Irony of the desirable

The other day I had topick up the second half of my course reader for my modern theory course. I bemoaned the constant need to purchase reading material during University, when people have some of the least ammounts of money in their lives, and then put 50tl in my pocket, happy that I was in Turkey and not the US, where used textbooks cost at least $80. I went to the photocopy store, and asked for the course packet. I am still not sure that I got the correct one, but it cost me a total of 4tl. That equates to about $2. Now, it was just half of the course reader, so compare that to $40 instead of $80, and it still holds up as amazing. I went home completely happy, thinking that is how texts should be purchased. The reasons why I like it:

1. It is cheap. Students cannot always afford those super glossy pages that American universities demand.
2. It gives the instructor greater control of the course material. The material that we read tends to be more journal articles and fewer books, which we could rightfully print from the University's subscription to the online version of journals. The books that we read tend to be originals, which are often out of copyright anyways, so they are allowed (legally) to be free. Course packets allow instructers to mesh together highly relevent aterials instead of teaching to a textbook that does not quite fit the needs of the course, or making students buy multiple textbooks and constantly access journals on their own. 

I was just thinking of how forward thinking Turkey is in offering these course packets when I arrived at my Middle East politics course. The instructor felt the need to apologize. He requested a bibliography for our midterm, and yet none of the articles included in our reader had the necesary information to complete a standard bibliography. Why? Because all of the photocopy shops are illegal, and do not have the right to print these materials. The shop that he had chosen had been raided by the police and fined, so they had to get rid of all of the cover pages that had the correct bibliographic information. Hah! The thing that I was loving about my school isn't actually allowed. But just like so many things in Turkey, they do it despite the law. 

Now, I am not usually one for rule-breaking. Those of you who know e well know that I have what would almost be considered a fetish for rules. I love the safety and security that I feel within a well-outlined structure of rules. I love knowing what the social expectations are, and the permissible degrees of deviance. Overall I am all about rules, and the clear communication and the following of them. (Now, how people make and update rules, especially laws, needs a lot of attention and renovation, but that is a different story) However, this particular law is one that I hate, and it stems directly from capitalism. People need to be compensated for their work. Sure, I get that. I consider academics, and writers, even writers of textbooks, to fall under the category of artists, and I consider the copyright of books and magazines to not be that much different than music and films. However, music and films are generally for pleasure whereas academia claims to be for the advancement of sociery and individuals. That information should be free and accessible. I remember watching a film last month about a kid who solved some medical test issue (pancreatic cancer) by accessing free journals via google. THAT is what the world should consist of. Not a bunch of publishing houses hording academic thought (for I truly do not believe that it is the academics that have an issue with copywriting their work.). There needs to be some way that authors can still be compensated for their work and yet people can have free access to the results of their work. I think the main way for doing this is the grants that experts get to DO their research, and that is what should be covered, not the final product. <Sigh> Oh world, you have a lot of growing to do, still. 

Now, my final reflective question, is would I want to publish a book and not get paid? No, I wouldn't. But if I got paid a living stipend the entire time I was writing the book, that would be quite enough for me. And I get that the printers and publishers need to be paid as well, and I am not all about the electronic age of books... but still, there must be some solution. 

The Naked Head

The other day the boy asked me to shave his head. When was the last time that I picked up a set of clippers? It was to my own head. Before that there were a few vital strokes before my eldest brother marched off into the military, and permanently beyond my understanding. I was terrified. Not now, but back then. I had never experienced someone leaving home. He was the first in our family to go. Looking back I cannot even remember a time when he seemed to be there. I distinctly remember my other brother. Our resources crossed often and there was constant bickering between us. I just can't remember my older brother living with us, even when his room was just across the upstairs landing from mine. That is my brother, a ghost, the eternally absent figure. I have no proof that he hasn't changed, and yet isn't that proof enough? Still, even though he wasn't actually there, I was terrified to see him go. I remember the sound of the clippers when we plugged them in, and how important I felt as I took the first stroke from his hair. The lessons I learned that night were deep and passed on to every generation. I learned about submission and pride. There is a proper way to submit. Submission needs to be accompanied by an act of defiance. There is always a line. Always burn something so that they can't take it. Always submit first to yourself. Surrender. Take the spoils, and let your captor have the leftovers. It was a stupid lesson. Surrender and pride. It always is.

But the other day there was no surrender and no pride. There was a certain level of trust and the giggles that accompany it. I was still nervous, but the thrill that I got from removing his head was much more fulfilling than the terrible thrill that I had on that night so many years ago. The buzzing of the clippers was intoxicating. I liked the feel of them in my hand, despite their weak current. I remembered the way it felt, for so many years, to trim up the sides of my head. I loved having my mohawk. In san francisco there was no political or social statement surrounding it. It was not about being different or fitting in. People barely noticed the geen wired pigtails. No, it was about loving my body and listening to how it wanted to be represented, and I missed it. By the time I had finished shaving the boy's head I had made a decision. My hair had to go.

After we finished his hair there was a moment of pinning, referencing pictures on the internet and a reorganization of the pins. Then there was a deep breath and staring into the mirror as the man that I love took away a small patch of my hair. Comparatively it wasn't much, just the tiniest hint at freedom. Freedom. Really, that is what it feels like. The freedom of wind on my scalp. The freedom on his fingers petting the tiniest patches of fur. The freedom to look how I want. Yes- what was once pride and surrender has transformed magically into a treatise on freedom. And, how free have I found myself over the years? Through the slavery of state and society I have burned a slight hole, burrowed myself in, and can safely say- I have tasted freedom. 

The time has come... part III- jealousy and rings

One ring to rule them all. What is a ring? In my paper on the symbolism of modern weddings I am briefly examining the modern abstraction of the ring. I take the ring off my finger and lay it on the table next to me. My finger feels naked without it, eveen though I have only been wearing it for a couple of months.
The ring is gold. I know this because it doesn't leave green marks on my finger, and because of the little number printed on the inside of the ring. It is light, and makes a delicious sound when placed on a hard surface. Although it is light and delicate it seems to also be indestructable. I know this is not true. Gold has a relatively low melting point compared to other metals. How did it get its shape in the first place?
Shape. It is perfectly round. Japanese monks spend a lifetime trying to draw a perfect circle. No, they do not try. Perhaps they try in the beginning, but eventually they learn to let go of the trying and to allow a circle to express itslef through them. I never finished that story- do they succeed? Can perfection be obtained? A circle is mathematical. Goldsmiths have moulds that have been designed by computers. They can make a perfect circle. The ring really has no beginning and no end. It hardened into existence complete.
The stamp tells me the value of the gold. Its purity. I have no idea how to read the stamp. Purity and value are foreign languages to me. I would rather wrap my tongue around whispered "I love you"s than to spend my time learning the symbols of every jeweller. I have no idea how to buy a ring.
It is his mother's ring. A symbol of family, that he handed to me. I took it with a cuirious furrow of the brow aand chewed on it for over a week before I burst with the question of whether he knew what that means to a girl. He knew.
Now we are getting rings of our own. His will return to his mother. My mother is bringing my grandmother's ring. It is another symbol of family. It is also a symbol of lasting, as my grandparent's marriage lasted until death did them part. It feels very different than the symbol of his family, and part of me wants to have a symbol of our family. But heirlooms are made through generations, not on arbitraty whims of the now.
The ring means forever. It is a sign of ownership, like the peircings and collars of slaves. It is a sign of fidelity. It is a sybol of wealth. It is so mixed up in history and society that I am uncertain how I actually feel about it.
We decided to get tattoos instead of rings. Tattoos are forever. You can not take them off. When a marriage ends and the ring is removed there is a period of aa tanline, perhaps, but it fades. We do not want the possibility of fading. Forever is something to be taken seriously.
Most of all, rings are a symbol of the modern christian monogamy. I am not a christian and neither is he, but he tells me that I am his only and I believe that he honestly is monogamous to the core. I wonder if that will change in time, and I want, most of all, to let him blossom without corruption. The thing is that he put the ring on my finger and he called me his, and he did so without the slightest hint of jealousy. How can a person be possessed without jealousy? What is possession? The modern feminist argues that we are all our own and no one can be possessed. Cyrano took ownership to mean a responsibility to the other. "The things you own end up owning you," is not far from the truth. So then, possession, the naming of something or someone as yours, is really a surrender to the desire to care for them, and take responsibility for them. It has nothing to do with jealousy and status. That came later. Love begets possession, and it feels beyond great to be possessed.