THE BUDDHA AND THE HARE

So I recently received one of the best gifts I’ve had in a long while: A copy of the complete and unabridged fables of Aesop. And just as a side note, I suspect old Aesop had a kinky thing for animals – pretty much every fable features at least one four legged creature. Just throwing that out there…

Now, out of the 207 fables that the legendary Aesop has been said to be responsible for, I particularly like, so far, a couple of the morals especially. From ‘The Heifer and the Ox’, the moral: Longer life for the toiling, shorter for the frolicking. I especially like the fact that this two sided moral seems to have a double meaning. Take it how you will. Myself – I’m still undecided as to whether I would prefer a long life if all I had to live for was more toil and labour, or a short life bereft of anything but superficial play and games.

From ‘The Lion and the Ass’, the moral: Diplomacy enhances the utility of the knaves. To me, this basically says play nice with the lowly, and they’ll be too stupid to do anything but play nice back. That may be a pretty blunt reading of it, but it’s the reading in which I found greatest comedic value. Call me base…

Anyhow, all this fable reading has inspired me to come up with a moral of my own – something that I’m coming to understand and appreciate more and more: Come to like the person that you are, for there is simply no escape.

DON'T STARTLE THE OBESE

Thought I’d share a funny thing I witnessed. I literally saw an obese woman turn her head – knee jerk reaction, speed of light style, at the sound of a bottle of fizzy pop opening.

True stories, and scary world.

By the by, I could've gone DEEP with the image (just ask GOOGLE), but I decided an element of anonymity would be the most decent thing...

ALL ABOUT THE PAPER (THAT'S DEGREE NOT DOSH...)

So, owing to my ever increasing contact with the world of business and industry, something yet newer is being revealed to me. Examples are always good: take this lady that I have come into acquaintance with. She speaks, and excuse my French here, as though she is as common as fuck and confesses to having little in the way of formal education. Moreover, I noticed that she seems to be unable to correctly say the word ‘specific’ (even when reading it aloud directly) and reverts to saying ‘pacific’ instead. She simply refuses to correctly say ‘written’ where relevant instead of ‘wrote’. And she refers to most words consisting of about 6 letters or more as posh.

Now call me finicky, but these few examples out of the many discrepancies that I noticed, don’t seem as though they should add up to the traits displayed, while actually at work I might add, of a professional. And by professional I mean someone who is employed at a fairly high position in their chosen field, while I am left to wallow in the sea of application forms and covering letters and general apathy from recruiters – actual definition.

So I am led to the conclusion that through probably about 30 years of graft and experience, she has earned her due along with her current position of employment, which indeed is commendable. And so it turns out that all the people who, in my youth, promised me that securing a degree was the only way to make it big, were filthy dirty liars. Thanks guys. Thanks ever so much. Though saying that, I think I’d much rather risk drowning right where I am than set aside any number of decades to make it to where I want to be. Amen.

MONKEYS. SURROUNDED BY MONKEYS.

As the days go by, the word that increasingly, and most readily, falls from my lips, as smooth and effortless as cutting through butter with a hot knife, is "idiot". Now I'd say that I'm a pretty reasonable individual. But you better hold on tight to me and heed my every word because reason seems to be dying out rapidly in our species. And when I say rapidly, I mean that in all of the strangers that I have come to acquaint myself with recently, a shocking few have been reasonable. And the rest? Idiots.

OK, let me clarify this title, for I feel I must assure you that I'm not using the word lightly. Consider this. In my humble opinion, lets say you, a stranger, and me, thepensivebuddha, are at a crossing for example, waiting for the green man to signify that we can cross the road safely. If you, the stranger, look at the button that you need to press if you actually want to the lights to change, see that it hasn’t been pressed, then look elsewhere, like the sky for example, then you are an idiot. Fair, no?

Another example. Let's say you, a stranger, are an employee at some company where your sole role is interface with customers and direct their queries. If you, the stranger, have not one single useful piece of advice, or can not string together one coherent and informative sentence, then you are an idiot. Fairer still, I'd say.

Final example. Let's say you, a stranger, have only just met me in a lecture room for example. If you proceed to tell me about the contents of your urine, then call an innocent woman, who is simply going about her business "so fat" to her face, then push and prod her stomach, then you are a bona fide idiot. (True story by the way).

So please faithful readers, do your best to avoid idiocy - it is the plague of the 21st century, and do not doubt its virility!

And to lighten the mood of this mega rant: THIS SONG makes me smile.

ONE'S OWN SEXY

I love it when I come across wonderful quotes, especially ones about sex appeal. So here goes, some great words from my Action Man.

"You can't be attracted to your own sexy. Otherwise, you'd be a self molester or something".

Wise words indeed.

LIES, BEAUTIFUL LIES.

Dear readers. I have come to a realisation about the world that we live in. A realisation which I have been fighting the truth of for quite a while. A realisation that saddens, and yet buoys me, at the same time. And that realisation is this: in order to get anywhere, to get to that lofty place of fortune and luxury, at some point, you will have to lie.

Now, the budding lawyers and tax evaders amongst you, along with everyone else probably, will not be particularly moved by this revelation. Some of you may even be guffawing even as you continue to read, at my apparent ignorance. But bear with me on this one. As a child and young adult too, the notion has been drummed into me that talent, intelligence and skill will get you everywhere. And I believed it whole heartedly. I was never particularly worried about making it, or making those ‘mills’ as a Mr 50 Cent (or someone of the like) might say. I always assumed I would eventually cash in on the smarts and talents that my grades and general feedback assured me of.

But wait. How is one supposed to make that first tenuous step to riches, power and glory when you’re currently too “inexperienced for that position. Sorry.” How are you supposed to gain all those skills and sweet golden nuggets of vital knowledge? How?! The answer / my latest realisation: lie.

It seems the only way. Now I’m a bright girl. I’ve got some positive attributes under my belt (didn’t mean that literally but take it as you will). And I’m sure I’d read great on paper (i.e. my CV) if under all of that I could list the reams of on the job experience that I’ve accumulated, you know, in between lectures and instead of sleeping! You can’t get a real job without experience, but in order to gain experience you need a real job. And what does this filthy catch - 22 teach us? Life’s a bitch, and the only way to win her over is to sweet talk her with as many lies as you can get away with. You heard it here first. And I expect a percentage when you start making those millions. Thanks very much.

THE BEAUTY OF IMPERFECTION

For all of you who are currently on a voyage of striving for absolute perfection, you are on a fool’s errand. For perfection, as is commonly imagined, is just that - an imagining of the human mind. It is an immaterial thing that resides in the clouds and sands of our minds. Not a thing made of atoms or concrete or human flesh.

In fact, friends, as I have held since I first began pondering the concept of perfection, the most 'perfect' thing can only be imperfect, because we can only deal with the things of this realm. Consider these: The perfect sandwich, delicious in all ways possible, will all too soon be fully consumed and forever gone. The perfect home will only remain as such as long as the ideal family resides within it and can not grant you immortality, so as to forever enjoy and love it. The perfect man will, in time, change and grow as any person should, shifting the perfection of your relationship to some new uneven and unexpected plane.

So following this logic, beauty itself must be imperfect. For imperfection is all there is. The best that there is to offer is imperfect, by necessity of existing in this world.

So, friends. Keep all things in proportion. If someone professes to be better than you, remember we are all writhing in the same pit of imperfection, desperately trying to leap and jump and build towers of Babel to reach that heaven, that Shangri-La, that Perfection.

(Oddly, inspired by Juno - the movie and a glass (or 3) of wine. This combo, quite 'perfectly', brings forth the pensive buddha in me.)

HI SEOUL!

Ok, so Wallpaper* is an on and offline publication that reports on design, interiors, fashion, art and lifestyle, and is generally pretty nifty. I caught onto it when I learned of the creator - a gentleman named Tyler Brûlé who is basically a modern day Midas. The magazine is hailed as an 'iconic global style guide', and to be fair, I wouldn't argue with that.

And now I officially love the magazine because it's reported a story that's made me pretty exited. So I spent a month living in Seoul, South Korea, and fell in love with the city as I'm sure most visitors would. The article describes that the city is undergoing a design orgy, where the apartment block-dominated landscape will be reinvented into a "magnetic urban metropolis".

I've been fervently suggesting to anyone that will listen that they should visit Seoul, and now there is even more reason to see the ancient city reinvent itself as the new World Design Capital 2010.

Check out the article and check out the city, city, city! (Three seperate links, all good sights to learn a lil about Seoul - couldn't think of a better way to get them all in!)

WATCH THIS SPACE

So I found a picture of myself, when I looked about 3 years old. I’m stood in the garden with two of my sisters, both of them equally incomprehensibly young. Of course the first thing I could proclaim when I saw it was “I can’t believe I was so young!!” And it seems that I meant this proclamation, whole-heartedly. Oh how the years of life have hardened me! Making this untainted, innocent time of my life seem only like a solitary and unattainable moment that a camera captured, rather than a scene from my very own life.

When I was small I was truly innocent. I fully expected that I’d be someone of import, that I’d do something that was in some way moving. Though the half imagined expectations of a child raised to believe that I was not to be considered as anything remotely similar to common, I suppose it’s not too late to take up this implicit pact that I made with the world.

So in the words of… lots of people before me I expect! ‘Watch this space’.

(I mean this literally – if I do something ground breaking, I’m more than likely to blog all about it, pictures and all.)

THE 'PENSIVE'

So I just real a novel about a woman who is confronted with the ghost of her great aunt Sadie, in the image that she possessed when she was twenty three. The story was called 'Twenties Girl' and entailed of the protagonist, Lara, having her life crumble around her, only for it to be saved again with the help of this (mostly) benevolent spirit, who became her truest friend by the end of the story.

It was basically a fairly light-hearted story, despite the ghost theme, and I had it read in a few days. But it got me thinking. Her great aunt died at the age of 105, and by the end of the novel, we learn that this was in fact not her only achievement, but actually probably the least impressive out of the great list. The final scene was of a huge memorial service being held, where hundreds of people gathered to mourn her death and celebrate her life.

A happy (I assure you! It wasn’t just the funeral to end the thing!) ending for the story. But in reality, it’d be a bitch if the celebration of a good person only happened once they’re dead and gone and buried away. Of course it’s right to celebrate one’s achievements once their life has drawn to a close, and the complete list can be formulated.

But I was struck with the realisation that everyday should probably be a bit of a celebration. Too late is exactly that – the absolute missed opportunity to explain to someone how much they are valued. How much of an impact they have had on your world. Individually, we’re no more than dots on the world and it’s histories, it’s past and future. But our own little worlds are decorated and dominated by huge structures and monuments, which make very definite impressions on the histories of ‘my life’: the people that matter. They ought to be appreciated. If you look at the Eiffel Tower enough, it just becomes part of the landscape of Paris. But lets be honest, it’s a pretty awesome tower, as towers go.

(I’ve finishes being all deep and introspective for now - it's the 'pensive' coming out. NB. DEFINITION OF PENSIVE: 'wistfully or deeply thoughtful, often with a tinge of sadness'.)

THE PENSIVE BUDDHA HERSELF

Indeed, here she is. After my sojourn in the jobless paradise I figured I ougt to come back to the world of productiveness. And what better way to come back to the pensivebuddha, than with the pensive Buddha? Certainly hope I was allowed to take this picture - there may have been a sign saying "no photography" but my Korean (hangul) isn't great.

So here it is, my inspiration for this particular creative outlet.

SHOES THAT CLICK

So I'm chillin' in my Leeds home, watching Tribal Wives. And this poor girl is going on about how her father was never there for her as a child. And here she is now as something of an adult, finding out things about herself, discovering how she feels about her past, and determining how it’s to effect her present and future. Got me thinking.

Got me thinking about the point at which a person is supposed to hang up their dungarees and kickers, and take up their briefcase and shoes that click. The law in the UK states that any individual that is 18 years of age or above shall be considered as an adult. But tbh, my ‘Young Person’s Railcard’ seems be singing a different tune, along with all my other discount insignia and wallet sized identifications. Added with the fact that I often get ID’d when attempting to top up my alcohol stores or enter a 'human sexual display ground' (that’s a nightclub to the laymen – look it up), the juxtaposition of these states of affairs with the fact that I’m probably going to have to buy my first suit and start attending job interviews pretty soon, is somewhat antagonistic. Plus, I really do feel that I’d probably look better in a pair of kickers and a set of dungarees, rather than a suit. Just thought I’d throw that in…

On the day of my first real live 9 – 5-job pay cheque, am I supposed to take down my Dragonball Z poster (yes I own one. And yes, I am proud) and burn my Mickey Mouse hoody (again, yes, I own one, and yes, it is hot)? Furthermore, will the world of work, along with its accessories, actually make me want to do said atrocious acts?

Yeah, I’m over the rhetorical questions too. But like I said, it got me thinking… At 21, most people wouldn’t hesitate to call me an adult. But I can’t help but think that I’m not quite ready yet. Not quite ready for the clicky shoes.

"OUT WITH THE ANGER, IN WITH THE CALM"

So parents. Got to love them I suppose – social norms and all that. But SHIT they can make it difficult to communicate with ‘em! Now, this really is said with love. The mother – bless her sweet heart, slaved away for most of her adult life, bringing up seven kids. And a bloody good job she’s done too (see picture of me for proof). And in her senior years, it seems she has taken it upon herself to retrieve some repayment for said invested time and effort. Her means? Testing and trying her poor patience-less daughter to her limits of tolerance and ability to hold her tongue. Yes, I’m more than willing to fetch you a cup of tea. Cook your dinner? Certainly! Run to the shop for you? Why not?! Any whim your heart desires, sure mummy – you deserve it. (All of the above is not meant to be sarcastic, honest!) But one million general questions about general things per 30 minutes? Asking me to repeat everything that comes out of my mouth? Simply not listening to me when I speak to you, including answers to direct questions? Well. I’m only human, world. A mere mortal.

Now the good news is that I’ve been brought up with a firm hand, gloved in the importance of respect for one’s elders. So I’d never perform a rendition of those fowl kids you see on the bus:
- Foul kid chucks a skittle at a stranger
- Mother tells fowl kid to cease and desist.
- Foul kid screams at top of lungs “Fuck off Mummy!”

Instead, I express my quiet rage with a pause, a deep breath (assuming the rage isn’t stifling my breathing ability) and a response as close to a whisper as I can possibly get away with. I continue to whisper until she stops asking me to repeat myself or until I have suitably calmed myself – whichever happens first. And on it goes. My new mantra (borrowed from generous sister Jenz) “Out with the anger, in with the calm”.

But to be fair, she, along with all reasonable parents, can pretty much get away with anything. Lets be honest, if just one of your parents asked for a cheque of the sum of their expenses (on you) from just your first year of life, you’d be stumped. Unless you’re a junior Rockefeller out here (in which case, let’s be friends!). And money aside, the emotional support, generally sculpting their life around you, the constant and immediate willingness to throw themselves in front of a face-eating-chimpanzee (they exist you know) to save you. The list is vast. Unless your parent is one of those who’d reply to earlier foul kid on the bus: “Fuck you too, you little shit!”

So I’ll wrap this up, and save you from a cheesy-as conclusion about putting the parentals first and love them as much as they love you... (though ‘tis all true). Instead, I’ll leave you with this: my mum looks at me in the face and refers to me using any one of the names of my six siblings at random (and yes I have brothers), before asking me for the sixth time to complete the errand that I’m visibly currently carrying out. And still, I love her. It’s a crazy world.

SO IT BEGINS...

Yep, so I've finally jumped on this blogging train. I've held off for so long because there seems to be an implicit assumption by bloggers that people will generally care about what they have to say. Now that's fair if you're actually half-way interesting. (Note to self - be sure to be interesting). But the humble, retiring side of me was just apprehensive enough to stop me from booking that ticket. Plus, I couldn't think of a good enough title - VITAL, in my opinion! For it's the little things that make a product pop. (Love it when a nice quip just drops into the mix all natural like. NB. DEFINITION OF 'QUIP': 'an odd or fantastic action or thing'. Ha! B-e-aUtiful!)

So, I'm throwing caution to the wind, and anything else close at hand too, as I embark on a whole new era in my life. I'm calling it "the slow, gruesome death of my youth", but you can refer to it as the end of Uni and beyond if you want. Your choice - call it as you sees it. Terrible circumstances have always been good creative fuel for me, so you're in for a treat world!