Naturally, I'll Swerve to Avoid you

I've always wondered: why do people put so much effort into avoiding each other? This certainly isn't a universal thing, because in German and Turkey for instance, people would rather be close than anything else. Consider an empty classroom. You're the only one sitting in the room, and you're sitting on the far right front row. A Turkish or German citizen would sit right up next to you, preparing for oodles of others to swarm in the door, and not afraid to pop your personal bubble. An born-and-bred American, however, would sit as far away as possible, so as to preserve the untouched air around you, and himself. 

But it's not only classrooms in which we avoid each other, but on the streets as well. We matrix-dodge out of the way in order to avoid sleeves brushing sleeves, or avert our eyes if people are approaching, rather than send them a friendly smile. I suppose we think: why would I bother to look, let alone smile, at a person who I'll never see again? But if we thought this, wouldn't we also not bother to be polite to them, shoving them at our discretion? Perhaps it's not that we want to be polite, or the opposite, but that we don't want to acknowledge strangers at all. I suppose touching a person, making their transience tangible, makes them real to us, and perhaps, Americans, obsessed with their bubbles, hesitate to let others form within their realms of reality. 

In Berlin, I seek to discover whether or not this strange cultural difference is just that: simply a cultural difference, or something more-- an ideology perhaps, or a product of some sort of dogma. This study would most likely fall under some sort of sociological theme, or a theme about "personal borders."

Response to Ghosts of Berlin

I've been to Berlin twice, both with my sixth grade class and with my parents for a weekend, specifically to visit Christmas markets and become quickly fatter (to insulate ourselves for winter. It was simply the only option.) Therefore, I never really got to know Berlin's history, seeing as a sixth grader I was paying more attention to whether or not the boy I liked was looking at me rather than listening to the tour guide. Because of this, I really enjoyed The Ghosts of Berlin, mostly because much of it was new information. 

I was aware of some parts already though, including the death strip and the speed at which the wall emerged. It was interesting to read about Ladd's opinion, but of course kept my own. One thing that he said that made me question him, was that the German public wanted badly to forget the wall. Yes, granted, it was a terrible time in history. Why then, would the German public keep up a stretch of the wall? Yes, they want to forget the terror, but today, it has become beautiful. It has become representative of a triumph, of a community now unified, and of the artists who painted it so mockingly and powerfully. 

And if we assume that the Germans in fact are trying to forget the wall, or what the wall represented, we must acknowledge that this is impossible for them. Can Americans forget 9/11? Surely not. The Germans are bombarded by tourists ever drawing attention to the facade. and flooded with little "pieces of the wall" post cards that were surely just pieces of gravel from someone's driveway that had been slyly spray painted. It seems then, that while Ladd understood the German hurt, he did not understand the inevitability of the wall's infinite presence, both physically and metaphorically. 

The following are some fabulous images of my wall adventure. I'm not very good at this whole blog thing yet, or else they'd be placed in a much nicer fashion :) Enjoy!

The Bu-bulwark

I seized the opportunity of this assignment to visit a Pike Place monument of sorts that I had not yet had the-- shall we say, pleasure?-- of seeing. Ah, the gum wall. An excellent opportunity for a "bulwark" pun, and also, a beautiful collection of unity and public faux pas. 

As I approached the wall, I didn't feel disgusted, as I had expected I would. Mostly, I felt overwhelmed, and pleased. I happen to love color, and this wall was simply covered, amazingly artistically, in little blotches of individuality that together, created art. What was interesting about this wall though, is that it seems to elicit different reactions in people. Sadly not all of my friends found the wall to be such a visual treat. I brought three of my friends with me to see the wall, each of whom had a different opinion. My friend Jacob immediately said, "Guys, this is kind of disgusting." Mel said, "I'm pretty sure gum doesn't actually come in all these different colors." And Katie observed the wall with little verbal reaction, having seen it before. 

It seemed that Jacob couldn't see beyond the details-- the little specks of gum that were in all sorts of mouths, repulsed him. I really couldn't blame him. Gum dangled from ledges, squished together as if inventing new colors, and oozed off of the edifice.  I think I enjoyed it because I saw it as a whole, and thought, "God, how much gum IS that? Who the hell started this?" But Jacob helped me pick out the little things: plopped neatly in the center of the gum wall was the word "joy" made of green bubble gum. 

Perfect. What a fabulous description of what the wall made me feel. I couldn't help but wonder why, though. Why would gum, something tasty, yes, but generally unpleasant when not being eaten, bring people so much happiness? For one, it makes excellent tourist pictures. Also, I've mentioned unity. When I stuck my gum on the wall as high as I could jump, I felt like I was part of a community of sorts. Perhaps this wall isn't a barrier at all, but rather, it breaks down barriers between people. Though I've never met the gross majority of gum wall contributers, we're connected, somewhat literally, through gum. 

In a way, each little piece of gum is an individual, just like the people that pushed the gum into the wall. Like snowflakes, or fingerprints, no two gum pieces are alike. Yet, when combined, each little gum fingerprint makes the city of Seattle. 

It was also strange to me that the wall is somewhat difficult to find. Shrouded in a somewhat sketchy alleyway, one must seek it out to contribute. Certainly, to contribute to the wall, one must be motivated to do so. Even Jacob, a skittish and rather germaphobic fellow, pressed his gum into the layers and layers of past generations. 

Clearly, walls don't always have to be barriers, and naturally, vice versa. So, I feel that this wall is a perfect example of how some walls can bring togetherness, and, as a stranger so eloquently put it, "joy." 

First of all, I am giga-excited for Berlin. Yeah I lived in Germany and it was awesome, and so I'm sure many people wonder why on earth I'd want to go back rather than visit a country that I've never had the pleasure of visiting. The simple fact is, I am in love with Germany. There are so many things about it that I miss, and so many elements of the culture with which I identify. Also, the food is awesome.  I would probably dance naked in Red Square while spinning plates if it meant that I could have currywurst right now. I also miss and love Turkey. Since I lived there most recently, I always half expect to look out my window and see the dusty, perpetually under construction roads that used to weave around my house. To be honest, I really didn't want to leave Europe (well, Turkey WISHES it were Europe...) and come to America for college. I hadn't been there in like, eight years besides the occasional summer where I'd be trapped in my Grandma's cottage watching Gilligan's Island for three weeks and eating nothing but chocolate pudding and apple jacks. That was my image of America. 

Luckily, I was forced here because of the superior universities, and realized that it's quite the super country. What remains to be a slight problem for me is the fact that I don't fully identify with Americans, let alone any nationality. I mean, I'll occasionally pretend to be full German just to sound more exotic, but really, I'm cultureless. This, my metaphorical wall, prevents me from really having a home. 

Sure, this isn't too unfortunate of a bulwark (I'm very pleased that I got to use "bulwark" today), as I'm sure many would be pleased to have grown up as I have. I assure you, I appreciate every moment of my upbringing, but consider it to be just normal. I actually can't imagine having stayed in one place my whole life, and marvel at the fact that people in this school have known each other for years. The best I could hope for in my schools was two years of a shallow friendship and forced conformity brought on by the sheer tininess of my peer population. So, in some ways, I'm jealous of those who have had roots for life, and can call a place home. I expect that the longer I stay here, the more I'll adjust to America and stop J-walking constantly, start tipping higher, and stop pushing old ladies to get on buses, as was the only way to survive in Germany. Not surprisingly, I've fallen in love with Seattle, and can't wait to break down my wall and feel at home here.