perspectives-otherwise

[perspectives-otherwise]

Careless Whispers, Whispered Carefully.

It’s been years since I logged in to Tumblr, and to be honest there really is no reason to because...what I have to write here should have long been forgotten, gotten rid of, off-ed to the depths of hell.

But I can’t stop thinking about you. I miss you every damned day, and I pine for that few weeks of electric, intimate moments with you. Why can’t I let it go? Why can’t I see that the person I’m with is the best for me, and truly the most kind-hearted, patient man any woman could hope for?

I doubt this will go away for a long time. And that’s the real tragedy, because I bet you’d long stowed these memories, these feelings, these thoughts, somewhere deep and dusty in the recesses of your mind.

Is that okay? It’s not, at least to me. But fuck me if I ever open this can of worms again.

[perspectives-otherwise]

A Skeptic’s Certainty: How is He Certain of His Beliefs?

The first time I witnessed my father cry, he was standing at death’s door.

I have been raised on the bread and butter of a political household. For the many years that I sat in front of the television, forced to flip to the news channel, dear, my father has appeared behind the tempered glass screen more times than I could count as my age today. Not once did he ever waver in his conviction, nor his voice. His chocolate brown eyes held a steadfast – our family would call it hard – look that could shoot an eagle dead; once his eyes became glazed over in that way, all of us knew there could be no persuasion and negotiation entertained.

I inherited this very look from my father. Eyes that, at first glance, are colored a boring dark chocolate brown, but then one notices them to be a clear, soft almond as the light hits my face at the right angle. When defiant, I could bore holes into another’s pair of eyes. Most of the time, my parents were on the receiving end of it. Though I had never actually went out of my way to stand in theirs.

Everyone at school knew me as ‘the kid with a scary but famous dad’. This was, admittedly, an extremely helpful deterrent for those who loved picking on the timid, puny ones along the corridor – not that I was a shrimp, but small nonetheless. Acquaintances greeted me by my family name, but close friends call me Jo. My real name is Jean, but who likes to be named after an item of clothing?

The memory of books crowds my mind whenever I reminisced about childhood. The four walls of my father’s study room were lined with heavy bookshelves made of oak: each lacquered slab of wood that groaned under the weight of hardbound, leather-bound books had handwritten labels stuck on carefully with tape. Most of the spaces on the shelves had been filled even before I was born, but when I turned 7 and read as much as I breathed, my father called me into his room one day and faced me to the shelf closest to the French windows. He looked at me and said:

“This belongs to you now. Fill it with the knowledge you truly wish to have.”

Together, we began removing the books long untouched by human hands, and the air soon became choked with dust.

As a child, I devoured fairy tales and fictional stories. As a middle and high school student, my teachers unearthed and enthusiastically cultivated in me the love of nature and science. This naturally led me on to pursue environmental studies later in university, which also spelt disaster for the relationship between my father and me. In the years leading up to the falling out, however, I relished the joy in collecting books on geography and philosophy, amongst various classic literature novels that only encouraged my idealism and naivety.

~

“Excuse me, Ms. Brooks, I think the textbook is wrong…and I don’t understand this paragraph.”

It was in the middle of my favorite 6th grade lesson when I pointed out an error in our still crisp, plastic-wrapped textbooks.[i] At home, I had read a little about climate change – something about rising sea levels and melting glaciers – that these were the effects of human activities, such as industrialization and carbon emissions. However, the school textbook printed vague, ambiguous statements that eventually led to the conclusion that climate change is natural, and not at all caused by mankind.

Being the nitpicky student that I am, my hand shot up in the air during quiet reading time.

“Nonsense, Jean, the textbook is never wrong! Just follow the arguments and you’ll understand.”

Being the determined individual that I am, I went home and consulted my father on the matter.

“Jean…your teacher is right. Do as she says and you’ll do well in school. Anyway, you should stop reading whatever it is that is getting you all confused. Trust me, it will bring you no good – because they are WRONG. For every day that I am at the office and campaigns, all I hear about is the same damn thing: that climate change is truly happening and that we are the cause of it, blah blah blah. My colleagues and I are up to our eyeballs in work trying to rebuke these claims and keep the higher-ups happy, so the money continues rolling in for us. Please don’t be an additional worry on my mind, girl!”

I left the room in much greater confusion.

~

Politics never used to interest me at all. Since the textbook incident, however, I began paying more attention to environmental campaigns broadcasted on the news and searched the web for old speeches by my father. Amidst the name-calling and dramatic pauses, I realized the shocking mindsets many politicians had towards climate change, and how deeply rooted their beliefs are.

To them, climate change is a lie.

Besides accusing the activists of hurting the economy in their efforts to reduce carbon emissions, the ‘conservative’ politicians refused to make any further comment or argument by concluding that “I’m not a scientist”, and this statement effectively renders them immune to any scientific discussion or opinion requested.[ii] On the surface level, they claim to have no scientific and thus, expert knowledge on the issue of climate change, but in reality, they simply wish to avoid getting their hands dirty and putting America’s economy on hold. Evidently, they are much more concerned with earning profit than saving the Earth, though they would rather die than admit so.

As an amateur holding a Bachelor’s degree in environmental studies, I could still understand and empathize with some of the senior politicians and the general public; the phenomenon of climate change can be bizarre and its technicalities difficult to grasp, such that even the world’s leading experts are still racking their brains over finding a solution.[iii] If even the scientists are uncertain about the whole issue, then perhaps the average individual should be allowed to entertain a little skepticism!

Total skepticism is pushing it a little too far, however. The research I did online was baffling: one in four Americans were completely skeptical of climate change, and they believed that it is a natural process that humans had nothing to do with.[iv] Most of the time, the skeptical politicians had monetary backing from corporations vested in economic interest, such as the fossil fuel and oil industries. With a cap on carbon emissions, these corporations would face much loss in business and thus, revenue; with profit as the ultimate goal, these companies were little inclined to agree to such restrictions.[v]

Following the campaigns sickened me to the stomach, but I continued to do so in order to be updated on the progress of climate change mitigation. Little was achieved.

~

“You have no right as a daughter to lecture me!”

2009. That year, my father and I contested against each other at the 15th Conference of the Parties. At that point in time, I was considered one of the most established experts on the field of environmental science, global warming in particular. To everyone, I was greeted as Dr. Ernie, and my name was well-respected worldwide, but spat on by climate change skeptics.

My father was one of them.

Our relationship had steadily soured ever since I decided to throw his advice out the window and follow my instincts. Rationality kicked in as I dug deeper into the underworld of politics and environmental science, and I forced myself to stay level-headed whenever my father’s face drifted to mind, his threatening voice commanding me to leave the entire matter alone. Counter-intuitively, as I grew knowledgeable of the subject, his inability to understand my most beloved passion only encouraged my inability to understand the inner workings of his mind.

I worked through years with a single motivation: to persuade my father that climate change is, and has been ongoing for decades. Personal scientific reports were painstakingly simplified and rewritten countless times, complicated models reduced to layman diagrams drawn by hand in order to illustrate the very reality of it all.[vi] Every single time I handed him the papers, he tore them up into shreds before chucking them at my feet.

We had just returned home from the conference before I walked out of his house for the last time. He had ripped every single beloved book of mine from the shelves and set them on fire in the backyard.

~

2015.

I was about to leave my home for a jog when the telephone shrilled through my briefcase. A frantic female voice asked for my name, and I answered yes, speaking. It turned out to be my mother.

She told me that my father was dying.

~

“Hi, Dad.”

The house had remained its exact, spotless appearance. The midday sun illuminated his bedroom, washing it down with clean and golden-yellow warmth.

Blanketed and cushioned by stark white, sterile cotton sheets and pillows on his bed, he wheezed heavily and paused often to catch big gulps of air. My father beckoned me feebly nearer to his side.

Some formal exchanges on how are you, what have you been doing, before we lapsed into an awkward contest of staring each other down. Then he spoke.

My father lamented on the years wasted on preserving his own pride and self-image, instead of embracing new knowledge and making up for his lack of education. Something about cognitive dissonance theory, he waved his hand impatiently. To put it simply, denying climate change completely was the easier choice compared to conceding that his commitment in opinion is flawed; with scientific authorities directly challenging his belief system, the unconscious psychological inclination was to react negatively towards the rejected option, or reduce its initial appeal. In this case, my father was faced with the dilemma between altering his entire belief system on climate change to allow the appropriate decisions in mitigation, or to condemn the scientific consensus as a pack of lies and continue his anti-campaigns.[vii] Also, there was growing economic pressure from the corporations to deliver results and ensure that carbon emissions levels are not restricted.

As an uneducated and conservative man, he could only invest faith in human innovation and technological advancements to reduce the effects of climate change, rather than swallow the overwhelming scientific evidence that condemned everything he supported. Naturally, he sought discord with the latter and picked at any uncertainty that the scientists reluctantly revealed; this he did so especially with climate modeling, which are far from accurate and complete in their analysis and prediction of our climate.[viii]

“I’ve watched the world gradually progress into the technological age, a complete makeover that occurred over a few mere decades. There is so much more potential for the future, and I so believed in humans to conquer anything that stood in our way.[ix] Climate change, to many of us, was just another trivial matter that the government and certain goody-two shoes fussed over in order to gain more funding and support from policy makers. We didn’t want to relinquish any monetary control to them…[x]

Your growing passion in environmental science did nothing to persuade me in changing my mind. I had secretly admired your fierce determination in not letting the matter rest, but this old man of yours was never going to admit to his daughter that he is wrong about something he had devoted his life to fighting against. And I wish to apologize for that now.”

Never once did he let go of my right hand – clasped tightly in his icy cold own, I could only interpret this long abandoned gesture as his final way of expressing affection and regret, perhaps mingled with a little pride. There was no hardness this time, only a single tear clinging on desperately to the corner of his right eye.

 Endnotes

[i] See Singer, Merrill. "Anthropology and Climate Change." AnthropologyNews.

[ii] Atkin, Emily. "‘I’m Not A Scientist': A Complete Guide To Politicians Who Plead Ignorance On Climate Change." ThinkProgress RSS. October 3, 2014. Accessed March 8, 2015.

[iii] Dunlap, R. E. "Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction." American Behavioral Scientist 56, no. 6 (2013): 691-98. 691.

[iv] Saad, Lydia. "One in Four in U.S. Are Solidly Skeptical of Global Warming." One in Four in U.S. Are Solidly Skeptical of Global Warming. April 22, 2014. Accessed March 8, 2015.

[v] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 692-694.

[vi] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 691. Refer also to Atkin, Paragraph 3.

[vii] Gelfert, Axel, “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” Philosophy and Public Issues (New Series), Vol. 3, No. 1 (2013), 167-208, edited by S. Maffettone, G. Pellegrino and M. Bocchiola. 189-194.

[viii] Gelfert. “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” 179-181.

[ix] Gelfert. “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” 183-184.

[x] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 694.

[perspectives-otherwise]

i truly fucking miss you even though i wake up every day telling myself i dont and i wont and- then i do.

[perspectives-otherwise]

how i hold you in such high regard; that i feel so displaced in my own being

[perspectives-otherwise]

it’s during late nights in the office that i think of you most.

to have someone to walk with to get dinner, to know that someone would work not only for the sake of working but to accompany me till i’ve completed my tasks. it’s a comforting thought to have even if it’s at the back of my mind.

the ache has diminished to a tender spot in my heart over these past days. not to mention the fact that anselm’s back and that work’s gotten a lot crazier with new responsibilities - i was definitely kept occupied this week.

but i still miss your presence during the pockets of breathing space now and then, especially at fixed moments of the day where we’d take turns to ask each other, “wanna eat, dabao for you?” i never would have fathomed such a simple, innocent question to carry so much weight in my being now, as i keep it held in the prison of my lips from most if not all other colleagues. i like them all, yes; but lunches with them would mean spending emotional energy as i’m still getting to know them better. i knew you well enough that eating with you required little of that, and so i welcomed your company even though you could be such a twirp at times.

i would have been furious and disappointed if you had decided to stay for whatever reason. i would also have been glad, however, because that would have meant having a friend in the office to banter with and vent to any time. 

but i’m all for you to succeed and achieve what you dream of, even if that means having to live with quiet midday breaks and and lonely evening toils.

[perspectives-otherwise]

didn’t expect it to ache so much, though i have no right to feel this way. she’s yours and you’re hers, while i am me and a third party. the past is the past, to be reminisced in times of nostalgia. but i find myself replaying the memories wondering if they were merely for play, for your temporary solace until she came back. i don’t think you’re ignoring me for any reason but to be respectful towards her. hell, i even wanted you to be honest about our situation. doesn’t mean it’s okay, doesn’t mean i can stop myself from concocting other wild scenarios or ridiculous assumptions about your absence based on my most recent actions. actions i wish i could take back, so you could have left with an untainted memory of me. but that’s too late now. i fuck up everything eventually. this is the beginning of the end.

[perspectives-otherwise]

how do you kill a feeling?

[perspectives-otherwise]

i’m sorry i said i didn’t want to meet her.

i’m not jealous, nor do i dislike her.

it’s just not right that we meet under these circumstances.

i wouldn’t have known what to say without revealing how close we’ve gotten over time.

that would have left me with nothing to say.

i’m sorry.

[perspectives-otherwise]

i’m missing you so much in this moment it hurts

[perspectives-otherwise]

not the same without you around

but i’m adjusting to your absence, filling the spaces in between by giving my love to others

so my heart doesn’t burst with all that i carry

for you

too bad it’s all for you

here i am with a sinking heart

and all i can do to keep afloat is to shovel it all out

until there’s nothing left to bear

[perspectives-otherwise]

my feelings for you grow day by day.

[perspectives-otherwise]

when all that you feel, you can only feel, and do nothing more.

that’s where the heartache lies; in the void, where nothing could be everything, but everything would have to become nothing for something to birth.

lofty castles in the air. butterflies that flutter into slow deaths.

you hope we may still be friends, you believe that nothing changes despite this. i don’t disagree, but that doesn’t mean it’s hard to pretend otherwise.

i like you.

you hold a piece of my heart, perhaps unknowingly so - but i gave it willingly without a murmur.

i hope you understand how much you mean to me, even if we drift apart eventually.

i love you.

in all senses of the word, i love you.

that’s all i can say.

[perspectives-otherwise]

And on the third day...

I felt incompetent today. My two supervisors had assigned me a task each; A requested for a couple of blurbs to be done by 5pm tomorrow, while L required an EDM by today for a public programme happening next week.  Given that I was notified only at noon and that both deadlines were rather tight, I panicked a little inside before deciding to have lunch and then tackle the EDM first. 

Although it was my virgin experience using a design software, I was grimly determined to understand the basics and waste little time getting stumped by the task. With an existing template, I managed to blunder through the Illustrator platform for an hour or so to complete a passable draft. I sent it over to L with a cheerful message to inform me if it needed changes, and eagerly proceeded to writing the blurbs.

It was barely five minutes later when L came over with a physical copy of the EDM and graciously pointed out a couple of mistakes. I wasn’t mortified at first; but with subsequent failed attempts two, three, four to produce a satisfactory piece, I felt increasingly stressed. The image had to be resized to fit the width of the page without losing its fidelity; font sizes were specific, paragraphs had to be aligned appropriately, and, when put together, the EDM should not look cramped or distorted. Not only was I utterly boggled by the different tools and options available, I was also unaware that we were able to modify the template as well. Had I known earlier that the artboard dimensions could be increased, my problem would have been resolved in half the time and tries taken to do so.

So it was slightly past 4pm when L finally gave it the green light, which left me 2.5 hours or so to write. Granted, there was no need to rush since the blurbs were due the next day. My concern, however, was misinterpreting the provided material and therefore presenting inaccurate information about the artists; some of them had incoherent writing or did not elaborate sufficiently to present clear ideas. I myself would not like an inaccurate biography, so I believe the same to be as such for other artists. Therefore, I feared very much of trawling through the Internet or racking my brains for too long a time, and eventually completing the blurbs past the deadline.

_____________________

I had written this on the way home after work yesterday, but the draft wasn’t saved so I had to rewrite the text. It is already the end of my fourth day at this point in time. Just to update then: I had easily finished my blurbs and submitted them at noon earlier, and A just provided feedback that is mostly positive and on the technicalities of the writing style required. All in all, it was a relief that my writing was not criticized as inferior!

Also, I do intend to chronicle my time here at NTU CCA Singapore. While it is not easy to return to journalling after such a long hiatus, I thought it helpful to archive my thoughts and feelings about the general workload and environment, so that after the program I would be more cognizant of personal and interpersonal expectations in the art industry. Once again, I did attempt to document my first day on Tumblr, but yet again the draft was lost as my data was turned off.

[perspectives-otherwise]

philosophy doesn’t seem like the most suitable choice of study to me anymore.

[perspectives-otherwise]

what makes you think blogging about your trivial thoughts and life experiences would excite others to think for themselves? 

perhaps a little too ambitious; you can’t control their reactions.

[perspectives-otherwise]

I’m either starting a new space or switching this tumblr to a private blog soon. Too many of the worries and concerns flooding my mind nowadays are too sensitive and personal to be displayed on a public, online space; as much as I venture to be open and honest, I would rather much prefer to know who is actually receiving the information from my lips or my fingers. 

It really depends on how frequent my blogging will become. 

[perspectives-otherwise]

the amount of negativity (towards me) that has been churned out from this relationship...

seriously don’t know how much to credit myself, or the other.