Musings-&-Memoir on A Geek's Life

On Life, and A Song...

Wed, 02 Nov 2016 18:30:48 +0000

For the Wordpress Discover Challenge Prompt: Song

- -

1995 was an interesting time to be young and Christian. DC Talk, The Newsboys and Audio Adrenaline were at various stages in their evolution from being the niche interest of church youth groups to becoming recognisable by mainstream music lovers. Seemingly out of the blue, Christian Contemporary Music was on its way to acquiring a sort of coolness that the work of the likes of Larry Norman and Rich Mullins had deserved but somehow never achieved. In my corner of the world, Hosanna Music’s body of work was the rave, a slew of live worship albums including a couple recorded in post apartheid South Africa (Tom Inglis’We Are One and Lionel Petersen’s Rejoice Africa) building on a collection that included several offerings from the likes of of Ron Kenoly, Don Moen, Bob Fitts and Randy Rothwell.

On Life, and a Song

Thu, 19 Mar 2015 20:30:21 +0000

The end of the day Remember the days When we were close to the edge And we’ll wonder How we made it through the night The end of the day Remember the way We stayed so close till the end We’ll remember it was me and you

On Loving, and (Not) Marrying...

Thu, 19 Feb 2015 20:30:12 +0000

[ Source]

When I was seventeen, I was sure that I would be married by the time I turned twenty-seven. I knew the date, Saturday the 7th of July 2007, who she would be and the song we would say our vows to. That year was my first away from home at University in a different city, one in which I cut my teeth creating a budget, spending money as I chose and defending my results to my father at the end of each month - all very responsible and grown up - or at least so I thought. There was no real science – or thought for that matter - to the timing, merely a wild stab in the dark. Ten years seemed far enough into the future to feel like forever, and my big Uncle F who seemed to embody adulthood perfectly turned twenty seven that year, or maybe thirty. Reality, I would later find out, was far more intention and hard slog than hit, hope and wishful thinking.

On Crime and Punishment

Thu, 05 Feb 2015 21:00:59 +0000

[ Source]

When my father would tan my hide - which was often in the years between turning twelve and escaping to University when I turned seventeen - he would send one of the many cousins who lived with us to fetch his preferred instrument, a lean, mean pankere, roll up his sleeves and matter-of-factly deliver a canning of epic proportions. The speed with which the instrument materialised time and time again - in spite of my best efforts - had me convinced that my cousins took a certain perverse, gleeful joy in seeing my bum tanned. Any number of infractions could have been the trigger for one of those in those days - taking apart his treasured gramophone for the heck of it (and not being able to put it back together again a la Humpty Dumpty), sneaking off to ‘dessert’, the patch of red earth where endless games of football took place - and young men where introduced to cigarettes and girls if you believed my mother, and once resorting to my fists to settle an altercation with E, the sharp mouthed imp who seemed to delight in getting under my skin. Early on, the tears flowed in copious amounts, until I mastered the act of tensing my buttocks just enough to mitigate the pain, the odd faint moan escaping my gritted teeth the only concession I allowed myself. Custom and practice dictated that, upon completion, I would have to say thanks and then sit through a debriefing session where my failings would be analysed, and alternate behavioural practices highlighted. In retrospect, the canning - intense as it was - was never truly the worst outcome. Infinitely worse was being left to stew in silent contemplation, particularly where my failings had occurred outside the confines of the house on 39th; my sense of guilt being complicated by the uncertainty around how much, if any, my father knew of my misdemeanours.

#148 - Homeward

Mon, 17 Dec 2012 12:35:51 +0000

For prompt 148 at the Magpie Tales, a repost.


[![Andy Magee - homeward](/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/andy-magee-homeward.jpg)](/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/andy-magee-homeward.jpg)

Though tears like a river course down like rain, And your heart by cupid’s fiery barbs is rent. Although your cracked voice breaks out in wails, And hell with all its fury and fiends seem sent. Be still, Stay strong, you’ll make it home.

Though fear like a cloak your mind enshrouds, And rabid voices, your reasoning besiege. Though Night descends, your dreams to hound, And heart beats resonate to a symphony of rage. Be still, Stay strong, you’ll make it home.

Girl Crush-ing... Hypothetically....

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 12:26:24 +0000

I think I have a crush.

…… And what is perhaps most disconcerting about the waxing and waning of this particular attraction is just how atypical its advent has been. For one she is well and truly outside the +/- 2.5 year band that I once swore to live and die by… And perhaps most importantly, the sum of our interaction over the last one month, one week and six days has been fifteen emails, five phone calls and one handshake; hardly a compelling oeuvre for a bloke whose standard MO - bar the not exactly happily-ever-after spring mis adventure from 2009 - has primarily been based on weighing pros and cons, extensive googling due diligence and incremental engagement rather than a full on pursuit.

(A Hankering for) Simple(r) Days...

Sun, 09 Sep 2012 16:01:31 +0000

About Town: Chance Meetings, Moments of Discomfort and a life-in-a-song moment

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 17:40:30 +0000

A sudden bout of hunger assails me just before the clock chimes 5.00pm and I find myself making a detour - turning left at Guild Street and then making a beeline for the KFC on Union Street. Usually at this time of the day the singular focus is to get myself home, settle on my couch with a bowl of cold cereal and unwind with a Big Bang Theory/How I Met Your Mother TV marathon. Even the spectre of steaming morsels of eba potentially chasing themselves down my throat in short order is not enough to draw me home - the coup de grâce is, I suspect, the fact that it has been the better part of six months since I have savoured the fiery goodness of battered, deep fried chicken.

Close calls.. or not

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 06:29:23 +0000

In one of those strange turns that life alone can throw up, one of the lasses the guys were trying to get me to hook up with a scant two weeks ago got married in Nigeria.

I had ambled on to Facebook early on Sunday monday for a quick look around when I saw another friend had liked a picture on my stream. It was a picture of a dark skinned lady and a caucasian, so my interest was naturally piqued. Upon clicking further, it became clear that it was said lass getting married. Considering she lives and works in my city, there is no plausible explanation for all this being hatched and delivered in the two weeks since my buddy had tried to make the hook up. So much for his assertion that he was completely plugged in!

Certainly Uncertain....

Fri, 01 Jun 2012 12:46:11 +0000

A few days ago, mid way through a telephone conversation with one of the lads I used to work with in my UX5 days, the delectable lass who joined a few months before I was due to leave overheard our conversation and asked to speak with me.

Even back then, in those early days of 2008, I was the bloke with a 5 year rolling plan complete with milestones, leading and lagging indicators and a roadmap. Her question had an air of inevitability to it; it had to do with the current iteration of the plan. Sadly, I could not give her the reassurances she was seeking – namely that the plan was still on track, and that an invite – amongst other things – would be winging it’s way to her Nigerian post box in the not too distant future.

In which I recall my memories of being a new hire...

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 11:15:44 +0000

Recovered from an old computer…. The joys of spring cleaning, I guess… Apologies for any one who finds the pidgin English excessively ‘conc’

Not too long ago I resumed at one of the much vilified companies in Nige… No complaints from me though, as long as them roger me my small thing at the end of the month and dem no kidnap me - No long thing.. I went to complete my in-processing a few weeks ago. Over serious naijaboy like me go organize better trouser and korrect shirt, come tuck-in with my glasses and fresh hair cut. Mehn.. Me sef trip na, as I look myself for mirror o.. Note to self – Next time take a photograph for posterity’s sake!

That NYSC Year...

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 13:00:52 +0000

My short Saturday morning sleep (I’d stayed awake till 4.30 am) was shattered by the insistent buzz of my cellphone at a little over 9.00am, and with it came summons to meet up with a bloke I met at NYSC camp and his wife. After braving howling winds and nearly passing out on my feet with the sheer amount of shops we went through, we got to share my peri-peri chicken addiction, and chat. True to form our conversation segued into the murky waters that are Nigeria and its various issues. Thankfully, reminiscing over the highlights of our service year provided a spot of cheer.

Memories of Christmas

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 16:05:24 +0000

My earliest memories of Christmas - and ultimately of growing up - are inextricably connected to the sounds of roosting chickens, the anticipation of a hearty Christmas afternoon meal and the Chapel’s annual Christmas carol night. We were by no means very well off. Those were the dark days bookended by SAP and its attendant devaluation of the Naira and the Abacha dictatorship in which people in the Academia essentially lived hand to mouth. What was an already thinly stretched wage was steadily eroded until my proud, well read father resorted to farming yams and cassava in the space behind his house to augment his wage. The main garnishing to the routine fare we got served as soups and stews was beef bought in abundance from the local butchery, and fish.

A Question of Happiness

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 20:26:00 +0000

Between bites of peri-peri chicken and sips of Coke Zero, my friend Des asked me if I was happy. She - amongst all my long term friends - complains the least about my propensity to wall them off from the reality that is in my head, but from time to time she insists we meet to ‘catch up’. These meetings haven’t happened a lot recently - thanks to her juggling a return to full time employment with an energetic three year old, and travelling. Skipping merrily through town, as she is wont to these days, she asked if I was up for a bite and a drink, which I accepted. We ordered the usual - a platter to share, bottomless drinks and sides of rice and settled in to talk about the minutiae of life, and all the quotidian pleasures we have enjoyed in the year so far. Then - out of the blue - she asked if I was happy. I suspect I managed to side track her question by rolling out my usual spiel about life being what it was - normal and mundane without anything out of the ordinary.

On Reality

Sat, 22 Oct 2011 02:52:46 +0000

Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past, the more concrete and plausible it seems..

…so said Salman Rushdie. The corollary is that memory is deceptive, and nostalgia can skew our recollection of things so much that it becomes an alternate reality far removed from the cold, hard facts as they occurred.

Sometimes clarity hits you suddenly like a blow to the solar plexus, at other times the bleeding obvious slowly becomes apparent. All told, some day a bloke has to decide – what’s important, what’s not, and what to leave to fight another day….

The illusion of 'new'

Sat, 08 Oct 2011 03:09:02 +0000

In theory, fresh starts are great: you get a clean slate, a new life, the chance to reinvent yourself and lay the past to rest.

In reality, the break is never clean – past actions have consequences, past events leave signatures that are etched like indelible tattoos on the mind, and on memory, and there will always be connections to people we can’t escape.

On being single...

Sat, 17 Sep 2011 18:48:42 +0000

Rebirth says men are never 100% single, and offers further clarification in a comment:

In my opinion, being single means free from any baggage, no causal dating or stringing along, emotionally available and willing to commit if its the right person…but i find most guys have more than 2 women they are talking to at a time

And I have been thinking. If I met someone (new) today, would I be emotionally available to commit, if it was the right person? Most probably not. Every time a picture of EJ flashes or her name comes up in a conversation, I realize I still haven’t forgotten, still haven’t let go. Am I ’talking’ to any other woman? No. There are the long term friends elC, TheB and ER who ostensibly might be options - but we’ve been stuck so much in the friends zone, I doubt anything can progress from that.

On tribal stereotypes

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 17:26:44 +0000

Being born on the campus of a Federal University in the ’80s, I grew up in what was a cultural multi-verse. On my street alone, one was as likely to run into a Pakistani anthropologist as a Cameroonian linguist, or a Scottish librarian for that matter. Over the course of growing up, these seemingly distinct cultures all bled into each other, till there was almost a multi-cultural sweet spot at the centre of it all.

Questions...

Wed, 31 Aug 2011 21:46:37 +0000

I have been wondering if people still ‘fall’ in love? Can a guy and a girl meet, develop sparks from the get go and experience a connection like none other? Me the cynic is convinced it is all about doing the sums, weighing the pros and the cons, and deciding what ‘makes sense’ - not some visceral, emotional reaction. I wish I knew though, I really want to be swept off my feet by someone, be blown away by an emotional connection…. Somehow I know that will never be me, I will remain Me, the cynical pragmatist…

Loosing our Awe

Mon, 22 Aug 2011 18:03:55 +0000

Children are little adorable things; when they are not cry-y, squirmy little things and are not pooping and peeing all over the place, that is. This weekend, yet another ’lost’ friend stopped over in town with his wife and daughter in tow. The daughter in question has just turned five, and is in that phase of life where her unfettered inquisitiveness is allied to a a precociously quick brain. Whilst her parents and I are engrossed in deep conversation, reminiscing over the lost years since we last hung out, she manages to find my trove of retired gadgets and begins to play around with them. She settles on my Galaxy Tab and pokes around, trying to figure out a way to get it powered up. After several failed attempts she disappears from sight, reappearing at my side away from her father’s glare.

On shi**ing (Or, the criticality of the angle of perch)

Wed, 10 Aug 2011 08:28:42 +0000

Gross post alert

The one thing being suddenly pushed out of my sheltered teenage years into shared hostel accommodation (in a very rugged Nigerian University) taught me, was that squeaky clean loos were a luxury. Growing up, we didn’t live a posh life, but thanks to theOOhj Snr’s day job in the academia, we had decent living quarters - complete with a loo I shared with the kid brother. On pain of a severe caning, Mrs RustGeek (Snr), ensured we kept our little loo clean. Unbeknownst to me, that luxury would be rudely snatched away from me in short order.

Crunch Time

Tue, 02 Aug 2011 22:38:27 +0000

Big, potentially career defining, decisions to make..

The safer option - stick with my current job for the next three years and decide what the next steps after that will be: The pros - stay in a truly professional work place where my skills are appreciated, working for a boss whose ar*se I don’t have to kiss, remain in an environment that allows me complete my progression to Chartered Engineer status. The cons - sky high taxes, an increasingly hostile host population, remaining in a section of my field I’ve spent the last six years - and some - working in and a government that seems intent on playing to the gallery on the immigration debate.

Growing old

Wed, 27 Jul 2011 21:54:48 +0000

Any pretensions to still being young I might have had are slowly evaporating. It does look like all around me, there is a slew of people having to face age related health problems. Over the weekend, I learned that someone close had a biopsy and was facing possible surgery over an enlarged prostrate. Someone else had somehow copped an ankle strain in April which hadn’t eased up since then and another one had significantly elevated blood pressures.

And she wasn't there

Mon, 25 Jul 2011 19:05:30 +0000

Each day - for the past two months and some - when I get off my bus and walk the couple hundred metres to the hole office I work at, I take a left turn off Union, down the dingy stairs via the back roads on to Guild street and then into work. Most days I am plugged into my iPod, listening to whatever catches my fancy on that day, hands in my pocket deep in thought. Nine days out of ten, just before I take the turn I see her - a lone black face bobbing in a sea of browns and whites, wrapped up to the nines waiting for her bus. She can’t be more than 5’-2", usually rocks a ‘fro and dangles her little bag in the tell-tale Nigerian chic ninety-degree arm pose. At first all there was were a couple of furtive glances, followed by the straight face pretending-I-never-took-a-peek look. And then with time, and the familiarity of a shared routine, there was the almost imperceptible nod and the odd mouthed greeting.

On the futility of forgetting

Tue, 12 Jul 2011 19:20:57 +0000

Memory is a strange thing. Even the most tenuous of links can breach the walls of enforced forgetfulness, triggering the release of a barrage of memories once thought to have been successfully sequestered deep beyond the reach of even the most pernicious of random triggers.

There are the shared banalities, the simple everyday things which in themselves hold no sentimental value but which in the context of a shared life paradoxically serve to bridge the miles. She, bored in a work meeting, emailing you a doodle of the big fat goat head that is her boss, you roasting rice to dryness, setting off the fire alarms and eliciting mock sympathy from her, all in good faith.

In which I perfect the non-trivial art of eating hot dodo

Tue, 31 May 2011 22:18:30 +0000

One of my lesser known ’life skills’ is eating piping hot dodo - and that fresh from the frying pan. Looking back, this non-trivial skill was honed in the kitchen of #19 Aiguobasinmwin Crescent. It must have been sometime in 1986 - those were the heady days in which Lawrence Anini our very own Robin Hood-lite and his side kick Monday Osunbor reigned supreme in Benin City. Sane, un-jazzed-up people stayed indoors, the not so sane limited their night-time frolicking nonetheless.

First there was MG

Tue, 17 May 2011 22:22:38 +0000

My earliest memories of growing up are inextricably bound up with the dirty brown house on 4th street, brick red sand and Di, or MG as we would grow to know her in our adult years. It was the summer rainy season of 1988 and the sun in all its gory beastliness was baking us all, turning our days into long drawn out battles with boredom, exacerbated by excruciatingly boring teachers. Us boys lived for the bell, the harbinger of our short and long breaks, an all too brief salvation from studying. I was barely eight years old, but I was fast making a name for myself as a nerd; complete with very thick lenses, a voracious appetite for non-academic reading and an extreme love for solitude. The only physical activity I engaged in was the odd football kick abut where I was about as useful as a goal post. I often got sentenced to playing the goal keeper, where I was as much likely to play a wanton pass as concede a daft goal. It was an age where competition hadn’t become second nature to us though, so it wasn’t often that a gaffe was punished beyond the pitch.

In which I (vaguely) remember the Girls I Never Kissed

Sat, 14 May 2011 06:30:47 +0000

There is no better incentive to reassess the landscape of one’s failed loves than watching re-runs of NCIS on TV on a Friday night. Something about being slouched in a lazy boy chair, empty bottles of beer to one side and the TV remote on the other, stands in marked contrast to what typical Friday nights are meant to be - maelstroms of revelry, getting hammered and possibly getting laid.

It depends...

Wed, 02 Mar 2011 22:48:14 +0000

Huddled around broken tables in the decrepit drawing office that served as a lecture theatre back in the day, a lesson in thinking on one’s feet was forced into our heads. At that time it was impossible to know the importance of that moment, or even remotely suspect that it could be a lifesaver in the distant future. There were no flashing light bulbs, no pressmen, no stenographers capturing the moment, no markers denoting the time and space where a life altering truth was uttered.

Opinion: Gladwell, Twitter and the Nigerian Angle...

Tue, 12 Oct 2010 20:51:51 +0000

In perhaps one of those quirks of timing - which make me wonder if indeed the world is ‘run’ by someone with an almost Machiavellian sense of mirth - Malcolm Gladwell’s New Yorker piece on social media hit the blogosphere a few days after twitter was leading the way in breaking news of bomb blasts during Nigeria’s 50th year anniversary celebrations. True to type, the response to his article has been immediate and extensive, but largely critical. I suspect that this is to be expected - most people who would write a blog, or tweet, or use foursquare would feel personally chastised by the words that Gladwell offered.

Summer's end, chicken fajitas and cuts at the BEEB

Sat, 25 Sep 2010 06:48:00 +0000

Only the most deluded of persons would deny that summer is well and truly over. Not only does it feel quite chilly, the trees also think so. Hyde park, which by much squinting I can just see from my 13th floor window at MO Corp, is covered in a layer of browns, reds, golds and the odd green patch crafted by fallen leaves as the trees acknowledge autumn. The sun on the odd occasion it manages to peek from behind the dull clouds seems weak, tired and offers no real warmth. Moments like these are those which fill me with a misplaced sense of nostalgia. Mercifully, I have my fleece with me as I head off to lunch with the team from work.

Homeward...

Sun, 19 Sep 2010 09:17:00 +0000

A wry smile plays on my lips as the ‘Angel of the North’- that behemoth that towers over the North East - comes into view. It is the one landmark that definitively asserts that I am back ‘home’. It is akin to a familiar tree ensconced at the junction of multiple roads whose stump - weather beaten, fire scarred, sometimes hacked for firewood - remains indelible, unmoved, an un-poured libation to the gods to whom we as restless travelers owe our protection. I consider this city a spiritual home of sorts for me - much like Bombay in Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaramis to his character. I came here at a time of great personal turmoil in several areas of my life - and I like to think the two great years I spent here set me on the path to redeeming my life.

Musings: Handwritten Notes.

Sat, 04 Sep 2010 22:00:04 +0000

It is the age of the internet - email, Facebook, Twitter, Hi5, MySpace, Instant Messaging and even SMS have contrived to depersonalize our communication. These days, my default mode of communication is electronic. I often reach first to my twitter account to send a direct message (DM) to my closest buddies, or then an email - and shock of all shocks - a phone call as a last resort. Growing up, hand written notes were the apogee of communication, especially between guys and girls. We went to great lengths to procure the right paper, practiced our cursive hand writing and parodied the writings of the likes of Shakespeare to present the right impression.

Musings: Male/Female Duets...

Fri, 20 Aug 2010 23:55:57 +0000

They say life is about simple pleasures - everyday things which we are wont to make light of - which taken together serve to generate an ambience of normalcy around us. Each week, I will attempt to identify one simple thing I have grown to delight in… from my otherwise uninteresting life.

When the subject of music, and my taste with regards to it comes up, I always declare unequivocally that my taste is eccletic. In the past week for instance, I have listened to Eminem, Donnie McClurkin, the Backstreet Boys, Kenny G and today Heather Headley.

Musings: Quotes

Mon, 28 Jun 2010 21:58:40 +0000

When in doubt, discretize….

- Probably the most important thing I never learnt

A blast of Nostalgia..

Sun, 09 May 2010 05:20:17 +0000

I miss the old days. Growing up on a University campus in Nigeria, books were my salvation and the BBC World Service was the information source. We didn’t have decent television (it was an archaic black and white National television set with aerials that never worked), didn’t have the internet, was the weird kid on the block, and generally stuck out like a sore thumb. I got my nose in books, the bulk of which were boring, ponderous, academic reads.

On Life...

Wed, 03 Mar 2010 02:17:14 +0000

I suspect…….

…… that beyond all the rhetoric; behind the superfluous arguments, the cynical barbs and the seemingly pragmatic fronts we put up; at its most prosaic, life is about the desire for acceptance, the illusion of autonomy and an ineluctable gravitation towards the certainty that safety brings - And we want to love, and be loved, inspite of our protestations to the contrary.

Sigh…

Re-educating me....

Fri, 15 Jan 2010 20:45:00 +0000

Every night when I sit across the room from him, eyes glued to the TV set trying to avoid the endless background information he has on every show on the BBC, the thought never fails to cross my mind that whoever runs the Universe has a queer sense of humour. In a way our lives are akin - I have been given a second chance to restart my life after a mid-life crisis of sorts; he has been given a second chance with a heart transplant…

The Last Day... Again.

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 13:24:23 +0000

Today I leave the NorthEast, hopefully for the last time in a bit. I have called this place home; lived here, eaten here, made new friends here, grabbed a degree here, cried here, and now its off to new challenges for me.

In total I’ve spent just under eighteen months here, eighteen months of near perfect freedom, aside of the back breaking swotting for exams. The people have been great too; I only had two questionable incidents - one where a clearly drunk bloke kicked an empty coke can in my direction and shouted a poor imitation of a racial slur, and the other when some kids made all sorts of noises and pointed as I walked past them in Brandling Park.

Guilt tripping

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 16:36:00 +0000

Aside of the occasional foray into the main street to either shop, use the ATM, go to church, get to the Library or some other mundane task, I have spent the last few months indoors. Today I went out to the ATM. Normally there should not have been a queue but today my eyes were assailed by a queue, stretching into the distance. There must have been at least twenty people on the queue occasioned by the demise of one of the two machines. These are the only two machines in walking distance of my house, which is shocking considering we are just off the city centre.

Money matters.

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 18:42:00 +0000

It is times like this that I am ‘happy’ that I still am unmarried. My flatmate has this ongoing conversation with his wife. I swear I can tell the whole tale, blow by blow, word by word. They have been married for nearly 15 years, his Nigerian employers passed him over a couple of times for a promotion - piquing him enough to make him quit - with a hefty pay off - and head back to school after relocating his family to Europe.

UX5... The Memories..

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 13:01:55 +0000

I have unfinished business in this town. I had always sensed that when the time came to finally cut my ties, I would still have to come here one last time, to cast my eyes over the horizon and remind myself of all the things this town means to me.

Today I lug my knapsack to the park and ask for a cab. I point in the general direction I am headed in, the dirty strip of land bordering the ocean that became my chill spot during those long arduous weekends. Unsurprisingly, the fare has doubled from the last time I was here, as it did for every one of the years I spent here. We haggle a little over the price. He retorts that there is no fuel, and that I shouldn’t be a cheap skate, after all I am a big boy. Perhaps I look the part - a knapsack that looks like it has a laptop, I wear glasses, am plugged into an iPod, and am speaking English untainted by the default accent one acquires around these parts. Truth is I might have once been one of them, but I am not now, which is why my trip to the waterside could end up being painful. I am off to eyeball UX5 for the last time.

Not pining.. Just saying...

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 02:59:22 +0000

Moments like these, when insomnia induced by deep thought strikes, are when the harsh reality of the things we try to suppress often come to the fore. The overwhelming desire of my heart and my hand is to pick up my phone and call long distance. But my head - ever pragmatic - intervenes, short circuiting the commands and forcing me to think.

I wonder if she remembers me, or if indeed there is someone else making her laugh, hearing all her foibles and making her giggle at pointless jokes and wise cracks into the wee hours of the morning.

The bird in hand............... Worth two in the bush?

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 05:44:00 +0000

They say a bird in hand ‘is worth two in the bush’… But where do we draw the line between being content with what is in hand versus craving the potential two in the bush……

Sometimes I fear I have a death wish - an inordinate attraction for the eccentric and the esoteric - to the detriment of the normal and available.. When I was younger, I chalked it down to an insatiable curiosity; that essential criterion for a life of continuous learning. Now though, I fear it runs deeper than that, maybe it is a desire to be unconventional, or a longing for the adventure that comes with the risk, or plain old restlessness.. I don’t know anymore….

The cycle of life

Mon, 04 May 2009 11:23:00 +0000

Age, chronological or otherwise, slowly creeps up on us. Once upon a time we were a tiny cell, birthed by the fusion of gametes which then morph into a tiny organism. With time, we grow bigger and then get birthed - being thrust out into the hardened world called life. We age: grow bigger, develop facial hair, deepened voices, broader chests.. and then the gray hair… leading to the inevitable slide towards old age and death… ..a self-perpetuating cycle.

Over-elaborating...

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 22:26:15 +0000

Whoever said Don’t Fix what ain’t broke was speaking out of the right side of their minds. Best believe me!

In a queer way, I am a victim of trying to over-elaborate. Life was good – great job with decent prospects, a fair amount of money in the bank and the security being around family afforded. In a fit of petulance at a work decision that went a tad bit awry, I headed back to school to chase an MSc.