Many Happy Returns

Yesterday was my birthday - according to my parents and my birth certificate. And though I appreciate the numerous wishes I received – some probably well-intended, others fake – I dare admit what everyone else seems to blissfully ignore during their birthday: that there is nothing special about this day and that it simply reminds us that we are growing older and steadily pacing closer towards our inevitable death.

I struggle to comprehend the fascination and excitement that others share towards their birthday or birthdays in general. To me, it was just another day. I do not need an excuse to go out and party if I want to. And vice versa: if I don’t feel like celebrating, but would rather have a quiet night in, I should not “have to” do something just because it’s my birthday, or because it’s New Year’s Eve, or because it’s one of those devised “special” days. If people are genuinely happy to have been born and would like to celebrate the fact they survived another year onto this earth, then good for them. Some of us may have a different view on things though.

To me, it is a reminder of all the things I have not achieved yet, of all the goals I did not fulfill during the last year and that the end is getting nigh. It is a reminder that the older you get, the less flexible you become (both in body and in spirit), the less motivated you become and the less chances and stamina you have to try new things. It is echoing of the less risks and gambles you should take, of the more responsibilities you have and of the time that is ticking away.

Even more painful and disheartening are the wishes themselves. Though very much appreciated, some of them simply serve to make you more depressed than you already are. The simplest ones are the best: “Happy birthday” and a couple of “xx”. Straight-forward, to the point, they simply indicate that the person wishing you has taken those 10 seconds out of their time to do so and time is the most precious thing you can offer someone. I like the genuine ones too – and you can tell which ones these are. Some messages will be long but you can tell the difference between those bullshitting you and those who have genuinely taken the time to think about you and compose something nice, funny or original to say. If a person is treating you one way during the rest of 364 days but is super-friendly during your birthday, then they can shove their politeness up where the sun never shines.

And then of course are the wishes of relatives: May all your dreams come true, hope you become successful in all you do, prosper in your career, find a nice girl, get married and have lots of wonderful, perfect kids. No pressure there, right? Not only are you reminding me that I am getting older but you are also reminding me of the fact that I should hurry and make sure I accomplish all of the things you listed, since my life has been a total failure and disappointment so far! And whose “dreams” will be coming true anyway? Have you wondered if I will be happy or if I am happy or do you just take it for granted that changing nappies full of shit is everyone’s dream in life? (This mostly goes out to Mediterranean families who are convinced that they are living the ideal lives, who are too glued onto their kids, thinking they are the centre of the world, believing that their children are perfect and indestructible, and urging their offspring to follow exactly the same path, so that 30 years from now it will be their turn to apply the same pressure to their children, without a single person pausing at any given moment in life to simply dare attempt to view life from a different perspective and perhaps even succeed in enjoying it – if at all possible).

In reality, what are birthdays though but nature’s own ticking time bomb? Birthdays bring us one more step, one more minute, month, year closer to our deaths. Most people are scared by the idea of death. They are frightened of the unknown, of the end, of even hell perhaps (more about death in another blog post). Death does not frighten me though. Sure I am concerned about the way I would die (would not wish to be buried alive for example). I am concerned about the pain and agony I might suffer beforehand, about the things I will regret doing or not doing, saying or not saying and of situations and emotions left without closure. However, I see death as the sweet release. I truly believe that the only free man is a dead man. What does scare me is old age. Failure. Enslavement to this life. And my next birthday. If I’m lucky enough, everything will end in 21^st December 2012 (more about the end of the world in another blog post). But whilst the Apocalypse might be something I look forward to, my next birthday is definitely something I do not.

Football

What is it about football that gets men behaving in their most primal instincts? I personally don’t see what the big fuss is all about. And there is definitely not a “football gene” incorporated into the Y chromosome. Ok, I understand that some people will find it entertaining. Relaxing. Fun. Yet, football, its athletes and its fans, seem to fail dramatically at either having fun or being relaxed about it. And by the way, before I proceed any further to attempt a psychoanalysis on the sport, let me clarify I am referring to “football” as most of the world realises it (hence not American football – though I’m sure the analysis could be easily applied to that as well).

So, first of all, why does a large percentage of the male population get all excited about a sport? If they are participating themselves, I can understand the need for healthy competition (though not always), the need for exercise and for male-bonding. But if someone is simply watching, what do they really get out of it? They get entertainment let’s say, same way someone else is entertained by a movie, a comedy, a concert or a strip show. Yet, I don’t remember the last time people lost their sleep or appetite because Barney did not score in How I Met Your Mother, or got caught into a fight because the villain of a movie got away with murder. Some people tend to get emotional in movies but I’m sure it does not reach the fanatically rage levels that a football fan hits when his favourite team loses a game. So where is the fun part in that?

Let’s go for the male-bonding reason then. Football is a good excuse to catch up with “the lads”, have a beer or two and strengthen your friendship over a Sunday game. Then, keep drinking either because you are celebrating a football victory or mourning a game loss, spent the next 5 hours over-analysing every move of each player and the referee (always in a dramatic and non-objective way), get into a fight and crack someone’s head open – possibly yours. I say: FAIL for the male bonding and the entertainment. If anything, it seems to divide people.

Perhaps we need a closer inspection of the sport itself: 22 young, fit, athletic guys, running around in shorts and sweaty t-shirts. Maybe that is why your girlfriend is a bit pissed off with you: you’d rather give 22 male strangers more attention than her. And her insecurities of course grow! Hey, if you are into that and it turns you on watching them, good for you, please keep watching (do inform your girlfriend though so that she doesn’t freeze to death waiting in her new sexy lingerie in the bedroom). Seriously now though, if you want to appear all butch and tough, watch an episode of “Spartacus”, visit your local strip club or do some sports yourself – don’t scream like a 15-year old praising people like Rooney, as if he is a god on this earth. He can just kick a ball. Is he better than you? Is he a better doctor, lawyer, mechanic, teacher, waiter, salesman, policeman, accountant, musician, janitor, pilot, chef than you? Is he a better husband or a man than you? No. He – and every other footballer – is but a man himself. So why does he deserve your praise or why does he deserve the ridiculous sums of money they are getting paid?

Which brings me to all the loyalty that men have to their own “selected” football club. It is usually passed on from a father-figure since an early stage and most men across the world ensure that their children will also be dressed up from a young age in the colours of their favourite football team. What’s the deal with that? If you have been following football for years and decide to choose one team to support because of their history in successes or because you enjoy the way they play, fair enough. Don’t get all wound up about it if no-one shares the same opinion as you and don’t get your kids all that crazy about it either – it’s just a game. We are not up against the dark forces of Voldemort. The players keep moving from one team to another anyway! Ronaldo will be your best buddy one day and the most hated person on the earth the following week. How immature is that?

And finally, what is with associating football to politics and patriotism? This is very evident in Cyprus; a small community, where unfortunately everyone and everything is closely associated to something else. If you support team A, then you are left-wing, if you support team B, then you are right-wing, if you support team C then you are clueless about politics and in general, and so on. And politics do to football what politics do best: they suck the fun factor out of it. As for the “big games” and the momentary satisfaction it appears to give the whole nation if their country team beats the team of a country they are (or used to be) at war (or generally just dislike): No, it does not prove you are better people. No, it does not offer any justice, or restore freedom and equal rights. No, you are not a patriot just because you watched the football match and you cheered when the opponents cried at their loss.

Coming to a conclusion though, living in a world where everything fake is praised and over-rated (boobs, tans, anorexic models, cheating millionaires, drug-addict singers, aggressive actors) why should football be any different? Football, as most things nowadays, has been exploited and deteriorated. Instead of uniting people who are true football fans worldwide, it divides and distant us. It offers fake pleasures and no-one benefits from it except the clubs, their owners and the footballers, who have risen to consider themselves and be considered by others as demi-gods, next to the likes of Angelina Jolie and Charlie Sheen. They are nothing but people, with a little bit (perhaps) of talent. Then again, most of us have at least a talent. If only we could put as much faith and fanaticism to ourselves and those we (should) truly love, as we put in those 22 young, fit, athletic guys in shorts and sweaty t-shirts

PS. To all female football-fans who might consider my blog "sexist" as it is directed mostly to men, let's be honest: You are missing the point.

8 types of public transport delayers

You all know them. You come across them every day and you all secretly want to punch them in the back. This mostly applies to people who live in big cities – they can comprehend and fully appreciate the chaos and misery of public transport. But whether on trains, buses or boats, whether you deal with them on an everyday basis or less often, we have all been and still are frustrated and angered with the 8 main types of annoying people that cause us delays on public transport:

Stupid people I

Check which way you are going, then pass through the doors (for the underground). Do not swipe your card, walk through and then pause and gaze around with your mouth wide open trying to figure out which underground line or which exit you need. You are blocking everyone else behind you. Get in a damn corner, gather all available brain cells and, hopefully, find your way out.

Tourists

Whether they are over-excited Asian paparazzis, Arabs with large families or hyper-active and loud Mediterraneans, these species are mostly found in herds and can cause severe jams and even more severe headaches. They take pictures of pretty much anything (I thought McDonald’s were everywhere!?), always fail miserably to find their way around quickly and efficiently despite the use of maps and technology and of course take lots of space.

Slow-walking people

People who carry babies or old people should be banned from using public transport during rush hours. At the risk of sounding ageist (probably have already!) I think it’s pretty dumb stupid for these people to travel around during the morning and evening rush hours. Unless it is a matter of emergency, I suggest they wait until the rush hour calms down a little bit before bringing out the canes and the prams and cause delay and frustration to us and to themselves.

The happy couple

Yes, you are in love. Yes, you just got engaged. Yes, you just finished your day and you are going home to shag. Yes, you just re-united after two weeks, four days, eleven hours and seventeen minutes, and you are also going home to shag. No, you cannot hold hands, make out, walk slowly and display any signs of affection that severely delay the other half a million people rushing to go home to shag their partners – or wank, if they are single.

The geeks

How damn interesting is that book or newspaper article (it’s the Metro for crying out loud), that you most definitely need to delay everyone on the escalators or annoy them by claiming your “own” space and flipping pages in their face whilst packed inside the bus or train. The same goes for people who have not discovered the “pause” button on the Angry Birds screen or have not realised there is no internet access underground, hence turning on their precious iPad and attempting to read their emails will disappoint them tragically.

Stupid people II

What’s with some people (mainly women, sorry!) and their inability to speak on the phone and walk at the same time? They come out of the bus or train, the phone rings, they have to answer it right there and then (who knows, house might be on fire) and then talk on the phone, while the walk rate drops exponentially with time and number of words they utter. Unless you are some funny alien species, I’m sure you can learn that your feet and your mouth serve very different functions.

The ungrateful ones

If I let you get on the bus before me, as an act of kindness and respect, whilst I’m carrying a dozen of Sainsbury’s bags, at least have the same respect to decline the offer since you are planning on spending the next ten minutes chatting to the bus driver and asking about the bus, its route, its direction, the ticket price, the flexibility of bus routes, the bus hours and basically anything you couldn’t figure out on your own using the bus stop information.

Chicks

With heels, a dozen bags from designer stores, sunglasses (in the underground, really?!) and the need to apply make-up or walk slowly to avoid shedding a drop of sweat and ruining the precious fringe that cost them £400 and 3.5 hours at the hairdresser’s. Besides, public transport is beneath you, darling. Surely a girl made in Chelsea could afford a limo anyway. So, fuck off my damn way!

Bonus Delayer: Escalator phobics
These are the people who slow down dramatically as they approach the escalators and step on with such a great caution and fear, as if they are about to step on the neck of a newborn baby. On the other hand, you have the people who step off the escalators really slowly and carefully, as if they are about to enter Hades' underworld and is unknown to them what lies beyond the end of the escalator. Use the lift or the stairs next time!

Karma Vs Vengeance

Recently I received some not-so-great news, which I will not share with you nor will I share the nature of the problem, but I would rather skip all that and go straight into the lessons taught (or not).  The problem itself is easily resolved and hardly disturbing; just a bit annoying and frustrating. It adds up though to the series of bad strikes I have always had throughout my life and confirms my suspicions that even though other people lead more reckless lives, I am destined to be targeted and face battles which others luckily escape. This is what makes it most unfair and angering. Why would karma always pick on me, while allow other people who have been unfair, dishonest, immature, irresponsible, sometimes even devious, slip away?

I know what a lot of people will think; that I, like others, enjoy being the victim, thinking that the greater purpose in life is to be unhappy and all that. Don’t get me wrong, I do acknowledge that there are far worse problems in life; life-threatening diseases, wars, poverty, hunger. Yet I can only wish that I could change all that but I can barely influence and alter the things happening in my own life. And even though my problems are minor, it is their summation and continuous flow which makes me wonder if this streak of bad luck will ever end or not.

Just as I was thinking all of the above, enters a person in my life which did me wrong about 5-6 months ago. We stopped communicating, I thought it was all over, yet – like many other idiots of my past – this person made contact after such a long period of time. Normally, I would think “Why don’t these losers get on with their fucking lives and leave me alone in peace? Why do they keep coming back?” However, the timing of this person’s return was more than perfect, nicely aligned with the news I had received on the day, and only one word kept echoing though my brain’s neurons: Vengeance.

The timing was too good to be just a coincidence. Did this opportunity appear itself to me so that I could take advantage of it and have my revenge? I am, after all, a vengeful person, and despite what other people say, I enjoy having the last word and watching people pay for their past actions. I consider it mainly “justice” rather than “revenge”. Or did this opportunity appear itself as a test; to check if I could be the bigger person and move on with my life, without turning back to the past. I chose not to do anything about it in the end. Not for the reasons you might think; not because revenge is wrong or that I would not have achieved anything. Not because I should or want to be the bigger person. If it’s one lesson that I learned from all this, is that being the “nice guy” will not get you far. It’s the lack of morals and principles that usually frees people and allows them to succeed.

I did not do it, simply because it could backfire. And with my history of bad luck, I believe it to be almost certain that this would kick me right back down again sooner, than later. So there you go, I chose not to take revenge purely on selfish reasons; to protect myself and no-one else. Not even for the “good of my soul”. Does that make me an evil person? Perhaps. Yet I do what I must to overcome my latest obstacle and ensure that it does not haunt me anymore. As for the person from the past: Ignoring them was a sort of revenge too, since this is what they did to me in the first place. So, in a way, I did have the last word. It just happened to be a silent one.