I taught in a different area of London the other day, one generally considered to be 'rough', and it was as if I'd stepped into a different world. Some aspects were familiar to me: the streets looked the same, with poorly aged buildings and garbage on the ground. Street signs, as usual, were inconsistently located up high, down low, on the walls of buildings and on separate posts. Trying to find the school among the maze of roads and roundabouts was the usual challenge.
Except this time I didn't feel comfortable taking out my phone to use the GPS. The atmosphere made me uncomfortable, and I didn't want to carry my most expensive possession out in front of me, flashing my out-of-place status like a beacon.
I'm not sure I can accurately convey what it was that made me feel so uncomfortable. But this was a place where the faces of the residents were hardened into unapproachable scowls. The body language of every person I passed very clearly warned of aggression. Everywhere I looked I was receiving a message, loud and clear: I belong here and YOU do not. Just stay clear and melt into the background and I'll leave you alone.
So I did just that. I avoided eye contact, tried not to look at anyone for too long, lest it be construed as staring. I kept my handbag shut and zippered. And when someone spoke to me, I flinched, reflexively clutching it tighter (turned out that was a bit of an overreaction - he was just asking for directions, which I obviously couldn't give him).
Actually, I think, in hindsight, that my reaction to this place was largely unnecessary. I think I let my preconceived notions of what this area WOULD be like dictate how I felt. And when I was given a very few indicators to support the rumours, I generalized and let my imagination run, scaring myself into seeing and assuming things I needn't have. Gangs. Hidden guns. Pickpockets. Aggravated behaviour towards me.
But then again, I kind of look like an easy target. I mean, if I were a bit more "street", I'd probably pick on someone like me. White chick wearing very uncool clothes walking around looking up, down and everywhere like she's CLEARLY not from around here, clutching her purse like it's going to sprout legs and run away from her? Yep, like taking candy from a baby. Or lunch money from a nerd.
So I thought about all these things throughout the day as I taught in a VERY lovely, brand-new school (which, by the way, I ended up finding without incident) that seemed a bit out of place in the low-income surroundings. And I decided to just relax and play it cool and largely ignore everything and everyone around me as I retraced my steps back to the train.
And then I started hearing the growling.
I could tell immediately that it was a couple of dogs, and the sounds were getting louder with every step I took. Quickly, I came upon the two very tough-looking canines just up ahead of me. And it turned out I had cause to feel my initial concern. Both dogs were scowling and growling agressively. The muscles in both of their bodies were tensed for an attack. Both were straining at their leads and their bared teeth were about six inches from each other.
The only thing preventing the dogs from absolutely destroying each other were their owners, holding them back by their leads. But the guys were as relaxed as their dogs were tensed. They stood leaning back on their heels, arms crossed, faces expressionless. They both watched the dogs, but looked a bit bored doing it.
If I could have taken a picture without fearing I'd been beaten up (or worse) I would have. As it was I only dared a few glances. But the whole scene was quite a bizarre thing to behold.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
When in Rome... (or England...)
It was time to do something very 'English'. One of those quintessential activities you engage in that make you think "Wow, I REALLY AM in _____". So I went with my housemate Richard to "The Boat Race". This is the annual Oxford-Cambridge rowing dual on the Thames. A little trivia for you: they've been doing it annually since 1856, except during the World Wars. For those of you who read/watched The Social Network, this is the race that the Winklevoss twins trained for, and lost. Hugh Laurie, of House fame, also rowed for Cambridge in the 1980 race.
Anyway...
As everyone does, we picked up a few cans of beer on the way down to the water. Once we reached the park and cracked them open, I noticed the police wandering around. Worried about my open-can-in-a-public-place, I tried to hide it a bit behind me. Not to worry, Rich informed me - while it IS technically illegal to be drinking beer in a park, it's all just kind of ignored until you do something REALLY stupid. Excellent!
Getting closer to race time, Rich and I headed to the waterfront. While he is a 6'7" giant of a man, I am considerably shorter and wanted to be right near the stone wall so I could see. Because I'm me, I started talking to some random people once we got there, and we became fast friends. With the addition of a friend of Rich's, the five of us were feeling the excitement of the crowd and getting anxious for the race to begin!
To pass the time, I started looking around me, doing a little good old-fashioned people-watching. It was impossible not to notice these guys first:
Amidst the crowd, they were dancing up a storm. Bedecked in their hats and prize ribbons, with bells strapped to their shins, they were making quite a ruckus. Apparently young children in England are taught the traditional dances, much like Canadian children learn to square dance and do the Maypole.
Next, as the crowds crushed in around us, I couldn't help but notice this guy:
Seriously? You came to this very busy and public event, stood about three people back from the edge of prime viewing area, and brought a book to read? Ah well, to each his own, I guess!
Some people were really serious about getting the best seat in the house. And apparently they felt said 'best' seat was up in a tree:
After much standing about, craning my neck to watch the preliminary stuff on the massive screen, the race had begun! The tension was palpable. People in London take this seriously, especially if they have personal ties to either school. Having no such ties myself, it didn't really matter to me who won. But, having done a little research before the event, I knew that Cambridge was favoured to win, that they won last year, and that they had won more past races (80, to Oxford's 75). So I decided to root for the underdog.
About 30 seconds after mentally making this decision, and JUST before I had a chance to open my mouth and make it very well known who I was favouring, I began to notice the large crowd of men to my right. Who were very clearly, very LOUDLY expressing their support for Cambridge. Hmmm... better keep my cheering a big more vaguely generic, then!
About 5 minutes after the race began, the boats were in view of our spot along the river. 30 seconds later, they were not. Unfortunately, because of the venue of the race, you can really only see them that long. That's why they have the giant screens set up as well - so you can watch the rest of it!
After the race, we (and every other person who had been watching the race) headed to a pub for a couple more pints. All-in-all, an excellent day! And I feel like a Londoner! Thanks for taking me out, Rich!
Oh... and Oxford won. Hooray!
Anyway...
As everyone does, we picked up a few cans of beer on the way down to the water. Once we reached the park and cracked them open, I noticed the police wandering around. Worried about my open-can-in-a-public-place, I tried to hide it a bit behind me. Not to worry, Rich informed me - while it IS technically illegal to be drinking beer in a park, it's all just kind of ignored until you do something REALLY stupid. Excellent!
Getting closer to race time, Rich and I headed to the waterfront. While he is a 6'7" giant of a man, I am considerably shorter and wanted to be right near the stone wall so I could see. Because I'm me, I started talking to some random people once we got there, and we became fast friends. With the addition of a friend of Rich's, the five of us were feeling the excitement of the crowd and getting anxious for the race to begin!
To pass the time, I started looking around me, doing a little good old-fashioned people-watching. It was impossible not to notice these guys first:
Amidst the crowd, they were dancing up a storm. Bedecked in their hats and prize ribbons, with bells strapped to their shins, they were making quite a ruckus. Apparently young children in England are taught the traditional dances, much like Canadian children learn to square dance and do the Maypole.
Next, as the crowds crushed in around us, I couldn't help but notice this guy:
Seriously? You came to this very busy and public event, stood about three people back from the edge of prime viewing area, and brought a book to read? Ah well, to each his own, I guess!
Some people were really serious about getting the best seat in the house. And apparently they felt said 'best' seat was up in a tree:
After much standing about, craning my neck to watch the preliminary stuff on the massive screen, the race had begun! The tension was palpable. People in London take this seriously, especially if they have personal ties to either school. Having no such ties myself, it didn't really matter to me who won. But, having done a little research before the event, I knew that Cambridge was favoured to win, that they won last year, and that they had won more past races (80, to Oxford's 75). So I decided to root for the underdog.
About 30 seconds after mentally making this decision, and JUST before I had a chance to open my mouth and make it very well known who I was favouring, I began to notice the large crowd of men to my right. Who were very clearly, very LOUDLY expressing their support for Cambridge. Hmmm... better keep my cheering a big more vaguely generic, then!
About 5 minutes after the race began, the boats were in view of our spot along the river. 30 seconds later, they were not. Unfortunately, because of the venue of the race, you can really only see them that long. That's why they have the giant screens set up as well - so you can watch the rest of it!
After the race, we (and every other person who had been watching the race) headed to a pub for a couple more pints. All-in-all, an excellent day! And I feel like a Londoner! Thanks for taking me out, Rich!
Oh... and Oxford won. Hooray!
Overheard by a Canadian: Episode 8
Teaching Nursery (age 4) today:
Child: "Where are you from?"
Me: "I'm from Canada!"
Child: "Which bus do you take to get to Canada?"
Child 1 (to another child): "Look at this tower I just made!"
Child 2: "Oh, that's lovely! I really like that!"
(you have to picture this one with a cute little British accent to appreciate how adorable it was!)
Me: "What does a dog say?"
Child: "Woof, woof!"
Me: "What does a cat say?"
Child: "Miao, miao"
Me: "What does a teacher say?"
Child: "Shush, shush!" (with finger to lips and everything)
Haha... quite the adorable day!
Child: "Where are you from?"
Me: "I'm from Canada!"
Child: "Which bus do you take to get to Canada?"
Child 1 (to another child): "Look at this tower I just made!"
Child 2: "Oh, that's lovely! I really like that!"
(you have to picture this one with a cute little British accent to appreciate how adorable it was!)
Me: "What does a dog say?"
Child: "Woof, woof!"
Me: "What does a cat say?"
Child: "Miao, miao"
Me: "What does a teacher say?"
Child: "Shush, shush!" (with finger to lips and everything)
Haha... quite the adorable day!
Monday, March 21, 2011
I have a proposition for you...
I had dinner a couple of weeks ago with a friend and her very nice, very proper English parents. We were having a lovely evening in a little local spot, a Lebanese restaurant called Yalla Yalla. It’s in an area called Soho, which is an interesting hybrid of theatre-district, seedy-redlight-district and relatively-new-gay-district. The restaurant itself is frequented primarily by Londoners, as it’s a bit off the beaten-by-tourists-path. It’s loaded with atmosphere, but only about 20 patrons fit into the small space, so it was loud and a bit warm.
After the meal, my friend’s Dad stepped outside to get a bit of air. He came back about five minutes later, looking a little agitated. When he sat down, we had the following conversation:
Dad: ‘Well, that was interesting.’
Daughter: ‘Why? What happened?’
Dad: “I was just propositioned!’
Daughter: ‘You were what?’
Dad: ‘Propositioned! A woman walked up to me and asked me if I wanted a good time tonight. I told her I was with my family.’
I was in absolute hysterics by this time. My friend’s Dad was looking a little pleased at having had this little adventure in the streets, and it was just so perfect seeing this very proper man tell such a story.
Later, when we all left the restaurant, we saw this window illuminated in tell-tale red right above the restaurant. We’re just assuming this is where the aforementioned ‘lady of the night’ would have taken my friend’s Dad.
Only in Soho…
After the meal, my friend’s Dad stepped outside to get a bit of air. He came back about five minutes later, looking a little agitated. When he sat down, we had the following conversation:
Dad: ‘Well, that was interesting.’
Daughter: ‘Why? What happened?’
Dad: “I was just propositioned!’
Daughter: ‘You were what?’
Dad: ‘Propositioned! A woman walked up to me and asked me if I wanted a good time tonight. I told her I was with my family.’
I was in absolute hysterics by this time. My friend’s Dad was looking a little pleased at having had this little adventure in the streets, and it was just so perfect seeing this very proper man tell such a story.
Later, when we all left the restaurant, we saw this window illuminated in tell-tale red right above the restaurant. We’re just assuming this is where the aforementioned ‘lady of the night’ would have taken my friend’s Dad.
Only in Soho…
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Celebrity sighting: Janice Dickinson
My friend Kathryn has been in town for the weekend, visiting from Canada. We had an absolutely AMAZING four days, and explored pretty much everything we possibly could have fit into the time we had. It was GREAT to have someone here who wanted to see and do it all. I tagged along and had my own little London vacation while she was here.
One of the places we visited was the Tate Modern. It’s a modern art museum, with everything from PIcasso to Salvador Dali. My housemate Joe tagged along on this particular day of exploration, so the three of us were wandering around separately through the gallery rooms.
I had JUST found the Dali paintings I wanted to look at, and was busy analyzing and appreciating his work when Kathryn raced up behind me and physically pulled me away from the artwork. A bit miffed that she chose this particular moment to get excited about something, I reluctantly followed her. Through short spurts of language and a lot of gesturing, she tried to explain to me that someone famous was in the museum. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember said celebrity’s name, and I’d never seen the TV show she was apparently on. The woman had by this time moved from the spot Kathryn had seen her, so we set off on a chase through the exhibit rooms. My eyes were peeled for familiar faces, but I had no idea who I was looking for, so I just followed Kathryn’s quickened pace until suddenly she stopped short.
There she was.
But still, I didn’t know who SHE was! Looking oh-so-natural, I slowed my pace and meandered through the room so that I could get a look at the woman’s face.
It’s JANICE DICKINSON!!
As soon as I saw her, I knew who it was. But I needed to be SURE. And to do that, I needed to hear her voice. Cool as a cucumber, I sauntered over to the painting she was perusing and stood right next to her, waiting to hear her offer some comment on it. When she spoke to her companion (some guy named “Alex”), it was all over. Yes. One hundred percent. It was her.
Nearly bursting with excitement, I contemplated the face that I had just stood and checked out a piece of modern art WITH Janice Dickenson!
Now, let’s be clear. I don’t actually have any sort of affectionate feelings towards this woman. As you all know, I’m not the sort of person to go celebrity-chasing. I don’t even know who celebrities ARE most of the time. And this particular celebrity isn’t even that famous. We figured since NO ONE else in the gallery was taking any notice of her at all, they probably don’t even know who she is over here.
But she’s famous. And we checked out some art together. And that’s pretty cool.
After a little gawking and probably-not-so-subtle staring, Kathryn decided to try and take a picture of her. Meanwhile, Joe finally caught up with us so I rushed over to tell him what was going on. As soon as Janice noticed the camera, she took off into the next room. Joe followed her in there to confirm who it was for himself and to get a good look. Unfortunately, none of us were able to snap a photo and it didn’t even occur to me to ask for an autograph. Oh well… she was there. I promise. And you’ll just have to take my word for it!
By the way, if you don’t know who Janice Dickinson IS, you can click here to find out. Basically, she declared herself the first supermodel. I only know of her because she was on America’s Next Top Model for a while :)
One of the places we visited was the Tate Modern. It’s a modern art museum, with everything from PIcasso to Salvador Dali. My housemate Joe tagged along on this particular day of exploration, so the three of us were wandering around separately through the gallery rooms.
I had JUST found the Dali paintings I wanted to look at, and was busy analyzing and appreciating his work when Kathryn raced up behind me and physically pulled me away from the artwork. A bit miffed that she chose this particular moment to get excited about something, I reluctantly followed her. Through short spurts of language and a lot of gesturing, she tried to explain to me that someone famous was in the museum. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember said celebrity’s name, and I’d never seen the TV show she was apparently on. The woman had by this time moved from the spot Kathryn had seen her, so we set off on a chase through the exhibit rooms. My eyes were peeled for familiar faces, but I had no idea who I was looking for, so I just followed Kathryn’s quickened pace until suddenly she stopped short.
There she was.
But still, I didn’t know who SHE was! Looking oh-so-natural, I slowed my pace and meandered through the room so that I could get a look at the woman’s face.
It’s JANICE DICKINSON!!
As soon as I saw her, I knew who it was. But I needed to be SURE. And to do that, I needed to hear her voice. Cool as a cucumber, I sauntered over to the painting she was perusing and stood right next to her, waiting to hear her offer some comment on it. When she spoke to her companion (some guy named “Alex”), it was all over. Yes. One hundred percent. It was her.
Nearly bursting with excitement, I contemplated the face that I had just stood and checked out a piece of modern art WITH Janice Dickenson!
Now, let’s be clear. I don’t actually have any sort of affectionate feelings towards this woman. As you all know, I’m not the sort of person to go celebrity-chasing. I don’t even know who celebrities ARE most of the time. And this particular celebrity isn’t even that famous. We figured since NO ONE else in the gallery was taking any notice of her at all, they probably don’t even know who she is over here.
But she’s famous. And we checked out some art together. And that’s pretty cool.
After a little gawking and probably-not-so-subtle staring, Kathryn decided to try and take a picture of her. Meanwhile, Joe finally caught up with us so I rushed over to tell him what was going on. As soon as Janice noticed the camera, she took off into the next room. Joe followed her in there to confirm who it was for himself and to get a good look. Unfortunately, none of us were able to snap a photo and it didn’t even occur to me to ask for an autograph. Oh well… she was there. I promise. And you’ll just have to take my word for it!
By the way, if you don’t know who Janice Dickinson IS, you can click here to find out. Basically, she declared herself the first supermodel. I only know of her because she was on America’s Next Top Model for a while :)
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Canterbury
After a morning of trudging through a battlefield, I was off to explore a more literary town: Canterbury. Of course, this is something that I HAVE been looking forward to since high school, ever since Ms.Robinson introduced us all to the Canterbury Tales and we dressed up like the pilgrims for our Lit Challenge and someone made a sign that said "Canterbury or BUST!" It was also the scene of one of the closing events in the book I just reread, Pillars of the Earth, Archbishop Thomas Becket's murder. All in all, I was quite excited to visit.
My overall impression of Canterbury is that it's lovely. I immediately fell in love with the atmosphere, lulled into a happy state of just enjoying the moment. The High Street (the main thoroughfare that crosses the city) is technically a traffic street, but pedestrians meander along the cobblestones at will. I love the ebb and flow of tourists wandering aimlessly in and through High Street, parting gracefully for the vehicles that patiently move with, rather than against, the traffic of pedestrians, then coming together again naturally to fill the vacant space once the cars have moved past. I am wrapped up in the crowd; we are some kind of living, breathing organism, connected by a common purpose and collectively drawn into an alternate way of existing. It's almost as if the town breathes a sense of pilgrimage into all of us, and we are all affected, together. It's serene, it's beautiful in its naturalness.
After finding my guest house and shedding my overnight bag, I set off to explore the city at night. I was jazzed by the fact that I could see the top of the Cathedral from my window, so I headed there first. I felt like I was being a bit sneaky, but I followed some people past the gated entrance and found myself staring up at the beautifully lit architectural masterpiece. I was absolutely stunned. I took a few pictures, wandered around a bit more. I soon discovered that I wasn't being that sneaky - other people were filtering through the same entrance I used and no one was stopping or questioning them either. Turns out there was a choral concert happening in the crypt that night! YES! That is just the kind of random event I would like to go to! I grabbed a quick coffee and muffin, called that dinner, and headed back to the Crypt in time for the concert. It was hauntingly striking to be in the crypt after dark, I can tell you that much. After the concert (okay, just half of it... the choir wasn't very good and I felt I had soaked up all the culture this was offering me) I wandered around the city and found...
The Canterbury Tales Pub! SCORE! I popped in for a pint, expecting tacky touristy crap on the walls, perhaps an audio version of the Tales repeating endlessly. At the very least the barmaids would be dressed as characters from Chaucer's great work? No? Wait, I'm sorry... this is a local spot? 90% of the people in here are just the bartender's friends? And there's two different sets of people on a date here? Seriously? Well, that works for me too. Pour me a pint and I'll sit back and relax. Oh, and this is what I'll listen to through the sound system instead recordings of the Tales: http://www.youtube.com/wat
The next day I did the tourist stuff. I went back to the Cathedral and took a moment to appreciate the Thomas Becket memorial. I visited the Canterbury Tales tourist attraction and heard Chaucer's Tales told while watching creepy mannequins being lit and unlit dramatically. Ah, Lit geekiness. How I cherish you.
My own pilgrimage was admittedly less than purely pious, so I shouldn't be one to judge. But I have to say I was a bit disappointed by the Starbucks and Pret locations dotting the High Street. Really? Even the little town of Canterbury isn't safe from touristy influence? Guess not. Oh well. I did need the coffee...
And, of course, it wouldn't be an Angela excursion without finding some kind of protest (akin to the one I've discovered with Monica in Greece and the random New Zealand Days with Anna a few weeks ago). I don't even know what these people were shouting, but it was in unison and it was loud. Good grief.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Battle
A short summation of the Battle of Hastings (this is also posted on FBook... skip down a couple of paragraphs if you already read it there. Or if you're a history genius and you already know all about the Battle of Hastings):
The year is 1066. King Edward has just died, leaving England without an heir. Two claimants come forward: Harold, and English noble who claims that Edward promised him the throne from his deathbed and William, a Norman (Frenchman) who claims Edward promised HIM the throne. Conundrum!
So Harold convinces everyone to crown him. Meanwhile, William of Normandy gets some support from the Pope and builds up his own army. He crosses the English Channel and meets Harold's troops (who are already exhausted from battling in the North) at Hastings.
King Harold's English army's trick is to stand firm and lock their shields together like a makeshift wall. The Normans really aren't going anywhere fast against such tactics. They suddenly break ranks on the left and appear to flee. Triumphant, Harold's English boys flee after them, hungry for a kill. But, at the crucial moment, the Normans turn back around, surround the English pursuers and kill them all.
William tries this a couple of times, thinning out the English army a little at a time. Finally, he unleashes a storm of arrows upon the English. As the story goes (and this part is a little up for debate), King Harold gets an arrow through the eye, and William (now "the Conqueror") is victorious!
... Really, the point of all this is that the Normans won. And if they hadn't done that, England probably would have remained on the fringes of European society and politics. If England hadn't become so important, which it did as a result of this battle, it wouldn't have been nearly so influential in the years and centuries to come. French probably would have dominated the New World, for instance, and you'd be reading this en Francais.
~~~~~
On the train into Battle, as I was reading my handy Rick Steeves' England guidebook (thanks again to my brilliant sister for giving it to me!) and perusing the lush English countryside, I had a flashback to a certain scene from a certain movie. A Tourist myself, I half expected (okay, maybe just wished longingly) that my longlost lover, dear Johnny himself, would appear and sit in the seat opposite me. We would discuss my book, and I would tell him my name. He would laugh and say it was terrible (my name, not the book). He would whisk me off in his boat to his lovely hotel and take me out for a fabulous dinner and we would be chased by madmen with guns... it would be terribly exciting...
Sorry, I digress.
On the train, as I was rereading Rick's commentary on Battle, I thought back to the 8th Graders I taught for two weeks last year. Oddly enough, they were covering the Battle of Hastings at the time and I was expected to teach them all about it. Remember that part about hating history when I was in high school? Yeah...that hatred made such lessons a bit difficult for me. In any case, I do remember teaching it more so than learning it, so I had some reference point for what I was about to discover. This did, however, reinforce my desire to bring what I learn to my future students. If only I could travel back in time and teach those 8th Graders again... it would be a MUCH better lesson after this!
Wandering around the battlefields, I made a realization about myself. Before I left on this little mini-excursion, there was a large part of me that didn't want to go. To be more specific, I didn't want to go alone. I just feel like it's so much more fun to explore things when you're with someone. Who's going to take silly pictures with me? Who am I going to say "Tour Guide Angela says..." to? Who am I going to people-watch with? It's just not the same on my own. But I really wanted to see these things, and I wasn't willing to stay home for my entire half-term break by myself. So off I went. And you know what? It was all right. I maintain that it would have been better with someone else, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Even as I'm typing this, I realize it's a crazy thing to feel. I moved halfway around the world by myself, and I don't want to go on a daytrip alone? I know, I'm crazy. But the heart feels what it feels.
Another major self-realization (another one? yep, this trip was all about personal growth...or something) was that I could never, NEVER have survived a soldier's life. Trudging up that hill in my runners (or "trainers" as they're called here), I was more thankful with each step that I wasn't wearing armour. And carrying a sword. And marching towards my inevitable death. When I got home the next day and watched Braveheart with Joe, this feeling was further reinforced. A soldier's life is all about being told what to do and when. And about living a life where each day could be your last. And NOT getting emotional about that. Beyond the physical strength needed to march into battle day in and day out, the mental and emotional strength required to live such a regimented life are just not in me. We live in different times. At least, I feel fortunate that we do.
Another major self-realization (another one? yep, this trip was all about personal growth...or something) was that I could never, NEVER have survived a soldier's life. Trudging up that hill in my runners (or "trainers" as they're called here), I was more thankful with each step that I wasn't wearing armour. And carrying a sword. And marching towards my inevitable death. When I got home the next day and watched Braveheart with Joe, this feeling was further reinforced. A soldier's life is all about being told what to do and when. And about living a life where each day could be your last. And NOT getting emotional about that. Beyond the physical strength needed to march into battle day in and day out, the mental and emotional strength required to live such a regimented life are just not in me. We live in different times. At least, I feel fortunate that we do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)