5 more mins

When I was 5, i wished for 5 more mins to play in the sun. To lay in the grass with my daisy chain around my neck watching clouds floating by. Occasionally we would see an aeroplane drifting on by. But now I don’t play because I’m 10. When you’re 10 you ask for more time to watch. Watch your tv, ipad or iphone. You live on the screen. And dream of the day you can wear makeup and drive a car. You mix slime and play puzzles and card games. 

When I am 15 I wont watch. I’ll be. I’ll be a girlfriend. I’ll be a best friend. I’ll be a sports player. I’ll be a teen. I’ll ask for 15 more minutes to hangout and have fun. I’ll laugh at how silly the world can be because I’m at the midway between being a child and being a teen. One day I’ll be 20. I’ll want to be big. I’ll want to be married. I’ll want to be free. Maybe I’ll travel. Maybe I’ll study. Eventually I’ll have to work and when I do i’ll ask for 20 more mins to fit in more crazy things to try. 

25? Wow I’ve been 20 something for 5 years already? Time to wake up. That’s when I’ll really come alive. I’ll become responsible. I’ll become reliable. I’ll be punctual. I’ll be someone’s parent. Someone will be my child. The world will suddenly be cruel. Everything dangerous. For the first time I’ll love someone more than myself. I’ll ask for 25 more minutes to keep them safe and give them warm hugs.  

Thirty is when you have another. And suddenly you realise what exhausted and broke feels like. You’re filled up with love and drained out of energy. You beg for 30 more mins to sleep but you know its not coming. Deep down you don’t really want it because you’re afraid you’ll miss out. So you pass out awake and sleep standing up. 

You become conscious again at 35. Now they’ve grown a little and are less needy of you. You look in the mirror and wonder who are you? Somewhere, somehow you’ve lost touch with yourself. Now is the time to find the new you. So you take up some hobbies, you learn   a new sport. You volunteer some and life is great. You ask for 35 more minutes to squeeze in one more episode of your favourite series. 

And then you’re 40. You go to Makka. You perform your Umrah. You perform your Hajj. You tick the boxes to calm the storm that is brewing. The storm that says the time is coming. The departure time. When you’re born, your train leaves the station. Its coming to collect you. But you don’t know at which station it will appear. So you ask for 40 more mins to pray. Prayers to give you peace and acceptance. 

Happy Birthday 45. Yes every birthday you now celebrate because you’re alive. You eat well. You’re in great shape. You read more. You sleep more. You’re happy. You’re healthy. Alhamdullilah. Your kids start talking marriage. You’re gonna need 45 more mins to help them get grounded. They’ll need a job, they’ll need a car. They’ll need a house. You’ve been there, they need you to show them the way. 

Hello 50, how quickly you’ve come. One day I was 5 and now I’m not. I cant get a job. But I can start a business. Maybe I do. I still have the energy and also the time. 50 more minutes I’ll need to make some more money. Pension is poor and retirement isn’t cheap. Congratulations, at 55 you’re a grandparent. You’re filled with glee. You can love unconditionally and spoil ridiculously. Candy floss for breakfast and ice cream for dinner. 55 more mins to hug and kiss and hangout with my legacy please. One day they will be here and I will be gone.

60 is when you queue in the line. Pension please. Discounts and rebates please. When day hospital means spend the whole day at the hospital. You get meds for your meds. Lotion for your cracks. And medicine to flush and keep you regular. You try the alternatives. You swallow the seeds, the ridiculous teas. You suck, pop and annoint yourself to ease the coming of old age. 60 more mins please I’m almost at the end of the queue.

At 65 you’ve made peace with the new you. You’ve regulated your body and now all seems ok. It is what it is and it wont be what it’s not. Now you need 65 more mins to have tea with your friends. You talk about trips and people you know. The list has grown longer of people you’ve lost. You love your past and you celebrate your life. You can hear the train in the distance. 

You’ve reached 70. You’re grateful, so grateful. You pray for 70 more mins each minute of the day. Your grandkids now know enough that you won’t be forgotten. A part of you will stay. You’re ready to go but actually no not yet. You’re still afraid but now more accepting.

75 your mind starts to slip. You’re sure you did something. But did you? You didn’t. You say something you didn’t think and think something you didn’t say. Its all a muddle. Now you’re afraid. 75 more mins to be me. The me that I know. The me thats been my companion for so very long. But that persons going. Each day they visit less. 

At 80 you don’t care a damn anymore. You don’t know anyone. And you don’t like it here. Nothing tastes good. Nothing feels good. You’ve stopped asking for more time. Now you say take me God I’ve had enough.

Paranoia of parenthood

Looking at parenthood from the outside is like watching someone eat chocolate. You imagine all these feelings and sensations that person must be feeling. And you imagine how you might enjoy experiencing those same feelings. 

Then one day you have a kid. And you have a moment where you realise, that sometimes chocolate tastes awfully bitter. Even though still enjoyable, its bitter as hell. For me it was that moment when i discovered just how paranoid you become as a parent. Everything and everyone you come across gets assessed for the risk they pose. Does this person have my child’s best interest at heart? Has this cup been cleaned properly? Is that an old tissue she using to wipe her nose, omg. It can drive you insane. Until you recognise that you have become that kind of parent you cannot change it. You watch out for your child constantly. It starts from the moment you first conceive. Suddenly you’re eating better, taking more vitamins, having more sleep. And it ends when either of you die. 

The first kid always gets the full effect of paranoid parenting. Its the learning curve. We cut our teeth on their illnesses, their hurts, their crazy love of flying and jumping off sky high platforms and diving backwards into the pool. When the second kid arrives, they get a limited exposure pass to the investigations of fevers, rashes, coughs, funny sounds and they get to roam a little more freely in the park than their older sibling got to. The third kid is probably the luckiest. That kid gets a free pass. He is now under the wardship of his two older siblings and woe betide their butts should anything happen to him. Subsequently he is always the craziest.

Its hard being a parent. It really is. If you want to be a great parent it comes at a price. I love the chinese tiger mom theory about parenting. If your child is a success its because you invested in them. If your child is a failure it is because you failed them. Accepting that responsibility puts an enormous amount of pressure on any parent. Sometimes you just cannot get there because life gets in the way. But sometimes we forget that family is life. Parents are the captains of those families. We have to teach them to parent. And to parent well. It is how we preserve the human race. It is how we create people who love people. 

Being a paranoid parent means you have to get in front of the battle. Every single time. You have to fight for them. Protect them. Guide them to the paths that are best for them. You cannot force them to live a life you choose for them but by God you can think a few steps ahead to anticipate any potential pitfalls they may encounter. To keep their way clear so that they may grow up to explore their potential and strive to surpass it.

Trust your gut. Trust yourself. You are all your child needs. Be their parent. Be their rock. 

deaTh to pErfection,

Writing the heading that way drove me nuts.

I always thought that being a perfectionist was an awesome quality. Everything you touched turned out rock solid. Reliable. Dependable. When you are involved, everything turns out exactly as planned. Except. Does it really? Being a perfectionist creates an awful lot of pressure and tension. Makes every task stressful and cumbersome. You overthink things and constantly try to bring things back to the way it should be to be perfect instead of letting it flow and discovering a brand new outcome. A version you did not anticipate. But perfectionists cannot handle quick changes. I know i cannot. Surprises leave me filled with angst and anxiety, asking myself am i going to like it, am I going to hate it? Am i going to have to pretend to be ok with something I am not sure about yet. 

Thats the mind of the perfectionist. We know what we like and why. And what we loathe and why. Everything gets sampled, classified, labelled and filed away neatly and kept orderly for later referral. My perfectionism has even kept me from partaking in anything i cannot guarantee success in. I would rather try it quietly where no one can see me fail. Non participation is easier to deal with than public failure. No one likes to lose. But is losing that bad? Why do we shy away from losing? Why is failure and coming last such a huge deal? No one remembers the losers. But come to think of it who remembers the winners? After a certain amount of time it is all the same. Inconsequential. 

How hard would it be to actively seek out something to fail at everyday. You would actually have to live outside your head for once. Because inside your head everything is an organised symphony. Its a safe space without pressure or disappointment. I saw a video once where someone sought out rejection every day. He decided to push himself into his fear of failure by asking strangers everyday for something he knew they were more prone to reject than agree to. The experiment yielded results he had not imagined. He had not been rejected as much as he had imagined he would be. And when he was it did not feel as bad. 

What is a life well lived if we do not actively seek to evolve. As time goes on we learn more about ourselves and we notice the things that make us better and the things that hold us back. The less time you have left makes the change within yourself even more pressing. 

My hurdles of perfectionism and procrastination are the biggest reasons why i feel stumped. Now i cannot remember what it feels like to be free of your own restraints. My release mechanisms have become locked over the years. Just like the YES man movie i have to make a drastic effort to break it loose. I am going to try eating rejection biscuits every day. Dear God, please keep me from curling myself into a ball in the corner and muttering to myself about squirrels stealing my truth. I will not give up. I will not stop until I have released myself from my own mind shackles. Rage, I will rage.

“There is no way to genuinely, powerfully, truly love yourself while crafting a mask of perfection.”     Vironika Tugaleva

Life is a series of small decisions

Every morning we start our day making small decisions. Do we make our bed now. Brush our teeth now? What’s for breakfast today. Every move we make is governed by  these decisions. It’s a series of game moves that propel us in the direction we wish to go. 

Some choices move us away from our goal. We get distracted we deviate and some times we return to the initial path. Other times we change our paths and make the current path the new chosen path. It’s all programming. It’s the matrix. And it’s how we live our lives every single day. 

I wonder whether it would be possible to go about your day not making a single decision. Perhaps that’s what the movie the Yes man was all about. Removing your ability to navigate your own life and letting fate and the whims of others dictate where you end up. 

It might be an interesting experiment to yield fully to the ocean of possibility. Who knows where you might end up. You could end up in the gutter. Addicted to your vices. You could end up in another country. You could end up with a large family. The avenues are  so many. How many of us can truly let go. I know I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine that someone else might know what is better for me. You’re not me. So how can you know how to make a better me. 

It’s a case of the reflecting mirror i suppose. So many versions of possible outcomes. And only one can be true. The others are all reflections of you. The amazing thing is that you can pick out the you that you want to become in that moment. That is power. That is endless possibility. That is owning yourself and your true raw potential. And it’s alive and beating every single moment just waiting for you to direct it. 

“I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.”     Invictus

We have become a race of tv watchers.

In the generations to come our generation will be known as the tv watchers. We watch. We watch our screens all day. We watch Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, twitter the list goes on and on. 

Where’s the time for free thinking? Where we dream. Where we plan. Where we build castles in the sky. Who are we if we have no dreamers left? Dreamers built the car, they built a plane, they built a spaceship. 

You won’t be building anything watching someone else’s social media profile. I would argue you should build your own profile but that just continues the cycle. And someone else will then be watching you. 

I want to say stop the social media but it’s become so useful. How else would we stay in touch? Heaven forbid we actually speak to anyone. You’d have to be ready with actual words. Not words you plotted out before you posted them as an impromptu Facebook status. 

Gone are the days of the handwritten note. Where words are chosen carefully and time is taken to write as mistakes are permanent. We’ve become so fleeting. Leaving nothing memorable behind. No lasting imprint. Movies are forgettable. Music is but a faint echo like a tune played by a passing car. Here for a moment and then gone and never heard again. 

We regurgitate instead of creating. We think we are improving but all we are doing is moving the furniture from one room to another. We hardly make furniture anymore. It used to be a requirement to have a set of skills that you may be judged by. One wasn’t enough, it had to be at least three. Writing which could be stories or poetry. Music. And ofcourse some sporting activity. There were also skills to choose from like wood carving, painting, collecting all sorts of memorabilia like spoons or stamps. 

People used to be so much more interesting. So many more layers. Mysterious and multi faceted. Now we are one dimensional and very very shiny. The more glamorous and glitzy, the more believable and popular we become. It all feeds back into the virtual realities we buy into that we watch on our screens. Screens will be our downfall. Because when we watch the screens we forget to look around us. 

When all is said and done, who are we really?

Do you know? Do you know who you are without the commitments and have to dos in your life? Without the responsibilities to family, without the financial pursuits of work. Stripped down to your basic self do you know who that person is? 

Sometimes in life we become so engrossed in what we have to do we forget or rather sideline what we want to do. I would like to take street fashion photographs, but I would have to leave the house for that. Which I can't so let's shelve that idea. How many ideas in your life have you shelved because at that moment it is not practical or possible. Do you ever go back when it might be? Or is it just in that moment that the desire exists and when it has passed so does the desire. So it inevitably becomes a story about how once long ago you wanted to take some street fashion pictures. 

I can't leave it there. I shouldn't. I mustn't. Yet I have, because it's still not practical. Will it ever be? Or is it totally possible and in my narrow mindedness I'm missing the opportunity because I refuse to accept it the way it is presented. We all have an idea of where we want to go with a dream and sometimes it's easier to keep it a dream than to watch it wither and die. Because to bring a dream to life takes courage. Commitment. Huge amounts of effort. And the ability to remain unaffected by criticism. There are a lot of critics out there waiting to let you know where you fall short. Just like back seat drivers, there are backseat dreamers. 

So who are we? A bundle of unrealized dreams. We are loaded with potential and anchored by fear. Saddled with responsibilities. The reasons for 'not now' outweigh the reasons for 'absolutely right now'. We must harness that power. We can create the opportunity if we're willing to make the effort. The ones who have are flying in the sky holding their dreams with both hands. The rest of us are still here, grounded. Waiting and watching for someone else to clear the way for us. 

So the next time you have an idea, you can choose. Does it become a story about how you almost did something amazing. Do you leave the idea in your mind because failure is not an option. Or do you say this time I hear you. This time my dream will breath the air of possibility. I will make it so. And just like that a new journey of self discovery will begin. A new chapter in the story of you will begin. Because life is a book and you are on the cover and everything else is a chapter inside it.

When giants fall... who is left to lead the charge?

I never thought I would be writing about this so soon. Somehow I always expected my teachers to be around to continue to teach me. Even when we had done our high school dance the music always lingered as long as they were alive. I was the student and they were the teachers. Ready to be called upon.

But when the teachers start to fall, the students have to step up and offer the lessons they have learnt, it fills me with fear and anxiety. I have not learnt enough! They have not shared enough! And when they leave us long before we expect them to, we realise we have run out of time. Out of opportunity. And they leave a cavenous emptiness we can never hope to fill. 

Mr Goolam Pandit was the most relevant, forward thinking, intuitive, inspiring, game changing giant I had ever met. He made a difference. Every day. In every moment. It makes me sad that I have lost him and it makes me even more sad that future generations of students  will never have the pleasure of having met him. I wish I had reached out sooner and let him know how thankful I am for the effort and time he had invested in all of us. I always hoped I would run into him again somewhere along my life’s journey. I imagined that he would have some witty, acerbic, sarcastic comment to deliver with his usual flair. And I would offer up something to match. For this was our language. Delivering foul insults with a comedic tinge. But alas that was not meant to be.

I guess that leaves us to lead the charge. To make sure proper English remains lit. Rest well my English giant. The world became too small for a man of your stature. You will always live on in the mind ripples you created in all of us. You took teaching to a fare-thee-well.

“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.” - Richard Bach

“For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.” - Kahlil Gibran

Until we meet again.

When Life says ... Bazinga!

First, there was one. Just me.

Dinner for one, travel for one, apartment for one. 

Then there was two. Us. So in love, so married, so happy.

We had a little halfling, which made us three. So content, so grateful, so amazed.

We wanted just one halfling more ... instead we were blessed with two!

After all the heartache and disappointment, the giddy highs and sunny smiles, here we are finally. A family of 5.

Bazinga! says Life. You thought you’d always be alone. 

Bazinga! says Life. You thought you’d never be a mom.

Bazinga! says Life. Here have some twins.

What a trip Life is. Just when you think you have things mapped out. The landscape changes. You change. You adapt. You evolve. You become another you.

You are fluid, Life is fluid. Change is inevitable. You cant fight it, you cant control it. Sometimes its glorious and you bask in its glow, sometimes its dark and dank and damp and depressing. 

But ultimately its the best rollercoaster ride and it demands to be ridden. 

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.     Albert Einstein

The most interesting parts of yourself.

Since the rise of the narcissistic selfie, everyone has become obsessed with looking their best. 

Makeup, clothing, hair, picture background all have to be on point for the perfect selfie. All that effort needs to be made, highlighted contouring makeup, perfectly coiffed hair and just the right mix of light makes for a perfect selfie. Ofcourse you will have to contort yourself like a chinese acrobat at cirque du soliel and then proceed to take 534 pics so you can choose the absolute best one or five. As luck would have it somehow there is always a broom/mop or a toilet in the background but you can  overlook that since the part with your face in it is just too perfect. And if you are wanting to include more of your background or more people in it you can whip out your selfie stick and hey presto! ... a group selfie with a fountain or mountain or beach.

The irony of the selfie is that human beings are not drawn to each others perfections. Rather the opposite is true. Our curiosity is peaked by each others imperfections. There is no one more interesting than someone who has gotten divorced, failed, maimed, broke, got fired, made millions, won a car, got massive promotion, is famous etc. We want to discuss those people. We salivate just waiting for an opportunity to discuss them and their latest accomplishments or failures. 

So when we break that down on a smaller scale. Being perfect is not interesting or attractive. Being imperfect is. Your chipped tooth, your curly dry hair, your incomplete education, your weird laugh. The way you speak, walk, dance. Your silly jokes. Your crooked feet. It is all imperfectly perfect. So laugh more, less duck face. Actually swim, and forget to take a picture of you at the beach. You don't need a picture to prove that you actually did something. Forget makeup. Look around, listen, be present and climb out of your own head.

While I applaud the impressive advancements in technology. I mourn the loss of freedom. We used to be free to experience life without recording it. Without having to see our crazy, uninhibited selves and our actions again. We could remember it as we wished to. We could be surprised!! Life used to be so much more surprising. 

The most interesting parts of yourself happens when no one is looking. And that includes you.

Relax. Live. Let go.

"Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring"      -     Marilyn Monroe

I wish one day....

I could say "I didn't even know I was pregnant".

Just the same as those who say "oh look its dinner time, I completely forgot to eat lunch". The truth is infertility is not something you can ever forget. Its like moss on a river stone. It just lies there, slowly covering you so that you are no longer able to distinguish which parts are rock and which parts are moss. Over a long enough time it becomes such an ingrained part of you that you forget who you used to be before it consumed you. 

Its not the easiest thing to explain to those who have never experienced the hold it can have you. Perhaps you can just set it aside they say. Just relax, it will happen. You're stressed. Just have your mind think about something else. Imagine for a moment you tied an elastic band to your wrist. Sometimes its really tight and you can barely feel your hand and some days it's so loose you think its about to fall off! It never does. Its just there, every single moment of every single day. Thats how it feels. You can never shake it off. You can never control how its going to make you feel on the day. It just does as it does when it does it. Some days it makes you so happy knowing its there, you're filled with incredible hope and dreams that maybe today is the day. And sometimes it fills you with such dread and sadness because you know today is not that day. You become one with that elastic band and soon its part of your skin. You see it there in the dark, you feel it there even under water. It is you and you are it.

At some point you have to be that big girl that doesn't cry. The one who says "Fairy tales don't always have a happy ending. And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay"...  Well I don't want to be that big girl. I want to cry. I do not want to go gentle into that good night. I want to rage. Rage against the dying of the light. My head will be bloody, but unbowed. And my soul ... unconquerable. This will not beat me.

Instead, I will feast. Feast on all the joy, happiness, love and light that life has to offer. Some days the weight of infertility is crushing and some days it makes me stronger than I ever thought I would need to be. And in the end when you add up all the days.... they are all good anyway. Even the bad ones. 

Because what could be better than being alive and being happy.

Dear future self...

Dear future self, 

I wish you could write and let me know things are ok. Let me know that my dreams have materialized. I wish you could tell me not to worry. Just to let it be. But I wonder if the outcome would be the same if you did? Would I try less harder? Would I surrender easier?

No, better you stay quiet. Let me fight my fires without knowing the degree of burn. I've never been one to need to know the end before I've embarked on the journey. Being prepared for every eventuality is very different from knowing the exact eventuality. 

Which one would you choose? Knowing one, or trying them all. I choose all. Otherwise what would you do with the rest of your time?

Rage. Rage against the dying of the light.

What happened to my nerve??

As I've grown older I've slowly started to lose my nerve. I don't even know how it happened?? 

For the past few weeks I've been toying with the idea of an extra ear piercing. And every time I go to Canal Walk to do it, I find some ridiculous reason why I just cannot do it right now. My hair is too grey, I still have more weight to lose, I look too mommyish today. Its just crazy. I've had a nose piercing and a belly piercing already just for giggles. And now a little hole in my ear is scary. Suspending yourself with hooks off your back is scary! Free climbing is scary! Come on, a little old ear piercing can not be where I top out on the scary chart. 

Back in the day I would just dive head first into any situation I thought might be cool, interesting, fun but now I think I've become a party pooper stick in the mud kind of person! Oh my Ghad. The more I think about it the more I realise how true that is. When I turned 30 I almost skydived, I had it booked and everything. When I turned 40 I had to have a lay down at a lovely luxurious hotel! Where has my gung-ho crazy self gone to? I've gone and killed it.

This situation requires a serious remedy. I want to say I'm going to do it tomorrow… but then I think I already drove out there today. Seems so silly to drive all that way again. Might as well wait a few days. Build some courage. And there I did it again. Its like an invisible shield. Subconsciously activated. Its exactly like gym. I know I need to go. But I never pack a bag and I always drive to the mall first because … well a girl needs coffee.

At the end of March it will be 1 year since I stopped working. I haven't learnt any discernible skill, developed any artistic talent, or advanced myself in anyway that I could proudly wave a flag for. I've taken a gap year and promptly in the flow lost my nerve.  

How do you reawaken that part of yourself? I love who I am right now. Its taken me a while to get here. I'm accepting and forgiving and loving towards myself. Seems perhaps I've also become to comfortable in the lazy section of myself. I don't know if its just getting older and wiser that makes you realise you don't need that much excitement as you did before. I actually need very little since I get excited when there's a new episode of How to get away with Murder on catchup!

I guess its this stage of life when you relax, enjoy and saviour each moment. When you let life wash over you for a little bit. And when you're done you plunge in and start to swim again.

Super mom

No one can really prepare you for the perplexities of motherhood. When you become pregnant you are so caught up in the glow and wonderment that is your body. And the development of the little person inside you is all consuming. No matter what any other mothers tell you, you just know you will be different and you will try to do things better.

Let me tell you this, you wont. All mothers are in the exact same boat. We all have the same feelings, the same frustrations, the same goals, the same guilt. We make the same sacrifices and worry about the same things. It's the great equaliser for moms. From the moment that baby lands in your arms, your mind is filled with thoughts and questions and preparations for preparations. You have to feed, clothe, bathe, love, hug and devote all of yourself to this cute little kid. Each phase has new challenges. Have you played with them enough, have you taught them enough words, have you challenged them physically. Its a never ending marathon of hurdles to navigate. Just when you figure out how to do it well and have the routine running smoothly like a navy seal team, the bugger gets one year older and suddenly the game changes on the head.

You always feel like you're one step behind since the kid now dictates the play for the day and you dance around trying to maintain the order and rules that you wish them to learn. They learn it alright, as long as you keep pushing your agenda. Push too hard and they will push back, too soft and you will be disregarded like an empty, licked out kinder joy. Every day is different and always unpredictable. 

The thing that struck me the most is how quickly you can swing between being cheesed off about something they did, to feeling guilty for feeling cheesed off. From punishing them to feeling guilty about punishing them! I mean how the hell are you supposed to discipline and teach a kid things when you feel so bad for them. Those doe eyes teary and sad, promises of never doing it again, and apologies for the 10th time. You can forgive anything when you're faced with that. If the transgression is really bad you have to dig deep and go into crazy territory. Thats the only place the face of an angel can't reach you. Even then you have to turn away so they cannot see how funny you found what they just did. 

Yes indeed, the first kid is all about learning the rules and formulating the strategy for the next kid. I'm sure with number two you can see that kid coming from around the corner with his tricks. You get to be in charge and dictate the order of things. But alas, if what the other moms are saying is true… number two comes with an upgraded chip and suddenly whatever you learnt with number one is null and void. Might as well be starting from day one again! Only this time, they have an army and you're alone. Lol.

Yes that's what super moms do. We battle for sanity, appreciation, respect, love, order, discipline, success, achievement, progress. Only we don't fight this battle for ourselves. We fight it for our kids.

Soft underbelly of the beast

Thank you to everyone who has taken a moment to read what I have written and also to those who let me know that they enjoyed it. I really appreciate it. 

There's a certain vulnerability when you expose your thoughts and write them down in an open forum for anyone to read, critique, mock, scoff, whatever. And no matter how confident you might think you are, a simple comment is enough to strike you down at the knees.

Everyone has a soft spot, a weak spot somewhere that if touched upon will bring the person to break in sadness or rain upon you in fury. There are two types of people when it comes to vulnerability. You have the raw type who exposes themselves to you immediately and somehow manage to offload their baggage on you without a moments thought. You have just been used as a free therapist, you think you have helped them but instead they have helped themselves to you and your mind. I love those types. You just know that they are fat, stupid, fearful, broke, whatever within minutes of meeting them because they told you. In an instant you connect with them because they decided to show you their underbelly. 

On the other hand you have the ones who lock their weaknesses away. Even from themselves. They build a fortress around it. Protect it. Defend it from perceived exploitation. Perhaps they are embarrassed or ashamed. Perhaps they feel others won't understand unless they are exactly the same kind of person. I have met a few people like that. You never really get to know them. Just the parts they allow you access to. Heaven forbid you try to pry your way into a restricted level. No free therapy. No thank you.

Who knows what results in the creation of either of those types of people. Neither of them is better than the other. Its just how life has played out. Humans are such interesting creatures. Someone once said to me that the creation can never understand the Creator. Imagine for a second how complex we are. Each of us individually has an infinite amount of complications. So when for a moment you can truly connect with someone it is an amazing accomplishment. 

So many people in the world with all their different, weird and interesting characteristics, so when you reach out its like shooting an arrow in the dark and hoping for the best. As long as you don't hit the underbelly, you'll be just fine.

Who killed chivalry.

The problem with men and women is that we want our cake and we want to eat it too.

Men want a woman who is bold, audacious, sexy, unafraid to take charge and make things happen. But they also want a helpless, whispery princess to flutter her eyelash and ache to be rescued by her dashing prince. Women want to rule the world, make their own money, make their own rules, dictate their terms and be their own bosses. But they also want a romantic, charming, sweep me off my feet charmer that makes their hearts rejoice with happiness.

There are always winners and losers in that battle. Who gets to have what they want? And who has to make the sacrifice so the other person can get it? If you want a chivalrous man do you have to be the helpless girlish girl waiting to be rescued? Or does a chivalrous man appear when you are at your most bullish?

The male ego is fragile. Perhaps thats the wisdom in giving them a strong body. Whereas women have softer exteriors and the toughest hearts. Together we make a complete, complex whole, each protecting the softness in the other. In the past the recipe was simple. In the romantic era, women dressed in a certain way, men behaved in a certain way. Society dictated that your bosoms be on display, that you could sew, play a musical instrument and speak and sing in the gentlest of voices. Men walked around all puffed up, dressed in boots, jackets, hats, smoked pipes and rode around on their horses bragging about war. You would book a dance on the lady's dance card and ask her permission to walk with her in the garden. 

Now its a lot more complicated and everyone is confused. Do you take flowers? Do you pay for dinner? Do you open the door? There should be a charm school for men and women. Since the dating rules have changed so drastically, everyone should get a chance to be on the same page at least. The line between appropriate and inappropriate courting has become so blurred that its a wonder when you do meet someone who does it exactly right. I suppose there are no hard and fast rules any longer except the ones you put in play.

Someone once said to me, it's the women who get to choose. Men put their offers forward and women accept or reject them. Have we forgotten this? We can dictate how we wish to be treated not the other way around. If we wish to be wooed with romantic gestures and flowers and such we have a right to want it. 

However, in the defense of men. You cannot be a dashing prince swooping to rescue a woman who appears to be stronger and more capable than you are. The key is to analyse each woman's needs individually. If you wish to find your way into her heart you have to use the door she opens for you. And if that means you have to cook a meal, rub her feet, write little notes of poetry, then just do it. Because thats what it means to be chivalrous and gallant.

So ultimately chivalry is not dead. Its just hanging in our closets. Dusty, unused and forgotten. Its up to us to implement its use. 

Extra credit?

I would like to know if we get extra credit everytime we use an arabic word?

Everyone is fast and loose with arabic words of wisdom, blessings, advice, strength and so on and I have no idea what these words mean. I have to google them to make sure I understand what someone is saying sometimes. Is it perhaps that everyone my age has now come to that level where we are meant to talk the lingo? I didn't grow up in Saudi so using the terms in my daily conversations proves to be very challenging. I didn't grow up in a household that did either so it is rather new to me and my English ears.

When you speak with arabic terms you assume that the person listening knows what you mean. You could come off sounding a bit condescending, making the listener feel inadequate in their knowledge. Inevitably preventing the person from understanding your message and killing any courage they might have to ask you to translate. To that person, I mean me, you could be speaking in Chinese. Perhaps the fault lies with me and my lack of arabic knowledge and understanding.

I had look at Mufti Menk's Facebook status updates for some guidance and his last 20 updates had zero arabic terms in it. If someone so learned doesn't feel the need to use them in those updates, then I wonder if it is necessary to speak that way to be a better Muslim? 

Will I get more credit? It reminds me of high school. We are all here to pass through. We will all pass through. Some with better marks than others. We all studied the same subjects in the same language. There was no extra credit if you could say 'atom' in five languages. The credit for atom lie in the knowing of what an atom was. 

By all means speak the speak if it makes you happy and proud. But remember without knowing what you need to know, the speak are just words without any weight. 

When I get old....

When I get old I want to be exactly like the old people. 

They say exactly what they want, do exactly as they please and drive like they're the only people in the world! Take turns as wide as you can, the other cars must move. Don't indicate, don't even bother looking. Lines? What lines? If you're between the pavements you're on the road and good to go. Everyone avoids old people drivers because we just know you don't have any insurance! And that you will scratch, dent, bump, total our new flashy cars with its expensive paint jobs without a moments thought. 

And that's exactly the kind of old person I want to be. The kind that giggles quietly as the other drivers swerve out of my way. I must make sure to have an old car too. The big ones with big bumpers and a very loud hooter. Because I intend to take it to the next level with copious amounts of hooting as well.

You have to admire that about the elderly. They just don't give a toss anymore. It's the best part about getting old I reckon. You don't have to make excuses or justify bad behavior. You can just let it all hang out. You can punish everyone if you're having a bad day and you will be forgiven because you're old. 

So carteblanche to the oldies I say. Do what you like. You've earned the right to be you. We make allowances for you and however you wish to behave. If you get a chance, watch the movie Nebraska. It shows old people at their finest, filthiest and canniviest. But love them you must because ultimately you know the sacrifices they made for you.

Swerve for now I will. But know one day, someone will swerve for me. Or else....Hoot!

 

What is your addiction?

We all have one. 

Some are legal, some are not. Some costs you money and some costs you time, energy, life. There is always a price and there is always an addiction. We are all programmed with faults and flaws. Perfect in our imperfect state. For even those flaws are meant to teach us how resilient and powerful we are. We are given a challenge to overcome. How else would we know the impossible is indeed possible. 

There are reformed alcoholics, rehabilitated drug addicts, born again religious followers, these are just the big ones. The ones where the Anonymous group therapy sessions and the religious devout do their work. What about the addictions that are not that common? Where it can be quietly hidden from view. Porn, cigarettes, shopping, these are so common that to be addicted is just ridiculous, no? I mean who can't kick these habits? Everyone who indulges in them believes that they can abstain at any moment. Until you actually try…

My addiction has got to be shopping for shoes. I mean who doesn't know that about me? Its a well known fact that I love buying shoes. Wearing them is another issue all together. I never get to wear them all because I keep buying them so frequently. I met travellers on a group tour once, I spent a few days with them and in no time they had established that I loved to shop. Is it that obvious? I didn't even realise the magnitude of the addiction until I had to have a wall of closet space built to accommodate the mountain of shoes and boots I now own. 

These shoes have now become a constant reminder of an unfulfilled promise I made. I promised myself when I bought each and everyone of them that I would use them and that I needed them. And yet there they are, just waiting for me to wear them. Waiting to deliver on the promise they made to me of being the most comfortable, stylish, useful, trendy, shiny, pretty. Like a pretty girl at her prom wearing a beautiful dress waiting to be asked for a dance that never comes. And I am the wanker that brought her but I am too busy dancing with other girls.

Every effort has to be made to change this scenario. I quit smoking once. My goodness, I loved smoking. I still fight the craving every now and then. If I can quit smoking, I can change how I behave towards shopping and in particular shopping for shoes. Let this be the start of a new era for me. The era where my addiction changes into something that is good for me. Good for my soul, my mind and my wallet. Commencing with Day 1...

God help me.

Lost stars....

Please don't see just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies

Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see

Take my hand let's see where we wake up tomorrow

Best laid plans sometimes are just a one night stand

I'd be damned Cupid's demanding back his arrow

So let's get drunk on our tears and

God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young

It's hunting season and the lambs are on the run

Searching for meaning

But are we all lost stars, trying to light up the dark?

Who are we? Just a speck of dust within the galaxy?

Woe is me, if we're not careful turns into reality

Don't you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow

Yesterday I saw a lion kiss a deer

Turn the page maybe we'll find a brand new ending

Where we're dancing in our tears and

God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young

It's hunting season and the lambs are on the run

Searching for meaning

But are we all lost stars, trying to light up the dark?

I thought I saw you out there crying

I thought I heard you call my name

I thought I heard you out there crying

Just the same

God, give us the reason youth is wasted on the young

It's hunting season and this lamb is on the run

I wish I had the words to explain just how deep this song is. Close your eyes and let it wash over you. Let the words soak in and permeate every corner of your mind. Everything about it just makes me want to fly, makes me want to soar, makes me happy from the inside to my edges. 

When i first heard it in the movie Begin Again, i just knew this is THAT movie. You know which movie I mean, the kind of movie you can't shake. It grabs you and makes you a different person. Makes you want to be better, makes you want to live harder, love crazier.

It was the perfect vessel for the perfect song. One of the things i loved was that the movie had no nudity or lewdness it was just human frailty and strength wrapped in amazing melodies. It makes you cry, makes you cheer and makes you believe. 

Who are we really? We are here for a fraction of a moment in time. Don't let the memories make you sad. Everything about being here is beautiful. And youth, it is wasted on the young. We are in the best physical shape when our minds are most under developed. Imagine for a second we were all Benjamin Buttons we would have a lifetime of experience in a young body! We would have the meaning and answers to all our questions or at least most of them. We would have a lifetime of accumulated wealth and adventures and at the dusk of our lives enjoy the last decade or so fully energised and focused. 

I suppose if we could all map out how we wished to live the life we were given it would all be different. Like timeshare. We would swop and trade and barter and sell. Some things are best left outside our scope of manipulation as we can be frivolous and serious in equal amounts. 

If i can leave you with just one thought, watch this movie. It says everything and more, but with pictures and music. It's a smorgasbord for your soul.

50 shades of what?

So I turned 40. I wish I could say something momentous happened. Some fundamental change occurred. Or that aliens swooped down and gave me the secret to renewable youth. Nope. Nothing remarkable happened except that I got one day older.

Age really is just a number. You don't feel yourself age. In fact you just continually feel like you. You don't even know you're aging until you die. So there. That's the secret of life. You live and then you die. Everything in between is your life. Its not getting older one should fear, its death. So when you're alive, just relax and enjoy.

Which brings me to my topic at hand. What is all this fuss about with 50 shades? I mean really if you wish to read BDSM porn then just do so and enjoy it quietly like everyone else does. Suddenly this glamorous version of dominion of a woman is sweeping the world and everyone goes doe eyed. Its exactly like Pretty Woman. Making a vice romantic. BDSM is a form of sexual perversion. I certainly don't judge it because I believe it does have its merits among adults. However, my concern is that this romantic version of BDSM has now entered the arena of popular culture. Making it accessible to the most easily influenced, most vulnerable sector of any population, its teenagers.

I recently learnt that sexual intercourse for 12-16 years olds is now legal as long as both partners are in that age bracket. I mean come on! That is just insane. Children that young? That alone was hard to absorb until I was also told that girls no longer needed the permission of a parent or guardian to have an abortion. Any girl at any age can get an abortion without telling anyone! We are opening the doors for sexual promiscuity and lifelong emotional self abuse. Imagine for a second that your daughter could have an abortion and you as the parent would never know.

When I first heard that Singapore bans the chewing of gum in public, I thought what a crazy infringement of my rights to eat what I wish. But their reasoning is starting to make more sense to me. Their streets are super clean. No graffiti on their trains. No trash. Their focus was to start with the smaller problems. Gum being stuck on public facilities was a problem, so they banned gum. Free abortion and consensual sex is a major problem, and fixing it starts with not making 50 shades of grey a romantic movie. Its not romance. Its exploitation.

Lets start somewhere to get our morals back in order.