Terre à terre observations

I wake up in the morning a couple of hours before I really need to get up for work. Thinking about it, it makes me feel like I'm not just waking up because I have work. Some days are easier than others, but more often than not I'll spend some time hitting the snooze button until the clock reaches around 6am. I then emerge from the comfort of my bed - I do it fast, as one would rip out a band aid so as to only feel a brief moment of pain - and stumble my way to the kitchen to switch the kettle on for some coffee. I grab the steaming mug and sit at my desk, listening to the wheezing sound of the computer switching back on to life. Outside, the darkness is fading swiftly with each minute ticking by and I look up often to watch from the window in front of me the skies awaken to a new day I already know will unfold almost just the same as the previous one.

Before I know it, it's time to get dressed - in a hurry, as always, because I never think to plan my outfit beforehand (or rather I just don't care enough to ever allocate that process the extra time I don't feel it deserves... which is what I seem to do with most 'concrete' matters, as I call them). One quick cursory glance lets me know what doesn't look too creased and I select what I'll be wearing based mostly on the clean pile of clothes not requiring any last minute ironing.

And then I'm out the door, on my way to the tube station, high heels stumping the ground in hollow thumps, hair floating free in the wind. The pavement beneath my feet is uneven and littered with tiny potholes, so there I am stumbling forward often, the expression on my face made of stone as my footsteps lose none of their assertive vigour and sense of direction for my footsteps know well where they're heading regardless of my my own mind's sighing.

At that precise moment, I look like any other 20-something 'working' woman heading to work, her handbag firmly stuck on her shoulder over a black coat tightly tied at the waist as her heels thump the ground almost in rhythm with her own heartbeat.

Then I reach the tube station, and often find myself fighting my way inside the carriage of a train. The 'learned' ones and those pressed by time know well where the doors will open exactly so that they can come stand and wait for the train exactly at that precise spot and be the first ones in - an almost sure way to get into the first incoming train. Conversely, the less busy, the less pressed by time and the clueless wait randomly across the platform and rarely get into the first incoming train. I often watch them watch us as our train leaves the platform, all of our faces made of stone.

And then, whether I find a seat or have to stand crushed by other passengers, my eyes invariably wander up towards the adverts placarded on the sides of the compartment in which I find myself.

It's always the same adverts. My God those advertising people are good. If it's not an advert asking you to ask yourself whether you have some kind of incontinence problem, it's all about far-away 'adventurous' travels to Kenya, or Egypt (but who wants to go there right now anyway), or some more exotic destination promising you the time of your life as you stand stuck between a fat, sweaty man and a coughing student. If you tell them you saw the advert on the tube, they apparently even give you a £50 discount on a travelling price-tag likely to set you back £1,000. Wow, amazing discount.

If it's not about travelling to far-away, exotic destinations, it's about... dating websites. One of those always has me in giggles because the advert is invariably located right above seats and it reads: "Mr Right could be sitting right under this advert", and then I look down and I see some 80 year-old with his trolley stuck between his legs, or a row of women sitting there. So I look up again to read the rest of the advert, and it tells me how it knows I'm a busy, trendy man or woman who's doing so well at work that I haven't got the time to find 'love' so that website is there to help me out. It promises to match me to another Londoner whose lifestyle is just as 'successful' as mine, and that I, too, can fit in 'love' in my busy schedule. My GOD. If I wanted someone who's just as stuck and sucked into that daily busyness I'd just buy myself a dildo and be done with it. As for my male equivalent, they might as well invest in some inflatable doll. In all seriousness.

Remember how back in the days parents and family used to choose who we'd get married to, etc? Well... I have to say I fail to see the difference when it comes to these dating websites. Except that people today believe they are 'freer' in their so-called choice of a mate or partner when really, nothing has changed. At least when family is choosing, they might know you a little bit better than a website automatically matching you to others based on some dubious psychometric test. When these people using websites to find dates or 'THE' one hear of arranged marriage, for example, their eyes will almost come out of their head in horror, and yet they cannot see that they are no better - because getting together in this life is rarely about this 'love' affair (not on a long-term basis anyway), it's about practicalities, hence why both arranged marriages AS WELL AS dating sites manage to pair people off so well. It's not about 'love'. It's about finding the first match that comes along that happens to have the right combination of likes, dislikes and interests, the differences that we can put up with, a hint of physical attraction and the rest is down to... HABIT. Stick around long enough and you'll find yourself in a long-term relationship before you know it, finding it hard to break away because of the habit that builds up. I'm not saying it's bad at all, it may well be the most realistic version of 'love' that actually exists, and I just wish society would stop confusing people with fantasies.

You may look at an old couple and think:"Wow, these two must have really loved each other, they look so in love after all the years together," and yet that's mostly habit's doing, here. You weren't there at the beginning when they simply paired up at random and then got used to each other so much that in the end yes, it looks a lot like this fantasy we call 'love'. The fact remains that what we fantasise about, this 'love' delusion as is portrayed in society through movies and books, for instance, is nothing but the works of someone sticking around long enough - and sharing the same interests and goals in life, plus a hint of initial attraction, is ALL it took.

Beside the dating adverts, one can also find adverts on fertility treatments. It makes sense since most of the women I see with infants on the tube are often well over 30. The fertility treatment adverts picture a beautiful toddler smiling at you, and then in the small prints it even promises you 'free' treatment if you agree to donate your eggs so you can end up with 10 other unknown kids somewhere in England. It doesn't matter though, because you're unlikely to ever know about those kids that are yours biologically - yet you should keep in mind that a kid always feels the basic need to know where they come from. I know this from personal experience.

How crafty those adverts are. They really seem to target the 'right' crowds, don't they?

My over-zealous analytical mind will be my downfall, it seems. It renders me unable to just gobble up whatever nonsense is spurted out at me. I have to analyse it all inside my head. And then I see it for what it is, I make the connections, and though I may laugh out loud at the utter nonsense at first, it never fails to remind me that I could never fit in.

Maybe people like me exist randomly across the world for a purpose. We may look like freaks or behave like weirdos because we never blend in, but we're only here to force a kick back in the right direction... or just express some truth over the vomit of lies. Either way, I don't really care so long as I'm not part of or immersed in that vomit.

The choice is really yours.

Letting go

Saying good bye to things we never thought would be so hard to leave... That process seems to occur every time our ego construct no longer wins over Reality, or when it suddenly ceases to be possible to cover Reality under a veil of self-deception, or illusions. It's the exact same process, it seems, as that of children who suddenly realise they'll never get to fly like Superman, and as their grasp of Reality sets in versus imagination, they accept that flying like Superman in fact pertained to the realm of dreams. Yet before that realisation or grasp of Reality set in, the idea of flying like Superman was just as real to them as the simple ability to walk and speak.

Once the Reality switch is 'on', there's no going back, and each of us drifts farther and farther away from that original base where, as children, anything was possible beyond any Reality-bound rule. We call that process 'growing up', but in a way it may be misleading in the sense that the process never stops, not even, or perhaps especially not as we start to grow older as adults.

Why am I writing this? Because I seem to have no more veils of illusions to hide under, and it feels just like being left naked in the cold. Exactly like that.

I know what I can and cannot do, I know that all that I wished or believed in as a small child was never real, I know that many things I took for granted will have to be lost, and I know that many things I would like to have, I can never have. In many ways, I am made to fully realise my place in the world, its limitations as much as the possibilities it offers.

I am made to face my role, the character that is I among billions of others - and not one character is allowed to play the exact same role as another. Isn't that one of the hardest lessons for a species which, as a whole, strives on imitation from the start? To accept that you cannot - ever- be the same as another, or have exactly what another have, etc even though we spend our existence evolving, being influenced and adapting based on mimicking these very others.

One of the most painful self-inflicted scars we inflict on ourselves is the senseless lack of realisation of what I've just described. On the one hand, we live immersed in a society that encourages sameness at least in terms of social circumstances; for instance, there would be the encouragement to strive for the best jobs, the highest status possible, the so-called pursuit of happiness under a certain model one ought to follow (owning a house, a car, getting married, having children etc). On the other hand, there is this non-existence of sameness. We strive to have the 'same' and yet it is impossible. Then we invent the concept of fairness to make ourselves feel better. The neighbour can have kids, but you can't - surely that must be a matter of unfairness, right? Why can she have children and I can't, etc, etc? Or how about all those who seem to have it all from birth, while you constantly struggle to make ends meet from the start, no matter how hard you try? Surely it must again be a matter of fairness, here.

Well, no. The concept of fairness is just an excuse born out of the inability to see that sameness is an illusion and that the only reason it is sought after by so many, whether they realise it or not, is based on thousands of years of re-enforcement.

So if there is no sameness in the detail, what does it leave us with? It leaves us with the most wonderful, yet scariest gift or ability of all - complete freedom to be anything we want.

But here's the irony: most of us will shun that complete freedom out of fear. Why? Because it might just feel easier and less scary to be told what to do and who to be rather than take true responsibility of our own self.

Osmosis

There is a saying in French that goes: 'Etre en osmose avec quelque chose', which really means 'to be in sync with something', except the French use the word osmosis in a figurative context here, and I'm not sure that's the case in English, but there you go. That word 'osmosis' came to mind earlier as I looked back in time briefly through my mind's eye.

I wondered why that word came to mind as I was reminiscing the old days, and then suddenly it struck me. Now that I no longer feel so much sorrow looking back in time, now that the past can safely be looked at without regret and sighs of 'what-if', now that I realise I am better now than I was before... This feeling of being in sync within myself is almost in my reach. And thus came that word, osmosis, to symbolise the fusion of the old and new all at once - of who was, is and will be.

I can look back in time, and though I am no longer able to relate much to my younger 'versions', those younger versions needed to be in order to give rise to the one that is now. When you can turn around and no longer get stuck on the particular pains and hiccups along the way, that's when it feels like some sort of osmosis within. Of course, it's only a matter of time before what happens now ends up taking time for my future versions to be able to feel in 'sync' again with this unfolding now... an endless process from birth till death do us part.

But for now, let's enjoy that feeling in time when everything that was is finally in sync with what is.

Endless Permutations

A couple of weeks ago I saw a strange man sitting on the train looking like he was trying to meditate. As the train filled up with more and more people, the man's attempts at deep concentration went up a notch, too. The crowds forced me to stand right in front of him, so I started glancing down at him discreetly to observe what he was doing. In my head, I was almost talking to him, thinking: "Well, let's see if you can meditate in the middle of so much noise, eh."

Between the train's loud screeching motions and the loud chatter in various languages floating in the suffocating air of our compartment, it would have seemed like quite a feat to manage meditation in there. As I kept watching the man, I saw him open his eyes often to glance around with a frown before squeezing his eyes shut again stubbornly. Before long, he was drawing his hands onto his lap, with fingers held together directed upwards just like one would do when meditating cross-legged on the floor. But even that wasn't helping as he kept being distracted by the surrounding noise. After a while, I wondered why he was trying so hard in the middle of chaos, and what was it that he was trying to achieve.

I have a friend who was brought up in the Hindu tradition, and whenever in pain, she is apparently able to make it go away by meditating. She says that focusing on an image of Buddha in her mind helps her get into a deep meditative state. Last year, I started asking her more questions about these more esoteric affairs, and she ended up offering me Tarot cards for Christmas, complete with some guide on 'how to read Tarot cards". It wasn't long before I felt the need to put those cards to the test, so to speak. A year on and I'm less keen to use them, mainly because they frustrate me when I keep drawing the same old cards against the odds. I mean... if I asked a question about work, I'd invariably get cards from the 'pentacle' family, with mostly the idea of me being in the process of learning, culminating in something good or positive. So far, so good. Work-related questions were always the clearest when it came to 'asking' those cards. But whenever I've asked about love matters, I would invariably get a mass of court cards - Kings and Queens, over and over again. Regardless of the type of spread I tried, those cards would come up all the time no matter how much I shuffled the deck. This always occurs, to the point of making laugh now. I could take the cards now, ask about my 'love' outlook, and I know these court cards will show up, and always in the same sort of position. A King showing up as the basis for my question, followed by a Queen, who often happens to be a Queen of Swords while the King himself varies more often. Mind you, the few times I tried a reading with my now ex-boyfriend, although a King would always show up as the base of my question, the outcome was always negative, culminating to my drawing of the Devil card along with a Knight of Swords shortly before we broke up; and the question had been about whether he loved me or not. Overall, I find the whole thing rather frustrating because court cards, in particular, are hard to draw any meaning from.

It's rather uncanny how these cards keep showing up, presenting far more of an apparent constant than the randomness you'd expect to witness when playing mere cards. Whatever though, it's all always down to interpretation in the end.

It's like this idea of 'synchronicity'... does it actually exist? Well, that's already a flawed question to ask oneself. It's not about whether something exists or not, it's about the interpretation or meaning we give or rather lend to everything. Even our take or experience of other people doesn't escape the fact that we merely experience or understand them through the lens of our interpretations... When we meet people face to face, for instance, our brains start taking in a huge flow of minute detail we're often not aware of as our conscious side seems to only consider the more obvious manifestations emanating from the other person (such as, overall face expression, posture, clothes, tone of voice etc).

Yet the brain will take in that flurry of 'invisible' detail that will then be assembled inside the mind and translated into an overall sense of the other person, thus deciding whether we like them or not, for instance. Sometimes what the conscious side is able to observe clashes with what the brain was able to pick up on a more subconscious level - leading us to situations where we end up being put off by someone for reasons we don't seem able to explain even to ourselves, and then we tend to ignore that strange sense of not liking someone for no 'obvious' reasons. Some time down the line, the person shows us more concretely (or more obviously) something that really doesn't agree with us, and suddenly we realise that it must have been what put us off in the first place - that gut feeling warning we didn't 'listen' to, so to speak.

The idea of 'synchronicity' pertains to the same rules, where our perception or way of seeing it is utterly dependent on our own interpretations, or the meaning we choose to lend to the notion. It makes me want to conclude that everything in reality is actually relative, but the cloak of our own subjectivity thwarts that relativity by imposing layers of extra, personal interpretations taking us far away from the root fact that everything is actually relative in essence. If we could remove the lens of interpretations and meanings - the cloak of subjectivity -, we'd be able to see that.

In the case of synchronicity, some argue that it hints at a glimpse into something far deeper than what we usually are able to discern through our limited construct of reality… a glimpse into the greater flow and workings of the universe… others say that it is merely the result of selective attention - we basically make ourselves pay attention to certain things or patterns more than others. Which is true? I don’t know, perhaps a mix of both arguments. Does it matter? probably not, because even if synchronicity does exist, we forever get the meaning or the significance wrong, perhaps because we fail to see it on a wider level than our own subjective fancy or interpretation. In other words, it seems to invariably go wrong on a level of personal interpretation of such occurrences.

More esoteric affairs are seemingly perfect to try and discern better how central a role subjectivity plays in our ability to experience reality as we know it.

Endless combinations or endless permutations? I'd say when it comes to Reality itself, it's all about an endless flow of permutations, even though we may only be able to discern what looks like random combinations.

Retrospection

What a year it's been... I experienced a first 'relationship', and what's funny about romantically-involved relationships is how close two people get, but once it breaks, it is as though the two people in question never ever knew each other. Unlike friendship, there can be no mending. Once over, both parties separate completely. There are always exceptions to rules, so there may be some people managing to stay 'friends', but even that can only come some time down the road. In my particular instance, I'll never again hear from the guy... he was just another passenger on a train. We hooked up and spent some time together, and then one of us had to get off at some point - and we were never meant to get off at the same station.

Then I started my 'first' real job. You know, that 'real' job that involves the idea of 'career'. It took me some time to adjust to it, to say the least... but it's good for me. I spend my life living inside my head, so it's good to have to deal with the real world 5 days a week, 7 hours a day, excluding lunch time. I also like my job because everyday it reminds me that I can work anywhere so long as I learn self-discipline. Hopefully some day I'll be a good pupil and learn to be organised enough to never have to work in an office. But even if that doesn't happen, well... such is life, so it's alright.

I spent the night between the 24th and 25th drinking vodka and Diet Coke with my cousin, sitting opposite each other on the old sofas of the living room. After a while, we were both talking in our respective languages and the language barrier no longer mattered. I suppose we just understood whatever we wanted to understand as the other spoke. And there we stayed, drinking and talking nonsense till dawn. I was wearing reindeer horns on my head and he was wearing a green hat with the word ELF on it. The rest of the family had been wearing red Santa hats, but they'd collapsed in bed way earlier than us.

I realised fairly recently that the friends we make often happen to be a certain reflection of ourselves, and it's because we recognise a part of us in them that we become friends. I haven't made that many friends throughout my life, but the ones I did manage to make are truly a reflection of some parts of myself... We seem to have at least one thing in common: we don't fit in and we don't seem able to find our place in the world. There's my friend B, forever addicted to the internet world, rough on the outside but softer than a baby's skin on the inside... There's my friend S, who came to this country many years ago to help her family and try to make a better life for herself. But she remains just as lost as I am in this world, never finding her other half while she watches everyone else that she knows be pulled in, get married and have kids. As she works her ass off to send her family money, her mother keeps nagging her about the fact that she's a social loser - in the sense that she's almost 30 and has no 'situation' for herself. Nice, huh?

There's my friend A, whom I've known since I was 13. We only went to school together for a year, and then lost touch for over 4 years - until I moved here and decided to go look for her. And because I chose to look for her, we rekindled our friendship. But I remember why she never came looking for me... I had to be the one who looked for her because I had been the one to break the friendship when we were 14 and she had to leave... and I couldn't stand the loss. Four years later, I end up having a dream of her inside an empty train station, and that convinces me to look her up. She's the other dreamer, the one who never gave up no matter how tough reality has been on her. She's been in and out of various relationships, forever seeking herself. Now she's toying with the idea of leaving her 'safe' job to focus on her dream full time... and I am in awe at her courage.

These friends just happen to be passengers on a train who chose to sit down next to me for as far as our journey together takes us. But it was never about the getting on and off part of the journey - the fact that we all come and go in one another's life - it's about the connections, and ultimately the interconnection of absolutely everything. It's about realisation. Knowing that each connection made between stations had a particular significance to be realised in the moment or in retrospect.

Moments

"If one ever wanted proof of Darwin's contention that the many expressions of emotion in humans are universal, genetically inscribed, then a few minutes by the arrival gate in Heathrow's Terminal Four should suffice. I saw the same joy, the same uncontrollable smile, in the faces of a Nigerian earth mama, a thin-lipped Scottish granny and a pale, correct Japanese businessman as they wheeled their trolleys in and recognised a figure in the expectant crowd. Observing human variety can give pleasure, but so too can human sameness. I kept hearing the same sighing sound on a downward note, often breathed through a name as two people pressed forward to go into their embrace.[...] The variety was in the private dramas: a father and teenage son, Turkish perhaps, stood in a long silent clinch, forgiving each other, or mourning a loss, oblivious to the baggage trolleys jamming around them; identical twins, women in their fifties, greeted each other with distaste, just touching hands and kissing without making contact; a small American boy, hoisted on to the shoulders of a father he did not recognise, screamed to be put down, provoking a fit of temper in his tired mother.

But mostly it was smiles and hugs, and in thirty-five minutes I experienced more than fifty theatrical happy endings, each one with the appearance of being slightly less well acted than the one before, until I began to feel emotionally exhausted and suspected that even the children were being insincere. I was just wondering how convincing I myself could be now in greeting Clarissa when she tapped me on the shoulder, having missed me in the crowd and circled round. Immediately my detachment vanished, and I called out her name, in tune with all the rest..."

- Extract from Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

I was reminded of that passage when I went to fetch an aunt and uncle at the airport the other day. I'd arrived too early and upon checking the information for arrival times, I realised that they'd given me the wrong time and that I'd have to wait an extra hour before their plane was due to land. I went to the nearest Starbucks inside the airport, ordered a coffee and almond croissant, and sat at a table in a corner from where I could just gaze vacantly at my surroundings. I started observing scenes as described by the author above, but for a second or two, I found myself unable to remember where I'd heard the description before. And then I remembered I'd read it a week ago or so when I'd started reading that book.

Then my aunt and uncle finally emerged from the arrival gate and I stepped out of the crowd to greet them at once as they pushed their trolley forward looking a bit lost and confused. Before that, I'd observed various scenes playing out; two children, a young boy and his older sister, emerging out of the arrival gates, stopping on their tracks for a moment to scan the hall blankly... and then their eyes lit up upon recognising their father waving from the far end of the hall. The children ran towards him, beaming, and clung to him as though they hadn't seen their father in years. A moment later, their mother was with them, reunited at last with the father as they gave in to a tight embrace before walking away slowly towards the exit, arm in arm with their children.

Next to me was a mother with her young son, who kept asking about the various destinations listed on the arrival board. "Look mum, there are people who come all the way from Los Angeles - does LA mean Los Angeles, mum?" he asked as they waited for family members to arrive through the gates. "Yes, it means the same," she replied quietly. "There are also people coming all the way from Australia - look," she added, pointing a finger up towards the board. And then as the people they were waiting for arrived, they beamed and greeted one another hurriedly before making their way out together, chatting loudly and laughing.

And there it is... the sameness in all our differences. Airports make for interesting places to observe. People... Moments... Life is nothing more, and nothing less than what we make of it, it seems.

Mad World

"Retail history is expected to be made in the UK today with analysts predicting the busiest shopping day ever recorded. Visa Europe believes that the nation's shoppers will use its cards to spend over £1 million a minute, nearly £18,000 per second - totalling £1.5 billion across the day."

"Visa predicts that the busiest shopping hour of the year will be on Christmas Eve between noon and 1pm, in a final flurry of activity before Christmas Day. A rash of discounts and sales is likely to hit profit margins as stores fight to entice cash-strapped shoppers through their doors."

- Sky News

"Millions of people have hit shops across the UK to secure last-minute purchases ahead of Christmas Day. Meanwhile, online shopping association IMRG expects consumers to spend £186.4m online on Christmas Day. It forecasts that £367.8m will be spent on Boxing Day.

"Hectic scenes have been reported across London's West End... [A spokesperson for IMRG said]: "There are also a lot of people at the Marks and Spencer and John Lewis food counters, where people seem to be panic buying."

- BBC News

"Time is running out for Christmas shoppers across the country as they hit the high streets in a last-minute buying frenzy. One million people were expected to descend on London's West End over Friday and Christmas Eve , spending an estimated £100m.

"In contrast, ugly scenes broke out at stores across the US as shoppers vied to lay their hands on Nike's new shoe. The release of the company's retro version of a classic Air Jordan model, which cost $180 (£115) a pair, was responsible for disorder outside stores from California to Georgia."
- The Guardian

Sometimes it feels like a dystopia of a world where every single original meaning or thought has been turned upside down to fit a particular agenda of a given time.

When did we get there as a society? When did it all become about materialism, so much so that we seem to spend our time buying, buying, buying...

There was a children's movie on TV earlier and as I ate my lunch I watched parts of it. I'd seen it before anyway. It was about some guy becoming the new Santa, but there it was, staring back at me, the ideology of spending and materialism for children to be inspired by.

This so-called Christmas time has nothing to do with family or anything innocent or pure. It's a give-away for excess and materialistic orgies.