INDIGO MARE's Stable

Prelude:

The Kenyan plain always pulls an aching string in my peaceful heart. Every time a thought of her invades my oh so intelligent puny little mind, it shatters my very invincible and insatiable female ego that’s stuck in a hardened place called society, civility, decency and humanity.  – I long to be the lone roaming undomesticatable elephant, the image of the free African spirit, who’d spend a life away in peace, innocence and content, grazing on her opulent grass, gazing at her setting sun, breathing her warm lucid air, dying a dignified death without a burial, upon her rich colorful soil.

My love affair with Kenya was brief but everlasting. Yes, love, the very mystical phrase, whose meaning is ill-conceived and means awkwardly applied by many, is what I passionately feel for Kenya – as well as for, huh, let’s see – Tibetan plateau, coastal Brazil, South India, Kashmir, and half dozen more of wild places off the beaten track and of the least convenience of civilization and sophistication.

The Confession: A “Commitment-Phobic” Lover

You see - sorry to have brought upon you any disappointment, my dearest - but the kind of love I talk and walk is not monogamous nor faithful; it is, however, I swear to God, in its every fiber, true love.  I’ve loved nearly every one that I’ve shared any duration of living with, and I’ve fallen in love with almost half of those that I’ve seen, and I care not to hide my crush on many that I’ve not yet had the fortune to visit. To win my love cannot be simpler: beauty matters, size counts, wildness attracts, character is essential, richness is a plus, and innocence turns me on… Stay what you are and where you are, and accept my judgment of you, for if you are not judged to be my type, it is technically impossible to count on my revisit, less my love and commitment.  (LollerLoverRevolver!)

My "101 on how to stay the heart of a lone roaming lover (once love is upon you)", is to bear in mind that:

"Love is like the sand in thy hand, squeeze her and she shall flee, ask nothing from her and thou shall have the most of her". – the commitment-phobic lover

As for my above satirical accounts on my potential love relations, I have my due defenses, through experiences of trials and errors. Although I hold sincere respect for monogamy and loyalty – for people who are capable, content or otherwise relied upon to follow and devote themselves to such a lifestyle in any form of loving relationships, that is – I have progressively over the past few years come to develop feelings of disdain, repulsion and even horror toward such love in the conventional erotic/romantic nature, that is, in my own very private life.

Allow me to justify my commitment-phobia-like continence with dignity, humility and sarcasm, that I shall admit that me and romantic love are not good for each other.  Love blinds people – a truthful conclusion that none can effectively challenge. I am too big to be kept within the conventional enclosures of romantic love – an honest statement that I wish not to undo.

I’ve no expertise for the art of love, inasmuch as I’ve no expertise for the knowledge of God. I shall say I’ve looked, I’ve tried, I’ve (pretended to have) cared, I’ve walked the line, but I no longer can honestly stick a flying feather of regard thereto. I’ve no use of the love from an one-and-only lover, inasmuch as I’ve no use of a belief in an one-and-only God; I’ve no competence or will to complete a lover’s life, inasmuch as I’ve no competence or will to perfect a God belief.  For neither a lover nor a God shall depend their existence or quality of existence upon my affirmation or contribution, they exist on their own – as long as they do not seek to lock me up within the possessive and repressive walls of spiritual dictation, I shall not seek to confine them with my humanly manipulative and fallible embraces of love.  None is my lord and I’m lord to none.  – I indeed have the highest regards for love and God (the universe), even if these regards find no sufficient space to convey themselves herein, I’m content enough to roll them on with my nose sticking high up in the air, snorting off any judgment of ridicule flying my way.

The Acknowledgment: The Futility of Love Hunt

“Love isn’t true, it’s just something that we do.” – Madonna, Don’t Tell Me

My acknowledgement for the futility of confining love (into a romantic relationship, or otherwise), as mentioned above, came much later in life than that for the futility of defining God, similarly through trials and errors of education and experiments.

Many, like myself, grew up being spoon fed with mystical verses of praises for true love, as well as for a nurturing God, and of techniques for securing the company, fortune and blessings of true love and of God.

Sufficiently prudent and intelligent people shall know that many abstract objects, such as love, God, truth, peace, happiness, success, freedom and wisdom, etc., cannot be sufficiently discovered, defined or confined by means of literature, but expressed, wherein regretfully, limited for our human conceptions, therefore resulting in complacency, narrow-sight, close-mind, bias, bigotry and even hatred in the practice of these abstract objectives in the worldly relation, as well as within self.   Need I go further to explain the self-evident destruction by the results of incompetents’ interpretations, applications and dictations thereof of these objectives that are meant to be ascertained by each and every individual for their unique adoption into their unique life situations? (If you think I needed to, then I shall tell you: no!... and, do not bother reading further my ‘profound’ articulation)

I have for many years yearned for a carefree life in some place nowhere, away from all the madness over such pretend democracy and civilization at the cost of an individual’s mental, physical and spiritual identity, uniqueness and liberty, imposed by the lords of our society via the packaging and marketing of romanticized preaches and passionate reinforcements throughout his/her life – very lucky few are able to successfully comprehend the magnitude of this mad dream of romance and passion for the pursuits and dictations of the ‘incomprehensible’, or to escape from it.

"The most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it is comprehensible" -- A. Einstein  (note that from close scrutiny of Einstein’s belief, it is safe to surmise that he believed in the equation of God = Universe)

I consider myself one of the extremely lucky in life that, besides my fortunate upbringing by my family, I’ve been through many traumas and dramas of life with my eyes, heart and mind fully open to have learned to accept the magnitude of many of the ‘incomprehensible’, and even to have gained enough wit to appreciate and respect it without feeling the passion and compulsion to comprehend them (as in “I must know and know it fully”).  I’m in a stage of life where I daresay audaciously that I have materially comprehended the key to wellness and peace in life, is to stop worrying or bothering with those that I don’t have and I am not, but to live and best experience what I have and I am, through disappointment and pleasure, acceptance and rejection, defeat and triumph, pain and joy, wherever I am and whoever I am with – with my eyes, heart and mind as fully open as possible.

“Happiness is the absence in striving for happiness” – Lao-tze

“I am not religious, I just like to pray”, I often joke.  – I pray not to God, nor do I hope for magical luck, but to encourage the consciousness and strength of my own and of others.  “I am not in love, I’m just a lover”, and I tease. – I believe not the idea of monogamous love (or the governmentally approved marriage), nor do I desire a ‘soul-mate’ shot out of the crowd, but I live as a lover for myself and anyone capable of putting my love into good use.

My praying not to the one-and-only God, and my loving not the one-and-only beloved, have liberated, enriched and strengthened myself, my life experiences and my connections to nature (“God”) and loving people. I have benefited beyond words as a reward.  When one ceases to ask God to light the path of hers, she finds herself walking the path of her own and of God; when one quits hoping for a lover to unleash her love, she is able to fulfill the love for herself and for a lover.  Only when you stop pushing the outward pursuit of God, love, or happiness, you are able to perceive your every pore starting to inhale and exhale God, love and happiness.

My silly verses above can sound as shallow to talk of as they appear hollow to walk by. I’d have to admit to that end, that me and you have reached the limit of wit for comprehending the incomprehensible. Don’t push further, if you shall, step over for the time being – onto a few comprehensible counts of my life stories, from a loyal monogamous lover into the disloyal philanthropic lover.

(To be continued...Interlude: My Love Affairs)

Foreword note:

I used to but no longer read, for reasons other than the lack of time or patience that commonly deter many people I know, especially some VIP(very impatient person)s, from reading (and reading even business letters, yet instead keeping phoning me with a bold "what is it?" after I spent hours writing what they'd pay for). I am confused and afraid to just pick up a book to read, it requires commitment for me to even read news articles and industry journals regularly. Am I not good with reading or is reading not good for me? It's both. I used to let the subjects and opinions get into me too much, as much as I had always liked to get into others' heads; and most of available readings out there nowadays more than ever are poisin or to the least rubbish that are unhealthy for me (maybe not for others). I admit that, seeing I am feeling stupid as ever, I don't have a high level of intelligence or discretion to pick the right healthy educational reads, or a blunt faith in following critics' recommendations, or a desirable life span to spend on improving my accords to the social standards for a reader's learnedness, I am what I am today - willing to pass time staring at the wall if I please as long as I'm traveling mentally in 4 dimensions - and stay content by conversing a thought or two with my alter ego. Right, I know, I know.

What are your favorite books and what are you currently reading? People are often asked. "Are you kidding me?" would be my honest reaction regardless what I'd answer expressively.  If you do hear me say "I don't read" (as by an illiterate), "I used to read" (as by one visually impared) or "I forgot how to read" (as by one with severe amnesia), you should know, my love, you receive my high regards with naked honesty instead of some corny humbleness or crafty humor. So remember to test your worth with this tip when you'd meet me vis-a-vis. *wink*

Anyway, back to the subject of this blog. When I used to read, Erich Fromm was my favorite author. If you want to know who contributed to my current state of extreme accentricity, cynicalness, disloyalty and even plain distastefulness where I dare ridicule many (actually, most) conventional notions that our great population holds firm on,  well you  now know one of the handful of persons to blame for helping shape me so, besides the number one contributor, my evil twin. I was in middle school when I per chance in a bookstore picked out Fromm's "The Art of Loving" in English (a language I barely understood) and became hooked ever since. Talking about poinsoning a young mind with inappropriate texts, it is surely besides my above-noted point on my susceptibleness to poisonous reads, which I came to take measurements for detoxication later on in life, to no avail.

The Theory:

Erich Fromm believes that our social unconscious is best understood by examining our economic systems. In fact, he defines, and even names, five personality types, which he calls orientations - in economic terms!

1. The receptive orientation. These are people who expect to get what they need/want. if they don't get it immediately, they wait for it. They believe that all goods and satisfactions come from outside themselves. This type is most common among peasant populations. It is also found in cultures that have particularly abundant natural resources, so that one need not work hard for one's sustenance (although nature may also suddenly withdraw its bounty). it is also found at the very bottom of any society: Slaves, serfs, welfare recepients, migrant workers... i.e., those at the mercy of others.

This orientation is associated with symbiotic families, especially where children are "swallowed" by parents, and with the masochistic (passive) form of authoritarianism. It is similar to Freud's oral passive, Adler's leaning-getting, and Horney's compliant personality. In its extreme form, it can be characterized by adjectives such as submissive and wishful, and in its moderate form, adjectives such as accepting and optimistic. *rascal laughs*

2. The exploitative orientation. These people expect to have to take what they need/want. In fact, things increase in value to the extent that they are taken from others: Wealth is preferably stolen, ideas plagiarized, affections coerced. This type is prevalent among history's aristocracies, and in the upper classes of colonial empires. Think of the British in India for example: Their position was based entirely on their power to exploit the indigenous population. Among their characteristic qualities is the ability to be comfortably ordering others around! We can also see it in pastoral barbarians and populations who rely on raiding (e.g. the Vikings).

The exploitative orientation is associated with the "swallowing" side of the symbiotic family, and with the sadistic style of authoritarianism. They are Freud's oral aggressive, Adler's ruling-dominant, and Horney's aggressive types. In extremes, they are aggressive, conceited, and seducing. Mixed with healthier qualities, they are assertive, proud, captivating. *scoundrel grins*

3. The hoarding orientation. Hoarding people expect to keep. They see the world as possessions and potential possessions. Even loved ones are things to possess, to keep, or to buy. Fromm, drawing on Karl Marx, relates this type to the bourgeoisie, the merchant middle class, as well as richer peasants and crafts people. He associates it particularly with the Protestant work ethic and such groups as our own Puritans.

Hoarding is associated with the cold form of withdrawing family, and with destructiveness. I might add that there is a clear connection with perfectionism as well. Freud would call it the anal retentive type, Adler (to some extent) the avoiding type, and Horney (a little more clearly) the withdrawing type. In its pure form, it means you are stubborn, possessive, stingy, and unimaginative. If you are a milder version of hoarding, you might be steadfast, economical, and practical. *blowing raspberries*

4. The marketing orientation. The marketing orientation expects to sell. Success is a matter of how well I can sell myself, package myself, advertise myself. My family, my schools, my jobs, my clothes - all are an advertisement, and must be "right." Even love is thought of as a transaction. Only the marketing orientation thinks up the prenuptial contract, wherein we agree that I shall provide such and such, and you in return shall provide this and that. If ones of us fails to hold up our end of the arrangement, the marriage is null and void - no hard feelings (perhaps we can still be best friends!) This, according to Fromm, is the orientation of the modern industrial society. This is our orientation!

This modern type comes out of the cool withdrawing family, and tend to use automaton conformity as its escape from freedom. Adler and Horney don't have an equivalent, but Freud might: this is at least a big part of the vague phallic personality, the type that lives life as flirtation. In extreme, the marketing person is opportunistic, childish, tactless. If less extreme, s/he is purposeful, youthful, social. Notice today's values as expressed to us by our mass media: fashion, fitness, eternal youth, adventure, daring, novelty, sexuality... these are the concerns of the "yuppie," and their less-wealthy admirers. The surface is everything, what you see is what you get. *tongue in cheek*

5. The productive orientation. There is a healthy personality as well, which Fromm occasionally refers to as the person without a mask. This is the person who, without disavowing his or her biological and social nature, nevertheless does not shirk away from freedom and responsibility. This person comes out of a family that loves without overwhelming the individual, that prefers reason to rules, and freedom to conformity.

The society that gives rise to the productive type (on more than a chance basis) doesn't exist yet, according to Fromm. He does, of course, have some ideas about what it shall be like. He calls it "humanistic communitarian socialism". That's quite a mouthful, and made up of words that aren't exactly popular in the US, but let me explain: Humanistic means oriented towards human beings, and not towards some higher entity - not the all-powerful State nor someone's conception of God. Communitarian means composed of small communities of economic co-dependence and responsive management (Gesellschaften, in German), as opposed to big government or corporations. Socialism means everyone is responsible for the welfare of everyone else. Thus understood, it's hard to argue with Fromm's idealism that unites the wellness of individuality, community and society. *clearing throat*

Fromm says that the first four orientations (which others might call neurotic) are living in the "having" mode. They focus on consuming, obtaining, possessing.... They are defined by what they have. Fromm says that "I have it" tends to become "it has me," and we become driven by our possessions. Like it or not, we means we, you and she and he and they and me.

The productive orientation, on the other hand, lives in the "being" mode. What you are is defined by your actions in this world. You live without a mask, experiencing life, relating to people, being yourself. I don't know how to describe you more accurately because in theory you should not exist, just yet; even if you did or do or will, you shall be far-sighted, misunderstood, unwelcomed alien intrusive and lost in a space you shouldn't belong and thus doomed, because according to Fromm, your society of origin does not exist upon this planet, just yet. Are we talking about the sort of figures such as Karl Marx, Gandhi, etc., who when alive stirred up storms whose dust soon settled to the earthly ground whereas the earth-bornVaticans of old and the sorts alike, continued to rule, without defeat, the earth-bound children of gods? Bravo, for the moment of truth and wisdom, I toast to my toes.

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Footnote:

Fromm says that most people, being so used to the having mode, use the word “have” to describe their problems. " What does a common patient visiting a therapist say? "I have a beautiful home, lucrative job, wonderful children and a happy marriage. I have many worries. I have insomnia. I have a problem. " He is looking to the therapist to remove the bad things, and let him keep the good ones, as if asking a surgeon to take out your gall bladder. What you should be saying, if as a productive type, is more like "I am materially opulent, I am happily married, yet I am troubled, I am sleepless, I am a big f***ing problem ..." By saying you "have" a problem, you are avoiding facing the fact that you are the problem - i.e. you avoid, once again, taking responsibility for your life. Now seriously, how many people truly admit that they are the problems? Let me leave the problematic world to that.

I'm persuaded, that I shouldn't have done any underage reading outside of school books at all, especially of Fromm's. You see, his writings are so plain yet beautiful and I would get lost in his verses on the mind, heart and his artful dissections therein. I even read Freud's,  mostly for laughs, when I was under 15.  I am not about to list names of wiredos, lunatics or prophets I was attracted to, all I know is I was a slap-happy child setting out to love and change the world; then I grew up too fast and wickedly, into a Donkey Otay, if I was not popular and hot in the Chinese college I attended, I would've been officially exorcised away as a witch. I then started reading many self-help books and kept off of novels. It helped little. Today I'm undesirably messed up marked with strange mixed colors of eccentricity, cynicalness, charms and corniess. -- I had a problem with reading, it still haunts me.  I cannot decide whether I'm the problem or it was the reading. Let me but leave myself to that. Does it make any difference in effect anyway!? 

Note:

The following document is a series of excerpts from a book titled “Anguished English”, which is a compilation of malapropisms and misspellings that have appeared in student exams at the secondary school (i.e. high school) level.  Each of the randomly selected exerts is individually subject to the public domain, where copying and distributing of such is exempt from liability under applicable law.  Its content is for entertainment usage only. _________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Ancient Egypt was inhabited by mummies, and they all wrote in hydraulics.  They lived in the dessert and travelled by Camelot. The Climate was hot and dry so they had to cultivate by irritation.”  

“The pyramids are a range of mountains between France and Spain.  The Egyptians built the pyramids in the shape of a huge triangular cube.”

“The Greeks were a highly sculptured people, and without them we would not have history.  The Geeks invented three kinds of columns: corinthian, ironic and dorc.  They also had myths, which are female moths.  One myth says that the mother of Achilles dipped him in the River Stynx until he became intolerable.”  

“Socrates was a famous Greek teacher who went around giving people advice.  They killed him.  He died from an overdose of wedlock.  After his death, his career suffered a dramatic decline.”

“In the Olympic Games, Greeks ran races, jumped, threw the java, and hurled the bisquits.”  

“The government of Athens was democratic because people took the law into their own hands.”

“When they fought with the Persians, the Greeks were outnumbered because the Persians had more men.”  

“Eventually, the Romans conquered the Greeks.  History calls people Romans because they never stayed in one place very long.”

“Julius Caesar extinguished himself on the battlefield of Gaul.  The Ides of March murdered him.  Dying, he gasped out the words, ‘Tee hee, Brutus’.”  

“Nero was a cruel tyranny who would torture his poor subjects by playing the fiddle to them.”  

“Rome came to have too many luxuries and baths.  The Romans took two baths in two days, and that’s the cause of the fall of Rome.  Today, Rome is full of fallen arches.”

“Then came the Middle Ages, where everyone was middle-aged.  King Alfred conquered the Dames.  Victims of the blue bonnet plague grew (appendages) on their necks.  Finally, the Magna Carta provided that no free man should be hanged twice for the same offenses.”

“In midevil times, people were alliterate.  The greatest writer of the futile ages was Chaucer.  During this time, people put on morality plays about ghosts, goblins, virgins and other mythical creatures.”

“The greatest writer of the Renaissance was William Shakespeare.  He was born in the year of 1564, supposedly on his birthday.  Writing at the same time was Miguel Cervantes.  He wrote Donkey Hote.”

“During the Renaissance, American began.  Christopher Columbus was a great navigator who discovered America while cursing about the Atlantic.  He ships were called the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Fe.”

“One of the causes of the Revolutionary War was the English put tacks in their tea.  Eventually, the Colonists won the war and no longer had to pay for taxis.”  

“Delegates from the original 13 states formed the Contented Congress.  Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin invented electricity by rubbing two cats backwards and declared ‘A horse divided against itself cannot stand’.  Franklin died in 1790 and is still dead.”  

“Soon the Constitution of the United States was adopted to secure domestic hostility.  Under the Constitution the people enjoyed the right to keep bare arms.” 

“Abraham Lincoln became America’s greatest Precedent. Lincoln's mother died in infancy, and he was born in a log cabin he built with his own hands.  Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg Address while traveling from Washington to Gettysburg on the back of an envelope.  He also freed the slaves by signing the Emasculation Proclamation.  On the night of April 14, 1685, Lincoln went to the theater and got shot in his seat by one of the actors in a moving picture show.  The believed assinator was John Wilkes Booth, a supposingly insane actor.  This ruined Booth’s career.”

“Meanwhile, in Europe, the enlightenment was a reasonable time.  Voltaire wrote a book called Candy.  Gravity was invented by Isaac Walton.  It is chiefly noticable in the autumn, when the apples are falling off the trees.”

“Handel was half German, half Italian, and half English.  He was very large.”

“Beethoven wrote music even though he was deaf.  He was so deaf he wrote loud music.  He expired in 1827 and later died for this.”

“The sun never sets  the British Empire because the British Empire is in the east and then sun sets in the west.  Queen Victoria was the longest queen.  She sat on the thorn for 63 years.  Her death was the final event which ended her reign.”

“The nineteenth century was a time of a great many thoughts and inventions… people started reproducing by machine.  The invention of the steamboat caused a network of rivers to spring up.  Louis Pasteur discovered a cure for rabbis.  Madman Curie discovered radio.  Karl Marx became one of the Marx brothers.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Did you have a good laugh?

The Ride: The Rebel & The Therapy

2006-3-30

Foreword:

I was writing my diary, and it came to motorbikes - yes, you may think I'm really obsessed with bikes, right? I thought so.

Anyway I decided to pass along my two cents on bikers’ ‘obsession’, and my personal story and analytical reflection thereof.  Hope the length does not scare you off - it's easy reading.

The Mutant & Rebel:

Reaching 5'7" at age 11 n 5'9.5" by 15 (I reached 5'11", but now unfortunately shrinking), I was a tomboy, most girls didn't want to stand next to me, so I always hanged w the boys, like a zebra amongst horses – we raced bicycles, played volleyball, swam in the ocean, visited electronic game arcades, jumped walls, ate like race horses, etc., got injured a few times but I didn't mind!... My parents raised me with gender-blind approaches (which I’m grateful for) until I reached the dating age (doh!). But I was too 'big' and wild to get through this bottle neck. My boys could no longer come and go through my family’s door frequently or freely - the zebra was fenced (protected?) away from the wild horses and placed back to the girls. What'd you expect would happen? Most girls still remained as uncomfortable around me, the few that were okay eventually wore my patience out - I hated to eat my 2-pounder lunch next to those who'd snip on an apple to keep 'fit', how they hated muscles and were horrified by my weight-training in the gym, and that they spent too much time reading toxic love novels or fairy tales or planning mental games against boys…. I needed to fill the gap, for the heck of gaining balance!  I turned to exploring politics, and, unsurprisingly, to the rebel statement of racing. I ‘coerced’ my dad into buying a motorcycle for me on the condition that I would score top on a final exam. I can’t recall how I convinced him into it, either he was a non-strict parent spoiling me too much, or that he was truly my boy who understood my struggles, maybe both. I delivered my performance; he financed my purchase - on the condition that it had to be restricted to one of the less powerful bikes (under 250cc n 50 horsepower). Not knowing much about bikes, I picked out a black Yamaha XV250 Virago and had it painted into silver. My mom almost killed him when the bike got delivered at the door. My dad was man about it, he bit his tongue and accepted the blames. My mom as a spouse eventually decided to stand aside dad’s parental contract to me, laying down many dos and don’ts, while secretly resenting, according to her, the silver rocket to hell.

It was spring, I rode the bike during weekends to the beach, happily obliged myself with a helmet to shield away the crisp cold, but soon after a few rides, I had to study to get into a good college. She sat in my room for 2 months (what kind of torture was that!?). During the 3-month summer break (1 month of which was spent on a military training – I’ll skip that story here), I rode her to the beach for a swim almost daily – joining again all my boy friends, with the helmet tucked at her back (my mom never knew this).  I had to live away for college not too far from home. For the first couple of months I’d come home every weekend and rode my bike, soon when the cold returned and I became busy with singing, modeling and a starter legal career to attend to, I visited home much less often. It was winter break when I returned home and found my bike missing – mom gallantly confessed that she sold my ‘no-longer-in-use’ bike to a colleague’s son, at 40% discount, whose proceeds, she claimed, would be given to me to buy whatever else I fancied… I could not stay in touch with the boy that ‘stole’ my bike b/c I could not bear the thought of seeing her. Two years later, I heard that he had a serious accident and came out crippled in one leg.

The rest was history. And I carried along this childhood trauma in me and slowly healed towards acceptance as I grew older into a woman like her mother, living a life of anonymity and quite at peace, though bearing a stitch in my heart that still lures me into owning another bike, a silver one, a Yamaha, but one much more powerful.  I never bought another one. I’d blow raspberries at the sight of American bikers, on their Harley Davidsons that omit audaciously loud farts, mostly unattractive guys validating their masculinity, some of which would have girls on the back (ridding bitch-style, as some bikers dub it) -  is it my trauma working up my jealousy or they do annoy the devils out of onlookers.  I have become very busy and traveled a lot and never come to terms with the need for a bike that’d sit in the garage, or has it been my mom in my genes working to restrain me?

While in crisis and imbalance, most of us, even if unintentionally, are forced to re-evaluate the self, questioning the very meaning of our well-being, which, according to Carol Ryff (in “What Crisis?”, Life magazine, Nov 1995), is the presence of 6 life qualities: Independence, the ability to cope with complex demands, feeling of growth as a person, good relationships, goals that give life meaning, and an acceptance of the self and the past.

The Therapy of Realistically Daring Biking:

I never owned a motorcycle again after the loss of my first one, I did, even only for a few times, borrowed friends’ bikes, and rented scooters where I vacationed when possible (alright I admit I do not consider those motorbikes) – last time it was in Goa during Xmas.

I did drive fast for quite some years. I can recall vividly some bad-tempered baldhead cop in the town where I was completing my LLM study, who developed a conspicuous attachment to me after ticketing me a couple of times. He would pull me over thereafter just for the heck of it whenever he saw me on the road, questioned me, scolded me, and then let me go.  But again, I was not an angel of a patient or safe driver.  I wrecked a couple of times, brushed off and continued to drive fast and furiously. Eventually one day I was reading a map, talking on a cell phone and taking notes with a pen simultaneously while driving at almost 70 mph (that was my I-don’t-know-where-I-am low speed) and rare-ended into a truck and totaled the beauty. I stepped out completely uninjured, laughing silly (at my not being dead). Police arrived, looked at the muffin-looking car (the front was totally crushed in) and asked me where the driver was. A few drivers slowed down to check (for dead bodies I supposed). Upon hearing my confession (I was still an honest person nonetheless) and verifying my records over her walky-talky, the officer gave me a good scolding, just when I resumed my laughing, “Stop laughing! This is not funny young lady, how would your mom think? ... I’m going to suspend your license for reckless driving.  All for your benefit. ... I hope this serves as a wake-up call!” … For some while after that, I drove, under a suspended license, with acceptable carefulness and smartness – more for avoiding cops than for safety. Until one day I was late for a modeling shoot and went at close to 100mph when an unmarked police car shone its signals – I played up smiles, apologies, forged dumbness and bad English,   he spared me from jail for driving and speeding under a suspended license. Oh boy, was I shaken. Not really.

Fine! I had to stop driving for a while! I borrowed a motorcycle to go around – knowing that police by law is not allowed to go after someone who’s over 100mph.  One colorful autumn afternoon, out riding with a friend on a familiar highway route, which we did on the previous day, we got a little carried away. Zigzagging past cars on the winding road, I lead him by almost half a mile. Upon a long slight decline whose end ahead was out of sight, I slowed down (from 120ish) to wait for him to appear in the mirror. He appeared on my right, accelerated full-speed, throwing a look while passing me. The next thing I remembered, only two seconds later, a road block at the end of the slope jumped into my sight – they put up a construction wall block overnight in the right lane – it happened all to fast for his complete stop or switching off the right lane into cars; I yelled, but no sound came out; my darling friend panicked and flew straight into that damn wall right before my eyes. It is surreal and to difficult to depict the scene here: he did not bounce off the wall with his bike (that blast into a shower of metal parts) but smashed firmly like a mud patty onto the wall, sticking for a instant before slowly sliding down in a mass of.... Now I don’t want to continue further to describe that day, or the shock, grief and guilt I had to struggle through amidst all those haunting flashbacks in the seemingly endless months that followed. I would bear that loss for ever on my soul.

I got my license back from court and moved to New York. For the following 4.5 years till today, I was never for one time pulled over by a cop (except for security road blockings, a common course after the 9.11^th), and I never crashed or scraped any of the cars I have driven. I still speed, but I’m careful n responsible, especially if I have passenger(s) with me; I seldom honk, and never follow others too close – showing others respect without being a pain or hazard. I never raced again on public highways – I would only do it on a proper race ground. Slowly I came into terms with my biking/speeding personality, now I’m able to look past the myth of my noted ‘obsession’, and I can enjoy more fully a riding/driving experience.

Conclusion:

Today I’m looking into my heart when it comes to motorbikes. It’s not about the bikes or the cars (though the picks are important) – they are merely vehicles that take us to places, it’s not about the speed itself, either. Riding becomes an expression beyond a means of transportation; it’s about a nice challenging ride, and, to the realistically daring biker/driver, its therapeutic experience in feeling the independence/liberation, the ability to handle complex road conditions, the interaction with the nature and the company that surround you, the sense of control, accomplishment and growth as a person, the rewarding (and often unpredictable) scenes or turns ahead that give the ride forward meanings, and accepting with respect (and thus looking beyond) the limited human self you were born to be and the stress, traumas or triumph of your past and present that are building blocks of life and of the very authentic you.

Epilogue:

This self-evaluation process over the biking ‘obsession’ was very much needed, as I have fenced out many of my memories for too long. See, all I needed to do was only to connect the dots to behold the better picture.

I think I don’t have an obsession with motorbikes, nor speeding/racing. Obsession is a form of passion in its negative sense – the state of being passively driven and not of choice at free will.  I don’t NEED to want a bike, just like I don’t need to want a man. But if I do get another (I mean bike), it’ll be my choice at free will as a therapeutic enhancement to my means of travels and wiggles through life (like a good partner would do).

Drive with dare, and with respect. J