February 26, 2005

Why am I ... sitting on an anthill?

It’s a ritual, that’s what it is. An activity that’s little more than perfunctory. I’m not going to delve too deeply into the specifics of what I’m talking about because, to put it simply, there’s no need to. I think that many of us are guilty of engaging in mindless routines at one point or another.

I myself was engaged in a routine of this nature (ie. mindless) the other day when it suddenly hit me: why? Why am I here? Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this as opposed to say, lighting a match to my scrunchies collection or watching reruns of the A-Team?

Am I being driven by some deep-seated moral obligation? Is it the remnants of a conviction I experienced a year ago (which, by the way, has considerably watered down by now)? Is it simply because I’m a creature of habit? Do I partake in this ritual purely out of guilt? Am I doing this as a way to appease my conscience and to hopefully, alleviate my otherwise morally bankrupt existence? Or is it simply because I have nothing better to do? At the risk of sounding vague and elusive, I think it’s a combination of all the above.

I’ve always believed that unless I can come up with at least one compelling reason to do something, I shouldn’t be bothered to do it. I should always be ready to defend every decision I make – for instance, “I have decided to eat this banana instead of that Toblerone bar for breakfast because chocolate gives me hives.” Because if I’m unable to find a compelling enough reason, then why am I doing what I’m doing? Unless guilt is a compelling reason, thereby making this discussion purely self-indulgent and utterly pointless.

February 25, 2005

You Went To The ... Where?!


For someone whose idea of a perfect Saturday afternoon involves productive sessions of mall-hopping between shots of cappuccino, I'm probably the least ideal candidate for a ministry dedicated to the mentally and physically challenged. I've never been around these special "kids", I know next to nothing about them and patience doesn't rate too highly on my list of virtues.

But when the invitation to help out was extended to me, I accepted without hesitation. It was just an outing to the zoo. How hard could it be?

Lots of people who've never been exposed to special "kids" are uneasy around them, downright scared even. I was determined not to be one of those people but when the day came and I was surrounded by a dozen of these "kids", I felt uncertainty creeping in - uncertainty over exactly how to behave and what to expect. Rather ridiculous but my greatest worry at that time was that one of them might lash out and hit me - a fear which, by the way, never came to pass.

That day at the zoo, I was introduced to Linda, a short fair-skinned girl whose head was constantly bent down in fierce concentration on her shoes. I was later told why - being barefoot all the time at home, she wasn't used to cumbersome footwear. Being kept in the house most of the time, she was also uneasy around other people and remained mum during the first half of the outing. I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed - relieved because my fears of being violently thrashed seemed lost on Linda who appeared to be totally harmless; disappointed because she didn't seem too interested to respond to anything I said.

The entire train ride around the National Zoo was spent with Linda keeping her head stubbornly bent down. While the other special "kids" craned their necks to look out at the giraffes, elephants and tigers we passed, Linda seemed content with just staring at her shoes. Enthusiasm-pumped cries of, "Linda, look! There's the hippo! Wow!" were met with stony silence.

After the train ride, we were to take the "kids" walking around the zoo. That wasn't easy especially when Linda was insistent on kicking off her shoes and walking barefoot, leaving us struggling to put her shoe back on and re-tie the mud-soaked laces over and over again.

It was at the seal show when Linda gave up all resolutions to stay silent. She embarked on a steady stream of laughing, punctuated with occasional screaming and crying fits right in the midst of bewildered zoo visitors. It didn't help matters when she began hitting people, even going as far as attempting to hit a man innocently standing by the aquarium. As I looked the curious and sometimes, hostile expressions on the people's faces, I realised that society had to be exposed to these special "kids" just as much as they, the "kids", had to be exposed to people and not be kept locked hidden away.

Just like me, society's fear and reluctance to accept these special "kids" all boils down to ignorance. Spending a few short hours with Linda showed me that she was, in many ways, just as human as me - we both have our fears, we're terrified when thrown into unfamiliar territory and we're just as stubborn when it comes to getting our own way. By the end of the trip, the fear I'd initially felt vanished, paving the way for a sense of understanding tinged with sadness - sadness because so many of us don't take the time to understand, to sympathise or to care. Sadness because we don't realise how much we get back every time we decide to let these special "kids" into our lives. And sadness because this description fit me more than anyone else.

It was that day at the zoo when I realised just how beautiful these special "kids" really were. Because of these disabilities, they never really "grow" up. They never really learn hatred, bitterness, suspicion and unforgiveness - characteristics that signify our entry into adulthood. There's a vulnerability, an innocence and a sense of trust that's rare and so refreshing. When Linda grabbed my hand in fear of slipping on the muddy ground, I felt like I was holding the hand of a little baby despite her age being so close to mine.

That day at the zoo, I may have missed out on all the animals we were supposed to see but I gained something much more important - I am now a step closer to understanding and empathising with people who are different from me, less fortunate than me. And that, to me, is a lot more important than knowing how many stripes there are on a zebra's back.

February 21, 2005

Life: Whever you go, there you are?

Milan Kundera said this about a character in his book Immortality: that his marriage was just an episodic event; a parenthesis in his life after which he returned precisely to the place he’d been before he met his bride. That struck a chord in me. That my own relationship was, in many ways, a parenthesis in my life, leaving me back at the place I was before I met him. Little has changed. I mean, true, on a superficial level, yes, I have gained some experience and my views of certain issues have been irrevocably altered, but fundamentally, I feel almost as if I’ve returned to the embryo stage of romantic relationships. I feel pretty much right now the way I did six years ago.

Is what Kundera said true? That no matter what happens in our lives, we inevitably come one full circle back to the point where we first began? This would be fine if that starting point were something positive but I’m pretty sure, for most of us, it isn’t. I mean, that’s the reason why we moved from it in the first place, isn’t it? Because it isn’t where we intend to stay and yet, we are unwittingly drawn back to it against our will … or is it actually in our will and in some twisted way, fully in our control, and we’re orchestrating events in such a manner that we cannot help but return to point A?

Are we really in control of what happens in our lives or are we simply puppets dancing on a stage? A series of events already drawn up in ink for us? Over which we have little control? I’m not one to resign to fatalism but I can’t help but wonder: do we each have a recurring theme in life from which we cannot escape? If this is the case, then hope is the greatest fallacy of all – it merely gives us sufficient delusion to carry on in a misguided cloud of optimism until we come to the end of our life and realise that hey, we are right back where we started.

Am I bouncing along the right vein of thought or is this something to which everyone has given considerable thought? Is this an experience that is collective and therefore, not exclusive to me? Am I arrogant in assuming that, of all the billions of people in this world, I’m the only one nursing such ideas? Am I thinking needlessly? Probably.

It’s just unsettling to me that life might just comprise nothing more than a series of parentheses after which we find ourselves back at square one. In a way, that last bit does hold a nugget of truth that’s worth pondering over. We’re made from dust and to dust we return when we die. That’s a cycle, isn’t it?

We start off with childhood, go through the mundane rigours of life only to return to what we term as our second childhood in old age. Is it possible that this pattern is played out in every other aspect of life as well? That everything is a cycle? This certainly brings new meaning to the little joke “Wherever you go, there you are”. When put this way, it’s a wonder why the hell anyone makes the effort to go anywhere.

February 11, 2005

Baby fever: coming one full circle


I’ve always wondered... what do people see in children and babies? Women who do not have children yearn for these little bundles of joy, while those who do often wish the little tykes would just disappear and not reappear till they’re old enough to bring home a steady paycheck.

What’s the deal with baby fever? I’m talking about intelligent women with a full-functioning heads on their shoulders who are actually eager to go through childbirth - one of the most horrific things to which you can subject your body. Nine months of walking around looking like someone just planted 15 pounds of explosives in your tummy, getting morning sickness and wearing atrocious maternity clothes from Mommy Fashions?

Despite all the pregnancy facts published in books, women the world over continue to ache for this torture. In my mind, this sort of treatment should only be inflicted when the woman is evil, has killed somebody, or burnt an animal activist’s house. It shouldn’t be inflicted on innocent women simply because they seem to want it so badly.

So women get their wish and get pregnant. And what do they have to show for nine months of pain? A tiny, fist-clenching, leg-kicking version of George Burns. One look at that little newborn and all at once, you understand the saying ‘only a mother could love something like that’. If nothing else, your faith in unconditional love is restored.

The woman is now satisfied that she’s given birth and Baby takes his time growing up. It’s an incredibly long process because it’s only after five or six months that he even begins to vaguely resemble a human being. This is when Baby enters a stage when he hates everybody, sulks continuously and takes up the sport of clapping.

Then he says his first word, has his first tooth, and if you’ve had the misfortune of being blessed with a bald baby, his first strand of hair. Everything is documented and everybody in the family becomes a historian. Entries are made into leather-bound journals bearing the name ‘BABY’: "15th March 2001, Baby has lunch. Baby burps twice; Baby is en route to becoming a real man!"

Then along comes the Terrible Twos. This is when Baby becomes the terror of the neighbourhood. He takes to biting people and pulling your hair. And for reasons unknown to man, every family member seems to find this absolutely adorable.

Soon, Baby goes to preschool, convinced he’s going to become somebody great once he grows up.
"What do you want to be, son?"

"A rocket scientist! I want to be a rocket scientist!"

"My, what an ambitious little man you are!"

"Or an astronaut! And fly to the moon! I want to fly a spaceship!"

Adolescence sets in and his ambitions begin to change. Baby is now old enough to now realize just how much work it will take to become a rocket scientist. This is also the point when he realizes that he hates studying and decides to bank on a career that doesn’t require dressing up in suits, speaking in full sentences or counting past 10. His choices are now narrowed down to rock star, harmonica extraordinaire and WWF referee.

Adolescence flies by and soon, you are faced with Baby’s graduation and his very first job as an accountant. (It’s important to note that all ambitious talk basically amount to nothing. Extensive research has shown that 95% of all male babies grow up to become accountants while the remaining 5% wind up as used car salesmen).

Time zooms past and one day, you feast your eyes on Baby’s first paycheck. You also feast your eyes on your cut: a whopping RM15. Your joy is finally complete.

Three months down the road, Baby is confirmed in his new job. He gets a pay raise and your cut climbs up to RM20. He also takes you out to dinner in a fancy shop near his office. Life doesn’t get any better than this. It almost makes up for all the suffering you’ve gone through. Almost but not quite. That will come only when he marries a woman who’s just like you.