Heartlessness

The past couple of weeks have provided me much fodder/inspiration to write this post. 

First, #Folsom. You may or not have read about a 12 year old boy who had joined his high school cheerleading team. He loved it and the team loved him. He jumped, danced, sang, cheered and stood up for his school football team with pride. What made him stand out also was the fact that he was the only boy on the team. That made him special, special enough to be picked on and made fun of, to be bullied. He endured the harassment for a while till one day a few weeks ago he decided enough was enough. He took his own life.  

When I first read the news reports about Ronin Shimizu's passing, I could feel the onset of tears. The same thing happened just now when I wrote that last sentence in the first paragraph. When you hit your 30s, you sometimes think about potential, the whatifs in your own life. How life could be different, usually better or wealthier, if you had made a different decision or took a chance some time in the past. Your look at the years gone by and wonder at how great things could have been. Robbie Williams sang "Youth is wasted on the young. Before you know it, it's come and gone too soon." It's true. One can only have the luxury of doing this pity party when you're older. This kid was just 12 when he decided that the cruelty of his peers was just too much to bear. No age of youth to consider. I cannot imagine what his parents must be feeling. I think I would just cry all day. 

Words can hurt more than physical things because they have meaning. The sharp stabs of reason and doubt pierce both heart and soul, and worse still, they linger and fester and grow like a disease. The disease is psychological. It kills not the body but the spirit. If not nipped in the bud, it'll overcome and overwhelm, making it easier to slip over the edge. Just mere words. 

So crime and punishment. When someone posted the story on Facebook, I wrote in response that parents need to teach their kids that they should support others for being happy (as long as they're not hurting others), that unkind words can hurt, and most importantly, that they should stand up for others being bullied. Once we let things go, bullies think it's ok to carry on. Nip it in the bud. I added that the kids who bullied Ronin should go kneel at his parents' home on his birthday to ask for forgiveness. 

Second, #sydneyseige. We know what happened and how it went down. If you paid close attention to the Internet, you could pick out a few "outstanding" categories of thought. One tweeter wrote something like "Start the beheading already". Someone else wrote to the effect of letting Muslims into Australia was a bad idea, that this outcome was due. Someone else posted something to the effect of letting Muslims know there was pork in chocolate. (reference to Lindt cafe). 

Stunning eh. It's easy when you don't have to face the music for 140 characters one's posts on Twitter, consequences lost in the oceanic flood of messages. Mere words, designed to perhaps elicit more vitriol from the do-gooders. In this age, it's easy to come across violence. Kids are exposed to it from an early age, from TV, movies and video games. After all, they maybe become desensitized to the horror. How bloody was Spartacus the TV series? I watch The Walking Dead and that can get pretty gory. Remember that scene where the Sheriff bit the neck of the another bad guy to save his son? No zombies but real people. The episode started with him having blood all over his face, dripping down his mouth. I'd say it was cool. But really, where do we go from here? More blood curdling horror? How about horror in real life? That's what IS has done with its beheading videos. The Internet was the medium of choice. It's funny that these atrocities are things are used to happen all the time in the centuries past. What goes around comes around.   

So despite a scenario where people are in agony, stuck with an armed madmen in a confined space, people were egging the lunatic on. Or maybe they just wanted something horrific to play out, like it was a movie, not caring that these are real people with real families. Just entertainment broadcast to a screen near you. It's sad that we have become like this, and perhaps worse that there's no turning back. 

Third, #Pakistanschoolseige. What on earth does the Taliban stand to gain from killing all those kids? It will merely spark more outrage and more hatred. With so many lives lost, and so much pain caused, what credibility does the Taliban gain? Only fear and then submission at the end of a gun. Nobody wants to live like that. Maybe it is a Yoda thing - that anger will lead to hate and that will lead us to the Dark Side. (I think we're already there.)

The strange thing about anger is that it can also help galvanize people to a common mission and in this case, a common enemy. There could be political play. Maybe the US will be asked to lend their military might. Maybe there locals will rout out their own corrupt. 

It begs the question on how one brand of Islam can be so different from others. So harsh and unforgiving. Such acts make it easy to point fingers and stereotype. Those who do not wish to look around will paint all Muslims with the same brush. It's already happening with bigoted comments airing on US TV swaying audiences one way and the next. 

We forget quickly how the early Christian faith was also so harsh and unforgiving. Christians burned witches and massacred many during the Crusades. Christian Europe and America took slaves, people they deemed beneath them, fit for labour and hardship, not fit even to worship their same churches. That wasn't too long ago. There are many similarities among religions and all the bad things done in their name. 

What the Taliban has done is unfathomable. Many would add unforgivable. But they are people too. What made them so angry and different?  

So what now? How will this heartlessness that plagues our time seek to unravel us? Has our connectivity bred nothing but a need for instant entertainment, fame and fortune? We may have lost some humanity in our pursuit of the future. We have not yet realised the common things that bind us, only exaggerated the things that separate us - borders, wealth, status, number of followers. Things will likely get worse before they get better. I have been wishing for aliens to make contact so that the Star Trek prophecy becomes reality. Even Independence Day coming true might bring us altogether (the common enemy theory). 

Maybe for a start, let's be nicer to one another. And be willing to stand up for what's right. 

Shake It Off Blank Space

First it was Shake It Off. Catchy like an energetic crab fending off completion. When I was in Spain I think Shake It Off was on TV almost every day. I'd be singing and almost dancing, wiggling really. Such a fun song about not caring what other people think. It's your life, lead it. Think Taylor has had enough flak about her relationships, her move into pop away from country, from amorous lovey dovey "we'll run off tonight" kind of songs to "yup, that's me being me, so what" music. Love it. 

Artists bring truth and reality into their music when they suffer. It's not about everything being rosy, and pouring the associated emotions, messy experiences and crazy missteps into their work often yields wonders. Reality and authenticity works with the millennials. I just hope in all this realism, Miss Swift doesn't pull a Miley and starts taking off her clothes for no rhyme or reason.

And now Blank Space. Bloody. Amazing. Song. Seriously, she needs to at least get some recognition from a songwriting perspective if the song hasn't yet been slated for Grammy gold. (Maybe both tunes will get nominated for Record Of The Year! She's replaced herself at the #1 spot on Billboard. Anything's possible!) 

"Saw you there and I thought oh my god. Look at that face, you look like my next mistake" and "So hey, let's be friends. I'm dying to see how this one ends. Grab your passport and my hand. I could make the bad guys good for a weekend" 

All the innuendo is insane. What innuendo? She's basically saying "I'm a dating nightmare psycho bitch. I choose you and we'll have some fun at my own pleasure and our shared pain." I cringed when she took the golf club to the Shelby Cobra in a fit of jealous rage. (The video is a hoot. No real million-dollar car was damaged btw). 

But the confessions in the song should make you a little sad, no? Going mental is one thing, knowing you're mental and repeating it is well just plain cuckoo. Yes, yes we're all human and history repeats itself and all that. But shouldn't we try to be better? That's two songs where the she's admitting she's playing the field and doesn't care but is emotionally a dating vampire, sucking up some fun and letting the bodies pile up. Maybe the song is replacement for therapy. Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this. 

I really like these songs and I don't care if I get slammed for being too common. Like Taylor. I've had one beer (agency event, nice Italian beer, can't recall the name). I'm a cheap date. Not like Taylor.

 

PSLE Past And Present, Parents And The Future

I took my PSLE at a time when it was just an exam at the end of primary six. Sure, there was pressure to do well and get in a 'better' school.  My form teacher, who at that time, taught us practically everything except language, was concerned more about maths and science. She gave us extra tests with questions from 'external sources', probably a tuition centre. There were some kids in my class who were enrolled in supplementary classes outside school and they seemed to better off for it. I think the general thinking at that time was that tuition was for kids who needed help. So most of us led rather casual lives filled with police and thief, TV and idling about, once homework was done. 

I didn't do exceptionally well at PSLE nor terribly badly, 237. I simply progressed up the education track, entering the Express stream in a neighbourhood secondary school. (I did move from Jurong to Yishun, so I lost all my primary school friends and had to do the awkward start over. Damn the cheaper HDB flat in a newer new town.) The secondary school I went to wasn't spectacular when it came to grades. I remember my form teacher singling out those who scored 230 or more, lined us up in front of the class, as if we were going to be executed by firing squad, and told the rest to look us up for help. Phew. It was a bit of an ego boost, perhaps a premature estimation of our talents.  I wonder how the rest felt. The kids with 229 scores would have been raging inside. 

Last Friday PSLE scores for 42,000 kids were released. Two of them were for a niece of a friend, and the other the daughter of a colleague, both girls. The friend's niece did pretty well in the preliminary examinations and expected to repeat her scores in the crucial final hurdle. She didn't. Her lower scores caused her much anguish and suffering. Tears were bursting from said girl's face and wetting her mum's comforting midsection. Inconsolable. She was afraid she wouldn't get into the school of her liking. That her friends would leave her behind, abandoned in some godforsaken neighbourhood institution with gangsters and hoodlums. Her grandfather perpetuated her fears of impending doom by saying it was over for her. My friend, in his quirky offbeat way at making the situation better, said that her life will never be the same again and scouted for a list of neighbourhood schools she could aim for. The family is giving her time to recover, keeping an eye out for drugs, needles and baked goods.

My colleague's daughter had a very different experience. The kid went to a much sought after 'good school'. She was smart/talented/savvy enough to join the Gifted Education Programme (GEP) at primary 4 and she excelled in the project based learning structure and non-standard content. In primary 6, she took some sort of entrance examination for a 'good secondary school' and received conditional approval for placement. All she needed to do was to hit a certain PSLE score. Ultimately she got in. What was interesting was that my colleague's daughter was more worried about her friends making it to the same school. She would miss them terribly. Her mum explained that the GEP had created a learning environment that encouraged sharing and leveraging each others' strength to get the job done. This team had grown close and splitting them up would be a traumatic start to adolescence.

My colleague's daughter did well enough to surprise the other parents waiting for their kids' results. They congratulated my colleague who was taken aback at the attention she now garnered, wanted or otherwise. 

In all battles, not everyone can be a winner. Even the consistent ones. So there were kids that failed to meet expectations and were met instead by the surprised glares and obvious whispers. And these kids are just 12. Competition is such that everyone is ranked in a hierarchy of winners. Although we want to be cool about, that grades are not important and kids should have fun, reality bites when it is crunch time. These kids come to be judged by a three digit number. In the centre of the stress-filled donut that is primary school life are the parents. That whole thing about kids living their parents' dreams, it's true. I asked my colleague what was HER PSLE score when she got back into the office. She had taken a week off during PSLE week to be there for her kid. I am sure other concerned parents did the same. These days, parents send their kids to extra classes, sit by them doing the extra homework, and help them colour print their project work in the office. When i grew up, parents only cared when 1) money was concerned and 2) when the teacher them up. Hah!

My colleague was asked by a kiasu parent of a another girl in the same good school why she wasn't sending her daughter to the 'best school' (apparently this is RGS), my colleague, to my immense satisfaction, replied that this other school was closer to home, just 15 minutes away by bus. 

There are many facets to the state of PSLE that I can't quite fathom. There's the affiliation between primary and secondary schools - one doesn't need to score that high to get  into an affiliated school by a good margin in some cases. There's the different kinds of GEP offered in the 'good schools' - arts, music, language and even sports. So a school could pick a kid great at tennis and not his studies in the hopes of athletic glory for the alma mater. No wonder parents are forking out the dollars and forcing their kids to be 'well-rounded' aka forced to play the piano or be thrown into a pool with sharks. It's an exit strategy. 

With stress and competition, the human psyche inevitably turns on its defences. Being better than the next guy is often the only way some kids and adults see their value in society. That could mean being fitter, stronger, richer, louder. In Singapore it clearly starts early. Some question why we need to put our kids through all this madness. Other parents want more from schools and teachers. It's a strange cycle of demand and expectations. If we relaxed our methods, would Singapore's first world status be in jeopardy? If we made things tougher, will kids turn into robots with no social skills and an adult tendency to hate their parents because they didn't get to climb enough trees as kids? I don't know.

I wish all the PSLE kids good luck with their futures. Be assured that nothing, absolutely nothing, has been cast in stone yet. No one will care about those three digits when you reach Secondary 2, when you apply for a job, when you fall in love, when you shoot a rifle, when you're at the A&E with a broken arm, when you lose a loved one, when you're at the top of the Eiffel Tower or Mt Kilimanjaro, when you have kids. Not even you will care. Just breathe, and move forward. 

My 3 Best Moments In Spain

A colleague asked me on my first day of work after my holiday in Spain what was my best moment there. I needed to think about this. The answer didn't come so easily as one would imagine. The fact that I was away from work for two whole weeks was a good moment already. That I was in Spain for that time was a blessing.

I started to recall the moments I had my jaw drop. You know, in utter amazement. Then the answer, well it happened more than once, so answers came to me.

1. The Aqueducts of Segovia. When you make your trip to Segovia from Madrid, a town a hundred miles or so away, you need to take a train then a bus. The two buses services, numbers 11 and 12, pull up outside the Renfe train station and wait for tourists to pour out. To the ordinary traveler, it's the middle of nowhere. You see a train line, an impressive building and these two long buses stationary yet breathing among grassland, some grazing cows and highlands yonder framed in bright blue sky. It was unreal for city dwellers like me.

The bus situation is cute. The drivers patiently manage each passenger with a 'Hola' and process payment. Cash is fine and there is change given. Everyone waits. The twinned services then pull away together, like siblings holding hands going to school, at the appointed timing towards the little town. And like siblings in a school, each has to go his own way. Service 11 goes to the Aqueducto. (I'm sure the buses meet up again soon enough).

There's an inadvertently impressive thing that happens when you're on the bus towards this ancient landmark. The bus route meanders around a short hill before the magnificence of the 2000 year old feat of Roman engineering is revealed. It just takes your breath away. My jaw dropped, still in the bus. I staggered out of the bus mouth agape and staring, bewildered and excited.

I had to touch the rock to make sure it was real. It was. The whole thing just beautiful and untouched. I'm so glad no war, earthquake or exuberant teenagers made a dent in the structure. The Segovians whose lives live out amidst this glory would shed buckets if any rock fell out of place.

(The sooner you book your train tickets, the cheaper they are. There's a fortress castle and a huge cathedral in Segovia too. So it'll be a day trip well spent. Make sure you know when the last train out to Madrid and which bus timing gets you there to catch it. Else you'll need to get a room for the night. Which may not be a bad thing.)

2. Picasso's early works. When you ask an average Joe about Pablo Picasso's paintings, more often not the reply would relate to his Cubist works, those unreal angular works of art that so enraptured our imagination. Well it was pleasant to find out he was more, way more, prolific.

In Barcelona we went to the Picasso museum. It was well worth the few hours staring and admiring his works.   He started drawing simple things like his surroundings and the people around him. He drew marvellous creations of the coastline and boats. What caught my eye was his works as a young teenager. At 13 or 14 he drew his father and mother. The realism and quality of the brushstrokes is astounding. At the same I was struggling to sketch an apple, what more apply colour to people's faces. At 15 he presented 'The First Communion' and at 16 he exhibited 'Science and Charity'. Mind blown.

Science and Charity, painted when Picasso was 16.
Image from http://www.pablo-ruiz-picasso.net

What I learned about artists when I toured the museum was they practised sketching and testing colours and strokes before they rendered their final artwork. Like me you might have the impression that artists just kept adding on and on to a canvas, with the final vision somehow taking shape over time. No, even Pablo sketched and sketched many time before.

Barcelona Rooftops, painted in 1903.
Image from http://www.wikiart.org/en/pablo-picasso

There was a Blue phase among the European painters. It lasted for about a decade in the early 20th century. Picasso was also caught up in the melancholy of the times and rendered some of pieces in the gloomy hues of the era. I loved a Blue painting of Barcelona rooftops at dusk. I stood there enjoying it, sucked into the encroaching darkness, subtle beauty and fine blends of navy, turquoise and azure against darkening brown walls.

(The Picasso Museum http://www.museupicasso.bcn.cat/en/ is located near the Gothic quarter of Barcelona. Old 3-4 storey buildings broken up by narrow cobblestone streets. Nearest metro station is Jaume, which is closest to the big Barcelona Cathedral as well).

3. Sunset at Granada. I love sunsets. I love how the hues in the sky change from blues and yellow to oranges, pinks and purples. The way the clouds splatter across, breaking the colours down or reflecting the sun's rays for impact. I like how the beauty unravels in minutes, that if taking your eyes away for a few seconds you'd miss an incandescent pink flare streaking across like a flung feather boa. It's a spectacle that plays out daily if you're lucky.

And it does in Granada. We were there primarily to see Alhambra, the palace of the Muslim kings. Yes, there was a time when Spain was conquered by the Moors from North Africa. They ruled most of the Iberian peninsula for about 600 years before the Christians managed to get their act together and booted them back. Granada famously didn't fight back - the King surrendered. What's interesting is that this happened in 1492, the same year Christopher Columbus founded America. Our night-time-tour-around-Granada-on-Segways guide told us that the Spanish forces that took Granada did so for the immense wealth the king had. They Christian reconquerers (reconquistadors) were out of money from all the wars they were fighting and the Queen at the time couldn't outright support an oceanic expedition. So occupying Granada unscathed was the deal made wih the Muslim King and his wealth help fund Columbus' voyage across the Atlantic. (She also told us that Granada water comes from the melting snow in the mountains. Very tasty.)

I so so recommend the Segway tours. The device is so easy to operate and fun to ride on. We were climbing the slopes of Granada streets with ease. We did the tight paths and tiny nooks and crannies. It was so so fun. And during the 2 hour plus evening tour we made our way up to Mirador San Nicolas. Lots of people gather here to enjoy the view of Granada, the Alhambra light up, the view of the Sierra Nevada mountains and the gorgeous sunset. It is stunning. All the city's lights were sparkling like they were candles. The sky was a magnificent deep blue accented by yellows and vermillion. Just enthralling.

Yes the Alhambra palace and fortress were great. Ancient architecture, Muslim motifs, pretty gardens. A must go indeed. After a while, it got a little tiring. Maybe I needed a guide to regale me with stories but we did it unaided. But man that sunset. I wish we spent another night or two there, to figure out the town and other places.

(The Segway tour I did is run by Play Granada www.playgranada.com and it cost 30 euro. The office is just off Plaza Neuvo near the tourism office. It starts at 6pm and ends at about 830pm. Nice people from many places. Damn fun!)

Bye Bye Back Trouble, Hopefully Forever

I have a chronic back problem. It's been there a while, about 13 years now. First time it happened was when I bent down to turn on a printer in the office (my first job out of uni). When I stood upright, I felt a funny twinge in my lower back. By lunchtime I couldn't really walk properly. My colleague had to wheel me out on an office chair, down the cargo lift to her car. The doctor gave me an injection and the pain went away. Over the years, there have been varying degrees of incidence. Each time I ended in a doctor's office because of my back, the attending physician would ask me if I felt anything down my legs, to assess if a spinal disc is out of place. They'd lift my legs up till my hamstrings stretched out and ask if there was abnormal pain. There was never any so no one really bothered going further with other treatments. I carry a bag of painkillers with me. Tramadol makes you feel floaty. 

I did write a post after I ended up in hospital after an episode. First time it was that serious. The doc prescribed an MRI then and that conclusively identified the problem - spinal discs with bits of excessive bone growth (called spurs) pinching on nerves. Not slipped discs thank goodness. The doctors also said surgery would be too risky. They prescribed meds and 2 months with a physio. I went back to work after a week of lying down with a wraparound tummy brace. It was awful. The twinges of pain came back now and then. The physiotherapy really helped. 

Between then and now, I would have about one bad episode every 8-9 months. One hip would be higher than the other. I'd hobble to my sinseh for a course correction. He'd pull and adjust my bones into their correct alignment after a few quick acupuncture pricks to loosen the hamstrings and nerves. Usually his fingers did magic and his advice bust my ego. Sometimes my back didn't get better for a while. 

I have been at yoga for the last 7 years. Generally I think it helped my back. Sometimes it didn't. It was a strange dichotomy of actions and outcomes. I do not regret the time I put in but today I am not entirely certain the exercises I did on the mat were right for me. 

About half a year ago, I met with a uni mate for lunch. We met on the street once and decided we'd have lunch soon after. Over lunch she introduced me to a physiotherapy clinic near my office. Literally 100m from my buildings from door. I pondered for a while and figured I should finally set things right. The painkillers, sinseh and yoga wasn't quite fixing the problem. So I walked into City Physiotherapy one evening and made an appointment. No looking back. 

It's been sensational. Ms Karine Rogers has been the spinal soothing angel I've been waiting for, assigned to my rescue. The first thing Karine did was take out a blank sheet of paper and started asking questions. When did it start? What were you doing then? What exercises I did? What exercises made my back feel good? What yoga poses caused pain? Which didn't? How did I sit in the office? How's the chair? Did I walk around much throughout the day? Did it hurt when I bent forward? How about backwards and sideways? She corroborated what she inferred from the MRI scans, that I have trouble bending forwards and to the right. She taught me stretches that helped loosen my hamstrings and butt muscles. She taught me McKinsey exercises to help move my discs in the right direction, to alleviate the pinching. She would use her elbow and work the muscles around my spinal cord to loosen things up. I feel awesome after 45mins of pulling, pushing, massages and stretching. I look forward to going to these sessions.

At each session, Karine would ask if there was a time when I didn't feel any pain. It was a strange question. One usually remembers pain when it strikes, not when it doesn't. I, almost every day, would feel something. It wasn't always pain. It's usually a sensation, a feeling of something out of place. Today, I answered yes. Some time last week, I remember thinking about my back and voila! No pain. No sensation. 

The physiotherapy is working. My sessions are down from once a week, then twice a month and now once a month. It's feels good to know that I can sort my back out before it comes anywhere near snapping. Real good. 

I have one more session in December. It might be the last. Last of the best things I did this year. 

I told Karine and the receptionists one time that they should be proud of themselves because they are literally ridding the world of pain. And I mean literally. 

So I am not afraid to say I endorse City Osteopathy & Physiotherapy. They are located at 80 Robinson Road #17-01. Tel 6222 2451. They have another office in Turf City I think. Website http://www.cityosteophysio.com My first appt cost $150, subsequent ones $120. 

I Paid The HDB A Visit

Last Friday, I found the time to go to the HDB office to ask them a couple of questions I couldn't get answers for when I visited the CPF office. (See I Paid The CPF A Visit). I guess this is a part two.

Maybe because it was a Friday afternoon I didn't have to wait anytime at all to get served. The nice lady asked me how she could help and off I went/ranted.

1. Can someone pay off his HDB loan partially or in full? Yes! The HDB calls this redemption and it is possible without any issue.

2. What happens in the case of a partial redemption? The home owner can choose to reduce the loan tenure or reduce the amount to pay monthly. In either case the prevailing interest rate applies.

3. Can a HDB flat be passed on as inheritance? This is a little complicated and a few scenarios apply:

3a. If the flat is co-owned let's say between husband and wife (joint tenancy), and one of them passes away, then ownership defaults completely to the other co-owner.

3b. If there is one owner, and he/she passes away, then ownership of the HDB flat is subject to the presence of a will. If there is a will, then the stipulations in the will have to respected. Otherwise the flat goes into government mandated estate management. What this means is that the government will figure who the eligible next-of-kin are to inherit the deceased estate - "estate" here means possessions and monies.

3c. If the deceased has children who are all under 21 years of age, then the flat goes into a trust managed by an executor till one of the kids turns 21. The kids will be allowed to stay in the flat of course.

3d. If the kids are over 21 and do not own property, then the flat ownership goes to them with equal shares. They do not need to pay anything extra.

3e. If one of the children is over 21 and owns a HDB flat on his own, he cannot also receive the deceased's flat because no one can own more than one HDB flat. In all likelihood it would be simpler to sell off the deceased's flat and split the proceeds among all children. I think of one of kids is over 21 and doesn't own property, he can be a recipient of the flat if the other siblings agree or he can buy over their share of the property at prevailing prices.

3f. If a flat is held in a tenancy-in-common scenario where let's say owner A can hold 70% share and owner B has 30% share and owner A passes away, the 70% share could go to his next-of-kin or anyone other person according to a will or under estate management. In any case, any major shareholder still needs the permission of the other shareholders to sell or make changes to the flat.

4. What a single person buy? Under the Singles scheme, eligible participants must less than $5000 a month and be over 35. An applicant can seek  a BTO 2-room flat, or get a flat of any size from the resale market.

5. What can old friends buy? Under the Joint Singles scheme, up to 4 individuals over 35 years of age can buy a resale flat of any size, even a mansionette. No BTO flat. They can also get a HDB loan if they buy a 5-rm or smaller flat. Sounds like the making of a permanent party hub to me.

The HDB lady was extremely knowledgeable and I thanked her for that.  

Is Everyone Just Waiting For The Palestinian Drama To Play Out?

What does 50 years feel like? That's two generations. Fathers - sons and maybe grandfathers - grandchildren. It's a long time but time nonetheless. It's finite, a definite measure of ticks and tocks. Taken from a historical reference however it's perpetual. Ad infinitum.

Time has sort of stood still for Palestine since 1967. Palestinians are still searching for an identity and a home. Two generations have grown up in horrible conditions. Adults who don't know where food and water is going to come from. Kids who see no future but bodily sacrifice to blunt a mightier enemy. Mothers who have seen their children die. Fathers who wail at funerals. We've seen all this on TV and nothing has changed in almost 50 years.

Politics and terrorism have masked the vicious realities of life in Gaza and the West Bank. Israel seems to have the support of the West, Palestine took many years to even get a seat at the United Nations, not recognised as a viable state for decades. Yasser Arafat and the PLO had a very clear mission of terror against the Jewish state. The Arab community cheered him on as his stance seemed like the logical response to a new, aggressive non-Muslim power in the Middle East which has since humiliated its Arab neighbours in a few wars since 1948. Today Palestinians are split across the two areas, the West Bank and Gaza Strip, each with its own democratically elected government. The leadership of Mahmoud Abbas in the former is well, less belligerent than the rocket firing folks in the latter, perhaps ironically since he is now the leader of the PLO. The West likes Mahmoud Abbas because he is open to listening to everyone. Hamas on the other hand seems to have a shoot-first talk-later approach, compounded by the belief only the destruction of Israel will end their suffering. They have called on all Muslims to support this cause, making it a religious fight more than one for the freedom of an oppressed people. 

Israel has said that if Hamas doesn’t renounce its ultimate objective then there can be no bargaining. The West has also gone along with this line of thought. Meanwhile the Palestinians people get dragged along in this struggle. Hamas has also decided it is the job of every Palestinian to support their cause by their terms regardless if they like it or not. That’s why we keep hearing of Israel bombing civilian targets, because hides weapons and fires rockets from populated urban areas. So how can the Palestinians ever win?

Many influential people have come around to speak on the Palestinians. Mandela said something about we cannot be completely free until the Palestinians have their freedom. Gandhi said something along the lines of Palestine belonging to the Palestinians much like England belongs to the English and the French to France. Einstein said “It would be my greatest sadness to see Zionists do to Palestinian Arabs much of what Nazis did to Jews.” From the rules and restrictions that Israel have put around Gaza and the West Bank, the way Palestinians are accosted by Israeli military and the helplessness we see broadcast on TV, some may feel that Einstein’s fears have come true.

Regardless of Israel’s actions, what bothers me is that developed nations don’t seem to want to reprimand Israel. They’re all fearful of something or rather. The US administration has said it is deeply concerned. No one is quite sure what that means. If Israel launched a full scale invasion of Gaza, flattening the cities and scaring out Hamas of their hiding places, I’d bet the West would merely scream and shout but keep more than an arm’s length away from helping the Palestinians.

I don’t get why any other Arab nation, a fellow Muslim country, hasn’t simply come out to say it would carve out 1000 sq km of land for the Palestinians to start a better life. I’m sure many Palestinians would relish at the opportunity to start afresh. It’ been too long a struggle to win. I’d think about the children and their future. It would be so much easier to let it go and begin again.

I guess I am writing all this because it makes me sad and a little angry that we can’t all just along. I think it must be kind of craziness that the supreme beings of three major religions decided that common land to test the resolve and faith of their individual followers was a good idea. Sometimes I wish I could take it all away, make the whole thing, from Sinai to Golan, from the Mediterranean to the Dead Sea, just disappear. Give everyone a month to run, then just let the whole thing disappear. Nothing to fight for means no fighting.

It’s stupid I know but it’s just pointless to see so many people unhappy and pissed off with one another. I’m not pro-anyone, just pro-happiness. Welcome to this human race. I wish more people stood up for one another as just people, not as members of a nation or group, for the pursuit of what's right and fair and for everyone's happiness, not politics or greed. Maybe it's a human farce instead, a dark comedy that'll go on for a long long time.

I'm Glad The World Cup Is Over

I'm glad the World Cup is over. I literally had a fever from watching the early morning matches and not getting enough sleep. I'd be fine till about 10am or so when my brain wanted to partially shut down but the position of the Sun in the sky and the clock on my computer screen advised it otherwise. The lack of rest would hit me again after lunch. The stomach busied with processing food would signal to the brain that it was perhaps time for a food coma. I love the Spanish have afternoon siestas. Alas we have to continue to slog at out desks or at least pretend. The afternoon onslaught of the Z monster is worse. The mind would easily wander, seeking all stimuli for staying conscious but at the same time, failing to grasp pertinent realities like a stapler can't be used for taking notes and that I was able to tie my shoelaces in the morning. It was madness and I was foolhardy that I could repeat feats of staying awake like a 20-something. 

I am also glad that Germany won. They played well against formidable opponents and eventually won with a marvellous Gotze chest-down and volley into the back of the Argentine net. It was going to be an even affair and it came down to mistakes and opportunities. Higuain is probably regrets the most, for not making full use of the defensive error early in the match. That would likely have settled affairs and the South Americans would have been champs again after 28 years. But nein. Personally I felt the older German batch - Lahm, Klose, Podolski, Schwiensteiger - deserved a world class prize for their years of dedication to their squad. Now they can celebrate and know they are truly worth their salt. The young players are brilliant too and now the whole planet knows that Germany is a football force to be reckoned with for at least a decade more. 

The WC also presented great surprises in the underdogs that made it past the group stages. Chile, Costa Rica and Colombia all made great impressions. Too bad for Netherlands but boy can Arjen Robben run and run! 

The 2018 rounds will be played in Russia and depending on whether the matches are played in Vladivostok or Moscow, I'll be skipping work in the afternoons or staying up just a little past midnight, all bearable circumstances. Now to the BPL and Liverpool winning this time. 

#BRAGER - Vocabulary Of The Day

These are some words you may have heard today - Beaten, ravaged, capitulated, steamrolled, brutalised, blitz, blitzkrieg, rout, humiliation, utter embarrassment, unimaginable, unfathomable, destroyed, pummelled, carpet bombed, annihilated, succumbed, defeated, merciless, pounded, eradicated, whacked, salvo, attacked, massacred, defiled, relentless, red faced, heart wrenching, whitewash, wipeout. 

Feel free to add more. 

I Was Born In 1974 When West Germany Won The World Cup

I was born in 1974 when West Germany won the World Cup. The Netherlands were second. Poland were third having edged out Brazil. East Germany also played in that finals and beat their democratic western brethren 1-0 in the group stage.

My first real foray into a World Cup was entrepreneurial. My family drank Ovalitine for breakfast and during the 1982 World Cup, Ovaltine put in World Cup teams photos as collectible stickers in their tins of chocolatey goodness. I wasn't that keen on football so I was selling the stickers off to the boys in school for 10 cents a piece. My friends were ecstatic - a sticker picture of their favourite team was a treasure. I made a good few dollars back then. I remember the blue shirted Azzuri line up and the green clad Honduran team. Tegucigalpa is the capital of Honduras, I learned.

On TV, all we had was the Bundesliga back then. I think were English league matches but I only remember the German ones. I wasn't that keen on the game and we wished the cartoons were on instead. I remember Solid Gold, the show with pop music and dancers.

We played football mostly after school. I wasn't good. I had these thick glasses on and once a ball hit my face, I'd be useful as a chewing gum solving an algebra problem. So I played in defence mostly. I wasn't half bad there I reckon. But mostly the glasses got in the way.

In university, we played midnight football on the volleyball courts next to Hall Six. We played mostly for laughs. Dim lighting, silly antics, the odd dislocated shoulder - we had fun. Half the games ended up with supper somewhere. Then we tried doing our homework after, hopelessly. In Uni, I also decided that I would support Liverpool. This happened as a result of some recognition of the club in my childhood and also because Man U supporters were being thoroughly arrogant pricks. They were justified to some degree but their arrogance needed some tempering. Fan is short for fanatic and sometimes we let our passions get to our heads. I forgive them and wish them every loss in the next BPL season.

In the last World Cup and European Cup, I saw an exciting German squad play football like they weren’t German. They were young, bold and courageous. Kosler, Mueller, Lahm, Schweinsteiger and Ozil are names that now synonymous with the rejuvenated national team. I remember the 4-2 win against Costa Rica in their 2006 World Cup campaign. I was thinking then it was sooner or later that if they kept this kind of play up, glory was just a matter of time. 

This morning I woke at 405am to watch Brazil and Germany decide their fates in the 2014 World Cup. Yesterday, knowing Neymar was out with a back injury, I predicted Brazil would succumb. Who would have guessed their back line would atrociously let in 7 goals by the end of 90 minutes? I was already jumping for joy when Mueller netted goal number 1 and hoped for some exciting football from the Brazilians. It never came till the start of the second half when Neuer was finally tested. He pulled off some great saves to prevent any hope creeping into the Brazilian squad. The icing on the cake/nails on the coffin was/were delivered two more. Oscar netted a literally last minute consolation. Too little way too late. I think Neuer was pissed at having let in one goal though, a man of exacting standards I guess. Brazil can weep, and move on.

So my bet is on Germany to lift the Jules Rimet trophy. I also secretly want Netherlands to win. Ever since I saw this Marco Van Basten goal. Stunning. 

And orange is a nice colour. All warm and Vitamin C.

Tit For Tat Conflict, A Failure Of Humanity

Three Israeli teenage were found dead after going missing for some days. Their bodies were found in a ditch in a West Bank town, Haihul. They had apparently hitch hiked along a major road nearby and never showed up at home. There was a call made to the police where a voice was heard saying "We've been kidnapped" and another voice after saying "Keep your head down". The call was dismissed as a hoax and now proven to be real. 

The tragedy has gripped Israel. The sons slained, tears will be shed, cries will be heard but more importantly, there will be an eye for an eye. 

Today I read on the BBC, a Palestinian boy was killed in an apparent act of revenge. Tit for tat, the payment of an eye. 

Mothers and sisters are crying on both sides, nothing as great a misery as a son or brother lost so heinously.  Men and boys are angry on both sides, the glowing embers of emotion now raging bonfires stoked by revenge, religious fervour and honour for one's people. Another episode in the long suffering saga that is the intifada versus the might of the Israeli military. 

The rest of the world watching it unfold. State leaders are condemning both atrocities and urging restraint. Israel isn't good with restraint. After all the nation was borne of brute force and many guns pointed at a defenceless few. The Palestinians are a sad people. Landless, stateless and hope-less. Pushed out, they seek a way in, allowing themselves the ignominy of blatant oversight and control so that they can eke out a fair life. A day by day existence. 

I saw a documentary some time ago about the kids in Gaza who saw their families perish in ongoing conflict. They were as young as six. Their eyes were vacant, the faces joyless. It was like they knew their future was bleak, non-existent even. What more asking to be happy - they were living hand to mouth with little to call their own. The only permanent things were fear and rubble. Rubble rubble everywhere. Rock as hard as their hearts. It was heartbreaking watching this. The interviewer even asked a university undergrad what he would do after leaving school. The man replied he'd become a suicide bomber, because he felt that was the only way to make a difference. 

Last week, I caught an Australian TV programme (Four Corners) about life in the West Bank. The Israeli military deployed all around West Bank apparently arrests boys and teenagers for throwing stones, brings them in for questioning, checks up on them in the middle of the night, subjects them to military trials without a defence lawyer, and puts them behind bars. The video showed a 5 year old kid crying when soldiers tried to arrest him. He did get brought in and was released the same day later. Watch documentary here http://www.abc.net.au/4corners/stories/2014/02/10/3939266.htm

Arab kids walking to school get attacked with tear gas if a pebble is hurled at a soldier. A disproportionate response seemingly aimed at instilling fear and keeping an undesirable people in line. Some kids get attacked by Jewish settlers who want to drive them out, apparently with Israeli soldiers standing by and doing nothing. An Israeli man who volunteered to guide these kids on the way to school said it was sad that the Jewish people were subjecting others to the same way they were treated by the Nazis.

Added later - there's an astonishing number going around. Number of kids killed on both sides since the start of the second Intifada (Sep 2000). 129 Israeli deaths versus 1523 Palestinian deaths. The problem with this stat is the media is making it out to be 1 Palestinian kid killed every 3 days. That's not quite right and it severely skews perceptions. Graph below from http://www.ifamericansknew.org/stat/children.html shows the reality. 

Sigh. It feels like the world has given up on the Palestinian people. They're stuck in their 'assigned land', literally split by another country. Life is hard and no one is sure they'll have a positive future. Their Arab neighbours don't want them. The world isn't sure if they're friend or foe. One terrorist act makes them all terrorists. I don't know why I feel this way about this. It just makes me sad that they have no where to go and feel like they belong, no chance to develop as a country. I wonder if they could give up and leave, would they? Why doesn't a big country with lots of space just help them out and take them in? Australia? Malaysia? Kazakhstan? No one cares it seems. Happiness is defined by where you're born, and changing your circumstances is near impossible. That's what is going to be written about us in the history books. A failure of humanity that repeats itself time after time. It's just bloody depressing.

Added later -  I'm not pro-Palestinian, not pro-Israeli. I am pro-life and pro-give people a chance for happiness.