A kick in the bum...finally

Last Monday I got put into line by an office heavy, the second in charge in fact, for writing a substandard, and late, brief to be put before my boss. It was a reality check that, for a few hours on that day, made me wonder whether I still had a job. But beyond the momentary panic, it actually helped me realise, like many a battling rugby player, that I needed to lift my game. It also reminded me how distracted I've been over the past month or two. Now that the crunch time is up in terms of deadlines at work, I can ill afford to daydream as I have been guilty of doing in the recent past.

So ever since then, I've been waking up early, getting to work around 8-8:30pm, and, at least until the end of the year, expecting to be very busy and focused on finalising the major matter I'm currently working on. That's why I've only found the time to write about it today.

Beyond this current period of hectic worklife, I am seriously considering doing a masters overseas, or even simply changing career paths like doing criminal law in a country town - representing little black kids before the bush magistrate. Who knows. Being brought up in a wealthy household has dimmed my enthusaism for careers in areas where the only real incentive is the weight of the pay package. At best, the way the world is nowadays, I don't think I could earn more than what my dad does, but I don't think the lifestyle would be particularly satisfying. The cost-benefit analysis isn't particularly appealing either. I know of people who work 80 hour weeks to earn $200,000 plus but that doesn't seem like a fair swap for me. Surely life, or an entire 80 hours of it, is worth a lot more than that? What a scary thought, to one day wake up old and unhappy, only to be surrounded by things and expectations. I could end up in such a situation though, it wouldn't be the wierdest twist of fate imagineable. I can imagine, through a process of osmosis, losing my general knowledge as my brain capacity is filled with ever more precise knowledge on some niche professional topic. If I let that happen, I don't think I'll be alive anymore. And, worst of all, I don't think I'd realise what I have become.

When I first finished university, going on 2 years ago now, I promised myself that I would do further study in armed conflict law, an area in which I have a lot of fanatical interest, within the next 2 years. To be sure, it is not the only thing I am interested in, but it is a good start. That window will soon be over, much like the opportunity to gaze at Mars close up with the naked eye. So I better get chopping on some applications. It's funny actually, because in many ways doing another university degree is a euphimism for not being able to find a soul mate or some other life balancing thing. This first dawned on me when I spoke to a good friend, when they began to describe their life before they met the love of their life. During that period of life, all they wanted to do was go to the US and do a phd and see what doors it opened.

Notwithstanding all that, I must say I am getting tired of always having to search for new doors to open. That is, not being obssessed with finding happiness or certainty or whatever it is that a person looks for, but being obssessed with the intermediary that is supposed to lead to said happiness or certainty. I don't know why I am so frightened these days. Clearly, the more privileged you get, the less bold you become. Somehow that trend needs to end.

syed-m

PS: I promise to write something more optimistic, and in the third-person, soon!
- posted by syed-m @ 2:40 AM

 
Gay disco top ten

Ever since I've been watching Queers as Folk, and had access to mp3 music, a little corner of my mind has been obsessed with gay disco. It's just so catchy and camp, it's fabulous!

Here's my top ten (in order):

1. Absolutely Not (Deborah Cox)
2. Young Hearts Run Free (Kym Mazelle)
3. Sexy Boy (Gay Disco mix) (The Kinky Boz)
4. Superstar (The Ones)
5. Wish I Didn't Miss You (Angie Stone)
6. 100% Pure Love (Crystal Waters)
7. Solitaire (The Carpenters)
8. One Day In Your Life (Anastasia)
9. Hit Me Baby One More Time (Britney Spears)
10. The Spy Who Loved Me (Carly Simon)


- posted by syed-m @ 1:50 AM

 
Tonight I spoke to two good old friends who I haven't heard from in some time. During one of the conversations, it occurred to me how sad it is that though I eagerly await, and thoroughly enjoy, conversations with good friends, the type of friend who requires no introductory lesson on my peculiar histrionics to be able to relax enough to have a genuine conversation with me, I rarely enjoy speaking with my parents, or my family in general (a certain sibling aside). And it was through this train of thought that I began wondering whether I am as familiar with my family as I'd like to be. And, just as importantly, whether they are really all that familiar with me. The last time I was home, I spoke to my brother for ages, learning things about him that I had either forgotten about, or, more usually, had never known. This seems to be a case in point. It saddens me that the people who I have grown up with, with whom I have built the most stable relationships (or had built around me), know so little about me, and vice versa.

Even tonight, speaking to a 'mere' friend, there was a lot of catching up to do. The requirement of constant, active participation in any relationship to keep it healthy and vibrant is a topic in itself, but I will leave that for some other time.

Tonight I am quite set on discussing family - something the current incarnation of urban nomad (or Mr Nomad to some) has touched on before. In particular, I want to talk about the disparity between our home lives and our personal lives - the distinction between the person that we are around family members and the person we are, who we'd generally consider to be the 'real' us, when we are with friends and strangers or merely alone.

Whenever I meet my father, he still instinctively greets me as though I had never been through puberty. Pre-puberty was the last time that we really spent a substantive time together, and that period of my life from age 0 to 12 is probably the time which he remembers and cherishes the most. I think for both of us things got a great deal more complicated after that. Perhaps that is why some people prefer pets. Pets are like people in many ways - they eat, shit, sleep and occasionally fuck (though modern technological miracles have rendered the last option obsolete for many hapless four-legged critters and not a few of the two-legged variety) without perceivably having complicated identity crises and moral issues (using the term 'moral' in the most loose and general manner possible). However, unlike humans, pets don't fret at histrionic emotional reactions to flippant remarks or effect your temperament in uncertain and unsettling ways. Basically, it takes less work to maintain a relationship with a pet than it does to maintain a loving relationship with your mother. Just don't tell your mother that!

There's a photo of my father on my table. I can even see it from here. Psychologists discovered some time ago now that the human face is a complex language of its own, something that we are beautifully equipped to decipher. That's how we read a person's mood. In this particular photo, my father's face screams sadness at me. His sorrow pierces me quite deeply. It makes me feel sad because I know his sorrow so well, I know exactly how he is feeling. Sadness is a tragic reminder of how wonderful life could be, but isn't. There have been moments when I've wondered whether I could actually straighten the photo - somehow align it so that the frown looks more like a scowl or a constipated smile caught on camera - the type of smile that everyone has from time to time, invariably in passport photos. But alas, neither his frown, nor my resulting sorry can be averted. There's always the light switch. One must always aim to remain positive and opportunistic, preferrably at the same time.

Clearly this is a big topic, something which will escape my grasp for tonight. After all, there is still one more day left in the working week. Perhaps more on this topic later.

I would consider myself a pretty idealistic person, which means I have a good chance of eventually leading an immensely cynical life as my values get whittled down one-by-one like state-regulated industries. But while it still exists, I believe people should be happy, and that includes people like my father. I don't like seeing him sad. And yet I hardly know him. I hardly go out of my way to speak to him on the phone. He does bore me, to be honest. And his hearing is pretty poor so I usually have to shout down the phone or repeat every second sentance. I've even had a crusade to get him to put a hearing aid on which has lasted just 10 years. I'm still hopeful. But the basic principle remains - I have identified that he is maligned. That knowledge alone places upon me a responsibility to do something about it.

Maybe the problem with families is that the terms in which we perceive them are too absolute. The bar of expectation is that much higher when it comes to people we love the most. If we were more willing to make compromises about each other's inadequacies and failings, perhaps we could just treat each with the same courtesy as good acquaintances or friendly bus drivers - without expectations, interacting for its own sake and not because we feel compelled by familial connection.

I often find it easier to pour my gravy-like heart out to people I know will be less affected by what I have to say than those who really care for me.

- posted by syed-m @ 6:31 AM

 
Hello folks, hope the world is treating you kindly.

It has come to my attention that there was no comment box available on this blog. Fingers crossed there should be something available now, so get those fingers out of their gloves and get typing!
- posted by syed-m @ 4:24 AM

 
In the 1930s, Langston Hughes wrote a poem; "Lenox Avenue Mural":

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Sadly, or thankfully, depending upon your standpoint, things tend not to explode. They are more likely to sag under the weight of disappointment. How else does one explain the lack of violence in the world? Yes, the LACK of violence. The last time I went to India, I asked myself this on several occasions. Do sweepers have dreams? Real dreams? When a person's dream fails to be realised, does he or she realise it? Or are we more likely to internalise our station in life and dismiss our old ambitions as if they were overly fantastic, irrational desires that could never have actually been achieved - like grown men who tried to fly off cliffs by flapping their wings?

The irony is that although insecurity is born out of fear, and fear feeds into despair, despair, the long term repercussion of disappointment (or, as Hughes puts it, a dream deferred), can quite easily become a creature of habit, which is to say that it is very easy to feel helpless, and live within a seemingly endless cycle of small victories and major defeats. The problem perhaps lies with that eternal cognitive paradox that we are all faced with, being the fact that it is eternally easier to perceive something than it is to affect it. This makes us easy prey for hopes and dreams that promise salvation but may in actuality be well beyond our capacity to achieve. But perhaps I am being overly pessimistic.

I am disappointed. My dreams have been deferred. In fact I cannot remember the last time I really felt satisfied. Everything seems complicated; I cannot just exist. Notwithstanding this existentialist malaise, the islands of sanity that exist in my mind remind me often that I am simply going through a phase. That although I may never not feel in some sense insecure, better, more secure times are ahead of me. And, most importantly, in relative terms, living the life of a bourgeois male in a developed Western nation, it is unlikely that my crises will leave me straddled with the types of burdens that can completely destroy your spirit. At least, that is the theory. I have seen defeated people, broken people. I suppose they weren't all victims of socioeconomics.

On a positive note, readers should be aware that I successfully created a tasty stir fry tonight. It should last me for at least a few days. The stir fry sauce that I used was most definitely the turning point. I just bought it yesterday. Previously, I used soy sauce as my flavour base but the stir fry always ended up undercooked or overcooked. Obviously, such distresses are but a faint memory now. Perhaps there are lesson to learn from this experience; a moral to this story.
- posted by syed-m @ 5:10 AM