In Review: “The Last of Us” is a Masterpiece

Video games have decidedly come a long way. Once ridiculed as being nothing but a form of entertainment for children (and a waste of time for others) this medium now rightfully stands alongside other portals of entertainment, such as film, television and music. Though some may still prefer the days where gaming was primarily something you did at an arcade with friends or that one home console generation was better than the other, I think it is safe to assume that we are living through the golden age of the medium.

One game that exemplifies the quality and brilliance to be found within the video game industry today is The Last of Us, a post-apocalyptic game with a lot of heart and intelligence and which comes from developer Naughty Dog, the creators of the flagship Uncharted series that graced the Playstation 3. At first glance, The Last of Us may seem to be just another zombie/infected story, but considering the pedigree of the studio and the scant footage they showed of the game prior to release, it actually seemed as much more than just that. After having finished it last week, I’m happy to say it truly is indeed something special.

Story

Note: I’ll keep this section spoiler-free. 

The main story of The Last of Us takes place about 20 years following the outbreak of a fungal infection (cordyceps) that has ravaged the United States. As in many post-apocalyptic worlds, martial law has been instated in the few districts that remain and rebellious groups have formed outside of government perimeters to combat the new establishment. This is the case in the game, where the last remnants of the military face off against a powerful group known as the Fireflies, who hope to discover a cure to save humanity regardless of the means necessary to do so. You start off the main course of the game as Joel, a 40 something year old man who has spent the last 20 years recovering from loss and who has resorted to a life of smuggling and murder to survive. Through a series of events, Joel is left in charge of smuggling some very precious “cargo” out of Boston to Salt Lake City: Ellie, a young 14 year old girl. Together, the two trek through a desolated and nature-reclaimed America, all the while combating Hunters (humans who have resorted to robbing and killing the innocent for their own sake) and, worst of all, the infected (more on them later). Joel and Ellie’s journey is of an episodic nature in the game and is at times a harrowing and thrilling experience, as we witness these characters grow closer and closer to each other amidst the violence and unforgiving nature of a world seemingly without hope.

For 16 hours or so, I was entrenched in some of the finest writing that I have ever seen in a videogame. Sure, the story may at times resort to the clichés that we would expect from a post-apocalyptic narrative, but the game does not suffer at all from it due to its superb pacing and incredible attention to human interaction. The script that Neil Druckmann (the game’s creative director) has written isn’t only strong because of it’s ability to include grand set-pieces or moments, but because of it’s attention to human emotion and the importance it relegates onto how significant a relationship can be in a world of pure horror. Similarly to Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, The Last of Us shines in its story-telling because of just how much we care about its characters, Joel and Ellie. It’s an easy compliment to make, but it would be an outright lie if I told you that I didn’t give a damn about their relationship and how it would evolve throughout the game. Joel wasn’t a two dimensional character in my eye; he was an anti-hero, a man who forced me (as a gamer) to follow through on horrible things. However, he was also human; his emotions were tangible and his motives were at times guided by something severely lacking in the game’s universe: heart. As for Ellie, she served as the innocence clothed by the darkness; she was a child forced into becoming an adult. Being 14 in the game, the only world Ellie has known is the apocalyptic nightmare that Joel has struggled to go through and that I, the gamer, know nothing about. Throughout the game she’ll ask Joel how life was prior to the infection, bewildered that there was anything better than the world she knew. In one particular instance, in a desolated household, she holds a girl’s diary and asks if the only concerns girls had once were make-up and boys. Ellie is strong, fierce and she goes through a lot and because of that I cared and grew to love her just as much, if not more, than Joel.

The Last of Us is one of the few games that delivers such a personal story and one of the few, if not only, games that has had me choke up at times and truly reflect on what it was trying to tell me.

Promotional art: Joel and Ellie hide from Hunters.

Game Design: Single-Player

If there’s one thing that Naughty Dog has been commended for throughout the years, it is their ability to push the most out of the hardware they’re restricted to. Now, I do not know a great deal about video game production or even the insane logistics involved in programming and rendering a game. However, this doesn’t stop me from saying this: The Last of Us is a beautiful, beautiful game. Just like the Uncharted series, Naughty Dog once again blew me away with just how beautiful and detailed of a world they could create. Just seeing cities like Boston or Salt Lake City reclaimed by nature is an incredible sight not only because of how well done it is, visually speaking, but also how these images manage to tug at your emotions when you do see them. Naughty Dog’s Uncharted engine serves them well again as it creates a world of both beauty and horror that we find ourselves, as players, becoming immersed into almost immediately. From the superb character models to the memorabilia scattered throughout (notes, letter, recordings, posters, etc.) the world of The Last of Us is incredibly crafted. This praise can also be transferred to the gameplay. Although, the game does include your typical shooting gallery moments (it has to appeal broadly in some areas, I suppose) there is nonetheless a good amount of freedom given to the player in some instances. During these moments, you can decide to play the game stealthily and evade enemies altogether. At times, when I was out of ammo or low on health, I would skip a horde of enemies entirely or perhaps pick out one or two and bolt towards the exit. With all that said, the games remains a very linear experience, though I found that this did not hamper the experience at all. The most interesting gameplay element of The Last of Us is the fact that scavenging and crafting are integral to surviving. All throughout you’ll be opening doors, lockers or drawers in the hope of finding an old rag, a liquor bottle or even scissors to craft items, such as a shiv or even a makeshift medical pack.

Despite this obsession with crafting and the belief that ammo is scarce throughout, I have to say that I never went through the game feeling as if I was limited or short-handed. Of course, this criticism may be attributable to the chosen difficulty of the game, as I have only played it on Normal (Survival is the hardest difficulty).

Nature reclaims the landscapes in The Last of Us

The strongest aspect of the game -apart from its story-telling- is its voice-acting. Without a doubt, The Last of Us contains some of the most heart-felt and believable voice work that I’ve heard in any game that I’ve played. This praise is especially deserving to the actors behind the two main characters: Troy Baker, who is practically unrecognizable (that’s a good thing) as Joel and Ashley Johnson, of Growing Pains fame, who perfectly encapsulates the spirit and tenacity of 14 year old Ellie. Throughout the game, these two characters interact together realistically and provide an actually believable father-daughter bond. For example, at times Ellie will wander off here and there and ask Joel about things he’s scavenged or even about things that she’s remarked on her own. In one instance she muses in a record store about how sad it is that all of these abandoned records will never be listened to. In other moments, she’ll read a few jokes from a book she’s found laying around and try to lighten the mood. All of these examples, complimented by the solid voice work, again cement how wonderfully presented the relationship between these characters is.

Speaking of characters, it goes without saying that if I’m going to write about this game, then I have to discuss the most horrifying element of it: the infected. You see, apart from battling apathetic humans throughout America, The Last of Us also has its cast of characters face off against infected humans. Because the main course of the game plays out 20 years after the initial outbreak of the cordyceps on humanity, the infected can be broken into three distinct varieties: the “runners” who are humans that have just recently ceded their humanity to the infection; the “clickers” who are sight-less humans that have been completely ravaged (physically and mentally) by the fungus and the “bloaters” who are the most advanced of the infected, as their bodies have been completely consumed by the fungus. Strangely enough, though I did fear the incoming sounds of these creatures in-game, the one thing that I felt the most while trying to get away or while killing the infected was sadness. Though I do have to fend myself from these creatures to escape with my life in the game, I’m horrified by the fact that the notion that the infected were once people as well. Seeing a woman or a man completely disfigured and transformed into something as repugnant as a “clicker” is truly horrifying, once you think about it. It’s typical for a zombie/infected movie to debate whether the individual that has turned is still existent or if he/she has truly disappeared, but despite this question being prevalent in works such as these, Naughty Dog still manages to convey an emotion that almost felt novel while playing the game. A perfect example of this is the sounds that the newly infected “runners” make. As you approach them in the game, you can sometimes hear them wailing and screaming and in those moments you can almost hear, horrifyingly, a person entrapped in a fungus corrupted body, without any control. It’s in those moments that you start not only to fear death in the game but also, in a sense, fear what would theoretically come after that for the characters.

Concept art for a “clicker”

With all of that said, the world of The Last of Us comes together beautifully due to another brilliant aspect of the game: its sound design. According to a video profile from SoundWorks, the team at Naughty Dog approached the sound design of the game with the mantra that “less is more.” Indeed, throughout the The Last of Us, you can feel the desolate nature of the world around you; every sound you hear is therefore important and has significance behind it. A clear example of this, is the sound of the “clickers” in the game, which use some form of echo-location to attack their prey. As talked about in the SoundWorks video, this sound (which is horrifying, may I add) becomes an aide to the tense moments found throughout the single-player; hearing it while crouched in the darkness is something that, at times, is more horrifying than being actually face to face with them. Another great element of the sound of The Last of Us, is its musical score composed by two time Academy Award winner Gustavo Santaolalla (he did Brokeback Mountain and Babel). Heart-wrenching and beautiful, the score feels bitter-sweet at the listen and provides the game with tension, thrill and sorrow. I’ll even admit that I’ve fallen in love with the main theme of the game…

Game Design: Multiplayer

Surprisingly, The Last of Us offers an excellent multiplayer component to its already stellar single-player. Though some may want to only play around with the New Game Plus option and re-live those moments between Joel and Ellie, the multiplayer turns out to be a fun and competitive addition. The core elements of the single-player (tension, sparse ammo, crafting and limited health) remain in the design and thus help produce matches that are, yes, slower than you average third person shooter but rewarding and encouraging of team-play. Now, there are two modes in the game: Supply Raid, which is a standard team death match where two teams of four compete against each other until one team’s reinforcements have been depleted; and Survivors, a more tense game-type in which two teams of four compete in multiple rounds, where in each all of the players of an opposing side have to be eliminated (there is no respawning). In addition, the multi-player includes a clan aspect, in which you are the leader of a fictional group of survivors. You are given goals that you must accomplish to insure the safety and health of your group through challenges completed in multiplayer matches. Overall, the multiplayer experience in the The Last of Us feels refreshing at times, as it blends competitive online play with the mechanics of the single-player. However, it definitely does feel secondary to the campaign.

Verdict

As the title of this post sums it up, The Last of Us is truly an incredible experience that helps not only set the bar higher for developers within the industry, but also exemplifies the fact that video games are a medium that can produce emotional and thought-provoking experiences. As a gamer, I’d recommend it without question to anybody who owns a Playstation 3. Hell, even if you’re not a gamer per se, you should pick this up or at least watch someone play it. It’s that good and you won’t regret it.

Cyncial Score: 10/10

The Cynical Scribe

Social Media and Me: Living as an Introvert

I don’t have to remind you (as I’m guessing the average reader on here is less than 92) but we live in an age where practically everybody is connected. Think about it: 7 billion people are said to inhabit the Earth, yet that number doesn’t seem so gargantuan when you consider the fact that close to 2 and a half billion people are said to be active on the internet. The leaps we’ve had in communications have truly made our world smaller and smaller. 30 years ago, it would have been pure science-fiction to believe that it would take only a few words, clicks or swipes to become instantly aware of what your mother, best-friend, ex or worst enemy was up to. It’s become a mundane reality for most of us, but it truly is amazing to be living in a time where all of this is possible. With all that said, I still have to admit that I’ve personally seen, over time, some drawbacks to some of it.

Currently, I am very much integrated (I think) in social media. I have a Facebook account with more than enough friends; I tweet almost daily (garbage,mostly); I have a LinkedIn profile that I never use; I’ve begun using both Instagram and Vine more frequently and, of course, I manage this blog (not prolifically, but you get that I’m trying?). Frankly, I like being part of all these networks because of one thing: they provide me with a sense of community. It’s sappy to say it, sure, but really that’s why I do it. Knowing that my thoughts, photos and videos are approved upon by my peers or random strangers is something is enjoyable and, indeed, something that I at times lacked growing up without all of this connectivity. Acceptance is something that we all ultimately seek, I suppose.

Since the beginning of my adolescence, I struggled with trying to become the sociable, outgoing and approachable person that I still yearn to be today. I wouldn’t go as far to say that I’m miles off course from being so or that I’m a total sociopath, but I’d pony up a great deal of my savings and bet that I’d win the “Awkward Teen Award” without contest. Sure, I’ve still got room to grow out of this  funk and, of course, I’ve always got to stay positive about who I am and focused on who I want to be. That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t change the fact that social media has an effect on me that, at times, is more negative than positive.

Sometimes, being at home, the Facebook or Instagram news feeds update with posts that, for some strange reason, truly torment me. I feel horrible saying this, because, of course, my news feeds are populated by the musings of friends and family, but it becomes intolerable to sit there, iPhone in hand or laptop at my side, and feel this wave of jealousy flow through me. It can be almost anything: friends posting about being at work; pictures being posted about a night out on the town. Almost anything related to socializing to some degree irritates me. The worst part, is that it has nothing to do with the people–it’s all on me. For some reason, looking at all of this stuff, I just begin to repeatedly ask myself “Why am I not doing that?” It suddenly turns into a barrage of thoughts swirling inside me, ultimately pointing out (to myself) that I’m not sociable enough and that I’m wasting the opportunities that life is seemingly begging me to reach for. My ego feels as if it has becomes suddenly exposed and I honestly begin to hate myself for being so envious about what I see or read. It is in those moments that, frankly, I begin to see the attention deprived child that I always was.With that said, I’m not trying to lead up to any conclusion that these sentiments are due to my upbringing, as my parents were always thoughtful and caring. What does come into view, as I summarize all of this, is that I, quite simply, carry an aloof and self-conscious persona. I’m afraid of crawling out of my comfort zone for too long, if at all. I fear rejection and failure and therefore I feel, at times, as if I need to hide myself from the rest of world.

It is getting better, however. I’ve become acclimatized with the notion that I am an introvert and that there’s nothing really wrong with being the type of person who prefers to sit at home playing video games then clubbing until dawn. I’ve been on break from school for about a month now and I’ve begun to grow further and further away from the claws of Facebook and, most importantly, have tried to not let my impressions of others get to me. I’ve dabbled with some dark thoughts here and there, but I’m trying to be as positive as I can be about who I am and what I can be capable of.

I’m not the most outgoing, confident person out there, but I have no right of limiting my own potential. Because, in the end, we’re all worthy of something great; we just have to work for it.

Take all of this as you will.

The Cynical Scribe

Why ‘Apocalypse Now!’ is my Favourite Movie. Ever.

I was 15 when I saw Francis Ford Coppola’s Vietnam epic  Apocalypse Now!, which stars Martin Sheen (mostly known now for being the father of the hell-bent Charlie Sheen) as the main protagonist/anti-hero, Captain Benjamin L. Willard. Released in 1979, the film made an impressionable debut at the Cannes Film Festival by controversially winning the Palme d’Or and it gained notoriety within the film industry for it’s hectic production, which nearly brought about the demise of both Coppola and Sheen; the former figuratively, the latter quite literally. Considered to be one of the great war epics to be put on a screen about the Vietnam conflict, the film not only managed to cement my opinion that Coppola excelled in the 70s (The Godfather 1 & 2, The Conversation) but it also managed to teach me how truly powerful the medium of film was.

Film: Teacher, mother, secret lover…

Before I begin talking about the movie itself, it should be noted that I am obviously a fanatic when it comes to discussing films, especially when concerned with the good kind. From an early age, movies were always a comfort to me; they fulfilled this bizarre desire for escapism that still is punctuated today, often, by my momentary lapses and daydreams. As a young boy, I was particularly drawn to super-heroes, as most of my friends of course. However, I never really fantasized about adorning tights and a cape and fighting crime in the city; I preferred the debonair of James Bond (with his innuendoes aside) and the hard-grit intellect and physique of Indiana Jones (oddly enough I thought it would be an incredible rush to be shot in the arm and dragged behind a truck à la Raiders). For sometime, those were the characters and situations that cinema meant for me. Today, I still enjoy both Bond and Dr. Jones, but I have definitely broadened, in my mind, the definition of what a film can be.

To recant my path briefly, I first began my cinematic “journey” by looking into Steven Spielberg’s more mature films (Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan), only to then go through some of Martin Scorsese’s works (Raging Bull, Goodfellas). The works of these two cinematic greats propelled my obsession with film only further. I then landed upon the box-set of The Godfather trilogy, which I had of course heard so much about. Indeed, the admiration I had heard for Coppola seemed to be justified once I had gotten through all three films (the second being my favourite). Thoroughly impressed, I decided to hit the old IMDB Top 250 list and see, just for the sake of convenience, what his highest ranked films were. Somewhere in the Top 100 stood a movie named Apocalypse Now!  The title drew my attention and the screenshots and clips I bothered to look at only captivated me further. I had to see it.

What an opening…

Sometime during the summer of ’09, I had finally managed to get a hold of the redux version of the film (the theatrical release is the better cut, however) and preceded to have my eyes glued to the screen for more than 3 hours.

Now, there are many film openings that I’ve watched time and time again due to sublime cinematography, direction or music (2001: A Space Odyssey, Blade Runner, Trainspotting, to name a few), but it has to be said that the opening in Apocalypse Now! is one of haunting poetry. If you’re not familiar with it, the film basically opens with a shot of a lush and dense tropical forest; a jungle environment that essentially epitomizes what Vietnam meant to an American soldier. Suddenly we begin to hear The Doors’ celebrated single “The End” and the jungle backdrop suddenly becomes masked by the looming presence of helicopters, who swiftly enter and exit the shot; the sound of their rotors looming above the jungle whilst hurling dust through the air. This eerie opening then reaches a climax as Jim Morisson utters “This is the end…” and the serene jungle backdrop is suddenly aflame; the chaos of it all subdued by the almost omniscient presence of Morisson’s lyrics. 

Now, my words cannot bring justice to the poetic magnitude of this scene. Sure, it is essentially just a shot of palm trees being razed to the ground by napalm, but it represents more than that (obviously). Coppola, throughout the entirety of this film, is unflinching in his desire to expose the chaos that characterized the Vietnam war. Beginning the film with something as reckless and destructive as the bombing of a jungle shows (of course, in my opinion) the filmmaker’s desire to comment on how senseless and futile the war effort in Vietnam was. The scene can in fact be interpreted as a metaphor for the entire conflict: the Americans are represented by the fire that engulfs and darkens the lush tropic environment, which in turn represent the Vietnamese people who remained scarred and crippled following the war. It conjures another depiction of how, frankly, brutish the conflict was and how it all seemed to be bathed in an irreverent desire to create a living hell on Earth.  (Of course, a discussion on Vietnam draws in the burden of discussing politics and the overt complexity of the conflict, which I’m not interested in doing on this article. For the sake of not sounding anti-american, the metaphor should be seen as purely a crude interpretation of the long conflict as a whole).

The picture that this opening paints is that of darkness and insanity, as the image of flames always conjures the notion of demons among men. Now, the reason why this scene is of such importance (and highly praised by myself) is the fact that Coppola isn’t just beginning the film with a shot of an ongoing battle. In other words, were not about to meet our main protagonist in the midst of all of this, guns blazing. Not at all. More interestingly, as the scene progresses, the fire gives way to the image of a man: Captain Willard (Sheen). It suddenly becomes evident that what has just transpired on screen has been the working of Willard’s own twisted and deeply disturbed imagination; a product of the horrors from his past still grabbing hold of his consciousness and refusing to let go. Now in Saigon, Willard impatiently awaits a mission, feeling a desire to confront his enemy. As he puts it: “Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger.” Seeking alcohol as a refuge from his blood-crazed thoughts, we begin to realize that Willard is far from being a stable, well-minded individual. He is lost, alone and seemingly psychotic, as we realize that his sanity seems more and more likely to erupt  He knows nothing beyond the forests of Vietnam and his life seemingly cannot go on without the apparent rush he gets out of combat. War is his drug.

Never get out of the boat…

Awakened from his drunken stupor by two GI’s, Willard is confronted by military intelligence officials about a special ops mission. After a quick debriefing, Willard is tasked with tracking down rogue Special Forces Colonel Walter E. Kurtz (who is played by Marlon Brandon in the film). Willard is told outright that he is to head into neutral Cambodia, infiltrate the colonel’s compound and terminate his command with “extreme prejudice.” Having been finally granted his mission, Willard joins up with a Navy PBR crew, only to later rendez-vous with Bill Killgore, a reckless lieutenant (played brilliantly by Robert Duvall) who will serve as his escort.

What transpires next is one of the most recognized scenes in movie history: the helicopter attack by Killgore and his men on a Vietnamese village, all set to Wagner’s classical magnum opus “Ride of the Valkyries.” Punctuated by violence and a tangible touch of insanity, the scene plunges the viewer into a near 18 minute rampage filled with violence and destruction. A village is sacked, a helicopter is blown to shreds and a tree-line is set ablaze by the thundering clap of a napalm strike. And it all ends with a sly, fearless Killgore stating: “I love the smell of napalm in the morning […] smells like victory…” It’s a brilliantly shot sequence of events that really bring into view the harrowing and surreal environment that is war.

Following all of this, the true “heart” of the movie is shown to the audience. Now, at this point I’m not going to continue droning on with a synopsis of the film (it’s better to watch the whole thing anyways). I’ve only detailed the film up to the “helicopter attack” to emphasize the gravitas found within the early stages of Apocalypse Now! You see, the first act (so to speak)of the film merely serves as way of introducing to the audience the Vietnam war. Basically, Coppola wants to do what any good director does and expose his audience to the environment the film takes place in so that they can get a grasp of what can actually be at stake for the characters. With that said, Apocalypse Now! is considered a war epic, but I don’t perceive it as being merely just that. 

In fact, my opinion is that the film does not deserve to just be categorized as a movie about the Vietnam war, as it delves into subject matter that is much more illusive and universal then that conflict alone. Apocalypse Now! is, above all else, a loose adaption of Joseph Conrad’s 1899 novella, Heart of Darkness. The film explicitly deals with analyzing the darkness that can be found within the psyche of man and decides to set that analysis against a backdrop that is punctuated by death, egotism and lunacy. In the film, Willard is not a character that starts out as wholesome; he is not directly transformed or corrupted simply by the happenings in Vietnam. No, he yearns to be part of that conflict and it is that desire to willingly set behind any shred of his morality in search of a madman that brings him to the edge of insanity. 

Fittingly, just like the in the novella, Willard’s persistence to journey up the fictional Nung river (into Cambodia) is a metaphor for his own psychological excursion; the farther up the river he goes, the more he reaches into the darker depths of his own mind.

The horror…The horror…

As it turns out, I am sometimes unable to articulate (properly) the sentiments I express for the media that I love. Although this piece had no plan behind it (I basically decided to write what came to mind for an hour or so) I hope that you will consider this a practice run for more articles to come. (I am on vacation for the moment and it’s been difficult getting back into the groove of writing thoughtfully). As for Apocalypse Now!, it remains one of the most fascinating, unflinching, dark and poetic films I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t had the opportunity to see it, by all means do so.

I leave you with one of my favourite scenes from the film. It’s only about two and a half minutes long, but it still manages to capture the terror of armed conflict, the consequence of racism and the dehumanization of soldiers. (Warning: NSFW)

The Cynical Scribe

We Are Violent People

I’m not a Bostonian, or for that matter an American citizen. I’m not an experienced marathon runner, or someone who knows a great deal about how marathons are actually run. All of that doesn’t really matter to me, especially today. When I arrived home from school, I had the urge, the necessity, to turn on the TV (which I rarely do anymore) and tune in to hear the latest word from Boston, Massachusetts. Why? Because my father had told me that during a marathon it just so happened that two bombs had detonated 100 yards apart from each other, within the span of about 12 seconds. Two people had been reported dead (unfortunately it is now 3), with many more injured.

As these facts came swirling into my head, I began to reflect upon the depravity that, unfortunately, takes up part of our world. Events like this always throw me into some trance, where I find myself utterly bewildered about the truly violent nature of people. It’s events like this that make me believe in the notion that man may very well be the most dangerous and frightful creature to walk this Earth. Now, I don’t tend (or like) to head into these dark, abyss-like thoughts that seem to dwell completely on the negative. I try to reason with myself and tell myself that adopting such hate-filled thoughts only grant victory to those who carry out the monstrous deeds, like the one in Boston today. They suck out the needed focus on how to improve and re-build upon a situation.

Nonetheless, it angers me to see so much violence perpetuate in our world. It sounds childish to say it, but it really bothers me to know that we live in a reality where headlines like “Bomb blasts kill 3 in Marathon” are possible. The tragic events at Newtown, back in December, hit me hard. I don’t have any younger brother or sisters, but to have seen the images that I saw from that elementary (a week and a half away from Christmas) sent this anger and frustration with the world reverberating through me. The same can be said today, though I am more cool and tempered, as it is not wise to just drown myself in some form of hysteria.

I’d like to think that, even though we live in such a connected world, we are becoming more and more self-concerned. We try to show that we care or that were invested into helping others, but in reality some of us only do it because it makes us look morally righteous and self-fulfilled. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing that people are rallying to the internet and social media to voice their concern, apprehension, opinions, offers for help and so on, because it shows that we, as people, do possess the ability to gather together and focus our attention on a situation that needs it.

Violence isn’t something that pops into our lives once in a while; unfortunately it’s a daily presence. While listening to an NPR station (WBUR) that was covering the bombing today, I was moved to hear one caller talk about the victims of bombings in countries like Iraq, where violence comes daily in multiple forms, and how we should see ourselves as “global citizens”. Just today, The New York Times reported that nearly 20 attacks were carried out in the city of Baghdad, which left close to 50 people dead and nearly 200 wounded. These are both incredible and horrific numbers to report. However, it’s not about the statistics. Indeed, Baghdad and Boston are two very different cities, with two very different socio-political contexts. Nonetheless, the world should mourn both tragedies. Why?

Well, for my case, I don’t know anyone from either Boston or Baghdad. Apart from the fact that the United States borders Canada, I could very well say that both cities are equally foreign to me. With that said, I’m not trying to be some voice of wisdom (as I have little of it) and tell you what you may already know about violence in our world. Perhaps it’s just the emotional buzz that the media attention has transposed onto me, but I feel that we have an obligation as people to not turn our heads away from the violence and chaos that erupts all across this Earth. With morbidity aside, people’s live are taken away without reason or justification and in brutal fashion on a daily basis. That is our reality, and though it may be hard and consuming to process it, we must not ignore it.

If you’re on Twitter tonight, you will surely see #prayforboston trending. Regardless of my opinions on religion, I am able to understand that prayer and faith are strongs things to fall back on at a moment like this, especially for the families affected. If you, the reader, have tweeted it out yourself, I’d like to ask you one thing. If you are indeed praying or keeping the people of Boston in your thoughts, take a moment to also reflect about the violence that is, unfortunately, continually awake within our world.

The Cynical Scribe

Confusion, Stress and Dustin Hoffman

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always led a very addictive and obsessive personality. Whenever I become enamoured with something (and my God it can be anything), I have the habit of not being able to let go very easily of whatever that something is. That being said, I recently re-watched The Graduate, which stars a young Dustin Hoffman and which is directed by Mike Nichols. Apart from being one of my favorite movies, I feel that, for some reason, it’s one of the movies that I feel I can relate the most to, especially at this moment.

Now, whenever that movie is mentioned, it’s pretty common for the name “Mrs. Robinson” to suddenly come spewing out from the ether; let’s just say that that’s not why this movie relates to me. You see, it turns out that there’s another really important theme (who knew?) that underlies The Graduate: Confusion. In the movie, Benjamin (Hoffman) is completely adrift in his post-graduate world. Despite all the accolades and potential he’s got, he’s worried about his future and doesn’t know where to go next. An affair with an older woman only manages to distract him from his existential crisis for some time, until he discovers her daughter and complications arise.

With the small summary aside (spoiler free, naturally), the reason why I’m talking about this movie is the fact that for the past week I’ve done nothing but re-watch clips of it over and over again, while I was supposed to be doing something more productive.  Maybe it was the Simon and Garfunkel melodies that were getting to me, but seeing Hoffman epitomize a character that is lost, confused but that somehow knows what he really wants made me realize: “My God, that’s me… without the Alfa Romeo”

In all seriousness though, confusion is something that I’ve been feeling a great deal of lately. Maybe it’s just my ability to continually blow things out of proportion, but sometimes when I try to focus on who I am and what I want to be in the next 2, 5 or 10 years, I just freeze. I honestly just don’t what to answer to myself, let alone the people that ask me those questions. I’m not even in my 20s, but I still feel as if there is a pressure to decide on something big and to decide on it now.

However, as my number of blog posts will attest to it, I’m not completely naturalized to the concept of blogging, or even tweeting (it’s a disproportionate disaster on that thing). So, I’m not going to regurgitate more words about myself onto a page than I should.

Therefore, don’t consider this to be a full-fledged piece. I’m merely crawling out of the shadows to let you know this page isn’t dead yet. I’m just a little busy…

The Cynical Scribe

Merry Christmas: Or I Hope Your Day is Going Good

As we all know, it’s that time of year again. Yes, today is of course, Christmas Day. Whether you hate or love it, whether you are of the Christian faith or not, there’s no denying that at this time of year, there is no hiding from any of it. The lights, the decorations, the waves of shoppers tearing through malls and downtown boutiques all in the hopes acquiring gifts for their loved ones; it can be said that Christmas has transcended the realm of religion and become much more than simply a holy day (more like an event). For me, someone who was raised within a household where faith holds a special place, Christmas is one of my favourite times of the year, though not for the obvious reasons.

Now, let me be candid for a moment. At this point in time, I can honestly say that “religion” is something that has always alluded me throughout most of my life. Of course, I have many years and many experiences to go through before I can completely admit to being withdrawn from any given faith, but for the moment I suppose I could tell you that I’m simply not a religious person, by any means. When I was younger, I felt much more drawn to the meanings and teachings of religion, especially that of the Christian faith. Now, I’m much more critical of “religion,” as I feel that the messages articulated through  it are only jumbled teachings, originating from the mind of men who were only imaginative as screenwriters or authors. Could religion have made sense to me only as a child, because it warrants naïveté to be understood? I don’t think so, because I find that answer to be much too insulting and poorly formulated to consider (though some do). With that said, the only reason I have grown away from religion is because I’m honestly afraid of the segregation it has the ability to impose upon people.

Now before you jump the gun on me, I want to make it clear that I’m not talking about religious extremism (it merits another conversation), or stating that there is no religious person out there who doesn’t want equality or relationships between different faiths to flower (I know I do). What I am trying to say though is that I’ve grown up within a household where faith was once something fundamental for two people that I love very much: my mother (a catholic) and my father (a muslim). Though their unity was established by love, their beliefs in regards to faith differed. With that said, my parents were never of the type to force religion down my throat; they did the educated decision (I believe) of granting me the opportunity to decide at an appropriate age what I truly believed in. That still didn’t make it easy for me, as I’ve always had inside me the need to make my parents proud and never to disappoint them.

Granted, that’s an unrealistic approach to leading my life and I’ve begun to acknowledge that we can’t always satisfy or consistently appeal to the ones we love. However, because of this fear (I guess you could call it that) I reached a compromise in my mind: What if I don’t believe in the teachings of Islam or Catholicism? What if I’m simply not a believer in either professed faiths? As these questions swirled inside me, I feared that I was simply relinquishing my trust in faith because I was afraid of disappointment. I truly began to fear that my character could be able to let go of something so comforting and integral (to some) because I didn’t want to bring about a conversation with my parents, in regards to my thoughts. I sometimes honestly still fear that my feelings towards religion have spawned from that.

Years have passed, however. Through that time, I’ve reflected quite a lot, though it sometimes doesn’t feel to be enough. If someone were to ask me today what I believed in or what religion I was a part of (some assume Islam due to my name), I would tell them: “I’m Agnostic” or “I’m an atheist.” Not definitive answers, as you can tell. As I’ve said before, religion isn’t tantalizing for me as it is for many. It’s comforting to believe that there is someone watching above us, and I’ll even admit that in times of need I’ve bent my knees and let out a prayer. As I sit here writing this, however, I can’t help but become critical of it all, perhaps because of the nature of secularism today, or simply because I’m unable to truly find answers to issues, such as the “Problem of Evil” or  even settle my gripes with institutions like the Vatican (watching Christmas Mass on TV last night was bittersweet; the beauty of the Sistine and the Hymns didn’t mix well with my feelings for the overall establishment).

With the rant aside, I still love Christmas and the fact that I am able to spend time with my family celebrating it all. Why? Because I believe that the word “faith” holds much more value and resonance than the word “religion.” For me, “faith” conjures the true meanings and messages that Christmas and all other celebrations (Hanukkah, Eid, Diwali, etc) profess; the love, the happiness, the willingness to do good amongst ourselves. “Religion,” on the other hand, reminds me of the invented teachings and manipulations of scripture, as well as man’s desire to capitalize on what religions, like Christianity, should truly be about: Being a good person and working towards making life not only something wonderful for yourself, but for the people you care about and love. Regardless of whether Jesus truly was born on this Earth on this day and preached “equality and respect” to his followers, year after year, all I celebrate is how fortunate I am to be living the life that I do, amongst the people that I hold dear.

Merry Christmas to you all. And if faith is an issue to that message, then have a wonderful day.

The Cynical Scribe

An Experiment

Today, I am attempting a dangerous experiment. No, I will not be playing around with vats of acid or actually determining something scientifically useful, but this experiment will answer an important personal query for myself. By launching this blog, I will be trying to determine (over the course of the next few days, weeks) if I am a capable amateur writer (or critic, upon circumstance). What is my hypothesis, you ask? I have none. Do I believe that the results of the next few posts and write-ups will be satisfactory? I certainly hope so. With that said and done, let me explain what my intentions are.

Having grown up within a world dominated by the internet and it’s ever sprawling web, I feel that I have been, in a sense, blessed due to the multitude of information available online, all accessible by the click of a mouse. Now, that’s something I’m sure we all feel pretty strongly about and, hopefully, that we don’t take for granted. With that said, I believe, firmly, that the internet is something that has enabled me, through the years, to become a person much more invested and aware of the subjects and situations faced in this world. The thousands of portals that the web hosts have allowed me to draw interest in topics such as science, politics and art, by presenting each of these subjects in digestible and accesible forms. Now, be sure to understand that my positive comments should not to be misconstrued as slander against other informative mediums such as newspapers, books or even television. What I am trying to say is that the internet, I feel, has truly shaped my persona and how I identify myself within the world.

In depth personal feelings aside, this blog will act as an “experiment” as I will challenge myself to see if the years of learning I have gone through (and will continue to go through) will enable me to produce opinions on the world of today and stretch my imagination. Therefore, be ready for some opinionated articles and some not so opinionated articles (short fiction, from time to time). Noting that this is my first venture into the blogging universe, it is only fair to say that it may be a bumpy start at first and that my initial posts will not be my best. Nonetheless, I hope you readers (if there are any of you out there) will enjoy or slightly appreciate what is to come.

The Cynical Scribe