The Deception of Success

I don't consider myself successful. Not in an overtly ambitious, scaling the heights of the steep career wall aggressively, sense anyway. I don't consider myself a failure either. I am content. I am happy with where I am and what I have achieved.  Mostly because I am not gripped by career fever and I have other things in life that drive me. I am also modest and aware.

Many on the other hand are not. Modesty is one thing but awareness is something else altogether.

There is a disease that I have witnessed first hand grip colleagues and friends, and it has to do with success. I could go into the subjective psychological and philosophical layers underlying what success means to you or me or the average person trying to make a mark out there. I won't. The concept is much simpler than that. It is about reaching unprecedented levels of achievement before your very own eyes, that it almost becomes intoxicating. One achievement drives another and another until one loses track of the means and reason. When that happens, there is no control over sinking deeper into a dementia of ambition. The result? Being totally and utterly consumed by one's own success that there is absolutely no awareness of all the compromises made.

It can happen to anyone. Success can give such a feeling of elation, a sense of achievement and a power that one perhaps didn't realise existed. A hunger for more is born. Success becomes a drug that is needed to feed that power within and it grows exponentially. When one is not aware and one is not modest, it turns into a disease. What would it take to taste one more bitter sweet success story? Forego humaneness, good manners or decency. In very mild forms, that's always how it begins. The ends justify the means. It becomes ok to be a little less polite, a little more aggressive, a little less humane, a little more robotic or as the corporate world might describe it more "business-like". Business is business after all, whatever that means. A whirpool that consumes mind and soul because, what after all these successes? It is all temporary. What remains is how you are able to (or unable to) face yourself and those who matter because life is short and we all die.

So stop.

Modesty and awareness are the controllers of success. They pace us. They make us evaluate our approach and get us in tune with our value system. They are the checks and balances of our achievements and they ground us so that we don't end up living in the castles that we build in our minds. Success can be a good thing, just not when we are deceived by it.

When it feels personal...

Martin Place.
The amphitheatre. The benches near the stall with all the flowers. The Law Society and Supreme Court just around the corner. The buildings. The businesses. The library. Elizabeth Street. The steps down to the train station. Snapshots. Continual poses frozen in my mind. I am stuck in my head. Clouded with emotion and shock.

Lindt cafe.
My favourite cafe in Sydney. I was there just last year. We were all there one Friday morning on a summer's day. All the other times I went there. Pancakes with my sister. Sitting by the windows. The tastes, senses and vibes from the chocolate. The type of people who would stop by, or linger. Chocolate to go. Delectable tastes and memories in my head. In my heart.

Katrina Dawson.
A tribute. A name. A face. A person. A college resident. A fleeting memory. A brave soul. Discrete moments captured and linked together to arrive at an unimaginable ending.

They say when something tragic happens to you, you need to give yourself time to grieve. Allow yourself to acknowledge the emotions. What happens when you are not directly affected but instead, a spectator from afar. Are you still entitled to grieve? I feel entitled to grieve and mourn the reckless murder of innocence. The violation of my personal memories. The loss of lives.

We make memories. We experience moments that leave a mark on us. We go through motions not knowing their effect or how they might influence others now or in the future. We leave pieces of our hearts in the things we love and do, sincerely but possibly superfluously, only to recall them at times like this. Time and circumstances work together to filter through the past and make important that which was once a single chain in a long series of moments.

When I first heard about the Sydney siege, I was in shock, just like millions of others. Maybe if it had occurred somewhere else, it wouldn't have shook me that way. But this is my hometown. This is Martin Place. A place I know. A place I walked through, lingered on in and reflected by many times. Time is testimony to moments I spent there. How can that same place be host and witness to an event so gruesome. How can a lunatic give himself the right to intrude on that space.

And this is Lindt cafe. My favourite chocolate cafe, in fact my favourite cafe in Sydney. A warm and delightful place. Chocolate attracts happiness and innocence. It also attracts children. A non-coffee drinker, Lindt was my solace and my answer. A delectable, stylish, classy and simple venue in the midst of a seriously busy city hub. Now the innocence of the place has been violated and destroyed. Guns, fear, threats, death... how can that be forever linked to the homecoming and welcoming feeling of chocolate.

Then there are the victims. I could've been one of them. Any one of my family or friends could've been one of them. It would not be uncommon for us to stop by the cafe for a hot chocolate or a special treat. Whenever I think back to the horror that the victims and their families must've experienced, I feel sick to the bone. It is not hard to replace their images with myself or any one of my family or friends.

Katrina Dawson. What a brave soul. Ever since I saw her picture or heard her name, I felt a sense of connection. At first I thought I was empathising with her but there was another nagging yet distant feeling. And then I realised why as the cobwebs of the past cleared and I found myself facing an explosion of memories. Our connection is Womens College. The halls of residence I lived in for three years while I studied at the University of Sydney many many years ago, while approaching the end of my teens. A place where she and I lived and shared for one of my three years. A place that shaped my personality. There is no denying it. My initial university years, my college years were the most influential years in my life. Living with other women, day in and day out, sharing meals, sharing activities and events. The formal dinners. The guest speakers. The food. The random wanderings... We were influenced by the same things. For a year, we took in the same experiences. Did I know her personally? No. But I could've passed her by walking down one of the corridors. I could've smiled at her. Could she have been just a few doors away from me? Did I ever imagine that someone I used to live with but had no direct connection with would suddenly make me want to grieve for her? How is this possible?

Perhaps it is still the shock of it all that is preventing me from understanding my emotions. I am saddended. I am mourning silently in my heart a fellow college resident. I am mourning the cafe manager. Brave, brave soul. I am silently holding a vigil and a prayer in my heart for them and for their families. And I cry untold tears for my religion that gets blasphemed by lunatics time and time again for no reason. Lunatics who know nothing of its tenderness.

I cry silent tears for the #illridewithyou hashtag that touched so many of us. This is what humanity is about. I cry silent tears for the hope of humanity left in many and I cry bitter tears for those whose hearts have hardened in its face.

I long to lay flowers on the ground at the site and to write sincere words in the notebooks lying there now. I long to join in and show my little bit of humanity. But I am afar so I grieve alone. May they rest in peace and may the justice system learn a hard hard lesson, never to be repeated ever again.

The End or the Beginning?

I'm about to start the last week of my seven year journey. A career change I embarked on when everyone around me thought I had lost the plot on life. A journey that was filled with hardships and challenges and many lessons learnt. Now, it's come down to the final week. The stakes are high and the challenges during this week are the toughest yet. Just one week more. Survive this and it's all over. It hit me a few days ago but I brushed it aside. It was only this morning that the realisation dawned on me. And with it came a sea of emotions, confusing me, tugging at me here and there. And with it came the stress.

Seven years ago I took a leap of faith and took my first baby steps into an unknown world. It was a journey I started not knowing where it would take me. I changed paths many times. I had to stop and recalibrate my proverbial compass when things weren't working. It was a journey marred by extreme uncertainty but also blessed with luck and elements of success that kept me going. And I soldiered on during those times when I was close to giving up.

Seven years of my life. The same questions that haunted me at various points on my way are nagging at me now. Was it worth it? Or have I just wasted a precious seven years of my life. The best years of my life to reach an endpoint that might be synonymous to an anti-climax.

Recalibration of the mind...

This is not the end of a seven year journey. This is a means to a new beginning.

The value is not in reaching the endpoint - although one of the goals that keep you moving - but in learning lessons and becoming a richer person. I am not the same person I was seven years ago by far. I think back to my life at the start and imagine what it would've been like had I not made this change. I shake my head and think: No. Things are exactly the way they are meant to be. 

I was meant to take this journey. I was meant to endure, fight and rise above. I was meant to become the person I am today and it's all for the purpose of preparing me for something bigger and better. So it's not about the endpoint. It's much deeper and all-encompassing than that.

I am about to start the last week of a seven year journey that will catapult me into the life I am meant to live. Be the person I am meant to be and fulfill my destiny. It's about shaping who I am. It was about healing my wounds and sealing my scars and making me stronger. 

And now, as I take it one day at a time during these final challenges, I will rest assured, looking forward to the fresh start that is awaiting me.

Life is composed of a series of fresh starts, though we might not know it. I'm about to start mine..

Our Disassociated Selves

The world is suffering from a lost innocence, manifested in our hardened souls. 

This blog post is nothing more than an inner conversation my conscience has with me, frequently. A circular conversation that starts where it ends, every single time. It starts like this.

When was the last time you cried over something that had absolutely nothing to do with you?

When was the last time you empathized with someone else's adversity?

When was the last time you actually tried to do something about it?

Maybe we claim we do. Perhaps we shrug our shoulders and think in silence that it is wrong, that it is unfair but that there is nothing we can do about it. We shift the responsibility over to someone else, not knowing who that someone is. A proverbial savior of all things who is anyone but us. And we distract ourselves and go on with our daily lives, just like those who struggle for their daily lives go on too.

I am guilty of being in a state of disassociation. I look for a scapegoat. It could be anything. The media, the news, governments, politicians, people in power not doing enough, people on the ground not going about it the right way. Fact is, we're all in the same boat, just looking at things from a different angle. There's a huger sense of cause and effect that governs our lives. There's a unique sense of balance that may seem skewed and unnatural. An oxymoron I know, but somehow it makes sense. And again I digress and find that this is just another means for me to philosophise our human condition; our dissociative selves.

I watch the news and the constant bombardment of atrocities has made it the norm to expect to see and hear these advertises on a daily basis. So I instantly shut it out. Dissociate myself from it. Out of sight out of mind. A safety latch that I hold on to, allowing me to function in a world gone mad. There are many like me. In fact I have stopped watching the news.

I occupy myself with my goals and hobbies and doing my bit of good in this world. But it's never enough because my conscience pokes at me again and asks me...

When was the last time you truly, sincerely empathized with someone else's adversity?

And the bully of a conscience replies to the silence it is faced with: you're just like everyone else, lost in your disassociated self.

And I sigh and think yes and the world is suffering from a lost innocence, an innocence that at least I still possess and see reflected in children under five years old. And my soul is not so hard after all.

Girls : To Propose or Not to

I read a very interesting blog entry today (http://the-spit-bucket.blogspot.com/2012/09/why-cant-girl-propose.html) about a conversation on why a girl should be able to propose to a guy. It provoked a stream of thoughts and brought to the fore a series of memories. It was like a film reel of a portion of my life and I watched it and recalled it from afar. It also made me rethink and consider whether my views have changed.

Ten years ago I would've totally agreed with the view that a girl should be able to propose to a guy. Using tact and style I believed that a woman should be empowered enough to take charge of her relationships. After all, as strong independent women we take charge of our careers, our decisions, our finances, we should also be able to take charge of who we believe we want to spend the rest of our lives with. I used to find it ironic that society gives us the freedom to pursue our desires in other arenas yet conditions us into submission by waiting for the guy to take that step. It just didn't fit in with the persona of a modern day woman. I looked up at the role model of Lady Khadijah, our prophet Muhammad's (peace be upon him) first wife. A strong independent woman, she had proposed to him in a tactful and respectful way and their marriage was the happiest and greatest love story in history. I believed I could follow in her footsteps but I was wrong. Those were ideal people and whereas that had happened during an era when life was simpler, today such ideals are a rarity.

Fast forward ten years later. Yes I still believe a woman should be empowered enough to pursue her interests, goals and dreams when it comes to all aspects of her life. But I halt when it comes to applying that to that special person. It might be the dreamer and the little girl in me who still believes in the fairy tale that most girls grow up with. Prince Charming who will come and sweep us off our feet and take the step for us (to propose) and live happily ever after. Prince Charming may or may not exist but that's not the issue here.

I was one of those girls who did propose to my ex-husband. I did it with tact and style. We had known each other for two years and, being the type of person with strong faith and beliefs, I thought that the natural progression for our relationship would be marriage as I never believed in a girlfriend-boyfriend type of relationship and I was and still am religious. Two years had been enough time for us to get to know each other's personalities and I believed we were both ready to start a life together. So I broached the subject and suggested that we get married and make our relationship complete. It took a few months of consideration before we did. Two years later I was divorced. The reasons are not important but something I was told by him gave me a shocking lightbulb moment. When we got married, he had liked me but hadn't loved me. He had been under pressure at the time to get married and he decided to go ahead with it with me being available and after he had been presented with such an opportunity. He added that after marriage, he did gradually start to fall in love with me. The whole conversation was shocking to say the least. Had I misread the signs? Had my intuition and feelings been wrong all along? Needless to say that I realised that I had wronged myself and sold myself short.

Guys, when presented with an opportunity will jump at it. After my experience I was totally against the idea of a girl proposing to a guy. Perhaps it is wrong to generalise from one failed experience. There are probably many successful marriages out there as a result of the girl proposing. It all comes down to the background of the girl and the guy. It relates to upbringing and expectations and the level of open mindedness and maturity. It has to do with the seriousness of the relationship and the stage it is at. But again I will say that guys, when presented with an opportunity will jump at it. Even if the guy is open minded and mature enough, a guy who finds a girl hinting or offering herself in marriage to him will seriously consider it an opportunity. If he does go through with it, there will always be a lingering expectation that other things will be initiated by the girl too.

Girls like to feel cherished, appreciated and adored by the man they love. Girls who propose miss out on fulfilling that need. They miss out on the feeling that their man had the courage to take the step to declare their love to them, to have chosen them amongst all others. They miss out on the chance to know that their man has thought things through and decided that this is the person whom they want to spend the rest of their life with. The proposal is by far the most romantic and important step for any girl in a relationship because it's a declaration. The first true declaration of how special she is to him.

Women by their very nature are givers and nurturers. We are made that way to contain the people we love. We have this innate tendency within us to care and nourish souls. It is natural for a woman to feel the need to want to care for and nurture the guy she loves. But girls who propose miss out on that form of appreciation of that feminine aspect of themselves. Instead they choose to frog leap and place themselves in a position where they will always be expected to forever be in a form of caring and nurturing. And even after successfully proposing and a happy marriage, there will always be those moments, wondering, during those grey moments when things are not as rosy as they seem, whether he would've even taken that step at all.

Today my view is that if I feel a certain way about someone I express it to them and make it known. But I leave the proposing to him to do. If he feels the same way too he would be miles ahead taking all steps to make it happen because guys are pursuers.

In a sense it is waiting for one's destiny to be fulfilled. As the age old adage says: all in good time and whatever is meant to be will be.

Insight in a Time of Illness...

I'm tucked in bed, box of tissues on my right, mounting pile of used tissues in the bin down on the floor on my left.  Water bottle, book and of course my laptop within easy reach. I'm sick with the flu and off work. I look out of the window and wish away these germs. Wishing I were healthy and on the go again. But these moments do have some value. And I contemplate and think.

How easy it would be just to have the simple ambitions of finish school, uni, get married, have a couple of kids and live life. Instead I choose the unconventional. The unordinary. And I put up with the mundane and the very ordinary day in day out to get to my goal. So I sit and wonder. Will it all be worth it? The hardships and challenges that I encounter. The seemingly dead ends and trying to channel a new way through the brick walls. Will they be worth it?

I don't have the answers. It's times like these where I only ask the questions and wonder. But then I pick myself up and continue where I left off. Some times God sends me a sign (I have learnt to look out for signs) to tell me to carry on and so I do. Other times I'm left to my own devices and have to find the faith within me to believe that what I'm doing is what I'm meant to be doing. But am I doing it the right way? Is there a right way?

Everyone has weaknesses and whereas I think I know mine, I don't seem to learn to stop being accommodating. At the risk of sounding very idealistic, naive and cheesy, I have been encountering more and more people who will stop at nothing to step on others to elevate themselves. Mostly it is an ego boost for themselves in an atmosphere that stops at nothing to undermine. But I am not made that way. I cannot undermine and I cannot use people as stepping stones. The problem is when people choose you as a stepping stone. A diplomat at heart, I find ways to circumvent it. Although in such situations, it requires direct confrontation and a little bit of lingo below the belt. I have never been able to adopt that attitude. So I come across as accommodating. 

I have been told that I can intimidate those in front of me when I choose to. So I guess I do have it in me. I just don't like doing it and I brush aside these ego boosting charades of the other as immaturity. I can see right through them and I can choose to stop them any time that I want to. So is this a weakness?

I go back to thinking about the simple ambitions and how everyone is just out for themselves. Trying to achieve whatever it is they seek. Even those with the not so simple ambitions. They're all the same. What a selfish selfish world we live in. And I think back to myself and wonder. Will all that I'm doing be worth it? Is there an unselfish aspect to what I want? Or am I just kidding myself.

To Err is to Learn

I watched this video yesterday about what it means to be wrong and it inspired me.

Today I found myself in that position. In the wrong. Perhaps the video subconsciously jump-started that sense of awareness in me but I realised that I had made an error in judgment. I kicked myself for quite a while, knowing that I should have known better. I should have thought things out and realised that impulses are not always a good thing. But then I stopped myself then and there and said that I am not one to use the words "should have". It is done. There is no use dwelling on it. I say this as the consequences stare me in the face. But I look back at them and acknowledge their presence despite the ill feeling that chases me. Come what may I will deal with it. And when it is over, I will learn a valuable lesson and it will make me a richer person.

Now don't get me wrong, this thing that I did is not serious enough to cause me ulcers or to lose sleep. Just a little mistake that can easily be rectified but which if I had chosen to continue with would probably have cost me more as I went along. Yet I still cannot let go of this nagging feeling in the gut of my stomach that makes me ill thinking of the consequences that I have yet to face. It stays with me, there, like dead weight at the back of my mind, like a shadow that just hangs over my head and does not go away. I know that I will be able to breathe easier once it is all over but despite this I tell myself to stop dwelling. Things could have been much worse and I caught it in time, like a disease that is caught in the early stages and now is time to administer a slightly painful remedy.  In retrospect it is a good thing that I did realise this now and choose to stop, think and decide. This had already given me a valuable lesson: the importance of self-evaluation in anything one does.

Along with the fact that one should just do it, grasp the moment or the opportunity and let your creativity loose, there is also the importance of stopping every now and then to evaluate the situation. To reflect and check whether one is indeed going down the right path. To look ahead and see whether there are any obstacles or potential hazards that one should try and avoid now. And to decide whether to continue down that path or not.

To err is truly to learn and it provides an opportunity to change ways and capitalise on alternatives. It also gives the opportunity to let go of those things that you might end up chasing for nothing and to save potentially wasted time and effort. Above all, for that I am grateful.

Realignment

It's March. We're still in the first quarter of the second decade, of the new millennium and so far 2011 has been unstoppable. Whether it is revolutions or natural disasters, the world is changing. Perspectives have changed. Sands have shifted. In the desert of constant familiarity where injustice or comfort, despair or security, tyranny or a feigned sense of superiority lived for years, decades at a time, the sands of that desert have now shifted. A realignment is needed - most of all within.

I watched in horror as a tsunami swept across Japan. The water just devoured everything in its way. It showed no mercy and it brought to my mind a scene from the Day of Judgment. I had been so caught up in the revolution in Egypt that it jolted me back to a fragile world. The world we all share and live in. This temporary world where we continue to charge through or survive, whichever way you may choose to, on a daily basis. A world where we are given a temporary feeling of being in control but then all of a sudden something happens and reminds you how small and fragile you really are. 

Water. It quenches your thirst but yesterday it was a destructive power obeying the will of God. It made me think of the double-edged swords that we each hold in our lives. The blessings that can suddenly turn into curses if we get carried away for longer than a moment and forget or choose to turn a blind eye to The One who was gracious enough to grant us all these blessings in the first place. 

Then there is the revolution(s) that is(are) sweeping across the Middle East at the moment. Rulers who never imagined that the day would come when they would be overthrown by the power of the people came to see that day. Power that had been in these rulers' hands for years, for decades, was transferred to the people, almost overnight. Without warning. Just like a natural disaster that strikes without warning.

History is filled with such stories and lessons. History does repeat itself to the masses.

It really is time to reflect on all what is happening and to tap into my own life. What blessings do I have that I have failed to acknowledge and be grateful for? What have I taken for granted? What have I stood before so stubbornly and what have I focused on so dearly at the expense of that which really matters? Life is short and if any a valuable lesson is to be learnt from 2011 (so far) it is that I do need to ask these important questions. Most of all, I do need to find their answers.

I feel a new world forming before my eyes. I sense new beginnings and new lessons to be learnt. 2011 is going to be a year that defines a new world order. The tragic shifting of land masses as what happened with Japan along with a positive shifting in stereotypes. New attitudes. New beginnings. New perspectives. And the only way to grasp all that is new and all what this year and the coming decade has to give, is to realign ourselves and be prepared to realign our lives.

A Change Within

The revolution managed to breathe new life into Egypt and the people of Egypt. Almost overnight and with the press of an imaginary button, morals, values and a sense of unity presided within everyone that was Egyptian. I remember hearing about those values that older generations used to recall, dreamily as they spoke of their younger days. Those values that we had all lost hope of seeing again, submitting to a notion-turned-belief that we were wading through an age where corruption, selfishness and tyranny would only but mushroom uncontrollably. The revolution made us all realise that those values were subconsciously hammered into us as children. They were there all along, dormant and waiting for the right moment, the moment of freedom to emerge forcefully making a statement that they were here to stay. Differences melted away and all that one could see was a united stand  in the midst an invigorated sense of life. 

I compare it to the attitudes of people before January 25th. Several years ago I worked within a company department in a country outside Egypt where the majority of employees were Egyptians. It was one of the more depressing times of my life. I likened the authoritarian attitude adopted by my managers to that of the Mubarak regime at the time. There was fear, oppression, unfairness and of course, corruption. Ideas were not allowed or if there were, they would be shelved and only the managers' ideas would go ahead. It was like a smaller scale of the Mubarak regime in an office environment. It was like a psychological disease that had taken hold of Egyptians, a projection of the regime into their own lives, an adoption of an attitude as a way of life. It was disappointing but most of all it was disconcerting.

Years of brainwashing and of being oppressed led to continued abuse of society and individuals. Thirty years is a long time and for many, they knew no other way of life. It was accepted as the status quo. Corruption breeds corruption and when corruption becomes the way of life, people find themselves dragged along with their society down a pit of despair. Until January 25th when everything changed.

There is now a deep sense of integrity and justice against anything wrong and corrupt. There is a challenging notion to authoritarian attitudes that threaten basic rights. There is love, compassion, understanding, empathy and team spirit. There is a sense of direction, hope and resolve for a bright future and with it, a sense of social justice that will prevail for all. And all this seems to have burst into an emotional display of fireworks on the streets on Egypt and online, overnight.

Now I look back at that workplace where I endured a lack of values and ethics and erase it from the present day. Groggy minds and souls have awoken. Today the people have spoken up and broken the barrier of fear. Their dormant values are dictating their behaviour today. Given the choice, I now want to work with Egyptians.

The revolution's slogan was: Change, Freedom and Social Justice but with it, a change has also happened within. A change that has rippled through and has breathed new life into Egyptians. 

Rat Race

I started working again for the first time this week after a break for more than a year. Imagine your first day back at work after a long holiday then quadruple the feeling. Multiply the disorientation, given that this is the first time for me to work in this country and in a position that I am - so - not - used to.

This is day three of my renewed working life and already, I hate it. 

Everything feels alien and unwelcoming and the only plus point to the whole thing is that I am earning money again.

I sit on the train in the middle of the morning or late afternoon commute, thinking. What am I doing with my life? What was I thinking changing careers at this point in my life? Where is all this going? Will I get to where I want to be? Is all this worth it or will I suddenly find myself venturing towards the forties having done nothing but gone around in circles. I look at the people around me and see them accustomed to a life of wasting precious minutes away on the train. A lady was reading on her iPad today. Others just hold a book, newspaper or just listen on their various devices. I turn back into oblivion and sink deeper into my thoughts. I have now officially become a part of the rat race. But what for?

I have gathered degrees and certificates but that is all I seem to have done. I had a dream. It is slowly becoming invisible with age. It was to make a difference and distinguish myself. It was to sit on the edge of the nouveau and innovate. Work with the trend setters in industry and relish the feeling of success. Be a part of change until you become the change that makes people's lives better. Makes society better. Make life better. That was my dream. To breath a bit of life and touch people's lives. I am no where near my dream, or so it seems.

I have a little tip for those who do not want to end up in the rat race. Choose your career wisely. Choose something you love so much that you just cannot imagine doing anything else, ever. And if you just have not found that sort of passion yet, do not let yourself be socially conditioned into taking the easy way out by joining the rat race. It is so easy to get drawn into it because opportunities in it are all so readily available.

My job is a temporary position. Perhaps that is a good thing. It is certainly giving me a taste of what is to come. I realise that the most important thing I can do now is to keep the faith and grasp hope, not letting go of my dream. It will come true. I just have to be that more patient and a lot more resourceful to get where I want  to. Maybe some day I will touch people's lives.

The Paradox of a Friend

Sometimes life just fails to make sense. And trying to make sense of life often results in a big fail. 

Was that a paradox? Or was that just a twist of words and semantics? A mirror image of the same words rearranged to just mean something different.

Friends. A concept that can boggle and confuse. Gone are the days when the concept of a friend was clear and simple. Was it ever clear and simple? Now, a friend can be one thing but then turns around and appears to be another. Has the concept of a friend changed or is it just me who just never grasped the concept in the first place?

I know of what it means to drift apart. I know how it is when life takes you through its twists and turns, consuming you fully so that you lose track of what is important. Usually, though, there is a moment of clarity when you reach out for those who once meant something to you. Usually, it is those whom you reach out to, who are the ones who turn out to be the true ones. That first category, that all-important category. And anyone else who did not make it just falls short of the meaning of a friend. So what happens when you realise that you yourself did not make it to your friends' all-important category? That you were not, to them, a true friend.

Relationships are complex. There are old friends whom you met at school and university. There are friends whom you met through work. And there are those whom you met through others friends, through your travels and by any other means. There does not seem to be a set rule to what defines a friend or when one starts becoming a friend. Yet I have found that old friends are really the true ones. You may have lost touch for years, decades even, but once you are in touch again it is almost like old times, picking up where you left off. Friends from school and university, from the years that shaped both of you and allowed you to share in those defining moments, those friends can never be replaced. The friends that come after that are what I like to think of as cosmetic friends. The ones who decorate your life and add meaning and value to it but did not play an all-important life defining role, although some do. 

It seems that time is another important factor. Add time to a relationship and it becomes mature and golden, something that you start to cherish and appreciate. That is probably why old friends are the truest, purest and most cherished.

Perspective

It has been a week since I have been driving on the other side of the road. Although my total driving experience is about ten years, I feel like I am just starting out. It is all about perspective. 

In the first couple of days, I would bang my hand against the door and realise that the gear stick was on the other side. Turning left or right was quite confusing for the cars behind me. I would hit the windscreen wipers instead of the indicators, instinctively reaching for the side that I am used to. Everything just seemed to be inside out or just mirrored in reverse. Speaking of mirrors, I would totally ignore the rear view mirror and keep looking at the right side exterior mirror instead just because I was so used to the rear view mirror being on the right not the left. 

When I got past all this directional confusion, I started getting used to all the rules and signs on the roads. Roundabouts were funny. Who goes clockwise on a roundabout? Well, apparently they do here. Intersections were the trickiest of all. All sort of rules pervaded and expert drivers seemed to just roll their eyes impatiently when the question was posed meekly: who gets to go into the intersection first. Come on now. It all just felt like my brain was undergoing a huge shift in perspective. A form of paradigm shift even. Driving just did not feel like a joy anymore, instead, it became a chore.  My muscles would tense up every time I sat in the driver's seat, my eyes circling in my head like a hawk, on the lookout for the tiniest hint of a hazard.

Like all challenges, however, the only way to truly conquer them is to face up to them. Defeat them and annihilate any shadow of fear or insecurity that lingered within. So today, I ventured even further than the nearby suburbs and drove all the way into the centre of the city. On a public holiday. On a day we knew that shoppers would be out and about and the place would be brimming with people. I was not alone in the car of course. There is still that other matter of knowing my way around. But still, I drove all the way in and back again. The result? I caught myself posing, my muscles less tense, my steering wheel supported by just one hand. I even allowed myself the luxury of making street observations, like, the name of the suburb we were passing through or the strange looking car that just zoomed past or even the shops that were either open or closed on the side streets. If anything was obvious it was that I had become that more confident on the road in a week.

My road driving test is scheduled in a little over a month's time. If I keep at this daily practice, I am planning to hopefully pass it at the first go. After all, I have been driving for ten years, just not this way. Nevertheless, I think that perspective will win in the end and I might even consider the last ten years as inconceivable! 

The Frailty of Life

I just heard about my cousin who was hit by a speeding car while he was crossing the road. He died instantly. He was 45.

Life is so very fragile and we just have no control over it. I imagine my cousin waking up this morning as usual, going about his daily routine. Leaving his home, in his mind's eye, the things he needs to do running through his mind and those he would do on his return, not realising that he would not be returning. I see him standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the right moment to cross the road. Perhaps he took a risk and decided to leg it. We all do it once in a while. Perhaps he waited until the road was clear. Either way, whether he was overly cautious or not, the result was the same. Death was waiting for him and it was his time.

How many times have I been so caught up in life, in getting to my next goal, in achieving more. How many times have I fretted about the apparent inadequacies that life supposedly threw at me, forgetting how close the end could be. We do not know when it will happen or how. How many breaths do we have left? They are numbered, you know. Not a breath more and not one less. An unknown constant that lingers in the background of a unique formula that belongs to every person, called life.

I wonder how my end will be. Where will I be? Will I be alone or will I have loved ones to see me off. Will it be sudden or will I be ready, prepared and in silent anticipation. Will I be accepting and happy or apprehensive and scared. Will I know or have an inkling or will it just take me by surprise. Will I be mourned and missed or will I just be a statistic. And when it happens, after it happens, what then. Will it be an afterlife of happiness or...

I pray that it is the former. I pray that I live my life now to its utmost for the promise of an everlasting elevation. I pray.

I pray for my cousin that he find peace and is at peace. I pray that I can meet him when my time comes in a better place, strifes no more.

The Losing and Finding of One's Voice

Imagine a horrific scene on TV where you are the star. Something that really scares the living daylights out of you. Imagine yourself in that situation and then think how you would react. Scream. Run. Me? I lose my voice. I find that I lose my voice in ordinary life situations, nevermind about horror scenes, which at times place me in equally horrific though less hair raising experiences. I just lose the ability to speak. A brash comment is made and my system is stunned into shock the same way one's nervous system shuts down on administration of lethal poison. It is almost as if my vocal chords go into hiding. The connection between my brain and my tongue is temporarily severed. My brain tells me to react, to speak to say something. Nothing comes out. Being put on the spot is another one. My phonic system shuts down yet again. Shocked at the notion of being asked to perform then and there; no time to think no time to draw one's thoughts into a rational processing mechanism. Snapping one's fingers and asking you to speak, now and on the spot, it works the other way for me.

I lose my ability to speak when I am under stress. I lose my ability to vocalise when I am deeply embittered. It mostly comes down to disbelief. I lose my voice due to the shock of what one is capable of. I lose my ability to voice my opinion and it is only a matter of time when my nervous system emerges again.

I lose my voice when I am outnumbered. I speak and speak my mind but no one understands. No one chooses to hear. It is like speaking to an empty room but worse because an empty room echoes back what you say to it. It is far worse when no one acknowledges you. I lose my voice further then in a physical and in a metaphorical sense too. 

I find my voice through expression. Any form of expression is good enough for me. Write. Dance. Move. Paint. Photograph. Art and the theatre are blessings for me. I find my voice in them. I feel glee - yes the TV series and in the real meaning of the word - when I find another who can speak to me without the physical effort of speaking. Perform and I turn into someone else. I express myself fully and I have an audience. I find my voice in knowing that I am on the same wavelength with someone. I speak and speak without the need for words at a time. Yet I find my voice in this and with it, sheer pleasure.

I am a social being - all humans are no matter what anyone might think. There are two sides to any situation. Losing one's voice could be viewed as anti-social to some people. Finding one's voice may be viewed as eccentric to others. In between, the possibilities are endless. Next time I meet someone, I will look at them in a different light. I will think about the finding and losing of their voice and mine at the same time.

Blending in

Sometimes I wonder what the term "assimilate" really means. Does it refer to something new - having just arrived on the scene - standing out, like a shade of yellow in a sea of blue. Algae and other natural organisms take over, orienting it, exploring it, almost cajoling it until it turns it in a subtle tinge of green that blends in perfectly into the blues. Does it refer to letting go of your convictions to fit into the norm. Does it mean toning down your voice so that you are part of the common crowd. Can a balance be struck between who you really are and fitting in.

Sometimes I find that fitting means letting go - even if it is temporarily. Sometimes I am let down by humanity's inability to see past superficial differences. Deep down we are all the same. Why invent such a word - assimilate. Integrate. Become a part of. Become absorbed into. The word brings with it unpleasant connotations. I envision a person struggling hard to become recognised, only to find that the most painless means of achieving this is to forego much of what makes up part of that person. It brings connotations of alienation and subordination by being less complete than one truly is. Hiding, masking or letting go of personality traits and more so ways of life that would otherwise seem unimaginable. It mostly happens to immigrants, refugees, those forced to dwell in a life that they did not choose themselves and even those who for the sake of transcending boundaries, assimilate to build bridges of understanding.

It seems that acceptance is the ulterior motive behind assimilation. What is the alternative then. Stick to one's guns and gracefully allow others to accept you instead - assimilation or no assimilation. A lonely battle that may be worth fighting. It all depends on that which you have to choose to forgo. Is that worth fighting to keep. In most cases, yes. No one should have to let go of an important piece of their history or their form just to be accepted. The capricious nature of people and society is a certainty. Acceptance today may be the old fashion of tomorrow. Sooner or later, the algae will tire of provoking a tinge of a complete green. What you will find is a new shade emerging. A direction of acceptance gone the other way. Playing a game with assimilation so that instead of conforming and succumbing to the "norm", it becomes the acceptance of the new as is. Learning from the other and in the process creating a new word - diversity - the true meaning of the notion of blending in.

Time is of Essence

Someone explain to me why everything seems to be timed.

Exams are timed. Competitions are timed. Events are timed. Clocks are everywhere. Timing to the minute, to the second even. Has time always been so much of essence? A regimented lifestyle that does not allow for any scope of error. If one misses their time, what happens then? Does the whole universe work in unison to rectify by rescheduling and calculating; finding alternative time slots to fit your missed time in? It probably does not. Time works alone and it marches on. It allows you to catch it and make full use of it. People do not realise that it always walks with you though. We live in time; we breath time. Time is of essence, however, not in the way it is being currently being abused.

Time to reflect - what of that? Some would say that is time wasted. Others would agree and say but you multi-task. Reflect while doing something else, they say. Hardly reflection in my view.

How about, slowly but surely to get to the finish line. Was the tortoise really fooling us? It seems to be all about the hare now and learning from his mistakes. This time he will make it to the finish line. Many see the hare as a role model.

Better still practice, practice and practice again to get to that near perfect skill. Practice was a way of honing one's talent. Where does time fit into that? No time for those who are a little less incapable, some would say. If you need practice, you are just not good enough. There will always be someone else to replace you. Someone ready, able and willing to do what you still need practice on.

The world seems to be too impatient and irrational when it comes to mundaneness. There is just no time for time anymore. It is all about a race. Who can get there faster. Who can beat their opponent without sacrificing quality. Nevertheless, quality has been sacrificed in one's life. 

They forget that time will not go away. It marches steadily to a rhythm and even pace. Some scientists would say that time does vary, so small that we hardly ever notice it. It is all relative though. The universe is a balanced place. We, however, make our lives unbalanced. We scorn time and look at it as our adversary. Think back to centuries ago when time was not so much of essence as it is today. Clocks played their role in telling the time of day. It was like an old friend, always there to fall back on when needed. Even before clocks, the light, moon and the stars were utilised as guidance. Today we are playing a game with time. We think of ourselves as the hare and time, the tortoise.

Time has always been our ally but like many things today, we misunderstand it. Catching a glimpse of time to reflect is all about creating a unique sense of well-being. Enjoying the journey one conscious step after the other, time gives us the little gifts and experiences that would normally shoot past if we otherwise sprint to get to the finish line. Slowly but surely is all about the journey, not the destination. We never heard of what happened to the hare when he stumbled. Did he live a life of bitterness and self-reproach for all the things he missed out on afterwards. Ask the tortoise and he will tell you of perseverance. Time gave him the chance to smell the roses on the way. He still made it to the finish line in the end. Time is of essence in terms of our quality of life. We will all get to the finish line, sooner or later but will we all get to smell the roses on the way.

Human Condition - Part I

I am perpetually amazed by the complexity of the human make up. It is not for me to sit and casually criticise as I know that I am nowhere near perfection. Yet, still, I continue to be amazed about the imperfections that are often flaunted in the face of challenge. Imperfections that are worn with pride; some consciously and others unfortunately not. I must have fallen into the latter a number of times and I cringe to think of that. What of those who consciously display traits or habits that are just too ugly, I would think, to be associated with.

Gossip is one such trait. Has the art of conversation dried up to the extent that one resorts to indulging in others misfortunes? That is really what gossip entails. No one 'gossips' about someone doing good or someone successful (unless it involves insinuation of course). You will often find gossip associated with rumours and sob stories. It is often accompanied by lip biting and shocked expressions, parties leaning forward in awe and surprise, edging one to 'carry on' with the clouds of ridicule. Let us face it, gossip is ugly. Yet people indulge in it. In fact I would go so far as to say that there is a gossip culture firmly engrained in society. Workplaces thrive on it over a coffee break. Morning tea gatherings use it as a way of extracting community news. I would even go further on to say that men might oblige each other to gossip about their 'endeavours'! Shameful really. Do people really stop to think that 'what goes around comes around'? Do they realise that the same way one gossips about this person or that, somewhere in the future they could be in that same situation too. Sometimes I hear the feeble excuses that this is not gossip but "learning from other people's mistakes or experiences". Another good one is "oh I would never put myself in that situation - that would never happen to me". Little do they know that it does because no one's life is smooth and clear of imperfections.

New Year or Belated Resolve?

It has been a month into the new year; the new decade. Any resolutions that had been made in the line up to the new year are now broken. This is the time really. After all the excitement of a change wanes, one settles into routine. Habit that was hibernating to allow for the moment, sets in once again. Yesterday is no different than today. January 2010 does not seem to make a profound impact than January 2009 did. No - if any a time was right to break resolutions and realise that time is not of essence it is now. Or is it?

Belated resolve. That is what I would like to call it. I confess that I did conform and made myself a long list - a mental list - of new year resolutions. I also made another list of new decade resolutions; just to add to the buzz of change. I was careful though, not to write anything down, just so that I would not be bitterly disappointed later at my inability to keep promises that I had made to myself. Now that all the conformity has abated, however, I can be serious enough to commit myself to change.

People often wonder how to stick to resolutions once made. For one, it needs to be engrained into one's needs. Something that drives one to achieve or do something. A resolution is often broken when it is brought to life on the spur of a moment. Spontaneity and resolve do not work hand in hand. The former is like a free bird, taking off whenever it gets the whim, while the latter has the backing of a whole system that is made up mainly of drive and motivation. Add to these any other factors that make a goal achievable.

January may be the start of a new year. For me it is February that confirms that change is about to come for this year, the next one and for the whole decade.

Age difference; something to learn

Age is a subjective thing; a state of mind. It can be an attitude even. You often here the saying that it is not in the years but in the experience. Or is it really?

As a thirty-something who shares a class with people now at least ten years younger than me, I am starting to feel the difference. It never used to bother me before and I would not have batted an eyelid at the idea. I am fortunate enough to have maintained my youthful looks, or so I am told. It has to do with a combination of good genetics and a sound investment in skincare techniques and lifestyle. Naturally, I thought I would blend in well with my newly allocated peers. Things are not as straightforward as I thought they would be, however.

I have noticed that...

...my pace has somehow slowed down. True, my mind still works overtime. It always did but my outlook along with it has changed. No more the impulse coupled with the inexperience followed by the valuable lesson to be learnt afterwards. Now, if there is an impulse, it tends to be backed up by an instinct to go ahead and act on it. A knowing awareness of what the chances are beforehand. The impulse seems to magically disappear if all this wisdom does not see it through. I do not seem to share my peers' enthusiasm on following a whim.

...my reactions and conversation techniques have 'gone off' so to speak. I listen, hand on chin, to the banter of those around me. I struggle to edge in a word or sentence to feel like I am part of the scene but cannot seem to keep up. It is not even a matter of being on the same wavelength because most of the time we are not. It seems to be more of a matter of: been there, done that. The mundaneness of knowing what is come. A nonchalance and a shrug of the shoulder that I have begun to master and conceal quite well.

...things are too expected. I amaze myself at being one step ahead - all the time. A question is asked and the discussion takes off at bullet speed across and around the table. Ideas, questions, probing, suggestions all at once being thrown in the air, while my mind goes off on a different tangent and I come up with a different slant to the whole conversation. Momentary silence as the group considers the merit of what was just handed to them but then it is brushed aside as perhaps too ludicrous. Being democratic, I succumb and listen avidly to the intelligent and impressive solutions. When it is time for the teacher to actually take us through the answers, low and behold, my suggestions actually find a rightful place, without even any prompting from me. Fleeting glances of mild surprise are quickly dispersed with a casual acknowledgement. I am not challenged the same way I was while growing up as the youngest in my class in school and amongst my friends.

It is not all gloom though. I smile and am regularly impressed by the alert minds. The mature and professional outlook. The open-mindedness and the cultural understanding that perhaps their predecessors did not have. There is always something to learn and I have learnt to listen and observe. I have never been a preacher and now I find it best to sit back and let it all roll on; helping and coaxing along the way whenever the need arises. Perhaps with time I can learn to approach life like a twenty-something again. This time with the experience and maturity of a thirty-something.

A Simple Gesture

It is not often that you get to fully appreciate the weight of a simple gesture. Light and swift in motion. Rich and intense in substance. You only get to realise its true effect a fleeting moment after it happens. All you are left with in that fleeting moment is the after effect of a sweet but fading aroma that your senses try to hold on to for dear life. A simple gesture.

I came across these words today.

Gristle. It brought back memories of me as a child trying to chew endlessly on badly made dinners hosted by ill-tempered grown ups. Those were the type of people I hated visiting. Their words were ill; dripping with condescending niceties. I would smile in horror and shy away into the deepest corner of my mind. I could see my parents bite and smile too and it made me wonder why they insisted on taking me to these visits. A distant relative that we had to pay tribute to once in a while. Perhaps an obligation which I had to be a part of. As I grew up, I got to associate those visits with gristle. The food they made and the mood they left me with.

Progeny. A word full of meaning. One that evokes notions of pride; my parents' pride for having me in their life. I would ask my parents to refer to my sister and I as their progeny from now on. A renewed sense of achievement tends to arise every time they use that word. A homecoming and a warmth that can only be felt at home.

I think back to the simple gesture though. We all get touched by strangers who just happen to cross our paths or stumble on us in the most unexpected and unusual of circumstances. This reminds me of another perfect word.

Serendipity. The effect that a simple gesture does to you is serendipitious. It takes you away from the gristle that you are forced to munch away on in this journey called life. It leaves you feeling that you are part of a progeny of those have been there and felt the same way you do. Proud to have been given the chance to experience the gentleness and subtlety of a kind and simple gesture.