Of Life's Lessons

Harking on back on where I am right now, and the road that led me here I was struck once again just how often people in general deny their true selves.

It’s true. We diminish ourselves, limit our talents and blind our far-reaching minds because we want to blend. We hug the familiar with such fear of letting go that we squall like newborns when someone amputates us free. We try to nail down shutters to windows letting the view of things new and untarnished. We solder our tongues to our throat so truths remain unheard, and wisdom withered unsaid. We bind our nimble fingers from pointing to paths not tread and cripple each other when one walks too far—or too fast.

On the flipside? We close our eyes to the realities of our own limitations and contract our own self-written Icarus-like tragedy.

Or we end up like Phaeton instead, piggybacking on another's name we presume to be their equals—if not betters.

We lie to ourselves by saying we’re noble and true but honestly are they truly virtues or they just pipelines you fill in to make yourself feel good? A husband will lie to his wife about a rough day at work, simply to avoid her smelling the secretary on his shirt. A son will lie to his mother about staying back at school, so she wouldn’t know he was in detention. An employee will lie to his superiors if it’ll clear him off the hook. We tell people of the good things we’ve done, and our achievements for what -- ? For them to start attaching their lips to our anal rings and start sucking? So they could build a tiny little shrine and ply you with itik golek for next week's nombor ekor?

Whilst I’m hardly a certified life coach, I believe we could all share with a little lesson or two, no?


Life Lessons 101:
1. Not only is Life a bitch, she has puppies.
Life, in all her myriad wonders and ugliness—and much like Fagin in Oliver Twist with his fleet of street urchins—employs underlings to bring you down. Age, Time, Luck, and Misfortune—all will try their dandiest to trip you up, knock you off of your pedestal and drown you out.

Hire a dog-catcher and keep those puppies penned.

2. When Life throws you lemons, throw back bricks! (and watch out for innocent bystanders!)
Sometimes, you end up receiving one of Life’s anal probe. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean you have to smell like one, yes?

It’s a precarious line to balance, though. Remember, standing up for yourself doesn’t mean stepping on others’ toes.

3. Love is Life’s pretty little sister.
Remember that little play by a certain bard called The Taming of the Shrew? Meet the Bianca of the family. Unfortunately, like all ugly elder sisters Life will make sure Love doesn’t get to have all the fun with you.

4. Some friends are fiends spelt with an “R.”
Yes, we love having our friends. There will be times however, when our friends are working against our best interest—because it is in their best interest that we trip and fall on our unpadded asses! That isn’t to say that most of them are mean-spirited. They just can’t help flapping their gums. Asking them for discretion is like celebrating Celine Dion’s retirement.

And we all knew how that went.

Some, however are the veritable Trojan horse in our group of friends. These leeches feeding off on your trust and goodwill infiltrate your life because they don’t have one. Consumed with envy because they can’t be you, they settle for lying in close then tearing you down when the opportunity presents itself.

Invest in a little emotional exorcism for the exotics, or just clock in a good old session with your therapist (who will no doubt be itching to pen her memoirs about the fools she’s met in her course of work!). Or your best friend—who’ll undoubtedly be a lot cheaper.

5. Drama is an elective, not a prerequisite
Yes, you know how some people are naturally flamboyant (who, ME?) while some seem to court trouble on a daily basis. To the point they can’t throw a party without the police being invited. These are the people that’ll make even RuPaul and Amanda Lepore run for the trees!

Learn the difference between stress (Work! Work! Work!) and drama (calling your friends from the office phone and whining about work!).

Remember that Drama is Life’s whorish black sheep cousin—grief masked as a one-time show, staging an over-the-top trauma. For these people—or if God forbid, you happen to be one of them!—have a handy supply of horse tranqs in your bag. You’ll need it.

Of an Open Letter

Dearest Whom Ever,

I've been listening to too many critiques and they all contradict each other.

I've been called a product of misery. Does that mean I desire company?
I've been called bipolar. Does that mean I should increase my Zalasta intake?
I've been called a body-switcher. Should I eviscerate my Mr Hyde?
I've been called a rampaging berserker on the warpath. Do I turn myself into a willing victim now?
I've been told I'm multifacted. Do you want me to limit myself?
You call me cold, yet say I carry too much passion that it exhaust those around me to keep up.
You call me ugly yet trot me out like a prize filly in a show.
You call me full of shit and still you listen to my tales of romance and fancies.

So tell me again how does this finger-pointing work --- do I stand still? or do you want me to dodge your salvo like in P. E. class?

Tell me again of this seemingly incredible monster that shapeshifts, this multitasking destroyer that chomps on unfortunate souls to feed it's painful existence, this being that carries manifold mind patterns that houses too dangerous an imagination? Does it crave virgin sacrifices?

Or does it play more like this:
You call me miserable because I can exist without others.
I am bipolar because I like to laugh my troubles out loud, and become silent when I'm thinking.
You call me a body-switcher because I can separate between my heart's dictates and my mind's demands.
I'm a berserker on the warpath because I've had enough of being a victim.
I'm multifaceted because every one I come into contact with is unique in their own special way.
I'm cold because I don't waste time with feeling as opposed to doing.
You call me ugly because I reflect what is inside your soul.
I'm full of shit because that is the only scent a swill-guzzling spawn-of-a-sow would be familiar with.


Yours sincerely,
N. E. Guy

Of vexing timings

Time.

A way to measure the passage of moments as we go throughout our life and trials. There are times when we take its passing for granted, always expecting that we have more to spare.

Alas, as my 30th birthday approaches I find myself discombobulated. No, it wasn't the regret for lost opportunities for I've always one who is never given to ponder on loss and missing chances. It was more of the time it takes to be patient. While I am quite adept at playing a waiting game much like a hunter stalking his prey, I am never known for my patience. It is a paradox--a rather telling one I admit, of deeper meanings churning in my mind.

Imagine my disgust at being told to wait for a simple outing because a person needs time to focus on finding himself/herself. What was that supposed to mean? Does one need a body atlas and a refresher course in Anatomy 101? I said to myself that it is just fine; if one wants to play an emotional Peter Pan with one's little green flying suit not far for flights of fancy to the nearest club--who am I to deny that one singular pleasure? After all, I've experienced the nightlife and while it was an enjoyable diversion, such fancies are not for me. Not with my dislike for alien crowds and shallow conversations. One shouldn't look for depths of character in a place where the bathroom walls are as translucent as a Japanese paper-house!

No one would know the harsh sting of grief and loss better than I. I would not presume to lay claim to have writ a book on monopolizing such issues but I am quite familiar with the depressive malaise that follows such cruelties Life inevatably inflicts. La, a lover leaves you for someone else. Death claimed a loved one. Friends turned into rivals, and siblings into saboteurs. Betrayal, disappointments, failures and hatred are the consequences of our own discrepancies.

Perhaps I'm too harsh for those not made as I. Perhaps I'm too much of an idealist in a place where a person's word is worth nothing--just air particles vibrated to produce platitudes that never amounted to much.

Perhaps if I'm not such a besotted fool it would've been translated differently.