Food for Thoughts: Mythology by Edith Hamilton

If you are like me, one who has a great (if unfulfilled) interest in literature, history and fantasy but may not necessarily be willing to slog through tons of tedious, foreign archaic writings, then Edith Hamilton’s sumptuous book “Mythology” is for you.

It is like a mini-Encyclopedia of Greek and Roman (and Norse) gods and goddesses and heroes and adventures. Only it is definitely a lot more reader-friendly, and comes with succinct retelling of their stories and adventures. From the war of the Titans to the Trojan War, you are easily transported to the worlds that the ancient poets  – Homer, Euripides, Apollodrus and many others – crafted.

In the book, we learn who the Titans, the Olympians and patron gods (of  worldly professions or natural elements) were and who were their progenies, lovers and favorites among men and cities. And of course, we read about the stories behind the famous (and not so famous) heroes and legends.

Not only is the story(ies) of each hero and god written in very clear, uncomplicated and engrossing style, but Ms Hamilton gives her own punchy analysis of the prevalent philosophy of the races at that time – “unlike the Egyptians, the Greeks depicted their gods in man’s image” or to the Norsemen, nothing is heroic unless it’s about fighting for a totally "lost cause". (Which brings to mind Gimli’s assessment of the final war with Mordor in the movie LOTR: The Return of the King “certainty of death, slim chances for success – what are we waiting for?!”  or, closer to home, “what do you think of the fight against corruption?”).

As she begins each chapter, she gives her own introduction and characterization of the poet she references: Ovid was the Roman poet flowery in details – with a tad more detail on coiffure and fashion - and does not believe in the mythology yet writes about it for entertainment. And, whereas the Greeks were grave and direct and do not appreciate writing the gory details, Ovid delights in it. While I am not in any position to say if her criticisms are accurate, I like them there because they add value to the entire book.

Perhaps, the other enlightening aspect of the book is reading about the eerie similarities of the evolution of Greek mythology with the evolution of Christianity. The first gods (Titans) were gods to be worshipped with fear while the succeeding gods (the Olympians) were more humane and companionable. Much like the personalities of God the Father in the Old Testament and God the Son in the New Testament. (Dan Brown, anyone?).

Or does the evolution of the gods only happen because of the evolution of man? The primitive man, functioning on survival instincts alone, obeyed and worshipped a great if abstract and terrible God. Then, upon becoming a sophisticated man of high intellect, he needed to understand better a God before he could commit his loyalty and worship. (Anyone familiar with the word rationalization?)

This evolution is almost no different from our changing perspectives of our parents. When we were small and ignorant, fear ruled above all else and love came of their protection and care to ensure our survival. Then when we grew into adulthood we gained knowledge of their (and our) humanity, and the resulting understanding of what they have been through helped us to love and appreciate them more (after a fashion of rebellion, of course).

As some say, with enough time passing, history becomes legend and legends become myths. It is also interesting to read how the concepts of atonement for sins, blind love, immortal souls (and therefore reincarnation) and democracy emerged, from the ancient Greeks’ point of view.

Whatever you wish to derive from reading about mythology - and however it would affect your thinking and beliefs, afterward ;-) - I would put this book at the top of that list (starting from High School and definitely a must read for college literature courses). The chapters can be read separately, cherry-picking the stories as they are complete in themselves. It has a great index for easy access to characters that appear in multiple chapters too!

Resilience

One of the things I love about life is its inherent capability to bounce back after suffering a major setback.

The body can repair itself when things get broken or when free radicals mess up some molecular structures.

The reason for maintaining biodiversity is to ensure an ecosystem can survive when destructive forces invade it.

Time can heal wounds that cut up a soul.

And that is where the double-edged sword rears its ugly side.

Because in the process of healing, we forget the events that almost caused our own annihilation.

We forget to take care of our bodies.

We forget to take care of our surroundings.

We forget the lessons (we should have) learned when we picked ourselves up from a fall.

And then we make the same mistakes over again.

I thought that people who committed the same mistakes over and over again are stupid  – because they never learn, do they?

But now, I think ‘resiliency’ can also make us forgetful, complacent and careless.

Hence, a healthy dose of reminders about our past mistakes is valuable in navigating our way through life.
Reminders of how depressing it used to be make us more appreciative of what we now have.

Who better to remind us than friends who have been with us through the ups and especially the downs in our lives?

These are the people who do not tolerate our mistakes but are steadfast in their support and encouragement for us to do better, to be better.
These are the people who remind us that every day is gift that we should be grateful for.

Thank you, my dearest friends, for celebrating life with me!

Into the Wild: A lesson in life

Life is a cycle of beginnings and endings, and ups and downs and back again it goes. This time of the year makes us acutely aware of that, more than at any other time.

And so it was a serendipitous event that I plugged the movie “Into the Wild” on the DVD and watched, and reflected, and learned.

Saying that all that matters in life is the achievement of success is being very short-sighted. Life is not just about the positive – joy, wealth, power. The other half of life is about sadness, trials, and pain.

What ties it all up together is our ability as human beings to embrace all of that as part of this worldly celebration called life.

Like I did before, the young McCandless in the movie found life at 22 to be so confusing. At that age, everything is magnified and there’s no way to see the forest from the trees: Emotions run high. Ideals are smashed. The future seems so far away, totally uncertain and out of grasp. Love and relationships are such complex, roller-coaster rides.

And as many burned-out individuals would do, he chose to step back from it all and took the time to experience new things, to live out his adventures and to interact with all kinds of people.

But the most important thing is that he did not stop reflecting on life throughout his wild nature trip.

Time has a way of tempering us. The more we experience new things, new relationships, new events, the more we are able to put our own chaotic life in perspective. We discover that we are not alone in our angst. We discover that other people have more uncertainties than we do. We discover that people who destroyed the dreams of others are still worthy of love.

And timing is everything when it comes to how we act and how we relate to others. Because time’s healing power and the life lessons we learn through our experiences define our readiness for anything that life throws at us. If we were not ready for something at 22, we may be ripe for it at 32 (or 42 even 62), just because of how events and time conditioned us.

He read the same book over and over again, until one day - he finally gained enlightenment. It is not just new experiences that make the core of the human spirit; it is also our relationship with people.

He finally understood that his parents were not perfect, pretty much like the new friends he made and embraced with no judgment. And then he was ready to forgive them, love them and start life all over again.

The beauty in our relationships – with our parents, partners, children and friends – is not in the happy times we have with them but in loving them throughout the bad, the not so bad and the good times and back again. The wonder in life is seeing the beauty in all that.

(Anti-climactic) Christmas Cheer

Wow, I missed 3 whole weeks of postings. So much for promising to write once a week. Now I am pressured by what to write. Something inane? Something serious? Something cheerful? Let’s try this one:

  

This year, I decided to be really organized and avoid the rush of Christmas activities by buying all presents and wrapping them by November 15. Yup I did that. (See I don’t even have any excuse for my absence at my own blog).

In my country, Christmas season is now apparently decided by shopping malls which promptly blare Christmas songs a day after they sweep away the Halloween faux webs and ghouls. Thus when I set up my tree and arranged all presents two weeks later, I was in sync.

Not an avid shopper – yes I am one of a few females who do NOT like shopping and believe me we EXIST – I walked through shopping malls recently and disdainfully looked at the harried shoppers and long queues at cash registers which brings out the worst in me, next to frustration with choosing among the hundred choices next to too many people to compete with for the attention of a sales attendant next to… you get the picture.

I do like malling though. Malls are a cool place to be to get away from humid heat without being guilty about using up energy on home air-conditioning for a precious few bodies (minimizing carbon-footprint anyone?). Probably like taking commercial rather than private jets in the interest of the dying environment. But what do I know, I am not privy to private lears - if I were, I probably would be shopping differently and liking it!

I was so proud of completing my holiday shopping list early. Yet on the weekend before Christmas, after ghosting thru the malls and enjoying the movies, I looked at the presents and felt funny. The presents are  over a month old, they almost looked lived in. I remember being so excited at imagining people’s faces when they opened their gifts but now I struggle to feel the excitement.

I guess we do not have the capacity to sustain excitement for overly extended periods. They have to be fed within a certain, short, period to gain the most extreme satisfaction.

I realized I missed the flurry of activities that characterizes this season. The rush, the anxiety, the edginess of making a list checking it twice only to lose it on the shopping trip and desperately trying to remember all the intended recipients even as one battles through the Christmas throng.

It’s been very laid-back, very un-Christmas like, to say the least.

Also, for the first time, we will be travelling over Christmas. Hence presents that poured in from aunts and uncles were opened so that the clothes may be used on travel. Que horror, when was the last time I opened presents prematurely? Never. And we have to wait to come back home after Christmas to open the presents under the tree (too impractical to cart them off and back).

All of which add up to a very anti-climactic Christmas.

But, then again, we get to spend the holiday with loved ones we haven’t been with for a looong time!

And the laid-backness? It will be replaced with the hassle and bustle of travelling, get-togethers, and organizing meals for x families, packing and un-packing, looking for lost clothing and (heaven forbid) Christmas presents, etcetera, etcetera.

Why, I am now grateful for the quiet before the storm, look forward to the calm after it and will surely enjoy every moment of in between!

Happy Christmas Everyone!

A Gaga World

It’s a sorry state of being when people have to be almost social deviants before their golden talents get noticed by the public.

But then again, what do you do to get noticed when you are born in a world of too many people who have seen it all at least once before?

Either you go extremely simplistic so as to be pure (Susan Boyle, I love you) or go to the other end of the spectrum.

Take Lady Gaga for example. I had her dismissed as yet another performer more than a ‘singer’. Isn’t it all about circus-like entertainment and hype nowadays?

Sure the techno-pop is dancey and can certainly talk to the listening and club-hopping public. After all, millions relish all the rehashed stuff with a new kick. Who isn’t a sucker for the familiar yet unfamiliar stuff?

Yet, surprisingly, behind the glitter and freak-show, is a talented musician – pianist and composer with a wonderful singing voice.  Listening to Stefani Germanotta – the original alter ego of Lady Gaga – at the piano is like listening to Norah Jones except that Germanotta sings with more, yep, gaga gusto for life.

Her most astonishing accomplishment to date is catapulting into global stardom in a year driven by her crazy outlandish fashion.  Her next one may be getting people to uncover her real musical talents.  Just listen to her at these links:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SagYW3-KNyc&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiLiISBGhKQ&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfGIKQWQx3A&feature=related

I don’t care much for the over-the-top costumes or the overt sexy videos (whatever happened to subliminal advertising?). But let the lady work the keyboards any time and I’ll happily celebrate life with her music for accompaniment!

The Lovely Bones

No one understands violence until it has touched one in a very intimate way. Especially when it snuffs out a life before it could even begin or ripen.

I picked up Lovely Bones thinking it was about the fantasy of a heavenly creature playfully messing with people’s lives on earth. I thought it would give my late sister a kick if I read it and thought of her in the lead.

I hunkered down and opened the first page. I read two sentences then slammed it shut. Murder. Girl. Young. Deep breath. Well, I knew it was about a dead person, didn’t I? Fine, it will get better.

On page 66, I felt I have been reading it for weeks and had put it down several times. On 211, I was a mess and ymed my other sister faraway telling her not to even think about picking up this book and watching the movie. After I briefly gave the plot, we talked no more. We did not say goodbye. I guess she was in as much mess as I was.

Five years on, the pain of watching someone so young, so beautiful fight determinedly to live despite her broken, irreparable body is still unbearable. I felt it all over again, seeing her lose the fight and feeling all her emotions – angry, sad, lonely – in me afterward.

People read Lovely Bones and they think amazing fantasy, original thought, bravo. Others would disregard it for a nut job.

I relived everything that I experienced after my sister’s death. I was Ruth, who saw her after she left and later felt and heard everything she was thinking. I was Lindsey who sometimes felt she was carrying her dead sister inside her, like a twin. I also talked to my sister when I was in pain over something. I told her I wish she were alive to enjoy this or that experience. Then I thought she was in a much better place than us down here. I hoped so.


Where is she now?


When we lost her, and after feeling her hang on to me all the time like a baby twin (someone explained that when we become souls, we shrink hence I felt her to be small), I felt her leave me. She would go telling me she’ll roam and then come back. Others felt her too (so I knew I was not completely crazy). Then her murderer was found, and I did not see her anymore. Later I imagined her on a swing, everything was white, flowers, her dress and she was carefree and happy. I felt relieved, was she finally in heaven? I hope she moved on. For her closure. And for mine.

I trudged on with the book. I felt compelled to finish it. Why? I was fighting not to feel my sister again. I don’t want to communicate again. I can’t bear it. I’m sorry I’m not strong for you. Please go away.


Then there it was, when Susie Salmon fell to earth.

I knew my sister loved someone. When she lay fighting, she allowed visitors to see her. I’ve never seen so many people stream through. Some brave and comforting. Others just broke down openly in front of her (I wanted to knock their heads). We asked her to stop receiving, that she could see visitors when she was well again (I wouldn’t want everyone to see me with tubes down my throat and me unable to speak or feel anything from the neck down), she signaled to let them through. Later I knew she was waiting for someone. I asked her friends to let that person know what happened to her.

He came at the wake. I knew he was the one because I felt my sister’s heart jump with joy when he came into the room. We watched while he mourned. My sister basked in his presence.


I picked up the book again and looked hard at the back cover summary. There, it said it was about a killer, unsolved murder, unraveling family. Why did I not see this when I was at the bookstore? I only read the part about Susie Salmon watching life on earth continue then paid for it.

Was that it? Did she want to tell of this love? I hope I just did it for her.

My family did not unravel, but it was close. We all wanted to die at the same time. Like Ohana – nobody got left behind. No mother, no parent, should ever live through it. But Mom did. Like so many parents did.

Life did continue, life was happy. And we never forgot. She lives on in us. The pain is there with the memory. It will never go away, will never fade as many other painful memories do.



But you will always be loved, I promise. I love you so much, we all do. Be at peace.

Unromancing the Stone – the Dark Side of Grandeur

Many people believe that we leave imprints of our personality in a place, a house or inanimate objects. Some say the echoes of conversations of imprinted personalities can be heard in areas where they have been.

Whether it is true or just a fanciful thought, I can’t deny that when I go to an ancient place, a very old church or mosque, I can feel the holiness of it. What creates such hushed atmosphere?

Likewise, when I stood in front of a darkened arch outside the Colosseo – I felt the creeps crawling all over me. Did I feel the anguish of the many souls who perished to the violent amusement of crowds past? Was it the reason why I couldn’t even bring myself to enter and look at the brutal arena – though they are just broken rocks, empty pits and dust now?

Certainly, when I put my hand on a massive stone block used to make some of ancient Rome’s buildings – I swear I could hear it hum with life. The hum of a thousand personalities trapped within.

And that is when you feel the reverence, the wonder of history. 

The Taj Mahal – Crown Palace

I realized I didn’t really know the meaning of the word AWESOME until I saw the imposing and literally breathtaking (I find proximity to massive stones or concrete with no vegetation can be overwhelming) Taj Mahal in Agra.

That it is a monument to a great love adds to its magnificence. It represents something greater than the self. The best of humanity.

Yet, this grandeur – like many others – did not come without a horrible price.

Our local guide to the place relished his role of storyteller and tourist guide. I can’t remember how many times he reprimanded me for taking photos instead of avidly hanging on to his every word, like my companions did. But I heard everything he said. He was very good, better than most even. Because he not only gave us the fairy tale of the Taj Mahal, he gave us the dirty laundry, too. 

  

Love and Death

The Taj Mahal is all about precision architecture. The perfect calculated symmetry.  If you move 4 floor tiles to the left from the center of the covered entrance to the Taj Mahal courtyard, you will see the perfect half of the mausoleum and its towers. It’s hidden half, a perfect mirror image.

It has its own optic illusion. The uniform-sized Arabic inscription on the façade was not just an intricate inlay of semi-precious stones. It was carefully laid out with the letters at the top bigger than those at the bottom so that seen from afar– they can appear of the same size and easily read. Canny.

The carvings on the marble stone walls are masterpieces. Whole slabs of marble must be used – when one broke, it had to be replaced. And work started all over again. Capricious.

Carving them and polishing them required great attention to detail and endless hours of focus. The marble lattice work of dividers inside the tomb was especially fragile and intricate (sorry  no photos – flashbulb discolors the marble interior). One can only imagine the sweat and backbreaking labor it took for the artisans to carefully carve them out of solid marble and manually make them shiny.

And the reward for the master marble craftsmen? Amputation of their hands. The better to prevent further use of their skills - lest another rich ruler takes it upon himself to hire them and create similar magnificent artistry elsewhere. Craptacular.

And what of the great love story?

Yes it is true that Shah Jehan built the monument as an ode to his beloved Mumtaz Taj Mahal (Jewel of the Crown Palace). Yet rumors reach out across centuries of the affair between him and his daughter. Apparently, they all three lived in the main palace at the Red Fort (where he can view the Taj Mahal and) where he installed his wife’s quarters on one side and his mistress-daughter on the other side.  Creepy.

As I stood taking yet another photo, with a half-cock ear to the web of intrigue being spun by our articulate guide, I figuratively stared at him wondering if he has gone mad sharing with us this ugly love triangle. Then again, this is his story, and his people’s history.

I wondered, would Lady Diana have made the dramatic decision to pose purposely alone in front of this ‘Monument of Great Love’ had she known the unpleasant side of it?

For that matter, is the Taj Mahal diminished in my sight upon knowing the dark side of its magnificence? How many other Wonders of the World hold similar unspeakable horrors? What of the slaves who built the Pyramids or the peasants who worked to build, and got buried, under the Great Wall?

No nation would get away with such atrocities in pursuit of grandeur now. Probably.

Yet we go and visit the great works of man, time and again marveling at the age-old skills and genius that created them. They are our history, after all. And reflect our nature, who we truly are – the best and worst of us.

Grand ancient architecture is splendor at its best because of its two facets – beauty and horror… light and dark, attraction and repulsion.

And we stand in perfect understanding, indeed, in great awe of it all.