New friends

Ripped this off Wiki images, but that’s how my new friends look like.

Lessons learnt:

1) Friends can be bought from retail shops.

2) Cute is irresistable.

Damn the weakness for rodents.

Rediscovered: Switchfoot’s happiness

Exhausted after a full day of classes and meeting, I planned on sleeping on the bus ride home. But I made the wrong choice of album to listen to. When it’s been a long while since you last heard an album you previously liked, everything you liked about it gushes back at double the intensity, and you often have some new understanding of the songs.

Tonight’s album is Switchfoot’s Nothing is Sound. It’s an old album, which I needed to play a bit of Jenga with my CD stack to pull out from near the bottom of the pile. (I need to get a proper CD rack and develop some indexing system, or I should stop buying CDs.)

In short, the album is dark, desperate, critical and much too loaded with complex questions and guitar riffs. The stuff I like, despite it being very Christian.

The lyrics brought out real issues in the band’s raw and opinionated way, which is perhaps the type too honest for radio. Again, the stuff I like. Bands should stay real and write about issues that matter to them, not mindless love ballads with vague lyrics and catchy tunes to feed the consumers and rake in millions with. Although honestly, having millions would be very nice.

This brings me to Happy Is A Yuppie Word, which (according to some readings online) was inspired by Bob Dylan’s 1991 interview with the Rolling Stone. When asked if he was happy, Dylan replied, “Those are yuppie words, happiness and unhappiness. Its not happiness or unhappiness, its blessed or unblessed.”

That is a pretty impressive statement. Whenever I think of happiness, it somehow relates to a selfish enjoyment or some sort. While you can make someone else happy, the concept of happiness suggests some sort of personal enjoyment that everyone has a right to. But how do you really be “happy” when there is much to be “unhappy” about in this world? Somehow there has to be a trade-off with the amount of information you wish to assimilate – ignorance is bliss.

Yet, when Dylan mentioned “blessed or unblessed”, the context changes. It is no longer plain enjoyment, but rather, it is a humble recognition that you are simply “luckier” or that you simply have more than other people. Sure, you can be the yuppie who worked hard to get what you have, but happiness is not a right simply because you worked hard and earned more. There is too much to be unhappy about because there are too many ways in which things can become better. You can only recognize that you are “blessed” with so much.

What I see is that Switchfoot expresses their interpretation of the quote in a yearning for something that is more than superficial; something that doesn’t break and is long lasting,

“Happy is a Yuppie word,

Blessed is the man who lose it all.

Looking for an orphanage,

I’m looking for a bridge I can’t burn down.

I don’t believe the emptiness,

I’m looking for the kingdom coming down.

Everything is meaningless,

I want more than simple cash can buy.”

 

Nice, except that “blessed is the man who lose it all“ is too much of a leap of faith. Blessed with nothing?

Other great songs in the album include Lonely Nation, which is again a critical (and grim) take on the emptiness of modern culture,

“We are the target market,

We set the corporate target.

We are slaves of what we want.

We’re just numb and amused and we’re just used to bad news and,

We are slaves of what we want.”

 

But my all-time favorite in this album is Easier than Love, which has biting comments on modern notions of promiscuity and how sex sells in media. Even though I’m not offended by media portrayal of “love”, I’m very much attracted to the bluntness of these lyrics,

“Everyone’s a lost romantic,
Since our love became a kissing show
Everyone’s a Cassanova,
Come and pass me the mistletoe

Everyone’s been scared to death of dying here alone

She is easier than love
Is easier than life
It’s easier to fake and smile and bribe

It’s easier leave
It’s easier to lie
It’s harder to face ourselves at night,
Feeling alone
What have we done?
What is the monster we’ve become?

Where is my soul?”

Silence is Kindness

Whenever all someone ever says is how much he has contributed and sacrificed, and how he has been mistreated, hurt and wronged, save your sympathy. Especially if you have never heard the accused breathe a word against the accusations.

It is like the autobiographies I dislike, those true stories about an abusive father, alcoholic mother, cheating boyfriend or unfaithful wife. By making public the trauma faced by the author, such “true stories” cause hurt to those closest to the author, in a way that may never be rectified.

Granted, the author may have been genuinely wronged, and writing about and publishing his tragic past is a healing process for him. Granted also that he is seeking justice and no one has an obligation to keep mum about what he has to deal with. Yet, the biting truth, if made known to the author’s dearest (and in a public way) is an unkindness akin to disowning the relationship after expressing regret that it was ever entered into.

It is true that we are generally more careless with the people we’re closest to. But hurtful comments are often limited to the superficial ones, like a “why are you so stupid you left the kettle on” or “that dress really makes you look ugly”. The biggest displeasures, however, are often kept under cover, out of love, and simply because they have been overlooked or embraced.

That’s why silence is kindness.

When you are stabbed by a hurtful remark, consider what could have been said but has remained unsaid. When someone does not express support for you, realize that he didn’t express discouragement either. When you don’t get the expressed sympathy or empathy you’re asking for, realize that he is still listening to your requests and is not complaining about it.

The biggest kindness of all is loving the most unlovable which entails a silent acceptance of the most intolerable. Often, in putting down the closest because of a lack of expressed concern or careless remark, we overlook the fact that simply because he has stuck with you, whether as family, friend or lover, he has already embraced the biggest character flaw you have. And that, is more than anything you could ever ask for.

Overheard

As bus 74 approached the bus stop, a young boy turned to his father and said, “I know 74 is coming. You know how I know that?”

I thought what a stupid question that was, it’s obvious that he saw the bus coming.

To my surprise, the father asked the question his son wanted him to, “How do you know 74 is coming?”

“Because the 7 sticks to the 4 and the 4 sticks to the 7, so I know it’s 74.” was the boy’s answer.

It turns out that the boy was learning his numbers, and he was testing and showing off his concept. He came from an entirely different perspective and meant not what we commonly understood when he said, “I know 74 is coming.”

Never jump to conclusion.

A calm beneath the storm

After getting too used to the mute button on the TV remote controller, I’ve been hoping to find a way to mute real life. And I did find one after all, without causing permanent hearing damage to myself – by being underwater.

The effect is greatest in a heavy rain. As the rain crashed down, the sounds of real life is drowned out by the splashing torrents of rain hitting the ground. But once underwater, even the splashing of rain becomes barely audible and everything is reduced to a soundless peace. Unlike the claustrophobic and deafening silence in an enclosed room, this is a relaxing and happy silence that is exactly the mute effect I’m looking for.

While the rain feels heavy on the skin, it causes merely a modest ruffle of the water surface, leaving everything below undisturbed. Underwater, it is a separate world, a calm beneath the storm where the only hint of the storm happening above is an ever changing granite-like ceiling of water made beautiful by the distortion of light.

How is it that, despite being all battered up on the surface, the water body is able to remain calm and peaceful underneath? Although the feeling I get when first experiencing this effect is humbling amazement, I realized later that there is really nothing complex in it. As water falls into water and water tension makes it difficult to penetrate the surface, the invader and invaded join to continuously create a new surface, an additional layer on top of the original body of water.

When you’re hit by what you’re made of, it can’t damage you, but it can make you stronger. Immerse yourself in it, and you will be in your own world, one that is not defined by the ways of life determined by others.

Honest Unkindness

I prefer real unkindness to fake kindness.

I might even admire the honesty in the meanness. After all, we can’t act like saints when none of us are, and there’s always a tinge of egoism, self-importance and arrogance in noble or heroic behavior.

So, let’s not pretend.

It does not personally concern us whether half-strangers make it home safely or not. We are also not really interested in the mundane preferences of acquaintances. We don’t care and never bother to remember the answers to the polite “how are you?” and “how was your day?”. We might not even pay attention to your well-crafted answer.

As much as we would like to be seen as such, we are actually not giant care bears overflowing with unconditional love for the world and the strangers around us, especially not if the stranger’s a smelly old man or brawling brat. If they happen to belong to the unfortunate segments of society, we sympathize with them but whatever little help we give them is really not as world-changing as the happiness we derive from helping may make it seem.

We are only human. Let’s just be honest.

Before polite formalities and half-hearted compliments become part of your reflexes, please rethink if they’re really necessary. Before you enjoy that warm fuzzy feeling you get from giving up your seat to an old lady, please realize it’s really not that big a deal – you might even want to groan a bit, because that wasn’t merely kindness, you’re kind of obliged to.

When is perfection too much to ask for?

Whenever this feeling of worthlessness comes by, the great debate between trying too hard and not trying hard enough surfaces again. From a personal evaluation of self-worth to an appreciation of someone else’s character and capability, there doesn’t seem to be a point of agreement as to when to draw the line between being honest to oneself and being ambitious in a search for improvement.

On one hand, sleeping through failure is plain laziness. Sometimes, I see not seeking improvement, overlooking blatant flaws and even, not expecting perfection as dsyfunctional to some extent. That’s the obsessive compulsive side. It’s an appreciation for extremism – being balanced is being equally mediocre; compromising means giving up something better. It can also be the rationalization process for being critical and judgmental.

On the other hand, there is some wisdom in knowing that you can’t be perfect. At some point, it is necessary to be able to accept rejection, and live with flaws and imperfections. Why try so hard? What are you trying to prove? Who are you trying to prove to? Is it worth the while? Afterall, tolerance and being content with what you have instead of what you have not is maturity. Knowing when to not insist on your views, especially in evaluating someone else is a form of showing concern as much as constructive criticisms are, only with added sensitivity.

I can’t conclude, because I don’t know when is enough. When is it time to stop demanding more? When is it time to be comfortable with myself? Or even, when is it time to stop asking such questions and live for the now?

Life is Beautiful

I have my head firmly buried under ground now. The more they tell me the job market is bad, the more lethargic I feel towards applying for jobs. Rejections are too much for my heart to take.

With a lot of help from Chopin, believing that heaven exists on earth is easy. His music, especially the nocturnes, can convince any non-believer that life is beautiful. So I have them on loop now.

Sometimes I feel that I’m abusing music to some extent, which is what I complain the most about mainstream music. I hate hip hop because it does nothing except set your heart thumping to the heavy African drum beats, repeat nonsensical but catchy lyrics and have you all hyped up about nothing. Yet I’m also abusing music myself, using it as an escape of some sort.

Music should never be used merely for ambience creation, because music that does nothing except evoke emotions, paint a scene, imitate sounds or generally be descriptive about things are very much limited in its value (and very crude). I don’t know how right this view is, but I believe that there is an objective aesthetic standard for music, somehow. This standard that transcends genres, cultures and personal music preferences. That is, a good piece of music will leave an impression and be appreciated even if it’s not the type of music you like. Music is NOT personal.

I can’t evaluate music aesthetically yet, and so I abuse it based on how well it supports my mood. Feel-good lyrics and songs that agree with my emotions are a guilty pleasure. Good music is enjoyed because it is expressive, emotive and just so very pretty. Enjoying is easy, but getting to understanding is so difficult. I may never be able to understand, and that’s why music intrigues me.

I’m still abusing Chopin.

There is no meaning in life

I turned on the TV and watched the news. All I saw was banks collapsing, bailout plans and some kind of food that is taken off the shelves because it contains some toxin. Then MOS is closing down and the most bizarre of all, a balcony dropping off from a building. News is too depressing. I once heard a reporter who said that reporters generally hope that the worst things happen, now I know why, and I think they must be having a jolly good time now.

So I changed the channel, and I see dinosaurs eating people (the rerun of Jurassic Park 3 for the nth time). There is no hope for the human race.

Eventually I retreated to Arts Central, which happened to be showing Simon Rattle conducting some orchestra playing some contemporary classical, which sounds weird. (I recognized him because some time ago, I got conned into buying Rattle’s Mahler album because the CD tester somehow broke down 3-4 minutes into the piece, and the first 3-4 minutes was good.) Good thing they played Mozart after that, which was good, but classical is too comical to watch. The solo pianist looks constipated at one moment, and then goes into spasms in the next. I should avoid attending live performances lest I start laughing out loud at them.

Classical in the Heartlands

I’ve been in the mood for classical recently, and was happy to rediscover this brilliant Schubert piece from an old Isaac Stern album. The Schubert pieces which were located on the second disc in the disc set were usually missed because I begin listening to the album from the first disc of Mozart pieces.

I didn’t like Mozart until I heard Isaac Stern perform some of his sonatas. However technically perfect Mozart is, his pieces are long winded and if played by a less perceptive performer, very monotonous. I hated Mozart and never understood why he was such an acclaimed composer when I was learning the piano. Now I know it’s just because I hated the way I hear myself play and regret not listening carefully enough to good performances back then. But Isaac Stern’s decisive and intuitive style made Mozart’s sonatas came to life, and I went from Mozart-hater to Mozart-lover almost immediately. Absolute music or not, I swear that Mozart’s music recreated by Isaac Stern’s bow is alive, full of birds chirping and fairies dancing.

Today though, the overshadowed Schubert came into my ears and the appreciation for Schubert came back suddenly. I had forgotten why Schubert has always had a special place in my heart, always top of the list when picking classical music. The only piece I can name is perhaps Serenade. But Schubert never disappoints. Melody focused but sophisticated in his own way, Schubert’s music is intensely moving and thought provoking at the same time. This is something that Mozart, in all his perfection, lacks because of the aloofness and that little hint of arrogance that can be detected from his music.

This Schubert rediscovery came on today’s long trip back into the true heartlands which I’ve not visited for a long time – a splendid coincidence. Fine classical music plugged into the ears while the body is on a bus full of sweaty people in their most comfortable home clothes, chatty school children on the way home and frazzled-hair housewives with their messy grocery bags, is a poignant combination. This is a feeling both of living in the real world yet wilfully hanging on to romanticism of fine art, and living on the romanticism of fine art yet remaining connected to realism.

Today is a contrast of my everyday transit between the commercialized town area, the museums of fine architecture and theatres with large posters of the most acclaimed art performances, where fellow bus users are well-dressed office workers and people decked in their Sunday best for a day or night out with friends. It is when you’re furthest away from the monuments of art and what is typically defined as beauty that the full impact of fine beauty can hit you the hardest and move you the most. It is also only when you keep in touch with realism that art has meaning.