Date: 2005-05-26 00:58
Subject: "This 'X' is... considerably to the North, and... to the East."
Mood:

I was asked two questions in the comments to the two last posts. So, to answer them.

First, Courtney. "Where would you rather live? Seriously, realisitically, where can you see yourself happy?"

To that I say I have very little idea.

I believe (and/or fear) any country I decide to live in that is better than this one will treat me like a second class citizen. I will get the worst jobs by definition; if I am really good and get a good job, I will be guilty of "raising unemployment among native residents".

My first name sounds awful when pronounced in any language other than Portuguese or a comical variation of it (such as Spanish). My last name might work in Italy; for any other country, I would be better off using its original spelling, which would be easier for everyone to understand but would differ from my documents. My middle name (which is unknown to many) would bring giggling fits to any English speaker that heard it.

People would try to speak Spanish to me when by some odd chance they did not understand what I was saying, and that would ruin my day. Whether I like it or not, I lived a long time in a warm climate, and it would take years to adapt to a colder one (especially if I have to measure temperature in Farenheit - not to mention inches et al, of course). My trusty milk'n'coffee and bread'n'butter would not be readily available as they are here, nor would nearly anything else I am used to eating. Depending on the circumstances, I might have to serve in the new country's army. Some countries think they are so superior for keeping kids in high school one year longer, they will not consider my degree (obtained after five years of college) valid. Those who did realize I am not a Spanish speaker would then ask me about carnaval and Ronaldo and Brazilian beaches (three subjects I know nothing about). Other Brazilians living in the country would talk about how they miss carnaval and feijoada and expect me to join them in samba at every opportunity.

In essence, life in most countries better than this one would have plenty of negative sides, because I was born in this one. But it is two steps from becoming a communist dictatorship, so I should consider that carefully, indeed.

So, to answer the question, I believe I would do quite well in Belgium or some parts of the United States with less hispanics (so I am not confused with them). The US does not seem to want me there; no worries, they would think I was Mexican anyway (even though I do not look like one). So, Belgium. But what in the blazes would I do in Belgium? Set up a codfish restaurant for tourists from Portugal? Be an international representative in the European Union? Bring a canvas to the park and paint during Spring and Autumn, then spend Winter locked home, and Summer trying to sell my paintings?

Therefore, I hope those two steps are not taken for a long time.

Then Estara asked this: "What are your favourite songs, Etienne?". I hoped saying the opposite would be good enough, but alas, there is always someone to ask that.

I cannot answer that question satisfactorily. I tried to answer it a dozen times in the last few years, and I got a dozen different answers. I will, however, give a small list that should be more or less indicative of what I could consider a "favorite song" next week - for the heck of it, and so maybe people will take pity on me and finally do something about it, or lose all hope.

Let me see, now. In no particular order, honestly.

Bobby Goldsboro, "Honey". The cutest song I know. Easy to imagine the protagonist telling his tale to someone willing to listen, perhaps a stranger in a bar or on a bus stop. The story of his life with the lovely Honey is not a crescendo: it begins adorable, continues adorable and gives the impression each day is just as happy as the one before with that sweet innocent girl; then, for no reason, "when she was there and all alone", she dies. It is such a devastating, unfair ending to that sequence of cute scenes, and that is very quickly reflected in the song itself, which becomes a lament. Seconds later the protagonist recomposes, dries his tears as to not embarass his audience further, and goes back to the happy suvenier left by Honey: "But see the tree, how big it's grown..."

Jewel Kilcher, "Painters". Pretty much for the same reasons as "Honey", but in a completely different environment, much more fantastic, much less innocent, this time from both the girl's and a narrator's perspectives. They painted a beautiful, colorful life together, where the metaphor is so big it is impossible to extract reality fully from it. Eventually it reaches the most dramatic moment I remember in any song: the prelude to his death, followed by the collapse of her dreams. After that come his redemption and a peek into the future showing no complete absolution for her. I always wondered how things would have been if she had died in his place: would he despair and crumble, and carry the memory of her around to the end of his life? Would she go so serenely? The world of "Painters" is so absorbing it allows one to wander around raising hypothesis. I find it very amazing.

Richard Marx, "Hazard". A much weaker environment than the previous two, but it tells the story well enough, from one point of view only. There are so many holes in what he says: why was that boy not right?, why did his mother move to Hazard and stay there, through that?, what were the rumors and lies Mary looked beyond?, did he kill Mary? These thoughts about this song echoed in my head for a long time before I heard of the two videos it has, both of which just reinforce the questions and give no answers.

Karyn White, "Superwoman", and Jewel Kilcher, "Foolish Games". Such a huge irony that Karyn White's song has the same title as Stevie Wonder's. These two songs go together because they talk about the very same thing, as if the same script under two different directors: a couple, their relationship very deteriorated, he treats her with indifference and the eventual hurtful comment to which she must give the benefit of the doubt; she tries hard to understand what is going on, what went wrong, to gain him back, until she breaks down. One thing I greatly dislike about Karyn White's song, however, is a moment during the apex of her breaking down where she has to remind the listener this is just a song and let out a "everybody sing along with meee" - which is my same problem with Toni Braxton's "How Could an Angel Break My Heart", where suddenly she goes "Woow!" out of nowhere at the apogee of dramacity.

Tanaka Rie, "Ningyo Hime" (second ending for "Chobits"). I do not remember why, as it has been a long time since I last heard this song (especially with subtitles), but I still remember considering it one of the best songs ever. "If Apollo spoke Japanese, this song would have been written by him," I recall commenting one time. I wish I remembered why, I would surely give a detailed explanation, as I did for the other songs. Ah, go find the lyrics and translation by yourself and figure out.

Questions answered. Anything else?

Posted by Etienne at May 26, 2005 12:58 AM
Comments

Suas razões para não ser feliz em nenhum lugar não são suficientes. Nem todo brasileiro vai te convidar para o samba, nem todo nativo vai te confundir com mexicano; e se confundir, o que tem?
É como entrar numa loja e ser confundido com vendedor. Você fica p da vida, mas dá cinco minutos e passa.
Até do frio você tá reclamando!
Isso tudo é desculpa de quem só sabe reclamar e não faz nada a respeito do problema.
Saber que você pensa assim e ao mesmo tempo me encoraja a ir carregar lata me deixou com muita raiva.

Além do mais, uma música vai muito além da história na letra, é mais do que isso, é um monte de coisa. >=(

Posted by: Flines at May 27, 2005 04:22 AM

I am so sorry that I forced you into this, so I shall shut up now O.o;


;P

^^

Posted by: Estara at June 7, 2005 05:41 PM

Hello, Etienne.

I hope all is well with you.

To answer your question, I did a search on "Conrad Allan Faulkner" on a whim, on a less eventful day. I didn't expect anything, really, and doing random stream-of-consciousness web searches is a pastime of mine. A distraction from work, you see.

That's how I got here. Your blogsite was the only search result returned by google.

Then I did other searches. Yes, "Laya Landale" being one. Why did I search? I don't know, Etienne...partly because you never forget a kind person, most certainly not a kind person whom you've hurt.

I reply to this now not to defend myself or to throw excuses or dredge up the past or, God forbid, start all over again. But if I am allowed to say one thing, if you please...you call me devious; I was not. I didn't make plans, I didn't rub my hands together in glee, anticipating my next conquest. I was blind to the consequences of my amorous inclinations; which made me inadvertently cruel, but cruel nonetheless, to all parties involved. I concede to that.

Why am I here? There had come a point in my life that I made a discovery that changed my life forever. That is all I need to say about myself, I don't wish to afflict you with my own personal history. But suffice to say, I now carry with me a personal statement that I uphold with utmost tenacity: A man who tears at the tender heart of a kind woman with a gentle soul is not a man. He cannot be a man.

In light of all that I have just written, I just want you to know that I'm not asking for forgiveness. That is too presumptuous, and I had no idea until now how much I had hurt Laya. And this pains me deeply. She was so sweet, and I hurt her. I'm not going to say something stupid like, "I don't regret my past misgivings, for experience teaches us all something," because I do. I do regret having hurt her. I care not if you or she would not forgive me; I leave the notion of forgiveness to a higher judgment, but for now, and for the remainder of my time on Earth, all I can do and say to you and Laya is that I am sorry, I am sorry, and a thousand times over, I am sorry. I cannot say this enough, I just cannot say this enough. I can't change the past, but now and in the future, the least I can do is to include her in my daily prayers. Thank you for reading, Etienne.


Kind regards,


C. A. Faulkner

Posted by: C. A. Faulkner at August 24, 2005 11:27 AM