A visit to a nightclub, a Birriboo adventure

“BIRRIBOO! COME OVER HERE THIS INSTANT!” Simoon the owl screeched furiously. He was fuming to such an extent that his feathers were in danger of being ruffled and Birriboo could swear he saw smoke wafting out of his hot ears. The other Filani forest creatures scattered left and right, fleeing from his wrath. All except for one that is, a furry little brown squirrel all alone in the centre of the grove, whimpering in fear as it looked on with round glistening eyes at the oncoming owl. It was Birriboo the squirrel, and at that moment he was shaking in his furry little boots. Simoon stormed over to the quivering animal and slammed a thick folder at his feet. Empty parchments flew out and littered the forest floor. Birriboo squealed and jumped twice his height in the air from the shock of the impact.

           

“AND WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS?!” Simoon proclaimed sternly, his wings on his hips in his best ‘angry father stance’. Birriboo carefully looked down at the scattered blank parchments. The green-leaf folder they were half protruding from was labeled Cyprius Humana, Latin for Cypriot Human race. Birriboo slowly looked up, putting on his most adorable expression ever with his irresistibly large round eyes blinking innocently. “it’s the…cypri…cypri..,” he stuttered with his squeaky voice, trying desperately to get the words out.

Simoon callously interrupted him. “Its supposed to be our records for the Cypriot human race, but what I see is some pathetic attempt by a lazy no-good hairy weasel in avoiding his duties.” At this point Harry the Weasel pricked up his ears from where he was hiding with the other animals and thought of intervening at this affronting insult upon his good nature, but decided against it for now, on account of the steaming owl’s lack of good judgment at the current moment.

Simoon continued his tirade. “All you have are two pages of the accounts of humans on this island. TWO PAGES! Birriboo, you listen to me now, you listen very well indeed. You will leave the Filani grove, TONIGHT, and bring me back at least twice as much as before, YOU HEAR ME!” Birriboo jumped again at the owl’s last proclamation, his fur standing on end with fright.

“But…but sir…Mr. Simoon great Owl sir,” Birriboo barely managed to whisper his objection. “it’s winter sir, it’s freezing cold at night.” In response, Simoon gave him a look that assumed if he didn’t leave right now, he would turn him into a pretty little brown hat. Birriboo, knowing when to concede defeat and shut his yap, scuttled away as fast as he could, pausing only to grab his thickest coat, his trusty walking stick, and plenty of parchment and ink for the scribing to come.

Herein follows Birriboo’s account of the Cyprius Humana in the habitat of a night club...

After much searching in the streets of the capital town, I managed to find a spot of congregation called ‘a nightclub’ by the locals, where the healthy males and females of the island gather late at night for dancing and other festivities. I was forced to wait till after midnight before the droves finally arrived, making me wonder if perhaps humans share the same night-prowling genes as cats or owls. They must sleep all day and only wander out to hunt at night. Here I was, waiting in a freezing dark corner from sundown; vainly trying to keep my paws warm, when hours later the droves of humans finally showed up outside the club. How unconventional of them to meet so late like that. Undaunted, I continued in my observations.

The first thing I took note of was their clothing. The females barely had anything on, with far too much skin exposed to the cold night air. “This can’t be their winter coats,” I thought to myself. I mean I wouldn’t know, me being a squirrel and all, but I could logically assume that like all other animals, this race must find ways to keep themselves warm in the winter. Thinking of the humans that frequently visit Filani during the cold winter months, I recalled that they always wore extra hides, one layered over the other, in order to hold back the cold. These particular females however, looked like they suffered needlessly. Perhaps the poor creatures did not have any other clothes, I thought to myself as I tried to find an answer. And then it hit me...this is a test of will! The females are demonstrating to the male specimens around them, that by braving the chill, they are physically strong and healthy, able to stay the cold with the sheer force of their willpower. Hence they prove they are fit enough for partnership and to bear children. What a remarkable and amusing ritual this is. It is very rare indeed to see the female of the species initiating the mating rites, perhaps the humans have adapted in this sense as well.

Of course the males weren’t any less peculiar with their choice of clothing. Their attire was either all black or all white, which I found very perplexing at first. After much contemplation, I have come to the conclusion that once in the nightclub, the men will be separated into two tribes, according to what they wear. The tribes should then partake in those dance rites, competing against each other for the hands of the females. What a wonderful little game they played. I couldn’t wait to go in and witness it with my own eyes.

           

“Why weren’t they going in,” I pondered innocently to myself after much delay. They were just standing there at the entrance, the whole pack of them shifting nervously amongst each other like bored sheep. They must be waiting for something, like a horn of the calling, or some other signal of summoning. They remained in that state for an hour, and just when I was thinking to give up and trudge back home, there was some commotion at the front of the queue. Clawing my way up the side of a nearby building for a better view, I could see that someone had come out of the club entrance. It was a male, and a very large one at that. He was very muscular, and his jaw protruded from his face like a park bench. He looked like a Kodiak bear someone had succeeded in partially shaving and proceeded to somehow stuff into the skin of an animal half its size. The bear-man stood in front of the crowd of eager onlookers with a mean look about him, as if he could crush any one of them with merely his pinky finger. Scanning the swarm of pitiful humans, he nodded at some and let them come forward. They scurried past him hurriedly, as if afraid he might suddenly change his mind, and with a sigh of relief they entered the nightclub. Now I get it! This is the Alpha Male, the Grand King, the lord of the Tribe. In order to be accepted into the society of the club, the crowd must first be accepted by this Alpha Male. How could I have not realized this before? It all makes perfect sense now. If they receive his grandness’s approval, then they are deemed worthy of entering and becoming part of the club. What a beautifully intricate culture these humans have. With all the stories I heard of their evolution, and me being the squirrel and all, I had assumed they have long surpassed their animalistic nature and advanced to a more civilized state of order. Yet here, before my very eyes, I see an age-old animal custom taking place, the Alpha Male accepting members into his pack. I eagerly look on, hoping I get to see another male challenging his place for leadership of the throne.

After another hour of ‘accepting’, I was surprised to find a small throng of males left outside, I assumed to be the weakest of the pack. Most of these the alpha male had unceremoniously rejected as unsuitable in joining his club-tribe. I tried to find a common ground as to why these individuals were unworthy of entrance, but for the life of me found no theory of firm basis. They still wore the same clothes, and held the same appearance as the rest of the males, yet the alpha male sent each of them packing with their tails between their legs. With what looked like curses muttered under their breath, they shuffled their feet home or try their luck elsewhere, hoping it would take a turn for the better. I felt extreme pity for these unfortunates, and as a result completely lost my admiration for this so-called Alpha Male. I resolved to find his dwelling later on and leave him a little surprise of my own.

Scouring the outside walls of the man-made construction, I found an open window I could squeeze into, so as I could make my observations on the events occurring within the club itself. I was immediately knocked off my feet by a shattering noise coming from numerous vibrating black boxes. I had heard of this before, it is called music, but this was different. This earsplitting rhythm was deafening, so much so that you couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. “This couldn’t be good for the ears,” I said to myself writhing in pain. Me being a squirrel and all, I was used to the peace and quiet of the forest, not this merciless flurry of attacks on my poor little eardrums. Why would the humans subject themselves to such torture? I imagined it to be some sort of aid they would use to help them reach a trance like state, where they could perform their rites of passage or commune with spiritual beings. Making a note to ponder on this further in the future, I plugged up my ears with some tree-wax I had handy and proceeded with the examination.

I had been told from reliable sources that a nightclub is in fact a dancing society. That is people dance in it. Yet as I sat on the rafters and watched, I saw that most of them were barely even shuffling their feet. All I could make out was people standing around and talking, (or trying to amidst this deafening racket!), snaking across the floor like some kind of regular animal trail pattern, and repeatedly going to this stand for various liquid concoctions of some kind. It must be the magical elixir I have heard so much about! From what I gathered from my observations of the humans who come to the Filani Grove, if enough of this liquid is consumed, it re-awakens their long suppressed basic instincts and breaks down those inhibitions that humans work so hard to master during their everyday lives. I could never understand this concept myself, for I am a squirrel after all. I do find it very confusing why the humans toil and sweat in creating these invisible barriers around them, only to magnificently topple them all down with a swig of this liquid. Previous experience had taught me that when enough of the fluid is taken, the humans will eventually commence with the dancing, so I had not lost hope yet. In the meantime, I kept an account of that paper humans frequently use being exchanged at that drink-stand for the highly-desired solutions. They seemed to be giving an awful lot of it for this magic elixir. From what reliable sources have told me, it is not so dear when acquired outside the club. Perhaps the kind they sell in the club is rare or impossible to find elsewhere, possessed of extra magical properties that will imbue them with the greatest of powers. It could even explain why people give so much of that paper to enter in the first place. I shrugged my shoulders and tossed this aside into the mental pile of unexplained mysteries that collectively make up humankind. The focus here is the Cypriot human and I have been veering off course trying to make light of the cultures of the entire human race, an impossible task if any for a mere squirrel!

           

From the birds-eye view I had in the rafters, I could easily make out the patterns of interaction with the males and females below. The females, who seemed to always keep one eye open for suitable suitors, clutched a drink in their one hand and a burning white stick in the other, which they would habitually bring up to their mouths and inhale a gust of smoke from. I had seen it before. It is called a ‘cigarette’. While constantly scanning the room, they would occasionally shout something in the ears of one of their female friends, probably giving attention to a newly spotted suitor. At other times, they would fall into a shuffling dance, wobbling their hips and other body parts in accordance with the beating music, keeping it up until interrupted or bored. It was as if they were sporadically falling into a trance-like state, induced by the music, the drink, the cigarette, and the atmosphere generated by all of these put together. They must have been performing their dance motions well apparently, since members of the opposite sex were watching their every move.

Speaking of the males, most moved around with the air of prowlers on the hunt. I watched one in particular, who was no different from the rest in his actions, but clearly stood out for his tenacity and persistence. On finding a female to his liking, he would stand some distance away, shambling his feet nervously or playing with his cigarette and drink. He would attempt to make eye contact, prancing to and fro, edging a bit closer with each sign he took as encouragement. I have seen the chickens in farms do a similar dance, although that involves dragging their wings along the dirt and clucking like there was no tomorrow. (For some, there wasn’t). This wasn’t very different, except that the human kept failing in his attempts to woo a female of his species. When he got close enough to striking distance, instead of jumping on her and biting her on the neck like many mammals would, he instead continued to dance with her. He would move in rhythm with her and make all other obvious indications that he is interested in mating with her except for the actual act itself. This approach obviously didn’t work, for with a huff and a puff, the female would turn her back at him and reject him, or simply walk away in disgust. The man in white was not daunted however. With a quick look around he would proceed onto his next quarry, without so much as a second thought for the last one. I quickly lost interest and left him to his own devices.

This process of filtration seemed to be taking place in some form or another in every corner of the nightclub. Females would allure the men over with their charms and seductions, yet reject them just as quickly when they approached or if the female lost interest. Shy males stood in corners staring at desirable mates, hoping they would be noticed, but were outclassed by the more dominant, proactive of their kind. Everywhere I turned it was there, the intricately complex mating rituals which so distinguished the human race from other animals. Each method was different from the last, and each specimen reacted to it differently. You would think by now, given that the humans are such a clever race, they would have agreed upon a simple standardized mating ritual that they can rely on, but it does not seem the case.

My firm resolution now is that nightclubs are not for dancing at all, which seems to be just a pretense to lure people to its grounds. The true purpose of these clubs is to act as breeding grounds and watering holes.  Hot-blooded humans flock to it, intent on finding ideal partners through the aid of an atmosphere generated by loud music, intoxicating drink, and the unavoidable mashing of so many specimens crowded in such a small space. That is my unyielding conclusion on the matter of nightclubs in Cyprus. Choking on the expanding fog of smoke, with throbbing in my ears and a general dizziness precipitated by the overcrowded swirling movements beneath me, I furtively escaped the tumult and hub of this place of such high expectations and made my way back to the Filani Grove to present my findings to Simoon the Owl. I hoped it would be to his satisfaction and he doesn’t make me into a pretty little brown hat, me being a squirrel and all…

On Accepting Change

Changes need to be made. I haven’t written anything in years, for I feel I have been shackled by my insecurities, my lethargy, my habits that I have cocooned myself with like a web of protection. It feels completely ridiculous to realize that my potential is in a deep sleep, and I would only need to slap it in the face to awaken it. I am out of touch with the connection I have between my ideas and the ability of putting them into words. I am getting a headache just from writing this last sentence but it’s worth it. The concept of adorning my words with fancy embellishments is beyond me. Although I just realized I did it so I guess I’m not as out of touch as I feared. I stroke my facial hair as I write this, wondering what else I can put to paper. I wrote half a page before revising and adding, editing and embossing. All around me are faces with seeming purpose while mine remains an expression of blank confusion. Do they have purpose, or are they pretending to have like I do. Perhaps they believe they do, but it is the illusion of one, for how important could their current task be in relation to the grand scheme of things. They are not saving lives or creating art or bettering the world in any way whatsoever. But that is their job and they want to do it well. Am I any better?

Have you ever asked yourself the question, “What the hell am I doing?” I often ask this of myself, and more often than not I wonder if the people around me are asking themselves the same thing. I usually don’t have an answer, trying to find one is too stressful. I have more important things to do, like take out the garbage and watch that cool internet video. And just like that, the moment would pass, and we would continue what we were doing before, content in its familiarity and intent on seeing it to the end since we had already started it and it would be a damn shame. To dare to answer, and to abide by it, is a fearsome thought, for it means straying away from our comfort zone and causing a whole boatload of trouble. Is it worth it?

Take for example the scenario of a telemarketing sales person. She drones on and on, day in and day out, every minute of every hour, to anyone with an ear willing to listen about how our product is the greatest thing on the planet for them right now and they would be utterly insane not to purchase it by tomorrow because of course this offer will expire by then. The sales rep takes great resolve in this, because if she doesn’t believe in what she is selling, then how will she convince the person on the other line to believe? More importantly, she needs to constantly motivate herself to keep performing this act, day in and day out, knowing that 99% of the time, all she is doing is wasting some random person’s time, as well as hers.

I always believed that man’s greatest achievement over his animal cousins was evolving into a being with the ability to think beyond his current state. We are able to, theoretically and at any point in time, stop everything that we are doing and question our actions. We can dissect any object, concept, theory, idea, belief or system into smaller parts of its former self, examine the parts as well as the dissection and come to an opinion on cause and effect. We can then continue the process, dissecting further and further, until we reach a point of absolute inevitability. I call that detaching, and the intricacies of it are enough to discuss till the ends of time, so I won’t delve too deep into it right now.

So what do we do with this evolutionary trait that we have been gifted that sets us apart from the beasts? Most of us do nothing, and are no better than mindless servants to the will of nature. We remain slaves to our circumstances, reacting to every effect as we are expected to, squandering the gift because it is too complicated and stressful to handle or even merely acknowledge. If we think long and hard about our modern lifestyle, we may realize that we are still servants to our baser emotions. We still just want to eat and sleep, laugh and cry, find a mate and feel safe in the veiled future that we have created for ourselves, knowing that the roof will still be on top of our heads tomorrow morning when we wake up warm and cosy in our bed. We take great comfort in the habits and routines we have surrounded ourselves with. All we have to do is put up with some punishment 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week, 365 days a year minus weekends and holidays, and we can go along our merry way of just getting by, getting drunk every weekend, watching a few funny cat videos on the internet and nobody will bother us as long as we don’t bother them. Is that what we call walking with the Gods? Is this our manifest destiny? To be nothing more than robotic zombie-like shadows of our potential selves, feeding and fuelling a societal ecosystem that we love to hate yet do nothing about.

  

Fortunately, there is hope. Sometimes, even we walking dead have moments of clarity, usually premeditated by a shattering event or life-changing moment. It could be a near-death experience, or a disease that awakens us from our veiled hubris. It could be getting fired from our job, or an opportunity presented to us on a silver platter that makes us realize our true potential. It could be meeting someone new and different, that taps into our inner-psyche and electrifies us into feeling and thinking like we never did before. Or it could be as simple as uncovering a childhood toy that we hadn’t seen in 20 years, that invokes long-hidden memories and all the emotions that came with it. It is a true shame that a catalyst is usually needed for these beautiful moments to take place. To be able to switch it on and off at will would be a wondrous thing indeed, although I admit it can be very tiring to exist in this enlightened state permanently. We would quickly fizzle out, our conscious brain only able to take so much before it says “screw it! I give up”. But what about being able to activate this ‘mode’, this state of alertness without needing a cue from some random element that we interpret as meaningful for some reason or another. Can we do that?

Perhaps it is a simple matter of conditioning; the practices of training our minds through repetitive actions (ironically), to break away from the sleep state whenever it hits us. It is somewhat like the conditioning of obtaining lucidity in dreams (the state where you have complete control over your dreams). One technique that is used there is to make it a habit to ask yourself throughout the day, “am I dreaming right now?” followed by a conscious acknowledgement that you are not.  Ask enough times and soon enough this repetition will incorporate itself into your dreams, at which point...lucidity achievement unlocked! Ok it’s not that simple, but it’s a step in the right direction. A similar process can be used for our purposes here. To consciously be aware throughout your day that ‘things are not what they seem’, so to speak. I find usually that means stopping everything I am doing, looking somewhere else at a specific object or person, and breaking apart this new scene to its smallest parts, i.e., the forces in motion that are precipitating the causes and effects of that object’s or person’s current state. Understanding those forces, why they exist and what they are doing, leaves me with a sense of power over that scene. In other words, now that I know it for what it truly is, I have absolute power and control over its existence. It no longer has a hold over me in any way. This is the point where I accept the fact that certain things the world has been conditioning us to believe that are vital to our well being, are in fact, not.

The telemarketing rep can stop talking on the phone, realize that all she is doing is repeating the same pitch over and over again to people on the other side of the planet that over the course of the telephone conversation have developed a deep loathing for her, and decide that she doesn’t want to do this anymore. When she dissects her reasoning behind why she is doing this, she will realize the futility of it all and decide to do something more to her liking, like eat an ice-cream or walk barefoot on grass. There is no way anyone in this universe can convince her that they would rather be yammering on and on into a sweaty handset to some unknown irate individual that this product would be great for him or her right now, than licking a deliciously cool ice lolly on a hot summers day. She will tell herself, the reward achieved when actually making a sale is not real. The most significant result is perhaps a feeling of self-worth, some kind of achievement of belonging, but in reality it is superficial and temporary at best. All she has done is created monetary value for her company, of which she will be rewarded with the same, effectively helping the chain of links continue in this never ending pointless cycle that we have created for ourselves in a corporate world of dependencies.

Unfortunately we are forced upon a path since childhood where phrases and ideologies like “just be yourself” and “staying true to your beliefs” thrive and are considered virtues to be enforced if you are to be accepted in society and amongst peers. What one fails to realize is that we are dynamic beings, flowing through the winding highway of life surrounded by branching paths, choices, and principles that are always transforming and warping into new forms. So why should we stay stagnant? Shouldn’t we transform and reshape ourselves too, to adapt to this ever-changing world? If you wake up one day and decide you no longer believe in something, then you should be able to stop believing in it without pressure from the outside world chaining you back. Why resist when the only person you are really hurting is yourself? If you impulsively decide that crunching numbers on a calculator no longer makes you happy, (if it ever did somehow), and would rather follow your dream of opening a convenience store, then by all that is of any worth in this world ,you must do so, and do so with all your heart poured into it.

Awareness is an enlightened lucidity afforded to the few who have managed to shake themselves out of this deep sleep that we put ourselves into. More importantly, we need to somehow keep this state of awakening alive and keep the slumbering beast at bay. How do we do that? The answer, at least for me, is accepting change. Repetition and routine are the beasts’ tools of destruction. Through them it aims to cage us with compliance and hypnotise us with the conformity that it needs to stay alive. Although the practice of creating habits is part of our nature as well, we have somehow warped it into our new civilised world in such a way that it now dominates us and whips us into submission. The only way is to break free from our traditions and accept that change is a stronger and more fulfilling path to follow than placidity. We cannot resist it when it comes knocking on our doorstep, but instead must embrace it and accept it for all its inevitability.

Freeing oneself from the shackles of conformity is akin to taking a breath of fresh air after being cooped up in a virtual prison of darkness for what felt like an eternity. The world suddenly opens up with endless possibilities, because the limits of physical and mental boundaries will no longer hold us down. Things we once thought were important become meaningless and inconsequential in the grand design that we can now draw for ourselves. Things that were never given a second glance suddenly become the centre of the universe, and you absorb all that they offer you like a black hole feeding off the essence of the universe. It is singularly the greatest feeling one can attain, because you transcend beyond your worries, your anxieties, and your fears. We as human beings are constantly in search of purpose, of finding reasons to do what we do. The answer has always been under our noses, yet most of us choose to ignore it.

With true purpose I write again, the first time in many, many years. A serene sense of accomplishment washes over me as I finish off this first piece, content that my fear of having lost the ability to put pen to paper was irrational and insubstantial. I tell myself now; I am still able to voice my thoughts into substance and share my theories with those who would care to listen. It was always there, merely asleep in a dark crevice of my soul, waiting for me to awaken it with fresh energy. I welcome it with open arms as an old man returning from war would welcome his faithful dog. A war I will always be fighting to the end of my days. Who wants to fight with me?