How can be define being in love? What is "being in love?"
Sure, we hear about it in love songs, watching soap operas, reading books.
When I was younger, I searched this incredible feeling I kept reading about. This heart-throbbing, confusing, over-whelming feeling which would make my world go wild.
The good news is that for me, it's finally happened.
But what is love? All right, I'm only 23, relatively young and definitely unexperienced in "love" matters.
I remember annoucing to my family that I was in love at seven. I did have a boyfriend at such an early age, but I can't call it love. It was curiosity, a faint hint of lust perhaps, but definitively not lust.
Some people search for lust. Others search for love. Still others look for a melange of both.
Both, I think, are essential. No lust, no sex drive. No love, no respect.
Sounds simple, and yet life isn't at all that simple. Wish it were.
mercredi 27 juillet 2011
Dance
I will say it: I love to dance. There's something oddly beautiful, liberating, and freeing about dancing. I can finally let go. I can finally show the world who I am, without trying to "pamper" my façade, without trying to be someone I am not.
I occasionally wonder about dancing and how it has changed over the years. In Jane Austen's time, dancing was communal. Watch "Pride and Prejudice", "Sense and Sensibility", and you'll see how everyone, old and young, ugly and beautiful, are included.
In our modern day society, dancing has become clubbing. I know only too well how it's not for everyone. You can end up dancing with a total stranger and feel uncomfortable. You might have to dance on tables. But then again, I sometimes wonder... why not?
I'm not advocating for clubbing. I am, for sure, saying that dancing has a wonderful way of letting me see the beauty in people which, for some odd reason, they hide.
People have gorgeous bodies. Why hide it?
So says a Mennonite-raised girl, who has also been exposed to Québécois culture and who has always been encouraged to express herself.
So in the end, what am I trying to say?
Maybe this. Dancing is the most wonderful way of letting go, of showing to yourself and to the world, that you are beautiful, and that you WANT to sprint along life's rhythms.
So.... absolutely, I will say... I love to dance.
I occasionally wonder about dancing and how it has changed over the years. In Jane Austen's time, dancing was communal. Watch "Pride and Prejudice", "Sense and Sensibility", and you'll see how everyone, old and young, ugly and beautiful, are included.
In our modern day society, dancing has become clubbing. I know only too well how it's not for everyone. You can end up dancing with a total stranger and feel uncomfortable. You might have to dance on tables. But then again, I sometimes wonder... why not?
I'm not advocating for clubbing. I am, for sure, saying that dancing has a wonderful way of letting me see the beauty in people which, for some odd reason, they hide.
People have gorgeous bodies. Why hide it?
So says a Mennonite-raised girl, who has also been exposed to Québécois culture and who has always been encouraged to express herself.
So in the end, what am I trying to say?
Maybe this. Dancing is the most wonderful way of letting go, of showing to yourself and to the world, that you are beautiful, and that you WANT to sprint along life's rhythms.
So.... absolutely, I will say... I love to dance.
mardi 26 juillet 2011
Relations between people
What do you feel when you meet a person for the first time? Scared, impressed, intimidated, cocky?
I don't think I can ever forget when I was taught about handshakes. It has to be firm, not too hard to crush the other hand, but firm enough to translate confidence.
Is this another North American trend? Or is it too simple and rather simplistic to call this North American? Why do we like or, rather, why are we obsessed with seeming self confident? A weak handshake, a feeble smile, a nuanced and unclear opinion are all sneered at.
I don't know what to feel about this. If we can't successfully make eye contact, we have a problem. If we can't dress accordingly, we are called losers. Society is hard and harsh. So what's the solution? Wish I knew.
I don't think I can ever forget when I was taught about handshakes. It has to be firm, not too hard to crush the other hand, but firm enough to translate confidence.
Is this another North American trend? Or is it too simple and rather simplistic to call this North American? Why do we like or, rather, why are we obsessed with seeming self confident? A weak handshake, a feeble smile, a nuanced and unclear opinion are all sneered at.
I don't know what to feel about this. If we can't successfully make eye contact, we have a problem. If we can't dress accordingly, we are called losers. Society is hard and harsh. So what's the solution? Wish I knew.
Art and expressing myself
A few days ago, I was walking around Sherbrooke's Lac des Nations, and was stopped by an artist asking me if I would be interested in being a model for his photography project.
So, my first reaction was- no. I'm against any form of modelling. As a North American society, we have had our fair share of skinny, bronzed, "sexy" models who make "normal" girls grapple with self esteem and their body image. Why add to the destruction to our self image?
Until I found out that this photographer is against such images. I met him this evening and learned that being open to photography, being open to being photographed, is more than just having one's picture taken. I felt exposed, but it was a strangely liberating experience. I felt like I was saying: "This is me. This is who I am."
This is what we need. Not pictures of frighteningly skinny women in skimpy clothes. We need a revival of what we describe as beauty. I see beautiful women every day, as well as men, on the streets. I would name beauty as a way of being, not a way of displaying onself to society. No matter how you dress or how much make up you wear, if you don't have confidence in yourself and have a skip in your step, you don't have that special something I call beauty.
But then again, beauty is subjective. We can't talk about beauty, since it is a question of taste, as beautiful women in Japan are not considered pretty in South America for example.
So what can we conclude? I'm not sure, to be honest. "Ugly" people get terrible treatment, which I see on a daily basis. Plainer looking women get poorer service at restaurants, for instance. Is this fair? No. But then, the sad truth is that beauty does add to your life in many wonderful ways. Maybe all this is only a part of the "unfairness" of life. Instead of moaning about this though, all I can say is: every human being has at least a grain of beauty within himself or herself. And developping it is the best way to being yourself.
So, my first reaction was- no. I'm against any form of modelling. As a North American society, we have had our fair share of skinny, bronzed, "sexy" models who make "normal" girls grapple with self esteem and their body image. Why add to the destruction to our self image?
Until I found out that this photographer is against such images. I met him this evening and learned that being open to photography, being open to being photographed, is more than just having one's picture taken. I felt exposed, but it was a strangely liberating experience. I felt like I was saying: "This is me. This is who I am."
This is what we need. Not pictures of frighteningly skinny women in skimpy clothes. We need a revival of what we describe as beauty. I see beautiful women every day, as well as men, on the streets. I would name beauty as a way of being, not a way of displaying onself to society. No matter how you dress or how much make up you wear, if you don't have confidence in yourself and have a skip in your step, you don't have that special something I call beauty.
But then again, beauty is subjective. We can't talk about beauty, since it is a question of taste, as beautiful women in Japan are not considered pretty in South America for example.
So what can we conclude? I'm not sure, to be honest. "Ugly" people get terrible treatment, which I see on a daily basis. Plainer looking women get poorer service at restaurants, for instance. Is this fair? No. But then, the sad truth is that beauty does add to your life in many wonderful ways. Maybe all this is only a part of the "unfairness" of life. Instead of moaning about this though, all I can say is: every human being has at least a grain of beauty within himself or herself. And developping it is the best way to being yourself.
lundi 25 juillet 2011
Is this a secular age?
All right, I lied. I said this was the end of the travel blogs, but I seem to have become used to sharing my thoughts, and the process of writing is reassuring and positive, so... here are a few more random thoughts about my favourite subject, religion.
Are we really living in a secular age? Is religion only a dying subject, prone to ridicule and sneers? Is spirituality the "new" religion? In Quebec, where Catholicism seems to be only practiced by the older generations, maybe I'm looking for answers in a particularly sensitive area.
Charles Taylor, in his provocative and dense book "A Secular Age", thinks there are two kinds of people, namely believers and non-believers. Is this right? What happens to people who believe in a higher power (like a number of my friends) but not in God? Frustrated by the Catholic Church's errors and embarrassing sexual past, Quebecers seem to be confused when I say I'm religious. Why would I believe?
Religion is a diccy issue. When I say I'm doing a Masters in Religious Studies, I either get stares or polite comments like "oh... how interesting." Far from the reaction I got when I studied law.
On the other hand, look at world affairs. Islamic adherence is on the rise, as is religious fanatacism, unfortunately. Just as unfortunate, the Norwegian police have just arrested a man they suspect killed 91 people, supposedly because he hated Muslims. Religion can't be dead if people commit such acts. What really makes my blood boil is when people blame religion for violence. "The Crusades, the 9/11 terrorist killings, all of it is due to religion." I've heard this too many times to count and would like to address this argument. Religion, just like politics, can be warped and corrupted by officials. We can't blame Catholicism and its beautiful theology, we should blame the Pope or the priests. Don't label Islam as a fundamental religion.
Well, that's all for now. Any thoughts?
Are we really living in a secular age? Is religion only a dying subject, prone to ridicule and sneers? Is spirituality the "new" religion? In Quebec, where Catholicism seems to be only practiced by the older generations, maybe I'm looking for answers in a particularly sensitive area.
Charles Taylor, in his provocative and dense book "A Secular Age", thinks there are two kinds of people, namely believers and non-believers. Is this right? What happens to people who believe in a higher power (like a number of my friends) but not in God? Frustrated by the Catholic Church's errors and embarrassing sexual past, Quebecers seem to be confused when I say I'm religious. Why would I believe?
Religion is a diccy issue. When I say I'm doing a Masters in Religious Studies, I either get stares or polite comments like "oh... how interesting." Far from the reaction I got when I studied law.
On the other hand, look at world affairs. Islamic adherence is on the rise, as is religious fanatacism, unfortunately. Just as unfortunate, the Norwegian police have just arrested a man they suspect killed 91 people, supposedly because he hated Muslims. Religion can't be dead if people commit such acts. What really makes my blood boil is when people blame religion for violence. "The Crusades, the 9/11 terrorist killings, all of it is due to religion." I've heard this too many times to count and would like to address this argument. Religion, just like politics, can be warped and corrupted by officials. We can't blame Catholicism and its beautiful theology, we should blame the Pope or the priests. Don't label Islam as a fundamental religion.
Well, that's all for now. Any thoughts?
mercredi 20 juillet 2011
Florence con mia mama
I'm not sure what I expected from Florence, but I can't say I was disappointed.
First of all, I was treated to a Tuscan farmhouse with my mother. Imagine, if you can, armies of crickets, fields of olive trees, 40 to 45 degree weather, a pool, and Florence in the distance. I thought I was in paradise.
Sure, a few things went wrong right off the bat. After I met my mother at the Santa Maria di Novella train station, we took the city bus, and got lost.
Getting lost in Florence is not fun. Asking people for directions is... difficult. Very friendly, Florentines seem more than willing to help but many seem to have conflicting ideas of how the city is structured. We followed an elderly man's instructions and found ourselves in a tiny, dirty alley with washing hanging from the windows. Not our final destination.
After many complications, we arrived at the Tuscan farmhouse. Our apartment, called "Melograni" (pomegranate in English) was perfect. Dark wood highlights, antique furniture, white stucco walls, and a view of Florence.
The next day, we marched down to the bus stop (a good forty minutes walk) and headed for Florence.
This city, originally designed by Florentine artists to be perfect in shape and size, is confusing. Although the streets or Vias run parallel to one another in seemingly perfect logical order, the number of the houses do not. For example, you can easily find house number 43 next to house number 10. Is there any logic to this? I don't think so.
Art abounds in Florence. I saw Michelangelo's David (perfect but HUGE compared to what I had in mind), Giotto di Bondone's Madonna and Child (Giotto being a personal favourite artist of mine) and countless churches. My favourite? Santa Croce. This church, once you enter it, offers the most wonderful sense of space. Instead of being filled with Rococo features (not my thing), it is white and calm. On the ends are gigantic marble statues standing on tombs of famous artists, composers, writers, and so forth. I liked Dante's. Tiny chapels on the far ends are decorated by breath-taking frescoes. I loved every part of it.
I won't lie: Florence is chaotic, busy, dirty, noisy, and beautiful. I saw beggars praying with their faces literally placed onto the hot asphalt streets. I saw women buying 300 Euro dresses by Gucci. I saw elderly men zipping by on their Vespas.
Staying for six days in Florence provided a great way of seeing every possible part of it, or at least to my satisfaction. The Uffizi Palace, comparable to the Louvre, made me dizzy. The Vecchio Palace's Hunting Gallery room, presenting the most horrific battle scenes anyone can imagine, gave me nightmares. The proud owner of a delicatessen which has been in his family business since 1512 made me smile.
So, in short, Florence is a gem of artistic splendour, of societal chaos, an artist's labour of love. No wonder Florentines are proud of their city. Che bella, si!
This travel blog comes to an end, dear friends. Thank you for reading, for any comments, and for sharing my experiences. This hectic, frightening and wonderful trip has made me grow in ways I never thought I would. Let's hope more adventures are coming.
First of all, I was treated to a Tuscan farmhouse with my mother. Imagine, if you can, armies of crickets, fields of olive trees, 40 to 45 degree weather, a pool, and Florence in the distance. I thought I was in paradise.
Sure, a few things went wrong right off the bat. After I met my mother at the Santa Maria di Novella train station, we took the city bus, and got lost.
Getting lost in Florence is not fun. Asking people for directions is... difficult. Very friendly, Florentines seem more than willing to help but many seem to have conflicting ideas of how the city is structured. We followed an elderly man's instructions and found ourselves in a tiny, dirty alley with washing hanging from the windows. Not our final destination.
After many complications, we arrived at the Tuscan farmhouse. Our apartment, called "Melograni" (pomegranate in English) was perfect. Dark wood highlights, antique furniture, white stucco walls, and a view of Florence.
The next day, we marched down to the bus stop (a good forty minutes walk) and headed for Florence.
This city, originally designed by Florentine artists to be perfect in shape and size, is confusing. Although the streets or Vias run parallel to one another in seemingly perfect logical order, the number of the houses do not. For example, you can easily find house number 43 next to house number 10. Is there any logic to this? I don't think so.
Art abounds in Florence. I saw Michelangelo's David (perfect but HUGE compared to what I had in mind), Giotto di Bondone's Madonna and Child (Giotto being a personal favourite artist of mine) and countless churches. My favourite? Santa Croce. This church, once you enter it, offers the most wonderful sense of space. Instead of being filled with Rococo features (not my thing), it is white and calm. On the ends are gigantic marble statues standing on tombs of famous artists, composers, writers, and so forth. I liked Dante's. Tiny chapels on the far ends are decorated by breath-taking frescoes. I loved every part of it.
I won't lie: Florence is chaotic, busy, dirty, noisy, and beautiful. I saw beggars praying with their faces literally placed onto the hot asphalt streets. I saw women buying 300 Euro dresses by Gucci. I saw elderly men zipping by on their Vespas.
Staying for six days in Florence provided a great way of seeing every possible part of it, or at least to my satisfaction. The Uffizi Palace, comparable to the Louvre, made me dizzy. The Vecchio Palace's Hunting Gallery room, presenting the most horrific battle scenes anyone can imagine, gave me nightmares. The proud owner of a delicatessen which has been in his family business since 1512 made me smile.
So, in short, Florence is a gem of artistic splendour, of societal chaos, an artist's labour of love. No wonder Florentines are proud of their city. Che bella, si!
This travel blog comes to an end, dear friends. Thank you for reading, for any comments, and for sharing my experiences. This hectic, frightening and wonderful trip has made me grow in ways I never thought I would. Let's hope more adventures are coming.
mardi 5 juillet 2011
Croatia- paradox of beauty and chaos
After a terrible journey on the train, we arrived in Split, Croatia. The train journey needs some mentioning. Having left Vienna and arrived in Zagreb at midnight, we boarded the train to Split near one in the morning. Imagine a tiny train that groans, creaks, and makes belching noises. It looked like a war train from the Second World War.
Once we had hauled our bags on the train, we were told there were no seats. We ended up sitting on our suitcases in the corridor, being lurched from side to side. I saw a crying mother hold her baby in her arms, sitting on her suitcase. What a journey.
After an hour, I took a walk along the corridor. I finally ended up in a carriage, practically empty. How come we were told the train was empty?
When I asked the conductor about the empty seats, he threw his arms up angrily and hurried away. I had to bargain and bribe him to finally get seats that mysteriously became "free" for an extra ten euros...
The next day brought more joy. We took the ferry from Split, a beautiful city, and ended up in Vela Luca, a small harbour village which boasts turquoise water, grilled fish to die for, good wine and rocky beaches. Croatia is, to be sure, beautiful. The rocky mountains, the ever changing colour of the sea, the taste of salt on your skin, the deafening sound of crickets... this is Croatia. We spend our days lounging in our apartment, lying on the beach, singing and playing the violin (my friend is a violinist) and drinking good wine.
It is also chaos and panic. You have to fight to get what you want. People are friendly, but I also get the feeling we are indisposing them as tourists. I often feel like an annoying mosquito. Strange feeling....
So far, my vocabulary has been limited to "dobar dan" (good day) and "hvala" (thank you). Let's hope it will expand soon.
So this is Croatia, a mixture of breath taking beauty and chaos. I often feel like I am in paradise (when in the water) or in hell (on the train). In any case, it is... great.
Once we had hauled our bags on the train, we were told there were no seats. We ended up sitting on our suitcases in the corridor, being lurched from side to side. I saw a crying mother hold her baby in her arms, sitting on her suitcase. What a journey.
After an hour, I took a walk along the corridor. I finally ended up in a carriage, practically empty. How come we were told the train was empty?
When I asked the conductor about the empty seats, he threw his arms up angrily and hurried away. I had to bargain and bribe him to finally get seats that mysteriously became "free" for an extra ten euros...
The next day brought more joy. We took the ferry from Split, a beautiful city, and ended up in Vela Luca, a small harbour village which boasts turquoise water, grilled fish to die for, good wine and rocky beaches. Croatia is, to be sure, beautiful. The rocky mountains, the ever changing colour of the sea, the taste of salt on your skin, the deafening sound of crickets... this is Croatia. We spend our days lounging in our apartment, lying on the beach, singing and playing the violin (my friend is a violinist) and drinking good wine.
It is also chaos and panic. You have to fight to get what you want. People are friendly, but I also get the feeling we are indisposing them as tourists. I often feel like an annoying mosquito. Strange feeling....
So far, my vocabulary has been limited to "dobar dan" (good day) and "hvala" (thank you). Let's hope it will expand soon.
So this is Croatia, a mixture of breath taking beauty and chaos. I often feel like I am in paradise (when in the water) or in hell (on the train). In any case, it is... great.
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