Life in Red

"Change" is the second Mo Yan book I’ve ever read, the first being a collection of short stories titled "Shifu: You'll Do Anything for a Laugh".  I have, however, seen two Zhang Yimou movies based on his stories: "Red Sorghum", and "Happy Times". Therefore, having read "Change" in one sitting, and enjoying it from cover to cover, I got the feeling that I should probably read more books by this Nobel Laureate (in Literature).  

The version of “Change” that I bought in Singapore's Kinokuniya (as my baby daughter lies asleep in her stroller just inches away from the bookshelves) was published as part of a series of books titled “What Was Communism?”  I think, being part of these series sorta reveals what the book’s story would be.

I’ve read many accounts of life during China’s super-communist periods of the 1960s and 1970s.  Many of these accounts talk about the brutality, senselessness, hypocrisy, impunity of actions carried out in the name of upholding communism in those periods.  Many more talked about the pain, grief, anger, and frustration the Chinese people in coping with the tragedies that befell them during those periods.

In describing his experience growing up as a small village boy in the 1960s, a member of the People’s Liberation Army in the 1970s, as a struggling writer in the 1980s, and a literary celebrity since the turn of the century, Mo Yan also paints a picture of a China in constant change.  A China that has become more and more driven simply by its people’s pursuit of money; a China whose buildings, like the people’s dreams, now reach for the sky.

But amidst all these changes, there are constants in the life of the Chinese people.  Continuity symbolized by the Gaz 51 trucks that had been the highlight of his school days, then becoming the vessel which first took him to Beijing, and later in life, the reminder of all the people who has entered, left, re-entered, and so on, in his life.  Continuity also came in the form of the “gift” he received as a judge in the 2000s; it seems that some things just never change in China, with or without reform.

Mo Yan writes with simplicity and tells his story like I would tell of my life during the oppressive rule of Soeharto.  Yes, life was tough, and yes, many suffered.  But life goes on, and we the people make best of whatever was in front of us.  We learn to appreciate the small things in life, laugh at the hint of a comedic episode, and appreciate things more than what they may actually be worth.  He doesn’t paint a rosy picture of life in China under communism; nor does he paint a picture with a bloody brush.

Indeed, Mo Yan has received numerous criticisms from peers at home and abroad for his unwillingness to bluntly challenge the communist government in China.  But from my perspective, Mo Yan’s ideological standing doesn’t lessen his value as a writer, a poet, a story-teller of the Chinese people. 

To many, Mo Yan may have not captured the anti-establishment angst that permeates the literary works of many great writers, anywhere around the world.  But, it would be silly to say that he has failed to capture voice of the people, when we know very well that not all express their sadness, pain, and frustration simply through anger.

Wolfie for a day…

A Blue Samurai ad in Tokyo

I’ve always had a special spot for the Japanese national football team: the Blue Samurais.  More so than the Taeguk Warriors of South Korea, or even my country’s Garuda team.  We all know about Hidetoshi Nakata, Shunsuke Nakamura, and many other Japanese stars who have in the past plied their trade in Europe.  However, it wasn’t before the 2011 Asian Cup in Qatar that I finally figured out who my favourite Japanese player is.

In the first round of the competition, Japan was losing to Jordan, until in the 92^nd minute right defender Maya Yoshida scored a header, jumping into the cross from the left like a kamikaze hitman.  But it wasn’t Yoshida who captured my attention; it was the player who made that sublime pass.  A looping cross, the ball was struck so cleanly that the only thing Yoshida had to do was present his head at the end of the pass.  And that pass came from, none other than, the captain: Makoto Hasebe.

As the Asian Cup competition progressed, so did the way Japan played.  They demolished Saudi Arabia 5-0 and won 2-1 against Syria, with one less men.  In the semi-finals, they defeated South Korea in one of the most exciting games I saw that year.  Extra time didn’t suffice, and it needed a penalty shoot out to decide that giant-fest.  In the final, Japan eased over Australia 1-0.  And throughout this run of good results (I watch every single game of the Japanese side), my eyes were constantly glued to the play of Captain Hasebe.

With my cherished Hasebe shirt

Hasebe personifies skill, hard work, determination, vision, and of course, leadership.  He may not be as creative as Yasuhito Endo, but the Japanese midfield needed someone who could win balls, and that job fell to Hasebe.  Neither is Hasebe a prolific scorer like Shinji Okazaki and Keisuke Honda.  However, the Captain did manage to get his name on the list of the tournament’s scorers when he sent in an opportunistic shot into the Syrian net.  And I was told that Hasebe doesn’t have a flashy girlfriend like Shinji Kagawa’s celebrated JAV Actress girlfriend Ameri Ichinose.

On the field, Hasebe oozes coolness and level-headedness.  He is not flashy, yet effective in his approach towards the game.  I guess, he would be any coach’s perfect “quarterback”, relaying instructions to the rest of the team.  And off the field, Hasebe is known to be a down-to-earth person, who features in numerous charity advertisements.  I saw an interview of him on German TV on youtube once, and he was full of smiles, speaking broken German.  For Japan, he is the perfect Captain.  And for me, he is a perfect model, someone I aspire to (but could never be) whenever I step on to a football pitch.

My respect for Hasebe would also translate into a new interest in his club, Vfl Wolfsburg, and the Bundesliga as a whole.  In 2011, Wolfsburg was a mediocre team.  But three years earlier, it had been the Bundesliga champ (it’s first ever in history), becoming one of the few German teams that could break the Bayern Munich-Borussia Dortmund domination of the league. 

Hasebe's public ad in VW Arena

This season, the team aren’t doing so hot either.  Their midfield relies too much on the Brazillian Diego, who awesome, but only human, and can have “off days”.  The front is led by Croatian Ivica Olic, who is still a killer striker, but not the same player he used to be in Munich.  The back-line has its gems, in the form of Naldo and Simon Kjaer.  But in general, there is obvious weakness to a side that has often resorted to placing Makoto Hasebe (a midfielder) as a left-back.

Yes, I originally liked Wolfsburg because it was Hasebe’s team.  But in the last two years, I have come to like the team just because.  I am a new Wolfie, and proud to be one.

And so, when I found out that I would have a “free” day during the visit to Berlin, and that the “free” day coincided with a match-day in Wolfsburg, I could only think about one thing: get myself to Wolfsburg, get a ticket, and watch the marvel that is in store for me.

On that bright Saturday, I got to Berlin’s Haupbahnhof at 9 o’clock in the morning and purchased a round-trip ticket on the DB’s Inter-City Express (ICE) train, which travels as fast as 300 km/h.  I still didn’t know if I’d be able to watch the game because I was unable to buy a ticket online.  And so, during the one hour trip from Berlin to Wolfsburg, I was very anxious, full of hopes, and fearing that I may have to settle with just visiting the city of Wolfsburg and the VW Autostadt, but not getting a seat in the stadium.

The majestic VW Arena

Upon my arrival in Wolfsburg, I was greeted by the awesome site of the Volkswagen factory, its smokestacks standing tall.  And to its side, the Autostadt, looked awesome, particularly the car vending machine which was copied in the last Mission Impossible movie.  But the most captivating sight actually lied further east of the beautiful river… It was the Volkswagen Arena, home of the wolves.  I wanted to deny it, but it surely felt like love on first sight.

I went into Wolfsburg downtown in search of the Vfl Wolfsburg fanshop, still anxious for a ticket.  And when the lady at the counter said that there were still tickets available, my heart almost burst with happiness.  50 Euros, but I didn’t even think twice about buying the ticket.  After spending some time at the fanshop buying souvenirs and fan items, I head straight to the stadium.

I was told that VW Arena only fits around 30.000 people.  But from the outside, it was as majestic as any of the stadiums I had ever visited: Upton Park, Loftus Road, Stamford Bridge, GBK, and Camp Nou.  Inside, it was even more magnificent.  Wolfsburg and Schalke fans mingled, brushed against each other, buying beer and sausages.  It was an ocean of green and blue.  I was a neutral, wearing black, but showed my affinity for the host team with a toque emblazoned with the W of the Wolfies…!

Wolfie toque and camera on hand

I sat myself seven rows from the green pitch, almost smack on the halfway line.  Around me were Germans, both wearing green and blue.  And next to me, a couple of Japanese girls, fully decked in Makoto Hasebe and Atsuto Uchida (he’s Schalke’s right back) fanwear.  I didn’t understand any of the languages spoken around me, but somehow, I felt very much at home.

And then, the PA announced the arrival of the host team.  And to my glee, Makoto Hasebe was assigned to lead Wolfsburg’s warm-up session.  This was a sign, Hasebe would be a starter on that day’s game, and I would be able to see my hero in the flesh.  I couldn’t stop taking photos; I was pretty sure that many other people there thought I was in the same group as the Japanese cuties seating beside me.  I didn’t mind; at times I wish I was Japanese.

As the warm-up session ended, people began to enter the stadium, and the noise started to build up.  The local fans were loud, especially those in the area across from where I sat.  The visiting fans were as loud.  I have to say, thumbs up should be given to those Schalke fans who have made their way to Wolfsburg that day.  The PA announced the line up, mentioning the players’ first names one by one so that the entire stadium could say together their last names.  And when the PA called out “Makoto…”, I blurted out the loudest “HASEBEEEEEEE…!!” of them all.

The game kicked off on time, true to the German culture.  And Makoto Hasebe played as a right-back, occupied constantly by the hard-running and persistency of Schalke’s  Michel Bastos.  I have to say, Hasebe actually did a good job; Bastos became very frustrated and his movement was curtailed to the side of the pitch.  Hasebe even made a last second tackle to avoid a goal by Klaas Jan Huntelaar. 

But of course, I noticed right away that Schalke was just too powerful upfront.  They had Bastos, Huntelaar, Jefferson Farfan, and the sublime Julian Draxler.  Their defence was so-so, but Wolfsburg’s firepower was not like the past, when Grafite and Edin Dzeko used to score like crazy.  Ivica Olic huffed and puffed, but he wasn’t creative enough, and his linkage with Bas Dost was limited.  Diego was shut down in the middle, and his assistant, Josue, looked too tiny to compete with the big Schalke players.

Celebrating Olic's goal

Schalke scored in the first half, but Olic brought the host to level five minutes into the second half.  For a moment hoped sprung in me that my team would be able to win the game.  But that hope began to slip away as Draxler once again put the visitors ahead with a spectacular goal.  On the 73^rd minute, Hasebe was substituted, looking exhausted.  As well, coach Hecking may have wanted a more offensive option down the flank.  But with the departure of Hasebe, the defense crumbled.  The score at the end of 90 minutes was 1-4 for the visitors.

After the final whistle, I stayed in the stdium longer, trying to suck as much of the air as possible.  I didn’t want the feeling to end, and I made a promise to return again one day.  The train ride back to Berlin would be long, I thought.  But it would be a memorable one.

I had the time of my life.  On that sunny (yet chilly) Saturday

On a nice afternoon

afternoon, I felt like a local.  I drank beer, ate sausages, queued for the toilet, and was hackled and intimidated by a group of Schalke fans, as I walked to the train station with my Wolfsburg toque and bag.  I heard the songs of the fans, none of which I understood, but felt as much part of.  I jumped with joy when Olic scored, just like the other Wolfies, and sank my head when Schalke pounded “our” net with four goals.  Yes, I truly felt that it was “our” net.

On that glorious day, I was a Wolfie for a day, and maybe forever, if I may.

We Were Never Being Boring

I live with music in my head, every day.  While I'm no accomplished musician, I know that my life is coloured by a soundtrack.  A set of songs that make things go round and round, taking me to times of the past, present and the possible future.

The Pet Shop Boys and the cast of Being Boring's excellent video

Pet Shop Boys' "Being Boring" is one of those songs which I never get tired of listening.  It's a song that makes me reminisce those loved ones, many lost, never returned.

It's a song about where I was, where I am, and where I may be.  It reminds me of Canada, my long hair, and the soft northwestern winds near my ears.  It reminds me about dreaming of becoming a diplomat, and takes me on a trip to where I am now.. A diplomat, always afraid of being boring.

A British blogger called the song the best ever pop song.  I can't agree more.  As I always feel the history of my life pass before me every time I hear the song. 

My favourite part says: "I never dreamt that I would get to be / The creature that I always meant to be / But I thought in spite of dreams / You'd be sitting somewhere here with me..."

Here are the lyrics to the song, and if you wanna hear it just one more time, just hit this link:

http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Being+Boring/4DjxRS?src=5

BEING BORING
PET SHOP BOYS 

I came across a cache of old photos
And invitations to teenage parties
"Dress in white" one said, with quotations
From someone's wife, a famous writer
In the nineteen-twenties
When you're young you find inspiration
In anyone who's ever gone
And opened up a closing door
She said: "We were never feeling bored
 
'Cause we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves
And we were never being boring
We dressed up and fought, then thought: "Make amends"
And we were never holding back or worried that
Time would come to an end"
 
When I went I left from the station
With a haversack and some trepidation
Someone said: "If you're not careful
You'll have nothing left and nothing to care for
In the nineteen-seventies"
But I sat back and looking forward
My shoes were high and I had scored
I'd bolted through a closing door
I would never find myself feeling bored
 
'Cause we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves
And we were never being boring
We dressed up and fought, then thought: "Make amends"
And we were never holding back or worried that
Time would come to an end
We were always hoping that, looking back
You could always rely on a friend
 
Now I sit with different faces
In rented rooms and foreign places
All the people I was kissing
Some are here and some are missing
In the nineteen-nineties
I never dreamt that I would get to be
The creature that I always meant to be
But I thought in spite of dreams
You'd be sitting somewhere here with me

Faith Amidst Chaos

Sarah MacDonald

Holy Cow: An Indian Adventure

Review

 

In January 2011, I made first ever trip to India.  The trip itself wasn’t all that memorable.  I was struggling to overcome a cold.  Moreover, I was part of the President’s delegation, and so it was difficult to find time in between meetings to enjoy the sights of India.  And to top it off, we were visiting just New Delhi, supposedly not one of the most colorful places in the country.

Nevertheless, it was a highlight in my life.  Having read so many novels by Indian or Indian-descent authors such as Jhumpa Lahiri, Vikram Seth, Arundhati Roy, V.S. Naipaul, Kiran Desai, Anita Desai, Hari Kunzru, Rohinton Mistry, Salman Rushdie, and others, I’ve always imagined about what life is in this exciting part of the world.  In a nutshell, I’ve always thought of life in India as full of colors, decorated by the extremes of existence: sadness and happiness, suffering and joy, poverty and wealth, the moderate and exuberant.

There was this one time, when I woke up from bed on a chilly morning in Beijing, and remembered the dream I had had the night before.  In it, I was walking around an unfamiliar city, lost and looking for direction.  I seemed to know everybody, but no one noticed me, let alone knew who I was.  I couldn’t communicate with any of them, for all of them were speaking some form of Indian accent or another.  Crazy, but it’s true.

The New Delhi I visited in 2011 was not like the city in that funky dream of mine.  It was clean, and the people spoke some English.  Yes, there were some bajaj drivers who didn’t understand us when haggling for the fare to and from Connaught Place, at the heart of the city.  But, all in all, I felt quite comfortable there.  And just as I was getting comfortable, we had to fly the next day to Davos, Switzerland. Ow well..

It was in an old bookstore at Connaught Place that I bought Sarah Macdonald’s “Holy Cow: An Indian Adventure”.  Books are a bargain in India.  But because Sarah’s book was not published in India, it carried a heftier price tag.  Yet, I’ve heard so much good reviews about it that I just couldn’t miss buying it.  But just like most of the books I bought, “Holy Cow” ended up on my shelf and was left unread for more than a year.  Then, one day, while I was cleaning my shelf, I felt Shiva (on the cover of the book) winking at me, asking me to give the book a reading chance.

And boy, was it worth the time!  Holy Cow turned out to live up very much to its expectations (at least mine).  The book chronicles of Sarah’s adventure in a land of chaos and contradiction.  Set in a land so diverse in religious, cultural, and social diversity, the book tells stories of Sarah’s encounters with Hindus, Muslims, Sufis, Sikhs, Parsis, Jews and Christians.  You need to understand just the premise of the book to see its potential of causing stomach cramps (because of laughter).

Sarah’s narrative is so easy to digest, inserted with honest comedy.  She talked about the idiosyncrasies in life, which to most Indians, were the most basic, normal things around.  She described the many stories, hypocrisies and oddities that surrounded her strive to find faith in India.  In all of this, Sarah doesn’t mock the people she wrote about, but merely showed them for the readers’ own interpretation.  And my interpretation was comedic, because I keep on drawing parallels with life in Indonesia.

Sarah succeeded in taking me on roller coaster trip across India.  She introduced me to the Indian people and the Indian way of life.  And her perspective, as a foreigner, somehow was a source of comfort for me, because I shared many of her worries and questions.  Indeed, Sarah’s account gave me a new perspective different from those provided by the many Indian writers whose stories I’ve read before.

As a confused person, Sarah’s search for religious enlightenment is something of interest to me.  Sarah’s journey through the Indian religious cornucopia was (undoubtedly) filled with skepticism.  Yet, at the same time, she also found pockets of faith in some of the strangest places, and through some of the most unlikely characters.   One of these was her encounter with a group of Israeli Jews, who made India as their new “promised land”.  A place, which is not like what Moses had promised, but capable of bringing them closer to God.

Indeed, the lesson is that there is something beautiful from all the religions out there.  We may choose to choose one over the other.  But in the end, what works is what makes us feel the most at peace.  And that could be a combination of all, or even none at all.  I love Sarah’s ending of the book:

“From Buddhism the power to begin to manage my mind, from Jainism the desire to make peace in all aspects of life, while Islam has taught me to desire goodness and to let go of that which cannot be controlled.  I thank Judaism for teaching me the power of transcendence in rituals and the Sufis for affirming my ability to find answers within and reconnecting me to the power of music.  Here’s to the Parsis for teaching me that nature must be touched lightly, and the Sikhs for the importance of spiritual strength… And most of all, I thank Hinduism for showing me that there are million paths to the divine.”