Of songs and reconnecting

The munchkin has been requesting of late to watch two music videos on YouTube. Of course she wouldn't have learned of them, were it not for me who introduced them to her in the first place. As a pretty obstinate anal mother, I wield a tight control over her media exposure. It literally means the exposure is almost non-existence. One would not fail to notice her fierce concentration on the little screen whenever we are at friends' and the tv is on. Except for short clips of ballet performances, she doesn't get to watch anything else while at home. This is by no means my way of saying how proud I am for sticking to my 'principle'. No, in fact, I am deeply aware that principle must be an unhealthy extension of my control freakness. On the other hand, a time will come, soon enough I am very certain, when she is going to bug me incessantly about watching some programs which her friends in kindergarten or school have seen. By then there will be no turning back. And let's not forget about social media.

Just recently I read that Neil Gaimen took a four-month break from social media. It's a feat considering he is a successful writer and has 2.3 million followers on his twitter. His reason: 'I'm just going off to be bored.' More specifically, '"The biggest problem with Twitter is that I'd be in a taxi and I'd be on Twitter and it would keep me interested. I realised I wasn't getting bored enough and [that I needed to get bored] to start plotting things and coming up with ideas.'

I wonder how he does it. I am just a mere mortal with no followers and yet I am connected all the time. The only saving grace is I am still resisting the idea of getting a data plan for my phone so at least I am off line when I am on the go. BUT to my dismay, I have recently 'progressed' to downloading some clips on my phone for the convenience of watching them while waiting or on the train as opposed to reading. The daily scene of my fellow Singaporeans burying their nose in the screen of their tablet/mobile phone on the train suddenly danced acrossed my mind. What stopped me from downloading more videos is there is no more extra storage space on my phone. Fortunately.

Yes, the two music videos in question are now on my phone, two old Chinese songs. Recently, I have a sudden interest in anything Chinese. From Chinese/HK films and songs, to reading up on Chinese history (in English of course) and trying to understand poems and songs. I find a certain joy and peace in them and a reconnection with what I see, read and listen. I tell myself it must be a phase because I still love my Radioheads, Charles Bukowskis, The Grand Budapest Hotels. Then again, why do I have to justify that it is just a phase? Why can't I just embrace this new-found obsession and accept it as my rebonding with the Chinese language and my culture? I may not be a Chinese from China and Taiwan and may not understand their culture but I did grow up in a Chinese culture albeit a Singaporean one and speaking the Chinese language. By reconnecting, I suspect I am assuaging my homesickness, my being away from my childhood home for so long.

Anyways, I digress. The reason my daughter is allowed to watch the videos is because of the brilliantly-written songs. The first song is about looking at the change of seasons through the eyes of a cicada. The words are poetic, the melody hauntingly beautiful. It lets your mind eye wanders through the fairy tale world of misty forest amidst falling leaves and red maples:

秋蝉

聽我把春水叫寒　看我把綠葉催黃

誰道秋下一心愁　煙波林野意幽幽

花落紅　花落紅　紅了楓　紅了楓

展翅任翔雙羽燕　我這薄衣過得殘冬

總歸是秋天　總歸是秋天

春走了　夏也去　秋意濃

秋去冬來美景不再

莫教好春逝匆匆　莫教好春逝匆匆

The other song is by one of the singers from a popular boy band which has since disbanded because one member had to serve his national service. Many will perhaps dismiss the song as just another pop song by some pop idol who can't sing to save his life. What touches me however, is the sincerity in the words which is penned by the singer himself and the deep friendship they share years after they have gone their separate ways while not forgetting to encourage and support one another during the course of their lives and careers. I find it very commendable because that willingness in putting high value on and effort in maintaining a friendship while separated seems rather rare to me these days, let alone in the glitz and glitter of the entertainment industry：

祝你一路顺风

那一天知道你要走　我們一句話也沒有說

當午夜的鐘聲敲痛離別的心門　卻打不開你深深的沈默

那一天送你送到最後　我們一句話也沒有留

當擁擠的月台擠痛送別的人們　卻擠不掉我深深的離愁

我知道你有千言你有萬語　卻不肯說出口

你知道我好擔心我好難過　卻不敢說出口

當你背上行囊卸下那份榮耀　我只能讓眼淚流在心底

面帶著微微笑用力的揮揮手　祝你一路順風

當你踏上月台從此一個人走　我只能深深地祝福你

深深的祝福你最親愛的朋友　祝你一路順風

Because I am deeply touched and moved by the songs, I was very eager to share that emotion with my daughter. She might not fully understand the sense of the songs but I am more than happy to let her experience their beauty, even though it is through a media device. That she seems to understand.

 

Who has the last laugh?

Everyone has their take on the terrible Charlie Hebdo incident. Some say the journalists had it coming, some are speechless but recovered quickly because the earth continues to revolves around the sun, but most are stunned and outraged by the sheer violence.

A friend even took to Facebook, wondering via hashtag #buyinggunssocheapmeh# while another feels owning guns in this case is not the point anymore.

When one whets a knife back and forth, back and forth on the whetblock, the goal is for the knife to serve our purposes better. In this case, both camps have been sharpening their knives and taking aim. Not surprisingly their aims aren't that dissimilar. They want to hurt and insult.

Everyone wants freedom of speech and satire is without a doubt a valid outlet to lash out at the opposite camp, by giving the public something to laugh about and at the same time offering some food for thought for us to chew on. When, however, the supposedly intelligent and witty satire transgresses into using crudity and vulgar means to express dissent and outrage, its feet are already in its own religion prison, wielding its sword without any air of common sense. As laughter humiliates and the blade of the nib hits the heart, one can't help noticing the shinning light of hatred from the knife from the other camp. This time real blood flows... It certainly does not justify cold-blooded murder of innocent lives. While the camp's unwavering belief of 'death to blasphemers' and 'death to apostates' doesn't hold in this modern time and age, it undeniably provides them with a sense of pride and righteousness when the duty is done because it is their codified shariah law. If it is as they believe, that god had indeed created human beings to be his defending tools for all the injustice he suffers, so has god suddenly become the fearsome satan?

Is Charlie Hebdo having the last laugh now? Can they laugh in the wake of their dead colleagues? Are they now more determined than before to wage a war against the other camp?

It is, sadly, a vicious cycle.

'We have shown that the comic character always errs through obstinacy of mind or of disposition, through absent-mindedness, in short, through automatism. At the root of the comic there is a sort of rigidity which compels its victims to keep strictly to one path, to follow it straight along, to shut their ears and refuse to listen. In Molière’s plays, how many comic scenes can be reduced to this simple type: A character following up his one idea and continually recurring to it in spite of incessant interruptions! The transition seems to take place imperceptibly from the man who will listen to nothing, to the one who will see nothing, and from this latter to the one who sees only what he wants to see.' - Shooting the jesters by Anthony Lane

A Cicada Song

I sing spring water cold

I hurry green leaves yellow

Is fall only sorrows?

Blue wings already taking flight

farewell song to golden colours

till new seeds sown

Red falling blossoms

maple flaming red

will my thin wings breathe white flowers?

Of Being

Dust of mountains, petals of

snowdrops. over lights and

horns. Seeking will I stop?

Rain falls into puddles

into thousand broken mirrors

Of spotless youth and stubborn dreams

Flying hair fled from knot

burning battle robe. At my feet

river rushing of glory or rout?

Past and Present

Scent of ancient and now

a body turned cold

is sadness the same?

 

Pine needles

of warm rain in december

of going west

Rivers of swollen water I dreamt

over life and islands

from my memory I stagger

Lapping water sings medley

of despair. Padi fields emerald

gem in morning mist

 

Nutcracker Ballet

Cold winter colours

of leaps, jumps and twirls

on the chair, my eyes dream

Passion or talent

we are no gods or goddesses

past or present

Nutcracker reveals walnuts

of soldiers and mouse king

of no man's land

Drosselmeyer conjures

mice rats army chuckles

but my demons too

Christmas in her eyes

Jingle bells ringing on her lips

chestnuts and kinder punch in little hands

her heart springs in her steps

The faint fragrance of pines at home or

the mulled aroma of tingling fingers, roasted nuts and nutcracker.

She asks, did you smell that Christmas scent?

Comforted the baby has Mary and Joseph

Happy the star shines so bright for them

The song sings in her heart

Papa is Nutcracker Prince

she throws houseshoe at Mouse King

fantasy or real, Papa is her prince

 

Wet Friday Haiku

From the wet winter, I escape

into crescendo of melody

goose pimples marking the lark

chinese tasting goose broth

german crispy goose

but no rice to goose japanese tummy

Books, scarf, frankfurt

definitely a piece of heart

not face or thought that counts

Overgrown black mop lightened

by scissors. the wind like knife on my skin

the goose like butter under my skin

 

Material World Haiku

Cold rain falls from grey sky

we the robots in and out of shops

with things keeping us warm and dry

Front yard of kindergarten

among greetings and hugs, eyes spy

who has the shiniest shoes and coat?

Gifts under the Yule tree

whose smile is the brightest,

child's or adult's?

Does the thought really count

or the face more important?

what about gifting with a piece of your heart?

 

Principle Haiku

Succulent pork of rudeness,

juicy belly of ego. I have

no wish to choke on my principle.

You draw the line of ants, waiting

to choose a side. when the rain comes,

you don't recognise which side.

Entwined sinewy fingers like spring tendrils

tender kiss the breath of mountain air

a black disease of doom they are not