be careful

i have someone in my life who gives me the same advice almost everyday.  the advice is not just a parting gesture, it is a genuine hope that i will take the advice and incorporate it into my daily life.  the issue is that i may not really understand what they are telling me.  it seems to me that i already reasonably careful, if not strictly cautious. i wonder why someone would feel the need to give me this advice; especially someone who knows and hopefully understands me.  it makes me worry sometimes that they feel the need to tell me this. maybe they see something i don't see.  as i speed away, i hear the echo of them saying "be careful".

i see myself as a risk taker, but not as a stupid risk taker.  i wear my seat belts when i drive.  i wear a helmet when i ride my bike.  i believe in safety, unless it gets in the way of enjoying the activity.  the example that jumps out at me is the use of a life preserver.  when someone hands me one of these as i step onto a boat i cringe at the idea of putting it on.  not that i want to risk drowning, but that i know i am going to be uncomfortable the whole time i am wearing it.   i also know that i can swim better without the bulky orange vest, than with it.  unless i am sailing far from shore, and at real risk of being swept off the deck by storm waves, i am not going to wear something that just gets in the way.

why do i wear a helmet then?  well, the risk/reward calculation is different.  i have ridden bikes long enough, hard enough and fast enough to have lost 4 of them to crashes.  when i say lost, i mean folded up into sculpture like shapes by high speed impacts with larger and higher mass vehicles.  in one of these impacts, i walked way with barely a scratch on me, but with a long white stripe of paint on my black helmet.  i have always wondered what my bare head what have looked like after the same impact sans plastic safety gear.  prior impacts, most while doing nothing close to risky but mixed with speed, boredom, stupidity and the elements have taught me that i am not in control while on a bike.  i am at risk because of others, and i need to take extra precautions.

we are all always at risk.  there is risk in walking out onto my balcony, or so i should believe if i listen to the stories of people being hit by lightening.  but when i review the studies, we find that most deaths occur in non-urban environments around the world.  if i were in the rural world, i might need to take more direct precautions.  but in my urban environment, staying out of the pool during a thunderstorm should be enough.  doing the things i heard as a kid, turning off the TV, not using a phone and staying away from windows might be a bit of overkill in todays world.  i would rather get up in the middle of the night and go out onto the balcony to enjoy a good thunderstorm than to hide from it because of some mythical belief carried from an earlier age and situation.

i do take risks.  the kids and i are talking about going skydiving.  but we are not into taking dumb risks. we all agreed that if we are going to do it, we will do it in the US rather than asia, and we will find a reputable firm to do the training with.  everything might have risk, but being smart about which ones you take are part of the game.

when i first realized how often i was being told to "be careful" i wondered if there was an underlying message i had been missing.  much like when i tell people to "be good", in most settings in asia i do not think i am giving them the same advice they would be getting from their parents if they were told the same thing.  i am suggesting they be self aware, be the best they can be and embrace the opportunities to enjoy life.  this contrasts with the asian version of, "don't do anything that will later be a mistake or bring shame".  when i try to imagine getting this asian version of the advice as a child, i remember my father saying, "fuck em if they can't take a joke".  which i translate for my kids as, "life is short, enjoy yourself".  clearly my blue-collar-hippie dad was not an asian parent; thank god for that.

i try to be careful, but living life stops me from avoiding all things risky.  i got a tattoo, and loved the process and results.  i take the kids out far to the break, i ride motorcycles and enjoy driving in storms.  the thing i miss most about winters are going snowboarding.  bungee jumping and skydiving are both on the list.  i would love to ride across asia, or sail across an ocean.  i hope retirement comes with a surfboard and a local break over 6 feet.  i am just dumb enough to paddle out and risk it, because i know i can and i love the thrill of actually doing it.

if being careful means not driving fast, not feeling the wheels slip a bit in the rain, not feeling that pull of mature fear of failure be replaced by the satisfaction of success, then i am not ready to be careful.  i don't want to be that guy now, or ever.  if i was going to be that guy, i probably would have been before.  maybe i was when the kids were young, i was not taking as many risks and i was always worried for them and their safety.  i was much less fun, and i was clearly much less happy that i am now.  i have realized they didn't need me to be that guy, what they needed was for me to go along and participate.  sharing the risks and the laughs are much better than being upset that they are on their bikes without a helmet; i am sorry we ever had that conversation.

some people can feel a thrill while safely locked into a roller coaster.  others have the ability to drive themselves into the thrills that get their heart going.  when i hear the advice to "be careful", it's not saying don't drive yourself.  what i hear is, "i know you enjoy this, i know you know there is risk, i want you to come back safely and tell me how the challenge felt and much of a charge the act of success gave".

or maybe i am just translating "be careful" to "be good".

choosing culture

much of what i write about here reflects the differences between myself and the cultures which i experience as i live my life.  i started writing when i moved to asia, during a period of other change in my life.  as i was experiencing the new environment, i began to see the similarity and many more differences between asia and version of the US i felt i had left.  the questions i was asking were mostly about why people would make the choices they make.  this was both at the micro and macro levels, as well as specifically about myself and those closest to me.  we make choices, we live publicly and privately inside our own culture; and next to other cultures.  but many of the choices people make seem oddly foreign, even when they are made for cultural reasons you understand.

i have asked the same question of three friends in the past few weeks.  they have signed up to join cultures which are not their own.  in all cases i was told the reason was their respect for the same small group focus that would have driven me away.  these are guys i know and respect.  we have a lot in common, but these choices are beyond my ability to understand.  they are making a choice to join a culture, and will be expected to live within those choices.  all three have strong individuality, the proven ability to separate themselves from those closest to them, and yet all three are signing up join groups that limit the individual for the ability to hold the group tightly bound together.

when people in asia talk about being multi-cultural, i smile and shake my head.  there are cultural differences here, but they are small differences.  the differences are mostly external, focused on what language you speak, what you eat and what you wear.  these are surface items, that allow a very high level of cross over.  not only do we have baba-nyonya culture, where chinese took on the outward elements of the malay/indonesian culture, but we have HIGH number of chinese, indian, thai and other ethnic mixing that make the malay group what it is today.  i have to smile when someone tells me they are "fully malay", but then admits that one or more of their grandparents where from a non-malay culture or ethnicity.

don't miss understand me.  i am not saying this is disingenuous in any way.  what i am arguing is that there is not as much difference between the groups as people would like others to believe.  all three groups are family focused, and patriarchal.  viewed with a more critical viewpoint, especially through the american lens of individuality and egalitarianism, this can come across more as paternalism and softly-veiled misogyny.  but to each other, the traditional asian value system is strongly held by the other groups.  it is clearly much easier to dislike the western value system than to acuse one of the other groups of being socially dangerous.

and there is the danger i see for my friends.  they are choosing a culture where what is considered normal for us could be subversive and riddled with danger.  unless of course they are looking to join, and take advantage of the male-focus of the culture.  as i think about this more deeply, they are each from different western cultures which were previously paternalistic.  am i misunderstanding the desires here, is it that they truly want to go back to the more conservative times of the past?  is that the attraction for joining?

you could point out that i also recently joined a asian group dynamic.  although i did it in slightly different ways.  i selected a group with the smallest amount of differences of all the situations.  same religion, same focus on education, same professional level, history of crossing ethnic boarders and possibly the most important of all shared native language.  fully asian, but with a strong western vibe deeply ingrained and a focus on the strength of women and matriarchy.   hopefully they will continue to be accepting of my semi-bohemian individuality.  there is evidence of this acceptance being core to the group; so i am less worried than i would be otherwise.

we all choose cultures.  we may choose to stay within the one we were brought up in, or to go along with the changes our culture is experiencing as we mature.  we choose our culture by selecting family, friends, education, occupation, workplace, hobbies and groups we join and even the places we choose to live.  we make choices about what we eat, where we go and who we spend time with.  we decide to be alone or in a wider group.  we choose to dress up, dress down or dress with the norm to send statements about who we are and how we fit into the wider group dynamics around us.

i still don't understand the choices others make.  why any person would stay with someone who uses the threat or act of violence to keep them is beyond me.  why a woman would not throw off a misogynistic culture, may always be a mystery.  but i no longer question the validity of these choices; not most of them.  many choices i would never make can valid for others.  i am not going to advocate against most of them.  i will not suggest they are wrong.  i know they are not right for me.

but, as a self-professed free-thinking libertarian, what else would you expect.

choosing freedom

i was just settling in under the umbrella today when my angel pointed out the topless woman a few chairs down.  yesterday there had been an equally free woman at the other end of the long set of chairs; too far to see who she was with or around.  just close enough to notice her choice of freedom and move back to my book on evolution.  but today we were closer, and there was more of a chance to put the entire scene in perspective.

last year i was sitting in the same chairs with my daughter and noticed an older woman a few chairs down who had chosen freedom.  i asked ash why she did not make the same choice, she said "i don't want to show them".  i noticed the age of the woman, and although she looked good for her age, she may have passed some point where things had looked better.  the reply and the observation caused me to muse, "isn't it sad if there is a inverse relationship between someone showing, and someone wanting to be shown?"

the attraction is not the freedom, but the act of choosing to be free.  i find it interesting.  why do some women who would look wonderful choose not to be free?  how do others, regardless of how they look, make the choice?  this same question can be repurposed for lessor acts of freedom.  bikini, sheer blouse, braless, short dress, tight jeans, sleeveless, tudong, burqa are all points along the same spectrum of choice.  we live in a multi-cultural environment so many of these points will be accepted in the right situation; if you choose them.  but there is cultural conditioning that takes the freedom away.

few people are surprised or offended by children on the beach that are topless or with less.  this happens across all the cultures, in the past week i have seem families from all over asia, europe or australia with kids in less than a complete swimsuit.  it is the same in the US, no one gives it a second thought.  but as we age, the conditioning kicks in, to the point that actions accepted by some are are stopped by fear or shame by others.  in my standard libertarian bent i believe each person should have the ability to choose, and should not be oppressed by others into making a certain decision; wether it's wearing a hajib or not wearing a top on the beach.  both are equally valid, and the right to choose should be protected and celebrated.

these thoughts all kicked in as i looked past the woman of freedom, and her equally free friend, and noticed that immediately next to them was a muslim family with a woman in tudong.  men, women and children in the group eating their early lunch and discreetly ignoring the two european woman.  there were others all around; men and women, local, asian, aussie and russians.  no one seemed to interact with these woman, to be offended or to try to get them to be less free.  not while in the chairs, or when they laid at the waters edge with their toes in the surf,

this is the point, these women made a choice, others either respected it or ignored it.  i find this as a very positive thing.  this is a muslim country; although it is also a hindu island known for bare breasted women 100 years ago.  it has a very large number of tourists coming and going with a certain surfer-chic hipness baked into the vibe.   other asian-muslim countries are not nearly as relaxed about these things, i really can't imagine any form of public immodesty being ignored in malaysia.  last year people were shot with water cannons for wearing yellow shirts, no telling what could happen if there were no shirts.  note the lack of anything close to a world-class vacation spot and do the math.

so, hurray to the freedom and to the freedom to be free.  this kind of simplicity and respect is exactly why i needed to get away.  i just needed to be somewhere that let's people live and stays out of their life.  the hotel has armed guards, a bomb sniffing dog and metal detectors to try to keep the guests safe from another round of bombings, but on a day to day basis there is more freedom and sanity here because of cultural acceptance; and the surfer vibe.

as we talked sitting on our shaded chairs, i remembered a morning long ago.  i had just climbed up into the tower and was putting on sunblock.  a woman walked up called for me to come down.  when i got there she said, "i am not a prude, but i have kids with me and those people are doing something under their blanket that i hope you can make them stop".  i looked maybe 100 feet down the beach, no where close to anyone else there was a lone blanket.  as i watched the blanket did have a certain rhythmic movement to it.  i looked at the not-a-prude-mom and told her i would take care of it.

i strolled down slowly, hoping things would resolve themselves before i got there.  when i got to them, there was still some movement, and i cleared my throat to let them know i was there.  two heads popped out, with shy smiles.  we had a very quick conversation, where i apologized for having to do it but asked them to take the party somewhere else.

when i got back into the tower, prude-mom waved thanks to me and i went back to putting on sun block.  i remember sitting and wondering if i should have handled the situation differently.  i needed to enforce the rules, but i didn't feel right doing it.  not-a-prude-mom could have ignored the situation, and distracted the kids down at the water.  i doubt her kids ever noticed, and if they did she could have used it as a teaching exercise on freedom.  but she decided to be legalistic and to impose her "not-a-prude" views on others who were nowhere near her; safely hidden under a blanket.

it is probably 28 years since that summer morning.  i am on the other side of the planet and i have seen things.  if i had been working on the beach this morning and prude-mom had come up to me and asked me to take care of this situation, i am not sure what i would have done.  but today was not that day, and i was not in that role.

today was vacation; one built on freedom and openness   i am very happy i was with someone who appreciates my love of freedom, and who is open to pointing something out if i would have missed it.

what did she choose?  what she is comfortable with, and i love that she knows it's all her choice.

two spoons

there was a time a few years ago when i was struggling to understand who i was and where i fit in.  my life was both overly complex and minimalist-simple.  i kept it that way on purpose because i did not like the directions life had taken me in, i did not like the responding directions i went in afterwards and i was not ready to make the corrections needed to course correct.  allowing, or more honestly engineering, the chaos allowed me say, "things are just complex" while living with only two spoons in the kitchen.

i had a fully stocked kitchen in the US.  i had no intention of going out and stocking a new one here.  when i came to asia, i stopped cooking because i didn't have an oven.  i ate take out, because it was fast and easy.  the lifestyle came with no need to clean up, no need to plan and no need to have my own plates, bowls or utensils.  my landlord had provided some kitchen items when i moved it, but they were not mine and i didn't care.  i had the bare minimum required, it wasn't mine and it could go away at any time.  it kept things simple in some sense, but it was never simple and i was never happy.

the past few years that has changed.  the condo is still temporary, but i decided i needed it to be more than an unloved space.  i needed to build some comfort into my surroundings.  i finally found myself in a place where i could stop worrying about the kitchen in the US and find the things i needed here to be happy.

this has lead to some real improvements.  not all of these are my doing.  there have been changes in malaysia that has helped.  BSC improved it's expat food market, and now has a much broader selections of goods.  ben's grocery opened in publika, the big groups attempt copy a western supermarket (grocery store, bakery, deli and eat in/out food outlets).  i can now get beer, bagels and other comfort foods that allow a more western-comfortable living experience.  the complexity has dropped and simple stay at home life has taken over.

in the past few months this has settled into an even deeper cycle.  i am going home for tea after work.  a small event between work and dinner, that focuses on rebuilding energy and settling into the night to come.  starbucks now sells via coffee here, and that means very good coffee at home, add a little brown sugar and its the best coffee in town.  there is no reason to go out, everything i need, i have.  i remember the days of teh tarik, but have no interest in having it now.  what i have at home is much better.

i have also started cooking again.  pork/beef meatballs, home made sauce, chorizo ready to be added to an omelet, or fried as a base for stuffed mushrooms, or a quick yummy sandwich are all in the freezer ready to be pulled out when the call of dinner comes.  there is still the chance to call for take out if needed, but its not a requirement every night.  cooking is a way to be creative and loving, and with a ready audience for the results its all the more interesting.

the house is more comfortable.  the books are on shelves. the walls have photos and paintings.   the closets are full, and the kitchen is stocked.  i now have a home, not just a house.  the front door is open, with a sarong covering the grill.  this lets the air blow through the apartment, and provides the modesty demanding shades from accidental eyes.  it's not perfect, the couch needs to be replaced and the question of when comes up when talking about it. but it is more comfortable and move lived in.

the time of two spoons was good.  but having a fully stocked kitchen is much better.  coming home to a bagel with yummy cheese is much better than coming home to emptiness.  sharing the things i love, cooking with simplicity and for comfort are all more than worth the effort put into it.

all it took was getting rid of the complexity and deciding to embrace the comfort.

object desire

when asked if i like malaysia, i tend to answer with an hedge.  there are good and bad elements to it.  i discuss them to explain myself.  i can tell most people don't really want to hear the answer, they tend to be asking in the way americans ask about the weather or the local baseball team.  it's filler conversation, i should just compliment the food/weather/people and stick to the cultural pattern.  but, there are things that get deeply under my skin.  rather than just accepting them as part of the deal, i work to find ways around them.  the most recent irritation is a something i didn't realize i wanted, or thought there would be time for later, but over the past few months has been a constant desire.

let me preface the next part of this conversation by admitting, i know this is a little bit nuts.  i can hear a friends saying, "your tendency to for absent-minded multi-tasking, mixed with love of speed and willingness to push limits" make me less than a perfect candidate for this.  i realize the above is true, which seems to me to be exactly the point.  i am not reckless ... well... what about ... if i am going to concentrate my addictions, in this case my need to push the edge, this appears to be the best of all options.

similar to my coffee addiction, this one comes with some accepted risk.  also, i am betting that it will actually help calm the voices.  part of my absent minded multi-tasking is that my mind is in overdrive and seeks stimulation, when the environment doesn't provide it -- it finds ways to provide it by itself.  with the waning ability to burn for hours through code, other distractions are needed.  a few months ago, while reading mens journal, i decided i wanted a motocycle.  not the racer in the magazine, but the blacked out v7 classic,  i have never been a custom chopper kind of guy, and the superbike strikes me as a penis extension.  but when i looked at the classic lines of this bike, it clicked.  i want one.  what's stopping me ... malaysia.

the issue is not like the christmas presents from amazon or custom bag from timbuk2, like most international sites neither of those companies will ship to malaysia.  the reason they give is the amazingly high level of fraud they see coming from my adopted land.  apparently, malaysians made a habit of having things shipped, and then they claimed they never got them and refused to pay.  i know this doesn't sound like something a malaysian would do... no, never.

i can get a moto guzzi in malaysia, the list price is RM 77,000 or US$ 24,839.  it lists in the US for $ 8,990... yeah the same bike is 176% more in malaysia.  unbelievable, well for someone who doesn't live here.  why is it so high?  the most direct answer is that it's malaysia.  there are formulas about import duties and approved permits, but that is political cover for the reality that people are getting milked.

earlier this year i decided i wanted to get in shape, and thought the rowing machine i have wanted since college would help.  i did my research, and discussed shipping it from the US.  shipping was a hassel for family members.  because companies refuse to ship direct i needed someone to have a big box delivered to them and then have it shipped to me.  the upside of this plan was that exercise equipment is exempt from import.  long story short, i bought local for twice the US price.  the reason given when i asked about the mark up?  import taxes.  i mentioned that there were no import taxes, the manager of the store smiled at me and said, "well that is true, but we are the exclusive importer".  the twinkle in his eye was ... part of living in malaysia.

there is a process to avoid a bit of the markup on the motorcycle.  i can buy in the US, have it shipped here.  we are then back to hassel of family members in the US doing the shipping.  but first i need to apply for and get an "approved permit" (AP or import licence) in malaysia.  then its simply paying 85 - 130% of taxes before it can clear customs.  there apparently are "rumors" that each step in this process involves malaysian officials with open palms, which because of my role i am not able to fill for fear of US jail time for "foreign corrupt practices" or lose of my job for playing by local rules.  the "rumors" insist not being corrupt would seriously delay, or completely derail the plan.

i know this seems like an intelligence test.

the american viewpoint on this is that i am paying US$ 8,990 for a bike, and US$ 15,849 (RM 49,132) for the ability to ride it inside malaysia.  i could pay marginally less if i go through a highly convoluted process and potentially put my career and freedom at risk; neither of which i am willing to do.  the other option is to delay the purchase until i leave the country.  this would fall into the 6 year delay i have had on using pandora, the two year delay i have had on using hulu (both because access is restricted due to fraud) or the long list of purchases i have not made locally over the years (because of 100% - 300% mark-up with most retail purchases).

when i started this posting i was going to explain why i was going to just suck it up and buy the bike.  i really want it.  i want to get around KL and slip through the grid lock, rather than sit in the traffic thinking about how much worse it is now than a few years ago.

i would like to have something fun to do, something that would help release the pressure.  but as i wrote, the resentment has bubbled back up.  that is the point of why i do not love malaysia, bullshit like this happens all the time.  i am back to saying, no way i am not going to play this game, i would rather buy three motocycles in the US with the same money.

this is an intelligence test, not for me but for the voters of malaysia.  i have the option of getting off this goat rodeo and moving back to sanity without protectionist tariffs and "rumored" corruption.  where is the demand for this to change?

enough of me bitching, yeah i love malaysia, the food, the people, the weather are all wonderful.  that really is what you wanted to hear right?

you know what would help this mood?  if i could go for a ride.

indonesian scrooge

what do you do when you realize for the second time in 4 months you need to break with convention and escape your responsibilities? the past few months have been difficult. i have been hanging in more or less one week at at time. but weeks ago i knew i needed to escape. i looked at flights to asia/oceania locations with the hope of mexican food and good beer. it took me three days to decide on my second choice, a process of whittling hope and fear down to action.

as an american in asia, i am constantly asked if i am going home for christmas. it's a strange question because i am not really sure where home is anymore. if home is where the heart is, my heart is spread over the world. i do not have a singular location to go where all the people i love will be sitting together as a unit of holiday joy. there are my american and european families, both of which i feel joining would be intrusion.

i have two groups who i love in KL. one is a mixed bag of non-christmas people; atheists, communists, muslims, sort-of-muslims, hindus and buddhists. there are a few christians mixed into this group, but walls limit the sharing of holidays. there is also a fully formed family group who will be celebrating praise and worship without me. this is an interesting ensemble that i enjoy being a member of; but i did what i have always done during holidays, pushed myself away from the table.

my parents allowed this to become a tradition of mine. i am not really sure why i am this way, but i am. when the holidays loom, i feel the need to back away. i love the christmas spirit, the trappings of the holiday, the food and buying presents for kids, but i feel very uncomfortable in the family setting. thinking about it, it's not being together that bothers me but the thought that i might not get to be with the family at the next holiday. echoes of divorce bounce in my head as i am visited by the ghost of holidays past. i love the memories, i cherish them, but i will never be invited to join in again.

if the ghosts of christmas past are haunting me, the ghost of christmas present has been a warm and loving soul. she and i discussed my separation, and agreed that i needed to get away. there is mass missed, dinner and singing to follow. there will be no tree to wake up to, there will be no stockings to stuff. my ghost of christmas present is allowing me to get away, to sit in a cafe serving bad coffee and pseudo-parisian pastries, to listen to spa-christmas fusion muzak and to write alone. having gained enlightenment about being holiday-solo, i am not upset by christmas present. but then ebenezer wasn't either until he realized family missed him; or was it their pity.

this leaves me with the ghost of christmas future. with birth parents gone, siblings 25 years separated and acquired family lost in agreement, i can not honestly imagine a future christmas like any of the past. i can imagine a time-share christmas, the exact thing that i have been avoiding for 4 years. having a tiny tree at home sounds good, but being away on the beach has become a bit of a tradition now also.

i realize that i am dangerously close to bringing my ghosts with me on my impaired holiday. in some ways, this year is a dry run, a phased approach of escape followed by reconnection. i honestly wish i were able to enjoy the holidays without the angst, but as i said i know this is who i am, and i appreciate that my parents, living and dead, my ghosts and my children understand that being here is not a way to say that i don't want to be there. i want to be there more than anything in the world.

the scared kid who cried the christmas eve he found out santa was a evil hoax, the young man who closed the door thinking of a camera, the husband horribly allergic to christmas cheer and the sun burned pirate are all looking forward to many happy holidays to come.

haunted duck will be served, god bless us all, every one.

boy blue

i am ignoring the world and passing the time until mass. i have been trying to get in touch with how i feel all week. emotions have been flowing since the phone rang in the middle of the night to tell me my father had died. when i asked when the funeral was, my sister said they were waiting to know when i would be back. but i had decided two years ago that when the time came, i would not fly home. i should have warned my family, but when does that conversation come up. no one understands, and i have been asked to consider what i am doing; no one wants me to live with regrets.

my father had a heart attack and stroke two years ago. my mom has been nursing him towards recovery ever since. as i watched from far away, i could not remind her that they sent him home to die, not to recover. there was no recovery, he was bedridden, had lost most of his mobility and communication skills. earlier this year, persistant open wounds forced them amputate his legs. when i called home she would tell me how he had gotten up and moved around a bit, or that he was having a good day, but i have known the days were limited.

when i was in college, we would blow off campus during exam season and drive over to the ocean. classmates were in the library or studying in the dorms, but once i had studied i knew that what i needed was to get away from the enforced quiet time that others required. it was best for me to sit in the back seat of the car and drink a beer, listen to music and talk to my closest friends. i don't remember a single conversation, but i can still feel the closeness of the group driving through the night; far from the acceptable behavior of studying or sleeping.

at the end of my sophomore year we were driving to the beach in the middle of the night. i was thinking about the coming summer, i would go home for a few weeks and then off to parris island for my marine corp summer camp. i would not be spending the summer with my family, but i was already spending my school year away, so this seemed like the next step.

i had called home every week the first year of college; sunday at 7:30 on the dot. it was the time between sunday mass and the return to my studies. i would call home and let them know how i was doing, what was going on in my life. but early in my sophomore year i had made the call, and after talking for a few minutes a frustrated voice on the other end asked me, "why don't you call and tell us good news. it seems like there is always something wrong. can you not call until you have good news to tell us?" i got angry, and tried to debate the point, but they hung up. i stood in the phone box, staring at the receiver which i then slammed down, twice. the following week at 7:30 i wanted to call, but still angry i refused to edit my conversation. i wanted to share, but the sharing had stopped. i never called regularly again, and 27 years of drift has happened in between.

later that year, when i told my father i was joining the marine corp to fly helicopters, he asked me, "are you sure about this? you don't like anyone telling you what to do." when i think back on the tractor accident, and premature end of my military career, i realize in some ways he might have been right. i have learned to take and execute orders, but i have always needed to make my own choices.

on that drive to the beach we had ROCK 101 was playing. i was in a quiet mood and for the first time actually listened to harry chapin's "cats in the cradle". i knew the chorus, but the lyrics had always blurred by unnoticed. this time i listened to the story of a father and son's relationship over the years. it begins with the son asking for the fathers time, and ends with roles reversed. it was in this moment that i understood my childhood, but i also saw my future and realized how i was moving away.

when we got to the beach, i zipped into a sleeping bag on the sand. as i laid listening to the waves with my girlfriend i started to cry. she had no idea what had set me off, she might have thought it was exam stress, but i was sobbing over a broken childhood that i had no ability to fix. i might have gone into software because i like to build systems, or to fix those that are broken, but this one was out of my hands. my childhood may also drive my need to be in control, but in those moments i had no control. i didn't explain the emotions that night, but i have gone back to them over the years.

i cried two years ago when i thought my father was going to die, i haven't cried this week. i want to, but i can't seem to push the button. it feels wrong, i am not going to stand over the casket so why do i get to shed the tears from the safe emotional distance that i am keeping.

the words that have always haunted me are from the end of the song, when the father calls and asks to see the son who says he is too busy... i have never believed he was busy, work is not an issue, just a convenient excuse. the father ends the call and says:

as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
he'd grown up just like me
my boy was just like me

i am divorced, i live away from my kids, i do enjoy work. but i am not my father. my father would have gone to the funeral, even if he didn't want to. i am not perfect, and i never needed him to be. i am sad that he is gone, and that we never found enough time to spend together. but i loved my dad, and i know he loved me. we just never really understood each other, and that is how i want to be different, i want my kids to know the person i am inside.

this is not the end of the song, because i am the father now and my kids need me to call and make time to be there; so they can know me. i live half a world away, and have been home for e's birthday 5 years running; i wonder if he has noticed that. either way, i know i am no longer the son, i am now the father.

the song ends with:

and the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
little boy blue and the man on the moon
when you comin' home son?
i don't know when, but we'll get together then son
you know we'll have a good time then

goodbye dad, i love you.

i am sorry we didn't get together then.

small world

after breakfast today i went for a walk on the beach. the waves here crest quickly and break close to the shore. there are strong tides and the beach is marked with the red flag that warns that it is closed for swimming. as i looked down the beach there were a few people bobbing in the waves on the miles long beach, but it was otherwise nearly deserted. i thought about the european sailors who would have seen this beach for the first time from their boats. how could they have seen this and not swam ashore to stay and frolic in the waves? maybe because they had seen so many other beautiful beaches ... okay, but why would they ever go back to england?

i have used the word paradise a few times in this blog, and there really are places in the world that are as close to paradise and one could get. but if you needed to go out and find a place to live, where would it be? as i sit under palm trees and listen to the waves coming ashore, washed in warm tropical sun, i wonder why anyone would select a location that involves the harshness of my childhood winters. i remember making angels in the snow, but i also remember falling on my aching ass because i did not break the ice on the stairs when my father asked. we are not really made to live in those conditions, being iced is not a good thing.

the selection process had to be easier when the bounty sailors looked ashore to tahiti. an open culture, an established trading system for necessities, chiefs who welcomed the ferengi ashore and offered them land and status to stay. but the modern world is more difficult. travel is fast, and information travels faster. we can watch the events of a far off situation unfold from nearly anywhere in the world. the world is smaller, with more options.

as you look over the world, where would you pick to live? bali is nice, but has no economy beyond tourism; with crazy traffic on anything including a motorcycle. amsterdam is nice, love bicycles, but needing to speak anymore dutch than i do would hurt. goa sounds nice, european influence and a desire to not be called indian, but i would spend all my time searching for the bridge that marie died on.

i don't have an issue working on my spanish, but don't really want to learn portuguese, i have had my fill of fringe languages. finding somewhere with english as a common language would be great in fact.

i prefer it socially relaxed, there has to be no issue with alcohol and pork; in fact a strong beer culture with tasty IPAs would be great. a cosmopolitan environment, that looks beyond color and orientation is a must in fact. it must have a newport-quality arts culture, so i can walk into galleries to poke around between the beach and coffee in a cafe. the closest i can come up with is bondi beach. the beach is nice, i would love to join that lifeguard club on the west point (the first official live saving club in the world), book, record and surf shops and great food all around; relaxed people playing between the flags.

there is also something i like about living in a place that was established as a penal colony, and that was a favorite destination for troubled irish to be deported by our engles overseers. the downside is cost of living, it feels like the overseas alternative to moving to venice beach. but venice has native burrito shops and quality medical care easily available, while NSW is still sadly behind the times in modern beach side comforts.

i was thinking about a house somewhere in baha california. buy a piece of beach, put up a doublewide and have a boat to take tourists out during the season. i have never been a fisherman, but i used to row so the other guys could catch off the "ship of fools", this would be the late-adult version of that. good weather, spanish and english, slow paced. it all sounds good, but how do i get back here and see the andaman sea again? how do i get back to bali and visit my ubud auntie friend who sells me batiks. she smiles as soon as i walk up, and gives me a hug. can i decide to leave that behind?

it's too early to come up with a retirement plan. i should just go back to the villa and read my book on born liars. the book talks about how lying helped drive the explosive evolution of humans over our cousin primates. it argues that we needed to learn to lie to compete in ever larger social groups. humans are known to have evolved to live in groups of 150, and later into villages of 1,500, this is significantly larger than the other higher apes groupings. lying helped us do it, driving our need for larger brains and the ability to project ahead.

but our world is much larger now. we have so many options, to travel, to meet and know others, to experience cultures. i am watching the sun drop towards the horizon, and i am so glad i am here. this trip was taken because i missed the US and needed a break, but if i said i was ready for a change and knew how to make it with a perfect choice... i would be lying.

if asked right now, i would think of cousin avi and say, "yeah, don't go to england"

missing options

a month ago i was on an island paradise, walking in the jungle, trying to work my way down the terraced hillside to see the river at the bottom of the valley. the manager of the resort had told us that the two local rivers came together a bit down stream and the male and female flows come together as one. he said this was a sacred place, because of the combined energy. i didn't know if the river below was male or female, and i wondered if i would be able tell when i saw it.

as i walked through the trees, there was an erie calm. this was real jungle, and i really had no reason to be out here. but i was in paradise, staying in a resort with all the amenities expected to accompany private villas, and here i was tromping along in running shoes and cargo shorts. walking through the jungle is not as easy as it looks. vines reach for your feet with each step, and the idea that a snake is underfoot never really goes away. focus needs to be kept down and forward, not natural for someone conditioned to looking up and scanning the horizon for coming issues.

i wondered how much harder this would be in a truly dangerous environment. i had gotten here by walking down a flight of stairs and past some tiki poles. i imaged other americans taking flights to jungles in asia, and being sent out to walk in the jungle near rice padis. in their case punji sticks were the wood carvings along the way. i took a beat and looked around, a beautiful valley with gender-ambiguous river below and smoke in the air.

the smoke was coming from a small hut in the woods ahead. the hut had a fire burning, and when i got closer i saw a woman sitting over the flames burning a pile of branches. rather than just passing, i went over to take a picture, we had a conversation in broken-bahasa and i learned she was there to keep the jungle clear. she burned some of what she cut, and feed the rest to pigs back in her village. as we spoke, i realized there were few guests at this zen resort who ever met this hidden member of the staff.

a month later, i keep flashing back to this encounter. as i go through my day, i wonder if she is there cutting and burning the jungle into submission. talk about a job that never ends, the jungle never stops growing. i wonder about her years before, making choices on career day. did she sit down and think, i want to work in the jungle and almost never talk to anyone? are there annual reviews with this role? does she have KPI that are measured with smart criteria?

this is clearly a career that comes from narrow options. i have been to this paradise before, there is work out there for someone who is mobile, has language skills and is willing to interact with visitors. this is probably true almost anywhere. if you are willing to move, can communicate and are willing to work, you have options. not having options... maybe that comes from inside. do we take options off the table because we do not want the choice?

my boss reminded me yesterday that i have a pretty good life. i was standing on my expat-balcony overlooking the swimming pool, the sun was shining and i was headed into work so i could run on the treadmill i have inside my office. things are pretty good, even with cobras next to my car, the literal rats-nest in the air-con over my desk and the strange costs of living here. i have to admit that most of the time i am very happy, even if i am missing opportunities.

i would like to be back in the US. i would like to drive down to venice beach, have a burrito and watch the performers. i would love to go to newport beach and eat dinner at flo's; maybe pj would show up and we could have a beer over clams. but what really makes me happy is that i have options. i look forward to finding a loft and being part of the gentrification of a less than perfect part of town; it will still be nicer than KL. i can do these things, or almost anything else i want. some options would take a visa, others i could just go and do. but not today, today i am just happy being busy and watching the growth around me.

some days might feel like i am cutting back a jungle, or avoiding punji sticks, but then i remember that a quick walk up the hill and i get to kick off those shorts and hop into the pool. taking a swim in the middle of the day is an option that most people do not have, but i have learned that if i focus i can. the best part is that there are people who i can swim with, or who will pass me a towel when i climb out.

having the pool is good, but sharing the swim is the real fun.

calling celibacy

people talk about the one that got away. that person that could have made them whole, could have brought happiness to their lives and given them the contentment they so deeply crave. i understand this, because we are our choices. what we experience in life is a direct result of the decisions we make the the directions we take. life is good if you allow it, but some people continue to carry regrets. someone just said, "we do what we are", and that made me think about a career choice i didn't make.

i went to college in a catholic school. a major part of the initial curriculum, were the religion/philosophy class requirements. the overall core was comprised of three philosophy, three theology, four humanities (code for religion-philosophy); with added english, foreign language and art credits. these are clearly all the skills needed for a teacher to coach american football, to helo-cast US marines into combat or to manage a software-engineering team. reading homer, cervantes and machiavelli were good, but not directly applicable to what i do now; machiavelli does have its lessons.

i remember a night during my freshman year, reading in the dorm, when i was presented with a choice. i was reading about saint augustine and the situations of desire that were presented to highlight his begotten youth were familiar. anyone who had been in the van from the beach to the fenway, with the side trip to boston's combat-zone, could envision what the father of celibacy had experienced. being brought up catholic was just enough to feel the guilt and want to escape the pleasures.

this was the moment when it happened. for the first time i considered joining the priesthood. this was the moment of "calling" that i had been warned of, a gift that i was expected to embrace. i was being given a vocation, i was being invited into the fold. it felt as though i being called up from double-A ball and was being given a shot at the show; a very long shot with my arm. a chance was presenting itself that i had never considered, that i never thought i would be allowed. i had avoided all the predecessor conditioning steps, while my best friends were ringing the bells at mass, i was still on the beach and here i was, getting the nod.

i took a breath and considered it; rather than be overcome with the chance, i did the math. i was at a benedictine school, i didn't see myself as a parrish priest, but i felt more like a dominican (a hound of god), than living the "ordered life" of a benedictine. would i need to live the monastic life? what if the abbot role was filled, would i need to travel to move up? celibacy, was that complete or was there a hall-pass available? could i still have children? maybe the eastern orthodox church had more flexibility, but those robes and hats....

the entire process took no more than a minute or two, and i passed. augustine made his case, but i had always thought it went a little to far. a few days later while talking to the future abbot of the local order, i told him i had received an offer but had passed. i asked what he thought, he was unable to stifle the laugh that escaped. brother was a sensible man, and is trusted by the order to lead now, so i am sure i made the right choice. but since there have been times, when i wonder.

i look good in black, i have the ability to enforce rules that i do not agree with and i feel the best when helping someone through a situation. the fact that i get bored and go out and find projects to keep myself occupied, especially ones that don't focus on the party line, could be an issue. my libertarian hedonism and agnosticism could be another. but times are tough, maybe there is room for us both to reconsider this. i am too old to join the military, and i heard someone in his 60s became a priest. so there is time, but some of the rules will need to be bent; i come with a personal angel.

if you are really serious, you can call me again and we can discuss the specifics.

wanting air

i am sitting in a cafe, trying to waste time while work i could have done is being done by someone who didn't want to do it. i need to stay out of the way, so i am taking up space in a crowded cafe. a friend of mine walked in about an hour ago, when he sat down he said, "i thought i would find you here." he didn't expect me to be out on my bike, or showering after a run, he thought i would be here with my laptop, book and a coffee in front of me.

i am a creature of habit, i find routines that allow me to control the quality of my day. my basic wardrobe of jeans, polo and running shoes has been comfortably mine ever since i walked into the preppie haven of potter & co as a teen. i have replaced the alligator with a polo player, and i no longer feel the need to cut the branding away. the teenaged false-rebellion of creating holes to highlight my "conspicuous consumption" has faded away into enjoyment of simple and consistent quality.

i also have a strong drive to search for new and shiny toys to play with. the friend sitting next to me asked if i could be any more apple-branded. macbook pro, iphone and ipad splayed across the table, i smiled and turned the computer so he could see that i was shopping for a replacement air to fill the gap of the one going off to college this weekend. a purchase that i definitely do not "need", but that i might want; it's an ongoing debate. i am using the weight of 17 inches to justify the want of air. the extra-ness of the pro makes it less than portable, but is that enough to excuse the cost of going light.

i have been exercising every day this month. this is in stark contrast to the many months before when exercise was an afterthought of missed regret. for over a year, i have tried to get into the groove needed to sustain this effort, but was not emotionally tied to the benefits. i didn't want it enough to invest in making it happen. this was a purchase that just missed the cut of desire. i would have needed to pull away from the desk, or spin away at home, and that was too much for the perceived gain; gain through loss is a hard sell.

what tipped the logical analysis into the negative was the lower near-term benefit. many people are driven by fear-induced choices that go along the lines of -- if you don't do "x", bad things will happen, so hurry up and do "y". the y here for purchasing the lesser weight and lowering the drag of age and size could have won. being lighter is a good thing, i was never debating that, but having the biggest screen is a good thing too. the weight reinforces the existential substance, like driving the swedish engineered sports-wagon, rather than the italian designed sports-coupe. i have always been more wagon than coupe guy, i love the sound of the heavy doors closing around me.

this still leaves me with a decision, do i go to see my chinese apple guy and walk away with the light as air toy, or do i carry the full-sized wagon that i love; considering the weight every time i heft my messager bag onto my shoulder. the newly jobless apple has recently upgraded the line, there is a new processor and a new lion inside the box. but it feels like a waste to have another box to play with, my repressed catholic-protestant guilt is shining through and questioning the "need" to go light.

what if i wait another month or two? there are rumors that a larger air is on the way. i should be considering if another two inches will be sexy enough to cause regret after the smaller purchase i can make now. but bigger is not always better. thin can be a goal of its own, for myself and for the shiny curved cases i crave. i am going to go for a run, and think about the unbearable lightness of being attracted to air.

the act of burning loss may help me decide if losing my air is reason enough to invest in lightness.

rubbing buddha

people really don't believe that i do not see myself as too big. i live in a size-obsessed culture where small is expected. it's like the anti-texas here, the PR line would be "everything is smaller in asia". expected is not really a fair way to say this, but husbands can emotionally abuse their beautiful wives if they add a few pounds, while they are keeping thinly strange on the side. like many things in asia, there is a dualism that makes "big" a pejorative as well as an ideal that drives many people to rub the buddha.

yesterday i was getting out of my car to go to an appointment with non-standard malaysians, i was going to spend the next 4 hours semi-publicly exposed and taking multiple forms of abuse. as i was collecting my things a tattooed guy in a hat walked up to me and asked if we were going to the same place. we had a short conversation, and as he walked away he touched my stomach. this used to seem strange, but now i know its just asians way of making a connection. a strange and unsettling one that breaks multiple social taboos.

last year i was walking in beijing, semi-lost in the hutongs of the old city. as i passed a storefront a chinese guy standing in the doorway looked at me and smiled. i hesitatingly smiled back, sensing he was saying something without using words, but not sure i was following the chinese-to-english conversion. as i passed, he must of understood i had missed his point so he used the limited english he appeared to have and said, "ooohhhhhhhhh budddddhhhhaaaaaa". i decided to take it as a complement and kept moving, i glanced back as he smiled and waved. too strange.

but not as strange as the physical contact i have grudgingly become used to. i learned early that in asian culture commenting on someone's weight is acceptable. to be honest i have been called fat in the US, like years ago when a guy selling me running shoes told me, "these are great for the heavy runner". but here in asia, not only am i now used to people passing me a business card for their weight-loss company, i am now used to having my belly rubbed by complete strangers.

this has happened in vietnam, china, malaysia and indonesia. i am not sure if there is a strong buddhist connection, because it has happened in hindu and muslim countries. i don't think its religion, it appears to be pan-asian. men come up to me and touch my stomach. i would be more confortable if they were women, but that would most likely only happen in thailand, and that might be another version of rubbing the buddha entirely.

if i were in the US i would be more concerned, here it feels more like a greeting of respect. its still unsettling every time it happens, but it feels like the other person is bowing to royalty or kissing the godfather's ring. okay both of those sound strange too. it's odd, but then it hit me when i am standing in a store and some guy walks up to me says "oh buddha" and touches my belly, they are tapping into some cultural roots.

from wiki we learn:

budai (布袋; meaning cloth-sack) is traditionally depicted as a fat bald man wearing a robe and wearing/carrying prayer beads. he carries his few possessions in a cloth sack, being poor but content. he is often depicted entertaining children. in folklore he is admired for his happiness, plenitude, and wisdom of contentment and it is believed that rubbing his belly brings wealth, good luck, and prosperity.

happy, shaved, overachieving waist-wise, carrying a bag and smiling; i can see the resemblance. and the new realization that they are not making a move on me in public is reassuring. it's now clear they are simply re-enacting a deeply meaningful cultural belief. it feels good to be identified so strongly with a positive cultural icon. but that brings the question into focus, why are so many people here committed to the less is more camp of life.

happy buddha is a sign of living a good life and is good luck to those who get close. if he is so positive is so many ways, why is the "small is beautiful" camp the only one with support here. you would think the bigger side would have supporters. there are times when less is more, but come on big is beautiful. where is the cultural support for this? why is the thin conformity of the culture so unquestioned?

embrace the plenitude and the wisdom of contentment. stop worrying that you are reaching for someone else's rice bowl, life is better with desert. be asian, keep some of your boundaries and don't think can just reach out and touch any rounded belly you see, but if you find yourself needing some good luck go ahead...

rub the buddha and see if you get lucky.

planning distraction

i had a trip planned a few weeks ago, but it was cancelled at the last minute. this has left a space of freedom in my near future, and the sound of "mind the gap" has been heard deep in the coming trouble areas of my subconscience. i can sense the train is coming, but i am questioning if this is the station i should be in. i feel like i should be somewhere else, the english country side, safely tucked in, rather i have this image of the train station scene of american werewolf in london. could it be that a bad moon arising?

i am sitting in my third cafe of the day, waiting for a salted beef and thinking about what i am going to do with myself when i am left to my own devices. i thought about another quick trip, to a beach to listen to the waves, but i also have an invitation to a wedding. it's strange that someone else's commitment has an impact on my freedom of movement and expression. rather than digging for my swimsuit, i am considering the need to dry clean my other new suit from vietnam.

even if i do know what i would rather be doing, there are limits to the amount of distraction one can enjoy in a short time. rather than two weekends, i have two peri-weekend nights that i may or may not have fully free. if recent history holds true, both of these nights will have other commitments which i might want to blow-off, but will elect to be a good boy and do the right thing. what was that saying in the shining? all work and no play makes jack a dull boy.

dull boy i have become, i should be able to plan distractions for myself and i am not able to do it. i can imagine it, i have the playful and cheeky side to exercise, but i can not visualize the end result. i can hear the philosopher/golfer in caddy shack, ty webb, giving me the advice "be the ball"... wait how does that entire quote go?

ty webb: I'm going to give you a little advice. There's a force in the universe that makes things happen. And all you have to do is get in touch with it, stop thinking, let things happen, and be the ball.

maybe thats the advice i need, stop thinking and just let things happen. no, how can that be a good idea. to enjoy life you need to plan right? i just need to figure out what it is that i want.

i know, i am going to go to the video store and hope they have what i really need. movies with jack, chevy chase, bill murray. in addition to the ones above that sound like a great way to hide at home, maybe i can add in stripes, and if god loves me, fletch. i am not sure why i feel such an urge for movies from the 80's about wiseass guys being annoying to those around them, but clearly i am. if i can't find these movies, i must have a copy of road trip at home already.

yeah, those are the distractions i need. it's good to have a plan.

asian parents

the US is in the middle of a conversation on parenting that started when amy chau, a yale law professor, wrote a book on asian parenting which was excerpted by the WSJ. why chinese mothers are superior is an interesting piece, that i have to admit i thought was a joke as i read through it the first time. but tiger mom, as she is now being called, was not kidding. she, based on the text of the WSJ article, is serious that parents must force their kids to achieve. she tells stories of calling her daughter "garbage" and withholding food so she practiced piano to learn a difficult piece. this is long after almost all american parents would have allowed their kids to give up and sent them to play xbox.

my experience as a child was more or less the direct opposite of tiger mom parenting. my parents were hippies with a gypsy bohemian approach that allowed their kids to find their own way. the fact that i came to believe my parents needed someone to remind them that education mattered, that small things like paying the bills and ensuring health care was in place, left me feeling that i needed to parent them more than the other way around. surviving an imposed alternative lifestyle when i was young convinced me that a conservative life was the course for me. i needed to build a safe and comfortable life for me kids, find a stable partner, teach the children right from wrong and always be there to help them make the right choices.

nagging at the back of this was the bohemian side of my personality. my parents gave me the ability to see that right and wrong as a function of situation. what malaysia sees as a reason to put someone to death is allowed in jamaica and fully legal in amsterdam (and a growing number of states following california). parenting in the 21st century with children who are allowed to travel the world comes with advice suggesting "when in rome, do as the romans". i wonder how asian parents feel about this advice, but then again i want my kids to be capable more than conformist.

i had a debate with an asian yesterday about potty training. i had personally "missed the chance" because i was distracted during the morning and knew i was going to need to wait until 10pm for it to present itself again. i was told i should just go sit and wait. that was the way asian parents taught their children, they sit them down and tell them they can not move until they accomplish the task. i tried to push back and explain that it was not really a choice for me, i knew i had missed the window of opportunity and just needed to let things happen as they will.

the two of us stood there looking at each other, not really sure where to go next. we were at a cultural bypass. i clearly did not understand the need to teach children the self control to force things to happen on a schedule, my asian doubter did not understand the idea that things happen in their own time.

i tried to tell the story of teaching my son he controlled his own destiny. the deal was that when he was ready to use the toilet he would not need to wear diapers and would move from the crib to a "big boy" bed. one day he asked for the big boy bed, and was reminded of the deal, he resisted and we held firm. a few days later he called us into the bathroom, took his seat and finished with a loud round of applause. grandparents were called to share the big news, and the big boy bed came out of storage and was ready for bed time. it was not our decision for him to be ready, it was his and he alone took the praise for the success.

my parents telling me that what was important was for me to "be happy", allowed me find a course of life that was very different than theirs. it also allowed me to change course over the years and come to understand that i am much more bohemian that i ever expected, even if i am a bourgeois bohemian which is very different than they are. it's also not what i had in mind as i picked the conservative future, a future that flamed out and sent me on this road.

the potty conversation yesterday made me realize that the fundamental difference of the world view was this, asian parents want their children to learn to conform to the parents rules, take their advice on timing and control the timing and methods of their most personal choices. this is in direct contrast to the scary and permissive attitudes that tiger mom is warning the US about, she is reminding us that our children are children and must be controlled; long after most of us would have given them freedom of adulthood.

western parents are permissive when it comes to allowing self direction and choice. but, at least in our house, it comes with limits also. choices have consequences and everyone must own up to their decisions. they must accept that they were free and must live with the results they have imposed on themselves. maybe our parenting could be boiled down to the simplest of directions:

"it's your life, but if you want to shit your pants, don't ask us to clean it up"

choosing overachievement

we all have choices to make everyday. they can be big or small, some effect our lives, most just happen without us even noticing. humans are tuned to make choices quickly, sometimes so fast that the choice is made before we even realize we need to choose. this is a good thing when the choice is flee or fight, and the cause is a yet unseen predator. malcom gladwell wrote about this in blink, where he tried to get people to trust their instincts and just let choices happen. his point was that we get in trouble when we over-think the situations in front of us. i have been thinking about why someone would choose to be an over-achiever.

having found myself squarely on one side of the personality bell-curve, i don't really see it as a choice for achievement. it feels like "choosing" other things which there is really no choice in, like your sexuality. meaning for most people it is just a fact of who they are. the deeper personality traits they have are the driving force on achievement. does someone need to have control over their situation? are they willing to put in more than those around them to have a higher return on their investment? are they willing to "do what it takes" rather than simply "try to do it".

having never felt overly motivated, i grew up thinking i was a slacker. i was a crossing-guard (think outdoor proctor) in the 5th grade, and had no idea that other kids saw this as immediate access to the teachers pet group. i played sports almost every season, and was a life-guard as soon as i turned 16. i got my job on the beach by assisting on a save while there to interview; literally jumping in when asked. i selected my college because someone told me i couldn't get accepted; and if i did i would fail out. i became a developer because a consultant lied to me and i wanted to make a point. all of these things just happened, i never went out looking for them, they were just part of my day and i went with it. every single one were steps that led me to where i am right now.

i have also noticed that most of my good luck happens immediately following a failure of some sort. a few years ago i probably could have climbed into a bottle an drowned myself without anyone being surprised. instead i asked for a job i didn't know i wanted. i allowed the emotional response to make me move, but for the direction to be positive rather than destructive. but it wasn't a choice, i never sat down and thought about it, it just happened the way it felt like it should.

so why did gladwell get to write a book on this subject? because people have been conditioned to think things through after a round of requirements gathering and analysis. the idea is that if you are not careful you will make mistakes. but look at all the people out there who did just that, they were careful and they planned. they made decisions that made sense, and they thought were the things they wanted. look at them now, they are miserable and they make the people around them miserable in the process.

good thing they had a list and made sure the dotted the i's and crossed the t's. the issue is people don't know, or more likely accept, who they really are. their inability to be honest blocks their ability to choose in a rational way. so they choose in an irrational way. they choose in a way that can not work, because it's based on a hope rather than reality. they hope they, or someone next to them, are someone they are not. or they hope no one else will not find out what they already know.

not everyone is built for over-achievement, and trying to act like they are is a great way to be miserable. but there is a corollary, not everyone is built for under-achievement either, and it is just as bad to try to believe that you are a bohemian slacker with average prospects when you are anything but. what you need to do is admit who and what you are, and then just go with it.

life is about accepting who you are. if you are over thinking it, try to blink.

saying nothing

i am not sure if you have noticed, but i have been very quiet lately. i have not been writing. i have not wanted to write, or when i did want to i did not have anything i was willing to say out loud. this blog began as a safe and quiet place for me to put thoughts; over time it has morphed into something else. this private space has become my most public and enduring method of sharing ideas, and that has changed the thoughts i am willing to share. then again, all forms of sharing have changed for me over the past few years.

when i first started writing i created a few rules:

• no names would ever be used, this is about me and my ideas, never about friends
• i would not discuss anything work related
• i would not write a diary or food blog
• i would not comments on the actions of others, most importantly family

i started this looking for an outlet for the ideas what i questioned and wanted to understand better. the context would be close to mathematician who writes equations on whiteboards to build logical models of a complex world. i attempting to do the same and needed a place to put the formulas.

at the same time, i was building an openly public side in both work and life. i was attempting to connect with people who shared very few commonalities. coming to malaysia limited my access to middle aged, irish catholic, liberal arts majors who have the ability to quote complete scenes from movies that feature dan aykroyd. building anything new comes with making mistakes, and being in a brand new environment adds to the opportunity to make even more. the one i made most often was believing that i could be open with people.

i found that openness is not always a good thing. even, or most especially, with those close enough to be trusted. opening the veil allows others to see inside. the lesson learned was that those openings could be shared with others. unless you are ready to share something with everyone, you need to keep yourself shielded by opaque covers. the downside to this is the realization that the burqa obstructs the wearers vision even more than the vision of the eyes trying to be kept out.

this brings me back to my writing. i started this as semi-private way to discuss semi-private thoughts in a semi-anonymous way. these were the thoughts i would previously have shared with loved ones in the privacy of home. but, living far away limited the access to this safe outlet. the last time i had felt this type of need was in college, when i carried notebooks with the same kind of writing. those notebooks were labeled “reflections on malthus”, and also focused on the fast learning of strange ideas i was collecting by spending more than 20K USD per year. money spent to be forced to read, write and think, something i was now doing for free.

craving to have someone listen to you, while you are far away and disconnected, is a strange feeling. but the ability to control the conversation and complete a thought before someone tells you that you’re “being silly” is a powerful drug for someone in recovery. even more so when you realize the reason you are in recovery is that you had burst a seam from the pressure of not exercising this freedom in the first place.

so why have i not been writing? as usual, it’s basically a mix of three things:

1. i have been too busy to exercise in any form
2. i have not had subjects bubbling to the surface, waiting to be discussed
3. i have not felt comfortable with the semi-privacy i have built

someone wise once said, “if you don’t have anything worth saying, don’t say anything at all”. that didn’t make much sense to me then, but lately it has been spot on. when i came close to saying anything, i found i second-guessed myself. normally when i am unsure of the way to go, i crash forward just to see if i was right. lately it has been the mute on the other side of my conscience that has been telling me that “less is more”.

but, this week is different. i am on the beach with the kids, i have a list of titles i want to share, i am close to breaking two of the 4 rules i built when i started. i miss the process of sharing thoughts, and am reminded that veils are like locks on doors; they only keep the honest man out.

saying nothing does not stop the ideas from coming. if is for me to decide for myself that i am “being silly”; and its for others to decide if they want to listen.

public enemy

i started the day with a drive to breakfast. i was meeting someone, and had let them choose the location. the place is one i like very much, but which has also been bothering me lately that it is semi-halal. this means they do not server pork, but are happy to serve alcohol. i parked the car next to my favorite pork place, and considered trying to change locations. instead i decided on changing the equation.

as i was driving over i was surfing my music collection. i heard a song a week ago and listened to it over and over, but for days i have not been able to remember the song or the artist. i have an aching desire to hear a song i cannot identify. i feel the song, i have emotional clues, but i cannot put my finger on the button. as i surfed i came to a group i know did not sing the song, but i could not resist selecting them anyway.

public enemy is a sound that is clearly not malaysian. they were the original black-power hip hop group, now known as one of the top 50 influential groups of all time. pe brought us chuck d and flavor flav who broke onto the white american cultural scene when featured in spike lee’s “do the right thing”. “fight the power”, “bring the noise” and “don’t believe the hype” were the perfect mood enhancer as i drove. it was a mood to flex my amercian nature, and lyrics like:

“turn up the radio
they claim that i'm a criminal
by now i wonder how
some people never know
the enemy could be their friend”

were just what i needed.

so i dropped into my pork restaurant, i got a takeaway and carried it to my semi-halal breakfast location. as i walked in i stopped and talked to the waiter who calls me “brother. i told him i was bringing in my own sausage to see if it would be an issue. he just smiled and said “okay”. i walked to the table and sat with my treasure in a bag on the table.

we ordered and were served, pancakes and coffee, which for the first time in 4 years now had the correct meat to accompany them. bacon provided the salty taste needed to cut the bitter of the espresso and the sweet of the pancakes. i felt satisfied and happy with my ability to solve the nagging issue of merging american standards into malaysian expat breakfast locations. i had gone the extra step to allow my morning to satisfy. the world was a happy place.

until i noticed that my partner was not eating the sausage i have seen her enjoy in the past. i asked why and got an evasive answer. i asked more directly, “are you not eating because you think it’s wrong to bring pork to a semi-halal place?”. this time i got the truthful, “yes, i guess so”.

some details that might help paint this picture:

• the bacon was in a container, and wrapped in a bag, no one could see the meat without standing over the table
• i was eating with my fingers, directly from the container to not contaminate the dishes or silverware.
• i had told the staff, and if they had told me not to bring it in, i would not have because i consider them friends.
• i believe the food restriction is generically dumb , and specifically does not cover a challenged catholic
• the place is only semi-halal, if malays can drink here then i should be able to eat pork

the next hour of debate over my openly flaunting the rules was what most political debates are, unsatisfying. i openly confessed to breaking the rules, and although i tried to equate myself to mahatma ghandi, i came off feeling more self-centered than the political reformer i was attempting to imitate.

the breakfast ended with us going our own ways. the day would be one of reflection. somehow was i transported back to the early 1980s, in church and being told why things i knew were right were not and that i should know better. i was not breaking a law, i was trying to be respectful, but i simply wanted to eat what i wanted to eat. i was again told that my issue is that i want to do things i want to do, again with the clear implication that i should not.

i had become my own version of a public enemy. i was considered dangerous and controversial; for trying to have a meal that i considered complete. no one around us complained, the staff did not object, but acting in a manner to demand freedom was very unsettling for someone who does not get upset about most things.

in malaysia, political corruption is tolerated, pirate dvds are openly sold, human trafficking is hardly noticed; but smuggling pork into a semi-halal breakfast spot is the breaking point. not criminal, but something i should be embarrassed about. how does this conditioning happen? how can this country be fixed if no one demands freedom? how can corruption be eliminated if we don’t stop walking on egg shells, and say when things are unfair.

fight the power.

/***********************************************

the song i could not remember is “i can’t get no, satisfaction” the version by the spin doctors.

its a bonus track on “you’ve got to believe in something” both album and song title could clearly be used in a blog of the future.

************************************************/

defending tudung

when an american moves to a muslim country they are confronted with many differences in social culture. the lack of pork and alcohol, the inclusion of sharia law into the court system are large for americans who are taught that "pork fat rules", going out with friends includes buying a round of drinks and that society works because of a separation of church and state. in the US everyone is entitled to the same freedoms, the first of which is exercise of their religious beliefs. moving to a culture where the majority are ruled with one set of laws and the minorities another is unsettling.

when i first came to malaysia, one of the first pieces of advice i had was given was to not shake hands with women if they were wearing a tudung. i was told that women in tudung were more conservative and would not touch a man's hand. people were surprised that i came to this country and began to drive immediately. they thought moving from left-hand drive to right would be difficult for me; it took me about an hour to make the transition. but, they assumed not sticking my hand out towards someone would be easy; it took me many months to make that transition.

about a year after coming here, a women i knew began to wear tudung because she had gotten married and her husband "requested" she appear more proper. my impression was that her bright and shiny glow was filtered by this new screen between her and the world. her full expressions were now only visible in private, in public she was more shielded. it was explained as a choice she made, but it was clearly a choice based on "request" more than desire.

there were other women i met in tudung, and later met outside of it. some were women who wore tudung in certain settings and not others. i came to realize the social pressures to be covered were not just from husbands, but also that families, bosses and peers who also had expectations of proper behavior. for some the pressure to conform required them to be covered in one setting but allowed them to be open away from those pressures. i was amazed at the amount of angst someone could go through simply in choosing to let their hair down.

i received an email this week, it had a picture of a little girl in the next car. she was in a pretty pink tudung and looked happy to have the morning sun on her face. the subject line of the email was "poor child", an indictment of the parents who would force a child this young to become separated from the world. rather than questioning the wearing of tudung, the image of the child almost hanging out the window of a car in traffic, had me wondering why she was not in a seat belt.

last week, an expat friend of mine made a comment about tudung, it was in the form of a question, "why would anyone want to do this?". i surprised myself by answering in defense of the tudung. i have asked the question many times, some women have shyly looked at me and said "i have to". other, smart and capable women have given me deeper answers; thoughtful and considered. it was clear they were making a choice for themselves. as a libertarian i am ready to respect and defend someone for making a choice, even if it differs from the one i would make.

in the past 4 years i have learned to see beyond the veil. moving from the view that tudung was a misogynistic form of control, to one that respects the choice a woman can make to declare to the world that she wishes to keep more of herself private. this change of view is one that i am honestly surprised by, and one that would not have happened if women did not choose to answer my questions openly.

malay women used to begin to wear tudung as they aged, they would be 40ish when they put the it on. the trend over the past 25 years has been to begin wearing it younger and younger. it should be possible for the 40 year old women to make a choice; but a small child has no choice. good parents make choices for their children, they set expectations and impose limits. i do not allow my children to rollerblade without helmet and wrist guards. i question why some parents would teach their daughters that scarfs come before seat belts.

protecting my children from high speed crashes comes close to first in my priorities of parenting, allowing them the room for self expression and choice closely follows. for malaysians i can only hope that choice of coverage is given to each as an individual. as i have learned, women who have real choice are those who can later explain why it is important to them. enforcement of rules without allowing choice leads those who can to rebellion, even if that rebellion is in the form of quiet hypocrisy. for those who can't think, following rules is not a victory, because thought is required for choice.

i have changed since moving here. i still believe in the evil tirade of pork, beer and secularism, but i can now defend something i used to see as oppressive.

but, only when being closed was an open choice.