My take as an Asian woman in an ever-changing world -- defined and re-defined in waves of warmth and love, anger and despair, laughter and release...
and sudden epiphanies!
I was on my book of poetries again for the "much needed balance." Leafing through, I got to re-reading this one by Rilke. Then it hit me, the light of which He spoke was so extraordinary that even just a brief glimpse of its infinite potential reveals the possibility of touching the stars themselves. Yes, its stirring inspires me to create, the mere imagination of its beauty motivates me to learn, its admonition sparks me to 'evolve'.
The first word that you ever spoke was: light. Thus time began. For long you said no more. Man was your second, and a frightening, word (the sound of it still shrouds us in its night), and then again you brooded as before.
But I am one who would not hear your third.
I often pray at night: Be but the dumb, confined to gestures, growing quietly, he whom the spirit moves in dreams, that he may write on speechless brows the heavy sum of silence, and on peaks for us to see.
Be you the shelter from the angry scorn that violated the ineffable. In very paradise night fell: be you the herdsman with the horn, that once was blown, but so they only tell.
Needless to say, we are crushed beyond words by the magnitude of the devastation in Haiti. I sought the comfort of a friend and spoke of my feelings saying “it was hard to accept that anything worse could still happen to a nation like Haiti.” And yet at the same time I know in a very personal way, how random life could be and how hitting rock bottom is no guarantee that you are on the way up. As usual, I have no answers. Unable to say anything herself, my friend simply gave me a link to this interesting insight into the persona of the 'hellish one'.
The Minneapolis Star-Tribune published a letter from Satan to evangelist Pat Robertson, "in reply" to his comment that Haiti’s persistent troubles, including the earthquake, are due to a pact the nation made with Mephistopheles.
Well, it wasn’t Satan who wrote the letter from hell but skillful Lilly Coyle of Minneapolis writing in the devil's persona. Thought she penned it down pretty good and it is a glimpse as well into deep Christian philosophies on suffering. Here, sharing with you
Dear Pat Robertson,
I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I’m all over that action.
But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I’m no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished. Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth — glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle.
Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven’t you seen “Crossroads”? Or “Damn Yankees”? If I had a thing going with Haiti, there’d be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox — that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not my style. Nothing against it — I’m just saying: Not how I roll.
You’re doing great work, Pat, and I don’t want to clip your wings — just, come on, you’re making me look bad. And not the good kind of bad. Keep blaming God. That’s working. But leave me out of it, please. Or we may need to renegotiate your own contract.
Once there was a river that gently flowed past the rich plains bordering a tiny fishing village called Hagonoy, before it drained into the sea. It was once the habitat for mangroves and rich marine life. Birds and fowls of various kind made their home there.
As a kid, I fondly recall watching other children enjoy its cool, blue-green waters. It was a veritable summer pool for the young boys, the sturdy mangroves served as their diving boards. On its once verdant banks, I was given to contemplation. There I penned my first poetries, and drew nearer to my God. To this day, I have recurring dreams of my childhood in this special spot. And yes, in its honor, my writer’s pseudonym, and this blog’s name is “Restless River.”
Hagonoy River is a unique body of water, I was to find that out much later -- a freshwater stream that mixes with the seawater as the river conveys freely into the sea. It's brackishwater -- more saline than freshwater, but not as salty as the sea. This water condition occurs in the most extensive brackishwater habitats worldwide, on that wonderful spot where the river meets the sea.
My grandfather was a fisherman. I remember that each time he launched into the river, he came back with his small fishing boat filled with live fishes and shrimps of all kinds. What has happened to change things so? Today, small fisherfolks no longer draw anything much from this river. They have to cast their nets farther for a meager catch, if any. They now compete with bigger vessels of commercial fishers who are able to launch deeper into the ocean.
In this river that used to teem with life, it is now not uncommon to find the floating carcasses of animals. Plastics, garbage litter it. Stench fill its once fresh air. Garbage dumps flow into this river. Untreated heavy metal-laced waste water is suspected to be polluting it.
Why is this river so important? Why should we care? Because it is one river among many and we need to issue this call for this and other rivers, the accelerating deterioration of which have largely been ignored. The integrity of our rivers has been compromised, degraded by many human interventions, pollution, watershed destruction, unregulated fish farming, the list goes on.
And why should it still matter, now that climate change of a global magnitude is disrupting natural systems anyway, why should we bother to rehabilitate a small river? The answer has been established by environmental experts, we need to restore this ecosystem now more than ever. Rivers will continue to play a significant role in combating climate change. It will continue to connect one place to another, allowing plants and animals free movement as the climate shifts. It will always be that place of safety to shelter fish and wildlife from hotter temperatures.
A river has the resilience to spring forth with new life -- assure clean water, germinate new species, protect from flood. It is a refuge to wildlife and humans in a time of rapid climate change. It exist as a very important buffer zone between land and sea, and therefore a natural defense against hurricane and tsunami threats. On World Blog Action Day, let hope float. Let it rise over crisis, over our downward spirals and tragedies, over our own misgivings, and let it cover them all. Let us not give up on this God-given gift and its ability to boost the resilience of nature and with it, the strength of communities against potentially catastrophic climate change impacts.
Sharing with the world this video of Philippine artist and environmental activist Noel Cabangon as he sings about climate change and its impact. This is my Ivanne Scott's favorite song. From all of us, this one's for you son.:) Kanlungan
"Ang ating kanlungan...tahanan ng ating tula at pangarap, ngayon ay naglaho na. Saan hahanapin pa?"
["Our haven.... home to our rhymes and dreams long gone. Wherever can we find it?"]
I have been too caught up with some projects for the longest time. I have not posted for a handful of people who drop by this blog.
Thanks to Jeff for prompting the third and last part of my Dynamic Engagement, although that was like more than half a year ago. (That lack of time on my part is just the reason why this blog had been on "beta" :D for quite sometime.) Looking back, I agree on all points my good kababayan made in his comment to my post. Indeed, there are varying degrees of engagement on both personal and societal levels. Changes, lasting ones, do take time. Yes, it is worth striving for. I volunteered myself as an example for I only know “me” well enough to be able to say that indeed such openness can happen from a place within us, like I have found long before I ventured out of my country.
All I’m saying in my less-than-erudite way, is that cultural openness and tolerance can and should happen not only through immersion in another culture by way of travel. That would then limit the experience to the moneyed or the exceptionally talented, or the randomly fortunate. Rather, it should happen by way of the ability to view other cultures from a lens other than our own, and on the basis of our common humanity. Rhetoric, sounds like? This brings us to the value of education as integral to the change. It should be that kind of education that promotes an openness of thought and is accountable to human lives, for every life counts.
I have for so long been in development planning as a government worker prior to this challenging but crazy switch along the lines of PR & communications for a beauty and wellness corp… [Company X]. So yes, I do know there have been efforts by governments in alliance with international communities to end poverty and dramatically improve educational opportunities for children, youth and adults for the next decade or so. Are we on track? See what's going on.
Despite much progress over the years, millions of children in the developing and underdeveloped world still lack access to food much less quality education and the benefits it brings. I do not need to tell anyone how this injustice is undermining progress.
The “critical mass” Jeff mentioned is of course, not nearly as simple as it sounds. The sociodynamics of it, when we are able to build enough momentum to fuel the growth and realize the changes we seek, is certainly an enormous task, a dream.
Must we keep on? By all means. Sure, we have enough reason to grow weary. It’s such a vicious cycle. I am reminded of the Parable of the Widow's Mite, from which we have learned -- sometimes those who have the least, gives the most. In the synoptic gospels, a young widow gave two mites to the temple coffer, the least valued coin at that time, and all that she had to live on. Jesus extolled her in his preaching at the temple, as the least giver, and the best giver of all.
From my own experience – seeing all those people I have met in desperate situations for whom nothing much has changed over the years, I could very well have grown cynical and would have been forgiven. But I have also met many wonderful people who leaves me in awe about the fact that they do not sleep on their watch. And what’s astounding is that these are people with the most reasons to stop believing in change. We see them everyday, teachers -- like Filipino public school teacher Efren Penaflorida nominated for CNN Hero of the Year who with all his lack works among destitute out of school children in the shanty towns of Cavite , mentors, grassroots workers, church leaders and lay-leaders, peacekeepers, hopeful mothers of very ill children..the list goes on. There are people who have lost nearly everything, but that did not keep them from moving forward. They never gave up, and neither should we.
I'd like to think that I have scaled up in terms of emerging media technologies , and that I am at least tech savvy if not tech trained. But I guess nothing can ever change my being such a bookworm. You see, I read a book by approaching it like I would an unopened gift.
Years back, I used Sparknotes for my study guide which includes a plot summary, character study and notes on major themes and symbols. But I try not to be affected with structured analysis. To me, a narrative invites and escapes interpretation.
Something will often excite me about a book. For Anna Karenina, (re-reading and oh, long read,) its depiction of issues in 19th Centrury Russia, and thus quite daunting -- but the first sentence is of course inviting and itself a study in the best-known openings of any novel:
"All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
Such a pronouncement, holds the promise of a narration that will illuminate. It kept my night lamp burning.
I thank Ethan Zuckerman for the drop-by and for his kind thoughts on my last post. A good segue to what I'm driving at, and I now have a feeling I may have driven my point badly. The best way to produce people of cultural openness and tolerance and thus good bridges of understanding may take so much more than simply getting on a plane and living somewhere. That is certainly one way. But more than that, I feel that cultural openness and understanding must have "a place to begin". There must be that opportunity for such openness to be carved deeply into the soul of as many people as possible. I believe it will be shaped by experiences as well as by good beginnings. An early start that makes possible the creation of a space -- where one can become a person of compassion, and tolerance and wisdom.
I have never lived long enough in any part of the world other than my country to feel like I might know what it’s really like to dwell among other people or understand and embrace them. But even before I hopped on planes, I knew this space within me where I can begin. There is this place inside where I am capable and ready for what they call dynamic engagement. By this, I mean a predisposition to understand, a creativity to redefine based on a new understanding. So much so that I could bite my tongue and withold my judgement and keep emotions in check that I may open my heart to co-create new meanings other than my own. How then, can that predisposition be created and duplicated? I can only speak from experience. (to be continued...)
Has it only been over a year? Feels like twenty. I refer to my life and work in Singapore. In a company that has become trans-national spanning various countries, I am the only Filipino. That made it a bit tough for the first few months. Everywhere else in this cosmopolitan, multi-racial society, there have been countless moments that really put my claim to cultural tolerance to the test. I have had to think twice, or bite my tongue to not engage in skirmishes most of which have cultural underpinnings.
I had that in mind while I was checking on my RSS feeds, been sooo long since I had the chance to read up. Interestingly, I found a couple of posts (ancient posts by internet time) by Ethan Zuckerman about xenophiles, homophily, serendipity. Ethan has this theory that xenophiles will be very influential in the future. Who are they? Someone like Zuckerman himself perhaps? Where do they breed? I have an idea. And when will they rise up and create another renaissance? I am clueless.
I certainly cannot lay claim to being one. Xenophiles are said to be people who have this excitement and openess about the world and being almost wired as such, can be good bridge figures for building conversations that allows us to make a breakthrough towards cross-cultural understanding.
As always, following Ethan's voice randomly, I feel enriched by his knowledge and at times, exhausted by the complexities. From my very basic understanding, I know how inability to bridge cultural gaps is at the heart of conflict and can never be separated from it. So what does it take for genuine cross-cultural understanding to take place? Do you need to mass-produce xenophiles? Ethan had this suggestion that cracked me up: marry into other cultures. Quite absurd one might think for a moment but hey, he has a point. Who else can drive you to understand other cultures than your 'alien of a husband or wife' whom you must learn to live with with such understanding and intimate knowing. But of course, that's not how marriages are forged nor can we force it by legislation. And he meant that for laughs.
I believe the predisposition towards embracing other cultures including conflict resolution is deep-seated and complex and cannot happen without understanding cultural underpinnings and definitely without becoming completely fluent in your own. Indeed, it can happen in the most wonderful of situations, but not often, without conscious effort, or perhaps a struggle. (To be continued...)
