Assignment #1 - Define Your Culture

The first web posting for the York International Interns this year was for them to define their own culture. With most interns having completed this assignment, we have found that this is easier said than done. It seems pretty easy to define other cultures but to turn that microscope on oneself has proven to be tricky.

When I was growing up in a very diverse neighborhood in Ottawa, no one was really Canadian. Carlos was Italian, Karol was Norwegian, Wei was Chinese, Amir was Saudi Arabian, even though we were all BORN IN CANADA! So I was Ukrainian. This of course completely denied my quarter Irish and quarter Scottish components. I now consider myself just Canadian with a Ukrainian/Irish/Scottish heritage but I still identify strongly with my Ukrainianess.

So what is it to be Ukrainian other than the name? (watch the movie Dr. Zhivago and you will hear Omar Sharif refer to Julie Christie's character Lara in the diminutive Larissa) I can't speak the language but I can cook, I can do the eggs and I can dance in the red boots. That covers the 4 D's: dialect, design, diet and dance. But what else is there to it that makes me a Ukrainian?

It would be nice to claim my work ethic is because of my Ukrainianess. My grandparents worked like dogs to build their life in Canada during and after the first world war. My mother was born during the depression and many of her attitudes toward working hard and frugality I now possess. But is hard work a Ukrainian thing? Not exactly.

I am quite a proud person, of which I am not proud of. Ukrainians are quite proud. You don't see too many pictures of relaxed and casual Ukrainians. I take pride in my work, in my career, in my reputation, in my appearance. Well,at least I feel guilty when I look like a schlub. If one looks over the history of the borders of the Ukraine, one will see how often they have changed. For one to be able to hold onto their identity through such radical change and not to mention an attempted genocide, one has to have a certain amount of pride.




So when I polish my boots, layer on the mascara, dust my house before friends come over, check and double check that my underwear aren't hanging out my pants, accessorize, clean the corners of my stove...what have you. I consider this me being Ukrainian. I get confirmation that this is a Ukrainian thing when I go to St. Vladimir's Ukrainian Institute at 620 Spadina Ave and see the Ukrainian women TURNED OUT! They don't go anywhere without their perfectly ironed suits, stockings on, sparkly broach, hair divinely coiffed and fur coat. I know I have to bring my A game to be among these women.