Grief

Grief has a strange evolution. At times, it seems like it will never end or even fade. It makes the days pass slowly and painfully, excruciatingly dragging out moments of loneliness and regret until they themselves seem to last for days. But then, all of a sudden, years have gone past, and you look back and realise that you have inched your way out of the worst parts of grief.

I cannot believe that it has already been a full year and a half. And yes, I still feel like half an orphan many times during the course of a day. But I've come to accept it in a way that I was not able to in the months immediately after my father's death. There are times when I am smacked with the desire to talk to him, to ask him questions I know he would be able to answer. I continue to wish that I had gotten to know more about his life and what kind of person he was outside of simply being my father. And I still feel guilt that my life had more of my father in it than have my brother and sisters'; I don't think I will ever be able to stop regretting that my youngest sister will have no virtually memory of my father, nor he of her. But I no longer mourn the conversations I never had but should have. For one, I would drive myself crazy that way, and the pragmatic part of me has finally made itself heard and told me that if I had all the conversations I wanted to with all the people who warranted them, I would neither sleep, eat, nor do anything else. Perhaps there were some things I was just not meant to know.

And I cannot help but perversely note that, in some ways, I am closer to my father than I was when he was still alive. I realize now just how fortunate I am to have a loving family and what a difference it has made in my life. I am more determined than ever to do what would make my father proud. His death has allowed me to more fully appreciate and understand ideals like humility, patience, fraility and basic human pride; and while being grateful for that may seem inexcusably selfish, I can only hope that someday, I am able to do the same for someone else. And it reassures me that even as we leave this earth, our last moment can be of value.

And so I don't think I am completely over my grief, nor do I believe I ever will be. But it has morphed into something different than it once was. I still grieve, but with that grieving comes a sincere gratefulness for what I had, even if it did not last as long as I might have liked.

The Allure of the '60s

Yes, it is true. My second post in as many days. What, you may ask, is the occasion? Well, to be perfectly honest, after writing about the broadcasting market in China and the origins of the National Bank for hours straight, I needed a break. With such thrilling topics I know it is unbelievable that I could grow tired, but there it is. And somehow, sitting on here and typing more or less without purpose for a few minutes won't make me feel as guilty as just taking a break. So, for the sake of my psychological welfare, here I am again.

And since I have been tapping my feet the past few days to the soundtrack of the hippie-inspired film Across the Universe, I have decided to bless the world with my views on the 1960s. Perhaps it's just because I've seen so few films lately (and the most recent before this was the most unfortunate The Game Plan with some of the babysitees, which I can only assume The Rock, or whatever his name is, will come to regret). But this one really got me. The entire score is done to Beatles' songs, but they weave together a remarkably coherent story. It traces the life a young Liverpoolian, coincidentally named Jude, as he travels to America, gets involved with the anti-war movment, and falls in love with a And, with the exception of Bono, none of the actors are very well known, but they did a fantastic job. And it made me fall in love with the Beatles' music all over again. They certainly put a lot out into the world while they were together.

And as I happily listened to "Revolution" for what must be the 40th time earlier today, I got to thinking -- what would I have been like had I grown up in the 60s? They were such an explosive time, and proved definitely that the young and idealistic could in fact move the world. And I do so feel like I am at that painfully idealistic stage in my life, where nothing seems satisfactory, but there's still that glimmer somewhere on the horizon that tells me that we can in fact make things better. I want to believe it; I have to believe it. And while books I've read and what people older than I have said tell me that the feelings of idealism will fade a little bit under the pressure of pragmatism, right now I can empathize with the hippies' drive to create a new world order.
But I have to wonder if that's only because the legacy that the generation left us. Would I be so quick to understand the desire for a revolution if it were not for all the stories, and policies, and music left behind by the 60s? Somehow, I suspect that by giving importance to those teenage feelings of energy and revolution that had been quashed or hushed for generations before, the hippies really changed the world a little bit for all of us who came after. We were all forced to approach everything just a bit differently.
I'm not sure what kind of hippy I would have made, though. The clothes are right up my alley, the music still makes me grin, and the some of the ideas still strike me with their power. But drugs don't make any sense to me, particularly if you're trying to make the world a different place -- kind of hard to do so if you're high all the time. Plus, kaleidoscopes make me dizzy, and all the drug-induced art I've seen seems to involve far too much kaleidoscope imagery. So I suppose that means I would have made half a good hippy, and that's good enough for me.

And, with that, now back to the ever-scintilating growth of the Chinese TV market . . .

It's been a month . . .

I know, I know: it's been a whole month since my last post. And while blogging should be something like mother's milk to me at this stage in my life, where I feel in desperate need of some sort of soap box, but where, ironically, very few people care to listen to me, I find it hard to set aside the requisite time. I am not so talented that I can sit down at a moment's whim and spurt out an intelligent, or even reasonably intelligent, set of paragraphs that get across the point I'd like to make. Sadly, my writing requires much more deliberation, and usually about two of three drafts and some editing before I am confident enough to put it out there and say "This is what I mean. Period."

I've seen articles written by rabid bloggers who claim that posting their thoughts, hopes, and frustrations online has become a daily therapy session they cannot live without. I'd like to send them some of my work, since they seem to have so much idle time on their hands . . .
Maybe I am just a poor prioritizer, but any free moment it seems I do have, I am overwhelmed with the desire to climb into my bed and snag a bit of sleep. Laziness, of course, could be the answer as well, but I shudder to admit that, however accurate it may be.

In any case, to prove that I have in fact been managing to keep up with important current events despite all the tedious midterms I've been glaring at recently, I will include the following thought from a very amusing little article on the BBC.
"In America, every election has been more expensive than the last, and yet the White House has passed from a Bush to a Clinton, back to a Bush and, many believe, may pass back to a Clinton.
It seems an awful lot of time and money to spend on what looks to outsiders like two rival dynasties fighting over the same address. " http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7036876.stm

I would copy and paste some of the tedious midterms here as well, but let's be honest and acknoweldge that no one has the slightest interest in reading anything of them.

Until the next time . . .