Evgeny Morozov in The New Republic
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Aka existential crisis for the meandering blogger/twitterer/social networker/etcer.
Now and after
from ben’s video
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On the last day of 2011, we found ourselves in a cafe in quiet chandigarh, of all places. The power went out minutes after we sat down and stayed out for a good half hour. Once back on, the tv screen flashed bollywood mtv, the radio played a little too loudly, and this song came on.
Maybe my ears hadn’t had a hiphop tune for a while but i was instantly hooked. I bookmarked these lines in my head:
Hey mr rager, tell me where you’re going
tell us where you’re headed
off on an adventure.
Can we take that journey?
I’m off on an adventure
When will the fantasy end
When will the heaven begin?
- Mr rager (kid cudi)
Have you seen the music video? At first it looks like a typical 6-min punch fest. Then you see every man he fights is actually the rapper himself. Confronting, winning, losing, having to die before being at peace. I think we can all relate to some of that.
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I got back on 3rd jan, 2012. Google turned up the song for me, along with comments full of a ‘ben breedlove’. I found out ben is an 18-year-old who did a two-part video on youtube to share his near-death experiences living with a heart defect. He died a week later on christmas day from a heart attack.
In his third brush, he mentions seeing his favourite rapper and hearing this song. You see him smile a little in the video, as if acknowledging the quirky surreality of it. He quotes a line from the song.
Maybe it was the unlikely timing and link of these two encounters. Maybe it was ben’s mature insight in his final choice to make this calm confessional–far different from his earlier youtube clips. But i found ben’s candour and thoughts both poignant and illuminating. I may have had the song on loop in my brain as a theoretical question, but he probably had it in his life as a personal question. He concludes a ‘yes’.
Whatever you believe, or not,
That faith he shows, i think we could use a bit of that in our new years.
I’m on my way to heaven.
Can we tag along,
Can we take that journey?
Christmassing
[ .via treehugger]
Snow crystals
may be called letters sent from heaven.
Ukichiro Nakaya, 1939
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I haven’t done any christmas shopping this month, this year (friends you know now).
I don’t know where december’s gone, but i’ve had plenty of yuletide reflections done. While churning out work and tying up loose ends, life continues to surprise, demand, bestow. Little actual celebrating, but i’ve felt many tiny embers of warmth in the many interactions with friends, family, even strangers. I feel this season i’ve never felt gifted so many times over. I hope i have, and will, return these blessings.
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I did go on an almost-shopping trip. The bookstore is a place i still vehemently believe to have something for everyone, and so i stood as long as my legs could stand in kinokuya.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
on children, kahlil gibran
And i paused. Your children are not just yours, they are individuals in their own right, with their own unique blend of talents to grow, their own weakness to grow through. A handy reminder to any (my) parent, i had thought.
But now i was stunned because i saw the child my own self as an expression ‘of life’s longing for itself’. A duty to fulfill. A timely reminder for a new year.
Before: india
[. via nothinkingonthegrass]
A year and a half ago, i was remembering the varanasi taught in class.
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I’ll be off to north india. I’m pretty sure it will be a strange strange encounter. Which is strange, because here in singapore we have the food, we know the moves (coconut tree dance on one end, and thaipusam/deepavali/etc on the other), we certainly have the people–amongst us were the people. But how often does one have both a place taken for granted in its familiarity, and then the opportunity to have that challenged.
We land in new delhi, and will make a loop down to varanasi.
Mainly two advice came up when we asked around: book train tickets very early, and bring along diarrhoea pills. Not ‘don’t drink the tapwater’, or ‘keep off the street food’, but a leapfrog to ‘bring your pills’ as if falling ill will be a matter of fact. Actually, i’ve not met anyone who’s been to new delhi and not ended up with the belly. Even my steely boss with her perfect hair. Even indians who go to new delhi fall sick, i was told. So i’m actually nervous and packing the immodium, especially as 1/4 of the trip will be spent on trains.. not a good place to hurl. From either end.. I don’t know how i’ll stick to my plan to gorge on as much lassi as possible, but at least i’ll have my immodium.
In the same way, i’m more determined than ever to go equipped to catch the onslaught of new experiences. How can i remember better? What could help me think better? Twitter. Unromantic, but i got excited–once ephemeral, new thoughts can now be concrete in 140 characters. I could chart my journey. Geek*
The average is 12degC, but i’m packing real light. The cool in egypt reminded me clothes do last twice as long in colder climates.. My only baggage will be thoughts leftover, and plans to come back to. And i trust this new year in particular brings fresh impetus for authenticity.
Filed under india
Spoils
[Egypt, luxor.]
Swept the dust from the chess set heavily bargained off the man. Earlier, I had been bystander, witness, confused if this war between seller and consumer was actual or feigned pain, wondering if all this effort for manhandled pieces of stone was worth it. I’d left the game early, so i’m lucky the blue ones below were won on my behalf.
We admired it as it shone–it appeared–in the light. Time caught in the lines.
The West bank is known for its alabaster quarries, and you’ll find plenty of these in the way of souvenirs in luxor. The powdery white is gorgeous. But i loved the colours and weight of onyx and how light seemed to almost melt it.
Fifteen minutes was all we had before the sun’s rays slipped away leaving the stone impenetrable again. We were loving these perhaps for very different reasons. But for the moment, the shared appreciation felt good to bask in.
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At the shop:
As we left for the second time, this time with our triumphant goods, the boy came up to me holding out a rudimentary carved piece of alabaster. I refused, afraid the ‘gift’ would follow up with a hassle for baksheesh. He was very young, and worked there carving stones.
I sat as the driver started the car. Thinking it interesting how we cling to solid things. Interesting how we crave solidity of things. I certainly loved these for being so.
Things i saw on my camel on the west bank in luxor
[Egypt, luxor]
Think camel ride and you might imagine giza desert rather than roads and villages. The final homerun of my ride had me riding 3 metres high on the roads amongst shops and people having tea and shisha. I stuck out, literally. But i was determined to ‘have a camel’, and the ride offered quite a perspective. The west bank is a world away from luxor’s town centre.
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The sun slid its orange magic over the cane plantations, over the dust, over the boy guide’s thoughtful face. I was curious but his vocabulary was small. Ahead of me, the plump boy leading my friend’s horse was chatty, ebullient.
The odd house along the way with gorgeous blues and wrought gates. Do egyptians live here? “No, these are hotels”, said the boy guide.
Kids screaming hello. Height makes you feel ridiculous waving down at them; save a special smile for the curious girl staring.
Women in black sit in groups on thresholds. I realise i haven’t spoken to any women in egypt, unless you count hotel receptionists, and the lovely lady at habiba’s. Men typically front the shops.
We stopped for a drink at a ‘coffeeshop’, and a rather intimate look into the owner’s life. I couldn’t make out any possessions in his little brick hut, but out of nowhere he brought out pictures of a relative’s visit from germany. Excitement and pride written in his face as he pointed out friend, son, daughter, time. He beamed at our questions. He ran after me waving my sunglasses i had forgotten. He ran after us wishing us well, opening his arms to us to his ‘coffeeshop’ anytime. I wish we could have stayed longer, but my friend seemed the wiser: just for a moment, and leave. The interaction is limited, after all.
When was the last time i sat on an animal. My butt and thighs got pretty sore by the end of two hours, but i clung on. Always aware of warmth, hair, musculature moving. A steady predictable, if odd, rhythm. This camel could run and buck and possibly kill me. But it didn’t. Trust when you don’t understand is exhilarating at best, and intoxicating when you’re deep enough in it. I thought of my travel buddy, and the people i’d engaged with along the way. How much do we trust? But still we go ahead with transactions even without full trust. We must.
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A quick snap before the camel tipped me over.
Tip your guide well, mine was a lean boy who asked only the essential (age, marital status). Attentive enough to see i was having trouble balancing water bottle, camera and camel: he carried my water the entire way, checking regularly if i was thirsty. And so gentle he didn’t confront me about my pitiful tip (quite uncharacteristic); the stable owner let me know it should be EGP 2-4 for his 2 hours.
