On The Subject of Being MEAN

This is something I’ve been wondering for a quiet a long time now.  Does success requires a degree of mean-ness? A couple-a-weeks ago, I met up with a friend who’s now working at a radio. We had dinner and talk about stuff that are of ginormous importance. Amidst our important chat, she told me about a client of hers, “I have this client right.. female,  30ish, single, famous in the advertising world..oh and mean”.  “Mean how?” I said. “At our first lunch meeting, she told me proudly that she’s used to thrashing about her office when she’s pissed off. You know, like literally sending office supplies flying” she said. Then I loosely concluded “Oh, the tipical old spinster syndrome”. Then she added “But you know what, she’s really great at what she does. She’s a prominent personage in the business, and amazingly people respect her”. There was a short moment of silence, when we ponder the prospect of doing better at stuff by being a lean-mean-machine. How cool would we be… being important, shouting at people…throwing office supplies at our assistant.  O how very professional would we look.

Do you believe in karma? The whole what-goes- around-comes-around- stuff, and you-reap-what-you-sow stuff. Well I do. I had always believed that if you send out bad chi’s out into the universe, you can bet that they’re bound to boomerang and kick you in the buttocks one of these days. But why-oh-why God, that people meaner than us reap more success than us??? Do you have to nurture have a degree of nastiness to be at the top of the food chain? Was it just the quality or the attitude too matters? Is meanness instilled in every man’s heart as a tool to be used in this dog-eat-dog universe?

I’m beginning to have doubts, about all those values we were taught in school.

      “Treat your friends with respect” they say.

      “Sorry and please are the two strongest words in the universe” they say.

And those our parents taught us.

      “Choose your words wisely young man” they say.

      “Respect is earned” they say.

Seriously, what on earth were they thinking man?

 

 

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The Date…it’s Bothering Me

The date on my desktop, blipping, bothering me. On TV, all pink and stuff, bothering me. It’s the 14^th of February . What the bitter have say about the holiday : “it’s a conspiracy between the greeting cards and the flower industry”. What the optimist say “it’s a celebration of love”. On which side do you stand my friend? BE A MAN! Says Russel Peters, and pick a stance. I, well..I’m a bit of the non-participant actually. But hey, I applaud those who have created employments around this tradition. Truly, what a great idea Sirs.

            Wait a second, this post will not open the debate for valentine “for or against”, nor to tell you about my personal lovey dovey stuff, nor to invite you to pour your heart out here. I’m gonna tell you a story.  What I’m about to tell you fellas, is a true story. A love one (seems like all this hype has gotten on to me also, so what the heck). What I hate about most love stories are, their too syruppy you feel sick. Or too flamboyant you wanna vommit. You know that feeling, after watching a too syruppy love drama? I don’t want you to feel that. Please bear with me a seccond.

            The story of Nicolai Pestretsov came from a book I read years ago called “All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten” by Robert Fulghum. Because the story will be so much better told in it’s  original form, I’m just gonna quote it straight away. Here goes.

 

He was a sergeant major in the Russian army, thirty six years old. He was stationed in Angola, a long way from home. His wife had come out to visit him. On August 24 (I’m guessing this was in the 70s/ 80s), South African military units entered Angola in an offensive against the black nationalist guerillas taking sanctuary there. At the village of N-Giva, they encountered a group of Russian soldiers. Four were killed and the rest of the Russians fled-except for Sergeant Major Pestretsov. He was captured, as we know because the South African Military communique said: “Sgt.Major Nicolai Pestretsov refused to leave the body of his slain wife who was killed in the assault on the village”

         It was as if the South Africans could not believe it, for the communique repeated the information. “He went to the body of his wife and would not leave it although she was dead.”

         How strange. Why didn’t he run and save his own hide? What made him go back? Is it possible that he loved her? Is it possible that he wanted to hold her in his arms one last time? Is it possible that he wanted to hold her in his arms one last time? Is it possible that he needded to cry and grieve? Is it possible that he felt the stupidity of war? Is it possible that he felt the injustice of fate? Is it possible that he didn’t care what became of him now?

         It’s possible. We don’t know. Or at least we don’t know for certain. But we can guess. His actions answer.

         And so he sits alone in a South African prison. Not a “Russian” or “Communist” or “soldier” or “enemy”, or any of those categories. Just a-man-who-cared-for-just-a-woman for just-a-time more than anything else.

         Here’s to you, Nicolai Pestretsov! Wherever you may go and be….

 

So…did the story rekindled your faith in the whole love thing? Did it make you re-think all your doubts in grand-amours stories? Did it change your whole perception on flowers, , presents, expensive and grand getures of love? Hey, varied response is allowed. Any response is allowed. But here’s to you camerad Pestretsov! Wherever you are.

           

(checkout ww.pitterpattershop.com also.. my writing’s there also )

RIGHT & LEFT SHOES (no this is not part of the children book series)

 

So I was talking with a friend, cant remember what it was about.. when suddenly I got this headache, after he said “oh come on, Men and women will never be equal ”. AY papi! This is the 21^st century,  I thought we’ve got things figured out.

 

On one enlightening day, as I was pointlessly switching channels, I came across this muslim scholar (named Quraish Shihab) on TV. It was a talkshow, a lady asked him about gender equality, and he answered “men and women are like a left and a right shoe. They are both shoes, one is neither beneath nor superior than the other, but they sure are bent differently”. Well there you go, I thought, we’re equal but different. I liked it (and then I repeat it to myself a couple a times to etch it on my brain so I can use it in the future as a bullet to shoot those male chauvinists, haha)

 

We’re physically different, physiologically different, which help to explain why men and women think, act and feel differently. Thus naturally, we require different things, we are capable of different stuff. Different, but equal.

 

Having a gazillion left shoes is pointless right? Wearing two right shoes is crazy yes? So men and women I think, are shaped and bent differently to complement each other’s existance. Simple, practical, well thought of and beautifully executed. So here goes my four humblest thumbs to God. Great job J

 

 

trapped

I love Indonesia. Ask me why, and I’ll say “I’m trapped”.

  Beauty, entangled by poverty, covered with pollution, and heftily corrupted.  

 

Ask me “So why is it worth any loving?”  

I say Travel Indonesia. Explore Sulawesi, Dive Papua, melt with people at sunset in the crowded Kuta beach, swim in those thousands of virgin islands.

 

oy people! Runaway and travel this country barefooted…

I promise you, you’ll bump into that feeling..a mysterious mixture of admiration, bewilderment,

sadness and passion. See why this land worth your every strain and every sweat.

 

 

the dog-gag type

So, seems like I’m gonna start writing (at laahast..)

No theme, no stream…just my immeasurably random thoughts. See I once read that there are two kinds of thinker: first the linear type. Talk with them, and you’ll find order. Compliance to rules and steps. But meet the other type: the non linears. Talk, and you’ll generally find chaos. Ideas and thoughts sparking here and there. No order dude, no shape nor pattern, splashed here and there. Put it simply, like a dog’s gag.

I find myself, more of the 2nd one. But hey, I write to myself (really, not for you readers :p) . No intention to teach, preach, brag nor strut . But if you, yeah you there, unintionally bump into this blog. I hope u find this blog, not so much as a dog’s gag, rather… an interesting firework (cheap maybe, but hell interesting). But hey! you decide..

  

   -Big wuffs-