Your Genes Decides Your Moods After Drinking Alcohol

Scientists can now explain why some people get so happy and silly by drinking alcohol and why others get depressed and angry. It all comes down to our genetic make up.

The study is done by University of Chicago on 200 subjects aged 21-35 years and is published in Archives of General Psychiatry. It reveals that those who get high from alcohol often get addicted. None of the subjects knew the study was on alcohol consumption. They described their moods through a survey.

Alcohol on its own has stimulants that can make one excited or down. However, the study showed that light drinkers were more sensitive to the effects of drinking and they felt sedated while the heavy drinkers felt happy and positive cause of alcohol consumption.

Though the blood alcohol concentration curves for both types of subjects were similar but their effect of alcohol was drastically different. Their brains responded very differently to alcohol and so their moods were completely in contrast. So, whenever you next see somebody all tipsy keep in mind the role of genetics. And just in case if you don't get depressed or crazily high after drinking, remind yourself that the credit goes to your genes.

The Sad Old Building

I have seen this building often. Ever since I was a child I had seen it. It is in one of the oldest places of Karachi called Saddar. Ever since I could remember it was always such a sad looking structure and with time it is only getting worse. People still reside in this very old structured building made in the times when the British ruled over us. It is so old and obviously not maintained. It can fall down any day and hurt many people but no body really cares since the value of life is the cheapest here.

Just like this sad looking structure, I also observed that there are those who are flown by their explosive emotions. Anger, love, laughter, bitchiness. Everything is on the extreme. They don't realize what they are doing till they have done the damage. It is even more interesting to see very old extremists who have naturally spent a lifetime practicing this and damaging lots of spirits in their journey. Then suddenly, they feel like doing something else. May be pretend to be nice. Or perhaps they feel the memory of the injured spirit is kind of deleted or corrupted that he wouldn't remember a thing that was done in the past. 

It is like that feeling when a bitchy old man tries to pull the leg of a young man. Then he suddenly feels insulted and agitated because his stunt or joke was not appreciated. So he dedicates a status to the young man to insult him or get a reaction. He gets no attention so he feels more angry and he deletes him in rage. After two months he adds him up again. But why the hell would one do so after all the drama? Such people are like the sad old building up here...just that they have already fallen down a long time ago.

Papa

I really don’t have the right words. The fact is that I don’t know my father at all always bothers me. He died 17 years ago when we were all too young. Although I do remember almost everything that happened on 31st May’92…Everyone was celebrating like mad, cause nobody knew as to what would happen on 1st June.

I don’t want to sound bitter about it. I often think about those who lost their fathers before they were even born. After all, I know how he grinned. I know he was an avid reader. You know I often go through his books & read the passages & lines that he marked. I try to know him by reading all that. In fact Bertrand Russell became one of my mentors, cause Papa really liked him.

I was a very wild & rude child, so far as my parents are concerned. When I look back, I don’t like the way I said things to both of them & I was just a child. Once I was talking to Papa & he was busy reading & I threw away all the stuff on table & also the table. I vividly remember before his death, he was asking me to buy something from the bakery & I didn’t even bother to answer back. And strangely enough I would very much like to argue & fight with him how I argue with my mom.

You get to know your parents better when you grow up. I didn’t get the chance. Even Umar & Zara didn’t get that chance. Our elder siblings were lucky, but we weren’t. You know I take the death of a father as something like this…you are wrapped up in a shawl & someone grabs it from you. It’s so cold out there & still you don’t have that shawl. Wolves are ready to devour you. A lot of people say that if you have brothers, you don’t need to miss your father. It’s all bullshit. I have 3 brothers & I don’t think there is any comparison between a father & a brother. Elder siblings can never take the place of a parent. They are just your elder siblings & parents are parents. No can take their place. No one even deserves to be compared to them.

Yesterday I was saying to Zara that we have gone beyond the point of being sad. And one of my friends said that God knows why it happened. I’m sure He does. But I don’t see any good in it. The thing that bothers me today is that I don’t know him. And it will bother me forever. There is no substitute for a father.

There are so many times I want to talk on topics & I just don’t find anyone who could even get my point. Many a time, it seems such a waste to express yourself. It seems I’m insulting words by uttering them in front of people who can’t understand what I’m saying. I wish I could talk to him. Talking to your parents is all together another experience. There are things that I have discussed with my mother, but I can’t think of writing them down.

I also feel bad that I should have protected his house, but I didn’t. And I’m sorry for that as I have never been sorry for anything in my life & I mean it. Hurting your parents is the worst crime. I don’t know how I’m going to make things right, but that’s what I intend to do.

Of course I miss him like any child would miss his parent. It seems unfair how he died though. He wasn’t even that old. However, there is one hope. When I die, at least there would be Papa, Dadi, my brother Aurangzeb & all my pets waiting for me. But before that I have to clear up a lot of mess. God bless my soul! I need it & so does Z.

This is the 2nd time I have to ask my mom to read something I have written…something in which there is no room to make an impression. That is what I like about parents.