21 February 2009

Debut




I always thought I was more of a writer than a speaker. I have a way with words written, but less so when they are spoken. Until yesterday that is.

To be honest I’ve always dreaded public appearances. A crowd of people, watching, staring, wondering and waiting for what wisdom you have to dispense. I always thought many others have a flair for public speaking, but I just don’t, and never will possess that ease, that confidence. They can just go up there on stage, and talk persuasively and eloquently and go off stage in a round of applause. But not I. Until yesterday.

As part of the symposium I have been invited to attend in Strasbourg, I was asked to present a paper that I wrote together with a friend of mine. The thesis is simple really, but nonetheless a fascinating account (or at least attempt at that) of the legal and political implications of a new intergovernmental space organisation that China has been so eager to establish. We have been working on the paper for months, and finally yesterday was the opportunity to present it.

Of the three days and six panels in total, it was my luck to be assigned to the last session on the last day as the very last speaker. I debated whether it was because my topic was too uninteresting… but then some others told me it was a ‘golden seat’. That didn’t dispel the anxieties.

The first day of the symposium went by smoothly. Now and then, when listening to a topic that was less interesting, I would go over my notes and power point, and go through the presentation inside my head. But as the day, hours and minutes before being called up to perform, I got more and more nervous. Worse was I had to do it all alone.

I kept on drinking water, clearing my throat, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to calm myself. The presentations before me seemed like a haze, and in my mind I just imagined the end of it all, when it is all over, when I can either smile at myself or feel like a failure. I didn’t do any practice dry-runs, and I even refused to do a mock presentation to a friend, because as I said “I get nervous in front of people I know”. Strange, but that’s true.

Then I was called on stage. I thanked the chair of the panel for the introduction, and I began with a joke… or at least an attempt at one, saying what a great honour it was to be the very last speaker, and to be standing between the audience and their long-awaited weekend. And I began.

Somehow, gone were the fears of me stuttering, stumbling, tripping and falling over words and phrases. Instead, there was a surprising sense of calm, clarity of thought and mind, and somehow the words and ideas, sentences and opinions flowed out of my mouth, almost as fluently as they would out of the tips of my fingers. My voice was clear through the mike, and the audience listened attentively, some even nodding in agreement at times. Slide after slide, the presentation went according to what had been planned inside my head. The keywords and short trigger sentences I had in front of me kept the momentum going. I looked around the room, at times ‘seeing through’ the people sitting there (a technique I learnt in high school drama class), and I felt no anxiety. I was on a roll!

And when it was all over, the audience applauded. A great encouragement, an exhalation of relief. I smiled, and looked around the room. The crowd seemed satisfied enough. What came almost soon after were the questions. Half a dozen hands went up around the room, much more than was the case with other presentations. Perhaps a good sign, that people were interested… or perhaps a bad sign, that I didn’t get the message across clear enough.

And it was the former. People were genuinely intrigued at my points and speculations, and wanted to know more about the organization’s aims, its potentials and pitfalls. I answered each question gracefully, smiling as I replied them, full of confidence, full of pride, feeling in those fleeting moments like I was the one with the expert knowledge and understanding, and that people were really interested in what I had to say. As a lawyer in training I attach great importance to the idea, to the ideal of the law, I said. Yet politics and power often may, and often does, prevail over the niceties of the law. What looks beautiful on paper may be far and different from what is realized in practice, as with anything in the world. The people with questions nodded as I gently carried my message and answers across. They were satisfied and convinced.

Enthused, I left the stage, delighted and relieved, in yet another round of applause. I had done it. Faced my worst fears of embarrassment, faced my (often unjustified) lack of confidence in my own abilities and intellect, and showed to people, and most of all to myself, what I can do.

And all this just before 25.

19 February 2009

When he's not around...

The house is a little quiet without baby Aslan. It’s not hard to spot his toys, the little fish he used to play in the bathtub, the Wall.E robot that sings and speaks, and the Mr Men and Little Miss books that I bought for him one. His tiny clothes lie unused in the cupboards, his bed and blanket unslept, with his baby scent still smell lingering behind. His mum, sometimes saddened and close to tears whenever she looks at the many, many pictures that she has of baby Aslan.

At last count, I’ve been to Strasbourg no less than 8 times since he came to this world. And this is the first time that he is not there when I visit. A little sad, but imagine how his mum must feel.

Because of her studies, my friend decided to take Aslan home and leave him behind with her relatives. Only for a little while, so she can finish off her studies. She just couldn’t cope with her work, and having to spend (quality) time with this very active (sometimes read: naughty) and demanding little boy. And spending everyday at daycare has made him really depressed and difficult to handle. At least in Taiwan, there are many relatives and other little friends he can be with. There Aslan can receive much love, and has much room to run around in in nature. Even when he was asked where he would like to be, he replied, in his sweet little voice, that he’d like to be in Taiwan rather than here in cold, gray France.
This morning, I woke up to Aslan’s voice on the phone. His sweet little inaudible words, answered the phone, and then disappearing again as he went off on his way to play, only to come back to say something that would leave most people guessing what he wanted to say. I think he said “Play, play… go out… play, play!” and “Foot… pain, pain…” Later I found out he injured himself recently in one of his rounds of running around. The way he plays, jumps and sprints from one place to another, it’s not difficult to get hurt. But then he always has a way of getting back up again, and with tears that have barely dried, run on to explore, poke, and probe whatever he could see and touch.