Goodbye January 2011

Music, laughter, good food, excellent company, and the total expulsion of inhibitions: that's what memories are made of.

KFC runs out of brownies (FREAKS); all-nighters that make you wonder where the time flies to; silent alarms written on walls; one hour power naps that feel like 5 minutes; oreo desserts that have you salivating; games of broken telephone that makes it way through three generations; stories of bygone days elicit gleeful reminisces; talking to a baby that hasn't yet been born; the old hindi songs that we normally never listen to make their way back into play; off tune singing; in-sync hip-swinging; tummy-clutching-rib-wracking-breath-catching-blood-pumping- uncontrollable laughter...Good times, with Great people.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I never do things in the order that they're supposed to be done in. That's why I guess, right now, I'm proposing a toast - well after the round of shots - to the best weekend that I've had in a while, and to everyone who made it happen!

[I still don't get how KFC ran out of brownies. KAMINA'S - it's a hindi word, google it, you know you want to (and don't look at me like that, I'm totally entitled to swear in hindi ok)].

I Am Annoyed with The World.

"I stand before you humbled by your courage. with a heart full of love for all of you. I regard it as the highest honour to lead the ANC at this moment in our history, and that we have been chosen to lead our country into the new century. I pledge to use all my strength and ability to live up to your expectations of me as well as of the ANC...I promise that I will do my best to be worthy of the faith and confidence you have placed in me."

Reading those words affirmed my belief in two things:

a) Madiba is, beyond all reasonable (and unreasonable) doubt, THE Greatest Man Alive.

b) The Human Race is Incorrigible!

Here is a man who gave the best years of his life to the struggle; who sacrificed so much, so that we could become the Rainbow Nation; a man who's strength of character, his skill at diplomacy, his determination and unwavering faith in the goodness of the human race holds the whole world in awe - and all we can think about is our 'right' to know more.

Doesn't anybody ever think, that while he may have given up his personal life to lead a political one that doesn't mean that he doesn't have the right to have one? Even while he lies in hospital, frail at the age of 92 years, the public still insists on encroaching on him further.

I find it absolutely outrageous that people reason that since they 'care' so much about him, they should know - what you need to know you will be told - you need the basics, not the intricate details. It is NOT our right; if he and/or his family chooses to share the information with us, it is our PRIVILEGE.

So, I'm annoyed with the world, because despite everything that Madiba has given us, they still want more. Madiba is not a circus freak; he's not an ordinary politician who's every action has to be laundered in public; he is an ordinary man (granted) who has achieved extraordinary heights. At a time really, where we should be stepping back, and giving him room to breath, we're only showcasing just how selfish we can be.

Be concerned, pray for him, but you don't need the grisly details to do that, so stop insisting that you do.

Method to the Madness

My mother spring cleans at the oddest of times - except in Spring. I don't know why it's so impossible for her to make the correlation between the term 'Spring Cleaning' and Spring. Me, I hardly spring clean, ever (even in Spring) - unless of course, the cluttered confusion of my room becomes too disorganised for even my definition of organised chaos. 

What? Don't look at me that way. A cluttered desk is the sign of a genius (apparently - i read it somewhere, i just can't remember where exactly). I think our mental processes are far too preoccupied with our bursts of ingenuity to deal with whether the blue pen is supposed to be lying under the sketch pad or on the shelf in the green box; or why the diary thats lying open on top of four novels is opened to the 17th of January, when the date today is the 26th; or why there are four different coloured post-its in various stages of neon clinging onto the lamp and wall; or why there's a torn sheet of paper with the email address of someone you don't even know scribbled on it wedged between a book titled, 'Speeches that changed the world' and your glasses case (which by the way, sits atop two flip files that have no need to be there either). Our synapses are just too busy sparking over revelations regarding the modern world and global warming (we blame everything on global warming, might as well this too), to bother themselves over organisation (or the lack of).

It does make sense you know. I did, in fact, read somewhere that a messy desk = an ordered mind. Apparently your desk surface is an extension of your mind. And in Psych we learnt that the human mind has a very limited capacity for short term memory. So, because the Brain is exhausting itself trying to do multiple tasks, it needs a place to offload some of that memory to make place to store new memory: and that's where the environment comes in. There's actually a term for information offloaded into the environment you work in, 'Cognitive Artifact'.

I mean, I'm not advocating sloppiness (I HATE sloppiness), but sometimes all those piles of paper or books and magazines stimulate our thought processes - especially considering that everyone's Brain functions differently, their thoughts and ideas are laid out differently too. So what may be chaos and mind-boggling to you, would be ordered and inspirational to me.

Besides, wasn't it Albert Einstein who once begged, "If a cluttered desk is that of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk?"

There are Fairytales and then, there are Legends.

Honestly, forget Edward Cullen who's gritting his teeth against the urge to bite into your lifeline and drink you dry; or Prince Charming who's always riding in and then riding off into a sunset, promising a happy ever after that you never actually get to see; forget Jacob who imprints on your daughter; or even Damon: dark, mysterious and dangerously alluring; forget Chuck Bass: who'll sooner bed you as he would your third cousin twice removed...who turns out to, in actual fact, be your sister. They're all kindergartners in comparison.

You get Heroes and then, you get the Prince of Persia.

Legislation Just Sold You Out

Can you believe I actually researched the specifics of todays post? (Granted I'm half asleep right now, so please bear with me, else I'll wake up later today and forget half the things that are whizzing about this brain of mine). I read this book, "Next," by Michael Crichton (coincidentally the same author to pen "Jurassic Park") and it's based in a world where genetics has advanced so far into the next age that transgenic chimps and talking bilingual orangutans stand next to a cure for drug addiction and as it turns out, proof that Blondes are actually genetically smarter: it all hinges on Gene Patenting - which if you ask me, is all kinds of scary.

On the book itself: This is a delicate assessment. Suffice to say, it was an interesting read. The book was so enamored with technical detail however, that it was a real schlep to get through. Now, I'm not really a science person (I never did study physics at school) but I'm quite bright (like the yellow crayon in the box bright) - fact - and it was one of those books where I'd read a few paragraphs to get the gist and then go back and re-read it to understand the scientific jargon. The only reason I persevered I suppose, was because the issue it addressed seemed to be one that we might be facing in the not so distant future. 

Ok, lets start with Patenting: a Patent is a set of exclusive rights granted by national government to an inventor over an invention - this basically means that they would then own that particular invention, thus preventing others from making, using, selling and distributing the patented invention without their permission (wikipedia - check it out if you must). 

Now, Gene Patenting: A Gene Patent is a patent on a specific isolated gene sequence, its chemical composition, processes for obtaining or using it - basically everything that connects to it. This now means, that if a company is granted a patent on a certain gene, they own it. Imagine, owning a gene? 

And this is where the controversy begins, because, how do you own a gene? Patenting is used to protect the rights of a created invention, while genes are no invention at all - they're a fact of nature and you cannot own a fact of nature. Genes have been in existence for millions of years, before the arrival of Man. To now claim ownership of it, is quite frankly, incongruous. 

Yet, it has been done: The United States government granted its first patent on Adrenalin; the second patent was Insulin; the third patent was VitaminB; as of 2010 approximately 40,000 United States Patents exist that cover an estimated 2000 Human Genes (about 10% of the Human Genome). 

Patent protection may protect an invention, but it also encourages others to create their own: like Mercedes are protected by a patent, but that doesn't prevent the production of BMW's. You can't do that with genes, because you cannot CREATE a gene: the patent is made up of 100% authentic information that's already been in existence for millions of years: it cannot be revolutionised further. 

And so, because genes are, inarguably, a fact of nature, patents now morph into an undeserved monopoly. 

"It's like allowing somebody to patent noses. You couldn't make Kleenex, nasal sprays, masks, makeup or perfumes because they all rely on some aspect of the nose. You could put suntan lotion on your body, but not on your nose, because any modification of your nose would violate the patent on noses. Chefs could be sued for making fragrant dishes unless they paid the nose royalty. And so on." 

Would you agree that the whole idea of patenting noses is completely ridiculous? If every single person has one, how can any one person or company then own it? Now, apply that to Gene Patenting. We would all be walking around with some aspect of us being owned. 

Besides of which, 'knowledge is power'. Going back to the United States Patents: Myriad Genetics is a healthcare company, basically it's a molecular diagnostic (understanding the genetic basis of human diseases) company. Myriad patented two breast cancer genes and charged exorbitant prices to take the test when the cost to take a gene test is nothing as compared to developing a new drug. The patenting of the two genes, also prevented patients from receiving a second opinion. 

While the Myriad controversy was profane, there are much scarier consequences to Gene Patenting. For example, going back to 2003, the SARS (Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome) had 3 simultaneous patent claims filed over it. Because of this, research on the virus wasn't as deliberate and thorough as it should have been: a contagious virus with a 10% fatality rate, spreads to 2 dozen countries globally...and yet scientific research on it and its possible cures was restrained because of patent fears - researchers were scared off by legal sanctions and the possible consequences thereof if they didn't own the patent to the gene. It's also probably because of that, that more deaths occurred that could have been prevented, had the gene not been patented and research inhibited. 

Did you know that HIV is patented? Makes one wonder. 

Gene Patents are dangerous, especially in the avaricious world we live in. They sow the seeds for a tomorrow where we all may be walking about with some part of us being owned by this company or that; where treatments and possible cures for diseases are auctioned off to the highest bidder so that healthcare becomes a luxury; where companies begin to think that they then own the sanctity of our bodies, because they own the genes that are in them - which conclusively suggests that companies who own the patents to genes can then plunder the body of any person who contains them, legally; the destruction of integrity; an era of Chattel Slavery, Ladies and Gentlemen. 

It's a chilling thought is it not?

Unfortunately, These Things Happen

And today I failed my license test. I could blame clutch control and I could blame prejudiced examiners, I could even say that I was attacked by a swarm of evil little blue pixies - except none of that would be true. My bitchy little clutch behaved herself and the examiner was this really friendly coloured guy who proudly introduced me to his motorbike, as for the pixies (I'm pretty sure that they're in hibernation this time of the year) - so really, it was all my fault. It was one of those things that you know you cannot possibly in a million years fail, because you're THAT sure of yourself...and then you go and fail: leaving you in awe at your own level of stupidity.

So, whilst I was both crushed and amazed that I'd managed to bomb something I thought I had definitely aced, I soon got over myself and taught myself a lesson in over-confidence: never assume you've passed before you even take the test.

A little advice for those going: it's not the end of the world - yes, you feel like a retard (not the awesome kind), but it's yet another of life's learning curves (they kinda make you dizzy, these curves don't they?).

An addition to my "Things to do Before I Die"

6) Get my license.

7) Prove that blue pixies do exist (and that they're evil).

2011 to-do-List aka Stuff to do Before 2012 aka Things to do Before I Die.

Looks like Joel's been rubbing off on me. Before, I would protest at the absurdity of the world ending in 2012 - except now that Zuma is our president, people are actually reading my blog (Hi people from Singapore!) and I'm a partial redhead - it doesn't seem so far fetched.

So I do what every other person would do before they die. Make a list of all those things that I haven't done because I figured I'd have my whole life ahead of me to do them, only to realise that in reality, I don't - and then do them.

I'm not really a preacher of "life's too short". No, life's the longest damn thing that we will ever experience! (in this world anyway, if you're a believer of the afterlife - which I am). Still, I figure we just assume it's short because we float through it in somnambulism, much like, you know when you put your head on the pillow and sleep for hours and hours and then wake up feeling as if it were just five minutes? Yeah, exactly like that. That's why people go, "Life's too short", because they open their eyes just in time to die - if they're lucky.

I don't think I'm afraid of dying, I guess I'm more afraid of what happens AFTER I die (but we'll not delve into that now).

Now, back to my list.

1) Donate Blood: I've tried three times in the past year and they've turned me down every single time - I think they're just discriminating against the awesome. I will donate blood at least once in my life, I will, I will, I WILL.

2) Help Kerlishan experience a sugar rush - I've been at it since I could first eat, how can someone go through life without it? It's like a right of passage in my world.

3) Write a Book: As far back as I can remember, I've had an affair with words, I'd like to legalise that relationship before I kick the bucket.

4) Tie the Knot: now this is only, and if ONLY 2012 IS the end of the world - coz heck, I do NOT want to die a virgin.

5) Pray for my Salvation: at every given opportunity - Lord only knows I need all the help I can get!

How many of you have a list? If you don't I suggest you get cracking, we're already reaching the end of the first month.

You better Lawyer up, Asshole.

How do you become the youngest billionaire in the world? You have to be Mark Zuckerberg.

Would I like to be Mark Zuckerberg? Quite frankly, no. I mean, I guess I envy him his brian - seriously, intelligence is definitely hot (I think that's coz it's such a rarity nowadays). But after watching 'The Social Network', I just realised that I can certainly do without the conniving, backstabbing, bitterness and avarice. There are just far more important things in life, than screwing up friendships over a few billion dollars - and yes, i do actually mean that, with every fiber of my being.

I thought it was done quite well, don't you? The dialogue was brimming with a barrage of contemptuous insights and caustic remarks; the casting was rather apt (ironic though, that Jesse Eisenberg who played Zuckerberg in this movie, also starred in 'Zombieland' where he jeered at Facebook status's in a somewhat humorously deadpan fashion) - but I think that Eisenberg nailed the part with his almost sociopathic performance (come on, you're telling me he didn't seem even the slightest bit mentally unstable? Like his neurons were transmitting faster than his brain could actually handle!) Do you think Zuckerberg is like that? Even if he wasn't, thumbs up and hats off to Jesse Eisenberg. Oh oh and for those of you who used to watch 'The Suite Life of Zack and Cody' (or still do, like me on odd occasions), and remember Brenda Song (London Tipton)... you know, the spoilt rotten little rich girl who usually stands in one place and claps like a retarded seal while vibrating (yes vibrating) on the spot like a retarded penguin (in this context the word 'retard' is NOT to be associated with the completely awesome and otherwise unrecorded -except in the Retard Dictionary- version of the word), well anyway, (back on track), if you remember her from there, you'd be quite surprised (or not) to see her actually play a very smart Harvard Groupie who does indeed (yes indeed) deign to go down on her knees for Andrew Garfield (who plays Eduardo Saverin, the CFO of Facebook AND who, just btw, is rather unexpectedly aesthetically pleasing) in a really shady toilet, for really seedy reasons (check my pun!). I'm not sure how accurate the movie is, but Zuckerberg hasn't sued them or anything for character defamation, so I'm guessing that it just about makes the cut.

I have to hand it to Zuckerberg though: what he invented is legendary in every proportion. What I wouldn't give to have a mind as elastic as that. The movie hardly captured the creativity or genius of the concept, focusing mainly on the financial fusillade that erupted over its nascency.

So yes, I would recommend that you do hurry and watch it (if you already haven't) even if it's for the sole reason of watching Justin Timberlake play the role of a calculating little (he is quite little isn't he) poriferan - That, you will definitely enjoy (especially if right deep down, you always believed he looked like one) I'm not saying that I ever did though. I'm just saying.

I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine

Sometimes the nicest thing we can do for someone, is smile at them. Everyone underestimates the value of a smile.

I know, when I'm having an honest to goodness crappy day, where I just wish that the ground would open up and swallow me in, and I walk past a random stranger...and they smile at me; they don't even have a clue as to who in kingdom-come I am, and yet, they smile at me, and invariably, I smile back - because that's the thing about a smile, it's infectious - much like laughter (or the plague: except I don't think a smile could kill you, unless there's a psycho-serial-killer who's smiling at you - in which case, I suggest you run - though how do you tell if someone's out to slit your throat by just a smile? Food for thought). Ok, but burying aside (check my pun!) morbid thoughts, really, a smile (if it's from someone completely mentally stable i.e they don't continuously plot and scheme and then execute twisted methods of inflicting pain [and other] on others), is a charity.

It really is. For some reason a smile makes people feel comfortable (notice: a smile, NOT a leer or sneer), comfortable and warm and 'fuzzy' inside. It's the handshake before the handshake, or the hug without the body contact.

That harassed sales-lady at the till; the teller at the bank; the exhausted waitress at your favourite spot; the sour-looking nurse at the hospital; the lecturer who makes hell seem like a piece of heaven - smile at them. And see what a difference it makes: sometimes, all someone needs is for somebody to be nice to them.

Don't believe me? Next time someone smiles at you, stop for a minute and wonder to yourself, 'what's that little floating bubble inside of me?' and you might just find, that like with me, a smile is a pocket of happiness.

Try it though, smile at everyone you see - and I guarantee you, you're bound to make someone's day.

Couture or Culture?

I met a girl who was quite intrigued by the fact that I was a Muslim. She began asking me numerous questions like, "Do you wear that scarf all the time?"; "Do all of you wear those big black outfits?"; "Is it true that a Muslim man can have 4 wives?". And then her last question completely bowled me out, "Tell me, is it like a right of passage or part of your culture or something that every Muslim has to own something 'Guess'?" I, at first, thought that maybe I had heard wrong or misunderstood the question, but at the puzzled expression on my face she quickly added, "I mean, every Muslim I know has at least, at the very least, ONE Guess accessory on their person at ANY given time."

"Well," I'd replied with a straight face, pretending to consider the question seriously, "not all," and then at the almost relieved look on her face, I gestured to the white handbag on my arm, "Personally, I prefer Louis Vuitton."

Her expression, needless to say, was priceless.

On a more serious note though, I began to wonder at this encounter. She was right. This Unknown Girl, had somehow summed up the culture we've cultivated. Shirts, dresses, jeans, pants, skirts, tops, underwear, socks, scarves, shoes, cloaks, handbags, wallets and watches... Couture has become a way of life.

And why is that? Why are we so hooked on brands? Why has the type of designer jeans we wear or the type of designer shoes we don't - but have at home in our racks - morphed into the way we define ourselves? We're no longer set apart solely by the religion we follow - we're now recognized by the Culture of Couture. Actually, it's safe to say that in a world that knows so many differences, Couture is the one thing that binds, yet simultaneously divides - everyones heard of them, almost everyone has to have them.

Remember the time when a person was recognised for their strength of character and not the Burberry purse tucked under their arm; when someone was judged not by their D&G shades but by their integrity? I'm not saying boycott them - we all love beautiful things - and there's nothing wrong in possessing them...I'm just wondering, when did it evolve into a Lifestyle?

Lazy Generation

Maybe it’s true what they say about our generation, maybe we just don’t breath. We walk around with our eyes closed for most of our lives. Like a scene from a bad Zombie movie.

Christina was right

So, Grey's is back for it's 7th Season, which did in fact begin with a wedding, a shrink, reversal of roles and an operation that involved sawing the whole cranial structure of a teenage boy open to kill the tumour mushrooming down his spine - romantic, psychological, political and gory. Yes, Grey's is back.

When I was little I never dreamt of the perfect white dress or Prince Charming; I never imagined flower girls and lilting music; I don't think I even fully realised that I was, in actual fact, a girl. And the day I did, I joined the ranks of those few who'd scrunch up their faces in disgust and go, "Married? Me? NEVER!" It sounded like something utterly revolting (much like cabbage or haggis). Getting me into a dress was an even bigger mission than bargaining with a Saudi Arabian shop-keeper.

And then I began to realise that being a tomboy wasn't the same as being a REAL BOY. And slowly my hair began to grow to a length longer than 10 cm and the shorts and t-shirts were exchanged for longer counterparts...even though the tree-climbing and tag and stuck in the mud and skinned knees never really ceased. But still, my slow metamorphosis into a girl never hindered my repulse for marriage. Boys, in that domain anyway, remained 'yuk'.

And even as I grew, and the opposite species lost the abhorrent air I'd constructed around them, still...I was never one to moon over colour schemes and floral decorations, or the perfect wedding in the perfect season at the perfect venue. And I can honestly tell you, I did feel sorry for them - those simple girls who painted pretty fantasy's about their fabulous walk down the isle. I'd smile and nod my head, at their animated explanations, and all the while be thinking, "surely there's more to life than all that".

The thing is, now I just envy them. Them and their fairy-tales: and their unwavering Faith that their fairy-castles do exist; and Prince Charming, or Edward Cullen, or the Prince of Persia is at this very moment battling forces just to be by their side; that their day will come when they'll ride off into the sunset. I envy them that Faith.

Christina was absolutely right, "You're either born simple or you're born...me".

Accounting for Dummies

I suppose there's nothing quite like having the person who you might potentially be in love with gush to you about the person they might potentially be in love with.

And that's why God invented friends like Tarryn. Who somehow manages to make an orange lamp work in a green room and has the gall to paint her toenails Pinus (yes, its a colour too - don't worry, the possibilities of Pinus were hereto unknown to us as well before Joel came along). So, today Tarryn is cleaning up her laptop (I haven't yet suggested to her that she might want to defragment her disk to make it easier - mainly because it's that much more fun hearing her bitch about "it froze!!! at 96%! Why do u hate me [scream]") I may be considered evil for this, but it's sort of along the same lines as you (yes, YOU), laughing at the countless number of school-going-kids you still know, "haha. school-goer" (yes, I know you've done it) - and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I might have too.

So, that's Gods way of compensation I scheme. For every one I-want-to-die-right-now(repeated) occurrence, you get two haha-I-laugh-at-you-coz-its-funny-and-Im-entitled-to-be-evil occurrences. Accounting for Dummies: it totally tallies up.

Mango Kisses

There's something about Children that makes us all turn into melted toffee. Sticky candied fingers, mud-stains and gap-tooth smiles... somehow these knee-high Angels have us all wrapped around their 2cm-long pinky fingers. 
Yes, I know, a lot of you are probably scoffing at the term 'Angels' and thinking to yourselves, "More like hallowed Devils" (and I quite agree), but you never can hold a grudge against a 2year old for throwing a tantrum (that could quite rival the devastation of Katrina) - especially when I know for a fact that each and every one of you would be rather miffed if you were stuck in a dirty diaper that nobody remembered to change in time, or were so hungry that you could chew your own toe but hadn't mastered the art of saying, "I'm hungry" as yet - and the indecipherable sounds that you made were only taken to be the nonsense babbling of a toddler. 
I bet you when a Kid smiles at you and you're busy 'awww'-ing at their cute little teeth, they're probably thinking, "Aww look, She's retarded." 
The crux of the matter is though, no matter how much they harass us or what they may or not be thinking about us: Children somehow always manage to hit our soft-spot. 
Personally, I love children - so long as they keep their upchuck away from me, and wash their tiny fingers before they touch me, and quite possibly if they could waddle towards me with new diapers on. Paper hearts and yellow stars, with all the effort of childish art; sunny smiles and bubbling laughter; that twinkle of mischief in their eyes (that you're both weary and intrigued by); the first little steps and halting words; their exclamation of wonderment at everything that surrounds them; a small hand that curls around your finger, and grips on as if you're their only life-line...
I suppose these are some of the infinite reasons why I let Aaliya - after watching her devour a mango in a truly horrific fashion: that only ended in the demise of the poor fruit, as a ragged and squashed yellow mound and her adorable fingers soaked in a viscous goo, with the bottom of her face washed in mango juice - with all of that, still I bent my head towards her and acceded to her demand of 'kissie'. And I know, despite my alarm at the messy ruin of it, nobody could have done more justice to that fruit than she. The gift of a 4year old - Sticky, preciously sweet, Mango Kisses.