Beautiful Mind

“I think you have a beautiful mind,” the text message read.

Long story short, she was trying to see wassup. But I was (and mostly still am) a certified dumbass. I couldn't read the signals. Even when she deliberately said “I'm trying to find out how freaky you are”, I assumed she was just goofing around. This is 2 years ago.

Back then, I was still coming out of my “self-building” era. As a confused campus student, I had drowned myself in manosphere content to help process the heartbreak I was experiencing. Despite Andrew Kibe and Andrew Tate’s belittling of women, and Kevin Samuel's wearing them down with logical arguments and hard cold facts that he wouldn't let them squirm away from, all three of them had a common message for me specifically:

“YOU AIN'T SHIT. You're 20-23 years old, still living with your parents, no achievements or money or property… you are the least attractive person to the gorgeous girls in your age group. It's their time to shine, and yours to eat shit.”

It was the only thing that made sense. The “women are this and that” talks were compelling but unconvincing since I didn't have much experience with women. So I took in the information with a grain of salt. Or merely wowed at how Kevin Samuels constantly kept his cool and won (I guess?) arguments with facts and pure class.

However, it recently dawned on me that I still believe myself to be ain’t-shit. It constantly baffled me whenever a girl took a liking to me. My instinctive reaction would be “Why? What the frick is wrong with you?” As far as I was concerned, I was a work in progress. One unaccomplished, not yet worthy of desire. Thankfully, things don't always work out how you envision them. It's rather amusing, the process of learning that I am desirable. Most of it involves gaslighting myself into believing attraction signals to be general niceness. Another part of it is watching people nearly rip their hair out as they enumerate how stupid I am for not reading the signals.

Despite what it seems like so far, this blog isn't about my girl troubles or overcoming the belief that I am undesirable. This blog is about the strange yet familiar spark I felt when she looked up to me (literally and figuratively) with admiration, amid the live band’s music blasting through the overhead speaker, and said …

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“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Madam Mary Nderi, the school director, asked us in class 6.

The usual answers were heard; a doctor, an engineer, a pilot etc. Then came the outliers; a footballer, a model… Then came me. Everyone in class already knew what I was about to say. I couldn't wait to say it. This was back when my knees didn't know what beat boxing was. Spry, though rather clunky due to my weight, I stood and proudly declared my would-be occupation.

“I am going to be an artist!” I said.

“What kind of artist?” She asked.

Silence.

I was confused. What did she mean? She picks up on my confusion and offers some help.

“Do you want to be an architect? Someone who draws buildings? Or…”

“Yes, an architect!” I replied. Honestly, I was just eager to have my moment of glory untarnished. Also, I heard the word 'draw', so I figured I would be alright with being an architect. Over the next 7 years, everyone around me knew I wanted to be an architect. I believed so as well. I am, in fact, not an architect. Neither am I an interior designer. The closest I have come to drawing buildings is painting murals.

However, I am an artist.

Artist (n): a person who creates works of art

Art (n): the use of imagination to express ideas or feelings

But, what kind of artist am I? All of the following: writer (obviously), muralist, poet, sketch artist, comic book artist, (comic) stripper, painter, product designer, graphic designer, photo and video editor, photographer, storyboard artist, motion designer, Deejay, acoustic and bass guitarist and martial artist (Wing Chun).

Impressive, though all of this seems, there is a lingering existential question that has been gnawing at my subconscious for the better part of the year;

Why?

Why do all this? Why stack up all these skills? What am I trying to prove? What's the end goal? At first, it was thrilling to find the similarities between the different skills, break them down and figure out how best to perform said skills in my own way. But that thrill faded after a while. It's near impossible to keep something warm without the flame of purpose.

For as long as I can remember, two things have been constant: my desire to draw/create and an admiration of martial arts. The serene shaolin monks especially caught my attention. In whatever I do, these two always seem to circle back into my path.

For example, when it comes to my Muay Thai martial arts movies, The Protector 1 and 2 are untouchable. In the sequel, there was an antagonist black guy; an outstanding complementary actor to Tony Jaa. Fast forward about 5 years later and I fall in love with Hip Hop (mentally and spiritually). The Wu Tang Clan specifically. I came to find out that the ‘leader’ of The Wu Tang Clan was in fact the black guy in The Protector 2. The one and only RZA. Better yet, when I was in my parkour phase, he was also the main antagonist in Brick Mansions. If you have been following closely enough, you'll have noticed that Hip Hop amalgamates both creative and martial arts beautifully. Hence my subconscious attraction to it. And hence my whole persona i.e. Diplomatist Vulgar is my Wu Tang generated name and the mask I wear is accredited to the late MF Doom. Even the depth I portray was inspired by RZA. This was after being exposed to his depth of knowledge on The Joe Rogan Podcast, quoting The Bhagavad Gita amongst other spiritual texts, all while maintaining a collected coolness, clarity and intent.

Dip Vulgar is how I present myself to the world as an artist. I needed another name. Another that described my purpose. One that would be a guide. The name:

“Art Sifu,” I said.

“Mmhh!” she exclaimed in agreement and made pincer-like movements with her index finger and thumb. ‘Clock that' is what it means, apparently.

As an S-Class introvert, I can't think of a better way to use my social battery than teaching others to become who they are.

“But why do you do all this?” she asked. “Why do you create art and do whatever it is you do?”

“Well,” I began. “First of all, you need to understand that I grew up in a strong conservative Christian household. As much as I am not the devoted Catholic church and confession goer that my mum has been pressuring me to be, I am quite connected in terms of spiritual matters. For some reason, the only spiritual text or guide that spoke directly to me is The Gospel of Hip Hop. In it, the author explains this concept of being a conduit for God through the talents and skills present in Hip Hop. Better yet, through your character. Through your words, actions and behaviours.”

“I have been told quite a bit that I have a calming energy around me. I beg to differ. All I do is create an environment, a pocket, a space for you to feel God. The calmness you feel isn’t me. That’s God. I am just the messenger. In everything I do, whether making comic strips or DJ-ing or even conversation, I try to create a path or space for people to experience God, that calmness and clarity, even if for a moment. That’s all I ever do.”

The live band’s music continued blasting through the overhead speaker. After a while, it stopped bothering us and became another random background noise. From the depths of her calm, attentive silence, Wamah says, “You have a beautiful mind.”

It felt like she said it with her whole being, rather than just her voice.

I am constantly curious to see the inherent beauty within people (that intense aliveness we all displayed as toddlers). To see them fully express themselves. Sometimes to my detriment. Trying to burrow through layers of someone's trauma, as an non-professional therapist, just to get a glimpse of the beauty that lies within sounds rather noble at first, until you are drained, frustrated and unsuccessful. Then you get angry, but you can't direct that anger at them. They never asked you to do any of it. Now you have to crawl out of the hole that you dug yourself into, wondering why they couldn't be bothered to lend you a hand despite all you've done for them. But then again, you did it to yourself.

Why? Because you forgot your primary goal. You are a conduit. A way-maker for the hay-maker. The path builder for God to come through and take over. You forgot this and instead chased the thrill. Addiction is a sneaky little fiend, isn't it?

Can't do shit around this mofo!

The first profound lesson I have learned as Art Sifu is this...

You don't get to choose your students. Nor they you. Only in the moment(s) that your paths cross are you sifu and student.

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Yet again, shout out to Wamah for being the catalyst that made me drop all this peak writing for y’all. Y’all are in danger. I’m about to eff around and start wholly believing all the things y’all have been telling me for a while now, the most prominent one being ‘you are such a cool person!’.

I’ve got to run now. Phoebe the cat demands I get back to work. Check out my stuff over on my IG page @dip.vulgar

Peace out!