I've never been a patient person. I like tasks done quickly. There seems to be an internal schedule in my head constantly reminding me, within reasonable constraints, of what should be out and what should be done on a daily, monthly, and annual basis. And where I should be at a certain point in time. I dislike waiting.
I am certain this does not strike any of us as surprising. Why? For the simple reason that we know, from personal experience, that every day and almost on a regular basis, we find ourselves handling deadlines as they fall due. Some days, we're miles ahead of them. Other times, we beat them by a hair's breadth. All sorts of deadlines - personal, professional. And everywhere imaginable - left, right and centre. We're surrounded by them.
Current zeitgeist impresses on us that if we're not fast enough, if we can't get things done as they happen, that's tantamount to disaster. We're seen as incompetent, substandard, inadequate. Add to that the fact that often, there's a penalty for missing a deadline. You're served notice, someone threatens to sue, you get demoted. Either way, you're made to pay for not being fast enough. For missing deadlines.
When it comes to prayerful petitioning, we tend to be impatient too. I tend to be, admittedly. For example, when I ask "Lord, make me a better person" or "Lord, let my trainees learn and not forget" - there are two things I am certain of. One is God will grant the request. Second is I always think it will come soon. I'm always wrong when it comes to the second one.
Why does God, almighty and powerful, make us wait? I could throw you all the arguments and the verses, but here is one article which I feel captures it all.
Why Does It Take So Long?
by Rick Warren
“The Lord your God will drive those nations out ahead of you little by little. You will not clear them away all at once” (Deuteronomy 7:22 NLT).
Although God could instantly transform us, He has chosen to develop us slowly. Jesus is deliberate in developing His disciples. Just as God allowed the Israelites to take over the Promised Land “little by little” so they wouldn’t be overwhelmed, He prefers to work in incremental steps in our lives.
Why does it take so long to change and grow up? There are several reasons.
We are slow learners. We often have to relearn a lesson forty or fifty times to really get it. The problems keep recurring, and we think, “Not again! I’ve already learned that!”—but God knows better. The history of Israel illustrates how quickly we forget the lessons God teaches us and how soon we revert to our old patterns of behavior. We need repeated exposure.
We have a lot to unlearn. Many people go to a counselor with a personal or relational problem that took years to develop and say, “I need you to fix me. I’ve got an hour.” They naïvely expect a quick solution to a long-standing, deep-rooted difficulty. Since most of our problems—and all of our bad habits—didn’t develop overnight, it’s unrealistic to expect them go away immediately.
There is no pill, prayer, or principle that will instantly undo the damage of many years. It requires the hard work of removal and replacement. The Bible calls it “taking off the old self” and “putting on the new self” (Romans 13:12; Ephesians 4:22-25; Colossians 3:7-10, 14).
Growth is often painful and scary. There is no growth without change; there is no change without fear or loss; and there is no loss without pain. We fear these losses, even if our old ways were self-defeating, because, like a worn out pair of shoes, they were at least comfortable and familiar.
Every change involves a loss of some kind: You must let go of old ways in order to experience the new.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
That Well-oiled Cog
I wrote this note almost a year ago after attending the graduation ceremony of the University of Indonesia's Faculty of Computer Science. The Geek teaches there, and when wisuda time comes, I attend the ceremonies. To see the hope on the faces of these new graduates, and to ask myself the question: Who among them will move the wheel of life in the right direction?
My circumstances have changed. I no longer lecture but am back practicing. But let me say the aspiration remains the same: to be that well-oiled cog in this system we refer to as "fair", "just" and "the backbone of a civil society". Let it not break on my account. Let me move it in the right direction :)
My circumstances have changed. I no longer lecture but am back practicing. But let me say the aspiration remains the same: to be that well-oiled cog in this system we refer to as "fair", "just" and "the backbone of a civil society". Let it not break on my account. Let me move it in the right direction :)
-------------------------------------------
29th August 2008
Boisterous happy laughter floats from the foyer below as I type this note. The graduation ceremonies at UI's Faculty of Computer Science just finished, and whilst families, friends, well-wishers and the new graduates mill about the Fasilkom complex, the happiness (and perhaps relief?) of reaching this milestone in one's life is undeniable.
I've always been ambivalent about graduations. From kindergarten to elementary, all the way up to law school. I've even skipped two graduations because after a while all one really wants is the assurance that one truly can move on after spending time learning theories. I suppose I am not so much a lover of theory as I am an eager supporter of putting theory into action. Seeing how the theory holds in the real world. But I acknowledge as much that one needs to learn the theory well enough to critique it.
This is not to say I thought going to school, university or even pursuing my postgrad was a horrible experience. At its worst, I found the classroom regimented and a place where ideas - ironically - went to die. (Rote memory was never a favourite exercise, but it did instill discipline and taught one to remember.) At its best, under proper tutelage, the classroom was *the* place to exchange ideas and challenge the status quo. It was the birthplace of fresh notions where the pursuit of the truth was practiced. But it wasn't all that bad. When the classroom became too stifling - or worse too dull - school and uni life offered alternative fora for intellectual stimulation.
Now the tables are turned, and I find myself the lecturer, not the student any more. I am learning a number of lessons as I handle my students both inside and outside the four walls of the classroom. I realise now, more so than I did before, that the process of learning is two-way . A lecturer can prepare way ahead of any lesson and devise all manner of entertainment to keep one's class engrossed and the discussion lively. But the most fertile of ideas die in the wasteland of a lazy brain; and it is counterproductive to let the majority of one's class suffer on behalf of the solitary slacker.
Still, finding one's self a cog in the wheels of several lives that turn and shift from one point to another - affecting your students' lives simultaneously - is enough to make one stop and think how a not-too well oiled cog could disrupt one life. Or many. Perhaps not too badly that one could recover from it or seriously that the whole wheel is permanently broken.
Doubtless, one aims not (or strives not) to be that erring cog. So endings such as the ones I partook of tonight would remain the rule for many, and not the exception.
29th August 2008
Boisterous happy laughter floats from the foyer below as I type this note. The graduation ceremonies at UI's Faculty of Computer Science just finished, and whilst families, friends, well-wishers and the new graduates mill about the Fasilkom complex, the happiness (and perhaps relief?) of reaching this milestone in one's life is undeniable.
I've always been ambivalent about graduations. From kindergarten to elementary, all the way up to law school. I've even skipped two graduations because after a while all one really wants is the assurance that one truly can move on after spending time learning theories. I suppose I am not so much a lover of theory as I am an eager supporter of putting theory into action. Seeing how the theory holds in the real world. But I acknowledge as much that one needs to learn the theory well enough to critique it.
This is not to say I thought going to school, university or even pursuing my postgrad was a horrible experience. At its worst, I found the classroom regimented and a place where ideas - ironically - went to die. (Rote memory was never a favourite exercise, but it did instill discipline and taught one to remember.) At its best, under proper tutelage, the classroom was *the* place to exchange ideas and challenge the status quo. It was the birthplace of fresh notions where the pursuit of the truth was practiced. But it wasn't all that bad. When the classroom became too stifling - or worse too dull - school and uni life offered alternative fora for intellectual stimulation.
Now the tables are turned, and I find myself the lecturer, not the student any more. I am learning a number of lessons as I handle my students both inside and outside the four walls of the classroom. I realise now, more so than I did before, that the process of learning is two-way . A lecturer can prepare way ahead of any lesson and devise all manner of entertainment to keep one's class engrossed and the discussion lively. But the most fertile of ideas die in the wasteland of a lazy brain; and it is counterproductive to let the majority of one's class suffer on behalf of the solitary slacker.
Still, finding one's self a cog in the wheels of several lives that turn and shift from one point to another - affecting your students' lives simultaneously - is enough to make one stop and think how a not-too well oiled cog could disrupt one life. Or many. Perhaps not too badly that one could recover from it or seriously that the whole wheel is permanently broken.
Doubtless, one aims not (or strives not) to be that erring cog. So endings such as the ones I partook of tonight would remain the rule for many, and not the exception.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
We're not out of the woods, Philippines!
It was 1986, and we woke up to the news that classes were suspended and that people were walking towards EDSA. In the millions.
It was a different time, and indeed, a different Philippines. I was twelve when this happened, and although the exact memories are hazy, the feeling of fear and quiet but firm repression prevailed. There were slogans for Marcos' political party everywhere, and every Friday morning during flag ceremony, we had to sing "May bagong silang, may bago nang buhay".. right after the Philippine national anthem, like a second anthem.
In the confines of our low-key Catholic education, the nuns of St Marys College made sure the school had all the trappings required by the dictatorship. Little loyalty badges, now that I have the benefit of hindsight.
At home, Dad made sure we didn't say anything against the government - we were being watched, especially since an aunt of mine had gone off to join the underground movement against Marcos. Connections with the Armed Forces and the Tacloban network did not spare our neighbourhood from military searches at the crack of dawn and police raids. I remember one time Mama had to hide us in the clothes cabinet, hushing us to keep quiet, telling us if we heard loud voices and gun fire, we should keep quiet even more. The soldiers found Che Guevara's Episodes of the Cuban Revolutionary War in the book case - Dad's - and were close to hauling him off for questioning... until their commanding officer found out they were from the same fraternity.
It took at least two million people to change from living on tenterhooks to breathing in the air of democracy once again. And like other fellow Filipinos, I enjoyed the admiration the world gave us. We had done our race good, our country proud!
Fast forward twenty three years, and the final icon of that momentous point in Philippine history has been laid to rest. Cory Aquino may not have brought back the price of the lowly galunggong to what it was before the Marcos dictatorship, and she may not have accepted the debt pardon offered to the Philippines during her time as President, but she showed us how an ordinary Filipino housewife , given the right circumstances and right motives, can change history. Set the country right back on track.
I know my country is not on track now. There are no natural resources left to speak of, no significant backbone industries, and more importantly, a feeling of hopelessness and despair pervades the country - like we're stuck again.
Now that that same crowd who once went to EDSA in 1986 are back on the streets, seeing Cory Aquino off one last time, it is time for the Filipino people to think about setting the country right again. Let's not rely on political dynasties, on ambitious, greedy politicians, on actors who want the office and not the responsibility to do this for us. They've been running the show for 23 years since EDSA. Look at where they are ... and look at where we are.
Perhaps what it will take to set us right again is for ordinary Filipinos to look at ourselves and acknowledge that what we need are leaders with foresight whose moral compasses are intact.
People who are not politically naive, but who are willing to put the country first, and their families' interests last. People whose egos don't need a backrub, and whose purses don't need that extra billion peso pay-off.
It's not too late, Philippines.
We can be great again.
Ang bayan kong Pilipinas
Lupain ng ginto't bulaklak
Pag-ibig na sa kanyang palad
Nag-alay ng ganda't dilag
Philippines, my country, my homeland
Gold and flowers in her heart abound
Blessings on her fate did love bestow
Sweet beauty's grace and splendor's glow.
At sa kanyang yumi at ganda
Dayuhan ay nahalina
Bayan ko, binihag ka
Nasadlak sa dusa
How her charms so kind and tender
Drove the stranger to desire her...
Land of mine, in fetters kept,
You suffered as we wept.
Ibon mang may layang lumipad
Kulungin mo at umiiyak
Bayan pa kayang sakdal-dilag
Ang 'di magnasang makaalpas
Birds that freely claim the skies to fly
When imprisoned mourn, protest and cry!
How more deeply will a land most fair
Yearn to break the chains of sad despair.
Pilipinas kong minumutya
Pugad ng luha at dalita
Aking adhika
Makita kang sakdal laya
Philippines, my life's sole burning fire,
Cradle of my tears, my misery...
All that I desire
To see you rise, forever free!
Filipino lyrics by Jose Corazon de Jesus (1929), music by Constancio de Guzman
English translation by: Ed Maranan from Bayan Ko! Images of the Philippine Revolt (circa 1986)
It was a different time, and indeed, a different Philippines. I was twelve when this happened, and although the exact memories are hazy, the feeling of fear and quiet but firm repression prevailed. There were slogans for Marcos' political party everywhere, and every Friday morning during flag ceremony, we had to sing "May bagong silang, may bago nang buhay".. right after the Philippine national anthem, like a second anthem.
In the confines of our low-key Catholic education, the nuns of St Marys College made sure the school had all the trappings required by the dictatorship. Little loyalty badges, now that I have the benefit of hindsight.
At home, Dad made sure we didn't say anything against the government - we were being watched, especially since an aunt of mine had gone off to join the underground movement against Marcos. Connections with the Armed Forces and the Tacloban network did not spare our neighbourhood from military searches at the crack of dawn and police raids. I remember one time Mama had to hide us in the clothes cabinet, hushing us to keep quiet, telling us if we heard loud voices and gun fire, we should keep quiet even more. The soldiers found Che Guevara's Episodes of the Cuban Revolutionary War in the book case - Dad's - and were close to hauling him off for questioning... until their commanding officer found out they were from the same fraternity.
It took at least two million people to change from living on tenterhooks to breathing in the air of democracy once again. And like other fellow Filipinos, I enjoyed the admiration the world gave us. We had done our race good, our country proud!
Fast forward twenty three years, and the final icon of that momentous point in Philippine history has been laid to rest. Cory Aquino may not have brought back the price of the lowly galunggong to what it was before the Marcos dictatorship, and she may not have accepted the debt pardon offered to the Philippines during her time as President, but she showed us how an ordinary Filipino housewife , given the right circumstances and right motives, can change history. Set the country right back on track.
I know my country is not on track now. There are no natural resources left to speak of, no significant backbone industries, and more importantly, a feeling of hopelessness and despair pervades the country - like we're stuck again.
Now that that same crowd who once went to EDSA in 1986 are back on the streets, seeing Cory Aquino off one last time, it is time for the Filipino people to think about setting the country right again. Let's not rely on political dynasties, on ambitious, greedy politicians, on actors who want the office and not the responsibility to do this for us. They've been running the show for 23 years since EDSA. Look at where they are ... and look at where we are.
Perhaps what it will take to set us right again is for ordinary Filipinos to look at ourselves and acknowledge that what we need are leaders with foresight whose moral compasses are intact.
People who are not politically naive, but who are willing to put the country first, and their families' interests last. People whose egos don't need a backrub, and whose purses don't need that extra billion peso pay-off.
It's not too late, Philippines.
We can be great again.
Ang bayan kong Pilipinas
Lupain ng ginto't bulaklak
Pag-ibig na sa kanyang palad
Nag-alay ng ganda't dilag
Philippines, my country, my homeland
Gold and flowers in her heart abound
Blessings on her fate did love bestow
Sweet beauty's grace and splendor's glow.
At sa kanyang yumi at ganda
Dayuhan ay nahalina
Bayan ko, binihag ka
Nasadlak sa dusa
How her charms so kind and tender
Drove the stranger to desire her...
Land of mine, in fetters kept,
You suffered as we wept.
Ibon mang may layang lumipad
Kulungin mo at umiiyak
Bayan pa kayang sakdal-dilag
Ang 'di magnasang makaalpas
Birds that freely claim the skies to fly
When imprisoned mourn, protest and cry!
How more deeply will a land most fair
Yearn to break the chains of sad despair.
Pilipinas kong minumutya
Pugad ng luha at dalita
Aking adhika
Makita kang sakdal laya
Philippines, my life's sole burning fire,
Cradle of my tears, my misery...
All that I desire
To see you rise, forever free!
Filipino lyrics by Jose Corazon de Jesus (1929), music by Constancio de Guzman
English translation by: Ed Maranan from Bayan Ko! Images of the Philippine Revolt (circa 1986)
Breaking Glass Bowls
I've been in the business of debating since I was 14. I've done the rounds of debating, adjudicating, and coaching.
When real life finally required that I give up all the "Madam Speaker"-ing and take up the responsibilities of my career, I was happy to part with debate.
I've done my part, I said. I've proven that the bright kid born withOUT the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth can hold her own amongst her more affluent colleagues. I don't need a privileged background to be a great debater. I won a national championship, I've been ranked amongst the best, I've coached many teams to many victories. I've spread it not only in the city where I grew up, amongst universities that didn't have a clue about it - but also in parts which were remote and which no one except my university's debate society wanted to go to. We went to Baguio, La Union, Bicol, Tacloban, Iloilo, Cebu, Marawi City, Zamboanga and Davao City.
I was proudest when a university from Mindanao reached the televised national finals of a nationwide debate we organised and run. (That was a good 15 years ago, and most of those societies we helped set up are still going strong.)
I told myself, I've paid my dues to debate. I've made a difference. All the lessons I learned, the experiences I lived through because I was part of that rich tradition - I've put right back in, a few folds more.
When I found myself in Indonesia - a stranger in a new country... home to my husband but a silent (I could not speak the language) hostile new place to me - I looked for something to do to while the time between finishing up my LL.M, learning the rudiments of the language, and easing my way into living in this country, where the customs are somewhat similar but also significantly divergent from the ones I'm used to.
I quietly signed in to adjudicate an English debate tournament where to my surprise I was classified as a 'C' adjudicator without the benefit of a written accreditation test. I found this all vaguely amusing - but when I mentioned it to my friends, they were seriously flustered. My former trainees were up in arms.
"Don't they know who you are?!?"
"Don't they know you sent the very first parliamentary booklet to Indonesia when debate was beginning there?"
"The 'A' adjudicators, how many international competitions have they been to?"
The rants went on and on. But I told them, let's all settle down. I told them, I'm enjoying the anonymity. I told them, I did not come to be recognised but to adjudicate and observe.
There's a universal dislike for newcomers dashing to the scene like they know how to run the show, telling the ... well, settled authorities that this or that is the right thing to do. I am prone to myself dislike newcomers who are like this, and therefore try not to be that newcomer everyone loves to hate.
Even now, almost two and a half years on the scene, I still feel like an outsider looking into the glass bowl that is the Indonesian debate community. If any, the pressure not to upset ways which seem set in stone is amplified more. Like some giant thumb forcing you to comply and not change what people are used to. To respect people's take on debate despite the fact that their 'years' of experience are probably a fraction of mine. And to veer away from the path of the trailblazer.
And it gets frustrating, knowing how a simple shift in a team's point of view could do them a lot of good but also knowing that the minute you say this piece of unsolicited advice, you would've dug the wedge between 'the settled ones' and the 'newcomer' even more deeply, with more enmity. So you're forced to keep your thoughts to yourself.
Sometimes I wonder how long before the status quo breaks, and gives way to a breath of fresh air? It's one thing to plant one's self securely in a bowl when you're just a sapling, but time will come when that bowl will be your prison and the only thing to do to ensure your blossoming is to break it.
When real life finally required that I give up all the "Madam Speaker"-ing and take up the responsibilities of my career, I was happy to part with debate.
I've done my part, I said. I've proven that the bright kid born withOUT the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth can hold her own amongst her more affluent colleagues. I don't need a privileged background to be a great debater. I won a national championship, I've been ranked amongst the best, I've coached many teams to many victories. I've spread it not only in the city where I grew up, amongst universities that didn't have a clue about it - but also in parts which were remote and which no one except my university's debate society wanted to go to. We went to Baguio, La Union, Bicol, Tacloban, Iloilo, Cebu, Marawi City, Zamboanga and Davao City.
I was proudest when a university from Mindanao reached the televised national finals of a nationwide debate we organised and run. (That was a good 15 years ago, and most of those societies we helped set up are still going strong.)
I told myself, I've paid my dues to debate. I've made a difference. All the lessons I learned, the experiences I lived through because I was part of that rich tradition - I've put right back in, a few folds more.
When I found myself in Indonesia - a stranger in a new country... home to my husband but a silent (I could not speak the language) hostile new place to me - I looked for something to do to while the time between finishing up my LL.M, learning the rudiments of the language, and easing my way into living in this country, where the customs are somewhat similar but also significantly divergent from the ones I'm used to.
I quietly signed in to adjudicate an English debate tournament where to my surprise I was classified as a 'C' adjudicator without the benefit of a written accreditation test. I found this all vaguely amusing - but when I mentioned it to my friends, they were seriously flustered. My former trainees were up in arms.
"Don't they know who you are?!?"
"Don't they know you sent the very first parliamentary booklet to Indonesia when debate was beginning there?"
"The 'A' adjudicators, how many international competitions have they been to?"
The rants went on and on. But I told them, let's all settle down. I told them, I'm enjoying the anonymity. I told them, I did not come to be recognised but to adjudicate and observe.
There's a universal dislike for newcomers dashing to the scene like they know how to run the show, telling the ... well, settled authorities that this or that is the right thing to do. I am prone to myself dislike newcomers who are like this, and therefore try not to be that newcomer everyone loves to hate.
Even now, almost two and a half years on the scene, I still feel like an outsider looking into the glass bowl that is the Indonesian debate community. If any, the pressure not to upset ways which seem set in stone is amplified more. Like some giant thumb forcing you to comply and not change what people are used to. To respect people's take on debate despite the fact that their 'years' of experience are probably a fraction of mine. And to veer away from the path of the trailblazer.
And it gets frustrating, knowing how a simple shift in a team's point of view could do them a lot of good but also knowing that the minute you say this piece of unsolicited advice, you would've dug the wedge between 'the settled ones' and the 'newcomer' even more deeply, with more enmity. So you're forced to keep your thoughts to yourself.
Sometimes I wonder how long before the status quo breaks, and gives way to a breath of fresh air? It's one thing to plant one's self securely in a bowl when you're just a sapling, but time will come when that bowl will be your prison and the only thing to do to ensure your blossoming is to break it.
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