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...

Noisy Neighbours Syndrome

By Rami Abdo

Sleepless nights? Splitting Headaches? Nervous tantrums? You probably have Noisy Neighbour Syndrome (or NNS for short). It’s a widespread disease that afflicts everyone, similar to the common cold. All of us will catch it on various occasions of our lifetimes, and there is no real definite cure for it, although people do try everything. You may speed up the healing process with modern day medicines, but most just let the disease run its due course and fizzle out of the system. The more times you’re inflicted, the more your body develops an immunity to it. Common cold aside, there are the usual answers to defeating an NNS; The cliché calling of the cops; the expected banging on their door and pleading for blissful silence. But these methods have been tried and tested, and frankly too boring to write about. So here are a few diabolical schemes to undertake for the eradication of those called the scourge of silence, the bane of bliss, the pestilence of peace, the cursers of comfort, the virus of virility, epidemic of the environment, and so forth and so forth...

1. Wake up at six in the morning after the neighbours had a late night partying (at your sleepless expense). Set up your most powerful speakers so that they’re facing the culprit’s bedroom window. Make sure they’re so powerful that they can knock their socks off. Plug in anything from Metallica , Guns N Roses or anything remotely loud. Death Metal is even better. Sit with your feet up on your balcony, press play and enjoy the show. A nice twist is to do this right after their party, when they’ve all just hit the hay. When the sound wave sends a tremor through their shutters and their brains, and they come out kicking and cursing, you have a glorious variety of declarations to choose from as your reply. Here are a few of my favourites, but there are so many more that can be conjured up.

“Justice is served.” (in a calm tone)

“I’m sorry, does loud noise bother your sleep?” (in a sarcastic tone)

“Let it be known that whenever said (add neighbours name) holds upsettingly loud parties till the late hours, then said (add your name) will retaliate appropriately with deafening reciprocity. My word is law” (in an official tone).

“I wanted to confide in you with something. I can’t sleep.” (in a worried tone)

“MWA HA HA! AH HA HA HA!” (in a sadistic tone)

2. You need the aid of a relative or friend for this one. Also, you have to be slightly of your rocker, and there has to be somewhere they can all see you while they are all frolicking noisily; A balcony is perfect. In the middle of their racket, run out onto the balcony like a mad ape. Shriek at the top of your lungs, slap your head, shake the railings violently. Picture Dustin Hoffman in Rainman during one of his primal tantrums or any of the cast in planet of the apes.  It should be enough to get them all to drop their jaws and stare at your insane hopping. After a few moments of your adrenalin pumping, terror instilling display, your friend/relative runs out to comfort you (Mum is perfect for this). She calms you down by stroking your hair and whispering soothing words in your ear. She takes you inside as you whimper and then comes back out to the balcony to tell the neighbors that due to your ‘condition’, you get unstable and unpredictable with loud noise. Have her mumble something about how the last time it happened was really tragic. Give them about ten seconds to switch of the radio and their racket. Fear is a powerful tool indeed.

3. This may sound inane but if you can’t beat em, join em! Find out when they’re holding their little merrymakings. Then arrange your own! Invite more guests, play more deafening music, basically whatever they do, you do more of it. Show them who’s king of the neighbourhood. If you’re bored to do this, try gate crashing their gatherings instead. Pretend you came to borrow a cup of sugar (at 1 am) and nudge yourself in. Then become the most obnoxious party pooper alive. Make sure they comprehend that you will come to every one of these parties. Let’s see if they hold any more.

4. They want a war!? They’ll have a war! Collect an arsenal of water balloons, super soakers, pellet guns etc. Compliment it with a regiment of frenzied younger brothers, cousins, nephews, other frustrated neighbours, anyone willing to play army. Divide your forces and command them to silently occupy key areas around the unsuspecting noisy neighbour's borders. Then unleash your host in a major attack, preferably with yelping war-cries and banners furling gloriously in the wind. Leave no prisoners. When the cops arrive, innocently announce that you were merely protecting the best interests and safety of your home. Deny any allegations that you were searching for oil.

5. This will only work on newly arrived neighbours, as long as they haven’t seen your face before. Borrow a cop’s uniform, or even creepier, wear a black suit, black tie, and black sunglasses outfit. Knock on their door the day after their deafening display of animalistic rituals and produce some forged documents: A badge identifying you with the department of noise pollution correctional facility and a warrant stating their alleged offence of the code-violation 1182 of the public code. The first time is a warning. The second offence holds a fine and a prison term. You know, some of this stuff could be true.

  

There you are, a few perfectly reasonable solutions to a perfectly unreasonable problem. Good luck to anyone with the guts to try any of these out and good riddance to the noise that they manage to dispel. Remember, they might not be as effective as calling the cops or politely asking the usurpers to quiet it down, but they sure as hell are more fun.