Paris..is so much more awesome than what I expected... and whoever said Parisians are snobs don't know what they are talking about.. From the moment I arrived here, I've gotten so much help from people... from people who go out of their way to show me how to take the metro *complicated when not used to it...they have close to 20lines, unlike Singapore's 3 lines* , to kind men who helped me drag my suitcase up the abundance of stairs in the metro..a lady that bought metro ticket for me with her credit card because I don't have coins, an internet cafe patron that allows me to charge my hp as I'm using the internet.. peoplewho smile and say "Bonjour!"... Well I guess I'm totally flouting the "don't talk to strangers" rule.....but a great thing about being an Asian who can speak French is that the Asians I meet are happy to talk to me because there aren't many Asians around, and the French I talk to are happy since I can speak French.....hahahaha....
Regarding the city....Paris is too beautiful.....was using my morning just to walk around the non-touristy part of town, and all I could do was gape....Gaped at the honey coloured building and the riotous summer flowers.... at the mignon French babies and the beautiful trees...
I've gotten my adventure.... Having to make my way around an unfamiliar city, alone, yesterday I was afraid as only a kid who realise that she'd purposely went alone to a strange country can be....Wondering the whole time I struggled to find my way whether I've really done the "not sensible" thing... but today....the weather is fantastic and I've gotten used to people returning my smiles and my "Bonjour!"s......and Paris....is mine to savour.....
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
I'm leaving on a jet plane...
....and will be back in 6 months....
Hm...excited, a bit afraid as well..fear of the unknown (actually,it's more fear of the French..hahaha...I don't know if my tongue can take the rolling "rrrr" sound...eventhough I'm Indonesian.. )
Will be travelling around Europe first for the whole of August..and well...looking forward to it and at the same time wondering whether I'll be up to it.. Friends have wished me luck, asked me to be careful, asked me not to easily trust people on the road, asked me to be alert, to not drink any drink offered by strangers..only my archi tutor *our dear Florian* gave me a different advice: "Hope you get lost."
Uhm....Yea..but hopefully won't get lost for too long...
Wondering about a lot of things... I guess I have a lot of expectations for the month long trip, unlike when I go to Vietnam, especially since I'll be wandering around alone for some parts of it... I've always been looking for adventure, adventure, adventure, and at last I'm going to get it in pretty large doses, and it feels not like a leisurely holiday like it's supposed to be, but somehow it feels like a challenge, a feat... Funny, but it also feels like I'm putting a bet on humanity in general... Though I know the people I'll meet along the way, whether trustworthy or untrustworthy, will be a mere fraction of all the members of our species..
I wonder if my naivety will be my downfall...I wonder if I am really naive at all...
I wonder if my trusting nature will land me in trouble...or if I'll prove to myself that people are not out to get other people, but to help..
I wonder if my God will take care of me..I wonder how...and I wonder why must He..
I wonder if my gender will betray me...or if at last I'll be able to make peace with myself, ''Hey being girl is not bad at all, if it's safe for a guy to backpack around Europe alone,it's safe for a girl too.."
Reckless? Oh well... All the experiences I've got while having to confront and overcome my fears, to go out of my comfort zones, are the ones that I really cherish and learn a lot from...Life is for living,
no?
As usual...the only major concern for me is that if something happens to me along the way, I would've wronged my parents big time... Haih...
Oh well, que sera, sera..
Hm...excited, a bit afraid as well..fear of the unknown (actually,it's more fear of the French..hahaha...I don't know if my tongue can take the rolling "rrrr" sound...eventhough I'm Indonesian.. )
Will be travelling around Europe first for the whole of August..and well...looking forward to it and at the same time wondering whether I'll be up to it.. Friends have wished me luck, asked me to be careful, asked me not to easily trust people on the road, asked me to be alert, to not drink any drink offered by strangers..only my archi tutor *our dear Florian* gave me a different advice: "Hope you get lost."
Uhm....Yea..but hopefully won't get lost for too long...
Wondering about a lot of things... I guess I have a lot of expectations for the month long trip, unlike when I go to Vietnam, especially since I'll be wandering around alone for some parts of it... I've always been looking for adventure, adventure, adventure, and at last I'm going to get it in pretty large doses, and it feels not like a leisurely holiday like it's supposed to be, but somehow it feels like a challenge, a feat... Funny, but it also feels like I'm putting a bet on humanity in general... Though I know the people I'll meet along the way, whether trustworthy or untrustworthy, will be a mere fraction of all the members of our species..
I wonder if my naivety will be my downfall...I wonder if I am really naive at all...
I wonder if my trusting nature will land me in trouble...or if I'll prove to myself that people are not out to get other people, but to help..
I wonder if my God will take care of me..I wonder how...and I wonder why must He..
I wonder if my gender will betray me...or if at last I'll be able to make peace with myself, ''Hey being girl is not bad at all, if it's safe for a guy to backpack around Europe alone,it's safe for a girl too.."
Reckless? Oh well... All the experiences I've got while having to confront and overcome my fears, to go out of my comfort zones, are the ones that I really cherish and learn a lot from...Life is for living,
no?
As usual...the only major concern for me is that if something happens to me along the way, I would've wronged my parents big time... Haih...
Oh well, que sera, sera..
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
"Ujan. becek, gak ada ojek....."
Buat yang gak tau, kata2 di atas itu diucapkan oleh Cinta Laura, yg setau gw adalah artis baru indo keturunan jerman... Tadinya sih, gw gak tau Cinta Laura itu siapa, cuma sering kebaca di blog2 orang indo yg biasa gw kunjungi..Akhirnya penasaran juga, jadi gw coba youtube namanya.. Eh ternyata yg keluar tuh byk bgt video yg pada dasarnya adalah variasi kalimat tersebut: "Ujan, becek, gak ada ojek..".. Beneran deh, ada versi hip-hop lah, versi Mulan jameela lah, extravaganza lah, etc....
Setelah menonton berbagai video itu dengan harapan bisa tau asal-muasalnya kenapa kalimat itu bisa populer banget *tadinya gw kira Cinta Laura itu penyanyi dangdut n video "Becek" itu video dangdut yg dinyanyikan dgn berguling2 seksi dalem lumpur....* , gw sekarang masih belom tau apa2..
Enlighten me, anyone?
Setelah menonton berbagai video itu dengan harapan bisa tau asal-muasalnya kenapa kalimat itu bisa populer banget *tadinya gw kira Cinta Laura itu penyanyi dangdut n video "Becek" itu video dangdut yg dinyanyikan dgn berguling2 seksi dalem lumpur....* , gw sekarang masih belom tau apa2..
Enlighten me, anyone?
Saturday, July 19, 2008
10 things to remember in architecture school...
Found the pamphlet with this thing written on it while tidying up my model materials...Pretty useful, I guess...So here are the 10 things:
1. Start anywhere.
Stuck? Don't know where to start? Well, who cares where you start. Just do it to get past the intertia and before you know it, you are on a roll.
2. Pride
Take pride in your work. Present those sketches nicely. Make beautiful study models. Spend time laying out presentation panels and strut your stuff proudly.
3. The tutor is not God
At least most of the time they're not..
4.Own our project
Give your life to make that project yours. *Too true...* Believe in it. Research it. Defend it. (In that order.)
5. Sketch a lot. Read a lot. Do a lot.
I know, some people are screaming. But you got to clock the hours, sweat and suffer before the good stuff comes out. There's no shortcut. *Now you know why we need all those late nights..*
6. There is life out there
Don't live in the studio *Actually, I think this contradicts point no 5..but well...* Leave your work behind and go play. Without creative input, there will be no creative output.
7.Crit does not equal student bashing
It isn't you. It's your project.
8. Purpose
Know the question first, then search for an answer.
9.There are no rules
..Except for gravity. Bend every single rule that you can without getting into trouble. Hm...what the heck. Just break them.
10. Learn when to stop..
and move on.
1. Start anywhere.
Stuck? Don't know where to start? Well, who cares where you start. Just do it to get past the intertia and before you know it, you are on a roll.
2. Pride
Take pride in your work. Present those sketches nicely. Make beautiful study models. Spend time laying out presentation panels and strut your stuff proudly.
3. The tutor is not God
At least most of the time they're not..
4.Own our project
Give your life to make that project yours. *Too true...* Believe in it. Research it. Defend it. (In that order.)
5. Sketch a lot. Read a lot. Do a lot.
I know, some people are screaming. But you got to clock the hours, sweat and suffer before the good stuff comes out. There's no shortcut. *Now you know why we need all those late nights..*
6. There is life out there
Don't live in the studio *Actually, I think this contradicts point no 5..but well...* Leave your work behind and go play. Without creative input, there will be no creative output.
7.Crit does not equal student bashing
It isn't you. It's your project.
8. Purpose
Know the question first, then search for an answer.
9.There are no rules
..Except for gravity. Bend every single rule that you can without getting into trouble. Hm...what the heck. Just break them.
10. Learn when to stop..
and move on.
Thoughts on Being Injured *Very uminaginative title, I know....*
Well well... until today I'd never suffered any injury while doing architecture work, whether it's making models, curing concrete, hammering nails or using the saw...In the two years I did archi, I've always thought that, after flying off the bicycle at Pulau Ubin and getting 16 stitches just before I got into year 1, I've used up all my bad luck and hence am entitled to some kind of injury "dry spell"....
My dry spell ended this afternoon... Was sitting cross-legged on the floor, cutting up my old models so I can reuse the materials...Then...my hand kinda slipped and so my penknife just went *Poke!* into the base of my toe....The wound wasn't long at all but it was pretty deep so it kept bleeding, but adding insult to injury: it's holiday, I didn't stay up late so should've been quite alert and I wasn't even doing any serious cutting...Haih...
Anyway, because the bleeding didn't stop after quite some time, I went to Thomson clinic, the only one around my house that's open on Saturday. F.Y.I , that very same clinic was where I got stitched up after my Ubin stint.. So...A bit of trepidation...I was hoping that my wound is small enough not to be stitched, but just taped...
*A bit of digressing, I think the bicycle accident actually did me some good, cause now everytime I'm wounded, scratched, bruised etc I can casually say, "Oh, small thing, nothing compared to last time.." Needless to say my heck-care attitude actually becomes more heck-care...*
So....Reached the place, and got assigned to the very same room where my wound was cleaned 2 years ago...Shoot...Sure brings back memories...The thought that crossed my mind was: "Good thing am injured on my foot, cuz even if I need stitching, I don't need a plastic surgeon to stitch it up!" Chatted with the nurse about the last time I was there, and she said, "Hmmm...You seem to have an affinity to these things.. Just don't make it a habit ok...." *Yes ma'am!*
Took photos of the room just for posterity, since I couldn't do it the last time I was there...
In the end my wound was just taped, lucky I had a tetanus jab before I went to Vietnam *an archi student's penknife is far from sterile, for sure..* ..and actually I kinda regret going to the clinic since I could've taped it myself...Better than getting stitches, yes, but it makes me feel rather criminal that AIDS patients in Africa can be medicated on US$1 a day and I had to spend S$30 on a small poke wound...I'm sure somewhere else in the world one would just spit on it and get on with life..
P.S. Please don't breathe a word to my parents about this else my backpacking plans will die a horrible death..Thanks for your co-operation. Much appreciated.
My dry spell ended this afternoon... Was sitting cross-legged on the floor, cutting up my old models so I can reuse the materials...Then...my hand kinda slipped and so my penknife just went *Poke!* into the base of my toe....The wound wasn't long at all but it was pretty deep so it kept bleeding, but adding insult to injury: it's holiday, I didn't stay up late so should've been quite alert and I wasn't even doing any serious cutting...Haih...
Anyway, because the bleeding didn't stop after quite some time, I went to Thomson clinic, the only one around my house that's open on Saturday. F.Y.I , that very same clinic was where I got stitched up after my Ubin stint.. So...A bit of trepidation...I was hoping that my wound is small enough not to be stitched, but just taped...
*A bit of digressing, I think the bicycle accident actually did me some good, cause now everytime I'm wounded, scratched, bruised etc I can casually say, "Oh, small thing, nothing compared to last time.." Needless to say my heck-care attitude actually becomes more heck-care...*
So....Reached the place, and got assigned to the very same room where my wound was cleaned 2 years ago...Shoot...Sure brings back memories...The thought that crossed my mind was: "Good thing am injured on my foot, cuz even if I need stitching, I don't need a plastic surgeon to stitch it up!" Chatted with the nurse about the last time I was there, and she said, "Hmmm...You seem to have an affinity to these things.. Just don't make it a habit ok...." *Yes ma'am!*
Took photos of the room just for posterity, since I couldn't do it the last time I was there...
In the end my wound was just taped, lucky I had a tetanus jab before I went to Vietnam *an archi student's penknife is far from sterile, for sure..* ..and actually I kinda regret going to the clinic since I could've taped it myself...Better than getting stitches, yes, but it makes me feel rather criminal that AIDS patients in Africa can be medicated on US$1 a day and I had to spend S$30 on a small poke wound...I'm sure somewhere else in the world one would just spit on it and get on with life..
P.S. Please don't breathe a word to my parents about this else my backpacking plans will die a horrible death..Thanks for your co-operation. Much appreciated.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Dampak Perilaku Tomboi Terhadap (Seretnya) Hubungan Asmara
Beberapa hari ini, gw berpikir tentang diri gw sendiri..tentang kelebihan gw, kelemahan gw, keanehan gw..pokoknya sifat2 gw... dan gak bisa enggak, salah satu yg gw pikirin adalah ketomboian gw.. Gw jadi inget percakapan yg terjadi lebih dari 6 taun lalu, jamannya gw mengalami yg disebut "cinta monyet" *btw, gw blm pernah research gmn caranya monyet saling mencintai.. mungkin next post deh..hehe..*, dan gw lg ngobrol di telepon dgn org yg saat itu gw taksir...
dia*nama disamarkan demi melindungi reputasi*: "Tau nggak, aku seneng loh ngobrol sama kamu.."
gw *rada2 ge-er*: "Oh, gitu yah...hehehehe..."
dia: "Iya, soalnya kamu gampang banget diajak ngomong, aku rasanya lagi ngomong sm temen cowokku aja..."
gw:"......" *bersyukur bhw ngobrolnya lewat telepon krn raut muka gw g jelas mo ketawa ato nangis..*
Gak perlu dijelasin lagi bahwa monyet di dalem cinta gw itu bertepuk sebelah tangan... dan mungkin juga gara2 itu, gw gak pernah berani menafsirkan apakah seseorang itu tertarik sm gw ato enggak, soalnya selalu ada suara yg berbisik di kepala gw, "Hm...ya emang sih kamu deket sm orang ini, tapi jangan2 kamu dianggap temen cowoknya, lagi.."
Well....beberapa hari yg lalu gw terlibat lagi satu percakapan sm orang yg pernah gw sukai yg intinya kira2 adalah (lagi2): gw kurang feminin...huhuhu....
Yah, kalo sekarang sih, gw bisa menerima kata2 seperti itu sambil tertawa, tanpa ucapan itu terngiang2 terus di kepala gw..
"kamu seperti cowooook......seperti cowoooooo....wooook.....woooook...."
Gw sendiri toh sadar bhw gw gak menunjukkan keanggunan, kelembutan, apalagi kerapuhan seorang cewek..tapi gw beruntung bhw udah pernah ada orang2 *khilaf?* yg menyayangi gw apa adanya, yang menyadarkan gw bahwa kepribadian seperti yg gw punya ini ternyata ada jg yg mau..hahahaha... Anyway, gw mungkin bisa mengubah diri gw, sesuai nasehat ma2 gw *yg mungkin mikir dulu pas hamil apa dia sempet salah makan*.. tapi gw gak yakin gw mau mengubah diri gw... "Lebih baik jadi versi kelas satu dari dirimu sendiri, daripada versi kelas dua dari orang lain", gitu kan kata pepatah... Cliche, but true.. Plus, daripada gw dikira bencong yg pertumbuhannya terhambat...
Well..jelas gw pengen kalau seandainya Tuhan berbaik hati memberi gw pasangan hidup, dia adalah orang yg dominan yg sanggup memimpin dan melindungi gw, tapi entah kenapa, gw juga pengen jadi kekuatan buat orang2 yg gw sayangi, gw pengen bisa diandalkan, gw pengen mandiri dan nggak jadi beban, gw pengen betul2 jadi teman bertualang untuk mengarungi hidup dan bukannya cuma pelabuhan yang duduk manis menunggu si Abang pulang. Makanya, dalam pikiran gw "cowok keren" itu adalah cowok yg sanggup berkata, "Say, ayo kita masuk hutan bareng, dan kalo ada celeng mengejar kita, aku siap diseruduk demi melindungi kamu.." Hehehehehe...
Anyway, kemaren tmn gw dari Ausi telpon, org yg udah kenal gw dari smp,dr jaman gw maennya sm cowok terus, sampe skrg....uhm...yah...alhamdullilah sih gw udah punya tmn2 cewek dlm jumlah yg normal... Kita ngobrol ngalor-ngidul, nostalgia masa lalu, yg akhirnya percakapan ditutup dgn dia mencoba meyakinkan gw bahwa gw ini cewek..hahahaha...Gw jadi keinget satu worst-case scenario yg sempat kebayang di kepala gw dulu, kalo2 gw sampe pacaran:
Dia: "Kita putus aja yah...."
Gw *sambil main2in barbel dgn satu tangan* : "Ha? Emangnya kenapa? Ada yg salah?"
Dia: "Pacaran sama kamu berasa pacaran sm cowok....."
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Mungkin gw harus nawarin diri untuk ngebantu latihan buat para gay yg pengen kembali normal...
dia*nama disamarkan demi melindungi reputasi*: "Tau nggak, aku seneng loh ngobrol sama kamu.."
gw *rada2 ge-er*: "Oh, gitu yah...hehehehe..."
dia: "Iya, soalnya kamu gampang banget diajak ngomong, aku rasanya lagi ngomong sm temen cowokku aja..."
gw:"......" *bersyukur bhw ngobrolnya lewat telepon krn raut muka gw g jelas mo ketawa ato nangis..*
Gak perlu dijelasin lagi bahwa monyet di dalem cinta gw itu bertepuk sebelah tangan... dan mungkin juga gara2 itu, gw gak pernah berani menafsirkan apakah seseorang itu tertarik sm gw ato enggak, soalnya selalu ada suara yg berbisik di kepala gw, "Hm...ya emang sih kamu deket sm orang ini, tapi jangan2 kamu dianggap temen cowoknya, lagi.."
Well....beberapa hari yg lalu gw terlibat lagi satu percakapan sm orang yg pernah gw sukai yg intinya kira2 adalah (lagi2): gw kurang feminin...huhuhu....
Yah, kalo sekarang sih, gw bisa menerima kata2 seperti itu sambil tertawa, tanpa ucapan itu terngiang2 terus di kepala gw..
"kamu seperti cowooook......seperti cowoooooo....wooook.....woooook...."
Gw sendiri toh sadar bhw gw gak menunjukkan keanggunan, kelembutan, apalagi kerapuhan seorang cewek..tapi gw beruntung bhw udah pernah ada orang2 *khilaf?* yg menyayangi gw apa adanya, yang menyadarkan gw bahwa kepribadian seperti yg gw punya ini ternyata ada jg yg mau..hahahaha... Anyway, gw mungkin bisa mengubah diri gw, sesuai nasehat ma2 gw *yg mungkin mikir dulu pas hamil apa dia sempet salah makan*.. tapi gw gak yakin gw mau mengubah diri gw... "Lebih baik jadi versi kelas satu dari dirimu sendiri, daripada versi kelas dua dari orang lain", gitu kan kata pepatah... Cliche, but true.. Plus, daripada gw dikira bencong yg pertumbuhannya terhambat...
Well..jelas gw pengen kalau seandainya Tuhan berbaik hati memberi gw pasangan hidup, dia adalah orang yg dominan yg sanggup memimpin dan melindungi gw, tapi entah kenapa, gw juga pengen jadi kekuatan buat orang2 yg gw sayangi, gw pengen bisa diandalkan, gw pengen mandiri dan nggak jadi beban, gw pengen betul2 jadi teman bertualang untuk mengarungi hidup dan bukannya cuma pelabuhan yang duduk manis menunggu si Abang pulang. Makanya, dalam pikiran gw "cowok keren" itu adalah cowok yg sanggup berkata, "Say, ayo kita masuk hutan bareng, dan kalo ada celeng mengejar kita, aku siap diseruduk demi melindungi kamu.." Hehehehehe...
Anyway, kemaren tmn gw dari Ausi telpon, org yg udah kenal gw dari smp,dr jaman gw maennya sm cowok terus, sampe skrg....uhm...yah...alhamdullilah sih gw udah punya tmn2 cewek dlm jumlah yg normal... Kita ngobrol ngalor-ngidul, nostalgia masa lalu, yg akhirnya percakapan ditutup dgn dia mencoba meyakinkan gw bahwa gw ini cewek..hahahaha...Gw jadi keinget satu worst-case scenario yg sempat kebayang di kepala gw dulu, kalo2 gw sampe pacaran:
Dia: "Kita putus aja yah...."
Gw *sambil main2in barbel dgn satu tangan* : "Ha? Emangnya kenapa? Ada yg salah?"
Dia: "Pacaran sama kamu berasa pacaran sm cowok....."
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Mungkin gw harus nawarin diri untuk ngebantu latihan buat para gay yg pengen kembali normal...
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Thoughts on Being Away... (Going to be, anyway..)
Hm.... now my impending trip to Paris seems more and more "real", as in, it will eventually happen and not just some dream I'm having... Visa's out, tickets bought, got a place to put my luggage when I'm travelling, no sudden letter from Ecole Speciale saying "Mademoiselle Shiela, we regret to infrom you that you're not chic enough to study in Paris.."
Only thing though, haven't found an accomodation for 5 mths...and clearly sleeping on a mat under the Eiffel, though tempting, is not a viable option.....
More and more, I come to think of the time away as a potential "starting over" moment.. to be away from the influences of people who care about me, and whom I care for.. my parents, good friends, my church.. Time to figure out myself without having to think about others's expectations and my "reputation" *as it is, I'm not sure what exactly is my reputation, but whether for better or worse, I'm sure I have one..*.. To be honest, I'm kinda looking forward to it...To see what kind of person I will be away from all the social contracts and constraints I'm familiar with, see if my principles stand when I'm away from people I'm accountable to.. Hmm.... One thing is sure though, I would still have to answer to Architecture...
On leaving Singapore...When I was packing, I was kinda sad since I realise I cannot bring books except the very essential ones.. I'll miss my little darlings hiks.. Maybe it comes from having a lot of books since I was young, but for me a room can only feel cosy and familiar when I see books lying around.. Oh well, am looking forward to exploring Paris libraries...
J'espere que j'aimerai Paris, et Paris...aimera moi...
Only thing though, haven't found an accomodation for 5 mths...and clearly sleeping on a mat under the Eiffel, though tempting, is not a viable option.....
More and more, I come to think of the time away as a potential "starting over" moment.. to be away from the influences of people who care about me, and whom I care for.. my parents, good friends, my church.. Time to figure out myself without having to think about others's expectations and my "reputation" *as it is, I'm not sure what exactly is my reputation, but whether for better or worse, I'm sure I have one..*.. To be honest, I'm kinda looking forward to it...To see what kind of person I will be away from all the social contracts and constraints I'm familiar with, see if my principles stand when I'm away from people I'm accountable to.. Hmm.... One thing is sure though, I would still have to answer to Architecture...
On leaving Singapore...When I was packing, I was kinda sad since I realise I cannot bring books except the very essential ones.. I'll miss my little darlings hiks.. Maybe it comes from having a lot of books since I was young, but for me a room can only feel cosy and familiar when I see books lying around.. Oh well, am looking forward to exploring Paris libraries...
J'espere que j'aimerai Paris, et Paris...aimera moi...
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
For what it's worth....
The four letter word got stuck in my head
The dirtiest word that I've ever said
It's making me feel alright...
For what it's worth I like you
And what is worse I really do
Things have been worse
And we had fun fun fun
'Till I said I love you
And what is worse I really do
- "For what it's worth", The Cardigans
Lagi2 gw mellow, dan lagi2 gw akan menyalahkan hujan yg emang rajin turun beberapa hari ini..Haih..yah mendingan gw nge-blog sih daripada guling2 gak jelas di tempat tidur..
Kalo ditanya "Apa sih kriteria cowok idaman kamu?", gw selalu menjawab dgn kriteria yg sebetulnya sih tadinya gw asal ngarang: 1. kristen, 2. vegetarian, 3. selera humor yg baik, 4. cinta buku, 5.cinta alam, 6. suka maen musik, 7. IQ di atas 147 *nggak ding, but yah i have a weakness for cowok pinter haha..* Gw sendiri gak yakin banget bakalan ada orang yg memenuhi semua kondisi itu, kl menurut gw sih, bisa punya 4 dari 7 aja udah untung hahaha..
Jadi betapa kagetnya gw bahwa ternyata ada orang yg memenuhi 6 dari 7 kriteria itu, ditambah beberapa bonus ekstra, seperti mencintai buku2 yg sama dgn yg gw cintai.. Well, sayangnya justru satu hal yang nggak dia penuhi adalah hal yang nggak bisa ditawar2, meskipun sekarang gw meragukan itu...
Kemaren gw baru chat sama satu temen, dan jadinya salah satu topik yang dibahas adalah: kalo sayang sama seseorang, kenapa nggak diperjuangkan? Mungkin krn gw orgnya cinta damai, yah jadi gw bawaannya cepat menyerah.. *kecuali kl lagi ngotot2an untuk dapet ijin masuk hutan dari ortu* But seriously, gw memang berprinsip kalo perasaan itu mirip pasir di tangan...tugas gw cuma membuka telapak tangan gw, membiarkan pasir itu ada di situ.. Kalo memang pasir itu diam, baguslah, kalo ternyata ia terbang ditiup angin, apa boleh buat... yang jelas, mencoba menggenggamnya cuma bakal bikin pasir itu ngucur keluar dari sela2 telapak tangan...*Sepertinya gw menderita sindrom agresif-pasif, yaitu bersikap agresif saat gw penasaran sama seseorang, tetapi lalu jadi pasif kalo gw dituntut membuktikan komitmen gw itu jelasnya ada dimana.., kebalikan dari tipe pasif-agresif, tapi mari bahas itu di post lainnya..*
Hm..kok jadi gak jelas gitu post nya..
Anyway... sekarang ini untuk pertama kalinya gw merasa bahwa alasan2 gw di masa lalu untuk pasrah begitu aja, atau malahan kabur, adalah alasan2 sepele, dibanding yang sekarang bercokol di kepala gw.. Kenapa harus ada orang yang begitu "sama" dgn gw, tapi juga begitu berbeda.. Dan kenapa orang seperti itu datangnya dari tempat yang jauhnya minta ampun, yang mungkin cuma sekali seumur idup gw bakal bisa dateng ke sana...
Oh well....Nggak gimana banget sih jadinya.. Bukannya nyombong nih *nyombong dalam hal yg salah huhuhu...* , tapi gw selalu merasa bersyukur dengan kemampuan gw untuk cepat "lupa" hal2 yg gw anggap menyedihkan, dan tinggal mengingat kenangan2 yang menyenangkan. Kemampuan yang menyelamatkan gw dari saat2 gw bertepuk sebelah tangan, yang kayaknya sekarang harus dipake sekali lagi..
For what it's worth, gw gak nyesel sama sekali, malah bersyukur..
But as usual, Life goes on....
The dirtiest word that I've ever said
It's making me feel alright...
For what it's worth I like you
And what is worse I really do
Things have been worse
And we had fun fun fun
'Till I said I love you
And what is worse I really do
- "For what it's worth", The Cardigans
Lagi2 gw mellow, dan lagi2 gw akan menyalahkan hujan yg emang rajin turun beberapa hari ini..Haih..yah mendingan gw nge-blog sih daripada guling2 gak jelas di tempat tidur..
Kalo ditanya "Apa sih kriteria cowok idaman kamu?", gw selalu menjawab dgn kriteria yg sebetulnya sih tadinya gw asal ngarang: 1. kristen, 2. vegetarian, 3. selera humor yg baik, 4. cinta buku, 5.cinta alam, 6. suka maen musik, 7. IQ di atas 147 *nggak ding, but yah i have a weakness for cowok pinter haha..* Gw sendiri gak yakin banget bakalan ada orang yg memenuhi semua kondisi itu, kl menurut gw sih, bisa punya 4 dari 7 aja udah untung hahaha..
Jadi betapa kagetnya gw bahwa ternyata ada orang yg memenuhi 6 dari 7 kriteria itu, ditambah beberapa bonus ekstra, seperti mencintai buku2 yg sama dgn yg gw cintai.. Well, sayangnya justru satu hal yang nggak dia penuhi adalah hal yang nggak bisa ditawar2, meskipun sekarang gw meragukan itu...
Kemaren gw baru chat sama satu temen, dan jadinya salah satu topik yang dibahas adalah: kalo sayang sama seseorang, kenapa nggak diperjuangkan? Mungkin krn gw orgnya cinta damai, yah jadi gw bawaannya cepat menyerah.. *kecuali kl lagi ngotot2an untuk dapet ijin masuk hutan dari ortu* But seriously, gw memang berprinsip kalo perasaan itu mirip pasir di tangan...tugas gw cuma membuka telapak tangan gw, membiarkan pasir itu ada di situ.. Kalo memang pasir itu diam, baguslah, kalo ternyata ia terbang ditiup angin, apa boleh buat... yang jelas, mencoba menggenggamnya cuma bakal bikin pasir itu ngucur keluar dari sela2 telapak tangan...*Sepertinya gw menderita sindrom agresif-pasif, yaitu bersikap agresif saat gw penasaran sama seseorang, tetapi lalu jadi pasif kalo gw dituntut membuktikan komitmen gw itu jelasnya ada dimana.., kebalikan dari tipe pasif-agresif, tapi mari bahas itu di post lainnya..*
Hm..kok jadi gak jelas gitu post nya..
Anyway... sekarang ini untuk pertama kalinya gw merasa bahwa alasan2 gw di masa lalu untuk pasrah begitu aja, atau malahan kabur, adalah alasan2 sepele, dibanding yang sekarang bercokol di kepala gw.. Kenapa harus ada orang yang begitu "sama" dgn gw, tapi juga begitu berbeda.. Dan kenapa orang seperti itu datangnya dari tempat yang jauhnya minta ampun, yang mungkin cuma sekali seumur idup gw bakal bisa dateng ke sana...
Oh well....Nggak gimana banget sih jadinya.. Bukannya nyombong nih *nyombong dalam hal yg salah huhuhu...* , tapi gw selalu merasa bersyukur dengan kemampuan gw untuk cepat "lupa" hal2 yg gw anggap menyedihkan, dan tinggal mengingat kenangan2 yang menyenangkan. Kemampuan yang menyelamatkan gw dari saat2 gw bertepuk sebelah tangan, yang kayaknya sekarang harus dipake sekali lagi..
For what it's worth, gw gak nyesel sama sekali, malah bersyukur..
But as usual, Life goes on....
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
MacGyver!
Was booking the accomodations for my eurotrip (managed to get people to travel together, so now I won't be alone for the most part, only keep changing travel companions..haha..), and kinda browsed the net randomly while waiting for pages to upload.
Some gems:
I watched MacGyver in youtube!! Here's the URL for the intro: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBFD4jEFMAA&feature=related
How many of you still remember that quick thinking guy who always managed to use anything around him? MacGyver! I wonder why I didn't remember to search about it sooner..It was one of my favouriteTV shows when I was a kid.. Newae, anyone knows a guy like Mr MacGyver? Handsome, smart, athletic, adventurous.....ahh....
Ow, and came across this website that parodies wikipedia : www.tolololpedia.org . Entries are strictly in Indonesian, though, and they are hillarious!
And finally, a song by Barry Lkumahuwa: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-dM0h1TnD0
Actually, a friend recommended it in his blog because there's a gorgeous chick inside *said he, not me..*, but I find the song quite nice too..About a guy who introduced himself to a girl, but the girl just stared at him and the guy felt like he wanted to just die ;p
Some gems:
I watched MacGyver in youtube!! Here's the URL for the intro: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBFD4jEFMAA&feature=related
How many of you still remember that quick thinking guy who always managed to use anything around him? MacGyver! I wonder why I didn't remember to search about it sooner..It was one of my favouriteTV shows when I was a kid.. Newae, anyone knows a guy like Mr MacGyver? Handsome, smart, athletic, adventurous.....ahh....
Ow, and came across this website that parodies wikipedia : www.tolololpedia.org . Entries are strictly in Indonesian, though, and they are hillarious!
And finally, a song by Barry Lkumahuwa: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-dM0h1TnD0
Actually, a friend recommended it in his blog because there's a gorgeous chick inside *said he, not me..*, but I find the song quite nice too..About a guy who introduced himself to a girl, but the girl just stared at him and the guy felt like he wanted to just die ;p
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The Fringe Benefts of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination - JK Rowling
J.K. Rowling, author of the best-selling Harry Potter book series, delivers her Commencement Address, “The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination,” at the Annual Meeting of the Harvard Alumni Association. I found this a very inspiring read. It's rather long, but well worth your time.
President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.
The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.
Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.
Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.
I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.
These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.
They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.
I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.
I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.
What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.
At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.
I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.
However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.
Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.
Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.
So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.
You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.
Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.
The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.
Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.
You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.
One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.
There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.
Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.
I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.
And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.
Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.
Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.
And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.
Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.
Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.
Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.
And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.
I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.
What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.
One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.
That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.
But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.
If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.
I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I’ve used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.
So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.I wish you all very good lives.Thank you very much.
President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.
The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.
Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.
Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.
I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.
These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.
They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.
I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.
I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.
What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.
At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.
I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.
However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.
Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.
Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.
So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.
You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.
Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.
The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.
Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.
You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.
One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.
There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.
Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.
I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.
And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.
Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.
Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.
And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.
Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.
Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.
Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.
And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.
I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.
What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.
One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.
That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.
But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.
If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.
I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I’ve used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.
So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.I wish you all very good lives.Thank you very much.
Hanoi vs Singapore....
"Is it possible to fall in love with a city? I wouldn't have thought so once, but that was before I had been to Hanoi. I suppose I love my home city of Sidney, but that is more like the way you love your parents. It's where you come from, it's always there, and you don't usually have to think about it. But Hanoi was more like a passionate affair...."
-Pam Scott, "Hanoi Stories"
Hm...until some time ago, I've never really thought of Singapore as boring... It has its own characteristics, its own nook and crannies, its own quirkiness, and most importantly it's such a safe city that I can go around exploring on my own. As everyone who stays here knows, Singapore is clean, orderly, efficient, fast, honest - attributes that I've come to appreciate and really be grateful for...
But it's been 3 days since I'm back from Hanoi...and somehow the sights and sounds of Hanoi keeps re-appearing in my mind..the flower sellers in bicycle, the lychee sellers with their baskets, the sound of motorbikes and honks,the smell of fried bread, people eating at the roadside, barbers in narrow alleys, criss-crossing electrical cables,the green waters of Hoan Kiem lake, the hustle and bustle of the Old Quarter.... I walked around Singapore yesterday trying to get used to life here again, but throughout the walk I kept wondering, why is there no life happening a the edge of the street? why are people walking so fast? where is the vibrancy I've come to taste and love in Hanoi? Much as I feel like an unfilial child, I can't help comparing Singapore to Hanoi...The roads are too big, the buildings too plain, the pavements too empty, the HDB blocks too similar, the "historical" areas too artificial, the guys too made up, the girls also too made up, everything is too uniformed, generic and tailored..
-Pam Scott, "Hanoi Stories"
Hm...until some time ago, I've never really thought of Singapore as boring... It has its own characteristics, its own nook and crannies, its own quirkiness, and most importantly it's such a safe city that I can go around exploring on my own. As everyone who stays here knows, Singapore is clean, orderly, efficient, fast, honest - attributes that I've come to appreciate and really be grateful for...
But it's been 3 days since I'm back from Hanoi...and somehow the sights and sounds of Hanoi keeps re-appearing in my mind..the flower sellers in bicycle, the lychee sellers with their baskets, the sound of motorbikes and honks,the smell of fried bread, people eating at the roadside, barbers in narrow alleys, criss-crossing electrical cables,the green waters of Hoan Kiem lake, the hustle and bustle of the Old Quarter.... I walked around Singapore yesterday trying to get used to life here again, but throughout the walk I kept wondering, why is there no life happening a the edge of the street? why are people walking so fast? where is the vibrancy I've come to taste and love in Hanoi? Much as I feel like an unfilial child, I can't help comparing Singapore to Hanoi...The roads are too big, the buildings too plain, the pavements too empty, the HDB blocks too similar, the "historical" areas too artificial, the guys too made up, the girls also too made up, everything is too uniformed, generic and tailored..
Singapore government has tried its best to inject life to the city, by creating a lot of festivals, events, light-ups, campaigns etc etc... but these measured moves are the very things that prevent Singapore from ever becoming a vibrant city like Hanoi. I hope I'm wrong, but I think if there is one thing Singapore can never attain it is this: chaotic spontaneity. And perhaps it is a reaction from living too long in a society where there are pre-determined rules and protocols, even pathways to success in life, but I've come to fall head over heels for the beautiful chaos of Hanoi the moment I set eyes on the city. Indonesia is chaotic too, I guess, but i's not quite the same as Vietnam.. Maybe it's because the Vietnamese are not so different in physical made up from the Chinese that I didn't feel I stick out like a sore thumb, but is instead accepted and just effortlessly blend with the city inhabitants.
Was eating pho with my Vietnamese anh oi *big brother* yesterday, and I told him how it's easy to entertain oneself just sitting on the pavements in Hanoi looking around...because there's so much that's happening! Whereas in Singapore..I'm lucky that I love reading and walking around or else it'll be quite hard to find cheap, easy things to do to pass time..
Hmm....I still do feel an attachment to Singapore, simply because it's the city I grew up in.. A city that has sheltered me and pampered me and become my comfort zone.. but no, I can't imagine spending my life much longer here..
That aside, I went to take care of my visa applications for Paris yesterday,and the accomodation there is pretty much taken care of, plus there is a confirmation letter from NUS stating that I will indeed spend the next 5 months in Paris... Wow...I mean...I still have to look at the acceptance leter to believe it.. and I guess it's very lucky that this chance to spend time away from Singapore comes at a time when I'm not that keen to be here anymore.. Maybe after spending such a long time away, the maxim "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" will ring true.. I can only hope it doesn't become "Absence makes the heart grow fonder...of absence...".
I think of Paris and try to see how I will react to the city...I guess, being architecture buff and all, I will love it..but I have a hunch that Paris will be like a full course French dinner in a high class restaurant .. sophisticated, but snobbish as well....Singapore is like a plate of comforting nasi lemak... safe, standard, predictable,casual, though it gets annoyingly monotonous after some time... and Hanoi is like a bowl of steaming hot pho sold beside the pavement..eating it perhaps will increase the chances that I contract typhoid fever, but that doesn't make it any less delicious or tempting...
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