Love, Life and Poetry

In a recent post, I mentioned my all-round philosophy to life. Here's an example of how it works.

I used to be in private practice in one of Singapore's top law firms. It paid very well and the work was very interesting. In fact, for my particular area of practice, no other firm in Singapore offered more challenging work. A year of experience there was worth two or three in other law firms. However, due to a chronic shortage of lawyers, the hours were very long.

Then my first child was born. Six months later, I quit the job. Mrs Wang quit private practice too. The kind of work/family balance we wanted was not going to happen, in a law firm environment.

I had absolutely no regrets. If I thought only in terms of the cost to my career, I would have had regrets. But the wiser thing to do was to consider life as a total package. I looked at my life as a whole, and the correct decision became quite clear to me. So I left private practice without hesitation, quite happily, and much to the dismay of my then-bosses. And I haven't looked back.

Now I have two kids. Recently, I've once again been spending less time with them than I would like. This time it's not the job. It's my exams. Fortunately, they will be over soon. Also, there is another difference, compared to the earlier days. Now the kids are older, more independent, and they have each other as playmates. I've been discovering that their new attitude is: if Daddy can join in, that would be great, but if Daddy can't, then that's fine too.

Gasp. They're growing up. That was quick.

A Worried Mother recently wrote to me - she is stopping work for a few years, to be a full-time mother to her newborn. I say this: don't fret about taking time off from your career. In the big picture of things, it does not matter whether you devoted 40 years of your life to your career, or 38, or 37. But the time with your child is very important, and once lost, doesn't come back.

Because kids are not kids forever. They grow up. Treasure the time you have with them, while you still have it. Because before you know it, they'll have their own lives and it will be time to let them go.

That's what Kahlil Gibran wants to tell you too:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you,
yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Interestingly, in this other post of mine, a Buddhist reader, Chan, makes a bizarre argument against homosexuality. I thought I'd heard it all before, but this one is new to me. Chan says that homosexuality is wrong because the gay person, by not procreating, is being unfilial to his parents.

I then mentioned Buddhist monks. Are they, I asked, also unfilial to their parents, for choosing a life of celibacy and thereby not procreating? Chan's reply was that if the Buddhist monk seeks his parents' permission before entering monkhood, then the Buddhist monk is not unfilial. By extension, Chan says, if a gay person seeks his parents' permission before adopting a gay lifestyle, then the gay person's behavior becomes acceptable.

I'm struck by Chan's emphasis on filial piety. But personally, I think that in such a context, the principle has been stretched waaaay too far. Human beings are human beings, not the slaves or dogs of their parents. When they are adults, they must be left to make their own decisions and choose their own paths in life. Suppose you feel a strong calling to be a Buddhist monk. If your parents approve, that's great. But if they don't, then don't let their objections stop you.

Here is a real-life example: the Venerable Hyon Gak Sunim, Head Teacher at Hwa Gye Sah Temple in South Korea. Formerly, he was Paul Muenzen, the son of staunch Roman Catholics in the USA, and a graduate of Yale and Harvard. He pushed it all aside, to be a monk. Well, he's happy. And it's his life, after all. Not his parents'.

Speaking for myself, if my children grew up and decided to convert to Buddhism, I would not stop them. If they decided to convert to Christianity or Hinduism or Islam, I would not stop them either. In each case, I would only want to know that they have reflected and considered carefully and have concluded that this is what they really want for themselves. And if my children grew up and one day told me that they were gay, then in a strange way I think I would feel honoured. That they loved and trusted me enough to tell me such a thing, in a society where such things are often so deeply misunderstood.

In all cases, I think I would continue to love them, as a father should. I would respect their basic intrinsic right, as human beings, to choose their own paths in life, even if these are not paths I would have chosen for myself, or for them. How did Kahlil put it?

"You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you."

I like Kahlil's works. They contain such great wisdom. It's such a pity that our education system places little emphasis on Literature. It's just about the only subject that examines the condition of being human.

My next-door neighbours are always fighting and quarrelling, and it all started from the time when the handsome young Indian man there fell in love with a pretty young Chinese girl. That was years ago. Now they're married, but the man's parents are still fighting over this interracial marriage. Every now and then, they still throw the Chinese girl out of the house. So she sits outside the flat and cries. I see this as just another kind of Romeo & Juliet tragedy. If only the man's parents had read Shakespeare ... maybe they'd stop their bad behaviour.