Humanity's Hypocrisies

A word of warning: This is an unorthodox post. If you are not into theological philosophy (and human psychology), this is the time to close this page. If you find this post offensive, read the note at the end.
This post in no way represents my own personal feelings or beliefs, I'm a practicing Muslim... It is simply a work of fiction, narrated by an atheist protagonist.

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Was it all in vain? Is this really the end?

Questions that course through a victim's head... one who regrets his choices. As I sat there, silently forsaking everything I thought I'd stood for, I wondered whether my precious logic or reason would come to my aid now. Can one pray to logic, I wonder? I would have laughed out loud if it wasn't for the whole "imminent death" thing.

I am not a religious man. I've never been the guy who prays or does anything remotely spiritual. Yes, I was born to believe that there is a God and that we should worship him, but I never really understood why. If there is an all-powerful creator of the world we live in, does he really need the insignificant sniveling of little old me- less than a spec of dust to a blue whale on the scale of the universe? Why would my prayers matter? I can't make God grant me my wishes... and what's the worst I can do if he doesn't answer my prayers? Sulk in an insignificant corner in an insignificant room in an insignificant country on an insignificant planet in an insignificant galaxy? Oh wow, that's powerful. What would compel such an all-knowing entity to help me with my daily struggles?

And the opposite is true. I found it hard to believe that such a deity would care whether I worshiped Him or not. Why would He smite me with the wrath of a thousand lightning bolts just because I failed to pray? Surely He would have bigger concerns than myself? Does He have a desire for control? Small chance of that; a God transcends urges and desires...

Then there was the obvious; pain and suffering and war and famine in every corner of the globe. The premise that every religion is based on is that God loves us and wants us to lead happy lives, yet the world has only seen a few decades of peace in the last two millennia. If an all-powerful being were capable of stopping that, why is He blind to the cries of his creations? And if that were the case, would humanity owe Him obedience, or defiance?

The religious texts didn't help; each was as unbelievable as the next. One man gathered all the known animal species in the world on a single boat which survived a disastrous flood? A man walked on water, and came back from the dead? A man lived inside a whale? Whenever I asked too many questions about these events, I was always told to take it on faith; that the whole point of faith is that there is no proof. I was told to protect my mind from such blasphemous thoughts, lest I forsake my religion. That was the last straw... A deity who controlled my very thoughts was not a welcome addition to my adult life, and so after giving it a lot of thought, I decided I was an atheist and embraced my new life-style on my 28th birthday. It wasn't much of a change, really... I'd already been an atheist at heart for years and hadn't practiced any of my religion's teachings, I just hadn't had the courage to openly admit it to myself until then.

Seven months after that fateful decision saw me fastening my seat-belt on a flight to London to attend an important meeting with my company's CEO. My life had completely turned around... I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to. I had no restrictions, save for a flimsy moral code I'd made for myself. I answered to no one but me (and my boss at work) and partied as hard as anyone. I went home with a different girl every night, kicked her out before breakfast on the next day, went to work, then back home to change, then to the bar where I'd drink, smoke up and maybe snort some coke while I OD'ed on ecstasy or acid or whatever drug I had easy access to that night. Then I'd pick a girl I like (if I were still remotely sober), take her home and the cycle repeated itself. Being atheist didn't mean I had to be immoral, but I allowed myself a lot of freedoms I shouldn't have and I embraced the mistakes I made with a promise to make them again. It was the Neo-American dream, and I was soaking up every glorious drop of it. Now I was on my way to my company's headquarters, probably for a promotion and a big fat bonus cheque.

At least that was the plan...

Instead, halfway through the flight, the stewardesses started darting back and forth between the cabin and the cockpit, in an apparent hurry. Not long after that, the oxygen masks dropped, and people started panicking. Infants screamed; fathers tried to reassure their daughters while in desperate need of a hug themselves; and some people started hyperventilating and passing out. The Captain's grim voice suddenly cracked over the airplane's intercom: "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have lost the right engine and will have to make an emergency landing while the left engine is still operational. We kindly ask that you remain seated with your seat-belts on and not panic. Our flight attendants will be passing by shortly to help you take the brace position. Thank you for choosing British Airways". Well, maybe he didn't say that last sentence, but his cocky British accent screamed it... I had a vision of the pilot wearing a monocle and a top hat while sipping tea, and I was just going to laugh when I realized I was probably going to die.

Right on cue, as if the left engine was following my train of thought, there was an explosion on my left and the plane took a nose dive. That was when I knew there was no way out of it. I would die, now. Time stopped.

Was it all in vain? Is this really the end?

I took a look at my three decades on Earth, and decided that I really didn't like how I used them. I didn't help anyone, I didn't have a family, I had no friends to speak of. What was the point of my life? Why was I born? This can't be it! Here I was, dying a thousand miles from home, and in two weeks after the news of my airplane crashing fade from the headlines, I would be forever forgotten... I had left nothing behind to speak of.

And that was when I started praying.

Through a haze of tears and cries and debris smashing through the cabin as we plummeted towards the ground, I started praying. Silently at first, but soon I found myself screaming my prayers at the top of my lungs, over the deafening roar of the engine and the rush of wind past my ears as the plane started disintegrating... perhaps I was hoping that maybe the louder I prayed the more likely I'd be heard. I internally resigned myself to either an eternity of nothingness, or an eternity of damnation... I was unsure which was worse. I hated myself at that moment. I hated my weakness.

I hated that I wished I'd made a different call, and maybe had more faith.
I hated that I secretly hoped there would still be life after death, even though I'd reasoned that they were just children's stories to teach them to cope with death.
I hated that I found myself praying to the very deity I'd forsaken years ago, hoping He'd take me back and forgive my sins.
I hated that my new Gods, Logic and Reason, had no way of saving me and I felt powerless to do anything about it.

But most of all, I hated my own hypocrisy. I'd been an atheist when it suited me, and now I was praying when there was something to gain from it. It was the height of irony that what I'd spent half my adult life ardently denying was now what every fiber in my being wished for... my last hope; my last shot at existence after the crash.

As I drifted out of consciousness, only one thought remained in my head:

I hope I've been wrong.

"Every atheist is religious once the plane starts falling".

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This last quote is not my own, but it inspired me to write this. It was necessary to use first-person perspective to better capture the protagonist's feelings, but as I said before, these are not my beliefs; this character is purely fictional (and 28). I think this post will manage to piss off both the religiously devout and the atheists, and I think I deserve a medal for that. Seriously though, no offense intended to either party.

An overdue letter to AUC

Dear AUC,

Where to start? You suck. You are hands down the most corrupt and least efficient organization that I've ever been part of. Registration pains, pointless courses, too much money spent, and shallow students. You overload us with midterms and give us little to no time to prepare, and you insist on giving us our holidays in the most annoying times when all the rest of Egypt are still taking their exams, so we're forced to spend most of the holidays at home. We spend half our college experience on the bus to and from campus, or running around all over AUC to register courses because your online registration also sucks. Most of your food is overpriced and ranges from unhealthy to poisonous/inedible. I was one of the last to witness first-hand the life at the Tahrir campus, where you could also add "crowded" and "way too small" to the nice list I wrote above.
But damn it if you weren't the most important chapter in my life so far.

Through your intense suckiness, you've taught us to depend on each other. I'm not exaggerating when I say that my second family is in AUC's Petroleum Engineering department, where I know from experience that everyone will do everything they can to help you through the rough patches. I'm singling them out because they're my family, but it's not just the PENG department... even though I've met my fair share of fuckwits who I'd rather never see again, I've met amazing people worth twice their weight in gold.
I've made friendships I know will last forever. I had a second home.

I came to you a self-conscious, insecure, socially awkward teenager with a bad haircut, and I'm leaving you as a confident, insanely hot guy (sarcasm) who understands his self-worth and who is not afraid to speak his opinion, and for that I will be eternally grateful. And for all my friends - nay, family- at AUC, whether they've graduated or if they're still going through the character-building maze that is AUC, I appreciate everything you've done for me and I will miss you all, but I'm sure we'll still see each other around. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'll miss this Goddamned place more than I thought I would.

Farewell, AUC. Thank you for making my decade.
But seriously, fuck you still.

Sincerely,
Bondok (2008-2013)

Frozen

Let it goooo, let it go! Can't hold it back anymooooore

Naaaah, just kidding.

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I look around, but I only see
Gloom and grey and shades of white
Why does this sight fill me with glee?
Do I not fear the freezing night?

For I am lost in a wrathful storm,
Snows cover all and cold winds rage
They attack my skin, like a vicious swarm
Of angry bees, in a war they wage

"I shall not fall", I swear, I vow.
"I will not die both cold and alone
I fear no winds, I'll not move now!
My roots are deep and hard as stone"

I feel the cold, it gives me hope
And power and strength and an icy grin
For the cold is me... and I shall cope
With the furious sea of pain within.

"Storm, do your worst, I fear you not!
I've been through far worse storms than you."
The storm replies "You'll die and rot"
And the winds of vengeance blew and blew.

Curse my pride, what kind of man
Would challenge a storm and still survive?
Chased by bees, though other men ran
I walked right up and kicked their hive

Though I am strong, I've made mistakes,
For those I'll pay, for years and years.
Though my regret would fill all lakes
It would not dry their endless tears.

Winter's child and forged from ice,
I was so proud of my cold heart
I had not thought that the price
Would be paid most dearly by their part.

With that, I did kneel in the snow
"My sorrow does not appease their pain"
For every breath I take is a blow,
To the happy memories I have slain.

And thus, I shall await my fate
The king of cold and ice shall freeze
I'd make amends, but it's too late
For me to apologize on my knees.

Some men might wish for a noble death,
With the glow of the Sun, in which they bask
But I'll call for the winds with my last breath,
For a frozen death is all I ask

And though it seems so, it's not mad
For a man to pay for what he's done
and though I freeze, do not be sad
Fulfilled; I'll smile until I'm gone.

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For everyone I've ever hurt. I am sorry.

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Hollow Sapiens

"My liege, I've done it! HOORAH" Screamed Melvin, barging into the throne room unceremoniously, stumbling over his cape.

Melvin. Besotted, poxy, thrice-damned Melvin. The king had had enough of him. And who the hell still wore capes? He rolled his eyes... It was so 12th century.

"What is the meaning of this?" Asked King Hazelnut, visibly annoyed. He had no time for Melvin's shenanigans.
"My liege, I have invented a mechanical bird! Man shall take to the skies in this invention and we shall explore realms far and wide!"

Typical. Leave it to Melvin to make the most unorthodox crackpot inventions imaginable when he wasn't under adult supervision.

Melvin Whatshisface was an eccentric younger brother to one of Hazelnut's powerful lords; Lord Whatshisface. One day, said lord requested that Melvin be granted any position in the king's retinue, to "honor the family name and strengthen ties between the families". Seeing as they were very close personal friends, the king accepted, but was now beginning to suspect that Whatshisface had more sinister motives to want Melvin as far away from his castle as possible. If it wasn't for their friendship, he would have had Melvin flogged, himself.

For one thing, he was always in his "lab", working on prototypes for inventions no one asked him for. More often than not, he blew up his chamber, and sometimes they found him passed out in a pool of what looked like vomit and smelled like apple pie. Once, they found blue smoke streaming from under his door, and when they walked into the room they found him upside down in a cauldron full of ale screaming "SPRING BREAK WOOOHOOOOOO". The man was insane. Bearing that in mind, you'll understand why the king was skeptical about his revelation.

"CHARLES!" called out Hazelnut.
"Your Majesty!" A burly pikeman kneeled in front of the throne, looking apprehensive. Last time he was asked to handle Melvin, they found him sprawled face-down on Melvin's bed five hours later, wiggling his feet and talking about boys. He still had no idea what Melvin had given him.
"Escort Melvin to his quarters. It appears he has been drinking his urine again." yawned the king.
The Queen cleared her throat.
Charles was just starting to get up when Melvin pushed him. When you're wearing steel armor that weighs 50 kilograms, and a man pushes you, you fall. And when you struggle to get up, you look comically like a cockroach trying to get off its back. As Charles wiggled on the floor trying to grab hold of any edge to hoist himself up, Melvin continued his speech like nothing happened.

"My liege, I beg the honor of escorting you to the courtyard, where my invention is ready for your highness. I assure you, I've already tested it several times, and it is almost as safe as being flung from a catapult. You have my word."
The Queen cleared her throat.

"Melvin, if you pick on Charles again I will have you flung from a catapult and you can tell me how safe it is, then. He is the captain of my guard for God's sake, and if I have to overhear him complaining to William again about how "mean" you are to him, I'll have him flung with you."

"But my liege, the mechanical bird awaits! The sky's the limit! Literally!"
The Queen cleared her throat.
"Is my Queen well, or should I send for the physician?"

Queen Latifah smiled, and said: "I thank you for your kindness, your majesty, but there will be no need for that. Perhaps my liege would like to inspect this contraption for himself? Surely it would be more entertaining than Charles's worm dance"

The king groaned. Of course she'd say that, her last name was also Whatshisface.

"Very well. Charles, I command you to stop wriggling."

Out of the hall, down five flights of stairs, through an entrance hall and out into the courtyard they went. Hazelnut paused at the entrance of the courtyard, taken aback at the strange sight before him. It looked like an immense white tube, with what looked like fixed wings on either side.
"Melvin, where did you find this?"
"During one of my experiments, I tested the hydrodynamical resistance of the coefficient of-" Melvin began, but the king cut him off
"You have no idea how you summoned this, do you?"
"Not even a slight one, my liege" He seemed very proud of the fact.
"How have I not noticed this before?" Asked Hazelnut.
"My liege, I've been leading a huge workforce to flatten a very long patch of land to create a port for this device. I have flown it three times over the past week alone, and its shrieks are loud enough for the devil himself to bang his broomstick on the roof of hell yelling "SOME OF US HAVE WORK IN THE MORNING". I would not presume to give offense but you are not a very attentive king, your grace." Melvin smiled. Hazelnut wanted to punch him.
"And how have you learned to fly it?" He asked, dumbfounded.
"It came with an instruction manual!" Said Melvin with a note of derision, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
"Does anyone else know about this?" Asked the king.
"Surprisingly not, your grace. The middle ages are a very fun time to have a secret; people thought the shrieks were coming from hungry dragons and no one seems to look twice at the bird. I believe it is invisible to everyone else unless I point it out to them. Hey, don't look at me, that's the crappy story the writer came up with to justify this"
"What writer?"
"Never mind your grace, would you like to ride the bird?"

And so, the king boarded the plane with Melvin, and they took off to parts unknown. The Queen mourned her lost king for years and years, not knowing that he was living far away in the arms of five other hoes, partying all day and night with Melvin and being the old-timey equivalent of a rockstar. True Story.

The Queen blamed herself. He had disappeared the minute she asked him to see Melvin's invention, and she couldn't believe she was the reason he died. The fact that her name was Queen Latifah was no longer funny. Anyway, if she knew where he was, it would make no sense for her to mourn, right? He was alive and well, so what's the point?

Now think of the plane as a metaphor for death, and reread the story because it's funny as hell.

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Why do we hate death?
Fear of the unknown.

Think about it. If there was a way for you to contact your deceased loved ones, you wouldn't fear death. And why would you? About 3 centuries ago, travelling overseas was equal to a death sentence. You couldn't contact your loved ones, and the distance was so great that families said their goodbyes to their travelling relatives, fully expecting never to be reunited again. Does that mean that those relatives died the minute they boarded the ships? As far as their families were concerned they did, because they would never see them again... and yet they still lived in some remote corner of the planet. Far and unreachable... but alive. I, for one, want to board the ship. It can't be worse than reality. I believe that the dead live on in a place unknown to us, much like the Americas were unknown to the Europeans in the 13th century... We just don't know how to reach them. Yet.

As JK Rowling once said (through Albus Dumbledore's lips): "For the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Modern human beings pride themselves on their rationality. We think, evaluate, and make "logical" decisions and judgments. Yet for all our intelligence, we have an irrational fear of the unknown. Death is final. Death is real. Death is a part of life. We don't seem to want to understand that... ignoring a hard truth is easy. We want to believe that we are invincible, untouchable, unyielding... But the fact of the matter is we have a very constricting limit called "death". In fact, it is a testament to sheer human willpower that we have managed to thrive for this long without imploding (well, I wouldn't say "thrive", Egypt is imploding already. But you get the gist). We survive. We build. Our species stares death in the eye every day, roaring its defiance, determined to survive... and this is why death has gone from being our limit to being the ultimate source of our strength. But even though we have left our mark on death, it will win every time. No one beats death, least of all humans, with our insignificant life spans.

We are fragile. We are weak. We are hollow.
We are human.
Embrace it.

Need For Speed: Da2ery

A very narrow opening between the car in front of him and the car to his right... He floored the accelerator, taking a sharp swerve to the right at the last second, barely slipping between them and zooming off.

Ever careless, heedless of his own safety, he never really considered the danger his reckless driving posed to himself and others. He was aware of it, of course, but it always seemed unlikely for something bad to happen to him. Much like we all choose to ignore inconvenient truths and convince ourselves that it would never happen to us, he never really gave it any serious thought. He didn't do it to look cool. He didn't do it to endanger others. No one understood.

He turned up the volume on his iPod.

People underestimate the mood-lifting effects of driving like an idiot. Sure, it's dangerous and you could kill pedestrians and you could crash your car and blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH but oh GOD the feeling is unrivaled. Going as fast as your car would go without crashing into other cars or breaking the sound barrier is more invigorating than any drug or pill. You reach this moment of clarity where you understand that your life is in your hands... Literally. To live or to die depends on your skills, your judgement and how well you know your car.

He lifted his foot off the accelerator and banked hard to the left, using the car's momentum and centripetal acceleration to carry him past the car in front of him, and then slammed the gas pedal as hard as it would go as soon as he passed it.

Our parents are liars. They made us think we have a choice. The illusion of choice is more cruel than having a predetermined role in life, because as soon as you realize it, your life is never the same. We fool ourselves into believing that we control our destiny, but do we? We are metaphorically given a choice to either swim across the ocean, board a ship, or fly... But no one ever asks us if we want to cross that ocean in the first place. It's always assumed, because it's "the cycle of life". We are born, we go to school, we study hard to go to a good college, we study hard in college to work for a good company and buy a car and a house with a white picket fence. Then we get married, have children, have them go to school to repeat the same cycle, while we slowly age until our lives are over, leaving nothing more than a skid-mark on the highway that is life... if we're lucky.

A radar camera was coming up to his left... He was going too fast. He glanced in his rear view mirror, and there was a car behind him so he couldn't brake as hard as he wanted. He made a sharp turn to the right and slammed on the brakes, barely steadying the steering wheel with both his hands. He barely made it to the speed limit as he screeched past the camera.

Nothing steadied his nerves as much as a dangerous gamble with death. It was up to him. He was in control. No one could tell him what to do. If he were to want to crash into a wall or a truck, he would do it and bear the consequences. The stakes were high, but it was his call. His car. His life. Once he made a decision, he had to live with it. At these speeds, you can't go back. You either speed up and take the opportunity, or you slow down to a speed where you can think. You are committed to your decision. There is no middle ground. To hesitate is to die.

A Nickelback song came on shuffle. It ruined his mood. He clicked "next" on his iPod, and replied to a text message on his phone.

But as much as he loved driving, he also hated it. He hated it because he hated not knowing if today would be the day he finally took it too far, giving a random stranger the chance to deliver the worst news in the world to his family as his car lay crumpled on the side of the road. He could not be trusted with a car, especially when he was in emotional turmoil. It always made him at least thrice as reckless.

He'd always thought driving was a lot like life. We're not all equals. Some people have better cars than others, and hence they have a head-start. Literally. Also, you can let obstacles such as road bumps or traffic rules hold you back... or you can achieve your full potential. In some ways, he found driving to be a better, riskier version of life... Your every decision counts. During those few, adrenaline-charged seconds when you notice a window of opportunity up ahead and you decide to take it, you make your own reality. Rational thinking, logic, emotion... they all take the back seat and instincts take over. You're a fighter pilot, maneuvering your way out of a missile lock... or a hawk, taking a deep dive to snatch a fish from under the waves.

Say what you will, but he felt more alive doing five minutes of that than he did "living" for a few weeks.

Of course, human instincts are not always accurate.

He started gathering speed to overtake a car. As always, his car made that angry rumbling noise as the RPM cranked up and the motor tried to deal with the extra fuel input. He was just about to take a left when he noticed a car behind him on the left, right in his rear view mirror's blind spot. But he was going too fast now, he couldn't brake in time to avoid slamming into the car in front of him. He could either go left or go right. He was getting closer. He had to make an immediate decision. To hesitate is to die. He knew there was a car to his left, and there was no time to look in the side view mirror... so he banked right at 80 MPH, hoping for the best.

There was a car to his right.

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In the memory of Maged El-Gaweesh.

PS: This post in no way promotes reckless driving. It is purely a work of fiction, meant to portray the speed junkie's point of view. Please drive responsibly... the protagonist dies.

Mirage

There is something oddly comforting about seeing the sea, stretching out before you in all directions, cutting you out from the rest of the world. Floating on a boat made of rotting tree bark and uncertainty, held together with weeds and prayers, you truly begin to grasp the insignificance of life and the futility of our made-up struggles. You see no chance of salvation, no way you can get out of this alive.... but somehow knowing this makes it seem easier to accept.

You are lost at sea.

They never discuss this part in the movies. The traditional lost-at-sea movies usually portray hunger and thirst as your biggest enemy, but it's really your mind that you've got to watch out for. It's easy to forget how destructive one's own thoughts can be when there are no distractions around. Our modern life style has made us so used to having distractions that the prison we've come to fear the most is the prison within. Forget food or water; the physical pain is nothing compared to the havoc your own brain is probably wreaking at this point.

For one thing, you're imprisoned in a wide, open space. You can escape, for there are no bars or chains or gaolers... but where to? The sadistic irony of being able to escape but having nowhere to go is somehow even worse than being tortured in a dungeon. Before long, the calming aspect of the blue waters and the fresh, salty air is lost... to be replaced by an influx of irrational fear where you start thinking of all the possible ways you can still get out of this, much like a mouse would in a mouse trap. But it's OK, you're still calm... you take a deep breath, and start to think of anything else to take your mind off your slow-coming doom.

Well-played, brain.

Guess what? Remember all those repressed feelings and emotions you had locked up? With no one to talk to, they came waltzing back, laughing manically while metaphorically screaming obscenities about your mother. Remember that time your dad told you that he wasn't proud of you? HAHAHA HOW FUNNY WAS THAT? Or the time when your mom asked you for help and you let her down and had to deal with that look of sad disappointment in her eyes? Or that time the girl you thought you loved cheated on you? Ooooooooooh I'd hate to have been in your shoes. Every single repressed memory comes rushing back in HD quality, and you've got nowhere to run... No TV shows to immerse yourself in, no friends to complain to. Nothing.

Trapped inside, you struggle to find anything to busy yourself with, but there's nothing you can do apart from taking a swim around your boat. Your food is almost out, and you've drunk your last gulp of stale water hours ago. You're starting to panic now. You're nowhere near any signs of human civilization, and you haven't seen any boats or airplanes anywhere. You'd read somewhere that seagulls are a sign of land, but all you've seen so far is a flock of migratory birds, flying purposefully overhead in a direction unknown to you. You'd long since given up on trying to use the stars to guide you, because you were not born in the tenth century and therefore don't have the necessary skills to do that. You chuckle at your own wit for a second, and then remember again that you're slowly dying so you start panicking again.

But what's that you see? Is that a tree-top in the distance? That couldn't be an island, could it? Suddenly you get an influx of inexplicable energy, and a renewed sense of purpose. Maybe there's still a chance. Maybe you can still live! The lazy pace at which the boat is drifting is not enough anymore. You lean forward and you paddle with your hands left and right, conserving energy be damned. The harder you paddle, the further the tree seems to get... It's like the least fun game of tag in the world. You stop paddling, and the island seems to stop moving. You start feeling that you're the butt of a cosmic joke, where an all-powerful being of insurmountable power is playing cat and mouse with you. Somehow you're not laughing.

It dawns on you... It's a mirage. It's your Goddamned brain at work again. Your worst enemy.

You lean back and you collapse, exhausted and sweaty... and you can't afford to sweat. The minute you get dehydrated and start drinking seawater, it's over. The sea is as vast as ever, and the land was a lie. You stop panicking, for you've accepted your fate. Seawater is starting to seem like a good idea...

Maybe if you hadn't used up all your energy chasing a shadow, you'd have survived long enough for the passenger ship that would pass in a few hours to save you. What? You don't like the irony of it? Bleak irony's kind of my thing now.

Sometimes when you're lost in a sea of your own thoughts, unable to see land, your mind feels obliged to give you what you seek. But it's not helping you. Sometimes the lesser of two evils is a slow, painful realization rather than temporary relief at the prospect of salvation, followed by a 10,000 foot drop to reality.

Your mind is not always your friend.

A Parent's Wisdom

You know who you are. When you read this you'll feel offended, but know that this isn't directed at you, or at anyone in particular. It's just a life lesson that I'd been choosing to ignore due to its harshness.

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Storks are migratory birds, meaning that they have fixed migration patterns at certain times every year, depending on the bird species and its life cycle. For example, the White Stork lives in warm climates. It spends its winters in the African Savannah, where the temperature is warm enough, and it travels to its European breeding grounds in the summer.

One such stork was born in the winter, in the African Savannah. All the little stork knew was Africa; it had never been anywhere else. It was in its nature to migrate, but the stork had not yet been old enough to have migrated even once. The prospect had always scared the stork, because it couldn't understand why it had to uproot itself from its home every winter and go to Europe for the summer, braving dangers and predators and exposing itself to the wrath of nature, all for no reason.

The stork's best friend was a swallow, and they enjoyed each other's company. As soon as they were both old enough to fly, they soared together in the skies of Africa, ignoring their parents' frantic cries as they tried to warn them of hawks. With the bravery of the blissfully young and ignorant, they routinely got themselves dragged into tight spots. It got to the point where they were grounded twice a week, and if you had wings, you'd understand how a cage can be the worst punishment for a bird.

The stork routinely fought with its parents, trying to make them see that they didn't have to migrate. Their whole life was in Africa; their friends, their family and their home. Its parents would argue that the whole family would be coming too, and that they would be back home in a year anyway. When the stork brought up its friends, its father sighed warily with the patience only a parent can muster, and said: "We come into this world alone, and we leave it alone. Live your life, my son, and don't plan it according to other people. They won't change theirs for you, no matter how strong your relationship is".

The stork didn't believe its parents, as kids are wont to do. Its parent stressed the fact that it was not personal, but it was the circle of life, and that the stork should not be offended because its friend is leaving, because the swallow had no more hand in it than the stork... It was simply its life cycle. "Your friendship will endure, but don't expect anyone to change their life for you" was how its father put it.

And sure enough, a few months later found the flock of swallows going their own, separate way. Like the stork's father had said, the swallow had had no say in it. It left with its family, with promises that they would meet again the following summer. But words are cheap, and no one knows what would happen in six months... For all they know, one of them would die hundreds of miles away from home, and their friendship would end painfully.

The stork was devastated. It could not face the fact that its friend would just up and leave, without a second thought. Was their friendship worth nothing? Surely he could have stayed if he'd wanted to! His parents had been right about that, it seemed... life goes on, and if you don't roll with it, you'd be the sad bird in denial, left behind alone while people got on with their lives.

In a few weeks, it was time for the storks to migrate as well. The stork didn't put up much of a fight, because there was nothing left for it in Africa; its friend had left, its family would be coming with it, and Africa would be left behind, forgotten for a year.

Except fate had other plans.

His father had a close run-in with death, in the form of a hawk that almost killed him. Even though he managed to escape, the hawk had broken his wing, making migration impossible. A bird without wings is a dead bird, and the fact was not lost on the young swallow. It's mother declared that it would stay with the father, to hunt for food and feed him in his weakened state. The stork promised it would stay behind and help, but its parents refused point-blank.

"Life goes on. We will survive for weeks, maybe even months. What then? We are but two storks in the wild, and we won't last very long. We've done our part; we've raised you and your brothers, and our lives are of little import. You still have your whole life ahead of you, and we won't let you stay behind to die. Life goes on, and so will you. Go now, and who knows? Maybe when you come back next year, we'll still be here."

With that, the stork left its home, world-wary and grim. Life had made no exceptions for its parents, and it wouldn't for the young stork.

Life goes on and no one can stop it.

It's always easy to overlook this fact, because it's a harsh fact. People pretend their relationships matter; that their friends and family would always be there for them, that life is their own little Sitcom. But at the end of the day, no one would stay behind for anyone else, just like the swallow abandoned the stork, and just like the stork abandoned its parents. Because it's not abandonment.

It's life.