Hubris

From heaven back down to earth

I wake up to yet another day without a solution to my mortality problem.  

I know it sounds funny and it would be if only it weren't sad. Most mornings I wake up in great spirits and feel fine for a couple of minutes. Then the sudden terror comes, about all things ending.

Today, before the familiar dark mood can take hold, I go up to the 47^th floor Octave Rooftop Bar of the Bangkok Marriott where I’m staying. This lounge has a fabulous 360 degree view of downtown Bangkok. The luminous circular cocktail bar has no customers at this early hour, but Josephine by London-based trio Ritual is playing and that feels exactly right to me. The song’s unforced, elegant, and understated sound is the perfect backdrop to the noise and pollution of the metropolis below. At daybreak, the city’s skyline looks golden below a glorious sunrise. For the true believers, I’m sure you could reach out to heaven right from this spot here, a gateway if there ever was one.

Ironic, that in the midst of all this beauty, the thought of life’s transience has me gasping for breath yet again. ‘Fallen’ describes best the sinking sensation in my stomach, feeling like Adam waking up to discover he’s been thrown out of Eden.

Shoshin is a concept in Zen Buddhism meaning “beginner’s mind.” Like a child, you’re discovering things for the first time. Well, it seems that every day I conceive for the very first time that my life will eventually end. This literally weighs down on my chest, like a foot of fresh earth on top of a coffin. My coffin.

A circuit breaker in my brain has to step in every time and halt all existential thinking when confronted with the ultimate contradiction: life instinct telling me to avoid death at all cost while my brain points out that all such effort is futile.

Eros and Thanatos, A Daily Production In My Head.

Often, I think the whole end of life concept must be an epic misunderstanding, an unfortunate misinterpretation of some biblical allegory, or a mass marketing campaign that went terribly wrong.

Sure, the universe wants to keep us on our toes, I get that. Hence the occasional casualties, caused by natural disaster or even war. But dying as the unavoidable last page of the book of life? No thank you, that would be cruel and unusual punishment. While animals do not realize they will perish, human awareness of what’s coming has been tuned to perfection. Why for God’s sake?

Taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air high up here, I finish my coffee and decide to get moving on my day.

Riding the elevator down, I am confronted with a young Russian glam couple in the process of seriously making out. For sure not holding back on my behalf, their hands are all over each other. He in black Boss shirt and trousers with handcrafted Italian shoes, no socks. She in sky-high heels, a glittery miniskirt, and a short white fur coat. A natural beauty with light eyes, blond hair and impeccable make-up, she smiles at me when she sees my discomfort and whispers: “позольте ему наблюдать ”: Let him watch. The guy laughs and says: “'ы дразните его”: You’re a tease.

I have a basic understanding of Russian and try not to blush.This must be their grand finale to a hot night out in Bangkok: forbidden sex in an elevator while riding up to the highest rooftop bar in the city. A total stranger watching only adds to the excitement.

They stay in the elevator all the way back down with me. I notice all of a sudden that lover boy has been holding his date's panties folded in his hand all this time. She looks at me and I know she knows I know. I can't help myself and feel embarrassed and aroused in equal measures.

While stepping out, I can't help but notice the closed circuit TV cameras in the lift and it occurs to me that Thailand has ridiculously strict indecent exposure laws. I am sure the couple is equally aware of the CCTV and that fact just enhances the experience. Russians are known not to give a damn and that stereotype just got reconfirmed.

Recomposing myself, I grab my briefcase from my room and ask reception to call a cab to take me to my customer meeting. While going through the motions, I think about my objectives for the day and my personality features switch to their corporate settings. Funny how focusing on professional stuff so easily pushes out the harsh existential reality which filled my brain just minutes ago. The pristine concepts and best practices that govern the world of business have a cleansing effect on me. I can hit reset and enter this whole new universe, one which I control. No unwanted endings here, only continuous supply & demand. Life as a spreadsheet.

When in business mode, I feel liberated. No need to ponder life's impermanence when you can always count on the market to open the next day. With elegant precision, the stock ticker shows green or red and the company balance sheet has the assets and liabilities neatly in their appropriate columns. No contradictions here, all the numbers add up.

I realize of course that this whole world of commerce is a fake empire, a collective immortality project to deny the very existence of death by a never-ending wheeling and dealing in Dollars and Yen. Nothing but a domesticated battlefield, where egos can be heroes without bloodshed.

But man, it feels good to be in control of my destiny. Or at least it is a sweet and welcome illusion.

My hotel is located in Thonglor, the most trendy neighborhood of sprawling Bangkok. My customer’s offices are on the other side of the city, though, so I tell my taxi driver to hurry up because I’m already late. Last night, I strolled outside the hotel to explore the many art galleries and funky boutiques of local Thai designers. But here and now in this worn-out taxi cab, I only see busy streets and traffic jams prohibiting me to get to my destination. 

I am preoccupied, my mind seems determined to take stock, to make an appraisal of where I am exactly on the lapse of time between beginning and end. The irony of life is that you get better and better at it and then you expect it to further build up. When you get to marry the girl you love, when you get promoted up the corporate chain, you actually start to believe you have superpowers. That eventually you’ll be able to also dodge the final bullet and get away with not dying at all.

And the crazy thing is, my subconscious actually supports this wishful thinking. If my mind is an iceberg, the part below the water surface actually believes I will not die. How funny is that?

Our subconscious harbors ancient truths and archaic fantasies that have taken hold in our genes over millions of years. Those deep instincts are timeless and entirely focused on the survival of the species through eternity.

That deep intuition has me believe that I am too clever to die, that only a freak accident or an outside attack could kill me. Something as prosaic as old age or ordinary sickness cannot get to me. I should just not be stupid and go and travel in Ebola territory or buy a one-way ticket to Mars. If I only respect these basic rules, I should be fine.

I recognize the arrogance in this: to feel entitled and consider it my eternal birthright to be alive. My dying would mean somebody is rigging the game, because when it comes to mastering life, I am an expert. No one does it better, or so I think. I am a fixer. Put a roadblock in my path and I will find a way around it. Sublime logic, the basic design code for the universe, will protect me against all randomness which fate can throw at me.

This is the way I do it. I wrap my thoughts into fantastic concepts and abstractions which let me reach multitudes with my mind. The more sophisticated the ideas and the more multi-layered the symbols I use to describe my world, the further I move away from death and decay. I can compartmentalize reality into small conceptual bits that are not frightening at all. I multiply my chances of survival by leaving a trail of thought that cannot be erased. My schemes are too big to fail.

Wow! I am torn here. Despite this grandiosity, this self-glorification, I have never felt more insignificant and vulnerable in my life.  Why do I feel it can all come crashing down any time now? I feel fake, this is not who I am. I am not my thoughts.

God, I need to break this ruminative cycle before I go crazy. To distract me, I look outside at the locals weaving through traffic on their scooters and the unavoidable tourists in tuk-tuks. Originating from an old-fashioned rickshaw during the second World War, a tuk-tuk is essentially the same but with a small engine fitted in. A tourist trap, and a dangerous one at that.

I look at the Raymond Weil watch which my wife got me for my birthday on a trip to Geneva and I realize that indeed I will be late. This is unnerving because it will mean a bad start to the meeting. My customer, a man of tradition appreciating old-fashioned punctuality will see this as a sign of disrespect.

I tap the driver on the shoulder and tell him in a stern voice to find a faster route. I can see this makes the man extremely nervous. The guy is probably used to driving tourists at a leisurely pace through his great city and now he has to take this business man in a suit all the way to Silom, Bangkok’s financial district. He keeps mumbling something incomprehensible, clearly upset.

I curse myself. Why did I not take the Skytrain, the elevated rapid transit system recommended strongly by the hotel? Bad decision, but too late now. We are on Sukhumvit street, the main traffic artery to the financial district. There is no shortcut, I will just have to sweat it out.

My driver agitatedly looks left, then right, then left again. I see he’s soaked with sweat which is unusual for a local. I notice now how his pupils are dilated, betraying mental turmoil. I feel an urgent need to get the hell out of this vehicle.

But then, out of the blue, the cabbie takes a wild turn to the left, and accelerates up into a small side street until we reach the main crossroads at an insane speed. I’m opening my mouth to tell him to slow down when I see her.

The little girl on the bike. The little girl in the red dress.

The fiery red color of the dress right in front of the car is instantly burned into my retinas. I cannot make a sound. I think I am pointing my finger at the girl on the bike but I cannot be sure. In my peripheral vision, I glimpse the face of the driver now with an expression of pure horror, overcome by the knowledge that bad karma is upon him. My heart skips a beat and then another. My mouth feels ultra-dry, I do not have not enough saliva to swallow. I see the hair on my arms stand out while I grip the front seat with both hands as if I can stop the car that way.

In this one instant before impact, I see everything with absolute clarity. It all makes dreadful sense. I’ve been on the wrong track. And this is what it has led to.

Exactly. What. I. Deserve.

The driver is now on auto-pilot and pure adrenaline makes him try a desperate maneuver to avoid the girl. Defying gravity, he succeeds in swerving just an inch so he does not hit the child’s body but only the rear of her bike. The collision catapults the child away with a velocity that I am certain will kill her. I try to see where she goes but then our car hits a solid structure in the street.

My brain finds this a good time to point out that this is much like the unstoppable force paradox: “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” We're not going to solve that here. The crash is forceful and propels the taxi driver through the car’s windshield out of sight. His right shoe is left sitting on top of the dashboard, as the last reminder that this was his taxi. And his life.

I am in the rear wearing my seat belt and feel several ribs break on impact. My face smashes against the back of the front seat and I taste warm leather. I try to see, but blood is running in my eyes and everything is a blur.

A nasty thought pierces through the fog in my neocortex: “This is one obstacle you did not find your way around, did you?”

The car has wrapped itself around what turns out to be a Buddhist shrine, one of many in the streets of Bangkok. This fact does not help matters at all. I know the Thai are very sensitive when it comes to their places of worship.

I try to open the car door but it will not budge. I smell gasoline fumes and start agonizing whether I will burn alive, stuck in this car wreck in a city far from home. I am nauseous and rest my head for just a moment against the front seat to find my bearings.

But immediately I feel hands pulling at my arms and legs. People are trying to save me! is the rather naïve thought that pops into my mind. Next, a clenched fist hits my jaw. The surprise of this event has even more punch than the actual pain it causes. This does not make sense. No sense at all. I am a victim.

Before I can ascertain who has hit me and why, I feel a sharp object stabbing me twice in the left thigh. Two thrusts in exactly the same spot, that cannot be good. It occurs to me that I’ve never felt a knife into my flesh except for the harmless cut on a finger while cooking. I can now confirm the pain is excruciating. It feels like nothing for a second until the red hot pain sears through the wound. I cry out in pain and anger.

I wonder whether the blade is still stuck in my leg? I need to know, this seems essential.

I hear police sirens very close by and the angry crowd seems to hesitate for a moment but then moves closer again. It seems to pulsate in and out of my view. People are shouting: “”นักฆ่™เ"็ก“. The police will later tell me this means child killer.

My hand instinctively tries to stop the bleeding of my leg. I do not feel the knife but I feel blood gushing out of the laceration. I black out for a second or so. I open my eyes again and see a Thai police officer standing close by but with his back to me. I move my head slightly to see more but this sends a bolt of pain all the way down my spine. This opens a new avenue of agonizing worry, am I paralyzed from the neck down?

I notice now that the cop is holding a gun and pointing it straight at the mob of people surrounding the crash site. He’s shouting quick words in Thai. I can sense from his tone that he is alone and way out of his depths here. Not confident at all that he can keep the crowd from tearing me apart. His short warnings are met by the most guttural outbursts of anger I’ve ever heard in my life. These people want me dead. A memory of reading about lynch mobs at crash incidents in Thailand flashes though my brain.

All of a sudden, I hear a gun blast very close to my left ear when the officer fires a warning shot. My ear is ringing, my head hurts. I worry again about the leaked petrol catching fire or the angry posse finally pushing through. Whatever gets to me first.

This is when my consciousness says enough already and I pass out.

I drift in and out of an uneasy sleep. The moments I am awake, I think I am in a hospital, I am not sure. It is difficult to describe the deeply feverish nature of the dreaming. It feels as if continental drift below my surface has caused my tectonic plates to collide. A tidal wave of unsettling images is flooding the seaboards of my sanity. This is a fragment of a dream I remember vividly.

A massive battleship fueled by a red-hot reactor engine cuts through the ocean. Out of nowhere, the war cruiser is hit amidships by a ridiculously small torpedo. The ship is so large that at first the hit almost goes unnoticed, just a light tremble rippling up and down the five gargantuan decks. Normal operations are barely disturbed as the crew executes the emergency procedure for this type of minor incident. The ship itself seems to mock this poor attempt at a threat and after short repairs, the captain confidently gives the order to resume cruising speed. But then, hours later, the pipes with cooling water unexpectedly show leakage and have to be shut down. As a consequence, the core of the reactor heats up until it finally melts down and deadly radiation spreads from the belly of the ship. Other vessels are hours away. Instead of a green EXIT sign, the word HUBRIS is displayed in red neon above the only emergency gate.

I wake up in a sweat with a deep-rooted feeling of foreboding. My leg hurts like hell, my nose feels broken. It is hard to breathe.

I hear noises surrounding my bed. I open my eyes and the first thing I see is the little girl. She is standing at the left side of my bed and she's holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. Her face is serious but she does not look angry. This time she's wearing a bright green dress. I blink to make sure I am fully conscious. The girl is holding the hand of her mother who's smiling at me. I look up and down at the girl. I notice she has a band aid on her knee. I do not see any other signs of injuries.

Never before in my life have I felt such relief. It turns out that Kannika, that’s the girl’s name, was indeed catapulted from her bike but then landed just meters further in a makeshift clothing stall in the street. The racks full of colourful textiles broke her fall and she was unharmed, apart from a nasty cut on her right knee.

While I was unconscious, more police had come to cordon off the car wreck. Within that sealed perimeter, they succeeded in freeing me from the demolished cab. An ambulance then swiftly evacuated me to Bangkok’s Bumrungrad International Hospital at the far end of Sukhumvit Street.

The taxi driver had died instantly upon hitting the monumental shrine, head first. The autopsy which was performed yesterday revealed he had been under the influence of opiates and so he was found guilty of reckless driving. If he would be still alive, he would get the death penalty under Thai drug law.

The perpetrator who had knifed me twice had not been captured, he ran off into the crowded streets. Same with the guy who broke my nose.

Four days later, I find myself aboard a Lear Jet 55, a Medical Air Ambulance, hired by my company to repatriate me back and continue treatment in my home country Belgium for the sustained leg injury and mild concussion.

On a hospital bed in the private jet high up in the air and with a dedicated nurse to attend to me, I really feel good for the first time in a long while, like I got a second lease on life. I'm determined to cultivate this newfound joy and try not to waste any more precious time on futile ruminations.

While flipping through Bangkok's English newspaper The Nation, I cannot help but smile when I recognize the pictures of Katya and Vlad, the Russian couple apparently taken into custody yesterday at the Bangkok Marriott hotel and brought before the city’s Court of Justice on charges of indecent exposure and sex in a public place. A German woman who found herself trapped in the elevator with them filed a complaint and the rest is history.

Author's Note

Thanks for your honest review. Please stay with it as it builds up.

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

I get so little time lately to read. I skim a lot. But not this. The story itself technically is spot on. Great pace, lots of nail biting moments - darkly comical, but what really grabs me is the thing I relate to viscerally - that we are finite. That thought keeps me awake at night. Often.

[Bear]

Critique: (I only see busy streets and traffic jams prohibiting me to get to my destination.) you have used the single-word verb or the verb phrase "get" with a word that is usually followed by a prepositional phrase. Consider changing it to "I only see busy streets and traffic jams prohibiting me from getting to my destination."
(Thailand flashes though my brain.) through my brain
(the sustained leg injury and mild concussion.) a mild concussion
(Russian couple apparently taken into custody) was taken into custody

Review: Philosophy, concepts in Zen Buddhism, existentialism in its truest definition all expressed in a very articulate story. The use of your vast vocabulary adds a realism in imagery that draws one into the story (my face turned red with you in the elevator). Outstanding job, five out of five Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

[Philip Muls]

Thank you Bear! Kind regards Philip

[Raylene]

Ah hubris is the man call to many men and women I love this story for that

[AliciaB]

This is a very interesting story. I like the many ways that the narrator views his world and the events around him - they are unique and quite thought-provoking. Many stories focus on dialogue to express characters' viewpoints, but I like how you focused almost entirely on the narrator's thoughts in this one. It's almost like an organized form of stream-of-consciousness, and one that I personally can relate to well. It's cool to see other people's interpretations of reality. The narrator goes through great growth throughout this story, and I enjoyed deliberating over the questions of mortality with him. The little side thoughts, like the one about the unstoppable force paradox, are also great - random tangents are definitely common in the way real people think, giving your character a believable, human feel. I have two suggestions: the first is just to check back and brush up the grammar (it's mostly excellent - just a few missing or misplaced commas here and there), and the second is about the couple in the elevator. I'm glad you brought them back around at the end of the story (otherwise, they would have been too random), but I still don't see how exactly they fit in with the theme of deliberating over one's mortality. They're an interesting touch, but not one (at least from my perspective) that really fits with the rest of the work. Maybe you could add some details that connect them and their actions to the overall theme of the piece. But other than that, this is a very impressive piece. Excellent work!
P.S. - I am very, very, very happy that Kannika is all right.

[Philip Muls]

Thank you AliciaB for very relevant and personal feedback. I will sure think about this. Regards Philip

[wordman]

it is becoming very interesting phillip,a great story line indeed

[R.M.C]

Great write. I think your style suits these small pieces well, though if you were to write a whole Book, it may become a little boring if it's all like this. Your concepts are superb, really connecting with the reader on a sophisticated and intellectual level without making it so the reader feels stupid and can't understand - this is sometimes hard to do but you've succeeded extremely well.
Though not really important in relation to your style or skill, I love the fact that it's based in Thailand - it's my favorite holiday destination. I do think, however, that the Thai's beliefs fit in well with your concepts and ideas that you've used throughout (about life).
I also liked the small bit about the Russians in the elevator and how you've mentioned stereotypes, showing that you're educated in the world and peoples perceptions.
Great write. Well done.

[Philip Muls]

Thaank you, I am glad you liked it. Regards Philip

[Kaliope]

Hi Philip,

another interesting story about journeys, through life and to exotic places. For my taste, however, it took too long to get going. (Don't feel bad about it, I just made the very same mistake with my latest story ;-))

E.g. you mention the narrator's 'mortality problem' in the first sentence. Great, intriguing - I was hooked. But then you don't come back to elaborate on the problem for quite a while. Based on your description ('From Heaven to Earth'), the mention of a gateway to heaven and the comparison to Adam's exile, I was actually wondering whether this was a story about a supernatural being.

Furthermore, some passages are redundant. E.g. the one after introducing the couple in the elevator ('I have a basic understanding...'), it doesn't contain any information we haven't gotten already from the paragraph above.

Speaking of the couple... I liked that passage and its payoff in the end, I really did, but I can't help wondering whether it belongs into the story. Just ask yourself - what is the overall theme of this piece? Is it cultural differences or is it the narrator coming to terms with his mortality? Can it be both? If so, then how are they linked? To me, those felt like two separate themes that didn't intertwine well.

Also, much of the inner monologue seemed superfluous, because the mood was set, the characters defined and I wanted the plot to begin already. Just to illustrate: you used the verb feel/feels/feeling/felt 24 times and believe/think 14 times. Whenever those verbs occur, there's usually not much happening, it's just reflection. In addition, about 40% of your sentences start with 'I' or 'My', that tends to get tedious. Aim for 30% or less.

You see, all these statistics only pop up in my mind whenever passages fail to engage me. Once the girl on the bike appeared, I immediately stopped doing the maths and lost myself in the narrative.

Overall, I definitely enjoyed this piece. The characters were well defined, the description of the accident and its aftermaths were intense and I always relish the opportunity to participate in your obviously vast experience regarding other countries and cultures. All I suggest is to focus a bit more on the core theme and to avoid repeating ideas/thoughts/facts that were already established throughout the story.

Cheers,

Kali

[Philip Muls]

Thank you Kali for reviewing and giving very detailed feedback. Kind regards Philip

[Dayran]

Philip ... There are those who tell a story ... based on their perceptions of mankind. You on the other hand tell a story with your body. Its hard to say ... which has a greater grip on the attention of the reader.

I'm looking at the apparent ' arrogance ' you mentioned ... and the totally physical nature of your stories ... whether that's in Singapore ... India ... or elsewhere. Is that like the way Nazism was crushed completely by the Allies ... you think?

I am completely sympathetic with how our idealism ... can hold us to a personality ... we have become fond of. The Indians wrote an epic ... the Mahabarata ... that traces life's heights ... to the way it humanizes itself ... in order to save itself. Indians use the book to identify with the personalities involved ... and sympathize with attempts to diminish the mind from its begotten heights. Its like a dramatization of the events in one's life ... in reference to an epic. It works marvelously.

Great story and direct experience at life ... and the clinical manner with which you put it together.

[Philip Muls]

Thank you Dayran. I am glad it relates.

[Serge Wlodarski]

Good story, a lot going on there. You've asked the eternal question which no one has answered yet, at least not to my satisfaction. Much of human culture is built on what are obviously incorrect answers. I have devoted my life to destroying the wrong answers.

BTW, I'll be traveling to Russia soon. Do you have any tips for me? As a narcissistic American, I'm sure my excessive hubris will be annoying to the natives.

[Philip Muls]

Thanks Serge. Russians have a love/hate relationship with Americans, nothing much you can do to change that. Safe travels.

[Serge Wlodarski]

Actually, that is constructive advice. Plays into what I already suspected. I'm pretty good at dealing with the passive aggressive types.