My son, let not them depart from thine eyes: keep sound wisdom and discretion: So shall they be life unto thy soul, and grace to thy neck. - Proverbs 3.21-22
A post on my Livejournal friends list set me thinking. The post in question had to do with how best to teach one's offspring the art of discernment, and some of the suggestions given were pretty much what I expected from a Christian-centric community.
For the past few months I have started my mornings with Handel's Messiah. The glorious splendour of its harmonies counter-balanced by the elegant simplicity of its lyrics have never failed to uplift me. It is my favorite amongst oratorios although Mendelssohn's Elijah is a fierce contender. This morning I picked up a brochure advertising a performance of Elijah at the Esplanade. As much as I am tempted I think I shall save my money to hear the LSO and Tenebrae in perfect harmony.
In this modern world it is easy for a young person to become cynical and jaded about many things, this concept of 'love' amongst them. Yet every now and then a heartwarming story will appear out of nowhere to strike a blow against that fortress of cynicism and guardedness and nearly, very nearly, has one believing that things can change for the better.
This week brought a double blow to my fortress at least. First Prop 8 in California was ruled unconstitutional by a Judge Vaughn Walker and the second is an article by Lisa Ruth Brunner published in the New York Times' Modern Love column. (My thanks to Dorothy Snarker for highlighting it in her blog.)
Brunner makes no bones about the fact that the object of her desire and ultimately love was also a girl, and how instead of following a boy wherever he went she ended up following a girl instead.
We all have that first love. You know the one. The one who either brings a bittersweet smile to your lips after many years or a sweet smile of reminiscence when you recall that laugh, that voice, that look. The one you will always remember and perhaps, even, write about. The one you will always, in some way, love.
Certain parts of the world have come far. While the plague of female foeticide and infanticide still ravages vast lands, we have the heartening progress, the gradual shift away from hetero-normativity, an increasing tolerance of diversity. For those fortunate enough to be recipients of that progress, revel in it and pray that one day it will be the same in other parts of the world.
Meanwhile, I will go back to re-reading Brunner's article, and after having snooped around Google to find out who the object of her affection was, I expect it will be interesting.
Image from Art & Perception
If there is a promise I have made myself, it is not to make value judgments on other cultures and customs that seem barbaric or heinous. Dave's recent post about Legitimate cultural difference or barbaric rite provided some very good heuristics - namely the one about physical mutilation of a child being wrong.
Now I don't see how the culturally-sanctioned practice of female foeticide in both India and China is any less worse than physical mutilation of a child, so I make no apologies for my trenchant castigation (and reneging this once on my promise). In this instance it is India that caught my attention, thanks (somewhat reluctantly) to a friend who pointed me to this article about India's Missing Girls in the Guardian and an eponymous documentary on Youtube, which I refused to watch, saying it would depress not enrich me.
"What's the most resilient parasite? An Idea. A single idea from the human mind can build cities. An idea can transform the world and rewrite all the rules. Which is why I have to steal it." - Dom Cobb
You know you've been quite familiarised with a new vocabulary or philosophy when you start to draw parallels and find references in such pop culture matters as films. In this case Inception, one of the more intelligent films to emerge this year, directed by Christopher Nolan of Memento and possibly one of the few that has my mind spinning even 48 hours after watching it. Brilliant casting aside (and the fact that at least one of its female leads, Ellen Page, wasn't sexualised through her wardrobe) it leaves one some food for thought about the very fine lines between reality and dreams.
Last night my Twitterverse and even LJ friends list were abuzz with this video of a troupe of 7 year-old girls performing a dance to Beyonce's Single Ladies.
Now firstly I am no great fan of R&B music; it is mostly a cesspit of unimaginative lyrics and beats and even melodies, tired and rehashed, the only thing that saves the genre is slick dance moves coupled with sexy, skimpy outfits. Note I put 'sexy' and 'skimpy' together, not because they necessarily go hand in hand but because in this case it does. I understand that. Glamour sells. Sex sells.
But such sexuality projected by 7 year-old girls, both in dressing and moves? My stomach churned. I couldn't watch the video for long, not the least because the song itself is irritating and I'd rather subject myself to thrash metal.
Some might say I have no right to comment as I am clearly not the mother of any of those girls, and I am not, but surely as an adult and a member of society I am permitted to air my views about these parents allowing their daughters to essentially dress and dance like whores. What does this say about this world we live in, where girls as young as 7 are allowed by their parents to look and move like adults? This rapid sexualisation, indicative of modern society, cannot bode well for humanity as a whole. There is a time and place for everything - permitting girls of 7 to develop and flaunt their bodies and sexuality as wares on a stage is not it.
I don't think I am conservative, merely desirous of propriety. I don't see their dancing, technically good as it is, as 'artistic expression'. Perhaps if they were a decade older, yes, I'd say they have sexy moves. But they are not, and it sickens me.
I scrawl this entry into my moleskine as my plane departs from Changi Airport. To the left of me a child is whining but earbud-phones and the latest Gareth Emery podcast episode (episode 99 - check it out if you're a trance fan) ensure my sanity.
I leave for a week-long conference about public health ethics and one of the reasons I'm there is to see how CE's narrative-based methods would fit into the evaluation framework, and to add Asian perspectives to the discourse. This conference comes on the heels of a rather hectic week which saw all but one of the CE family in Singapore - it was definitely full house in the office.
The beginning of the week was given to the IRAHSS, followed by meetings and finally Dave's Leading through Complexity seminar. I couldn't have had better preparation and solidification of all that I've been learning over the past five months. Podcasts and presentation slides are excellent but nothing beats hearing Dave and his stories in person. Particularly anticipatory awareness and induction to abduction were presented in a clear, concise manner. Of course Dave being Dave, there were the pre-requisite digs at Myer-Briggs, Gen XYZ, Randinistas and mind-numbing bureaucracy, all of which served to keep me engaged to the very end. Not an insignificant feat considering I've always drifted off in seminars or talks - I blame that in equal parts on a hyperactive brain and boring speakers.
During my off hours I will have to complete my essay on the marginalisation of women and control in three works, Wide Sargasso Sea and Medea or Pygmalion. I am in two minds over which of the plays I should select. Medea while suitably dark and stark is not quite as interesting as Pygmalion, although my lack of notes on the latter - entirely my fault - is panicking me.
The flight is short and I gain and hour flying west; it made little sense to haul out my laptop from the overhead cabin merely to type a blog entry hence the scrawling on paper.
For now there are more papers to read in preparation of the conference. When I blog again it will be to post some photos and perhaps share a thought or two.
If you are interested in dip your toe into theological studies, have a look at Yale University's free, online introductory courses in the Old and New Testaments.
I've only read the transcript of the first lecture so I'll reserve my opinions for now. What pleases me though is the fact that introductory courses from a quality university are now available to the general public who might not otherwise have the means to read theology.
(via Will Crawley's blog, Will & Testament)
The world is harsh, cruel, cold, unforgiving - and yet from time to time small, random acts of kindness and graciousness can brighten up the entire day.
Manners - whether civility, graciousness, courtliness - are largely ignored, lost or scoffed at in this modern age, so much so that what should be default has become a rarity. Opening doors, carrying heavy bags, helping to carry a stroller up steps, walking on the outer side of the pavement.
Saying please and thank you to all and sundry, from bellboy to waitress. Noticing and anticipating. Being thoughtful. Putting others ahead of self.
Have you made the world a little less cold today?
Note: Scott Schuman, author of The Sartorialist, shared his desire to be a "more graceful man for my graceful woman". Wonderfully inspiring and something I want to emulate - not to any particular person but to the world at large.
Although I am not a fan of the 'Boks, I decided to watch the newly-released film Invictus because I would watch films directed by Clint Eastwood as a matter of course.
In 1995 South Africa beat New Zealand to win the World Cup, when all odds seemed to be against them. The film is as much about Nelson Mandela as it is about Francois Pienaar, the captain of the 'Boks at the time, and how Mandela inspired Pienaar to lead his team to victory.
I won't dwell too much on the film; it is a good watch even for non-rugby fans (a few technical errors in the film when it came to rugby itself, quite an irony really) and it is worth the price of the ticket. I believe anyone can relate to a tale of the underdog team triumphing and the indefatigable human spirit that is Nelson Mandela.
It was the poem upon which the film is based that brought to mind times spent in libraries, gradually getting lost in volumes of poetry. I wrap up a quiet weekend with Henley's 'Invictus', the last two lines of which have been my life's motto since I was 15.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of fate
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years finds
And shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.