Fillial Piety

Today I was forced to reflect upon the nature of fillial piety.

Question: should parents receive fillial piety as a privilege, or an entitlement?

The Confucian texts on fillial piety maintain that it is one of the highest virtues. According to the texts, by being pious to one's parents, one also learns to be respectful and loving towards others, therefore becoming a better person.

But where does one find the motivation to be pious?

Two avenues become apparent. One is love. Imagine a situation where a parent, or grandparent, has played a vital and involving role in bringing up a child. Naturally, the child would be close to that elder, and learn to love and care for that elder in time.

The other is obligatory. A child would come to recognize all the pressures and expectations compelling him to be pious, and would then choose to either give in to those influences or resist them.

We don't really like to discuss the latter obligation. There are too many questions that we can't answer satisfactorily, thorns in the flesh we cannot expel easily. Questions like, are children expected to be fillial to parents who abuse them? Or, are children obligated to love grandparents they have never really known?

If I were to put on a government man's cap, I would say, yes. Yes because it is the best way to order society. Someone has to bear the burden of taking care of the old, and while the government can share some of that burden, the onus should definitely remain on the children.

That doesn't answer the manifold questions, however. If we assume that fillial piety is not meant to be blind, that there has to be some degree of... reciprocity for it to mean something, then what do we do about the people who, frankly, do not deserve it?

Of course, there is a distinction we must be aware of. There are those who are not pious because they are selfish people who have received but who do not want to give. Those we can ignore for this discussion. I'm thinking of those who have not received such love and concern from their elders, and are yet expected to be pious.

How do you tell the person who has never been shown love and concern from their parents that, hey, you should love and care for them regardless? That you might not know the stranger standing before you, but the blood ties dictate that you show fillial piety?

I think that you can't. The more I dwell on the subject, the more it seems that fillial piety has to be earned.

Yes, Those Were The Days

I guess I'll meet up with you soon, one of these days.

And we'll sit in a cafe, awkwardly at first, in silence, as our eyes are glued to the menu. Because it's a bit strange at first, meeting again after so long, and the conversation wouldn't flow.

Then, hopefully, we would figure out a tempo that suits us, as we slowly exchange bits and pieces again. Heck, we did it before, so it shouldn't be impossible.

I wonder what I would say to you then. Would we reminisce, or would we look forward and talk about the future? Would I succeed in my attempts at candor, or would I seek refuge in political-correctness?

Soon, I guess. In a few years our friendship would be a decade old, can you imagine that? Gosh.

Soon, I guess.

The Love of Teachers

Heh. Not often that I have the discipline to write as frequently as I did, but hey, here I am. Did promise before not to let this blog die.

I was thinking about teachers today. And the love they have for their students.

And something about it irks me.

I'll be honest: I never was a teacher's pet. I never did have a teacher look out specially for me, or appreciate me over and above others. And yes, I used to envy classmates who enjoyed special friendships with our teachers - who wouldn't?

But it's not jealousy that makes me uncomfortable with the whole thing.

I remember this time when it was clear that a teacher liked certain students more over other others. I discovered a certain drive in myself to compete for that teacher's attention. I wanted to... talk to that teacher more, share more of my life, show the teacher how I was more deserving of attention than others.

Because that is a human reaction, I think, to want to compete for attention. To have one's own uniqueness recognized.

And I guess I couldn't do that. I couldn't bring myself to fight for that attention. A part of me knew that teachers, just like parents, try hard to love all their students the same. What then, when the year ended and the teacher moved on to a different class?

Or if the teacher just had a deeper affinity with another student? Or if the teacher just didn't have the time or energy to live up to your expectations of how the friendship should be?

It was like being drawn in two directions at the same time. On one hand it would be very nice to have a close friend in a teacher, to be special to a person you look up to, but on the other, there were too many complications thrown into the mix.

Or maybe I just worry too much. Heh.

P.S. I am aware that I'm not following my old rule of starting a post with a picture. I am also aware that I've not thought of how to escape the problem of using other people's photographs. Hmm.

Short Story: Sabine

It started drizzling delicately around six, and the people in the street clutched their jackets tighter, and a new urgency entered their footsteps.

This was not good for business, because it meant that people wanted to get home quicker, rush back to a warm, comforting place. No one wanted to party on a night like this. But money was tight, and I had to try.

I spotted a group of them emerging from the nearby subway, and quickly stubbed out my unfinished cigarette. Cards at the ready. Painted smile out for the encore.

"Sir, sirs! One minute, sirs! I guarantee you... look! See them! See how pretty they are!" I knew I was sounding a bit too eager, but anything to compensate for the drizzle. "No lies, no bluffs, just a good time, sirs!"

Mumble mumble, sheepish grin. We cannot, we are late, we are on our way to dinner, we're not into that. No excuse I've not heard before.

"But sirs! It only costs you 5 euros. Just see. Use your eyes! No need to pay more if you are not happy! Just to see!" I had to try. They were slipping away, I could feel it.

Mumble mumble, slight tinge of anger. We cannot, we are late, we need to go, why do you keep bothering us?

"No no, you don't know what you are missing out on! See now, see this is what you will get! Sabine, come out Sabine!" Last chance now. If Sabine couldn't do it, no one else could.

I turn around, and there she is, Sabine, emerging from the darkened interiors right on cue. She has her make up on, and that splendid maroon dress, but she really didn't need either to send pangs through my heart. Oh, Sabine.
"So what do you say, sirs? Come right in now, you won't be disappointed!"

Mumble mumble, muffled laughter. We cannot, we are late, and in any case is that the best you've got? The other clubs have much prettier girls, I wouldn't go in even if I had all the time.

Of course, I react before I think, and the wiseguy who laughed at Sabine is on the floor, lip cracked from an unintended meeting with my knuckles. Sabine gasps audibly, as do the other guys with him. No, at that point I didn't really care about business anymore. Not when it comes to Sabine.

Mumble mumble, middle finger, vague threats of violence. We will remember this, you watch out, you watch your back.

"Get lost boys. Don't let me see you here again." They scoot pretty quickly, but they're already out of my mind. I walk back to Sabine, heart heavy, and I pat her on the shoulder. Poor Sabine, with all the worry in her eyes.

"Sorry you had to see that. Now go back in and wait with the other girls. I'll get other people in tonight, watch me."

"Yes, papa."

I turn back to the street again, and for a moment I wanted to believe all this wasn't real, that Sabine wasn't here, that Sabine didn't have to come and help. But money was tight, and I had to try.

Cards at the ready. Painted smile out for the encore.

The Problem Of The Maybe

I watched that show today, and it's put me in a contemplative mood. One of the themes in the movie was about how certain mistakes from the past just don't go away - "We may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us".

In that sense, the past to me is like a big sandcastle built with sand and stones on the shoreline. When the waves have done their part, and the sandcastle is robbed of most of its details and much of its form, the stones remain as emphatic reminders of the most defining portions of that sandcastle. And oh, how do the stones refuse to be washed away.

Perhaps then it is not good advice to tell people to 'forget the past', and to simply press on. Some things will never go away on their own, after all. But maybe people say that because, well, those things can never be remedied, or healed, or fixed. So, to fix, or not?

The main difficulty with correcting past mistakes, at least with regards to falling out with other people, is rooted in The Problem of The Maybe. Imagine this: two friends sleep together in the same room. The next morning, A discovers five dollars missing from his wallet. He could confront B, but it's not easy to do so, and A decides to keep quiet, believing that he can forget it all happened. But A never does forget, and as time goes by, it gets harder to bring it up all over again.

Now, that little unresolved mystery will cast a long shadow over their friendship for a long time to come. Maybe B took it, and is playing A for the fool all this time. Maybe B really is innocent. Hence, The Problem of The Maybe.

Of course, I would like to keep a clean slate, know that I have no unresolved problems lingering in the past. It's not that I fear them catching up with me someday, but I generally don't like to know that I have unfinished business behind me.

Yet, The Problem of The Maybe. It's hard to pull people off the street, drag up old, old memories and issues and mistakes and then try to somehow make it all right. And what then, after that? Become friends again? Would it be worth it?

I won't be that ambitious. I'll start with a small misunderstanding. I'll try to see if attempting to solve The Problem of The Maybe really does set one free, or muck things up even further. Will post results soon, I hope.

There's Something About Paris

It's a bit surreal, to be walking down the streets of Paris when just a few days ago the three of us were scrambling madly in Singapore to prepare for the upcoming competition in Evians.

The first glimpse of Parisian sky I caught from the smoke-stained window of the commuter train was a gloomy one, framed with dead trees and sparse grasslands. Then came the ragged outskirts of the city, with vintage architecture and a well nurtured serenity, then finally the beating heart of Paris itself. Pretty normal, or so I thought.

There's lots of people around, so it isn't as dead as the wintry Canada I visited a while back was. But there's also none of the rushed madness that typifies New York, so it's somewhere in between, in between a gently-swaying mute coconut tree by a desolated beach, and a pack of frenzied gerbils being attacked by fire ants. Something like that.

There's a certain peace to the atmosphere here I haven't quite experienced before.

Poetry at 3 AM

In my defense, it was late at night, I was tired, my work was incomplete. Then Joel challenged me. Hence. =)

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

Twelve Guinsoos Hexing
Eleven Daggers Blinking
Ten Rings a-Healing
Nine Yashas Maiming
Eight Gems a-Seeing
Seven Gloves a-Hasting
Six Dagons Spamming
Five Arcane Rings
Four Cranium Bashers
Three couriers,
Two Battlefuries,
And a scroll which I use to TP

On another note today Khai Joel and I went down to NATAS to settle our Grad Trip tour, and it's really exciting to think that in a few short months we'll be halfway around the world having fun. Heh.

Snippets

Hmm. I've not be blogging much. Of late.

Anyways, just had this conversation.

Brenda: Hey look at these shoes online! They're cheap!
Me: Really? I know another place where it's cheaper.
Brenda: How much?
Me: About... $5, instead of the $60 there.
Brenda: Where where!
Me: They take the shoes off dead people.

I wonder if I'll still be having conversations like this in ten years.