Soul-Craving

I am 26 years old. In a little more than a month, I'll be 27. By then, I will have spent all 27 years of my life single.

In the last two days, I've been feeling this ache in my chest. It's a familiar sensation, but it's more intense now than ever before. I feel it somewhere in my diaphragm and radiating to my womb. The pain of hollowness.

I don't enjoy being single very much. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that it's better that I'm still trying to figure my self out; that I probably should achieve self-realization rather than be like Bella Swan and never feel whole without a partner; I can never fight off this terrifyingly physical pain or the thoughts that come with it—not permanently. I always feel the twinge of envy when I see couples shamelessly sharing affection in public; or when people tell their friends about their significant other.

Alas, I have never felt a man's lips against my skin; nor his hand upon my waist or shoulder. I have never had a man gaze upon me with desire. I have never been someone to make a man feel whole and at peace.

The pain rises to my throat now, closing it up until I can barely breathe. It squeezes tears from my eyes. I wish this were some exaggerated imagery from a nu rock song from my adolescent years. But no, there's no way I could be imagining it. Twice now, I have caught myself moaning in agony; and crying out in one occasion. It was the same noise I made when I was suffering from the swollen gall bladder threatening to spill its toxic contents into my abdominal cavity. But that pain was made bearable by doctors who can fix it, which they did.

No one can fix the pain I'm having now. I tried, but my efforts have made it worse somehow.

I've been afraid to put this online because there will be feminists and misandrists who will invalidate my anguish by saying I don't need a man to fulfill my needs; that it's somehow wrong to feel this way, to yearn for a man; or worse, that the pursuit for romance isn't worth the effort because any and all relationships have a potential for heartbreak. They will say that I ought to be adequately satisfied with having a great career, which I do. If that were the case, I shouldn't be feeling this pain.

Yungian psychologist and gender studies expert Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D has a word for it: soul-craving. Something real and intangible at the same time, soul-craving can be described as an intense and deep longing that you can practically feel in your bones that you gotta have whatever it is.

When I was a little girl, I would watch TV romances depicting a teenage boy visiting a house, asking his potential partner's parents' permission to court her. My parents have met that way. And so did many of their peers. So, I imagined a boy coming for me and we would enjoy a wondrous courtship of at least two years and decide to get married.

In today's social climate, I understand how traditional courtship isn't as universal as it once was. Even young men have to pursue self-actualization.

Nowadays, courtship is something only teenage boys do anymore because they're the ones with more time and money to spend it on. When I eventually became involved with my career, I entertained the notion of meeting someone by chance and hitting it off right away. Even as I commute every day because I'm too short to reach the car pedals, it hasn't happened yet. And I'm beginning to fear that it never will.

I don't understand why it hasn't happened for me yet. I had told myself that I would be ready for a boyfriend by 16; 10 years later, boyfriends have come and gone for most people my age and the closest thing I got was a pervert taxi driver who doesn't take no for an answer. Many of my peers have even married and had children. I had thought I would do the same by 25.

I know I shouldn't be treating life like a race; I have read enough pseudo-feminist articles to get it through me. But the ache of longing and loneliness is still there, chewing me from the inside out.

Many single people comfort themselves in having broken up with the "wrong person" so they would eventually meet the right one. They have experienced love and loss and treat it as a learning experience, so they know what to do and what not to do with a new partner. I have no idea what that's even like. I've even become afraid of eventually entering a relationship. At my age and what I'm feeling now, I would be less likely to be willing to break up with somebody, so what if I do experience heartbreak? Would I know what to do afterwards?

A rom-com gets lauded for being relatable and I feel like a child being taught what being on the moon feels like. I might be able to imagine it, but I wouldn't know it for myself. And for almost 27 years, imagining was all I've ever done.

I have written many stories about finding love that lasts. I base them not from experience but from learning online what a healthy relationship should be like. I'm starting to think that's really pathetic. I write of people kissing and making love; I've never even had a man look at me with desire and ask for my name. What's even more pathetic is that my more experienced friend tells me I make an accurate depiction of romance.

If I know eros so well, mustn't I have had my turn by now? I like to believe that God has reserved that one special person for me; the one who would fit just right; the one He Himself would present to me, when the time comes. If he's out there, is he so far away that I can't reach him where I am? Is he looking for me? Does he hurt and cry like I do?

If we were to come across each other, would we know it? Would either of us stop and say hi? Would we finally experience comfort in each other's presence? Would we still fall into the common shortcomings of relationships like unfounded jealousy? Would we rise above that and be happy?

I'm probably looking too far into a relationship that doesn't exist. I haven't even seen his face.

A Prayer for the Victims of Terrorism

Almighty and Ever-Merciful Lord, I praise You for providing mankind with a beautiful home and the capacity to make it a better place than before. I praise You for giving us faculties for reason and religion; and with them, the pursuit for truth and justice. It is with great sorrow, that this wonderful world and its prosperous people have been corrupted with evil. As it was at the birth of Your Church, Lord, those who do not know of Your love are persecuting those whom You have called to your service. Innocent Christians of all ages are having their bodies desecrated in the name of power, disguised as religious motivation. Innocent, peaceful Muslims are also being attacked by heartbroken Christians who lack the wisdom to discern that Muslim extremists are people corrupted by sin, not motivated by faith.

Lord, please, welcome into Your House the people who have died at the hands of so-called jihadists. As you have done for St. Sebastian, St. Agnes, St. Ignatius of Antioch, St. Stephen, St. Lorenzo Ruiz, St. Pedro Calungsod, and the newly canonized martyrs of Korea, please, welcome the fallen victims of terrorism into your arms and let them sing of Your glory with your angels and saints forever. Let them enjoy Your everlasting grace in Your presence where there is no more pain or hunger or sickness or hatred; where they only cry for joy.

For us who seek peace in the land of the living, let us be governed by Your wisdom and love. Let us not be swayed by vengeful anger but be driven by the pursuit of justice and mercy.

And for those who continue to challenge You by slaying Christians, Lord, it is clear that in creating them in their mothers’ wombs, You have kindled in them the burning desire for worship. The Evil One has replaced their fire with the poisonous smoke of violence. Touch them, O Lord. Do not forsake them. Save them from the fires of Hell. Born from the seed of Ishmael whom You have delivered from the desert, deliver them from the Evil One that pollutes their hearts. Born of Ishmael who was born from Abraham, they are Your children, Lord.

Restore us into unity. We are united in You. Let us all be an instrument of Your peace. Amen.

A Glimpse of Pope Francis

When the Lipa City Chapter of the Brotherhood of Christian Businessmen and Professionals announced earlier this week that they would volunteer in the SM Mall of Asia to be a level of the human barricade along the path of the Papal motorcade, my family immediately jumped at the chance. My parents and older sister are members of the steadily growing community of businessmen and professionals who strive to “change the face of business” by putting God in the center of their career and use their hard-earned wealth to help the less fortunate. Until this announcement, we had been discussing where we might see the Pope best.

Pope Francis’ acts of humility and words of wisdom are reminiscent of Pope John Paul II’s similarly radical actions. Just as Saint John Paul II encouraged interreligious dialogue and the Second Vatican Council opened the doors of the Church to the laity and women and the youth, Pope Francis’ gestures of love and openness has inspired us all that as he is human like all of us, we are all invited to follow in his footsteps. Just as Jesus Himself washed the feet of his disciples, we are all invited to lead by service.

To see Pope Francis and hear him speak while he is in the country is something I was not about to miss. Volunteering to be part of the human barricade was an opportunity. We would be up front, just behind the policemen and the army appointed to stand along the SM Mall of Asia to keep the crowd from getting overexcited and getting hurt. The BCBP was to serve on SM Mall of Asia prior to the Pope’s Meeting with Families in the MOA Arena.

My family met with the other BCBP volunteers at 4:30 A.M. outside the Blue Sapphire Hotel where the West Lipa Chapter held their Saturday breakfast meetings. We boarded our rental bus and traveled to the empty lot along Seaside Boulevard, about three blocks away from the mall. When we arrived, the police from the Pasay City and Makati City Police Departments were already in uniform and having their breakfast out of Styrofoam containers. A small group of young cops were even musing to themselves, “Yeah, this is how cops have breakfast: On the floor!” They were sitting on the floor with their backs against a tall metallic electrical tower. Even at 7:30 in the morning, I could feel the joy bubbling in the air. The cops were undoubtedly exhausted from doing the same job the night before, but they cheerfully babbled among themselves and warmly welcomed us civilian volunteers as they gave us a rundown of our tasks and theirs and how we may call them for help should we need it.

Due to the approaching typhoon, the weather in Metro Manila was unusually chilly and windy. The sky was partly cloudy. The sun peeked through the clouds from time to time, but it didn’t roast us too long. Even if it did, our spirits were never dampened. We waited at our spot near the main entrance of the mall where the Pope was to pass, on his way to the Arena. We waited for ten hours. During which, the screen outside the Arena showed a live broadcast of the Pope’s activities: From his Welcome Address in Malacañang Palace to his Papal Mass in the Manila Cathedral in Intramuros.

Because the Manila Cathedral was mainly attended with the clergy, Pope Francis’ Homily was primarily an appeal to the local clergy to serve their respective congregations with love and service and humility. He encouraged the clergy to practice what they preach.

Somehow, that stirred something in me. It got me wondering what God was trying to tell me. How can I be a better member of the Catholic Church than by just singing in the church choir every Sunday? God was asking something more of me, and I wondered what is it about me that I have to change. God was making me look inward and reflect upon my weaknesses and know how many there are. These reflections continued as I waited five more hours after the Papal Mass.

As soon as the Mass was over, the people began to gather toward the steel barricades separating the walkway from the driveway. The police took their positions outside the barricade and the army took theirs on the other side of the barricade. We in the BCBP stood behind them. My father was worried that the crowd will push forward and squeeze us against the army guys and hurt all of us. I wasn’t afraid. The people who frequent the SM Mall of Asia were typically upper-middle and high class people who were educated and don’t need to be told what to do twice.

With two rows of people in front of me, I would still be too short to see the Pope clearly when his ride drives by, so the army guys offered to let me squeeze between them. Meanwhile, a policeman asked my younger sister to record a video of the Pope with his Samsung Galaxy because their orders were to face the crowd in case anybody does something stupid like climb over the barricade. Touched by the cop’s dedication for his job, my sister gladly obliged.

The crowd became thicker and we at the barricade were forced to stay on our feet for five hours lest we lose our spot. The energy went high up when the last hour passed and we eagerly waited for the screen to show the Pope coming our way. People began to scream with glee as the Pope’s entourage passed along the Nagtahan Bridge, then Taft Avenue, and finally EDSA. We watched him keep standing on his open-air Popemobile, fearless and joyful as he waved to the crowd.

The army and police officers were just as excited as we were. They weren’t fazed by fatigue. “Once I see him, it would be as if the sleepless nights were nothing,” they said.

The screaming became louder as the motorcade reached the end of EDSA and circled the rotunda to turn south toward the MOA Arena. “Hurry!” the army guys called to me and made room for me at the barricade. I wanted to scream along, but I was overwhelmed. He was coming. And soon, the white Ford truck with the simple fiberglass shield passed, carrying the Pope, clad in white, smiling and waving at us. He was in front of my eyes for exactly one second.

It was the most amazing experience. That one second was worth the ten hours of waiting outside the Mall of Asia. It didn’t even matter that I wasn’t able to attend the Meeting with the Families in the MOA Arena because tickets weren’t readily available to volunteers. What really mattered was that I got to see the Pope, and he was only ten feet away from me.

In the days that followed, I was left wondering what God was trying to tell me through Pope Francis. The Sunday Mass coincided perfectly with the Feast of the Santo Niño; the Gospel retold the narrative of Jesus rebuking his disciples for trying to send the children away. “Let the children come to me,” He said, “and do not prevent them. The Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

The Command Chaplain Father Rene told us about how he went with his family to Villamor Air Base to see the Pope as he traveled from the airport to the Papal Nunciature. “I went there neither in my military uniform nor in my clerical garments but as a civilian,” he said. “And just as I experienced my hairs standing on end when I saw Pope John Paul II in 1995 when I was a seminarian, I experienced the same with Pope Francis.” I was stunned when Father Rene mused about how, upon seeing Pope Francis, he’d wondered how he can change for the better.

As I pondered upon the Papal Visit’s slogan “We are all God’s children,” it came to me: I must cast aside the hardness in my heart and be less judgmental. I must come to God like a child and look upon my neighbor with trust and and not let my pride get in the way of my capacity for mercy and compassion. More importantly, I must refrain from my classist attitude. It’s making me a hypocrite and a slacktivist.

I’m not going to enumerate any more of my shortcomings; those are mine to identify and correct. But certainly, the Papal Visit has left a mark upon my heart. I hope the same is true for all.

False Body Positivity in Pop Music

The pop music industry ends 2014 with a pair of body positive songs reminiscent of Dove's Real Beauty campaign. Like the Real Beauty Campaign, these songs send the right message to their young, mostly female listeners but also carrying with them misleading implications. Let me just take this moment to give a disclaimer: While I am a music lover myself, I have not been closely following the trends in popular music in the last eight or nine years—even much less in the last five years. As a matter of fact, I have spent the last three years revisiting rock music of twenty and thirty years ago, surprising myself with how much I enjoy them as a twenty-something. Naturally, I've been out of touch with "what's hot and what's not" because I've become more interested in "what's good and what isn't." I am no longer interested in the personal lives of celebrities and find the new ones' appearance and image hugely irrelevant that I find myself identifying most of the songs in the radio as "I like that one" or "Please, skip that one." When I watch music videos on TV, I might identify a few of the "artists" that came after Lady Gaga, but even if I know their names or what they look like, I might stop paying attention when they start talking about their image or when a VJ starts blabbering about the celebrity's recent "scandals." I have quite a few opinions about some of them that might either display my ignorance regarding these musical celebrities or show them for what they really are.

Regardless, let's get to the topic at hand. These two songs I've only heard for the first time in the last few weeks despite being months old by now. I've heard a lot about them before I got to listen to them myself. So I took as long as I can to not listen to them in full in case I go on a rampage of rage like I did following Miley Cyrus' controversial "We Can't Stop" and "Wrecking Ball." But when I started going to the gym in late October, I found myself back in the day when my eyes and ears were open to media solely because there is a radio or TV turned on in the same room.

All About That Bass

So I first heard Meghan Trainor's "All About That Bass" while I'm in the treadmill. When I absorbed the message about accepting yourself even if you're a bit heavy, I appreciated it. But when I've heard it a few more times in the next several days, I noticed this one disturbing line including the phrase "skinny bitches."  It's at the 1:30 mark in the video below:

This is also my problem with Nicki Minaj's "Anaconda"—more on that later. The hateful attitude toward "skinny bitches" undermines the reason for "fat positivity" in the first place: that slim women are desirable. The music video for "All About That Bass" even features a shot of a full-figured woman forcibly bumping a nearly skeletal woman off the frame with her butt. That's a pretty violent image for a video that's supposed to be about loving yourself. Why should loving your fat body have to involve hating someone who is thin, to prove your point? Besides, the desirable kind of skinny isn't the skeletal type anyway; tabloids have slammed freakishly thin celebrities like Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, and Hilary Duff because they have so obviously mistaken being slim with being skeletal. The attractive kind of skinny is soft somehow.

Natalie Portman. Of course.

There is one more thing that another Internet personality has pointed out that I'm mostly ambivalent about. Todd in the Shadows from the That Guy with the Glasses website has observed that the message of the song is skewed because the persona's self-confidence is dependent on being desirable to men instead of the more progressive ideal that "I'm comfortable to be chubby because I'm happier this way." I don't disagree with him, but I understand that the lyrics are something that teenage girls can understand better somehow.

One last thing that I find disturbing about "All About that Bass" is the message that "every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top." This is not true. If you have to tell yourself this just to boost your fragile ego, you are certainly flawed. Don't fall into the trap of perpetuating a delusion of grandeur that you are "perfect" even with cellulite and stretch marks. A much healthier perspective is to look at those flaws, take them and accept them, and tell yourself that you have other, more important traits.

If you are listening to this song because you have body image issues, stop listening and pursue a healthy lifestyle by losing weight not just because people might like you more but because you will feel and function better. The harsh reality is that people can and will look at your appearance first before bothering with the inner you, so if you want to be accepted, you might as well be as pretty as you can be.

I have been overweight for the last fifteen years of my life. I have struggled with not being able to wear what I want and hearing only comments about my size even from my closest relatives. The nicest remarks people ever say to me was "How slim you seem in your outfit today!" only because I either got very ill recently or I was wearing a great outfit that day. I haven't reached my normal BMI in the last five years. My weight took its toll not only on my body; I also moved more slowly; grew tired more easily; and became more irritable than ever. However, I was determined to at least be and feel beautiful as a fat person because, obviously, I'm not going to shrink back overnight.

A good attitude about body image wasn't enough. I felt like I probably won't ever get taken seriously unless I literally look my best. So I took boxing sessions and have become slimmer and stronger. I haven't lost my weight yet because I'm building muscle as quickly as I am losing fat.  Even now, only two months after I started, I am not only more slender; I am also quicker, stronger, and more alert. It became easier to think positive because I don't have to rely on pop songs to make me feel better; I feel better because of what I do for myself.

Anaconda

As I mentioned before, my biggest problem with "Anaconda" is that it perpetuates a hateful attitude toward "skinny" women. Deciding to be chubby and feel beautiful at the same time doesn't give you the excuse to look upon thin women with resentment and then decide that they must be ugly by comparison to you. If women of any shape and size are beautiful then thin women are just as beautiful as fat women, plain and simple.




"Anaconda" is also that kind of "butt song" that perpetuates that disvalue that Todd in the Shadows has pointed out regarding "All About That Bass": that a woman's self-confidence doesn't come from the self-satisfaction of being intelligent, successful, or influential, but from being physically and sexually attractive to the opposite sex. While this is a perfectly legitimate reason to be self-confident, it shouldn't be the be-all and end-all of the issue. Women aren't made to be sex objects; women are human beings with aspirations. Even if these aspirations do include wanting to be a good wife and mother, that's fine; but one has to learn that she doesn't have to seek social validation for one's looks because looks aren't everything.

Late to the Show: Anaconda

I finally dared myself to watch "Anaconda" after watching Todd in the Shadows' review of it:


I kept encountering thumbnails in the Internet about how controversial it is. And after hearing it a few times in the radio, I've become curious about the music video. But for a long time, I refused to watch it. I refused to go anywhere near it because I remember how violently I felt about Miley Cyrus' "We Can't Stop" and "Wrecking Ball," and I didn't want that kind of unnecessary negativity in my spirit. So I asked around about the video, and somebody I trust told me that "Anaconda" was so awful it's actually more shocking than anything Lady Gaga came up with.

With Lady Gaga as a reference point, I was somewhat disappointed when I did watch "Anaconda" on YouTube. Besides the overt innuendo and objectification in the video, there was nothing in "Anaconda" that really sets it apart from any other hip-hop hit. Sex sells—Nicki Minaj is all about sexy—you do the math. As for the song, it's fun to listen to; and it doesn't seem to be the kind of song you would really think about when you listen to it—just like any other hip-hop song as of late. It's the same with the music video. I've seen the same kind of imagery before with 50 Cent, Puff Daddy, Pharrell, or Snoop Dogg.

But I do agree with Todd in the Shadows about one thing: that nasty attack on "skinny bitches" toward the end of the song. People, let's get this straight: Becoming comfortable and happy about being on the heavy side does not give anyone license to say that thin people are unattractive. People of all shapes and sizes are beautiful in their own way; let's leave it at that. If you want an example of a beautiful thin person, take Keira Knightley.

Other than that, "Anaconda" isn't all that "shocking" in any way. Before I actually heard the song, I expected that it was shocking because it's about some guy's anaconda, if you know what I mean. That was disappointing, too. I was really expecting Nicki to be singing about admiring her man's anaconda. As a straight woman, I think that would have been pretty interesting. Instead, well, as Todd in the Shadows described it, it only rehashed "Baby Got Back" and added nothing much to it. "If you wanted a song about butts, why don't you just listen to that?" he demanded. You got me, Todd.

Slytherin Pride

Last January 2013, Pottermore.com sorted me into Slytherin House. The subsequent disappointment I felt was unsurprising, I suppose, after the Harry Potter books pointed out from the beginning that "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one." Henceforth, Slytherin became synonymous with evil. Not even the token appearance of good-natured Potions teacher Horace Slughorn and the Sorting Hat's urgent plea for unity could undo the damage. It didn't help that even the Slytherin extras in the movies were always smirking and looking at our Gryffindor heroes askance. This didn't give anyone in the audience a chance to see some of them as normal students who just happened to have been sorted into a House with a poor reputation.

It also doesn't help that the characters we are supposed to sympathize with are [conveniently] Gryffindors, who are quick to peg any and all Slytherins as evildoers. Even Professor Dumbledore caught Harry making a face when he learned that Horace Slughorn was a Slytherin. (I'm sure everyone caught themselves making the same face, too.) Who can blame him? Salazar Slytherin himself was rigidly selective of Hogwarts students and even built a chamber housing a monster to kill Muggle-born students; his Heir is the Dark Lord himself. Despicably spoiled brat Draco Malfoy brags about Slytherin; his classist father Lucius is quick to insult humble [Gryffindor] Mr. Weasley; the fathers of many known Slytherin students were Death Eaters; [Gryffindor] Sirius Black hated his entire [Slytherin] family who supported Voldemort but didn't actively follow the Dark Lord. With a roster like that, the fact that Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor and Horace Slughorn was a Slytherin did nothing to correct the Slytherin stereotype. With a reputation like that, you'd have to be a little haughty if you want to become proud to wear green and silver and wear a badge with a serpent on it. And that's another thing: The snake is symbolic of evil in Judeo-Christian tradition; considering Rowling's religious background, this is no coincidence.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn't a mistake that I belonged in Slytherin rather than in Ravenclaw like I expected. I like to think of myself as intelligent, but that wasn't really what defined me. I might be book smart, but I was more like Daria than Jodie. I didn't excel in school because I didn't exert much effort in the subjects I wasn't really interested in; whereas a Ravenclaw might have aced almost everything by putting work where intellect lacks. While I love learning and reading, I was more like the type to take what I learn to build a philosophy or subscribe to one. Doesn't that sound a bit like Draco?

I also realized: I'm not the most charitable person you can think of; as a matter of fact, I have a streak of haughty classism. I hate the stereotype pervading in Philippine pop culture that the rich are cruel, greedy, and selfish while the poor are pure-hearted and willing to share the little they have with others. While there is some truth to this, the greater reality is the opposite, especially where I come from.

The high crime rate in the Philippines can be attributed to the enormous population of people living in poverty. Many of the people living in the city slums produce more children than they can afford and resort to desperate measures like theft, kidnapping, drug pushing, car hijacking, prostitution, and even becoming hired killers, to support themselves—all because they couldn't afford the proper education required by law to get an honest living. Their victims are usually middle- and upper-class people whose wealth they attained by honest work—the same people on whom they typically blame their troubles. This is why I usually hesitate to give alms as many beggars are also syndicates, even children—some of whom who were stolen from maternity wards and raised in dire poverty.

On the flip side, people who have at least gone to public school have some degree of integrity because daily work with peers and authorities teaches you something about respect and responsibility.

Of course, there will be exceptions on both sides. Ethics and morality are incredibly complex matters. When I catch myself mentally belittling another person because of their appearance, I have to remind myself that people aren't always the way they seem. It's something all Slytherins need to learn, even in the books.

This brings me back to the topic at hand: What is it to be a Slytherin? Unlike the other four houses, Slytherin acknowledges the complexity of human nature. As former Hogwarts Headmaster Nigellus Black claims: "We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks." In other words, fear and inclination for self-preservation is nothing to be ashamed of. As we learn from Horace Slughorn's example, it is also not a lapse of integrity to associate with the strong and powerful for the sake of social standing; after all, "It's not what you know; it's who you know." Slytherins aren't the most virtuous of folks, but they tend to be pragmatic. They compensate for their physical or intellectual shortcomings with shrewdness, flexibility, and some degree of social skill. Slytherins do what they can to achieve their goals, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Late to the Show: District 9

While I was in the gym today, the TV was on and the Peter Jackson flick District 9 was playing in a movie channel that I'm not familiar with. I was paying as much attention as I can because it was a very interesting movie, but by the end of it, I felt glad that I didn't watch it in the theater. I'm pretty ambivalent about it. It's the kind of movie that is fun to watch and is a great choice for if you like something that makes you think, but it's also not something I would like to give a second viewing.

The movie starts with a semi-documentary style of cinematography with random interviews intercut with footage of aliens living on Earth. A race of alien creatures nicknamed "prawns" are stranded on Earth and are compelled to settle in South Africa, where the government is launching a relocation program for the prawns. Our hero is idealistic Wikus van der Merwe, an agent of the paramilitary organization Multinational United, who leads the relocation program by issuing eviction notices to the prawns. The prawns are understandably upset about this situation. Wikus, on the other hand, is a righteous kind of guy who does not approve of violence against the prawns.

There are a lot of things I like about this movie. The actors were great. The visuals were great. The characters were believable. It was also refreshing to see a sci-fi film with a contemporary setting rather than the typical futuristic setting. However, something about the concept is a bit off.

District 9 is clearly meant to be a sci-fi allegory of immigration problems and racial tension in first world countries by setting it in South Africa, which has a long history of racial segregation known as the apartheid. The hatred and violence that the humans commit against the prawns are reminiscent of the unfortunate circumstances that happen to many black and Hispanic people even in the United States. We are clearly meant to squirm guiltily in our seats as we watch the humans attack the prawns with little to no provocation, with the morally upright authorities being ironically powerless to stop it. By painting the humans as the villains, we are essentially villains in our own countries for wanting unregistered immigrants (aliens) out of our lands when they're evidently harmless.

But I think there's something wrong with that idea. The further I watch the movie, I don't find myself rooting for the aliens at all. Why shouldn't the humans want them out? If the South African government is going through the trouble of relocating them to an internment camp away from the slums the aliens have built for themselves, why should we feel bad that the prawns feel hurt and refuse to cooperate? If they wanted to go home so badly, why don't they just, y'know, leave?

I think it's not fair for a people of one country have to bend over backwards to respect the "rights" of foreigners who don't even hold the same privileges as the citizens of that country. Of course it's wrong for, for example, an American to be violent toward a Mexican; or for an Italian to spit at a Jew's beard. But there are more issues to consider other than discrimination or violence, like obeying the principles of law and order when you're in somebody else's territory. A host might have the responsiblity to treat their guests right, but the visitor has to be a good guest, too, by removing their shoes, refraining from expletives, and dressing modestly, if necessary.

District 9 seems to oversimplify the moral against racism. Immigration laws are more complicated than racism, and racism is more complex than we probably think, to begin with. District 9 is a good-but-not-great kind of movie. Its flaws are few but jarring. If I got something wrong, feel free to correct me.