Hope – among other things

Hope first. Or else. What’s the point!

Hope, my first thought. There at the moment I bathed in maternal-ward fluorescent light and friendly faces.

“Wow, she was 40 something yet while pregnant with child , she still juggled in between a class – 57 students – to push through nine-months of carrying”. Flanked by love, curious cousin and well-wishers I had my start. Southern summer night, two years post- Geneva Convention, at the heart of our newly adopted city, zooming past our refugee enclave – off from a colonial round-about, with passer-by in all modes of transportation.

There was my point A , cited on my Birth Certificate. “You can’t just birth-certify me then kick me out of the hospital?”. Or buy me a set of wheels and send me off (some Vietnamese old-maids stay put at home permanently). We feel abandoned – forced to leave the hospital after getting cleaned up and immunized, only to be rushed back – and be re-admitted – at the end, spending all the money (premium) we don’t have on healthcare service we no longer need.

When we first came around, we discovered our hands and feet, nail and skin (even in Mask, Cher loves her deformed son). Then we learned more from sibling and parent, teacher and neighbor: “That’s not right”. That clearly is “wrong”. ” Keep the blanket fully over you at night… ” or least desirable was time-out or spanking (I fish-hooked an old quarrelsome lady across the alley by accident).

After all, weren’t we at some point immature? The same way I first thought that nurses, oncologists, relatives and friends would forever be around, One big extended family, with happy days that last forever. But life has a different agenda.

Despite “All Aboard”, we see a lot of revision along the way (back in the early 90’s, we already saw the statistic that people would end up with 7 jobs on average working adulthood). Most times, we’re in the dark, some are deeper in the cave than others.

After decades of hope, of bumping and bouncing, I only have Gratitude toward the end.

Oliver Sacks reflected on ” being born sentient being…”

In the same vein, I certainly am thankful for not being born as in Mask, or a cactus i.e. living among reptiles in desert heat.

In college, we are nudged and urged to question things. Experiment after experiment we were to stay current e.g. with newer version of textbook, varied interpretations of test results. BTW, old textbooks might be discarded (USED), but old play book recycled e.g. LBJ younger self: ” Hell, give him someone he can look down on and he’ll empty his pockets for you”.

Nixon still went on to write about Leadership, Post-Cold-War world order. He wrote again. Colson born again.

No truth is self-evident.

Between point A and point B, the shortest would be a straight flight path.

But not doable or preferable for us (we prefer scenic route).

Even when Earth consists of mostly water (75%) we still think it as mostly made of dirt and land. Or in our post-Copernicus world, we are still with a delusion that everything rotates around us (Here comes the Sun).

It took centuries for us to realize the Earth rotates and revolves around the Sun. When zooming out – a hockey-stick chart would reflect human progress that spikes after centuries of flattening ( Fareed’s Age of Revolutions pg. 108).

Each successive generation of late lives better (progress) than previous’. Yet, we tend to feel “deprived” when our numbers and neighbors’ are at disparity (peer pressure), even when it’s just a relative deprivation among peers (sub-set, exist only in our contemporary lifetime), not as compared to let’s say Roman’s times.

Yet public opinion carry the weight of the day: ” He took a bus”, “She shops at Goodwill”. With conspicuous consumption, the size of one’s purse equals the size of one’s heart.

“Shop til I drop”. The more (possession) the merrier (this used to apply to unannounced dinner guest in my past). Now, it seems, we’d rather make room for property, not people. Fact: we might over-leverage our financial position, but will never fully exploit our brain and heart capacity.

After post-war prosperity decade, the 60’s generation just wanted to explore their inner selves. It’s a natural rebellious swing against what they perceived as too high a price to pay for the outward at the expense of the inward.

Yet, how we are perceived, pinned down and re-classified with many roles and labels e.g. TK (teacher’s kid – translated into being poor and placed in higher standard of moral judgment, lead singer in the band ( a streak of healthy rebellion), refugee of war, volunteer expat, food-bank giver turned recipient etc…

Since not all could be a “Bill Gate”, and after spiraling on a slippery slope, you wake up, forgetful and filled with plaque in the brain. A blessing in disguise? It’s not as if one could begin life anew each day, baby-like, pampered in diapers, and entitled to bread and bananas, beef and burritos.

Since “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I certainly will be dead since “All men are mortal”. My parent were human, so am I. Hence…logical conclusion.

People poop, propagate and procreate. Despite longer life-span as compared to the 50s (when men died at the age of 65), we are to exit this bumpy ride, like it or not.

Yet, we all are hopeful (vs wishful thinking that we’re special, and that the law of the average doesn’t apply in our situation). Or else, what’s the point. Make it count.

But we confuse hope (daily renewed) with happiness (bell-shaped curve). Happiness and its plasticity is like a mannequin that needs a dress-change every so often to stay out front. Kara in the Sun.

We try hard to change the outward, in hopes of changing the inward (Don’t forget to recite St Francis’ “…the wisdom to distinguish the two” – changeable and unchangeable). Just look at the nip/tuck industry. Talking about cosmetic surgery.

In my head, there are three versions of the human body.

Sisyphus who pushes the rock uphill (struggling).

Rodin’s Thinking man (sitting).

Michelangelo’s Statue of David (standing).

They struggle, are savant and striving. Sentient men. Thinkers and doers.

They know what to think and what must be done. In so doing, they skip all those middle Maslow’s hierarchy steps to self-actualization.

We are. It’s up to the “rock” to stay or to roll back down. We tried! (yet the jungle grows back and begs for the next generation of “Ask Not” to volunteer, this time, as Climate Corps).

Icarus (melting state) or David (solid state), both recite Blake’s ” Heaven, in the palm of our hand and Eternity in an hour ” poem.

The last reference (an hour) again was to the clock. For the prompt arrival of that mechanized train, or the hearse which finally comes for us. I know I was surrounded by well-wishers at one point . Nevertheless, I am not so sure about the end point (unlike and not as lucky as Mozart with his final composition in deathbed, in his case, his visualized horse carriage and not limo).

Will there be anyone left to show up (given my parent’s inherited longevity genes). Or ill wishers who just want to confirm the event (my death) for social “post”. Or out of professional duty as an AAA life insurance claim inspector.

In the beginning was hope. At the end, gratitude

When you are the youngest like myself, the least you can do – after receiving tons of hand-me-down – is to say “Thanks”. At big sister’s wake, I said ” I owe my American life to her” (see My Sliding Doors). So sweet! like Cher in Mask.

After all, I am not an unmoved being. I wasn’t born a Mask, or a cactus. Otherwise it would be quite irritating to those few who, standing around, not knowing where to sit during wake. Certainly not on my lap.