CCLVIII - what makes a comic great

I love comics. Comics are that incredible interlace between action, expression, contemplation and speech, filled with colour, hand-drawn authenticity and freedom to draw, whether within or without the panel or filling the entire page. That wow moment when you hit a "centrefold", that action scene, or the beautiful, leather-and-mesh femme fatale drawn entirely across, even to the extent of pull out pages, I mean, that's comics. They come from an older time, too, and being drawn and filled by I think the quirkier characters and artists of the 70s or 80s, it feels like something precious handed down by an older generation of flat-out rebels: men who hated villainy, hegemony, smallness, and instead celebrated manhood, the strength of women, the underdog, the street champion against all odds. What makes a comic great? I think it's to do with the fact that it's immediately brought to your attention, opening a comic book, that there is something great in this world that has to be overcome, and the person you're reading about is just the person to do it, in his or her own way. And obviously, comic books are about the very, sexy, women.

I have a favourite comic character, the Batman. It's very simple why I like the Batman. The fact is, he doesn't have any super powers, but he uses his god damn brains to fight crime, and his will. Yes, sure, he has money, and Alfred, but you might think that he's still the Batman regardless. And come on, the villains he has! The very best, the Joker. There isn't a better villain. He's not exactly the anti-thesis of Batman. He's simply himself; he's out there to embody madness. Batman, in contrast, embodies something more concrete; he simply doesn't tolerate crime. Some say, Batman is an outlaw. I think that sort of misses the point. He has a moral compass which is 99% within the shape of the law, and the things he does in that other 1%, he regrets, I promise you. In some ways, he plays the Batman with sorrow. The Joker's glee, if you were to put it that way, is not really the point, it's just a symptom of his being the Joker. He doesn't need to entertain anyone, or even himself; he's past self-reflection. That's the incredible, magnetic thing about the Joker. He's a pure madman. How should I see it? It's like if you woke up in a dream world and you could do anything with absolutely no consequence or moral implication. Nothing. And you decided to say the hell with it, and you did whatever came to mind, all day and every day. That's what it means, I think.

I started with comics probably with Asterix and Obelix. I loved the Romans! They're so military and yet so frightened of Obelix. After that it was probably a bit of Vampirella, a tiny bit of Marvel. I'm not a Marvel fan, I'll be honest. I can't suspend my rationality enough to be one. The modern movies are too much, too. I sorta prefer the tragicomedy of the older films. I liked Sandman, I loved Watchmen on the second reading. League of Gentlemen was OK (in some ways, come to think of it, the Invisible Man is like the Joker in that he can do anything he wants and almost nobody can stop him). I don't own Superman, X-men or Spidey. I'm more of a thinking comic guy I guess; I like it when it's less explicit what's going on.

I also have this comic guy I like, he writes Achewood. Onstad. There's this other guy, Chris Ware, but he's a little bit too down for me. Achewood is it, though, to me it's basically the Simpsons of comic books. Thank god for Ray and Beef! They have to be the greatest comic book partners of all time. Ray is a completely un-selfconscious richboy fatcat, and Beef is basically a deflated balloon whizzing spirals on its way down, unless he's doing IT stuff or talking about a car, in which case he transforms into one of those geeks on Mythbusters. Onstad's thing is very obscure conversations featuring personas from history. Beyond the panels, he's gone through family, breakups, life, business, sadness, and still he gives and connects with his fans through the comics, now on Patreon. It's really good.

Again, what makes a comic great? I think consistency, and character. When I open a comic, recognise the stuff, the parts played genuinely, and the wow effect from the art, interpret the facial expressions, try to imagine what's unsaid, I think that's what makes the whole comic thing great. That's why, honestly, I don't think that comics make great movies, although they can make decent ones out of the comic characters. (Having said that, the old animated Batman series was incredible.) A comic is simply a series of panels. Once you change that, it's no longer a comic in the sense of what that concept is. The deliberacy of the snapshot by snapshot thing is gone, with all its subtext and subtlety. I like that, a lot.

CCLVI - no longer small

You are no longer small. I am hardly worried about you in the sense of you being a tender, squishy little baby. Naturally, you have the run of the house, and your reach startles me sometimes. Around me you are hardly ever worried; you can play quietly and blissfully. I am glad that you know this. You mumble certain things in almost-words, so I am sure that you will quite enjoy talking to me. Already you enjoy certain liberties in the way you bathe, eat, change, the toys that you like to hold on to, the chairs that you like to sit on. 

Of course, I think that you are very cute. But that is not the main thing I think about when I think about you. Actually, I think that you are very interesting, and I like to try to understand your expressions. It is usually one of mirth or curiosity, and simple determination. You repeat simple words such as Up when you are climbing, and Mine when you are holding things and I request to hold them. It's very good. You are quite an active toddler, and your little round tummy doesn't slow you down. It feeds a little giddy laugh you make when you're extremely entertained.

No, you are no longer a baby. It's just one more little step for you into being a child. I hope you won't mind my being a little correct-or once in a while. I think it's what makes you happy with me, that you know my tendencies to be strict, and short of that almost anything goes. Well, that, I suppose and my ability to almost completely disdain mobile devices. God help those who can't put them down. Anyway, for you, that will be in future. Don't worry.

Sometimes when you are sad or hurt, I tell you, quiet, baby, quiet. I hope you understand; that's the best I can do. I don't intend to mollycoddle you. I don't think you need it. And it sounds too ironic when I do it anyway. Ironic means to be in contrast to what it appears to be. You'll probably understand it soon enough with me. I think most people either like it or dislike it intensely, depending whether they're smart or their stupid. Well, I shouldn't say that. You'll judge for yourself, I suppose.

CCLV - KL

KL is a lot nicer than I expected. Of what I've seen, it's cleaner and more modern than Ho Chi Minh. I would have to say that its affluence, at least on the outward side of things, at the very centre, is comparable to Singapore. But that would not go very far in describing the city. It is crowded, and doesn't have clean streets. But you can tell that it matters to them. I suppose, as in any big town, that there is a vast multitude of young and old doing menial things to keep the city sane. I hope they are not overlooked.

Anyway, you can say that KL is maybe 20 or so years behind us, in terms of what one sees from the bus and from walking the hustly bustly markets. I suppose things are cheap and living isn't too dear. There's a lot of hobby and craft on the side, a lot of room and time for it. Maybe you can say that those kinds of folks aren't grafters, but who can judge how a man or woman wants to do his or her own thing? You can't. 

I hope they think of education as precious though. You can't, and I say this with my own prejudices, but you can't provide a comparably wealthy life for yourself and your family without education. That's not saying very much, of course. It's empty by itself, and you have to fill it in with your own determinism. I guess some folks are perfectly satisfied being in first or second gear their whole lives, and think about it only later (again, with the prejudices). What am I, in fourth gear? Come on, now. Those sultans of swing were doing alright, thank you very much. I think what it takes is for a rising tide to lift all boats. Malaysia deserves it, Vietnam deserves it, etc. We were lucky, that's all.

Being a tourist is like being a little bitch. You see this, you say that, you laugh at this, you buy that. Thank god, we have a lot of Melayus and Mikes. So we blend in. But it's obvious we're here to have a good time and spend money, so thank god, we blend in. But I guess that's South East Asia, and certainly KL, everyone comes and goes, and blending in isn’t so much being x as the other side is ok with y. Hanging out with the cabin crew boys, you can see they have their own prejudices, young and old. But in general they are polite and proper, and not too bitchy. In a way, I'm glad I'm both with them and not with them, if that makes any sense. A quiet memory or two, y'know.

Football, football. We had a guy come in, phew, what a dude. Extra black, his belt. Coral, in fact. And such a sweet man too. But the truth is that he smacked a guy for kicking him, had to sit, and we lost the game after. I was so happy on Saturday, sitting down with the dude, basking in the comfort that we were playing good, going for gold. Touching distance. I have only one wish that I could do different this whole weekend, and that's I would have grabbed the other guy first and, well, shielded him. Anyway we couldn't get it done after that, no air in our balloon. I didn't even feel sad that we lost, and another team, or two, danced. It was clear. 

Anyway, I had fun, and I'm old enough not to feed sad. I feel bad for the lads that didn't get to play often. That's on the manager, not on them, 100%. I should tell them that next time. I appreciate all the lads, man, even the guys we scuffled. Not playing much, we've all been there. Well, that's that, unfortunately.

CCLIV - twinkling

I would have liked to write about you more regularly, if only to let you know that I am on occasion a passable writer, that I think about you often, and finally, I suppose, to give you a sort of running commentary on how you are becoming bigger. I guess none of those points are in serious danger of being overlooked. But I hope you enjoy these entries. One must leave behind something.

You have a funny little forward tilt when you want to advance. It smacks of a simple, confident determination, however innocent, or impulsive, it might otherwise seem. But I am convinced that you are a lot better at vouchsafing that little head of yours than me. I know, and was often told, that I used to have a lot of bumps on my forehead. Perhaps I was just a little more excitable than you. You patter along very ably now, on very strong little legs and tush. Indeed, you seldom prefer to hold on to my hand when walking through the MRT underpass. What a joyful little walking gallery it is, with long, running escalators, good airflow, and passers-by who gleam (I should say "beam", but for some reason, I prefer "gleam") so ardently at you. (It's funny I notice too that other children are a little wary of you; well, I suppose, any other toddlers.) But for now, you seem right at home. I like that about you.

Your verbal injunctions could take a little refinement. Lately every round fruit is an apple, you get what bowls are, but sometimes you say gar or something else. Well, your whinging is top-notch, I must say. I wonder where you learnt that. And the funny thing about you is that when I give you an instruction, perhaps not what you were keen to hear, you sort of have a little gumption, and take a little stand for yourself. You end up smacking something or other with your hands, yelping little 'ay's back at me, or throwing out some object you get to hand. Well, we probably have to work on that a little.

You are a very carriageable weight. 10.8, I'm told. I am happy when I carry you. You understand very well when it is time to go out, and when you are a party to the going out. Sometimes you go and stand near the door, pawing at it, of course you also look at me and whine a bit. But I guess that you know, with me, chances of you going out are very good. A clean diaper, carry pouch, shoes, umbrella. I'm the going out type myself. I hope we have many chances to do so.

A few months ago, I put you to bed most of the time. Lately, you get annoyed when it's me. I find your complaining quite funny, actually. Partly you are tired, and partly you want mama. Well, once you settle, grumpily, that it's me, it's just a matter of letting your tired little voice run down, and letting the nice little bed do its thing. A feed, cool air, and you're going to sleep. I suppose it's because I'm sterner with you, and not so coddly, that you get grumpy with me. But I believe that sternness will come good. In any case, I'm not worried one bit about your grumpiness. In time you'll be laughing with me, your hilarious little baby girl laugh.

See you later, bobo!

CCLIII - One year

I wonder if waking up without seeing someone right above your cot is unpleasant. I suppose sometimes it is. Yet sometimes, I'm told, you will sit there without making too much fuss. I think it's good for you to sit by yourself for awhile. I guess it comes naturally to some, when they're a little older. But you, being you, like to see what's going on, and little sounds immediately draw your attention. And you know where to look to see us. So I suppose your curiosity challenges your quiet observation. You are not that quiet. In fact I think you are assuredly boisterous. It is becoming more difficult to hold on to you for too long.

You have reached 10.1 kilograms. I promised to get you a slice of cake. We will see what you are able to eat, I guess. But cake is cake, so possibly you will devour it. Your belly is compellingly big, and firm. Quite muscular, in fact. I don't really know baby physiology, but I suppose it has to do with your little guts. There is a lot of soft, chubbiness in your bum bum and thighs. It's fantastic. But I like your chin and cheeks the best. They are big and pillowy.

You sorta prefer to walk now to crawling. I think most people do, but it gives you great pleasure to stand and touch things. Naturally, you love touching things. You are very busy. Boxes, in particular, may not be left alone with their contents. Perhaps some of your teeth are still on their way, and you like to chew small cardboard boxes. I suppose there is no great harm in doing so. Anyway, what you like to do is to hold on to something with one hand, and then explore everything with the other hand. I suppose it is easier to manipulate objects by focusing on one hand. But you can smack things with both hands at the same time.

The next big thing, and I suppose what I hope is best, is language. You roughly understand what 'come' and 'no' and 'quietly' and other sounds like laughter and cooing mean. Sometimes you repeat the sound, like once out of twenty. But anyway, once you get the hang of it, life becomes a lot more interesting. Of course, it will be annoying at the same time when we tell you what to do and what not to do. 'Patience' is one of those really frustrating words. Extremely counter-intuitive. We will see what we can do. 

I wonder what you think of when you look at me. I hope, as a big buddy. I am a bit of a talker, an explainer. I think you'll come to like that. If I don't know something, I will tell you. There is great value in that principle. Language is not easy, but it can be poetic, pleasingly elegant. It can also be nasty and brutish. When you are tired, when I am tired, we will revert to what we know best. I hope that we know the good best, rather than the mean and unpleasant.

Happy birthday, kid. You're doing swell.

CCLII - bigger and bouncier

You are nine months old, almost nine months. In a way you have been around for eighteen months. Some flicker of you. It is difficult for me to recall that you were very small, when you were only just born, pitifully, belovedly small. You were very small when you first came home, and for those first weeks, only a handful of kilograms. I am relieved that you are bouncy and strong.

I find it funny in a way that you are, what’s the word, determined. If you are angry, you are really angry. You are as outraged as any tiny girl can be, which is not much, but it is still something. Little yelps of anger and many drawn-out moans. Sometimes they disappear with a bit of cradling and fondling, and you just want to play or reach for something again. I usually find it funny when you sit down and cry with your eyes closed. You are very sad and there is no real reason to be. So I explain that I just want to wash my hands or check the milk. I think you are slowly starting to understand me, and I suppose my gentle voice, because you don’t seem to cry with so much anguish.

You worry me a little. Chiefly you worry me when you are coughing, puking out milk, or hot to the touch. We try to keep you cool with the fan, light clothes and a nice wet towel once in a while. Lately you have been firmly against medicine of any kind, which I can understand. It is very unpleasant to have to eat anything that you don’t really want to eat, and you have been asked to eat very many things lately.

I think you like the walks downstairs. It is usually a ten minute walk along the corridors, a ten minute sit-up, and a ten minute walk back. The sun is usually meeker around the time we go down, and sometimes it’s nice and breezy. There’s old people chatting, bicycles dinging, cars buzzing, trees stretching, balls bouncing. I think it’s much better than staying home where it’s quiet and limited, at least for now. When you’re downstairs you’re quiet, looking around intently. You like to sit up. When you’re back home you are hungry. I think that’s a good sign. Well, the mosquito problems we usually have are less problematic nowadays. I hope you’ll enjoy running around outdoors. Getting tired out there, and seeing other children play, is good for you.

I can understand why people don’t have too many children. It’s quite an ordeal. I reckon it’s eight out of ten. After you had that stomach trouble some months ago, your coughing makes you wake up at night and you also tend to puke your milk. It’s a pain, but I can accept that it’s not as bad as the past stomach trouble. We just feed you water now when you cough, and it works a charm. You like water, you little minx. Well you don’t like it poured on your head. And you don’t want it at ten at night. I learnt that the hard way, feeling quite foolish last night.

I don’t really know what toys you like for now. I think you prefer the kind that you can bite. Certainly you like to stand more than sitting with the toys. Books are sort of fun to flip, page to page. I hope you can talk soon. I call you to come over sometimes, and you don’t know, or you don’t feel the need to, I suppose. Let’s work on that.

CCLI - on giftedness

I have thought about this for a long time. I have been categorised as gifted a long time; twenty eight years, in fact. While I have some things to say, from personal experience, I don't think there's anything new in what I have in mind. Somebody out there, having thought longer than me, having been gifted longer, has probably already said it in his or her own way. But what I think continues to drive some interest in the ongoing debate, the words and words thrown at this problem, is that there is nothing said that has been truly satisfying, no wonderful and intuitive description or erudite utterance, no perspective that has finally illuminated the thing being discussed, or captured its essence. The Government may describe its policies, the academics the themes and effects, the teachers and students their own recollections, the outsiders their efforts to get in, the critics the wonkiness or sordidness, and so on, but finally, who has said anything the least bit clever about it? Plainly, none.

It is very simple. Adults simply do not know, or recall, what it is to be a gifted child, and have not the slightest clue how to talk or think like a gifted child. Therefore whatever they can think of saying is terribly adult-sounding, and meaningless. Yes, there are measures: mathematics and english. One can add measures: physical, emotional, social giftedness, these things can be asked of and obtained. But these are the facets, and not the core, of giftedness. The truth is this: every child has its (I wish to avoid repeating "his or her") own version of genius; the way it understands and treats the world. What adults wish to determine is, which child sees the world faster or more cleverly, and treats it especially fast or cleverly, that is, in objective terms. But that does not cut to the centre. The centre is a strange, nebulous mass of fascinating and bizarre ideas, utterly indescribable. You could ask a child what it thinks in those terms; you would not get the faintest cross between Alice in Wonderland and Gulliver's Travels. You could only listen in puzzled merriment; your brain could not possibly comprehend the already abbreviated phrases uttered by it. Not one part in a thousand of that wonderful flowing stream could be put into words, and still you would be lost. 

So perhaps it is better to recognise that education has a limited say in anything. OK, we know these boys and girls are a bit more clever, a bit harder to teach in the usual way, so what can we do with them in special classes? I think in those limited terms, with reasonably limited objectives, one might more easily perceive results. Better grades, livelier discussions, greater fraternity of the bizzare, and so on. Then you could ask, is it worth the trouble and expense, do the gifted children provide a richer dividend to society, and so on. Maybe yes, maybe no: and then, of course, why this policy or that, which the Government, somewhat haltingly, explains after its own fashion. These are the debated topics. 

Why should kids be treated as gifted, coddled, and given all those advantages? It is an important question, difficult to answer without talking about themes of social equality and so on. Here's an answer: all kids should be treated as gifted. But education in its popular form cannot really do it. Therefore let the smaller part be saved. That is the implicit answer. 

In the end, I think of it as the classroom being a playground. I don't even think there is an inherent difference in the two. If you go to a playground and it's beautiful and inviting and good fun, why, you'd love to play and to experiment and imagine. But as it slowly becomes smaller, more staid, more routine, less colourful, more crowded, and the fun rides are removed, slowly you just end up making the gloomy rounds on the same boring apparatus. That's school; it cramps the hell out of you as it turns you into an adult. So put the question another way, for how long should children be put in the more fun playground, and what good is it to do so? To me, as long as possible. Provided nobody has problems developing into adults, as long as possible. That is the paradox, but let them play.