Reformation.

My life isn't really going in the direction I would like it to. I've known this for quite some time now, made a few attempts to change the course of it but then gave up at the first sign of difficulty. I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore. I used to be a decent guy: morals, principles, hard working etc. I used to be the head boy of my old school, respected in my local community among famliy and friends... looking back it just seems like that's a totally different person. Now when I look in the mirror all I see is failure.

Anyway I've decided enough is enough. I hate what I've become and I've spent far too long feeling sorry for myself. Today is the day I turn my life around. It's going to be hard but I know I've got it in me. I mean totally reform myself: character, addictions, habits - the lot. I've also decided that I'm not even going to try to live up to expectations of me. I think that's what's done me the most damage - the high expectations that people set for me in their mind's eye. From here on out it's just me living my life the way I want.

At times like these in the past I would normally turn to God as a source of comfort but I don't like "using" him anymore. I do believe in God, but I don't believe (or practise anymore) that whenever something goes wrong you should just turn to him, feel sorry for yourself, cry?, feel better knowing that he will take care of everything and that "everything happens for a reason". Yes God created the heavens above me and the earth beneath me - and all that's in between the two. But I did not create God and he is not my shoulder to lean on when times get rough. I hate it when people accuse religious people of that and that's why I don't do it. Voltaire in one of his poems once said, "If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him". Einstein made a similar remark but I like to think that in this respect, they were both wrong.

My father once said something that's stuck with me ever since, "if you are determined and focused there can be no barriers".

And so my journey begins...

Current Financial Crisis

Something I heard today: "What worries me most about the credit crunch is that if one of my cheques is returned stamped 'insufficient funds', I won't know whether that refers to mine or the bank's!"

Reality... what's that?!

It's Halloween in the year 1984. Richard and Peter are both dressed in Guy Fawkes costumes and are standing on either side of the street. Richard has an egg in his hand. It appears to be that of an East African ostrich (struthio camelus molybdophanes). Richard hurls the egg towards Peter and naturally, Peter attempts to dodge it. Just before impact however, the world ends and everything spontaneously vapourises.
Richard knew that in fact the egg was merely a very good replica and is actually made of foam. Had Peter known this, he would have not tried to avoid the egg (as his only reason for doing so was to prevent him being covered in egg yolk).

There are two realities that despite being contradictory, co-exist at the same time:
1. Richard's reality where the egg is made of foam
2. Peter's reality where he is about to be covered in yolk (egg not made of foam)
Which is the "real" reality?
Bear in mind that a) the egg vapourises before impact and so you can't adopt a "wait and see" tactic and b) despite rumours, it is impossible to pause time and examine the egg yourself.

This may seem like a trivial example but I believe it has bearing on many other aspects of life - the most obvious of which being history. Again, contrary to poular opinion, it is (without a shadow of dout) impossible to travel backwards in time and witness events for yourself. And even if this were possible, your take on the situation would almost certainly be biased due to a) your beliefs about the situation prior to travelling backwards in time or b) your lack of understanding of the situation (given you weren't born and raised in that time period etc.). What I have (hopefully) outlined above is the importance of a neutral objective reality which is clearly not attainable in disciplines such as history which by definition ("his story") is the view of the world by one man. Everyone's take on events are different (and perhaps even contradictory) and so there is no single unifying history as such.

What I really mean to say is that I don't see the point in learning history anymore as at best, we are are memorising one man's interpretation on events of the past. As for reality, I don't even know where to begin... (if indeed it exists at all!).

... It's times like these that I'm glad I did maths :-)

London Google Street View

...

A Tribute to Sagar

Perhaps the only event we can ever be sure of in this world is our eventual demise. Death is indiscriminate and uncompromising. Death, like both the Matrix and God, is all around us. And though people attempt to evade it - it is without doubt ineluctable. It's been a week (today) since he was taken from us...

I first met him when he came to DC - he was in my form and economics set. From the very first time I spoke to him I knew there was something different about him. It wasn't his charming character, or his overwhelming generosity. Nor was it his subtle lisp, or how he managed to include at least one word in each of his sentences that made absolutely no sense. (His favorite being "grimy" or "dizzy"). I think perhaps what it was, is that every time I looked at him, he was either smiling or laughing hysterically. And his laugh wasn't a normal laugh - nothing about him was "normal". He had one of those infectious laughs so that whenever he laughed, there would always be a crowd of people around him laughing too.

At the beginning of year 12, I remember we used to take his bag when he wasn't looking and pass it round the classroom without drawing BL's attention. This lasted approximately two weeks; each lesson he would attempt new ways of protecting his bag and each lesson we would think up new ways of taking it.

Initially I don't think BL was too fond of him, but as time went by I think he warmed to him - as we all did. He was the type of person who it was impossible to dislike once you got to know him. There really was something quite magical about him. Sure enough, he soon became one of us.

He was the type of guy who set goals for himself and then worked hard until he met them. He never thought any goal was beyond him and to him, the glass was always half full. He managed to achieve a phenomenal 4 As at A Levels (which surprised even me!). But he was that kind of guy - always saying or doing the unexpected. Conforming to the norm just wasn't him. He was the embodiment of "carpe diem" though I have my doubts he would know what that meant.

Browsing through his facebook I found a picture of him wearing a t shirt on which was emblazoned the words "2 young to die"...

It does make you think though. I once thought that the most important thing was getting all As at A Level and so on and so forth. But when you look at the bigger picture, all that really matters is for each one of us to be the best person we can be.
Each day we have is a blessing so let's make the most of it - because life is too precious to let it pass us by.

The Grandfather Paradox

The grandfather paradox is a paradox of what may happen if one were able to travel backwards in time. The paradox is as follows:
Suppose Peter travels backwards in time and kills his biological grandfather (before his grandfather has the chance to meet his "present day" grandmother). In doing so, one of Peter's parents would not be conceived - the upshot of which being Peter himself would not have been conceived. However, if Peter was non-existent it would have been impossible to travel for him to travel backwards in time. And if he did not travel backwards in time, it would have been impossible for him to kill his grandfather and so... Peter and his grandfather would both still be alive. Now that Peter is alive... he can travel backwards in time and kill his grandfather (again!)...

The paradox is also known as autoinfanticide in philosophy circles.

Religious Names

Isn't it odd how you can find Christians who are named "Christian" (Hans Christian Andersen), Muslims who are named "Muslim" (Muslim ibn al-Hajjaaj) but never any Jews who are named "Jew". It may possibly have something to do with what each of the three terms mean. As far as I am aware, Christian is some sort of derivation of Christ, Muslim is a fourth form active participle of the arabic verb sa-la-ma meaning "one who submits" and Jew is a derivation from Judea/Judah. Even so, this alone does not explain why you can't find Jews who are named Jew...

Message to a dear freind

A few hours ago the news reached me. Most are saying it was pneumonia but there are rumours of meningitis and organ failure. His facebook message currently reads "... is taking an early easter and going to london now!!". Little did he know it would be for the last time. The news that reached me was of course regarding his sad demise. I'm reminded of the lyrics from the tribute to Eastside's Notorious B.I.G.:

It's kinda hard with you not around
Know you in heaven smilin' down
Watchin' us while we pray for you
Every day we pray for you
Till the day we meet again
In my heart is where I'll keep you friend

For now, I think that is all I have in me. Hopefully in the not to distant future I will tell you all about him: everything from his wonderful character and the way he could put a smile on any face to his generosity that knew no bounds.
He will be sorely missed but never - ever - forgotten. This is for you dear bro.

Competition Probability

Sunday last, my brother and I found ourselves wandering through Stanmore Common searching for deer at 7 o'clock in the morning. One thing led to another and before I knew what exactly it was I was doing, I found myself taking pictures of a magnificent stag. Anyway, we arrived back home and my brother said I should submit the photo to a competition. I told him the photo wasn't great. He agreed, but said that there was no harm in trying and I guess I couldn't really see fault in that. As it happens he managed to discover a Guardian competition whose deadline was the next day. So I hurriedly uploaded the photo and what not and then calculated my chances of winning. The way the competition works is that The Guardian will pick out the best 10 photographs and leave the general public to vote on the best one.
There are 1471 photographs in total but only 368 members. Assuming that the winning selection comprises 10 unique members (not only is this quite likely, but it also makes matters statistically simpler) and that the winning photos are picked at random (perhaps closer to the truth than we care to imagine, this assumption allows gives each photo the same probability of winning) what are my odds of being selected? Initially I thought it was 10/1471 but then I began to wonder if perhaps it were 10/368 (approx. 3 times as large). I am still puzzled by this somewhat contradictory statistic but once I have resolved this matter, you shall be the first to know.

If I were the Mayor of London...

I was informed by a friend of mine the other day that Earl's Court station is on the border of Zones 1 and 2 (which I was surprised to find out!). He went further to say that if one were to travel into central London from Earl's Court the oyster card would treat it as if it were in Zone 1, yet if you were to travel towards Zone 6 then it would treat Earl's Court as being in Zone 2 and perhaps more critically - charge you accordingly (which I was even more shocked to find out!).

I think this is an absolutely fabulous arrangement and "If I were the Mayor of London..." I would extend this to include even more stations such as High Street Kensignton, Bayswater, Royal Oak, Kilburn High Road, South Hampstead - to name but a few. As far as I see it, this system would benefit everyone as it is only when one crosses Zones that the cost drastically increases.

Apartheid in Seth Efrica

I am currently reading Alan Paton's Cry, The Beloved Country and came across this extract which I thought to be quite powerful:

What we did when we came to South Africa was permissible. It was permissible to develop our great resources with the aid of what labour we could find. It was permissible to use unskilled men for unskilled work. But it is not permissible to keep men unskilled for the sake of unskilled work.
It was permissible when we discovered gold to bring labour to the mines. It was permissible to build compounds and to keep women and children away from the towns. It was permissible as an experiment, in the light of what we knew. But in the light of what we know now, with certain exceptions, it is no longer possible. It is not permissible for us to go on destroying family life when we know that we are destroying it.
It is permissible to develop any resources if the labour is forthcoming. But it is not permissible to develop any resources if they can be developed only at the cost of the labour. It is not permissible to mine any gold, or manufacture any product, or cultivate any land, if such mining and manufacture and cultivation depend for their success on a policy of keeping labour poor. It is not permissible to add to one's possessions if these things can only be done at the cost of other men. Such development has only one true name, and that is exploitation.
... The truth is that our civilization is not Christian;

There was another passage which I have not written out here but in that, the one phrase that really stuck out was, "we believe in help for the underdog, but we want him to stay under".

Sieg Heil Vs Nare Hayderi

"Sieg Heil" is a German phrase, used in the time of Nazi Germany and The Third Riech, meaning "Hail Victory". More important than it's meaning however, is the response: "Heil Hitler" (Hail Hitler).
"Nare Hayderi" is an Urdu phrase, used by the Shia Muslim population of Pakistan/India. I'm not sure of the exact translation but it means something along the lines of "Hail Hayder" (Hayder was something in between a nickname and a title of the fourth Caliph). Again, over and above it's literal meaning, it is a call to which the response is "Ya Ali" (Hail Ali).

Aside from that being quite scary, I really don't get why people to this day say Nare Hayderi...

"Thirty-Eight Who Saw Murder Didn't Call the Police"

Kitty was an Italian American woman who lived in Queens, New York. She was made famous not only by her death and subsequent rape (if you can call it that) by necrophile Winston Moseley, but by the fact that the 38 witnesses to the atrocity carried out that night stood by and watched. That day was 45 years ago today. Below is an article from the New York Times (27/03/1964) by Martin Gansberg. The title of the article is the same as that of this post.

For more than half an hour 38 respectable, law-abiding citizens in Queens watched a killer stalk and stab a woman in three separate attacks in Kew Gardens.

Twice their chatter and the sudden glow of their bedroom lights interrupted him and frightened him off. Each time he returned, sought her out, and stabbed her again. Not one person telephoned the police during the assault; one witness called after the woman was dead.

That was two weeks ago today.

Still shocked is Assistant Chief Inspector Frederick M. Lussen, in charge of the borough's detectives and a veteran of 25 years of homicide investigations. He can give a matter-of-fact recitation on many murders. But the Kew Gardens slaying baffles him--not because it is a murder, but because the "good people" failed to call the police.

"As we have reconstructed the crime," he said, "the assailant had three chances to kill this woman during a 35-minute period. He returned twice to complete the job. If we had been called when he first attacked, the woman might not be dead now."

This is what the police say happened at 3:20 A.M. in the staid, middle-class, tree-lined Austin Street area:

Twenty-eight-year-old Catherine Genovese, who was called Kitty by almost everyone in the neighborhood, was returning home from her job as manager of a bar in Hollis. She parked her red Fiat in a lot adjacent to the Kew Gardens Long Island Railroad Station, facing Mowbray Place. Like many residents of the neighborhood, she had parked there day after day since her arrival from Connecticut a year ago, although the railroad frowns on the practice.

She turned off the lights of her car, locked the door, and started to walk the 100 feet to the entrance of her apartment at 82-70 Austin Street, which is in a Tudor building, with stores in the first floor and apartments on the second.

The entrance to the apartment is in the rear of the building because the front is rented to retail stores. At night the quiet neigborhood is shrouded in the slumbering darkness that marks most residential areas.

Miss Genovese noticed a man at the far end of the lot, near a seven-story apartment house at 82-40 Austin Street. She halted. Then, nervously, she headed up Austin Street toward Lefferts Boulevard, where there is a call box to the 102nd Police Precinct in nearby Richmond Hill.

She got as far as a street light in front of a bookstore before the man grabbed her. She screamed. Lights went on in the 10-story apartment house at 82-67 Austin Street, which faces the bookstore. Windows slid open and voices punctuated the early-morning stillness.

Miss Genovese screamed: "Oh, my God, he stabbed me! Please help me! Please help me!"

From one of the upper windows in the apartment house, a man called down: "Let that girl alone!"

The assailant looked up at him, shrugged, and walked down Austin Street toward a white sedan parked a short distance away. Miss Genovese struggled to her feet.

Lights went out. The killer returned to Miss Genovese, now trying to make her way around the side of the building by the parking lot to get to her apartment. The assailant stabbed her again.

"I'm dying!" she shrieked. "I'm dying!"

Windows were opened again, and lights went on in many apartments. The assailant got into his car and drove away. Miss Genovese staggered to her feet. A city bus, 0-10, the Lefferts Boulevard line to Kennedy International Airport, passed. It was 3:35 A.M.

The assailant returned. By then, Miss Genovese had crawled to the back of the building, where the freshly painted brown doors to the apartment house held out hope for safety. The killer tried the first door; she wasn't there. At the second door, 82-62 Austin Street, he saw her slumped on the floor at the foot of the stairs. He stabbed her a third time--fatally.

It was 3:50 by the time the police received their first call, from a man who was a neighbor of Miss Genovese. In two minutes they were at the scene. The neighbor, a 70-year-old woman, and another woman were the only persons on the street. Nobody else came forward.

The man explained that he had called the police after much deliberation. He had phoned a friend in Nassau County for advice and then he had crossed the roof of the building to the apartment of the elderly woman to get her to make the call.

"I didn't want to get involved," he sheepishly told police.

Six days later, the police arrested Winston Moseley, a 29-year-old business machine operator, and charged him with homicide. Moseley had no previous record. He is married, has two children and owns a home at 133-19 Sutter Avenue, South Ozone Park, Queens. On Wednesday, a court committed him to Kings County Hospital for psychiatric observation.

When questioned by the police, Moseley also said he had slain Mrs. Annie May Johnson, 24, of 146-12 133d Avenue, Jamaica, on Feb. 29 and Barbara Kralik, 15, of 174-17 140th Avenue, Springfield Gardens, last July. In the Kralik case, the police are holding Alvin L. Mitchell, who is said to have confessed to that slaying.

The police stressed how simple it would have been to have gotten in touch with them. "A phone call," said one of the detectives, "would have done it." The police may be reached by dialing "0" for operator or SPring 7-3100.

Today witnesses from the neighborhood, which is made up of one-family homes in the $35,000 to $60,000 range with the exception of the two apartment houses near the railroad station, find it difficult to explain why they didn't call the police.

A housewife, knowingly if quite casually, said, "We thought it was a lovers' quarrel." A husband and wife both said, "Frankly, we were afraid." They seemed aware of the fact that events might have been different. A distraught woman, wiping her hands in her apron, said, "I didn't want my husband to get involved."

One couple, now willing to talk about that night, said they heard the first screams. The husband looked thoughtfully at the bookstore where the killer first grabbed Miss Genovese.

"We went to the window to see what was happening," he said, "but the light from our bedroom made it difficult to see the street." The wife, still apprehensive, added: "I put out the light and we were able to see better."

Asked why they hadn't called the police, she shrugged and replied: "I don't know."

A man peeked out from a slight opening in the doorway to his apartment and rattled off an account of the killer's second attack. Why hadn't he called the police at the time? "I was tired," he said without emotion. "I went back to bed."

It was 4:25 A.M. when the ambulance arrived to take the body of Miss Genovese. It drove off. "Then," a solemn police detective said, "the people came out."




May her death not be in vain.

Correlation

...