Singles Day

Another nightmare. I dream of being in an examination hall, attempting to answer a question I had given my own students. I break into a sweat as I realize that no words are coming to the tip of my pen and my allotted time is running out. I wake up.

So here I am again, putting my thoughts into words and thankfully finding that yes, I still can write. And then I regret not having written sooner.

Life continues. Over 9000 (hah!) days of me living on this earth. It's settled into a steady, predictable routine. Safe and comfortable. Oh how I hate and love it so much. There's a yearning for more, but a desire for the same. Which one wins is up to you, I guess.

Another year almost up. I'm getting older. People look at me and ask if I'm married (no I'm not), if I am attached (no, unfortunately). In the past work got in the way of relationships. Now it's just my own insecurities. Which is not to say I'm not attracted to anyone at the moment. Oh far from it, for the hormones rage and desire compels me once again to a girl woefully unsuited for me, but one who I can't quite let go. I've let too many go already, I say to myself. But then what is the harm in letting one more?

I've set some goals for next year. Time to go back to school. Time to forge new relationships. Time to get rid of old habits.

I'll be travelling again. I haven't in a long time. That's what happens when you settle down. Yet my youthful wanderlust seems to have faded (although I did suspect that would happen). My life in my quaint little city seems satisfactory. No need to rise beyond and travel to different lands.

And yet, I still have those dreams. Of being in a different place, of living a different life. I can't quite go there. I can't really live it. But oh, I can dream. And after that, I will write of it.

Quarter-Cent: A Belated Update

I thought this blog forgotten until Google reminded me my domain was due for auto-renewal. Set it and forget it, as they ironically advertise such services. But I'm happy to be reminded. I'm happy I still have a place for my thoughts. Blogs aren't obsolete you know?

25 years. I'm supposed to be young and feel young, but I feel old when I see all the children from my youth who have since grown up. I feel old when I realize how much my thoughts, beliefs (and ulitmately, religion) has changed since I grappled with my first abstract concept. I feel old when kids start calling me "Uncle".

Still there's a lot to be thankful for. There's a lot of hope left in me. I'm not disillusioned entirely, as I cynically predicted a long time ago. I haven't sunk into depression over existential issues. My life in fact, has become oddly simplified and all the more happier because of it.

Being a working adult does that. You're forced to put the bread on the table and stop wondering about the meaning of the bread or table. People start to become more important than ideas, and you realize that they always have been. They reciprocate your affection in a way that philosophy rarely ever does.

And yet some vestiges of my younger self remain. I solemnly swore to make my mark upon this world, and that oath still remains - not forgotten and not realized. But you can afford to dream when you are young and half asleep. As one gets older and the day brighter your opportunities grow dimmer.

How have I lived my life until now? Have I made my mark? Have I been meaningful? Being raised a Christian you're constantly reminded to be a "witness". Your attitudes, behavior (and some would say even thoughts) are a reflection unto others. We realize that many Christians fail at this point - at being a "good" Christian. Some keep trying, others give up entirely. I am somewhat close to being the latter even if I still feel uncomfortable when people are surprised to find out I am a Christian. Does that mean I have failed as a Christian? One wonders, even if we are told salvation is between you and God and God looks at the heart and not outward appearances.

One thing I am glad I still do is count my blessings. I am thankful for my family, even if our relationship is being tested as we mature and grow older and go our seperate ways. I am thankful for my "job" - one which I actually look forward to doing everyday. I am thankful my dog is still alive and well, even in her well advanced age.

When I was young I listed my hobbies as reading and writing. Back then you could not list something more generic than that. But I continued to pursue them and sadly in this day and age they are now eccentric and exotic and I am frequently met with awe and admiration when people find out I am decent at both. And for that, I am thankful as well.

Europe: A Journey (Chapter 2)

 Chapter 2

It’s Messy Here (Rome, May 12 - 16)

The JetAir flight, like it’s low budget siblings which I have experienced is strict, formal and utilitarian. I witness a passenger  grumpily dispensing of a plastic bag full of items upon being informed he is slightly over the carry on limit. 

The sky is sunny as we travel from France to Italy. I whip out Jane Eyre, which immediately starts a brief conversation with another traveler from America. I’m from Malaysia (does she know where is that?). I’m travelling, to just like you. What else is there to say?

The flight lands and I notice we are in a slightly different place. The clean sleek Paris airport gives way to an almost Malaysian experience. It’s warmer here and dirtier. As someone later tells us, Rome is more messy. Messy compared to where, I wonder?

It is a little bit too much for me. Once again I dive into Rome’s metro and emerge near San Giovanni in Laterano, a historic cathedral. I enter it and I the silence envelopes me. It is peaceful; a respite from the crowd. I sit in silence and marvel once again at such a grand building almost devoid of people. 

Our hostel is much smaller and quieter, almost a homely feel. I meet another backpacker, a middle age American travelling by herself. She seems a little jaded, almost as if she is going through the motions of travel. I do press her on this and exchange pleasantries. Later I meet another elderly American couple devoted to Rick Steves. They do have a certain pedantry to them, a routine which I suppose find comforting. I watch amusedly as they discuss about Rick Steve’s recommendations for Rome.

Opposite our hostel (nestled in a quiet University neighborhood filled with students) lies one of the best pizzerias I’ve been to and a decent gelato place. Thus begin our staple Italian diet of pizzas and gelato. I encounter the Roman pizza, square instead of round and far far more delicious than anything I’ve ever tried back home (and cheaper, too!). We sit in a corner and dine on fine Italian bread and cheese - here then is one of the true pleasures of travel, the great food which you would probably not find anywhere else.

In Rome the first thing most people would do is head for the Coliseum. And so we did. Our Roma passes allowed us to bypass the ridiculously long line and enter the ruins (crumbling ruins). It is packed with tourists, it is also pregnant with history. I have a picture of myself taken with it as a backdrop. In Facebook, someone claims it is a Photoshop. 

Later, I find out my brother snuck a stone from the Coliseum back with him. He probably realized it would make a good souvenir. Nevermind that it was probably very, very illegal. Imagine if everyone took souvenirs with them throughout the millennia the stadium has stood. What would be left of it, I wonder?

We head to the Palatine Gardens, another stroll through ruins. The sun is bearing down on us and I fill up my bottle at one of the many fountain spouts in the city. It is claimed to be safe for drinking. But it tastes less than pleasant. Perhaps I have been spoiled by my diet of filtered water back home. Here in Europe, water comes from the tap along with all the associated flavors. 

The highlight of my visit would surely be the Borghese Villa. It is small museum; a villa which belong to a Cardinal who was also an avid collector of works of art. And what art! I line up patiently to enter - visitors are limited and as I file in I can only thank their good thinking. Instead of the packed sardine experience of the Vatican Museums, I was allowed a serene and unmolested stroll through the rooms. I had an entire room of Caravaggio paintings all to myself. I stood for what seemed like forever in front of a Bernini statue. With my nose almost touching the marble I wondered at the intricate detail of Pluto’s fingers digging into Proserpina’s thighs. It was almost a religious experience in itself. 

Coming in second on my list of great experiences in Rome would be the Lux in Lumina exhibition, which was being held at the Capitoline museums. Simply put, a collection of Vatican documents were being displayed in dimly lit rooms. What were so special about them? Well, seeing letters written by Michelangelo, Galileo and Copernicus brought me goosebumps. Here were the handwritings of the greatest of men, legends and almost myths. Here were their words, inscribed by their own hand. I felt incredibly cultured already.

I had (wisely) set aside time away from the city. Our stop here in Rome were the Aquaduct Parks. Nestled in a suburban residential area, we navigated our way through the flats occupied almost entirely by immigrants. This place did not see a lot of tourists. But what a gem it was - ancient aqueducts surrounded by lush yellow fields. It was a taste of what was to come (in Switzerland). We enjoyed the walk; the cold wind sweeping us was moderated by the harsh sun above.

Unfortunately not all experiences were pleasant. As I made my way to the Vatican Museum I realized what I was in for as I squeezed my way through the throng of package tourists (I realize I was one of them, but still) who crowded the corridors as they disinterestedly listened to the explanations of their tour guide about this or that artifact. I spent the next hour or two being jostled and shuffled down corridors, heading all the way to the packed Sistine Chapel, where tourists nonchalantly snapped their photos while being shouted at by guards (No Photo e No Video!).

The Vatican, a country within a country was much smaller than the movies and books made it out to be. St. Peter’s Basilica even seemed underwhelming. As we walked back to our hostel, I am reminded again (and again) about expectations and reality. Set it low and realisticly enough, and you will be bound to be pleasantly surprised instead of disappointed.

Hustlers abound in Rome, looking to sell you trinkets and tours. Having been warned by guidebooks, I stay far away from them. Not all of them are that bad though. I pass by an Australian hawking tours in the Vatican. He asks me if I am interested. I walk pass, pretending not to listen. “Hey, you dropped something!” he says. I turn around. “Hah! Gotcha!” Good one, I tell him. 

We leave Rome for Florence, both with a slight sense of relief at being able to escape the hustle and (for me) a profound sense of disappointment. We did the sights of old Rome from the Pantheon to the Trevi Fountain but I felt that I let it down. Did I really see it? I toss a coin into the fountain, guaranteeing my eventual return.

Europe: A Journey (Chapter 1)

Chapter 1 

The Streets of Montmartre (Paris, May 8-12, 2012)

It is near midnight as I sit at the departure gate for my flight to Charles De Gaulle. Already I feel in a distant land - even though I am still in Malaysia the character around me has changed. I hear the French and see those waiting to return to their homeland. Are they happy, or sad? They greet each other and I try to pick out a few sentences with my woefully limited grasp of the languages I was supposed to learn before travelling. Bonjour, Ca Va. Au Revoir. That was about it. I sigh and slowly file into the plane.

The flight could be best described as mildly torturous. I had done 12 hour stints in chairs in my previous workplace, but this was even less pleasant. Even as an averagely tall person the seats were puny. Now I understood why people shelled out thousands more for Business class. It’s the stretching room. The sweet, sweet legspace. 

I pass by many lands on the way there, lands I could dream of walking on. I see scattered cities, lit in the night, arteries of light leading into its glowing heart. Once, I looked down and see what I thought was the ocean. I look at the map and realize that it is, in fact, a moonlit desert. 

Sleep was elusive with only the cold window to lean on. Finally though, we arrive and are greeted with a cold spring rain. The plane lands smoothly on the tarmac. I look around. It looks...normal. But here I am.

I expected some questioning at customs and passport patrol. None of that, thankfully. The officer takes one look at my passport, stares at me for a brief moment and stamps it. “Bonjour,” I said to him, reminding myself of my manners. It is early and the airport is still mostly empty. Making my way to the Tourist Information booth, I stand by and watch as the lone employee sets up for the day.

“Bonjour” I greet him and purchase a tourist pass (meticulously calculated by me to save some money. Considering the exchange rate, it helps to pinch every Euro). Then the came the train. Excitement, dread. Paris, here I come.

The train ride was anti-climactic of sorts. Your scenery on the way from the airport into the city will consist of generic graffiti sprayed onto dilapidated buildings. I could only imagine how uneasy those at the Tourism office must feel, considering those are the first things visitors to the city will see. Or maybe they just don’t care.

I pull into the station and get my first taste (and smell) of the Parisian metro. Damp air and urine are its hallmarks. I don’t mind, really. With my smartphone app I plan my route to my hostel, in Montmartre.

As I walked up the steps of Lamarck-Coulaincourt I realize that I had not seen the city itself - my journey had taken me from the outskirts into the tunnels. So with bated breath (from all those stairs!) I exit into the streets of Montmartre. 

It is...beautiful. The rain had stopped and only the damp morning air greeted me. I see the half open shops and vendors on the sidewalk. I turn around and a sense of deja vu (ha) fills me. Where have I seen this before? I look at the stairs that up and around the entrance Metro station. And ah, yes. I have seen it before. From a movie called Amelie. Just like the movies, then.

As I entered the hostel I was to stay I braced myself for that legendary Parisian rudeness. Surprisingly though, the reception was kind and helpful and directed me to a place where I could store my luggage as being rather early I could not check-in yet.

I had supposed to meet up with my brother who arrived the day before (a quirk of Air-Asia’s rebooking me on another flight). Being rather inpatient and not sure whether he was in or out, I was on my way within minutes. Guess what was one of my main destinations that day?

Well, Le Musee du Louvre. It’s practically the reason I’m in Paris. The art, the history, the monuments. All within one huge complex that would take days to explore entirely (I went there twice and only just scratched the surface). 

Bypassing the huge queue I made my way into the pyramid entrance, but not before having a baguette sandwich next to the pigeons. My museum pass conveniently allowed me to walk past the long long line (the Louvre has many entrances, some with no queue at all. Most people are content however to enter through the glass pyramid. Because reasons.)

I enter the pyramid and go down the escalator into a huge hall filled with people. Already I am lost in the size and sea of choices to go. North, East, South or West? I pick up a map and search for the good stuff. Near East, Renaissance. 

The Louvre was unusually cold that day, the structure perhaps built to trap cold (and heat?) in. I wonder through the sometimes crowded, sometimes deserted hallways. I spot a 1500 year old stele written in another language. I gaze at it in wonder. It is left there, unprotected. I could simply reach out and touch it but decide not to. No one is there. Just my conscience. 

Then I enter the room of paintings. It is like entering a dream. Paintings of all sizes line the hallway. I look left and right and realize already that this is too much. I am on the verge of being desensitized by their greatness. And so I go on.

The prize of course that everyone seeks for is the Mona Lisa. But as someone told me, you don’t go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. You go there to see people seeing the Mona Lisa. I was reduced to standing from a far, looking at a painting almost insignificant and banal surrounded by a throng of admirers. Was it a replica or the real thing? The Mona Lisas were rotated around. Did they even show us the real thing? It’s the experience I guess, another thing to check off the bucket list. What really grabbed my attention though was the piece opposite of the Lisa, the Wedding at Cana. It is splashed across in grand scale with only a handful of viewers looking briefly at it. Surely this is the underrated piece of art here.

I walk out, senses still overloaded. I realize that I had only been there for less than two hours. Nowhere near enough to see all the Louvre has to offer. I resolve to come back again and go to the third museum for the day.

Did I say the third? The morning I arrived I had dropped my bags and decided to have an appetizer. The Musee Rodin. It was a quick entry with my pass and decent escapade. The gardens were lovely, the Thinker was alright. Already out of place in a world with little time to engage in such activities.

I leave the Louvre and have another snack at the Jardin Tuileries. The wind blows cold and I already feel somewhat comfortable doing what others are doing - sitting down and enjoying the gloomy day.

The Orangerie is small and understated, somewhat I suppose, like the pieces of art it holds (with perhaps the exception for the sprawling Lilies of Monet, but even then they seem tame compared to the Wedding at Cana). 

As expected, the abstract art piqued some of my interest but flew past me for the most. I figured I’d call it a day. Going to the toilet, I wonder where the handle for the faucet is. I look around and someone helpfully points out I need to step a button on the ground. Another thing that flew past me.

I settle back into my hostel and meet my brother who has already made a friend, a shaggy haired Spanish-African busker. I am tired, jet lag had been kept at bay for the day but not much longer. I sleep.

Clouds still shield the sun as I get up. I don’t mind, really. From Malaysia where heat is the order of the day, overcast skies are a respite. But in Europe, as I find out later on, you soon wish for the sun.

I learn the day before that while I was admiring the masterpieces at the Louvre my brother was driving one. He splashed out some cash to drive a Lamborghini around Paris. Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.

On the itinerary today were two more highlights, the Notre Dame and the Eiffel. We head first for the Gothic church. On the outside, from a distance the facade seems underwhelming. Go close though and the intricate details come into view. As you enter you are astonished at the size of the cathedral, seemingly being able to create space from nothing.

We walk through the cold church along with a soundtrack of choral chants from the morning prayers. It is strangely peaceful. If there is one thing I enjoy about the Cathedrals in Europe is that despite their Grandeur they are usually open to everyone most of the time. A far contrast perhaps from our megachurches with strict opening hours. A pity then, that such architectural magnifience draws more tourists than worshippers - a result of Europe’s secularism (so we are told).

I slowly begin to get the hang of Paris. The Metro systems, arcane at first, become easy to navigate (thanks in due part to a handy smartphone app). The multiculturalism allowing some comfort amid the crowd (unlike, say, in certain parts of Germany where I was met with stares). Once, while I was in the Metro, I noticed I was the whitest person in the entire carriage. Africans tend to cluster here, and I do wonder how uneasily native (white) Parisians view them. Somewhat perhaps, like how we view our immigrants in Kuala Lumpur.

I am walking out now from the Metro, up the steps and into the light. My pace is slow, I am unsure of my surroundings. Then I get my bearings, head up some more steps and am greeted with an iconic sight.

Probably the best way to approach the Eiffel Tower is through the Trocadero. There, the Tower stands grand and symmetrical as you walk along the wide expanse. It is breathtaking, and for a few moments Paris regains it’s fabled magic. 

We walk to the base and linger. We are too cheap to take the elevator, too lazy to take the stairs. So we watch and wait for the sun to set and realize that here the sun doesn’t set at 7 in the evening (like it always does in Malaysia!). It is nearly 9 at night when the sky darkens and the Tower is illuminated with light. Again, fleeting glimpses of beauty before we return home through the dank underbelly of the Metro.

In my itinerary I figured a break from the city would be nice, and me, my brother and a fellow traveler from New Zealand headed off on a side trip to the Chateau Vincennes in the outskirts of the city. The weather has taken a turn for the worse, but it was manageable. We made our way into the muddy grounds and skulked around. I took a quick peak into the interiors. Nothing to shout about. We snuck into the Chapelle to enjoy the view. 

The weather was better and we continued on to the Bois de Boulogne. There I parted ways, I had pulled a muscle and decided to call it quits for the day. Travel hazards. I head home, rest and ponder on the city.

Paris Syndrome is a so called culture shock that strikes tourists, most often the Japanese. The incongruities of the Asian tourist, accustomed to politeness and fed with images of an enchanted fairy land struggles to reconcile his perception of Paris against her reality. My images of the city, idealized though may be, were (thankfully) informed by some films that did not shy away from Paris’ darker side. I came prepared.

But despite the graffiti, the stink of urine in the Metro and Paris’ infamous level of customer service, it still held a certain charm for me. As I sit on the train that would take me to the Orly Airport, then on to Rome, I feel a small tinge of regret. Yes, I would be returning to this place in a month. Yet I had only scratched the surface. Such is travel.
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Previous Posts

-Prologue

Europe: A Journey (Prologue)

Prologue

The journey began rather unusually. I was sitting in front of a computer, with nothing to do. I had volunteered as an intern to a political party’s office, which had just recently swept to power in the state. It was the honeymoon days, when idealism was something still realistic to believe in. 

I was alone in the office and browsing through the Internet, looking for interesting things to while the time away. Then I stumbled upon a picture. It was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. A green valley, carved by a glacier and covered by alpine green with waterfalls at its sides. It was Lauterbrunnen in Switzerland. 

Almost immediately then, Europe came back to me. For it had been away from my mind for quite some time.

I had just about reached the end of my teenage years, which were spent not really in school (I was homeschooled), but in college. At the tender age of 15 I began my diploma (not that starting early mattered much - I only finally got my degree when I was 21). It was a combination of the suggestion of parents and lack of purpose on my part that I chose to enter college to study for a business degree (a bittersweet decision). 

The Grand Tour began to form in my mind, after I first saw that image. It is named of course after a famous tradition, a rite of passage, that began hundreds of years ago and continues to this day (as I will find, largely among Caucasian Americans and Australians). To travel to a distant, exotic, yet civilized land.

I live in Malaysia, a peninsula that marks the tip of South East Asia (Singapore would be the full stop). Yet I had not really traveled my own lands, so to speak. In a classic case of green grass on the other side, while Europeans arrive by the plane loads to our beaches and cities, my eyes were elsewhere. 

Europe was a no brainer as a destination of choice for a teenager looking for a definitive rite of passage. The monuments, the history, the culture. Huge and subtle variations all within easy reach of one another. But there was one little problem.

A teenager usually does not have a lot of money. And my own pride dictated that there would be no parental funds involved. This was going to be my trip. From my own bootstraps. You could have hardly found a better motivator for someone to get off his behind and start looking for work.

And find work I did. I settled into a decent job in IT. It payed well. It was something I moderately enjoyed. It was slow but it was sure and I began to accumulate the money I needed to make it a reality. Oh, but what a ride it was.

Our budget carrier, AirAsia had the cheapest route to Europe - from Kuala Lumpur to Paris. I woke up early in the morning to purchase a ticket while it was on sale, and snagged it for a rather cheap RM1,500 (around $500) return. I was in the clear, or so I thought until an email arrived in my inbox less than three months before I was to take off, saying that unfortunately, the route was discontinued.

It gets better, of course. I get a call saying that I had been rebooked to a flight on Malaysia Airlines (getting pulled over by the police in the process!). So that was settled. Then began to long and ardous task of meticulously planning my route.

I am not the free and easy type. While I do believe in leaving some room for spontaneity, I had decided based on cost-effectiveness that the traditional Rail Pass wasn’t for me and decided to book point to point tickets which worked out to be cheaper but meant that by routes were fixed.

Then came the hostels. I had at least one of them cancel on me, but again, another smooth process.

And in the early days of May 2012, I left (along with my brother, a last minute addition to my journey) to another land for an adventure of sorts.

Wanderings - Part 23

It's a very hard thing to think about possibilities. I often ask people what they want to be. If I'm lucky I'd get a half-hearted reply; most times it's a blank stare. A few have answered with conviction and I nod and smile. Good luck. Really, good luck and all the best.

So then if the same question was asked of me, what would I say? I still don't know. It's a blur of possibilities. At least I hope - sometimes, when I am sober, the realization hits me that I will probably amount to nothing much in life. And there's evidence to show for that. Unfulfilled promises, abandoned drafts, imaginary magnum opuses. To think I laugh at other people's meanderings. Hah. Joke's on me.

Nevertheless, one must shrug and move on. I remember a rather depressing comment an elderly person made that you get more mellow with age for the simple reason that you realize that you are not that great after all. Now, I pride myself on having rather decent self-esteem. But it does get to you.

'No!' The other part of me would argue. 'Look at you', he says, 'only a little over two decades in age and already faking world weariness and mid-life crises. There is so much more to come!' And there is truth to that. But still.

Dear reader, if you have been reading this blog for some time you will realize a long connecting thread that runs through my short pieces here, and that is uncertainty which has grown as I have gotten older. If there is one thing I fear the most, it's not knowing what would happen tomorrow. Not knowing where I would be in a year, two, three years time. I have seen people embrace and even revel in their lack of prescience. I however would curl up, think, argue, plan, grumble with myself. What are you going to do, Daniel? How can I make myself matter?

Oh, I've tried. I've tried the good old "stay busy" trick. Eventually I get fed up of doing this and that (to be clear - I love my job, but the tasks contained therein do tend to tire me). Then I just want to stay at home and read a book, watch cats on Youtube. 'Hey,' I am then told, 'why don't you go out more?' Because I don't want to. 'Ah I see. You are an introvert right? You prefer to be by yourself?' Yes, I am probably an introvert. No, I don't really want to be by myself. Loneliness is depressing. It's the 'going out' part that is a chore to me. And no one - extrovert or introvert likes chores, now do they?

If you're someone like me who tries to 'shape' their life, then you would get a clearer picture. Despite my unique ability to keep my emotions bottled while in public (something I very much think more people need to to try doing), I do very much have the need to express myself. This is one of those times.

Thank you, I guess, to the family and friends and the strangers who have in their own way, one way or another, supported me in my walk. I promise (hehe) I will do my best to help others. It's the least I can do.

P.S. - God, if you're reading this, will you answer my questions or do I have to go the long way round, as usual? :-)

S.D.G.

"Changing" The Future - GE13 and Beyond

Barisan Nasional will win. The question is, of course, by how much. A decreased margin will see our PM possibly going the way of our dear Abdullah Badawi. I'm not sure if we will be so keen on his replacement. A bigger win will see him consolidate his hold and give him a strong(er) mandate. Whether he will backtrack on his reforms (however few, there were reforms as PR grudgingly admits) is a question mark, though if the formula works he will keep at it if only to attract the next generation of voters five years down the road.

As for Pakatan Rakyat? Despite the strong wave of support, their time has not yet come. Anwar senses that, and his hints at taking a break from politics point to a weary man. Lim Kit Siang's Johor bid also comes of as last-stand offish. 

The fact is that even if PR somehow grabs Putrajaya, it would be an incredibly tenuous hold. Forget about constitutional changes - BN will make one heck of an opposition and PR's infighting would likely grow worse, stymieing any sweeping reforms or changes.

Change. Ah, a certain man in the States ran on that platform. Worked well, too. A lot of people would disagree he actually delivered on that promise, but that doesn't matter. Everybody loves change - change is good in Malaysia, surely it can't get worse. Right? 

My experience with politics has been bitter-sweet.  Working with a State Representative (whom I admire and respect greatly) was an eye-opening experience and made me realise that it's not just the party you vote for, it's the person. I hope we voters would take some time to look at who we are voting for. And I also learned that politics isn't black and white, establishment and opposition. It's something more like where the hero vanquishes the villain and then tries their best (usually unsuccessfully) not to become one.

Coming back then to BN. People are often baffled at my "neutral" stance (actually I'm not neutral, but still) but that's because I've been thinking and I've been hesitant. A few random thoughts, for what it's worth:-

Arab Spring - change at any cost. Yes, it wasn't done through votes but through an uprising. They lived under dictatorships and their "votes" wouldn't count for much. There was little recourse. Yet the change that came was hardly, for the most part, positive. I'm not for one minute buying BN's "choose stability against chaos" message. But a fractured opposition versus a strongman? Stone me if you want, but I'd prefer the latter.

Chinese "chauvinism" - MCA is pretty much a dead duck. Chinese have fled them. Now DAP is unfairly taking flak for hosting some racial extremists (hello UMNO), but it can't be denied that some of these Chinese has been peddling a less than harmonious message. It was interesting and disturbing listening to a group of Chinese-ed teenagers share their views on BN. "They hate Chinese." I keep hearing. Again, UMNO affliated loudmouths probably have themselves to blame. But it's disturbing to see sentiments like this being spread largely unchecked in the opposition camp. DAP itself would probably reject racial extremism like this (as would UMNO, I hope against hope) but as of now they are not doing much taming these people. If this continues, and with MCA largely gone, the Chinese are dangerously segregating themselves from the majority.

Churches and politics - lots of political sermons recently! It's that time of the year I guess. Most of them unashamedly partisan. Prayers for general "truth and justice" to prevail are still the majority thankfully, yet I'm still hearing some specifically for the victory of the opposition. You know, if we prayed a little harder than we did for Romney to win, maybe it would actually work. There's nothing wrong with politics in the pulpit - it is the moral duty of any Christian to support what is right (even if "right" is unfortunately, a subjective matter) and proclaim it. Yet just like we can get our Bible teaching wrong, our political pronouncements can be off base. My own personal opinion? Let other organizations host political discussions in their churches. A little separation is a good thing, especially if the side you don't support wins and wants revenge for your opposition to them.

The Future - It's going to be a very crucial few years or so for BN after this. Depending on how they play their cards, they will be looking at PAP-style hegemony or becoming the opposition. Najib knows that the next generation won't agree to a social contract they never signed. It's adapt or die. Fighting two fronts - the Opposition and the conservatives in his own party is not easy. It creates a rather diluted and uneven minded man. The constant stream of scandals surrounding him don't help. Many people would rather have someone else (I count myself one of them).

But we don't always get what we want. The majority decides. We make do with what we got. And at least take solace with Churchill, who reminded us that democracy is the worst form of government except for all others.

To Die, And Rise Again

Another Easter, another mandatory reflection. Less formal and thesis-based, more stream of consciousnesses.

Resurrection of Jesus is celebrated, but implications largely ignored. God dies and lives, for us, 2000 or so years ago. Long time, but...just...imagine what that means. No, but work is much more important and life defining - putting the bread on the table > taking the Bread of Life.

Jesus has risen - in my heart. Thankfully I haven't heard that in a long time.

Jesus hasn't risen. All the time, comfortingly. And then I get to explain why, in fact, I think he did. Easter a pagan celebration Christians, didn't you know? It's true most of them don't. History hasn't been our forte. But then again, who really likes history.

You know Jesus, but do you really know Jesus? Yes, faith in Jesus as historical figure or as God who rose from the dead vs. Jesus as my personal Saviour and someone who I know intimately are two different things.  (But why not both?) Problem is I can't "know" Jesus the way I know my earthly father. Those who say they can I envy. Or maybe not. There is a fine line between closely connected to God and mental institution candidate. (Blessed are those who do not see, but believe)

God is silent, His last great display of fireworks two millennia ago (I put it crudely). But that's just me; people can settle for smaller miracles to affirm and confirm their faith. But two thousand years ago, to the faithful Jews, God was silent too but yet they waited patiently for their Saviour to come.

As we now wait.

The Young Ones (A Primer on Proclaiming the Gospel to this Generation)

Was this the easy path, or the tough narrow one? It's been a year and a half as a teacher of sorts. I had repudiated the rat-race. The money was good, I noted, but the hours were long, tedious and tiring. Ironically, while I've had my stresses in this new line, spending so much time giving to others, the returns have been worth it. To my up and coming peers, service to the children (and to the Church) is immensely rewarding. If not financially, then intellectually and spiritually.

Yet, when I see the young (or should I say, younger - most people would consider me to be "young", too) - I worry. When I was...younger, I brushed off fears of the new technology as the worries of neo-Luddites. I am slowly beginning to agree with them to a certain extent. Human interaction takes place primarily with screens. And particularly small screens at that. While they give us access to enormous resources, we have become somewhat dependant, indeed almost locked into them so that our world has become rather myopic. Those are my worries. I still stick to a wait and see approach. But what I'm seeing can sometimes be both exhilarating and unsettling.

That's one part. Another worry concerns an event that has been on-going for a long time now. I dismay at seeing my faith lose relevance to the world. Yes, this has been happening for a long long time. But reading about it in the books and seeing it in action are two different things. You struggle and ask what's the point as your beliefs slowly seem to become more and more esoteric - teachings that better belong in a distant past and not today's world (I recall the words of Bultmann who, nearly a century back, dismissed traditional Christianity as being rendered untenable by the advent of lightbulbs. If lightbulbs, what more touch screen phones!)

The Gospel, at least in the much of the modern world can no longer be proclaimed "as is". I often hear stories of Orang Asli folks who convert, teary eyed, at hearing the story of how Yesus saved us. I admire their faith, but suspect that won't fly anymore with today's young, who are themselves being evangelized by non-believers and other anti-theists. I often see image macros reposted, with anti-religious one liners. Compelling at first glance but easily deconstructed. But the short attention spans of today's generation has no time for that. And so, at least among the peers I have observed - religion is treated with disdain at worst and indifference at best.

Which all comes back to the world as we have it today. A world where people can rely on medicine more than God (which is virtually unprecedented). A world where "science" holds more hope for progress than "religion". And so it goes.

This is not about rebranding or marketing religion to the young ones, the new generation, one that is more connected, knowledgeable (okay, in my experience, not necessarily) and aware than the ones before. This is, rather, about taking stock and looking back at how we have grappled with the herculean task of the Great Commission. The methods have changed, but the message has not. Is time then, to reformulate the basic truth claims of Christianity? Maybe, maybe not. We can all agree that the death and resurrection of Jesus (no matter how trivialized and ridiculed it has been made up to be - and in a sense, rightly so) is the sine qua non of our faith.

Ironically, it is a historical truth claim - one that simply asks to be examined and if found true, to be believed - that has so often been ignored in an age where faith is constantly being pushed as believing what you know ain't true. The touchy feely Jesus is my best friend/girlfriend/boyfriend proclamations won't cut it anymore (my personal opinion) with today's youth. A head in the sand mentality with science's claims of the universe won't do too (I recently heard a preacher attempting a critique of evolution by saying "If evolution is true, why are there still monkeys?") If you cannot get the things of this world right, what does that say about your handling of the things of God?

We, the young Christians, have to do deal with all of this. Proclaiming the Good News has never been so easy; it has also never been so difficult. God help us.

Why Study?

Again, another post summarizing my thoughts ahead of a short talk.

There were words to what I love to do. To learn things, to teach myself. Auto-didact. Polymath. Jack of all trades. Amateur. Homeschooled. That was then. After finishing my degree, I could look forward to work. And then - family, children and finally death. I was not entirely interested with that path.

Being a teacher of sorts, I deal with students who ask almost all the time "Why study?" It is not usually a direct verbal question of course (only one so far has come up to me and asked, "Teacher, why do we have to study?"), but through actions and little slips of tongue. 

Tomorrow is a holiday. Cheers (and not too many moans) result. These people are excited there is no school. Fair enough - everyone could use a good break now and then. But really, why would we rather play than study? Sure, studying is rarely ever as fun as playing (although it can definitely be). 

Again, the question is why study at all? There are two types of  reasoning behind this question. One practical and one philosophical. "How is this useful?" I am asked again and again. The asker holds up a math problem, or a diagram of planets. I explain that even if this has no actual practical use in life, it's still "good to know". They walk away unsatisfied. Really, would our lives be any poorer if we did not know that we can determine the chemical composition of stars by their colours? 

That is the practical aspect, and I will try to address that. Firstly, I wholeheartedly support the idea to teach young students as many things as possible in our universe from the start - from the common to the esoteric. Besides enriching our lives, this wide knowledge allows us to focus on the things we actually do like. Would we know that cells are fascinating unless we first study them? That finding out the hypotenuse of a triangle is a delightful exercise unless we actually do it? 

Well no. We do not know unless we do. Students often have "pre-destined" careers in mind, usually as a  result of strong suggestions by their parents, peers or others. Doctor, lawyer, engineer. They even have their dreams. Astronaut, musician, veterinarian. Sometimes they pan out. Often they don't. But we won't know what we really want to do unless we know about it. 

And of course the obvious - by studying we get knowledge to do jobs that pay better and hence, live better lives.

Then the philosophical aspect. We study, we work, we die. The end. In many worldviews, this is the case. Under a Christian worldview (which I and the place where I teach operates under), this is not the case. Our lives here are not the end but the beginning. We learn now to have a head start on the life to come. We do not forget our old lives when we begin our new ones, but remember - precisely so that we learn and avoid the mistakes that we made.

Why study? I once asked that question. Then I opened a book and learned about how our universe began from an infinitesimally small singularity, how life has died and lived and died a thousand million times over, about kings from a distant past who conquered half the earth, about a God who sent his only Son to die for humans, and in so doing I learned about me in a way I could not had I not access to knowledge, the light of which shines deep into our souls to illuminate our existence.

Things I Have Learnt

An old home.

I have learned that while God may be silent His servants are not. (God is silent to many; for others he speaks and lives in them)

I have learned to love and never hate. (This, to the surprise of many, comes easily to me)

I have learned that I will sin, and sin again and again. (And that means I have yet to truly learn what sin is)

What would I like to learn?

To pray more. To talk more. To mean more.

Simple things. I hope.

Update.

I sure have been busy. No time to write and I realize that my time is limited, after all. Opportunity cost is something I very much have to keep in mind. Do this, and you are not able to do that. Still.

I also realize that I am walking towards the fork in the road. To where shall I go? The wide or strait? The well trod or not taken?

A managing director of a hotel once told me how an employee he interviewed asked if she could take less pay in return for less working hours. He explained that for his generation, that would have been unthinkable. Money > Time.

And perhaps it is with this new generation, me included. We are more well off (thank you, parents) and so would rather trade money for time.

I worked in two MNCs. One almost the complete contrast of the other. The first was populated with a (mainly) older workforce. They were the definition of workaholics and would give me frowns when I left at 7 sharp. They would put in 16 hour days and a few could even be found there on weekends - voluntarily, without any overtime. This company had a truly dedicated workforce (as for me, hahaha).

The other was composed of younger people - mostly around my age. They would work their hardest to work the least. The management (which always changed) always looked upon what they saw with frustration. Almost everyday they would call a meeting and yell at everyone. Nothing changed.

So two different cultures - was an age a factor? I don't know and won't generalize. Still, I am of the latter generation. I would rather be at home, sitting and reading a book (or doing nothing) than toiling away in front of a computer earning overtime.

I look at some of my peers who are earning much more and wouldn't mind joining them. Money, especially a lot of it, would be nice. I did earn good money (for a young, entry level worker), but could only describe the work as "soul crushing". It wasn't hard, just deadening.

I'm now working in a job which does pay me less, but in return I get to work less. I like it; not just the free time, but the job (actually, it's not really a job) is something I actually kind of enjoy. But nobody would consider it something permanent. I must earn more and I must start a family and so must earn even more and so on and on.

This is one justification I give to explain my career choice. Now another.

You see, I believe that our souls are immortal. Death is not the cessation of existence. And so my worldview is thoroughly shaped by this belief. Whatever we do here has - no matter how small - eternal significance.

So inevitably, when I look at the accountant or the lawyer or the aircraft pilot or even the doctor (bless all of them) I see something quite trivial. Now I am not saying that what they do is trivial (although I would say that if you do not believe in an afterlife then they are even more trivial), but for me to do that is something I find personally repugnant.

And so, while the ordinary man strives to feed his wife and child I wonder about the meaning of it all with existential dread and childlike delight.

Recap

A new year approaches and it's been forwards and backwards for me. I realize how much I (still) have to learn and grow. It's always good to be humbled and frankly, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Perhaps there are a few things I wish I had. The obvious of course, but more than that, I wish I knew what to do after this. But it's only natural.

Project Lauterbrunnen nears its due day. Ah, the joy of seeing a "big" goal finally being accomplished. Will be writing more about it soon. But I'm happy to say this - instead of saying I will do it "someday", I can now put a date to it. =)

Another big goal has to do with religion, another with science and another with both. I've barely scratched the surface of the first. The next one will be an even bigger challenge. But the last shouldn't be too hard - I think. When will I finish it? I'm thinking in the decades now. God willing, I'm projecting the completion to be right before my threescore years and ten are up.

Thinking about our Resurrection

Crystallizing my thoughts ahead of a short talk. =)
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We know that Jesus was raised from the dead. But did you know that we will be raised from the dead as well?

Some of us think that when we die, our souls will go straight to heaven to live with God happily ever after.

That's nice, but why does the Bible say that we will be raised from the dead? Why do we need to be raised from the dead?

The Resurrection is a very very important concept in Christian thinking. If there is no Resurrection, Paul says, then Jesus was obviously not raised from the dead as well. Even worse, those who have died are gone forever. We might as well eat, drink and be merry - for tomorrow we die.

But Jesus did rise from the dead. And there is even greater reason to rejoice - we too will be raised from the dead.

When will this happen?

It will happen when Jesus returns. Paul says that, "...since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died."

But what happens after we die?

The Bible speaks often of Sheol (in New Testament, Hades) - a place where the dead go after they die. However Jesus told the thief on the cross that today, he will be with him in Paradise. Paradise was understood as an intermediate (halfway stop) place where the righteous would go, before they were resurrected.

What will our resurrected bodies be like?

Just like the disciples could still recognize Jesus in his resurrected body, so too will we be able to recognize each other in our resurrected bodies. However, it will be a different body as well - one that will never die. Again Paul clarifies, "Our earthly bodies are planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever. Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength. They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies. For just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies."

What will we do after that?

After the Resurrection, we will live in a New Heaven and Earth. In Revelation, John tells us that he "saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband."

Notice - the New Jerusalem comes from heaven. This implies that we will be living in the New Earth! But in a way, we will also be living in heaven. For the New Heaven and the New Earth has joined together and God's presence is in the eternal city, the New Jerusalem:

"God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”

And so, "when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?”

Finally, I don't think our new life will be "boring", as some people think heaven will be. Although this is only conjecture (meaning our best guess), there will be a lot of things to do. We will, I think, be able to do all the things we have wanted to do but never could in this life. I also don't think that the Lord made the universe with its billions of stars, planets and galaxies only to have us look at them and wonder! Who knows, we will be able to travel and see fully all of God's creation.

These then are my thoughts. I end with saying that our Resurrection is not just a future event that happens after we die. Paul says that, "We died and were buried with Christ by baptism. And just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glorious power of the Father, now we also may live new lives. Since we have been united with him in his death, we will also be raised to life as he was. For when we died with Christ we were set free from the power of sin."

So let's live a life of someone who has been raised into a new life, free from the power of sin.

Soli Deo Gloria. Amen!

Pro-Choicers Say The Darndest Things

In response to a post saying that a child is God's gift and should not be aborted:

"it's not a child. It's just a collection of cells and tissues."

In response to my post arguing for absolute morality with the question "Is rape absolutely wrong?" :

"Maybe some b**** killed some dude's wife, and he rapes her as revenge. To me she's practically getting a bargain punishment."

And I don't think they are joking.

The Hare Who Looked At The Stars

Digging up old stories and retouching them.

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He walked past the meadow, into the woods. The birds had told him to go there. The setting sun colored the valley walls around him a bright red and he counted one, two, sixty streams of water gushing down the face of the valley.

Why this place? He wondered.

A swallow flew past and told him to keep going. He walked on, stepping past the broken branches and through the dead leaves. He heard whispers.

It was a small burrow in the ground, underneath a huge tree root, nearly covered by brown leaves.

A little rabbit with dark grey fur peered out. Hello? He said, hoping he was not disturbing it. The rabbit poked out further, cautious yet curious.

Is it you? He asked it.

The rabbit stepped out now, no longer hesitant. It walked up to him.

You wanted to hear a story? The rabbit whispered. He nodded his head, bent down and looked into its eyes.

I do not remember much; only what my ancestors told me, said the rabbit.

Go on.

His name no one knows. Perhaps he never had one. But we called him the Hare, for that was what he was. He lived here, in these woods and had many friends. A swallow, a fox, a squirrel, even a frog.

Keeping silent he listened as the rabbit continued.

He was brave and went to many far away places and helped rid these woods of dangerous creatures. The rabbit paused. The listener took the opportunity to ponder its words.

Did you see a meadow as you came here? It asked. He nodded. There is a tree there, a single tree in a field of flowers.

Yes, I saw it.

The hare would meet with is friends there and they would share stories with one another.

And the rabbit told the story of the Hare and his adventures.

He kept silent for awhile, but then wondered out loud. I do not understand though, he said, why they say this Hare is so special.

The rabbit thought for awhile then started.

Once before the sun rose the Hare looked up into the dark sky, looked up at the stars. He said something we never understood.

What did he say?

He said, Are they not beautiful?

Hearing that he laughed. Thank you dear rabbit. I understand now. With a smile on his face he stroked its soft fur, rose and walked away.

Of existential issues - redux

I posted this quote awhile back and it's worth thinking about again. In speaking of the deeper issues in life, an author writes:

The emotionally mature adult can face up to the complexity and evil of the world. He can bear knowing that he is ignorant. He is content to achieve that which is within his reach. What is possible contents him, even when it falls short of the apparent ideal. No longer so sure of all the answers, or even whether there are answers, he is too busy working to achieve his reasonable goals to torment himself with such overwhelming questions.

We must be grateful, however, that some people cannot escape asking such questions, and seeking answers, for the results of those enterprises have sometimes been great literature, philosophy, theology - to our immeasurable profit.

What then, of the unlucky few where such existential questions torment them so? My conjecture - based on but a limited sample from observation - is that they either reject meaning (in life) or postulate some higher power (very often God) to explain it all.

In the meanwhile, I am reminded to ask: After all the deep thinking, where is the evidence?

Vaguely Dreaming

Talking to my ex-colleague. She is curious about my new job. She mentions how she would like to do something else (but who does not?). Then she talks about money; we are young people, we have plans. Stability, money to be saved. No doubt. Having (somewhat) removed myself from the rat-race, it's curious to once again look in from the outside and pity them. But being once a member of the 9-5 pack, it's understandable. The routine is addictive but the emptiness often overpowering.

I remember, when I was younger, how I would endlessly daydream. I crafted hour long movies in my mind (unfortunately the plots and characters and set pieces are forgotten or, perhaps, they have evolved into the stories floating around in my mind today). The fact that I didn't go to school probably made it worse. Even then, when I was still in school, I remember how in the middle of my English class a hole in the ground opened and I slid and fell into a more exciting world.

"But does he love me?" she asks. I'm sorry, but I'm the wrong person. Even a man can only speculate what another man thinks, not to mention feels. "Hmm..." I answered.

My Ancient Near East anthology of texts have arrived, by "standard mail" which as it turns out is faster than international courier (I am still waiting for my other orders sent by this method. Amazon you so weird.). Opening the book, I flip through the pages. Most of the translations are what the layman would identify as "Bible English". But perhaps that might be the most appropriate. In listening to a lecture on Wisdom Literature, the lecturer (most certainly no KJV-onlyist) quotes from the King James Version as it fully "captures the majesty" of the text.

I look at my dear pet, Lane, and feel sad. One day she will die and there will be no chorus of barks to greet us when we arrive home. Again, I go back to my younger days when it first struck me that I will die. In fear I imagined a heaven, a much better place, but could not. And in my more secular times, I imagined a final end of non-existence and could not imagine that as well.

Then I wonder, as my dog looks at me, does she feel sad knowing that I, too, will die?

Thinking About the Gospels (Part 1)

Here is an example on how awareness of 1st century literary style when reading the Gospels is important:

The Jesus story is tooooo fake!!! I read the first part of the bible story if fit [sic] into todays context, you will realize its the same as a conman story. Just that the people illustrated in the bible seems gullible or maybe uneducated.

If Jesus exists in todays era, do you honestly think u guys will be his disciple and s**t like that?

Example, his disciples Simon and Andrew the fishermens.

Here it goes:

As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 19“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” 20At once they left their nets and followed him.

This story is soooo Disney channel fairytale. Someone just ask u follow him then u will immediately follow him?

I try to convince my self that Jesus is the saviour but the more i read the more skeptic i became thats why i stop reading the bible to at least save my doubt towards the bible storyline

This person was posting on a Christian forum thread about his experience reading (presumably) the Gospel of Mark.

You can tell that:

1. He is reading and treating the story of the First Disciples from a modern perspective.

2. The Gospel stories as such read somewhat absurdly (he compares it to a Disney fairy tale, which tells as much how he has been influenced by such narratives)

3. Unfortunately he doesn't read the parallel narrative in Luke 5 which explains in more detail why the disciples decided to follow Jesus

4. Even more importantly, he is not aware that Mark is the shortest gospel and paints events with broad strokes. As such much detail had to be omitted.

Other important considerations - the Gospels were meant to be read aloud, hence had to be kept short. Likewise, scrolls for writing were not cheap or abundant.

Thus, don't expect a description in minute detail - with footnotes - when reading the Gospels.

This is why asking someone to read from the Bible without giving him or her a proper introduction to the genre, style and content of the book is a bad idea.

Another example would be Revelation, which is routinely made fun of, with no awareness whatsoever of the apocalyptic genre. Also Genesis. To be fair, both Christians and non-Christians fall into the same exegetical errors.

Coming back to the Gospels, we should realize that since these are probably the first books to be given to non-believers to be read it should be important to introduce them to the respective books properly. There are traps that people can fall into when reading the Gospels, such as taking Jesus commands literally (e.g. "hating parents").

By emphasizing on what the Gospels meant to the original audience vs. what it means to you (the example cited above is an example of what happens when the reader is left to interpret it entirely by himself, without recourse to other tools) we would have a much clearer message and help cut down on the sort of responses as that of the reader of the Gospel of Mark above.

Thinking About Evil (Part 2)

Theodicies* often raise more questions than they answer.

In attempting to sketch out a brief theodicy, I make no claim to providing all the answers. In fact, I suspect if there can ever be one - the most satisfactory answer I have heard being was a Christian apologist's final admission of "I don't know".

In a way, it doesn't hurt to say that you are ultimately ignorant of God's intentions (God being God, this is quite understandable).

Here, I will argue that an "imperfect" ("Imperfect" here is an extremely relative term) world may actually be one that is the "best" (Again, a relative term).

The Role Playing World

Almost all role playing games (offline and especially online) have a leveling system whereby a character starts at the level 1 and works his or her way up to a maximum level (or in some cases, there is no limit).

The character often starts without anything and works their way up. They gain experience, items and money.

This is considered to be quite enjoyable, rewarding and even fulfilling for most people.

Yet it raises an interesting question - why don't we have a perfect world where everybody is equal in level and has unlimited money, experience and items? Ask any RPG player and most, if not all, would give you a bewildered look.

This is because anyone who has played such games know that the most fun comes from building up your character and that a character that starts out with a maximum of all possible benefits will bore the player very very quickly.

In my personal experience of cheating to get a maximum of everything immediately, the game gets old very quickly. The excitement and challenge is gone, there is nothing left to do.

Granted, RPGs mimic real life. Yet, if it is so much better to live in a "perfect" world, why do people find such worlds immensely boring, indeed, even silly or "bad"?

And there is a limit to this analogy. People don't really die or get hurt in these games. Yet the basic premises are there and the results are intriguing.

An objection would be that God could create a perfect world where people won't get bored.

Firstly, some religious scriptures do claim this, just not yet.

Secondly, could he actually? Or, would he actually? After all, if he could and if it was better, we would be living in a perfect world right now. Perhaps a world where people need to learn and build themselves up is somehow a better one.

True, the end goal might be perfection or as close to it as we can get.

Yet from experience, an immediate state of perfection often leaves people somehow unsatisfied.

I offer this as a preliminary sketch. My thinking on this, of course, constantly develops.

If, however, I was asked where is the point of a little child being brutally murdered - either for the sake of the sanctity of free will, of learning from experience or for some other higher purpose I would still honestly say, "I don't know".

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* That is, a reconciliation of God and evil.