Reasons I Want to Live in Thailand #58

Ghosts

Thai people walk with their dead. They are not forgotten and left to rot in pretty parks with a carved stone placed above their head. The dead are apart of everyday life. There are rooms set aside for them. Their portraits are placed on selves and before them are placed incense burners. Food and drink will be placed before these pictures as the dead are included in family dinners. They are asked to protect the house while everyone is way. To look after the young ones playing around the house. They are brought home on the day of their death, for even the dead have a home in Thailand.

I have heard many stories about how the Thai treat the dead, even the dead that they are not related to. One story that touched me came from the book Tone Deaf in Bangkok by Janet Brown. She talked about a young boy who had died near a lake. The local people left a mannequin there to represent that boy. They clothed it and gave it toys, like soccer balls, so the young child would have things to comfort him. They wanted this child’s ghost to be happy and eventually move on.

There are all sorts of ways to accommodate the dead, like Thai spirit houses. These are little houses, like doll houses, that are made after the style of traditional Thai houses. They come in all shapes and colors and materials. Many will have furniture and even votive figures. These houses are made to appease spirits that might cause trouble for the home or business that built them. It is believed that if you take care of the house and it’s spirit resident they will look after you, your loved ones and home. I have been told by my wife that before construction takes place, or when you buy a building, you bring in a monk who will go over the ground and tell you what spirits linger there. He will be able to instruct you as to what kind of spirit house you need, what it should be made of and what the spirit will require.

My favorite stories come from my wife. Like all Thai people she reveres the dead, but is also quite terrified of them. You never know what they’ll do, she has told me. Indeed, you don’t, as Sophee, one of my wife’s aunts frequently experiences. My father-in-law is the only child, therefore it is his duty to see to Grandma and Grandpa’s comfort. When he or my mother-in-law are unable to do this Sophee always goes to check on them in the room set aside for them. She will bring food offerings and light incense sticks when my in-laws are away. She claims that Grandma has fun at her expense. When Sophee lights the sticks, Grandma will blow it out, quite a few times before letting Sophee go. Grandma also shuts and locks the door to the room as well. This is not dangerous, Sophee can just unlock it and leave, but she always does it in a hurry, asking Grandma to stop playing with her.

There was a lot of hurrying during my wife’s childhood. Their home sits within a city block that the family owns. So, there is a corridor of sorts from where you park the car and the front door to the house. When coming home at night my wife would wait until someone in the house would unlock the door and then she would run down the corridor straight into the house. This was always a concern for when her Grandfather was alive as well as after he died. Grandpa, while alive, would always walk around the house locking all the doors and checking windows when he was ready for bed, whether or not everyone else was home for the night. In death he continued to protect the family by locking all the doors and windows, regardless of the fact that my wife was still out. Sometimes she would run down the corridor to find Grandpa had already locked the door and she would bang on it in a slight panic until someone let her in.

My wife firmly believes that her Grandparents are still there in that home, still protecting the family. She has proof, she told me that the family brought them home. When Grandma died, friends said that her ghost was walking around the temple as people paid their respect. This is natural, that is where her body was. It was the same with Grandpa, until the family asked them to come home.

When Grandpa died he was in a hospital and the family rushed over when a call come through that he was starting to die. They got there too late. At the side of his death bed they asked him to come home with them. They walked with Grandpa’s spirit out of that room into the elevator and into parking lot and opened the car door for him. They drove home and opened the car door there to let him out. They held open the front door and welcomed him home, just as if he was alive. Then my wife and her sister fought over who would be the first to run down the corridor to safety. They did this for Grandma as well, so yes, that is where they are because that is where the family took them.

A while after their deaths my wife would ask her parents from time to time if either of them had seen Grandma and Grandpa around the house. Dad would hum a noncommittal noise and shake his head. Mom would do much the same and shrug her shoulders. Neither would really answer the question. My wife kept asking and getting the same response. Until one day she asked, ‘How come you never see them, but I see them all the time? They always come to me.’ She told them that on many occasions, while sleeping or just about to fall asleep, she would see her Grandparents by the end of her bed looking down at her. They were not threaten and didn’t stay long.

Mom laughed and said, ‘You were always their favorite. That is why they always come to see you.’

So, I want to live in Thailand because of their ghosts, even if I don’t believe. There is something about remembering the dead in such a way. Thai people are not clinging to the past, so their dead are not a burden that needs to be let go of. Their dead are reminders of their impermanence, for they will eventually join their ranks. They dead are reminders of where they came from, allowing them to remember their family line. It is also a comfort in knowing that you won’t be forgotten. Someone will light incense for you and remember to share the holiday feast with you.

However, just because I don’t believe doesn’t mean I am excused from the reality of Thai life. My wife has told me that when we return I have to introduce myself to my Grandparents-in-law. If I want them to like me and not mess with me I have to tell them who I am, and why I am an ok person to have in their house. I have to prove that I am family, I have to pay my respects. As she was telling me this she stopped and said, “Remember, they don’t speak english, only Thai, so good luck.” She laughed. “Maybe I can translate for you.”

“So, now that you are older you won’t run down that corridor?” I asked.

“Oh no, I still run!”

“But, your Grandparents are there.” I laughed.

“I know they won’t hurt me, but I will still run. That house is creepy, so many dark corners. Just you wait, you run like me”

“So, what happens if they don’t like me?”

“Well, I know they won’t hurt me, and I know they will love the girls, but you….well, just run faster!” and my wife laughed at me.

One evening my wife had called home to talk with her parents. After she had hung up with Mom and Dad she said that they were planning to sell the land that the family house was on. They have other property outside Bangkok and since flooding has gotten worse in Bangkhen, the district of Bangkok they live, they don’t want to deal with repairing the damage every year. I asked my wife what will happen to Grandma and Grandpa when Mom and Dad sell that land. She answered, “They come with us! Why would we leave them there?” as if I was crazy for asking, perhaps I was.

 

Pick Your Spokesperson Carefully

Born In Tibet

by Chogyam Trungpa

The Tibetan issue is clouded by lies, propaganda and poor spokesmen. I became disillusioned with the Tibetan plight years ago as I slowly began to learn that the violence and injustice that characterized Chinese and Tibetan relations for decades was no more, yet the government in exile kept shouting that it was and the CCP denied that it ever was. I became disillusioned when the Dalai Lama changed his stance, going from claiming that a real genocide was taking place to a cultural one, just because Tibetan children are also taught Mandarin in the schools built by the CCP. I became disillusioned because the CCP won’t stop treating an old monk like a terrorist. That the same monk lived in luxury and dined with easily impressed Hollywood stars while Tibetans lived in poverty didn’t help either. Also, the fact that all the money he collected never went to his poor countrymen, the CCP was doing more for these people, bringing in medicine, education and food. I became disillusioned when the Central Government would whitewash whatever unfair treatment that was visited upon the Tibetans just to save face. I became disillusioned when I learned that the society the CCP altered so drastically was a feudal one that came complete with serfs forced to live under a religious oligarchy that allowed torturous corporal punishments. Because of this disillusion I stopped caring about the issue, I stopped reading the latest books to demonize the Chinese and I stopped reading the latest news brief that defended the party.

Then a friend handed me this book Born In Tibet by Chogyam Trungpa, a man who lived the privileged life of an Abbot when he was forced to leave his homeland due to the Chinese invasion of Tibet. While I was concerned about reading yet another piece of propaganda I was still curious as I have never read an autobiography of these events. I had always read books written by westerners speaking for Tibetans. What I discovered was not propaganda about evil Chinese, though the author was very dismissive of them, but the view of an abbot deeply apart of his feudal religious upbringing, which made him dismissive of almost everyone.

Trungpa starts his tale with the death of the abbot of Surmang, a monastery in eastern Tibet. This mans death is important for Trungpa is this abbot. He recounts the history of his soul and it’s great spiritual conquests until it comes to the abbot of Surmang. The former abbot dies in great mystic style by stating where he will be reborn and who he will be reborn to. He then assumes a mediation pose and dies like this, all mystic and holy like. His students a few years later set out for the area in which their teacher prophesied his return, which just happens to be close by, and find Trungpa. They test the young lad but there are some doubts. After a long explanation from his mother about who his father was they determine that he is their teacher reborn. The young Trungpa is taken from his family to become abbot of Surmang and the ridiculous age of five.

The book drones on about his training as a child abbot which includes a lot of meditation and retreats in caves. What I did find interesting here was his view of the people around him. His mother is reduced to a servant who can’t enter the monastery, and while he has a connection to her he is more concerned with his teachers, as if being told he is the reincarnation of someone makes his mother no longer his mother. He is indifferent to a flogging carried out by a monk, only expressing the tiniest bit of sympathy. Everyone is nameless but his direct teachers, other monks, people he meets, no one means anything to him but his direct teachers.

Things don’t get interesting until the Chinese show up, however, Trungpa never really meets any Chinese, but once or twice, he only hears about them. He hears that they are cleaning streets of filth, because I guess the Tibetans didn’t keep their streets clean. He hears that the PLA pays for everything and helps neighborhoods. He hears about them killing monks and that they destroy monasteries, but all he really has is other people’s accounts. Maybe this explains some of his extreme disconnect from common sense. In the face of an invading army Trungpa decides to spend a great deal money on expanding the temple complex while refugees with nothing pass right by his front doors, because it is his spiritual duty.

Though it takes him awhile, Trungpa eventually finds himself on the run from the Chinese. This flight from danger is no ordinary running for your life flight, however. No, there are many stops along the way to perform religious rituals and reflect on the Dharma and give talks and lessons and blessings, take in nature and have cups of tea during picnics. He travels with attendants and a bursar, who is also a monk and is concerned Trungpa will flee to India with all the gold and treasures they are carrying leaving nothing for anyone else. I could only assume that this wealth was what was collected to expand Surmang while homeless Tibetans starved outside the monastery. Meanwhile, Trungpa gives Dharma talks on not giving in to the materialistic world.

Some of these rituals he engages in, which are completed with all the gold tools of trade, are so complicated that he has to explain the significance of them to the monks who just helped him perform it. There is a passage where Trungpa tells the reader how close the Chinese are to finding his group. So close are they that the party dares not light fires, but Trungpa and his monks go for leisurely walks around the campsite to engage in meditation and prayer. He even complains at one point of not having a walking area at one of the campsites. He is not very convincing at running for his life to protect the sacred teachings of the Buddha. He comes off as more of Tibetan Marie Antoinette.

While Trunga will take on any traveler willing to go with him, he makes it clear he is only concerned with the other monks. These monks were all chosen for the their positions in society the same way he was, by divine reincarnation having once been an important monk in another life. They are thus keepers of the Dharma, therefore they are more important then the common refugee and their family, or lower ranking monks, which Trungpa makes very clear with his dismissive attitude towards them. These higher ranking monks essential end up being a divinely chosen ruling class looking out for themselves. The ‘importance’ of these monks to the holy order is also made clear by how many of the monks, including Trungpa began running, they sneak out. Higher ranking monks would sneak away from their students so they wouldn’t draw a crowd, leaving them to face the Chinese. It was these lower ranking monks who were shot by the PLA when they couldn’t reveal where their leaders had run off to. Trungpa is guilty of something similar. He is never willing to abandon monks, but will sneak away from refugees, again to make sure a large crowd doesn’t follow him and his monks. Even though Trungpa disconnects himself to the refugees they follow him all the same as best they can, blindly and religiously loyal.

There is a little bit of worry for Trungpa’s fleeing group when they get lost in the mountains. The monks and the refugees following Trungpa run out of food and face the harrowing conditions of nature. The ultimate wisdom that guides them through these harsh conditions is Trungpa and his divining tools. Yep, divine gambling decides which path they take. Trunga asks the heavens which way they should go and rolls his holy twelve sided die. It is amazing that any of them survived. At the end they reach the Indian border and safety with only losing one old man, who Trungpa can’t be bothered naming, he wasn’t a monk anyway.

Contents aside there are problems with the text as well. Trungpa writes in run on sentences, long ones. He usually starts with a point and after several comas comes back to the same point. He writes paragraphs that take up whole pages and communicate matter of little importance. There are several typos and incorrect information, like in the forward, which states Qing Dynasty fell in 1912, when it was really 1911. Long winded, rambling and repetitive is the style of writing Trunga showcases.

Trungpa became very famous later in his life in the west as teacher of Tibetan Buddhism for the westerners who were apart of the Flower Power Counter Cultural Revolutions, a.k.a. Hippies. During this time he gives up the monkhood and takes to sleeping with his students and marrying a wealthy sixteen year old British girl when he was thirty. He eventually dies due an alcohol related illness, because he was a raging alcoholic, but is still revered as a holy man. While the book does not cover that part of his life and paints a different picture of him then what he became, it is still not very flattering. At the end of the book I am not sure how this title gained any sympathy for the Tibetan cause. I am sure that other monks were not like Trungpa, but having him as a spokesperson for Tibet in general strikes me as a bad idea.

After a little bit of research I found that there is a group raising money to rebuild Surmang, the monastery that Trungpa was an abbot of. On their own website they admit that this area of Tibet is steeped in poverty, with an annual average income of fifty dollars. Because Trungpa was so holy, and the Dharma so important, instead of helping to feed and educate these people, a temple that only monks can use will be given instead. This will help these kind Tibetan people with their ‘spiritual and cultural needs’, as the website states. Apparently the dismissive attitude of Trungpa is alive and well in the reincarnated Surmang.

Climatized Memory

The climate is intimately wrapped up in my memory, inseparable from the moments of my life. I rejoiced in the changes of the seasons and have therefore linked them to the events in my life that held any importance to me. I took comfort from the smells of the seasons, the burnt wood smell of fall, the floating smell of flowers in spring. I loved to sense the changes on the wind, the temperature of it, the moisture of it, the force of it. I would be filled with wonder experiencing a coming storm, that electric taste on the air, the thickness of the water in the breeze, the quiet rumbling of it’s edge.

In the grips of fall or winter my mother would build a fire and make us hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick. Next to this fire, sipping our cider, we would read. This is how I was introduced to Middle Earth. I would sit under a blanket with the wind blowing outside and a fire crackling as my mother would read from a well loved paper back that held Bilbo’s meeting with the One Ring. I would explore my own books in such circumstances tying this memory of climate with my love of reading.

I remember an evening with a girl I was hopelessly in love with through the cool spring moisture as we kissed like long lost lovers. It was during an intermission to a show I took her to, which I can’t recall. The wind carried those spring scents of flowers and new growth steeped in brewing rain held in fast moving clouds. The cool night air was pushed over us by a warmer summer air that was carrying the clouds towards us. I could feel the heat from her like I could the storm, but also touch the coolness of her fingers and lips, which prompted me to placed my jacket over her.

I have lived here all my life and could predict weather better than the weather man by feeling the climate around me. I knew when summer was really coming to an end and could dig out my coat. I would walk through long winter nights listening to the silence that only a blanket of snow can produce and know how long the snow would cover the world. Perfect days came with each season and I never failed to know they were coming and call in sick to go enjoy them.

Last week, the first week of May, a snow storm came upon Kansas City. The Midwest has always had inconsistent weather, but this is far out of line. The snow stuck to the ground, covered trees already budding, like a storm in the middle of winter. This winter we had little snow, except a few storms that dumped eight to twelve inches. Our winters always had snow on the ground for most of the season, with fairly consistent snow falls. Now winter is a dry season and only has powerful storms that shut the city down and after a few days that snow mostly melts away. Last year we had more tornadoes than we have before, and many of them category five. The summers have been hell, burning lawns that are frequently watered, destroying crops, and causing heat strokes in the morning hours.

For the last few years I have been uneasy about the weather. I can no longer tell when the seasons change, they fluctuate too much. My memory is still working the same that it has, but now it’s surreal too me. I sense the smells and feelings at the wrong times. I take my kids out for Halloween and I have to worry about them getting hot, and their make-up running. In July we can only play outside for a few minutes before everyone is hot and tried. My family photos are all lies. We took pictures of our girls next to bright orange trees in fall dressed in cute warm clothes and hoping they don’t over heat before we are done. We promised them ice cream while running the car’s air conditioning on full blast in November. Christmas had no snow. We had to have showers after watching fireworks last year because we had a film of sweat covering us, we almost stopped watching. I have never seen people so red in face in the middle of a summer night. When weather events occur, like snow storms and rain storms, it’s all at the wrong time. We once had a tornado in the fall, that never happened in all my life.

I have a hard time understanding those who don’t believe in climate change, when it’s changing right in front of us. I listened to customers in my store talk about how grateful they are at the seventy degree (fahrenheit) temperatures in December. ‘We can skip winter, I’m cool with that.’ said one lady with her wide tights shoved into shorts to small for her. ‘I’m going to wash my car and have a grill out today, it’s beautiful.’ said a balding middle aged dude in plaid shorts and flip-flops. I had to wear shorts, because my body was hot, but I had nothing but chills whenever I went outside.

I get the same chill when I wonder how long it will take us to wake up to the danger that is coming. Will it come as soon as some predict, or will we have more time than the pessimists say? I wonder if I and my family will witness large scale wars over water sources and food. I cringe when India and China argue who has rights over the use of rivers based on where it starts and where it flows, trying to claim the whole river system. Will we witness even more millions of people dying because of lack of drinking water then we already are? How much of a Malthusian nightmare will we survive through, if we do?

My point is, you don’t need charts and studies to tell you something is wrong and we need to do something. Just use your own senses, the ones that evolved from living on this planet, before we altered it. They will tell you what you need to know. Science will tell you how to fix it. The actions to do so are ours alone.

May The 4th Be With You

I have learned many things from Star Wars. Entertainment though it may be, it is art and art has ways of communicating great ideas and emotional strength. I should’ve be better prepared for May 4th and have done a longer blog on the effects of Star Wars on my life. There can be another time for that, though. For now, I want to wish everyone a happy May 4th and hope that you all take inspiration and hope from the art that our society creates. For creation is the root cause of happiness.

Jobs To Do When You Are Dead

I walked into the room the whole time never taking my eyes off the cadaver on the table. I was not afraid nor sickened. I was fascinated. It was the corpse of an old man and it had been eviscerated. A cut opened up it’s chest exposing the organs that were still attached. Another cut had spilt it’s head down to the base of the neck. It looked like old leather, it simply didn’t look real. The smell was part chemical and part death, sweet, thick and industrial. The class gathered around the table, some far away, some close, while the professor began to point out major anatomical parts that had been covered in class. I had not been expecting a class that would allow me to view a cadaver lab, much less be apart of one. However, Cleveland Chiropractic College insisted that you had to have one to graduate. This was not that class, this was a viewing of what we would be doing and giving us an opportunity to see the real thing, not just pictures in a book.

Years later I would be engaged in a Facebook conversation in which everyone was recommending books. Two people, whose opinions I value as intelligent and well read, suggested an author named Mary Roach. I had never heard of her before and asked for more information. A few days later at work one of those people handed me a Mary Roach book called Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. I first thought of my experience back at Cleveland. I, like Mary Roach, had wondered where this man came from. Who was he in life? What had he been like? I had been fascinated, not by a torn up corpse, but by the transformation from living, breathing, thinking, life-form to yellow old leather on a metal table. I was promised that Mrs.Roach’s book would not only be enlightening, but entertaining as well. I don’t recall ever reading a book on the dead that was more educational, touching and humorous as this one.

Mrs.Roach, a journalist and therefore a naturally curious person, was motivated by the same questions I had when standing in the cadaver lab. She went forth to find out the life of dead people and came up with twelve captivating chapters of examples of the jobs they perform. She starts her book with the experience of every medical student, practicing on the dead. She also covers the history of human dissection, which is pretty gory and very questionable. She visits the famous University of Tennessee’s Anthropological Research Facility, which studies human decay for the purposes of forensic science. They do this by leaving bodies out to rot on the ground in a semi-secluded area of the campus. She visits human crash test dummies who take a beating to make cars safer, and learns how the remains of passengers in a plane crash can help determine the cause of the crash when the black box can’t be recovered. She informs us how cadavers help the military develop more lethal weapons and takes a detour into the forensic science of the crucifixion. There is a chapter about how the medical community came to define death. After that one there are the two strangest chapters, one on historical attempts to reanimate and transplant severed human heads, and then one on medicinal cannibalism. That whole chapter was new information for me. She closes her book with a look at the new and environmental sound methods of disposing our dead.

I realized after that list of topics it might seem hard to picture yourself having a good time reading such morbid material. However, Mrs.Roach is a skilled story teller. She always weaves a sense of humor into these seemingly dark tales. As she walks through the grounds of the University of Tennessee observing all the different people decaying in the sun, she comments on an assistant to the professor she is with who has stopped eating certain foods as they remind him to much of his subjects. She paints an absurd but enjoyable picture of the human crash test dummy UM006, who refuses to sit up right in his seat to complete the test and has great comedic timing. Duck tape and canvas straps finally hold him in place.

Not all of the book is funny though, Mrs.Roach goes out of her way to show the feelings and opinions of those who work with the dead. The respect with which they carry out their duties and the importance that they feel society gains from what they do. Indeed, one of the main themes of this books is how the dead have played a major role in improving the over all quality of life for humanity. She praises those who would hand over their bodies to science for as she makes all to clear, their contribution has saved lives.

This was the other aspect of the book that I loved, the very human side of death. The dead don’t care, death is nothing for them, it is how we, the living handle it. Some of the more touching aspects of this book are the thoughts of those that deal with the after math, like Dennis Shanahan whose job it is to shift through the wreckage of plane crashes and through the damage done to the dead, determine what happened. He admits that he would rather deal with bits and pieces of people rather than whole bodies, as they are too much like the living. Mrs. Roach expresses this, ‘Gore you get used to. Shattered lives you don’t’.

I really had a hard time putting the book down. I would find myself entranced by the knowledge I was receiving at one point, laughing at a another and just plain cringing at others. There is plenty in this book to turn a stomach, so I recommend not eating and reading it at the same time, like I did. There were times I had to decide to stop eating, stop reading, or just suck it up.

One question you will have after reading Mrs. Roach’s book is what you will want done to your body when you die. What last job will you perform to better society? How will you want your body disposed of? Burn it, bury it, or chemically melt it down. Perhaps you will use it as compost to help grow a greener earth, leaving a tree as your memorial, as shown in the last chapter. In the end it is probably best to let your loved ones decide what should be done. The funeral will be for them anyway, you won’t care either way. You can still contribute to humanity before that however, and based off what I have learned from Mrs. Roaches book, I plan to do the same.

I Am Sisyphus

“I don’t believe in ADHD.”  she said, taking the receipt from my hand and walking away with her family. I stood there for a second, my hand still outstretched. My first thought was that she should spend a few minutes in my head. Once she is driven crazy by all that is going on I could then ask her about what she ‘believes’. Another person ignoring science to suit their needs, was my second thought. However, as much as I tried to dismiss it I couldn’t get the conversation out of my mind.

It all started with the samples of coffee based candy I had at my register. The couple allowed one of their sons, the very hyper-active one, with big front teeth, to have one of these candies. I see people everyday day letting children under ten pour themselves samples of coffee from the food sample area in the back of the store. They mix cream and a crap load of sugar in it and try to act like adults. If they’re in the store long enough we get to see the effects of dosing children with excessive amounts of caffeine. I couldn’t help but say something. “That candy has coffee in it, not just coffee flavor.”

‘Oh, we let him drink coffee all the time,’ the mother said, ‘so, it’s no big deal.”

‘Really?!’ I said, ‘He looks like I feel. I have ADHD and sometimes find it hard to stand here.’ I chuckled. The kid was alternating between jumping and jogging in place around my work zone. I wanted nothing more than to place my hand over the top of his head like a basketball and stop his dribbling.

‘He is pretty hyper,’ the Dad chimed in, ‘but, coffee is good for ADHD.’

I laughed politely, while looking out of the corner of my eye at these dubious parents who don’t believe in ADHD but can still prescribe remedies for it. ‘I have always drank coffee like crazy, just gave it up as a matter of fact, and I have never noticed a difference with my ADHD. Maybe, it helps when you are just a kid’ I didn’t believe this, but I always offer a way out of a conversation, or a rope to hang themselves with.

By this time the family was done packing their groceries. The coffee sucking monkey with the buzz cut had stopped dancing around my register, cueing in on the fact the family was done. He redirected himself towards the front door and performed a stuttering, skip, step movement out of it, all while the family followed calmly several feet behind him. The mother’s words hung in the air in front of me as I watched the twitching ape she called her son bounce out into the parking lot.

I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Combined Type. Usually, a person has one or the other, the attention deficit or the hyperactivity, effect them more. Their condition will still be called ADHD, but one of them, the AD or the HD, will be dominant. In the case of a combined type they are equally problematic. I also have a math based learning disorder. It does not have a name, but it means that I can not retain mathematical functions well, and I have trouble working through any subject matter which draws upon the same area of the brain. I believe that the ADHD helped make my OCD possible as well. Three for the price of one.

So, what is it like being in my head? Think of being locked in a room with ten thousand TVs. They are all different sizes and each one has something different playing on it’s screen. They are also turned up as loud as they can be. There are no remotes to control them and no knobs or buttons on them to control them. You are left to watch and listen without the comfort of a chair, table, or even a rock to sit on. All these different sources of information and entertainment competing for your attention would drive you to an over load of information. You would shut down at times. Lose your place in the middle of thought. Have trouble recalling the things you wanted to recall and remembering a ton of things you didn’t. This flood of noise would become so pervasive that you would stop in the middle of sentence because you were distracted by one of the TV’s in your head and not be able to finish your sentence. You might have suffered some of these symptoms before, but on a much lower level, then someone with full blown ADHD. These things happen with such frequency to me that I become exhausted with everything around me. I need to retreat into isolation to recenter myself. Some people have said to me that it doesn’t sound that bad. Perhaps I just need better mental discipline, a stronger sense of mind over matter. I love the classic, it is all in your head, line. I can testify that it is a very real problem and can be life damaging.

The best example I can give is my education. I never liked school, and for many reasons, but one was for the work I was asked to do. I could perform many tasks well, but had the worse time focusing. I wanted to make up stories in peace at my desk in the back of the classroom. I would draw them, write them, and sometimes act them out. That was the part the teachers didn’t like but the kids loved to make fun of me for. Have you ever read Calvin and Hobbes? Do you remember the times that Calvin was acting out a Spaceman Spiff story and it turns out he was in the middle of class? That was me. Such behavior got me moved to the front of the class where I could put on a better show. Sometimes I just couldn’t help myself and before I knew it the things that were in my head came out of mouth and danced out of my fingertips, which would play across my desk or my body in an effort to manifest my imagination in the physical world. The laughter would hurt as much as my lack of control.

I would become embarrassed when asked to do math. I couldn’t do it and when that become classroom knowledge I was teased. Math was public humiliation. It was also private humiliation as many teachers worked with me in special sessions, that would produce progress. At least that was what they believed. They would be proud of me that I was finally ‘getting’ math. They would tell me that they were confident I would pass the next test. I would of course fail those tests, as I would forget everything. Even when I studied up until the test was taken. I would confuse things. My mind simply didn’t care to remember how to perform mathematical wizardry.

The OCD was just as bad. I had to have an even number of things. I couldn’t eat three cookies, only two. I couldn’t step on lines or cracks. I couldn’t walk on floors with certain patterns, like a checkered floor. If one foot stepped in a square the other foot had to as well, didn’t matter what the color was. So, this meant that I was walking across such floors placing each foot in the same square while advancing across the room. This need for symmetry was played out with my hands as well. If the right hand flipped a light switch on, the left one had to as well. On is different from off, so both hands would have to turn on and off the lights before I left the room. This kind of behavior would drive anyone crazy, just think what it did to me.

As I got older my disorders manifested themselves differently. They would led me to substance abuse, self mutilation, mood swings, deep bouts of depression, or bursts of rage, all manner of self-destructive behaviors. What Bill Watterson didn’t show us was Calvin’s intense self-loathing. Perhaps that would have been explored if he had made an adolescent Calvin, but that is another story.

I have struggled with these disorders all my life, but it wasn’t until a few yeas ago that I found true relief from them by embracing them, but also the ultimate frustration at having them. I was finishing my last semester at the University of Kansas and having trouble with a 105 level math class. I sought help from counselors and they suggested that I see the counselors that deal with students with learning disabilities. I had a meeting with a Mr. Shoemaker during which he asked me a lot of questions about my academic experiences and study habits.

I started college at a Chiropractic school, that had an accelerated program. It destroyed me, and my record. I went to a community college to try to repair the damage. That helped me get in to KU, but I still had trouble with a few classes. One was my Chinese class, which was a subject I dearly wanted to do well in. My teachers thought I spoke well, they thought I wrote well and they couldn’t understand why I wasn’t passing the tests. Neither did I. After all the questions, Mr. Shoemaker wanted me to get tested for learning disabilities.

My testing took place on campus and lasted a few weeks. It was a combination of IQ tests and a psychiatric evaluation. The nice young lady, Angela, who conducted the test provided me with results that weren’t that surprising but painful in their own way. She told me I had ADHD combined type and the math disorder. She also told me I might have other psychological disorders and if I wanted I should get tested for those. She did congratulate me on handling these other disorders as well as I did. I told her I had a wife and two daughters, they were my raft on the oceans of my mind. She granted me special privileges as a student with learning disabilities so I could pass my last classes. I got to graduate, a life long victory for me.

All the same I sat in my car before driving home for a few minutes crying. I had always thought myself stupid because I couldn’t do the book work so many others could. I wasn’t as quick witted as so many others were, so I felt I had to be stupid. All those other weird things I did meant I was crazy, simple as that. Stupid and crazy, that is what I was, that is what they all said I was. This proved me and them wrong. I am Sisyphus and these disorders have been my boulder. It wasn’t me. I wasn’t stupid and crazy is subjective. The fact that I couldn’t pass my cherished Chinese class was not because I couldn’t, but I couldn’t under those conditions. I could do it, I just had to find a different way from everybody else. Though I would never have another chance, not here and this time anyway.

The frustrating part was that if I had known about this years ago, I could have had help. I could’ve planned out my school better, and not racked up so much debt, just to try again and again. I didn’t want to give up, but I didn’t understand the nature of the boulder I was pushing. I could’ve have lived my childhood dream of being a historian. I could’ve passed Chinese class. Unfortunately, my disorders made it harder for me to get into grad school. I had to prove to the programs I was applying to that I was not a risk. Dr. Greene, one of idols at KU, was helping me get around that and even helping me to apply to her old school, Cornell. However, the economy tanked and we lost our jobs and then our home. There is simply no money to continue my dreams. This bad news would come later. In the student parking lot that day I cried from the relief of discovering I wasn’t who I thought I was. I cried for loss of time and needless suffering. I cried later over what I had hoped to be.

So, yes. I had trouble accepting this mother’s flippant words. She didn’t believe, but that didn’t mean her son wasn’t like me, pushing boulders through the hills of his mind while watching ten thousand TVs he couldn’t turn off. I wish I could’ve convinced her, for her son’s sake. I know now what I should’ve known years ago. I know I have been successfully thinking with a disabled mind, and I am now better equipped to continue to do so. I am more aware now than ever that there is a clear difference between me and my disorders. They are not me. I am not them. They may be a boulder I have to push or a TV I can’t turn off, but they don’t control the final out come. They don’t determine my path. I think, therefore I am.

Galahesh’s Burning

When I read the first book of the Lays of Anuskaya, The Winds of Khalakovo, I was struck by the authors world-building skills, first and foremost. The influences taken from our world were not the typical medieval European flare, but were more fitting for the Silk Road trade route during the time of the Great Game in the late nineteenth century. I loved the blend of Russian and Islamic cultural influences as well as the use of gunpowder technology. I enjoyed that Mr. Beaulieu could use such a technology and not have the whole story leave the realm of Fantasy and become a steampunk novel. I like the characters he gave to his readers but at the time I didn’t become overly attached to them, except perhaps Rehada. My biggest compliant was a lack of full disclosure. I felt that so much of this lush world was being held back by a story that wasn’t fleshing out as it should be. As if there were blinders on the side of my head keeping out the rest of the world. Due to the gracious nature of Mr. Beaulieu I was able to read his second book, The Straits of Galahesh. My earlier complaints have been dealt with.

I stated that the characters, while likable, had never given me much to become attached to them. That changed with this publication. Nikandr, who was kind of wishy-washy before, has become a hard man of principle. He possesses his own moral compass and becomes a bridge, unwanted at times, between the Maharraht and the Landed (people from Anuskaya) they despise so much. His captain skills are well tested in this novel, giving him the more heroic air of master and commander of his vessel. Atiana, who before was only head strong, actually became strong. Her skills at taking the dark, a sort of out body technique that allows one to manipulate worldly events, becomes as great as Nikandr’s mother, Saphia. Her willingness to put herself in danger gives her a self sacrificing nobility. She thinks fast and charges faster. She becomes a true threat to her enemies and asset to her allies, which explains why devious powers within the story try to use her to their advantage. Nasim, who was a disturbed untalkative boy and therefore was more of a prop in the first installment, has become a young man exploring his power and destiny. Nasim wages a long and complicated intellectual and spiritual battle with the two remaining Al-Aqim, Muqallad and Sariya, who are semi-immortal beings attempting to force upon the world enlightenment, this is actually not a good thing. Nasim also drives himself to find answers to his connection to Khamal, the third Al-Aqim, which in part is found within a group of cursed children turned into demon like creatures. Doing this while trying to stop the other Al-Aqim paints him as an intellectual hero, who pits his life as well as his sanity against the powers of the Al-Aqim.

In this second volume the world of Anuskaya is expanded, it covers a much larger territory and introduces more players for the stage Mr. Beaulieu has created. There is a large empire, Yrstanla, that lies to the west of the Islands of the Grand Duchy. Imagine a Russian culture on multiple small islands similar to Iceland having to face down an Ottoman Turk like empire based on the mainland. Yrstanla mirrors such a Turkic Empire, in that it is organized well and has great technology at it’s disposal. It possesses Janissaries, which like the Ottoman version, are highly organized and of one mind, as opposed to the Grand Duchy whose troops come from the different houses of the islands. It possesses more windships, more guns and more people then Anuskaya does. They pose a great threat to Nikandr and Atiana’s homeland.

There is also more information given concerning the Maharraht, what their motivations are beside a hate for the Landed, as well as identifying different factions with in their ranks. The Aramahn people, whom make up the members of the terrorist group the Maharraht, believe that people are capable of attaining a state of enlightenment they call indaraqiram. Most peace loving Aramahn believe that this is an individual journey, while others, like the members of the Maharraht believe that all of the world could undergo this transformation, even if forced. Members of the Maharraht are forced to choose between supporting the Al-Aqim, who are/were Aramahn, or taking the sides against them. Helping them reach a decision is one of Nikandr’s most trying tasks.

The Al-Aqim are really a new aspect to consider. While they were introduced in The Winds of Khalakovo, their importance to the story was not clear. In The Straits of Galahesh they become the main enemy of all things living. The Al-Aqim, including Khamal, are responsible for the state of the world. The rifts that are identified in the first book which are causing disease and famine are a botched attempt at an experimental religious ritual they initiated centuries ago. This ritual was to bring the whole world into the state of indaraqiram. Muqallad and Sariya, newly escaped from the island prison Khamal left them in, insist on finishing what they started, which will destroy everything.

The main focus of this second installment is to stop the Al-Aqim from finishing their experiment. Muqallad and Sariya manipulate the kingdoms to achieve their goals and it falls to Nikandr, Atiana, and Nasim to stop them from doing so. The way they can do this it to keep the last piece of a powerful stone, called Atalayina, out of the Al-Aqim’s hands, but they have to do this in the middle of a war that has started between Anuskaya and Yrstanla. Amidst air battles with cannons and elemental magic these three separated heros must find a way to end up at the same place and time as Muqallad and Sariya.

In The Winds of Khalakovo there were plenty of blood pumping battles taking place, between airships and musketeers. I found this style of combat refreshing for the fantasy genre, and was very pleased to see that Mr. Beaulieu added even more in The Straits of Galahesh. This time the battles are bigger, more encompassing, and more exciting. One of the main reasons for this is not just the windships and the descriptive nature of Beaulieu’s writing, but the fact that all of his characters are vulnerable. Each of these heros could die, each has fears and weaknesses, they are not the perfect warriors. Atiana tends to be too smart for her own good, over thinking some things. This leads to her falling for traps set by Sariya. Nikandr is always too trusting, putting himself and many of his crew in the hands of potential enemies. Granted, Nikandr does all this in the name of peace, but the risks still seem foolish. Nasim struggles with his confidence. He doubts himself when faced with questions posed by Muqallad. He second guesses his closest allies and places rifts between himself and them at the worst possible times. With each conflict I began to wonder if these scattered heros would survive. Not to mention that the elemental magic featured in the first book is used once again with great effect, giving many of the characters an almost Last Airbender feel and upping the danger factor. The ability Mr. Beaulieu has to convince you that he might kill off his leading roles helps make for good reading.

The Winds of Khalakovo kept the reader on the Islands of the Grand Duchy, never letting you see beyond the sea that surrounds them. The Straits of Galahesh open up that closed door to reveal a more detailed world. Mr. Beaulieu planned this world unveiling well by wetting your appetite with the first book and then providing a much bigger sequel, for the gravity of the conflict becomes greater with a larger world on the line. I am very pleased to have continued reading this imaginative new series and would recommend it to anyone who loves a good rich fantasy world. I think a few steampunk fans might like it as well. Also, like any good fantasy series, you can’t start with the second book. So, If you have not read The Winds of Khalakovo go and get a copy and get caught up. If you have and are wondering if you should continue reading the series let me help you decide that, do it.

 

The Movie That Didn’t Scare

In Thailand, during the reign of Rama IV, King Mongkut, there lived a beautiful young woman by Phra Khanong in Bangkok. That is an area next to the water ways that have marked the city known as the Venice of the East. This young lady was named Nak and she became a legend whose story has been told and retold through books, TV, and movies. Her fame has grown so much that there is a shrine dedicated to her where people go to offer her and her child gifts and ask for help, though pregnant women always avoid it, because Nak died during childbirth. Even today she is known by all, revered and feared, as Mae Nak, Thailand’s most famous ghost.

Her story is a tragic one of course, why else would she be a ghost. She fell in love with a young man named Maak. They were married and were living happily until Maak was called up for military service. This was because the Kingdom was involved in fighting one of their neighbors, though the legend doesn’t really say. Before he left Nak became pregnant, though Maak didn’t know this. While Maak was away Nak went into labor, but died along with her child and was buried by the villagers. Maak was seriously wounded during the fighting and was away longer than he thought he would be while healing. When he returned home he found his beautiful wife and newborn child greeting him.

He lived happily again with his wife, but started noticing that people would avoid their home. People who were once their friends and neighbors would never go near them. A few braver villagers went to tell Maak that his wife had died while giving birth when he was away at war. Of course Maak didn’t believe them because his wife was right there at home. They told him she was a ghost, as was the child and warned him he better leave. These same villagers would turn up dead, as the ghost of Mae Nak would become furious at them for getting in between her and Maak. When Maak figures out that the dead villages were right and that Nak is responsible for killing them, he of course runs. This drives Nak well over the egde, as much as a ghost can I guess.

Eventually, though different accounts tell of different events, there was an exorcism that captured Mae Nak and kept her from terrorizing the village. She only stopped as she was promised to be reunited with her dear Maak in another life. During the exorcism, the head monk removed her corpses forehead, thus providing a path for her soul to depart the body. This bit of bone was made into an amulet that is lost to history. Thus the legend of Nak’s undying love is born. Thais called her from then on Mae Nak, or Mother Nak. Sometimes she is referred to as Nang Nak, or Lady Nak.

Her shrine, which is where she is supposed to be buried, is filled with offerings like food, drinks and toys for her child. There are dresses for her to wear and paintings done to capture her beauty. There is also a statue of her and her child covered in gold leaf and dressed up, for the visitors to pay their respects to. People leave all manner of objects, like coke for her to drink, diapers for her child, and they always have a TV playing in her room, so she never gets bored. It is said she favors young lovers, and hates the military draft. This explains all the young men who have been called up to serve that come to her and ask her for help get them out of it.

For Thai people there is no strong separation between the living and the dead. The dead are there, moving around the living, it is just a matter of the living noticing them or not. Mae Nak is held in high regard because she was a powerful spiritual person. Her love for her husband and her will to stay with him was so strong that she could manifest convincingly for her husband, as a flesh and blood woman. She could commit murder even. Since she has this power to effect the world of living so much, people feel the need to keep her happy. They might ask a favor as well, because if she can kill people as a ghost, she must be capable of other things, right?

As I stated earlier her story has been told many times. My wife recalled for me a version that was popular when she was a child. She watched a TV show about Mae Nak with her grandmother that scared her silly. Several movies have been done about her as well. One of the more internationally know was Nang Nak, which was done back in 1999. This version was well funded and was a selection of the Rotterdam Bangkok Film Festival and included a well know cast, especially the beautiful Intira Jaroenpura as Mae Nak.

Unfortunately, the movie I got to see recently was not Nang Nak. What I watched was The Ghost of Mae Nak, which was directed by British director Mark Duffield. This movie didn’t deal with the legend of Mae Nak, but told a story about her return as a ghost, after being exorcised. In this film a young couple named Maak and Nak, already the pathetic attempts at plot building start, get married and buy the house that used to belong to Mae Nak. Mae Nak, thinking this young Maak is her Maak returned to her, begins to haunt the couple. Maak buys a protecive amulet because of nightmares that Mae Nak is giving him, which just happens to be the bone amulet made from her forehead. Mae Nak is protective of Maak but jealous of Nak. So this means she helps the couple only when Maak will somehow be harmed. People who try to harm Maak in some way are killed off. Eventually Mae Nak tries to replace Nak, even though Nak is doing everything she can to put Mae Nak’s ghost to rest. Nak’s motivation to help Mae Nak is to convince her to let Maak come up of the coma she has put him in.

The whole movie was horrible. I do not normally like horror films, because I don’t like being scared. There is enough in this world to be scared about that I don’t need it in my entertainment. Plus, I scare easy, real easy. I have a very active imagination that keeps working well after the movie is over, so horror movies stay with. As for slasher films, well, I don’t like violence for violence sake. I think there is something wrong with enjoying story-less violence. Those types of movies end up being nothing but torture films, as far as I am concerned. I convinced myself to watch this as it was a ghost story, more than a horror film, per se, and it was based on a cultural icon of Thailand. The Ghost of Mae Nak did not scare me. Some horror films are so bad that they are funny, like Evil Dead or Gremlins. The Ghost of Mae Nak so bad it wasn’t even funny. My wife and I couldn’t even make fun it and enjoy it that way. As far as learning about Mae Nak in popular Thai culture is concerned, this movie failed that as well. In the end the whole film is a failure on many different levels.

Normally I name the actors, just in case someone would want to learn more about them, but since I don’t believe one person in this film is a professorial actor I am not wasting my time. Only few minutes into the film and I thought this was a school film project and Mark just got a bunch of his best friends to star in it. The lead playing Maak can’t even fake being drunk, but stammers out his lines. The effects were despicable. One scene was a man’s head being taken off by a passing train and then flying through the air. It looked more like a bad cartoon from the late seventies, rather than a horrific murder committed by a ghostly woman. The ‘terrorizing’ face of wrath that Mae Nak makes at people was just a childish animation over the actresses face. The best actor in the film was the actress playing Mae Nak, and that was because all she said was Maak’s name. Most of the time she just stood there, she was really good at that.

The only reason I decided to write this review in the first place was to discuss a little Thai culture and warn people about this film. Please, do not see it. I have two hours of my life I can not get back. Writing this review is the only way I can get something for my wasted time watching Duffield’s film. There is a much longer list of Mae Nak inspired performances to see. I highly recommend finding one of those instead.

The Great Queen Seondeok

I remember sitting on the old brown leather love seat in my maternal grandmother’s home, on week days when I had no school, being forced to watch her beloved soaps. I could of course go find something else to do, but there really wasn’t much else to do. So with the attention of a bored child I would watch with her. Why would my grandmother, a woman who loved baseball, was a no nonsense practical woman from the boot heel of Missouri and served in the Navy during World War II, find any interest in these horrible shows? I would, on occasion, watch with her in all seriousness to answer my question. I never had any luck answering it. Even when I asked her why she liked them she just responded that she did.

They were the most juvenile and petty sorts of stories, fueled by unbelievable motivations based in jealousy, lust and greed. The characters were two dimensional and equally unbelievable, like much of the Fox News anchors. For spoiled, rich, pampered power-brokers they survived the most unintelligently imagined plot devices way too well. I could have no more believed in their world as I could in unicorns and leprechauns, until reality TV came anyway. I was scared how closely reality TV resembled soap operas. That is another topic however.

I swore off from an early age any and all creations of TV that even came close to resembling soap operas. This vow I am proud to say lasted from my early youth until a few weeks ago, when I discovered The Great Queen Seondeok. This Korean historical drama kept me focused on it whenever I have a moment of free time. It even pulled me away from watching Star Trek Voyager and The West Wing. At the end of each episode I was left with my mouth open, a statement of disbelief, or laughing out loud at what has just ingeniously transpired.

The Great Queen Seondeok is based off of Korean history during the 600’s when the peninsula was divided into three different kingdoms, Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo. The kingdom that the show concerns itself with is Silla, which was one of the more advanced, and eventually unified the peninsula. It focuses on the life of Deokman, who becomes the Queen Seondeok. Like a lot of great entertainment, ‘based on’, does not mean accurate. There is not that much known about the day to day life of Deokman, so most of what the show deals with is entirely fictional, but they wrap it nicely around real facts. Most of the characters are real people and the larger events that many of the plot lines revolve around are real as well. So, there is at least a backbone of truth to hang the story from.

The fictional story told follows Deokman’s path from abandoned royalty to becoming the Great Queen. Deokman, played in the later episodes by actress Lee Yo-Won, is born the second female twin to King Jinpyeong, played by Jo Min-Gi, which filled a terrible prophecy that claimed there would be no more heirs to the throne, male heirs anyway. The King has a political enemy in a powerful noble woman named Mi-Sil, played by Ko Hyun-Jung, who is concerned with another prophecy that says one of the King’s twins will be her downfall. To protect her life, as well as the King’s authority, Deokman is sent away with the trusted maid SoHwa, played by Seo Young-Hee, who acts as her mother and raises her along the Silk Road trade route in the Taklamakan Desert. Her life there is disrupted by the warrior Chil-Sook, played by Ahn Kil-Kang, who had been sent by Mi-Sil to kill the princess in hiding. This prompts Deokman to return to Silla to figure out why someone would want her dead.

For her own protection Deokman lives her life as a man and ends up getting drafted into the military. She makes friends with soldiers like Kim Yu-Shin, played by Uhm Tae-Woong, conmen like Juk-Bang, played by Lee Moon-Sik, and the mysterious rogue warrior Bi-Dam, played by Kim Nam-Gil. She also befriends her sister, the Princess Cheon-Myeong, played by Park Yeh-Jin, though they spend a long time unaware their genetic bond. As events play out Doekman becomes entangled in a one on one political battle with Mi-Sil, the woman who was the cause of her abandonment and many other sufferings heaped on the royal family.

The show has a stunning array of costumes and sets that are truly amazing to see and on point for the time period. There is a wild array of colors for the characters to wear and the women of the show get magnificently decked out in the most elegant dresses and robes. The men get bright solid colored robes of officials and an myriad of impressive military uniforms, which all seem color coded. This makes the show easier to watch if you are having problems keeping the large cast straight. You can at least remember them by colors. The sets are equally detailed, as most are apart of The Silla Millennium Park, a massive amusement and educational park that is a complete recreation of a traditional Korean village, including a local palace. Many other famous shows have been filmed at this location each adding something to the park for tourists to enjoy when they are done.

The actors are equally magnificent to behold. All the lead roles are filled by very talented artists. They all seem capable of crying on que and that means anything from screaming outbreaks to quiet tight-lipped, quivering tears. There is also a pretty demanding physical aspect to this show for the actors. There are fight scenes ranging from small one on one battles to large armies of people. There are chase scenes on horses and on foot through forests and rocky mountain areas as many of the locations are outdoors, even in the forbidding Taklamakan Desert itself. There is also some enjoyable, light-hearted buffoonery from actors with great comedic timing. Especially between the conman Jok-Bang and Ko-Do, played by Ryu Dam, a very large teddy bear of a man.

There are truly engaging plot lines that run through this show, from relationships between characters and all the plans the different factions make to out due their rivals.  As Deokman grows in her political prowess, she and Mi-Sil have dialogues with each other that resemble a teacher-student relationship. While watching some of the tension filled chats I thought this what it would have sounded like if Kongzi (Confucius) and Han-Feizi were able to debate one another. The powerful ladies debate how to lead people and how to gain people as allies and keep them and how to unify Silla and it’s neighbors. This is an important theme of the show, unification of the Korean Peninsula. In a way, the show mirrors the current painful divide between North and South Korea. Deokman seems to represent the more liberal South Korea, while Mi-Sil represents the more legalist North Korea. That might be reading too much into the show, but Deokman prefers to empower her people, while Mi-Sil rules through punishments and rewards.

The show is driven entirely by the female characters. They are the smartest and most capable players in the story. So many of the men follow their lead. Mi-Sil orders about a whole crew of strong, intelligent men, each one bows to her and only her with such strong devotion. Deokman tries to create the same kinds of relationships with her people, so much so that she fears at times becoming too much like Mi-Sil. It is Deokman’s struggle between respecting and copying Mi-Sil to defeat her while trying to stay herself is what makes her character so endearing. I also found it amusing how much of a ‘man’s world’ so many of the characters seemed to believe they lived in, while at the same time taking orders from women. A ‘man’s world’ is holding up and defending what women have created. I felt that was one of the strongest statements from the show with a gender role breaking Queen, that woman are more than history has written them as.

Another great aspect of the show is the Machiavellian plans that the characters involve themselves in. Every episode is intertwined in some complicated plot for one faction to gain power over another. Two of my favorites were based on taxes and trade. Debates on taxes sounded much like the debates that Americans are currently having, how much of a persons wealth do they get to keep and how much the state should take. Deokman uses Taxes to try to strip the wealthy nobility of their power. Perhaps we could learn something from her. Another is a trade war that plays out over the cost of food. Riots break out over people not being able to afford food and all because the rich want to empower themselves even more. Deokman uses her trading experience along the Silk Road to help her people.

There are some draw backs to the show however. One is that not all the actors are that great, but they play minor roles with few lines and even though some are recurring characters they don’t drag down the story. Considering the size of the massive cast for this TV show it is not surprising that not every one could be a solid talent. The story is carried well by the skills of the leads so some poor performances can be ignored. Some of the special effects are poor as well, and while not all are, there are enough that you start noticing that a person wasn’t really stabbed. I don’t find that all so important however, as what you witness is just stage acting up close. Plus, you get the point, you don’t need gore that much in your life anyway. Also, the show does start off somewhat slow. You witness some events well before Deokman’s birth and then go through some of her childhood. While this seems at first frustrating, it builds nicely to climaxes in later episodes.  The cinematography is at TV level as well, but again that adds to that feel of watching a actors on a stage. Also, for all it’s deep plots and references the writers still keep it pretty light. They stay away from anything too controversial, too violent, or too sexual. It lacks the dirtiness of many American TV shows, although, I am not convinced that this is a bad thing.

The biggest drawback was the shows continuation past fifty episodes. The show was supposed to stop at fifty but was so popular that they allowed it to go on for another twelve. The conflict in the show was between Mi-Sil and Deokman, when that conflict is resolved the writers had to come up with a new conflict, but they only allowed themselves twelve shows to do this. Their ideas were good, but the execution was rushed. Therefore what could have been a truly heartbreaking ending feels sped up and rushed through, rather than a good build up to a climatic end.

As I watched The Great Queen Seondeok two things ran through my mind. One, this is a TV show, and second, this is a soap opera! Regardless of whether what I witnessed was good or bad I couldn’t help thinking that for a TV show they took on a huge task. I could be disappointed at times but would remind myself that it was just a TV show. Other times I was amazed and found myself tearing up and thought, I can’t believe this is just a TV show. At times it resembled what I didn’t like about soap operas, some cheesy camera shots, or overly dramatic music playing, but I found myself not caring. Because outside of those aspects was a engaging story with great plot twists and characters that were easy to care about, even love. Mi-Sil, for all her villainous deeds was easy to love and respect. Deokman was a heroine that was like a Mulan, pure, clever and breaking lines drawn by men.

I would suggest that you only watch it to episode fifty and stop, but I know you won’t. You might, like me, feel that the last twelve episodes are rushed, but you could still see what the writers were aiming for and find some solace in that. Then, like me, you would wish that they took more time to tell the ending of this satisfying story. While The Great Queen Seondeok is leaps and bounds from what my Grandmother watched, I think I can understand a little better why she devoted so much time to her favorite TV shows.

 

 

My Star Trek Redemption

Dedicated to My Friend Cameron

One of the very few good memories I have of my father was of our time together watching Star Trek. It was ritual for us when we were together to watch The Next Generation from the time it first aired until we stopped talking when I was twelve. He first introduced me to the phenomena through the movies, but he would also get me to watch an episode of the original ’60’s show after Saturday morning cartoons were done. All tucked into an oversized chair with popcorn I watched with wide eyes the adventures of Kirk and crew. I remember holding my ears in utter horror when the Ceti Eel came crawling out of Chekov’s ear in Wrath of Khan. I also remember him taking me to the theaters to see The Voyage Home. I remember being awe struck seeing my favorite Vulcan for the first time in theaters, larger than life from the third row. This tall, serious, sage like character was someone I aspired to be. Star Trek became something we did and something that bridged an obvious gap between us. The wonder and curiosity that was sparked inside my imagination by these two TV shows was tremendous, but was soon ended by a very dark and troubled adolescence.

My father had a very violent temper and when it was unleashed on me one afternoon he become subject to legal prosecution. This ended the on going battle between my parents and allowed me to remove him from my life. My mother, in an effort to get closer to her job and further away from my father and the schools I was attending,  moved us across the state line, into Kansas. This put me in a neighborhood and school district I had trouble relating to. They were all very upper middle class white people and I was a poor white boy who had lived in neighborhoods and attended schools where I was the minority. They all lived in half million dollar homes and got all the latest clothes and gadgets. We lived in an a apartment that my mother could barely afford, which left me with little clothes and other possessions. Almost all of them went to church and I was raised by a self proclaimed Wiccan, and I believed in nothing at all. A wall built of social economic differences was erected between my new classmates and I.

As the years went by my outlook on life and people got worse and deeper issues I had left untreated became serious day to day problems. I suffered from depression, a lack of anger management, as well as my then undiagnosed ADHD, just to name a few. Rather than drawing strength from the things I loved in my childhood that gave me hope and enjoyment, I abandoned them to wallow in all the mire of my emotional instability. Star Trek was one of those abandoned things, as were most of those now popular beloved classics of the geek world. This was the early 1990’s and I had become a troubled, grungy, goth punk.

This doesn’t mean that I was unaware of the bright universe that was the Federation of Planets in which I had turned by back on. There was a young man I attended school with who was a super bright individual, though he showed it off a little too much. John was not well liked by most, brainy, too formal and he loved Star Trek. He would always talk about it, if given the chance. Sometimes I would listen. Sometimes after listening to him at school I would try to watch a show later on, but would always find their happy endings too soft and unbelievable. John even dressed as Data on Halloween at school. He owned the gold one piece operations uniform, phaser and tricoder. He would wear them all and even white his face out to be the most convincing Data he could be. John was a small guy, one of the shortest out of our class, so he was kind of like a mini Data. Many made fun of him for dressing up as a Star Trek personality, and I unfortunately joined along. He would never show us that it hurt him, he would proudly walk through the halls while all his classmates towered over him laughing and making stupid faces and rolling their eyes. He would never acknowledge them, as if he was representing a real life Federation of Planets he dare not disgrace. Braver than us all, was John. I felt ashamed that I didn’t defend him as I should have.

I had not entirely abandoned all things geek, however. I read Science-fiction and fantasy novels and played video games, but was always careful who knew and always did it by myself. I tended to enjoy the heavier aspects of these genres. So, my science-fiction had to be political, philosophical, very much intellectual works of fiction. It couldn’t be Star Trek novels, it couldn’t be just for enjoyment. If anyone dared poke fun at me for reading what I did I would defend it with the novels weighty focus on the human condition. It could never be because starships are cool.

After many more years I would begin to find a way out of the terrible dark mindset I had lived with for so long. After meeting my wife and starting a family, I would begin to reclaim many things I had left behind. Star Trek was not at the beginning of this reclamation, however. Other things came first and while I would occasionally catch an episode of it I would never stay hooked. I would watch Deep Space Nine and not understand what was going on, or watch Voyager and find it lacking. I would think that it wasn’t very realistic. Why was everyone a humanoid? Why did intelligent life only come with legs and arms? Why do they have a technology for everything?

Then one day I met Cameron. She is a quirky, intelligent, compassionate and very funny woman, who I got along with immediately. She was always a joy to see. There was almost always something geek about her each day, like her musical Star Wars cup, her references to Star Trek thrown into everyday conversions, or her ability to bring history lessons up during work. She always paints her nails with incredible designs and colors, because her personality is too big and bright, it has to physical manifest itself somehow. She was a difficult woman to ignore and one you would never want to, you’d miss something special.

She had gotten a job at the store I worked at while she finished her masters. She was going into education. I think that was what we first talked about along with our love of history. I wanted to teach history at the college level and was working on my undergrad when the 2007 crashed ended all dreams I had of going to grad school. We always had something to talk about during our shifts together, so it is no surprise that we got around to one of her favorite subjects, Star Trek. Cameron is a hard core Trekkie and when I commented on my lack of interest in Star Trek and my reasons why, she quickly moved to convert me back. She didn’t defend Trek like an angry fan boy but appealed to my intellectual nature to convince me of the Federations merits. Her passion for it, as well as the spark of wonder she had for learning reminded me of what I had once felt as a child watching Star Trek. She also offered her prize collection of informative books on Star Trek to help me better understand the rich details in all the episodes. So, I went home and found Star Trek streaming on-line. I decided to start at the beginning.

I started my journey of rediscovery in July of 2012 from the very beginning. The Original show was much deeper on content then I remembered. It posed some pretty deep philosophical questions on the human condition all while entertaining it’s viewers. I wondered how I missed this when I was criticizing the show earlier in my life. I also felt foolish refusing to enjoy it when I was the young angry intellectual. I regained my admiration for the tall Vulcan who would not let emotional thinking become his measure of intelligence. I returned to The Next Generation and fell in love with all the characters all over again. I had forgotten how well these people had been fleshed out. The presence of Picard, the violent teddy bear Worf, the innocent nature of Data. Again, I found a deepness to the subject matter that I missed before. The episodes dealing with Datas humanity for example. I was watching two to three episodes a day and in a couple of months I was ready to start Deep Space Nine. I burned through that pretty fast to.

I started to find something in Star Trek I had not even thought to find in a show before, hope. I was watching the special features off of Star Trek III The Search for Spock, from the collection of Original Star Trek movies. It had an interview with Harve Bennett, the writer and producer that helped bring the franchise back to life with Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan. In this interview he talked about his view of Science Fiction, which was that it could be divided in two categories, negative and positive. Some of the greatest science fiction novels and movies showcase a negative utopia or a foreshadowing of doom as a warning over the direction the author thinks society is taking. Mr. Bennett, who lived through the Great Depression and World War II, never responded well to such dark stories. So he was never a fan of Science Fiction, until Star Trek. He talked about how Gene Roddenberry used his TV show, at the height of the Cold War, the Vietnam War, and the Civil Rights Movement, to broadcast a vision of the future where people have evolved past the racial and cultural differences that divide them and work together. He even showed the first interracial kiss broadcasted on TV in America. That is no small thing for a TV show.

In the Original Star Trek I watched a multiracial cast of characters work as a group to solve problems through intelligence, reason and compassion. There was always a solution to the problem presented to the crew, be it environmental, social, or political. That solution was arrived at by the use of the crew’s mental and moral capacities. Never was the solution to kick in a door, phasers blazing, and kill everyone. This was continued in The Next Generation and I believe throughout the whole franchise.

When I look around me I see people still not getting along all that well. Religion, sexual orientation, nationalism, we have so many hollow reasons to fight with each other. I see the destruction of the environment because of greed and lack of the right technological developments. I see massive poverty that has a percentage of the population starving to death when food is being thrown out by another percentage of people. Rarely do I see popular art that intelligently condemns these horrible failures of the human race. We glorify the wrong people for the wrong reasons. We focus on wealth and the empty successes of the over privileged. However, thanks to Cameron, I rediscovered Star Trek and while it maybe be fiction, it is a fiction that many embrace and therefore it can be left in the minds of the public as an example. It is a fiction that teaches us there is a solution to our problems and we can over come them.

I never realized how much I would appreciate this hope. Having two daughters and seeing how women are still victimized more than ever and seeing how the world that they will inherit is filled with mounting problems that are already overwhelming us, I am nervous as hell. I believe, however, that if we work together, with all seriousness and intelligence, we can over come these problems. We can build a better world. The theme of Star Trek is just that, build and protect a better world through exploration of the universe and it’s components, through learning. This is a fiction that needs the limelight of our popular conscience. One can easily find the proof of Star Treks effects on us, as people who watched as children grow up to be scientists or educators like my friend Cameron. It inspired John to wear his beliefs as a costume that earned him nothing but ridicule but made him stronger than any of those that mocked him. I can only imagine what career path John took to follow is idol Data. In watching documentaries like Trekkies I have seen testimonials of Star Trek fans who became rocket scientists and doctors because as a kid they idolized McCoy or Spock. These people are doing what they can to build a better world, as we all must do. That is the other great theme of Star Trek, it takes everyone doing their part. The Captain, as great as he or she was, was never the hero, it was always the crew.

My overall geek redemption has led me to a happier life, but my specific Star Trek redemption has led me to believe that finding solutions is not only possible, but easier than we think when we work as one. While I was re-watching Star Trek episodes NASA put a sophisticated wonder of technology on the surface of Mars. I watched the landing of the Mars Rover with my daughters. I saw the first images of the Martian surface. I thought about the moon landing and the Original Star Trek on TV then. People had to have sat in wonder as Science Fiction and Science fact merged, just as I did, looking at the red planet through the eyes of a camera on Earth. We are capable of greatness and our problems are solvable. We need to be reminded of this. Art like Star Trek needs to part of of modern storytelling lore, if for no other reason than to inspire us.

 

I am thankful to Cameron for taking the time to convince me to revisit this part of my childhood and loaning me her prized books. I am happy to past down one of the few things my father gave me that was valuable, a love of science fiction, a love of Star Trek, to my daughters. I hope it will inspire them to dream for all of the people who need solutions to their suffering.