Day 53: The Pink Finger

2008 will be known as the year Zimbabwe was almost absolved.

Day 52: Default

So it has been a long time, hasn't it (since I've posted something here, for those of you who aren't very good with implicit meanings)? I've slowly been realising, throughout the time I've been writing this 'thing' we'll have to call a blog for argument's sake (and since the time I decided to grow more fully), that I haven't been in control of my life. And this is not one of those "oh, God has been in control" realisations either; this one's a bit more sinister than that. I suppose I'd better explain (honestly, I spend my life explaining things).

I was on a course recently for work, and one of the tasks was to get into teams of three and elect a leader within each of those teams. Leadership of my team fell to me (perhaps inevitably). It was at the exact point when the trainer asked me how I had come to be team leader that the realisation struck me. "I sort of fell into it [the position], by default," was my answer; like most (if not all) of the things I was in my life, I was leader by default. Every decision I've had to make in my life has been a pseudo-decision; wholly dictated by something else, some external issue.

I fell into all my relationships; through no decision of my own. The first few didn't work out but, luckily, in the last one my woman was right for me. Still, I've done relationships backwards - getting into one and then starting to like (and perhaps love) the person I was with. I've been playing a dangerous game. And let's not stop there; the fact that I'm bald has dictated a huge part of my life. I started going bald when I was about 17; a genetic thing I guess, but when I was completely bald I actively stopped doing things associated with being 'young', partly because of fear of being mocked, but mostly because I didn't feel young. I was so self-conscious about it that it began to etch a path for me to follow in the game of life.

I remember being so nervous at parties and whatnot. It's a proper knock to the ego and it gouged a large chunk of my self-esteem out. I slowly began on a (mentally) self-destructive path - putting up walls both to fend off imagined attacks from the outside world and to stop myself doing things that would put me in the firing line. You know, basic self-preservation. People make assumptions about you; it's human nature. Over the years the walls became stronger; reinforced by every bad experience I'd ever had. I became a non-risk-taker.

So, how do I rectify this (i.e. how do I regain control of my life?)? Well, I've started by canceling all the email alerts I get from various places, which prompt me to login and do...something. A prime example of this is Facebook. How many of you have been absolutely compelled to login to Facebook and start messing around when prompted by an email alert (such as, "so and so has written on you wall")? I've been so guilty of that, it's unreal; spending hours within any given day, just clicking around Facebook, having originally been drawn there by an e-mail alert. You think it's a choice you're making, but it's not - it's a compulsion that you can't possibly hope to control. So, with no email alerts to speak of, I can choose when I commit some time to Facebook.

Also, and this was prompted by the trainer on the course I spoke about earlier, I've turned off that little envelope that appears in your tray when you have a new email at work (this I did quite by accident, but that's another story) because, again, you're compelled to open your Outlook inbox whenever that envelope magically appears (at least, I am) - another pseudo-decision. But by far , the biggest thing I'm going to do to try and minimize the pseudo-decisions I make, is to list out, right here, all the assumptions and beliefs I hold dear which only act to reinforce my insecurities and thus guide me on a path not of my choosing:

1. Bald people are physically inferior and, thus, do not stand a chance with people of the opposite (or same, if that's your thing) sex. My biggest influencer by miles. But what is it's basis? My conception of beauty I suppose. And what's that based on? Mass media projections - hard-bodied men and women running on beaches with hair flowing wildly in their wake. A woman running her hand through her man's hair while squealing with pleasure. But that's not real, is it? Real people don't do that in real life. Well, maybe some of them do, but what should that matter to me? Who cares? Tastes differ so wildly anyway. And who's to say that the media portrays an ideal? If it does, then it's a false ideal I'm afraid.

I can't wait for the day when the media is flooded with images of fat, balding old men being rubbed up by fat, balding old women. If and when that happens, I guarantee you that most of the world will experience a huge shift in their aspirations and beliefs as far as beauty is concerned. And, following on from that...

2. ...Beauty is purely physical. It's becoming more and more clear to me that this is not the case. I know what you're thinking - "that's just something ugly people say to make themselves feel better", except I'm not ugly, and have been told so on many many different occasions, so there goes that theory. I must admit that I thought that at one point too. Beauty is not purely physical. Attraction is initially physical in certain instances, but beauty and attraction are two different things. If beauty (and, for that matter, attraction) always purely physical, you'd be hard-pressed to find elderly couples roaming the streets clutching hands. Yet we see it all the time and, let's face it, it's one of our "awww" moments.

3. Some activities are reserved for people under a certain age, while others are reserved for people over a certain age. Another belief which has added to the (mis-)control issues in my life. While society dictates what we should and shouldn't be doing, that doesn't mean we have to follow this regime. We can do anything we want regardless of our age or perceived age.

4. You are a bad person if you suggest doing something that another person may not want to do (in your view). Ah, if I had a dollar for every time I've held back on suggesting an activity just because I didn't want to make someone do something that they wouldn't want to do. But the truth is, in most cases, if someone really didn't want to do something, they would say so there and then (or at least give implicit clues regarding their defiance), rather than do it and be miserable.

5. No world exists, save the world in my own mind. Yes, I've been seeing without actually looking. Being caught up in my own thoughts so often has been debilitating - over-thinking everything.

6. Women are idols, to be worshiped (This is in no way intended to be sexist and I apologise if it comes across that way). A long time ago my cousin, who's now happily married, said to me, "women are just as disgusting as men...at least once a month, anyway" I think no better statement encompasses the fact that women are human beings and should be treated as such, no more, and certainly no less. They have thoughts and feelings, they are subject to the same laws of biology as men are, they use the toilet and when they bump against an open closet door, they get bruised. I have been idolising women my whole life, which has made it difficult (and sometimes impossible) to approach them. While nature has made them the objects of affection; they are no different in any terms. Time to let this go...

Well, that's all I can think of for now. I will add more to this list if I think of them. The first two are the main ones after all. So there it is, my absolute lack of control laid bare. I will continue to strive to regain control, but be aware of the lack of control of your own lives - there are a lot of underlying beliefs and issues we've all gained over the years that hold us back from reaching our full potential. It is indeed, a sad situation.

Day 40: Nowadays

I was standing at the sandwich stall at lunch time today, waiting for my Cajun Chicken 'big boy' Roll when I noticed this stack of greeting cards next to me. They've always been there and I have, on occasion, browsed through them (I put this mainly down to boredom). So, between the time when I ordered my roll and the time the nice old lady handed it to me, I had a thought (which I smsed tomyself, lest I lost it) - greeting cards have become crude social indicators. Yes, I said it - social indicators.

If you look at the themes behind greeting cards - birthdays, anniversaries, new jobs etc - they all reflect patterns in what we, as human beings, do socially, and new trends in our social activities as well - look at this for an example, I saw a card today which roughly read, "You're leaving work to have a baby!". Now doesn't that point to the fact that more and more people are going on maternity leave? Agreed, as a social activity maternity leave isn't very rich in its substance, but the potential of greeting cards to act as social indicators is certainly there, isn't it? Especially nowadays. The fact that there is a greeting card detailing some activity means that that activity is being practiced on a regular basis, or at least an indication that that activity is being practiced more and more. Let's hope we never get greeting cards reading, "Hope the holocaust went well", or "Happy apocalypse!"

But all bad jokes aside (well, maybe we'll keep some in there for good measure), things are changing more raidly nowadays. To take another example, in the last decade digital pirates have become everything from social commentators to movie critics. I swear I was dumbfounded when, while downloading the torrent for some movie, I read the user comments - comments like, "artistically and visually, an excellent movie. Bruce Willis at his very best. Could do with a more well thought out sound track", and "what a crap movie! I don't believe anyone actually paid for that! Bad dialogue, poor acting - just Blair Witch Project in the middle of the ocean!" Artistically and visually?! You guys are pirating this movie! Who cares what you think?! You're not experts! Except, they sort of are (or have become) experts because they actually watch these movies and have built up a taste for what's good and what's bad (much like any other regular movie-watcher), and people do care what they think. Even me. I wouldn't download a movie if it's been branded crap by one of my fellow pirates.

Man, times are certainly changing. More dyslexic children, bigger wars, interactive porn. I was watching a television program the other night where they were describing this new concept. The viewer is capable of putting on a pornographic DVD and, instead of just watching it, is able to actually direct the action! Anal? No problem, just choose the option off the interactive menu. Is this going to give birth to a whole new generation of porn watchers - with dick in one hand and remote control in the other? So porn stars themselves are now straddling the line between actors/actresses and escorts/working girls and rent boys - virtual escorts at least, submitting to the viewers will (obviously within reason). the modern age really does boil down to the blurring of lines and boundaries, doesn't it? I built an entire MS Access database recently, having known absolutely nothing about MS Access in the beginning, with help almost entirely from the online community - forum sites and the like - from people who weren't even professional teachers. Or maybe they were - professional social teachers. I know what you're all thinking - Jesus Christ wasn't a professional teacher, but he taught. This is different though; now a wealth of knowledge is available at the touch of a button. It's amazing, and I love it!

I was reading an article online recently which hinted at people putting their gaming achievements down on their CVs. Amazing. It's amazing to think that the things you do in your virtual life should sit alongside the things you do in real life, and should be accepted by potential employers. The example the author of the article used was a person noting in their CV that they had run a guild in World of Warcraft. Looks like 'gaming', usually restricted to the 'Other Interests' section of your life story, is going to be making headlines in the main event.

I'm just in awe of nowadays, and it's not like we even notice how far we've come (which is quite sad). Nowadays we can do virtually anything, the possibilities are truly limitless.

Day 37: Untrusting Control Freak

I've been developing a database at work. Yesterday I learned something new about myself; throughout the development of my database I systematically looked for ways to restrict access to it's code and design views. This seems perfectly natural, after all, which software program do you know where the code is readily available for all to see? The thing is, I've begun to make restricting access an obsession - always thinking of and working on new ways to make my database fool-proof. Removing the 'close' and 'minimise' buttons from windows, disabling design view, throwing in simplified instructions here and there - all signs that I'm an untrusting control freak.

What is 'fool-proofing'? Why do we feel the need to strive towards it? Doesn't the very existence of the concept of fool-proofing mean that we, as human beings, have an underlying suspicion of other human beings, or at least of their ability. I know the act of me restricting access to my database says a lot about the extent of my suspicion of others and, as a result, says a lot about the extent of my cynicism. And, I'll face it, I am cynical.

Crap, I understand that a person's behavior towards a computer database can hardly give brief and yet in depth insights into their personalities but, like everything that a person does, it can give a superficial insight into a person's ability to trust others.

Years of Persecution at the Hands of Polar Bears: an outsider's view of an insider's peril

Part 1

(the views expressed in this piece are the author’s own. They are made up from a compilation of thoughts, feelings and experiences. While they are based on some factual knowledge, you will find no boring quotes and no references backing up what is expressed. As a result, this piece is vulnerable and open to criticism, of which I expect some)

All animals are self-interested. The desire to preserve themselves is uncontrollable. The Universe, believe it or not, is perfectly balanced in this respect; it allows for the expression of this instinct, because if it didn’t it would cease to exist. Ninety degrees north lies the northern most point of the earth; located within one of the most hostile environments in the world – the North Pole. At the risk of sounding as stereo-typically banal as the brave men and women who offer us a running commentary of our natural world for our supposed entertainment, allow me to make the following statement - a great battle for survival takes place in this environment – a battle fought between the inhabitants of this barren wasteland. Polar bears have been persecutor(y) (introspectively, for their own survival), while seals (mainly) have suffered persecution at their hands. But can either party be seen as good or evil, or does this cycle of persecution just act to reinforce the smooth running of the Universe?

When I was 18 my brother was tragically killed. At some point after that, and I’m not sure exactly when, I became two people. One essentially good, compassionate and sociable, and the other angry, obsessive, anti-social and out of control. I am now actively trying to kill the latter. I’ve systematically blamed this turning point in my life, if you can call it that, on me leaving everything I knew and transplanting myself into an emotional void.

Arrival

The United Kingdom can hardly be described as vast, but can most certainly be described as diverse, and daunting. I use these two terms in a seemingly ironic fashion in an attempt to describe the form my own mindset was abruptly molded into when I first set foot on this rock of opportunity. It's a crisp morning – the day after Valentine ’s Day and my father’s birthday - when the wheels of my very own life support system touch down on runway Infinity. And it is at that very moment that I, myself – in my own mind - touched down into my own, very personal, hell. Having left the sunny shores or Cape Town, South Africa, it's much more than the bleak and unforgiving weather which creates the surreal sense that I have made possibly the biggest mistake of my life.

I exit the aircraft and am immediately struck by the busy, blind and elusive atmosphere which characterises Heathrow Airport and which extends far beyond its walls. Baggage claim is a blur – I am still stuck in surrealism, my mind wrung into tiny creases; folded over itself in disorientation, uncertainty and dread. I need something familiar; something on which I could stake my claim and say, ‘yes, I know this’. That something is waiting for me just around the corner and even though I know that I, at the very same time, doubt it’s surety with every inch of my body and mind. I tug my bag off carousel Ambition in an almost automatic fashion. I am in much the same state as the Boeing 737-400 I had just disembarked was in for most of my flight – trimmed for straight and level flight; on autopilot.

Immigration. Every foreigner’s worst nightmare and every Zimbabwean’s recurring worst nightmare. Will my visa be valid? Will the thing my family had paid so much for; this stamp on one leaf of my passport hold up against the scrutiny of the juggernaut-like immigration officer who seems so determined to turn me back; so sure that I am not meant to be here. How could he even think for one second that I was meant to be here when I, myself, had thought quite the opposite up to this point. Standing in the long queue with all my colleagues from flight Determination, and others from other flights from other far away places, I try and pick out the nicest-looking and least intimidating immigration officer and, even though I know that my efforts are totally and utterly futile, I try to position myself so that when I’m stood at the judgment podium, she’s stood on the other side. Relief – my futile calculations seem to have worked; I’m faced with the immigration officer I’ve had my eye on since the back of the queue.

A quick hello, and then to business - no emotion, no attachment, just business. I hold out my passport, almost embarrassed at its emblem and green cover. I am certainly not a European; I barely qualify as an African with my passport held out in front of me. It’s funny how a little book can determine your fate. The bible saves people in much the same way that my passport can strip me of my dreams and destroy me. I feel naked and exposed holding it out in front of me. I place it on the brightly-lit table for my immigration officer’s perusal. She places the page housing my visa under an ultra-violet light to confirm or dispute its authenticity. I’m half expecting the page to merely disintegrate, and for armed guards (perhaps a specialist unit formed for this very purpose; to make the lives of Zimbabwean’s with unauthentic visas a living nightmare) to drop from the ceiling and crash through the windows all at the ready; waiting to ship me off to a detention centre or, worse, to send me back to the country of my birth. But, the sane half of me knows it will all be alright and that half prevails in the end. My immigration officer then checks a blacklist of Zimbabweans who are not allowed to enter the United Kingdom for political reasons. Here, again, my irrational mind takes over. Even though I know I cannot possibly be on that list, I’m still fearful. Sane wins in this instance, and Irrational is left wanting…again. Finally, I’m through. A quick medical questionnaire in a white and sterile room and I’m through. Ejected quickly from the airport building into the land of opportunity. I can’t wait.