Don't go drinking first

I am finding life difficult nowadays.So difficult that every day, every step, every thought becomes a physical or a mental or an emotional ordeal. Every moment is fraught with the potential to be inflicted with physical, mental or emotional pain or discomfort; every moment the wait for salvation intensifies. But nothing gets through to me; nothing helps, nothing works. Every comfort seems cold, every hopefulness a mirage, every helpfulness a liability. I am steeped in the nightmare-like world I have created for myself, which is only alleviated by make-believe distractions, while working as a temporary tranquilizer, only serves to intensify the paranoid feelings of loss, disappointment, and occasionally, panic.


But something did come through the cloud that engulfed me the other day. It was a story that was told. This is the story....


There's an old "Kingston Trio" song about a gold prospector named "Desert Pete." The story goes that he had sunk a well, in the middle of a desert. He had hooked up an old water pump to it, but, realizing it would be out in the heat all day, it's "leather" suction fitting would dry out. So, he put a jug of water under a rock nearby. He tied a small can to the handle, and in the can he placed a note. 

The note said, "You've got to 'Prime the Pump', you must have faith, and believe! You've got to give of yourself, before you're worthy to receive!" The note told the reader where to find the jug of water, but, it cautioned him "Don't go drinking it first" but, to "give it up", to commit it to Priming the Pump, to "pour it in, then pump like mad, and buddy you'll quench your thirst!" 

The reader of the note needed to follow the instructions, to not drink the water first, but to pour the water into the pump, to wet the leather, and to Prime the Pump, then there would be plenty of water, so they could "Drink all the water you can hold, wash your face to your feet, leave the bottle full for others,.. thank ya kindly, Desert Pete!" 

However, if the next guy only thought of himself, and his immediate need, and drank the water from the jug, he would leave the jug empty, the message would be meaning less, there would be no water for the next fellow, no "pumping like mad", no one else could drink their fill, no bottle would be left full for those who followed him! Just one guy coming along who DIDN'T obey the instructions, would mess the whole thing up, and everyone else coming along after him would only find a dry pump!


And somehow, the story became a lifeline in this swirling mess of a world that is mine. "Don't go drinking first". No matter how parched I am, trapped in a desert environment, I can't drink the water. I need to save it so I can work the pump, so I can quench my thirst and sustain my life, now and afterwards. If I drink it now, I will surely die, maybe not now, but definitely later. So, even if I'm already dying of dehydration, don't drink the water. DON'T GO DRINKING FIRST!


And whenever I feel like I can't go on another step, I say that aloud to myself, " Don't go drinking first". And I say it again and again and again, until I feel that my mind has absorbed the message, my body has stopped resisting, and my emotions have calmed down and is prepared for the next however many weeks, or days, or hours, or sometimes, even minutes, until I feel I have to do that exercise all over again.


Salvation hasn't come. Not by a long shot. I can't even think about the next person, or about pumping the pump yet. I only have one thing, and one thing in mind only, " don't go drinking first ".

No more

This trying to be a better person thing is tough.

On days like this, it feels as it the effort is not worth it anymore, that no matter how much you try, it's never enough; and that whoever you try for, they're too wrapped up in their own selfish agenda to care about trying to return the favour, that is, assuming that they even have a spot of affection for you, that they're even picking up on your existence on their radar.

On days like these, when disappointment abounds, I'm ready to just pack up and leave the rest of the world to their existence, and retreat to mine. No more trying to be nice, no more trying to help, no more trying to make a difference. After all, all one gets in return for one's efforts is a crock of shit anyway.

When I get to that point, my anger and disappointment switches to the other extreme; I feel guilt for everything that is happening. It's my fault that I'm not a nice/patient/polite/tolerant/smiley/tactful/soft-spoken etc etc etc person. This happened before I screwed up on the other thing, that happened because I wasn't tactful enough. Everything happened, well, because I'm not good enough a person basically.

I try not to, but I blame my lower middle class upbringing, my brought up - everything that is the opposite of privileged. I just grew up, just short of being 'dragged up'. I was never 'brought up' properly. That's when I also think people should take exams to see whether they're worthy to be parents.

Am I being unfair? Am I being unreasonable and childish? Maybe I am, but that's why I feel right now. Am I being ungrateful for what I've been blessed with? Am I complaining too much? Am I being naive in thinking that privileged people don't have their own problems and sufferings. Maybe I am. And no I don't think that other people don't have their own problems, but I'll like to at least like to start suffering something different from what has plagued me my entire life.

At rock bottom, when I think I'm scum, I get angry again and feel the injustice of having to look out for others when others don't look out for me. I always come back to the same questions."Why do I have to be the one giving in to somebody else's demands?". "Why do I have to think for the benefit of somebody else? Who is thinking for mine benefit?". "Why do I have to make the first move?". "Why do I have to apologise first?". "Why do I have to seek reconciliation?". "Why do I have to do the harder work while somebody else can sit back and relax?" Why why why? It feels terribly unfair, and I bristle at the unfairness of it all. Why do I give a damn about these people anyway? I don't need them. And I will make sure that I never want or need anybody, ever again.

Seriously, never again. The problem is not people, but the problem is my liking people, trusting them, trying to help them. But not only do they not appreciate it, I have to suffer for my attempt to help.

I am angry. I am disappointed. I am feeling hurt and vulnerable and like a fool. I want to hurt the people who  hurt me. I want them to feel the sense of loss that I feel. I want them to go all out 100% for something that bites them back. I want them to feel like a fool, a colossal fool, a hundred times over.

I want to be allowed to be vindictive, vengeful, cruel, manipulative, wicked. I want to be allowed to give full reign to my anger. I want to amoral and conscienceless.

I want to not care anymore.

I don't want to play anymore

It is very hard to make an effort for somebody who doesn't appreciate the gesture or return the affection.

It is very hard to keep working at something to which there is no rewards to reap.

It's clear enough...

Things can't get very much clearer. The signs are all there.

Well, you can't say I didn't try. Any decision you make is your own; it's nothing to do with me anymore.

Because I tried, damn I tried. Well, you, not so much. You, you have the soul of a politician.

I refuse to lift a finger to do anymore for something and someone who's a losing proposition.

I am the monkey

By "monkey", I am referring to the one in the monkey and the peanuts and the tree story. You know, the monkey who stuck his paw into a hole in the tree trunk to get a hold of the peanuts. The monkey, who, with its paw bulging with peanuts, couldn't get it out but refused to let go of the peanuts, not suspecting that it was a trap set up by hunters to catch silly monkeys.

Much as I hate to admit my stupidity, it has finally dawned on me that in some ways, I've been acting like the monkey who has sacrificed and given up its freedom, and for what? Just a handful of cheap peanuts. What's embarrassing is that I've been treating ordinary peanuts as invaluable treasure, so loath to let go and so sure of its value, only to finally find it cheap and crass and tawdry. The gold varnish has finally flaked showing the common metal underneath.

Who's a monkey like me?

I'm sure I'm not the only silly monkey who can't distinguish the real from the fake, truth from lies, the cheap from the priceless, the enduring from the superficial. So how does one learn the real value of value? Because it's silly to continue to pay dearly for the worthless, and to scorn the inestimable and the rare just because of their uneasily recognised value. It's not as bad feeling silly as it is kicking oneself for having thrown away something which is irreplaceably worth its weight in gold.

Stupid monkey.

Organ Failure

Question from watching Grey's Anatomy: What are my expectations, what do I want to get out of giving up a kidney? Eternal gratitude? Undying love? Never-ending devotion?

What if I get none of the above, will I still give up a kidney to a dying friend?

Gee that's a really hard one.

But a totally plausible though hypothetical scenario.

Especially in this day and age where so many things you do count for so little after all. The heart doesn't beat as strongly for friendship as before.

Of Heros and Heroines

It wasn't a particularly political conversation that we were having but somehow the topic of Aung Sun Suu Kyi came up. And it wasn't too long after that Nelson Mandela's name came up as well. They were, to me, two of the greatest people who ever lived in this century.


Yes, even compared to Martin Luther King, Gandhi and Mother Theresa.

Aung Sung Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela were fighting for social causes that they weren't even sure will happen, much lest happen in their lifetime, and they may even die without saying a single aorta of change. And they did it at great personal cost and sacrifice. No one great person I know has ever been willing to fight for such a 'worthless' cost.

What courage, to fight against society's entranced norms. What nobility, to give up self and family to a cause that cannot even be seen. What foolishness, to believe in a cause that may not even happen in one's lifetime.

Let's use the analogy of a disease.

Disease is your body's way of telling you that there is something abnormal in your bodily functions; your body may be secreting too much of a chemical or hormone, or sometimes it's too little, or your body may be degenerating at too fast a rate than normal aging. To inform the person to whom possesses the body, signals are sent out to inform the person, or the brain, or to inform conscious thought of the situation. So the person feels pain, or discomfort, or fever, and is informed that "there's something wrong with your body, go do something about it".

A sick body may resume most if not all of its functions. For as serious condition, they call it a "remission". A remission from cancer means that whatever's wrong with your body is now under control, and the cancer is not causing your body to act in a dysfunction manner. The body is now 'normal'.

But a sick body is never really whole is it? It simply means that there is an uneasy equilibrium within the functions of your body. Out of the say 10 'things' happening in your body, some positively and others negatively, the total nett effect is zero. At any one time, a hairline trigger could upset this delicate balance and trip the entire equilibrium, causing the body to malfunction again. The body now suffers a 'relapse'; the disease is back.

Well, in life, people suffer from 'relapses' as well. Life is an intricate and delicate balancing act. We adjust ourselves - our thoughts, our lifestyles, our emotions, our bodies, to try to become better all the time. We adjust our time to find more time for our friends or families or to exercise. We adjust our minds to think positively and in a more accurate way so as to ensure healthier emotions or to avoid breakdown of relationships. We tinkle, tweak, polish, alter, modify, regulate to achieve that state of being which we define as "good" or "successful", to us. And when we finally achieve that state of perfection, we glow and bask in our achievements,not understanding that, this state of perfection needs to be constantly up-kept and maintained. It requires effort, energy, determination, perseverance. Relapses happen, and when that happens, we have to go back to working at it again, to once again achieve that specific state of being.

The point I'm trying to make, to myself mostly is this, that it's ok to have a relapse; that having a relapse doesn't mean I've failed, and am hopeless, and will never get where I want to get. Every time a 'relapse' takes place, things are getting better, because a finer and ever more delicate alteration is taking place to make me better, stronger, hardier, not to mention prettier, wiser and taller? That's where the term "well adjusted" comes from, to become well requires much and frequent adjustments.

Life is a process, a journey, an adventure. Celebrate life, don't beat yourself up over it.