Moving On

It dawned that the need for accumulation was a fallacy. The more one gains, he thought, the more one has to lose.

A rising surge of good feeling swept through as he looked at the papers shredded or thrown away in heaps. It was symbolic of the loss he felt inside, the loss of his sincere trust in certain others who manipulated or used him like a paper doll. Funny that such people can misplace his extended hand of friendship to them. Sad and disappointing, but in the end, for them. The physical disposal was also reflected in electronic deletion. He did not understand why certain individuals around the place were deluding themselves creating imagined needs and ordering others to duplicate things in so many dimensions, as if paranoid that these duplicates would be required in the future - or is it that these individuals actually had nothing of value to contribute and had to make a semblance of activity and importance around their wrapped minds?

It was not that amazing that so many things kept were not utilised, or missed, in the past few years. Now with a sprint of vitality, he slashed and cut, thankful it was not other people's livelihoods, income or jobs that were being destroyed, but only false clinging to things that will never be, never have been and better to be let go in the constant swirl of Nature's winds. People around him continue to be deluded and seemed to take pride basking in their delusion. Detachment was the best thing he awakened to, and now he was free.

At times it was not easy to move on, even if he had wanted to. Things kept coming in another channel at the same furious pace that he was letting go in another way. He contained the things he was responsible for into one corner, while at the same time he felt like bailing out rushing water from a possibly impossible situation. He was very strict with himself, not letting in the pessimism, the negative games and false pretences that certain other individuals imposed on him. These individuals continued to behave , perhaps in desperation, in the same mannerisms as if he could not see through and through. How despicable these characters can be, and now they are drowning in their own making and not knowing it.

Skaters

There they were, each in a seemingly cocooned world, all as if choreographed to a tilting perfection. Each person twirled and expressed in individualistic style, some were coached, others imagined on their own and yet there were some who moved in synchronised style, not just physically but in spirit. You could see that a few took a break after a short stint, while in contrast, some could not stop, and only did when there was a lack of space.

Most telling was how one reacted when there was an unintentional fall. The younger ones took all this more in their stride, and the older novices tended to be less sure of how to pick one's self up. More interesting was how a learner looked up to the mentor and watched in earnestness the graciousness of the teacher's moves. Even more rewarding was how the instructors had this satisfaction in their faces when they realised that their proteges had moved on to another stage of their passion. Maybe it takes more than just stirring interest to spend hours in the cold above frozen ice, maybe it's therapy that is provided with the flow and repetitive moves.

Some were too methodical and serious in their intentions, and that may have inhibited true expression. Yet others approached the whole thing as an informal Sunday stroll, without a care in the world. There were those who were not afraid to hold hands in public. There were those who wanted to hold hands but could not. All knew they were being observed and yet did not care. They were entertaining their inner need to dance their joy or worries away. Yet some had a goal and knew they had to work persistently on it. Some came with an open mind or because they wanted to accompany a loved one. Some did not expect anything and had a sheer experience of discovering something precious previously hidden from them.

The music in their hearts were at times accompanied by the music blaring from the speakers. This activity offered a chance to synchronise one's physical moves with light, sound and other senses. I could see some practising over and over again their favourite moves, while not far away, a youngster was gradually gaining confidence in starting some move he had long dreamnt of being able to do. Even if every body seemed to be doing something different at any one time on the rink, they exuded a common sense of purpose over one flat piece of space. At most times, there was silence, but then comes the spontaneous squeak and howl, and the inevitable laughter of sheer enjoyment.

A Magical Moment

The round full moon focused its mellow intensity on to my living room. The garden solar-powered lights complemented the unavoidable spotlight from the springtime star-dotted night sky. The lawn was lit in a light hearted sheen that seemed to nurture the green grass rather than apparently burn down on them.

This was a magical moment, something we all know requires the perfect alignment - and maybe coincidence - of the stars, wind and time. On Sunday, after coming out from Joel Aden's birthday party, my Forrester indicated it was thirty-three degrees Celsius outside on a shiny torrid afternoon in Sydney's north-west. The mileage showed a chalk-up of 33,333 kilometres - an incredible hallmark moment when I happened to glance at this synchronisation of numbers. You may say that we don't plan such things, we set in motion a chain and sequence of events, usage and preparation to then by chance arrive at a remarkable observation.

I had been trying for a week to pay some minor transaction. The requirement and reliance on credit card mechanisms, website log-in, system verification and internet support ensured that my few attempts on-line led me literally nowhere. Even after registering a requested log-in and getting to completing payment details, the web-based procedure then gave a sudden stop with an offered message that the system processing my transaction had just changed and I was unable to proceed further - at least on the internet. Whether out of desperation or exasperation, I then decided to call a telephone number to try completing the payment - very well knowing the waiting time hanging on to the telephone.

I did get through to a live person, surprisingly only after three minutes. The magic occurred when Nathan came on the line with a lilting, personable voice full of character and liveliness. What a magical moment, I thought, when he listened intently to my problem, spoke at the right cues and in an unassuming manner achieved for me what I have been attempting for the past week on the internet.

I had wanted to streamline the papers in my office room for a long time. I theorised that the trick on my part was to stop more hard copies coming in and culling what I have already accumulated. I thought there are some things that I could not turn off completely, like documents that essentially supported the work, daily newspapers and weekly professional magazines. I corralled piles of work papers that seemed relevant and related to keep when they were generated, but now looked likely that they are past their shelf life. At the same time, I knew instinctively I had to take a radically different approach if things were to really change. At times I felt like just chipping at hard bricks, so I felt truly amazed when now I have reached the stage of minimalist existence in terms of hard copies just necessary to get the work completed.

Alcohol Not So Anonymous

It is easier to locate an outlet selling alcohol in Australia than one serving salads, offering gymnasium facilities or a place offering positive help in community matters.

The encouraged lifestyle reeks of alcohol - advertising media, sports celebrations, commercial office functions and social cocktails. The largest supermarket chain places its liquor outlets near the checkout. Accessory products and services support and facilitate their consumption, from motor car portable fridges to the compulsory bar at the local clubs. It is implied that one has alcoholic drinks before settling into any dinner - formal, casual or spontaneous. Wine is introduced as a posh feature, consolidated in family and other occasions and any possibility of upscaling in taste to somthing more hard is officially sanctioned once one turns eighteen years of age.

Who is to take responsibility when faced with the dire consequences of excessive alcohol consumption? Does letting go mean recklessly escaping into an oblivious state of partaking a dubious mixture of alcohol laden drinks and party drugs, commonly available at suburban house parties, cbd nightclubs and getaway summer beach parties? Some parents introduce their teenage children to their first
drinks but forget or do not know how to manage the follow-up. What do we make sense of the drunken driver,party fracas, domestic assault or nightclub episode, when we know that beneath it all, it started not with a kiss, but a drink too many.

Individuals may know there is a better way to get to a high or avoid boredom other than through the temporary delusion of a drink or a gambling bet. However it does not help when diverted by too much easy access to all sorts of alcoholic suggestions on the way to a true chill out. Whether it's a racing carnival, AFL or NRL game or office drinks, drink is laid down as the glue to acceptance, camaraderie and networking - why not stimulating conversation?

The lure of easy revenue streams into government coffers from the wholesome sales of alcohol products must be balanced by the related rising social, personal and financial costs to the community. Champagne breakfasts, beer battered fish and alcoholpops are all signs of runaway consumption and excessive supply. A New Zealand expert has warned of the link between excessive alcohol consumption in women and the incidence of breast cancer. Where does this malaise end?

My Old Neighbourhood: Section 17

This was the world of university days, when relief meant getting away from the books, assignments and lecture routine.

Neat rows of houses were lined up along grid roads in what was a typical housing estate. There was a green lung of a square green,which I still associate with Simon, Stephen and Kuan Hong sitting there on its edge, after an early dinner and before the equatorial sunset. There was the cinema quarter, surrounded by terraced shophouses, motorbike parking spots and push-bike hawkers. Road 6 does not seem to have changed, still exuding the presence of student rooms, walls bleached by the strong sun and upper floor balconies choked with items that could not be stored inside. However the cinema is gone, replaced by a mixed goods supermarket.

I wonder about the youngsters who grew up in the other rooms while I took one facing the road. I think about the mixed rice dishes which was sold at a price that I cannot even get a Coke can for these days. How regimented our student lives may have been, but we also did enjoy it, especially after dinner, with the fluorescent lights ablaze in our respective rooms all along the sometimes sloping roads of Section 17. Our reliable means of transportation to and from the campus were the Honda 70s, normally parked along the walled fences of houses beside the single car of the landlord. There was no decent grocery supermarket or department store in Section 17, so I often rode my motorbike to Section 14 or 21.

Section 17 brings back memories of single bed thin mattresses, a lone desk with a study lamp and the ever hidden luggage bag only taken out for semester holiday breaks. Bathrooms had white tiles and the array of toiletries of different tenants.  The place was a university dormitory corridor, mostly resided by students after their first year living in campus. It was at worst a transitory place, at best a place where dreams and characteristics were shaped and transformed. There were, and still, are a lack of trees, and the tar of the roads between houses still look like needing a serious new coating.