On Ambitions

Sometime ago, at a church event, one part of the schedule was writing notes to people and putting them in bottles with names on them, so that at the end of the event you would get to take the bottle home and see what people thought of you; especially people who you'd gotten to know during the course of the event. One of the messages I received said things about how nice I was--the kind of things you write about people you don't really know that well--but then the end of the message surprised me.

"You come across to me as a very determined and ambitious person. Of course, this is just my own opinion, so don't get upset... Just don't let your ambitions consume you."

Ambitious? Really?

In my head I told myself, No way, this guy has never met some of my friends. Now that's ambition. Among other things that I could say about myself, or remember other people saying about me; overambitious, no, ambitious was just not one of them. What in the world could have inspired this anonymous writer to get that impression from me?

It took me a whole lot of thinking before I began to make sense of it.

I suppose without me realizing it, I had developed into someone inherently different from the person people expect. In primary school I achieved fluctuating grades ranging from fours to sixes on a one-to-ten scale--even now when I see people from my old school they're always tentative when asking about how I'm doing at school. I guess they're slightly worried that I've failed a few times and had to repeat the entire grade curriculum (I can assure you as of now I'm not at much of a risk of failing), so they always try not to bring it up.

Eventually, after we talk, they tell me I'm very different from the person they remember.

That's because the person they remember is the girl in the back row who still hasn't finished copying down that sentence from the board; you know, the one who still doesn't get how mathematical roots work? Uh huh, the one who multiplies by adding them. Yeap. That one.

The person they can see is the person who really outdid what she expected of herself in the first place. Who has her mother to thank for the change in mind that came about as a result of threats (which, by the way, is perfectly acceptable way to get your kid to do stuff), and a whole lot of other people to thank for helping her get so far.

When I look back at how much I've changed from the mute idiot in the back row to the person who takes chances, I begin to think; Yeah, maybe I can be a little ambitious.

Just that when you see a dream come true, and you witness a difference, you begin to believe that it's not complete folly to believe in absurd hopes, and to reach farther than you can grasp. When you look at how far you've gone and how much you've changed, you begin to have more faith in humanity, and you place hope in its dim but existing glimmer of kindness and morality.

You begin to ignore the darker side of the coin (even if it's not the best idea) and you risk looking like an entirely different kind of idiot by wishing for the unrealistic. You begin to find people call you naive simply for having faith in the possibility of a change. You begin to notice that the world you build around you is full of unrealistic hopes that you're more than happy to harbor for the rest of your life. You begin to speak out in defense of what you know to be true; and you're secure in the knowledge of being right without the need to rationalize it to bits.

You begin to think it's normal to actually have some conviction in what you're saying. You begin to melt outside of the norm and determine that you'll lead instead of follow. You begin to close your ears to the incessant snide criticism and your eyes to the 'truth' shoved in front of you, and you lead with hope and the belief that things will work out anyway.

So I guess maybe I have a slight tendency to be ambitious. I guess this is the point where you begin to realize that even though it's expected of you to be normal, you know you're more than capable of doing more.

Call me ambitious; but I think it's just faith when I say I have hope that in the future global warming will cease, that in the future Indonesia will truly get back on its feet and establish itself as a significant power in Asia. I think it's hope when I say 'we'll get through this'. Ambition is taking your chances because you know you can't fall far enough to break. :)

After The Basketball Game

September 13, 2007

I was sitting with a friend, a boy, conversing. I do not remember what we talked about, because he came. He casually said goodbye to my friend then he said goodbye to me. Bye, Kar. He packed his bags: a yellow backpack, a black Nike sports bag, some noisy plastic bags, and a basketball, ready to go home. Half of the basketball team came running down the stairs like a pack of wolves. All smiles, all laughter. Amazing, I thought, they just lost a game. He lifted them up, not struggling at all. Strong and capable like he has always been. He said goodbye to my friend one more time and walked between dirty lunch tables. I exhaled. At that very moment, I knew, I am not his anything anymore. He didn't say goodbye to me.

His basketball.

A few months ago, when he's not around, his guy friends would deliberately adhere dirt and lint all over his basketball; playing, shooting, dribbling on the red and green concrete court. After they are done playing, they would hand the ball over to me as if I owned it. This came into my mind when I saw him effortlessly picked up that same rubber ball this afternoon. I remember how I used to watch and cheer for him during lunch times. I would wait for him to change and pack up, only those days his hands were always full and I had to come to the rescue, carrying the only thing light enough for me to hold: his basketball.

He never asked me to wait for him, he never asked me to watch. It was all me. I wanted to wait and I wanted to watch. It only occurred to me now how he must have liked me being there back then. I'm sure he waited for me to come and sit down on the side lines just like I waited for the bell to ring so we could walk together to class. He never needed my assistance, he let me carry the ball for him. This I know, because I saw he did not need anyone's help to pack up. I did not see signs of weakness or helplessness; I saw a boy who could lift anything up not hindered by injury. He lifted my heart once, and God knows how heavy that is.

I observed him closely and absorbed a picture of him in my mind today. He was wearing his favorite shirt, not the shirt I gave him. I have never bought him any shirt, actually. The shirt I bought has a different story, holds a different memory, and it doesn't belong to him.

He still walks the way he usually walks; shoulders back, feet silently thumping the ground. He still grins the way he usually grins; mouth open showing a unique set of teeth. He still opens the door for me; he is a true gentleman and he will always be. He has not changed a bit and I like that about him. He still smiles the way he usually smiles; only now, those smiles are not meant for me.

His smile is simple with a meaning only I can interpret. Most of the time, it means 'I'm glad you're here with me today.' Often he would continue with holding my hand or simply letting me rest my head on his manly shoulders. His smile never said 'I love you', it said 'I missed you all through the weekend' and sometimes it also says 'Sorry' on his behalf. He was not a man with words. He acts and he smiles, and I always smile back even when I don't feel like it. I feel selfish and I feel low. At least he meant everything he did... He didn't smile when he was angry, and by the time we grew apart, he stayed out of my side completely. It ended without a smile and with the absence of words.

It's a new day today. A lot happened but only one moment stayed in my heart. One voice recorded in my mind. It was a picture of him leaving and the sound of his voice not saying goodbye. Everything has changed. It changed with the color of the court, now blue, and monotone. As flat and as boring as my feelings for him: Nothing.

To Inherit Fire

Living fire begets cold, impotent ash. –Things Fall Apart

Earlier in English class we were discussing Part Two of Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, and we got around to talking about whether or not Okonkwo deserved any of our sympathy when his own son turned against him. Most of the class were against Okonkwo, and I suppose their dislike of him is justified. But despite his hotheaded temperament and condescending attitude towards other people, I think Okonkwo is still entitled to a little bit of pity, or, in my personal opinion, a substantial degree of sympathy.

I could never imagine walking in his shoes. If I had been in Okonkwo’s place, how would I have felt? I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent, but I suppose it has a lot to do with placing your hopes on someone else’s shoulders; expecting them to carry it onwards into the future that you can’t be a part of.

Wouldn’t it be heartbreaking, then, if the very person you trusted with your everything shrugged your cherished dreams off his shoulders and let them hit the ground?

Maybe my friends are right, to some extent. Okonkwo has to take some responsibility in causing Nwoye to run away to the Christians. He should never have pressured Nwoye so much. He should never have assumed that Nwoye wanted the same things as he had as a young man. Maybe despite knowing Nwoye wanted different things, Okonkwo was doing all he could to give Nwoye the best out of the life he knew. Okonkwo is a father, after all, and perhaps—even if we’re not willing to acknowledge it—he, like our parents, knows what it’s like to not want to follow your father’s footsteps; your mother’s footsteps. Perhaps when our parents were like us they had decided never to follow someone else’s decisions, and ended up making choices they never thought they’d agree to; walking down paths they’d hoped to avoid while still dreaming that they would end up somewhere different.

I think we sympathize with Nwoye more easily because most of us know what it’s like to fall under the pressure of someone else’s expectations. We readily back him in his decision to tear away from his father’s ways because some part of us has already known what it’s like to want the same thing. If I had been in his position I would have done the same—I suppose I would have at least contemplated running away.

Let’s imagine it this way; Okonkwo’s modern day equivalent would be a prominent bussinessman with influence left and right in a sprawling metropolis—a highly successful public figure whose life is characterized by outstanding achievements in an Ivy League university and an offer to join a prestigious company upon finishing his second year. It is hard enough to imagine being a daughter to such a man—but to be a son who is expected to continue the legacy? In my head I imagine Atlas with the world on his shoulders, passing it on to a nervous, slippery-fingered, scrawny teen who knows the world will tumble and crash out of his hold.

Then again, isn’t that just what we are expected to do?

In an episode of Heroes, Peter Petrelli comments that “...we’re just cheap knockoffs of our fathers.” For me personally, it feels like a punch to the gut. It hurts more than a little to know that no matter what we do we’ll still be compared to our parents. That we won’t have any trace of things that people thought would still be imprinted in us. That we’ll probably never be good enough to satisfy what people expect. In this sense, I sympathize with Nwoye.

Is it any wonder then that we want to break away from the paths our parents have set out for us? Isn’t it plausible to think that we attempt to build paths other than someone else’s because we’re scared of being less than what they were? I don’t ever want to be known as ash remaining from someone else’s fire.

I don’t want to grow up chasing my father’s shadows and pursuing my mother’s victories and mistakes. I don’t want to destroy what they worked so hard to build. I don’t want to be the one responsible for the look in their faces when they find their life-long struggles are for naught.

Do you still think Okonkwo deserves no sympathy?

A part of me wants to exclaim that I could never forgive Nwoye for tearing down what Okonkwo had given his all to build. I could never forgive Nwoye for taking the dreams Okonkwo had carried with him from childhood to fatherhood—the dreams he had kept alive by pouring out his sweat, blood, and tears for—and allowing them crash and burn. I could never forgive Nwoye for insinuating that Okonkwo’s lifelong struggles held no importance, by walking out on everything his father worked for.

If Okonkwo held true to the hotheaded and violent nature we have associated him with, I would have expected him to take his machete and separate Nwoye’s head from his body. Doesn’t that sound like something he would do?

But people like me who have no idea what it’s like to be a father or a mother will never understand what it is that makes them love their children so much. I may never understand why Okonkwo still allowed Nwoye to pursue his own choices; why Okonkwo would allow Nwoye to build a new life and support dreams of his own when Okonkwo’s hopes had been sullied and broken beyond repair by his son’s betrayal.

I may never understand how Okonkwo can retain love for a traitor. But at least I can imagine him thinking about Nwoye and sighing at the fire. Perhaps at that moment some semblance of weakness crossed his features. Perhaps at that moment we would be able to see the face of a broken old man, mourning the death of his wasted, uncontinued dreams; still harboring an amazing, undying love for the boy who blew out the fire and left behind only ash.

Karina's Deep and Meaningful One-Liners

I've been on hiatus from writing poetry for quite some time now. That is mainly due to the existence of Facebook. But a few days ago, Facebook Administrators disabled my account and I fortunately had no homework. So I opened Microsoft Word and began writing. My inspiration: Butter.

Butter is but a code name. I can't say his name here; the whole world can see. I am much too smart to do that.

Anyhow, I gave the poem the title High School Amore. You can ask me for it if you're interested. But today, I am interested in giving you a list of my precious one-liners which, most of the times, really stands out from the rest of the lines in the poem. My regular readers told me so.

So here are the one-liners which some people love from my selection of poems. Tell me what you think.

Love is a seed; it grows, it dies.

Love is selfless, sincere, and sacrificial.

Life without you is like dancing with no partner.

Sincere is my middle name.

I want us to be. I want you and me.

He flew me to the moon and left me there.

I want my heart to beat faster; I want you to hear it.

I wait for impossible moments.

That is all so far.
Don't forget to quote me if you want to use it. :)