Truths of Old

What you can't tell from this photo :

She's a tiny little slip of a woman... but what a voice.
Oops. This just in. Dido stands at 172 cm tall. Err. Make that a pretty tall slip of a woman.

And her eyes.
She wrote those songs. It shows in her eyes.

She's also amazingly understated, and wryly humourous. When about to sing a brand-new previously unheard song to us for her encore, she didn't tell us any of that. She just told us why she wrote it, what it was about, then matter of factly sat down at her keyboard and began to sing.

T thought White Flag was about not surrendering, and trying to get back together.
I suppose that's one possible way of interpreting it. Somehow, looking at Dido's eyes as she sang... that wasn't it at all.


I know, You think that, I shouldn't, still love you
or tell you that
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it,
where's the sense in that
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder or
return to where we were

(But) I will go down with this ship
I won't put my hands up and surrender
there will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love, and always will be

I know I left too much mess and destruction
to come back again
(And) I caused nothing but trouble, I understand if you
can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules that it's over
then I'm sure that that makes sense

(And) I will go down with this ship
I won't put my hands up and surrender
there will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love, and always will be

And when we meet
(which) I'm sure we will
All that was there
will be there still
I'll let it pass
and hold my tongue
and you will think
that I've moved on

I will go down with this ship
I won't put my hands up and surrender
there will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love, and always will be

I will go down with this ship
I won't put my hands up and surrender
there will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love, and always will be

- Dido, White Flag


*****
Men are from Mars, Women are from Snickers

Something a friend emailed to me about her (ex) man leaving, nevermind the reason, he left triggered this memory. (sic)

She : it's a bummer you're not here.

pause.

She : Why did you go to the UK anyhow?

He : Because you told me to!

She : Of course I told you to, it would have been better for (reason).
I really wanted (what she really wanted).

He : ...

She : Oh, you Fool.

*****
Insomnia, episode #12581967129410

I can't sleep. Dido's lyrics are haunting me, and it's coming up on sunrise. I figured I'd do a walk down the Thames and snap a few pics of the sunrise over the water - because who knows? I may never see this godforsaken little hellhole that I've come to love over the years, ever again.

Somewhere in my quest to stay awake (not much of a challenge, really) I found Charmaine Chua's little tussel with the Truth. Pandora's box undone, a dragon has emerged (with a lion head) and woe betide the foolish ozzie for having ever deigned to write about the mighty Singapore!

In the aftermath of some comments touching on medical ethics (eg some old /unstable people can't handle the truth about their imminent demises, so we should protect them from the news), the dully indignant and defensive voices that Charmain's post of her (rather penetrating) friend "S"'s e-letter to her about Singapore's political shortfalls elicited brought Jessep's little conversation with Kaffee in A Few Good Men to mind.

I can't help but add this : to compare a few infirm, insane old people to an entire nation of millions of healthy people, in support of a rather flawed argument that the ignorance is bliss is... well. shrug.

There will always be extremes. To extend the poor analogy further, I've encountered old fogeys on my wards as a doctor. I've had all manner of relatives ask me to not tell gran she's dying.

Three quarters of the time Gran's fully compos mentis, and already knows she's dying - just not what of. For chrissakes, it's her body falling apart around her. If there's one person who'd know without needing to be told - it's the person who's dying.

How much more terrible to be vanquished by the unspoken foe, than the known, identified, enemy. A good death... surely encompasses some small degree of control of the circumstances surrounding it?

The other quarter of the time, the discretion to tell, or not isn't in the hands of the family. It's in the hands of the doctor. And it is a burden we bear. And quite often, I don't. But these are extreme and isolated cases. And I take no pride in them.

What then, a good life? Surely perception of truth - and awareness are part of sentience - and part of life.

Do we really feel that it's better to be blinkered to the truth, than to have our illusions shattered? Wouldn't you want to know if your wife or girlfriend was cheating on you - or would you rather the revelation come later, when you discover that the son she birthed was by another man?

Wouldn't you rather know that love has faded - or never was, than discover so a decade - or a lifetime later? Maybe when she's taken your kids and credit card to some distant land?

Wouldn't you rather know that you had cancer - or were going to be involved in a fatal traincrash a month from today -- so that you could spend your last days well, and make the final reconciliations you never had the chance to, and do the last things you always wanted to... than to be caught in your "prime", offguard with your pants down?

What you DO with your truth is up to you. Some would choose to return to the matrix. Some would seek to improve the matrix. And some would seek to live in reality, as ugly as it may be.

I think I must concede 'S's point though.
Perhaps, in time our people will grow up.
Or perhaps not.

Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee (Tom Cruise): I think I'm entitled to them.
Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee: I want the truth!
Jessep: You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.