The Coral Islands
12-06-2006, 06:30
Hiya fellows...
I feel like subjecting you to my latest blog entry, if you are willing to read it. I was (Still am!) in a peaceable mood when I wrote it, and I think you might find it interesting, given its pontifications on national and international affairs. Naturally I will be checking back here, but if it strikes your fancy to comment on the original, you can do so here (http://spaces.msn.com/kies/PersonalSpace.aspx?_c11_BlogPart_FullView=1&_c=BlogPart). I apologise in advance for the spelling and grammatical errors, it is late at night in my timezone. Anyways, here goes:
June 12: Let Peace Begin With Me
My last few entries have been far too doom-and-gloom filled. I am not Boober Fraggle, and I should stop acting like him (Although doing the dishes might not be such a bad idea). Sunday evening was actually quite pleasent. I went for a bikeride out along the Rideau Canal to downtown. Usually it is daytime when I go; it was nice to cycle in the evening for a change. The fuzz of old tree blossoms was floating on the refreshing breeze, shimmering in the sinking sunbeams. I was travelling along the Eastern Pathway, so I did not go around Dow's Lake on my way downtown. When I got there I was on the Conference Centre side of the Canal, rather than the National Arts Centre side. That part of the Canal is unusual. The Western bank is quite high, as high as the bridge-decks. On the Eastern bank is the Conference Centre, which is a huge edifice built into the hillside. Its Northern and Eastern sides are at the higher elevation than the Western and Southern sides, where the Canal is.
I could hear music in the distance, something with a lot of percussion and in another tongue. It was either Native Canadian or Arabic, but too indistinct to make out. Having eaten supper with Adrian the Irishman and Hussein the Jordanian, I figured perhaps my ears were playing tricks on me to suggest that it was Arabic. This was Ottawa, not Halifax. What would an Arabic musical group be doing here? After all, surely the Native Canadian idea made more sense. I had to investigate. I went around the Conference Centre, going up the hill so that I was on the "ground floor" of the city, where Parliament is, rather than the "basement" where the Canal is. I passed by the War Memorial, stopping to take some pictures of it, and headed in the direction of the sounds, which were coming from Sparks Street. I passed the statue of the fishing bear and a hoarde of tourists, ever following the music. As I drew closer I could tell that it was indeed Arabic. I was intrigued by it. Lately with all the arrests of alleged terrorists, Canada has been frightenly tettering at the top of a slippery slope of racism. My first thought was whether this musical performance, so close to Parliament Hill, was related to the ongoing situation. On a Sunday evening, however, it seemed like a strange time to make a political statement.
I got closer and found that it was simply a band serenading the city with some music. There were no leaflets, no signage of any kind, nothing being said aside from the lyrics. I only know a handful of words in Arabic, but one of them is habibi; love. Just about every pop song in the language that I have mentions the word, and so did the music that this band was making. There did not seem to be any overt political statement at all. I infer a subtle one, of course. It is clear to me that the overwhelming majority of Canada's Middle Eastern population bring the rich tapestry of their culture to the country, not plans for Canada's demise. Whether it is commentary on how Supper is conducted and how old the average newlyweds are, as happened at supper with Hussein; or in lovesongs with funky drumbeats, as on Sparks Street; the influence is positive. Canadians end up with interesting discussion topics and enjoyable background music. Hussein mentioned that Canada seemed to embrace people of other cultures- He was speaking about the many Chinese tourists that are around Carleton these days- I hope he is right about the people of the Middle East as well.
Later on into the night I was chatting with Chris from down the corridor. Somehow we got onto the subject of our childhood educations, and I fondly recalled my choir instruction from Mrs. Parsons at Monarch Drive Elementary School in Beaver Bank, Nova Scotia. I remembered her explaining to the choir what the word vow meant while going through the lyrics of Principal Pickup's favourite song, Let There Be Peace On Earth. I searched around on the internet found some mp3s of the school anthem. Its message of universal brotherhood is especially important these days, when even my own first thought at hearing lovesongs is to wonder what political message they are meant to convey. So, I let this be my solemn vow: To take each moment and live each moment in peace, eternally. I am working on becoming a diplomat, after all.
I feel like subjecting you to my latest blog entry, if you are willing to read it. I was (Still am!) in a peaceable mood when I wrote it, and I think you might find it interesting, given its pontifications on national and international affairs. Naturally I will be checking back here, but if it strikes your fancy to comment on the original, you can do so here (http://spaces.msn.com/kies/PersonalSpace.aspx?_c11_BlogPart_FullView=1&_c=BlogPart). I apologise in advance for the spelling and grammatical errors, it is late at night in my timezone. Anyways, here goes:
June 12: Let Peace Begin With Me
My last few entries have been far too doom-and-gloom filled. I am not Boober Fraggle, and I should stop acting like him (Although doing the dishes might not be such a bad idea). Sunday evening was actually quite pleasent. I went for a bikeride out along the Rideau Canal to downtown. Usually it is daytime when I go; it was nice to cycle in the evening for a change. The fuzz of old tree blossoms was floating on the refreshing breeze, shimmering in the sinking sunbeams. I was travelling along the Eastern Pathway, so I did not go around Dow's Lake on my way downtown. When I got there I was on the Conference Centre side of the Canal, rather than the National Arts Centre side. That part of the Canal is unusual. The Western bank is quite high, as high as the bridge-decks. On the Eastern bank is the Conference Centre, which is a huge edifice built into the hillside. Its Northern and Eastern sides are at the higher elevation than the Western and Southern sides, where the Canal is.
I could hear music in the distance, something with a lot of percussion and in another tongue. It was either Native Canadian or Arabic, but too indistinct to make out. Having eaten supper with Adrian the Irishman and Hussein the Jordanian, I figured perhaps my ears were playing tricks on me to suggest that it was Arabic. This was Ottawa, not Halifax. What would an Arabic musical group be doing here? After all, surely the Native Canadian idea made more sense. I had to investigate. I went around the Conference Centre, going up the hill so that I was on the "ground floor" of the city, where Parliament is, rather than the "basement" where the Canal is. I passed by the War Memorial, stopping to take some pictures of it, and headed in the direction of the sounds, which were coming from Sparks Street. I passed the statue of the fishing bear and a hoarde of tourists, ever following the music. As I drew closer I could tell that it was indeed Arabic. I was intrigued by it. Lately with all the arrests of alleged terrorists, Canada has been frightenly tettering at the top of a slippery slope of racism. My first thought was whether this musical performance, so close to Parliament Hill, was related to the ongoing situation. On a Sunday evening, however, it seemed like a strange time to make a political statement.
I got closer and found that it was simply a band serenading the city with some music. There were no leaflets, no signage of any kind, nothing being said aside from the lyrics. I only know a handful of words in Arabic, but one of them is habibi; love. Just about every pop song in the language that I have mentions the word, and so did the music that this band was making. There did not seem to be any overt political statement at all. I infer a subtle one, of course. It is clear to me that the overwhelming majority of Canada's Middle Eastern population bring the rich tapestry of their culture to the country, not plans for Canada's demise. Whether it is commentary on how Supper is conducted and how old the average newlyweds are, as happened at supper with Hussein; or in lovesongs with funky drumbeats, as on Sparks Street; the influence is positive. Canadians end up with interesting discussion topics and enjoyable background music. Hussein mentioned that Canada seemed to embrace people of other cultures- He was speaking about the many Chinese tourists that are around Carleton these days- I hope he is right about the people of the Middle East as well.
Later on into the night I was chatting with Chris from down the corridor. Somehow we got onto the subject of our childhood educations, and I fondly recalled my choir instruction from Mrs. Parsons at Monarch Drive Elementary School in Beaver Bank, Nova Scotia. I remembered her explaining to the choir what the word vow meant while going through the lyrics of Principal Pickup's favourite song, Let There Be Peace On Earth. I searched around on the internet found some mp3s of the school anthem. Its message of universal brotherhood is especially important these days, when even my own first thought at hearing lovesongs is to wonder what political message they are meant to convey. So, I let this be my solemn vow: To take each moment and live each moment in peace, eternally. I am working on becoming a diplomat, after all.