Nature, Nurture Maketh the Child

As much as I am intrigued by scientific discoveries I must say I am easily seduced by music, art, crafts and language. So seated snugly on a red velvet-covered chair in one of Dublin’s oldest theatres, I waited with baited breath for the tale of the tragic Blood Brothers to unfold. Willy Russell based this musical on the 1844 novella The Corsican Brothers by Alexandre Dumas, Père.

The story revolves around fraternal twins Mickey and Eddie who separated at birth rose to opposite ends of the social spectrum. Eddie became an Oxbridge-graduated councillor and Mickey was unemployed and landed in prison. This brings to mind the ageless debate of nature vs. nurture in determining individual differences in physical and behavioural traits. ‘Nature’ refers to the relative importance of an individual's innate qualities while nature refers to personal experiences and circumstances. There seems to be a positive correlation between intrinsic motivation, which comes from the inside of an individual, and nature. Call it strength of character but an intrinsically motivated person will work on a solution to a problem because the challenge of finding a solution provides a sense of pleasure.

The unexplainable genetic factor in the making of a genius has been explored greatly on the big screen. In the movie ‘Good Will Hunting’ we see an example of how a janitor at MIT is a genius at math and chemistry despite his blue-collar roots. In ‘Homeless to Harvard’ we see how a homeless and orphaned teenager made it to Harvard. In reality, there are countless examples of rags to riches stories that celebrate resilience and determination. It is often said that those born before 1960 know the meaning of want, hard work and success.

Take Bill Cullen, a successful entrepreneur for example. The eldest of 14 children, he was born into poverty in Dublin but today his net worth stands at 34million euros and he has gone a far way from selling apples on a street at five years of age.

That said, behaviourists will argue that nurturing makes all the difference in determining the final outcome. These experts claim that any child given proper guidance and opportunities will excel. 

Nurturing is also very much linked to extrinsic motivation or dangling the carrot before the horse tactic to produce results. It is also influenced by positive reinforcement , examples of which are encouragement and praises. I can see a big difference in the way children are encouraged in creches and schools here. For every small effort made that is age appropriate, the carers let fly compliments like ‘brilliant’, ‘clever girl’ and ‘good job’. I honestly cannot remember when any teacher had been so lavish with encouraging comments in my school days.

 On the other extreme end of the scale, we have examples of how young people nurtured by a supportive environment, squander away the inheritance left behind by the generations before them. This could possibly be the basis for an old Chinese proverb that states that “Wealth does not sustain beyond three generations”

 I recently purchased a Gunnera manicata plant which looks like a giant rhubarb. A native of Brazil it grows best by a pond. There is neither Brazilian climate where I live nor a pond in the garden to ensure its steady growth and the best I could do is to simulate a pond like environment. The last time I checked, the giant rhubarb was flourishing in all its splendour.

That said, I also grew an array of tomato plants. I tood great care in feeding them and giving them the best spots in the garden. Sadly, despite all the right conditions, the leaves look sickly and the tomatoes are smallish. Plants like children come from different varieties and need to be properly nurtured. So, that brings me to my concluding question:

Which has more bearing on a child’s development, environment or genetics?

 A bit of both I must say.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/nature-nurture-maketh-the-child-1.129247

Being Part of the Universe

The universe has always fascinated me and from a young age I have always wondered why I am put on this earth; why there is life on earth; why the earth is given so much significance. There are so many ‘whys’ that I have no answers but that does not stop me from being amazed to be given a chance of be part of the borderless universe.

So, stepping into a mobile planetarium was the closest I could get to see the universe in all its splendour, albeit for a brief twenty minutes. The mobile planetarium was set up in the Scouts Hall in Killaloe in conjunction with the annual Brian Boru Celebrations to commemorate Brian Ború ‘s kingship one millennium ago. During his reign, Brian extended and strengthened his fort in Killaloe and turned it into the well known Royal Palace of Kincora.

Finding a cosy spot in the six metre dome, I lay down with my significant other and scores of other enthusiasts to view the 360 degree perspective of the universe. Gazing at the stars, I could see how man in his creativity has come up with star patterns. Familiar ones are the Big Dipper, Ursa Major, The Great Bear, Ursa Minor The Little Bear and Orion, The Hunter.

Because of the magnanimity of the unknown, we give credit to the universe for things that we cannot logically explain. The often quoted phrase ‘It’s all written in the stars’ illustrates something good which is caused by the power that controls what happens to people’s lives. Shakespeare described Romeo and Juliet as ‘star-crossed’ lovers. Juliet says, "Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine…” (Act III, Sc. II) In Chinese mythology there is also a story of two lovers, Nguu Lang and Chuc Nu kept apart by the Milky Way. Chuc Nu was the daughter of the Jade Emperor, the ruler of Heaven while Nguu Lang was a cowherd. The Jade Emperor warned them of their liason and banised Nguu Lang to the other side of the Milky Way, and the two lovers could only meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. The birds from all over the world would unite, and form a bridge so that Chuc Nu and Nguu Lang could cross and be together again for just a day. Chuc Nu and Nguu Lang in the legend are both immortalised in the form of two beautiful stars. Chuc Nu is Vega of the constellation Lyra, and Nguu Lang is the bright Altair of Aquila. Both of these stars can be seen in the summer, when together with Deneb they form the familiar summer triangle in the Northern Hemisphere night sky.

When we stand in the vast universe, we cannot help but feel very small. We cannot help but realise that everything is transient, alive one day and gone the next. Yet, we are part of the scheme, part of the big picture that we call creation. And to think that there was a time when man thought that he was the centre of the universe and that the sun revolved around him. I stand corrected. There are still people who think they own the earth when we see irresponsible acts around us. How else can we explain the animal litter everywhere on public sidewalks? And we are not even the discussing the bigger issues like the indiscriminate felling of trees, harnessing of power, mining of natural resources and disposing of refuse. There are still people who treat others shabbily. We have egocentric people who are over preoccupied with their own internal world. They regard their own opinions or interests as most important or valid. We have ethnocentric people who believe that their own group or culture is superior to others. These can be strangers, relatives or even friends who continue to rob, to cheat and to put others down and still get away with it. There are still people who will do anything to advance their own lot in the name of prosperity, power and progress. Stabbing another in the back to get ahead is as old as the hills. If we are part of the universe, then what is our stance? Stars have life spans and they burn out. If we cannot save the stars from burning out, at least we should learn to appreciate the earth and its inhabitants.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/being-part-of-the-universe-1.123877

Making a Magpie's Nest

I look at the magpie and I see a very common bird with white and black feathers. What is intriguing is perhaps the stuff that a magpie collects painstakingly to put into its nest, bright things usually. Like the magpie, there is a collector in all of us. Collections of coins, matchboxes or stamps are quite unfamiliar to those born after the new millennium but they were the stuff that some people born before the new millennium were proud of. But the innate desire to collect is still prevalent judging from the mountains of stuff people usually bury themselves under when consumer culture milks the ‘magpie instinct’. How else can we explain the number of souvenirs that we have collected from our travels that were ‘must-haves’ once but now lie sadly on the dusty shelf or worse still in a box in the attic. The wise collector could very well develop into the indiscriminate hoarder if he is not careful. So we collect from the past and for the future. I like to collect memories. I had scrapbooks, diaries, albums and letters. Then I progressed to floppy diskettes, CDs and data stored in cyberspace. But everything has a lifespan. The scrapbook became moth bitten, the floppy diskette became obsolete. Even memories kept in the head become faint over the years as Alzheimer’s disease looms forebodingly. I like to collect plans for the future. Things that I wish to have or to experience in five to ten years' time. That cottage, that certain style of living, that trip round the world, that moment when children have secured successful jobs and that day when I have enough money in the bank to live happily ever after. But the best of plans will always remain plans until they are actualised. Even the best of plans can be destroyed by unseen circumstances, leaving us feeling shortchanged. So I have consciously decided to make a magpie’s nest of the present. But that does not mean that I have stopped remembering the past. I still painstakingly collect moments that have meant something to me, especially photographs. I still plan for the future. But I make it a point not to forget to add the beautiful things of the present into my magpie’s nest.

The present is the morning that you wake up and know that you are still alive and that there is a bed to sleep in and you can smell the fresh sheets about you. It is to look from the window to see the grass growing in the backyard, the wild birds fighting over the seeds that you put out for them, the bins that store yesterday’s rubbish and the job that is waiting for you.

The present is the afternoon when you are still at the office and there is work to be done that guarantees your paycheck at the end of the month. It is the afternoon when you are sick in bed and need that rest. It is the afternoon when you have cooked lunch and the aroma of roast and stew permeates the whole kitchen.

The present is the evening when you are driving back from the office and there is traffic jam but the music in the car continues to play. You see others caught in the jam because it is the rush hour and you are thankful that at least people are working and there are jobs and people are not hungry. The evening is when there is dinner prepared for you because you were at work and someone else minded your children and home while you were at work. The evening is when you come home to be with the people and animals that you love.

The present is the summer when you feel the heat, the autumn when the leaves begin to fall, the winter when the ground is cold and icy and the spring when life begins again. It is that song, that movie, that book or that cup of coffee that you enjoy by yourself or with someone dear. It is remembering to make that phone call or write that note or tell someone that you love him and appreciate what he has done for you. The present is also that nagging cough, that worrying sore throat or that miserable runny nose. The present is life.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/making-a-magpie-s-nest-1.114599?localLinksEnabled=false

Growing old disgracefully and proud of it

THE funny thing about Friesian cows standing in a field is that they all seem to look in one direction, either to the right or left. Whether there is an obvious reason for this, I do not know but maybe that is where the term "herd mentality" comes in. It takes one brave cow to look the other way.

This draws a parallel in humans. Large numbers of people act in the same way at the same time and this implies a fear-based reaction to peer pressure, which makes individuals act in order to avoid feeling "left behind" from the group. It is also the fear that tongues will wag and doing something differently is certainly "not the done thing". I was born in a small town and boy, did people talk. Private business was public business and not surprisingly uncommon behaviour was great fodder for gossip. That is why most people possibly avoided doing things differently and therefore imposed upon themselves what William Blake would call "manacles of the mind". Then, I moved to the city where people still talked but we were too busy eking out a living and minding children to bother with what they were talking about. Now, I am back to living in a small town and even though we have progressed into the new millennium, strangely some things do not change.

There was once when I was wearing this lovely pair of canvas shoes with cartoons on them that were hand-painted by my former student. The moment I walked into the petrol kiosk to get a cup of coffee, I saw a group of school girls and they started whispering. Through years of experience of observing non-verbal communication, I could tell that they were aghast that a grown woman had cartoons on her shoes. Certainly very eccentric indeed. An interesting read is Growing Old Disgracefully by Rohan Canduppa where she quips that the expected behaviour of a grandma is to have a kindly face. She must knit and wear cardigans and be mildly shocked at young people's antics. Most of all, she must never have sex or even think about it. So, it is absolutely delightful to read Jenny Joseph's poem Warning, where the first few lines say, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple, with a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.... I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells and run my stick along the public railings and make up for the sobriety of my youth..." This reminds me of the time when I wanted to buy an ice cream cone. The accepted code of ice cream eating behaviour is to purchase one with or without a flake in it. So when we passed a shop that sold ice cream cones, my better half asked me whether I wanted one. I said, yes and could I have two flakes in it? Shocked, he said, "This is not the done thing." So we drove by the shop without buying any. Then, we passed by another shop. I asked him to please pull the car over. I went into the second shop and bought myself a cone with two flakes.

Don't get me wrong. I am not trying to be difficult and purposefully trying to be a social menace. I certainly do not condone vile acts of treason or looting or being selfish and disrespectful. Having said that, sometimes I can tolerate meaningless chatter and bad language and being bored stiff in a pub watching others share their private jokes and down liquor for the sake of "blending" in if there is good reason to do so. But I do believe in standing by your principles, knowing that you will not put up with what you are not comfortable with. Most of all, I like doing things creatively -- that has always been the plumb line for my actions. If that exhibits a lust for life and liberates the mind and soul, why not? Just the other day, we passed by another shop selling ice cream cones. This time, my better half asked, "Now do you want three flakes even?" Source: http://www.nst.com.my/mobile/opinion/columnist/growing-old-disgracefully-and-proud-of-it-1.107569

A tale of two frogs and a vat of cream

Once upon a time there were two frogs Frank and Fiona that fell into a vat of cream. Frank lamented and despaired and succumbed to the watery death. Fiona decided she would not give up without a fight and started to paddle fast and furiously only to realise that the cream had turned into butter and so with her webbed feet strongly anchored on the buttery base she leapt out of the vat into freedom. I heard that story when I was a child but it baffled me because I had no inkling of how cream could be turned into butter. But now I know because I have just participated in an event organised by the Limerick International Women’s Organisation- a butter making session conducted by Imen McDonnell.

It was a hands on session and as I shook the bottle which was filled with cream, I could literally see the cream curdling and turning into butter. That immediately got me thinking. When put in a tight situation will I be like Frank or Fiona? Do I look at the waves around me and hold my head in my hands and wait for the inevitable to happen or do I try to make sense of it and get out of it? Seeing a new born baby kicking and screaming as it enters the world convinces me that we are imbued with a fighting spirit. As with many things, with time this spirit can either become more emboldened or quelled.

Vincent Van Gogh said, ‘If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.’ I totally agree that we need to try to find out what we can or cannot do. With trying, there will be failures and when we face our failures and forgive ourselves, we know that we still have the fighting spirit. It is certainly easier to be negative than to be positive in a world that is often harsh and unkind – be it at home, at school and at the work place. Someone once asked me how a person can keep on having a positive outlook on life. My reply was to make a conscious choice in cases where we have two options: to fight to survive or to retreat to despair. I believe that a fighting spirit is emboldened by circumstances. Immigrants to new lands seeking survival and fortune are often very hardworking and driven. I saw that in my ancestors and I can see that now in many of those who have come from the Eastern bloc and are working in Ireland. Those who knew little English took it upon themselves to improve by going for language classes. I see hardworking waiters and waitresses cleaning tables and always on-the-go. The ‘one-chance’ mindset also helps to propel the fighting spirit. If we are brought up to understand that we have only ‘one-chance’ to study hard, to get that scholarship or to get an illustrious career, then we learn how to be focussed, to be disciplined and to make decisions at an early age. If we are brought up to know that to succeed is to work hard and not to depend on others, then that is the code of ethics that will drive us. A fighting spirit and self esteem go hand-in-hand. It is like the chicken and egg story and I do not know whether it is the fighting spirit that increases self esteem or the other way round. But there is nothing to lose if we start by building up self esteem. When self esteem is low, we think that ‘everything is about me, me, me’ and everyone else seems to be ‘attacking me.’ We start comparing ourselves with others and what follows is disappointment, jealousy and blame-shifting. We blame others for our present state, never ourselves.

But when we are self assured of both our strengths and weaknesses, then everything is about ‘what I can do to make the situation better’. If we see someone else who is more successful, instead of feeling small, griping or back-biting, we can make that the desire that drives us to better ourselves. Maybe we need to say to ourselves what Lauren Bacall once said, ‘I’m not a has-been. I am a will-be.’

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-tale-of-two-frogs-and-a-vat-of-cream-1.100579

Problem Solving Made Simple

Problems whether they are big or small plague us . Some of us have inherited the worry-wart gene and we get uptight unless we can fix the problem within a certain time frame. Problem solving gurus teach us that we must dissect a big problem into tiny bits, then solve the tiny problems, one by one. Figuratively it sounds logical yet to do that literally is a problem in itself. Perspective is also an interesting facet to consider. A problem may seem humongous to a child but if he relates it to an adult, then the problem can actually be very miniscule. That is where good communication comes in: between a parent and a child or between a student and a teacher. The person who is not afflicted by the problem can be more objective as his emotions are not entangled within the problematic web. A student once came up to me and was upset that her idea for a group business project was not well received by the rest of the group. She had always been the leader of the pack but she had just joined this new discussion group and she was not ‘proven’ yet. There was already another leader in the group who had been there since the group started and his idea was well-received. So I advised her to take another stance – to go along with the established leader and learn new things instead, while assuring her that in no way was her idea lesser in value than the one agreed upon. With some reluctance, she took my advice. Two months down the line when the project was making headway, I caught up with her again and asked about the progress of the project. She was beaming and said it was going very well, and she was happy. She said she also learnt a lot about herself in the process, the good and bad, as she worked alongside the new team mates. Her idea might not have been the one chosen by the group but she had learnt other life lessons, the most important being sometimes we lead and sometimes we follow. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Either way, we are still learning and we can excel in whatever we do. How many of us do actually realise that a huge problem can look smaller when we have had a good night sleep? I can think of numerous occasions when the big black cloud loomed over my nights as I tossed and turned wondering how to solve a problem. Most times, when I woke up the next day, the problem did not seem so big after all. Better still, through some miraculous means, in the cold light of day, the problem had solved itself. The funny thing about solving problems is we sometimes try every method when the answer lies right beneath our noses. Let me illustrate this with the common problem of foot pain. It is a sad thing when you discover that you have foot pain. It is even sadder when you do not know the cause of the pain. Like an unwelcome guest, foot pain gradually catches up with the senior citizens of the feminine fraternity. Reasons often linked to foot pain are ill-fitting shoes, wearing stilettos when younger, falls and sport injuries. If truth be told, I have subjected my poor feet to all of them. Sometimes, well-meaning older folk tell us that ‘wind’ might have something to do with the aches. So we try pain-relief drugs and alternative cure-all remedies like reflexology, traditional medicated ointments, poultice and wraps but the pain stubbornly refuses to go away. Now, that is a problem. Having exhausted all possible remedies, a pragmatic person told me: if the foot hurts, see a foot doctor a.k.a. a podiatrist. Now, why did I not think of that in the first place? I googled for a reliable podiatrist and made an appointment. Strangely for such mysterious foot pain, the answer was simple enough. It all had to do with posture and the need for orthotics. Imagine all the months of needless pain if I only had the right diagnosis sooner. So for now, the countryside walking trails are on the top of my to-do list again this summer! Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/problem-solving-made-simple-1.95311

Fading Art of Letter Writing

Four decades ago, we looked forward to a man who came to our house on most days around the same time except weekends. He used to ride a bicycle with a bell attached to it. He was after all the friendly postman. Nowadays, with all the internet gizmos we hardly get anything interesting from the postman (the bicycle has made way for the louder and faster motorbike) except official letters, unwanted mail or bills. A sad development indeed.

As I am presently living in the countryside, I am stepping back in time as the postman here still cycles and he is the regular guy in the neighbourhood where everyone knows him by name. His bag which is plumped with letters is green. When I was in my teens, internet was unheard of. The only way to live life outside the familiar was through books, movies and letters. Books and movies still entertain us now but letters from pen-friends belong to the dinosaur age. I had a friend whose sister had put an advertisement in a European music magazine in the 1970s and she received hundreds of letters from curious Westerners who wanted to know what was happening in this part of the world. Needless to say she had to sieve through the letters to select the pen-pals she would keep. So her sister brought the rest of the letters to school and distributed to all who would like to have a Western pen-pal. I chose an Irish.

We corresponded for years exchanging information about nasi lemak, coconut trees, lamb stew, River dance and leprechauns. A letter would take 7-10 days to arrive. Then the letter would be read and re-read. Usually it would be written on very thin writing paper if sealed in an envelope or on an aerogramme. Letter writers are usually stamp collectors as well, so I would carefully cut around the stamps and soak them out. For special occasions like birthdays, we would send little gifts. I remember sending a small pewter plate to my pen-pal. Sometimes the gifts would go missing and we would accuse the postman of stealing them. The topics in the letters were varied and innocent ranging from things that happened in the classroom, in the town and in the family. The most exciting part perhaps was when photos were exchanged. There was also miscommunication. Once when my pen-pal saw a beautiful rainbow, he casually wrote and asked whether I had seen a rainbow in Malaysia? Mortified, I explained to him in great detail how a rainbow is formed and Malaysia being in the tropics has plenty of rain and sunshine. He was talking about the aesthetic and I the scientific.

He sent me a lock of hair (which I still have today) and I sent him mine which he said would make a fine paintbrush. He was merely stating a fact about the strength of black Asian hair but I thought he totally unlike the romantic Hollywood filmstars. Through it all, letters that were much awaited for forged a great friendship. So lately, I decided to find out whether the art of writing letters to pen-pals still exists. I looked through a family magazine and was surprised that there was a whole page dedicated to making friends, not so much friends overseas but within Ireland itself. What caught my eye was the way such advertisements are worded these days. Now there are short forms everywhere like: WLTM (Would Like to Meet), SD (Social Drinker), GSOH (Good Sense of Humour) and ALA (All Letters Answered) to name a few. Most of the advertisements are very amusing and appear sincere enough. The range of people seeking pen-pals could be anything from 20 to 80 years of age. There is one advertisement that reads: Single soft-spoken man in his 60s seeks sincere lady for companionship with a view to marriage. Lives a quiet life. Has car. Can go for rides. I could not help suppressing a smile at the mention of the car and going for rides which to me is not exactly like owning a private jet and going for flights. I later found out that because most of these people live in the country, having a car and going for rides is seen as a treat and a getaway from the mundane for some. However, pen-pal advertisements in a local newspaper are completely different. With the exception of a few, most of the people in the advertisements are seeking for a fun time, and for floozy relationships with no strings attached. The long and short of letter writing is that it is very rewarding. As we celebrate our wedding anniversary this month, I know that it was not by coincidence that I married the same pen-pal from Ireland so many years ago. Source:http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/fading-art-of-letter-writing-1.90324