The origins of trance music….from the war ravaged streets of the Congo.

I asked my mom if we could adopt an Afghan Hound, a breed I found to look like my faraway sweetheart. I remember a dog breeder telling me they had relatively low obedience intelligence, to which I politely corrected her, “You mean they retain their independence.”

When Céline’s husband and manager, René Angélil, suffered from cancer I couldn’t help but wish that he wouldn’t survive. Of course, I wouldn’t want any hardship for my lover (as I had began to call her), but a grieving woman is an easy woman.

Fast-forward seven years. I’m on the Queen Mary cruise on my way across the Atlantic. I’m finally going to Canada.

The first thing I did when I had cleared customs was go to Nickels, the restaurant franchise created by Céline Dion. I had three orders of the Gâteau Céline, the best three-course meal I could imagine. The cake was as delicious as I’d imagine she would be.

When I had paid the bill, I was off to get a bottle of Belong, the perfume by…you guessed it. The name couldn’t have been much better. I already felt I belonged in Canada, and more importantly, Céline Dion would soon belong to me.

Off I went to Charlemagne, the birthplace of my beloved. After a bit of quizzing the locals, I found the house she had grown up in. I peered through the windows of the empty, unmarked house. There was no sign of her. Then a gust of wind took a few leaves and spun them into the air. Was it her ghost?

Surely, this Graceland of Canada, would have been disappointing, had it not been for an old lady in a parka. She told me that every year, Céline comes to hand out baskets of food to poor people. “Are you poor?” I inquired. She shook her head, as if she was offended. Then she pointed to a man across the street.

It was all I needed.

“Did you get a Céline basket?” I asked the man.

“Sure, haven’t touched it yet.”

Jackpot. He took me to his house and I bought the basket from him. Let’s just say he’ll never have to worry about money again.

Since then, I’ve been to numerous concerts, sent hundreds of fan letters, and spent thousands of dollars on merchandise. I have yet to appear on her radar, but my passion is unwavering. So if I had to talk about love, it’d be the true kind.

Le 4 octobre 2006, Xi a quitté la Chine pour les couleurs flamboyantes de l’été indien en compagnie de 22 autres chinois partis en voyage d’échange à l’Université du Québec en Abitibi-Temiscamingue. Elle a laissé derrière elle une maman et un papa qui, malgré la difficulté de la séparation, l’ont encouragé à immigrer au Canada. Après ses études, Xi pensait retourner vivre en Chine et travailler à Beijing. Sa maman lui conseille de penser à rester plus longtemps au Canada. « Tu pourrais développer ton art et voyager ailleurs dans le monde ».

Quand elle est arrivée au Canada, Xi parlait seulement quelques mots de français et elle se préparait à fêter ses 20 ans. « Je voulais avoir un anniversaire très spécial, mes 20 ans au Canada, mais le jour de ma fête a fini par être plutôt normal ». Après les couleurs de l’automne, Xi découvre le blanc de l’hiver et les vastes étendus de l’Abitibi. « C’est un peu trop vide pour moi ici » précise Xi. « Je passais de longs moments à écouter de la musique classique. J’écoutais Bach en attendant le bus à moins 30 degrés. Tout était au ralenti comme dans un film. Je pensais souvent à ma famille, mes amis et aussi à la beauté de la culture chinoise traditionnelle. Ça me manquait beaucoup ».

Départ précipité pour Montréal

Xi déménage à Montréal le même jour que son entrevue pour du travail. Elle se trouve une chambre avec cinq autres colocataires chez une gentille dame et son fils qui ont fini par vendre la maison pour aller habiter à Joliette. Xi atterrit chez un vieux couple d’immigrés portugais qui lui proposaient parfois de manger à table avec eux. Elle leur fait des dumplings. Elle leur pose des questions sur le Québec. Ils s’entendent bien. La femme occupe une grande partie de sa journée à nourrir une dizaine de chats pendant que l’homme se lève à l’aube pour aller nourrir les pigeons du Parc Lafontaine. Vous pouvez le voir en compagnie de ses oiseaux dans le magnifique poème visuel Matins routiniers, (An Early Morning Routine) avec une narration en mandarin qu’elle a réalisé pour Who we are. Xi est une passionnée d’images et de sons. Elle fait de la photo, de la vidéo, de l’animation et de la danse. C’est une artiste pluridisciplinaire qui cherche à perfectionner son art au Canada.

Grande comment?

Tous les petits pas que Xi met les uns devant les autres la mènent forcément quelque part. Elle obtient le contrat pour lequel elle est venue à Montréal, chez EyeSteelFilm, une maison de production de films documentaires où elle travaille à la postproduction de longs métrages tournés en Chine (Last Train Home, 2009). C’est là dans ce contexte que j’ai fait sa connaissance et un jour, au bureau, Xi a préparé des dumplings pour tout le monde dans de la petite cuisine qui s’est remplie de vapeur. C’est sa façon de bien s’occuper des gens autour d’elle.

L’été dernier, après un voyage en Europe de villes en villes, de canapés en canapés, de musées en musées, de rencontres en rencontres, Xi est revenue avec sur le visage cet air qu’ont les gens qui reviennent d’un voyage initiatique qui a contribué à changer leur vision du monde. Elle est revenue enrichie et elle m’a dit : « Quand je suis devenue résidente permanente au Canada, j’ai tout à coup pensé à ma nouvelle liberté. Et je me suis demandé s’il y avait une limite à cette liberté? Elle est grande comment?  « Je vis encore dans un carré créé par mon autre vie chinoise. Quelle est la différence de liberté entre ces deux mondes? Jusqu’où est-ce que je peux aller?»

Pour Xi, le défi est de fusionner son passé à son présent et de continuer à créer.

Big L – Ebonics (first verse):

Check it, my weed smoke is my lye
A ki of coke is a pie
When I’m lifted, I’m high
With new clothes on, I’m fly
Cars is whips and sneakers is kicks
Money is chips, movies is flicks
Also, cribs is homes, jacks is pay phones
Cocaine is nose candy, cigarettes is bones
A radio is a box, a razor blade is a ox
Fat diamonds is rocks and jakes is cop
And if you got rubbed, you got stuck
You got shot, you got bucked
And if you got double-crossed, you got fucked
Your bankroll is your poke, a choke hold is a yoke
A kite is a note, a con is a okey doke
And if you got punched that mean you got snuffed
To clean is to buff, a bull scare is a strong bluff
I know you like the way I’m freakin’ it
I talk with slang and I’ma never stop speakin’ it

Canadian Remix:

Check it, a beaver is a pussy

A loonie is a dollar

a toonie is two

Puck bunny is a groupie

We say washroom, not loo

Deadmonton is Edmonton, that’s where you get chills

A car is wheels

A sofa is a chesterfield

We don’t eat burgers, we eat poutine

And we use runners, not sneakers to keep us lean

Get the coffee at Timmies

Double-double means two creams and two sugars

Old women with young boys are cougars,

Hongcouver is Vancouver

And if you eat a lot, you’re a hoover

Hydro is the power

Not what you use to take a shower

And we don’t drink soda, we drink pop

Call Toronto for T-Dot

And sweatshirts for bunnyhugs

You wanna change your grocer, if he calls you a hoser

Francos are peppers, and Anglos are square heads

And you can get your fittys at the deps

Homo milk means homogenized

A Bluenoser is from Nova Scotia, like the bank that monetized

I know you like the way I’m freakin’ it
I talk with slang and I’ma never stop speakin’ it

Hans Island is made up of two square kilometers of rock situated at 80° 49′ N and 66° 26′ W, smack-dab in the middle of Kennedy Channel, mid-way between Ellesmere Island and Greenland. It has a population of zero; not counting the occasional seagull that stops by.

Both Canada and Denmark have claimed the insignificant island, which has led to a decade long farce, involving both countries making symbolic gestures in the name of ownership.

In 1984, Kenn Harper, a noted Arctic historian, wrote an article about Canadian-based Dome Petroleum’s occupation of Hans Island for a local newspaper in Greenland. A Danish publication instantly picked up the story and soon after, Denmark’s Minister for Greenland flew to Hans Island where he raised a Danish flag and left a bottle of Denmark’s finest schnapps. Since then, both countries have taken turn in more or less idiotic chest thumping activities. As it should have, it has inspired a steady flow of satire, including a website that, amongst other things, points out the similarity between Nazi Germany invading Denmark during WWII and Canada’s current occupation of the island. On the site, it reads:

The Canadian government has not denied the allegations that they plan to use Hans Island as a storage site for nuclear waste.

While this is actually true, Hans Island Liberation Front, another website, has to lie to get their point across, claiming that two inhabitants (both named Hans), live on the island and fight passionately for its independence.

All jokes aside, the Hans Island controversy is a joke.

As a youth soccer instructor in Montreal I am fortunate enough to witness everyday moments of perseverance, humanity, and acceptance from a very diverse, yet very homogenous group: Canadian children.

The soccer courses are offered from a community centre in the Plateau district – basically in the heart of Montreal. While we devote a great deal of time to drills aimed at improving basic soccer skills and athleticism, we also try to instill a sense of fair play, sportsmanship and cooperation.

But to be honest, cooperation seems to come pretty naturally to these kids, which is amazing (at least to an adult) because they come from such fundamentally different backgrounds. The children I’ve taught have spoken combinations of English, French, Hindi, Japanese, Arabic, Portuguese, Italian, Russian, Greek, Spanish, Punjabi, Urdu, German – to only name a few. They’ve been Protestant, Muslim, Jewish, Catholic, Agnostic. Black, white and every shade in between. Some families have been here for generations, others are recent immigrants.

The kids (and their parents) interact in French, English, hand gestures and smiles. It’s a great community environment where everybody gets along. Everyone, especially the kids, are interested to learn about other cultural backgrounds and have such an easy time picking up new languages. Relationships and community are forged. It’s a strong mosaic that’s representative of who we are.

There’s never a language debate.

I’ve never seen racism on our field.

Provincial politicians like Pauline Marois and Pierre Curzi are putting politics where they don’t belong. They’ve both stated recently that the NHL’s Montreal Canadiens need more Francophones on their roster. Professional sports build a sense of community in cities and entertain hard working citizens. By thrusting politics into play, they’re not only creating societal divisions they’re adulterating an institution that can make people feel young again.

Sports – like my students intrinsically know – are fun. They’re happy with their teammates (as long as their teammates don’t push, grab or constantly emit a high pitch scream) because the game is fun.

Life too is fun – or can be – if you let it.

Kids are excited to learn, play, exercise. They’re great at meeting new people and finding similarities to build on – not differences to divide.

We build walls, they climb over them.

It’s time for our elected officials to learn something from our kids. No more us versus them. Less politics. More play.

I love French culture. It’s one of the reasons why Montreal is one of the happiest cities in the world. But it’s not the only reason. We have a vibrant and diverse culture here. I’m a proud Quebecer and a proud Montrealer. I’m proud of my roots which go deep in this country - and also stretch across the globe. My skin is not pure white and my father was not born on this soil - but I am Canadian.

Je suis Quebecois.

Perhaps us adults can spend less time playing politics and spend more time on the same team. Shared goals and cooperation. Ultimately, that’s what will unite us.

That, and our kids.