Somebody told me that I worry too much

Last week, KLue magazine asked me to pick a song that captures what I feel about KL for their February issue. It is not as fun as being picked 20 Under 40 two years ago, but it still fulfils my media whore needs. I picked the following, because like many young activists, I worry too much about the future of KL. Too often I have been told to take a chill pill. But pills are expensive lah. Nah, I will stick to music.

Worry Too Much
by Mark Heard


Mark Heard, 1951-1992

it's the demolition derby

it's the sport of the hunt

proud tribe in full war-dance

it's the slow smile that the bully gives the runt

it's the force of inertia

it's the lack of constraint

it's the children out playing in the rock garden

all dolled-up in black hats and war paint

sometimes it feels like bars of steel

i cannot bend with my hands

oh - i worry too much

somebody told me that i worry too much

it's these sandpaper eyes

it's the way they rub the luster from what is seen

it's the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal

till we can't remember what we mean

it's the flicker of our flames

it's the friction born of living

it's the way we beat a hot retreat

and heave our smoking guns into the river

sometimes it feels like bars of steel

i cannot bend with my hands

oh - i worry too much

somebody told me that i worry too much

it's the quick-step march of history

the vanity of nations

it's the way there'll be no muffled drums

to mark the passage of my generation

it's the children of my children

it's the lambs born in innocence

it's wondering if the good i know

will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones

sometimes it feels like bars of steel

i cannot bend with my hands

oh - i worry too much

somebody told me that i worry too much

Many of us have territorial worries, inherited from our primate ancestors no doubt. We think that if other people have their way with our beloved city, our children will be confused by knowledge we don't understand, our husbands seduced by domestic helps or construction workers, our wives demand for their rights; we fear we will lose our tiny space to be who we are, we will lose our beauty sleep, and we will lose the right to insult other people for being different. Sometimes we behave as if only our worries are real and other people's worries are brain farts. I think if we look deep enough, many of our brain farts and worries are the same.

Mark Heard was one of the very few Christian singer-songwriters I could relate to as I was growing up a tormented Christian, and even now, as an atheist, a much less tormented one. His faith is a mix of truth and doubt and constant searching; at least I feel he is honest about his humanity and doesn't pretend that problems can be solved by repeating "praise the lord". Because these worries are real. Because our faith is never enough, our understanding never complete, our humanity is too complex. So we always need artists and those who can help us to be honest with ourselves.

There is a version of this song by Buddy Miller, who is also an indie Christian singer-songwriter, you can online:



It's not the best version. The one I like is performed by Harrod & Funck, now defunct, in the Mark Heard tribute album called Orphans Of God, released after his death from a heart attack at the age of 41.


 
I miss Mark Heard as I miss Toni Kasim, Yasmin Ahmad and all my heroes who brought me here. Here's to more worries in 2010, to the fight for the good we know to last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones. Happy New Year, everyone.