Tag: Culture

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Naked I Shall Return

I never want to quite grow attached to any one place. Is that even possible? To be a migrant in this world, in this day and age? I’m not sure that I ever want to own a house. Perhaps that will help ? help keep the clutter of possessions at a minimal, the roots shallow and the feet moving. Yet I feel that I will always have an attachment to places. Root’s seem to grow fast and stay, even when the rest of the plant is ripped off and moved elsewhere. I just want to overcome that innate desire to own places ? to possess them and keep them.

I want to wander this earth like a wind, sweeping, swirling, rising and falling. Only someday to blow away and be gone, without a trace. I don’t think that’s possible. But no one can stay forever, so why keep things as if I could? We all seem to have a desire to leave something that will last and be remembered, and many have tried, fruitlessly. Why build an empire to be left to decay, crumbling to pieces like that of the great Khan, imperial Rome or the derelict Ozymandias? The only thing that will last is the people, the love and warmth given to them, or the lack thereof. We need to focus on the things that last.

Christ himself said,

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head”(Matt. 8:20).

Why should we live so different from that of our example? Why do we have such a rampant desire to hold, to keep and to collect? The earth is ours, but we are all just strangers passing through. Some will build their mansions, but like castles on the beach, it isn’t long before the lapping waves eat these walls to sand, washing them away with the tide of time. Leaving at best, a dimple in the sand the following morning, and this too soon is gone as well.

I don’t mean to argue that everyone should sell their homes, or never own anything. However, I do think that we need to seriously consider the choices we make in our day to day lives and think critically about the importance we place on things and places, not just following the norms of our society, but living a life with purpose. I want to make this a reality in my life, and it will be a daily struggle to do so.

Job says it so well when he writes,

“Naked I came from my mothers womb, and naked I shall return”(1:21).

If only we always kept this in mind. My fear is that in time, as pressures and worries flood in, I will forget this. I will find myself surrounded by things I swore I would never have, and treasuring these useless objects. I pray it won’t be so. I just have to remember to keep my eyes focused on the example.

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Some Suzuki Adds

I had a good laugh today, reading some car adds from Islamabad, Pakistan, all advertising their Suzuki Bolan’s which they wanted to sell. I thought I would share them, to spread the joy a little.

The first one might be a little lame if you don’t know what a dibba is.

dibba noun : 1. a small container. 2. may refer to a dinky tin car

“i want to sale suzuki bolan carry dibba. 100% genuine condition. rawalpindi number. demand 650,000”

And another…

“i wana sale my bolan van
alwoy rims new tire gud condection no work just drive”

And the best of all. I still haven’t quite figured out the last portion of this add. I tried very hard, but I’m afraid language has its limits.

“CARRY SUZUKI BOLAN ARJANT for sale NEW TAIER ORIGNAL BOOK GOOD CONDATION ALOS ALLKI TACHING BAHAR SEA ONLY UNDAR SEA JUNION ALSO OK GOOD ANY TIME CALL  LOCATION SEHALLA RAWALPINDI”

Hope that made your day!

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The journey is more important than the destination

My four-year-old cousin and I play quite a few games together when I visit from college. He is really quite a smart little guy, so most of the time I try hard to beat him at his games – and usually do. He’s quite a sore loser, so I’ve taken it upon myself to give him lots of practice.

Yesterday we were playing Rummikub, by his own rules, of course. It was very much like Calvinball in many ways, for those who know how Calvinball is played. Ben would dump all the tiles out on the floor and tell me we could choose whatever tiles we liked. Then, once our racks were full, we began to play out our tiles a few at a time – the only real rule being that the tiles had to connect numerically with others in runs. But if one of us wasn’t able to play, he could easily pull a tile from the large pile, clearly visible to all.

In many ways, it was a very relaxing experience. Without any rules, clear objectives, or competition, the focus took a complete change. Instead of worrying about what we were trying to do or a point we were trying to reach, the entire enjoyment of the game came simply from the experience – just from playing. I think there’s something that needs to be learned from this kind of attitude – one where the journey is more important than the destination.

I have seen that phrase quoted often, but have never really understood it. Of course the destination is more important than the journey! Why bother going somewhere if you don’t care to get there? All that I could think of was the long trips in the mountains of Pakistan, where your bottom would ache for hours on end, and where the destination was pure relief – a chance to lie on your front and give your sore bottom a much-needed rest.

I think a great deal of our North American, or perhaps human, culture moves away from this kind of thinking. We focus so much on objectives and gain, that sometimes we forget to enjoy the moment. We get lost in the effort to go somewhere that we forget to enjoy here and now. We will strain so hard towards the peak that we forget to enjoy the climb and smell the flowers.

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The Bands Face West

People like order. I know that some would argue there are many who hate organization, and would rather live in their own mess, but usually these are younger adolescents who really aren’t sure what it is they want.

I was recently hanging clothes on the line with my grandfather when it struck me once again how much order matters to so many people. Having spent some time in the US Navy, my grandfather with his military style neatness is no exception. Everything around the house has its own place and function, and after an article or tool is used, it goes right back to the exact spot from which it came. Everything is labelled and put away in boxes to ensure that it is always there when it is needed. 

And so it was, that as I began to help him hang the clothes, we got to the underwear, and he reminded me that “the bands should face West.” Each pair of underwear had to be hung on its side, and all in the same direction, with the elastic band facing West, toward the old garage. I’m not quite sure why that orientation was chosen, but regardless, that was the way they were hung. The result, was a neat string of underwear on the line all facing west with no discrepancy between them. 

And the tendency towards order doesn’t stop there. The very fact that roads run in straight lines and rules are made to keep cars on them are testimonies to the value of order in the running of infrastructure. People shuffle along in lines, waiting for tickets to football games while others wait on a bench for the bus to arrive at its designated stop. We live in a country where things work and are designed to work like clockwork – and for the most part, they do. Buses and trains arrive and depart almost precisely when they were scheduled to. Even engines and machinery have to work according to a certain order and system, and if they don’t, they’re usually considered broken or finicky.

However, there are places where order is not the rule of thumb. It is there that you find all sorts of creativity in transport, from how much is transported, to how many are transported.  Buses tend to come at whatever time they arrive, and cues are usually replaced by mobs of elbows and fingernails competing to get to the desired booth or door. Electricity goes out for hours, and traffic lights are often dim poles that hang over the demolition derby below. Things do get done, but when is usually a mystery and how is usually a miracle. So, unless people would rather move and live to these places where life is generally a colourful chaos, which personally I enjoy – they should buckle down, clean their room and make sure their underwear band is facing West. 

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Polite Canadians

Why is it Canadians are always so polite? While obviously a stereotype, there is still some truth in the general assumption that Canadians are polite people. Canadians will often say sorry if someone bumps into them, as if it was their fault for ever existing and being in someone’s way. Everything from ATM machines to receipts in Canada say thank you, and all this just because you used them.
I was part of an alumni soccer tournament this weekend, featuring two boy’s teams from my college as well as a team of past graduates, hence ‘the alumni tournament.’ During one of the games, two players from opposite sides vying for the ball in the air happened to knock heads. The student was fine and seemed completely unhurt, but the alumni, we were told later, had broken his cheek bone in three places. Immediately he started to bleed out of his nose. He will actually be undergoing surgery tomorrow because of it. However, despite the fact that the man had just broken his cheek bone into pieces, he walked off the field past the spectators saying, “Sorry if I bleed on you.” It still makes me laugh to think of how polite and considerate he could be despite being in pain and bleeding so profusely.