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Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Express Yo’ Self

My only nephew is an adorable lil bugger. No, I will not do the doting aunt monologue here. The only reason I mention the munchkin here is because of his preference of expressing himself. I see a mini me in him. He has this habit of stroking the cheek of people he is really fond of, that’s his thing. So this one time I was in my ultimate rem sleep and I sensed my cheek being stroked. I woke up with a very unladylike scream and cuss word, not really knowing what in the blue blazes was happening. The fact that the lil bugger didn’t wet his pants shows the strong stuff he’s made of. He placated me saying it was just him. After I managed to reduce my pupils to their normal size and not look like a rabbit caught in headlights, I begged him never to do it again, saying “Baby, phua (his nick name for me) is not down with this. Never ever wake her up like this”! He took to announcing himself at a very high decibel henceforth, but that’s another story.


Our actions of expressing ourselves are an extension of our very being. Irrespective of how eloquent we might be, sometimes words don’t cut it. Got me thinking about evolution. Now back in the day (and I mean way …….way back), as part of a herd, communication was needed to discuss day to day matters. Since the early man hadn’t the power of eloquent speech, they used actions and expressions to convey their speech. So the entire “speech” was made up of grunts, facial expressions, gesticulations and props. Maybe not the most accurate explanation but I think that when we indulge in our very basic acts, we revert to our very basic nature. Like Romans enjoying a good meal had to burp to appreciate the meal, failing which the host would take offence. Merely saying “My compliments to the chef” wasn’t enough. Ever seen a young child indulging in what it fancies? The little beings can’t articulate a decent sentence but can say plenty by their actions; they are like a walking talking pantomime. A ginormous bear hug crunching (or trying to merge as one being) every single bone in the body of a loved one, speaks volumes. Mum stroking my head whilst I am asleep, is the epitome of motherly affection for me.

The best example I can think of, depicting us going back to our roots is dancing. It is sheer pleasure to watch a person dance when they are really “feeling” the music. By dancing I don’t mean skanky girls grinding anything that moves on the dance floor; no. What I had in mind was, when the body of self almost becomes fluid, and ebbs and flows with the beats. It’s like when one of my Iranian friends was playing the Daf ( one sided Iranian music instrument with chains at the back, which clang to the leather surface of the Daf thus producing a metallic beat) in front of a packed auditorium and the way his body swayed with the music, oblivious to the eyes watching him, it was mesmerising to see him so raw, so basic. When I let the music blast in my ears, I feel compelled to close my eyes. My body feels the music and moves accordingly, I feel alive! Maybe it is highly amusing for someone else to watch me gyrate so, I couldn’t be least concerned. Though watching SW go Punjabi on the dance floor with a poofa fish pout is hilarious.

I love the fact that we are so physically expressive. The act of making love, expressing affection, music, dancing, and compulsive cleaning, amongst others, is so basic, so real. It is that moment when one is so broken down with grief and pain that no matter what is said, it still sounds meaningless; a hand on one’s shoulder, or a hug does more than all the fancy pants words combined.

Speaking for myself, sometimes I feel such a surge of emotions that I feel I am physically going to burst if I don’t find an outlet for it! Tis True. My mum tells me to calm down, to contain it, inner peace and all that jazz…I say thee nay! Not that I don’t fancy some inner peace, I try to channel all this crazy energy into trying a new dish, doing the swagger, doing calligraphy or singing out loud to my IPOD.

Can’t fight evolution I say.


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