Matt's Missives

I have done the near impossible. Found the Holy Grail? The Lost City of Gold? Perhaps finally achieved the Ideal in physics and "discovered" a grand unified field theory? While these might all seem like worthy, or at least interesting, goals, I have done something much more difficult. I have found the surest sign that there actually is culture in Singapore (as opposed to, say, a population oriented entirely towards business, shopping and eating): a subversive element.
Now, I know I've written about what it's like here, with cameras and rules and a cleanliness that borders on sterility, and I've wondered, "where are the people who don't want to live this way?" Now I have, at long last, found them.
It started like this: I was perusing the newspaper yesterday morning, over a cup of coffee and roti prata, searching for the comics (surely the most relevant part of any daily news source), when I came across pictures of breakdancers and some rapper that looked vaguely familiar. Now this looks interesting . . . reading the article I discovered that that very evening would mark the beginning of a weekend long festival seeking to bring together "traditional" art and "street" art. An interesting idea, particularly for Singapore. So, I got the address of the place and decided to check it out (it being Friday night, it being Singapore and me having nothing else to do). So I went down, watched some graffiti artists spray canvas alongside painters, watched some local rappers, saw some breakdancers, saw a rapper from Toronto freestyling alongside some Indian drummers. Long story short, though, I made friends with the b-girls, who are from Ottawa, interestingly enough, met the rapper from Toronto (Jason aka Vandal), who offered to show me around KL when I pass through next weekend, and various other people involved in an art scene here that is not pretentious, not really based around making big money, and seems to be subversive. The space itself was a kind of gallery/theatre/cafe all rolled into one, that encourages young artists here in Singapore. The event was being held in the garden, where the walls were scribbled with those universal slogans of disenchanted youth such as: "Class war, not race war" "Bush and Blair are . . ." You get the idea.
So, here I am in Singapore, looking at the city a little bit differently, feeling a little bit more at home. It just goes to show that those pretentious old French postmodernists were right about one thing: where there is power, there is the struggle against it, in some form or another.

Posted by matt at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I think I secretly believe that words are the key to making things real. In the beginning there was the Word. It's voicing what's inside that makes something real. That's the magic of the word--that the internal world is externalized through it. It's my need to profess, confess, obsess (Mike told me "internal rhyme is always cheesy . . ." but hey). I have this problem with realizing that the unspoken has just as much power as the verbalized . . .
Words draw attention to me like a spotlight . . . at least I want them to. Look at this public medium. . . But do they make my internal landscape a reality? Not really: it's more just that when I boast something I then (usually) feel the need to follow through on it. At least if I mention it enough.
But it's what I don't say, somehow, that is the realest of me. It's the part of me that slides out between the words, inadvertantly, through the chinks in my armour, that reflects my internal reality. not the one I would like people to believe exists, rather the one that's there all the time. the little insecurities, the small hopes and worries. Usually I don't speak these because I'm so afraid of making them real--of having to face them, of dragging them into the light. so they hide in the shadows. But you know what? Words aren't the only way of acknowledging something's existence, I have recently realized. In fact, there are many, often much more powerful ways. It is these I want to explore.

Posted by matt at 11:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Walked around my neighbourhood last night, trying to appreciate what it is I'm in the middle of, rather than treating each day as a chore. It's hard sometimes, but there are times when I'd rather be no place else. Past those shops selling cheap clothes that play tapes announcing prices, items and a going out of business sale that seem to have no correlation to the actual shop I'm passing. Past the restaurant guy whose mouth moves faster than sound, so the lips are going before the words can come out, like a badly synched movie, and his words are so fast that when they do come it's like a waterfall of sound and the letters are all mixed together in some string like binary code nicefoodverycheapairconditioningupstairsyoulikeyesNICEFOOD. Past the tourists in Bugis junction who seem to come to this city solely to shop and will buy just about anything, from the cheapest Buddhist kitsch, to the finest southeast Asian silk, and the vendor who cater to them, and they're all packed in like sardines. Past the Rochor "canal" that is more gutter than water. Past the disco era puke green shopping malls, past these shopping malls built in the decade of greed (which seems to have extended its stay indefinitely), past the malls built ten years ago, past the malls of today. Past the lines of trees stretching into the distance, with branches so wide you look to the horizon and think there's a park that you want to walk to, but it's just a desert mirage that never gets any closer no matter how far you walk, cause in the end its just a line of trees that decorates the sidewalk. Past the banyons, and god they're beautiful, their branches hanging down to the ground, stretching to form new trunks (they actaully do: when they hit they take root, and what was once a vine thickens into a trunk, so you get whole groves that are really just one big tree, like redwoods, who sprout new trunks off their main ones, only in reverse, all upside down) that ring this hollow, a little cave or hanging garden, where people leave prayers and messages and offerings because even in Singapore, even in 2003, people recognize something magical or sacred or holy which is really just something that defies our attempts to contain it in our cultural walls, something that's beyond the monotony of mechanized traffic and synchronized lives and the whims of the market. I stop for a moment. Past the red light alley where the unhappy looking men pace up and down, like they're window shopping, and you can't see what's in the windows but you know it's human, trying to delay the inevitable purchase, resist the desire just a little longer cause when that desire's gone you're just left with a void, cause you're still alone, and it hurts so much that all you want is your desire back, so you return, night after night, looking for a companionship that can never be, a plug for the hole that will never exist. Past the stray cats who only get fed secretively, furtively, by the old man in the morning whose eyes dart back and forth because what he's doing is illegal so it's not bad but it's still wrong, and the cats look as suspicious as him because everyone else just kicks them, and there are dogs around and they have kittens, I've seen them, and no one else is going to feed them, so they dart out of the alley at night and look for anything they can find. And the crows are sweeping, swooping down picking up sticks and soft stuff to build and line their nests with, and they yell at me in the morning while I'm eating breakfast, but I don't mind cause I like crows, they're smart, and they make use of what we waste and that just proves how stupid we are for thinking we have the right to consume nature, because in the end nature will just consume us. And I'm home and I stand and listen to my body and look at the wall, at the ground, which is blank and white like I wish I could be, but my mind is still stepping, running, sprinting even when my body's so still my head's gonna explode cause I have this urge to run to a rooftop somewhere and scream at the world: STOP!! JUST LOOK! Cause in the end all it takes is a real look around, and people will see, but right now no one's looking so no one thinks about what's happening.
And I don't. Instead I go upstairs, and sit at my desk and pour this out, so today I can send it to you and you can see my mind splat against a white wall, white ground.

Posted by matt at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My grandfather's dying. It's been happening slowly for the last few years, his Parkinson's has made him pretty immobile, despite his clarity of mind. He can't really read, or do crosswords, so he's reduced to watching TV most of the day. My mother bemoans the fact that such an intelligent man is reduced to this. So do I.
He's led a full life, travelled extensively in his late teens, working as crew on passenger liners to Asia from Vancouver. He saw China, the Philippinnes, Hong Kong when most of us today are still finishing high school. He worked himself through med school at a pharmacy, losing most of his hair in the process, until the owner gave him a scholarship that he paid off by continuing to work there once he'd finished his education. He worked as a doctor in logging camps in rural B.C. (I think) if I remember right he was up north in Haida Gwaii, or Bella Coola or something. He served as a doctor in England during WWII, and returned to Canada to pursue psychiatry, eventually establishing a private practice in Vancouver. I'm pretty sure these details are correct, but I get history mixed up in my head. In any case, this experienced man has just been diagnosed with prostate cancer.
Perhaps it's for the best, though. A full life behind him, and not much to look forward to, he seems prepared to go. I just hope it's not painful, and I hope I'm back home, able to be with him when it comes time.

Posted by matt at 02:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am giving up a dream. Perhaps I should be more accurate: I am giving up a fantasy. In fact, I'm giving up two, but I kind of see them as the same thing. You see, I have this tendency to romanticize life.

All through high school, and university, I had this notion, this idealized image of Love. I pictured myself one half of something greater than me, this transcendent bliss that would make all my problems disappear (okay, okay, laugh now). Childish in many ways, and as I got older I got disillusioned. Rough relationships and the realization that I was gauging my worth over whether or not someone found me attractive, found me worthy of being a partner, made me look harder, which obviously is not how love occurs. I longed for someone to approve of me, but now I'm tired of gauging my worth against someone else's views.

This brings me to the second thing I want to let go of. For as long as I can remember, I've loved heroics. Most people do, they get that tingle in the spine reading a book, watching a movie. Good versus evil, all that. Sure, it's fun. When I was young I was an avid fantasy and adventure reader--I loved the notion of some young kid, farmboy type, being picked out, being Chosen as a saviour. I was not exactly socially adept when I was young (or more accurately children between the ages of 10 and 14 are savage barbarians), so I always envisioned myself as that young hero.
Kind of unconsciously, this fantasy has so penetrated my self-image that I still find myself thinking in terms of the heroics I will, at some point in the vague future, perform. The reason I really want to excel in this manner is because I long for approval. I do. I'm confident, and as I grow older I feel more comfortable in my skin, but I still rely on others to validate myself. I guess we all do, and that's okay. I mean, friends are the ones who can tell me, after a particularly shit week that I'm still okay. Family is the one that's love me even when I get tired of loving myself. We need people, we need community. But I don't need to be a hero. I don't need to stand above everyone else, and I've really always wanted to.

So, I'm trying to put down a couple of old dreams.
I don't need some romantic vision of love, because someday someone whom I respect deeply will (hopefully) decide she wants to be with me. If that doesn't happen, I'll be okay.
I don't need to be a hero, because I'm already an okay guy. I already have people that love me, and I'm realizing that's enough.
I don't need life to become an adventure, because it already is an adventure. Every day that I wake up brings me some new thought, some new excitement. Now is my time for contemplation. Okay. Tomorrow will be a time for action. Okay. I don't need to be anything more than I already am.

Posted by matt at 07:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

sometimes these words just get stuck in my throat
and I can only cough them out like a hairball

sometimes my fingers feel swollen and cut
and my words bleed onto the page, smeared and illegible

sometimes
a scream becomes a wheeze
a laugh becomes a sigh

and even though nothing comes out right, I can't stuff it back in
so it just hangs there for moment,
until it dribbles down and splatters on the floor

Posted by matt at 11:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I finally took a shower in the monsoon rain. It's amazing that in a place so hot the rain can be so cool. I stepped out from under the covered walkway and let the big fat raindrops slap against my face and chest. Within seconds I was soaked, and I felt really cold for the first time since I got to Singapore. Taking a shower in your bathroom's okay, but there's nothing to get you feeling quite as clean as real, cold rain.

Posted by matt at 11:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

ah yes my unwitting audience, you are, once again, the lucky recipient of a random rant from Matt.  See, I have lots of time on my hands, so I'm trying to practise my writing--and of course all writers need an audience.  Since I have no one to recite bad poetry to here, and since they'd probably lock me up if I tried, I have volunteered all of you, as usual, to listen to me talk about nothing and everything.  Since there is so little to do in Singapore, since I don't shop and can only eat so much, there is lots of writing to be done.
this morning, after the sunday morning tai chi practice with students I headed over to Chinatown for a quick look around.  The first place I went was a small park called Pearl Hill.  This little green space, no bigger than summit hill park in Victoria, for those of you familiar with it (not a large park I assure you).  What I found interesting about this park is that it's not considered a city park.  No, this was a national park.  I had to laugh a little at that, because I guess, being from Canada, I have a slightly different view of "National Parks," masses of sprawling land with little or no (we should hope, though I imagine it's more theoretical than real) human influence.  This was a well manicured park, all lawn and fountain, paved paths and a reservoir at the top.  Pearl Hill is a national park.  Thinking about it now it makes me a little sad.  This is considered by many here a getaway from the city--peace and quiet in Singapore.  Now, I guess this is a priviliged position, but I only think of a get away as actually getting away from buildings, roads, traffic, the smell of gas and the roar of the city.  It's kind of scary that as we develop our cities, as they sprawl out, we lose track of what it is they're replacing.  Once again I see, in Singapore, a potential future for Canada as well--a sense of nature as a manicured, well-behaved patch of green.  I hope not though.

Posted by matt at 10:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ah yes, a truly inspiring day when I put in two log entries. . .see previous entry for the reason why.

a) I wonder, as I get older, why I can never really recapture the intensity of my teenage years. It seems like that time in your life is so passionate--probably in good part because it is a time of a lot of firsts, first kiss, first drink, first really meaningful semi-adult friendship, etc. etc. I don't really look back with nostalgia because being a teenager's pretty damn hard, and I'm happy right now. But I was thinking this evening that maybe part of that passionate emotion, part of what's lonely and exhilariting about being lost somewhere between childhood and adulthood is precisely that quality of being lost. When you're lost there is glory in the looking, you seek yourself, what's important to you, your path. There are a lot of failures, some successes, but your passion comes from the search. As you get older, or at least as I've gotten older, life is less about looking and more about recognizing what I need to do and motivating myself to do it. I may not be able to see my future, but I have a strong sense of my path. I don't feel lost anymore, and I think there's a painful kind of beauty in being lost.

b) okay, was just reading that according to the Essene book of Moses (ie first five books of the pentateuch), found in the dead sea scrolls, the commandment to honor your mother and father is actually the commandment to honor your mother earth and father heaven. interesting no? Could be an argument for environmentalism, but that's another tangent. What I find particularly interesting about this heaven and earth vocubalary its its central place in so many philosophies. It occurs again and again in the New Testament Gospels, is prominent in the the I Ching and Tao Te Ching. I don't know about buddhist texts, or hindu ones, but I'd be willing to guess that H + E make an appearance at least in the former. So why this importance? Well, other than as an expression of a central binary principal governing the existence of mankind (wow, lofty statement), heaven and earth are our means to orient ourselves. According to the I ching there is a number system, one is unity (the Tao, Taiji--meaning supreme ultimate--god, etc. etc.), two is yin-yang (binaries prevalent throughout any religious system, masculine/feminine principles, good/evil, dark/light, heaven/earth), and three is heaven, earth and human. Our place is between them. Our feet are rooted on the ground and our spines reach to heaven. We are in both places at once. Awareness of heaven and earth, of the land around us and the sky above, are basic preconditions to self-awareness, both in the literal and the metaphorical (ie awareness of our environment in the literal sense and a sense of opposing universal forces and how they affect our lives in the abstract sense). Now, the problem is when we stop being aware of these things, and start trying to govern them, analyse them, or worse, conquer them. Heaven and Earth can govern themselves, and no matter how hard we try, we'll never really understand completely the world around us--that's part of the beautiful mystery of life--so how could we possibly conquer them? The truth is, we've forgotten that it is our place to stand on the earth and look to the heavens. Instead we're trying to carve away at them both, thinking it's the only way we can find a place for ourselves. So next time you're out under the sky, stand up and feel the ground rooting your feet, lift your spine up to the sky and honor mother earth and father heaven.

Posted by matt at 06:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

so here I am on a sunny saturday afternoon with nothing to do. it's incredible that in a city of 4.5 million people there is nothing to do on the weekends. It's like singaporeans work so hard during the week that they have no creative energy to put into their recreation. This is ironic, because the reasoning (I thought) behind hard work was to enjoy a better standard of living, ie quality leisure time. Anyways, looks like I'll be moping around the house, which is okay. At least I have it to myself this afternoon until at least tomorrow, maybe even monday. Tek has gone to Malacca for the weekend, so I'm here alone. I'm trying to appreciate that, put it to some kind of use, but I can't really figure it out. I've put in over 3 hours of practise today already, and I guess I'll do some writing this afternoon. Sigh . . . time does seem to be dragging. It goes through stages, faster, slower. Weekends are always slower because there's nothing to do, no evening classes, just long stretches of afternoon in which I try to read as slowly as possible so as not finish my books too quickly. Why is it that one always has either too much time on one's hands or not enough? Funny . . .

Posted by matt at 03:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Every time I think this gets easier I'm proven wrong. At least I feel I'm getting a little better at dealing with it. I've realized that our culture is particularly adept at repression and lies. We push so much so deep into ourselves that we forget it's even there. Maybe we don't even know in the first place. We've gotten really good at lying to ourselves--so good the mind actually believes the lies. But not the body. No, the body doesn't lie. All that sadness, anger, fear--the body knows it, the body's telling you it's there. When you don't listen to your body it's easy to ignore--but lord, start listening and you'll almost wish you hadn't.
I have this ball of fear swirling around somewhere between my chest and stomach almost perpetually these days. I can't decide whether it's a rapid heartbeat, butterflies in my stomach or something else. I wake up in the mornign and it's there, and by the time I go to bed I feel I've let go of a little--but the next morning it's back. Where does it come from? I'm not really sure, except I'm realizing how ingrained in me fear is. I'm not a particularly nervous person, feel pretty self-confident, but man, this fear is deep. Maybe it's not even fear--it's not that overpowering--it's just like a constant stage fright, a nervousness, edginess. Maybe it's the realization that with all the lies we tell ourselves we're constantly performing, we're always playing roles, or maybe it's the a little more of the real me coming out, nervously. I don't know . . . working on figuring it out.

Posted by matt at 10:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have been thinking recently (far too much time on my hands . . .) a lot about coming of age recently, and what it means to be an adult.  In the not too distant past different cultures had different ways of celebrating the movement from youth to adulthood.  Vestiges of these rites remain, such as marriage and moving out, but these days there is no clear sense of being an adult--we seem to be stuck in this constant state of becoming.  Now, this means that young people, such as myself, walk a fine line when determining that strange growth out of childhood.  in some ways I'll always consider myself a kid because I can't stand certain ways we define adulthood in my culture, but in other ways I feel ready to move beyond the realm of innocence into some kind of challenging experience.  In many ways I have been doing this, as we all have, for the last ten years.  The problem is that without clear cut rites, without someone telling us now you're an adult, many young people wind up being childish (as opposed to childlike) all their lives.  Of course, the other extreme is all too prevalent as well--overly responsible, all too serious people, going around doing serious things with no time to enjoy life.  What I'm realizing, though, is that despite the lack of clear cut movement from one stage of life into another, or perhaps precisely because of it, young people today are inordinately free.  We are able to make our own rituals.  You can go into the desert at the end of every summer, make art and burn it all down, like I've done for the last two years.  You can travel, you can meditate, you can prove to yourself what it means to be an adult.  It is up to us to find our own ways--and that's an extremely powerful gift.  So while many flounder I hope all of you "youth" are making--or have made your way--successfully into a stage of your life that offers new experience, and remember that no matter how old we get we're always learning.  To the "adults"--I hope you've retained your sense of innocence that should never get old.  more ramblings. . .

Posted by matt at 10:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am not water
Sitting, waiting to be poured,
simply the vessel.

A full stomach and
Chrysanthemum blossoms in tea,
This is happiness.

Posted by matt at 10:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It has stopped raining here. It comes down so hard mid-afternoon--just watching it makes you feel almost wet. I succumb easily to the pathetic fallacy--my moods reflect the weather. A kind of sadness comes, when it rains. On Friday I spent time with some friends who were in town for just a day, Noah and Maylee, people my age, people who spoke my language. It felt good just to be around people who understand me, but it's kind of strange that just age makes that big a difference.
It's funny, here in Singapore there is little respect for youth. People assume that the young have nothing to teach them, so they don't really listen. I prefer to keep my mouth shut most of the time anyways (that's hard for me sometimes, but a good lesson). Tek's not really like that, but in some ways he is still of an older generation, and still my teacher. It's tough though, to be reining in that fire and passion of youth, that desire to run down the street naked just to show them it's okay. Or to yell at them to get off their cellphones. Still it's only for a couple more months and I'm here to observe, myself as much as anyone, and not necessarily act. That's kind of a strange thing in itself. Just to watch, to wonder, try not to pass judgement. Let myself be without too much interference, let others be without too much interference. My isolation is my own doing, and that's why though sometimes I get lonely, sad, angry, I'm also okay with it. Time for some bad poetry.

I am the casual observer--
sitting in the corner chain smoking cigarettes --
watching the crowd smile and lie.

I am the wiretap in the phone, the bug in the walls
hearing things noone's supposed to know,
unobtrusively powerful.

I am the black hole
pulling mass and energy towards me,
phenomenal gravity.

I am dark and dense,
infinite in mass, nonexistent in space,
unfathomable really.

I am omnipotent,
in silence.

Posted by matt at 01:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

    This process of "progress" is, by its own insistence on momentum, undoing itself.
    Last night I went to a Chinese tea ceremony--an ancient ritual of communication, sharing and mediation.  The woman speaking about the importance of this ceremony explained, as we all know, that you can't email tea.  or beer.  or laughs.  it's face to face, it's sharing the same moment in time, appreciating the same thing, face to face. it's disappearing.
    Before the ceremony there was a presentation on origami folding--the presenter showed us his eagle, elephant, seal, geometrical shapes.  All folded with one piece of paper, and incredibly realistic.  He remarked on the difference between being skillful and being creative, hinting that perhaps though Singapore has reached the peak of skillfulness in business, as well as scientific and mathematical education, it has done so while sacrificing creativity--that drive within us to be unique.
     Our haste, our notions of what is advancing us as a species is making us less mindful of eachother-- our relationships, communities and friends--and less mindful of ourselves--or desires, needs and emotions.  We can email halfway round the world but we can't say hello to a neighbour on the street.  We've sent many people to space, yet we seem incapable of appreciating our rapidly disappering wildlife.  We all know this already.  What's interesting, though, is that these very things we are ignoring now (and I would say it's not technology, rather the way we use it that is causing these fractures) will be missed soon--in some ways they are already missed.  Singaporeans over thirty, even while embracing convenience, material wealth and a modern city, bemoan the lack of . . .well the lack of many things.  loss of tradition, loss of community, loss of . . .it goes on.  So there is an awareness of a gap, an emptiness.  And its growing--and even as we try to fill it we make it bigger.  If there's a hole inside us, no amount of progress, material (or national) security, or technology will ever fill it.  It's up to us to do it.
    So another rant . . .I think I'll keep sending them.  Rants to you (heh heh) and slightly more maudlin emotional stuff on my new blog (maybe even some bad poetry, how fortunate for you).  Hope you are all doing well.

Posted by matt at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So here I am in Singapore. To explain how I arrived here would be to tell the story of my life in some ways, so I won't bore you all with the details (besides, I'm trying to write it elsewhere--don't want to spoil the surprise). The short explanation, though, is that I'm studying taijiquan and trying to figure out a little bit more about outside of my normal life. This involves lots of time for writing, thinking, and I'm lonelier than normal. So, my sister Hilary has kindly set up this blog and off we go . . . now instead of sending whiny or cynical emails to my friends I can share my thoughts with the whole world. Spread the pain around so to dilute it, as Dave Eggers might say. More to come . . .

Posted by matt at 09:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)