It took moving overseas to find the world news.

Back in Australia I was introduced to ABC Newsradio by a friend, and enjoyed the ‘world perspective’ that was often sorely lacking–but that was because at night it cut to BBC World Service, Deutsche Welle, Radio Netherlands. As the daughter of migrants from a country that wasn’t economically or politically important to Australia, it meant that the piecemeal bits of news that we could get from ‘home’ either came in the form of major disasters or ‘amusing’ trivia. There is an economy of information in the local and national press, a demand and supply curve that can only fit in so many pages of doom and gloom before they have to call out for more advertisers, most whom probably don’t want to share page space with doom and gloom in the first.

So the internet was a boon for myself as an information seeker, particularly when I started to listen to the foreign radio–Radio France Internationale for a broad world coverage that included Africa and the Middle East (that was not just about the war of the time), Radio Nacional de Espana for Spain and Latin America. And with the study of new languages came a new appreciation of the intricacies of how culture shapes perceptions. And, dare I say it–how perceptions, in a way, shape culture.

My Australian upbringing, in comparison, feels very sunny, isolated–not so much naive, but that separation by kilometres and oceans and history probably has a real bearing on its laidback culture. I miss it–on the other hand I just feel lucky to have been raised in such a place, and the day to day realities I face now remind me not to take these things for granted.

It’s drive, but on a different planet.

It’s six on a Monday morning and I’m back in the laboratory with a couple of techs, everyone focused, concentrating on their tasks at hand (except for me, I guess–I’m blogging, aren’t I?). And I wonder what drives us–what drives them. I think we all have different motivations, some because this–being here, slogging away at their investigative task. Someone once told me that it takes a certain kind of mind to want to do this, a certain kind of personality–which is true of all vocations, I think, even those that I can’t understand or don’t particularly like are perfectly fitted to the people who exemplify what is the very best of their professions.

More on this later, when I get home–something’s pushing at me to try and write this out, to try and speak what it is that I’m feeling, but things are finally clicking along now with the work thing and I need to catch that wave.

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?

Vergers

… Combien de fois un être, malgré lui,
arrête de soil oeil de son geste
l’imperceptible fuit d’autrui.
en lui rendant un instant manifeste. …

Rilke, 39, Vergers.

On custom and prominence.

My culture has strong kinship relationships, and traditions which I haven’t always understood as a child growing up in a Western society. Sometimes I think this is because of the way that I see the series of ‘obligations’, long-held grudges and concepts of future reciprocity–too often I have seen this output in purely negative circumstances, where people which to activate a tacit agreement in order to transfer responsibility for their own actions away from themselves.

I didn’t grow up with blood relations aside from my immediate family, but there was a whole lot of kinship relations–godparents, godsisters. These are my extended family, I turn to these people as though they are my grandparents and advisors and older siblings, and I can only hope that in some way I can play a similar role to my godsisters and goddaughter. Perhaps, in a way, that is how I have come to be so strongly attached to people so physically distant from me but have played prominent roles for various reasons–for being there in a time of significant need, for their support when there really wasn’t much, and for that inner circle, everything that we went through together. They’re my family even though we’re countries, sometimes continents and oceans apart, and years on that feeling is yet to change.

The way that those familial kinship circles had formed back in Melbourne always worried me, though–always a way that one would try to ingratiate themselves into another carefully bounded network, one of the reasons why I am always so careful to never let the ‘twain meet. Strong loyalties of mine form for those who have earned it, who have deserved it–and then there are the obligatory connections, those whom I am beholden to due to familial and cultural custom. Some of them had been the kind of significant influences in the way that I had grown up knowing that this was not the way that I wanted to live. And amongst this extended family of those whom earned my respect and those who required acknowledgement and courtesy, there had always been a certain kind of objectiveness about the position that my family held in that kind of dynamic–because my parents held themselves away from the mess and the gossip and just didn’t get involved.

So why it is that I chose to take certain actions that I had grown up full well knowing the consequences of, I still question. Because I have always been an experiential learner, and learning the hard way is the only way I can ever get things into my thick head sometimes? So I’ve lived and breathed and experienced what it was that I had always suspected–if I acted in a certain way that I knew I would be uncomfortable with, and went beyond my values, then the consequences would be … expected. But breaking out of that comfort zone, deliberately blurring the boundaries, pushing myself to beyond what I would currently be capable of. It had always been the way that I could shake myself out of indifference, it always reminded me of what it was I was truly passionate about and why I was pursuing it, and so it would be inevitable that mistakes would be made along the way. So, things became damaged and irreparable along the way. But from the old and broken comes the new and learned, the reasonings why, the analyses as to how things came about, the eroded feelings to find the core attributes behind: loss is rarely ever a happy thing but necessary to move on and start anew.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder–but familiarity breeds contempt. The rationale behind quietly acquiring languages and transferable skills, behind leaving, behind that little out that I gave everyone and that everyone eventually came to take: utilitarian. It doesn’t even need to make sense in the end: it was the ‘hard’ decision that needed to be made.

It isn’t a matter of dismissing things due to inexperience, though–there is still the need to own it. With time, and increased prominence, comes responsibility, and accountability, and the need to make the hard decisions. Utilitarian philosophies–providing the best outcome for as many people as possible. And interestingly, I’m starting to move beyond just rationally analysing it, but feeling it and meaning it too.

11th Forum 2000, Prague

Here’s an interesting headline that’s causing ripples in the discussion forums: A call from Prague: Dictators, go to hell.

The purpose of the Forum 2000 is actually quite relevant and important–the media coverage leaves something left to be desired, though. Or perhaps that was the intention–tacit ’support’? I am nonplussed.

In the streets.

Melbourne had the gangland wars, something which is apparently being glamourised to the extent of a ‘blockbuster’ television show that shall remain unnamed. It’s not unnamed because I support the Victorian ban, but because I remember dining in that restaurant a couple of weeks before one of the last shootings, and driving past the occasional funeral of a gangland member and taking quiet note of the expensive cars, the sharp suits–and the throngs of police officers supervising the event. It seems strange that it is suddenly being turned into some ‘hot’ television show, if only because it was a reality for so long–even as an observer. While I am curious about its origins, I’m not sure if I would ever want to succumb to the celebrity and watch the show; there is the question of fictionalisation, for one, and for another, wondering if consumerism implies tacit support.

Prague is full of layers and histories. On the gangland war front, it has something a little deeper, a little more sinister: something involving the Caucasian, Armenian and Chechen mafias. On Saturday afternoon there was a shooting on Pařížská street, [details: Lidové noviny (Czech); iDNES.cz (Czech, with photograph from ČTK)] One of the main details of the press coverage is the focus that the victims were Russian-speaking–which can mean any part of the former Soviet Union, but it seems like the kind of ‘label’ that I remember from frequent multicultural clashes back in the good old western suburbs of Melbourne.

Prague has meant a daily, almost permanent reliance on Czech and sometimes German in my day to day existence, although it is very obvious that I’m not from Central Europe and am often spoken to (and ripped off, until they realise I can speak Czech) in English. And it’s understandable, given the region’s past history under Soviet control, that the Russian language would be viewed with suspicion. (It also makes me wonder if I should hide that Russian original of Anna Karenina that I have on my shelves next to the French, English and Czech … or I ought to have mentioned in a public blog at all). As an outsider, the ‘label’ is interesting. ‘Russian-speaking’ casts aspersions on an entire regional bloc, as well as references history and current political and criminal activities–a similar label I used to see substituted in the Australian press would be ‘of ethnic appearance’ after it was deemed too inflammatory to label suspected criminals with a specific national tag.

There are things you pick up on the streets that you just don’t find in textbooks or even cultural classes–the kinds of things that would be too politically incorrect or sensitive to raise. What exactly this particular intercultural war is about, I don’t know yet, but I do want to understand more about it. As a linguist I really quite enjoy the Russian language–indeed, for my ‘International Year of Languages’ project it is one of those that I am scrubbing up on (as well as several others), but it does make Prague and several other former Warsaw Pact regions sensitive regions to try and speak it in.

Also, can anyone give me any details or background on the mafia in Trieste? Apparently I shocked my mother by the fact that I love it there (and as an architecture/history/cultural melting pot buff, it is another place I can’t resist: a port town, a former holding of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a place where it is natural to hear Italian or Slovenian or German …)