You know that image of a swan looking graceful and bold and serene on the still surface of a lake but underneath paddling like Proud Mary to stay afloat? That’s most of us a lot of the time, I’d say. We have to feel the fear and do it anyway. There have been several occasions in the last year when I’ve had to maintain a veneer of coolness and serenity while underneath feeling anything but this way. I’m sure, Dear Reader, you can think of times when you have too. Here are seven of mine:
My first terrifying experience this year was my audition with the Hong Kong Bach Choir, which now seems like years ago. The vocalising was fine but I struggled so hard with the sightsinging, which demands a cool head and a lack of panic, completely at odds with how I felt inside. I was desperate to join a choir of this calibre, you see, as there seemed to be few other options available to sing high quality major works while I’m here. Waiting to hear was excruciating, especially as I convinced myself that I had not got through, so I was surprised and delighted when they finally agreed to accept me as a member. I do wish I were on more secure ground here, that sightsinging wasn’t such an obvious and recurrent Achilles’ Heel. I need to to do something about this, I think.
I needed to look like I was calm and in control of my actions at my mum’s funeral in February. Though I grew up nominally within the Hindu tradition, my parents didn’t really do much Hinduism at home. Deaths aren’t an everyday occurrence for most people, obviously, so it’s rare to become familiar with all the associated rites but I feel that I should actually know what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I didn’t, and I was out of my depth, but the people conducting the funeral rites were very kind and indulgent and just showed me what to do. I think I managed to maintain my composure and dignity.
On that impromptu demonstration against the sudden (and unlawful) prorogation of Parliament at the end of August I sat down in the street. My first sit down was right in the middle of Parliament Square at rush hour. The second time there was a chain of about 15 of us sitting across Whitehall and blocking it for hours. Was I frightened of being arrested? Yes. Was it important for me to stand up – sit down – and be counted the one time I was in the UK for these demonstrations? Equally yes.
This year I have become fitter. There will, unsurprisingly, be more on this in later posts but I initially had to override the inner voice telling me that I couldn’t run for longer than 15 minutes, which had become dominant. I’m pleased that I’ve managed to build up to 45 minutes non-stop and, more recently, an hour. It exhausts me but I can do it.
Managing to stay serene despite the very obvious rudeness, disdain and racist hatred that, unrestrained, bubble to the surface here in Hong Kong is quite tough but it must be done because otherwise every day would be miserable. I think that’s enough said about that.
Sometimes you have to be serene and not show your inner feelings for the benefit of those around you. I can think of at least two concerts recently where I knew I was under-rehearsed and shaky but had to appear confident enough to transmit that to people around me. That’s all part of the teamwork involved in singing in a choir: we all have to pull together and feed off each other. If the vibe is good, it makes us more cohesive and general better.
It’s a similar situation when you’re trying to be there for people with health problems. It’s difficult to know how to approach the situation sometimes. You don’t want to jolly them along, insensitively, but equally you don’t want to make the situation worse by being too gloomy or, in fact too briskly normal. This is a minefield and there’s a very real risk that you’ll incur wrath whatever you say. It is, however, important at least to try because at that particular moment, you might be the only one someone can trust with their true, stripped-bare feelings. And no matter how hard it is for you to be the rock that ends up covered in mud (is that a mixed metaphor?) their suffering is far greater than yours. Don’t avoid this duty. Maybe they do understand that it’s hard for you and your words are coming from a good place. I can’t resolve this but I know that stepping up to the plate is the right thing to do.
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New Year’s Eve has always been difficult for us. I’ve no idea why but I suppose it’s from the expectation that we should be dressing to the nines and going out to some swanky party, kissing all and sundry, at midnight. Last year we went to just such a party and it was as dull as anything, with everyone using it as a networking event and handing out their business cards. We came home well before midnight and watched the fireworks in the harbour from our roof terrace.
When the children lived at home, we made some semblance of celebrating with board games and the Hootenanny. This year, they have gone home to different continents to kiss their significant others at midnight. We wondered whether to go to a party but it’s nowhere near as much fun if you know no-one there. Our fireworks are cancelled anyway, because of the continuing protests, so we’ll take the opportunity of a quiet time to curl up with a whisky and catch up with Peaky Blinders and, for once, not feel guilty for seeing this horrible new year in quietly.
May I wish you peace in the coming year, Dear Reader.