Rashomoned
A party at a friend's apartment near Scotts Road to usher in the new year - it was December 2009.
Last night this event was called back to mind in the course of a conversation with the host, a friend who has stood by me and given me all kinds of support in the tumult of these recent five years.
Both her helpers had noted that my then husband, to be known henceforth as Hyena in this blog, gobbled down his food. "Not one, but two of them said this to me," said my friend.
"That was how he ate," I said. "He ate like that at home too."
"I didn't expect a commentary on dinner table etiquette from the helpers,"said my friend, "from both of them at that."
The image of my friend's helpers, two middle-aged women with worn hands, one from Indonesia, the other from Thailand, comparing notes on guests and table manners made me think of James Joyce's very long short story The Dead. To be exact, I was thinking that it could be written up as a scene for a similar sort of story to Joyce's - a naturalistic depiction of a slice of Singaporean society at a party.
To be reminded of that evening, and to be told how Hyena and myself in relation to him were perceived and discussed by others not related to us can be described as a Rashomon moment. Different perspectives from different persons of the same event.
Then again, there is also the question of what could then be admitted versus that which is freely admitted to now. The different perspective that comes to light now was hitherto perhaps not so much unknown as unacknowledged.
To my friend, I said in a light tone, "Do you remember Leonard Bast from Howards End? He was invited to tea at the Schlegels after he returned Helen's umbrella - she left it behind at a Beethoven recital. The Schlegels are these liberal upper middle class women who live in a townhouse, and have no financial worries. Leonard Bast was working class, someone who read the same books as they did, but came from a different world. He had never met or known people like the Schlegels before he was invited to Margaret and Helen's home."
Thinking back now, looking back at the relationships, observations recorded as if one were a camera and the inferences that followed did not lead to the most logical of choices. Emotional intelligence, perceptiveness and a strong analytic mind may not good judgment make. A certain casualness, or is it absence of caution, has also proven to be detrimental.
All this can fuel self-hating, or it can be channeled elsewhere to less harmful, less futile ends.
Last night this event was called back to mind in the course of a conversation with the host, a friend who has stood by me and given me all kinds of support in the tumult of these recent five years.
Both her helpers had noted that my then husband, to be known henceforth as Hyena in this blog, gobbled down his food. "Not one, but two of them said this to me," said my friend.
"That was how he ate," I said. "He ate like that at home too."
"I didn't expect a commentary on dinner table etiquette from the helpers,"said my friend, "from both of them at that."
The image of my friend's helpers, two middle-aged women with worn hands, one from Indonesia, the other from Thailand, comparing notes on guests and table manners made me think of James Joyce's very long short story The Dead. To be exact, I was thinking that it could be written up as a scene for a similar sort of story to Joyce's - a naturalistic depiction of a slice of Singaporean society at a party.
To be reminded of that evening, and to be told how Hyena and myself in relation to him were perceived and discussed by others not related to us can be described as a Rashomon moment. Different perspectives from different persons of the same event.
Then again, there is also the question of what could then be admitted versus that which is freely admitted to now. The different perspective that comes to light now was hitherto perhaps not so much unknown as unacknowledged.
To my friend, I said in a light tone, "Do you remember Leonard Bast from Howards End? He was invited to tea at the Schlegels after he returned Helen's umbrella - she left it behind at a Beethoven recital. The Schlegels are these liberal upper middle class women who live in a townhouse, and have no financial worries. Leonard Bast was working class, someone who read the same books as they did, but came from a different world. He had never met or known people like the Schlegels before he was invited to Margaret and Helen's home."
Thinking back now, looking back at the relationships, observations recorded as if one were a camera and the inferences that followed did not lead to the most logical of choices. Emotional intelligence, perceptiveness and a strong analytic mind may not good judgment make. A certain casualness, or is it absence of caution, has also proven to be detrimental.
All this can fuel self-hating, or it can be channeled elsewhere to less harmful, less futile ends.
posted by wheyface at 10:24 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home