Wine is a Mocker

An Early Acquaintance

My story with drink is long and interesting, yet these days I do not have a ready palate for alcohol.

My first taste of alcohol came with palm wine. My paternal grandfather had palm trees; though I do not think he was ever a palm wine tapper, he had the kind of demeanour that suggests he might have clambered up a tree at some point in his youth.

Traditional alcohol was offered to children, but bottled alcohol was completely forbidden.

At ten, away from my parents, I did drink Tennent's Light, a low-percentage lager in a can. None of the adults frowned on my consumption, and I always drank in moderation; there was never a second one, even when offered.

Lessons from the Brewery

My first job, at fifteen, was in a brewery, where I worked in the laboratory; I doubt I would have been allowed that opportunity outside Nigeria. My days were spent testing water quality, peering at dead yeast cells drawn from the fermentation tanks, and running quality-control checks at the end of the production line. There was enough in all of that to put me off lager, and consequently beer, ale, and cider.

Strong drink was an acquired taste that I eschewed rather than developed.

Yet in my family we have no history of the abuse of drink or drunkenness; everyone held their drink with dignity, and it would appear that more of the generations close to mine are teetotallers.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

A Discipline of My Own

In social settings, I drink wine, preferably with meals, and never alone. It is a standard and a discipline I have set for myself, and I find the loss of self-control brought on by drink you have chosen to consume, rather than been forced to ingest, literally contemptible. Even the wine I enjoy is rarely more than a single glass, and I doubt I drink more than once in two months.

Once I had a sherry, from a bottle the barman probably had to prise out from a mooring of cobwebs spun by spiders long deceased, kept well out of sight, and then a glass of port, which does go well with Stilton cheese. I was soon sick all over the place, at home.

At any sense of feeling tipsy, I never wait for my legs to give way beneath me; one instance of apparent inebriation was a lesson for a lifetime. I also refuse to lend my tongue to the looseness that alcohol affords, as some people, who are no longer friends, once did to break the friendship.

Carried in the Blood

I do, however, appreciate that people have a drink problem for all sorts of reasons, including a congenital predisposition, for which there might be a need for intervention if a person has lost the levers of moderation.

There are those for whom the pull towards drink is not merely habit but something carried in the blood. A grandparent or great-grandparent who could not master it may leave a predisposition that surfaces generations later, and I would not dismiss that as fancy; the science of inheritance is real enough.

Yet a predisposition is a tendency, not a sentence. It explains the steepness of the hill; it does not excuse refusing to climb. Indeed, the one who knows such a weakness runs in the family has all the more reason to be watchful, for he has been warned by his own lineage.

Recognising a Problem

Even so, that warning is of little use to the person who will not hear it, and denial remains the first obstacle. I know people who will not admit they have a drink problem. You definitely have one if you soon lapse into incoherence and find that the marshalling of your faculties has deserted you.

In some cases, it is borderline; and when at the border, we cannot assume it has not already been crossed.

Whether there are excuses that stand the test of reason is debatable, but steeling yourself for any endeavour should not be achieved through Dutch courage, for it is a prop that would soon collapse under the pressure of application.

Wisdom from Proverbs

While my greater abstemiousness from alcohol is not religious, you only have to visit the Book of Proverbs to read the many admonitions regarding alcohol.

Proverbs 31:4-7

4 It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes strong drink:
5 Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.
6 Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.
7 Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.

And yes, there are places where wine is the bringer of joy and festivity, as in the ritual use of wine in religious service; but in each case, one would expect controlled and measured use.

Elsewhere, in Proverbs 20:1

1 Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.

These verses all suggest that the abuse of alcohol leads to unfortunate consequences. The refuge of drink opens the door to foolishness, destruction, and forgetfulness of the essence of living; there is nothing productive in it.

A Final Word

Before I come across as preachy, I am not advocating a temperance movement or a form of prohibition, but moderation that can still be moderated. For those who drink to excess, you leave those close to you, who do not partake as much, all the more worried that you have already taken a few too many.

And if, on reading this, you recognise yourself in these words, do not take it as an accusation but as a hand held out. If this is you, there is no shame in the recognition; there is only the next, better step.

Most importantly, seek help, because there is a great deal of help out there. Wherever you are, a first step is often as near as your own doctor. Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon operate in most countries, and many nations run free, confidential helplines; a local search, or a word with a trusted clinician, will point you to what exists near you.

Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) – Wikipedia

Alcoholics Anonymous ZA/ZW

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

Home as you left it

Strewn yet hewn

When I returned home late in the night a week ago, it never occurred to me how if anyone had seen a dog in the window of my apartment over the weekend, they could come back on my return, point to the dog and ask how much it was.

In fact, I could have left my bathroom scales in my wine rack (I did not do that, someone else did) and expected to still find it there or carelessly left the fridge door open and met it undefeated by gravity or the rotational forces of the earth in the same position I had in my forgetfulness abandoned things.

That lack of trepidation as to the condition of my home that always seemed to leave me a total stranger in my own home after any sojourn away, was bliss. None of the disorderliness which to the mind of another was their order, or apparent disarray was due to poltergeist activity, I simply had a trusted house sitter.

Behold an earthquake

Trusted is being generous to a fault, because except for the entirely immovable things, everything moved, changed places, or just disappeared. The lack of care for the very basic things even though to his thinking he was keeping the place tidy, robbed me too many times of the enjoyment of home, yet overwhelmed to a masochist trait, I submitted myself to more abuse.

However, after a 16-hour journey back from Cape Town, still barely at 60% of my strength, I stepped into my home and though he was present, I found myself running the vacuum cleaner through my apartment before I even took my jacket off. When I opened the fridge, a hurricane had swept through it with pieces anywhere but where they should be.

That I was still finding things out of place five months later is testament to his genius that has a madness to its method, but the day after I returned, I asked him to give me back the keys to my apartment and I bought myself the unimaginable treasure of space, independence, and wallowing in the mess of my own making. I could live with that.

Peace with my pieces

The next time we saw each other, it was at a waving distance attending a funeral, I bear no animosity toward him, I consider him a friend, even if he thinks otherwise. It was a necessary intervention, rescuing myself from the throes of the unmentionable trying to articulate the indescribable.

Just to have your home unspoiled and be able to suggest the best price for the dog in the window the stranger saw the other day and get a good exchange without rummaging through the depths of Hades for the upper set of your false teeth and the missing tail of the dog. You do not want to know what I still cannot find in my own home.

Thought Picnic: We are not as connected as we think we are

The tears for fears

It was a strange feeling of regret and partly self-pity that one would not normally admit to when I went through a list of 15 job roles that I somehow felt I could not apply for. This, for all sorts of reasons as I felt the warmth of tears welling up around my eyes. It has been a long while since I have cried for myself and I do wonder if there is any relief in it.

The fact is and I would point it out in its own paragraph, people are a lot more vulnerable than they say or present, they are not as alright as they seem, they are not as happy and cheerful as they appear, and they need a lot more than just checking up on to ascertain how they are.

Out-of-date interventions

Yet, it is the assumptions that people make about others that I can be painfully aware of, that torches with flames of anguish or something like it. When I think of the other day and there are many to consider, the day some prayers were prayed that I thought could have been so useful, so many months before they seemed desperate and even out-of-date for the suffering that has been endured, it leaves a sense of abandonment and unease, that one should do the best not to attend to.

The other other (written for effect) day was another who called to determine how one was getting on and the core of his advice was I should not lose my confidence. Heck! I could have done with that kind of encouragement six or months ago, how do you light a fire in ashes already dampened in a storm? Still, from the ashes, the phoenix rises or something to that effect.

These totally out-of-date interventions may seem productive but that touch at the heart of another reality, that we are not as connected with our friends and family as we assume we are. There is an unquantifiable distance in what we think are thriving relationships for which familiarity has replaced discerning and discernment to elicit the full truth. Maybe I help myself better through what I write for my speech has the sophistication of concealment that is both trained and curtailed.

How I feel lost

There are days I am probably entirely myself, as many consciences are quickly salved with the rudimentary as one battles with an Esau complex, wherein has one served up birthright for a pot of soup? The judgement on him was tough even as he did prosper in a way. One is left wondering about the vicissitudes of life, maybe a time to reflect in Ecclesiastes. Even the comfort I seek therein seems to elude me.

I often get asked that question that probably a sense of pride promptly denies, it does loom about and I refuse to countenance it, I refuse to give it any rein, which does not mean it doesn’t yap at my heels, every now and again. I want to believe and at the same time one is losing grip, there is apparently so much love out there as I wrestle in my mind about things present, things existential, and things beyond, that sleep will not repair.

As one would expect, there is someone somewhere who would read this and genuflect to feigned apoplexy with the opinion, “It seems he is giving up and losing hope.” Thank you for your very genuine concern, after that, what has changed? 

The battle is always in our minds, in our heads, in our dreams, and sometimes interfered with by reality, but it is one we dare to fight to win, and, on this score, I will wipe away the tears and look up because it is not over until it is done.

Thought Picnic: I am best at my own speed

We really do not know

Making assumptions about people, especially those you think or believe you know intimately comes with flaws and a wide scope for misunderstanding and erroneous actions. Each person regardless of their symbiotic dependence or interdependence on others comes with their individuality and uniqueness, whether they recognise that attribute or not.

For myself, I am unceasingly working to understand myself better as much as I seek to be a better person, fully aware of myself whilst being considerate of others. I don’t want to overreach and surmise that I can feel, appreciate, or understand fully what the other person is going through, much as when I am sought to listen, I would not want to insert myself into circumstances being played out in someone else’s situation.

Make generous allowances

In being aware that I should not insert myself, I also do not want to be either commanding or demanding. I believe in latitude and initiative, conferring autonomy with trust to the extent that people can act with control of the decisions they make and by so doing assume full responsibility for their actions regardless of the consequence. Ultimately, it means people would be far from deceiving themselves.

The furthest I would go in pursuit of getting a response I view would be beneficial to anyone is to persuade, the points would be made, and the scenarios would be laid out, however, it would be unfair and unreasonable to have conferred autonomy and then seek to surreptitiously resume ownership because of any level of involvement. In extremis, it would be to avoid pending disaster, but we are rarely at that point of intervention.

A result totally unforced

It is a strange case of reckoning that I was intimated of when a friend who I was quite concerned about told me, they felt that there was a purpose in their lives for which certain apparently self-destructive or low-esteem activities would be aborted to focus on the things that give them a sense of personal value and achievement with the possibility of impacting positively on their immediate community. I felt a sense of pride in hearing that without showing much of a reaction to it.

I feel my contribution to the situation was just peripheral, providing a welcoming and enabling environment, not being judgemental or accusative, being supportive in the insignificant and consequential things, and just being a friend as a friend should be.

Please, don’t push me

Reflecting on my situation, whilst I could be impulsive on some things, it is rarely with people. Even where I find myself considering actions quite drastic, I would err on the side of caution, restraint and avoid confrontation if I can help it. This state of mind is what lowers stress, eliminates sources of anxiety, and informs why if there is no need to be exerted on something, then there is no need to be exercised about it. I cherish my peace of mind as I love my life.

Indeed, this could be annoying to some who expect me to be assertive and forward, usually mostly to fulfil what they want me to do rather than what I have been persuaded and convinced to do. The fact is, whilst it might take time, I seem to get results without having to steer or arrest. It might just be that there is more to the power of example than the example of power.

Things get sorted out because the situation begins to favour the requirement, let things go their natural course and you will be rewarded by nature’s breeze of peace and wellness. I do not like being pushed, if I am going in a particular direction, I am happy with my own progress, for it is in that setting that I have control, order, and safety.

My friend, the genius

Your boundaries are sacrosanct

I would hardly be the one to initiate an intervention because I respect boundaries to the extent that I might not have been as helpful a friend as I could be. Also, I am rarely confrontational, it is not my personality type, though, if I have to confront a situation, I will, usually as a last resort.

However, if I am specifically engaged on an issue, I will apply all my faculties as objectively as possible, but herein is my dilemma. I believe I am watching a friend go off the rails and I do not know how to address the matter. I provide nominal support, but this is hardly sufficient to the situation, and it thoroughly disturbs me.

Call me anytime

My inclination is always to have an open door against the buffeting a person may face from others, but what if I am the only one left as the voice of reason: the last bastion of hope. The thought I might lose my friend terrifies me.

Professional support offered does not seem to meet the underlying need that moralises addiction and its detriments when a person believes they gain benefits from substance abuse and usage, or so they aver.

What he could be

This is someone whose abilities, aptitude, and intellect, if harnessed can operate consistently at a genius level with prolific output, whereas now, we contend with torrents of sometimes incoherent but amazing ideas that might only be realised with some sobriety. I have a friend who is a lot more than he sees in himself and considerably a lot more than I know he is capable of.

Whether rehabilitation can begin to extricate him from this situation towards better outcomes and fulfilment, I cannot tell, but in my view, he is doing himself gradual and progressive harm without realising or acknowledging it, comfortable in the feeling that exacerbates his most creative self. It bothers me and I am somewhat crying for help and inspiration for what is possible and within the scope of arrest. My friend is a genius unrealised.

With A Little Help From My Friends

We are rarely alone

We sometimes forget that we could do with a little help, some advice, direction, or guidance. Having found a sense of independence with the resolution that we can have made it on our own, we face problems and issues alone, taking on the world with muscle, exerting strength we never knew we had with capacity that has never been used before.

Again, we should be careful that we have come to believe that we can tackle similar problems we have solved before presented in another setting, at another time, involving other people. We fall into the crude situation of taking a hammer to every problem that appears to be a nail, when the circumstance requires another tool like a screwdriver for a screw, a scalpel to remove a split, a spoon for soup that will not do for a steak.

Understand your situation

Consequentially, we must recognise the situation and the approach, significantly, we fail ourselves when we reject good offers to fight for us, especially from those who can represent interests so unconditionally with passion, sentiment, love, and devotion. Friends and parents along with stranger angels fall into that category, you never know, but it is wise to be open to the possibility.

They can plead your cause in ways you can never do yourself, especially where you are in trouble, have a knotty situation dealing with impossible or difficult people, they can do mitigation to ameliorate amazingly, and they could easily forfeit for shutting them out. If you share a problem, at least, make allowances for more engagement and input that sympathy and platitudes.

Bring on the guns

Let them, especially when your parents or friends are involved put the fear of God in your apparent nemesis, intractable people, or hindrances to your purpose that whoever or whatever gives you grief will not want to revisit another conversation with them. It also presents an escalation opportunity because you do not know what other strings they can pull beyond the constraints of your situation.

If their intervention does not yield the required result, often, you get a better reason for why things are stuck. Avoid as much as you can the incipient infirmity, ignorance, arrogance, or pride of fight alone when there is a cavalry mounted to charge for your cause.