Defensive Driving

Honestly I never wanted to drive. I like to be driven. I've always delayed getting my driver's permit simply because as I said earlier I like to be driven. I mean as the passenger I get to stare out of the window, enjoy the moving scenery before me and even sleep in peace when I want. That and I am afraid of myself behind a wheel. I mean seriously think of the consequences LOL. Me behind a wheel? You have to be crazy! But I guess that it was all inevitable. I had to get my driver's permit there were no two ways about it. That and my friend dragged me along to get it.


Thankfully I passed the test in one shot and I've never really driven anything since then. I mean as far as I was concerned the mission was completed. I got the plastic nuff said nuff done. But I knew deep down that I have to pursue it I mean learning how to drive and driving yourself from point A to B is essential in this day in age.  Sadly put me behind a wheel now and I'm like a kid learning how to ride a bicycle. Yes I am ashamed but its the truth.

In any case as I re started my mission, my parents encouraged me to attend a defensive driving course, simply because it would teach me how to become a better driver and bottom line the insurance would be much cheaper. So I was all oh heck why not. I just had to find the time, which I eventually did, after much procrastination of course.

The class was a one-day class. Much to my relief it was scheduled to start at 8 am in the morn to 4 pm in the afternoon, a whole day event. Now allow me to translate that to Trini time. The class started at 8:45 am and finished at 3:45 pm. Yes start late finish early. The class was rather large, nice group of people, nice mix and the instructor was approachable and answered all questions, even silly ones.

The course manual though was American. It wasn't too bad though I have to give props to the Americans their manuals are so pretty and colourful. The most you'd get in a Trini manual is white paper and black ink. Maybe there'll also be the possibility of a photocopied picture that's terribly pixilated. Good stuff but back to the course.

It was very informative. In a sense I am glad that I decided to pursue this course before I started driving and before I developed bad habits. It was a lot to take in and a lot to purge out. Thus I highly recommend everyone to take in the course. However, be warned there were graphic videos and images and highly informative advertisements. All of which were used to get the point across. I believe now that I am scarred for life and unfortunately I retreated back into my shell.


I walked out of that session scared stupid. I was now a licensed driver afraid to drive.

As I walked down Edward Street and suspiciously peered at every parked car and every car that drove past me. I could not help but think how much it would be a dumb way to die. I don't want to be splattered on a road because of some bad decision on my part or worse yet someone else’s. Then I thought of how many thousands of people die each year in accidents. I thought of the people I knew or heard about who died in car accidents and how gruesome and frightening those last minutes was for them.

Accidents caused by inconsideration. Accidents cause because of carelessness. Accidents caused by meaningless distractions. Accidents caused by bad decisions.

After that evening I've developed a new found respect for the road, drivers and even the cars. I learnt about how much responsibility the driver has. The plastic I worked for months ago is more than just that. Sure it is an identification card, sure it is my pass to use a vehicle on the road, but it is power in the form of plastic. Power that I must harness, develop and properly use the moment I find myself behind the wheel of a vehicle.

I've decided that maybe driving is not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s something that I should take deeper consideration into and take seriously. Least I’ve decided that my mission will not remain incomplete. I will find myself on the road soon enough a more matured and a more responsible driver.

Why Am I Blogging?

In the depths of my drained brain, riddled with headaches from thinking just a little too much I have come to ask myself,

"Why am I blogging, just why am I doing this?"

Nothing seem to be appearing on paper before me. Yes at times I prefer to script my thoughts on paper before I type them on the computer. It's comforting and what I write feels more personal.

I have been reading news stories from the local newspapers and from the BBC website. I've also been indulging myself in editorials, reading my friends' blogs and even partaking in various conversational topics with my colleagues and sometimes even conveniently 'overhearing' their gossip.  Still nothing seem to come to mind. 

My brain is drained. All my efforts and thoughts have been focused on my work. I'm more concerned about exactly what I have to do and how to complete the task that needs to be done. Therefore by the time I've reached home I'm burnt out.  The most I want to do is read comics, chat on forums and sleep. Maybe even see what Japanese animation series have been updated. 

That is it, my current life, boring and dry. My mind seem to be stuck in a pool of stagnant water. It is going no where fast. Just lying there absorbing the stinking water. Least that is where the level of my creativity is concerned.  I have had this feeling before and I've written a poem that expresses exactly how I feel.  Here is how it goes:

Stagnant
Like old water in a hole
Murky brown
In a bowl,
Forgotten
Not moving.

Seas splash churn
Streams merge into one
Water - falls
Progress
Life

Yet I remain
In my own world
In my own hole
Regress
Breeding death
Forgotten
Not moving.

Currently all of my art supplies are collecting dust and my camera is still slumbering in its bag. I know I need to get up and move now. NOW! NOW! NOW!

As I read my friends blogs I wonder exactly where are the sources of their inspiration. Honestly I need to know. Sure some of it comes from the world around them, maybe even their immediate environment  but somehow I am unable to pluck a shard of inspiration from the mirrors of events that surround me and scratch the surface of my blog page. 

My creative mind is bleeding and scarred from the abuse of being chained and tossed into the darkest crevices my brain. I need to let it loose. I need to let my creativity fly and be released from the bonds that restrict it. 

But my question still remains:

Why am I blogging?

What exactly am I doing if all I seem to be doing is complaining about my pitiful circumstances?

I began this blog to reach out to... somebody.  Somebody I do not know but somebody who would appreciate what I have scripted.

I started this blog, hopefully to inspire, to positively influence or just relate to my readers. I am not expecting to reap any rewards, just maybe some self gratification that I am doing something positive for somebody else. I also started this blog to get back into the habit of writing. Not just writing for writings sake but for the pure enjoyment and pleasure of it.

When I was a child I wrote numerous short stories and incomplete novels but I allowed my creative mind to soar so much then. I was unable to contain it but now I have imprisoned it. Gradually doing so link by link while I began to focus on texts and events to analyze and criticize and work on essays that need no creativity, except to be like a spider and carefully craft my web of words. 

I now know why I am blogging. Save for the reasons I have listed above it is also to reclaim my sanity and express my creativity. Once again I want to pen ink to paper and translate that into electronic print.

I blog not only to inspire others but to inspire me. I want to fully understand myself and not allow the world to snatch me away from me and tighten the chains that binds and stagnates me. 

My Thoughts

So I'm supposed to be blogging but nothing comes to mind.
So occupied by many things my thoughts I cannot find......

I'm not on haitus

I will not stop my blogging

I intend to continue this endeavor

And delete this silly posting when I write something better

The Height Issue

So imagine yourself in this situation:

You are well tailored, dressed to kill, shoes nicely polished. Every strand of hair is tucked in place and gelled so that, that miserable strand of stray hair would not dare think about flying out. You’ve rehearsed every question you think will be asked of you concerning the job you’ve applied for, and then you step into the room.
 
You greet your interviewers and the interview seems to be going fine. You’ve answered all the questions to the best of your abilities, smiled and showed off the pearly whites. Then somewhere in the middle of the wonderful talk, one member of the panel of four asks
“Do you believe that your height will be a problem?”
 
Screech.
Hold the breaks. 

You think, “My height? What does that have to do with anything?”

Maybe it was your naivety but that was one question you evidently were not prepared for and you are now definitely placed on the spot.

Well, that is what happened to me during one of my interviews.

I felt dumb for a moment or two just thinking about my height. Well, that and the three inches that made up my shoes. Audibly I asked 
“My height?”

My eyes are opened wide like Bambi staring into the headlights. My mind went blank and most likely I must have blurted out some dumb answer because I received a wonderful email mere days later informing me that I was not accepted and that I could try again next year.

Bummer….

Before I go on any further, I believe that in truth and in fact my height was never an issue for this job. I believe that what was being tested was my ability to think on the spot, something that I failed, thanks to my little dumb moment. However, that question and that point in my life have stuck with me up to this day. 

Currently I am employed in a television production company where I am the shortest in my department and I do take pride in saying that. I am one of the persons in charge of putting up the sets and I do a damn good job at that, if I do say so myself.

The secret to my success stools.

On those wooden contraptions, I’m taller than the tallest person at work. I just wish that the stools were a little bit more mobile, so I wouldn’t have to climb down and climb back up for everything. I also get the guys to help me out a whole lot. After all who can refuse a cute short girl?  ^.~

Other than that, I guess in a sense I want to prove someplace in the back of my mind that as a short woman I am just as able as anyone a few inches taller than myself. I knew that short people are capable of anything, check out Napoleon or even the people of China and Japan, the shortest people in the world but they build the tallest sky scrapers and not to mention come up with some of the wackiest inventions. 
Maybe these are all exaggerations but then again maybe we don’t have to go so far. Check out the shortest peoples in your homes, companies or maybe even you. They’ve done a whole lot considering the fact that they are ‘height impaired.’

I’m not ranting about being short, since I believe that since that day I have had a better appreciation for my height. Sure in a busy day on a busy road somebody would bounce into me and say
“Sorry I did not see you there Miss,” simply because their peripheral vision is let’s say a few inches or a foot or more higher than mine or when I have to climb unto the bottom shelf in the grocery to get that particular item on the top shelf. I guess that these are a few challenges that have to be overcome.

As a short person, I have a number of unique and well used characteristics; one of them is my mouth. I’ve been told that it does more than compensate for my height. Another is my ability to work hard and even my physical strength. My colleges don’t have to see me but when a set have been put up and things are in place, they know that ‘Maria Was Here.’

I must say that I am thankful for that interview, and for that strange and out of place question that was put before me. I have definitely become more self conscious but I have also become more self appreciative of my height.  I might not be the 5’6 or 6 foot model that walks down the walkway with legs that run miles, but I’m the short cute chick who knows that if those ‘leggers’ can do that, damn well I can do the same, but I refuse to ^.~.

By the way I have not attempted the interview again, but it is something that I am surely still interested in. Maybe when I get around it and or somebody asks me that question, “Do you believe that your height will be a problem?” I will surely have a more confident answer to give them; in fact I can refer them to my blog.