My Fellow Idealist

To my fellow idealist,

It's been a while since I laid down these words for you and to you. In this exclusive digital world, which I have found recently fascinating, you can read my words and almost hear my voice; addressed to you and only for you, regardless of the time or place. Isn't it wonderful, that we can now easily make something "timeless".

So advanced our race has become, and yet so cold, the touch of our souls are upon the society.

At work, I find people craving for good conversation all the time. Regardless of the amount of time they actually spend at the shop front, they leave trails of longing for interaction and talk. Young adults carelessly spew thoughts and words when prompted by a listening ear. Young 'uns peep and preen for a hint of un-adult-erated fun, hoping that these guys aren't truely as old as they look. Brought together by a common interest, yet stranded by their different preferences. Gaps, ravines and bridges have been thrown up all over the climbing gym. Sometimes, 'leave-me-alone' signals dangle carelessly from a member like the ends of a frayed rope. At other times, the cheers and laughter of those who are still young enough to forget themselves fight with the radio for aural supremacy, giving the gym a raw thunder -- the loud youthful heartbeat of fun.

On my way home, I helped an old lady find her way home. My first encounter with her was at the interchange, while I was in the queue for my bus. She had first approached a lady 2 places behind me to enquire about the route of the bus which we were waiting for. Just as abruptly as she had begun her inquiry, she was shoved off with a torrent of 'I don't know's and 'why don't you ask the guy behind's. In less than 30 seconds, their conversation was ended. Their souls met, but never touched. One of them suddenly looked so very tired.

Feeling rejected more than helpless, she was just about to wander off in search of both the way home (and some warmth, perhaps) when the lady directly behind me asked her where she inteded to go. 'Jalan Bahar,' was her reply. Though helpful, the lady was unable to offer more than a suggestion to 'look for another bus there.'

Watching the drama unfold over my shoulder, I hated myself for being a spectator. I knew where the bus I was about to board was going, but I had not spoken up. Twice over, I could have easily resolved the old lady's predicament, but I had chosen instead to analyse the futility of another lady's fatigue. It looked like both our consciences would have some nagging coming our way for the rest of the night.

It wasn't until I had boarded the bus that the old lady came tramping up with the rest of the passengers. Something wasn't right, I thought to myself. Unless she had gotten her destination wrong, she wouldn't have been on the right bus. With a crowded bus and a flexing conscience, I felt little room for more than a feeling of awkwardness as I sought to while away the rest of the bus journey by catching the moving lights from the bus window.

By the time the crowd cleared and I was about to alight, I could take little more of my suffocating pride -- the old lady was still glancing left and right from her seat, perched like a watchtower at the back to the bus. And so I approached her to ask her for where she was going. It turned out that she was on the wrong bus and she was riding in the wrong part of the area. Eventually, I accompanied her off the bus, flagged a cab and sent her home.

Beyond a nominal cab fee, the encounter too a toll on my soul. In these touch-and-go journey with the old lady, I had come to face several emotions -- guilt, worry (for her safety), relief and a quickly returning sadness. This realisation made me sad: I sure took my time to resolve the old lady's predicament. Had she not boarded the bus like she did, might she have made it home at all? Furthermore, will my delayed, guilt-driven idealism be too little too late should the situation have been dire?

Perhaps I don't fit the description of an idealist well. Tonight, I have come to understand that my 'idealism' is still very much entrenched within the cloud kingdom of coffee-losophy. I still can't bring myself to mean all that I want to say. And that makes me sad because, well, this shouldn't be so.

With renewed determination to exercise my individual right to engage other people, I am opening up my soul to search for and touch another. This life needn't be about me. This life needn't be warm.

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I am now undertaking a major project to understand and to consolidate my beliefs. Fashioned after the meditations of French philosopher Renee Descartes, I intend to explore my foundations, and attempt to build the start to the rest of a good life. Impossible? Not quite... though surely the task would be huge and complex. I am however confident that I will succeed, one way or another.

My motivation for this undertaking is not to change my life or in any way re-establish myself from scratch. Rather, I hope simply that the completion of this project would enable me to be a good father, a good husband and most of all a beautiful person. After all, it was through life that I was born and shaped, it will therefore be life that I want to know and share. This undertaking is also in part for you, because it is you that I want to keep growing with, and loving more than anything else.


JKLM