Peux ce que veux, allons-y

‘Rwanda is the Singapore of Africa, small and smart’ -Arsenal shirt wearing neighbour

‘Singapore is a small country, but a big idea’ - ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs George Yeo

I feel like I will not be able to really write out everything I’ve seen or heard that interests me, or that I won’t have the patience to outside of point form. And yet I feel so saturated with cool stories and observations it would be a terrible waste outside of my notebook ‘quickies’. I just hope my subconscious keeps up all this time. I am generally, I think, not ‘surprised’ by much, which makes me quite stoic/stone-faced to many. It was more a surprise to my host family for example, that I have washed my own clothes by hand before in my life, rather than me being nervous or surprised at having to do it here. It is not that I know everything already, but many things I know I don’t really know and so can’t really assume much and so come here and see, which excites and intrigues me, but doesn’t ‘surprise’ me or ‘break stereotypes’. It does help to confirm/unconfirm ‘commonly-held’ stereotypes that I know and gives me something to tell people who do hold them. I am not perfect of course, but it does mean I don’t know ‘where to begin’ outside of listing everything I’ve heard and seen and felt and smelled chronologically. I guess I’ve chosen, like always, to talk in general, in abstract, in weird jumbled blog-bytes.

^Wrote all of the above a day or two ago and have not just started my genocide classes here in Kigali, beginning with a movie called 'Ghosts of Rwanda', focusing a lot on the US perspective (it was made by PBS). I consider myself quite a stoic person who has loosened in outlook because I think it is more humane; the one part that did move me to tears was seeing Captain Mbaye's death in the movie. There can certainly be no heroes in a genocide, but he might have been the closest.

Practicing language is a good thing, because it is hard and it forces you at first. Alors je vais écrire un peu en français et peut-être en kinyarwanda. C'est la raison je n'ai pas publié ce poste plus tôt. J'ai décidé à essayer de faire la conversation avec le gens ici. C'est ce que je dirai: Muraho! Amakuru? Nanjye, ni meza. Nturuka he? Nturuka muri Singapour. Ndi umuyeshuri. Wowe se? Ukora iki?

C'est tout pour maintenant.

Québec

Things I wanted to talk about in the previous post:
The problematic beliefs of the Uber driver obsessing over The Last Samurai
My broken things which lead to true(r) authenticity
Reactions to stuff I read (news, blogs)
J'ai oublié faire ce texte blanche avant de publier, alors je vais parle un peu seulement. 
It's 12.38pm, I'll start to go down the list so I don't procrastinate more later.
Pourquoi pas? Je vous dis un petit histoire de mon visite à Matt - je suis leur dit qu'il ya un shoppe-
The Uber driver was a local Quebecois who was very enthusiastic about speaking to me in English. It was pretty normal conversation until a song from The Last Samurai Soundtrack came on. An NYT critic once wrote that particularly among Asian-Americans and Japanese especially, the movie and others with the same tropes were 'racist, naive, well-intentioned, accurate - or all of the above'. A variety critic wrote 'clearly enamored of the culture it examines while resolutely remaining an outsider's romanticization of it, yarn is disappointingly content to recycle familiar attitudes about the nobility of ancient cultures, Western despoilment of them, liberal historical guilt, the unrestrainable greed of capitalists and the irreducible primacy of Hollywood movie stars.' Both are excellent summaries in my opinion. The trouble of the film is not that a white man is leading a group of otherwise sort-of-helpless men and in exchange gets some pseudo Eastern spirituality stuff that helps him get over the classic European evil - alcoholism. This is since there was actually a historical figure like that, and it's probably okay to focus on him for a Western audience. However, the fact that he becomes 'the last samurai' is in my opinion, quite cringey just for the fact that the opposite is often not portrayed - i.e non-white characters taking on and becoming some leader figure in a white context (although I imagine there might be some in foreign cinema? The best I gather seem to just be circle-jerking their won culture). I don't think it is an immediate problem if white characters take on roles like that (or vice versa) if the details/traditions/symbolism are all respected. I think the film is on a whole, not perfect but does well in some regards, the issue is the reaction, exemplified by this Uber driver, gave me a whole lotta pause.
-superbe à la marché de Saint-Jean à Montréal qui vendre les huitres. Les huitres étaient trés bien.
"I just love samurai, Japan is the first/next country I want to visit outside of the North American continent." That's all fine, except I probed him further at what else he knows/has watched which is essentially zilch, and I'm afraid he might go in with a pretty simplified/cartoon-ish expectation/image of what samurai were like and all. He doesn't like the 'fast-paced' nature of modern society and thinks essentially that the idealized/romanticized samurai lifestyle portrayed in the film that cured the Tom Cruise's nightmares is where it's at. (O boy modern Japan). I hope he goes in with an open mind.

I'll probably do the next part after I'm settled in my room and all.

Right, on to broken things.
The one time I try (I might have done it before but am forgetting) packing my camera neatly into a carry-on, and it (lens only though, not the body) breaks, so lesson learnt. I was kind of frantically trying to put it back together, even spent a good amount on Ubers to a closing repair shop which turned out to have just ran out of the part they need to fix the lens. Plus, I didn't bring my wide-angle in the first place, which leaves me with two fixed, and pretty zoomed in lenses. I thought about this, sitting on my bed in the hostel, how... I guess truly authentic my trip has now become, since I have nothing but experience and what I can store in my tiny little head now, the wonderful sights, the journeys, etc. This was of course an exaggeration since I've been using my 50mm, which does not take the vastness of some landscapes in (which I'm so frustrated of but it's my own fault), but at least it allows me to switch into pure 'street photography' mode instead. And in fact my trip has been wonderful, not least because I've met some really interesting and wonderful people (and how I wish I saved them on facebook like I did for one, although in a way the superfluous nature of the meeting is its own reward). Then, my charger was lost in a long story which largely involves me trying to be polite. And I guess in fact all my trips have been like that... I'm thinking about the time I took a solo walk in Hokkaido, walking into random shops and all, a bit childlike. Or maybe around Breckenridge, always with my camera (without one broken lens but in a way without its full capacity since I never carry my full set). Musings that have simpered.

Finally, reactions? Maybe should have started with this first, since these fade the fastest. I don't even remember what parts of what I wanted to react for? I'll pen down the conversations before they stray further into my subconscious though. There's John from New Zealand of course, who made me a simple meal with rice and pork near the end and talked about his adventures. There's Amanda(?) from Australia, Martina from Slovakia (but admirably traveling the world place to place), and just now, Andrew from the UK. (Not to mention the cast of characters from Japan, Brazil, Columbia and France.)

I managed to convince a few people I can speak French without arousing suspicion, so I'm happy enough for trying despite the awkward, sometimes distasteful looks, flustered answers... meh maybe not that worth it happiness wise.

C'était un bien jour

J'admis j'ai pris beaucoup de verres. Je n'ai pas beaucoup de temp. Aujourd'hui, c'était un bien jour. J'ai fait quelque nouveaux amis et j'ai fait quelque 'meilleurs' amis... Le fait est que pendant notre vie, il y aura des jours comme aujourd'hui - spontané, mais les mieux de nos vies. La vie quotidienne! Mais j'ai peur que je suis la seule personne qui peut se sentir ça. J'ai peur comme tout le monde, que on est seulement la personne qui comprend l'importance de 'maintenant'.
Mes cheveux est encore mouillés. Mais je suis très fatigué.

I wish for so much. And I know not much.

Substance

I haven't done this for a long time. Blog because I'm sleepless.

Would I want something like soma in this world?

Would I be OK with a perfect and just robot master?

... These books I'm ingesting, of course I wish I could share it with someone. Josiah is great on that, so glad to have him as a friend.

And why are we sleepless?

Is it physical, mental, both? The messy complicated both is probably always the answer.

I had a great time with Grace before she leaves, but after every 1-1 I have with people, without fail I would feel something unanswered or unsaid, and yet I still long for these conversations, maybe because I always feel that lingering hunger for...

For substance.

It's what I think drives Karen as well. That hunger for something... real, meaningful, impactful... no matter how many synonyms, substance is really the word I'm looking for. Weight as opposed to lightness. Kundera makes a good case that what we fear isn't heaviness... things like grief and fatigue, even though they are painful. It is routine, hedonism, airiness and meaninglessness that scares us...

And it's this substance I'm missing right now. What Steele thought was ennui and boredom, but I feel that it runs deeper than he describes... he wants drive, purpose and passion, he wants something to wake up to and tire from. I want it too Steele. And no lies, I feel sometimes that having someone to care for would fulfill that purpose for me.

So now, buried in my books... I dredge on longingly. Et la nuit continue. 

Brave New World

So many themes in this book, and precious little time I have to blog since I have to do my last few french assignments. I'll probably fall back to starting a post and procrastinating until I've already run out of fresh thoughts and good things to say (why I have no confiance en soi as a writer).

^As expected, I'm only writing this now, having lost all motivation to talk about the book since picking up Asimov's I Robot. Brave New World was a very good read that was compelling and engaging philosophically at every turn. The dichotomy between John Savage's beliefs and those of the inhabitants of 'civilization' were not just big-picture but strikes someone as personal, going in their irrational core of what is good and what is wanted. You'd probably have to catch me right after reading the book (and short stories of Asimov) though because I lose my thoughts to my unconscious so quickly as the Summer draws... to a close.

Li Keen Alone

In my head I've blogged a thousand times.

But some stubborn ambition to write in French, and some stubborn fear of vulnerability again.

I'm pretty stubborn. Not that stubborn.

Barely anyone has used my real name in a long time... and so I've come to... j'ai su...it's power. The last time it was used was by Ben, which wasn't surprising since he's Singaporean, but then my French professor also used it in a confusion over my name. What I've come to realize is it's... split personality. It's not just a name, as only those attune to their intuition would comprehend. It is an era... Leeks! has an exclamation mark for a reason! It's hysteria, it's positive madness, it's fuck it let's do this! I recently asked Grace if she thought, as some do, that people had a 'core', some natural personality that we either discover or repress, she didn't think so. I don't think so. But it's pseudo-there. It's the condensation of your history, it's your experience that cools over time...you don't start with one, but you will get one...I've got one.

It's Li Keen Alone.

As usual I digress and jump around in my thoughts. I'm reminded of a brotherhood event... the details cannot be revealed but it's enough to say that I shared about Li Keen Alone. The camera (Daphne) wielding observer, the person who read(s) and wish he had the patience for more, the poet, the In Each Hand A Cutlass and Explosions In The Sky fan. The reason my MBTI is both I and E.

On a side-note, do you know that feeling of saying or typing your own name? When you say it in your head... that awkward, alien-ness to it? I guess some people don't feel it, the way they post "what are some typical ____ lines"; I have no trouble saying I, or filling my name on a test... but to call out my name, in my head...

Mais...la vraie raisonne pour ce post(?)

Ok everything's honestly a reason to post.

But the impetus, the milestone was finishing The God of Small Things.

I'm losing steam as I type.

The title appealed to me immensely... but I jumped into it thinking it was going to be an American Gods magical realism novel, and it isn't/wasn't. (People recommend based on what they've shared they've read, so I thought it was a link to Kafka/Murakami, j'oublie que j'ai aussi partagé mon histoire avec Kite Runner et Curious Incident.)

It made the first few chapters hard to swallow... difficult to follow...I'll read tomorrow...it's a book I borrow... ok I'll stop now...sorrow.

But it definitely grew on me, and now I've thought Two Thoughts:
1. I need to read Bridge  to Terabithia
2. I've forgotten so much of Kite Runner...
The latter is not uncommon, I can barely remember phantom tollbooth, save for a lingering good feeling... save for a memory of happiness and emotion. This pains me immensely... that I/we so easily forget except for some small/big things, and emotional memory. It's true, I can't remember 1984 as well as Animal Farm either. Was it a waste? If you're happy in a dream, does it count? This I guess, is what underlies photography... searching for those nuggets... the small things.

But of course they matter. What's in your working memory is but a fraction of your being. Somewhere in that messy subconscious, BFG, Enid Blyton, a just thought of a book and then lost it, thereby ironically proving my point somehow(?) they all mix around in a cocktail, rojak, whatever  you want to call it. Tuesdays with Morrie, that's the one...

I think it's time I go to bed. 21 chapters later, and I've left with Li Keen Alone, Two Thoughts, a Person-Shaped-Hole-In-The-Universe.

#81 The God of Small Things
Why not. It was a good book.
I intended to just have an umbrella 'books' thing, but it doesn't really do justice to the splendor and uniqueness of every book I've read...
Cheers to a book that saw me through some summer evenings; it'll be remembered here in a list of small things...

Je pense donc... j'écris

Je vais essayer d'écrire en français.

Je viens de finir l'insoutenable légèreté l'être par Milan Kundera et comme d'habitude, je me sens la mélancolie. C'est une émotion bien décrit par la protagoniste dans "le quatorzième quartier" (le dernier court métrage du film Paris, je t'aime) C'est la même émotion on se sent quand on finit quelque livre. Il est probable que je continue à penser au livre au cours des prochains jours. Cependant, aujourd'hui, je veut partager ma réflexion sur le film.

Après j'ai vu le premier partie du film le dernier mercredi, je pensais que "le bastille" serais mon court métrage favori. Le court métrage représente un couple d'âge mûr. Au début du court, l'homme veut partir sa femme pour sa maîtresse mais il changer son avis parce que sa femme a une maladie en phase terminale. Ensuite, il redécouvre son amour pour elle parce que "a force de se comporter un homme amoureux, il devient un homme amoureux." J'aime bien cette phrase, mais je n'aime pas que la femme est toujours la demoiselle en déstresse.

Mais le jeudi, je change mon avis.

(continué de mardi)

Maintenant, je préfère le dernier court avec la factrice américaine. Je réfléchis parfois, si je ne trouve jamais personne pour moi. Une personne plus dramatique que moi peut être croit: je ne survivra pas, je vivra désespéré. Mais je sais c'est faux pour moi. Le poète Robert Frost dit: en trois mots, je peut résumer tout j'ai appris au sujet de la vie: la vie continue. J'aime beaucoup aussi la scène a la fin du court au parc. Je comprends complètement la protagoniste. De plus, parce qu'elle est touriste américaine, typique et amusante, ses mots sont profond d'autant plus. Elle est l'humanité de nous tous. Son expérience ans un pays étrange par elle même est universelle. C'est la raison sa français simple est très significative.

C'est fatigant.