When We Shuffle Off

A small piece of toast, side of apple butter and a cup of peach tea are my only breakfast companion this chilly winter New York morning. Looking outside the café window I see life in motion. Hello January! A brand new year is here! Some say it's our last. Others believe life will continue undisturbed.“Will there be anything else?” the waitress asks, inviting me to spiral further down the rabbit hole. I shake my head 'no' to other breakfast food, but will there, be, anything else?

My dad used to say: As many languages you speak, that many times you are a person. I am proud of my multilingual existence. Every few years I take on a new tongue. However, with the possibility of multiple dimensions, parallel worlds and reincarnation, that ‘existence’ infinitely multiplies! When Max Plank first kicked the idea of the string theory in motion, was he in pursuit of existential answers? Did Einstein ever waste his time thinking about death? Albie didn’t believe in wasting time. Einstein owned four identical suits to avoid time wasted thinking about what to wear each day. I wonder if Stephen Hawking thinks about life after death or if Michio Kaku believes in afterlife? Do any these brainiacs believe in God? Who among us hasn’t asked THE question at least once? French post-impressionist Gauguin went as far as painting his concerns in oil. Were do we come from? Who are we? What happens when we die?

The greatest poet of our time was also a phenomenal philosopher. In Hamlet’s famous soliloquy Shakespeare begins with: To be, or not to be. The bard questions life. Are we better off facing destiny, taking whatever cards we’re dealt or should we have courage enough to take matters into our own hands, thereby, calling it quits. Should we bid adieu to life? Should we rid ourselves of pain once and for all? For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come? Shakespeare asks. What happens when the soul separates from body? What are the mysterious twenty one grams that escape us when we finally 'shuffle off'? After all, tea spilling out from a broken cup is still tea, even soaked into a napkin, therefore, is the body nothing more than a shell? If this be true, who are we then? Are we the body or the mind?

What happened to the dead souls long before our time? Are they here? Are they above us? Beside us? Bellow? Are they watching over us? Are they the stars that come out every night? Is that where we come from? Is that where we go? Perhaps, we are stardust. 'There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life!' We must be cowards. IWhy do we live so long? We wait until our bodies give out; until we have no choice, but to pass. We would rather suffer inside our mortal shells afraid of the unknown, then embrace what comes! In the realm of the unknown, where we don't need a body, we do not suffer. Is suffering is the only way we know we’re alive? What if it is the only way we are aware of our existence?

I take the last sip of what is now a very cold and bitter cup of tea, hearing laughter inside my head. It is the proverbial tree in the forest laughing. We are all trees. Is it not true that without our senses we would not know of one another? If we couldn't see, taste, feel, hear or smell would we exist? Can it be concluded none of this is real? Can it be said that life is an illusion? What if life is a vibration of sounds, colors and impulses perceived by our brains? We only about 3%.

I think, therefore I am.

Clearly, without my body I can still hear my thoughts. I don't need ears to hear my thoughts. Why is it that I ignore my inside voice so often? Shouldn't I trust it? I am certain it knows me better than I know myself, but who am I? Am I that voice? Time is one. I believe all time is one. There is no before or after. There is only now. As cowards 'we grunt and sweat under this weary life' and rather than facing eternal void, we yearn to remain sleeping. I'm ashamed of this weakness.

Inside me, the voice says: "Follow the white rabbit, Neo!" I know it is the fear of the unknown holding me back. The 'undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns' It seems to be a scary place. To believe in heaven, one must believe in hell. If you want to believe there is good, you must believe in bad. Therefore, if there is a hell, we better take our sweet time getting there. (Just in case we're headed there...) Naturally, we are logical creatures. As George Bernard Shaw explains in Man and Superman, we are born greedy. We do what we can to survive and to protect ourselves. We do this out of fear. In history, the bravest living creatures faced their worst fears driven by love and passion in their hearts. Perhaps, that is the lesson we must learn. We are alive to overcome fear and to discover love.

Victor Frankel’s Man’s Search for a Meaning, work of Hobbs, Kafka, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Shaw, Camus... philosophers whose books I read many moons ago, lead me to conclude that life is reason. It is the series of choices we make. It's school with non stop exams. We face that which we are afraid of over and over until we find love. Love is the greatest strength of all.

If humanity sprung from a few microbes, then, when we die, the show is over . There is nothing after death, but is this a pleasant thought? I suppose that kind of thinking makes everything easier. Does it make any sense? If there is nothing after death, why bother learning, experiencing, understanding at life at all? The truth is that if we had only one choice to make in life there's a reason for all this - life.

If we allow ourselves to believe in God and take part in the mass delusion embraced by all religions life and the possibility of afterlife gain definition. Therefore, the choices we make in life give meaning to our lives and by extension, define afterlife. If there is no life after death, life has no meaning. It is as easy as 1, 2, 3. None of us are quick to embrace God or religion, especially not in the modern world. Unless God is beaten into our brains from birth by our religious parents, religion makes very little sense to most of us. When we give meaning to our lives by choosing to believe in something we are eternal. Shall I call myself an optimist? My tea may be stone cold and bitter now, but my cup remains half full. Life is sweet.

The Fog

I spend my free time reading or writing, but ten years ago, I was out clubbing almost every night of the week. Hours of dancing were followed up with a slice of delicious pizza at Boston Kenmore Sq Pizza pad or quick kebab wrap from a street vendor at the back of Fenway Park. One Friday, I said no to pizza. I just wanted to get home, curl up in my bed and get some much needed sleep.

Driving down crowded Lansdowne street, where sweaty tired people enveloped my car like a herd of wild bull. I made my way toward the interstate taking me home to the south side of Beantown.

It was almost three in the morning, but to my surprise, I wasn’t tired. I was not inebriated. I may have been a little hungry, but it was a beautiful summer night and I rather enjoyed the ride home. The air was clear and the sky still dark enough for stars, though I noticed not many were out. I was singing along to Cocteau Twins, mumbling strange words in true karaoke with my window rolled down all the way. The warm summer breeze seeping in was an absolute dream. I wasn't dreaming. I was fully awake, though what happened next was unexplainable.

t remember thinking the highway is exceptionally busy around me. I was driving 60 mph about to go under an overpass, when a gray van full of rowdy boys came hurling out of nowhere. I almost ran my car into a wall reacting in a millisecond when they got too close to me. I turned the steering wheel too far over to the right, fast and very forcefully, trying to avoid a collision with the van, only to realize there was no breakdown lane to my right. All I saw was a stone wall.

Somehow, I never hit that wall. Instead, I made a 360 degree turn. I remember bricks, then, I suddenly found myself center lane, at a complete stop. How did my car stop? How did I get to the center lane? How was I still alive? If I passed out, which I must have, is it possible I made that 360 degree turn myself? My gut feeling kept saying NO

At that moment, an image of my grandmother’s sweet smiling face came to mind, then faded away. Next, I remembered the van, then all the cars that were on the road at my side, behind me, a head of me…and I panicked. I kept thinking: "I have to get out of here! I'm going to get hit!"

I turned the engine on convinced I must rush forward immediately, before someone hits me from behind, but the car was too slow for my liking. I took my foot off the break, looked into the rear view mirror - shocked. As if a giant invisible arm brushed all the vehicles far behind me over a hundred feet! They were all too far away! In fact, there was a foggy film of air between us. Where did the fog come from? It was such a beautiful summer night! I remember that clearly.

A chill came over me. I understood what happened, though, none of it made sense. I stepped on the gas pedal, slowly moving forward 20, 30, then 40 mph, all the while feeling eyes on me. By this time, the vehicles which were mysteriously moved far behind me have caught up. The strangest thing was that I soon realized I’ve seen them all before. The vehicles passing me by were the same vehicles I had passed by earlier that night. I wasn’t tired at all. I wasn't drunk. I was fully awake. This was no illusion. How could this be? Again, I began talking to myself: "I didn’t have a drop of alcohol in me. I wasn’t sick, I didn’t hurt my head. Is this the Twilight Zone? The vehicles were the same color, carrying the same people inside. I've seen them all before!

Like any sane person would do, I told myself what I’m thinking isn’t true. I said it out loud several times until I was almost convinced nothing happened. Sorting my thoughts, I spiraled through emotions. Tears filled my eyes thinking of my grandmother. Perhaps, it happened? Did she save me? I felt uneasy, swallowing hard, wiping away my tears. I couldn't stop. Ready to ball my eyes out, I pulled over to the breakdown lane where I broke all down.

My head turned to look out my open window, warm summer breeze smack in my face and the biggest shock of all. The gray van with the rowdy boys swished past me as if for the very first time! They were hanging out the windows, shouting the same lame drunken frat boy come ons as before: “Whohoa, baby! How ya doing tonight?” I froze in place. I got my answer. It happened. It really happened! I smelled the summer breeze, I heard the boys shouting, I saw the accident take place, I felt my grandmother all around me and I tasted my own tears. I can’t deny it. It was real. My senses told me it all happened. It’s like the proverbial tree. If no one hears it, did it fall? I knew it had. It fell. It happened.

If that is possible. Anything is possible! This is all we are. Our senses. If I had no senses I could dismiss all that happened. It would be easy. It would be easier than believing there is a while other world out there. A world we know nothing about. A world we lost touch with. However, I saw, I heard, I felt, I tasted my own salty tears that night and it proved everything to me. Everything I needed to know about life.

Life is a roller coaster ride. It goes up and down, winding every which way, slow at times, then fast, but knowing we all get off one day, it's important we keep going and that we enjoy the ride. We must make the best of life. We must learn to love and overcome fear. Since we all get off the ride someday, there should be no fear. Let's life fearlessly. Let's wipe away our tears and embrace the unusual!

It happened. It was a very scary realization, but in a way, it was incredible. Albert Einstein once said:
“I think therefore I am” I get it now. It's all about what I think. I have to be positive. I have to have hope. I felt like something 'out there' didn't want me to die. Maybe, I am meant for something great, something I have yet to achieve. Still, I wonder, who’s watching?

Are you a Heather or Veronica?

1988 film Heathers painted a pretty clear image of bullies, but that was before the internet and social media running our lives. Bullying reached a new level of painful now. People young and old just sit back, watch and let it happen. Why? What makes someone a bully?

At five years old I had no idea what a bully is, until one hot summer day in kindergarten when our teacher filled the kiddie-pool with a garden hose to cool off all the kids. Everyone got undressed joyfully jumping into the water; everyone, that is, except me. The kids were naked, screaming, laughing, splashing around kicking their feet, butt naked. They made it look like a lot of fun, but I was too shy to dance around in my birthday suit. Seated poolside in my frilly pink panties I had second thoughts, yet, after some time had passed I thought, when in Rome ...     

I slipped off my panties I got into the pool with others. Just as I thought the water was freezing and I wanted out. I made my move to leave, but Stephanie noticed me. This tall, freckle faced, red headed troll, who looked like she sucked on a lemon dawn to dusk was mean as a snake! As soon as she saw me she flew at me, pushing hard against my chest with both hands, until I fell on my bare ass. The concrete didn’t hurt as much as my sweet pride. I was naked, discouraged and embarrassed.

Our teacher was my best friend Danielle's mom. When she saw what happened, she immediately scolded Stephanie, but by doing so she just put another log on the fire. "Sure you can join in!" she said to me, with her beautiful sweet smile. However, I was no longer interested in playing any raindeer games. I wanted to go home. To my teacher, observing a kiddie-pool frenzy and a few screaming happy kids pushing one another around is nothing more than a small incident during work day. To the five year old being pushed out of the pool it’s a world crumbling down.

Stephanie often picked on me. She loved to boss people around, but she had it in for me more than anyone else. I made her feel stupid. I was smarter than her while two years younger. I could read and write. Stephanie hated me for that. She was almost seven years old and could barely draw an 'S' In second grade things got a lot worse. She put the blame on me every chance she could. One day, Stephanie and a group of kids were running circles around the Christmas tree we all decorated with our teacher. One of the kids brushed up against the tree and an ornament broke. I was in my seat reading a book. Stephanie turned toward me shouting: "We’ll just say she did it!" I looked around the room, oblivious to what just happened and shocked, asking: "What?" 

When the teacher returned wondering what the noise is all about, Stephanie blamed me for the broken ornament. I told the teacher the truth, but she had no reason to believe me, because five other kids backed up Stephanie’s story. Like me, they were all afraid of her. Naturally, I was asked to replace the ornament. I had to tell my parents about the incident. I was worried, but to my surprise, my mom believed me. None the less, she purchased a new ornament all the same. One thing that changed that day is that I suddenly had a lot more friends. I stood up to Stephanie when I defended myself in the classroom. Everyone disliked her for what she did; she forced them to lie. I understood why my mother replaced the ornament and in time I grew into a strong individual. I took up martial arts, the only sport that teaches grace honor and discipline and I stuck with it for twenty five years. I also became a writer and an interpreter, content with knowing how to take out my angst on paper. Stephanie is a divorced alcoholic. I hope that at the very least, she is a kinder person today and she's able to cope with her addictions.

Although I too had been bullied as a little girl, in sixth grade I was only half way there with integrity. I went to class with a small framed, impressionable and very vulnerable girl. She was definitely not a Heather, perhaps not even a Veronica who would stand up to her bullies. This girl was a Betty Finn. Lacking confidence, among many other things, Betty was bullied by everyone in school. She was not a straight A student, not the best dresser by far and she was never popular only in a negative way. Her hair was short and a little lopsided, she always had too much lipstick on her lips and she was too shy to speak, which only made things worse for her when she muttered her soft spoken "stop!"

The one thing this girl had going for her was a good heart. Deep down everyone in class knew that she was kind, yet everyone continued to bully her. This all took place before the invention of the Internet. It was lucky for her I suppose, as I honestly believe if our Betty was virtually teased on top of all she had endured she may have even considered taking her own life. I was no better than the others. Although I never teased her, I laughed when others laughed.

Doing nothing is just as bad. I’m not proud of it. I could have been her friend, but I never was. I look back now wondering how this poor girl must have felt each day with twenty boys and nineteen girls making fun of her three hundred sixty five days a year. Somehow, everyday she began her school day with a smile. I was astonished. It is how I remember her. How did she do it? Where did she find the strength to smile? I often wonder what must have been like for her at home. What if on top of everything happening in school she also had difficulties at home? What if her family ignored her or what if they were unkind to her? What if her parents called her names? What if she was beaten or neglected? 

Betty had many crushes in school. Crushes no one took seriously. As if her feelings didn’t matter at all. She would bring the boy candy or a chocolate bar and soon, all the boys pretended to be in love with her. They asked for sweets and sometimes even money. She delivered. She loved the attention. It was all fake attention, followed by a lot of ridicule and laughter. None of us ever said a thing to stop this. We were all amused at her expense. At times Betty was drenched in tears. One time, I saw her hide her hands under her desk so no one could see that they were shaking. I never laughed from that day onward.Decades later, I am left with a bad feeling and whenever I think of her, the bad thoughts just won’t go away. I have great memories of my grade school years, but Betty has none.

Teenagers feel as if the world revolves around them and their circle of friends. What their friends think matters more than what’s right. We are all impressionable and vulnerable. We all need to find a way lift the heavy things in life.These days, I am not afraid to voice my opinion, even if the entire world is against me and I can fight my own battles with words as well as physically. I stand up for what's right offering my efforts to animal welfare and women rights seeking justice mankind. I defend my convictions and I stand accountable for my own actions. When I’m wrong, I apologize. I have learned to do this immediately, to show the person asking for an apology that I  truly care. I follow one simple rule of - think before you write or speak - because we all make mistakes, but when a mistake is so huge it can change or end a person’s life, self-evaluation, responsibility and accountability are in order. A frivolous, painful, mean remark can mean a lifetime of regret. I am certain I would be a lot happier if I could look back on my childhood days able to say I never bullied anyone. I know right from wrong and I have learned to listen to that little voice inside, called conscience. Heathers do despicable ugly things, Veronicas are impressionable, but have guts to do what's right. Be better than them by being your true self.