The stars are ancient, long dead, unanswerable.

The paradox of The House With Tiles is that it’s actually warmer outside during a Melbourne winter than it is inside. Then again, it is surprisingly sunny, sunny in a way that I haven’t recalled for a while, though I see that there are low-lying clouds moving rather swiftly across the sky to cover up the sun for  brief moment.

A Prague winter has taught me to take a Melbourne winter in stride (and for that matter, the Russians have taught me never to even say that a Prague winter is cold). Nonetheless, if you’d told me two weeks ago that I would be sitting on the terrace in a sleeveless top because it was warmer than inside the house I would have said you were nuts.

It’s been an emotionally trying two weeks, not in the least because of the nature of the tasks I have had to complete. It’s a form of closure that came so unexpectedly, but is a necessary part of life, as is change; I guess I had to play the role I did because, if nothing else, the last two years has reinforced my ability to survive on my own and rely on myself. It may also be a sign of personal growth (or something) that I can actually admit that it’s been a bit of an emotional blender out here. Two years ago, I had waited until the relative isolation and safety of my new home before even attempting to sort through the emotional mess; right now I’m tired of denial and complications, and even the hardest of rationalists has a point where they question everything.

When my father migrated out to Australia he had just himself to rely on; his coming out here was an adventure in itself, ducking parental disapproval, working on fishing boats in torrential storms, being helped out by samaritans along the way. His was a legal migration, and yet the roadblocks and obstacles in his way meant that he almost missed his change; even now he has never seen his best friend again, nor his godson. It shouldn’t be surprised that I am more attuned to the bits and pieces I hear of my father’s journey than I am of my mother’s; she already had someone waiting for her on the other side.

Teaching others about the dialects and languages of my heritage, and having to study and learn them all as a consequence, has been my own little way of becoming much more attuned to picking out the different dialects and being able to interpret them. Yesterday evening’s gathering was a mixture of languages, from the north to the south, as well as the ‘main’ national language as a lingua franca; my parent’s ancient Spanish was the easiest for me to decipher, but I was finding I wasn’t having too much trouble with the more northern dialects, either. A. had once said that it was easier to learn about paternal heritage than maternal heritage, perhaps because Irish literature had a much stronger studied tradition, but I’m finding that our common maternal heritage isn’t that hard to follow either, once you find that you have the fascination, that willingness to learn and connect the dots and follow the patterns.

How different is exploring questions of history and heritage from that of unanswered questions of biology and chemistry and physics, anyway? All extended, endless labyrinths, all fascinating and light and dark in themselves. Somewhere along the line I stopped worrying whether or not that saving thread would break.

I feel it’s part of human nature to want to unravel mysteries and ask questions, just as it is also part of human nature to cling to what is safe and secure and not look beyond the comfort zone to the abyss beyond. I’ve found in the past ten years or so that, just as much as that dark area is full of danger, it is also rich with possibility; it’s hard to convey that to people who aren’t already open and willing to understand. Maybe it is just because I’m still young, despite my admirable play at being hardened and cynical and over it these past few weeks; maybe I really do have a lot to learn in the way of still being yet to find what it is that I would give everything up for, including possibility.

Yesterday evening at a family gathering I found myself speaking with a long-time family friend who always was rather fond of playing the devil’s advocate; I am rather used to being offended by his comments, but I ended up feeling more riled than usual. Along the way I have met scientists and intellectuals and exiles who have had their beliefs suppressed, their work taken away from them, their families vanished, and they still have a certain kind of light in their eyes, a fervour that the lessons of history need to be passed on to the young, that one can’t, and should not, close their eyes to the harsh truths of the world. After experiencing so many teachers like this, can it then be understood, somehow, that I would be feeling a bit resistant to the comments of those who insist that I should stop treading down the path of the unknown, just because it would make me unhappy? I searched and I searched, but I couldn’t see that light in their eyes anymore, that genuine curiosity about the world; only a seeming certainty that they had seen it and it threatened them, therefore they would reject it forever.

It’s like having to choose between artificial light and the light of the stars. Certainly, the world of technology has meant we are far more capable of looking within and seeing everything for what it is right in front of us, unmuted by shadows. There are many unanswered questions as well about what right in front of us, what is seemingly so obvious, yet equally unfathomable.

Yet the stars are ancient, long dead, unanswerable. And if the lights flickered out and died here on earth, if we were left in darkness, those stars would still shine unbound by human machinations. It’s mysterious and seemingly eternal and yes, idealistic, but I think I would rather traverse the darkness guided by the light of the stars than lulled into shortsightedness by electric globes.

Melbourne and Prague, Modern and Modernising.

So far the trip to Melbourne has been low-key and enjoyable; just the way that I like it. I have only accidentally run into a couple of people so far, but they were people that I was glad to meet again.

I had lunch with a former mentor who advised me through the difficult process of choosing between fields–I seem to have defied him a bit by choosing interdisciplinary fields, but I have still made a promise to him and to our former work that I will finish what I have started in this new life in Prague. Although my direction is not quite in the area of molecular neuroscience anymore, I still want to go back and finish the work that we had started–it’s unanswered questions that still haunt me, still keep me up at night. And despite my best attempts to explain my ventures into science policy to a friend just recently, I am still puzzling this one out for myself–I think perhaps I have gone into an outreach and policy direction because I am not objective enough about the science that I perform in labs, because I am still yet to learn not to fight for access and education and distribution to those who need it the most. As much as I want to stay rational and objective, at the same time this little, stubborn voice of ‘justice’ (whatever that is, whichever philosopher I follow, whatever tradition notions of justice may lie within) that says: ‘reason’ got us so far, but to get further in a humane way, considerations of consequences and effects need to accompany our work. It depends on who is advising me at the time; according to some this will always hold me back, some others say it could mean I venture further.

I don’t yet know, but what I do know is that I enjoy following in the footsteps of my mentors and learning from their wisdom and their experience. Sometimes I think I am happier just being their oral historian, writing their stories of how politics and society suppressed their work, and to connect others whose joint work could result in new and exciting fields of study. Maybe I’m just not confident in my own abilities, definitely I’m not a genius, perhaps I am best working as a conduit.

The Czech Republic is still an emerging economy; aside from the BRICs economies (Brazil, Russia, India, China), countries such as Czech are still establishing themselves, still working things out. I find it motivating to work in emerging economies; what’s that quote about the shoulders of giants? “If I have seen further, it is only because I have stood on the shoulders of giants”. In recent days I have made some arguments for non-conventional, cutting edge science, and why I chose this mixed field over the more stable, established areas, and it’s not out of disrespect. It’s because in combinations and collaborations, so many more possibilities unravel.

Meanwhile, I have commented in recent days that Melbourne has changed a little bit, but only superficially. The stalwart of a cafe that was with me in my University of Melbourne days has been remodelled, and indeed, renamed.

Had coffee with a former colleague at a place in Melbourne called ‘World’ the other day; apparently you get discounts if you’re a ‘local’ and say a certain phrase to identify you as one. I have this sneaking suspicion it is probably going to be a sentence like ‘I am a world citizen’. Because why else would a coffeehouse want to call itself World in the first place, and ask if you’re a local?