The chain of sudden tragedies seem to be continuing.
It all started with the absolutely shocking death of our classmate Simon on June 2 at age 19, a piece of news we duly received in the e-mail, and the oh-so mysterious Air France crash whose causes still seem indeterminable; and then came Luo Jing, my favourite childhood news anchor and somewhat of a legend, at age 47. Then, unnervingly close to where I work, three teens from the local High School who died in a single-vehicle crash, followed by deaths of international sex icon Farrah Fawcett and pop-king Michael Jackson, both within the past 24 hours. This also occured in combination with the death of Romeo Leblanc, Canada's former governor general, who died yesterday to natural causes. Now, fittingly, most flags across Canada are at half-mast.
Today, while filling up for gas at the SuperStore gas bar, the lady at the counter didn't even greet me. All she mustered was, "So tragic". I didn't reply.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A Fragile Thing
Today is like any other ordinary day in Yorkton. It's the middle of the week. As traffic meanders its way through the city's main street, a professionally dressed lady, wearing a black purse, enters the TD bank on the corner; engines of a beat-up Chevy from the 70s roar to life, its driver taking out sunglasses to prepare for the drive; three women from three generations, all blonde, stroll home on the sidewalk - the grandmother giving me a strange glance.
I don't know whether or not I should be thankful that in the last few days it's been hitting 30 degrees - quite the contrast from merely a week ago, when I still walked around town in my heavy leather jacket. Barely off work, in the blazing sun, I walk around four city blocks searching frantically for the used bookstore that I longed for. I walked back and forth, the same route twice, to no avail. I enter a pawn shop, for the first time in recent memory. In the midst of used computer monitors, used DVDs, and stacks of miscellaneous mechanical objects with handwritten tags, I hit the counter, where two ladies are waiting, presumably to claim something they've previously pawned. I tried searching for the owner. Maybe he has an idea of where this used bookstore is.
I came upon two venerable old gentlemen. One was heavily wrinkled and had some difficulty walking, making me question whether or not I should approach him. I did anyway. I tried to be as succinct as possible in my pronunciation, asking for directions to the nearest used bookstore, knowing there was only one of these in town. He replies, "You'd have to go ask Dale" and wandered off.
With the city's demographic profile dominated by Aboriginals and Ukrainians, I still have thoughts once in a while, of whether or not they think it's strange this professionally dressed Chinese boy just approached them without a trace of an accent. Did I look out of place within the crammed towers of pawned goods? Seemed pretty likely.
I then came up to "Dale", who was a lot more helpful in my inquiry. He actually went over to the cashier's desk to find a phone book, and was able to point to me the exact location of this would-be used bookstore. Ah! That's where it is. On 2nd, where I've been looking constantly on the wrong side of the road. Alarmed by my own ineptitude, I trek onto 2nd Avenue to pick up some thrillers from my favourite author.
As I turn the corner I noticed two teenagers in black dress attire coming down the sidewalk. They looked in their mid-teens. I walked past them, only to see a girl in her black dress with her boyfriend, also dressed as if for some occasion, heading towards their vehicle.
Then it hit me. Today was the funeral for three local boys killed in a single-vehicle car crash this past weekend. This theory was confirmed when I saw an old Ford drive by, windows open, with a girl, clad in a black dress, wet with tears from weeping, trying to form a coherent sentence to whoever was in the driver's seat.
Initially, it felt to me that this sunny afternoon in Yorkton has just wrapped itself in a gray haze of mourning. But then I recalled the two boys who I just saw, strutting down 2nd Avenue in the sun, with the accident scene only blocks away, discussing something that made them chuckle.
Apparently, not everyone is so caught up in tears.
This made me wonder about how the accident is being perceived. While no one can doubt that the event - in which three teens drove themselves at a high speed into a tree - was very tragic, I couldn't help but think that this event would be forgotten merely months from now, and we see the same tragedy playing all over again. Anyone with personal connections to the boys, reasonably, has let grief override any rational analysis of how the accident could have been, so easily prevented.
Once the tears are shed, and eulogies delivered, and people slowly walk out of the local church tonight, a community whose heart and soul seemed shattered a mere five days ago will return to the day-in and day-out business of everyday life. Years from now, will people still remember?
I don't know whether or not I should be thankful that in the last few days it's been hitting 30 degrees - quite the contrast from merely a week ago, when I still walked around town in my heavy leather jacket. Barely off work, in the blazing sun, I walk around four city blocks searching frantically for the used bookstore that I longed for. I walked back and forth, the same route twice, to no avail. I enter a pawn shop, for the first time in recent memory. In the midst of used computer monitors, used DVDs, and stacks of miscellaneous mechanical objects with handwritten tags, I hit the counter, where two ladies are waiting, presumably to claim something they've previously pawned. I tried searching for the owner. Maybe he has an idea of where this used bookstore is.
I came upon two venerable old gentlemen. One was heavily wrinkled and had some difficulty walking, making me question whether or not I should approach him. I did anyway. I tried to be as succinct as possible in my pronunciation, asking for directions to the nearest used bookstore, knowing there was only one of these in town. He replies, "You'd have to go ask Dale" and wandered off.
With the city's demographic profile dominated by Aboriginals and Ukrainians, I still have thoughts once in a while, of whether or not they think it's strange this professionally dressed Chinese boy just approached them without a trace of an accent. Did I look out of place within the crammed towers of pawned goods? Seemed pretty likely.
I then came up to "Dale", who was a lot more helpful in my inquiry. He actually went over to the cashier's desk to find a phone book, and was able to point to me the exact location of this would-be used bookstore. Ah! That's where it is. On 2nd, where I've been looking constantly on the wrong side of the road. Alarmed by my own ineptitude, I trek onto 2nd Avenue to pick up some thrillers from my favourite author.
As I turn the corner I noticed two teenagers in black dress attire coming down the sidewalk. They looked in their mid-teens. I walked past them, only to see a girl in her black dress with her boyfriend, also dressed as if for some occasion, heading towards their vehicle.
Then it hit me. Today was the funeral for three local boys killed in a single-vehicle car crash this past weekend. This theory was confirmed when I saw an old Ford drive by, windows open, with a girl, clad in a black dress, wet with tears from weeping, trying to form a coherent sentence to whoever was in the driver's seat.
Initially, it felt to me that this sunny afternoon in Yorkton has just wrapped itself in a gray haze of mourning. But then I recalled the two boys who I just saw, strutting down 2nd Avenue in the sun, with the accident scene only blocks away, discussing something that made them chuckle.
Apparently, not everyone is so caught up in tears.
This made me wonder about how the accident is being perceived. While no one can doubt that the event - in which three teens drove themselves at a high speed into a tree - was very tragic, I couldn't help but think that this event would be forgotten merely months from now, and we see the same tragedy playing all over again. Anyone with personal connections to the boys, reasonably, has let grief override any rational analysis of how the accident could have been, so easily prevented.
Once the tears are shed, and eulogies delivered, and people slowly walk out of the local church tonight, a community whose heart and soul seemed shattered a mere five days ago will return to the day-in and day-out business of everyday life. Years from now, will people still remember?
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Every month?
I've tried to make it a habit to post at least one entry every month. Guess that wasn't as successful. Recently I've been itching to write about a few things, like the 20th Anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre, the fragile state of life (having had a classmate pass away suddenly in early June), and the Air France 447 crash.
But it's getting late and work awaits tomorrow. So sleep is needed.
But it's getting late and work awaits tomorrow. So sleep is needed.
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