Philosophie A La Toilette

In the tiny toilet cubicle of my temporary flat, there are a bunch of inspirational quotes tacked to the door and walls. So not the place for them, my feng shui’d side rebelled at first (good chi going down the drain and all that). But then I guess many a classical philosopher must have had a eureka moment in comparable cubicles. This one I’ve been giving a lot of thought since I’ve been here. It’s by Primo Levi:

“Lo credo proprio che per vivere contenti bisogna per forza avere qualche cosa da fare, ma che non sia troppo facile; oppure qualche cosa da desiderare, ma non un desiderio cosi per aria, qualche cosa che uno abbia la speranza di arrivarci.”

Which translates roughly –bearing in mind I don’t exactly speak Italian– as:

“I think that, to live contentedly, one needs to have something to do, but not something that is too easy. Or, alternatively, something to desire (to wish for); not a desire just to have, but one one has the hope to achieve someday.”

This is quite on point for me at the moment. Though I wonder if we don’t need a bit of both…

Thorns And Roses

I stumbled upon a plant sale in the botanical garden just now. I went out to get some air and serenity, and instead found the place thronged with people. And air, yes, that too. But I hate throngs, crowds, masses. I do love plants though, so I thought I may as well look around. There was an amazing red maple bonsai I would have loved to whisk away, but it was too expensive and the stall owner was eyeing me too closely to do any whisking of the illegal kind (not!). I did buy a young rosebush –what else? I don’t call myself Miss Rose for nothing– for my future balcony. I just couldn’t resist. It’s a variety I hadn’t heard of before, a beautifully messy bloom, not too pink, not too pale. One of the most beautiful varieties of this region, the seller agreed. They’re supposed to be quite aromatic too. And, he pointed out, they don’t have thorns. I hadn’t noticed but, indeed, the stems are wonderfully soft. On my way home I thought of roses and thorns, and our conviction that you can’t have one without the other. But apparently you can. The thought filled me with optimism. Could life really be that good?

A Rather Confucian Thought

It’s all very subtle still, but my folks are getting a little older. Over the past few weeks I’ve witnessed a steady flow of small and medium health complaints, culminating into a daytrip to the hospital with my mum yesterday. It’s something I wanted to do for her: make her laugh when I arrived with a bag of goodies and a funny monkey with bobbing head (I couldn’t find a balloon, where are these people when you need them?!), spend the tedious hours waiting with her, be there when she woke up, recount the crazy things she said as the anesthetic was wearing off…It’s the kind of daughter I want to be. But, having a long-term illness myself, our parent-child relationship is probably a little different than that of other people of our generation. They tend to spare me more, expect little and support a lot. I’ve gladly accepted this because, to be honest, when i’m ill I don’t have the energy to do otherwise. I know I give them what I can in my own way.

This time around I’ve tried to take less support and give a little more, but keeping it up for two months has been a struggle. I’m spending more energy on helping out and listening (or keeping my mouth shut, depending on the situation), while not having my own pitiful energy levels replenished by being helped and listened to. It’s not that I feel entitled to a certain quota of support, but rather that I need it. I’m constantly hovering close to my limit and, as a result, I don’t have much left over to give to other people.

This has been a nagging worry for the past few weeks, regarding my parents. A day will come when I’ll have to –want to– take more responsibility for them. Of course, rationally speaking, I know I may not be ill forever. But, having lived like this for the better part of my life, it’s kind of hard to think outside the box, as it were.

Number 44

“What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility–a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.”

I loved Obama’s inauguration speech. He touched on everything you’d hope the new president of the U.S. would –no matter what country you were listening from (a welcome change!). I’m sure everyone heard it, so I won’t copy more than this one part, which I found quite uplifting personally. You can read the whole thing here.

A Brainwave On Compassion

At around nine o’clock every morning, one of my neighbours walks her two little kids (one and three, I’d say) to school. They stop briefly on the pavement right across the building to wave hello to the old lady on the second floor –the one who calls me a cow, incidentally, though in the nicest possible way. I’m usually having tea on my balcony by then, and can’t help but notice the cute little neighbourly scene. The older one always used to have something to say to the lady, while the baby was busy waving in every possible direction. The old lady shouting in her shaky, happy voice and the mum translating the children’s babbling for her. It was one of those moments that filled me with a general sort of optimism for the day.

Recently, though, the older one seems to be going through a phase. She refuses to acknowledge the old lady and would do anything to avoid having to wave to her. What’s more, she tries her hardest to prevent the little one from waving too, covering her eyes or crowding into the stroller to block her view. Kids are kids, of course, and entitled to their stages of development. But the situation got me wondering…

Could she be behaving that way because she’s picking up on the old lady’s weakness? After all, kids seem to have an infallible knack for this. And, developing the theory a little further, does this mean that the intuitive reaction to weakness is –if not necessarily exploitation– rejection? It reminded me of this past June, when my parents got a new kitten. Feeling utterly lost and vulnerable, he walked up to the older cat, hoping for some love and care. Instead he got a wallop in the face –the older one’s unpremeditated, hundred percent intuitive reaction.

Could compassion be a completely fabricated sentiment, institutionalised and taught, but not at all intuitive? If my neighbour would explain to her daughter that the old lady’s kind of lonely, and that her morning wave may be something she looks forward to, would it make her more inclined to wave, or less?