BLESS STEVEN, ALPHA, ALAN AND WALTER AND THAT OTHER GUY

I just came from reading a short story by the French writer, philosopher and existentialist Jean Paul Sartre – the first time I am reading anything by him – such gripping stuff!! The story is called ‘The Wall’, and it is about three men captured during WWII who have just been informed that they will be executed the following day; it gives an account of their last night. What a fascinating read! Sartre himself was captured by Germans during the same war and was kept in a camp for a year before he was released (or escaped), so maybe he could well imagine what it was like to await one’s death – who knows he actually lived through such a night himself. What was really interesting was how one of his characters grapples with the idea that there is complete nothingness beyond death (a belief that Sartre no doubt held), but then appears to be unable to sustain this belief when the time of his death arrives.

These days I try to read with a writer's perspective, and one of the main things that occurred to me here was that one can really immerse oneself in an experience and write about it – even though one has never actually had such an experience - such as imagining what one’s last day on earth might be in this case. I have often worried that I did not have enough world experience to write convincingly about anything, or that I have not interacted with enough people or gone to enough places. This fear was mitigated somewhat when, as I read Sartre’s short story, I found myself able to imagine or invent various possible directions for the story to go – though I have to admit Sartre’s decisions were far superior to any I had come up with! At any rate, from now on I choose to believe that I am able or invent believable characters, create drama, and engage my reader at all levels! If nothing else, all the reading that I have done has been enough exposure to events, places and characters. At any rate, I emerged from ‘The Wall’ (because in truth the man had me completely captivated) feeling like reading is the best gift that God could have given me!! Bless Steven, Alpha, Alan and Walter and that other guy whose name I cannot remember now!! Tumusiime something or other. These are the young men who introduced me to reading when I was about 10 years old, although it has to be said my mother played her part too – I remember her buying me two books around that time: ‘A Call of the Wild’ and ‘Romeo and Juliet’. On the other hand, I read the bible ferociously, and since I remember reading it just for the pleasure of reading rather than religious reasons, I guess I also had a natural predisposition to reading.

(The title of this post is me trying to learn the skill of naming short stories – as any post here is – I have discovered that titles are a crucial part of the short story as they communicate just as much as the body of the story itself)

So, this brings me to another question that I have set myself – what kind of writer shall I be or am I? I find myself drawn to literature that posses questions, that explore experience, that probes the unconscious, rather than that which sets out to merely to entertain – I think I should be very satisfied producing this kind of writing. I have spent the morning reading famous last words, as well as the famous quotes of philosophers like Immanuel Kant and Voltaire (that is another subject yet to be mastered – Philosophy – but all in good time!), and they are the kind of things to really get you thinking. At one point, I was prompted to look outside my window and consider the true nature of things – to ponder the swaying of the leaves in the breeze, day after day those branches sway – and to what purpose? One might say there does not necessarily have to be a reason for everything, but I compare this to the life that man leads - sometimes it looks like we are going round in circles, no different from these leaves. Hmmm. No wonder some philosophers have driven themselves mad thinking about these kinds of things… Jean Paul Sartre was constantly tortured by his own freedom for instance, and what a great responsibility weighed down on him as a result, without prospect of escape from it as long as he lived. Looking at some of his sayings exposes this state of mind:

‘Hell is other people’.
‘Man is anguish’.
‘Man is a useless passion’
‘He was free, free for everything, free to act like an animal or like a machine...he could do what he wanted to do, nobody had the right to advise him...He was alone in a monstrous silence, free and alone, without an excuse, condemned to decide without an excuse, condemned to decide without any possible recourse, condemned forever to be free.’


I tend to agree with him to a certain extent about personal responsibility: we really are completely responsible for what we do, for what happens to us and so on, but I find that I can not go to the extremes he went; that we decide our reality, our destiny (although I believe that to an extent) – but somehow his thinking was too hopeless, too full of helplessness, uselessness, aloneness; in a word, too much for me to embrace. Although even the wise Solomon said everything under the sun is useless, everything has been done, and will be done over (or something to that effect). In a way, my hesitation to explore the extremes of Sartre's thinking makes me a little anxious about my commitment to exploring the nature of reality – why do I reject, or hold back from considering some of these ‘extreme’ positions? I should be able to go right to the edge and face the abyss. What am I afraid of? After all, I sometimes think that whatever is beyond the edges of my knowing is something warm and comfortable, rather than something waiting to gobble me up. Speaking of which, I have often wondered where I get this feeling of security – maybe it is just a state of mind that I choose, and therefore create.
At any rate, reading is just the biggest pleasure – observe what wealth of experience emerges from it! That short story has engaged me all morning - it has exposed me to one of life's greatest mysteries – the distance between what we believe, and what is likely to be the truth after all. Sartre’s last words were: ‘I Have Failed’. I certainly am aware that all this thinking back and forth, and wondering and pondering and reflecting may be a futile exercise, great thinkers have rehashed these same ideas and gotten nowhere as far as I can see, but what pleasure it brings me!

TAKING PLEASURE WHERE I CAN

Playing Music

So, today I am having quite a slow day; perchance this is due to having to wait as patiently as I can for word on whether or not a trip that I would like to take has been approved by management. I have a pile of pending work that I really can not be bothered to do – however, of course, I have to do it – so I decide to play some of my favourite music at high volume – being the boss these days, I can do what I want now :-) No, seriously, I play the music with the permission of my colleagues… the loud music lifts my spirits tremendously I must say!!

Getting out of a boring meeting

The advent of becoming Acting Big Boss has brought with it unending meetings. In the last two weeks I have been subjected to an astonishing range of meeting styles and chairs; today's however, took the cake!! This man does not have the slightest grasp of the concept of summarising!! He has recently been appointed head of research but I don’t know if he doesn’t yet have that much work to do so that he wants to hang on to us for as long as possible I don't know - it was ridiculous!! First of all, he thanked us for coming to the meeting (about half of us had cut), and went on about how he doesn’t thank us because he benefits in any personal way from our attendance, but that the organisation, ourselves, and blah, blah, blah. This went on for maybe 10 minutes!! Then on to Agenda Item number 1 – Minutes of the Previous Meeting: for a terrifying moment he directs the secretary to READ the minutes, and then when the secretary hesitates, he suggests we go page by page and make comments as we go. Ok. Page one: no one has any comments. The man directs our attention to the list of absentees from the last meeting: some, he says, have never attended even one meeting, nor have they ever sent apologies. He ponders the possible reason for this - asks us what do we think? Some people ACTUALLY join him in this speculation for some minutes!! To conclude that point he says, could we suggest a way forward – A way forward??? A way forward on what??? Getting people to come to meetings?? And may I remind you – this is Page ONE!! It is coming up to an hour since the meeting started at this point, and I decide I’ve had enough - I mumble something about having to attend to some students and other admin stuff and make my escape! I swing by the library and pick up a book titled 'Top Resorts Down Under' (as in Australia), full colour photos etc, and proceed to my house for a late lunch!!

Making a Salad

A friend of mine, whose culinary skills never cease to amaze me, and who makes the most killer salads, and who persuaded me once to actually eat a salad with RAW garlic in it (soooo tasty by the way!), told me once that making salad was dead easy! So, seeing as I had to return to the urgent matter of playing loud music in the office (and maybe do some work), and so had no time to make a proper lunch, I decided to make a salad. My friend told me that all one had to do was throw anything and everything that one had on hand together. Stuff always went with one another no matter what she claimed. Naturally sceptical at the time, I decided there was no time like the present.

Looking into my fridge, I line up some possible ingredients: red and yellow bell peppers, tomatoes – too bad I did not have any carrots, garlic (gasp!), I take out a half eaten can of tuna, black olives or green? – black I think. Uhm, a lemon – standard salad ingredient – even I know that; oh, Olive Oil from the shelf, erm – what else - peanut butter? Honey? Pesto sauce? No, maybe I am stretching it a little. I decide that I am set. Oh, wait, raisins! My friend uses cranberries but I say, she actually has to send for those from the United States!! Raisins would do as well.

Next: chop the peppers, slice the onions, (skip the garlic – maybe some other time), cut tomatoes, squeeze the lemon over the mixture, sprinkle salt, grind out some black pepper, mix in a handful of raisins and the shredded tuna, and finally drizzle olive oil over everything. Pour a generous amount of fresh passion fruit juice into a long stemmed wine glass (ok, I made the passion fruit juice last week but I've kept forgetting to drink it – it has however kept fresh because I did not put any sugar in it). Add sugar to the juice and top up with a few ice cubes. Get out my full colour picture book, carefully balance my plate on one of the two three-legged stools that pass as the sole furnishing in my living room, sit on the other stool and toast to my good health.

The salad was pretty damn good!! Even though when I'd finished eating it I spotted the jar of black olives standing unopened on the kitchen counter.. Probably wasn't meant..

Now I am back to playing music loudly and posting this before I get back to work… Ah, the good life!

WHEN PAIN IS GOOD

Two or three weeks ago I overdid the walking exercise and stressed a muscle in the arch of my left foot. For ten whole days I walked around limping and I felt thoroughly sorry for myself!! At day eight I went to the sick bay and the nurse suggested that I bandage it, but all that got me were more sympathetic smiles and head shaking from everyone I passed – the foot got no better!! Two days later my friend decided to take matters (i.e. the foot) into her own hands and gave me a hard massage; I left her house jumping!! I remember walking aimlessly around campus, running unnecessary errands just to test the foot out, and trying not to let doubt into my heart; scarcely could I believe that I could walk without pain - I mean I had limped around for ten whole days and five minutes of massage had put me right as rain. I had heard of people to whom miracles happened – they regained their sight or threw away the crutches, only to be hit by severe doubt and be back with their infirmities in no time… So after that time I really struggled to keep my belief up… The point is life felt so much better – it was like I had gotten a new lease on life..

It’s like earlier today: I had really, really bad cramps from my period starting, and as I lay there on my bed groaning and rushing back and from the bathroom to throw up, I felt as miserable as anything... This pain always reminds me of the pain of child birth, and makes me wonder how much pain women in labour must feel seeing as some of them scream out loud and even jump up and run around the ward like crazy people (not to mention where they find the energy).

This thought occurred to me again recently when I had to have my hair dreaded. I had had it in braids for almost four months and the extensions being quite heavy had been kept up a constant pressure on my scalp as they hang down under their weight. The day I undid the braids, I decided to go straight to the salon and dread the hair. GOOD GOD!!! What a nightmare that was!!!! First of all my hair was a tangled wrangled mangled bush – what can I say?? The hair dresser drowned it in detangler and conditioner and all manner of lotions to help detangle it, but to no avail – he had to comb through the hair inch by inch, and I felt as though my scalp was going to peel right off!! At one point I asked him to hand over the comb so I could do it myself but wah!! Nothing doing.. We were at this for two whole hours and I sat through it with feet, teeth, shoulders, elbows my WHOLE body clenched, until I thought I was going to faint with the pain!!

Finally we got through the detangling and then came the dreading: he started off massaging wax into the wet hair (even that was painful!) and then starting in the back took a small portion of the hair, pulled through it with a fine comb, then set the comb back at the base of the hair and pulled through the portion again while twisting the comb until he’d twisted the to the full length of the hair; at this point he portioned off another small amount of hair and made another dreadlock, and so on. This process also took some time, but as he got to the middle of the head, the wax that he had spread all over the hair had now hardened so it was getting more and more difficult to pull through the hair to twist it. Every now and then though, he sprayed my hair with water, and then continued. Now about two thirds of the way to the front of my head is a very sensitive area – I think it became that way because of a fall I had on the ice when I went ice skating once – when he came to that region, tears just begun rolling down my face – it was soooo painful!! I kept surreptitiously wiping away the tears but man – that is when I begun to really wonder if I would ever bear the pain of childbirth!! Anyway, in time of course he finally twisted the last one, and I could go home at last!! My friend – if I tell you how I felt!!! I walked out of the building – I had to use the back entrance because it way past closing time – I passed some shady guys playing a dice game of some sort, walked through the dirty smelly back street, stepping over flowing sewage and passing more shady (incidentally dreadlocked) street boys, briefly felt afraid but told myself to look confident and not lose a step, but nothing could dampen my high spirits!!

So anyway back to earlier today: after the cramping and vomiting had passed, and I had brushed my teeth and washed my face, I stepped out into the punishingly hot midday sun and felt that all was right with the world. I even decided to reward myself with some junk food at the staff pub, and they were playing some country that had me tapping my foot and dancing in my seat! For once even the gloom and doom being reported in today’s papers had no effect on me – ALL WAS WELL WITH ME!!