I've donated money to charity before, and I guess that is easily done with the click of a mouse button. But I've never actually embarked on a charity bike ride where I give more than just money, but my physical strength and body for a great cause.
A few days ago I saw flyers around the faculty building calling for volunteers to bike to raise money. I love cycling, and during the weeks of Summer I made a vow to myself to go somewhere far and long at least once a week. If I can do that, why not do it while raising money for charity? So I signed up, an immediately received an enthusiastic response from the organisers, as I appear to be the only graduate student interested and involved (I got another friend to join, so now there are two!)
The ride will honour Dugald Christie, who during his lifetime strove to raise awareness about the importance of having access to justice. Justice, in the broad sense of the term, is a right to be heard, a right to redress, a right to have a wrong righted, a right to have a human right confirmed and cemented. The issue of access to justice people often to associate with developing countries with weak legal systems, in situations where the disenfranchised and disempowered have their rights trampled on by the wealthy and powerful. But even in Canada, a relatively affluent country, there are many who live just above the poverty line and who do not qualify for legal aid. There are many more still who have not the knowledge or understanding or skills to be adequately represented in court.
Tomorrow we will set off from Montreal, and ride some 80km toward Shawbridge in the Laurentian Mountains, where there is a cabin we can stay at for the night. Each participant has to raise some C$50, which is actually not a lot... but combined the money adds up. This year, the second time the event is being organised to raise awareness about legal aid, the money will go to a organisation working with refugees and new immigrants.
The cause has something dear to my heart, for I too am an immigrant (to be) in this country. But I have the means and wherewithal to come to this country on 'pleasant' terms and establish myself in relative comfort. That may not be the case for many immigrants or refugees who have had to struggle to leave their homelands to come to a foreign land in search of a better, happier and more secure life. These, and many others, are people who forgotten, who most need the financial and legal help in fighting a system that may at times be so caught up in the hardness of legal provisions and cold lawyering that the softer, more human(e) needs and considerations are sidelined or dismissed altogether.
It'll be a long ride, but I don't think it'll be all that foreign. Mind over body, mind over body I keep telling myself. And after soliciting donations from friends and colleagues, I have managed to raise around one dollar and enthusiastic support and encouragement for each kilometre I cycle (one way).
Now to actually complete the ride!
04 September 2010
02 September 2010
OSM concert for Haiti
In the oppressive heat and humidity of an evening at summer's end, a crowd gathered in downtown Montreal.
Hundreds, if not over a thousands, stood in the faint, warm drizzle, and let music and emotions raining over their ears and hearts. Before them, on a makeshift shift stage in the middle of a square, was the Orchestre Symphonique de Montreal (OSM) under the direction of Kent Nagano. His iconic long, wild greying hair danced as he gestured before the score of musicians, who together magically emitted the renowned melody that can calm even the most hardened and embittered souls. In the silence of darkness, the city seemed to come to a standstill, basking in the moving voice of soprano Marie-Jose Lord:
...Quand j’aurais chanté dix mille ans
My skin crawled as I watched the crowd sway and hum in unison. I too swayed and hummed with the crowd. There was an unspoken connection, for for the last two hours we have been united by music, by that universal language that spoke of fear, of joy, of hope and despair. Music that may have meant different things to different people, but standing there, bearing the uncertain mood swings of the sky, we shared a connection with the people of Haiti.
Dans Sa chorale des anges
Je n’aurai fait que commencer
À chanter ses louanges
De tous les dangers de la vie,
La grâce est mon abri...
There was a connection through the bonds of humanity and charity, one that transcended the distance, that broke through race and colour. Briefly, but even briefly can seem an eternity, people who have never met one another were brought together there and then listening to the same notes, same words that flowed on stage.
Seven months after the devastating earthquake, Haiti has almost completely disappeared from the news... pushed aside by the latest (foiled) terror attempts, by other disasters both natural and manmade, by the flamboyance and debauchery of celebrities.
But tonight, at OSM's season opening concert, music and poetry again reminded us of the plight of a people and country still shaken from the raw violence of nature. We, those standing on that square, may never be able to share the same sense of desperation and suffering of Haitians still waiting for clean water, food, basic medical supplies or a secure roof over their heads. But through the live broadcast that transmitted images and sounds from Montreal to Port-au-Prince, many Haitians could see from the crowd of people who have gathered and who have generously donated that they have not yet been forgotten.
01 September 2010
Second year in Canada
It's been two years already.
Two years since I took that long, long flight across the Atlantic in search of a new place, of a new home. I was uprooted, willingly so. But then, it seemed all so uncertain whether I would find my footing here, whether I could root myself here in Canada. Despite all the excitement and amazement associated with arriving in a new country and new city, the unknowns and obstacles of foreignness stood in the way.
Looking back, I think I have done quite well for myself.
Not everything has been smooth sailing, and I cannot say I have really spent the entire length of the two years that I am supposed to have been in Canada in Canada. But I am pursuing my own life, and beginning finally the search for the happiness and possibilities that for a long time I was denied... or that I denied myself.
What I found was a sense of belonging. A sense of freedom and openness that is as wide and free as the land itself. On the way, I have found and consolidated friendships that allow me to sail through rough and difficult times. I have a cat, just the thought, let alone sight, of whom is able to make my heart squirmy with love and affection. And steadily, or at least I should hope so, I am working toward some kind of career and discovering what it is that interests me.
Canada has given me renewed hope. Two years on, I am often still buoyed by that sense of excitement and range of possibilities that await me. Most of all, I can finally come home at the end of any day, and say I am home.
31 August 2010
"It's good to talk..."
I like BT's company motto "It's good to talk...", because often talking can do wonders, breakdown barriers and misunderstandings.
After yesterday's facebook message from the friend, to which I replied, I met up with him over lunch and had a long talk. There were moments I felt I was under 'attack', being blamed in a way for the reason behind the breakdown in our friendship. There were moments I just wanted to get up and leave, because really I just felt so misunderstood and wronged, and even surprised that a lot of fuss can be made of what to me appeared to be of such insignificant detail.
But we talked, even if at moments we just sat opposite one another and looked at one another, or looked beyond one another (or at least I did) to avoid the intensity of the other person's gaze. We tried to recount and explain what triggered a distancing between us, the reasons (for there are never just one, but many over a period of time) for the tensions and strains. Like often, I do not believe that one person is particularly at fault... my experience of family feuds and listening to friends who have become estranged is that lack of communication can breed fear and suspicion, and eventually distrust and animosity. For my friend and I, it was probably at that beginning stage of this process, and I was glad we stopped and took the time out to talk things over.
I admitted that I've been feeling strained in recent months, not least because for a while till early summer this year I seemed to be in constant travel mode and overshadowed by uncertainties surrounding where I will be in the next month. This uncertainty and 'floating-ness' makes me sad, and I feel the world, my world of comfort and security, crumbling and disintegrating. Maybe because of that I have been moody, withdrawn, easily frustrated and angered, and maybe that transpires in my interactions with others... I admit my 'wrongs', and try to contain myself. But a few moments during our talk I just broke down and teared. Not outright cry and weep... but sometimes the memories and echoes of the last few months, from deaths to hospital beds, from my split concerns about the wellbeing of my mum to the wellbeing of my adopted cat... from my almost incessant struggle with loneliness to my search for the warmth and stability that a potential relationship can offer... all these taken together, mingled and turned around day in and day out has taken a heaven place in my heart and mind. And even someone like me who does not like to 'burden' others with my deepest problems and fears, who has a smile plastered on his face almost constantly, has to break, has to breakdown.
We talked, and 'made up'. I gave my friend a big, long hug, an expression and appreciation of what he means to me still, and what he has meant to me since we met almost two years ago.
It's good to talk... to talk away the misunderstandings, suspicions, dislikes... to talk about the little things that bother one another, about the personal characteristics and flaws that over time get on one another's nerves.
And at the end of it, it feels like a fresh start.
30 August 2010
Misunderstandings...
I suddenly got a message on facebook tonight. Surprised, and a bit dumbfounded, I read through the message from a friend.
In it, the friend said how disappointed he was of the way our friendship has disintegrated in recent times, citing examples of how my words, actions or silence contributed to that. I cannot say that I have not been a little distant, or that I am innocent of things I said or did that put a strain on our friendship. But I never realised that being distant can lead to alienating people. Perhaps I simply do not know how best to balance a friendship, especially one that's laden with a history of intimacy...
It's too easy to misunderstand people. What one person wants to say and how it is received in the ears of another can sometimes be very different or completely the opposite. But is not intention what ultimately counts? Intention, as the monk in the mountains has repeatedly told me, distinguishes between whether an action or thought is right or wrong... If I don't intend to hurt or humiliate a person, then I am not guilty of hurting that person, right? But things can sometimes be turned upside down that I wonder if that still makes sense anymore...
Perhaps the best thing is to say nothing, to do nothing, to not interact at all with anyone, so nobody will be hurt by misinterpretations or misunderstandings.
Yes, it may be true that the world of people is too complex and complicated, and that life can be much simpler to retreat into the mountains and be a hermit who does nothing else but meditate on the meaning of existence with a goal to end suffering. Only then can your thoughts and actions harm no-one else but yourself...
In it, the friend said how disappointed he was of the way our friendship has disintegrated in recent times, citing examples of how my words, actions or silence contributed to that. I cannot say that I have not been a little distant, or that I am innocent of things I said or did that put a strain on our friendship. But I never realised that being distant can lead to alienating people. Perhaps I simply do not know how best to balance a friendship, especially one that's laden with a history of intimacy...
It's too easy to misunderstand people. What one person wants to say and how it is received in the ears of another can sometimes be very different or completely the opposite. But is not intention what ultimately counts? Intention, as the monk in the mountains has repeatedly told me, distinguishes between whether an action or thought is right or wrong... If I don't intend to hurt or humiliate a person, then I am not guilty of hurting that person, right? But things can sometimes be turned upside down that I wonder if that still makes sense anymore...
Perhaps the best thing is to say nothing, to do nothing, to not interact at all with anyone, so nobody will be hurt by misinterpretations or misunderstandings.
Yes, it may be true that the world of people is too complex and complicated, and that life can be much simpler to retreat into the mountains and be a hermit who does nothing else but meditate on the meaning of existence with a goal to end suffering. Only then can your thoughts and actions harm no-one else but yourself...
Empty of feeling
The long awaited kiss. The long awaited date and potential. When it's over, it's all over. Left behind, , is a vacant space, void of thoughts, void of feeling. After the fury and heat of the moment, I look back and look deep inside to see only emptiness.
Is there anything wrong with me, I wonder. Where is the fire of passion? Perhaps it was never there. Perhaps it was all lust and longing for companionship. But real companionship needs time, needs a spark, needs the fertiliser of laughter, needs an air of mutual feelings and connection. But I do not feel it, even after the date has gone.
Instead I feel I may have deceived the other person... misled him to feel that there is more to it than there really is, at least from my side.
Is there anything wrong with me, I wonder. Where is the fire of passion? Perhaps it was never there. Perhaps it was all lust and longing for companionship. But real companionship needs time, needs a spark, needs the fertiliser of laughter, needs an air of mutual feelings and connection. But I do not feel it, even after the date has gone.
Instead I feel I may have deceived the other person... misled him to feel that there is more to it than there really is, at least from my side.
28 August 2010
It's a possiblity
It's a possibility. To meet someone you connect with online, and to have something deep and long-term. It's very possible.
I met a couple from Spain today who were visiting the city and wanted to meet up with a 'local'. I took them around campus and also took a hike up the mountain to show them the amazing city-scape of Montreal from a height. They were really pleasant, a couple for more than six years, and still happily together, travelling and experiencing the world whenever they can. One is more timid, one is more extroverted, but both very friendly and smart, and we had a good hour or two talking and walking around.
I was curious how they met, and they said online. One of the guys, like me, is too shy to just go up to someone in a bar or club and start chatting someone up. And they met online, connected, and things have been going strong ever since they met. They live together, travel together, share many interests and hobbies together... I'm sure there are differences, disagreements at times, but it's possible.
In a way, despite attempts at meeting new people online, I feel somewhat reassured that there is someone out there.
All I have to do is meet him.
I met a couple from Spain today who were visiting the city and wanted to meet up with a 'local'. I took them around campus and also took a hike up the mountain to show them the amazing city-scape of Montreal from a height. They were really pleasant, a couple for more than six years, and still happily together, travelling and experiencing the world whenever they can. One is more timid, one is more extroverted, but both very friendly and smart, and we had a good hour or two talking and walking around.
I was curious how they met, and they said online. One of the guys, like me, is too shy to just go up to someone in a bar or club and start chatting someone up. And they met online, connected, and things have been going strong ever since they met. They live together, travel together, share many interests and hobbies together... I'm sure there are differences, disagreements at times, but it's possible.
In a way, despite attempts at meeting new people online, I feel somewhat reassured that there is someone out there.
All I have to do is meet him.
26 August 2010
Freshers
At ten to nine I was already there, waiting in line for my turn to take the language placement test. The corridors were already crowded with students, the vast majority new freshers just about to get their first taste of university life and study.
I talked to a girl next to me, and she told me what a crazy week it has been, attending all the get-to-know-one-another events during the day, and getting "wasted" at night. All around me, young, bright-faced eighteen, nineteen year old boys and girls, chattering and laughing away, and exchanging phone numbers and information on where there is cheap booze and hot boys/girls to be had.
I felt out of place, a little uncomfortable, and felt 'old' having to tell people that I'm already a graduate student (and actually this is my second graduate degree....). I felt like I've been studying forever, on and off for a decade almost, and I'm still in university. There they were, inexperienced, young, perhaps naive, just about to start a new stage in their academic careers... they there were, wearing matching T-shirts and wristbands so that they can identify their own breed of freshers... seemingly carefree, enjoy the moment, meeting like-minded people and friends-to-be, bonding and mingling... and here I felt, having shuffled around the world from place to place, mundane, a little depressed, and unsure what I'm doing with my life. What a contrast it was...
Of course, there were the awkward and silent ones in the corner, staring at the bulletin board or trying to find something interesting to distract themselves from their (self-felt or self-imposed?) feeling of isolation. But, at one point I thought of just getting out of the place and escaping all that noise and people.
When almost three hours later I finally did my placement test (which was all for nothing, because there were no more places for graduate students....), I went outside and sat down on the lawn of our campus to have lunch.
Onto the next social meet, onto the next pub crawl, onto the next dance gig... All around me were hordes of youngsters, dressed in colourful shirts with markers and scribbles of names and telephone numbers on them, wearing wigs and sombreros, drinking, partying, having and enjoying the prime of their youth (little knowing that the weight of university will strike them down in a few weeks from now...). But that did not and does not matter, not in their states of drunkenness and/or debauchery, not when they are enjoying (probably for the first time) their newfound freedoms (most likely) far away from home and the ever watchful gaze of their parents. I can just imagine the sense of awe and excitement of a smalltown girl or prairie boy suddenly being exposed to the city, to student life, and letting themselves go...
What sense of exhilaration, somehow also romantic sense of discovery and of newness, that must feel like.
How I ever, in my SOASian years or years at Leiden, ever felt that way too?
I talked to a girl next to me, and she told me what a crazy week it has been, attending all the get-to-know-one-another events during the day, and getting "wasted" at night. All around me, young, bright-faced eighteen, nineteen year old boys and girls, chattering and laughing away, and exchanging phone numbers and information on where there is cheap booze and hot boys/girls to be had.
I felt out of place, a little uncomfortable, and felt 'old' having to tell people that I'm already a graduate student (and actually this is my second graduate degree....). I felt like I've been studying forever, on and off for a decade almost, and I'm still in university. There they were, inexperienced, young, perhaps naive, just about to start a new stage in their academic careers... they there were, wearing matching T-shirts and wristbands so that they can identify their own breed of freshers... seemingly carefree, enjoy the moment, meeting like-minded people and friends-to-be, bonding and mingling... and here I felt, having shuffled around the world from place to place, mundane, a little depressed, and unsure what I'm doing with my life. What a contrast it was...
Of course, there were the awkward and silent ones in the corner, staring at the bulletin board or trying to find something interesting to distract themselves from their (self-felt or self-imposed?) feeling of isolation. But, at one point I thought of just getting out of the place and escaping all that noise and people.
When almost three hours later I finally did my placement test (which was all for nothing, because there were no more places for graduate students....), I went outside and sat down on the lawn of our campus to have lunch.
Onto the next social meet, onto the next pub crawl, onto the next dance gig... All around me were hordes of youngsters, dressed in colourful shirts with markers and scribbles of names and telephone numbers on them, wearing wigs and sombreros, drinking, partying, having and enjoying the prime of their youth (little knowing that the weight of university will strike them down in a few weeks from now...). But that did not and does not matter, not in their states of drunkenness and/or debauchery, not when they are enjoying (probably for the first time) their newfound freedoms (most likely) far away from home and the ever watchful gaze of their parents. I can just imagine the sense of awe and excitement of a smalltown girl or prairie boy suddenly being exposed to the city, to student life, and letting themselves go...
What sense of exhilaration, somehow also romantic sense of discovery and of newness, that must feel like.
How I ever, in my SOASian years or years at Leiden, ever felt that way too?
25 August 2010
Goal-lessness
Just talking with a friend, and at one point the conversation turned uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because it turned to me and what I'm doing.
Procrastinating is what I do most, if not all the time. I should be studying, researching for my thesis, but instead I'm blogging about my random feelings and ranting. I should make goals what I want to do by year's end, but instead I'm going out on one of my many cycle rides to forget about it all. I should start collecting papers to file my application to immigrate, but I put that all in the back of my mind (and the drawer), and instead try to find every day things to keep myself busy, or at least, lead myself to think that I'm "too busy" to do what I must eventually do. Yes, procrastinate, putting things off because I'm afraid of doing them, afraid of the outcome, even if their not negative ones necessarily.
And I notice it's a terrible trend in my life. I don't want to deal with my life. I don't want to make plans or goals or organise my life in a neat and scheduled way like others do, and perhaps everyone should do. I dread dealing with my personal affairs, dread having to sit down and give my life a real think... exactly because it's my life, and I don't take care of it too well. When it comes to another person's life or problems, I can imagine myself rushing and jumping up to the "rescue"... but when it's my life, I stall, make excuses and (literally sometimes) sleep on it until another time, another day when I really have to face things...
It's really a negative quality of my life, of living, and I know it myself. My friend patted me on the shoulder, and said he'll help make sure I make a goal and stick to it. Little goals, little steps, not necessarily life-changing ones, but even small steps can make you feel accomplished and worthy of taking another step.
When I was worshipping my ancestors earlier today, I thanked them for all they have given me... but partly, I also (perhaps selfishly) asked for their blessing and protection... I feel as I grow older (and not necessarily wiser) I feel more and more lost, direction-less and living day to day in a drift driven by goal-lessness. Maybe the people who have gone before me can given me the invisible push, inspiration and strength to continue with my life, and to make sure that it is indeed my life, as I make of it every step of the way...
Procrastinating is what I do most, if not all the time. I should be studying, researching for my thesis, but instead I'm blogging about my random feelings and ranting. I should make goals what I want to do by year's end, but instead I'm going out on one of my many cycle rides to forget about it all. I should start collecting papers to file my application to immigrate, but I put that all in the back of my mind (and the drawer), and instead try to find every day things to keep myself busy, or at least, lead myself to think that I'm "too busy" to do what I must eventually do. Yes, procrastinate, putting things off because I'm afraid of doing them, afraid of the outcome, even if their not negative ones necessarily.
And I notice it's a terrible trend in my life. I don't want to deal with my life. I don't want to make plans or goals or organise my life in a neat and scheduled way like others do, and perhaps everyone should do. I dread dealing with my personal affairs, dread having to sit down and give my life a real think... exactly because it's my life, and I don't take care of it too well. When it comes to another person's life or problems, I can imagine myself rushing and jumping up to the "rescue"... but when it's my life, I stall, make excuses and (literally sometimes) sleep on it until another time, another day when I really have to face things...
It's really a negative quality of my life, of living, and I know it myself. My friend patted me on the shoulder, and said he'll help make sure I make a goal and stick to it. Little goals, little steps, not necessarily life-changing ones, but even small steps can make you feel accomplished and worthy of taking another step.
When I was worshipping my ancestors earlier today, I thanked them for all they have given me... but partly, I also (perhaps selfishly) asked for their blessing and protection... I feel as I grow older (and not necessarily wiser) I feel more and more lost, direction-less and living day to day in a drift driven by goal-lessness. Maybe the people who have gone before me can given me the invisible push, inspiration and strength to continue with my life, and to make sure that it is indeed my life, as I make of it every step of the way...
24 August 2010
Feast
I was asked once how I do it, and why I do it. How a boy who grew up in the 'west' still clings onto some traditions and superstitions of the 'east', and why anyone would go through all the trouble to prepare an elaborate feast for guests you can't even see.
I'm not sure how, but I know why. Deep down inside, there is still a part of me that is rooted in the culture and place of my homeland, in the beliefs and practices of my ancestors. Though nobody, not even my mum, told me I have to lay the table and cook up ten different dishes, I do it. Not out of a sense of duty, but more out of a sense of willingness and joy. I want to 'treat' the ghosts who wander the world to a big meal... I want to 'invite' my ancestors and my dad over for a big get-together.
I don't see a contradiction between worshipping ghosts and the deceased and that ('western') part of me which believes strongly in the power of reason and rationality, and the freedoms and rights of the individual. If anything, I think the inherent part of me that clings onto the traditions of the past enriches my experience of life and fulfil me with experiences of the little things in this world that matter. As the Taiwanese saying goes, when you eat the fruit, pray to the tree (that bears the fruit; 吃水果，拜樹頭)... another one is when you drink, think of the source (of water; 飲水思源)... all that I am today, all that I have come from somewhere. And everyday that I am living I should remember people like my dad, and his mum and dad, who toiled and sacrificed all their lives so that people like me can have a more comfortable and better future...
Like a lot festivals, the Ghost Day centres on food. So once again, on this fifteenth day of the seventh month in the lunar calendar, I got up (relatively) early and started preparing. Actually, the preparations were well under way a few days ago when I began buying all sorts of materials for cooking. Various kinds of green vegetables, tins and cans of pickles, packets of cookies and sweets, bottles of soft drinks. And yesterday, I went out of my way to Chinatown in order to buy half a roast duck and a whole chicken for today's big feast.
Turnip and mushroom soup with duck stock, stir-fried gourd with dried shrimps and garlic, chives with garlic, egg omlete with dried pickled turnip, shrimp with peas stir-fry, pakchoy with shitake mushrooms... just some of the things I cooked up within two hours. By midday, besides
a big basket filled with fresh kiwis, oranges, peaches and a pineapple, the table was so crowded
with dishes I had to stack some plates on top of each other. I laid down a few pairs of chopsticks, three little tea cups, a few rice bowls, and stood before the table with my hands clasped before my chest...
"Ancestors, grandma, grandpa, dad..." I said silently, and invited them over to eat. It's not much, nothing elaborate or exquisite, just a few things that I know how to make (or buy...). Some things, like squid and eel, roast duck and chicken, I know were favourites of dad.
It's all mainly a gesture, a symbol, a reminder to myself, to them if they are really here still, that I still hold them dear to my heart. That they are still in my thoughts and memories...
21 August 2010
Don't stop believing...
Strangers waiting
Up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people
Living just to find emotion
Hiding somewhere in the night
Working hard to get my fill
Everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on
26.5 years old
Inadvertently I saw the date today. 21 August. Six months after my birthday, and therefore also six months before my birthday. Already twenty-six and a half years old... somehow that feels 'old'. Thinking back, I wonder what I have really done in the half a year since my birthday? Travel, fly around the world visiting family, visiting friends... once it was even for one last time. It seems that has been the highlight of this half a year of my life. Travelling, flying. Was it worthless and not memorable? No. But what have I learned out of it all? How have I benefited anyone? Maybe as I wrote before through my very presence, however fleeting and insignificant it may be...
The past six months have gone by with no grand schemes, no great big plans for life. No roadmap to follow, no real objectives to accomplish. And all the while in those moments I am home alone, I feel the loneliness creep up and accompany me.
Often at junctures in my life, I like to look forward and imagine... imagine maybe six days or six months from now I am at a high point, imagine that maybe I am filled with energy and inspiration, filled with love and compassion for life...
Will the next six months be much different?
The past six months have gone by with no grand schemes, no great big plans for life. No roadmap to follow, no real objectives to accomplish. And all the while in those moments I am home alone, I feel the loneliness creep up and accompany me.
Often at junctures in my life, I like to look forward and imagine... imagine maybe six days or six months from now I am at a high point, imagine that maybe I am filled with energy and inspiration, filled with love and compassion for life...
Will the next six months be much different?
Gone too soon...
When my friend told me details of his aunt's passing, I fell silent. I did not want to ask too much, and for the whole day I waited until he wanted to talk, to share. When he did, it was when we were heading home together at night. The streets were quiet, empty, except for the sound of the wheels of our bike, and his wavering voice.
The aunt was so young still, in her mid forties. Left behind a husband and four children, the youngest being seven. When I heard that, my heart wrenched in pain... what of the children? To lose their mother at such a young age... To grow up not having their mother... All so sudden. All too quick. All too soon. Cancer kills so ruthlessly and quickly. That much I know perhaps well enough...
What fills my friend with regret is that it could also happen to his parents. He did not say it, but I think he thought. Thought about the very possibility of one day receiving a phone call with the news that someone dear, someone close far away is nearing the end... I know and can understand that fear, that worry perhaps all too well...
The aunt was so young still, in her mid forties. Left behind a husband and four children, the youngest being seven. When I heard that, my heart wrenched in pain... what of the children? To lose their mother at such a young age... To grow up not having their mother... All so sudden. All too quick. All too soon. Cancer kills so ruthlessly and quickly. That much I know perhaps well enough...
What fills my friend with regret is that it could also happen to his parents. He did not say it, but I think he thought. Thought about the very possibility of one day receiving a phone call with the news that someone dear, someone close far away is nearing the end... I know and can understand that fear, that worry perhaps all too well...
20 August 2010
Friday off
I lay on the grass, rested my folded arms under my head like a pillow, and watched the leaves dance. Green, silver, gray and slightly yellowing, the leaves softly rustled as they seemed to hang on precariously on a confusion of twigs and branches that swayed to the motion of the invisible winds. The sky was so blue, so clear, and clouds white, thin and sparse.
Closing my eyes temporarily, I rested, breathing and sighing softly and letting go of the week that had just gone by.
Not a productive week, but a week of muddling through work and daydreams. In the background, the swooshing sound of the canal flowing past, and the chatter and laughter of friends mingled with birdsong.
It's Friday already... my day off.
Closing my eyes temporarily, I rested, breathing and sighing softly and letting go of the week that had just gone by.
Not a productive week, but a week of muddling through work and daydreams. In the background, the swooshing sound of the canal flowing past, and the chatter and laughter of friends mingled with birdsong.
It's Friday already... my day off.
19 August 2010
Loss
Suddenly this evening a friend rang me. He sounded frantic and lost, and he told me that his aunt passed away unexpectedly. He was shocked, he said, and didn't know how to react, especially being so far away from home. "I'm sorry," I said, the cliche phrase that you say to someone who lost someone... but sorry sometimes doesn't quite express what you want to say or comfort the way you would like the other person to be comforted.
So after we finished talking, I went to the store and picked out a card. A very simple one, with lotuses on the cover and the inside left blank. I wrote a few words, and put the card on my friend's doorhandle. He's bound to see it first thing when he gets home later tonight.
And I walked home, feeling pleased about myself. Not in a smug way, I don't think. Pleased in the sense that I hoped that my friend can find comfort in my words, for writing often 'says' more than the spoken word (ironically). I know everyone's grief and sense of loss is different, and I can only imagine how my friend is feeling from the sound of his voice on the phone.
But I hope he knows that he is not alone.
So after we finished talking, I went to the store and picked out a card. A very simple one, with lotuses on the cover and the inside left blank. I wrote a few words, and put the card on my friend's doorhandle. He's bound to see it first thing when he gets home later tonight.
And I walked home, feeling pleased about myself. Not in a smug way, I don't think. Pleased in the sense that I hoped that my friend can find comfort in my words, for writing often 'says' more than the spoken word (ironically). I know everyone's grief and sense of loss is different, and I can only imagine how my friend is feeling from the sound of his voice on the phone.
But I hope he knows that he is not alone.
Connections
Been doing the dating thing for a while now, and it just doesn't seem to go anywhere. Sometimes there's just no spark, or the guy is just plain and dull... sometimes there might be something, and you're waiting for the other person to take the initiative for a change, and then there's no more news. It makes me wonder... is there something wrong with me?
Dad...
There are moments and times when I just long to see him, to talk to him again. I'm not sure when these moments come, or why they come. Maybe after setbacks... maybe during moments of intense longing and loneliness... maybe just suppressed feelings that are raising their heads...
But images of dad's face, his smile, his scent continue to be with me even today.
But images of dad's face, his smile, his scent continue to be with me even today.
18 August 2010
Surf's up!
I first got involved around two years ago. Having the travel bug can get costly, so anything to cut down costs while travelling helps. So a friend introduced me to CouchSurfing, the website where travellers from and going to all sorts of places can connect and find a place to sleep for a night. I mean, to be honest, when you pay for a hotel, especially when you're travelling alone, all you do is go to bed at night, take a shower (or not) and leave again in the morning. And that could easily set you back 50dollars, or more (especially if you don't consider hostels... but even some hostels can charge that much for a bunk bed...).
So Couchsurfing is really a great way to travel and safe costs. Plus, you get to meet locals in the city or country who can let your travel experience be even more enriching and knowledgeable than if you were wandering around with a guidebook...
I'm not sure why, perhaps because it's summer time, but I've been getting a lot of requests to surf my place (sometimes people just want to meet up for a drink or chat). I had a guy from the UK a few weeks back, and he left a really positive comment (something along the lines of my place being the most comfortable and me being very hospitable...). And this week someone from Serbia wants to meet up, next week a couple from Spain also want to meet, and then September a guy from Austria is interested in staying over.
I really don't mind, and wholeheartedly open up my place to them. I consider it part of "giving back" to the world and helping a stranger who could very well become a friend (like many people I've surfed with before). I mean picture yourself travelling all by yourself in a foreign land and not knowing anyone. A friendly gesture, a comfortable bed for the night goes a long way to let travellers feel welcome and "at home" away from home.
So Couchsurfing is really a great way to travel and safe costs. Plus, you get to meet locals in the city or country who can let your travel experience be even more enriching and knowledgeable than if you were wandering around with a guidebook...
I'm not sure why, perhaps because it's summer time, but I've been getting a lot of requests to surf my place (sometimes people just want to meet up for a drink or chat). I had a guy from the UK a few weeks back, and he left a really positive comment (something along the lines of my place being the most comfortable and me being very hospitable...). And this week someone from Serbia wants to meet up, next week a couple from Spain also want to meet, and then September a guy from Austria is interested in staying over.
I really don't mind, and wholeheartedly open up my place to them. I consider it part of "giving back" to the world and helping a stranger who could very well become a friend (like many people I've surfed with before). I mean picture yourself travelling all by yourself in a foreign land and not knowing anyone. A friendly gesture, a comfortable bed for the night goes a long way to let travellers feel welcome and "at home" away from home.
Intense...
There was this intensity in the dream that was disturbing. Intensity in the tension, fears, worries and longings strewn over random images, words, faces and places. One scene was me about to leave home, very, very early in the morning.
I remember vividly that that I had to get to the airport, and that the cities of Dubai and Abu Dhabi (where I've never even been before) were involved. I was on the train with my mum, who insisted on accompanying me all the way, even though she looked so exhausted and sickly... only later did I realise once the train came to a stop that we arrived at the wrong place. On the map were all these names which sounded so foreign...
My alarm woke me up moments later.
One of my favourite pieces of Mozart... can you not just feel the intensity of expressions in the m
I remember vividly that that I had to get to the airport, and that the cities of Dubai and Abu Dhabi (where I've never even been before) were involved. I was on the train with my mum, who insisted on accompanying me all the way, even though she looked so exhausted and sickly... only later did I realise once the train came to a stop that we arrived at the wrong place. On the map were all these names which sounded so foreign...
My alarm woke me up moments later.
One of my favourite pieces of Mozart... can you not just feel the intensity of expressions in the m
17 August 2010
Blogger
I submitted my application a month or so ago, just for the fun of it. I already blog, and now it appears more than ever before, so why not get recognition for it? So when my university was soliciting students to blog about their life, studies and thoughts, I reached for the opportunity. And got it.
Without wanting to sound smug or self-absorbed, I sort of knew I would get the position... I know I can write, and when answering my applications I didn't just fill in answers in the blank spaces. I replied in a way that showed my character and ability to write.
Today was the first meeting, where details of what's expected from us were laid out. Most importantly, there will be no censorship or editing. We can write about what we want, how we want, and post whatever pictures we like.... as long as there's no hate speech or foul language ("strong" language is ok). There are in total 15 fellow bloggers involved in this brand new project, aimed to attract potential students to Mcgill, and also to allow current students to feel a sense of belonging when they read about someone else's life (may that be successes or problems). Out of 4 people I met today, I was the only guy.
The coordinator of the blog was a really friendly graduate, who herself is into blogging and photography. And just before we left, she said she wanted to take pictures of the bloggers-to-be. I actually hesitated at first, knowing how I dislike having my picture taken, and initially said that I'd post a picture of something instead of my headshot. But I changed my mind when the girl took out her fancy professional camera. Maybe she could get a nice side of me, I thought.
I was selected to go first, so I stood and smiled. But I always become very self-conscious when I just stand and smile... I feel it's so fake, and I never know where to put my hands or how to 'pose' the muscles on my face. I always feel uncomfortable looking at the lense, and she had a very big, long one. There must have been at least twenty pictures of me taken... in different locations, with different poses. I thought she just was looking for a 'perfect' shot, perfect in terms of the lighting and pose and composition. But with almost all of them she said I was a natural, and that I looked good. The other girls who were there agreed. And I felt really embarassed, and admitted that I was actually nervous deep down.
The new blog goes live in around two weeks.
Without wanting to sound smug or self-absorbed, I sort of knew I would get the position... I know I can write, and when answering my applications I didn't just fill in answers in the blank spaces. I replied in a way that showed my character and ability to write.
Today was the first meeting, where details of what's expected from us were laid out. Most importantly, there will be no censorship or editing. We can write about what we want, how we want, and post whatever pictures we like.... as long as there's no hate speech or foul language ("strong" language is ok). There are in total 15 fellow bloggers involved in this brand new project, aimed to attract potential students to Mcgill, and also to allow current students to feel a sense of belonging when they read about someone else's life (may that be successes or problems). Out of 4 people I met today, I was the only guy.
The coordinator of the blog was a really friendly graduate, who herself is into blogging and photography. And just before we left, she said she wanted to take pictures of the bloggers-to-be. I actually hesitated at first, knowing how I dislike having my picture taken, and initially said that I'd post a picture of something instead of my headshot. But I changed my mind when the girl took out her fancy professional camera. Maybe she could get a nice side of me, I thought.
I was selected to go first, so I stood and smiled. But I always become very self-conscious when I just stand and smile... I feel it's so fake, and I never know where to put my hands or how to 'pose' the muscles on my face. I always feel uncomfortable looking at the lense, and she had a very big, long one. There must have been at least twenty pictures of me taken... in different locations, with different poses. I thought she just was looking for a 'perfect' shot, perfect in terms of the lighting and pose and composition. But with almost all of them she said I was a natural, and that I looked good. The other girls who were there agreed. And I felt really embarassed, and admitted that I was actually nervous deep down.
The new blog goes live in around two weeks.
15 August 2010
Pride
From the downright outrageous and provocative, from the political to the sensual, friends and I sat on a crowded field of grass and watched the annual Montreal gay pride parade go by. My first experience of it in Canada, and it was a joy to see so many gathered on the streets, celebrating, in a show of solidarity with the gay (including lesbian, bi- and transexual) community. There were gay couples, marching with their young children and babies in prams... men wearing leather and SM suits, drag queens, and just 'normal' looking men, women and youths smiling, waving the colour of the rainbow nation (not South Africa). Amid the din of techno, dance, pop and latin music, there were moments of silence... a show of respect and remembrance for victims of AIDS, of homophobia and intolerance.
Last time I was at a gay pride event, it was almost three years ago, in Amsterdam, all by myself.
As I sat there on the grass, fast forwarded a few years, I was surrounded by friends, by the maple leaf flag and fleur-de-lis of Quebec... how much has changed since.
Last time I was at a gay pride event, it was almost three years ago, in Amsterdam, all by myself.
As I sat there on the grass, fast forwarded a few years, I was surrounded by friends, by the maple leaf flag and fleur-de-lis of Quebec... how much has changed since.
Loneliness
"Learn to be lonely", she said, after telling me how I'm spending my days nowadays. I said just doing my work, cycling, pretty much more or less the same things everyday.
I don't know why or what prompted mum to ask me whether I felt lonely. But I do feel that. "Are you still in touch with your friends there?" Sometimes. Then again, there is so much friends can do with you, and at the end of the day, you come home, to an empty home (except for my cat, who wanders around the house at my feet...)
"We're all lonely..." she said, " Three people spread out in three different places" Alluding to the fact that my whole family has been separated for as long as I can remember now.
And somehow, more and more, I feel like having a family, having people around you are connected with on a wholly different level than just friends.
I don't know why or what prompted mum to ask me whether I felt lonely. But I do feel that. "Are you still in touch with your friends there?" Sometimes. Then again, there is so much friends can do with you, and at the end of the day, you come home, to an empty home (except for my cat, who wanders around the house at my feet...)
"We're all lonely..." she said, " Three people spread out in three different places" Alluding to the fact that my whole family has been separated for as long as I can remember now.
And somehow, more and more, I feel like having a family, having people around you are connected with on a wholly different level than just friends.
14 August 2010
Disconnect...
I feel such a disconnect, such a distance with people I meet. I'm not sure where it comes from. Maybe it's from moving around all my life, from living in different places, speaking different languages, exposed and growing up in different cultures... most 'normal' people have a stable life, family in the background, friends they have known and grown up with... an invisible security web of support they can fall back on, or just a home they can go back to.
Whereas I... I am left feeling singled out, and lost, direction-less and unsure what it is that I want or where it is I am heading.
People I've met seem so content and stable in their lives that I feel embarassed to 'disturb' them, to pull them from their sheltered and secure lives and background and 'trouble' them with my stories of being uprooted and not belonging.
Whereas I... I am left feeling singled out, and lost, direction-less and unsure what it is that I want or where it is I am heading.
People I've met seem so content and stable in their lives that I feel embarassed to 'disturb' them, to pull them from their sheltered and secure lives and background and 'trouble' them with my stories of being uprooted and not belonging.
Traditions
Despite being busy with work, mum told me that she had spent the last day or so planning and preparing to go see dad and our ancestors. It's that time of the year again, the seventh month of the lunar calendar, the Ghost Month.
When I was young, it would always be a month of celebrations and feasts. People would prepare elaborate meals and buy lots of drinks, sweets, fruits and offer them to the 'ghosts', who are said to wander the world of the living for an entire month when the Gates of Hell open. Ghost Month is also a time, one of several, in the year when ancestors and deceased family members are remembered, worshipped. And a time when we the living ask for blessings from our deceased guardians...
If I were home, I would go with mum. I can just imagine her, carrying all those bowls and plates of rice and cooked food, baskets of fresh fruits and making that 2hour journey up the mountains to the temple where my dad's remains have been laid to rest. "Don't exhaust yourself," I said, "Being true and honoring them in your heart is more important than the elaborate dishes you can cook and offer them". I said that, because I did not want her to tire herself, to be so busy and running around frantically trying to please our ancestors. I know how mum can be...
If there is one thing that she should not be, it is being stressed and overly exhausted. Especially now that her health is again entering another critical condition...
When I was young, it would always be a month of celebrations and feasts. People would prepare elaborate meals and buy lots of drinks, sweets, fruits and offer them to the 'ghosts', who are said to wander the world of the living for an entire month when the Gates of Hell open. Ghost Month is also a time, one of several, in the year when ancestors and deceased family members are remembered, worshipped. And a time when we the living ask for blessings from our deceased guardians...
If I were home, I would go with mum. I can just imagine her, carrying all those bowls and plates of rice and cooked food, baskets of fresh fruits and making that 2hour journey up the mountains to the temple where my dad's remains have been laid to rest. "Don't exhaust yourself," I said, "Being true and honoring them in your heart is more important than the elaborate dishes you can cook and offer them". I said that, because I did not want her to tire herself, to be so busy and running around frantically trying to please our ancestors. I know how mum can be...
If there is one thing that she should not be, it is being stressed and overly exhausted. Especially now that her health is again entering another critical condition...
13 August 2010
Long ride
By the time I was heading home, the wheels of my bike were creaking and wheezing in protest. My legs too felt tired, and I rode much slower than earlier. The sun was setting, casting that magnificent glow of gold, pink and serenity on the rest world that I love so much. The moon, a faint, white sliver, hung low and sharp.
I cycled and stopped, cycled and stopped. It seemed like the closer I was home, the longer I took to actually get home. Reluctance... or perhaps just admiring the sense of calm that surrounded me on the bank of the canal? The reflections of thin, thin clouds were somehow suddenly mesmerising.
Almost 70km and 5 hours after I left home, I was close to home again. It was a trip I had been planning to make for a short while now. To Charlemagne, QC, where I learned while browsing through the map one day that it was "ville natale de Celin Dion" ("birth town of Celion Dion). I like her music, her love songs the words of which speak to me... but am not such a fanatical fan that I'd pilgrimage to the very place where she was born. So the trip was more about the distance and challenging myself than seeing the remains of her birth home (now sold and much changed), and a monument in her honour, and a road named after the singer (though, they were interesting, to say the least...).
Like always, when I am on a bike I feel alive. I concentrate on the road, on the traffic and pedestrians, and occasionally notice sceneries and signs around me that are both odd or worthy of a "cycle-by-shooting" (with my camera). Yes, on the bike, when I am clutching the steer, when my feet are pedalling away at with great vigour and focus, I am in control of my own speed and direction. It's almost meditative, almost calming, despite the physically exhaustion that catches up when you stop, when feel your feet shake a little from the strain of pedalling.
At best, cycling is a great way to go to far away places, at your ease and your own will... and at minimum a distraction, a confirmation that I am alive.
12 August 2010
"Look at all those stars...."
"Look at all those stars..." On the soft grass I lay, my legs and arms stretched out comfortable, my body resting on the slightly damp carpet underneath. It took some time to finally find a dark, dark place. But once I did, I plopped my bike and body on the ground and gazed up.
Tonight, Perseids reaches its climax... 30 or more meteors per hour, they say. I gazed up, at the almost pitch black sky, at the stars.
"Look, out there. This is what I study..." Space, so vast, so mysterious, so mesmerising and so unknown to us all. I felt so small, like an insignificant little being not worthy of notice, yet with my little brain, with my puny mind trying to fathom it all. "So beautiful..." And every reason why it should be preserved, and why I've been spending hours and hours digging through documents trying to find the reasons why it must be preserved...
"So romantic..." I said, quietly. The stars gazed back. They seemed to twinkle at me, and I twinkled back. With my palm reaching for the skies, I gently waved. The wind seemed to kiss my cheeks, and crickets answer my words.
It's been a long time since I felt so relaxed, so calm, so not alone. Clouds slowly crept and soon tried to cover up the black, beautiful face of space. But the stars stared back, bright and unflinching, as they must have done for aeons and aeons before I was born, before there was even the idea of humankind...
"Thank you for being with me..." Under the dark, dark cover of the open sky, I was not alone.
Tonight, Perseids reaches its climax... 30 or more meteors per hour, they say. I gazed up, at the almost pitch black sky, at the stars.
"Look, out there. This is what I study..." Space, so vast, so mysterious, so mesmerising and so unknown to us all. I felt so small, like an insignificant little being not worthy of notice, yet with my little brain, with my puny mind trying to fathom it all. "So beautiful..." And every reason why it should be preserved, and why I've been spending hours and hours digging through documents trying to find the reasons why it must be preserved...
"So romantic..." I said, quietly. The stars gazed back. They seemed to twinkle at me, and I twinkled back. With my palm reaching for the skies, I gently waved. The wind seemed to kiss my cheeks, and crickets answer my words.
It's been a long time since I felt so relaxed, so calm, so not alone. Clouds slowly crept and soon tried to cover up the black, beautiful face of space. But the stars stared back, bright and unflinching, as they must have done for aeons and aeons before I was born, before there was even the idea of humankind...
"Thank you for being with me..." Under the dark, dark cover of the open sky, I was not alone.
Laws...
I saw them... words, articles, rules, provisions, numbers, subsections, entire paragraphs filled with confusing terms and concepts that need to be interpreted in their original meaning, in the context surrounding its drafting, in the light of State practice and opinio juris...
Woke up feeling exhausted, even though I slept for the eight hours I try to sleep every night. Exhausted, because my brain seems to have been thinking, flowing, jumping back and forth between random articles and rules on the laws of war. Something I had been intensely working on just before bed. So intense it was already late when I realised how long I had been working for...
In a way, it may be my subconscious mind trying to tell me that I'm "going" somewhere in my work, that I may be making progress on my thesis. But it also fills my head full with thoughts and musings, even when I'm "asleep"...
Woke up feeling exhausted, even though I slept for the eight hours I try to sleep every night. Exhausted, because my brain seems to have been thinking, flowing, jumping back and forth between random articles and rules on the laws of war. Something I had been intensely working on just before bed. So intense it was already late when I realised how long I had been working for...
In a way, it may be my subconscious mind trying to tell me that I'm "going" somewhere in my work, that I may be making progress on my thesis. But it also fills my head full with thoughts and musings, even when I'm "asleep"...
09 August 2010
Sunset
I stood on the river bank, on the edge of the water, in the gentle breeze, and out I looked at the setting sun. How the clouds were dyed bright pink, how the sky was dimming in a hue of blue, how the water was so gentle and calm, disturbed only by the sudden and random motion of fish leaping out of the water before diving back in again.
How romantic the setting... how more beautiful it must be if shared with another...
How romantic the setting... how more beautiful it must be if shared with another...
Fun
Once in a while, it's nice to just loose yourself. A few drinks with friends, a few clubs, stumble around town sort of conscious in that tipsy state of mind... bond for old time's sake. Over the last two nights it's been like that, as friends came up from the US. They were here when I was studying last year, and it's been almost as long I have not seen them.
It's nice to just relax, throw back a few drinks, and bond and connect again. Keep up what's been happening in one another's lives, relive old memories, share stories of the pains of studying, and joys of going out partying and drinking.
And you realise... friends who have been away, who live far away, remain friends because of those memories and connections you've made in the past.
It's nice to just relax, throw back a few drinks, and bond and connect again. Keep up what's been happening in one another's lives, relive old memories, share stories of the pains of studying, and joys of going out partying and drinking.
And you realise... friends who have been away, who live far away, remain friends because of those memories and connections you've made in the past.
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