The rant that follows is long overdue. It's a splatter of pent up answers and comebacks;an accumulation of everything I’ve wanted to relay over the past year. What can I say, I’m all shook up.
I’ve probably had a million conversations that go like this:
Person I’m Meeting After A While: Hey, It’s been ages! What are you doing now?
Me: Oh, I’m in PR at the mo. Also trying to start up some freelance creative writing on the side. And you?
PIMAAW: Whoa…hang on. Didn’t you do a science-something degree?
Me: Biotechnology.
PIMAAW: Yea, that. What happened??
Me: Oh, just expanding my horizons. Next on the agenda is space travel.
And as we chuckle at that little cliché-quip combo, I secretly congratulate myself on the successful avoidance of yet another of that tiresome dialogue.
“So what??” I really want to say. “Want to take this outside??”
But of course (and lamentably) Shakespeare was just being symbolic when he likened this world to a stage.
And West Side Story is sadly, purely fictional. So any chance of a ‘rumble’ was quashed, while afore-mentioned PIMAAW walked away from the conversation assuming that I was yet another confused soul who didn’t know what she wanted out of life.
There was a time when just knowing how to read and write made you the brightest of the lot. Then, a high school education became a mandatory prerequisite. A couple of decades down the line, a Graduate diploma was vital for some semblance of recognition, and now it’s either a Master’s degree or nothing.
The 5-lane highway you initially started out on eventually leads into a 3-lane road. We take a right and find ourselves on a 2-way street. We keep on going, and only when it’s too late do we finally comprehend that we’re stuck on a one-way track with a predefined destination.
Some of us are comfortable with our vehicles being set on autopilot. Others would rather get lost a little, experiment on the way, and maybe finally come to a conclusive decision on their route of choice.
What we fail to realize here, is that more than qualifying us for a profession, sectarian academics is actually paving us a very restricted path when it comes to life choices.
I remember my first day of 9th grade, when we excitedly clamoured around a roster announcing where each of us were to be 'allocated' for the years ahead.
Attaining an overall average of above 70% meant you were ‘worthy’ of the Science field of study, and the rest who didn't make 'the cut' were shoved into The Arts or Business stream irrespective of whether they preferred it or not.
I remember feeling darned good at having made it (albeit barely) into that seemingly 'elite' club. Before I had even begun my syllabus, I'd felt smarter already.
But in retrospect, I now realize that the very notion that Science is more challenging a field than Accountancy for example, is a stupid, let alone archaic assumption.
We stage protests against racism, caste-systems and the like, but when we drop our picket signs to head home, we're ironically resuming a life where we do just that. Segregate.
There is no pressing need to classify intelligence in the first place. Nor is there an urgency to put down in numbers a quotient with which to measure brilliance.
For if we’re learning something new every day, how often must we be tested then?
Literacy might be justified by numbers, but Knowledge most certainly cannot.
So as we leap from speciality to speciality, we ourselves are moulded into believing that we’re capable of only what we’ve been trained our whole lives to do.
We don’t even attempt escape, governed by the fear that we might fail trying; under the allusion that maybe it's not worth the effort after all. Even if the fire you initially started out with, is now just a half-baked flicker struggling to stay aflame.
The probable logic behind this streaming of the masses, is that we as people are not comfortable without a hierarchy of sorts governing everything we do.
We've carved ourselves a little niche with this herd mentality, so much so that anything that strays even slightly from the norm is deemed ‘rebellious’ or 'irrational.'
We like to have things clear-cut, so that each one of us can fall in line.
Black or white? Optimist or Pessimist? Fat or thin? Yes or No?
Then what about the Browns, the Realists, the Average-sized and the Maybe’s?
We’re all brain-washed into thinking that each one of us has this incremental slot in society we’re obligated to fill.
But if you think about it, it’s actually quite hard to sieve the global population on basis of profession. Try classifying the function of a Teacher for example.
As a university professor, you’re teaching a subject. As a mother, you advise your children against making wrong decisions. At work you train new employees. As team captain you coach your fellow players. And just by re-telling a story, you’re educating your listeners.
See what I’m getting at here?
Just because we’ve chosen a particular path for ourselves, doesn’t necessarily mean we're restricted in doing solely that.
Maybe a Broadway star wants to make a shift into Advertising. Maybe a Mathematician would like to switch to an English major. Maybe an ex-marine is considering taking up crochet lessons.
And who are we to stop them?
Unfortunately for us, we’re living in an age where materialism reigns supreme over genuine drive.
They couldn't give a toss if you're passionate about the position. Going for a job interview without a degree(at least one)to fortify your resume is like a fashion designer sending her/his models down the ramp naked.
I'm not trying to rally against the educational system. Far from it. What I'm truly opposed to is the limitations created by society on education.
The point I’m trying to make is this.
Halfway down the line / up the ladder (use metaphor of choice), I’d like to have the liberty to change my mind. Or at least ponder what I'm doing there in the first place.
You might argue that it's too expensive to start all over, or too tedious to re-trace, but don’t ever tell me it’s too late. Don’t ever tell me that I can’t.
Annnd, cut! Sorry for that emotional outburst folks, but thanks for listening.
Over and out.
Cheers.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sri Lanka -
As written for Khaleejesque:
Images courtesy of Dinidu De Alwis:
Sir Arthur C. Clarke once very famously declared: “The island of Sri Lanka is a small universe; it contains as many variations of culture, scenery and climate as some countries a dozen times its size.”
The wise man couldn’t have phrased it better.
Sanskrit for sacred island, not many people know that before the name Sri Lanka was coined, the country had many a title before the one it holds now; Ceylon when under the reign of the Portuguese, and Taprobane to the Ancient Greeks. But most beautiful, and probably the one that holds most true was the name appointed by the Arabs of yore: Serendib; derived from the word serendipity.
Cradled by the Indian Ocean and located right under the Indian Sub-continent, this tiny Island is often referred to as ‘The Pearl of The Indian Ocean.’ But don’t judge an Island by its size.
This ‘little’ emerald isle stakes claim to a history spanning centuries, and has many a tale to tell; of ancient battles and overthrown monarchs, to the Portuguese, Dutch and British invasions, and the recent civil war. Before the onset of the bloody civil war that held the island captive for more than 2 decades, and the tragic onslaught of the 2001 tsunami, Sri Lanka was once on par with the world’s top Travel and Honeymoon destinations. And now with the war declared over, and the tsunami just a bad memory, the once wary tourists are finding it safe to visit again.
And why wouldn’t they?
Almost synonymous with seductive beaches and it’s seemingly endless expanse of tea plantations, Sri Lanka is ideal for that easy, yet pocket-friendly escape. The climate is comfortably temperate, and although Sinhala and Tamil are the official languages of the nation, English is widely spoken in the city and most tourist hot-spots. The currency (the Sri Lankan Rupee) is fairly easy to comprehend, and with regards to accommodation, tourists can either choose to set up camp in the hotel industry’s big-names (Hilton, Galadari, etc.), or the many ‘Boutique hotels’ and ‘Eco-lodges’ located across the island.
THE PLACES:
Colombo: The city of Colombo might resemble any other South-Asian city at first glance, but on closer observation one will notice the easy infusion of cultures representing the island in the Capital itself. Amongst the busy streets of school-going children clad in white, and the street side vendors exhibiting their wares, you will find the representation of cultural variation in the food you eat and traces of history in the monuments of ancient architecture hidden amongst the modern-day edifices. The majority of the 20 million strong population are Buddhists; but in addition to the prevalence of eggshell-white Temples and frequent sighting of larger-than-life-sized effigies of Buddha, a steady presence of Kovils, Mosques and Churches reflect the country’s accommodation of religious diversity.
Anuradhapura: A few hour’s drive from Colombo, this ancient city was once the capital of the island, and is the cultural hub of the country. The impressive ruins and intricately carved moonstones, remind us of the architectural marvels that once stood, and the massive stone-carved statues of the Buddha are enough to satisfy every culture-buff’s quest for heritage.
Sigiriya: This ‘Fortress in The Sky’ is an amazing geological rock formation that stands 200m tall, rewarding all it’s climbers with an exhibition of ancient paintings en route to the top, and a spectacular view of the surrounding plains.
Kandy: The next most-populated city after Colombo, Kandy is known for the temple that hosts the Sacred Tooth Relic of the Buddha. The same tooth relic that is paraded around the city every year (around July-August), with a pageantry-like fanfare in what is called the Esala Perahara. Most tourists co-ordinate their trip so as to catch this annual parade, with even the locals lining up, not wanting to miss out on the march of glamorized elephants, fire-breathers and Kandyan dancers.
The National Parks: For that true Safari experience, the Yala National Park boats the largest population of leopards in Asia, and a chance to catch some of Sri Lanka’s 92 mammals in their natural habitat. The Pinnawela Elephant Orphanage gives tourists an opportunity to ‘adopt an elephant’ and watch these tusked creatures bathing, eating, and even dancing!
THE FOOD:
The culture-buff’s fix can be satisfied (even satiated) with just the smorgasbord of food the country has to offer.
Start your day with some traditional Sri Lankan Kirribath; unsweetened rice cakes often spiced-up with a local concoction called Lunumiris.
For lunch, make sure you order yourself a packet of Lamprais (pronounced lump-rice). Of Dutch origin, this midday meal comprises of a portion of stock-cooked rice and it’s curry accompaniments wrapped for function and flavour in a banana leaf.
Satisfy that mid-day sweet craving with some Wattalapan; a jaggery and egg-based pudding of Malay origin.
Ask for Kotthu-roti for dinner; a flavourful (and spicy) medley of vegetables, meat and of course roti.
MUST DO:
- Book a window seat: And on your flight over, make sure to take a peek out just before landing. The expanse of green is breath-taking, and gives you that teasing taste of what your trip has in store.
- Take a ride in a Tuk-Tuk: These three-wheeled rickshaws might seem precarious, but whizzing around the streets of Colombo in one these multi-hued taxis is an adventure on it’s own.
- Drink some Thambili: No trip to Sri Lanka is complete without a drink of coconut water straight out of the King Coconut; the fruit of those towering trees flanking the island is enough to quench the thirst of any weary traveler.
- Visit a tea plantation: Make time in your travel schedule to visit one of the many tea plantations that contribute to the county’s main export produce. On having finally understood the process involved in the making of your daily cuppa, don’t forget to sit down and savour a cup of Sri Lanka’s finest!
- Speak to the locals: Your hotel/tour operator might have your agenda all planned out, but nothing beats the insight of good old street knowledge on places to eat and visit. The locals are friendly, and you might just be surprised at what you almost missed out on.
So sure, the name of your tour guide might be a tad hard on the tongue, and the local food might be spicier that what you’re used to, but on that flight out of the Island you’re guaranteed to look out that window and commit that view (and trip) to memory.
Was it the drive through the hill plantations, or the lure of the beaches that gave you that lasting impression? It could’ve been that heady rush of staring into the eyes of a magnificent Tusker. Or maybe it was the endearing smile of the mango-vendor on the pavement.
You’ll want to come back and find out.
Images courtesy of Dinidu De Alwis:
Sir Arthur C. Clarke once very famously declared: “The island of Sri Lanka is a small universe; it contains as many variations of culture, scenery and climate as some countries a dozen times its size.”
The wise man couldn’t have phrased it better.
Sanskrit for sacred island, not many people know that before the name Sri Lanka was coined, the country had many a title before the one it holds now; Ceylon when under the reign of the Portuguese, and Taprobane to the Ancient Greeks. But most beautiful, and probably the one that holds most true was the name appointed by the Arabs of yore: Serendib; derived from the word serendipity.
Cradled by the Indian Ocean and located right under the Indian Sub-continent, this tiny Island is often referred to as ‘The Pearl of The Indian Ocean.’ But don’t judge an Island by its size.
This ‘little’ emerald isle stakes claim to a history spanning centuries, and has many a tale to tell; of ancient battles and overthrown monarchs, to the Portuguese, Dutch and British invasions, and the recent civil war. Before the onset of the bloody civil war that held the island captive for more than 2 decades, and the tragic onslaught of the 2001 tsunami, Sri Lanka was once on par with the world’s top Travel and Honeymoon destinations. And now with the war declared over, and the tsunami just a bad memory, the once wary tourists are finding it safe to visit again.
And why wouldn’t they?
Almost synonymous with seductive beaches and it’s seemingly endless expanse of tea plantations, Sri Lanka is ideal for that easy, yet pocket-friendly escape. The climate is comfortably temperate, and although Sinhala and Tamil are the official languages of the nation, English is widely spoken in the city and most tourist hot-spots. The currency (the Sri Lankan Rupee) is fairly easy to comprehend, and with regards to accommodation, tourists can either choose to set up camp in the hotel industry’s big-names (Hilton, Galadari, etc.), or the many ‘Boutique hotels’ and ‘Eco-lodges’ located across the island.
THE PLACES:
Colombo: The city of Colombo might resemble any other South-Asian city at first glance, but on closer observation one will notice the easy infusion of cultures representing the island in the Capital itself. Amongst the busy streets of school-going children clad in white, and the street side vendors exhibiting their wares, you will find the representation of cultural variation in the food you eat and traces of history in the monuments of ancient architecture hidden amongst the modern-day edifices. The majority of the 20 million strong population are Buddhists; but in addition to the prevalence of eggshell-white Temples and frequent sighting of larger-than-life-sized effigies of Buddha, a steady presence of Kovils, Mosques and Churches reflect the country’s accommodation of religious diversity.
Anuradhapura: A few hour’s drive from Colombo, this ancient city was once the capital of the island, and is the cultural hub of the country. The impressive ruins and intricately carved moonstones, remind us of the architectural marvels that once stood, and the massive stone-carved statues of the Buddha are enough to satisfy every culture-buff’s quest for heritage.
Sigiriya: This ‘Fortress in The Sky’ is an amazing geological rock formation that stands 200m tall, rewarding all it’s climbers with an exhibition of ancient paintings en route to the top, and a spectacular view of the surrounding plains.
Kandy: The next most-populated city after Colombo, Kandy is known for the temple that hosts the Sacred Tooth Relic of the Buddha. The same tooth relic that is paraded around the city every year (around July-August), with a pageantry-like fanfare in what is called the Esala Perahara. Most tourists co-ordinate their trip so as to catch this annual parade, with even the locals lining up, not wanting to miss out on the march of glamorized elephants, fire-breathers and Kandyan dancers.
The National Parks: For that true Safari experience, the Yala National Park boats the largest population of leopards in Asia, and a chance to catch some of Sri Lanka’s 92 mammals in their natural habitat. The Pinnawela Elephant Orphanage gives tourists an opportunity to ‘adopt an elephant’ and watch these tusked creatures bathing, eating, and even dancing!
THE FOOD:
The culture-buff’s fix can be satisfied (even satiated) with just the smorgasbord of food the country has to offer.
Start your day with some traditional Sri Lankan Kirribath; unsweetened rice cakes often spiced-up with a local concoction called Lunumiris.
For lunch, make sure you order yourself a packet of Lamprais (pronounced lump-rice). Of Dutch origin, this midday meal comprises of a portion of stock-cooked rice and it’s curry accompaniments wrapped for function and flavour in a banana leaf.
Satisfy that mid-day sweet craving with some Wattalapan; a jaggery and egg-based pudding of Malay origin.
Ask for Kotthu-roti for dinner; a flavourful (and spicy) medley of vegetables, meat and of course roti.
MUST DO:
- Book a window seat: And on your flight over, make sure to take a peek out just before landing. The expanse of green is breath-taking, and gives you that teasing taste of what your trip has in store.
- Take a ride in a Tuk-Tuk: These three-wheeled rickshaws might seem precarious, but whizzing around the streets of Colombo in one these multi-hued taxis is an adventure on it’s own.
- Drink some Thambili: No trip to Sri Lanka is complete without a drink of coconut water straight out of the King Coconut; the fruit of those towering trees flanking the island is enough to quench the thirst of any weary traveler.
- Visit a tea plantation: Make time in your travel schedule to visit one of the many tea plantations that contribute to the county’s main export produce. On having finally understood the process involved in the making of your daily cuppa, don’t forget to sit down and savour a cup of Sri Lanka’s finest!
- Speak to the locals: Your hotel/tour operator might have your agenda all planned out, but nothing beats the insight of good old street knowledge on places to eat and visit. The locals are friendly, and you might just be surprised at what you almost missed out on.
So sure, the name of your tour guide might be a tad hard on the tongue, and the local food might be spicier that what you’re used to, but on that flight out of the Island you’re guaranteed to look out that window and commit that view (and trip) to memory.
Was it the drive through the hill plantations, or the lure of the beaches that gave you that lasting impression? It could’ve been that heady rush of staring into the eyes of a magnificent Tusker. Or maybe it was the endearing smile of the mango-vendor on the pavement.
You’ll want to come back and find out.
TEDxDubai - An Idea Worth Spreading
As written for UAE Community Blog:
Not many events (let alone free media events), make the cut, here in Dubai. And by ‘cut’ I metaphorically refer to that fine, slice of meat; perfectly extracted, excluding everything unnecessary to produce a prime, well-done steak.
The purpose of TEDxDubai was to do justice to the concept of TEDx (an abbreviation for Technology, Entertainment and Design; the ‘x’ representing an ‘independently organized event’), a non-profit convention that started out in California, with the intention of hosting ‘forward thinkers,’ all connected by the common goal of spreading the power of positive thinking.
What TEDxDubai aimed to achieve was to bring together like-minded individuals from the emirates under one roof, and bounce off ideas that would otherwise seem unfeasible.
Delegates entered the event location with high expectations, but frankly, expecting the worst. As is the norm with most conferences / events / concerts here in ‘Dubayy,’ a parking predicament was expected, lousy customer service was anticipated, and a disappointed lot of speakers was prophesized.
But boy, were we pleasantly surprised.
Parking was plentiful, the volunteers were always on deck, the catering was delectable, and the line-up of speakers was nothing short of mind-blowing.
So obviously, the atmosphere was proportionately abuzz with intellectual conversation of TED-happy delegates.
What does it take to pull off this successful an event? The organizers obviously knew what they were doing when they set down the guidelines:
(a) Remove the price tag: Your delegate badge had to be ‘earned’ by filling out an application form on the TEDxDubai website; one that never asked for your nationality and social standing, preferring instead to deem you worthy depending on what you thought was an ‘idea worth spreading.’
(b) No black market sales: Since your invite to the event was non-transferable, and valid photo identification had to be presented on entry, not a soul even attempted to sell their tickets; even if they wanted to (which is hardly conceivable).
(c) First-come, first-serve seating: Self explanatory. The earlier you arrived, the better view you got. And if I recall right, the 1,000 seats of DMC’s Palladium were almost completely filled up before the session even began.
(d) Come-as-you-like mentality: No stated dress-code, meant that you were free to wear whatever it was that kept you comfy throughout the day. Presence of flats amongst the ladies and flowered shirts amongst the men were proof enough.
(e) Enlist speakers not on the basis of their job title, but on the principle of the vision / message they have to relay: Speakers varied in nationality (Emarati to Indian), age group (13-40), and subject matter (biophotonics to comic book characters); each speaker more inspirational than the next.
Bruno Guissani, European TED director, inaugurated the event introducing the audience to the concept of TED, and the many projects that have launched as a result.
Leo Laporte advocated the benefits of new media vs. old, while Paul Bennett stressed on the importance of ‘moving beyond scale and into substance.’
The Al Awadhi brothers of the contemporary Shawarma store Wild Peeta, and Mohammed Saeed Harib of Freej fame, all highlighted the significance of having faith in your dreams, and running it through.
13-year old Dubai Abdulla Abuhoul, took the stage as living proof that it was not age that mattered, but instead the drive to succeed, while Dr. Naif Al Mutawa, creator of THE99, planted humour into his talk with the same ease with which he glided us through the creation of the region’s first internationally-renowned comic strip.
Masarat Daud shared with us the vision and success of her 8 day Academy, emphasizing on the need for ‘education that functions,’ while Samar S. Jodha drove us to tears with striking visuals from the Indian village of Phenang, and his message of ‘finding the larger cause in your art.’
Bashar Atiyat brought to our attention the need for breaking stereotypes, while Jamil Abu-Wardeh had the audience in splits with his witty take on the importance of comedy in the region.
Mohammad Gawdat addressed the crowd on the internet’s role in non-manufactured information, and Ian Gilbert achieved his goal of making our brains hurt while underlining the necessity of promoting ‘independent thinking’ in today’s classrooms.
Jiochi Ito advised us to ‘invest in our failures in order to achieve that Google’ while Abed Ayyad brought in the science factor to the conference, delving into the ‘magic’ of Biophotonics.
Khulood Al Attiyat spoke of her innovation to bring back a Renaissance in Dubai, and Qais Sedki talked us through achieving every goal on ‘life’s table of contents.’
Ernst van der Poll helped us comprehend the importance of bringing today’s youth to explore nature in order to better understand it’s value in the circle of life, while Thomas Lundgren walked onto the stage barefoot, and stressed on the gravity of true happiness; stating that ‘without passion, nothing extraordinary in this world can be achieved.’
When the final speaker left the stage, and it was time for the organizer’s curtain call, the entire Palladium rose for a much-deserved standing ovation in honour of the Mad Men behind the scenes; Giorgio Ungania and James Piecowye. Mad because they took up the challenge of putting together a world-class act, purely because they felt it was their duty to make sure the Emirates was not deprived of such a phenomenon.
We, the delegates walked out an inspired lot; now reassured that we’re capable of achieving whatever it is we aspire for, provided we’ve got the passion to back that dream. ‘If they can do it, so can we!’
It just goes to show that it’s not the monuments we erect that put us on the map, but projects like these that put us on par with the rest of the world. Here’s hoping that the success of a humble event such as this will motivate our GCC counterparts into bringing the TED experience into their region.
And I’m quite certain I’m not speaking for myself here when I say, I was actually quite disappointed. Disappointed that the much-awaited TEDxDubai had actually come to an end.
Turns out the best things do come for free after all.
For more information on what you missed out on, visit: www.tedxdubai.com
For more inspiration, visit the main TED site: www.ted.com
Not many events (let alone free media events), make the cut, here in Dubai. And by ‘cut’ I metaphorically refer to that fine, slice of meat; perfectly extracted, excluding everything unnecessary to produce a prime, well-done steak.
The purpose of TEDxDubai was to do justice to the concept of TEDx (an abbreviation for Technology, Entertainment and Design; the ‘x’ representing an ‘independently organized event’), a non-profit convention that started out in California, with the intention of hosting ‘forward thinkers,’ all connected by the common goal of spreading the power of positive thinking.
What TEDxDubai aimed to achieve was to bring together like-minded individuals from the emirates under one roof, and bounce off ideas that would otherwise seem unfeasible.
Delegates entered the event location with high expectations, but frankly, expecting the worst. As is the norm with most conferences / events / concerts here in ‘Dubayy,’ a parking predicament was expected, lousy customer service was anticipated, and a disappointed lot of speakers was prophesized.
But boy, were we pleasantly surprised.
Parking was plentiful, the volunteers were always on deck, the catering was delectable, and the line-up of speakers was nothing short of mind-blowing.
So obviously, the atmosphere was proportionately abuzz with intellectual conversation of TED-happy delegates.
What does it take to pull off this successful an event? The organizers obviously knew what they were doing when they set down the guidelines:
(a) Remove the price tag: Your delegate badge had to be ‘earned’ by filling out an application form on the TEDxDubai website; one that never asked for your nationality and social standing, preferring instead to deem you worthy depending on what you thought was an ‘idea worth spreading.’
(b) No black market sales: Since your invite to the event was non-transferable, and valid photo identification had to be presented on entry, not a soul even attempted to sell their tickets; even if they wanted to (which is hardly conceivable).
(c) First-come, first-serve seating: Self explanatory. The earlier you arrived, the better view you got. And if I recall right, the 1,000 seats of DMC’s Palladium were almost completely filled up before the session even began.
(d) Come-as-you-like mentality: No stated dress-code, meant that you were free to wear whatever it was that kept you comfy throughout the day. Presence of flats amongst the ladies and flowered shirts amongst the men were proof enough.
(e) Enlist speakers not on the basis of their job title, but on the principle of the vision / message they have to relay: Speakers varied in nationality (Emarati to Indian), age group (13-40), and subject matter (biophotonics to comic book characters); each speaker more inspirational than the next.
Bruno Guissani, European TED director, inaugurated the event introducing the audience to the concept of TED, and the many projects that have launched as a result.
Leo Laporte advocated the benefits of new media vs. old, while Paul Bennett stressed on the importance of ‘moving beyond scale and into substance.’
The Al Awadhi brothers of the contemporary Shawarma store Wild Peeta, and Mohammed Saeed Harib of Freej fame, all highlighted the significance of having faith in your dreams, and running it through.
13-year old Dubai Abdulla Abuhoul, took the stage as living proof that it was not age that mattered, but instead the drive to succeed, while Dr. Naif Al Mutawa, creator of THE99, planted humour into his talk with the same ease with which he glided us through the creation of the region’s first internationally-renowned comic strip.
Masarat Daud shared with us the vision and success of her 8 day Academy, emphasizing on the need for ‘education that functions,’ while Samar S. Jodha drove us to tears with striking visuals from the Indian village of Phenang, and his message of ‘finding the larger cause in your art.’
Bashar Atiyat brought to our attention the need for breaking stereotypes, while Jamil Abu-Wardeh had the audience in splits with his witty take on the importance of comedy in the region.
Mohammad Gawdat addressed the crowd on the internet’s role in non-manufactured information, and Ian Gilbert achieved his goal of making our brains hurt while underlining the necessity of promoting ‘independent thinking’ in today’s classrooms.
Jiochi Ito advised us to ‘invest in our failures in order to achieve that Google’ while Abed Ayyad brought in the science factor to the conference, delving into the ‘magic’ of Biophotonics.
Khulood Al Attiyat spoke of her innovation to bring back a Renaissance in Dubai, and Qais Sedki talked us through achieving every goal on ‘life’s table of contents.’
Ernst van der Poll helped us comprehend the importance of bringing today’s youth to explore nature in order to better understand it’s value in the circle of life, while Thomas Lundgren walked onto the stage barefoot, and stressed on the gravity of true happiness; stating that ‘without passion, nothing extraordinary in this world can be achieved.’
When the final speaker left the stage, and it was time for the organizer’s curtain call, the entire Palladium rose for a much-deserved standing ovation in honour of the Mad Men behind the scenes; Giorgio Ungania and James Piecowye. Mad because they took up the challenge of putting together a world-class act, purely because they felt it was their duty to make sure the Emirates was not deprived of such a phenomenon.
We, the delegates walked out an inspired lot; now reassured that we’re capable of achieving whatever it is we aspire for, provided we’ve got the passion to back that dream. ‘If they can do it, so can we!’
It just goes to show that it’s not the monuments we erect that put us on the map, but projects like these that put us on par with the rest of the world. Here’s hoping that the success of a humble event such as this will motivate our GCC counterparts into bringing the TED experience into their region.
And I’m quite certain I’m not speaking for myself here when I say, I was actually quite disappointed. Disappointed that the much-awaited TEDxDubai had actually come to an end.
Turns out the best things do come for free after all.
For more information on what you missed out on, visit: www.tedxdubai.com
For more inspiration, visit the main TED site: www.ted.com
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Digital Detox
Hullo. My name is Shaahima Fahim, and I've been clean for 30 days.
What started out as a spiritual sacrifice, turned out to be a social experiment of sorts, when I decided to quit the biggest banes of the cyber world for a good, fat, month. Namely Facebook, Twitter, YouTube (or YouTwitFace as a friend once cleverly pointed out), MSN, and any other URL I deemed a waste of time.
So, armed with only the luxury of email (one must not be too harsh on oneself) I braced myself for the month ahead.
You gasp? I say it's possible folks; I've lived to tell the tale.
Day 1- Day 3 was the most arduous of my 1 month stint. Not that I was ever an 'addict' in the first place; but a user is a user all the same.
So, as with anyone who goes cold turkey, withdrawal symptoms began to manifest. My fingers twitched longingly, to type in what could have been the perfect Tweet. My wrist would instinctively direct the mouse towards bookmarked pages, and I'd wistfully 'mark as read' emails titled 'Soooo funny...must watch!!'
But once you've conquered that one insurmountable-seeming week of rehab, you finally come around to the realization that there's actually lot to do outside the cyber kingdom. Now unfettered by the shackles of your computer chair, you're free to read more, take a drive or two, or just take out time so often wasted to smell those metaphorical roses.
It was quite the humbling experience, I must say. I texted instead of Tweeted, I'd pop a call instead of a wall post, and I'd leaf through actual pages instead of their digital counterpart.
But what probably really brought me to terms with this so-called experiment was when I came across a stack of forgotten photos I had once stuffed into a drawer (on deciding to take advantage of the lack of distraction to de-clutter). Photos as in the sort we used to need to get developed. The sort we couldn't delete because 'my eyes were closed in that one.' The sort that brings back more memories than the perfected shots we've got on Facebook / MySpace / Flickr.
Whoever it was that predicted the day humans would be governed by machines, couldn't have made a more accurate prophecy. We've unknowingly licensed a cunning exchange of dominions; our 'real' existence for one behind cyber-bars.
I never did comprehend it before, but maybe my daily Reuters RSS feeds will one day negate the need for me to actually read the newspaper. Maybe I'll reach a stage where I'd much rather hook up with friends through a webcam than in actuality.
It's a scary thought, but the fact that I've already replaced my calendar, thesaurus and journal to online versions is proof enough. Most lists I make are on an Excel spreadsheet, and whatever articles / blogposts I do pen-down (note irony) are via keyboard, while my dejected little collection of stationery slowly wanes away at my desk.
We use the excuse of convenience, and while that might be a valid argument, we're losing out on what we love(d?) most about communication; the human touch.
So yeah, I might be back in 'civilisation,' but I've decided to not conform this time around. Here on out, I will make an attempt to reduce to a minimum my online time. I'm going to start a snail-mail correspondence with a willing friend, and I'm going try my very best to 'just call to say I love you.' ;)
Laziness and convenience are hardly discernible anymore, and more often than not we choose to give the latter the benefit of the doubt. I say 'choose,' because if ever we reach that stage where we're under the mercy of an automaton that we ourselves have created, we've no one to blame but ourselves.
Cheers.
What started out as a spiritual sacrifice, turned out to be a social experiment of sorts, when I decided to quit the biggest banes of the cyber world for a good, fat, month. Namely Facebook, Twitter, YouTube (or YouTwitFace as a friend once cleverly pointed out), MSN, and any other URL I deemed a waste of time.
So, armed with only the luxury of email (one must not be too harsh on oneself) I braced myself for the month ahead.
You gasp? I say it's possible folks; I've lived to tell the tale.
Day 1- Day 3 was the most arduous of my 1 month stint. Not that I was ever an 'addict' in the first place; but a user is a user all the same.
So, as with anyone who goes cold turkey, withdrawal symptoms began to manifest. My fingers twitched longingly, to type in what could have been the perfect Tweet. My wrist would instinctively direct the mouse towards bookmarked pages, and I'd wistfully 'mark as read' emails titled 'Soooo funny...must watch!!'
But once you've conquered that one insurmountable-seeming week of rehab, you finally come around to the realization that there's actually lot to do outside the cyber kingdom. Now unfettered by the shackles of your computer chair, you're free to read more, take a drive or two, or just take out time so often wasted to smell those metaphorical roses.
It was quite the humbling experience, I must say. I texted instead of Tweeted, I'd pop a call instead of a wall post, and I'd leaf through actual pages instead of their digital counterpart.
But what probably really brought me to terms with this so-called experiment was when I came across a stack of forgotten photos I had once stuffed into a drawer (on deciding to take advantage of the lack of distraction to de-clutter). Photos as in the sort we used to need to get developed. The sort we couldn't delete because 'my eyes were closed in that one.' The sort that brings back more memories than the perfected shots we've got on Facebook / MySpace / Flickr.
Whoever it was that predicted the day humans would be governed by machines, couldn't have made a more accurate prophecy. We've unknowingly licensed a cunning exchange of dominions; our 'real' existence for one behind cyber-bars.
I never did comprehend it before, but maybe my daily Reuters RSS feeds will one day negate the need for me to actually read the newspaper. Maybe I'll reach a stage where I'd much rather hook up with friends through a webcam than in actuality.
It's a scary thought, but the fact that I've already replaced my calendar, thesaurus and journal to online versions is proof enough. Most lists I make are on an Excel spreadsheet, and whatever articles / blogposts I do pen-down (note irony) are via keyboard, while my dejected little collection of stationery slowly wanes away at my desk.
We use the excuse of convenience, and while that might be a valid argument, we're losing out on what we love(d?) most about communication; the human touch.
So yeah, I might be back in 'civilisation,' but I've decided to not conform this time around. Here on out, I will make an attempt to reduce to a minimum my online time. I'm going to start a snail-mail correspondence with a willing friend, and I'm going try my very best to 'just call to say I love you.' ;)
Laziness and convenience are hardly discernible anymore, and more often than not we choose to give the latter the benefit of the doubt. I say 'choose,' because if ever we reach that stage where we're under the mercy of an automaton that we ourselves have created, we've no one to blame but ourselves.
Cheers.
Friday, June 26, 2009
MoonWalk - The Final Step
I've never written a eulogy before. Never been asked to, and never been inspired enough. And i've sure as hell never once considered taking time off to express onto paper (or website) emotion for the loss of a man i've never met.
A man I can never say i've met, but a man I grew up with all the same. As a 6-year-old I owned tapes of all his music videos, knew the lyrics to all his scores, had managed to attain VIP tickets to his 'Dangerous' World Tour...and even forgave him when he cancelled.
Michael Jackson, The King of Pop; and even Wacko Jacko some called him, attaching a title to his many eccentricities. As with every star who's made it big, controversy hounded him like a boxer to his shadow.
But at a time like this, all his peculiarities seem insignificant. We forget that he was once tied with sexual allegations. We turn a blind eye to rumours revolving around his obsession with surgery. And we don't give a hoot anymore how deep in debt he was.
What we do remember, is what he was always meant to be remembered for. For his magnanimous contribution to the music industry, as a phenomenal performer with an irrepalceable sense of artistry and style.
We loved him for his infamous red blazer, that outrageous crotch-thrust, and of course...the moonwalk; the walk more popular than Armstrong's itself.
We remember the man who took entertainment to a whole other level, his music serving as a portal to bring out in the open, issues of race, war and love.
The reason his passing has come as quite the shock to most of us, is probably because like him, we thought Michael would live forever. It's hard to conceive that a legend is mortal after all.
But unlike other mere mortals, MJ leaves behind a massive fan-following, music that's bridged the gap of generations, and a legacy of dance; earning his place in The Hall of Fame...our Hall of Fame.
Maybe now he'll finally get the peace he deserves.
A man I can never say i've met, but a man I grew up with all the same. As a 6-year-old I owned tapes of all his music videos, knew the lyrics to all his scores, had managed to attain VIP tickets to his 'Dangerous' World Tour...and even forgave him when he cancelled.
Michael Jackson, The King of Pop; and even Wacko Jacko some called him, attaching a title to his many eccentricities. As with every star who's made it big, controversy hounded him like a boxer to his shadow.
But at a time like this, all his peculiarities seem insignificant. We forget that he was once tied with sexual allegations. We turn a blind eye to rumours revolving around his obsession with surgery. And we don't give a hoot anymore how deep in debt he was.
What we do remember, is what he was always meant to be remembered for. For his magnanimous contribution to the music industry, as a phenomenal performer with an irrepalceable sense of artistry and style.
We loved him for his infamous red blazer, that outrageous crotch-thrust, and of course...the moonwalk; the walk more popular than Armstrong's itself.
We remember the man who took entertainment to a whole other level, his music serving as a portal to bring out in the open, issues of race, war and love.
The reason his passing has come as quite the shock to most of us, is probably because like him, we thought Michael would live forever. It's hard to conceive that a legend is mortal after all.
But unlike other mere mortals, MJ leaves behind a massive fan-following, music that's bridged the gap of generations, and a legacy of dance; earning his place in The Hall of Fame...our Hall of Fame.
Maybe now he'll finally get the peace he deserves.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunny Side Up
Hurrah! It's Summer folks! Summer has landed!!
Don't look at me like that. Like i'm mad. Like the heat's finally got to me.
Pardon me if this happens to be my season of choice. And in this part of the world i'm not exactly handed a smorgasbord of seasons to choose from; the best of the 4(spring and autumn) are non-existent.
Yes, I do realize I live in the Middle East, where a 'low' of 45 degrees centigrade is an auspicious double-digit. Where it's probably cooler in that oven with the rotating, roasting chickens than it is outside smack in the middle of August.
But again..pardon me. Pardon me for preferring sun burn over frostbite (blue is not my colour). Pardon me for not loving days where I set off to work in pitch black, and head back home way after Monsieur Sunshine has called it a day. Pardon me if i'd rather not layer myself with clothing like a sugar-addict icing a cake.
Sweating is healthy. Freezing is just a reflex response.
In winter you're lazy.
You're too comfy under your duvet to get yourself out of bed each morning. Your teeth are too busy chattering to yourself to have conversation with anyone else.
Your lips crack until it hurts to smile. Your fingernnails turn an unclassified shade of blue, and you forget you have a nose at all until you realize that you are in fact still breathing.
You envy fat people for their deposits of warmth, and the concept of burning yourself with the lone flame of a cigaretter lighter is so appealing, that you actually consider living with a 3rd degree burn-scar for life if it means just a few seconds of heat.
You pretend you like someone just so you can hold their hand, and run around in an an un-called for hugging-spree not because you're overtly friendly, but purely for the sake of mustering whatever warmth you can scavenge.
You walk around the house in socks and a hoodie looking around for scraps of wood with which to build a fire in your living room, your demeanor and gait resembling one of the many corpses from MJ's 'Thriller' video.
It's no wonder Ebeneezer Scrooge was grumpy during Christmas time. It's no wonder Big Foot has an agenda. They're freezing.
But summer. Oh summer! With it's beautiful beaches, and the permission slip it hands you to start wearing open-toed sandals again. Those ugly dull-coloured fuzzies are replaced with a wardrobe of bright, thinner attire.
A little too much sun? Just slap on your shades and a blob of sunscreen. It's nothing a cold shower and big fat glass of chilled watermelon juice can't cure.
You don't have to fear for your digits from May through September. You can go for a drive with the AC cranked up. You can finish a whole tub of ice cream, quashing the guilt with the theory that you'll sweat off the calories.
You can grab a natural tan just by popping over to the community grocery store. You can hit the rink. You can hit the stores (summer sales)! You can hit your brother and blame it on heatstroke!!
Now this...this is the season to be jolly.
Don't look at me like that. Like i'm mad. Like the heat's finally got to me.
Pardon me if this happens to be my season of choice. And in this part of the world i'm not exactly handed a smorgasbord of seasons to choose from; the best of the 4(spring and autumn) are non-existent.
Yes, I do realize I live in the Middle East, where a 'low' of 45 degrees centigrade is an auspicious double-digit. Where it's probably cooler in that oven with the rotating, roasting chickens than it is outside smack in the middle of August.
But again..pardon me. Pardon me for preferring sun burn over frostbite (blue is not my colour). Pardon me for not loving days where I set off to work in pitch black, and head back home way after Monsieur Sunshine has called it a day. Pardon me if i'd rather not layer myself with clothing like a sugar-addict icing a cake.
Sweating is healthy. Freezing is just a reflex response.
In winter you're lazy.
You're too comfy under your duvet to get yourself out of bed each morning. Your teeth are too busy chattering to yourself to have conversation with anyone else.
Your lips crack until it hurts to smile. Your fingernnails turn an unclassified shade of blue, and you forget you have a nose at all until you realize that you are in fact still breathing.
You envy fat people for their deposits of warmth, and the concept of burning yourself with the lone flame of a cigaretter lighter is so appealing, that you actually consider living with a 3rd degree burn-scar for life if it means just a few seconds of heat.
You pretend you like someone just so you can hold their hand, and run around in an an un-called for hugging-spree not because you're overtly friendly, but purely for the sake of mustering whatever warmth you can scavenge.
You walk around the house in socks and a hoodie looking around for scraps of wood with which to build a fire in your living room, your demeanor and gait resembling one of the many corpses from MJ's 'Thriller' video.
It's no wonder Ebeneezer Scrooge was grumpy during Christmas time. It's no wonder Big Foot has an agenda. They're freezing.
But summer. Oh summer! With it's beautiful beaches, and the permission slip it hands you to start wearing open-toed sandals again. Those ugly dull-coloured fuzzies are replaced with a wardrobe of bright, thinner attire.
A little too much sun? Just slap on your shades and a blob of sunscreen. It's nothing a cold shower and big fat glass of chilled watermelon juice can't cure.
You don't have to fear for your digits from May through September. You can go for a drive with the AC cranked up. You can finish a whole tub of ice cream, quashing the guilt with the theory that you'll sweat off the calories.
You can grab a natural tan just by popping over to the community grocery store. You can hit the rink. You can hit the stores (summer sales)! You can hit your brother and blame it on heatstroke!!
Now this...this is the season to be jolly.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Baby-lon
Babies are an evil lot, they are. They're all connivingly round, soft and sqooshable; a vicious ploy, a clever disguise, to have all grown-ups running circles around their chubby little digits.
They exploit that 'adorable card' handed out to them at birth, and send out telepathic messages to all adult-kind that suppresses their ability to talk straight.
It's true. Just pop out a baby in the middle of a boxing ring and Evander Hollyfield will be on his knees in a second, coochie-cooing mindlessly as though in a trance. Presidential-hopefuls kiss babies not to appear more human to the public, but rather to earn the afore-mentioned babies' favour (refer The Godfather).
And what lies beneath that deceitful veneer?
A little monster that pukes, poops and bawls. Not necessarily in that order, at no definite place, and most certainly not restricted to Godly hours. When they wake you up for that 2am feeding/diaper-change, that mournful weeping you hear is actually code for 'I am your master!'
They kick up a fuss at dinner-time because they can, and they magically 'unload' the very minute you've strapped on a fresh diaper; knowing all along that a well-timed, one-toothed giggle will serve to erase any memory of that puree-splattered wall, or those now-shredded documents.
I'm not a mother (in case you're wondering worriedly at the passion with which I indulge)...but I have been exposed to a period of nanny'ing for a couple of months two years ago. Yes...two years ago. And yet I haven't forgotten..
All hail those mummies who manage to walk out of this daily battle with the smile of a martyr, and all limbs intact. Sleepless nights and months of accumulated fatigue are selflessly pushed aside for the little creatures they call their own.
And this bit's just the beginning!
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY EVERYONE! :)
Cheers.
They exploit that 'adorable card' handed out to them at birth, and send out telepathic messages to all adult-kind that suppresses their ability to talk straight.
It's true. Just pop out a baby in the middle of a boxing ring and Evander Hollyfield will be on his knees in a second, coochie-cooing mindlessly as though in a trance. Presidential-hopefuls kiss babies not to appear more human to the public, but rather to earn the afore-mentioned babies' favour (refer The Godfather).
And what lies beneath that deceitful veneer?
A little monster that pukes, poops and bawls. Not necessarily in that order, at no definite place, and most certainly not restricted to Godly hours. When they wake you up for that 2am feeding/diaper-change, that mournful weeping you hear is actually code for 'I am your master!'
They kick up a fuss at dinner-time because they can, and they magically 'unload' the very minute you've strapped on a fresh diaper; knowing all along that a well-timed, one-toothed giggle will serve to erase any memory of that puree-splattered wall, or those now-shredded documents.
I'm not a mother (in case you're wondering worriedly at the passion with which I indulge)...but I have been exposed to a period of nanny'ing for a couple of months two years ago. Yes...two years ago. And yet I haven't forgotten..
All hail those mummies who manage to walk out of this daily battle with the smile of a martyr, and all limbs intact. Sleepless nights and months of accumulated fatigue are selflessly pushed aside for the little creatures they call their own.
And this bit's just the beginning!
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY EVERYONE! :)
Cheers.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Reunion of a Different Kind
To say that I was a 'bookworm', would be the understatement of the decade. At one point (i'm almost afraid to profess), I was one of those uber-geeky kids who'd always have a book in hand, having the 'audacity' to read even when on a social call.
I couldn't help it. It's been engraved in me for as long as I can remember. I couldn't give a damn about how I could make my pinafore-uniform seem cooler, just as long as Anne (of Green Gables)would beat Gilbert to the Avery Prize. Enid Blyton was my Beyonce, and a visit to the bookstore was too magical for my little dweeby-self to express. The school day revolved around my English class; racing to the end of the reading list, and having the freedom to express my opinion onto a piece of paper was the greatest high of all.
Then along came high school, university, a social life, and the internet. Not necessarily in that order but each carrying equal damage.
I found that I had less time to read, and more time to check-on my face book page. I'd drop a decent novel in deference to a last-minute shopping expedition. Kareoke night trumped Ayn Rand,and embarrassingly on more than one occassion I stood up Tolstoy for Hugh Jackman.
Even when I was at a stage when I really didn't have much to do, my pile of unread books would pile higher. I'd still visit the book fair like I have done religiously ever since it's inception...and I'd still sneak in a secret whiff of each new title I buy before I read it. But somehow I'd only really find time when I didn't want to think of a particular something that was bothering me, or on a Thursday night when I had no plans, or when the internet at home went bust. But deep down I knew I still wanted that floor-to-ceiling library more than than that Chanel tribute bag.
But of late...I had got hold of a novel. One of those your eyes just couldn't peel away from, and your fingers had a will of their own. I carried it in my handbag, and would sneak in a page / chapter or two during lunch breaks, at hospital waiting rooms, even in a moving vehicle.
And it all came back to me, in that comforting heady rush that only fond memories can conjure.
It's true what they say about old habits dying hard. They might be in a coma for a few years, but you'll be at their bedside everyday until they wake up..speaking to them, re-assuring them that all hope is not lost. Yes, it's rather creepy of me to personify a hobby as a dying person, but i'm hoping my poetic license will save me from being strait-jacketed straight (get it?) to the loony bin.
It's like your best girlfriend y'know? The moment some new, buff man comes into your life, aformentioned bestie is chucked aside. But as soon as you're the one chucked, bestie's shoulder is right there waiting for you...no matter how hurt she was all along.
Now when i'm off for a mall-trawl, my Magrudy's (book store) points-card sits comfy in it's little niche inside my wallet, along with my Grazia discount card. I've re-kindled the habit of exchanging titles with other avid readers, and have accumulated quite a collection of cosmopolitan bookmarks (Hello nerdville!). Don't quite know if i'll put off a good dosh-session with the girls, for a pick at the pages just yet though!
If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to show, that's how you know eh?
Cheers.
I couldn't help it. It's been engraved in me for as long as I can remember. I couldn't give a damn about how I could make my pinafore-uniform seem cooler, just as long as Anne (of Green Gables)would beat Gilbert to the Avery Prize. Enid Blyton was my Beyonce, and a visit to the bookstore was too magical for my little dweeby-self to express. The school day revolved around my English class; racing to the end of the reading list, and having the freedom to express my opinion onto a piece of paper was the greatest high of all.
Then along came high school, university, a social life, and the internet. Not necessarily in that order but each carrying equal damage.
I found that I had less time to read, and more time to check-on my face book page. I'd drop a decent novel in deference to a last-minute shopping expedition. Kareoke night trumped Ayn Rand,and embarrassingly on more than one occassion I stood up Tolstoy for Hugh Jackman.
Even when I was at a stage when I really didn't have much to do, my pile of unread books would pile higher. I'd still visit the book fair like I have done religiously ever since it's inception...and I'd still sneak in a secret whiff of each new title I buy before I read it. But somehow I'd only really find time when I didn't want to think of a particular something that was bothering me, or on a Thursday night when I had no plans, or when the internet at home went bust. But deep down I knew I still wanted that floor-to-ceiling library more than than that Chanel tribute bag.
But of late...I had got hold of a novel. One of those your eyes just couldn't peel away from, and your fingers had a will of their own. I carried it in my handbag, and would sneak in a page / chapter or two during lunch breaks, at hospital waiting rooms, even in a moving vehicle.
And it all came back to me, in that comforting heady rush that only fond memories can conjure.
It's true what they say about old habits dying hard. They might be in a coma for a few years, but you'll be at their bedside everyday until they wake up..speaking to them, re-assuring them that all hope is not lost. Yes, it's rather creepy of me to personify a hobby as a dying person, but i'm hoping my poetic license will save me from being strait-jacketed straight (get it?) to the loony bin.
It's like your best girlfriend y'know? The moment some new, buff man comes into your life, aformentioned bestie is chucked aside. But as soon as you're the one chucked, bestie's shoulder is right there waiting for you...no matter how hurt she was all along.
Now when i'm off for a mall-trawl, my Magrudy's (book store) points-card sits comfy in it's little niche inside my wallet, along with my Grazia discount card. I've re-kindled the habit of exchanging titles with other avid readers, and have accumulated quite a collection of cosmopolitan bookmarks (Hello nerdville!). Don't quite know if i'll put off a good dosh-session with the girls, for a pick at the pages just yet though!
If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to show, that's how you know eh?
Cheers.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Of Pocketed Passions and Silent Sufferings
One of the many attributes that make us human beings highest in the hierarchy, is probably the ability and variance with which we express emotion.
Identical twins can have the exact tendencies in every aspect of their lives, but in the way they handle pain, for example. One might choose to mourn out loud, expelling heartbreaking sobs that melt the heartstrings of just about anyone made to listen. The other might decide to withhold on vocalization, preferring instead to suffer alone. Silently, and drawing as little attention to herself as is possible; hoping that noone else will suspect and interfere.
We walk down the same streets everyday; meet new people, meet old people. Cuss at a swerving taxi-driver, and indifferently order our regular cuppa from the local cafe. For all you know, that cabbie was fervently rushing home on hearing the news of a new addition to his family. For all you know, the barrista that just handed you your skim-latte had just ended his 10-year marriage the night before. For all you know, your colleague in the adjacent cubicle is suppressing a victory dance deserving of his team's victory.
The pensive chap to your right at the bus-stop probably just got laid-off, and the guy smoking profusely on your left probably just got laid.
The woman you're kneeling / sitting next to at mosque / church, is praying as hard as you are. Is she a mother begging for her son's safe return? A battered wife beseeching for guidance? Or a daughter, hoping against all hope that her father recovers?
Everyone's got a cloud above their head, hovering and following them every single minute of every day; some with a silver lining, and some without. We grieve, we rejoice. We mourn the loss of a loved one, or replay the freshness of a new relationship. Our friends and family, our closest confidantes might know...but those strangers you happen to bump into on your way out of the elevator, or those familiar-but-can't-quite-place faces you smile a polite acknowledgement; they have no idea. Just like you have no clue.
Indifference is welcoming sometimes; it's non-claustrophobic, non-judgemental, and non-pitying.
Beacuse your burden is burden enough. And because you just can't pretend with yet another person that you feel their pain, when in truth you're just glad you're not them. We're gluttons in times of glory, and selfish in times of anguish.
Not because we're terrible people. But just because we're human.
Identical twins can have the exact tendencies in every aspect of their lives, but in the way they handle pain, for example. One might choose to mourn out loud, expelling heartbreaking sobs that melt the heartstrings of just about anyone made to listen. The other might decide to withhold on vocalization, preferring instead to suffer alone. Silently, and drawing as little attention to herself as is possible; hoping that noone else will suspect and interfere.
We walk down the same streets everyday; meet new people, meet old people. Cuss at a swerving taxi-driver, and indifferently order our regular cuppa from the local cafe. For all you know, that cabbie was fervently rushing home on hearing the news of a new addition to his family. For all you know, the barrista that just handed you your skim-latte had just ended his 10-year marriage the night before. For all you know, your colleague in the adjacent cubicle is suppressing a victory dance deserving of his team's victory.
The pensive chap to your right at the bus-stop probably just got laid-off, and the guy smoking profusely on your left probably just got laid.
The woman you're kneeling / sitting next to at mosque / church, is praying as hard as you are. Is she a mother begging for her son's safe return? A battered wife beseeching for guidance? Or a daughter, hoping against all hope that her father recovers?
Everyone's got a cloud above their head, hovering and following them every single minute of every day; some with a silver lining, and some without. We grieve, we rejoice. We mourn the loss of a loved one, or replay the freshness of a new relationship. Our friends and family, our closest confidantes might know...but those strangers you happen to bump into on your way out of the elevator, or those familiar-but-can't-quite-place faces you smile a polite acknowledgement; they have no idea. Just like you have no clue.
Indifference is welcoming sometimes; it's non-claustrophobic, non-judgemental, and non-pitying.
Beacuse your burden is burden enough. And because you just can't pretend with yet another person that you feel their pain, when in truth you're just glad you're not them. We're gluttons in times of glory, and selfish in times of anguish.
Not because we're terrible people. But just because we're human.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Talk of Troubled Times
The one thing we owe to all this recession schmesession is the potential it has for conversation.
We all love to complain. And once the signal turns green, we can launch into a series of anecdotes, 'tsk tsk' at the downfall of the dollar, and list out the names of close friends / relatives affected by the splurge of job cuts.
An awkward date can turn into a conversation smooth enough to rival one of 007's chat-up lines. Over coffee, the men attempt to predict when the economy will finally revive, the Stepford's fret over whether or not their husbands will be able to gift them this Spring's Gucci, and mother's exchange figures of their children's friends who've had to drop out of school.
It's a food fight of buzzwords like 'slump' and 'lay-offs.' It's a horror movie with villanous bonus-dispensing CEO's and victimized Merril Lynch'ers. Everyone's heard of the 'R' word, and even a 5-year-old could point out that the Credit Crunch is not a new Nestle' product.
Frankly i'm tired. Tired of every new subject I bring up stubbornly retracting back to the 'current economic situation.'
I'd like to be able to talk about the weather, without having someone point out that the recent rainfall is a reflection of the gloom of the markets. Convocation ceremonies are clouded over with whispers of 'It's a shame. What a terrible time to graduate.' The joy of a new addition to the family is quashed by the worry of up-keep. Even the secure individuals live a wary existence, just waiting for the metaphorical axe to fall.
Sometimes I find myself actually believing that we have a soft spot for all this gloom and doom. We love the drama it brings, the stories we have to tell, and for some perverse reason we're kinda fond of the fear of the unknown. Maybe we're just tired of the monotony of routine, the safety net of a secure existence.
And I just dedicated an entire post to the subject I claim to be whinging about. Proof enough.
The human psyche..go figure.
Cheers (?)
We all love to complain. And once the signal turns green, we can launch into a series of anecdotes, 'tsk tsk' at the downfall of the dollar, and list out the names of close friends / relatives affected by the splurge of job cuts.
An awkward date can turn into a conversation smooth enough to rival one of 007's chat-up lines. Over coffee, the men attempt to predict when the economy will finally revive, the Stepford's fret over whether or not their husbands will be able to gift them this Spring's Gucci, and mother's exchange figures of their children's friends who've had to drop out of school.
It's a food fight of buzzwords like 'slump' and 'lay-offs.' It's a horror movie with villanous bonus-dispensing CEO's and victimized Merril Lynch'ers. Everyone's heard of the 'R' word, and even a 5-year-old could point out that the Credit Crunch is not a new Nestle' product.
Frankly i'm tired. Tired of every new subject I bring up stubbornly retracting back to the 'current economic situation.'
I'd like to be able to talk about the weather, without having someone point out that the recent rainfall is a reflection of the gloom of the markets. Convocation ceremonies are clouded over with whispers of 'It's a shame. What a terrible time to graduate.' The joy of a new addition to the family is quashed by the worry of up-keep. Even the secure individuals live a wary existence, just waiting for the metaphorical axe to fall.
Sometimes I find myself actually believing that we have a soft spot for all this gloom and doom. We love the drama it brings, the stories we have to tell, and for some perverse reason we're kinda fond of the fear of the unknown. Maybe we're just tired of the monotony of routine, the safety net of a secure existence.
And I just dedicated an entire post to the subject I claim to be whinging about. Proof enough.
The human psyche..go figure.
Cheers (?)
Thursday, March 26, 2009
That Gut Feeling
When we're put in a situation that requires us to choose..say between right and wrong, yes or no, with or without cheese..we often tend to think too hard. Be it the simplest of choices or the matter-of-life-and-death decisions, we try and weigh out the pros and cons, get a second opinion or even toss a coin.
But how many times have we relied on that coin to help come to a conclusion only for us to toss again. 'Let's just do best out of three.'
Because sometimes you don't need to think so hard. Turns out the answer's at the tip of your tongue..regurgitated from your gut. We ought to give more credit to that gut feeling people keep going on about.
You know how hard it is to seperate cotton if you pull really hard, but when you just tug at it lightly the pieces seperate with cushiony ease? Maybe we're not supposed to try so hard. Maybe sometimes the answer's just there..waiting for you to look up and take notice.
And when asked why you chose this rather than that, you can't explain it. It just feels right.
But how many times have we relied on that coin to help come to a conclusion only for us to toss again. 'Let's just do best out of three.'
Because sometimes you don't need to think so hard. Turns out the answer's at the tip of your tongue..regurgitated from your gut. We ought to give more credit to that gut feeling people keep going on about.
You know how hard it is to seperate cotton if you pull really hard, but when you just tug at it lightly the pieces seperate with cushiony ease? Maybe we're not supposed to try so hard. Maybe sometimes the answer's just there..waiting for you to look up and take notice.
And when asked why you chose this rather than that, you can't explain it. It just feels right.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Fearing Regret / Regretting Fear
In my opinion, the scariest thing in the whole world is the fear of the unknown.
It's like you're hanging off a cliff in pitch black...not knowing whether to let go, or hang on until help arrives. Because for all you know, the floor could be littered with jagged rocks waiting to rip you to pieces as soon as you loose grip. On the other hand, there could be a strategically placed collection of puffy cushions...arranged to make sure you feel no pain when you fall.
Do you take the risk? Do you have nothing to lose?
Most rational fears boil down to this one thing...not knowing what's going to happen next. You're terrified of heights because just about anything could happen while you're up there. Take that moment of realization when you've taken a wrong turn into unexplored territory for instance, or that chill when face-to-face with an aggressor. If you had been pre-warned that the assailant was going to first aim for face, you'd know to stick up your hand and protect it. And if you had a map in hand, you'd discover where exactly you were, and figure out the easiest route to get you back on track.
But what when you don't? What when you don't have that manual that defines which part fits into outlet B. When you don't have the blurg to a book that tells you what's inside? Or when you don't have a recipe, but just the ingredients. What do you do then?
You're scared shitless that you've made the wrong decision. That after taking a right at the fork, you realize that you should have taken the left one all along.
And after that?
I suppose we could regret. Swear at the circumstances. Blame the sun for falling in your eyes even. Or we could make it work for us.
I just saw this documentary, where this one man in a war-torn country decided to take a new route to walk to work one day. Less than halfway through his trek, he tripped on a rock, fell on a landmine, and lost his arms for good. He spoke of his remorse. How for the first few years he lived every day regretting having ever taken that alternative route.
But now this man...he writes with his feet. He wakes up each morning, brushes his teeth and puts on his clothes everyday...using just his feet.
It's a terrible thing to afflict anyone sure...but I feel that sometimes shit happens to strong people, to serve as inspiration for the not so strong. Just like we follow the lives of Hollywood personas, the struggling and torn turn to others as messed up for guidance, reassurance and faith.
So that maybe one day they too can let go of their regret, move on, and be ready to make a decision again with fear as fresh and raw as the previous one.
Easier said than done of course. But this is just me, and my curiosity getting the better of me; rying to find a loophole in the document labelled 'Unfair.'
It's like you're hanging off a cliff in pitch black...not knowing whether to let go, or hang on until help arrives. Because for all you know, the floor could be littered with jagged rocks waiting to rip you to pieces as soon as you loose grip. On the other hand, there could be a strategically placed collection of puffy cushions...arranged to make sure you feel no pain when you fall.
Do you take the risk? Do you have nothing to lose?
Most rational fears boil down to this one thing...not knowing what's going to happen next. You're terrified of heights because just about anything could happen while you're up there. Take that moment of realization when you've taken a wrong turn into unexplored territory for instance, or that chill when face-to-face with an aggressor. If you had been pre-warned that the assailant was going to first aim for face, you'd know to stick up your hand and protect it. And if you had a map in hand, you'd discover where exactly you were, and figure out the easiest route to get you back on track.
But what when you don't? What when you don't have that manual that defines which part fits into outlet B. When you don't have the blurg to a book that tells you what's inside? Or when you don't have a recipe, but just the ingredients. What do you do then?
You're scared shitless that you've made the wrong decision. That after taking a right at the fork, you realize that you should have taken the left one all along.
And after that?
I suppose we could regret. Swear at the circumstances. Blame the sun for falling in your eyes even. Or we could make it work for us.
I just saw this documentary, where this one man in a war-torn country decided to take a new route to walk to work one day. Less than halfway through his trek, he tripped on a rock, fell on a landmine, and lost his arms for good. He spoke of his remorse. How for the first few years he lived every day regretting having ever taken that alternative route.
But now this man...he writes with his feet. He wakes up each morning, brushes his teeth and puts on his clothes everyday...using just his feet.
It's a terrible thing to afflict anyone sure...but I feel that sometimes shit happens to strong people, to serve as inspiration for the not so strong. Just like we follow the lives of Hollywood personas, the struggling and torn turn to others as messed up for guidance, reassurance and faith.
So that maybe one day they too can let go of their regret, move on, and be ready to make a decision again with fear as fresh and raw as the previous one.
Easier said than done of course. But this is just me, and my curiosity getting the better of me; rying to find a loophole in the document labelled 'Unfair.'
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Way the Cookie Crumbles
I've always loved fortune cookies. Ever since I was that fat kid who'd pig out on chinese food (sad, but true), I'd wait for the end of the meal to the part they served up those absurdly shaped biscuits. I'd pick the one I thought held my fortune, and believe with all my heart that that cookie was meant for just me.
I still love those darned cookies. But now that i'm aware that the odds of someone else getting my fortune is quite likely, the magic's gone. Also the fact that all the cookie ever tells you is what you already know...only in a more mysterious-seeming way.
I recall my last one stating that: "He who rushes, does not walk with dignity." It sounds so sensai'ish when you first read it, but it's not long before you realize the diplomat in that biscuit.
One thing I never was into was horoscopes. I never understood the thrill of living each day to see if that daily prediction came true. I never did give a hoot that I'm a Libran, neither have I shown any form of excitement when encountering another(trust me I know people who do).
What I don't understand is how perfectly intelligent human beings can reach out for that page religiously each morning, and believe that whatever stated is what's to be in store for the day. Do you not realize that a gazillion other Scorpio(n?)s are opening up to that same page, reading the exact same thing, and again coming to the conclusion that they're ready for the day. Beacuse now they know what to expect.
In that case, all pisces' are to expect to meet a tall, dark stranger at noon today. Or expect a surprise visitor at the break of dawn. Sorry..but I don't buy it.
The scary bit, is that some are so drawn into this prediction hype that they come to sub-conciously make their prediction happen. In his/her head that surprise visitor could even be the grocery boy delivering his/her order earlier than expected. Or afore-mentioned tall, dark stranger could just turn out to be a cardboard cut-out of Will Smith.
What is it that attracts us so magnetically to needing to know what's in store for us? Sort of like a friend leaking out the end of a perfectly good movie, (or even a terrible one at that), don't horoscopes, fortune-tellers, etc. threathen to do just that?
Maybe it's just human nature to be lured to the unknown..the intrigue of the mysterious. Sort of like a real-life game of cluedo.
Eitherway, I'm starting to understand how curiosity killed that infamous cat.
Cheers.
I still love those darned cookies. But now that i'm aware that the odds of someone else getting my fortune is quite likely, the magic's gone. Also the fact that all the cookie ever tells you is what you already know...only in a more mysterious-seeming way.
I recall my last one stating that: "He who rushes, does not walk with dignity." It sounds so sensai'ish when you first read it, but it's not long before you realize the diplomat in that biscuit.
One thing I never was into was horoscopes. I never understood the thrill of living each day to see if that daily prediction came true. I never did give a hoot that I'm a Libran, neither have I shown any form of excitement when encountering another(trust me I know people who do).
What I don't understand is how perfectly intelligent human beings can reach out for that page religiously each morning, and believe that whatever stated is what's to be in store for the day. Do you not realize that a gazillion other Scorpio(n?)s are opening up to that same page, reading the exact same thing, and again coming to the conclusion that they're ready for the day. Beacuse now they know what to expect.
In that case, all pisces' are to expect to meet a tall, dark stranger at noon today. Or expect a surprise visitor at the break of dawn. Sorry..but I don't buy it.
The scary bit, is that some are so drawn into this prediction hype that they come to sub-conciously make their prediction happen. In his/her head that surprise visitor could even be the grocery boy delivering his/her order earlier than expected. Or afore-mentioned tall, dark stranger could just turn out to be a cardboard cut-out of Will Smith.
What is it that attracts us so magnetically to needing to know what's in store for us? Sort of like a friend leaking out the end of a perfectly good movie, (or even a terrible one at that), don't horoscopes, fortune-tellers, etc. threathen to do just that?
Maybe it's just human nature to be lured to the unknown..the intrigue of the mysterious. Sort of like a real-life game of cluedo.
Eitherway, I'm starting to understand how curiosity killed that infamous cat.
Cheers.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Help Yourself.
We live in a troubled world my friends. A world filled with people so disturbed, that we turn to other human beings to quell our fears..for a fee.
Therapists, Lifecoaches, Self-help books; turns out you can make a living doing just about anything.A series of therapeutic sessions on 'positive thinking'and 'prioritizing your goals' is guaranteed to have you up and running in no time; be it with regards to a career change, a relationship boost, or just plain feeling good about yourself.
Erm..don't we have friends for that very reason? When you're down or a tad de-motivated, yor pals will comfort you, feed you a tub of icecream and make you feel on top of the world again. You even better friends will rip that tub out of your hands, order you to get a hold of yourself, and push you back with a jolt so severe you'll end up with whiplash. And they do this for free!
I can understand if this is some tradition handed down for centuries. But it's a new fad, this. I understand and sympatjize with real issues; like the loss of a child, or an addiction. But do we really need to hire someone just because they let you lie on their couch and make 'hmmm..' noises while you whinge about not having gotten that promotion at work?
All self-help books state the obvious. Laugh more often, see the best in people, bake your potatoes instead of frying them. And if you pay more attention, you'll figure out that Dr.Phil an Oprah are dishing out the exact same advice your mother used to.
I know i'm not exactly the ideal canditate to be picketing against unnecessary therapy..the best advice i've ever given anyone is 'RUN!' But realistically speaking, you don't have to drag sigmund freud from the grave to tell you that all problems aren't solved by just holding hands in a circle. Speaking from experience (and quoting Boyzone): When the going gets tough, the tough get going.
Dammit! If I had just sold this piece to a publisher, and not posted it on this stupid blog, I would've made a fortune!! Sigh..
Cheers.
Therapists, Lifecoaches, Self-help books; turns out you can make a living doing just about anything.A series of therapeutic sessions on 'positive thinking'and 'prioritizing your goals' is guaranteed to have you up and running in no time; be it with regards to a career change, a relationship boost, or just plain feeling good about yourself.
Erm..don't we have friends for that very reason? When you're down or a tad de-motivated, yor pals will comfort you, feed you a tub of icecream and make you feel on top of the world again. You even better friends will rip that tub out of your hands, order you to get a hold of yourself, and push you back with a jolt so severe you'll end up with whiplash. And they do this for free!
I can understand if this is some tradition handed down for centuries. But it's a new fad, this. I understand and sympatjize with real issues; like the loss of a child, or an addiction. But do we really need to hire someone just because they let you lie on their couch and make 'hmmm..' noises while you whinge about not having gotten that promotion at work?
All self-help books state the obvious. Laugh more often, see the best in people, bake your potatoes instead of frying them. And if you pay more attention, you'll figure out that Dr.Phil an Oprah are dishing out the exact same advice your mother used to.
I know i'm not exactly the ideal canditate to be picketing against unnecessary therapy..the best advice i've ever given anyone is 'RUN!' But realistically speaking, you don't have to drag sigmund freud from the grave to tell you that all problems aren't solved by just holding hands in a circle. Speaking from experience (and quoting Boyzone): When the going gets tough, the tough get going.
Dammit! If I had just sold this piece to a publisher, and not posted it on this stupid blog, I would've made a fortune!! Sigh..
Cheers.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Fit or Fat?
The thing about winter (even the 14 degree sort we have here), is that it turns all us mortals into unhealthy blobs of lazy.
It's too cold to do anything outside so you just want to curl up in bed, comforted by the warmth of your laptop...or a tub of icecream.
So it came as no surprise, when two months down the line I was chalking up those calories and hadn't enough stamina to even pretend to run.
Hence the quest to find myself a gym.
After eliminating a few of the dodgy ones, and more than a few outrageously priced ones, I had narrowed myself to this one place that seemed just right; reasonably priced, conveniently located and well-reputed. The phone coversation went as follows:
Gym: Hello, you have reached the Fat Crusaders*, how may I help you?
Me: Yea, hi! I read about your gym on your website, and was wondering how I could go about signing up for a membership?
Gym: Sure ma'am. First you'll have to come over so that we can have a weigh-in. Then on analysis of your body type we'll decide what regime and diet best suits you..
Me: ..Oh, but I don't want to be put on a diet!
Gym: You..don't want to diet?
Me: No. You see I was just hoping to maybe pop in a couple of times a week after work. Not for the purpose of losing weight, but to get more in shape.
Gym: To get in shape.
Me: Yes. As in, to get a bit healthy you know?
Gym: You're not overweight ma'aam?
Me: Erm no..
Gym: *confused silence*
Me: Listen, don't you have an option where anyone can just walk-in, work-out, and leave as they please?
Gym: Ma'aam..you'll have to be in at least 5 times a week, and a maximum of 7 times.
Me: So, that's a no.
Gym: *pause* Yes.
Me: Erm..right then, thanks. And good luck with that.
'You're not overweight ma'aam??' Why is that so hard to believe?? And why on earth is it so incomprehensible that some people don't have an agenda, and are just fine with the way they are..or life even. So like the 21+ tag on all clubs (and some movies), turns out you need to be above the normal weight limit to be allowed to enter a fitness regime.
Pity though..if not for it's despotic regime that place would've been my safest bet. Until then my not-so-overweight self has resorted to boycotting the elevator. So until I can find myself a less domineering gym, it's the stairs for me!
Doubt it'll really help much since I live in a duplex, and I pretty much have to make more than a couple of daily climbs to get to my room / loo and back...but lets not burst that pet bubble of denial shall we? It helps me sleep at night.
Cheers.
*name has been changed for discretion*
It's too cold to do anything outside so you just want to curl up in bed, comforted by the warmth of your laptop...or a tub of icecream.
So it came as no surprise, when two months down the line I was chalking up those calories and hadn't enough stamina to even pretend to run.
Hence the quest to find myself a gym.
After eliminating a few of the dodgy ones, and more than a few outrageously priced ones, I had narrowed myself to this one place that seemed just right; reasonably priced, conveniently located and well-reputed. The phone coversation went as follows:
Gym: Hello, you have reached the Fat Crusaders*, how may I help you?
Me: Yea, hi! I read about your gym on your website, and was wondering how I could go about signing up for a membership?
Gym: Sure ma'am. First you'll have to come over so that we can have a weigh-in. Then on analysis of your body type we'll decide what regime and diet best suits you..
Me: ..Oh, but I don't want to be put on a diet!
Gym: You..don't want to diet?
Me: No. You see I was just hoping to maybe pop in a couple of times a week after work. Not for the purpose of losing weight, but to get more in shape.
Gym: To get in shape.
Me: Yes. As in, to get a bit healthy you know?
Gym: You're not overweight ma'aam?
Me: Erm no..
Gym: *confused silence*
Me: Listen, don't you have an option where anyone can just walk-in, work-out, and leave as they please?
Gym: Ma'aam..you'll have to be in at least 5 times a week, and a maximum of 7 times.
Me: So, that's a no.
Gym: *pause* Yes.
Me: Erm..right then, thanks. And good luck with that.
'You're not overweight ma'aam??' Why is that so hard to believe?? And why on earth is it so incomprehensible that some people don't have an agenda, and are just fine with the way they are..or life even. So like the 21+ tag on all clubs (and some movies), turns out you need to be above the normal weight limit to be allowed to enter a fitness regime.
Pity though..if not for it's despotic regime that place would've been my safest bet. Until then my not-so-overweight self has resorted to boycotting the elevator. So until I can find myself a less domineering gym, it's the stairs for me!
Doubt it'll really help much since I live in a duplex, and I pretty much have to make more than a couple of daily climbs to get to my room / loo and back...but lets not burst that pet bubble of denial shall we? It helps me sleep at night.
Cheers.
*name has been changed for discretion*
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Oh L'Amour!
Ahh..it's that time of year again folks. The month of lurrve / amour / pyaar / hubb.
That dreaded month where Hallmark pukes out it's entire mush collection, rose bushes are fed an over-dose of fertilizer, and 3rd-world children in a workshop somewhere are made to stop working on those footballs and divert their time to producing massive heart-wielding stuffed toys.
Where people with 'In a Relationship' FaceBook statuses (stati?) run around in a frenzied panic tring to figure out until the last minute what best to give their other half. Singletons either run and hide, or bring up their flirting game (the closer to the date the more savage the eyelid batting / muscle flexing).
I'm actually with the "Aye" Team on the whole V-day debate. They "Nay"'s argue that you don't need to put aside a particular day to tell someone you love them (blah, blah)..but why on earth not? Besides,not even cupid is going to be aiming those arrows every single day of every single year. Surely the flying man in diapers needs a day off.
The same applies for Mother's Day, Father's Day, Earth Day, Groundhog Day (what is that anyway?)..we all need a little push, a reminder, a reason to party.
Obviously I can't stand how commercial it's turned out either. They'll push you into the deep end they will. By 'they' I mean the members on the board of Valentine's Day conspirators; Hallmark, Patchi, Tiffany's, the Maldives, and the extreme-sports-can-be-romantic people. They convince you that that the 14th of February is the best day to propose..the best day to make up for forgetting the birthday..the best day to load up on chocolate guiltlessly, etc.
And we (the gullible little puppets that we are) let ourselves get pushed. We fall in face-first, then decide to swim along with the rest of the smitten in that pool of soppy.
So on that unabashed note..here's wishing you all a Happy Valentine's Day! Now go bag those dinner reservations,and compile those mixed-tapes..the day's fast approaching! Spread the love people..and spread it hard.
Cheers!
That dreaded month where Hallmark pukes out it's entire mush collection, rose bushes are fed an over-dose of fertilizer, and 3rd-world children in a workshop somewhere are made to stop working on those footballs and divert their time to producing massive heart-wielding stuffed toys.
Where people with 'In a Relationship' FaceBook statuses (stati?) run around in a frenzied panic tring to figure out until the last minute what best to give their other half. Singletons either run and hide, or bring up their flirting game (the closer to the date the more savage the eyelid batting / muscle flexing).
I'm actually with the "Aye" Team on the whole V-day debate. They "Nay"'s argue that you don't need to put aside a particular day to tell someone you love them (blah, blah)..but why on earth not? Besides,not even cupid is going to be aiming those arrows every single day of every single year. Surely the flying man in diapers needs a day off.
The same applies for Mother's Day, Father's Day, Earth Day, Groundhog Day (what is that anyway?)..we all need a little push, a reminder, a reason to party.
Obviously I can't stand how commercial it's turned out either. They'll push you into the deep end they will. By 'they' I mean the members on the board of Valentine's Day conspirators; Hallmark, Patchi, Tiffany's, the Maldives, and the extreme-sports-can-be-romantic people. They convince you that that the 14th of February is the best day to propose..the best day to make up for forgetting the birthday..the best day to load up on chocolate guiltlessly, etc.
And we (the gullible little puppets that we are) let ourselves get pushed. We fall in face-first, then decide to swim along with the rest of the smitten in that pool of soppy.
So on that unabashed note..here's wishing you all a Happy Valentine's Day! Now go bag those dinner reservations,and compile those mixed-tapes..the day's fast approaching! Spread the love people..and spread it hard.
Cheers!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Ladies Only
I just finished reading this fab book : A Men's Guide to the Women's Bathroom. A light read of course; but i'm inspired.
Turns out there's a lot you boys don't know about the goings-on of the ladies loo..the happenings within.
Let me tell you a thing or two about women's bathrooms gentlemen.
They're pretty. They're pretty, smell nice, and have furniture! Yes, cute little mini-sofas in case we get weary from all the in-house activity. The cubicles are so roomy you want to bring in some wall-hangings and call it home. There are full-length mirrors for does-my-bum-look-big-in-this moments, and soap dispensors that actually work. Hand-dryers that double-up as hair-dryers, and even hooks to hang our bags/scarves/ex-boyfriends while we finish our business.
And in case you haven't noticed, we women almost always visit the potty in groups. This doesn't mean we all 'go' together..it just means we're either:
(a) headed for an urgent can-not-wait-another-minute gossip session.
(b) going to powder our nose. (And fluff up our hair, lengthen those lashes and gloss'ify those lips).
(c) off to sort out an unaccounted for dilemma ('I cannot buhlieve he didn't notice I did my nails!' 'OhmaGawd..you should like so totally dump him.')
(d) actually going in for a wee (very rare)
So boys, you might be blessed with the ability to relieve yourselves anywhere you please, but we've got 5-star lavatories to make up for any discomfort. Sort of like a reward for holding it in for so long. (Gooood bladder! Now have a treat.)
Seems like the scales have been balanced to me.
Cheers.
Turns out there's a lot you boys don't know about the goings-on of the ladies loo..the happenings within.
Let me tell you a thing or two about women's bathrooms gentlemen.
They're pretty. They're pretty, smell nice, and have furniture! Yes, cute little mini-sofas in case we get weary from all the in-house activity. The cubicles are so roomy you want to bring in some wall-hangings and call it home. There are full-length mirrors for does-my-bum-look-big-in-this moments, and soap dispensors that actually work. Hand-dryers that double-up as hair-dryers, and even hooks to hang our bags/scarves/ex-boyfriends while we finish our business.
And in case you haven't noticed, we women almost always visit the potty in groups. This doesn't mean we all 'go' together..it just means we're either:
(a) headed for an urgent can-not-wait-another-minute gossip session.
(b) going to powder our nose. (And fluff up our hair, lengthen those lashes and gloss'ify those lips).
(c) off to sort out an unaccounted for dilemma ('I cannot buhlieve he didn't notice I did my nails!' 'OhmaGawd..you should like so totally dump him.')
(d) actually going in for a wee (very rare)
So boys, you might be blessed with the ability to relieve yourselves anywhere you please, but we've got 5-star lavatories to make up for any discomfort. Sort of like a reward for holding it in for so long. (Gooood bladder! Now have a treat.)
Seems like the scales have been balanced to me.
Cheers.
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