A Bridge Between

7/21/2019 A Bridge Between

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/a-bridge-between 1/20



ContributorsB S B

D D,V K

M L, A L A H L, N W L

N X Y, R O,

S Q, S S J , Y,

S-M Y,B Y

Editorial C, A L

P J H, A W

S-M Y

DesignM L

AdvisorsD DC S D H

SponsorsC C, Y-NUS

PublisherG B

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List of Contributors

Foreword// Catherine Sanger, Vice-Rector

Introduction//Al Lim

Interview with an Artifact // Brian Scott Bohme

Magic// Tan Jia HuiLotus// Michelle Lee

Photos by Al Lim and Jasmine Tan

Kuthodaw Pagoda // Neo Xiaoyun

As I Sat on the Bridge// Belinda Yuan

U Bein Bridge// Tan Yanru

U Bein Bridge// Swarnima Sircar

Ame// Daniel Dangaran

Photos by Taha Tehseen and Vanessa Kim

Freewriting Excerpts// Serena QuayPoems 24-502// Ng Weng Lin, Ai Huy Luu, Rachel Ooi

Table of Contents

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Foreword // Catherine Sanger

Here is a reasonable question I’ve been asked by faculty, staff, parents, and friends: Whyon earth did we take the entirety of the Cendana Class of 2019 to Myanmar as part of anorientation to a college that is located in Singapore?

Te title of this volume gets the answer absolutely right: to build bridges.

As students: We went to build bridges between lived experience and intellectual inquiry.Te readings and research you did in advance of the trip, complemented by Rector Heng’sengaging lecture on South East Asian heritage preservation, illuminated Myanmar’s history,

its architectural significance, and the cultural context surrounding its UNESCO ambitions.Many of us interested in international politics prepared for the trip by reading about Myan-mar’s prospects for a successful and sustained democratic transition after decades of militaryrule. In this era we can learn a lot about another country even from a very far distance.But traveling to another country and hearing the personal experiences of its citizens offersanother vantage point, in some ways both more and less incisive, into its internal dynamicsand complexities.

As Cendanans: We went to build bridges student-to-student, student-to-Dean’s Fellow,student-to-Vice Rector-and-Rector. We built bridges Singaporean-to-Tai-to-Indian-to-

Chinese-to-Pakistani-to-Vietnamese-to-Bangladeshi-to-Burmese-to-American-to-German-to-Malaysian-to-Korean-to-Italian-to-Indonesian-to-Singaporean-to-Burmese-and-on-and-on. By taking the whole class out of the local v. international context here in Singapore,nearly everyone had the experience of being international, unfamiliar, and therefore hadequal opportunity to be attentive to the novelty of their surroundings.

As global citizens: We went to build bridges between our notions of self and of other. ravelpushes us outside our comfort zones... and let’s be honest, for many the trip involved phys-ical discomfort far greater than we ever anticipated! But also hopefully an awareness of how

lucky we are to be where we are and to be going through the transition to college together. Yes, our elevators have been less than fully functional but that is nothing compared to theflood damage we saw in Bagan and in news reports from the further North where homes,businesses, schools, whole sections of the town had been submerged.

As evolving individuals: We went to build (the first steps in) bridges between the people youare at the start of college and the people you have grown to be at graduation. Te first stepto that growth is identifying your goals for college, for yourself, for your friends, for yourcommunity. Stepping outside of your expected patterns and places lets you see yourself in anew and often more rigorous light. Tis self-reflection, in turn, sets the stage for meaningful

growth and personal development.



One innovation between last and this year’s RCX was the integration of writing exercisesthroughout the trip.

Te writing exercises we conducted in Myanmar gave students an opportunity to derivemeaning from these many forms of bridge-building. Developed by Lisa Wells, Cendana’s Writing Fellow in Residence, in conjunction with the Yale-NUS Writers’ Center staff, these writing exercises focused our attention on themes of home, of sacred spaces, of preservationand heritage.

ravel involves sensory stimulation, even overload. Writing is a way to pause, dissect, andprocess your experience. Writing can also be synthetic, bridging what you are seeing andhearing and tasting and touching and feeling. Te writing exercises we did in Myanmar

invited students to explore their discomfort and pleasure. For the duration of your time as acollege student you will be reading and absorbing the thoughts of others, but also workingto identify and articulate your own questions, thoughts, curiosities. College is a time todiscover and cultivate your voice, so it was important to integrate writing into our travels.

Tis magazine, brought to fruition thanks to Al Lim’s (Cendana, ’19) initiative, creativity,and effort, builds on and does great credit to the work of the Dean of Students’ Office,the Residential Colleges, the Writers’ Center, and many other departments and individu-als across the College who contribute to our RCX trips. Tose responsible for developingthese RCX trips, and in particular Chris O’Connell in the Dean of Students’ Office, very

intentionally sought to blend academic inquiry with experiential learning when craftingthe RCX programmed. Tese trips are designed to create meaningful learning and com-munity-building experiences for our firstyear students. Te “X” is intentionally left open tointerpretation for the very reason that these trips are multidimensional. Tey are ResidentialCollege eXplorations, eXperiences, and eXperiments. Ultimately, though, it is the students who determine how far that learning and how deep that community will go and what shapeit will take. Tis magazine is an inspiring and affirming manifestation of the interactionbetween faculty, staff, students and what can happen when we all commit ourselves to anexceptional educational mission.

Enjoy!

Catherine (VR Kate) SangerVice-Rector, Cendana College

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Introduction // Al Lim

“A Bridge Between” is a time capsule, to encapsulate the starting point of our college journeys.

Tese pages sing of our treks through Mandalay to Bagan to Yangon: our orienta-tion trip as Cendana College, Yale-NUS Class of 2019. Not only did we experience thebeauty of Myanmar through its sights, smells, sounds, and tastes, we did it together.

We visited temples, stupas, and pagodas via plane, bus and e-bike. Our experi-ence was far from flat, but instead flat-out great. Te theme of exploration and

bridging the known and unknown, the ancient and the modern, flowed through-out our five days there. On the first day, we walked on the U Bein Bridge in Amarapura (the longest teak bridge in the world), to think and to meditate on our writingprompts. Te blend of tourist attractions and local flavour was distinctly unfamiliar, andthat was the beauty of it.

Te vision and hope of our editorial team and as a representative of Cendana College is tolet the pages speak to you. Let them bring back the memories that we wrote together andinvoke a sense of reality that will transport any reader to the Land of Pagodas.

o experience it together, all over again.

Photo by Al Lim



A PUBLICaTION OF CENDANA COLLEGE

YALE-NUS CLASS OF ‘19

A BRIDGEBETWEEN



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Interview with an Artifact// Brian Scott Bohme

Te stones speak to me.

A canvas in pieces Whitewashed, boldGrey upon grey upongrey in devoted repetition

Te ebb of spinal elocution

like the pronounced pitter-patterof children’s feet robed in pink Begging of you to cease and

come closer.

Suspiciously yet honestly the impressions twine geometrycheek by jowl or maybecheek to cheek in song

Only the preserved one knows.

Cynosure by defaultTe artifact is commanding Yet is the book fearful ofits shadower in luster?

Te answer lies in bygones.

And the story goes as so:Framed in fragrancean enigmatic Artistdecides to write as words fall and stack withtimbre in shades ofpatina and mirror clauses

And the story goes as so:Framed in fragrance

an enigmatic Artistdecides to write as words fall and stack withtimbre in shades ofpatina and mirror clausesReflecting a placebuilding and builtcrumbled and crumbling

lived and living

Te name faltersand sovereignty seizesyet the people do not

Tey are the true stones.

An opus held abreast in silent conversationForever poised and forever considered

History truly is an interesting thing

isn’t it?

Photos by Brian Scott Bohme



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Tere is magic in Myanmar— As ineffable and indubitable as can be

We stroll through the green pastures, We sprint through the muddy plains We cross gingerly on rickety-looking bridges And laugh at misplaced stains.

A temple balances on the stepped verdant

hillUtterly serene as far as the eye can seeStupas cloaked in glittering goldVoila! Te nonpareil of beauty.

We don’t speak their language thereBut smiling is a universal code— A woman offers to paint thanaka on me And I shake my head politely to say no A girl offers me starflowers And I watch as the pile of symbolic wishesgrow

Magic // an Jia Hui

Romanticisation is unnecessary;Masking reality? A shame. Yangon is charming Bagan beguiling Why the need for such word games?

We turn to leave When the days are up:

and there are paintings therethat I might never see

and there are people there that we might never meet

and there are stories there that the world might never

know.

Lotus // Michelle Lee

A buddha’s head haloed in neon lights.

A boy made from white marble,carved up into blocks.Each word he speaks weighs tonnes before itdisappears.

With circuit boards and palm leavesyou can knock a temple down. You can find an empty page and etch a heartfor a love that won’t last. We take our shoes off to wash our feet

in mud.

Babies play among the trees, and I

cradlethis star-shaped prayer in my palm.



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MORNING AT KUTHODAW

PAGODA// Neo Xiaoyun

Mandalay is merely a hidden gem for mass tourism.Frequented by locals, the children – wearing thanaka and donning traditional garb –are skilled touters, selling starflower chains and posing for photographs with touristsfor a small fee. A thought struck me that I should gift them a photograph of their own,

something that they can keepfor themselves, rather thanonly having their faces immor-talised in the digi- tal memoriesof computer chips. I thought this was something un- precedented.I thought that thechildren would approach thepolaroid with cu- riosity andsincerity, not

upfront requests. I thought wrong. Uncon- sciously, I hadromanticised the image ofchildren living in poverty.I soon foundmyself drawn to her smile, herfriendly gestures and fluentquestions of “What is your name?”and “Where are you from?”She asked for more

polaroids and asked for myearrings, point- ing that Ihad a pair and could spareone. Tis was no- body’s faultbut mine. By going into a conversation with an idealised image of the person, I subjectmyself to the dangers of delusion. Maybe children reveal this faster than manipula-tive adults. Tis is not corruption nor is it vice, it is about survival. Tis is not choice,it is circumstance. I’d like to think that maybe, in a split fraction of a moment, thelittle girls cared more about smiling than what they would receive from smiling.



as i sat on the bridge// Belinda Yuan

As I sat on the bridge, I watched as a multitude of people passed by. Lovely couples, happyfamilies, and pious proselytes. Te background made it all too easy to romanticize theexperience- I enjoyed a serene moment of tranquility.

I thought about how fortunate I was, and wondered at the plenitude of opportunities I hadbeen so lucky to receive. I pondered on what these people would do with the very samefortuitous circumstances, if they would use them to their fullest potential. And I question if

I’m doing justice to the chances of which I’ve been given.

Pulled back from my thoughts, I note the rich historical memories imbued into the bridge.My concentration wavers, as I lapse into yet another indulgent fantasy.

Being a witness to the greatness of history, a tourist among the throngs of crowds led me torealize the mere oneness of an individual.

Photo by Al Lim

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U BEIN BRIDGE// an Yanru

Te wooden boat sailing on the river. In another time and another age, these boats wouldhave had a whole new purpose. Tey would have been used as transport to another place,or to ferry food and other basic needs. Now, these boats, slim wooden-built structures withcolourful painted ends, are steered by their sole boatman according to the whim and fan-cies of his customers. For a probably (nominal) fee, these boatmen exchange their physicalexertion and sweat for tourists who take pictures and squeal in exclamation, exposing their wanderlust and sheer excitement of being in a place that’s foreign and different. Tey aregoing nowhere.

U BEIN BRIDGE// Swarnima Sircar

Listen to and/or record the world around you (at the U-Bein Bridge, Mandalay, Myanmar)

A mother dragged her reluctant child to the seats on the rickety hut of the bridge. Te child was screaming, the mother’s face was grim. She kept her hold on the child’s twisting hand,impatiently brushing away the stray hairs that stubbornly pushed their way forward.

She was waiting for someone.

A foot tapped regularly, in time with the weakening struggles of the unhappy girl. An oldhag appeared, nearly bent in double by the woes of the world. She knelt before the child, who stiffened immediately.

Te witch lifted a decrepit figure to touch the inside of the child’s elbow. Straightening up asfar she was able, the woman touched her mouth, and then her own feet.

In barely a blink, the crumbling woman gathered her umbrella and left. Te child now tookadvantage of her mother’s slackened grip and broke free, hurtling into the crush of peopleon the bridge.

In the distance, the burned, blackened, leafless tree swayed once, and then stood still.

A lanky man in navy loafers took a picture of the scene.



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aME // Daniel Dangaran

I. Freewrite at the U-Bein Bridge

Calls for prayer echo across the Irrawaddy as I sit in the bridge our group designated forfree writing. I am one of about thirty people sitting on the bridge hut’s benches, and manymore (up to ten) are on its central path at any given time. wo dogs lie asleep, and shouldnot be forgotten in this snapshot. All men wear longyi but one, who’s clad in blue jeans.

Six pairs of eyes surround me as I write, probably more. Staring freely, because I aman exotic addition to this space. Tis seems to be a place of respite: people wait for

their friends or families and eagerly observe the strange figures like me who have de-cided to enter their space. A meeting of minds, cultures, faces, features, feet. Asafe meeting point for my DF style – giving my students freedom but also know-ing they really can’t get too far. A dog disturbed just made quite an interesting sound.

Ame means mother, and the Burmese have bestowed Aung San Suu Kyi with the word as herepithet. A little girl calling after her Mom next to me reminds me of this fact from our tourguide. How many times do we call for “Mom” in a day when we’re four years old? Fourteenyears old? Moms have such a hard emotional task: for a being to attach so strongly and relyon their outpour of selfless love, only to become independent – in my case, fighting forfreedom out of their loving, overprotective clutch – is a rollercoaster ride I cannot fathom.

Men sleep on this bench, but I’m not sure if women ever would. Men makelongyi for men, and women handcraft wedding dress and jeweled sarong.

II. Pondering Love at the World’s Biggest Book

Te question [what piece of writing would you transcribe in this style?] is so difficult because whatever is chosen cannot be edited. I would tell stories; individual life narratives of people of

all cultures in all tongues documenting their day and their hardship: an anthology of the world’spassions, from all class backgrounds. Te topic? Musings on love – for what is it all for, otherwise?

Here’s what my addition would be, thinking about my musings from the U Bein Bridge. A Mother’s love is a gift and a burden. reasure it. Fear it. Work up to it. It is bestowed uponthose who aren’t ready for it – abandoned by those who could not handle it. A neglectfulchild would make it too easy to feel as if it weren’t worthwhile. Cherish the moment, for itis fleeting. Honor the past, but do not let it predict or taint future iterations of love. Healslowly, carefully. Do not pick at the scabs that are bound to develop. Tink of Ame – AungSan Suu Kyi’s love and status of Mother to a country. Tink of Rosa Parks; Eleanor Roo-

sevelt; Athena; Kate Bornstein. Motherly love has no gender boundaries. Motherly love iswork ; emotional labor is not easy, and is too easily oppressive.



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Photo by aha ehseen

Photo by Vanessa Kim



fREEWRITING eXCERPTS// Serena Quay

Grounded

City girls love bright lightsskinny bodies, we cry for summer skies and rimmedsunnies.

But me,

I found recluse in wood, stone and sand.My bare feet make memoriesfrom the loving touch of rough land.

I’ll be back (by Weng Lin)

Pagodas are redStupas are goldTis place is so beautifulI’ll be back when I’m old.

Scars (by Ai Huy)

Myanmar, you left your mark on me. Wind in hair, dust on tongue. An indelible mark on me,scabbing raw red flesh, e-bike.

Intestinal Parting Gift (by Rachel)

New sights, sounds, smells, tastes

Trills, frills, for mind and body Mostly body though.

Poems 24-502// Ng Weng Lin, Ai Huy Luu, Rachel Ooi

reasure

Tey’ve got gold hearts and gold souls,gold pagodas and in their eyes’ foldsTey’ve got bare feet yet nothing’s missing Got no fortune, but they’ve got gold.

Te River

Dangling legs off the sideSmiles of spirits brighter than light.Tings on heads and flies in faces,but nothing quite like their smiles

Photo by Jasmine an

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cOLOR OF mYANMAR // Al Lim

“Ink, ink, ink,” the thirsty page demands. Demands a flow and a river to witness.Te harsh interjection of bird screeches overhead. My train of thought screeches toa halt. My task is cut out. o navigate my thought’s tracks between the distraction of fliesand the stifling heat, with all but a compass — my heart.

Te sky is pastel, serene and its blue sweeping brushline meets the hills in an unspoiledlandscape. Shades of blue line the horizon animated in their own sphere. Te little toyboats traverse the Irrawaddy in the distance as the ants march across the grass in front of me.Te bark rough against my hand as the blades sway in the wind. Te stalks lean and glide

with the wind’s whispers, unlike the dark, stoic mess of trees.

From the bank, I make my way plank by plank across the U Bein Bridge to find solitude within the crowd, to capture my heart’s surge, and the sight my eyes beheld. Inthe middle of the lake lies a submerged house. Its thatched roof is half bare; it cannot keepthe rain out.

Lay the ruins of Myanmar in the murky lake of forgottenness, in the murky lakeof swallowed history. Te world bumps and sways with the bridge with the kids stompingand others strolling. Lonely wooden stilts lay unlabelled — a family’s history lapped

away with the waters of the lake.

I walk on. Was it a day past, or two? ime flows effortlessly like the currents ofIrrawaddy and I sit perched on a pagoda’s ledge. Te dog melts into the landscape,swallowed by the sand. In rows plowed and patches stained, all converge to stupasand pagodas that litter the landscape and canopy. Glints shimmer in the distance,shimmering towards the jagged edge of mountains, etching their places in the sky. Tesun descends.

Years have weathered the tiles, but the core is solid. Te pilgrim lives on. Dead yet alive, yetdead, yet alive. Brick by brick, held together with faith’s mortar, the stupas stand in majestylike bells with a broken tongue. Te sandy dog turns to chase its tail.

Did it really happen?

Brown is the sheen that covers the lakes; a blanket that smothers the ways of life. Brown isthe road to Yangon, which rests upon the rusted gates, old cars, and cracked roofs of thepopulace.



What does it mean to build

a bridge?Within the pages of this book, the members of cendana

college, class of ‘19 use writing to dissect what it

means to build bridges as students, as cendanans, as

global citizens, and as individuals.

Join us in a journey of self-discovery as we attempt

to connect old and new, familiar and unfamiliar, and

to travel from one world to a place we’ve never been

before.

A Bridge Between

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Transcript of A Bridge Between