Once in high school, my mother caught me shaving, and using my father’s razor at that, without permission. Right away she asked if I had already started to grow facial hair and I said no, just wanted to shave so that my baby mustache and intended beard would grow faster. Mom simply said, “Don’t rush nature anak, time will come when you will just know you need to do that.”
In the years that followed, I have learned about (and encountered even) similar experiences by friends and family members that bring me back to what mother said a long time ago. Don’t rush nature. (Thunder!)
There appears to be a subliminal image here somewhere. It actually seems like Mother Nature is admonishing his spoilt child, human nature on the hows of life. While she prefers to do things in sets of one-twos and threes, we like to counter with our own sets of two-four-sixes. Look at our mess. Everyone seems to be in a hurry to get things done. Our road to discovery has been littered with a lot of fumbling consequences which we conveniently attribute to collateral damage. Alas for momma nature, no one has even time to smell her flowers anymore.
In a rather dodgy study I read long ago, it said that young people of today, raised by the driven generations of their parents, want things the easy way. Borne of the modern age where everything you will ever need is available online, the still-to-be validated finding is, that this gen is out of the assembly line and starting block, with “some parts missing.”
However, this characteristic of rushing is not only limited to young folks alone. Most often, you only need to observe first-hand how some people actually behave when going at it elbow to elbow, jostling for positional advantage, be it in mall queues to the cashier, or politics and other aspects of life. In any sports clubhouse even, the practice of one-upmanship, a kinder definition for cheating, is as common as fake news. As a matter of fact, sports enthusiasts see this as entertainment material and prompt it as part of the game.
One, two, three, five. Our jump to hyperspace is noticeable, like the writings on the wall and chem trails. Are we brewing up a storm? Why do we do what we do? Call it sad and pathetic, but I leave it all to the social scientists out there.
Just the other day, my wife was showing me how to make risotto. The delicate procedure of patiently pouring ladle after ladle of broth, while continually stirring the risotto, was just too much for me. If I could only have it my way, it would be, Saint McDonald’s, help me!
Amen to all these.
This fool is doomed.
HONORING MY MOTHER
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