Its no secret that I have various political stances on many different issues, some of which overlap or vary in philosophy. However, this is not a criticism of particular political opinions, but rather a commentary on what makes any political opinion valid, or at least worthy of respect or discussion.
1. It must be an educated, rational opinion. “Because I say so”; or, rather, “Because the Bible says so” is unacceptable and idiotic. Again, this is not an attack on any particular religion, but the dogma that accompanies a lack of separation of religion and state. Your Bible is not mine.
2. It must reflect a constituent body that shares your political opinion. Politics is not about two people arguing about who’s more right/wrong; its about the policies and methods that we use to govern ourselves and how it affects the people around us; similarly, this is why I believe that un-empirical, a priori ideology also fails.
3. It must prove, to a certain degree, that their particular stance is the one that is best and most valid for the purposes of serving their constituent body. (To me, that means an American political opinion must prove itself to be the one that serves AMERICANS the best, a tricky parameter when people’s opinions of what it means to be American are vastly, vastly different)
4. Finally, and most relevant to my recent personal attacks, they must remain disengaged from yourself or the personal characteristics of the person you debate against. The validity of a political opinion is primarily founded on educated, rational, empirical and thoughtful reflection on the state of affairs. When a political debate becomes a personal attack, the aggressors’ opinion instantly becomes invalidated because of this obvious, apparent weakness in rationality. If you have been reduced to personal insult and degradation to attempt to prove your point is better than mine, you’ve ultimately hammered the last nail on your coffin, and effectively made yourself sound like a total prick who isn’t smart enough to actually come up with any valid, true assertions.
So thank you, sir/ma’am (although I fear for your future if you’re a woman), for further validating my political stances. Its been with great pleasure that I receive your childish insults, because it makes me feel smarter and better informed than you.
And if anyone has any true political opinion they would like to share or discuss with me, I would be more than happy to talk to you on a respectful, academic platform.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Cultural Self-Degradation
I fucking hate kids who think they’re the shit because they don’t hang out with members of their own cultural community, as though hanging out with white kids and being the token asian/black/hispanic makes them cool by default. As though shame of not looking like the commercial American can be buried under a Jersey accent and Abercrombie shirts. As though their rejection of their own cultural background will help them integrate even better into the fabric of American society, ignorant of the fact that their background IS what makes them AMERICAN. As though ethnicity and identity is something you can dismiss and shed like a dirty, embarrassing outfit your parents dressed you up in and not the skin you wear for the rest of your life.
What makes me even more fucking angry is when they think that PARTAKING in the racial slurs and jokes that condemn and subjugate members of their own background- jokes based on ignorance they’re fully well aware of- will help them achieve solace in balancing two cultural identities. Or rather, the complete rejection of one through self-degradation. Well, it doesn’t. It makes you a fucking asshole and a real damn shame to the community and demographic you represent, whether you like it or not.
And what’s worst is, I know your family. I know your father and your mother and your little sisters, and they’re incredible and sweet and hope for the best for you, to see their son and brother to be a true asset to society and live a life they never could’ve achieved in their home country- a combination of their cultural values with the freedom and liberty of American society. They wanted the American dream for you.
I hope you know your self-degradation is what perpetuates racism in this country. Because if you won’t defend your own self-worth and identity, who will?
What makes me even more fucking angry is when they think that PARTAKING in the racial slurs and jokes that condemn and subjugate members of their own background- jokes based on ignorance they’re fully well aware of- will help them achieve solace in balancing two cultural identities. Or rather, the complete rejection of one through self-degradation. Well, it doesn’t. It makes you a fucking asshole and a real damn shame to the community and demographic you represent, whether you like it or not.
And what’s worst is, I know your family. I know your father and your mother and your little sisters, and they’re incredible and sweet and hope for the best for you, to see their son and brother to be a true asset to society and live a life they never could’ve achieved in their home country- a combination of their cultural values with the freedom and liberty of American society. They wanted the American dream for you.
I hope you know your self-degradation is what perpetuates racism in this country. Because if you won’t defend your own self-worth and identity, who will?
Sunday, January 2, 2011
2011
My annual new year posts, in the past, had always been anticipations of the following year, of high expectations and goals to be met with a fierce determination and unwavering focus. Every year, I knew what my next steps would be: proving my own worth to myself my freshman year (met through pledging and crossing aKDPhi and winning Programming Chair of RCC); then conquering my posts as an AACC Junior intern, RCC VP External, and aKDPhi sister my sophomore year; and finally, fulfilling my high expectations as AACC Intern, RCC President, and aKDPhi Pledge Mom my junior year. And every year, I was grateful and humbled by the love and support of the people around me, whose strength, faith, and simple presence in my life made this juggle bearable and possible.
This year is different. I look back at the past three years with a grim satisfaction of the culmination of my hard work, and with a deep appreciation for my friends and family, but I no longer know what my next steps are. I try to do all the right things- gaining internship experience, working part-time as a waitress to pay for rent, working on my grades to get them up to par; but for what? What ends do the merits of my hard work achieve, and for what purpose? So I can sit at a tiny desk in the UN, hoping to save the world one file at a time? So I can work for some publications/news/journalism giant, grabbing coffee for Katie Couric's assistant's assistant? And I only realize now, the direction my pursuits have taken me towards...
I am still naive. I still believe and hope that I can save the world from itself; only now, instead of saving it one child at a time, by going into the world of international human rights and political advocacy. Except I fear that the latter is much more futile than the former. And I wonder whether that makes all of my hard work futile by relation.
This year is different. I look back at the past three years with a grim satisfaction of the culmination of my hard work, and with a deep appreciation for my friends and family, but I no longer know what my next steps are. I try to do all the right things- gaining internship experience, working part-time as a waitress to pay for rent, working on my grades to get them up to par; but for what? What ends do the merits of my hard work achieve, and for what purpose? So I can sit at a tiny desk in the UN, hoping to save the world one file at a time? So I can work for some publications/news/journalism giant, grabbing coffee for Katie Couric's assistant's assistant? And I only realize now, the direction my pursuits have taken me towards...
I am still naive. I still believe and hope that I can save the world from itself; only now, instead of saving it one child at a time, by going into the world of international human rights and political advocacy. Except I fear that the latter is much more futile than the former. And I wonder whether that makes all of my hard work futile by relation.
Dreams Deferred
I ran into an old student of mine from Chinese school today at dinner with my family. I had taught Kindergarten for three years, and had him when he was five; now, at 13 and a full 8 years later, I barely recognized him. He was one of the first set of many children I would teach over the course of my high school career - I was only 14 when I first taught him, and I saved the little drawings he made for me, still taped on the wall in the corner of my room. It was a revelation to see him today, so grown up, and even more of a shocker when he shyly came up to me and asked for my facebook(!! of all things!!).
The encounter reminded me of the passion I once harbored for teaching and working with children; nearly every job I took in high school involved teaching kids. In addition to weekly Chinese school classes, I taught taekwondo children's beginner and advanced two times a week, guppy swimming 3 times a week, and worked as a swim camp counselor for a summer. I loved every minute of it, and damnit, I was good at it. I had a quiet patience for the naughtiest of children, an ironic contrast to the low tolerance I have for ill-behaved kids my age; I saw these kids, and overcoming their difficulties and barriers and winning their love and respect, as the ultimate mark of my capabilities as a teacher. Much more than that, I hoped to touch their hearts and minds and gain some insight into the ways in which their innocent eyes perceived, understood, and responded to the world, a fascination that led me into the field of child and developmental psychology. I had grand dreams that years later, they would still remember me as "Ali jie jie" (big sister Ali), the teacher that they shared a mutual adoration and respect for/with.
Today, I'm just relieved that he still recognizes me. When Daniel peered into my face as I asked him playfully in Cantonese "Don't you remember/recognize me?", he replies, "Yes, but you look very different now." I realized that the changes we've both endured. He is no longer the affectionate, witty five-year-old that drew me a portrait of my 14-year-old self dunking a basketball with a giant heart tattoo on my forehead (a portrait I take as a high compliment). And I am no longer that naive, optimistic 14-year-old with my pursuit of a simple passion for teaching.
What happened to this deep passion? At what point did this dream of being a child psychologist and teacher get pushed aside for a more "pragmatic" and "practical" occupation? Why did I let this dream, which could've made me so happy, slip away? And how did politics- the very opposite of the traits I'd admired in children (honesty, frankness, an open soul and mind to the world worth interpreting and probing), become the very thing I look to be involved with?
The encounter reminded me of the passion I once harbored for teaching and working with children; nearly every job I took in high school involved teaching kids. In addition to weekly Chinese school classes, I taught taekwondo children's beginner and advanced two times a week, guppy swimming 3 times a week, and worked as a swim camp counselor for a summer. I loved every minute of it, and damnit, I was good at it. I had a quiet patience for the naughtiest of children, an ironic contrast to the low tolerance I have for ill-behaved kids my age; I saw these kids, and overcoming their difficulties and barriers and winning their love and respect, as the ultimate mark of my capabilities as a teacher. Much more than that, I hoped to touch their hearts and minds and gain some insight into the ways in which their innocent eyes perceived, understood, and responded to the world, a fascination that led me into the field of child and developmental psychology. I had grand dreams that years later, they would still remember me as "Ali jie jie" (big sister Ali), the teacher that they shared a mutual adoration and respect for/with.
Today, I'm just relieved that he still recognizes me. When Daniel peered into my face as I asked him playfully in Cantonese "Don't you remember/recognize me?", he replies, "Yes, but you look very different now." I realized that the changes we've both endured. He is no longer the affectionate, witty five-year-old that drew me a portrait of my 14-year-old self dunking a basketball with a giant heart tattoo on my forehead (a portrait I take as a high compliment). And I am no longer that naive, optimistic 14-year-old with my pursuit of a simple passion for teaching.
What happened to this deep passion? At what point did this dream of being a child psychologist and teacher get pushed aside for a more "pragmatic" and "practical" occupation? Why did I let this dream, which could've made me so happy, slip away? And how did politics- the very opposite of the traits I'd admired in children (honesty, frankness, an open soul and mind to the world worth interpreting and probing), become the very thing I look to be involved with?
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Size Medium
For Christmas, my sister got me our traditional present - VS Pink undies (for kicks and for practicality; I don’t get to do laundry much at school -__-). My heart skipped a beat and then sank when I saw the tag label - a tiny embossed “M” at the end of the pink tag.
Why should I be so bothered by the size? I’ve always known that I have a big booty for an Asian girl; heck, I’m bigger on almost all areas for an Asian girl! My sisters have always commented on my ‘donk, giving a playful slap for good measure now and then; but always reassuring me that it was a good thing to have a big butt (compliments I’m, to be honest, rather reluctant to believe, although I know they come from a good place). But I realize now that what I had a problem with was not the size of my butt, but with the fact that any part of my body was no longer a size “S”.
And what’s so wrong with no longer being a small? Growing up, I’ve had my thin moments, but they’ve always been just that - moments. I’ve always pursued my avid love for food, and while I’ve never been outright fat, I was always my mom’s “siew boon” - little fatty (it’s alot more affectionate-sounding in Cantonese, I swear!). But I have always been healthy. and always happy with how I looked, whether that came from self-ignorance or heightened self- awareness, I’m never quite sure.
I will never be built like a dancer- like Natalie Portman or Keira Knightley with bones as delicate as a bird’s- because I have never been a dancer. I will always be built like the fighter I grew up training as, with defined muscular legs, strong arms and pecs and shoulders, and yes, a bit of a belly because - lets face it, if you spent all day in a taekwondo dojangg training, you’d be pigging out when you got home too. But I’m proud of these muscles that have carried me so far, of these legs that seemed to never lose their strength even when college threatened their demise, of the scars and cuts and bruises I wore like badges on my knees and elbows at school, prizes and battle scars won from sweat and hard work.
Those days are rather far behind me now, and I admit that I could really use some serious training time at a dojangg. But I also have decided to embrace my big ass - because I am already not a size small. I am 5’ 6”, and 127lbs (124 on a good day). I have relatively slim, strong arms and legs, chubby face, small boobs, big belly, and even bigger butt. And it’s time for me to stop chasing numbers and embossed letter sizes, and get back to the old, proud ME. Even if that’s a Size Medium.
Why should I be so bothered by the size? I’ve always known that I have a big booty for an Asian girl; heck, I’m bigger on almost all areas for an Asian girl! My sisters have always commented on my ‘donk, giving a playful slap for good measure now and then; but always reassuring me that it was a good thing to have a big butt (compliments I’m, to be honest, rather reluctant to believe, although I know they come from a good place). But I realize now that what I had a problem with was not the size of my butt, but with the fact that any part of my body was no longer a size “S”.
And what’s so wrong with no longer being a small? Growing up, I’ve had my thin moments, but they’ve always been just that - moments. I’ve always pursued my avid love for food, and while I’ve never been outright fat, I was always my mom’s “siew boon” - little fatty (it’s alot more affectionate-sounding in Cantonese, I swear!). But I have always been healthy. and always happy with how I looked, whether that came from self-ignorance or heightened self- awareness, I’m never quite sure.
I will never be built like a dancer- like Natalie Portman or Keira Knightley with bones as delicate as a bird’s- because I have never been a dancer. I will always be built like the fighter I grew up training as, with defined muscular legs, strong arms and pecs and shoulders, and yes, a bit of a belly because - lets face it, if you spent all day in a taekwondo dojangg training, you’d be pigging out when you got home too. But I’m proud of these muscles that have carried me so far, of these legs that seemed to never lose their strength even when college threatened their demise, of the scars and cuts and bruises I wore like badges on my knees and elbows at school, prizes and battle scars won from sweat and hard work.
Those days are rather far behind me now, and I admit that I could really use some serious training time at a dojangg. But I also have decided to embrace my big ass - because I am already not a size small. I am 5’ 6”, and 127lbs (124 on a good day). I have relatively slim, strong arms and legs, chubby face, small boobs, big belly, and even bigger butt. And it’s time for me to stop chasing numbers and embossed letter sizes, and get back to the old, proud ME. Even if that’s a Size Medium.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Gratitude
I'll keep this short and simple, because I don't intend for this to be some sort of lengthy poetic narrative, but merely as a reminder of what I should remember every day of my life. And as a timestamp of the many many wonderful things I have to be grateful for in this 21st year of my life.
I am grateful for the never-ending guidance and support of my sisters: the love and humour and mental sympathy of the sisters I am currently active with; the worldly guidance, affection, and candid advice of the alums that see so much potential in me; and the colorful personalities, characters, and backgrounds of which they possess and come from that only serve to brighten my life.
I am grateful for a healthy and loving family: for a father, while stoic and difficult, shows his affection, dedication, wit, and love through his own stubborn ways; for a mother whose overbearing love permeates my heart and guides me towards being a better woman and daughter; for a brother that has served to be the greatest role model of all, showing that a huge heart and perseverance can overcome any obstacles life throws at you; and for a sister that has never needed words or additional explanation to look into the very core of me and know who I am, the pain I feel, and the instant love and sense of sympathy I find from just one look.
I am grateful for the boy who has loved me through all my faults, my stubbornness; who's seen right through my facades and attempts to be stoic and resistant. You've shown me that love cannot be dismissed or saved for later; its something we must treasure and appreciate right now, while it lasts. An amazing person and a truly good man (a rarity above all), I'm grateful to have you in my life.
I am grateful for the friends that have shown me such sincerity and care throughout these past couple weeks; who, despite having exchanged few words in real life, have never hesitated to offer me a kind word or encouraging post. Yes, I am talking about you!
And finally, I am grateful for the opportunity at a bright future - for a chance at success that is both at once frightening and liberating. The world is mine for the taking, and I plan on taking it by storm. I cannot let all the people above me down; this is my exchange for my gratitude.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Books I have read, and plan on reading:
1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy longest summer of my life!!
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker ;)
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazu Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Last class registration at Rutgers. Ever.
When did time fly by so quickly? When did life get so complicated, and feel so grown-up and troubled? The realities of age has hit me like a brick this semester, and can’t say that I’m taking it well. I’ve always been self-sufficient and confident, but as the prospects of graduation draws nearer, and old age begins to affect my loved ones, I begin to realize the magnitude of the responsibilities that I’m about to undertake within the next year.
I logged into Degree Navigator today, and clicked through all of my programs.
SAS Requirements Completed: 5 of 5
Communications Requirements Completed: 5 of 6
Psychology Requirements Completed: 6 of 7
Philosophy Requirements Completed: 1 of 1
After this point, there will be no checklist to fulfill, no completion of requirements that will dictate when one chapter of our life will end and when the next begins. I’ve always been a devoted rule-follower, the best at looking forward at my next goal and completing it with passion and focus. But what’s in store for me next? What should my next steps be, and which way do I go? And why do I feel as though, despite my confidence and self-esteem, I am the only one so lost? Do I take the direction of nonprofit, and pursue my passions in political and social work? Do I go for the security of Public Relations, something I know I will excel in but have no particular interest for? Or do I stay in the world of academia, an environment reassuring and comforting to me, but makes me claustrophobic and sheltered? And what about my original passion in Child Psychology?
I logged into Degree Navigator today, and clicked through all of my programs.
SAS Requirements Completed: 5 of 5
Communications Requirements Completed: 5 of 6
Psychology Requirements Completed: 6 of 7
Philosophy Requirements Completed: 1 of 1
After this point, there will be no checklist to fulfill, no completion of requirements that will dictate when one chapter of our life will end and when the next begins. I’ve always been a devoted rule-follower, the best at looking forward at my next goal and completing it with passion and focus. But what’s in store for me next? What should my next steps be, and which way do I go? And why do I feel as though, despite my confidence and self-esteem, I am the only one so lost? Do I take the direction of nonprofit, and pursue my passions in political and social work? Do I go for the security of Public Relations, something I know I will excel in but have no particular interest for? Or do I stay in the world of academia, an environment reassuring and comforting to me, but makes me claustrophobic and sheltered? And what about my original passion in Child Psychology?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The Sublimity of Cetrella
Sublimity is an all-encompassing word used to describe the emotionally appealing and moving power of a particular noun (thing, person, place); regardless of the context with which it is used, sublimity has always referred to the divinity a thing can encompass. In Longinus’ definition of sublimity, he uses the term to describe the higher elevated thought or language, often used to describe rhetoric and the awe-inspiring or persuasive power of a discourse or text. But in my usage, I will use the definition of sublimity in reference to the loftiness or aesthetic elevation of a particular place or thing; in particular, of a place that has achieved such an inspiring and timeless aura and experience that could transcend any rift of language or philosophy or time. This is in reference to Immanuel Kant’s understanding of sublime – that sublimity is to be found in a formless object, unable to be replicated or shaped by any effort but sublime of its own accord and in its very existence.
I have found a place that has fit this definition, ironically, in a place surrounded and contained by materialism and expensively quantified, capitalistic lifestyles that attempt to cultivate the beautiful in imitation of sublimity, but not quite reaching it. It is so well hidden that it has retained its ethereal quality; in fact, we did not search for it but rather stumbled into it, with a guide that fit the exact caregiver of such a sublime place.
To begin understanding why I chose this place as the subject of sublimity, I will first explain the circumstances that brought me there in the first place. The location of the sublime, a valley in the heart of Capri called Cetrella, can only be accessed by taking the single-person cable car up to the highest peak of the island, and then choosing to take the rocky dirt road down instead of the 10 minute cable car ride back. It is because of this that it is so carefully guarded; the 4 mile steep hike back into Anacapri is no mean feat, and so mostly avoided by those not daring or motivated enough to see the entirety of the island. My group of friends and I begin the hike wearily, only to run into an old Italian/German gentleman that communicates with us through hand gestures, and waves for us to follow him. I guessed his age to be around the 70s, judging from the wiry health of his body and the way he gracefully and expertly maneuvers through the rocky dirt paths, a string of kids a quarter of his age tripping along behind him (we later find out he is close to 90 years old). The road forks, and he leads us down (literally) the road less traveled, a narrow dirt pathway with ribs of tree roots threatening our ankles (I have a splinter as proof) until we reach a clearing with a workshop and, in the distance, the whitewashed domed cap of a church in the distance. Next to the workshop, a terrace is perched precariously on the edge of the cliff, and the gentleman sits us down and yells through the workshop doors, procuring a band of sweaty, middle-aged Italian men from its depths. (The view from the terrace, as well as the site of the clearing and workshop and church itself, as a part of the sublimity of the experience, but more of that later.) They pull chairs and tables and a tablecloth onto the terrace, and then the parade of food begins – a full five course meal, complete with wine, water, and coffee. It’s hospitality that we’re unaccustomed to, and we’re wary of their kindness, but the appeal of the food and the view overpowers us, and we dive in after some hesitation. One of the workmen, in broken English, explains to us who they are and what was this place tucked away in the heart of Capri: the men were part of a society called “Amici di Cetrella”, and they were a group, lead by Antonino (our gentleman guide!) to preserve this valley of Cetrella from the commercialism that the rest of the island had been overtaken with. The land that the terrace, clearing, church, workshop, and a nearby home (that had been transformed into a museum by the society) sat on had been under speculation to be completely mowed over and replaced by a golf course, another by-product of the capitalism that ran the popular vacation spot for the wealthy. Since this speculation, the organization teamed up with locals and the government to fight such attempts to commercialize this last natural gem of Capri; now, the property is carefully managed and kept by the men in the workshop, who work there once a week every summer to repair the foundation and walls of the church, workshop, and museum. We had managed to call on them right after their afternoon meal, and were thereby rewarded with the surplus of their lunch – one of the most delicious meals and wonderful dining experiences I had ever experienced. After our meal, Antonino, our elderly guide, takes care to lead us through a winding path up to the church, behind the church doors and into the basement, where some men reside (their relation to the church was unexplained, but it can be assumed that they are the caretakers or pastors of the church). He explains in hand gestures and repetitive Italian that he had been the one who repaired the crumbling foundation of the church over 25 years ago. There is more to this story, but this description alone is sufficient to begin understanding the sublimity of this place and the experience that brought us there.
The location of Cetrella, as mentioned previously, is nestled in the heart of Capri, a thousand meters up a precarious slope from Anacapri and down an equally precarious path from the peak of the island. The location is key to the sublimity of Cetrella; where the island is marked in time by the commercialism of its tourists and inhabitants, transformed by the wealth of its patrons into a bustling, haughty, narcissistic playground of the elite, Cetrella remains timeless and preserved in a veil of careful seclusion. Without this seclusion, the rarity and magnitude of which its inhabitants, views, and emotional appeal embody would be merely beautiful but not precious or as awe-inspiring. Sublimity can only work if it can induce an emotional response from the onlooker by introducing a remarkable thing that has never been seen before, or can be replicated to be seen somewhere else; the experience of taking in the sublime must exist only in that experience, at that place and nowhere else.
The motivation of the men is also central to the sublimity of the place. Longinus argues that the ethical qualities of the subject of sublimity are key to the magnitude and aesthetic gravity the sublime object holds. Because the “Amici di Cetrella” are attempting to preserve the perfect, untouched and simple beauty of the land from the capitalism that would undoubtedly manipulate it into another product of wealth and class order, they recognize the sublime quality of the land that should not be eradicated. As Kant believed, the sublime is simple and sacred; it can not be manipulated and cultivated for any other purpose than to further its sublimity and the appreciation of it, or it will lose its awe-inducing power. Because this type of qualification of the sublime does not fall under the capitalistic measurement of a thing, the sublimity of it cannot be furthered by capitalism (which aims only to make profit out of its qualified goods). Furthermore, the hospitality and open arms with which we were received, and the generosity of the organization is only further elucidation to the sublime quality of their ungreedy personalities and what Aristotle would refer to as their “divine souls”. The sublime beauty of the valley itself would no longer exist without the morality and good hearts of these men, and so they too are part of the sublime quality of Cetrella.
Finally, it is the site itself and the view it offers that is the most awe-inspiring of all the qualities of the sublime. The terrace, as well as the back of the church, looks out over the aqua-blue waters of the ocean punctuated by the craggy cliffs, rocks, and streaks of white foam speedboats leave behind as they cut through the water. Anacapri can be seen if you climb the sloping stairs to the east side of the church, but aside from the occasional speedboat, one can easily imagine himself in a place completely uninhabited and untouched by man. The site itself looks like a description right out of “Anne of Green Gables”, all filtered rays of light beaming through flowering branches and strands of grass spilling out and tripping you on the fine dirt trails. The freedom and liberty of the land that allows it to take its natural shape means that it is naturally sublime and not shaped and cultivated – sublimity cannot be artificially or premeditatively created, as demonstrated by Cetrella. It has a (physical and aesthetic)loftiness or greatness that can attempt to be imitated by others, attempted to be encapsulated in photographs but the experience with which it comes with can never be duplicated.
This is the sublimity of Cetrella.
I have found a place that has fit this definition, ironically, in a place surrounded and contained by materialism and expensively quantified, capitalistic lifestyles that attempt to cultivate the beautiful in imitation of sublimity, but not quite reaching it. It is so well hidden that it has retained its ethereal quality; in fact, we did not search for it but rather stumbled into it, with a guide that fit the exact caregiver of such a sublime place.
To begin understanding why I chose this place as the subject of sublimity, I will first explain the circumstances that brought me there in the first place. The location of the sublime, a valley in the heart of Capri called Cetrella, can only be accessed by taking the single-person cable car up to the highest peak of the island, and then choosing to take the rocky dirt road down instead of the 10 minute cable car ride back. It is because of this that it is so carefully guarded; the 4 mile steep hike back into Anacapri is no mean feat, and so mostly avoided by those not daring or motivated enough to see the entirety of the island. My group of friends and I begin the hike wearily, only to run into an old Italian/German gentleman that communicates with us through hand gestures, and waves for us to follow him. I guessed his age to be around the 70s, judging from the wiry health of his body and the way he gracefully and expertly maneuvers through the rocky dirt paths, a string of kids a quarter of his age tripping along behind him (we later find out he is close to 90 years old). The road forks, and he leads us down (literally) the road less traveled, a narrow dirt pathway with ribs of tree roots threatening our ankles (I have a splinter as proof) until we reach a clearing with a workshop and, in the distance, the whitewashed domed cap of a church in the distance. Next to the workshop, a terrace is perched precariously on the edge of the cliff, and the gentleman sits us down and yells through the workshop doors, procuring a band of sweaty, middle-aged Italian men from its depths. (The view from the terrace, as well as the site of the clearing and workshop and church itself, as a part of the sublimity of the experience, but more of that later.) They pull chairs and tables and a tablecloth onto the terrace, and then the parade of food begins – a full five course meal, complete with wine, water, and coffee. It’s hospitality that we’re unaccustomed to, and we’re wary of their kindness, but the appeal of the food and the view overpowers us, and we dive in after some hesitation. One of the workmen, in broken English, explains to us who they are and what was this place tucked away in the heart of Capri: the men were part of a society called “Amici di Cetrella”, and they were a group, lead by Antonino (our gentleman guide!) to preserve this valley of Cetrella from the commercialism that the rest of the island had been overtaken with. The land that the terrace, clearing, church, workshop, and a nearby home (that had been transformed into a museum by the society) sat on had been under speculation to be completely mowed over and replaced by a golf course, another by-product of the capitalism that ran the popular vacation spot for the wealthy. Since this speculation, the organization teamed up with locals and the government to fight such attempts to commercialize this last natural gem of Capri; now, the property is carefully managed and kept by the men in the workshop, who work there once a week every summer to repair the foundation and walls of the church, workshop, and museum. We had managed to call on them right after their afternoon meal, and were thereby rewarded with the surplus of their lunch – one of the most delicious meals and wonderful dining experiences I had ever experienced. After our meal, Antonino, our elderly guide, takes care to lead us through a winding path up to the church, behind the church doors and into the basement, where some men reside (their relation to the church was unexplained, but it can be assumed that they are the caretakers or pastors of the church). He explains in hand gestures and repetitive Italian that he had been the one who repaired the crumbling foundation of the church over 25 years ago. There is more to this story, but this description alone is sufficient to begin understanding the sublimity of this place and the experience that brought us there.
The location of Cetrella, as mentioned previously, is nestled in the heart of Capri, a thousand meters up a precarious slope from Anacapri and down an equally precarious path from the peak of the island. The location is key to the sublimity of Cetrella; where the island is marked in time by the commercialism of its tourists and inhabitants, transformed by the wealth of its patrons into a bustling, haughty, narcissistic playground of the elite, Cetrella remains timeless and preserved in a veil of careful seclusion. Without this seclusion, the rarity and magnitude of which its inhabitants, views, and emotional appeal embody would be merely beautiful but not precious or as awe-inspiring. Sublimity can only work if it can induce an emotional response from the onlooker by introducing a remarkable thing that has never been seen before, or can be replicated to be seen somewhere else; the experience of taking in the sublime must exist only in that experience, at that place and nowhere else.
The motivation of the men is also central to the sublimity of the place. Longinus argues that the ethical qualities of the subject of sublimity are key to the magnitude and aesthetic gravity the sublime object holds. Because the “Amici di Cetrella” are attempting to preserve the perfect, untouched and simple beauty of the land from the capitalism that would undoubtedly manipulate it into another product of wealth and class order, they recognize the sublime quality of the land that should not be eradicated. As Kant believed, the sublime is simple and sacred; it can not be manipulated and cultivated for any other purpose than to further its sublimity and the appreciation of it, or it will lose its awe-inducing power. Because this type of qualification of the sublime does not fall under the capitalistic measurement of a thing, the sublimity of it cannot be furthered by capitalism (which aims only to make profit out of its qualified goods). Furthermore, the hospitality and open arms with which we were received, and the generosity of the organization is only further elucidation to the sublime quality of their ungreedy personalities and what Aristotle would refer to as their “divine souls”. The sublime beauty of the valley itself would no longer exist without the morality and good hearts of these men, and so they too are part of the sublime quality of Cetrella.
Finally, it is the site itself and the view it offers that is the most awe-inspiring of all the qualities of the sublime. The terrace, as well as the back of the church, looks out over the aqua-blue waters of the ocean punctuated by the craggy cliffs, rocks, and streaks of white foam speedboats leave behind as they cut through the water. Anacapri can be seen if you climb the sloping stairs to the east side of the church, but aside from the occasional speedboat, one can easily imagine himself in a place completely uninhabited and untouched by man. The site itself looks like a description right out of “Anne of Green Gables”, all filtered rays of light beaming through flowering branches and strands of grass spilling out and tripping you on the fine dirt trails. The freedom and liberty of the land that allows it to take its natural shape means that it is naturally sublime and not shaped and cultivated – sublimity cannot be artificially or premeditatively created, as demonstrated by Cetrella. It has a (physical and aesthetic)loftiness or greatness that can attempt to be imitated by others, attempted to be encapsulated in photographs but the experience with which it comes with can never be duplicated.
This is the sublimity of Cetrella.
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