Tag: random thoughts

  • No Forever Afters

    It’s natural sometimes to feel fear when life suddenly takes a turn for the better,  because a history of disappointment or challenges conditions us to expect the worst.  So instead of embracing our new experiences,  we end up bracing ourselves for what we expect might happen.  It’s part of our survival instinct. However, because we’re protecting ourselves from a threat that is not present,  our body takes strain because of the imbalance it causes, which results in poor health and dysfunction. Unfortunately, at that point, the ill health causes us to turn to the modern medical professional first, instead of last.

    You see, when we have this imbalance that causes ill health, we’re conditioned to believe that something external to us has suddenly created an internal problem. A problem that we’re incapable of rectifying unless we bombard our bodies with chemical cocktails that will strip the paint off the wall if applied correctly. But tonight I don’t quite care about the stupidity of current mainstream health regimens. I don’t quite care for much at all actually.

    For some time now I’ve looked around and realised that no matter how much effort or expense is invested in the maintenance and upkeep of the structures around us, the moment that effort is complete, the decay starts setting in to prepare us for the next bout of maintenance. Everything in this world, including us, was designed to perish, to decay, to disintegrate into nothing at the end of being something. It’s a fruitless endeavour to focus on embellishing this world, or this life, but the fickleness of my nature always distracts me towards enticing challenges that lure me towards them under the pretence of it being an expression of my creativity, or in other cases, an opportunity to make the lives of others more comfortable or pleasant.

    Nothing lasts, not the intensity of the emotions felt when love is most inflamed, nor the bitter anger of the betrayal of that same love when it fades. It all dissolves into nothing as time erodes its memory, but yet we pursue the concept of forever after as if it was truly experienced in this world. It never was, and never will be. There are no forever afters, nor are there any fail safe remedies to outlast this world. All we can ever do is delay the inevitable, but the inevitable is inevitable, or else it would not be called the inevitable, yet, inevitably, we seem not to get it. It really is as absurd as that sounded.

    I know that I should be taking the lighter load for the road ahead. I know that the lighter load means less indulgences in materialism, and more in spiritualism. I also know that finishing my latest gardening project adds to that load, but my obstinacy, or perhaps my weakness, is that it is easier to feed my feeble sense of self-worth through accomplishing these celebrated goals, rather than to draw comfort from the fact that I would have successfully detached myself from this world a little more when I walked past that beautiful water feature without reaching to see if my credit card was in my wallet.

    This same weakness within me is what I despise in others. I often despise it even more because being surrounded with a similar weakness leaves me without a handhold to lift myself out of the quagmire of materialism. Living comfortably is a lie. A horrible lie that is unachievable. By our very nature we will constantly seek to improve what we have because that is the yardstick of success. Only those whose primary focus is a goal external to their immediate circle of influence or responsibility will stand any chance of overcoming such a weakness. Unfortunately such philanthropic or altruistic endeavours are also plagued with indulgence of the spiritual self because of our need to be acknowledged and validated.

    This world cannot come to an end soon enough.

  • There was a time when I didn’t care about the title of my post, or if it even had a title. It was more reflective of the understated life I lead. Over time I seem to have grown too familiar with the attention from strangers, or admiring critics to the point where I’ve lost touch with myself, or even what the purpose of my bleeding at the keyboard is supposed to be. The purge it used to offer is now just a constipated grumble of a system in a state of angst.

    My focus on providing, or at least feeling a need to express my opinion on the issues plaguing others has led to me being distanced from my own. It has always been easier to formulate an opinion on the challenges faced by others because it leaves me feeling somewhat smugly deluded into believing that I have a handle on this life thing that’s happening to me. That thing that goes on at an ever more rapid pace than before often leaving me overwhelmed with the realisation of how little I’ve achieved relative to what I know needs to be done.

    I look around these days wondering why the world seems to be so alluring when the reality that has proven itself billions of times before confirms that it’s nothing but the blink of an eye when compared to the true nature of our being. The cycles we go through on a daily basis become more contaminated with responsibility and its associated distractions, even though the allotment of time remains the same. We constantly try to master the art of productivity, and in so doing, we’re distracted from what we should be doing, yet still believing that in achieving a higher level of productivity it will free up some of that time for the important things. It never does.

    The important things are often set aside because of the compelling nature of responsibility. Responsibility compels us to act in a worldly manner, while…while we type away some meaningless post believing that the very effort brings us closer to our true purpose. I used to be able to close my eyes in the middle of writing one of these things, take a long drawn breath that wasn’t deep but wasn’t shallow either, and without having to apply my mind to it, more thoughts would tumble out of my mind without me summoning them. That doesn’t happen any longer. Now when I close my eyes, the movie in my head simply shifts into 3D and the noises from around me, including the cooing of the doves outside my window, serve to distract me from any sense of serenity, even though their morning serenades were often a source of comfort and wonder before.

    Perhaps there is a comfort in labels after all. At times like these, when faced with a vacuous sense of purpose or focus, holding on to a label may very well be therapeutic, albeit in a deceptive way. Perhaps all these delusions collude to give us a sense of peace and purpose while we’re distracting ourselves from the truth that we’re destined not to achieve anything of significance in this world except that by which others may be collectively distracted. When we achieve things that are not communally subscribed to, we assume that it lacks purpose or value. This sense of exclusion that I’ve felt for most, no, all of my life has led to what currently seems to be my saving grace of delusions. Perhaps my writing, as insignificant and pedestrian as it may seem, will influence a handful of those that have the natural ability to relate to the collective delusions of the world, and in so doing, I would be influential beyond my immediate sphere of influence without being celebrated, while being pleasantly surprised on the day of reckoning to be presented with a record of beneficence that would be completely unattested to by my mediocre life.

    Perhaps these ramblings have finally evolved into the delusions of a madman, and thereby becoming what it was always intended to be.

  • Rose Coloured Delusions

    There is a rot that starts with our assumptions of being so unique that no one else knows our fears or our insecurities. It’s a rot that suggests that if we trust openly, we’ll be mortally wounded and humiliated to the point of self-loathing. This rot is reflected in the headlines that spew forth the accomplishment of some woman in South Africa that has apparently been voted the sexiest woman on the planet. This rot is further expressed in our willingness to indulge in useless fads and trends that make us seem more hip and happening (archaic term used deliberately to demonstrate how ridiculous it is to have ‘cool’ terms to use) so that everyone around us can admire us and aspire to want to be like the image they’ve conjured up in their heads about us.

    This rot…stinks. This rot is what is responsible for groups like FEMEN having a platform, for people like the ANC government of South Africa being revered while raping this country of it’s intellectual, material, economical, and moral wealth, to name only a few domains of corruption. The common denominator in all this is simply the allure of an image driven by unashamed vanity that is cloaked in a pretense of success. When some resist the temptation to be drawn into this downward spiral that leads to a cesspool of base desires, they’re seen as backward, out of touch, or old fashioned.

    The truth is, those that chase that perfect body, that perfect outfit, that perfect hairdo, or that perfect job, they’re the ones that are out of touch. My blog dashboard recently reflected the tragedies of life by someone who witnessed the murder of her own mother followed by the ‘suicide by cop’ of her father juxtaposed against someone who was pursuing a marriage interest. Between these two poles of life, there were others lamenting their weight, their job, their social standing, their image, and a number of other complaints, with very few showing any sincere passion to celebrate life, or at least their life.

    The fickleness of this pervasive ‘modern’ (read secular) culture carries nothing but destruction with it. Its romanticised notions of freedom and liberation are almost always distilled down to the reality of it being an extended experience of a fleeting emotion that was sustained by the imagination of one that is hopeful about reality. However the reality is, much of what the west has given us has slowly but surely resulted in the decay of society, the erosion of wholesome moral values, the ravaging of the environment due to its excessively indulgent consumerist approach to individuality, and its complete abandonment of community to the point where we seek communities online because we don’t recognise our neighbours any longer, and we dump our parents in homes because it’s ‘our time’.

    A casual glimpse of the images of life portrayed in so many online collections of western photographers (oh, the irony) reflecting their experiences and observations of communities and families in non-western settings reveals the almost profound sense of sincerity and joy in a way of life that is rich in culture and social cohesion, while getting by on a fraction of what is needed just to be deemed civil in the west. Those societies that show signs of aspiring to adopt the luxuries or privileges of a so-called first world lifestyle are already reflecting the fatigue and loneliness that accompanies such a choice. The only communities in the west that do not show the ravages of this modern lifestyle are those that still hold on to their traditional values without giving it up to the decay where religion, spirituality, and extended family responsibilities are mocked and ridiculed, to name a few.

    We live in a time of extreme dysfunction to the point where it’s nearly impossible to even recognise it any longer. The retarded way of life has become the norm, so only those that are excessively putrid in how they conduct their lives are actually excluded from main stream society, while the rest keep embellishing their lives with trinkets and distractions that are truly meaningless, but symbolically powerful. No wonder we’re always so tired and the average home cooked meal is no longer sufficient to sustain us without a healthy dose of hamster-like exercise and dietary supplements.

    There is much value and peace of mind in not being obliged to society. It’s easy to achieve as well. Unfortunately in order to do so, we need to know what we stand for and what we desire to achieve independent of those symbolically powerful trinkets and embellishments that have become the frame of our reference of a life well lived.

  • Reflections

    I’ve been wanting to write a post for a while now, but recently I’ve been wondering how much of what I write is still reflective of what I need to express? At times my blog reminds me of the cries of a frustrated nobody that is pleading for sanity to prevail, but there is no one around to hear those pleas. I miss taking the time to ramble about my quirks and my observations, and it shows in the level of clutter that I carry with me these days. The clutter distracts me from the point of unrelated conversations and often ends with me responding on issues that would otherwise not even interest me.

    I need to return to that place of indulgence where my thoughts flow from clutter to fingertips without prompting, and my mental clarity restores without effort. Those moments of reflection are often the first to be sacrificed when the clutter becomes overwhelming. However, although seemingly counter-intuitive, it’s exactly those moments of reflection that should enjoy priority as the clutter increases. I can’t help my nature as much as I should, hence I find myself prone to responding to the inane urgencies of the day while often being distracted from the important. I suspect this trait alone firmly establishes me as one of the masses.

    Being one of the masses, and increasingly realising exactly how common I am, further creates doubt in my mind about whether or not I have anything meaningful to share. Even just discussing or mentioning that thought leaves me feeling as if it’s a cloaked attempt at soliciting pity or affirmation. It isn’t. I never doubt that there is a greater purpose that I am able to fulfil, but my ability to identify it and apply myself towards its fulfilment is always elusive because of the clutter.

    This is an incomplete post, which is reflective of the incomplete thought process that spawned it. 

  • Islam versus Democracy

    I’ve seen a number of people suggest that the current state of affairs in Egypt is proof that Islam doesn’t work. I disagree. In fact if anything, it proves that democracy doesn’t work. Then when there is an illegal coup that suits the ones with the physical might over the populace, it’s framed as the will of the people. If the will of the people could be legally expressed in that manner as an acceptable form of democracy, then the USA would not be stuck with the despicable government that it is today.

    The strange thing for me is that we keep looking to have Shari’ah implemented as if it is something external to our personal lives and incumbent upon a government to enforce as a legal system only. I beg to differ. I’m  not a scholar, nor an Egyptian, and definitely not a political analyst, but it seems logical to me that if we as Muslims conducted ourselves as Muslims in a majority Muslim country (not just Egypt), then whether or not government enforced it, the principled benefits of Shariah will automatically be achieved. However, when we insist on viewing Shariah as something external to our individual selves, and we take a lethargic approach to establishing Islamic principles and practices in our lives while believing that national identities come before our identities as Muslims, then expect things to go horribly pear-shaped very quickly.

    While the events in Egypt may have triggered these thoughts, it certainly does not apply only to them. Neither Shari’ah nor Islam failed, or is failing in Egypt, or in any other Muslim-majority country. Muslims are failing, and democracy was never a feasible option to begin with. If democracy was all it was cracked up to be, there would not be civil strife across the heartland of democracy in the Americas and Europe as we’re seeing it today. But we find it necessary to delude ourselves into believing that the will of the majority is automatically more informed than the will of the minority. If that were true, the majority of this world would be intellectuals and rational human beings, and retarded fads, ridiculous fashion trends, and horrific cultural practices would never stand a chance. But reality is clearly not on the side of democracy, or capitalism for that matter, both of which appear to be increasingly difficult to tell apart these days.

  • A Brain Dump

    I’ve been struggling to focus on almost anything recently. I’ve been plagued with thoughts of ‘what next’ for a long time now. While I still have a lot of passion for what I do, my passion for doing it with the people that I do is fast fading. I’ve always managed to find avenues to express myself creatively in my work, regardless of how mundane the task at hand may seem. That hasn’t changed, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult to find the patience to convince others that there is a better way to do things.

    I’m usually the one that questions the status quo while others revere it because it is a tried and tested way to do things. When people tell me about the tried and tested ways they’re familiar with, all I hear is ‘it is my safe haven, my comfort zone, my sphere of influence, so don’t you dare try to change it!’. It’s ridiculous how people can define their worth by something they achieved or were party to several years ago and still hold on to the residual glory of it all. I despise myself when I find myself doing something in 10 steps when I can do it in 8. And then I despise myself for not being able to do it in less than 8 steps, even though everyone else around me is still content with 10 steps.

    Ok, maybe ‘despise’ is a strong word to use, but the restlessness I feel inside me is not much less than the same contempt that environmentalists feel for those that don’t recycle. I’m not lazy, but I hate to apply a certain amount of effort to something when I know that I can get away with less. This frees me up to do so much more with the energy that would otherwise have been wasted. And as the days go by, my energy levels appear to be dwindling. There is much that I should be doing that I’m not even thinking about right now. This is probably the slide into that place of lethargy that sucks the life out of us before we reach a ripe age, and as aware as I am of it, I seem to be helpless in jolting myself out of it.

    Actually, I’m not helpless. I never have been. I guess this morbidity that overshadows me right now is bringing out the dramatist in me. There is a lot that I have going for myself, but I guess sometimes the uphill drag of the ball and chain can wear us down when we least expect it. Sometimes I wish I had this go-to guru that I could refer to in my life. That’s never been the case for me, which is probably why I second-guess myself so often. I often find myself wondering if things really are as uncomplicated as I see them relative to the overbearing complexity that most people seem to invite into their lives, or am I really just missing the point because I’ve always had a somewhat skewed sense of reality?

    Recently I’ve found myself contemplating what it would have been like for me if I had a meaningful role model that I could look up to and turn to for advice each time I was faced with a life altering decision, but just as soon as the thought tugs at my sentimentality, I feel that annoying realisation surfacing again. That realisation that had it been any other way I probably would not be as effective at what I do as I am today. In a recent discussion with a friend she mentioned that her pursuit of academic studies did more than just give her the foundation on which she hopes to launch her career. She said it made her feel safe because she knew she could rely on test scores and other such outcomes that would give her the affirmation and comfort that she needed to feel like she was on the right track.

    I’ve never looked for that, and I don’t know why. But in many ways I’ve also been fortunate in not having had my thinking moulded by any institutions or scholars because I was never exposed to such structures. The downside was that it felt extremely burdensome at times, but the upside which far outweighs that is the fact that I’ve never listened to anyone else when they imposed their limitations on me. I wouldn’t quite call myself a free spirit, nor would I ever consider myself to be a rebel. In fact, I’m not sure how I would define myself if I ever found a need to, and perhaps in that I’ve found much liberation and space to breathe. I’ve always been keenly aware of the perceptions that others have of me, but somehow I don’t ever recall applying myself to gain their favour despite knowing that they found much reason to ridicule me.

    I’ve often said that the resilience that I’ve demonstrated throughout my life was never something I could honestly lay claim to. It was inherent in me for as long as I can remember. Perhaps that resilience itself was only a symptom of something more. Perhaps it is a state that is acquired when we don’t try to live up to the expectations of others, and instead maintain a singular focus on the logic and purpose that would drive us to act. Perhaps my obstinacy in not succumbing to the expectations of the social structures that I despise is in fact my strength. Perhaps it isn’t.

    This road seems to be quite weary of late, but I’m not yet ready to take the path most traveled. Even if I wanted to, it would mean that I would need to have a desire to aspire to the ideals of the group whose path I would wish to choose for myself, and such a group I have yet to meet. I’m an old soul that yearns for the wholesomeness of a simple life, but am conflicted by my need to change the world into something slightly less despicable.

  • It’s not your fault…

    It’s not your fault if you grew up in a dysfunctional home, and now find yourself going through life trying to find a niche to call home, as long as that niche is not with family. It’s not your fault if you grew up in a functional home and can’t relate to the restlessness and anger of those that have grown impatient and intolerant with the prejudices of the world. It’s not your fault if you grew up in an average home that was neither dysfunctional nor functional but struck an awkward but not destructive balance between the two and now find it difficult to understand what the fuss is all about.

    It’s never your fault for how you were raised, but it is your fault if you choose to remain a product of your upbringing for the rest of your life. There is a point that we all reach in our lives when we become self-aware and uneasy about just being. That point is not reached when we turn 18, or when we turn 21, or any other age for that matter. That point is not defined by age, but instead it’s defined by our willingness to question what lies behind who we are and what we aspire to be.

    We’ve turned life into a series of superficial milestones that leave us oblivious to the major gaps in our lives that occur while we’re waiting for that next milestone before we find a reason to act. We wait to turn 18 before contemplating the future, and then we wait to turn 21 before we expect to be taken seriously, and then we wait to get a job before we feel worthy, or we wait to get a degree before we believe we have something of value to contribute to this world. We wait until we get our first job, and then we wait for each pay day, and then we wait for the annual bonus, and we wait and wait and wait. And all this time we’re blaming the system and blaming society and blaming the world for being a rotten place that celebrates scum and punishes victims. But we fail to realise that in all this waiting we’re allowing the system to define who we are and what we’re capable of achieving, and then we become disillusioned and angry when we don’t find our place in that system that is supposed to see how significant we are, or when people fail to celebrate our milestones.

    I’m not quite sure what the point of this post is. Perhaps it’s just a rant, or perhaps it’s just a brain dump. Perhaps it’s nothing. Perhaps it’s a small token of my struggle to rise above the system that has been restraining me all my life. Whatever it is, I suspect that there is some truth in between all the noise, and finding a moment in the chaos to stop and reflect on that hint of sanity in the noise is struggle that has plagued me for a long time now.

  • Composed Insanity

    It’s been a long time since I’ve felt any sense of composure about me. I constantly feel as if I’m on the edge of finding that elusive balance, but each time I flirt with that notion I find myself immersed in yet another challenge or another initiative that is almost always self-imposed. Despite this, I’m not at odds with myself or my life even though it sounds or feels like I am at times. There appears to be a subtle but important difference that has emerged in the way I deal with adversity these days. On many previous occasions I resolved to be principled before being strategic, always assuming that the one negated the other, and as a result I found myself jobless on two occasions, and divorced on three.

    But I now seem to have an awkward balance between principles and strategy. Awkward because it doesn’t feel like something I’m ready to embrace just yet, even though I know that it’s better than the absolutist approach I adopted before. There’s a tinge of insanity that always lurks just beneath the surface spawned by the absence of fatherly guidance in my life. My life has never been garnished with a healthy dose of mentors, coaches, or the wisdom of an older generation directly passed down to me. At every major intersection I found myself standing alone and trying to decipher the road signs without the help of a guide or manual, with only an innate sense of spirituality and resilience that has been my companion throughout my life, and a keen sense of observation that helped me to glean some wisdom from the actions of the elders that I was sometimes exposed to.

    It’s difficult to explain, but the reality is that I’ve never had the benefit of a father, or a fatherly figure to refer to in times of growth or opportunity that threatened to launch me into a new phase of my life, even though I had a father until well into my adult years. My emergence from teenage naivety into my early adult years was driven by passion and purpose, with a burdensome sense of responsibility guiding my choices, always using the rights that others had over me as my guiding lights. Doing right by them always enjoyed a priority higher than satisfying my own needs, but in that I’ve found much fulfilment and resolve, as well as inspiration.

    It still didn’t make the difficult decisions any easier, or the mistakes any less grave. I wrought destruction at times when I thought I was acting selflessly, but in fact my idealism misguided me to the point of stupidity, resulting in much regret. The regret always set me back a couple of years at a time whenever the consequences of my idealism overwhelmed my sense of purpose which always extinguished any sense of passion that may have been left in me. It’s these same feelings of anxiousness and restlessness that inspired the never-to-be-delivered letter that I once wrote to my daughters.

    I pray that you never will understand some of what I’m going through, some of what I feel, or some of what I think…because to understand you would need to experience what I’ve experienced. And I wouldn’t want you to feel the pain and the anguish that I’ve felt that made me feel, see and think the way I do. Although it’s the same pain and anguish that has given me this appreciation for life, for a smile on a stranger’s face, or for the chirping of the birds. My wish is for you to learn from my experiences and the experiences of others because there’s so much more to life than the opportunity to make your own mistakes.

    The only way you can cheat time is to learn from the accumulated wisdom of generations past. But if you insist on learning it all yourself, know that you’ll never learn more than anyone who has lived only a single lifetime without any wisdom to draw on. Know that your pain and your anguish will be unnecessary, and know that your life would only ever be half-lived, if even that. So instead I pray that you are able to cheat time, acquire a wisdom beyond what you may inherit, and give your children more than what you had to cheat time with. And if you do this, know that you have achieved more than any human being can be expected to achieve in a single lifetime. This is the only path to immortality that I know.

    I wonder if they’ll ever appreciate the sentiments and sincerity in that should they ever come across it at an age when it may hold some relevance in their lives. But this is not a post about them, or what I yearn for them. It’s a post about the insanity that, being a constant in my life, allows me a sense of composure that robs me of rest, or ease. I find myself unable to remain still for long enough to appreciate the peace that exists at the tips of my fingers. That peace, that composure, is out of reach. The soul that guides the outstretched fingers remains distracted by the noise and the clutter of trying to live a life well lived, finding only turbulence and upheaval in a world full of people desperate to find silence. I’m not so unique in my desire to acquire what everyone else wants, but the path that each of us travel to arrive at this restless point is so vastly different that comparing notes would always be a futile exercise.