I met someone really important tonight. But I let this person walk right out of my life without doing anything about it.
It was meant to be. For once, I was actually early for yoga practice. I saw her trying to figure out the keypad for the door to the building -- not the easiest thing since there are two keypads and despite specific instructions on the yoga center's website, almost every intelligent being (me included) gets it wrong the first time.
So I showed her the way to do it, having figured out that she was a first timer. We chatted a little as we walked down the stairs to the basement -- nothing serious, just the usual 'is it this way', 'what time does it start' type of conversation. What was interesting though was that I had this feeling straightaway that I had known this person for a long, long time.
I went ahead and did my usual things. I had been looking forward to sitting for a few minutes in the changing room and reading, while waiting for the previous session of mysore practitioners to be done. The air was permeated with sweat, but that didn't bother me as much as it usually does on Sunday mornings (for some strange reason). It was then that I noticed she had gone to the men's changing area by mistake. It was confusing. The signs were small and not immediately obvious. But that is precisely why I love practicing here. It is the most cosy, unpretentious and 'real' yoga studio I have ever stepped into. It has been around in this part of town for years and years, run and frequented by pretty much the same core group of yogis.
I called out to her.
"Excuse me, that's the guys' changing area. We're way back down the corridor."
She was a little lost and rather grateful. I explained to her how the 'system' worked. If you're a regular and have a card, just go mark it off. If you pay per class, there is a little pouch on the ledge to put the money in. I could still remember the first time I came here, six years ago (the first time I was living in D.C.), a newbie to Ashtanga and very early on in my teacher training. Every single yoga studio I had ever been to (and had been to since then) had a receptionist at the front the minute I walked through the door, and a system of cards, credit cards and cash. They were businesses, fair enough. Even yoga teachers have to make a living (as I can testify to as well). But this place blew me away, because it was so much more than a studio. It was a space where everyone -- the teachers and the students -- truly lived their yoga. It was also here that I first fell in love with Ashtanga (until my second pregnancy three months later had me throwing up all over the place and forced me to cut the jumpbacks and vinyasas and just go yin for a while).
I showed her to the women's changing room. We chatted a little. She was from Iowa and here on a business trip. She wanted to do some yoga and found this place on the internet. It was convenient, right next to the metro, along the same line from her hotel. Again, I had this feeling that I had known her before. See, I would do exactly the same thing if I had time off on a working trip -- look for a yoga studio to do a class at. But it was more than that common trait that connected us, I was sure.
She went to wait in the front and I sat down for my ten minutes of reading. Inside, she pulled her mat next to me and said, "Well, I guess I'll come next to you, since you were helping me and showing me the way." I smiled at her. But there was no chance for a reply, because David was on a roll and had already said "Come to standing at the front of your mats, samasthithi...."
So we practiced side by side. The best part about being in a space like this was that everyone who comes here comes to practice. So there isn't the self-conscious tension of people sneaking glances at one another's postures that is common in places where yoga is a fad and lifestyle, rather than a way of learning and being. (Having said that, we all start somewhere, and I've been in those places myself early on in my yoga journey. So there is no right or wrong...just little discoveries every step of the way.)
It was an awesome practice. The breath was great; the flow was great. In the changing room afterward, we chatted a little again...about the eternal dilemma of whether to eat or not after practice. Usually, I feel like I can't. But if I don't, I would be starving by midnight and end up eating more than I should. There are a few decent restaurants near her Metro stop, I told her. She asked me about the Japanese restaurant next door. As we were walking out, she asked: "Are you going to the Metro too?" No, I said. I was going to stop and ask David a question and then go to Whole Foods next door. She hesitated a moment and then walked on after I bid her a safe trip home. It was then that I realized that maybe she had that same feeling of having known me from somewhere before, too.
A few minutes later, as I was walking out of the building, it hit me. Why on earth did I not ask her to have dinner? Or, just have a juice or vitamin water at Whole Foods next door?! Instead of making a beeline for Whole Foods, I walked right to the Metro entrance, hoping that I could catch her and if I did, I would ask her. I didn't see her. I could have gone down the escalator and I probably would have caught up with her. But somehow, I didn't. I turned and walked back towards Whole Foods, full of regret.
How often does one meet a person whose soul one's own recognizes from the start? I just had an awesome practice but despite the backbends, why wasn't my heart fully open? What was it that blocked me from exploring this potential friendship? Perhaps it was because I had this to-do list in my mind: ask David question about workshop, MUST do groceries, kids' milk running out...etc. Sure, those were important things I had to do. But she was more important. She was a person, and the experience and connection that I would have gotten out of just spending an hour perhaps with this stranger who wasn't and needn't have been a stranger was infinitely more important than groceries. Perhaps it was because I was sweaty and stinky, and I usually try to avoid seeing people I know after yoga when I'm sweaty and stinky. But then, she was sweaty and stinky too and it really didn't matter. In fact, come to think of it, right after yoga, when I'm open and energized and flowing, would be the best time to see people I know and care about! DOH!
So, I let this person walk right out of my life. It was meant to be that I walked into her fumbling with the keypad to the building. But at a certain point, we also control how things that are meant to be turn out. One of the sweetest and most down-to-earth actors I have ever interviewed, Eric Bana, said this to me last year at the Waldorf Astoria in New York: "The way people meet and come together...that's fate and destiny. But beyond that, what we do with it, whether we exchange emails, phone numbers, etc., that's within our control." How true.
I believe that all things happen for a reason. Someone once disagreed with me strongly, and said that things don't happen for a reason, but people give it a reason, because they need to. That, too, is true, and I believe it's pretty much one and the same. This person also added a caveat which I agree with totally. He pointed out that some people use "all things happen for a reason" as an excuse to not take responsibility for their actions. That is not cool, I completely agree. So I take full responsibility for letting my potential friend walk away.
So, the next time my soul recognizes another, I hope my heart will be open enough for me to invite her (or him) in. I hope the same goes for all of you as well. There are few things that truly matter at the end of the day, and the connection with another human being is one of them.
Namaste. (The light in me sees the light in you.)
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Answer Is....
I love my current Facebook profile photo of me and Ariel on the beach. Many of my friends do too.
"I love this picture. But why did you change that other picture of you in the swimsuit?" Because I got too many unsolicited and sometimes unsavory messages from strangers.
These days, it seems you can't be online without getting messages from strangers. It used to be just spam mail, but now you get them on Twitter, Skype, and just about anywhere online. There are a lot of people looking for 'love' online (or friendship, or whatever they choose to call what they're looking for).
I used to dismiss many of these people as 'nuts' or 'bored, with nothing better to do.' But I've come to realize that these people are just looking for the same thing that everyone else is: the simple, basic answers to the simple basic questions in life.
What makes me happy? What is happy? What is love? Is this person 'the one'? (And several others, but since I'm dealing with love in this post, I'll stay away from God for now. Although, I believe love and spirituality can be found in each other.)
We ask those questions all our lives. Sometimes we think we've found the answers. But then something happens and we start to doubt what we think we've found. Sometimes, the answers are there, but we may not know we've found them.
I think one of my friends may have found the answer, or at least, a large part of it.
I was hanging out with a group of girls from grad school a couple of weeks ago. A handful of them are graduating next month (congrats!) and we were all in good spirits. So when girls get together in the company of spirits, we talk about guys...what else? (Yes, guys, we can be like you too.)
One of the girls' boyfriend was in town to see her over the weekend. They live and work in different places and he hops on a train to come see her on the weekends. It was the first time I met him.
"You guys look so cute together!" I said to her. And they do!
Her answer to my silly, girlie gushing was so simple and profound that it stuck with me, and I've been thinking about it since. That is saying a lot. How often do you get simple and profound wisdom out of Happy Hour chatter?
"He's such a wonderful person. He makes me a much better person. I feel so calm when I'm with him, and he just inspires me to want to be a better person."
I think she just nailed it...the answer to that eternal question we girls like to ask. (Is he the one? How do you know when you've met the one? Etc.)
Let me qualify that though. I think the jury is still out on whether there is such a thing as 'the one' person or the soul mate. Some people believe in it, and have found their twin soul. Some people have experienced more than one 'the one' in their lives. Some have loved and lost. Some feel like they will never be found.
But the answer my friend found relates more to the questions about relationships that people ask themselves at a more mature stage of their lives, than in their adolescent years. It's no longer just enough to ask: "Am I crazy about him/her?" But: "Do I see myself growing old with him/her?" "What is it going to be like with this person when we've been together a long time?" "Can I even wake up every day with this person?"
Regardless of what your situation is, and what you believe, I think there's wisdom to be gleaned from my friend's response. What she was talking about is love...and the power of love. This goes beyond the usual head over heels, stars in the sky, butterflies in the gut feelings we've been taught to associate with romantic love. It's about two people, and the power their feelings for each other can create.
If a person can inspire another so much, it is a powerful force indeed! And the same can be said of all forms of love: that between a parent and a child (my kids make me want to be a better person every day), between friends, between siblings, relatives, and between a mentor and a younger person (a teacher and a student, a coach and an athlete, etc.).
And then there is a form of love that we usually overlook. Self love.
As a yogi, I believe that the center of love resides in the anahata (the heart chakra). It's easy to find it. It's in your chest, approximately four fingers below your clavicle. Try touching it. Close your eyes and visualize a warm green light all around you emanate from that center. The fourth chakra is usually represented as a lotus flower, with 12 petals. This is where you feel compassion, unconditional love and emotions.
The belief that love comes from deep within each of us, and that there is a spirituality (be it God or otherwise) within us that inspires this love is common across most religions in the world. It may be taught and represented differently, but the premise is the same.
Going back to the heart chakra. If you're still touching that spot, physiologically, this is also where the thymus is. The thymus is part of the immune system and produces T-cells, a group of white blood cells.
So now we know why they say love has healing powers, right?
This was written for friends, especially E, who is still looking for answers and S, who just had her fourth baby, and who said to me: "Spring is the season. Love is in the air."
"Ultimately, the reason why love and compassion bring us the greatest happiness is simply that our nature cherishes them above all else. " HH The Dalai Lama.
"I love this picture. But why did you change that other picture of you in the swimsuit?" Because I got too many unsolicited and sometimes unsavory messages from strangers.
These days, it seems you can't be online without getting messages from strangers. It used to be just spam mail, but now you get them on Twitter, Skype, and just about anywhere online. There are a lot of people looking for 'love' online (or friendship, or whatever they choose to call what they're looking for).
I used to dismiss many of these people as 'nuts' or 'bored, with nothing better to do.' But I've come to realize that these people are just looking for the same thing that everyone else is: the simple, basic answers to the simple basic questions in life.
What makes me happy? What is happy? What is love? Is this person 'the one'? (And several others, but since I'm dealing with love in this post, I'll stay away from God for now. Although, I believe love and spirituality can be found in each other.)
We ask those questions all our lives. Sometimes we think we've found the answers. But then something happens and we start to doubt what we think we've found. Sometimes, the answers are there, but we may not know we've found them.
I think one of my friends may have found the answer, or at least, a large part of it.
I was hanging out with a group of girls from grad school a couple of weeks ago. A handful of them are graduating next month (congrats!) and we were all in good spirits. So when girls get together in the company of spirits, we talk about guys...what else? (Yes, guys, we can be like you too.)
One of the girls' boyfriend was in town to see her over the weekend. They live and work in different places and he hops on a train to come see her on the weekends. It was the first time I met him.
"You guys look so cute together!" I said to her. And they do!
Her answer to my silly, girlie gushing was so simple and profound that it stuck with me, and I've been thinking about it since. That is saying a lot. How often do you get simple and profound wisdom out of Happy Hour chatter?
"He's such a wonderful person. He makes me a much better person. I feel so calm when I'm with him, and he just inspires me to want to be a better person."
I think she just nailed it...the answer to that eternal question we girls like to ask. (Is he the one? How do you know when you've met the one? Etc.)
Let me qualify that though. I think the jury is still out on whether there is such a thing as 'the one' person or the soul mate. Some people believe in it, and have found their twin soul. Some people have experienced more than one 'the one' in their lives. Some have loved and lost. Some feel like they will never be found.
But the answer my friend found relates more to the questions about relationships that people ask themselves at a more mature stage of their lives, than in their adolescent years. It's no longer just enough to ask: "Am I crazy about him/her?" But: "Do I see myself growing old with him/her?" "What is it going to be like with this person when we've been together a long time?" "Can I even wake up every day with this person?"
Regardless of what your situation is, and what you believe, I think there's wisdom to be gleaned from my friend's response. What she was talking about is love...and the power of love. This goes beyond the usual head over heels, stars in the sky, butterflies in the gut feelings we've been taught to associate with romantic love. It's about two people, and the power their feelings for each other can create.
If a person can inspire another so much, it is a powerful force indeed! And the same can be said of all forms of love: that between a parent and a child (my kids make me want to be a better person every day), between friends, between siblings, relatives, and between a mentor and a younger person (a teacher and a student, a coach and an athlete, etc.).
And then there is a form of love that we usually overlook. Self love.
As a yogi, I believe that the center of love resides in the anahata (the heart chakra). It's easy to find it. It's in your chest, approximately four fingers below your clavicle. Try touching it. Close your eyes and visualize a warm green light all around you emanate from that center. The fourth chakra is usually represented as a lotus flower, with 12 petals. This is where you feel compassion, unconditional love and emotions.
The belief that love comes from deep within each of us, and that there is a spirituality (be it God or otherwise) within us that inspires this love is common across most religions in the world. It may be taught and represented differently, but the premise is the same.
Going back to the heart chakra. If you're still touching that spot, physiologically, this is also where the thymus is. The thymus is part of the immune system and produces T-cells, a group of white blood cells.
So now we know why they say love has healing powers, right?
This was written for friends, especially E, who is still looking for answers and S, who just had her fourth baby, and who said to me: "Spring is the season. Love is in the air."
"Ultimately, the reason why love and compassion bring us the greatest happiness is simply that our nature cherishes them above all else. " HH The Dalai Lama.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Singin' in the rain....
It's too darn hot, too darn hot! Yes, it was like summer in the last couple of days, almost hitting the 90s. I wanna sup with my baby tonight, play the pup with my baby tonight, but it's too darn hot! Actually I wanted to bum on the beach but he didn't write that.
So, lo and behold -- a thunderstorm warning?! Sure enough, I found myself drenched walking from school to the car on P Street tonight. I'm singin' in the rain, just singin' in the rain. What a glorious feeling -- I'm happy again! Yes, that was a welcome reprieve from the heat.
It didn't matter that the rain was messing up my makeup and I had to wash my hair again when I got home, 'cos rain, I get a kick out of you! I've been fighting vainly the old ennui, and I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face. I've had a rough day, tough week, crazy month, manic years. But in the moment the rain came down...the memory of all of that, no they can't take that away from me.
So, making sure that no one was watching, in one of those dark little streets in Georgetown, I did a little jig and tap in the rain, with the rain, almost like Gene Kelly. And I felt like heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.
So, thank you rain, for reminding me that you've got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, and don't mess with Mr. In-between!
* Inspired by rain in the night, great song writers (they don't write 'em like they used to) and gratitude for life itself.
So, lo and behold -- a thunderstorm warning?! Sure enough, I found myself drenched walking from school to the car on P Street tonight. I'm singin' in the rain, just singin' in the rain. What a glorious feeling -- I'm happy again! Yes, that was a welcome reprieve from the heat.
It didn't matter that the rain was messing up my makeup and I had to wash my hair again when I got home, 'cos rain, I get a kick out of you! I've been fighting vainly the old ennui, and I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face. I've had a rough day, tough week, crazy month, manic years. But in the moment the rain came down...the memory of all of that, no they can't take that away from me.
So, making sure that no one was watching, in one of those dark little streets in Georgetown, I did a little jig and tap in the rain, with the rain, almost like Gene Kelly. And I felt like heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.
So, thank you rain, for reminding me that you've got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, and don't mess with Mr. In-between!
* Inspired by rain in the night, great song writers (they don't write 'em like they used to) and gratitude for life itself.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
My Favorite Things
Silver white winters that melt into spring....
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
If Food Be The Music Of Life....
Crackers. Bananas. Plain toast. Vitamin water.
That has been my delectable menu for the past week. I wish I could say it was some new celeb diet fad I was trying out to shed the five pounds accumulated over the two historic snowstorms of the winter. It wasn't. It was, simply and delicately put, degustation for the debilitated gut.
For someone who is rarely sick, being out of action for a whole week was a major annoyance to say the least. But what was worse than not being able to assume full control of my body and move it the way I usually do, was not being able to smell, taste and consume food. By food, I mean, real food.
It would not have been as bad subsisting on crackers and bananas if I had been able to actually enjoy the act of eating them. Some crackers are actually quite tasty. As if it wasn't good enough for the nasty bug to take over my body, it has decided that while I was playing host to it, there should be no pleasure to be derived from consumption. The bug in question (I wasn't sure if it was viral or bacterial) had me rewired into a Pavlovian anti-foodie. If I so much as contemplated a morsel of real food, the very thought would trip a series of switches to the "eeew" alarm, setting off piercing screeches in my head. Now, that is some serious rewiring to my system.
Like all true blue born and bred Singaporeans, I love my food. But beyond the manic obsession over which Boon Tong Kee joint serves the best chicken rice, I really love my food (like the way I love poetry). If that old cliche was to be asked, I would unreservedly put myself in the group that lives to eat.
To eat is to savor life with its palette of delightful flavors. Food is one of two common passion in most cultures around the world. I believe you can't really get to know a culture until you've tasted its food. I've made it a point in all my travels to eat local. I have my limits when it comes to exotic animals, but unfamiliar smells and flavors do not turn me off. So I've sampled fermented bean curd (the Chinese name is literally translated as 'smelly bean curd') at the night markets in Taipei. It wasn't as pungent as I thought it would be. But that is what I like about trying new and different foods. It's often not what one thinks it would be. I was eager to try Gudeg, the traditional Javanese dish, my first time in Yogyakarta. It is made from jackfruit and said to be sweet. I loved jackfruit so I thought I would absolutely love the dish. Let's just say it wasn't really to my taste.
What is almost always to my taste, though, is spice. Yes, I like it hot. Hotter than Marilyn, and spicier than Girl Power. Having grown up with chili padi and sambal belacan, tabasco sauce is like fairy dust to me. Someone once asked me if I would like some soup with my pepper. I would have, if it was good soup and not processed, canned glob. The only time I came close to burning up from the hot stuff was eating Manadonese food for the first time. That is because Manadonese food does exactly just that -- burns you up from the inside. It is not only extremely spicy, it is also full of spices, creating a blend of layers and layers of flavors that defy description by words. It just simply has to be savored.
One of my fondest memories of living in Jakarta is that of the
bunga pepaya ('papaya flower') dish at Beautika, the Manadonese
restaurant that my girlfriends and I loved to lunch at. With each
mouthful of the deceivingly delicate looking buds, I would feel
the heat spreading inside my body. The first taste tingles and lingers
on the tongue. But already, the fire is ignited within. With each
subsequent spoonful, the second, third, and fourth, the desire to
savor more gets more intense. Ten minutes into the meal, I would
be completely addicted. Alternating between rice and water for
temporary reprieve from the fierce burning that had taken over
my senses, I would be screaming silently: "Stop! No, don't stop!"
The ultimate release and pleasure would come finally at the end of the meal, when every last bud has been devoured. This is the best kind of food lust -- a sweaty, unbridled affair, with absolutely no need to look pretty while doing it.
So you see, I really do love my food. A week without my taste buds is sheer torture. It's time to take charge, and kick Mr Bug out of my life, so I can be free to love my food again.
That has been my delectable menu for the past week. I wish I could say it was some new celeb diet fad I was trying out to shed the five pounds accumulated over the two historic snowstorms of the winter. It wasn't. It was, simply and delicately put, degustation for the debilitated gut.
For someone who is rarely sick, being out of action for a whole week was a major annoyance to say the least. But what was worse than not being able to assume full control of my body and move it the way I usually do, was not being able to smell, taste and consume food. By food, I mean, real food.
It would not have been as bad subsisting on crackers and bananas if I had been able to actually enjoy the act of eating them. Some crackers are actually quite tasty. As if it wasn't good enough for the nasty bug to take over my body, it has decided that while I was playing host to it, there should be no pleasure to be derived from consumption. The bug in question (I wasn't sure if it was viral or bacterial) had me rewired into a Pavlovian anti-foodie. If I so much as contemplated a morsel of real food, the very thought would trip a series of switches to the "eeew" alarm, setting off piercing screeches in my head. Now, that is some serious rewiring to my system.
Like all true blue born and bred Singaporeans, I love my food. But beyond the manic obsession over which Boon Tong Kee joint serves the best chicken rice, I really love my food (like the way I love poetry). If that old cliche was to be asked, I would unreservedly put myself in the group that lives to eat.
To eat is to savor life with its palette of delightful flavors. Food is one of two common passion in most cultures around the world. I believe you can't really get to know a culture until you've tasted its food. I've made it a point in all my travels to eat local. I have my limits when it comes to exotic animals, but unfamiliar smells and flavors do not turn me off. So I've sampled fermented bean curd (the Chinese name is literally translated as 'smelly bean curd') at the night markets in Taipei. It wasn't as pungent as I thought it would be. But that is what I like about trying new and different foods. It's often not what one thinks it would be. I was eager to try Gudeg, the traditional Javanese dish, my first time in Yogyakarta. It is made from jackfruit and said to be sweet. I loved jackfruit so I thought I would absolutely love the dish. Let's just say it wasn't really to my taste.
What is almost always to my taste, though, is spice. Yes, I like it hot. Hotter than Marilyn, and spicier than Girl Power. Having grown up with chili padi and sambal belacan, tabasco sauce is like fairy dust to me. Someone once asked me if I would like some soup with my pepper. I would have, if it was good soup and not processed, canned glob. The only time I came close to burning up from the hot stuff was eating Manadonese food for the first time. That is because Manadonese food does exactly just that -- burns you up from the inside. It is not only extremely spicy, it is also full of spices, creating a blend of layers and layers of flavors that defy description by words. It just simply has to be savored.
One of my fondest memories of living in Jakarta is that of the
bunga pepaya ('papaya flower') dish at Beautika, the Manadonese
restaurant that my girlfriends and I loved to lunch at. With each
mouthful of the deceivingly delicate looking buds, I would feel
the heat spreading inside my body. The first taste tingles and lingers
on the tongue. But already, the fire is ignited within. With each
subsequent spoonful, the second, third, and fourth, the desire to
savor more gets more intense. Ten minutes into the meal, I would
be completely addicted. Alternating between rice and water for
temporary reprieve from the fierce burning that had taken over
my senses, I would be screaming silently: "Stop! No, don't stop!"
The ultimate release and pleasure would come finally at the end of the meal, when every last bud has been devoured. This is the best kind of food lust -- a sweaty, unbridled affair, with absolutely no need to look pretty while doing it.
So you see, I really do love my food. A week without my taste buds is sheer torture. It's time to take charge, and kick Mr Bug out of my life, so I can be free to love my food again.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
How To Get To Sesame Street
I just started following @Sesamestreet on Twitter. (Oh, and "Happy Birthday!" to Twitter.)
Yes, Sesame Street. Why not? I love Sesame Street. It's nice to see a Big Bird tweet among the barrage of @cnnbrk, @ bbcworld, @reuters, @huffingtonpost tweets that usually greet me. So while all the news organizations are busy 'breaking' health care reform deal right now (not that this is not great news), I have this big grin on my face sitting in Starbucks, reading Big Bird's post from yesterday: "Know what's as big as Snuffy but doesn't weigh anything? His shadow. Ha!"
I grew up watching Sesame Street. It was a playmate and a friend. It was my first view of a world where everyone was friends, and people (and muppets) came in all colors and shapes and sizes. And it didn't matter. In fact, it was wonderful. Growing up on a tiny island little more than a dot on the world map, Sesame Street was the first global village I knew. Way before computers, emails, Facebook and Twitter, Sesame Street was the social networking channel of those times. The best part was, it was for kids.
Like all childhood playmates, Sesame Street became a distant memory at the back of my mind when I went through the growing years and stages. In high school, I was one of the first groups of students in the computer club.
Anyone remembers this?
I used one of these, or its younger cousin.
Then, in college there was 'live' chatting over the university's intranet, and at work, email became the preferred mode of communication. Some years back, Friendster, My Space, and then Facebook took cyber connection to new realms. Well, we all know who won that popularity contest.
I reconnected with Sesame Street again when I had kids. At 18 months, Amon learned the alphabets from Big Bird, and counted to 20 with Ernie. At two-and-a-half, he was thrilled when Grover gave him a big hug at the 'meet-and-greet' session at Sesame Place in PA (yes, it's a theme park and you can watch Elmo's World 'live' there!). It was Halloween and he was in a Thomas the Tank Engine costume. He was beaming like a beacon when the hayride tractor driver told him he had a great costume, and Zoe gave him a little pat on the head.
For Amon and now, Ariel too, Sesame Street is still the playmate they could meet at the cul de sac. They giggle at Mr Noodles and have a blast mimicking the Count's compulsive obsessive counting. But my relationship with my friend has evolved. Sesame Street turned 40 last year, and is now seen in more than 140 countries around the world. My conversations with my mature friend now revolve around how important it is for every child to have access to its educational content, and how every child needs a space like Sesame Street to call his or her own. This is a space without violence, drugs and overt sexual images. This is a place where people are still nice, and good, and believe in universal kindness and love. This is a place where everyone is equal, and where the myriad of colors of humankind is something to be celebrated and appreciated, and not to divide or deride. Most importantly, this is a place where kids can be kids, for as long as they want, and not have to grow up so fast.
So, just in case I'm starting to sound like an old fashioned pain of a mum, let me remind you that I follow @Sesamestreet on Twitter. So, I'm going to go ahead and say it loud and clear (and don't you call me old fashioned): "Our kids are growing up way too fast!"
My four-year-old is humming Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga songs. She likes the boys from Big Time Rush because they are "so handsome." She has chosen two 20-year-old guys she wants as boyfriends. And she thinks that she will grow up to marry them and live happily ever after. "I want to be 16," she tells me. She thinks it's not cool to be a little girl. And when she is 16, she wants her own puppy, car and manicured nails (in that order). Oh, and she is also going to have a party. And if I'm a bad mum (meaning that I make her finish her vegetables) I won't be invited. Her discourse is created from the mashed up storyline of Nickelodeon and Disney tweeny dramas and 'princess' tales -- formulaic, profit driven products putting kids on an accelerated race to grow up and become consummate consumers of more fads, trends and popular culture.
But short of throwing out the TV, banning internet access at home and not going to the movies, there is nothing one can do to 'shield' kids from these influences. They are growing up in an era when technology has made instant global connection a given norm. In many ways, there are huge advantages to this. While I only had Sesame Street as my glimpse into a global village, my kids have endless channels and media to tap into different cultures around the world. But there is still something to be said about doing some things the old fashioned way (ok, so go ahead and call me old fashioned) in this day and age. So, I encourage them to write cards and letters, as much as email. I just taught Amon how to blog. They read books -- on paper. And newspapers -- in hard copy.
So thankfully, Ariel still chooses Big Bird over Big Time Rush. She is getting an education from Sesame Street and her brother, who gives her lectures on prehistoric lifeforms and shows her his National Geographic magazines. She is a child of her times, but she has her own space to be a child, and take her time to grow up. She has that space where she can feel safe and linger in the comfort of childhood innocence, without losing touch with the frantic world around her.
Every child deserves that kind of space. Whether it is the kid in a developing nation who has no internet access and is learning his alphabets from Big Bird, or the kid in the top economy in the world, for whom 15 minutes of internet a day (as limited by her old fashioned mum) is way too little, he or she needs a place like Sesame Street to call his or her own.
Can you tell me how to get...how to get to Sesame Street?
Yes, Sesame Street. Why not? I love Sesame Street. It's nice to see a Big Bird tweet among the barrage of @cnnbrk, @ bbcworld, @reuters, @huffingtonpost tweets that usually greet me. So while all the news organizations are busy 'breaking' health care reform deal right now (not that this is not great news), I have this big grin on my face sitting in Starbucks, reading Big Bird's post from yesterday: "Know what's as big as Snuffy but doesn't weigh anything? His shadow. Ha!"
I grew up watching Sesame Street. It was a playmate and a friend. It was my first view of a world where everyone was friends, and people (and muppets) came in all colors and shapes and sizes. And it didn't matter. In fact, it was wonderful. Growing up on a tiny island little more than a dot on the world map, Sesame Street was the first global village I knew. Way before computers, emails, Facebook and Twitter, Sesame Street was the social networking channel of those times. The best part was, it was for kids.
Like all childhood playmates, Sesame Street became a distant memory at the back of my mind when I went through the growing years and stages. In high school, I was one of the first groups of students in the computer club.
Anyone remembers this?
I used one of these, or its younger cousin.
Then, in college there was 'live' chatting over the university's intranet, and at work, email became the preferred mode of communication. Some years back, Friendster, My Space, and then Facebook took cyber connection to new realms. Well, we all know who won that popularity contest.
I reconnected with Sesame Street again when I had kids. At 18 months, Amon learned the alphabets from Big Bird, and counted to 20 with Ernie. At two-and-a-half, he was thrilled when Grover gave him a big hug at the 'meet-and-greet' session at Sesame Place in PA (yes, it's a theme park and you can watch Elmo's World 'live' there!). It was Halloween and he was in a Thomas the Tank Engine costume. He was beaming like a beacon when the hayride tractor driver told him he had a great costume, and Zoe gave him a little pat on the head.
For Amon and now, Ariel too, Sesame Street is still the playmate they could meet at the cul de sac. They giggle at Mr Noodles and have a blast mimicking the Count's compulsive obsessive counting. But my relationship with my friend has evolved. Sesame Street turned 40 last year, and is now seen in more than 140 countries around the world. My conversations with my mature friend now revolve around how important it is for every child to have access to its educational content, and how every child needs a space like Sesame Street to call his or her own. This is a space without violence, drugs and overt sexual images. This is a place where people are still nice, and good, and believe in universal kindness and love. This is a place where everyone is equal, and where the myriad of colors of humankind is something to be celebrated and appreciated, and not to divide or deride. Most importantly, this is a place where kids can be kids, for as long as they want, and not have to grow up so fast.
So, just in case I'm starting to sound like an old fashioned pain of a mum, let me remind you that I follow @Sesamestreet on Twitter. So, I'm going to go ahead and say it loud and clear (and don't you call me old fashioned): "Our kids are growing up way too fast!"
My four-year-old is humming Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga songs. She likes the boys from Big Time Rush because they are "so handsome." She has chosen two 20-year-old guys she wants as boyfriends. And she thinks that she will grow up to marry them and live happily ever after. "I want to be 16," she tells me. She thinks it's not cool to be a little girl. And when she is 16, she wants her own puppy, car and manicured nails (in that order). Oh, and she is also going to have a party. And if I'm a bad mum (meaning that I make her finish her vegetables) I won't be invited. Her discourse is created from the mashed up storyline of Nickelodeon and Disney tweeny dramas and 'princess' tales -- formulaic, profit driven products putting kids on an accelerated race to grow up and become consummate consumers of more fads, trends and popular culture.
But short of throwing out the TV, banning internet access at home and not going to the movies, there is nothing one can do to 'shield' kids from these influences. They are growing up in an era when technology has made instant global connection a given norm. In many ways, there are huge advantages to this. While I only had Sesame Street as my glimpse into a global village, my kids have endless channels and media to tap into different cultures around the world. But there is still something to be said about doing some things the old fashioned way (ok, so go ahead and call me old fashioned) in this day and age. So, I encourage them to write cards and letters, as much as email. I just taught Amon how to blog. They read books -- on paper. And newspapers -- in hard copy.
So thankfully, Ariel still chooses Big Bird over Big Time Rush. She is getting an education from Sesame Street and her brother, who gives her lectures on prehistoric lifeforms and shows her his National Geographic magazines. She is a child of her times, but she has her own space to be a child, and take her time to grow up. She has that space where she can feel safe and linger in the comfort of childhood innocence, without losing touch with the frantic world around her.
Every child deserves that kind of space. Whether it is the kid in a developing nation who has no internet access and is learning his alphabets from Big Bird, or the kid in the top economy in the world, for whom 15 minutes of internet a day (as limited by her old fashioned mum) is way too little, he or she needs a place like Sesame Street to call his or her own.
Can you tell me how to get...how to get to Sesame Street?
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Nice Girls Finish First...Or Last?
Barely two weeks after winning an Oscar for Best Actress in the movie The Blind Side, Sandra Bullock, Hollywood's favorite 'nice girl' is in the news again. This time, though, there is nothing to cheer about.
The star that everyone likes because she is so sweet (and some people dislike because she is so sweet) is dealing with the infidelities of her husband -- reality star Jesse James -- and, as rumored, possible divorce. It is the same old story. The "bombshell" mistress decided to spill all. The deepest stab must be that the liaisons took place while Bullock was working on the movie that gave her the career win that nobody would have thought her capable of before this role.
Ouch. It really hurts. And the same goes for all the 'good wives' who have been publicly humiliated by sordid tabloid exposes of their husbands' inability to keep their pants on. Whether they move in the political, high power circles (Hilary, Silda, Elizabeth, Jenny, etc.) or the glamor, entertainment circuit (Elin, Victoria, now Sandra), these women have one thing in common. They are the nice girls -- the 'good wives' who played the role of the woman behind every successful man, the capable and loving mother of his children, and yet managed to maintain their looks and poise for HIS public image.
They are also the girls who lost.
Not true? Check out GQ magazine's feature on Rielle Hunter (better known as the John Edwards mistress) for the biggest slap to the nice girls. Sexy pictures in man shirt aside, Hunter lambasted her "Johnny's" cancer-stricken ex-wife for not knowing how to love and keep her man. *SMACK* That was for Hunter. She obviously has no idea what it means to be a gracious winner.
And well, she doesn't need to. The not-so-nice girls do not need to play by the rules of decorum. In fact, the public loves it when they play up naughty and salacious (and in some cases, like Tiger's paramours, the downright sleazy).
So what can the nice girls do? They either retreat gracefully (like Elin) or they stand by their man, weather the storm, and then take charge and build their own power (like Hilary). Or, they can just be practical and dish the dirt on the cad (like Jenny in her memoir). After all, they do need to live...and in many cases, raise their children. Haven't you heard? It's expensive to put kids through college these days.
As Julianna Margulies, who plays the lead character in the TV series, The Good Wife, said: "You either sink or you swim. And you have to swim, because you have children and they have to eat. And how do you get a job in this world, when you’re a women who is 40 years old? You make yourself look good, you cut the hair, you lose the weight…whatever it is."
I interviewed her and the cast in New York last month. (Singapore peeps, look out for the stories in ST Life!.) Margulies' character has to return to work as a junior associate in a law firm after her husband's political and sex scandals land him in jail. She won a Golden Globe for the role. The series, loosely based on real life scandals, is timely. I have to admit I didn't watch it before, but only when I got the assignment. I went through most of the first season in one sitting. The writing is surprisingly good. It throws up all the shades of morality greys and complicated questions about a seemingly simple act of being the nice girl.
And then there are the classic cilches and stereotypes, as Christine Baranski, who plays a single, tough cookie partner in the law firm pointed out. If a woman works hard, and is in a position of authority, she is often called a bitch. If she sets high standards for her staff, she is a bitch. If she drives a hard bargain, she is a bitch. A man who does all of that is just simply successful.
So, the nice girls can't win, can they? What our mothers' mothers told them, and they in turn told us, is no longer true. Nice girls don't always get to live happily ever after. Princesses exist only for Disney's bottomline.
When it is my turn to tell this story to my daughter, what should I tell her? To be a nice girl so she can 'win' in her 20s and 30s, only to fall flat on her face in her 40s and have to pick up the pieces? Or, to be a not-so-nice girl, and forget about the fairy tale ending?
Well, I still believe in nice girls. I would like to think that I'm one. And there's much to be said about being a nice girl. There're many nice girls out there whom I admire and who are winners in their own right, man or no man. Girls like Hilary Clinton, Michelle Obama, and my childhood heroine, Aung San Suu Kyi.
So I'll tell Ariel to be a nice girl. But it's time to re-write the story. This is what I think I'll say: "Nice girls always win. But being a nice girl doesn't mean you have to be a good wife. Rather, think of being a good PARTNER in a marriage. And don't look for a good husband or a good man. He doesn't exist. Look for a good PARTNER. You may not find the person the first time round, and that is ok. It's like poker. You win some, you lose some. Wining is not all or nothing. And for goodness' sake, don't let your partner do ALL the driving! Then, you may have a shot at happily ever after. And if you chose never to marry, that's fine. As long as you're true to yourself, you will be happy."
It's still work in progress. I'm open to suggestions on crafting this narrative. Any thoughts?
The star that everyone likes because she is so sweet (and some people dislike because she is so sweet) is dealing with the infidelities of her husband -- reality star Jesse James -- and, as rumored, possible divorce. It is the same old story. The "bombshell" mistress decided to spill all. The deepest stab must be that the liaisons took place while Bullock was working on the movie that gave her the career win that nobody would have thought her capable of before this role.
Ouch. It really hurts. And the same goes for all the 'good wives' who have been publicly humiliated by sordid tabloid exposes of their husbands' inability to keep their pants on. Whether they move in the political, high power circles (Hilary, Silda, Elizabeth, Jenny, etc.) or the glamor, entertainment circuit (Elin, Victoria, now Sandra), these women have one thing in common. They are the nice girls -- the 'good wives' who played the role of the woman behind every successful man, the capable and loving mother of his children, and yet managed to maintain their looks and poise for HIS public image.
They are also the girls who lost.
Not true? Check out GQ magazine's feature on Rielle Hunter (better known as the John Edwards mistress) for the biggest slap to the nice girls. Sexy pictures in man shirt aside, Hunter lambasted her "Johnny's" cancer-stricken ex-wife for not knowing how to love and keep her man. *SMACK* That was for Hunter. She obviously has no idea what it means to be a gracious winner.
And well, she doesn't need to. The not-so-nice girls do not need to play by the rules of decorum. In fact, the public loves it when they play up naughty and salacious (and in some cases, like Tiger's paramours, the downright sleazy).
So what can the nice girls do? They either retreat gracefully (like Elin) or they stand by their man, weather the storm, and then take charge and build their own power (like Hilary). Or, they can just be practical and dish the dirt on the cad (like Jenny in her memoir). After all, they do need to live...and in many cases, raise their children. Haven't you heard? It's expensive to put kids through college these days.
As Julianna Margulies, who plays the lead character in the TV series, The Good Wife, said: "You either sink or you swim. And you have to swim, because you have children and they have to eat. And how do you get a job in this world, when you’re a women who is 40 years old? You make yourself look good, you cut the hair, you lose the weight…whatever it is."
I interviewed her and the cast in New York last month. (Singapore peeps, look out for the stories in ST Life!.) Margulies' character has to return to work as a junior associate in a law firm after her husband's political and sex scandals land him in jail. She won a Golden Globe for the role. The series, loosely based on real life scandals, is timely. I have to admit I didn't watch it before, but only when I got the assignment. I went through most of the first season in one sitting. The writing is surprisingly good. It throws up all the shades of morality greys and complicated questions about a seemingly simple act of being the nice girl.
And then there are the classic cilches and stereotypes, as Christine Baranski, who plays a single, tough cookie partner in the law firm pointed out. If a woman works hard, and is in a position of authority, she is often called a bitch. If she sets high standards for her staff, she is a bitch. If she drives a hard bargain, she is a bitch. A man who does all of that is just simply successful.
So, the nice girls can't win, can they? What our mothers' mothers told them, and they in turn told us, is no longer true. Nice girls don't always get to live happily ever after. Princesses exist only for Disney's bottomline.
When it is my turn to tell this story to my daughter, what should I tell her? To be a nice girl so she can 'win' in her 20s and 30s, only to fall flat on her face in her 40s and have to pick up the pieces? Or, to be a not-so-nice girl, and forget about the fairy tale ending?
Well, I still believe in nice girls. I would like to think that I'm one. And there's much to be said about being a nice girl. There're many nice girls out there whom I admire and who are winners in their own right, man or no man. Girls like Hilary Clinton, Michelle Obama, and my childhood heroine, Aung San Suu Kyi.
So I'll tell Ariel to be a nice girl. But it's time to re-write the story. This is what I think I'll say: "Nice girls always win. But being a nice girl doesn't mean you have to be a good wife. Rather, think of being a good PARTNER in a marriage. And don't look for a good husband or a good man. He doesn't exist. Look for a good PARTNER. You may not find the person the first time round, and that is ok. It's like poker. You win some, you lose some. Wining is not all or nothing. And for goodness' sake, don't let your partner do ALL the driving! Then, you may have a shot at happily ever after. And if you chose never to marry, that's fine. As long as you're true to yourself, you will be happy."
It's still work in progress. I'm open to suggestions on crafting this narrative. Any thoughts?
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