The age of moving out

lonely people

 

Source: rogerebert.com

 

People are moving out everywhere – in an unprecedentedly rapid pace, at least in my opinion. At least that’s what I have observed among my classmates; more than one-third of them, as far as I know, are studying overseas, be it Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, New Zealand, UK, US, China, Taiwan, Hong Kong (I am) or at least, ending up either in the capital, Jakarta, or in Bandung. Ten years ago we hadn’t heard so much of people studying outside the country, with the exception of children from upper-middle-class families whose parents have enough financial incentives to do so. 2005 and 2015 are already two different worlds since then. With increasingly affordable scholarships, air tickets becoming much cheaper (thanks to low-cost flights), and global economy increasingly integrated, mobility of products, ideas, people, and capital has become more a necessity than it is an option. Indeed, in some places, mobility is a pressure, not a privilege. I can’t predict much how much different 2015 and 2025, or 10 years from now, will be, but one thing that I can assure, for a certainty, is that people, looking out for opportunities elsewhere, will not stop migrating outside their home countries.

Data from UN validates my opinion, at least. In 2005, almost 185 million people lived outside their home countries. Almost a decade later, by 2013, the number has swarmed to almost 250 million (including refugees), an increase of more than 30% alone. But, one must also caution with the data: it only includes figures of those officially submitted by each country’s respective immigration department into the global organization. We have no idea how many ‘illegal immigrants’ are there precisely, but if we include them altogether, the figure, suffice it to say, is more gargantuan than we can expect.

Indeed, this is an inevitable sign of our society’s global transition: globalization has changed much of the face of the world in a short time. Political borders do still exist (and will continue to exist far in the future), but economically, culturally, and socially, these borders have become more blurred, and much more fluid as an accommodation of inevitable changes. Referring again to Michio Kaku, one of the world’s most renown physicists, the world right now has achieved a Type 0.7 civilization (we will have to wait until next century to achieve a perfect Kardashev’s Type 1 civilization). These 250 million people live outside their home countries, are more likely to speak English to each other (a global language), and in fact, they build resilient economies. Developed world needs a continuous inflow of foreign talent and skills to sustain their economies while their population is rapidly aging, and developing world needs their remittances to ensure children can go to school and live healthily, families deserve better housing, and social status can improve.

Nonetheless, one challenging question appears: how much does migration change our perception towards our own identities?

There are a lot of implications. I only return to my hometown, Medan, once a year, but whenever I go back, I will stay in the place I have been born and raised in for almost 20 years of my life for 30-40 days. Huge gaps exist between me and the people of the city that I know. Before I studied overseas, I only embodied, in theory, about what the outside world will look like. Yes, there will be people across dozens of countries (some of which almost nobody knows about), and you have no idea about their cultures, their values, and everything about them considered ‘unknown unknowns’. Having studied here for two years, and another two sojourns back into my city, sometimes there is a feeling in me this is not really the city that I used to know. I can’t explain them vividly, but on the least, I can feel the discrepancies. Sometimes I even feel a difference of values between me and my parents – this is an inevitable consequence when you go out, and be exposed to new perspectives, and everything just changes.

As time goes by, nonetheless, one by one, my close friends are moving out as well. One of my close friends, Edward, has permanently settled down in the capital, Jakarta. I used to hang out with him very often during holidays, but sometimes, nobody can resist the force of change. It’s just not Edward himself; many of my high school friends, indeed, have also moved outside together with their families, and they no longer have any intention to resettle down in this city. As far as I can recall, it was of a big surprise when the city government, as quoted in a local newspaper, presented reports that our city’s population is actually declining – not increasing. Their main rationale was that many people had duplicates of ID cards, but I surmise migration could be one possible reason (though we must scientifically prove it through extensive research). Some of my close friends also obtain scholarships from Japanese government, and I have very little confidence that they will return to this hometown.

Moving out, as something we can’t deny, is an inherent trait in human beings. There wouldn’t be us had the first hominids not walked upon what was now Kenya 2 million years ago, exploring outside the continent, settling down, and acquiring new identities. Migration is not something new that only recently happens; it constantly takes place, whether willingly or by force, as political, economic, and social configurations continued to be altered by the forces of change, the self-organized criticalities. Globalization and technological revolutions, in and by themselves, are simply accelerating the entire process. But what about the question of identity? If we look at a bigger picture of the history of humankind, and into the social construction of our communities, isn’t identity itself a fluid concept? Don’t we actually realize that identity is shaped by forces, adjustable as the time goes by? Our ancestors are not originally from the same country as we used to stay. Science ‘confirmed’ that the first ancestors of human race originated from Africa, and there appeared a massive confluence of ethno-linguistic groups and races, separated across different continents over thousands of generations, only to re-encounter each other as human civilization began to enter the first historical age. Even most Australians and Americans today have only ‘recently’ settled down in the two countries in the last three to four centuries, while the indigenous Aborigines and Native Americans came from African shores and Siberian plains 300 or 400 centuries earlier.

When a person no longer feels connected to his or her society, though, there is no option but to leave, and seek a place elsewhere, sometimes for pursuing passions and opportunities largely unattainable back in the home countries, or simply the raison d’etre of ‘acceptance’. This is why identity is highly fluid; not everyone in the world always experiences the same connection to where they belong. It is not even, oftentimes, where they belong to, but over ‘what’ they belong to. This is the same question you can ask of currently one-quarter billion people living outside the contemporary sovereign states in this planet. And so might our parents, grandparents, or even our far ancestors when they first settled down in what they used to call as ‘lands of the unknown’.

Some people indeed migrate not because they really want to; they are, sadly speaking, ‘forced’ to, for the means of survival. How does it feel like abandoning a place that you have been tied with the most? Whenever you tune on to the news actively, there will always be numerous news about immigrants dying on their way to destination countries. Thousands of people, every day, coming from war-torn or desperately poor countries in Middle East and Africa, stake their lives at seas to reach Europe’s Mediterranean shores – to the point that they have only one goal in mind: Europe or die. Other thousands of people from Bangladesh and Myanmar are also staking their lives as well to reach Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, or even as far away as Australia, and dozens have died at seas and mass graves operated by human smugglers. Or what about millions of laborers in Gulf countries, toiling hard to earn enough living for their families back in their homelands? Or other millions of housemaids, hired from countries as varying as Philippines to Indonesia to Bangladesh to Nigeria? Where do we all really belong to? In a situation of Hobson’s choice, there is no other option but to either maintain our own cultures, or embrace the new identities bit by bit. Remolding an identity is itself a social engineering challenge.

Some Hong Kong friends that I know once told me that they never ‘considered to live permanently in this city’. Life pressure, as most frequently cited, is one reason to leave. This was what I observe when I had a lunch with a fellow friend, named Tony, in an Indonesian restaurant in Causeway Bay.

“I love this city, I have a strong connection with this city, but with all the pressures and challenges that are becoming increasingly harsher in Hong Kong, sometimes I question myself if this is actually my home.”

Indeed, this is not only the voice of one person. Many of them that I know are considering to leave as well. I have no precise idea how high it is, but surveys conducted by several universities here found out that 20-25% of Hong Kong’s population, if given enough opportunities, would eventually ‘choose to emigrate somewhere else’.

Tony majors in chemical engineering, with a specialization in biochemistry. I admire him for being a hardworking and diligent person, as we were once in a group project together. At the same time, he’s also unflinchingly honest, very greatly outspoken, and is very well-informed with recent affairs across the city.

He points out one reason why he has this consideration in mind of leaving Hong Kong.

“People are too obsessed with the values of money. Some close friends of mine, I know them really well, are so talented in science. They have these deep passions in research, in inventing something new, and I believe if they were admitted in any great place outside here, they would be scientists that could change the world. But you know what? They ended up majoring in business or in finance, something that is definitely not their passions. I’m so upset why they chose something that is not definitely their callings. It’s just sad.”

He’s thinking of Germany, but Japan sticks much closer to his mind.

Tony is not alone. Many of them that I know will either think of working in Britain, Australia, Canada, US, or new favored places such as Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, or to an even lesser extent, Southeast Asia (aside of Singapore). And it is even more interesting when you look at their backgrounds. Some have ancestors coming from India, Korea, Malaysia, Philippines, Indonesia, or even places as far away as Israel and Mauritius. Time and again, this is an obvious proof that identity is not strictly a form by itself; it is malleable, and it can be shaped depending on the subjects.

Even though I am a full-blooded ethnic Chinese, I would be more comfortable calling myself an Indonesian. As the prior three generations preceding me have settled down in this country before, I am more used to Indonesian customs (or I should say ‘Chinese-Indonesian culture’) than I am towards the native Chinese culture. Despite decades of political and historical tumults on Chinese communities a few decades ago, which inevitably also impacted my family, there’s no option but to choose one. I can’t go back to China as I don’t speak the same language with them. While not necessarily Chinese, the language I mean here is one of commonalities. My family has been here for four generations, and what else can be similar other than the physical presence? I don’t know if I will ever return and settle again in Indonesia, but most likely, in the long term, I will choose to move somewhere else, look for more opportunities to suit my passions, and explore any possible futures for myself.

I still love my country, but for my own sake, I would rather be more pragmatic. It’s both a big, and small, world, after all.

 

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George Takei: Why I love a country that once betrayed me

george takei

 

Let’s say you are a citizen of country A, born, raised, and educated there with all that country’s beliefs and values, but your ancestral origin is from another one, say, country B. Your physical features, your face, your appearance, all of which are precisely those of people living in the latter.

Let’s say that country A and country B are involved in a diplomatic crisis, a conflict, or worse, a war. Your family wants to move, but they can hardly decide what may be a better decision. In case they stay, it is very likely that either the government of country A, or the public majority, will label you as ‘enemies’, ‘aliens’, ‘non-citizens’, and will even resort to all measures, no matter how extreme, to eliminate you, despite your innocence and your having no political connection to the latter. On the other hand, moving back to your ‘ancestral homeland’ is hardly a good notion, though. Citizens, or government there, may very possibly dub you as ‘enemies from country A’, ‘vermin’, ‘national traitors’, or what have you. You can hardly speak their language, despite your exact body features. You are rejected, and being pigeonholed, by the two countries. You don’t know where to move. And you don’t know what to do.

Numberless minorities over this world, for all the eons, have been faced with such dilemma. Chinese in Southeast Asian countries, Asians in the United States, Whites, Asians, and Arabs in some parts of Africa and elsewhere, and even minorities in Europe, they are just a handful of examples that illustrate such phenomenon. Identity crisis oftentimes becomes inevitable. But we know we can barely make a choice. Whatever that happens, we must accept and fight against that label, that prejudice that sticks over us for a lifetime.

George Takei, a Japanese-American actor, and also a proud gay, shares his experiences of being interred during World War II, and the subsequent, long and uneasy, processes that made him eventually love America as it is, despite all the pains it had incurred towards his family. Watch his inspiring talk below. May this talk be an inspiration to all of us.

 

A Jewel in Two Crowns

yalta

 

Photograph by Gerd Ludwig. Source: National Geographic

 

It is in Ukraine. It is, in geographical terms, not so far, but also not so distant, from Russia. It is ruled by an autonomous government supervised by Kiev’s authorities. But when it comes to bulk of its people, there is hardly any feeling about being Ukrainian though. They mostly talk in Russian, that’s fine; most of the populace in Ukraine is bilingual, back then, thanks to its centuries-long historical ties with the former, in particular during Soviet’s rule, lasting seven decades. Nevertheless, deep down their hearts, many of these residents feel more proud to be Russians, display Russian culture with more ostentatiously than with Ukrainian one, and almost everything they do in daily lives is much or less similar to their Russian counterparts.

This is Crimea, Ukraine’s uneasy peninsula.

2014 has been an entirely challenging year for Ukraine, notwithstanding its current, interim government in Kiev. A months-long political protest in Kiev that saw nearly a hundred civilians killed. Internal split between those who support Brussels and the others who favor Moscow much better (part of that reason may be attributed to Putin’s high willingness to provide financial rescue package worth 15 billion US$ to Kiev). A shaky, provisional regime now being tested with the interference of a few thousand Russian troops in Crimean peninsula, excluding numberless scores of pro-Russian militiamen now occupying most government offices in the territory. Exacerbate that matter with today’s Crimean parliamentary referendum, most of which favors ‘unification with Russia‘.

With another referendum for majority of the 2-million-strong population in Crimea scheduled in no more than 10 days, the future of this peninsula remains in deep limbo. Will it continue to be part of Ukraine? Or will it embrace back the hugs of Moscow?

 

This article, released in National Geographic Magazine‘s April 2011 edition, attempted to explore deeper what exactly happens in Crimea, the crown that, implicitly stated, dubiously ‘belongs’ to both Ukraine (in nationality) and Russia (in identity). Click the link to find out more.

 

Excerpt:

 

The Crimean Peninsula is a diamond suspended from the south coast of Ukraine by the thin chain of the Perekop Isthmus, embraced by the Black Sea, on the same latitude as the south of France. Warm, lovely, lush, with a voluptuously curved coast of sparkling cliffs, it was a jewel of the Russian Empire, the retreat of Romanov tsars, and the playground of Politburo fat cats. Officially known as the Autonomous Republic of Crimea, it has its own parliament and capital, Simferopol, but takes its orders from Kiev.

Physically, politically, Crimea is Ukraine; mentally and emotionally, it identifies with Russia and provides, a journalist wrote, “a unique opportunity for Ukrainians to feel like strangers on their own territory.” Crimea speaks to the persistence of memory—how the past lingers and subverts.

In 1954 Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, signed Crimea over to Ukraine as a gesture of goodwill. Galina was 14 at the time.

“Illegal,” she said, when asked about the hand­over. “There was no referendum. No announcement. It just happened.”

What was Khrushchev thinking?

“He wasn’t,” she snapped. “Khrushchev had roaches in his head.”

Crimea was a lovely present, but the box was empty. Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union anyway. “My parents discussed the transfer, but we weren’t concerned,” Galina said. Moscow was still in charge. No one could have ever imagined the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union, when Crimea would be pulled out of the orbit of Russian rule along with an independent Ukraine.

The magical world of Haruki Murakami

haruki murakami

 

 

There is more to the reality he wants to convey through his mind-bending narratives, but some literary critics are still unsure what he actually wants to convey about.

Read the full article on The Daily Beast.

Excerpt:

With Murakami, there are certain motifs that appear again and again, and for which he’s sometimes mocked—cats, wells, baseball, and jazz, to name a few. Thematically, Murakami’s work explores the complexities of relationships, sex, self-discovery, the influence of Western culture in Japan, violence, and the reverberations of World War II. “You get a sense of the oddness and the eeriness of a modern culture, I think, which was born from a great act of violence,” said John Freeman, the editor of the literary magazine Granta. “His work is full of monsters and earthquakes.” Freeman said there are two things that make it hard for Murakami to win big literary awards and gain unmitigated praise. The first is that his stories have an improvisational feel to them, even if they weren’t actually improvised. The second is that “there’s a silliness and comedy to his work, and people who have comic impulses I think are always underrated in the short term.”