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A review by nini23
We Measure the Earth with Our Bodies by Tsering Yangzom Lama
dark
emotional
sad
4.25
...a bleak ancient prophecy: When the iron bird flies and the horses run on wheels, the People of Snows will be scattered like ants across the face of earth.
But the awe I felt was different. The idea alone was staggering. To measure the earth with my body, to know my country with my own skin. It seemed like the only way to fathom such a land. Yet I did not know if I would ever glimpse a meter of Tibet with my own eyes.
...the idea of a hidden valley of peace - whether as Shambhala or beyul - has deep roots in Tibetan culture.
Theirs isn’t the gaze of a mentor upon a student but a fixed asymmetry. They look at me as though I am a child whom they can tolerate at the table as long as I know my place. For years, I’ve sensed this violent but hidden truth—that beyond the welcome smiles of this country lies a vast and impenetrable wall: a national self-regard that insists on a mythic goodness. This is a nation that gives and gives to the less fortunate and asks nothing in return. Nothing, that is, but our grateful acquiescence to their silent expectations.
...a country called Canada entered our dreams. The distances we've traveled. The distances we dream of. For those of us who cannot return home, all the world is a dream.
But how did you survive all these years with this body made of earth? These last sixty years of exile, were they hard on you, as well? Do you miss that land which made your body?
Every line from my childhood, every answer to the question "Who are you" is ready at my lips. We are asylees. We are refugees. The Chinese government took our land and killed our people, 1.2 million souls. Our documents are flimsy—just laminated scraps of common paper, not embossed leather passports like yours—and considered illegitimate by most nations. Please overlook our present degradation. You should have seen us before the invasion, when our country had kings and gods and an unbroken thread of history from a time before time.
"What I do know is that survival is an ugly game, and our objects are all the world really values of our people. Our objects and our ideas. But not us, and not our lives. Whether we’re here for another two hundred years or wiped off the face of the planet, it doesn’t matter to anyone else, not really.”
"People find our culture beautiful," I say. "But not our suffering. No one wants to put that in a glass case. No one wants to own that."
But the awe I felt was different. The idea alone was staggering. To measure the earth with my body, to know my country with my own skin. It seemed like the only way to fathom such a land. Yet I did not know if I would ever glimpse a meter of Tibet with my own eyes.
...the idea of a hidden valley of peace - whether as Shambhala or beyul - has deep roots in Tibetan culture.
Theirs isn’t the gaze of a mentor upon a student but a fixed asymmetry. They look at me as though I am a child whom they can tolerate at the table as long as I know my place. For years, I’ve sensed this violent but hidden truth—that beyond the welcome smiles of this country lies a vast and impenetrable wall: a national self-regard that insists on a mythic goodness. This is a nation that gives and gives to the less fortunate and asks nothing in return. Nothing, that is, but our grateful acquiescence to their silent expectations.
...a country called Canada entered our dreams. The distances we've traveled. The distances we dream of. For those of us who cannot return home, all the world is a dream.
But how did you survive all these years with this body made of earth? These last sixty years of exile, were they hard on you, as well? Do you miss that land which made your body?
Every line from my childhood, every answer to the question "Who are you" is ready at my lips. We are asylees. We are refugees. The Chinese government took our land and killed our people, 1.2 million souls. Our documents are flimsy—just laminated scraps of common paper, not embossed leather passports like yours—and considered illegitimate by most nations. Please overlook our present degradation. You should have seen us before the invasion, when our country had kings and gods and an unbroken thread of history from a time before time.
"What I do know is that survival is an ugly game, and our objects are all the world really values of our people. Our objects and our ideas. But not us, and not our lives. Whether we’re here for another two hundred years or wiped off the face of the planet, it doesn’t matter to anyone else, not really.”
"People find our culture beautiful," I say. "But not our suffering. No one wants to put that in a glass case. No one wants to own that."
Content Warnings
Graphic: Genocide