Social Disgrace

I should not be complaining, I really should not. I am sure I had been guilty of these things too, so who am I to rant about their pettiness and point of view. But on a day like this, just let me get these things out of my chest ok? Hehe…

Is your driver the one making you late? There are 1001 things that can possibly go wrong from the time you step out of the house. Sometimes it is forces of nature that is having fun, and the outcome is completely beyond the control of your driver- who has to endure the pain of driving mind you. Why should one vent his/her frustration on the driver when an accident is the cause of the traffic coming to a standstill? A beautiful picture of the cosmos interacting with one another, where the actions of one can affect another's life.

I understand the psychological need to blame someone for something. I understand the burning that goes on inside, when one is going to be late for something that matters. I understand the need for an outlet for the discomfort inside. But i guess the understanding does not remove a person's need to vent.

And I recall a small school girl getting out of mummy’s car with a face black as charcoal. She slams the door without saying bye or thank you, because she is late for school and will have to face the music from the teacher. This ungrateful little brat, hopefully she has grown since then- or at least hopefully from now having had a taste of her own medicine.

***

And then on the radio, they were talking about service staff learning English. People complaining because the service staff could not speak or understand English. From a business and consumer point of view, I can totally understand the frustration and the need. But it is the attitude with which all the discussion is going on that is pxxxing me off.

You expect people to speak your language and understand you. But why don you ever consider learning to speak their language? Do not use economic reasons to justify your attitude. Sure you are the customer, then blame the boss for not being willing to pay higher wages for language abilities! Do not take it out on the poor service staff. Do not think that they are not as smart or are beneath you, just because they do not speak English- if they never had the chance to learn, how is it their fault?

How did people cross language and cultural barriers in the past? Because there is a need or desire to communicate with the other party, people learn the language. Let them learn it because they have decided they need to or want to, but don discriminate against them because they don speak your language. Is your burger more important than some social grace and the dignity of another person? If you cannot get what you want, try another method, try another line, try something else. Isn't anger a little over-reacting, esp since you already know that she cant speak your language.

Imagine visiting another country and you face communication problems, slowly and gradually you will pick up a word or two. And imagine moonlighting as a waitress during your school exchange years, surely you would like some grace from your customers and captains, won’t you?

Peter's Chronicle..

Peter walked through Narnia in midst of all the preparations with a sense of nostalgia. Each year they would celebrate Aslan’s victory over the White Witch on the stone table. But somehow this year, he felt a little detached. As he wandered through the forest aimlessly, he tried to rationalize his sense of detachment.

Maybe it was because Edmund and Lucy are in-charge of this year’s celebrations. Not being involved with the preparations definitely meant that he had not given the occasion much thought prior to this. But this wasn’t the first year that he had entrusted the feast to someone else. He remembered clearly the year the Mr and Mrs Beaver were in charge, he felt a tingle of excitement even when shelling the nuts.

Maybe Susan’s absence in Narnia is felt more strongly during festivities. There was a time when the pain was more acute, he distinctly remembers. Over the years he got accustomed to her absence, and this year, he did not even send her the invitation knowing that she would miss it any way.

Maybe it is not detachment but fatigue. He had been looking forward to this weekend because Edmund and Lucy were in charge. After a long week fighting battles in the world beyond the lamp post, he could retreat to Narnia this weekend to rest. He did not have to worry about managing the affairs of the kingdom- at least not this week. All the riding back and forth had tired him out completely, age was really catching up on him.

Or maybe it is because Aslan had been away for far too long, and he had forgotten what it feels like to be around the great Lion. But deep in his gut he knew this was not true.
Lucy never once lost the spark in her eye, all these years when thinking about Aslan. And Edmund seemed to be growing out of his embarrassment of being a Turkish delight glutton very nicely, as he learnt more and more about the secrets of the kingdom. The King Lion was around them as often as He was around him… the variable was not Aslan.

Aslan. Aslan, the King of Narnia who appeared wherever and whenever He wishes. Aslan, whose whereabouts is never known and his paths never to be traced. Peter traced the steps of his last walk with the Lion on the golden shore. Reaching the waters, Peter stared into the horizon. He wondered if his Friend would be at the celebrations this year.

Susan's Chronicle..

In the midst of all the hurry flurry in her day, she heard something. She dropped her pen and tried to listen out for it again. The sound was so familiar and yet distant at the same time. She heard it before, she was sure about that.

If she was not wrong, it was the same sound she heard many times before. But each time, the sound seemed to be more faint than the last time she heard it. And the frequency with which it returns seems to be decreasing. She tried listening out for it again.

A roar so regal, and lonely. The pain in the roar was unmistakable, but yet more distinct still was the resolve in it. A roar that sounded deceptively victimized. It was not a roar of defeat, but a roar that struck fear in his attacker. A roar that came from a friend, a familiar friend.

The stone table, the White Witch, Narnia, Aslan… It was all coming back to her now. Aslan, she remembered. Aslan, the lion King of Narnia. Aslan, her friend. Narnia, a place where it was once home…

“Susan! I want the report on my table in the next hour!”

The silence of the roar was broken. The roar was no more. She shook her head and chided herself for wasting time listening to something that was nothing more than her imagination. She picked up her pen and hurried to finish her report. Deadlines are real, her boss is real, the instructions are real. The roar, the cry, Aslan and Narnia don’t exist, do they?