Filed under: A Lateral Projection, Daily Chronicles, Ponder-Wonder Quotes, Testimonials
I always break down into tears when I watch this…
Have everyone look down on you… and slap them back with talent!
THE 19th SACRED MIRROR: CHRIST
Jesus said, “When you make the two one, and when you make the inside like the outside and the outside like the inside, and the above like the below, and when you make the male and female one and the same… then you will enter the Kingdom of God.”
Gospel of Thomas
Created during the early 1980s, Alex Grey’s painting of Christ is part of a twenty-one life-sized framed images, the installation of the Sacred Mirrors series, currently residing in the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors. Just like the other images, Christ is forty-six by eighty-four inches and presents a life-sized figure directly facing the viewer, arms to the side and palms forward. “This format allows the viewer to stand before the painted figure and “mirror” the image. A resonance takes place between one’s own body and the painted image, creating a sense of “seeing into” oneself” (Grey 32). The series of twenty-one paintings can be divided into three sections: Body, Mind, and Spirit. Grey sought to present a journey-like experience as viewers progress through the Great Chain of Being — and the experience is essentially this: the unfolding and developmental sequencing from the lower to the higher modes of knowing and perceiving. It is as Wilber notes, the transpiration of the different eyes: “the eye of flesh, which discloses the material, concrete and sensual world; the eye of the mind, which discloses the symbolic, conceptual and sensual world; and the eye of contemplation, which discloses the spiritual, transcendental world” (Grey 9). Viewers progress from sensibilia (phenomena that can be perceived by the Body), to intelligibilia (objects perceived by the Mind), and in breaking the ego, activates transcendelia (spiritual perception). The Christ painting is situated in the spirit section alongside a painting of Avalokitesvara and Sophia. And although the artist’s medium is almost always sensibilia — for the work is within the realm of matters: paint, canvas, linen etc. — the critical question, as Wilber puts it, is this: “Using the medium of sensibilia, is the artist trying to represent, depict or evoke the realm of sensibilia itself, or the realm of intelligibilia, or the realm of transcendelia? … we add the crucial ontological question: “Where on the Great Chain of Being is the phenomenon the artist is attempting to depict, evoke, or express?” (Grey 10).”
“In the Sacred Mirrors, Christ is shown resurrected, surrounded by golden light, with two angels: Gabriel (left) is holding a book on which a symbol of the trinity appears; Michael (right) exhibits the compassion that subdues evil but does not kill it. A flaming infinity band of love encircles the Sacred Heart, and whirling six-pointed stars on either side of Christ’s head refer to Christ’s mystical origins. The six-pointed star symbolizes the primal unity of heaven and earth and the divine Father and Mother. According to the Gnostic Gospels, Christ taught that the Godhead was both male and female; he referred to both his heavenly Father and Mother (which has become the Holy Ghost or Holy Spirit).” (Grey 38)
Grey’s Christ is spiritual in the deepest sense. Thus, in answering the question posted previously, it is situated on the highest hierarchy on the Great Chain of Being. It does not seek to merely portray a highly stylized Jewish messiah, nor two calm-colored angelic figures, nor random placement of mystical religious symbols; it does not seek to educate the eye of the mind and provide intellectual nourishment nor does it seek to merely disclose “the world of ideas, symbols, concepts, images, values, meanings, and intentions (Grey 9)”; rather, “it springs from the dimension of nondual and universal Spirit, which transcends (and thus unites) both subject and object, self and other, inner and outer… Art created in this nondual awareness offers direct access to nondual Spirit” (Grey 14). It is as Grey intends it: “to realize and activate the essential truth that [Christ] was ([as]we are) “The Word made flesh” — a direct channel for the love and healing energy of God” (Grey 37). As Beckett recapitulates — concerning spiritual arts in general — “This understanding may well be activated, intensely so, but in the activating a real change takes place. The vehicle, to repeat the image, moves on its own. Whatever the conceptual insights that accrue to those who practice their religion, the pictorial power comes non-conceptually. It effects what it signifies… but the mind may be aware only of the impact of some mysterious truth. This is the essence of spiritual art. We are taken into a realm that is potentially open to us, we are made more what we are meant to be” (Beckett 7).
POST-MODERNISM: SEEKING EVOLUTION RATHER THAN REVOLUTION
Before understanding Grey’s Christ, I believe it is essential that we first come to terms with the context and conventions that which inspires the aspirations of the artist. Plunged in an era of ‘ism’s, the “Post-Modern Age is a time of incessant choosing” (Jencks 7). Once in Modernism we see the repudiation of all traditional styles that preceded it, and this is evident in the various art movements that sprang like mushrooms during that era: cubism, surrealism and the notorious dadaism to name a few, now we see yet another tide of change. An overture that seeks “to take stock of the old as well as absorbing the shock of the new” (Collins 9). We, as Collins notes, “stand at a point where it may be avant-garde to be rear-guard. We are searching for a design vocabulary which extends beyond basic language and basic structure.” And in this search, confusion is inevitable. The job at hand is thus to eclect traditions from the past and present. If successful, it “will be a striking synthesis of traditions; if unsuccessful, a smorgasbord” (Jencks 7). This characteristic of eclecticism does so little at alleviating the confusion than it is at exacerbating it. Notice Jencks’ apparent lack of definition for the value of the word “successful.” Who, where and what are the defining line(s)? Thus here, amidst the confusion we see that it is the bearing of subjectivity in which we are so open to that ultimately and fundamentally sets us assail, as Jencks notes, on a scale “between inventive combination and confused parody… often getting lost and coming to grief.” Nonetheless, upon this plane of infinite possibilities the combination and permutation of the past and the present grants, one cannot deny the “great promise of a plural culture with its many freedoms.” Indeed, “pluralism, the ‘ism’ of our time, is both the great problem and the great opportunity” (Jencks 7).
For some, Post-Modernism killed Modernism. For others, it is an extension. My opinion lies with the latter. Taking a cue from Efland, “if modernism is the style that repudiates past styles, then the postmodern style that repudiates the modern can be seen as maintaining the modern tradition” (Efland 11). From this logic, how can one movement repudiate another while maintaing the essences of the repudiated? It is only reasonable to view Post-Modernism as an extension of Modernism. In Postmodern Art Education: An Approach to Curriculum, Efland forwards Jencks‘ use of hyphenation “because [Jencks] believes that post-modern art still contains many aspects of modern art, but these have been added to, adopted, or embellished… [thus] by hyphenating the word, “modern” maintains its integrity as a word” (Efland 31). Defining Post-Modernism, Jencks claims that it is “that paradoxical dualism, or double coding, which its hybrid name entails: the continuation of Modernism and its transcendence” (Jencks 10). In this convention of confusion, Alex Grey finds himself ‘eclecting’ traditional Sacred Art and Psychedelic Art — a fusion which produces the unique Visionary Arts of the Sacred Mirrors.
SACRED ART: SPIRITUAL HEALING
“… the Now of our present life and the mystical closeness of God can seem in opposition. The Now is down here, material, busy about many things, pressured. The Mystical is up there, spiritual, free floating… St. Augustine held that the human heart is restless until it finds rest in God” (Beckett 5).
In The Mystical Now Art and The Sacred, Beckett highlights the disparity between religious art and spiritual art. According to his theory, “religious art, that most demanding of the genres, may bring us to prayer by virtue of its religiousness rather than by its art” (Beckett 6). How one is effected by the art depends on his/her depth of faith. Religious images are seen as art that instigate the viewers to pray. They “do not necessarily take the believer any further. They do not per se, deepen the faith of those who contemplate them – they [merely] activate it.” Thus, the quality of the art is not of highest priority. Beckett’s case illustration of the Russian Orthodox use of the ikon best exemplifies how the art “is in itself an act of profound faith [as] the artist prays and fasts, preparing his or her heart for the work of devotion that will be the painting.” Wilber, in regard to Grey’s Sacred Mirrors series forwarded Michelangelo’s selfsame belief: “…it is not sufficient merely to be a great master in painting and very wise, but I think that it is necessary for the painter to be very moral in his mode of life, or even if such were possible, a saint, so that the Holy Spirit may inspire his intellect” (Grey 12).
Spiritual art on the other hand, is “the artistic depiction/expression of [the artist’s own soul, right up to the point of union with universal Spirit and transcendence of the separate self or individual ego], particularly in such a way as to evoke similar spiritual insights on the part of the observers” (Grey 13). As Beckett points out, “it is this truth… that makes spiritual art so important to us. It is not a substitute for religion, but for those who have no other access to God it is a valid means of entering into that numinous dimension that alone makes the ‘incomprehensibility’ not only bearable but life-giving” (Beckett 9).
Grey’s Christ is both religious and spiritual in its essence. Though non-believers may comment on the 2-dimensional cartoonish portrait as one of a severe lacking in artistic skills, the radiating light from the Christ’s head and body are sure reminders to believers that “[He is] the light of the world,” John 8:12. It is as Beckett notes: “By illustrating, [the image] reminds, and the believer wants that reminder, takes it gladly and uses it as a means to God. For the believer as such, the actual quality of the art is unimportant – the work stands or falls by its ability to raise the mind and heart towards truths of faith” (Beckett 6). Upon further contemplation on the Christ figure, the light begins to encapsulate the viewer, and the art does not reside in simply raising the “mind and heart towards truths of faith”, but transcending the realms of sensibilia and itelligibilia, these truths of faith is alleviated into the realm of transcendelia. In my personal experience, and perhaps this is by and large due to the way the Sacred Mirrors book is designed, to lead from body to mind, and mind to spirit, and the juxtaposition of Christ in between Avalokitesvara and Sophia, I suddenly felt a deep connection from within my own personal faith as a Christian and to that of the other faiths — as if breaking out of my comfort zone, the cage in which I was brought up to believe in that if I leave, I will go to hell… my spirit wandered and contemplated the idea — and this was an area I had never dreamed to venture — that perhaps just like many rivers that lead to the selfsame blue expanse we call “sea”, so does our religions lead to one universal Godhead. The experience was bewildering and I must admit that I’m still in that phase of confusion. Echoing the words of Beckett, “[perhaps this] is also why so many people unconsciously fear and resist art. We may not want to become aware of suppressed and unrecognized aspects of ourselves… fallen creatures, ego-lovers, nomads in a world that we both love and feel alien to… ‘We have forgotten who and what we are.’ And art… ‘makes us remember that we have forgotten.‘ This is painful. It is also our best means, apart from direct contact with God, of discovering that interior integrity” (Beckett 9). Reiterating Grey’s purport, Christ is essentially a painting for viewers “to realize and activate the essential truth that [Christ] was ([as]we are) “The Word made flesh” — a direct channel for the love and healing energy of God” (Grey 37).
PSYCHEDELIA: PEEPING INTO THE ANTIPODES OF THE MIND
“On June 3, 1976, we simultaneously shared the same psychedelic vision: an experience of the Universal Mind Lattice. Our shared consciousness, no longer identified with or limited by our physical bodies, was moving at tremendous speed through an inner universe of fantastic chains of imagery, infinitely multiplying in parallel mirrors. At a super-orgasmic pitch of speed and bliss, we became individual foundations and drains of Light, interlocked with an infinite omnidirectional network of fountains and drains composed of and circulating a brilliant iridescent love energy. We were the Light, and the Light was God.”
Allyson and Alex Grey
According to Robert E.L. Masters and Jean Houston’s Psychedelic Art, “the psychedelic artist is an artist whose work has been significantly influenced by psychedelic experience and who acknowledges the impact of the experience on his work” (Masters 17). Both authors furthers the idea that the provision of “intelligence, feeling, imagination, and talent” (Masters 18) is made by the artist and not the chemical. The psychedelic experience is merely another experience, though the artist may draw inspiration from it just as he or she draws inspiration from any other experiences. “Where artists of the past traveled to the ends of the earth, these new artists travel inward, to what Aldous Huxley called the antipodes of the mind – the world of visionary experience” (Masters 18).
In the case of Alex Grey, his artworks aren’t so much as a fusion of psychedelia and spirituality as it is a derivation of one from the other. Though psychedelic substances does not necessitate a spiritual experience, and hence give birth to spiritual art, its potential to do so is unquestionable. Though to some, psychedelic experience is merely the feeling of a distorted consciousness, many however regard the alteration of consciousness as a means to withdraw from the individual self and to be in tandem with the universal self, “a transformative contact with the Ground of Being” (Grey 31). Hence, psychedelic experience isn’t just the experience of a distorted mind but rather, a mystical one. As Masters and Houston note: “The art is religious, mystical: pantheistic religion, God manifest in All, but especially in the primordial energy that makes the worlds go, powers the existential flux. Nature or body mysticism: the One as an omnisensate Now (Masters 81).” And in very much the same way shamans employ methods of “intoxication, sex, nudity, physical abuse, and self denigration” (Grey 18) to contact the spirit world, one of Grey’s “portals to the mystical dimension” is psychedelic drugs. Reiterating what I said before, spirituality is in Grey’s case, derived from psychedelia. His psychedelic visionary artworks in the Sacred Mirrors series is thus also, his spiritual mystical artworks. They all convey “the spectrum of consciousness from material perception to spiritual insight; and function… as symbolic portals to the mystical dimension” (Grey 31).
THE TRANSFIGURATION OF VELZY TO GREY
Born Alex Velzy, young Alex had demonstrated extreme concern towards the polarity that existed within the self and the universe; a monomania towards the opposing forces of spirit and matter. For the most part of his adolescent years, he was “consumed by the idea that the conflict of opposites was the underlying principle of the cosmos” (Grey 20). This lead to various formalized insights regarding polarities, chiefly the polarity of life and death. As Jung has noted, “Just as all energy proceeds from opposition, so the psyche too possesses its inner polarity, this being the indispensable prerequisite for its aliveness… Both theoretically and practically, polarity is inherent in all living things.” Similarly, the philosophy of Taoism states that the macrocosm as well as the microcosm is constructed on the principle of complementarity expressed as Yin and Yang (Grey 20). This monomania towards polarity, evident even in his early artworks — as early as 5 years old! — slowly consumed him, driving him into madness. Essentially, it was as Grey exclaims, “a search for ‘something’.” Perhaps it was to gain insightful understanding of the two opposing forces, perhaps it was find a place between the two forces, perhaps it was to discover a language unbounded by the principles of polarity… “As the polarity pieces developed, Grey’s shamanic method of personal realization, or what could be interpreted as a descent into madness, was greatly intensified” (Grey 20). This however, ended with Polar Wandering, a pilgrimage to the North Magnetic Pole where he ran nude in circles after the needle of a compass which, due to the convergence of magnetism, had spun hysterically. In regard to the out-of-body trance state he experienced within himself while performing the ritual, Grey expressed: “I felt I had dissolved into a pure energy state and become one with the magnetic field surrounding the earth” (Grey 13).
“After I returned from the North Magnetic Pole, flat broke, I realized that my performance were an exhaustive desperate search for ‘something.’ And although I called myself an agnostic existentialist, I challenged “God, whatever that is” to appear to me. Within twenty-four hours the following two life changing events occurred: At a party I took LSD for the first time. Sitting with my physical eyes closed, my inner eye moved through a beautiful spiraling tunnel. The walls of the tunnel seemed like a living mother of pearl, and it felt like a spiritual rebirth canal. I was in the darkness, spiraling toward the light. The curling space going from back to gray to white suggested to me the resolution of all polarities as the opposites found a way of becoming each other. My artistic rendering of this event was titled the Polar Unity Spiral. Soon after this I changed my name to Grey as a way of bringing the opposites together.”
Alex Grey
This theme of ‘resolute’ polarity became one of the many themes apparent in the Sacred Mirrors series. In Christ, the existential polarity of good and evil as depicted through the symbol of the trinity on a book Gabriel (left) bears and the demonic serpent upon Michael’s (right) foot form the base of the triangular shape in which the Christ figure and the angelic figures form, combined. These opposing forces however, is given very little regard as the angels’ gaze are on neither but rather, adjusted upward towards the messiah’s head, the zenith of the triangle. Thus, Grey conveys the idea that the struggle of polarities are but base concerns in the light of divinity. The spiritual or universal, is nondual. When contemplating on Christ, “the viewer momentarily becomes the art and is for that moment released from the alienation that is ego. Great spiritual art dissolves ego into nondual consciousness, and is to that extent experienced as an epiphany…” (Grey 14).
A BRIEF COMMENTARY ON CHRIST
One of the common traits of Post-Modernism is the practice of “appropriation”. “Loosely, appropriation refers to the artistic recycling of existing images” (Getlein 553). In the case of Christ, the central figure of the messiah is Grey’s recycling of existing Christian images. Appropriating the messiah to incorporate numerous other symbols (i.e. the Eye of Providence, the Star of David, the Holy Trinity etc.), Grey thus creates a Christ figure that is both familiar and alien at the same time. The figure retains nuances of old conventions of portrayal as such the long curly hair, thick beards, robes, and the use of halos but nonetheless offers novelty in that we see the replacement of nail-holes with the Eye of Providence symbol, illumination of scars and Grey’s own unique “infinity band of love.” Reiterating Jencks‘ definition of Post-Modernism art, it is “that paradoxical dualism, or double coding, which its hybrid name entails.” Interpreting “paradoxical dualism” as “nondualism”, Grey’s Christ depicts essentially the contradictions as non-contradictions: the old as new and the new as old, both sides assimilated as one.
This concept of nondualism, “polar unity” as Grey coins the term, can also be seen through the depiction of space within the image. Here, finite space coexists with infinite space. While space is depicted through the radiating light, lines that converges toward the figure’s heart, the somewhat cartoonishly painted figure and the highly symmetrical balanced posture (even the robe draping to the left is balanced with the float on the right!) makes the image appear extremely flat. Ergo one may actually see depth and no depth at the same time; space and no space simultaneously. Furthermore, there are four triangular shapes in the image, all which functions as not only symbolic conception, but also arrows that imply lines that direct the viewers point of sight. As mentioned previously, the Christ figure along with the two angelic figures forms an illusionary triangular shape with the head of the Christ at the shape’s zenith. The other three traingulars can be found on the messiah’s palms and on the book. Note that all three of these triangulars point upwards towards the messiah’s head. It is only natural that the viewer, facing the life-sized image of Christ, winds up contemplating on the messiah’s face… staring deep into the figure’s illuminated eyes and have them stare back, activating — if even for a moment — the viewer’s spirit into the realm of transcendelia.
“The artist must train not only his eye but also his soul, so that it can weigh colors in its own scale an thus become a determinant in artistic creation” (Grey 13). What impresses me the most of Grey’s Christ is not merely his ability to select and mix colors of high values but rather, the ability to illuminate them. At close inspection, one will notice that upon the messiah’s skin are thousands of small stripes of brushstrokes, lacerations of colors such as light blue, green, indigo etc. – colors that has very low intensity. Up front, these strokes of random colors look extremely out of place upon the brownish-yellow color of the figure’s skin. From a distance however, the effect of “optical color mixture” sets in. Loosely speaking, it is the effect of the eye blending different colors that are close together to produce a new color (Getlein 99). Thus, instead of weird nonsensical colors randomly scattered around the image, the viewer’s eyes registers them as one color: the color of illumination. It is the kind of color that looks like a bright light, glowing off the surface of the Christ. I personally find Grey’s incorporation of this optical illusion technique to be extremely captivating.
SOME CONCLUSIONS
“A shaman is one who embarks on a path that challenges the norms of society – its values, imagery, and scared cows – in order to achieve the healing powers and wisdom that are its goals. He or she stands in opposition to society’s highly developed, mutually agreed upon perception of reality that forms the collective dream of sleepwalking humanity.
Transculturally, the shamanic process involves an initiatory phase in which the shaman meets his/her animal allies and descends to the underworld. After confronting death in some dramatic event he/she is “reborn” and ascends to the higher worlds to meet helpful spirits. Along the way the shaman receives his or her healing powers and visions” (Grey 18)
Carlo McCormick
I personally love the shaman analogue McCormick draws to that of Grey’s transfiguration. More than the artworks, my deep appreciation towards Grey lies within the story of his life as an artist. The constant questioning; the passion and drive in search of that “something”, as McCormick compares it to the shaman’s path, which placed Grey at the brink of Madness; the necessary strides of confusion… Whenever I look at Christ, or any images from the Sacred Mirrors series for that matter of fact, it is not the transcendental abilities of the images that inspires me — though I do not deny the fact that Grey’s mastery in expressing the Spirit is no less than profound — but rather, the transfiguration which is so immanent behind every brush stroke. The transfiguration of a confused boy, a boy in search of that “something”… I don’t really know how to explain this feeling I get when I look into Grey’s artwork. Somehow, whenever I flip through my Sacred Mirrors book, I don’t feel alone… I feel… understood.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Beckett, Wendy. The Mystical Now Art and The Sacred. New York: UNIVERSE, 1993.
Collins, Michael. Towards Post-Modernism. New York: New York Graphic Society, 1987.
Efland, Arthur, Kerry Freedman, Patricia Stuhr. Postmodern Art Education: An Approach to Curriculum. Virginia: The National Art Education Association, 1996.
Getlein, Mark. Living with Art. 1985. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2008.
Grey, Alex, Ken Wilber , and Carlo McCormick. Sacred Mirrors The Visionary Art of Alex Grey. Vermont: Inner Traditions International, 1990.
Grey, Alex. Transfiguration. 2001. Vermont: Inner Traditions International, 2004.
Jencks, Charles. What is Post-Modernism? 1986. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1987.
Masters, E.L. Robert, and Jean Houston. Psychedelic Art. New Jersey: Balance House, 1968.
With a Dad that drives at an average 70 km/hour (his max was but a mere 90 km/hour), the journey down to K.L. was nothing short of a vexing tedium. Despite Flea’s funky bass riffs and those acid pours of Frusciante’s desperately sounding a tune in the background, the season’s nimbuses shed but ominous glooms o’er the expanse in which we traversed; cast not lights but blights to our souls as hills hunched of blackness and trees bent of heavy, sour dew… -and then, even favorites like “Dani California” and “Charlie” registered not as Grammy worthy tracks but blaring cacophonies to the likeness of a fish market. This though, was ironically in accordance to the discordance of our state. Yet to mark the spot which pricks the most, Dad’s slowness is of course the worst; A trait he obstinately takes a boast, for want of safety says he “Slow drives best!”
And so we reached Subang pretty late at night. To embark in noon and to dis’ under moon is proof of a journey much prolonged. We got out of the car stiff as logs with our asses all crammed and agonizingly tight. It is as if those cushions are made to harm. You can picture millions of tiny razors built just below the surface of the seat, waiting for an ass to victimize. Bloody Honda seats. And whats worst is that the whole process of Ass-cell-genocide doesn’t happen tout de suite. Those razors, they strike gradually. So that when you finally realize that your ass is in harm’s way, some sort of a massive massacre had already been executed. There’s no saving it though. You can move your ass to the right or to the left and shake them razors off a while but eventually, your ass’s still gonna lay back on that platform of built-in blades.
Moreover, no matter how many times you shake them razors off, there’ll still be blades protruding forth. Honda made spares. They are all in that sit! All of em’! Like battalions, the first wave emerges, pierces and when you shake em off, the second wave awaits. Shiny and ready to poke. And even if you shake these off, there’ll be the third, the fourth, the fifth and so on. There’s no escaping them. These razors will continue piercing your ass until certain nerves are severed, rendering your ass in a state of concussion. What follows next are the choking of your ass cells. I don’t know how these blades do it. But hey, they’re made in Japan. So they choke and they choke and then you feel those crams all around your ass.
Finally, when these blades have finished extirpating every single one of em cells, that’s when you can’t feel your ass. You say the seat makes your ass numb and that the seat is a lousy one. What you don’t realize is that these seats are sophisticatedly designed with Japan’s best technology. Constructed for a sole purpose: that is to destroy your ass. I’m pretty sure there’s some politics behind it. A different sort of tacit war waging. I’m not too sure myself. Whatever it is, don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Anyways, the next day, I was awaken by a rustling of some sort. Clearing the mind haze took quite a while. The previous rustle had shaken me off balance and just as I was about to get back into the room’s state of still equilibrium, a swift movement of something set me off again. I was quite confused. The morning mind haze clouded most of my senses, Oh wait, this time I have only one sense. I could tell that it was morning because it was much hotter below than it was above. I was also well assured by them deep sonorous snores that sounded like Joel’s. He always sounded like he was choking on air. But I tell you, I had nothing to do with it.
This time around I could focus better and was much ready to not go out of balance if that thing decides to rustle me again. Sometimes when I tip over, people thing there’s spirits in the room and they get all freaked out. Can’t really blame them though, to fall off balance when there’s nothing to support the flow would definitely look unnatural. And people dislike unnatural things. Though usually if the vacuum space is really large and if we really can’t withstand the suction, we’re allowed to go off balance for a while. But overdoing it, that’s when you get fired. My friends from the other spaces, or what they call ‘rooms’ were already awake. I could sense from my space that they weren’t too happy. Lots of people movement setting them off balance at too early an hour.
Then suddenly, I heard a loud “Bang!” and felt a suction so great I couldn’t keep my still. Most of me were pulled towards the direction of the sound while the rest of me remained in the middle of the room. I decided to focus on myselves that had just been moved and leave the other selves on ‘auto’. From where I was focusing, I realized a door had been opened as I was able to feel the presence of my other friends. “It must be Joel’s Mum,” I thought since she always opens the door with such force it almost always creates a whirlpool-like vacuum that inevitably tips me off and sucks me in. From the sound waves (and this time I am very sure it is his Mum because she emits a distinct high frequency wave), I heard her saying about some taxi that’s coming in 10 minutes and that if he misses it he won’t be able to make his visa. Whatever that meant, it was certainly something of paramount significance because after that, my entirety (all myselves in that space) were blown off proportion by a million rustles. This time, they came from Joel.
At the American Embassy, Xiao and Joel sat waiting for their turns to be called. From my point of view (that limited observation from between his hands), the place was packed with all sorts of people. They looked like Xiao and Joel but differed slightly. Some were bigger and some were smaller. Some had darker colors and some had lighter ones. One thing similar though was that their colors only ranged from a very light brown, a beige sorta color, to a very dark brown that sometimes appears to be almost black. None of them are like me. I am yellow. Yellow with two black knobs. Those black knobs are the most important part of me. They define the credibility of my service as well as my worth. If they were to be defunct, I’d find myself back at Recycle Center awaiting a painful reincarnation.
In the waiting room, Joel held me tightly in his hands and kept making sure that my black knobs were securely placed. For obvious reasons, he had lots of important documents stored in me. If say one of my black knobs were loosened, he’d surely have a hell of an explanation to make to his Mum and Dad on how those forms, ID pictures and passports managed to fall out. Plus, he definitely won’t be getting a visa if there was even a single document missing. Just as I was letting my mind wander, I felt his hands squeeze one of my black knobs. It startled me and I looked up. Those eyes that looked like two lines drawn on a stoic impassive face, what’s the matter with him? Why the sudden grab? It was then I realized that part of the reason he’s holding on to me so tightly was because he’s nervous. From where I was, I could feel his heart pound a million pounds. His heart was beating at a pace much, much faster than that of my previous masters. I couldn’t understand why. A certain diffidence that bordered Panic distended from underneath his face and I saw his mouth recited several lines, acting out a conversation as if he was going through a mock interview inside his head, preparing himself for the real deal.
“49! Counter 9!” The intercom speakers boomed. I held my yellow file and moved to the aforementioned counter. Placing the file on the counter, I loosened the black knobs and was ready to give the interviewer any supplement materials upon request with as much expediency as my fingers would allow. Facing him from behind a glass (and he is a good looking chap with a benevolent smile), all sorts of questions and possible answers churned within my head. But outside, between that space from his mouth to mine, it was pure silence. He was looking through my files and conversation had yet to commence.
“Joel Soh Kwang Han,” the interviewer broke the ice.
“Yes, that’s me,” I replied. Obviously!
He began asking me about my previous school and why I intend to go to the states. Despite the smile he wore throughout those questions, my heart did not relax. How could it? I was talking with the gatekeeper! The gatekeeper that will determine my future. If he were to say NO, everything falls apart. The scholarship will be revoked, I’ll have to reapply to universities and when it comes to wanting to study Film Making, there’s a million essays and work resumes to produce. To picture the chain of consequences least he refused to give me the green light was far too traumatizing. Thanks to my almost expressionless face, I was able to conceal the panic and answer his questions with a fake front which prescribed utter confidence.
The interviewer seemed like a most amiable man. He is rather good looking and always bore a smile on his face. Joel on the other hand, up straight and with both hands folded neatly on the counter, surprised me with both the confidence he demonstrated and the staunch disposition he held. He didn’t looked one bit nervous at all. I guess I was wrong after all. Perhaps he just has a weird heart that pounds much more than others and silly me, my presumptuousness had led me to think that he was anxious. Laying on the counter and witnessing the interview, I must say that it didn’t feel like an interview at all. Joel was asked questions like: “What’s your favorite director?” “What’s your most favorite film this year?” “What kind of films will you be making?” I mean, seriously, I had anticipated worser scenarios given the fact that at the waiting room, everyone looked extremely worried. Then again, I can be wrong. Just as I was wrong at thinking that Joel was anxious.
“Stanley Kubrick,” I answered. Oh shit! Is Kubrick American or British? What if he’s British? Damn it! “I… I’m also a big fan of Francis Ford Coppola,” I added. The Godfather. He has got to know the Godfather! (Still maintaining that fake front with a smile on my face). “Ah, interesting!” He replied. “And what’s the best film you’ve seen this year?” I didn’t know how to answer at first. Was he to penalize me if I named a film he didn’t like or had never heard before? “It doesn’t have to be a film made this year. Just a film you’ve seen this year,” he interjected my train of thoughts. “Oh, hmmm…. I’d say George Clooney’s Goodnight & Good luck” “Oh! I’d actually just seen it. Two weeks ago I think. Very interesting.” “Yeah, the communist commission and Ed Murrow… er…” Did I just mentioned Communist? Oh fuck… “Yes, yes, very artistic,” was all I heard him say. He goes on to asking me questions like what kind of films I would be making in the future, “like thriller? or comedy? or…” and what are my favorite local films (I gotta tell you, this question was toughest!)
After a while, the questions didn’t look like they had anything to do with getting a visa anymore. Nonetheless, I responded in reciprocation. “Definitely not anything conventional. Perhaps something like Alejandro Gonzalez’s 21 grams and Babel,” was what I replied. As he continued asking me about films, I found myself gradually at ease. He’s indeed a kind chap with no malevolent intentions of refusing me my visa. My mind’s just simply to fucked up with negative cynical thoughts I guess.
After about 3 minutes or so, I heard him let lose a sigh. And by ‘him’, I don’t mean the guy behind the glass, I meant Joel. The sigh was one of relieve and it was done with such surreptitiousness only the likes of me was able to detect. Yeah, I had followed him from his house in Old Klang Road, occupying the space in his pocket and witnessing everything from the taxi to the embassy. At the end of the interview, the interviewer told this to Joel, “It seems like you have a very bright future ahead of you. I hope you can inspire the people in Boston and bring in some fresh new ideas. I sincerely wish you all the best and hope to see you a famous director someday.” Joel let lose another sigh, this time loud enough to pass as a whistle. He smiled gratefully, picked up a yellow plastic thingy he left on the counter and left the room.
What I don’t get is why the early morning upheaval? The way they rushed and rustled me and my friends out of balance. Goodness gracious, if they were to know how easy a conversation one had to make in order to get a visa (whatever it is), would they go through all those unnecessary panics and clamor? Then again, these are humans we’re talking about. They fret at the slightest instance of uncertainty or if something unnatural takes place. Joel may had looked calm but trust me, a trip into his body through the nose and you’ll see what I mean.
We left the embassy; Joel, Xiao and Me (still in his pockets). They were extremely joyful, both exclaiming the handsome young man’s kind nature and the ‘weird’ questions he asked. I could also feel the tension from within Joel’s Mum and Dad resolved as they digested the good news.Gathering myselves out from all the pockets, I absconded into the space above. Curiosity had brought me thus far and it was high time I returned to my post. Thankfully there’s still some selves left in that room. If I were to take all myselves out of it, the vacuum will certainly fail to take the pressure from my surrounding friends, causing the room to literally crumble inwards.
“Finally, I’m going to the states!” I placed my yellow plastic file in a bag and headed to Hong Leong Bank Headquarters for my first Credit Card.
As men mist the world with their flaws, I certainly top the list.
Men are not born able. In the course of shedding his tightly canvasing Flesh, and peering deeply into his actuality with the least eye opened; to understand the truth of one’s self in full recognition of its entirety, however tainted it may be; the will to summon the strength, push and make roll the grave-stone of Pride that obscures the catacombs – these… – - these are the tantamount of embarking upon a journey of a million miles, stretching the horizons as far as would one’s leg stretch – where only the restless selves seek to undertake in hope of becoming Better. Yet, many of the few find only resignation. For at the 123,456th mile, they stand still and pitch their last tents. The remaining ardent Dignities, traversing further, eventually find themselves short of a single mile. Pitching their final tents at the 999,999th mile. That single extra mile, they simply cannot undertake because men… men are not born able.
It is impossible to recognize the anomaly of our imperfections in total absolution. I find myself struggling with every inch a step I make because the truth of my follies, in the words of Ed Murrow: “are so naked that [I] feel sorry for them and cover them up.” And if I cannot recognize them, how do I work on them? No, I’m not one of those 999,999 miles men and nor am I any closer to the 123,456 miles men. I believe I am simply at my 100th and yet, every night, I dream of pitching my last tent here and now.
I’m sorry Lord for this heavy ominous nimbus I am that glooms and moves not upon the winds’ urging. I’m sorry Mum, Dad, for being foolishly intelligent; letting eyes on a nebulous mind but never on a heart to see the immense sacrifice you made for me. I’m sorry Dear for not being able to be that man to pour you a cup of water in this prolonged drought. I’m sorry that I fall short of apt methods in expressing care and love; not to be that center of warmth. Much has happened to rob me of my joy and happiness, the vestiges of what’s left is but a cold, stoic meat.
I want to be Better. For you my Dear… for my Mum and Dad… for the God I believe in… but… I really don’t know how…
Tummy Dear,
I know it has been a while e’er since we first met -or at least, when I first took notice of you. The nascent stage of our relationship had been one of surreptitiousness and secrecy, not between ourselves, but towards the outside world. To go ‘public’ was too brush an action and thus we had agreed to conceal it until an appropriate time in the future.
Throughout the years, I must say that you have been very, very faithful. You were always there for me, standing hidden between me and the world; never in a haughty instance forsook me for want of another man. I remember testing your faithfulness several times by deliberately entering the California Fitness Whore House; spiking you with the worst of me as my skepticism did not allow me the trust of such ardent devotion you unfailingly demonstrated. And yet, as true as you are, your unwavering nature sees not to severe the wanton I am. This staunch disposition of yours, though tested through and through yet never once a-yielding, had thus convinced me that the degree of your affection towards me, is simply divine.
And if such faithfulness is not already a coveted quality among men’s many fancies of what a lover ought to be, your love for me is so much more. A breadth as wide and great as the blue expanse, the duty never stays to watch diminish, but with a sagacious and obstinate mark, sees only extension. A love that seeks to know no boundaries? Of such qualities combined, what additions can a man ask? If to make partial requitals, almost an impossible task! No, a man in such a frame shall never live in want nor see the gates of Dearth. A man in such a frame shall never experience loneliness nor hear the echoes of a void. A man in such a frame is to never live in despair -at least, so I thought.
I believe it is high time we address the matter. The “appropriate time in the future” has come, and it is now. Afraid as I am to enunciate these words, I cannot compromise the truth for veils of illusion. It has been left for far too long. A distend far too conspicuous it has made the mouth of many a man and woman alike! Tummy, this nearness, do we unveil it?
You see, as of late, I have been ruminating over the matter; delving into every single holes and corners of my heart (be ascertained though that it is not without soundness of judgment o’er emotional spurs, for it would be a shame if a man’s wits were but subordinates to a precarious heart); weighing the issue thoroughly and have thus, resolute upon a most grievous verdict. At the nadir of my brooding, I realized that the question was never exactly: “do we reveal it?” but rather: “do we sustain it?”
Albeit my heartfelt reluctance in saying this, truth be told, I’d always believed that we were never meant to be together in the first place. Though your love is as fine as those qualities you posses, a Faithfulness and a Love that many women fall short of in days of late, I am simply incapable of coping. It is not one of your wrong doings, but precisely one of my very own. The ever proliferating love you dutifully shower me with is at such a pace that it has become exceedingly overbearing.
Yes, overbearing. Because with this love comes a hefty load of Change. Change that I find at times excruciatingly difficult to tussle with. Perhaps I’m not defiant enough to withstand the scornful laughters of those who sees us. Perhaps I do want to be able to dress up in style and not be contented with these expandable trousers. Perhaps I’d like to feel lively and not pant a thousand pants upon the second step up a stairs. Perhaps I’d like to be able to see my toes conveniently when I look down -and my phallus too, though this be but a fancy. Perhaps there’s still a promiscuous side in me that wishes to feel the breasts of a woman when I hug her without you always coming in between. Perhaps I’d like the liberty of jumping into a pool without consciously looking around to see if you’re alright. Perhaps I’d like to “show off” before jumping in. Perhaps I’d like to be able to run…
This infatuation, it does not come without a toll.
I am terribly sorry. It is indeed of a most poor conduct that a grievous issue as such be given the allowance of such slight notice! Do forgive me. But pray thee, understand that only through the detaching of our yoke, and it must be done with much expediency afore the December Sales end, may I fit into any one of these Zara Winter 08/09 clothings:
My mind is set. Let not your perspicacious ways find myself back in your arms again. The expense of this relationship I truly cannot bear. To think of whence I shall travel far to the other side of the world, in a look and apparel that prescribe a certain bulbousness; of whence I be banished from the people’s good books for lack of a proper countenance? Spare me such dread! Our being together is an abomination to Society; the World despises it. We, as aforementioned, were never meant to be.
Fare thee well, Tummy. Fare thee well…
Regretfully,
Joel
Filed under: Testimonials
The sky was still pitch black and ‘em zephyrs weren’t doing me much good. Brushing through the branches and leafs, creating a small area of drizzles under the trees was all they did. I really didn’t need to get any more wetter than I already am. That bloody hell of a walk (I’d say 1.5 kilometers minimum! from ss15 back to my house at ss14) had done enough to create them strenuous effect all round my legs and the kind of sweat that glues your shirt tightly to your skin. You gotta understand, ‘walking’ seriously ain’t my cup of tea. And had wits noticed ealier that I left my house keys in my friend’s car, I could have saved myself this needless trip. Nonetheless, there I was a few meters from my house, not progressing a step forward because I just realized that I hadn’t got my keys… bummer!
“What do I fucking do now” was all my mind could tune to. Either I sleep here, right beside the drain (ignoring the fact that I would still need to find a way back in that house when I get up, but then again, ignorance is bliss) or I bloody walk back and try and find some kind soul that would lend me a cellphone (since mine has been defunct for months). Caught between these two ‘options’, I had to make a choice. But then again, I wasn’t really making a choice. I mean, what choice is there? To sleep beside em drain? or to fucking pull those fat strained legs up and start hoping? Geez, I always thought making choices was like choosing between a chocolate or an ice cream. But this one was more like: choose Jesus and hope you get in Heaven, OR, choose the devil and BE SURE you’d end up in hell. That ain’t no fucking choice man.
* * * * * * * * * *
I usually drive wherever I go. It just so happened that today, when my friend Adrian had offered me a ride home after our dinner, so that I can get my car and drive to ss15 to join my other friends for a match of DotA, I simply declined and told him that he should just fetch me to ss15. He did ask me how I was going to go home later since these friends live in SS15 and do not own a car. In a most nonchalant tone, I simply said: “Oh well.. I’ll just see what happens.” Worse comes to worst, I could always walk back was what I thought.
The DotA session turned out to be rather dull and almost vexing… the cyber cafe suffered a sudden surge of electricity and all them coms started shutting down one by one. Andrew’s one went out first. Ours went next. We only managed one complete game and was half way through the second when it happened. David decided that we should just leave, and that, we did. The sky grew darker and it began to drizzle. We hurried to the mamak right below David’s hostel and had supper. I was beginning to think that walking back aint such a good idea after all. I mean, I did ‘calculate’ all them strains and pain my body would have to undergo if, as i said, worse comes to worst I had to walk back. But seriously, that it would rain was completely out of my expectation.
Oh well…
Getting a cab at this hour of em night was impossible. I decided that I’d start walking the moment the rain stops. At this point I had still not noticed the absence of that jingling sound of metals that I’d make when I walk had my keys been in my pocket.
* * * * * * * * * *
Like I said. That ain’t no fucking choice. The best direction I could head was back and towards them Mamakstores. I needed to make a phone call to my girlfriend and see if she has any extra keys (I currently live in her old house). But before I do so, best empty my bladder. It was beginning to become unbearable. I guess it was like one of those theories about how a 30g cup would only weigh 30g if you pick it up sporadically, resting between intervals. Yet as peculiar as Life is, that cup can weigh up to 30Kg if you hold it long enough without rest. At that moment, the same ammount of urine I had in my bladder before I left David’s hostel to head home, was doing quite the same thing. I won’t say I was holding 30Kg in my bladder, but I would say that it was becoming unbearable.
2am anyways, nobody’d notice.
As I made my way to them Mamak stores, I remember that there were two cars that drove pass me. Now I know that such information is superfluous. Yet somehow, that filtering part of my brain decided that these were vital datas. And instead of errasing them, they were amplified. I couldn’t help thinking about them cars as I made my way to the Mamaks.
“Why do I keep thinking of em?” I asked myself. Was I that desperate for transportation? Perhaps.. but more importantly, was that as I pondered deeper, them chemicals up my head began to churn and I was given a slight access to my subconcious. Just a peak. And there I saw, between them tangles of images stored, a most ignominy sight of myself. I saw myself bearing a most abject look of sympathy, looking at the cars as they passed, hoping that these strangers would sympathize with my current situation. No, I didn’t want a lift back. I simply wanted them to notice me and to sympathize with me.
And I thought, “Heck, ain’t that how we all live our lives?”
To think that our lives are the hardest to walk, and although we know that we’re still doing all we can to make it work (at least we tell ourselves that), we can’t help but go through that self-pitying phase in which we would just hope that the whole world would go through just 10% of what we’re going through, feel the immense pain and suffering, and in the end, understand that there’s no cure to it (because if there was, you would have had it a long time ago) and sympathize with you… Since that is the best they can do, and since that is often what we expect.
Sympathy… *sigh*
* * * * * * * * * *
Now the rain had abated its fury to a weak pour of drizzles. I thought to myself that I’d best leave David’s hostel now and walk home. Oh yeah, and by the way, the reason why I really needed to get home was because my dog hasn’t had her dinner. Plus, I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her in the cage for 14 hours or more… No Way!
Just like how all aspirations and big dreams start off, I made my first triumphant step. “Fat Joel’s gonna walk a good 2Km” I said with a second stride, and a third… and a fourth… “Hah! That WTF face Chee Ming gave me when I said I’d walk!”, upon the fifth stride. It started good and I was determined to make it all the way.
* * * * * * * * * *
Half way through em walk (say, 500 more meters to home?), I began to notice that the drizzlin’ had stop, now replaced with them freeshbreeze of zephyrs. I continued walking and avoiding them trees. You see, when them zephyrs shook them trees, those droplets of rain would fall. I really don’t like getting wet. Yet I do wonder, how many of these droplets actually managed to stil cling on to some part of the tree when the zephyrs blow? Hmmm… I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that those who managed to cling on to any part (the branch, leaf, fruit etc.) of a tree would definitely benefit the tree one way or another. I want to be like those droplets that strived. Or even if I failed to cling on, I want to fall on the soil beneath the tree. At least, them roots will have access to me. What a dread to think that I’d be as one of them droplets who easily fell off the tree upon the slightest zephyr… ending to waste on those hard solid roads of tar beside the pavement where the trees are planted.
I shrugged.
Wanting to rid myself of the thought, I looked up to the sky. Sadly, there were no stars visible. A complete pitch black canvas it was. Keeping not only the stars and the moon from me, but also all sense of life and hope. As darkness is the absence of light, I was reminded of the void within me. As an aspiring film director, I have yet to be enrolled in a film school. The Wait becomes more and more dreary and I am always so afraid that it might dry my passion. And if that happens… there was really no point of living anymore. To me, the abscence of passion and expression is as good the abscence of light and life.
Still, as I stared into the abyss above (still walking by the way), I can’t help thinking and feeling for the people of the world. And just like me, I am pretty sure them people have problems of their own. And so I asked myself,: “If everybody has problems. How come life still goes on? From where do we draw the power to continue existing?” And suddenly, as I was staring into that dark texture of clouds above, came a revelation.
“We are people of the earth. We walk the land. We consume what she has to offer. We almost always live in harmony with the energies surrounding us. So certainly, billions of years of occupying mother earth must have prompted us to evolve and to live our lives in the way that she does. And how does mother earth live? Very simple. She never stops spinning. Despite the occurance of earth quakes, whirlwinds, tsunamis, maelstorms and other devastating natural catastrophe that torment her, mother earth never fails to spin. Whatever happens, she simply moves on. And so will you.”
Honestly I don’t really know how to word it well. The revelation came as something so surreal yet significant that to fathom it required the combined efforts of all my senses. Yet, the only way I can communicate this, is through a set of 26 symbols (alphabets) to which the possibilities of permutations and combinations I have faintly mastered. I do apologize.
Yet to think that how despite the tribulations mother earth had faced (and that they have yet to prevent her from halting), had all along been deeply ingrained within our subconcious so much so we don’t even know why we strive to live and to see past these quagmires, certainly comes as a great surprise to me. I don’t deny the existance of deviants who chose to take their own lives. Still, this revelation at least answered my question concerning the general behaviour of the many.
“To move on despite the prevailing circumstances,” I reminded myself.
Indeed, while it is Life’s nature to just want to try and destroy us, I do thank Him for the lessons He inevitably left behind after every failed attempts. And as I am a believer of the God with no name, I am forever grateful for the gift of accute perception.
* * * * * * * * * *
At one of the Mamak stores in ss14, a kind genteel-mamak-man lent me his cellphone. I dialed that one and only number I ever truly remember and had Xiao (my girlfriend) answering at the receiving end. I told her the situation and asked if she had her copy of the house keys. “Huh?” and “Er.. No.. Wor..” were the only clear words that registered through me head. Apparently, my sister Joanna has her keys. Although I did asked Xiao to call either Joanna or Adrian if any of them were willing to come and help me, I do realize that troubling them like that was simply selfish and absurd. I mean, Adrian fucking lives in Kota Kemuning, that’s like… really far. And my sis, she’s got condo/hostel curfew. The only way was to get a cab to her condo at Sunway to retrieve the keys from her. But as I said, there wasnt no cabs around.
And just as I was about to resolve with the idea of walking back to David’s hostel at ss15 and simply spending the night there, Xiao told me that she found her dad’s copy of em keys and that I can use them temporarily.
Now, what had first started off with loud strident paces had been severely reduced to small languid steps. I was seriously contemplating on using the last vestiges of my strength to just go to David’s place and SLEEP! I mean, screw em keys and what not. “Eva can stand being in the cage juuuust a lil longer ONCE!” “Walk all the way back to Xiao’shouse (which is across David’s Hostel) and then make your way back here again?” was them devil in my head persuading me to differ from my initial intention. I must admit that I goaded them thoughts too. One can’t always blame the devil for everything.
* * * * * * * * * *
The jigling of keys from within my pockets echoed throughout the empty street I walked. A cacophony of disentegrated metal symphony. The jingles however were unlike those exuding from the pockets of man with a healthier and fitter disposition (these jingles had with them a constant tempo and a precise mark of accent). Rather, them jigles from my pocket were faint and inconsistent. Often, there were long pauses in between before the next jinggle sounded again.
“I’m almost there…”
* * * * * * * * * *
In front of Xiao’s house (which means that I had walked a total of approximately 4Kms), my body was exasperated. I began to become really conscious of my breathing, making sure that I get enough oxygen and to not pass out. Them zephyrs now brought about themselves a most sinister plot; blowing constantly so that them sweat (which I am ‘lavishly’ coated with) begin to turn into icy chills that pricked every part of my body. “Fuck…” I seriously don’t wanna fall sick was what I thought. I mean, how am I to study for my SAT tests (which was around the corner) if I fall sick? Plus, I’ll have to spend unnecessary money on medical bills and pills that I’ll never swallow. Urghh… Why didn’t I fucking drive. So much for “I’ll just see what happens.”
The notion of being advanterous didn’t strike me as ‘cool’ and ‘mind opening’ anymore. I felt down right stupid. Like I was a product of Heavenly gaffes which God decided to piece and named Joel. Worst, the worry had accendate to Fear. What if I contracted pneumonia? I mean, them chills and all. Plus I was in the rain (my mind had regeistered them drizzles as Rain out of fear) for quite a bit and I certainly have weak lungs due to sinus (a physical drawback I was born with).
The Wait for Xiao to appear with her father’s copy of em keys (I didn’t ring the doorbell cus its 2+am and I don’t fancy waking people up, especially those I am forced to give a good impression) extended into what I felt was a lifetime. A lifetime of Fear I’d say. You see, at that moment, pneumonia really wasn’t the worry anymore. Rather, I was afraid of getting robed or knocked by a car speedin out of em corner, not noticing me cus I was in black. And the thing about Fear is, he doesn’t just tell you that everything will end with Death. No. Fear exists to manipulate the love we have for ourselves and in a multifarious fashion of “What If” questions, he can transform a healthy mind into one which is constantly paranoid. Hello? Just look at our parents.
“What if I get robbed” won’t end with “me struggling and end up being killed by the robbers”. It was too simple. Fear had them dark ominous clouds to his advantage because Fear knows that we humans always want to be in control of situations and things and people and even over ourselves. He knows that just like all of us, I want to comprehend and apprehend everything and to know where my role lies; to know the boundaries to where my powers and controls has effect and where it doesn’t. We don’t like uncertainties and that was exactly what them pitch black clouds were doing to me.
Furthermore, Fear greatly understands how complacent human beings are. While we’re given 5 senses which are of equal importance, we have decided that we should only treasure the magic of Sight. Yes, them other senses is equally important we’d say. But ask yourself, would you rather lose your eyes or your tongue? Would you rather loose your eyes or your sense of smell? Our complecancyhas brought us to creating an entire world (life as we call it) to be greatly reliant on Sight. Have you ever asked yourself how come reading was never done through the use of the sense of touch? If the blind can do it, why cant we? While billions of years of existence should have resulted into a greater expansion of these gifts of sense that we’re given, we chose to narrow it down and to focus solely on one. That is: Sight.
Just look at the Media, good music’s only good when it has a video clip aired on MTV. Else, no one would ever have heard of the band/singer. Coca cola and Pepsi strive to put on the best football player on them cans and while I really don’t see how these unhealthy carbonated drinks has any corelation to sports whatsoever, a good pick of a good pic of Beckham on em can would accelerate sales. Note that the content of the drink is ALWAYS the same, it’s just a change of em can pic. Kids of our generation can’t even watch a movie without subtitles anymore. Even the word ‘perception’ is often symbolized with the picture of an ‘eye’. I mean, what the fuck happened to the other senses? Had we evolved to become so biased towards them? While in economics we’ve learnt that diversifying our business is the best way to eliminate risk, here we are, narrowing the scope of perception (which should be the product of a combination of all
5 senses) to merely its visual aspect.
“And they are so reliant on it”, Fear chuckled.
Take Sight away from us, and we are as fragile as worms. Completely armorlessand within Fear’s control. Simply a flick of his finger and we end up losing ourselves. That was what was going on in my head. It was 2+am and I was all alone and inundated with darkness. Staring deep into the darkness above, my fear of being robbed and killed took on a sickly twist. “What if you didn’t die but lost your fingers?” Holy Fuck, to be an artist and not have fingers was worst than death! “what if the car knocked you and didn’t kill you? Only, it paralyzed you. You’ll live a vegetable and then, Xiao might not be able to bear it for long,” I heard him whispered. “But you know, being all paralyzed and all, you’re still alive afterall. You musn’t complaint. You must be thankful for the mercy God has shown you! Perhaps, you can worship Him all day long in your head? He’s bound to hear you,” I heard him chuckle. Although partially vexed, Fear was nonetheless still overwhelming.
And as these thoughts led to uglier thoughts, Xiao came out of her house and I was snapped free from ‘em. She handed me the keys, we exchanged goodbye kisses and off I headed home.
Her appearance had much elucidated the clouds within my head. I felt Fear relinquishing his grasp over me (he was entertained enough) and then suddenly, I remembered a quote from a book I had read.
“But human beings are like that… We’ve replaecd nearly all our emotions with fear.”
Veronika Decides to Die, Paulo Coelho.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
I was in front of Neway, at the edge of ss15 (I had left Xiao’s house) and had given up walking. It was a fucking long 4Km walk and me legs aint gonna take it any longer, another 2-fucking-kilometers? NO! I quarrelled with myself. It went on for quite a while until I decided that I’d wish for a miracle, that just like em kind genteel-mamak-man, perhaps somebody is willing enough to give me a ride back! I waited for a good opportuniy, but since it was already 2.30am, there wasn’t much cars on em road. At last, I saw a car halting in front of em traffic light. “Hmm… Yes I do notice it’s a red light. But the entire bloody street’s so empty he could’d just speed past em red light and no one would’ve noticed. Fact that he’d obey them rules gave me the impression that he’d be quite a pedantic person. Hence, I’m sure he won’t try to kidnap/rob me. But I wasn’t sure he’d give me a ride. What better way than to simply approach his car (his window was wound down) and ask?”
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” yet again, was all that echoed in my heart. Even with all that sympathetic look I put on and telling him that I am freaking exhausted, he simply sneered back saying that he too was exhausted and that he wants to get home fast. Fucking thwart.
I thought I’d try again, but there weren’t much cars passing by and so I decided to wait. As I had lit my fourth ciggy, I saw a guy walking towards my direction. He was dressed up in a way that I was certain he’s a corporate slave. Being really desperate, and it wasn’t a matter of dignity or perseverance anymore (I didn’t give two fucks about that firy determination I had the moment I started my firt pace), I got me self up and asked, “Hey, do you drive?”
“No, I gotta walk home myself” was what he replied after a moment of hesitation.
“where to?”
“ss19, you?”
“14… I’ve been walking all night and my legs are killing me…”
“No choice man, I’m really sorry I can’t help”
“nah, its ok. Thanks”
Now, there are times we all feel good and secured by the fact that there are people out there that understands us because they are going through the same thing. We feel good because we don’t feel alienated and the fact that we’re not going through them shits of life alone. Take for example our high school life: Isn’t it really common that if you hadn’t done your homework, you’d wish that at least 2 other classmates had forgotten their homework too? Or if you have not prepared for the coming exam, surely, you’d want to click with the other bunch of classmates who hadn’t done any preperationstoo. Ironically, the well prepared ones are often the outcast. Its always good to fail and see that half the class failed too. On the other hand, to experience a highly idiosyncratic situation (like being the only one that didn’t finish your homework) would be awfully awful cus then, your all alone.
In my situation however, I was tired of failing my exams! I didn’t give a fuck if half me friends failed too. I just want to freaking pass me exams and I was desperate. I just wanted a ride home… and that walking chap didn’t do me no good.
* * * * * * * * * *
The pauses between each jingle grew longer. Yet, with every heavy step I made forward, I was assured that Home took 2 steps toward me. Them zephyr had slowed down and them chilly pricks all over didn’t bother me anymore. My mind was entirely focused on making them steps necessary to getting me home.
“was it because you really love Eva that you’re quenching all strength from your body just to make it home?” I asked myself. “Or was it because such a challenge rarely visits your mundane life?”
Despite the deep sonorous panting and accute stabbing pain on my feet, I was actually getting excited.
“I’m almost there…” I told myself again.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Fucking pointless” was what I’d label the Wait at Neway. While it did earn me legs a nice lil’ break from all the toil, it was seriously pointless nevertheless. Cursing and being angry at my situation, I got up and said “If that dude can walk, I CAN!!”
Now, as I’ve mentioned earlier that Life is in its own nature a most peculiar thing/being, I can’t help but feel that we as humans are the main contributors to its/his strangeness. I mean, why was I so angry? I already have ‘em keys, all I had to do was simply walk. Why then was I so angry?
Perhaps it is because we’re built to be like that? I mean, them Jews had a bloody Nimbus to guide them and they heard the voice of God! Yet, they complaint and grunted, earning themselves 40 years in the desert. Just lookat ourselves. Almost all of us do not need to worry about funding our education. Our parents had by themselves taken it as their responsibility the need to feed us with money until we have our own degree. While their generation had to worry about money. Ours don’t. Heck, some of us even have a car, a room, money to spend on clubbing and all them frivolous activities. Our fingers don’t even need to understand hardship and yet we enjoy such luxury. But like the Israelites in the desert or like me getting angry even when I already had the key, we all can’t help but complain’t, complaint, complain’t. Everything is laid out in front of us! I already have em key, I just need to walk a lil further. We already have our educations funded and most of the parts of our life cushioned, we just have to study. YET! It is soooooo fucking difficult isn’t it?
Why then was I angry?
Well, if I really had to answer that, it’d be because I hadn’t exercise in a long, long time and that my FAT body cannot undertake the task. I am too accustomed to driving everywhere I go… I don’t know the hardship of walking… And in that, I admit I am spoilt. A fat spoilt brat!
“Fuck No!” “Yeap! A FAT SPOILT BRAT” “Shut the Fuck UP!” “A FUCKING USELESS SPOILT BRAT!”
Them thoughts jibed me so hard that to accept it as true was as hard as to agree to be gagged by an elephant for sport. But I accepted it anyways, and told them worn out legs “It’s never too late to change.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The jingling had stopped for a while now. And the metals that produced them jingles, I held them in tight clutches. The pitch black sky had renewed its demeanor. I could now see the stars. And yes, I could see the moon. A breeze of zephyr brushed through my face and them leafs rustled as if celebrating my arrival.
The breeze was not at all chilling. Rather, the zephyr had given refreshment. I looked to my left and to my right, the row of houses with their window-like eyes gave me a congratulating gaze. They had seen me 2 hours ago at the same spot where I stood. But then, their gaze were vapid. The leafs found no cause for celebration.
Now, however, I felt like even the moon and the spectator of stars nodded with respect. With every a twinkle that brought both hope and life back into me, I sighed with a deep relief.
