Heartbroken: A Pangaea Divided into Nations

Heart broken,
A world divided into nations
Pangaea, i dream of you
I never knew you well
You dwell in my misty childhood legends
Peaceful, seamless continent
You know not of boundaries
No borders to dispute
No cultural divides
No victors, no losers
Heartbroken pangaea
Your land shredded into countries
Your past battles itself —
Now amongst themselves
Your unrestful, war-torn nations divided now rise in pride
They declare their names:
Ambivalence. Alienation. Envy. Regret. Indifference. Despondence. Disillusionment. Dispair. Sorrow. Vexation. Perplexity. Resignation.
They all fight for Independence.
They fight for Contentment.
They fight for Unity.
For an empire in their own name.
Oceans of Time separate your distant territories adrift
Civil wars arising within your jaded countries spring forth new nations:
Compromise. Empathy. Compassion. Wisdom. Enlightenment.
Multilingual, multicultural, multi-perceptual complexity.
Your nations speak through the languages of philosophy, visual arts, poetry, psychology, spirituality.
Although we may sew your nations together —
One world scarred, jaggedly stitched in wary attachments —
Pangaea, you will never be the same.
You have less and yet you have more.
A heart broken, a heart awakened.
A heart defined by its lines.

by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
October 3, 2007

In Search of the Everlasting Perennial?

A small, round glass bowl of orchids
Rests on my square, kitchen table
Delicate, pale pinks crown this simple glass —
Yet their petals are firm, crisp, and young
The unbroken idealist.
The light of a cloudy Sunday afternoon
Illuminates the ribboned lines that spill from dotted centers
The drizzle-beaded bay window
Framed by a pseudo-tropical view of a lush ivy and spider plants adorn the fringes of my window view
Overlooking
Outside, a garden of winter weeds
A square patch of brown, barren earth lie unpopulated with greens
The lawn stoicly waits for a sullen summer.
Oh, spring orchids, so perfectly formed and hopeful
Today.
But what of tomorrow?
I've seen your brothers and sisters wilted and browned,
Your mothers and fathers stooped by age and cynicism
Once beautiful like you are today
Bittersweetly, I look upon your frail beauty and resolute pride
and recognize your fragility
But what of the child
Who sees her first orchid?
Or her first flower?
Was love purely hopeful and non-melancholic once?
Were we too young to remember what it felt like then?
And now too old to forget the loss, we pine for memories
we never lived and never knew?
Should we aspire for a childlike naivete unspoiled by regrets and
long-lived experience?
Or walk a tight-rope life, tottering between tentative hopes and
absolute losses, burdened by the knowledge of life's transience?
Can there be a flower that never dies?
Or must we make do with the perennials that expire
And are reborn anew —
But not the same?
Oh, the sun has broken through the grey clouds!
Can the disappointed hope once again be renewed?


by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
May 20, 2007