"As a general rule, we detest what resembles ourself, and our own faults when observed in another person infuriate us....It is because the similarity is too great that, in spite of family affection, and sometimes all the more the greater the affection is, families are divided." - Marcel Proust, The Captive.
Yeah.
Showing posts with label literature reference. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature reference. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Branded
Out of respect for my parents, I decided to save this news until I got home. Who wants to find out their kid got a tattoo through a blog? Anyway, the rumors are true. That I'm home, and also that I got a tattoo.
Philosophy of the tattoo
I realize that it's not exactly culturally acceptable for girls to get tattoos in the States. I mean, it is... but I've known a number of guys who have said they would never date a girl with a tattoo... and a number of employers who would not hire someone with a visible tattoo. Almost as though "pure"/"untampered" skin... is preferred and praised...
Nevertheless (alwaysthemore), mine's out in the open for everyone to judge. And it's even crooked. So not only will the upper-class judge me for branding my "pure" body with something that symbolizes a marginal part of my life, but even the tattoo-elitists will look down on me because it's crooked!
To me, this tattoo does symbolize a part of my life that I don't want marginalized. My experience with the South Pacific was just a small period of my life as far as time goes, but I don't want the things I've learned to become just a part of the "me" I left in Samoa.
I like my tattoo. I like that it's visible. And visibly crooked. And I like telling the story around it.
Samoan Tattoo (Tatau) 411
Polynesians invented the Tattoo. "ta" means to strike something... hence the tapping noise when they give the tattoo. The traditional tattoo is given with razor-thin pieces of a boars tusk that are dipped in ink and then tapped into the skin of the recipient.
There's typically 4-6 people working at a time. In our situation, one person was giving the tattoo, one spreading out the skin, one wiping away the blood and excess ink, one was fanning away the flies. Traditionally, the design of the tattoo would be entirely up to the artist. As described of Queequeg's tattoos in Moby Dick,
"this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read" -Queequeg and his Coffin
The Story
After an hour-long car, ride, we finally pulled up to Sulu Ape's house. He is the best tattoo artist in all of Samoa, but as he was in American Samoa, we agreed to be tattooed by his son Peter. We entered the fale and talked for a while (not about the tattoos). Finally, we got to business, and Andrea went first. She got a big one on her outer thigh. Then was Michelle with one on her wrist... here's some footage:
(At the end he said "where you going?" to which I replied "faleuila" which literally translates to house of lightning but means the restroom.)
Then I had my turn. It's a fish. And if you ask me what it means, you probably won't get a straight-forward answer. First, because I don't know that I can even articulate it. Second, because I don't know that I'd want to.
And here's me playing it safe with my tattoo... you're supposed to keep from submerging tattoos in water immediately after getting them...
But who am I kidding, fish can't be out of water for too long...
After I had my tattoo done, I felt like a new person. I really do meditate on it everyday, and will continue to.
Interesting note: in "A Bower in the Arsacides", Ishmael has the dimensions of a whale tattooed to his arm...
What the white whale was to Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid...- The Whiteness of the Whale
Philosophy of the tattoo
I realize that it's not exactly culturally acceptable for girls to get tattoos in the States. I mean, it is... but I've known a number of guys who have said they would never date a girl with a tattoo... and a number of employers who would not hire someone with a visible tattoo. Almost as though "pure"/"untampered" skin... is preferred and praised...
Nevertheless (alwaysthemore), mine's out in the open for everyone to judge. And it's even crooked. So not only will the upper-class judge me for branding my "pure" body with something that symbolizes a marginal part of my life, but even the tattoo-elitists will look down on me because it's crooked!
To me, this tattoo does symbolize a part of my life that I don't want marginalized. My experience with the South Pacific was just a small period of my life as far as time goes, but I don't want the things I've learned to become just a part of the "me" I left in Samoa.
I like my tattoo. I like that it's visible. And visibly crooked. And I like telling the story around it.
Samoan Tattoo (Tatau) 411
Polynesians invented the Tattoo. "ta" means to strike something... hence the tapping noise when they give the tattoo. The traditional tattoo is given with razor-thin pieces of a boars tusk that are dipped in ink and then tapped into the skin of the recipient.
There's typically 4-6 people working at a time. In our situation, one person was giving the tattoo, one spreading out the skin, one wiping away the blood and excess ink, one was fanning away the flies. Traditionally, the design of the tattoo would be entirely up to the artist. As described of Queequeg's tattoos in Moby Dick,
"this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read" -Queequeg and his Coffin
The Story
After an hour-long car, ride, we finally pulled up to Sulu Ape's house. He is the best tattoo artist in all of Samoa, but as he was in American Samoa, we agreed to be tattooed by his son Peter. We entered the fale and talked for a while (not about the tattoos). Finally, we got to business, and Andrea went first. She got a big one on her outer thigh. Then was Michelle with one on her wrist... here's some footage:
(At the end he said "where you going?" to which I replied "faleuila" which literally translates to house of lightning but means the restroom.)
Then I had my turn. It's a fish. And if you ask me what it means, you probably won't get a straight-forward answer. First, because I don't know that I can even articulate it. Second, because I don't know that I'd want to.
And here's me playing it safe with my tattoo... you're supposed to keep from submerging tattoos in water immediately after getting them...
But who am I kidding, fish can't be out of water for too long...
After I had my tattoo done, I felt like a new person. I really do meditate on it everyday, and will continue to.
Interesting note: in "A Bower in the Arsacides", Ishmael has the dimensions of a whale tattooed to his arm...
What the white whale was to Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid...- The Whiteness of the Whale
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Paradise Lost
If the trend hasn't become apparent already, I should apologize for the in-cohesiveness of my posts. Timed internet cafes aren't conducive to good bloggin'.
During the time when I was busy writing my ISP, I couldn't wait to come home. These are the things I was looking forward to in the States:
-hot showers
-clean clothes
-hairdryers
-High-speed internet
-my car/being able to go wherever I want whenever I want
-LOST/ Soyouthinkyoucandance?
-celery, apples, healthy stuff and vegan alternatives
- queso and chocolate chip cookies (forget the contradiction... let me have what I want)
- used bookstores
- NPR
the list goes on... all superficial things, really.
The things I was ready to get away from:
-standing out everywhere I go because I'm white
- my housemates screaming/singing/blasting their music at all hours of the night
-the HEAT/insects
As much as I was looking forward to going home, I was on an emotional rollercoaster during the days leading up to my departure. I would be riding down the road through the mountains and just break into tears for no reason other than that I realized I might not ever be able to come back. And because the scenery really is breathtaking. And also thinking about all the people I've gotten close to...
Now that I'm back in Hawaii (which is somewhat of a cultural mid-way point between living in the Mainland America and living in Samoa) it's becoming clear to me the things I will miss most from Samoa.
1) The "smiling game". I loved just smiling at people... as weird as that sounds it really became addictive. Smiles really are contageous!
2) The busses and the market-- being able to touch someone in passing without them getting offended-- whether it's sitting in a stranger's lap or bumping into someone.
3) The scantily clad men and those tiny little rugby shorts. It really seems like gender roles were reversed-- in that the men were objectified based on their physique.
4) Being able to put on weight and still have people respect you for who you are.
5) Sunni dance parties-- or in general being able to sing/dance at any time/any place without question
6) Being able to laugh at things... not having to be politically correct all the time.
7) Hanging out in the office with my au palangi *
8) Tip Top ice cream. Ice cream is always better when you have to down it within 2 minutes or it will end up all over your already-dirty clothes.
9) The USP students and the friends I made there. By far one of the hardest things to leave...
These lists (as always) are non-exhaustive. There's just too much to say...
*team white people (/ study abroad group)
During the time when I was busy writing my ISP, I couldn't wait to come home. These are the things I was looking forward to in the States:
-hot showers
-clean clothes
-hairdryers
-High-speed internet
-my car/being able to go wherever I want whenever I want
-LOST/ Soyouthinkyoucandance?
-celery, apples, healthy stuff and vegan alternatives
- queso and chocolate chip cookies (forget the contradiction... let me have what I want)
- used bookstores
- NPR
the list goes on... all superficial things, really.
The things I was ready to get away from:
-standing out everywhere I go because I'm white
- my housemates screaming/singing/blasting their music at all hours of the night
-the HEAT/insects
As much as I was looking forward to going home, I was on an emotional rollercoaster during the days leading up to my departure. I would be riding down the road through the mountains and just break into tears for no reason other than that I realized I might not ever be able to come back. And because the scenery really is breathtaking. And also thinking about all the people I've gotten close to...
Now that I'm back in Hawaii (which is somewhat of a cultural mid-way point between living in the Mainland America and living in Samoa) it's becoming clear to me the things I will miss most from Samoa.
1) The "smiling game". I loved just smiling at people... as weird as that sounds it really became addictive. Smiles really are contageous!
2) The busses and the market-- being able to touch someone in passing without them getting offended-- whether it's sitting in a stranger's lap or bumping into someone.
3) The scantily clad men and those tiny little rugby shorts. It really seems like gender roles were reversed-- in that the men were objectified based on their physique.
4) Being able to put on weight and still have people respect you for who you are.
5) Sunni dance parties-- or in general being able to sing/dance at any time/any place without question
6) Being able to laugh at things... not having to be politically correct all the time.
7) Hanging out in the office with my au palangi *
8) Tip Top ice cream. Ice cream is always better when you have to down it within 2 minutes or it will end up all over your already-dirty clothes.
9) The USP students and the friends I made there. By far one of the hardest things to leave...
These lists (as always) are non-exhaustive. There's just too much to say...
*team white people (/ study abroad group)
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Reflections from the girls ocean
Before I came to Samoa, I came upon a former Independent Study Project that inspired my studies here. The girl wrote a series of pieces that were meant to be performed orally and narrated through the eyes of a Samoan girl. This one was my favorite. I think she articulates exactly how I feel about Samoa and my interests here.
THE OCEAN by Shannon Sonenstein
In school we learned that most of the earth’s surface is made up of water. It’s funny to think of it that way because all Mr. Smith, my teacher, the pisikoa (peace corps), ever talks about, focuses on, is the land. I’ve heard the human body is like that too.
Even though I can’t see it, can’t imagine it, I’m mostly water.
Fluid.
Flowing.
Liquid and changing rather than confined to a solid.
Mold.
Role.
Form. As I’ve been trained to think.
Do you know what else I learned today? There are more women on earth than men. I told that to my sister and she laughed at me. She asked, “If there are more women, then why do we only learn about men — what they do? what they think?” And I tried to tell her that women must be like the ocean.
Deep.
Unexplored.
Fluid.
And it would make sense then that the body’s mostly water because that’s where we come from. When I think of my sisters, I think of water. Of nighttime. After supper when we gather under the pipe in the yard and bathe together. All of us sleek and shiny with water. Lavalavas clinging, scrubbing our underpants together. Sharing the water and blowing soap bubbles. Helping each other wash our long, long hair. Surrounded always by water.
That’s how I think ofSamoa too. Of being nourished, washed, wiped clean by the ocean. Kissed on all sides by her waves. Protected from the rest of the world. Safe in the ocean’s womb. That’s how I feel after school when all of us girls run to the beach to cool down in our sami, our sea.
Safe.
Protected.
Rocked.
Calmed.
And surrounded . . . by my sisters.
THE OCEAN by Shannon Sonenstein
In school we learned that most of the earth’s surface is made up of water. It’s funny to think of it that way because all Mr. Smith, my teacher, the pisikoa (peace corps), ever talks about, focuses on, is the land. I’ve heard the human body is like that too.
Even though I can’t see it, can’t imagine it, I’m mostly water.
Fluid.
Flowing.
Liquid and changing rather than confined to a solid.
Mold.
Role.
Form. As I’ve been trained to think.
Do you know what else I learned today? There are more women on earth than men. I told that to my sister and she laughed at me. She asked, “If there are more women, then why do we only learn about men — what they do? what they think?” And I tried to tell her that women must be like the ocean.
Deep.
Unexplored.
Fluid.
And it would make sense then that the body’s mostly water because that’s where we come from. When I think of my sisters, I think of water. Of nighttime. After supper when we gather under the pipe in the yard and bathe together. All of us sleek and shiny with water. Lavalavas clinging, scrubbing our underpants together. Sharing the water and blowing soap bubbles. Helping each other wash our long, long hair. Surrounded always by water.
That’s how I think of
Safe.
Protected.
Rocked.
Calmed.
And surrounded . . . by my sisters.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
To be or not to be? ... as though Hamlet had a choice
I had just written a super-long post that probably over-exposed my views on death since I've been in Samoa. But being on these unreliable computers, it was deleted.
It was probably for the better, as it was probably too dark and emo for parents and parents' friends and people who might still be under the impression that I'm normal and people I might run into at cocktail parties in the future...
So here's the (somewhat) abbreviated version:
-I was a "flexible vegan" before this trip
-I wanted to be culturally sensitive and live like Samoans do
-Samoans like meat
-I tell a long story about the first time I saw a pig get killed in Samoa
-Several more pigs get killed
-I am coping with "survival" tactics
-Everything I thought I valued is getting tossed around
-I am now an excellent spear-fisher
-And yet through it all... I still cry uncontrollably whenever I see or hear a pig getting killed...
It was probably for the better, as it was probably too dark and emo for parents and parents' friends and people who might still be under the impression that I'm normal and people I might run into at cocktail parties in the future...
So here's the (somewhat) abbreviated version:
-I was a "flexible vegan" before this trip
-I wanted to be culturally sensitive and live like Samoans do
-Samoans like meat
-I tell a long story about the first time I saw a pig get killed in Samoa
-Several more pigs get killed
-I am coping with "survival" tactics
-Everything I thought I valued is getting tossed around
-I am now an excellent spear-fisher
-And yet through it all... I still cry uncontrollably whenever I see or hear a pig getting killed...
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
Call Me Ishmael...
I like walking. A lot. If the day is short, I will just go through some familiar scenery, but my favorite kind of walk is the kind where I have to wake up early on a Saturday morning so that I can make it back before the sun sets.
I commonly hear "I saw a girl that looked just like you walking behind discount tires on I-35" Or better yet, "when I was home over the summer in Las Cruces New Mexico, I saw this girl walking down the street with her luggage-- in 107 degree weather-- that looked just like you!" (I will explain that one in another post...)
I'm frequently asked "where are you going?" To which I just shrug. Dissatisfied, they'll ask "well, where are you coming from?" and I'll just say "I'm on a walk." To me, that seems like that would be a sufficient answer.
Why walk? For health? Sure. Because it's more environmentally responsible than driving and saves gasoline money? Absolutely. But there's something else...
When I go on walks, I never really plan out where I'm going to go. I usually just follow my curiosity. I understand the old saying-- "curiosity kills the cat"--but at the same time, I also like to believe that people of this nature have 9 lives. I've got at least 5 of mine left. Okay, maybe 4. The point is, I like to explore new territory. This means I'm constantly forced to re-orient myself. I walk for the thrill of this.
Here are some other people who are talking about walking too, but prettier...
"It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable experience, to be lost in the woods at any time [...] In our most trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like pilots by certain well-known beacons and headlands, and if we go beyond our usual course we still carry in our minds the bearing of some neighboring cape; and not till we are completely lost, or turned round-- for [s]he needs only to be turned round once with eyes shut in this world to be lost-- do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of Nature. Every person has to learn the points of compass again as often as [s]he awakes, whether from sleep or any abstraction. Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations"
-Henry David Thoreau, Walden
"Call me Ishmael. Some years ago... having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all [wo]men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. [...] Stand a person on their legs, set their feet a-going, and they will infallibly lead you to water[...] Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever."
-Herman Melville, Moby Dick
So, here is an introduction to my studies in the South Pacific.
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