Tolerable Intolerance

Posted on September 9, 2011 by

Tolerable intolerance = a state of being where prejudices are realistically acknowledged and tolerated with considerations to fair treatment. The opposite of denial and pretence and acting under impulses of prejudices.

It’s 10 years since 9/11. I’m not sure how many people this event affected but I guess everyone in this world is effected in one way or the other. I don’t know who started the spitting contest, but some one definitely did. I don’t know if we have ever learnt from this event, I hope so.

During the last American presidential election, I asked, why is it so significant for a “black” person verus a “white” person? Not that I had forgotten the the civil war in america or the emancipation of slaves. Nor would I ever be unaffected by the book that changed my live called “To Kill a Mocking Bird”. If education has provided me anything, it was introducing me to this wonderful book. So I was not naive but perplexed because we have to be ever so careful with Americans on the use of terms. There are racist terms, gender bias terms, there are so many politically incorrect bombshells you can step on in a conversation with them. And the election opened my eyes.

Let’s face it, there will always be biases. (alright, I wonder how many politically incorrect rules I would break in this post.) I’m serious. Some people prefer blue to red, long hair to short hair, tall people to short people, man to woman, woman to man, we all have our biases. That’s what’s beautiful about the world because we are not all the same. If Hitler had his dodders, there would only be blond people with blue eyes left. If genetic engineering advance further, all parents would order the same kind of babies, high IQ, no defect, perfectly proportioned body and limbs for greatest aesthetic outcome. My own politician had widely declared that people with arts and social sciences degree are useless people. Students should learn to be engineer, doctors or lawyers. For practical or non practical reasons, let’s face it, biases exist.

This is not a perfect world and people will have biases and prejudices. Now this is where we wake up and say to ourselves, fine, I have certain biases but will my judgement today affect another person because of these biases? That I think is the key point. If someone is being rejected a job because of the colour of his or her skin or gender without consideration on capabilities, that is a problem. On the other hand, would this person really want to work in a place where there is a majority of a certain type and face potential failure just to prove a point?

My hero Atticus said, we will never know someone until we step into their shoes and walk in it.
I believe we can change the world but just look into your back yard before charging around with hurls of injustice. Have we been fair to people around us? Accepting them for their differences from us, embracing their differences? And I don’t even mean the obvious race, gender issues. I mean, just differences.

Voltaire said, I may never agree with that you said but I will always stand up for your right to say it.

Is that our spirit when it comes to people in general? If so, why do we have to be so politically correct if we truly care for human kind and their well being and accept each other as they are? I thought that was the purpose of human rights, only when you decide to take away someone’s right by force and violance or violate that social contract are you punishable by law?
Maybe I’m generating or idealising. But I thought 9/11 10 years anniversay is a good time to reflect upon that. How did the spitting contest started and can we learn from history and do no more harm.

On the streets, I’m not unfamiliar with this. I’ve been stopped so many times by people who would tell me I’m not welcomed in their country and I should just get the f**k home. It’s their prejudice and all I can feel is sadness for them. Some of them may be having a bad day, some may have had their jobs taken away to be moved elsewhere. So they took a cheap shot at me. But I was not bodily harmed and I’ll tolerate it. Because, I’ve been fortunate. And I honestly don’t think they feel much better after that anyway. Like a friend said, after all generations of suffering of some people, if they prefer us to us use certain politically correct terms, I’ll do it. But let’s not pay lip service only.

But what is not tolerable is bullying. Physically harming and taking away the rights of some just because they are weaker, smaller, different, not of a certain colour, doesn’t appeal to the bully. And by the way, that happens in our back yard. It starts in school, when someone who didn’t like the way the other person look decides to bully them. If you’ve been guilty, if you’ve protected your child who has committed such act, you are guilty. And let’s just widen this to the responsibilities of the CEO of a company and further up, the head of the country. And then I implore you to consider, when you point your finger at someone, 4 fingers are pointing back at you.

Let’s really wish for world peace shall we, not just because it’s the most used phrase in beauty pageants and political speeches but seriously, world peace.

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Say it with “The Language of Flowers”

Posted on September 7, 2011 by

The Language of Flowers by Vanesa Diffenbaug

Did you know that moss stands for maternal love? According to the Victorian dictionary of flowers, that is. Imagine putting a round of moss on the baby’s head before leaving her. That’s what the character, Victoria, in Venesa Diffenbaug’s book, The Language of Flowers, did.
The story is about the meaning of life told through the language of flowers. That a flower, a word can mean so much and replace the unnecessary. It is a lame simplification of the book really but that’s how I felt when I read the book. Sometimes words are too cheap. It is also a book about motherhood, friendship, love and family without convulusion and told simply. Mostly, it’s about the desire to have a child and the harsh reality of motherhood.

I often wondered about my mother, what she had in mind when she was pregnant and how she felt when the romanticism of being a mother met the harsh reality of motherhood. She made her choices and for years, I often asked myself if she ever loved me throughout the disintegration of our relationship till non-existence.

Then I read the book. The chapters alternates between Victoria at 10 years old and at 18 yers old. At 10, she was facing her last chance to be adopted and this is with Elizabeth who taught her the language of flowers. At 18, with no kin nor family since she was left at the orphanage as a baby, she was building her life with defiance with fierce defiance from social workers, the orphanage and the system. As a child without a mother, she was difyent, prickly. This is her way of hating herself when the eternal questions comes to mind. If your own mother does not love you, who else can?
Elizabeth turned out to be a patient and kind adoptive parent. Using the language of flowers, she own over the obstinate Victoria at 10 but the adoption did not go through. Cut to Victoria at 18, with her gift of flowers and a few kind people who were willing to give her a chance, she found a way to make a living. She in turn used her gift to help others.

The book is also littered with commercial breaks like a lady who came to Victoria looking for flowers ot help her love life. For that, she prescribed purple lilac, red roses and bounded with rosemary, first emotions of love, love and commitment. I have to say, I did the same last weekend but could not find rosemary.

It is a simple and strange book. The meaning of flowers alone makes it a curious read. What I most admired of this book is the author’s treatment of tricky relationships and her lack of attempt for a big bang ending to sugarcoat life or the temptation for a tragic ending that can turn into a tearjerker. The drama is kept in check and told simply, succinctly like the meaning of flowers. The characters and the future speaks for themselves, without any help for gimmicks. You just want to throw them a bunch of mistletoe, to surmount all obstacles.

As for me, I want tulips with baby’s breath. I won’t say what it means, you’ll have to read the book.

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The book that “Never Let Me Go”

Posted on August 20, 2011 by

What would be the difference should we know we will live till 30 or 80? I’ve read “Never Let Me Know” by Kazuo Ishiguro during my obsessive goal to read Times list of 100 best novels. Recently, I watched the movie made based on the novel. The story telling of the original words with the imagery of good direction and cinematography refreshed my memories and added depth to the flavour. It is a rare occasion when a good book and a good movie come together to a tantalising result that is both bitter with regret and tender to behold with and aftertaste of unsurmountable questions that I cannot even begin to answer. That is how much I love the book.

Under Ishiguro’s master, the science fiction setting becomes a believable reality whose only purpose is to illuminate the relationship of 3 people, Ruth, Cathy and Tommy and their love story. Their fate written since creation by other human beings and the value of their lives is only marked by their body parts, their death is imminent and their days limited. They come from a school called Hallsham, everyone in that school were taught they had only one purpose in life. Everyone knew how long they can live, it is not 80 or 60 or even 40. It would be around 30 or earlier. This is their undeniable dignity with a rumour that if 2 people were really, sincerely in love, it can be deferred.

Imagine living in a world where your destiny is written for you. Would you strive to live life to the fullest or find it pointless to do anything? In that limited timeframe, finding and having love became a more urgent agenda. The love triangle of Ruth, Cathy and Tommy became more regrettable as they battle with limited time for maturity and self realisation, selfishness and resignation, forgiveness and finding truth.

I learnt this through television, Don’t wonder why people go crazy. Wonder why they don’t. In the face of what we can lose in a day, in an instant, wonder what the hell it is that makes us hold it all together.

So what is the difference between us and the children of Hallsham? We who have no idea when we will die, how we will turn out, what our future brings; we who have choices to choose, to have time to improve, to figure things out, to find love. Do we?

I suppose the only difference is we have family, someone gave birth to us. Other than that, anything goes. For those who have a loving family or surrounded by people they love, then life is something you don’t want to let go off. Didn’t someone also say, if you have nothing to fear, you have nothing to love. So I have that sneaky feeling, that we are let kites flying in the sky, with one end of the string tied to people who love us and we take turns. We never let it go and they are the anchor that let us fly high.

Dylan Thomas wrote quite simply, do not go gentle into that good night. Don’t you want someone by your side, to cheer you and tell you, fight, fight, fight, there is something to fight for?

Thus, the ingenuity of Ishiguro. The limitation of time and destiny determined sheds all distractions and made life decisions more pronounced. The only way to defer death according to rumours is that they have to be in love, really in love and prove it. So it was rumoured. The undertone of hopelessness only climaxed briefly when the rumour was rebuffed. Only then, did a character screamed briefly for the anguish of time lost while 2 people found their way back to together and the limited time they had left. It was only then that they learnt they never wanted to let each other go and had to learnt how to let go of life without letting go of each other.

I wonder at that. Someone I know who is beloved passed away suddenly recently. He had so many people who loved him and didn’t want to let him go. If life is fair, then maybe i could transfer some years to him for his loved ones. It would make at least a dozen people happy and would have caused no pain in others. But life is as such. So we deal with uncertainties, the future unknown and try to find the courage to live through it. Let there be people that never let you go and if you have them, never let them go. And always let them know.

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Simple Pleasures

Posted on August 14, 2011 by

Simple Pleasures = anything or activity that can be acquired or performed easily to conjure a sense of euphoria. It is sometimes linked exponentially to a person’s wealth or want of.

When I asked people what are their simple pleasures, I get all sorts of answers. It can be a walk in the garden, a nice cup of tea or waking up in a seaside resort, having a massage or spa session. Everyone has their definition of simple pleasures. Ask a kid without much, playing a game of soccer or licking an ice-cream is pure happiness. Ask a city kid, they might say x-box, wii, nintendo and some other games that I’ve never heard of. Ask a new father, he might say the sound of his child’s laugh and ask a new mother, 5 mins of the couch doing nothing.

When I was working 10-12 hours a day where deadlines were promised and delivered, I felt the need for something big like a trip or a beautiful dress to reward myself. Very soon, I realised that something expensive bought had probably a milege of a week’s pleasure and then it was just another thing I have. Travelling will be my special treat but for simple pleasures, I’ve decided that with the same amount of money for an expensive thing / experience, my pleasures would last for a longer time in small doses a day. That was when I learnt the economy of simple pleasures.

Remember Maria singing “My Favourite Things” in the movie, “The Sound of Music”. It’s also one of my favourite songs.

When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I’m feeling sai simply remember my favourite things
And then I don’t feel so bad.

Admidst a thunder storm with my roof roaring with the pattering of rain, I tucked into my blanket and remembered my simple pleasures:

- A morning coffee with a good book to read or with a friend
- A walk in the supermarket or stationary store
- Buying stationary
- Waking up to music on my iPod
- Cheery strawberries
- Blueberries
- Listening and watching the rain drops on my rooftop window
- Breakfast in bed
- Ready cut watermelon or mangos
- Watching snowflakes and touching my cold cold nose
- Reading cards from friends
- Waking up to a kiss and a cuddle

The list isn’t that long but sometimes, even simple pleasures are hard to come by. It is starting to rain again and a sense of melancholy swept over me with the memory of the last point.

Fortunately, I’ve had my morning coffee, watching the world go by and next to me from my recent market purchase are cherry tomatoes and cherry strawberries for later. That wil do.

By the way, I need to reconsider blueberries in the list, they are getting expensive and rare. Hmm..

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To dream or not to dream

Posted on August 10, 2011 by

They say hope is what makes progress. To have hope is to be able to dream. I’m not sure how it would work the other way to dream and not have hope. I think this equation is a one way street.

A few days ago I met 2 American girls. They were travelling and we hung out. What a breath of fresh air! I felt my 10 years difference even though they graciously said I looked younger than they are. They had such hope, such ferocity in living. We were at the book store and they pointed all the good books the kind that you knew you’ll be crying and laughing when you read them. And they had read them, weathered through the moments that touched their souls, melt their hearts and turned pages with teary eyes. This is what dreams are made of, courage to hope. Beside them, I’m was infected. So dare I say, here’s my dream, before I recover from the disease or develop immunity.

I dream that the guy I love will cross my path in central park in new York city in autumn. And he’ll realise that he can love and commit and that he is made for couple hood. And he’ll come to me on christmas eve because that’s how we started, knocks on the door to my little Parisian apartment, with my favourite flowers, tulips, in his hands or some wild little flowers, and tells me he wants to give it a try. That we will work it out, to have work that we love and travel to the ends of the world to discover new things, to relive old magic, to uncover theories that we can talk about endlessly and have glorious copulation. (just to observe the civilities of internet language.)

There, in a breath, that’s my dream. I’m so tempted to add my usual realistic practical pessimistic self defeating words but I’ll hold it. I’ll dream for a moment. I might even pick up one of those books my American friends mentioned. I’ll be damned. That’s all I’ll say.

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To be or not to be

Posted on August 4, 2011 by

To be or not to be, that is the question. Shouldn’t that be the first question I should have asked at the beginning of this section of the blog? You may ask. It is not a question to be asked or when you have hope in your choices. When Hamlet asked this question, it was when he already knew what was to be.

In not so little words, many has asked me this question. On a visit to my doctor, he asked if I have a family, boyfriend, children, husband and then started an hour’s lecture on the importance of having children since I’m no longer young and I should make it right with my family. Then with people around me asking why don’t you go home, take a rest with your family. How do you explain in so little words that I have a family that doesn’t exist in my life, can’t have children and may not be meant for couple hood.

Then the universe attempted to show me the question. In the last 10 months, I had been hospitalised, had panic attacks, passed out with reaction to medication. And there is no emergency contact. I walked out of the hospital, recovered consciousness on my own, stayed on my sofa and ate whatever dried food I had since I was too weak to cook. There was no one I can think of to come to my house and hug me while I cry my eyes out.

I think the cosmic had that planed a long time ago. I was born into a situation where I have now come to admit that my parents couldn’t love me. I can’t change that. But when I could choose a career, I have ended up in the most isolated kind of job for the last 12 years. My new venture is an even lonelier path. It’s an invisible hand leading me through these doors to rooms that get smaller and smaller.

Did you know that couples tend to prefer to hang out with couples? Like married with children are more often with couples with children. So when all your friends are coupled up, double or triple dates will be more and ore often. Friends are all over the globe and when as a kid, I had started working since 12, I don’t exactly spend much time making friends until much much later in life.

So what is to be? It’s not really a bad story compared to millions out there.

But finally with a clarity of mind, engulfing my thoughts more and more often is that it will be a being that stands alone. To be is to accept it and work with it. Not that I not used to it. Watching movies alone, travelling across the world, dinning in restaurants, talking to myself. Not to be is to deny the reality and feel the anguish of life not as I want it to be.

Like a friend said, maybe I’m just not meant to be married or to have children. I thought giving up marriage and children can make it easier but I guess, I’m also not meant to have someone.

I have to be.

Suddenly, the days seemed really long like the summer days. Most people love summer and I’m allergic to everything in summer. Now that’s the universe proving a point.

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Coming Home in “Country Strong”

Posted on July 27, 2011 by

The famous line ‘home is where the heart is’ has weathered through decades of change. From black and white television to colour, from printed books to digital and from letters to emails and messages on facebook. The significance of ‘home’ as people become more nomadic and mobile and alone. And so it is that to lose your heart is to lose your home.

Country Strong must be the most underrated movie of the year. Written and directed by Shana Feste is a movie about country singers. If you hate country music, you probably shouldn’t watch it. But if you are not averse to it, then watch it and let it tell you the story of how easy it is to lose your way. The lead character Kelly Canter is played by Gwyneth Palthrow who portrayed an alcoholic country singer super star’s fall from grace with a heartbreaking fragility. By contrast, the upcoming new country star Chiles Stanton, played by Leighton Meester of Gossip Girls fame, is the fresh face prelude performer before Kelly comes on stage. Both were vying to sing the song “Coming Home”. But who can sing this better unless it meant something to come home?

“It’s a four letter word

A place where you go to heal your heart

It’s an alter, it’s a shelter

One place you’re always welcome.

…

Where the memories will keep you company

Whenever you are alone.”

Part of the lyrics in “Coming Home”

These memories of laughter, joy, sadness and tears are there to remind us of life and people around us. If the home is where the heart is, then a welcoming home is where the heart matters. It’s a cliche but I guess true for most people, that someone to hug or to hold is what matters. And these are also the memories that keep hope alive for the home to mean something. The song continues:

“Well they say it’s where the heart is

And I guess the hardest part is

When your heart is broken

And you’re lost out in the great wide open

There ain’t nothing but blue sky now.”

So what happens if there are no good memories or enough to keep you going? What happens if they’ve ran their mileage and you have drawn out the last joy in them and what is left is regret or emptiness? That is the danger of losing one’s way to forget what matters and stop storing memories for the heart to go home to.

Someone talked about emotional anchoring recently. It never ceases to amaze me how strong the anchor of people I’ve met. They’ve got the the gigabytes size memories of love from family and friends that they carry with them everywhere they go. They form the invincible shield against whatever life brings. It is their shelter, their shield and their anchor whenever they need to retreat and rest and recover and find courage.

When you can say, “f**k this, I’m going home.” If you haven’t realise by now, it is a power that no one can take from you. This is power of coming home.

Country Strong examines this through Kelly. Sometimes showing life’s ugly side and sometimes, the sweetness of life. I think it’s all in the songs. Listen well.

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