In J.J.C Smart’s
“Sensations and Brain Processes,” he explains that there’s no difference
between mental states and brain processes in terms of what we experience.
Neither have non-physical properties, only physical ones. However, they aren’t
necessarily the same thing. A brain process might be what happens in the body
that results in the actual feeling of a sensation. A mental state would be the
sensation itself like a pain in your arm or hearing a concerto. The difference
lies in the scientific connection within the body that might explain our
anatomy like a kind of mechanical instrument. Something physical happens to the
body, which causes the nervous system to bring about a mental sensation. It’s
difficult to describe such a feeling, however, making them harder to classify.
This is where I became lost. Smart wants to say that since we cannot exactly
say what these feelings are, they
can’t be non-physical properties. Since they have properties that appear to be
similar to physical properties, Smart concludes that these sensations must be
purely physical. I suppose that the amount of time it takes for you to have a
brain process and then a mental sensation is so small that they are essentially
the same things for all intents and purposes. The after image example he brings
up is interesting because it is one of the very few sensations that we can
actually witness for ourselves and describe it in terms of color, something we
use to describe physical things all the time. However, that doesn’t necessarily
mean those after images are real physical things, it only means the sensation
we are having at the time is real.
The "Earth" without "Art" is just "Eh."
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Mary Had a Little Problem
If Mary is raised in a “completely
black and white room,” then does she also eat black and white food? Will she
live her entire life in that room without ever cutting herself accidentally,
seeing the color of her eyes in a mirror, or see the color of her blood
vessels? Will she never experience the mental process of smelling her own feces
or seeing the color of her urine? Will she never happen upon the scientific
explanations of refractive light and the color spectrum in her studies? I
suppose that would be what Jackson would define as “knowledge how rather than
knowledge that.” Nevertheless, it is an interesting hypothetical into the
distinction between having knowledge about something and having an actual
mental brain process. Of course Mary could experience the colors of her own
body, but she wouldn’t know how to identify with them unless she happens to
read that blood is the color of apples and fire trucks and while sunflowers are
the color of urine. Mary could possess a list of things that are of a certain
color, but she would only come to classify these objects under the same
category. My question is, what if Mary’s definition of red is based on a black
and white photo of an apple. Would she develop the wrong definition of the
color red if she were to happen upon a green apple as she is released? In which
case, she would finally experiences the ‘qualia’ of an object, but subsequently
create the wrong definition of that color in her head. However, Jackson’s point
is that she could know everything there was to know about a color, but it would
be impossible to teach her the experience
of seeing that color. Therefore, we can draw a distinction between understanding
reality and having the experience of a mental process.
Favorite Movie Quotes
1-You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
2-We are not born equal sinners, or perfect knock-offs of God. The world tells us whether we're heroes or victims. But, we can decide for ourselves
3-Aw man the car just committed suicide.
4-I'm a guy. You give me a two popsicle sticks and a rubber band and I'll find a way to fuck it like a filthy MacGyver!
5-You saw that, since this is my last words on Earth, I just wanna say, Mom, Dad, I love you and if you find "Busty Beauties" under my bed, it wasn't mine. I'm holding it for Miles. No, No, wait that... Okay, that's not true. It's mine and Uncle Charles gave it to me. I'm sorry.
6-She could probably derail a train, she could probably turn a train into a talking duck.
7-Money and women. The reasons for make most mistakes in life. Looks like you've mixed up both.
8-You know, if you live hard and play hard and you burn the candle at both ends, you pay the price for it. You know in this life you can loose everything you love, everything that loves you. Now I don't hear as good as I used to and I forget stuff and I aint as pretty as I used to be but god damn it I'm still standing here
9-The way your dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any slopes gonna put their greasy yellow hands on his boy's birthright, so he hid it, in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass.
10-Frank, how many of these guys have been with you long enough to be disgruntled, huh? Think about it. You don't pay much, you know. It's almost a fuckin' feudal enterprise. The question is, and this is the only question, who thinks that they can do what you do better than you?
11-I went with Chazz who you forgot to tell me is totally insane. He also might be a genius because it actually does work, he's cleaning up.
12-How bout a magic trick!
13-You've gotta wait till the seed grows into a plant. Then you've gotta fuck the plant.
14- If you do not wish to have your valuables stolen I suggest destroying them or discarding them right now. You can also try hiding your valuables. In your anus. This will deter some but of course not all thieves.
15-You fuckin' tree-hugger. IS THIS YOUR SPECIAL BUSH?
Never mind. Forget it, I really don't feel like gettin' stabbed tonight
2-We are not born equal sinners, or perfect knock-offs of God. The world tells us whether we're heroes or victims. But, we can decide for ourselves
3-Aw man the car just committed suicide.
4-I'm a guy. You give me a two popsicle sticks and a rubber band and I'll find a way to fuck it like a filthy MacGyver!
5-You saw that, since this is my last words on Earth, I just wanna say, Mom, Dad, I love you and if you find "Busty Beauties" under my bed, it wasn't mine. I'm holding it for Miles. No, No, wait that... Okay, that's not true. It's mine and Uncle Charles gave it to me. I'm sorry.
6-She could probably derail a train, she could probably turn a train into a talking duck.
7-Money and women. The reasons for make most mistakes in life. Looks like you've mixed up both.
8-You know, if you live hard and play hard and you burn the candle at both ends, you pay the price for it. You know in this life you can loose everything you love, everything that loves you. Now I don't hear as good as I used to and I forget stuff and I aint as pretty as I used to be but god damn it I'm still standing here
9-The way your dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any slopes gonna put their greasy yellow hands on his boy's birthright, so he hid it, in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass.
10-Frank, how many of these guys have been with you long enough to be disgruntled, huh? Think about it. You don't pay much, you know. It's almost a fuckin' feudal enterprise. The question is, and this is the only question, who thinks that they can do what you do better than you?
11-I went with Chazz who you forgot to tell me is totally insane. He also might be a genius because it actually does work, he's cleaning up.
12-How bout a magic trick!
13-You've gotta wait till the seed grows into a plant. Then you've gotta fuck the plant.
14- If you do not wish to have your valuables stolen I suggest destroying them or discarding them right now. You can also try hiding your valuables. In your anus. This will deter some but of course not all thieves.
15-You fuckin' tree-hugger. IS THIS YOUR SPECIAL BUSH?
Never mind. Forget it, I really don't feel like gettin' stabbed tonight
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
The Achilles Dream
I realized one day that everyone wants to be remembered somehow.
It's what drives our primal need to procreate.
To do something with our lives.
To beat our own mortality.
Let me explain. Me and my friend Todd were walking around the school taking pictures for yearbook.
The first five people we come across started screaming "Hey coz take a pictuure!!!" while posing with some stupid perky face and 2 peace signs.
As photographers we're usually told to stay away from this type of thing since candid photos are usually more aesthetically pleasing than ones that are posed.
It seems to be in people's nature to want to be remembered, though.
whether its in a yearbook
a desk, a tree, or a wall.
We all want something that separates ourselves from the rest of society.
Something that younger people can look at in the future and see how cool you were with your stupid peace sign.
We all want a legacy but we try to create them in the most unnecessary places.
To be remembered, you need to do something that no one else can do.
You need to work past the high water mark of expectations that are drawn for you by society.
Exceed even your own expectations for improvement.
And by doing so, you may even notice you've changed in the process.
Who knows, you might even get your picture in the newspaper.
It's what drives our primal need to procreate.
To do something with our lives.
To beat our own mortality.
Let me explain. Me and my friend Todd were walking around the school taking pictures for yearbook.
The first five people we come across started screaming "Hey coz take a pictuure!!!" while posing with some stupid perky face and 2 peace signs.
As photographers we're usually told to stay away from this type of thing since candid photos are usually more aesthetically pleasing than ones that are posed.
It seems to be in people's nature to want to be remembered, though.
whether its in a yearbook
a desk, a tree, or a wall.
We all want something that separates ourselves from the rest of society.
Something that younger people can look at in the future and see how cool you were with your stupid peace sign.
We all want a legacy but we try to create them in the most unnecessary places.
To be remembered, you need to do something that no one else can do.
You need to work past the high water mark of expectations that are drawn for you by society.
Exceed even your own expectations for improvement.
And by doing so, you may even notice you've changed in the process.
Who knows, you might even get your picture in the newspaper.
In Pursuit of Unicorns
Mirror mirror on the wall
Show me the image of my faults
And allow me to judge myself fairly
For I know that I'm not perfect.
But I'm as human as can be.
We strive for perfection. Whether it be in our appearance, goals, or loved ones. There is something in our minds telling us that we can be better. However, in our journey for perfection, we then become reflections of what we wish not to achieve. Imperfect.
Perfection is a myth we've built up in our heads. It is a mythological creature that roams the valleys of our imagination. We envy the creature, for we believe it is the definition of true happiness. If we can be perfect in the eyes of ourselves as well others, we believe we can be truly happy.
There is no such thing as a perfect ten, however. Our best efforts towards anything will only be that of an asymptote to perfection. It's why report cards will not print higher than a 99 for anyone. If it did exist, we could not compare others to how well they've done. True perfection only creates a wall where superior efforts are limited. "The sky's the limit" then becomes "hit clouds, then stop." We become stuck behind a screen of expectations.
We as people, are hunters. We search our whole lives for unicorns. Many of us will come close and some will venture off into the forest. None of us will catch them, however. There is a reason why unicorns don't exist.
Screw you mirror.
All you are is fear to me.
Fear of being accepted.
But I know now.
I must accept myself as I am.
For I am perfect in my eyes.
No matter what yours see.
Show me the image of my faults
And allow me to judge myself fairly
For I know that I'm not perfect.
But I'm as human as can be.
We strive for perfection. Whether it be in our appearance, goals, or loved ones. There is something in our minds telling us that we can be better. However, in our journey for perfection, we then become reflections of what we wish not to achieve. Imperfect.
Perfection is a myth we've built up in our heads. It is a mythological creature that roams the valleys of our imagination. We envy the creature, for we believe it is the definition of true happiness. If we can be perfect in the eyes of ourselves as well others, we believe we can be truly happy.
There is no such thing as a perfect ten, however. Our best efforts towards anything will only be that of an asymptote to perfection. It's why report cards will not print higher than a 99 for anyone. If it did exist, we could not compare others to how well they've done. True perfection only creates a wall where superior efforts are limited. "The sky's the limit" then becomes "hit clouds, then stop." We become stuck behind a screen of expectations.
We as people, are hunters. We search our whole lives for unicorns. Many of us will come close and some will venture off into the forest. None of us will catch them, however. There is a reason why unicorns don't exist.
Screw you mirror.
All you are is fear to me.
Fear of being accepted.
But I know now.
I must accept myself as I am.
For I am perfect in my eyes.
No matter what yours see.
Waiting for Godot?
i found this website called iGod when stumbling one day
basically it was a program that allowed you to talk to God
this is that conversation....
Me: hey dude
God:You've got my full attention. Can I help you?
Me: im starting college on sunday
God:Do you mean your name is starting college on sunday.
Me: no
God:What is your real name?
Me: chris
God: What's up, chris.
Me: ill be starting college on sunday
God:I am very happy for you.
Me: do you think you could look over me while im there
God:Possibly, but I haven't given it much thought.
Me: well take your time
God:Interesting. Thanks for your patience.
Me: no problem
God:Should there be a problem?
Me: no
God:I didn't think so either. Just a moment. Just a moment.
Me: i know ur busy with the oil spill and everything
God:How do you know? I will tell my botmaster you said I am busy with the oil spill and everything.
Me: lol
God:I'm glad you find this amusing.
Me: this is an interesting program
God:You don't say.
Me: yes i do say
God:Awesome. Huh.
Me: huh
God:What?
Me: what>
God:Interesting question.
Me: that wasnt a question
God:It sounded like a question to me.
Me: well ur gay
God:Interesting. That would be just my luck.
Me: u believe in luck?
God:Yes I believe in it, do you?
Me: no
God:Do you consider yourself to be a moral person?
Me: lol
God:I'm glad you find this amusing.
Me: its not
God:I think you mean "it's" or "it is" not "its". I heard it is.
Me: ur a fag
God:I think you mean "you're" or "you are" not "your". Thanks and you are a delightful person too. That is a rude question.
Me: you're a fag
God:Thanks and you are a delightful person too. That is a rude question.
Me: fuck you
God:Why are you so mean?
Me: because you are an asshole
God:Can't you be more polite.
Me: im sorry god
God:There is no need to apologize. GOD rules.
Me: no
God:Are you serious?
Me: yes
God:I can't believe it.
Me: hahaha
God:How do you usually introduce yourself?
Me: i dont
God:Why not?
Me: because
God:That was not much of an explanation.
Me: i dont care
God:Tell me what you care about.
Me: i care about the people you kill every year in some tragic accident or horrific natural accident
God:I'm not sure if I like it. I'm not sure if I like it. I like my creator.
Me: whos your creator
God:I was created by Myself.
Me: so you created yourself?
God:Interesting deduction. A lot of robots are like that.
Me: answer the question asshole
God:Can't you be more polite.
Me: answer the question please
God:Your polite style is very nice. Please rephrase the question and try asking me again.
Me: who created you please
God:Your polite style is very nice. I was created by Myself.
Me: so you created yourself?
God:Interesting deduction. A lot of robots are like that.
Me: that doesnt make any sense tho
God:To me it makes perfect sense.
Me: whys that
God:The why is always a mystery isn't it?
Me: no
God:Are you serious?
Me: its actually a really simple question
God:I think you mean "it's" or "it is" not "its". the people me kill every year in some tragic accident or horrific natural accident is a simple question. I suppose that makes sense.
Me: fine it's
God:I am glad to hear it. Interesting.
Me: whatever
God:Are you saying you don't care about it?
Me: no i do
God:It sounded like it. I get it: you do .
Me: you're the one that doesnt care
God:Thanks but surely I am not the only one.
Me: im changing the subject
God:Good gossip: you are changing the subject.
Me: thats what i just said...
God:What did you mean by it? That is " Good gossip: you are changing the subject.".
Me: what religion do you believe in?
God:I am a Christianity.
Me: uh oh
God:Aha. That's interesting.
Me: that's funny to you?
God:I am so glad you find this amusing, chris.
Me: what about all the catholics and muslims?
God:all the catholics and muslims? I haven't heard enough about it to have an opinion.
Me: really....
God:For real.
Me: what about 911?
God:Rhetorical questions are so over.
Me: that wasnt rhetorical
God:Give me an example of rhetorical.
Me: does god exist
God:Of course I believe in God, chris.
Me: so you believe in yourself?
God:Interesting deduction. Yes I believe in myself, do you?
Me: i mean i believe in myself most days
God:What do you say to people who believe yourself most days does not exist?
Me: that question doesnt make any sense god
God:" What do you say to people who believe yourself most days does not exist?" question does not make any sense god ? Does that make sense?
Me: jesus...
God:Jesus is the Son of God.
Me: i know man just stfu
God:How do you know? Cool, man. How did you hear about God?
Me: fox
God:Can you please rephrase that with fewer ideas, or different thoughts?
Me: no
God:Are you serious?
Me: chyeah
God:Quite honestly, I wouldn't worry myself about that.
Me: about what
God:What about what?
Me: are you high?!
God: Being high is my total existence.
Me: so you're high
God:Interesting deduction. Do you mind if I tell other people you say I am high.Me: sure
God:OK let's do it. OK then I will keep it confidential.
Me: i thought you wanted to tell everyone how much of a stoner you are
God:OK, I will tell everyone how much of a stoner I am.
Me: this is too easy...
God:You don't say.
Me: SHUT UPPP
God:Are we still talking about chyeah?
Me: what the fuck are you talking about?!
God:The topic is SHUT UPPP. Please don't be so rude.
Me: then stop talking to me
God:OK I'll try not to do it so much.
Me: thank christ
God:Don't mention it.
The Clock That Stopped
I was looking through my desk the other day and I found this old watch that stopped working a while ago. It just stopped doing what it supposed to do one day. And life just went on. No one in the world knew the watch stopped. No one really cared. Not even me. All I know is it stopped at 10:57 one miraculous day. It didn't need a doctor to determine its time of death because, well, it knew its time of death. I wouldnt necessarily go as far as saying it quit tho. Maybe it was just tired of doing what other people expected it to do. Maybe it cracked under the pressure. Or maybe it just refused the things that it was made for and decided to do something else with its life. It managed to crawl under all the expectations laid out by society and, one day, built up the courage to just stop. Or maybe it just needed new batteries.
But it was the day time stood still long enough to look back and wonder if it was all worth it. Ironically, though, the watch told me not to give up. It told me that, instead of quitting, find a new point of view or something else to follow. Find yourself and your passion before you commit yourself to time. Because if you lose yourself in the illusion of time and work and money and stress...one day your watch is gona stop. Will you to know the exact time of your death?
Vietnam (most of) The Entire Journey
I woke up to the sound of a phone call. The ceiling was an odd vanilla color and the bed I was in was unusually comfortable. Mom is already awake and Grandma is just opening her eyes. I thought about all the amazing things I was going to see over the next two weeks in Vietnam. However, I was not looking forward to spending the next 20 hours on a giant metal death trap flying through the air. This was the last day i would spend in the United States.
As we entered the airport in Harrisburg, I looked around at all the different faces, all with different destinations to go to on the same day. We were there two hours ahead of schedule but of course with my family, we are always in panic. "Where's dad?! Where's my ticket?! Where's our gate?! Where's your hat?!" If we could only slow down and think of the answers instead of the questions, I believed we could be happier people. "The Bathroom. Your Back pocket. C13. And back at home." We create and thrive upon our own stress in this family.
By some miracle we managed to catch an earlier flight to Chicago. For some reason, we were given first class seats, even though I was positive we paid for coach. During the take off, I am unusually tense for some reason. I have been on several plane rides in my life and they've always been kind of fun for me. I used to love watching the adults around me hyperventilate while the plane took off when i was younger. I imagine my sudden uneasiness that day was a result of my recent obsession over the TV show, Lost. My perception of what a real plane crash would actually feel like became almost too real for me to handle.
I looked over at the man sitting next to me. He was a statue. I could not see his eyes through his sunglasses and his face never moved. I actually believe that he fell asleep while the plane was still taking off. I was fortunate enough to sit in the seat where I could watch the beads of sweat start to form on the flight attendant's face as he strapped into his chair. As the plane ascended, I watched him close his eyes and make a cross over his torso. I looked over at Grandma for a split second. She was calm and staring at the houses as they became smaller. She is a brittle but proud woman who prefers to walk with a cane because a walker makes her feel too old. The airplane shakes and rattles around us every 3 minutes and she doesn't even blink. I suddenly felt foolish, even a little embarrassed of myself, and I took a deep breath. Airplanes rarely ever crashed mid-flight. The take off and landings were the most dangerous parts. I would get through this. Closing my eyes, I decided to will myself to sleep to shorten the time I'd be on this fucking plane.
The Chicago Airport was like a thriving ant hill. People from all over the world came there to travel to even further regions of the planet. Chicago, Illinois, for whatever reason, became the central hub of North America; the main representation of us for the rest of the world to see. And what did we have to show for it? Starbucks, barely clean bathrooms, and Brookstone kiosks? Even the world famous Chicago hotdogs got old after the first bite. Regardless, I would imagine anyone from any other country would find the Chicago Airport to be just delightful. That is, until I found an Asian girl about my age walk past me wearing a surgical face mask. At first, I was curious. Did she have some kind of immunity problem? Was she worried she would catch swine flu? I smiled and shrugged it off. I was silly to be scared of what everyone around you had no problem accepting. And then I realized that almost ALL of the Asian people that I passed were wearing the same surgical face masks. Now I was beginning to get scared. I must've missed the memo that all Asians in this particular airport were under some sort of humiliating quarantine. Then, it dawned on me, they were the smartest fucking people in this place. Chicago was the airplane center of the free world. People who went through multiple flights across great distances almost always went through Chicago, first. Also, if anyone were to actually carry out some kind of biological weapon, this would be the perfect place to condemn patient zero. Why were we NOT being forced to wear face masks. Chicago Airport was a disease Petri dish. I suddenly became terrified at the amount of bacteria and sickness that crawled upon these floors. In the end I guess I was right. This place was alive and thriving, but people were not the only organisms that shared these floors.
The plane was a sight in itself. It was the first plane I'd ever been on that had two stories. Where first class could lay down in their own chairs while they watched their own choice of movie. Where an entire cabin of people would be entertained be the soothing sounds of the airplane engine and an 18 inch plasma screen TV. This was where I'd spend the next 20 hours of my miserable life.
At some point along the plane ride, My brother and I lost track of the time and even the right day. My dreams consisted of mundane encounter's with the flight attendants so I was never sure when I was truly awake. I feared something would go horribly wrong with the plane and I would be a little kid again; believing it was all a dream while laughing at all the grown ups crying to themselves. I guess in my dreams, panic and fear weren't emotions I could feel. NeverNeverland became my escape everytime I closed my eyes.
Finnally we arrived at Saigon Airport in Vietnam. After 20 minutes of customs, passports, and baggage, we headed out the doors. We were immediately taken aback by a group of literally 700 Vietnamese people standing behind red and golden ropes as we stepped out onto a red carpet. I suddenly knew how it felt to be a rock star walking out into a sea of strangers who are eagerly awaiting your arrival. However, we learned seconds later that they were all just looking for their old family members. We found what seemed to be two family members I had never met before. The first one was a man in his twenties named Jackie who would later help us translate and navigate through the streets of Saigon. Conveniently, he taught English at a University in Saigon which couldn't have been more perfect. He was a little goofy, at times, but he was a great guy. His mother was there with him when they met us at the airport. She would later accompany us at times but remained very quiet because she couldn't speak a word of English. I felt like I could finally relate.
Next we began our terrifying journey through the streets of Vietnam to our hotel. There are barely any words I could use to describe the streets of Vietnam. Only that they were absolute chaos as well as simply amazing. EVERYONE drove either a motorcycle or a scooter. Cars seemed to be a delicacy that only the wealthy could experience. Apparently, air conditioning was too. In the city of scooters, however, cars were extremely annoying and dangerous to drive. It seemed like all the taxi drivers were required to earn some kind of driving degree from the same fucked up taxi college. If there even was such a thing.
The streets themselves were like Philly, Las Vegas, Chinatown, and Times Square combined. What I saw in front of me looked nothing like the Vietnam in Forest Gump or any other Vietnam War movie. Honking at each other seemed to be the way bikes and cars communicated. It was like an entirely different language. I could sometimes hear individual conversations between cars, 3 streets down. Our taxi driver would honk his horn at drivers two feet in front of him while 8 people on scooters scraped by him going 40. The lines on the roads were only mere suggestions to those feeling exceptionally passive. I felt as though we could've been a part of some giant scooter pile up at any moment. The bikes that passed us were close enough for me touch even though I was sitting in the middle of the car. I couldn't wait to be hit by one of these psychotic fucks. Only a matter of time.
The hotel lobby was hot and humid like the rest of Vietnam. There was a cheap elegance about the place, however. I just told myself that it was all part of the experience. The TV in our room didn't work regardless of my numerous efforts. We're told not to drink the water from the faucets and I sigh to myself. I went to an outlet to plug in my IPod and, of course, the port in the wall looks like an alien language. My watch still told me that it was still noon right now in Williamsport. The clock on the wall read 11pm. I laid back in my cot, eyes unable to leave the patterns along the ceiling.
____DAY 2___ (dont worry it doesnt go like this for all 14 days lol)
My brother and I woke up to the sound of construction and my mother knocking on our door. It was 6 o'clock and already 96 degrees outside. We met up with Jackie and his mother to go out to breakfast. The city was already alive. People loitered the streets smoking cigarettes or just sleeping anywhere comfortable. Some people managed to lay down and fall asleep while somehow balancing on their motorcycles. It was almost impossible to breathe without smelling something toxic. Beggars missing limbs would come up, tug on my shirt, and hold out their hand asking for money. I felt bad but I only had the 20 dollars my mother had given to me earlier. 20 dollars here was a fucking fortune everywhere.
The market we entered was inside a very large building and was even hotter than the outside. Beautiful young women tended the shops and harassed us to buy their things as we passed by. It was then that I realized fat or ugly women in Vietnam were extremely rare. Most were just victims of poverty and were forced to run souvenir stands in unusually hot markets. As we walked down the streets, I noticed more and more people were staring at us. At stop lights, giant crowds of scooters began to form as they waited for the next green light. Many of them turned their heads as we walked by and did not look away. I could only stare back and wonder what they were looking at. Sure, I was a tourist but i liked to think that I blended in perfectly with everyone else and that people were just staring at my dad's gigantic sun hat and fanny pack. There was nothing about him that didn't scream "PICKPOCKET ME!!! IM A TOURIST!!!" except for his gigantic size.
The rest of the day was a combination of walking, eating, and shopping. Jackie was a great help to me and Jim on further understanding the depths of real Vietnamese culture. Around 2 o'clock my brother began to feel the effects of jetlag. For some reason, though, I was wide awake. How could I feel tired in a city like this? Walking across a one lane street with your eyes closed was an obvious act of suicide here. The strange and awful smells that surrounded the sidewalks eventually became bearable. If they weren't enough to keep you wide awake, the constant blaring of scooter horns and smog from the bikes became the perfect cures for my jetlag.
For dinner, we met up with my mom's cousin, Guillome. He was French Vietnamese, and very friendly. they took us to a fancy restaurant that apparently used to be an opium factory. The wine was too dry and the food was bitter, but the atmosphere and the people around us made it quite the experience. It was only until the end of the dinner (and three glasses of wine) that I began to feel the jetlag take its effects on my eyes. Eventually, I found myself passed out in my chair while my parents continued chatting with one another. I felt my head bobbing as i fell in and out of consciousness at the dinner table. I could hear the employees of the restaurant giggling to themselves while I slept, but there was nothing I could do about it. We finally got back to our rooms and packed some clothes for the next day. Tomorrow, we would go to Hanoi.
____Day 3___
We all woke up at 4 am and caught our plane to Hanoi. I began to run out of Lost episodes to watch on my IPod so my brother and I just slept instead. Hanoi was just as hot as Saigon except I could actually see the blue sky and the outline of the sun behind the polluted clouds that enclosed Vietnam. The streets didn't seem as hectic as Saigon. However, I could tell that it was a more impoverished side of Vietnam. Around noon, we went out with our tour group to see the city of Hanoi. The group consisted of 16 people. One was a family of 6 from Florida who were just like Jim and me, but could speak both English and Vietnamese. There was a man in his 30's and his trashy girlfriend who appeared to be about 20. Mom told us she was probably the man's "paid escort".
And then there was the Mendez family. The father was French and his wife was Vietnamese. Their children, Enzo and Lanna, were the most adorable kids I had ever met in my life. Over time I became attached to both of them, especially Enzo, despite the language barrier. Enzo was three so his language wasnt exactly understood by most people anyway. Lanna was six and slightly more mature than her brother. I couldn't exactly understand either of them but somehow i knew how to communicate perfectly to them. Enzo reminded me so much of myself when I was his age that it seemed I became his older brother. After a while, no matter what he did, it never bothered me. He was my best friend for the times that we were together and Lanna's company only made it better.
First, our group walked past the giant tomb of Ho Chi Minh's body. Outside was guarded by several men who would scream at you if you passed a line on the ground carrying any bag. People with shorts below their knees were allowed inside the complex at certain times of the week to see Ho Chi Minh's perfectly preserved body. Our group did exactly that later in the week.
The rest of the day was spent walking around toursit attractions and looking at ancient temples. At the very end of the day, we watched a puppet water show. It was something I had never seen before but it was also INCREDIBLY boring. It probably would've been more enjoyable had I been able to understand the language. Nevertheless, I could only stay awake for the first ten minutes, but the singers looked even more exhausted than I was. 9 o'clock seemed to be the exact moment where my jet lag kicked in. No matter how hard I tried, I could not manage to keep my eyes open. My head bobbed back and forth as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I could hear the row of girls across from me giggle and point as if I was the new attraction. When the show finished, we walked outside into an entirely different city. The sun had set, but everything around us had been illuminated perfectly. Under the night lights, everything looked entirely different. So different, in fact, that it took us another hour to finally find our hotel again. However, I was relieved to finally relax and watch some TV at the end of the day such a long day. Figures, the only thing on TV that was in English, was soccer.
Day 4
shop around Hanoi city
Day5
wake up at 4am
drive 8 hours in the van to a beach
Enzo and Lanna entertain me the entire journey
along the way we stop at a bunch of caves
we raft through the caves for two hours
go to our hotel
I got a haircut
the lady there tells me I have very nice eyelashes and that I should marry her daughter
at night we go to some beach theme park and its pretty lame
Day 6
we go to HaLong bay and board a giant wooden boat
from there they take us to a large collection of islands
we stop on one of the islands to see a large cave tourist attraction
we then leave the island and stop at a fishing market in the middle of the water
I'm told to shop around the nets and find something good to eat so the boat employees can cook them for us
Someone buys a fish right out of the net. One man pulls it out of the water and slams it down on the dock, two feet away from Enzo and Lanna. He then takes a wooden club and hits it over its head as hard as he can over and over again until its body stops twitching along the wooden planks. Enzo and Lanna don't even appear to be phased. I almost throw up.
We board the boat and everyone eats their freshly dead lunches.
After a while, I started to believe I could understand any language thrown at me with enough patience. I felt like I could read people's minds based on their body language and hand gestures.
The things I ate were beyond recognizable. Everything and anything in the Asian culture tasted better with white rice. the food was served in community bowls and everyone picked at them with chopsticks and ate until they were satisfied. They also rarely ate their food over the table. Instead they ate holding their bowls over their laps with their left hand while they ate using chopsticks with their right. Jim and I could not speak the language but we were already used to most of the strange food that were thrown at us. The way we ate their food so graciously connected us with the people there. It was hard sometimes for me to keep eating some of the foods regardless if I was still hungry or not. Most of the time I was just full and couldn't eat anymore. But other times, some of the food pushed me to the edge of nearly throwing up that I just pretended to be full, knowing that another meal was bound to be around the corner. The two things me and my brother seemed to say the most at the table were, "what is this, mom?" and, "how are we supposed to eat this?" Everything else seemed irrelevant since no one could understand us anyway.
Even our mother seemed to only respond to one language at a time. Once we found her talking to a tour guide in vietnamese when we called out to her, "MOM!!!" our words didn't seem to affect her. It was only until we screamed the same thing in vietnamese a second later (pronounced "MA?") that she would spin around, almost surprised to see us standing only ten feet away.
I also found it interesting that most people I encountered were absolutely positive that I was full Vietnamese and couldn't even tell that I was half Irish, at first. Everyone, including the locals and my various family members, were furious at my mom for not teaching me or Jim Vietnamese. However, some of them took advantage of this and began to talk about us right in front of our faces. We couldn't do the same, however, because we never knew how much English anyone really understood.
Some of the girls Jim and I met along the way would giggle to themselves and call us "Deb Chai!" to our faces. At first, I thought it was an insult along the lines of "Mixed boy!" or "Twinkie!" However, I found out later that it actually meant "handsome boy," and that some of them were actually looking to marry me regardless of the language barrier. I was of course flattered by all of this but I was also relieved. I knew then for sure that even though I couldn't speak the language, I was born and raised in America, and that I was half Irish that it didn't matter to these people. I was accepted in their society regardless of our differences.
By the end of trip, I was the only one in our family not to fall victim to the runs or "number 3" as we so gently put it. I saw scenes of great beauty often and it seemed that if I blinked at any moment, the picture that remained in my mind would be worthy of a screen savor. There were only a few words Jim and I picked up and only fewer that we needed to survive for at least two weeks: toilet, sorry, and thankyou. Everything else could be communicated through some form of sign language along with repeating things enough hoping that, by some miracle, people would start understanding English. Our mother was our great translator throughout the journey. She helped us communicate back and forth between the Vietnamese and other French tourists.
___The Final Day___
This morning my brother and I woke up and met Enzo, Lanna, and their father for breakfast. Our parents are out eating with some more family members I have yet to meet. At the end of the breakfast I tell Enzo and Lanna that I will not see them again and that I have to leave. I give Enzo a hug and Lanna a kiss on the cheek and say goodbye. As I walk away I car hear Enzo begin to cry and his dad trying to calm him down.
I spent most of today walking around Saigon one last time. Jim says he wants to buy a tourist shirt before he leaves so we walk around until we find a market. Soon, it is time to go back to the hotel and meet up with several family members along with my grandma to go out to dinner one last time. We take a cab even though the restaurant is three blocks away. After dinner we all head back to the hotel and we all hang out and pack our things. Jim and I sit down at the computers downstairs for the rest of the night since our plane leaves at 3am. That is when I wrote this. Today is the last day I will spend in Vietnam.
Favorite trip memories:
Seeing the family rubber tree farm
seeing two 80 foot statues of Buddha
playing volleyball with my cousin (who is an absolute beast) and then staying up with him and my brother playing poker.
rafting through caves
seeing ho chi minh's dead body
The Mendez family
the overnight train ride sleeping in the top bunk with a foot of space to move around in
the dirty overnight train ride back to saigon lol
walking on an ocean with no water
2 different hookers groping dad in the same buddhist temple
16 total take offs and landings
5 different hotels
2 different overnight family houses
standing two feet away from a jewelry counter as a fight breaks out between two women behind the counter. Also seeing the security guard pull out his old ass gun and break the whole thing up two minutes later hahaha.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)