Diary 3-11-2007

The woman spoke about the housing market, prices and interest rates. It's worth paying more in todays money for a parking spot.
I opened my eyes. I've acquired a new piece of knowledge that I won't be able to attribute later. It's hard to get oriented when you've had so little sleep, and the radio often incorporates itself into my dream. The intrusion is at its worst when it's the news. Images of war and death are quite unpleasant in my dreams.

It was half past eight and I'd snoozed a few times already. Sleep should not be this scarce, but there was a whole new day waiting and I could no longer delay facing it.

Groggily I dragged myself out of bed, I have an appointment with the hairdresser this morning and need to shampoo. I always spend more time in the shower when I shampoo my hair. It's impossible to have three, four, or even ten minute showers when shampooing. I feel guilty about it, but there must be another solution. Whoever came up with these figures cannot possibly understand what it entails to deal with long, thick curls. They just have no clue.

It's ten and I'm still chewing breakfast. Having breakfast is a weekend novelty, I don't want to give it up. I need to make a phone call before leaving. I have this day planned almost to the second.

Ten minutes past ten and I'm on my way. It's all going according to plan. I remembered how much I'm enjoying driving a manual. Apart from the pure enjoyment of it, it's a great show off factor. Girls don't drive manual, usually. It has shock appeal. I like that.

Traffic though was not helping. I suddenly remembered that I was taking the worst possible route. I was going past the race grounds on cup weekend. I'm still enjoying the drive, but I'm running late. I was supposed to be there early, but now I'll be late.

It gets worse, there is no parking. I spend a full twenty minutes looking for parking and finally arrive forty minutes late for my appointment.

Midday, I'm stuck in traffic again. It's raining now and I actually do a burnout in front of the dozen or so cops directing traffic. God I hope they're not feeling cranky today. It could get interesting.

I get home just in time for a very quick check of my email. There are disadvantages to being a social node. It's time consuming at times. A lot of time is spent trying to maintain relationships. Each in its own way and each in its own medium.

Three in the afternoon and I'm already receiving a message informing me that my next catchup is stuck in traffic and will be late. I didn't bother replying that I too was stuck in "yucky traffic" and am running late. Finally we find each other and find where we were supposed to meet.
This is a friend I had not seen in six years. We had emailed every once in a while and rarely spoke on the phone. Actually I think it had been a few years since the last phone conversation. Our lives are dramatically different now.

Her father was dying and she was coping in her own way. She was planning. She has no control over her father's death, but she has control over what she would wear to the funeral. So she enlisted my help in hunting for appropriate clothing. I think I am the only rope some people have to link them to Islam, or Muslims. She was wanting to find trendy scarves to wear to the funeral. I didn't think it was morbid, just practical. I would probably do the same thing if I were in her shoes.

The shop we went to was quite the discovery. I think she loved it more than I did, but I wasn't going to tell her my criticisms. I've learnt how my words can sometimes affect people in ways I had not intended. I remained silent. She was very enthusiastic. I was once like that. It seems like a long time ago now.

We caught up over coffee and a hot chocolate later. We've both moved on a long way, but were still the same people. She told me how she was tired of people in her lives trying to control her. That she was too busy to notice if she was happy or not.

It's seven already and I'm still changing in and out of my jeans. I like wearing them, but this may not be an appropriate venue for them. I don't want to feel under dressed. I'm running late again. It's raining.

I finally decide to be comfortable. It was never about the jeans. It was about the scarf. Did I really want to stop wearing it? How strong would I be? How confident am I?

Seven thirty and it's me this time that is sending a message that I would be late.

I'm meeting with some friends tonight that I have not seen in ten years. That is a long time for someone my age. I don't have many ten years behind me. I'd done a lot of growing up in this decade, but I'm still the same person. I'm just living in a very different life.

I can't find this place. It's raining, I don't want to keep looking any more. I simply ask one of the other restaurateurs. He smiled at me and said "come this way"
I was surprised, I apologised for asking him directions to his competition. "No" he said "we're only happy that people come to this area, the owner is a good friend of mine. Say hello"
"And who am I saying hello from?" I asked
"Rob" he responded as he pointed to my destination "enjoy your night and come by have a coffee after your dinner if you like. You are a very beautiful woman"
I was flattered. It was small, probably inappropriate, but it gave me that bit of confidence I was looking for all day. I didn't regret keeping the scarf.

Dinner was great. These were the people I liked back in school. We posed for lots of pictures. Will be posted in our facebooks soon no doubt. My other friends will see this part of me. It's all me but they see different sides.

There was a male belly dancer at this restaurant. The food was quite bad, but the belly dancer was a novelty. It was a guilty pleasure watching him gyrate so professionally. He was good. All the women flocked to him. Was it the dancing or was it the pheromones mixed in his sweat?

We were all single at the table. I remembered why we'd lost touch a decade ago. Out of high school everyone of them found a boyfriend, and our outings turned into me feeling quite uncomfortable and left out. So I simply stopped coming and they stopped inviting me. We'll never admit to that of course. 'We just lost contact', 'we moved' lots of excuses, none really true. Our lives moved on and here we were. All single. They've come round. They finally understand.

It's not about finding someone, one friend said. If I wanted to, it's the easiest thing to walk out to that club over there and pick up as many as I want. The problem is we're picky.. and the guys are intimidated because we are independent. I laughed on the inside. I thought this was just a Muslim problem, but apparently not.

I heard news of other friends. One, a close one who had helped me through a rough time, was not in good shape. She had acquired a disability. I was saddened. This could never happen to "us". This happened only to other people who appear on tv, not in real life, to my real life friends. But we were living in the real world, some more real than others. We all get what we are meant to get.

Eleven o'clock and I'm stopped at a traffic light. Two men, probably intoxicated in some way, are stopped to my right. It's a warm night and our windows are down, trying to feel some of that rare breeze. "Hey" they yell out at me "what's with the scarf? why are you wearing it"
"It's a religious thing" I answered despondently.
"what are you?"
"Muslim"
"what nationality are you?"
"Australian" I was in defensive mode by now
"yes but where are you originally from?"
"Australia"
"originally, where are you originally from?" they were getting frustrated by now
"my parents are from Australia, I'm not from anywhere else"
"can you get that?" they asked
"yes you can" I said and was thankful the light had turned green and skidded off at speed.
What I should have said was " yes, anyone can choose to be Muslim regardless of where they are or where they are from", but I was too defensive and caught off guard by then. They will never remember anyway.

I picture myself giving advice to a child. 'child' I say in my imagination 'you just be what you are, everyone else has their problems behind this facade. You just be what you need to be. You don't need approval from anyone'.
I wished someone had told me that as a child.

It's almost two in the morning. I'm ignoring another male. He's shocked that I've rejected him and he's behaving in quite an immature way. It's easier to just ignore him than to deal with it right now. I need to rest.

I will now retire this day. Put it past me and wonder. What will tomorrow bring? What could possibly happen? Who will I be?

special effects

I sit here with my laptop on my lap, an old film on tv and the sun about to set on another Ramadan day. I don't know what to say. There is so much I want to talk about, so much that is simmering inside of me, but I just can't release it. I'm afraid. I don't want it all to boil over one day, but I just don't know how to release it.

I want to tell you about how strange life is. I say that a lot, but I don't think you really grasp what I mean by it.

I want to ask why people do the things they do? What motivates someone to think so little of someone else's life? How could they not grasp the enormity of it? But they don't. Ever. Constantly.

Yet in the big scheme of things it doesn't matter. We only choose to be affected by others. We choose the way we react to what is around us. We choose how we change the world around us. Some of us have more recognisable impacts than others, but none have a smaller impact.

We all have big impacts in our own little ways. We never realise how easy it could be to shake someone's being by a simple gesture, a smile or even a glance. We are oblivious to it but we turn other people's lives upside down everyday.

We are constantly fluxing about, trying new things. Making new discoveries. Excitement comes and goes. We spiral about edging closer and closer, narrowing the circle until, if we're lucky, we reach our destination. The centre of the circle. I want to go there, but I don't know what it looks like. I will find out soon. I feel myself getting closer.

I'm in love!?

I came across this quote the other day, have a read and tell me what you think.

"We're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?"
David Foster Wallace

It made me reflect back on something that's been with me for a long time now.

For a good number of years I've been hopelessly in love. A lot of people use the phrase lightly, but I really mean it. The kind of in love that makes you blind to everything else that goes on around you. For years I let the world pass me by without really participating.

As an adolescent I never got into trouble, never caused my parents pain, never got into teen relationships. Not because I'm risk averse or too scared. I was too busy being deeply in love.

As a young adult, and even till now in my late 20s I am still yet to experience the real world. Sure I've traveled and seen a lot but I've never really experienced any of it. Things have happened, and I can tell you stories of events in my life that you would not believe. I defy any human being on earth to have gone through half of what I've gone through, but it was all external. I never really experienced those events. They were merely stories that happened around me and I happened to be the central character in them. I went through them almost with a narrator in my head, reminding me that none of it was real.

I've never done anything irresponsible in my life either. Never spent too much money, never drove dangerously (well mostly anyway) and I certainly never tried to impress anyone. I was too busy being in love.

Sure I've wasted plenty of time over the years, but eventually, it didn't matter. It was time spent daydreaming, contemplating. It was time spent being in love.

The only problem is, I don't know who it is that I'm in love with. I always thought it was my future life partner. The one I hadn't met yet, but would someday meet and recognise instantly. I always, thought that to be involved with anyone else would be a kind of cheating on the one true love, the one I'd share the rest of my life with. My heart was never tempted.

Lately though, I'm starting to change my mind about that. Maybe it's not a human being that I'm in love with at all. Not Mr right. Maybe I'll never fall in love with Mr right. Maybe I'm already too in love with a much more deserving someone. Maybe I'm in love with the one, we're all supposed to be in love with. Maybe that is why my heart has no more room in it for another human being.

God is too great.

So where to from here? Where do I go from here?

Purity

I try as much as I try, to keep my heart pure
but it's harder than you imagine
to keep the darkness at bay
for it has already been corrupted, infiltrated
the darkness that surrounds my external, my world
thoughts knock on my mind's door
they try to enter any way they can
sometimes they seep in, more than I like
I can't keep them out
thoughts darker than even
the devil can imagine
I am not an angel
I am not pure of thought
I try hard as I can
because I am merely human
I need all the help, that You will give me
all the forgiveness that You will bestow upon me
and then I need some more.
I lack the strength to keep these thoughts at bay
please let me have the strength
to keep them out of my heart
for I only have one heart
for I am only human
walking blindly in darkness
I ask not for revenge
I ask only for happiness
I ask not for a sacrifice
I ask only for purity
I am selfish that way
let those who have transgressed on my heart
feel no guilt nor pay my dues
let me only know You, enough
to expunge the darkness from my heart
let me make room for the light.

Endings

They say that all good things must come to an end. That is in fact true, but is missing a huge piece of information. You see all bad things also come to an end, so do all mediocre things and so on. Everything eventually ends. That is really a blessing that we often mistake for a curse. Can you imagine if your childhood never ended? or your exams, or dental visit, or... ugh, I shudder at the thought.

No I'm eternally grateful that my life is really composed of a series of endings. It is the endings that I will remember, not the beginnings and certainly not the middles. It is at the end that we gain understanding and, more often than not, regret the beginning. I can't tell you how many memories I have where I cherish the ending but try to forget the beginning. I'm looking forward, with great anticipation, to the ultimate end... the time when my greatest understanding will occur. I only hope that my hindsight then will not be too hurtful. That my regrets won't be as big as my learnings and that there will be at least one memory where I cherish the beginning as much as the ending. That memory is yet to come.


Eventually, once we learn enough, our endings and our beginnings become memorable. Like nature has learnt to set the sun just as majestically as it raises it... no matter where you are.

Travel – Part II

Travelling is an obsession for some people. It’s an addiction, a need to see what’s on the other side, be anywhere except home. I have that illness, I need the distraction. The more stamps on my passport, the more I want. I’m still a novice traveller, but I’ve already learnt a few things.

I learnt that people always behave the same, no matter where you are. I learnt that a common language is not essential for meaningful communication. I learnt that sunsets look just as beautiful no matter who you are. I learnt that souls recognise each other, that bravery is needed for the world to go round and that we are all thinking the same things.

Maybe I could have learnt the same things if I’d stayed at home, but seeing is believing, and you’ve never really travelled till you’re alone in a place you don’t speak the language. It’s the perfect escape, complete anonymity. It’s priceless and it’s fleeting, because very quickly people will get to know you and you loose your hard earned anonymity. Then the choices come back, more confusing and more overwhelming than ever before.

abstraction

I must be one of the most ungrateful people in the world. I keep being saved from myself and I never realise it until it’s all over. By then of course there is inevitably some other obsession, something else to dream about and wonder. Yet deep down I know none of this will matter in the end. There are other things hidden away even from my own dreams.

Let me ask you something: Do you ever wonder what’s in the future? Of course you do, silly question. Everybody does. But do you wonder with hope and expectation or do you dread what the future will bring? Are you afraid of it?

I often imagine that I’m watching my own life from outside. If I weren’t in it, feeling it, what would I think? Would my choices be any different?

Eventually we will all look at our worlds from outside. Our past is already unreachable. Yet it makes us what we are. If I knew what was to come. If my decisions were always informed, I wouldn’t have any of the experiences. I’d miss out on the learning.

I thought about that as I walked away, knowing this would be the last time. I hadn’t said everything. I didn’t explain and I doubt I was understood. But I walked away. Another chapter had ended. It didn’t have to end this way, but this was one thing not in my hands. No amount of explaining would have been enough. People can cross paths but experience the same things very differently. Sometimes we are at different places in our lives and can never see other than inside ourselves. Eventually, some of us can look back on distant memories and see what had been invisible. I wonder what will appear for me. Yet I’ll always be fond of this memory and I’ll always be thankful that I got away. I had escaped with my life.

The next chapter has already started. There is always overlap. I walked away wondering what will the future bring. I wondered with curiosity, as if I’m not in it at all, for I know I’m only briefly visiting.

Gateaux

Our fridge is full of this stuff. It's one of those things I associate with Egypt, because Egyptians seem to love it. Or at least I always thought they loved it. Personally I can't stand it. It's a dessert that I can't find one single redeeming quality for. It doesn't look good, is extremely fattening, makes the consumer nauseous and on top of that tastes really bad. Yet every single visitor we've had so far, without exception has not failed to produce a box of the stuff. One uncle brought the identical box twice!

The real irony is that the visitors, the same ones who bring the stuff, refuse to eat it themselves.

There must be a reason for this absurdity.

So, with my limited research opportunities here on my dial up connection I did what every self respecting researcher would do. I looked it up in the dictionary. It said:
noun ( pl. -teaux pronunc. same or |-ˈtōz|) a rich cake, typically one containing layers of cream or fruit. ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from French gâteau ‘cake.’

Makes sense, it does seem like one of those overindulgent atrocities Egyptians are so good at copying from the French, like the furniture. I doubt the French themselves are as obsessed with it as the Egyptians. And why do Egyptians call it gateaux in the first place? It seems to be a theme. They love anything that comes from abroad, no matter how ridiculous it is, and they have to call it foreign names that most people don't even understand.

A pair of slippers are apparently called "sabeau"... or something I can't spell. What exactly is wrong with shibshib? isn't that a perfectly meaningful word? Menus say hot chocolate written in Arabic script... and here I always thought the original word for the drink made from coco beans was cacao.

Why swap the original for a fake? Why are we so proud of anything that comes from outside and treat this place so badly. Why replace the farmers' fresh produce markets with French chains of supermarkets and then smoke in them? Why is it people here think it's acceptable to open a can of drink and without a thought just drop the lid on the ground where they stand?
Doesn't that sort of behaviour hurt them? It hurts me.

Just once I'd like to meet someone who appreciates this country for what it is and respect it. Someone who calls things what they are, in the language they are speaking in... and just once I'd like a visitor to bring some nice Egyptian desserts instead of fake French cakes that I didn't even want to try in France.

Now

It’s not a secret that in the first week of my holiday I regretted coming at all. There is no shortage of other things to do or places to go. But then I woke up one morning and made a decision. I decided I was going to live in my present and make the most of it. I’m not sure how much difference this decision made, if any at all… but here I sit. Everything in my past is exactly the same. Everything surrounding my present is exactly the same, but I’m somewhere completely different. I really feel like I’m in a cartoon. I SWEAR people are speaking to me as if in script and I hear applause after each sentence. I still haven’t decided if I’m in a bizarre place, or if it’s just my own frame of mind.

Let me elaborate. I’m staying in what can only be described as a retirement village (although they call it a resort)… but you know what I like it. So what if I’m hanging out with a bunch of 70 somethings telling stories of how things used to be and how things used to work. It’s actually entertaining. I’ve learnt a lot about some incredible people. I’m learning about my own family history, and I’m appreciating life. I don’t know if those same people will still be around the next time I’m here, but for now this is right. I doubt if these people had planned or could imagine they would be here now, but they put their all into their lives and here they are. Who wouldn’t dream of this?



Then there is the place itself. I’m at my uncle’s summer home on the north coast of Egypt, west of Alexandria. The Mediterranean has the best swimming I’ve ever seen in my life. The water is warm, salty and just feels good. We have a salt-water pool. The sunsets can only be stolen from heaven. The weather is not too warm, not too cold. A bit humid, but the breeze carries dreams of worlds that float in fairy tales. In a word it’s beautiful.

Late yesterday afternoon, I went for a swim in the sea. Throwing yourself at frothy waves in salty water is a wonderful game. It’s the closest anyone can ever get to playing with angels here on earth. Then I went for a dip at the pool. Watching a red sun sink into the sea from the safety of a pool is indescribable. I don’t know if I’ll ever be here again, but I can appreciate it while I’m here… now.

This morning, it was a women’s session at the pool. Old women exercising, in this heavenly setting… talking about recipes! Recipes will never leave me alone…. But never mind. I’m going to enjoy this slice of heaven. This is my present and I’m going to live in it. The future will take care of itself, if I just live in the present. I did a few laps. Then a most brilliant thing happened. A group of six year old kids ran, excitedly towards us and jumped into the shallow end of the pool. They were orphans! It’s the best thing in the world to realise that someone out there devoted enough thought, effort and planning to make this possible. A group of orphans are taken care of well enough to place in their memories regular trips, I am told, to such a wonderful piece of heaven. Very few people are able to come here. Yet it is precisely because these kids were orphans that they can come here. If they had been living with their parents, chances are they would never have been here. Sometimes the worst thing in the world is really not so bad at all.

There is a palm print on our ceiling

There is a palm print on our ceiling.

Really, it’s there in the middle of the kitchen ceiling.

Before I start about the palm, I believe an explanation is overdue. You might have guessed already from previous posts (or conversations!) that I am on holiday. I am in Egypt on holiday, and I’m finding it a little bit unsteady, but more about that later, no doubt.

So back to the palm, the first interesting thing is that I noticed it in the first place. I don’t usually walk around inspecting ceilings, especially not in the kitchen. It’s not a room where I’m likely to have a lie down. Usually I’m peering inside the fridge looking for something to eat. Although all I keep finding today are some cakes, and I don’t like cake, so I stick to bread sticks. They have these great crispy bread sticks with sesame seeds on top.

Anyway, I digress, getting back to the palm print on the ceiling. It’s a fully formed print of a perfectly average palm. I’m guessing it belongs to the guy who installed our natural gas. This brings me to a great aspect about this country, and I use the word great because at this point I’m trying not to use too many negative words. Everybody thinks they are right and nothing else could possibly matter. When this guy installed our gas, he did a good job. We have natural gas and it works. Of course in the process he broke a multitude of the tiles my dad had so painstakingly picked. He forcibly rearranged our kitchen so it’s quite uncomfortable to use now. He installed a huge ugly looking meter on the wall, and wrote a phone number on it by hand. He connected a pipe through our living room, with a gapping hole around it, just above my dad’s antique mirror. This hole is about six times as big as it needs to be and is surrounded by white mortar that stands out so much it’s extremely difficult to ignore. Then there is the mess they left in the bathroom.

That pretty much describes everything else. There are holes everywhere. All of them too big for what they do and all of them surrounded by abstract formations of grey cement that stands out against walls. There are too many air conditioners hanging out of people’s walls. All of them dripping water on the street… on people’s heads... but that doesn’t matter; you shouldn’t be walking on the street anyway.

And another thing, how long does it take to install a dish on a roof? They’ve been welding, really loudly for the past three hours. It’s loud and it’s annoying, but no one cares. No one is complaining. I don’t think anyone has even noticed. People are so used to being abused that they don’t even register anymore. Pedestrians on the street accept that cars always have the right of way. Walking is not something people do and if you dare try to cross a street, then God help you.

The truth is this is a great country. It has so much to offer, but people don’t care for each other. Or they do but in other less visible ways. They don’t bother to be considerate of each other, even when being considerate is someone else’s right.

Then again, maybe I belong here more than I think… I’ve just rambled on about how I’m right and they’re all wrong. Isn’t that a very Egyptian thing to do?

Home

So I don’t like to complain. I genuinely appreciate that I have a lot, and am very thankful for it. I’m very aware that I am the object of many people’s envy. However I am also human and humans are never satisfied with what they have.

So here I sit on the 13th floor in a beautiful sea breeze while others are making do in the heat below on the street. I have a view, I can see sky, while all others can see are brick walls and washing lines. I sit starring at 300 channels with nothing on. I sit at home with a dial up connection. I traveled for two days and paid a fortune so I can sit here with a dialup connection. I could have saved a lot of money if I’d just turned on the heating at home and sat doing the same thing with my wireless ADSL. I probably would have spoken to more people than I’ve spoken to so far. Everyone is being extremely considerate and “letting us rest”. The result is it's my second morning and the only people I’ve seen so far were my 16 year old cousin who brought us milk (I do like the milk here, it’s much nicer) and our door man and his family. His wife, whose name I’ve never known, took me by the hug and was very interested in how we were going and was really nice. She’s always been really nice. I remember as a child I would play in the car parks and little reserves in the street outside our building and 3am Ga3far and his wife would always be keeping an eye on us. She was always the arbitrator whenever there was an argument amongst the kids. Yet those days are gone. I’m now worlds away from that old life and I’m a stranger in my own childhood home. None of those friends are here any more. They’ve all moved on with their lives. I have too, but for some reason I keep coming back expecting things to be the same way they were when we were 12.

I can see my old school yard from the balcony. They put up another building in the garden behind the school’s convent. I remember that garden. It had swings that we were never allowed to use. On my first week at that school we were taken there to play one morning and kids started telling me stories of dead things and blood buried underneath. Kids can have the strangest imagination. Why on earth would five year old girls think of something like that?

Anyway, there is no more garden. It’s now another block of flats with satellite dishes on top. Kinda like the one we have on our roof receiving the 300 channels with nothing on.

I’m afraid to go for a walk. I’m afraid to see what else has changed and left me behind. I’m afraid to see how else this place is telling me that I don’t belong here anymore, because eventually it will sink in and I will believe it. When that day comes, I will be a stranger forever. I will never be home again.

Travel -- Part 1

I love travel.

I really am addicted to the travel bug. The smells, the sounds the journey. It's all in the journey. Being free to behave in ways you wouldn't normally at home, like taking random photos in the street. Getting lost and asking for directions. Somehow there is a wonderful satisfaction in all of that. Dreaming about it, planning it, doing it. The flight. It's ecstasy.

But there are things I hate about traveling. One of those is the week leading up to the start of the journey. I really hate the days leading up to the journey. I hate the packing. I hate the insecurity and the separation. I hate the interruption to my life.

I hate that I'll forget to take things I need. I hate that I'll miss my life and my small comforts when I'm there. I hate that I'll lug around things that I won't need or use. I hate that I know all of that but can't change it. I hate that I won't take care of my life at home. That I'll let it go, that I'll have to trust others to look after my home. I hate the thought that I won't be home when I need to be safe.

The last night in my own bed is always a restless anxious one. A lot of disturbed dreams, uncomfortable ones.

Then the time comes. I step outside and the journey begins. All my fears and all my worries are forgotten. The excitement begins. The rush is here.

Deception

Today three people were shot point blank about two minutes walk from where I work.

Not here! Not in my safe haven!

They got shot because they came to the aid of a woman being harassed in the street. They did not know this woman, nor did they realise she knew her attacker. They were simply coming to the aid of a complete stranger and one of them paid for that with his own life.

As I walked to my office in the morning, I was ignorant of these events. I was simply doing what I do everyday. Yet something felt different. There was an ominous feeling about and I distinctly remember saying to myself that this would not be a good day. None of the people walking around me could have known either as this was at the same instant it happened. Yet I could feel it. Something was different.

You see a lot has happened these last few days. There is an unusually high concentration of onion this week, the really potent kind. I'm trying to find something profound to say about it, but just can't find sense in any of it.

The theme has been hospitals and funerals, and they're creeping ever so much closer.

I'm again at that point where I remove myself from everything and it's as if I'm watching from outside. Watching some sort of perverted film. The plot twists and turns and I just can't look away. I'm too curious. I want to find out what happens next. How will it all turn out?

I get these flashes of insight, where for a split second it all makes sense, and I see things with such clarity. I almost see the future. Those moments are so pristine, so desirable, but I can't hold onto them. They soon wear off and the onion reappears.

Why do people do this to each other? Why must we have so many faces?

Part of the problem is that I know too much. I've been told things that I wasn't supposed to hear, and then told to keep them to myself. I have to let this horrile knowledge silently destroy me from the inside.

I know that this wife, who is looking so desperate, so miserable and trying everything she possibly can to save her husband, is secretly hoping he doesn't make it. She loves him so much but at the same time resents him. I know that she blames him for her deprivation. It wasn't his fault, but she saw him standing in her way. Only a few months ago she broke his heart with talk of divorce. It's not her fault either that she feels this way. She has her instincts blindly pushing her.

Then there are the admired ones.

She holds a position of integrity, trust and honour. She has power and others look to her for help in their most desperate times. They trust her with their worst secrets. She is known to be honest and proclaims to speak for us all. Yet I know that she is hypocrisy personified. I know that those powers are abused. I know that the image of honesty and sincerity are nothing but a facade to hide the darkness inside. The darkness that once in a while boils over and devours all who surround her.

She's not the only one, there is the educator who speaks such beautiful words. He makes sense and he works so hard for all of us. His dedication is unprecedented and his abilities closely follow. Yet I know he does the very things he speaks against. He does those things in proportions and with intentions none of his students could even imagine. He closes doors for his students, traps them with his words only to clear the field for himself. So he can have full rein in his paradise...and not even his victims see it.

I don't want to know these things but they are in my head. I want to forget them and many more pieces of information infused in my consciousness.

Had this man known his life would be the price would he have stepped forward? had he known she was not as innocent as she looked would he have even bothered? Would he have judged her?

There is too much deception in the world. Too much indecision. Why can't we all just be direct and honest with each other? Why do we have to lie so much? Why is honesty punished?

I don't want to take part in any of this. Apparently I'm supposed to learn to play "the game". You know the one where you hold your cards close to your chest and deal them at the opportune moment. Well I can't do that. I'm incapable of it and why should I learn? Why should I force myself to learn such a vile and hurtful game? No I'd rather stay as innocent as I can manage in such a cruel world. I'd rather keep my conscience clear even if the price is that I am always the one to loose out. I don't want to exist in a world where this is the only road to a happy life.

I can't help but walk this earth but I refuse to participate. I know I will loose but in my heart I'll always be the winner, because I'll have kept my soul. There will come a day when that is all that matters and I can only try.

Saturday morning TV

For the first time in a long time, I have a relatively free weekend. I have a lot of chores to do but no actual plans with anyone other than me. This should be grrreat.

So as I wondered around the house trying to avoid doing anything productive I got a great idea. I haven't watched TV in a very long time, I thought to myself. I'll turn it on. So I did what I thought was a fairly benign activity that many many people would routinely indulge in on a lazy winter weekend.

I started surfing the channels. We don't have many of them so choice can be fairly limited.
There was an interview with some crusty old man. I didn't wait long enough to figure out who.

There was news in a foreign language. It's funny how all the reporters look the same, use the same tones and practically the same footage. I wondered if they were saying the same things. My wondering, however was short lived as I quickly got bored and moved on.

Oooooh cartoons. How exciting! After about three minutes of that I decided that my age had long passed double digits and this was not as entertaining as it once was.

Next!

Oh look something is just starting, it was only the warnings. It was odd. The warnings included sexual references and mild coarse language. This grabbed my attention, but for all the wrong reasons. I was wondering why on earth there was a show like this at a time like this. It was mid Saturday morning. How many kids would be watching now? It must be a mistake. Like that time they accidentally put on an after hours add during a children's show.

The show began. I had to see what this was about.

There was a puppet! It was a cross between a monkey and a hippo with a bit of Krusty the Clown thrown in. This show was AIMED AT CHILDREN!

I hadn't been off Saturday morning TV for that long! I'm not that old! Things couldn't have changed that much.

The show was a mix of puppets, cartoons, a guy dressed in a panda suit and music clips, which I assume were the source of the "sexual references and mild coarse language". In between segments the hosts, 'Asha' and some guy whose name I forget, would talk about celebrity gossip. I now know that Christina Aguilera is pregnant because she was spotted coming out of a maternity hospital!

I guess you can throw fact verification out the window.

Then the adds came. I really didn't know what to make of this. Had I been someone else I would have thought it was a conspiracy to indoctrinate early teens into the arts of following trashy gossip, having sex too early and generally growing up too soon... but hang on... It can't be that bad. I've just been out of it for a while and am thinking like an old fuddy duddy. There is nothing wrong with a few song clips with provocative dancing. Is there? I've gotta snap out of it.

Then it got worse. An add for hot.gozzip!!!! girls call free and boys call for a charge!!!!

This was the most interesting thing on television at the time and no wonder STIs are on the rise among youth.

But I did find solace in something. Our resident teenager was actually still in bed. Doubtless most other teens were also still in bed. They were instinctively avoiding this. I felt a swell of pride come on. Teenagers are smart enough to know what's not good for them and avoid it, even if their parents keep making it hard by constantly trying to wake them up. (Red, you can stop now... stop trying to wake up the kids... let them save themselves).

Yes life was safe after all. The kids were not watching this. Instead they were probably exposing themselves to the web! What could their innocent young minds possibly be doing when they lock themselves in their rooms with a computer and an ADSL connection?

Present or Future

There are basically two kinds of people in the world. Two extremes on a continuous spectrum.

The more common kind is the “I can’t” type. I call them type A. They are the ones who live life as it happens. They can see and know exactly what they want; they imagine it and can describe it so perfectly. Yet they will never achieve it because they are too afraid to go for it. They are afraid of failure and are risk averse. They will never pursue anything the moment they realise it means giving up or risking what they already have. This sort tends to be reactionary. They only act when something external happens, and even then, they will only do the bare minimum. They like to stick with the status quo or the closest to it.

Like the lady at the power generator today. All she could see was her present and how uncomfortable she felt. She couldn’t see that her behaviour might make me feel bad or that her concern was of no consequence. She was fixated on what she perceived as a risk, nothing could make her see how false that fixation was. She, like all of type A, is a prisoner of her own cowardice.

Basically type A are the masses. Most of the time they will not amount to anything. Only luck will give them anything in life. They never fail because they never actually try. They are not unhappy, but they never reach their potential either… and they know it. In their old age, when it’s time to reflect and reap their life’s rewards, they are often full of regret and envy. They will never leave anything behind.

The second kind of the people in the world, type B, is the “make it happen” sort. They are exactly that. They set their eyes on a goal, and however big or small, they pursue it. They will risk almost anything to reach their goal. They fail a lot, but they also succeed and because their effort is so directed, they get there. They reach their goal. Their persistence is the most valuable thing they have.

Now be sure, this group is not narrow minded. In fact quite the opposite! They constantly assess and reassess their goals. They will occasionally change direction or realign. But they will do that consciously, after careful consideration, to adapt to new information and experiences. They learn from their mistakes.

It is this group who are remembered. They are the ones who make the world a better place, leave a mark and are looked up to, and even intimidate type A people. You see type A admires them and looks on them with envy, but at the same time they are scared of them. They wish to get close, secretly hoping that the success will rub off, but it’s rare that is does. Because for that to happen, they must first risk something in themselves, which they are never willing to do.

Occasionally type A will despise type B. They see only their failures and use that as an excuse for their own cowardice, but type B know the truth. They know they will have the last laugh.

Type B are actually very frustrated by type A. They don’t understand what could possibly stop someone from pursuing their own life. How could they just drift through the world apparently aimless at the whims of the currents? Don’t they have a reason to live for? Don’t they have ambition? Why can’t they just take a stand?

That is exactly what I have to understand; that there are those who will never understand where I come from. That I must always try, because I know that failure is only temporary. It’s never long before I learn what went wrong and try again. That people will never understand why I have to look critically at every situation to learn from it. Eventually, small successes will accumulate and my target will be mine. Others will then wish they’d kept trying. Most of all I have to learn to not be so hurt by those people. They can’t help it.

So when that day comes, I hope that lady and every other type A won’t be too embarrassed to talk to me. Say hi and remind me of themselves. It would be nice to know that my persistence has worked, because I will never actually stop. The moment I realise that I’ve reached my goal is the moment my life ends. No matter how far I get, there will always be a goal to aim for and I will always be willing to risk all just to see what would happen.

Most people live in the present. I live in the future.

Silence

Something was said in front of me yesterday that really freaked me out. It was two historians and authors talking about the frustration of finding the archives they need and of being denied access to historical records. They were giving advice to their audience and venting frustration at the same time. "Imagine if these people a hundred years ago had been literate and had kept journals" she said. She was right. We'd know so much more about our history. We'd have so much more to say when a self serving politician rummaging for votes says something like 'you must adhere to our values if you come to our country'. If they had been literate we'd have the proof that it IS our country, and that we are as much a part of its culture and values as anyone else. She was saying that we are living in a crucial turning point in history, and that we must leave records behind. She was telling us to write blogs, but not about our innermost feelings. She wanted something more concrete.

Her colleague, someone I have the utmost respect for, concurred that today's blogs are tomorrows historical archives.

Can you imagine, my ridiculous writing being read in a hundred years time by a historian? Can you imagine them trying to make sense of any of it?

Surely they wouldn't bother with mine. It's not meant to be read by others. It's meant to be for me and only me. It's my way of secretly screaming at the world without really attracting any attention.

If you are reading this in years to come. If you are trying to make some sort of historical sense of this then let me tell you something. I'm not that different from you. I feel the same things as you do, as have my fore bearers before me. I search for the same things you search for. I have the same fears, hopes and aspirations. My problems may look different than yours but believe me they are the same as yours. They are just as big in my mind. My abilities too are the same as yours, I only have different tools to help me along. I tried my best, but if I failed you, if I was not able to make your life better than mine then I am sorry for that. I really did try my best.

You see I did everything I could to leave this world a better place than when I found it. This was hard because those who came before me hadn't done that for me. I always heard stories of how much better things were before my time and I tried my best to leave things, at least no worse than how I found them. To leave you something at least as good as I inherited if not better... but it was difficult. I was on my own. Those around me didn't make it easy. Others played with my mind and my heart. Silence you see can be deadly.

I'm not making excuses. I'm just saying that I didn't have the advantage of hindsight as you do now. I didn't know what the road would look like. So don't judge me, at least not until you see what sort of world, you in your turn will leave behind.

Don't assume you know me or know what's best for me. Until you have walked in my shoes, lived my life, you will never know what is in me. Don't ignore me either. There is nothing worse than being ignored as if I never existed. Acknowledge me. That I existed. That in my small contribution, I continue to exist.

And please keep this for the record. That I thank those who came before me. Those who left a trail for me to walk. I could not have criticised, if they had not taught me to always look ahead. Always look for a better way.

flux

I've been sitting here with my fingers on the keyboard for what must have been an eternity. Yet my words run dry. There is so much rushing through my mind that it's impossible to make sense of anything.

I can't make sense of anything without first talking through it, but there is no one to talk to. So I remain in a constant state of flux. Confusion takes over my life. It always has, but it has never mattered as much as it does now. There are too many options, but for the first time my decisions affect more than just me. There are too many lives at stake. Too many others will be disappointed.

Worst of all the situation keeps changing. New information keeps coming to light and new characters emerge. I do nothing yet events keep happening, changing my paradigm completely.

For a long time now I have had a full schedule. There has been a never ending stream of events to attend, no shortage of people to spend time with. Each gathering with a different cast. None to re-emerge the following day. Yet there is no single person to talk to. No single person to help me purge what is in my mind, help me put things where they belong. So I keep bouncing along through life, like a ping ball unable to find its home. Unable to settle.

Is this what it means to be alone?

We each go on with our lives, people come and go in and out of our circles all the time. Each leaving behind a small legacy. Today you may be my best friend, tomorrow you may be a distant memory... a stranger I meet on the street and cordially exchange smiles and a greeting in an awkward moment. Or maybe even avoid each other and change direction completely. A faint smile may be all that remains.

Winter has set in. The nights grow longer and colder. Another season has come and gone and my life has completely changed, yet it is still the same. I met two people this week, whom I have not seen in years. Each in their turn had been closer to me at one point.

"You haven't changed at all" said one, and "you've matured" said the other. Each had known a different me. But I've been the same all along. I only put on different faces because that is what life has taught me to do.

There is no such thing as life. It is only time that passes by in a single direction and we have no choice in the matter. We only exist. It changes the world around us and we just exist. I do nothing, but my chances slip away unused. I do nothing yet those around me move in the eternal dance. They move in and out of site while I stand in the centre, refusing to take part. As if somehow I had a choice. The band plays on and some seem to be enjoying the music too much. They even choose the songs... but I don't know how to do that yet. How can you tell time where to go?

The Fern and the Bamboo

One day a man decided to quit..

I quit my job, my relationship, my spirituality.... I wanted to quit my life.

I went to the woods to have one last talk with God.

"God", I said. "Can you give me one good reason not to quit?"
His answer surprised me. "Look around", He said. "Do you see the fern and the bamboo?"
"Yes", I replied. "When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds, I took very good care of them. I gave them light. I gave them water. The fern quickly grew from the earth.
Its brilliant green covered the floor. Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo.

In the second year the fern grew more vibrant and plentiful. And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo.

"In third year there was still nothing from the bamboo seed. But I would not quit. The same in year four.

"Then in the fifth year, a tiny sprout emerged from the earth. Compared to the fern, it was seemingly small and insignificant. But just six months later, the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall. It had spent the five years growing roots. Those roots made it strong and gave it what it needed to survive.

I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not handle. "Did you know, my child, that all this time you have been struggling, you have actually been growing roots? I would not quit on the bamboo. I will never quit on you.

"Don't compare yourself to others." He said. "The bamboo had a different purpose than the fern. Yet they both make the forest beautiful.

"Your time will come", God said to me. "You will rise high
"How high should I rise?" I asked.
"How high will the bamboo rise?" He asked in return.
"As high as it can?" I questioned
"Yes." He said, "Give me glory by rising as high as you can."

I left the forest, realizing that God will never give up on me. And He will never give up on you.

Never regret a day in your life.

Good days give you happiness; bad days give you experiences; both are essential to life.


--Author Unknown

Truce

A truce has been called.
The conflict is to stall.
Wars will never end.
It's human nature to fight,
but the sides need the respite.
They need to recoup.
They need to reevaluate.
Priorities must be set.
The future or the present.
A choice must be made.
But where does each lie?
Confusion will never end.
Yet they all fight on.
It's the fighting the keeps them going,
not so much the target.
For they know it will be destroyed.
Their very fight destroys it.
Neither will reach it.
Yet they will try.
They will give their lives in sacrifice.
They sacrifice all, for the impossible.
Don't they know it is impossible?
They must always try.

soulmate

Some writing by Mawlānā Jalāl-ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī


The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you,
not knowing how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.


. . . .


What was in that candle's light
that opened and consumed me so quickly?

Come back, my Friend! The form of our love
is not a created form.

Nothing can help me but that Beauty.

. . . .

Anyone that feels drawn,
for however short a time, to anyone else,
those two share a common consciousness.

Search

In darkness eternal, I search for light.
Desperately I search in vein. I have lost everything.
I lament..... the loss of things I never possessed.
Concepts, hopes and wishes.
Reality I saw in others and wished for myself.
I should have known better. I should have known that mine is different.
That I am different.
I ask for much much more.
My greed is infinite. But your mercy is bigger.
I desire so much more than that.
I must give up so much more than that. I understand that now.
My faith is such that I know.
I know without ever seeing, without ever hearing.
I know that there is light.
I know that I must travel longer and farther, but I know the light is there... somewhere
I must look for it. I must find it. I must reach it.
I must sacrifice all these dreams. Earthly dreams.
I search for much more than mere dust.
I search for heaven itself.
I fear that I might never find it.
That I will be plunged into a darker eternity, darker even than my unbearable present.
I fear that I will lose even my faith.
But I trust in your love for me, in your plan for me.
I trust in your mercy, infinite as it is.
You would not let me go.
I don’t deserve it, but I ask for it
Who else would I ask? I need to ask
I need to ask for the impossible.
I plead for the irreplaceable.
I ask because I believe.

There is a war in my soul

Deep down in my soul. There is a war. I am not perfect. But I am not as bad as all this. The fight does not end. There are regrets. But I am not as bad as all that. I have always tried my best. To be as good a person as can be. Now there is a war in my soul. Between honour and desire. My desire is not all that bad. My honour says you are better than that. “Listen to me” it whispers. “You can do better”. “You deserve more”. “This will make you happy” my desire strikes back. “There is no better”. “This is it”. “You don’t want anything else”. “This is what you have dreamed of”. But I did not dream this part. Not this way. I can be so much. If only I can be. This war in my soul destroys all. It burns in my soul. Whichever I choose. I will never know. What it means to be happy. Just let me be. Let me let go. Let me shut my eyes. Let me drift into the abyss. I don’t want to take sides. Let them fight out this war. I will never have what I want. I will never get what I need. I will drift into oblivion. Maybe it’s comfortable there. Maybe then, my tears will finally come.

Why men can't get up in the morning

Was going through some old files and found this joke that was circulating around email a while back... Thought it was funny.


BRAIN LOG; 063015112000

SYSTEM: Attention. Alert registered.
CENTRAL: Alert? Number One, report!
NUMBER ONE: Sir! We're picking up loud music.
CENTRAL: Music? We were just asleep!
NUMBER ONE: Yes sir. Ears report it's "The Last Train to Clarksville."
CENTRAL: Good lord, are we being tortured?
NUMBER ONE: Sir, Eyes are functional and request instruction.
CENTRAL: Tell them to open up and try to find out what is going on.
NUMBER ONE: Scope! Okay, I see darkness... darkness... Wait, there's a woman sleeping there.
CENTRAL: A woman?
NUMBER ONE: Sir, Libido Station wants to know if it is Anna Kournikova.
CENTRAL: Forget about Libido. What can you tell me?
NUMBER ONE: Sir, Memory reports a near perfect match to "wife," sir.
CENTRAL: Well of course. Keep looking.
NUMBER ONE: Sir, urgent report from Stomach on the horn, do you want to take it?
CENTRAL: Stomach, what's going on?
STOMACH: Sir, we've taken a hit, it... it looks bad, sir.
CENTRAL: Get hold of yourself, man!
STOMACH: Yes sir. It looks like a burrito, sir. It exploded at about 1900 hours and we've been out of action ever since. I don't... I don't know if she can take much more, Captain.
CENTRAL: Stomach! Now you listen to me, son. We're all counting on you up here. Don't give up now. Remember the chilli of '94? We made it through that, we can make it through anything.
STOMACH: Yes sir. You can count on me, sir.
CENTRAL: Good man.
NUMBER ONE: Sir, I've got a visual on the clock!
CENTRAL: Tell me, Number One.
NUMBER ONE: Oh my God, sir. It's horrible.
CENTRAL: Dammit sailor, get a grip on yourself!
NUMBER ONE: It's... It's six thirty, sir. In the morning.
CENTRAL: In the morning? Not again. I thought... I thought that we'd had the worst of it yesterday.
SYSTEM: Sixty seconds to consciousness.
CENTRAL: This is madness. Do you know what's going to happen if we go conscious now, this early?
NUMBER ONE: Work, sir?
CENTRAL: That's right, Number One. It'll be work, all right. I don't... I don't know if I can live through that hell again.
SYSTEM: Fifty seconds to consciousness.
NUMBER ONE: Sir? Do you have orders?
CENTRAL: Hmmm?
NUMBER ONE: Orders, sir. Do you have orders for us?
CENTRAL: Orders? Orders, Number One? Damn right there are orders! Let's get ourselves moving.
NUMBER ONE: Aye aye, sir!
SYSTEM: Forty seconds to consciousness.
CENTRAL: Shut that damn thing off, I'm trying to think. Get our remote stations on line. I want a Search and Acquire on anything that feels like a snooze button. Tell them to move. Bladder!
BLADDER: Yes sir?
CENTRAL: How are you holding?
BLADDER: All systems are flush and ready, sir. We can go another three hours, easy.
CENTRAL: Very well, Bladder. Number One, get me Nose on the horn.
NOSE: Sir, Nose reporting, sir!
CENTRAL: Good to hear from you, Nose. How are you doing up there?
NOSE: Sir, ah, we registered cat breath about twenty minutes ago, but it was pretty faint and I didn't think...
CENTRAL: Steady on, nose. You were right not to trigger an alert.
NOSE: Thank you, sir.
CENTRAL: Nose, I'm afraid I have bad news for you, son. We took a burrito last night.
NOSE: Oh no, sir, not again!
CENTRAL: I said steady! You're going to have to hold on, you hear me? Hold on,and it will pass. I don't want ANYTHING getting through to Consciousness.
NOSE: Yes sir. I'll try, sir.
CENTRAL: That's the spirit. Stomach!
STOMACH: Sir?
CENTRAL: How are you doing down there?
STOMACH: We've been breached, Captain. The whole alimentary is in flames. I'm trying to keep it contained, but I can't promise anything.
CENTRAL: Damn!
NUMBER ONE: Sir, Libido Station reports it is ready for battle!
CENTRAL: Tell Libido to calm down, I'll call him when I need him. Any report from our search party?
NUMBER ONE: Sir, Fingers report they located and toppled a glass of water, a pair of glasses, and a box of Kleenex. No luck on the snooze, sir.
CENTRAL: Number One, I don't mind telling you, if we don't get this under control we're going to lose her.
NUMBER ONE: Yes sir. Sir, Libido requests positive verification that the woman sleeping next to us is not Anna Kournikova.
CENTRAL: For crying out loud.
NUMBER ONE: Sir, Ears reports the song is over. It's going to commercial, sir.
CENTRAL: How much time on the system clock?
NUMBER ONE: Ten seconds to consciousness, sir. We've lost smile control in the lower facial and we're developing a frown.
CENTRAL: Brace yourself, Number One. I'm afraid we've had it.
NUMBER ONE: Sir! Fingers has located target. Repeat, Fingers is on target!
CENTRAL: Fire!
NUMBER ONE: Hit! Sir, direct hit!
CENTRAL: Ears!
NUMBER ONE: It's gone, Captain! Ears reports the music is gone!
CENTRAL: We've done it!
SYSTEM: Consciousness canceled.
NUMBER ONE: Sir, all systems are ready for sleep mode. Repeat, sleep mode now ready.
CENTRAL: Trigger sleep mode NOW.
NUMBER ONE: Sleep mode triggered, aye aye, sir.
CENTRAL: Shut Eyes.
NUMBER ONE: Eyes off, sir. Frown relaxed, smile restored.
CENTRAL: By golly, that was a close one.
NUMBER ONE: Yes sir. Sir, Dream Team requests selection. Libido asking for something naked, sir.
CENTRAL: Request denied. Let's roll the one where we show up for church wearing only our underwear, I like that one.
NUMBER ONE: Roger that, sir. Dream selection completed and tape is rolling, sir.
CENTRAL: Good work, Number One. You take the helm.
NUMBER ONE: Aye aye, sir.

untitled

...

will anyone notice
will anyone care
will anyone shed a tear
for a life that no longer is
for a life that never could
will anyone remember
when I am gone
will it be too late
will I have lingered
too many breaths
too much consumed

my tears don't come today
they are afraid
they would fall an eternity
they hide
they know
no one to notice
no one to care

my scars don’t show
but be sure they are there
they are frightened to appear
for if they do, they might unheal
under a veil of smiles
under a mask of laughter
they hide well
but if you listen closely
you will see what it all means

but you will not listen
you will not care

we all have a purpose
mine is to serve
to take the fall
to absorb it all
we all live for a dream
mine is to dream
dreams that will never be
dreams that will disappear
forgotten
along with me

no one will ever notice
no one will ever care

“good riddance”
they will say
“more room for me”
they will say
“more dreams for the rest”
they will know
few will notice
none will care

but I must dream
my dreams can live
in my soul they flourish
my purpose is to dream
maybe someday
my dreams will be borrowed
and then someone will care

my dreams are memories
my memories are dreams
what is the difference
except time
and what is time
time turns our dreams to memories
memories that have
memories that never will
they are all memories
some we forget
many we don’t notice
in the end, none of us will care

talking

Today I witnessed something very special. I witnessed the true making of history.

It was not a revolution, the signing of a new treaty or a natural disaster. It was not a war and will never be reported on the news. No one will remember the date or where they were today, and only those who took part will ever know that it happened. Most of us, including those who took part, will not even realise that this is where history changed, before our very eyes.

It was a simple discussion. A small group of ordinary people who came together and talked for a little while. There was food and drink and kids playing and babies crying. There were jokes and laughs and even games. It was a great chance to catch up with old friends and make new ones. It was also a great chance to swap ideas and talk about our world.

We talked global. We tried to understand our world and why it is what it is, and what part we played in it. We talked about what we could do today to change it for the better, to make the life of every human being on earth better. There were the pessimists and the optimists.

In the end no plan of action came of it, no concrete steps. It was only concepts. Seeds were planted for us to think about. Ideas to keep in the back of our minds.

None of us will actually change our lives tomorrow, but we will, subconsciously take small steps and, by example, ask those around us to take small steps. Gradually, if enough people in the world take small steps, history itself will have changed.

The spoon

Sometimes I remember things. I notice things, strange, disconnected probably totally random things. Yet they are engraved in my memory.

Sometime ago I left my home early in the morning. As I walked on that icy cold morning, the wind hitting me on the face and the frost crunching underneath my feat, I was planning my day. It was a busy, yet normal day. I had a lot of things to do, but nothing really unusual was on my mind. There were no major projects happening in my life, nothing in particular to look forward to.

As I walked briskly, something on the ground attracted my attention. It was a spoon! There was nothing special or unusual about this spoon, except that it was left there on the curb. It was an odd place to leave a perfectly good looking spoon. Someone out there must be sitting to their breakfast right now, with cereal in their bowl, milk added and no spoon! Could that really be true? Would someone really own only one spoon and then drop it on the curb without noticing? Why would they be out on the street with their only spoon anyway?

Nah, they probably have other spoons. They must have a whole collection, with forks and knives too. That is how people live. That is how spoons live. They are never alone. They are always in groups. They live with other spoons, just like them. Sometimes they work alone, but most of the time they work with others, similar but different, like forks and knives. The spoon must be miserable. Lying there alone and unloved in the gutter.

All things must die, but what a horrible death. No one came to look for it, not one bothering to pick it up. Even I ignored it as I walked past, planning my day.

Today I was going to get a lot done. I had a full schedule of meetings, catchups, reports to write, phone calls to make. It was going to be a productive day. I was going to end it somewhere else. I was going to my other home.

I felt too scattered. I have too many homes. Too many places to forget things. Too many places to belong and I just end up belonging to none. I don't like that. I want to just be in one place. I just need to be myself, to stop planning, to just live for now. but I can't. I have to perform. Wear my confidence and independence on the outside as I wade though life, day by day.

This day was no different. There was praise, acknowledgment, disappointment, small successes and small failures. There were talks and fake smiles as well as genuine ones. There were tears that never had a chance to see the light of day. It was exhausting.

As I drove the long drive home, at the end of a long and exhausting day, the sort of day that had really taken a lot out of me. I felt mangled and tied up. I wondered, how was that spoon doing now? Had anyone noticed it? Had anyone helped it? or was it still lying there in desperation? Had the harsh sun twisted and mangled it beyond all hope?

As I parked my car and opened the door to get out. My weary eyes glanced something. Something very strange and unusual in the gutter. Here hundreds of kilometers away, in the mud it was there. It was unmistakable. It was a fork! I should have picked up that spoon. I should have brought it with me. It was too late then. I would have to live with this forever. I could have helped, but I chose to abandon, and now I too would be abandoned.

The train ride

Every morning I have a routine. I get up, do my bathroom thing, get dressed, realise that I am going to miss my train, run to catch it, get to the train station with plenty of time to spare, the train comes on time... This is where things departed from routine today.

Normally the train is fairly comfortable. I always get a seat, get out my book and immerse myself into it till I get to my station. I usually really enjoy my train journey. It gives me time to think, be alone, expand my mind without the hassles and nagging of life. It's one of the few times of my day when I don't have to live up to some responsibility or expectation. I just get on and it gets me to where I need to go.

Today however to my dismay the train arrived almost full! How could the train be full at my station, this early in the morning? Where did all those people come from? They are not supposed to be there.

Well I had no choice about it; I squeezed on and found a pole to hang onto, along with about six other people stretched out attempting to avoid the need to grab onto someone else's coat instead.

Now in such situations, where everyone is forced to invade others' personal space there are norms and conventions. Understood and unspoken behaviours peculiar to each particular part of the world.

The first rule is to avoid making eye contact with anyone. If you are squeezed together so tightly that you are almost locked in a twenty minute embrace, you don't want to remember what the person looks like, in case you run into them again in another more natural setting. That could be quite awkward. If by accident you happen to make eye contact with someone then politely smile and look away.

Secondly, you never make bored movements, like exhaling loudly, rolling your eyes, fidgeting or anything else to signal to the persons around you that you are uncomfortable about the situation. You are all in the same boat... and although there may be the odd pervert who is having the time of their lives you are better off assuming everyone else is as uncomfortable as you are. For the sake of your own sanity.

Thirdly, you must not talk on the phone. There is nothing worse than being packed into a sardine can with someone speaking loudly in your ear to describe the very situation you are in and explaining how uncomfortable it is... No generally you must pretend this is not happening. You try to make yourself and everyone else around you as comfortable as can be expected by trying not to annoy them. It is the best you can do short of getting off.

Finally, you should realise that if now is when you remember that you haven't had a shower, then it's too late to do anything about it. Don't get out the spray and start masking your BO on the train. Causing others to faint is not an acceptable social practice.

The only option you really have is to simply get off the train... or if you don't care about social acceptance much (which chances are you don't, unless the source of your BO is an early morning bike ride to the train station) then you can pretend you are a mentally disabled homeless person and complain about all the extra people on the train in the morning waking you up and not giving you enough room for your morning wee. That will surely create lots of room for you on the train to be comfortable.

There are other dynamics that also occur. For example there is the inevitable couple who complain to each other about the squeeze and their inability to find something to hold onto. They are really pretending. In fact they couldn't be happier. They have found the perfect excuse to get up close and hold onto each other while imagining that they have avoided the glares of disapproval. Or even better, if you get on the train with someone you fancy. You can use the excuse that "something with four legs is more stable than something with two legs" and happily grab onto them. No one will blame you for it... and you never know, this might just be the catalyst you needed to start that something you've both been secretly hoping for. Just out of consideration for everyone else involved in this hug though, don't start pashing in the carriage!

So here I was on this crowded train, music in my ears (not loud enough for others to hear), eyes closed trying to imagine my next holiday... I was nearly there. I was not uncomfortable. Except for my arm going numb trying to reach for the pole, this wasn't so bad. If only I could move this bag underneath me, then I can get closer to the pole and I won't have to reach any more....

"Excuse me" I said politely to the strange looking woman sitting in front of me "is this your bag?"
My first mistake was attempting to speak to a woman in a bright blue suit, pink shirt and a topless cap with her hair bunched to the top like a palm tree. Her "yes" was very abrupt.
"Would you mind moving it to the other side" I proceeded un-phased by the pink pin on her collar in the shape of a female like you'd find on toilet doors "it's making it very difficult to stand"
"Where would I put it there is no room" she said and continued to read in her hot rod magazine completely ignoring me. It wasn't enough that I was standing and she was sitting, she had to make me stand uncomfortably.
"ok then" I replied "I hope you don't mind when I fall on you". It was a stupid reply, but other standers understood. They sympathised. They gave her looks that she ignored pretending to peer over her magazine. We were banding together, trying to make the best of our misfortune, and no one else could understand that.

We are like that aren't we as people? The less we have the more helpful we try to be towards each other.

I hope that the next time I am sitting; I will remember that there are others not as lucky as me, and I will do what I can to make them more comfortable. If they have to go on their journey with less than me, then I will try my best not to make it harder for them... I will move my things.

Hope

I have hope
I have dreams
My dreams give me hope
My hope gives me dreams
I dream too much
I dream of all
I hope for more
I expect none
It is dangerous to dream
It is disappointing to hope
I have what I have
That is all I have
I have hope

Prologue

so.. I guess you are wondering what on earth is the title of this blog. What the hell is onion in fruit salad.
Is that supposed to be funny or something. It's a bit lame I know, but it is how I feel about my life.

Bear with me while I take you on possibly the worst analogy you have ever encountered.

Think of life like a salad. Different people's lives are like different kinds of salads. Different ingredients get mixed together to make a single harmonious tasty dish. There are traditional hard working green salads, strong filling cesar salads, warm chicken salads, sweet fruit salads. There are exotic salads with nuts, cheeses, olives and green leaves and mangoes and oranges and all kinds of dressings. You get my point. We pick and choose our own ingredients and somehow it all just works. We know how to pick the right ingredients.

Some of us can't seem to get the right combination. We go through life confused, not knowing exactly where we are headed or where we belong. We start off trying to be a traditional green salad, then we see some other person's recipe and we like it so we try to borrow some ideas... those people are like me. We end up with onion in our fruit salad.

I like to think I know where I'm headed. I've always had a plan and have always been determined and driven. I've always done well with whatever life threw at me (and believe me a lot was thrown my way). I'm doing well for myself, I have a lot...

but late at night, when I sit back in a bed flooded with moon light. When I have time to think alone and be honest with myself. I realise that I'm not really where I had planned to be. I'm not where I thought I was headed. I had improvised when I couldn't find what I looked for and I had taken what came easy.... So I ended up with this life. It's a perfect combination of fresh ripe fruit, it is something to be envied. Everybody does envy it. Everyone wants a piece of it... but get up close and the onion will make you cry.

It is there, it is inescapable.... and you know what... I haven't finished yet. I'm still improvising and I have no idea what will be in the end.

Ready... set... fall

Well here we are. Me, a blog, and no readership.

I guess that really is part of the attraction at this stage.
I fool myself into thinking I'm talking to the world, but actually the world couldn't care less.

That is really what this blog may turn out to be about. I say 'may' because I don't really know what mood I'll be in tomorrow or the day after, or even if I'll have the energy or motivation to keep this up. It is sort of like a diary that everyone can see, but no one is interested in.

It'll be about the irony of life.. my life. The contradictions. Sometimes I may have a spark of creativity and write something good. Occasionally I may even write something profound. Most of the time it'll be random thoughts blurted out silently... kinda like this one.
I'll probably live to regret it. Why let the whole world know what is going on in my life, my head... my heart.. then again, who will read it? I'm talking to myself essentially.

I won't start by introducing myself. I won't tell you my name, my age where I live. I won't paint you a picture of outward appearances or pin down the markers I'm expected to define myself within. I'll let you decide that for yourself. You can guess, or assign a life to me that you imagine I should have, or must have.

Instead I will paint a picture from the inside. I will try to be brave enough to show you my thoughts...