Best Eversee the ring of light

Festivals are my favourite time of the year. They do come one after another. First the Hari Raya Puasa, then Deepavali, followed by Christmas and finally Christmas. I visited Little India the day after Deepavali with my friend Lilly, who to my amazement was visiting Little India and eating Dosai for the time in her life.

It always surprises me to learn that Singaporeans, living in this very small Island, with one of the richest multicultural mix of people, don’t extend themselves and exercise their natural curiosity about places and peoples and cultures.

Who Am I?

I promised to write about my discussion with my groups of friends about our beliefs, our sense of who we are , our values and makes us happy.

My group had a lively discussion on the subject of identity.

I think the problem is that we can’t get away from our ‘roles’ ( mother, teacher, wife etc) But my own life experience tells me that roles are impermanent and not reliable guide in identifying the person we are. If we depend on our roles to define us we are in serious trouble.

But we can indeed define who we are by looking at, not what we do - ‘ the doing’ bit- against the ‘being’ bit of us which may be more fundamental to our being and which drives us to do what we ‘do’ ie. our roles. This was what we were heading towards at the end of the discussion.

So here goes my list:

women, individual, Indian (malayalee), educated, liberal, passionate, responsible, loving, caring, compassionate, non-conformist, anxious, fearful, self-critical, perfectionist, an underdog and defender of underdogs, spiritual and so on. Probably can think of more.

What makes us happy is also connected to our beliefs and our sense of who we are. So here is a random list of:-

What makes me Happy

• Having friends around and seeing them happy
• Spending time with my family
• Walking with a companion – on the beach, in a park surrounded by nature
• Having a glass of wine with friends/family
• Reading
• Listening to music
• Having quiet times
• Doing research?
• Watching a sunset/ a storm
• Driving down Mt. Pleasant on a sunny day
• When somebody smiles at me , recognizes me
• When somebody complements me
• When I write; when the writing is published
• Cooking breakfast for Grace, Mathew and William
• Shopping
• Helping young people esp. young people to enjoy what they do
• Having a slow, relaxing morning
• Reading the newspaper in bed and having my first cup of coffee
• Sitting in a quaint/cheery/friendly café with a friend or with friends and watching people
• Window shopping and looking at beautiful things
• Being surrounded by beautiful things
• Wearing nice clothes
• Watching romantic comedies
• Sharing nice things – food, holiday, a movie, a walk in the park, a meal or just sitting around with somebody I love

I was hugely relieved and very happy when I discovered a theologian who spoke to me and affirmed my experience of God.

So very briefly some thoughts on the subject of God.

God according to Nicholas Lash

(Nicholas Lash ( born 19340) was Norris-Hulse Professor of Divinity at Cambridge University)

(The following extract is based on the doctoral dissertation “The Doctrine of God According to Cornelius Ernst, Herbert Maccabe and Nicholas Lash” by Rev’d Dr. Sean Fernandez)

From the few, very few, theologians I have read up on, I find Nicholas Lash to be my kind of theologian. Christianity is, he says fundamentally a ‘way of life’ - A form of practical engagement with theoretical implications.

He believes that God is a description rather than a proper noun ( I like that). God is not a thing or a being of a particular kind. Thus to believe that God exists is to believe that there exists ‘something’ which has divine attributes.

How do we encounter God in human life? Lash tells us to consider certain common features of human experience – sometimes liminal experiences, but more often everyday experiences of love, joy, sorrow etc : Consider them as features of your experience.

What is, therefore, to believe in him? It is believing to love, in believing to delight, in believing to walk towards him, and be incorporated amongst the limbs or members of his body. Worshipping God is a relationship with God; it is also a friendship with God and friendship with God is also friendship between peoples.

God is as distant as he is close. Lash emphasizes that we cannot know what God is. But God gives form to his presence amongst the people in his demands for justice. It is in this world that God has given us the task of building true human community.

Values according to Suzy Welch in “10-10-10” allows us to live in sync with our authentic dreams, hopes and beliefs.

Today is Sunday and I was angry and frustrated by my confined state. So I decided to get out, pain notwithstanding. Where could I go so I don’t feel socially isolated? I could go to Church - that didn’t come to mind as readily as Singaporean’s favourite outing - the Mall. I drove to Thomson Plaza, filled with Sunday morning shoppers, negotiated around people and shelves, without hurting myself even further. The outing did help - I did get rid of the feeling of isolation, helplessness and dependency.

Then I wondered about all those people with fewer resources and social net works! And I was reminded of a comment by Mother Theresa and here it is:

“In the developed countries there is a poverty of intimacy, a poverty of spirit, of loneliness, of lack of love. There is no greater sickness in the world today than that one”.

I wondered if Mother Theresa’s conclusion of the state of developed countries is the reason for the highest rate of suicides of older men in Singapore. I speculated about the demand for a mental hospital with the largest number of beds? Then I wondered why we as individuals, as friends, as mothers, fathers, daughters and sons, spend so much time on work!

I am also guilty of this. While I was busy with work I too had neglected my other needs ( the things I could have done to enable me to smell the roses and nurture my spirits/soul).

The phrase, eloquent and poignant, ” the poverty of spirit’ as used by Mother Theresa drives home the concept that the sense of  humanity -  concern for the human being in all of us ( nurturing our spirits) - should be an equally important concern as earning a living.

I had better do something quickly. According to statistics I could live another 20 years and I most certainly want to avoid the situation of going to a Shopping Mall for company!!

My term as president of AWARE was over and the trauma of the take over by a group of women who had a different goal for the organaisation was behind me. I  suffered from withdrawl symptoms for a while- from being intensely busy and preoccupied to  nothing to do. Most mornings I happily stayed in bed reading, with no feeling of rush to meet a deadline or a meeting. It was good to be able to do that. But there were days too of feeling unwanted and neglected. Hence my sister’s suggestion to go over to Perth.

I was having none of that. I was determined to stay right where I am and deal with my current reality and figure out what to do next. And yesterday morning I thought that I had figured it out. I was ready to make myself a schedule, of writing, reading,  exploring research opportunities, gym and socialising so that I don’t spend the day just daydreaming and reading and pottering around the house.

I went off to see a movie first though before I started working on a schedule. And what happened? I rushed out of the Dobhy Ghaut MRT station and on to the atrium in front of Plaza Singapura, missed a step and fell flat on the concrete floor, on my face. Everything happened so quickly. Before I could even figure  out what had happened a number of people came to my aid and helped me up. By the time i was helped up my left ankle had grown to the size of a tennis ball, my glasses had broken in the fall; I had hurt my right knee, my right shoulders and my left wrist.

I was angry with myself for not looking where I was going. But what surprised me was that I was relaxed, in a bit of shock I am sure, but felt no sense of embarrassment that I had fallen flat on my face in front a great number of people. It must have to do with the fact that as you age very few things cause embarrassment. And i told my sister “Well”, I said, ” I did it again. I was in the centre of things’!!

But then sitting here, propped up against a cushion, with my swollen foot raised, I am wondering what the universe was trying to tell me just when I was ready to take off and do something constructive with my life after a five-month haitus.

The sun  glistened through the freshly watered plants; the sunbirds flitted about, flying from one wet bush to another. The morning was fresh. The garden was lush, green, and delightful. Suddenly behind me I heard a loud clearing of the throat and just as quickly and loudly she spat the muck into the freshly-watered plants.

The magic of the moment was broken for me and it took me sometime to get rid of that act of ugliness from my mind.

Where ever you go, whatever the environment you will find an ugly Singaporean to remind us that a sense of civility is still a long way away!

I have been following the court case of three inmates who assaulted a fellow cell mate and inflicted the  most degrading acts on a fellow prisoner and human being.

Should the objective of imprisonment be only punishment for the crime? If that be the only objective then these prisoners serve the term and re-enter society as more hardened criminals, judging from this particular incident.

I wonder too what the prison authorities were doing when these terrible acts were being inflicted on somebody in their charge? What is their responsibility?

Perhaps it is time that we, as a society, re-examine the role of incarceration and the role of prisons, the legal system and society in rehablitating prisoners.

I would worry, if any of these men, featured in this case ( Straits Times, 15 July ‘09, pg B6) live in my neighbourhood.

I have just stepped down as president of AWARE, after its most dramatic and tense period and which I am sure is going to be analysed, discussed and written about for many years to come.

I had taken two months off - one month spend delightfully in the company of sisters, neices and nephews in Perth and, one month in Singapore, coming to terms with being ’status’ less and free from cares and responsibilities for an organisation. It is a new phase in my life; a new experience and a ‘pause’.

Yesterday i had three friends, who I respect, trust and love for lunch and chat. We decided to tackle a most difficult and profound question ” Who am I?”.

We are usually stuck in our roles and our roles define us. Since I don’t have many roles anymore ( except being sister and aunt)  the question forced me to think beyond roles. Because what makes our roles and the way we behave in our roles is defined by who we are - the ‘being’ part of us and not the ‘doing’ part of us. “Who am I?” is  an on-going discussion and should keep me reflecting for quite a while.

The group is meeting agian in two weeks to continue our discussion. Will keep you posted.

Final Part.

On this  particular Sunday evening she felt the need to go to church. It had been a long hard day as had been many days before that. She had often been angry with God for all the things that had gone wrong with her life. But sometimes her Catholic upbringing surfaces. This was one of those Sundays. She decided to walk to Church, St Joseph’s in Malvern, the next suburb.

As she started out the winter sun had already set but twilight lingered. In Singapore it would still be hot with the afternoon sun, she thought. How she enjoyed, especially after a cold Melbourne winter, the feel of the sun on her skin. How she savoured that sensual feeling.

But in that comfortable Melbourne suburb that afternoon the streets were quiet as it usually is on winter evenings. She saw an Art Gallery open and walked into it, wandered around and wandered out. Nothing caught her interest. She was in one of those moods. Families and children had taken refuge in the comfort of their warm homes and settled in for early dinner. Doors and windows were shut, and gates locked behind high garden walls.  Sometimes one could catch a glimpse of the interior which she enjoyed looking into.

She walked on and crossed Glenferrie Road into Stanhope street. Always on the alert for any sign of danger something caught her attention. Ahead of her, along her path, stood a dog. A dog is not her best friend, to say the least. In fact she is quite scared of strange dogs. She thought she would cross the street to avoid the dog. No, she decided. She will just ignore it and then it will ignore her and go away.

As she bravely approached, the dog too pretended she was not there. I wish she would go away. Why doesn’t she cross the road? He must have thought. So there they were, two beings, one a woman, on the paved footpath and another a dog, on the grass verge, walking along parallel lines, trying their best to ignore each other and pretending the other didn’t exist. She was fully aware, of course, of his presence. The dog did what dogs usually do, sniffing the grass, this way and that way with great concentration as though his life depended on finding something in the grass.

Why doesn’t he go away? She thought and quickened her stride and the dog kept up with her, his head bowed, his nose sniffing the grass. Not once did he look in her direction while she kept her guard up and kept the dog in her side view. She avoided looking directly at him. They walked on, the dog keeping pace with her, and because the dog maintained his distance she began to relax. As they continued she became comfortable with his presence. She stopped worrying.

The next thing she realized was that the dog had begun to hold his head up. A while later, she noticed a spring in her walk and in his walk. And then he started scampering beside her and around her and ahead of her. When he had sprinted ahead he looked back to find her falling behind and he came running back to keep pace with her. He continued to do that. At one stage, arriving at a junction ahead of her, he turned the corner and disappeared. She thought she had lost him just when she was actually beginning to enjoy his company. But he was there waiting to see if she was following and came running back to catch up with her when she didn’t follow him.

They were having fun, enjoying each other’s company. He scampered; he bounced; he galloped. He galloped ahead, looked back at her and came running back. She couldn’t do any of those of course, not being a dog but her heart and her head danced with him in their shared joy. At one stage he got a bit carried away and ran across the road in front of an on-coming car. Oh. No. she screamed in her head. But it was too late. He was running and the car screeched to a halt. You silly dog, she thought. What on earth do you think you are doing. The driver would think you are mine. He would think that these Asians didn’t know how to train their dogs. He is not mine. He is not mine. She protested in her head.

The dog, none the wiser, allowed nothing to dampen his spirit and came sprinting back, his head bobbing up and down and his tail swinging, and the car drove away. They kept on in this gay mood throughout the walk till they reached the Church.

It was time for the service to start and late worshipers were entering the Church. She followed through the gate and on to the steps at the entrance of the Church. The dog followed . She went up to the holy water font and crossed herself, hoping that the dog wouldn’t follow her into the church. Please don’t follow. She had these visions of the dog following her into the Church and disturbing the worshippers. She felt helpless at the thought. She looked behind her. The dog stood on the topflight of the steps, on his front legs, paused, looked at her for a while and as though sensing her anxiety, turned around and to her immense relief, left.

The mass took about an hour but her mind was on the dog. She marveled at that experience. Will it be waiting for her, she wondered.  As she came out of the church, her eyes searched for the dog. But the dog had gone. Over the next week she walked the same walk at different times of the day looking for that dog. Every day she returned home disappointed. It bothered her – why couldn’t she find that dog!

Two weeks later she started her walk early in the afternoon to catch the warmth of the winter sun. On such afternoons she would treat herself to an afternoon tea in one of the little cafes along High Street and watch people passing by. This particular day after a treat of freshly made scones with marmalade and cream she started out for her walk along the suburbs admiring the sun on the trees and flowers. It was a beautiful afternoon. The kind of weather she liked in Melbourne: mild and sunny and perfect. The Australian native trees and plants don’t shed in winter and keep their colour. Flowers continue to bloom in abundance. The trees that shed are the ones imported by home-sick Anglo-Saxons. But most Australians are proud of their native trees and passionately protective of them.

School had just been let out and there were kids walking and biking home from school. Up ahead of her she spotted a group of boys about nine or ten years old, some walking and some riding. Lagging behind the group was a boy of the same age on a bike with a dog scampering along side. She came closer, she was sure it was the dog. Yes, she thought, it was. It looked the same, the same colour, the same height. They came closer, and she looked at the dog, trying to catch his eyes.

The dog, however, put his head down and passed by without recognition and her heart sank. But a few seconds after they passed each other she thought again. She was sure it was the dog and turned around to take a second look. At that same instant the dog too turned around, caught her eye, paused, wagged its tail in recognition and then went on his way.
The dog remembered! The dog remembered!

Constance Singam

26th Oct  03

‘The one break she gave herself was at the end of the afternoon when she would wrap herself in warm clothes to face the evening cold of a Melbourne winter and go for a walk. On most days nothing happens. She walks, comes back, goes back to her computer and resumes her work. But the walks were her salvation from descending into depression. The brisk walks she took after months in mourning had lifted her and helped her through her grief.

She took great delight in her walks in the afternoon. Sometimes she walked along High Street and Glenferrie Road, window shopping. High Street, Armadale, is an elegant Street. Rows of double storey buildings line both sides of the street. It has a casual charm of age not plastic, shiny, big and impersonal that one finds in Singapore she thought - a more elegant version of High Street in the Singapore of her teenage years. She liked elegance, the understated elegance, the leisurely pace that Melbourne offered.

She liked the shops filled with beautiful clothes, that she couldn’t afford but which she could admire. Anyway she never paid more than $60/ for a piece of clothing. That’s how much her conscious would allow her to pay. The one extravagance in Melbourne was a $150/ purchase of lingerie from the French Lingerie shop in Malvern. It was an indulgence she allowed herself before her dreaded return to reality in Singapore.

But on most days, her diversion, was to wander around the galleries and shops along High Street. Antique book and map shops were her favourites. Her hunt in the antique book shops yielded many a fine collection at a price she could afford.  The pride of her collection, now sitting on the shelves in her HDB flat are an 1891 edition of Mrs. Gaskell’s“Cranford” 1907 edition of Jane Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility” the first colonial edition ( 1898) of Conrad’s “ Tales of Unrest’ and  a  copy of the first edition of E.M.Forster’s “Aspect of the Novel”. A map of India, from the antique map shop, the only map she could find which marked her father’s village in India, now hangs on her wall.

On this  particular Sunday evening she felt the need to go to church. It had been a long hard day as had been many days before that. She had often been angry with God for all the things that had gone wrong with her life. But sometimes her Catholic upbringing surfaces. This was one of those Sundays. She decided to walk to Church, St Joseph’s in Malvern, the next suburb.’

I also had a haircut. There is something about haircuts in my family. It seems to have the immediate effect  of changing my mood and making me look better.

I needed both - the sunbird and the haircut after a bad week. Last week saw the deaths of two of my close relationships: the death of my Aunt at the age of 88 and the death one of closese friends at  78. They both died the way they would have wanted - in their sleep.

But for me it is a reminder that the longer I live the more I am going to see the loss of friends I have spend time with and depended on for my social life and well-being. That is the loneliness of old age.