or make them more sensitive.

Maybe, though, current and upcoming writers could make more of a point to be sensitive to these issues, and editors, too. This could never change overnight, and with white supremacists gaining power it may not even be the time to start a slow battle, but this is the kind of thing that could be changed rather simply with people making more of a point to read people of color, to write people of color, and to understand people of color.

edit: Someone in the comments on that Racialicious post linked to this Toi Derricotte poem, so I am reposting:

For Black Women Who Are Afraid
A black woman comes up to me at break in the writing
workshop and reads me her poem, but she says she
can’t read it out loud because
there’s a woman in a car on her way
to work and her hair is blowing in the breeze
and, since her hair is blowing, the woman must be
white, and she shouldn’t write about a white woman
whose hair is blowing, because
maybe the black poets will think she wants to be
that woman and be mad at her and say she hates herself,
and maybe they won’t let her explain
that she grew up in a white neighborhood
and it’s not her fault, it’s just what she sees.
But she has to be so careful. I tell her to write
the poem about being afraid to write,
and we stand for a long time like that,
respecting each other’s silence.

the usual

Spooning. Whispering. Sleeping naked. The next day, the best workout I’ve had yet. Coincidence? Perhaps breaking rules is a good thing.

The looming dread that is following my happy, quiet mood and laughing at it. This is probably unwarranted calmness and security, but I want it to be real. It’s been a year.

fewer calories for the soul

After about a month, I’ve unpaused my online food and exercise diary. Today, I resume my diet. While I’ve tried a couple times to stop the no-sex part, I’ve only succeeded once, and that’s probably a good thing. School is over except for a couple finals, and I’m starting to feel better about myself after weeks of being sick, being in a perpetual bad mood, and feeling worthless. I’m going to stop doing the things that make me feel worthless and only do the things that make me feel good. Easy as pie. Diet of the soul as well as diet of the body.

I’ve begun my journal again, and after a long time of just writing, I think I’m getting back into art journaling, which feels good. I own a camera now, and I think I should start remembering to use it and take photos. I never remember to take photos, even when I’m on vacation, partially because I hate the way I look in photographs and partially because my mind doesn’t work visually. (I don’t know how to take photos that I would like to look at later. Most vacation photos are uninteresting, and you never look at them again. How do you learn to remember to take good ones?) This is a shame, because it will make my writing flat and boring. I have to send a writing sample to Prague soon to get ready for the workshop, so now is the time to be better at it. I feel so much more at ease knowing that this semester and my juries are over. Maybe I can learn how to be creative again.

mmmbop

I’m becoming bored with feeling unnecessary and undervalued, and I can’t think of anything less interesting than doing the same thing for more time than it’s challenging. I need to be doing something that makes a difference, not biding my time for when I am more equipped to do great things. I’m looking for a new challenge, and I’m working on self-improvement. But how do you get to the point of being an influential person who has time to make a statement on everything and change the world instead of changing one little thing?