whooo! an intellectual rush
Friday, March 31, 2006
♥ Friday, March 31, 2006
had my 24 click over the past wk. OK, i can go into how this route march is like life, walking and tripping, getting up, encouraging each other and so on..but there's a certain part of me thats like cynical of making 'statements of life' such as this, so well, i shant.
What instead happened, was a little miracle. I believe i am slowly making my peace with God. Remmeber few blogs back? The one abt anger, and how rhetoric the qn of what anger was, was? Tts the one. Over the wks, the blog acted like a prophecy, fulfilling itself as how i mentioned- i simply got deeper. But hey, the 24 click, i knew there was hell to go through. (Just cant imagine doing 32 at this pt in time) and i decided to use it as a little agenda for lent.
the little agenda for lent. To go through the march, enduring, and purifying. So i asked God, "you use this to change me". OK not exactly that, but something to that effect.
So, well, the tripping over, the sprained ankle, the seemingly endless route, the "hol-lan-ing"(which means we got lost, in erm..hokkien?), the naggin to hurry, the bloody gravel, the slopes- there really is alot of things to bitch if one wants to. But in the end, i found myself slowly coming to peace. Peace with God & myself.. its not a complete one, if there's such a thing. But, yes, there is this weight of anger off my shoulders. Its adversity that keeps us routed to the ground, telling us that we exist. Milan Kundera taught me that, in his "Unbearable Lightness of Being".
i meant to talk about my birthday, but i decided against it.
Lets talk something interesting. Identity. This word puzzles me, really. The ' who i am', the 'what makes me, me', each person's search for a unique and precious and irreplacable place in this whole big world. In army, your identity actulaly lies with yourself being a mere statistic. A soldier like any other, a man among many- a nobody. But, hey, if i could make that statement of someone thats nobody, of no obvious identity, one should assume that i have a concrete understanding of what a person with identity
is. Thats language isnt it? You speak, as you comprehend. Nevertheless, identity still lies in a state of bewilderment.
There will be people who say its the events, the crap you been through that make you, you. Your character, your soul, whatever. Moral philosophers, their idea of conscience closely intertwined with the soul, the choices one make, that make one, who he or she is. Of course, that makes sense. Atheists will tell you, you exist, to exist. No purpose. You live to die. To them, its not cynicism, its a fact. Cynicism is living life as if there is something to live for. ( Thats them..). I say, to each his own, to each his own.
Oscar wilde's a homosexual. He wrote Picture of Dorian Grey. It was ironically he's best book, and the book used to testify against his 'sexual preferences'. He's super philosophical, and i believe one of the reasons why he indulged in acts of sodomy and other queer actions lie in his belief of a hedonistic life. The posession of beauty, of pleasure, maketh the man. Im not thoroughly well informed about this, but its on what i know. So, identity wise- well, he sure took up a form hasnt he? He's brilliant, a great author and thinker, a weird guy( based on the culture in htose days)..he's this and he's that. But, is
that him? Everyone make choices and then they regret. Everyone understands certain things, only to have a more profound idea and comprehesion of it later. Everyone changes in their way of seeing and doing things. We mature. We become. We evolve. Then, there is that certain priniciples and rules we adhere to. Rules governed by culture, stemming from the way things should and shouldnt run. Conditioning. thats the word. And we carry on..with culture, political philosophies, our little niche and homes..and then we ask the question we asked ourselves the first time we look into a mirror- is
that me??
The picture of Dorian Grey deals with this. That everyone has a beauty, a facade, an appearance. That, we think is identity. What is, however, is the picture we keep in a closet. The picture that fades and ages and degenerates and becomes hideous with each unforgiveness, each anger, each sin, each pride, each whatever. The picture we refuse to show otehrs and ourselves. The pictures we show the priest, ( possibly, if ever) in a confessional. The picture that tells us we've been victimes of for the worse, rape, molest, injustice, abuse.., for the slightly less tormented, victims of accuse, misunderstandings, rejection. Its the blemishes that makes our picture, ugly. The blemishes of life, that some say moulds our character. Thats a glimpse of what identity is. There is more to us. MORE. And its in that incomprehensible, abstract
more that we realise we;re all in one humongous wilderness...and only then, only then, do we really, really find God. Its not intellectual. Its inevitable.
I am intrigued how my platoon mates can actually resort to bullying. If they were 6, i'd understand. But they're 20. then, i realise too, that this
picture i so speak of in the last stanza, was something very obvious. All we have to do is, see and hear. NOt just gloss over a person's life via a sharing, but to really, listen. People show themselves, their ugly portraits- its a matter of time. And in this case of my platoon, the obsession with this particularly small sized fella, shows pretty much that everyone, yes everyone is capable of ostracising. The Holocaust, Rwanda, any massacre, any form of racism..is that actualy. To see someone less than your equal. And that, my friends, are yr hideous portraits, out in the open.
Yes, i wont deny that repentance, remorse, recovery, the "re-" s of things exist. Portraits can be re-painted. But whether, we do so, with remorse, is another thing. There's no confession, no wrong being made right, no idea of good and evil outside the sphere of remorse, Moral Philosopher and Professor Raimond Gaita said that. And i agree. You do wrong, its fine. But sure as hell, be damn sorry about it. Its not self righteousness. Self-righteousness haas the potential to bring one into bitterness. And i aint bitter. i am stating all this, proud that i see it in such a light.
There is a God. And he's the painter, and he re-paints. Bring this idea to the world, and we
change it.
