An After Thought

I don’t visit the theatre as much as I should, especially to support local productions. Last Friday, I was adamant about watching the local adaptation of Rashomon at the Drama Centre. After all, the office was located about a 5 min walk away from it, I didn’t quite have an excuse to say ‘no’.

As I ponder about what to say about the play, I’m hesitant to conclude that Rashomon was amazing, give it a 10/10 and then call it an evening. In fact, I wonder where I stand with this interpretation by The Theatre Practice. The set was beautiful, just as the costumes were but there is something quite…disconnected. Perhaps it was meant to be that way or perhaps I just didn’t understand.

Rashomon was equally visual as it was emotional. Senses were meant to be piqued as sudden sounds, deliberate movements and awkward dialogue interacted and waited for the audience to respond. To put it without the fluff, Rashomon was meant to make you think. Even in its original short story form and Kurosawa’s movie, they were all meant to make you think. Suffice to say, I always thought it would be enough to classify that thinking process into one very philosophical (and unanswerable, in my opinion) questions “what is truth?”

A warrior, his wife and a robber. Each claiming the death of the warrior for the purpose of glorifying the self. Each demanding that the act of killing be recognized as heroic. Each postulating that the truth can only be found in the self.

The Medium, obsessed in his search for the knife (weapon of murder) becomes the negotiator between past, present and the audience. As time becomes fluid on the stage, it also comes to a standstill at the moment the Medium asks if the truth brings “enlightenment”.  The knife became that unfailing truth but also the necessary evil that conducted the violence in search for “enlightenment”. The crazy poor man wanting the spoils of the knife in order to feed his family also dies by the same knife.

It is simple to agree that perspectives becomes the truth as each to his own. Does that make it any less real or unworthy? I find the emotional connectivity with the play came at this moment where it questions our (the audience) perspective of who should be at blame. None I suppose since they have all seemed to have sacrifice their selves. Yet they were also slaves to themselves. If in our pursuit for the unending and unyielding truth, we trap ourselves in a cyclical chase of nothingness as we each grasp truth in unfathomable manners.

But let’s be real. Does the truth even really matter anymore?

Behold

from "qualityoflifecare.com"

I was somewhat inspired to write after watching a man trying to protect his woman by feeding himself to the wolves. Not exactly the most romantic way to die but the story that drew audiences to its climax comes from the unmistakable tension between one’s love and one’s passion.

The difference?

Love: its a form of sacrifice, a selfless act, an unwavering form of adoration of another simply because he/she is the person that stands right before you. Despite and inspite of their shortcomings, you cherish them all the same because to sacrifice is to accept imperfection and live with it.

Passion: its a form of desire, a selfish need to pursue wants, an uncompromising form of adoration for something simply because it stands in your path, waiting to be conquered. Despite and inspite of the problems they may bring, you desire them all the same because to be selfish is also human and to be human is only you.

In theory, its both dialectic and complementary.

In reality, its foolish and makes for good drama.

I don’t doubt that many would probably juggle the emotional roller coaster as a norm, a facet of life and pure excitement to the many many other mundane activities that consume us. What I have yet to understand is why and why only do we revel in the possibilities that such extremities might bring. Even if both are attempts at freedom, they  make us slaves to ourselves.

Is there resolution when both meet?

In sappy cheesy Korean dramas they do.

One night in Shanghai….

 

The ride from Pudong to the service apartment was long, silent and unnerving. It almost seemed like Shanghai’s existence can only begin beneath its bright lights and blaring horns. Away from the title of “Paris of the Orient”, Shanghai on this side of the river was just that much quieter at 12 in the morning. I quite like this other side of Shanghai yet i looked forward to the sun rising as the city begins to awake to the dust, noise and human tide. 

 

My sister had already informed me of the many plans she had decked out for the next two days. Along with my cousins, we were supposed to take Shanghai by storm, almost like one of those whirlwind 2 day city tours across town; that the lack of time was of the only essence in our days together. Perhaps it was so. But I would prefer to believe that my sister’s enthusiasm was due to her excitement about my arrival to “her” land. She now walks the “Shanghai” walk and talks the “Shanghai” talk, an impeccable mark of her assimilation (and yet not) into the foreign land she has temporarily called “home”. 

 

Shanghai, indeed, lives up to expectations as a city of change. The present has a way of reminding us that the past might not have been that long ago after all. Growth and development are themes not unfamiliar to the city and as the government paves its way for Expo 2010, all I’m reminded of is how rapidly things have changed and NOT changed in a city infamous for being at the forefront of “newness”. Being in China reminds me of why I studied what I studied in the first place. The people, the bustling city life, the expansion of China’s economy, the unmistakable Chinese slogans and most of all the beauty of the Bund (though now under reconstruction). These were the very things that made me fall in love with the stories that China had to share, as the communist-capitalist land, as the geographic boundary to one the largest community of people with 56 different ethnic groups, home to large disparities between rich and poor, country that went through the Cultural Revolution and is still in search of some sort of cultural identity. I guess I miss being in academia, not for the writing perhaps, but for the tons of useless information I read that might not even be related to life beyond academia.

 

I love travelling especially to people watch. I profess to be one of those people who sit around cafes trying to figure out if the person beside me has some story unbeknownst to the world and is just dying to share it for fear that over-containment might deprive the world of another source of gossip. Yet in all honesty, people watching occurs because stereotypes exist and that we place people within these definitions of who is in and who is not. In an attempt to factualize that these people do indeed exist in our world, we create their story, enhance their lives and hope that he/she fits into the mould we have assumed for them. It is somewhat exciting and definitely judgmental. On the other hand, isn’t it comforting to know that stereotypes still exist and most certainly function as highlights of our days in the midst of those who try to “undo” such labels into non-existence. 

 

Shanghai in 10 days was all about just being able to do nothing. My sister introduced me to a few fine young gentlemen. It was refreshing to meet these people who weren’t trying to re-write some convoluted social theory that related to a random sort of human behavior or kids who whined that I gave too much homework. It was genuinely a time to unwind and revisit the world as it is. That being said, I admit that being away from everything allowed me to re-evaluate my goals, passion and desires. Decisions aren’t always easy to make, especially when they are life changing. But I think the moment the plane landed in Pudong, the clockwork started unknowingly. That silent, long drive into the city was merely the part of the first glimpse at the end of a long long tunnel. Whatever happens, life will go on. As my sister said, “as much as they love me, I know they won’t miss me.” 

 

Yet I will sorely miss them.   

How to date a pilot…

I entitled this entry “How to date a pilot” with no real idea of how to put it into action.

The title just popped up in my head during one of my marking stints at the airport. Sitting by one of the automatic doors that open into the spanking new Terminal 3 departure hall concourse, I watched as pilots of all age, ranks and sizes saunter their way to check-in. I was mostly impressed except for that one instant when I thought the young trainee wannabe was not starched properly and looked like one of my students by the end of they day.

But back to the title “How to date a pilot”. I was wondering whether to be snark and start with rule number 1: Be able to fit into an insanely figure hugging uniform, bun your hair up and ensure it sits exactly at 49.3 degrees on your head, wear either brown or blue eyeshadow assigned to you by a spiteful senior and be able to smile in an annoyingly sweet way while uttering the words “coffee or tea?”

But as a self-help, motivating, life-changing, philosophical entry (I’m hoping it’ll get published like one of those dating guru books), the conditions to which I need to adhere to begins with, identifying the problems to NOT scoring a date with some hot (well not necessarily hot) pilot who could potentially begin your jet-setting lifestyle around the world, or so you think. Unfortunately, blog entries aren’t meant to be long so I’ll keep the long story short and get on with life. =)

I’ll have you know, both my previous and current neighbour are pilots. Both seem like gregarious, cheery and generous men. So yes, in terms of credentials, I am well-versed in a pilots-are-my-neighbours kinda way. I assure you its every bit as credible as you can imagine. If you’re wondering, no, their wives don’t necessarily look like one of the girls off a catalogue magazine. They are quite ordinary and friendly people.

So perhaps Rule number 1 should begin with: Don’t over-vamp it. Perhaps beneath all the foundation and powder, they’re just looking for someone quite like you and me.

Rule number 2: Don’t idolize them. At least not in one of those jaw-dropping moments. My very very wise friend, who is also wisely stuck in grad school with a new boyfriend, reminded me that to be in love with someone is not to put them on a pedestal and worship their existence. It is merely reifying their existence as something much more unreachable then you think. You’re every bit as special (or if not more) than he is. He just gets to fly huge jet planes with hundreds of people on it around the world and that’s all there is to it.

Rule number 3: Work that smile of yours. It doesn’t need to be annoyingly sweet. Just make sure its you. Isn’t that the lesson that all dating guidebooks attempt to teach anyway, be yourself. That’s what they all end with anyway isn’t it?

There really isn’t a point to this entry other than a ‘eureka’ moment and a need to flex some typing muscles. Perhaps I’ll be inspired to write more, after all, I did consider writing a book. Now I just ned to figure some sort of theme and topic to write before I actually put down into words. Perhaps a “Idiosyncrasies of a teenager” type thing since it seems to surround my life nowadays.

It’s May

 

From http://www.pierrejeansuau.com

 

 

 

春天。

 

今年的春天，在炎热的家乡渡过。 

 

这一年也过得比往年快。时间的迅速奔驰只让我想起今年的春天只能够在这里渡过。

 

说不想念只是一个影子，是对自己无法跃进而舍下的小谎。是对自己发脾气，对自己不能实现诺言而感到万分的失落。

 

在这三百六十五个日子里，还是始终找不到勇气去追求自己的梦。

 

不可否认，遇到的人让我成长许多，也让我重新开始了解自己。

 

不过，我总是在问：“这样就够了吗？” 无法定下来的心一定学不会知足长乐这道理。难道，我得就一直无头绪的寻找长乐的阴影吗？

 

那我好想大声的呐喊：“你到底在那里？为什么还不出现？”

 

没能感觉到冰冷白雪的冬天又怎能体会春来的芬芳艳花？

 

如果五月的天比往常更蓝更清新，那这样的开始是不是花瓣在空中飞舞的时刻呢？ 

A little more perspective

 

Sometimes I can’t believe I don’t write as much as I used to.

Not that I found it hard to write. I think simply put, I enjoyed trying to figure how to put my ideas into words. The Shang dynasty people did it, so did the Egyptians. So why can’t I? 

I recently tried to pick up the pen (well not literally since the computer has taken over my life) and write a Statement of Purpose that I might want to use in pursuit of a higher education. I realized my lack of ability not only to think but to recall half the stuff I read at school. All I remember was how these words constantly inspired me to pursue what I did  but I cannot for my life remember the exact content. 

Perhaps my memory is failing me.

Or just perhaps I have found something else I prefer to do in life? 

Maybe its both. 

There are days when I come home exhausted just by THINKING of how to get my kids to understand what I am trying to convey. I am not even trying to live by the lofty ideals that I once believe the power of studying history can bring but merely forcing myself to come to terms that not everyone will love the subject and not everyone will understand the subject. 

I think after a while, people stop caring. I hope I don’t. But I guess in order to run the “marathon” its impossible to always remain passionate. 

I do love the kids but I also need to get my mind to stop worrying. Maybe when that happens, I’ll be able to start writing again. Writing about the things I love, the things I don’t, the people I love and the people I don’t quite love. The moments I care about and the moments I can live without. 

I’m running along on gut instincts now.

Positivity

This is a job. I have to constantly remind myself that I am no longer working on my own and doing the things I love to do.

This is a job.

THIS IS A JOB.

Whether I like it or not, I have people telling me what to do, when to do it, how to do it with no real explanation of why I should be doing it.

And it makes me really unsettled. I guess its just high time that I learn to deal with the fact not everything will go my way. It makes me sad to have to come to that realization that working hard, wanting to work hard and showing that you are willing to work hard is not enough. You just do whatever is given to you and whether you like it or not, you just deal.

Perhaps Rachel’s motto is of the only relevance here: Positivity.

I am trying to keep myself afloat in this deep blue sea because at the end of the day, its not for my own benefit that I’m here. There are other people I should be thinking of and worried about. The nature of our job is to remember that there are always others involved.

So no matter how jaded you are, how upset, how mistreated/under-utilised you feel, take a deep breath because you could always be in a worse off position.

This is a job, there will be things you don’t like doing but you’ll have to do it..

So DEAL…..

Learning Japanese the REALLY BIG Way

Taken from: www.daylife.com/ photo/0eRA0JZ0As2Ex

Hakuho (left) defeating fellow yokozuna Asashoryu at the January 2008 Basho

I have momentary addictions.

Well other than sweets that is. But then again, who isn’t addicted to dessert though I have been having an obsession of extreme sweet-toothness, Quite unfortunate considering, I was supposed to go back on a diet but my latest desire to bake constantly has forced me into this predicament. I am both enjoying it and hoping that my determination will set in say some time before the new semester starts…I hope.

But my latest addiction worth an entire blog entry is sumo wrestling. 

It began as a lazy Sunday. Me lying on the couch, channel flipping, you get the picture. Its quite a discovery, a joyous delight to find something rather interesting to watch on TV other than the same-old, same-old. So when you come across strong, big men trying to push, carry and slap each other out of a 4.5m ring, I swear you can get hooked. 

So then the internet becomes my new best friend as wikipedia provided me with almost every single piece of information available on each wrestler and the different terminology associated with sumo-wrestling. 

I admit it can get rather boring when you don’t quite understand why that several seconds happen without one rikishi (what a wrestler is called) putting up a fight against the other. Or why they go through this face off against each other only to go back to their corner, wipe their face and throw more salt into the ring. But as the basho (the tournament) is coming to a close, the fights are getting more exciting. Its quite hard to fathom how these men move with such speed and agility. Even the very very heavy 250kg rikishi has moves! Then when you start wondering about the regimented lives they lead, you question how and why they deal with it in the first place. Most would know a wrestler’s career can be pretty shortlived and to make matters more complicated, fighting your way up to the highest level isn’t easy either. 

But, the interesting thing is watching Caucasian men involved in the sport and carrying out rituals that can simply be classified under the umbrella of “Japanese” culture. (Though Japanese can be relative in many ways.) Is it an interest in the sport or is there a deeper desire? Or perhaps there is some inner need to belong to this community or even becoming part of it? After all, these “foreigners” are required to pick up the language, adopt Japanese sumo names, live in the communal stables and some even take up Japanese citizenship in order to succeed their master’s stables in the future. The interesting fact is that the last 3 yokozunas are all foreigners. 2 out of 4 current ozekis (the group of champions just beneath the yokozuna) are Eastern Europeans. What does it mean to be “foreign” while practicing something so strongly Japanese especially since the sport is recognised ONLY in Japan.

Perhaps a research paper is in sight. 

But till I find the energy to actually do some real readings (and not just wikipedia information), it’ll just remain an addiction, a rather happy addiction.

The Kyushu Basho, the last of the year, ends this Sunday with a possibility of a showdown between Hakuho (one of the current yokozunas) and Ama, (a sekiwake looking for promotion to ozeki). Ama, has already beaten Hakuho in the basho but both share the same record for the moment. Incidentally, both men are Mongolian.  

Maybe its just hard to find tall Japanese men in the first place and hence the need to welcome “foreign talent”.

Time of day?

 

 

Its pretty amazing how time really eludes you when you stop noticing its presence. 

I stopped trying to count the ticking of the clock and learnt to capture moments that matter. I just hope that these moments don’t happen too fast and slip through my fingers even before I have the chance to notice that it has already occurred. Would I even be too old by then to even enjoy it? 

I’m not quite sure.

I am rather happy as it is right now not because work is perfect but because I have an opportunity to work. I’ve met people I love and people I don’t quite like. All in all, it is still a learning experience and I am trying to adapt to standing on the other side of the table. I am learning to give because I have been on the receiving on for a very long time. 

I admit, I’m not quite generous; giving is indeed testing me. I will hang in there as best as I can. If I were to be stuck in this for the next 4.5 years, at the very least, I have to enjoy being in the environment even if work isn’t all that easy. 

I was asked to move into the cluster of 4 because the newbie doesn’t seem to be that lovable. At least it is nice to know that I was the lesser of two evils.  

义无返顾的向前跑

像这样走下去，也没什么好写了。

难道文字的灵感也可以随著感情的淡化，渐渐的遗忘？

原来放纵了感情以后，剩下的只是在宁静不过的宁静了。

一切彷彿归零，沉默也是为了相信回到原点才能有最美丽的结局。