And so the doctor turned to my sister and her husband and said, “Here’s your little princess”. Oh happy day. Time flies. The whole process comes and goes. I wonder when will I get to bring my little niece to the zoo and eat ice-cream.
Happy 2010! How did you celebrate the New Year Eve? Initially, Cynthia and I wanted to celebrate the countdown in a Spanish way: to eat twelve grapes, one on each chime of the clock. Alas! At the checkout counter of a grocery store, a few days before the New Year Eve, Cynthia asked if we should get some grapes. I thought to myself: We have apples, we have oranges, why do we need grapes? I said no; Cynthia did not insist; and we have no grapes. As Gurmit Singh led the countdown broadcast through our national television channel, Cynthia, my buddy Mark, two other players, and I were locked inside a virtual dungeon ready to start our battle. That was probably the first time I celebrated New Year Eve online.
* * I * *
Traditionally, this is a time for me to reflect upon the past year and to dream up my new year’s resolutions. Looking at last year’s theme, by and large, I have fulfilled what I set out to do. It is often hard to follow things through and I think I have done a pretty good job last year. On things that I have set my heart onto.
Time, is limited. That is a common knowledge. I have friends who ask me if I am still into photography (after merely a few months’ of break) or I still play my music (OK, an unfortunate series of hiatuses that set my music hobby back by miles). The reality is, if I am into learning Spanish or to re-learn Chinese, something is going to give. Because?
Time, is limited.
* * II * *
Inspiration comes from everywhere. We can find inspiration in the least expected places. That too is a common knowledge. “Superfreakonomics” is hardly a book of inspiration. Buried inside countless set of interesting statistical interpretations are two sentences that hit me so hard. And I said to myself, “Ah ha! That is going to be part of my 2010 theme.”
Mastery arrives through deliberate practice. Setting specific goal, obtaining immediate feedback, and concentrating as much on technique as on outcome.
So far, I am pretty good at setting goals. But I have been lacking in the rest. No wonder I am jack of all trades and master of none.
* * III * *
The only consolation is that if writing is counted as a skill I can master, I do practice my craft diligently. And because what I write is published through the Internet, I do at times receive feedback in the forms of online comments, offline comments, text messages, Facebook messages, and etc. So, thank you for your feedback. It helps me a great deal in understanding what works, what doesn’t.
Ironically, for this one particular skill I am attempting to master, what I lack is a specific goal.
* * IV * *
Inspiration can come from watching F1 too!
Last year was the first time I have watched the entire F1 season, on a television. Commentators would at times use the term “committed driver” to describe someone who all of a sudden kicks into action, putting on a personal best performance on the track. Such fire, such determination, and such commitment. Last year, I have tried to experiment this spirit on things that I do. It could be a Spanish class whereby I do my best in answering every question, in memorizing everything the teacher has said – every minute, every second of the class. Being committed is a sustained effort, from the beginning till the end. It is not a temporary boost of performance. But rather a sum of all the little edges I create that makes me a different, better person.
So, is this new theme all business and no play? Not really. I have tried that when I play the online game with a team of players too! Often, we are locked inside a dungeon or a series of dungeons from anywhere between 15 minutes to a few hours. It pays off being committed. Even more so as a team.
Whenever I think of high performance, I think of my ex-company Accenture. Whenever I think of Accenture, I think of golf and one of their old advertisements.
“Go on, be a Tiger.”
* * V * *
Are you still a vegetarian? Why do you become a vegetarian? And this particular question asked by my mother beats the rest: Are you switching religion again?
Yes, I am still a vegetarian. It is a lifestyle choice. And no, I am still a Catholic.
One day, Cynthia told me that according to her boss, once you keep eating a certain diet for a week or two – exact number of days I forgot – you will acquaint yourself with the diet and find yourself liking it. It is true. I have no craving for meat now and recently, after I have learned from my India vegetarian colleague that broadly speaking, it is important to consume vegetables of different colors, I have extended my food choice to salad. There are prepackaged and triple washed organic salad of different types that are sold in our local grocery stores. To spice up our bowls of salad, we add mixed nuts, sunflower seeds, dried cranberry, and of course, salad dressing. After a week or two, I am craving for that bowl of salad. I feel hungry by thinking about it. That is my new comfort food.
OK. I lie a tiny bit. There are things in life that I do miss. Japanese raw fish is amongst the top of the list. Today, I crave for Guilinggao jelly – a Chinese dessert made from the shell of a turtle that is supposed to have positive medical effect. Now, you can’t possibly classify that as a meat dish.
Can you?
* * VI * *
The year before last year, my theme was “Do It“. I really love that theme. I think I can do it better this year. With a better sense of urgency: “Do It NOW”. There is only that much I can plan. And I realize that planning to do something is not the same as doing it. Why not cast the vagueness of timeline away, action today, and manage the decisions in the future if need to?
Now, where does that come from?
One day, Cynthia picked up the phone and make an appointment with the oven repairman. Within minutes after his arrival at our home, our oven is back to operation after months if not years of breakdown. We are S$230 poorer but at least, we can now bake cakes.
Or vegetable pies.
* * VII * *
One commonality between this year’s post and the last year’s one is the picture used. Both are taken in Bandung, Indonesia. As you can see, I still have a backlog of unprocessed photographs, overdue for more than a year. Alas! Backlog of this, backlog of that. Now you know why I need to do-it-now, and do it as committed as I can be.
I woke up this morning and realized that nature has delivered a plant to me.
Last night, I had a great dream. Not the type that I could remember in detail. But one that has such great sense of freedom. Like nothing else matters. Cool wind on my face. In fact, I could breath the freshness. I could feel the freshness. The kind of tingling feeling that made the dream as real as it could get. A similar experience when I visited the 3D theater inside Hong Kong Disneyland Resort. Donald Duck and the splashing of water, towards the end of the show. Cool air blowing inside the theater. Water sprinkled onto the audience cued perfectly with the short clip. And in this great dream of mine, right before I woke up in the middle of the night, I felt that I was watching my dream, inside a theater, with all these props there to make my dream more realistic. But why?
I opened my eyes. Water dripping from my air-conditioner splashed onto my face. A splash of water on my wireless phone next to my bed, a splash of water on my library book, on my pillow, my bolster, and my face.
This morning, I examined the air-conditioner trying to see what has gone wrong. Is it something I can fix? My air-conditioner looks normal. Except, water dripping from within.
I traced the water exhaust pipe, from the blower, through the wall, to the condenser, outside my window. I opened my curtain …
… and got a shock! I saw a plant outside my window! Right inside the concrete tray that keeps my condenser in place. Feeding on the water coming from my air conditioner.
A plant! Not a tiny one. But a sizable one that defies all hostile conditions. Where does it come from? Was it there all these while? Or it exists after I have made an observation? Stardust. A baby appears at my doorstep. I thought of that movie when I saw this mysterious plant.
I do not have any plant or pet living in my home until now. This plant that comes from nowhere looks ugly. But I think I can live with it.
Last night before I went to bed, I was worried that I may momentarily run out of things to write. This morning I woke up and realized that nature has delivered a story to me.
This has to be a coincidence. I randomly picked four Chinese novels to read from the library. The previous book is a collection of nine short stories. This books is also a collection of nine short stories. Relationship, especially in the form of divorce, is one of the themes of the previous book. Same for this book. The previous book writes in a certain style of surrealism blurring reality with illusion. This book, same. And when one of the stories from 《早苗》”Zoumiu” – note that I translate based on the pronunciation because the title is derived from a female name – has a scene of the main character pondering with a glass of cold beer, I flipped. It was as though I was reading 《嘉年華會》(“Carnival”). The beer, the divorce, the surrealism, the same number of stories – either it is a common trend in today’s Chinese literature bear in mind that “Zoumiu” is written by a Taiwanese writer while “Carnival” by a Hong Kong writer, the coincidence is simply, surreal.
Before I comment on the “Zoumiu”, I would like to write a bit on what I observe on the languages of these two geographic locations (can’t really say countries, can I?). Hong Kong and Taiwan are most likely the only two places in this entire world that the people still write in Traditional Chinese. I sincerely wish with all my heart that Traditional Chinese will not vanish, swallowed by the Simplified Chinese so commonly promoted by China. For those who wonder what the difference between the two is, it is as though “Simplified English” becomes official and words such as ‘wot’, ‘happend’, ‘wif’, ‘btw’, ‘u’, ‘tt’, ‘impresn’ become the endorsed language. Imagine English classics printed with those simplified forms. The analogy may be crude and not entirely correct. But the essence is there. And that is how I feel when I read Simplified Chinese.
While I was reading “Zoumiu”, I realize that the choice of words between these two places – Hong Kong and Taiwan – can be different. An analogy could be the subtle difference when you read British novels and American novels. Both are written in English. But there are differences between the two. I, for one, read Hong Kong novels at a much faster pace.
At times, I am not sure which culture is more dramatic in nature – Taiwan or Hong Kong? “Zoumiu” is prefaced by two I supposed reputable writer and editor in Taiwan. Full of over-the-top promises that set my expectation sky high on “Zoumiu”, before I have even started reading the book. The author 張子璇 has won the 1st prize of the Taiwan’s “Save the Literature” award. “Zoumiu” is a story of love, and death. Death is the center theme. The nine stories are: 《早苗》《那個中午》《夜裡》《活著的記憶》《背影》《陌生人》《等待》《嫉妒的漂浮》《緩慢的自由》. Again, for ease of reference, I would translate the titles to “Zoumiu”, “That Afternoon”, “In the Night”, “Memory of the Living”, “View of the Back”, “Stranger”, “To Wait”, “Jealousy Afloat”, “The Slowness of Freedom”.
“Memory of the Living” has perhaps the most impact on me. In the story, the main character’s mother often stares outside the window, every passing moment of the day, holding a little black box. One day, the main character returns home and discovers his mother has committed suicide. He then opens the box and understands what his mother meant by: “I will tell it to you one day, until you mother is too tired, cannot hold it any longer, and I will pass it to you”. My heart sunk when I too discovered what it is.
Another favorite story of mine is “Stranger”. One day, a girl discovers a corpse like stranger appears in her home. And through interacting with this stranger, conversing on the topic of her first divorce and second marriage, the stranger does not seem that foreign any more. An extract of the story below (the author puts an extract upfront at the beginning of each story, interestingly).
要不是偶然遇見了陌生男子，今天也不過是如此平常的一天，
回頭看看剛才走過的路，著實讓她安心不少。
那個蒼白得像個死屍的男人，現在想起來也不覺得害怕了。
The rest of the stories, like these two, explore on the decisions people make, on love, at times observed from a distance, almost like reading from a spirit’s view, or indeed from a spirit’s view. Some stories are inconclusive leaving me to ponder on what is real and what is not. One story, “Jealousy Afloat”, the main character is obsessed with the memory and illusion of his lost love decades ago, keeps revisiting old places until he sees her, together with the younger him. The writing style of that story could seem extreme, but I tend to think that the author is gifted in bringing human interactions alive.
Additional Info: Singapore library tag is ZGZL, Wisdom Books official site, and ISBN 978-957-450-508-1.
This is my first field trip and our mission is clear: To secure the underground area next to the university. There has been disturbance inside the dungeon of tunnels made of steel, as reported. The robots do not normally venture so close into our civilization. We wonder what prompts the encroachment. Low in resource within the robot colonies? The evolution of robots that finally breach the take no interest in human activity vow as programmed, sealed, and agreed upon after the Third War? Or robots that have gone rogue?
I have to admit that I am born of a younger generation, owe it to our forefathers for the establishment of peace, a form of peace that is not perfect – as coexisting with your century long enemies is never easy – but necessary. Towards the end of the Third War, both sides acknowledged that we human beings cannot outpace the evolution of robots aided by technology rapidly discovered, experimented, and advanced minutes by minutes, seconds by seconds; and robots cannot precede the wisdom of mankind granted by the gods of heaven. Our bones may be fragile, our flesh may be mortal, but there is no survival like a human survival.
At least that is how we are taught in school; my textbook understanding on the robots, on the history before I was born. I have not seen a robot in my life, least terminating one. The word ‘kill’ has been banned and eliminated from our dictionary as part of the agreement of the Third War Treaty. As the robots have acutely observed, the root of our evilness lies in the word “kill”. Kill: Such a word full of hatred, of superiority, and of no responsibility, no respect. Terminate, on the other hand, has a clinical approach to address a certain dire situation, through sound logic and rationalization.
As I have said, this is my first field trip, in a squad of soldiers who seem to know what they are doing. “You!” says the squad leader pointing at my direction. “Sir?” I straighten my back in response. “Stay close and shoot at the damn robots, not us. Got it? We’re going to kill all those damn motherfookers!” shouts the leader in his hoarse commanding voice.
Kill?! Guess I have to toss the textbooks away for now, side-by-side with this troop of dozen.
“Here. Take these,” one soldier beside me hands me some ammunition. “These are rockets. Launch them from a distance. You don’t wanna see them explode in front of our faces. Got that, kiddo?” he continues. “Yes Sir!” I replies as I strapped the little red rockets onto my belt, with my trembling hands. “And these are regular bullets. For close range shooting. You have learned how to fire at the training center, haven’t you?” I nod, weakly. He puts his strong hand onto my left shoulder and says, “Look kiddo, this is real war. I don’t know your background. But since you are here, you must have done damn good in your training. Don’t let us down, OK?”
Such a fatherly voice, I reply with renewed conviction, “Sir! Yes Sir!”
“Something is moving ahead Sir!” one squad member shouts. The squad leader turns to me and says, “You kiddo. Do the announcement now!”
In my state of nervousness, I have gone stiffed, my mind has gone blank. The soldier next to me shouts, “Do it now kiddo! We can’t attack those motherfookers before we make the announcement!”
I slap into action, grab the microphone, clear my throat and say, “Attention. This is a human designated area. You are in violation of the Third War Treaty that says no robots are allowed to encroach into human designated areas, physically or in any capacity that may interact or harm the human species …”
“They are fast approach, Sir!” one soldier screams. “Get ready to fire!” shouts the squad leader.
And my mechanical voice continues, echoes in these long steel tunnels, “We hereby inform you to immediately leave this area. Failing to do so may grant us, the humans, the right to terminate you …”
I hear gunfire. So loud that I have to cover my ears. I see two dead robots right in front of us as I continue, “We come in peace and wish you robots no harm.”
How ironic.
“These robots come in pairs, kiddo. If you kill one, you have to kill the other,” said one soldier. “What if we don’t?” ask I. “Well, these robots are programmed to live and die in pairs. Think kamikaze, kiddo. Not pretty,” he shakes his head engaged in what appears as a deep thought. I make a mental note to inquire the story after our mission.
“There are a lot more coming!” says the same soldier who warned us the incoming of robots. “Shoot ’em all!” shouts the squad leader, “And you kiddo!” He turns to me, “Make yourself useful and use that damn gun of yours, would you?”
Indeed, a lot more targets are coming our way. Relentless, waves and waves of robots come upon us. The sound of the gunfire is deafening; the sparkle of the explosion hurts my eyes. One target is marked for my taking. From a distance, I launch rocket #1. Missed. Rocket #2. Missed! Such tremendous speed these robots have! As my target gets closer to me, I attempt to launch rocket #3. My gun screams in a mechanical voice, “Warning! Warning! Incoming target too close!” I fire nonetheless. Big explosion, the ground shakes. The rocket has punched a big hole onto the steel tunnel just meters away from us. The squad leader shouts, “Dammit kiddo! Wanna get us all killed?!”
My target slows down, by the up close explosion of the rocket. I switch to pistol, attempt to shoot the robot. Futile. For I am merely putting dents onto his thick armor. There is something peculiar about this robot. In my state of desperation, thinking of not wanting to get my squad killed, I do the unthinkable: I charge towards the robot!
My squad seems shocked. The robot seems shocked. Every one stops what they are doing and watch what could have been the most lunatic scene of the century as recorded.
Adrenalized, with heighten alert. As I am approaching an arm’s length away from my target, I toss my pistol away, and the puzzlement has deepened. “What are you thinking?!” the robot must have pondered. As it too stays still, a step or two away from the huge hole that my rocket #3 has created not so long ago.
With all my remaining strength, I run up to the robot – what enormous figure! – and give it a big push, into the hole. The hole is no ordinary hole. It is a lift shaft. I pull the level nearby to call a lift to come down. Almost like a slow motion, the lift crushes onto the fallen robot and renders it inactive. All of a sudden, it is silence. The heavy breathing of the human squad and the electrostatic sparkles of the fallen robot fills the silence bestows upon the aftermath of the last wave of attack.
“Just what the ‘uck are you thinking, kiddo?” our squad leader mutters the words slowly while staring at the fallen robot. My face has gone red and I reply, “Erm, Sir. I did what I have to do. I have disengaged the robot.”
“Ah, disengaged,” he looks up at the ceiling disengaged from the current scene and continues, “So this robot is neither alive nor dead. What the ‘uck are we supposed to do with a robot in coma?”
“Sir,” one soldier steps up and offers an answer, “We are not allowed to harm or interact or harvest any such robot. In fact, we must retreat from this perimeter immediately and notify the Federation.”
“Good. And how are we supposed to secure this perimeter, as part of our mission?”
“The Law says, no mission supersede this situation of ours as it is a grave threat to humanity, unless humanity is in threat,” the soldier continues. Another soldier steps up, clenching his fists in anger and says, “Sir. I say we blow this motherfooker apart and continue with our mission.” Some of the soldiers join force, fists in the air, and yell, “Let’s blow this motherfooker apart!”
“NO!” the squad leader quiet the crowd with his calm voice. “There are certain values in life we must not compromise. This robot in coma is not to be harmed. Mission abort!”
“But what would happen to this robot in coma?” I ask, in all ignorance. The squad leader shrugs and says, “Maybe its another half will claim it for mutual voluntary termination. Maybe the robots will use it to claim ownership to this underground structure. How the ‘uck would I know? I don’t study robots for a living. I kill ’em to pay my bills, kiddo.”
The squad leader’s long sigh meets with a faint drumming sound from a distance. The noise amplifies as we standstill, trying to figure out what is next. “Sir! Take a look at the radar,” shouts one soldier in disbelief. “They are in great number, a scale I have never seen before!”
“Move, move! Retreat! Now! You and you, hold the line with me. The rest of you. Run like hell!” commands the squad leader.
We run like mad, fueled by the great number of robots chasing after us. Have I started the Fourth War? I dare not even think about it. As I emerge from the underground compound, greeted by dusk, the siren has been sounded. For how long? I do not know. I see shadow of some students from the university dashing in the dark. I look back at the exit, half expecting to see robots making an entry into our human dwelling, a formal invasion. Instead, I see animals and birds, coming out from the same exit we emerged. And they too are engulfed by the dusk, disappeared into the dark.
* * * * *
Author’s Note: I am always thrilled when it comes to writing the “Fragments of my Dreams” series. I love being able to let my imagination runs wild, guided only by the [real] dreams I have. Sunday morning (Nov 8, 2009), I woke up early, vividly remembered I had a dream. But the content was vague. I fell back to sleep and revisited my dreamland again, willing the dream to be repeated. And incredible as it sounds, the dream did repeat again, like a movie. In fact, it ended inside a movie theater. I picked the most coherent part of my dream to be the inspiration of this episode.
The working title of this drawing is “Body and Blood of Christ”, inspired by All Saints’ Day. Explanation of the composition is at the end of this post. Last Sunday morning, Cynthia asked while we finally settled down inside the Church, “Why this eagerness?” Nothing escapes her observation, on me. That’s scary. True, of all solemnities, I am in particularly drawn to All Saints’ Day. Maybe it is the vivid images of the Book of Revelation, maybe it is the sheer number of Saints involved – ten thousands and counting – or maybe we or rather I am drawn into the stories of the Saints, how holiness can be manifested in mere humans, closer to our timeline, outside the Biblical literature. Maybe Heaven seems so real knowing some of us do make it there, somehow.
Some sermons are more engaging than others. It’s true. On that particular Sunday, the Priest began with a story of a little girl insisting that Jonah survived inside the stomach of a whale, as told in the Bible, for three long days. I should have paid more attention as I have no clue how the teacher comes into the picture. Anyway, the teacher corrected the little girl that no one can live inside a whale for three days, set aside getting swallowed by one. The little girl insisted that God intervened and spared Jonah’s life. And she continued, “When I go to Heaven, I will ask Jonah.” “What if Jonah is in Hell?” asked the teacher. “Then you’ll go and ask him yourself,” replied the little girl.
We all laughed.
I read in CNN that recently, our Pope has canonized Father Damien, the leper priest. The story of Father Damien is inspiring. He was on a mission on the island of Molokai in the Kingdom of Hawaii – a leper colony back in the mid 1800. After 16 years of caring for the needs of the colony, in which most who were healthy wouldn’t want to stay, Father Damien contracted leprosy and died. There must be a God inside Father Damien, one made such a comment in his deathbed when he finally believed in God after years of denying Father Damien’s preaching. When our Priest in his sermon accounted the brief life story of now Saint Damien (more in Wikipedia), I was deeply moved.
* * * * *
Our band was in hiatus for half a year. Our drummer Wieke couldn’t join us in the last minute. That left the three of us. Time flies. Jason, Cynthia, and I have been jamming for 5 years. Started in the very living room we had our session last Sunday afternoon. During our practice, Cynthia showed us the print out of one of the emails I wrote during the infancy of the band, a list of to-do and what not. I cringed of course. And we had a good laugh. The session went well. We played some of the older stuffs. We took our time to review our recordings, keeping only the decent tracks for our listening pleasure.
* * * * *
I woke up at 8 am on a Sunday morning feeling excited to review the brand new SanDisk memory card. The first time is always intoxicating. Like the first time I wrote book review for McGraw-Hill. Or my first time participating in a Nokia media event. Reviewing that memory card turned out to be less dramatic than I have anticipated. And I laughed at myself, in a good way.
* * * * *
My zest for vegetarian diet seems infectious, to Cynthia that is. Saturday evening, right after I have washed the car, there was a heavy downpour. Checking on Facebook I read quite a few of my friend got stranded somewhere in town willing the rain to go away. Cynthia and I, on the other hand, braved the rain and had a delicious dinner at Living Greens – a vegetarian restaurant along Beach Road. That burger. That pumpkin soup. Thinking of my meal makes me hungry. And we made it back to watch F1 qualifying session in time, before 9 pm.
Sunday evening, was not so lucky. We were seated at the hawker center at AMK waiting for our vegetarian food to arrive, for 45 minutes. As the time was drawing close to 9 pm – the opening of the last F1 match this season – we left, with empty stomachs. Ordered a vegetarian pizza on the phone and it arrived in less than half an hour. Again, thinking of that pizza makes me hungry, now.
Strange to say, I was not at all upset by this little episode. It is a message, for certainty. In order to sustain a vegetarian diet, we or rather I need to be able to learn how to cook the dishes, delicious enough to want to eat a vegetarian meal every day. For 2 decades, I have been cooking meat dishes, and vegetable dishes are not meant to be main dishes. What shall I do now?
I have taken stock on what are the common vegetables sold in the supermarket – a lot more than I have imagined – wrote them down somewhere. Next, I need to find a nutrition table as a guide and design my own dishes. It may be a lot harder or easier than I think. Maybe I shall document my cooking journal here so that we can laugh about it one day.
We shall see.
* * * * *
PS. Centered to this drawing is a celebrant holding up the chalice of the blood of Christ during the most solemn part of the Mass: through Him, with Him, and in Him. I got this image during the Sunday’s All Saints’ Day celebration. The larger encompassing triangular object I have envisioned as bread (like the oriental rice roll), a.k.a. body of Christ. The zip is important to this drawing. I hope to draw viewers into the pondering of what lies inside. To invoke the urge of opening the zip. But what is inside cannot be seen. Remains as a mystery, like the theme of our teaching. On the right is a button that signifies more than one way to access the mystery within.
I have also taken the artistic license to put in a bit of my personal life inside this drawing. The triangular object also depicts a guitar pick (as we jammed during the weekend) and Jenson “Button” has won the F1 season (as the season ended in the same weekend). Hence the button.
Yep. That little kid you see in the photo is me. I have got the confirmation this morning and I will get to that in just a moment. Like many entries I write, this one started with a concept, a consolidation of ideas for the past few days. I have got my thoughts linked and drawn out on a piece of paper last evening ready to be put down in words, in a snippet style. But like many entries you see, I prefer to start each piece of writing with a picture – an anchor to the words that follow. As I dug deeper into the digital archive my father has recently created for my sister and I finding that one picture that suits the theme, my emotion ran high. One event led to another and I have decided to chuck most of my initial train of thoughts onto a perhaps a later schedule. Besides, today is a Sunday. Sundays are for the family and the pondering of the good old days.
It all started with the 2004 film “13 Going On 30” played on TV one relaxing Saturday night, last night to be exact. My initial plan was to read a book borrowed from the national library while accompanying Cynthia to be the coach-potato-in-crime. That did not work out. I ended up laughing and crying with Cynthia, as we watched “13 Going On 30” together. For those of you who may not have heard of the storyline, a 13 years old girl wakes up one day as a 30 years old – exactly what she has wished for on her birthday. And all of a suddenly, there is a memory gap of close to 2 decades.
Yesterday was also the Mid-Autumn Festival. Traditionally – in Hong Kong as far as I can remember – families carried lanterns lit up using candles joining hands as they walked to a park nearby. It was a pretty scene to see in the evening. We would spread a mat onto the ground; my sister and I would place the candles and mark the perimeter of our base; and we would eat mooncakes and pomelo and other munchies as we admired the full moon. Replenishing the candles around us and inside the lanterns was enough to keep my sister and I occupied throughout the evening. Occasionally, lanterns would catch fire burned to the core. That was as close to playing with fire as we could get.
So, it was “13 Going on 30” in the evening of the Mid-Autumn Festival, with I in Singapore, my parents in Hong Kong, and my sister in her new family not too far away from where I live, I could not help but pondered: How years have vanished! And how I have changed!
In retrospect, I should have gone through the old photos with my parents when they were here in Singapore earlier on this year. But you know how we always think we have better things to do, I have missed that opportunity, an opportunity of a narration of my very own childhood story. This morning, as I looked at each photo of my sister and I and our parents – a visual memory of our childhood – there was a surreal feeling of being taken back in time, a time that I have zero recollection. I was unsure of the location; and I was not even sure if it was me in some of the photos. Panic struck and I called for Cynthia’s help. “That should be you, I think,” she replied casually as she continued with her breakfast. “I think” is not good enough. I need certainty!
So I called home. My mother picked up the phone while she was still asleep. I was so happy to hear her voice. Describing the photos in detail, one by one, I kept on asking if it was me or my sister or someone else. I wanted to know where we were and I wanted to know what we were doing. To be fair, I think my mother must have had a hard time trying to take in what I described and to give a definitive answer. “That should be you,” said my mother as I described what I wore. But she added, “Although you sister would be wearing the same too. You two shared some of the clothes as you were growing up”.
No!
The signboard says Macau, was I there? The background is a mountain and a lake and there are straws of grass as the foreground, was I the kid in the photo? That green lion statue, where was it? It was a picnic, a mat, a half eaten apple, a bottle of milk, a little toddler playing with a plate, was that me? My dad was half naked, making a face, and the little one with long hair must be my sister; how come I was not in the picture?
I talked non-stop, bombarding my mother who has freshly woken out from the bed with questions after questions. But like all good stories that ideally should come with a good ending, my dad returned home from fishing. I could hear our dog scratching the door in anticipation. “I will ask dad to call you later, OK?” asked my mother. “Sure,” I replied. “I will be waiting,” added I.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. “That was you in that photo!” exclaimed my mother. “That was me!” exclaimed I. Apparently, my parents were watching the DVD – that I too should have a copy – as they commented on the locations and the circumstances of each photo. That DVD! I have almost forgotten. “You dad has sorted the photos nicely on that DVD,” said my mother, “One section for you and another one for your sister.”
I quickly slotted the DVD onto my computer and was surprised to see the following message from my father on the screen. The title is “回憶”, which means a recollection. I would have missed his message to me had I not planned to write this entry!
這是一輯舊相片，有少年的我和萍，有幼小時兒女。
舊的相片能引起一些回憶，您們看後，能帶給您多少回憶與共鳴。
舊的相片能保留人和物事，但人，就逐漸老化，
所以它，能給我們回憶當年的甜、酸、苦、辣。
今天，苦盡甘來，
我們能夠歡樂地、幸福地過活，
都是我們共同努力和感謝上天的恩賜！
在我心中，謹記著【知足常樂】，
無貪、無惡、無妒、無恨。
I will not translate the message in full here, unless someone really wants to know. My dad has a few life mantras that he often shares with me. One is about the end of bitterness comes the sweetness. Maybe because his life is full of hardship. Endurance appears to be one of his strengths and he always works towards that “sweetness”, that reward. And he often projects that ideal reward onto the success of my sister and I. Another one is to be happy is to be contented, without greed, without evil deeds, without jealousy, and without hatred. Maybe because these ideals are imbued onto me since young, they seem to be my personal mantras too.
It was my parents’ turn to describe the photos while watching the DVD thousands of miles away from me. As I closed my eyes trying to recall the photos that I have spent the entire morning admiring, I imagined I was with my parents in Hong Kong, in our living room, watching and laughing at these visual memories together, as they narrated through the photos. It has been a while since we laugh, in such openness. We touched onto the topic that I found it hard to tell between the pictures of my sisters and the pictures of mine. “When your sister was young, people said that she looked like a boy,” said my mother. She then paused, a long paused. And I continued, “And I looked like a girl?” “And you looked like a girl,” laughed my mother.
It was such a lovely morning, such a sweet morning.
Spend time to make a living if you may, spend time to get entertained if you wish, spend time to read if you want to acquire new knowledge, but don’t forget to put aside some time to document your life or lives of those whom you love (online social networking does not count, unfortunately). One day you may wish to answer the question on how years have vanish.
This post is irregular in two ways. One, I am often – if not always – happy with what I publish here. Technically speaking, there is nothing wrong with the book summary I wrote on a Sunday morning, 7am to be exact. But the more I read that post, the more disconnected I feel. I wish I have exposed more of me. I guess a book summary is a book summary; a self-reflection is a self-reflection. Holding back, I was and hence this post – an amendment, an addendum, a companion to that book summary.
Two, I seldom write about my spiritual journey. Two reasons. First, I do not consider myself as a spiritual role model. The topic of God is not something I can articulate well. My sister Lora, for example, can do it brilliantly. Too bad, she has taken a break from writing. I sincerely hope that she will write again soon. Second, I prefer to embed God’s goodness in the things that I do, things that I write, and things that I create. I think it is hard to make an impact to people’s lives by talking about God, with my limited articulation skill on this very topic. It is much easier for me to take an indirect route instead.
Karen Armstrong’s “The Case For God” has much impact to my inner self in various ways. New knowledge aside – which I have covered in my previous post – my personal spiritual journey suddenly makes so much sense. As my humble tribute to the book and to the gifted author, here are what I have interiorized, thus far.
My First Ekstasis
I suspect ‘that’ was my first ekstasis, now that I have read the book. I do not remember much about my childhood. But of the few scenes that I remember, this one in especially leaves a deep impressive.
When I was young, perhaps less than ten, I would sit somewhere in the living room and start to ponder, by asking a series of simple questions that lead from one to another. I would look at a nearby object and ask: where does the table come from? A tree. Where does a tree come from? The Earth. Where does Earth come from? The Universe. Where does the Universe come from? Or I could ask: where do I come from? My mother. Where does my mother come from? My mother’s mother. Where does she come from? So on and on, searching for that one answer beyond words.
Bear in mind that I was very young, with little knowledge in my head, I wasn’t that smart to figure things out (probably still don’t). But I would expand my questions, till a point whereby everything broke down. I remember vividly that my mind would go black, I would see the swirling stars. I would feel as though I had left my body, lost in a spiritual world. I would lie on the floor with eyes closed. The more I did it, the longer I would stay in that state. It was a strange feeling, a very good feeling. One day, I was scared. What if I could not come back? And then I pondered lesser and lesser. All of a sudden, I lost that ability, that out-of-the-body experience. I miss those swirling stars a lot. Till this day.
Could this be my first ekstasis? To go beyond myself and transcend the normal experience?
My Religious Upbringing
I studied in a Catholic school, brought up in – I suppose – a Taoism (Daoism) family. During one class, our teacher asked each of us which religion we belong to. When it came to my turn, I had no clue how to answer that question. In Chinese, what my parents did was called “Worshipping God”. But “Worshiping God” is not a religion, is it?
So we had a family meeting. And have decided that it was Taoism. Next day, I had an answer to my teacher. And to all whom asked.
As I grew up, there are more who tell me that Taoism equals to idol worshiping (which is bad) than those like Karen Armstrong who thinks that the religion does have something we can learn from. And probably due to the influence I had in school, one day I asked my parents a deeper question on what Taoism is? Where is the Taoism ‘scripture’?
Those questions shocked my mother a bit. Or it could be a great deal as I often find it hard to fully measure her emotional intensity until it erupts. As my parent attempted to explain, I gathered that different deities are being worshipped upon. Each comes with a legend of its own. The Chinese are familiar with the associated folk stories. When I insisted on the ‘scripture’, my father started to recite passages written by the ancient Chinese. For example, there is one passage that is structured in words of three, full of morale codes, how the Universe was created, the philosophy of mankind, and etc. I asked my father if there was a book somewhere in the house and he said none. His parents recited these passages to him when he was young and he – like all those before him I suppose – learned the passages verbally.
Fascinated with Chinese literature I was, I did not go far with the study of the myths of the Chinese legends. Nor did I go far with the study of those passages, which I still think they are beautiful to recite. After I have read “The Case For God”, something struck me. Folk Taoism it may be, this ancient religion contains the mythos (myths), morale codes and stories to ponder upon, and a ritual that my parents – together with many Chinese – regularly do. The religion is still a living one, helps to construct meaning in face of our hardship. And liberating as it sounds, there is nothing wrong with the religion I was brought up with – I realized.
Finding God – Part I
Till today, I am still proud that as a then-non-believer, I could score an A for Religious Studies prior to moving to UK for my A-level study. Many of my classmates in Hong Kong struggled. But to me, Religious Studies was one of the most enjoyable subject. Examination questions often came in the form of: this and this happened as written in the Bible, what does that mean? What are the implications? If it is a question that worth a score of 20, you need at least 20 points based on your interpretation that in turn, based the various quotations from the Bible. For me, I would provide not 20, but 40 points. Because I knew even if I missed half of the number of points as required by the question, I would still score full mark.
That worked of course. But how did I find that many interpretations to start with? The good news is that Bible is a highly structured highly cross-referenced set of materials. The four Gospels tells a similar set of stories in slightly different perspectives. And within the Gospels as well as other texts in the Bible, it is easy to find linkages to expand your interpretation. No doubt I had to get some basic concepts right (like what is the Trinity). But I had no problem in interpreting the Bible as far as the examination is concerned.
My journey to find God has been a bumpy one. Just as Karen Armstrong mentioned, I too have gone through the stage whereby I used science to find God and to find God in science. What is God? Where is He? Surely God has to be observable. Or are we created by aliens instead? And I have also gone through the stage whereby I read the Bible literally and started to have found more and more things that did not make sense.
Throughout the years of frustration, I have finally decided that a free thinker was probably best to describe who I was. Yes, there must be a God somewhere because in no way we could explain nature’s design if otherwise. But I did not go further than that.
Finding God – Part II
Looking back – especially after reading the book – I think it is the rituals and the myths that brought me [back] to Catholicism.
Many times, a friend would approach me and ask what he or she should do to convert his or her partners into the same faith. I wish there was an easy answer. But here is my brief story.
Cynthia has never put pressure on me to be a Catholic like her. When we first started as a couple, I often accompanied her to Churches and sat in through the Mass. It didn’t bother me to the least. I often find Churches and Cathedrals a serene place to be at. Besides, it never failed to amaze me how persistence Cynthia wanted to attend a Mass, regardless of the weather, or even the fact that we were in a foreign city. Each time I attended the Mass, I observed the ritual. The more I read about what is behind each ritual, the more meaningful the Mass is to me. Soon, I wanted to participate in the process, to have that moment of divinity. It was no swirling stars for sure. But of the many moments I experience in the Mass, that moment of offering a piece of me and to take in a piece God – as my godmother once told me – is still the defining moment every time I receive the Communion (after I have baptized). We humans need the physical touch in order to communicate feeling and love. Hence we hug, we hold hands, we kiss, and etc. And that piece of God, in the form of a host received during our Communion, is as physical as it can get.
But that host is just …
OK, I have tossed science out of the way long time ago. A little bit of faith – as a matter of commitment and practical living according to Karen Armstrong – is all I need.
I went through an accelerated baptism course, delivered inside a priest’s office with he and I and Cynthia as my support. When the priest asked me if I believe in the garden of Eden, that God took a rib from Adam and created Eve, in less than a heartbeat I replied, “Yes, I believe.” I took a leap of faith, literally.
The priest laughed and told me that, “No, it is a story, a myth.” In fact, many times, when we studied the scripture in detail, he would say, “This is a mystery”. How can God work in such a mysterious way? Back then, I have accepted this mystery mentality. A mentality that apparently did not sit well with some of my Protestant friends. We could have an open dialog one day, ended the night with some open questions. And the next day, my friends – with their network of Protestant’s support – would return with a long list of answers, the counter-arguments. It was as though the scripture has answers for everything. Even on the question why Catholicism is not part of Christianity.
I am not an articulated theologist. And I often retreat from these long list of canned Q & A and fall back onto what I am comfortable with – a standardized Mass from any given Catholic Church all over the world that has the very same prayers, the very same scriptural readings, on any particular day; that we may not have answers to everything in life; and there are more than one way to interpret the scripture, as Karen Armstrong says.
Later, as I read “The Case For God”, I have come to the realization that God is unknowable. But that doesn’t stop us from our ritual and meditation. And to that extend, the mysteries and the standardized Mass works for me. The eventful (and standardized) Catholic calendar too works for me.
Where Do I Go From Here?
I agree with Karen Armstrong. We cannot find God using science. Nor any religion today has a final say. Personally, I have deep respect to other religions. And I have read into some of them too (for it is hard to accept and respect other religions if you don’t know what they are). I can also understand where atheists or free thinkers come from. Maybe the gap between the not so devoutly faithful and the free thinkers is not really as much as we think it is. As for my personal development, I shall take Karen Armstrong’s advise that religion should be a constant practice, an ability that is built over time. One day, the intensity of those swirling stars may return. Perhaps not in the exact form. But ekstasis in experiencing God, I hope, no less.
Formula One is coming to Singapore. Are you someone who thinks that it is boring to watch cars going around in circle? Excitement comes only when some cars crash? You are not alone. Many of my friends think that way too.
As an avid viewer of the sport, I have put together a small survivor guide in layman terms aiming to enhance your viewing experience. It is not everyday you get to see cars racing in the streets of Singapore in neck breaking speed. Trust me, with some basic understanding, you too can enjoy watching the sport, from the first lap to the checker flag. And if you too are an avid F1 viewer, feel free to drop in some comments for sharing.
To continue reading, please click here.
I have promised some of my friends to write a little guide on my journey of digitizing my CD collection and here you are. Some tips on which format to use and how to go about performing the task. Now, why should you care?
Today, my digital jukebox plays CD quality music directly into my hi-fi system. I am loving it. And if you too wish to do that some time in the future. You are at the right place. Click here to continue reading.
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PS. Some ask if they could bring along their portable hard disks and copy the entire collection over. I would not have bought all my CDs had I had no respect to Intellectual Property (IP). And since I do respect IP, my response of decline I hope is understandable. Having said that, how one views IP is no business of mine. It is a personal choice like not eating pork, beef, or meat. I thank you for your understanding.