it is sufficient

Sunday, August 26, 2007 T: 13 45

At the age of nineteen, I found that my friends are getting car licenses, that some are driving their dad’s car, that some even have their own cars. Conversations are no longer about toy cars, but about vehicles capable of transporting people on the road, cars worth more than my flat. There are always rumors about rich people with their huge mansions and luxurious sedans. I hear how people could afford to get places in universities with the scholarships provided by their parents, how people could get overseas for their education. It would seem as though everything I am required to work hard for, people could get it with a vocal request. It’s not before long I found myself envying the rich, hankering after their wealth and possessions, dreaming about my own sports car, my own bungalow.

But as I was eating my $3 prawn mee earlier this afternoon, I was reminded that I was about as satisfied as the man eating cavalier at the same moment. As I ate my breakfast in shirt and shorts I slept in, I was probably as comfortable as people dressed in Levi’s jeans and branded clothes. As I cycled around my neighborhood scouting for food everyday, I was probably as happy as the guy zooming about in his Ferrari. There’s something exhilarating about riding at peak speed, feeling the wind against me, thinking of what I’m going to do next in my life, about people, about crushes. There’s something warm about able to connect with the older people in the coffee shop, talking about football and about bicycles. It dawns on me that I have asked for everything knowing that I lack nothing, and I relish the freedom this realization have brought.

I wished if I do ever become an account in the future, I would not let the figures get into my head, that I could be as happy and free as that very moment, house or no house, car or no car, family or no family. Let the world go chase after their material pursuit, while I take a longer break to enjoy my sleep. I guess God in creating us have already given us things to be elated about. I mean there’s nothing nicer than a good night’s sleep, nothing more magical that our gift of sight, nothing more valuable and warm than the gift of touch.

Currently, I’m reading a book by Joseph Stigiltz titled Globalization and Its Discontents. It’s difficult to govern a country, to manage an economy. There are so many brilliant minds at work, and yet no one could come up with a solution. Because to eradicate poverty, there needs to be not only leaders who are not only selfless and objective, there must also be people who must plan policies which other people will not take advantage of. Sometimes, it gets really tiring in this imperfect world. If only everyone knows how to be contented, then perhaps everything will work out fine. But this world is light years away from ideal, but let us as individuals as starters, just be appreciative of what we have.

p.s. i think i always never reply to comments posted on my blog. but let it be known that i read them, and never cease to be thankful for and encouraged by them.

19 minutes: thoughts & reflections

Monday, August 13, 2007 T: 13 31

Maybe at some point in life, we will come to a point when we’ll question the reason for our existence, found ourselves in a self-identity crisis, and wonder who we are. I heard people talking about being ‘myself’. But I can’t help but wonder who ‘myself’ is. Is my personality a result of the expression of my genetic code, stimulated and changed accordingly to the environments that I have been in? As people, we all want to be popular; we seek the friendships of the more famous people; we want to feel that sense of belonging. After all, ‘teenage life is about fitting in, not standing out.’ And because of this, I’m without doubts that my character is shaped by the different cliques that I have been in. It’s difficult to be different. Because to be different might mean to have the whole world looking at you and start commenting what a freak you are; because being different will cause you to be stared at. And so we change to be assimilated into the social circle, or rather we adapt ourselves to suit the different environment, and unconsciously, that became part of us. I guess I don’t know ‘what color a chameleon was before it started changing’ as well. Is adolescence any easier than adult life? Adults would think not, that nothing could compare to the stress that they are not going, but they fail to realize maybe they have found their own answers to who they are.

Perhaps the question of who we are can be answered by our value of our existence; at least there are people who think this way. Lots of us may have contemplated suicide before. 25% of the kids in Shanghai do. I had too. There is of course a major difference between thinking about it and committing it, but I ponder if I just didn’t do so because I simply have no guts to do it, or I could see that silver lining in the clouds in the midst of darkness. I doubt it’s the latter. Maybe it is religion, that I fear being condemned to eternal isolation. But that don’t answer why people think about it. Maybe we thought we could find out the value of ourselves when we die. We want to know if there are people who will go to our funeral. We want to know how much difference we make. We want to know whether we will be remembered. Of course, there are some who just want to escape from reality. (That being said, there are people who wonder why people would have the courage to jump down the building, and yet could not face the obstacle in front of them. I was one of them, until I realize people fear pain rather than death itself, eternal suffering rather than that short instance of ultimate agony.) I guess what we didn’t know is that all these mundane things don’t matter anymore when we die; that the answers to all the question we seek is not of any value anymore. What we didn’t know is that time has a powerful way of making memories of you fade away so naturally. With time, the one who dies may be nothing more than a name tucked behind in the vast oceans of memories in the minds of many. Society has an eerie way of replacing anyone who has been lost. It’s that easy, that quickly. Sure, we could remember the heroes, the contributors by naming roads and streets after them. But after a while, they are nothing but mere road and street names. LKY, for all his immense and brilliant contribution to our country, is that easily replaced. Soon, he may be remembered for bringing a country from a developing country to a first world nation in 30 years, and people won’t know who he really is. And with time, he will too be forgotten. What people didn’t know is that they would be life after death, a next phase of life that is definitely much longer than the average 70 years we spent on this planet. Peter Houghton in the novel had the boldness to end his life, but what did he achieve in the end?

And if I get to heaven, and I become good, will I be myself then?

I know nuts about parenthood. Hey, I’m just a kid. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it all the same. Reading all these books, understanding my teenage self, I tried to imagine what a perfect father and mother ought to be, and the teaching methods they should employ to guide their sons and daughters well, to earn their friendships and respect, and not cause the huge alienation and gap often prevalent in today’s families. But when I come to think of it, there’s not really a textbook way of parenting children, is there? Each individual differ. The environments they are in differ. Their responses, sensitivity and maturity differ. They need their own room to sort things out for themselves, to come up with their own discernment and value system, and yet could not be granted too much room lest they go astray. It’s almost impossible enough to find that difference. There are not really any fixed answers, just like that’s no one solution for a developing country to move on and eradicate poverty. What works for one may not work for another. I guess what parents could do is to do their best and hope for the best.

Lewis and Lacy Houghton must have gone through a huge internal turmoil when they look at their elder son who indulged in drugs, their youngest shot for massacring in his school. The British parents of the terrorists who bombed the subways may be wondering what have gone wrong. They blame themselves, and their lives probably would be filled with self-reproach for the rest of their lives. Somehow, I feel sorry for the parents of murders and serial rapists. It sucks that so many things could go out of our control so easily, that diligence may not bring the desired result. What do they exactly feel? Did they ever foresee such a situation one day? I think I’ll never be able to contemplate the intensity of their sorrow when they are put on the witness stand trying to say something good about their sons or daughters who commit such atrocities. They never saw that coming. After all, ‘when you look into your baby’s eyes, you see everything you hope they can be, not everything you wish they won’t become.’ Maybe that’s when it’s really possible to hate and love a person at the same time. What my pastor mentioned last Sunday really make sense. The antonym of love is not hate. It is indifference.

I mentioned in my previous entry of that doggy unconditional love that humans seem not able to show. It struck me when I was reading the book that a parent’s love is probably something closest to that. A father or mother sees beyond the looks, the IQ, of their sons and daughters.

Kevin told me that he saw a significant number of teenagers reading this book. I think this novel probably relates a lot to adolescence, and a lot could identify with the characters in the story. The questions Picoult asks tags at our heartstrings, and we find ourselves trying to answer them for ourselves. It’s about finding ourselves, about peer pressure. But the question is what do we do after we finish the book? Do we just put aside the novel which we could very well connect to, or do we start examining our own lives, and ask who we truly are? Do we continue to build our happiness and entertainment on the sorrow and pain of others, continue to root our popularity on the ostracization of the weaker ones? Could we dare to break of our comfort zones sometimes?

We are called to stand out in this crazy world, to be sojourners on this short journey. I think we need not bother about finding out who we are when the Bible already tells us. We are called to deny self and embrace others. Do we?

marley & me

Sunday, August 05, 2007 T: 18 48

“It was an amazing concept that I was only now, in the wake of his death, fully absorbing: Marley as a mentor. As teacher and role model. Was it possible for a dog – any dog, but especially a nutty, wild uncontrollable one like ours – to point humans to the things that really mattered in life? I believed it was. Loyalty. Courage. Devotion. Simplicity. Joy. And the things that did not matter, to. A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbols mean nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart, and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not.” – John Grogan, Marley &Me

I think I made a fool of myself in a MRT. It’s not often one sees a grown up guy, standing 6 foot tall, reading a book, with a pair of earphones in his ears, with tears welling up his eyes, sliding down his cheeks every now and then. I could feel the curious looks, but I think I was quite engrossed in the book. A part of me wanted to finish the book to the end and be done and satisfied with it. A part of me wanted to just rush through the ending, even stop reading, because I simply could not stop the tears from accumulating in my eyes, from clouding my vision every other minute.

But I’m not ashamed of myself. After all, here is a book which describes a dog who knows boundless love, who knows how to give, who know people probably better than sometimes we ourselves do. Here’s an author who could gallantly recounted he had cried over his dead dog. Here’s a lovely recount of the dog who knows the meaning of loyalty and devotion, selflessness and happiness.

I have met people who enjoy calling other people ‘dogs’. To them, I feel like retorting, “I wish I’m a dog as well!’ and see their astonished faces, laughing at their failed attempts in verbally assaulting me. I meant that. I wish I’m a dog. I want to be carefree, to be like Marley, to not fear letting the world know my feelings. I want to be able to do anything when I’m elated and ecstatic and not cramp my feelings of euphoria in me, in order to still be able to proclaim myself sane. It is them who really knows how to love, how to show their affection to the people, to others who they enjoy being with. They know no shame as they lurch at their owners in public, licking them to death. They know no shame when they tear away with a shoe enough. They understood loyalty. Dog owners would know they will always have someone who will miss them, who will think of them when they are not around. Like what Grogan has wrote, they will give their hearts to whoever who give them theirs. They do not backstab. Sometimes, I wonder if they can love more than us humans. Dogs need not worry about not going to heaven, because they do not worry about going to hell either. And if they got good owners, they will leave this world knowing they have spend a great majority of their life loving and be loved; they will leave this world having experienced true love. At least I’m sure Marley must have.

And so here’s to John Grogan and Marley for sharing with us their love story. Here’s to the dogs who can express themselves without shame, who in a doggy sense know the meaning of unconditional love and forgiveness, who have given their owners and handlers a time of their lives and teach us that sometimes there’s really something more to the paper and money chase.

Indignation 2007: Kissing

Friday, August 03, 2007 T: 18 59

In a blog http://singabloodypore.rsfblog.org, there is an article regarding the banning an exhibition of photographs depicting gays and lesbians kissing. The mere idea of people actually wanting to do such an exhibition appalls me. What frustrate me further are the comments to that blog entry which convey the anger at the government in media control. I do not think this is anymore an issue about the strict media control in Singapore. Rather, it got to do with doing what is right and what is wrong. Do parents honestly want their children to have homosexual tendencies? If people could say ‘yes’, then I have nothing to say. If not, why even create an environment which may encourage and promote such behavior for the sake of media freedom?

I often think that the increasing liberalization may bring greater peace to the world. To me, it is this that allows people of different races to live together, whether in harmony or simply mutual tolerance. I believe that each individual will have a right to choose what they want to do. But when actions or activities cross the moral line, I think we will have a problem. Indeed, it saddens me that the world is beginning to condone what I would regard as unnatural relationships. Of course, it’s easier for me to say because I’m heterosexual. But I think everyone has a vague idea of what is right and what is wrong, what is natural and what is unnatural. It is when people ignore all moral concerns for the sake of pleasure, will the world be thrown into chaos.

It is just like we won’t allow people to commit suicide, won’t allow people to have sexual relationships with minors, won’t allow children to watch too much violent shows, won’t allow mercy killing. It is not about denying freedom. It’s about doing what’s right; it’s about parenting 4 million people in this country. In this case, I will support the censorship board, the government of Singapore .