Early this morning, as I was happily, frolicking in dreamland, I get pleasantly awaken by a chirpy, little electronic melody, emitted from my cell phone, notifying me that I just got a text message. I jerk my upper body toward the night stand, grab the phone, and flip it open. The small and brightly lit screen displays a text from my coworker confirming that we are indeed carpooling this morning.
I check out the time stamp – 4:55 AM
WHAaat!! The dude is up already? What a gym keener? – I chuckle to myself. I then place the phone back, and retrieve back to my cozy cocoon. Mmmm… I still have 2 hours to sleep…
6:01 AM – I’m still wide awake and exhausted. Amidst my sleep-deprived, semi-delusional state, three sequential strings of thought enter my mind.
Thought #1: Oh my gosh, if I had children, they might wake me up in middle of the night and then I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.
Thought #2: UGgghh…. I HATE not being able to fall back asleep. I LOVE sleep. I CAN’T live without sleep! Babies will definitely wreck my sleep and ergo… my life. EEERRGO… I shouldn’t have kids.
Thought #3: Hmm… I wonder if having a live-in nanny will solve the problem. How much would that cost? Maybe THEY can respond to all of the middle of the night issues? Hmm… is it selfish of me that I refuse to allow a baby to interfere with my sleep?
Fast forward two hours, my coworker picks me up and in typical Jenny-fashion, after the salutations, the first few sentences out of my mouth pertain to how he has single-handedly, with a single, early morning text message, destroyed any desire that I might have had for children. Good thing he seemed amused rather than disturbed by the confession of my abnormal, pre-dawn, mental meanderings.
All I can say is that I am so thankful for having friends that don’t (seem to) mind all of my peculiarities.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Taking a moment for the Ping Pong girls
This past Saturday I was at a birthday party, where I had the misfortune to bear witness to conversational dribble on a most terrible topic. I didn’t really know a lot of people at this gathering, and was making my best attempt to mingle when I found myself amidst a few friends chatting about their recent travels and associated misdemeanors – all of whom had made recent trips to Thailand.
Travel stories surrounding the beautiful country of Thailand nearly never or perhaps will only ever so briefly touch on its rich history and culture, ornate temples, and exquisite silk and handicrafts. Typically, people will boast about the delectable cuisine, breathtaking tropical vistas, cheap, luxurious beach front accommodations, and last but not least, toss in a few elephant-riding anecdotes. Nearly always, you can depend on a few good chuckles about encounters with transvestites, sometimes crassly articulated by homophobic dudes, whom might also make some stereotypical assertions to the effect of “I’d kill myself/the dude if I ever found out that I touched/did it with a lady boy/chick with dick.”
On this particular occasion, after the clichéd jabs at the lady boys (no pun intended) the conversation took a turn for the worst. Two of the girls started sharing about their experience attending a “Ping Pong” show, divulging plenty of grotesque details of what is essentially a p0rngraphic freak show. While these two grown women in their late 20s mindlessly rambled on, and on, I passively took in the words and let the generated imagery impress into my consciousness. At the time I did little to neither react nor respond to their ignorance, but since then I’ve considered deeply about why this conversation has burdened my soul.
Firstly, not to state the obvious, but it is morally repugnant to force women to perform a wide array of degrading acts that are potentially threatening to their bodies and no doubt, psyche. At best, these women “chose” this role due to a lack of suitable employment. Perhaps, it is a notch above prostitution. At worst, they were trafficked and coerced into such an activity, in addition to being forced to work as a prostitute; and worst yet, not a single baht might enter their pockets at the end of the evening. Secondly, I mourn over the essential obliteration of the divine connection between all humans as the onlookers’ gawk reduces the performer from that of a fellow human being – someone’s daughter, sister, mother – to that of it animate object, whose purpose now is purely to serve as a source of depraved entertainment. Thirdly, although most tourists are not in Thailand to take advantage of commercial sex, make no mistake, many non-sex tourists are still complicit in furthering the industry and its illegal elements, if their curiosity propels them to attend such shows.
Lastly, I can’t help but imagine what the performers are thinking as they look out into the audience at all the westerners and other non-Thai faces. What must they think of us? I wonder if it boggles their mind that people come from such far places and pay money to see them perform such demeaning, and bizarre acts. I wonder if they wonder why don’t we seem to care about their plight? I especially wonder if they hate us and hope that we would all go to hell. Even worse, what if we have so successfully stripped them of their beauty, humanness, and dignity that they no longer care about anything at all? What if they see and feel nothing, finding no meaning in the present and no hope for the future, because they indeed believe that their family, friends and the rest of the world has forgotten about them.
Other links about human trafficking:
A news story that provides details about the “Ping Pong” shows
http://pulitzercenter.typepad.com/untold_stories/2009/08/thailand-flesh-market.html
Some global and Canadian stats on human trafficking
http://www.worldvision.ca/ContentArchives/content-stories/Pages/human-trafficking-statistics-global-and-canadian.aspx
A story about the problem of human trafficking through Poipet, the border town in Cambodia that I lived and worked in 2007/08
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/world-vision/poipet-where-cambodians-a_b_214912.html
Travel stories surrounding the beautiful country of Thailand nearly never or perhaps will only ever so briefly touch on its rich history and culture, ornate temples, and exquisite silk and handicrafts. Typically, people will boast about the delectable cuisine, breathtaking tropical vistas, cheap, luxurious beach front accommodations, and last but not least, toss in a few elephant-riding anecdotes. Nearly always, you can depend on a few good chuckles about encounters with transvestites, sometimes crassly articulated by homophobic dudes, whom might also make some stereotypical assertions to the effect of “I’d kill myself/the dude if I ever found out that I touched/did it with a lady boy/chick with dick.”
On this particular occasion, after the clichéd jabs at the lady boys (no pun intended) the conversation took a turn for the worst. Two of the girls started sharing about their experience attending a “Ping Pong” show, divulging plenty of grotesque details of what is essentially a p0rngraphic freak show. While these two grown women in their late 20s mindlessly rambled on, and on, I passively took in the words and let the generated imagery impress into my consciousness. At the time I did little to neither react nor respond to their ignorance, but since then I’ve considered deeply about why this conversation has burdened my soul.
Firstly, not to state the obvious, but it is morally repugnant to force women to perform a wide array of degrading acts that are potentially threatening to their bodies and no doubt, psyche. At best, these women “chose” this role due to a lack of suitable employment. Perhaps, it is a notch above prostitution. At worst, they were trafficked and coerced into such an activity, in addition to being forced to work as a prostitute; and worst yet, not a single baht might enter their pockets at the end of the evening. Secondly, I mourn over the essential obliteration of the divine connection between all humans as the onlookers’ gawk reduces the performer from that of a fellow human being – someone’s daughter, sister, mother – to that of it animate object, whose purpose now is purely to serve as a source of depraved entertainment. Thirdly, although most tourists are not in Thailand to take advantage of commercial sex, make no mistake, many non-sex tourists are still complicit in furthering the industry and its illegal elements, if their curiosity propels them to attend such shows.
Lastly, I can’t help but imagine what the performers are thinking as they look out into the audience at all the westerners and other non-Thai faces. What must they think of us? I wonder if it boggles their mind that people come from such far places and pay money to see them perform such demeaning, and bizarre acts. I wonder if they wonder why don’t we seem to care about their plight? I especially wonder if they hate us and hope that we would all go to hell. Even worse, what if we have so successfully stripped them of their beauty, humanness, and dignity that they no longer care about anything at all? What if they see and feel nothing, finding no meaning in the present and no hope for the future, because they indeed believe that their family, friends and the rest of the world has forgotten about them.
Other links about human trafficking:
A news story that provides details about the “Ping Pong” shows
http://pulitzercenter.typepad.com/untold_stories/2009/08/thailand-flesh-market.html
Some global and Canadian stats on human trafficking
http://www.worldvision.ca/ContentArchives/content-stories/Pages/human-trafficking-statistics-global-and-canadian.aspx
A story about the problem of human trafficking through Poipet, the border town in Cambodia that I lived and worked in 2007/08
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/world-vision/poipet-where-cambodians-a_b_214912.html
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
A professional disappointment
Some of you may know that I did an internship with the World Health Organization in Beijing this past summer – “something related to the Beijing Olympics”, you might have caught through my rabblings.
Actually, this project was quite an undertaking. It’s a twenty chapter, technical publication that assesses the sustainability of improvements made to public health services, infrastructure, environment, and public awareness on health issues in the seven years leading up to and during the 2008 Olympic Games. There were dozens of Chinese government, WHO, and International Olympic Committee big wigs that authored the chapters, which covered a range of topics such as air quality, tobacco control, food safety, emergency preparedness, among others.
First day on the job, I learnt that this book would become my baby, the centre of all my attention. I nursed and treasured it, and grew prouder with every milestone. I reviewed every sentence of every draft and subsequent drafts, readily providing feedback to the other technical reviewers and editors. Frequently, the technical reviewers were so busy working on other projects that the only feedback they ever provided to the authors were my comments – of course without any reference to me. Eventually, my boss, the main project manager even asked me if I wanted to take a stab at writing the Introduction and Conclusion chapters. (I have yet to find out how much of it made the final version). She specifically warned me from the beginning of the high unlikelihood of my name being listed among the chapter authors. After all, I was just an intern with hardly any letters behind my letter. If a nobody like me (at least within the UN realm) can get published with the best of the WHO PhDs, what does that say about the organization? Either I’m a worthy, top notch writer, or those experts are obviously nothing special. Alas… she said she would try her best to get my name on the book, at least as an editing assistant.
So this morning, I receive a mass email from the project manager to review the draft layout of the book and to check our names in the acknowledgments. My heart skipped a beat. Wonderful! I’m getting acknowledged. But my seconds of initial excitement were swiftly displaced with disappointment and a pang of disgust as I read my name among a long string of names that were praised for “voluntarily contributing” to this project in one manner or another. I DID NOT voluntarily contribute to the project - I was a project manager DARN IT!
I’m not use to not getting validated for my hard work, and I am by no means impressed with the lack of ethical consideration in which my written word so easily got passed off as those of others. At the tender age of 2*, this experience as been inaugural in shedding me of my innocence (or naivety) over professional integrity, which I had previously thought was a given. It has also left me with a new guardedness towards my work peers. I don’t want to think of the workplace as every person for themselves, nor do I don’t want to be scared about being taken advantage of.
I’m trying to remind myself that it’s best to work for the glory of God, not for man’s praise or recognition. Nevertheless, even Jesus told his disciples to be “shrewd as snakes and innocent as doves”. Mind you, he was telling them to be careful while on their journeys to spread the Good News and to be on guard of persecutors. He was not referring to the need to protect themselves from self-serving co-workers. That said, I feel that being a Christian doesn’t mean being ignorant of office politics nor being relegated to that of a professional doormat. There is nothing wrong with having understanding of and being able to effectively navigate through all the power dynamics and office politics. It is also not wrong to thrive for excellence and to advance one’s career. But everything should be carried out with integrity, as well as willingness and readiness to support, equip and encourage others at work. Moreover, God’s main concern is our willingness and readiness to forgive others and to be humble enough to see our own pride. Pride deceives me into believing that I am better than others, and that I am entitled to my sense of entitlement. But God’s love for me and my fellow men move me to leave my pride. As God has overlooked my countless transgressions, I surely can let go of this ever so minor one.
Actually, this project was quite an undertaking. It’s a twenty chapter, technical publication that assesses the sustainability of improvements made to public health services, infrastructure, environment, and public awareness on health issues in the seven years leading up to and during the 2008 Olympic Games. There were dozens of Chinese government, WHO, and International Olympic Committee big wigs that authored the chapters, which covered a range of topics such as air quality, tobacco control, food safety, emergency preparedness, among others.
First day on the job, I learnt that this book would become my baby, the centre of all my attention. I nursed and treasured it, and grew prouder with every milestone. I reviewed every sentence of every draft and subsequent drafts, readily providing feedback to the other technical reviewers and editors. Frequently, the technical reviewers were so busy working on other projects that the only feedback they ever provided to the authors were my comments – of course without any reference to me. Eventually, my boss, the main project manager even asked me if I wanted to take a stab at writing the Introduction and Conclusion chapters. (I have yet to find out how much of it made the final version). She specifically warned me from the beginning of the high unlikelihood of my name being listed among the chapter authors. After all, I was just an intern with hardly any letters behind my letter. If a nobody like me (at least within the UN realm) can get published with the best of the WHO PhDs, what does that say about the organization? Either I’m a worthy, top notch writer, or those experts are obviously nothing special. Alas… she said she would try her best to get my name on the book, at least as an editing assistant.
So this morning, I receive a mass email from the project manager to review the draft layout of the book and to check our names in the acknowledgments. My heart skipped a beat. Wonderful! I’m getting acknowledged. But my seconds of initial excitement were swiftly displaced with disappointment and a pang of disgust as I read my name among a long string of names that were praised for “voluntarily contributing” to this project in one manner or another. I DID NOT voluntarily contribute to the project - I was a project manager DARN IT!
I’m not use to not getting validated for my hard work, and I am by no means impressed with the lack of ethical consideration in which my written word so easily got passed off as those of others. At the tender age of 2*, this experience as been inaugural in shedding me of my innocence (or naivety) over professional integrity, which I had previously thought was a given. It has also left me with a new guardedness towards my work peers. I don’t want to think of the workplace as every person for themselves, nor do I don’t want to be scared about being taken advantage of.
I’m trying to remind myself that it’s best to work for the glory of God, not for man’s praise or recognition. Nevertheless, even Jesus told his disciples to be “shrewd as snakes and innocent as doves”. Mind you, he was telling them to be careful while on their journeys to spread the Good News and to be on guard of persecutors. He was not referring to the need to protect themselves from self-serving co-workers. That said, I feel that being a Christian doesn’t mean being ignorant of office politics nor being relegated to that of a professional doormat. There is nothing wrong with having understanding of and being able to effectively navigate through all the power dynamics and office politics. It is also not wrong to thrive for excellence and to advance one’s career. But everything should be carried out with integrity, as well as willingness and readiness to support, equip and encourage others at work. Moreover, God’s main concern is our willingness and readiness to forgive others and to be humble enough to see our own pride. Pride deceives me into believing that I am better than others, and that I am entitled to my sense of entitlement. But God’s love for me and my fellow men move me to leave my pride. As God has overlooked my countless transgressions, I surely can let go of this ever so minor one.
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