Tempus fugit

The driver sped away from the gates as the heat died with the afternoon sun. Dark clouds gathered over the craggy limestone peaks ahead as the motorway snaked between rows of plantation palms. A strange ray pierced through as thunder rolled with the onslaught of a summer storm.

An hour before, the scene that followed us to the airport raged in my mind, fired my heart and battled my senses. After dozens of telephone calls and an endlessly postponed wait I knew. I finally knew. I knew - at last.

We waved silently to the five figures standing on the porch, fading into the distance. I held my moment of quiet, a solemn whisper of relief barely breaking the calm around me.

I write not for the present, but for posterity. I live not for the here and now, but for the future. I gaze not into the future, but into the vast expanse of eternity, so that the accomplishments and disappointments of today mellow with the thread of time that weaves a full and blessed life.

A Longkong is a cross between a Duku and a Langsat...

It is hot. The tropical sun beats down relentlessly as I scuttle for shelter beneath a mango tree. The humidity weighs heavily on my shoulders and the grass crumples under the weight of palm leaves falling. A stone church lies empty as the crowds depart for lunch, clearing the town's jungle-bordered suburbs of all but the faintest echoes of afternoon laziness. No grass is being mowed now; it's just too hot and dogs are barking. Mad dogs. Mad dogs and Englishmen. I suppose the Englishmen left in the dull coolness of the last pink sunset, quite some time ago. The ball of fire that burns shadows onto whitewhashed walls roars o'er a sky as blue as pastel paint, splashed with dots of acrylic white.
The whirring of a dozen fans sweep the cool of air-conditioned rooms but only the shadow of a passing cloud brings a brief respite to this equatorial hothouse. Food is served and the chopsticks are ready; chattering mouths open for slurping noodles. Stately palms sway. I sit securely in the shade, gazing at the sun-soaked patio. Peace. For now. Peace until tomorrow when the sun rises again.

Credo

Life is many things to different people. To some it is the string of events that fall in sequence to make up our existence. Some cling to it daily, fearing its end; others seek thrills and adventure. A few spend some of it trying vainly to ponder its meaning, realising too late that the wherewithal from which we drain away each passing minute depends merely on our own insecurities which fuel that strange desire to place a reasonable price on our existence.

I shall not trouble myself to conjure up support clauses for the vague predications made above, depending solely on my arrogant self-belief in the knowledge that any argument over whether I am right or not should merely serve to confirm my basic premise in (more-or-less) its entirety, given that the given is taken as given. Sick, wrong and true - an odd combination for a conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless.

My line is different. I hold quite dearly to a truth that, betwixt its mellifluously and seemingly non-sensical phrases, seems to rationalise most of my behaviour:

"Know you are mortal; Believe that you are not."
(C) JH, MMIV

NB Knowing = understanding, 'Believing' is used in a more superficial sense.

Passing Thoughts

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Lines 73-76
By Thomas Gray (1716-71).

The Epitaph

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.

By Thomas Gray (1716-71).

Hypertense

I can feel the rush of blood to my head draining my weakening lower limbs. The heart beats fall ectopically as the viscera churn inside. So near, yet so far. Still unfinished and yet to be revealed...

Recent posts (and those to follow) have consisted largely of rather inane ravings. Actually, inane is a peculiarly inept word to describe my feelings at the moment, which cannot be very aptly classified by any conventional terms. Never mind. I've just thought of (what I think is) an amusing phrase..."Always look on the bright side of life...but keep your sunglasses on and don't stare into the bright light or you'll damage your retina and won't be able to see in the dark." Haha, Jason. Not funny at all. Sadly, how true. About everything.
Note to self: don't talk to self; I shall stay a step behind my own mind. It runs faster than I can, but not fast enough for me to understand it!

On a more mundane footing I ought to add that lately my sushi/sashimi consumption has risen four-fold. Apart from the home-made stuff I do visit 'Sushi Tei' in Holland Village for my tri-weekly fix of sushi.

.

Musings from the unamused

Hostages have been in the news lately. I suppose, to some extent we are all hostages of some sort. Trapped, like caged animals we wander aimlessly through our daily routines.

At the present moment I am not unhappy with being alive. It would not be better to be dead. The use of the double negative is irritatingly potent but quite necessary in this case. Life presents so many obstacles that don't bear thinking about. Even the eternal optimist would be hard put to not find something unhappy about life. I make no pretence to be a philospher, but if one assumes that life is 'good' then my logic dictates that this must denote the existence of something that is NOT good. Not good, I hear you quip? Not quite, but then again not really. As I mentioned earlier, it would not be better to be dead. I may have changed my mind in 60 hours time, thereby illustrating the transience of life (and, naturally, the concept of 'goodness' that accompanies it).

We live. We die. That is a certainty. We pass, we fail - whether the heavens will a more or less benign fate, we may choose to lie down and accept the thrashing of reality, stooping with each blow of humiliation. We can fail and fall - consigned to the empty vacuum of historical detritus. Dead in all but name before the first fight has finished.
Or we can rise. The oppressed shall resurrect their dignity and stumble no longer. Yea, the fallen shall rise again and cast of the chains that bind them to the steel-capped spokes of life's Catherine wheel. We may be beaten down, but we shall NEVER be vanquished, e'er the faintest trickle shall drain the fount of life - we shall prevail o'er our foes, and victory, like the rays blood-red dawn will cast her avenging hand to smite the enemy. Fear not, fail not, for the day of judgement is at hand and we shall prevail!

From Hell

The long nightmare is over. The veil of darkness has been lifted and the evil shadow that had befallen the land was finally defeated. Life was renewed; friendships remade; the broken were made whole again. As the dawn of a new day broke and a pure light streamed from the heavens, the hobbits paused to ponder how close to disaster Middle-Earth had come - and yet - and yet! The evil foe had been vanquished and from the rubble came a new hope. Victory had smiled upon the hobbits today. From death, through hell, by sacrificing blood, sweath, toil and tears they now had hope. A better hope. A hope for the future that transcends the pain of the past. Truly, they were free. Free at last!

Monologues

Random insertion: I seem to have developed a fascination for 'pep-talk' style monologues. They deliver that temporary burst of inspiration needed by the less than inspired.

Today shall see me traipsing off to the public library nearby to exercise my right to vote. Although not a citizen of this country I am, by some esoteric quirk of the political system accorded voting privileges as a legal resident. An interesting consequence will be that this makes me the first member of my immediate family to cast a political vote. Ever. Granted, I have an uncle who was an MP in my home country and some of my uncles/aunts vote, but my own parents have either never been accorded voting rights or have never elected to use them.

Revision has dulled my senses - alas, not like an opiate, but rather more like a lethal dose of a barbiturate mixture. One would be doing it a disservice to compare the onset of mental strangulation brought about by such intolerable frustration to euthanasia. Indeed, there is no 'fallback' for those at the back.

In other news...Ronald Reagan is now deceased. One can only hazard a guess...
1a Pneumonia
1b
11 Alzheimer's disease ?!?