You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November 2006.
Nothing’s set on paper yet, though the fog on my life after August next year has just cleared a bit. While my choice matches my ambitions, the same may not be true for my abilities. But the chance to get rewarded for doing things I enjoy is just too good to pass up. This may be the start of a new psychological phase, the inflection point. How often do you get paid to learn things like these?
I missed the Leonids meteor shower this year (why am I blogging about an astronomical event I missed, yet again?). I just felt less motivated to stay up on the wee morning of 19th Nov, knowing that the shower this year would never match up to what I saw back in Nov 2001. Besides, nobody on the local astronomy forum announced any plans of observing that morning (but someone did observe on the morning of the 18th). Not being someone who initiates events, and not wanting to fire up expectations, I stayed in bed.
There were five of us that frostly November night in 2001. We met at the observatory on campus the evening before, did some observation, and headed out to the plantations shortly after midnight. The increase in meteor count was noticeable even before midnight – an encouraging prelude to the celestial spectacle that was to unfold in a few hours’ time.
Initially I spent most of my time with J identifying constellations I couldn’t normally see from the light-polluted on-campus sky. A was preparing his camera for timed-exposure. The milky way wasn’t visible, but the sky was then the best I’d seen. I remember that the usually inconspicuous constellation of Cancer was easily visible.
Being FOB and having spent most of my life in the tropics, I wasn’t well-prepared for the cold. I dressed as I would during the daytime — I wore a fur coat, rather airy wool gloves and socks, jeans, and sneakers — not expecting that night time temperatures could be very different from that in the day. With the wind chill, it didn’t take very long before the shivering started. A was kind enough to lend me the extra shirt he brought along, which I wrapped around my head. The end of my limbs, especially my toes, went numb eventually. I tried to generate extra body heat by jogging around rather vigorously but it didn’t help much. I became worried that I’d be paying my first visit to the medical facility in the town and lose my toes to frostbite… fortunately that didn’t happen. I don’t know how I could have got by those freezing pre-dawn hours if not for the exceptionally clear night sky and the meteors. The symptoms are like pain — they become bearable if you don’t pay attention. In retrospect, I don’t think I’d regret losing my toe for the meteor shower.
By about 4am, with Leo high in the east, it was obvious where most of the meteors came from. Each of us would alert the rest whenever we caught a bright one the others didn’t see. Later, meteors became so abundant (or we were just plain tired and frozen) that we didn’t bother with these exclaimations. We did a rather unscientific meteor count during that hour. Four of us faced the four compass directions and took count for a minute timed by the time signals from the shortwave radio I brought along. We added up numbers and it came to 70 meteors per minute (note: this number includes overlap counts)! While the meteors in a shower appear at smaller intensities compared to those in a firework display, meteors in a shower bring surprise, and a serene sense of awe with nature. Perhaps this is the reason I was never deeply impressed nor inspired by orchestrated firework displays.
The sky started to brighten not long after the predicted shower maxima. Having seen more meteors in a night than we had all our lives before that faithful night in November, we called it quits and headed home, with the shower showing no signs of abatement in the growing dawn.
My solar filter didn’t arrive in time for the Mercury transit, so I had to resort to projection using a pair of binoculars this morning. In that half hour before last contact, I couldn’t find the planet’s disc. Save for the two blurry stationary sunspot groups, there was not a hint of a moving speck.
I’d observed the previous Mercury transit in 2003, so missing this morning’s event didn’t cause much of a disappointment. Local conditions had always prevented me from observing a full transit. Coincidentally, my locations had allowed observation of the only last hour or so of the past three transits. The Mercury and Venus transits I caught were almost like reruns of each other — waking up before sunrise, hitching rides from friends, hauling the Meades up to Mount Pleasant, good company, crisp morning air and fortunately, pristine summer skies.
This morning’s weather wasn’t too bad (for this climate) either. The sun appeared from the horizon clouds at about 7:30am, with about 40 minutes to go before final contact. Preparation is everything in this hobby, and I must admit that I was ill-prepared. I realized I needed a solar filter 3 weeks before the event, and it took some time for the international supplier to process the shipping and payment. Guess I’ll receive the filter in a few days’ time, after the transit, that is.
Perhaps its sheer luck that the observing windows for the past three transits were very similar, circumstantially, for my locations. I wonder if the same would happen for the next ones. Looking at the predictions, the Venus transit in 2012 would be in progress at sunrise at my current location, and will end after noon. That’s better than what I’ve been getting. If I’m really lucky, the entire 2016 Mercury transit can be observed from here. But life tends to work in bizarre ways… who knows where I’ll be then?
Today, I caught the 7th installment of the series that features close to a dozen adults, presently just a year short of the half-century mark. They were interviewed at intervals of 7 years; the first in the series was produced when they were 7. To be frank, I don’t think most of their life stories, each on their own, can generate enough autobiographical interest. I felt all had come to terms with who they are, their pasts, and their mistakes. All featured, with the exception of Neil, have started families and appear at ease with who they are, notwithstanding the health problems and mid-life careers issues they face. The very unique youngsters have gone down very different paths. Yet the more things changes, the more similar they become, and it’s got something to do with the commonalising experience of growing up, and old.
Here’s a selection of quotes.
Jacky, refering to her 7 year old self: I mean when you look at the 7 year old…. I don’t remember being cute.
Interviewer to Bruce: Do you have dreams?
Bruce: I think we just live without our dreams.
Interviewer to Andrew at 7 years old: Do you have a girlfriend?
Andrew at 7 years old: I do have one, but I don’t think much of her.
Andrew, when asked about being guarded: I am guarded about being guarded.
Neil on elections: It doesn’t matter who you vote for, the government always gets in.
Neil at 7 years old: I want to be an astronaut, but if I don’t, I’ll just be a coach driver.
I found the once homeless but now politically active Neil most fascinating. While the most of others appeared to be on the defensive and probably even hostile off-screen, Neil has things to tell, is opiniated, and seem uneasy with himself, all at the same time. Unlike the other interviewees who are well-blended into the humdrums of life, he stands out quite naturally against settling for a certain ease and sense of acceptance typical for a person his age.
John: … I have a little pill of poison to endure every seven years.
My life don’t get examined every seven years in public, and I’m glad for that. I can, however, relate to a watered-down version of that pill. I get nervous when I’m invited to attend gatherings with people I was previously well acquainted with (think school and family gatherings). Inevitably, everyone’s obliged to report on how the past x years have been and what they are presently doing. For sure, everyone’s expected to answer up on relationships, schools, jobs, perhaps even marriage plans and kids in a few years’ time. It’s great to hear from friends after so long, but I can’t help but feel awkward about telling people I’ve not met for years my life story up till the present, just as the kids in 49 Up are uncomfortable with taking that ‘pill of poison’ every 7 years.
I fare better than most in some areas, and I also fare worse in other areas. Perhaps I’m just insecure with my weaknesses? Some things are not turning out the way I like them to be, and I do feel regretful for that. When these are brought up, it’s like watching cars rush by, while I’m still walking on the sidewalk. The truth is, most would assume everyone’s heading in that same general direction, to the same destination, but I’m hesitant. It’s still a question I’d like to answer: do I really want to?
John: … But does it have any value? That’s another question.
I really enjoy meet-ups, but I also think they are futile exercises. It’s that feeling that more is left to be said at the end of the meeting. I always felt we’re not doing justice to the intervening years by not articulating the depth of our experiences, for the sake of brevity. Maybe I’m just quite bad at expressing myself, or just guarded, as they say in the film. It’s reductive… so in that 4 hours, we make small talk, I tell my life story and you tell yours, and then we go home, feeling quite unfulfilled. Though I’d expect more, it ends up as good as any other social networking function with strangers.
