These are selections from a letter that I wrote to my good friend. We have actually begun to correspond regularly, which is really nice. I love the old-fashioned way of doing things. All of this technology really creeps me out sometimes (and once again I am not making any sense, because I'm writing this on my blog). I am not including the entire letter as that would just be silly, but here are several paragraphs:
I am always so bewildered by the fact that we set apart certain days to celebrate certain things-- why not just celebrate every day? And then today comes, my Uncle's birthday, and I remember that this is simply a reason to live "in memoriam" -- in memory. Usually when I'm home I visit his grave, and there's not a day when I don't think about him in some way, but today is special. Set aside. The day that I write and remember. And this ties in to the moving idea (talked about in a previous letter). I don't think we are always moving, no. We have to take time to reflect. So-- happy birthday to my uncle and I'm moving on.
...and here I talk about predestination, selflessness vs. selfishness, etc. Only the big world questions ;) ...
So if you haven't read the English Patient already, I suggest you do so, and immediately. I could foster a love of writing that you've never known before, it's that good. I would totally go into detail, but that would take forever and it's just too complex to overview. But one of the main themes of the story is identity, and it made me think-- what is my true identity? What is identity in general? According to Ondaatje (the author) we consist of several identities. We are vast deserts of constantly shifting sands, although we are still deserts. We are defined by national identity, those values instilled in us by culture. But perhaps our true identity is the one where we are happiest. The true, real-life Count Almasy (protagonist) was homosexual, had a love for motorized vehicles, and harbored a deep bond with the desert. He lived during WWII and aided the Germans, but also tried to aid the British and Italians. All of his missions were in the desert-- his area of expertise. He helped smuggle German agents to Egypt and performed countless other notorious acts. But did this man's interest lie in Nazism, or politics? I think not. His identity was in the deserts, where he found true happiness. Being a spy was simply an adventure, a series of expeditions in which he could explore those sands and that terrain. So this leads me to believe that identity is not what you do, but rather who you are. I write, but is my identity "a writer"? I sing, but am I "a singer"?
Some identities are inescapable.
Here are a few quotes I found interesting:
"Identity is theft of the self"
"I've grown certain that the root of all fear is that we've been forced to deny who we are"
"Memory is a way of holding to the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose"
...I love this idea of letter-writing. It makes me think. And it's also nice to break out the pen and paper :)
