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I’d retreat into my silent shell when lunchtime conversation begins to revolve around food, eating places, TV shows, and movies. It’s an amazing bunch I lunch with, no doubt about that. But I’m just not into restaurants or the best food in town. I don’t watch TV nor the currently screening movies unless they are very highly acclaimed. I’m not into niche areas like anime either. Makes me a really boring person doesn’t it. That may very well be true.
I miss conversations I had in college, those typical 3 am ones where you speak about matters that truly matter. And I miss people with whom you can share anything with. In college, everyone seems like they are up to something. And it’s invigorating to hear people speak about their passions, be it abstract math or music, and witness that sparkle in their eyes, because that’s when they are at their best. And then there are people who empathize, or people who can’t but bother to listen in anyway, and not get turned off. It’s wonderful speaking to them.
My problem’s with the (local?) workplace conversation culture. Colleagues aren’t comfortable with sharing too deeply about themselves because it reveals too much of their insecurities, and that isn’t kosher career-wise. The local culture can play a part too. Maybe people here in Asia just aren’t used to sharing too much about themselves outside their inner zone of comfort, i.e. their families, spouses, confidants, etc. People do want to talk about deep matters, just not in the setting of an office. For the religious, it is in their religious institutions where they seek these connections and discuss issues larger than everyday survival and other picayune, and not on secular grounds (which is quite sad, really). The more cynical view is that it’s really about hiding superficiality behind safe fraternizing topics. Well, if there’s anything to be thankful for, it’s the great bunch I got to know. Food and movies still beat petty office politics, housing, insurances, or the Premier League anytime.
Anyway, on to another topic that occurred to me while I was waiting for the bus home today. Less than six months ago, I was just like the guys in greens. I might be playing some senseless games at my computer terminal. Or scanning visitors’ IDs. Or running around setting up meetings. Tasks fit only for people in similar circumstances. Situationally, I cannot be more different now. I am not subjected to the same laws as they are. I don’t make work related decisions based on the strategy of accomplishing the least in the shortest possible time. I have more bargaining power, work-wise. I don’t need to play my cards with as much caution like I did (now this remains to be seen). Yet I’m able to relapse into that frame of mind any moment, right now. I can understand when they do things that don’t make sense to an outsider who hasn’t gone through similar experiences. I can transform into them when I don the same attire.
This thought must have been partly inspired by a friend’s comment about my reasoning behind my day-off plans during this holiday season. Hmm…
The Hsinghai recital today (it’s yesterday as I’m typing) was a mix of the very seasoned and those new to the stage performance. Understandably, solo performances on stage don’t sound as well as they do off-stage, especially for newbies, and I can attest to that!
Some performers had dresses that were different from the standard dark and white outfits. One of them was in a red Chinese one-piece (aka cheongsam). Another had worn a traditional Korean costume. The younger performers had their families in the audience. The older ones (generally in their late teens or 20s) had their friends. The cosy auditorium was filled with parents and a young crowd. I feel old already! My teacher suggested that I perform at the same event next year. I guess I could pass off as a someone younger, but my supporters can’t! From past experience, this annual showcase is attended by the early-20-something-and-younger and the late-thirties-and-older (parents). My social circle falls in the large gap between these age ranges.
As with the recital last year, some of the younger performers, probably still feeling unsatisfied with their playing, failed to properly acknowledge the audience at the end of their pieces.
I had my ears focused on the yangqin and erhu pieces most of the time. The “Huang Tu Qing” and Zigeunerweisen were note-worthy, and so were the zheng items. Owing to the ages of the performers, the repertoire presented does get quite limited. I was contemplating arranging something different for myself, if I do decide to perform next year. I might even need an ensemble. Oh well, but that’s only if I get technically good enough.
The Hsinghai concert will happen next weekend. I’m looking forward to hear the yangqin concerto that was on my mp3 player’s “repeat” list months ago.
It’s still so difficult to find concert goers…
Gems of Kundara I couldn’t resist posting:
” ‘Are you writing it for your children? As a family chronicle?’
He chuckled bitterly: ‘For my children? They’re not interested in that. I’m writing a book. I think it could help a lot of people.
That conversation with the taxi driver suddenly made clear to me the essence of the writer’s occupation. We write books because our children aren’t interested in us. We address ourselves to an anonymous world because our wives plug their ears when we speak to them.
…
Graphomania (a mania for writing books) inevitably takes on epidemic proportions when a society develops to the point of creating three basic conditions:
(1) an elevated level of general well-being, which allows people to devote themselves to useless activities;
(2) a high degree of social atomization and, as a consequence, a general isolation of individuals’
(3) the absence of dramatic social changes in the nation’s internal life. (From this point of view, it seems to me symptomatic that in France, where practically nothing happens, the percenage of writers is twenty-one times higher than in Israel. Bibi is, moreover, right to say that looked at from the outside, she hasn’t experienced anything. The mainspring that drives her to write is just that absence of vital content, that void).
But by a backlash, the effect affects the cause. General isolation breeds graphomania, and generalized graphomania in turn intensifies and worsens isolation. The invention of printing formerly enabled people to understand one another. In the era of universal graphomania, the writing of books has an opposite meaning: everyone surrounded by his own words as by a wall of mirrors, which allows no voice to filter through from outside.”
— Lost Letters, from “Book of Laughter and Forgetting” by Milan Kundera.
15 minutes to midnight, Friday.
Too many changes. Too many things to recount. Too many distractions. I write to capture life. Not just the tangibles.
For my sole benefit, these are seeds for future topics. I don’t aim to be comprehensible here!
I’ve moved! And now I have a room. Things are still in a mess
Dulcimer exams.
She’s left my life. Almost. A check in the mail for 3 lessons too many. A heart-shaped note. I stand. I retreat into my dreams, having forgotten how to cry.
The SMSes go silent
Just started work. We’re having it pretty good thus far. Whatever has happened to a 15 years-old’s dream?
Orientation program.
Facebooking and Scrabulous.
On free time pursuits and working life. Directions for the new year. How to feel fulfilled.
Tutoring next year? Appreciation is the best gift for a teacher.
Travel
Recent films
Recent concerts
Street angst
…
