Category Archives: International

Canadian Politeness

Canadians pride themselves on their politeness. Canadians are even stereotyped as being very polite folk and after trotting a little to different places, I would agree that yes, initial impressions tell me that as a generalisation, Canadians are very nice, open and willing to help out where possible.

I’m questioning what exactly is meant by “polite”, though. One example we like to bring out about our polite manners is our love of lines. Canadians line up. Pushing and shoving each other is plain rude (though usually no one will tell you that because it’s also rude to tell someone they’re being rude). Does this mean we think that other people in other countries who don’t have the culture of lining up are rude? By our Canadian standards, perhaps. By others’ standards, we might be excessively timid.

Take a different example: While I was in Stratford-upon-Avon, England, we visited a little tea house that served clotted cream teas. (These are heavenly, in my opinion. My mouth waters just to think of them particularly since I’m rather hungry right now and have nothing to look forward to except my own cooking.) My Canadian friends and I sat down to tea — and after a while, I realised the only sounds I could hear were us, even though local patrons were there too. One little lady who had been enjoying her tea in peace and quiet before we came was pursing her lips and looking quite displeased, to say the least, particularly when the topic of discussion somehow moved towards how we were much too full and how we had to undo our belts. And we began loosening them right there at the table. Ironically? Belt-undoers were joking about how Canadians are really polite — except it was the kind of joke the teller believes.

Now I know that these are not the best examples to illustrate my point. I have never seriously heard people complain about how Canadians line up and how they are being timid; I have heard quite the opposite: “Why can’t we line up here like they do there?” Rather, because we do something some way here, there’s a danger of writing other people’s ways of doing them as “rude” or “impolite” instead of “different”. Likewise, while it may be fine to make jokes about overeating and the washroom in a loud, informal setting with friends, perhaps it just isn’t appropriate somewhere else. Just because we do things one way here doesn’t mean it’s the proper etiquette elsewhere.

Perhaps most simply put, Canadians (or Vancouverites anyway) say “How’s it going?” by way of greeting. I was warned, but still had trouble dealing with the fact that people don’t actually mean they want to know how you are; it’s just a way of saying hi. Where I grew up, you didn’t ask “How are you?” unless you meant it; to ask and not mean it just seemed insincere to me. (In fact, I’ve found out people say a lot of things they don’t mean, including variations of, “We should grab a coffee/hang out sometime.”) To Canadians, “How’s it going?” is polite; to me, it is not.

But then, this is now me judging Canada by my standards of politeness, which is hypocritical, is it not?

Culture shock is the meeting of present circumstances in one culture with the past experiences of another culture.

Maybe we are not as polite as we think we are. Maybe if we are more careful and realise that other cultures view our ways of doing things differently, we won’t make social faux pas without even realising them.

Meanwhile, I get around my past/present discomfort with “How’s it going?” by greeting other people first: “Morning!”

My Travelling Shoes

Wedges, heeled sandals, platform slippers — whatever my shoes are called, I’ve discovered that this is the way to go when flying.

(1) They are much easier to slide on and off when wanting to go to the washroom or when wanting to curl up to sleep as best as one can in an economy seat. Trainers (aka runners, sports shoes, etc) used to be my travelling staple, but they were very difficult to put back on since feet swell/enlarge when sitting in one spot for a prolonged period of time without moving.

(2) The heels give me an additional height that helps me when putting luggage in the overhead compartment. I used to have to climb onto my seat — I always make sure I have an aisle seat when I can choose — to stuff my bag in or to take it out. Now I just tip-toe on top of my heels.

Experience makes the wise traveller!

Canadians in Dieppe

We just got back from France a few hours ago and I finished writing a lengthy email to one of my friends.

I want to write a little bit more about Dieppe later, but the part I wanted to mention more than anything else was the Canadian War Cemetery there.

Three busses brought students to Dieppe. About half of the total student population wanted to go visit the cemetery but only one bus was available, so not everyone could go. The profs hadn’t expected that many to want to go.

I lost count of how many gravestones were there but managed to walk up and down each line. It was an emotionally exhausting experience to see all the names of all the people who had died. And the stones without any names, of people who couldn’t be identified and are remembered as a soldier in the infantry, or the air force, or the navy.

Most poignant of all, perhaps, were the inscriptions. “Known Unto God” was the most common one, but there were many personalised inscriptions that made them all the more human — “Remembered by Father and Mother”; “Devoted Wife and Children”; “Broken-hearted Brothers and Sisters”. I cannot remember the other inscriptions, but many ran something like this, “Loved Too Well To Be Forgotten”, or “When the dawn breaks and the shadows flee, I shall know thee again”, or “To remain in memory after death is to live on”. Names that meant nothing personal to me was everything to someone else — “G.P. Chesterton” becomes “my George”. All these people, a vast majority 19, 20, 21, 22 — men who were not older than the people we call boys in university these days. And there were the 30-odds and the 40-odds who left behind their wives and children…

No matter what we think of war, I think when we consider the human factor, the grief of the parents and brothers and sisters and wives and children of these men, it is enough to make us grieve with them.

This is what a feminist looks like

This is what people often think a feminist looks like:

Stereotypical Feminist

Chances are, if you don’t believe that women are inferior (or superior) to men, then this is what a real feminist looks like:

Mirror

 Feminist: (n.) a person who believes in the equality of the sexes.

You can be feminine and be a feminist.
You can be a guy and be a feminist.

Just thought to whip up some more appreciation for this shirt.

(Inter-)National Mourning

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7407119.stm

Sometimes we wonder why we officialise mourning when we are already in mourning and will continue long after the national period is up. Yet this, too, is an expression of grief.

People die everyday, but we will feel it most keenly when we have been to that area, or seen the damage in that country, or call that place home, be they Darfur, Myanmar, China or any other place in the world.

There is going to be a fundraising event in the SUB on May 21st, held by World Vision, I believe. If you can, please donate what you can afford to give. Thank you.