The Chinese saying goes, 时间会冲淡一切, or "time will dilute all things".
It's hard to believe so much time has passed and the tear glands still act up every time that episode gets brought up.
Today I realised I'm struggling to regain my ability to trust that relationships I've given myself to will come through for me.
They told me
once upon a time,
if you
give
yourself
to relationships,
there comes a time
when there's enough trust
built
that you can depend on those
relationships.
Then you tried to tell me they were wrong.
2.5 years wasn't enough...
时间会冲淡一切
I wasn't going to ask for any more favours
I just wanted to
know
if we could still be
friends.
It didn't hurt because you couldn't help.
or didn't want to, but... technicalities.
It hurt because you didn't want to talk.
时间会冲淡一切
I haven't stopped loving you
I can't stop loving you
You're still family even if my passport tries to tell you otherwise.
I still love you.
I wouldn't be here otherwise.
Today I sat and wept.
They said 时间会冲淡一切
I wish time would hurry up and dilute all this pain from that episode.
It was trivial.
Right?
So why this pain?
The on-lookers are saying that wasn't fair.
But life isn't fair
If it was, there would be a whole lot less suffering in the world.
All those years you've preached at me to not walk the journey alone.
Yet when it became time you said, "We'll walk with you while you're here but we can't do anything once you leave here."
I'm dare not ask for fairness.
But Lord help me, my trust issues from the dark ages threaten to return.
"I do not ask on behalf of these alone, but for those also who believe in You through our word; that we may all be one; even as You, Father, are in Jesus and He in You, that we also may be in You, so that the world may believe that You sent Him." - John 17:20-21
时间会冲淡一切
I hope one day we can look back with a smile and say, that wasn't pretty, but it was ok.
"That we may all be one..."
Thank you for the "other" voices from that episode, and the reminder that in spite of the crappy hand I've been dealt, I still had/have quality people in my life.
03 September 2012
26 August 2012
When Mr Bean Became Human
I don't watch much TV, but this much I know about TV shows: I hate shows like Mr Bean and America's Funniest Home Videos.
Why?
Because every time I watch Mr Bean about to do something that we ALL know is going to completely embarrass him, I cringe knowing that he's going to go ahead and do it anyway. Like the time he tries to beat the parking barrier at the parking lot by timing it just nicely to run over the blue van. Or when he runs into the women's changing room at the pool naked after he lost his shorts.
Maybe I have too much empathy, but I die a little bit inside every time I watch Mr Bean or the kid falling off his bike embarrass themselves.
The other day when I was at the store, I noticed this guy poised like he was ready to tee off, except 1) he didn't have a golf club in his hands, and 2) he was standing beside the box of bok choy. I try not to giggle as I'm walking by, just in time for him to turn around and notice me. I smiled and kept on walking as he apologised and tried to sheepishly explain that he was "just practising my strokes".
I struggled to keep the giggles contained as I rolled my eyes inside, thinking, "right, just showing off your strokes to the bok choy, ay?"
That very same moment, that Mr Bean moment hit me.
Mr Bean became human in the Indian guy practising his strokes at the veggie shop (a very good-looking and sheepish Indian guy too, if I might add).
He didn't owe me any kind of explanation about what he was doing, but because of that 2-second interaction, the Mr Bean that I could keep my distance from while he was on The Tube became human to me.
It made me think of the conversation I had with Emily just a few days prior to that exchange at the veggie shop. We were discussing the latest project she had commissioned me on--a written one this time--and I had reached a point where I didn't know how to proceed without compromising the code of ethics I had developed over time to protect the stories I had started collecting. As I tried to explain that it made me uncomfortable simply publicizing stories that I had been trusted with without permission, even if the owners of these stories may never find out, Emily interrupted my verbal-diarrhoea with the simple,
Yes, I had empathy for Mr Bean, but I could easily turn the TV off. But the guy at the veggie shop and all the other characters of the stories I've been collecting--they became human beings. "They have names, a history, hearts, and you have to protect them." They're not just the funny-looking Englishman on The Tube, a statistic in the news, a case-study in the textbooks.
They became human, like the guy in the veggie shop practising his stroke.
Why?
Because every time I watch Mr Bean about to do something that we ALL know is going to completely embarrass him, I cringe knowing that he's going to go ahead and do it anyway. Like the time he tries to beat the parking barrier at the parking lot by timing it just nicely to run over the blue van. Or when he runs into the women's changing room at the pool naked after he lost his shorts.
Maybe I have too much empathy, but I die a little bit inside every time I watch Mr Bean or the kid falling off his bike embarrass themselves.
The other day when I was at the store, I noticed this guy poised like he was ready to tee off, except 1) he didn't have a golf club in his hands, and 2) he was standing beside the box of bok choy. I try not to giggle as I'm walking by, just in time for him to turn around and notice me. I smiled and kept on walking as he apologised and tried to sheepishly explain that he was "just practising my strokes".
I struggled to keep the giggles contained as I rolled my eyes inside, thinking, "right, just showing off your strokes to the bok choy, ay?"
That very same moment, that Mr Bean moment hit me.
Mr Bean became human in the Indian guy practising his strokes at the veggie shop (a very good-looking and sheepish Indian guy too, if I might add).
He didn't owe me any kind of explanation about what he was doing, but because of that 2-second interaction, the Mr Bean that I could keep my distance from while he was on The Tube became human to me.
It made me think of the conversation I had with Emily just a few days prior to that exchange at the veggie shop. We were discussing the latest project she had commissioned me on--a written one this time--and I had reached a point where I didn't know how to proceed without compromising the code of ethics I had developed over time to protect the stories I had started collecting. As I tried to explain that it made me uncomfortable simply publicizing stories that I had been trusted with without permission, even if the owners of these stories may never find out, Emily interrupted my verbal-diarrhoea with the simple,
"Stop being sorry it makes perfect sense. They are not [just those people]... they became human beings... people... to you they have names a history hearts and you have to protect them"In the moments as I loaded up the groceries in the van, still trying to stifle the giggles from "Mr Bean," I understood exactly what Emily meant.
Yes, I had empathy for Mr Bean, but I could easily turn the TV off. But the guy at the veggie shop and all the other characters of the stories I've been collecting--they became human beings. "They have names, a history, hearts, and you have to protect them." They're not just the funny-looking Englishman on The Tube, a statistic in the news, a case-study in the textbooks.
They became human, like the guy in the veggie shop practising his stroke.
20 August 2012
Life On The Platter
I was talking to Emily this morning about life in general recently and she asked,
It's like the bunch of us here at Westside have been given this ginormous platter of eggs to juggle. Since the beginning of this year, we've had a major cut in number of folks to help carry the load of both leadership and simply making sure that the day-to-day, week-to-week stuff happen. With the Beisleys' and Steve's departures, we went from 4 full-time pastoral staff to 5 for a few months when I came on, down to 2. Our elders also went from 4 down to 2. Even with all the preparation that went into preparing for all the transitions that happened, it still feels like a lot when the full weight of "stuff" finally sank in and we realised how much we were carrying as a church family.
The thing I've been most thankful for is that those that are left have thrown all hands are on deck to help keep things fairly well-balanced so that no single person has to juggle more than he/she can handle. But even then, it's still a big platter to juggle to make sure that the eggs don't fall off one side while we're trying to keep things balanced on the other. Let's face it, we're all human and our arms will get sore and tired from trying to help hold up the platter. Sometimes one of us has to carry more so the other can take a break.
And so we learn to communicate. We learn to trust each other that when one of us is saying we need a break, it's not because we're being lazy, but because we really do need a break. We learn to articulate when it feels like our end of the platter is getting thrown off balance again, and we learn to ask for help. We learn to share the weight of the platter equally according to what each is able to contribute so that the eggs don't fall off the less-than-balanced end.
And then there are the... oh, what shall we call it... negative forces, for lack of a better word, thrown in from time to time to off-set the new balance. Sickness, family circumstances and the situations beyond our control that try to throw off the balance from the top as we try to keep things even from below. So we learn to pray and ask for divine help to help tackle things coming from the top... Or what we sometimes know more affectionately as "not flesh and blood, but rulers, powers, the world forces of this darkness, and the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places."
For the last few months now, Jonny and I have been alternating taking Kids' Church each week. The weeks I wasn't doing Kids' Church, I was alternating leading worship with Stephen. We all knew it wasn't the most ideal arrangement, but it was the best we can do for now. Until two Sunday ago when I came down with a fever and had to call Jonny to take Kids' Church for the second week in a row. Then yesterday, he came down with a fever which meant I had to lead worship and do Kids' Church right after that.
The harvest is plentiful. There's lots that can and needs to be done, but even with all hands on deck, it's still a big job to keep us going each week. I love the team I get to work with, even if not directly on leadership or on the Kids' Church volunteer team, but we're all being stretched really thin. The youth ministry is vibrant and energetic, but we desperately need a coordinator so that Chad can have a bit more time and space for pastoral care elsewhere.
I don't know who all of my kampong outside of New Zealand still reads this, especially since I haven't done the best job of writing here recently. But if you do and you're a believer of prayer, we covet your prayers. Pray for us specifically for protection over relationships, that as the going gets tough, we learn to continually put relationships first.
I leave you with this song by Jewel...
"My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray"
"How are things over there?"For the last few days, I've been trying to figure out how to capture what life has been like in the last few months, and last night the imagery came at last.
It's like the bunch of us here at Westside have been given this ginormous platter of eggs to juggle. Since the beginning of this year, we've had a major cut in number of folks to help carry the load of both leadership and simply making sure that the day-to-day, week-to-week stuff happen. With the Beisleys' and Steve's departures, we went from 4 full-time pastoral staff to 5 for a few months when I came on, down to 2. Our elders also went from 4 down to 2. Even with all the preparation that went into preparing for all the transitions that happened, it still feels like a lot when the full weight of "stuff" finally sank in and we realised how much we were carrying as a church family.
The thing I've been most thankful for is that those that are left have thrown all hands are on deck to help keep things fairly well-balanced so that no single person has to juggle more than he/she can handle. But even then, it's still a big platter to juggle to make sure that the eggs don't fall off one side while we're trying to keep things balanced on the other. Let's face it, we're all human and our arms will get sore and tired from trying to help hold up the platter. Sometimes one of us has to carry more so the other can take a break.
And so we learn to communicate. We learn to trust each other that when one of us is saying we need a break, it's not because we're being lazy, but because we really do need a break. We learn to articulate when it feels like our end of the platter is getting thrown off balance again, and we learn to ask for help. We learn to share the weight of the platter equally according to what each is able to contribute so that the eggs don't fall off the less-than-balanced end.
And then there are the... oh, what shall we call it... negative forces, for lack of a better word, thrown in from time to time to off-set the new balance. Sickness, family circumstances and the situations beyond our control that try to throw off the balance from the top as we try to keep things even from below. So we learn to pray and ask for divine help to help tackle things coming from the top... Or what we sometimes know more affectionately as "not flesh and blood, but rulers, powers, the world forces of this darkness, and the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places."
For the last few months now, Jonny and I have been alternating taking Kids' Church each week. The weeks I wasn't doing Kids' Church, I was alternating leading worship with Stephen. We all knew it wasn't the most ideal arrangement, but it was the best we can do for now. Until two Sunday ago when I came down with a fever and had to call Jonny to take Kids' Church for the second week in a row. Then yesterday, he came down with a fever which meant I had to lead worship and do Kids' Church right after that.
The harvest is plentiful. There's lots that can and needs to be done, but even with all hands on deck, it's still a big job to keep us going each week. I love the team I get to work with, even if not directly on leadership or on the Kids' Church volunteer team, but we're all being stretched really thin. The youth ministry is vibrant and energetic, but we desperately need a coordinator so that Chad can have a bit more time and space for pastoral care elsewhere.
I don't know who all of my kampong outside of New Zealand still reads this, especially since I haven't done the best job of writing here recently. But if you do and you're a believer of prayer, we covet your prayers. Pray for us specifically for protection over relationships, that as the going gets tough, we learn to continually put relationships first.
I leave you with this song by Jewel...
"My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray"
06 August 2012
Five Years On
Dear Keren,
I remember a night like this, five years ago.
The night where words and groans were not enough to express anguish.
The night where the need to call a friend at two in the morning defined the crisis mode.
The night where acceptance of this new reality of life without your smile and laughter started to sink in.
It was the phonecall I didn't want to receive.
Five years on, and the events of that weekend linger still, fresh as ever.
They didn't tell me why they needed to get in touch with your brother.
Only that you were in an accident.
People don't die that easily from accidents. Right?
Then they asked if I wanted to go see you in the hospital.
Was there a need?
It can't be that bad, can it?
Then I saw you lying there with all those extra science keeping you alive.
Why didn't they do more for you?
They called themselves Christians, but they didn't believe in a miracle?
I wanted to touch you, but I was afraid I would completely suck the life out of you if I did.
And then that morning at church.
I knew it was a matter of time before I would get that phonecall.
"Her parents just got in. They're taking her off life-support."
And then that strange woman.
I hardly knew her, but she was forcing me to swallow yoghurt.
"You may not have an appetite, but you need food in your system, and you can slurp down yoghurt."
You forced me into accepting community so I could never walk alone again.
That strange woman, with her husband and three boys became family.
Your father gave me permission to keep memories of you alive through staying in touch.
The story of our friendship was so simple, yet so complicated to explain without drawing others into my story, and the life that has unfolded ever since that day five years ago.
Dear Keren, tonight I revisited Elizabethtown with new friends. New people who will help me navigate the pages of my story. Telling the stories of what made us friends and what made Elizabethtown important forced me to celebrate the little pieces of life that has unfolded in the last five years.
Dear Keren, they asked me to write to you. To continue to tell you the stories of all that I've seen and the people I've met. Funny, because if you recall, we were supposed to meet at 4pm on August 3 five years ago to trade what would have been the last stories on this side of your life. 4pm came and went on August 3, 2007 with you lying with way too much of science trying to keep you alive at the Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis.
Dear Keren, these days they keep asking me what I do. I keep wanting to tell them, I collect stories. It may not be a real job, but it's what I do. The stories didn't end on August 3, 2007. So I will keep writing. I will keep collecting stories and share them with you as we would have done on that very day five years ago.
Love,
Me
I remember a night like this, five years ago.
The night where words and groans were not enough to express anguish.
The night where the need to call a friend at two in the morning defined the crisis mode.
The night where acceptance of this new reality of life without your smile and laughter started to sink in.
It was the phonecall I didn't want to receive.
Five years on, and the events of that weekend linger still, fresh as ever.
They didn't tell me why they needed to get in touch with your brother.
Only that you were in an accident.
People don't die that easily from accidents. Right?
Then they asked if I wanted to go see you in the hospital.
Was there a need?
It can't be that bad, can it?
Then I saw you lying there with all those extra science keeping you alive.
Why didn't they do more for you?
They called themselves Christians, but they didn't believe in a miracle?
I wanted to touch you, but I was afraid I would completely suck the life out of you if I did.
And then that morning at church.
I knew it was a matter of time before I would get that phonecall.
"Her parents just got in. They're taking her off life-support."
And then that strange woman.
I hardly knew her, but she was forcing me to swallow yoghurt.
"You may not have an appetite, but you need food in your system, and you can slurp down yoghurt."
You forced me into accepting community so I could never walk alone again.
That strange woman, with her husband and three boys became family.
Your father gave me permission to keep memories of you alive through staying in touch.
The story of our friendship was so simple, yet so complicated to explain without drawing others into my story, and the life that has unfolded ever since that day five years ago.
Dear Keren, tonight I revisited Elizabethtown with new friends. New people who will help me navigate the pages of my story. Telling the stories of what made us friends and what made Elizabethtown important forced me to celebrate the little pieces of life that has unfolded in the last five years.
Dear Keren, they asked me to write to you. To continue to tell you the stories of all that I've seen and the people I've met. Funny, because if you recall, we were supposed to meet at 4pm on August 3 five years ago to trade what would have been the last stories on this side of your life. 4pm came and went on August 3, 2007 with you lying with way too much of science trying to keep you alive at the Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis.
Dear Keren, these days they keep asking me what I do. I keep wanting to tell them, I collect stories. It may not be a real job, but it's what I do. The stories didn't end on August 3, 2007. So I will keep writing. I will keep collecting stories and share them with you as we would have done on that very day five years ago.
Love,
Me
22 July 2012
Stereotyped
So a couple months ago I wrote about discovering I was becoming THAT churchy woman.
This weekend seems to be a test of my churchy woman superpowers.
Last night I put the chickens to bed and took out the fresh eggs.
Taking care of the domestics - check.
Finished putting together the last bits of today's worship service last night.
Lead worship - check.
Came up with emergency Plan B for kids' church today because Jonny's not up to it today.
Children's ministry - check.
About to put a dish of spanakopita in the oven for tonight's family dinner.
Contribute to the church potluck - check.
Will eventually finish loading up the van and head to church to unlock and set up.
I guess all I need now is for a male pastor to show up and sweep me off my feet so I can officially be certified pastor's wife to keep my conservative friends happy. (groan)
Or maybe I've just spent too much time with feminist literature recently...
This weekend seems to be a test of my churchy woman superpowers.
Last night I put the chickens to bed and took out the fresh eggs.
Taking care of the domestics - check.
Finished putting together the last bits of today's worship service last night.
Lead worship - check.
Came up with emergency Plan B for kids' church today because Jonny's not up to it today.
Children's ministry - check.
About to put a dish of spanakopita in the oven for tonight's family dinner.
Contribute to the church potluck - check.
Will eventually finish loading up the van and head to church to unlock and set up.
I guess all I need now is for a male pastor to show up and sweep me off my feet so I can officially be certified pastor's wife to keep my conservative friends happy. (groan)
Or maybe I've just spent too much time with feminist literature recently...
20 July 2012
On Colonialism and Nationalism
I have now lived in three different parts of the world where British influence has played a part in one way or another in nation-building. As I sat with my morning tea doing my usual scroll-through on Facebook, I was struck by the different levels of patriotism and national identity there is in each of these three parts of the world.
Before I write any further, let me throw out a couple disclaimers:
1) This post was not written with the intention of applauding or criticising one part of the world for being more nationalistic than another or vice versa. These are purely musings of sociological trends in each of these places.
2) This is also written for my own reflection, so only limited research has been done. This is NOT intended to be used for academic purposes.
3) The nationalistic voices addressed in this discussion is in reference only to a minority group, and is not a blanket statement of each society as a whole.
Colonisation
The fifteenth century saw the beginnings of European exploration that eventually led to the "founding" of colonies. The earliest of the three countries in question here to be colonised by the British is what we know today as the United States of America, dating back to 1607, where Jamestown was founded by the colonists of the London Company in Virginia. While the Brits remained the main colonial power in the New World, European interest continued, bringing a continual movement of migrants.
Fast forward about two hundred years, and we find treaties between the British and the natives in both Singapore and Aotearoa signed on the same day: 6 February (coincidentally, my birthday) in two different years: Singapore in 1819, and Aotearoa in 1840.
Three countries that while colonised by the Brits, continued to play hosts to migrants of other nations. Yet the voice of patriotism and national identity in Singapore and Aotearoa seem so much less obvious--even to the point of wondering if patriotism even exists in these parts--than in the United States. What's the difference? Allow me to make a few speculations.
The Two Centuries In Between
While the United States may not claim a spot amongst the older nations of the world like ones in Europe, the Middle East, or even India or China, the two hundred years between the "founding" of the US and the other two then-colonies would probably have played a part in the nationalism.
First, the world in the seventeenth century would have been a different place than in the nineteenth. Most significant events (for the purpose of this discussion) that took place in the two centuries in between would have been the industrial revolution, the fall of the Holy Roman Empire, the Enlightenment and the American revolution--all of which either put the British at a more advantageous position, or gave them something to think about what colonisation should look like.
Also noteworthy is that the American Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, years before the signing of the treaty with Singapore. Makes one wonder if Sir Stamford Raffles, the "founder of Modern Singapore" (as we have been taught to add to his title) had spent a few years thinking about what colonialism would need to look like now.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The "style" of colonialism was likely different in the two different eras, and one cannot help but wonder how much these "styles" in term affect national identity as each nation separated itself from the British.
The Natives
At this point, I'll admit that aside from the bits of research I've done here and there while writing this, most of my knowledge of American history came from the film, John Adams, as recommended by Jacquie Gross. Between that and the apparent need for Anglo-Saxon Americans to continually apologise to both the "Native Americans" and the African-Americans that I observed in my years in the US, I cannot help but wonder if the way the natives were treated were influential in the way nationalism plays out today. We'll get to the African-Americans (or more broadly categorised as "servants" for the purpose of this discussion) in a bit.
Since this was never intended to be an academic piece, I will not go into detail about the history of the natives in each of these three places. (And let's admit it, I may be nerdy enough to write this whole piece, but my attention span is also way too short to go into too much detail at one time.) What is worth noting is that "Native Americans" (I use this term loosely in recognition that they were natives before the land became known as America--and because there are so many different "native" tribes, the loose term will have to suffice for now.) today are now confined to specific parts of the country known as Reservations.
In contrast, the natives in Singapore, the Malays, are represented in parliament, and Malay is recognised as one of the two official languages ever since Singapore was declared independent in 1965. While I'm still trying to gain a better understanding of politics in Aotearoa, what I do know is that there is at least a Māori political party, the Treaty of Waitangi signed in 1840 has become an essential part of every day life, and there are at least conversations that still continue to happen concerning Māori land law--all while Aotearoa remains in the British Commonwealth.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
If we tied this back to the "styles" of colonialism, it might lead one to speculate that perhaps in the days where the natives were pushed into confined territories, there was more pomp and circumstance to lead into the nationalism factor. In saying that, the Anglo-Saxons remain a dominant group in the US (at least at the time this is written--sociologists are beginning to forecast a shift in the coming years)--and the ones who represent the nationalistic voice.
In contrast, while the Chinese migrant majority in Singapore played a role in the ousting of the British in post World War II Southeast Asia, the main reason for their presence on the island-city in the first place was for economic benefit rather than for claiming a stake in the competition for power. For this reason, they understand the importance of recognising native rights, and national identity is formed around the need for racial harmony rather than around the celebration of liberty. And just in my humble opinion, the celebration of liberty tends to be more boisterous than when groups have grown up doing little dances of celebration around egg-shells. Even when the day comes when they are sure the egg-shells of racial harmony have fossilised enough to withstand the weight of big parties, the dance around egg-shells have been written into the history books of the island-city like the waltzes, the allemandes, and the polkas.
Similarly, when the Treaty of Waitangi continues to play a part in the daily ethics of life in Aotearoa even till today, there is little room left for either parties involved to stand up in boisterous pride without causing a scandal that one might have possibly violated the Treaty. National identity is then shaped by the common stories of all coming from different places, each allowing the other to roam in a small part of the land.
The Servants
When the colonists arrived in the New World, they brought along with them slaves from Africa. While the scandal of slavery continues to mark American politics today, that is not the point of this discussion. The point is that... it happened. Ok? Ok.
On the other hand, the Indian servants that were brought in to Singapore were given minor government official jobs, which allowed them to integrate into society.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The bringing in of slaves reflect an attitude of arrogance that, one might speculate, forms a part of the DNA that reappears generations later in a much milder version seen in the form of national pride. On the flip side, because there was never strong resentment against the British presence, there was minimal fear or tension that life for the Indians in post-colonial Singapore would be made terrible by the other racial groups. Again, national identity in Singapore was formed around the need for racial harmony.
The Road to Independence
This is probably the biggest factor in this discussion.
The American Declaration of Independence was put together as a sign of revolt against the taxation without representation policies in the British parliament at the time. The need for representation--or the need to be heard--probably played a significant role in the push for the Declaration, and whether it is a valid cause or not remains a discussion for another time. At the same time, there were other causes that were being fought for, for which the Declaration became a sign of freedom and liberty. National identity became shaped even more by the experience of victory and liberation from the things of old.
"Independence" in New Zealand came in the form of the British withdrawal of troops in 1870 when they realised that to invest any further in a costly overseas war which was likely to continue indefinitely. Five years after the Treaty was signed, hostilities began between the Māori and the Europeans. Though inferior in number, the Māori proved to be formidable foe. Again, the Treaty sits today at a place that shapes national identity than it could have otherwise have been.
On the other hand, independence in Singapore came more peacefully, but not without bloodshed. In post-World War II Southeast Asia, colonial masters could no longer be trusted. The colonies suffered greatly in the hands of the Japanese as their colonial masters had their own wars to fight in Europe. One strategic political move after another eventually led to the ousting of the Brits in 1963, when Singapore merged with Malaysia. Due to distrust and ideological differences, Singapore eventually became an independent country of her own--the national identity still shaped by fear of racial conflicts.
Ok, So What?
I first begun mulling over these things about a year ago when I first moved to Aotearoa and noticed the similarities between the "Native Americans" and the Maori. In the course of the last couple of months, my focus shifted slightly and a hypothesis was starting to take shape concerning the sense of nationalism in the US that I sometimes found to be a little overwhelming.
The main reason for my spending all this brain space geeking over this is because I've been wondering if part of the reason for American nationalism is because of the sociological tendency to swing between extremes. (Hence why this is reflective writing rather than academia.) My hypothesis had been that American nationalism had been greatly influenced by the push away from all things of "The Old Country"--the Metric System, the fancy short spelling, you know the likes--and swung to the other end of pride in all things new.
I first began to notice these tendencies to swing between extremes in my years in seminary as we discussed Spiritual Formation. Christians raised in conservative homes go off to varsities that open their minds to different ways of thinking and suddenly they swing completely left-wing. And we are familiar with the stories of, "Oh, I was a sinful man until I met Jesus and he changed my life. Now I spend my life telling others about his amazing love and talk about nothing else."
If my hypothesis about swinging between extremes even at the macro level is true, then it might probably become easier for me to be more forgiving as I watch the pendulums swing between the extremes. It's difficult enough to bring moderation in an individual--I know because I'm guilty--what more if it's a cultural/societal tendency as well?
This might be the first and last I'm writing about this because my brain just about exploded. I don't think I'll ever draw a concrete conclusion on this hypothesis. And I think I can be ok with that.
Sources: New Zealand in History, The History Place - American Revolution, Wikipedia
P.S. If you've followed this post till this point, congratulations. I salute you.
P.P.S. If you've noticed factual discrepancies in this discussion, please feel free to (politely) point them out. I really would like to understand more about the historical/political/sociological side of things.
Somewhat relatedly, I think Mr Chua, my history teacher from way back, would be proud of my essay-writing ability... But maybe not so much my research skills. Oops.
Before I write any further, let me throw out a couple disclaimers:
1) This post was not written with the intention of applauding or criticising one part of the world for being more nationalistic than another or vice versa. These are purely musings of sociological trends in each of these places.
2) This is also written for my own reflection, so only limited research has been done. This is NOT intended to be used for academic purposes.
3) The nationalistic voices addressed in this discussion is in reference only to a minority group, and is not a blanket statement of each society as a whole.
Colonisation
The fifteenth century saw the beginnings of European exploration that eventually led to the "founding" of colonies. The earliest of the three countries in question here to be colonised by the British is what we know today as the United States of America, dating back to 1607, where Jamestown was founded by the colonists of the London Company in Virginia. While the Brits remained the main colonial power in the New World, European interest continued, bringing a continual movement of migrants.
Fast forward about two hundred years, and we find treaties between the British and the natives in both Singapore and Aotearoa signed on the same day: 6 February (coincidentally, my birthday) in two different years: Singapore in 1819, and Aotearoa in 1840.
Three countries that while colonised by the Brits, continued to play hosts to migrants of other nations. Yet the voice of patriotism and national identity in Singapore and Aotearoa seem so much less obvious--even to the point of wondering if patriotism even exists in these parts--than in the United States. What's the difference? Allow me to make a few speculations.
The Two Centuries In Between
While the United States may not claim a spot amongst the older nations of the world like ones in Europe, the Middle East, or even India or China, the two hundred years between the "founding" of the US and the other two then-colonies would probably have played a part in the nationalism.
First, the world in the seventeenth century would have been a different place than in the nineteenth. Most significant events (for the purpose of this discussion) that took place in the two centuries in between would have been the industrial revolution, the fall of the Holy Roman Empire, the Enlightenment and the American revolution--all of which either put the British at a more advantageous position, or gave them something to think about what colonisation should look like.
Also noteworthy is that the American Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, years before the signing of the treaty with Singapore. Makes one wonder if Sir Stamford Raffles, the "founder of Modern Singapore" (as we have been taught to add to his title) had spent a few years thinking about what colonialism would need to look like now.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The "style" of colonialism was likely different in the two different eras, and one cannot help but wonder how much these "styles" in term affect national identity as each nation separated itself from the British.
The Natives
At this point, I'll admit that aside from the bits of research I've done here and there while writing this, most of my knowledge of American history came from the film, John Adams, as recommended by Jacquie Gross. Between that and the apparent need for Anglo-Saxon Americans to continually apologise to both the "Native Americans" and the African-Americans that I observed in my years in the US, I cannot help but wonder if the way the natives were treated were influential in the way nationalism plays out today. We'll get to the African-Americans (or more broadly categorised as "servants" for the purpose of this discussion) in a bit.
Since this was never intended to be an academic piece, I will not go into detail about the history of the natives in each of these three places. (And let's admit it, I may be nerdy enough to write this whole piece, but my attention span is also way too short to go into too much detail at one time.) What is worth noting is that "Native Americans" (I use this term loosely in recognition that they were natives before the land became known as America--and because there are so many different "native" tribes, the loose term will have to suffice for now.) today are now confined to specific parts of the country known as Reservations.
In contrast, the natives in Singapore, the Malays, are represented in parliament, and Malay is recognised as one of the two official languages ever since Singapore was declared independent in 1965. While I'm still trying to gain a better understanding of politics in Aotearoa, what I do know is that there is at least a Māori political party, the Treaty of Waitangi signed in 1840 has become an essential part of every day life, and there are at least conversations that still continue to happen concerning Māori land law--all while Aotearoa remains in the British Commonwealth.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
If we tied this back to the "styles" of colonialism, it might lead one to speculate that perhaps in the days where the natives were pushed into confined territories, there was more pomp and circumstance to lead into the nationalism factor. In saying that, the Anglo-Saxons remain a dominant group in the US (at least at the time this is written--sociologists are beginning to forecast a shift in the coming years)--and the ones who represent the nationalistic voice.
In contrast, while the Chinese migrant majority in Singapore played a role in the ousting of the British in post World War II Southeast Asia, the main reason for their presence on the island-city in the first place was for economic benefit rather than for claiming a stake in the competition for power. For this reason, they understand the importance of recognising native rights, and national identity is formed around the need for racial harmony rather than around the celebration of liberty. And just in my humble opinion, the celebration of liberty tends to be more boisterous than when groups have grown up doing little dances of celebration around egg-shells. Even when the day comes when they are sure the egg-shells of racial harmony have fossilised enough to withstand the weight of big parties, the dance around egg-shells have been written into the history books of the island-city like the waltzes, the allemandes, and the polkas.
Similarly, when the Treaty of Waitangi continues to play a part in the daily ethics of life in Aotearoa even till today, there is little room left for either parties involved to stand up in boisterous pride without causing a scandal that one might have possibly violated the Treaty. National identity is then shaped by the common stories of all coming from different places, each allowing the other to roam in a small part of the land.
The Servants
When the colonists arrived in the New World, they brought along with them slaves from Africa. While the scandal of slavery continues to mark American politics today, that is not the point of this discussion. The point is that... it happened. Ok? Ok.
On the other hand, the Indian servants that were brought in to Singapore were given minor government official jobs, which allowed them to integrate into society.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The bringing in of slaves reflect an attitude of arrogance that, one might speculate, forms a part of the DNA that reappears generations later in a much milder version seen in the form of national pride. On the flip side, because there was never strong resentment against the British presence, there was minimal fear or tension that life for the Indians in post-colonial Singapore would be made terrible by the other racial groups. Again, national identity in Singapore was formed around the need for racial harmony.
The Road to Independence
This is probably the biggest factor in this discussion.
The American Declaration of Independence was put together as a sign of revolt against the taxation without representation policies in the British parliament at the time. The need for representation--or the need to be heard--probably played a significant role in the push for the Declaration, and whether it is a valid cause or not remains a discussion for another time. At the same time, there were other causes that were being fought for, for which the Declaration became a sign of freedom and liberty. National identity became shaped even more by the experience of victory and liberation from the things of old.
"Independence" in New Zealand came in the form of the British withdrawal of troops in 1870 when they realised that to invest any further in a costly overseas war which was likely to continue indefinitely. Five years after the Treaty was signed, hostilities began between the Māori and the Europeans. Though inferior in number, the Māori proved to be formidable foe. Again, the Treaty sits today at a place that shapes national identity than it could have otherwise have been.
On the other hand, independence in Singapore came more peacefully, but not without bloodshed. In post-World War II Southeast Asia, colonial masters could no longer be trusted. The colonies suffered greatly in the hands of the Japanese as their colonial masters had their own wars to fight in Europe. One strategic political move after another eventually led to the ousting of the Brits in 1963, when Singapore merged with Malaysia. Due to distrust and ideological differences, Singapore eventually became an independent country of her own--the national identity still shaped by fear of racial conflicts.
Ok, So What?
I first begun mulling over these things about a year ago when I first moved to Aotearoa and noticed the similarities between the "Native Americans" and the Maori. In the course of the last couple of months, my focus shifted slightly and a hypothesis was starting to take shape concerning the sense of nationalism in the US that I sometimes found to be a little overwhelming.
The main reason for my spending all this brain space geeking over this is because I've been wondering if part of the reason for American nationalism is because of the sociological tendency to swing between extremes. (Hence why this is reflective writing rather than academia.) My hypothesis had been that American nationalism had been greatly influenced by the push away from all things of "The Old Country"--the Metric System, the fancy short spelling, you know the likes--and swung to the other end of pride in all things new.
I first began to notice these tendencies to swing between extremes in my years in seminary as we discussed Spiritual Formation. Christians raised in conservative homes go off to varsities that open their minds to different ways of thinking and suddenly they swing completely left-wing. And we are familiar with the stories of, "Oh, I was a sinful man until I met Jesus and he changed my life. Now I spend my life telling others about his amazing love and talk about nothing else."
If my hypothesis about swinging between extremes even at the macro level is true, then it might probably become easier for me to be more forgiving as I watch the pendulums swing between the extremes. It's difficult enough to bring moderation in an individual--I know because I'm guilty--what more if it's a cultural/societal tendency as well?
This might be the first and last I'm writing about this because my brain just about exploded. I don't think I'll ever draw a concrete conclusion on this hypothesis. And I think I can be ok with that.
Sources: New Zealand in History, The History Place - American Revolution, Wikipedia
P.S. If you've followed this post till this point, congratulations. I salute you.
P.P.S. If you've noticed factual discrepancies in this discussion, please feel free to (politely) point them out. I really would like to understand more about the historical/political/sociological side of things.
Somewhat relatedly, I think Mr Chua, my history teacher from way back, would be proud of my essay-writing ability... But maybe not so much my research skills. Oops.
10 July 2012
Quiet Strength
Today I witnessed again the strength of two beautiful women I'm blessed to call friends.
Two separate stories that meet at the intersection called (as one of them put it), "If this happened in the movies, you wouldn't even believe it."
Today I celebrate their strength.
Strength that still finds a way to keep a sense of humour while trying to track down a guinea pig that had been dropped out of the window of a van, all after a week of nursing a child who has just had her tonsils taken out.
Strength that still finds a way for a sarcastic smile while bedridden after having been serially taken advantage of by less-than-responsible friends.
Strength that, even as they are crying out, "Oh God, how long?" continue to face their every day circumstances with strength.
Oh, the full stories stretch for years beyond just the little upsets of today.
I marvel at how they can keep going after years of facing this as a reality every day.
Their stories remind me of others who face each day the "that's not fair" cards that Life has dealt them.
Like my own grandmother whose life story I would someday like to compile into a book.
Or my own mother who work and give, and mother other children whose paths cross her life.
Or the friend who "mothers" me every month without realising she was fulfilling a prophetic dream that happened years ago.
And other mothers who mother their own children as well as others' children.
A friend in Singapore said I was "noble" for being willing to give it all up to live this life of having close to nothing to do this "good work".
Being here isn't noble.
I had the choice of whether I wanted to come.
And then there are those who live in circumstances where they wished they had a choice to be young again, to take off again, to not have a care in the world again--and in spite of that, choose to face each day with strength.
That.
That is noble.
To these beautiful women that I get to call Mother, Friend and Sister, thank you for your strength that is inspiration.
It is a privilege for me to be able to share life with you.
Two separate stories that meet at the intersection called (as one of them put it), "If this happened in the movies, you wouldn't even believe it."
Today I celebrate their strength.
Strength that still finds a way to keep a sense of humour while trying to track down a guinea pig that had been dropped out of the window of a van, all after a week of nursing a child who has just had her tonsils taken out.
Strength that still finds a way for a sarcastic smile while bedridden after having been serially taken advantage of by less-than-responsible friends.
Strength that, even as they are crying out, "Oh God, how long?" continue to face their every day circumstances with strength.
Oh, the full stories stretch for years beyond just the little upsets of today.
I marvel at how they can keep going after years of facing this as a reality every day.
Their stories remind me of others who face each day the "that's not fair" cards that Life has dealt them.
Like my own grandmother whose life story I would someday like to compile into a book.
Or my own mother who work and give, and mother other children whose paths cross her life.
Or the friend who "mothers" me every month without realising she was fulfilling a prophetic dream that happened years ago.
And other mothers who mother their own children as well as others' children.
A friend in Singapore said I was "noble" for being willing to give it all up to live this life of having close to nothing to do this "good work".
Being here isn't noble.
I had the choice of whether I wanted to come.
And then there are those who live in circumstances where they wished they had a choice to be young again, to take off again, to not have a care in the world again--and in spite of that, choose to face each day with strength.
That.
That is noble.
To these beautiful women that I get to call Mother, Friend and Sister, thank you for your strength that is inspiration.
It is a privilege for me to be able to share life with you.
03 July 2012
On One-Anothering
"you better be at church tomo or imma be mad with you :D" his message on Facebook said.
It was Saturday night. I was still trying to get my brain out of my jet-lag funk and trying to put together my lesson for Kids' Club as well. I was tired and cold, and worrying that there would be too many rascaly kids the next day for my first Sunday back at Kids' Club.
And then came his text.
Hayden is one of the rascaly guys who started coming to youth about a year ago when Robert was still around. He and the other boys in youth group are like the pesky little brothers who love to hassle me only to turn around and be all nice and sweet when I have food.
His Facebook message that night was the reminder I needed of why I came back to Auckland. Yes, I was burning out real fast before I left, and I was appalled by the person I was becoming as a result.
But Hayden's message reminded me of what it means to be the family. It reminded me of the numerous times over the last ten months of how WCF so quickly became family. I could say that I clung to them as family as they were the only people I knew in a new land, but they chose to care for me as well.
A couple years ago in Germany, I stumbled across the term, "one-anothering."
Love one-another.
Serve one-another.
Take care of one-another.
The term assumes mutuality.
We have to love and be loved.
We have to serve and be served.
We have to take care of and be taken care of.
One of the difficulties for my personality in ministry is that I always expect that because...
... I'm a Christian and they're not
... I'm "in ministry" and they're not
... I'm privileged spiritually/financially/emotionally/etc. because of Christ
... meant I always had to be at the giving end.
And for that reason, while I celebrate how the WCF has one-anothered me, I recall the conversation with the BFF that included the reprimand (the BFF is much more mild-mannered than I am, so a reprimand from her becomes more like a "wake up your idea" than just a simple nudge) of why I still allow the ones who have worn me down continually over the years to continue to do so.
Of why I don't stand up for myself and walk away when conversations are driven by one-sided agendas.
Of why I don't say, stop trying to care for me on your terms when you don't listen long enough to know what I'm really needing.
Of why I avoid draining personalities for a long time only to succumb again eventually, instead of confronting in love.
And so I'm learning to speak up and take care of myself.
Sometimes they come out in little outbursts of emotion.
On my better days, they come as peaceful confrontation.
But I'm learning.
After all, as my ray of Sunshine, Jenny often reminds me,
"There's only one you. If you don't take care of you, you won't have anything left to give anyone else."
After all, in the words of Jim Hawkins, "Pace yourself for the marathon so you don't sprint too fast and burnout before you're done."
It was Saturday night. I was still trying to get my brain out of my jet-lag funk and trying to put together my lesson for Kids' Club as well. I was tired and cold, and worrying that there would be too many rascaly kids the next day for my first Sunday back at Kids' Club.
And then came his text.
Hayden is one of the rascaly guys who started coming to youth about a year ago when Robert was still around. He and the other boys in youth group are like the pesky little brothers who love to hassle me only to turn around and be all nice and sweet when I have food.
His Facebook message that night was the reminder I needed of why I came back to Auckland. Yes, I was burning out real fast before I left, and I was appalled by the person I was becoming as a result.
But Hayden's message reminded me of what it means to be the family. It reminded me of the numerous times over the last ten months of how WCF so quickly became family. I could say that I clung to them as family as they were the only people I knew in a new land, but they chose to care for me as well.
A couple years ago in Germany, I stumbled across the term, "one-anothering."
Love one-another.
Serve one-another.
Take care of one-another.
The term assumes mutuality.
We have to love and be loved.
We have to serve and be served.
We have to take care of and be taken care of.
One of the difficulties for my personality in ministry is that I always expect that because...
... I'm a Christian and they're not
... I'm "in ministry" and they're not
... I'm privileged spiritually/financially/emotionally/etc. because of Christ
... meant I always had to be at the giving end.
And for that reason, while I celebrate how the WCF has one-anothered me, I recall the conversation with the BFF that included the reprimand (the BFF is much more mild-mannered than I am, so a reprimand from her becomes more like a "wake up your idea" than just a simple nudge) of why I still allow the ones who have worn me down continually over the years to continue to do so.
Of why I don't stand up for myself and walk away when conversations are driven by one-sided agendas.
Of why I don't say, stop trying to care for me on your terms when you don't listen long enough to know what I'm really needing.
Of why I avoid draining personalities for a long time only to succumb again eventually, instead of confronting in love.
And so I'm learning to speak up and take care of myself.
Sometimes they come out in little outbursts of emotion.
On my better days, they come as peaceful confrontation.
But I'm learning.
After all, as my ray of Sunshine, Jenny often reminds me,
"There's only one you. If you don't take care of you, you won't have anything left to give anyone else."
After all, in the words of Jim Hawkins, "Pace yourself for the marathon so you don't sprint too fast and burnout before you're done."
27 June 2012
Becoming Human Together
I'll confess that when it comes to my brothers and sisters who go to a mega-church, I often am less than gracious with them. So when the City Harvest saga broke out, I'll admit that I quickly jumped to conclusions that, of course, they would be guilty.
But that's not the point. The point is that regardless of whether or not they are guilty, there's a part of the Family that is hurting. Regardless of whether they provided the spiritual leadership they should have, there's a part of the Family that is asking questions. Regardless of why they did or didn't do what they were accused of, there's a part of the Family trying to make sense of what has happened.
I'm learning again what it means to stop older-brothering the prodigal. It's so easy for me to jump on the self-righteous bandwagon. And so, in light of the City Harvest saga, I'm reminded again that, mega-church or not, we all belong in the body of Christ. And when one member of the family is hurting, it's only fair that I try to push aside my self-righteous judgement and hurt with them.
It's part of the experience of becoming human together.
But that's not the point. The point is that regardless of whether or not they are guilty, there's a part of the Family that is hurting. Regardless of whether they provided the spiritual leadership they should have, there's a part of the Family that is asking questions. Regardless of why they did or didn't do what they were accused of, there's a part of the Family trying to make sense of what has happened.
I'm learning again what it means to stop older-brothering the prodigal. It's so easy for me to jump on the self-righteous bandwagon. And so, in light of the City Harvest saga, I'm reminded again that, mega-church or not, we all belong in the body of Christ. And when one member of the family is hurting, it's only fair that I try to push aside my self-righteous judgement and hurt with them.
It's part of the experience of becoming human together.
26 June 2012
Celebrating 11 Years of Laughter
Every time I'm back here, I feel like I can be a kid all over again.
Friends from way back, talking about stories from way back.
It's like we're all still sixteen and seventeen and things haven't changed.
We still find the same things ridiculously funny.
We still kaopei (literally translated: curse father) about the same types of things.
Bunz, as usual eats a lot.
Juan, as usual is always late.
Ivy, as usual is trying to keep up with everyone else.
But there's always the subtle reminders that these are no longer our green pinafore days.
Lisi is getting married.
Bunz and Ivy are talking about raising families together since they're going to be neighbours.
Everyone is nagging at Juan about the same old business.
And it always ends with the usual, "So when's the next time you're coming back?"
Life isn't as simple as the green pinafore days anymore.
The world isn't only about our kangkong eating habits anymore.
Or hyperventilating over maths formulae anymore.
Life has become about paying bills, switching jobs, planning weddings, travelling, heartbreaks and the other things that seem to indicate we're supposed to be grown-ups.
But put the six or eight of us together in one room and it's like nothing has changed.
Bunny may have switched jobs a few times.
I may have moved around the world a few times.
But that we still laugh every year at the fact that we're anything but moribus modestus makes me thankful for these girls.
Thank you for reminding me to take time to laugh.
I have the best friends in the world.
Friends from way back, talking about stories from way back.
It's like we're all still sixteen and seventeen and things haven't changed.
We still find the same things ridiculously funny.
We still kaopei (literally translated: curse father) about the same types of things.
Bunz, as usual eats a lot.
Juan, as usual is always late.
Ivy, as usual is trying to keep up with everyone else.
But there's always the subtle reminders that these are no longer our green pinafore days.
Lisi is getting married.
Bunz and Ivy are talking about raising families together since they're going to be neighbours.
Everyone is nagging at Juan about the same old business.
And it always ends with the usual, "So when's the next time you're coming back?"
Life isn't as simple as the green pinafore days anymore.
The world isn't only about our kangkong eating habits anymore.
Or hyperventilating over maths formulae anymore.
Life has become about paying bills, switching jobs, planning weddings, travelling, heartbreaks and the other things that seem to indicate we're supposed to be grown-ups.
But put the six or eight of us together in one room and it's like nothing has changed.
Bunny may have switched jobs a few times.
I may have moved around the world a few times.
But that we still laugh every year at the fact that we're anything but moribus modestus makes me thankful for these girls.
Thank you for reminding me to take time to laugh.
 |
| Celebrating 11 years of laughter |
I have the best friends in the world.
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