Thin line between the rich and the poor

I visited my foreign friend’s house once and had dinner with his family. Me, a 20-year old foreign girl from who went to America with two suitcases, a heavy accent and a heavy heart for not doing enough to make my country a better place. They, the high-class, well-educated and cultured European family I have always wished to have, with a refined taste for literature, art, fashion and music. The kind of people that wear evening shoes while they dine in their own house. We were all sitting around the dinner-table, talking about all the wonderful opportunities globalization has brought about and how the world is such a borderless place. Free movement of capital, goods, services and people. After all, I could have gone anywhere with my two suitcases and my heavy heart. America, Canada, Austalia, France, China, even Nigeria accepts foreign scholarship students. But then, a long-time family friend of his father’s, an admirable genius with a vast knowledge of pretty much everything under the sun, started telling me his side of the story.

“All these Indians, that come into this country, they are everywhere. In the park, in the shop, in the streets. There is no place left to breath where they are not.”

The whole family joined in the discussion.

“And they are eating on the social insurance plans. Eating on the benefits.”

“If you treat migrants well, give them the kind of human rights Europeans demand for themselves and you only encourage them to keep coming.”

“Why wouldn't they keep coming to the Country where after one year they get free schooling?”

“All they want are the benefits.”

I was a foreigner to them, in their house for the first time. I consider myself independent and I have been self-sufficient ever since I left home and yet, I could not help feeling abased. Feeling the sin of all the people that have ever emigrated anywhere. Now, that’s what I consider a very welcoming first meeting. A good chance to get to know each other.

“I am telling you, I wish there were more green spaces than Indians in this country. The Indians are occupying all our green spaces.”

The sister, who is a wonderful witty creature, seemed to be the only one seeing my point. “And you think that is the Indians’ fault?’

“There are no more green spaces anywhere.”

I felt I was Faust in a conversation with Mephistopheles: “This is Hell and you’re in it”. I realized globalization has made a hell of the living earth - it has restructured and demolished the concept of a united and peaceful society. Instead of creating unity it has produced even more differences enhancing borders, and instead of ending conflict it has brought the disintegration and the militarization of the world.

Globalization has not helped to create a borderless world. Rather, globalization has led both to a proliferation of borders and their diffusion throughout society, at the market, city, nation-state and mondial level, leading to a tension between the need to remove borders as barriers to trade and mobility and the need to reinstall borders in the face of perceived security threats from terrorists, drug traffickers, illegal immigrants and most importantly, the different Other. The border reconstruction has been in such a way as to keep borders open for capital, cheap labor and free movement of the wealthy, and to close the border for those who might make citizenship demands or rights claims on the declining welfare state.

Globalization, and especially globalization through technology, does not produce uniformity, but gradations and variations in the social composition of society. By giving people the possibility to move from one place to the other, globalization tries to give disadvantaged people a chance to get to the level of the rich, but instead of creating opportunities for all, what it ends up achieving is the transfer of cheap labor to developed Western countries, the free movement of the wealthy, and the creation of invisible borders for those who are too different and are seen as too dangerous at the level of the city and even at the level of the nation-state as they might start making citizenship demands or claims on the declining welfare state.

Many poor countries are short of nationals with appropriate skills who have taken their talent and competences to other parts of the world. Globalization and the ease of travel and of finding work in a foreign place have provided rich countries with skilled labour and have contributed to a brain drain from underdeveloped to developed regions. But, taking all this as an opportunity and a chance for the integration of the poor would be a very superficial way of thinking about globalization. What this is in fact is a sort of warlordism and enslaving, where the poor live with the rich cheek-by-jowl, emphasizing the visible contrast of wealth and poverty, notably in capital citites where expensive housing estates coexit with bidonvilles and where strangers and outsiders are feared.

The rich Westerner feels endangered by the cultural tipping. What is more, is that the dominant community begins to feel itself alienated from its own patrimony by outsiders. This smart academic, who has published papers and books and has traveled the world, feels that his green spaces are taken away from him by some poor Indian!! This is a fear that encourages extremism and the rise of groups of angry people on both sides, angry rich people who want to feel protected and use violence in the form of militarization of cities and insulating themselves from the outside Other, and angry poor people who demand the same rights as the rich, who can only use violence in the form of riots and protests to make themselves heard and communicate their demands which would not be heard otherwise.

Parliamentary Debates

It's the begining of the week, so let's start it with a funny, yet very truthful blog post

In America

In Taiwan

In Ukraine

In Russia

In South Korea

In Mexico

In India

In Japan

In my country

There is a genius, in each and every one of us.

And each and every day it is sleeping more profoundly.

When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?

“Romeo and Juliet” is a 6 minute song by the British rock band Dire Straits, recorded in 1980 and released as a single in 1981. It first appeared on the album Making Movies and then on the live albums Alchemy and On the Night. The song was written by Dire Straits singer and lead guitarist Mark Knopfler. The song opens on an arpeggiated resonator guitar part played by Knopfler, who also sings the lead vocal. The instrumentation remains simple during the verses and moves to a full-on rock arrangement in the chorus sections(source: Wikipedia).

The genius of the song lies in the conversation between the two lovers of the title. It is hinting at a "Juliet" abandoning her "Romeo" (the song's narrator) after finding fame and moving on from the rough neighborhood where they first encountered each other. The way in which Knopfler words his emotions is very rare in music - in my opinion, no other cover (by The Killers or the Indigo Girls) can stay up to the Dire Straits original .

In addition to the obvious reference to William Shakespeare’s play of the same title, the song makes playful allusions to other works involving young love, including the songs “My Boyfriend’s Back” and “Somewhere” (There is a place for us somewhere) from West Side Story (which is itself based on the Shakespeare play). This song was inspired by Mark Knopfler’s broken romance with Holly Vincent, leader of the band Holly and the Italians.

There is a moment in the life of everyone who leaves home to go study in another country like the one in this story. No matter who leaves, be it Juliet or Romeo, it is very hard to get over it or to recover the moments past. Time flows forward all the time. Some continue long-distance, some break it off then and there. I am still left wondering, "Me and you, babe, how about it?".

A lovestruck romeo sing a streetsuss serenade

Laying everybody low with a lovesong that he made

Finds a convenient street light steps out of the shade

Says something like you and me babe how about it?

Juliet says hey it's romeo you nearly gimme a heart attack

He's underneath the window she's singing hey la my boyfriend's back

You shouldn't come around here singing up at people like that

Anyway what you gonna do about it?

Juliet the dice was loaded from the start

And I bet and you exploded into my heart

And I forget the movie song

When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong juliet?

Come up on different streets they both were streets of shame

Both dirty both mean yes and the dream was just the same

And I dreamed your dream for you and now your dream is real

How can you look at me as if I was just another one of your deals?

When you can fall for chains of silver you can fall for chains of gold

You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold

You promised me everything you promised me thick and thin

Now you just say oh romeo yeah you know I used to have a scene with him

Juliet when we made love you used to cry

You said I love you like the stars above and I love you till I die

There's a place for us you know the movie song

When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong juliet?

I can't do the talk like they talk on the TV

And I can't do a love song like the way it's meant to be

I can't do everything but I'd do anything for you

I can't do anything except be in love you

And all I do is miss you and the way we used to be

And all I do is keep th beat and bad company

All I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme

Julie I'd do the stars with you any time

Juliet when we made love you used to cry

You said I love you like the stars above I'll love you till I die

And there's a place for us you know the movie song

When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong juliet?

A lovestruck romeo sings a streetsuss serenade

Laying everybody low with a lovesong that he made

finds a convenient streetlight steps out of the shade

Says something like you and me babe how about it?

Is it OK to meet a stranger in a city you've just started to live in? He's an interesting stranger, I've written about him before. I like the fact that instead of inviting me for a cheap coffee on campus, he invited me to an art gallery - that's something I wasn't expecting. No man has ever invited me to an art gallery on a first date before. Americans here have invited me to:

1. motor shows

2. thai restaurants

3. sushi restaurants

4. the A-coffee shop

5. parties

6. the beach

7. jogging

8. group-study in the College library

9. the College cinema

10. the famous College classroom where people have sex. Usually with reservation.

Maybe he is old fashioned, maybe he is just going along some old friend's advice, but the truth is that I have found his proposal very original and that is why I have accepted going out with him. In my country, most first date proposals are either to the cinema (in a dark corner in the back where you can make out) or to the restaurant (where you can have an interview-type of chat), but never to an art gallery. How impressive.

In a city where you don't know that many people, is it Ok to go out with someone you've barely met? He might be a total creep and the truth is that I do not find him attractive at all - but frankly speaking, I've never been to the Art Institute and I would really like to go. And maybe, while desciphering American paintings, I will also get to descipher him and see if he's really into art or just trying to cheaply impress me. Plus, I like his accent. That's probably the only thing I like about him now.

On July 24, 2010, at 04:22 PM, Leyla wrote:

Hey,
Yes, let's meet up next week, I am done with finals on Wednesday.
Leyla

On July 24, 2010, at 05:37 PM, William wrote:

Awesome. How about Friday evening? Thursday's out, but apart from that I'm pretty flexible.By the way my phone number is *** 799 055*. Good luck and look forward to seeing you,

William

On July 24, 2010, at 06:47 PM, Leyla wrote:

Hey,
Friday evening is fine. This is a little weird though.
Anyway, my nr is ***-230-437*.
Where should we meet?
Leyla

On July 24, 2010, at 06:57 PM, William wrote

Hi Leyla, It is quite sudden -- under the circumstances it had to be. Maybe it would be more relaxed to meet earlier? We could get a coffee in BonJour or Peninsula, say at 5. William

On July 24, 2010, at 07:05 PM, Leyla wrote:

I am working till 6 on Friday and I'll be back to campus around 7. I think BonJour is closed then, should we try A L’Italia instead (around 7.30) ?

On July 24, 2010, at 07:17 PM, William wrote:

Do you want to meet in the Loop (if that's where you're working)? The Art Inst. is open late for example. Otherwise A L’Italia sounds good.

William

On July 24, 2010, at 07:55 PM, Leyla wrote:

Ok, going downtown sounds good. 6 pm at the Art Institute? Leyla

On July 24, 2010, at 08:17 PM, William wrote:

It's a deal. William

The three-day rule sucks

Hi

Sat, July 24, 2010, 12:33PM

From: „William I” wingham@ux.edu

To” leylar@ux.edu

Hi Leyla,

(Assuming I've got the right Leyla, we met on the 173.) Shall we meet up some time next week? I didn't want to wait until the next time we bumped into each other, since that might not happen.

William

When Robert Kahn and Vinton Cerf invented the internet, they surely did not think about the number of problems their invention would create in relationships. The internet might be one of the greatest inventions of the past century, but when it comes to it, and even to the telephone, men and women do not know how to use it. There is an unwritten rule that Western men always seem to follow: "Wait at least 3 days until you call/email." This rule drives me crazy for several reasons, the most important of which is that if you're interested, you should go for it and let that woman know that you are interested in her and would like to take her out, instead of playing it too cool and appearing like a total jerk who already has ten women in his hands and is too busy to see an eleventh.

American men need to understand once and for all that waiting less than three days to contact a woman does not make them seem desperate (on the contrary, we women think it is very cute when men call us immediately in a trembling voice to ask if we are free "for coffee"). Women hate being contacted after days - after all, do you still expect us to remember you? We get date invitations almost every day, we don't remember a man we've met for the first time last week. And when asking us out, what matters is what you say and how you say it: keeping it short, trying to seem calm and secure, and yet having that tint of shyness or anxiousness - we like to know that we can already raise some emotion in you.

We are only two Leylas in College here. Unfortunately, he emailed the right one. But he doesn't know that yet, so maybe I can play with him for a bit and pretend I'm the other Leyla.

Dooder 1: Hay bro why you drinkin that nasty ass Icehouse?

Dooder 2: Just pregaming brah.

In America college parties start when parties in my country end. When I was back home, dance parties started around 6pm and included free food (caviar finger sandwiches, chicken balls, eggplant salad, exotic fruit, etc.), free drinks and a genuine party atmosphere that lasted until the early hours of the morning when everyone was exhausted because of dancing all night long. In America, if it’s 11pm, it’s too early to go to a party and if you get there by midnight, you are kind of lame. And in the early hours of the morning, no one remembers what happened last night.

The US student body knows the meaning of pre-gaming. Pre-gaming is the act of getting fucked up with all your friends before going out. Everyone does it. My best friend cannot get out of the house at night before a party if she has not had at least 2 shot glasses of vodka or tequila. She says she doesn’t have fun at the party otherwise. My suspicion is that the guys at those parties are so ugly, that she must have ingested some alcohol beforehand to even consider having any kind of fun. I mean, it’s impossible even for a very horny awake girl to let that American bro at the party slap her butt and enjoy it, if he looks the way the majority of American brothers often look like at parties – unshaved, unshowered, greasy, etc. Been there, done that, so I’m talking from the heart.

My desire to blend in with the American culture leads me to conclude the following:

Advantages of pre-gaming:

1. Pictures look better at the pregame than at the game itself. You don’t have saliva all over your face at the pregame yet since you’ve just started.
2. It gives a lousy shy person a reason to forget his insecurities and start talking to that hot chick.
3. It makes you avoid looking like an outsider by not being completely shitfaced the entire time at the bar or at the party.

Disadvantages of pre-gaming:

1. You miss all the fun at the „game” because you can’t even make it there since you’re too drunk.
2. You must put that condom on hours ahead because you know you won’t be able to do it at the „game”.
3. You don’t know if that puke on your shirt comes from you or from somebody else.

Do you pregame in your country? Why or why not?

The girl who took it differently

When I was in sophomore high school in my country, for I only came to the US for college, my friends Carla, Jackie and I made a map of our class’ desk chairs according to popularity. Our rating scale was 2 to 10, but our large spectrum was never reached because everyone got rated 6 to 10. We were extremely exigent and the popularity criteria included hotness, datebleness, and funniness – traits we thought were most important at the time. This gorgeous girl who wore tight jeans and a leather jacket and was dating a famous rock lead-singer, 8 years older than her, obviously had a 10. He used to pick her up from school in his black sports car when she came to class. When she didn’t, the gossip was that they were having hot sex on the beach in the Eastern part of the country and that she liked it from behind. We might have been biased and maybe she wasn’t that intelligent, but God, she was hot even from the front!

The guys in the class (there were only 6 among 30 girls) were all on a scale from 8 to 9, except this one blond character who sort of blew up our scale. He was a 2, but we weren’t sure if he had the Down Sindrome (in the words of the time, if he was a retard) or if he was a genius. We were giving ourselves a 6, because we were smart and we thought our jokes were good. Only we thought our jokes were good. Our rating of ourselves improved from the lousy 6 to an awesome 8 over the course of the next two years, or better said, as we all got boyfriends and changed our clothing style and manners.

Rating people in high school was easy – we were all pretty much the same sort of folk, except, as we were all envious on, the girl who was having crazy sex on the beach at night. And at day. Everyone in high school was supposed to learn by heart the same sort of crappy, useless lectures, to have the same hobbies, to wear the same decent school-clothes, to read the same required lit books, to practice the same sports and take the same classes. If you were passionate about architecture, too bad, you couldn’t take an architecture optional class because your schedule was already filled with the required chemistry class which you hated because you knew you would never become a chemistry Nobel prize winner. If you were a retard or a genius, you were never left to edify that because all you had to do was to puke out the lecture the professor had just given you. I guess you could regurgitate it on different tonalities (as this girl who later pursued acting and got our 9.5 mark for being a rebel did), but that doesn’t leave much room for personal genius. In my country, you were never given the chance to passionately dedicate your skills and will to win the Pritzker Architecture Prize.

Arrived to college in the US and found out that people were not all alike and that differences were expected and even encouraged. Be extraordinary at a different sport than anyone else is playing, and you’ll be a hero in America. Don’t read that required boring lit book because you don’t feel enriched and read a book you like and passionately talk about it in class, and you can make a difference in America. Stand up for your political beliefs and get involved in the Lib-Dem debate club in college and you’re not a revolutionary danger that must be eliminated before taking down the system. Nor are you a well-connected guy with a father in the political administration of the country and a pre-arranged job as soon as you will get out of high school. You are just a guy with ideas. Be different in my country, and you’re not respecting the community. Be different and you must be bribing that professor to let you be. Pursue your passions in my country, and are you trying to seem what you’re not supposed to be? Are you trying to play smart? Who the fuck do you think you are to distance yourself from the group?

In America, if my friends and I would start doing the rating all again, everyone would be placed all along the spectrum. There would be 7-rate students who would follow the herd and who would always read that required book. There would be 2s and 3s who would still be in search of their vocation and who would be trying out things until they found their Nobel Prize. And there would always be more than one 10-rated smart girl who would not be afraid to take it from behind.

Always expect the unexpected

I have an exam in an hour and a half and it is freaking me out. It must be a general feeling for students, but this exam seems worse that any that I've taken. And no matter how many finals I have stood in so far, I cannot get rid of the anxiety before a test. "What's the worse that can happen?", I tell myself. "You will get a question you don't have an answer to and you will pull up all your resources and derive the solution to that unexpected problem yourself. Or you'll bullshit and still write something. Big deal."

Bullshitting in a foreign language is not as easy as it may seem - you never sound smart enough. So that narrows down my options a bit. You don't believe me? Try writing a paper on secularization in French and read it out loud and see for yourself how it sounds. I'm telling you, we'll be buddies in war after that.

I can feel my emotions building up and my hands are starting to get sweaty. Blood (or my stupidness) is tinkling in my ears and there seems to be a funny bee hum in the house. I replay chapters 12-25 in my mind over and over again, in the kitchen while making myself a sandwich to have energy as if I'd be running a marathon in a bit, in the bathroom as I am rolling a bit of powder on my cheeks to hide my freaking-out blush, in my room as I am stuffing my bag with ten different kinds of pens in case they will all run out and I will be left inkless to pour out all my knowledge on the exam paper.

"After all, it's an exam where you only have to regurgitate what you have studied beforehand, it doesn't require a great deal of creativity or intuition, so it shouldn't be so bad! Act like a mature academic!" - I try to encourage myself. "Tell anyone how much you've studied for this core class exam and how much you are stressing about it, and they will laugh at what a big nerd you are." I feel like the air in my room is so hot even to breathe and I decide that there's no point in waiting at home until I faint, so I get out of my house and head to campus. I will confront this monster and strike this Goliath in between his eyes.

The 173 bus taking me to university is less crowded than usual. At least it has air-conditioning. In my country, air-conditioning in the bus is a rare phenomenon. More than that, mannerism in public transportation is nonexistent. People board the bus on all doors, push and shovel each other, scream at the driver whenever he hits the break in order to avoid smashing some deaf old lady who is randomly crossing the street. They never smile and forget to say „Excuse me, I’m sorry!” when they push you away to get to stay on the chair first. Oh, also, never ever wear flip-flops in the summer in my country unless you want everybody’s outsole model printed on your foot.

I try to avoid evoking in my mind all the wonderful experiences one can have in my country and focus on keeping my composture until I get to campus. My heart is pumping fast for fear of this exam and I must seem crazy to this older guy who keeps starring at me. Well, he’s not exactly that old, he seems 24, but at my age, everyone more than two years above me seems old. He smiles at me and I wonder if he can read on my face all these embarassing thoughts. Maybe he’s just sympathetic and I remind him of the time when he was in university, stressing about his exams. I wonder if he’s also a student or if he’s working here. By his clothes and his funny gestures, he seems a bit awkward. Why is he smiling at me like that, have I forgotten to put on my blouse or do I have toothpaste on my nose or what? And I must really look ridiculous now, and I see that he has realized that I am looking at him and God damn it, this is not my best hair day. Not my best mood day, either.

„Hi. I’ve seen you a lot around campus.”, he says, smiling largely.

„Uhum.” I reply and look down abashed. I couldn’t understand what he just said. He has a funny accent.

„Oh, Leyla, stop being so rude, you are so rude to this person. Say something.”, I think to myself.

„Are you a student here?”, I ask him.

„Yes, I am. Are you?.. A student.. here.. as well?”

„Yes, I’m a second-year.”

„A second-year? You seem a bit older.” I’m not sure how to take that remark.

„How old do you think I am?”

„I though you were 23-24.”, he replies, his eyes looking down.

„What do you study?”, I ask.

„I do Mathematics, you?”

„I do Economics. What year are you?”

„I’m a third-year.”

„A first-year?”, I burst.

„No, a third-year, Phd student.”, he replies smiling as if he’s mocking me. He shakes his shoulders a bit as if he’s trying to get rid of something.

„Where are you from?”, he asks.

„I’m from X”.

„Oh, you’re from X. I thought I heard a foreign accent.”

„You have an accent as well, where are you from?”, I ask this creepy dude who has started to annoy me with his questions. I just wanted to be polite and not start a conversation with him, I have to keep focused on my exam. Plus, what’s so funny about being from country X?

„I’m from England.”, he replies. „Oh, wow, a hot English guy.”, I think to myself.

I take a step back thinking that our conversation is finally over and that I can concentrate on replaying my exam notes in my head. I don’t feel that tense now after talking to this creepy dude and taking my mind off the test for a bit. The bus is finally at the station where I have to get off, but he jumps out of the 173 at the same time as me. „Is this guy stalking me now?”, I wonder.

„What’s you name?”, he asks. I usually avoid giving my name to strangers on the street, so I try to avoid the subject by asking him a question. I find it very hard to push people away when they become too curious about me because I do not want to be rude or offend them in any way. However, I was feeling quite uncomfortable with him by this point.

„Do you work here?”, and I point to a Maths building right opposite the sidewalk where we were standing on.

„Yes, I do. Actually not right here, a bit over there. But what’s your name?”, he asks again.

„It’s really hot outside, I have to go because I have a exam in half an hour”, I reply.

„What’s your name?”, he asks for the third time, thinking I am deaf or something.

„Leyla.”, I reply, exhausted of trying to avoid the subject. What is so difficult in understanding that I don’t want to tell you my name???

„What’s your name?”, I’m surprised to return back instead, while taking a few steps away.

„William.”

„William?” (this name doesn't suit his figure at all).

„William.”, he says seriously.

„What are you doing this summer?”, he asks. By this point, I am already fretting and getting really anxious, I don’t want to keep this awkward conversation going and I have to go to my exam or I will be late. My palms have started to sweat again.

„Ah, just working around here, going home for a bit at the end of summer. I really have to go now.”

„Good luck with your exam, hope to see you around.” He utters cheerfully.

„Yeah, good luck to you too.” I tell him, thinking „Hope to never see you again, awkward, intruding person!” In my country, you know that men who approach you on the street are complete weirdos with no good intentions. You don’t just go around like that asking people what they do, how old they are, their name and their schedule for the next three summer months.

My exam goes well -- I manage to respond to and not write any bullshit for any question. Ok, there is this one part which I have not really prepared for, but I get creative and I leave the exam room very satisfied with the way my day has gone so far. David has had a very strong day today in his battle with Goliath. And after all, I am successfully done with one final and I only have three more to go. I will study hard for all of them and hopefully do well. Right now, I don’t even want to think about exams anymore, I’ve stressed too much about the unexpected today.