What will they say of you?

Choose your words
carefully.

At 17 years old, I've seen but a sliver of what life has to offer. I could go on about what I expect from my future, from my career, my marriage and family life, or from my old age, but then I would just be fumbling in the dark. I don’t know what twists and bends await me, nor do I want to spoil those surprises for myself. Yet I have my hopes and dreams like the next person. Whether I die at a ripe old age, or at any unexpected time, I want others to say that I led an honorable life that was true to who I am. They say that in the afterlife, if there is such a thing, you leave everything behind. That’s not very much at the moment, but in the coming years, I hope it will be a good lasting impression on the people in my life. I want it to be a legacy that I will adhere to everyday. To wrap up my blog, I’m leaving you with a potential epitaph that I would like written on my tombstone (although it is rather long, so I’ll need a really big rock). This series started at birth; it seems only right to go full cycle. Every blog I’ve written has been a build up to this moment, because each one depicted a moment that contributed to who I am today, and it’s exactly that person I want to give homage to in this future final farewell.

Strong, frightening, fearless, caring.

HERE lies a man,

Grown old and weary in time,

No longer a boy who ran,

In whose spirit still blossoms the youthful vine.

He died on his feet,

Strong, fearless, frightening yet caring.

Undefeated by every foe, every fleet,

Occasionally despairing, yet always daring.

He was unafraid of the menace of the years ¹

Of how charged with punishments was his scroll; ¹

He lived his life in high gear,

It was the one thing he could control.

Break free. Transcend.

He was a defender of the weak,

For he too once lacked the strength,

To stand up for being unique,

To preserve that which he believed in, at length.

He existed to inspire,

To rally others until his last breath did expire.

Born into a world he mistrusted,

The task of spreading love and justice, he was entrusted.

His purpose was to transcend mortal limits,

To break free of the shackles that restrained his kind,

And so to surmise his life within minutes,

Is an injustice to his state of mind.

To the family he left behind,

Rise, Captain!

Both blood and bond combined,

The legacy that he most prized,

Was the simple act to LIVE TO RISE.

“Remember me”, he began,

“Know that I was my own man.

That the burdens of life are a minor toll,

When you are the captain of your own soul.” ¹

References: 

¹ "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley 

To travel is to learn

The simplest and wisest piece of advice given to me was to travel. Not just from Windsor to Toronto, but to see the world as far as it stretched. Eleven days ago, I did just that, and journeyed not only to Quito, the capital of Ecuador, but deep within the Amazon rain forest. Upon my return, I could vouch that traveling merits its own stage of life.

In my very first entry, I stated that this blog was destined with a glorious purpose: to reveal the moments of existence that have changed me and made up who I am, as well as dictating the essence of other people. I find that garnering a new perspective on life befits that role, and it is remarkably easy to accomplish. We begin in an airport, which is already a strange place; where else are strict and brooding law enforcers placed only 10 feet away from genial salesmen? Then you board a plane, and discover how men have conquered the skies

as well as the earth and the seas. Flying above the clouds, seemingly so close to the stars, makes you feel like Rulers of the Universe, until you realize you can’t even stop the kid in the front row from drowning the plane with their noisy tears.

You arrive at your destination, and find that the people are just as exotic as your novel surroundings. The people of Quito not only have a different skin color, but different beliefs and ways of life. My group met with one very singular Quichua woman who was still deeply devoted to the old ways of her people, before the Spanish invaded the region and enforced their own religion. Through her, we learned a version of history that is scarcely told, and participated in many of the traditions and ceremonies of the Quichua. Outside the sacred keep, the locals were celebrating the canonization

of Pope John Paul II.

The following day, you arrive in the Amazon rain forest, and are struck dumb by the vastness of the lush green of the trees. In contrast to this richness of nature, you meet the children and parents of impoverished communities. One such place was named Bella Vista Baja, in which our group helped build an additional wing to the overpopulated school, because the government ended funding for surrounding schools and packed those students here. You would expect the language barrier to hinder our work, yet the essence of a minga (a community coming together) is understood by all. The locals were helpful and instructive, but it was the children that taught us the most.

Small, dirty, barefoot and simple, they derived no end of joy from our presence. They welcomed complete strangers of white skin with short, open arms and trusted us with the few material possessions they had. Whenever there was spare time, we would find a group of these pure-hearted children and play a game of soccer on the muddy fields, or else hoist them onto our shoulders and run around with the sound of their laughter ringing in our ears. They would blow bubbles from some of the foamy soap we brought along, or wear our cool shades and rock them better than we ever could, or draw pictures of their families with the paper and pencils they themselves provided. They spoke Spanish, we did not, but that hardly made a difference when two good friends from different parts of the world understood what being wanted and accepted meant.

On my last day among the locals, I met a young girl named Clara, who was perfection incarnate. At only 5 years old, she smiled the widest and most genuine smile you could receive (some of her teeth were missing), so that you couldn't help but feel goose bumps. I picked her up and carried her and hoisted her above me, so that she too could have a new point-of-view on the world from on high. We sang a tune without words that sounded strangely like the music from Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. She helped me carry our building materials back to the boat that would take us back to the mainland. I had known her for less than half an hour, and already she had been a more authentic friend than some I have known for years. When finally it was time to say Adieu, I looked her in the eyes and saw an untarnished soul, a hope for humanity imprisoned by the shackles of her cruel fate. She would stay in Bella Vista, living in poverty and forced to drink dirty water and consume meager meals, waiting on a friend that she would never see again; I would return to my own life, where luxuries I had taken for granted are abundant and a lack of basic needs is unheard of. Yet that’s why I admire the people of that community, for they are strong through the bonds between family and friends, without a care for material needs; if offered the world, they would give it all away to the ones who need it more.

On the plane ride home, you no longer feel like some all-powerful champion, but puny and pathetic in the shadow of the Ecuadoreans. You couldn't even substantially improve the life of a single child, let alone control the skies. Then it hits you that you did make a difference, even if it was just for a little while and nothing more than making a new friend in an hour that you’ll remember for years to come. Small changes have a big impact. Do a good deed, and it will be paid forward. 

Be your voice

Not every aspect of my blogs
has to be taken seriously. 

This may be the most fundamentally vital blog I will ever write. If there’s one thing I want you to take away from this series, it’s the following message: don’t chew gum stuck to the bottom of your desk, it’s not free candy. Only joking, what I want you to practice doing is not letting other’s opinions shape you. You determine your own self-worth. I’m well aware that I am not the first to reiterate this, nor will I be the last, but that just makes it a testament of how important it is for each of us to implement this into our lifestyle. I know what you’re going to say; easier said than done. Yet some people are naturals at not giving a damn of other’s judgement. I’m lucky to have a group of friends with this talent, and through them I've garnered a certain confidence that was once lacking.

Achieving the state of induced ignorance doesn't happen overnight. It starts by finding people who like you for who you are. The ability to show your true colors to complete strangers, and making yourself vulnerable to their judgement, is already a test of testosterone. The payoff is finding someone who doesn't let you make a fool of yourself, alone. This may take some fine tuning, b

ut anything of value does too.

Next, you must realize that you are not your friends, regardless of how similar you are. Liking each other’s companionship doesn't mean you’re not allowed to disagree and argue. If you really want to complement each other, you have to have your own opinions that are independent or even polar opposites of your buddy’s. Just like a married couple, arguing actually makes the relationship healthier (as long as everyone agrees on the subjects that matter most).  

Be your greatest champion.

OK, so you know what your fundamental beliefs are, you possess your own opinions on various topics, and you are who you are; you have friends who like the person you’re becoming. But you’re hide isn't, yet, impenetrable. A small jibe, a quick and vicious comment may not deter you, but something big can still shake your foundations. Everyone has felt, at least once, that the whole world is against them (human beings tend to be drama queens). At the worst of times, you question yourself, and downgrade your own self-esteem. The truth is that this only happens when we listen to our own brain noise. “The root of suffering is following and listening to that brain noise, and actually identifying with it as though that’s who you are.” ¹ When it comes down to it, what others think of us matters much less than what we think of ourselves; therefore, we are our own worst critic and enemy. “But that’s just the noise your brain makes, and more often than naught, it probably doesn't have much to say that’s going to help you… The times that I felt my best, are the moments that I've been able to pull that plug … and rise above [the thought].” ¹ If we allow our beliefs to echo the voices that aren't our own, we become slaves to that which we now are, not what we were meant to be.

Finally, never mistake constructive criticism for personal judgement. The former is something we should acknowledge and build upon (even if it’s hard to hear that we aren't perfect); the latter is that brain noise we must strive to outshout. In either scenario, defend yourself, not your brain noise.  

References: 

1  An interview with Chris Evans here.

Skip to 1:25 for instant inspiration. 

The cocoon

Well, this is awkward.

So, we’ve finally reached that fork in the road that most of us have been dreading for some time now: what are our plans for the future, both short-term and long-term? In other words, which is the lesser hell we hope to pursue in order to get a career that pays the bills. I’m willing to wager that regardless of your level of enthusiasm for the path you’ve set yourself upon, you’re worried. After all, this is university/college/workforce we’re talking about here; there’s no half-assing your way through it like you did in high school. You’re looking at long, grueling hours of hard work with your brain in 6^th gear 24/6 (you need at least one day to party, A.K.A sit at home and watch television). Instead of staying up late to surf Twitter and watching “Keeping up with the Kardashians” (guilty), you’ll be pulling all nighters finishing that immunology essay you should have started a month ago. After the initial shock of your first few feeble passing grades (which frankly, you deserved), you’ll begin to pick up the slack and take this game a little more seriously.

The problem with university and school in general, is that the subject matter that is being taught tends to be useless. I mean, how many of us actually know how to balance a check book, file taxes, pay bills, and manage budgets (but I’m ever so glad I can derive a polynomial function)? Sure, some could say that’s a parent’s job, but how did your parents discover it? If the first and foremost reason we attend school is to learn, shouldn’t we be taught the most essential life skills that will actually benefit us? Every teacher reminds us that we’re young adults at this point, but put us in the real world on our own, and I guarantee the majority of us won’t even know how to use a plunger. Food for thought…

Life without technology probably sucked.

Then you start to think, maybe the point of the educational system isn’t about what you learn, but how you learn. By that, I mean the mental process that goes on in your head to solve an equation, to memorize a series of chapters for an exam, to comprehend an advanced vocabulary, or simply to deal with the avalanche of responsibilities that threatens to crush you. Maybe math isn’t about knowing how to transform an exponential function into a logarithm, but about developing problem solving skills; breaking down complex fictional characters develops your analytical abilities; reading about ancient civilizations shows you how much better life is with internet. School is a cocoon that isolates you from the realities of the world until you’re ready to face real world challenges; you might have to brave some difficult weather here and there, but ultimately you should emerge as an able-bodied and extremely tired butterfly.

"I'm ready! Promotion!"

I may not be in university yet, but I have a sister who’s in medical school. You can trust me when I say it’s only uphill from here. For all of you actually considering dropping your studies and flipping burgers, life is like a bank account, in that you only get what you put into it. As my old man puts it: “Work hard now, play even harder later”.

DISCLAIMER: “Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your grandparents had a word for flipping burgers-they called it opportunity.” –Bill Gates (1)

References:

(1) https://sites.google.com/site/math10westviewsecondary/11-things-we-don-t-teach-you

The enormous green rage monster

This is your burden to bear.

I typically tend to blog about the stages of life in a chronological fashion, but today is about an aspect of everyone’s existence that is rather recurrent and not anchored to a specific age. As I type this, I feel an inexplicable rage radiating from every pore of my body, and I almost expect to see my skin take on a greenish hue. No, I’m not hulking out, but I’m nevertheless angry. I’m not too sure where it’s coming from, since I was all smiles just a few hours ago. My diagnosis is that it stems not just from one single element, but a whole host of things happening simultaneously. Sometimes we try to forget and bury the responsibilities we face, but a single provocative thought will suffice for the resurfacing of our daily challenges despite the barriers we hide behind. It’s this fantastic chaos that unleashes the beast within and raises our temper. I find that as a senior in high school, the stress of performing well on examinations for admission to university or for a better scholarship has a certain leverage. Now, couple that with extracurricular obligations, work and personal problems, and you may begin to feel as though the weight of the world is burdening your shoulders. The anger kicks in when you’re doing your best to cope, and the universe decides to keep piling it on. This fury is pretty unhealthy and tends to be a weapon of self-destruction.

There is another kind of anger that is born from resentment, jealousy, and outright hatred. It could be that you extremely dislike a manager, co-worker, teacher, classmate, or it might not even be a single individual. You may be infuriated by the ineptitudes of your phone, your internet provider, your insurance company, the infrastructure of your government, the international justice system, or world issues that need to be addresses but haven’t been (that escalated quickly). In a few days I will be travelling to Ecuador, where I will spend 10 days living among under-privileged citizens of the country. Already I have educated myself on the difficulties

Righteous anger breaks barriers.

those people face daily, challenges we in first-world countries ignore as they have been overcome. The things we take for granted, like a plastic water bottle spilling over the floor, has significance to the Ecuadorians that we will never appreciate. When my blood boils because of this injustice, that passionate rage gives me the strength and the resilience to take on every obstacle that clutters my path, and then some. I've discussed enzymes that catalyze change, and so far, I've never encountered one as effective as righteous anger. It transforms you and everything around you so well because it enables you to do what you know, deep down, is right.

As each of us knows, it doesn't often take much to make us mad; a single spark tends to work us up. That anger can make us violent and destructive, or dedicated and productive. Everything is dependent upon the outlet through which we express ourselves. Ra’s al Ghul from the 2005 movie Batman Begins had many quotable statements, but none as illuminating as this: "Your anger gives you great power. But if you let it, it will destroy you".1 If we learn to control our anger instead of it being the other way around; if we do not let it get the better of us, we will be a step closer to becoming the greatest version of ourselves.

__________________________________________________________________

References: 

1 Quote from Batman Begins

The "highoschoolius" enzyme

So we’re officially halfway through my version of the Stages of Life. If this were a television series, you could call it the mid-season finale. We've covered the rudimentary phases of youth, from pre-birth to post-pubescent. This blog marks the final step of the teenage years, eventually transitioning into the life of the young adult. This period in time is not for the faint of heart, and it certainly is the most fundamental catalyzing agent to convert the standard Grade 8 Friday night mall-rat, into the socially isolated Netflix-watching couch potato. This quick-to-slow acting enzyme is known by its Greek name: highoschoolius, although today we just call it high school.

The first truth a fresh-off-the-bus ninth grader discovers on his first day of high school is that the experience is nothing like how the movies portray it. There isn't as much glory to be had. There aren't that many wild fights and crazy occurrences that happen on a day-to-day basis. Mostly it’s individuals shuffling from classroom to locker, to classroom again. Things start to get a little heated when someone stops in the middle of the hallway and gets yelled at for blocking the flow of traffic. High school is really just a giant mass of bodies existing within the confines of an edifice intended to keep kids off the rough streets. The closest thing to resemble it is prison, but one that allows you to go home after the hours of operation. (Disclaimer: Don’t envision high school to be the set of “Mean Girls”, you’ll just be disappointed to find out Rachel McAdams isn't there).

Not based off a true story.

Now let’s take a closer look. The first few weeks of your first year are those you spend hanging out with the classmates that came from your elementary school. You’re too shy to branch out and socialize outside of the classroom setting; I know I was. And then there’s always that one kid who has just enough testosterone to man up and test the waters. The baby bird leaves the nest and makes friends with other students. A few others are brave enough to follow in his footsteps and make new friends too, but most stick together and fear change. Another lesson to be learned here: high school splits the group into leaders and followers. As the year progresses, you begin to get to form opinions on everyone, even if you've hardly even shared more than a few words with most of the students. “That one guy is hot; I want to start dating him and tell him I love him the day we start going out”.” She’s really athletic, probably a Tomboy who has more guy friends than girl friends; she’s definitely a flirt.” “Wow, who knew stupid was contagious”. You’re still a reserved person, but you’re beginning to get out of your shell and pass judgement on people you hardly know (of course, you keep it to yourself). Yet you look up to the seniors with admiration and envy; they are the definition of cool and popular. The highest prestige you can achieve in this god-forsaken place is to enter your final year and earn the badge of awesome.

It's just me, myself and I.

The second year of high school begins. A long summer has separated you from your friends, and instead of a warm welcome, you get the cold shoulder and the fake kindness. In the eyes of your former colleagues, you’re a stepping stone to finding better friends. Moral of the story: you can’t trust anyone. Now you’re left to walk the long path of loneliness and solitude (FYI, it’s a synonym for the “journey of self-discovery”). You begin to mingle with people you judged a little too quickly and harshly the previous year. You spend more time focusing on your studies, since it is a school of learning after all. Finally, you try out for a school sports team, or club, or group, and discover something you can accomplish decently. Better yet, you get to know people who share common interests. “Dude, did we just become best friends?” ¹

Who will you become?

Grade 11 is an improvement over the previous year; this time you have reliable friends, you have something you’re good at, and you feel generally more comfortable in your own skin. The kid you were in grade 9 is becoming a faded memory, but there is still a shadow of your former self that remains. You continue to branch out; you put the effort to do well in classes instead of just getting by on a passing grade; you might even try to get involved in external organisations to fulfill those 40 hours of community service. At this point, you're beginning to establish which elements of your life to which you want to be associated. Which field of study will you begin to pursue? What are your daily habits? What is the source of your drive? What do you fear? Will you have the courage to overcome your angst? How do you treat others? What are your views on important world issues? Who are you shaping up to be?          

When life deals you a harsh hand.

Your final year of high school, and really the remainder of your existence, is dedicated to answering those questions. Getting to know yourself and the functioning of your inner mechanisms tends to isolate you from your classmates, since self-enlightenment must come from within. Your group of trusted friends is reduced to a limited few, and things that once mattered become irrelevant. Anything superfluous is cut from your life. This time period tends to be morose and difficult to manage, what with vast piles of assignments, scholarship applications, university offers, community volunteering, work and family. The stress of it all makes you want to curl up in bed and sleep until all your problems go away. It turns out senior year isn't as wonderful as you thought back in your first year of high school. Here lies the final and most vital test to which you will be subjected: will you submit to the challenges of the world and choose the easy route, or will you step up to the occasion and make do with the hand you've been dealt to finish the game strong? It’s a daily decision we all contemplate, one that I struggle with more than most. The high school experience I described is for the most part my own, and may not apply to everyone. Yet, if there is one thing we seniors have taken away from the last 4 years, it’s that when we do what is right, good things tend to happen in the long run. Your future suffers when you don’t work hard in the now. I’d like to leave you all with a quote that inspires me to just keep moving forward even when times are tough. “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift …, which is why we call it the present”. ²

References:

¹ Quote from Step Brothers

² Quote from Bil Keane

The Stirrings

"I don't think it's going to fit!"

The “Awkward Stage”, or “The Stirrings” ¹, is that not-so-fond period of our uphill trek through time. Our parents refer to it as the moment we begin to discover ourselves and uncover the temple of our bodies. Let’s not kid ourselves here (our lives are already so full of deceit – in this blog I will not stand for any falsehoods). Puberty is that one weird kid that joins your well-established social circle and tries to fit in – we've all been in both scenarios. In the terms of a shape sorter, they’re a triangle stubbornly trying to squeeze into the slot designated for the apeirogon (a polygon with an infinite number of sides, in case you were wondering) ². Life is the toddler that keeps jamming in the shape when it’s clear to anyone with an IQ above 20 (I think any lower would mean you’re not human) that it’s just not meant to be. But what do you know, the triangle gets stuck and it won’t be budging anytime soon. You’re in for a treat now, friend.

No hair, no problem.

          

          In my case, the journey through Hell began when I started to grow hair under my armpits at a time when everyone else was as smooth as a naked mole rat. Eventually, the hair spread to my legs, my arms, my face, my chest… you get the idea. My voice dropped like Justin Bieber climbing the ladder to reach puberty (sorry, couldn't help myself). All of a sudden I was being mistaken for my dad instead of my mother over the phone. When my voice wasn't cracking, my bones surely were under the pressure of the sudden growth spurt that stretched me to 6 feet in height. Strange sensations, dreams and thoughts pervaded my innocent conscience. I started to sweat more than usual, yet my general state of cleanliness and upkeep took a turn for the worst. The stupidest things made me laugh, and important world issues took a backseat to the 25 kill streak I just achieved in Call of Duty. I literally became the definition of lame, awkward, gross and immature. Raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by puberty (if you are reading this as a girl, I’m sure the symptoms I described are transferable).

          

         At this point of the process, I'm fairly certain the peak of the nightmare is behind me, and there are only a few bumpy hills ahead. I wonder in retrospect why it was worth it: the embarrassment, the ugliness, the struggle of fitting in when the odds were never in your favor. Certainly there is a scientific explanation: that your hormones begin to produce testosterone or estrogen and transform you from boy to man, girl to woman ³. If this was the sheer purpose of puberty, couldn't it be less of an ordeal and more of a smoother procedure? No, I believe there is a greater motif lurking in the shadows. Teenagers are meant to suffer the brutality of change in the same way a puny army recruit undergoes training camp to emerge as a hardened and veteran Navy Seal. I’m not promising you that at the end of the operation you’ll be a beautiful white swan. But just like in war, there are some things you leave on the battlefield, and others you carry back with you in your backpack. There are those whose arrogance and bullying will encounter opposing teasing and intimidation; they will acquire humility. Others may have developed an impenetrable iron hide from the insults thrown their way. Some will have gained insight of those elements in life they should be prioritizing. Yet, there will always be those teenagers that come out far worse than they began, whether it is a fragile sense of self worth, an ingrained hatred of society, or self-destructive habits.

Who will you become?

These examples are few and vague, and you yourself may sometimes feel small and uncertain. Nonetheless, the point of puberty is to learn something from the struggle and carry it with you always, but more importantly to discover what kind of person into which Life will mould you. What will the contents of your pack reveal about who you have become?

           

References:

¹ Lois Lowry, The Giver

² Apeirogon http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apeirogon

³ About puberty http://kidshealth.org/kid/grow/body_stuff/puberty.html#

Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning (1)

"Oh, decisions, decisions!"

Starting a blog entry is not easy. I’ll spend up to an hour staring at the blank screen, playing a mental game of Scrabble with tiles that belong in a Clue board, struggling to find the letters, let alone the words, to string together my thoughts coherently. I obviously have too much time on my hands, and a few too many board games too. How many exactly? Roughly around twenty-two, and I know that figure because I recently made an excursion to the shabby dark room where all the boxes are stored, and counted them all. Some were pristine and hardly touched (those were the ones with instructions too complex to maintain the attention of an agitated 6 year old boy), while others were so worn you could have sworn they dated back to when cavemen rode dinosaurs! Wait a minute…

          Seeing all those old dice, imaginary money, colorful playing boards and minuscule figurines brought back a feeling of nostalgia to the time of my childhood, to which everyone can hopefully relate. Seeing as I had nothing better to do than finish my mountain of English assignments, I decided to play a game of Monopoly Disney Edition against myself. For myself, I picked the statue of Peter Pan as my ambassador, and my opponent contended himself with Pinocchio (that way I knew he wouldn't be able to cheat without giving himself away).

"All children, except one, grow up."
      -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

I started the game by rolling a 4. Incidentally, that’s how old I was when my parents bought the game. I remember vaguely coming home after having attempted (I use this word lightly) to ride my bike for the first time without training wheels. The result was a badly scratched boy in tears, halfway through a temper tantrum, enraged and stumped by failure. After all, the lack of two extra wheels couldn't make THAT much of a difference?

Pulling myself back to the present, I made Peter advance to his designated tile, landing squarely on “Scrooge McDuck’s tax – Pay 10% or 200$”. Two hundred dollars of my hard earned money?! Then I recalled, of course, that 200$ here was very little. Two dollars in the real world used to be a vast sum in my youthful eyes. You could buy two things at the dollar store (13% tax means very little to children)! The first time my dad gave me money of my own, he told me to save it and let it build up for something that I really desired. So naturally I spent it on the first shop item I spotted. The next day, I saw a homeless man on the streets and realized how much value 2$ had to him, and how I had spent mine so frivolously.

Hold on tight.

My opponent rolled and supposedly got a 13, except we were playing with two 6-sided die, so I called him out on the fib. My sister had a knack for knowing when I wasn't

being squeaky clean about something, and I often paid a heavy price when my parents caught wind of my dishonesty. It resulted in their lack of trust, something which I had come to rely upon and which had meant a good deal to me. Mutual confidence binds people closer together and there’s a certain comfort in knowing you can depend on others and that you yourself can be relied upon.

His Pinocchio piece moves to a “Magic Moments” square and he picks up a card that reads “You tell a lie to the Blue Fairy – Pay 20$ and go to jail”; justice. It’s my turn again, and this time Mr. Pan flies to a “Show Time” tile, and I draw a card. Something in my memory shifts, and in my mind’s eye I recall drawing this very card as a child, though admittedly I was unable to understand it. This time, the meaning is clear: “If you are playing as Peter Pan, Tinker Bell sprinkles you with her magic, unlocks the child within and sets you free – Return to Go and recollect your memories”.

Fairy dust only helps those that believe.

I realized then and there, that despite the hairiness of my body, the deepness of my voice, my self-instilled delusions of adulthood, and generally high testosterone levels, I’m nothing but a slightly older Peter Pan who’s just remembered how to fly again.

I challenge you to steal a few minutes of your oh-so-busy-day to take a glance at the games, the toys or the artifacts of your time as a kid, and relive the memories associated to each of them. Who knows, you might just manage to find Dumbo’s magic feather and take to the air.

Timing or Refining?

Today’s blog materialized itself much faster than I would have expected, because the words that need to be written are too impatient to wait an entire week. It’s funny how some things take forever to come to fruition, while others are just bursting to come before their time. We as people are no different, and babies, for that matter, are infamous for their tendencies to not appear at the proper time.

"What's the most important aspect
of comedy? T I M I N G !"

A man whom I consider as my surrogate grandfather once told me that the perfect wine is the one given just the proper amount of time to ferment. “The sublime nectar”, he would call it, is incapable of lying; regardless if picked prematurely or aged for too long, “the wine will always whisper into your mouth with complete, unabashed honesty every time you take a sip"1.

      

        What he meant was wine tastes terrible if the timing is wrong, just as unpleasant as a bad joke. To him, the same rules apply to newborn children (somehow he never had any kids of his own). They are either premature and therefore immature, or stubbornly late and without any regard for timeliness.

           

       I disagreed with him, for the same reason I disagree with Louis C.K.² He’s no child development specialist, but rather a vulgar yet witty comedian who believes that how you treat a child in the early developmental stages is irrelevant, since they won’t remember a single unpleasant memory of that time period. My belief, echoed by many scientific theories, is that who we are has little to do with when we’re born. In truth, our genetic code allotted to us by our parents had a certain hand in it, but we’re also partially reliant upon the conditions in which we are formed and raised³. The old, never-ending argument of nature vs. nurture is indeed relevant; though your looks are determined by your DNA, the type of person you become is a variable prejudiced by the factors of your upbringing.

       

"Mom, can you read me this book?
Again?!"

The idea is that if you raise two children from the same parentage but with different methods, they can turn out quite different. As the youngest child, my parents employed many techniques they learned after raising my sister. While I was still a fetus, my mother would rub her stomach and gently hum polish lullabies. Other times, she would speak a few words to me of love and care, and though I could not hear them (the inner ear is only fully developed by the time the mother is 20 weeks pregnant ⁴), the general tone of her voice may have left an impression. When I was a young child of three or four, my father would read me stories from Dr. Seuss, or folkloric tales from his motherland, and I would often enjoy those bouts when he would play the part of bard, not so much for the plot line, but rather the simple act of reciting. As a result, I am more of a gregarious person than my sister, who always preferred to read stories independently and focus on the content of the account; she is somewhat more reserved than I, though admittedly more intelligent.
  

       

Can you spot the problem?

       Right around this point, if not before, you may be asking yourself why I bothered to write any of this at all (I know I have). What does this have to do with those fundamental Life Stages that shape us into the man or woman we strive towards? Well, it all comes down to what that vile comedian I spoke of earlier had to say. The type of person you become is dependent on the manner in which you were raised. If the foundations are sordid, so too will be the overall structure.

       I will always defend the axiom that who you are is largely up to your discretion, but the manner in which you perceive yourself is instilled by others, and once fermented, you had better hope the timing is right.

Life’s a snapshot of moments

Some say Life and Death are the great equalizers, because everyone who has ever existed had to have been born, and death will come for them as surely as the Sun will rise and the snow will fall.

Carl Sagan said it best: “ […] every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, […] hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived [and died] there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” ¹

Life goes on.
Make sure you're on board for the ride.

It is without question that every second that ticks by is our personal clock running out of time, and the majority of those seconds agglomerate into minutes, then hours, followed by days, weeks and finally years, that are wiped clean from the dark recesses of our memories. The fraction of our existence that we manage to remember is a feeble sliver of the entire masterpiece.

The moments that we recall can be powerful and leave a lasting impression on our lives, the death of a family member or acceptance into medical school after years of painstaking hard labor, for instance. Others seem so insignificant and feeble we wonder how they managed to cling to our recollections at all: our first crush, a Hot Wheels car we traded for a Han Solo Lego character, an unexceptional park bench covered in morning dew, the day it snowed 6 inches of snow and we had to shovel it all with nothing but the companionship of our superman of a father.

Life’s this game of connect the dots; each circle is one of those precious snapshots that we hang onto ever so dearly, while the lines that connect them are the unremarkable instances that our over saturated craniums decide are unworthy of reminiscence. My grandmother has a scrapbook of pictures of those moments in life she deigned worthy of immortalizing, and upon perusing this vast treasure-trove, I saw they were strewed with her collections of stones, the animals she had owned, the students she taught, the school she helped build, her honeymoon, but mostly her family, past and present. That’s when the realisation struck me like a lightning bolt (shockingly, that’s no metaphor): our lives are the sum of our memories.

Tune in next week for those stages of my life, and humanity’s existence in general I deign the most noteworthy, and that make up the person I am today as well as the one I hope to become.