Ok, so this is a bit further from my usual style of blogging - but I think I'm in love with the Cafeteria Lady. Yeah, she works downstairs on the till in the University Lunch Hall. Why? She's got an aurora about her. I think I must see her about three lunchtimes a week, and every time, she makes me smile. Sometimes when we all sit down to lunch with the usual clan - the BNP group (that is, the Beal National Party; more on that later....) they will bicker and moan about her happiness and smiles. They will mock her outgoing and chilled out nature. Never shall I.
Today, there was pandemonium inside the usually subdued zone of the Canteen. Too much money in the tills! Three women all fiddling with £20 notes and bags of two pound coins, carrying it all back and forth from the tills to the chasmic depths of what must be the control centre and headquarters of the dinnerladies; behind the scenes, through the big white door where student meals are cooked by the finest of University Chefs. Okay, so I'm getting a little carried away. A little, maybe. Love is like that. Anyway. Where was I? Yeah, so all this pandemonium, and in the middle of it all, The Cafeteria Lady just laughs in the most adorable way - I'm a sucker for a beautifully phrased laugh... and everything is okay. What a stunning moment. It is moments like that that certain types prevail over others. Types of people - so you've got your typical workaholic "icantbearsedwiththistoday" type of being; I can't stand them. What's wrong with something funny to spice up your life a little bit? Clearly to some people, life is all about work. Well, here's to you - in twenty years, you'll either be dead, burnt out, or a very successful career orientated person - actually, of the latter words, the addition of the first two negatives, culminates in the third word. You can be a dead man walking, right? I've met and seen a few... not such a pretty sight. I'm afraid workaholics can end up being shells of the people they were. If you know someone like that - and you're at Uni, you NEED to help them. Chill, relax, do your work, but don't forget that life is about moments.
I think The Foo Fighters summed it up for me with 'Times Like These'. Dave Grohl sings of moments that mean a great deal to him. Well it is little moments like the Cafeteria Lady's laugh that mean that much to me. She's always like that. For instance, ages ago, just as the new term had started, I was buying my usual at the cafe: a highly nutritious and carbonic diet of beans, bacon, sausages, pizza (if its the decent pepperoni one...) and chips. Yes, its healthy. Anyway, I was just heading over to the fair lady on the till when she asked me "how are you today!?" in her usual innocent and honest tone; and I replied "very well thanks, my holiday was wonderful... how was your time off?" to which she smiled, postively beaming and said "I got married this holiday!" - I was overcome with happiness, not sadness. This lovely lady has found someone who treats her amazingly and hopefully recognises the same amazing features of her personality that I had...Awesome! My holiday pales by comparison, I said, and she returned that every holiday is good for you! It really just goes to show that amazing people live in-between us, in our society. People of such selflessness that they almost make us all look terribly greedy, ugly and self-absorbed - it is only when you are talking to such people can you truly realise how much of a destructive and selfish person you can sometimes be - and just for once, you might feel like taking a day off.
P.S - If you see the Lady in question; and it's not the dark haired one... Smile!
Monday, 23 November 2009
The dreaded fall (or rather eagerly anticipated fail) of Jedward.
Another week hard at the grindstone for the people of Great Britain, yet one made all the more easy by this weeks' X-Factor news. Yes, bye bye Jedward. Lets get this out of the way before I commence with a good old fashioned attack of character, commercialism and general televisual tripe, I am not an X-factor fan.
To me, X-Factor symbolises everything I stand against. Instead of searching for talent; for true, untapped potential, it provides a plinth for some really rather ordinary people. At the moment, X-factor as a format is decaying. Folks, it really does stink. Every year, like a fantastically mesmerising hollywood director; Simon Cowell stands in front of potential new 'actors' - some of whom, he will inevitably transform into stars and offers them a way out, an escape from the daily terrors and treatcherous nature of being...actually rather ordinary. For there is always to be a sob-story; an enticing, juicy sub-plot which will see the emotional burdens of an individual character tested to the limit. A lost father, a distant brother, a disconnected mother... There must always be one family member who is at fault for this character to truly 'work', and sure enough, every year, there is always one of these. However, not this year. At least, if there was, his afflictions didn't work upon us this time. I don't pretend to know all of the cast of this year's show, but I recognise most of them. It strikes me as odd though, that I don't recognise them through my watching of the show. Where can this be from? Ah, I remember, I overheard Sarah talking about Danyl's epic fail, in the canteen a week ago... Or maybe it was Euan, my hearty amigo who happens to live in the bedroom next door to mine, talking about his eventual confession of love for the entity that is (or was...) Jedward. Well, actually, it was all of these things and more. Every time I turn on the television, open a magazine, surf the net, I still end up getting caught up in the mix. Simon Cowell says, Louis Walsh says, some X-factor reject from the first season says... It is always the same. Needless to say, it is rather overwhelming. What shocks me the most, is how the public can influence a series like this. Of course, it is all based on votes from our expensive and as Dermot O'Leary constantly reminds us 'crucial' phone calls to 'save' a contestant on this week's show (presumably from the daily terrors and treatcherous nature of being... actually rather ordinary.) Everything is so imperative in the world of X-factor. We 'must', we 'should', we 'need' and we 'save' - apparently, we, the public control the show yet the 'programme' (it does not really deserve the 'title' of programme, owing to the fact that it contains no televisual quality whatsoever) requires the use of desperation to draw us in. I know the show works on this principle, and, if it pulls in the money, why change it? I'm definitely not suggesting that - I suppose what I am really getting at is the repetition of the same format, year in year out. "Oh, it's the X-factor time of year again..." No! It is not! It is November, a month before December, the month of that less popular thing, Christmas!
Jedward alone can and has already been analysed by media critics and theorists who seek to understand why such dross can stir up the masses in such a way. It is easy really, they were never meant to be. When they started to gain popularity as the show progressed, people saw this as a vote for the underdogs - give the lads a chance. In direct opposition to this, I saw the continued voting and presence of Jedward as a message from the public directly to Simon Cowell: we've lost faith in your show, we are now mocking it by proving that any old tosh can be made into superstars, despite your search for true talent: and we will make you transform them, you promised a record deal to the winner(s), now it is time to deliver. More a threat than a promise; the British public were out in force. However, with Jedward's fall from the show, this never happened. At least now, someone semi-decent will be given a record deal to go away and cover/destroy a classic like 'Hallelujah', who knows, perhaps this year it will be something new, original and fresh. Or not. Sadly, I know that enough people will buy the single and thus make it a number one over Christmas. Why can't Slade re-enter the charts and challenge the X-factor winner? Perhaps Noddy Holder is too old this year - or perhaps he's actually just rich enough; I mean, now he's got a nut company too... What more could a man want, with the best dry roast nuts in the land and a fantastic Christmas hit? No, Im being serious - its' all about Noddy, I mean, Nobby's nuts. Alas, I'm wandering slightly off piste - combining X-factor and Noddy Holder is not a good idea. I realise that.
Anyway, I will superseed all of my dislike for the X-factor to admit my like for Susan Boyle's performance of Wild Horses. Fantastic. Now there is a real performer. No fancy auto-tuning, no theatricals or dance routines, no false noses or stretched and paralyzed foreheads and faces. Nope, this is the real deal, nothing disrupts the connection between the music and the listener, and nothing needs to. Susan Boyle has an angelic voice, and life has not been overly kind to her. Okay, so it hasn't been overbearingly harsh to her either - she isn't a crack addict or a victim of some life destroying disease. But she was actually rather ordinary, and she was happy. Someone quite rightly took her and made her a star; Simon Cowell infact. How ironic. Still, I suppose the nearest person I can think of to compare him to, Steven Spielberg, has had some major stinkers too, alongside some good films. The reason I'd compare them is that they both orchestrate, and they are both known more for who they are than what they actually are capable of making. Spielberg has made some good movies, definitely. But who is the archetypal director that the average person can think of off of the top of their head. Yep, its Spieler. Simon Cowell, the ultimate producer? Yes. The only thing is, nobody really knows why. Does Sam Mendes get the recognition he deserves as a director? No, but then at least those who do know him know why he is to be recognised as a talented director. That is the fee that a true auteur will pay. Simon Cowell will never regain the reputation that I think, he craves. So he is making much more money this way, but he won't ever be a true practitioner of his craft due to the X-factor.
Anyhow, it is here that I feel my rant becoming more of a study of professions, so at the risk of appearing abrupt in my conclusion, it is here I will stop. Thanks for reading... if you feel the same way, I'm happy there are more of us out there!
To me, X-Factor symbolises everything I stand against. Instead of searching for talent; for true, untapped potential, it provides a plinth for some really rather ordinary people. At the moment, X-factor as a format is decaying. Folks, it really does stink. Every year, like a fantastically mesmerising hollywood director; Simon Cowell stands in front of potential new 'actors' - some of whom, he will inevitably transform into stars and offers them a way out, an escape from the daily terrors and treatcherous nature of being...actually rather ordinary. For there is always to be a sob-story; an enticing, juicy sub-plot which will see the emotional burdens of an individual character tested to the limit. A lost father, a distant brother, a disconnected mother... There must always be one family member who is at fault for this character to truly 'work', and sure enough, every year, there is always one of these. However, not this year. At least, if there was, his afflictions didn't work upon us this time. I don't pretend to know all of the cast of this year's show, but I recognise most of them. It strikes me as odd though, that I don't recognise them through my watching of the show. Where can this be from? Ah, I remember, I overheard Sarah talking about Danyl's epic fail, in the canteen a week ago... Or maybe it was Euan, my hearty amigo who happens to live in the bedroom next door to mine, talking about his eventual confession of love for the entity that is (or was...) Jedward. Well, actually, it was all of these things and more. Every time I turn on the television, open a magazine, surf the net, I still end up getting caught up in the mix. Simon Cowell says, Louis Walsh says, some X-factor reject from the first season says... It is always the same. Needless to say, it is rather overwhelming. What shocks me the most, is how the public can influence a series like this. Of course, it is all based on votes from our expensive and as Dermot O'Leary constantly reminds us 'crucial' phone calls to 'save' a contestant on this week's show (presumably from the daily terrors and treatcherous nature of being... actually rather ordinary.) Everything is so imperative in the world of X-factor. We 'must', we 'should', we 'need' and we 'save' - apparently, we, the public control the show yet the 'programme' (it does not really deserve the 'title' of programme, owing to the fact that it contains no televisual quality whatsoever) requires the use of desperation to draw us in. I know the show works on this principle, and, if it pulls in the money, why change it? I'm definitely not suggesting that - I suppose what I am really getting at is the repetition of the same format, year in year out. "Oh, it's the X-factor time of year again..." No! It is not! It is November, a month before December, the month of that less popular thing, Christmas!
Jedward alone can and has already been analysed by media critics and theorists who seek to understand why such dross can stir up the masses in such a way. It is easy really, they were never meant to be. When they started to gain popularity as the show progressed, people saw this as a vote for the underdogs - give the lads a chance. In direct opposition to this, I saw the continued voting and presence of Jedward as a message from the public directly to Simon Cowell: we've lost faith in your show, we are now mocking it by proving that any old tosh can be made into superstars, despite your search for true talent: and we will make you transform them, you promised a record deal to the winner(s), now it is time to deliver. More a threat than a promise; the British public were out in force. However, with Jedward's fall from the show, this never happened. At least now, someone semi-decent will be given a record deal to go away and cover/destroy a classic like 'Hallelujah', who knows, perhaps this year it will be something new, original and fresh. Or not. Sadly, I know that enough people will buy the single and thus make it a number one over Christmas. Why can't Slade re-enter the charts and challenge the X-factor winner? Perhaps Noddy Holder is too old this year - or perhaps he's actually just rich enough; I mean, now he's got a nut company too... What more could a man want, with the best dry roast nuts in the land and a fantastic Christmas hit? No, Im being serious - its' all about Noddy, I mean, Nobby's nuts. Alas, I'm wandering slightly off piste - combining X-factor and Noddy Holder is not a good idea. I realise that.
Anyway, I will superseed all of my dislike for the X-factor to admit my like for Susan Boyle's performance of Wild Horses. Fantastic. Now there is a real performer. No fancy auto-tuning, no theatricals or dance routines, no false noses or stretched and paralyzed foreheads and faces. Nope, this is the real deal, nothing disrupts the connection between the music and the listener, and nothing needs to. Susan Boyle has an angelic voice, and life has not been overly kind to her. Okay, so it hasn't been overbearingly harsh to her either - she isn't a crack addict or a victim of some life destroying disease. But she was actually rather ordinary, and she was happy. Someone quite rightly took her and made her a star; Simon Cowell infact. How ironic. Still, I suppose the nearest person I can think of to compare him to, Steven Spielberg, has had some major stinkers too, alongside some good films. The reason I'd compare them is that they both orchestrate, and they are both known more for who they are than what they actually are capable of making. Spielberg has made some good movies, definitely. But who is the archetypal director that the average person can think of off of the top of their head. Yep, its Spieler. Simon Cowell, the ultimate producer? Yes. The only thing is, nobody really knows why. Does Sam Mendes get the recognition he deserves as a director? No, but then at least those who do know him know why he is to be recognised as a talented director. That is the fee that a true auteur will pay. Simon Cowell will never regain the reputation that I think, he craves. So he is making much more money this way, but he won't ever be a true practitioner of his craft due to the X-factor.
Anyhow, it is here that I feel my rant becoming more of a study of professions, so at the risk of appearing abrupt in my conclusion, it is here I will stop. Thanks for reading... if you feel the same way, I'm happy there are more of us out there!
Sunday, 15 November 2009
The Unforgotten Soldier.
It is not out of choice that I come to write my most personal blog entry tonight. After a month of mixed rollercoasting emotions and the convergence of both my life back home and my life in Winchester, I wanted to write something uplifting; I really did.
On the eve of Remembrance Sunday a trooper died in Afghanistan. Deciding to stay behind when his unit had returned home; the 4th Rifles, he chose to remain and help his replacements in the 3rd Rifles settle into their new environment. Joining the army this year, the soldier had been trained and then flown out for immediate action in Helmand. You may be questioning why I've opted not to name the soldier in question, thus far. Well, at this point, he could be anyone. He could be any one of the hundreds of new recruits who enter the fight against the Taliban and insurgent forces this month, this year, this decade even. However much I would love to continue to shroud his identity in order to use the effect of his death as a general morality tale; his name is one of incredible importance to me.
Phillip Allen, of the 4th Rifles, was not always a soldier. Two years ago he performed around my local area with his own backing band - a time at which my band was also gigging the area. Amidst all of the backstage antics and excesses of rock and roll we had met before at a local battle of the bands in my local town of Verwood, Dorset. Unfortunately, the only immediate detail that I can recognise is how Phil looked at the time, and certainly his music, which was revived within my musical memory as soon as I viewed his MySpace profile again. But what made such a talented and unique musician put down his guitar and pick up a gun? Most of us would question why anyone would want to pass over into something so extreme though I think, in an odd way, I understand.
I was a young schoolboy of fifteen when I applied to join the Territorial Army. For years, I dreamed of defending my country from evil and harm - defending those of I considered decent and honest, from those whom I considered to be challenging, destroying and invading our way of life. Fifteen is a wonderful age to be, as I look upon it now, four years later. Things were probably much more monochrome and one thing or the other then than they are now. Yes or no, no maybes - no philosophical debate, and no moral complexities; I wanted to defend those who I saw as the people that made life work. I made an oath with a close friend that we would join up should our island ever be directly threatened. I'm still held to my promise; the only thing that holds me back is the phrasing of my oath. Directly threatened? Thus far, I don't believe we are, but sometimes I think I've cheated and have broken my own oath, which would be unforgiveable. On other, happier days when it comes to me, and I think about it, I still hold true to the oath I made three Summers ago.
I suppose what affects me the most; and what chokes me about Phil is that he could have been me, and I could have been him. To this day, I still hold my guitar, and I use it to make and create, to form and discover. Phil would know what I mean. In the end, it was he that ended up holding a gun, and I holding my guitar. But what ironic twist of fate would have us end up this way? Should I be out there with the others fighting? Sometimes I think I should, and that I decided not to take one particular path and ended up on another because of that. Other times, I think that I was not meant to be fighting. That I can do the same damage with a pen or a camera as a gun.
But now, and forever more, I will remember that I could have been different; and so could Phil. He died doing something he loved, quoted as being a 'brother in arms', he almost certainly gave his life in the fight for others. Every remembrance Sunday (the day he died) I will be remembering thousands of lives lost in countless wars, faces I cannot name or identify. Alongside that, I will always remember the face of Phillip Allen; and not as a soldier, but as a musician. In fact, I already know and realise, that I will recognise Phil as myself. As a boy with dreams. Phil was due to be married too. As he sat in the airport terminal at Brize Norton, he proposed to the love of his life, Karina. With a wedding planned for December, this wasn't an Engagement of convention, but rather a real declaration of love. Some say he'd found his soul mate in Karina - I hope that this was true, and that some of his last thoughts were of love and beauty, not of death and despair. I wish, with all my heart that he was almost in Heaven already - being engaged to the woman he loved and cherished.
This story comes at a difficult time for me, as I constantly find I'm reaching crossroads in my life; movements of consequence and commitment. The story of Phil forces me to confront these things, and realise that I am still here and he is not. In a strange way, he gave his life for me to live mine. I know that the action that he was experiencing in Afghanistan did not directly affect me. However, He took the road I did not; which feels like it serves a purpose in demonstrating to me the intensity and unpredictability of life, but also shows me that I am alive; and that there is no reason for me to waste what I do have. If I live to be ninety seven, I'll have lived a life much longer than that of Phil; who deserved exactly the same as me, and yet had it taken from him in such a volatile and destructive manner it was offensive.
I could write in passages forever about life and how it is unfathomable in so many ways, but I think the most clever man in the world actually put it in such a beautifully blunt way; I shall steal his understanding and end upon such a note. Albert Einstein once said "learn from yesterday, live for today, and hope for tomorrow".
I learned from Phil, and for that, I owe him everything.
On the eve of Remembrance Sunday a trooper died in Afghanistan. Deciding to stay behind when his unit had returned home; the 4th Rifles, he chose to remain and help his replacements in the 3rd Rifles settle into their new environment. Joining the army this year, the soldier had been trained and then flown out for immediate action in Helmand. You may be questioning why I've opted not to name the soldier in question, thus far. Well, at this point, he could be anyone. He could be any one of the hundreds of new recruits who enter the fight against the Taliban and insurgent forces this month, this year, this decade even. However much I would love to continue to shroud his identity in order to use the effect of his death as a general morality tale; his name is one of incredible importance to me.
Phillip Allen, of the 4th Rifles, was not always a soldier. Two years ago he performed around my local area with his own backing band - a time at which my band was also gigging the area. Amidst all of the backstage antics and excesses of rock and roll we had met before at a local battle of the bands in my local town of Verwood, Dorset. Unfortunately, the only immediate detail that I can recognise is how Phil looked at the time, and certainly his music, which was revived within my musical memory as soon as I viewed his MySpace profile again. But what made such a talented and unique musician put down his guitar and pick up a gun? Most of us would question why anyone would want to pass over into something so extreme though I think, in an odd way, I understand.
I was a young schoolboy of fifteen when I applied to join the Territorial Army. For years, I dreamed of defending my country from evil and harm - defending those of I considered decent and honest, from those whom I considered to be challenging, destroying and invading our way of life. Fifteen is a wonderful age to be, as I look upon it now, four years later. Things were probably much more monochrome and one thing or the other then than they are now. Yes or no, no maybes - no philosophical debate, and no moral complexities; I wanted to defend those who I saw as the people that made life work. I made an oath with a close friend that we would join up should our island ever be directly threatened. I'm still held to my promise; the only thing that holds me back is the phrasing of my oath. Directly threatened? Thus far, I don't believe we are, but sometimes I think I've cheated and have broken my own oath, which would be unforgiveable. On other, happier days when it comes to me, and I think about it, I still hold true to the oath I made three Summers ago.
I suppose what affects me the most; and what chokes me about Phil is that he could have been me, and I could have been him. To this day, I still hold my guitar, and I use it to make and create, to form and discover. Phil would know what I mean. In the end, it was he that ended up holding a gun, and I holding my guitar. But what ironic twist of fate would have us end up this way? Should I be out there with the others fighting? Sometimes I think I should, and that I decided not to take one particular path and ended up on another because of that. Other times, I think that I was not meant to be fighting. That I can do the same damage with a pen or a camera as a gun.
But now, and forever more, I will remember that I could have been different; and so could Phil. He died doing something he loved, quoted as being a 'brother in arms', he almost certainly gave his life in the fight for others. Every remembrance Sunday (the day he died) I will be remembering thousands of lives lost in countless wars, faces I cannot name or identify. Alongside that, I will always remember the face of Phillip Allen; and not as a soldier, but as a musician. In fact, I already know and realise, that I will recognise Phil as myself. As a boy with dreams. Phil was due to be married too. As he sat in the airport terminal at Brize Norton, he proposed to the love of his life, Karina. With a wedding planned for December, this wasn't an Engagement of convention, but rather a real declaration of love. Some say he'd found his soul mate in Karina - I hope that this was true, and that some of his last thoughts were of love and beauty, not of death and despair. I wish, with all my heart that he was almost in Heaven already - being engaged to the woman he loved and cherished.
This story comes at a difficult time for me, as I constantly find I'm reaching crossroads in my life; movements of consequence and commitment. The story of Phil forces me to confront these things, and realise that I am still here and he is not. In a strange way, he gave his life for me to live mine. I know that the action that he was experiencing in Afghanistan did not directly affect me. However, He took the road I did not; which feels like it serves a purpose in demonstrating to me the intensity and unpredictability of life, but also shows me that I am alive; and that there is no reason for me to waste what I do have. If I live to be ninety seven, I'll have lived a life much longer than that of Phil; who deserved exactly the same as me, and yet had it taken from him in such a volatile and destructive manner it was offensive.
I could write in passages forever about life and how it is unfathomable in so many ways, but I think the most clever man in the world actually put it in such a beautifully blunt way; I shall steal his understanding and end upon such a note. Albert Einstein once said "learn from yesterday, live for today, and hope for tomorrow".
I learned from Phil, and for that, I owe him everything.
Saturday, 14 November 2009
By Divine Intervention
Having just returned from a fantastic holiday in Rome, my original intention was to write about the religious implications of Rome and its Catholic importance. Yet still I found myself in a different mindset when I found the familiar grooves of my laptop keyboard; instead focussing on friends, and understanding how they can save us from the deepest and darkest of places.
It is here that our story begins, aboard our trusty EasyJet Airbus(this in itself a bit of an oxymoronic turn of phrase...) we prepared for takeoff. The pilot introduced himself rather politely and the cabin crew were indeed pleasant enough, save for the chief cabin steward; whose job it was to announce that there were great deals to be had on products being sold from the aircraft shop, an announcement in which he was to describe every single item being offered, pausing frequently without reason, clearly reading the same blurb that passengers were reading from the EasyJet magazine. However, sat against the window of our plane; I was drawn to thinking about the passengers who were next to me. My best friends. It was early September that we had first decided that a lad's holiday was in order, though a destination was not immediately clear to us. We had thought about the cobbled Parisian streets, and we had looked into the warm and cosy atmosphere that Dublin might be able to afford three students in November. Certainly both locations offered something unique and special but it was Rome that captivated our interests when we stumbled upon the most perfect of offers; which then eliminated any other possibilities. And so we were destined, to find ourselves in the City of God, surrounded by his most enthusiastic and dedicated fans.
Sitting at my portal - my cabin side window, I watched the clouds thin out and drift, almost enveloping our plane but at the same time not threatening our journey, rather seeming to brace and support our plane through the skies. Yet it was the people beside me that I was more drawn to. It was on the way to Rome that we had each discovered that we were all in dire straits, and for different reasons - essentially, we were three men with three problems. It is not for I to disclose who is burdened with which issue, I shall only say that all of our issues lay within the boundaries of relationships. Three uniquely different scenarios, I might add. Nevertheless between the three of us, we had agreed to discuss and solve these with a gathered combination of our intellect - one of us a dreamer and writer, one of us a mathematician, and one of us a professional sportsman. Hopefully enough of a dynamic range to offer radically different perspectives, you may have been thinking. It was as we discussed this between us that I realised how different we were, but despite this, when we come together we work. 'Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You, too? Thought I was the only one' said C.S Lewis. Well he could not have been more right in our case.
Upon entering Rome for the first time, we discussed amongst ourselves where we should be visiting first. With no part of our merry band being religious, we were seeking to be enthralled and amazed by the intensity of the act behind the stunning religious artifacts of ancient Rome, rather than marvel at the implications that these buildings held in a religious sense. Nevertheless, when we reached the Trevi Fountain; something quite profound and almost religious humbled me. As I sat alone with my back to the waters of the fountain, I uttered a wish aloud, something that I had wished for before and had not received. As I sat there uttering, with my back to the waters, I watched the people infront of me, not by the waters' edge, but standing against the stone walls that encapsulated the monument. Couples held each other, some kissing, some cuddling, some just sharing the moment together. And so I threw my coin far into the middle of the fountain, almost hoping for some kind of magical response, or some encoded and cryptic return message; a notification to advise me that my message had been received, and was at least under some kind of consideration. After all, don't you notice that everything advises you or notifies you of something, regardless as to whether you actually have anything to be notified of? I regularly receive emails stating that my 'status has changed' or that I am 'being upgraded'. Thus naturally, I suppose I expected some form of divine messaging - just for my own piece of mind. And, I believe, in some way, I received it. I saw my answer in the faces of those who faced me. I literally had offered my back to the figure in the water, instead being atuned to studying those who languished in a similar moment to my own - It may not have been my moment, they probably did not know I was watching them, yet I felt a sense of togetherness and peace as I dwelled in the moment. My evening was changed, the vibe of the holiday had changed. Inside the chapel adjacent to the fountain, my friends and I sat at the pews, silently. Nobody spoke a word, nobody needed to. In that moment, everyone was locked inside of their own minds. I felt like I was being scrutinised, being analysed - by who, I have my own theories, though I shall leave this open to your own imagination. After about five minutes of reflection, as if by telepathy, our group stood, quite simultaneously, and left the chapel.
Have I committed wrongs, and 'sins'? Almost certainly. Did I ever ask to be forgiven? Yes, I did. But it wasn't God I turned to to find it; it was the same old people, my friends. My greatest sins and errors have been reflected in the treatment of friends; and their compassion. At that moment all I could do was hold in the overwhelming feeling of love that I had for every person that I consider a friend. Of course, that feeling is more powerfully conveyed towards those who I would consider my best friends, but every 'friend' I have has shaped my life inexplicably and beyond measure. Strangely, I often ponder to myself, who needs God when I have these people? and that, by believing in some God, would I be divorcing them from my own love for them? I think I would be; I would be demoting them to something below the rank of someone else. That someone else being someone I have never met and connected with, and consequentially, don't regard a friend.
So just for me, take a small moment to think about the people that might mean this much to you, and instead of making a prayer, tell at least one of your friends that you love them. I did.
It is here that our story begins, aboard our trusty EasyJet Airbus(this in itself a bit of an oxymoronic turn of phrase...) we prepared for takeoff. The pilot introduced himself rather politely and the cabin crew were indeed pleasant enough, save for the chief cabin steward; whose job it was to announce that there were great deals to be had on products being sold from the aircraft shop, an announcement in which he was to describe every single item being offered, pausing frequently without reason, clearly reading the same blurb that passengers were reading from the EasyJet magazine. However, sat against the window of our plane; I was drawn to thinking about the passengers who were next to me. My best friends. It was early September that we had first decided that a lad's holiday was in order, though a destination was not immediately clear to us. We had thought about the cobbled Parisian streets, and we had looked into the warm and cosy atmosphere that Dublin might be able to afford three students in November. Certainly both locations offered something unique and special but it was Rome that captivated our interests when we stumbled upon the most perfect of offers; which then eliminated any other possibilities. And so we were destined, to find ourselves in the City of God, surrounded by his most enthusiastic and dedicated fans.
Sitting at my portal - my cabin side window, I watched the clouds thin out and drift, almost enveloping our plane but at the same time not threatening our journey, rather seeming to brace and support our plane through the skies. Yet it was the people beside me that I was more drawn to. It was on the way to Rome that we had each discovered that we were all in dire straits, and for different reasons - essentially, we were three men with three problems. It is not for I to disclose who is burdened with which issue, I shall only say that all of our issues lay within the boundaries of relationships. Three uniquely different scenarios, I might add. Nevertheless between the three of us, we had agreed to discuss and solve these with a gathered combination of our intellect - one of us a dreamer and writer, one of us a mathematician, and one of us a professional sportsman. Hopefully enough of a dynamic range to offer radically different perspectives, you may have been thinking. It was as we discussed this between us that I realised how different we were, but despite this, when we come together we work. 'Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You, too? Thought I was the only one' said C.S Lewis. Well he could not have been more right in our case.
Upon entering Rome for the first time, we discussed amongst ourselves where we should be visiting first. With no part of our merry band being religious, we were seeking to be enthralled and amazed by the intensity of the act behind the stunning religious artifacts of ancient Rome, rather than marvel at the implications that these buildings held in a religious sense. Nevertheless, when we reached the Trevi Fountain; something quite profound and almost religious humbled me. As I sat alone with my back to the waters of the fountain, I uttered a wish aloud, something that I had wished for before and had not received. As I sat there uttering, with my back to the waters, I watched the people infront of me, not by the waters' edge, but standing against the stone walls that encapsulated the monument. Couples held each other, some kissing, some cuddling, some just sharing the moment together. And so I threw my coin far into the middle of the fountain, almost hoping for some kind of magical response, or some encoded and cryptic return message; a notification to advise me that my message had been received, and was at least under some kind of consideration. After all, don't you notice that everything advises you or notifies you of something, regardless as to whether you actually have anything to be notified of? I regularly receive emails stating that my 'status has changed' or that I am 'being upgraded'. Thus naturally, I suppose I expected some form of divine messaging - just for my own piece of mind. And, I believe, in some way, I received it. I saw my answer in the faces of those who faced me. I literally had offered my back to the figure in the water, instead being atuned to studying those who languished in a similar moment to my own - It may not have been my moment, they probably did not know I was watching them, yet I felt a sense of togetherness and peace as I dwelled in the moment. My evening was changed, the vibe of the holiday had changed. Inside the chapel adjacent to the fountain, my friends and I sat at the pews, silently. Nobody spoke a word, nobody needed to. In that moment, everyone was locked inside of their own minds. I felt like I was being scrutinised, being analysed - by who, I have my own theories, though I shall leave this open to your own imagination. After about five minutes of reflection, as if by telepathy, our group stood, quite simultaneously, and left the chapel.
Have I committed wrongs, and 'sins'? Almost certainly. Did I ever ask to be forgiven? Yes, I did. But it wasn't God I turned to to find it; it was the same old people, my friends. My greatest sins and errors have been reflected in the treatment of friends; and their compassion. At that moment all I could do was hold in the overwhelming feeling of love that I had for every person that I consider a friend. Of course, that feeling is more powerfully conveyed towards those who I would consider my best friends, but every 'friend' I have has shaped my life inexplicably and beyond measure. Strangely, I often ponder to myself, who needs God when I have these people? and that, by believing in some God, would I be divorcing them from my own love for them? I think I would be; I would be demoting them to something below the rank of someone else. That someone else being someone I have never met and connected with, and consequentially, don't regard a friend.
So just for me, take a small moment to think about the people that might mean this much to you, and instead of making a prayer, tell at least one of your friends that you love them. I did.
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
The Leap
Ok, so it's been a while since I've put some new content up here. I've spent a long while thinking of a new topic - and for some reason can't find the right way of saying things. Remember the kind of day where its' almost like you're floating on a cloud - no-one can touch you, you own the stage? A day where you wake up thinking "Nothing can beat this. This moment can't be beaten." Well, I met such a day. It's almost like the world has finally given in and started handing you the Aces and Pairs - In my case, it feels as if the powers that be have taken a day off, allowing me a day without the usual trouble and mistakes that would normally ensue. I am, after all, prone to blowing any opportunity that comes my way, whenever it does. However, I suppose my main point to all of this, is that I am trying to understand a feeling. I can't describe in words, how amazing I have felt recently. It is just not transferrable to any form of text at the moment. The only thing wrong with allowing these feelings to take over you is that, sure enough, the nearer you fly to the Sun, the farther you fall when you're wings can't take the heat and melt. Cheesy biblical allegory, I know - but aside from the whole 'wings thing', but at least Icarus had the mettle and courage to take the leap. A leap of faith. Sure, it didn't exactly work out too well - but he jumped.
I suppose the topic that I'm subtly sidestepping, and know in my heart of hearts I need to confront is faith. Not religion, not faith in some God or higher power - but faith in other people, in your fellow person. I'll happily acknowledge that I am a risk taker. I'll look at the risk and think, its' okay, I am me, and I know that I can do this. In actual fact, everytime I try to surf the larger breaks in Cornwall, there is something telling me I need to stop surfing - I could die doing this. Although, the other voice in me, the true me, that takes risks and chances, tells me to live a little, live every day as if the next will not come - and I do. I'm addicted to the feeling that I get when I ride on the wave, it may only be five or maybe nine seconds, but it will be seven or nine seconds spent in Heaven; where my mind stops, and my heart takes over - I don't think, I let the wave take me, and I risk its' power and danger - thus far, it has brought me home safe.
I suppose the topic that I'm subtly sidestepping, and know in my heart of hearts I need to confront is faith. Not religion, not faith in some God or higher power - but faith in other people, in your fellow person. I'll happily acknowledge that I am a risk taker. I'll look at the risk and think, its' okay, I am me, and I know that I can do this. In actual fact, everytime I try to surf the larger breaks in Cornwall, there is something telling me I need to stop surfing - I could die doing this. Although, the other voice in me, the true me, that takes risks and chances, tells me to live a little, live every day as if the next will not come - and I do. I'm addicted to the feeling that I get when I ride on the wave, it may only be five or maybe nine seconds, but it will be seven or nine seconds spent in Heaven; where my mind stops, and my heart takes over - I don't think, I let the wave take me, and I risk its' power and danger - thus far, it has brought me home safe.
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