"Are you the crazy one? Or am I?" : An in depth examination of Sociological Oppression

Written By George D. Verlander

Last night my girlfriend and myself made our way into London for her sister's 22nd birthday. Upon arrival we were greeted by her friends, all of whom were current or recently graduated university students, who are now either furthering their studies with PhD's/MA's, or making a living in the working world. 

Thirty seconds round the corner from Southwark station situates a variety of various hidden gems in the form of lavish restaurants, a multiple complex of contiguous cultures side by side. If you're ever in the area, make sure to check out 'EV' (which means 'home' in the native tongue) a swanky, and hospitable Turkish cuisine. And not one that would break the bank either! For £19.95 waiters supplied our party with a range of starters, no I'm not going to try and pronounce them, and after we had finished a main course of our choosing. 

Sipping Rose wine whilst savoring each morsel of marinated lamb I couldn't help think about my working-class heritage from Limehouse. Had I gone up in the world? Exquisite food, delicate ambiance and intriguing conversation between intellectual minds. Well, I listened mostly. However it was at the moment whilst talking to an excellent young journalist I began to have another thought. "She is living a life that she is passionate about, one she loves." This lady had gone out in the world, worked hard for her degree and was now working for a well-established newspaper, as well as having a popular and fascinating blog. I was already hungry waiting for the food to come. Now I was hungry for success.

It was refreshing to meet someone who was living out their dream, especially when we live in a world where dreams are sadly left by the wayside and forgotten as we grow older.  

I experienced this first-hand in my previous career as a supermarket checkout cashier. On my very first day I engaged with the old lady on the till next to my own in a desperate attempt to make a friend. 

"So how long have you been working here?" I began nervously

"Oh, only thirty-nine years my dear" she answered back sweetly. 

That scared me from the onset and stayed with me until I was no longer able to deal with job. So I left. 

It has been five months since I have had a job. Would I go back to working at a supermarket? No. Before working in that sector I admit whole-heartedly that I would often take up a pretentious attitude towards people who worked in these roles. I don't believe I felt I was better than them as a person, but rather better than the job itself. A sense of shame has replaced that feeling as I have matured and emphasized with these workers, combined with pity, not for supermarkets themselves. For the people who have no choice but to work in them. 

Who as a child grows up dreaming "One day, I'm going to make it. One day I will be a supermarket till operator." No one does. Unless you're utterly fascinated by the whole system and love to handle plastic bags for inconsiderate and rude strangers. You do get some odd individuals in Pitsea. As I said though, not many people do wake up in the morning and look forward to that kind of job. Would you wish upon your future children to work in places such as these? I know I wouldn't.  I hope you don't take this article the wrong way. I don't mean to present myself as a stuck-up teenager with some personal vendetta against supermarket corporations, nor do I mean to insult any person who has, or is currently working in these particular locations. That is not the focal point of this post.

It just breaks my heart that the world turns this way. You're born, you go to primary school, you go to secondary school, if you work hard you get good GCSE's, you go to college, if you're blessed with intelligence you get good A-levels, you go to university, if you work hard and are blessed with intelligence you get a good degree, you go to work, you buy a house, you take out a mortgage, you pay bills, if you're lucky you have kids and you spend the rest of your working life paying for these luxuries and expenses. At the age of sixty-five, if you have paid enough money into your pension plan, you can retire for a fews years and wait for the end doing what you wish. No one questions this. We all just do it. 

Are you the crazy one? Or am I? To me society itself seems so wrong, so fragmented and twisted. No, I am not going back to work in a supermarket. No, this isn't a case of 'snobbery' anymore. 

This is a case of defiance! Defiance against sociological oppression, an invisible disease which slowly latches onto us and prevents us from speaking out, from acting out. It leaves the body. It takes the mind. 

What do I know though in reality? Not a lot. Whilst writing this article I happened to have a conversation with my mum about the whole thing. Is it better to not have a job, to be looking for that diamond in the rough, the thing you've always wanted. Or should we all be doing something that doesn't fulfill us deep down, but provides us with a sense of security, and an ability to enjoy the little things in life, expensive they may not be, but personal and rewarding? I do not know the answer. All I know is that there are people in this world breathing success, and consider it not be hard labor. How nice would it be if we could all have that? 

We have precious little time granted to us in this world. We might as well do what we love before we don't get the chance again. So when someone tells you "we can't all be astronauts" simply try and defy the odds and demand,

"Why not?" 

The Exorcism of Jeeves

By George D. Verlander

Every person is tested throughout his or her life, both physically and mentally. For me, my hardest battle was cricket. How can it be that something so insignificant be of such importance to me, tied so tightly to my happiness and well-being? Perhaps it stems from the belief that it's the only thing I am 'reasonably good' at, or maybe it could be that it's the only thing I have in my life that allows me at times to feel powerful, and I want to harness that, contain it and influence it when it's most needed.

My love for cricket has enabled my father and I to bond on many levels throughout my youth. Throughout my sport he's always made his best efforts to be at every game, lend advice when required and spend a fortune on equipment, petrol and anything else necessary. During the winter months he has urged me to keep on training, diminishing his income further on coaching classes. However, every rose has its thorn, and although my father is one of the reasons I try to be the best in my sport, he has at times been the pain and anguish that has been left behind.

At age 13, playing outside with a ball my father told me "you might as well give up, you're **** anyway."

Consumed by determination I was going to prove him wrong. But life, no matter how hard you defy, sometimes always has a way of dragging you back into the ground. Just like last year.

I suffered my worst summer of cricket during 2012, after a long winter of feeling prepared and ready for action. In that season however, over the course of 20 games, I feebly managed to hit a combined total of only 81 runs. I had an average of 2 in each match. During that season my highest score was 11, with countless 0’s that haunted my statistics. Mentally exhausted with defeat I shutdown all sense of happiness and went to a very dark place, a place of jealously, anger and utter hopelessness.

It’s hard to describe how that made me feel. On the surface people take this sport for a slow paced, uninteresting game. However, it is so much more than that. It can break you, and has easily broken even trained professionals psychologically. It broke me. I think the word that sums it up in reality is 'ashamed.' Ashamed of yourself that you have to constantly watch others around you succeed, who might not necessarily put in the commitment you do, whilst at each fleeting attempt, you fail. It appears an unreachable summit from a low and lonely mountain base. A vicious circle that the more you fail, the more your optimism disintegrates away, making it harder to grasp onto and reclaim.

I was asked if I was going to give up, something that I had always said that I would never consider. At that point I really didn't know the answer.

I drowned in a guilty essence. Guilty that my father had spent all this money, invested all this time into me, hoped that even if I didn’t play well I still enjoyed my time out there – but the barrier still failed to be breached and I just could not do it. Before going out to bat anxiety would take control, nerve endings firing on all cylinders. I would tense up. I would go into my shell. In the end its psychological warfare. And I was loosing.

The one thing I had cherished for years and shaped my character finally, and I was transformed into pure insignificance.

"Sometimes you can try so hard at something. Sometimes you can be so prepared. And you still fail. But no matter how great the setback. How serve the failure. You never give up. You never give up you pick yourself up, you brush yourself off, you push forward, you move on, you adapt. You overcome."

I Never Gave Up.

Yesterday I finished my last game of 2013. In that time I accomplished getting my 100th WMCC wicket, getting 50 wickets in a season, hitting 48 fours, and1 six. I ended with a batting average of 21 and a total of 423 runs in a season. Furthermore, after two attempts in the past three years I successfully aided in my team’s promotion campaign, and next year will see us in a higher division - hungry for more.

Woodham Mortimer 2nd XI Promotion Party 2013

Despite these personal achievements they compare little to my final accolade for the summer. After long last, and a whole year of doubt, turmoil and tormenting I hit my maiden half-century. I cannot say what happened, because the moment is lost in time – a blur in the minds eye. When I cast my thoughts back to it only silence greets me, a soft heartbeat’s echoes choosing to rebel finally against mental chains that have for too long imprisoned me from my potential. The beating strengthens until I faintly remember running, charging to one end only to swiftly return and force my way back to where I came from – where I belong. And then the silence ends, and cheers meet my curious ears, the sound a welcoming ghost from a past life. The sweet moment dissolves from there, vanishing into a brief instance of sheer disbelief and retribution. 
 

Woodham Mortimer Vs Leighton Orient FC Supporters CC

After the previous season I was going to give up. I wanted to give up. The pain of failure seemed to outweigh the possibility of success, and as I watched my peers succeed it pushed me ever further to the brink. To people reading this, and there will be many who don't understand this post, I hope that you do not dismiss this as a rant from a moody teenager who couldn't take not being the best. Though, you would be half right. However, I urge you to look deeper. I mean not for this post to inform, but to inspire. Perhaps in that crowd of people there is one person who feels the same way, who is experiencing the same thing, and it is you for who this piece is written for.

I have learnt that in life it is all too easy to give up. I'm not quite sure what is was that ensured that I did not. Perhaps a combination of factors; ceasing to feel sorry for one’s self, increasing determination and hard-work to an even greater level, or maybe just knowing that deep down I’m not the kind of guy who quits. If you ever find yourself in that situation, don’t stop – push forward.

"If you're in hell then keep going" – Winston Churchill

I have played this game enough over the years to know that this bittersweet season won't last. It might be that the next game I play I get out first ball. That's cricket. The game is a great leveler, and the worst player in the world could get the best player out. That’s why I love it. In a split second on top of the world you could fall into the abyss. Remember though, no matter how far you fall, and how ever dark the place you're in may be there will always be the opportunity for you to better yourself, and prove your worth.

For now I have been reacquainted with contentment, the road to it strenuous and cruel but through persistent leaps of faith manageable, until redemption performs the exorcism of your demons.    

Redemption