Many years ago I lived in Australia. Before I made the move I was living in Victoria, British Columbia and was in a slump; I was uninspired and looking for purpose. After some scrolling through Instagram, I decided to call Australia my new home because there was a tattoo artist there that I wanted to get some work from, and that was enough. I landed in Melbourne, found a room in a hostel, and booked the tattoo appointment. I got the new tattoo on American Thanksgiving, and when I went back to the hostel after the appointment I found all of the American guests had organized a proper Thanksgiving feast for everyone to enjoy. While the food was phenomenal and the company even better, I did not feel a sense of home. I wondered if anyone else felt like this celebration eased their own homesickness, or perhaps it made them miss home even more because this dinner wasn’t exactly what they were used to. Mind you, at this point of my story I myself was not homesick – on the contrary, I felt more free and independent than I had in a long time. But this would start to change.

While I was living in the hostel in Melbourne, I quickly learned how weak my Canadian currency was compared to the cost of living in Australia. Not only did I need to start making money, but I needed to find accommodation that was more comfortable; although the hostel I was staying in was good quality, it did not serve as a home. So, I applied for a working holiday visa and found a place to live that was more peaceful compared to the chaotic youth hostel, and landed a job at a coffee shop across town.

A couple months went by, and I was starting to feel aimless and no more at home here than I did when I first arrived and was staying at the hostel. I had a beautiful apartment, my job was decent, and I was having a lot of fun in Melbourne – so why was I unhappy? After some more time in the city, I decided to quit my job and visit Hobart, Tasmania. I had never had any desire to go to Tasmania, and when I arrived I had no goals. Regardless, I found a bed in a hostel, and explored the city. A few days after checking into this new pseudo-home, I found a friendly hostel patron, and we decided to hike kunanyi / Mt. Wellington. I have completed numerous breathtaking hikes in my life, and this was one of the best. Australia is a beautiful country, and to see such an uninhabited, lush portion of it from 1271m was a profound experience. Yet home was not here either. In fact, I felt an even greater sense of emptiness than before the hike. The search for home continued.

Some more time went by, and after exploring more of Hobart, I was getting tired. Not physically, but mentally. I recall it clearly: one beautiful, cloudless, sunny afternoon I was laying on my bed in the hostel, staring out into the sky, and feeling hopeless. Actually, hopeless isn’t quite right. I was feeling nothing. Numb. A depression that I had never felt before. It was severe, and it needed to go away. I remembered feeling more – feeling something – in Melbourne, so I decided to go back. A couple days later I was back in the same hostel that I left for my apartment, and to little surprise, this hostel did not feel anymore more like home than it did when I stayed there the first time.

What to do. I was at an impasse. I could no longer stay in hostels without an income, and I was not willing to try to find a new job in Melbourne. After some consideration, it hit me: Japan was pretty darn close to me. At least a lot closer than it was from the Pacific Northwest. Since I was young I’ve wanted to visit Japan; it had been top of my list for more than half my life. So without much consideration, I decided to take what money I had left and spend it on a nine day trip to Tokyo. And these nine days were divine. I had no schedule, no goals – but it felt good; I did what I wanted each day, and got as much out of the city and its people as I could. I ate and drank well, engaged in memorable human connections, and saw beautiful sites. And as my trip was coming to a close, I still did not find home in the sense that I had expected to. It was after this trip that I realized home isn’t necessarily where I have a job, or an apartment, or a routine – home is where I am living my truth. My mom has always told me to “follow my bliss,” and that is exactly what I was doing, and exactly what gave me peace. For me, home is not a place, or a person, rather it is a state of mind where I can exist as my genuine self. It was this feeling of freedom that I embodied when I moved to Melbourne for the tattoo. The unadulterated sense of ambition and truth. This is the “place” I belong. This is home.

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Works Cited

Alyse. “6 Days In Tokyo Itinerary: Complete Guide For First-Timers.” The Invisible Tourist, 8 January 2020, https://www.theinvisibletourist.com/6-days-in-tokyo-itinerary-first-time/. Accessed 27 January 2020.

“Cost of Living Comparison Between Australia and Canada.” Numbeo, https://www.numbeo.com/cost-of-living/compare_countries_result.jsp?country1=Australia&country2=Canada. Accessed 27 January 2020.

Crossley-Baxter, Lily. “The Golden Guide to Shinjuku’s Golden Gai.” Tokyo Cheapo, 25 September 2019, https://tokyocheapo.com/food-and-drink/quick-guide-golden-gai/. Accessed 27 January 2020.

Galloway, Isabel. “Our Guide To Exploring Kunanyi / Mt Wellington.” Hobart & Beyond, 17 July 2019, https://hobartandbeyond.com.au/news-posts/our-guide-to-exploring-kunanyi-mt-wellington/. Accessed 27 January 2020.

There was once a town full of happy villagers who were overseen by a gracious and kind council of nobles. At the time of this story, all but one council member were newly appointed, and these new members were joyously anointed with the power to ensure the happiness of the people in their land – young and old, big and small. Each member, that is, except the established member who always sat in silence amongst their fellow council members. Because of the powers held by the councillors, the people of this land lived comfortable lives, knowing no long lasting hardship, nor ever having to work a tough day in their lives. If something were amiss in a villager’s life, they would arrange a time to visit the council. This villager would tell their story of bad luck, poor health, or inconvenience, ranging anywhere from a stale relationship to a stubborn cough that they cannot seem to shake. As if by some magic, all councillors but the quiet one were passionate to mend all ailments that were presented to them, thus the villagers were able to live on in their simple, happy lives.

One day, after a long queue of petitioners, a final villager made their way into the council room to present their misgivings. This villager was small in stature, and appeared impossibly old. They looked yellowed with sickness, had arms of sinew and a posture hunched; they looked as if they had lived a long life filled with hard work and no rest. When this villager spoke their voice was so weak that the councillors could scarcely hear them from their high thrones, and the council needed to stoop down to position their ears closer to the sickly speaker’s mouth. When the council could properly hear the villager, this is what they heard: “Dignified nobles, my family has been slowly wearing away for seemingly no reason at all. We are always ill and in pain, our limbs are lame, sleepless in the evening, and our minds betray us. Our crops fail, and whenever we do consume any morsel of nutrients, it does not sustain us, and our mouths are dry even after drinking the purest of water. Around us, our friends and neighbours have their maladies mended while ours grow worse and worse each time someone else’s improves. I ask of you today to rid us of this concerning coincidence and allow us to live as blissful as every other citizen in our land.”

Although taken aback by the severity of the villager’s family’s situation, like every other villager’s call for aid each noble but one reacted sympathetically, and to the villager’s relief were enthusiastic to help. But just before aid was casted, in an unexpected turn the quiet council member at the end of thrones spoke up, looked at the villager and said this: “I am sorry villager, but what you describe is the result of a curse upon your family. This curse grants us the power to wash away the aches of any other villager in this town; your family is damned to suffer so everyone else can thrive. This is how the balance is maintained, and the removal of the curse or your family will destroy the way of this town as we know it.”

The other councillors looked shocked and concerned at hearing this revelation, apparently having never understood how the magic they use had worked. With a furrowed brow the councillor to the immediate right of the quiet one exclaimed: “Is a different way of living so bad compared to the suffering of this family?”

The quiet councillor spoke in response: “This is the only way that happiness can exist in our land. The anguish of few allows for the bliss the many.”

The second councillor to speak turned away, looking distressed.

After a few moments of silence, the quiet councillor spoke again to the cursed villager: “Go now. Your suffering brings joy to so many. Live the rest of your life in peace at the knowledge of this.” And with a heavy heart the decrepit villager took their leave.

From that moment onwards, the rest of the councillors were no longer enthusiastic to grant the wishes of the villagers now knowing the fate of the villager and their family, now knowing how the family will suffer more and more for each ounce of happiness granted to others. If only the councillors could continue in blissful ignorance could they be happy again, but as soon as they realized the awful truth of their position they could never go back living as they once did, forever cursed with the gift of insight.

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Any form of presentation makes me uncomfortable, so reciting my story started off tricky. It took me a third try to (mostly) tell it correctly when I told it to my partner, but by the time I got to telling it to my mom I had it down. The more comfortable I got with telling the story, the more confident I became in making it more animated and lively; I ended up organically pausing dramatically as well as added physical gestures and different voices. Telling the story out loud ended up being more rewarding and fun than I thought, and both my partner and mother enjoyed the story (which was a bonus).

My retelling of Leslie Silko’s origin of evil as recalled by Thomas King was partially inspired by the short story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” by Ursula K. Le Guin, as well as the upsetting truths that permeate just below the surface of our society that are essential to make it function. From child labour that allows us to wear much of our clothing to the poor treatment of animals that are used in the average Canadian’s diet, there is so much exploitation of living organisms in our world that allows us to operate as we do, and I consider this as close to the concept of evil as I understand it.

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Works Cited

Chamberlin, J. Edward. If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? Random House of Canada Limited, 2004.

Harari, Yuval Noah. “Industrial farming is one of the worst crimes in history.” The Guardian, 25 February 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/sep/25/industrial-farming-one-worst-crimes-history-ethical-question. Accessed 22 January 2020.

Le Guin, Ursula Kroeber. “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.” The Wind’s Twelve Quarters, https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d317/ba42f5716881c691d652672f66de87b4d677.pdf. PDF.

Moulds, Josephine. “Child labour in the fashion supply chain: Where, why and what can be done.” The Guardian, https://labs.theguardian.com/unicef-child-labour/. Accessed 22 January 2020.

“Riddles and charms brings words and the world together” (Chamberlin 239). In If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? J. Edward Chamberlin argues that riddles and charms help us understand the world while blurring the lines between imagination and reality. By making little sense, riddles make sense of the world; they challenge people to forfeit logic and think beyond their beliefs. Charms allow us to believe in the “unreal,” and challenge us to accept both fantasy and objectivity as inseparable. Riddles and charms are the essence of ceremony because they challenge us to let our guard down to what is rational and relatable, and without these aspects story could not function.

At the end of the novel, Chamberlin quotes Confucius’ rectification of names. Confucius argues that without honouring the proper names given to each thing, society will collapse; Chamberlin adds: “We teach correct names […] and we try to show how everything follows from that” (224). Chamberlin bridges the gap by explaining how all cultures must honour the correctness of names to maintain all societal facets from art to science to religion. Without honouring names ceremony does not work, and without ceremony there is no understanding. Once proper names are established, riddles and charms can go into effect and ceremony can occur.

Beyond sanctifying given names, one of the most significant aspects of words that Chamberlin argues is their essential aspect towards the foundation of a functional society. Words propel ceremony, connect people to their own culture, and create common ground across humanity. Without words people would not be able to tell their stories, therefore we would not be able to relate to one another. By using words members of society can convey histories, legends, and traditions that transform one’s personal truth into a generally understandable truth, and by Chamberlin’s standards this works to remove the gap between Them and Us. People use words to tell their stories, and by telling their stories they are preserving their history; words hold the power to maintain and defend not only aspects of culture, but entire societies. Without this ability to tell stories, we would never be able to find the common ground. Words make people feel closer to the world they are apart of because they connect them to their culture, from the stories told through generations to the treaties signed to protect rightful land. Words “bring comfort and build community” (182).

The first moment in J. Edward Chamberlin’s book that struck me was when he challenged the dichotomy of “written cultures” and “oral cultures.” Starting on page 19, Chamberlin begins explaining how Them versus Us can be seen when denoting certain cultures as “written” (more literate ones) and “oral” (more primitive ones), and how the denotation leads to an egotism by othering the “less advanced” culture. Chamberlin quashes this perception by highlighting how not only do “written cultures” have a multitude of oral traditions, but “oral cultures” have non-alphabetic forms of writing such as woven blankets, coloured strings, and masks (19-20). Chamberlin shows that writing can come in many forms, and not all of it ends up on paper. The removal of the line dividing orality and literacy is contrary to the work of Walter Ong. Ong defines what makes a culture “oral” or “literate” while, unlike Chamberlin, in many instances challenges us to see any overlap and how the two cultures differ.

Works Cited

Chamberlin, J. Edward. If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? Random House of Canada Limited, 2004.

“Dr Chiu Wai-wai: Mencius and the rectification of names.” Youtube, uploaded by SDCF Sinological Development Charitable Foundation, 19 Aug 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wB0FyscNNLI&t=8s.

Ong, Walter J. Orality and Literacy. Routledge, 1982, https://monoskop.org/images/d/db/Ong_Walter_J_Orality_and_Literacy_2nd_ed.pdf. PDF.
 

Hi everyone! My name is Jacob Kosh, and I’m a fourth year English Literature student at UBC. This course we are taking together, English 372: Canadian Studies taught by Dr. Erika Paterson, aims to strengthen our affinity for stories from the people who have inhabited Canada by providing a range of perspectives from this land’s history. This course will increase our awareness of the power of storytelling and how important it can be, from reading stories written by Indigenous people to writing our own blogs about these stories.

As an uninvited guest and white settler, I am hoping this course will not only expose me to more perspectives from people living on this land from before and since colonization, but also improve my understanding of the complicated relationship between myself and this land that fundamentally does not belong to me. In this course I am looking forward to learning more about Indigenous history pre- versus post-colonization, as I have not taken a Canadian History course with that as the focus, and have only a general understanding of this aspect of history. I am hoping to better understand the progress of relations between Indigenous people of Canada from contact to today.

As for contemporary stories, I am interested in the ongoing battle between Justin Trudeau’s government and the Wet’suwet’en Nation here in so-called British Columbia. As this course is focusing on stories, instead of recounting this story myself I thought it would be appropriate to use this blog post as a platform to pass along a short film about this conflict told by the people who are fighting it and understand it best. If you watched the film and would like to read more about this topic, you can find everything you need to know here. Coincidentally, tomorrow (January 7, 2020) marks the one year anniversary of the RCMP raid of the checkpoint erected to halt further invasion, and there are several solidarity events and fundraisers starting tomorrow in memoriam and support. I use this example of the Wet’suwet’en conflict as a reminder that whatever accounts of colonization we will cover in this class, even in 2020 colonizing is continuing to take place right under the noses of many Canadians.

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Works Cited

“INVASION.” YouTube, uploaded by UnistotenCamp, 1 November 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3R5Uy5O_Ds.

Unist’ot’en: Heal the People, Heal the Land. Unisto’ot’en Camp, 2017, http://unistoten.camp/. Accessed 6 January 2020.