A Berlin state of mind

I’ve been infatuated with her for quite some time now and I long for her when I’m away. But it wasn’t love at first sight; I can still recall standing in front of the Brandenburg Gate, squinting overwhelmingly at map, trying to find my bearing in vain. The first time around, Berlin came across as daunting and scattered. Since then, I’ve visited this city several times, and now I'm back again. But while I’m starting to wrap my head around her physical form, she's still very elusive. Don’t you hate it when you know that there’s a story that needs to be told, yet you struggle to grasp it? You see, although I’ve always felt a deep connection with this city, I haven’t been able to put into words. Not until now that is.

A German friend of mine once told me that Berliners live the carefree way. If you’re in Berlin, you’ll sense it straight away, but it goes beyond the countless subcultures people identify themselves with or the buzzing artsy scene in Kreuzberg. The people you'll meet aren't all metal studded punks with neon green hair or pierced goths: Berliners, no matter how uninteresting or extravagant their lifestyles might seem, all share a common demeanor; they are uninhibited and non-judgmental. Unlike other German cities, living in Berlin isn’t about conforming to rules or expectations; instead, Berliners are refreshingly liberal and most importantly, it's genuine. 

So, why is Berlin so different than your average traditional German city? I’ve lived in Dresden for four years and they’re lightyears apart. So is Munich or Frankfurt. Just like these cities, Berlin has had to endure many hardships. In the 20^th century alone, it was the backdrop of many world changing events, whether it was the rise of the Nazi party and the terror that followed, the invasion by an equally terrifying Communist regime, the Russian-imposed division of the East from the rest of Berlin, or the end of the Cold War, just to mention a few. Indeed, this city, like no other, has had to endure suffering and destruction.

The ghosts from periods past are omnipresent in Berlin. You can see them in the bullet-riddled columns outside the Pergamon, which bear witness to countless adolescents who perished defending the city in vain from Russian retribution.  You can perceive the past still hauntingly alive in the murals, which narrate a time when people were stuck within the bleak confines of paranoia; or the bland buildings surrounding the Ostbahnhof, relics from the Cold War frozen in time; or Alexanderplatz with its vast open space, a bleak reminder that at any time somebody could be watching you.   

So, once again, why Berlin? What makes it so special? I think it’s the dignity with which she has managed to bounce back from all the mishaps. Many cities in Germany and elsewhere have been through a lot of suffering over the years, but Berlin’s resilience is what sets her apart from the rest. In my eyes, she was able to come to terms with its horrendous past and rather than resenting or succumbing to the trauma, she has let herself be textured by it. Ironically, by letting herself be shaped by the events that were forced upon her, Berlin has managed to stay true to her own identity. 

So it’s no wonder why Berliners are such a distinct breed. The feeling of self-efficacy they exude mirrors the dignity she has so humbly resorted to over the course of the years. The victories and the downfalls were many but they’ve all learned to coexist with one another just like her buildings where the old and the new blend harmoniously with one another. In any other place they simply wouldn't fit, yet in Berlin it all makes sense. 

I guess the reason I keep coming here is my yearning for her transcendence.   

On suffering and dignity

The dentist prepared herself to anesthetize me with that large needle, which she kept out of my sight while I braced myself for the impending discomfort of the drilling. As the lidocaine flowed through my gums, I stared back at that ominous spotlight; if there's a moment in which I feel helplessly vulnerable, it's when I'm lying under that blinding light with an abundance of alien gadgets embedded in my mouth. After a few minutes, drill in hand, the dentist asked that I'd let her know immediately if I felt any pain. Needless to say, at the faintest hint of discomfort, I threw in a hammy moan and got that extra shot.

Later that night, I kept on thinking about that experience and wondered, what is it with me and the fear of pain, or even better, the fear of the slightest sensation of discomfort. And it's not just the physical pain. Let's face it, I'm a 35-year-old, I haven't been in a serious relationship for quite some time now and the only commitments I have, apart from my job, are subscriptions to Netflix and Spotify Premium.  Yes, I could easily say that the older one gets, the pickier he becomes, which is partly true. Yet, the main reason why I'm still single is that it's easy and, most importantly, it's painless.

But this aversion to pain is quite common with my generation and society as a whole. If once we valued the importance of being able to make sacrifices because it's an essential part of the journey, now we are more likely to try to avoid the hard path, and take the easy one instead.  Many will read this as a generalization, and maybe it is, but there's definitely something to be said about how we are starting to lose sight of the value of suffering and sacrifice.

So why's this a problem? Our compelling fear of pain and our incessant need of instant gratification doesn't leave any room for us to confront our own demons: are you nervous about that long-haul flight? Then pop a sleeping pill. Are you feeling anxiety and you don't know why? Alcohol and antidepressants will do the trick. Is your current relationship requiring you give up a lot? Then simply call it off. And the list goes on and on. We spend way too much time protecting ourselves from any form of pain and if we can't prevent it, we simply numb it.

I had this realization while reading Man's search for Meaning; it is a beautifully-written book that delves into Viktor Frankl's harrowing experience in concentration camps during the Second World War. As one would expect from somebody who has witnessed those atrocities first hand, his writing is vivid and raw. In such degrading conditions, many prisoners simply resorted to apathy because they had nothing to live for. But Frankl makes the most profound of cases: one could strip away the most basic needs from a prisoner's life, yet, it was they who had the choice. They could either let themselves be robbed of their inner freedom and dignity or hold on to it. And the only way to do so was by owning the suffering and the pain: 

"When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept his suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge the fact that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe. No one can relieve him of his suffering or suffer in his place. His unique opportunity lies in the way in which he bears his burden."  (P.78)

Every time we choose not to confront our suffering we are simply putting our lives on hold. There's something to be said about the ability to endure it and the dignity it brings. After all, we truly start to love our body once we comprehend the magnitude of hardship it was subjected to in its quest for meaning. 

There again, I'm the same guy who begs for more anesthetic and is scared stiff of commitment, so I understand if you're taking this one with a grain of salt. 

It happens to the best of us

 

I have to admit that the first time I watched this clip I secretly rejoiced: it was about time that somebody called out on those art snobs, I thought. Let's face it, most of you who watched this video felt some sense of vindication. The fact, that a bunch of Dutch art experts mistake a cheap Ikea painting for a great masterpiece should make us think though. This is definitely a great reminder for us not to rely too much on what experts say and indeed, learn to question the status quo. But, no matter how tempted we might be,  it would be way too reductive if we dismissed them as phonies.

In this excerpt from "You are Not so Smart,"  David McRaney makes a compelling argument explaining why wine connoisseurs gaffed when they tasted dyed white wine, depicting it as red. It turns out that their judgment had been affected by the distorted environment (The brain saw red!) Just like the connoisseurs, the art experts were put off track because the work of art appeared in the National Art Museum--not in just any common art shop-- and that heavily impacted the way they perceived it. It makes sense, doesn't it?

We're all vulnerable to this because the way we experience things is heavily swayed by the expectations that we set. We would never expect a virtuoso violinist to perform at a train station, so we assume and we walk on. Many of us do this every day with the food they eat, the music they hear and the clothes they wear.

McRaney's premise is that we're really not that smart, so we fall victims to our own bias. This had me thinking hard. Frankly, I can live with being clueless when attempting to taste red wine or critiquing a piece of art --imagine if nobody ever found out it was, in fact, an Ikea piece? We'd be auctioning it to the highest bidder and studying about it on the art textbooks-- but what about things that really matter such as the relationships and the paths we choose to take? Do we have control over these or are our minds playing tricks on us in these areas as well?

Jung, you might want to dig deeper on this one

Artwork by Mitumi

We all like to take those personality tests that will tell us more about who we are. We're given random statements that we ponder about: you enjoy being surrounded by people;  others describe you as mellow and a good listener; you're the charismatic one in the group. As you fling yourself into those endless statements, rating each one meticulously, you somehow get to that much agonized "submit" button. You hold your breathe and you read the final verdict. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? 

We spend way too much time figuring this out when in reality it's all relative. If you think about it, being an extrovert doesn't really tell you much. There are extroverts out there who are invested mostly in their own advancement. They will schmooze and flatter you if it means they get to climb the ladder. But there are also those extroverts who are true givers and will go out of their way to lend a helping hand to others. The same goes for introverts. Just because you're an introvert, it doesn't necessarily mean that you're a nice sensitive person. Just like extroverts, introverts can be selfish and egotistical. 

In reality, the question you should be asking yourself is this: how much inner depth do you have? Having inner depth has less do with our extrovert/introvert tendencies and more to do with our connection to what many call the self. 

We live in a society that is way too latched to the mindless chase of money, fame or any other form of vanity metrics, and sadly this restrains us from becoming complete versions of ourselves. Too often we end up getting stuck in our own ego, dealing with our fears and anxieties.

The self, on the other hand, is the pristine side of us. When we take heed of that inner voice, we gain awareness. It's that same voice that allows artists to transform deep emotions into words, images and sounds. It's the idea of yearning for aloneness, because in our solitude we can relate to that intangible side of us, even though society might mask it as loneliness and tell that we should try to surround ourselves with as many people as we can (Let's make no mistake here, "extroverts" are just as able to seek solitude). Connecting to that spiritual side of ours--I said spiritual not religious--is the most solemn of experiences. It's the reason why we came to be in this world. 

So the next time you prepare yourself to take one of those tests, stop and think for a second. You might be better off searching for that answer somewhere else. Somewhere that's more personal. 

A husky's quest for identity

Photo by xlinnea from Imgur

Tally's a husky who was brought up by cats, and now she acts like one. Check out these photos of Tally, and you'll see her striking different feline poses just like a pro. This is not the first story of its sort, but it had me pondering about the power of social conditioning. What if you take enough huskies out of their "normal" environments and throw them in with the cats, will they start to tuck in their legs and tail when they lay down or even enjoy playing with cardboard boxes? Would such experiment change our perception of huskies and what they're capable of? If we let this experiment happen for long enough, would we eventually start to forget that huskies were "built" to endure extreme weather conditions and can be agile yet resilient, out there in the vast wilderness.

The huskies turned cats scenario is far-fetched, I know, especially if we take into consideration the important role that nature plays in the development of any living creature. Yet, just like Tally's, we've heard of stories of children who were brought up by animals and who adopted their behavior. Too often, we underplay the power of social conditioning, especially when dealing with children and teenagers.

The fact is that we all have our fixed notions of what adolescents are naturally capable of doing and not doing, and we condition them based upon those beliefs. We'll say that adolescents can not handle autonomy, so we deliver learning to them instead, and do all the thinking for them on how to go about finding the answers that we've created for them. And we don't realize that it's that very approach that is stifling autonomy in the first place because we're conditioning students to think within the limiting confines of what we call best practice. And why do we do that? Because we, in turn, have been conditioned to think and act in this way through that same system and sadly, that's all we know.

But just as some environments can stifle autonomy, others can stimulate it. This semester, I've seen my kids push boundaries. Equipped with only an overarching question-- how free are you?--and their own ingenuity, they were able to create their own projects from scratch. They're breaking down the classroom walls and going out in the field: they're pitching business plans to local supermarkets which will allow artisanal fishermen to receive a fair price for their daily catch; they're interviewing taxi drivers and experts to learn about informal economics and how it's saturating this sector; they're writing children's books and negotiating with local bookshops so that they can finance their undertaking. This came with many iterations and students have felt overwhelmed at times by all the uncertainty. But they're blossoming and it's been great for me to witness that process.

So let's go back to that "what if" scenario I started this post with. Wouldn't it be a pity to live in a world where all huskies were reduced to laze around the house playing with a yarn ball or hiding in a cardboard box. "That's extremely unlikely," many of you will say. Fair enough. But what if I applied that same example to children and adolescents. Would it be so far-fetched then?

A man-made tragedy

Some of my best childhood memories take me back to the Mediterranean Sea.  I remember how as a child my mother would take me to Birzebbuga Bay and I'd spend countless hours in the warm, turquoise waters playing with my red miniature makeshift ferry boat, shuttling Playmobile figures to imaginary destinations.  In all my imaginary trips, those passengers always made it safe and sound to their destination. While my head wondered in the sheltered confines of that bay, I felt just like those Playmobile figures; I was out of harms way. 

Just like me, the immigrants who sat sail from Africa use makeshift boats, but they're long haul voyages aren't imaginary. And they get to see a much different side of the Mediterranean: it's dark, it's freezing, it's savagely rough.   

Yet every week, refugees mostly from Sub-Saharan Africa, pay large sums of money in search of the greener pastures in Europe. But sadly, many of those frail vessels end up capsizing. Many immigrants have been rescued, but many others perish in the Mediterranean. Just imagine, only last night around 600 immigrants lost their lives off the coast of Libya. 600 bodies, including those of women and children dispersed in the vast waters of the Mediterranean. CNN estimates that only this year 1500 people have drowned in the Mediterranean.

The EU says that this matter needs to be tackled at its root, and many unwittingly-some knowingly- claim that the root cause is Libya's unstable government. If the government was legitimate, they say, there would be no boats leaving Libya in the first place. But that's only the tip of the iceberg: what many forget is that for decades Africa has been crippled by unfair subsidies and tariffs, aid has been ineffective, and most importantly, when the colonialists divided their priced toy-continent in the 19th and 20th century, they didn't take into consideration the ethnic and cultural divisions that they were subjecting the new states to. The fact is that, after its colonization, Africa was never really put into the condition to thrive as a continent. And that's on all of us.

There's a graveyard on Europe's doorstep, but many are turning a blind eye. We're all bystanders and just because we don't get to see the bodies of the sunken ones, it doesn't mean they're not there. So I cannot but think of those thousands of people who have perished in the inclement sea and whose stories have perished with. 

Selling out

Artwork by Gus Design courtesy of Design Crowd

When I write, I usually tend to put on something soothing, maybe some Ludovico Einaudi or an instrumental soundtrack to think better. This time though, I'm going for U2. I could be listening to One or Where the Streets have no Name; they're wholesome, they're U2 classics. But for this particular post, I'm blasting some brassier, unmelodious U2 stuff. This album is one misunderstood work of art. 

Some of you haven't even heard of POP, but if you're U2 die-hard fans, and I'm sure there are a few still around, then there's a good probability you dislike this record. The release of POP had been rushed. The band simply ran out of time in the making of it, so since it had already been pushed it back several times, the band went on to publish an unpolished version of POP.

Not only was this album unfinished, but the record's rawness didn't quite soothe the fan's refined palate. So they dismissed it as U2 going all techno. The band was a sellout. They couldn't have been more wrong.

This album can be deceiving because many will struggle to find meaning beneath the cacophony of Mofo or the triviality of Discotheque. The tracks in POP are layered differently, but they all ultimately expose the listener to the state of bewilderment we're often faced with, call it faith, call it relationships or call it our own identity. POP might sound rough and incomplete, yet, in many ways, the record's imperfections reflect our own. 

But I'm not here to defend POP. I'm just nostalgic for the U2 that once was. In the 90's this band was at the peak of its fame, yet Bono and Co still pushed their creative confines. It was exactly that kind of mindset that led to the inception of Achtung Baby. POP might not be up there, but it's a unique and highly creative work of art from that same period.

After the release of POP, U2 decided to go back to basics. The idea behind the album that followed POP- All that you can't leave behind- made sense at the time, but it all went awry after that. The last two studio albums have been pathetic versions of the ballsy band U2 once was.

The Guardian's Kitty Empire epitomized it best on her review for their most recent work, Songs of Innocence: U2 is trying to sound "like Coldplay sounding like U2." U2 hasn't been the only band to meet this fate; the list of musicians, ranging from REM to Dave Matthews, is endless. So what is it? Do these artists just grow old? Do they simply run out of ideas? I doubt it. How would you then explain those artists like Beck, who've been around for decades, and whose music is still eclectic and relevant? 

Like Beck, U2 was taking those great leaps in the name of art. Like Beck, they were experimenting and willing to seek new journeys. In fact with POP, the band was not selling out, far from it. If anything, the band started to sell out the very moment it tried to sound like the old U2. The irony. 

And as I internalize all this, there's a question that keeps pestering me. Who am  I? Beck or U2?