My recent blog regarding my thoughts on love and my feelings (or lack of) for the majority of western women seemed to quite upset a friend of mine. As is my nature I responded with a personal email to clarify some points rather than leaving them to stew, but on reflection I decided to revisit my thoughts and ponder some more on the matter – “Perhaps it might somehow help me to resolve this ‘dead time’ I find myself stuck in” I thought to myself.
On the morning that I began writing this blog I bumped into a friend - let’s call him ‘Alex’, and save him from any embarrassment by association (lol). Okay, Alex told me that he’d been through a divorce some five years previous, and that it had left him pretty gutted. I’m paraphrasing a little here but he told me that it was his personal belief that once a man reaches a certain age he becomes something of a disposable asset to the fairer sex. After we parted company I continued in contemplation. On my way to a local park for some r’n’r I passed by a wonderful little “Banksy”esque piece of wall art (it may actually be one of Banksy's works) which keeps catching my eye. A message alongside the picture reads “She’s only with you until the next best thing comes along”. I began to follow a disturbing thread which pointed to a possible truth in Alex’s words. Might capitalism have infused itself so deeply into our lives that we have now started to see one other as disposable as, say a broken TV or toaster - to be discarded without so much as a thought beyond the acquisition of the next model? If this is the case it may explain why, in my forlorn state, I feel repelled by my day-to-day social environment and drawn towards alternative cultures which I feel still express a sense of honour in their day to day habits. For me, Japan is one such culture. That Japan is adopting a lot of the western attitudes is also something of a personal worry (and quite likely a source of concern for many Japanese elders), but maybe there is still a chance – maybe I’m not too late. Oh, and I think as I keep mentioning Asian women in so many of my blogs, that now is probably a good time to refute any accusations that I harbour an "Asian fetish" (in the generally held conception of the phrase). Although I have stated that Japan is a cultural choice, I still find given all the world to choose from, that Asian women are quite simply the most naturally beautiful and attractive women to me, full stop. This is something I've discovered about myself and I can't explain it - it's just the way I'm put together. I don't have any fake veneer ready to appease anyone with attitudes lacking in, shall we say 'social harmony', who might look down on me for whatever reason - to them I say "grow up and get over it". I don't have, nor have I ever felt the need to follow a social clique. I take people as I find them, and have no time to entertain any pre-suppositions relating to either my appearance or my life choices. Trust me, in my case looks CAN be deceiving. I am my own man, I harbour an open and inquisitive mind, and people have little choice but to take me as they find me. I can easily think of a few people who would likely testify to this in a court of law right now! : )
Wait. Getting back to the matter at hand (ahem), might there be a fundamental flaw to my view of love? Stepping back to look at the overall picture, I suppose it could be argued that whilst marriage and life-long relationships are indeed very noble pursuits and wonderfully romantic, maybe they aren’t a natural human state? From nature’s perspective it could be reasoned that we are socially designed to come together for the explicit reason of procreation – to bear as many offspring as is possible. If this is true, might people actually be psychologically compelled to seek out someone new once the offspring are “grown up”? Bad news for long-lived romances, but it might explain divorce generally, and maybe even point to a component of natural compulsion behind the mid-life crisis (well, beyond the very palpable fear of running out of life). As I write it now fills me with horror to think that what I have sought all my life, and feel somehow lost without, could actually be unnatural. Perversely, I might further condemn my dream by arguing that divorce isn’t some new side effect of modern life, as the elder generation might have you believe. They argue that they have a moral superiority to our modern, fickle attitudes, but with respect for all they had to put up with there is a great deal more human history than the “war years” and broken hearts have been with us for a very long time. Scarily enough, the implication from all this is that my search for everlasting love might be a fruitless search – am I looking for something which doesn’t actually exist? I think we need to take a closer look..
Whether you believe that religions derived from a man or a god, it is still a fact that their main purpose seems to be to act as a force for stability in society. Isn’t it possible to argue that marriage is simply one of the many social sub-paragraphs of religion which tries to shame us into sticking it out with one person, to have and to hold from this day forwards, in sickness and health, until parted by death? Is the concept of marriage an attempt to seek order in chaos by reinforcing a social lie, against the true nature of mankind? Similarly, general education and the media seeks to have us believe that a “normal” life consists of us going through school and into employment to sustain our well-being, where we can look forward to pairing up with a man/woman and get a house, have children and live happily ever after (the social lie I postulate). Maybe what we should do is just accept the chaos and tell children the truth – that life is actually a great deal more of a haphazard experience? The “2.4 children dream” is just that – an idealistic concept which happens to neatly fit into the mould of our society. If we grant our children a foundation which could better prepare them, might we see a reduction in broken hearts? Or might it actually reverse the supposed trend of “fickle” behaviour, prove the older generation right and instil a good and proper sense of how precious love is? Well, it is isn't it!? I suppose also, whether you subscribe to the idea of love or not, I think both sides would naturally agree that meeting the right partner is quite a rare and difficult thing. Okay, how am I to use this to help resolve my situation so that I'm not "lost inside" forever? Is it possible that meeting as many women as possible and embracing a future of “one night stands” is the right way forwards? Did the hippy “free love” social movement get it right? Woah.. well, it might sound like fun for a bit, but no.. Let’s apply the brakes a little and reflect that overall romantic love is still maybe a desirable thing which when right makes us all feel good, and usually brings positive change to our nature. I suppose this is what the Dalai Lama points to when he says that he believes that love and compassion are the natural states of man, and not destructive and murderous as is generally perceived. I agree with him that as a species we likely couldn’t have made it this far in such numbers if there weren’t more positive than negative daily deeds in the world (he argues that the bad ones are just more newsworthy.. probably true). Okay, so I think I've just argued myself full circle, back to thinking that perhaps love is generally a good thing after all.. Hmm..
Disregarding religion and arguments of hormonal illusion or not, being in love is an undeniably compelling sensation and maybe from this simple thought we could ultimately argue that this is all life really boils down to - experiences. Given the possibility (likelihood) that there is no god, and we are just one of many statistical occurrences in the universe, I suppose there doesn’t have to be a more profound reason for our sense of living. Like the band “Talk Talk” once said, perhaps life is truly what we make it. If that is the case then ironically this argument may have been pointless, except that it got us to some kind of resolution. One can imagine from a biological point of view that genetic variety is a relatively (no pun intended) healthy thing for the species. Maybe the meeting of physical borders and the inevitable cultural blending is not just something which happens to occur when you fill a planet up with people, but is actually in itself a matter of evolution for mankind, fundamentally connecting both planet and the life on it in a Gaia-esque scenario!? Might love and life-long commitment as natural compulsions actually be evolutionary!? Call it the refinement of human nature? After all, I suppose it’s possible that evolution might not just be purely genetic, but might also encompass the very nature of conscious thought itself (something we still haven’t defined yet).
Well, how about THAT for a conclusion? For an encore let's tackle the true nature and relationship of gravity and magnetism!
I think I need to lie down.. I also think I actually, medically need a girlfriend. If you’ve made it this far through my insane ramblings will you, or someone you know, please help me put an end to all this nonsense that’s running around in my head!? Either point some unsuspecting Asian beauty in my direction, or at least wish me luck.. My Japanese quest begins tomorrow anyway, regardless - the local University is hosting a "Japan Day" cultural festival, and I intend to attend.. Maybe that will be the focus of my next blog.. : )
Peace.
Saturday 24 April 2010
Thursday 22 April 2010
Dead Time
Forgive my indulgence on this matter, but this is a blog site and it is likely to contain a smattering of both personal and practical insights. This is a very personal one, but I’m hoping that by writing this it will perhaps find a common soul, or maybe in some way alleviate the horrible symptoms I’m feeling but not really resolving.
After my recent entanglement with a broken heart 7000 miles from home I thought I’d managed to cope with it quite well. My cheeriness at my apparent successful handling of this personal crisis was it seems a little premature. Following my return journey I had roughly two weeks of holiday still to enjoy, and all things considered I spent it quite well. I can tell you that this strange recovery was isolated to the holiday period. Having returned to work, and my default emotional state, I find an incredible weight of sadness and worry has consumed me - a darkness I’d hoped never to feel again after the last time. I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy returning to work. It’s never a particularly enjoyable thing for anyone when they’ve had freedom and time to be themselves (even a break as uneven as the one I’ve just experienced) but in concert with what I suspected was a heart healed too easily, I find that it has come as a real shock to return to my old life. You see, for six months prior to the holiday I had cultivated this glorious long distance relationship with a wonderful girl. In one very important way it felt better than a conventional relationship in that by virtue of it being “long distance” it forced me to work and appreciate the “person” I thought I was getting to know, free of any immediate physical distractions to coerce my heart - the achilles heel of any male. This only made the very real emotions in my words, and her replies, all the more potent. In retrospect I have discovered that the pain inherent to all relationships can take on more forms than one might immediately imagine. From start to end all I had managed to focus on was the personal exchange, and in doing so I really believed in the connection which was unfolding. Her photos gave some hint that she was attractive physically of course, but without actually standing before her those looks seemed somehow quite secondary to the matters speaking from the heart, which I was certainly doing - by the ton.
It feels as though I am living one of those strange Faustian parables, delivered with a bittersweet punchline in the way only the stories from the Twilight Zone or the old Hammer horror anthologies can - like the man who asked for eternal life, and finds himself one day still miraculously alive and unable to die after a horrifyingly nasty accident. Here I am, living the ironic parable. “Okay son”, Cupid says to me, “You’ve wanted to feel a perfect love so badly all your life, here you are – have it”. For six months it is breathtaking, at times feeling so overwhelming in its intensity as to drive me almost mad with pleasure. It then gets taken away and I’m pushed back into my prison. “What’s wrong?” says Cupid, “You wanted to know what love feels like, and now you can say you tasted it in your life, can’t you?”. As a man who tries to guide his life by Buddhist principles of compassion, tolerance and understanding I don't generally condone violence, but if someone tells you that "it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all" please punch some sense into them. After the subsequent events and my return home I concentrated on the “firsts” which I had survived/experienced and took some pride in them – I still do. My failure was in not anticipating the strength of the massive emotional fallout yet to come. Every day now I am back to looking at my old boring self in the mirror, the single romantic, going through the repeating, five day alternating existence of work, home and sleep - my own personal prison. Truthfully, the last four days have been the hardest I have had in a long time. By the way I feel even as I write this I have a very real worry that my heart may have been pushed a little too far this time, and with respect to the few friends I do have I fear also that this time I am more alone in this particular dark episode than I have ever been. There is another all too familiar harmonic dischord though this – an emotional numbness which leaves me walking through my days like an emotional zombie. At this point I have to say that only someone who doesn’t really understand this feeling (or lack of) can possibly tell me in their own frustrations to “chill out”. With respect to the friend who asked this of me, this statement is a little like telling someone how to use a hammer after they’ve hit their thumb. Aside from the crushing despair I keep getting in waves, all I know is a horrible emptiness. Something might catch me out temporarily, and I smile (I am normally prone to taking an absurd amount of pleasure from seemingly trivial things), but it passes quickly. I then return to this strange emotional limbo I find myself in – a mental whirlwind of frustration where I can see my entire life from this point onwards being a drawn-out hurt, filled with beauty of great potential which simply moves on by. These are familiar old teenage emotional scars I am facing - being able to talk with women quite freely until I meet with one who is instinctively attractive (a very rare thing), whereupon my personality and character evaporate and I’m left unable to be my jovial fun self, and forced to watch as they slip away out of reach to the future arms and life of someone more fortunate, leaving me untouched, unheld, unkissed and alone. Even with all that I’ve seen and done in my life, I still can’t seem to overcome these old emotional blocks which seem to persistently steer me away from that which I want most in life – the very basic human need to love and be loved. In this state I find myself in, it seems that my heart’s natural resistance to western women and desire to find love within the Asian culture is an evermore hopeless dream. As I think back I fear that it is true that I’ve always simply fallen luckily (or unluckily) into any relationships which I’ve had in my life. I also fear that I will always be this same old timid person with so much to give, and yet so easily crippled by beauty. To never have that control in my life when I most need it, and to feel that my life is predestined to always be this way is a terrifying prospect. Part of the deal I made with myself in life is that I would never take love for granted and in spite of the way in which my life appears to have played out thus far, in my own heart I don't think I have. I've always tried to appreciate every moment which I suppose makes it all the harder to tolerate. Although I am told that I am still young at 38, I feel my time is running out. This is why I can almost cry – except that for the moment my unfeeling state won’t even allow me this simple release.
After my recent entanglement with a broken heart 7000 miles from home I thought I’d managed to cope with it quite well. My cheeriness at my apparent successful handling of this personal crisis was it seems a little premature. Following my return journey I had roughly two weeks of holiday still to enjoy, and all things considered I spent it quite well. I can tell you that this strange recovery was isolated to the holiday period. Having returned to work, and my default emotional state, I find an incredible weight of sadness and worry has consumed me - a darkness I’d hoped never to feel again after the last time. I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy returning to work. It’s never a particularly enjoyable thing for anyone when they’ve had freedom and time to be themselves (even a break as uneven as the one I’ve just experienced) but in concert with what I suspected was a heart healed too easily, I find that it has come as a real shock to return to my old life. You see, for six months prior to the holiday I had cultivated this glorious long distance relationship with a wonderful girl. In one very important way it felt better than a conventional relationship in that by virtue of it being “long distance” it forced me to work and appreciate the “person” I thought I was getting to know, free of any immediate physical distractions to coerce my heart - the achilles heel of any male. This only made the very real emotions in my words, and her replies, all the more potent. In retrospect I have discovered that the pain inherent to all relationships can take on more forms than one might immediately imagine. From start to end all I had managed to focus on was the personal exchange, and in doing so I really believed in the connection which was unfolding. Her photos gave some hint that she was attractive physically of course, but without actually standing before her those looks seemed somehow quite secondary to the matters speaking from the heart, which I was certainly doing - by the ton.
It feels as though I am living one of those strange Faustian parables, delivered with a bittersweet punchline in the way only the stories from the Twilight Zone or the old Hammer horror anthologies can - like the man who asked for eternal life, and finds himself one day still miraculously alive and unable to die after a horrifyingly nasty accident. Here I am, living the ironic parable. “Okay son”, Cupid says to me, “You’ve wanted to feel a perfect love so badly all your life, here you are – have it”. For six months it is breathtaking, at times feeling so overwhelming in its intensity as to drive me almost mad with pleasure. It then gets taken away and I’m pushed back into my prison. “What’s wrong?” says Cupid, “You wanted to know what love feels like, and now you can say you tasted it in your life, can’t you?”. As a man who tries to guide his life by Buddhist principles of compassion, tolerance and understanding I don't generally condone violence, but if someone tells you that "it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all" please punch some sense into them. After the subsequent events and my return home I concentrated on the “firsts” which I had survived/experienced and took some pride in them – I still do. My failure was in not anticipating the strength of the massive emotional fallout yet to come. Every day now I am back to looking at my old boring self in the mirror, the single romantic, going through the repeating, five day alternating existence of work, home and sleep - my own personal prison. Truthfully, the last four days have been the hardest I have had in a long time. By the way I feel even as I write this I have a very real worry that my heart may have been pushed a little too far this time, and with respect to the few friends I do have I fear also that this time I am more alone in this particular dark episode than I have ever been. There is another all too familiar harmonic dischord though this – an emotional numbness which leaves me walking through my days like an emotional zombie. At this point I have to say that only someone who doesn’t really understand this feeling (or lack of) can possibly tell me in their own frustrations to “chill out”. With respect to the friend who asked this of me, this statement is a little like telling someone how to use a hammer after they’ve hit their thumb. Aside from the crushing despair I keep getting in waves, all I know is a horrible emptiness. Something might catch me out temporarily, and I smile (I am normally prone to taking an absurd amount of pleasure from seemingly trivial things), but it passes quickly. I then return to this strange emotional limbo I find myself in – a mental whirlwind of frustration where I can see my entire life from this point onwards being a drawn-out hurt, filled with beauty of great potential which simply moves on by. These are familiar old teenage emotional scars I am facing - being able to talk with women quite freely until I meet with one who is instinctively attractive (a very rare thing), whereupon my personality and character evaporate and I’m left unable to be my jovial fun self, and forced to watch as they slip away out of reach to the future arms and life of someone more fortunate, leaving me untouched, unheld, unkissed and alone. Even with all that I’ve seen and done in my life, I still can’t seem to overcome these old emotional blocks which seem to persistently steer me away from that which I want most in life – the very basic human need to love and be loved. In this state I find myself in, it seems that my heart’s natural resistance to western women and desire to find love within the Asian culture is an evermore hopeless dream. As I think back I fear that it is true that I’ve always simply fallen luckily (or unluckily) into any relationships which I’ve had in my life. I also fear that I will always be this same old timid person with so much to give, and yet so easily crippled by beauty. To never have that control in my life when I most need it, and to feel that my life is predestined to always be this way is a terrifying prospect. Part of the deal I made with myself in life is that I would never take love for granted and in spite of the way in which my life appears to have played out thus far, in my own heart I don't think I have. I've always tried to appreciate every moment which I suppose makes it all the harder to tolerate. Although I am told that I am still young at 38, I feel my time is running out. This is why I can almost cry – except that for the moment my unfeeling state won’t even allow me this simple release.
Thursday 15 April 2010
Love and the Individual
Being yourself is something of a double edged sword.
From the outset I never sought to place myself in the position I find myself in – a single person who feels on the whole very lonely. Who would? As I reflect more on the recent love lost (whether it was real or imagined is for another blog), and indeed on all of my relationships and hopes for future personal happiness, it seems even more evident to me that it is very hard to live your life in a way which is both truly honest to yourself and still generally acceptable to others. The two just don’t seem to gel at the moment. I’d be the first to point out that I’m throwing stones in a glasshouse. My own life to date hasn’t exactly been exemplary with respect to getting it right first time. We each have our crosses to bear where personal mistakes are concerned and I suppose we each have to find our own way of dealing with them, but as I sit here mulling things over I can’t help but feel that society stacks the odds against us all from the beginning. In the West (and particularly here in the UK) life is hypocritically portrayed as something to behold, with freedom and opportunity for all – no social exclusion. Well as I see it, aside from the fact that we clearly AREN’T all equal or in a position to be capable of having it all (I’m sorry, but someone who is totally paralysed is not going to make it as a true long-distance runner, no matter how many equal opportunity forms the PC brigade print), that “freedom and opportunity, complete with happiness” package comes with an ironic price attached – yes, social exclusion. For my part in this I’m going to metaphorically overlook the long-distance paraplegic sprinter to get to the fundamental issue of “relationships” as my example, as this is foremost on my mind.
In an effort to attract a mate it is typically the looks which get the attention (ie. the most attractive woman/man they would choose to be seen with rather than necessarily the RIGHT person). People may then generally choose to be brave and show themselves as they are, or apply a character ‘veneer’. They may do this either because of peer pressure, or a conscious choice to focus on money/status/looks of the potential mate as motivators rather than any of the true motivators for mutual attraction. This immediately presents a personality apart from their natural self. If the target of their affections chooses to do their self a similar disservice, is it any wonder that relationships keep failing on the scale we see? To meet the bull head-on as it were, if our truly compatible mates are really so physically undesirable, well maybe that would be different if the poor “unfortunate looker’s” personal self-worth wasn’t being crushed or misguided by a society obsessed with career, money and celebrity, and lacking in a proper, personal education for the good of the individual? Surely we would take pride in ourselves rather than feel the need for personal abuse in our united unhappiness. Personally, I suspect this may go some way towards explaining the high incidence of divorce and general malcontent which seems to exist in many relationships. These blindsided issues are usually further exacerbated down the line by couples trying to paper over the cracks and rebuff any nagging doubts with the ultimate commitment status symbol of children, who inevitably pay the price themselves by maturing within a ‘forced’ family unit – forced until divorce or murder ensues. Older generations have typically attributed it to a failing in the younger generations that they don’t persevere. Whilst this may be true to a degree (a world war and physical absence between partners is a very good motivator for appreciating the moment to be sure) I’m not totally convinced that life is so casual at the interpersonal level. Even in times of crisis lovers still experience their share of arguments. No, I think the overall problem we have here ladies and gentlemen is a disguised form of social engineering, itself motivated by either a desire to sustain an unworkable system, make money, and damn the moral consequences, or more likely both.
I can only really speak for the seventy million or so people in the UK as these are the people I experience on a daily basis, but I find it hard to believe that the vast majority really share an overwhelming interest in sport (mainly football), soaps, fame, beer and curry, without external driving forces. Why do we as individuals seem to have a fear of expressing our true selves to one another? The survival instinct encourages homogeneity for sure so grouping is inevitable, but with society in such a relatively comfortable position as it has ever been in, why are we drawn en masse to the banal rather than inspired by the extraordinary possibilities which we each might live? It’s also a truism that humans have a natural tendency to take the line of least resistance, but surely we would be more content existing as people with unique stories? It could be argued that this is the ultimate expression of the desirable side to ‘anarchy’ – and let it be said right here that I believe most people who fear anarchy are likely mistaking it for ‘nihilism’, the unnecessarily barbaric end of chaos rather than personal freedom, not that anarchy couldn’t probably benefit from some small refinement. As I relate this problem through my modest insights into Buddhism I think I can see a Catch 22. The solution would come from our collectively doing the right thing and trusting in the natural order of things by tending first to ourselves - positive selfish motivation, so that we are first and foremost true to ourselves. This then prepares our individual foundations for our contact with people as we travel the coveted ‘path of least resistance’. Maybe this would in itself help alleviate a lot of the underlying irritating feelings we have in our lives, feelings which we have trouble putting our fingers on when we feel discontent, the itch we can’t scratch – ‘What’s wrong with you?’ someone says, ‘I just don’t know’ comes the reply. Maybe we CAN see the problem, but we just choose to ignore it by having elections and letting others take the reins - letting go of personal social responsibility (which comes back to the arguable position of anarchy, which demands personal responsibility at a social level). But who wants to be the first to take individual responsibility? Still, by continuing to resist this responsibility the problem perpetuates and nothing in our lives can ever hope to settle satisfactorily – since when does someone else truly know what’s best for you? Thus people such as myself, who do try to learn from mistakes (despite the irony of going against society’s grain by taking the true path in life), have an especially difficult time of it because we not only have the normal day to day issues to contend with, but (for example) in trying to find happiness with a partner we also have an additional layer of social difficulty because of people playing ‘love games’, possibly denying many people the true, loving connection they deserve. Indeed, we can all aspire to better things – we can all be Johnny Depp, Neil Armstrong, the Dalai Lama - anyone we admire. I haven’t met any of them, but I’ll be willing to bet that when they aren’t doing their “thing” which we know them for, they really ARE normal people behind the scenes – to be the iconic figure 24/7 would drive you insane (and for some this has been the case, yes?). We each have a chance to be an extraordinary individual if we choose, rather than becoming bad copies or clones. Even being ordinary would leave one more contented than being fake wouldn’t it!?
For me, I think this may be why I generally have a hard time living in the society I am stuck in, especially when I am seeking something as simple as true love to help make me feel complete. That’s likely to be the truth at the heart of all this. We’re all stuck - it’s just a matter of whether we really feel and see it, or not. Ignorance may be bliss in this case. Surrounded as I am by people unwilling or unable to be themselves I find the only solution open to me is to seek a lesser-tainted culture for a soulmate, a task which is getting harder every day with rampant globalisation. As has often been said in my ramblings, I believe my true heart lies in Japan, no matter how much I might try to consider otherwise for conveniences’ sake. The main backlash I have read to counter this reasoning for looking beyond my own culture is “If you find you don’t like women in your own culture how can you hope to find love anywhere else? Surely you just have an issue with women generally?”. Not so. I always thought women were the feminine balance to the masculine side of the equation. Today, UK western women seem to feel incomplete unless they can be seen to be wielding personal power like a man, or else they aspire to become one of the many baby-making dole monsters out there, who for my tastes, excepting biological reasons, don’t deserve to be called women. Similarly, whilst I don’t condemn men for seeking a softer side to their personalities to inspire compassion and understanding where a club would have served as well the past, I certainly haven’t felt inspired by any present leaders. Even the arguments relating to pro and anti-homosexual outlooks can’t be honestly swept aside, for if anything they are simply examples of people expressing their true natures, which in this blog would seem to be a laudable thing. To condemn one relationship orientation would mean in this context to condemn all relations. Regardless of how you view it, it is just people expressing themselves freely – exactly what we want to encourage. The villain here is probably the over-exuberance with which alternative lifestyles are forced into the public arena (more social engineering agendas there too I think). I suppose you can pick your pigeonhole for anyone of the fakes out there, and trust me when I say I HATE pigeonholes. As you might imagine from my pictures people usually put me in one every time they meet me, which is about the only reason why I still feel ethically open to the possibility of finding a western soul mate, in spite of the odds.
You know, when we get to the heart of the matter I think a lack of credible role models is a very serious vacuum, which has been sorely overlooked. Is there any wonder that the more extreme, darker side of society would serve heroes up in such a capacity to redress the balance for the socially alienated? Oh, and for those who might seek to pipe up with an old chestnut at this point, let’s put this one to bed right here. it isn’t video games or films which make society violent, it’s more likely the lack of heroes and role models in real life which gives the fantasy characters such a lease of power. Blaming either the creator(s) or the actual film or video game itself is like blaming the hammer when you hit your thumb. The true fault in this case is the consequence of the action or inaction, not the instigator. Sadly, I believe it’s evermore ironic that it’s the truly rebellious side in humanity which is sustaining us as a species at the moment. Then again, maybe that’s always been the case. Surprises usually come our way when someone tries something without knowing it should be impossible.
This plague which has been running through our society which is making it a respectable thing to run from your true nature needs dealing with, now. Where the hell would an idea like that come from in the first place? Maybe from a society run by a lunatic minority who want to sit in their ivory towers, who force ‘square’ people into ‘round’ holes to satisfy their own demands, too afraid to trust in having individuality at the helm? Surely we are each best at what we are? Wouldn’t it be ironic to think that society may be better served by the individual excelling rather than straight-jacketed, badly educated clones?
Hmm.. This all still all leaves me with the problem of finding my one, true love though doesn’t it?
From the outset I never sought to place myself in the position I find myself in – a single person who feels on the whole very lonely. Who would? As I reflect more on the recent love lost (whether it was real or imagined is for another blog), and indeed on all of my relationships and hopes for future personal happiness, it seems even more evident to me that it is very hard to live your life in a way which is both truly honest to yourself and still generally acceptable to others. The two just don’t seem to gel at the moment. I’d be the first to point out that I’m throwing stones in a glasshouse. My own life to date hasn’t exactly been exemplary with respect to getting it right first time. We each have our crosses to bear where personal mistakes are concerned and I suppose we each have to find our own way of dealing with them, but as I sit here mulling things over I can’t help but feel that society stacks the odds against us all from the beginning. In the West (and particularly here in the UK) life is hypocritically portrayed as something to behold, with freedom and opportunity for all – no social exclusion. Well as I see it, aside from the fact that we clearly AREN’T all equal or in a position to be capable of having it all (I’m sorry, but someone who is totally paralysed is not going to make it as a true long-distance runner, no matter how many equal opportunity forms the PC brigade print), that “freedom and opportunity, complete with happiness” package comes with an ironic price attached – yes, social exclusion. For my part in this I’m going to metaphorically overlook the long-distance paraplegic sprinter to get to the fundamental issue of “relationships” as my example, as this is foremost on my mind.
In an effort to attract a mate it is typically the looks which get the attention (ie. the most attractive woman/man they would choose to be seen with rather than necessarily the RIGHT person). People may then generally choose to be brave and show themselves as they are, or apply a character ‘veneer’. They may do this either because of peer pressure, or a conscious choice to focus on money/status/looks of the potential mate as motivators rather than any of the true motivators for mutual attraction. This immediately presents a personality apart from their natural self. If the target of their affections chooses to do their self a similar disservice, is it any wonder that relationships keep failing on the scale we see? To meet the bull head-on as it were, if our truly compatible mates are really so physically undesirable, well maybe that would be different if the poor “unfortunate looker’s” personal self-worth wasn’t being crushed or misguided by a society obsessed with career, money and celebrity, and lacking in a proper, personal education for the good of the individual? Surely we would take pride in ourselves rather than feel the need for personal abuse in our united unhappiness. Personally, I suspect this may go some way towards explaining the high incidence of divorce and general malcontent which seems to exist in many relationships. These blindsided issues are usually further exacerbated down the line by couples trying to paper over the cracks and rebuff any nagging doubts with the ultimate commitment status symbol of children, who inevitably pay the price themselves by maturing within a ‘forced’ family unit – forced until divorce or murder ensues. Older generations have typically attributed it to a failing in the younger generations that they don’t persevere. Whilst this may be true to a degree (a world war and physical absence between partners is a very good motivator for appreciating the moment to be sure) I’m not totally convinced that life is so casual at the interpersonal level. Even in times of crisis lovers still experience their share of arguments. No, I think the overall problem we have here ladies and gentlemen is a disguised form of social engineering, itself motivated by either a desire to sustain an unworkable system, make money, and damn the moral consequences, or more likely both.
I can only really speak for the seventy million or so people in the UK as these are the people I experience on a daily basis, but I find it hard to believe that the vast majority really share an overwhelming interest in sport (mainly football), soaps, fame, beer and curry, without external driving forces. Why do we as individuals seem to have a fear of expressing our true selves to one another? The survival instinct encourages homogeneity for sure so grouping is inevitable, but with society in such a relatively comfortable position as it has ever been in, why are we drawn en masse to the banal rather than inspired by the extraordinary possibilities which we each might live? It’s also a truism that humans have a natural tendency to take the line of least resistance, but surely we would be more content existing as people with unique stories? It could be argued that this is the ultimate expression of the desirable side to ‘anarchy’ – and let it be said right here that I believe most people who fear anarchy are likely mistaking it for ‘nihilism’, the unnecessarily barbaric end of chaos rather than personal freedom, not that anarchy couldn’t probably benefit from some small refinement. As I relate this problem through my modest insights into Buddhism I think I can see a Catch 22. The solution would come from our collectively doing the right thing and trusting in the natural order of things by tending first to ourselves - positive selfish motivation, so that we are first and foremost true to ourselves. This then prepares our individual foundations for our contact with people as we travel the coveted ‘path of least resistance’. Maybe this would in itself help alleviate a lot of the underlying irritating feelings we have in our lives, feelings which we have trouble putting our fingers on when we feel discontent, the itch we can’t scratch – ‘What’s wrong with you?’ someone says, ‘I just don’t know’ comes the reply. Maybe we CAN see the problem, but we just choose to ignore it by having elections and letting others take the reins - letting go of personal social responsibility (which comes back to the arguable position of anarchy, which demands personal responsibility at a social level). But who wants to be the first to take individual responsibility? Still, by continuing to resist this responsibility the problem perpetuates and nothing in our lives can ever hope to settle satisfactorily – since when does someone else truly know what’s best for you? Thus people such as myself, who do try to learn from mistakes (despite the irony of going against society’s grain by taking the true path in life), have an especially difficult time of it because we not only have the normal day to day issues to contend with, but (for example) in trying to find happiness with a partner we also have an additional layer of social difficulty because of people playing ‘love games’, possibly denying many people the true, loving connection they deserve. Indeed, we can all aspire to better things – we can all be Johnny Depp, Neil Armstrong, the Dalai Lama - anyone we admire. I haven’t met any of them, but I’ll be willing to bet that when they aren’t doing their “thing” which we know them for, they really ARE normal people behind the scenes – to be the iconic figure 24/7 would drive you insane (and for some this has been the case, yes?). We each have a chance to be an extraordinary individual if we choose, rather than becoming bad copies or clones. Even being ordinary would leave one more contented than being fake wouldn’t it!?
For me, I think this may be why I generally have a hard time living in the society I am stuck in, especially when I am seeking something as simple as true love to help make me feel complete. That’s likely to be the truth at the heart of all this. We’re all stuck - it’s just a matter of whether we really feel and see it, or not. Ignorance may be bliss in this case. Surrounded as I am by people unwilling or unable to be themselves I find the only solution open to me is to seek a lesser-tainted culture for a soulmate, a task which is getting harder every day with rampant globalisation. As has often been said in my ramblings, I believe my true heart lies in Japan, no matter how much I might try to consider otherwise for conveniences’ sake. The main backlash I have read to counter this reasoning for looking beyond my own culture is “If you find you don’t like women in your own culture how can you hope to find love anywhere else? Surely you just have an issue with women generally?”. Not so. I always thought women were the feminine balance to the masculine side of the equation. Today, UK western women seem to feel incomplete unless they can be seen to be wielding personal power like a man, or else they aspire to become one of the many baby-making dole monsters out there, who for my tastes, excepting biological reasons, don’t deserve to be called women. Similarly, whilst I don’t condemn men for seeking a softer side to their personalities to inspire compassion and understanding where a club would have served as well the past, I certainly haven’t felt inspired by any present leaders. Even the arguments relating to pro and anti-homosexual outlooks can’t be honestly swept aside, for if anything they are simply examples of people expressing their true natures, which in this blog would seem to be a laudable thing. To condemn one relationship orientation would mean in this context to condemn all relations. Regardless of how you view it, it is just people expressing themselves freely – exactly what we want to encourage. The villain here is probably the over-exuberance with which alternative lifestyles are forced into the public arena (more social engineering agendas there too I think). I suppose you can pick your pigeonhole for anyone of the fakes out there, and trust me when I say I HATE pigeonholes. As you might imagine from my pictures people usually put me in one every time they meet me, which is about the only reason why I still feel ethically open to the possibility of finding a western soul mate, in spite of the odds.
You know, when we get to the heart of the matter I think a lack of credible role models is a very serious vacuum, which has been sorely overlooked. Is there any wonder that the more extreme, darker side of society would serve heroes up in such a capacity to redress the balance for the socially alienated? Oh, and for those who might seek to pipe up with an old chestnut at this point, let’s put this one to bed right here. it isn’t video games or films which make society violent, it’s more likely the lack of heroes and role models in real life which gives the fantasy characters such a lease of power. Blaming either the creator(s) or the actual film or video game itself is like blaming the hammer when you hit your thumb. The true fault in this case is the consequence of the action or inaction, not the instigator. Sadly, I believe it’s evermore ironic that it’s the truly rebellious side in humanity which is sustaining us as a species at the moment. Then again, maybe that’s always been the case. Surprises usually come our way when someone tries something without knowing it should be impossible.
This plague which has been running through our society which is making it a respectable thing to run from your true nature needs dealing with, now. Where the hell would an idea like that come from in the first place? Maybe from a society run by a lunatic minority who want to sit in their ivory towers, who force ‘square’ people into ‘round’ holes to satisfy their own demands, too afraid to trust in having individuality at the helm? Surely we are each best at what we are? Wouldn’t it be ironic to think that society may be better served by the individual excelling rather than straight-jacketed, badly educated clones?
Hmm.. This all still all leaves me with the problem of finding my one, true love though doesn’t it?
Monday 12 April 2010
How Far Will You Go? (Part 2)
Well, time DID have the last word.. within roughly two hours. I was determined that part 2 was not going to begin with “well that was interesting..”, but..
Well, that was interesting. The big questions regarding “why” are just too numerous to argue here but it’s sufficient to say that the holiday did not last as long, nor go as I’d expected, and believe me I had considered a fair few possible outcomes as part of my preparations.
I made good my escape from Britain. For anyone about to enter Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport for the first time, relax. It is both sensibly designed and something of a treat with its shops and amenities – almost worth a holiday in itself. Do allow yourself at least thirty minutes to traverse its entire length though - and considerably more time if you fancy exploring. The flight to Manila, whilst long was also very pleasant as these things go. It was my first truly long-haul flight but it worked pretty well. I recommend setting your watch to your destination time as soon as you board your long-haul plane, and adjust your mindset to this new time as soon and as painlessly as you can. I’d also like to take a moment here to endorse KLM Dutch Airlines for their in-flight facilities, light but damn good airline food and graciously attentive staff.
Manila itself is a curious city, almost continental in feel - yes, definitely the spanish influence. The overall impression I got was rightfully one of a city which had been constructed over a very long period of time. Whilst perfectly capable, the indigenous culture did seem at odds with their environment, as though they’d been given the city without asking for one and were now making the most of it. I should add this impression is personal to me, reasoned as it is with only a mere 24 hours of experience, so my apologies to any Filipinos left with a feeling of misrepresentation. I sat in the arrivals area at the front of Ninoy Aquino Airport (NAIA) feeling as if I were on an auction block as hundreds of Filipina’s stared at me as they awaited the arrival of their own friends and families. It’s likely a safe bet that they don’t get too many long blonde-haired British guys sitting in the waiting area. An attendant assisted me in finding my girl, who duly turned up (complete with a taxi and driver), so the dreaded “no show” was off the cards at least. She’d just arrived back from her parent’s that morning and managed to do a complete 360 to get here in time to meet me, only a little late really to be fair. She’d said she was petite but she was actually more so than even I’d imagined, not so much under my chin as up to my chest. It has to be said she was also vastly cuter than even her pictures had made her out to be. I've been told by my friend that it's a bad idea to compare any girl you are dating with anyone else (he's right of course), but I have to say her eyes were simply stunning - somewhat akin to Zhang Ziyi's striking looks in "Memoirs of a Geisha". I was all smiles.
The anticipated “stop-start-stop-screeching tyres-horn” behaviour ensued for the next twenty minutes as we hunted for the hotel. I had an address but that didn’t prevent the taxi driver from having to consult my web map and a couple of loitering traffic police officers – the cost was a very reasonable £4 or so for the five miles, plus multiple confused trips backwards and forwards along a few of the same roads several times (UK taxi drivers take note!). Eventually we found the place – it didn’t look a thing like its pictures, but show me a hotel which does. It was a simple three-level building on a typical street, two entrances front and back, and a covered but airy courtyard leading to the lobby. I had no idea where the advertised pool was supposed to be - on the roof perhaps? We checked-in, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, unpacked my case, freshened up and basked in the delightful air-conditioning as we chatted. I asked her if she intended to continue with her plan to stay with me or commute from her home here in the city. She said she’d stay as planned but she obviously needed to go home, collect her belongings and return - within the hour. We went to get her a taxi and after she’d left I had a quick chat with the hotel security guard out front about the trip, the coming holiday and the awesome heat – I suppose we Brits talk about the weather wherever we are. I retired to the room and reorganised my unpacking to make room for her belongings. Imagine my surprise when she phoned twenty minutes or so later to say that her Dad had called to announce the arrival of an aunt from Chicago at their home some 350 miles away, and told her to come home. Imagine further my incredulous expressions at her blind obedience to his demands and her apologies before hanging up, leaving me alone in a strange city half way around the world and with a distinct lack of purpose. You may now be imagining that this didn’t go down terribly well with me. You’d be right.
I went to the communal sitting area on the same floor and sat in the heat, which seemed somehow less tolerable now. I sat drinking my warm water, overlooking the courtyard, trying to figure out what had just happened and why. As a momentary distraction I noted the courtyard felt very Cuban in design - wrought iron balconies and wooden-shuttered windows. A girl appeared from nowhere and sat down at the opposite end of the room, lit a cigarette and chilled out with her back to me – not very sociable. As I contemplated the possibility of salvaging something from the clusterf**k I found myself in I noted a sign at the foot of some more stairs leading upwards, saying that the hotel pool was closed for repairs. Did someone want to kick me in the nuts for good measure? The smoking girl disappeared. Some more hotel staff wandered back and forth. No other guests appeared at this time – maybe there weren’t any. No one appeared for nut-cracking duties. I retired to my room and looked at my unpacked items. Locking up, I dropped my key off at reception and went for a walk.
For a city which was supposed to be a nightmare for both pedestrians and drivers alike it had quietened down considerably – it was holy week I suppose. The place looked like set of a zombie film. It was still and virtually empty, with vehicles parked at all angles and in all places. For thirty minutes I pottered about, and in that time I saw five jeepneys, a handful of cars and a small number of people (some walking and talking quietly, some laid on the pavement asleep, some sat around smiling and looking distant as though awaiting Armageddon). The sun was too strong to be out in, so I retired once more to the hotel and looked at my stuff again. At a loss I wandered to the lobby and spotted a couple of computers – the Internet. With a link with to the world I’d left behind I set about popping in for a chat. The hotel security guard logged me in and I let friends know the state of play. Much confusion and surprise rattled back and forth across the net as I explained what had happened and what I was contemplating. With neither the heart nor (strictly-speaking) the funds for two weeks of reckless island hopping/exploration I re-packed my belongings and within twenty two hours I was not only once more “single”, but also on a relatively hastily-arranged flight home, unaware of the masses of emails offering local help in the wake of my ‘post-dump’ Facebook and forum conversations - I was not to discover these offers until my second stopover at Schiphol, thirteen hours later.
The return journey suffered from a similar littering of inexplicable gaps in reason, both good and bad – the great speed with which we both got back to and through Manchester Aiport (landed, repatriated and stood in the train station with all my baggage intact in 20 mins!), the lack of ANY trains from Manchester to Sheffield at 10pm on a Saturday night, even from Manchester Airport (consider yourself warned), the expensive but available hotels (well, that they would be available when they were charging £235 per night - consider yourself warned again). One excellent side effect to this whole episode however was the chance to finally meet my friend Mike and his Japanese wife Junco, who kindly gave me a roof for the night in Macclesfield and a lift to the train station the following morning to complete my ordeal. I paid them in kind with a couple of my holiday gifts. As befits efforts to travel in the UK the train from Macclesfield to Manchester Picadilly turned into a bus at Stockport and the return journey from Picadilly to Sheffield went the ‘scenic’ route, packed to the rafters like an Indian rail freight carrier (minus livestock). One family with a particularly boisterous father-figure sat his daughter next to me and then proceeded to have her talk to me on the grounds that I didn’t look unfriendly. I still don’t know to this day how he managed to make this assumption. Most people I know would be horrified at the thought of their sons or daughters making conversation with someone who looked like me. I could sense that she felt trapped between her own embarrassment and her father’s social expectations. I tried to lessen her discomfort by reassuring her that I was an okay guy. Blushing slightly she noted that it looked like I’d had an interesting time. I felt obliged to make conversation and disarm her father’s over-enthusiasm with a brief recount of my having travelled 14,000 miles in 72 hours via four different international airports, four trains and a bus. That seemed to knock the wind out of his sails. She smiled and he went strangely quiet. The first person I bumped into a few minutes after leaving Sheffield train station was my cousin, who had no idea I’d even been away. She looked down at my bags for a moment, looked back up at me and said that it looked like I’d been somewhere interesting.
After all this you may consider me mad for beginning to even think about contemplating my next journey. Well, I have to say that I feel quite enriched and emboldened by the whole affair. This consisted of quite a few “firsts” for me, some planned and many unplanned (haha!). One thing you can guarantee is that none of this has deterred me in the slightest. The one thing which WILL be different though, is the raison d’etre for my journey. Next time it will be for me alone.
KLM, keep a seat warm.. I just need to pay this last one off and then I think I’m going to see Japan.
Peace.
Well, that was interesting. The big questions regarding “why” are just too numerous to argue here but it’s sufficient to say that the holiday did not last as long, nor go as I’d expected, and believe me I had considered a fair few possible outcomes as part of my preparations.
I made good my escape from Britain. For anyone about to enter Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport for the first time, relax. It is both sensibly designed and something of a treat with its shops and amenities – almost worth a holiday in itself. Do allow yourself at least thirty minutes to traverse its entire length though - and considerably more time if you fancy exploring. The flight to Manila, whilst long was also very pleasant as these things go. It was my first truly long-haul flight but it worked pretty well. I recommend setting your watch to your destination time as soon as you board your long-haul plane, and adjust your mindset to this new time as soon and as painlessly as you can. I’d also like to take a moment here to endorse KLM Dutch Airlines for their in-flight facilities, light but damn good airline food and graciously attentive staff.
Manila itself is a curious city, almost continental in feel - yes, definitely the spanish influence. The overall impression I got was rightfully one of a city which had been constructed over a very long period of time. Whilst perfectly capable, the indigenous culture did seem at odds with their environment, as though they’d been given the city without asking for one and were now making the most of it. I should add this impression is personal to me, reasoned as it is with only a mere 24 hours of experience, so my apologies to any Filipinos left with a feeling of misrepresentation. I sat in the arrivals area at the front of Ninoy Aquino Airport (NAIA) feeling as if I were on an auction block as hundreds of Filipina’s stared at me as they awaited the arrival of their own friends and families. It’s likely a safe bet that they don’t get too many long blonde-haired British guys sitting in the waiting area. An attendant assisted me in finding my girl, who duly turned up (complete with a taxi and driver), so the dreaded “no show” was off the cards at least. She’d just arrived back from her parent’s that morning and managed to do a complete 360 to get here in time to meet me, only a little late really to be fair. She’d said she was petite but she was actually more so than even I’d imagined, not so much under my chin as up to my chest. It has to be said she was also vastly cuter than even her pictures had made her out to be. I've been told by my friend that it's a bad idea to compare any girl you are dating with anyone else (he's right of course), but I have to say her eyes were simply stunning - somewhat akin to Zhang Ziyi's striking looks in "Memoirs of a Geisha". I was all smiles.
The anticipated “stop-start-stop-screeching tyres-horn” behaviour ensued for the next twenty minutes as we hunted for the hotel. I had an address but that didn’t prevent the taxi driver from having to consult my web map and a couple of loitering traffic police officers – the cost was a very reasonable £4 or so for the five miles, plus multiple confused trips backwards and forwards along a few of the same roads several times (UK taxi drivers take note!). Eventually we found the place – it didn’t look a thing like its pictures, but show me a hotel which does. It was a simple three-level building on a typical street, two entrances front and back, and a covered but airy courtyard leading to the lobby. I had no idea where the advertised pool was supposed to be - on the roof perhaps? We checked-in, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, unpacked my case, freshened up and basked in the delightful air-conditioning as we chatted. I asked her if she intended to continue with her plan to stay with me or commute from her home here in the city. She said she’d stay as planned but she obviously needed to go home, collect her belongings and return - within the hour. We went to get her a taxi and after she’d left I had a quick chat with the hotel security guard out front about the trip, the coming holiday and the awesome heat – I suppose we Brits talk about the weather wherever we are. I retired to the room and reorganised my unpacking to make room for her belongings. Imagine my surprise when she phoned twenty minutes or so later to say that her Dad had called to announce the arrival of an aunt from Chicago at their home some 350 miles away, and told her to come home. Imagine further my incredulous expressions at her blind obedience to his demands and her apologies before hanging up, leaving me alone in a strange city half way around the world and with a distinct lack of purpose. You may now be imagining that this didn’t go down terribly well with me. You’d be right.
I went to the communal sitting area on the same floor and sat in the heat, which seemed somehow less tolerable now. I sat drinking my warm water, overlooking the courtyard, trying to figure out what had just happened and why. As a momentary distraction I noted the courtyard felt very Cuban in design - wrought iron balconies and wooden-shuttered windows. A girl appeared from nowhere and sat down at the opposite end of the room, lit a cigarette and chilled out with her back to me – not very sociable. As I contemplated the possibility of salvaging something from the clusterf**k I found myself in I noted a sign at the foot of some more stairs leading upwards, saying that the hotel pool was closed for repairs. Did someone want to kick me in the nuts for good measure? The smoking girl disappeared. Some more hotel staff wandered back and forth. No other guests appeared at this time – maybe there weren’t any. No one appeared for nut-cracking duties. I retired to my room and looked at my unpacked items. Locking up, I dropped my key off at reception and went for a walk.
For a city which was supposed to be a nightmare for both pedestrians and drivers alike it had quietened down considerably – it was holy week I suppose. The place looked like set of a zombie film. It was still and virtually empty, with vehicles parked at all angles and in all places. For thirty minutes I pottered about, and in that time I saw five jeepneys, a handful of cars and a small number of people (some walking and talking quietly, some laid on the pavement asleep, some sat around smiling and looking distant as though awaiting Armageddon). The sun was too strong to be out in, so I retired once more to the hotel and looked at my stuff again. At a loss I wandered to the lobby and spotted a couple of computers – the Internet. With a link with to the world I’d left behind I set about popping in for a chat. The hotel security guard logged me in and I let friends know the state of play. Much confusion and surprise rattled back and forth across the net as I explained what had happened and what I was contemplating. With neither the heart nor (strictly-speaking) the funds for two weeks of reckless island hopping/exploration I re-packed my belongings and within twenty two hours I was not only once more “single”, but also on a relatively hastily-arranged flight home, unaware of the masses of emails offering local help in the wake of my ‘post-dump’ Facebook and forum conversations - I was not to discover these offers until my second stopover at Schiphol, thirteen hours later.
The return journey suffered from a similar littering of inexplicable gaps in reason, both good and bad – the great speed with which we both got back to and through Manchester Aiport (landed, repatriated and stood in the train station with all my baggage intact in 20 mins!), the lack of ANY trains from Manchester to Sheffield at 10pm on a Saturday night, even from Manchester Airport (consider yourself warned), the expensive but available hotels (well, that they would be available when they were charging £235 per night - consider yourself warned again). One excellent side effect to this whole episode however was the chance to finally meet my friend Mike and his Japanese wife Junco, who kindly gave me a roof for the night in Macclesfield and a lift to the train station the following morning to complete my ordeal. I paid them in kind with a couple of my holiday gifts. As befits efforts to travel in the UK the train from Macclesfield to Manchester Picadilly turned into a bus at Stockport and the return journey from Picadilly to Sheffield went the ‘scenic’ route, packed to the rafters like an Indian rail freight carrier (minus livestock). One family with a particularly boisterous father-figure sat his daughter next to me and then proceeded to have her talk to me on the grounds that I didn’t look unfriendly. I still don’t know to this day how he managed to make this assumption. Most people I know would be horrified at the thought of their sons or daughters making conversation with someone who looked like me. I could sense that she felt trapped between her own embarrassment and her father’s social expectations. I tried to lessen her discomfort by reassuring her that I was an okay guy. Blushing slightly she noted that it looked like I’d had an interesting time. I felt obliged to make conversation and disarm her father’s over-enthusiasm with a brief recount of my having travelled 14,000 miles in 72 hours via four different international airports, four trains and a bus. That seemed to knock the wind out of his sails. She smiled and he went strangely quiet. The first person I bumped into a few minutes after leaving Sheffield train station was my cousin, who had no idea I’d even been away. She looked down at my bags for a moment, looked back up at me and said that it looked like I’d been somewhere interesting.
After all this you may consider me mad for beginning to even think about contemplating my next journey. Well, I have to say that I feel quite enriched and emboldened by the whole affair. This consisted of quite a few “firsts” for me, some planned and many unplanned (haha!). One thing you can guarantee is that none of this has deterred me in the slightest. The one thing which WILL be different though, is the raison d’etre for my journey. Next time it will be for me alone.
KLM, keep a seat warm.. I just need to pay this last one off and then I think I’m going to see Japan.
Peace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
