My Plan

I don't know if anyone will ever be able to read this. I mean, only an extremely knowledgeable person with an intense ability to communicate with others will be able to understand and interpret this. But if you are reading this, then you know that it has been done. There indeed are special genes in some species, and I only hope this does not lead humans to start a type of war, but more on that later. 

So I have been listening to some conversations about the end of the world, some say it is due to the Christian rapture and others think it might be global warming, and some say the two are linked but I do not know and I do not wish to comment on that. The last conversation I overheard was on how the whole global warming problem might lead to the end of life for humans, just like how dinosaurs are now extinct. Now I don't claim to know much about all of that, my concerns in my four years on earth have been food, walks and play. That has been all. But as I slept last night, and only for a few moments because I have not been able to sleep for as long as humans are able to, ever in my life, I decided to write my plan.

If you transcribed this, then you must know it has been fraught with spelling mistakes and is over many pieces of paper. I saw all the other kids writing and thought I should write too, but I didn't know how to do it best, so maybe these sheets of paper are useless. Oh I don't know.

You see, if humans left the earth, I wonder what would happen to those like me? Would I also die? I mean, after being domesticated, I wonder what it must be like to fend for one's food? Also, will there be anyone for me to jump at? Can we even organise ourselves as a species? I mean, if humans became extinct, what would happen to dogs like me?

We live for more than 15years, at a stretch, so does this mean we have to have leaders and elections too? Will we have to fight with ourselves as we try to eat all that the humans have left behind? Who will take me for my daily walk? Will the alsatians be kind to the chihuahuas and daschunds? What would happen if we had no more vets? Will I catch rabies?

Oh my. Would there be gross overpopulation of dogs, if none of us is neutered? Or will we struggle so much that one by one, pack by pack, dog species by dog species, we become extinct too? My plan is this: to get man to teach other dogs how to read and write. How to become more intelligent. I mean, we are already thought to be as smart as toddlers, so why can't we learn more so we can organize our own lives?*

Thank you for reading and transcribing this. If you are interested, please start the revolution to educate more dogs, so we can take over when humans are gone, as a form of intelligent succession planning. I only have to apologize for the sticky and wet manner in which I have tried to put this on paper. Writing with one's tongue isn't easy, and there's no dog school for doggywriting. Maybe this is something that Harrods can start to offer sometime in the future?

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* If you don't believe me, check out : http://edition.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/personal/08/07/smart.dogs/

**I (being Adun) was driving the other day, and wondered what would happen to earth if/when humans become extinct. Then I thought, what would happen to dogs and other animals (especially the domestic ones)? Then I thought, how would this look from the point of view of a dog, assuming dogs outlive humans. 

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The Orgy

I got the invite. It said "come with an open mind and be prepared to try new things, taste different flavours from countries far away."

I am a tried and tested traveller and party-goer and I know that sometimes, people have a tendency to exaggerate in their invitations, to make it grander than it is, akin to the candlelight club, but then again, perhaps anticipation is the best drug as it induces excitement and the need to present oneself in one of two ways, either the best possible light, and there you work with what you have in your wardrobe-going-out repertoire, or an opportunity to reinvent yourself, cue a visit to www.google.com, where you shop through the millions of internet pages to find the character you want to channel for the occasion.

Well, the invite said it was an orgy, and that there would be a medley to choose from, so I thought it best to go looking demurely sexy. Thankfully, Google is that best friend that you can tell everything to, and it doesn't share your secrets with others, well, excepting the media agencies and third party companies who can trail your internet activity with the funny techie geek thing known as a cookie. Now why would you create a stalker ware and call it something as harmless as "cookie"? Why! Especially as I'm on my weight loss mission and ticking that I accept this "cookie" every time I go on a random website does very little for my hunger pangs and my anger management. I have been known to scream at the laptop. Poor Macbook, at least it was named apple, which sends waves of healthy-eating negative calories-calm through my body, calming and attaining a technology-state-of-zen.

I asked google "what to wear to an orgy?" She, google that is, my best friend, came up with several helpful things, and gave me guidelines, linking me to pages that said "what to wear to your first sex party", "tips on how to make an impression at an orgy-party". What impression! I thought. It is an orgy. Everybody is expecting to get some, no impression necessary, this is not a speed-dating event, although, whether one wants to make an impression at a speed-dating event is debatable. Í mean who goes to a speed-dating party?

Yes, yes, I know, you might ask, who goes to an orgy party too. That is not the point. This IS MY story and I can tell you what I want to. Anyways, I asked google some questions and she said that I shouldn't wear expensive heels. I should not wear any dress too expensive and I should definitely not take any condoms, since orgies were for sharing. You see this is the thing with google, she starts by giving me helpful advice and then rapidly descends into some sort of weird Dr-Ozzy type aunt, and I'm not sure if she's joking or playing and sometimes I even think I want to terminate our friendship but I can't because Jeeves was not so good and BING is totally rubbish and all the other engines just don't seem to think the way I do, AND they judge me!

So, after several conversations over drinks, with google, I decided to wear a burgundy dress, fitted with slits at the back, so that way, from the front I look like an angel, but from the back, it is a bit more risqué. You catch my drift?

I wore flat converses, I mean, yes I trust my friend to invite no-crazies, but who turns up to an orgy unless they have some sort of extreme open-mindedness, which in some situations can be read as craziness. The flat converse shoes would be a good talking point (con-versation - corny, I know) but also provide me with a quick getaway if things become too "risqué".

I thanked google and compensated her by clicking on a few links to buy my dress. Purchase over, the anticipation began and I was doubly excited when my dress came. It looked nothing like what it was advertised as, but hey, this is what I get for buying "orgy-clothing" but it had to do.

The day came, I had a milk-bath, to channel my inner Cleopatra, and put on angelic-demon make-up. I don't know what that means, but I'm happy for you to speak to my best-friend, the fountain of all knowledge, the owner of the secrets of man, woman, and beast, the keeper of all plagiarisms and the defender of free-living.

I took strawberries covered in chocolates, from god-diva and sauntered into my cab to my destination. I had kept my plans for the  evening a secret cos I didn't want my friends to judge me, although I'm aware that is what all friends do. I pressed the door-bell, took in a deep breath and waited.

Door opened and I scanned, to see a few people I knew, and some I didn't know, but hey all is cool. I thought the whole set-up looked too normal, but then I thought, maybe that was the aim, like the movie, "The Last Supper"*

My poor over-active imagination.

The night continued, people had brought foods from different parts of the world. Starters led to mains which led to desserts. Frankly I like my food to be simple, too many different things to taste from massively confuses my stomach which confuses my brain, which is over-active on the best of days. The confused brain led to my incessant twitching and delivery of random lies, saying "oh, yum, this is so nice, I've always wondered what they ate in Uzbekistan". No I've not, but now, maybe I do, okay I don't but in a way, I do wonder what Uzbeks eat at dinner parties. And the night descends into more nose-extending actions and I try not to drink too much so I'm sober-like for the main party. Desserts came and I proffered my strawberries in chocolates as a nod to french delicate dessert-making. I know, the things I come up with!

Then after desserts, we had tea and coffee and then people started to leave. At this point, I started to think that maybe only a select-few of us had been invited to the orgy, and so our invites were different, and no one was saying anything about it, and so I didn't say anything too. I waited and continued to endure boring conversation on the brain formation of rabbits and why even though we think fruits do not have any brains, research is showing that they in fact, do. Except that our conceptualisation of brain-matter is limited and doesn't extend to include other thinking-feeling-reactive abilities that fruits definitely have, which enables them to respond to the environment. BLA BLA BLA Drone.

But I endured it because he was hot. Good-looking, tall and had the perfect skin. He turned out to be gay. I only know this cos I googled him after the party which was not an orgy mind you. It was a food-festival that my silly friends decided to name as  "the orgy" to sound exciting in a bid to spice up our unremarkable and  simple lives.

So only you, my readers, here, know what I was expecting. Shhhh. Well, you and google.  I mean who comes up with orgy as a name for food parties! Why don't you just call it a food fest or food party! Although if new followerisms are anything to go by, expect to be invited to "The Orgy", be warned. It is just a food party. Don't go expecting anything more.

Anyways, I was only attending the party as scientific research for my new book, so it doesn't matter what you think.

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The Last Supper:

http://www.google.com/url?q=http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_Supper_(1995_film)&sa=U&ei=XHBdUaSeNIHhOquxgeAP&ved=0CAcQFjAA&usg=AFQjCNHPq6AntEQlslUgVvt5GKOsGpA4pw

PS the above account is entirely fictional. You have to take my word for it.
PPS if you do get invited to a party billed as an orgy, don't assume it is purely a food party. It might very well be the real thing, in which case, attend at your own discretion.

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Emergency Services

Yesterday, I saw a little child lying in a pool of his own blood. His carer wailing helplessly, and the van that had hit him, parked abruptly on the road. It was not a hit and run.  Local residents came out of their apartments to find out what all the noise was about, there was a lot of screaming, and noise...the sirens from police cars, and then ambulances. It was a very, very, sad experience.

I held my hands to my head as I saw the helplessness of the situation, even as the paramedics tried to resuscitate him. A little child, perhaps, a sibling or a close friend was crying and shouting his name. I  imagine, from the shock that such a thing could happen, and that in a short space of time, you are transported from happy children returning home from school, to an accident zone. From my view on the second floor, it did not appear that he would make it through. There was too much blood. Many more people came out to their balconies to look, and we held a vigil, praying beyond hope that the child would be okay. 

The paramedics kept on trying. They never gave up, more back-up arrived, and the road resembled an emergency ward, with drips, beds, doctors, and the like. We all watched them try their best for him, there was silence, and there was hope.

A woman came running down, bare-foot, without a coat, even though it was about 4 degrees yesterday. I assume she was his mother. She was crying and she looked confused and in shock. I couldn't bring myself to look at the child anymore, but the paramedics continued to work on him, until it was okay to take him to the hospital in an ambulance .

I felt proud of the UK emergency services. They had arrived quickly and had the necessary equipment to enable them give their best for the child.  I know that there would be more investigations into what had happened, even as I saw police asking witnesses for an account of what had happened. The police remained at the scene for several hours. I also know that the safety of the road will be assessed to determine if a zebra crossing or traffic signals or speed bumps should be installed near the scene of the accident. 

Sadly, it was reported on BBC News that the child passed away. My heart goes out to his family, my heart also goes to the van driver, who must be going through a horrible time. I thank the emergency services for trying their very best. Then I thought to myself. If this had happened in Lagos what would have been the child's chances? Would there even have been an ambulance service at the scene of the accident? And even if there was one, how long would it have taken it to weave through the traffic to get there? Undoubtedly, the chances of survival are much slimmer. because our health system is very poor, with even private hospitals lacking the basic amenities. I hope beyond hope that someday soon, in Nigeria, we will have an efficient and equipped ambulance and emergency services. 

I dare, to hope.
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Catrin+Poli

Trawling the net in between classes, I came across http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/interactive/2013/feb/14/valentines-day-love-odd-couples

I started reading it, and totally fell in love with the story of Catrin and Poli.

I think I just bit the swooning bug....
What I learnt from this, sometimes it is best to not analyse and just go with the flow.
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Catrin + Poli

Cardiff, UK

When we met, I was a naive Welsh student away from home for the first time, and he was a Chilean refugee, 16 years older than me. We didn't even like one another; we were almost as perplexed as our friends were when we got together. I think my family hoped it was a rebellious thing on my part. Twenty-nine years later we have a bit more in common. Off the top of my head I can think of: walking on the cliffs in west Wales, and our recently acquired dog. Oh, and our three grown-up children. I'm sociable, he's virtually a recluse, so joint invitations to anything tend to be awkward. Sometimes we discuss why on earth we're together and neither can come up with a reasonable answer. Except that somehow it works and neither of us can imagine life without the other.

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London: February 2013

There is such a lot of world to see, and nowhere is this more evident than in London, where the world quite literally is at your feet. A quick read through the magazines tell me that so much is happening in London this February, with shows, exhibitions, plays, concerts and talks happening in pretty much every corner of this marvellous city.

I went with a friend to see the 'transcending boundaries' exhibition at Aabru art on Cork Street last week, and we saw various pieces of art work, with differing quality levels, but it was a nice exhibition nonetheless. It was inspirational too, and I do not use the word lightly, as we got to speak to one of the artists and it was evident that he was proud to be provided with an international platform, something that I think is important and encouraging, given the somewhat irresponsible practices of gallery owners in Nigeria. http://www.africa-confidential.com/events

Afterwards, as it was a short exhibition and we needed some more art to make our day complete, we went to see the Mariko Moki 'rebirth' exhibition at the nearby Royal Academy http://www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibitions/mariko-mori/. Now, I had never seen art in real life by a Japanese artist and it was powerful in its simplicity. Very calm, tranquil, I felt like I had just been for a yoga class, my mind was cleansed and refreshed. I was re-birthed. I think what struck us about the exhibition was the way in which a style was repeated in several different ways, and so, the same work of art can be interpreted in multiple ways. The themes we got from it were, the path of life, the journey of life, ups and downs, highs and lows, the colours of our emotions, the colours of our subconscious, dreams, how do these dreams marry up with our realities. This might have to do with the late-20s-stage we are in our lives, where the future is unknown and there is increasing pressure to make decisions.

The combination of making decisions with an unknown future can only appeal to the risk-loving. And we are risk-averse I think, in this sense. So perhaps our solution is to hide away from it all, and spend our days theorising, analysing, thinking, interpreting, arting.

In any case, here's my list of what I would like to do this February.
Feast http://www.youngvic.org/whats-on/feast
Lichenstein at Tate Modern http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/exhibition/lichtenstein
Schwitters at Tate http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/exhibition/schwitters-britain
Taylor Wessing Prize at National Portrait Gallery http://www.npg.org.uk/photoprize1/site12/index.php
Light from the Middle East at V and A http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/exhibitions/exhibition-light-from-the-middle-east-new-photography/
V and A Barbara Nessim http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/b/barbara-nessim-an-artful-life/
Friday late at V and A: http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/b/barbara-nessim-an-artful-life/

So now, it is just to make the time to see all!

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February Fifteen

I really like listening to the radio whenever I drive. My radio station of choice depends on the time of the day. So that, when it is early morning, I listen to radio 1, anytime between 9am and 12 noon, I am on BBC London, and whenever I am driving back home, around 4pm or 5pm, I am on BBC London too. Any later than that, then it is Classic FM or my ipod.

That is it. Fixed like clockwork. I enjoy listening to random conversations ranging from the best car boot sale market stalls in London, to how to maintain your voice, to the new changes to the Life in the UK test and like today, noise from neighbours flushing the loo, and how to cope with your partner during retirement.

Again, random topics, but made interesting by amazing and talented presenters. So much so, that I find myself forgetting about the traffic, the length of the journey, the stop-start-go-stop of rapidly changing traffic lights, and speed cameras.

Until it is time for the news update. And for some reason, it is as though someone has decided to interrupt a beautiful day and fill the entire vehicle with the dismal stench of death, gloom, murder, child molesters, rape charges, accidents, political scandals, phone hackings, missing people.

I know the news updates are necessary, but it would not be too much to ask for some good news thrown in, to sort of like diffuse the air, just a little bit - a sort of perfume  (Iris Poudre, my favourite - now you know) sprayed into the car.

Or another suggestion is to have all the dreary news given at certain hours of the day, e.g. 7am, and 5pm and the rest of the day filled with positive news to cheer the day. I guess I absorb a lot of emotional energy...

Or what do we think? Do you prefer to listen to all the news as it makes you put things in perspective and feel like life isn't too bad?

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Dilbert TShirt. Just Because

I subscribe to Scott Adam's blog (the creator of the Dilbert comics) and I love the slogans he's come up with for Dilbert T-shirts. Below are the slogans and their votes. Which is your favourite? Mine is: "Self-respect is like a prison for the soul." 

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There's no kill switch on awesome. (29 votes)

I'm not lazy, I'm useless. There's a big difference. (20)
[Shorter version: I'm not lazy, I'm useless. Big difference.]

I'm toying with the idea of becoming a useful member of society. (14)

With any luck, your soul mate won't be perceptive. (11)
[Shorter version: I hope your soul mate isn't perceptive.]

Goals are a form of self-inflicted slavery. (10)

Never mind. My phone took care of it. (8)

Did you learn to debate on the Internet? (7)

I can no longer resist the urge to text while you talk. (6)
[Shorter version: I text while you talk at me.]

Self-respect is like a prison for the soul. (5)

You might want to pick a defense that's less checkable. (5)
[Shorter version: Try picking a defense that's less checkable.]

I've decided to be more aggressive in blaming others for my lack of success. (5)

I tried to read your email but the signal-to-noise ratio was too low. (3)
[Shorter version: Your signal-to-noise ratio is low]

Notable Write-ins:

My philosophy is that anything worth doing is too hard.

And that is how Floyd became the first person to hold his breath and jump into outer space.

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http://www.eyecrowd.com/jobs/047b306a2e00feffbaac46ddb6cd38655a97834c

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Feline nature

This came from a conversation I was having with a friend. I joked that I wanted to finish my Phd early and start working, or the alternative was to marry a rich man. He replied that, sadly, he did not have that option. I told him he did. He could have a cougar. He said then his girlfriend would kill him, and I responded that, that would not be the end of things as he had more lives to spend. He then suggested I wrote this into a short story, and here it is.

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I remember running around from one lecture to the other at university. And I remember before then, rushing from class to class to tennis lessons to swimming lessons when I was in secondary school. If I stretch my imagination further, my mother used to ferry me around whilst in primary school, from one friend's birthday party to a summer school to the Christmas carol service, to church and to the grandparents' houses. And now as an adult, it appears I keep running around. 

The whole of human life is devoted to going from one place to the other.

We are not encouraged to just be and to sit still somewhere, and hibernate like bears. Except of course when one is in rehabilitation for mental health issues, drugs, sex or alcohol addiction. Then we are told to be still. Even in these institutions of calm, we are scheduled from class to class.

So we keep running, the treadmill of life. Albeit in a smaller cage, like a hamster.

And now, even after five years of marriage, I find myself running from place to place. Yes the gym, work, home and socials. But also once a week, and twice when Nike is away, I am at the mercy of my cougar. It wasn't love at first sight. These things hardly ever are. I met Jennifer at the hotel lobby, after a stressful business meeting in HongKong. Very cliche, I know: the people from London, going to do business in HongKong and beginning a tryst there. The bar was deserted and it was the two of us, and it was only natural that the two people at the bar speak to one another. She was beautiful. Striking and she knew it. Draped in pearls and her hair was long. Unusual for a lady in her 50s. I guess because she appeared to be older  (15years older, I would later find out), I was not expecting anything to happen. But now I think back, she gave classic cougar vibes. She was beautiful. She had beautiful skin. Her eyes were calm but piercing. Very matter-of-fact about everything and she was graceful. She exuded femininity and power in equal measure.

Naively, I thought she might be a good business contact, you know how these things go. If I am honest to myself, I did feel a bit attracted to her. But she was closer in age to my mother than to me. So I left it at harmless attraction. But she was irresistible.

Well, a brief exchange of business cards led to the introductory "good to have met you, shall we do drinks?" email, which led to dinners, that led to something more. Over the course of two years, we have had a sort of slow dance, no commitment, weekly dalliances. It has also been good for business, and therefore for Nike and the kids.

It is amazing how much power the cougar can wield.

A graceful, powerful cat that is able to adapt to any surrounding, Jennifer has displayed prowess. All I had to do was surrender my body to her, once a week. Not a bad trade-off I would say. Even if it does include more running around, from place to place. Shanghai, Tokyo, London, Paris, New York. Wherever our businesses take us. We go and it keeps us fit, all the running around.

I cover my tracks well. I am good. I am strong. I've honed the skills to perfection. Over these years. I learnt quickly. It appears, I learnt too quickly. Jennifer's yoga instructor invited me to a yoga class. I see where this is going. Personal yoga sessions sometimes have 'connotations'. I don't want Jennifer to destroy me.

The cougar is a powerful and fast predator. 

She can kill me. If Nike ever finds out, she'll kill me. And my mother, would also destroy me. But maybe I should give the yoga instructor just one more try. Running around is now ingrained in my psyche. Cougars are not known to mate with other non-cat species. So I guess that makes me a puma too.

And if the adage is true, I should still have 6 lives left.

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Bored by Lola-Flo Adefope

This poem was written by my friend Funlola. I like how it typifies how I feel. Sometimes one tries to adapt to their audience and be "who" the audience wants you to be. Yet, it leaves you feeling empty as the interactions are so vacuous and leave no imprint of moral, spiritual, philosophical, psychological or even comical enlightenment. Rather, interactions are yawn-inspiring boring.

This poem is about wanting to truly be, to be true to oneself in every way yet realising that this is not possible. If I could rename it, I would call it - the battle of the minds....sadly, the best mind does not always win.

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Speaking to you
Is like running
Running dental floss through my toes
Somewhat
Amusing
But ultimately
Pointless.

You see- I'm bored.
And already
I know what you want.

If in the mood
I'll give it to you
If not
I'll be the catnip
At the end of a string
Dangle, dangle
Yank it away
What a game.

I'm still bored
Listening to you harp on
Amusement feigned
If I can be bothered
I'll listen
Just
Enough
To murmur an acquiescence


You make it so
Obvious
So
Easy

I wanna scream
"Challenge me"
Say something to wake me!

I sometimes play
The silly girl game
And will let myself forget
And actually become her
It becomes me

These tight little dresses
And skyscraping heels

Ooh look,
Boobs! Ass! Stomach
Flat!
Legs long
Hair did, nails-done!

What you see
Come get!
Good boy- now heel.
Sit, pour, drink... Abeg?

I'm still bored
You're not bored of me
I just stopped putting
The effort in
To engaging
All your silly views
If I choose
I'll swing my pendulum
Back into your periphery

Your theme tune
Is monotonous
Your play (to win)
I could guess in my sleep
Your circle
Whilst social is just a closed loop
And there's nothing here
I'd find
To entertain
My mind.

We are minute
You and I
But the difference is
I know it.
You still try
your delusions of grandeur
A naked emperor
Not quite astute.

"I've heard it all before"
Someone sang
But you didn't listen
Too deafened by
Thoughts of
Long legs, and
Panties
And
"Dude did you see the wiggle?
Duuuuude which one of us can-
Make it jiggle"

Haha!
Ho-fun
Hit it! Missed it?
Get it! Done!
Next one!

I'm bored of you
You think 'better'
Is anything new

Your banter's weak
But it works
on their synapses
-more lethargic
than the punchline to last week's joke.
Crack another- wait for the laughter
Feel better?
Bigger?
Badder?

I'm tired
Of pretending
To be as transparent
As you all.
I'm done
Mollycoddling ego's.
I'm sick
Of letting you win
When I know I won
Thrice over
I think...
I'm done...
Here.

So I'm gonna try
The other me
Being the version
That you've never seen
Not being
The 'She'
That you think you need
Or know

Open the cookie jar
And freak out
That the cute little firefly
Blew out your light
That the flames rose
But didn't burn
She just consumed
Pointed out all she's learned

You will never be
Enough
To hold me
Amuse me
Thrill me
Entice me
Feed me
Coerce me

But for now
This is all I've got
To tickle that spot
Despite how clumsy
Your fumbling may be
Despite how slow
The rivers of thought
Run through your grey fissures
You'll do for now...

So wait for it...
Wait for it...

I'll throw my head back
Flash the smile
Touch my throat
My neck, your skin
But all the while...
I'm bored.

I'm still bored...
- "Let's get outta here?"

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Two. Human. Beings. Edvard Munch

Gathering my thoughts from the Munch exhibition, the following phrases come to mind: dematerialism, psychosis, alcoholism, blindness, health, the imaginative gaze, compulsion, lines between reality and the spirit world,  and the last, the most striking and powerful is Munch's own physical decline. From a striking, handsome man to a frail person.

A note of warning though. I saw the William Klein and David Moriyama exhibitions immediately afterwards.  I should have taken some time out to collect my thoughts before going to them.

Perhaps the most fascinating thing about Munch's work was how he portrayed the emotional dimension of his subjects onto the entire painting, where one could feel from the finished work, everything in its totality.  This was extremely powerful.  Two human beings struck me. The caption,even more than the painting.

Two. Being more than one. Always throughout our lives we are told of the need to be able to work with others, restaurants do this to us, seating places should be more than one, bars as well. You go to stay in a hotel as two and even holidays charge more  for a single person, the vexatious single supplement charge. We are encouraged always, to interact. Even the bible said two are better than one, and the ultimate. The prescription that every person has to find the other, the soul mate, so that they can both experience life, again,two,as more than one.

Then the next word, human. Not any other species or specimen but human. What does it mean to be human? What does humanness mean nowadays? If we are told of two being better than one, but individualism continues to be encouraged,  how are we true to ourselves as humans? Can we ever be truly individual? If we are human in the sense of feeling,emotions, communications, caring (unsure how this is different to animals, but for the purpose of this writing, let us leave it as that humans are able to feel all these things for the other, and even if we feel it just like the animals do too,one does not obliterate the other). So, if we humans have all these feelings, how do we show them? Do we even realise our  humanness? Or perhaps it is after periods of illnesses, setbacks or failures that we become more attuned to our "humanness". Should this always be so? Is it possible that we can learn from others' experiences and exhibit humanness in every sphere of life.

The final word :beings I think adds a sense of completeness to the caption of the painting: Two. Human. Beings. In most advertisements or politicians trying to make a point, it is usually given in threes: "Yes we can!" "Skin, hair and nails", "Sun, sand and samba", "Light, joy and peace".

Three provides completeness - as in the trinity, the three wise men, the three sages - the three angles, a sense of dimension, no longer a straight line but now a context, a shape.

Two human beings. To be a human being is even more powerful to me than to be human. To be human is to feel as mentioned above. A human being is on a different level. Yes, on some level temporal, but on many levels, firmly rooted. A being. With an identity. A sense of space. To be. To be human. To be a human being. There is no such phrase like a dog being or an animal being, (not to my knowledge and if it exists, kindly point me in the right direction). I know of either existing as a human being or a spirit being. The sense of a being that exists in multiple dimensions as a human and as a spirit.

Clearly,the Edvard Munch exhibition resonated with me on many levels, art, beingness and also psychologically: how we understand ourselves and even more, how we portray ourselves towards others.

Do our "spaces", inner and outer - inner here to mean within our beings and outer to mean our physical display of our characters - come to form one person or perhaps, they are distinct parts representing two people, to what extent are we, truly us, living fully in this life, and experiencing it in its totality, or as close to totality as we can. How are we truly human, truly being?

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You can see the artwork "Two human beings", here:http://www.nationalgalleries.org/whatson/368/edvard-munch/the-lonely-ones

When I think of a scream, this is exactly how I think it looks like http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Scream.jpg

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Today...tomorrow...forever? Never?

Author:anonymous 

A friend sent this from her friend who wishes to be anonymous. 

I like it because it portrays succinctly the labyrinth of emotions and questions in our minds when boy meets girl, or girl meets boy, or boy and girl meet...

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Today my heart hurt at the thought of ever being heartbroken again. My heart can't seem to deal with the thought, let alone the pain itself... 

Today, my heart also smiled at the thought of being in the kind of relationship I'd always dreamed of. My head however doesn't seem to think that this dream is worth the risk of ever feeling this hurt again.

Today, my heart worried whether I would miss out on this dream of finding the perfect man for me that I would grow old and have gorgeous children with...

Yesterday, my heart wondered why relationships have to be so unpredictable. Surely, if we could see into the future, we would know what's worth venturing into.

Yesterday, my head wondered if the joys and beauties of relationships are worth the sadness, hurt and vulnerability that they expose you to.  

Yesterday, my head thought perhaps it would be easier to do life without an "other-half" and never have to be exposed to hurt, pain and vulnerabilities that heartbreak brings.  

The day before yesterday, I had a long chat with a girlfriend about what we both wanted in a relationship but today, my mind won't let me believe that this desire will ever be realised.

Days before that, I kissed a boy and I liked it and he liked it. We both liked it but will this be it or will it be the start of another bout of uncertainties, hurt, pain and heartbreak?

60 years from now, when time has had its chance, it will tell where I end up. Whether the heart was silly to worry, or the head was right to be skeptical.

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We live only to die

Sometimes you know your best can never be enough
You know that even with  good intentions, hard-work and positive thoughts,
It will never be enough.

It can never be enough.
The whole world is grey, and greying.
Everywhere, there is a tale of disappointment, hurt, chaos and unhappiness.

Everywhere, the humans choose not to reinvent the wheel
The wheel that brought us so much at the cost of so much.
Instead, we repeat past events, past mistakes
We remember past sorrows and re-invite them into our lives everyday.
Headstrong, we choose not to learn from history
Everyday. Everywhere. Everyone.

The world and all within it seem bent on coming to a cataclysmic end

So what is our role in this?
What is one's role in life?
Is it to keep on trying?

What is the point of trying, of living...since we only live to die?

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Light Bulb Philosophy

Most times, contemplation is beautiful, sometimes it becomes a bit overwhelming and you just go "change the lightbulb already!". 

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Socrates (469-399 BCE)
"A light bulb unexamined is not worth changing."

Plato (circa 427 - circa 347 BCE)
"There is no need to change the light bulb because the only true light is knowledge."

Aristotle (384-322 BCE)
"First we must understand what we mean by change."

Epicurus (circa 342-270 BCE)
"We must consider whether changing the light bulb will bring pleasure or pain before we decide whether to change it at all."

St Augustine (354-430)
"God controls the destiny of the light bulb, and man has the free will to choose whether to change the light bulb or to live in darkness."

Thomas Aquinas (circa 1225-1274)
"Man, endowed with both intelligence and a will, uses his intelligence to determine whether the light bulb needs to be changed, and can use his will to change the light bulb if he wishes to do so."

Francis Bacon (1561-1626)
"Man can consider objectively whether the light bulb needs to be changed, but ultimately subject himself to the will of God and change the light bulb."

Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679)
"The dead light bulb, subject to the laws of cause and effect, causes man to deliberate until he reaches the final desire to change the light bulb, an act which is predetermined."

"The light bulb is subject to a predetermined mechanical process based on the laws of cause and effect, but man is free to choose whether or not to change it."

Benedict Spinoza (1632-1677)
"God is the light bulb, and the light bulb is God, who set everything in the universe into motion on a predetermined course, a successive chain of cause and effect in which the light bulb dies, man changes the light bulb, the light bulb dies again, and so on."

John Locke (1632-1704)
"Every individual has the power to decide whether he wishes to change the light bulb, and by gathering ideas about the light bulb from experience, man comes up with the notion of whether the light bulb needs changing."

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646-1716)
"The millions of independent, self-determined monads that comprise man freely decide whether the individual's strongest desire is to change the light bulb, and if so, they collectively strive to do so."

George Berkeley (1685-1753)
"A working light bulb is an idea in God's mind and exists spiritually, not materially."

Voltaire (1694)
"This is the best of all possible light bulbs."

David Hume (1711-1776)
"The existence of the light bulb cannot be proven, and therefore it does not need to be changed."

Immanuel Kant (1724-1804)
"Although it is impossible to prove the existence of the light bulb, man needs to change the light bulb in order to see clearly at night."

Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762-1814)
"An individual ego that is a part of the Absolute ego of the universe changes the light bulb."

Friedrich Ernst Daniel Schieiermacher (1768-1834)
"God and the light-bulb are one, and an individual ego, bestowed with the ability to change a light bulb, must do so to help enable the Absolute to fully realize itself."

Georg Wilheim Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831)
"Changing the light bulb allows the universe to continue unfolding and evolving, enabling God to become self-conscious."

Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)
"Although the light bulb has the will to change itself, it cannot effect this change without the help from the will of man, who, if he desires enlightenment, need not sacrifice his own self-interests to do so."

John Stuart Mill (1806-1873)
"Whether an individual will change a light bulb depends on several factors, including the desire of the individual."

Friedrich Nietzche (1844-1900)
"The light bulb is dead."

Martin Heidegger (1889-1976)
"The phenomena of the light-bulb-as-such prompts a confrontation with nothingness in which man must first come to grips with the truth of being-itself in the totality of Being."

Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980)
"Man despairs over the dead light bulb and feels anxiety toward the futility of changing it, but by doing so, he introduces meaning into the world and realizes himself."

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from the Facebook page of Practical Philosophy

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H for Hirst

Thankfully I heeded the recommendation of my supervisor to go and see Damien Hirst's exhibition at the Tate Modern. I had seen the advertisements for the exhibition, but hitherto had relegated Damien Hirst to the YBA's and their random, "oh I don't know what to do, but let's just call it art" approach. What ignorance! I guess it depends on how one defines art. Art is expression. How dare I undermine another person's sense of expression because of my own pre-conceptions?

So non-Voltaire-esque thinking eschewed, I went with my Canadian friend to absorb ourselves in the anatomy of cows and have an aldehyde-filled day!

How mistaken I was! Yes we had aldehyde and cows, we heard one woman show her son where "steak cuts" came from. Poor child was scared. Hopefully not for life...

There was colour, there was beauty, there was intelligence but most of all there was precision. An OCD-like precision in the way spots were painted onto the surface, each spot a certain width and the space between each spot exactly equal to the width of the spots. The choice of colours. Calming and pleasant. Cheerful.

Then there was the underlying question: "what is beauty?" Is death beautiful, when a work of art seen from a distance looks like several nets placed on top of each other, a beautiful black display. Yet not heavy because of the slight porousness. But then you realise it is made of dead flies!

Or the dead butterflies placed, again with military precision on a surface, is death beautiful? And then you consider how you had just seen butterflies hatching and circling in the tropical exhibition room, how beautiful (how many times can I type beautiful in one post?), joyous and carefree they were. Beauty in life, and beauty in death too. My favourite was the display of diamonds in a cabinet placed in front of gold wallpaper, the result was a shimmering rich gold effect as the light diffused to invoke a sense of warmth and amazement. A little girl asked her dad if they could have one at home, he replied "we will have to save up a lot for that!"

Then there was the pharmacy, different drugs for different parts of the body, are drugs placebo or are they at work? How can one make something that is used to treat illnesses "sin" beautiful? Hirst called the first work "Sinner" and I took it to mean the impurity that illnesses bring to our bodies. What is medication? How much can one take to be healed? Does homoeopathy work? Scientific medication evolved from homoeopathy treatments, but can homoeopathy learn from science too?

Again there were so many questions and it was exhilarating to learn about Hirst's interpretation of the cycle of life, that includes death. A reminder of our mortality and one that reminds me of a recent conversation with a friend where he "seeks to work out and eat what is beneficial for his body so that he can die with the perfect body" - a case where life is lived for death.

I have been schooled. I have even come to see Tracey Emin's bed as a form of art. Revealing vulnerability of what the world calls our most-private place, our sanctuary. But no I'm still no modern-art convert.

That said, Hirst must have something going on. You don't get to be the richest living British artist for nothing.

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http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/exhibition/damien-hirst

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The Haunted

He haunts me my dreams.

Perhaps that is what started this fascination with dreams: this is the only place I can communicate with him.

The last time I saw him, three years before he left this plane, we were debating on whether I should be a doctor or go ahead to study economics. I went on to study what I found the most interesting, the science of human behaviour and the extent of our irrationality.

Conversations between us were tainted. The trust had gone and something akin to polite-speak had taken its place. But still I knew that he loved me and he knew that I loved him. No words were needed to say that much, but sadly it meant that we could no longer be friends. A painful thing when out of all the people in the world, you realise that they are the one who is most like you, or is it that you are most like them, it doesn't matter which way around you look at it. That moment is gone forever.

But every week, sometimes even everyday, I see him in my dreams, alive, frail but alive and I know that he loves me still. We are not able to have in depth conversation, but like in the real world, there are no words required. It is that sense of being among the trees with him, for you see he loved nature too.

And when I come to earth and hear the saxophone playing, I am transported to his presence, he was the first saxophonist-player I knew, and that also is where the love of jazz came from.

He comes randomly, unannounced. Sometimes during my afternoon nap, at other times when I have allowed myself a good 6-8hrs rest, I get to have a full-visit-allowance, and I can see him, hear him and talk to him. And we are face to face.

And so I dream on. Welcome to the dream series.

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Why no pictures?

When writing this blog, I thought about the theme and considered what format it should be in, and whether or not there should be any pictures in this blog.

While I do not claim to be an avid writer, I do know that it is possible to transport readers, so to speak into the world that you are writing about, without any pictures. Tolstoy's war and peace for example, I feel like I can capture the different characters, even though I do not know how they look. 

Perhaps it is a huge challenge, but not  unachievable. Sometimes I look through other blogs and I am visually captivated, although sometimes, I do not really remember what the writing was like. Can the two be used side by side? Ofcourse, but not in this blog.

Am I a blog-snob? I don't think so. I just think that there are different blogs for different people, and some people like pictures and some do not mind the absence of pictures, as long as the writing is of a good quality. So that is the challenge. To maintain good quality writing with no need for pictures.

I concede in a small way, by posting links to exhibitions, events, restaurants or books, or whatever. At least that way, you get to know some more about what I am writing.

So that is that about that.

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The Art of Living

Shock horror, apart from reading and studiously writing every single day of the week, I also have interests and try to do other things! Who would've thought?! 

As I come to the third year of my PhD and what I hope is the last year, or at least the last 18months of the thesis*, I have re-evaluated many things. Actually, this process of evaluation and re-evaluation began last year. This is not to say that one does not think through things in detail, but I guess talking about the last 12-18months is very pertinent for this posting*.

I told myself that 2012 would be the year where I actively start to master the art of living. "Why?" you might ask. Well because I think that there are many things that life has to offer, the art of being in the moment, knowing about it, experiencing it and allowing whatever that moment is, to literally captivate and transport you to a state of utopia, of happiness.

I think it is very important. One should always seek to be happy. To find things that make one happy. Even if it almost appears that there can be no such thing, there usually is. I will give an example. There was a time in my life that I could not read or talk or walk properly, and all I could do was look at pictures and listen to music. Now, that was frustrating as I am a "readaholic", but I had to come to a point where I was able to enjoy and find joy and peace and happiness in what I was able to do (and this was no mean feat), that is look at pictures and listen to music. It wasn't easy, but it was a decision I had to make, the alternative being to wallow continuously in self-pity and be a terrible bore and drain to everyone around me.

So one thing I have learnt, be it in health or in sickness, let us look for the beautiful things in life, the laughter with friends (friends in real life, or friends the sitcom!), the concern of loved ones, the attention of a child, of a dog, of a cat  - I had a neighbour once who had a cat, and whenever the cat saw me jogging back home, it would run out to me, welcoming me back, so to speak - that was nice, but perhaps it might be that it thought I was its owner....you see, my neighbour used to jog too. Ah well, cats and their owners, what can I say?

The point here is, life is temporal. It is cyclical. It is finite. We can either make the most of it, or we don't. We can choose to enjoy it, or we can choose not to. We can choose to actively pursue things that we might find interesting, funny, motivating, challenging, invigorating or exciting. Or we can choose not to do those things.

We did not choose to be here, we are here already, but what we can do is paint our own artwork, our own life, and sketch in it those different paths in life, different experiences, that we can look back and say "Ah, I have lived".

And there readers is the introduction of this new label, "Lifestyle", where I share with you the different experiences I have other than my studies, philosophising etc. Welcome and hope you enjoy the ride!

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*it almost seems like I am in the middle of a pre 12 -18months and post 12-18months phase, right bang in the middle

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Gated Paradise

Experiencing Nigeria for a few months leaves one with some life lessons. 

Yes you feel alive, primarily because all of the 5 senses in your body have to be alert and working to ensure you go through the day well. Yet you have to numb the same senses just so you don't feel angry, frustrated, stressed out as often as you can, just so you don't keel over. From hypertension or a heart attack.

You feel happier, you are among your own, except for the fact that most of them ask where you are from. "What does Adun mean?", and are still unable to pronounce your name correctly.

You feel nostalgia. For the good old days of your childhood, when you could walk around your neighbourhood, to visit friends. Now you have to drive everywhere. To show off your car, everyone does, even if it is a battered Honda . But also because the roads are full of potholes and loonie drivers - a deadly combination. 

You shop for food at Park and Shop, while trying your best not to make eye contact with the man asking for alms, and straining your eyes and trying not to look too surprised at the prices charged. 

You go back home, at the end of a day's work, after meeting with a few friends for drinks at the overpriced bar with unsatisfying drinks, poor service  and uninspiring conversation.

You go through the main gate, and then another gate, come out of your locked car, unlock the gate to your place, unlock the door, and then go in, locking the door, the gate and the madness. Preserving your soul and your senses, for yet another day.

The bottom line is, you live in paradise, but it is gated and the paradise is in a jungle.

Gated? For whom? To prevent the wild from coming in? - they still do

To prevent the sheltered from ever facing reality?  - they will have to.

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Chiens

They encircled me like a pack of wolves protecting their territory.

"Growl", the smallest of them snared and I was startled that a sound so loud could come from a creature so small. Their barks grew louder and louder and I started to panic, trying hard to remember everything I learnt in secondary school.

There was something about standing still if animals wanted to attack you. Or was that for lions? Oh dear I could not remember! Panic became heightened. Goodness me, what would become of me if I was bitten by not one, not two but five angry dogs. Would they maul me to death? Could they? 

"Ah, I know, I would just act like one of the pack and bark at them too, I would use my body as a huge object trying to attack them", I thought as I recalled something a friend said about animals not having hands and therefore being unable to respond to hand gestures; instead they responded to entire body movements.

"Oh, did she not also say something about dogs being pack animals and therefore subject to obey the biggest/leader?"

All thoughts became muddled up in my mind and I tried to be calm...release the panic into the universe and breath in calmness.

They came closer and closer and closer and closer and closer and I screamed!!!!!! 

I woke up to my little yorkshire terrier, Slash licking my face and my iPod playing Ray LaMontagne's "Forever my friend", and I knew it was going to be a perfect day. 

I just had to beware of the other director at the board meeting today who wanted to buy out some of my father's shares. She was one to watch. Petite but dangerous. I suspect she was acting on behalf of her father. Old tussles take generations to clear.

I was in for the kill. I would wear my fitted dress, the maroon one with speckles of pink. "I wanted to ooze femininity" I thought, as I looked through my capsule wardrobe for the dress for the day.  Rumour has it my opponent is bisexual.

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I would like to say that the inspiration for this blogpost came from a comment I received about dreams turning to nightmares. This is not quite a nightmare. More like a game. Dogs vs humans....who wins?

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Psyche

In his mind, she was also beautiful. To him, the meaning of beauty cut through several boundaries: physical, emotional, mental and spiritual. They had engaged in so many mental conversations, sometimes he was amazed by the way her mind worked, other times he was dumbfounded. Literally and metaphorically speaking. It seemed as if his brain just became numb and he found himself searching for something witty to say at the right time, mentally scanning through the files in his brain, praying, as one does with an aged Microsoft PC, that the "search for" tool worked faster.

Even when he came up with something that was not quite profound, the light in her eyes at anything he said made him feel like he was a superhero. He knew she was different and when he was around her, she made him feel complete.  But he felt that he had to keep up with her. He was not sure he could work "that hard" in the long-term.

She was smiling now at him, willing him to return to earth, this present state of conversation, as they sat  at their table in the freezing bar, sole customers, sole sojourners in the alcohol-filled, trance-inducing bar. She wondered aloud why the air conditioner was set at this low a temperature, and reached for her pashmina in her bag. "She always carried one of these", she explained; and again he wondered at just how prepared she always was for everything, as if life could hold no surprises for her, and even if it did come along with surprises, he was sure that she had the strength to face them head-on. Or so he thought. Well, to him, it appeared to be that way.

"Will she ever date me?", he thought to himself, "if I hurt her, will she crumble? Will she cry,"  he thought again, and shuddered at the next question that came to his mind "Would she even let me know I hurt her?"

And a great fear came over him, he felt hot all of a sudden, and as she showed concern at his obvious discomfort, all he kept thinking was that he needed to be alone.

To go home.

And smoke his joint.

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