Today I write my very last blog post for this ASTU class. It’s quite interesting to look back on all the things I’ve learned, all the papers I’ve written, all the discussions our class has had. I can’t exactly pinpoint and describe all the skills I’m taking away with me after all these months of work, but there is one major theme that has caught my attention several times throughout our class – the concept of perspective.

From the very beginning of September, my classmates and I have been encouraged to think, over and over again, about our own views and misconceptions about the world and ourselves – we have been led to challenge our truths by expanding our worldviews. Very recently we watched American Sniper (2014), a movie that follows the trajectory of Chris Kyle, a nationalistic man deployed to Iraq as a sniper and hailed a hero in the USA for his impressive number of kills. Of course, the journey and ups and downs of Kyle are fascinating and his military success deserves understandable recognitions, but it does say something about our society when we choose to glorify a man who is, ultimately, responsible for the death of dozens of Iraqi people. The words ‘killer’ and ‘hero’ are certainly never used together to describe a single person, and yet both can be perfectly used when explaining the accomplishments of this man – after all, the more he killed, the more celebrated he was. Particularly in the Western world, we have come to believe in a strangely narrow narrative in which there are the “good” and the “bad” guys, a narrative in which we are the “good” ones fighting against all that is “bad” in the world. There is nothing wrong with desiring to protect the peace and defending those we love; but the minute we brand an entire group as ‘evil’ and decide that, in order to stop them, we must eliminate as many as possible, we begin a quick process of dehumanization – one that is hard to revert. American Sniper does a great job telling the story of Chris Kyle; but it is only one story. It is the war through the eyes of an American man – one who saw and perceived the world in a very specific, highly nationalistic way. The world, however, is made up of a series of stories and highly different recollections, and it is our job, I’ve come to learn, to listen to what these voices tell us. Months ago, our ASTU class read The Reluctant Fundamentalist, a novella by Mohsin Hamid in which a Middle Eastern man moves to America to have a successful career and gets his heart broken by an American girl. This book was powerfully symbolic in countless ways but, allegories aside, it was likely the very first I was being given the opportunity to read something from a non-Western perspective, and it truly opened my eyes to my own ignorance. Changez, Hamid’s protagonist, was the first narrator I encountered that told a new story – one lived by someone our society has come to brand as ‘different’, and it made me understand him not only as a storyteller, but as a person.

By avoiding works and stories that aren’t our own, we deny others a voice – we neglect an entire side of a whole story and, more importantly, we fail to see the humanity in others. Although we often fail to recognize this, the framework through which we perceive the world around us deeply affects our understanding of it and how we carry ourselves through it. It is incredibly important, in order to broaden our horizons and understand our own judgements, to remain open to the stories others have to tell us. To begin to understand humanity as a whole, we must stop ourselves from believing the only truth is our own, and begin to understand the world as a collective of equally important people, who face struggles and succeed together. Only then will we begin to truly thrive.

Growing up, I always felt like I simply couldn’t understand the idea of poetry – I dreaded every school project that involved reading or writing poems. I generally found their structures to be, for the most part, unnecessary and my understanding of them was limited to “abstract thoughts and overly complex layouts”. I just couldn’t comprehend why an author would choose to express their thoughts in such a form instead of writing, for instance, a short story or a conventionally structured article. Over the past few years, however, this frustration I felt slowly gave way to a sense of admiration – as I read more and more poems, I began to not only take the time to comprehend the meanings behind them individually more easily, but also understand the genre of poetry itself as a form of expression.

Poetry is, beyond a written genre, an artistic yet subtle way of bringing thoughts to life. Although I still struggle to write poems myself, I find that simply by reading someone else’s work, I am able to immerse myself in their world and the feelings they wish to convey. There is a certain power that resides is poetry; it comes from its unique ability of presenting topics, even if general ones, through particular perspectives. No two people have the same lens through which they perceive the world, and this translates, subsequently, into their poetic voices. As recently discussed in our ASTU class, the poems of Juliana Spahr, for instance, present to the world the view through which she saw the events of 9/11 and its consequences. Every single person experienced this traumatic event in a unique manner, through their unique eyes. Further, apart from presenting to the reader a fresh take on a greatly discussed world event, Spahr’s poetry served as a means for the author herself to find healing through her own words. By writing down her thoughts into the form of poetry, Spahr found within her confused thoughts a voice – one that allowed her to see things more clearly in a time of distress, and brought awareness and comfort to those who read them and found themselves with similar feelings.

Although once naïve to this understanding, today I find this genre and these perspectives to be utterly crucial to our collective understanding of the world. Poems such as those of Spahr can subtly bring awareness to subjects that, despite difficult, must be acknowledged, and brings clarity to those who are left with disorganized thoughts. In a situation like the traumatic attacks of September 11^th, writing an article or even a lengthy reflection might have been too painful a task for many. Poetry, however, brings in a certain delicacy that is rather comforting – the intricate flow of words, the potentially powerful imagery, the possibility of a lyric flow all create a web of ‘ease’ and consolation through which an author may find their voice. Perhaps, in the occasion of a harsh reality, even a reader might find it easier to read works of poetry rather than gory news articles, even though both may have the same events as their main subject. Through my own understanding, the delicacy of poetry, even when bringing up rather ‘dark’ topics, makes it significantly easier to digest than a news article or critical piece.

Moreover, I find that, in recent years, the poetic genre has been gaining notoriety and a certain acceptance it simply did not have in the public eye before. Works such as that of Rupi Kaur (and her now world-famous poetry compilation Milk and Honey) are easily understood and bring widely relatable topics of love and loss to the table, bringing the subject of poetry to the public – beyond the world of scholars. Nowadays, even scrolling through social media on can find pictures of celebrities reading and praising her book, or ‘relatable quotes’ from other poets being shared by friends and family members. Poetry has become accessible as a form of expression, even if not one’s own words – when one can’t seem to vocalize their feelings and thoughts, they turn to the works of other poets; there certainly exists a poem or stanza that has been previously written that conveys similar emotions to what they are currently experiencing.

Ultimately, much like my own perspective, the way in which the general public understands poetry has been positively changing to accept it as a way of artistic expression and introspection. Poems bring particular voices to the world – voices that can be heard and reflected on by many. They enrich our lives and add new understandings of the world to our particular views, and add a great deal of culture to global literature. It is crucial, then, that we continue to open doors to include and celebrate poetry in our lives – whether it be as a healing mechanism to a reader, an artistic expression to an author, or simply as a relatable piece to a social media user.

Following my trip to the “Amazonia” exhibit at the Museum of Anthropology of UBC, I began to reflect on my previous knowledge (and lack thereof) of the diverse nature and cultures of the indigenous populations that inhabit this territory. Growing up in Brazil, I remember being taught at school general bits of information on the rainforest; throughout the years, I’d always have a History or Science teacher mention it here and there, which led me to believe I had all the knowledge I needed on this rich part of our land. I even took pride in knowing I lived – although quite a few hundred miles away – in the same place that was home to many exotic creatures and cultural traditions, even if part of it, as I had learned many times, had already been exploited and destroyed.

After seeing so many artefacts lined up at the exhibit, however, and reading about their sources, it became very clear to me how little I actually knew about the culture being displayed there and the harsh reality of its territorial destruction. I had no idea, for instance, that many indigenous tribes use aspects of the natural world as inspiration when designing decorative objects and clothing items, or that feathers are largely used and added to headwear, or that many vases have patterns that are made to resemble those of a snake’s skin. I had heard of some tribes’ connection and respect for the natural world in the past, but seeing it being translated into their material productions and garments made me acquire a new sense of admiration for them – to see such commitment and effort being put into handmade items, to learn that every detail is made to resemble an idea bigger than what is seen is, in my opinion, simply fascinating. Their harmonious lifestyle and utter respect for nature is something that must be acknowledged, particularly by those of us who live so deeply controlled by Western ideals of materialism and wasteful consumerism, and learned from. One particular item that caught my attention at this exhibit was a traditional bandolier, said to have been used by the Ashaninka people, with the bodies of different species of birds attached to it. The beads from which this object was made, furthermore, were painted in a pattern of black and white colours, which immediately reminded me, once again, of patterns that could be found among snakes. I must admit that, at first, I naturally found the idea of hanging deceased birds on an object and wearing them on my body quite strange and hard to understand – as the ‘Bourdieuian’ concept of one’s habitus, recently learned in Sociology, would explain, an individual’s upbringing and social surroundings lead them to perceive the world and its occurrences through a particular lens;  I had never been truly exposed to any worldview other than my traditionally Western one – clothes and objects have always been, to me, nothing more than material items that serve a particular material purpose, not items that convey an idea or message. I was soon reminded, however, of the importance of this concept through the eyes of the people who wear it; how even when it comes to objects seemingly used in combat, the natural world can be viewed as something that brings strength and reflects power. This led me to not only gain new insight into a lifestyle I had not been introduced to, but also reflect on my own and my own purposes: why do I wear particular items? What should be conveyed through them? Why am I used to a life so detached from the natural world, whereas others perceive it as something of utmost importance?

Furthermore, I began to realize that, throughout the course of my education, I had never truly been taught anything other than practical facts about the destruction of the Amazon rainforest and the brutal colonization and exploitation of Indigenous people that had been taking place from the very first moment Portuguese and Spanish settlers set foot in South American lands. These are, of course, crucial bits of information that must always be considered and addressed, but I find that it is just as important for us to also take the time to learn about the culture and lives that inhabit these territories and have been targeted and exploited for so many decades. With understanding comes, beyond practical knowledge, empathy – which could certainly be of use if we wish to educate people in a bid to stop the destruction and violence against Indigenous people in the Amazonian territories.

Overall, the Amazon rainforest is, undoubtedly, one of the world’s greatest sources of biodiversity and one of the very few territories with so many preserved Indigenous tribes and traditions nowadays. This exhibit has done no less than reiterate how much culture can be observed and how many concepts of harmonious living can be learned from these groups, even in a tiny period of time and simply through preserved artefacts. Beyond that, it serves as a reminder to us that to remain idle while the rapid destruction of the Amazonia is carried out on a daily basis would be simply an act of dangerous compliance and awful ignorance – we risk losing, not only a vast area of rich land, but also an immeasurable amount of culture and the traditions embedded in the lives of those who reside in it. Like many others, I find myself guilty of not previously taking the time to learn about the history of this land and what is at risk with this continuous violence and destruction – and I hope that, with the growth of exhibits such as ‘Amazonia’, we will begin to take a step towards the much needed acknowledgement of the Amazonian land and tribes and, furthermore, towards action to protect them.

Throughout the centuries, it is safe to say that society has, and still is, constantly changing and reinventing itself. Human beings are always being faced with new challenges, conflicts and situations, whether it be on a large or individual scale. One thing that has never failed to fascinate me, however, is the subtle, yet incredible ability we have to adapt. No matter what we are presented with, we somehow have the tendency to adjust; to make sense of the changes (which can range from being fired from a job to deportation or war) that come our way and become familiarized with new realities when necessary. Human beings are resilient, and we often forget to acknowledge such feature.

When reading “Persepolis”, a graphic narrative written by Marjane Satrapi that follows the life of a young girl as her country declares a state of war, I initially could not comprehend how the protagonist could manage to keep “functioning” on a daily basis; Iran was being frequently attacked and its population was observing heavy conflicts between fundamentalists and revolutionaries, and yet Marji still went to school and worried about fitting in with the older girls, and her family still threw exciting parties every week. Naturally, there were limitations and constant fear involved in her new lifestyle surrounded by war, but she was still a child, and she was still living as one. The war was simply a part (though a significant one) of her young life that she had no control over, and she learned to live with it, to make it her new “normal”. Marji lived under extreme circumstances of violence and oppression, and yet she adapted to them; she understood her new reality and carried on with her life.

Growing up, I was fortunate enough that I never had to live through a situation of war, I had only heard of it occurring in distant territories. I remember I had always been under the impression that, if something like that were to ever happen, my entire world would stop; war and survival would be the only things on my mind at all times. “Persepolis”, however, showed me, through the eyes of a little girl, that reality is, quite simply, a matter of perspective. Although the character Marji did reflect, actively discuss and even witness the consequences and destruction of the war, her day-to-day life still existed, and friendship, family and laughter were still present, even though they were now temporarily mixed with fear and danger. As an immigrant, I couldn’t help but think about my own experiences moving to a different continent and establishing a new life in a country that, in many ways, looked and felt nothing like the one I once knew as my own. Upon leaving Brazil I was convinced I would never be able to adjust to my new life, and yet three years later I can safely that, today, Canada is my home. Through experiences and hardships, unknown places became explored sites, and unfamiliar faces became close friends. The life that was presented to me by the circumstances I was surrounded with became my new reality, my new normal life.

Of course, the situation and obstacles I was faced with in no way compare to the intensity and challenges Marjane Satrapi’s character was forced to live through in “Persepolis”. However, I do believe in the often subtle idea of adaptability that can be found in both cases; on small or large scales, human beings find ways to deal with whatever circumstances are thrown our way, we become familiarized with the unfamiliar. And I firmly believe that now, with so many unforeseen political imbalances and threats of conflict and war in the Western world, we must remember, more than ever, that we can and will adapt to whatever challenges we are faced with, both individually and as a society, and that we will carry on with our lives.

It is no secret that social media has, over the past few years, become an important, almost defining factor of this generation, particularly among teenagers. In an increasingly globalized world, we are more connected than ever, and social interactions now are not simply restricted to social interactions in person, they transcend into the virtual world. We are constantly checking our phones for a new message, a new friend request on Facebook, another “like” on our pictures, or a comment on our posts. While this “lifestyle” has become the new normal for many of us, it is important to understand (or at least try to) why social media has gained so much popularity, and the consequences of its use.

One platform that has recently caught my attention was Instagram; on a daily basis, a quick scroll through a dashboard reveals several pictures posted by the members of a community, capturing social gatherings, food, exotic scenery and selfies. Every picture has been “liked” by several people (many of them members of the same community) and commented on by those seeking to praise the original poster. But why is it that we post such things and, in many cases, even feel compelled to do so? Are we simply seeking to share bits of our lives with others to feel connected, or are we subconsciously relying on the false sense of validation that comes with virtual recognition?

Recently I was walking around the UBC campus and came across the Rose Garden, and noticed the breathtaking beauty of it. My instinctive reaction was to snap a picture of it, in an attempt to capture such moment. My initial thought, however, was that I had to share that picture on social media, I had to let others see it as well. Looking back on it, though, I cannot truly point out the purpose of that action; did I simply want to let those around me know that such beautiful place existed? Did I want to show that I was out and about exploring the UBC campus, creating an image of an “active and adventurous” person for myself? Was I trying to boost my own ego by showing others that I have the privilege of attending an institution that possesses so many different resources? Or was it, simply put, for the sake of the aesthetics of it?

I believe that, as of right now, it is not truly possible to understand the psychology and reasons behind one’s relationship with social media. While some may argue it comes from a place of pure narcissism and vanity mixed with a craving for validation, others may just as well point out that it creates a sense of community among those who use it. Thanks to social media, we get to interact with others outside of our regular social settings, and get to see parts of their lives and even personalities that we perhaps wouldn’t be able to without such platforms. This, however, doesn’t come without some dangerous “side-effects”; because on social media we can choose what to share and when to share it, we tend to only showcase the very best aspects of our lives, the moments we think are worth telling the world about, our ultimate accomplishments. While there is nothing seemingly wrong with such attitude, this creates the illusion that, ultimately, there is only happiness and greatness in our lives, that we are always having a great time eating expensive food and travelling with all our friends. This “picture-perfect” world, in turn, leads to the creation of a society filled with social pressures we may not even be aware of. A person who is scrolling through their Instagram seeing all of their friends and acquaintances sharing their accomplishments and lavish lifestyles will naturally, even if subconsciously, feel pressured to strive for that, to have the same accomplishments. We have created a world where we hide our struggles, and are encouraged to do so for the sake of the community. This way, we must begin to understand our current society in order to keep evolving and changing it for the better; making transparent not only our best moments but also our sorrows, our struggles. As autobiographer Kate Douglas notes, even though many may be quick to judge and shame teenagers for this seemingly self-centered use of social media, we ought to reflect and view it as a new form of communication if we want to keep developing new ways to improve it. We cannot simply dismiss the teenagers’ behaviours as “vain” and “irresponsible”; we must seek to comprehend it.

Ultimately, among the younger generations we have created this world in which we are always connected, no matter what. This sense of community, however, also comes with a skewed perception of reality; we create this illusion that we truly know each other when we only see what others want us to see, and in order to change it, we must understand it.

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