We’re nearing the end of a decade, looking back at we’ve gained and lost as well as our favorite moments is only fitting. I haven’t had as much time to write as usual but I wanted to look back at some lovely moments over the last decade.
I was listening to Bing Crosby and David Bowie’s classic Christmas song, Peace on Earth/ Little Drummer Boy. It was the first time I had heard the beautiful song and I immediately fell in love with it. The idea of good will and peace on earth is a noble one, I was thinking about the one organization that embraces those values. UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, works tirelessly to save the lives of refugees and place them in safe countries. Their support has saved countless lives and demonstrates the importance of supporting refugees. Spend a little time on their website, you’ll see stories of hope. Refugees who risked everything to seek safety, are now learning the language of their new country, they’re opening businesses, and building lives. Everyone deserves to live in a stable country and UNHCR recognizes that fact with action.
“The Ballad of Sexual Dependency is the diary I let people read.”
I sat in a dark room at the MoMA and watched a slideshow of nearly 700 snapshots. The Ballad of Sexual Dependency is a visual diary that chronicles Nan Goldin’s and her friends bohemian lives. Goldin moved to the Bowery after earning a degree in fine arts from the School of the Museum of Fine Arts Boston. In New York, she began documenting herself and those around her. Many of Goldin’s friends died of overdoses and AIDS. What’s striking about Goldin’s slideshow is how the music encapsulated every image.
I grew up in a ballet studio with one special teacher. He began teaching early, although he swore he loved every minute of it, I knew an injury had ended his promising career. No one gives up their dream of becoming a principal dancer unless forced. Every year I write him a letter, but this time I wanted to share part of it with my lovely readers.
Nationality has long been considered a crucial part of one’s identity. Being a United States citizen doesn’t limit my responsibility to other countries, I am aware that the decisions I make have implications all over the world. It is easy to simply become part of an insular society, never looking beyond what affects one’s own nation, failing to realise the ripple effect of those actions, but I’m not that person. As a citizen of the world, I understand my actions have far reaching consequences. I know voting in this presidential election will decide whether climate change issues are faced head on or abandoned by future leaders; I am not a scientist so I can’t fully grasp how the melting Arctic ice will immediately affect the globe, but it will. Well meaning developing countries often lack the resources to study climate change and those responsibilities will fall to the United States and other nations within the European Union. Our collective need to address this global problem is why being a citizen of the world is important. If we become isolated from other countries, we’ll fail to see how smog in China affects more than Asia.
When I look back on previous U.S. elections, I know the lives lost in Iraq could have been prevented with different leaders…more cautious leaders, not only in Congress and Senate but foreign leaders. They should have questioned the motivations behind the Iraq Invasion before freely sending their military into the Middle East. Being a citizen of the world is understanding the Iraqis were human beings who didn’t deserve to have the entire world uprooted. Maybe if leaders had seen themselves in the faces of Iraqis, the attack wouldn’t have happened. Global citizenry seeks to void the notion of Otherness and embrace humanity as a whole. It’s a beautiful concept that should never be dismissed by any leader. The destabilization of the Middle East has affected Europe, Canada, and the United States. These are facts. Global citizens look at these refugees with compassion because we know those families fleeing war torn countries could one day be us. No country is exempt from tyranny. Citizens may choose to vote for a candidate only to realise they were misled. Americans could end up fleeing a Putin-like figure just as easily as Russians have left their homeland in pursuit of asylum.
The interconnectedness of this world has allowed us to see the impact our leaders’ decisions have around the world. One leader with unchecked power seized Crimea, but in the process his army shot down an airline carrying mostly Dutch citizens. We lost a renowned AIDS researcher, which has likely setback research. We are global citizens because the world cannot function without researchers in France, the Netherlands, and various other countries working together to cure infectious diseases. Developing countries need cohesiveness, it stabilizes infrastructure, healthcare, and education. If we lose sight of global citizenry or encourage narrow-minded views, what happens to the young men and women who may have spent their gap year volunteering with African schoolchildren or a wildlife conservancy to preserve elephants? Our interest in helping those outside our nation becomes a bit less important until we forget altogether.
What happens to art and literature? We live in a world where art and literature are boundless, why should they be limited to nationality? Filmmakers like Pedro Almodovar possess the ability to look outward instead of inward, they are influenced by writers from all over the world. Closing off the world would leave us with fewer artistic endeavors. We wouldn’t seek out cultures different from our own. Nationalism is dangerous. It devalues cultures unlike the stereotypical ideal. Would Almodovar have adapted Alice Munro’s short stories if he didn’t see the value in reading a Canadian writer? There is value in reading authors from other countries. As citizens of the world, we understand those authors’ work is important.
No one truly knows what makes us turn against one another, but I believe it is the refusal to see what makes us similar instead of different. Now we have a world leader telling citizens to focus on the differences, that citizens of the world are citizens of nowhere, but this type of rhetoric is unfortunate.
Once in a while I fall hard for an item, a show, and a book. This month I couldn’t resist sharing my newfound love for a London boutique, my enduring love for an American photographer, and one Whitney retrospective that is a must see during National Hispanic Heritage Month.
It was in the late 1990s when I discovered the work of Felix Gonzalez-Torres. The retrospective had ended three years earlier and I realised seeing his work would be a challenge. So I began with The Rosen Gallery, which has represented the artist since 1990. I went to the first exhibition after Gonzalez-Torres’s death in 1996. The Rosen Gallery was my first experience at NYC art gallery and it was memorable. Last month I came across an old catalogue and couldn’t help but think of the knowledgable staff who gave a teenage girl an informal tour, maybe that’s why my interest in Felix Gonzalez-Torres endures.
I’ve often heard Madeleine Albright’s statement “There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.” I cringed when those words made their way to my Starbucks cup. As someone who didn’t grow up in a generation with women supporting each other, I found it to be confounding.
I love everything about Christmas, the smell of evergreen, the flickering trees and poinsettias. It’s the only time of year when it’s perfectly acceptable to eat a dozen of sugar cookies without feeling guilty. So here we are at Christmastime, Mariah Carey’s Merry Christmas is playing nonstop and I’ve lost count of my cookie intake. Hopefully, I can maintain this upbeat mood; it definitely depends entirely on literary magazine editors withholding rejection letters until the new year, I mean it is the holidays. Acceptance letters are always welcome. My short story may need a Christmas miracle, the plot is a bit bleak (my friend says it would bring D.H. Lawrence to tears), but I believe in it – more than anything I’ve written so far.
I promise to return in January with new posts. Until then I have last minute holiday gift ideas.
Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple
Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean
The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell
Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright
One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel,
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,
But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.
Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.
Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.
Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.
I am too pure for you or anyone.
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern—
My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.
Does not my heat astound you! And my light!
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.
I think I am going up,
I think I may rise —
The beads of hot metal fly, and I love, I
Am a pure acetylene
Attended by roses,
By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean!
Not you, nor him
Nor him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats) —
Listen to Plath read Fever 103 here.