Doing the Right Thing!

January 3, 2020

“Ethical behavior is doing the right thing when no one else is watching – even when doing the wrong thing is legal” Aldo Leopoldo.

First time I read it, I was impressed.  Ever since, I value this principle, apply it to my daily life.  I also place this moral standard upon my friends, my co-workers, my family members and even a stranger.  Rich or poor, educated or uneducated, politician or artist, emperor or common people, ethical behavior must live in everyone’s mind and soul.  It differentiates us from beast, so we do not steal, cheat, lie, and are unkind to others.

Do the right thing should be our instinct, something with which we are born.  I remember my professor once said, “We ought to obey rules and do the right thing.  We may think laws and orders take away our freedom for they restrict what we can and cannot do.  For example, one may not cross a street when the red light is on.  If we follow laws and orders, one day, we will realize that what we conform to do becomes what we enjoy doing, what we ought to do turns to what we love doing.  That is when ultimate happiness is achieved.”  It sounded so profound and I could not fully comprehend it first, but it stays with me all these years.

No one should succumb oneself to unethical behavior.  Bad conduct, if it is not corrected and reprimanded, can create a toxic environment, deteriorate our heart and soul.  I once, risked my career to report to the authority of unethical conducts committed by a senior government official.  The process, although took years and I encountered numerous setbacks, I NEVER gave in.   At the end, justice was done.

I take no pleasure seeing anyone lose a job, but my determination to do the right thing restores victim’s hope that no one is above the laws.  If one commits a wrongful act, there are consequences, and in due course, he/she will be punished.   No one, certainly, is untouchable!

A Humble Emperor

November 27, 2019 

While Tang dynasty is considered the golden age in Chinese history, Song dynasty, nevertheless is my personal favorite.   It inherited the wealth from the Tang dynasty and continued to blossom.  Social life during the Song was vibrant.  Technology, science, philosophy, mathematics, and engineering flourished over the course of the Song.  Literature and arts were at their peak.  Many famous Chinese landscape and portrait paintings were created during that periods.  Poetry and calligraphy also profited from the rising popularity. But what intrigues me is a story of a special ruler.

He was not born to be King, but he was chosen by the aging emperor to be his heir mainly because his characters: honesty, kindness, and prudence.  He had a humble background.  Growing up in a peasant family, he understood the importance of foods.  Common people did not care who ruled the country, so long as they could live in a peaceful environment, have a healthy and happy family and never needed to worry about putting foods on table, that was enough.  Wars, poverty, nature disasters were their biggest fear.  This ruler recognized that. 

He enjoyed working on a field.  As a young boy, he often worked on his family rice paddy. During the harvest season, the air of his family’s farm was permeated with the sweet fragrance of ripen grains.  After he became the emperor of Song, he lived inside the concrete walls of his Palace.  He missed the aromas of a farm, the heaven that once provided him with so much reassurance and satisfactory.  He ordered a construction of little rice paddy inside his living quarter. 

When he was not occupied by political affairs or busy with his many wives and concubines, he retreated to his quarter and worked on the “farm”.  He rolled up his “dragon” emperor robe, took off his golden shoes and stepped on the muddy rice field bared foot.    When the grains were ripened, he picked a bundle, crushed the grains on his hand, cupped the little kernels under his nose.   Then his eyes closed, his face began to relax, a smile appeared and he turned to the sky and said: “I have the world!”.

A Narrow Box Canyon

June 22, 2018

We are exhausted after the hike.  Later afternoon, we reach the Colorado River and find a little sandy beach with room just big enough to set our camp.  A creek comes down through a side canyon provides us with cooking and drinking water.  A handsome cottonwood tree gives shelter for the group.  I find a private corner away from the group, set my tent and head to the water.  The temperature of the Colorado River is notoriously cold.  Even with a 100 degrees air temperature, the water never reached above 60 degrees.  I do my wash quickly and hang them on tree branches.  Even at home, I favor hanging my clothes outdoors rather than drying them in dryer.  It is so natural, so environmentally appropriate.  My tent nests underneath the cottonwood tree and is well protected by its branches.  With my laundries spreading around my tent, it looks really cozy and homey.  Coming to the wilderness always gives me the feeling of returning home.

Our leader collects some driftwood to build a campfire.  We cook our dinner and soon darkness is upon us.  Overhead, a patch of stars begins to appear on a velvet sky, the rustling sound of the cottonwood leaf is very soothing.  The early autumn breeze has softened the canyon heat, but we still feel the warmth, our sleeping bag will not be needed tonight.  Some members of our group already talk about camping in the open and sleep under the stars.  We eat our supper around the campfire.  After the pots and pans are put away, we each retrieve to our tent, read, write, sleep or dream. 

Next morning, we explore the side canyon.  That beautiful creek flows out from it has crystal clear water.  I cup a mouthful to taste, refreshingly cool and sweet, better than any beer!  My eyes follow the creek to the canyon’s narrow opening; a young box elder invites us in.   About two hundred yards from the entrance, we discover the ruins of two and three rooms.  In one room, we find an old grinding stone, as smooth as a baby’s bottom.  It is ever a source of wonder to me why these ancient people sought such inaccessible places for their homes, why chose to imprison themselves within these canyon walls. Along the creek, there are springs gushing out from the walls from both sides.  Sometimes a red bud tree grows over the creek.  We come to a dry fall of more than 50 feet.  We find a trail going up to the fall.  Still going up, the canyon narrows ever more, being about 15- feet wide, yet the walls rise on both sides many hundreds of feet, perhaps thousands, I can hardly tell.

The canyon deepens; the air is chill and moist.  We reach to the point we can go no farther.  It is a box canyon.  A huge dry fall stands upon us.  Its vertical wall must be a few hundred feet tall.  At the bottom of the fall is a still pool with dark emerald water.  Around the pool are beautiful maidenhair fern and other delicate foliage.  Few monkey flowers just begin to bloom.  Its crimson buds are as red as a princess’s lips.  All these vegetation gives the box canyon a great beauty.  This little side canyon is truly a delight to walk on.  However, we have little time to spend in admiration.  Time to head back camp.

It is our last day camping by the Colorado.  I watch the river rolls by in silent majesty; the quiet of the camp is sweet, our time spending here is a delight!  I watch the night sky long after midnight thinking of my next desert trip, thinking of many future Grand Canyon excursions with SC, how fortunate I am to have the strength and the mean to pursuit my canyon dreams.   

 

Life After Peace Corps -
  Olive Tree

 

 

September 18, 2018

I found two Oliver trees in Shirlington, Virginia by the river bank of the Four Mile Run.  Someone intentionally planted them there long time ago to memorize an event, I suppose, for finding an olive tree in Virginia is rare.  Early September, the fruits begin to ripen and they bring me back to the time when I lived in Sumgayit, a small village where I served the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan.  The olive trees are everywhere.  By end of summer, all the olives turn black and ready to be harvested. 

 

Picking olive is a family event.  Grandmother lays a big piece of cloth underneath the tree, the youngsters climb up to the highest branch to pluck the darkest ones, Ana (mother) uses an aged wooden stark banging on the tree trunk, in no time, all the shinning black and green olives hitting the ground where grandmother and little girls are eager to collect them.  Grandfather is the oldest member of the family, he does not do much, just looks up to the tree with his hands behind his back, watches his grandchildren laughing and picking the fruits.  Occasionally, he guides his grandchildren to find the biggest ones.  When his grandson hands him a handful, he smiles with an appreciative nod.    One late autumn day, I walked home and found an old man collecting a few olives left on the ground.  I picked up a big one and handed it to him, he gave me a big smile with a “sağolun” and I said “Dəyməz”. 

 

 

Nowadays, I can only remember a few Azerbaijanis, most have already been forgotten.  But the time I spent there, the life I lived, the ancient cultures I witnessed, and the people I encountered, still live deep inside my heart.  The Morning Prayer I contemplated every dawn, still haunts me, still lingers in my head…..

 

 

 

Ku Fu Tea

Ku Fu Tea

 

Growing up, watched my father and uncle to prepare the “Ku Fu” tea with elaborated ceremonial procedures.  First, cleaned the drinking utensils, heated the cups warm to touch, drained the tealeaf three times, boiled the water to the right temperature and poured the steaming water quickly to the tealeaf.  Sat and waited for a minute or so, gingerly picked up the teapot, tilled it to a right angle and poured the tea slowly and steadily to a tiny drinking cup. 

 

What came out is this golden liquid with a light but pleasant fragrant.  I watched my father sipped the tea, kept it inside his month for a few seconds, put down his teacup, swallowed the tea and let out an appreciative sound.  For a young child, this seemingly painstaking process is an amazement and puzzlement.  I observed intensely how the whole saga repeated itself.  I once asked my father to let me taste the tea, it was so bitter than I never asked for a second. 

 Now, whenever I have time, I perform the same ritual with enjoyment.  Remember my aging father, passed away uncle, my culture, my roots……I have finally grown up to value things that matter to me and dear to my heart.

 

Old Adventure Books

 Browsing through my Blog, I am thrilled to re-read some of my old writings.  They are not the perfect essays, but they honestly and happily chronicled my life from year 2009 to 2012 when I was living in central Asia.  Since I moved back to the States, my daily life is cluttered with monotonous events.   Hardly could I find time to relax, to contemplate, to take walk and more importantly to read and to write.  What I miss the most is to indulge myself in adventure stories of faraway places.  I could easily spend hours on an old adventure book and be happy.  Back in old days, unspoiled wilderness was still possible to find.   Hi-Tec, hiking and backpacking equipment did not exist, and explorers had to rely on their skills to reach remoted places.  Their incredible adventure stories were full of excitements, hardships and wonders, they were real escapade and not fabricated travelling tale.   

 Maybe that is why I love backpacking.  Only through hardship one can see untamed beauty.

Oh Tiger Woods

November, 2017

 

I have recently seen Tiger Woods’ mugshot on internet and what a shame!  This man used to have everything, money, fame, beautiful wife, cut kids, and caring parents.  Overnight, they disappeared.  He lost his greatness in golf, his wife divorced him, his health deteriorated, and the saddest part is, he could not pick himself up and take full responsibilities of what he did. He turned to drugs, heavy drinking, isolation, loneliness and self-pity.  To err is human.  We all go through life with periods of difficulty.  We are allowed to grieve, to get mad, to be depressed and even to do stupid things.  Nevertheless, once we let them out of our system, time to move on.

 A recent article published in ESPN.com suggested that “Tiger is facing the reckoning that all young and powerful men face, the end of that youth and power, and a future spent figuring out how those things might be mourned and possibly replaced”.  I disagree.  Tiger Woods is not old! He is only 41.  For a man it is just the beginning of life.  We have an old Chinese saying, “Man at his 40s, is like a flower just started to boom, whereas Woman at her 40s, is like a used tea bag, no more value”.  In theory, Tiger is at his peak.  Can he be a great golfer again, can he build a new family with another woman for a second time, can he be a good father once again to his children, can he regain his health, and importantly, can he be a Tiger Woods again?  If there is will, there is a way.  People do not say that because it sounds good, but because it is the absolute true!  

 People today still trying to figure out the causes of his failures. They even put the blame on Tiger’s father Earl.  At Tiger’s younger age, his father may have some influence on him, but once he reached adulthood, he was on his own.  So stop the blaming game.  Personally, I think money and fame have something to do with it.  When a person has too much money or fame, it is not a good thing.  Money can provide and can destroy as well.   Fame, is about power, too much of the power means obsession, life can get so complicated when you have both.  If I were Tiger Woods, I would disappear, forget his trouble for a moment and turn his focus to others, perhaps travel to faraway places where no one knows who he is. Return his life to basic and see how simple people live.  Maybe he will discover why the poor people manage to survive with so little, but they are happy.  Why a penniless climber is elated when he reaches a peak? Why a retiree is content watching sunrise and sunset every day.  Why a little boy enjoys catching fish in a creek and why a woman cries with joy when she sees her new born.  Those are things that Tiger Woods never had a chance to experience.   

 

Maybe he will find happiness again by living as Eldrick Tont Woods (he real name), instead of the famous Tiger Woods, even just one day.

 

Promise

Promise

July 25, 2017

 

Webster Dictionary defines promise as “a declaration that one will do or refrain from doing something specified”.  Chinese symbols for promise is:

 

The 1^st character means “utmost sincere”, the 2^nd symbol means “word”.   Both words have a very commanding annotation: Integrity, which means consistency between thought and action.  Nothing upsets me more than receiving a false assurance and later it is broken with an irresponsible and shameless excuse.  Keeping one’s promises matter! Nobody should make promise that he/she does not intend to keep.  When getting to know someone, it is crucially important to watch for his or her consistency in words and deed.  To a healthy person, it is of paramount importance to “say what I mean, and mean what I say”.  Unfortunately, that is such a rare quality in today’s society.

I have a friend, the nicest person in the world, very friendly, very cheerful, and very accommodating.  He is a good father, a good husband, a good grandfather, and a good friend.  If you ask him for a favor, he will not hesitate to extend his helping hand.  However, when it is time for him to honor his pledge, he fails miserably with many poor excuses.  “My friend is visiting me, I cannot do it”, “I am sorry, my wife would not allow me to leave the house” or “Something just comes up, I need to cancel our plan”.    In other words, he has better options, he changes his mind and that is that! He breaks his promises so lightly that he does not even feel badly of breaking it.  His apology habitually comes with a charming smile, which irritates me even more.    Making plan with him is the most frustrating thing.  

Many who break promises want to be liked. They view being liked as the most important thing. They make a promise because they want your approval, your high regard or your respect.   They are not worried about tomorrow. They only care how it goes right now. If the interaction with you goes well, then their job is done – for now, which is all that matters.

I was bought up to be a dutiful daughter to my family, a reliable person to my friends, and an honest citizen to my country.  I perform and fulfil those promises every day.  Even when I have a 103-degree temperature, I still pick myself up to attend a meeting that everyone is expecting me.  Integrity is for yourself. Yes, others benefit from your having integrity, but the basic reason you strive for consistency in words/ideas and practice is for yourself. Without integrity, you will never feel a sense of serenity. The degree to which you lack integrity is the degree to which you become at odds with reality.

Work on integrity within yourself. That way, you will expect the same from others, and you will not settle for anything less. Raise the bar on yourself, and you are much more likely to attract the right people and drive away the wrong ones. Today, I no longer associate with this friend for I truly believe my life is better off without him.

In Due Course

In DUE COURSE
May 12, 2017

I never a fan of politicians.  They all start as an ordinary people like us, but once they become a congressman, senator or political leader, everything changes.  First it is the money.  Overnight, their source of income expands; their bank account receives untraced wire transfers.  After a few years, they move to an upscale neighborhood.  Making lunch reservation at the Russian tearoom is no longer required.  A luxury hotel suit is made available to them with no cost.  Now, they fly 1^st class or receive offers from business billionaires to use their private jet for free. Their spouse, kids, relatives and in-laws benefit too.  Their children go to prestige Ivy League school even they clearly are not qualified.  After graduation, they receive outrages salary by doing odd jobs.   Their criminal relatives, in-laws and friends receive pardon even their sins are unpardonable.

 

 Once upon a time, these politicians loved to talk to church folks, university students, street vendors, blue-collar workers and housewives, volunteered their time to help grassroots organizations, and offered free speeches to inspire youngsters.  Today, they are busy playing golf with Wall Street CEOs, sailing with tycoons, wining and dining with foreigner diplomats.  If you ask them to support your charitable event, or to invite them to your fund raising gala, they expect something in return, percentage of your collected funds have to be “donated” to their private “charitable foundation”.   If you cannot afford them, no matter, plenty of Wall Street CEOs, and CFOs are willing to pay them large sum for making speeches, and of course, not for nothing.     The Clinton is such corrupted politician.

Over the years, I have watched the Clinton, both husband and wife, shifting their political views to whichever way the wind blew, lying about their lies to justify their more lies, betraying their friends for political gains, and worse of all, making fault promises to the Americans to gain their votes.  When they were caught, first they denied, then they blamed others, and if unsuccessful, their best defense was almost always the same, “right wing conspiracy”.  The night Hillary Clinton was defeated by Donald Trump, I was asleep.  When I heard the news in the morning, I could not believe that was real.  But it was more than real.   I was elated.      

I always believe that God, in due course, condemns mortals who are dishonest, evil and greedy.  In Clinton’s case, it took a long time, so long that everyone, including myself almost believed that the Clinton was God’s favorite children and they could get away with murder. But Clinton’s denunciation from God comes with a perfect moment.    I wish I could see Hillary’s face when she first realized her “glass ceiling” dream was shattered.  She will never be the 1^st female president of the United States.   As for Bill Clinton, his punishment will come someday, maybe worse than what his wife received.

It was a good feeling to see bad people get punished, to know God indeed is fair and has its plan. 

 

That Special Tree

July 19, 2015

 

First spring moved to Virginia, I was pleasantly surprised to discover so many mulberry trees growing around my neighborhood.  I just returned from Peace Corps - Azerbaijan and still felt nostalgia for the uncomplicated life there.  So seeing a mulberry tree is like seeing an old friend from Azerbaijan.  In the village where I lived, nearly every house has a mulberry tree in its court yard.   Right before summer arrives; the mulberry begins to ripen.  Women place a huge blanket or tarpaulin beneath a mulberry tree, children kick, hit and shakes its branches playfully as instructed by their mother or grandmother.  Their playful action brings down all the ripen mulberries down to the ground.  Women collect those precious little berries and make jam for their homemade breads.  My host mother makes the best mulberry jam.  The taste of that sweet delectable glue on toast is one of my much-loved breakfasts in Azerbaijan.        

 

Just down the hill by where I live in Virginia , there are two mulberry trees.  One bears black fruit and the other has white berry.  The white one growing on the hillside is my favorite.  The fruits are bigger and sweeter.  The tree boughs are strong and healthy; its leaves are big with shinning dark emerald hue.  Although the tree is very tall but some of its branches bend downward and allow a petite person like me to have easy access to its fruits.  Early June, I walk by the tree every evening after work and collect its berries.  Mixing them with yoga, I eat these miracle fruits two weeks straight for lunch.  Berries of any kind are antioxidant.  Besides providing me with the best nutrition, the fruit is gift from god, free of charge.    My neighbors often stop and look at me with odd stare, drivers slowdown on sidewalk wondering what in the world I am doing.   I guess “civilized” people do not pick fruits directly from tree.  They would rather purchase them from supermarket! 

 

Even after the fruit picking season is over, the tree continues to intrigue me.  Its fallen fruits provide feast to many birds and squirrels.  Leftover ones decay and fertilize the earth.  After the initial acquaintance with the tree, I visit it often.  Especially on a hot summer day, its thick foliage offers a cooling canopy.  Many times, I image myself hanging a hammock under the tree, look up to the rustling leaves above my hammock, fall asleep and have many many wonderful dreams.   

 

One evening returning home from work, I looked up the tree and saw a bird with bright red breast, perching on a branch and singing its heart out.  Then a black squirrel rattled up and down the tree barks, chasing the bird out of its territory.  I stood there enjoying the saga unfolded.  Gradually the sky turned pale, gray and then dark.  Afterward a magic began.  Tiny sparkling of lights came into view underneath the tree.  They were fireflies.  As an urban dweller living most of my life in New York City, seeing a firefly is exciting to me.  I was acting like a little girl, chasing and catching the lights.  Despite the mosquito bite and the unbearable itches, I lingered under this special mulberry tree for as long as I could.   

 

That night in bed, the vision of that tree, calm, enduring, with the wind whispering through their boughs, brought sleep and memories of the peaceful periods in Azerbaijan.

 

Responsibility

January 16, 2017

Two months after the election, some folks still refuse to accept the result. Hillary and her team continue to blame others for her lost.  I dislike politician for most of them are egotistic and lack of a true motive to serve the public.  They may start with a good intention, but soon surrender to temptation; money, fame and power.  Hillary and her husband are the epitome of today politician.  I am not a fan of Trump but he had the audacity to voice what most of us afraid to say, so he is a better choice.  

While most of us are ready to move on and accept Trump to be the next president, some arrogant democrat including the Clinton, continue to play the blaming game.  It is everyone’s fault but theirs.  For them, accepting responsibility of their action is the hardest time to do.  To admit they are wrong is sin.  Not only have they lost the election, they have lost their self-respect.  I pity them.

I was a Peace Corps Volunteer.  My contribution to the world is no less than that of the president of the United States for my motive is pure and humble.  I admire candidates who run their campaign at the grassroots level, visiting small towns by bus and not by private jet, asking ordinary citizen and not the Wall Street billionaires to fund their campaign, talking to mum and pop and not Hollywood celebrities about their unpretentious daily life and wearing a regular clothing and not a designer outfit to shake our hands.     

Hillary’s lost is inevitable.  Anyone runs a campaign and lives his/her public life as supercilious as hers will fail.  History will validate that.

Writing

Writing

January 22, 2016

Over the years, I have written many adventure stories and short essays, made countless entries to my face book and blog.  My affection of writing stems from reading; and my passion of reading springs from my innate aspiration of adventure, and endless love of nature.  

My early writings, received unexpected attention from friends and strangers, but they were “raw”, marginally acceptable; plain, full of errors and as such received countless attacks from one reader.   I never paid much attention to his insensitive and cruel remarks, for I know deep down inside he enjoyed reading my stories or he would not keep analysis them and came up with those remarks.  Nonetheless, I did begin to pay more and more attention to my writing including narrative skill, appropriate grammar, and organization of storylines.  I read more intensively, when come across some good descriptive words, skillful sentences, I memorize them and try to apply them on my next writing.  Sometimes, I find myself completely lost in my reading, unaware of my surrounding and indulge myself to a piece of good adventure story.   My friends begin to think that I am growing odd, eccentric, and even anti-social.

Their reaction reminds me of a classmate in the 5^th grade.  He was a quiet fellow, average student and always sat in a corner with his head down, totally absorbed in whatever he was doing.  One day, his behavior caught our teacher’s attention.   He was asked to stand up and show his hands.  What we saw was astonishing, delicate little animal figures carved out of a piece of chalk were exposed.  I don’t remember what punishment he received, but it did not stop him from carving.  He continued to live intensely in his own world making beautiful figurines.  As soon as he had a piece of white chalk in one hand and a knife in the other, he was happy.

Writing is a lonely process but it is satisfactory one. It is this strange satisfaction, this joy of molding words into sentences that gives me the most profound incentives to writing.  It is difficult to explain and hard for others to understand.  It is similar to the joy my 5^th grade classmate had; his chief delight in life was to crave a figure out of a chalk.

To my friends who think I am growing odd, all I can say to them is: they have no idea of the fun I am having!   

I may never be able to sell a story for a penny, but if I have written a sentence that “sings”, I pay myself a million dollars.