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.

The Long Road

By Rami Abdo

I turned around for a moment and gazed at my house in the distance. It had been such a long time since I took a walk, a simple stroll around the neighbourhood using my own two legs. There was no destination, no goal, it was simply a walk. My mind’s usually preoccupied with meaningless pursuits while behind a wheel. Dodging potential accidents, hate-mongering with the other road-rage filled drivers, making crucial decisions about the route I should or shouldn’t take. Walking doesn’t bully me in that way.

I also notice more things when I choose not to drive, the details in the little things that whiz past me while speeding across the main roads: The aroma of trees, the elaborate cracks in the walls of houses, the sounds passersby make as you glide past them. They are all important in some way, and ignoring them in my day to day journeys while I fuss about ‘bigger’ worries are a perfect metaphor for the way I sometimes become in my journey of life. I worry and muse over issues like money and my future plans, yet all around me I am surrounded by beauty in many shapes and sizes, beauty that offers itself to me on a silver platter. All I need to do is stop the world, reach out and pluck its succulent fruit.

How do I stop the world? I consciously and physically stop what I’m doing at any given moment, take the time to examine my surroundings with all my senses, and then I savour it, appreciate it, learn from it. What is this it? It is the realization that all the things around me are working together, interacting in a perfect way at that instant to create the circumstances I am currently in. It is the comprehension that everything around me is a living sentient being, constantly creating and destroying and forming new thoughts, new feelings, and new connections with itself in an ever-changing state of infinitesimal ecosystems existing inside slightly larger, more complex ones, and so on and so forth. To put it simply, it is understanding and valuing a moment for what it really is.

I faced a long stretch of empty road and decided to shut my eyes and see with my other senses. As soon as I did, I understood what it meant to feel with the body. At first I focused my will on hearing and I was swiftly bombarded with a flurry of activity that I normally wouldn’t even register: The rustle of dying leaves blowing across the pavement, the soft murmuring of the elderly as they sit on their front porch, gravel spraying from car tyres as they skid past.  I focused on each of these and they were heard as clear as if they occurred next to me.

As I concentrated my will on my sense of smell, I picked up on odours I usually ignore. The scent of freshly cut grass, the carbonic smoke of car emissions, even the heat baking the tar road was isolated in my nostrils as a unique identifiable smell.

I then became fully conscious of my body’s sense of touch. I felt the intricate network of my leg muscles flexing and relaxing, interacting with one another with every step I took. The wind caressed me gently as I moved against it. It swayed aside for me as I streamed past its flow, obedient to my shape and my movements. It separated and glided through my fingers, solidified once more on my palm and allowed me to grasp it as if the hilt of a sword. Then it flitted past and around me, resuming its former path and mission.

I opened my eyes and it was as if I could see for the first time in years. Colours were vibrant and contrasting, each exceptional with its own hue. My sight flowed through the landscape as a bird would glide down a hidden valley, on its own journey of discovery, picking out every new shape and every fresh movement. The trees swayed with the wind and the cars rolled with their momentum but I was stationary, immovable as the rock of the earth. I was invisible, a watcher of the machinations of the life around me, invincible to their touch.

As I sauntered down the road in my own world, I came across a pretty girl standing on the pavement, waiting for someone or something. I was bombarded with a multitude of elements all at once. The golden strands of her hair played in the breeze in perfect unison with the hem of her white skirt; they synchronized and composed together as an orchestra would. There was an auburn tinged aura emanating from her, a product of the rays of the setting sun reflecting off her pale skin. As I neared her, the subtle hint of sweet perfume approached my senses; it was a tender blend of vanilla and honeydew which intoxicated me under its spell. As I passed by, our eyes met briefly and in that fleeting moment time stood still. The energy in the air elevated me to new heights. The sides of her mouth arched into a smile and I smiled back. For that short instant it was as if we had known each other for years; a lifetime of questions were asked and answered and an infinite number of scenarios came to life and expired.

The spell was broken just as suddenly as it had woven itself into existence. Her father had pulled up with his car and picked her up. I looked back one last time and our eyes met once more, lingering and wondering for that which was...that which could have been. But as I strolled on down all I felt was wonder for what a simple walk down a long road can create: A series of short-lived moments that we can choose to either ignore or extract their enchanting core and enlighten ourselves with its beauty. 

Childhood Memories

By Rami Abdo

All the memories I have of my childhood are of me as a nine year old boy. Whenever I try to recall one, or when I’m telling a story of my distant past, I always put myself at around that age. Why is that? It’s as if I didn’t exist before I was nine. I just suddenly came to be one day, a complete nine year old boy. Even when I look at photos of myself as a baby or my first few years as a child, it’s as if I’m looking at a complete stranger.  Who is this weird human being staring back at me and why am I trying to relate to it. It’s a complete blank. This phenomenon is called ‘childhood amnesia’ and is common in all of us. The average earliest memory one can recall is usually around 3-4 years old. Even several years after that, it’s usually just bits and pieces that can be recollected as blurry images.

There are various theories out there that explain it. One plausible theory is that our lack of language skills at such an early age doesn’t allow us to put our memories in ‘writing’; i.e., the details of our memories  need to be associated with specific words and definitions that help us identify them and store them in our brains. This implies of course that our childhood memories are still intact, hidden in the recesses of our minds, we just don’t have the key to access them properly in a way we can understand. Some say that dreaming is a type of key to access this vault. Interpreting our dreams is a science in itself, but being able to tap into our earliest memories seems like a wonderful thing, putting together a puzzle of our lives one piece at a time. Another way is via hypnosis, which if done right, can help bring back repressed memories of a traumatized childhood to shed some light for people in need of psychological help.

A more biological approach talks about the structural design of a baby’s brain. The connections between the brain cells don’t start forming until after about a year, so until they do learn how to do it, a lot of memories are lost in the process. Basic survival is all the brain cares about at that point, so it doesn’t need the ability to store memories until much later. These connections are constantly re-wiring themselves as well, even in adulthood, so it’s possible the first ones have been ‘overwritten’ so many times that they are now nonexistent.

Sigmund Freud believed that from a psychoanalytical point of view, our memories of our childhood were so traumatic that we repressed them into our unconscious. Only when we become psychologically mature enough to handle them do they start returning. Most scientists nowadays have discredited this theory; however, it cannot be denied that our memories and our emotions are inescapably linked. If we experience a heightened emotional moment, we are more likely to clearly recall the circumstances around it.

I do remember the traumatic moments I had in my childhood as sort of flashbulb memories; Pictures that feel like low quality still shots from an old cinema reel. They come to me more as a feeling than anything else. I still think I was around nine years old for all of them, but more likely they are scattered around between the ages of three and nine. Of course if they are too traumatic, then a sort of defence mechanism activates and represses them into the dark depths of our minds, never to be brought out again (except in the climactic ending when you get a glimpse of your arch nemesis’s medallion which triggers a violent flashback of how he killed your parents one Tuesday evening, chaining into a series of events where you are raised by well hidden kung-fu monks that train you in the deadly martial arts even though you are a westerner).

They can be quite cathartic and revealing to bring back to the surface. I had a relatively normal childhood which I would love to relive: Trips to exotic countries with my family by my side, playing with the other neighbourhood kids in the streets of Cyprus (it was the safe eighties!), going on adventures and discovering new realms with my friends. But for some others, their past was a dark time which they just want to put behind them. They are more interested in their future, creating new memories, fixing the mistakes of their parents and changing the legacy of their nation. Who can blame them? In a way I do envy these people, because they only look forward, onto their next adventure, instead of digging into the past as I constantly do. I could certainly learn a thing or two from them. 

The Chosen

By Rami Abdo

 Zurri sat hunched across the fire with his clan brothers and sisters. They were all silent, waiting anxiously for what was to come. The light of the flames flickered and highlighted the myriad of Gruul tattoos and painted markings that littered every inch of his muscular body. He tightened his grip on his trusted wooden spear and glanced up at the night sky.

“The stars are clear this night,” he thought to himself. It is a good omen. Today would be a good day to die.

The flaps of the large tent behind him parted open and two figures emerged. Zurri and the others all instinctively stood up and stepped aside to give way. Gomeg the druid and Ravek the guildmage walked up to the fire, with the rest forming a semi-circle around them, audience to their imminent chants. Ravek raised his staff and recited the clan’s mantra. Zurri murmured it under his lips with the rest, allowing it to engulf him in a sense of clan pride. His clan was his home, his everything. He knew he would defend it with his life if he had to, and would gladly give his soul too if he could.

Ravek raised both his hands, ending the chant abruptly. “The ancients have spoken. Tonight a warrior amongst you will be chosen,” he declared, pausing to scan his audience. “The chosen one will climb the lava mountain and take to battle with the Uur-dragon that has terrorised our lands for far too long.” He pointed behind him at the lava streaked mountain in the distance. As if for effect, a small lava fracture at its peak burst outwards with menacing foretelling. The ground shook slightly with its distant roar, and then a silent moment ensued as the warriors shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

“Step forward each of you, into the fire’s light, so that I may gaze upon your faces,” Ravek continued.

One by one the warriors stepped up to the fire, standing in front of the mage and druid for a glancing moment until they were quickly waved away. When Zurri’s turn came, he confidently stepped forward, head held high. He returned the piercing stare of the wise mage, unflinching as he gazed intently into those dark pools of knowledge. Ravek lingered for a moment longer than usual and then waved him on.

After all the warriors had presented themselves, Ravek spoke. “Zurri! Step forward!”

Zurri’s heart leapt into his throat. There was instantly murmurs heard amongst the others; some were more a sigh of relief than anything. Zurri composed himself and stepped forward into the circle again, leaning on his spear, now more for support than anything else. His knees were weak but he held himself upright with pride, he was chosen and that was that. The test of his mettle as a warrior was finally here, and he wasn’t going to back down now.

“I see in your eyes that you are a brave soul, Zurri of the fire-heart clan,” Ravek whispered softly, as if only to him. “You will be a worthy opponent for the dragon.” He turned his view to address the rest. “Zurri is our chosen warrior!” he proclaimed loudly. “His fire-heart is strong and his spear sturdy! He will vanquish the Uur-dragon and bring us its bloodied fangs as his prize!”

The warriors of the tribe cheered for Zurri, invigorating him with positive energy. He had no doubt that the dragon would taste its own blood off his spear. He took a deep breath as Ravek dipped his fingers into a jar hanging from his belt and painted fresh markings on Zurri’s face. The guildmage then took off his necklace adorned with Gruul charms and placed it around Zurri’s neck. “May these protect you from the dragon’s wrath and give you safe passage home...or may they grant you a clean death in battle,” Ravek pronounced. Zurri bowed his head to him in respect.

Gomeg the druid spoke for the first time. “Take this potion I have concocted and drink it just before you face the dragon,” he said pulling out a gourd made of swine leather and handing it to Zurri. “It will give you great strength and valiant courage to face the beast and defeat it. It acts quickly, so do not linger too long after drinking it!” Zurri took the gourd and placed it in his satchel. He bowed his head once more to the two wise ones and then turned to bid his brothers and sisters farewell. He embraced each of them in turn. Some smiled for him and some cried for him, each recalling a fond memory of their chosen brother.

“Do not shed a tear for me my clansmen,” Zurri announced boldly, “I go now to victory or to death. Either way, I serve my clan well.” He gathered his supplies and began his long trek to the lava mountain, which loomed ominously in the distance. No one had ever ventured there and lived to tell the tale.

It took him several days to reach the foot of the mountain, and several days more to climb it. The path was treacherous, littered with jagged rocks and searing lava flows that burnt the skin off just from approaching near the red river. The dragon’s lair was at the top of the mountain, but all wildlife for leagues around had long disappeared, driven off by the threat of the winged beast. It had acquired a taste only for the flesh of men, so would regularly attack the tribe’s lands searching for its next meal. No one was safe anymore until the dragon was vanquished.

By the time he neared the summit’s peak, the lava mountain had taken its toll on him. He was blackened with soot and pockmarked with burns and scratches from head to toe. His whole body ached, his muscles sore with fatigue from hiking the steep climb of the rugged mountain paths. The ground shook from the constant lava flows below the surface, and there was a constant thrumming rumble that rattled his brain. He lay on a rock to catch his breath and scan the peak’s edges, searching for where the dragon would make its lair. He had spied from the distance spouts of flame shooting out from an area just below the peak, so he had headed for that general direction. He could see now that it was a large cave, its entrance vertically flat across the mountainside, impossible to reach by foot. As if on cue, another spout of flame discharged out of the cave entrance with roaring thunder. “That’s certainly not lava,” he thought to himself. He glanced up at the night sky and saw no stars. The ash and steam had covered them all. “No omen today,” he thought.

“DRAGONNNN!” he yelled with what strength he had left. “SHOW YOURSELF YOU SCAB SWINE!” Zuuri marvelled at his own brazen arrogance. However, whatever bravery he had inside him was instantly evaporated in the next moment. The rumbling had stopped. He realized now it was the dragon’s breathing. Two massively taloned claws edged their way out the sides of the entrance, followed by leathery wings, and finally a scaled bony head made of nightmares. The dragon had emerged.

It was large, larger than he thought. One of its claws spanned his entire body, and Zurri was tall for a man. As it emerged from its dwelling and reared to its full height, he realized it may as well have been a mountain itself. Bony spikes protruded from its immense skull and its red eyes emanated with a blazing radiance that pierced directly into his soul. Its body was as that of the mountain, a rock hard carapace veined with a network of glowing flame, as if its heart was the very sun itself. Fumes of ashen smoke arose from its fiery nostrils as it searched for that which interrupted its slumber. When it spied the puny human on the crevices below, it let out a chilling growl that resonated in Zurri’s very soul. His heart sank at the sight of the towering behemoth. His body failed him and he fell back onto the ground with base terror. He crawled backwards, whimpering with fear, until he hit his head on the rock he had been resting on. The jolt awakened his senses and reminded him of the potion that Gomeg had given him. He clambered for the gourd and pulled it out of his bag. The dragon was slowly crouching, preparing to leap upon its hapless prey.

“Gods of old...give me strength,” he worded, as he uncorked the potion and drank it all in a single swig. Its effects were instantaneous. A tingling sensation washed over him, numbing his body and his senses. The weariness of the last few days left his limbs entirely, and he leapt to his feet with strengthened might. He felt a renewed vigour in his heart and his spirit soared above the clouds. He sensed the power of his entire clan behind him, urging him on. He was invincible, untouchable. He raised his spear at the dragon and roared back defiantly, no longer afraid.

“FEAR ME NOW DRAGON! FEAR MY BLADE, FEAR MY SOUL, AND FEAR MY CLAN’S DEFIANCE!” Delirious with power and foaming at the mouth, Zurri launched himself at the beast with a triumphant cry, at the same time as the dragon pounced with its open maw. It caught his airborne body along the midriff with its snapping jaws. He felt his insides crush with the impact as its sharp fangs pierced his body. He felt no pain, the potion made sure of that. Spitting blood, he cursed its existence before plunging the spear deep into its fiery red eye. It screamed with pain, Zurri still impaled on its teeth. He laughed at the dragon, mocking it.

“You are a mindless beast,” he thought to himself, strangely calm at that moment of respite. “You shall never know the meaning of brotherhood, of nature’s true power...of self-sacrifice.” He coughed blood and uttered his last bellowing war cry as the dragon snapped its jaws shut.

Ravek and Gogem walked across the foot of the lava mountain. It had been many moons since Zurri had set out on his quest. A few days after he had left, they had seen flashes of fire and heard thunderous roars coming from the mountain peak. Since then, there was no sign of him...or the Uur-dragon for many days.

As they rounded the mountain to its far side, they came across a welcome sight. The dragon was slumped on a protruding cliff some way up, stone dead. It had petrified, as lava dragons do after they die, their inner-fire long extinguished. Only a faint glimmer remained, its heart, which never fades.

“The poison worked,” Gogem the druid shouted triumphantly.

“Yes, and so did its delivery method,” Ravek uttered sadly. “Zurri offered a noble sacrifice for his clan. The greatest he could ever give.”

“I made sure that his last moments on this earth were spent well,” Gogem said as he recalled the ingredients of his concoction. “We shall feast on boar tonight in his name, and burn the dragon’s heart in his honour. He has made the fire-heart clan proud.”

On the Vitalities of a Critical Moment

By Rami Abdo

A critical moment is one such that it entails a point in time where a possible ‘effect’ to take place does so purely and only by and because of the means which lies within your own possession, and according to your own judgment and decision. A failure to act upon the cause, and thus create the ‘effect’, leads irreversibly to the failure and passing of that said critical moment. Take note that it is another matter if a delay or hesitation on your part causes ‘the passing’, and if you then, at a later point, decide to act / choose on the specifications of the lost moment, because in actuality you are acting / choosing on a completely new critical moment, with rules alter to those of the previous moment which has been lost in time due to that delay / hesitation.

Exemplifying the definition certainly requires taking the classical examples of critical moments, namely those of the ‘once in a lifetime career opportunity’ when one is handed the ‘perfect job’ on a silver platter and the other being the males/females only chance of securing a romantic relationship (possibly the most passionate of their lives) by making ‘the’ move on the male/female of their dreams. Let’s take each in its own format for lucidity and colourful literal illustration.

Concerning the former, the said person is currently working desperately to secure financial troubles. It is needless to expound further on what these may be, for in this day and age these troubles can be vampiric and destructive, to say the least, so let’s leave it at that. Continuing, the person is holding (barely) a minimum wage job in a minimum-size facility, dreading the brain-cell-melting routine of work as he/she only survives due to the increasingly overwhelming weekly sensation that after every five weekdays there is a weekend. The only substance that keeps this person alive is family, relatives, and home, which is where the heart is of course. And thus the routine is only broken by occasional family picnics, holidays and gossip, which as any quick-witted reader would notice, becomes a routine in itself.

Then one day, as the person mulls over a wasted life, a letter arrives from a global company from a global city, offering a global career opportunity with a global salary and global perks to boot. Hence a critical moment has shone upon said person. It is now within their own choosing, (here enters the tormenting soul-ripping sleepless nights of indecision), on whether to pass up the offer with an unsure wave of the hand and an even more-so unsure comment such as; “oh, its not for me, all that big city life, all that adjusting”, or to violently pack their possessions, spouse, kids and family dog into every crevice of their station wagon and ride of into the new beginning, without so much as a “goodbye” to their milkman (door-to-door milkmen are an extinct species in global cities). The said person establishes themselves into a prominent position, purchases all they ever wanted in life (assuming it can be bought), and moves up at least two notches in Maslows ‘Heirarchy of needs pyramid’, which they learnt so well in college and finally put to good use. The person praises themselves for snatching life by the…(insert whatever you feel is appropriate) and lives as their dreams wanted them to live.  

Or will this drastic change inevitably corrupt their once simple hearts, break up their families and leave them to rot in their single-room condos with their fat paychecks that they have no idea what to do with (except pay a substantial chunk to alimony and child support). It is those moments when they reflect back at that critical moment, when said person was clutching tightly to that letter sent by global corporation from global city, and said person wishes he/she had shred said letter into a thousand particles and sent them burning into the fiery pits from whence they came, instead of assuming that any life other than theirs would be better.

The latter scenario certainly fits into a more serendipitous, Hollywoody movie, happy-ending kind of moment, but since this is the real world: brutal, heart-wrenching regret will (regretfully) take the place of happy endings that we so often see. Just to set the settings on the movie-ending scene, what usually happens is the hero / heroine finds the perfect lover somewhere in the beginning of the movie, they prove their love somewhere midway, only to break apart because of:  infidelity / lies about the past / evil mutated bad guy kidnapping one of them. There usually follows a time of sadness (with soppy music to boot) where the lonesome hero / heroine reflect on all the good times they had together while walking head-down along a beach in the sunset. At this point near the ending, they realize that their love for each other is too strong to be cracked over a few insignificant differences (or the evil baddy is annihilated in some gruesome manner), resulting with the two passionately hugging and kissing at the airport when one was about to leave the country for good before the other decided to race in time to stop the plane departing (what ever happens to all that airport traffic??).

That was a Hollywood critical moment as far as lost loves are concerned. In real life it is much more delicate than that, so delicate in fact, that most of the times we hardly notice a critical moment has come and gone, setting of a chain reaction that could mean the end of a possibly happily-ever-after relationship, sometimes even before it begins! To state an example, let me use a man as the subject, only because it is usually expected of the man to do the first move (a notion I don’t approve of but what the hell, that’s wholly another matter). The man is trotting along a busy shopping street, minding his own business, when he accidentally bumps into a woman coming around the corner, spilling the contents of her shopping bag. With apologetic smiles he offers to help, and in the process discovers from the spilt items some common hobby / interest he shares with the woman. This could be anything from an album of the Beatles to diving gear or matchbox cars.

Before he realizes it he has begun a sporadic conversation with this woman who he is finding increasingly attractive (and vice versa) by the nanosecond. They both talk to each other for ten minutes as if they are perfectly suitable for each other (and perhaps they are, isn’t that the point), laughing sincerely at one another’s jokes and finding more and more areas of common interest. Then it happens. They both run out of things to say because they are either too nervous or not close enough (yet) to expand further into more intimate subjects. The woman’s eyes dart from her bag to the end of the street, where her car is parked. The man shuffles nervously, sweating profusely, unable to look at any object higher than his fidgety feet. Inevitably, this is what usually ensues: Both vaguely comment, at the same time, something in the lines of;  / “so anyway I gotta go” / “well I’ll see you around”  / “meters gonna run out for my parked car” while both point randomly in opposite directions. With one last moment of hesitation to be the only memory of their ten-minute relationship, they reluctantly part their ways, both having yearned for the same thing but both too shy to grasp it. Of course, to add further spice to the drama, the man looks back when he’s ten meters away but views only her back, and she does the very same thing a moment later, after he’d already turned back disappointed and continued walking away. They never see each other again, and the critical moment is gone. What often follows such lost moments is the man tearing his hair out as he expels his mournful regret to anyone who would listen on how he let what possibly could have been the future mother of his children get away from his clutches, purely on the (now seemingly idiotic) grounds of being too shy to ask for her number or to offer to continue the conversation at a café somewhere. She too will feel the loss, lamenting to her friends on what could have been, and maybe even bang her head a few times for bowing down to the shallow notion that he was supposed to make the first move, irrevocably suffering as much as he will.

The only consolation to a lost critical moment is the resolute guarantee from the subject of the losing end that he/she has learned their lesson and will never let it ever happen again as long as they live. To this I say, that it is true, as humans we have the capacity to learn from our mistakes, but nevertheless we seem to repeat them, merely owing to the sake of clarity for our fickle assurance. It is a condition akin to a mongrel which, on going to cross the street, gets run over and breaks a leg. Then, unsure on whether it was the car, the street, or its clouded imagination that attributed to its leg currently protruding at an awkward angle, proceeds to make sure by crossing a different street, and predictably getting another leg broken. Now it is sure it’s not the street, for it had just crossed a different street, but is still left flummoxed over whether it is the car or it’s imagination to blame. And so, when the conditions are ripe once more, it cannot help but walk (or more likely crawl) into a street once more, whereupon with the squeal of tires and the crack of bone it is now positive that the car is the cause of all these limb-dentations. But by then of course it is too late.

From Child to Adult

By Rami Abdo

I’m not going to sit here and pretend I have even the remotest inkling of knowledge on the fundamentals of raising a child in this day and age. It is in fact a huge task to undertake, especially for blue-collar parents working full time jobs with barely enough wages in this crisis to cover their own needs much less a totally dependent third person. For single parents it’s even tougher; they have to carry out the lion’s share of the overwhelming duties ahead without the emotional and physical support of a partner by their side. I tip my hat off to them and in no way strive to demean their choices. I’m merely broaching the subject from a different angle, so humour me for a moment as I divulge into a philosophical debate.

Reading Carlos Castaneda during my impressionable years opened my eyes to the infinite horizons of reality and left my mind staggering at the truths I uncovered based on his views on existence. One of these harsh ‘realities’ I came face to face with was his inescapable dilemma on the concept of raising a child. Here was a free thinker, his mind opened to the stars and beyond by the teachings of Don Juan Matus, a man of knowledge, caught between his basic instinct to pass on his legacy to his offspring and his unwillingness to cage a human being with the conditioning of Parenthood. This trap he was referring to is unavoidable in every sense of the word. In order to raise a child, even in the simplest of settings, you must teach him/her how to survive, how to function in society, how to behave, what is right and wrong, what to believe in, etc...The list is endless. That means the child must be conditioned, or should I say programmed, from the start of their life until they are old enough to potentially break free from these shackles placed on their mind and have an independent thought that is not marred by all these past influences.

I’m not blasting specific methods used by parents worldwide on how they raise their children. 

I’m suggesting that whatever way is used, it will always be wrong. There is no right way because no matter what methods are implemented, raising a child means exerting our influence, our rules, and our beliefs on another impressionable human being that doesn’t know any better. He or she has been moulded to believe in certain mannerisms, religions, acceptable behaviour and other such ideas that are as difficult to erase from the mind as trying to forget how to count. The damage has been done and even the most rigorous scrubbing will still leave a faint stain on the brain.

Even if the most well meaning parents raised their child to be the kindest, most loving human being on the planet, it still means they have influenced that person to become that way through their teachings. Did they ask their one day old baby if he or she wanted to grow up to become this person? Obviously not.  But we cannot just give a child complete freedom as soon as they are born so that we wouldn’t influence their mental processes. Not only does modern society not allow that, but we would also be endangering the child’s life.  Parents just have to start making decisions for their baby, as best as they could according to their choices and their upbringing. If you think about it, we are trapped in this vicious cycle where we transfer the bugs acquired from our upbringing onto our offspring, either directly or indirectly. Those stains will always be there in some way or the other.

However, there is a silver lining to every cloud. When we are old enough, and our minds open up to the possibilities of the world and what it has to offer us, we can slowly begin erasing the markings of our parents and start drawing our own. It is a difficult thing to wipe out 18 years of training; the brain is not a textbook and there is no tool good enough to erase these writings completely. But Castaneda himself said: “We hardly ever realize that we can cut anything out of our lives, anytime, in the blink of an eye.” if we detach enough from the limits that our minds create, if we accept the fact that everything we ever know and believe in was stamped in there from before, then we can fully perceive this statement as true and use its implicit power to change ourselves in any way we see fit.

 To reject this notion means to reject our very freedom, the freedom to make our own choice on what kind of an adult we want to become.  Our parents relinquish the reigns of responsibility to us when we mature to adulthood, but instead of accepting them with open arms, we pass them on to other bodies of domination because we fear the implications of having to make real choices. We fear change and we fear the unknown, so we hold onto our past which makes us feel safe and secure. But while we latch on desperately to our memories and our old ways, the world around us is moving on, reforming and ageing and ignoring us for the most part.

Unfortunately, it usually takes a major life-changing moment for us to open our eyes to the inevitable realization that we no longer want to be the person we were groomed to be. Being able to shape ourselves into figures of our own choosing is one of the last freedoms we still possess. Buy only if we accept that before nationalities, before religions, before races, before anything else, we are human, and the saddest thing is to live and die not knowing that.

What Controls the world?

Most would say that clearly money is the great instigator, the driving force that controls the gears of the world. There are a select few people in this world who are ambitious and persevering enough to make the pursuit of power their life goal. The rush that comes with gaining wealth is enough to drive humans to act beyond reason in their quest for supremacy, and what else but money can help this quest be attained. These select few megalomaniacs have used this tool to dominate and rule the world since the beginning of time; From Alexander the great conquering most of the known world to Bill Gates and Steve Jobs taking over the technology race. The era progresses and the battlefield changes, but the root reasons stay the same. With this power they subdued the masses and kept them in check, whether it was by the lash of the whip or by virtue of brainwashing.

But people are certainly not sheep; though sometimes do follow charismatic shepherds without question. There needs to be a medium of control, some ideology to keep the masses from revolting and feeling dominated; the veil behind the leash so they say. The first medium to do so was probably theism. The conjuring and worship of a God or Gods has been used to instil fear in the hearts of the common populace since the beginning of time. The Celtics, for example, were a courageous race that feared almost nothing; their greatest dread was that the sky would fall on their heads. An idea that we would openly mock nowadays, but I would consider not too farfetched compared to some of our outlandish customs today. The ancient Greeks are another classic example. Their vast mythology is crammed full with tales of some mortal or the other upsetting one of the Gods and incurring their wrath upon their poor souls. No doubt these tales were based on some of the real fears that existed then, making sure the Gods were worshiped and honoured accordingly, but mostly devised by the rulers of the time to subjugate the masses.

The next medium to come was religion. As paganism was slowly rooted out and converted by missionaries, people became united with a common faith. With religion came a way of life, guidelines on what was right and wrong, how to pray for miracles, and inevitably how to reach heaven. Driven by the need for something to believe in and a fear of the afterlife, religion swept through the lands like wildfire and controlled the masses in ways unprecedented. Of course money had to play a part in it, as it does in everything else. Soon, religion was used as a medium for the power struggle, breeding holy wars, witch hunts, and sins that could be forgiven for the right price.

At the turn of the 21^st century, the world globalized itself with the technology boom and became more informed, leaving religion to spread itself thin. More and more people turn away from the old ways and find solace in other beliefs more suited to the capitalist driven societies we have today. And so the immortal megalomaniacs look for other means to continue their reign of domination. They found these in law, politics, banking, and other modern-day giants. At the centre of these giants, is as always, money.

The opposed view is not that much more heartening to think about. It involves the individual human, the single component of the mass, a tiny puzzle-piece of the world-jigsaw, which didn’t just enter planet earth ready with an economy and banks in every corner. Mankind got the lucky draw and evolved to become the smartest of all animals, (although dolphins might have a say in this). Though full of intelligence, possessing the know how to build entire cities, humans are still of flesh and blood, animals to the core, without exception. This core is run by basic instincts, necessary for survival, and one of the basest of these instincts is the drive for sex. We can see this in the design of the human body, tailor made for the gathering of food, the survival of hardships, and for breeding to ensure their legacy and the legacy of the human race continues on.

If we didn’t have this drive to constantly find a suitable partner to procreate with, then the human race would have died out a long time ago. Therefore it is necessary by natural design that the drive for sex stay strong, no matter how civilized and controlled we claim to be in the modern age. Behind all our fashionable clothes, our social norms and laws, our ideologies, lies an animal with its basic instincts suppressed, where they occasionally emerge in alternative forms. In the past, when a man desired a woman, he would simply bash her over the head with his club and take her back to his cave (metaphorically speaking). Years later, we have managed to twist our mating rituals and sexual education into an intricately complex web of rules and norms that serve to bewilder us more rather than help us understand and express our feelings of desire as we grow. Unravelling this web is a full time job in itself and can affect many major decisions an individual makes in their lifetime, from getting married to moving countries.

I can hypothesise that, short of the basic necessities of food and shelter, the desire for sex is the direct or indirect effect of every cause, the consequence of every action, the decider for every decision. Money is craved, that I consent to, but in my theory only because wealth can ultimately lead to sex. If you make a hypothetical offer to a typical man to choose between one night of sex with a beautiful woman and a bar of gold, nine times out of ten he would choose the gold. If you ask the same man whether he would be willing to forever relinquish any form of sex for a hundred bars of gold, nine times out of ten he would choose not to. In the overall view of things, man plainly needs sex more than money. Ask a criminal released from jail, a soldier back from war, or a monk who revoked his vow of celibacy.

In conclusion, I can see there is a connection between the two opposing views, one that places money and sex in a hierarchy, depending on the point of view. The Power-hungry view would place money above sex, stating that the ambition for wealth and power rules the world. The Animalistic view would place sex above money, because it drives people’s basic instincts and ultimately governs most of our actions. Either view seems plausible depending on how we define the world. If it’s seen as a single whole made of countries and nations, then money logically runs its gears. But if it’s seen as the sum of the smallest parts, consisting of individuals with feelings and instincts, then the drive for sex clearly dominates our lives. Either way, It’s best not to lose too much sleep on this age old debate. It leaves a dryly pessimistic outlook on life and we have better things to do than ponder on it all day long; such as earn some money and flirt with that cute girl/guy across the bar.  

Can something exist without being perceived?

This brings into mind the age-old expression: "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" In a purely scientific point of view, of course the tree does exist even if there is no one around to see or hear it. Its mass is still there even if it has never been seen by any human being, and the sound it made when it fell is a ‘hearable’ noise that could have been sensed. However if we are to take a more philosophical approach, one can say that for something to exist to a human being, it has to have been perceived by at least one of the senses of that human. The reasoning behind this is that the definition of existence can be debatably argued in many ways. It can be seen more as a set of ideas than a simple black and white set of rules.

For example, can we base the existence of something purely from reading or hearing about it on TV or the internet? I have never seen the Amazon River with my own eyes; I have only seen pictures of it and heard accounts of its existence. Does that mean it doesn’t exist in my reality until I witness it in the flesh, so to speak?

In a similar sense, does something have to be physically real for it to exist? Laws and rules are real, yet they cannot be touched except on the paper they were written on. Technically speaking, a law is an idea, which means it came into existence as soon as it was thought of. The same thing can be said of a painting. If an artist thinks of a painting, does he/she have to paint it for it to become real, or is its conceptualization enough to give it existence?

Are we a mere reflection of our surroundings?

Watching Papillion the other day, where Steve McQueen was held in a dark prison cell for years with nothing but cockroaches to keep him company, got me thinking about the building blocks that shape us and how they are absorbed from our surroundings. Are we merely reflections? The age old debate of nature vs. nurture comes to mind.

If a person is hypothetically brought up in a different environment from that in which they are in now, would they end up to be a different person? This theory is opposed to that of genetic composition, i.e. nature, which states you will become the same kind of person no matter where you are raised. Thus a criminal would always be a criminal, wherever the roads of his past lay. If we are to accept the former, that we are a mere reflection, then we are hinting that we are really empty inside. The word ‘mere’ hits the mark. All humans could just be vacant shells composed of mirrors that absorb and reflect back anything which hits them.

Others judge us according to the situation we are in. The house we live in, the clothes we wear and the objects we interact with. In a way these others are not very far from the truth, even though they are stereotyping. We absorb these items of our surroundings, or better to call them bits of information, and incorporate them into our personality. That is why when a person changes his surroundings, he is automatically assumed to have also changed his character. Take for example going on holiday, where all of a sudden the traveler’s senses are bombarded with new waves of information. The traveler will temporarily change, if he/she accepts it of course, for the duration of that holiday. For example, a student going to Cancun will become wild and erratic due to the very nature of the place and people there. On returning home, they find that strands of holiday evidence has latched and remained with them, which they will reflect on to their local surroundings.

To understand the question better, it might be easier to imagine a person with no surroundings at all, as Papillion had in that prison of the mind that they caged him in. What would happen if we placed someone in an empty dark room and observed their changes over time; mentally, spiritually, and physically? For a while, the mind would survive on old memories, previous impulses and reflections. Days or even hours later, depending on that person’s disposition, hints of unruliness would seep into the brain…flashes of uncertainty, uncharacteristic of the subject, which are a side effect of the conditions they find themselves in. As more and more time passes, the starved brain would start to deteriorate, eating itself away in despair. Quite soon, the subject will have become a shadow of their former selves, a mere afterthought to their pre-existence. Without a steady stream of light, they cannot exist. Therefore just as we are dependent of that ‘light’ for our mental survival, we just as easily lose it if it is not constantly reinforced or renewed.

A Sad Tale

I was a dumpster baby, literally. I was born in a dumpster in a dark back alley in the worst neighbourhood of my town. My mother was homeless and penniless, and the only reason she had me was because she was brutally violated by this gang that controlled the territory around that alley. They took their turn on her and the end result was twins, but my brother was stillborn. My early life also hung in the balance, as my mother’s breast milk was feeble and sparse and barely gave me any sustenance. We got by on scraps and leftovers from the restaurant next door. The cook was sometimes kind enough to hand us some barely expired food. The lack of proper nutrition left me short and scrawny, but at least I survived.

Not to say that my upbringing was easy at all. The pack of hungry stray dogs that roamed the streets was the worst of all and terrified the hell out of me. I would run as fast as I could while they nipped at my heels and only jumping onto a fire escape ladder would save me from their gnashing teeth. I would sit there for what seemed like forever as they barked and growled at me until they got bored or hungry enough to search for easier prey.

I would spend most of my time just sitting at the edge of the alley watching the people walk by, going about whatever business they had to go to, talking into their devices and looking important. I was mostly ignored, just another stain on the sidewalk, except from the occasional passerby that paused for something and noticed me sitting there. I would see the sympathetic look in their eyes as they scanned my haggard dirty form, feeling sorry for my existence. Then just as easily as it arrived, they would shake it off as they remembered whatever important thing they had to do and walked away.

When my mother got sick I was still very young and didn’t know what to do to help her. I just lay by her and rested my head on her wheezing chest until the wheezing got slower and slower. When it finally stopped I was too afraid to move. Eventually the cook came out and saw me, and he was also very sad for me.

Later that day a man and a woman in suits came and talked to the cook, and then they took me away from my mother. I screamed and scratched and bit them, but they wrapped me in a blanket and held onto me tightly and took me away to a new home where there were many others like me. I was very confused, the alley was the only home I knew and I didn’t trust anyone, so I stayed far from the others. But at least they washed me and fed me and I slept in a warm clean bed for the first time in my life.

Sometime later a man and woman came by and visited each of us in that home. They picked me and took me to their house, where they took very good care of me to this day. They even gave me a name, which I never had. They called me ‘Ginger’, on account of my fur colour.

The moral of this story is: never trust what you read, but always trust what you feel. 

How does a person perceive himself to be?

A person perceives himself according to that which he thinks other people see him as. In better words, a person’s idea of himself…i.e. what he acts like, what he favors and disfavors etc…is created over a matter of time and is affected mainly by the judgment of others. So if a person thinks his friends consider him careless, he will see himself to be that way, whether it is true or not. Since the exchange of perceptions between two or more people is always distorted by ‘noise’ along the passage of communication, this is never true in completion. A person thus always has a different perception of himself than that of what people around him have of him, even though he thinks those two perceptions are the same. That person has molded his perception of himself around those distorted perceptions, and so his own perception is at the same time unique (because it is not an exact copy), and fake (because it is based on income from other people that he has distorted).

The repetitive bombardment of how to act, what to like and not like, and the opinions of peers is more a mass of mixed emotions and affections rather than fixed facts. When someone sits back and reflects on oneself, all these are mutated and tumbled in their mind, so the desired result of how they want to form / alter their character is not a fixed series of statements, but rather a feeling, or effect. If people could communicate using these feelings rather than language, there would not be all this noise distorting the communication line. Then the reflection of a person from the people around him would be clear enough for him to become those reflections (instead of a distorted mirror of them).

This distorted image leads to the phenomena of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Take for example a teenage boy decked with glasses and spotted with freckles. When people perceive him as the nerdy computer geek, they are fixing the mirror image of that which he sees himself to be. Whether they see him that way or not, if he thinks they see him that way, then the perception of himself will become that nerdy computer geek. That person now sets in motion a series of events and choices in his life that lead him towards this expected path, so that he can fulfill the image he is expected to take. He may start studying computers; he may start acting in a manner considered “nerdy” and take up hobbies thought of by others as ‘geeky’ (or rather what he thinks others consider geeky). Thus the stereotype image of spotty teenager wearing glasses becomes that which he himself has created, according to what he thought other people see him as. 

Two Kinds of People

By Rami Abdo

There are two kinds of people in this world: The dominators and the dominated. Which one do you think you are? I would suspect at this point for most answers to be equally split. If time and consideration is properly taken before answering such a broad question however, it may not be so clear cut. Allow me to inject a few interesting points in order to kick the brain's gears into action with this test of minor reckoning.

First and foremost an analytical breakdown in the mind of the meaning of the words, dominator and dominated. Anyone would agree that the word dominator instills positive, powerful emotions; while dominated signifies a weakness of character, a lack of self esteem, and a general feeling of being perpetually trodden on by people belonging in the other group. Perhaps a critical analysis of one’s lifestyle and choices will ensue, casting doubt on the decisions one made during their life changing moments. Concepts of imprisoned urbanization and the true meaning of freedom must be rifled with,  leaving one stifled with the need for air. That’s just skimming the surface of a vast philosophical network of ideologies and beliefs on society, religion, government, and other domineering bodies of the modern age that can affect one's decision.

As all this information travels speedily through the synapses and neurons of our brains, it is processed thoroughly and a final decision has to be eventually made. Inevitably, most of us would come to this conclusion: We don’t want to be the weaker of the two; We do have control of our lives and our choices, and we won’t let anyone boss us around.  We will always choose to be the dominators, for it is a terrifying and nerve wracking thought to consider yourself to be dominated your entire life; past, present, and future. Only the weakest of us would be in such a lowly state of depression as to choose to answer the question with: “my entire life has been a pile of rubbish and I will never rise from the heap.”

Here I would present a shattering premise for your consideration. The underlying reasons why people believe themselves to be the dominators of their societal bubble is because they are in actuality dominated; dominated by a complex characteristic that is present in the majority of us. This complex is the need to act superior over others; that drive to prove our arguments are the right ones; the reasons why we plot the downfall of our enemies, from a jealous boyfriend fantasizing the demise of his girlfriend’s suitors to the ex-employee who plots the ruin of his employer. Scientists sabotage their own research, trying to prove their own hypothesis instead of working objectively. Philosophers argue over meaningless issues, simply so that one can rule over the others in intellectual superiority. Husbands and wives do the same thing (albeit not so gracefully), as do siblings and friends and any group of any kind across the entire planet in some form or another.

One reason why this complex exists is it is a warped version of the survival mechanism, a necessary attribute of mankind’s animalistic history, used to ensure the continuation of our DNA to the next generation. This need to dominate others is a way for us to mark our territories, keep our enemies and peers in check, and make sure we live through life’s ordeals without too many hiccups. In this sense it starts to gain clarity and reason. This complex is most evidently seen when a women is introduced to a group of male friends. The ensuing conversation would usually end up with the men teasing, criticizing, and generally displaying the faults of the other males, while at the same time exemplifying their own positive achievements. All this done in the name of mating rituals that evolved over time from simple head-butting contests and other Alpha-male rites to whatever warped bewildering puzzle of a game we have today. Take special notice of it the next time you observe a group of men around a single woman;  They will subtly hack at each other through snide remarks and body language, undermining one another until all that is left in the eyes of the desired is the victor. The age-old alpha male head-butting is still there, just hidden between the lines. Even in this day and age nobody wants a weak partner that gets pushed around and can’t protect them. When mating is involved, it’s still survival of the fittest out there. Even though the stereotype that immediately comes to mind is men fighting over a beautiful woman, the opposite holds true too. I’ve seen many cases of two women ending their friendship over a man, an unworthy cause to say the least.

Another possibility that fashioned this complex is the mental conditioning created by social norms and morals over what’s acceptable and what’s not. For example the rise of fashion created a need for people to fit in with the current trends, an obsession to gather the latest and best clothes, shoes, toys or whatever else. I highly doubt that Neanderthal man cared whether his fur-skin cloak was of the latest trends, or whether body piercing was in or out at that moment. Similarly, this complex that dominates us could have developed over time from this form of chest thumping. For example, a person might exaggerate an event in order to draw attention to themselves, or make sure they have the latest gadgets so as not to be sneered at. We are a product of our own making; We created a world where our children squander our wealth on junk and idolize superficial scatterbrains instead of people that really make a difference. It’s no wonder we have our priorities all screwed up.

It may seem more logical to presume that this complex is a fusion of both the above possibilities; a survival mechanism that developed through time into a new social norm. Nowadays, it’s not socially acceptable anymore for two men to physically fight for a woman or position. If someone tries to steal your land or possessions, you can’t exact vengeance without repercussions. Thus mankind has (as mankind usually does) created a more complex form of dealing with these problems. Put everyone in their place, i.e. below you, to ensure these things don’t happen. Money comes into play here as it long replaced physical strength as the decider over who is the better man.

So the dominators are dominated by a complex that runs their lives, and the dominated are dominated by a complex that doesn’t. There are no real dominators. The two groups are really one, because both are run by the same complex machinery; one with its presence, the other with its absence. Understanding and accepting that last statement is the first step in acknowledging the existence of this deformed state of being that we have trapped ourselves into and learning how better to live with its cycle. It’s not going to go away, it’s just going to twist and corrupt further and further into itself, and many years from now our descendents will look back at our behavior and mock us for our savage ways, as we do to our ancestors now.

Once again, which one do you think you are?

The Supernatural Powers of Contact Lenses

By Rami Abdo

Every day, I used to ritually stoop on one knee before my dresser and give thanks to my supernatural contact lenses and the powers they bestow on me before I put them on. Actually, I knelt down because I was too lazy to move my chair to the dresser, and I didn’t really pray, except for when I slapped them on and hoped there was no hair follicle jammed in between them and my eyes. For those who never experienced this sensation, imagine someone scratching you in the eyeball with a scraggly dirty jagged fingernail and laughing in your face as they do so. Yes, it was that pleasant. The part about the powers is true though, in some sense, and anyone who transcended the path from spectacles to contact lenses will know what I’m dribbling on about.

To have powers from your lenses like Superman’s laser beams or X-ray vision that you can project at will? Yes please. Don’t own any scissors? No problem! Just use a laser beam to tear through the paper and the walls of your house for any shape you like. Missing car keys? No Worries! X-ray your couch, fridge and cat to spot those pesky hidden culprits. Or impress your friends by predicting what colour their underwear is, then burn their pants off and prove it! The implications are endless. But let’s push your weird fantasies aside for a moment; contact lenses actually do have a profound impact on life, whether people like it or not.

It started at a young age, creeping up on me like a slithering serpent in the shadows, always freezing on the spot when I looked directly at it, casting the illusion of doubt whether it existed or not. In other words, I was in denial. The initial traces of myopia had invaded my sight, and initially I blamed fatigue, fuzzy computer screens and my teachers’ handwriting; anything so long as I didn’t have to face the prospect that I would need glasses. The horrors that glasses would have inflicted on my non-existent social life was unfathomable. I already couldn’t approach girls without turning fifty shades of red and sweating like Mel Gibson at a Bar Mitzvah; Imagine what would happen if I approached them wearing goggles? However, when my desk was two meters ahead of the rest of the class and was straining my eyes on the blackboard harder than Jerry Lewis, I knew it was time to end the charade.

Once again, society and the rest of the world (Because surely I couldn’t be to blame!) had done the wonderful job with its stereotype-spewing machinations in convincing us that glasses make us ugly, unpopular, unattractive, unwanted, and ironically enough…smart. So there I was, thirteen years old, no self-esteem but plenty of zits, standing at the opticians counter while mommy tells me to choose one of the spectacular spectacle designs and all I’m thinking is: “Which one of these will I use to protect my virginity?” All I needed was suspenders, a chequered shirt, and a runny nose and I would complete my dream of becoming Wedgie Champion. No girl would ever want to go out with me now; I would have to do something drastic like develop a personality...yech. The slithering, creeping serpent had pounced when I wasn’t looking and bit me in the butt. Life became a miserable dream I desperately wanted to wake up from.

But for darkness to exist there must be light. My knights in shining armour came in the shape of two, transparent, round, floppy, soft, fragile little heroes (There’s no way I could say that without sounding a little bit gay). They were so minuscule yet they drastically renovated my life. Without them I was Clark Kent, shy and shrivelling and cowardly in my bottle cap glasses, virtually nonexistent to the opposite sex and a general failure in all things social. Then I would find the nearest telephone booth (my dresser) and take those heavy bifocal things off and replace them with contact lenses...TA DAAA... A 180 degree transformation, from puny to pundit, from worm to wyrm, from introvert shy to international spy.  My confidence swelled to bursting point as my enemies fell bloodied before my wake of destruction; women all over the world instantly paused whatever they were doing in flustered confusion, aware that something infinitely masculine had just came to be; My self esteem bolstered, I would stare at pathetic mortals in the eyes until they cowered into the dark corners from whence they came. In realspeak: people would look at me without an immediate assumption that I was a nerd, I took more daring risks with sports without the fear of shards of broken glass jamming themselves into my iris, and I socialized with the opposite sex without any preconceived notions of epic failure messing my mojo.

It is now that I can think clearer do I realize that it was these preconceived notions that I created on my own that were setting me up for failure.  When originally I had thought that girls would ignore me if I wore glasses, I now realize that they never did, before or after I would put my lenses in. It was all part of the diabolical plan of the stereotype-spewing social machine that I mentioned earlier. It involved a self-fulfilling prophecy that was created by many, many other insecurities I instilled on myself, with no one to blame but myself. As far as glasses went, here’s what happened. I had implanted an idea in my head long ago that people with glasses were uncool, ugly, and geeky (saved by the bell and family matters also had something to do with it). When I ended up with them myself, I went around assuming people thought the same thing I did. As the thought grew and spread in my mind like a self-perpetuating virus, torturing and corrupting, I started believing it true in its entirety, so much so that I ended up manifesting false assumptions in order to confirm my worst fears. If someone refused to date me for example, I would blame the glasses, which confirmed my (false) suspicions that they make me unpopular and unattractive. It was all downhill from there as I started ‘sabotaging’ my thoughts and actions with this self-destructive belief in order to prove its existence.

When I finally cast aside my poisonous glasses for the breath of fresh air contact lenses, they seemed to grant me supernatural powers. They erased the prophecy and let me re-write my destiny. I began to think that without glasses people would no longer be repelled by my hideous visage, running to the hills to gather their pitchforks and flaming torches in order to return with strength of numbers to banish the monstrous creation that is my ego. I started believing that so much so, that a new prophecy was created, this time in reverse, convincing myself that without glasses I was more desirable and outgoing than ever before. I had the courage to ask out girls, and with my confidence booming, they said yes. Except the ones who said no, but they don’t count because they were mentally imbalanced, or at least that’s what I tell myself to help me sleep at night.

It seems that I am just skimming the surface here on a subject too intricate and unfathomable in its implications on what it does to our beliefs and expectations of others and ourselves based on simple insecurities. The topic of self-fulfilling prophecy is one that can be applied to anything, from the reason behind all those blonde jokes to the reasons behind racism.

Contact lenses also helps with another stereotype, inappropriately called ‘the ugly duckling syndrome’. This basically means someone who thought they were unattractive as a youth resorted to other activities such as reading and learning to make up for the lack of social activities. That’s why wearing glasses also that someone, look ‘smart’, because people ‘assumed’ he or she spends more time reading than socializing. As this person changed, whether by the removal of glasses or by hormonal fluctuations, it might have resulted in them becoming more attractive and thus popular. The result was a smart beautiful person!

Of course I was willing to endure the hardships of contact lenses in order to reap all those succulent benefits. This included an inflated cost and dedicated time for their maintenance and care, not to mention the constant eye irritations with the sun, wind, dust, or in fact any element of weather imaginable. Staying somewhere overnight meant having to carry around a bag of tools for my eyes, and opening my eyes in the sea was an invitation for all the demon lords of the seven hells to slather my eyes with their fiery breaths of garlic infused vindaloo curry. The tortures were so great that I became willing to forsake all my social privileges, all the late night rave parties, all the glamorous women flocking at my feet for a scrap of my manliness crumbs (ok that last one is a bit stretched), just at a chance to have a carefree day where my eyes are free and clear. The glasses were dusted off and proudly placed back onto the bridge of my nose where they belonged. They made me realise what a fool I was, listening to that inner voice that fed fuel to my insecurities. I retired the contacts into their cursed little containers and stuffed them into a deep box in the darkest corner I could find, safe in the knowledge that their reign of terror was over. The supernatural powers weren’t worth it.

Since then I carried out the eye laser operation and went through a whole other transformation. But that is another story and messes up the moral of this one so I won’t mention it at all...