It's all about location

Prior to this past weekend, I knew almost nothing about Vancouver. When looking for housing, I checked out a map and decided that it would make sense to live halfway between campus and downtown. Coming from Seattle, I had no interest in actually living on the campus. I need a city environment.

Here's the deal. The University of British Columbia is located on the far west end of Vancouver. It is neighbored by Point Grey and Kitsilano. I had heard rumblings about those neighborhoods versus somewhere like East Van, but nothing concrete enough to make me turn down a cheap room I found that seemed promising.

My girlfriend and I showed up at the aforementioned house in Kits last week, sweaty and exhausted from immigration and traffic woes. The street is on a hill that slopes down with elegant houses overlooking English Bay. It is very posh, it is very white, and it is very straight. Downtown looked like a beautiful picture hung in the background.

We walked into the house and met J, an undergraduate Geology major. E asked him how long it took to bike downtown. J informed us that it only took him about 30 minutes because he tended to just crush it once he got on his bike, but it would probably take us 45 minutes- an hour. After bicycle touring from Port Angeles to San Francisco, I am unfortunately used to men assuming a lack of strength/ability due to my size and gender. However, in terms of qualities I look for in a housemate, sexism is not high up on the list.

For many reasons, hanging around the house was an unappealing option. We ventured out into the Kits nightlife in search of a vegetarian/vegan restaurant. We were very noticeably the only queer couple at the place. People watched us. Especially when we were affectionate.

The next day we left Kits behind and set out for East Van. I felt so much more relaxed just seeing more queer people around. It's very isolating to be somewhere where the surrounding community does not at all reflect your identity. I find it exhausting.

Originally when I was thinking about housing, I thought it was most important to be close to the university. I am here to learn, after all. One night in Kits reminded me that feeling validated in yourself and your identity is a top priority, always. I would rather bicycle ten miles to get to school everyday then feel like an Other, a constant target for the dominant Gaze.

I'm moving tomorrow into a house in East Van with other queer people. When I told my current housemates the location of the house, they said "Oh yeah, that seems better for you". I couldn't agree more.

A son for each of us

I have just recently arrived in Vancouver, BC, having left behind familiarity, friendships, love, and a sense of security. Why did I leave Seattle to become an ex-patriot? Well, I am here to learn. After a three-year hiatus from academia (during which I engaged in much different pursuits), I am making a somewhat shaky return. Next week I start a Masters program at the University of British Columbia in Sociology with a concentration in Gender and Sexuality.

Asking questions is a central tenant of research. Maybe that is why I have been thinking about the four sons so much recently. However, it could just be because it is one of my favorite passages from the Haggadah. That is also probably a result of the fact that I had to read it every year since I learned to read. The story of the four sons is read on Passover, and it is supposed to be read by the youngest (literate) person at the table. It tells of a wise son, wicked son, simple son, and son who does not yet know enough to ask a question. These sons are representative of different ideologies in Judaism. As a kid, I did not know this. Still, it was an intriguing passage for me simply because of the wicked son, who asks the father "Why did God spare you in Egypt?" The wicked child clearly does not include himself in the Jewish people, judging by his use of 'you' instead of 'us'. Thus, the father is supposed to respond harshly by blunting his teeth and telling him that if he had been Egypt during the time of the Pharaoh, God would not have spared him.

Well, damn. That is a harsh response. Especially for a child. Especially given the fact that the father does not first talk with his son in order to better understand him. Was the kid really trying to separate himself from the rest of the Jewish people? Maybe, maybe not. And if so, is eternal damnation the way to get him to come around to his faith? Um, maybe. Maybe not.

I don't study religion. At all. But I read this passage out loud to a table of conservative Jews every year for about a decade. It never sat right with me. Sometimes I laughed because I found it so ridiculous. Now I kind of like it because the urgent fear that the father responds with represents the power of a question. Way to go, wicked child. Challenge it all with a question.

That is the tone I would like for this blog- challenge it all with a question. A question can take many forms. Sometimes a question is words, sometimes it's a photograph, sometimes it's a choice, sometimes it's a body. I will use this blog to engage with my experiences here in Vancouver, exploring a new city while asking questions.