Tags
false memories, Freddy Mercury, games that google maps has made obsolete, gentrification is complicated, Hastings Sunrise, home, I like the Brighton though, multinational foodprocessing corporation's new-fashioned oatmeal cookies, nimbys nimbys everywhere, nostalgia
Jien debiexin ser a id-dar
/jiːn dɛ’biːʃin sɛr ɐ id’dɐr/
(I should go home now)
(Maltese by: a Freddy Mercury lookalike. How sure am I that I’m saying or writing it right: 1/2)
When we would walk home to Kuusineno in the evening after going to the park or shopping, mom and I would play a game. We would pretend to be lost in the unfamiliar forest of similar-looking towers, and not know which building was ours. Every time, we would take a guess in the dark, relying that our navigation skills were well-honed, but knowing that ending up somewhere completely different was a possibility. I knew it was a game, but I never totally gave up hope. I always wanted to see the 8th floor apartment in one of the neighbouring buildings – somehow I imagined it was totally foreign, and could contain pirates, exotic vines and strange-looking people. I was a little disappointed every time we would end up in our own apartment after all. But that little bit of hope survived for the next time we played the game.
What could be more dehumanizing than identical, numbered towers and emptiness in between? What could be more depressing than the crumbling Soviet empire? What could be more against reasonable urbanist principles than a town plan without streets that you could walk along? Where giant, uncrossable “prospects” cut off every walk, and packs of Khruschev-era concrete monstrosities blight the landscape? I’m not saying that that’s a wrong way of looking at it. That’s valid. I am saying, though, that when I gasp in frustration at how backward people can be, I should remember how backward I am about some things. When I ask myself why people cling to old ways when change is clearly superior, I should also be asking myself what I think of the secrets of the night towers of Kuusineno.
Fast forward twenty-some years (don’t you hate when stories do that?). I am walking home along Hastings Street one day. I see a sticker attached to a lightpole: “It’s called Hastings-Sunrise, what the fuck is East Village?” and I immediately want one. The marketing love for villages is all about trying to trick people with old-timey affect. Hastings-Sunrise is a part of a city. It’s not a fucking village. Neither is Cambie Village or any of the other victims of marketing campaigns to villageify things. Guess what, neither are “Grandma’s Old-Fashioned Oatmeal Cookies” old-fashioned or made by your grandma. It’s predictable, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. I certainly don’t. But that sticker is not just about being annoyed by bad marketing. It’s also about the change that Hastings-Sunrise is undergoing as it’s being transformed into East Village. And as someone who recently moved to Hastings-Sunrise, I am a part of that change. But it took me, what, an hour after I moved in to identify with the place against the forces that would rebrand it as East Village and fill it with artisanal boutiques? I want you to notice the difference with Kuusineno. It’s not that I feel attached to the current Hastings-Sunrise – it’s just that I think it’s better than what will replace it. It’s just a matter of taste. To me, that means it’s something I, personally, should let go. An argument like “you shouldn’t live here because it doesn’t correspond to my taste” is evil. But for some people, it’s not a matter of taste – it’s their home.
(Photo credit: Alessandra)