Cross-cultural understanding

I walked into the room, and a colleague of mine was just finishing a chat with a lady I had never met before. By the way she looked and dressed, she seemed to be Chinese, and my guess was right when she introduced herself.

We began a brief conversation, which ended as briefly as it started. She began by asking whether I was Chinese. I said no, and said that I'm Taiwanese, at least by birth.

"Oh, Taiwan is a part of China."

I once again repeated what I had just said, "No, I'm Taiwanese."

And she repeated again what she said. As if repeating a fiction will make it fact.

I responded by saying... nothing.

Silence is golden, at times, and these were one of these times. I simply smiled friendlily, as the lady left the room.

There was little point in correcting her or getting embroiled in a big debate about whether Taiwan is really part of China. She can believe what she wants to, but I know I am right, and I really did not need to loose myself in a first encounter.

This yet another episode of Chinese ignorance and pride was reminiscent of an incident that a lecturer of mine once mentioned... the stir Allain Pellet caused in the International Law Commission when he decried China's "intellectual terrorism" when the Chinese delegated made a commotion about Taiwan's practice as "unilateral state practice".

What is surprising, and perhaps a little sad, is that this lady was sent by the Chinese government to "spread Chinese language and culture". It serves as part of the People's Republic's strategy to promote cross-cultural and international understanding and learning. Soft power if you will, to soften up the regime's hard image internationally. And whereas before all things remotely related to ancient thinkings and philosophers were denounced by Beijing as "decadent" , today there are numerous institutes springing up all over the world aptly (or perhaps ironically) named after perhaps the most renowned and respected Chinese philosopher.
But then again, if my experience with this lady was telling, it definitely is not what I would call promoting understanding and learning.

"I wish I were you..."

(beautiful song for the Dutchies amongst us...)

I need something or someone to inspire me.

Ohter than just chocolate.
Other than just my cat.

As much as you like buffet

I've been really eating too much lately. Two days already this week I've been eating at eat-as-much-as-you-like buffet restaurants. I'm not worried about gaining weight, and in fact I probably need some extra kilos, but to feel like your stomach is about to burst open cannot be healthy.

The food is pretty good though... the first night was Monday evening, when I went out with a friend to celebrate the fact that I successfully organised a meeting with very, very important people (VVIP!). Basically they're members of this board which supervises the Competition I'm organising. And these people are not nobody! It was a meeting I had been planning for ages, and finally on Monday it took place. It was so strange, to be sitting in a room of all these famous and important people, people I've read about in my study books and in the judgements of the international law courts. But they were there, sitting at the same table at me, and talking to, and listening to me.

Of course, I had to address them each as "Your Excellency", but they were all so down to earth and approachable. I made a summary of what I've been doing, and how the organisation of the Competition has been going, and they seemed to be pleased. Phew...

So I went out to dinner with a friend at a Korean restaurant... grilled meat and fish and shrimp, kimchi, kimchi soup, all my favourite as much as you like! I ate so much, and because the food was so spicy, I had ' stomach problems' almost immediately afterwards...

And today again, I had buffet, this time at a Japanese restaurant. I met a friend I've not seen in almost five years, and we were so glad to find each other through Facebook! So we met up, I helped her a bit because she was moving house, and after that we went to dinner. Basically, you pay a certain amount, and then you can order 8 times, each time maximum 5 things per person, and you have one and a half hours to do this! Sound complicated, but eating isn't. You have dozens of sushis, soups, handrolls, grilled vegetables and meat to choose from. And I had a lot of raw fish, because, well, that's the most expensive thing on the menu! So I ate like five raw salmon sushi, raw tuna, raw octupus, raw shell-fish, raw fish eggs... Until now, I'm still alright, so it must be pretty fresh food.

But even now, almost three hours after our meal, I'm still stuffed.

Operation Enduring High

Name: Operation Enduring High

Objective: Smuggle contraband across the international sovereign state boundaries between the Kingdom of the Netherlands and the (divided) Kingdom of Belgium.

Object: Light narcotic substance commonly identified as 'Cremers Premium'. Dried leaves of the plant in the family of 'cannabis sativa'.

Quantity: 2.75grams, with a street value of €20

Logistics: Contraband to be transported from The Hague to Antwerp on the international train commonly known as 'Benelux train'.

Time: 17 November, 16.00hrs to 17.30hrs.
Possible operational hazards: Risk of customs controls and/or sniff dogs. However, intelligence gathered from operatives in the field report the risk is negligible.

Precautionary measures: Contraband was wrapped carefull in two plastic bags which previously contained 'smelly food'. Rubbish and a bottle of juice was thrown into bags to give impression that it is merely garbage, and to dampen the smell of contraband.

Status: Mission Accomplished.

Despite a guilty conscience, and thumping heart whenever the doors of the train carriage opened, the 'goods' were safely delivered as a favour to a friend.

Remarks: Don't try this at home. Or anywhere else.

"Woman see lot of things"

Woman see lots of things, and undgo untold many more.

It was a painful documentary to watch. Sitting there, at times you would hope the retelling of the horrors experienced by the three former girl soldiers in Sierra Leone would stop. But that is a mocking comfort, which perhaps comes from some twisted form of voyeuristic pleasure, you have as a member of the audience who can get up from his seat and just walk away after the 65 minutes of the film is over. For these girls, and many others, the horrors are retold and relived. Daily.

The descriptions are graphic, aided by well choreographed close-up shots of the women's faces, sullen eyes, scarred surface of their skins, and the moisture on their wavering pout lips. Unborn babies cut open alive from the pregnant woman's womb... orders to gouge out the heart of a hanging corpse to prove readiness to join the rebel forces, the rapes of infants below five, abused and tortured girls with swollen stomachs left on the roadside to succumb to a slow and undignified death... These are but some of the tragedies lingering from over a decade of civil war in Sierra Leone and neighbouring Liberia. After the war, the women continue to be victims in a society that shuns and openly tolerates the discrimination of women. Out of desperation, many turn to prostitution, while others willingly submit themselves to become slaves in exchange for meagre food and shelter for their children.

Words cannot explain the pain. Not even the tears. War is violent, and sexual violence had until recently been a taboo not recognised as a crime against humanity. Yet, the overwhelming majority are women who suffer at the moment literally the unspeakable is done to them, and who continue suffer pain and shame long thereafter. It is upsetting to just hear, to just imagine, but what is it like to be the victim?

But in these women, and in the children who run around with smiles on their faces, you see strength so lacking elsewhere. You realise that despite all odds, despite all the worst excesses of inhumanity that they have had to see and experience, there is hope. Hope of earning money, getting a proper education, and being able to open a shop, of being able to be an independent woman in a society dominated and corrupted by men. Hope of perhaps one day leaving the country and travelling abroad where it is easier to make a living. Whatever hope it may be, hope seems to transcend the horrors before, and spring eternally.

Never again... never again... You would think to yourself, and you would hope for the victims and for the children who run around and enact scenes of soldiers they have witnessed at border posts checking the papers of fleeing refugees...

But it is happening. Over and over again.

Sinterklaas

To the outsider, the annual arrival of the wise old (white) man and his black 'helpers' stinks of racism. But the Dutch tradition of Sinterklaas has been celebrated by young and old since the the 15th Century.

Legend has it the old wise white man St Nicolas of Myra travels to northern parts of Europe every year around December bearing gifts for the good children. He is accompanied by black helpers called "Zwarte Pieten" (Black Petes), who help Sinterklaas on his journey and helps throw candy and gifts at children.

The tradition is to put your shoe under the fireplace on the 5th of December, and surprise, surprise, the next day it will be filled with goodies and candies for those who have been behaving. Sort of like the tradition of Santa Claus, but Sinterklaas comes earlier, and first. Those kids who have been naughty will get coal in their shoes, and those really awful children will be put in a sack by Zwarte Piet and taken to Spain. I remember as a kid thinking that it actually would not be too bad, given the warmer climate and better cuisine there.


Actually, it is all a fable told to children so they would behave themselves. The tradition of giving gifts in fact was started by churches which collected money and goods for the poor to commemorate the death of St Nicolas, but evolved into a cause of celebration and cheerfulness every year. As for the Zwarte Pieten... well, the religious intepretation is that they are supposed to represent the devil incarnate, who Sinterklaas has managed to tame to help him on his long journey of spreading good and kindness. The more 'politically correct' intepretation of their servant-role is that they became black because they have to climb up and down the chimneys, and their faces happened to be covered with soot.

Today was the official arrival of Sinterklaas, and the most famous one is at Scheveningen, not too far from where I live. So with a friend, I went to welcome him as he cruised slowly into harbour on the SS Madrid flying the Spanish colours. Most likely he boarded somewhere down the coast and happened to have a Spanish flag with him. But since the Ambassador of Spain himself was there to welcome this old wise white man from Spain, the flag was a courteous gesture.


On board the steam boat where dozens of Zwarte Pieten, all jumping up and down, waving and singing at the cheering crowd of children on the dock. There were so many other boats all cruising around Sinterklaas' steam boat. Even lifeguards and police blackened their faces with face paint, and stereotypically painted their lips red, reminiscent of those early cartoons portraying those 'savages' in Africa. How exciting, especially to be in the middle of it all and have candies and 'pepernoten' thrown in your face. A mother and son frantically scrambled to the ground to pick up the sweets, even though the ground was wet and dirty from the rain.
Children put on the brightly coloured suits of Zwarte Piet, a custome originating from Middle Ages Spain, while others put on the red robe and mitre of Sinterklaas and paraded the dock happily, most probably unaware of the under-tones (no pun intended).

The air echoed with the sound of fog horns and sweet children's songs.



Welcome, Sinterklaas.

Val op!

"Look out for the police!"

Sometimes you heard things but it takes some time before it registers in your mind. So as I was cycling through the night, and when this lady I didn't know says that to me as she passes by on her bike, it took me some time to realise she was actually talking to me. And it took me even longer to know why, and to be grateful for the warning.

Indeed, less than a minute later was the police. Not one, but two and two more in a patrol car. I connected the dots to the recent news I heard that the police are 'cracking down' on bike riders without lights. A new regulation was introduced that when cycling at night you must have a front and a back light. The front light can be either yellow or white, and the back light has to be red. The lights cannot be flashing, and must be connected to your bike. If you don't conform, you risk a €20 fine, per light.

Thankfully, being the law abiding citizen I am, I did have my lights on. The only infringements were that my front light was green, and my lights were flashing, because it's more visible I thought, since the batteries are almost dead. I cycled slowly and carefully past the policemen. I was lucky, as their attention were focused on giving a ticket to some poor kid who rode his scooter without a helmet.

I cycled on, and home, but thought to myself about the ridiculousness of the new measures, the sight of five policemen gathered at a street corner trying to catch the unwary cyclist for such minor infringements.

Yes… in the light of the increasing wave of intolerance towards foreigners and homosexuals, and in the aftermaths of several school stabbings, and the exposure of the government spying on journalists, the country’s unlit night riders who criss-cross the The Netherlands’ cycle paths pose a serious threat to social stability.

Val op!

"Look out for the police!"

Sometimes you heard things but it takes some time before it registers in your mind. So as I was cycling through the night, and when this lady I didn't know says that to me as she passes by on her bike, it took me some time to realise she was actually talking to me. And it took me even longer to know why, and to be grateful for the warning.

Indeed, less than a minute later was the police. Not one, but two and two more in a patrol car. I connected the dots to the recent news I heard that the police are 'cracking down' on bike riders without lights. A new regulation was introduced that when cycling at night you must have a front and a back light. The front light can be either yellow or white, and the back light has to be red. The lights cannot be flashing, and must be connected to your bike. If you don't conform, you risk a €20 fine, per light.

Thankfully, being the law abiding citizen I am, I did have my lights on. The only infringements were that my front light was green, and my lights were flashing, because it's more visible I thought, since the batteries are almost dead. I cycled slowly and carefully past the policemen. I was lucky, as their attention were focused on giving a ticket to some poor kid who rode his scooter without a helmet.

I cycled on, and home, but thought to myself about the ridiculousness of the new measures, the sight of five policemen gathered at a street corner catching the

Yes… in the light of the increasing wave of intolerance towards foreigners and homosexuals, and in the aftermaths of several school stabbings and even exposures of the government spying on journalists, the country’s unlit night riders who criss-cross the The Netherlands’ cycle paths pose a serious threat to social stability.

Kigali, 1994

"Are you a survivor of the genocide?"
"Sort of."

No one survives a genocide. Not even those alive today.

The above dialogue begins the account of French journalist/director Jean-Christophe Klotz as he returns to Rwanda ten years after to try to piece together the people and places that had captured him ten years earlier in his documentary "Kigali, des images contre un massacre" (Return to Kigali).

Klotz was one of the few journalists who stayed behind when the killings began around April 1994. Most foreigners, including embassy staff, and the majority of UN staff had retreated as the country descended into chaos. But he chose to stay behind, determined to show the world that this is a place not to be forgotten. Being a Frenchman, whose country of origin actively supported and armed the very government that instrumented the genocide, he was putting himself at risk. Yet his determination allowed him to see and shoots scenes and moments that otherwise would have been lost in history. Or better said, lost in a version of history rewritten later to safe the sorry face of the incomplacency of the world.

With the benefit of hindsight, Rwanda will never be forgotten. But in the ensuing three months till July 1994, while close to one million Tutsis (and moderate Hutus) were masscred in their own homes, the 'international community' wilfully chose to turn a blind eye and forget, if only temporarily, that one of the worst excesses of human inhumanity was taking place in a far away land in Africa.

The documentary is a cut and paste of filming taken as the events of the genocide unfolded, and of interviews conducted in the present with those that were there at the time. The journalist visited a church, where more than a hundred women and children sheltered in the belief and hope that the government-sponsored troops would spare the House of God. But they did not. Safe for the priest, and a handful lucky others, all other civilian refugees were murdered, some inside the congregation hall. The image the cross hanging above the ransacked altar, a symbolism portraying Christ who died for the sin of man, evokes a sickening sense of sardony, as sickening as the children outside drowning in the pool of their own red dye.

No where was safe. Not churches, not homes, not even schools, where even children stabbed their fellow classmates to death. Everywhere, in Kigali and throughout the country of barely 7 million, bones and rotting remains were strewn like garbage. Children played football with a skull, as government-sponsored (Hutu) militia-men raided and cleansed the country. "The Beast", the locals called it, wreaked destruction and death wherever its presence was seen and felt. Men were brutally severed and killed with machetes, screwdrivers, hammers and stones, children and babies were split into two and shot, and women and girls (as one put it) like "abandoned pets", were raped and abused. How can it all be put into words? How can you describe something that doesn't make sense, asks the representative of the ICRC (Red Cross).

The "international community" knew, but did nothing. Western correspondents retreated as the last westerners withdrew, citing instability as the reason. But as the cameras and reporters left, the massacres and horrible crimes against humanity did not leave, only intensified. The Canadian UN commander in Rwanda pleaded for intervention, a French envoy called the White House, the Elysée, Westminster and the UN in New York, explaining the situation. But no help came. Instead, they had no alternative to sit down with the very Rwandan government ministers who were clearly behind inciting and initiating the systematic and organised wiping out of the Tutsi population.

The world watched, and stayed silent. As silent as when Auschwitz took place, as one put it. As early as 1993, more than a year before the events, foreign journalists filmed mass graves being uncovered in Rwanda, and confirmed reports of systematic killings. At the same time the former Yugoslavia was experiencing its own massacres and despicable acts of inhumanity. April to July 1994 was only the unstoppable climax of the rampage and insanity in Rwanda. But the world stood by. And thereby is just as guilty for its inaction as those who acted in the name of ethnic purity and hatred. Hatred for "not what they (the Tutsis) had done, but for who they were".

Three months and close to a million deaths later, France gloriously led a UN mandate into Rwanda under Operation Turquoise. Mr Nicolas Sarkozy, then spokesperson for the French Cabinet, trumpeted France's role to end the killings and bring justice. Much bloated and much belated. As French troops moved in, the media swarmed back to Rwanda again. They filmed rows of cheering crowds wielding the French Tricolore and shouting 'Vive la France'. And the media filmed refugees pouring towards UN troop outposts, in dire need of protection and food. The Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF), who previously were fighting the government to prevent further massacres, now became demonised as the wrongdoers. Nobody bothered to check the facts, and the streams of refugees were taken for granted as victims fleeing their homes from the rebels. But in fact, many of the refugees were the very Tutsis, some of whom had been involved in the killings, fearing retaliation by the rebels, and now seeking protection of UN forces. Journalism can inform, but is also a powerful tool for political manipulation and deceit.

Suddenly the "international community" which for so many months sat by and wilfully watched hundreds of thousands massacred, were welcomed as saviours from afar, and glorified as the provider of aid and safe-haven. A travesty of the truth. A few months later, in November 1994, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda was established, as a shining symbol of the "international community's" resolve to strike justice on those responsible for the "genocide and other systematic, widespread and flagrant violations of international humanitarian law". Justice late is better than justice undone.

But close to a million have been killed, and millions more have been traumatised. And this was in the glorious years of the 1990s when people celebrated the new post-Cold War peace and prosperity.

Could it have been prevented? Yes, if only we had cared a little more. If only we had bothered to find out what, and why as countless fellow men, women and children suffered and died.

Stroll

The tree tops were crowned with the sun, and the golden dusk rays streamed through the forest floors. It was the kind of cold that made your nose water, but thankfully I was wrapped warmly in a thick jumper and my own admiration of the beauty of Autumn around me.

Suddenly a middle-aged man cycled past me, very, very slowly, the scent of his smelly cigar lingering in the air, chocking my nostrils. My Rat senses smelled danger, and I realised why. Almost two hours of wandering around in the woods, my footsteps unconsciously took me into the notorious ‘cruising’ area south of Haagse Bos, along the highway N44. In the Netherlands (and elsewhere), the phenomenon of ‘homo-ontmoetingsplaats’ (‘gay meeting place’, or HOP in Dutch) has resulted in public areas like parks, nature reserves, parking lots and beaches becoming unofficial places where men, homosexual or otherwise, meet to have anonymous no-strings-attached sex for fun (or otherwise). There are even websites dedicated to locating these places, as well as giving you tips on how best to ‘cruise’. Police usually turn a blind eye to what happens in these places, even if it happens just down the road from the Queen’s official residence… even if kids playing football may run the risk of innocently and unexpectedly catch people ‘having a ball’ behind the bushes. Common nuisances include noise (it can get noisy…), pollution (used condoms and tissues…), and even violence, as gay-bashers increasing prowl these areas for victims.

Anyways, my Rat senses told me to get out of the area, and fast! Not only was the man on the bike turning around and looking at me, another guy appeared out of nowhere behind a tree. Thankfully they were all some distance away, and I avoided eye contact to avoid giving them the impression I’d in any way be interested in their sleazy sexcapades. I quickened my pace, and just looked like I was minding my own business. Fallen leaves rustled beneath my feet, and the barely naked trees overhead swayed in the breeze. I didn’t dare look back, for if I’d done that, I’m pretty sure the two behind me would have followed.

Through the dense forest, I could hear the sound of cars rushing by. Thank goodness I was out of the forest, out in the open.

So much for a peaceful and relaxing stroll in the woods.

Train trip

Since I only officially work three days a week, I've been taking little train trips just randomly on my free days. For me, it's free to travel anywhere in the country, because as I student, I have this travel pass that is valid on any form of public transport! :)

So, yesterday I just randomly jumped on a train, grabbed a good book, and rode until the last stop. I really like taking trains, and for some reason it's really relaxing to watch the world and things fly by outside the window, and to know that you are moving away really fast. Plus, I can really read when I ride the rails, which is really good to get me into the habit of reading more.

I recently started reading this pretty good book called 'The Secret'. It's been sold across the world and been read by millions, and apparently also changed the lives of so many people. A friend recommended it to me sometime ago, but I sort of 'dismissed' it as "yet another self-help book"... OK, it really is a self-help and feel-good book, but then in very simple language that is approachable and easily understood.

The main idea behind The Secret is that there's this universal law that has existed since time begun, and this law has its effects felt everywhere and on everything and everyone. This is the law of attraction, and we as individuals have the most powerful mechanism to influence this law of attraction. We create the world and the life that we live in because of our thoughts. We think the world, we think the way we feel, we think the way we want to live our lives and we think the things that come to us. The best metaphor they give is that we are like the most powerful communications mast in the world, and our minds can attract things and people just by thinking about it. By using positive thoughts, we can shape our own lives and the world around us, and be as successful, happy, or healthy as we want to be. We could potentially have the life, the love, the money, the job we always wanted, if we focus our minds enough. That way, our minds send energies to the universe, and all the things with the same wavelengths will be attracted to us, and will come to us.

It's a simple idea, and apparently has worked on millions. You can start simply by being appreciative of the things that you already have, by complaining less, and by believing that change will happen if you allow yourself to believe in it.

I sat on the train, as it rode hours and hours toward the east, close to the border of Germany, and thought. A lot of the ideas about positive thinking and seizing control of your life is so similar to the things I've come across while learning meditation. Ideas about gratitude, about positive thinkng, about having peace of mind and calm thoughts and speech... I thought about the things that I want. Maybe I'll get them, maybe not... But it doesn't really matter. As long as I am calm and peaceful inside, and give off positive energy out to the world.

And sitting there on the train, I felt better than before.

Cinema and Justice

I left the cinema unsure what to think, even more unsure whether I had indeed left my seat. Perhaps it was 'good' to be numb, awed, and in a queer way inspired. Or perhaps feeling nothing and thinking nothing is exactly the effect it's supposed to have on people.

I attended the opening evening of the 3rd annual 'Cinema & Justice' festival offered by Filmhuis Den Haag, which is supposed to bring the many international tribunals and courts situated in the city closer to the public through a series of lectures, debates and movies. The programme is wide-ranging, from the former Yugoslavia to the Democratic Republic of Congo, from Sudan to Sierra Leone, conflict, human suffering and attempts to secure peace and justice are the common threads that tie these far away places together. And in a way, bring the public closer to the victims you would other wise read about or see in sensationalist reportings in the comforts of our own living rooms.

First, was the short documentary 'Children under Fire'. What it is not long in length it makes up in the personal tales of young children as they recount their experiences of the war in the former Yugoslavia to a child psychiatrist. By recounting their experiences, it is hoped that the children can deal with their fears and anxieties, and move on. Shocking are the vivid images that the children paint with their words and crayons of long-tongued monsters rising out of the earth swallowing people and houses whole, while birds flee into the sky and villages burn in the background... Even more shocking are the words of a seven year old boy who blurted out that 'they' will get what they did to 'us', that he will make the children and grandchildren suffer as he and his people have suffered at the hands of the enemy. It is a most disturbing example of how some children internalise the destruction and death and "worms coming out of mouths, ears and eyes" and process it into hatred and a desire for revenge. What will such children grow up into? What will these children mean in the future and for the prospects of peace after war?

But then there are children who write. Who write to try to come to terms with their fathers brutally taken away and killed in the woods nearby, who write to convince themselves that their loved ones are indeed gone, even some twelve years after the event. But of course war is not just one event, not just one trauma... it is a series and continuous breakdown of events that unfold, a repeated succession of traumas that, as one child put it feels like a movie played over and over again, continue to be ingrained on the minds and nightmares of innocent youths. As one girl read out her letters to her dead dad, her wavering voice and tears that splashed on the crumpled letter triggered my tears to fall, even though it was in another language I could not comprehend. But it just goes to show, human pain and suffering need not be spoken or read to be understood. It is a common trait of experiences and memories that make us so vulnerable and so very human, however much we try to deny or suppress them. It makes you wonder, how grown-up grown-ups really are to neglect the silent suffering and traumas of children in their rash and utterly useless whims of evil to seize arms to kill and mane? As the lyrics of a famous Dutch song goes, you can take the child out of the war, but can you take the war out of the child?

[...]

It is a mask I wear,

So solid and so safe

Like an armour and a sword;

For I am invincible,

I am fearless and I am brave.

But inside, somewhere

You know deep inside,

A face is clouding,

Howling, thundering, moaning,

A child is crying.

(A Dirge to Childhood)

Who in conflict has time to breathe or reflect? With no time to breathe "Rape: A War Crime in Bosnia" rolled onto the screen. A powerful and provocative documentary, which began with a former soldier telling how he together with four others raped time and again a twenty-year old, while others just stood by and watched. Was there remorse in his eyes? Was he apologetic? No matter, because the echoing effects of rape are felt mainly by the victim. It was only in recently that rape has been classified as a war crime by the international criminal tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, even though it is an instrument of war that has been used since time immemorial. It is a power weapon used to induce fear and terrorism into the local population, and, as in the case of the former Yugoslavia, systematically perpetrated to 'cleanse' and 'purify' populations of unwanted ethnic groups.

Rape is not just sex. Sex is but a minor, but by no means insignificant, part of rape. No one could possibly begin to imagine the physical and emotional scars that are left behind... the feeling of powerlessness, of forcedly denied your freedom and will, and forced put in a position of humiliation and act of the utmost degree of privacy ruins a person and denies his/her innate humanity. The pain lingers, accentuated moments, months and even years after the event(s) by the subtle but nagging feelings of (contradictorily) guilt, shame, distrust, even in some cases social ostracisation, and is felt in every aspect of daily life that leaves the victim paralysed and numb, robbed of innocence, and denied the very foundation of human dignity. It is trauma pur, followed by haunting nightmares, relived memories that surface sometimes at the slightest touch or sound resembling the experience. Even if you come to overcome the trauma, to find a way to open up and confront the fears and anxieties, it will still be a dark shadow that hangs over your head, body and mind. Perhaps only death will rid the victim of this invisible yet invincible ghost of the past. Believe me, I know.

And the documentary showed that well. Courageous women faced the cameras, some for the first time, to talk about their experience(s), shuddering and tearing as the words poured out of their mouths. One told of her struggle to raise a child born out of rape... of her deep love for her daughter, but at times the simple disgust she feels just by touching her own daughter. How will the child react when she learns the origins of her conception? How does family and the community react to learn of this? And this is but one story of tens of thousands of women in the former Yugoslavia, and of many, many more women who suffered, and some continue to suffer the effects of the forced robbery of their souls and bodies.

Some women have found the strengths not only to 'come out' of their hiding and shame, but also to form support groups to help others, Croats, Serbs, Bosnians alike, help themselves. It is not easy, especially in communities where such topics are taboo. Some of the husbands and children do not even know (or perhaps do not even want to know...?) what their women, daughters, sisters underwent in horrible make-shift bordellos. And what if it happens in your own home, in the village where you grew up and have lived all your life? Yesterday's neighbours, colleagues, teachers are today's monsters you dare not look into the eyes of. Your homes becomes painful to bear, even more so when you know that the perpetrator(s) are walking around freely, or have even been ushered into positions of authority in hasty efforts by the (so-called) 'international community' to reconcile populations. International forces may be there to keep the peace, to reconstruct and rebuild communities... but are failing in attending to the personal wellbeings of so many millions affected by the very wars which may very well have been prevented in the first place. Wars of death, destruction, suffering, and so many years and victims left behind in the madness of trying to attain territory, to aggrandise nationality, to pursue personal wealth and interests. Is it worth it, if anything at all?

In a setting of lush green mountains, winding picturesque creeks, where today many are still trying to rebuild their homes, many more are trying to rebuild their hearts.

Insecure

When I started to work at the university, my official position is 'teamleader'. This means that I'm in charge of running this office, and that I have people 'under' me. I managed to find three students that I already know before and with whom I can get along well, and they usually come once a week. It's two guys and a girl, and hopefully we can find another girl to volunteer with us, sort of to maintain the balance, but also because to organise the competition we are working on, we'd ideally need five people.

I don't really see myself as the 'big boss', especially because we're all around the same age, and I often by food and drinks to share with them when they come to work with me. They really makes my job more pleasant, because most other days I'm completely alone in my office with no-one to talk to at all. I'm sort of physically isolated from the rest of the building, because my office is situated in an attic where people used to house (horse-drawn) carriages. Also the nature of the work is so specialised, I basically do my own thing. It's good, because I'm my own boss, and can come and go when I want to... but then I really don't like the lack of communication with other people. The place I work has already few people, but I'm really far away in another part of the building.

So I was glad that the girl came to assist me today, even though it was only for a few short hours. We started working, and I had to make an important phone call to a big sponsor who we really depend on for the success of the competition. I was so relieved after the phone call, because it went really well, and the lady on the other side was really helpful and friendly, and it sounded like we could really cooperate well together.

I finished the conversation, and told the girl how happy I was it went well, and also how nervous I was making the call.

"Nervous? Why do you get nervous?"

I explained because I don't like talking on the phone, that I prefer to talk to people in person... but even then I'm a bit nervous, especially someone I've never met or spoken to before.

"Why? Low self-esteem?"

I answered yes. It's really that... I just feel so 'inadequate' around people, like there are things wrong with me, even though there aren't anything. People have told me many times, but it's hard to get rid of this terrible 'habit'...

"You know, people can tell when you are insecure and uneasy. And there are people who manipulate others when they see they are insecure," my friend said. She went on to say that I slouch a bit, and stutter sometimes when I talk, and even play with my fingers, and bite my nails... all signs of uneasiness and nervousness.

"What makes you this way? Why are you so insecure?"

I said maybe a number of really... by nature I'm just shy and have difficulty opening up to new people... and growing up with an oppressive and abusive brother didn't help my self-esteem... Then out of nowhere:

"Are you straight or gay?"

I was a bit surprised by the question, but almost immediately I answered 'gay'. But I didn't see what that has to do with my insecurity.

"Well, I notice how you walk. You sort of have this hip movement. I didn't know if it was because you are insecure, because insecure people have less control of their bodies. And it could be because you're gay."

I wasn't offended by the question, or the response. I just said, "Well, you see. I'm a minority of a minority of a minority!"

We laughed, and continue talking and connecting. We never had this before, even though she's been coming to work with me for two weeks already, so I really felt glad we connected. She said she was like me before, but she went to classes to train her speech, and also worked on her self-esteem.

Hold the head up, speak slower and clearer, be confident, think and say to yourself that you are confident... Little things, but things that can really project to the outside world and other people what kind of a person you are.

Slow Thursday

I don't know why, but I somehow found myself at Hoek van Holland again this afternoon. Maybe the trip I made with my bike there on Sunday had some kind of profound effect on me, maybe it's watching those big ships go by, or maybe for no particular reason, but as the sky was darkening, and as the lights of the Port of Rotterdam became brighter, I stood on the beach and enjoyed the scenery.

Went into work today, and attended this interesting seminar on the Special Court for Sierra Leone. There were all these people from the Court giving lectures on what it does, and particularly the very unique situation of Mr Charles Taylor, who is being held and tried here in The Hague. To the sceptics (like me...) such Courts are not so much about justice and penalising hard international war criminals, but also about the ability of certain countries (in the West) to decide who to hunt down and who to put on trial. Why, for example, was the former Liberian president arrested, when there is no rule in international law which permits acting heads of state to be arrested? And why is he being tried here, instead of in Sierra Leone, where the Court is mainly based? There were also many questions raised about the whole idea of 'innocence until proven guilty', which under the international criminal system appears to be forgotten, especially because these alleged war criminals have been so demonised that the main objective seems to be putting them permanently behind bars, instead of respecting their rights as an accused, or trying to find out what really happened during the attrocities in the last decade. This is a pattern repeated in all the ad-hoc international criminal tribunals, from Yugoslavia to Rwanda, from Iraq to Cambodia...

By early afternoon, I was feeling really exhausted from all the discussions, and feeling a bit impatient and restless. I'm not sure why I've been feeling like that recently, but I felt so much like just going away! So I left the office, and just jumped on the train randomly!

First train headed in the direction of Dordrecht, a city just above the so-called 'Great Rivers' and often seen as the symbolic border town dividing Catholics and Protestants in the Netherlands. But the train was so slow, that when it arrived in the harbour city of Rotterdam, I jumped off and started to wander around the streets.

I made a short call to my mum, who is about to undergo an important body check tomorrow. I called for no other reason than to wish her well and to tell her to take care, because she told me it's a really long and painful process, which can really be phsycologically and physically tiring... After that, I walked around a bit more, but the busy streets and shops didn't really appeal to me. So I went into the Maritime Museum, where they had big models of ships and a replica of the whole harbour and city of Rotterdam. There was also a special exhibition about the tragic sinking of the S.S. Berlin in 1907, exactly a hundred years ago. It happened at Hoek van Holland, when the ship was blown off course in foggy weather and hit the rocky pier at the mouth of the river Maas.

So perhaps that's the reason I jumped on the train again, and headed in the direction of Hoek van Holland. This, and the fact that when I got to the train station, this was the first train to leave. Coincidence?



I actually fell asleep on the train, but got up at the final stop and also the destination. The station was almost empty, and the town seemed deserted. But I remembered the direction I had cycled a few days ago, and I headed towards the shore. I walked along the water, on rocks and the sandy shore, and now and then big ships would hurry by blowing their horns. It was a calm day today, not too windy, so the water was calm. But when a ship goes by, the currents would rock and violently crash against the shores.

I walked a long way, and onto the long pier. It was so quiet, so still that all I could hear were the call of birds and seagulls and the mechanical sounds of the harbour in the distance. Smoke rose up from the chimneys, and the lights in the distance flickered like candles, while huge wind turbines moved around in a row, looking like tall, gray flowers along the coastline, stretching all the way out to sea.

I felt so much better... less restless, less annoyed at something I'm not sure what, and more at peace. Just standing there, hearing and watching the waves, getting away from it all, helped. A lot.

Tuesday night out

I’m really not a big fan of loud bars… but I started working part-time at an international tribunal recently, and my friend said it would be a great way to meet new people. She said I’ve not been myself since last week, and that I really need to go out and meet new people instead of going home and being all alone in my room…

So, I sort of reluctantly agreed, and tagged along. Tuesday nights is usually the night when all the interns at this tribunal gather at a bar. And indeed, the place was just filled with all sorts of international people. Besides my friend, I knew nobody, and was really a bit intimidated as I walked through the door.

I got introduced to a number of friends of my friend, and I guess I chatted with them. But you know sometimes you chat with someone at a bar, and you know that you’ll probably never see the person after you walk out the door… that’s what I felt. Downed a glass of red wine, and glanced around looking for people I might know (or might be interested in knowing…), but there was none.

Thank goodness my friend was next to me almost the whole time. But problem is, my friend is really pretty and attractive, and when I stand next to her, and especially because of the way we interact, most people would think we are boy- and girlfriends. But we’re anything but that! We’re basically love without the sex!

A number of guys came up to talk to her, and I felt like there was a sort of tension. I felt like I didn’t belong there, or shouldn’t be there. Of course, the guys introduced themselves to me, but it was more because it was courtesy instead of out of real interest in getting to know me. They were too busy eyeing my friend and trying to ‘pick up’ than be interested in me or what I had to say. So I felt like I was an extra on an already crowded stage of tête-à-tête, and that I didn’t belong.

I don’t know if it’s me and my problem of meeting new people. I’m just too shy and self-conscious to go to someone and strike up a conversation. Funny thing is, once I get to know a person, I can be my ‘normal’ self and be really caring and warm. But it’s that first step, of getting to know me, and getting to know them, that is so hard to break through. And at the tribunal, where everyone is some kind of high-flying and super-intelligent lawyer, who would want to speak to a lowly intern who hasn’t even graduated from his studies? At my other work place in the university, I’m more or less alone too, because my colleagues are ‘mother-types’, and even though they’re all so nice and friendly, it’s not exactly as if I’m going to go have fun with them. Frustrating…

Wind

I really don't like it when someone agrees with you to do something together, and suddenly tells you at the last minute they have something else to do.

So again, I got stood up! :( Had agreed with a friend that we'd go cycling today, because the weather was supposed to be much warmer (by 2C). But at around noon, she texted me saying that she's going out with her parents instead... so unreliable! And I was looking forward to it too... I didn't get angry at her, and only texted her back saying it's not a big deal, and even hoped that she has fun...

But then when I think about it, I realise this incident is not the first time, and actually means more than just not living up to a promise. It's things like this that makes me feel like people can treat me like a worthless person... treat me like someone you can just cancel on at the last minute, or like someone you don't need to contact or speak to for a long time until the moment I'm needed...

Surely I'm much more than just being useful! Surely I can give people more than just help when they need it! I mean I'm not a terrible person to be around with, and I'm not someone who plans or tries to take advantage of other people... but then people push me away, and only come to me when they need something. And it hurts.

Well, with or without anyone, I went cycling. The weather wasn't as great as predicted; in fact, it was horrible and probably the worst kind of weather to cycle in. No matter. I promised myself that I'd go cycling, and cycling was what I did. I need it, to clear my head, to make myself feel energetic and useful, and also to get out of the house.

A friend told me the other day that there's a beach down the coast from where I live which is supposed to be nice. It's located around 20km, at a town called Hoek van Holland ('Corner of Holland'). I know it because when I was studying in London that's where I take the ferry across the North Sea to England. I remember watching the land slowly disappear from the window of the ferry whenever I left the country... and watching the land gradually appear as I sailed home. So, it's a memorable place.



Though I've never been there by bike. So I took my bike and cycled through the dunes, along the coast. There were cycle-paths along the way, so it was easy to ride and find your way... except the fact there was really intense winds and drizzle. At one point, an hour or so into my trip, I started to hear my head ache, like something was constantly banging against my temples and forehead, and it felt like I was going to faint or something. So I stopped and rested for while, and called my mum.

It was an empty landscape, the only other life were two black bulls grazing in the field and crows that swarmed black overhead. Besides that, I was surrounded a wall of sand dune and thin undergrowth of shrubs and dry grass. I spoke to mum for half an hour or so, but at times the wind was doing more of the talking than we were. She's doing alright, and when I speak to her, I realise how much I miss her. She's really the only family that I feel close to, which is sad, because I live with my brother under the same roof but we have absolutely no contact at all. She told me about my life, asking whether I felt better after sounding depressed last week. I said yeah (I guess...) , and asked her how she's doing. Well, this Friday she's going to have a complete check-up of her body, and the doctors are going to examine whether the area which had cancerous cells around her intestines are really gone after the chemo therapy.

She once told me how painful the check up is... basically they shove a long, long tube fitted with a camera down your throat (endoscope), to reach the problem area. She's be anaesthetised, but still awake during the whole procedure. What's worse, there's noone to go with her. My dad just couldn't care less. I felt really sad hearing that, and along with the strong wind blowing and blowing in the barren landscape, I felt like I could cry there and then... But thankfully, she said a close friend of hers will go with her, and be with her throughout the whole day. That eased my sadness somewhat.

After talking to her, and drinking some warm tea I took from home, I cycled on. This time, I wrapped myself really warmly and wore the hat that came with my jacket. It did help protect from the cold, but still it was a struggle against the wind. All along the way was a naturally protected area to one side, and rows and rows of greenhouses on the other. At one point I reached a little town called 'Monster', but besides a dead rabbit lying on the side of the road, there were none to be found, so I cycled on.


I peddled hard, and the kilometres went by slowly. But I was determined to get to where I wanted to go, I was determined to see the sea that I had travelled across so many times before, so I fought and fought with the wind and weather. Sometimes, I was blown aside, and the wheels fell off of the cycle-path and sunk into the grass, causing me almost to fall over. But I jumped on the bike again, and peddled even harder. The wind may be against me now, I thought to myself, but when I go home (hopefully), it'll be an ally.


A cat jumped out of nowhere, and hid in the grass, watching me. I stopped and took a picture of it, and stood and watched it watch me. After a few moments, it probably go disinterested and started to silently walk away, which led me to cycle on as well.



And suddenly, around the corner was an open and almost empty beach. There was even a sign, welcoming me to Hoek van Holland, and ironically reminding me that this was the "sunniest beach in the Netherlands". I looked around at the gray overcast skies, and felt the drizzle on my face and jacket, and wondered where the sun was. Immediately I felt it was an unusual beach, and indeed there was another sign that explained why. All along the western coast of the Netherlands, the government is busy trying to pour sand onto the coast to prevent the sea taking away the land. There's even a special department of the Minstry of Transport and Water Management (Rijkswaterstaat) which deals with this. Every few years the Netherlands imports millions of tonnes of sand and piles it onto the western seafront. Hoek van Holland is one of these places, and indeed, the sand was fresh and neatly and evenly spread along the coast. Just before hitting the beach, I even saw this 'sand depot', with dozens of big trucks, and I was wondering why. And I found out why.


I had a rest on the beach, and treated myself to some warm Dutch pea-soup (erwtensoep) and fries to keep myself warm and full. It felt like heaven, sitting in that restaurant, enjoying 'grandma style' traditional food and watching the wind play with the waves outside. After that, I took a walk along the pier, and watched huge tanker go by, and the refinery flames jump in the air and harbour lights of Europoort (Rotterdam) twinkle in the distance.



Of course, I was only half the way, and needed to go home too! So I followed the signs, and started to head back. The way back I took another route, through little villages and towns that were covered with greenhouses. In the dark sky, you could feel like it was day, because of the orange glow of the lights. And the wind was with me, so I was really going fast in the night. I felt like I was an express train, speeding along the road, with my headlights shining into the distance, and red backlight trailing behind. And beneath me, the wheels made noises as they jumped and rolled over the tiles and tarmac of the cycle-path.

It was much quicker to return, and soon I was entering my city and seeing familiar streets. And even sooner I was under the warm shower, and feeling the water wash over my body, wash away the cold, aches and sweat.

Low skies

I think my friends and I agree. The weather makes us really depressed.

The Netherlands is not called the 'Low Lands' just because of its low land, but also because of its low skies. Sometimes the clouds are so low if feels like you can reach out and touch it. Some days, like in the past week or so, clouds are so low and so dense you don't see the sun. And the clouds are so gray, so thick and so impenetrable. And really thick and low clouds causes the atmosphere to depress, and in turn causes people to be depressed.

So it explains the sudden dip in my mood in the last few days (and in the mood of my writings recently...). It explains me feeling really lazy and 'blargh', and feeling like I want to sleep all the time. It also explain my special trip(s) to the supermarket to stock up on chocolate, and the tonnes of chips and chocolate ice cream that I had this evening, while indulging ourselves watching two happy-sappy-romantic movies.

In the fantasy world of Hollywood, the people are always perfect. Their clothes, houses, little lives, are perfect... even though in the one-and-a-half hour glimpse into their lives they may experience many sad and bad moments, everything turns out to be wonderful and sugar-coated. Lost love is found, and those with no love is suddenly surprised by the prince who is just around the corner, but (s)he never meets until the very last scene.

I walked my 'girlfriend' home, because it was already close to three in the morning, and really dark. We talked about the movies, and compared it to our own lives. Such contrasts!

For one thing, people are complicated and hard to handle. People are manipulative and deceiving, especially in the harsh, cruel, cold profession of lawyers. It's not about giving and receiving, but seems to be about taking, taking, taking, without thinking about what other people might want or need. It's a soulless existence, of hard drinking, of lost spirits and humanities, of disappointed people who work constantly, get paid huge amounts of money, but loose their health and time to be themselves in the process. A world I dread and dislike with all my heart, and which I thankfully am not too stuck in...

And because of this, there are serious emotional and personal issues in the people we meet. Some think they have found the perfect soul mate and will not let go. Some will try to bring you down because you won't give them what they want. Some will use power and sex to get to high places. Some will use money to buy power and sex... Some want to be more than friends, even though the other feels nothing back. Some are manipulative and try to act or say things to make you feel guilty, in order too get you to give them what they want... Some push into your lives and want to make you theirs, and want to invade your privacy and personality, because they suddenly found what they've been looking for all their life. But it's selfish, and it completely traps the person they want to cling onto, and they don't realise they are causing the other person hurt and pain. Worse is when the person is too shy or too sympathetic to make it clear that it's really unpleasant, and that the other person is being too pushy and selfish.

What is the balance? How do you find that someone in your life to share life with, but not completely depend on that other person for happiness? How do you share your life with someone else, but each person still have a life of his/her own? How do you make it clear to someone that they are being too controlling, being too invasive, and not hurt their feelings? How do you deal with someone who is sensitive to rejection, and will manipulate you into accepting him/her into your life, when you know that by accepting that person you loose your own happiness and sanity?

It's questions my friend and I have no answers to. It's questions both of us fear facing, and really are lost when it comes to looking for the answer.

I suddenly remembered what I learnt in those many months I lived in a Buddhist monastery... Life should be lead with compassion, love and wisdom. You can live life giving and caring for others, but you can't do it when you are jeopardising your own life or happiness to make others happy? How can you help others when you are wounded and already exhausted yourself? You will hurt them, even though your intentions may be good, because you are doing things for others to please them, to temporarily take away their pain and confusion, but the roots of your actions are themselves painful and confused.

Be a lotus flower, is my favourite parable which I like to tell myself (and others) when I'm lost or confused. A lotus is a beautiful plant that grows only in mud. You wouldn't expect it, but the dirtier and muddy the water, the more elegant and attractive the flower of the lotus becomes. So a lotus grows in a dirty and grimy environment, but turns out to be beautiful and the adoration and envy of the world. You can come from and live in bad circumstances, but still maintain your natural flair and beauty. You may not be able to change the lives of others, or to give to others all you wish you could, but you could show them there is beauty and hope out there...

OK, maybe such metaphors and allegories and beautiful imageries and similes won't cure us of our pains and take away the stresses and longings in our lives.... maybe this kind of positive thinking and good thoughts won't get us what we want in life and in love... but at least it's comforting. It's soothing, and heart warming.

Especially when the days and weather are cold and depressed.

"In My Secret Life"

At the office still, close to 7pm on a Friday evening...
The day's long ended,
I feel tired and a bit sick.
Of what I'm not sure.

Not sure what to do now, just that I don't want to go home.
Wander the streets, go cycling to nowhere,
Pretend as if I'm waiting for someone at a street corner,
Anywhere but go home.

Feel like I need to lie down and take a nap...
Just sleep away, sleep and go away.

Then I came across this song, which describes well what I feel like,
And who I am.
At least for now.

I saw you this morning.
You were moving so fast.
Can’t seem to
loosen my grip
On the past.
And I miss you so much.
There’s no one in
sight.
And we’re still making love
In My Secret Life.

I smile
when I’m angry.
I cheat and I lie.
I do what I have to do
To get
by.
But I know what is wrong
,And I know what is right.
And I’d die for
the truth
In My Secret Life.

Hold on, hold on, my brother.
My
sister, hold on tight.
I finally got my orders.
I’ll be marching through
the morning,
Marching through the night,
Moving cross the borders
Of My
Secret Life.

Looked through the paper.
Makes you want to
cry.
Nobody cares if the people
Live or die.
And the dealer wants you
thinking
That it’s either black or white.
Thank G-d it’s not that
simple
In My Secret Life.

I bite my lip.
I buy what I’m
told:
From the latest hit,To the wisdom of old.
But I’m always
alone.
And my heart is like ice.
And it’s crowded and cold
In My Secret
Life.

Lost

I've been filled with emotions for a number of days, and I feel like if I don't get them out, they're going to burst! : (

I guess that's the great thing about maintaining a blog... you can get the thoughts out on 'paper', talk, complain or cry or praise about people and things in your life, and feel much better afterwards. At least I hope so...



There are blessings and curses about being a Pisces. It's two fish, joined at the head and tail, completing an endless circle, forming an endless whole that is complete. I'm sensitive, warm, and can be sympathetic towards things and people around me.... but then again, I'm shy, insecure, and too sensitive to other people's reactions.... or worse, to other people's rejections. And being single, I always feel like there's another half of me missing, feel like I'm not complete, and that I lack a big chunk, without which makes me feel really empty and lost inside.

And I really feel that. I feel like I need to have somebody around me to make me 'whole', someone who is just there to make me feel less lonely, someone to make me feel (if only temporarily) that I'm not a lonely fish when there are supposed to be two fish.

I go out with my friends, and I smile and enjoy the company, but when it comes to going home, I feel really empty, and dread going home. Especially to a home where I don't talk to anyone, and to a home where the closest thing to warmth and love is from my cat...

It's not good, I know it myself. My friend once told me that people sometimes need to learn to be alone, and need to know how to spend time on their own. She said even when you find a partner, or 'other half' if you like to call it, you still cannot depend on that other person to give you happiness and feeling of completion. Because it's just selfish to do that, and because if you depend too much on other person to make you feel complete, you force that person to give, give, give, and when s/he doesn't give what you expect or want from him/her, you feel hurt and frustrated. A health person is one who can love, but also be lonely, and be just as happy being in love and loving as when he is lonely.


So I live my life with these great ups and downs... ups from the moments when I'm with someone, and laugh and have fun, and feel the warmth and connection through the little joys that we get from spending time together... it may just be cycling, or talking quietly over a warm cup of tea, or it may be watching the sunset, or it may be working together on a project... it doesn't have to be long, but the time together is certainly quality time, and priceless.

And when that time is over, then the down comes... I'm left feeling lost, lonely and alone, wondering what to do, feeling like there's that will entertain me, and long so much to be acknowledged by someone, anyone! I constantly look at my mobile, wondering whether anyone has called me, or check my email, wondering whether anyone has written to me... just sitting there, longing and waiting for the next moment when I can be with someone again... for the next moment when one fish can become two.

Up and down, down and up... seems like my world and happiness revolves around that of others. Even a therapist a number of years told me, I'm like a moon, and I continually circle other people ('planets') and find my centre of 'gravity'/attraction in other people...

So it was when I went out with a friend the other day. We had a great time, at least I thought... just doing very simple things, and I felt like I found yet another centre of gravity to revolve around. But I was afraid to get too close, afraid that if I do I'll push away a new found friend, and loose everything. And also afraid what the other person might think, or whether the feelings are mutual. So we parted, like as usual when I leave, and I went home feeling a little lost, regretful, wondering and confused afterwards. Again, a great example of the up and the downs of my rollercoaster ride of emotions, and my constant battle for company and the constant haunting of loneliness that hunts me down every time...



And today... I felt really blah :( waking up. I work into work, and coincidentally I met I went to 'girlfriend', and we went to lunch together. It was the same cafeteria where last time this guy kept checking me out and smiling at me... and today he was there again (of course, he works there!). This time the smiles and flirts were even more obvious. I must have looked a little dazed and lost, and at one point I sleepily rubbed my eyes. He saw that (of course, because he was watching me...), and probably found it cute or something and said very loudly and openly "Yes, life is hard!" At first I didn't realise he was talking to me, then he said it again, grinning widely, and winking.

I didn't know how to respond. I was still a bit down from the other day, so I didn't really react. But the guy was trying so hard, seriously trying to strike up a conversation (or trying to flirt...). For example, I bought a cup of tea, and chose rooibos flavour, and he said something like it was his favourite tea of all. But I was just a bit 'fragile' and insecure to reciprocate the flirting, so just let the chance go...

And afterwards, I felt more like sh*t, because who knows, there might be something there... Or at least, maybe I could have made a new friend, and not feel as lonely as I do now.

Anyways... this is just the confused, lost, rambling state of mind I'm in right now... feeling empty, hoping that I'd find that other fish to make two fish in me complete... if only temporarily.

And, yes... after writing all this, even though it may read like complete rubbish and may not even make any sense... I do feel better.

Answer

A beautiful song from the movie "The Brave One" I watched with a friend last night...
Again, it says so much, with so little.

I will be the answer at the end of the line
I will be there for you while you take the time
In the burning of uncertainty I will be your solid ground
I will hold the balance if you cant look down

If it takes my whole life I wont break I wont bend
Itll all be worth it worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
that I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
youll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight

If it takes a whole life I wont break I wont bend
Itll all be worth it worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
And when the stars have all burned out
Youll still be burning so bright
Cast me gently into morning for the night has been unkind

"Wrong move by the US"

A few days ago, the China Daily carried the following headline:

“Wrong move by the US”

No surprise, as the Chinese government-controlled media machinery spread propaganda about the despicable and utterly unacceptable fact that the Dalai Lama was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal—the most prestigious civil award in the US. A severe interference in China’s sovereignty, a completely disgraceful violation of the conduct of international relations, an act that the US will need to bear the consequences of.

The reason, as the opinion piece explains, was that the Dalai Lama:

“has been engaged in secessionist activities for many years in his vicious attempt to split Tibet from the motherland and instigate political unrest in the autonomous region”.

This is referring to the same Tibetan leader-in-exile who, along the likes of Nelson Mandela and Aung San Suu Kyi, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. The same person who last year was granted Honorary Canadian Citizenship for being a leading champion “peace and non-violence”. It makes you wonder, how can a spiritual leader universally recognised as a man of harmony and piety be as evil and as violent as the Chinese government likes to denigrate and defile him on every occasion?

Of course, the background to this is the fact (or at the very least, the official statement repeated time and time again by the Chinese government) that:

“Tibet has been an integral part of China since ancient times and Chinese central governments of several dynasties have exercised sovereignty over it”.

Yes. Exactly the reason why Tibet had to be invaded in 1950, and why millions of Tibetans, monks and nuns have been, and continue to be, oppressed and persecuted since. Former British Prime Minister Thatcher, commenting that the “Chinese claim to Tibet is dubious on historical grounds”, wrote:

“The Chinese now appear to have resolved upon a programme of ‘modernisation’ that involves shifting the ethnic balance in favour of Han Chinese and away from Tibetans, as a final solution to the continuing resistance. […] For two years running, Britain and the rest of the European Union have refused to co-sponsor a United States resolution at the UN Commission on Human Rights condemning China’s record. This attitude is not just shameful: it is also foolish. Any plaudits from the Chinese authorities for such actions are short-lived, nor are they needed: after all, in almost every field, the Chinese need the West more than we need China”.

Shame the rest of the world does not realise that… or at least does not dare challenge China on the issue of its dictatorial practices at home, and elsewhere. No matter, because there are improvements yet. Just witness the groundbreaking event heralding changes and great leaps forward will be happy to note that the President Hu Jintao has just been unanimously re-elected to serve another term in office, and in his speech he mentioned the word ‘democracy’ no less than 60 times. On the issue of Tibet, the chairman of the regional (read puppet) government of Tibet called the award by the US Congress an “injection of cardiotonic to secessionist activities”. Big words and beautiful rhetoric. He assured the public that the Dalai Lama’s “splittist and diversionist” actions won’t stop much of the social and economic progress that the people of Tibet have enjoyed since the Chinese occupation rule.

Indeed, as China sees it,

“Great changes have taken place in Tibet since the autonomous region was established in 1965 and especially after the economic reform and opening up in the late 1970s. Anyone who visits Tibet will witness how living standards have improved for the Tibetans.

The hardly accessible high plateau region can now be reached by air and land transport which was unimaginable when local Tibetans were under the rule of a serfdom system more than 40 years ago.

As far as religion is concerned, local Tibetans enjoy complete freedom to participate in any religious activity they choose.”

Hail to the Chinese Communist Party! If that’s the case, then Human Rights Watch must be spreading lies for the seventeenth year running, when it again reported last year:

Suspected “separatists,” many of whom come from monasteries and nunneries, are routinely imprisoned. In January 2006, Gendun, a Tibetan monk, received a four-year prison sentence for opinions expressed in his lectures on Tibetan history and culture. In June 2006, five Tibetans, including two nuns, were detained for publishing and distributing independence leaflets. In July, Namkha Gyaltsen, a monk, received an eight-year sentence for his independence activities. In August, armed police detained Khenpo Jinpa, an abbot. In September, Lobsang Palden, another monk, was charged with “initiating separatist activities.”

On September 30, Chinese People’s Armed Police shot at a group of approximately 40 Tibetan refugees attempting to cross the border into Nepal, killing a 17-year-old nun, Kelsang Namtso, and possibly others. The rest of the group fled, though witnesses reported seeing Chinese soldiers marching approximately 10 children back to a nearby camp. The official press agency Xinhua claimed that the soldiers were “forced to defend themselves,” but film footage showed soldiers calmly taking aim and shooting from afar at a column of people making their way through heavy snow.

In spite of plans for economic development of Tibetan regions, the opening of the Qinghai-Lhasa railroad in July 2006 exacerbated concerns among Tibetans that they would be unable to compete economically with an anticipated influx of Han migrants”.

And this BBC reporter must form part of a conspiracy of decadent conniving Western imperialists, why are trying to wreak havoc and social unrest within China:

Although people can worship openly, Beijing maintains ultimate control over Tibetan Buddhism.

An example of this control came earlier this month when China's State Administration for Religious Affairs issued new guidelines about who can and cannot be declared a "living Buddha". From 1 September, all reincarnated living Buddhas - eminent monks - will first have to be approved by the government.

[…]China seeks to control the selection of senior religious leaders in Tibet because it fears their political power. Although Beijing says Tibet has been part of China since the mid-13th century, eight centuries on there are still many who dispute that claim.

Beijing believes senior monks provide a focal point for those advocating Tibetan independence.

Familiar images of Burmese monks parading the streets spring to mind. Which cannot be separated from the images of brutal police crackdown and bloody repression.

Indeed, various Dutch local reported that just days after the Dalai Lama was awarded the US Congressional Award, hundreds of Tibetan monks who were celebrating the occasion clashed with policemen. It was said that these monks were surrounded by some 300 armed policemen, who forbid anyone to leave or enter the compound. Whether there have been casualties or deaths is unknown, and with China’s most sophiscated censorship machinery in the world, it is unlikely we will ever know.