Cold Hands

"And who's that guy over there? Another college president?"
"Nah, he's Nathan Hale, this guy who got caught spying on the British. His last words are pretty famous."
"What are they?"
"My only regret is that I have but one life to give to this country."

It's late at night. Old campus is silent but for a few drunken stragglers, and the sound of my footsteps crunching on heavy snow. There is no one to greet me, no one to ask me for money, no one to stare at me sideways as I mutter nothings to myself in the solitude of it all.

My only companions are Woolsey, Pierson and Nathan Hale. There's the usual chuckle as I walk by Woolsey's golden foot and as always I simply ignore poor Abraham Pierson and his Latin inscriptions. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't even spare a second glance at Nathan Hale but tonight I stop right in front of the man.

The odd one out. The youngest. The spy. I look up to him and his eyes remain as distant as ever.

There are four things that are incredibly important to me. I've often thought about them and I neatly organized them into an acronym of sorts, something I called wisdom for the AGES.

A- Acceptance. The ability to accept that there are things beyond my control, that I am far from a perfect being, and that there are times when I will hate myself but those times are alright.
G- Generosity. To give without thought. To do little things for people that brighten up their day. To let your heart and world to expand to include the people around you and beyond.
E- Empathy. To understand others, including their circumstances, their mistakes, their quirks and faults. To put myself in their shoes and to move beyond the me and to consider the feelings of others as my own.
S- Sacrifice.

I don't always live up to these standards. In fact, I rarely do. But I try my best. And tonight as I'm staring into the face of Nathan Hale, it's Sacrifice I ponder upon.

Perhaps the reason why Nathan Hale sits among the presidents, intellectuals, millionaires of Yale is because he gave the most. Others give their time, their money, their mind... But Nathan Hale gave himself. I close my eyes and I imagine the last moments of the young man. Did he know his words would be immortalized? Did he say them only to infuriate his captors, to deny them the final satisfaction? Was it only youthful bravado, a middle finger to his torturers?

Did he truly mean them?

Nathan Hale's statue turns towards me, draws a gun and shoots me in the heart.

I open my eyes and the statue remains, as still as ever. The stillness stirs the workings of my mind.

Can I make that sacrifice? Can I impale myself for another, knowing full well such a sacrifice may never, no, should never be found out? When you take away the fame, the bravado and the admiration surrounding Nathan Hale, what are you left with?

I edge forward and slowly reach out for Nathan Hale's hand.

It is as cold as mine.

"Sacrifice" Taken November 2011, New Zealand. OKJ All rights reserved.
Click for larger image. 

Power

"Why are you so nice?"

"What do you mean?"

I turn around, carefully peeling off the price tag to a gift I had just bought. Two friends had just turned 18 and earlier during the day I had stopped by the bookstore to get them each a small gift.

"Well, it's not like you have to do this."

I pause, finger nails still futilely scratching at the Great Gatsby soundtrack CD case. I'm not exactly the best with compliments or positive comments of the sort. I grew up in a culture where the default response would have been to vehemently deny such a statement in a perhaps superficial sense of humility.

"Well.. They say generosity is a form of power." I deflect the statement.

"Hmph."

I wave goodbye as I twist the doorknob and leave the suite. I thought I had been terribly clever to quote Frank Underwood from the HBO series House of Cards. But as I delivered the presents, wished the recipients a happy birthday and returned to an empty suite, I pondered. I felt oddly happy despite having spent quite a bit of money.

The next day one of my suite mates had an intramural ping-pong match. I had missed the previous match and I had promised myself that I would make time to go and see him play. So despite the fact that I had a paper due in a few days (or maybe because of the fact, since I'm such a procrastinator, haha!) I went ahead and watched the match. It was a close fought, intense battle of stamina, strategy and plain old sweat. In the end my suite mate didn't win, and was pretty upset about it. He had initially been 7 points in the lead for the final set, so he was understandably rather disappointed in himself.

In the wee hours in the morning when he was sound asleep, I wrote some encouraging words on a few Post-It notes and included some Latin quotes since he was very much into ancient civilizations and languages. I distinctly remember going to sleep with a huge smile on my face.

Why bother? Why expend the effort?

I've been thinking about it a lot these past few days. And I think perhaps I know why. All of us here are leaving our homes, our families, coming to a new, exciting and unfamiliar place. I am 9387 miles away from my home, my family, my countrymen. I have never been to America before this, and now voila, here I am, this clueless guy from Malaysia whose conception of America is a hodgepodge construction of headline news and Hollywood movies.

Perhaps then, in the process of trying to find familiarity and comfort in this country, I have also come to grips with certain ideas. The other day as I was talking to someone, I told them I was going to back home to get a rest. The reply was "Oh you're flying back?"

It was then that it dawned upon me, so obvious yet so easy to miss. L-Dub suite C31 is my home. Ben, Miguel, David are my brothers. The people in Berkeley are my extended family, and heck all Yalies are some weird distant cousins or something. It sounds cheesy, but as I come to the realization that this is where I will spend the next 4 years of my life, it cannot be truer.

I'm sure in the course of the year, I will find people I don't like. I'll probably have an argument or two with my suite mates. We will all have our pet peeves with each other and at times we will not want to talk to each other. But that's what being family is about. That's why I will make time for my suite mates. That's why whatever the case is, if someone needs a shoulder to lean on, someone to lend an ear, I will try my utter best to be there.

I've made mistakes with my real family. Being apathetic, throwing tantrums, being inconsiderate and self-centered. I'd like to think being thrust into this whole new environment is a chance for me to make it up, to become a better family member and better human being.

Generosity has power. But perhaps not the kind of power imagined by Frank Underwood. It has the power to make bonds of friendship, to brighten a person's life, to lift somebody up when they are down.

Generosity has the power to create family.