Surviving My First Ramadan

I had absolutely no intentions whatsoever to fast for Ramadan - I thought the whole notion of giving up food for an entire month was absolutely completely ridiculous. Who would want to go a month without one of the best things ever?

Well, I was up against Benje, the most persuasive man in the universe and before I knew it I was committed to a two day trial of fasting. So here's how it works: during Ramadan you can eat from sunset to sunrise, which is in Pakistan from 7 PM to 3 AM. Even water is not allowed.

I decided to keep a log, in minute detail, of my first's days struggle of fasting.

2:13 am: Can't sleep, freaking out

*Iqbal (the live-in in office caretaker at AMC) knocks on my door with breakfast, I'm up anyway*

2:45 am: Aaaaggghhhhh!!! (half battle cry half groan)

3:15 am: Fuck I have 10 minutes before I'm out of time for eating and this oatmeal isn't going down fast enough. Eating at 3 am is so unnatural

3:22 am: 2 minutes!!! I think I have To fridge the oatmeal

3:24 am: Times up. Just downed 3 glasses of water on top of all that food, I feel nauseous

3:25 am: I can hear prayers from the nearby mosques. These guys run like clockwork

3:29 am: Getting ready for bed again, this experience kind of feels like the 10 day vipasana meditation I did

3am breakfast

8:45 am: Late alarm, snooze

9:02 am: No water for 10 hours... Okay I can do this

10:30 am: Got up to get a glass of water, realized that I needed to sit my butt down

11:51 am: I'm hungry, when's lunch? Oh… right

2:41 pm: Soooo… hungry…

4:12 pm: Productivity = 0....

4:52 pm: Time to leave for my first Ifthar at the Amal Academy!

5:01 pm: Everything looks so edible. Like that bottle of honey. I can down an entire bottle of honey right now

6:00 pm: I see dim sum when I close my eyes. It's so steaming hot and fresh off the tray

6:01 pm: Open your eyes Henry!!

7:41 pm: This is so weird. I am hungry and I want to keep eating but I can't

9:53 pm: Time to load up on water. Right before bedtime.

11:03 pm: Okay and finally shutting down for bed! That's my first fast.... Was tough but not nearly as much as I thought it would be

2:41 am: Here we go again!! Grateful my electricity load shedding schedule lines up with this

The breaking of fast is called Ifthar and Benje was kind enough to host one at the Amal Academy with the storm of a feast prepared by his program director Sarah. We kicked things off with a meditation followed by a brief podcast on the purpose of Ramadan, a holy time in Islam that represents community, spiritual purification, and an empathetic immersion in what it is like to be someone less fortunate. It is a beautiful practice of spirituality and I have so much respect for the billion plus Muslims who do this every single year.

Too busy stuffing my face to take this picture, I think this photo credit goes to Benje

After I completed my two day commitment, I decided to go the whole mile for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to immerse in a global immersion and spirituality alongside others who are doing exactly the same thing, and maybe learn a little bit more about myself and the world around me in the process. #Benjesfault.

In the spirit of community, a few of my colleagues at AMC decided have Ifthar at the office every single night. Some of my fondest memories of Ramadan were waiting in excruciating agony through the final mile and at last dining with them at the end of a long day of fasting. I learned that the hardest part about fasting wasn't actually about the fasting, but around managing high spirits through a really messed up sleep cycle that starts with breakfast every morning at 2:30 AM. Ramadan is also a team effort where there were times when I would wake up Iqbal to make sure he didn't miss his breakfast window.

Friends who I can starve with (left to right) Ahmad, Iqbal, Ammar and Iram

The end of Ramadan is supposed to culminate in Eid, a massive celebration comprising of eating nonstop, but I had a fairly anti-climatic end to my month of fasting in terms of eating and drinking. I traveled to the northern areas of Pakistan where the Ismaili community in that region doesn't unanimously fast through Ramadan. My friend Saad graciously organized the entire journey and it was an adventure of a lifetime. However, travelling through Eid on the way back was a feat of epic endurance in itself and I found myself without food for a whole 29 hour journey as a means of avoiding getting sick in the wind the cliff hanging mountain roads.

Four hour traffic jam caused by a landslide up ahead

The rewards of an epic journey

Arranging for transportation towards the end of Eid was near impossible and Saad saved my ass so many times. When I arrived to Islamabad, no public transportation was running so I had to spend an unexpected night at a hotel where I was eaten alive by bedbugs.

Not my usual irresistably attractive self after a 29 hour journey without food

While I had a bit of a different experience than I should have had because of my travels, and may have lost out on a spiritual awakening because of it, I will always look back on Ramadan with fondness. It really is a time when people come together to share a common humanity and struggle, and to empathize with those who have less in the world. It is also time of self-control, to learn much about oneself and what one is capable of in separating the temptations of the world from what is truly necessary to live a full life. It is also a personal practice, much like anything else to do with spirituality, the eye of beholder is empowered to choose what they how far they are willing to go in service of reaching spiritual enlightenment.

Not only did I miss out the proper way to finish off Eid, but upon returning my colleagues have compiled a very creative way to make sure that they get their Eidi which is the Muslim version of Chinese red pockets. Blast!

So with that, I wish everybody a much belated Eid Mubarak!

Three Watermelons

Lahore's heat can be a prison. When the temperature hits highs of 44 degrees, all I want to do is stay inside my air conditioned bubble and never go outside. 

As I stepped out to get some air this morning, a gushing cool breeze smacked me right in the face lifting all anxieties about facing yet another scorching day in the city. I immediately rushed my bike out the front gate and set out to explore, screaming at the top of my lungs as I hit the main road and was greeted with another windy assurance that I wasn't going to suffer in the heat.

After half an hour on the go and riding past the beautiful old city, I set out towards unknown roads and stumbled into the rawest part of Lahore that I have seen to date. Donkey and horse carts dominated the road, elbowing against rickshaws and massive transportation trucks to move through a busy industrial market road. Busy laborers pushed their wares into brightly painted cargo trucks against a backdrop of dilapidated crude homes made of brick juxtaposed with stunning yellow mosque standing confidently as a symbol of the local faith. Not a single modern sedan, a symbol of wealth and growing income disparity in Pakistan, was in sight. 

Just as Pakistani's regularly glare upon me as a rare foreign specimen in the country, I felt as though I was looking outward through my helmet's visor into an aquarium of a world foreign to me. My mind filled with fascination as I peered outward and soaked in the sights, sounds and smells. Eventually, traffic came to a standstill as opportunistic truckers, rickshaw drivers and animal cart masters edged each other into gridlock. 

As I sat in traffic, bearing the heat now rising above 30 degrees, an elderly man in his 70's started setting up his watermelon "shop" only four feet away from me. He took three watermelons from the bag slung over his shoulder and carefully placed them across a plastic bag he had laid out on the ground. As a man dignified enough not to beg even despite his age, he took great pride in making sure that each of his watermelons was positioned just right to be as presentable as possible to his customers.

In the midst of a flurry of human activity, animal feces, constant dust from the nearby industrial activity, and garbage littered all across the landscape, this man's best shot at earning his day's income was to sell watermelons on the ground just inches off the main road. I couldn't help but think what would happen to him if a careless commuter destroyed one of his watermelons - he would lose a third of his day's revenue, pay the full cost of a smashed watermelon and possibly wouldn't be able to feed himself for the day. From his squatted perch on the ground, he proudly started shouting probably something along the lines of "get these watermelons while you can, they're the best ever!" in Urdu. 

Traffic started moving as commuters further up ahead negotiated the terms of releasing the gridlock. Their terms were likely along the lines of "I'll keep moving forward until either you back off or I get impatient of sitting here in which case I'll back off". With the man and his three watermelons in my rear view mirror, I reflected on the life ahead of me as an aspiring social entrepreneur. I have been feeling incredible anxiety recently around the money, or lack thereof, that comes at the intersection of "social" and "entrepreneur". 

Today I gained a new perspective from the man and his watermelons. No matter how much I feel like my back is against the wall, or how empty my bank account and my stomach may feel, I'll always remember: I'm probably not down to three watermelons.

How Media Slowly Dehumanizes Humanity

I have been thinking lots lately about how media should really serve to unite humanity by serving as a channel for us to learn about one another, yet it has evolved into a channel that dehumanizes people and paints those different from ourselves as “the other”.

What went wrong, and what can be done to make it better?

Example 1: Amplification of "The Other"

Take a look at this first example of a beautiful photo series that popped up on my Facebook feed a month ago on nomadic Reindeer herders in Mongolia. I was first mesmerized by the photos and the culture of the people, but in later reflection over a month later I realized that there’s actually several nuances which underpin why this piece takes humanity further part:

• A need to make some humans "exotic" and different: "This richly unique, aboriginal people is one of the smallest, most obscure in Asia"
• Recognition of the photographer as the only human being: Nobody from this "richly unique" group of people gets a name or words to speak. They are seen through the looking glass of the photographer's camera. 
• Rewards for capturing "the other": Tremendous credit is given to the photographer for his ability to seek and capture these photos of such a remote people
• Emphasis on Western superiority: "And with a Ph. D. in Sanskrit and Tibetan Studies from Harvard, Sardar-Afkhami was the perfect person to chronicle their lives." 
• It may be a little known secret that Tibet is not Mongolia, Harvard is based the US not Asia, and Mongolian is based on 6 languages outside of Sanskrit. So what makes this individual the best person to chronicle their lives?

The implication with the way this is presented is that anybody with a prestigious Western education is suddenly a superior authority on matters relative to locals who are immersed in their environments, and if this person goes far enough in the field, all of the sudden they are immensely rewarded for their ability to capture those who can only be seen through a looking glass.

Example 2: The World as the Western Playground

Let's take a look at this second example profiling the work of National Geographic photographers around the world. The video shows stunning images captured by NatGeo and the photographers behind them. 

• 100% of the photographers profiled are white. 100%. Not a single one from an ethnic minority, for an institution that prides itself on immersing in the world. 
• Yet, their pictures are incredibly exotic. Exotic places juxtaposed with exotic animals and... exotic people. 

When it was founded in 1888, the world was a much different place: a playground for Western colonial influences across the globe. People cherished exotic spices from India, animal hides from South America, tusks from Africa and silk from China. And human curiosity drove NatGeo's founding and growth: what are people who live across the world truly like?

Fast forward to today where anyone could drop down anywhere in the world within 24 hours, and digital media can reach people instantaneously in real time. NatGeo's survival depends on ignoring these advances and continuing to highlight the "exoticness" of the nature and people captured by its illustrious photographers. 

As highlighted in the video above, the world isn't much different than in 1888 where the west saw the rest as a playground for its own exploration and the rest are just humans who serve to provide a momentary glimpse that can be consumed and discarded.

Example 3: The Invisible Human 

Lastly, this third example highlighting the impact of climate change shows how humans can be peripheral to a narrative on a broader issue.

The woman in this photo is center focused and takes up 50% of the frame, yet her existence isn't even acknowledged until 3/4 of the way down the narrative. She receives no name, and again is shown as "the other" with no descriptor but that she is a "local Urohobo people".

In Conclusion

My criticism isn't specifically towards National Geographic or other institutions which thrive on setting forward journalistic excellence in documenting humanity, and I do believe NatGeo inspires people to more closely examine the world around them. At the end of the day, these institutions are driven by photographers who are genuinely passionate about showing the world what the world is like and these photographers individually are truly connected to the world around them.

In aggregate when it all comes together, media has turned to putting human beings behind the looking glass much like an antique is placed inside a glass cage in a museum. These humans are to be awed and bespectacled, and when the viewer is done consuming these individuals for their own intellectual curiosity, they are cast aside for the next one.

It's no wonder there is more media attention on the new royal princess than the 7,000 who perished in the Nepalese earthquake, or how the lost lives of 12 Parisians drawing controversial cartoons created way more buzz than the 2,000 who died in Boko Haram atrocities in North Nigeria. After all, they are "the other".

These perceptions and lack of empathy should be a thing of the past given how hyper-connected our modern world is, yet chronic barriers to our interconnectedness lead to real world implications. These barriers make it that much easier for the pilot of a military drone to carry out his mission, or for a corporate executive to choose economic gains over the livelihoods of the people being displaced by the company's factory.

There's several things which I feel need to be done about this... the solutions are far from easy but I believe the below guiding principles serve as a starting point:

1) Bring forward commonalities, not divides, between people

We're all born the same with the same red blood, yet media starts with the differences between people not what brings them in common. How are we supposed to become empathetic to those from a different religious, sexual, cultural, etc. orientation from us if the starting point is that these people are not like us?

2) Dignify people with their own name

A dog without a name is a stray, while a dog with a name is the cherished companion of a lucky person. When people are highlighted in media without a name, they instantly become harder to empathize with. Sure, sometimes names are hard to pronounce and therefore not publicized, but regardless this is important in dignifying the humanity of an individual.

3) Let locals tell their own stories 

There is a notion in journalism of giving people a voice, as though marginalized individuals around the world can’t speak for themselves until a foreign educated journalist comes their way. 

This is why I love initiatives such as the Aspen New Voices program which empowers and trains talented individuals in the developing world to share their experiences with the rest of the world. My good friend James Kassaga Arinaitwe is an alumni of this program and I can see how his passion for sharing stories from Uganda has inspired conversations across the globe on what his country truly needs to advance. You can follow his Twitter to get a sense of the local perspective.

4) Give them an audience

However, arming locals to tell their stories doesn't matter if it falls on deaf ears. When was the last time the average person opened up an article by a Ugandan on education in Uganda, or a Pakistani on why Pakistan has a much deeper and beautiful culture than the world currently comes to believe?

That's where I am really curious about how we tell stories. If these locals start telling stories using guiding principles #1 and #2 above, will that provide a fresh perspective and narrative the world is dying to hear? 

What do you think?

Real Courage Faces Within... (and More Motorcycle Diaries!)

Blog entry written mostly from the side of the road on April 3, 2015.

This is as close as I'll ever get to real-time motorcycle diaries. As the road rushes beneath my feet and wind hits my face while cruising around town with Da Bang (my beloved motorbike), oxygen blasts through my lungs and thoughts race through my mind. I decided to try something new and pull over to a safe spot on the side of the road anytime there was anything worth documenting for a blog entry. I pulled over at least a dozen times in writing this blog.

Reflections on Courage

Lahore's cobweb of roads and motorways are at last imprinting pathways into my memory. What seemed to be an intimidating sprawling metropolis of under-lit roads and impatient drivers now feels like a tranquil sea of vehicles and drivers making their way through the world. I pull over across the road from the Data Durbar Complex, one of the oldest Muslim shrines in South Asia. Its enchanting architecture and immense crowds have an inexplicable allure for me each time I pass by, but I have always chosen to ride on. Not this time. 

Data Durbar is a Sufi shrine, a monument dedicated to what is known to be the mystical or psycho-spiritual dimension of Islam. I park Da Bang at a lot separated from the shrine by a road with a non-stop torrent of pedestrian-ignorant traffic. How hypocritical is it that I feel so vulnerable to the flow of traffic when traversing it with my feet, yet I feel so invincible when on a motorcycle with a tank of combustible fuel straddled between my legs.

When in Rome, do as the locals do. I pace across the road with someone who looks like he actually knew what he was doing before arriving at an old market street jammed with curious metal vats of food and trinket shops along the walls of the shrine.

Heavily armed guards stand watch on top of watchtowers and behind barricades of concrete. I remind myself that the guns are there to protect me, not knowing until later researching this shrine that a suicide attack in 2010 killed 50 and wounded another 200 because the Taliban amounts Sufi practices to grave worshiping. 

Metal barriers. Barbed wire tracing the tops of walls. Four rounds of extensive full body padding and metal detection checks. The last guard asks where I am from. China, my alibi of choice in this part of the world. He comes in and gives me a huge hug, a warm smile, and welcomes me to the shrine. There are times I absolutely love Chinese foreign direct investment.

The inside of the shrine is a completely different world from the one outside of it. Bright white walls deafen the sound of the madness of the streets, creating a serene feeling of peace and calm. Tall white minarets pierce ambitiously upwards, grasping confidently into the brightly lit Lahore night sky. Painted green domes hold meaning in a religion I have yet to understand, but they do look gorgeous.

Circles of friends join each other in prayers, social updates and laughter. Teenagers sneak in selfies where photos are otherwise prohibited. Their more respectable counterparts silently face the front of the shrine, offering prayers to their God and seeking the deepest reaches of their spiritual practice. 

The shrine's walls are full of people teeming with curiosity about a foreigner in their midst. Is he Afghani? Who is he? Friend, do you know the history of the place? Why would you come here if you don't? Well, I'm glad you decided to come and visit.

I stand in compete awe of the peaceful tranquility and the magnificence of the shrine's ambitious architecture. This wasn't the Pakistan I had learned to fear as I grew up in my society.

I reflect on the notion of courage. When I was assigned to a field placement in Pakistan, I took a leap of faith to believe that there must be something in the country beyond what the media portrayed it to be. However, I don't feel I was being courageous when I signed on the dotted line. Nor when I hopped on the motorbike. Nor when I hopped off the motorbike and cross an unforgiving stream of traffic. Nor when I decided to visit the shrine despite obvious security risks.

I felt real courage when I accepted that I could be wrong. I had to look deep within and accept that my perceptions of the country were wrong, and that a man with a beard and a gun could possibly be a friend, not an extremist. When I did so, and stared my own ugly prejudice of the world straight in the face, I felt scared yet brave at seeing that which I did not want to see within myself. Courage is to accept the possibility that there is a whole paradigm out there beyond what I know, accept and believe.

The question I keep hearing from others is why aren't there more counter-narratives which go against the norm? My question I am now asking myself is where can we find the courage use these counter-narratives to look within and change our beliefs of the world?

Enough philosophy... motorcycle fun time!

As I frantically jot down my thoughts into words before they become fleeting whispers in my mind, a sedan starts backing into me. Locals come rushing over, banging furiously on the sedan's trunk to stop the driver from scratching up Da Bang. I thank them for their help and ride on.

I discover that the real treat of the evening is cruising the tight alleyways of Lahore's walled city. Much of the wall has been dismantled, its bricks re-purposed to provide shelter for the local residents. However, the walled city has retained its charm and is truly like stepping into a blast from the past.

Even at 11pm, the old city is teeming with life. Narrow lanes are characteristically jam packed with shops, restaurants, donkeys, vehicles and people. Billiards tables are squeezed brilliantly in the tightest confines as teens idle away their Friday evening over a game of 8 ball. The gradient of the walled city left me careening through some lanes downhill while flooring it against steep uphill curves in others. Each and every intersection spells adventure. The left turn here looks interesting. Now the right turn is more lively, I wonder where that music is coming from. Some lanes are well lit and busy while others hauntingly beautiful as my HID lights paint streaks of shadow across the dark and ancient urban landscape. 

I blaze through the walled city, evading people and vehicles in what amounts to skiing through a moving forest. My dexterity and spatial awareness, at the very brink of their limitations, are the only thing stopping unsuspecting pedestrians from receiving a light tap on the elbow from the side mirrors of Da Bang. It is the ultimate urban adventure. 

I emerge from the other end of the walled city as though I just surfaced from an incredible scuba dive. My adrenaline dies down and I am left with a feeling of familiarity in this fascinating city of over 10 million people.

I made it home after midnight. Poor Iqbal, our office caretaker, locked the gate and I had to wake him up to let me in. The man deserves an award for being so happy to see me every time I ask him for something, even if I'm waking him up in the middle of the night.

Even with electricity shortages, Lahore still makes a spectacular effort to look gorgeous at night

Necessity Versus Desperation

Necessity: A family of four on a motorbike

Desperation: Four dudes on a motorbike

Big Moves, Small Moves

Small moves are where we default when we want something change. If we are unhappy or hitting a plateau we might pick up a new book, test-drive a mid-life crisis Miata, purchase a new watch or take up a new yoga class. Small moves hardly move lives and fall easy prey to markets wanting to convert these moves into easy consumerist profit.

Big moves transform lives and change the world. Pursuing the life of a passionate artist, quitting a job to become a travel writer, opening a bakery, telling the crush of your life that you are into her, hitchhiking across a country, becoming a humanitarian: all of these big moves require us to leave something behind to embrace the possibility of something that is truly different than what we’ve had before. And in most cases, big moves make the world a better place.

The catch? Big moves are scary as hell.

Anticipate the Irrational

I was cruising on my bike today when a driver suddenly decided to serve over to the side of the road, presumably to check for directions, and nearly wiped me out in the process. Her abrupt maneuver, inability to signal her intention and absolute ignorance of my presence demonstrated such a lack of skill and judgment that I was impressed. Luckily, my batman-ninja-like reflexes kept me out of trouble.

It got me thinking how I must not only mind my own world but also anticipate the irrationality of others simply to survive. I spent the rest of the ride reflecting on how often outcomes in life are predicated on someone else's inability to exercise good judgment. It happens all the time. Whether we are choosing which grocery store checkout to use or negotiating a business deal, we could make the optimal choice but end up getting screwed. If markets were truly efficient then arbitrage would not be possible. And we all make sub-optimal choices. Our brains simply can't be on all the time.

Competency is the ability to consistently make prudent decisions in a chaotic world. Life is what happens when you didn't get the job because the other less competent candidate connected closely to the interviewer over fantasy football.

If there is such a thing as a formula for success, I envisage it to be along the lines of appeal to reason, engage on emotion, and anticipate the irrational.

The Making of Arrival: My Foray into Music

Learning how to produce music has been on my mind for close to a year and I finally set aside the time and space to make it happen. My first song has finally been released and I put probably 150+ hours into composing this piece and learning all the technicalities in making it happen. 

This really was an insane labour of love and probably one of the most hardcore projects I have ever taken on, which is why I decided to document it in detail here!

Here's the link to the track - you can also download the song from this link: https://soundcloud.com/henrychim/arrival

Best looking album art. Ever. 

Henry the.... Musician?
I was first inspired to make music during my time in India. It was probably the spiritual pinnacle of my life and amazing music just started entering my head out of nowhere. The music in my head got so much more beautiful and real during my 10 day silent vipassana meditation in Nepal. I would hear music in my head and be able to direct it, almost as though there was a musical conductor inside my head who actually knew what he was doing. Solely by picking an emotion I wanted to transmit, I would hear the music change direction and begin channeling that emotion. It was incredible.

I knew I had to learn the tools and tricks of the trade so that the world could enjoy what I was hearing inside my head. It took almost a year to finally set aside the time to do justice to this hobby. At the same time I was thinking about making music, I met a German DJ named Ulf who taught me my first few tricks in Ableton Live in Kochi, Kerala. 

To this day, I still hear beautiful tunes in my head but they sound nowhere near as good as when I was at my spiritual pinnacle in South Asia. 

Inspiration for Arrival
During the Partner Gathering, which was a send-off of sorts for the Global Fellows in NYC, I was quite sad to leave the city and the wonderful community I had around me. My friend and Vancouver+Acumen chapter leader Marica reminded me that rather than thinking I am departing from somewhere, I should think of myself as arriving. With arriving comes new possibilities, adventures and friendships. So I thought about that distinction during the entire flight and my first few weeks of my field placement. I aspired to capture my emotions of arriving to a new place, combined with the cosmic-level craziness that is within the confines my brain, into a song... and the song is called Arrival.

Then I had a dream about 6 weeks about Transformers. Autobots and Decepticons were battling in a giant space crystal and Optimus Prime lost his arm in the fight. He transformed into a fighter jet and started spinning out of control because well, he lost his arm. As he spiraled out of control and started scraping the walls of the space crystal, the scene in my head ended and the closing credits started. I woke up at 4am and hummed the closing music into my iPhone and composed it into the piano solo of Arrival starting at 4:10. 

So... I literally turned my dream into reality! #mindblown.

Fun Facts About Arrival

• I started producing the song in December and made a daily ritual out of working on it all the way to release in mid-February. I would listen to it at work and took notes on what needed to be changed, then would spend an hour at night making the adjustments. I would then listen to it again before bedtime, take some more notes, and spend an hour in the morning making more tweaks. So making this song was an iterative 2 hour daily process for over 2 months.
• It's almost 10 minutes long with over 40 layers of instruments and sounds. Every single note, melody and sound was meticulously selected, placed and perfected from scratch
• The voices in the song are from the real Apollo 11 landing recordings. So the song is featuring my boy Buzz Aldrin. Also grabbed a few sounds off those recordings like the space beeps.
• My room mate in NYC, John, had to put up with a couple months of my epic snoring. One night he decided to record my snoring just to show how ridiculous I was. I used a vocoder to turn my own snoring into a musical instrument which I proudly call the "Snorecoder 3k". You can hear it coming in and out every second or so starting at 2:30. There are 6 snore variants used for the instrument. 
• I made this song on a used 13” laptop that I bought 5 years ago from Ernst & Young for $50
• The Ableton file takes 10 minutes to open and also crashes every 20 minutes or so, and this is after I took my computer to Lahore's Hafiz Tech City to pick up some upgrades from this fascinating laptop graveyard full of parts that I could adopt as my own. 
• The music file uses 2.5GB of RAM. Each layer needed to be "frozen" as I went along to save CPU so each edit I made also took about 5 minutes of rendering time. Needless to say, the final mile of finishing this song was the most painful experience ever
• In case I didn't hit the point home.... Arrival has completely pushed the technical limits of my laptop. It only exports properly from Ableton like 1 in 2 attempts and otherwise crashes! I'm never doing a 10 minute song on this computer again.
• In contrast... the album art took me only an hour of screwing around in Photoshop and actually turned out better than I had hoped. Goes to show that creative processes are a complete crapshoot.

Nerdy Facts About Producing Music

• Figuring out chords and melodic progressions is actually coming to me quite naturally. Usually stuff comes into my head during my meditations and I'll just plug it in to see how it sounds. The harder part though is understanding the physics and technology behind music.
• I downloaded 1,000 music tutorials from YouTube totaling 110 GB. It was a good call because YouTube is banned in Pakistan. These videos were invaluable for learning the technicalities of music production.
• Layering melodies together is really really hard. You have to balance so many things like octaves, frequencies and stereo width to make sure each sound punches through clearly. Otherwise things just get cluttered and sound muddy. The best description I heard is that producing music is like sculpting a sculpture. You really have to carve off what isn't needed using equalizers for everything to balance and be aesthetically pleasing. 
• There's this tool called compression which was tough for me to learn but incredibly powerful. Basically, when a piano key is struck, there's the mechanical sound of the key and initial hit followed by a beautiful resonance. Well if I want more of that resonance and I turn up the sound, the initial sound gets way too loud. What compression does is use math/physics to bring down the initial hit so I can bring up the resonance without screwing things up. It's way awesome and brings life to so many different sounds.
• Mastering music is also really hard. Usually producers send their mixes to a mastering engineer who does engineer the track to make sure it sounds clean in many environments. I learned to do this on my own and that took about a couple weeks. Even getting the song to be the same volume as other stuff in my iTunes library is an effort in itself. I spent some time pulling my favorite songs into a spectrum analyzer to understand how professionals master music. I learned about what different frequency curves look like for different genres and how the pros handle decibel levels throughout their tunes.
• AMC's Director of Development, Amjad, is an audiophile and has like a collection of the best headphones ever. He's been lending my different headphones over the past couple months and I've now listened to Arrival on like 8 different headphones, each run highlighting something different that I needed to tweak in the music.

What's Next?
Phew even documenting the journey to date took a lot of work. I don't know what drove me to put in that much energy into this project. Maybe you can call it passion.

Now that I have learned the basic tools of music production, the sky is the limit. There's so much more to learn, especially as I branch into more genres, but I feel good about my foundation. I want to make at least one electronic dance music and one hip hop song over the next year, and maybe even try producing unplugged acoustic music on my guitar. 

I can't wait to see what else I find and create as I continue down this road. For now, I need to turn off my brain and take a break from anything to do with making music. Time to watch a Michael Bay movie...

Inequality: It’s Built Into Human Psychology

We can’t handle choice and unfamiliarity. 

Try this: name 4 social networking sites. Or 4 hip hop artists. Or 4 brands of sports cars.  Or 4 makers of phones. Or 4 international non-profits.

The first 2-3 are easy. The 4th is a struggle. Our minds drop off the cliff when it comes to its natural retention of more than 3 data points in any given category. We stick to our 3 favorites of just about everything: beer, jam, star employees, gadgets, musicians and authors. Our entire thought processes and decisions are made largely through our confined window of familiarity into the world.

Our politicians are manufactured on this phenomena. Arnold Schwarzenegger rose from action hero to governor of the largest state in America. Imran Khan, Pakistan’s revered cricketeer who brought home the world cup in 1992, is a serious contender as the next Prime Minister of his country. 

Our celebrities are manufactured on this phenomena. Many of the most popular musicians don’t even produce their own music. They are the brand and face of a well-oiled industrial machine pumping out what people are familiar with.

Our businesses are manufactured on this phenomena. Jack Welch, the former CEO of General Electric, believed that any of his divisions which aren't the best or second best in its industry should be divested his company's portfolio. That mindset was key to GE’s revival from a laggard to one of the world’s most revered companies. 

Choice is so much easier when we put a ceiling on the number of possibilities in our minds. Where we make our choices, our wallets will follow. As the worlds population base continues growing exponentially, wealth and access will inevitably shine itself ever more brightly upon the lucky 3. 

After all, inequality is built into our psyche.

Does choosing a corn cob stress you out?

The Virgin Voyage - Buying and Riding a Motorcycle in Pakistan

I have always wanted a motorcycle ever since I rode a scooter for the first time in Thailand 7 years ago. I still remember the unlimited sense feeling of freedom I felt in the paradise of Thailand's beaches, working my way up a strenuous mountain path to be rewarded with an incredible view and a delicious pad thai. After riding on the back of a few bikes recently and feeling the exhilarating rush of air in my face, I knew that Pakistan would be as good of a place as any to finally realize my dreams of owning a motorcycle. 

My colleague Jamshaid gave me my first and last motorcycle lesson. So the right pedal is a brake, the left pedals are for gearing up and down, the right handlebar is the front brake and the left handlebar is the clutch. 30 minutes and a couple spins around the neighbourhood later, Jamshaid tells me with the authority of a wise master guru "you are ready". Woohoo!

Moazzam, another colleague and avid automotive enthusiast with 3 cars and 4 motorbikes, took me to Lahore's sprawling automotive market to buy my first bike. He worked in the automotive sector for 30 years before joining AMC and knew every single person in the market. It was an incredible place, reminding me of a scene out of the dusty planet Tatooine from Star Wars. There were shops everywhere with people banging away loudly at metal or pouring hot oil solutions to clean out different automotive parts.

I fell in love with the first bike that I saw, a 150 cc Ravi. Moazzam told me maybe I should be less ambitious for my first bike so we moved on. Then I saw her. It was like a moment at a house party where I lock eyes with a beautiful girl who's into me. Her headlight gazed right into my soul from 20 meters away and I was inextricably drawn to her. My love at second sight was a 2012 Honda CD100 with 100cc's of raw amateur-level-motorcycle-power. Moazzam negotiated an amazing price for me and I'll be only paying maybe $10/month of depreciation on it. 

We returned a few days later to drop off my cash and pick up the bike. Moazzam brought his son who was extremely excited to help me drop the bike off at my home. He beamed with joy at the opportunity to ride my bike and offered to buy it from me after I leave Pakistan. In all my excitement Moazzam also

ended up buying a gorgeous 150 cc Suzuki from the same dealer... I might end up trading in my bike to his son and borrowing his Suzuki after a few months!

I scarfed down lunch while catching up with my friend and fellow Bailey before hopping on my bike with the same amount of excitement as when I got my first Nintendo 64. My first challenge was getting the bike out of my uphill driveway. It took 5 frustrating stalled efforts to get my bike out of my house... great.

The hardest part about riding a bike is getting her started without stalling the engine. The clutch on a bike is much less forgiving than that a car's. Not to mention the distraction of cars whirring by inches away from me with the nonchalant flair of the Pakistani driving culture. 

I found myself a nice quiet residential strip to practice launching my bike before making my way out to the main roads. Driving in Pakistan is absolutely insane. Cars don't yield to you proactively. You basically get in their way and assume that they will just move to avoid you. Somehow, the flow of traffic ends up working out in this country.

The relatively empty Sunday roads made for a real fun day to learn how to ride. I fumbled through my gear shifts, feeling an uneasy lurch every time I gave too much gas or didn't release my clutch smoothly enough. There were just way too many data points in my head to process and I reminded myself of the power of emotion and the subconscious. I stopped trying to think my way through riding and started following my emotions. I felt the cracks of the road, the rumble of the engine, the clicking of the gears just before they merged seamlessly with the drive train, and it changed everything - I started cruising effortlessly through the experience.

I floored it a couple times and loved the feeling of the bike's engine roaring between my legs, giving a whole new level of meaning to the word "horse power". As I whizzed by other bikes, sedans, jaywalking pedestrians, rickshaws and donkey carts, I found myself naturally gravitating back to the center lanes of the road where I was no longer scared of being surrounded by traffic. It was a feeling of pure bliss and liberation. 

Along the main roads were all the signs of service to the elites of society - all the western brand names were well represented on the main strips. I cruised by glitzy malls with brands such as Armani and Rolex situated alongside fine Western dining establishments such as KFC and McDonalds. After a good 30 minutes of riding I figured it was time to go back home. 

Lahore is quite confusing to navigate and I found myself taking a wrong turn and going through a narrow dirt underpass under a railway track. I entered a whole other world on the other side of the tracks. Only but a railway track demarcated the division between rich and the poor. There was an entire community created, and thriving, along the other side of the tracks. I cruised by children playing cricket on the streets, teens idling away their Sunday afternoon on billiards tables set up on the side of the railway tracks, and entrepreneurs selling curries out of crude vats of steel off the tracks. 

It was a fascinating slice of Pakistani life that lasted about 2 kilometers before I found a railway crossing to return home. The gates were down and I waited patiently alongside a sea of Pakistani drivers. Acumen says a lot about "standing with the poor" but they never said anything about "waiting to cross a railroad with the poor and wearing a stealth mode bike helmet yet still attracting tons of curious glares from commuters stuck in traffic who don't see a lot of foreigners."

Soon, the gates flung open and traffic started moving. Everyone was honking at each other and maneuvering opportunistically to get a couple slots ahead in traffic. I got my bike started and started the arduous journey uphill through the track crossings while surrounded by many impatient commuters. Talk about a high pressure situation. And I passed the test without stalling.

My new pride and joy. Her name is Da Bang.

What We Did Last Time

It’s too easy to fall into a trap of repeating the past as we create the future. That approach worked last time for me... let’s use it again.

Our commitment to getting stuff done has cultivated bad habits for creation. We don't challenge ourselves to solve problems in new ways because it's easier to simply do what we were told to do last time. We strive for efficiency and chase the path of least resistance based on proven models and approaches. We stop taking risks because we can get to a product that is “good enough” without trying anything new.

As I move forward into my creative passions this year, I find myself constantly compelled to follow my past successes. Harmonizing my melodies in my music based on chords that I know too well. Tying my thoughts together in my writing with logical pyramids. Using the same compositions and processing techniques in my photography. Articulating myself with structure and form rather than raw emotion.

Innovation comes from intercepting that nagging urge to repeat ourselves and replacing it with an authentic pursuit of the art of creation. With every brush stroke should come an equivalent effort to erase the modes we know so well from the past. 

If this post doesn't inspire innovation then... here's a goat in a sweater

If a Tree Falls…

If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? What if the tree was the largest and heaviest of all the trees, crashing faster and harder than any tree before it?

We have more intellectual capacity in our society than ever before, yet the same issues of misunderstanding and hatred between caste, creed and religion continue to burn deeply into our humanity as they have for millennia.

The felling of 12 Parisian trees roared throughout the forest with a thunderous boom that rattled the very roots of its existence. The felling of 2,000 Nigerians trees echoed but only a whisper. The forest did not feel the pain of these falling trees; trees that were of a different color from the other side of the forest, but trees nonetheless.

All the reason and thoughtfulness in the world cannot solve our problems alone because we share in common only our unreasonableness. The common denominator between people is not the intellectual, but the emotional. We may not think the same but we feel the same.

Our greatest writers and philosophers may succeed in amplifying the sound of each and every falling tree, but what have we done to make the forest listen?

So Far Away...

Thoughts racing through my head during a village homestay in rural Pakistan on January 4, 2015

I drew a lottery ticket when I was born into this world. 

I could have been privileged. I could have been a trust fund baby from England. A prince from Dubai. A politician’s daughter from India. An accountant's son from Canada. 

I might never have known about the other side.

I could have been impoverished. I could have been born far far away on the highest mountain. The driest desert. The deepest jungle. The furthest field. 

I might never have known about the other side.

I might never have known that far far away, the diseases that my friends and family die from are easily prevented or treated. When I suffer, I suffer because my father suffered the same. As did his father and his father before him. 

I might never have known that I am considered uneducated. I go to school five days a week and work diligently in my studies. Some days, my teacher doesn’t come to class or he shows up drunk, but that is okay. I can learn from the textbooks given to me that I was never taught how to read.

I might never have known that someone could buy a yacht or own real estate worth millions. Nobody told me that the 85 richest people are as wealthy as poorest half of the world. Nobody told me that a few of them use their money to help people just like me.

I might never have known that I am considered poor. Nobody told me that living on $1.25/day means that I am impoverished. Nobody invited me to that expensive meeting, far far away, to debate the latest benchmark for poverty. 

I might have aspirations to move to the big city someday. My uncle tells me "life is tough in the city but if you work hard you can become successful just like me." I might not get access to a toilet but that is okay. My village didn't have one either. I just want to see the bright city lights. I just want my family to see me rise.

I might hear that far far away people are not like me. When I am happy, I laugh. When I am sad, I cry. When I am angry, I fumble. How can someone from far far away possibly be the same as me?

We are worlds apart.