Post on Kosovo

Been a while since I posted anything on the other blog, but thought this issue should be separate from here. Interesting advisory opinion issued by the ICJ on the Kosovo's unilateral declaration of independence.

Postscript...

It's been almost a week my "meeting" with the guy online, and neither of us have written to one another. I'm not planning to, despite the pity I felt for him afterwards... but some things were said during our meeting that were really offensive, that made me want to just walk away and leave, but I didn't.

I stayed around till the end, and we parted company as we reached the metro station in the pouring rain. There were personaly remarks, racist remarks, unpleasant things that made me feel stupid and unwanted. Maybe he said those things because he could not help himself, because he does not have the understanding of social etiquette to know that you cannot say such hurtful things in front of people and out loud.

I dismissed those comments, thinking that it must be a condition of his autism. I know that people with his condition are born thinking and feeling every bit superior to everyone else, and that everyone else is a failure or not worthy of talking to (he said it himself, called his friends and classmates "stupid", ignorant, and lamented that they cannot see things as he sees them). I forgave him and pretended I did not hear it all.

I do sometimes think of contacting him, even now, but I'm not sure what for. Perhaps out of pity? Perhaps out of guilt? Perhaps to convince myself that I am not a heartless monster who turns away from people who are difficult to deal with? Perhaps because I made his first "meeting" with a stranger a complete failure? But I don't even know his real name, he never wanted to let me know. And he never initiated a conversation, asked me questions or take interest in what I do (except only after I asked him to ask me some questions...)

All I can do, I guess, is wish the best for him... and hope that he will find the friend he is looking for, find the "someone like me" he is searching for.

Why does it all matter anyway?
Exchanges, personal attacks, insinuations. It cannot be healthy, either to me or to anyone other person.

I can stop it.

Stop it, breathe deeply, and let go. However misunderstood, however hurtful the accusations. Let go.

Let go. Two months, two years, two decades from now, it will be all forgotten. It will be all so trivial and petty in the grand scheme of things.

I have seen and experienced death and loss.

This should be nothing less. Nothing more.

Different reactions

People can have different reactions to different experiences. That's what makes us all human. That's what makes us all different. But I cannot understand how someone could make crude jokes out of the intense suffering and extremity of cruelty that occurred in a concentration camp.

Maybe I'm too serious or uptight, and should probably dismiss it all as simple foolishness and joke-making for the fun of it (at least I should hope so...). But comparing a concentration camp to a diet camp or the gas chambers to a spa...?

There is satire, there is poking fun. And then there is a level of humour that is so insensitive and of poor taste that it completely trivialises the pain and suffering of countless many Jews, Roma, homosexuals, political objectors and those deemed to be "misfits" by the Nazi regime.

Auschwitz, Birken-Hausen, Struthof... these are undoubtedly infamous names of places in history where horrendous amounts of pain were inflicted-- the effects of which still linger on in the memories of survivors and their relatives. But these places also stand symbolically as a reminder that till this day, decades after the world leaders got together, shook their heads in unison and promised "never again", the same kind of atrocities continued to occur, and still are occurring.

Last time I visited a concentration camp [LINK HERE], I was moved close to tears by my experience. In the narrow, gloomy hallways, in the gaschambers in which a sickly and deathly air seemed to hang thick after all these decades, on the walls of torture rooms and "medical labs ", I felt the ghosts of history come alive and haunt me.

Pictures, writings, shoes, teeth... rusted barbed fences, wind-swept barrack walls, and the open excavation of a quarry dug out by the inmates... All remnants and memories, painful and sordid, that till today still stand as indelible marks of the collective suffering, collective shame and collective guilt of entire nations, of the entire human race, which cannot and can never be erased.
It was a feeling of oppression, of gagging, of silence so intense I have only felt it in the face of watching family and close friends hopelessly suffer and slowly die from cancer... But the concentration camp bears the souls and innocence of so many who needlessly died because of prejudice, because of hatred, because someone was born the way they were born...

And someone actually questioned why people were standing there and weeping, even though they were not even Jewish. A human being's suffering and pain inflicted intentionally by another fellow human being who is acting under the spell of pure malice, and perhaps even out of joy, is reason enough to weep. Whatever race you are, and however remote you are to the time, place and people who bore the brunt of tyranny and oppression. Is not human sympathy and human compassion for the pain of others what distinguishes us from uncivilised beasts?

But this is just my reaction. Other people may have other reactions. And they are no less correct or wrong compared to mine.

Juste pour rire

At first, I was hesitant to go. Not a fan of big crowds, I was I glad though that I did in the end.

Exiting the metro, I was greeted by one of many elaborately dressed performers on stilts, and the steady, steady sound of African drums. Overhead, the papermache head of Hardy, with his iconic thin smile and moustache, gazed down at the gathering crowd with his goofy eyes. Festival Juste pour rire de Montreal ("Montreal Just for Laughs Festival"), is not just laughs and gags, but an elaborate series of festivities, shows and colours that lasts for almost an entire month.

For much of July, downtown Montreal is turned into a giant podium. Against the backdrop of skyscrapers and the normally crowded main thoroughfares of the city, the city's heart beats vibrantly in the heat of Summer, as hordes of revellers from all over the place descend on Montreal to... have a good laugh. Best of all, at no (one's) expense. Already in its twenty-third year, the festival combines acrobatic acts with pantomimes, games, slapstick comedy and street performances of all sorts and sizes. Making people laugh is the central theme, with each day jam packed with a variety of parades, live music and dance.

With friends, I stood on the St Catherine, the city's main artery, waited and watched the night's carnival go by. From the political to the spectacular, from outright outrageous makeup and masks to costumes and floats with important messages. There were surprise tricks, pranks and games played with the cheering crowd. It was a confused and yet delightful feast for the imagination. Fish dancing in synch, political leaders caricatured and spoofed, walking light bulbs, and a flock of forlorn and stained flamingos served as a critique and reminder of the seriousness of the latest oil spill-- an environmental catastrophe of unmatched proportions, which after four months is still unsolved. People aligned the pavements, tiptoeing to catch a glimpse of the action, clapping along with the music, sounds and noises blaring flutes, horns, drums or strange instruments made out of recycled materials and a stretch of the creativity. Signs and billboards carried important messages, about the need for tolerance, the beauty of celebrating diversity and differences. Even the colourful decors of shop windows and bright neonlights of (in)famous "dance clubs" seemed to join in the cacophony of lights and sound.

Perhaps the highlight of the spectacle, and host of the festival, is the midgety green mascote of Juste pour rire, Victor. He has a cheeky grin, fangs and devil-like red horns.. Yet despite his looks, his intentions are simple and pure. Victor makes sudden appearances on stage, next to dancing tongues, mock versions of Japanese robots, and can-can girls, "preying" on unsuspecting victim to infect them with the precious gift of... smiles and laughter. Children, grown-ups, teens; nobody is immune to his powerful spell of causing mayhem, chaos with colourful dance routines and catchy show-tunes. Victor's girlfriend, Rose, also makes surprise appearances. Though perhaps ten times taller and fatter, Rose 'floats' and waves around the various stages. The finale was a romantic reunion of the two lovers... under moonlight, under falling confetti in the shape of hearts, and under the magical, mesmerising lyrics of love songs. Cupids flew and dangled high in the sky, spreading red flames and light snow showers to bless the world with awe, love and laughter.

Standing there, merely "a face in the crowd", I felt a sense of joy. Joy brought about by my own laughter, the laughter of friends, and the laughter of countless others.

Terrible dream

I had a heated exchange with a friend, and things got nasty. I forgot what happened, or what the fight was about.

Nothing physical, but more verbal exchanges and insults were thrown at one another. At one point I just went silent, the way I get when I’m upset. But my friend continued, chiding and provoking me, trying to get me to respond, trying to get me to “loose it”. There were other friends around us, and they tried to calm us both, to stop the escalation.

Then this friend said something that really hurt me to the core. Alluding to the fact that I travel a lot, that I’m never home, and that I travel all the time for fun.

I broke down. I thought this friend understood me, knew me, knew my life. I thought he was understanding enough to know that I don’t travel for fun. At least not mainly for fun… I thought of my mum, thought of the painful moments watching her in hospital, waiting with her for results like waiting for a death sentence to be passed down. I thought of mum’s ordeals, her depressions, and my attempts to soothe her, to make her feel good about herself despite the circumstances she’s facing… those moments are not fun. How can anyone be so insensitive as to accuse me of travelling and flying around just to “have fun”?

I broke down, hit the floor and grabbed my stomach. I felt sick, nauseated, and tears poured out of me.

It was then I shook awake, and realised I was breathing very, very hard. I felt so terribly hurt, so terrible lonely and saddened. My heavy breathing continued, until I calmed down little by little…

Outside, rain was pouring down.