Right to Hate

(Translation: "It is not an overstatement to say that the present South Korea was built by Japan." See full article at NYTimes.)

Psalm 137

1 By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
2 There on the poplars
we hung our harps,
3 for there our captors asked us for songs,
our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
they said, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"
4 How can we sing the songs of the LORD
while in a foreign land?
5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
may my right hand forget its skill .
6 May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
if I do not remember you,
if I do not consider Jerusalem
my highest joy.
7 Remember, O LORD, what the Edomites did
on the day Jerusalem fell.
"Tear it down," they cried,
"tear it down to its foundations!"
8 O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction,
happy is he who repays you
for what you have done to us-
9 he who seizes your infants
and dashes them against the rocks.

Echoes of Manticore

"He was killed... by the inevitable fifth, who was the keeper of his conscience and the keeper of the stone." (1)

On the creaky wooden bed board in the corner of the old school house, one ceaselessly twisted and turned in the sweltering heat of the night. Drown in the gay laughters and merriments of the champagne-filled night, the other chattered and waltzed among high society sophisticates till dawn broke in the distant horizon. One screamed with horrid wolf-like howls till his withered throat suffocated himself, pulling on what was left of his scant thin white hair with crimson-colored digits, dreading the night yet fearful of the inevitable morning and what was to come. The other, dissolved into the latest big band Jazz numbers in vogue, flashed his characteristic faint comely smile, epitomizing his iron grip on the worldly world. In the midnight hours, two men once united by a fateful throw of stone, have since parted on admission and responsibility of sin, now separated by mere fifteen miles yet oceans apart. One lived, sinned then held firm, and slowly died by blades of a thousand guilt. The other lived, sinned then willfully neglected, and continued his amorality in blissful oblivion. Is conscience a sententious yet cantankerous Gaelic rumbling, perpetually pounding one's head like a hammer? Or rather the dreaded medieval Grim Reaper himself, swinging his fatal scythe of death at every delectable sin?

Dare we venture another alternative. Only those who are sinned against can rightfully exonerate, but in God is forgiveness vertical and horizontal (2). In Him, one finds absolutes and finality of sin, but also substitutionary repayment, reconciliation with man & God, and rebirth of self. Pity those who found no aribitrator to intercede; in misery Job cried out desperately for one (3). Cherish the gift of redemption before the eyes of the Rigthteous, and live the everlasting libration from bondage of absolute sin and true guilt.


1. "Fifth Business", Robertson Davies
2. Matthews 6:12
3. Job 9:33-34

Secret Garden

In the silence of the night, I escape the many burdens of the visible and retreat to a santuary safe and strong (1) -- a secret garden (2) hidden from vultures and thieves of the world. Deep in my soul dwells a tiny enclave where the dawning sun always warms the flower beds, the lush grass is fresh and lightly damped from morning dew, and hummingbirds are chirping delightfully from the wonders of every God's wondrous creation. Here is where I labor with exhilarating joy, dig gently into the good earth with my bare hands, and carefully bury my cherished memories: smell of the crisp cold morning wind I breathed when I unexpectedly stepped alone on the roof of my middle school dorm, scent of the beaten path while I strolled side by side with my mother across Canadian Autumn's frozen tundra. It is with naive hope that with each memory dead and buried, they will bring forth much fruits in a brighter and braver future (3). Intently I sit with patience and anticipation, waiting for each one to blossom into Benjamins, Tigerlilies and Dandelions.

When I was a child, i had a fever. My head felt just like two balloons (4). Unable even to twitch, my body, meticulously pinned down with surgical needles, was covered with a weighty blanket of rythmic piercing pain. With my mother's voice no longer audible, she hovered above me, fussed in general, and moved in slow yet definitive motion of significant artistic consequences, like black-and-white films of the cinematic twenties. In such solemn and surreal moments, for serenity, I drift mindlessly towards my soul asylum unperturbed. I pray my Maker will grant me liberation from the torturing physical cage, enable me to fly unintrusively above my secret garden, and let me feel, finally and eternally, comfortably numb.


1. "An so it goes," Storm Front, Billy Joel.
2. "Secret Garden", Bruce Springsteen.
3. John 12:24, "I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."
4. "Comfortably Numb", The Wall, Pink Floyd.

Case against Knowledge of Good & Evil: Part II, Miracle of Miracles

But perhaps you are right. if man found an ideology that sufficiently satisfies his innate spiritual hunger, he would indeed throw bread to the dogs and follow thee. Afterall, they are created as such, with eternity set in their hearts a priori (1). hence, it is by nature that man -- such ungrateful creatures -- unsatiable with the present, ceaselessly seeks higher ground materially, socially and spiritually. Yet in the absence of blatant divine interventions, man were left alone and confused, so he invented god himself and worshipped idols physical and symbolic. Examine the social fabrics of modern world, fueled by corporate greed and ubiquity of throbbing mass media, "enlightened" man are driven to conquer mountains after mountains, reaching to attain the ephemeral bliss of elevated plateaus. they will forsake the living God, if you only give them a pecking order and a pyramid to climb!

You, the one blessed with the power to awe and mesmerize, can cast such spells that they will follow like drones. Show them unfathomable miracles that no persuasion can deny. Give them a steady diet of awe and wonders, magic and mystery, and liberate them from their own self-inflicted meaningless pursuits of higher ground. They will fall on their knees, scream praises to thee as their rightful beloved king, and follow servilely. Overwhelmed creatures worshipping their omnipotent Creator in fear and trembling (2) -- is there a more beautiful picture in heaven and earth?


1. Ecclesiastes 3:11, "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end."

2. Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkaggard.

Case against Knowledge of Good & Evil: Part I, Rock of Life

Surely you remember me well. We tangled over mere fruits of paradise in the beginning. Man -- such gullible and ignorant beings right from inception! And recall our personal dialogue of give-and-take before your three-year-long ministry (and ultimately crucifying death at the hands of those you love dearly... but I am digressing). Oh, twenty centuries later, i recall the times like yesterday! There lies the conversation i implore you to return; afterall, you do have all the time in the world!

Modern man is so indulged in his daily needs and desires, taking little notice that biblical times are the times of true historical significance. After forty days of fasting in the bare wilderness, verily hunger had possessed you like a ravaging demon. Consider again my tender offer: the precious gift of turning lifeless rocks into earthly bread -- a perpetual fountain of life that promises to sustain all human till their respective despicable ends. Undoubtedly thou great impassionate love for mankind screams what saving grace it manifests! Yet, you proudly proclaimed "Man do not live on bread alone." I whisper, Art thou deeming more worth than what the filthy beings rightly deserve?? Witness the feat the feeble have accomplished twenty centuries passed. In the name of earthly bread, unceasingly they wage wars large and small, brothers murdering brothers, vast famine across the heartland, babes dying before the tastes of thy mothers' breasts! Have thou not mercy on a people abandoned, helpless and weak? And weak, they verily are and shall be, unable to grasp the promise of heavenly bread, for they die tomorrow without earthly ones! So may I tempt thee yet once more: vest thy power to feed, and supply them the means to survive in cheap happiness till their meaningless ends. Seek not for them the higher ground of decipering good and evil; they are neither capable or deserving.

the underground man lives

stepping onto a crowded morning train, amidst the tired and weary eyes of late commuters, delfly but hurrily i retrieved my nondescript Russian novel and buried myself inside the volumous pages of words. the first visual moments of Romans-fonted English alphabets on cheap coarse-grained paper, creating an orderly and abstract world of black and white, brought an instant comfort and relief. incidental neighbors' piercing glances, flickering like flash lights of a coordinated search party, were no longer manacing, or even intrusive. i was in the underground, where only the rhythmic humming of the running train was audible, urging me to dive deeper down the underworld of beastly men and cultic intelligentia of a bygone time. when i no longer saw crafty prose and cutting words, but a wry face of a greasily old baffoon, spitting venomous lies and stirring up a scandal out of pure spite and self-indulgence, i knew i have arrived at my destination.
it is late 19th century, and mother Russia is invaded by waves of western European ideologies, slowly roasting a land of complacent aristocrats and innocuous peasantry into a burning sea of revisions and transfigurations. But the heart of Russia is strong and must live on! Surely the onslaught of the nose and the overcoat, the talking pups and the self-annointed king of Spain, none of which will deter the will of the history-hardened and culturally rich collective. may the devil run wild and fortunes land where they choose; the Mighty watches and will forever be. thus set the stage for a tale old and seemingly familiar, yet dark and tantalizingly captivating -- the epic Karamazov family drama. let the red curtain rise and the orchestra begin. this one is for the ages.

Where can I call home?

It is getting increasingly difficult to live here. The Japanese election will be held on 9/11, and though the commercialization of the post office is the headline campaign issue, lurking in the background is the rewriting of the Japanese constitution to permit a full-strength army. unabashed major bookstores feature eye-popping titles that deny Japanese war crimes such as the rape of Nanking and villify China and Korea as sullen and defeated WW2 nations with a sadistic taste for revenge. it is most appalling that most Japanese simply tolerate such racist publications as just another point of view. the new rise of nationalism is clearly in the air, and it is getting harder to find clean air to breathe.

on the other hand, Chinese youth's accusative bantering and violent anti-Japanese demonstrations represent its own brand of nationalism. While it is true that sentiments were partially provoked by Prime Minister Koizumi's annual visits to the controversial Yasukuni shrine and right-wing revisionists' incessant and insidious attempts to whitewash Japanese war atrocities, most movements were actively encouraged by the Chinese government to temporarily deflect the masses' attention away from local problems: huge economic disperity between rich and poor, government's control of yuan valuation and resulting loss of purchasing power, and political corruptions at every level of government. Little did the Chinese government realized, however, that the flame that they were so eagerly fanning would lead to a volitile situation they can no longer control. we are staring at the worst Chinese-Japanese relations since WW2; with the red army 3 million strong, poor, fanatic and ready for action, we have reached a boiling point.

what people in both countries failed to learn even after the war tragedies is the difference between patriotism and nationalism. Patriotism, the love of one's nation and its people and one's willingness to defend his homeland, is a virture. Nationalism, one's arrangant belief that one's nation and its people are by nature superior to other countries and their people, is a recipe for disaster. as many well-dwelling and self-destructive Japanese advocates ignorantly continue to legitimize its imperial past and beautify its national identity, keep in mind that this time, the Chinese are ready and watching with close scrutiny. An autonomous army, prepared to take military action against its own brothers across the strait to unify motherland, will not hesitate to defend its honor if unjustly provoked.

A common first action of a nation at war is freezing of foreign assets, particularly those with warring citizenships. The second is the encampment of foreign private citizens, for fear of information leakage and for containment of potential local uproars. What I did not think possible in my lifetime is now a disturbing possibility before my eyes. Many Jews did not leave Poland early enough in hope of a quick German defeat. Frogs die in warm water when slowly boiled. It is not too early to consider an exit strategy.

A Plea and a Prayer for Peace

August 15th 2005 marked the 60th anniversary of the end of WW2 in the Pacific, and each nation commemorated the event from its own unique national perspective, reflecting its people's sentiments regarding the defining event of the twentieth century. Yet most attention was drawn to Japan, a defeated Axis country that despite its dramatic restoration and remarkable economic recovery, has remained at odds with its neighbors -- China and Korea in particular -- over its inability to come to grip with its malevolent past. There are two main points of contention.

The first centers around Prime Minister Koizumi's annual visits to the controversial Yasukuni shrine, which worships war martyrs including Class A war criminals of WW2. A closer inspection of the Shinto shrine reveals its identity as more than a symbol of harmless religious tradition; it deifies Japan's royal family, glorifies its imperial past, and justifies its aggression on neighboring countries. An excerpt from its webpage reads:

The textbooks depict as a historical fact the story of Asian women who were forced into prostitution by the Japanese Army. Imparting this story to students who are still young and immature has become a great problem since last year. This matter is drawn upon the judgment professed by the Military Tribunal for the Far East that Japan fought a war of aggression. Can we say that this view is correct? We must pass judgment on this matter in the same manner of a tribunal that passes judgment after gathering credible proof. We cannot help but feel that the possibility of ulterior motives have not been discounted. Isn't it a fact that the West with its military power invaded and ruled over much of Asia and Africa and that this was the start of East-West relations? There is no uncertainty in history. Japan's dream of building a Great East Asia was necessitated by history and it was sought after by the countries of Asia.

The second concerns the right-wing revisionists' repeated attempts to whitewash Japan's bloody and violent past by their rewriting of local history textbooks: eliminating any mention of slavish comfort women in China and Korea, relabelling its "invasion" of Asian countries as "liberation", and downplaying the historical credibility of Rape of Nanking. Unlike the outnumbered and ignorant Neo-Nazis in Germany, this extreme ideology is championed by more than a radical few; influential political figures including Tokyo Governor Ishihara Shintaro share similar views. This is why Koizumi's carefully worded apology to war victims on the day of rememberance was met only with skepticism.

Emotional protests in China and Korea have only suceeded in amplifying nationalistic sentiments in Japan, and with the country's upcoming re-election and rampant talks of constitution rewriting to permit a full-strength army, the region has reached a critical point in history where we can destablize into perpetual, self-destructive warring fractions like the Middle East or the Balkans, or we can find a common ground among us as fellow men, iron out our ideological differences, and cooperate like the EU.

My plea to the Japanese government is to take a hard look at Germany's contrite reparation efforts after WW2. As a nation, they acknowledge and bear full responsibilities for Nazis' atrocities and crimes against humanity, constructed numerous museums and memorials throughout the country as reminders of their grave errs, and respectfully responded to advices from neighboring Poland to correctly and appropriately define history textbooks. After 60 years, it is fair to say that Germany has succeeded at some tangible level in conveying at least the majority's sincere repentence to their neighbors, earning their trust, and is now forging ahead to build a collective future through the EU. One who stubbornly ignore his past, however glorious or ignominious, is doomed to repeat the same mistakes. By teaching ambiguity, distortions and bravados instead of history, are you not condemning your own children to the same ethnic hatred and conflicts, thereby sentencing them to the same ill fate? Heed from Him who said it most pointedly and succinctly,"REPENT and sin no more!"

My prayer request to all Christians is for temperance, forgiveness and charity for the leaders of China, Japan and Korea, to never ever forget the tragic consequences of a terrible terrible war, and to labor ceaselessly together till we find a way -- any way -- to mend our scars and heal our wounds, one victim at a time. We can obliterate each other's future, or we can build a common one together. Rook e7, check; it's your move.

confession of a mad nation

I succeeded in killing myself in 1113. Of course, I do not mean physical death, for I am still a walking breathing man, to the extent that no one notice any perceivable, abnormal changes in my daily appearance and my demeanors. Okay, so I was exaggerating and I have guts enough to admit it! I have a persistent and sharp headache from the right side of the brain -- I think I caught something when I played monopoly with my Saudi buddies -- which on occasion affects my thought patterns. Sometimes I just say the hell with it and succumb to my knee-jerk reactions... the hell with it I say! But rest assured that to have a balanced life, I am taking sufficient vacation time during the summer months, and I am remarkably fit for someone my age, riding my $1000+ Air Bike One daily at my ranch. Yet for some reason they (those damned pesty paper rats! how many of them ought I intimidate!!) do whisper secretly that I am often in a daze -- like that time they told me about 1113 as i was reading to them kids -- like the world is passing by right in front of my eyes. But let the devil take them! I am the global conscience, the king of the hill, the baddest cowboy of the...of the... arg... let me catch my breath.

Back to my personal killing in 1113, or whatever you want to call that stupid, sordid sorry episode. Why they decided to take out my saber teeth, i can't be quite sure. why my war buddies -- that son-of-a-weasle Frenchie in particular -- don't bother to watch my back is a mystery to me. It may seem like they are deconstructing me methodically in the dark, but Rummy and us big-bird-lovers assure you that what's left is only pockets of resistance, and our milestones-laden victory is sure and imminent. We will finance a bigger shovel to finish digging the hole my comrades have started, so their deaths will not go in vain! As God as my witness, i will never go AWOL again!

political asylum for Dr. Shazia

(The following is a letter to Joseph Volpe, Minister of Citizenship and Immigration of Canada after an inicidental reading of a NYTimes article. Look at the picture. This is the face of victim. Look at her eyes. These are the fire of courage.
If you love your neighbors, write yourself to Minister@cic.gc.ca. Complacency in the presence of evil is no small sin.)

To whom it may concern,

As a Canadian citizen, I am appalled that the Canadian government refused to consider the application of Dr. Shazia of Pakistan for political asylum in Canada. Her courageous refusal to stay silent after a shocking rape incident, despite barbaric tactics by local community and government to keep her and her husband away from the spotlight, is nothing but heroic and inspirational. As a country known for racial tolerance and peace keeping efforts throughout the world, it deeply saddens me that such cold-heartedness has been shown by Canadian Immigration.


http://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/02/opinion/02kristof.html

It is my hope that the true North strong and free will once again show its true colors and shower its benevolence upon the unfortunate. It will show the rest of the world that at least one North American super power is willing to do what is costly but righteous, instead of simply the profitable and self-righteous. Show President Pervez Musharraf that the world is watching his country’s despicable acts, and that being an American puppet does not automatically legitimize his inhumane, Stalin-like dictatorship.

Your sincerely,

a nomad's view of church and state

i sympathize with my comrades' confusion with the boisterous harangues surrounding the recent yanks' partisan battle over the selection of a new supreme court judge, vacant by the retiring and well-deserved Sandra Day O'Connor. through the looking glass of a foreigner peeping in, it is perhaps only an appointment of a referee of domestic disputes and business tussles. yet the American conscience knows this is the birth of a determiner of morals, a champion of modern thoughts and an equalizer of rights & freedom all rolled into one. Let me digress.

In the nation's formative years, our founding fathers had the sage insights that any church's muddling of political affairs would inevitably over time lead to power corruption, gross deception and finally, manipulation of the masses. the untried alternative was true separation of church and state. yet without a religion to provide the absolute basis of ethics, a nation will be without moral foundation like a ship without an anchor, floating wherever the societal ebbs may carry it. this is perhaps the quintessential reason for the creation of the American constitution. 200+ years gone by, and countless additions of amendments A-to-Z provided clarifications, extensions and reinterpretations, yet the basic political philosophy of ruling by the republic, elected by the people, whose task is to execute according to the rules of engagement defined in the consitution, has not changed.

Fast-forward to January 22, 1973. In a historic ruling of Wade vs. Roe, the Supreme Court ruled that Jane Roe has the right to abort an unborn baby due to a fresh interpretation of Amendment 14 (right to privacy), despite existing Texas laws against abortion except extreme circumstances. The landmark ruling of this case by the highest legal authority of the land set the precedent for millions of abortions performed in the US annually.

Without taking a stand on the abortion issue (IMHO, a necessary evil), it is clear the Supreme Court stands to determine ultimate outcomes of controversial moral dilemmas of our time, based on its current and sometimes unorthodox interpretation of the constitution. throwing this understanding onto the backdrop of today's American political environment, where dogmatic religious right continues to wage battles fiercely with laissez-faire humanist left -- poor citizens often are bombarded to choose one of two extreme ideologies, and we see why supreme court judge selection is a dog fight till the last hound standing. is it a well-intended experiment gone horribly wrong? In the brave new world, if it doesn't work the first time, try try again. (Though, "In the long run, we are all dead," said Keynes).

why i watch movies

"if dreams are like movies, then memories are like films about ghosts," (1)

i like films. i like curiling up in the corner of my beat-up couch, in the dimly-lit and comfortably well-worn apartment after an honest day's work, and staring at the oddly squared flashing screen quietly telling strange and exotic tales. grappling a hot cup of green tea and a warm blanket in the winter, a glass of ice prune juice in the summer, i let myself be temporarily transported to fanstatic imaginary realms. some frighten me like the menace of the self-mutilating, demon-possessed child in "Exorcist"; some anger me like the man-made　apocalypse during WWII in "the Pianist". some invigorate me like the long-endured and awaited triumph overcoming tragic circumstances in "Shawshank Redemption"; some mesmorize me like the restrained but subtly expressive HK 60s ambience in "In the Mood of Love". Mostly though, movies that make the deepest impressions are ones that touch me a personal way. All of us in everyday life, an event takes place with us as first persons, we experience it, and are left with impressions -- thoughts and feelings stemming from first-hand experience of the happenings that linger if only momentarily. like traces of alcohol that remain after a sip of red wine, they are reminders of moments that flash before our eyes, then slip hurrily by and are gone forever. some residues stubbornly remain long after, some float away gently like dandelion in the autumn wind. yet they all serve their purpose, expire and evaporate. having acquired a taste of paradise but is now gone, we seek more. movies are engines that manufacture impressions. they make us laugh; they make us cry. they make us presidents of the United States, and prisoners-of-war in Vietnam. our lives are artificially enriched if only fictionally, but we can still cherish our impressions, which are personal and real. this is why i watch movies -- to breath the air of the Himalayas, to touch the soil of a Roman coliseum, to hear the birds of the Amazon, to taste the fruits of the Caribbean. afterall, films are the business of selling experiences, and we are in the interest of living them.

1. "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby", Counting Crows

walking in the morning sun in Amsterdam

Waking up early with a tired mind and a relaxed spirit on a quiet Saturday morning -- effects of jetlag still wrecking hovac in my body, I decided to take an impromptu stroll in the still unswept streets of Amsterdam. Sun had long been shining bright since 6am during Holland's long summer days, and the rain cleared early enough the night before that only small puddles of various sizes and shapes were scattered on the cobbled floors. After a night of exuberant excitement -- of which I was oblivious, the narrow street was uncharacteristically stoic, tranquil to the extent that my rubber-soled shoes lightly drumming the foot path was rhythmically audible. Suddenly I realized my hands hung liberated; after a few days of deciphering Dutch on blindingly colorful, glossy maps, it didn't occur to me that some forms of tourist survival guides would be necessary. Instead of thinking and deliberately taking action, I was ready to just be. The fast-familar scenery was now comforting. I begin to see how one can fall in love with a foreign land.

Of course, shops were still closed, but obviously early-bird merchants were readying their shops already. Most notable, perhaps, were a few young apprentices in a bakery, visible behind a tall glass panel, who were diligently laboring at the art of bread making. The concentration despite a restless night and a hope for a promising future were conveyed through the repeated movement of shaping and pounding of the dough. I smiled wryly, acknowledging this was a road I once traveled myself. Without disturbing their serenity, I walked on.

morning has broken

at the crack of dawn when the first rays of a radiant sun break through the darkness that has engulfed the night for what seemed like eternity, the air can be filled with such hopes and promises, and the accidentally awaken ones gently rub their swollen eyes and wonder if maybe today is the beginning of a new world remarkable, brilliant and magnificant. the silence of a cold morning, tainted only by the yawns of a passer-by street cat, keeps the drifters entrapped in their Utopian homelands and wraps the coming hours in a protective blanket of anticipation. oh, how I wish time halts at this imminent moment of events unfolding, revealing only tempting hints of what is to come but holding the floodgates of inevitables at bay. is it not the anticipation of joy and happiness that is the gold currency that drives us, not the actual mundane repetitions of unfulfilled dreams, heartbreaks and dispppointments? Wishful thinking, I cautioned myself. I roll to my side as the pre-destined hours march in: army boots, military drums and shoulder-strapped rifles.