To never forget

“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.”
-Arundhati Roy

One of the signature quotes at the end of email messages, one of the quotes that always stun me in an absolutely refreshing way.

It is so easy to become immune to the violence and distress that once so thoroughly disturbed us during our daily news reading. It is so easy to frown and wrinkle our noses in disgust at the dirt-filled rat-infested conditions which the beggars live in, and then to walk on buy into the comfort of the five-star hotel, and out of sight, the poverty temporarily goes out of mind. It is so difficult to imagine and witness the pure joy on the faces of the little ones who spend their whole days playing with a simple ball, a game we take for granted, a game we are bored with, and it strikes us so hard to see these young children with more joy than us with all our expensive ostentatious goods. It is increasingly hard to appreciate beauty in what we do and have, when we have become shaped to complain without batting an eyelid, and to shout at what is not going well. We have became what we eat, and in this world of fast food, fast service, we have lost our patience for even the simplest things, we do not see anymore than we do not get nourished. It shocks us to see a woman with cancer encouraging her loved ones not to be upset, when really it should have been the other way round. We have become so accustomed to the grind of life which tells us money and status rule the world, that people high up on their pedestals should be treated like gods while poor people and those junior staff should be disregarded, ill-respected and not worthy of our time. We forget that sometimes certain things are just as they seem, and we spend precious amounts of time complicating two-dimensional matters when we should be spending more time solving and analyzing the world we live in. We become masks of insecurity mingling at events for the sake of networking, when actually we just want to spend some solitary time to gather our thoughts. What are we rushing to, where are we colliding headlong into? Why do we look away from that which is not pretty, nice or even just normal? Why do we forget so soon the things which have taken place? Why are we shocked when things which have been building up ages suddenly happen? What do we need before we can remember?

The heart of poverty

Standing in the busy street, walking by the cars bustling beside you, sitting in the comfort of the hotel-chauffered car, or squeezing among three others in a rick, one thing that hits you as you travel about India is the immense poverty in which so many Indians are trapped, and other than which they know nothing else.

Everywhere you go, you see men, women and children running, walking, strolling about without shoes or slippers, their feet bare on the soil and its elements. Just watching the people of India going about their daily lives, you immediately grasp the extent of how destitute and impoverished they are. In the cities where the nation’s increasing prosperity has flowed to some, many others are still left behind in the dirt of deficiency and lack, being trampled upon by the crowd of those who have found quick wealth. The income disparity and large gap is blindingly obvious, with flashy cars complete with white-uniformed drivers just inches away from the physically disabled beggar, whose hands quiver from days’ worth of hunger.

Driving past poor neighbourhoods in the suburbs to reach the grand gates of our five star hotel, I cringe when I see young children walking alone in the dark alleys, to huts made out of stone and dried leaves for the roofs. The bumpy rides show how badly maintained the roads are, and as you turn corners and are presented with a sight of a cow and a goat sharing their dinner at the neighbourhood trash corner, the odour of decaying rubbish and scraps of leftovers makes your stomach churn and waves of nausea wash relentlessly over you. What makes it worse is when you see and old bearded man, skinning as a beanpole, walk towards them to try his luck at the same pile of trash. It makes you turn away, from pity and also guilt, for wasting half of the chicken bryani ordered at the hotel cafe, and for making a face at the fish and chips that wasn’t as tasty as you would have liked.

At the tourist sites, homeless beggars lurk in anticipation of the donations of pity tourists often give, and it has become their occupation and expertise to stretch out their hands in a bid to get their daily allowance. Women hang their hand-made bead necklaces on both arms, and follow you non-stop asking, almost pleading with you to buy their wares. They see you are not interested and they keep dropping their prices, desperation overwhelming their greed to make a quick buck from foreignors. Babies in their arms, these women as wafer-thin from the lack of proper nourishment, and their hungry young children suck at their breasts, dried from the lack of milk. They walk around, sweat glistening on their foreheads, one child in front and one at the side, eyes wide from the draining heat yet alert to the sounds and sights of foreignors.

In the cities, where the markets are still bright and much alive at ten o’clock at night, the narrow streets see cars, motorbikes and bicycles jammed next to each other. You have to weave your way through rows or parked motorbikes to cross from the streets to the pavements, which are then blocked by all the items for sale and the unending stream of pedestrians and saturday night shoppers. Children skip up the stairs to the bright and colourfully-lit shops, as the orchestra of honks and chatter make a rhythm which gives the cities their heartbeat. The word “foreignor” is labelled all over your face as you walk, flinching when a sweaty arm brushes against you, the owner never once realizing and never once turning around to apologize. This is the way things work, you don’t have much time to be worried and particular about personal space — most people here do not understand that concept. Finally, when inside an acessory shop, you feel relieved from the rush outside, but then the heat and unventilated air gushes at you, and discomfort leads the beads of perspiration that start to form. Amazed at the thousands of selections of bangles and earrings and bindis and necklaces there are to choose from, I am always at a loss, and take an extremely long amount of time to appreciate and then finally come to a decision of which to buy. I love the colours and vibrancy, but at the same time, I am also struck by the shop attendants, just young children who have to work to sell the items, whether because it is a family-run business, or because they have the work from the young age of eight. They flock anxiously to you as you enter the shop, asking what you would life. My initial irritation at having an attendant hovering relentlessly at my side slowly grows into admiration of their persistance and constant smiles and politeness. I am also always full of respect for them, for they embrace what they have without complaints, unlike us who live in large clean cities and have made complaining an elevated form of art.

Yet what really makes me feel for Indians is their kind and helpful souls, their willingness to help you push your bus when the engine doesn’t start, and their beautiful smiles when you thank them, realizing that they did it without asking for money, even if they were poor and sitting at the roadside hoping someone would stop by to buy the clothes they had hung up for sale.

India makes you want to go home, to be in the comfort of the hotel, to have the soft bed to sleep on and clean potable water running from the tap. India creates a longing to return and show your fellow countrymen what they are taking for granted, and to shake them up and tell them what so many here in this nation of over a billion do not even know they lack. India makes me ashamed of complaining, of splashing money away like water when young children work so hard just to kill their hunger. India makes me see its people in a different light, makes me appreciate and be thankful for what I do not have to go through, and makes me a little more emphathatic, and for that I am grateful.

Pitstop along the journey

What does it take to achieve what you should be doing?

This is a question which has been invading my conversations, my thoughts, my dreams. What is that stirring in the heart that tells me I need something more than a day job, more than an occupation, more than a monetary obligation? What is that which keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning in my bed, causing my mind to tick non-stop, in search of an answer, to find that which would consume me with passion and purpose and drive? That is what has been driving me to question people and their motivations for their search for the ultimate goal (what is that goal, by the way?) and why they have chosen that as the final destination. It is also that which makes me ponder in deep desire of knowing, why others don’t seem bothered by a mundane and unmeaningful contribution as much as I am, if even at all. Why does the final goal have to be some place high up in the ladder, no matter which ladder you are climbing, and why do you even need to climb a ladder in the first place?

One year of work has passed, and if not for anything else, it has made me understand myself just slightly better, and each day I find the lack of purpose and significance more and more replaced by the push and urgency of a need to do something which contributes and adds value, more than just through counting of millions and the impact on a region, a division or even an entire corporation. Lehman is the best proof that an entity once hailed as an infallible god can overnight turn into shambles, its employees displaced from their previously enviable jobs. In just a few days, it turned from leader in the forefront to name in history, all for the wrong reasons. An organization whose power and might diminished and forgotten, is now substituted by other companies who have, because of the way things have fallen in place, happen to be at the right place at the right time. Corporations come and go, and employees, are similar to cogs in the machines, replaceable and easily disposed of. I don’t see myself as an employee; the word is too short-term to be of any deep significance to the people around. I have always wanted to be a value-adder, a contributor, but not just work-wise, but in all aspects, especially in the area of relations. I want to leave impacts which are lasting, and respected.

Maybe for some, this seems like a lofty notion, idealistic like a schoolgirl, silly and impressionisic. A year ago, some people told me very blankly that I am like that because I come from a pretty well-off family and did not have financial worries to tie me firmly planted on the ground, and so think and feel that notions like these are most important in a job. They said that one year later, when I had worked longer and interacted more with people who have worked for a long time already, I would withdraw my fluffy and frivolous ideals and realize my place in the practical ground, and stay there firmly rooted. I said that I hoped I would never become like that. They said let’s see. A year later, more questions pop up in my head, and instead of feeling more at home with my job and being satisfied with what I do (despite enjoying some of the tasks I have), I have gravitated more towards an immense desire to rethink and draw a new direction in my life. Technically speaking, there is one more year to think through what I would like to do, which path I would prefer to take, among the many. Yet I have a feeling leaving the pondering till a year later will be unbearable; I have already begun to consider many options that might make me feel more able to impact and influence people, in the ways that would count and last.

There are about 4 more months left of the year, and knowing how time flies, I dont suppose it will slow down anytime soon. The last 12 months have taught me a couple a things. That some people are friends right from the start, friends who encourage you and give you advice willingly, and there are some that will always remain colleagues and nothing more. And I was fortunate to have a manager who was also a friend, at least for once. Thankfully, when she changed jobs to be just a colleague, I lost a great manager, but I still have a great friend. I also learnt that most bosses do not stand up for you nor praise you when you have done something well, but that if you ever have the great chance to work for a boss worthy of your respect, you will praise him or her and their reputation will far exceed their areas of responsibility. I also realised that alot of times the limelight doesnt shine on people who have worked so hard to enable things to run smoothly, and that hard workers aren’t necessarily the most appreciated, but these are the unsung heroes who everyone else hail in their hearts and minds. I have also discovered that while many people do not personally impact your life in the long run, we take their impressions and thoughts of us much too seriously that they deserve to be taken; but the worst thing is that we realise that their opinions do not count, because in the first place they did not care two hoots while making the comments that bother you for ages. It has taught me to think carefully first about who honestly matters, not just because they give you your performance ratings, but more because they shape your life and it’s values, and because they truly put in effort and thought into what they do and say to you. And I know for sure that if you treat others with sincerity and respect, they usually reciprocate.

I still haven’t figured out a whole lot of things; I think the journey thus far has showed me I need to impact and influence people, but I am still wiping the mist off the windscreen in order to see clearly. If anything, the last 12 months have not been a waste of time, although I still am unsure about the career path I would like to take. The path less travelled, it may be, but till I can decipher the direction of my inner compass, I will try to appreciate the best of any situation I am put in. And the best are the lessons learnt.

My sky and yours together

Have you ever felt that you missed some people so much, you felt your heart wasn’t with you, but with them, in some far off corner of the world?

I want to be somewhere else, living a different life, knowing I am with the person that I love, away from separation. Maybe I have never felt happy living a boring but secured life, stable yet lacking in passion, doing what is expected all the time. The longing to live out a dream, soaking in brilliant bubbles of happiness and joy, has constantly been my companion for as long as I can remember.

I want to be where the people laugh and live with every molecule of their beings. I yearn for a life, where like a drawing board I can start from scratch, creating the design of my life the exact way i like it. To be able to make a dashboard of all the elements that I want to keep, and throw away those that I abhore.

I imagine building a life with beauty, a deep sense of belonging, a knowledge of belief, faith and trust. Where people burst into song and dance, where love enshrouds everything. Where practicality doesnt even register in the first few priorities; and worries of the future are but just dots in the sky.

Growing up through the years, I’ve seen birthdays and anniversaries, weddings and friendships blossoming. And among all of these, I wonder how many are but just customary, and how many else are blooming out of true radiant joy.

I want to live in a world, where my sky combines with yours, where the sun never sets, the rays of delirious sunlight stay like crystals protecting us, where my day is yours as well. I want to build a life with you, a paint the picture both of us are in, walking hand in hand. I want to hear the birds chirping instead of cars zooming by; I want to see rivers and lakes and swimming fish, instead of neatly printed roads and factory buidings. I want to be finally at home…and home is where the heart is.

Purchase delivered: Experience

There are conversations that linger in your mind for a while after the speakers have returned to their daily lives, and recently these conversations have been resonating with the same frequency and heartbeat of my questions to life.

In the last month or so, I have been either the initiator or participator of engaging discussions whose individual impacts on me have transformed into compounding and increasingly urgent needs for me to know why I am where and what I am. I used to think when reminiscing on old times and looking at time-stained photographs, that we tend to believe that each instance in our lives are the best that our lives are, up till then. But frequent and subsequent contemplations of this theory convinced me that is not true. Many encounters with peers and elders alike have showed me that many are not happy where they are; perhaps they had made a wrong choice some point in time and unwittingly suffered the consequences of their actions. Or perhaps they simply chose not to reach for what they wanted, and as a result paid for it with an unsatisfactory existence.

Jonny Jr mentioned the fact that humans are intrinsically beings who need freedom of choice (amongst others in the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs); and it is often the limitations that are already in place that constrain our spectrum of choices, frustrating those whose lot in life determines they be the unfortunate few with restricted choice.

Another friend commented, on a totally separate occasion, that given limited resources, particularly resources called time and money; we should use them to attain things with the most lasting utility. Material possessions have the ability to make us incredibly happy and proud; for just one moment, before shoving us into the spiral of unending covetousness. I understood this the moment I started working and earning my own keep; suddenly every bag looks like it needs to be adopted by you; each watch seems to tick and coax you hypnotically to pick it up, and once you do so, you find something else that calls out to you. There’s an unending stream of utility in buying material goods; with the fine print that you also need an unending stream of finances. It seems that given the limited time and health that we have, a generally agreed purchase which would provide energizer-battery-style long-lasting utility is, and always will be, experience.

If at any point in life, you are the sum of all your past experiences, then shouldn’t we make a conscious effort to increase the experiences that we have all the time? The lasting impact every scenario life places us with usually makes up a piece of the puzzle we are trying to fix. But at the same time, we do not buy our paths in life off the shelves as we would a jigsaw puzzle in Toys ‘R Us. Our puzzle in life is akin to a painting yet unfinished; and each decision we make results in the coloring of that little piece of the ultimate picture that is unraveled to us in tantalizing candy bits and pieces. And the more we choose to value experience over the mere attaining of a goal while dreading the journey, the more texture, vibrancy and hues our paintings will exude.

And so, let me finish my sales pitch. Buy experience; but never, never at a discount.

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

In a blink of an eye

No longer unaccustomed to the hasty turning of time, not any more distressed with the furious ferocity with which the minutes become hours that evolve into days and eventually months. I stumbled upon the realization that it was already October, the start to yet another amazing finish of a certainly wonderful year.

Reviewing the yellowed pages of my journal, the scribbles upon which details, events and emotions were set, I surprised myself by the peace and serenity with which I accepted that while time definitely flew by again, this year it was different. Since Germany in fact. Right in the beginning of this fresh new year, one bursting with promises of brilliant discoveries and bursts of spring joy, I made myself the promise to live life grasping each second and experiencing it, determined to stop letting the years slip by untouched, leaving me without first being able to absorb its essence.

I spent alot of time rebuilding relationships, listening to people as they listened to me; appreciating the beauty of persons put miraculously in my life, allowing the journey to be as important, if not more weighty than the outcome. I know my learning style is dictated by experiencial learning; and nothing makes me more convicted than having been through a circumstance, and enjoying the route no matter where the final destination leads to.

This time last year, my Grandfather was dreadfully ill, so sick that it scared me to my core as I had never seen him weak, nor so heavily reliant on others for even basic hygiene needs. Only being able to hear his voice, weakend by medicine and the pain, on the other end of a terrible telephone connection was heart wrenching. I remember being on the way to Hamburg just before his brain surgery, ashen-faced and trembling hands, telling him I loved him through the telephone, a first. Over the course of the next two weeks, I spend a large amount of my time sitting at my laptop, using VOIP to communicate with my family, and making sure i was kept updated about his latest condition. God was good, and still is good; He made possible what seemed so hard to believe; He made me be filled with faith and gratitude again. My grandfather recovered and within a month of having 2 major operations in a short span of a mere 11 days, he was up and walking by himself again, when just before his surgeries he was not even able to hold a proper conversation for more than 15 seconds.

This sudden change of events left me relieved; but so much more aware of the fragility of life, and my one deep desire– not to ever take anything for granted as I didn’t want any more regrets. Life was too short I knew. I didnt want to reach a place I thought I should be comfortable and happy with, only to find that the years that had elasped in between were just an empty vacumn devoid of molecules of emotion, joy and great memories of life and its impacts.

I started off 2008 so estatic and yet incredibly sad all at once. I was freshly in love; brimming with happiness, yet devastated at the fact that I might possibly never see him again. Yet it was a choice I had taken in November, and no amount of sadness at separation could have changed my mind; I knew I would repeat everything in a heartbeat. It was a side of me that I had never seen before; and I surprised myself, more than I surprised others. It felt like a huge gasp of fresh oxygen in a much polluted environment, and since then, I’ve been high on this
hunger to reach for this cosntant high of experiencing.

Coming back to home, I let that be my mantra; I stopped being so in need of fulfilling other peoples’ expectations of me; I let myself decide and because of that, realised I enjoyed life so much more, and that people around also ended up enjoying being around me more. I did cry alot over issues dear to my heart, but I also laughed alot, let loose so much more, and felt the vibe of this phenomenon called Life. I learned to separate peer pressure from my personal desires and aspirations; to prioritize the assets in my life in order of importance ( and not in any way did that come in terms of monetary values), and then to give these things which were and still are significant to me the attention and love they deserved.

I picked up alot more lessons of life along the way, from passersby who happened to be at the right place at the right time, from friends whose rubies of wisdom never fail to amaze me, and from family and the love of my life. My openness to experience and understand instead of judge and scorn allowed me greater understanding of life and its beautifully woven intricacies. It’s October, yes; 10 months have passed, yes; but I finally feel the power of Oprah’s phrase:

” Life is NOT a spectator sport.”

Live it. Breathe it. Love it.

Back in school, everyday.

Learning keeps me sane and humble all at the same crazy time.

I don’t remember the last time I pushed myself to learn so much so fast, despite the lesser resource called time than ever before. Every single day I learn from the cultures I observe, the personalities I encounter at work, the mannerisms with which others speak when they think they can let down their guard, and the shock plastered all over their faces when they realised the made a huge blunder.

I’m amazed at the huge differences in expectations and reality. But I say we all live and learn. The most humbling fact that keeps me constantly grounded, is that you never know enough, there’s always someone whose experiences are a treasure chest full of exciting adventures and wonderful stories, and that alone we will never survive.

Sifting through lessons of life on a daily basis, absorbing what spurs me and burying what doesn’t, I am always in learning mode. Sitting at Spanish classes in a room full of people as diverse as the colours on a palette, I realise each one’s personality is as sparkling as you allow it to be. The will to wake up at 8 am on a Saturday morning to attend a language course, the openess with which they speak about their lives and thoughts about the future, regardless of being beings of backgrounds so constrasting, inspires me.

Many things in life pass me by, but some strike me, hard, and hold me till I wake, aware that in Jesley’s words, “This is not a dress rehearsal.” We live, we learn, and I don’t think we ever stop, unless we don’t live anymore.

One year ago;

Sometimes digging around the archives and reading past writings surprise me. This date exactly a year ago, I poured to keyboard and mouse the inner yearnings of my soul’s desire for a need to live life fuller, love more, be less superficial. One year later, I know I still have a long way to go, but reading Bending Time Backwards certainly made me think, again.

Las Pequenos Cosas

It’s the little things I start to realise,
that define the word we sometimes cannot conceptualize
The pen on the table, put away without a second thought;
Scanned documents sent via email;
acknowledged merely with a hasty ‘thanks’
Its the increase in the account;
And the breakfast of pancakes with dulce de leche.

The call in the morning to wake me up
A question, an application
The extended trip, the greater insurance
The walk to the money changer
The smile when seeing me
Hugs and prayers each morning for my safety
It’s the little things, that shout out your steadfast unwavering conviction.

TE QUIERO Mama