-
Degrees
The above video is from an official source. Here is an alternative with English subtitles.
Let me throw some numbers at you.
16 – The amount of unique academic disciplines I have studied. Most at an introductory level and a few in depth.
9 – Post-secondary institutions at which those courses were taken. 8 in Canada and 1 in the UK. 2 virtually and 7 in-person. 5 comprising my undergraduate experience. 1 for my post-graduate degree. 3 for general professional certifications.
7 – Languages that I have attempted to learn at one point or another. 1 in which I am comfortable.
0 – The temperature (in degrees Celsius) above which the weather has hovered for the past few days in Prince George. In January, at the height of winter. A signifier of a larger abnormality enveloping human existence.
20 – Days elapsed between the containment of the last major wildfire of California’s 2024 calendar (on December 18) and the first one that has begun its 2025 season (on January 7).
9 – Hours in the day that I am obligated to commit to non-personal endeavors. Labor, commuting, and the associated paraphernalia.
-
On 2024’s Palette
Something a little different to wrap up the orbit.
In Difference turns 1 next week. It was the first few days of January last year when I began setting up this space. Researching self-hosting options, reintroducing myself to the WordPress platform, adjusting code, and attempting to conjure inspiration. Funny what a temporary surplus of time and tranquility will manifest.
The aim was to add a habit of writing into the repertoire. The levels of originality or depth were always going to fluctuate, but I had hoped to establish a rhythm that could spur on other creative impulses.
At this juncture, I can admit to the patchy nature of the experiment. Work, travel, and other commitments have eaten into the hours budgeted towards introspection. Yet even the small amount of catharsis afforded by this exercise has been enough; there is plenty foundational to build on.
With that in mind, I was looking back through the year’s posts and noticed how often I shared images with little to no information. Though they were connected to the thoughts being relayed, it was not always clear how they informed the substance of the piece. The pictures, captured or constructed, felt ornamental. So, I thought I would take this opportunity to add a little more context to where they came from or why they were attached to the reflections.
A chance to resurface the musings with some additional insight. See the collection below; I hope it is somewhat illuminating.
-
Vancouver’s Veneer
A planet hurtles past a solstice towards perihelion, and Port City rejoices.
It is a place where skyscrapers sprout from mist. Garish projections fulfilling prophecies written into fiction decades past. Architecture akin to its siblings on similar coasts, in form not function, leering over paved grids. Scaffolding and circuitry facilitating stop-start processions of suits and skirts, vagabonds and ragamuffins, the listless and the determined. A concoction of noise, purpose, and energy.
The chilled holiday haze settles and departs hastily, sandwiching daily showers and windstorms. A humid, wintry alchemy that sustains a world of mirrors – darkened and drenched facades extending above soaked streets. The buildings floating on fog awash in dull greys punctuated by neon. The city’s translucent wrapping a liminal, reflective space dividing polluted skies above from frenzied avenues below.
It is an amalgam of engines, passages, and stages. Everyone descends upon its storied stations to perform or spectate. All roads, waterways, airways, and thought-streams lead to Port City, a frequented corner of an ever-rotating globe; an abstract geometry. Where people walk, drive, fly, train, and float around, taxied between physical, cultural, and economic portals. ‘Skipping town’ a regular and expected exercise, an offering on the cornucopic menu.
-
Another Brick in the Wall
The past few weeks have rendered me exhausted, leaving little room for creative pursuit or inspiration.
A professional transition without pause and its associated plunge into a novel vortex – new people, relationships, systems, and realities to grasp. Information collected and carried like water in cupped hands. Days in the calendar lost to unexpectedly tiring travel; the usually undemanding provincial highways home to a host of hazards. Weather-triggered malfunctions in my vehicle along with ensuing delays to repairs because of lengthy administrative processes. The lack of time, dear reader, the most egregious condition of all. The frozen darkness that has settled by 4pm an unwelcome cloak worn as errands are run.
Trivialities of existence, by themselves manageable. Accumulated, hitting critical mass abnormally quickly in this season of diminished daylight. Justifications, recorded and shared. A crutch relied on as I attempt to regain footing.
-
Relinquishing Control
Snow continues to fall over Northern BC. Over the past two days and two more to come, a foot of powder that is settling uncomfortably as the weather warms. A thick blanket that cannot be lifted but must be scattered or scraped. My sedan rests nearly invisible while the parking lot will not be cleared until mid-weekend.
Unfortunate, as I will need to be on the road soon, heading south before the mercury starts its dangerous dance between above- and sub-zero readings on the gauge. 800km to Vancouver, as I navigate the transition between my current profession to another on the horizon. A shift from Indigenous health to economic advocacy. (Hence the lack of updates recently – a lot on the mind and in the calendar.)
On a late Friday evening like this, I find myself craving spirits. A glass of red wine would be stellar; a small reprieve from a week that has demanded more mental energy than most. This is a strange thirst, given that I almost never consume alcohol. It is one of those pleasures reserved for dinners with friends or loved ones, once every few waxing crescents. I do not even have any in the apartment – nor have I ever kept this temptation at hand. Treated like so many other impulses by this minimalist: its grocery store isle granted a casual glance plus a shake of the head before being omitted from the circuit.
The thought of alcohol also summons forth the memory of the great piece shared above, from an artist imbibing as much creativity as anything else with each glass.
-
Imagine: Dragons
Campfire embers inviting interpretationSparkling shards, brittle but imposing, adorn a town succumbing to darkness. A deep freeze has arrived in Prince George; the translucent icicles emanating white even as the night settles. The snow’s shimmer a mirror to the frost lining trees, structures, and vehicles dashing between.
I am glad during times like these that I can hunker down and have my imagination whisked to warmer locales. Today marks the start of a highly anticipated Test series between Australia and India. That is where my eyes will be for the next several days: Perth under a scorching sun, as cricketers wage war. Many modern icons among them, amidst swan songs and battling dragons. Media circuses, pitch demons, and the political context of a sport losing the plot. A place in the world championship on the line as legacies are writ atop a twenty-two-yard-long parchment.
Speaking of dragons, there is somewhere else my mind travels today. A fond memory, of a children’s story read in adulthood, stirring joy.
-
Desk Psychology
Sunday tends to be chore day. The cramming of so many errands into daylight hours, dwindling from the get-go as a countdown runs down to the week ahead. Cleaning, laundry, groceries, appointments, community events – some things pre-scheduled and some pushed out of necessity – to this, the end of the weekend.
Monday arrives, always too soon. Colleagues crack the same twelve jokes as everyone shares memes and gifs highlighting each aspect of a fresh work week. We search to caffeinate ourselves (our souls, more than anything) to address procrastinated to-dos that cannot be excused away without off-time looming.
Tuesday is probably the worst. Too close to the beginning of the week and too far from the end. Is that why so many drop-in leagues are scheduled for the evenings? Or why movie tickets are cheaper? Is anyone taking advantage of Taco Tuesday?
Wednesday is, anecdotally, interesting. Some consider it tough while others finally find their labor groove. A chance to gauge productivity for all with two days past and two days ahead; what has been accomplished and what remains to be done? Perhaps the longest day of the week for all those counting the hours.
Thursday feels better. The weekend nears. Laissez-faire inclinations have a habit of overtaking more motivated internal drivers.
Friday could be filled with anything – meetings, deadlines, last-minute requests – all are met with a strange optimism. Promise-ladened speech of things to look forward to ‘the coming week’ is the nitrous fuel that sees everyone through to the most anticipated End of Day. Labor done and dusted, perhaps a later night ahead.
Saturday is about as blissful as it gets. Anxieties around personal tasks can be forwarded another day. Personally valuable or amusing endeavors are undertaken. A weekly interruption in a work-dominated calendar.
-
Elections, II
Portrait of a bush-league Führer named Peter Vollmer, a sparse little man who feeds off his self-delusions and finds himself perpetually hungry for want of greatness in his diet. And like some goose-stepping predecessors he searches for something to explain his hunger, and to rationalize why a world passes him by without saluting. That something he looks for and finds is in a sewer. In his own twisted and distorted lexicon, he calls it ‘faith’, ‘strength’, ‘truth’.
– Rod Serling, from the opening narration of “He’s Alive”
This post is a continuation of the rumination begun here.
It is conference season in BC. This past week, Indigenous leaders across the Northern Region gathered here in Prince George to have their annual governance caucus. Near the end of the event, space was given for reflection on treatment of Indigenous veterans, as Remembrance Day loomed. A speaker shared some firsthand accounts from Indigenous voices dating back a hundred years – from those who had fought in world wars all the way to more recent conflicts in the early twentieth century. Soldiers who had experienced more equality facing bullets abroad than within systems and structures at home. The speaker imparted stories close to home, of family or community members whose sacrifice had gone unacknowledged or been taken for granted, as their fight for civil rights or against discrimination on Canadian soil continued.
The speaker relayed one tale of Indigenous soldiers being asked to stand aside from their peers during a memorial ceremony, while the Prime Minister and dignitaries walked past. All the veterans present, except for the Indigenous ones, being given a chance to shake hands with the politicians. A gesture congruent with contemporary societal stratification.
I was sitting in the audience and could not help but draw parallels between the true accounts being relayed and all-too similar fictional narratives in Toni Morrison’s Home, in which the protagonist Frank (a black man) returns from the Korean War, the first desegregated conflict in American history, to a country that refuses to acknowledge his humanity. Morrison rushes us through Frank’s encounters with numerous characters as he tries to search for his sibling. She barely mentions race, because she does not have to; the behavior of institutions and the people they envelope make everyone’s ethnicities blatant. A simple run-in with police is jarring enough for the reader, as the passage is as representative of black tribulations in the 1950s as it is today.
The stories conveyed at the caucus came two days after we all learned of the election outcomes in the United States. The world’s second-largest democracy having undergone hundreds of votes for its new leader, its upper and lower houses of congress, numerous state governors, and dozens of binding referenda on issues from healthcare to criminal justice reform. The thread that the stories carry – of the historical and ongoing deployment of discrimination by those in power – lies deeply intertwined with history being written as the results of these elections continue to roll in.
To understand all of this is to not understand it at all. How did we get here?
-
Gather Up
The consistently hilarious What We Do in the Shadows is back for its final season. Watching the most recent episodes reminded me how many great tunes the show has showcased over the years.
Odd where we tend to pick up songs for our playlists. For me, TV series and movies are a primary source. I have particular appreciation for shows that use the sampled tracks to marry their plots, characters’ emotions and atmosphere in moments of mounting symphony. Breaking Bad was great at this – the lyrics and beats of “DLZ”, “Who’s Gonna Save My Soul” and “Truth” clear examples of classic blends that produced some of the best endings in that show’s run.
The above melody was written and performed by Matt Berry, who plays the eminently quotable Laszlo Cravensworth in Shadows. Even when he is not delivering a punchline, his cadence is one of the funniest of any comedic character in recent memory.
A Halloween-themed ditty, submitted for your consideration, as darker days approach.
-
Elections
BC election results as displayed on CBC News, courtesy Elections BC.The current era of Indian political and cultural life began in earnest on May 16, 2014. The day that the results were announced of a tide-turning general election in the world’s largest democracy, after more than half a billion votes had been cast and counted.
A movement with populist and nationalist cornerstones, burgeoned by an unprecedented social media campaign and primarily appealing to economic interests, took its opportunity to bring the BJP and its stalwart figurehead to power. The National Congress and their allies could barely put up a fight; their more secular vision hardly enough to hide their historical shortcomings against endemic problems (like corruption) blighting the political class.
Modi’s ascension was also enabled by the media, which was largely corporately controlled and friendly towards politicians who would benefit the socioeconomic elite. The narrative of the inevitable orange wave was paralleled across all major networks. The excusal of extremist tendencies and historical whitewashing was depressingly familiar.
I was walking along Mumbai’s Marine Drive that day, the waters of the Arabian Sea calmly swirling around its tetrapods. Television screens could be glimpsed through storefront windows and opened doors, showing updated parliamentary seat counts as the results rolled in. It was a dry day across the nation and an air of jubilation could be sensed in the humid atmosphere. People in the country’s largest city were celebrating.
All of this felt odd.