Short Stories from the Czech Republic

During the Ascension long weekend in May 2013, I went to Kraków to visit classmates and passed by Prague and Ostrava in the Czech lands. Two years have passed and the memories of the two days that I spent in the country have been distilled to two short stories. Maybe, it's better this way.

1. Prague

The highlight of Prague was the Hare Krishna Parade that came out of flipping nowhere and tore through the Old Town like a tornado.

The procession was heralded by very loud music, which is followed by the peculiar sight of a bunch of people sporting tiny ponytails and looks of profound peace and tolerance on their faces. They waved their hands in the air and danced in sprightly footsteps, as a megachurch member might do. It was a refreshing contrast to the dreariness of travelling alone in the day, so I stalked them as they went on their way, from Wenceslas Square to the Astronomical Clock, always keeping several paces behind them.

A granny was among their ranks, and she was in charge of dancing particularly vigorously and handing out promotional flyers to hapless people who got in the way. As it happened, Prague had a not trivial population of destitute people, and one of them had planted himself in Kožná, prostrating himself at the side of the alley behind his upturned hat. Emanating an air of overwhelming benevolence and compassion, the granny let drop a flyer into the man's hat and rejoined the parade. But the beggar, philistine as he is in matters of spirituality, only gave it a dismayed glance and then cast it contemptuously aside.

2. Ostrava
The highlight of my stopover at Ostrava was this meal, which was quaint as balls:

From the Coffee Table at Siem Reap

It just so happened that I am now in Cambodia to join Dad for a few days. I am pleased to report the existence of St. John's Church, but probably won't be able to make any of their mass/rosary timings. The church is rather understated in stark contrast to the insane fixation that people have on Angkor Wat, which is not even currently used as a house of worship. In other news, we biked out of town to visit some farmers in the morning. The highlight was trying salak, which is a fruit imported from Thailand. The Australians saw those things for the first time today and they (the fruits) were much better-tasting than their Indonesian counterparts.

UPDATE: Turns out people worship at A.W., and I stand corrected

The Sound of Trees

The Hispanics threw a big party at Lancaster event center a month ago. I wore the Friar's Brew t-shirt to the party and the people there loved it. I explained that my late ex-girlfriend had bought it for me and I now keep it as something to remember her by. It read "Friar's Brew / St. Mary of the Angels" and it had a small stylised figure of a very fat friar above the words, much wider than he is tall. According to Tina, this little friar "looks like he makes a sound", and she would make a sound like a rubber sheet stretching.

Everything makes a sound in Tina's universe. One day we had to walk down Jubilee Road, which was lined with some trees, and Tina told me that each of these trees made a sound. The sounds were similar to the the wordless babblings of very young children. If a tree had drooping foliage, it made a sound of a bummed-out youngster; if it had lively, upwards-pointing leaves, then the sound was gleeful; if it leant, it was a sound of the child falling asleep in his mother's bosom. In this way she called each tree along Jubilee Road by its name.

At the heart of this person who fill the very rational roles of girlfriend, daughter, sister, or teacher to those around her, lies a universe where everything has a name and a life of its own.

The Story of Lincoln

I am back from the work trip. It was not too bad as work trips go, and I got quite a lot of stuff done and learned, so there's that. On the other hand I had been quite hesitant and wary of documenting my emotional state for this stretch of time. As a result, people back home probably thought of what I went through in the States as a vague and murky cloud of ideas such as "experiences" or "time of your life".

Maybe it's time that I told a better story.

Long story short: I was scared of death all of the time.
Long story slightly less short: I experienced the worst feeling of abandonment by friends and family back home during this period, even though the whole time I was aware in my mind that it was an illusion. I had to do all I can to resist slipping into disrepair and dissolution. I changed my habits and my disposition to keep this spiritual death at bay. Everything I did, I did out of fear of death.

Death loomed above in the spring thunderstorm that brought tornadoes to the county. Death hissed menacingly in the roaring north winds that came and froze the town in May. Death taunted me in my hours before and after work, whenever I was alone, and tried to convinced me that no one would be bothered if I plain disappeared one day.

Culture shock? Not much at all. Singaporeans are no stranger to all-engulfing American cultural exports, but Lincoln has been more pleasant than I had expected, anyway. Travel opportunities? When you are under the thrall of the Gloom, travel for leisure goes to the bottom of your list of priorities.

Instead, I tried to make every moment at work count. I started an exercise regime, and set for myself repetition quotas that increased every now and then. I started going for daily mass. I met the priests. I started going to the weekly market. I started conversations with anyone I met or anyone who did so much as look at me funny. I gave to the homeless and heard their stories. I got wind and kept track of local events. My list of things to do in Lincoln grew and kept growing as my feelings of despair diminished. I still had things left undone when I flew off.

What does this small city on the prairies mean to the world?

It doesn't have many attractions for the casual traveller. It doesn't have upscale shopping areas or breathtaking scenery. It's just a place where people lived. In such a trip, I am thankful enough to wake up every day and find myself still breathing. What do I care for the myriad distractions of tourism? The town and her people have given me all I need to stay alive.

The Language of Love

Sometimes you can tell how much someone liked something by the way they pronounce the word for it. Podcast DJ Roman Mars loved flags, and gave a TED talk one day which was all about flags. During the speech he repeatedly said the word "flag", and basically would not shut up about flags for more than a few moments. He also pronounced the word "flag" in a way that made it sound as if he had glazed it over with dollops of honey, or as if the word "flag" was a very soft bed, and he was lying right in it. I had an English teacher in high school who loved cats. She had a way of saying the word "cat" that just makes your insides light up. It's nice to have people around who like things and spread that like around.