Respect

If you want respect, you should earn it.

People respect other people because they're worth respecting. Because they have this redeeming quality about them that's admirable.

Respect is earned through showing decency of character, strength of will, selflessness.

Respect is earned through the hard work you put into the things that count and the way you treat and respect other people.

Respect is not earned from aesthetics. From looking good. from being pretty or attractive.

Respect is not earned from sacrifices or acts of generosity that ultimately benefits yourself.

Respect is not earned from thinking people should respect you.

You can't demand respect from someone.

You have to earn it.

You have to show the world you've earned it.

No one should respect you, no one owes you any respect if you haven't earned it.


And if you have, if you've truly earned that respect.

Well then you needn't ever ask.

Look at that tiny house peaking through the light

The sun's setting gold. There's a tiny ferry tutting across the harbour water, leaving a trail of white. I can see North Head illuminated, glowing because of the sunset. Rangitoto looms in the background like a guard. There are sails and cranes and buildings and people, and in the far far distance, little houses peeking through the light.

The sky's this indescribable colour of grey and blue and cyan and mauve, tinted with a blush of that fading brown. Like the whole world's awash with some nostalgic sepia. I can't help staring at that tiny boat sail back and forth, back and forth. There's someone standing at the balcony window opposite. There's someone walking along the road outside. All these things. All these people. This is the world. This is what being alive feels like. Friendships can break, love can fail, family can leave and people can pass away, but what will never disappear, are the clouds that drift past your patch of sky everyday. The sea that sparkles under the setting sun. The people that keep on walking, the boats that keep on sailing, no matter how you're feeling today; no matter what problems you're facing.

The world will keep on spinning without you, and that's the excruciating beauty of it. The grandness. Your insignificance. How tall the heavens are above you, how deep the earth stretches below you, and then there's just little, unremarkable you. Born into this world maybe by accident, maybe by chance, but definitely not by fate. Think about it. What are the possibilities of you, this exact person, existing in this world? From birth till now, every decision, every choice and every split creating infinite possible futures, pasts, and people with the same name and same parents and same history as you, but are not you.

And yet, here you sit. This precise and irreplaceable version of you that exists nowhere else in time and space. You're allowed to sit and observe the world from your own little corner. Watch the clouds darken. The sun disappear. The lights of thousands of other homes flicker on. The clatter of plates, the occasional bale of laughter. All on a backdrop of stillness. Silence. A serene, serene night, and a low mumble of of the city as it finally settles down.

A tiny flag billowing in the wind; the tap-tap of my fingers on the keyboard. And the thing that makes it all so real, a cool breeze whispering across my cheek; on it I can smell the ocean and taste the salt; hear the laughter and feel the calm of the whole city.

Like in a dream. Such a beautiful, vivid dream filled with details you could spend your whole life observing and pursuing and still never reach the end. Wouldn't it be sad to wake up from such a dream? Wouldn't it be a terrible, terrifying shame if you never got to find out where that little boat went, what it'd be like to live in a little house peaking through the setting light, how the sky would look if you were flying through it separated by only a window?

If reality is only a dream, if life is only a passing gift that we've landed ourselves with by an impossible chance, then why not make the most out of it? What else is there? Incomprehensible nothingness and otherness. We only know this life. What do feelings and problems matter on the grand scale of things? Just look at the world. It's yours to explore, to see and smell and do. Why would you ever want to waste even a second of your life on unimportant feelings and other insignificant people?

Why would you ever want to end this wonderful dream early?

So I want to talk about China

I've been too lazy to blog recently. Plus since I got back from China life has been so monotonous and repetitive and materialistic and lazy and safe and devoid of emotional turmoil/philosophical enlightenment, that 3 weeks have merged into one giant long day of haziness. And most importantly, since I feel so useless these days, I wanted to make sure I'd blog about something important. Something meaningful and provocative and good. Today I was feeling reminiscent of China, and I think I found something.

When you walk into a new country, sometimes it's like nothing has changed. Sometimes it's like everything is different. The ground you tread on is a dirt road, the sky above you is a murky grey, the air around you is crisp and stale at the same time, woven together with a tinge of sickly sweet. The 'sickly sweet' is a result of the mid-afternoon sun beating relentlessly on those few unfortunate mandarins that have fallen off from their branch a little early.

That was one of the most valuable experiences I gained on this trip around China. The feeling of bicycling down a country lane past fields of green, acres of not-yet-ripe mandarin trees, and an endless expanse of untainted silence - occasionally harmonised with a few bird calls, the 'ring-ring!' of another bicycle bell, or a steady tutting sound fading off into the distance as a scooter makes its way home.

Of course, it isn't a lost paradise. Even amongst the pandora-like mountains of Guilin, where the scenery along the Li Jiang river is so insanely beautiful it becomes surreal and my eyes at first refused to accept what it was really seeing, there are ordinary locals going about their harsh daily routine to make a living: Sons born along the river spend everyday rowing gondolas for money. Women wash clothes on the banks. The grandpas sit quietly inside century-old stone cottages, feeding chickens, cows and fish eagles. The grandmas sit outside with giant bowls of silk worms, spending the whole day peeling off silk to sell. The little kids run around the streets, playing with sticks, chasing chickens and drawing shapes into the dirt.

Older kids have already left for school in a nearby town. When we asked a little boy for directions, he opened his mouth and told us in a mature and serious voice. He then turned around and carried on playing with his friends and some empty fruit shells on the ground.

People in beautiful places like this don't get to experience the beauty. One of the gondola rowers told me, the locals born into this place often curse the beautiful mountains for existing. They're too steep to climb, too much stone to grow crops on, too stubborn and dense to take down. The only thing they're good for is to look at. So the whole city of Guilin, all the surrounding towns and villages dotted around its many rivers, thrive on the flocks of tourists, laden with cash and LV bags and iPhones, to provide them enough money to send their kid to school so that they can grow up not slaving over manual labour for a living.

My dad said to the gondola driver, "You're very lucky, this place is very beautiful. To be able to wake up and see a scenery like this everyday, you're very lucky."

The gondola driver replied: "Lucky? We don't call this lucky. We think people like you are lucky, people with enough money to travel, to see places, to eat whatever you want to eat and go where ever you want to go."

And my mum said to me, "Look at this place. Look at how the people live here. What if you'd been born here? What if you had to grow up feeding chickens and growing crops, toiling day after day and never given the opportunity to leave or to be better. Isn't it unfair how people are born into different places? Some people are born here, where little kids start working as soon as they understand how; some people are born into a rich house with rich food and never know the true meaning of 'work' or 'labour'."

Isn't it unfair? Isn't it unfair that there even exists on this planet, people who are so fat that they are at risk of dying if they get any fatter? These people whose gluttony knows no boundaries, whose government feeds them, and when they're about to die, gives them an operation worth tens of thousands to save their pitiful life so they can keep on sitting and eating.

Compare them to the old grandmas who peel silk all day to sell; to the old grandmas who walk around the streets picking up plastic bottles and adding them to the big bag over one shoulder; to the old grandmas that swarm around tourist vans gently begging you to buy a flower wreath they weaved themselves for just 2RMB, their eyes filled with sincere pleading.

I know that there are millions, if not billions all over the world living in such undeveloped places, living in the past, living where such ordinary things to us are treated as luxuries by them. I also know that often, the financial situation of families can be so dire that they resort ro petty and cruel ways of making money, getting little kids to beg to invoke sympathy, even mutilating their own child so that they can horrify more people into opening their wallets.

But seeing these people and these places with your own eyes is very different to knowing. The faces of old people pleading me to buy their hand made flowers remind me of my grandma. It reminds me that they're probably a grandma to some kid, and unlike me, that kid might depend on his grandma's many 2RMBs to be able to eat something yummy tonight for dinner or to be able to get a new school bag. Even if these people are knowingly taking advantage of your pity, even if they're tricking you to pay more, ripping you off, even if there are far too many of them for you to be able to help, the truth remains that they need your 2RMB much more than you do.

The most painful truth about all this is that really, there's nothing that can be done to change the lives of these people. At least, nothing immediate, nothing on a scale smaller than a revolution, nothing that can be achieved without ensuing more damage or suffering first. The fact is that China, like India, just has so many people. So. Many. People. How is it possible to ensure all of them can live a decent life? You can't. China's huge. Massive. Compare it to New Zealand, this small, minuscule country with a history of around a hundred years, versus China, the Middle Kingdom that began developing over 5000 years ago, the economy, the culture, the language, the way of living, all thousands of years old. How do you change a way of thinking and a way of living so ancient, so ingrained into everyone there?

I don't really know what I'm trying to say. All I want is for those old grandmas out everyday begging tourists to buy their hand-made things to be able to live a life where they don't have to.

***

Li Jiang River, mountains of Guilin (image edited using iphone)

View from within an alley in a small village tucked away on the river bank

My dad's gondola raft rowing past a patch of houses along Yu Long river

View from my raft down Yu Long river. Surreal beauty. So tranquil. Water so clear and still, it's amazing.

Old grandmas peeling a sort of vegetable by hand in a village

Mother gives her child a ride while doing work

Someone's door

Letting hand made noodles dry in the sun

Three person journey.

How to succeed in everything

So inspired by this post from Cindy's blog:

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[following excerpt adapted from 'The Genius in All of Us' by David Shenk]

Deliberate practice

Deliberate practice involves repeated attempts to reach beyond one's current level.

Deliberate practice goes far beyond the simple idea of hard work.

For deliberate practice to work, the demands have to be serious and sustained.

Simply playing lots of chess or soccer or golf is not enough. Simply taking lessons from a wonderful teacher is not enough. Simply wanting it badly enough is not enough.

Deliberate practice requires a mind-set of never, ever, being satisfied with your current ability.

It requires a self-critique, a pathological restlessness, a passion to aim consistently just beyond one’s capability so that daily disappointment and failure is actually desired, and a never-ending resolve to dust oneself off and try again and again and again.

It also requires enormous, life-altering amounts of time – a daily grinding commitment to becoming better.

In the long term, the results can be highly satisfying. But in the short-term, from day to day and month to month, there’s nothing particularly fun about the process or the substantial sacrifices involved.

We do not – and cannot – know our own limits unless and until we push ourselves to them. Finding one’s true natural limit in any field takes many years and many thousand hours of intense pursuit.

What are your limits?

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There is no such thing as failure. Only success that hasn't been pursuited. And it'd do us all some good to remember that. If you want something then work for it. No, really work for it. Go above and beyond what's necessary, what's expected. Only then will you always be at your best. We've all only got one life to live (unless you're a Time Lord rofl). Why waste days of it being someone who's only a fraction of what you could be?

That feeling

That feeling of revelation and liberation that you get. You know? Like an epiphany but not really, because what has dawned on you is something that you've always known all along really. It's like you've been living life in a murky marshland swathed in fog and mud and other thick, dirty substances. They just ooze around your life lazily, trying to contaminate you with their nasty little tentacles. Corrupt you. But that feeling of liberation when for one brief second you see everything so clearly, as if the fog has lifted off the marsh and clear sunlight finally shines upon it and you realise it's not a marsh at all, but a beautiful lake of mysterious depths and clear intentions and a wondrous sense of rightness. That feeling is what I'm trying to describe.

Maybe that's why I like going gym so much now, because sometimes after you wipe off the sweat of all that pain and endurance gone past, it's as if life has been put into a new light. Your brain suddenly wants an audience with you. It takes everything that's tedious or troublesome or unwanted in your life, and it presents a solution. It was something you knew all along. You knew that was the solution. But you forced it into the far reaches of the brain, dismissing it. But now the brain dug it out, laid out the evidence, it need not even argue the case, the case had already been won, because it speaks the truth.

And the most important part of this feeling of liberation, is your own acceptance of it. Of what you need to do. Because it was so simple, why wouldn't you do it before? Your brain is now telling you in a tiny but righteous voice, life could be so easy and effortless and wonderful, if you only do what needs to be done in the way that it needs to be done, and voila. So wonderful a time life will present to you.

One can only hope that somehow, this feeling can be grasped and taken hold of for longer periods of time. Maybe there's some sort of magic that can keep the fog at bay. How to stop such contaminative tentacles of laziness, of greed and of the ever growing lure of the material world, so souless and meaningless? They wrap themselves around everyone. It's like a giant shadow engulfing each of us, a black oozing aura; disgustingly obese with sins. But we don't see it. We embrace. We feed and and love it and grow it.

But how do we stop it?

How?

?

Treasures from the past

I was rummaging through my old files and folders from ages ago, and uncovered an old folder of stories.

Reading some of them scared me a little to be honest. Most of them were from when I was 13, and now, as a supposedly mature and independent 19 year-old who's working her way to a university degree (and upon graduation, a job), I feel not only overwhelmed by the passion of my 13 year-old self but also of my lost ambition; of my unwavering conviction of who I was and what I was going to do with my life. I didn't let what other people think deter what I thought. There was so much bravado in my writing. So much melodrama and over emphasise and cliches, yet it's sad to say that I had so much more rhythm in my writing compared to now.

Read more »

Revelation

"A resolution which surprised herself brought her into the fields this week for the first time in many months. After wearing and wasting her palpitating heart with every engine of regret that lonely inexperience could devise, common sense had illumined her. She felt that she would do well to be useful again - to taste anew sweet independence at any price. The past was past; whatever it had been was no more at hand. Whatever its consequences, time would close over them; they would all in a few years be as if they had never been, and she herself grassed down and forgotten. Meanwhile the trees were just as green as before; the birds sang and the sun shone as clearly now as ever. The familiar surroundings had not darkened because of her grief, nor sickened because of her pain."

-- Tess, Tess of the D'Urbevilles (Thomas Hardy)

~~~


"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live"

A guitar song

Sitting by myself in the window seat at subway. A melancholic guitar melody strums from the radio and drifts to people walking hurriedly outside. I wonder if they hear it? The song seems to seep through me. I feel like I'm transcending the monotonous landscape of my dull surroundings and one of those people outside must have pressed play on a secret brain controlling remote while walking past. A ridiculous musical montage begins attacking my thoughts. I'm given no peace and quiet to wallow in solitude. I'm forced instead to relive ridiculously happy memories of us as the guitar strums on, suddenly so annoying and crisp and cheery.I feel like I'm in an Asian music video where the girl dwells in guilt of her rage at some hot boyfriend figure and then proceeds to reminense in a cliched flash back of their most heart warming moments; stitched together into a neat little montage by a soulful and tender voice humming over the light strum of a few shy guitar notes.

This is really ridiculous...the subway lady must have put something in my meatballs.

Bring back the old days?

So I found myself still awake during the early hours of the morning again today, reading page after page after page of a delicious Harry Potter fanfiction I just couldn't put down. Snuggled up in my big warm bed with layers of smothering cotton duvet piled around me like a giant hug, listening to the pattering rain outside my window, reading line after giggling line of dramione, I really felt so warm and content and safe that it makes me want to dive right back into my duvets again even thought it's 4pm in the afternoon.

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Hold on to your sanity

Lately I've realised that deep down, everyone's really screwed in the head in some way. Inside every single person lies a pool of insecurities they hide from the world. But the thing is, some people deal with it fine right?

There are some people who are like these strong fearless beasts, able to hold their head up high and proudly stalk through a sea of onlookers without even so much as blinking an eye over what other people might think of them.

But then, there are also those people who only pretend to act fearless, pretend to hold their head up and not care about such things when really deep down, it's slowly gnawing away at their conscience and sanity and eating them up. It takes away their confidence. Happiness. Reason.

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Pride

Pride is a deadly sin.

Being proud is not something to be proud of.

Have you ever had that feeling of guilt washing over you like a huge, kick-ass tidal wave as you literally watch someone start drowning in pain right in front of your eyes? Whether it's just a small thing that's upsetting them, or whether you know you're hurting them by not helping, the guilt that hits you is almost as deadly as the damage you've caused.

What goes around comes around right?

The thing that stops people from helping, from showing their concern and their weakness, from being the one to back out of a fight first and forfeit their dignity, is pride.

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Tell me reader

Tell me reader,

Who are you right now?
In the eyes of others- both those who hate and those who love you, and in the eyes of yourself: Who are you? What are you?

If you can answer that reader, then tell me some more:

Can you truly remember what sort of person you were when you were a child?
What you wanted, who you were close to?
Can you remember how and when you changed to the person you are now?

Tell me again reader,

What is it like living your life? Are you happy? Sad? Angry? Content but feel like you're missing something truly amazing? Depressed but feel like it can surely get better?

Or have you lost all hope, like Luke Skywalker.

Now tell me one last thing reader, the last thing I want to know.

We are currently in the future of your past, you are the adult of that child.

Who could you have been in this future, and now, who will you be from this point on?