WARNING: BIG words and MATURE concepts
I’ve been thinking about myself a lot lately.
That would be self-evident in many of my recent postings. Self-reflection can be a ‘dirty’ habit for some – it’s a chance to look inwards and be surprised by the detritus that has silently accumulated on the treasures that you hold in your heart. A dirty habit because people tend not to like to do it; it’s an uncomfortable, ignorance-banishing process that often necessitates action as radical as the realisations it creates. But I like the fact that it is a habit… once you start doing it, it gets strangely addictive. You get this kick of euphoria every time you do it because something exciting is about to happen.
Last night, I was reading about the dangers of letting petrol tanks in cars run empty. When the car is down to its last few litres of petrol, the fuel level descends into a layer of sludge (that builds up over time), sucking it into the fuel lines and potentially causing engine failure. How horrible! I thought, while skimming through the article. How horrible that something seemingly so insignificant can cause so much trouble just because I didn’t fill my tank up in time.
Ponder this with me… in what ways are our lives like cars? What manner of muck builds up over time, only to be exposed in the most ungainly fashion when we begin to get stressed? What kinds of things fuel our lives? Good quality petrol? Or cheap ad-hoc stuff that gets mixed up in somebody’s backyard? And what happens when the muck accumulates? How hard is it to get this stuff out so it won’t cause a breakdown and cause you – God forbid – to lose momentum?
Notwithstanding the myriad analogies that can be created in terms of car types, individual lifestyles and whatnot, I am going to attempt to retrace my life history (and future) – in four easy stages – for you to follow. You might be surprised at the cars I used to drive, and how I treated them.
STAGE 1 – Year 4 – Year 9
Throughout my formative years I was a fat, ignorant, and self-serving blob of lard who lived only for the joy of computer games. Inherently competitive, computer games have been a staple of the adolescent male’s diet for many years, now, shifting the focus away from more wholesome activities such as sports or social outings. I fell victim to its influences, along with all the side-effects, most of them bad, that came with it.
I wasn’t a bad kind of boy, inherently. One could argue that I was essentially average, and therefore profoundly uninteresting, unless you cater for the fact that I was only one of a handful of ‘foreigners’ in my school. Supporting me also was the fact that I hadn’t matured – cognitively or physically – enough to embrace a more encompassing perspective.
scary. do you recognise me? I don't *shivers*
In absolute terms, though, I was pretty horrible. It wasn’t that I was proud… I was too young to even know what to be proud about. It was more a reflection of the company I found myself in. Socially challenged boys and other niche societies, namely, exerting influence over me. I picked up some bad slang and equally naughty habits from them. I also wore my heart on my sleeve, something that got me into a whole heap of trouble with my more traditional Chinese relatives. Only my cousins seemed to think I was cute, and I have a sneaking suspicion that was more out of family loyalty than any specific endearment. I grew up with the understanding that I had lots of potential, I just hadn’t managed to realise any of it. And that annoyed me lots. By the time year 9 rolled around, I knew I had to change.
A picture of this car NOT on fire was... well, not the norm.
If my body was the car and my mind was its engine, I’d have had to be the Ford Pinto, a car whose image will be forever linked to images of exploding engine bays and the deathly wails of its occupants. I was a safety hazard – to myself, namely – and was prone to blowing up in panic when challenged. In terms of mileage I would have been surprised if I could get myself down the road and back without any serious complications! I’d been running myself to empty almost every week, and I lived for each day as it came not because I was smart, but because I had no conception of a future. The sludge had been sucked down the fuel lines and was choking my engine. Not good.
In summary, then, I hadn’t started life in a particularly good vehicle, to say the least. If I’d stuck with the Pinto, I was never going to get very far, impress anyone, or leave any legacy worth mentioning. Apart from something involving flames and lots of pain. Very obviously, however, that was not where I ended up. So, what changed? Find out in the next post!
In Faith, Hope and Love!
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