As a first conversation back in Hong Kong, it might take one aback to discuss human trafficking and child prostitution.  And yet, as a discussion during the Christmas season, it's apropos to ask, why do men do what they do to little children?

With my philosophical moorings in an evangelical Judeo-Christian framework, I believe that man is inherently depraved with an unending tendency towards self-gratification and self-aggrandizement.  For some reason, over a bottle of Bordeaux, we found ourselves sharing stories about prostitutes and their sufferings.  Indeed, I think few women, especially in brothels, truly choose their mode of employment - especially when given other options.  Many are forced and many are abducted.  My memories discussing such things in Singapore related to a well known red-light district in which many were abused and forced by the men in their lives.

One of the stories shared related to a young woman who had been raped and forced to serve as a prostitute from age 6-12 or so.  Sold by her aunt after her parents passed away, she did her best to fight those that would sell her body to men - paedophillic men.  Yet, handcuffed and beaten, what could a pre-teen girl do?  Raped repeatedly by hundreds if not thousands of men, she became mute - and being constantly handcuffed, her hands grew deformed and twisted.

And yet, when IJM came to figure out who was in that brother against their will, she eventually was released into houses for girls who suffered thus... 

And in time, she began to learn that she was prized - by God - and could make things, beautiful things...

In time, she even encountered a young man who would not judge her for being raped and abused - would not judge her for being maligned and mangled by those who did not and could not love her.

She told this young man all about her history, things that would disturb or disgust many a man.  Yet his response was, ultimately, "perhaps I can give back a little of what was taken from you."  

Grace.

Despite the STDs the girl had contracted, the scarring, injuries and infections that had damaged her reproductive track and organs - despite being told that she would never conceive, God gave her the grace to become with child - with the young man who would not give up pursuing this woman.  A young man that would not relent being God's gift to her.

Grace.

Christmas is about a child that was and is God, coming into the world impoverished, without means, and into persecution.  In that vulnerability, God decided to show his grace and presence; Immanuel. 

Redemption is about finding beauty - indeed, imbuing beauty, into that which was discarded.  Christ loved this gal through the young lad... He covers us with love and beauty, despite our wretchedness.

In this Christmas season, let us remember the giver of that greatest gift, and seek to give of ourselves likewise.  And giving of self always means sacrifice.

Did I mention that in time, the young lady did conceive?

Eulaleo

--------

PS.

Why do men rape children?

I propose it's about power and domination - I propose this based on interviews I've read from rapists and paedophiles...

I was in Roppongi a number of years back, and was wandering through Roppongi Hills, an upscale development by Mori group.  A friend of mine pointed out all the various Mori projects that had been created over the years, from the humble residential projects to the colossal and complex mixed use development projects that encompass residential, commercial and office units.  

There are a lot of ways to try to make the world a better place; some of those ways might include technology, science, service industries, being an agent of justice - but building spaces is an amazing one.  An architect might create a building or parts of a building - but creating a whole complex, nay, helping to plan a whole city (L'enfant, anyone?), is a whole different scale of influence.  Building human institutions, affecting their organizational behaviour can be very interesting - but spaces persist for centuries and possibly millennia.  Governments rarely last more than 500 years at the longest; if you count the Roman empire, it only spanned around that long, and one could argue that it actually was not a continuous government - after all, a switch from Republic to Triumvirate to Caesar-led, to me constitutes as regime-change.

Spaces, on the other hand, often out live governments - and even more so, city planning.  The basics of Parisian city planning have outlasted 4 republics, and quite a bit of monarchy.  Notre Dame de Paris will influence hearts and minds most likely for centuries to come.

Will Roppongi Hills?  Who knows...

But space, and how it affect the people that live and work in that space is quite sublime - and the effects are difficult to put into words.  When one looks into a clear sky, particularly when in a mountain range - the feeling is quite indescribable.  We are influenced by our spaces; whether we feel empowered, humbled, free, or constrained.

And as such, imagining being a developer of space, whether on a building scale, complex scale, city scale etc, is a huge responsibility and honour.

What are your favourite spaces in which to exist?

I personally really enjoyed the feeling on top of the rooftop lounge nestled in between Roppongi Hills' two towers.  The bamboo leaf acts partially as a canopy, and the view of Tokyo is quite something.  The geometry of the spaces inside are almost crystalline.  

-------

As an aside, I think if one is an environmentalist, if one is actually interested in conservation, then one should either support population reduction and/or mixed use housing.  The energy and transport infrastructure needed support a dense hub and spoke system is much less at high populations than a widely distributed sparse population with reticulae of roads, alleys, and electrical/water lines.

To conserve green space, it's best to sequester the humans and let them venture into nature, than to encroach on nature in an infiltrating fashion.

Today, after many months of being mildly-moderately sorrowful (given my normally hypomanic self) I've found myself smiling really joyfully.  It's not that I haven't had joy this past year, but I've been relatively sad for the better part of a year now, with intermittent moments of sharp pangs, interspersed with moments of real joy.  And it's not as if now I'm blithely smiling like a lackwit - no, I'm merely especially cognizant and appreciative of God's goodness.

I suppose as one ages, the reasons for sorrow increase, especially if one is a thinker.  One can contemplate the death of one's loved ones, the state of the world economy, global inequality and so forth.  Indeed, the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, and so... wisdom inevitably contemplates reasons for sorrow and concern.

Nevertheless, real joy can co-mingle with real sorrow.

Lamentations 3:22-23

²² Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, 
   for his compassions never fail. 
²³ They are new every morning; 
   great is your faithfulness.

Even in the midst of devastation, the writer of Lamentations could write joyfully about the goodness of God.  It's not a silly, childish thing, in my mind at all.  It's really a matter of sublime understanding of one's place in the universe - how small one is, how imperfect - and yet be awestruck by the person of God.

For me, this year has been a great reminder of God's faithfulness.  Despite my fallen state, mistakes made, sin... God still maintains grace to me.  For that, I can have joy.  

It has been my Annus Horribilis.  There have been years that may have competed, but this, I hope, will be the worst ever.  Fingers crossed.

Joy.

I am so very thankful for my God and Saviour for his unending goodness to me... to us.  He is so merciful to us - for we are fallen and selfish.  I am so grateful for his goodness to me.  I am forgiven.

When you came into the world you were

Unblemished

Your curves were smooth without

Fault

Your voice rang out with the timbre of honey and satin and golden yellow sunsets

I promised to tend to you and care for you -

You crooned your assent languidly

We traveled, we sang, we twined melody and harmony

Then a fall

As sudden as a lightning strike

The sound rings in my ears;

The crack of wood on stone

The clatter of breaking lacquer

Of strings reverberating in cacophony

Your unblemished curves, broken

Your long perfect neck, warped

Your edges, marred

My eyes are wide, my heart skips a beat

My friend, my companion in music -

Is broken.

I am aghast

Forgive me?

11.15.2011

Before this last trip to Hong Kong, I had the privilege of saving a life.  It was the first time that it was someone I knew.

Operating, thinking of their family, thinking of the things that went on in their lives, what they'd accomplished, what they cherished - it was an unusual feeling.  The person was younger than my dad and my mom... but close in age.  I couldn't help but to think of them, and what it might be like to operate on them.

Trying to save lives - to save brains in people whom you don't know can be reduced to technical skills.  It's when it is directly emotionally linked to oneself that it becomes progressively harder.

Thank God (and I did pray), that the patient did very well.  It strikes home.  I love my parents dearly... and hope I can help the loved ones of many others...

I wanted to build a world with you,
Where we could wander, run and play-
Where you'd be Queen, and I'd be King,
Til the day our hair turned gray.

And like a house of gossamer,
The thoughts were built and woven,
But buffeted by a winsome zephyr,
The spars and beams came cloven...

New days dawn, and new years sing
Of horizons and vistas and melodies
Whither those dreams might yet come true,
With whom one sings the harmonies...

11.04.11 

Silence whispers a slithering secret
In a cool breathless sigh

Wistful for sympathy;
Settling for withdrawn soliloquay

Shared solitude across the aether
A slender stream of "together"

A chasm bridged?
Perhaps
(If serendipitous)
Before quietus...

09.12.2011

Sun aloft in a sea of powder blue,
Painting the clouds from behind,
With strokes of gold and brushes of rouge -
Summer's warmth melts hearts and mellows minds -

The breeze brings the slightest of chills across the skin,
As solar heat caresses in delicious contrast -
The wind wends a different way on a whim,
Leaving longing that these idylls would ever last!

08.23.11

Listening to Yuja Wang play Prokofiev Piano Concerto 3 in C, Opus 26 was... impressive.  I'd seen/heard her play on youtube prior to this, which was technically impressive, but emotionally unfulfilling, in that her precision and technique were superb, but I had no sense of how well she connected with/in the music.  The performance yesterday convinced me that she's maturing into an ever more formidable pianist, with a depth of soul and love for the music that allows her to interpret the music in her own magical way.

Phrasing Prokofiev is no mean feat.  The pianistic prestidigitation required to simply play his music is daunting.  But to give voice to the composer's "language," phrasing the currents of sound, rife with artful dissonance and conflicting arpeggios requires a much deeper understanding than what notes to play next.  Without that depth, the music is wooden and sullen... a technical demonstration without the lyricism that gives voice to the soul of the music. 

Subtle in the realm of microseconds and iotas of intensity, yet breathtaking as all the nuances yield an epiphenomenon of intent.

She gained a new fan yesterday.  Yuja Wang is a performer to pay attention to.

The first thing someone says to you when they walk in a room is normally what they wear and their body language.  The two together communicate a wealth of information about how they view themselves, what they are there for, and how they expect to interact with you.

Without spending too much time exploring the various modes of dress, posture and the like, I want to explore an aspect of difficult clothing - completely high maintenance shoes, dresses and the like. 

As a guy, I value comfort and freedom of movement at all times.  This allows nearly completely non-self-conscious behaviour all-the-time.  I can focus on what I'm doing and so forth.  When dressed up, I still prefer freedom of movement, and looking at most modern male formal wear, that's echoed.  We can nominally run and fight etc, in our formal wear.

Not so girls. 

I find it enchanting to see women in completely ridiculous outfits, a la, Alexander McQueen's Balsawood skirts.  Spindly stilettos and either voluminous or scandalous wraps that women don can be absolutely breathtaking - but largely, all of them communicate one underlying message. 

"I don't need to worry about function."

From exquisite coiffure to lacquered nails, from long trailing dresses, to dresses that reveal too much if one moves too quickly - all of these elements of beauty stress the expectation of admiration, and thus impute an understood value to the wearer.  The outfits say I don't need to run, to hurry or to bustle.  I will glide at my own pace, and it is the pace that beauty sets.

The more impractical, the more it assumes this role on the pedestal.

Personally, I enjoy outfits of all sorts along the continuum between practical work-chic to the flamboyantly haute.

Wherever they lie on that continuum, there is an aesthetic ethos to enjoy.   Still, the completely impractical ends of beauty and fashion achieve a pinnacle of self-absorbedness that is simultaneously, amazing, stunning, and... sometimes sublime.