Flashing Palely in the Margins
Being alive is a wonderful thing
A few weeks ago, I had a small medical procedure that ended up addressing a relatively major medical issue that I did not know I had until the procedure.
I’m okay now, and feeling pretty great, so there’s no need to worry, but I will admit that I was, for a short while when I was on the surgical table, deeply concerned for what this all would mean for my life ahead of me.
What it does mean is that I’ll have to make some lifestyle changes: eat better, exercise more, the usual. I’ll probably have to take some new medication. But mostly, it means that I have to grapple with the fact that I’m not invincible—that my body is fallible, and I can’t depend on coasting by if I want to stay healthy.
We all know we’re going to die one day, but we don’t always have to face our mortality in our everyday lives. Having a reminder that, if you don’t get the right medical (and non-medical) interventions, your life could be in danger, is sobering and a bit devastating.
So that’s my headspace right now: coming to terms with my fallibility, my mortality, and my need to take steps to stay healthy. It’s a weird space to be in, but I’m taking solace in knowing that, for now, I’m safe and doing okay. And that I’m surrounded by people who remind me that being alive is a wonderful thing,
A poem
Old Song
Nima Hasan
translated by Huda Fakhreddine
“I love you” is enough.
A longer phrase requires sprawling walls, refugee camps,
and a girl with braids long as wheat fields,
a candy swirl the color of a rainbow cloud
between her fingers.
A longer phrase requires a season
when sugarcane grows.
“I love you” is enough,
so write it then,
on a large piece of cloth,
to sustain the mosque-goers,
those servants of the Merciful,
and the peddlers of sweetened drinks.
“I love you” will become a litany
for the ruined street.
All will recite it,
the loose tobacco seller,
the flour thief,
and for those who own
a loaf of bread,
an empty bullet,
and a donkey with a broken cart.
I will also provide you another list–
the names of those who were killed,
those who left the city without “I love you,”
those who breathed through stuffed holes,
longed for a trace of perfume
in a smuggled bottle.
See there, the checkpoints are opening their arms.
I love you–
say it again
like a rebel
or a soldier
who misread the map.
Mothers are searching for henna,
for the Zawiya market,
for the țasht of dough in the darkness of tents.
I love you–
say it again.
Give an old song
a chance to explain itself.
A white strand of hair
will light your path.
A lantern,
a sprig of basil,
and a country
that walks alone
without losing its way
will then be yours.
I love you–
Force the city to hear it out loud.
Doesn’t the tribal code grant men a minaret?
Then raise your voice to the greater one,
before sin falls and the last leaf drops.
Shadows betray their trees,
their heads bare,
their necks a guide for the hungry.
This fear–burn it.
And squeeze the mothers’ breasts,
mix their milk with the fig’s.
Let the child grow wild and strong.
Let him collect his baby teeth
behind pursed lips
and swallow the tumbling words,
before he speaks them
in a fit of tears.
I love you–
until the child cries himself to sleep.
Throw your instincts wide open.
Summon the notary
before he swears the oath,
and leave all your inheritance
to a man who waged a war
he had nothing to do with,
a man who called out across the land:
“I love you,”
and then set all the gardens ablaze.
Read the powerful and important note from the translator here on LitHub.
Some links
A reminder for, and from, for all of us who make and write websites without AI because we care about the work we do and the people who read our work: This website is for humans:
I write the content on this website for people, not robots. I’m sharing my opinions and experiences so that you might identify with them and learn from them. I’m writing about things I care about because I like sharing and I like teaching. I spend hours writing these posts and AI spends seconds summarising them.
Part of the reason I picked working in tech in the public service over the private sector was because I didn’t want to work on things that would make the world worse. Mike Monteiro (once again) hits the nail on the head: How to not build the Torment Nexus:
Your soul will not remain intact while you’re building software that keeps track of undocumented workers. Your soul will not remain intact while building surveillance software whose footage companies hand over to ICE. Your soul will not remain intact while you build software that allows disinformation to spark genocides. Your soul will not remain intact while you hoover up artists’ work to train theft-engines that poison the water of communities in need. Your soul will eventually turn into another thing altogether. An indescribable thing.
On the death of daydreaming—and the death of, in general, just being bored and idle:
We enjoy the efficiencies and distractions technology brings, but they leave us less skilled at patience. They teach us to value efficiency above all and to be suspicious of idle time, when we should see idle moments as opportunities for reflection and renewal.
We have all been reduced to a series of numbers and metrics (this passage on job hunting really hit home for me right now):
Back to your job search. You swim through the sea of sponsored content and find a few jobs worth applying to. Large companies today typically use computer programs to handle the mass of applications they receive. Some rate how well applicants match the positions being applied to, and some rank applicants to save recruiters the time and trouble of doing so manually. You are once again reduced to a number. It would be nice to know what keywords you should include, and what experiences to highlight, to increase your odds of receiving a favorable number. But don’t expect the cold, calculating algorithms to provide you with any helpful feedback. They are programmed to maximize efficiency, not humanity.
“The more I heal, the less ambitious I become.” I love this idea of leading with audacity rather than focusing on being ambitious. Really resonated with the way I want to live my life.
Of interest for anyone working to build technology for the public good: the end of civic tech’s interface era.
Toronto is looking for a new director of parks and recreation, and while it does that, the University of Toronto’s Centre for Landscape Research has posited some ideas on how to revitalize parks and park culture in the city. I’d argue that a lot of these ideas could be applied to any city — especially my current home of London — that wants to make parks a more central part of how people live and interact with the city.
In defense — or more accurately, in advocacy of — the traditional arts review, at a time when most news outlets seem to be trying to get rid of them.
Reviews, far from being conservative, are the most inherently progressive mode of arts writing. When writing reviews, critics are in the position of the public: watching a movie, attending a concert, seeing a play, buying a record. Reviews are rooted in the most fundamental unit of the art business–the personal encounter with individual works (or exhibits of many works)–and in the economic implications of that encounter. The specificity of the review is both aesthetic and social.
An interesting idea: using your LinkedIn profile as a way to rate and review the places you’ve worked, rather than simply chronicle what you’ve done.
Turns out that a good chunk of the worms people use for fishing across the continent come from Southwestern Ontario, and the worm-picking industry here is under threat from economic, political, and climate pressures.
Adam Aaronson drank every cocktail in the world — at least, all of them listed in the International Bartender’s Association’s list of official cocktails — and the story of his journey on this endeavour is a treat to read.
An incredibly well-researched, in-depth look at MAID in Canada, the people who are involved in it, and where it can go from here.
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