"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music" Friedrich Nietzsche
Below is a recent encounter I recently had with a young boy at the Square One Mall Food Court in Mississauga. And below that, I re-post another encounter I had with a young man at the nearby Jubilee Garden, near the mall, about two years ago.
I inadvertently sat next to a young white boy (about ten or eleven years old) in the busy Square One Food Court (where I hardly ever sit down and just pass through for a short cut or to quickly get french fries or some such snack).
This time I sat down with a Starbucks coffee.
When I first found a seat in the food court, there was a man eating some kind of greasy hamburger type meal with a heavy smell right diagonal to me.
I got up and moved across to the other side. While doing so, I didn't see that a young boy was sitting across (diagonal again!) just finishing off some meal. He was so quiet and silent.
After I added the sugar to my coffee, I looked up and around, and saw him there watching me. I smiled at him and continued drinking my coffee, in a hurry to be off.
Then it was my turn to watch
him.
"Are you here by yourself?" I gently asked this boy, who bravely sat amidst this sea of black, brown and yellow faces, looking like an angelic apparition, like a visitor from another world. He had slightly wavy gold blond hair.
"Well my Mom was supposed to meet me here. But she's not here," he replied with a slight tone of irritation to his voice, barely audible. He didn't want to sound like he was complaining.
It was a Saturday afternoon so I intuited that he must be doing some kind of "extracurricular activity," and probably a sport.
"Are you getting ready for a match or something?"
"No. But I'm in a competition later on this afternoon."
"What kind?"
"Hip-hop."
I was a little taken aback. I didn't expect that.
But why not? The boy looked like a younger, much blonder, Justin Bieber, the star who's won all the accolades with his reinvention of the black dance style.
"So are you going to win?" I teased him.
"Of course!" he replied putting on his fighting front. He wasn't gong to let me get away with it.
By then, I was ready to leave.
I put a thumbs up and smiled "Good Luck."
"Thank you," he replies, once again alone, and waiting for his mother.
I intuitively refrained from telling him "what to do."
Like, for example: "Join a ballet class." Or "Find a modern dance program."
But let him find out for himself, the hard way. That way it will have true meaning for him, when he realizes the artistic limitations of hip hop.
Reclaiming Beauty
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Nothing
I was by the lovey Jubilee Garden in Mississauga when I saw a young man moving gracefully. At first it looked like he was doing some kind of stretching exercise, but he was moving to some inner rhythm. He was not a dancer (I didn't think so) but he was graceful.
"Are you an artist?"
"No."
"What do you do?"
"Nothing."
"Oh. What did you study?" I've met before another young man who told me he had recently been a student at the nearby Sheridan College and was going on with more school since he couldn't find work.
"Philosophy," said this young man.
"You're a philosopher!" I concluded, pointing my finger at him telling him off for his lazy withdrawal.
How many times did this young, white man hear that he was "nothing?" In this world where the brown-skinned man rules, where Chinese and Indian philosophers are venerated, where multiculturalism runs the world, the heir to the white western civilization is deemed "nothing."
Does this young man realize that it is this "nothing" civilization that his "nothing" ancestors built which draws all these people here, reaping all the benefits but giving him nothing in return, other than to call him "nothing?"
