Kulusuk, East Greenland. 210 inhabitants, 450 sled dogs, tall icebergs clogging the small harbour.
S., a 6 year old non-Inuit little girl, strolls around with her sister and parents. Nearby, a newborn cries endlessly in a woman’s arms. S.’s mother wonders aloud: “poor little thing, who knows why he cries so much”. S., thoughtful: “Just born…, he doesn’t know where he is”. The meaning, the adventure, the freedom and the tragedy of socialization condensed into the nutshell of a child’s sentence.
We were born for too long, and we think we know too much about where we are. We depart towards distant lands and exacting last Thules, hoping to know nomore where we are, lost for a short moment, and then we rave about being born again – just for a short moment -, blank slates, travellers with no luggage. At last.
A ritual to undo time
“I was found and contacted by many of my ex-schoolmates, but apart from exchanging news about our everyday lives, nothing much came of it. But then, a few weeks later, a dear old friend of mine with whom, for several reasons, I had had a falling out eight years ago, found the courage through Facebook to apologize for what she had done and re-connect with me. I would say that’s quite an achievement for a “simple” internet site. My friend and I have started seeing each other again, have cleared up our misunderstandings, and now confide in one another just like we used to eight years ago. Thanks Facebook!”
Thousands of similar stories could be told by Facebook users. This reminds me of the behaviour of an obsessive-compulsive patient described in a book many years ago by Elvio Fachinelli called
