Anti-Social: 'The Mistress of Nothing'

This may contain spoilers. 

Reading the back summary, I was excited to see that a large portion of this book was set in Egypt. Here is what I read:

When Lady Duff Gordon, toast of London society, departs for the hot, dry climate of Egypt to seek relief from her debilitating tuberculosis, her lady's maid, Sally, doesn't think twice about remaining by her lifelong mistress' side. Along the way, Sally comes to experience freedoms she has never known: forgoing corsets in favor of native dress, learning Arabic, and having her first taste of romance. But freedom is a luxury that a maid can ill afford, and when Sally grasps for more than her status entitles her to, she is brutally reminded that she is mistress of nothing. Ultimately, she must choose her master and a way back--or a way to the unknown. Based on the real lives of Lady Duff Gordon and her maid...

Now, I am not a fan of reading about life of the English, especially in the late 19th century, but I couldn't help but be intrigued by what this book might have to offer. Without divulging too much into the plot and thus giving it away in its entirety, I will say that Sally falls in love with an Egyptian, Omar, who already has a family. He has feelings for her himself, which has its consequences not just for Sally and Omar, but for Lady Duff Gordon and his own family. Throughout the book, I couldn't help but be annoyed with Sally. Here is this white woman who knows that this man is married, but instead of stepping back, she allows herself to be in a situation where she could get hurt. Now, I'm not saying this is entirely her fault. Omar is as much to blame, if not more to blame, for what transpired in the book. 

I think what frustrated me with Sally is that so often in books and movies I see the dark-skinned brothers go for the white women. It leaves me wondering if this is the kind of women we have to continuously go up against. I found myself unconsciously hoping that things wouldn't work out for Sally in Egypt, because I wanted her to feel the way I did living in a white-dominating world: dejected (though, it's in Egypt, so the author was very attentive of showing the kindness and open-armed attitude of the Egyptian people). In the end, I was shamefully happy in how things turned out, though I did have a small pitying feeling towards Sally's fate. All in all, I do have to say that this is a wonderful, quick read, not too heavy, and certainly not too light. 

Anti-Social: 'The Sun Also Rises'

I was browsing through my list of 'books to read', and this one jumped out. I had read Old Man and the Sea and thoroughly enjoyed it, so I decided to borrow this one.

In The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway writes in a very simplistic manner. His sentence structure, the one-dimensional development of his characters, the repetitive nature of ideas and conversations continuously brought up had me quite bored. I couldn't, for the life of me, remember if Old Man and the Sea held the same torturously monotonous tone that this book had. If it did, I had forgotten. Nevertheless, I plowed through, hoping that this book would impress as I progressed into the story.

The Sun Also Rises is about a group of friends who live in Paris after World War I. We are seeing the world through the eyes of Jack, a journalist, who is friends with a boxing Jew, a promiscuous woman who is divorcing her husband to marry her fiance, and a fishing buddy. Most of the book is spent in Spain, where the five characters meet to witness the annual bull-fighting. While there, the woman falls in love with the bull-fighter, even though the man she's promised to marry is with her.

There are several things I perceived while going through this book. Hemingway is very lax with the derogatory anti-black, anti-Semitic terms I find prevalent in white authors of the time. I personally find such straightforward racism to be distasteful and unnecessary.

The friendships portrayed in this book are those of convenience, though it's very clear that these five people are not particularly fond of each other. I also noticed that the conversations that were had were lacking in any kind of goal, and questions and thoughts were repeated to the point of confusion. What was the point in asking the same questions or making the same remarks?

For me, this book was quite pointless in its subject matter, which, if I am to be correct, was the goal. Hemingway hoped to present the reality that there were people who wondered around aimlessly after the War, drifting through life. I certainly got that feel as I was reading, and I can't say that I particularly enjoyed it. This is a very forgettable book, one that I read only because Hemingway is seen as a classical American author. The Sun Also Rises has proven to me the nagging, sad disdain I hold for many American authors. That is to say that this kind of book is beneficial only to those who consider themselves the bourgeoisie of the world. The aimlessness of life as seen here is one that only rich, white Americans and Europeans can understand and appreciate.

I sit in the murmured coolness of corporate coffee's mascot, breathing and thinking and drinking. A group of Asians sit close by, laughing and chattering as they enjoy each other's company. And here I sit, enjoying my own.

Antique Elephants [Lafayette, OR]

On Saturday, my best friend and I went to an antique mall out in Lafayette, Oregon. I am a huge fan of elephants. When we were browsing antique shops in Newberg, we found different elephant-related antiques, so we decided to scout out Lafayette's mall. These are just a few of the elephants we saw. And then some bright vases that we couldn't pass up photographing.  

Anti-Social: Taming of the Shrew

Saturday, April 9, 2011. This was our third performance day for Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, and the entire cast and crew were excited for audiences. On this particular day, we had both Photo Call and a respondent coming to the show, thus resulting in a very long, hectic day. Michael, our director, had decided long before that photo call would happen before the performance, which makes total sense. Who wants to undress, listen to the respondents, then dress back into layers of thick, sweaty fabric? No, thank you.

Nevertheless, this meant that I was there from 2.20 PM until a little before 11.00 PM. This is over eight hours with about twenty other people.

I am someone who cannot stand being around one person for more than an hour, so imagine 8 hours with twenty times that. I was freaking out before the whole deal even started.

I got there at my call time and sat down to do my make-up. My stomach was churning in anticipated dread, though I tried my best to keep a brave face. You see, I have been having panic attacks since September [another topic for another day], and all the precursors and stimulants were hinting to another. I calmly put my make-up on, spritzed, and went upstairs to dun my costume. I had asked Rachel earlier to check where we were starting, since I have a costume change halfway through the show. She came back to say that it was the second act, so I came back down dressed as the Merchant instead of the servant. We all met onstage, and Hannah, our stage manager, told us that we would do Kate's beginning scene from Act 2, then we would start from the top of the play. Tears jumped into my eyes, and I did what I shouldn't have.

I questioned my stage manager. Instead of sucking it up and going back to change, I was disrespectful and told her that I was told the opposite. Michael reiterated that we were, in fact, going from the top of the play, and I turned back to change in a darker mood.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I thought, reminding myself that these were people who might not be sympathetic to any breakdowns I would have. I changed, we did the photo call, and then changed back to street clothes for dinner. I sat in the corner, reading my book, hoping that people would take this as a sign that I couldn't be bothered. Deanna and Alanna came over to ask me if I wanted coffee, and I declined out of lack of funds. They were kind enough to bring me a cup, anyway. Ben Vawter came over, asked if I was in my "Annaliese" mode. I didn't even say a word, just looked at him until he left me alone. I probably could have been a little kinder in rebuffing him, but I wasn't.

At 5.30, we were told to change back into our costume and to retouch make-up. I quickly ran outside for a smoke, passing Michael on my way back in.

At 6.15, we had warm-ups, fight call, and then we gathered to pray. In this circle, holding hands, Ben at my left and Alanna on my right, giving thanks and praise to God, I realized how lonely I was. That even though there was plenty for me to be thankful for, I didn't feel thankful. I felt nothing but bitterness, tiredness, hopelessness. I felt empty, something that I shouldn't have been feeling as God's child. I stepped out of the circle, joining Ben's and Alanna's hands together. I went upstairs to the Sound Room, locked the door, kept the light off, and wept. I tried to be quiet, hoping the sound wouldn't travel. For the next twenty minutes, I sat by myself, in the dark, without friends and without God, wallowing in self-pity.

Not my proudest moment. But it reminded me that I had no one to turn to but myself. In a crowd, I had no one. This is probably why I am doubting many things in my life right now.

I cried twice that night. Both times, I went off into the dark. Both times, I returned unwillingly to society. Life is beginning to take it's toll on me. My eyes, the indicator of my emotions, look tired and sad in all pictures, as if I haven't slept. People ask if I am tired, and I answer "Yes". It is true. Though I have slept enough, my soul is slowly taking over my body, and no amount of sleep can ever satisfy how tired it is.

Maybe one day, I won't have to wake up to satisfy it.

Anti-Social: Books

Books have been a constant presence in my life for as long as I can remember. They were the one constant thing that I could trust. This sounds weird, no, to love a thing so materialistic? Indeed; yet I knew that when I cracked the spine of that book, I would be met with words that transformed me from this unpredictable world. I knew what to expect from books. I knew what I was getting into. Books were, and still are, a great deal easier to deal with than people. 

Today, I spent some time reading "The Poor Will Be Glad". It talks about microfinancing, which gives loans to the poor so that they can enable and further themselves financially. When George Fox presented this chance to hand out a free book, I jumped on it. My love for reading has caused me to be introduced to this other world of business, a world that I have no experience or natural talent in. And yet, my love for books has led me to its doors, and it has stood by as I have shaken hands with it. I have sat in silence, thinking and trying to absorb all this information that my eyes had seen. 

I knew what to expect from this book. I expected to be presented with an idea and to work with it. And, as always, this book has not failed me. Books are there, breathing their words into my very being, begging to be heard. They aid me in retreating into myself, and I allow them to. Life has always been changing, and it will continue to do so. At least here, in my state of social unconsciousness, I have something to occupy my time.
I have my books. I have my friends.

If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death, human life cannot be complete. 

(Viktor E. Frankl)

[MAN'S SEARCH FOR MEANING, pg. 67]

First, let me explain the context of this quote. Viktor Frankl was a psychologist who also happened to be a survivor of the WWII concentration camps. He is also the man who coined the phrase "logotheraphy". 

In his book, Frankl states that the only reason he was able to survive the camps was because he found meaning behind his suffering. His reason for surviving was so that he could be reunited with his wife [who, he found later, had died in one of the camps]. Many of the prisoners died because they had lost all hope and meaning. They had no reason to survive. 

Though I have not gone through the same things as Frankl did, I cannot help but take note of his words and apply them to my own life. In my own way, I am suffering. But, in order to make it through this, there has to be meaning. There has to be a reason why I've gone through some of the shit that I have.

Let me try to explain, both to you and myself, some of the reasons that I have tried to gather.

[1] I would, one day, love to go to the Middle East and work for a peace organization [UN, CPT, etc.]. I've read accounts of people having to go through extremely stressful situations in order to protect others. Accounts that tell of people being told they can't escort children to schools, though they weren't breaking any laws. Accounts of people being beaten for recording some of the abuse that goes on [all of what I'm talking about is happening in Palestine, and I'm sure it's happening in other parts of the world]. I think that God is testing me with this insignificant shit to see if I'll step up to the plate when bigger shit comes around. Naturally, I'm failing.

[2] If it wasn't me suffering, it would be someone else. I could be saving my younger brothers from having to deal with this kind of crap.

[3] In order for me to grow up, I need to not be living the easy life. A little before Frankl wrote the above quote, he says: "An active life serves the purpose of giving man the opportunity to realize values in creative work, while a passive life of enjoyment affords him the opportunity to obtain fulfillment in experiencing beauty, art, or nature." [pg. 67] When I'm sitting on my ass, just letting my life go past, then I'm not forced to see the beauty in the world around me. But, because of my suffering, I have to actively seek out ways to be happy. It makes the sunshine that more beautiful, the chirping of birds more musical, the smile on the face of an innocent child so much more meaningful. I'm more thankful over the simplicity of life. I'm more grateful when it doesn't rain when I'm walking home, when I go to sleep in an actual bed, when I'm eating actual food and not the junk I just grabbed off the grocery aisle. I can see the sun shine in the rain. 

Those three reasons are what I've gotten so far. It may be all that I'll ever get for now, but I quite think that's enough. I always forget about God when shit hits the fan, but I can't. Because when I'm suffering, He's a constant reminder that there's always a reason for things. 

I don't know what God has in store for me, but I'd like to think that when I clean all my shit up, I'll realize the shack I've been living in has been turned into a mansion.

The Only Wisdom We Can Hope to Acquire Is The Wisdom of Humility: Humility is Endless. [T. S. ELIOT]

We've all, at one point or another, gone through an experience that humbles us.

I have.

Each of these experiences has been because someone has opened their mouth on a situation that was not theirs to talk about. But, sometimes, I find myself saying things that I shouldn't be. I mean this in the sense that I'm burdening someone when they've already got the world on their shoulders. So, I'm trying to keep my mouth shut and keep trucking through, dealing with problems by myself. I know people say that they can help, if I ask for it, but who do they turn to for help?

I'd rather let my problems be my own.

I'm learning to be humble.

Damn, Son, You's Making Me Think

I've been reading more of the book mentioned in the previous post, and it's a slow read for me [I'm only on page 26]. I've had to stop several times [aka, every other paragraph] to think about what he's saying. Daveed talks about practicing Muslims compared to Christians and Jews. Islam preaches equality, and those who truly practice Muslims [people who are not terrorists/extremists] are living testaments to this. He compares a friend, al-Husein Madhany [a Muslim], to Mike [a Christian] and their different tactics to convert. While Mike was close-minded, al-Husein was open to discussion and held no discrimination towards other beliefs.

It was interesting, too, reading what Islam thought of Christianity and Judaism. Islam believes these two sects to be people of the Book, and they had a place in Heaven. Also, they didn't believed that Jews were the Chosen People, because the Chosen were people who believed in Allah.

Isn't this something that Christians believe in, too? Granted that this is only through people who also believe that Jesus is a part of God.

I have to go, but so far, the book talks along this line. It's interesting to read a little more in depth about Islam. At the library, I found an English translation of the Qu'ran [though Muslims believe that the only true Qu'ran is one written in it's original language]. I might borrow it to better understand what Islam is about, though by the thickness of it, it may take me a long time to get through. This current book is less than three hundred pages, and it's already taking me a while.

See you fools later.

Reading About Islam [Book #1]

"Mike homed in on my respect for Jesus. At the time, Mike's favorite Christian author was Josh McDowell, an apologist with a gift for making his arguments accessible to college-age readers... [he] discussed at length C. S. Lewis's claim that there were three possible things Jesus could have been: a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord. Both McDowell and Lewis concluded that those were the only three alternatives, and there could be no middle ground. This is because Jesus claimed to be God in the New Testament. If this claim were truee, then one should accept him as Lord. But if Jesus' claim was false, and he knew the claim was false, he would be a liar who had nothing to offer his students. On the other hand, if Jesus believed he was God but wasn't, then he would be a madman. The one thing Jesus could not be, according to this logic, was exactly what I thought he was: a good and wise teacher."

[My Year Inside Radical Islam, pg. 7]

I just started reading this book [aka, I'm on page seven], but already, it makes me wonder. The author, Daveed Gartenstein-Ross, used to work for the Al Haramain Islamic Foundation, a charity based in Saudi Arabia. It's goal was to promote Wahhabism, a conservative Islamic sect prominent in Saudi. This, then, inspired terrorist groups, one being Al Qaeda. 

This book is supposed to be the memoir of one man's journey down religious discovery into Islam [as I said, I am only seven pages in]. He  was a Jew through the beliefs of his parents, who "a friend once jokingly referred to... as 'Jewnitarians.'" He met a guy who was a Christian, that, during college, became one of those close-minded, ignorant-ass sons of bitches who would rather convert through bashing other beliefs as illogical than through civilized discussions. [My apologies for that sentence, both in length and language.] The page before, Daveed met this guy's girlfriend, who promptly asked him why he wasn't a Christian.

That's it. No "What do you believe in?" or "What are your thoughts on Christianity?" 

I was so offended when I read that sentence. But the fact of the matter is, seven or eight years ago, that would have been me. I would have bullheadedly asked someone that same ignorant question. Not because I wanted to offend, but I truly couldn't understand how someone couldn't see the logic that Jesus was God. I listened to nothing but Christian music, went to nothing but Christian events, had nothing but Christian friends. I looked at disgust at people who slept in on Sundays, even when I wished I could do the same.

My own faith has changed so much in the past eight years, I can't help but shake my head at my younger self's naivety. By surrounding myself around people who all thought the same, I never questioned why. Why do I believe that Christ is the Son of God? Why do I believe the Bible is the one true Word? What makes Islam and Judaism different my religion, even though we all serve the same God? 

I'm not as close to answering these questions as I would like to be. But I am starting to question. Not so eight years ago. Back then, I would have shit in my pants if I ever thought those questions. I would have gone to confessions for questioning God.

But I'm not. I'm questioning myself, so that when I meet someone, I can be honest with who I am. 

Reading that quote made me realize that Lewis is right, in the sense that Jesus could have also been a liar or a madman. I chose to believe that Jesus was who He said He was. That's my decision. That, however, doesn't give me the right to ridicule people who don't agree with my beliefs. And I agree that Jesus was a good and wise teacher. Who happened to be God. 

Along that line, I was here in Coffee Cottage earlier when I heard a splash behind me. I turned to the family of three to see that someone's coffee had spilled on the table, the floor, the chair and on the pants of the dad. Being sympathetic, I went and borrowed a rag from the barista. I mean, every serious coffee drinker [aka, myself] has spilled coffee on themselves at least once [aka, multiple times].

While the dad went to the bathroom to wash up, I started cleaning up the mess. The mother looked at me and said, "I've never seen you around before."

"Oh, I don't work here."

"Are you a Christian?"

"Yes."

"Oh, you're such a good person."

So, what, I can't be a good person without being a Christian? Because everyone who hasn't proclaimed themselves a disciple of Jesus is doomed to be horrible for the rest of their lives? That's ridiculous! Not every Christian is a nice person, and not every nice person is a Christian. I know this woman wasn't trying to be offensive, but I wonder: What if I was Muslim? Or agnostic? Or a pagan?

It just makes me scratch my head. Both the earlier situation and what I've read in the book so far.