where no language is neutral
Canada
Where are you from?
I was explained the importance of Easter today; I was given chocolate while a colleague said pleasantly and with no negative intent something along the lines of the fact that this weekend was Easter (she pointed to Good Friday and Easter Sunday celebrations) and that it was their holiday – and though I most likely don’t care for it, or pay any mind to their celebrations, here’s some chocolate. I looked at her and said in a bit of a surprised tone uh, I’m from Canada, I know what Easter is… She smiled seemingly blankly and exited my office. This is my interpretation of the events. In my view, ignorance does not necessarily tie in with malice, however it does have certain consequences.
This past weekend, I was the recipient of the age-old (for some) question ‘where are you from’. It’s startling that at times this question still takes me off guard. ‘Ottawa’ I replied. ‘No, where are you from?’ Thinking that she couldn’t hear me above the restaurant’s buzz, I replied again the name of the city in which I was born 36 years ago. A refusal to accept my response and in search of a distinct other, she looked (again blankly) at me. I eventually succumbed to, in an almost audible sigh, ‘well, my parents are from Pakistan originally..’ As she nodded, I could almost feel my limbs being drawn and folded into a box, my identity reduced, categorized by her lines. In the same evening, I was referred to as a ‘Pakistani Muslim’ friend. I’m not sure what that means, but I know it means something.
Why does this question frustrate me so? To reverse a few decades, a few past blog posts, a few sociology papers, and a lot of research, this question has a long history, for myself and other Canadians. First, to address the delicacy, I understand when it is being asked out of mere curiosity about where my particular eyes, hair colour, or origin of my name, stem: a question of heritage. I also understand when I am being asked this question because I am being viewed as other than, different, and not from ‘here’. It is the latter inferences that trouble me most.
‘Where are you from’ implies difference. It implies that the person who is being asked this is different than the surrounding group. The surrounding group that I was with this past weekend and whom I currently work with and have lived with for the past 2 years, are all Canadian. We are all ‘strangers in a strange land’ where fitting into somewhere has a deeper meaning…so when I’m stubbornly not being accepted for the only identity I know, it’s somewhat isolating and leaves me group-less. And, I wonder what it is people see?
The refusal to accept the nation’s capital as an adequate response to where I am from implies that my lived experiences and my citizenship are irrelevant to the colour of skin – which is not white, to state it plainly. I could be more eloquent here I suppose, but at times, simplicity is best. Yes, I’m not white but I am Canadian.
For anyone who’s asked, my lived experience includes licking icicles and sledding down hard-packed snow. It includes being dropped off at the Rideau Canal ever year to skate in -20 degrees temps and eat beavertails. It includes trick or treating every October 31st and stuffing candy in shoe boxes under my bed, singing O Canada, learning about the Fathers of Confederation, and studying both official languages. It includes birthday parties, loot bags, swimming, running across sprinklers at the neighbourhood park. It includes ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ and books by Eric Carle, high school crushes, dates, and love. It includes residing in Ottawa, Montreal and Toronto.
So, when someone asks me where I’m from, why wouldn’t I say the city of a country which houses all of these memories? Why would I say a country that I have only visited once in my life when a work gig landed me there for 5 weeks?
So, when I am asked where the best places to stay in Karachi are, don’t look surprised when my answer is ‘I have no idea’. The automatic assumptions lurking behind these questions unsettle me.
Yes, my lived experiences also include more than I’ve written above. They also include growing up in an environment that switches between English and Urdu like breathing. They include learning about a religion, about a country and about a way of life of my parents’ generation. They include eating delicious foods, learning the art of samosa making and hearing tales of a different country far from my current. Both sets of experiences, integrated, exemplifies what it means to be Canadian.
As an educator, I’m used to explaining concepts in a variety of ways. I may try this one to the next person who asks: A simple reality check:
- Scenario 1: A good friend of mine’s husband’s mother is Welsh. She immigrated to Canada in her 30s. He was born in Canada.
- Scenario 2: My mother is Pakistani. She immigrated to Canada in her 30s. I was born in Canada.
If you ask the question ‘where are you from’ and are satisfied with his response of ‘Nova Scotia’ but not of my ‘Ontario’, you should stop and ponder why. The only difference on the surface in these two scenarios is primarily the colour of our skin, and perhaps the origin of our names. However, we are both equally Canadian.
I may also consider responding with a different country each time the question is asked, followed by a few words from the associated language … just to start rumours.
Again, I understand that ignorance is not born from malice; however, it can cause unnecessary harm. So, my advice to those Canadians who think of asking a certain question, or of outlining commonplace Canadian statuatory holidays, save your breath. Instead, do a little homework: open your eyes, watch the news, read some about Canadian history, google words like Canada + Aboriginal people, European colonizers, immigration, multiculturalism and see what you come up with. Look around you the next time you’re in Canada (or outside of), and realize how, for lack of prettiness again, stupid that question really is.
… And then, hey, why don’t you look in the mirror, and ask yourself ‘Where are you from?’ What answer do you come up with?
What makes you happy?
World Happy Day is today, February 11th. In this light, a friend and I went to see Roko Belic’s documentary The Happy Movie presented by the Doha Film Institute at Katara Village. Apparently, this film, which took the filmmaker across the globe and over 5 years to complete, was being screened in multiple countries to celebrate the day.
Initially, I had planned to write a review of the film, and at the start, this is what filled my notes – observations of story development and storytelling techniques. I’ve decided to abandon this plan and write observations on the topic itself: happiness.
Where to start? Well, how about with a pie chart? Accordingly to research presented in the film, our capability of happiness can be broken down into the following statistics: 50% genes, 10% circumstance (wealth, status, social conditions) and 40% intentional actions. It’s the latter percentage that intrigues me: the 40% within our control, within our everyday choices.
The film, in a nutshell posed questions, shared stories, offered scientific data on the issue on happiness. What makes us happy? How much is in our control? pre-destined? How do our genes affect our capability to feel? The newer discipline of positive psychology was reviewed. Common knowledge and evidence of the benefits of increased physical activity were presented, as was the usefulness of meditation, the problematics of the hedonic treadmill of wanting more, the comparison between extrinsic versus intrinsic values, and the importance of developing our gross domestic happiness as a society – a measured distancing from focusing on a country’s success in terms of the traditional GDP. Case studies were presented from overcoming personal adversity, to living from the land in rural USA, to the tragic karoshi ‘death by overwork’ epidemic in mainland Japan to Okinawa’s secret to longevity, to Bhutan’s governmental priority on its citizens’ quality of life, to Denmark’s established reputation as being the happiest country on the globe.
When technical difficulties impeded the film from starting on time, the MC sprung into quick action. Grabbing the mic, he skipped through the audience asking the seemingly simple, yet interestingly difficult to answer, what makes you happy? While my friend and I avoided eye contact with the host (apparently speaking to large groups did not make either of us happy), others shared freely: playing football, reading, being with family and friends, kissing a mother’s hand, seeing children happy. Not surprisingly, the closeness of family and friends dominated. All of a sudden, I thought, yup, this film is going to make me want to hop on a plane home. Regardless of the tugs at my heart, the seed (and inquiry) was planted. What makes me happy?
In the moments before the film began, a few responses sprouted. Stemming from the distance between Canada and Qatar, well, Skype makes me happy. To lounge back and watch my three year old niece sing the theme song to Sesame Street and to see recognition register on her face as she peers into the computer to see me, makes me happy. Talking to my mother, sisters and close friends, makes me happy. And as the opening credits to the film finally appeared, I thought, laughing and making people laugh makes me happy.
Watching the film, other answers surfaced. My renewed commitment to my health makes me happy. As the film explained the effects of physical activity, the release of dopamine, and the natural high which results, I thought of the past months of routine workouts, strength training and hours of sweat. Yes, this all makes me extremely happy. During each high intensity bout of exercise, I happily lost thoughts to physical demands, releasing stresses to the rhythm of movement. The film referred to this as being in the zone or in the flow where ultimately the ego disappears to the overpowering of action.
Of course the issue of wealth was examined in the film. So I self-inquired, does money make me happy? Well, three years ago, I had allowed the 10% allotted to circumstance to control the level of my happiness – much stemming from financial woes. The lack of money was definitely making me unhappy. I was living to work, as is said, opposed to working to live. This sadly affected meaningful friendships, health, and an overall sense of well-being. The film put forth that after the basic needs were met, that the relationship of money to happiness was not an automatic increase to increase correlation, which is of no surprise to many. The after the basic needs were met was a notable point. Three years ago, without that, misery prevailed. So, money has improved my quality of life, has allowed me to breathe financially and has allowed my spectrum of experiences to widen. On a practical note, being able to pay off graduate school debt makes me happy, as does supporting my mother with any financial need. So, used wisely, I concur that money can support a happy lifestyle provided that any resulting actions derive from true intent.
This brings me to the another point: compassion and loving kindness. As soon as the Dalai Lama entered the frame, a small smile started to form. I love this man. In his gentle yet affirming voice, he stated Compassion is from birth, in our blood. Living from compassion and loving kindness (metta) can further the plight to reach happiness. My relationship with meditation started just over ten years ago when I enrolled and completed my first 10 day Vipassana meditation retreat in Kyoto, Japan. Since then, my practice has at times, surged ahead strongly, dwindled to almost nothing and resurged. Like the constant change of everyday life, my practice ebbed and flowed. Retreats make me happy, as does daily practice. The foundations of Buddhist philosophy makes me happy, especially as I feel the results on my thought patterns and perspective. How can these notions of compassion translate to tangible good? The film throws out: random acts of kindness, volunteerism, helping those less fortunate, respecting others, acting without prejudice. Even more practical, how about giving to kiva.org (or any other charitable cause), paying for someone’s lunch in the cafeteria line, remembering to acknowledge a friend’s support through words, throwing some change in a random parking meter, observing the language you use with others. See how your level of happiness rises along with those that you touch. For me, acting from love, forgiveness and defusing anger are close to my heart. I am grateful that I am in a personal space where following these beliefs is possible.
The film underlines three intrinsic values that are central to happiness: personal growth, family, and community feeling. Interestingly, one of the greatest sadnesses that I felt (in the past, and sometimes still in the present) as part of long distance living was the last. I can remember repeatedly mentioning that I missed the community of my Canadian life. At each return to my Canadian cities, it was the bonds between friends that I appreciated and notably missed upon return to Doha. Community was abound: long term Ottawa friends reaching back from high school now had their children playing around us when we met for a meal, friends and colleagues with whom I spent many hours while working in Toronto’s social justice sector would now discuss the current state of Toronto’s political landscape over coffee, and artist friends with whom I co-created and grew artistically with over the years in Toronto would laugh and continue to offer inspiration and support at each of our encounters.
So what makes me happy? The broad strokes as painted above is a good start to reflecting upon this question and this phenomenon. As does the idea to live in the moment and in the moments between the moments with awareness and honesty.
As do train rides, birthdays, full moons shining large in a midnight sky, bookstores with aisles of dusty shelves and aged books, a clean apartment with candles lit, the feeling of ‘anything is possible’ at the start of the weekend, colourful salads with freshest of fresh ingredients, uncontrollable laughter, cherished memories, a scene in a film that I’ve never seen play out before, a sky full of clouds, intelligent storytelling, the inhale of a city’s scent when visiting for the first time, writing letters, sending surprise gifts, sun filtering in on an afternoon lying in bed, rereading a piece of writing I’ve just completed to satisfaction, tranquility of the mind, peace, simplicity, balance.
Interestingly, the film frames happiness as a skill that can be worked upon, developed and reached. The 40% of intentional action is key to this achievement. And it proposes that happiness is unique to every individual and for me, continual reflection such as today’s will hopefully permit me to maintain mine. Four months after arriving in Doha, I wrote this: a shy encounter on the re-emergence of happiness. Two years later, cautiously, understanding the fragility of it all, I’m grateful.
So, phew, enough about me. I have to ask, what makes you happy?
a visit home
I am currently in Canada to reconnect with family, friends and cities of past residences. I have 5 weeks. So far, the visit has been simple, soft and gently nourishing; cherished moments are of nothing particular, but exist within ordinary steps taken, words exchanged that already appear almost magical in memory. I am grateful.
“It may be that the satisfaction I need depends on my going away, so that when I’ve gone and come back, I’ll find it at home.” - Rumi
