Looking Glass

[itssoinevitable]

Dear all racist Americans,

First, Nina Davuluri is Indian, not an Arab or Egyptian. These are different countries, with different languages, cultures and customs. Please check your Atlas.

Second, Nina Davuluri is not a Muslim. She is a Hindu. For those of you ignorant to not know what these are, they are separate religions, with very different beliefs. Therefore, Nina Davuluri is not a terrorist, and had nothing to do with 9/11.

Also, did you know that not all Muslims are terrorists? I know, shocker, right?

Third, she is born an American. If you can have a black president, why can’t you have a brown Miss America?

And finally, by the same logic, you white people are of European descent and therefore have no right to win Miss America, either, correct? Only native Americans should be allowed to run, right?

[lamarionnettiste]

While I think it's fantastic that you are pointing out the problematic nature of people's racist reactions to the crowning of Nina Davuluri as Miss America, I did find your wording of part of this post a little worrisome. I know you are intending to do a good thing, and please don't take what I say the wrong way, since I really appreciate the message and intent behind your post.

However, when you say that "Nina Davuluri is not a Muslim. She is a Hindu...Therefore, Nina Davuluri is not a terrorist, and had nothing to do with 9/11", it seems to me to suggest that just because somebody is not Muslim, it clears them from the possibility of being a terrorist -- entailing that only Muslims are terrorists.

Now, I do not think Nina Davuluri is a terrorist, and that is not my message here at all. I realize that you have also pointed out that 'not all Muslims are terrorists', but by saying that just because someone is not Muslim, therefore they are not a terrorist troubles me a little. It suggests to me that, as long as one is not a Muslim, one cannot be a terrorist, or at least will not/should not be accused of such, whereas if one is Muslim, that suspicion is valid simply based on that part of one's identity.

I am pretty sure you did not mean it this way, but I think it is important to be careful with such a sensitive issue. I do not mean to offend you at all, and I apologize if I have, but I felt this was something important for me to voice.

[lamarionnettiste]

Thank you for your phone number sent in an instant message spanning the country that is neither yours or mine. How's the view from the other coast? That's all I wanted to ask. But I could not hold the quarters. My hands shake when I am excited or terrified. I don't think I could ever quite tell the difference. I'm sorry I never said hello. If it means anything at all, I wrote about payphones for a year and thought about them for two more -- and you were always the on the other end of that call.

[lamarionnettiste]

My skin itches before the start of winter to let me know that it's going to be a cold one. This week has been cold like it used to be when I still had recess. Now there is no such clear division between work and play. Now, I am always doing, doing things I want or have to do. Sometimes I cannot tell the difference. It seems that it is possible not to want what is best for people you love. Sometimes it's because you just don't understand what the best things are for them. And other times you let something selfish get in the way. The latter is the uglier of the two, but also easier to fix. It is easier to remove ourselves from equations than we let ourselves believe. My hair goes in curls in the springtime, and summertime, and autumn. It is in curls even in the winter now. I often wonder what this means, or if it is supposed to mean anything at all. I read meaning into spirals going downward, springing upward -- both ways at the same time. I am both ways at the same time. They say you can't go anywhere with one foot in the boat and the other on the shore, but I have built my home in the place where the ocean meets the beach.

If distance makes the heart grow fonder, then why is it harder to love people when they are away? And harder still to love those who are closer, but not close enough to close the gaps left by whomever is missing. Empty space is better filled out like a form, with scrawled in reminders for lunch dates and work shifts and movie screening times. Somehow this is the best that we can do.

[lamarionnettiste]

Someone needs to write a list of numbers you can call when the band aren't very good and you're not having a nice time.

[lamarionnettiste]

I really feel as though I need to talk somebody older and wiser.

[lamarionnettiste]

I've recently been in a very decorative mood. I'm trying to think of inexpensive and creative ways to make my room here at university feel a bit more personal. This is just a little something that I came up with as a result. I found these mason jars at a thrift store and instantly loved them! I've had a thing for mason jars ever since I made glow-in-the-dark mason jars for my room (perhaps something that should go in an upcoming post), but I felt that these especially had a lot of character with their embossed writing. So I brought them home and used them to hold fake flowers. They've really helped to freshen up my room, and I'm really happy with how they look sitting on top of my bookshelf.

[lamarionnettiste]

Ahhh I love this :)

Thank you! Knowing more people like this blog really encourages me to share more of my life. =)

[lamarionnettiste]

I went to the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto yesterday. I've always thought it'd be a great place to take some pictures, and I finally got a chance to photograph there. =)

[worldispaintedblack]

“It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.”

—

F. Scott Fitzgerald (via theflowershop)

[lamarionnettiste]

I am usually not one to do something like this... but this really bothered me. This is not actually a quote by Fitzgerald. This is a quote from the screenplay of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, written by Eric Roth. Fitzgerald did write a short story of the same name by which the film was inspired, but it is a very short work in which this line (and many of the events in the film) does not appear.

[lamarionnettiste]

Solace is an uncollected Salinger story from 1944. When I can say no more than what the tremor in my left hand articulates, I like to pull myself under the cover of a February I never lived. The words that were read originally in the pages of The Saturday Evening Post now comfort me through whichever white screen is nearest. I wonder if Salinger knew that long after the thoughts ever crossed his mind, that after his own passing, there would be a girl who reads Both Parties Concerned whenever she needs to feel that there is someone to wake if the nighttime becomes too frightening.

[lamarionnettiste]

Today was one of those rare and fortunate days. Daniel's usual clinical hours were cancelled today, so we stole away to Lady Marmalade, an all-day breakfast place, to have the day to ourselves. We ordered eggs benedict, which I tried for the first time today and loved! I ordered them with red onions and avocado, while Daniel ordered his with red onion and roasted tomato. Since each serving had two eggs, we both took one from each other's plates in order to try both varieties. We tend to share our food most of the time. There's just something nicer about a shared meal than one you eat all by yourself, and this is why we also had a fudge sundae between the both of us for dessert.

The food was great and the weather was kind to us. We had just the kind of day that should be multiplied to make the perfect summer.

[lamarionnettiste]

I made myself French toast even though it's too late to eat brunch.

[lamarionnettiste]

I spent the day with Daniel today after a long time. We woke up late enough to skip breakfast and eat lunch right away, and rushed out the door so we did not waste any more of our afternoon. Our first stop was the Agnes Etherington Art Centre, which is an art gallery here on campus. We looked through all of the current displays, but felt that the gallery was not very well ventilated and left quickly. Our favourite piece of art was this chess set from the late 19th or early 20th century assumed to be from either Alaska or Nunavut, and we left a note inspired by this piece in the gallery's guestbook. We happened to leave the gallery just as the bus going downtown arrived, so we got on and made our way there. I took quick snapshots as we walked along to meet up with Grace (one of my friends that Daniel had not met). She met us at the intersection outside of her apartment building and we had a nice conversation about everything going on in our lives and laughed at how there were so many cars turning in on her driveway right when we chose to stand there, even though there usually weren't any. By the time we had finished talking to Grace, Daniel and I were both very hungry. We walked over to a pizza place and placed an order for a pizza with mushrooms, tomatoes, and hot peppers on it. While the pizza was being made, we went next door to the local art store, and Daniel bought some pens that he found a good deal on while I took more pictures. We came back to the pizza place just in time to get our pizza, and we ate standing up at the counter by the window. We used to eat lunch while looking out of a window in one of our high school hallways every day, so it was nice to return to something similar. I ate all of Daniel's crusts because he was too hungry to bother with them, and we saved the last slice of pizza for later. For the evening, we went to Minotaur, a local games and gifts shop that holds a free board game night on Thursdays and Sundays. We played a game of Carcassonne, which I won (making Daniel just a little bit unhappy). After I took a few more pictures outside of Minotaur, we took the bus home thinking about eating the cookies we had baked the day before. The day felt warm, in spite of it being a day we spent outside in February frost.

[lamarionnettiste]

A day in the life of Julia Mei (and I).

[lamarionnettiste]

No signal and low battery.

How is it that you can end up sitting at home singing to a voice that comes out of your headphones when the whole world sent you an invitation to your own party?

[lamarionnettiste]

Why I Will Be Able To Write Again

A few minutes ago, I was walking home near sunset when the light is laid ever so delicately over everything. It made me think of all of the pictures that I wasn't taking at every turn in my path, and how I had let all of this glorious light be wasted on me. This and many other things filled my mind as is typical of any of my walks back home from my classes. I was thinking about everything that I am expected to take in every day as an English student -- all of the greatness that I am exposed to; the greatness that has made me mute. I began to wonder whether my silence was a result of not knowing where my voice would land in a sea of so many others that are so much more worth hearing than my own. But an irking feeling seemed to scratch the back of my mind that suggested that it is not that I am afraid to say anything, but rather that I have had nothing to say. I reflected on the past few months of my life and thought of how it seemed that all of the places where inspiration is allowed to shine through had been closed up by activities that required doing. I had let the necessities of daily life get to me, and I feared that I had forgotten to see things the way they need to be seen in order to create anything. Carrying on, feeling guilty about my own unfeeling, I stopped at an intersection. Waiting to cross the street, I saw a mother holding her daughter's hand. The girl who was no older than two years old seemed characteristically excited by being outside the way that children are, and her mother seemed characteristically concerned about her daughter's safety as she led her across the street. The event forced me outside of myself in a way that I haven't experienced in a long time. It took me out of my own mind, and away from my own footsteps, and made me focus on this singular event. Because I live away from home to attend university and don't see my own mother often, seeing this young girl and her mother made me think of my own childhood spent carelessly under the careful watch of my own mother. It made me miss her terribly, and perhaps miss even more the way that she was able to look after all of my troubles when I was a child myself. The sight moved me in a way that I cannot express, but it reminded me that there is so much to feel only if I leave myself open to it -- if I leave room in my daily life for some of the greatness to pass through to me.

[lamarionnettiste]

I've stopped writing. I'm pretty sure that's a problem. Cures, anyone?