Perseverance is choosing to presume that something is impossible, and then believing otherwise.

The root of all evil

I think one way I am able to accommodate the idea of race and culture is the idea of indoctrination. Indoctrination into a specific paradigm constructed by the characteristics of the language the culture feeds you.

Some people swallow it whole, others improvise. But I think it's not possible to truly be unaffected by the languages you speak, no matter how little you may know your second or third languages. I think races and cultures change as they merge. Nobody can really so called preserve one's culture, The very thought of wanting to preserve ones culture I think is a sign that one has had some kind of global influence.

Race and culture are therefore approximations, not prescriptions. But when the approximation is too far off, why do people still want to try to fit in?

I think the answer lies in power. I think the acceleration of the development of language is driven by the greed for power. Through language , you can make people think in a certain way, use them to your advantage, and make them desire to be thus used.

Culture is the root of all evil!

India

That soft orange glow
Quite readily made me forget
That heat and madness
That was Delhi, my first taste of India.
For long days
Was a very short time; not enough
To get accustomed to how meals are served, much less
To understand how food tasted to the locals.
I still have no idea how this great country works, it is as if
Chaos were its expression of order.
However things seem to fail randomly,
Thehy seem to get their act together -
More or less.

I remember the driver's nonchalant replies,
Softly insisting on his own recommendations;
The way how a small door along a dusty avenue
Can open up to a chic cafe;
The way homeless children came by to sell you goods
While your car is stuck in the jam.

I recall how nobody seems to stop to notice
When the lights go out abruptly halfway through dinner;
And I remember the taste of that desert served to me:
Almost sweet, almost warm -
That in-between, unsettling to  me,
Seemed to be a soft-spot I couldn't detect.

Looking out from my window seat,
I see an India expanding under me -
Its network of household lights
Glowing in a soft orange
Like Earth's own magma.