Life was normal
now it's wonderful
because of you
Sundays were common
now it's special
because of you
You were just another
now you are my fever
because of
you.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Monday, May 28, 2012
happy days
Life was normal
now it's wonderful
because of you
Sundays were common
now it's special
because of you
You were just another
now you are my fever
because of
you.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Destination matters little when the journey is awesome
After graduation, I landed a job fast enough.
It's what I have prepared myself to be--a lecturer in a university.
I teach students the way I love to be taught. I seek answers to the questions that shoot sparks up my spine. I get to mingle in conferences and workshops in places I have longed to visit.
And, I get paid for doing all that.
Pretty sweet deal, no? Life did seem kind of sweet then.
(Especially since I just returned from an awesome trip to India then, and had been feasting my eyes on 7 weeks of Indian beauty)
Two months into my new chapter in life, I aimed to attain financial security by 42 years old (yeah, kinda weird number, figured that 45 seems a bit too old!), and attain professorship before 38. I read books and articles about personal financing, learned the do's and don'ts of the securities investing, and paid lots of attention to the criteria of getting a professorship in Malaysia.
Six months later, it dawned on me that my two latest goals were no easy task. They were difficult in their own right, but more so in my case because they would require me to steer off my initial path. I would need to get out of my comfort zone into ...quite an oblivion zone of uncertainty. My comfort zone is being in a learning environment, where even though I may hold the mantle of a 'teacher', I am learning with and from everyone else involved.
You see, with my salary (which isn't anywhere near pitiful), financial security at 42 is possible only IF i) my salary increases leap and bound, or ii) I maintain an annual return on investment of about 20%, or iii) I marry a remarkably rich (but surely blind) woman who sadly (but conveniently) passes from this earthly plane and leaves me with all her fortune.
In the 2nd week of this semester, I was packing up my stuff in the lecture hall after I finished a class. Students were streaming out of the hall. One student came up to me.
"Hi Dr. My name is not on the attendance list."
"Oh? Have you registered?"
"No, not yet. The class was full, but I will wait for the cap to lift, then I can register."
"Aiyah...this class already almost 70 students! Please consider other sessions. Quite hard for me to teach so many of you."
"No no, I will register for this class."
"What...?! You sure or not?"
"Yes I am sure. For sure I will join this class."
At the end of last semester, one of the students wrote in his/her class evaluation sheet--"Thank you a lot Yao Hua! Last time I very scared and don't dare to talk in front of people. But you gave me confidence to answer in class. Now I think I improved a lot. Thanks!!"
A few weeks ago I met a student from last semester. The first thing she screamed was "Eh Yao Hua~~!", then she said "I miss you". No tinge of embarrassment, no hint of pretence. I really missed them too, and so that was what I replied.
I spend the first 5 minutes of every 2-hour lesson on an in-class sharing of past week's stories and experience. Last week I actually played "Menghitung Hari" for them (well, I almost wanted to sing it too!). Last week's class, I could see them nodding their heads, and at times frowning in deep thought as we discussed world hunger and agriculture. In the same class, I heard them sucked in their breath when I hit myself against the desk, and they all gasped when I slided over the counter.
Every week now I spend at least two hours with each Final Year Project student on guiding and discussing their projects. I have three FYP students this semester. It's amazing and a certain joy to witness the improvement of the students within just two hours. Bakers must feel the same way seeing their bread or cakes rise!
With all of that, I really cannot think of a better occupation than mine. Master Hsing Yun vowed to be a monk for every of his reincarnation and lives; I will be just as content and eager to be a teacher in each and every of my lives. I guess professorship and wealth can take a backseat--they are just by-products of a wonderful, meaningful journey.
It's what I have prepared myself to be--a lecturer in a university.
I teach students the way I love to be taught. I seek answers to the questions that shoot sparks up my spine. I get to mingle in conferences and workshops in places I have longed to visit.
And, I get paid for doing all that.
Pretty sweet deal, no? Life did seem kind of sweet then.
(Especially since I just returned from an awesome trip to India then, and had been feasting my eyes on 7 weeks of Indian beauty)
Two months into my new chapter in life, I aimed to attain financial security by 42 years old (yeah, kinda weird number, figured that 45 seems a bit too old!), and attain professorship before 38. I read books and articles about personal financing, learned the do's and don'ts of the securities investing, and paid lots of attention to the criteria of getting a professorship in Malaysia.
Six months later, it dawned on me that my two latest goals were no easy task. They were difficult in their own right, but more so in my case because they would require me to steer off my initial path. I would need to get out of my comfort zone into ...quite an oblivion zone of uncertainty. My comfort zone is being in a learning environment, where even though I may hold the mantle of a 'teacher', I am learning with and from everyone else involved.
You see, with my salary (which isn't anywhere near pitiful), financial security at 42 is possible only IF i) my salary increases leap and bound, or ii) I maintain an annual return on investment of about 20%, or iii) I marry a remarkably rich (but surely blind) woman who sadly (but conveniently) passes from this earthly plane and leaves me with all her fortune.
In the 2nd week of this semester, I was packing up my stuff in the lecture hall after I finished a class. Students were streaming out of the hall. One student came up to me.
"Hi Dr. My name is not on the attendance list."
"Oh? Have you registered?"
"No, not yet. The class was full, but I will wait for the cap to lift, then I can register."
"Aiyah...this class already almost 70 students! Please consider other sessions. Quite hard for me to teach so many of you."
"No no, I will register for this class."
"What...?! You sure or not?"
"Yes I am sure. For sure I will join this class."
At the end of last semester, one of the students wrote in his/her class evaluation sheet--"Thank you a lot Yao Hua! Last time I very scared and don't dare to talk in front of people. But you gave me confidence to answer in class. Now I think I improved a lot. Thanks!!"
A few weeks ago I met a student from last semester. The first thing she screamed was "Eh Yao Hua~~!", then she said "I miss you". No tinge of embarrassment, no hint of pretence. I really missed them too, and so that was what I replied.
I spend the first 5 minutes of every 2-hour lesson on an in-class sharing of past week's stories and experience. Last week I actually played "Menghitung Hari" for them (well, I almost wanted to sing it too!). Last week's class, I could see them nodding their heads, and at times frowning in deep thought as we discussed world hunger and agriculture. In the same class, I heard them sucked in their breath when I hit myself against the desk, and they all gasped when I slided over the counter.
Every week now I spend at least two hours with each Final Year Project student on guiding and discussing their projects. I have three FYP students this semester. It's amazing and a certain joy to witness the improvement of the students within just two hours. Bakers must feel the same way seeing their bread or cakes rise!
With all of that, I really cannot think of a better occupation than mine. Master Hsing Yun vowed to be a monk for every of his reincarnation and lives; I will be just as content and eager to be a teacher in each and every of my lives. I guess professorship and wealth can take a backseat--they are just by-products of a wonderful, meaningful journey.
Monday, November 21, 2011
i am not a snail
a snail carries a heavy bulky shell on its back.
up a blade of grass, across a sandy patch.
such a hefty burden the shell is,
but the snail carries it still
because it is home
--protection and warmth
it is comfort.
I am not a snail
yet I too had a burden
no less heavier than the snail's.
mine wasn't a home
but it promised warmth
and comfort, dreams come true.
childish promises.
lofty castles built of clouds
rich in romance and fantasy
with ever changing guises.
when all is said and done
I hold in my gentle hands
air, and fading memories.
I am not a snail
I want no burden.
Not of love or concern,
void of hatred or belittlement.
It's time to skip off the cliff
on which I have stood for years.
Let me unfold my wings
long hidden, forgotten
and flap, flap
flap!
thank you,
for being ever wiser.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
love again?
I used to wonder--
how would I know that I am in love?
--then when my eyes, my nose and my ears
perceive only that One,
my skin tingles with desire, and
my heart goes into overdrive
pumping crimson passion into my crumbling mind
--that same question became so foolishly trivial.
like the torrents that flood the banks
it came with force
unstoppable was its spearhead
and left in a blink
relentless was its sacrifice
having abandoned in its wake
carved and molded
a terrain
forever changed
leaving in the sands
words etched with bewildered fingers
'how would I love again, if love isn't you?'
how would I know that I am in love?
--then when my eyes, my nose and my ears
perceive only that One,
my skin tingles with desire, and
my heart goes into overdrive
pumping crimson passion into my crumbling mind
--that same question became so foolishly trivial.
like the torrents that flood the banks
it came with force
unstoppable was its spearhead
and left in a blink
relentless was its sacrifice
having abandoned in its wake
carved and molded
a terrain
forever changed
leaving in the sands
words etched with bewildered fingers
'how would I love again, if love isn't you?'
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Graduation: One Year Anniversary
If Blogspot hadn't introduced this new Dynamic View feature, I wouldn't have looked at my older blog posts.
If I hadn't looked at my older blog posts, I wouldn't have realised that today, Oct 6 2011, marks the 1-year anniversary of my Exit Seminar.
Yes, one year ago I presented my Exit Seminar, and as far as I was concerned, that one hour of bla-bla-bla ended my Ph.D. career. From that day on, I started a new chapter, or as it turned out, new chapters.
Immediately after my exit seminar, I traveled across four States in the USA with my mom. We set eyes and feet on Grand Canyon, Columbia River Valley, Los Alamos and the Hot Air Balloon Fiesta at Albuquerque, Californian Redwood forests and the Xi Lai Temple in L.A. We filled our stomachs with cakes and pastries, salmon and chops, dimsum and what not.
I left my home away from home, and came back to my real home. Accepted a job offer, and on the third day of Chinese New Year, left for India alone. Till now, I still remember the face of that South-Asian lady who, like me, waited the whole night in Starbucks in the LCCT the night I boarded the plane for Chennai. I didn't muster the courage to talk to her, but she was definitely attractive enough that I wish I had.
Spent four weeks in Chennai and three weeks after traveling down south from Chennai. I visited the temples in Chennai, Kanchipuram, Thanjavur, Chidambaram, Madurai and Ramesvaram. I went for two bharatanatyam performances (extremely world-class) and one Kathakali play (definitely top class!). I learned Tamil intensively for four weeks, at the end of which I could speak, write and read Tamil. If the locals go slow, I could understand them too [unfortunately since I left India my Tamil has deteriorated due to lack of practice....shame shame]. At Ramesvaram a priest bathed me in one of the holy wells (there were like >20 of them I think), and there I stood at the edge of the Indian Ocean in awe of her blue-turquoise beauty. At Thanjavur I fell in love with the majestic Periyar Kovil, and at Kanchipuram the simple yet indescribably elegant Kaisalanatha Kovil took a piece of my heart and claimed it since.
I escaped the heat of the lowlands by spending day up in the cool Kodaikanal hills west of Madurai, where the richer kids of the international boarding school there led lives so different from the uncountable poorer kids in the lowlands. I learned to love the sugar-loaded fruit juices of the Indian roadside, and in the backyard of my language institute I enjoyed twenty days of lunchtime among birds with funny headcrests. I saw a salt-farm for the first time in my life, and stepped on cow dung twice. I also finally set eyes on the bronze statue of Lord Nataraja in the Government Museum of Chennai. In many hot afternoons of Tamil Nadu March, I tried my best to run calmly across the baking-hot stone floor of temples, while locals walked and chatted as if they were walking on soft green grass. In Kanchipuram, I taught children in Tamil and English, and I entertained the teachers and the students with songs. I still remember her name--Indra. I wonder if she is still doing the morning rounds bringing children from their shacks to the school?
I can't count the number of friends I made in Tamil Nadu, including Matias and Alex who accompanied me during my one week stint in Kanchipuram. I truly miss all of them. I am still waiting for Sushil to send me a picture of him, his wife and their now 6-month old son.
Came back home again and started my working life immediately. Spent two months doing nothing much else but reading papers, writing proposals and preparing for my visit to Davis.
Went back to Davis almost without telling anyone. The first night I was back in that home away from home, I met up with my very good friend Hanayo, ate at my favourite restaurant in Davis, and untied a knot in my heart for good. The following two months were surreal--busy with my research yet enjoying all the luxuries I had before..Netflix, the library, board games, Amazon.com, a great housemate. A few days before I left for the Ecological Soc. America Meeting, our experiments produced unbelievably pleasing results! Had one of my best Meetings ever, and witnessed the largest bat colony in the world at Bracken Cave. Seeing Jay and his family again was a heartwarming moment for me.
Left Davis (this time much more reluctantly than last year) before I even had time to visit San Francisco, and once again I was back home. Went back to work immediately, and had been occupied since with preparing class materials for my course. Teaching it has been a ride so far (see previous blog post) but it's really enjoyable and rewarding. The students have warmed up to my style, and are now actively asking questions and answering and discussing questions in class. More than half of them now call me by my name instead of "Dr.", for which I am glad.
My friend passed her exam with flying colours, and with that, I have nothing left to worry about in Davis anymore.
There were somethings that I planned to do since graduation, but I haven't done. I haven't enrolled in a bharatanatyam course, and I haven't offered my services to teach at an orphanage yet. I haven't yet published another paper (still in review now...WTH). I have asked three girls out, one gave face and we stayed friends, one told me she was unavailable after a few weeks, and another is still...well....pending. So, the romance front is not exactly stale, but it's not blossoming either. Don't think I can enroll in a bharatanatyam course before Jan 2012, but I am hopeful about the others working out before the end of this year.
What a year it has been!
If I hadn't looked at my older blog posts, I wouldn't have realised that today, Oct 6 2011, marks the 1-year anniversary of my Exit Seminar.
Yes, one year ago I presented my Exit Seminar, and as far as I was concerned, that one hour of bla-bla-bla ended my Ph.D. career. From that day on, I started a new chapter, or as it turned out, new chapters.
Immediately after my exit seminar, I traveled across four States in the USA with my mom. We set eyes and feet on Grand Canyon, Columbia River Valley, Los Alamos and the Hot Air Balloon Fiesta at Albuquerque, Californian Redwood forests and the Xi Lai Temple in L.A. We filled our stomachs with cakes and pastries, salmon and chops, dimsum and what not.
I left my home away from home, and came back to my real home. Accepted a job offer, and on the third day of Chinese New Year, left for India alone. Till now, I still remember the face of that South-Asian lady who, like me, waited the whole night in Starbucks in the LCCT the night I boarded the plane for Chennai. I didn't muster the courage to talk to her, but she was definitely attractive enough that I wish I had.
Spent four weeks in Chennai and three weeks after traveling down south from Chennai. I visited the temples in Chennai, Kanchipuram, Thanjavur, Chidambaram, Madurai and Ramesvaram. I went for two bharatanatyam performances (extremely world-class) and one Kathakali play (definitely top class!). I learned Tamil intensively for four weeks, at the end of which I could speak, write and read Tamil. If the locals go slow, I could understand them too [unfortunately since I left India my Tamil has deteriorated due to lack of practice....shame shame]. At Ramesvaram a priest bathed me in one of the holy wells (there were like >20 of them I think), and there I stood at the edge of the Indian Ocean in awe of her blue-turquoise beauty. At Thanjavur I fell in love with the majestic Periyar Kovil, and at Kanchipuram the simple yet indescribably elegant Kaisalanatha Kovil took a piece of my heart and claimed it since.
I can't count the number of friends I made in Tamil Nadu, including Matias and Alex who accompanied me during my one week stint in Kanchipuram. I truly miss all of them. I am still waiting for Sushil to send me a picture of him, his wife and their now 6-month old son.
Came back home again and started my working life immediately. Spent two months doing nothing much else but reading papers, writing proposals and preparing for my visit to Davis.
Went back to Davis almost without telling anyone. The first night I was back in that home away from home, I met up with my very good friend Hanayo, ate at my favourite restaurant in Davis, and untied a knot in my heart for good. The following two months were surreal--busy with my research yet enjoying all the luxuries I had before..Netflix, the library, board games, Amazon.com, a great housemate. A few days before I left for the Ecological Soc. America Meeting, our experiments produced unbelievably pleasing results! Had one of my best Meetings ever, and witnessed the largest bat colony in the world at Bracken Cave. Seeing Jay and his family again was a heartwarming moment for me.
Left Davis (this time much more reluctantly than last year) before I even had time to visit San Francisco, and once again I was back home. Went back to work immediately, and had been occupied since with preparing class materials for my course. Teaching it has been a ride so far (see previous blog post) but it's really enjoyable and rewarding. The students have warmed up to my style, and are now actively asking questions and answering and discussing questions in class. More than half of them now call me by my name instead of "Dr.", for which I am glad.
My friend passed her exam with flying colours, and with that, I have nothing left to worry about in Davis anymore.
There were somethings that I planned to do since graduation, but I haven't done. I haven't enrolled in a bharatanatyam course, and I haven't offered my services to teach at an orphanage yet. I haven't yet published another paper (still in review now...WTH). I have asked three girls out, one gave face and we stayed friends, one told me she was unavailable after a few weeks, and another is still...well....pending. So, the romance front is not exactly stale, but it's not blossoming either. Don't think I can enroll in a bharatanatyam course before Jan 2012, but I am hopeful about the others working out before the end of this year.
What a year it has been!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
on education, and this profession of mine.
education,
it is of course not giving you a durian every day,
for when I am gone, how would you get your durian?
it is better to teach you to pick and open a durian
so that in my absence, you can still enjoy your own durians
still, that's no enough, for what happens when you
too are gone? who will provide durians for the world?
Hence, I need to teach you to open durians, and then
guide you to teach others too.
And how would I know that I've done my part?
--only when you aspire to teach others better
than I've taught you.
KEY: we don't just make excellent students out of our students, we need to make great and willing teachers out of them.
it is of course not giving you a durian every day,
for when I am gone, how would you get your durian?
it is better to teach you to pick and open a durian
so that in my absence, you can still enjoy your own durians
still, that's no enough, for what happens when you
too are gone? who will provide durians for the world?
Hence, I need to teach you to open durians, and then
guide you to teach others too.
And how would I know that I've done my part?
--only when you aspire to teach others better
than I've taught you.
KEY: we don't just make excellent students out of our students, we need to make great and willing teachers out of them.
Friday, August 19, 2011
departure
相见时难别亦难，东风无力百花残。
I left
for the West
from whence I came
so unexpectedly
the gathering
made sweeter by the surprise
Now
I am chasing the setting sun
with every step
my heart falters
my breath comes short
What will I then carry
to the west of the ocean?
I left
for the West
from whence I came
so unexpectedly
the gathering
made sweeter by the surprise
Now
I am chasing the setting sun
with every step
my heart falters
my breath comes short
What will I then carry
to the west of the ocean?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
nails in the wall
I am mere human, and I have erred many times.
Of those countless mistakes, two have haunted me particularly viciously, injecting my oft strong heart with so much guilt so vile that life stops whenever the memories fleet back into my mind.
I understood perfectly why I committed those mistakes, and I believe that it would have taken a person much much more compassionate and patient than me to have avoided those mistakes.
Yet, the guilt has ebbed little in the years gone by, despite all the joys that I have shared with others, and my utmost effort to not repeat those mistakes again.
Some mistakes, once done, are tattooed into your skin, etched into your bones, burned into your heart and molded in the many slippery folds of your brains. You live most of your life without noticing them again, but every now and then you do, and you wish you never did.
Today I committed a mistake of such magnitude, and my only solace is that he might forget it a lot sooner than I will. My guilt however, is born of the realization that he was hurt, that it wasn't the first time he was hurt that way, and that it will bear on him for some time. A seemingly small nail can break a stone wall, for the narrow crack gives space to a small devilish seed that would soon grow into a monster and trample the wall.
I was typing a text while walking to the ATM to deposit a cheque. I was jovial in the cool night air. A black truck suddenly pulled up slowly next to me, and then stopped in front of me. The truck was now between the ATM and me. The driver talked to me.
"Hey brother..."
"Hey, yes?"
"Can I ask you for some help?"
"Oh...erh....no."
"What? You thought I was asking you for money?" He started to reverse his truck.
"Oh, oh sorry! So how may I help you?"
"I want to ask for the directions to Oakland."
"Not sure myself, but I believe you take I-80 west and you will see signs for Oakland."
"Okay thanks."
"So sorry about that."
"Not all black people would ask you for money..." He reversed his truck and was going to drive away.
"No, that wasn't what I meant."
"But you didn't give me a chance." And then he drove away.
He was right, I didn't give him a chance to explain what help he wanted from me.
He was right, I presumed that he wanted money.
He was wrong that my presumption was because of his skin colour.
I wanted to tell him that even if he was white, I would have responded the same because I was startled by his truck driving in front of me, by his opening line of asking for help, and that I have had more white people asking me for money than black. Almost all the people who stopped me on the street and asked for money used the same line "Hey sir/mister/brother/man, can you help me?"
Yet, those were all excuses on my part. I should have known better than to jump to conclusions. Rationale lost to reflex reaction. He was obviously hurt by my response, yet he needn't be because his skin colour wasn't in my mind. If he was hurt that I judged him by his truck-driving or his opening line, then I wouldn't feel bad--but he was hurt because of something that wasn't there--colour discrimination.
I wanted to explain...but I wasn't sure if it would have eased the situation. I let him go. After I deposited my cheque, I looked for his truck. I really wanted to apologize, I really wanted to treat him to a bubble tea. He had left of course, and I was left with a guilt that I couldn't shake off, that I can't shake off, that I know will haunt me for a very long time.
For the shame that he had to suffer and the guilt that gnaws me from within, I wish that I will never ever commit such a mistake again.
On the other hand, I think he and I must have had some really bad experiences in our past lives. I mean, so much bad karma that the first time we met, and it lasted a mere 15 seconds max, and we have hammered a nail into each other's heart. I will pray for him tonight, in what is a helpless attempt to ease my guilt.
Of those countless mistakes, two have haunted me particularly viciously, injecting my oft strong heart with so much guilt so vile that life stops whenever the memories fleet back into my mind.
I understood perfectly why I committed those mistakes, and I believe that it would have taken a person much much more compassionate and patient than me to have avoided those mistakes.
Yet, the guilt has ebbed little in the years gone by, despite all the joys that I have shared with others, and my utmost effort to not repeat those mistakes again.
Some mistakes, once done, are tattooed into your skin, etched into your bones, burned into your heart and molded in the many slippery folds of your brains. You live most of your life without noticing them again, but every now and then you do, and you wish you never did.
Today I committed a mistake of such magnitude, and my only solace is that he might forget it a lot sooner than I will. My guilt however, is born of the realization that he was hurt, that it wasn't the first time he was hurt that way, and that it will bear on him for some time. A seemingly small nail can break a stone wall, for the narrow crack gives space to a small devilish seed that would soon grow into a monster and trample the wall.
I was typing a text while walking to the ATM to deposit a cheque. I was jovial in the cool night air. A black truck suddenly pulled up slowly next to me, and then stopped in front of me. The truck was now between the ATM and me. The driver talked to me.
"Hey brother..."
"Hey, yes?"
"Can I ask you for some help?"
"Oh...erh....no."
"What? You thought I was asking you for money?" He started to reverse his truck.
"Oh, oh sorry! So how may I help you?"
"I want to ask for the directions to Oakland."
"Not sure myself, but I believe you take I-80 west and you will see signs for Oakland."
"Okay thanks."
"So sorry about that."
"Not all black people would ask you for money..." He reversed his truck and was going to drive away.
"No, that wasn't what I meant."
"But you didn't give me a chance." And then he drove away.
He was right, I didn't give him a chance to explain what help he wanted from me.
He was right, I presumed that he wanted money.
He was wrong that my presumption was because of his skin colour.
I wanted to tell him that even if he was white, I would have responded the same because I was startled by his truck driving in front of me, by his opening line of asking for help, and that I have had more white people asking me for money than black. Almost all the people who stopped me on the street and asked for money used the same line "Hey sir/mister/brother/man, can you help me?"
Yet, those were all excuses on my part. I should have known better than to jump to conclusions. Rationale lost to reflex reaction. He was obviously hurt by my response, yet he needn't be because his skin colour wasn't in my mind. If he was hurt that I judged him by his truck-driving or his opening line, then I wouldn't feel bad--but he was hurt because of something that wasn't there--colour discrimination.
I wanted to explain...but I wasn't sure if it would have eased the situation. I let him go. After I deposited my cheque, I looked for his truck. I really wanted to apologize, I really wanted to treat him to a bubble tea. He had left of course, and I was left with a guilt that I couldn't shake off, that I can't shake off, that I know will haunt me for a very long time.
For the shame that he had to suffer and the guilt that gnaws me from within, I wish that I will never ever commit such a mistake again.
On the other hand, I think he and I must have had some really bad experiences in our past lives. I mean, so much bad karma that the first time we met, and it lasted a mere 15 seconds max, and we have hammered a nail into each other's heart. I will pray for him tonight, in what is a helpless attempt to ease my guilt.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
first, be respectful, then be open-minded.
the diversity of people's opinions of the same thing, and their refusal to even rationally and (for a brief moment) objectively consider the opinions of others, is truly unbelievable.
Education of the mind and heart, that is the ability and willingness to be respectful and logical, it seems, falters under the invincible crush of beliefs rooted deeply in the mind.
To solve problems, we first need to identify and acknowledge the problems.
Then we need to consider every plausible solution, and decide on the most suitable ones.
If it's my own problem, I can label it any way I want, and I need only find my own solution. I needn't consult others or consider their needs. Easy enough, except that there is no such problem--unless you are living alone on an island, and your problem is 'when should I sleep tonight?'
If it's a problem that concerns others, and (almost?) every problem in the world falls into this category, then it would be very un-civic and extremely selfish of me to deal with it as if I am the only one that matter.
I would then need to ask the others who are involved to participate, voice all our concerns, see all perspectives, and try to understand the fear and hope that are within each of us.
I would then need to acknowledge the equal right of each individual involved to contribute to the solution of the problem, and I must respect each individual's standpoint.
Of course I will have my own personal bias due to my unique upbringing that will differ from the others, but we must all remain logical and open-minded as best as we can.
We discuss in cool tones, we debate in fiery words.
Our fists don't clash, our ideas do; our identities aren't destroyed, but ill-conceived ideas are.
I think civilized, intellectual discussion that caters to the emotional shades of our beings must be taken as the first step in addressing conflicts. It must be the first step and all will must be taken to retain it as the only step.
That is, until some parties just cannot hold discussions without discrimination, without bringing in prejudice and refuse to be open-minded. You can be as patient and as witty as you can be with these people, but in the end, we have to accept that there is not ONE way that leads to all nice endings.
Then time for words around the table has come to a sad end, and time for words through action has come.
There will always be people who would condemn peaceful gatherings, people who would hate violent uprising, people who would rather remain in the status quo because they think they can afford to do so. Risk-averse, most of us are by nature.
It's impossible to label any view right or wrong per se. Yet (most of us) we live in a democratic society where each of us has equal rights to our views and to determine our own fate. So, no matter which side you are on, which part of the picture you choose to be, I implore you to at the very least, be open-minded, be respectful, and be brave in defending your stance and the right of others to practice their freedom.
And oh yeah, since you are undeniably a small part of a much larger picture, PLEASE TRY TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE. damn it.
Education of the mind and heart, that is the ability and willingness to be respectful and logical, it seems, falters under the invincible crush of beliefs rooted deeply in the mind.
To solve problems, we first need to identify and acknowledge the problems.
Then we need to consider every plausible solution, and decide on the most suitable ones.
If it's my own problem, I can label it any way I want, and I need only find my own solution. I needn't consult others or consider their needs. Easy enough, except that there is no such problem--unless you are living alone on an island, and your problem is 'when should I sleep tonight?'
If it's a problem that concerns others, and (almost?) every problem in the world falls into this category, then it would be very un-civic and extremely selfish of me to deal with it as if I am the only one that matter.
I would then need to ask the others who are involved to participate, voice all our concerns, see all perspectives, and try to understand the fear and hope that are within each of us.
I would then need to acknowledge the equal right of each individual involved to contribute to the solution of the problem, and I must respect each individual's standpoint.
Of course I will have my own personal bias due to my unique upbringing that will differ from the others, but we must all remain logical and open-minded as best as we can.
We discuss in cool tones, we debate in fiery words.
Our fists don't clash, our ideas do; our identities aren't destroyed, but ill-conceived ideas are.
I think civilized, intellectual discussion that caters to the emotional shades of our beings must be taken as the first step in addressing conflicts. It must be the first step and all will must be taken to retain it as the only step.
That is, until some parties just cannot hold discussions without discrimination, without bringing in prejudice and refuse to be open-minded. You can be as patient and as witty as you can be with these people, but in the end, we have to accept that there is not ONE way that leads to all nice endings.
Then time for words around the table has come to a sad end, and time for words through action has come.
There will always be people who would condemn peaceful gatherings, people who would hate violent uprising, people who would rather remain in the status quo because they think they can afford to do so. Risk-averse, most of us are by nature.
It's impossible to label any view right or wrong per se. Yet (most of us) we live in a democratic society where each of us has equal rights to our views and to determine our own fate. So, no matter which side you are on, which part of the picture you choose to be, I implore you to at the very least, be open-minded, be respectful, and be brave in defending your stance and the right of others to practice their freedom.
And oh yeah, since you are undeniably a small part of a much larger picture, PLEASE TRY TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE. damn it.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Love me for the whole package that I am
When I was traveling in Tamil Nadu, India, my local friends in Chennai told me I was a genius.
Their argument was that I knew several languages, had a Ph.D., could take good photographs, and perhaps most importantly, I learned Tamil which many of them didn't know.
I told them I was definitely no genius, and that in many aspects, I wasn't even close to their standards. My friends were mostly artisans who made a living selling their craft, and therefore became masters in their respective arts. There was Sushil who was good with beads and necklaces, Jogi who carved wood and sculpted stone, Prakesh who won awards for his beautiful palm leaf carvings, Pramod who sew bags (you definitely couldn't tell from looking at him haha...with his beer belly and what not), etc.
I don't think I am stupid, and I certainly never thought I was smart.
I am quite a silly person, really. I did silly things, many irrational stuff, and then when it was best to be irrational, I was too rational. I am quite silly in those ways.
Whatever I was, however others choose to describe me, I have always liked myself.
No, I am not self-obsessed [though once in a blue moon I do look into the mirror and go 'ah hello handsome~'].
I just feel good about myself--my receding hairline, my aging skin, my voice with such a narrow range, my 185cm height, my feminine hand gestures when I give a speech and that I can't whistle or wink sexily.
I am very happy with myself--my easy take on life, my 'who cares?' attitude toward issues that I can't control, and my 'I would do it even if nobody else wants to' approach to many challenges.
Still, there were times when I felt as if I should, or could have been better.
I was a Ph.D. student, and my responsibility as far as my sponsors were concerned was to do good research, to make the most productive output from their financial and intellectual input. One of the most useful advice I received was this golden line: "From now on, nothing else--not your grades, not the courses you take, not the diplomas--matters anymore, only the quality and quantity of your publication. Publication is your currency as a grad student and as a researcher."
So for quite sometime, I judged myself in that light. How many publications could I churn from my Ph.D.? How good were they? Good enough for Science, Ecology Letters or Ecology?
In my department, there was no lack of outstanding graduate students based on publication and quality of research. Stretch out a weenie bit to include the Ecology and Evolution group, the CPB group and the Animal Behaviour group, and WTH~~~!! Everywhere I turned, there was one grad student who was more than qualified to don the crown of "Genius".
For me, there were surely many moments of guilt. When I left the building eager for two hours of badminton, I saw my colleagues working. When I was watching Netflix on my bed, I imagined my colleagues ploughing through their data and doing crazy meta-analysis. When I was enjoying a book on "Tigers in India" in the library, my colleagues were sweating in the field gathering data.
By the time I published my first paper, one of my cohort members had already published two with more in prep/in review. And I wasn't slow by any standards, just slow by theirs! Hahahaha.
My supervisor never once nudged me to work harder, never once told me that I could do more. He seemed to know how I worked, that I myself knew what was in store for myself, and for that I was very grateful. Even though he never questioned my work ethics, I myself did. I wondered then, just as I had wondered more than once since I returned here, "Could I have done more and better research? Was I slacking? Was I not good enough?"
*********Intermission***************
The answer to my questions was a definite YES.
Of course I could have improved on my research. I could have dedicated more time to it, and easily churned out at least two more papers (no kidding). It was all in my mind, I could vision it. In that sense, I was slacking because I wasn't doing the best I can to be a 'productive and good' grad student.
And following the same train of thought, I came to the same conclusion every time. Then, and now.
I am what I am.
I am not one who is motivated by channeling all his effort into studies/research, and not even into teaching which is easily my first and foremost love.
I like to do many things at once, and I find no waste in not pursuing any of them to their ends.
I am certainly not the best researcher out there, and I never aimed to be, if only because it requires too much sacrifice of other wonderful things in life.
I like to think that I am a good teacher, but I will never be the best, because of the same reason above.
I am however, without doubt, certainly and surely, the best me you can find out there.
I am one whole package which cannot be taken apart and assessed individually.
If you are going to judge me, you better take me as a whole, else you would just be wasting your time.
[though most would be content just to admire my looks]
A while ago I wrote the piece below:
你说 你爱我
没有我 你不知怎么活
我说 我也爱你
只有你 我一切都给你
可是 告诉我
你爱我
是爱我的一切
还是一些？
关了灯， 另一些不在了吗？
一切， 是现在的一切
或是五年后的一切？
Most might think it was inspired by a love relationship. Well, it was, partially, but even more so by my thoughts when I compared my life to those of my colleagues.
Sometimes we are envious of others, though we have so much that others envy us in return.
Sometimes we are ashamed of ourselves, though we are so beautiful to many others.
During those times, we ought to slap ourselves across the face (HARD), and appreciate ourselves for the ugly short man that we are.
Oops, I meant myself.
I miss my Rajastani friend, Sushil. I hope he is in good health, and that he's enjoying time with his wife and son. I remember the first time I walked to his stall where he sold his craft, days after I had befriended the other artisans. He looked at me and said "This is the first time you come to my shop and talk to me." I didn't know why, and I still don't, but I felt so much sincerity in his voice, that this guy was just waiting in silence for me to talk to him. I liked him immediately, and we had many many more wonderful chats after that.
Their argument was that I knew several languages, had a Ph.D., could take good photographs, and perhaps most importantly, I learned Tamil which many of them didn't know.
I told them I was definitely no genius, and that in many aspects, I wasn't even close to their standards. My friends were mostly artisans who made a living selling their craft, and therefore became masters in their respective arts. There was Sushil who was good with beads and necklaces, Jogi who carved wood and sculpted stone, Prakesh who won awards for his beautiful palm leaf carvings, Pramod who sew bags (you definitely couldn't tell from looking at him haha...with his beer belly and what not), etc.
I don't think I am stupid, and I certainly never thought I was smart.
I am quite a silly person, really. I did silly things, many irrational stuff, and then when it was best to be irrational, I was too rational. I am quite silly in those ways.
Whatever I was, however others choose to describe me, I have always liked myself.
No, I am not self-obsessed [though once in a blue moon I do look into the mirror and go 'ah hello handsome~'].
I just feel good about myself--my receding hairline, my aging skin, my voice with such a narrow range, my 185cm height, my feminine hand gestures when I give a speech and that I can't whistle or wink sexily.
I am very happy with myself--my easy take on life, my 'who cares?' attitude toward issues that I can't control, and my 'I would do it even if nobody else wants to' approach to many challenges.
Still, there were times when I felt as if I should, or could have been better.
I was a Ph.D. student, and my responsibility as far as my sponsors were concerned was to do good research, to make the most productive output from their financial and intellectual input. One of the most useful advice I received was this golden line: "From now on, nothing else--not your grades, not the courses you take, not the diplomas--matters anymore, only the quality and quantity of your publication. Publication is your currency as a grad student and as a researcher."
So for quite sometime, I judged myself in that light. How many publications could I churn from my Ph.D.? How good were they? Good enough for Science, Ecology Letters or Ecology?
In my department, there was no lack of outstanding graduate students based on publication and quality of research. Stretch out a weenie bit to include the Ecology and Evolution group, the CPB group and the Animal Behaviour group, and WTH~~~!! Everywhere I turned, there was one grad student who was more than qualified to don the crown of "Genius".
For me, there were surely many moments of guilt. When I left the building eager for two hours of badminton, I saw my colleagues working. When I was watching Netflix on my bed, I imagined my colleagues ploughing through their data and doing crazy meta-analysis. When I was enjoying a book on "Tigers in India" in the library, my colleagues were sweating in the field gathering data.
By the time I published my first paper, one of my cohort members had already published two with more in prep/in review. And I wasn't slow by any standards, just slow by theirs! Hahahaha.
My supervisor never once nudged me to work harder, never once told me that I could do more. He seemed to know how I worked, that I myself knew what was in store for myself, and for that I was very grateful. Even though he never questioned my work ethics, I myself did. I wondered then, just as I had wondered more than once since I returned here, "Could I have done more and better research? Was I slacking? Was I not good enough?"
*********Intermission***************
The answer to my questions was a definite YES.
Of course I could have improved on my research. I could have dedicated more time to it, and easily churned out at least two more papers (no kidding). It was all in my mind, I could vision it. In that sense, I was slacking because I wasn't doing the best I can to be a 'productive and good' grad student.
And following the same train of thought, I came to the same conclusion every time. Then, and now.
I am what I am.
I am not one who is motivated by channeling all his effort into studies/research, and not even into teaching which is easily my first and foremost love.
I like to do many things at once, and I find no waste in not pursuing any of them to their ends.
I am certainly not the best researcher out there, and I never aimed to be, if only because it requires too much sacrifice of other wonderful things in life.
I like to think that I am a good teacher, but I will never be the best, because of the same reason above.
I am however, without doubt, certainly and surely, the best me you can find out there.
I am one whole package which cannot be taken apart and assessed individually.
If you are going to judge me, you better take me as a whole, else you would just be wasting your time.
[though most would be content just to admire my looks]
A while ago I wrote the piece below:
你说 你爱我
没有我 你不知怎么活
我说 我也爱你
只有你 我一切都给你
可是 告诉我
你爱我
是爱我的一切
还是一些？
关了灯， 另一些不在了吗？
一切， 是现在的一切
或是五年后的一切？
Most might think it was inspired by a love relationship. Well, it was, partially, but even more so by my thoughts when I compared my life to those of my colleagues.
Sometimes we are envious of others, though we have so much that others envy us in return.
Sometimes we are ashamed of ourselves, though we are so beautiful to many others.
During those times, we ought to slap ourselves across the face (HARD), and appreciate ourselves for the ugly short man that we are.
Oops, I meant myself.
I miss my Rajastani friend, Sushil. I hope he is in good health, and that he's enjoying time with his wife and son. I remember the first time I walked to his stall where he sold his craft, days after I had befriended the other artisans. He looked at me and said "This is the first time you come to my shop and talk to me." I didn't know why, and I still don't, but I felt so much sincerity in his voice, that this guy was just waiting in silence for me to talk to him. I liked him immediately, and we had many many more wonderful chats after that.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
3 nice conversations make a nice day
Today was an interesting day.
It was a very nice day, for a guy.
I had lunch with a colleague, and he invited his friend. His friend turned out to be a common friend of ours...somewhat. Okay, I was stretching it a bit. She worked as a waitress at a restaurant that my close friend and I used to go often, even after we broke up. So she knew me and my close friend. She had a lively adorable personality with an adorable face to match. Lunch was very enjoyable, with my colleague sharing with us his immense knowledge on different cultures, and she and I sharing our travel stories and experiences of migrating/living overseas. Lunch took like 1.5 hours longer than I expected, also because my colleague took us to check out the decor of Tower Cafe, quite a unique cafe in Sacramento, but I very much enjoyed the time spent with them.
Back at work, I was tending to my insects (oh, united again with my beloved bigeyed-bugs...this is awesome joy itself!!) in lab and started chatting with an undergrad assistant. She worked with me last year, so we knew each other very well. In other words, we understand each other's sarcasm and way of speech well. It was after 5.30pm, and we were the only ones left in the lab. I stayed back because I had insects work, and I had a dinner appointment later at 6.30pm downtown anyway. She stayed back because she was a workaholic. I asked her about her boyfriend, started boring into the details of their relationship, and we got some funny lines going. She shot back at my own romance stories, congratulating me on a new adventure, and suggested that perhaps a girl liked me because 'you played smart in badminton, you had a strategy...'. That was her way of trying to cheer somebody up. It was just a 20-30 minute long conversation that carried on as we both slaved away on our insects, but it was very enjoyable too. I definitely missed such conversations with them. Them being my research team members of several summers. Oh, those long drives up and down I-5 filled with unbelievable romance stories and discussions of 'what if...'!
6.30pm rolled by and I biked over to downtown, to my favourite Chinese restaurant in Davis. I tried to control the number of visits by limiting it to at most twice per week, but days before I go, I already knew what I want to order. Red bean black tea is definitely on the list. Waiting in front of the restaurant, I was very surprised to find at least 5 Zelus renardii nymphs on the plants outside the restaurant, and was so keen on finding more that I didn't notice my dinner companion had showed up behind me. Well, she was 3 minutes late! After ~8 months absence, the waitress recognized me immediately. She asked where had I gone, and said 'hey, you still like our red bean black tea!' No kidding. On my way flying across the Pacific Ocean, that red bean milk tea was on my mind. This friend with whom I had dinner with was a relatively new friend. Very new friend actually--we haven't spoken for more than 5 minutes before this, but I guess we do share some common background and we never lacked topics for good conversation. There were two very cool things that I found out over dinner. 1) She speaks my dialect, and that is rare among young people, even in Malaysia, not to mention here in Davis; 2) She actually has quite some similar views/thoughts with me. One thing that surprised me was when she asked me how did I finish my Ph.D. in 4 years instead of 5, she listed some possible reasons: fast-track program, easy program, hardworking etc...but she never said 'smart'. Most people always say 'wow, you must be very smart'. When I asked her why she left out 'smart' (yeah, I am so egoistic) , she said it was because she doesn't give much credit to intelligence, that she believed that hardwork can compensate for lack of intelligence, that hardwork will eventually lead one to success. I definitely share the same idea, and personally, I am not so happy when people praised me for my intelligent instead of my hardwork, especially because I lack the former and I do have some of the latter. After listening to her answer, I regarded this friend in a new light.
So I had enjoyed three conversations with three very different girls (and interestingly, of increasing age in the same order too). It was a nice day.
Oh, should add that my research started today, finally! And I got to practice some Tamil with my close friend and her Indian housemate. Life is good.
It was a very nice day, for a guy.
I had lunch with a colleague, and he invited his friend. His friend turned out to be a common friend of ours...somewhat. Okay, I was stretching it a bit. She worked as a waitress at a restaurant that my close friend and I used to go often, even after we broke up. So she knew me and my close friend. She had a lively adorable personality with an adorable face to match. Lunch was very enjoyable, with my colleague sharing with us his immense knowledge on different cultures, and she and I sharing our travel stories and experiences of migrating/living overseas. Lunch took like 1.5 hours longer than I expected, also because my colleague took us to check out the decor of Tower Cafe, quite a unique cafe in Sacramento, but I very much enjoyed the time spent with them.
Back at work, I was tending to my insects (oh, united again with my beloved bigeyed-bugs...this is awesome joy itself!!) in lab and started chatting with an undergrad assistant. She worked with me last year, so we knew each other very well. In other words, we understand each other's sarcasm and way of speech well. It was after 5.30pm, and we were the only ones left in the lab. I stayed back because I had insects work, and I had a dinner appointment later at 6.30pm downtown anyway. She stayed back because she was a workaholic. I asked her about her boyfriend, started boring into the details of their relationship, and we got some funny lines going. She shot back at my own romance stories, congratulating me on a new adventure, and suggested that perhaps a girl liked me because 'you played smart in badminton, you had a strategy...'. That was her way of trying to cheer somebody up. It was just a 20-30 minute long conversation that carried on as we both slaved away on our insects, but it was very enjoyable too. I definitely missed such conversations with them. Them being my research team members of several summers. Oh, those long drives up and down I-5 filled with unbelievable romance stories and discussions of 'what if...'!
6.30pm rolled by and I biked over to downtown, to my favourite Chinese restaurant in Davis. I tried to control the number of visits by limiting it to at most twice per week, but days before I go, I already knew what I want to order. Red bean black tea is definitely on the list. Waiting in front of the restaurant, I was very surprised to find at least 5 Zelus renardii nymphs on the plants outside the restaurant, and was so keen on finding more that I didn't notice my dinner companion had showed up behind me. Well, she was 3 minutes late! After ~8 months absence, the waitress recognized me immediately. She asked where had I gone, and said 'hey, you still like our red bean black tea!' No kidding. On my way flying across the Pacific Ocean, that red bean milk tea was on my mind. This friend with whom I had dinner with was a relatively new friend. Very new friend actually--we haven't spoken for more than 5 minutes before this, but I guess we do share some common background and we never lacked topics for good conversation. There were two very cool things that I found out over dinner. 1) She speaks my dialect, and that is rare among young people, even in Malaysia, not to mention here in Davis; 2) She actually has quite some similar views/thoughts with me. One thing that surprised me was when she asked me how did I finish my Ph.D. in 4 years instead of 5, she listed some possible reasons: fast-track program, easy program, hardworking etc...but she never said 'smart'. Most people always say 'wow, you must be very smart'. When I asked her why she left out 'smart' (yeah, I am so egoistic) , she said it was because she doesn't give much credit to intelligence, that she believed that hardwork can compensate for lack of intelligence, that hardwork will eventually lead one to success. I definitely share the same idea, and personally, I am not so happy when people praised me for my intelligent instead of my hardwork, especially because I lack the former and I do have some of the latter. After listening to her answer, I regarded this friend in a new light.
So I had enjoyed three conversations with three very different girls (and interestingly, of increasing age in the same order too). It was a nice day.
Oh, should add that my research started today, finally! And I got to practice some Tamil with my close friend and her Indian housemate. Life is good.
An assassin bug adult found in my garden, Malaysia. Not the species I studied, but heck did they look alike (other than coloration)! And this assassin bug preyed on the adult of the beetle I plan to study. Promising!
Monday, June 20, 2011
There and back again
I am back in the place that changed my life.
A wonderful place.
More than once I had asked myself if it was the weather, the trees, the tranquility of the place that was somehow dynamic and vibrant, or was it just the people?
Yet the answer matters not, for one way or another, it doesn't change the fact that I really love this place and all that it entails.
It is now getting warm here, and soon my fieldwork will bring subject me to conditions drier and hotter than those in Malaysia. Others might complain, but not me. There is much to be enjoyed in this place, and the searing heat of a wide-open cotton field in summer is itself a valid entry on the list.
I am very glad to have made it in time to attend my friends' commencement. I skipped mine, giving little appreciation to the hardwork invested in my undergraduate education. Back then, I'd rather return to Malaysia earlier with my mom. I was happy for my friends though. They certainly tossed their hats into the air with much more enthusiasm than I did during my Ph.D. graduation! Congratz to them. Now please contribute to better our country!
A friend who did her Ph.D. commencement told me before the event that she felt normal. She was worried because she wasn't excited. I told her that I was like that too--too many affairs to deal with leading up to the commencement that one really had no time to be excited--but during the commencement, she would pick up the emotions. And she did. Sitting in the hall among a couple hundreds of graduating graduate students, many of whom invested much more time and energy than us did, it's difficult not to be moved by their tears and disbelief painted across their faces. I remember that a woman who sat two rows in front of me broke down and cried, needing her professor who was sitting beside her to calm her down. More powerful than Oprah, I guess, as I haven't watched Oprah before.
My first few days back here were surreal. Walking on the same streets that I thought I wouldn't see again for some time, eating at the same restaurants where I had several of my 'last' conversations with dear friends, and being back in the same lab that I left hurriedly just half a year ago. That moment standing at the junction of Sycamore Lane and Russell Blvd, waiting for that familiar traffic light to turn into the much-missed green bicycle, that moment was utterly unreal. I felt as if I shouldn't have been there, but I was there.
Within a few days of my unexpected return, and particularly after I ran my fingers along the shelves of the university library and walked across town alone at night, I seriously asked myself why I left in the first place. This place is undeniably more comfortable than back home (but not home itself of course), and professionally speaking, this place is Mecca for my field/industry.
Rationally, my decision to leave was a foolish one, especially since I had a job offer for two more years here. Personally, I knew that that it couldn't have been otherwise. If I had not left, if I had stayed on for two more years, I doubt that I would still have the will to leave. McGill University was an excellent school too, and Montreal was beautiful--crude and elegant, just the way I like it--but I left because I didn't want to risk my roots growing so deep that it hurts to unroot them. My family, and all my very beloved friends back home, they played a huge role in luring me back. To jest and curse in a slang known only to my highschool friends is definitely every bit as priceless as the independence and freedom I can find here. However, there is something more, something bigger, something more ambitious, something that I must do.
The thing is, UC Davis wasn't always as great as it is now. It took many people and at least two-three generations to build UCD and Davis to be what they are today. Heck, UCD is even older than my country. If every Davisian had left Davis to carve a niche in Oxford or Harvard, we wouldn't have the UCD which we are all so proud of today.
Thus, the least I can do is to try. To try to pave the road to a future UCD in my country, to build an institution better than UCD in my country. I cannot just give up the idea without trying, can I? Well of course I can, but that wouldn't be me.
I am very happy to be back here.
I am also very glad that I left here.
Monday, May 30, 2011
long piece! reflection of a class
[Warning: this is a long piece so you should either be very patient when reading it, or read it in pieces. The very proud author thinks that it will be worth the readers’ efforts.]
I teach for a living. That means teaching gives me life. I would like to think all my lessons are meaningful and helpful to the students. Sometimes though, I forget to live by the very lessons which I teach so earnestly.
The following transcript is an excerpt from a 80-minute class I taught to a group of 30+ teenagers. My topic was “Lessons I Learned from Nature”.
…
…
[I give each student a coin, and ask them to flip it to get either heads or tails consecutively for 10 times.]
Is it possible to flip a coin 10 tens, and get ‘heads’ 10 times in a row?
What about 100 times in a row? 300 times in a row?
Highly unlikely, isn’t it? Most of you said it’s impossible.
Do you know of every 1000 babies born in Malaysia last year, how many survived their first year? –994 out of 1000. That’s a 1-year old survival rate of 0.994.
What’s the age of the oldest human fossil found? –4.4 million years old*.
So, starting from at least 4.4 million years ago, your great-great-great….grandmother was born, and she gave birth to your great-great-great…grandmother, each surviving at least beyond their first year, until your grandma, your mom and now you. Taking the survival rate of 2010, do you know what’s the chance of you being here today?
The equivalent of getting ‘heads’ >600 times in a row!**
Is that even possible? No? But we are all here right now, aren’t we?
I see an insect mother lays hundreds of eggs, of which only a handful survive to adulthood. I see trees bear hundreds of flowers releasing thousands of seeds, of which only a handful of seeds sprout.
To survive is itself a miracle. You are a winner, if only because you are alive. Next time you feel bad about yourself and life, take a coin, and try to get 10 ‘heads’ in a row.
…
…
[For your sake, I will skip the Nature part for the following session]
What are you good at? Write down the one thing you think you do best, or like to do best.
Okay, now in groups of eight, I would like you to build a treehouse [but apparently city kids nowadays have no idea what a treehouse is, I should have used a ‘dog kennel’ instead]. Make sure everyone contributes with that one ability he/she is best at.
[They discussed and tried to fit into the project. Many had issues because they wrote down abilities like ‘swimming’, ‘eating’, ‘talking’, ‘sleeping’, playing computer games’…things that seemed very non-constructive and irrelevant to the project]
Ok, some of you think that you can’t contribute, that what you do best is quite useless. Really? Let’s see how we can make you useful.
Swimming and eating, well you guys can go for competition or raise funds right? Eat 10 hotdogs in a minute.
Talking? Well, you can also raise funds with your persuasion, be our spokesperson, keep us entertained.
[In the end, everyone found at least one way in which they can contribute.]
Yes, everyone’s good at something, and you can be helpful to others in at least one way. You need to find that, and work on it.
…
…
[I will skip the Nature part for the following session]
I will read out a list of roles, if you belong to one of these roles, draw a line, and we shall count how many lines you have in the end.
Student, teacher, son, daughter, boyfriend, girlfriend, owner of a pet, friend, customer, grandchild, brother, sister, a buddy, a role model,…etc.
How many had 1 role? 2 ? 3?..5…12….18…21…? Wow, the least is 7 roles, and the most is 21 roles.
What does this tell us? Have you ever thought that you are at least 7 roles in one?
Can we be perfect in each and every role at the same time?
More importantly, if I am a lousy son, does it mean that I am also a lousy student? If I fail as a student, does it make me a bad brother? If I am an excellent girlfriend, will that also make me a nice daughter?
We have many many roles to play, we are many different persons to different people. Being a less than satisfactory ‘A’ DOESN’T MAKE you a less than satisfactory ‘B’. So if your teacher stamps you as ‘the worst student I have ever seen’, please don’t think that it also makes you the worst of every role you can play.
End of class.
After I got home, I thought about what I said in class that morning. The third session struck me the most because that was the point that I have somehow neglected for a while.
I have so many roles to play, I am a different role to almost every person I come in contact with. I would like to think that I play those roles well; at least I am happy in those roles. In other words, I think I am actually a good friend to many, a good son, a good brother, a good teacher, a good student etc. But there was one role that I thoroughly failed, and it has haunted me for years.
I was never a good boyfriend. I have never been a good lover.
Why do I say that? Because I was told that I was not there when I was needed, and I was there when I wasn’t needed. The tragedy that followed was more than enough to hammer the nail into the wall and pin down without doubt a sign that reads ‘Failed Lover’.
Usually I let stumbles go very easily and move on to the next challenge (or stumble haha), but I had the utmost difficulty letting this go. For you see, there was no other role that meant more to me than that of a lover.
After leaving Davis, my social circle took on a good change. I made many new friends in India and through my friends’ weddings, got back in touch with my students in Malaysia, and distanced myself (physically) from my friends in California. I started writing letters and cards again, such a wonderful habit! I also spent much more time communicating with my family now, though one can never make up for lost time. Through these all, and after my class that morning, it dawned on me that I have finally let it go. I still think that I performed terribly as a lover (no chance to improve until I get another lover, no?!), but I am very proud of all the other roles I play.
A few days ago I met up with my students for dinner. A few days later we went for badminton. Mingling with them was very therapeutic. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the interaction that made me feel good—I just did. I taught them when they were 9, 10 years old, and now they are 18. They have grown so much, and of course we interact differently than we did 10 years ago. Still, I love them as much as I did before and it’s very flattering to know that they are still eager to chat with me. To have been their teacher, and then a teacher-friend, is a wonderful transformation. Their respect and recognition of me have only grown. It also goes to show that students will ALWAYS appreciate a sincere and responsible teacher, albeit it may take time for them to realise it. That is already much more than I can say about what one can expect from your lover.
I have a friend whom I only met for a few days but we remained friends since. We communicated in the most romantic of ways—letters and cards. She and I are very different people, but I can safely say that we have truly helped each other in times of need of emotional support. Whenever I think of her, and of my other snail-mail friends, I understand that I mean a lot more to some people than I care to admit. Likewise, they make me proud of myself.
*http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2009/10/091001-oldest-human-skeleton-ardi-missing-link-chimps-ardipithecus-ramidus.html
**Highly conservative calculation. The actual probability could be many many times lower.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Flowers are pretty
flowers are sweet
nectar offerings
bees busy slurping
still,
if you listen carefully
in their hives you will hear
the bees whisper
not every flower is a honey pot
but each is worth a shot
and,
if you listen carefully
in the breeze you will hear
the flowers humming
not a fruit every flower becomes
but a beauty they each once was.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
we be our own judges
when you are wrongly accused,
when you feel unjustly judged,
don't lash back
not immediately
stop, think, cool down
then act.
I assure you that you won't regret that moment of calm.
when your good will is ruined
when your gifts are mocked
when your tears flow in vain
don't blame
don't be ashamed
for everywhere there needs more people like us
give, and give, and give
and then
we give again.
we be our own judges
the hammer's held in our hands only
if slacking is what you wish today
then don't work
if breaking your back without pay is your desire
then don't stop
At the end of it all
nobody else goes into your mind
and tells you what you were
but your voice alone
but your voice alone
as you heave
your last breath.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
the end is funny!
My best friend has left my side, but I am sure her phone calls will still plague me for a very long time.
Before she left, we had a ~2.5 hour chat over dim sum. Apparently she loves dim sum though I found that specific place just 'meh'.
We were both single (and still single haha), so naturally in between talking about ambitions/dreams (it was her birthday after all) we touched on our prospects of eventually ending our singlehood.
It was something we both hope for, yet also something we both don't dare to hope for.
This Saturday I will be part of my friend's wedding ceremony from start to end. I will be part of his Brothers Group (we will just get played a fool by the Bride's she-guards) in the morning and come evening I will be the emcee of his wedding dinner. I hope that the AWESOME positive energy of his wedding will blow away the dark clouds and perhaps...at the end of the ceremony, someone will tell me, not in a shy way,
"Eh, you quite good la. Still single? Me too. "
"Yeah still single ar. Interested in me ar? "
"Not interested la...just want to know you."
"Can, good good. Let me grab my angpow then we can go get a durian."
Wrote this post after I needed a break from correcting undergraduate's English for their FY project....
Thursday, May 12, 2011
It's Alive~!
In how many days of the past month did you feel alive?
Beneath my often rational reasoning, there runs a river of emotions.
I may be happy, I may be angry, I may be worried. I may be all of these at the same time.
Yet to feel alive, that's uncommon.
Thus when Life kicks in, I take in every single sensation it can give.
When I like someone, I feel alive.
I never felt the same when someone likes me. Only when I like someone, I feel alive.
When my actions helped to grow the confidence of others, I feel alive.
One of the strongest emotions I felt in my life was the pride that swelled in me when one of my students, she who was timid, shy and awfully indifferent to everything, raised her hand to ask a question in class. If my life ended there and then, I would have died a very content person.
When I develop a vision, I feel alive.
This was how I felt today. As I enjoyed dinner alone [my dad's herbal chicken was unbelievably delicious] tonight, my mind drifted to thoughts of my future. I remembered that I had wanted to start a business a short while ago. I told myself that I love to teach. Last week it occurred to me that I should help out at orphanage(s). One thought latched on to another, accelerating as they danced into a swirl in my mind even as I continued to eat. Before I finished the drumstick, the swirling stopped, and I had a vision. It was a philosophy- and passion-driven goal, equipped with a (general) practical plan and a healthy dose of romanticism. That's what I call a vision. For the second time in my life, I stamped an 'to do by X age' mark on something*. This time, X = 40.
What makes you feel alive?
Yes, you can reply "Reading your words make my cells dance!'.
I know it's true.
*1st time was 'to get my Ph.D. before 28'. I got mine at 27.
Beneath my often rational reasoning, there runs a river of emotions.
I may be happy, I may be angry, I may be worried. I may be all of these at the same time.
Yet to feel alive, that's uncommon.
Thus when Life kicks in, I take in every single sensation it can give.
When I like someone, I feel alive.
I never felt the same when someone likes me. Only when I like someone, I feel alive.
When my actions helped to grow the confidence of others, I feel alive.
One of the strongest emotions I felt in my life was the pride that swelled in me when one of my students, she who was timid, shy and awfully indifferent to everything, raised her hand to ask a question in class. If my life ended there and then, I would have died a very content person.
When I develop a vision, I feel alive.
This was how I felt today. As I enjoyed dinner alone [my dad's herbal chicken was unbelievably delicious] tonight, my mind drifted to thoughts of my future. I remembered that I had wanted to start a business a short while ago. I told myself that I love to teach. Last week it occurred to me that I should help out at orphanage(s). One thought latched on to another, accelerating as they danced into a swirl in my mind even as I continued to eat. Before I finished the drumstick, the swirling stopped, and I had a vision. It was a philosophy- and passion-driven goal, equipped with a (general) practical plan and a healthy dose of romanticism. That's what I call a vision. For the second time in my life, I stamped an 'to do by X age' mark on something*. This time, X = 40.
What makes you feel alive?
Yes, you can reply "Reading your words make my cells dance!'.
I know it's true.
*1st time was 'to get my Ph.D. before 28'. I got mine at 27.
Volunteering for a positive purpose is a rewarding way to put life into your life.
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