99.98% Alcohol-free

In my younger days,  I never consumed alcohol probably more or less for the same reasons youngsters at that age never took to downing the proverbial firewater – the Divine Prohibition in religion. At an earlier age it was just adherence to blind faith that could easily have been broken upon because there was never any valid reasons given behind it. But as soon as I bore witness of those who do, I decided objectively and unequivocally that booze is definitely not for me; as soon as they cross the threshold of civil drinking into the paroxysm of assholicity, the jury’s decision is final– booze ain’t the bitchen bitch they make it out to be.

Ironically, because I don’t drink and am not tight assed about it that I can’t be within splash distance from a drop of alcohol, I end up being a regular boozers companion. Apart from being an inexpensive drinking buddy and the obvious designated driver, I’m also a boozers bestest friend in the whole world when they’re shit-faced. I’m the one they’ll get up close and personal to, all flustered with spit and alcohol fumes, ready to clue me in on the meaning/miseries of life; whichever one it is, they’ll insist I’m the luckier one for it. Yeah I would be, because between us I’ve still got control over my faculties and even if I don’t blow out chunks of my insides soon, I won’t be waking up underneath furniture or around bathroom tiles with a desert of fur for a mouth and a tympani where a head should be.

Of course I still get jeers and taunts by purveyors of good feelings fueled by fermented nectar of the sods; especially hollow heads who consider alcohol consumption the epitome of higher culture or civilization. My answer is simply that a person of my disposition who tends to do things to the extreme is just not good for such vices; I would have very high slosh potential if I started and could easily end up a drunkard as easily as I ended up a chain-smoker once in a lifetime before.

However, that answer is not deemed worthy of their respect; they really want to get in on the religion angle. Then I’ll just have to bring to their realisation that any religion that has a ban or admonishment for alcoholic drinks is merely banning the only beverage in the world that requires legalization.

It’s the only beverage that prerequisites a legal drinking age; it’s the only one that has a roadworthy driving legal limit; sales of it is regulated and requires a license; open consummation of it is not globally allowed; nations made attempts to prohibit it; and I won’t even begin to go into social crimes and issues that are directly related to it. To none of the aforementioned would you find any parallel with the widespread consumption of say, caffeine – of which no religion has been known to ban. But of course to hollow heads who need to fill their volume with booze, that only applies to others and it could never be them – they are the apogee of human restraint; which is probably what a DUI driver would have thought to have gotten into their vehicle after a ‘coupla’ glasses.

Me Bloody-fool.

Growing up, I’ve been called a bloody-fool for as long as I care to remember.  It became so synonymous with me that I’ve forsaken quite early on any bitterness of being called one.  I can’t think of any particular outward aspect of me that would bring it about; it just happened.  One moment I’d be going about my own wits and next thing I’d hear “Bloody-fool!” and sure enough, that would be me.  There never seem to be any anomalies, disaster or catastrophe in my vicinity that I could attribute to having deserved such a sanglant nomenclature; so it can’t be that I was such a klutz.  I’ll admit I was not the most circumspect of characters but nor was I behaviourally bovine when in a china shop.

In retrospect, it is true that I lacked the trophies I was supposed to collect like checkpoints in a video game during those formative years; no ‘A’ laden certificates of education, no plated trophies for athletic achievements, no weighted medals in recognition, no seriffed scrolls of commendation, nor any frame-worthy citations. I just wasn’t much of a recorded achiever so the lack of such would probably qualify me as a candidate for the title to those who need such material manifestations in their opinion or judgment of a person.

Study-wise, I was constantly distracted by the intrigue of understanding rather than just memorizing for exams.  History fascinated me as true stories rather than putting dates to names or events.  Physics was such a revelation of forces around us and not just about formulas or reciting word-for-word laws and definitions.  Biology was organic mechanics that was sadly reduced to naming parts.  Language was relating the world through different ways by the placement of words and structure.  Geography was simply fruit for imagination.  Okay, I sucked at mathematics; that I left to being purely functional.  So due to my lack of Instant Data Ignoramuses Consider  Knowledge [iDICK] I would not have been a very exam friendly candidate.

For extra curricular activities, I was not coordinated well enough for the delusion of being a soccer star; I had a weak left foot.   Athletics hardly had any creative merits and seemed too regimented.  Art was about painting within the lines of statuesque poses and was hardly expressive.  Never much into uniforms and thought the boy scouts were too faggy in those shorts and scarves – and their affinity for ropes.  I had a distant disposition for contact sports like martial arts.  Of course I was into music but not the marching kind that would have made parents proud in stadiums; music I was into just had such bad press thanks to Keith Richards; so there was probably nothing there to boast about in polite circles.

I was constantly talked to for being such a bloody-fool, but that just made things worse.  Their form of conveying advise was purely instructional and was related to their own experiences which I realized quarter way through their talk, had no similarities or bearing to the circumstances or time-space I was in.  There was hardly anything that I could walk away and use from their advise; apart probably from knowing the fact that they care enough to have done so.  As there was not much from their ‘wisdom’ that I could apply for my betterment, I would then appear, I don’t know – Ungrateful? Obstinate? Rebellious? Rude? Insolent? Disrespectful? Or by their simpler all-encapsulating semantic signifier – a bloody-fool.

From my novice quasi-psychoanalysis I could say that the bloodyfoologuous phenomenon would result in low self-esteem and lack of self-confidence.  It probably did but I wouldn’t know because for one, I never had the competitive edge in me; and by excluding myself from competitions I would not know how I would have fared in one.  You could deduce that the low count of self-esteem/confidence was why I would not be competition fodder in the first place.  Well, here’s the paradox – I just could not see any sense for competivity and would be bold and confident when stating such.  No low self-esteem or weak self-confidence when I make my case against the apologists for competition; and from the fact that the bloodyfoolness persisted suggests further that I must’ve stuck to my guns quite fortuitously there; because in situations when I stand by my opinions with the full regalia of a healthy self esteem and glowing confidence, I’d hear “Bloody-fool!” once again.

What I can say was a result of the bloodyfoolomena, and am delighted to do so, is that I avoided aloofness and cockiness within myself.  [I should first of all state that the ‘cockiness’ I’m avoiding here is the ‘Mr/Mrs/Ms-know-all’ cockiness of the non-charitable variety; i.e., those who will never give credence to any view that does not conform blindly to the sheer pig-headedness of their set opinions-arguments.] I would never assume that what I know is the ultimate conclusion gouged in alabaster and in that way I’d always be open to further answers or extrapolation with the willingness and readiness to say I’m wrong when I am; simply because if you’re being called a bloody-fool often enough you’ll find that it is not easy to be too sure of yourself.  For instance, if I met someone who would not or could not blindly conform to conventions or socio-cultural-codes agreed upon by some ineffable consensus which defies sense and sensibility, I would not immediately conclude the person is a Bloody Fool.

4 P O A

Four Points of Admonishment

Have you noticed that local teachers, tutors, lecturers, elders, employers, etc., have a certain sequence of points they consistently go through when they reproach or castigate their pupils, students, subjects, youngers, employees, etc.? Here’s how it goes:

1] The “You-all” opening –

This is where they clump you into some fraternity that seems to be synonymous with the trait or fault for which you are being reproached. Examples, “You-all never seem to realize . . . ”, “You-all just can’t . . .”, “You-all just don’t . . .”, “You-all just won’t . . .”, and so forth y’all.  [There are times it's only you in the room being talked to but when they go "You-all . . ",  you can't help but wonder who else do they see in the room with you? C'est bizzare!]

Why? I suppose it’s to shame you into realizing that you belong to a conglomeration of negatives. And of course it goes without saying, that they would in turn shine forth as not being, and could never be, a member of such a gawky gaggle.

2] The “You-know what I went through” reminder –

This is to begin to tell you in case you didn’t know already, the rigmaroles, trials and tribulations they had to go through for you to be in the position you are in; such as setting up the task for you, nominating you for the task, giving birth to you, etc.

Why? Feel the guilt you insensitive ingrate!

3] The “In my time” soliloquy –

Now you hear how they [or others they know] did it, would have done it or how it was done in their personal time-space continuum.

Why? Apart from making you feel more hapless than they expect you to already – they just enjoy it I guess, because they seem to do it at every other opportunity they think warrants it.

4] “So now, . . . ” -

By this time, I would have forgotten what the admonishment was for in the first place. This is when they just reiterate what needs to be done, sometimes in a pep-talk manner – probably to give some semblance of relevance or culmination to the three preceding points they were waffling on about. But I’m not normally convinced that this would be the last time we’ll be hearing all this.

Why? They never tell the ‘how’s that you actually need so you could complete the matter at hand to a level of satisfaction that would immunize you from having to endure further variations of the 4 POAs.

Pre-Vacation Sentiments.

I never realized how folks around here just can’t be happy for you when you inform them that you’re going on a vacation. All I had to say was, “Oh by the way, I’m going to **** with my daughter…”, and this is a rough cross section of the typical reactions I got from various persons [in no particular order]:

• immediate narration of all the negative things about the place i’m heading to like the extremities of its climate or culture;
• lamentation of how they had planned to go there as well, but due to circumstances that they proceed to tell at great lengths, they couldn’t;
• telling me that they have a better vacation lined up than the one I’m going to;
• barrage of requests of what I could do for them on my trip: like getting, looking up or delivering stuff for them;
• reflex response of an alternative destination which they tauntingly insist would be all the much better than the one I made;
• telling me tedious tall tales of their experiences with natives or produce of the country I’m visiting for no apparent reason;
• falling into a reverie of their own past trip, and start talking through what is probably the lamest of holidays one could possibly hear about;
• paroxysm of why I made such a godforsaken choice of a destination for a vacation – with supplementary ruminations why they are of that opinion tailored to make me look like a schmuck for my choice;
• immediately talk about making plans of going to the exact same spots I’m going and start to quiz me on my plans which they are going to ante up and make so much more interesting for themselves;
• being told of the ingrate that I am for not including or having given them the opportunity to include themselves in my plans; basically how they would like to go as well and I’m a complete sod for not asking them.

I can only recall two persons who actually showed delight when I told them of the vacation; their faces beamed up instantly and they were all aglow as they congratulated me on my plans and just gushed forth with goodwill, sharing the many things there that they hoped we would enjoy. Fantastic! They helped make the vacation enjoyable even before we left.

Alas, those two souls are not natives of this region.

Can’t the folks around here be more genuinely like that?  Why can’t folks around here just find delight in the joys of others? Even those mentioned above who insisted that you run errands for them during your vacation – how could they just intrude or impose on someone’s best laid out plans? I refuse to shrug it off with over-simplistic judgments like ‘it’s envy’ or ‘they’re just jealous’.  Those are just symptoms I believe – but symptoms to or of what? Insecurity?

Those responses I outlined above were almost like self-defense mechanisms triggered by hearing about someone’s good fortune – in this case, a vacation very much being looked forward to.  But what were they self-defending against; what here was the nemesis or the threat?  The momentary fortune of others?  Why are you threatened by something that you should be joyous about? The information of my vacation was only given in passing and not through some boastful, loud and proud proclamation; but even if it was the latter, is there a necessity to engage to self-defense mode?  Do we find ourselves inferior upon hearing of someone else’s good fortune? So inferior that we have to instantaneously prove ourselves not? Is that what we’re defending against? How? By making those idiotic remarks like the ones I’ve exemplified above?  We don’t mind appearing like an imbecile rather than appear inferior?  Are we that insecure that we might appear lesser?  Is our self-worth only gauged through the eyes of others; or more pathetic still, through how we imagine others see us?  That’s insecurity coupled with the paranoia of it as well.

And if it were true, then oh dear, pathos my people.

When Ghosts Speak Of Ghosts

I’ve always been intrigued by the supernatural. Probably started about the time I was 11, after having received a book prize on haunted houses for being the fifth in class. [Yes, they did reward such back then; and I have been prize worthy at some point in my life, thank you.] My literary diet for awhile since then consisted entirely of ghost stories, the macabre, and of course the unexplained. After that followed the natural progression into horror stories until I was eventually no longer spooked by the unseen but terrified of the hidden. Then came the slasher movies and by the time Freddy Kreuger was brought back to life for the umpteenth time, it was all simply of limbic entertainment value. And of course there are the empirical sciences, especially the epistemology of cause and effect that greatly contributed to my obstinacy for diagnosing sense before shivers.

Still, I would constantly meet someone with a scary story to tell. Always a show of reluctance at first but will readily do so as if pushed to by the inertia of fear to disseminate with caution. They’d tell it like they were there, all wide-eyed and in your face. Some with an amateurish sense of the dramatic such as the drop of the voice, the quaver in the narration, the impregnated pause followed by a shudder at the recollection of the eerie, the nervous twitch or gesticulations as if sculpting the ethereal. And it is told as if, as if they were there.

The thing is, they weren’t – they were not there. They were nowhere near there. No, they never tell you from their own personal experiences. It didn’t happen to them. It never happen to them – much like it’s never happened to me; or at least happened to me such that I cannot explain it off sensibly. It’s always a retelling of someone else’s experience; someone they know, someone close to them, someone close to them who knows someone, someone who knows someone close to them who knows – so goes the permutations in the chain of narration. Where credibility might be put in question, the protagonist would be someone emotionally or sentimentally attached to them, so you would be a real bastard to even doubt the words of such.

It’s never of first hand direct experience of the teller themselves.

However, if it is claimed to be their very own experience, my intrigue wanes when they adamantly refuse to discuss earthbound possibilities of what could have happened or been the cause. It’s as if it has to be supernatural or nothing. They refuse to approach it with House diagnostics or Grissom forensics or even Velma’s logic – they would actually prefer to uncompromisingly concur with Scooby Doo than wrest through reasonable doubts or rational explanations. And of course, it so deeply and emotionally shook them such that you would be a complete bastard to even consider doubting them.

What concerns me of the phenomena though is this – it’s not that they tell it to be believed; but why do they need to tell it to such effect? Not being savvy in psychoanalysis, I can only see someone who needs the spotlight with what they think is worthy of it, even if it is just for that one moment; hoping that it’ll still shine on them in absentia when the story is retold further – assuming of course that the next narrator is not a dick and obliterates them from the narration in order to take the spotlight for themselves.

Everyone has a story to tell; but when it’s a ghost story, it always seem to come from personas that do not seem real – much like the ghosts in their stories. It’s really like ghosts talking of ghosts.

Me Wise Not

I’m by no means a wise person – have never considered myself one, and could most definitely not recognize myself even close to being one. Never been much for wisdom. Making sense is more my thing; and of course, I presume, wisdom goes beyond merely making sense.

Eric Clapton use to say that he found wisdom from the solitary bluesmen when he was growing up; him being without a father and all. I can dig that – or at least part of it – the solitary bluesmen part; unlike Clappers, my beloved father has always been around and is still alive and well. However, my wisdom gurus was not exactly the booze-soaked, smoke-filled, broom-dusting, woke-up-this-morning, hellhound-chasing, cotton-pickin’, porch-rockin’ bluesmen. Wisdom for me came more from their ‘devil-child’ disciples such as Nanker-Phelge, which in time became Jagger/Richards.

“but what can a poor boy do, but to sing in a rock n’ roll band…”

I would have liked finding wisdom from sources closer around me, like from those who have many, many years ahead of me, hence much more experience of life and its many lessons; but the times they have tried to impart their version of wisdom on me, I could barely fathom any of them. It was all clichéd, contrived and even callous gobbledygook; which I eventually confirmed after experiencing enough of it to realise that between them they all sound the same. If there was any inkling of any wisdom to be had from them it was from what I call deriving wisdom through inversion – I would see the wisdom from not following through things they say or their course of action – by simply not doing what they say or do; and I’d always be all the better for it

Now thanks to being aware of fallacious discourses and differentiating between rhetoric and truth, I really am so much the better for not giving their pseudo-wisdom any more than the courtesy of listening despite being mind-numbing, eye-wateringly tedious. Oh the yawns I had to clamp my lips down to suppress; I even wondered if stifled yawns would escape through the ears and worried that I might blow my eardrums out. Come to think of it, if that did happen it might have been quite an act of grace as I would not have the hearing implement in place to hear them with.

Of course they must’ve meant well; even those preoccupied with their own pride and ego when sharing or imparting their wisdom; but like I said, it all just sounded the same. It’s as if they’ve made their general conclusions quite early in their lives and coded the rights, the wrongs, the how-to and how-not-to’s, the what-to and what-not-to’s, etc., into the body of code by which they will base their making sense of the world upon. So all they are imparting upon you as quasi-wisdom is their hold on to these codes throughout their lives; and how they have held on to them as examples for you to ponder on even though they have no bearing or semblance to any situation or circumstance you’re in.

Their quasi/pseudo-wisdom’s just full of passive verbs – be patient, be strong, persevere, soldier on, caution, beware, etc., but never the how’s – how to be patient, how to be strong, how to persevere, etc. That is where for me it falls short; and telling you that you should figure it out for your self, for your own sake, is simply disguising the fact that they have not a clue. After all, what they are doing is all part of the code; telling you those inanities is actually under their code as offering wisdom; as is telling you non-familiar or dissimilar examples of theirs is coded under sharing their wisdom from experience. So under the code, wisdom is offered, and under the code, that all comes under the ‘manifestations that we care’ category. Never mind that it did bugger all to alleviate your concerns or worries, because under the code if you do not benefit, you’re just a hapless dumb schmuck; and if you say that it doesn’t help, you’re just an ungrateful so-and-so. [Of course all this is without even opening discussions how wisdom is not just about outlining passive verbs. They’ve even coded what wisdom is just as they have coded the forms that are associated with it; such as the white haired, the wizened, the bearded, the ascetic, Oprah, etc.]

So in the absence of any guiding light or beacon of wisdom of any real benefit, what else if left to do but to be left to one’s own faculties and devices to make sense of whatever comes our way; and somehow, life is all the richer for that methinks.

Life through apertures at the speed of shutters.

In the hands of teenagers around me, the laptop is a RM3K digital photo album. It’s where they store all those pictures taken because them young ‘uns way of enjoying their moments is capturing and recording it to be enjoyed later and in anticipation of posting ‘em up for others like them to join in the merriment.

It’s not that the pictures need to be displayed so as to weed out the more desirable from the lesser ones. No, that narcissism starts much earlier. Thanks to the technology of digital photography, the selection is done instances after the photographs are taken. After every shot, the consensus will decide if the image is to what they always imagined they’d look. If not, they’re more than prepared to go through the rigmarole again, with their catalogue of semiotics for the necessary poses, expressions and gestures till their expectations are met. It’s kinda bizarre that people actually freeze themselves in order to be captured and frozen by fractions of seconds with the shutter; to freeze for a phenomena that would freeze you anyways. Why, in Asia they’ve even devised a sign to indicate when they’re ready to be captured -they portray the number two with their fingers to announce their readiness for the shutters. The degree of readiness is further indicated in direct proportion to the number of hands indicating the number two.

I don’t know about you, but i would have thought that with all this I would enjoy conversations with them young ‘uns more cos their stories have got pictures as well. But I find that what makes for narration and description are just captions, and the illustrations are so much of their persons that it obliterates all else around obscuring any sense of place. If there was a landmark, you couldn’t get to know much about it apart from the simple fact that they were there. If it was a picture postcard scenery you could not look further than them in in front of the lens hence obscuring the wonderous view around them. But you could probably have a hint at what food tastes like cos that gets a sapient-free picture; and it’s only because they are the prologue to images of being devoured in various states.

It seems like this will be the mode of communication with them for awhile. They’ll probably say that you can’t get to know them better than this where all is recorded and captured. Memories start early. They are setting up and pre-selecting for recollections and ruminations later. The enjoyment is not just in the now, but also set up for the later.

Everything is set up to be captured in order to be related through still life. But i’ve always felt that no one and nothing exists in the fraction of a second. Everyone and everything exists in the realm of continuous time. So how much of a person is in a photograph, except for a fleeting illusion cos a captured image cannot be much more. So are they simply just setting up illusions for others to perceive through those illusions? I only lament that I could not get to know the real them, and despair that when not being frozen in time, there might not be much of  real them behind the images.