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| Sergio at a loss, in the beautiful and complex Memories of Underdevelopment |
Once again I have neglected this blog, although running commentaries, witty declarations, accolades and many "important" things have been said in my head. The core feelings remain the same, but soon, the firm shell harboring these fantastic ideas turns into a dusty husk and well, like all best intentions -but delayed actions- I want to translate what was true then.
Over the past several months I've had two unexpected but fascinating opportunities to travel to places that have passed my mind as curiosities, but never committed to as vacation destinations: Mexico and Cuba. Thousands of Canadians travel to these exotic lands and I understand why, they are warm, colourful, and (somewhat) affordable. I will say that I found both places very interesting, although both trips were fundamentally different. What struck me the most was my experiences in Cuba -- people kept telling me I should go for 'the experience' and 'before Castro dies'. I actually went as part of a graduate teaching residency from York University. This in part added relief to my purpose of being there. I was supposed to help and do things, as opposed to just aimlessly wandering around and 'experience' things. Immediately upon arrival in Cuba I realized I would not 'experience' things as others do.
My destination started with Varadero, a place I will never go again, and fascinating Havana, which I would go again, I think. For most tourists, the beaches and sunny destinations are a magnet, for me it was surprisingly annoying. I cannot sit around on a beach in the bleating hot sun, blistering my skin, nor hours and hours of walking peeping into the homes of strangers. In Havana, the streets are so narrow that you cannot help yourself. Havana is truly compelling, and I could dedicate a whole entry on just the city alone. But I could not help thinking how I would feel if hoards of wealthy tourists were constantly strolling down my street, gawking with stupid grins on their faces. Just imagine it, every time you left your home there would be a tourist taking a photo of your front door or confidently striding past shouting out Hello! Good Morning! Hello! Thank You!
(But to think of it, I have experienced this in a way--growing up in Victoria, BC, before the city was overtaken by Calgary-Kitsalano Yuppies, hoards of American tourists would flood the city from cruise ships, all acting as if Canadians were strange and exotic people with obscure accents and funny money. I hated them all as they waddled through our beautiful cobblestone streets...anyways--I will not digress into a rant about my lovely Victoria, another time).
I think my issues are really about contrivances. I do not like to feel I must participate in overly contrived environments, hence my distaste for shopping malls, mega-cineplexes, all-inclusive resorts, extended family gatherings. I realize now its because if you try to be 'yourself' you either end up exerting so much energy being grateful and nice (or in some cases a total asshole), that retreating to a cool darkened private room is all you can think about. In Cuba, I was often looking forward to a cool darkened room. However, there is nothing cool, dark or private about Cuba, and for this I was very curious, but deeply uncomfortable. I never felt I could truly rest or be myself, I could never collect my thoughts or feel I had gathered enough solitary time to endure in what would become endless, exhausting, overly sexualized gender roles. (Again this is another issue to discuss at length).
However, and more to my point, before I had left for Cuba I felt it was my duty to try and watch as much Cuban cinema as possible (to somehow make me different that other tourists) but to also prepare me for my residency at the film school. While watching Memories of Underdevelopment, I was deeply affected by its intelligent and personal cinematic realism. The film follows Sergio, a wealthy aspiring writer who stays in Cuba after his family and wife flee to Miami following the botched Bay of Pigs invasion. He goes on to have several girlfriends - some of who are represented as hysterical, dumb, doe-like, captivating conquests - but his running commentary about them is thoughtful and tender. It is not my intent to fully unpack this complex and sophisticated film, only to try and relate to it, and in one particular sequence I was quite struck. After driving around with his friend Pablo and watching his wife leave (most likely forever) Sergio quietly comments:
All the time I drove around with Pablo I felt like puking, throwing up all my family, my business; the mediocrity of my whole class that had been rammed into my stomach.
These private comments are made as he watches his wife walk to the America-bound plane through a thick pane of glass (in well done symbolic framing) - and from here he sinks into a malaise through a series of unsatisfying relationships, (and one lost love), which seem to drive him down into a cultural and personal kind of drudgery. His profound sense of loss (and to some degree great relief), manifest themselves in confusion and lack of clarity to his life's purpose-severely limiting his ability to write. This creative castration of sorts, the inability to develop further, is in part the theme of the film, and to me most effective. I think many of us have wanted to expunge (or in Sergio's words 'throw up') some deep rooted cultural, familial, personal or class conscious burdens.
I keep making great strides to 'improve' and change my life for long term benefits. This often takes me far away from those I care for, but in the end it is the memories, the burdens of all things keeping me motivated that I'd like to expel. Can I keep starting over again? I live in a country of opportunity, I am not faced with 'underdevelopment' in the way that Sergio was affected. But I feel as though I need to keep restarting my life, dramatically changing things, radical shifts. I am more than ready to be forever relieved of things rammed into my stomach (and heart and mind). As I prepare for graduation - (my thesis written and film is complete) - I now feel as though I am observing through that pane of glass.