… so don't take this so literally.

‘Power grows out of a barrel of a gun,’ declared Mao Zedong.

I had some power – albeit only for a few seconds – on February 2007, and it was bought with money, as always. Although it was nothing like my reverie of a clandestine transaction done in a dark alley, I squealed in delight as I collected my bullets from Vietnamese soldiers in their guerilla gear; my little ‘role play’ game had some genuine mise en scene to it, maybe I am freedom fighter after all. As Miss Chief of the secessionist movement to build a new republic of the United States of Agnes, I had planned for it to be a covert affair, but there was nothing surreptitious about this done in broad daylight – not even newspaper to conceal the bullets. Imagine my disappointment.

I was fascinated with those real rifle bullets. One of my childhood ambitions – before wanting to be a freedom fighter – was to be a policewoman. I still think it’s awesome to wear a blue uniform and be called Ma’am all the time until ‘Ma’am’ was mother’s prelude to a lecture, or to make a snide comment about my weight/eating habits. I inspected the bullets for a while as I mused how one of these can cause so much turmoil.

I am a ‘practising’ pacifist and I disapprove violence. But somehow the bullets were still very attractive to me because I knew this is an exercise of power. And money is the one that begins an exercise of power.

That rifle looks exactly like the kinds I used to own. I had many toy guns. Guns were one of my favourite toys. My other favourite toy is driving simulation set – with a steering wheel, gear and a speedometer with a screen to know where you’re driving. More than any young female – and possibly males too – in my family.  However, unlike those males, I’ve never (bothered to) memorised their names – what R-number, what A who knows what. But if there’s something stereotypically female of me, it was collecting gun stickers and arranging them neatly into one sticker book. Girls can like guns in their girly ways too. I have thrown a hissy fit when my sister attempted to give them away to her classmates when she flaunts our sticker collection. Come to think of it, it was incredibly narrow of me.

Much of the violence – domestic and micro-level unit of analysis of the household to even the macro-level of inter-states in international relations – can be attributed to this similar narrow-minded and narrow-heartedness that I once displayed (and still display but on a much toned down manner). Violence is inherent and will be a by-product of an ugly manifestation of human nature. To curb violence, I think the answer points at self-control and restraint of the vices within. I think humans can exercise that. I’m confident that we all can but it’s always been a matter of choice. I have trust in humans.

See the shirt I’m wearing? It says PEACE.

I didn’t begin or plan on writing this note on a moral tone. It just came out this way. I didn’t wanna be preachy or political (which is why I did not mention the newest discussion of the gun laws in the US or the series of gunmen on the loose in Melbourne) but things took a turn from the third picture.

I recall aiming the bulls eye. I wanted maximum gratification from the violence I was about to unleash and the gunpowder I was about to smell. I want some bang for my buck, quite literally. So if I can recall correctly, at that moment I imagined my enemy running around the range – I’d like a real life target to imagine to satiate my vengeance. It’s likened to picturing your enemy on a punching bag but in this case, although the sin of killing is there, the use of gunpowder gives this sin a more destructive edge.

Am I glad to say I couldn’t find an appropriate candidate and now as I recall this again, I still can’t find, and don’t want to think about this enemy target scenario. I am pleased with myself. I am at ease with everyone.

The study of political science is like a sandpaper that refines my knowledge but causes abrasion to my conscience. Although I’ve been a political junkie since I started reading newspapers at seven or eight years old,  I’m often disgusted by what I uncover and stumble upon, and how I can do little to correct the inequality. Moving enemy targets and gunning them down is an everyday affair in international relations. We have violence, self-interest and the other vices of human nature all played in politics and international relations. From the third world subjugation – the fair trade coffee to civilian deaths in conflicts – to first world megalomania – private and narrow interests disguised as communal interests – are painful to know and hurtful to watch.

Thankfully, I’ve only been less ignorant of these issues since five to eight years ago and so I’ve spent most of my earlier days reading about current affairs from my ivory tower. I held guns and loaded them with rubber bullets as I flipped through the papers.

Coming close to graduation from my tertiary education, I doubt I’d be at ease with myself to stroke my favourite toys as I read of atrocities. I know much more now and I don’t feel good sitting by knowing all these but not doing anything with it.

I’m – and have been all these while – finding the path which I can do something useful with what I know.

Endnote: The red bandanna is rather poseur eh? Well yes, I might have put it on for some drama but I was a lot more worried about the cleanliness of my ears. Because I felt my ears would rot and decay within seconds if the headphones had direct contact with my ears. It was then I gave up fighting for liberation. I went to my head of state and asked him for one USD to get a bottle of coke.