Walking quietly, next to you, both of us wrapped in thoughts so far away. It makes me think of the difference between physical space and mental space. That physical proximity can be so powerful. Although I may be millions of miles away mentally, I'm still aware of you. I think my own thoughts, but I wonder what you're thinking.
I think of so many things. I guess its because I can't talk to you, you need your space, but I can't do something rude like pull out a book or listen to some music either. I can't sleep because I'm walking. So I am forced, not unwillingly, to retreat into the cove in my mind where I think deep, spacey thoughts. I get high on observations about the world and human nature.
I think (not in order):
1. How harmonious the night is. The quietude, the smell, the dewy grass. I think about how everything is unique. How each person's footsteps reveal their personalities, their mood. Whether they're confident, poised, serene; or angry, impatient, distracted. I think of breathing and how no two people breathe the same way.
2. I think about how counter-intuitive life is. We expect to grow more complex the older and more mature we become, but in fact we get more simple. As children, we act on our impulses and are taught not to. As adults, we have to "find ourselves" - get in touch with our impulses and against all reasoning, act on them. We find that what we wanted to do is the right thing after all.
3. Now, I think about how rarely I think. How infrequently I actually take the time to be completely away from consumption (of ideas, of conversation, of visual movements) and just occupy my mind. Why? Is it because I am afraid of what I will find? Or because I feel that it wastes time? Sometimes it does feel like a waste of time, because I can't remember what destination my thought journey brought me to, and it follows that all that thought-time was a waste. But perhaps in the recording of this process, and in your consumption, it wasn't a waste at all.
4. I don't think its wrong to want things. It is not wrong to want love, it is not wrong to be forthright about what you need. It is wrong to snatch things away or to make others do what you want them to do if they are unwilling. But in being clear about our wants, our reasons, our lives, our reasons for life - it makes it so much easier to be helped, and to help others achieve their hopes.
Showing posts with label I think. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I think. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Maybe we are getting this lifeline thing wrong
Maybe writing should not be so easy. A few dashes on the keyboard, a click of the keypad and instant publishing. Maybe writing should reflect the hard work of thinking and translating that complex inner landscape into a form that everyone can understand. Each word should shine like a diamond in an engagement ring, each phrase as perfectly formed and iridescent as a soap bubble. (I am writing like a thesaurus enthusiast right now, but I assure you I am thesaurus free. I must be unconsciously imitating some stream-of-consciousness author now in my word-drunk, thought-seeped state.)
Lately today I've been wondering about the conflict between our biological and our intellectual imperative. As a biological, evolutionary (or created, depending on your beliefs, I think that they are both true) being, I recognize that I don't have very many years on this planet and I am driven by my body to accomplish certain things: mate, raise children, age and die. So morose, but it is true! I am 20 years old. My body runs well, but from here on everything declines: organ function, sensory apparatus, coordination, memory, brain function, speed, parts of the body that beauty is measured by gradually decreases as cells die and don't regenerate, as hormones decrease, as bone density shrinks. For the rest of my life I will have to reconcile with the fact that I am no longer 20.
And all this knowledge (put into perspective by an excellent holiday-reading book titled "The thing about life is that one day you'll be dead" by David Shields) makes me react with wonderstruck panic: I need to get some living done! Why should I be sitting and studying and enriching my mind when I am at my physical peak of life? Can't sitting and studying and philosophic meditations be done when I'm 60?"
I realize then, how our current way of life in the more-developed parts of the world is so conflicted with our biological timeline. We spend ages 5-24 (for me, due to Malaysia's late-starting and long education system of which material I have retained little) studying up to a degree level, start working, maybe get married at 28-30 (don't want to jeopardize your career, need to get downpayment on house/car/etc) if you find the right person who has roughly the same life goals as you do. Childbirth after age 35 greatly increases the chance of birth defects. For most of history women had their first child by age 20. The anthropologist Suzanne Frayser found from studying 454 traditional cultures that the average age for brides was 12 to 15, and for grooms 18. Growing up I always found this fact (early marriage) terrifying and was so glad I lived in the modern enlightened age of equality. Now, I wonder if this is a lie. I wonder if by prolonging years through medicine and better healthcare and quality of life, by postponing the inevitable; I am just wasting more of my naturally-healthy years preparing for the rituals of adulthood and survival and find out later that either a) it didn't require all that much effort or b) that it wasn't worth it.
So what would I do if I chose to abandon my intellectual-fulfillment, career-ladder goals and seek happiness and a good life through biological means? I would start living a more balanced life, cook my own meals, run and exercise a lot, start looking for a mate to have children (10 more years till 30!), travel. Worry less about saving the world or solving our problems and be more focused on fulfilling evolutionary criteria. Immerse myself in small household tasks like cleaning. Get a cat. Drink and party more (not to the point of destruction, of course) since my liver still has amazing capabilities. Only old people tell you to be cautious, ever notice that? Keep staying in North America by any means, where making a living just seems so much easier. The middle-class enjoy a standard of living comparable to the upper-middle class at home, and with more security. Spend a lot more time with friends (while doing sports of course) - we can sit around and drink tea when we're 40 and have bad backs.
Things I would not worry/spend so much time laboring over: whether I will get a good job. World problems. Exams. Facebook. Wondering if I am intelligent. Trying to be intelligent. (I can be intelligent when I'm old. Old age=wisdom. Wisdom at young age = too much time sitting around on butt)
You may notice I am fusing traditional ways of living with the modern world to make a melange of what I consider the perfect young life. My earlier years should be about making experiences and making friends, my later years about reminiscing about said experiences with said friends. And enjoying this God-given body and capabilities, not overtaxing the mind at the expense of the body. Eating badly, sleeping spottily, not exercising enough, too much sitting around without enough action - that is the condition of college students. Where is the spirit of revolution, the passion that burns stronger than the urge to get wasted on a Saturday night, the joy of discovery and falling in love with ideas and people and ideas of people?
"Fight, fight, against the dying of the light..." but if noonday sun does not shine with life, what else is there to fight for at sunset?
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Kinds of Darkness
There are so many thoughts in my head once again as I sit down here to write and I feel privileged - privileged to be the bearer of words; chalices that contain meaning that can be used for enlightening, teaching, joking, bonding, loving, twisting, hurting - or just locked safely away in one's sternum. (Yes, the ribs, keep it near your ribs, your heart needs more than words to feed it.)
I read what I wrote again. That was a long sentence. I have this tendency to write "pretzel" sentences - declarations so long that you forget at the end what was said at the beginning. Isn't that how our minds work, though? Sometimes we forget, at the end of the journey, what we started out for?
Today, as I was walking down to my room (a dorm room located kind-of underground, 2 floors below ground level but which makes sense, as my campus is built on hilly ground) I did not see the light at the middle of each flight of stairs where there is an unbricked view of the trees and the sea just beyond my school. We live by a bay, Tolo Bay. I know those trees and the shape of the sea instinctively now, though I am no artist, and while it does not sparkle like the Mediterranean, it has its beauty. I know that though the light is not there and all there is to it now is darkness and mystery, it is not an unfamiliar and menacing darkness - I know exactly what it hides, and love the variations of this natural scene.
Tomorrow, I will see the first glimpse of sunlight hit the water, if I wake up that early. And when I go to classes, the dense greenery encroaching the sand will wave in the gentle breeze.
And why did I think of this? Well, I've been thinking about light and darkness recently - not brooding - but in snatches, sometimes indirectly - like this.
In class, we've been doing Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. (Which explains it all, really.) Whatever reservations I have of him as a person (I have to keep reminding myself that he was stuck in the paradigms of the early 20th century, and all white men had some racist prejudices, as we do today), his writing does accomplish something. He makes you see "the horror! The horror!" and brings that darkness (the ever present "mysterious, brooding, inscrutable" darkness) smack into your eyes. Ultimately, he seems to suggest, there is no escape from the darkness from either outside or inside yourself. The world is a dark and unfriendly place, and even London, the "greatest town on earth", is described as leading into the heart of darkness.
Outside the classroom, I've lit candles twice in the last three weeks. Candles are for tragedy, you know that? They symbolise our opposition to a world so dark that we can't even see each other's faces, each other's joys and sorrows and rejoice that at least we are not alone in feeling.
The tragedies I've touched, with icy fingers setting hard wax alight, were different: one emotionally detached, one a blow to the guts. One vast and universal, proclaimed and fought against by world leaders and millions all over the world with stories harsher than I've ever heard. One private and unevitable, met only with tears of tough boys and distraught students and teachers. I did not cry on AIDS Day, though millions have succumbed to this uncurable disease that devastates a large part of our world. I did cry for Martin, our former Mathematics teacher who after retiring to South Africa to reunite with his wife as he had longed to for so many years, had passed away without even his sister having a clue until three weeks later. He used to throw calculators at his students, and offer them cookies. He was the caricature of a fat man - a natural joker and a gambler, an avid sports fan, a drinker, and so much fun to be around. That was the Martin I knew, but many people knew him more and admired his strength, that he had suffered the death of his only child and still continued to be the person he was.
And there has been all other sorts of darkness and light too, pervading my life like wayang kulit as it does to everyone. University applications and all that business are a mix of both; while it is exciting planning and having high hopes for my future, the possibility of rejection and no-way-forward is too scary to be considered. Loving someone comes with its risks as well - contemplating a bond that seems to have an expiry date that you don't venture to guess. But it's obvious enough. 5 months, only a short period of certainty. After that, who can tell?
I think my tone seems to have gotten darker and darker throughout this entry, but that isn't my intention. Perhaps what I really want to get across is that there are many kinds of darkness existing in the world; some as natural as night and day, some that will always remain a mystery as long as we live in a linear, one-directional time dimension, and some that must be fought for with every inch of our lives. It is up to each to decide what is which.
I read what I wrote again. That was a long sentence. I have this tendency to write "pretzel" sentences - declarations so long that you forget at the end what was said at the beginning. Isn't that how our minds work, though? Sometimes we forget, at the end of the journey, what we started out for?
Today, as I was walking down to my room (a dorm room located kind-of underground, 2 floors below ground level but which makes sense, as my campus is built on hilly ground) I did not see the light at the middle of each flight of stairs where there is an unbricked view of the trees and the sea just beyond my school. We live by a bay, Tolo Bay. I know those trees and the shape of the sea instinctively now, though I am no artist, and while it does not sparkle like the Mediterranean, it has its beauty. I know that though the light is not there and all there is to it now is darkness and mystery, it is not an unfamiliar and menacing darkness - I know exactly what it hides, and love the variations of this natural scene.
Tomorrow, I will see the first glimpse of sunlight hit the water, if I wake up that early. And when I go to classes, the dense greenery encroaching the sand will wave in the gentle breeze.
And why did I think of this? Well, I've been thinking about light and darkness recently - not brooding - but in snatches, sometimes indirectly - like this.
In class, we've been doing Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. (Which explains it all, really.) Whatever reservations I have of him as a person (I have to keep reminding myself that he was stuck in the paradigms of the early 20th century, and all white men had some racist prejudices, as we do today), his writing does accomplish something. He makes you see "the horror! The horror!" and brings that darkness (the ever present "mysterious, brooding, inscrutable" darkness) smack into your eyes. Ultimately, he seems to suggest, there is no escape from the darkness from either outside or inside yourself. The world is a dark and unfriendly place, and even London, the "greatest town on earth", is described as leading into the heart of darkness.
Outside the classroom, I've lit candles twice in the last three weeks. Candles are for tragedy, you know that? They symbolise our opposition to a world so dark that we can't even see each other's faces, each other's joys and sorrows and rejoice that at least we are not alone in feeling.
The tragedies I've touched, with icy fingers setting hard wax alight, were different: one emotionally detached, one a blow to the guts. One vast and universal, proclaimed and fought against by world leaders and millions all over the world with stories harsher than I've ever heard. One private and unevitable, met only with tears of tough boys and distraught students and teachers. I did not cry on AIDS Day, though millions have succumbed to this uncurable disease that devastates a large part of our world. I did cry for Martin, our former Mathematics teacher who after retiring to South Africa to reunite with his wife as he had longed to for so many years, had passed away without even his sister having a clue until three weeks later. He used to throw calculators at his students, and offer them cookies. He was the caricature of a fat man - a natural joker and a gambler, an avid sports fan, a drinker, and so much fun to be around. That was the Martin I knew, but many people knew him more and admired his strength, that he had suffered the death of his only child and still continued to be the person he was.
And there has been all other sorts of darkness and light too, pervading my life like wayang kulit as it does to everyone. University applications and all that business are a mix of both; while it is exciting planning and having high hopes for my future, the possibility of rejection and no-way-forward is too scary to be considered. Loving someone comes with its risks as well - contemplating a bond that seems to have an expiry date that you don't venture to guess. But it's obvious enough. 5 months, only a short period of certainty. After that, who can tell?
I think my tone seems to have gotten darker and darker throughout this entry, but that isn't my intention. Perhaps what I really want to get across is that there are many kinds of darkness existing in the world; some as natural as night and day, some that will always remain a mystery as long as we live in a linear, one-directional time dimension, and some that must be fought for with every inch of our lives. It is up to each to decide what is which.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Whose life are you living for?
Have you ever wondered, as you sit in front of the wide-screen television watching your favourite soap opera (martial arts, legal drama, forensic, the ever-popular police force or whichever it may be) what it actually does to your brain and emotions?
We've all had that experience of being deeply affected by a movie. Bambi's mother, Forrest Gump...the emotional effects of a touching film moment can be as real as our own experiences. Except that it's contrived so; to tweak your emotions, to squeeze your heart. Doesn't that feel rather manipulative to you?
I mean, don't we have enough from daily life to deal with already?
Perhaps we don't. The figures on the screen, the actors with their well-rehearsed lines, are everything and do everything that we wish we could. We live voraciously through them: how could she do that? That's so stupid! He's so evil....
A study showed that the number of hospital admissions for paracetamol overdose in Britain increased after a showing of television drama Casualty depicted a man trying to kill himself by swallowing 50 paracetamol tablets. Some patients did admit to the show influencing their choice of drug in attempting suicide. It's scary to think how vulnerable we are, how easily influenced not just by encounters with real people, but with stories dreamt up by Hollywood scriptwriters.
I wonder if we were meant to live like this. Anesthesized to the real world, glued to our tv screens and internet browsers and games, seeking the next exciting thing. Reminds me of the wife (Mildred Montag, SparkNotes informs me) in Fahrenheit 451, glued to the tv and only a shell of a human being.
I am glued to the computer most of my waking hours, but sometimes it does pay to remember that people lived perfectly happy lives before technology or instant entertainment, and in some parts of the world they still do. I want to breathe non air-conditioned air, to close an internet window and open a real one, to laugh with a friend, to play a board game. Sometimes. There are still things that technology cannot give us.
And if that does not make my life primetime TV, so be it. My life and fate and relationships are not in the hands of a talented scriptwriter or the fancy of the audience, but my own. And that is worth it.
We've all had that experience of being deeply affected by a movie. Bambi's mother, Forrest Gump...the emotional effects of a touching film moment can be as real as our own experiences. Except that it's contrived so; to tweak your emotions, to squeeze your heart. Doesn't that feel rather manipulative to you?
I mean, don't we have enough from daily life to deal with already?
Perhaps we don't. The figures on the screen, the actors with their well-rehearsed lines, are everything and do everything that we wish we could. We live voraciously through them: how could she do that? That's so stupid! He's so evil....
A study showed that the number of hospital admissions for paracetamol overdose in Britain increased after a showing of television drama Casualty depicted a man trying to kill himself by swallowing 50 paracetamol tablets. Some patients did admit to the show influencing their choice of drug in attempting suicide. It's scary to think how vulnerable we are, how easily influenced not just by encounters with real people, but with stories dreamt up by Hollywood scriptwriters.
I wonder if we were meant to live like this. Anesthesized to the real world, glued to our tv screens and internet browsers and games, seeking the next exciting thing. Reminds me of the wife (Mildred Montag, SparkNotes informs me) in Fahrenheit 451, glued to the tv and only a shell of a human being.
I am glued to the computer most of my waking hours, but sometimes it does pay to remember that people lived perfectly happy lives before technology or instant entertainment, and in some parts of the world they still do. I want to breathe non air-conditioned air, to close an internet window and open a real one, to laugh with a friend, to play a board game. Sometimes. There are still things that technology cannot give us.
And if that does not make my life primetime TV, so be it. My life and fate and relationships are not in the hands of a talented scriptwriter or the fancy of the audience, but my own. And that is worth it.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Writing, and Malaysia
There are so many things that I want to blog about that my mind is racing. In completely different directions. I am reminded once again of the maxim "The heart has its reasons of which reason knows not".
The heart- don't you sometimes wish you didn't have one? It scoffs at logic and common sense and discipline. It speaks its own language. It reminds you that all good and all evil ultimately springs from it. And how important it is to keep oneself pure.
Sometimes, I wish I could write as fast as I talk. Ideas pop into my head at the weirdest times. When I want to sleep. When I'm in the car or the bus. When I'm driving. And they don't come in proper structures like sentences, but in a rush - like a two-hour long movie shown at high speed. You catch snippets of it here and there, the beginning and the end are crystal clear and you KNOW for sure this is the one idea that will make it big. If only the soaring emotion, the words that would immortalise the day and you forever, would stick in your head long enough for you to get into a cyber cafe and start typing.
Also, I realised over the weekend at a conference how smart Malaysians are. We have so many smart people here that if they all stayed and did their most in the field they were passionate about, Malaysia could have a turnaround. I just hope they'll come back. They will benefit anywhere, but Malaysia needs them most. Maybe their hearts will tell them what their logical brains refuse to accept:)
Yes, I have to admit it. There is hope for this country. There is even hope for SOME of our politicians, if what I and 500-odd participants at this years Malaysian Student Leaders Summit heard. And when there's so much fun happening, and true hope of rebuilding a better nation for all, who can resist the challenge?
The heart- don't you sometimes wish you didn't have one? It scoffs at logic and common sense and discipline. It speaks its own language. It reminds you that all good and all evil ultimately springs from it. And how important it is to keep oneself pure.
Sometimes, I wish I could write as fast as I talk. Ideas pop into my head at the weirdest times. When I want to sleep. When I'm in the car or the bus. When I'm driving. And they don't come in proper structures like sentences, but in a rush - like a two-hour long movie shown at high speed. You catch snippets of it here and there, the beginning and the end are crystal clear and you KNOW for sure this is the one idea that will make it big. If only the soaring emotion, the words that would immortalise the day and you forever, would stick in your head long enough for you to get into a cyber cafe and start typing.
Also, I realised over the weekend at a conference how smart Malaysians are. We have so many smart people here that if they all stayed and did their most in the field they were passionate about, Malaysia could have a turnaround. I just hope they'll come back. They will benefit anywhere, but Malaysia needs them most. Maybe their hearts will tell them what their logical brains refuse to accept:)
Yes, I have to admit it. There is hope for this country. There is even hope for SOME of our politicians, if what I and 500-odd participants at this years Malaysian Student Leaders Summit heard. And when there's so much fun happening, and true hope of rebuilding a better nation for all, who can resist the challenge?
Friday, July 4, 2008
Treshing it out
The biggest time-waster for young people and adults is definitely the internet.
I sit here planning to take 10 minutes to check my email, listen to a few songs and that's it. Instead, I find myself flipping from blog to blog, shuffling iTunes, checking MSN every few minutes to see if someone's there...and before I know it, my night is gone.
Oh yeah, and sometimes I try to blog but invariably there's nothing in my mind that's worth sharing.
My attention span becomes that of a technologically literate 5 year old. And sometimes it can be relaxing to put your brain cells in "sleep" mode, but it doesn't get much done. Depth is exchanged for enjoyment.
The only time I can really do work on the computer is without music and without internet. And to truly eliminate any distractions, without the games menu either.
But this was not really what I started out to say. What I wanted to talk about what this:
Can we still serve together under Christ if we don't agree with each other?
Those who know me might know what I'm referring to. It truly saddens me when friendships are severed and people become confused and disillusion because of theological disagreements. I know there are certain things that the church stands on and must never compromise on. The question is, which?
I've heard so much already, from people on both sides of the divide and also the fence-sitters. The one thing I'd want to do is to break that fence and bring all the sheep together, for aren't we all under the same shepherd? But that's not right for me to do when I'm new to the argument, so much has happened in the 6 months that I've been away. When everything was developing I was still in Hong Kong living a separate life and thinking that things were all okay, growing in the same direction as when I left. I suppose I should take a lesson from this: we all have our own struggles and everything looks better from a distance (including photos...the fewer the pixels, the better you appear.) Look closer up and you'll see the strain in the smile, the worry lines around the eyes, the dark eye-bags, the tightly-gripped hands.
We sing praises to God proclaiming that He is all we ever need. That we love Him. We give him our lives. We humble ourselves at His feet. But when the music draws to a close and the lights go up and people turn and see each other for the first time, what happens? Does a mask come on then, and we try to act cool and top one another, trading jokes and insults? Look around to see if the "happening people" are around and try to mix with them? Make as much noise as possible and push each other around, huddle in a tight circle sharing celebrity news until the youth leaders holler for quiet...
This is a usual scene at youth meetings. Maybe not all, but many of them. I don't blame the youth. I'm guilty of it too. We are not taught how to behave in church. But is it any better if we act all proper and chaste in the church sanctuary, then leave the church and act like we've never been in it? That's probably worse, and seeing younger youth acting like that should be a challenge to the leaders. Unconsciously, their behaviour mimics yours. By your actions you are showing them what's acceptable and what's not. The new talk is about "mentoring" and I'm all for that. I was never formally mentored by anyone but all the basics of spirituality and Christianity I learned from dedicated kid's pastors in the church and through kids camps, and later on as a teen with another church that adopted me as one of their own.
What matters to teenagers, though, is honesty. Can leaders truly be effective if they are not honest with themselves, with God and with others? This situation in church where the newly-elected leaders want to move forward and expand the youth with different programmes and commitments while not dealing with hurts left behind from disagreements and unresolved differences confuses me. Especially as we're all still in the same boat. Keep praying for unity, but until God touches our hearts to humble ourselves before each other and ask for forgiveness that we've hurt each other by each taking a moral high ground, I don't think that will happen. At some level it doesn't matter that we don't agree on everything. Unless you want to split up, you've got to make up somehow. And when congregations split, differences between leaders confuse and weaken the followers. Or make them more narrow-minded, sometimes.
I love these people, and individually I see that each of them burn with a passion to serve God especially with the youth. It is a conundrum to me why we can't all pull together. Perhaps I oversimplify things because I want to believe it is still mendable, and in doing so I do all parties an injustice. It isn't that simple.
All I know is that when I praise God, it is simple. When I read His word, my heart agrees and is at peace (okay most of the time, unless I go to the Old Testament, but that's another story), and it is simple. When I think of all He's done for me, it is simple.
It is only when I look at the people around me, at the complex messes we tangle ourselves into, at my own doubts and confusions...that I think that it isn't simple. At all.
I sit here planning to take 10 minutes to check my email, listen to a few songs and that's it. Instead, I find myself flipping from blog to blog, shuffling iTunes, checking MSN every few minutes to see if someone's there...and before I know it, my night is gone.
Oh yeah, and sometimes I try to blog but invariably there's nothing in my mind that's worth sharing.
My attention span becomes that of a technologically literate 5 year old. And sometimes it can be relaxing to put your brain cells in "sleep" mode, but it doesn't get much done. Depth is exchanged for enjoyment.
The only time I can really do work on the computer is without music and without internet. And to truly eliminate any distractions, without the games menu either.
But this was not really what I started out to say. What I wanted to talk about what this:
Can we still serve together under Christ if we don't agree with each other?
Those who know me might know what I'm referring to. It truly saddens me when friendships are severed and people become confused and disillusion because of theological disagreements. I know there are certain things that the church stands on and must never compromise on. The question is, which?
I've heard so much already, from people on both sides of the divide and also the fence-sitters. The one thing I'd want to do is to break that fence and bring all the sheep together, for aren't we all under the same shepherd? But that's not right for me to do when I'm new to the argument, so much has happened in the 6 months that I've been away. When everything was developing I was still in Hong Kong living a separate life and thinking that things were all okay, growing in the same direction as when I left. I suppose I should take a lesson from this: we all have our own struggles and everything looks better from a distance (including photos...the fewer the pixels, the better you appear.) Look closer up and you'll see the strain in the smile, the worry lines around the eyes, the dark eye-bags, the tightly-gripped hands.
We sing praises to God proclaiming that He is all we ever need. That we love Him. We give him our lives. We humble ourselves at His feet. But when the music draws to a close and the lights go up and people turn and see each other for the first time, what happens? Does a mask come on then, and we try to act cool and top one another, trading jokes and insults? Look around to see if the "happening people" are around and try to mix with them? Make as much noise as possible and push each other around, huddle in a tight circle sharing celebrity news until the youth leaders holler for quiet...
This is a usual scene at youth meetings. Maybe not all, but many of them. I don't blame the youth. I'm guilty of it too. We are not taught how to behave in church. But is it any better if we act all proper and chaste in the church sanctuary, then leave the church and act like we've never been in it? That's probably worse, and seeing younger youth acting like that should be a challenge to the leaders. Unconsciously, their behaviour mimics yours. By your actions you are showing them what's acceptable and what's not. The new talk is about "mentoring" and I'm all for that. I was never formally mentored by anyone but all the basics of spirituality and Christianity I learned from dedicated kid's pastors in the church and through kids camps, and later on as a teen with another church that adopted me as one of their own.
What matters to teenagers, though, is honesty. Can leaders truly be effective if they are not honest with themselves, with God and with others? This situation in church where the newly-elected leaders want to move forward and expand the youth with different programmes and commitments while not dealing with hurts left behind from disagreements and unresolved differences confuses me. Especially as we're all still in the same boat. Keep praying for unity, but until God touches our hearts to humble ourselves before each other and ask for forgiveness that we've hurt each other by each taking a moral high ground, I don't think that will happen. At some level it doesn't matter that we don't agree on everything. Unless you want to split up, you've got to make up somehow. And when congregations split, differences between leaders confuse and weaken the followers. Or make them more narrow-minded, sometimes.
I love these people, and individually I see that each of them burn with a passion to serve God especially with the youth. It is a conundrum to me why we can't all pull together. Perhaps I oversimplify things because I want to believe it is still mendable, and in doing so I do all parties an injustice. It isn't that simple.
All I know is that when I praise God, it is simple. When I read His word, my heart agrees and is at peace (okay most of the time, unless I go to the Old Testament, but that's another story), and it is simple. When I think of all He's done for me, it is simple.
It is only when I look at the people around me, at the complex messes we tangle ourselves into, at my own doubts and confusions...that I think that it isn't simple. At all.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thoughts of a 19 year old
Just sitting at my computer, writing, typing, surfing Facebook while reading news on the US election while trying to study Chemistry for a test the next day. Typical night, except maybe my heart is pounding a little harder than usual due to anticipation...
Just then, I hear a rustling of my (duck-themed) curtains and a DUCK card pokes through. My roommates dash in, wishing me Happy Birthday, giving me the card and a gift. I am surprised and delighted, because it's only 11.50pm and people usually do this after 12. Then, I am blindfolded so that everything is blackness and my roommates lead me outside, to don't know where...
After an interminably long of stumbling up and down staircases, along corridors and the open air, my roommates guiding me by hand, I ask where we are going. Of course, I don't get a straight reply. Someone periodically pokes me and knocks me on the head.
We finally seem to be going somewhere, and as we enter a room I can hear the low whine of an air-conditioner. We're in the common room, I know as much from the numerous birthday parties that we've had here before, all at midnight, of varying numbers and rowdiness.
They shush each other, and suddenly the familiar melody of "Happy Birthday..." begins. Sounds like a lot of people. At the end my blindfold is removed, and I see that there WAS a lot of people. The room was pretty full (unlike in some parties where so few people came, I felt embarrassed for the birthday boy/girl) Much more than what I expected who would care.
So self-conscious, standing there with all these people smiling at me...yet I understood then, what it is to be valued, to be loved and cherished and feeling appreciated by the company. I took time to recognise and thank everyone who came to hug me personally, and heard so many kind words that I probably can't remember. I remember the general sentiments.
There was a beautiful chocolate cake (and tasty too!), a huge homemade card with people's messages in it, some individual cards and presents...I think I was just overwhelmed. I knew people had tests, quizzes the next day; and it was not a weekend. They had so many other things to finish, but they came, even if only to give a hug and a smile and a "Happy Birthday". And my friends went to so much trouble to organise it. Perhaps it's not that grand, that extravagant...but I have only known these people since last September, yet they would do this for my sake? Friendship is a wonderful thing which I will never truly understand, but will always marvel at and try to be good at.
And then there were others, who couldn't be there but sent their wishes, their gifts, even their precious time for a conversation which is a gift in itself (Shiny! Tsuey! Wei who wanted to talk but I was out...sorry) ...because I love talking and listening to friends almost as much as eating and sleeping. Speaking of which, we (me and close friends) went for a dinner tonight at a great Thai restaurant not far from my school, and they wouldn't let me pay.
I realise that I do these friends, these schoolmates injustice if I do not take them at their word. If when they say, "You're such a great friend," I downplay their statement to a conventional phrase, while I take criticisms to heart. There must be balance, and slowly I'm reaching that point of equilibrium, going closer every day. Especially now that I'm 19 years old.
And also I realised once again that there is no end to giving. That through my self-conscious, awkward, sometimes inappropriate manner of showing concern and love for others; people have gained comfort. That my confused ramblings about their problems were perceived as guidance. That my instant noodles which I forgot that I lent them, were still on their minds. What I'm trying to say is, don't despair if you aren't perfect in the way you treat others. So long as you try, people will see your good intentions and they will love you for it. And what I thought I was giving away though I didn't mind it at all; was returned into my hands doubled, wrapped up, with interest.
Maybe we should stop comparing ourselves to others, looking at what they have and we don't, but look around at others. I mean, truly. Instead of glancing enviously at the other table where everyone is laughing uproariously, talking to the quiet person next to you.
And if we saw how much God loves us, so much more than friends or family or lovers or even soulmates...we'd live like we have nothing to lose, only everything to gain. And that is the true reality when we live in step with Him.
Just then, I hear a rustling of my (duck-themed) curtains and a DUCK card pokes through. My roommates dash in, wishing me Happy Birthday, giving me the card and a gift. I am surprised and delighted, because it's only 11.50pm and people usually do this after 12. Then, I am blindfolded so that everything is blackness and my roommates lead me outside, to don't know where...
After an interminably long of stumbling up and down staircases, along corridors and the open air, my roommates guiding me by hand, I ask where we are going. Of course, I don't get a straight reply. Someone periodically pokes me and knocks me on the head.
We finally seem to be going somewhere, and as we enter a room I can hear the low whine of an air-conditioner. We're in the common room, I know as much from the numerous birthday parties that we've had here before, all at midnight, of varying numbers and rowdiness.
They shush each other, and suddenly the familiar melody of "Happy Birthday..." begins. Sounds like a lot of people. At the end my blindfold is removed, and I see that there WAS a lot of people. The room was pretty full (unlike in some parties where so few people came, I felt embarrassed for the birthday boy/girl) Much more than what I expected who would care.
So self-conscious, standing there with all these people smiling at me...yet I understood then, what it is to be valued, to be loved and cherished and feeling appreciated by the company. I took time to recognise and thank everyone who came to hug me personally, and heard so many kind words that I probably can't remember. I remember the general sentiments.
There was a beautiful chocolate cake (and tasty too!), a huge homemade card with people's messages in it, some individual cards and presents...I think I was just overwhelmed. I knew people had tests, quizzes the next day; and it was not a weekend. They had so many other things to finish, but they came, even if only to give a hug and a smile and a "Happy Birthday". And my friends went to so much trouble to organise it. Perhaps it's not that grand, that extravagant...but I have only known these people since last September, yet they would do this for my sake? Friendship is a wonderful thing which I will never truly understand, but will always marvel at and try to be good at.
And then there were others, who couldn't be there but sent their wishes, their gifts, even their precious time for a conversation which is a gift in itself (Shiny! Tsuey! Wei who wanted to talk but I was out...sorry) ...because I love talking and listening to friends almost as much as eating and sleeping. Speaking of which, we (me and close friends) went for a dinner tonight at a great Thai restaurant not far from my school, and they wouldn't let me pay.
I realise that I do these friends, these schoolmates injustice if I do not take them at their word. If when they say, "You're such a great friend," I downplay their statement to a conventional phrase, while I take criticisms to heart. There must be balance, and slowly I'm reaching that point of equilibrium, going closer every day. Especially now that I'm 19 years old.
And also I realised once again that there is no end to giving. That through my self-conscious, awkward, sometimes inappropriate manner of showing concern and love for others; people have gained comfort. That my confused ramblings about their problems were perceived as guidance. That my instant noodles which I forgot that I lent them, were still on their minds. What I'm trying to say is, don't despair if you aren't perfect in the way you treat others. So long as you try, people will see your good intentions and they will love you for it. And what I thought I was giving away though I didn't mind it at all; was returned into my hands doubled, wrapped up, with interest.
Maybe we should stop comparing ourselves to others, looking at what they have and we don't, but look around at others. I mean, truly. Instead of glancing enviously at the other table where everyone is laughing uproariously, talking to the quiet person next to you.
And if we saw how much God loves us, so much more than friends or family or lovers or even soulmates...we'd live like we have nothing to lose, only everything to gain. And that is the true reality when we live in step with Him.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Mumblings + NS Nostalgia
There are days when you feel like you're swimming in soup, and that's still ok, because you know you're going to be dredged up sooner or later and you'll be thrown into a gumbo bowl with spicy enchiladas, and that's when life will get interesting.
I think one of the best pieces of advice that I've been given is that no matter what happens, I'll be ok. Sounds rather bland and not profound at all, but it definitely gives comfort at times when I think my life has made no difference. That people may like me in a vague, dorky way; but forget me if I'm not there. That I'm not truly living the way I should live. That I do only what is required of me and nothing else.
Sometimes, there are so many ideas one has but so few of them actually come to fruition. Right now I believe the answer to that is focus, focus, focus. Tend to the glowing embers of your passion and stoke them up to a fearsome fire, and then narrow it into single flame jet and then....
unleash it.
-----------------------------
And another part, written last Friday (4 April, 2008):
How strange, to have a flashback in the HK airport on a windy, slightly chilly day while waiting for the A22 bus back to Lam Tin MTR station after sending my mum off on a plane back home. One simple song, unheard for months, playing on my MP4 player - "Pencinta Wanita" by Irwansyah and I am transported in my mind's eye to where I was slightly over a year ago...
Hot sun pan-frying us a delicious dark brown. Special of the day:toasted homo sapiens (fine yougn specimens of only 18 years old), stewed in their own sweat and oil. Ewwwww.
Sunging 'Pencinta Wanita' in the bathroom with the cold showers running, laughing in our separate cubicles. Scrubbing clothes on the smooth stone surface next to the giant water tank/tub. The one you weren't allowed to bathe in. The same one that I stepped into and soaked in like a queen on the last day of camp. Reading out loud the notes some of us received from infatuated comrades, declaring everlasting love - and ridiculing them mercilessly, secure in the boy-free zone of our dorm room. Celebrating birthdays with cake and snacks brought from the only convenience shop a.k.a our lifeline operating there. Dressing up in Baju Melayu complete with sampin and performing Dikir Barat.
Food memories alone deserve their own paragraph. Eating mandarin oranges, Chinese New Year's biscuits, fried meehoon and other goodies spread out like a king's banquet on old newspaper in the common area. Baby's moms' irresistable chicken curry, mutton kurma, coconut candy and a host of Deepavali treats. My malay friend's whole family who came on a visiting day and treated me to home-cooked Perak laksa. In the canteen food where there was chilli on EVERYTHING. Even noodles at breakfast. Pimples sprouted on even the clearest faces. Stockpiling and sharing biscuits for a 6 am pre-exercise morning snack.
Beneath the glittering highlights that stand out in my mind, I remember the dull background of daily life. Missing friends, family. Resentful that I was wasting 3 months of my life in a programme I didn't sign up for. Looking forward to weekends when I had my hp back and could call home, my best friends and my sister. Feeling that I didn't belong anywhere. Not with the Cantonese-speaking Chinese, with their casual racism, anti-government sentiments and in-depth knowledge of Oriental celebrities and HK TV dramas (ironic, that the 1 Chinese girl who was unable to appreciate HK drama series' is the one who goes to study there for 2 years). Not with the Perak Malays, although they were really nice people on the whole; or with Kelantanese Malays with their completely different local dialect and for some of them, their kelantanese flirtiness (we speculated that it was because they were usually deprived of interactions with the opposite sex in the conservative PAS-led state). Certainly not with the Tamil-speaking Indian girls, just because they stuck to themselves and I couldn't understand what they were saying.
All these come to mind when I think back on NS. And though I thought I knew about life, NS humbled me. I lived, worked and played with prison's guards' children, doctors' children, teachers' children, farmers' children. People who scored 10As for their SPM result (which was announced the day after we left) and people who scored 3.
And I realised that all my book knowledge, my academic achievements, my English proficiency did not count for all that much. When I couldn't shine my boots even after spending tons of energy and time, it was my dormmates who helped me and realised that my brush was contaminated with too much shoe polish ("Kiwi"). The trick is to have only a little bit or else the boots will look matte. And when I had to dress formally at night, they helped iron the silk baju kurung. And my friends would always adjust my cap for me, because I jsut couldn't get the angle right. Another friend taught me a Kelantanese song. And I will never forget the night when my next-bed mate told me about how the prisoners escaped from the jail and set the building on fire, and her father the prison guard locked their family in the house, huddled together, armed with a parang. They were so along until police reinforcements came. How that was the scariest experience of her life.
I think one of the best pieces of advice that I've been given is that no matter what happens, I'll be ok. Sounds rather bland and not profound at all, but it definitely gives comfort at times when I think my life has made no difference. That people may like me in a vague, dorky way; but forget me if I'm not there. That I'm not truly living the way I should live. That I do only what is required of me and nothing else.
Sometimes, there are so many ideas one has but so few of them actually come to fruition. Right now I believe the answer to that is focus, focus, focus. Tend to the glowing embers of your passion and stoke them up to a fearsome fire, and then narrow it into single flame jet and then....
unleash it.
-----------------------------
And another part, written last Friday (4 April, 2008):
How strange, to have a flashback in the HK airport on a windy, slightly chilly day while waiting for the A22 bus back to Lam Tin MTR station after sending my mum off on a plane back home. One simple song, unheard for months, playing on my MP4 player - "Pencinta Wanita" by Irwansyah and I am transported in my mind's eye to where I was slightly over a year ago...
Hot sun pan-frying us a delicious dark brown. Special of the day:toasted homo sapiens (fine yougn specimens of only 18 years old), stewed in their own sweat and oil. Ewwwww.
Sunging 'Pencinta Wanita' in the bathroom with the cold showers running, laughing in our separate cubicles. Scrubbing clothes on the smooth stone surface next to the giant water tank/tub. The one you weren't allowed to bathe in. The same one that I stepped into and soaked in like a queen on the last day of camp. Reading out loud the notes some of us received from infatuated comrades, declaring everlasting love - and ridiculing them mercilessly, secure in the boy-free zone of our dorm room. Celebrating birthdays with cake and snacks brought from the only convenience shop a.k.a our lifeline operating there. Dressing up in Baju Melayu complete with sampin and performing Dikir Barat.
Food memories alone deserve their own paragraph. Eating mandarin oranges, Chinese New Year's biscuits, fried meehoon and other goodies spread out like a king's banquet on old newspaper in the common area. Baby's moms' irresistable chicken curry, mutton kurma, coconut candy and a host of Deepavali treats. My malay friend's whole family who came on a visiting day and treated me to home-cooked Perak laksa. In the canteen food where there was chilli on EVERYTHING. Even noodles at breakfast. Pimples sprouted on even the clearest faces. Stockpiling and sharing biscuits for a 6 am pre-exercise morning snack.
Beneath the glittering highlights that stand out in my mind, I remember the dull background of daily life. Missing friends, family. Resentful that I was wasting 3 months of my life in a programme I didn't sign up for. Looking forward to weekends when I had my hp back and could call home, my best friends and my sister. Feeling that I didn't belong anywhere. Not with the Cantonese-speaking Chinese, with their casual racism, anti-government sentiments and in-depth knowledge of Oriental celebrities and HK TV dramas (ironic, that the 1 Chinese girl who was unable to appreciate HK drama series' is the one who goes to study there for 2 years). Not with the Perak Malays, although they were really nice people on the whole; or with Kelantanese Malays with their completely different local dialect and for some of them, their kelantanese flirtiness (we speculated that it was because they were usually deprived of interactions with the opposite sex in the conservative PAS-led state). Certainly not with the Tamil-speaking Indian girls, just because they stuck to themselves and I couldn't understand what they were saying.
All these come to mind when I think back on NS. And though I thought I knew about life, NS humbled me. I lived, worked and played with prison's guards' children, doctors' children, teachers' children, farmers' children. People who scored 10As for their SPM result (which was announced the day after we left) and people who scored 3.
And I realised that all my book knowledge, my academic achievements, my English proficiency did not count for all that much. When I couldn't shine my boots even after spending tons of energy and time, it was my dormmates who helped me and realised that my brush was contaminated with too much shoe polish ("Kiwi"). The trick is to have only a little bit or else the boots will look matte. And when I had to dress formally at night, they helped iron the silk baju kurung. And my friends would always adjust my cap for me, because I jsut couldn't get the angle right. Another friend taught me a Kelantanese song. And I will never forget the night when my next-bed mate told me about how the prisoners escaped from the jail and set the building on fire, and her father the prison guard locked their family in the house, huddled together, armed with a parang. They were so along until police reinforcements came. How that was the scariest experience of her life.
I believe this experience, those 3 months, taught me to see people in a different light. To love them despite the differences and sometimes arguments, and to understand where they're coming from. That in the end, barring colour, race, sex, background - we are not so different after all.
I get onto the bus, knowing that without being in Gopeng baking for 3 months, I probably wouldn't be here at all.Monday, March 17, 2008
About stuff
So many thoughts, and so little time to blog them.
Just:
about beauty.
Be a connoisseur. Be as intrepid and determined as a treasure seeker. And like a leaf unfolding, it will appear before your eyes, startling and perfect. It doesn't have to be typical, like a sunset or a flower. It's there in your friend's welcoming eyes. It's in the private joke that no one else thinks is funny. It's in an unexpected smile from a stranger.
Learn to accept it, not mindlessly turn to your soulless machines and forget the living, breathing world around you. Like default. And may you find that one perfect bud in the midst of the raging storm.
About friends:
Maybe the reason why I love people so much, why I generally like to observe others around me and find the best I can in them, is because I don't know them very well. People, who as a whole; are faulty with misconceptions and half-truths and agendas and biases and identity confusion. And complexes. And Issues.
And the way they surprise you sometimes, telling you things about yourself that you never knew, or just never examined closely enough to realise. Then you realise that while you were watching others, they were just as closely, as perceptively - or maybe even more - watching you.
About Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things:
She can write. She doesn't write steamy novels about scandalous liaisons between people of different castes and how a pair of twins rediscover each other. She unfolds the story, first arranging the cutlery, then putting each dish on the table with its covers on and then slowly, with all eyes watching, removes each one. The tension coils around your stomach, and you know it's going to be awful but you can't stop reading now, you have to know. It's like modern Greek tragedy, which is actually timeless tragedy. It's just so good. It's not just her sentences, of which there are some pretty picturesque ones, but her descriptions which have true power. When she describes a place in a few lines I have an image of it in my mind. Not just an image, but the out-of-body-but-still-in-body feeling of actually being there, amid the sweat and dirt and grime.
Lyd, I know the difference between her and those other "once upon a time in a steamy Asian village" novel writers now. It's not the story but the way you tell it.
Just:
about beauty.
Be a connoisseur. Be as intrepid and determined as a treasure seeker. And like a leaf unfolding, it will appear before your eyes, startling and perfect. It doesn't have to be typical, like a sunset or a flower. It's there in your friend's welcoming eyes. It's in the private joke that no one else thinks is funny. It's in an unexpected smile from a stranger.
Learn to accept it, not mindlessly turn to your soulless machines and forget the living, breathing world around you. Like default. And may you find that one perfect bud in the midst of the raging storm.
About friends:
Maybe the reason why I love people so much, why I generally like to observe others around me and find the best I can in them, is because I don't know them very well. People, who as a whole; are faulty with misconceptions and half-truths and agendas and biases and identity confusion. And complexes. And Issues.
And the way they surprise you sometimes, telling you things about yourself that you never knew, or just never examined closely enough to realise. Then you realise that while you were watching others, they were just as closely, as perceptively - or maybe even more - watching you.
About Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things:
She can write. She doesn't write steamy novels about scandalous liaisons between people of different castes and how a pair of twins rediscover each other. She unfolds the story, first arranging the cutlery, then putting each dish on the table with its covers on and then slowly, with all eyes watching, removes each one. The tension coils around your stomach, and you know it's going to be awful but you can't stop reading now, you have to know. It's like modern Greek tragedy, which is actually timeless tragedy. It's just so good. It's not just her sentences, of which there are some pretty picturesque ones, but her descriptions which have true power. When she describes a place in a few lines I have an image of it in my mind. Not just an image, but the out-of-body-but-still-in-body feeling of actually being there, amid the sweat and dirt and grime.
Lyd, I know the difference between her and those other "once upon a time in a steamy Asian village" novel writers now. It's not the story but the way you tell it.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
What song means to me
One of the things I miss about having a room and lots of space all to myself is the freedom to sing (and pray) out loud.
I remember back at home, when I was in that singing mood or there were too many feelings contained within me that I could not sort out, I would open up my mouth and let loose. It had a very soothing effect on me - as though all the energies and emotion bottled up within me were being channeled into tones of words that formed a melody and vibrated in the air.
I truly felt the music...like anything done for pleasure, I did not need anyone to make the experience complete. I was both the actor and the audience; and there was perfect feedback between both sides throughout the process of warming up the vocal chords, singing, listening and experimenting with different pitchs and tones.
Here, I have to rein in my voice when it wants to soar (when I sing, it can be LOUD...way louder than my speaking voice), muting it into a hum or whisper. To not disturb others. There's no place on campus that is deserted enough for me to sing as boldly and loudly as I want.
The only time when I really go for it is in Christian Fellowship. Recently we've been doing mostly praise and worship in CF and it's great (though we should also do some bible study soon). When everyone else is singing I am free to join the chorus of praise. Though sometimes I admit I'm more into the music than Him, and that's something I'm asking Him to help me with. When the song is one we've played during Infuse (my youth group back home) a feeling of nostalgia and longing and familiar warmth sweeps over me.
I'm not one who's obsessed with music or wishes to pursue it as a career. I do believe that God has given us tongues and voices for two reasons - one, because He is very, very good and His creation is marvellous and grand and perfect in its every detail. Also, when we sing, we don't use our intelligence but our heart and spirit. There must be a link between what Jesus commanded his disciples to "worship God in spirit and in truth", and the multitude of angels praising God and singing in heaven.
I open my mouth, and pour forth everything that is in me.
I remember back at home, when I was in that singing mood or there were too many feelings contained within me that I could not sort out, I would open up my mouth and let loose. It had a very soothing effect on me - as though all the energies and emotion bottled up within me were being channeled into tones of words that formed a melody and vibrated in the air.
I truly felt the music...like anything done for pleasure, I did not need anyone to make the experience complete. I was both the actor and the audience; and there was perfect feedback between both sides throughout the process of warming up the vocal chords, singing, listening and experimenting with different pitchs and tones.
Here, I have to rein in my voice when it wants to soar (when I sing, it can be LOUD...way louder than my speaking voice), muting it into a hum or whisper. To not disturb others. There's no place on campus that is deserted enough for me to sing as boldly and loudly as I want.
The only time when I really go for it is in Christian Fellowship. Recently we've been doing mostly praise and worship in CF and it's great (though we should also do some bible study soon). When everyone else is singing I am free to join the chorus of praise. Though sometimes I admit I'm more into the music than Him, and that's something I'm asking Him to help me with. When the song is one we've played during Infuse (my youth group back home) a feeling of nostalgia and longing and familiar warmth sweeps over me.
I'm not one who's obsessed with music or wishes to pursue it as a career. I do believe that God has given us tongues and voices for two reasons - one, because He is very, very good and His creation is marvellous and grand and perfect in its every detail. Also, when we sing, we don't use our intelligence but our heart and spirit. There must be a link between what Jesus commanded his disciples to "worship God in spirit and in truth", and the multitude of angels praising God and singing in heaven.
I open my mouth, and pour forth everything that is in me.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Wistfulness
I remember a time when I thought flowers were the most beautiful things in all of God’s creation. I remember the rapture of being given a deep red rose, sniffing deeply into it and capturing the fragrance of happiness, romance and a youthful timelessness. I remembered its perfection, a microcosm of everything that was worth living for in the world.
How small my world was then! And yet how perfect, when it only consisted of the two of us.
I remember lazy walks to nowhere even in the deep of winter when everyone was hiding in their dorm cubbyholes. I remember chocolates that melted in my mouth. I remembered laughing for no reason, feeling more alive than ever before in my life. Colours burned brighter, every pop jingle called forth emotion like the Hallelujah Chorus.
I think often about that golden, slightly ephemeral time; wishing, wondering why it didn’t last. I found the fitting metaphor for this design in the tapestry of our lives…it was a song, sung by the finest choir. A clarion call to spring, to hope. Ancient civilizations used to dance and sing to welcome a new year, the turn of frost to warmth. When we created technology and replaced Bacchus and Persephone, we lost a crucial part of our natural knowledge of the world. We lost the living rhythm of the seasons. That every song has a rising, a climax, a falling, and an end that lingers long in our awed ears.
The duet we made sang of joys that could satisfy forever, but the notes had no place in a larger reality. I am still glad that there was no discordant tune in that song; that we finished it marvellously, a wistful note towards the end that hovered in the air – who could blame us if we shed a few tears as the music stopped?
I grew up, grew out, expanded myself, my world and experienced many deep joys and heartbreaks after. But once in a while – when my glories clang like brass, when my loved ones have more important things to attend to – I wish I could sing that song with you again. The tune, every pitch and pause, remains in my memory still.
How small my world was then! And yet how perfect, when it only consisted of the two of us.
I remember lazy walks to nowhere even in the deep of winter when everyone was hiding in their dorm cubbyholes. I remember chocolates that melted in my mouth. I remembered laughing for no reason, feeling more alive than ever before in my life. Colours burned brighter, every pop jingle called forth emotion like the Hallelujah Chorus.
I think often about that golden, slightly ephemeral time; wishing, wondering why it didn’t last. I found the fitting metaphor for this design in the tapestry of our lives…it was a song, sung by the finest choir. A clarion call to spring, to hope. Ancient civilizations used to dance and sing to welcome a new year, the turn of frost to warmth. When we created technology and replaced Bacchus and Persephone, we lost a crucial part of our natural knowledge of the world. We lost the living rhythm of the seasons. That every song has a rising, a climax, a falling, and an end that lingers long in our awed ears.
The duet we made sang of joys that could satisfy forever, but the notes had no place in a larger reality. I am still glad that there was no discordant tune in that song; that we finished it marvellously, a wistful note towards the end that hovered in the air – who could blame us if we shed a few tears as the music stopped?
I grew up, grew out, expanded myself, my world and experienced many deep joys and heartbreaks after. But once in a while – when my glories clang like brass, when my loved ones have more important things to attend to – I wish I could sing that song with you again. The tune, every pitch and pause, remains in my memory still.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Sticky Labels
Dear readers, sorry for the long hiatus! Well it's only been a week plus, but I know in blogger terms that's pretty long already...especially for any blogger who wants to keep their audience who of course have many alternative forms of amusement. So thanks for coming back.
Today's the night of my 3rd day at school and so much has happened already since I came back: not surprising, since the amount of things which happen in one day for me here is equavalent to what I do in a week back home.
Being back here now, it doesn't feel like home, but it's not exactly a strange foreign place either. It's like a hotel room: nice; interesting experience, more stuff to do and explore - but when the times up, no place can beat home. I miss being able to dance and shimmy in front of the mirror when I brush my teeth (when I want to, not all the time). Though I still do it secretly sometimes, when I'm sure no one's in the bathrooms...
TO THE TOPIC! YES, THE TOPIC!!
The other day, I was walking back from the library at night alone (it's freaking cold at night here) and since I had nothing else to occupy me I started thinking. I thought, "Why is it that we always label people? The nerd, the partyfreak, the social outcast, the free love poster boy/girl...?" And often, when you get to know people, they are so much more than what you had heard they were like or judged that they must be like based on their clothing and mannerisms. It works both ways...you can be awed by people and also disappointed in what you see in them. Either way, people are way too complicated to be labelled simply.
And yet, it's only natural that we label others! Sometimes it's for our convenience - the computer whiz is great at fixing your internet bugs, you go to him and beg for help, and that's all you know about him. But who knew that he is also a closet poet, or that he likes growing tulips? We could also be trying to bolster our own self-esteem when we compare ourselves to others by putting them in a tight box of what they can and cannot do, justifying that our talents make up for our inferiority in areas that they excel in. We forget that they have just as much potential for growth and discovery of new talents as we do.
Maybe the frustration comes when you wonder what kind of label people have stuck on you. It might be a succinct one: Quiet. Weird. Bossy. Argumentative. Or something like that. But even a pretty good one like Nice limits you. You can't be Nice all the time. You should have the space to be a little assertive, even a little bit unfair sometimes, and not be condemned for it. And what if a negative label gets stuck on you for some reason? You have to spend a lot of time and energy fighting that perception that people have of you.
There is one way, however, that I think labels may be good. They inspire us to be more socially acceptable in order to earn a good label. For all I know, that may be how the whole fabric of society is woven together and how governments control their citizens. Each of us, doing what we do in order to gain acceptance and approval and that big tick mark from everyone else.
Today's the night of my 3rd day at school and so much has happened already since I came back: not surprising, since the amount of things which happen in one day for me here is equavalent to what I do in a week back home.
Being back here now, it doesn't feel like home, but it's not exactly a strange foreign place either. It's like a hotel room: nice; interesting experience, more stuff to do and explore - but when the times up, no place can beat home. I miss being able to dance and shimmy in front of the mirror when I brush my teeth (when I want to, not all the time). Though I still do it secretly sometimes, when I'm sure no one's in the bathrooms...
TO THE TOPIC! YES, THE TOPIC!!
The other day, I was walking back from the library at night alone (it's freaking cold at night here) and since I had nothing else to occupy me I started thinking. I thought, "Why is it that we always label people? The nerd, the partyfreak, the social outcast, the free love poster boy/girl...?" And often, when you get to know people, they are so much more than what you had heard they were like or judged that they must be like based on their clothing and mannerisms. It works both ways...you can be awed by people and also disappointed in what you see in them. Either way, people are way too complicated to be labelled simply.
And yet, it's only natural that we label others! Sometimes it's for our convenience - the computer whiz is great at fixing your internet bugs, you go to him and beg for help, and that's all you know about him. But who knew that he is also a closet poet, or that he likes growing tulips? We could also be trying to bolster our own self-esteem when we compare ourselves to others by putting them in a tight box of what they can and cannot do, justifying that our talents make up for our inferiority in areas that they excel in. We forget that they have just as much potential for growth and discovery of new talents as we do.
Maybe the frustration comes when you wonder what kind of label people have stuck on you. It might be a succinct one: Quiet. Weird. Bossy. Argumentative. Or something like that. But even a pretty good one like Nice limits you. You can't be Nice all the time. You should have the space to be a little assertive, even a little bit unfair sometimes, and not be condemned for it. And what if a negative label gets stuck on you for some reason? You have to spend a lot of time and energy fighting that perception that people have of you.
There is one way, however, that I think labels may be good. They inspire us to be more socially acceptable in order to earn a good label. For all I know, that may be how the whole fabric of society is woven together and how governments control their citizens. Each of us, doing what we do in order to gain acceptance and approval and that big tick mark from everyone else.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
On Writing
"What is writing? It is a boiling and fermented mess...you put various interesting bits of experience and thought and emotion and fancy into the mix and hope something edible comes out if it."
-Me
What do you think of when you see a writer hard at work, bent over his or her notepad or laptop, steaming cup of coffee in hand's reach, brows furrowed in concentration? For me, I think of pouring, of channeling all the complexities of one's imagination into something that can be expressed with 26 characters on ink and paper. Do you ever have that magical feeling when reading a really good book, that the writer is speaking to you at that very moment and revealing to you a whole new aspect of life?
Imagine being the one to create something like that. To open new horizons in a child's mind, somewhere across the country or world and across decades. To live forever in print, the force of your personality and thoughts expressed echoing down the ages. The words you write today may change someone's life tomorrow.
Perhaps its an impossibly romantic idea, but I find it very fascinating.
Can writing over a whole lifetime be compared to steamboat on a slow boil? When you begin, there's not much vegetables and meat put into it - the soup is tasteless and watery. It fills the stomach but does not satisfy. Time passes and more things are added to the pot - vegetables and mushrooms and beef and chicken and fish and so much more. Each item bubbles and splashes a little as you put them in. And as these different ingredients simmer and infuse their unique aroma and taste into the soup; it makes it richer, thicker. It is mysterious because there is no single thing that caused it to become the way it is but a little bit of every part. At the end of the meal, even when all the food has been taken and eaten, the soup still remains and when sipped slowly, it is the tastiest part of the whole gastronomic experience.
Lately, I've been feeling like I'M being put on the slow boil...
-Me
What do you think of when you see a writer hard at work, bent over his or her notepad or laptop, steaming cup of coffee in hand's reach, brows furrowed in concentration? For me, I think of pouring, of channeling all the complexities of one's imagination into something that can be expressed with 26 characters on ink and paper. Do you ever have that magical feeling when reading a really good book, that the writer is speaking to you at that very moment and revealing to you a whole new aspect of life?
Imagine being the one to create something like that. To open new horizons in a child's mind, somewhere across the country or world and across decades. To live forever in print, the force of your personality and thoughts expressed echoing down the ages. The words you write today may change someone's life tomorrow.
Perhaps its an impossibly romantic idea, but I find it very fascinating.
Can writing over a whole lifetime be compared to steamboat on a slow boil? When you begin, there's not much vegetables and meat put into it - the soup is tasteless and watery. It fills the stomach but does not satisfy. Time passes and more things are added to the pot - vegetables and mushrooms and beef and chicken and fish and so much more. Each item bubbles and splashes a little as you put them in. And as these different ingredients simmer and infuse their unique aroma and taste into the soup; it makes it richer, thicker. It is mysterious because there is no single thing that caused it to become the way it is but a little bit of every part. At the end of the meal, even when all the food has been taken and eaten, the soup still remains and when sipped slowly, it is the tastiest part of the whole gastronomic experience.
Lately, I've been feeling like I'M being put on the slow boil...
Monday, October 22, 2007
A little reflection on my life here
Everybody, without exception, wants to be the exception.
Think about that for a moment...
And everybody, of course, includes me and you.
-
When I came to a new place to study, unconsciously I wanted to be exceptional at everything. I wanted to have my studies well under control, great fun rollicking deep meaningful relationships with many friends (and cultural diversity!), opportunities for learning and developing character...in short, to live the perfect life.
I can tell you: life doesn't just happen that way. If I couldn't do sports in the first place, I won't magically become a Michael Jordan just because you move to a more sporty environment. If I loathed Additional Math in Form 5, why should I torture myself with its equavalent in college? If I've always been more of a one-to-one or small group conversation style person, should I expect to become the life of the party all of a sudden?
And then you realise that you are weaker, more vulnerable than you had imagined; the concrete walls of your ego crumble like dry grass under the assault of your new mannequin-perfect (yet adorably human!) peers.
But by coming here, I definitely did learn some new things. On respecting people. On tolerating differences. On managing my time (or trying to). On managing stress. On making the most out of every moment.
On loving myself for who I am because there is One who loves me more than I can ever imagine. (It's still a work in progress, though, and the pressure to conform and act a certain way in order to gain approval is always there. But then again, there is that pressure everywhere...)
On learning how to live (and yes, even thrive!) without constant attention, care and approval from man.
On being content with what I have, where I am, my body and mind and spirit and personality. I think this is the hardest part.
No matter how successful you are, there is going to be someone who's better than you. Who's got their act tight and well-done while you're still trying to tie those damn knots together in any fashion that will keep it together. And a minute later, it falls apart...
So, what have I learned about (not) being the exception? That at some point you must let go of it and just enjoy yourself and instead of envying others their gifts, just admire and learn what you can from them. It helps to change from an adversarial "me against the mean world" mindset and instead think of how best we can relate to each other. Reminds me of the sermon at the church I went to last week said (I'm still choosing a church in Hong Kong):
‘If your father and mother, your sister and brother, if the very cat and dog in the house, are not happier for you being a Christian, it is a question whether you really are a Christian.’
–Hudson Taylor 19th c. missionary to China
Think about that for a moment...
And everybody, of course, includes me and you.
-
When I came to a new place to study, unconsciously I wanted to be exceptional at everything. I wanted to have my studies well under control, great fun rollicking deep meaningful relationships with many friends (and cultural diversity!), opportunities for learning and developing character...in short, to live the perfect life.
I can tell you: life doesn't just happen that way. If I couldn't do sports in the first place, I won't magically become a Michael Jordan just because you move to a more sporty environment. If I loathed Additional Math in Form 5, why should I torture myself with its equavalent in college? If I've always been more of a one-to-one or small group conversation style person, should I expect to become the life of the party all of a sudden?
And then you realise that you are weaker, more vulnerable than you had imagined; the concrete walls of your ego crumble like dry grass under the assault of your new mannequin-perfect (yet adorably human!) peers.
But by coming here, I definitely did learn some new things. On respecting people. On tolerating differences. On managing my time (or trying to). On managing stress. On making the most out of every moment.
On loving myself for who I am because there is One who loves me more than I can ever imagine. (It's still a work in progress, though, and the pressure to conform and act a certain way in order to gain approval is always there. But then again, there is that pressure everywhere...)
On learning how to live (and yes, even thrive!) without constant attention, care and approval from man.
On being content with what I have, where I am, my body and mind and spirit and personality. I think this is the hardest part.
No matter how successful you are, there is going to be someone who's better than you. Who's got their act tight and well-done while you're still trying to tie those damn knots together in any fashion that will keep it together. And a minute later, it falls apart...
So, what have I learned about (not) being the exception? That at some point you must let go of it and just enjoy yourself and instead of envying others their gifts, just admire and learn what you can from them. It helps to change from an adversarial "me against the mean world" mindset and instead think of how best we can relate to each other. Reminds me of the sermon at the church I went to last week said (I'm still choosing a church in Hong Kong):
‘If your father and mother, your sister and brother, if the very cat and dog in the house, are not happier for you being a Christian, it is a question whether you really are a Christian.’
–Hudson Taylor 19th c. missionary to China
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Overwhelmingness of college life, distilled
Do you ever have that feeling when you just want to stop time, dismantle your life piece by piece and try to make it into something that makes sense, and then get back on track with a clear purpose, clear mind and clean heart?
I do.
-
The last few days-okay, last few weekends-have all passed in a blur. You walk and talk and go out a bit and suddenly, the weekend is gone and it gets back to the school routine. It seems like it never changes but actually, its changing all the time. Your relationships with people, getting closer or more distant; your perceptions, your ideals, other people's perceptions of you. The process is almost like a lava lamp, gradual and rather hypnotic. But you can't be the one observing it when you're the liquid within.
I keep wondering (though it would be easier if I just let go) what will I be, when the dust settles and my form becomes evident...
Insecurity flows into trying too hard flows into what am I, really? into a deep settledness, and calmness, knowing that whatever I am or whoever I become....
I am safe. I am sheltered, under His wing, in His mighty hand.
I do.
-
The last few days-okay, last few weekends-have all passed in a blur. You walk and talk and go out a bit and suddenly, the weekend is gone and it gets back to the school routine. It seems like it never changes but actually, its changing all the time. Your relationships with people, getting closer or more distant; your perceptions, your ideals, other people's perceptions of you. The process is almost like a lava lamp, gradual and rather hypnotic. But you can't be the one observing it when you're the liquid within.
I keep wondering (though it would be easier if I just let go) what will I be, when the dust settles and my form becomes evident...
Insecurity flows into trying too hard flows into what am I, really? into a deep settledness, and calmness, knowing that whatever I am or whoever I become....
I am safe. I am sheltered, under His wing, in His mighty hand.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Merdeka Message-A Day Late!
Written 31st August 2007
After reading so many “Young Malaysian” columns in The Star of varying quality, here’s my own say in the matter on the Golden Jubilee of dear Peninsula Malaya (it’s not really Malaysia’s birthday, right?)
“My family…well, we’re an unusual family. I don’t expect you to understand. We’re very different in many ways and we even come from different cultures and backgrounds. We like different types of food and even have different beliefs and traditions. With all this, how can we still live as a family, you ask?”
“It’s a long story that has not really told itself into a neat ending yet. We haven’t been together long enough to really settle into roles that we are comfortable with. At present we’re having an uneasy, fragile truce that They-the Big Men- tell us we can’t talk or ask questions about. They’re afraid that some members might revolt against the status quo and upset the delicate harmony –the yin yang- of our family.”
“Personally, I’m not sure how that works. How strong can our family bonds be if we’re not even willing to iron out problematic issues in a reasonable way? If we aren’t open with our wants and needs, our dreams and hopes for the future; how can we be sure we’re all moving in the same direction together?”
“We’re a nice and loving family from the outside; we like to dress up on special occasions so that other families can admire our diversity and showy monuments and great-tasting food. We hope they won’t look at our perfect picture too closely and see the cracks in our smiles, the ennui in our eyes at hearing the endless empty promises, insensitive comments and grandiose pronouncements of our family’s elected spokespeople.”
“Change things, you say? Well, it isn’t that easy. Sad to say, not everyone’s working for the good of the family. The young and eager who want to often find obstacles in their way, put by those very people who have pledged to uphold the interests of this family. Inefficiency, complacency and corruption in our family is rampant – so much so that some members have disowned us and sought happiness in other families.”
“As a family, we’ve come this far – 50 years we’ve governed ourselves independently and sought a name and place for ourselves amongst greater, stronger powers. So far, I think we’ve done well in material terms. We could do much better, though. We’ve not had much obvious open antagonism erupting into violence for the last 38 years – but is that all we should aspire for? Amidst all our birthday celebrations, this is one of many serious questions we should ponder and decide on together.”
“What does Malaysia – my homeland- mean to me, you ask? Just as I have been saying all along! It’s my family; the bonds that tie are hard to break. And if you believe, as I do, that we are born where we are, who we are for a reason – then, you will know that each one of us is meant to make a difference in our own little corner of the world.”
“Happy birthday to you, Malaysia! All I can give you now is a prayer that this family will keep growing in the right direction and carefully, painstakingly correct the deep-rooted mistakes that we have made along the way. My other prayer is that, if God wills, I may be a part of those who have the same vision to change that far-off dream into concrete reality.”
After reading so many “Young Malaysian” columns in The Star of varying quality, here’s my own say in the matter on the Golden Jubilee of dear Peninsula Malaya (it’s not really Malaysia’s birthday, right?)
“My family…well, we’re an unusual family. I don’t expect you to understand. We’re very different in many ways and we even come from different cultures and backgrounds. We like different types of food and even have different beliefs and traditions. With all this, how can we still live as a family, you ask?”
“It’s a long story that has not really told itself into a neat ending yet. We haven’t been together long enough to really settle into roles that we are comfortable with. At present we’re having an uneasy, fragile truce that They-the Big Men- tell us we can’t talk or ask questions about. They’re afraid that some members might revolt against the status quo and upset the delicate harmony –the yin yang- of our family.”
“Personally, I’m not sure how that works. How strong can our family bonds be if we’re not even willing to iron out problematic issues in a reasonable way? If we aren’t open with our wants and needs, our dreams and hopes for the future; how can we be sure we’re all moving in the same direction together?”
“We’re a nice and loving family from the outside; we like to dress up on special occasions so that other families can admire our diversity and showy monuments and great-tasting food. We hope they won’t look at our perfect picture too closely and see the cracks in our smiles, the ennui in our eyes at hearing the endless empty promises, insensitive comments and grandiose pronouncements of our family’s elected spokespeople.”
“Change things, you say? Well, it isn’t that easy. Sad to say, not everyone’s working for the good of the family. The young and eager who want to often find obstacles in their way, put by those very people who have pledged to uphold the interests of this family. Inefficiency, complacency and corruption in our family is rampant – so much so that some members have disowned us and sought happiness in other families.”
“As a family, we’ve come this far – 50 years we’ve governed ourselves independently and sought a name and place for ourselves amongst greater, stronger powers. So far, I think we’ve done well in material terms. We could do much better, though. We’ve not had much obvious open antagonism erupting into violence for the last 38 years – but is that all we should aspire for? Amidst all our birthday celebrations, this is one of many serious questions we should ponder and decide on together.”
“What does Malaysia – my homeland- mean to me, you ask? Just as I have been saying all along! It’s my family; the bonds that tie are hard to break. And if you believe, as I do, that we are born where we are, who we are for a reason – then, you will know that each one of us is meant to make a difference in our own little corner of the world.”
“Happy birthday to you, Malaysia! All I can give you now is a prayer that this family will keep growing in the right direction and carefully, painstakingly correct the deep-rooted mistakes that we have made along the way. My other prayer is that, if God wills, I may be a part of those who have the same vision to change that far-off dream into concrete reality.”
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