Cultura.

It’s been a long time since I last wrote, but today’s lunch with Juan invoked the cultural enigma that has eluded me since I was old enough to wonder and realise that the world I live in is a book, a fairytale, not the reality of the rest of the countries.

I watched the Truman show a long time ago, when secondary school worries like crushes and fitting in with the coolest of society flooded my mind. Watching it, I felt sorry for Jim Carrey, and my most vivid memory of it included how I marvelled at his ignorance that he was being watched all the time, every single second by everyone else; where his life was a movie dictated by the creators of his make believe world.

Now that I am about a decade older (hopefully wiser) and more attuned to the rhythms of the world and the cultures that are embedded in the peoples who live somewhere else, I am lost between the awkward realization that I have been living in a snow bubble and the absurdity of which the people similar to myself have swallowed it whole.

The word “Culture” stems from the Latin world “Culturar” which means to cultivate; and in light of the way we change and get used to certain ideas with the passing of time, it is the definition of us.

Someone asked me not too long ago, if I was comfortable here in Singapore; I had to think more than 2 seconds before answering. Comfortable is too vague to agree or disagree; life is pleasant for sure; we are used to efficiency and quick responses; anything slow or not up to standard earns itself a huge medallion of complaints and safety is increasingly taken for granted. I am comfortable yes; too much perhaps stuck in my comfort zone that I am lost in its maze of expectations and things I am used to. Yet I am also strangely uncomfortable in this Disneyland society. One of my mantras in life has always been to experience; soak up the culture in each place I go to, live the way they live without turning up my nose at them, and to empathize with the fact that each people is the way they are because of their upbringing. In Singapore, we frown on things that vaguely resemble potential outliers; we mark them from the start and separate and segregate them from the higher potential beings; there is an imprint on them right from the beginning of the race that puts more obstacles in their path to a better life.

No, I would say for sure that I am not comfortable here; in fact, I am sometimes repelled by the attitude with which we wrinkle our noses in disgust at people different than us. I find myself relax in the company of music drenched and dripping with passion, throbbing with life and emotions. I love the Latin culture; the music itself transports me into a different world; I am swept away by the vibrancy and deep desires they have for everything. The emotions displayed when they speak; the great need for physical touch and everything alive.

I am a sentimental person by nature; yet culture in Singapore has shaped me to be a person fearful of displaying my emotions; it was only living abroad that managed to edge me to the border, daring me to be happy, live and experience. Wikipedia writes a short snippet on shame and culture; on the feeling of failure in reaching others’ expectations. How much I can relate to that. How many times have I felt ashamed for not being the person someone else wanted me to be? Its impossible to count.

I spent the whole of last year questioning a lot of assumptions I used to embrace wholeheartedly. Now, here’s the question of the year. What kind of culture would I be comfortable in, loving every minute of it as opposed to dreading the unsmiling faces of the people around?

– 14th Jan 2009