the final insult

Ok. She's finally used it. My mother had used the fact that I failed my fellowship exam as point of insult in an argument. My brother is back from the UK to visit. We stayed home for dinner with mum last night. Mum, as usual, cooked way too much. We told her to stop because, to be frank, her cooking isn't the best, and there was enough to feed 10 for just the 4 of us anyway. So on that, she took offence. Obviously, food symbolised her care and worthiness. When she perceived that we were rejecting it, she got angry. So insults started. "There are PhDs all over the streets, nothing special" to my brother. "I get on so well with others people, it's just you two that have problems with me, it is YOU that are abnormal, YOU". She moves over to my side and said, "try and try and you still fail". I didn't feel like crying. I contemplated whether I felt hurt or not. I came to the conclusion that I must do, in some way. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing now. I always knew this would happen. I knew my mother comes out with comments she believes would hurt the most, when she feels injured. I'm not sure how I feel. I was somewhat suprised that I didn't want to cry. In realising this, I felt proud. I must have some other sense of my worthiness, some other means, that I wasn't fatally wounded. At the same time, I wanted to grasp at what it was, that I found my success in, exactly what it was that I found my value in. By making it conscious, I can conjure it up more easily when it is required. At home, I looked for volunteering travel tours in the hope that I can make some difference. I contemplated what would I do if I don't pass this exam. Would I be happy working as a medical officer rather than a consultant. I wondered if I felt confident in my abilities at work without having the letters FRANZCP behind my name. Perhaps more poignantly, if there was no one to look down on, in comparison to myself, would I still be worth something? I will never be the most beautiful amongst my friends. I do not endeavour to be the thinnest. I am not the most intelligent amongst the people I know. I am not the most altruistic or caring. I am not the most daring nor am I the most sportive. Is identity required to be "the most" in one area or another? If one is unique in the world, one must be "the most" in one form or another. I am, at the very least, "the most" me of all the people in the world! The question would therefore be, is being the most "me" a quality to be proud of? I am who I am. Things I do, though not unique, constitute me, in its combination. This combination, makes me. Therefore if "I" was to be good, this combination of thoughts, feelings, behaviours ought to how I want to be. I need to do because I believe in it, feel because that is how I felt, think because it makes sense to me. I don't need to be "better" than someone else, I just need to be me. In reply to my mother, yes, I accept that I failed my exams twice. I wasn't up to the mark for the exam. I am still single at the age of 31. I don't have good relationships with my parents. These make up part of me, but not all of me. My reaction to these circumstances define me, not these circumstances themselves. My coping is by no means perfect. The "better" I resolve to compare to, is myself, and myself only. In becoming a newer better me, is enough. Therefore I do not need her approval, or anyone elses' recognition. I am answerable to myself. That was why I didn't fall into pieces even if my mother thinks me a failure.

American Gangsters, the movie. I thought the movie was reasonable. I felt something was missing, some sort of "heart". It was well shot and the characters had reasonable depth. It was interesting the parallel and contrast between Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe. Denzel Washington went into so much effort to be aristocratic and "white". It must reflect a kind of inferiority complex. May be it is similar to the "immigrant mentality"concept. It is that ambition and anger which helped him to risk his life to "show 'em". In many ways, it is a useful mechanism to drive one to excel and fulfil one's own potential. Yet, it is so hard to strike a balance, between drive and acceptance - accepting circumstances as they are. He could well have quit the business while he was ahead. He could have avoided going to jail, losing his wife and his wealth. Thinking about it though, may be, it's something he had to go through. I don't know where he is or whether he returned to a life or crime. But that experience, the rapid rise to power then free fall into the absyss of jail, I wonder how it affected him. If he didn't go to jail, would he be the same person? Would it have made him a better person? THe deprivation in his upbringing may have influenced him and gave him the impetus to fight to the top. I would like to think that he would rise above this crisis in adulthood with the same force? It is interesting how power and paranoia goes hand in hand. Personally I have never experienced the joy of power. I seem to only see the associated responsibility. Nonetheless, the need to control underlying, at least part of the human craving for power, may be still another means to disguise one's fear. Fear of what? I suppose fear of adversity of any sort, a survival instinct. Power seem to imply that the person believe in an internal locus of control. Power minimises the need for external validation - because everyone is coerced into agreeing with you. I suppose that is why power is such an attractive thing. Therefore I suppose the search for knowledge is another means to deal with fear of the unknown. Obviously, the more knowledge you have, there is less that is unpredictable. One feels more confident to talk about something if one feels he knows the topic well. This then projects confidence. Why are people so afraid? What are we afraid of? Fear of exclusion. Fear of death. Would we be so concerned about global warming if we are not afraid of our own extinction? Would there still be acts of kindness if we do not fear that we would not be treated with kindness, in our own time of need? Would people believe in God if there is no fear of God? I suppose I've assumed that fear is ultimately a bad emotion. In reality, fear is necessary because it is a survival instinct. It is a balance to be struck. Completely tangential comment, OH MY GOODNESS TV ONE IS SHOWING BOWLS ALL DAY! they surely have no fear about losing ratings!

acts of defiance

I was driving past Newmarket the other day. I was struck by the skeletal nature of the mannequins and the huge poster of a young woman wrapped only by her own skin. I remember watching television some time ago. A programme got their two reporters go on extreme weight loss programme. At the end, both reporters concluded that they would not go on diets because their lives were not to revolve solely around food. One of the woman commented that she did not feel like a woman at that low weight. There were also the programmes to "help" you look younger. I remember one of the goals I set out to do this year, was to define myself. I asked myself, how do I want to be known as? Yesterday I mentioned a few qualities. I thought I would expand on it. I titled this "acts of defiance" because I endeavour not to define myself by current society values. I am unique. There is no one like me on this universe. I am a creation of God. I have no need to be anyone else other than what I was meant to be. Indeed, there is NO POINT in being someone else. Over the last 31 years, I have tried to be someone else. I wanted to be liked. I spent all my time envying others - she has such a skinny frame, she is so much more intelligent, she is so friendly and caring...and I did not see, they were not me! God knows I am not the smartest tool in the shed, nor the prettiest doll on the shelf. I have been a casualty of society's constant pressure to conform. In 2008, I declare an end to this victimisation. I acknowledge my age. In a time where preservation of youth drives nearly the whole economy, I proclaim my respect to age and wisdom. I do not long to return to myself 10 years junior. I value my experiences over the last 31 years. I would not be who I am today with one day less. I will not be ashamed of my status as a single woman. For sure I would like to have a partner but at the same time, I value my independence. I will not spend any more time coveting for my prince charming to come along sweep me off my feet. I will not allow it to prevent me from enjoying the freedom and self determination in being single. The security in knowinig that I am in control is invaluable. While everyone judges on appearance, I will not define myself by my size or my face. I don't want to criticise others for spending time and money on refining their appearance. I would like to actively exclude it from the definition of me. So how would I like to be known? I am not a perfectionist. I don't have the intellectual capabilities of A grades or even B grade person. So I start at "C" and "D" instead: Conscientious in work and study Considerate Calm Dedicated to be who I was made to be Delicate in emotions Definitive in what I stand for in life

twelve years

I went to watch Jacky Cheung's concert this week. It was absolutely brilliant. The effects were great. The costumes were beautiful. Most of all, his voice was absolutely brilliant. He sang for almost 2 1/2 hours! I can still sing along some of his songs. The human brain is just amazing in that way. Songs I haven't thought of for years, the words come to me as if I heard them yesterday. I still remember watching him with my brother the last time he was here. That was twelve years ago. 12 years ago, that was my first concert. I didn't like it. It was loud, there were teenagers screaming through the songs. His voice was hoarse. This time, I looked around and saw very few teeny-bobbies. The sound murdered a few more of my ear cells still but it was a thoroughly entertaining night. I suddenly felt embarassed. I felt like one of those old people out to watch John Rows concert or immitators of Elvis. Jeepers creepers! As I listened, I marvelled at how much he had improved over the last 12 years. His dance moves were smooth and energetic, rhythmic and professional. His voice was thick and warm even when singing without accompaniment. It was as if I was listening to the CD. Of course it leads to some reflection on myself. What have I got to say over these twelve years? I am older, more lines on my face, my joints more worn down, more cynical in my views. I want to define Olivia Lee. I want her to be conscientious. I want her to be non judgemental. I want her to be quietly contemplative. To be angry at the world's definition of her or of women. To be fun and sarcastic, cynical of the world but hopeful of the future. To be irreverantly Olivia Lee.

on the oppression of beauty 1

I wanted to write about "beauty". More accurately, I wanted to write about the "oppression of beauty". People are trialled and judged, every minute of the day, for the way they dress and look. Whether one admits it or not, beautiful people have an easier time than less attractive people. We criticise such judgements as superficial. We say that one should judge by character and substance. Honestly, how many of us can say that we do? Are we just kidding ourselves then? Should we be spend all our time making ourselves beautiful, as dictated by society standards of the time? Is it that bleak? I had brunch with a few other young women the other day. I can only envy their confidence, their vivaciousness and admire the ease they display, in their own skin. I know that when one feels good about oneself, others are attracted too. Yet I am just a hazard to myself. I wish I could be somebody else. I often wonder "what went wrong" in me that led me to be so self loathing. Looking back, I can blame no one but myself for my own demise. My brother and sister had more difficult upbringing but they both turned out successful and happy, even fulfilled. Why am I stuck in this rut of failure? The more I reflect, the more introverted I get, the more isolated and hopeless things are. It's not just about being thin. It's more than a need for success. Fundamentally, it's how one can accept oneself. Christians say, God loves you for who you are. He didn't make you this way for no reason. He didn't allow experiences in your life to occur without a purpose for your good. So what is my purpose? What is my passion? Is there any PERSON that can love me for me? Or am I such a bad case that only God can?

on "better" and things

another weekend gone. so life casually glides pass without me noticing. i endeavour to write my life down for the record. see how long i can keep this new year resolution! i've finished reading "better" by Atul Gawande. a good book. quite inspiring but slightly preachy. i suppose that's americans for you. it talks about doctoring. if you aren't a doctor, i think you might find it a bit narcissistic. you can tell he's really proud of being one. i never really thought of my patients' life hanging on the balance by my decisions. as a shrinkwannabe, it's not truly applicable that way. but i guess thinking about whether to hospitalise someone against their will, whether to inject someone when they fight you, all of that are ethical decisions unique to doctors. i would have thought that each field have their own dilemmas. i'm sure the IT field have to grapple with issues of artificial intelligence, privacy and so on. with the advent of PDAs, cell phones, they are like electronic extensions of oneself! no wonder futurologists predicts that we would be able to download/ backup/ update our souls in the next 20 or 30 years!

goals?

01 January pragmatic goals of 08 1) study and pass the RANZCP 2) organise and start up the power girl cell haahaa 3) trip with voluntary work 4) trip to widen my experience of the world - may be a biblical tour of turkey 5) read a book a month or...bimonthly 6) watch a movie a month 7) write in my blog once a week 8) may be a husband??? ultimately i just want to make the most of me

not my new year resolution

new years. never been one to make resolutions, but, over the years, getting older, one year merges into another, and another, and another. and i feel a sense of despair, "how did this happen, is it going to be just like this for the rest of my life?" "what difference would there be if i die this year or next year...or the year after that?" and i think, i must make this year count. but how? do i, (A) endeavour to do things for myself? (B) try to make a difference in the world by doing voluntary work and all? (C) let it float by because, well, really, it doesn't make any difference anyway. with my spiritual crisis, i've come to a...heritic conclusion that, it is one's choice, to believe in hope, or not. if it helps a person to cope with the inequities and inadequacies of life, then by all means, religion with the hope of ultimate rectification of all wrongs is the answer. if one is satisfied with the possibility of insignificance in the world but fulfilled by the day to day relationships and influences one have on the inner circle that surrounds him, whether God is fictional or not, is largely inconsequential. yes, blasphemy to some but i think it would be narrow minded to disregard the possibility of other views. because, we can't prove, for certain, that GOd exists, that my God is the "real one". and perhaps, it's less of an issue of "real" in the scientific sense, because science will not replace spirituality. not to mention, how one can prove that his God is the same of the next person's, makes this all the more complex issue. one's experience of God is so influenced by one's experience of relationships in the world. for myself, i opt for optomism. i choose to believe in a God. And from the limited amount I know of history and my own reasoning, Jesus, love and ultimate justice with respect for the heart, seem to make sense.

the inheritance of loss

3the inheritance of loss The title itself was appealing - prententiously yet somehow i could relate to it. As i read on, there was more i identified with than i would like to admit. It has three main story lines - Sai and her relationship with her lover, her grandfather and his past, the cook's son in the land of milk and honey that is america. To me, what bound them together, at the core of it, was the issue of identity - particularly identity for migrants, made more obvious to me because i am one myself. In this age of multiculturalism and globalisation, people are uprooted from their culture often enough anyway. Inevitably comes the loss of tradition and circuming to the the mold of Western culture. These characters have a unianimously negative encounter with the West. The irony was within the inherent sense of inferiority in being brown/ indian, harbours also the prejudice against anyone with darker skin - like the shock when Biju saw an African woman behind him on the queue to request an American visa and was successful. Even the oppressed need someone else to look down on, to assure of their own worthiness. Desai describes the poverty so vividly that you step into the mind of what drives Biju, the cook and the judge. You begin to see why materialism was a saviour to their fate. Oppressed by political, economic and caste values on one hand, yet they each view their world with the same stereotyped, unfair judgement. the character i most identified with was the cook's son Biju - gave all he had to go to America, lost his soul and family while in America, left America to return to less than what he already had lost. The loss in belonging to nowhere was heartfelt. The words are beautifully crafted so that you smell the stench of rat ridden Ghandi Cafe, feel the fear during the riots and see the beauty of the Indian/ Pakistani butterfly filled border. It may sound like a bleak novel, but it really is thought provoking. There are much bigger issues i haven't gone into but may be some of you who care to read this, would e mail me your thoughts and no doubt educate me with more insights from your side of the couch. hmm, what am i saying, i don't even know if this would get onto the website...anyway, great book, highly recommended. Olivia

lure of the world

15 December let me make you an offer you can't refuse i'll make you my muse there can be no greater honour than to be offered be my musebe my muse forget your friends forget yourself listen to me listen to them we know what's best you need to be above the rest for there is no way the mob has the only say there is no more runway you cannot runaway you wonder what is the standard what makes the richest, the tallest, the thinnest or the prettiest so you circle the skies looking for the landing you look and hope but the search is never ending because there is no other way to get there you have to pay with a life of fear there is nothing but desert out there so purge yourself in here and take on me be my muse be my muse

11 December dragged from facebook notes can't open my blog so have to do my schppeelll here. half watching Babel on dvd. i suppose communication is not that simple. words get in the way (5 languages in this movie - english, whatever middleeastern language that was, spansh, sign), actions get in the way. systems gets in the way (immigration department deporting the nanny), obviously prejudices gets in the way (the deaf girl). when the helicopter came to take Cate Blanchet away, brad pit tried to pay the person that house them. he wouldn't take it. he insisted. but he still refused. and you notice the conversation between them is blocked out by music. sometimes, i guess, communication don't need words.there was the kids talking to brad pitt on the phone. telling him about their day. words about hermit crabs and school, but it meant so much more, to a father stuck in a foreign country with his wife dying. so many times, i wonder if God is merely a concept, made up by people, as a way to explain life and all its accompanyin shit. mere figment of our imagination. oh sunday night already. where has the weekend gone? i'm protesting to God. didn't even go to church today. well, by the time i woke up, it was 11. of course i could have gotten up early but...i guess i'm protesting. i just want to...well, it's my own fault, indulging in my solitude, wallowing in my own misery. if the way to hear God is to be still, if mysticism leads one closer to spirituality, isn't church the opposite? i can't work this out. but i guess, this is still me giving myself excuses, not to relate. it's most ironic that i work in a profession that analyses relationships - one person's relationship with the world, one's relationship with one self. so it was today - another "people less" day. woke up. finished the book. gym. weekly nutrition from mum. then dad. and now. what has happened to time? I am one weekend older. I haven't grown any wiser. But just more apathetic, more pessimistic, more sarcastic. "I don't care if it hurts. I want to have control. I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul. I want you to notice, when I'm not around."

catharsis

gosh i've been meaning to write this for so long. it is more a catharsis for myself than anything else.i went to dinner last night, with a girlfriend i didn't even know i had. but after keeping myself under isolation for so long, under the auspices of "enjoying my freedom with my flatmate moving out" which ... turned out to be a prison in disguise... but soltude became more a jealous lover than a friend. i had to make myself agree to the dinner and...well re-join the world. i sat and i thought i saw life, may be it was just passing by. i wondered if i crashed, that second before i die, would i at last regret putting so much time and effort into looks and the superfluous. i had to think about that. i ... still...am not sure. my friend asked me, what would olivia look like, if there was no one else around. i was speechless. to a point, i don't think there would be a point to exist in under those circumstances. i need to be "right". if there is no one to judge that i am "good", there is no point to be. it is sad i know. and OF COURSE i know it is wrong. i know God and all of that. but knowing does not translate to change. i have lost myself to preserve something i didn't need - like living with someone i don't talk to, because of appearance and the superfluous, than hang out with people i get along with. i say i don't tolerate weakness and i am remorseless in breaking relationships. but th other side of it is that i don't tolerate my own shortcomings either. if i could believe in compliments, may be things would be different. "it's lovely working with you" "it's been a pleasure" "i'm so disappointed when they didn't pass you", but words are...just that...words. as long as i didn't create any titanic disasters, one registrar is the same as the next and the other. yet it is strange. the olivia one minute before i found out my exam result, looks, feels and...seems to be...the same as the olivia one minute after. so there is a core of me, that doesn't change. but who is that, what is that? identity seeking is supposed to be an adolescent developmental task. clearly i am still negotiating...how do i value myself? why should i have value? may be there isn't really any point to anything. may be people are just too chickenshit to die...gosh, not words you should hear from an alleged christian huh. i wish i could claim the words below as mine, but they are by leonard cohen. these words speaks for me, like magic - guess that's what good art is, everyone can identify with it somehow. anyway, Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows that the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich Thats how it goesEverybody knows Everybody knows that the boat is leaking Everybody knows that the captain lied Everybody got this broken feeling Like their father or their dog just died Everybody talking to their pockets Everybody wants a box of chocolates And a long stem rose (Leonard Cohen)