Rebel, No Cause

I've reached my rebellious phase. 13 years late. (But I've always started late - walking, talking, travelling alone, making friends. I'm relatively punctual though. Relatively.) Everything is open to question - religion (especially religion), society, family ties, authority, the army, even air, and some of the planets.

The do-this, do-thats of the world trouble me.

Religious rituals - even more so. Every ritual has a context, a historical significance. Yet, nobody questions religion or its rituals. They follow blindly. Like sheep. Or cows. Displaying a herd mentality that troubles me.

Anna Hazare - everyone jumped on this corruption bandwagon, sharing reports, news videos, opinions, the works. Most were clueless about the possibilities, outcomes, even the context. Herd mentality again. There is much to recommend supporting a movement; but supporting without question - that is scary.

(The following may seem unrelated. But there is a connection, vague though it may be.)

Costa Rica does not have an army. Not since 1948. Yet, it remains politically stable even within a turbulent neighborhood. What would have been military funding is now diverted to more positive areas - education, healthcare, etc. Maybe they are on to something.

Why doesn't the big bad world question its need for the military? Can't the world live without its armies?

Not as long as people remain unquestioning (for that is key), ready to feel slighted at the slightest opportunity, ensuring that war remains inevitable, and armies necessary.

Personal freedom. There is no respect for it in this do-this do-that world. Everyone's a lecturer. Everyone's a moralist. Everyone's an intruder. Everyone is sowing the seed of eventual violence.

I will do as I please. Do-this do-that world, stay away from me. I don't believe in you.

One of those days

that refuses to end. I'm tired, grumbly, unhappy, stressed. But my horoscope says things will be "wow!" by the 15th. What can I do but wait? Sigh.

Being 27

It's tough being 27; more than being 25, maybe less than being 28. It's the now-or-never year - the year you finally stop being a fence-sitter and fall (or maybe are pushed) into grownuphood. Not a nice feeling, especially if you keep looking over your shoulder, "Which idiot pushed me? C'mon! Own up!".

There's nobody there. If there ever was, they've run off long before you scrambled to your feet to dust the mud off your trousers. So what are you now: girl or woman, boy or man? Blur the age difference with, "I'm just one of the guys", but that doesn't change a thing does it? In the newspapers, a 27-year-old no longer qualifies as a youth. You've made the transition into the "young man/woman" category.

Yet, even if you heave an unwilling sigh and accept the final move into adulthood, you'll find others who are not quite ready to let you pass. "Where's your pass?" they'll shout. Where's your award? Where's your money? Where's the recognition? Where's the spouse? We can't let you pass without all that, they'll say. And yet, they are the ones who are secretly wishing you would grow up quicker. Wishing and hoping and waiting and pulling you back into babyhood. Doing this again and again and again, until you get fed up and yell, "I'm all growed up Mom. You stop acting like a child!"

And then Mom (or Dad, for they are one and the same thing really) will look at you hurt, walk away and proceed to act like a hurt baby. So what do you do? Quickly jump back into babyhood to make them feel all growed up again. Then it is back to the struggles of being 27 again. How old are we really?