"Turning and turning in a widening gyre...."

When I ventured onto the streets of Washington, I did not expect them to be fundamentally different from those of Calgary. Both were metropolitan environments, and I was sure that the differece between Canadians and Americans wasn't so acute, that it would translate to radically different changes.

Turns out,however, that wearing one's uniform in a suspect district, in the heart of Washington, DC., is not an advisable idea. I spent half of my walk,staring furtively around me, trying to ignore the leers and the barely disguised sneers, from locals.

I suppose we did what every tourist does in Washington- we took the metro to the Smithsonian Museum, saw the Washington Monument, saw the White House from a distance, saw the memorials etc. What struck me, however, was how entrenched Washington was in the past- so much so, it had forgotten the present. The ancient monuments and buildings, built so long ago with the birth of American democracy, are utterly incongruous with the actual infrastructure of the city- cracked concrete, worn roads, decrepit buildings with grafiti smeared everywhere.

Whatever remains of the past, the people from Washington cling to- and the present slips away.

_

The conference, (the Global Young Leaders Conference) began the next day- my twin and I had both been nominated by our principal. I wasn't venturing forth, however, with many great expectations- we had paid a hefty sum to attend the conference, and I couldn't escape the nagging feeling that it was a scam- preying on credulous, ambitious, overachievers.

It turned out, like so many other times, that I was completely and utterly wrong.

GYLC, was akin to a model UN conference- but better. We were taken through a whirlwind of events, from the Department of State, to the World Bank, and finally to the hallowed halls of the United Nations. We simulated the Security Council, the World Trade Organization, and the General Assembly of the UN- learning about the difficulties of coming to a consensus, and solving world issues that appear ostensibly easy.

Most importantly, as youth from all corners of the world (95 nations in all) we connected in unimaginable ways- on a level deeper then the cultural chasms and rifts that were supposed to seperate us.

_

I remember distinctly, and rather peculiarly, the second day when I sat down to lunch. It was just me and my twin, sitting in a rather large booth obviously made for four. There were 360 people at the conference- a number which was not exactly conducive to the process of making friends. The bewilderingly large amount of people made it difficult to fit in. I remember thinking, dismayed, that we would spend the rest of the conference
this way- isolated.

I didn't know that within ten days, I would've developed friendships as close as those it took 10 years to forge at my own school- that my eventual departure from the conference would be accompanied by an inevitable pang of grief, that all of us would never be again together.

I can't thank them enough for the ten days they gave me- ten days of understanding and realization.

The accounts that will follow are short portraits of my time there- brief, fleeting glimpses into my indescribable experience.

"The supernatural descending closer...."

When I first saw Washington, from above in our descending plane, the only thing I noticed was the Washinton Monument.

It's a giant column, with an obselik on the top two red lights embedded near its apex- the strangest most mysterious shape, I have ever seen. It is perfectly aligned with Capitol Hill and the White House, in a straight, unbending line.

There were other buildings, white and seemingly untarnished, with smooth marble domes. Washington doesn't hide it's monuments and ancient buildings, it flaunts them. With every turn of the plane, as it spiralled down to our airport, we saw all the edifices for which Washington has become famous.

Upon entering the airport- Ronald Reagan International- we noticed the flags, at a somber half mast. They reminded me of a few months ago, coming to school to see another half mast, weeping for someone so close and now gone.

Although, Washington has beautiful historic sites, it is certaily lacking in all other manner of infrastructure. The roads- brilliantly designed by some architect, no doubt not in full possession of his faculties-radiate out from the three central figures of Washington (the House, the Capitol, and the Monument). As a result there is a whole series of diagonal streets which are entirely inconvenient for any mode of transportation.

Our hotel, seemed to be square in the middle of an unusual area. On one edge of the hotel was a predominantly Africa-American area, and on the other edge is the beginning of China Town.

I decided to take a foray outside my hotel room, to explore the converging neighbourhoods.

I was, it should be mentioned, still wearing my full school uniform.

(to be continued...)

Washington

My post frequency has dramatically decreased, my profile at BlogSpot politely tells me.

It has of course, because I've been busy. I left my city, in the nether regions of Canada, at midnight. My plane gliding noiselessly above reams of clouds, moving as though covered in an ultimate shroud of darkness. I peered out the small oval window, absorbing the lights as they receded into tiny pinpricks, dots on the face of the earth.

We were told by the polite Air Canada attendant that we would have to make a connection in one hour in Toronto. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but we were flying to Washington. We would have to get our baggage out, then pass it through American security, then send it back into the connecting luggage.

We asked the attendant to send one of those cool, motor driven carts to rush us around Pearson airport in our desperate attempt to catch our plane to Washington. The attendant smiled, benevolently, and said that it wasn't possible.

Could we be let out of the plane before everyone else?

The attendant looked at us, sympathetically now.

"All I can do," she said, surveying us over small glasses, "is wish you good luck." She smiled then, revealing a pair of perfectly aligned white teeth.

_

We made it through Pearson, dragging our piles of baggage like war heroes, and made it at last to the plane for Washington.

If we had been two minutes later, we would've missed our flight.

The plane left Pearson quickly, ascending above the white clouds. It felt different this time, as though I was flying through a still painting- clouds suspended in ethereal beauty.

(I'll continue the rest when I get another chance to post)

Leavetakings

Remember, I took the SAT II? (yes you, the-non-existent-yet-in-my-imagination-ubiquitous reader).

I recieved my scores today, and was , overall, pleased with them.

Math IC: 780 (99th Percentile)
Biology: 740
Writing: 790 (97th Percentile)- Twin got 800 here, 100%

The anticipation for these scores has been nervewracking; every day I would go to the College Board website, biting my nails furiously, and check if my scores had been released. It wasn't until today- a day earlier then the scheduled date- that I saw the red sign I had long anticipated on the website, saying in large bold letters 'YOUR JUNE SCORES ARE IN', and then a tempting hyperlink to finally unveil the numbers that would inexorably dictate my future.

_

Now, because my neuroses are inherently restless, I've started to become anxious over another thing. I seem to enjoy being nervous-feeling the familiar fluttering feeling in my stomach, as if every breath I take in is laced with adrenaline.

Unfortunately, the event I'm nervous over is not exactly worthy of much anxiety- and especially not of adrenaline. My school conducts a yearly affair in which students are recognized for their academic affairs and other, non-worthy endeavours (just kidding). It's called, fittingly, Prizegiving.

The thing is, when students get recognized for academic success they recieve books. And, best of all, they're free!

I really can't resist a free book.

The problem being, I don't know if I've preformed well enough to merit one- there's certainly no lack of competition at our school, and I am doubtful that my marks are good enough. When I do find out, this Friday, I shall inform my humble internet abode immediately so that my vast empty audiences can comfort me over my inevitable failure.

EDIT/UPDATE: Turns out I preformed moderately well at Prizegiving. See Ellen's blog, herefor an interesting and informative diatribe on my presumptuous nature.
_

I'm leaving for a summer program called Global Young Leaders Conference, for ten days until the end of June. Then I'm off to SHAD- it's for science-oriented overachievers from across the free world. I like to say it's selective, because I can then accompany that statement with a nonchalant, superior smile.

In any case, I'm not sure with what frequency I'll be able to post. Before the tears start flowing, masses of invisible audience, please take comfort in the fact that I have been promised internet access- it may yet be I'll have plenty of time.
_

Whatever the case, I've become too attached to this blog to leave it now. Adios!

Book Hunt

Bookcrossing is a fascinating website, with an intriguing premise. It co-ordinates the travel of books around the world;readers release a book into the 'wild' or the open public. When another person finds the book, they are obligated to read it and then release it. Books have made far fetched journeys- from all corners of the world, with the label of Bookcrossing sitting resolutely upon its front page.

Today, an idle browsing of the website revealed the location of a book less then a mile from me.I jumped out of my bed (where I sit and browse the internet), eyes alight with excitement. I suppose, that, above all is a testament to my lack of life- I was joyous about hunting a book. So, I pulled on my gumboots, put on my raincoat and matching hat (both emblazoned with Winnie-the-pooh and smiled brightly as I marched out the door into the drizzling rain.....

In reality, walking was an entirely unfavorable prospect, so I bellowed from my room to my brother (who drives, I don't, long story), " I need to go somewhere!". I used the most intimidating tone I could muster. He came, skeptical and utterly unruffled my display of sheer authority.

"Where?" he asked.

I told him. Then, after he continued staring at me, I told him why.

He laughed for a good few minutes- while I glowered, and wondered what was so wrong with hunting a book. Surprisingly, he aquiesced and I found myself with some wonderment, sitting in our flaming orange Element, driving the small distance to the location of the book.

I was exhilirated as I drove there, window open, and barely restraining a pent up desire to tell my twin to go faster- as he was still a good 10 or 15 kilometres per hour under the speed limit. I knew he wouldn't agree to that, he likes playing it safe. Hands in the three and nine o'clock position, eyes staring straight forward and flitting once and again to the rearview mirror. His posture is uncannily straight.

As we drove along, safely cruising, I eyed other cars. One in particular, a blue one, seemed to be heading the same direction as us. My breath caught in my throat.

"There's another one," I said urgently. Before twin could say anything, I explained hurridly that the car behind us was probably headed to the same location. My hands flew to the handle of the door- they wouldn't beat me to this one. As soon as Twin parked, I threw open the door (to the surprise of the elderly gentleman parked next to us) and ran frantically to the side of the building where the book was purported to be. It was a typical alleyway, brick walls, papers blowing emptily, and the faint sound of wind whistling above through the narrow walkway. There was nothing. No book. Nothing.

I wandered around, randomly, inspecting any surface that may be hiding my book. Twin had headed inside the building- which was a Mac's- to get some food. I followed, disheartened, looking quickly, once again before opening the door. Inside, I came upon the idea of asking the cashier if she had seen a book.

Smiling artifically, I approached her.

"Have you seen a book, that I lost , around here?" I asked in as sweet a tone as I could muster.

"What was it called?" the cashier, who was asian and fairly old, asked.

" The Art of War," I said without hesitation, then remembered that two books were supposed to be in the same location.
"And Permit For Murder," I added, quickly.

I could've sworn her eyes shifted at that, moving quickly from side to side. My eyes narrowed, and clenched the edge of the counter.

"No," she said finally, "I haven't seen anything"

I gave her another look, akin to the one I'd used on Twin to get my ride here.
She stared at me blankly. I left the store, fuming.

That's how my book hunt ended, mere moments ago, and even as I type this I can't stop from commiserating over the cashier who undoubtedly stole my book.

Fun

I live in a part of Canada that does not have much in the way of high-stakes entertainment (except perhaps for the Flames).

There is a theme park though.

Before your overactive imaginations conjure up images of towering rides, reams of games and amusement, log rides and, inevitably, churros, understand this- my theme park is a decrepit mess, which attracts more insects then human beings, and has the general cleanliness of a dump.

When I was little, however, it seemed like heaven. I remember seeing signs on gas stations, selling seasons passes (gasp!)- I would stare at the sign, depicting kids and adults having fun, hungrily, wishing to go to this obvious, infallible, land of magic and wonder. For a limited time, with every gas fill up, there were free tickets being given away. What largesse! I think I begged my parents to get me a ticket, and thankfully, they didn't- giving me uneasy looks, and perhaps unwilling to reveal the truth.

I was invited to a birthday party, in my 8th year of life, however at the aforementioned park. The family hosting the birthday, had rented a bus (before I go further, I should explain I go to a private school. Some families are...wealthy). When our yellow bus pulled smoothly in front of zealously colored gates, we were surprised by the sight of an empty parking lot.

"Maybe nobody came here today?" one parent ventured.

"The employees didn't come either?" one parent observed, wryly.

When we saw the locked gates, we finally realized that through some strange twist of fate, the park was closed. The Birthday Girl sat down, and prompty began to cry (this was the established convention). We ended up going to a bowling alley. It seemed then, that I wasn't destined to visit this park.

I was invited once again, in the summer of Grade 7 to visit the park with my neighbour's son's, friends from England. The park, unfortunately, was open.

The rides were cliche, broken down, and generally unattractive. After wolfing down some indistinguishable food from one of the stands, I walked- feeling queasy- onto one of the rides, chosen arbitrarily. Just my luck, the ride was a gigantic ship that swivelled, up and down and up and down and up. Great for my stomach.

When I'd finished throwing up, and staring at the ship, my mind wondering why anyone would make a ride like that, I headed over to the mini-golf course. I couldn't envision, how even this theme park could make mini-golf bad. Turned out it wasn't a bad course, but you had to pay to enter. I'd already paid for the park, and then I had to pay to enter one of the attractions.

!

But, eager to redeem to my purchase of a ticket and fufill my life long dream of enjoying myself at a theme park, I paid and entered. Within ten minutes I was kicked out- I had hit the person behind him, in the eyes, with my golf club as I brought it up to hit the ball. In between his screaming, punctuated with several obscenities, he demanded I never be allowed within ten feet of a golf club. The attendants, livened up by this bit of excitement, obliged.

The other day, I won a draw. I was given the choice between two prizes- a yo-yo and a seasons pass to the aforementioned park.

I reached for the yo-yo without the slightest hesitation.

Summer

School's Over.

I relish typing those words, my face twisted into a childish grin.

The year is a mosaic of blurred colors,as though I were sitting in a train, head pressed against a pane of glass, watching the year rush by. I see stress- black and grey and silver- stretching along my path becoming thicker, and thinner, with the symbol of the IBO inexorably branded upon it. I see red- fiery red, and a C, burning with bold fury and impassive to the wind and elements. I see white, pure, blinding white, shining and there is untold misery and hope within it.

We seldom understand the designs of fate, even when they weave invariably to one conclusion.

_

Exams are finally finished. I felt joy blooming today, as my pencil scratched its last characters on the math exam- the final one before my liberation. It felt so good to be free, to walk carefree out of the school knowing that I didn't have an assignment to do tonight, or a test to study for or something else to worry about. It felt nice to just walk, and not have my head furrowed in concentration- stressing about my latest academic endeavour. As we exited, a storm had begun to gather- our road leading directly towards it. Our last day of Grade 11, and this is how we approach the future, with a thunderstorm? Considering, I take stock in omens and portents, it was a harbinger, a herald to an uneasy future. When I told my twin this, he rolled his eyes.

_

The aforementioned cheating incident came to something of a head today. We were both called into his office- the culprit and the accuser(unfortunately, me). Our principal, was faced in an understandably difficult situation- two people, of relative credibility, telling fundamentally opposite stories. Staring seriously at us, he told us that he wouldn't be meteing out any punishment- which had me riled- because he simply didn't have enough proof to suggest the Culprit was indeed guilty. Surveying us gravely, he advised whoever was lying to speak the truth. I know I was telling the truth, I certainly have other evidence of the Culprit's cheating that I have not brought to his attention for specific reasons.

I know justice is always supposed to prevail, and karma will eventually gain its rightful retribution, however I find it somewhat disconcerting that this whole event- originally intended to point out the dishonesty of a fellow classmate- has ended up putting a black cloud over me and my name. I have always told the truth. I suppose it is the decision of the Culprit to follow suit.

_

100 years and counting

It's sunny today.

And I'm inside, surrounded by a plethora of papers- mounds and piles of history, covering a span of nearly 100 years. Because of my laziness and inattention, I have absolutely no idea of what is on the test.

Sigh.

Listening to: Money, money, money, money.......Money! (The Apprentice Theme)

Mood: Overwhelmed :P


(I know I don't have a livejournal)

_

I have added an advertising feature just below my site count (avert your eyes). It is part of a vast network of blog's desperate for attention which should hopefully increase the traffic to my site. That way I can continue my carefully thought out plan, to take over the internet and dominate the world as we know it.

I'm also hungry.

Shattered

Sometimes the most innocuous things in life, elude us. For the past few months, I have made a grevious error- one that undoubtedly has caused pain to those close to me- and somehow, cannot find a way to express my sorrow.

Death touches us in so many ways. It always seems to be coming back, muted whispers like tendrils of a memory long past, snaking and swirling around my conscious. At times it seems as though it were yesterday, vivid and poignant, as though the memory had been branded upon my mind, searing and burning. Other times it is distant, and far away, a vague memory obscured by a shroud of self-denial.

Tears seem infinite, hapiness appears ephemeral.

She saw it happen. In front of her. An explosion, death and then brittle glass shattered into so many shards- sharp and broken forever. How can I deny that image? How can I face her, and form words to defend?

Reviews

The Da Vinci Code
Roshan Rating: 9.5/10

I know some are extremely fastidious about having anything revealed about a book- especially a hotly contested and eagerly anticipated one. I was once punched for revealing, that in the Illiad Menelaus doesn't die until he gets back to Greece (whatever Troy might claim). Some refuse to even gaze at the back of the book- while I feel that is sick and demented, it is still incumbent upon me to notify them, if only to protect myself from further unneeded violence. Therefore, this sentence should serve as a warning to those who don't want even want to know the mildest plot intrigue in the novel.

That said, there's not too many secrets to reveal.

The much touted Da Vinci Code, is a very intruiging thriller- it's greatest strength, however is its focus on secret societies, vatican politics, and global intrigue. The book (and soon to be movie) follows the journey of a Harvard professor who finds himself caught up in an adventure of gigantic proportions- where he unearthes a secret of startling relevance to the basis of Christianity, and discoveres a century old sect that has been hiding said secret. Whether or not any of the claims have basis in fact- although Dan Brown seems to suggest that much- is irrelevant. This very concept of secret socities, with prominent and famed members, existing is what makes the novel so appealing to Brown's legions of fans. Its the same reason the Bond series has been so extraordinarily succesful. It helps the ordinary reader escape from their presumedly mundane lives and journey to an utterly implausible and impractical world. But, how many 'impractical' things are truly the most appealing?

The Day After Tomorrow
Roshan Rating : 9/10

It would be wrong to go into this movie expecting either of the following: serious character development, or an important message on the potentially lethal nature of global warming. Instead, if you do feel inclined to watch it go for the CGI spectacle they have created; go to see the unimaginable played out in startling reality. The special effects make this movie- an awesome array of nature's worst, assailing prominent cities - Los Angeles is struck with tornadoes, New York flooded by a tidal wave then abruptly frozen over, and it's snowing in New Dehli. There's a tiny clip of Nova Scotia flooding until it is indiscernible as well, but then who really cares about Canada?

The special effects are so well crafted, that there is never any suspicion that the images could be anything but real. Unfortunately, caught up in this whirlwind of special effects, the movie fails to point out its significance. It's the fear that this could really happen, that should add terror to this movie- yet the makers of the movie seem unconcerned about driving that message home. Instead we are given typical Hollywood fare- a busy father out of touch with his son for instance- on a very big canvas. It is this incongruity that weakens the movie, and stretches the limits of our own credulty.

If you do decide to go see it, get ready for a mouth dropping spectacle- just don't expect any real substance.

Reflections

The number of words in my blog has officially surpassed the maximum for Extended Essays. Perhaps my time might be better used in the aforementioned endeavour, but I certainly don't intend to pay any attention to logic.
_

I remember once long ago, a project assigned by a Grade 4 science teacher. As far as elementary work goes, it was fairly independent- we had been assigned into groups, and were required to conduct our own research. All of this would culminate in a presentation to other members of the class.

I suppose it was very nearly a novelty, working in groups independently, and I, through some distorted thought process, envisioned this as a way to demonstrate my prowess in the realm of science. Therefore, I confidently offered to take the helm of my group, and decided that our presentation would be so memorable elementary teachers would discuss it for years to come, coming together quietly at Staff meetings and shaking their heads with wonder at the brilliance of one of their students. Wary of entrusting others with this precious and careful work, I opted to do everything by myself- my group members were not displeased at this prospect, and sat back happily as I launched myself wilfully into oblivion.

When I emerged, fully aware of the amount of work I had assigned myself, it was with startling lucidity on our topic, and I felt as though I could talk for hours. I prepared a duotang for each of my group members (this was elementary, there was an inordinate obsession with duotangs) and felt confident that our presentation would meet my lofty amibitions.

Of course, my group members as I really should've expected, didn't know a thing. They stared blankly at my neatly organized duotang, turning to me with plantive eyes and looking grateful when I started talking in their stead.

That was the lesson I learned then, and yet I repeat the mistake to this date. Is this the eternal plight of an overachiever?
_

I wrote the SAT II's today. I have had some misconceptions on the nature of American education for quite some while- namely, I have always believed that American education was far more simplistic than Canadian, and easier at that. I used to scoff with none too subtle disdain, when the topic of american high school's were brought up, commenting on the challenges that tough Canadian students have to face. But the SAT II's, which test on material learned in the course of high school, were hard. One question that had me completely eluded, was on the nature of insects and their...er....reproduction. Although I was ably assisted by an explicit diagram, I could still not for the life of me figure out where the necessary organs were located. Really, who studies this, and is expected to memorize it for an internationally administered test? Mind you, I suppose Kathryn would know......

_

I caught someone cheating in class, and after vacillating over whether I should report the incident or not, thankfully found out that it had already been done. Now I feel as though I've been thrown in a raging conflagration, as though I sparked this fire by telling the truth. It seems to have invited more trouble than it was worth. The person who cheated, considered intelligent and well liked, is certainly not the kind of person to bring idle accusations against. I know, however, that I am speaking the truth and find myself frustrated at this person's glib denial, and apparant lack of guilt. I was even given a menacing phone call by this person, not at all with a tone of innocence.

'Are you sure of what you saw?' the person said, in a dark tone, that seemed to be trying to elicit a particular response. I feel as though I've been planted in the midst of a very bad Encyclopedia Brown, whereby innocent school politics are embellished until they seem tantamount to murder. We even drew a diagram of where the crime/cheating took place.

Now all we need is Hercule Poirot.

Go Flames Go!

At the behest of my peers at school, I was urged to wear Red for a Flames Day event our school is having tomorrow. Though a mental image of me sporting a Flames jersey, was enough to make me desist immediately, I did not relish another day of jeers and catcalls. Patriotism, I am told, is all about individuality.

In any case, I crept carefully into Supermarket today, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible- a wholly difficult endeavour when wearing my school's uniform- and headed discreetly towards the Flames section. There droves of shirts awaited, folded perfectly, in large piles on a single counter. The largest size, however, would probably seem tight on a 12 year old. I picked up one shirt helplessly, so patently small, wondering what I could possibly due to conform to the rest of society tomorrow.

My twin spoke up at that moment, eyeing the shirts with evident distaste.

"Zeller's maybe?"

We drove, quickly, suddenly enraptured by this quest for Flames accesories. Zellers, true to my brother's suspicion, was a veritable Flames haven-lush red shirts, and flags, lined up, standing proudly in perfect unison. There were sleeping bags emblazoned with the Flames symbols, hats, sunglasses cases and keychains among many. I marched over, ignoring the strange stares as I began to survey the collection. I admit there was a little bit of guilt. Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Finals, and this is when I choose to buy a Flames T-shirt? Hurridly I selected a shirt blindly, quickly pressing it against myself to ensure the size, then rushed to the counter, and ran out of the shop hiding my purchase in a bag.

Tomorrow, when I saunter (a formidable feat) into school, it will not be with the usually adopted dimunitive attitude of someone who seems to be devoid of any pride in the Flames. I will be sporting my red shirt, the fiery symbol of the Flames upon it, and smiling with the expectant smile that any Flames fan ought to have.