Lessons from MMXIV
A review of a 365-day journey
It’s the time of the year again. Facebook users were presented with an option to review their year — I chose to do otherwise. There is definitely more I can do than merely plastering a bunch of photos into a collage, when the time of the year offers the opportunity to reflect with greater depth.
I am no life coach, nor a meditating monk in recluse. But that does not mean I would allow myself to kick back on my comfortable chair, giggle through the deluge of new year resolutions on every single social media stream I can think of, come up a few of my own and call it a year.
Resolutions are how we welcome the new. A kaleidoscopic, often optimistic view of what we want to see ourselves in at the end of the next coming year. What is sorely lacking though, is hindsight. Before the formidable clock strikes twelve on the night of December 31st, I want to go back in time, examining every part of my 365-day journey through the looking glass.
What have I learned? Many—perhaps too many, and where should I start? This year has been one earmarked by turbulent personal emotions, which on the bright side, spurred my personal growth; while less so about my skills.
1. Wanderlust
From solo backpacking in Greece to hiking in Møns Klint,
I explored the world around me a little more.
This year had been a rather fruitful year for me as a wanderlust — I have travelled both with friends and alone, abroad and locally. There is so many things to see in Europe, but even more so in the tiny country of Denmark, despite its relative geographical blandness (“It’s all plains!” I hear people wince).
Jörg, this crazy Swiss-German guy who shares the apartment with me, loves the outdoors — way more than I do, I'd say. He invited me on trips to Skagen, the northernmost point of Denmark; and Samsø, the charming little island off the eastern coast of Jutland.
Samsø
On a cold, foggy morning set somewhat in the midst of the winter-spring transition, we travelled to the island of Samsø by getting Jörg’s little red car on a ferry that shuttles between the harbour of Odder and the island of Samsø.
Set in the sea of Kattegat and a mere 15 kilometers off the coast of Jutland, Samsø is an island known for its enthusiasm for clean, renewable wind energy and unbelievably popular (and exorbitantly priced, at £100) “first” potatoes.
April is definitely not the month for tourists. We encountered almost zero road traffic, and likely to be the only group on the ferry that didn't speak Danish natively. We took that in great stride though — you don't need to wait till it’s summer to visit Denmark.
Covered by a gentle turf and dotted with a variety of shrubs and trees of stunted growth, the windswept, tundra-like landscape of Issehoved was an equal mix of tantalising and breathtaking. We walked along the beach littered with pebbles well-eroded by the untamed waves, hiked up little hills which offered 360˚ panoramic view of Issehoved.
Samsø is extremely popular among Europeans for summertime field work. Students and young adults from neighbouring countries flock to the island to pick the plentiful harvests in the apple, pear and strawberry fields, just to name a few. Jörg had worked with one of the farmers before, and he got into touch with the latter who gladly showed us not one, but three, hulking windmills he bought for a few million Danish kroners ten years ago.
He was one of the pioneers of wind energy adoption, where farmers purchase windmills at a subsidized price, getting their money back by feeding surplus energy generated back into the local electricity grid. Thanks to strong government support and foresight of those living and working on the island, Samsø is a leading textbook case of renewable energy —the island is entirely powered by wind alone.
Nordjylland & Skagen
Later in the summer, Jörg dragged me onto yet another road trip — this time round it’s destination nordjylland (North Jutland). North Jutland, especially the western coast facing the formidable North Sea, is famous for their majestic sand dunes, including Northern Europe’s largest moving sand dune, Råbjerg Mile. It also holds the northernmost point of Denmark, in a small but famous city called Skagen. Yes, it is also the birthplace of the watch brand Skagen.
We also dropped by the famous Rubjerg Knude fyr (Rubjerg Knude lighthouse) on our way back. Constructed in 1899 and first lit in the December of 1900, the lighthouse now faces a slow but inevitable fate of plunging into the sea. The strong winds and moving sand not only crushed the small buildings around it, but also eroded the shoreline up to 1.5m annually. Originally 1.2km away from the shoreline, the lighthouse now stands close to a steep precipice, awaiting it’s final resting destination.
Sydsjælland & Møns
In the summer, Peter invited me for a visit to Copenhagen and we did a rather impromptu road trip to (sydsjælland) southern Sealand and Møns. Southern Sealand is an extremely popular summer vacation destination among locals and tourists from neighbouring countries.
On our way to the island of Møns we popped by the small little town of Præstø, where Peter bought a load of organic food stuff from a store he had always wanted to visit.
The chalk cliffs stand 120m at their tallest from the rocky beaches below, and just like the coastline of Northern Jylland, they face constant erosion from the unforgiving Baltic Sea. Landslides and cliff face collapses happen every now and then — a recent landslide (see news report in Danish) in 2007 took out a good chunk out of the unique geological formation.
Greece
This summer, I travelled as a solo backpacker to the country of white-washed houses, cerulean blue rooftops and eternal sunshine — Greece, that is. People think I am crazy — be it my parents, or the Greeks I got acquainted with during my backpacking trip in Greece. Travelling alone in a country that I have never been to before was a scary idea, but the experienced turned out to be an exciting, humbling and eye-opening one.
I went island hopping — starting from the historical city of Rhodes, and took a (gruelling 10-hour) ferry to Santorini, moved on to Athens a few days later, visited Skopelos and doubled back to Rhodes to catch my return flight to Denmark.
I adore the unique medieval architectural style of the buildings in Rhodes, unseen in other Greek islands; I recall the breathtaking view of the Santorini caldera, overlooking the active but dormant volcano Nea Kameni; I miss the enigmatic, mysterious and dynamic vibe of Athens; I vividly remember the calmness and tranquility that permeated through the narrow, steep and slippery alleys of Skopelos.
But more importantly, I met people. I was shy, but I made myself to seize the opportunity to talk to travellers I would not have otherwise interacted with if I was not travelling alone.
In Santorini I shared the same dorm room with Alena, a bubbly American girl backpacking across Europe and Crystal, a quick-thinking and fiercely intelligent surgical nurse working for the USMC, stationed in the city of Naples, Italy. Crystal introduced me to her colleague Joseph, and despite our inherent differences, all four of us had an obscene amount of fun together — be it tanning on the black sandy beach of Perissa, or joining the boat tour of the Santorini caldera.
In Athens I met George, a shy but knowledgeable programmer who has a great eye for detail and design. He brought me to places in Athens that I would have not discovered myself or found on trip advisor recommendations. We toured the Acropolis Museum, with him dishing out all the history of Athens in splendid grandeur.
My trip to Skopelos stood out from my backpacking trip as the one that felt the furthest removed from the experience— the lack of hostels on the island means I get the rare opportunity of splurging in a tiny little hotel room, which unfortunately deprived me of any meaningful social interaction with other travellers. I signed up for a boat trip to the Alonissos Marine Park, and only to find myself surrounded by couples. I was the only single person on the boat! When I was dreading that I’ll be all alone and awkward in the whole trip, a Greek couple next to me hit me up for a conversation. That’s why I met Efi and John, a fun-loving and energetic power couple that made my solo trip to Skopelos so much better.
Both Efi and John are living in a city close to Thessaloniki. John owns and runs a grocery store and is an avid photographer himself, while Efi is furthering her education in a university.
2014 has been extremely rewarding not only in the sense of satisfying my inner wanderlust, but also getting to know different people of decidedly different backgrounds in my trips. Travelling solo has taught me a lot of things by forcing me into situations where I would not typically encounter as a partnered traveller. It taught me to be independent, resourceful, alert and responsible. I was accountable for my own safety, even more so when travelling alone when the luxury of assistance and help is sacrificed.
2. Dear Grandpa
The passing of a fatherly figure.
The phone tossed and turned in my pocket. It was mom, calling at an uncanny hour.
“Grandpa… he passed away today morning.” The trembling and sadness in my mothers voice betrayed her careful choice of words.
He’s gone. The curious scholar who is perpetually charmed by my knowledge of the planets and the stars; the father figure who loved and cared for me as a child in every single way possible; the formidable character who taught me the art of qi-gong — lost forever, from the moment he expired his final breath on a hospital bed.
My heart took a perilous tumble, freefalling into unknown depths. Colour faded from my face. My hands, shaking from the shock, struggled to return the phone to my pocket.
I knew we were losing him to dementia — I even penned a story, dedicated to this experience, earlier in the year.
Memories were erased, faces were scrambled. We were losing him to the prison of the mind — his eyes no longer light up like the constellations in the night sky when we meet. I could only see a sense of loss and confusion, unmasked by the cloudiness in his eyes.
However, I was not expecting this. A few days ago he was admitted to a hospital ward because of a minor infection, likely due to excessive mucus and fluid accumulation in the lungs. He had breathing difficulties, but the doctors got the offending muck out. “He should recover in no time.” My parents visited him, and he was in high spirits, happily brandishing the victory sign at the camera as they snapped away.
Loss
As much as I willed myself to, I found it exceptionally difficult to deal with grandpa’s passing. Over my short and insignificant presence in the human realm, I have lost my uncle to an industrial accident and my great grandmother to old age. I lost a close friend to cancer. However, losing grandpa struck me at a very soft spot. I can find his presence, imprinted in various nooks and crannies of my childhood memories. He is the part and parcel of my life.
We went on vacations often. He would follow us into the misty strawberry fields, our clothes damp from the morning dew and our footwear bespeckled with mud. He joined us for short walks in the evening, bathed in the empyreal twilight.
Acceptance was tough. I cried myself to sleep every night — the nights one week after receiving the news were exceptionally rough, when everything started to sink in. Like a dying flare in the wind, I withered on the inside, for not being able to attend his wake and cremation.
I found myself unable to focus at work. Tears would flood my vision, out of the blue. I would run out of our weekly common breakfast, in the middle of meetings, in the midst of my experiments, to seek comfort and solace in the darkness of a toilet cubicle.
There, I could cry. Without being ridiculed. Without being bombarded with questions from genuinely concerned and worried coworkers. Without having to deal with real life as I know it.
I all wished it was a dream — a nightmare that I was simply unable to awaken from. It wasn’t. Two weeks down the road, I forced myself to confront reality — that life has to go on despite grandpa’s passing. He would be extremely upset if he learned about how weak I was, I reassured myself.
Rebuild
Slowly but surely, I got back up on my two feet. I showed up on time for work again. I no longer cry. I no longer have sleepless nights where I stare at the stark white ceiling, doubting whether I have done any wrong to deserve such emotional turmoil.
I learned that I was selfish for not willing to let go. You have had a blessed, fruitful life. You have a caring, dutiful and loving wife who took extremely good care of you, and were by yourself regardless of illness and healthy. You witnessed, and survived, the second world war, and thrived well in the local community after moving to Malaysia. You started a small businesses, sold the first colour televisions in town. You watched the broadcast of the moon landing. You fathered five little rascals who grew up to be sensible adults, my mother included. You have a dozen of grandchildren who loves you with all their hearts.
I learned that for each and every passing, a person leaves a legend behind him — my grandpa is no exception, too. He taught me generosity, of how one can achieve happiness by being philanthropic and empathetic. He bestowed me kindness and patience, something that I sorely lack at times.
He’s at a better place — free from the bindings of life, suffering of illnesses, infirmity of his legs, stuttering of his speech, delay of his mortal vessel.
I will do enough good to meet you up there, grandpa. Have a safe trip home, and I hope we will meet again.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.— Mary Elizabeth Fyre, 1932
3. Cut
How does it feel to be cut out of someone’s life abruptly?
Let’s call him Mathias*. That is, of course, nowhere close to his name, changed for reasons of anonymity.
I picked up the ball and threw it across the court. I wrote to Mathias, and he wrote back. We hit off like old friends — both intellectuals, with him almost finishing his education in medicine and me halfway through my PhD in molecular biology. Both of us secretly like The Devil Wears Prada — so much so that we can utter witty lines from Andrea Sachs, or ramble on with zesty remarks delivered by Miranda Priestly.
We had dinners at each other’s homes, we made food together. We laughed at the silliest things, choked on the driest red wines. We confided in each other, sharing our little pieces of secrets. One day I made up my mind — I wanted him to be part of my life.
I invited him to meet my friends, together we went out to grab drinks. We took walks in the uncharacteristically warm Danish autumn evenings. We sat on the couch, cuddled against each other inseparably so, and fell asleep halfway through the screening of Skyfall.
Mathias was there when I defended my master thesis. I was undeniably nervous to the point of being nauseous. For some reason, his quiet, unassuming presence in the room assured me. I could see it in his eyes, that everything will be okay.
When I received news about my grandfather’s passing, Mathias was the one standing next to me. He made sure I was alright. I was devastated, but he was never shy of letting me know in his own silent way that he will always be there for me.
I was invited to a julefrokost (Christmas dinner) at a coworker’s place. His girlfriend cheekily suggested that I should bring a plus one… nobody else by Mathias. I wrote to Mathias about the invitation, he gladly accepted. “We are going to have so much fun!” I wrote excitedly. “We should also talk about what to bring.”
Out of the blue, Mathias stopped replying to my texts. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then I stopped trying. I am not desperate, nor am I too undignified to grovel for attention. However, his silence caught me by surprise. We no longer talk. We no longer see each other. Static dominated our radio waves, for he had ceased all communications with me.
He remained friends on Facebook. He was, and is, alive and well. Last played song on Spotify updated every other five minutes or so. His presence was undeniably evident, but his absence was hurting me. He was within and without.
Christmas rolled around. For once I picked up the courage and texted him again. Merry Christmas. I do not know what happened, but I wished him well — and promised that it will be the last he would hear from me. I received the obliged holiday greetings, obviously written out of politeness, and nothing more.
Mathias cut me out of his life. And so would I. There is no need to linger on the past. Did it even matter that we shared so much in common? Did it even matter if he confided in my close friend that he likes me? It’s all gone with the wind, like snowflakes lost in the winter breeze.
I am not angry at Mathias, but at myself. For being so trusting, so hopelessly romantic, so naïve, so stupidly in love. When Mathias blocked me out of his life, I knew that there is no turning back. Masquerades were abandoned, promises were abruptly dropped. That tiny, glowing hope I have for a significant other simply snuffed out. Extinguished. Suffocated.
I have been single for the longest period of time, and I think I will keep it just like that for a little longer.
4. A Healthier Self
Gym + Road cycling + Running + Winter bathing + Yoga
I find it impossible to pen this section without sounding like a fitness junkie, but trust me, I am not. My miniscule, lanky frame betrays my gym membership. My thin calves will tell you nothing about my enthusiasm in road cycling and running. My inflexibility will make you scoff at my yoga class attendance.
However, I do all of this not to be that hyper-muscular guy you see on the beaches in summer. I simply wanted to be healthier, perhaps feel a little more alive, and to inject some sort of discipline into my life.
I have been lazy for too long — binge watching movies and TV shows, camping by my computer doing a lot of programming work in my free time, scouring StackOverflow for unanswered questions, staring into Photoshop and Lightroom performing photo post-processing. As much as I was comfortable with a sedentary lifestyle, I felt that I could use a change.
I purchased a second-hand Centurion road bike for a mere 2000DKK — a fucking bargain I'd say — and started going on cycling trips. So far I have clocked in around 950km this year, majority of it accumulated from 20- or 30-km bike rides around Brabrand Lake, along the coastlines north of Aarhus, or up the tallest point in Aarhus, Jelshøj.
After recuperating for a year following a knee injury, I picked up running again and clocked 21-ish minutes for the 5km DHL run in Autumn. Pretty proud of myself, I would say. I would not want to see myself as a professional runner, but I would love to try my hands on a 10km run, or even the Aarhus half marathon next summer.
In autumn I was introduced to ashtanga yoga. Estrella from work tried all year to convince me to join and I finally gave in to her stubbornness. I remembered started off knowing little about yoga, and my inflexibility was causing me great embarrassment (to myself), even though Mira, our ever so patient instructor, assured me that flexibility will come in due time. Over the course of two months I felt an almost magical transformation in my body — my back and hamstrings gained the flexibility that I lost since I was a kid. I was able to touch my toes when I bend forward — for once!
Winter bathing is a huge hit with many of my colleagues, and with Yasu and Ania’s insistence I decided to give it a try. Despite getting slowly acquainted to the cold — I lived in the tropics all my life before moving to Denmark — winter bathing was totally out of the question… at least until now. It turned out to be a lot more hygge and welcoming than I thought, and the experience totally changed me. I never had a healthy body image, and dreaded the slightest idea of being nude in front of others. I signed up for a gym membership one year ago with Fitness World and was horrified by the common showers. Winter bathing at Jomsborg taught me that people do come in all shapes and sizes, and that I shouldn't flog myself over a lousy body image.
5. Fluidbox
The creation and maintenance of a jQuery plugin.
Last, but not least, a little about my second identity as a programmer and web designer. Slightly more than a year ago I authored my first jQuery plugin, named Fluidbox, which effectively replicates the lightbox effect seen on Medium. I never expected it to receive any attention, but it did. It was featured on several articles and even got a mention from the venerable designer/illustrator Veerle Pieters (@vpieters):
Even though I am educated as a molecular biologist and is, in fact, working on my PhD project as we speak, I am extremely interested in web development and programming. Authoring Fluidbox not only helped me with sharpening and updating my own (limited set of) skills, but also taught me how to maintain an open source project, maintaining a Git and collaborating with like-minded and more experienced veteran programmers.
I have received a lot of feedback and help from other Git users along the way during the development of Fluidbox, and I am still trying hard to make it better, if ever possible.
Hello, MMXV
Happy new year.
I experienced the loss of my grandfather. I went through a near-relationship that didn’t work out, crashed and burned. These experiences, though appearing negative on the surface, spurred tremendous growth — emotionally and spiritually. They made me stronger, and perhaps, a little wiser. They taught me that we deal with goodbyes on a daily basis — and that we should never be afraid of them, because they will not stop coming. Instead, I learned how to embrace loss and farewell — and the art of attaining closure and inner peace.
I travelled alone in Greece. I started to lead a healthier lifestyle. I embraced programming and design as a hobby. These experiences put me in new situations that I have not experienced before, forced me into uncomfortable scenarios. They pushed my personal limits, nudged me out of the comfort zone that I have very convenient sequestered myself in.
All in all, 2014 has been a great year. I wish I say the same one year down the road. What will the future bring?
p/s: Happy new year, and thanks for reading!
