Americaaaaaaaaaa!

Steve Jobs and American Exceptionalism – By Edwin J. Feulner

Here’s another puzzle I don’t understand: why do smart, articulate people who've been through the best universities in the world - who spend their lives analyzing facts, disregard obvious realities? It seems universally understood among the relatively educated population of the world that it is important to question your beliefs and subsequently change them if they do not reflect reality (not including religious convictions because we all know those shouldn’t be required to pass the test of logic). But time and time again I read an article like this one that makes me wonder how universal my assumption actually is.

There are so many logical fallacies in this article it is difficult to read, but his most glaring error is employing a single anecdotal success, namely Steve Jobs and Apple, to prove the sweeping claim of American global preeminence.

Granted, the success of Apple may only have been possible in the U.S. because of the innovative genius and resolute competitiveness that is unique to our society, but that is far from ensuring our spot as the top dog. In his first paragraph he denies the claim that “we’re falling behind others”. What confuses me most is not the validity of his denial, since it is patently unsubstantiated, but how a highly educated person can think this way. How does he react to statistics such as this one by the ICPS that shows America on top of the world in incarceration rate, or this one by the WHO that ranks the U.S. health system 37th globally, below Dominica and Costa Rica, or this one by the OECD that puts American students at 30^th in math, 23^rd in science and 15^th in reading, or this one from the CIA World Factbook, which ranks us just slightly ahead of Uganda and well behind India, Cambodia and Burundi in income inequality (not that income inequality is entirely bad for this author’s Randian, selfishness-is-a-virtue worldview), or this one that puts us atop the world in drug use? Maybe the statistical analyses are poorly done or the WHO, the OECD and the CIA are subsidiaries of the Chinese and Costa Rican governments, but I find that unlikely?

I know that every Democrat I will speak to about this will casually brush this article aside as being another example of a conservative ideologue scrapping logic to convince himself and others that he still lives in Winthrop’s shining city upon a hill. Maybe I’m giving this guy too much credit, but he has degrees from Wharton, LSE and Georgetown.  This is not some religious fanatic waving signs about the apocalypse while proclaiming the most entertaining sections of Revelations as if they were lucid truths. He was awarded the Presidential Citizens Medal. So why does he blatantly disregard facts and write mythic stories of American supremacy that serve perpetuate the sense of entitlement and superiority for which the world hates us?

My favorite part of the article, though is when he teases his reader with the abhorrent and treasonous line, “we are indeed falling behind”, but quickly reminds you where his allegiances truly lie with the qualifier - “not behind other countries but behind our promise and potential.” I don’t know about you, but I laughed out loud at that point. What a hero.

If anyone read my post a few months back, you know that I genuinely appreciate America and believe that it far exceeds other countries in some of the most important areas: innovation, religious freedom, musical expression, governmental transparency, standard of living and tolerance of incredibly obnoxious social groups like hipsters and twitter enthusiasts, to name a few. Other than our more-than-disappointing foreign policy and the few things listed above, I think America does pretty well. But I would not go as far as to say that a single outstanding orphan who started a fruit company that changed the world is evidence to verify a theory that every American, regardless of race, gender or socio-economic status, who is willing to work hard, has the opportunity to prosper. This claim, like many others made by the Heritage Foundation president in this article, simply reflects an age-old fairy tale told by American adults to American adults to embolden a dwindling sense of eminence in the face of a healthy global race to the top. 

Myanmar...

Aye Aye

Make sense of this: the most generous person I’ve met since living in Asia is a woman who is having her home, that was once her great-grandfather’s and is filled with 18^th century Pali texts and antiques that belong in some grand museum, confiscated by the Myanmar government so that it can be used as scrap wood for a new governmental project. Her name is Aye Aye. Like hundreds of other locals, she’s told she cannot live in her home in the town of Old Bagan, where her ancestors have lived for centuries, because it is a budding tourist destination. She must move to a tiny plot of land designated for her and her three children in New Bagan. The government has graciously given them permission to build a new home there. The most generous person I have met in Asia buried her husband a year ago after she was unable to go on paying for his treatment for stomach cancer because she was also having to fund her children’s education on the salary of a launderer. No free education. No affordable health care. No real property rights. But an authentic sense of contentment in every smile. How does that work?

Zaw fixing bike #1 with his adorable sisters
looking on and occasionally bringing supplies

Our trip to Myanmar gifted us with some of the most generous, welcoming and warm-hearted people I’ve ever met. We were first introduced to the geniality and graciousness of Myanmar by a tiny tattooed fellow named Zaw, who fed us “bat”, fixed our bicycles, taught me to shoot a sling-shot, sheltered us from the rain, guided us to a beautiful view from a secluded 10^th century temple, invited us to lunch in his picturesque village and its vibrant inhabitants, taught me to blow Myanmar “smoke rings” and showed me off in front of two competing villages at the start of a local soccer match. Zaw lives with his parents and four sisters in a one-room hut that shelters a pig and its stench in one corner, a rabbit on a chain in another, enough mosquitoes to give you shade from the sun (ask Lynn), and the lives of seven people. The room was a dark 8 by 8 feet. His sisters, Ti Ti Ah and Anh Li Munh were twice the age you would have guessed, but radiated joy, curiosity and kindness, warming us with tea when it began to rain, and giving me rocks and encouraging smiles when I failed with the slingshot.  

Look at the size of that thing

Just as we were to leave Zaw to get back on the right track that the guidebook had us on, Meredyth and I came down with flat tires. Zaw and his dogs were watching us off so we shamefully turned back in hope of rescue from the hero who had already done so much. Those popped tires were the greatest blessing we had on our trip. Naturally, Zaw offered up his services at the always-fair price of, “whatever you want to pay”. Our faulty tires led us into an authentic, human experience that left an immoveable smile on my face. We returned to our hotel having really seen the guts of a Burmese village and having felt the love of absolute strangers.

Think for a second of the image of a village…any village… Okay, now that is exactly what this village looked like. It was composed of wooden huts topped with palm leaves, old women smoking massive cigars, the sound of men sawing, oxen dithering about, the sound of children practicing English by yelling phrases like “this a hand”, smoke-filled kitchens, the smell of sugar cane and tobacco, adorable kids with fake guns hiding from the invaders, old men walking with long sticks, chicken chasing feed, cats chasing chickens, dogs chasing cats, people chasing dogs, the matriarch spinning thread, bicycles becoming one with the vines, and a stump of wood with an axe stuck in it. It was a village and we were the guests of honor. They appreciated our care and we appreciated theirs. It was glorious… as an icing on the cake I fell in love with Zaw’s sister’s friend. Nepalese women should look out – Burmese women are a close second for the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

Gong Shy... that's a plant-made
            bubble on his finger

Skipping over a few more kind souls including a fellow in Yangon who dropped everything he was doing one afternoon to take us around a temple, teaching us basic Buddhist rituals, uncovering myths of our astrological signs and leading us to a local market and a wonderful restaurant where he casually departed, asking for nothing, I come to the true love of my trip: Gong Shy. Maybe I was just overly sentimental during this journey, but I genuinely fell in love with these people; especially this one little boy whose amiable nature makes Mr. Rogers seem like Dennis Rodman.

Testing some "palm beer"

This boy had next to nothing. He couldn’t go to school because his parents couldn’t afford the books, pencils and uniform it would cost each month – not to mention the fact that they depended on him to help in the field. Like Ti Ti Ah and her sister, Gong Shy had golden tipped hair from malnutrition and told me he only ate one meal a day, which was a small dinner. He told me each heart wrenching reality with radiance that could make Gaddafi smile. I spent the afternoon doing what I do best: playing around like I’m a 10 year old with other 10 years olds. He led us from temple to temple, giving lessons on how to pray at each effigy of the Buddha. When he passed a Buddha without praying and I remembered, getting to my knees in mindfulness, he would say “good Billy, good Billy, you are good Buddha”. I don’t remember not smiling that afternoon. He taught us to blow bubbles using the sap of greenery. He led us into a local beer joint that was nothing more than a two-hut, dirt floor compound with strange buckets hanging from palm trees. It turns out the sap from a palm tree can be fermented and turned into a delightful beer-type thing. It actually tasted more like kombucha, but either way, it was just one more incredible side trip that made the place seem surreal.

GONG SHYYYYYYYY

He and I switched off who rode on the back and who pedaled his bicycle, but if we ever got too far ahead of the girls he would jump off, compassionately reminding me, “wait for megan. Wait for lynn. Wait for mereshoo (he never really caught on to meredyth’s name).” Then he would yell to them, “Lynn, Lynn. Come on. Lynn, come on!” It’s impossible to replicate the way he said it, but it brought up hysterical laughter each time. The next morning, at breakfast, I looked out on the road and there he was again. He was staring right back at me just waiting to take us on another joy ride (the literal meaning of the phrase).

And finally, Aye Aye – the saint who was in the process of losing everything, but doing so with optimism, compassion and courage. Like Zaw and Gong Shy, we met her in a temple. She guided us through a gorgeous 12^th Century temple where 4 massive Buddhas and a panoply of bats (yes, still studying for the GRE) look down on the visitors. She explained intricacies of the temple that the Dalai Lama would overlook and did so with the serenity and elegance of royalty. The tour ended with an invitation for lunch the next day in her home that was connected to a monastery. Naturally, we accepted because, at this point, we had come to realize that when people offer you something in Myanmar it is not because they want to take advantage of your or even that they want something in return, it is simply an offering.

Those are ancient Pali texts stuffed into there

When we arrived the next day in a simple, but beautiful one-room house that we had to crouch down to enter, the table was laid with 6 dishes filled with colorful local cuisine. See Meredyth’s blog if you want the proper adjectives to describe that meal – she’s an amazing writer. It was spectacular though. While we ate, she asked if Meredyth, Lynn or Megan had any earrings they were willing to trade because she had sold of her only pair of earrings years back to pay for her children’s school uniforms. When we all responded with sorrowful looks, she smiled and said, “there are more important things”. As the meal was coming to a close and we had learned all about her struggles, her “clever” son whom she clearly adores with all her heart, her late husband and her meeting with my new favorite person, Suu Kyi, she announced, “I’d like to give you something”. As if she had not given us enough already, she handed each of us a beautiful piece of hand made lacquer ware. It had been made by her clever son and she wanted it to be a token of her appreciation for us. What? She had given us everything – spiritual knowledge, her valuable time and delicious food – and she wanted to give us one more thing as a token of her appreciation. There is clearly something different about these people.

My trip to Myanmar evoked a number of different responses: indignation towards the government, admiration for the people, utter joy for each incredible moment and a great sense of equanimity. It was an incredible trip that proved to be a useful teaching point. My experience helped me understand a very important philosophical assertion in Buddhist philosophy. I’ll frame it the way I heard it in a dharma talk by the Burmese-trained teacher, Gil Fronsdal. It goes like this…

Fronsdal says that there are four main forms of attachment in Buddhism that are the source of suffering – first, is our attachment to comfort and pleasure; second is our attachment to our self image; third is the attachment to becoming; and the one that is most germane, fourth, is our attachment to our stories. This is often called attachment to views or opinions, but the stories works better because the term views and opinions make these things seem transitory and easy to discard, but the stories we tell ourselves are much more concrete and hard to shed. You can change from a Republican to Democrat (i’d recommend it), but you probably won’t change the story you tell yourself that someone wronged you and you deserve retribution, or the narrative that you are meant to be with that one woman for your entire life or you’ll die. These are really just opinions, but as these stories arise in our mind over and over again as discursive thoughts, they begin to seem less like stories we’re telling ourselves and more like reality.

The main purpose of Fronsdal’s talk is a plug for meditation. In meditation we are aware of our thinking so that when we start to replay a story in our minds [my boss is such an asshole for taking my stapler today and smiling the way he did. I wish I had says “blah blah blah”. I bet he doesn’t do that to Mary cause he love Mary and hates the guys in the office – Now I’m beginning to perceive the story I have created in my mind as reality], we recognize it as a story rather than letting it bounce around it our head until it finds a foothold in reality.

So, as I reflect on the utter joy radiating from the simple lives of Gong Shy, Zaw and Aye Aye, I wonder what stories they are or aren’t telling themselves that help them find joy amidst such destitution. Anyone got an idea? Either way, Myanmar has just moved into a close second place behind Bhutan as my favorite places on earth. It was an experience I will not soon forget.

Appreciating Home

After living in Vietnam for eight months I flew home with what I thought was the clandestine knowledge that gave me a leg up on much of my graduating class (save rogan, risi, tory and a few other adventurers). I had the belief that their myopic perspective on the world, which insulated them to the island of Manhattan or strapped them inside the D.C. Beltway, would lead to a life of monotony, dictated by rent payments and club cover charges. (Yes, I have a tendency to be a bit close-minded and patronizing when I’m certain I have a good idea. I’m working on it, okay!). I, on the other hand, had experienced something new, fresh and easily accessible. The new world: feared by the masses for its rampant sexual immorality, irrational and mystic spirituality that is disconnected from the real world, and feared mostly for being represented by the communist star of Ho Chi Minh, Lenin and the rest of those anti-freedom nihilists. I, on the other hand, had discovered something completely different: a land of opportunity where a xe om (motorbike taxi) is a dollar, three delicious meals a day will cost you $3, an only slightly grimy hotel rooms complete with wifi and hot water goes for $5/night , an occasional (or daily) massage is just $3 an hour and clubbing at our favorite spot, Lush, is a paltry $10. It was a revelation that changed my entire worldview and transformed my perspective on the future. 

Fast forward...two years later. I'm sitting at a coffee shop in Kuala Terengganu, Malaysia. I just returned from an epic trip  to Nepal, Bhutan and Singapore with my baller dad, whose eagerness to explore our foreign surroundings, enabled us to experience all of these amazing places with depth and open mindedness. I've seen a lot more places sine I flew home from Vietnam including Spain, France, Indonesia, Thailand (again), nearly all of Malaysia, as well as Nepal, Bhutan and Singapore. As any good travel experience should do, my perspective has changed a bit from my post-Vietnam self. 

Number one... I have a slightly new attitude towards travel. When I once appreciated travel for its ability to give me a glimpse of another world and another culture, I now think that was a bit too lofty. Having been truly immersed in a culture for as long as I have (not particularly long, but long enough to have a change of heart), here in Malaysia as well as Vietnam, I've discovered that travel can’t provide the cultural understanding that I would hope. Admittedly, I’m taking this new revelation with a healthy dose of uncertainty, though, now that i've seen how my attitude is liable to change at any moment, but having read Lonely Planet and seen innumerable TLC travel shows, I’m disheartened by the lack of depth available in ordinary travel. Fortunately, I’ve found new value in globetrotting. Travel has become more of an introspective affair, which provides a fairly trustworthy mirror to perceive yourself from a meditationesque third person perspective. Travel provides opportunity for discomfort and anxiety, which are the moments where growth and personal understanding arise. 

Number two... My appreciation for America has grown dramatically. Hands down, the thing I respect the most about American culture is its creativity and appreciation for the art. Here’s one anecdote out of the millions I have to share that should manifest the lack of artistic expression that plagues Southeast Asia (I can’t speak for china, korea and japan, but I doubt it’s much different). Dad and I were in Singapore a little while back searching for a bit of semi-western culture after having travelled in time to the 17th Century in Nepal and Bhutan. All we really wanted our first night in Singapore was to see some music. So, we settled at a bar in Clarke Quay that featured an Indonesian on bass, a brilliant Japanese guitarist, a grizzled American on drums and his wife, who sounded like Melissa Etheridge, but looked more like Rosie O’Donnell. Sadly, we were going to have to settle for relatively well-done American covers, which was okay for night number one, but we were intent on finding real music the next night. We had nearly everyone at Raffles (yeah, we stayed at Raffles... if you don’t know it, look it up - thanks dad!!) scouring Singapore for some real music - jazz, blues, rock, anything that’s not a cover. They sent us to a bar that was the namesake of an international music festival that had featured Bob Dylan, Imogen Heap, Toots & The Maytals, Trombone Shorty, John Legend and Michael Franti a few months before, so we were pumped. Our excitement was immediately squashed as they opened with “Hotel California” - the song that plagues every Asian bar I've ever been to. The saddest part was that the band playing was the only local band that was featured in the music festival! Granted, they went on to play some decent blues covers, but the damage was done... Singapore just didn’t have what I needed. That night I had a feeling of incredible appreciation for America, and most importantly, New York City. The house band at Arthur’s Tavern in the West Village, my favorite jazz place to go to whenever there’s nothing better to do, would literally be the best jazz group in Southeast Asia. Being trapped by rent and club covers was seeming more and more attractive. 

If Singapore didn’t have a single band playing original music on a Thursday night image the scene in Malaysia! The brings me to my next reason for my new-found appreciating the United States... The education I received at Collegiate and Hamilton! Let me begin with a word of appreciation for Malaysians and the culture of my school in particular. My school, SMK Dato’ Razali Ismail, is a relatively selective public school in Terengganu where students come if they have done well on their examinations. So, students are sporadically coming and going depending on their exams, but my school has an incredibly admirable sense of community and respect for one another. For example, last weekend was the Form 4 (11th grade) camping trip. It was a beautiful display of mutual respect and cooperation by the teachers and students alike. It is truly a family. I think every single teacher in the entire school came to visit at least one time during the weekend. Often they brought their spouse and their children and stayed up until after midnight barbecuing cuttlefish, shrimp and chicken, munching on durian (not my favorite fruit, but they seem to love it - apparently it’s the king of fruits) and shootin the shit. It was fantastic and they treated me as one of the family. Even better, the next week at school felt like a continuation of the weekend before... Teachers who had previously been timid to speak to the young American who spoke a pathetic amount of Bahasa Malaysia, were stopping to say hey. Last week was a great week. 

         So, when reading the following don’t take it as a typical ....,but... sentence where the second part is all that really matters. Malaysian education system has a few gaping holes that may produce students who will have trouble competing globally, if they so choose. First, it’s rare to find a student who can play a musical instrument or has been a part of a legitimate dramatic production. Consequently, the majority of my students are deathly afraid of public speaking... Or even speaking in front of the class. So, asking a student to say a few words in English class typically renders them incapacitated with their heads hidden under their desk. Second, my students have a limited understanding of world history and international affairs. The perfect example of this comes from fellow Fulbrighter, Mike, who, while studying in a M.A. Program in international affairs and ASEAN studies in KL sat in on a class where a student posed the question, “hey prof... Tell me, what is this Cold War I keep hearing about”. Yes, a Master’s student in INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS hadn't heard of the Cold War!! Secondary school education focuses mainly on Malaysian history and seems to save the humanities for the slightly lesser students who fail to excel in math and science. Soooo, that’s a real problem. Above all, though, the problem lies in the emphasis on examinations and the lack of critical thinking that pervades most Asian schools. It also makes me skeptical of the recent study that puts China atop the world in educational achievement - (Chinese Education System). Most of these problems are administrative, curriculum issues that seem easy enough to fix, but it seems unlikely that any change will be made. I wouldn’t say that the U.S. Has anything close to a perfect education model. See the movie “Waiting for Superman” if you’re interested in the failings of our primary and secondary schools or read this article, Faulty Towers, to hear about the inadequacies of our university system (this one is especially depressing for me since I really want to be a university professor and it begins with the statement, “going to graduate school is a suicide mission”). But regardless of some serious structural problems that we can overcome assuming the U.S. can rediscover some virtue and transparency in its politics (dammit Weiner... and I really liked you), I have come to truly appreciate the education I received in the States. 

        Okay. So, returning to my original point. Vietnam instilled in me a tremendous sense of freedom, and an appreciation for living extremely cheaply. I left there feeling like I want to live in a place like that for the rest of my life because I can have that continuous buzz from living in a foreign land, live extremely cheaply and live in a place where my skills and education are truly appreciated. The extremely obvious flip side, which I have failed to recognize until that night in Singapore, is that I need a few things in my life to be fulfilled: a great music scene, an intellectually engaged population that appreciates creativity, SEASONS (!!!! i've never missed winter so much) and, of course, an American girl, or two, to chase after (joking... no, but seriously)... And, it turns out that Southeast Asia has most of the things I need to be fulfilled, but there's simply no replacement for home. So, whether my mind changes completely tomorrow and I decide to live in Singapore for the next two years, at least I've discovered a new appreciation for home (another benefit of travel)

Okay, I gotta go. Hopefully I’ll have a chance to start writing with more regularity, but who knows. Either way, this place is clearly full of learning experiences. Now, if I could just find a job market that appreciates someone who is utterly confused by the world, but willing to try just about anything. 

Spiritual Aphorisms (Missing Nietzsche Seminar and Feeling Philosophical)

1.

It’s not about getting to some other place, be it psychological or physical, but appreciating and relaxing in the place we are in right now. This is the most important thing I’ve discovered since coming to Malaysia. It is a totally new perspective on Buddhism that lends it even greater credence in my mind. I encountered it in Pema Chodron’s book, When Things Fall Apart, but it pervades Buddhist philosophy and is one of its most poignant tenants.

Live each moment as if that moment will continue into eternity. Live it as if you have no hope, no dreams, no desire and no fear.

Barack Obama’s path to the White House can be summed up by his two extremely marketable adages: “Change” and “Hope”. It’s funny that in a recent Zencast, Thich Nhat Hanh calls Barack Obama an enlightened leader because these two concepts, which are paradigms of the American way, are the antithesis of Buddhist philosophy. (sidenote: I think Obama is enlightened and his phrasing must be looked at in its context) But, these two words nearly sum up the source of suffering. The desire for change – to have a new girlfriend, to change your job, to improve your living situation – is a source of tremendous suffering. Similarly, hope – the hope for a better tomorrow; hope for the stock market to turn; hope for people to like me – causes incredible pain. The way out of this path of pain and suffering towards a more peaceful existence is to give up hope and abandon the desire for change. Try settling into the current set of circumstances you find yourself in.

Since I started reading about Buddhism, I have encountered phrases like ‘the heart of the Buddhist warrior’ and discarded them for exaggerating the seemingly safe and passive action of sitting in silence on a pillow. Now that I have discovered the concept of relaxing into the present moment whether it is joyful or happy, I recognize the bravery that the path actually requires. All of the typical stress-relief rituals we go through that help distract us from reality are thrown out. The practice is to be compassionate with yourself when moments of extreme suffering come up. When your father dies or wife divorces you, try (the near impossibly task) to avoid the comfort of a drink or a movie. The goal – that seems extremely far off for me right now – is to be able to relax into the moment of suffering and embrace it. See how the whole bravery thing comes in? Pretty incredible.

The main idea is best expressed in Chodron’s words: “we think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved…thinking we can find some lasting pleasure and avoid pain is what in Buddhism is called Samsara.”

--“Any time you push anything away, it’s still there” – Ram Dass--

2.

I want to be comfortable and certain about what I believe in. I want to know that my convictions make the most sense. I mean, I want my theology to coincide with reality as effectively as my limited mind can make it. I struggle with Western traditions because I find that they do not coincide with the reality that I see around me.

3.

I refuse to take my conception of reality and metaphysics on authority. I refuse to believe something simply because my family believes. I refuse to believe something simply because it is the most useful in helping me deal with my issues (sorry Nietzsche). My philosophy may be as effective as any at helping me deal with problems, but I refuse to hold a metaphysical belief that Thor will take care of all of my problems just because it alleviates some anxiety. I take pride in this perspective. I see it as enlightened. And that may be the biggest problem.

4.

Other problems: A fellow Fulbrighter here pointed out a little nugget of truth the other day just after our minds had been blown by a deep-space visualization at the science center in Kuala Terengganu. Having witnessed only a smidgeon of the massiveness of the universe, and the subsequent insignificance of humanity in comparison, he explained, ‘anyone who thinks he can construct some sort of a universal and objective metaphysics from this incredibly limited point of view has gotta be on crack’.

It must have struck him as we were sitting back at a 45-degree angle staring up at a IMAXesque simulation of the depths of the universe that literally go on forever, leaving the infinitesimal earth and its pathetic Milky Way behind about five minutes into the hour long video. The arrogance or ignorance, it must be one or the other, of an individual to create a universal law of metaphysics or, even worse, a universal legal code that should apply to all beings in existence, is hilarious. My buddy went on after the experience, ‘so if some alien, who lives 100,000,000 light years away and has never seen a pig before, comes to earth, he is obligated to refrain from eating pork or else he will be condemned to a life of eternal damnation?’

The concept that an ant (granted, a self conscious one) is capable of creating an all-encompassing world view and legal code is as outrageous to me as the concept that man is capable of the same task.

5. 
A reflection on number one... I'm reading Paul Tillich's Courage To Be, which analyzes the concept of courage from the perspective of a diversity of philosophical and spiritual traditions. I have just come upon the chapters summarizing Nietzsche and Spinoza, who propound a similar philosophy on courage which emphasizes self-affirmation and the will to power. 


Not only do these terms reflect each other, but they almost mirror the Buddhist concept of courage, which Nietzsche famously and ignorantly repudiated as superstitious mumbo jumbo. Nietzsche says in Zarathustra, "He hath heart who knoweth fear but vanquisheth it; who seeth the abyss, but with pride. He who seeth the abyss but with eagle’s eye, - he who with the eagle’s taons graspeth the abyss: he hath courage." It's essentially the same idea as Chodron in number one. 


The individual who is able to experience groundlessness without panicking and grasping after a god, a pill or a distraction, has courage. The Buddhist perspective takes it a step further to say that this courageous person will consequently experience less suffering in her life by living presently and relaxing into this sense of groundlessness. 

6.

What kind of omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being gets jealous?
What kind of omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being requires occasional offering?

What kind of omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being needs to rest on a weekly basis?

A Moderate Muslim Country?

According to the Islam teachers at my school, the hijab or tudong, as it is called in Malaysia, is worn to suppress desire in boys. I must admit, it is an extremely effective instrument. Who knew that covering the head of a school girl could effectively eliminate the high school boy's libido?

A tiny bit of background on the hijab - mainly just because I'm interested and feel like we all need to have some level of understanding. Hijab comes from the Arabic root hjb which means "to veil; separate; or cover by a curtain". These definitions point to the original purpose of the hijab, which has evolved from a curtain for separation to a headscarf in the past 1300. The Prophet Muhammad used the term hijab to denote the curtain that separates his wives from men who are addressing them. In its original form, it did not make any specific mandates regarding women's attire. The Qur'an makes very clear the importance of modesty and moderation and references to the contemporary hijab can be found in the Hadith, but in its original form as found in the Qur'an, the hijab only referred to the curtain to separate guests from the Prophet's wife, and his wives only. (Qur'an, 33:53)

Before I came to Malaysia, I heard many people say, "Malaysia is a moderate Muslim country". Be careful not to misinterpret the term "moderate". I know I did. I must admit that I am living in Terengganu, which is arguably the most conservative Muslim state in Malaysia and is home to one of the highest percentages of Malays in the country. My state is nearly 100% Muslim, while the majority of the country has a variable mixture of Chinese, Indian and Malay cultures. Consequently, I am surrounded by some of the most devout Muslims nationally. There is evidence to show that, if Malaysia continues to progress as it has, it will become more and more like Terengganu. Twenty or thirty years ago the tudong was a rare siting in Malaysia. It is only in the years since the Iranian revolution that the popularity of the tudong in particular and Islam in general have blown up in Malaysia.

A little history lesson to clarify the politics of Islam in Malaysia: In 1946 , after the British were bankrupted by WWII, the Malay states became independent of British rule and all citizens gained equal rights regardless of race. In response to the threat that the Chinese and Indians (who were shipped to Malaysia in the 1700s by the British to work the tin mines) would dominate the Malaysian economy, the Malay people founded a political party called UMNO (United Malay National Organization), which would be devoted exclusively to answering the needs of the ethnic Malays. In 1957, when Malaysia came into existence, UMNO took power and hasn't capitulated since. By the way, in order to be considered ethnic Malay and gain all the benefits of Malay status (termed bumiputra), one must by Muslim. There is no such thing as a non-Muslim Malay. With UMNO in power, Islam became more and more involved in Malaysian social and economic fabric.

Islam, like most of the Abrahamic traditions globally, has experienced massive growth in the past 20 years. Since 1989, Islam has experienced 72% increase globally. Malaysia has felt the rush of Islamic fervor itself, especially in terms of economic and political policies. In response to the Iranian Revolution, the government implemented policies promoting conservative Islam that are formally called dakwah, which translates to something close to "missionary work" in the 1980s. In 1991, usury - or collecting interest - was made illegal. The same year, the Prime Minister set quotas on how many Malays must be on corporate boards. In recent years apostasy - the act of leaving Islam - was made illegal. And in 2009, the government issued a ban on Christians using the word Allah. The ban was short-lived and was removed the same year, but its removal caused a nationwide uproar that resulted in a number of fire-bombings on churches around Kuala Lumpur (1)(2), portraying the growing intensity of the Muslim community.

From my experience here in Terengganu, I would say that Malaysian people are moderate Muslims in their tolerance for other traditions (relative to some Middle Eastern countries), but are not moderate in the intensity of their devotion. My experience so far has been defined by my encounter with Islam. Even beyond the Azan, or call to prayer, which reminds me every classes, practices and morning that I am in Malaysia and not Vietnam any more, Islam is noticeably more pervasive in Malaysia than any religion I have ever seen. Every class, meal, football match, and personal encounter is packed with reminders of where I am. My initial reaction to this intensity has been, 'wow Christianity is so much less integrated into American life than Islam is in Malaysian life'. Like Buddhism in Vietnam, Islam is completely integrated into the Malaysian experience. In Vietnam, Buddhist ritual was seamlessly assimilated into mundane life to the point where there is no separation between the sacred and the profane. In Malaysia, Islam is deeply integrated into mundane life, but there is a clear delineation between the sacred and the profane. This delineation makes the Islamic influence on the society stick out every time it is brought to my attention because I am reminded of the presence of their god. It's a pretty fascinating experience.

Well, that's all for now. Another disorganized essay on my thoughts is waiting in the wings. Thanks for checking in.


-------
Interesting website I just stumbled upon:
Muslim Women in Malaysia
Veil: Modesty, Privacy and Resistance

feeling right at home...

After having listened to Aubrey's newest great creation, "Great Book Series", I'm inspired to post a profound and momentous blog that properly reflects the glorious pomp and circumstance of my introduction ceremony. 

It was a day not to be rivaled by the coronation of King George VI or the birth of Shiloh (Brangelina's child). It overshadows the glorious final scene of Slumdog Millionaire and makes the birth of Jesus seem incredibly unimportant. It was an occasion for the record books. 

A bejeweled chariot picket me up at the crack of dawn and rushed me to a ceremony for which I was surely unprepared. I wore my best attire - unfortunately that meant a mismatched suit and a pair of Kenneth Cole kicks that my mother wishes had been destroyed ages ago. As the chariot approached the gate, I noticed a large banner with a few words of welcome and a snapshot of my face that should have been deleted at the source and retaken. As I passed under the gates, the drums began to echo through the schoolyard (i'm being serious...they were beating traditional, Malay drums). I stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet and was greeted by the school principal and her entourage. After the head prefect graced me with a welcome shawl and an oversized corsage, I began my triumphant walk along the red carpet. I was led by two girls carrying trays of fruits and flowers. The walkway was lined by students carrying shiny tree-like arrangements - that must only grown in the most remote corners of Borneo - boys wailing on traditional drums, and girls tossing flowers at my feet. [this is all factual... the only exaggeration so far has been the chariot - it was really just a Hyundai minivan]

As my procession entered the auditorium, my arrival was announced to a crown of just under 1,000 people who immediately got to their feet and whipped out their camera phones to capture the moment. I walked to the front of the auditorium to sit upon my throne (see below).

After three or four songs... including the beautiful national anthem, less beautiful state song and even a little bit less beautiful school song, there were speeches and performances, songs and dances. I felt like a nomadic chief being serenaded in my tent in the desert; being fanned by palm leaves and entertained by local dancers and singers. I gave a short speech of my own (which i tried posting, but the file is 450 MB so i can't - you can see it some day), indulged in some local treats and called it a day. It was certainly one to remembered.

P.S. - Today at school (a week after the event), a new teacher came to SMKDRI. He received the same treatment. The red carpet, drums, flowers and all... rats

i am a teaching ASSISTANT!

So, after much consternation and late nights of deep meditation, I have decided that a blog is the most effective way to keep everyone up to date on my travels, uncomfortable bowel movements, near death encounters, international conquests and moments of enlightenment. 


WARNING: i strictly forbid my students to read this blog and discourage anyone who cares deeply about the perpetuation of the holy English language to read this blog. as a result of my limited understanding of English grammar, sentence structure and words like gerund, i cannot be held responsible for the decimation of proper English. have pity on me and my writing (and always remember, I am an English Teaching ASSISTANT. NOT an English teacher... so i'm allowed to plead ignorance when it comes to things like gerunds).


Now that i've established that preliminary word of caution, i would also like to note that this blog has no direction, goal or coherent message. it will most likely morph into a stream of conscience rant much akin to emails between Logan Burruss and myself (but with fewer obscene images, words and videos attached).


With that, i'm off to bed... since i have to wait for an international license from KL, i have to get a ride to school every day with my lovely mentor Roselina. she is an unfortunately punctual person and will be picking me up at 6:50 am tomorrow. Baik Malam...