They taught me

People I would like to meet before I fade away: Lee Kuan Yew, Condoleezza Rice, Maya Angelou, Archie Weller. And not just to meet, but to hear them pour their hearts out about things that matter to them, to take in their experiences, to receive their wisdom, to learn from their mistakes and to hold them in admiration and respect.



They have each impacted me in ways unique to their lifetime contribution to the world at large: Lee Kuan Yew politically, Condoleezza Rice intellectually, Maya Angelou racially, Archie Weller socially.



















If I were to write a biography of a famous person, it would probably be Maya Angelou. Why? Because she went from a victim of abuse to a fighter of cause. She fights for the cause of women; black women particularly, justice, human rights, Aids, political stability and a whole lot of other causes affecting the voice-less; people who can't speak or fight for themselves.

Though I live and breathe in a comfortable, progressive and stable environment, I owe it to Maya Angelou to fight my fledgling cause of being a writer - to document the history, aspirations and achievements of our lives and to offer solace to others who identify with my writings.

The Kite Runner - the movie

The most anticipated movie since I picked up the book exactly a year ago, in Nov 06.

To gain a little understanding on the background of the book, I have previously posted an interview with the author, Khaled Hosseini: http://lilwritergie.blogspot.com/2006_12_01_archive.html

Now here's a trailer of the movie - an amazing story of 2 friends, close as brothers, set in Kabul. A journey of friendship, kinship, love, trust, betrayal, redemption and faith.

Pearl S. Buck

Carrying a book in one's hands is a good thing to do - it has almost always sparked off conversations in an otherwise quiet lift. I have had that happened to me several times now and have thus drawn this fine conclusion.

As is my usual morning routine, I'll reach my work area an hour earlier, settle myself comfortably at a nearby breakfast eatery with my ham and egg mayo sandwich and a hot cup of coffee, with my favourite read in hand. I'm currently trailing Adeline Yen Mah's collection. At a quarter to nine, I'll usually rise to make my way to the office. This morning a colleague spotted me holding Adeline Yen Mah's A Thousand Pieces of Gold and found that I enjoy Chinese history and recommended me an excellent American writer, Pearl S. Buck, an American who spent most of her growing up years in China and who would return years later to dwell in the great land.

More than a great writer with a dozen award winning books under her belt and the first American woman to win a Nobel Prize in Literature, Pearl was a compassionate humanitarian. She personally adopted about a dozen children and established the Pearl S. Buck Foundation, which provides sponsorship funding for thousands of children in half-a-dozen Asian countries

According to wikipedia, Pearl wrote over 100 works of literature, her best-known being The Good Earth. The Good Earth chronicled the fictional life of the farmer Wang Lung against the backdrop of 20th century turmoil and revolution in China. It traces the rise of Wang Lung from the abject poverty of his early days to his final years by which he had accumulated great wealth and power. The novel portrays the complexities of marriage, parenthood, joy, pain, and human frailty. Pearl stresses in the novel the value of fertile land, hard work, thrift, and responsibility. The novel has a very circular feel to it, recreating the ebb and flow of life, the change of seasons, and the cycles of age and family. Pearl's writing is unique in the way it blends the technical language of the King James Bible with the simplicity and directness of the old Chinese narrative sagas.

Her writing career only began at the age of 41. Now that speaks volumes to me - there's hope for struggling, aspiring writers. I should be grabbing a title from Pearl's collection soon - probably beginning with The Good Earth.

To Mr. Khaled Hosseini

Questions I'd like to ask and thoughts I'd like to share with Mr. Khaled Hosseini, author of The Kite Runner:

How do you write like that given that your profession is a doctor?

Have you always written stories growing up like Amir?

How did you come up with such a gripping plot?

Do you write with the end in mind or do you weave the characters and plot into your story as you go along?

Really, I dread reaching the last page of the book because I’m so enraptured I can’t let go. Not a middle easterner myself yet I could identify so closely with the characters that my heart bled as though their grief were mine.

How do you capture the readers’ hearts and minds the way you do?

I have never been this inspired to work on my passion before. Thank you for bringing to surface what has been brewing in my heart and dream machine for so long – a desire to write a great story.

Confession from The Kite Runner

I kept my tumultuous emotion contained till page 219 when I gave way and cried. I’ve never really cried reading a book before, save once when I read a moving story on forgiveness in Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul 5 years ago.

From page 1 till page 219 of The Kite Runner, I shared the characters’ grief and felt the sting of Baba & Hassan’s death as did the protagonist Amir. I too, like Amir, live a life stricken with guilt. I too, like Amir, let down and betrayed a dear friend. I too, like Amir, wonder many times looking up to heaven if I’m deserving of God’s many blessings of new friendships.

Amir in the book had the opportunity to make up for his debt to his dearly departed friend Hassan. While there is life, there is hope. I pray and hope that like Amir, I too, will be granted a sacred chance to make up for the pain I’ve caused.


P/S: The Kite Runner has 371 pages worth of emotionally, culturally, politically & historically provoking gems. I'm currently at page 219. And I dread arriving at the last page because I want this journey to my literary enrichment and personal reflection go on a little longer. I pray that in this lifetime I'll never be in lack of such life-changing books.

The Kite Runner

We can all move out of racial, cultural and political prejudices by being outstanding in what we do and being known in our craft in the international scene.

Consider Maya Angelou, out of her African American roots and sexual abuse she was lifted out of shame and poverty by her writing prowess.

Consider Khaled Hosseini who grew up in the dodgy streets of Kabul and obscure Afghanistan. Who would have thought that his experience turned novel would triumph as an international best seller?

Allow me to introduce a fantastic read by Khaled Hosseini, the book that brought him international fame - The Kite Runner. The review below can be found at http://www.reviewsofbooks.com/kite_runner

In The Kite Runner, Amir and Hassan grow up together in Afghanistan like brothers, although they couldn't be more different. Amir is the son of a wealthy businessman, a Sunni Muslim, a Pashtun, and he's educated and reads voraciously. Hassan's father is a servant to Amir's father, and Hassan is a Sh'ia Muslim, a Hazara, he's illiterate, and he has a harelip. But neither boy has a mother and they spend their boyhoods roaming the streets of Kabul together. Amir, though, continually uses his superior position to taunt or abuse Hassan, and one day hides in fear as Hassan is beaten mercilessly by bullies. The Soviet invasion of Aghanistan sends Amir's family to the United States, but he returns there as an adult during the Taliban rule to atone for his sins to Hassan. Khaled Hosseini is an Afghan émigré living in San Francisco and his debut novel has received mostly good reviews. The Denver Post says The Kite Runner "ranks among the best-written and provocative stories of the year so far."

May I persuade you to get a hold of this book and devour its content from cover to cover as you journey with the author through the weaves of love, kinship, betrayal and atonement.

By the way, the book's made it so big that a movie is underway, due for release in the US in Nov 2007.

My Ladies

My indulgence in reading has introduced me to a large world beyond mine (mine’s disgustingly small, I confess) – it has brought me across the shores of the tropical peninsula and tiny garden city to the proud American soil, introducing me to its rich resource of phenomenal women. My introduction to these charismatic ladies has been a journey of discovery and healing for me personally.

I have previously posted separated entries on my heroines; this post now serves as a combined tribute to my life-shapers.

My inexpressible gratitude to these heroines I have never met in person, and I may never do, but in the event I do by divine appointment, the cheeriest lady I would be. ;)

I learnt extreme discipline from the orderly life of Condoleezza Rice.


I learnt empathy and patience towards colored people through Maya Angelou’s detailed autobiography of her struggle to overcome prejudice, discrimination and abuse.


I learnt the power of charisma and truth enmeshed in media through Oprah’s talk show which has the far reaching effect of influence and inspiration.


A three-cord common thread runs through all 3 women – colored skin, wisdom and tenacity.

I do believe the color of their skin opened wide the door of narrow paths and dark alleys that generated much grit and inner strength for them to scale heights that many others, particularly the whites have not the privilege to encounter.

When culture and society gather all they have to push you down and trap you in, you get large on the inside, rise above the tide, and triumph over impossibilities.


Disclaimer: No amount of research I put up on my blog space here would justify the wide expanse of these women’s contribution and influence to their society and worldwide. For more information, may I suggest you google them up. Cheers.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

Below is an exceptional excerpt from "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings" by Maya Angelou. She writes her autobiography and teaches us lessons on being undermined, rejected, despised. Yet the agony of her childhood brought out the very victory of humanity that otherwise would not have been learnt by those who had it all easy in life.

_______________________

We were maids and farmers, handymen and washerwomen, and anything higher that we aspired to was farcical and presumptuous.

It was awful to be Negro and have no control over my life. It was brutal to be young and already trained to sit quietly and listen to charges brought against my color with no chance of defense. As a species, we were an abomination. All of us.

A poem by James Weldon Johnson, and a music composed by J. Rosamond Johnson, which became the Negro national anthem:

"Lift ev'ry voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty

Stony the road we trod
Bitter the chastening rod
Felt in the days when hope, unborn, had died.
Yet with a steady beat
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?

We have come over a way
that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through
the blood of the slaughtered."

Oh, Black known and unknown poets, how often have your auctioned pains sustained us? Who will compute the lonely nights made less lonely by your songs, or by empty pots made less tragic by your tales?

We were on top again. As always, again. We survived. The depths had been icy and dark, but now a bright sun spoke to our souls. I was a proud member of the wonderful, beautiful Negro race.

Quotes from Maya Angelou

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

I speak to the black experience, but I am always talking about the human condition – about what we can endure, dream, fail at, and still survive.

I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver.

The honorary duty of a human being is to love.

History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.

Love is that condition in the human spirit so profound that it allows me to survive, and better than that, to thrive with passion, compassion, and style.

The main thing in one's own private world is to try to laugh as much as you cry.

If you find it in your heart to care for somebody else, you will have succeeded.

We allow our ignorance to prevail upon us and make us think we can survive alone, alone in patches, alone in groups, alone in races, even alone in genders.

If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. Don't complain.

John Edgar Wideman

Next to the creation of man, language is perhaps the next most outstanding masterpiece. In reading words of another I find my own. In listening to viewpoints of another I find understanding and tolerance, and perhaps; patience and love. In the life of John Edgar Wideman, I find a master of the English language.

We create a protective shell around us in an attempt to survive the turmoil and chaos of growing up.

Here is a brief introduction to the thoughts and writings of the man.

“The trouble with this survival mechanism was the time and energy expended on the upkeep of the shell. The brighter, harder, more convincing and impenetrable the shell became, the more I lost touch with the inner sanctuary where I was supposed to be hiding. It was no more accessible to me than it was to the people I had intended to keep out. Inside was a breeding ground for rage, hate, dreams of vengeance.” - John Edgar Wideman

An excerpt from “In Praise of Silence”

by John Edgar Wideman

“For a people who have endured a long, long history of waiting – waiting at the Jordan river, waiting chained in stone forts on the west coast of Africa, waiting for slavery and discrimination to end, waiting for justice and respect as first class citizens, waiting for prison gates to open, waiting eternities in emergency wards and clinic lines in sorry urban hospitals – silence is an old, familiar companion. Time and silence, silence and time. The silence attending waiting, waiting through times of enforced silence. Silence upon the ground which wishes are inscribed while the endless waiting continues. Silence a dreaming space where what’s awaited is imagined and, when it doesn’t come, the space where dreams are dismantled, dissolving again into silence. Dreams born and dying and born again in the deep womb of silence, and silence, tainted though it is by disappointment and waiting, also a reservoir of hope.”