Assorted Notes

TUESDAY, 28 MAY 2013

Why do I write?

To serve a cause?

To try to win an argument?

To make a contribution?

I write, to a large extent, to say one thing: I was here.

WEDNESDAY, 3 JULY 2013

“What am I doing?” I ask myself.

Would the guy in prison ask himself this question? If so, what would he answer? Would he answer, “Nothing, I’m in prison”?

Should the family man ask himself the question, he would surely answer, “I take care of my family.”

Is that enough? Is that good enough?

Ask the pastor or church minister or missionary, and they would answer, “I am doing God’s will.”

Easy. Shift the responsibility to God. “I’m just doing what I’m told.”

If the soldier asked himself the question, his answer would be similar to the religious person’s: a pre-formulated answer will be recited. With conviction.

Would the poor man or woman in the squatter camp say they are trying their best to get back on their feet again?

If the mother of two children in a war-torn area asked herself the question, it would certainly be quite reasonable if she answered: “At this point I do what I need to do to keep myself and my children safe and alive.”

What would she say if the guns fell silent?

How would the couple respond who returns to the ruins of their home after two years in a refugee camp?

What would the heroin addict say?

What would the alcoholic say when he has his first drink of the day, shortly after breakfast?

How would the unscrupulous businessman answer? Would he dismissively reply that he makes as much money as he can, as if you should have been able to guess the answer?

Would he really be satisfied with that? If he is reasonably intelligent, and if he thinks about things every now and then, and you sit for an hour with him at a coffee shop or lounge bar, what would his more comprehensive answer be?

What would the entrepreneur with a social conscience say?

How would the young politician answer who has not sold his soul yet?

How does the author, the artist, the actor, the playwright, the comedian answer?

If everyone has to dodge bullets or shrapnel, or if they wake up at night from hunger pains or cold or the call of a hungry loved one, everyone just reacts. If anyone in the area wants to take a moment to ask a philosophical question, he or she will probably be pushed aside. If you simply react every moment you are awake, the answer to what you are doing is obvious.

But what happens when you are not in immediate danger, and you have options to choose from before you act? What do you do then? And why that choice or action?

THURSDAY, 4 JULY 2013

I look at the work I have to do, for my personal writings as well as for my commercial projects.

My rational brain says: I have to do it; otherwise nothing will come of all the work I have already done.

My emotional brain says: For every R100 I am going to put in in terms of time and effort, I will get back between five cents and R1. (“But I guess I have to do it; otherwise nothing will come of the work I have already done.”)

FRIDAY, 5 JULY 2013

What does a cat do?

The cat did not ask to be born. The cat had no choice about its species or gender, or about the time, place or condition of its birth.

And yet, there it is.

What does the cat do with its daily existence? It tries to get through the day and night with as little tension as possible.

That’s the only thing that makes sense to it.

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THURSDAY, 6 JUNE 2013

I had a wonderful morning. First I had my breakfast – oatmeal with All Bran Flakes, sprinkles of pecan nuts, and a few raisins, and then I finished a cup of coffee that my brother-in-law had brewed – so strong that a drop the dog had licked from the floor almost gave her a heart-attack.

Then I took a hot bath – the first in years (I usually shower). After the bath I shaved, brushed my teeth, and made myself a cup of green tea.

Sipping my Taiwanese tea, I went outside to sit in the sun – nice warm June sun, African sun, winter sun. After making notes for an essay about annoying people, I read for about half an hour.

Putting aside the book, I put my earphones on my head, kicked out my flip-flops and pressed “Play” on my music player. And then, for the second half of 1982 and almost all of 1983, I kicked a soccer ball across the lawn, from one side to the other, and back again.

Who says only a child can enjoy the things of a child?

______________________

THURSDAY, 6 JUNE 2013

Yesterday, I was “that person” on the Gautrain: the one on the platform at the airport who does not wait until all the passengers have disembarked before he enters the train with his huge pieces of luggage.

It’s not that I am rude as a rule. It is just the moment when the train came to a halt and the first few people had disembarked, I went into Kaohsiung MRT mode: when the outbound traffic start thinning out, you take a gap.

The moment I stepped into the train, I realised that the airport is the last stop: everyone had to disembark before the next group of passengers could enter.

It was inevitable that someone, red in the face from exasperation, would stop in his tracks to lecture me. “Wait for everyone to get off!” the man yelled at me. “The train isn’t going anywhere! You’ll all get a chance!”

My “whatever” response was unconvincing. I knew that I had committed an error of behaviour that made me that person who annoys everyone else on a train, especially one like the Gautrain when it makes its last stop at a busy station like the airport. I was the person for whom I myself have clicked my tongue and have given a dirty look.

The thought then popped into my head that in the opinion of the guy with the red face I am certainly a one-dimensional character. I am “The Jerk Who Does Not Wait”. If he really had to think about it, he would probably have acknowledged thinking of me as someone who spends his days annoying people. Or that I walk around the airport all day waiting for the train to arrive so that I can inflame the emotions of men with red faces even more by blocking their exit with my huge luggage. Either that, or I evaporate like condensation the moment I have performed my regular rude act.

At Sandton Station, I waited for a few people to disembark before getting off. Because I had to catch another train to Rosebank, I had one more chance to show that I knew how to enter a train like a civilised person.

When the train arrived a few minutes later at a different platform, I hung back. The train doors opened … but before a single passenger had a chance to get out, a young woman stormed the open door.

“How rude,” I muttered. And as my cheeks flamed up with indignation, I wondered how long it would take for the woman to evaporate.

______________________

WEDNESDAY, 22 MAY 2013

It is indeed intimidating to stand in front of the majestic edifice that is the Christian religion, to clear your throat and to declare that this religion is, in your humble opinion, the handiwork of humans, developed and refined over more than two thousand years by thousands of thinkers and theologians, priests and popes, monks and pastors, and by regular believers.

It is also very difficult when your own parents believe the Christian religion to hold the universal truth of the One and Only God Almighty. It is difficult if you have come to believe the exact opposite, but you do not want to upset your parents. What makes it an especially sensitive subject is that they find great solace and comfort in this system of beliefs.

THURSDAY, 23 MAY 2013

An important question to ask regarding the Christian religion is this: Why did Jesus have to die?

The answer you get will mostly be about a blood payment culture prevalent in the Middle East two to three thousand years ago.

What will usually not make much of an impression is if you point out that it is somewhat strange that a god that is supposed to be universal, who according to church doctrines had existed for billions of years before any human being came up with the first sparkle of culture, custom or civilisation, would allow his own son – according to some theological viewpoints, himself – to be tortured and murdered, because a custom prevalent at a particular time and place dictated so.

If too few confessing believers ask such questions, it may be because questions of this kind are actively discouraged. Religious people are often reminded of the painful and everlasting punishment that will befall them if they fail to believe in the right way – that they will certainly not escape the “wrath of God” if they ask questions that insult him.

Another question that will not be appreciated: Where does culture of particular time and place end, and where begins what is supposed to be timeless truth?

______________________

TUESDAY, 21 MAY 2013

Situation one:

Imagine a crime scene. A detective arrives, flashes a light here and there, and pulls a booklet from his jacket’s inner pocket. He reads for a few minutes then declares that it is logical that “the man” did it – according to the book he tightly clutches in his one hand.

“The man?” a few bystanders inquire.

“Yes,” replies the detective. “Don’t act like you don’t understand. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Shortly afterwards, he leaves.

Subsequently a second detective arrives at the scene. He also flashes his light in a few places, but he also lifts fingerprints, he takes dozens of pictures, seals items in plastic bags, and he talks to several potential witnesses.

After a few days someone asks him who he thinks perpetrated the crime. “I don’t know yet,” the second detective answers. “I’m still seeing where the clues take me.”

Situation two:

A man goes to a doctor. He explains that his heart is no longer working as well as it should, that it sometimes flutters a bit, and so on.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asks the doctor.

The doctor leans over, looks in the general direction of the man’s chest, and pulls out a book from his drawer. The sick guy notices that it is a very old book.

“It’s logical,” the doctor announces. “You’re not keeping time with the seasons.” Then he informs his assistant that he is ready for the next patient.

The next day the sick guy goes to another doctor. The doctor asks him questions – what he eats, if he smokes, whether he gets any exercise, and whether he has a stressful job. The man is weighed, his blood pressure is taken, and the nurse draws blood for some tests. Then the doctor asks him to take his shirt off. He knocks here, listens there.

At the end of the consultation, the doctor informs the man that he should return in a few days. He will then be able to tell him what the tests results are.

———–

Which detective will you trust – the one who follows the clues with an open mind to see where they lead him, or the one who looks at a few things and interprets them in a way that corresponds to what his book says? Which doctor are you going to trust?

Like any reasonable person, most religious people will also prefer the detective who looks at where the clues take him, and insist on the doctor who considers various possibilities and does tests and asks questions before concluding that the cause of the problem is likely X, Y or Z.

What surprises me, though, is that when it comes to questions about the origin of the universe and life on earth, many people refer to religious mythology and dismiss all doubts and speculations as disrespectful and offensive and demand that such behaviour immediately cease.

“Put away your so-called science books,” these people will say. “We already know what the truth is.”

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