So the first evening of my
Winter Holiday started last night, with some naval gazing.
Annually I look forward to
the Business Shutdown during the Christmas and New Year Holiday. It is a chance
to unwind my mind, get away from fixing problems and the ringing phone; giving
me a pause to enjoy sharing time with the family, catching up with my reading
and writing, but most crucially to reflect and take stock of events in this
plane of existence, placing them into some form of context, with my own life. I
also consider how I have changed progressing through life as I age. One must
always consider how the overcoming of obstacles changes us; so we should pick
our challenges and obstacles carefully, for they alter us, as well as the direction
of the path we find ourselves on.
Last night was a late one, as
I was trapped in deep thought with my cognition encouraged by some Dark Rum and
Ginger Beer infused with fresh Limes.
When I got home, traversing
atrocious weather with Storm Barbara [making
driving conditions troubling]; the family had to make a decision about what we
would do over the Holiday. With my beloved Father-in-Law Gerard Keogh in serious
ill health and hospitalised in Dublin, we have decided as a family to head
across the Irish Sea to not only spend time with him; but also to take some
pressure off my Brother-in-Law and Sister-in-Law who look after him. Mr Gerard
Keogh is well into his Nineties now; a gentleman as well as a fighter, for he
keeps overcoming the adversities that age brings to us all. I admire those who
fight adversity and battle the Monsters in our midst, especially those who confront
failing health.
My own Father Dr Syed
Karim’s health is not so good either; though he is a tad younger [in his
mid-eighties]. In consequence we have decided to have my parents over for
Christmas Dinner tomorrow, before the family pack up and head to Ireland.
The current health of my
Father and Father-in-Law rests heavily upon my mind; for something I am writing
is related to these two most misunderstood men. I would like my writing project
completed as soon as practicable, so I can read some of it to them. As ever,
time is not on my side as the speed of my own writing [which competes against
my business, family and book reviewing obligations]; when striated against
their declining health - troubles me. Though despite the mental faculties of
both Karim and Keogh senior [which are in decline with the ravages of age]; I still
wish to sit with them, and read something from my mind that I feel has some significance;
namely resonating their legacy and influence on the reality I have uncovered about
them, from my own dark imagination and from some long lost secrets of
Post-World War Two Europe.
I am reminded of the legacy
that the lives of our elders had, by some words from an early track by Pink
Floyd, entitled Free Four from their
1972 Album Obscured by Clouds [originally commissioned by Film Director Barbet
Schroeder].
The memories of a man in his old age,
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
I also thought of this old Pink
Floyd song [earlier in the year], when I read Andrew Gross’ The One Man for its narrative details the wartime adventures of an
elderly American [with failing health] as he is cajoled by his daughter to
retell what he did during World War II.
Curiously, my own current writing project delves into the early lives of my own
Father, the mysterious Dr Karim and the enigmatic Mr Keogh [my French-Irish
Father-in-Law], and the significance of their own deeds, in a dangerous Post-World
War II Europe; deeds now lost in time, and held in my imagination, and their
failing memories.
Andrew Gross’ The One Man,
like the most interesting of narratives indicated to me that the trick is not to
reveal where the seams between fact, merge into fiction, as the tale is retold
or reimagined. In Gross’ narrative, he fictionalised the life of his own
Father-in-Law, who incidentally managed to see some of the completed manuscript
for The One Man, but never saw its publication
for he tragically passed away just weeks before the book hit the bookstands,
earlier this year.
So last night, we made the necessary
arrangements for the whole family to travel to Dublin, like we have done over
the years traversing the Irish Sea by Ferry. The memories that the children
have of those journeys, as do Muriel and I; remain special like many of the
deeds from our past.
I have a deep love for
Ireland, first visiting the Emerald Isle back in the 1980s, as I worked in the
Middle East, as a Petroleum Chemist surveying and inspecting bulk liquid and
gaseous cargoes [as Iran vs Iraq War One, was closing]. I learned a little
about life offshore and at sea during that time, working six-weeks on, and
three-weeks off on a rota. I incidentally read a lot of books while stationed
in the Arabian Gulf, as Mariners are often well-read folk, with time on their
hands. Seafarers are also a most superstitious bunch. You’ll never find a 13 Tank, on a Chemical or Crude Oil Vessel.
The memories of a particular
Chief Officer [from my time in the Middle East] came back to me last night, as
I enjoyed some Dark Rum. His name eludes me as it is lost in the depths of my
memory, but I can still picture his face; now just an image from days now
passed. He was the XO on a regular vessel which loaded 300,000 Tonnes of Celanese grade
Methanol from Jubail [Kingdom of
Saudi Arabia] for Japan on a dedicated route, back and fro traversing the
Arabian Gulf, Indian Ocean and the Pacific. I spent much time on that vessel,
during which the XO introduced me to a drink he called ‘The Perfect Storm’ [which is referred to in America as ‘A Dark and Stormy Night’]. The drink is
one part Dark Rum to three parts Ginger Beer, with fresh Lime in a chilled
glass filled with ice.
While supervising the
custody transfer and loading process or cargo operations, we would pass the
time drinking Rum and he would tell me tales of the mysteries of the sea, like
the Monsters such as The Kraken. He was a walking library on the legends and mysteries
of the sea, and I would be fascinated listening to him; for like many of us, we
fear what we term Monsters, and the Monstrous; which for me consist of the
Horrors of this World, this Existence, with the knowledge that when it comes to
Monsters, they are indeed Legion. Some even wear our own skin, and hide among our number.
So after writing away last
night while knocking back the Dark Kraken Rum
as I celebrated the start of my Winter Holiday; the theme of Monsters kept
encroaching upon my thoughts [and writing] as did the upcoming journey to
Ireland with memories of days now passed; my time as a Maritime Chemist, as
well as the time spent with my family in Ireland when the children were young, all
came back to me – especially the MONSTER GAME.
I used to enjoy playing with
our Children, Sophia, Alexander and Miriam when they were young while we
visited relatives and friends in Ireland. Life was less complex in those days
when the responsibilities I shouldered were not as onerous as they are today. I
introduced our Children as well as their Nephews Jeffery and Richard [my
Godson], as well as Niece Jillian, and their friends, young Conor and Ciara to
my MONSTER GAME.
MONSTER GAME was something I
would play to amuse the Children, but it also had a more serious aspect,
something that I hoped would stimulate them and give them the confidence to overcome
even the most insurmountable of odds. As worthy as this all sounds, I wanted to
prepare their developing minds for the dangers of this world, all in the
context and safety of a game; and one that like Life, contains a Monster.
For MONSTER GAME, I would
construct an obstacle-course of sorts in the garden, made [or rather
improvised] from Toys, Ladders, Tools, Skipping Ropes, Swings, Bikes, pretend
“Land-Mines”, Quicksand, Paddling Pools, Sand Pit, Tightropes and much, much
else, all laid-out into a giant maze.
The Rules for MONSTER GAME
were simple -
[a] You had to overcome the obstacle-course
to reach the finish line in the quickest time, touching the wall marked ‘THE
END’
[b] You had to do this with
a Monster pursuing you, and of course I was the Monster, and gave them all a
weighted head-start depending upon their age.
If the Monster caught up
with them before they could touch the wall marked ‘the end’, they would lose to
the Monster.
We used to have great fun,
and even when exhausted, I would smile when I heard ‘Come on Uncle Ali, play another MONSTER GAME’ from Richard my
Godson. Richard would be amused, when I told him that he is special, having a
Godfather who was an atheist, but a resourceful one, and one who would watch
over him like Don Corleone, so if anyone messed with him, they would have to
fear the wrath of the Atheist Godfather as my reach is wide and long, as I know
many, many people.
Occasionally my Godson Richard
would recall those times when he was an infant; and remind me of the fun of the
MONSTER GAME. I look back at that time [close to two decades ago] with
affection, and how I enjoyed watching the Children overcome the hurdles, the
obstacles and maze, racing to the end and touching the wall, before the Monster
caught them. For me the MONSTER GAME is about the reality of our existence, and
our ability to overcome the obstacles in our path, both physically as well as
mentally with an awareness that time is always a factor, and that there is
always a monster behind us; one who will destroy us if we fall. But MONSTER
GAME is forgiving, as long as you pick yourself up after a fall and keep running,
for to succeed in MONSTER GAME, is to never give in, for there is always hope
when we are resilient and resourceful.
As an analogy, MONSTER GAME for
me is preparation for life; for there are obstacles in our lives, moments where
our situation appears hopeless, the odds in our success being long, and of
course there are indeed Monsters waiting for us; many wearing our skins.
Unlike the children who played MONSTER GAME with me close to two decades ago in Dublin; many children are not so fortunate to practise survival skills in a cognitive and physical game. For some children, there is no dry-run, for the MONSTER GAME is real for them, so while some manage to succeed, others do not, for the ‘real world’ MONSTER GAME has consequences, as we see in the Children from the ranks of the Bullied, the Brutalised and Abused, the ones born into Poverty and those trapped in War Zones like Aleppo, who play MONSTER GAME for real.
This year we as a family
will be donating to Save the Children, and
I would urge you to please consider donating whatever you can afford to assist
Children who have to play MONSTER GAME for real.
More Information about the
work of Save the Children and how to donate is available here
So as the Karims prepare to travel to Ireland, to be with the Keoghs, may we wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and let’s hope we can overcome the Monsters that may appear in our path as 2017 arrives.
When I wondered why I wrote this piece? I recalled Graham
Greene explaining why some of us feel compelled to transcribe our thoughts onto
paper -
“Writing is a form of therapy;
sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage
to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a
human situation.”
Sláinte to my writing and reading
friends; for many of us, the transcribed thoughts of ourselves and others, are ways that some of us deploy to retain our sanity.
Monster Game © 2016 A Karim
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