Post the Twelfth - The Myth of Knowing Everything: Disbanded
Today is a day to be marked in history: I saw my first ever NHL players skating on home ice. Granted, they were not the Canadiens, but I think we can all agree that the Canucks are an alright team all ‘round. Michelle had gotten tickets to see the Canucks’ open practice this afternoon. She had a few extras, so Jen, Mirranda, and Cameron joined us, accompanied by Dave and Shayan. Such was my excitement for the event that I bought a Canucks t-shirt yesterday in preparation for seeing them today - the first NHL item I’ve ever owned.
Even though it wasn’t a game and the team were just running drills and the stadium wasn’t filled, I still had a great time. Michelle has picked up where Laura left off years ago in trying to make me interested in the game, and I think this might be my year. It’s totally different cheering for a “home team” when you’re actually living in the city that has it’s own NHL team. It’s the wonder of professional sports: the population rallies behind this group of strangers who get paid to play a sport they love, and their performance basically dictates the level of happiness of the fans. What I love about sports, though, is how it brings people together from the strangest of places and bonds them through their mutual love of the game.
After the practice, we all went to see if we could get pictures with the Canucks as they left the stadium. We weren’t successful, but Michelle says we’ll have more luck when we go to the game on October 17th. That’s right - I’m going to see the Canucks v. the Hurricanes! My first NHL game! I’m super stoked. Michelle has already picked out a favourite player for me, and I already care more about hockey than I ever have. Hopefully I’ll get an autograph and a picture with Christian Ehrhoff (my favourite player). EEE SPORTS!!
In other news, it’s interesting living with girls from different places and cultures. I’ve been struggling for the past few years with the idea of multiculturalism and wondering if it can ever actually exist. Spending time talking with my room mates has definitely given me a much greater perspective on the issue, and has made me question, yet again, what it means to be “right.”
One of my Chinese room mates, Joey, and I ate lunch together yesterday. Joey and I often have really interesting conversations, and we share our food from across cultures; she eats pizza with chopsticks and I stab chicken balls with forks. Yesterday our discussion turned to literature, and Joey said her favourite English novel is Charles Dickinson's Hard Times, because it was the first time she had seen revolution portrayed negatively. We also talked about travel and language and countries that interest us. Joey asked me why I liked Russia so much, and I told her I was drawn to their absolute tragic history. Then she asked me: “Why do you think it’s tragic?”
And it was simultaneously obvious and completely baffling why I would call Russia’s past “tragic.” I’ve been taught since I was old enough to know what politics was that the Russian communist government was “bad” and didn’t work. Logically, I still know this to be true, because I believe the tyrannical regime of Stalin is the definition of horrifying, but perhaps there are other ways of examining history that have not been in my educational repertoire. Perhaps I should not be so arrogant to assume that my Western education, my Western culture, is something that should be adapted and adhered to by others. Maybe there’s enough room for all of us here.