post-travel entry: tram ride

Tram Ride in San Francisco

Stretching straight out, then curves. Pairs of parallel metal furrows that intersect each other, spread like spider webs upon the streets of San Francisco. We wondered what those were, hopping on and off the lines until a boxcar full of people chugged along, ringing a cacophony of bells and nearly ran us down. That’s probably the first time I came across tramway, or cable cars, according to local language.

Two days before the end of Vision Trip, after paying a visit to the Stanford University, we, the 18^th wave Vision Trip team which visited the USA, took the bus to San Francisco for a good two hours simply to ride the tram. We got off the bus at a wide square floored by tiles, where there were people wearing sunglasses passing by, a set of cylindrical restrooms, and a gigantic rotating disc which was sending trams back the way they came from. Surrounding the disc was an iron fence where people lined up for the tram, and so did we.

While we were absent-mindedly expecting for the next tram to arrive, a street musician came into sight. He was an African-American who was as tall as a tree next to him, fixating a smile upon his face, and had the typical African-American accent, something like a slurred staccato. He was a friendly man, singing us his own improvised blues song which went, “I wanna ride the cable car”. We had a fun time waiting for the tram with him, singing along and dancing Psy’s Gangnam Style together. It took about fifteen minutes for the next vacant tram to come up, and we each dumped some dollars in a vuvuzela in front of him which had a red post-it saying “Thank you” stuck on it.

The tram had two compartments, one covered by windows and the other totally open. On the latter compartment, there were two benches placed in opposite directions and a plank outside the car with five bars which each bar could take care of maximum two people. Between the benches, motors and gears propelling the tram were visible on the surface of the compartment. They sounded too brutal; it wasn’t that fun to imagine what would happen if something fell right among the cold, barbaric gears.

The tram ride, if to give a one-word summary, was awesome. Great. Maybe supreme too. It was like riding a slow roller coaster, but only except that you could actually savor the Californian streets and have enough time to appreciate them. Wind clapped my face as the tram bore into it. Behind me, the driver was ringing the bells which added to the rhythm. The sky was watercolor-blue and houses that looked like packs of cigarettes were orderly lined up along the coast. Everything, the weather, the landscape, was so nice- we all agreed that we could’ve stayed on the tram for a few more hours only if it wasn’t for the schedule we had after San Francisco. I was one of the people standing up and cherishing the bliss of fresh Californian wind. I had both of my hands open in the air, and the tram ride- San Francisco- was worth the risk. And everyone felt so reluctant about getting off the tram, after the ride that seemed too short.

metaphors

Choice is an iceberg. It's a matter of seconds to choose your fate, and whether you choose to go around the iceberg safely or to strike right into it, it's up to you. Also, what you see isn't everything- there's much more beneath it and one should be fully considerate when making choices.

Hope is a set of magnets that pull each other. Wherever you are, you pull hope for better.

   

Anxiety is a lollipop. Anxiety might be as big as a huge, round lollipop and seem impossible to grow out of it. However, as you lick a lollipop, it shrinks away. Anxiety, just like lollipops, melts away little by little as time passes and as you adapt in a new environment.

My life is a night sky that makes the lights seem brighter than in daytime. The shimmering lights are like the talents I acquire, but when my life is a bright, watercolor blue sky, those do not show up so significantly. However, when my life turns into a night sky, my talents appear and shine as if being a spotlight. Bright, blue skies are the days when I’m working myself to get in the spotlight, and night skies with shimmering lights are the days when I am in the spotlight, with my talents blinking with confidence.

a Writing about Writing about a Writing about Nacirema

americanacirema

After paying a quick glimpse at Body Ritual among the Nacirema by Horace Miner, my immediate response was neither very bright nor positive. It was near shock with the thought of, “They are weird!” which didn’t change much even after a few more tries on the piece. At first sight, the Naciremas were this primitive, barbaric tribe in which the people’s rights weren’t even guaranteed. I made comparisons between the Naciremas and the Mayan Civilization, arguing that they were similar in terms of how they’ve held such barbaric rituals and which inflicts pain to people. I had thought that it was pretty intriguing to have two distinct tribes, which has similar lifestyles, to arise in similar geographic locations.

The article was convincing enough to fool all of my peers into thinking that the Naciremas is a distinct tribe that we never heard or know of. It sure had an academic tone, rich fluency, and those sophisticated, big SAT vocabularies studded in between sentences. Everyone seemed to be flabbergasted at the difficulty of the text, and had no time to dwell on each terms’ meaning that were frequently given hints of because we were all too busy reading and processing the packs of information hurled at us at once.

And the night before I walked into Mr. Menard’s writing class again, when I had just snuggled into bed, the Naciremas suddenly came up in mind. I decided to hold a research on them, and found out what this article was really about. I went through the article again with such knowledge, and everything made so much sense.

Had this article written in norms, using familiar words such as “American”, “hospital”, “Washington”, or “getting one’s hair done”, it wouldn’t have been as catchy and mindboggling when Miner’s intentions in writing this were revealed. Because there were terms I never thought I’d come across, I was able to have a more objective view on the everyday environment I’m living in, and it was interesting to think that this is what Indians would have thought of my everyday life to be when I was living in India. I guess language and tone plays a big role in how the essay could be perceived by other people. Also I thought that all those weird stories we hear about other civilizations: how weird they act and what weird things they do, those aren’t as weird for them as for us. The Mayans’ human sacrifice, or the gladiators of Rome? Just like the Nacirema, it would be beautifully normal for them to do those “unusual” activities.

After having the moment of epiphany regarding the true meaning of this article, I was shocked, again. It wasn’t because of the Naciremas’ cruelty, but because I came across this really new kind of writing style. I’ve always wanted to incorporate such sarcasm and wit (smrt) in my writings which I’ve always failed. By writing this article, Miner caught two rabbits at once: mocking the American civilization by his satirical writing, and providing a new view on how writing can effectively affect its readers, which are the intrinsic values of this piece.