Tag: Pope

The racist that is us

The world mourns for a beacon that was Mendela.

It rains in the stadium and inside the heart.

Racism was an ingrained system up to the Civil War, fought in World War, struggled in the 60’s and onto the 90’s in Apartheid.

We simply don’t like color folks, first in speech, than in hush-hush, now only in thoughts. Keep it to yourself.

But if it’s the Huxtables (neighbor, doctor and well-mannered) than it’s OK.

Recently down in Florida, it still happened when a nephew of a resident got shot in a struggle. Zimmerman got off free, than later, in jail for beating up his girlfriend. A diametrical replay of Rodney King who also got arrested for other charges after the LA riot.

Man inhumanity to man spreads across the color line.

What Nelson Mendela did which made him great? He simply went to a ball game (just like Rosa Parks who chose to sit in front of the bus), and not a soccer game, but a Rugby game (lilly-white). He refused to be drawn into a downward spiral, the mean streak of violence piling on top of violence, which eventually destroys both sides. This cycle polarizes us, and perpetuates itself,  inflating the dark side in each of us, the racist part. Studies show that fear passed on from generation to generation, that includes the fear of the bogeyman.

For me, Mandela was more than a symbol of reconciliation, or racial struggle, or political triumph.

He was and remains my symbol of hope. Of thought leadership. Our Gandhi. Creative problem-solving, while setting aside personal feelings (and the urge to take revenge).

27 years of honing his thoughts and feelings in confinement.

Of nursing the dim light of hope. Of  life-long learning.

Then, boom! Stadium and podium, concert (Bono) and ball game, Bishop and President.

Sometimes, in traffic, a minute is too long for us. And when pre-judging someone, 5 seconds are too long.

The racist in us needs a re-education. Be it 27 years or life time. But start now. To understand and be understood. What if you were born dark-skinned? or white for that matter. The burden is on us to reach out, to say “Hi, my name is….. Good to meet you”. I know a friendly person when I come across one. Don’t you? Because if we don’t, we simply transfer that fear to the next generation, and before we know it, history repeats itself due to our ignorance or inertia. Then, some facist or racist leader will rise (hopefully with another style of greeting if he/she is creative enough) and recycle those stirring speeches we all know so well ” they took our jobs, they come with strange ” costumes” etc…”.

Then the crowd will nod, and the crowd will call themselves the Majority vs the Other. And mass hysteria will take over

The right to bear arms etc… and our children will have to do it all over again. I hate that, don’t you. So mourn, but not too long. Mendela would rather see us take action, smile at strangers regardless the size of their bodies or the color of their skin. It only takes a small effort to reach out, to click on the mouse and send a text or endorsement. Recognize the racist that is us, and manually override it. Let not your small inherited fear dictate how you behave in today’s world. I hope that world is full of Mandelas, full of hope and humanity. We got work to do. Let not the small stuff steal  our game of Rugby.

Simplicity and humility

I saw on the  news that the new Pope inspires a group of high school students to reenact “feet washing“. Now, that’s refreshing (no punt intended!) to find news (besides kids shooting other kids, bullying them, DUI, Springfield groper etc…) with some positive twists.

I have read about the Jesuits, Alexandre de Rhodes in particular, who worked from a Portuguese-Vietnamese dictionary to invent modern-day Vietnamese written language (or else I still am blogging in Chinese characters). The unintended consequence of evangelization has been the speeding up of literacy adoption among the Vietnamese, away from the more complicated Chinese characters (besides the will to be independent from this imposing neighbor).

Now we learn about the Pope of the people, who lives simply and humbly.

You can’t have the cake and eat it too. Not when you want to be a role model, the embodiment of that simple Cross. On this important Sunday, though not Catholic, I feel like we are witnessing change. I hope the heavenly light would spill over and push away those dark clouds. Already we saw some positive signs in the economy, in spite of the adjusted price tag for the two wars (they have fumbled on the numbers since McNamara).

Earth in the balance. People on the move (mobile phones). And elections are held quite often (Africa, S America).

Well, not in North Korea, where our young man is not joining Christian Association to sing “YMCA.”

The Jesuits. I know my life has been indirectly influenced by them. They live selfless, simple and humble lives. For others. It’s like the three musketeers without the swords, only plowshares.

Being multi-lingual they inspire many on the path of life-long learning. When you deal with suffering (there are plenty around this side of the Recession) you are humble by it.  And in humility, you can then be an instrument and channel of common grace. No time for DUI or BMW. You take the bus, and cook your own meal. You move into Motel 6 and not the Four Seasons. There, you don’t just rest, but you continue to serve (feet washing). They will leave the lights on for you, always.

Hope that light continue to shine and illuminate pockets of illiteracy, ignorance and illegitimacy.

No Spring attached

Having lived in coastal cities for quite some time, I forgot what’s like to wait for Spring.

We need Winter as a set up for Spring.  Winter-Spring contrast is more striking than that of Summer-Fall.

We also anticipated Spring more than Fall (some even wish for endless summers).

Vietnamese literature and lyrics (Gold music) nevertheless, serenade Fall and fallen leaves more than other times of the year.

Something about a dreamy creek which evokes music and deers which stand still, clueless and trusting.

The wait for Spring has stretched out a bit further lately due to climate change.

But Spring has always been a symbol of  hope and renewal.

Gone are the days of cold temperature and heavy coats.

Spring breakers are anticipating wild celebrations down Florida beaches.

The Church is electing its new Pope just in time for Easter Celebration.

And Wall Street keeps ringing its bell.

Something is in the air, if not Spring itself.

Optimism is more contagious than grim bad news.

There is nothing more forward-looking than holding a baby in arms.

So much future, so many more seasons.

In that context, it’s not so bad to put up with a few overcast days.

There are also sparks of creativity in this year’s Paris outerwear collection.

With Spring comes less laundry to do (wearing less), some Easter candies to eat and the Cherry Blossom Parade to attend.

Spring is in the air. Everyone seems to be eager for it,… except those with hay fever. Now, that explains the eye irritation starts coming my way.

There are always strings attached, even for Spring.

Forwarding

Tonight we turn the clock forward. Day light saving time.

At least, for once, we can advance time, unlike other occasions when waiting for a test result might seem like an eternity.

From Ulysses we found this timeless advice: “Hold on to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past”.

It matters that we exist and move forward to “all future”.

Time waits for no man.

It is neutral and ticks on for Pope and Pimp alike.

I saw a picture of Dustin Hoffman on the cover of the AARP Magazine.

Our “graduate” is now 75 (then Mrs Robinson must be much older).

Time waits for no woman either.

Demi Moore filed for her divorce. On track and trajectory for more, perhaps taking a chapter from Elizabeth Taylor‘s  playbook.

Every so often, we hear about modernity: how the Church has to elect someone with an MBA-equivalent to “run” it, or Congress needs to revise the IRS tax code.

Yes, besides time which is forwarded tonight, we got institutions which also need forwarding.

Since they are not modernized at the same pace, we experience a mis-match in speed of execution.

All future plunges to the past. And we are standing right now, right here as a witness (passive) and a participant (active).

Regardless, day light saving will happen tonight, and in the Fall, we get it back. Hope your choices are well rewarded by then. Wow! I still can’t believe Dustin Hoffman is 75. Let’s fade in the sound track from Mrs Robinson (and the scene of the red convertible driving on highway 101, where our Graduate was going to disrupt a wedding, which waited not for him). ” And here’s to you. Mrs Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know, Hey Hey Hey.”

Most spoken “Hello”

We will have said that word, Hello, for the millionth time before quietly slipping into the night.

When the telephone was first used, Alexander Graham Bell suggested “What is asked?” for greetings. Finally, we settled for Hello.

It acknowledges the other, and ourselves. Greetings as bridges, not barriers.

And not just word. We look the other person in the eyes, they ours.

Hello often goes with or is followed by a handshake (tactile).

Eastern folks form opinion and impressions about a person before getting to know him (face reading).

The non-verbal aspect of communication, according to some, takes up 80 per cent of total interaction.

Scientists have studied the importance of smell and sound  in human connection.

So in “Hello” we learn a lot about the other person (Dennis Rodman and the leader of North Korea these days: basket-ball fans).

Even those who don’t say Hello, already sent out a message: I don’t want to acknowledge you, or have anything to do with you.

In social mixer, we sign up at the reception, and write our names on the “Hello, my name is…..” stickers (make sure it’s stuck on your right chest, in direct line of sight when you shake hands).

In Impressive Impressions, author Vu Pham talks about the first 6 seconds. He went into details about “resetting” your psyche throughout the day to refresh and be better prepared for each mini-encounter.

In business or in life, people do judge each other by appearance.

In fact, people have already done us a favor by glancing (let’s say in a crowded subway). Crocodile Dundee, having just arrived in NYC from an Australian swamp, had to climb a light pole, just to say Hello to every passer-by. He still brings his small-town mentality to a world-class metropolis.

As the saying goes, you can take a man out of ….(town), but you can’t take the ….(town) out of the man.

With jet lag and jet blues, it takes time to sort out our sense of self. Our bodies might be here, but our heads elsewhere.

Harlem Shake in Estonia, Gangnam Style….well in Harlem.

Global citizens  or not, we still need to say that Hello, a million times before saying our final Pope-like Goodbye. Press Reset, and make it  worth your while. Hello,…I just gotta to let you know.

Switching the script

On film set, writer is often called out on short notice to fix the dialogue.

Something is better left unsaid or sounded odd when in “live” context.

In life, we can’t retrace our steps to switch the script.

It’s live, and happened once only.

There lies the importance of getting the right words first time around.

Another way to lessen the impact of misspoken words, is to come out immediately and retract.

Even the NYT does that.

When the facts are not straight, when a character is mis-portrayed, the best way for editors to damage control is to come out clean.

We happen to live on this side of the communication (data) explosion.

Facts and fiction are both out there.

As mentioned in Brand America a few blogs ago, people do come here and reinvent themselves e.g. name change (anglicized), hair-coloring and new wardrobe. Voila! Boy George and Bieber. Entertainers and sports idols are hot. They are more than hot. They sell merchandise.

Just Do  It.

After all, we move about our days, filtering ads and spam mail.

No wonder we long for those “in” mail.

Someone cares enough to probe and not to pitch.

And we in turn empathize with their plights, the pressures they are under.

If only we could switch the script. Living a new life and assuming a new persona.

Like when we were kids, imagining we had just been adopted by our real parents.

We wished for another life, another script (if only the writer were standing by as fixer).

Then we would be reclaimed, taken back to the castle and live a happy life ever after.

When I grew up, there was such a story. Of a half-breed (African-Vietnamese). Co Ba Xi. The man who had fathered her left only to come back years later as King of his tribe. Vietnamese Cinderella. But that’s just one jewel among a variety of Immigrant stories, ranging from model minority stories to loser’s stories.

One last thing about scripting. As long as we live out our story, and not someone else’s.

At the end of all travel is to return to the same place and to know ourselves for the first time.

It is often said, life is 10 per cent action and 90 per cent reaction. When a large part of life is lived out of reaction instead of proactive, we are not living our life script. Paul Anka would be proud to hear his “My Way” sung by 7 Billion.

Why wait for the writer to come to our rescue?

We are the writers, we are the world.

While still alive, we can switch the script, reinvent the characters, and overcome the challenges.

As long as we know what we want.

Or seek help. There are people who are gentle and kind (not just in San Francisco or down in the Bayou), and whose advice are plenty and fitting (learned this in Vietnam. People still give out free advice as if they were still living in a village).

I am indebted to professionals on LinkedIn, who endorsed my skill set and characters.

I am grateful for “followers” . People who trek the trail of current Recession and the trajectory of Social Media.

What a time we are living in, and what a company we are keeping. Just as we thought we should throw in the towel, then comes help.

I am the sum of my relationships. Two old people in their early 40’s were still at it, hence, creating me.

Now I live out that script, all the while hoping to switch those last pages.

Hope to read about your multi-chapter, multi-tasking life whose script is not written in stone, but evolving with unpredictable twist and turn and whose ending is happy albeit not perfect.