Like every gentleman in our ranks, I do accept that my pedigree is nothing short of anything else debatable. I have to start by nailing my shortcomings across in order that this story may maintain a better balance than that of fantasy tales. That done, I would like to state that I did know a few things. The indignity of my own mother’s wafting smell of the mispronunciation of my name could not stand in my way of knowing what it was. That was before I decided to tweak its spelling in order to make it possible for her to pronounce it without mispronouncing it. It worked.

These were the small pleasures that no one would deny me. I was not gifted in many things that every little Tom, Dick and Harry in my age-group was. When (if) we sneaked out of our homes for unauthorised (no one ever authorised it) football, the rest of the mob would chuck me between the two sticks or stones that were improvised goal-posts. There are a few times when I was lucky enough to be in the same team with someone who was less gifted than I was. How lucky that may have been, I cannot tell since I always went back to my mother’s house with a ‘sausage’ toe testament to the imbalance between friends and foes in my age-group. Then of course, my mother’s word was final – “Eat the football for dinner!” I never gave up, albeit the brewing rage deep inside of me.

As I sought solace in the written word on a piece of paper, the sun was slowly disappearing beyond the reach of my eyes and darkness encroaching. The chicken hovered around the doors. The constant calls of my mother became more vivid as the silence of night settled in. At this point, she was ordering me to take the cows back to their shed, something that meant more than just that. I had to literally, with the help of a rope, take the bull by its horns and direct the angry beast to its resting place – hopefully for the last time. Regardless of how sorry my mother would be, I could not help but pray for some thief to come by in the middle of the night and coerce with Simba to let them steal Nyundo. If they managed to get through Simba’s five-star security system, however, Nyundo would not have been an easy nut to crack. I still fantasised that somehow, the bull would disappear out of my world and let me grow up fearlessly – or with lack of anything to fear.

I awakened from my fantasies soon enough to maintain my distance with the bull. I let him know the size of the stick I had in my hand just in case he was brewing any trouble. The response was one of a kind, one that made me sigh with relief. This was one of those nights when I would go to bed happy just because a bull obeyed me and did exactly what I expected of him. You could tell I was happy from the boyhood tunes I was humming soon before the singing spontaneously went off-key – then silent. Boy down! The reaction speed of the beast was more impressive than what the creature had achieved for its CV. Perhaps even more impressive is the figure of a mother standing there sympathising with you.

                          

A rolling stone gathers no moss, you tell me. I roll and keep rolling, I roll dirty. And I survive. But in my sight, you still linger as if to justify your actions, of which I cannot recall. Fresh in my mind is that very thing that you managed to infiltrate into the inside of my blancmange: feelings. As long as I do live, I do not plan to pour cold water on how you made me feel. It’s fresh, very fresh.

I do not plan to forgive you for blatantly telling me “My people love me” and promising to set the dogs upon me to devour me between their canivorous teeth into the midst of nothingness. I did tell you enough was enough, that for all these decades, you have torn me and my people apart for your own selfish gain. There comes a time, my once-upon-a-time figure of worship, that these poor people become more important than you and your bearded face.

I know how to see myself through a day and onto the next. I do not have an objective of being pretty or completely out of this world. I keep it simple: clean and smart. Why then, would you argue that a trouser precariously fixed at a height tantamount to the tropic of capricorn is a cool thing? I do not take any pleasure in seeing those parts of you that you cannot see yourself. But having had a look myself, please take my word – the posterior vertebrate parts are so filthy they don’t qualify for public consumption – by eyes at least.

So, you chased me out your house and shut the door in my face. Because I said these words: “I love you”. Three words that have been used time and again by people from all walks of life on this planet. Perhaps you were right to think it was just one of those earthly routines of coughing those three words out as random as it may have appeared to you. You didn’t look at my look and see my eyes; you didn’t see reason. This very  reason that had taken to me as a duck to water in my dreams and my days, in where I went and where I sat. Go to sleep, honey. When you awake, I will be standing right outside your door with a fresh lily flower on which will be the dewy evidence of a cold morning.

You teach my son about the new planet with evidence of the fact that a form of life may well exist on it. I know one planet for sure, with a form of life for sure, with me and you and others out there that die for this very recognition that they exist. But you don’t recognise their existence. You spend your resources going to those alien blue people on some planet you have named after your great uncle. Go then. Go there for one last time and tell them this: we are tired of visiting them. We want them to come and discover us and give us alien biscuits and alien milk in exchange for weapons of mass destruction which could be used within their means by them. They could well eat them.

Law of Conservation of mass: matter cannot be created or destroyed. Simple sentence that men and women have all ignored, in their quest to discover where they both originated from. Science is not about origination, it is about formation and when you go in loops telling me that Lady Gaga evolved from an egg or Justin Bieber from Yout-tube, you really are confusing my enzymes. I will keep asking, and where did the egg evolve from, or where did You-tube evolve from. And you will stand there sucking your thumb and wiping your nails out of existence for lack of anything better to say. So, hear me: there are elements of life that we will NEVER, in a million years, be able to explain. Science picks up from the idea that matter already exists, but falls short of explaining how this matter was created. There is a higher power, and you can slay yourself at this truth.

One thing I want you to do is go for what you want and stick to that. Let no man or another tell you that you cannot do anything. If you believe you can drill a wall right across the globe, go ahead and do it. If you believe you can knock me off my perch , without promising any successs, I tell you solemnly, go for it. You know you better than anyone else does and the stuff between your earlobes is greater than anyone can buy.

So, do you. And I promise to do me.

Thanks for reading…

Jamesy…

3/3/11

                          

Jungle bells and jingle bells and folks having their grannies for dinner and others having just turkeys for the same. Christmas. I love the taste of Christmas and all the stuff that comes with it; that puts in a brave fight to defy description. Here then, is an attempt at describing things beyond description or may be describing things that are beyond description on (and results of) my escapades during my Buckingham Palace Christmas Job.

How many are there that know that Queen Victoria served for a period of 62 years – the longest anyone in that family tree has ever done? And how many know that the current Queen (I have forgotten her name) is just 4 years away from breaking that record? Hold on, one more question: How many know that the line of succession was completely changed when King Edward – whose seven names I remember (Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David) ludicrous -  decided to marry an American double divorcee? Thanks to Christmas, I am about the only bozo who can rack this off their memories. And if there exists any other, then I am one of the few (Just a little disclaimer – don’t want anyone reading this to have their self esteem dwarfed!) You will be pleased to know that Edward’s brother (George) then took the mantle completely changing the line of succession and thus allowing the current Queen (whose name I still can’t remember) to have a go and keep it in her descendants.

Christmas is a time when you dig deep beyond the depths to do something different or differently. I personally like sitting in a corner and bursting my pimples. I also like daydreaming and not paying attention to anything else but the off-key sound of madness between my earlobes. Sometimes, I like to sleep and avoid talking to people or animated objects in my dreams in the name of sleep-talking. When I can bear it, I like to eat a lot of starchy food until my system demands a pit latrine – in which I, in conjunction with gravity, have devised an efficient way of balancing the act for maximum accuracy. And when I do finally talk, I mumble in such a way that my fart would be the more pleasant of the two. While people like History and others burn their midnight oil making love (whatever that involves) and being loved, I simply like my Maths and Computing. Those close enough to have heard me talk will agree with the rest of the world that hasn’t heard me talk that I potentially would do with filling my head before empting my mouth. So this Christmas, I set out to fill my head.

Trampling upon the cemetery (of those that have gone dust-to-dust from the beginning of timed time) in search of knowledge, wisdom, madness or anything different from my normalcy aforementioned, I then came across things that automatically qualify as bizarre in my reckoning. While some farmers painted their sheep blue just to distinguish them from snow (stupid, right?) was well within my standards of normal things, finding out about the head of the family down at a home called Buckingham Palace in a city known as London could well have landed me in prison – if I were the judge and my norm was the law.

During Christmas, we break from the norm and rest, eat, drink, tell jokes and stay with those we love.  But these being the norm to me, I don’t break the norm to rest, I fast on food for a few minutes,  I drink but water, I become boring and last and least, look for someone to love. Yeah yeah, after you are done having a great festive season, please put in a word for me for my next year’s Christmas Job at your sister’s.

Promoting Brand Jamesy

http://www.jf32.com/

©Jamesy 27/12/2010

                          

I am a noisemaker. If you never knew it, now you know. And if you knew it, I am a silent noisemaker. I can carry twigs and chant names, and swear and curse, and walk, and talk my voice hoarse. I can protest and sing songs with political inclinations greater than angle theta. And I can flip my lid on the reasons why a government as conservative as it may claim to be in the comfort of its bedroom, may then wake up one day and decide to escalate the fees that genuine students want to pay to earn a genuine education. I can point fingers and swear to reduce the pain and the heartache, and I can even shut up and be the old introvert. But I ain’t gonna do any of that. Not now.

I am taken aback by the quantities of skirted people who certainly look the best catch. Everyone has their hormonal pipettes and mine is not faulty. Given the necessary upthrust (ie skirted people), I can certainly sip my hormonal levels accurately to the tabulated levels. Of late, I have not only been able to suck that liquid up my criss-crossed system, but also achieved levels that I can comfortably tell you, are not of the accuracy that normalcy may dictate. Some people (ie. me, in the mirror) look at me and wonder whether I should be an actor whose everyday life is one big rom-com with more of the second part than the first. And memories come to mind.

You see, I never told you one thing that I believe. I am gonna tell you in the next sentence and the rest of this paragraph. I believe that many of my ‘close’ friends are not normal. Regardless of the amount of normalcy that is contained in me, I don’t think anyone should think I am abnormal for undergoing heartaches as a result of social repulsion from an approached skirted person. Worse still, from the skirted person in question. To defend my case, it takes a big heart to see someone beyond their face-value, and it results in ages of a throbbing heart to be put off in a sentence that would conveniently be ‘f**k off’ if we didn’t know more than just the two words. I really am not gonna mince my words on this one, but you know what; life’s a big female dog that’s gonna suck itself out of you any time you give it a chance. If out of the bushes comes someone who understands your value and appreciates it, even if out of your own bushes cannot come equal appreciation, at least don’t send them back to the bushes with a ghaslty verbal. Humans have six senses, and that of sight is just one of them. Appreciate those with evidence of usage of all the senses they have got. Excitement is not = happiness!!

Phew! That’s off my chest. But I am still p*ssed off! I get very emotional when yanking weeds out of the heads of some people. And sometimes I wish that I would be given a guest appearance in Shangri-La so I can go and apply my experience of human psychology in creating a human being update. I believe Human 2.0 should have an artificial intelligence that reminds them that they are not vending machines. I put it in, I pull it out. DEAD!

Last and least, all girls are beautiful. I just don’t know why?

Promoting Brand Jamesy

http://www.jf32.com/

©Jamesy 17/12/2010

                          

Theresa

Well, (Home Secretary) Theresa May did as the Tories promised and went ahead to introduce an interim measure to curb the growing numbers of immigrants into the country. As a matter of fact, the government is planning to introduce a set number for non-EU immigrants in April 2011 and at the moment, they are working hard to ensure that there is no surge in numbers of immigrants who are alarmed by this news, at least until April 2011.

In the paper, those targeted are skilled and highly skilled workers whereas international students would also be affected come April 2011. Ministers of religion, sporty people et al are exempted.

The Background of All This

From an international student’s point of view, I duly understand the problem and respect the Briton for the love of his country and the safeguarding of the national interest by being conservative. I have come across people who after establishing that I study here go right ahead to ask whether I will be going back home after my studies. Others are constantly complaining about their next door neighbours whose kids are a handful whereas others are complaining that the lack of jobs (which you may think it’s due to the recession) is attributable to non-EU immigrants in the country. The government, on the other hand, thinks there is a strain on Public Services and therefore feels the need to ‘control’ the numbers of those coming into the country; after all, they have to act in keeping with the definition of the word ‘conservative’ from which they derive their title.

As an outsider, I am aware some people are waking up and finding my invasion not really concordant with their culture or natural being. There are lots of restaurants around  – and none of them seem to serve fish and chips! There are many football clubs in the country constituting to the best football league in the world. And on the contrary, the English team does not get that far in the world cup. In other words, there is a need for more ‘Home-grown players’ in the Premier league. In short, there is need for control of non-EU professional footballers in the country, Eastern Europeans and the rest of the non-EU contingent in the quest to free up resources for the native Briton.

Missed the Point

What Theresa May introduced on the 28th of June 2010 is a cap to reduce the number of those coming to live in the country by 1,300. As earlier stated, those targeted are Tier 1 (Highly Skilled Workers) and Tier 2 (Skilled Workers) and international students. In 2008, there was a total of 273,610 international students moving into the country. The British economy gets a total of £12bn a year generated from the fees paid by international students. The common man in the street does not know that non-EU international students don’t get loans and bursaries or what have you as do the home students. As such, there is not a justifiable amount of strain that these students cause on the economy nor the Public services. They in fact pay to the last penny of their every minute spent in the country. On the other hand, it is only an imbecile who would think that Highly Skilled workers are not needed in an economy. If one can justify that they possess skills that are on demand in an economy, there really should be no time wasted on drafting such ineffective (if not detrimental) recommendation as the Home Secretary office just did. It is shooting yourself in the foot and completely forgetting who to target.

Take it or Kick it, My Recommendations:

Going through the streets of London or any major city, I would not fail to notice loiters or people that the Briton may refer to as ‘a strain on the economy’. These are the unskilled, the unproductive and criminal minded individuals who are a threat not just to the natives, but also to those who have duly earned  the right to be in the country. And shortly put, the government should target such (work out how!). As for Eastern Europeans, these, like the Briton, have a freedom of movement and I don’t see the Tories doing much about that. It may be easier ditching fish and chips for the Kebab. And as for football, do what you may, but the local boys have not been prevented from playing football. They are some of the heavily-pocketed individuals in that sector. So, may be a matter of getting your act together.

These are modern days and the human race is interacting at a very fast pace that sooner or later, there will not be a divide in race. What will be will be.

Jamesy