I’ve always had this problem with failure, or perceived failure, in the sense that criticism gets deep down under my skin and causes me to rethink the path that I’m on. Sometimes, this happens for the better. Many times, I’ve lost my confidence and started something from scratch, only to have its quality exceed what it was before. For example, throughout middle school and secondary school, I was into music. For most of those years, I played the tenor saxophone. I really enjoyed it, and people told me I was good. I thought I was good, too. And then, my high school music teacher brought in some musicians to give us some pointers, and they butchered my playing: your embouchure isn’t right, and your phrasing needs a lot of work, etc. Don’t get me wrong; I’m fine with constructive criticism—when you’ve been bullied as much as I have, you develop a thick skin—but this experience had left so strong a mark on me that when I sat down to play the next morning, I couldn’t do it. It was like all the things these people had pointed out, which no one had ever pointed out before, were suddenly manifesting in a vastly exaggerated way. I was like a newbie learning to play the saxophone for the first time.
Not surprisingly, this didn’t go over well. I still remember when Mrs. Quinn was conducting our combined classes; the look on her face when my horrid notes squeaked out over everyone else was one of disgust and disbelief. And then there was my jazz band conductor, who asked me, “What happened to you?” Embarrassed does not describe how I felt. I was mortified, and I was also frustrated because I didn’t know why I was playing so badly. But after a lot of practicing, not only did I escape this abhorrent playing, but I became more skilled than I had been before the core-shaking incident.
I think something similar happened to me with my writing. All I wanted to do in life was to be a writer. And between 2003 and 2005, I tried to make that happen professionally. Well, it didn’t. I wrote articles that were never published, a novel that received many rejection letters from publishers, and applied for countless jobs for which I was never even interviewed. I couldn’t get a literary agent to take me on either. And then I got a job offer in India, in copy editing. I thought back to my school days, when my friends would ask me to look over their French assignments, and I’d happily sit with my red pen and correct their work. Yes, I thought, this is the place for me. I had some hiccups along the way as an editor as well, with some bad client feedback and low quality assessment scores; nevertheless, I decided, no, I’m not meant to write; I’m meant to edit other people’s writing. But now that I’ve been doing this for five years, I’ve honed my skills, and I’ve read hundreds of really bad authors (sorry, but it’s true), I think I’m over my mental block about writing.
So, I think this “problem” of mine is both a good thing and a bad thing. It might keep me down for some time, but I always persevere and rise again, to the top of the heap. (Never let anyone tell you it's wrong to toot your own horn!)
Friday, March 16, 2012
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Open intolerance
Canada has long been a very politically correct country. We pride ourselves on our multiculturalism and celebrate diverse cultures by having events and parades, e.g., for the Caribbean and Indian cultures. We promote immigration to increase our comparatively tiny population and boost our economy. So, this must be a really warm, welcoming place for all people, right?
If you want to know what Canadians really think, look at the comments people post on Yahoo! articles some time. You would think that in our politically correct, multicultural nation, people would only be comfortable posting racist, hateful, ignorant things on sites that allow them to be anonymous, but to post these comments, you must log into either your Yahoo!, Google, or Facebook account. These Canadians are openly intolerant—and very disturbingly ignorant and illiterate.
Political correctness has fooled us into believing that we really do live in this utopian land, but you barely have to scratch the surface to uncover the ugly truth.
If you want to know what Canadians really think, look at the comments people post on Yahoo! articles some time. You would think that in our politically correct, multicultural nation, people would only be comfortable posting racist, hateful, ignorant things on sites that allow them to be anonymous, but to post these comments, you must log into either your Yahoo!, Google, or Facebook account. These Canadians are openly intolerant—and very disturbingly ignorant and illiterate.
Political correctness has fooled us into believing that we really do live in this utopian land, but you barely have to scratch the surface to uncover the ugly truth.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Welcome to the First World
The word "Canada" means "village," and we certainly do seem like one sometimes. Last night, the national and Toronto news reports devoted half their broadcast time to the weather. By this, I don't mean that they shared stories about how people are dying as a result of the heat wave, or that our electricity is being stretched to its limits with the possibility of blackouts across the country; I mean, the stories were all about telling us what we already know, i.e., that it's hot outside. You know, in case you live in an underground bunker, as so many of us do (note sarcasm), and you're completely out of touch with the natural environment, the Canadian newscasters are here to tell you for at least 22 minutes out of the hour that it's hot.
I don't want to be insensitive to the people who have respiratory problems, for whom this weather is really painful, but how ridiculous are we? You can't get much more simultaneous "First World" and villager than this. What about people who live in places where it's 50 degrees, and they don't have as much as a fan? But that's the beauty of living in North America; you can have anything you want and remain completely out of touch with how much of the rest of the world lives.
In Ontario, winter lasts anywhere from four to seven months, and everyone cribs about it. Then, as soon as it goes above freezing temperature, Ontarians get out the shorts, tank tops, and flip-flops and bask in the sunshine. And then, without fail, as soon as we get a handful of hot days—and they do tend to be a handful—the complaints come again.
I was more interested in hearing about inflation and the 1,800 immigrants who have been found to have obtained citizenship illegally last night.
I don't want to be insensitive to the people who have respiratory problems, for whom this weather is really painful, but how ridiculous are we? You can't get much more simultaneous "First World" and villager than this. What about people who live in places where it's 50 degrees, and they don't have as much as a fan? But that's the beauty of living in North America; you can have anything you want and remain completely out of touch with how much of the rest of the world lives.
In Ontario, winter lasts anywhere from four to seven months, and everyone cribs about it. Then, as soon as it goes above freezing temperature, Ontarians get out the shorts, tank tops, and flip-flops and bask in the sunshine. And then, without fail, as soon as we get a handful of hot days—and they do tend to be a handful—the complaints come again.
I was more interested in hearing about inflation and the 1,800 immigrants who have been found to have obtained citizenship illegally last night.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Don't disturb me
Last week, Mumbai was attacked once again, and it was as if nothing had happened. I have many friends on my Facebook list who live in Mumbai, and not a single one of them had anything to say about what had happened; instead, they chose to post about their mixed excitement and sadness over the last installment of the Harry Potter films.
It seems to boil down to the fact that no one wants to be troubled. Last year, I was sitting in Williams café at Pier 8 when Hamilton, and much of Ontario, was hit with an earthquake. The light fixtures were swaying from side to side, the tables were shaking, and no one appeared to be particularly disturbed by this. After the first few seconds, someone sitting behind me said, “What’s that?” I turned and replied, “It feels like an earthquake.” She replied, “You shouldn’t say things like that!”
Huh?
War has been ongoing in Libya, and yet, the newscasters want to report about what the Duchess of Cambridge is wearing.
Has the human race become so fragile that we can’t handle any unpleasant realities? Is the truth slipping away from us, enabling us to curl up in a convenient fantasy world where the biggest problem is that there won’t be any more Harry Potter films?
There has been immense outrage over the verdict in the Casey Anthony trial. The masses have been reacting as though they know what really happened and justice failed. I wonder, would this same concern and outrage be present if the same people were to walk by a person being mugged on the sidewalk, or if they overheard their neighbour being physically abused? I suspect in those cases—real cases where they know what is happening and could have an impact—they wouldn’t want to interfere.
The less we care and want to know about what’s happening in the real world around us, the more room it will leave for atrocities to occur.
It seems to boil down to the fact that no one wants to be troubled. Last year, I was sitting in Williams café at Pier 8 when Hamilton, and much of Ontario, was hit with an earthquake. The light fixtures were swaying from side to side, the tables were shaking, and no one appeared to be particularly disturbed by this. After the first few seconds, someone sitting behind me said, “What’s that?” I turned and replied, “It feels like an earthquake.” She replied, “You shouldn’t say things like that!”
Huh?
War has been ongoing in Libya, and yet, the newscasters want to report about what the Duchess of Cambridge is wearing.
Has the human race become so fragile that we can’t handle any unpleasant realities? Is the truth slipping away from us, enabling us to curl up in a convenient fantasy world where the biggest problem is that there won’t be any more Harry Potter films?
There has been immense outrage over the verdict in the Casey Anthony trial. The masses have been reacting as though they know what really happened and justice failed. I wonder, would this same concern and outrage be present if the same people were to walk by a person being mugged on the sidewalk, or if they overheard their neighbour being physically abused? I suspect in those cases—real cases where they know what is happening and could have an impact—they wouldn’t want to interfere.
The less we care and want to know about what’s happening in the real world around us, the more room it will leave for atrocities to occur.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Both sides of joint tenancy
In Canada, people who jointly own property are either tenants in common or joint tenants. In the case of tenants in common, when one of the homeowners passes away, his or her interest in the property becomes part of his or her estate, whereas in the case of joint tenants, the right of survivorship dictates that the surviving homeowner becomes the sole owner of the property.
A joint tenancy agreement is generally signed by a married or common-law couple; thus, upon the death of the co-owner, the surviving spouse/partner inherits the property without lengthy and costly legal hassles.
However, it is not always couples who enter into this agreement.
I am the only child of a woman who died suddenly in 2008. She jointly owned a house with her friend—my godmother—and the three of us lived there from 1993. As I was a minor when they purchased the house, and my godmother was to have custody of me if anything happened to my mother, they signed a joint tenancy agreement to ensure that no one else could make a claim on the house.
When my mother passed away, based on conversations that I had with my godmother, it was my understanding that while the house now legally belonged solely to her, she was still keeping my mother’s interest in trust for me. It was also my understanding, based on conversations, that if she was going to sell the house, she would tell me. I continued to live in the house with her, contributed to the household expenses, cooked the majority of her meals, and even made phone calls on her behalf, as she is hearing impaired. I thought of her as my family and believed that she felt the same way, as my mother did when she entered into this arrangement in 1993.
In February 2011, I was out of the country and wasn’t scheduled to return to Canada for another five weeks. I was shocked to learn that the house I had been living in for 18 years had been listed with a realtor. When I asked my godmother why she had made this decision without mentioning anything to me, her response was simply, “It’s my right.” And when I asked about my mother’s share, she cited her rights as dictated by survivorship.
Joint tenancy gave my mother’s friend the right to more than triple her initial investment in this property. Furthermore, this agreement which was signed because there was a child who was supposed to be provided for was the same document used as a means of disinheriting that same child.
So, while joint tenancy benefits spouses and surviving partners, it can also benefit single people by providing them with the financial security that they have not offered themselves.
I lost my mother very early and unexpectedly and then I lost my godmother equally unexpectedly due to her greed for money.
Parents, please take this as a cautionary tale. Check your papers and see that your wishes are written down.
A joint tenancy agreement is generally signed by a married or common-law couple; thus, upon the death of the co-owner, the surviving spouse/partner inherits the property without lengthy and costly legal hassles.
However, it is not always couples who enter into this agreement.
I am the only child of a woman who died suddenly in 2008. She jointly owned a house with her friend—my godmother—and the three of us lived there from 1993. As I was a minor when they purchased the house, and my godmother was to have custody of me if anything happened to my mother, they signed a joint tenancy agreement to ensure that no one else could make a claim on the house.
When my mother passed away, based on conversations that I had with my godmother, it was my understanding that while the house now legally belonged solely to her, she was still keeping my mother’s interest in trust for me. It was also my understanding, based on conversations, that if she was going to sell the house, she would tell me. I continued to live in the house with her, contributed to the household expenses, cooked the majority of her meals, and even made phone calls on her behalf, as she is hearing impaired. I thought of her as my family and believed that she felt the same way, as my mother did when she entered into this arrangement in 1993.
In February 2011, I was out of the country and wasn’t scheduled to return to Canada for another five weeks. I was shocked to learn that the house I had been living in for 18 years had been listed with a realtor. When I asked my godmother why she had made this decision without mentioning anything to me, her response was simply, “It’s my right.” And when I asked about my mother’s share, she cited her rights as dictated by survivorship.
Joint tenancy gave my mother’s friend the right to more than triple her initial investment in this property. Furthermore, this agreement which was signed because there was a child who was supposed to be provided for was the same document used as a means of disinheriting that same child.
So, while joint tenancy benefits spouses and surviving partners, it can also benefit single people by providing them with the financial security that they have not offered themselves.
I lost my mother very early and unexpectedly and then I lost my godmother equally unexpectedly due to her greed for money.
Parents, please take this as a cautionary tale. Check your papers and see that your wishes are written down.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Canadians have no spare time
Why is it that in India, you can knock on someone's door and they're happy to see you and want you to come in, or you can call a friend or relative and make spontaneous plans, and in Canada, everyone has to pencil you in for next week or next month? Are Canadians really that busy? The funny thing is that in Mumbai, for example, it takes hours to reach anywhere, so it's that much harder to just go out and meet people on the spot, but people do it. Here, it takes, like, 15 minutes to reach your destination, unless you're going out-of-town, and no one has time for anything, ever, unless they've planned it in advance.
Monday, May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011: The day the house that I lived in for 18 years is inhabited by other people.
The last few months still seem unreal. It's amazing how one selfish person can change the course of someone else's life.
I'm back in Hamilton with no family, no partner, no dog; the only one I have left is my 16-year-old kidney-diseased cat. It's really lonely. I have great friends who've been very sweet and caring, but everyone has their own life, of course. When you're in your 30s, it's not like it was in your youth, when you could call up your friends anytime and talk for hours, and hang out with each other regularly. That's why we're all supposed to find that special someone; then there's at least one person who you can be with every day. Of course, that doesn't work when the person you love is still on the other side of the world after 11 years.
I don't like not having control. It's one of my many shortcomings. And I feel like I have little control right now. Canada, as usual, is not offering me much in terms of career, but I'm not just looking after myself, so it's not as simple as just packing up and leaving again.
The last few months still seem unreal. It's amazing how one selfish person can change the course of someone else's life.
I'm back in Hamilton with no family, no partner, no dog; the only one I have left is my 16-year-old kidney-diseased cat. It's really lonely. I have great friends who've been very sweet and caring, but everyone has their own life, of course. When you're in your 30s, it's not like it was in your youth, when you could call up your friends anytime and talk for hours, and hang out with each other regularly. That's why we're all supposed to find that special someone; then there's at least one person who you can be with every day. Of course, that doesn't work when the person you love is still on the other side of the world after 11 years.
I don't like not having control. It's one of my many shortcomings. And I feel like I have little control right now. Canada, as usual, is not offering me much in terms of career, but I'm not just looking after myself, so it's not as simple as just packing up and leaving again.
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