Ogres Have Layers. Like Onions and Cakes.

Allegiance is a strange thing.

Nowadays, in this cynical reality we live in, it is perhaps more common to think that allegiance, or loyalty, is a frail, fragile, and fickle thing. Switching sides as we deem profitable. Changing our opinions as soon as we find a problem with it. Betraying those we once cared deeply about, be they people or principles, at the merest whisper of a whim. That is, possibly, the facts of the world we inhabit.

But some things suggest to me otherwise.

Once, I attended Sunday service with my family. I cannot currently remember exactly what got me into willingly go to church then, but it does not really matter right now. What matters is what the pastor said during the sermon. This I also cannot completely recall (it was quite a while ago, this incident I am relating here), but he made a joke about people really not needing to bathe very often. Then I looked to my mother and flashed a triumphant grin that clearly said, "Aha!"

See, as a younger child, I used to try to avoid washing myself whenever I can. During the school holidays, once, I managed to not have a shower for 5 days. (That got me into quite a mess. And trouble in the form of the wrath of the father.) Now, I shower daily. Honest. Really. At least once a day. So I think it is safe to say that I am no longer that somewhat hydrophobic child who measures success by the thickness of the protective layer of grunge that accumulates on his skin.

However, despite being no longer able to justifiably call myself as a Lost Boy who has no use for soap, I found myself nearly automatically cheering as the pastor suggested that, maybe, showering is really not that important after all.

You see? Despite having no outward appearance of it, I still view myself, subconsciously perhaps, as that Lost Boy. I swore allegiance to them, once, long ago, before I even knew what the word 'allegiance' meant. And that loyalty was not easily scrubbed away. Even after joining society in the habit of washing myself daily, deep down I was, and still am, a Lost Boy.

And I think this allegiance thing is also present in other aspects of my - maybe our- existence.

I may have started going to church regularly lately - and it was good, in every sense of the word - but I still grin mischievously as I discover or decide, the way I did this morning, that I am not going to church this day. Underneath the coat of Christianity that I show to the world (at times), I still wear the shirt of agnosticism and apathy of religion that induces me to smile whenever I get the chance to criticize the religious folk.

But maybe, just maybe, beneath that shirt of irreligion still breathes a person who once, in his early days, swore allegiance to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Happy Sunday.

"Look on My works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Dear readers, gather round. I am going to tell you something that, until now, only I know.

I am going to tell you about my secret weakness.

It's sunset.

Surprising, I know. But since I could remember, that dusky one-hour period, from 5 pm to 6 pm, has always held a certain power, almost a spell, on me.

As a little boy, every day, at 5 pm, I was made to take a shower. Once I had gotten out of the bathroom and put on some clean clothes, there was always this strange, deep melancholy that came over me. I would kneel on the sofa and look out the window, gazing at the orange-purple sky and the darkening road and the neighboring houses' lamps that were starting to come on. I would call out, silently, in the coming twilight, to my father and my mother who are making their daily commute from their places of work. "Father, Mother, please come home," I would chant under my breath with a voice only I could hear.

I did not have a name for it at the time. But each day, at sunset, I was heartbroken. I was pining for my protectors, my guardians, my lovers, wishing for their presence beside me, knowing that everything would be right once they are in my arms and I in theirs. There was this ache in my chest created by their absence that has no remedy save for their coming home and saying something as simple as, "Hello, Son, how was your day?"

That was when I was a small child. When I loved few but my parents.

I have loved much more since then.

But thankfully, as I grew, so did the distractions. My schoolwork got tougher, my circle of friends grew larger, television shows got more interesting and numerous, if not always better. Even more so during junior and senior high school. Discovered books, attended extracurricular lessons and courses, got tangled in the mess that was the world wide web, experimented with computer games, played guitar, sang, laughed.... There was no shortage of diversions that protected me from the dread melancholy with a shield of forgetfulness.

A thin and flimsy shield it was. For at times, I forgot the distractions, and I looked up to the sky as the sun starts its dive.

And the sunset hit me with the force of nearly twenty years of experience. Nearly twenty years of knowledge. Nearly twenty years of sorrow, of fear, of longing. Nearly twenty years of life, and of love.

And my heart was broken once more.

And there was pain. The deep pain of memories. Of broken playthings, lost loves, enemies, and friends. Of hateful encounters and joyous reunions. It was pain that made it hard to breathe. The pain that made me want to hide behind the curtain. The pain that made me want to howl, want to sob, want to wail, want to beat at the ground, want to run away from it all. The pain that made me wish for oblivion.

And there was the pain that made me want to cut my chest open, and to pull out my heart, and to caress it lovingly, and to whisper to it gently, and to soothe it with my voice and my touch, as a shepherd soothes a lamb, or as a father calms his son.

To be able to still my own tumultuous heart, like a lone albatross flying above saying, "Courage, dear heart." Ah, that would be a power worth having.

But I am my heart, and it is me.

The pain did not last very long. Very few things really did, in my experience. Soon I would forget about it, and immerse myself again in the swamp of distractions that is the world.

But the sunset comes every day, ever so patiently waiting for me to raise my vision to the western horizon at its hour.

Names are for Mundies

I fell in love yesterday.

I didn't know her name. Even now I can't really remember her face.

She was blonde. With waist-length hair. That I do remember.

I saw her naked. She was some sort of handmaiden or something. Maybe a slave to a lady or a duke. My memory about that is a bit blurry. Maybe she was not even really naked. But there was something Leia-ish about her. You know.

I asked her, you see. About whether she wanted for us to be in a relationship. In retrospect, I might have gone slightly overboard with it. I remember that I was in a kneeling - possibly even crouched - position when she answered.

She didn't say anything at first. She was silent. But beaming. She looked really... positive, you dig? All smiles, a bit embarrassed maybe (there were people around us, I don't know, it was a wedding or a ceremony or a party of some sort), but still smiling. And glowing.

Then she shook her head. Still not a word from her lips, which are still curved in a gorgeous smile.

How do you respond to that? It was my first time proposing a relationship with someone, I had no experience at all in that particular area. So what did I do? I continued to be silent in my crouch. "Do not break eye contact," I heard someone said, in my head. So I didn't.

She shook her head again. But this time she made a motion with her hand across her neck to go with the head-shaking, which was of course the universally recognized gesture for 'I'm going to kill you for your transgressions,' so I was a little... disconcerted, so to speak. The smile on my face began to fade.

Not hers, though. She kept smiling, kept looking so pretty and nice and slim and bright and, most importantly, loving.

And then she kissed me.

On my lips.

And the smile came back.

Then we danced, and held each other, and turned this way, and then that way, and everything melded together in a vortex of golden glow.

.......

The problem of falling in love with a dream is that most of the time, when you wake up, you forget that you did indeed fall in love.

And those are the lucky times.

2056 Years

It's 1991. I'm 0 years old. I'm shouting, I'm wailing, being pulled and pushed from the warm darkness into the outer light. A dark little imp of a human. Eyes closed. Limbs flailing. Helpless, but for my mighty lungs and throat. Hear me roar.

It's 1997. I'm 4 years old. I'm weeping in front of the school gates. Just like I wept two years ago, only this is a different side of the school. A lady comes to me. She's nice. I'm following her. But this lady is not my mum. Where is my mum?

It's 1984. I'm 42 years old. Hah. Nothing like Orwell prophesied. Brighter, for one. Way too much light. But this is not Oceania. It's somewhere else. And the all-around surveillance is coming, all right. It's there, see, people just don't know about it yet. Maybe in 20 years or so, they'll gain popularity. Then the Party (or maybe Parties, I don't know, it's possible) will have a really easy time. I don't really care. I just need my pipe, and everything's right as rain.

2001. I'm 14. The towers fell down. I don't remember a thing. I'm too busy doing maths. Right, back to work.

It's 1995. I'm 4. Yesterday I had a dip in the plastic pool in our yard, in front of the flagpole. It was a nice, strong, iron pole. I was happy. I got hurt. My finger bled. If you take this band-aid off, you can still make it bleed, only not as much as yesterday. My blood is so red. I love red. My dad says it's red because it's full of iron. Now I understand why they taste the same, blood and iron. He is so smart and strong. We saw Lion King together. I love you, dad.

It's 2006 again. I'm only 7. I'm drifting everywhere. Oh, there's that money I forgot to spend. It's green now. And the bag also turns green. It's a strange green. Oh, I made one pigtail too many. Why are they laughing at me? Why are my eyes wet? And my nose? And when I try to laugh, why do they get wetter? I have to go out. I'll get more water to hide all this water on my face.

It's 1994. My brother is being born. I don't know where I am right now. It's all fuzzy and shifty. You can't expect a boy of only π years old to know all this stuff. I want my rainbow-colored brontosaurus doll.

Now it's 2007. I'm 11 again. Except when I'm in the library. There I'm 21, maybe even 22. The school library is the best place on Earth that I have found. It's quiet. It's fun. It's smart. It's safe. They don't come here.

It's 2013.

Can you tell me my age?

Please?

.......

I am not happy.

That was surprisingly hard to admit.

I am not happy.

I'm not sad, just... not happy.

I wasn't always like this, you know.

Time was, I used to feel strongly about things. I used to feel shock. Sadness. I used to fear.

Fear.

The emotion I hated the most was fear. I knew what it was to fear. To dread the morrow, to wish for the cup to be taken away, to feel in my bones that what was coming to me was loathsome, and to make every effort to avoid it.

I used to fear things. Many things. Bullies. Teachers. Tomorrow's classes. Exams. My parents' wrath regarding bad exam marks. Rejection. Acceptance. Isolation. Suffocation.

I hated fear. It was terrible. It was as if my heart would like nothing better than to stop its rhythmic beating just so that I can't feel it anymore. It was painful. I didn't want to fear.

I was afraid of fear.

I tried to avoid fear. But instead of endeavoring to strengthen myself, to surpass the fearful hurdles, I acted as if the hurdles were not even there to begin with. I diminished the problem by thinking that there was no problem.

I spake "Let there be Nothing."

And Nothing was.

Nothing is.

Inside.

No fear. No surprises. No joy. No desire. No passion.

No love.

No life.

Great Imperfection

Right. I promised myself yesterday (2013-02-20) that I'm writing a new post today.

Stupid self, turning something fun into an obligation, a debt, making it far less enjoyable.

I'm kidding, of course. I still enjoy writing. And today, rather than pick a topic that is provocative, controversial, and/or exciting, I'd rather stick to that which I have had the pleasure of knowing since my childhood.

Heracles.

Most of you would be more familiar with the name 'Hercules', which is the name of the Roman version of the guy. Now, contrary to form, I will put off writing what I think of him until later and instead write what I think I know of him. You don't have to read all of this, of course, like before, I've put some asterisks to mark the start and the end of the narration.

*******

Heracles was born to Alcmene, a queen (or was it a noblewoman?), after Zeus (king of the gods) impregnated her. It wasn't just any old divine conception either. Zeus had done this before, he knew how it's done. He had made sweet love as a golden light/liquid to Danae (which spawned Perseus), as a bull to Europa, and as a swan to Leda. Actually that happened later, and spawned Helen of Sparta and her siblings. So this time was no exception. He impersonated Amphytrion, Alcmene's husband, while the guy was away, and came unto Alcmene in a night that lasted as long as three regular nights.

Heracles was originally named Alcides, but after Hera (wife of Zeus, angry at his husband's infidelity) sent a pair of snakes to kill the boy (which failed), they changed his name to 'Glory of Hera' in an attempt to appease the goddess. Let's see how that worked out.

So young Heracles, having strangled a couple of snakes as a baby, continued to live with his extraordinary strength. As a young man, that strength got him into trouble. One example was when he got mad at his lyre instructor, Linus, and threw a lyre at him, at which point Linus promptly dropped dead. Too bad nothing like this has happened in my classes. Imagine if somebody threw a guitar at a sucky professor. Hmm.

Let's carry on. Afterwards, he went to Thebes. He met a girl, named Megara, and married her. How nice. Didn't last long. Hera made him mad (as in 'insane') and in his madness he slew her and their children. Turns out not even renaming can soothe the wrath of a goddess betrayed. Of course, murder was murder, and it was still a crime, even in ancient times. So he went before Eurystheus, king of Tiryns, according to the directions of the Oracle at Delphi (secretly influenced by Hera).

As a penance for his crime, Heracles was set to tasks that are difficult, dangerous, or simply impossible at first sight. Doesn't matter. He did them anyway. These are the famous Labours of Heracles. Just the essentials.

1. He killed the Nemean Lion, a lion which had impenetrable skin. How did he do this? Why, he wrestled the lion, of course. And choked him to death.
2. He killed the Hydra of Lerna, a serpent/dragon that had nine regenerative and duplicating heads, by burning the severed stumps of the neck and burying the one immortal head under a rock.
3. He captured a golden hind that was sacred to Artemis by chasing it non-stop for a year.
4. He captured a boar from Erymanthus.
5. He cleaned a stable capable of housing a few hundred animals, in one day, by redirecting the flow of two rivers.
6. He killed the bronze-beaked Stymphalian birds.
7. He captured the mad bull from Crete.
8. He stole the flesh-eating mares of Diomedes.
9. He retrieved the girdle of Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons. Diplomatically, I must add. At least at first.
10. He stole the cattle of Geryon, a giant with three bodies (from the waist up). Well, I said stole, more like took with force, since he fought and killed Geryon.
11. He stole the apples of the Hesperides. This he did by, among other things, holding up the sky (Ouranos) for a while, during which Atlas (the usual sky-bearer) retrieved the apples from the forbidden garden.
12. He captured Cerberus, the three-headed (and possibly snake-tailed) dog which guarded the entrance to the realm of Hades.

Althought it was mostly pest control, Heracles did all of it with glorious success. And so, he was free. His crimes were forgiven. He did many other things, though, not just the twelve labours. He served on the Argo with the supergroup Argonauts under Jason. He freed Prometheus (the humanist Titan who stole fire from the theist Zeus) by killing the eagle who ate his heart (or liver) everyday and breaking the unbreakable chains that bound him. He even squeezed Thanatos (Death) in a bear hug in order to bring back one of his recently deceased friends. He killed many people and beasts. I can't remember them all. Let's skip to the end.

So when he was older, Heracles was married to a girl named Deianira. They had children. They were happy. One day Heracles and Deianira came upon a swift river. Heracles could have swum across, sure, but Deianira? No way. Then came along Nessus, a centaur. He suggested Deianira rode on his back while Heracles swam across. They accepted his offer. But centaurs were, to say the least, crafty, and Nessus was no exception. So of course he tried to run off with (which is probably a euphemism for 'tried to rape') Deianira. He seemed to forget that this was Heracles that he was stealing a woman from. Heracles shot him with an arrow. Remember the Hydra? Well, it had poisonous blood. And after it died, Heracles dipped his arrows in said poisonous blood. So Nessus, having been shot with some Hydrachloric Acid, started to die. But he managed to speak a few words to Deianira. He said that if she should ever have reason to doubt her husband's fidelity, she should give Heracles a shirt soaked in his - Nessus's - blood. It would restore his love in her, he said. It seems that Deianira was such a gullible lass, because she simply thought "Oh, okay," and proceeded to collect Nessus's blood. Then Nessus died, and the couple went on their way.

But it came to pass that Heracles, in his old age, took a concubine named Iole. Deianira tolerated this, at first. But Iole was younger and prettier, so fear got the better of her. She remembered Nessus's dying words, and (somewhat desperately) did as Nessus advised. She gave Heracles a shirt (or was it a robe? Some manner of clothing, in any case) soaked in the centaur's Hydra-poisoned blood.

The effect was immediate. The poison burned Heracles's skin. He tried to take it off, but it clung to him like a... like a wet, sticky, blood-soaked shirt normally would, only more firmly and painfully. Deianira, seeing what she had done, killed herself in regret. But that didn't stop Heracles's pain, of course. In the end, he set up a pyre and lay down on it, asking for someone to set him on fire and end his pain with death. No one dared, except an archer named Philoctetes. He agreed to set Heracles aflame. For this, Heracles rewarded him with his (still poison-tipped) arrows.

Thus, the great hero died. But that's not the end. Apparently Zeus was happy with Heracles's work of heroing around, so he rewarded him with immortality and godhood. He rose to Olympus, and somehow made peace with Hera. He even married Hera's daughter, Hebe. And they lived happily ever after.

*******

There. That was the story of Heracles, as I could remember it. I cheated a little, though. I consulted Wikipedia (of course) and Godchecker. Whatever. Sue me. I had many other sources, of course. My first exposure to Heracles was the Kevin Sorbo TV series, Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, which was a masterpiece. Every Sunday School in my early childhood was spent in passionate anticipation of the series which was broadcast at 10. The second had been the (heavily Americanized) Disney animated feature, titled Hercules, which understandably took a lot of liberties and was very clean, as it was aimed at children. I also read from the Disney encyclopedia (I forgot the exact title, but I remembered it was from book 10: Myths and Legends) and various other books on Greek mythology. My single favorite rendition of the tale is the one by Menelaos and Yannis Stephanides. It had beautiful pictures and did not dress up the ugly parts too much. If you want to know about Heracles, I heartily recommend that book. It's large and thick. And pretty. And lots of the drawings feature nearly nude people.

In any case, Heracles is probably my favorite character in all narratives. More than Sherlock, Gandalf, or even Aslan. Sorry. But that's true. It's really hard to admit it. But there it is. Again, sorry.

But of course Heracles was not unique. As with a lot of characters, there are archetypes and stereotypes and similarities. I'll try comparing him with two characters from the Christian Bible.

The first one is Samson. You can read about him in Judges 13-16. Perhaps because of the similarities to Heracles, he is my favorite character in the Old Testament. Here goes:

• Both were strongmen. You know, the 'Tank' in modern RPG games.
• Both used blunt weapons. Herc used a club, while Sam used an ass's jawbone.
• Both killed a lion. Again. THEY EACH KILLED A LION. Awesome.
• Both were hairy. Well, Samson was definitely hairy, but I had less data of Heracles being hairy too. Mostly pictures. But that's the way I always picture him, so to hell with it.
• Both got screwed by a woman. In Samson's case, it was Delilah tattling to the Philistines, in Herc's, it was Deianira (see above).
• Both died by their own acts, whether directly or otherwise. Samson destroyed a Philistine building, killing himself (and a few thousand Philistines) in the process, while Heracles set his own funeral pyre (so to speak, see above). It could also be pointed out that it was Heracles who made Nessus's blood poisonous.

The other one is my favorite character from the New Testament, Jesus of Nazareth. Sources: the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

• Both were conceived by divine means, and their foster fathers brought them up willingly.
• Both were loved by their divine fathers. Apparently.
• Both were considered threats to the established ruling class. In Heracles's story, Eurystheus feared that Heracles would try to claim the throne, and in Jesus's case, the Sanhedrin feared a revolution by the proletariat, led by the popular Jesus.
• The most striking similarity between them, for me, is the apotheosis that both of them experience. Both went to their respective abode of the gods (or God) and was deified.

Granted, the similarities between Jesus and Heracles (at least the ones that I remembered) was not that many, but I have always speculated how Heracles might have been some sort of messiah for the Greeks. Sure, Heracles lived in the Heroic Age, and heroes were not in short supply. Besides Heracles, we've got Perseus, Theseus, Bellerophon, Jason, Oedipus, Atalanta. And those were the ones before the Trojan War, where we have Achilles, Odysseus, Hector, Paris, Ajax, Agamemnon, Menelaus, and many more.

But the one thing that, for me, sets apart Heracles from the others, is that his story ends happily. Nearly all the others in Greek mythology, if they don't simply die, end in tragedy. Achilles got shot in the heel. Jason died old and lonely. Oedipus was the king of tragedy. Even the Trojan War ended in a Pyrrhic victory. But not Heracles. He was made a god. Although he faced many ordeals and difficulties, I did not sense sadness in Heracles's stories.

His was a happy life, with a happy end.

And that, my friends, is why I love Heracles.







Too bad nowadays his name is used so disrespectfully by people such as this:

Fuck you, man. Seriously, fuck you.

Not explicitly about anal sex.

Alright, I'd like to raise a subject that is rather explosive. Of course, I like to think that a lot of my writing are, but sadly that is not the case. But this one is, I think. So what I'm going to do is put some asterisks down, and you can decide not to read the bits after them if you think you are easily offended. And if you do, please read it all the way. You'd be better of not reading this at all than half-ass it. Alright? Alright.

*******

That's seven asterisks. Strange, I don't think that's enough. Here's more.

**********

That's ten. Ah heck, I'l put them down vertically. More efficient that way. Scroll down if you still want to read.

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Here goes. Just one more and I'll start.

*

Islam! And anal sex!

No, just kidding. I don't have much experience about it, so I'll lay off the anal sex part.

Granted, I'm not well-versed about Islam, either. I'm not a Muslim, I was not raised in an Islamic household, I have not read the Quran (I tried, though, but the translation was terribly convoluted for me), nor have I had Islamic education. Most of my friends are Muslim, but I'm still not entirely sure what Islam is all about. All I know is that the word itself means 'surrender' or 'submission,' I think, the way the word samurai actually means 'to serve,' but in relation to God (Allah) instead of man.

So of course I have questions. And opinions. And rants. Mostly rants.

First off, I read that Islam is not a new religion. Some say that Muhammad was not an innovator in that sense, he only brought back the original primordial natural religion of Allah's. They say that there is only one true religion (Islam), and the other religions (the other Abrahamic religions, that is) are all aberrations and distortions from the one true religion which has existed since Adam's time. Really? I mean, let's examine that a bit closer. Let's have a look at the five pillars of Islam that every Muslim is required to live by.

Number one. The syahadat or the Creed. Basically it's about admitting that Allah is the one true God and Muhammad is His prophet. Now, obviously this comes into existence only after Muhammad's establishment as a prophet, right? Imagine if it was revealed before people know of Muhammad's existence. Maybe another Muhammad, a boy from the next village, got really excited and thought "Hey, I'm Allah's prophet!" but got disappointed after people decided that he's not the Muhammad, he's just another Muhammad like a lot of dudes out there now. To me, this is clearly an innovation and not one of the original values of the original religion.

Second. The five daily prayers, or the shalat. I know about the concept of prayers. You try to talk to God, come to Him with your problems, and your gratitude, and He almost never even says "Hi" back straight to your face. I get that. It's not implausible that prayers existed thousands of years ago. Even if it consists of bending over and kneeling while facing in the direction of a certain Cube in a special city in a particular desert. The ancient people were probably way more savvy about navigation and orienteering than common people nowadays. No problem.

Three. Alms-giving, or zakat. This too I have no problem with. Selfless redistribution of wealth probably was the norm in the past, and the emphasis on the obligation to do so was only made important after the rise of capitalism and individualism. Maybe. Whatever. Again, it's not implausible.

Number four. Fasting during the month of Ramadan. I'm curious about whether Abraham and Moses and Jesus fasted during Ramadan. Not least because most Christians and Jews seem to think that they were Jewish and had different names for the months. Maybe they happened to know Ramadan with a different name. I don't know. And I don't know whether they fast during that month. But fasting was nothing new, I think, there's mention of it in the Bible and the Torah.

Five. The pilgrimage (hajj) to Mecca. Muslims claim this tradition was established by Abraham, I think? I don't know much about it. It involves walking around the Kaaba, sure. I don't know much else. And I don't know how old the Kaaba is, either. And some accounts say that Abraham lived in Canaan, not Mecca. The point is, I'm not sure what to think about this one. But I'm pretty convinced that this rule was designed for people living around the Arabian peninsula at the time, instead of the people living in, say, England or Philippines or Japan or Greenland. So if it was an old tradition, it kind of makes sense. Maybe it used to be more significant, more like a quest or an adventure with pilgrims living up to their name by virtue of facing risks of death while crossing the desert, whether by thirst or starvation or being eaten by a Krayt Dragon.

Hmm. I'm more confused now than when I started. I had wanted to compare what the various scriptures say about these pillars, but I keep reading about how a lot of Muslims believe that the scriptures before the Quran had been corrupted, creating the aforementioned aberrations, hence the need for a new scripture, which Muslims have kept pure and pristine by using only human memory and word of mouth which are so reliable instead of written words which are easily edited and manipulated. Makes a lot of my thinking moot. Bollocks.

Well, that's all I know about the pillars of Islam. Oh, or maybe it's not really the core issues of Islam? Perhaps these are just the outwardly manifestations of the correct attitude and belief according to Islam? Maybe. I don't know. Fuck.

***

Another thing. Recently I read a lot of articles and pieces of writing and, yes, Tweets (shut up) about how secularism is a great enemy of Islam, how Islam is a complete way of life which is perfect in every way. I've even heard a song, clearly aimed at children, stating that "Islam is a way of life, a complete way."

That sort of thinking apparently made some people think that they are allowed to act like douchebags. "It's not just a religion, it's a way of life that should permeate our every action, our every thought. Not bringing Islam into politics, or indeed any part of our life, is a mistake." Bugger that. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the integration of the spiritual and the pragmatical sides of life. I love how a lot of kung fu masters are depicted as great spiritual people who kick ass constantly. I like reading de Mello. Yay holism.

What I don't like is the holier-than-thou attitude. Thinking that your way of life is right all the time.

Here's an example. It seems that currently there are groups that want to make this country (Indonesia) an Islamic nation. They justify it by the claim above, about the perfect, holistic nature of Islam. It's stupid. Instead of explaining what they want, what their ideas are about how to run a country, instead of having rational discussions about what are going to be allowed or not if this country becomes Islamic, they went to "Our way is best. It's perfect." Some of them even badmouth other religions. No wonder there is resistance.

I'm not saying that this country is fine in its current state. It's clearly not. But the point is, I'm not sure that the Islamic way is any better. From what I can gather, it is absolutist. It claims to be God's will. It claims that if we only stick to this particular set of rules, everything will be fine and dandy. I seriously doubt that. Sure, Islam might, let me repeat that, MIGHT be perfect. But Muslims aren't. And if we base our society on something that is claimed to be perfect, while having said society run by imperfections, it's just a matter of time before it becomes distorted and corrupted.

***

That's it. Thanks for sticking with me right up until now. I really appreciate it. I'll confess something. Nearly all my opinions on Islam are based on recent knowledge. And I think a lot of said knowledge comes from bad Muslims. But somehow, I believe that there is good in Islam. I think that the distortion and corruption of Islam has already happened. I'm not sure that the people who are talking about it fully understand it. Just like me. It's very probable that I have been wrong all this time. So, here's the thing. I don't want to have negative opinions about something simply because I only hear about it from bad sources. So please, if you have something good to tell me about Islam, I'd be very happy to know about it. Please. Leave a comment. Tweet me. Text me. Call me. Any way you can reach me.

I don't like hating things, and I'm really close to hating Islam. Please don't let me.

Thank you.

Progress Report (Tee hee hee).

So! I've passed 37 days out of the 365 available to every one of us this year. I'd like to take this opportunity to check on the progress of my New Year's Resolution. Here goes. Hope it's good news!


1. Get good with the piano. Progress: nearly nothing. I haven't practiced in quite a while. It's... sad, really. I like playing the piano. Why the heck don't I just do it?

2. Write. Progress: some progress. Written some stuff down. Mostly on Twitter, yes, but still, some of them made it to the Notepad document titled 'Ideas,' so, not too bad. But nowhere near the song or the published piece that I wanted, though.

3. Exercise. Progress: no. The most exercise I have gotten this year is walking from my bedroom to campus. It's bad, you know, because... I think it should be the daily minimum, right? Alright. It's good to know that, now we know that there should be a minimum, should be easier to measure.

4. Beg for forgiveness. Progress: also no. No further comment.


Wow. That's... not so great. It's not as well as I had hoped. Let's not mince words, it's bad. It's taken 10% of the available time, and the progress is nearly zero. At this rate, I'll only have done all these things by 2025 or so.

But still, resolutions should be resolute, as I've said before. Persistent. Tenacious. Are those the right synonyms? Never mind. The point is, this is still going.

Fuck yeah.

You know the drunken images of pink elephants in "Dumbo"? This has nothing to do with that. Maybe.

[Warning: This one contains references to various fictional works, including Harry Potter, Peter Pan, The Lion King, among others. Which means spoilers. Buck up.]

I have problems growing up.

I didn't mean I have problems in the process of growing up. I mean, I do have problems in the process of growing up, but I suspect that practically everyone does also, and stating the obvious like that is just not really my style, so that isn't what the sentence above means.

It also doesn't mean that I have problems and those problems are growing up. Some of them are growing, sure, but I can't comment definitely about the direction.

No, no, the first sentence up there means that I have problems with the growing up process itself, and those problems are becoming quite significant speed bumps in my attempts of up-growing.

The main problem, for me, is that growing up means, in part, knowing a lot of stuff that I don't previously know. This might seem surprising, and as I'm typing this down I am slightly surprised myself. I like learning about new things.

But I hate it when the knowledge takes my innocence away.

For instance, do you know about Frank and Alice Longbottom? They are a couple of wizards from the Harry Potter universe. The most remarkable thing about them is that they were tortured to insanity.

Ponder upon that. Tortured to insanity.

I mean, if I were, say, 10, I'd have thought nothing of it. I might have left it at that (they were tortured, and now they are insane) and accepted it. Done. But now.... Every time I see or hear their names, I can't help imagining the torture process. Sure, it was done with the Cruciatus Curse. Do we really know what the curse feels like? Of course, the notes made by Albus Dumbledore in "Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump" describes the sensation as being chopped on the sides with an ax, but this might just be a partial description.

In any case, do you have any idea what a horrible concept that is, being tortured to insanity? Imagine the most severe pain you have ever experienced. I don't know, maybe it's getting your teeth pulled out. Or having a tendon torn. Or perhaps circumcision. I don't know what your experiences are, but you stayed sane, right? The torture on the Longbottoms must be at least more than your worst experience of pain. Think about it.

And that's just about pain. Violence. I haven't even mentioned sex yet. The image of Frank and Alice Longbottom being sexually tortured is, for me, terrifying, made even worse by the fact that no physical act is done. The Cruciatus Curse is purely psychological, at least to my knowledge. Imagine their faces, contorted and distorted in pain, their eyes rolling back, tongues lolling, saliva dripping, their bodies twisted, wishing for relief that will never come.

Therefore, I think the Cruciatus Curse - and not the Horcrux - is the most terrible magical invention in Harry Potter's universe.

....

No, wait. I didn't mean to argue about curses, what was my original point again...?

Ah yes. Innocence lost.

But I think my point's already fairly made. Armed with the adult knowledge, I can't help imagining various scenarios that could possibly happen. If we want to look for more (possible) examples from the Harry Potter universe, I can name a few: Umbridge was raped by the centaurs (considering their mythological reputation), Rubeus Hagrid's father undertook a 'journey to the center of Fridwulfa', and Albus and Gellert fought with their 'wands'. Vigorously.

You want to try other franchises? Simple. Who's your favorite character? Imagine that character's parents having sex. Depending on their biology and your understanding of the process and variations of sexual intercourse, the scenario can be quite... dark.

To start you off, I'll mention some characters or settings I knew as a child. Don't limit yourself.

1. Mufasa and Sarabi and Sarafina and the other female lions. And maybe Scar. Oh, and then Simba and Nala and the aforementioned female lions.
2. Heracles, more commonly known as Hercules. You might be shocked.
3. Tarzan and the adolescent female gorillas (around 10 years old).
4. Nobita and Shizuka, all grown up.
5. The Flintstones. Must be rocking awesome.
6. The Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. American teenagers in an abandoned factory. Not to mention Alpha 5 and Zordon.
7. King Solomon and his 1000 wives/concubines.
8. Hell. Just... hell.

That's it. Come up with your own examples.

Of course, this might be just me being weird and overthinking stuff that resulted in... in... a scenario where Princess Jasmine played games with Rajah the tiger. Damn.

But at least for me, adulthood ruined childhood.

No wonder Peter Pan chose not to grow up. Can you imagine Peter and the Lost Boys, all grown up, living together underground beneath the tree, with no adult males to emulate and learn from except pirates? And that Native American Chief? Neverland is more fun when you're a kid.

Even now, I admit, I still consider myself a kid. Maybe I'm damaged, somewhat.

They are measurable, but I'm keeping the exact numbers private.

Right! It's about a week after New Year's.

I know, I know, it's such a cliche, making and talking about (and usually subsequently abandoning) one's new year's resolution. Perhaps nowadays it's even more of one, talking about not making a resolution in the first place, since most of us who happen to make one nearly always stop short of fully actualizing it.

The thing is, I've never made one before. I suppose I'll try it this year. This is influenced in no small part by David Wong's column on Cracked, which a friend of mine suggested for people who want to make resolutions. Read it. It's good, and not only for making resolutions, but for life in general. The main message is this: Do Things. Anything. I have to agree. And who knows, perhaps that's what's been wrong with my life, not making new year's resolutions. Here goes.

My 2013 Resolution

or

Things I Think, at the Beginning of This Year, I Should Do This Year

1. Get Good with the Piano. I think I've not got very many skills, and I think there's nothing wrong with piano-playing. Inspired by Mr. Tim Minchin. I love watching that man. If you're anything like me, you should look him up. Try "Woody Allen Jesus".

2. Write. I'll say it again. Write. I love reading, and I think that's the next logical step, write something of my own. I'm not going to restrict myself, but there are 2 things I want to do regarding writing: I want to write a song (related to item 1 above), and I want to write something that will get published. Now I'll have to get a notepad to jot down ideas. Oh, and the pen also. Bugger. Very well.

3. Exercise. This particular item must have a place in most new year's resolutions, I reckon. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't make its way onto mine. Seriously. I need to lose these globules of lipid lurking just beneath my skin. I mean, I know I like boobs, but I guess I should try living without them first. Hopefully then other boobs will come to me. Wink, wink.

4. Beg for Forgiveness. This is something I think I really must do before the year is out. To whom? To my parents of course. I've done some things, man, and some stuff, that will have undesirable consequences should they happen to find out from sources that are not me. I should tell them about those things myself.

That's it. Four items. That's four more than all the previous years' items put together. I know, it's going to be a challenge, and as I said I've not much experience in trying to commit to a set of goals I've decided on. A resolution, I think, should be, well, resolute. Unyielding. Adamant. And all the other synonyms of those words. So I'll need help with this. If any of you readers happen to meet me and see me not trying to do or trying not to do the things above, give me a swift but hopefully not unkind kick. Okay? Okay?

Okay. Thank you!