Sunday, June 14, 2015

Moscow!

Moscow! I'm finally here! I never imagined that I would ever visit Russia, until I met my friends at IFP School.

Russia is a beautiful country. I never understood the true meaning of beauty until I came to Russia. Here, I found that there is beauty in everything!

Beauty in the form of a single rose, in a book, in architecture, in art, in music, in sculpture, even on the walls and roofs of buildings!

An item is not just an item. It is the ultimate art when an item not only serves its function, but also pleases the one who beholds it at the same time. Imagine holding a smooth,warm,furry embroidered purple velvet book with gold letterings which chronicles the rich Russian history from the Ice age until the modern times; or imagine walking in the train stations, looking up at the ceilings with bright light which shine onto white ribbons and floral designs; or even looking through a transparent roof which serves as the base of a fountain, with gushing water constantly splashing over it under the glittering sun rays... Ahh! This, is Russia!

Here, I learnt that a building is not just a mere building. Each construction, each building has its own style, which represents its architect and the era they were constructed. It symbolizes the identity, the richness, the grandiose of a nation. Even the space between buildings, between walls, and height of the rooms tell a story. Each empty space, each solid surface, is a space for the creation of art. A place to tell a story, to transmit a message, to remind one of the years gone by, and envisioning of a hopeful and brighter future. A building made from red earth and bricks has a rich soul, wise beyond its years, an ever present witness to the events from one era to another. Its style of construction, whether it has a golden domed roof or a coloured one; whether it has a cross, straight or crooked; whether it's painted red with shite stripes, or white with gold borders; it is not only unique but a display of elegance and records of historical events.

I love Russia. My Russian friends laments the worsening economic condition of their country, the lack of appreciation towards their countries' talented artists, musicians and academicians. I too feel for them. But when I look at the beauty of the country, in nature, in architecture, in science, in literature, in music, and in art, I think it is a blessing to be living in Russia. For one can only create beautiful pieces when one's mind is at peace. Beauty is, after all, a reflection of our soul's inner peace .
Even though it is difficult to enter Russia for travellers from non-Russian speaking countries (with strict visa requirements), it is still great for me. Indeed, there are always two sides to a coin. Having partially closed doors means limiting ties to the outside world, but it also means you carefully select those whom you want to allow into your world, to ensure the people living within your borders are protected, innocent, unpolluted and well-cared for. It ensures the continuity of your cultural heritage and preservation of your identity.

After this trip to Russia, I am inspired. Behind each closed door, is a hidden gem. I intend to discover or at least peer through each of these windows to have a glimpse into the world behind every door.

Sculptures in the Gardens

Lake in the Apple Gardens! 
Look! Golden book! 

Church! 

Red walls of Kremlin from afar!

Walls of a Metro Station 

Ceiling of the Metro Station - looks like a theatre!


Another ceiling in the metro station 


Fountain on the roof of a shopping complex!


Saturday, June 13, 2015

Dreams

"Jean, I want to work overseas!" expresses my Russian friend. "I want to see the world. I don't want to work here, in Moscow, with traffic jams, an old and cramped apartment, an overcrowded population."
I smiled. "Don't we all think the same?"
Having worked in Dubai, studying in France and travelling halfway across the world, I learnt that there is a growing population who desire a better life out of their own countries. There are French who want to work in America, there are Americans who want to work in Germany, there are Germans who want to work in UAE, there are Emiratis who want to work in the US, there are Malaysians who want to work in Russia, and there are Russians who want to work in and live in Iran.
Each of us have our own dreams. We always think that it's better outside. It's greener, it's bluer, it's richer, it's funnier; it's cooler, it's brighter, it's more sunny, it's more liberating. In short, everything is better out of the borders of our own homes.
As I walk in the apple gardens of B... ya, I stop myself and catch my ever fluidizing thoughts in thin air. "Stop!" I will it. "Is it truly like this?"
My Russian friends think that Moscow is overpopulated. I say "Come to Beijing! You'll see the true definition of overpopulation."
They say "oh look! A local organization decided to stop funding university research projects!" I say "Fancy you even have that! Come to my country! An academy for scientists and researchers, does it even exist?"
One day, one of them had a look at Google map of my place and exclaimed, "Oh ! Wow! It's so green!"  which caused me to think that Moscow was a grey, polluted city without greens, only buildings. But imagine my surprise when I my friend brought me to Gorky park and we walked around this **hectar area, along the river, cycling water boats, admiring sculptures and fountains, with young and old, dancing and playing musical instruments, to swaying flowers, trees and leaves! Honestly, this was not the Russia I imagined.
As if hearing my thoughts, my friend who's walking with me breaks in, "Really?! What did you expect then, before you came to Russia?"
Embarassed, I blushed. Abashed. "Actually, I imagined the streets to be filled with weapon-wielding youths, street gangs, and stone-cold  men and women affected by the World War II with un-smiling faces."
(Ok. I may have exaggerated there, ever so slightly.)
Instead, I see men and women, young and old, happily cycling under the sun, talking, couples lying around on fluffy air bags in the grass, children singing, teenagers playing the guitar, dancing to Russian folk songs. Happily and gaily, I might add.
And so, I realized that our perceptions have been very much pre-conditioned by mass media. Whenever I visit a new country, time and time again, I am reminded that to have a feel of what it really likes to be a citizen in a country, you have to be there physically and live there for as long as you can. Never, ever, be influenced by what you read on the internet or newspapers, or what you watch on television news or movies. And please, do, interact with the locals as much as you can, for then, you will view life through the lenses of an authentic local, not just through the perspective of tourists or tourist guides.
In addition, don't assume that just because there are migrants or foreigners working in your country, it symbolizes that the living conditions of the home countries of these migrants/foreigners are bad. There are many factors which cause people to work overseas, be it in the business sector or service industry. These factors can range anything from low salaries to an official excuse for a family escapade. With the increased population of students with higher degrees graduating from schools annually, the location of work for today's youth is no longer confined within the limits of their own home country. The youths of today eagerly seeking to achieve what their parents lacked, an ocean of options, the luxury of carving out the challenges of their imaginations and living up to their individual expectations.
The youths of our future are a hopeful generation, filled with zest, passion and a vision. They know exactly what they want. Let us not quench their enthusiasm. Instead, let us fan their burning embers and fire them up to create a world of endless possibilities.


Friday, June 12, 2015

Heritage

I am a Malaysian. I am Chinese. Just these two facts alone are enough confuse anybody who doesn't originate from South-East Asia.
"What?! You're Chinese? You're Malaysian? How can that be? Chinese are from China, Malays are from Malaysian. You can't be both!" exclaims a student from Belgium.
"Why not? My grandparents came from China to Malaysia in the early part of  20th Century. They married, and gave birth to my parents, who gave birth to me." I explained.
"So, you're a Malay! Your mum's Malay? Your dad's Malay?" the student summarizes and continues quizzing me.
"No! No! I'm not! I'm Chinese! I'm a Malaysian-Chinese! My mum's Chinese, my Dad's Chinese. I am Chinese." I insist.
To the eyes of the outside world, almost all countries have a one ethnic group per country policy, especially in China and Russia (I think).
Indeed, even as a child, I lived in a borderless world of my own. I never felt as if I belonged to a specific country. I studied history, but I could never related to it. I studied it because I had to pass my exams. Not because I wanted to understand my roots or my ancestors. This was, after all, where my ancestors chose to settle down. Not me. If I had a choice, I would choose to live in a cool country with four seasons, next to a gurgling river in spring and snowy mountains in winter. and of course, pluck mushrooms for dinner, make flower garlands to crown my imaginary long, black hair.
This, I suppose, are just one of the many impacts of being migrant children. A sense of lost identity, as if there are many lose ends which are just waiting to be tied.
As we tour Moscow, my Russian friends regale me with the historical events of Russia , from the reign of Tsar, Alexander the 1st, Alexander the Second, Stalin, Lenin, Putin, I am deeply impressed. They tell me these stories from their hearts. They are not merely reciting what they learnt from school or their teachers. They honestly believe it, and truly appreciate contribution of these leaders. The most amazing thing is they tell it with so much pride! Their faces beam as they speak about the achievements of their leaders, the legacy they have left behind, and their eyes glisten as they speak of the demise or  asasination of leaders.
After four days, my friend decided to quiz me unexpectedly. "So, Jean! When did the Russian revolution occur? Who was the leader of this revolution? When did Soviet Union breakup and when was Russia formed?"
I stutter. I mutter. "Umm.. is it Lenin? Stalin?"
My friend is exasperated. "Jean! You've listened to me, and K talking about the history of Russia for four days! You don't even know?! How could you? Tell me! Who is Lenin? What did he do for the country? Who is Stalin?" She bombards me with questions like the cannons from Kremlin Square.
My heart skips three beats. It thumps, twice. Then, it leaps off the cliff. "An autocratic leader? The leader of a revolution?"
"Aaaargh!!!!"  My friend had to literally tie both of her hands to her back to prevent herself from strangling me. I felt like a chicken awaiting its fate at the slaughterhouse.
"After four days! Did you even listen to what we explained?!" She exclaims.
I squirm uneasily, even though I am standing. I do not speak of the history of Malaysia with as much enthusiasm as them, much less, the history of China. I am hopeless.
During a visit to the Russian national state museum, we see a group of school girls in red vested uniforms and braided hair,  listening to the explanation of the museum guide on Russian history. And I thought, "Wow! These children are so lucky!"
My friend, as if reading my thoughts, catches me and throws me a question yet again, "Don't you have these excursions when you were young? If you didn't, how would you understand history? How would you relate to it? How would you even feel or understand history?"
Probably because of my missing tours to museums when I was a child, I thus do not appreciate history very much. I gave a random, lame excuse. "Ohh! Probably it is because I stayed in a small little village, far from the city. Thus, I did not have many opportunities to visit museums."
Honestly, I only began to love history when I visited the underground Dubai museum, with wax figures enacting scenes of the past, transported back through time, from the era when pearl diving was a lucrative business until oil and gas exploitation became the next big hit of the country. I was even more amazed when I visited the London museum only to discover that the Louvre in Paris existed since the 18th/19th Century! The artist even drew a picture of it in winter and summer seasons! My! My! I didn't know museums existed even then! I thought museums were a thing of the 20th century.
My friend's curiousity piqued. "How about classical music? How are you able to differentiate between compositions of Chopin, Bach, Mozart and Brahms?"
"I don't." I reply. "All I know is Chopin is a pianist and he's from the Romantic period. Mozart is into string instruments and he's from the ... period."
"But you do know their famous pieces, right? The Four Seasons by Vivaldi, Nocturne by Chopin..." And she rapidly fires off a few other famous compositions by renowned composers).
"Well, I know some. But not all. I know the tune if I heard them. But not the title of these compositions." I reply. Rather unconvincingly, I might add. After all, I had to study these pieces because my piano teacher painstakingly made sure that I could differentiate and play piano pieces as accurately as possible, as denoted on the printed music scores. I played not from my heart, but as depicted.
"How, then, are you able to appreciate literature by Shakespeare or famous poets and authors, if you never visited theatres, watch plays and dances, to watch these scenes being enacted out, right in front of your eyes?"
"Ahh! We just use our imagination!" To this question, I replied with absolute conviction. After all, this is what I frequently do. Imagine. Even until now.
"How about dancing, singing... ? How do you learn these at school?"
"Well, we learn to sing for fun, nursery rhymes, folk songs, but never the story behind these songs, or the era they were sung in, or imagine the scenario or the circumstances that the singer was in to come up with these songs. As for dance, did we have dance? I don't think so. It was an optional, extra-curricular activity."
My friend shakes her head in utter disbelief. She cannot imagine a life without ballet, singing, theatre and museums for students. I forgot to tell her, these are things which I only indulged in, as my earning power gradually increased, and I could afford to continually educate myself, about the world and life, its strife and its joys. As I seek to be inspired and entertained, by plays, art and music.
For a moment, we paused. How far have I come from the day I was schooling by the seaside, to the day I am working in one of the tallest twin towers in the world today? Are the youths and children of our youth missing out on certain parts of essential education, just because our methods and approaches are different? Are the left and right brains of our future generation being developed in a balanced manner?
I sigh. I certainly believe that everybody should watch a piece performed in a theatre at least once in their lifetime. To listen to a well rehearsed piece of orchestra music, string, quartet, especially wind instruments like piccolo and flute, oh! and harps! To be touched by music, and amazed by the talents of these musicians, whose fingers dance gracefully and effortlessly across strings, whistling through seemingly hollow tubes, releasing colourful music notes into the sky, like little soap bubbles, glistening and shining under the sun rays.
Yet, because these things are considered non-profitable activities, the cost of these performances are relatively high. And really, not everybody loves it, even if they could afford it.
Education is a continuous journey. If I had the power to influence the education ministry, I certainly would encourage children to visit theatres and museums, and bring history to life too! Oh! I do wish, ever, so much.




Buildings at the Red Kremlin Square 

Entrance to Gorky Park 

Military Museum (I think)


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Credits

Two years ago, I came to France to take a break. Little did I know, not only did it break my strong and stubborn spirit, but it humbled me, softened me, and helped me to find my warmth, humanity, intellectuality and spirituality.

When I left Paris one year ago, I thought I shed tears because I missed the trees, the rivers, the cool fresh air, the gardens, the apple trees, the grape vines and the flowers. I thought I would be happy if I worked here, in this small little town of Rueil-Malmaison.

But this time, when I came back to Paris, one year after leaving it, after meeting up with my classmates and friends, I realize that it was not Paris I missed. It was the friends that I had made throughout my stay here.

I miss the intellectual conversations that we have during lunch breaks, dinners, field trips and weekends. I miss talking about life, its definition, its purpose, its meaning.

I miss the discussions about international relations and its impact on the global socio-economy and welfare of its citizens. I miss exploring religion from different aspects, perspectives and views through the eyes of a socialist, democrat, atheist and believers.

When I came two years ago, I was like a music box with broken parts, unable to turn or sing, like a bird who lost its voice,with broken wings. It was my friends whom I met here, who renewed my faith, my hope, my trust and my purpose in life.

There's Prizila, who, like me, decided to take a break from work to redefine her life and her priorities. There's Naomi, who fearlessly shared her testimony on how God changed her life and how it could change others, and engulfed me in flames when all I could do was cackle like wet wood. There's Antoine, who taught me French during wireline logging lessons in class, embedding his French accent into his English conversations. There's Florian, who wasn't afraid to be who he is, good or evil, angel or menace, who readily, courageously admitted what he did, who knew he was shrewd and used his wits. It was my very first time to meet someone who did not feel the need to pretend, who did exactly what he wanted, stretching the boundaries of morality as much as he could. There's Gonza, who was a strong pillar of support throughout my studies, who stuck with me through thick and thin, who taught me to communicate verbally, when all I wanted to do was shut myself in my world of silence. There's Mansour, who taught me to question everything, including my beliefs, my thoughts, my values, my character and my background. There's Quentin, who taught me statistics and correlations, and inspired me to aim further and look beyond my present capabilities. There's Kostya, whose low, deep, even and calm tone of voice could soothe any agitated spirit. Then there's Moralito, who treats girls like delicate jewels, taking care of each of us, readily offering his help whenever we are in distress. And of course, Evgenii, with his strong, enthusiastic and fearless Russian spirit, who perseveres despite all odds; Masha, who warmed my heart, a young lady in her twienties who loved music in the sixties, teaching me how to love; and Alina, who's pure and innocent, and I did not even have the heart to tell her to wear a metal armour to shield herself, just in case she got bogged down by its weight.  

Oh! Did I also mention my professors? SB, who taught me to hang on tight, the road ahead may be rough, but to be change agents, we must stick around like glue. Be strong headed, be strong willed, no matter how long it takes, be it 3 years, 5 years, 7 years, 10 years,.... , stick around long enough to bring positive impact to your circle of influence. OL, who exposed me to reservoir characterization for the first time and I fell in love with it at first sight and knew that it would be my calling, my vocation for the next half of my life. IB, who nourished me, cherished me, watered me, showered me with hugs, kisses, bright sun rays and rainbows everywhere, when all I could see was storms, thunders, lightning and dark, grey clouds. MA, who showed me how to execute our best, and not expect others to respond the way we want them to. and of course, CL, who made me fell in love with geology with all her varied creative approaches.

I love France and all that it has to offer. Its art is an expression of individualism. Its fashion exudes simplicity and elegance. Its architecture is an attestation to its history. Its cuisine is an art. Its gardens are a reflection of its philosophical ideologies. Its history is about flexibility. Its people are inspiring. Every conversation with a French citizen is like sitting around the table of Socrates, engaging in conversations which provoke thoughts, answering with questions, and questioning with answers, like a mirror which reflects itself, creating an infinite number of images and solutions.

Yes. All of us came to France (on the pretext of studying) with different expectations. Yet, having submerged ourselves in French waters, we emerged out of its magical ocean with more confidence, a stronger sense of purpose in life, developing our own unique sense of individualism, finding our niche. Most of all, we found out who we really are, not afraid to be our true selves and having the courage to live it out.

Thursday, June 04, 2015

Maintenance

Everything needs maintenance. Cars need repairs. Windows need washing. Engines need oiling. Birds and pets need attention. Likewise, relationships need lots of tender loving care too!  

So, here's what HB from my school reminded me, "Jean! Remember to maintain the strong relationships that you have forged here! Keep in touch with everyone! I have a school friend whom I played with when I was 10 years old, and until now, we still meet up every week for lunch!"

It's unbelievable! (at least to me). I'm not a person who's into maintaining relationships. I do meet people from time to time, but not frequently. Probably because I like to stay at home too much. haha. But it is time to change, grow up and be a responsible adult. I will not take anything for granted from now on. I will appreciate all that I have, the people in my life, every single one. I will work even harder to keep these relationships. 

I shall not burn a bridge each time I make a new one. After all, it is hard to meet those who think along the same lines as us, or to find those whose voices resonate with the pitch and tone of our lives. Jean, Jean... remember, remember.... oil those wheels and keep them running! Send a message to your friends from time to time to let them know you're thinking of them. 

Monday, June 01, 2015

Summer in Russia

In the Apple Gardens



Flying to Russia... View from the Airplane

Ahh! Summer! Spring! Flowers , red, white, and pink, everywhere!

Ahh! Dandelions! 

Dandelions dandelions, I love dandelions!

Pigeon 

Ducks swimming in the river! 

Duck who flew and perched on the banister!