Tag Archives: Individuality

I think therefore I am? – On Packing

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Photo by Caroline Selfors on Unsplash

There are various methods of packing. Because of a tendency to pack at the last minute, I have mostly used the brute force method. Items fly across the room into my suitcase and start to resemble Smaug’s horde. A small mountain of treasure grows inside the suitcase until the invisible Jenga player makes one false move and causes an avalanche. My real-time 3-D modelling of a landfill is completed by my hands formed into the blade of a bulldozer, smoothing over the lumpy former pile. The lid of the overflowing suitcase is closed and then I take a run-up before launching myself into the air. My version of the people’s elbow rains pure pain down on the hapless plastic container. Gravity comes into play and the suitcase’s clasps are barely forced closed. Queen and David Bowie’s hit “Under Pressure” starts playing in the background. I pity the poor TSA worker who may open my case, as the contents could fly outwards in an explosion rivalling the Big Bang.

The previous method would’ve taken about 15 minutes in total and would’ve expended an impressive 2000 calories. My significant other looks at everything the method represents with utter disdain. The diametrically opposed way to deal with baggage is based on the premise that if you roll clothing up you can fit more into your suitcases and bags. Legends speak of squeezing the air out of things, allowing greater volumes of items to be placed inside. Everything is in its place and a place for everything. Even the deepest darkest secrets?

Are packing styles reflective of personalities? The guy who uses force is a brute? The orderly packer is organised in all facets of life? Not necessarily, we are all mosaics, made up of different personality aspects. What does your own patchwork quilt look like? What are the main features highlighted? What is important to you? How do you deal with life’s events? We all have our own baggage to deal with. Choose your method carefully.

Bedside Lessons – 15. The Elite Soldier Part 1

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Photo by Rob Pumphrey on Unsplash

If he had been a veteran of another war he probably would’ve received The Commonwealth countries’ highest military honour for bravery – The Victoria Cross. He had carried his severely injured comrade over his shoulders and had run at double pace in order to ensure that “no man was left behind.” Any other war he would’ve come home a hero, but on his return he was called many names; murderer, child-killer, Imperialist Puppet. He hadn’t served for fame or glory, he had done his job, he had served his country, and had followed orders. He and his fellow soldiers were shunned and he had to hide the specialness of his training, and he learnt how not to talk about sensitive subjects.

It was difficult fitting into a peace-loving society when you had been trained to channel your propensity for violence into your bread and butter work. The aggression still needed an outlet and society was not too receptive of this. He rediscovered football and was able to divert his rage into victorious feats of gallantry. He became a trusted team-mate and was able to translate this into a successful coaching career, allowing his leadership skills to flourish.

His teams did well, and he won many accolades, but the hurt inside continued to need suppressing. He swallowed it deeper and deeper, until he had almost forgotten it, almost. Life had its ups and downs, success on the field, was not always reflected in his significant relationships off the field.

He had received the worst news just prior to being admitted into hospice. As with all the other bad news, he took it like a man. Face to face, without flinching or reacting, there would be time for that later in private. In public he had to represent his team, his unit, he had to be the hardest of weapons. They had told him that he only had three days left to live.

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