Self-understanding

Our upbringing, at least mine, were geared toward survival; on foods, clothing and shelter; Maslow the whole scale through (with security, self-esteem, love and self-actualize after that). Growing up in war times, we did not need Maslow to tell us what’s next. But in our household, we were taught to look out not just for ourselves and above all, self-respect.

Thanks to current computational capacity, sociology and biology drill it further while digital media wider with their 24/7 news cycle. Triggered by tweets and baited by posts, our attention span is stretched to the max and often times, no match for machine, network effect and algorithm-automated ads that keep Big Tech server-farms humming (Cha Ching!)

Drown in data deluge, the audience – like a deer facing oncoming headlights, freezed up, then by reflex, followed alpha males (to the cliff) or “snake-oil salesmen” (per Mike Pence’s Chief of Staff) for tips on what drugs to take, what horses to bet and even what horse drugs to inject. When pressed as to why, was it shameful, they pulled a “Spotify” e.g. technicalities and procedures.

Back in the 60’s, it’s more of an ANTI message: anti-establishment and not becoming sterile with spic-and-span status quo.

In short, we wanted no conformity, no Revolutionary Road, no Organizational Man. On de-coming (as opposed to On becoming). We explored Nature (Walden II), we preferred less stiffness and more spontaneity; a sense of belonging, of brotherhood (Come on People now, smile on your brother …).

Back to the land, to tilt and to chill (you’ve got to let the morning last). Not to be pressured into being/becoming someone we are not, as in the Graduates? and certainly not the Jesus freaks, the computer nerds and the ROTC’s (not on campus, during the Vietnam War and around Anti-War College students).

Fast-forward 50 years, with Moore’s Law – the doubling of chip speed every 18 months – college dropouts turned tech titans, the “evangelical” Far Right called the shots and the Army-Navy surplus shoppers (and borrowed gun) wanted to alter a lawful election.

The times they are a’changin. For certain (until musicians stepped up, once again).

Thanks to an altered and splintered media landscape, “strong men” with headsets can amass and mobilize a movement to shift to either the Left or Right (and further right), Red or Blue, Tik Tok or Tweeter trends, Meta news or Apple news. We’re more data-driven and likely defined by FICO scores and Facebook Likes, our new currency.

Self-understanding or personal reflections? Go to your room! Then after that reality check, splash on some cold water and join us, status seekers of the rat race, to climb (progress) and to strive for that one position: King of the Hill. To our surprises, after all the hustles, the ladder was found to be leaning against the wrong building all along (PBS News Hour just closed with a doctor contracted ALS, then turned compassionate towards the handicapped).

I am a mama’s boy (not to the degree as portrayed in Hitchcock’s shower scene). Took me a long time to admit that (for fear of being jeered at). Growing up in war times, it’s the macho-man manifesto: black belts preferably in all-boys school (where I found out recently, on one occasion, during a school-yard clash between two 14-year-old butt-head’s, a grenade was pulled to force a lose-lose). Talking about my Columbine.

Being the youngest, I got to stay behind (like Private Ryan, exempted from the draft): learned the ABC’s (3 languages), cleaned the house and listened to Mom (honing to pass the Med school exam for draft-deferral). Big brother and sister could fly the nest. But for me the only time I actually left home outside of short trips was when I left my home-land ( a few miles city radius, to be more truthful) for good.

One never appreciates the well until it is dried up. Turning homeless, stateless and jobless within 24 hours, all three of us (I am the youngest) got sponsored out in a hurry to find menial work in three different states (bottom of the Maslow scale again) leaving Mom, all dressed-up with no place to go, except for her three solo meals a day in Indiantown Gap refugees camp.

On my own, fending for myself in a strange land (think today’s Afghan in Eerie, PA), I still had to double back upon graduation to upgrade my role as a protector for both my Mom. Even after college, culturally (and somewhat personally) I was never endowed with “get out of the house at 18” rite of passage.

This sounds like propaganda of the ministry of War back then: ” this year, I wouldn’t come home – during Tet – out of duty for country…” i.e. a tug of war between conflicting loyalties: to the family and to the flag) ref. Duy Khanh in “Xuan nay con khong ve”.

Through college, career and families of my own, I was always mindful of not letting progress be at the expenses of my lonely Mom. Friends at Penn State visiting would find unbound hospitality from her, despite obvious language gap.

Every juncture was a tug of war e.g. taking a media job or not, grad school or not, volunteering overseas or not; my Mom was always a part of the equation: is she safe, surrounded by loved ones, well-protected (since my Pop, supposedly in that protector role, had proved unreliable – even before his involuntary decade-long apart).

Two graves later, having outgrown my child-father phase; I was so used to take on the need of strangers (as Peace Corps volunteers can attest, when you forget yourself, in the service of others, you lived a different life even with a certain degree of hypocrisy in the mix).

No one has time for self-commiserating while attending to the need of others. Golden Rule the only rule.

I was criticised for helping Boat People in Asia on my second tour: “you just want to cast yourself in a better light, to feel yourself superior over damn miserable souls” (as opposed to browsing through the OC Register Sunday Paper inserts, on which house-for-sale was listed). To put it mildly, among those miserables, a few did help themselves to fellow dead passengers for foods and survival. Talking about Maslow Scale’s in full circle.

I learned about human experience on those few trips more than all the books in the library.

My critic was perceptive- (after all he had accompanied me on my first trip) but was correct only in part. Truth was, while being back (second tour no longer found me doing Relief Work, but more of Cultural Orientation), I did immerse among fellow stateless sojourners, hence putting the climb (Maslow) on pause. That “accomplishment” is now condensed into just a by-line in my LinkedIn profile.

To me, Self-understanding and Charity are inseparable per “without love, you’re nothing”; contrary to what school and upbringing have drilled unto us: “Look out to be No 1!”. Marketers got this! and deploy bait and switch tactics, to prey (now with help from algorithm) on our unending happiness curve and to turn us into customers-hostages for life.

For a reality check without flashing cold water on my face, I still am with only two legs ( despite smoke gets in my eyes – for having tunneled in from the wrong end of the Maslow scale). My next ladder, at last look, is leaning against a building with a Karma-flashing sign – just as the one I found when doubling back for Mom, through whom all rivers flow (Vietnamese proverb).

P.S. For Mom who brought me up on her meager teacher’s salary and taught me the art of survival and self-respect. Till’ we meet again.