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D R I F T I N G
S I N K I N G
d r o w n i n g
listening to: "Hiding Tonight", by Alex Turner
"Most people think of themselves as individuals- that there's no one on the planet like them. This thought motivates them to get out of bed, eat food, and walk around like nothing's wrong."
This is the first line in Richard Ayoade's recent movie: "SUBMARINE". I had to post-pone my Brazil-Day blog for this little gem I watched last night because I fell in love with it. This quirky comedy tells the story of Oliver Tate, a young boy who struggles to understand himself & others around him. Similar to Wes Anderson (another favorite director of mine)'s filmmaking style, "Submarine" presents its' characters in an almost cartoon-like fashion, dressing them in the same/similar outfit at each scene & exaggerating their features. Pastey Oliver, for example, always seen in a dark coat, is overly awkward in his mission to woo Jodanna, the tough, reckless girl in the fire-red coat. In the movie, the boy is torn between saving his relationship with his first love, Jodanna, and his saving parents marriage.
I, too, find myself in constant state of identity crisis. I don't care what anyone says, I don't believe anyone truly knows themselves until the death bed. I can't even imagine what it would feel like to have it all figured out- I find part of the thrill in life is how much of a mystery you are to yourself. If I knew exactly who I was & what I wanted, there would be nothing new to discover. There are so many layers & depths to everyone's being, I'm always a little startled when I meet people who act as though they are sure of everything & claim they know where they will be in 5, 10 years time. I am always discovering new things about myself- things I couldn't imagine about myself. I used to think change was in a way a kind of betrayal to your identity. It used to scare me a bit, even though I definitely changed radically every three years, every time I moved countries. Back then it seemed the natural process, leaping through big stepping stones in the ages, from preschool, to elementary, to middleschool, highschool, etc. But when I reached university I thought I could stay the same & for once I could be in one place & think the same way & act the same way for the rest of my life. I never said it, but I suppose I thought it. I have continuously changed every year- probably more now than ever. Living away from family gives you a chance to explore the world completely on your own- allowing any influences to take their role in your life however you wish them to. Sometimes you have no control over the influences, but mostly you do. I suppose. Most of us are usually always changing, it's all part of growth. Right?????
I could rant on about it but I'm already upset that I'd already written out a decent blog for this & it all got deleted accidentally, so I'll end it here. I've included the trailer for the movie, plus some of my favorite stills, in case anyone's interested:
dedicated to t h e g l o r y o f a e r o b i c s ,
s p a n d e x ,
& ofcourse, big butts.
Picture a room filled with toned, middle- aged women in multi- colored spandex & Lady Gaga remixes blasting from the speakers. Now, picture Ricardo: a buff instructor with dark caramel skin, a surfer's tattoo wrapped around his right bicep & a silver chain hanging from his neck. Imagine this stallion of a man stands before them on a small stage & begins to thrust his mighty hips repetitively, raising his right fist up in the air, then his left fist then his right then his left then right over & over again in unison with the raging techno on his laptop. What comes next? An army of pelvic thrusts and fist pumps, a parade of middle-aged women in pony tails bouncing harmoniously to their master's command. It's quite a scene, doubled due to the giant mirror behind the choreographer. Brasilian aerobics is what it is, there was spandex of all kinds & colors: blue polka dots, pink stripes, green zig-zags, even yellow flower print, what a sight. You'd think it was distracting, but surprisingly enough having a multitude of large rumpuses in your face is a pretty encouraging factor when it comes to keeping up... After an hour of knee-highs & sit ups & creative body positioning, the class ends with dimming of lights & this time Ricardo plays a soothing reggae tune. The team simmers down, stretching their arms gracefully like swans. I, on the other hand, stumble out of the room limping like a fawn whose muscles have never been lifted . (that's what four years of arts university & no exercise does to you)
Meanwhile, a few streets away from the gym, a group of capoeira dancers huddle together on a dim-lit court located in a grass-field that's anything but green. From a distance they appear to be shapes camouflaging with the dryness of the land. blending with the rough exterior of the earth.
There is a paradisiacal place some of you may know of, called the Clube das Nações (translated- Club of the Nations). This is a place that brings me fond memories of my childhood. Like many of my global nomad friends, I spent much of my early years roaming around barefoot through the club's park, playing Marco Polo in the community pool, being warned of scorpions when running down the rocky paths that led to the deck, where we'd spy on romantic couples sunbathing (one time we watched as a picturesque moment went to spoils as a rotting dead body floated by the lovers . . . BUT THAT'S A DIFFERENT STORY.)
Just beside the deck there is a brick wall that stretches all along the side of the club, separating the diplomats' familial paradise from abandoned land that the homeless took over for shelter. At the end of the brick wall, mucky water splashes against the dirt where the lake meets the earth. A few steps away from the edge, there is a hole in the bricks that always fascinated me. I'm not sure why, considering one could easily see what was on the other side by simply peering around the wall. I would stand very close to the wall & let the brown water hit my ankles, just to take another glimpse at the same view of the mistreated terrain where the homeless children swam with their families & hung their clothes on invisible threads through the leafless trees. I suppose I was intrigued by their carefree life, while on the other side of the wall our folks always told us "Não pode nadar no lago, è sujo demais, tem jacare!", "You can't swim in the lake, it's too dirty & there are alligators!"
The whole alligator talk is kind of a myth, apparently over time a crocodile-esque life form grew in this man-made lake... regardless, as a child (& even to this day!) I had a great urge to swim in that lake instead of the boring one-level crystal water pool the club had.
Yesterday I went back to the Clube das Nações with my friends & we enjoyed the view of Lago Sul & the breeze & some high times with the guitar... I retraced my steps to the hole in the wall. Just as I imagined, it still provided me with that youthful fantasy of the world on the other side, the one I could never be a part of. I took some photos & decided I must make a film out of this one day, to lock down this memory forever & share it with the world. Whether a kid watches it or an adult, hopefully they'll get the same sense of mystery & excitement from something so small. & for those of you who are still reading, I hope I didn't tottally & utterly bore you from this mini novel of a blog entry... I sure feel like the hole in the wall deserved it.
Thanks Bruno, Tonho, Nati & Marilia for being so damn beautiful.
N E W B E D , N E W VI E W , N E WH O M E . . . NEW This last week and a half has gone by as quick as the blink of an eye: one minute I'm arriving in Toronto, absorbing all of the familiar sounds, smells from the streets I was so accustomed to (yet had somehow forgotten upon my return to South America), the next minute I'm cramming all of my personal belongings into suitcases & barely taking one last look at my beloved basement, rushing into a plane & soaring off again.
Now here I am in my Aunt's apartment in Brasilia, finally elevated from the ground, with the exact opposite problem that I had in Toronto: LACK of humidity. From desperately needing a dehumidifier to desperately needing a humidifier. I have been suffering from extremely dry eyes, so much that I feel the stinging pain to be almost unbearable. It will take a lot of adjustment to feel normal here again, I've been gone for so long!
I can't lie though- sitting alone on that plane on the way back to Brazil is when reality sunk in... all of a sudden it felt as though every minute that passed by, the life I knew was slowly slipping away & there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Usually I would find comfort in a shielding aircraft holding me high in the air away from all the commotion down below, but this time I recalled what I felt every couple of years as a child growing up traveling--- that incredible loss of everything you know & love. I know that feeling too well, but for the last four years I managed to forget the fear of changing locations, only because I was living a blur of bliss.
Yes, the move was definitely a lot more difficult than I had prepared myself to handle, however it is only the second day & I have hope that sooner or later things will start looking up. After all, here in Brasilia the sun is always shining, the birds always chirping, the praying mantiss (manti??) flying towards your face (yes this did indeed happen to me on my first day back)... what I mean to say is, I have much to look forward to! I suppose for now I'll focus on completing the list of things to do while I'm here, such as: - sign up for french classes - sign up for advanced portuguese classes - learn to drive - find work in something - find a guitar to practice with -make art!!! -learn to defend myself from praying mantises