The Unicorn who lost her horn

By Rami Abdo

Once upon a time, in a land very far away and very different from the one we know, there lived a herd of unicorns. They were all majestic creatures, with shiny white hides and beautiful long horns, and they were extremely happy to be unicorns. They spent their days being worshipped by a friendly tribe of humans who took great care of them. Every morning the humans would arrive with tasty titbits for the unicorns to nibble on, such as honey glazed apples and cherry topped muffin cakes. Then while the unicorns were busy eating these gifts, the humans would wash their fur with soapy flower-scented water and polish their horns with rumberry tree wax that left them shining in the sun. Thus the unicorns led wonderful lives and they were content to their hearts. They were the envy of all the other villages and all the other horses that lived in the neighbourhood.

However there was one little truth that seemed to escape from the unicorns...and that was that they were not really unicorns at all. They were actually just plain old horses. That is not to say that horses are not majestic creatures themselves, but they are certainly not acting like something they are not! The unicorns didn’t know about their true nature at all. Their fur was dyed white and their horns were carved out of wood. Every morning the humans would bring in the oils of the ashrose flower and rub it in to their fur, making sure the real colour underneath would never show. Then they would add glue made from the sap of the rumberry tree to the horns to make sure they stayed in place. The unicorns were none the wiser to this little charade and believed they were in fact real life unicorns.

Now why, you would ask, would these humans do such a thing? Well to answer that we would have to go back in time a little, back when the tribe wasn’t even a tribe yet, but just a large family of nomads travelling across the lands. The father of the tribe was a fair and just man going by the name of Gallius. Gallius took good care of his family and worked only to provide the best for them. They wanted nothing more than to settle down in one place and make a home. One day during their travels they came upon fertile meadows filled with free roaming horses. It was a beautiful land and an easy choice to make it their new home. They tilled the soil and rounded up some of the horses and other beasts and began to tame them into farm animals. The harvest was generous and plentiful, and so over time more and more farms popped up and the family continued to grow. Soon enough they were too many to call a family, so they became a tribe instead. After many years Gallius grew old and passed away, leaving the rule of the tribe to fall to his twin sons, Galliam and Mallius. Their father’s final wish was for them to rule together as one, but that meant that they would have to share in everything that the tribe owned. They did not have the same level headed thinking as their father did however. They were very greedy and conceited men, seeking only to fill their coffers with gold and to earn the praise and admiration of others. Their self-indulgence and short sightedness caused them to argue and fight with one another, until they finally agreed on one thing. They would split the tribe and all its lands and farms and wealth in two. Galliam would rule one half and Mallius would rule the other. Bit by bit the rivalry of the brothers spread to their divided people and they also began to bicker over land ownership and other such petty quibbles. Fences were erected and borders declared. Constant feuds cropped up and soon they all began to despise each other as if they had always been bitter enemies from the beginning of time.

The brothers Galliam and Mallius, despite having more than most men could ever make in their lifetime, still sought for more and more riches. It was Galliam who first had the idea to breed and sell their horses to neighbouring towns and travelling merchants. A well looked after and strong horse fetched a good sum of gold, so it wasn’t very long before Mallius wanted to also dip his fingers into this new venture. It was not enough for him to sell horses like his brother; he wanted to sell them for more. He wracked his brain day and night to find an answer to how to make his horses more attractive than Galliam’s, until one day it came to him in a dream. He would pretend they were unicorns! He instructed his tribe to carve horns out of wood and paint them white, along with the fur of every horse they owned. The people thought him mad, there was no way anyone would believe that they were real unicorns, but he was their leader and they were forced to obey his command. Word of mouth travelled far and fast, and soon enough merchants and nobles from all over began to flock to the village to see this new marvel with their own eyes. Some truly believed that they were in fact the mythical creatures, while others were wise to the charade but still enjoyed the novelty of it all. Mallius instructed the handlers to charge double what they were normally worth as horses, and to even go so far as charge a fee for anyone who wanted to see the unicorns. Much to their surprise people still bought them, and the coffers of Mallius, to his utter delight, began to fill up very quickly indeed. From then on he made sure that the best of his horses from the moment they were born would be made to think they were unicorns, until so much time passed that both the horses and the unicorns forgot about their true origins.

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Now that we have answered that question, we can return to our little herd of joyful unicorns, who thought very highly of themselves. Indeed they had good reason to, for they were better than the other horses. They were unicorns after all. They played their games in the meadows only with each other and refused to allow any horses to join in. One game they enjoyed playing the most was jumping as high as they could to try and snatch the apples from the trees with their teeth. There was one particular foal, a young female called Daisy, who was the jolliest and most spirited of the younglings. She had the springiest leap in her step and the strongest teeth, so she knew she was the best at catching apples.

One fine day, after their morning scrub and wax, the foals all gathered at the large apple tree at the northern edge of the meadow, the one next to the small stream running along the wooden fence. There was one more apple left, for they had picked it almost clean that season. This apple though, was sitting at the highest branch of the tree, and it was the largest and juiciest any of them had ever seen. They would drool at the mouth and stare at it dreamily whenever they passed underneath, and from all of them it was Daisy who longed for it the most, as she was always the one who was closest to reaching it. She had resolved to win that apple that day no matter what. First the youngest of the foals tried their luck, but they weren’t even close. Then the older ones pushed them aside and jumped as high as they could, but they also failed. Then it was Daisy’s turn. With a huff she summoned all her strength and leapt a great height. She was close...very close. She tried again and again, but each time it was just out of her reach. One time the apple even brushed against the tip of her muzzle and she inhaled the sweet aroma of its red skin and juicy flesh, which made her want it more. The others shook their heads and said it was an impossible feat. Daisy could not give up however. She made her way to the other side of the field so he could have room to gain speed. She ran as fast as her strong legs could take her and summoned every ounce of strength she had inside. She leapt with such vigour that she felt like she was flying high, higher than ever before. She saw the apple within her reach and bit down on it as hard as she could. She yanked it right off the tree and landed gracefully on her feet. She was beaming with joy. She had done it! The apple was hers! The others however were just staring at her with a look of shock on their faces, as if they had seen a ghost.

“You’re not a unicorn!” a young foal by the name of Hans finally said after the strange silence. “You’re just a horse!”

Daisy dropped the large apple onto the ground so she could speak. “Of course I’m a unicorn Hans. Why would you say such a horrid thing?”

“You’re a liar!” he snorted at her. “You’ve been lying this whole time. You’re just a plain old horse.” The others nodded in agreement and shook their heads with shame for having been tricked this whole time.” They turned their backs to her and walked away. Daisy was left alone and she grew sad. She didn’t know why they would say such mean things to her. She sat beside the tree, the apple completely forgotten, and began to drink from the stream, for she was very thirsty after that amazing leap. It was then that she saw her reflection in the water and realised what had happened. Her horn was missing! No wonder the other unicorns thought she was a horse. She laughed at herself for her stupidity and began to search frantically for it. She looked everywhere for her horn. Day turned to night and it was still nowhere to be seen. It had simply vanished! Finally Daisy gave up and sat under the apple tree and began to weep. How could she return to her herd without her horn? They would think very lowly of her without it. They would accuse her of pretending to be a horse the whole time she was with them. She knew she couldn’t return without it.

“Why are you crying?” a voice in the night spoke out and startled her. It came from the other side of the fence. A young brown horse was standing there, not much older than Daisy. She had seen him before. He would always sit and watch them while they played. They usually ignored him, except when they sneered at him or chased him away for disturbing them.

Daisy sniffled. She was in no mood to tease him like she usually did. “I lost my horn,” she whinnied sadly.

“Oh,” the brown horse said. “That’s a shame.”

She nodded in agreement. “Without my horn the others will think I’m just a horse.”

“Hmm,” the horse scratched his chin with his hoof, a sign that he was thinking hard. “Well, why don’t you just get another horn then?” he finally suggested.

Daisy’s ears pricked up excitedly. “What do you mean?”

“If you lost your horn, then just get another one,” he repeated himself.

A faint glimmer of hope sparked in Daisy.  “That’s a wonderful idea!” she clapped her hooves together in enthusiasm. “But wait...it’s pointless, I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for one.” Her ears drooped again. “I can’t even take care of my own horn, as you see, much less find another.”

“I know where to find a horn!” the brown horse almost yelled out from excitement.

“You do? Will you take me there?” Daisy pleaded.

“Sure I will! Follow me!” The horse turned abruptly and began to trot away.

“Wait!” Daisy shouted for him to stop. “I...I can’t come. There’s the fence.”

“Pah, this rickety old thing,” he kicked it with his hind legs to show his disdain. “Come here, let me show you something.” he sauntered over to the corner of the fence and she followed. He swept aside some brush and pointed at the ground. There was a sizeable ditch dug out right below the fence. “Sometimes late at night I sneak in to your meadow using this.”

 “Why do you do that?” Daisy stamped her feet. “Is it to steal our apples?”

“Not exactly,” he shook his head. “I like the games you play with your brothers and sisters. I know I don’t belong with your kind, so I just wait till you all go to bed before sneaking in to play.”

“Hmm...so you just play on your own?” Daisy asked quietly.

He nodded...a big grin on his face. “I don’t mind.”

“Don’t you have any brothers or sisters to play with?”

“No. Not other horses at least.”

Daisy didn’t know what more to say to him. She looked back at the dark meadow, where only a few fields down she could just make out the lights of the farmhouses. The other unicorns must have been receiving their supper and nightly rubdown by now. She wondered if they would send anyone to look for her. Perhaps the other foal had already told the grownups about her being a pretender. She knew she couldn’t return without a horn. She gave a deep sigh and crawled under the fence. She pushed and pulled and scrambled through and by the time she came out the other side her pretty white fur was almost as brown as her new friend. She tried to shake off the dirt but the little horse was already making his way down the shadowy road, humming a little tune as he went.

“Wait for me!” she shouted and ran to catch up. Her horseshoes went clippity-clop clippity clop down the paved trail, but the brown horse had no shoes, so his hooves just went thupaloop, thupaloop. They walked together in silence, before Daisy finally spoke.

“What’s your name?” It never occurred to her to ask for his name until then.

“Billy.” As soon as he said it Daisy snorted with laughter. “Why do you laugh?” he asked her innocently.

“Billy sounds like the name of a goat,” she replied and snorted again. She seemed to have forgotten about her plight momentarily.

“Hmm...What’s your name?” he asked the unicorn.

She puffed herself up proudly and answered, “Daisy.”

“Ha!” Billy exhaled, and continued on his way, a wry smile on his lips.

Daisy sulked at his reaction. “What’s wrong with Daisy?” she pouted.

“Nothing...Daisy is a wonderful name.” Billy acted very smugly after that, but would not tell her why.

“Where are you taking me Billy?” Daisy did not like being left in the dark.

“To some friends who will be able to help us,” was his cryptic response.

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They travelled all night until the next morning when they reached a farmstead very similar to the one Daisy had just left. There was a fence surrounding some fields, of which some were full of crops and others had animals grazing in. There was the large farmhouse with a stable behind it and a smaller barn next to it. Billy went right up to the gate and began to call out loudly.

“Binky! Binky! Open up for us will you?” Not more than a few moments passed before a brightly coloured green duck waddled out of the barn. It quacked excitedly and wobbled its head left and right with its clumsy walk, which Daisy found quite hilarious. When Binky approached the gate he ruffled his feathers and flew up to the latch which he proceeded to fiddle with his beak. He undid the latch and let out a particularly loud quack in triumph of his success. Billy pushed open the gate to let Daisy and him through.

“Hello! What’s your name?” Binky asked with his squeaky duck voice.

“Daisy,” she replied.

“Daisy? Ha!” Binky chuckled and led the way to the barn. Daisy gave a puzzled look to Billy. Why was everyone laughing at her name?”

Inside the barn she found a whole assortment of animals sitting, standing, or simply lying around on a floor of straw. They all welcomed Billy cheerfully before they introduced themselves to Daisy.

“Woof! I’m Rufus,” a hairy black and white dog barked out first.

“Moo! I’m Bella the cow,” a brown spotted heifer followed as a small bell around her neck rang out.

“Cluck cluck” the chicken announced before it tripped over its own feet. She laughed as she picked herself up again. “Chicken!” She managed to say.

“Ignore her,” Binky said. “Chicken doesn’t have a name. She’s just...chicken. My name is Binky the duck!” he quacked and ruffled his feathers to get his point across.

“Oink oink!” a fat pink pig squealed lazily from the corner of the barn where she was lying on some hay. “I’m Daisy the pig,” she said as she struggled to get up. The other animals immediately began to laugh.

Daisy the unicorn blushed a bright crimson red. Now she knew why they found her name so funny. Her cheeks flushed and she stamped her hooves in frustration.

“Don’t be angry,” Binky said after wiping the tears from his eyes from laughing so hard. “We just find it funny that a beautiful horse like you shares a name with Daisy the pig.”

“I’m not a horse!” Daisy snapped back and crossed her legs stubbornly. “I’m a unicorn.”

“Sorry,” Billy said quite seriously. “I forgot.”

The other animals went silent. They all looked at Billy but he said nothing more. It was finally chicken who spoke first.

“No horn!...no unicorn!” she said rather abruptly before pecking at some seed grains stuck in between the floorboards. Peck! Peck! She went, but those seeds were firmly wedged in.

“Daisy lost her horn,” Billy neighed. “She needs our help to get another one. Will you help her?”

“I will help you!” Binky quacked.

“Me too!” Bella mooed.

“And me!” Rufus barked.

“I suppose I can try,” Daisy the pig oinked with some effort.

“Cluck cluck!” Chicken yelled positively.

“We know where to find you a horn,” Billy spoke to her. “But first let’s eat! I’m famished after our long trip!”

The animals all sat together and had a lovely meal of old carrots and other leftovers. All ate heartily except for Daisy.

“What’s wrong Daisy? Why aren’t you eating?” Rufus asked her as he chewed on a celery stick.

Daisy sniffed at a half eaten cabbage at her feet and squirmed. “I’m not hungry,” she lied as her belly rumbled like that of a frog. She wished she still had that juicy red apple from the apple tree. Her mouth watered just thinking about it and all the other tasty treats she was missing out on back home. She was quite sad for her lost horn and all the trouble it had caused her.

“More for us!” Daisy the pig squealed and grabbed the cabbage for herself.

After the animals in the barn had their fill they led Daisy to the other side of the farm. There she saw a meadow full of unicorns. There were all kinds, large and small, but all were white as snow and as majestic as ever. Each brandished a splendid golden horn on their forehead, which was decorated with colourful lace and glitter. They were very beautiful, even more so than the ones back home. The adults were grazing on the green grass close to the wooden fence and the younger ones were playing joyfully and chasing each other around a berry bush. Seeing them put a huge smile on Daisy’s face and filled her heart with joy, for she was glad again to see her own kind.

“Where did they come from?” she asked Billy as they approached the fence. She always thought her herd were the only unicorns in the land, but these were not only more numerous, but sported golden horns as well!

Billy shrugged. “I don’t know. They were always here.” They stood there waiting until they caught the attention of one of the larger unicorns. He jogged over to them proudly. “Hello Julius,” Billy addressed him politely.

“What do you want Billy?” Julius said with a gruff voice. “Don’t you have some field to plough or carrots to steal?” he snorted in Daisy’s direction. “Who’s your little friend?”

“This is Daisy. She’s also a unicorn and she needs our help.” He stared at her suspiciously and she lowered her head shyly. Julius was truly a superb animal and she felt so small in his presence.

“A unicorn?” Julius neighed rudely and shook his head. “That can’t be a unicorn! She doesn’t even have a horn. And look how brown she is.” Daisy looked down at herself and realised her fur had turned a very dirty colour, as her pure white pelt had almost completely disappeared under the mud and  soil which she gathered during her travels.

“Please Mister Julius,” she pleaded. “I lost my horn, can you get me another one.”

“Ha! Silly child. You can’t lose your horn.” He waved his own sturdy horn in the air, as if to prove his point further.

“It’s true it’s true. I lost it when I was jumping for apples with my brothers and sisters. Don’t you have a spare one I could borrow? Just until I find mine again?”

“Of course not!” Julius said assuredly. “And even if I did have one it still won’t make a difference if I gave it to you. You would still just be a horse with a fake horn. If you go around pretending to be a unicorn just because you have a fake horn on, then you’re even worse than a horse. Billy, why are you wasting my time with these silly games and these dim-witted friends of yours? Go play in the barn or work that plough in the fields. That’s all you horses are good for anyway.” Julius snorted once more for good measure and turned his head so quickly that his astonishing mane tossed itself in the air. He trotted off to tell the other’s about the ridiculous horses. They began to laugh at Daisy, who couldn’t help but cry with shame. She had never been treated so meanly before; Julius’s words were very hurtful. Her ears drooped and she shuffled sadly away.

“Don’t listen to him.” Billy tried to make her feel better. “Julius is always like that. He thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“He is better than everyone else,” Daisy sniffed. “He is a unicorn after all. And it seems I’m not anymore.” She wondered what she had done wrong to deserve such punishment. Was it wrong to leap for that last apple on the apple tree? It was so large and ripe and tasty looking. How could she have not tried her best to reach it? But it seemed it was wrong to do so.

Billy nudged her gently with his snout. “We’ll think of something. Don’t worry.”

They returned to the barn and Billy told the others what had happened. They all felt sorry for Daisy that she had to listen to mean Julius.

“I’d like to chomp down on that long furry tail of his and teach him a lesson,” Binky quacked angrily. He bit down with his beak as if he was doing it right there and then. His funny little noises made Daisy smile.

“And I would nibble on his ankles!” Rufus growled and showed his sharp teeth.

“And I will eat all his grass!” Bella mooed.

“And I will lie down behind him and make him trip on his backside!” Daisy the pig said idly.

They all looked at chicken, expecting her to add something, or at least cluck a few times. But she just gave them a blank stare, a half leaf of lettuce still in her beak. They all chuckled at this, even Daisy, who was not feeling so blue anymore.

“You know what we should do to Julius?” Binky whispered as he rubbed his feathers together. “We should steal his horn!”

“How are we going to do that?” Bella asked innocently.

“Easy. We sneak in the meadow tonight while they sleep and we steal it,” he replied.

“She doesn’t mean it that way Binky,” Rufus said. “She means how are we supposed to take it off him? It’s a part of him isn’t it? We can’t just take a part of him. It’s wrong.”

“It probably comes off quite easily. Daisy here lost it and look...she’s perfectly fine. She just looks like a horse that’s all.”

“I don’t know if we should do such a thing.” Daisy replied.

“Come on, we will teach that big old meanie a lesson. He will see what it’s like to be a horse, at least for a little while. We can always give it back to him later once you get your horn back.” Binky was quite excited over his little idea.

Daisy had her doubts, but then she began to think of all the things Julius had said earlier. He was very rude to her after all and deserved to be taught a lesson. “Ok!” she finally yelled. “I’m in.”

“Me too!” Rufus barked.

“And me!” Bella mooed.

“I’ll watch from a distance and make sure the coast is clear,” Daisy the pig muttered.

“Cluck Cluck,” Chicken finally said.

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That night the animals waited till the lights of the farmhouse had turned off for a good hour before they made their move. They snuck out one by one from the barn in the cover of night, running from one shadow to the other as quietly as they could. There was one instance when chicken had gotten overly excited because she found a stone that she mistook for a long lost egg of hers, but the others quietened her down as best as they could and continued on their way towards the stable where the unicorns slept. Daisy the pig declared that she would post watch outside the building, as it was quite close to the farmhouse, and if anyone was to show up she would snort twice to warn them. Binky used his knowhow on the latch of the stable door and slowly, with a noisy creak, it swung open. They snuck in and closed it behind them. Inside was very still and quiet, except for the occasional snore or sniffle. Some of the unicorns were standing while others were lying down, but all were asleep in their individual stalls, for unicorns, like horses, can sleep standing you see.

“Now what?” Daisy whispered as quietly as she could, afraid of the slightest sound.

“Now we find big old meanie,” Rufus replied. The six animals spread out and began to search the stalls one at a time. They only just began peeking into them however when they suddenly heard a noise coming from outside. The light from a lantern peeked from under the stable doors.

“Humans!” Bella shrilled. “Hide!” They scrambled quickly to find cover. Rufus leapt into a haycart in the corner. Chicken beat her wings and climbed up the rafters. Bella trotted on the same spot in a panic before hiding in an empty stall. Binky jumped into a barrel full of manure and immediately regretted his decision. Billy and Daisy found themselves huddled under a pile of straw in another stall just as the stable doors swung upon.

“Somebody there?” they heard a man speak out. Heavy footsteps sounded as they heard him walk in. He seemed to be checking on every stall. They tried to stay as quiet as possible as he came nearer and nearer. As he approached the door of their hiding place, the light of the swaying lantern caused the shadows to dance around them. They looked like scary little creatures teasing them from hiding. Daisy was suddenly very scared. More scared than she ever was in her life. She wished she was back with her family at that moment. She just wanted to play in the fields and leap around the large apple tree as she always did. She wanted to leave this place more than anything in the world.

Just as the door was about to swing open, they heard a familiar sound. “CLUCK! CLUCK! CLUCKAAAK!” chicken yelled loudly as she flew out of the rafters and started making as much of a ruckus as she could.

“What are you doing in here!” the man yelled as chicken circled around his head, dropping her loose feathers all over him. “How did you get in?!”

“CLUCK!” was her only response as she knocked over a rake resting on the wall. Some of the unicorns woke up and began to neigh wildly from the fuss. The man had had enough. He opened the stable doors and tried to shoo chicken out. After one last circle around the ceiling she hopped out of the doors with a very satisfying and final cluck. Daisy had to bite her lip from laughing. Good old chicken saved the day. Then they heard another voice from outside.

“Galliam, what are you doing out there?” A woman’s voice spoke from the farmhouse.

“I thought I heard a noise dear,” the man replied. “It was coming from the stables.”

“Well hurry back already. It’s late and you know how grumpy you get in the morning if you don’t get your full night’s sleep.” The man grumbled a hasty response and shut the doors behind him. After a few minutes the room was silent and dark once more.

Daisy was about to sneak out of the straw pile when Billy stopped her. “Look,” he nodded at a sleeping figure in the stall. It was too dark to notice before, but now they saw that lying asleep only a few feet away was a small foal, just a bit younger than Daisy. “Do you want to take his horn,” Billy whispered to her.

She looked at the dainty little golden horn sticking out of the unicorn’s forehead. It had a very neat spiral pattern all the way to the tip. It gleamed and sparkled very nicely in the moonlight. “What about Julius’s horn?” she asked.

“Julius’s horn will be very difficult to take. Besides it’s much too big for you anyway. Look at this one. It’s the perfect size.”

Billy was right. She would have looked very silly with Julius’s large heavy horn on her head. But this one here was much nicer for her. It would fit her so well. She thought of trotting back proudly to her herd with that brand new horn on her head. They would welcome her again into the herd and her brothers and sisters would play with her in the meadows once more. They would feed her tasty cakes and the humans would scrub her down with flower-water and make her clean and white again. But as she looked into the peaceful face of the young sleeping unicorn, something very strange happened to Daisy. Perhaps it was her new friends, or her own plight that very unexpectedly opened her eyes to the truth. Whatever it was, it made her feel sorry for him. She knew that if she took his horn then he would be scorned by the others. Julius would mock him for being a pretender, and they would most likely kick him out of the herd. He would be alone and sad, just like she was when she lost her horn. Perhaps he would go hungry and have nowhere warm to sleep at night. Would this foal be as lucky as her to find such good friends to take care of him? She realised how nice Billy and the other animals were to her. Even though she used to tease him every day he was still willing to help her out. He used to come so far just to watch them play, hoping that one day they would ask him to join in, yet all she did was mock and tease him for being a horse. Billy’s friends barely met her and they took a big risk for her tonight. In that moment she felt very bad for the way she had been treating others. She couldn’t do that to this poor foal. No matter how much she wanted a horn, she couldn’t do such a thing.

“Come,” she whispered to Billy. “Let’s get out of here. She nudged open the stall door as quietly as she could so as not to wake up the young one and snuck out the stable. They found the others outside standing over a snoring pig.

“A great lookout you made,” Bella said as she nudged Daisy the pig awake. She jumped up rather nimbly for an animal her weight and snorted twice in a panic, which made the others laugh all the way back to their barn.

“Did you find a horn?” Binky asked Daisy. She smiled and shook her head.

“We can always try again tomorrow night,” Rufus barked.

“No need,” she replied. “I don’t really want one anymore.”

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A few weeks later, Daisy and Billy found themselves strolling along the road that led to her old herd and decided to drop by and see how her old herd were doing. They trotted along the wooden fence that she had snuck under not so long ago until they came across the old apple tree. There were no more apples on it, for she had plucked the last one for that season, but her brothers and sisters were still dancing around it. They stopped playing when they saw them approach.

“Look who it is,” said Hans. “It’s Billy the workhorse and Daisy the liar.” He laughed and the others joined him. “What do you want here? You can’t play with us.” He declared as he huffed and puffed at them.

“I don’t want to play with you Hans,” Daisy replied boldly. “I have other friends to play with. And they don’t care who I am. They just want to play and they don’t make fun of others like we used to just because they’re not unicorns.”

“Come on guys,” Hans said to the other unicorns as he stuck his tongue out at her. “Let’s get out of here. These two are no fun.” He walked away with his head held high and the others followed. Daisy leaned over the fence and watched them go, remembering how she would have walked away with them if it was an older time. She caught her reflection in the stream below and was quite surprised by how much she had changed. Her fur was now completely brown, but it wasn’t from the dirt or the mud. It was as if the white had washed itself away slowly over time. She looked like any old horse, but she didn’t mind that at all. Then a familiar shape caught her eye in the reflection of the water. She looked up at the apple tree and saw what it was. Right there, stuck on a branch just above where the large juicy apple had been, was her old horn! It must have gotten caught there when she made the giant leap! It had been under her snout, or rather just above it, the whole time. She began to laugh at her silliness.

“Why are you laughing?” Billy asked curiously.

“My horn! I found my horn!” she exclaimed loudly. “It’s been stuck up the apple tree the whole time!”

“Ha!” Billy yelled loudly when he saw it. “Shall we try to get it down?”

“Nah,” Daisy shook her head indifferently. “I will just end up losing it again.”

They laughed and danced under the tree for a while, two horses happy as can be. And so ends the story of how Daisy lost her horn, but found something much more valuable instead.

A short story about the strength of perseverance!

Size Doesn't Matter 

By Rami Abdo

The rat poked its pinkish snout out of the rock wall only as much as was absolutely necessary. It took a couple of whiffs, savouring the myriad of aroma’s emanating from the dark room before it honed in on one smell in particular. It was a musky antiquated odour that caught its acute nose. After a short pause in which the silence of the room was reaffirmed, the rat emerged from its little hole and made a dash across the granite floor, pausing under an old sofa before heading straight for a large sturdy oak table. It clambered up one of the legs and found what it was looking for. Scattered haphazardly across the tabletop was a pile of ancient books of all shapes and sizes. Half were open, others were sealed shut with locks, and some weren’t even books at all, but more a collection of yellow stained parchments sown together with dried toad intestine

For a moment the rat felt overwhelmed with the wondrous buffet that lay before it, but it only lasted a moment. It hadn’t just climbed its way up the entire length of the tower only to marvel at the tasty morsels laid out so generously. Besides there was no time for dawdling, outside the open windows there was fire and chaos. A battle was furiously being waged between sorcerers and all the creatures they summoned to act out their bidding. Giant feral beasts pummelled each other on the grounds below. All manner of flying creatures soared across the sky, swooping and diving upon victims unaware. Occasionally a colourful flash of raw magic would burst forth from some obscure source, cutting a swathe of destruction across the hapless creatures. They would be incinerated in a shower of crimson fire or fall prey to another such gruesome death from the spells power. Even as the rat watched, a bolt of bright blue energy pulsated out from some part of the tower above him. It arched its way through the night sky like a lightning bolt before fully enveloping a ferocious dragon with a sapphire aura. The dragon froze in the air for a brief disengaging moment before it disappeared with a pop and a puff of sulphurous smoke. In its place there was a very confused pig. Unfortunately for the swine however, its uninvited transformation did not grant its wings to go with its new form, and so it fell squealing hundreds of feet below. It was promptly welcomed by the gaping maw of a gigantic muscular beast, which was only too happy for the unexpected meal.

The rat wasted no time and snatched the closest parchment it could find. It gnawed greedily at the dried snack, its sharp teeth working overtime to break down its food as fast as it could. It had barely gone through a single sheet however before a trapdoor opened up from the ceiling and a hooded male figure swathed in azure clothing descended from a ladder. His attire bore intricate swirls of white designs and a few shiny pendants hung loosely from his belt. The rat was so transfixed by this radiant display that it just froze in place, morsels of mashed paper still stuffed in its cheeks. The man glanced up suddenly and glared at the rat with glowing ivory eyes.

“Why you dirty little rodent!” the sorcerer yelled angrily as he raised his finger straight at the animal.

The rat squeaked and jumped off the table just as a wave of hot sparks struck where it had been feasting a split second ago. It fled from the shower of scorched papers and headed straight for the window. It scuttled through the opening just as another jolt of pure energy narrowly missed zapping its tail. It scrambled up the outside wall as fast as its little feet could take it, only pausing to rest when it reached the roof. Its eyes darted back and forth hastily, searching for an apt hiding place lest the hooded wizard find it again. Unfortunately, as it scoured the ground, it was blind to the new threat looming from above. With a piercing screech and a flurry of feathered wings the poor little rat was suddenly snatched right off the roof. The rat found itself fully airborne, held firmly in the clawed grip of a vile harpy. It bore the wings and feet of a bird of prey, but the body and head of a female. The rat struggled fruitlessly in its razor sharp talons, but when it caught a glimpse of its visage, which resembled that of a demonic succubus, it was paralyzed from fear and ceased to squirm. It resigned itself to its fate, for surely it was going to end up either as baby harpy food or as a stain on the ground far below. Instead it chose to marvel at the beautiful scenery and the monsters clashing below as its captor circled the plains, it’s tiny little brain barely comprehending the series of events unfolding over its wretched fate.

The harpy rose high up in the sky, suspending itself in the clouds for a short fleeing moment before descending once more into the battlefield. It dove at breakneck speed, the wind assaulting the poor little rodent as it felt its bones rattling under its skin. The scenery was zooming in faster than it cared for, and its little meal of parchment was slowly making its way back up from where it entered. Just before they met the ground the harpy spread its wings and lifted itself into a swooping arch and headed straight for the tower. Just as the rat was considering that with his luck he had been kidnapped by the one suicidal harpy, he was suddenly released from his confinement and found himself soaring unattended through the brisk night air. He watched the harpy pull away and veer out of sight, and with that danger gone, he decided to simply close his eyes and let sink in that joyful feeling of weightless freedom that all birds must quite take pleasure in as they breeze through the air. It was better than pondering over the ominous hard surface of the tower wall approaching rapidly behind him.

Instead of meeting his maker, the rat zipped right through the open window, bounced off the spongy cushion of the beaten sofa he had scampered under previously and landed with a plonk right on the oaken table of books from which he had just recently dined upon. Being a rat of the flexible nature and of fleeting disposition he found himself unharmed and thought why not continue his delicious appetiser with the main course of a pocket-sized leather notebook that he had been eyeing previously. That very same nature however had also caused him to forget the reason why his meal had been unceremoniously interrupted the last time. That reason was now seated right in front of him on a stool in front of the table, scowling furiously at the ravenous little rat as he was about to take a big bite off his most precious of diaries.

“How the?! Come here you!” The man bellowed madly as he tried to grab the rat with both hands. Not knowing any better than to submit to its instinct of fight or flight, the rat leapt forward, the notebook still in its jaws, and scampered up the wizards chest and face. Its unforeseen assault took him by surprise and he fell back off his stool in a heap. The last he saw of the rat and his diary was a long writhing tail which gifted him with a cheeky slap on the nose before it disappeared in a hole in the wall.

The rat found its way out of the complex maze of stonework that made up the tower and vanished into the undergrowth of the neighbouring forest. Behind it, the hooded blue mage was shaking his fist furiously as he expelled countless curses upon the poor rat. Fortunately they were not of the magical kind, and all they served to do was appease the man’s anger, for this measly little rat had gotten the better of him not once but twice in the matter of a few minutes.

As the rat happily munched upon the aged pages of its leather bound prize, hiding safely in its burrow deep underground, the war above raged on and on. Unbeknownst to the innocent little animal, that little book possessed a lengthy and complicated chant which was integral to the completion of a very vital spell, one that the mage had started numerous years before and was the key to ending the war. Its mind was too tiny and feeble to comprehend the consequences of its actions, or whether its acts that day were of its own volition. All it cared about was that it had woken up from its afternoon nap with a hankering for some dry parchment, and now it was nibbling away as merry as can be, all thoughts of evil wizards and despicable harpies having escaped its mind.

The End.

The Contraction of Accountability

By Rami Abdo

I am ashamed and confused. How can I elaborate over this duplicity eloquently? I am assuredly afflicted with a disease that millions of others share and spread on a daily basis. Perhaps the very fact of its wealthy abundance doubles as the contributing factor to its acceptance. ‘Communis Error Facit Jus’ I always say. It is a muddled mixture of emotions all stirred together in this cosmic pot that’s been fashioned together from an assortment of impositions and factors placed upon us unwillingly. I won’t bother expanding on these any further, goodness knows I’ve done that countless times already and by now I’m quite certain I’m preaching to the proverbial choir. I would much rather switch my attentions on the internal struggle that this disease invokes in us and how we could deal with it alternatively.

We have all endured it at some point or the other in our long prosperous lives. We might read an article depicting alarming figures of some sickening statistic, such as the astronomical number of people living in poverty or without homes. We might watch a segment on TV showing blood stained children clutched desperately in the arms of their anguished parents as their rubble strewn home looms in the background, all in the name of oxymoronic wars crying for freedom or resource control. I would whisper that these atrocities are terrible and perhaps even allow myself a moment of remorseful self-reflection before hurriedly moving on to the next item on my vast agenda of things that must be absolutely done today or else my feeling of inadequacy on having wasted my precious time would surmount my insecurities and threaten to drown me in sorrow. It is the me-generation after all, and there are all these shows that need catching up to. It is truly unfortunate that human beings are dying of starvation only a few hundred miles away, but that’s not my problem is it? Why should I have the weight of the world’s issues resting on my shoulders while virtually 99.99% of the population lives on as I do, not giving a second thought to the matter? How can it all be my fault? Who’s doing this sporadic finger pointing anyway?

I duly confess that I am one of these selfish masses. I have surrounded myself with the best of the best luxuries that the 21^st century can buy. I’m not talking sports cars and beachfront property second homes here. I’m easy. A working toilet and the internet are more than enough to sate my daily needs. I would sneer at the 1% sitting atop their high and mighty pyramid and occasionally I would pretend to shout in unison with my common man, especially when my working toilet is at risk of ceasing to function. All in the name of the fight to save the planet...whenever it’s convenient of course. However if my compassion for humanity is appealed to at a more demanding level, I will conjure up my excuse, picked randomly out of my pre-generated bag of goodies, and promptly move on with my life, albeit allowing for a snappy guilt trip that leaves a nasty lump in my throat. Call me content if you will. Call me lazy. Call me a self-centred egotistical vampire. It’s all true. No matter how actively or passively I support the cause I could always offer more;. I could sell all my belongings, move to Africa, and spend the rest of my days helping others all while living a minimalistic existence in a straw hut in the Savannah. Perhaps then they, whoever they are, will cease to call me idle and instead attest to my altruism, stating that he has done his part to help. The drop in the ocean becomes a slightly bigger drop.

The absolute truth of the matter is that I have lost my faith in humanity. We boast of our advanced evolution and our esteemed civilisation, yet we place more value in shreds of paper with faces on them rather than our own lives. We consume and eradicate our Earth’s resources, knowing full well our children’s children will suffer, yet we carry on as we are, all in the name of the now. We spend billions on wars and power plays when we could use that wealth to save humanity from its own self-inflicted suffering. We can beat our fists upon it as much as we like, but the sad fact is it’s too late. The amount of collaboration and trust it would take for the powers that be to set aside their greed, pool their vast recourses together, and begin that long journey ahead of surmounting real change is now just a far off pipe dream. Some continue to hope, and some fight every day of their lives to see it come true, and I commend them on their perseverance, for it is an honourable trait to have to desire a better world for their offspring. But I can no longer see what they see. In my eyes humanity has made its choice. We have set ourselves on an ever descending spiralling staircase that could only possibly lead to our own doom. I’ve come to terms with it now. I’ve accepted that I am one of the leeches; sucking dry from my environment and giving nothing back. Instead of being consumed by guilt and wallowing in my own self-pity however, I choose another road. It is a path inwards, into my own soul. There lies the responsibility for only myself and the people I care about; a significant and carefully selected handful of individuals who are the only ones permitted to judge me. They are my world. A miniature little world set with my own standards, my own morals, and my own goals. This makeshift world will come crashing down with the rest of them when humanity finally presses the wrong button or when Mother Earth has had enough of its parasitic freeloaders, but until this cataclysmic event takes place it is still my world and I am proud of it. It may not boast of being 100% environmentally friendly or possess any recyclable material, but at least I am the sole reason for its successes and failures. I can only point the finger of blame onto myself and suffer the consequences thereof. That guilt I can live with.

We can spend an entire lifetime trying to change the outer world, or we can instead divert our focus on ensuring the miniature one we were gifted with thrives to the fullest of our capabilities. All it takes is a profoundly life-changing realisation for one to accept the uncontainable vastness of their inevitable complacency and allow the blame of their actions to shift from outwards to inwards. With one fell swoop of the axe the fingers of culpability will twist around to our own chests, and ultimately we will become better people for it.

Steve and the Furry Egg

I know I know...It's been a long time. But I haven't been idle. Just working on super secret projects that are beyond blogger material. The inspiration is still there and still going strong, just directed elsewhere. In the meantime here is a little short story I put together just from a single simple action one morning...

Steve and the Furry Egg

A short story by Rami Abdo

“Shake it.”

“What? Why?” Steve looked up at me incredulously, then back at the lone egg sitting in the palm of my hand. It seemed to be on display, as if the sole purpose for the creation of my hand was to eventually show off this wonder of nature to the world around it.

“Just shake it.” I repeated myself. My insistence paid off. He picked up the egg carefully and shook it a few times. As soon as he did so his eyes widened, which produced a satisfactory feeling within me. “It’s like a dull thud isn’t it? A heavy cushioned rattle.” I tried to describe the sensation as clearly as I could but it wasn’t necessary. Once someone shook that egg in his or her hands no explanation was necessary anymore. It was a unique experience. “That’s not what an egg should sound like.” I said with furled eyebrows.

“Where did you get this from?” he turned it around to examine it, as if he was going to see something that shouldn’t have been there. It looked like a perfectly normal and unassuming egg.

“From the fridge. It’s been in there for 2 months. So...what do you think is in there?” I asked slowly. My question caused us both to stare at it again. We both didn’t want to answer it, even though in our heads the links began to form. Unsightly and sinister thoughts crept in without permission, and soon the overbearing silence emanating from the both of us was answer enough.

The ugly truth set in and we knew what had to be done. I pressed the button on the trash bin and the lid popped open automatically, its gaping greedy maw demanding to be fed. Slowly but surely Steve placed the egg as vigilantly as he could on top of the heap of rubbish. It nestled itself with abandonment atop a banana peel; cigarette butts and spaghetti leftovers becoming its new neighbours. We stood there and gazed at it intently for a few seconds.

“Should we say something?” I said finally after the overbearing awkwardness took over my rationale. It caused Steve to glance up at me very suddenly with an expression foretelling the fact that I had just suggested the most ridiculous concept ever for that exceptional set of circumstances, which I indeed had done so. My request opened up an array of philosophically challenging theories in our minds that were all simultaneously debated and resolved at once. The vast certainties of the cosmos stretched itself before us, and we dipped our toes into each of its infinite paths of existence. In that incredible moment the egg sitting atop our own generated refuse was a gateway to our souls. Our very humanity was in question...in danger. Everything we had ever achieved in our lives, our goals and ambitions, all the years under our belt, every choice we had ever made came down to this very instance of character. It would govern and judge our lives for an eternity to come.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Steve scornfully replied as he slammed the lid down and walked away. And just like that, the egg became just an egg again, and life was back to normal.

Why We Hate Praise

By Rami Abdo

A simple word of praise can go a long way in making someone’s day great. Or does it? Although giving a compliment seems like an honest enough expression, some people I know don’t like to be verbally rewarded for their actions, appearance, or skills; they may even go so far as reacting negatively to it. Why is that? I donned my thinking cap on and racked my brain to figure out the different thought processes that go through someone’s head when they’re on the receiving end of flattery.

When someone gives you a compliment, it means that they’re labelling you. They’re putting a sticker on you that say’s you are this or that or whatever. Even if this is something generally positive, it also means that you are ‘stuck’ with that label. The thought of being seen in this specific way by one person may not be the end of the world, but imagine if it spreads to your social groups. It can be downright harrowing to realize that you will be seen that way by everyone you know from now on. In the case of celebrities this is seen at its greatest level, since it’s practically everyone on the planet that see’s them in such a specific way. It creates an expectation that you have to fulfil and it forbids you from changing freely since you will be judged under a microscope by the all seeing eye of your society, whether it is just your friends or your fans. I personally don’t like to be viewed as a specific archetype; I’d like to know that I can become a ‘different’ person whenever I want without being scrutinized for it. Constantly struggling to remove these labels off your personality can be a gruelling and exhausting task.

We as human beings naturally strive for perfection in everything we do, whether it involves putting on our clothes in the morning or performing a repetitive task at the factory. We have this tendency to learn from and improve on the things we do, big or small. This push for efficiency never really ends unless some kind of limit is reached, whether it is natural or practical. In a way, a compliment is a sort of limit as well. It basically tells us that what we are doing is good enough, that we don’t have to work any harder, that this is our best. Seen in this way, I can understand why admiration can be viewed with a negative light; our push for perfection hates to be quashed prematurely.

In parallel with the above, there is a similar thought regarding the limits of our potential.  Take for example an up and coming painter. He is well versed in his field, so he knows of the capabilities of those artists he looks up to and he is also aware of what he can do. He aims for excellence so that one day his art can be looked at with the same awe as a piece from da Vinci or Boticelli. He gazes at such art and calls it amazing. If someone who is not so knowledgeable looks upon his own painting and also calls it amazing, it creates a conflict in the painters head. How can his own work be amazing when he knows that the greats are so much better than him? In this case, it matters not only what the nature of the compliment is, but who it came from as well.

Your personal history with your interpersonal relationships can certainly influence how you take to compliments as well. If you’ve been verbally abused during your earlier years, then people’s opinions of you may no longer be welcome, whether they are well meaning or not. The body’s defence mechanism forces you to reject praise since you have grouped all types of opinions together as a ‘negative’ experience. The same effect may happen if you have been pushed too hard, commonly seen by parents who push their children to excel in school, without realizing the kind of pressure they are putting on them. These children grow up believing that they are never good enough, so praising them in their adult years may only trigger these welled up emotions more than anything else. Being falsely complimented and subsequently hurt as a result can also create certain trust issues. Any genuine admiration will always be taken with a hint of salt after being manipulated in such a way in the past.

There are many other factors that influence us whenever we are seen in high regard. A mixed bag of emotions usually rises up inside us and that can cause confusion more than anything else: Modesty, egoism, and pride to name a few. You may not know how to react to admiration and appreciation, perhaps you feel you don’t deserve it or don’t need it. It’s completely understandable then that some people avoid it like the plague and hate on it when it confronts them. We are not simple computers that have automatic responses to specific commands. We are as diverse as the countless pebbles on a vast beach, each with its own shape, weight and hue of colours that make us entirely different from our neighbour. Each needs to be handled in its own way, so take heed next time you offer up a compliment or word of praise; the recipient might not take it so lightly!

The Conflict Within

By Rami Abdo

Social conditioning is a funny thing. It is defined as the process of training individuals within a society to accept the norms, customs, morals and ideologies of that society so that they may be seamlessly integrated into its functioning structural framework. In basic terms, it is what society teaches us to be right or wrong. This code of conduct is based on the specific culture, history, and environment of that social order, formulated to sustain and protect itself and control its members, thereupon making it a set of principles that is extremely subjective and prejudiced.

More importantly, this conditioning is usually in direct contrast with our own instinctual judgement that is based on our own experiences and views that we mould during our lifetime; our gut feeling so to speak. This is where conflict arises within us, creating the confusion that spearheads a lot of our insecurities, complexes, and other guilt-ridden emotions that tear us apart from the inside out. On the one hand, we have been raised to believe that certain things are clearly right and wrong, a picture of black and white that allows no flexibility in between; we are rewarded for behaving righteously and punished for wrongful acts, the rules are quite explicit. On the other hand, our gut feeling usually tells us otherwise, sometimes the exact opposite. We have to process this second set of pure and untainted ‘laws’ that we have created for ourselves and decide which one means more to us. Which one makes more sense? Which one should we follow?

Sometimes the intrinsic and extrinsic line up, although never under the same rules. We know for example that killing another human being is wrong, mostly because the law says it’s wrong. Intrinsically however, we also know that the thought of killing someone leaves us with a sickening feeling in our stomach, so there is a correlation there. But even this example is not so black and white. If someone threatens to kill you or your family, would it be wrong for you to murder that person to defend yourself and the ones you love? Thousands of people are dying every day, crushed under the iron boots of soldiers who justify their bloodied hands with the war-torn flags of their countries, the same countries that say it is wrong to kill. Where does this justification to kill come from? How does its authoritative voice drown out the voice of reason inside us that tells us not to take another’s life? It is the same voice that teaches us the code of conduct that we must follow if we are to be accepted in its society. We are so used to following its orders that we take everything it says for granted to be true, even if our internal processing tells us otherwise.

My point being that both of these sets of principles, internal and external, are constantly changing, adapting and evolving based on our times and our circumstances. They do not follow a logical pattern, nor are they getting better or worse. We consider ourselves to be more ‘civilized’ compared to our more ‘savage’ ancestors, but if those same ancestors looked through a keyhole of time into our modern world, our culture would be just as alien to them as we found their culture alien to us. We cannot be set in our ways any more. We cannot accept that what we have been taught since childhood will be true forever, just as much as we cannot hold on to a certain belief inside of us because we are used to it, even though our body is pulling us in the opposing direction.

So how are we to know which set of principles to trust in at any given moment, since we cannot trust in neither social conditioning nor our own personal conditioning? If we strip away all the conditioning, all the brainwashing, all the norms that we are expected to follow as individuals and as a group and realize to what extent we have been herded by society’s iron grip and our own personal history, we begin to question everything about ourselves: What we believe in, what we fight for, what we value in our lives... But most of all, we come to realize that there is no right and wrong. There is no fixed set of rules that we must follow on how we must act, how we must behave, or how we must conduct ourselves, whether these rules come from within or without.

There is only that...thing...which feels good; that clean unspoiled sensation within us that we must inadvertently follow at a given moment, because every inch of our body tells us to, and to ignore it would be pure folly. It takes us down a path that we have no choice but to follow, even though we know it will be opposed by those who condemn it and by our own doubts.

We surrender to it because we must, because to ignore it would mean to deny our very freedom, our very existence at that moment to choose our own fates. 

Talking Unclouded

By Rami Abdo

What do you even call it? I don’t have a clue to be honest. I’m talking of course about the phenomenon of when your mind is clouded by sexual thoughts when you’re trying to communicate with another person. Even though this is a two way street, I can only relate to this effect when a man talks to a woman, so I’ll focus on that as the main example.

How do you talk to a woman without the thought of sex getting in the way? Let’s take the law of extremes and try these two methods: you either make it really obvious or you hide it really well.

Making it really obvious means being open about it and using a lot of sexual innuendo, speaking your mind no matter how inappropriate and to hell with the consequences. The negative impact of this behaviour is obvious. You will pay for this by coming out as a pervert since you are throwing out potentially insulting remarks left, right, and centre. It can create tension if it’s taken badly, especially if you are so candid with your work colleagues whom you have to see every day. It can set up ‘obligations’ that must be fulfilled, i.e. getting carried away with false promises. It can burn bridges for the future if you are forever labelled by your demeanour. On the other hand, at least you will be able to sleep at night knowing that you have no regrets and you let it all out of your head. It also does wonders to your self-confidence; in a way you become delusional enough to believe in it so much that it pushes you to get out there and take risks, which is always a good thing. There is a modicum of control that you can exercise when practising this display of candour, it doesn’t have to come out as vulgar as it formulates in your head. It can always be toned down by giving it a light humorous edge; as long as it's done jokingly it makes it more acceptable. You can perhaps read the signs of the other party first by dipping a toe in the water to test their limits. Most of the time it doesn’t backfire in your face, women generally appreciate the direct approach as it exudes a carefree and confident attitude.

The other extreme is quite intricate and deceptive, but it is the safer route, which is why most men prefer it. You have to pretend you don’t see her in a sexual way at all, tricking your mind into suppressing all thoughts of desire. To you she’s just another human being and you must not allow appearances to influence the way you communicate with her at all. This not only means whether you find her attractive or not, but it also means you must mask the insecurities you have of yourself too. Being insecure about your imperfections will be reflected out into your performance, showing that you do in fact care. This must be avoided at all costs since women are very perceptive when it comes to reading body language and other such signs. It must look like you have transcended such petty thoughts and are only interested in the pursuit of a non-sexual communication with this person. The benefits of this method are also quite clear. You avoid tension and are able to have a normal conversation with a woman without always wondering afterwards if there was anything more to it. You can come out as a gentleman, women will appreciate you for not objectifying them into sex objects, which they get a lot of and would occasionally like a break from. However bear in mind that they have become used to it and have adapted their social skills to work around it. Thus if they are expecting some sort of ‘forwardness’ from you, perhaps because they like you and want to flirt with you, then your indifference will confuse them. If you are in this mode and are not alert enough to read the signs yourself, then you may miss out on many opportunities. This mode also puts you in the friend zone a lot (when a woman that you are attracted to decides that she only likes you as a friend, usually because you took too long to show her that you like her), so it may mess up future potential interests. Finally, a major disadvantage of this 'method' is that it will lead to a lot of frustration. You are straight out lying to yourself when you suppress your behaviour in such a way, which will lead to a lot of regrets and internal strife that will leave you gnashing your teeth in disappointment of yourself.

In conclusion, it seems that even though most people communicate using the latter process, it harbours a lot more disadvantages than the first. It feels to me that a more direct approach is a more honest one to both parties and leaves you healthier of mind. Even though it adds stress to some of your relationships with the opposite sex, it’s better than the alternative: not taking any risks and feeling sorry for yourself about it. Having a score of unrequited friendships with women because you’re too afraid to reveal your true feelings to them, whatever they may be.

There are a lot of factors that affect which method to focus on, such as confidence level, age, culture, personal history, mood, etc. It seems logically best to find a balance between the two, so that you can lead a relatively stress free life with your social interactions without burdening yourself with unnecessary troubles of the opposite sex kind. Most of the time men are not aware of these machinations taking place in their head anyway, especially when they’re communicating with women that they’re not attracted to. When they do experience an undeniable attraction to a woman, then it usually trumps all the rules anyway and they will be unable to hold themselves back, no matter how reserved they usually are with their actions.