Everything in time... eventually

In my life I have learnt not to fret about anything really... I have seen that all things that I wish for eventually does come to pass.

But there is a catch.

Power over self-esteem

What is it about power that it begs to be abused?

Parents use their power over their children countless times to often impose on-sided rules (because I said so!); siblings use it (whenever they get incriminating information on the other) against each other to get the upper hand and milk the opportunity to the last drop. Civil servants use it against the lowly citizen in my country (not to say anything of the politicians and their ever-growing network of close (closet?) family and friends, who use it to override the system and bask in undue privileges).

Religious leaders are no different, neither are school teachers or even boy scouts – if anyone has power over another and they know it, it is a difficult ask that they not abuse it when in a bind.

In my opinion this matter can be explained by universal low self-esteem and constant niggling doubt within oneself of ones inferiority. But how does this self-esteem issue manifest itself in an unsuspecting soul?

(And it does manifest itself into people's personality and is not something that one is born with or into, because how many young children have you met that admit they can't do something. Give a child an option and they will attempt it... they know no fear or possess no low self-esteem. The 'can-do' spirit epitomises itself in a child's innocence.)

Our self-esteem is categorically lowered (or attempted to) by people who surround us – people who fear their inadequacies may be exposed unless they can beat upon (literally or philosophically) and beat down another's self-esteem. An equation that makes me feel stronger by making you feel weaker. Those who can press down hard enough win the match.

This is not a human trait alone, it is what nature intends. Alpha males in lion prides to wolf packs dominate the group and enjoy the advantages of a submissive following. Only problem is that eventually someone else in the group wants to be the top banana and as a result the alpha male's position is constantly under threat from younger males in the group. The solution is to beat down on any potential threats so they that become less of it. But the only problem with that is that beating down only works as long as the alpha male remains the strongest or the most cunning – and nature sees to it that that does not always remain so.

As in nature, once the younger lion take over the pride by rising over the challenge the old lion posed. The victor then removes all potential threats by either killing them or sending them away.

Humans, of course, don't usually kill or banish threats (but it is known to happen, just not in general polite circles that most of us live in) but they inadvertently press their charges self-esteem down – in the noble efforts to keep their charges safe from the world.

But inside each child is a potential leader, and a quality that could be quashed by low self-esteem. It's just that power over the 'smaller' people has a blinding effect.

It is the rare man (or woman) that can rise above it – most just (reluctantly?) relinquish the power when they are out-gunned or out-witted. A father learns to let go; a mother learns that there is no more to nurture; a teacher learns that there is nothing else to teach; and a leader learns that the game is finally up.

A Talatism truth is that simply staying ahead through domination alone is like a wet-dream – a fantasy that can only end in a rude awakening and a potentially sticky mess.

Don't ask...

If in doubt... don't attempt (or ask)

Sometimes curiosity gets the best of us and we ask the question to an answer that deep down we fear is evident but hope is otherwise.

Some may call it a 'rhetoric' question,” but I see 'rhetoric' questions more as 'loaded' questions; and like loaded guns playing with them lightly might not always give the best results.

Let's look at four questions Do I look fat?; Isn't this vase nice? I love it; Would you kill for me?; Do you love me?

The answers are seemingly pre-determined, decorum dictates that the answers are, No, Yes, Yes & Yes, and in that order. However, while the questions may have seemingly evident answers, they are 'loaded' and so the responses should not be taken quiet for granted if there is reason for doubt.

Consider the following questions and their answers:

Q. Do I look fat?
A. No... but it depends, fat for a cow or a cat?

Q. Isn't this vase nice? I love it.
A. Yes... if it were a trophy for poor taste.

Q. Would you kill for me?
A. Yes... but better if you would die for me.

Q. Do you love me?
A. … er

The obvious answer should of course be a 'Yes' but according to a new report that I cam across over the internet recently was that when a Pennsylvania woman complained that her songwriter boyfriend had never written a song about her, he choked her and hit her in the face.

Apparently she complained to her boyfriend that while he had written songs about other women, he had never written about her.

So he hit her in the face.

The boyfriend has since been charged with simple assault (and is probably single again). He is currently free on bond awaiting a preliminary hearing, which is scheduled for July 25.

What did I read into this (or what should you read into it)? Well it is the basis to a Talatism truth that I discovered years ago. Don't ask if you really don't want an answer... and don't ask, more so, if in doubt. Some questions, if you have to ask, you already have the answers to as well.

Beware, a rhetoric question may often have too rhetoric an answer.

Losing perspective for the elderly

Never what you expect...

Slightly belated but I thought I should write a 'Father's Day' post. As a father myself I thought it would have been rather self-congratulatory... and that would be so out of my basic character (but again, maybe not).

I received this poem over electronic mail from my dad this morning that reminded me that while I am a father, I will always be a son too. And while I get lost in the day-to-day activities of fatherhood and acting the grown up in the family (a desperately up-hill battle for me), I admit I forget to give my father credit for all the work he has done.

While fatherhood is a thankless job... it is one that leaves you with moments of immense pride that is often times difficult to contain. Thanks enough, I think.

But when we age (and we all do), there are many things that we dream that never get done owing to pressures to always be mature and level-headed; even when it is out of character for aspirational young men with visions of conquering so much.

The bitter pill made even more so, when the very people around you fail to give you credit that you too once had dreams. Old people were once young, they too had dreams of falling in love, of romance. Moments of rebellion. They too had grade problems and worries of discipline's harsh hand; fears that they might not be good enough.

Then, by the time they conquer their dreams and overcome their hurdles they probably find that they have become too weary and spent... and old(er).

The poem that my dad sent me was penned by a man who had died in a geriatric ward of a home in Nebraska. The nurses discovered it among his meagre possessions. Copies were made and distributed. The poem became a powerpoint presentation and even appeared in a Christmas edition of a medical new journal. Eventually the poem has been making its way through the internet.

The tile speaks of his pain... the poem talks about his life and his dreams.

*

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses?... What do you see?

What are you thinking... When you're looking at me?

A crabby old man... Not very wise,

Uncertain of habit... With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food... And makes no reply

When you say in a loud voice... 'I do wish you'd try!'

Who seems not to notice... The things that you do.

And forever is losing... A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not... Lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding... The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?... Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse... You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am... As I sit here so still,

As I do at your bidding... As I eat at your will

I'm a small child of Ten... With a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters... Who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen... With wings on his feet

Dreaming that soon now... A lover he'll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty... My heart gives a leap.

Remembering the vows... That I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now... I have young of my own.

Who need me to guide... And a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty... My young now grown fast,

Bound to each other... With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons... Have grown and are gone,

But my woman's beside me... To see I don't mourn.

At Fifty, once more... Babies play 'round my knee,

Again, we know children... My loved one and me ..

Dark days are upon me... My wife is now dead.

I look at the future... I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing... Young of their own.

And I think of the years... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man... And nature is cruel.

Tis jest to make old age... Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles... Grace and vigor depart.

There is now a stone... Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass... A young guy still dwells,

And now and again... My battered heart swells

I remember the joys... I remember the pain.

And I'm loving and living... Life over again.

I think of the years . All too few... Gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact... That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people... Open and see...

Not a crabby old man Look closer... See... ME!!

*

This brings me to a Talatism truth I had coined about the people around me: We are not always what we think we are; we are not always what others think we are; but we sometimes become what we think others think we are.

My dad is not a crabby old man, he just thinks we think he is because he thinks we think he is. We don't think it. Isn't it time maybe you told your dad too? I think that would really be a “Father's Day.”

All things are never equal

People are generally very conscientious of their environment and their actions (or reaction) are reflected on how they perceive it.

I love it when people start a statement with the words “all things being equal” and then follow it up what they WOULD have done but didn't, to justify their actions to the contrary.

It is not a Talatism epiphany that “all things are never (if ever) equal”; what is though is that perceptions of things are always equal to the person's pre-conceived perpetuity index (or PPPI), which is again directly related to the 'association vanity index' or AVI (click for relevant post on AVI).

These two indices prompt us react the way we do... blame it on conditioning (and contradiction, insecurity and hypocrisy).

For example last week a New Mexico football player was offloaded from a US Airway flight from San Francisco International Airport and arrested, for refusing to follow crew member's requests to hike up his saggy pants.

Let me say immediately that I do not think saggy pants are in any way a fashion statement, rather a ploy by underwear marketing people to sell their over-priced wares and get free advertising to boot. Think about it.

Saggy pants are an abomination to good taste and decency – the 'gansta' look has equally ominous roots and is derived from prison inmates caught with trousers too big and no belt.

But I digress.

The offending football player

US Airways spokespeople justified their action to remove the football player from the flight because “while the airline does not have a dress code... we do ask that our passengers dress in an appropriate manner to ensure the safety and comfort of all our passengers.”

The collegian's expulsion (from the plane) and subsequent arrest would not have been much to write about had it not been for another similar story, about a passenger's "dress code," from the same airline (albeit different airport) resulting in a different turn of events.

In addition, this incident took place without fuss from anyone... six days BEFORE the saggy pants issue. US Airways allowed a man to board a flight in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, wearing an outfit that consisted in basically women's underwear and a short (and see-through) cover-up shirt.

The more acceptable man

In this case he was allowed to board and complete his flight. Seemingly there was clearly no concern for potential passenger “safety or (dis)comfort” here.

A US Airlines spokesperson defended the one against the other that “In the case of the gentleman flying of out San Francisco, it was ultimately not a matter of baggy pants. It was a matter of him not complying with crew instructions.”

Which simply means that real difference was that the crew had just failed ask the Florida man to cover up. Of course, how he would have reacted if he had been asked is up to speculation.

[WARNING: The image you see in this post is a doctored version (this a decent blog after all). Should you wish to see the actual image please click here.]

In my view a man with his (brand name?) underwear showing above his pants in public is still a lot more acceptable than a man in women's underwear (in public AND otherwise).

Bottom line the PPPI was too negative in the first case – after all, it seems, 'gangsta' out weighs 'pervert' when it comes to flying. (Perhaps the reasoning was that 'gangsta' is trouble for everyone; in comparison 'pervert' is only trouble for whom he or she targets).

*

As with the ridiculous I am reminded of a joke I read that defines in my mind the fact that things really ARE never equal:

An attractive girl goes into the doctor's rooms, chaperoned by an old crone.

“We've come for an examination,” says the attractive girl.

“Right,” says the doctor, “just go behind that screen and take off your clothes and I'll come and examine you.”

“No, it's not me. It's for my old aunt here,” replies the girl.

“Ah, I see,” says the doctor. “Ma'am, kindly stick out your tongue.”

Entitlement blues

As I watch my children grow, I know they have had a better life (as far has material gains are concerned) than I believe I had. By the same token I imagine that I had a better life than what my parents had (again this is where their beliefs come in); and so on and so forth.

Whether we take this 'evident' proposition backwards or forwards in our lives, we should come to a point where we discover that our fore-fathers had absolutely nothing to start off with or that our descendants will at one point have everything and more.

Question is, who is more entitled to the good life? Those who had nothing and had to struggle, or those who have been accustomed to having everything? Opinions may vary, but the correct answer should be 'both' (of course, if it is sustainable for both parties to have everything and more; it rarely is).

Then you have nature's greatest equaliser - what goes up must come down. A person's life is never up and up, but plagued with a few down cycles as well. There are generations that have their ups and downs, but stay level on average. And then there are generations that seemingly only have the ups with generations that follow with seemingly only downs.

However, the 'curse' of entitlement is 'raised expectations' when the next generation EXPECTS this generation to make sure that everything works out for them. My favourite example is the Calvin & Hobbes strip below (which I use (rather tongue and cheek) as an 'entitlement,' even though Bill Watterson slaved to draw it and should ideally be paid for it use here; see how contagious (and potentially litigation prone) entitlement can be?):

The entitlement blues hits most of us when we are down, because deep down we believe that we are good people and feel it absolutely unfair that bad things should happen to us.

Usually, when bad things happen to other people... it is easier to digest and relegate it to being part and parcel of life. This works two fold to our benefit because by lending a shoulder we look at ourselves as a better person (so it's easier to rationalise that bad things shouldn't really happen to us) and also simply because when we exit that door, we can leave all that hurt behind!

It is true that bad experiences only make us stronger, but given a choice how many would prefer to learn and only grow stronger by selfishly (albeit, never self-conscious of the fact) having to watch other people suffer those experiences on our behalf?

However, make no mistake, we'd rather have all the good fortunes happen to us. This might sound rather crude but how many of us have wished that we had the good fortunes of some of our neighbours because (dare I say it) we feel we deserve it more. I am definitely guilty of harbouring such sentiments from time to time, before I can catch myself. I chalk it down as human nature, but am not particularly proud of it (but then, neither should I be!). I also do NOT believe that I am alone in harbouring this sentiment either.

Good things come to those who wait. I have learnt that from experience. I have also learnt from experience that good things generally also happen to those who work towards it too. A Talatism truth, nay, a worldly truth, would be that we are only entitled to what we deserve but do not always deserve what we are entitled to.

As such deep revelations often do, it reminds me of a joke.

*

A man who had remained pious all his life and had nothing but utter devotion to his god, found himself on his prayer mat one night raising his hands in supplication asking that the lord grant him a worldly reward for his dedication.

“Oh Lord,” he cried, “let me win the lottery for all these years of complete servitude to your word.”

He prayed the same thing every night before he went to bed. Nothing happened, but a few weeks later his neighbour won the jackpot.

That night he lay again on his prayer mat in tears asking the good lord what he had done and why he was not allowed the prize for himself.

To his astonishment, as he raised his head, a cloud formed over him, it grew dark and a strong gust of wind shook the room he was in.

The clouds slowly parted, lightening flashed and a DEEP voice boomed down from the light above “Buy a Lottery ticket first!”

*

Sometimes it's only a matter of actually taking the steps towards receiving what we really feel entitled to.

Our opinions matter... mostly to ourselves

Speaking about the public toilet habits of total strangers (see previous day's post), a few days ago I came upon this amusing story in one of the daily vernaculars I read that talks a great deal about ego, and how far we fool ourselves in our self-worth.

I tried to look it up again to faithfully reproduce it here, but as these things go I can't find the newspaper I read it in. However, I am confident that I will come across it when I don't need it as I go back hunting in the stack of old papers to share some other dose of something that I read (which invariably I will fail to locate).

Anyway I will try to paraphrase from memory the incident that I read about.

*

The location for the story was an airport and the gentleman in question was in transit, waiting to catch a connecting flight. At some point during the wait he (let's call him, Adam) had to use the washroom.

A few minutes after he entered the stall, shut the door and sat down to his business, he heard a fellow traveller get into the stall next to his.

Soon, he heard a voice from the next stall (was that also a knock?)... "Hi there, how you doing?"

Our man was flabbergasted! He could not imagine what he should do, after all how can one strike up a conversation with a complete stranger while in the stall? Not knowing exactly what he should do though, he decided to just reply and hope that was that.

“I'm good thanks,” Adam replied rather awkwardly (clearly he was not in his comfort zone).

Silence. Sigh of relief... thanks God.

Then... "So, what are you doing?" came the same voice from the next stall.

Now our man thought this a bit too much! What the heck did this guy think Adam was doing in the stall? Deciding not to raise what EXACTLY he was doing at the moment, he politely replied "Well, I'm waiting to catch in flight in an hour..."

“Great, great,” came the reply, “mind if I pop in?”

Now this was outrageous! Mind if he popped in? Of course Adam minded! Who was this pervert? Adam riled up his courage (after all this could some sort of psychopathic goon) and strongly replied “I don't think so!”

The voice in the stall kept quiet at that it seemed.

Good, thought Adam, with relief, then he heard the man say "Look I'll have to call you back. Every time I ask you a question, this jackass in the next stall keeps answering me."

*

Well there you have it, while the toilet habits of strangers CAN at times be unsettling... it is no more fantastical than our own estimation of our self-worth sometimes.

A Talatism truth is that not everything we see, or hear, or feel is necessarily relevant to our lives or solely for our consumption; even when it seems at first directed at us.

The runaway 'ego' must be reigned in to the fact that we are not always the subject of discussion and that everything does not beg for our commenting upon.

I have heard people say that “opinions are like a@!holes... everyone has one.” Expanding on that hard truth, we should remind ourselves that “just because we might have one, doesn't necessarily mean that we need to expose it.” It is a big mistake to always take all things in life (especially oneself) too seriously.

This post itself could be an example. Heh heh.

Why so serious?

Not only am I not an child, I was not the first born. A circumstance that makes for both a (often times) easy and (mostly) troubled coming of age under an older sibling – especially since my older sibling had a penchant to mete out grossities (it should be a word!) the likes of which most people (other than possibly other first borns) could never imagine.

This is not to say that I was tormented, far from it, most times I probably did not have to pay for “our” crimes. As a relative rule across all families, irrespective of national or socio-cultural backgrounds, the prime directive was that the older sibling “was supposed to know better” than to lead the “less experienced, trusting younger sibling who only follows an example.” (If this write-up was a film, now would be the perfect frame to dissolve into a close-up of innocent fluttering eyes... sigh.)

Anyway my brother and I had a fairly fun time growing up, apart from the times (which were quite frequent when we were younger) when he was the dominating fiend of Dickensian lore – the sinister Fagin shadow over my poor naïve Oliver Twist rendition (dissolve to close-up of my innocent fluttering eyes).

We were like the musketeers, always together as we were growing up, with what I was possibly hoodwinked to believe was a “all for one, one for all” mantra. Which really didn't work because even when I supposedly took the “heat,” the prime directive took precedence... at least that is how I will always remember it.

Except for one instance in particular.

The crime for which my very life was threatened by my mother (who incidentally swore she would beat me to my death; I was witness to so much high drama from a tender age) has been long forgotten to the point that it might not have even registered in the first place during all that chaos and cacophony.

Truth be told that I had no recollection of this incident, but the 'event' was, on occasion, brought up with joviality thanks to the yellow-bellied reproach of my brother – the head musketeer! My mother remembers with great mischief that my brother requested her to wait to mete out her corporal punishment upon innocent me (close-up of... you get the picture) until he had left the room!

That story was a favourite of my mother's (she saw it as proof as my brother's devotion to me... huh?). Over the years that story also served as the root of an epiphany and the birth of a Talatism truth. Humour saves lives, and, more importantly, deflects the seriousness of the moment.

I'd imagine that my mother's harden resolve softened somewhat at my brother's request – clearly he had indicated by his action (no matter how cowardly I deemed it) that while he fully believed that my mum could accomplish what she has set out to do, he made it abundantly clear that he did not want to be a witness to the snuffing of a fragile flame. That softening of the resolve may be reason why I do not remember the incident – I am almost sure that an event such as a “beating to death” would be quite vividly etched into my psyche had it actually happened.

So there you have it. Humour puts most things into perspective – no thing (sic) is important or serious enough in life not to be able to see a lighter side. As I had discovered quite early that you shouldn't sweat the small stuff and that given the right perspective everything is small stuff. I suddenly realised that humour was the tool that helped put everything in the “right perspective.” Everything is worth a chuckle, lest we take things too seriously.

As for the memories of my formative years under the influence my domineering older sibling... we really did become like the musketeers and I have no doubt that it is “all for one and one for all” this time around.

Don't panic, re-evaluate

In my experience I find that a lot of otherwise level-headed people panic when they find themselves in an unexpected situation. Panic is of course a survival instinct that prods the body into either 'fight' or 'flight' mode.

Being a naturally docile, peace loving person my first option is never to fight; which, you will agree, would leave me, innate instinct-wise, only one real option – flight. But then you would be wrong.

In my opinion human beings must evolve beyond baser instincts to pause for a lightening speed re-evaluation of circumstances. Believe me if you haven't reacted in the split second, there is always time to re-evaluate.

For example the man on the bicycle will not be saved from injury as you barrel towards him at an idiotic speed if you see him and do not react in the split second – what will be will be after that instant; what is left is only time for re-evaluation.

When you think about it, in the example above, after that split second there are lot of options that are open: a) swerve, b) not swerve, c) swerve left d) swerve right, e) brace, f) brace with eyes open, g) brace with eyes closed, h) tighten up, i) loosen down, and j) look away (I am sure there are more, but you get the point). Gladly these lightening evaluation of circumstance happen in the subsequent sub-seconds that follow the first split second, and it happens rather automatically based on decisions that you brain had made before on your behalf and your basic character. An epiphany or a Talatism truth? You decide.

Given the circumstances, sometimes there is little to really do but make the most of it.

Which brings me to a rather peculiar news item filed by Reuters that I came across on the web about a german man who had to rescued by the mayor from a women's prison.

Apparently the man had walked into the women's prison without noticing while strolling about the town of Hildesheim. However by the time he had realised his error the jail gates had been closed, thus locking him inside (the two questions that beg to be asked, but unfortunately the story did not have the information, was 1) why the gates were open in the first place, and 2) if the gates was closed then someone closed it, it didn't just shut in a light draft – don't think prison gates are built that way).

Anyway, so what did this man do when he found himself locked in an all women's prison? He did what any red-blooded, testosterone-filled he-man would do in the circumstances, he downright panicked and started screaming for help.

Luckily Hildesheim city Mayor Henning Blum was passing by the prison and heard the man's cries for help (which only proves that our macho man was not too deep inside). The good mayor notified the police who subsequently came and freed the 24-year-old.

When questioned, the man said he had inadvertently entered the prison mistaking it as a shortcut to a nearby park. While the reuters report stated that the police said they were investigating why the prison gate was open in the first place, there was no information as to whether any inmates went strolling out into town as a result – perhaps to visit this alleged park nearby.

While I understand the high-voltage jolt of realisation the man might have experienced when it dawned on him what he had done and that obviously he was, like me, a pacifist and thus switching to 'fight' mode was not his first reaction, I am at pains to reconcile to the fact that he cried like a baby.

Perversions aside, being a man in a women's prison cannot be a bad thing. Obviously you don't belong and so at least you can be assured that you will NOT be allowed to remain inside and the way out is literally the way out. I mean the man was in a prison, filled with women, yes, but these women were caged away and the facility was also manned (pardon the pun) by law enforcers – it was not like he found himself as the only man in the middle of an Amazon women's tribe in heat.

In those circumstances, I will admit I could be seen panicking, not so much doubting my virility but because it could be such a bother...

Let’s start from the top

I was smarter when I was younger, not to say that I am not smart now or that I was ever smart then but it just seems so.

I think my intelligence (over-smartness, in some people’s estimations) came from a unique sense of perspective; something, I’m sure, my poor parents probably had a tough time reconciling with over the years. One of my first memories from school was “geography” and “mountains,” which was also the source of a life altering epiphany for me.

Now kids those days weren’t expected to know all about mountains or valleys, but what they were expected to know was what the ideas were. I had the basic information down pat, smart kid that I was; spelling, however, was a completely different matter, particularly BIG words like “M-O-U-N-T-A-I-N.” Eight letters not sequenced in the manner that my young fragile mind had committed to only just a few years ago.

I would think that most kids would diligently sit at the table and recite the sequence until they had it right and could spell the word on their own; but not me. It occurred to me fairly early in the exercise that in a test that would ask me what a ‘mountain’ is, there was no way to get around it without actually spelling the word in the question! You ask me what a ‘mountain’ is; at least I know how it is spelt.

While this might seem simple and straightforward, it set in me a sense of work ethic that ensured that I not waste time on avoidable details. Interestingly my brain, now not compelled to remember rewarded me by quickly absorbing the information!

This in a way probably explains how a lot of great inventions, such as the discovery of penicillin or flight, happened accidentally. Sometimes you miss the forest for the trees and all that kind of gakooky. So incredibly by asking my brain not to remember, what my brain was doing was by remembering what I asked it to do it was actually remembering what I had asked not to! An epiphany? Let’s just call it a Talatism.

Simply said we pay too much attention on the details and not so much on the facts. Like the time I got a ‘C’ in history or geography when I was in the fifth grade, my father was irritable until I pointed out that we’d laugh at the test sheet in five years. Naturally he was not much amused at the time, but I am pretty sure that at the end of those five years my grade was duly forgotten let alone matter.

Like they say, “don’t sweat the small stuff.” It’s nice to also know that given the right perspective (and time) “everything is small stuff.”