COME ON YOU REDS!!!

However, whilst that is what my brain tells me, in my gut there is still a certain pride. Pride at being Chinese and pride at being part of a country that is so capable of achievement. This pride is entirely unwilled. However, I would like to believe that this patriotism is entirely cultural and apolitical, and bereft of the vulgarity and exceptionalism that makes political patriotism so unpalatable. The true test, I guess, is whether this blinds me to the common worth of everyone outside of my cultural group. I hope I pass that test.

So I guess I have made my peace with the fact that I am proud of my roots, while still refusing to partake in patriotism as defined by the authorities. That is why I love Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is My Land” so much. It is the one patriotic anthem whose focus is entirely based on inclusionism and improving the lot of ones fellow man. It is a mature, comfortable patriotism that does not require blood or hubris. And that sort of patriotism is indeed beautiful.

I was asked to give the sec 1 debate kids in the alma mater a brief lecture about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and introduce concepts like ‘Zionism’ and ‘Right of Return’ and ‘massacre’ and ‘suicide bombings’ to minds that have the right to still remain ignorant about them. My bias on this issue is well known, but I nonetheless tried to present a holistic picture of how both sides’ intransigence came about. I portrayed the bewildering sequence of events that constitute the conflict as a series of injustice and atrocities that kept compounding the hatred and mistrust. I recounted the various massacres and acts of terrorism and the ill-effects of occupation and extremism on both sides (naturally tilting the emphasis towards one side). As one act of obscene cruelty followed another, I became increasingly cynical in tone. Then, the kids, in that precocious way young debators speak, began asking questions.

“Isn’t it counter-productive for Hamas to keep sending people to die?”

“Why don’t they just talk to each other?”

“Why do the Jews go and oppress another race after they have suffered so much themselves?’

At first I was bemused but encouraged by their curiosity. Don’t they understand man’s staggering ability to dehumanise other men to justify cruelty? Do they not grasp that in pursuit of ideology human life is far too often expendable? Afterwards, something inside me snapped into place – Of course they don’t. They’re kids.

Within that blank slate that is a child’s mind lies not just incompleteness, but innocence and purity, unsullied by the depravity and evil that the adult psyche can so easily accomodate. Sure, most of these kids I was talking to will probably eventually develop that cynicism and insight that many adults (me included) see as second nature. They’re aspiring debators after all. But for these brief few years, their minds  are still inestimably precious. And that is why the children deserve the best possible future we can give them. I guess I have more to learn from kids then I thought.

I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.

It seems odd even to me that I would react so strongly to the lost of an inanimated object, but I feel fully entitled to. I often make off-colour jokes about my bicycles – I gave them girls’ names and made double entendres about riding and stroking and ‘chnging’ them. But I must admit there’s an emotional attachment to every one of them. Especially this one, which was a cherished gift. They were exceptionally useful, and were always always always there when I needed them. And boy did I summon their services at odd hours. But regardless of whether it was a midnight whirl around town to break the solitude or an afternoon ride through wretched street traffic, my bike was always THERE. It provided cast-iron constancy and reliability, something that humans are too frail to do. Now that it’s gone, it feels like a body part had been amputated. And I wasn’t even there when it happened.

Of course, necessity dictates that in due course I must get another bike. But after being burnt twice in a year I don’t know if I really want to experience another loss. The alternative is to get a piece of junk that no thief will ever try to steal, but I don’t think I have it in me to do that. But for now, I am still carrying a small thimble of hope that Madelaine would wind up back where it belongs.

Absolutely beautiful.

I just recovered from a protracted bout of tummyache that refused to either disappear or flush itself out and am cranky and listless. I have spent years trying to regain a proficiency with the written word that I keep feeling like I once had but can’t put my finger on when. I am neither happy or unhappy, yearning to fly away again and again and never settle but knowing that that is not the prudent path to take. I wish it was still the 60s.

Thats probably too much for a first post.