A Suicidal Allegory

Last night I came upon my field of broken dreams; a place where hopes were dashed and ambitions forgotten. Where the soils have become pickled by tears of frustration. Here, shattered souls have come to rest, shingles atop shingles.

Here Solitude and Despair abide, taking refuge amongst the shards and shambles. They bid me welcome, the loathsome pair, and offered me wine brewed from grapes came from the sour vines. How bitter the broth that runs from that gauntlet, the bile in my throat can not counter it. Still I drank deeply, the searing sensation an atonement for my failures.

Yet, on the brink of succumbing to the chimera of disillusionment, I saw it -flickering, shimmering, glimmering splendid, It grabbed at me with a vise like grip, pulling me up from the quicksand of permanent slumber. With such force was I expelled towards light from deep darkness; I found myself momentarily naked.

My entire being penetrated by a beacon of something wonderful, I followed the sound of a steady pulse. It kept me companied until my eyelids fluttered and opened to reveal the visage of another sunrise awaiting me upon the window sill.

*note: Don't be alarmed by the seemingly dark motif of this piece. I am not suicidal or anything, it is just an experimentation on what it could be like.

A Bum's Reminiscence

The following is a monologue about a bum reminiscing his divorce from society and his old life. Enclosed in brackets are suggestions of gestures and expressions when performing it.

Additional instructions: Picture the bum sitting on the steps leading to a grand edifice. Throughout the piece it is important to remember that this "bum" was once a upstanding citizen of the society, hence one needs to observe the traces of elegant speech that has since been diluted and punctuated with gruff street talk.




I remember there was a time when I was somebody. Yep (pause, look far away deep in thought, as if confirming), I had a name, and social security. (Pause) I had a purpose, or at least I remember there was a regularity that is driven by something. I could do no wrong. Literally. I was at a peak in all regards- mentally, emotionally, physically. I know I was, I was welcomed and accepted at places, you know, fine restaurants, clubs, gyms, the such. Here, let me show you (act as if reaching for a wallet, pat the back pockets, the breast pockets. Frowns when seemingly coming up with nothing)

I remember owning a wallet, got to be here somewhere (keeps patting for a little bit longer) I remember it being filled with receipts, visas, and membership cards. Funny how much a wallet can tell you about a man, where he belongs, what he does, whom he is close to, and how much is in his account. What a concept, a wallet gave a man his status. It supplied him with currency, not just little cotton sheets with dead presidents on them mind you, I mean real currency, the kind that gets you into exclusive places. I owned one of those. (stops patting, and give a "hmm" before continuing on) 'Course, it isn't much use to me now. I belong to a bigger club, see. No need to carry documentation or currency, don't need it. I am enough, I am recognized without pulling anything out to show for it. Kind of nice, you know. Member of the greater community you may say.

I was somebody to somebody then (smiles as if remembering something fond. The smile suddenly fades, and brows furrow again)... at least I thought I was. I can't quite remember now. Memories, they can be so wispy. I suppose it is a good thing. There are just too many things that one shouldn't hold on to, right? (chuckles, as if telling a private joke) Like these here my belongings, (waves hand dramatically over his clothes and the shopping cart next to him), they are all that I have now, and I can do with a couple less too. (Chuckles again) Heck, I could do with a lot less... (voice trails off...), but I am cutting back, see, just one cart and these clothes on my back? On my back, funny how that phrase is? I used to remember clothes that hugs me snuggly (pauses) frames me. Now, I am just glad to have clothes that stays on for keeps; hanging, dangling upon my frame.

(Sighs) I was somebody then. I remember when I could walk into any of these buildings and not cause commotion. I fit in. Now, well, now I part crowds. I blend in better with these pillars and columns (looks around, arches head back and forth). I have gotten accustomed to them. I have come to know every inch of them, every marble,every tile that supports them (gestures grandiosely around, as if pointing to each tile). They have been kind to me, these cold stones, warmer than the hearts of these folks whom I once could walk alongside (looks as if someone is walking up the steps towards him). At least I don't seem out of place out here; ... just like I wasn't out of place inside then. Ah well, you can't be accepted everywhere, I have learned that much.

You know when it all ended for me? The day I became a nobody? It all happened one fine autumn day. Yep, that much I remember, it was an autumn day. It wasn't spring, no, spring provided me with a spurt of new growth in all directions. It was filled with hope. The day I got let go, well, there wasn't much hope now was there? It wasn't summer, I remember summer being quite passionate... I had reached my personal apex. And I know it wasn't winter, because, well, winter was blurry, so it has got to happen before then, just before then. I was let go, just like that! (Snaps fingers, and then make gesture of falling) Let go unceremoniously like a leaf that has served its purpose and must leave the branch it nourished before it became a burden during winter times. Oh, it was a slow descent to where I am now. I dawdled for a bit, buffeted here and there, confused, spiraling down, down, down. And I remember looking back up from where I fell. I could still see where I once perched, tall above me, still growing strong, still reaching for the skies. Whilst I... I lie there in that snow, trampled upon, slowly whittling away, becoming dry and brittle. Yep, I think that was when I had everything beaten out of me... don't remember much since then. Life was slowly dehydrated, sapped away. But hey, its all good, I mean look at me. I have never been more carefree. One day at a time. I am a light weight, wandering wherever the wind blows.

Sure, sure, I miss some of the niceties. Wouldn't mind the feel of crisp bill fold now and then, a bath. A cup of hot soup, and a roof over my head. But you know... it is still nice. I used to own a half acre, one story, driveway and a backyard. Now, I have multiple homes, all climate control, granted I need to work on the control part. But hey, what house is not temperamental? (laughs an edge of insanity) Yep... I lost everything a while ago, but I have learned since then I need not hold on to anything anymore... yep.

The only thing I miss about that life... well, a smile meant just for me.

Just me

I have severe myopia, but you have opened my eyes and made me see beyond any horizons I have dreamed possible. This nose, oh it is not as handsome as Bergerac's, but it has the fortune of smelling the best fragrance there is as a wisp of your hair flows by. This ears, they are sort of awkwardly protruding, but who cares, they have heard the sweetest sound that is your laughter ringing like clarion. They were graced with your voice calling my name, oh and only your lips can utter it with such power. My teeth, they are not pearly white, but I can 't seem to hide them when I am around you, that smile just won't go away. My mind, nay you worry, it is not as feeble as it seems. Heck no, it is quite active, more alert than ever before. Ever attentive to even the smallest details, hoping to catch ever word, every moment, every deed; to breathe it all in and forever retain it in something you and I will later call memories, but for now it is just moments, little moments that are like ornaments to our lives' Christmas tree.

My shoulders, well I suppose they are not as wide as most other guys, but if you lay head your head upon it, you will perhaps find it just right. A comfortable pillow, with my collar bone jutted just right to offer sufficient support when your tears began to fall. These hands, you see them? They are not big, but they have held the world's largest treasure when they held your hands in them. My arms, they are not that long, nor are they thick as tree trunks. More like brittle branches really, the ones you stick on a snow man; but they have embraced beauty that is seemingly unattainable when they enclosed you. 

Do you hear it? That thumping noise? That's my heart beating strong and true for you. Abs, well, I haven't got six, but what about settling for just one? I assure you it can be quite adorable, kind of like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. You can punch it if you ever become angry with me, not that I think I will ever give you a reason to do so, and you probably agree to that. My back, it will become crooked some day I am sure, but for now it is sturdy, and it can straighten itself out simply because you gave me dignity. 

I am not tall, no, heck I am pretty darn short, but I am alright with that because I have got you to always look up to. Funny thing is, you never seem to look down at me, how do you do it? How do you keep raising me upon a pedestal higher than Mount Everest? These legs, these thighs, they look like a joke I know. But you will be surprised at how strong they can be. They will overcome any obstacles just to bring me to you. My feet, ah at last we have reached my feet. Well, I am sure you have seen greater sizes, but that is not important is it? Just as long they can create footsteps- footsteps that will never overlap yours, that will not fall before yours, nor will follow behind. No, my footsteps, you see, will always be along side you. And just when you think they can not make any deep imprints, they will, I am certain of it. See, that is when you will be in my arms, and chances are where I tread we shall leave our mark using our combined weight. 

So, this is me, this is who I am, nothing out of ordinary I am afraid. Your average guy, but I am your average guy... and somehow when you are around, I am not so ordinary anymore. Will you look at that? Fancy huh? I guess I love you, but more importantly I love who I am when I am with ya.

G-d's Bench

On the street corner near my childhood home, there used to be a stall where an elderly peddler made his living. It was a simple hawker stall, the kind that can close upon itself when not in used; like a newsstand. The streets were lined up with these kind of stalls back then, each one selling different wares; essentially creating a bustling open market. 

Of all those stalls, I particularly remember this one the most. I remember it being filled with odd assortment of decrepit and discarded items- toys, TV sets, water heaters, all sort of things ranging from small to large. There was just something special about it, a captivating ambience that seems to segregate itself from all the hurly-burly that surrounds it. Perhaps it is the antiquity projected both by the owner and the wares; time seems to freeze when one enters within vicinity of that stall. I recall walking by it each day, and there would be the ancient peddler fixing things on his workbench with a nimbleness that borderlines on art. There was nothing clumsy about those fingers of his, they move about as if they have a spirit of their own. Confident, fluid, the peddler would work away on his current project with refined deftness. I remember being fascinated by the inner workings of a lot of the objects that find its way onto his operation table. How he would find ways to reveal their secrets and sew them all back up ready to be re-sold. 

Being young and curious at the time, I had a tendency of literally breaking into my new toys. I am proud to say at that tender age, I enjoyed unparalleled success in breaking things down, but when it came to fixing them, well, that part eludes me even to this day. So often times, I find myself standing in front of the peddler stall, teary and all, my new victim in my hands begging the peddler to kindly look at it and fix it before my parents throw a fit at me for breaking a brand new toy. Usually, he would heave an amused sigh, plucked the toy from my hands and within a few moments, they would always come back whole again. It became a routine, Christmas, birthday comes, a new toy and I would find myself the next day standing at the stall waiting for a miracle on the workbench. He was a god to me then, a renaissance man who could fix anything I threw at him: a radio, a Transformer robot, anything. It was like watching a miracle worker in action. There doesn't seem to be anything he could not fix. What is more, he never made me feel guilty about it, he would always find ways to soothe me as he fix whatever it is that needed to be fixed. I felt bad that he would take time out of his livelihood to fix my stuff, but that guilt was often overshadowed by the unfound fear of what would happen to me if my parents found out that I broke my gift in record time. 

I don't know what happen to that peddler, I don't know how his business went, or if he has long since retired. I remember going back to that street searching for a trace of him, hoping I can repay him. But much time has passed, and I can only hope he is in a better place. I don't know what compelled me to remember him to you... He was just another random stranger who has shown me much kindness, kindness that I have failed to returned. Strange thing is, looking back I realize that in some magical way, that peddler embodies the spirit of G-d in my life. How often in later years do I find myself standing in front of G-d's altar with my troubles, asking him to fix it. I know for many, the altar is the Lord's table set for a grand feast. That before we arrive at the table for the meal, we must cleanse ourselves, rid ourselves of all unnecessary thoughts. However, that peddler forever changed my perception of the altar. The altar is no longer just a dinner table, but a workbench where we all come before to offer our troubles. Broken hearts, shattered dreams, downtrodden souls all are brought before His bench work bench in hopes that He may mend them, comfort them and make them whole again.

Another unsaid goodbye

Another obituary, another farewell to a long lost friend. Succinct yet eloquent, a life's worth of achievements epitomized in black and white, obscured to all save for the precious few who knew to look for it there. How strange it is, a person who was once larger than life itself reduced to a few short paragraphs, relegated to the past. Perhaps more disturbing is the mug shot, cropped from a group photo, a final act of isolation from the living. 

So is this how it will end, an obscured byline on the morning post? How tragic it is that we never get to hear our eulogies;. but then, am I ready to hear mine? Would mine be confined to a few lines? Would my memory fade fast? How long would they be able to recall my essence, and conjure my presence amongst them? Perhaps not long. 

Alas, old friend, I remember. Even if I can not eulogize you with all the glory you deserve, your memory shall remain strong. I shall remember your jokes, your style. I will not let you become ephemeral, even as news of you are old by the time they reached my ears, they rekindle all that is timeless. 

Farewell, for I know you to be in a better place, and that out of selfishness I mourn. I pray I will be remembered as fondly as you are now... I pray others will be just as shocked and saddened over my passing as I am with yours... you have been a good friend, and I hope I may be so fortunate as to share in that same nostalgia when it is my time. 

Move On

They say for me to move on, turn the page, close the door, get on with life. But what if I don’t want to? What if I wish to linger at the door and take it all in- the pain, the sorrow, the suffering? Is it unnecessary grief? Is this something I can live without? Perhaps. Yet, what if this is life itself? What if I moved on and not own this moment, then how can I ever let go? 

It is true that I may seem to be returning to the well of pain, but it is pain only because it is coupled with joyous memories, memories that I do not at this point want to be lost should I move on so shallowly. If I must endure pain so that such happiness can be engraved forever in my soul, so be it. I can not explain my actions rationally, nor should I need to. I will not deny that it hurts me, but at least I know I am alive because of it. 

I will not move on for this will always be a part of me. I am not stationary in growth because of it. I live with perhaps one less regret because I stood and faced the storm, and though I may be flung about violently, I know I am a better person because I caught a glimpse of that heaven within the eye of the storm. 

Here's the thing

Because here is the thing, one of these days, you will look at me with those wide, doe-like eyes of yours, all shy and timid, head tilted and all, and tell me you have fallen in love with some guy. 

And I, I would be happy for you because I am your friend, but the reality is my inside would be tearing up because all these years I have loved you most. 

Whenever you were reduced to tears, you would come and place your vulnerable, shatterd soul in my care. You would whimper, and tell me how your boyfriend just dumped you, and what a jerk he is. And I would nod my head, and agree with each word you say. I would say something funny, I would join you in trashing your ex-boyfriend. I would praise you to the skies until I tease a smile or giggle through your tears and sorrow. You would look the world's most gorgeous woman to me then, but still I can't tell you how much I love you because the truth is, you have never seen me as the One. And I know if I attempt to be the One, things would become awkward. And I love you too much, and hold too dear the relationship we have now, so I will be silent, and watch as you trial and error you way though numerous relationships until you find that guy... I will stand silently by, a sturdy rock, a confidente to your crushes until some day, you come to me, the cutest can be and tell me that you have at last found him... and I would be happy for you... I really would, but the sad thing is, it wasn't me you have found. 

I would toast that lucky bastard, I would pat him on his back on your wedding night.And unbeknownest to you, I would have pulled him aside, and laid it upon him sternly that he better treat you right, because if he doesn't, he would have me to reckon with. And he would know, because of the way you talked about me, that I am not someone he would want to cross. So you will end up happy, and I would be happy too, sort of... 

That will be the way things go down between the two of us.

Hope in Dark Times

Bad or good, all experiences only serves to enrich us... that is life isn't it? To take the plunge down whatever roller coaster we may be on, eyes wide open, screaming, laughing, crying, and at the end coming out feeling more alive than before.

If life can indeed be so good, why can't we accept that it can be bad? After all, when you really look at it, often time life is relatively good, so what is a few moments of pure badness in comparison to that? Besides, I think that bad and good experiences are actually alloted quite arbitrary. Hopefully they balanced out in the end, or at least we find some way to perceive them as even out when they don't necessary do so. 

Try hard not to make it a personal tragedy when things don't go right, I know this is no easy feat. Most likely, you will have to suffer a long while, possibly to the point where you get sick of feeling sick,and you become better. After all, you reserve the rights to moan, and gripe. You reserve the rights to wallow. Chances are, your emotions will continue to take you on unwanted roller coaster rides for a while, but that is quite alright. In the end, you become more human because of it. You learn the full depth of what you can feel, bad or good... and that only serves to expand your experience, and your capacity in the future to endure and accept more. It makes you truly human, to know the extent of your humanity.

Just remember in your hour of darkness, that this too shall pass. I know it sounds trite, but it is true. I know you would like to think your personal tragedy is so significant that no one else can comprehend it... and I don't deny you that believe, because to each his/ her own alloted significance... but significant or not, eventually you will overcome it... the torrents will ebb, you have just got to hold on to whatever "trite" positiveness to keep you afloat until then. 

Painting of an old man

In the art gallery somewhere hangs a painting depicting an old man strolling along the water's edge smoking a pipe. There is an overall quality of pensiveness to it, even in the stillness of that painting. When one looks at it one can almost envision the whiff of smoke that follows with each thoughtful puff. The facial features are unclear, and in truth, there is an overall nebulous quality to the scenery. The details are somewhat blurred, ensconced in artistic haze... but somehow through the sublime, all details become more acute, more salient. 

It is not a spectacular painting by any standards, but it is one that never fails to captivate me each time I visit. It calls out to me, there is an affinity which draws me to it. Perhaps it is the old fogey, he seems to have an air about him that I find quite fascinating. Something disturbingly familiar.

A dignified anchorite I presume, there seems to be purpose in his gait. I can see him now, striding carefully, and economically along the beach as if each step is the product of prudence and years of fine tuning exercises. The sounds of waves crashing upon the sands, and the symphony of gulls resounding in his ears, he strolls on. He seems to radiate an air of erudition, but at the same time, it reeks of loneliness. How often I sat before this painting and find myself wondering why he is out there alone along the beach. Where are his grand children? Where is his spouse? Where is that faithful furry companion that I so expected to see running about? They are absent, and it is that very absence of life which makes the portrait even more haunting. 

What if I too am destined to be him, alone and forgotten on that beach front? What if I remember everything, but the only memory of me is a painting- a painting of me strolling out one day alone on the beach remembering everything. And some day, years from now, another young fellow would stumble upon that painting, and speculate as I have about this one.

Alas...I don't think I would enjoy the prospect too much. I can not deny I shall grow old and become a fogey... but could I have something more than a bit of dignity that captivates the artist's eyes? Maybe a sense of accomplishment evident by the foot steps of laughing grandchildren in the sands before me, a glowing house with smoke coming from the chimney in the background radiating with hopes of returning to a loving spouse baking pies. I would gladly throw away that pipe if it means my heart should be so set ablaze with love and companionship.

But for now, I fear I relate more than I should to that old man with a pipe. The facial features may be blurred, but I see myself clearly walking in those footsteps, the bitter winds upon my chest... This is no stroll but in fact a lonely march, a march until the alloted time is up. Turn back old man.

On Hardship

Some days you will feel as if the world is crashing down upon you from all sides. You will look about you and see all the muck ups there ever were, and you will take everything that didn't go well personal. You will look up to the heavens above and question whether these are the acts of a loving god? A just god? A wise god? And you will, as I have been, tempted to curse His name, shouting out and asking whether it was all neccessary? Was each round of bad luck a coup de grace?

Well, it happens... one minute you are fine, and the next you will find yourself suddenly exposed and vulnerable to every downfall in the book. You will then question the purpose of your existence.

I know I have... and the only comfort I can offer is perhaps knowing that "this too shall pass"... as cliche as it sounds, there is indeed a time for everything, and that it has nothing to do with merits. There are just moments in life when it doesn't matter whether you warrant it or not, things will not go right. You can look and be jealous of everyone else, but you see, it is not about them. It is not about how good they are getting, or how bad you are having it now... it is not personal... it is just is... and the only way you get by it is let go of your own anger. Let go, and just accept that it happens. Stop squirming, writhing, and wallowing. Cry in anguish if you must, bewail your woes... but whatever the cause do not allow the struggle to take on a life of its own, for then it will only spiral downwards even more; like quicksand. 

It is easy to say this from the outside... but the reality you and I will be going through these phases quite a few times in our lifetime... they do not have to be frequent... but they can get consuming, and the intensity of the pain which we are more attune exaggerates their effects upon us... but the reality is we may be just having it good for some time, and that it is time to tip the balance a little bit to load more new goodies. 

All I am saying is, it happens... when they do, don't exaggerate the uniqueness of it. It is a significant event, but not necessary to the extent to which you may give it... reach out, and you will be surprised to find many others who have been through something similar, or can offer insight on to alleviate the pain. Step back, and understand that it is not the end, but perhaps the beginning of something better... the pain which can be unbearable is actually something you will bore through should you stop fixating on it, and scrap at it like scab... 

Such is life... we fall, we scratch ourselves, we pick our selves up... there is no point in picking at the wounds, no point in thinking those scars will make us hideous... instead wear them with pride, for they are your own mementos to a victory won, hardship overcame...

We are united in out iniquities

Through whatever turmoil you are going through may you find peace and assurance knowing you are not alone, that someone else is going through something similar, someone has passed this way before, and someone else will possibly follow after you... 


G-d knows I have cried my eyes dry for the pain and suffering of decent beings... but in the end, I have come to realize that it is perhaps worth the tears to see a small moment of triumph, to experience a single moment of pure elation... for in the midst of all that despair, that one moment stands out even more... and hopefully you hold on to it for dear life, because that is the spark of humanity... our common trials and tribulations is what keeps us together, it preserves us, makes us cry and laugh together... and while we may have quit on our own, if we lay there and cried under the skies, and realize that our mutual tears serve to nurture the tree of our basic, common humanity, soaking to the very depths where the roots lie; succoring it so that the branches can continue to extend,reach and strive for the skies ... then perhaps we can then seek to climb further up its branches, and reach for the skies.

Indeed... our existence seems futile and trivial if we can not step back and appreciate the collective experience. The meaning of life lies in transcending ourselves, going beyond our immediate faculties and understand that we are part of something greater... that we are not alone, but united across time and space continuum by the river of blood, sweat and tears shed in pursuit of something greater. Succored by the knowledge we are not alone in messing up, we gain courage to try even harder...perhaps the acceptance of collective failure is what we need to dare ourselves to move even farther, bypassing doubt and paralyzing fear of being alone...

Que Serra Serra

"To learn something new, one must revisit the old" -Chinese adage. 

It is hard to convey the exact meaning of this adage in English, such is the complexity of the Chinese language that it covers much in simple vagueness. One can interpret it as meaning one must revisit the basics often to gain access to new wisdom. For the sake of our discussion, let me perhaps take the liberty in interpreting this adage in a chronological context: 
The path towards a better tomorrow begins with the positive foundation laid by today's optimism, and cemented by endearing memories of yesterdays. 

Too often we strive to gaze far into the future in hopes that we can shape our paths today. It is by no mistake that cultures across the globe shares in a rich tradition of fortune telling. From mere palm readings, drawing tarot cards, casting runes to our more sophisticated weather forecasts and stock market analysis, humans shares in a mutual fascination, no, an obsession, with forecasting the unknown. Ours is a society built upon looking ahead, and moving forward. As General Patton phrase it so eloquently in his famous speech to his tank commanders and infantry, we are ever advancing, never holding on to anything. 

While it is good practice to be prepared and vigilant, to look far ahead as much as possible, there is one slight problem - metaphysically speaking we are severely myopic as a species. While we like to think that our intelligence is sufficient such that it can project the different possible outcomes and prepares us of what may, the reality is we are only smart enough to fool ourselves. The truth is the future overwhelms us simply because it is great and mysterious. We were never meant to know fully what lies ahead. We are ill equipped to handle the many variations of the future simply because we are not G-d and therefore cannot possibly forecast every resultant ripples of every minutia. 

To stare into that great abyss of unknown is liken to a myopic child attempting to light his/ her way around grand auditorium with a mere candle. We see what is immediate to us, but it only serves to contrast and amplify darkness, and induce in us a uncontrollable fear of what lurks within it. Shadows dance upon the walls and prey upon our darker imagination, so much so that we become paralyzed and incapable of venturing forward. Our progress is therefore stymied not by the actual obstacles per se, but by our own vivid pessimism and eventual self-damnation as we feel the darkness of future close upon us. 

This is not the way we should live. We should not be so set on looking ahead that we forget it is through stepping back that we are propelled forward. Instead of looking ahead and be consumed by what we know not, we should build our confidence by looking back and see how far we have come- by what we have learned. The pattern we seek lies not in the future, but in an understanding of our past and current experiences. It is through appreciation of what we have now, a thorough examination of what was done right in the past, that we gain the necessary wisdom to move forward step by step. 

It is easy to yield to pessimism when we become affronted by darkness, by uncertainty and doubt. But if we can only step back, look back and realize that we leave a little spark each step of the way, the path ahead then becomes gradually illuminated. Our confidence then stems from the mental map that we have created for ourselves to back track. We can proceed forward because we know where we were. Hope is therefore not an abstract sustain in vacuum, but a very concrete concept nurtured by positive actions of today fueled by successes in the past. The future may shape our present, but it is the joint effort of the present and the past that actualize the future. So instead of looking forward, step back. It is so much easier to build upon what we have than neglect all that and surrender ourselves to dark despair. 

Therefore, I urge you, instead of being depressed by what you don't know, be impressed instead by what you do know and build upon that. 

One is a member...

We often seek to define ourselves by identifying that which separates us and makes us unique. However, I do question if it would perhaps be wiser and better to invest our faculties in pursuit of that which unites us. Lines in the sand are not drawn necessary to keep people out, but rather to keep them in… and even then it is subjected to being erased by waves. A membership to a particular club may seem exclusive, but one is always a member of something greater. It is always convenient to be homogeneous, but the challenge lies in finding ourselves within a heterogeneous group. Who knows, at the end of the tunnel we may just come to the realization that we are more alike than we think... that should not be something that scares us, but instead comfort us for we are not alone. We are connected through our common humanity.

Be Painfully Aware

Be painfully aware of your blessings. I say painfully because the reality is the best things in life don't often come gift wrapped in a box with ribbon on top, nor in little balls of fur call kittens and puppies. No, often times the things we need most are endowed under the worst circumstances possible. Blessings are usually proportional to the hell through which we must go through to attain them. Just as we calculate the worth of something by assigning how much it will cost us, blessings are often valued by how hard it takes for it to come to us. 

To be aware of your blessings is painful, because often times we are bowed down by circumstances. It takes great strength and character to be able to take a step back, straighten our backs and regard the silver lining in the clouds that constantly rain hail upon our backs. It is easy for us to succumb to depression when things aren't going right, after all we are always on a mission for the betterment of our lives. It is only natural to take it personal and feel like we are failing when things don't go right. Yet it is dangerous to be so gung ho about the bad, that we neglect the simple pleasures that can be amplified should we choose to give it more value. 

It takes a lot of conscious effort to be able to step back and rejoice... the law of thermodynamics dictate that we will always move toward chaos as energy has a tendency to flow loosely. But, it is through the input of effort that we pack energy together to make something beautiful by giving it order. Its like a library, the beauty of the library resides in the fact that its content is accessible in an orderly fashioned. The upkeep of its beauty requires the constant dedication of the librarians in ensuring that the books are re-shelved, and materials categorized correctly. It is a mindless droning process, but librarians get a sense of pride when they can step back and realize just how beautiful their work is - that after hours of bending and stretching to put the books on the right shelves.

Memories

In the end all you have got are the memories that you have made along the way. Hopes, dreams, faith, love - these are mere abstracts that serves to motivate you onwards to making better memories for yourself as you trudge uncertainly upon this mysterious life. Life is uncertain, it is meant to be this way. It is meant for you to explore and experience it, to create for yourself memories that you can go back to from time to time. Think of your stay here on this transitory earth as a scrapbook project whereby you create testimonies and witness accounts to present to yourself one day when everything else is gone, and you are standing naked before your Maker. The proverbial heaven and hell are not as they say places you enter postmortem based upon merits... but rather everlasting viewing rooms of your life in constant replay- and you are the critic who has to sit through it over and over again. 

You are the cameraman, lighting specialist, producer, director and actor all meshed into one. This is your production with the green lights from above... it is up to you to determine the camera angles, the lighting effects, and dialogs which will shape the course of the movie that you will be watching in the "afterlife", or during those special 15 seconds of clarity before you breathe your last. 

Make life worth your while, go out there and start making beautiful memories that will warm your hearts in cold times. Be willing to expose yourself, and be vulnerable in hopes that you can cloth your born nakedness with a rich tapestry of love and joy. Knit yourself a cozy quilt by blending varying patches of colorful moments. This is life, even though you drawn constantly by what lies ahead, you are actually propelled in a direction by what is behind you.

Vagina

***maybe offensive and vulgar***
Vagina, literally and figuratively speaking, is the ultimate commodity. People are always focusing on the penis, its size, girth and length. But they have it all wrong. Because a penis is useless if you don't have a vagina. Without the vagina, you are just a guy with a dick in his hand shooting blanks. The reality is this: it doesn't matter how grand your phallic symbol is, the wealth of the US is not symbolized by the Washington Monument, nor France's masculinity by the Effiel Tower. Ultimately a nations' power and wealth comes from the fertility of the land, the womanhood of the nation - the yonic. We are talking about the ability to reproduce and replenish what we use up on a daily basis. And that fertility is safeguarded by none other than the vagina of the land. It doesn't matter how many and how big your warheads are, in the end, you have got only one egg. So guys, stop strutting around pointing to that bulge in your pants, because if women so chooses to with-hold their vagina, you are screwed. So I say, forget about your penises, and start treating the vagina and those who possess the key to it with all the respect and adoration you can muster. Stop playing your man-games, and realize that you are so owned by women.

Fundamentalism

Fundamentalism is not a disease of the ignorant, the mindless, and the dumb. It is in fact brought about by highly organized and intelligent beings who are set in their ways and are too damn certain about everything. They polarize and ostracize, refusing to move beyond their own comfort zone even in the face of oppressing evidence. So ensconced in their cocoon of certainty that any threat to the status quo, however slight, is dealt with harshly until resistance is efficiently eliminated. Why? Because they are afraid of change. They are afraid of uncertainty that is beyond their control. They are afraid of taking the blame should they fail. 

Insanity

People want to believe that there is a fine line between the insane and the sane. That is just not true, there is only a continuum ranging from the highly deranged to the subliminally disturbed. We are all crazy in our own special way, uniquely dysfunctional; especially those who contend that they are normal. I know this sounds harsh, but I think it is important to acknowledge that nobody, and I mean nobody is "normal". The sooner we accept this, the better we can move on and get along. 

My Gift

Everyone needs someone to appreciate them, to love them, and to share in their sorrows and their joy. We all need a witness to bear testimonies to our lives. We need muses to inspire us, and mentors to motivates us. Each of us is a performer on the stage of life, and we each need our audience to which we play to. An artist captures beauty to share with others, a musician charms his listener with wonderful sounds, and a poet provokes us to ponder the world around us. Yet, it is not just their talents that makes them great, it is the appreciation they received that sparks them on to greater things.

My role in this transitory world may not be to astound others, nor to impress; but instead to enhance and amplify the talents of others through my appreciation for them. I am not gifted in any exemplary manner, but I can do my darnedest to glorify the talents of others. That, in itself, may perhaps be the biggest gift I can offer to the world about me.

The Hand of a Dying Friend

Did you ever held the hand of someone who is dying?  That experience, it stays with you.  The hand, the hand is a bit cold, possibly from the poor circulation.  There isn't much of a grip, save maybe for the faintest pressure at the finger tips.  You hold on, shifting the grip of your hand so that those finger tips would find your pulse, willing your pulse to guide theirs.

You hold that hand long enough, you too can feel faintly the thready pulse; and chances are you will begin to deceive yourself by trying to will the next one and the one after that, hoping they would become strong, and in a way they do as you become more attune to them, but it remains a thready pulse nonetheless.

The hiss of the ventilators, the steady beeps of monitors, none of that matter as you slowly phase them out, honing in on that sacred rhythm between breaths and pulse. That's your whole world right there.  Life and death connected tenuously by the barest touch.

And then it happens, a minute twitch, a sudden calm, followed by an equal sudden slack, even before the machines announced it, you know.  It is peace shattered by the wails and sirens of the monitors echoed in your heart but unspoken unvoiced as you held on tighter to a hand that will not return the favour ever again.

A fishing life

I want to believe that life is a continuous lesson on letting go; kind of like a huge catch and release fishing program. Each moment you are paddling up and down some body of water, setting you lures, casting the nets in hopes of catching something big. But it is not about taking that fish home with you. No, it is about being able to reel it in after a long fight with it, take a snapshot, have a story to tell, and then throwing it back and fish somewhere else. Similarly, I want to take enough ownership of what my life has to offer me so that when the day arrives for me to let go of life itself, I can do so without any remorse. I would like to know that before I let life slip back into the murky waters of death I have fought hard for it, got some entertaining stories to tell with it, and have evidence that I did achieve it. 

I know this kind of talk sounds morbid, especially coming from someone my age; but I am not fatalistic or suicidal. I guess I am just painfully aware of the limited conditions of being. That being said, I just want to know that each day I strive to live to the fullest that I can. Regardless of what is thrown in my way, I want to dare myself to take ownership of it, to truly experience every aspect of it so that I can say I owned it, and I can let it go. The positives and the negatives; oh, especially the negatives. 

It is definitely not easy being a fisherman of life. There are many moments of pure frustration. There are times when you would go on days without catching anything, or you snagged every piece of crap there is to be snagged. There will be moments where you just have to watch helplessly as a huge opportunity swims away despite the fight you put up with it. The worst I suppose is watching other fellow fishermen being so damn lucky and walking away with fine "catches". 

I know for me, I still haven't truly been able to say I have caught anything worthwhile. Life eludes me. I wanted to say I have loved deeply, laughed heartily, cried fully and fought valiantly. I wanted to say I have tasted it all, pain, abysmal despair and utmost euphoria. But alas, I know I am not even close because I definitely haven't been able to let anything go. There are so many aspects of life that I still haven't gain ownership of. I feel I have no evidence or witnesses to testify that indeed I did attain something great. 

So here I am, sitting on my dingy little boat, toughing the weather out, praying to the Almighty that please let this be the day I catch something big so that I can let it go. Please allow me moments of pure exhilaration as I fought and conquer some big fish. And if today is not the day, then grant me patience to wait it out and not be envious of what others have caught. Grant me serenity so that I will not curse humankind for polluting life every time I snagged on some crap that others have left behind. 

When Things Go Bad

I have learned that often times things won't go the way you want them to. As hard you pray about it, as much as you may hope for it, there will be days when all the lights will be red and the house of cards will crumple down. It is just the way the world works, moments of highs followed by moments of low and vice versa. Up and down, up and down, and round around. I guess the important thing is when those moments arrive, you just have to take a step back and appreciate the times when things did go well, or were at least normal. 

In the end, we just got to have faith and strive for the best we can. We cannot let ourselves be brought down. We will always feel the pull of gravity as long as we walk upon this earth, but that has never stopped us from reaching with outstretch arms to the stars above. Longingly we gazed upon the moon so much so that we actually end up conquering the heights and landed upon its face.

It is in our nature to let the negatives rule the day, we give too much credit to the things that go wrong. Probably because relatively few brag about success as much as those who bitch about failure. Probably because we want to pay more attention to the negatives so that we may alter our courses to avoid it. Probably because we like to see others suffer so as to feel good about ourselves. Or it is even possible that we want to out suffer someone simply because it seems to give us more character... Whatever the reason, as a species we tend to view the negatives as being more important. We overlook when things were actually positive. We take it for granted when things go our way, we think we deserve it; but that is really not the case.

Sometimes you have to earn the good things. Other times, you have got to just understand that even when you do your darnedest, chances are there are powers beyond you that dictates today may just be the day when you will be screwed. Its nothing personal. Instead, it is a chance to put things in perspective. It may even be an opportunity for growth. 

I am not saying there is a pony in the horse manure that is flung at you, but it is nice to hope that there may be one. If nothing else, you can at least be glad that there is a horse somewhere that defecated the feces you are in, and chances are someone is very lucky to have that horse as a companion. And you can be grateful that while you may personally loathe the smell, color and feel of the crap you are in, it makes a great fertilizer to grow something you may actually eat eventually. 

All I am saying is, shit happens, even to the best of us. When they do, don't let to bring you down. Don't wallow in your sorrow, instead reach up, because who knows, you may just be the seed that needs the nourishment before you can grow and bear fruit. 

Problem Solving 101

I had a teacher in elementary school who taught me a lesson on letting go. One fine day she had us wrote on a piece of paper all the things that made us angry, sad and uncomfortable. When we were done, she led us out into the school yard where a hole was already dug, and had us crumpled that piece of paper and throw it in. Then she went ahead and buried the hole again... miraculously we all felt good that day.

That paper symbolizes all the things that were at the time making us feeling negative, and somehow in our naive minds, the "out of sight out of mind" mentality really helped us. I often thought back to that day, and wished that issues today would be so easily resolved as it was that day. But I guess that is not the case, as we grow up, we realized that trouble don't go away simply because we close our eyes or hid under our blankets. As we grow older, the monsters that used to linger beneath our beds and closets may have disappeared, but the demons that grew in our hearts would grow strong and challenge the angels that reside in us.

Often times in life we will encounter things that will make us unhappy, anxious, angry, and worry. Chances are these oppressing things are very real to us, and as we stand there looking at it, we will most likely be overwhelmed by the seemingly insurmountable nature of it. It would be nice if we could just write it all down on a piece of paper, crumpled it and throw it away and be done with it. But that is not the case... or can it?

Analyzing the magic that occur that day, I realized that while our childlike innocence contributed to a whole lot of the success of my teacher's lesson; part of what made the whole thing worked was we visualized and actualized what it was that bothered us. When you step back and look at things that truly bothers us, as bad as they may look on the outset, they are nothing compared to what appears in our mindsets after we have processed it, churned it over a bit more and associate unnecessary emotions and fears to it. Often times, besides the actual thing that bothers us, it is the intangible uncertainty that we associate with which makes things more negative than they really are. So the first step to help us deal with problems is perhaps simply to write it all down. That way we boiled things down to the nitty-gritty. We actualize and visualize the components as opposed to letting them remain elusive and intangible in our minds.

After that, we visualize the solution. It may not as simple as the proverbial hole, often we can't just buried our problems and hope they will not erupt again. We will have to face them. However, it really helps if we can in some way imagine an endpoint. It is amazing how visualizing the scenarios helps us follow through with solving the actual issue. Sports psychologists have done extensive research on the effectiveness of visualizing success. They have found that when athletes take the time to meditate and visualize their routines, chances are they will fare better than those who jumps into it. To better demonstrate this point, I would like to tell you two anecdotes.

There was once an army officer who loved to golf; yet, despite spending numerous hours at the country club playing, for the most part he remained a mediocre golfer. Then war came along, and this officer was captured as a prisoner of war. During his imprisonment, to keep himself sane, he visualized himself playing on the golf course that he so loved everyday. He would imagine each and every shot that he takes, sensing the way his body would response prior and after a hit. After a long imprisonment, he was freed, and he went back to play at the country club again. Despite years of absence of actually playing the game, this officer went on to played one of the best games that day. Somehow, the years spent imagining the way he played the game actually helped him improved more than just building in the muscle memory.

Another anecdote involves a dear friend of mine who is a basketball fanatic. My friend is an excellent shooter, he has one of the highest score percentages at my school. While the team as a whole practices a lot on shooting, somehow when it comes to clutching the game winner, the responsibility fell to my friend. I remember asking him one day how he does it, how is it possible that he has such a feel of the ball when everyone else practices as hard as he does. His answer was that before each game, all he would do is sit there and pretend to hear the swooshing sound the net makes when he scores a bucket. So intense on hearing that sound, that when he actually touches the ball he can hear the net in his head, and somehow the shot would go in.

I am not saying that our problems would go away if we think it away. That would be nice. I am convinced however, that once we clasp the essentials of what is truly bothering us and proceed to visualize a solution based solely on the innate elements, then we will discover that it may not be as bad as we think... it could still be bad, but perhaps not ugly.

Finally, we have to learn to view these problems with child-like simplicity. Freud proposed the paradigm of id, ego and superego as means to explain our psyche. I don't know for sure how accurate he was, but I do want to believe that within each of us is a child, a pessimistic adult and a wise elder. These three "voices" plays a huge role in helping us face our daily troubles. The "pessimistic adult" is the voice of the society. It is often the consummate of years of social upbringing, intaking all the boundaries, the limits that society has set for us as "norms" to adhere to. As a result, this voice is perhaps the most restricting of the three. It is the voice that speaks from conventional wisdom and social convenience. It tells us what is perhaps expected of us by society, tradition and custom.

Then, there is the voice of the wise elder. This voice is often softer in the background, somewhat soothing, and speaks from experience. It is more often the encouraging voice that offers a balanced advice. It tells you to avoid high hopes, and keep away from despair. It draws upon hidden wisdom that is often overshadowed by conventional ones. It is soothing, reassuring and comforting.

Lastly, there is the child. This is the ideal that resides in us. It is perhaps the most untainted, and have the most "spirit". You probably hear it from time to time egging you on try new things, and do something spontaneous. This is the voice that perhaps carry the most emotions, and hopefully it is one that smiles the most often. There is a simple passion in this voice, nothing is too complicated, and nothing is too dull. This is the voice that never ceased to believe, to explore, to wonder and to be awed.

I always visualized the relationship of these three voices as a grandchild who runs to the grandma for comfort after being scolded by the parent for trying new things. If you listen carefully enough, you will hear these three voices talking to you whenever you are faced with a problem. They all have their valid points, but should you ever really need to choose, I urged you sincerely to give more weight to the wise elder, and most importantly the child. The child may push you to be selfish and even do something foolish, but it is the one that will make you feel alive. The wise elder will then sustain you should you bash your head and need a bandage. The pessimistic adult... well, all it is really good at besides being a giant chicken is to send you on guilt trips, which frankly you don't really need.

So, to sum it all up, actualize the nitty-gritty component of your problems, visualize an endpoint, pay attention to the grandchild and grandma in you, and screw the parent.

Requiem for Mr. Chan

News of my teacher's death came through the e-mail today. Funny how such news can travel so fast. I remember reading somewhere, a long time ago, about a boy who had to read aloud the telegram reporting his mother's death because his father couldn't read or write. How times have changed. But I digress.

The e-mail was short, a succinct announcement of just the name and the time of death, ending with a line promising more details to follow. That was it, a rather unceremonious note to the populous. At first, the name meant nothing to me as I haven't thought of this particular teacher for over ten years. Then little trinkets of memories slowly rose to the surface, suddenly the disembodied name had a face and emotions associated with it. All of a sudden, I was back in seventh grade sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field during lunch. Next to me was a teacher sitting there smiling as he watched the school children running around chasing after a soccer ball. I remember it being a curious thing because teachers don't usually sit outside in the heat during breaks, instead they hid in their air conditioned lounges gossiping away, probably dreading the lunch bell which signals another hour or two of facing down our bratty lot. Yet, there he was, a serene look upon his face. I don't remember what it was that made him looked my way, I think it was the fact that I was the only kid not playing on the field. But he looked at me and asked me why I didn't join in the fun. I just shrugged and said I wasn't good enough. He nodded, and motioned for one of the kids to come over. Next thing I knew, I was in the midst of the fray, running about, without a clue of what I am supposed to be doing, but nonetheless part of something. That was my first encounter with this quiet teacher. Each lunch, I would find him sitting at his usual spot, sometimes with a book, but often times just sitting there watching us play, perhaps vicariously living off our enjoyment.

I got to know him a bit more over the next two years, and although he never taught me in a class I realized I have gained quite a bit of hidden treasures simply through our daily interactions. He was a jovial person, with a certain serene quality about him. I guess the Chinese classics and philosophy certainly rubbed off on him because he seems to embodied a lot of the virtues that flew by my ignorant head. The calm that radiates from him, the dignity in which he carried himself was the culminate manifestation of a disciplined mind. We would talk of random things, topics ranging from Chinese history to daily musing. Looking back, I now realize how profound and enlightening those conversations were. He was indeed very didactic. There was no pretense, nor was he ever preachy. Instead he was inquisitive, and constantly prod me gently to observe life's lesson through the smallest thing. I think most importantly, he taught me the greatness behind simplicity. It was never about grand theories for him, instead it was about searching and being open to answers from any source, however irrelevant they may appear at first.

I guess he was a much beloved teacher, I never quite found out because after two years I switched schools and never talked to him again. Pretty soon, his existence vanquished beneath the other chapters that marked my youth. That is until today when the e-mail arrived with a name and a date of death. Funny what you remembered, and funny how people can impact you without you ever realizing it until you are suddenly confronted with mortality. I don't think I know this teacher well enough to eulogize him properly. I shall leave that to his more sincere pupils. But I believe him to be a decent fellow, and I lament his departure from this transitory earth. I will remember him fondly as the guy who managed to get me in on my first soccer game at a new school. I shall miss the tactful way in which he instilled knowledge upon me, wraith-like suggestions turning into concrete concepts that has subtly sustained me all these years.

Farewell Mr. Chan, you shall be missed.

Touch

During a recent Toastmaster meeting, my friend prompted a response from me with this question "Name one thing that you did a lot as a kid but less so since growing up". Being the dimwit that I am, I made some hasty response about being able to take more naps. There wasn't a whole lot to elaborate on; I used to sleep a lot, and now I am an insomniac, case closed. Yet, the question continued to gnaw at me after I was done; after all, I have got to admit the whole nap thing sounded really lame once you hear it. That, and I have just revealed to a room of relative strangers that I have a sleeping disorder- an infliction that one can only assume is a minor manifestation of the psychotic iceberg that is I.

Unfortunately, like so many of my other serendipitous moments, revelation came late and I came across a blundering idiot. But let us not dwell on that, but rather upon that delayed light bulb. I believe the answer I was looking for at the time was “Touch”. I can sense some of you cringed away from me when I said that- colorful notions perhaps intruding that Victorian attic of your soul? Regardless, amongst the many things that I did as a child but significantly reduced in frequency once attaining adulthood was touching. I was myopic at an early age, developed selective hearing later on, and was tongue tied for the most part. The one faculty of sense that remained intact throughout my formative years was my sense of touch. As a child, I liked to feel things, to explore and familiarize myself with the contours of whatever object that is within reach. I love how I can tickle my fingers with the corners of my blanket; it was a source of security, entertainment and comfort to feel the blanket there at my fingertips. I enjoyed caressing the ivories, the music I could make, the emotions I could emulate simply by varying pressure on different keys – its magical.

For a long time, reaching out and touching formed the basis of my existence- it was primitive but informative. The most important thing that touch offered me was closeness to another human being. In particular, it allowed me to relish in the joy of holding my mother’s hand (insert Oedipus reference here). Oh, I became familiar with those hands. Those hands could deliver swift justice when the need arise; and believe me, the imprint of those hands smart for a while. Yet, it was the touch of those hands that guided me, supported me in my hour of need.

Touch allowed me to embrace love- love that grows ever elusive as I grew older. I can not explain in words the wonderfulness that comes with being able to hug someone, to let your guard and feel secure simply because someone is holding you. At that singular moment when you are locked in an embrace, you are both vulnerable and not. It is awe-inspiring. It is amazing what a gentle nudge in the right direction can do. It is equally amazing how holding someone’s hand brings you closer to God. Our sense of touch is God’s gift to bring us closer to life and all the abstract virtues that were once seemingly incorporeal. Touch allows us to be intimate with someone, it opens us to new horizons simply because we connect. The mere proximity, that slight tingle when you are standing close enough to someone whom you can share a touch with is in fact gateway to something divine.

Sadly, in our society, we seem to frown upon touching. Proper decorum demands that we wean ourselves of being overly touchy feely. In particular, a gentleman should always ensure that his hands are in the proper place. A firm handshake, a slight wave shall suffice for us grown adults. We are our own entity, we each have personal space, and any attempt to reach out can be viewed as a hostile invasion. We cringed; we backed away until slowly we collapse in our own little world void of human touch. Touch slowly becomes stigmatized, associated with the wrong connotations. Ever noticed how words like caress sounds close to harass and molest, when in reality caress should only be associated with emotions of care and love. As I grew older, the concept of “look but don’t touch” became so ingrained that I find myself no longer capable of touch. I find myself distancing myself, separating myself so that I am untouchable… and that speaks of deeper issues. When we fail to reach out, when we fail to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to come in direct contact with another being, then we shut ourselves from a healthy system of support and care that would otherwise serve to push us further in our journey. Perhaps that is why I lie sleepless night after night, because my heart has become cold and foreign to the warmth that only holding hands can offer. Perhaps that is why I hesitate because I have taught myself to hold back.

So yes, touch was something I used to do a whole lot as a child until I was reprimand to the point where I refrained from doing much as an adult.

Cooking

You have been given the materials to bake cookies. There is the slightly bitter chocolate, gooey eggs, dry flour and salty butter; there is even an oven burning at 450F. Now the question remains, are you going to reject each of these ingredients based upon their individual taste, or will you endure it all and bake a wonderful pan of cookies for your friends.

Everyday we are given lots of crap by those around us and by circumstances surrounding us. It is only natural to feel downtrodden, and disappointed when we are confronted with such unpleasantness. But should we throw down our shovels, saying "to hell with it all" and forgo the chance of planting a beautiful garden? Or can we step back and realize that everything that is seemingly bad is in fact an ingredient to making something better?

The past few days, I have been cooking and cleaning compulsively as means to avoid certain pressing issues in my life. Cooking and cleaning has a calming affect upon me, and for a long time I don't quite know why. Friends have often joked that they are convinced that I am gay whenever they see me cooking and later cleaning away in the kitchen. I don't know, there is much simple pleasures working away in the kitchen. I love it when the chemistry works, and the ingredients blend together to emanate delectable aroma. I love the heat radiating off the stoves, soup boiling in the pot, the bubbling steam as ebullient as my heart. I like the squeaky noises that dishes make when they are cleaned. I love the feel of warm water upon my skin, and the sense of accomplishment that goes with cooking a great meal and cleaning everything up afterwards. 

Perhaps it is because the kitchen allow me to practice that controlling side of me that few has come to know. I may be easy going on the most part, but there is nothing I like better than feeling like I am in control somewhat, and the kitchen offers me that security. In it, I can guide the destiny of each dish I prepared, I have the ability to wreck chaos and later restore order. I am a sorcerer given the power to turn the most bland or foul ingredients into a delicious meal. Onions, olive oil, eggs and various herbs are thrown into a cooking ware to bring out the best in nearly tasteless vegetables and bloody meat. From fermented yeast and lots of gas I can rise dough to make bread. Give me a pinch of salt, a clove of garlic and some intense heat, and I can cook you a dish you will not soon forget. It is a wonder to see new recipes at work, to learn new ways to complement ingredients so that they produce amazing results.

The kitchen becomes my little fiefdom where I can learn about the facts of life under a controlled environment. Through it I have learned that you don't always need intense heat to cook something, but rather let things slowly boil at decent temperatures (often on a back burner) until the right taste is coaxed out. I have learned to be patient, to acknowledge that when the recipe says it takes 10 minutes, it will probably take me 30 minutes to get it right. I have learned to be experimental, to understand that what is written in cookbook are merely guidelines. They are somebody else's rendition, and that if I are take some poetic license, trusting in my intuition, chances are I will be surprised by awesome results. When I step back, I realize what is important about cooking is not just the final product but the process itself. It is a great plus if there is a well cooked dish at the end of all the preparation and hard work, but by the time I am done cooking, I realized that part of my hunger is satisfied just by the smell alone. Later on, when I go ahead to wash the dishes, it is the same. There is not a whole lot that you can not wash away with detergent, a good sponge and healthy does of elbow grease. The strong smell of garlic can be easily washed away using salt and hot water. That is also true in life, there are ways to rid yourself of the stink that life's garlics clung onto you. 

In many regards, life's lessons can be learned by spending time in the kitchen. Having hide in it the past few days, I have come to a couple of revelations on how to deal with several of the problems that affronts me in life. The reality is I may have been handed some awful standalone ingredients. They are not all that pretty, but it is up to me to find a way to utilize them to bring out the best. Who knows, out of all that is fishy, stinky and seemingly fermented I may perhaps dish out some grand concoction. So bring it on, give me heat, give me burning ginger, stinging onions and malodorous garlic; I will strive to make them work. Just remember, we are always handed the right ingredients, it is up to us to concoct something great or throw it all down and quit the kitchen. 

Late Night Ramblings

 should be sleeping, but alas I am not. Pacing about the room like a caged animal at the zoo, I stare out into the night. No moonlight this night to bathe my room in a milky glow, left alone in ambient darkness do I sulk. A mind that refuses to rest, a heart that continues to beat nonetheless, I seem to have lost control over my own body. I will my self to sleep to no avail. Counting sheep, looking for the shepherd, none of the usual remedies seem to work. 

I should be tired, I should be drained, yet restless I remain. Where is the battle? What keeps me awake? What am I holding onto? Why can't I seem to let go? I read the Psalters over and over, yet the words flow meaningless to me. All about me is serenity, the night is tranquil after the storm. But instead of being at peace, in stillness brings sharp contrast my unrest. 

Conscious I may be, but even as I write I am frustrated by exhaustion's affect upon my ability to express. There is something I feel I need to profess, a goal that requires attainment before I can goo to bed. But what? Oh what? This is torture, this is bad, I am up in madness, in fatigue's false rush. Curse be upon the devil in me who denies me rest, for in the morning when God bade me I shall be weary and laden with tiring dread. 

Ah Lord, have mercy upon me this night. Help me to surrender and cast asunder all needless worries and thoughts. If you will not smite me, at least grant me these little moments of death. If the angles be silent, at least allow me to hear the lullabies in my own head. I know not what to ask of you, nor do I feel I am of sound mind to even ask you what I should ask. But if you will, be still my whole being. The devil is near this night, it taunts me to curse you. It deprives me, it tempts me, but I will not be moved with your help, so please send help before I am so weakened that I denounce you as Job did once.

May You Know That You Are Loved

Shed no more tears for me little one, for in truth you have not lost all that much. Aye, it may seems more limitations have been placed upon you unjustly. But without them you will never know just how far you can go. Your wings may be tied, but that should not prevent your soul from touching the skies. Besides, what we have is beyond what others can confine. Our souls have touched, and while we must drift apart as people often do, never are my thoughts far from you. 

What you have no one else can take; your memories, your heart, your mind, your soul are yours to keep. Therefore be not sad, but savor these moments as much as you can. We may not walk hand in hand, we may not travel side by side, but ours has never been physical but spiritual. I take joy in your companionship, but I delight even more in your mental well being. Therefore, be happy, be hopeful, and pray He who sits high above may have pity on this folly of ours. To each should be allowed one folly, let this be mine as it may be yours. 

The multitude may have spoken, but in the end it is between you and I by and by. Fret not upon the tomorrows for in reality we only have today. Therefore don't let the burden of guilt ruin your day, nor despair block your way. This bothersome pair only exist because we try too hard to care what we cannot. In the end,your heart shall steer you clear. 

Be willing to surrender control to what was not yours to control. Let go of guilt, seek not to hold, but live and remember. Today, we may face forks in the path. Who knows? Down the road those forks may meet and conjoin once again. And if indeed must we part ways, there is always the moon, the stars and the sun to relay our mutual bond. 

Regardless, you are loved. Loved by those who were chosen for you, and by him whom you have chose. These are not conflicting loves for love is love. Thus I urge you dearly to step back and just enjoy being loved. You are worth it, seek no more to please, but just acknowledge you are loved.

The beginning or the end?

Have the curtains truly fallen?
Has the music really stopped playing?
Or is it in the silence still, the melodies ring even more salient
Can you really not hear the lyrics to every song that has been played? 

You said to me that this cannot be.
There is after all no real life romantic comedy
But is that truly from your heart, or from a script poorly written?
Who’s to say ours must be a clique tragedy? 

You told me to let it be, and perhaps I may,
For I have learned the hard way that
Love should never be means to hold one hostage,
As the ransom is often not what we are ready to pay.

While I shall fight against all others for your affection,
Never will I place myself in direct contention against blood of your blood.
That is one burden that I will not place upon you,
But it should never have come to this, a decision of me or them.

Love should never be a competition. Love is sacred, love is holy.
Who are we to measure God’s gift to all human kind?
Who are we to deem unholy what He has made holy?
Did He not create you and I in His likeness? 

Who is to say that this is not His love that beats fervently within our hearts?
Is it because our ardor is so great, so absolute that it frightens them?
That they would resolve to all means to contain it, define it, control it, condemn it?
If you must love as they will it, then that is not true love is it?

Alas, I can ask no more of you than what you have given me.
Neither can I take back the things which have been bestowed you so willingly.
Forever you shall hold my soul, my whole in your hands;
Until that day when you find me loathsome because of my person. 

You said for me to forget. That can not be and will never be.
For everywhere I go, I shall smell the scent of lemongrass and berries lingering.
I can not forget that which has made me the happiest in my known memory
When the world has turned cold, and I have grown old, this is all I have left -
The warm glow of you and I side by side these few months.

Has the play truly stopped?
Did you quit the stage on your own accord?
Even so, I shall remain; I hear the piano playing
Of feathers slowly flutter by, of butterfly lovers who never die.

Then let these be my parting lines for now
"Since my love cannot love me, I will love for love's sake. 
I will love no other as I have you - nor should you wish that upon me. 
It is inconsequential what shall happen to me, 
as I shall find my cocoon to morph into someday. 
Be far from me if you must, for I shall not make you choose. 
Yet, even in absence shall not my feelings for you ever dampened. 
I love you, I love you, I love you."


Je t'aime, tu est tout qui j'adore. Je ne regretterai jamais, ni vous vous lamentez sur il. Pendant que vos yeux sont desséchés, sont ainsi les miens.

Peaceful Slumber Denied

Disclaimer: I apologize before hand for the racy elements of this poem. This is an experiment of mine to emulate some of the Spanish poetry I have encountered. 

Peaceful Slumber Denied
Sleep, that maiden fair, coyly eludes my persuasion to bed.
Heedless to my heartfelt woos, once more she stoically pass me by .
“Not this night my love,” whispers she to me from afar,
“Tonight you converse with the stars until morning dews your eyes wet.”

So I wistfully sat as minutes past into hours, dreamless,
Lusting for an evanescent union with that seductress and her wares.
Oh, what wily art she’d possess, my soul does wilt without her touch.
My body collapses, my mind driven mad in her absence.

In her arms I have known of horizons unhindered; in her bosoms passions unchecked.
When our bodies locked, we’d pulsate to unfathomable plateaus.
Hand in hand, we'd elope from worldly somber, and climaxed beyond wakeful senses.
Bathed in fountain of rejuvenation we would, until the sun did bid us wake.

But, alas, not this night! No! I shall be so denied.
Void of her tranquility, sans her serenity,
I must make welcome the coming of one more dawn, deprived.
Sleep, that maiden fair, left me treacherously hanging in lassitude’s lair.

A response to "If" by H. Hoffman

And as he spoke these words of wisdom, she thought to herself:

"Yes, He remembers my birthday, but more importantly He remembers to treat me as if every day is my birthday. Yes, he always walks on the side of street that offers me the most protection, but more importantly He walks with me. Yes, He opens doors naturally for me, doors to world about which I have only dreamed. Yes, He anticipates my needs and fulfills them like no one else. Yes, He compliments me sincerely every day simply by choosing to spend every precious moment with me and no one else. Yes, He knows all my little peccadilloes, and He still holds me in the highest regards. Yes, He holds my hands, but more importantly he holds my heart. Yes, He makes me laugh to no end, lifting my spirits to unfathomable limits. Yes, He invokes a feeling of perfection, for He has chosen me above all others. Yes, He pretends I am right even when I am wrong, placing me on a pedestal upon which He should truly stand. Yes, yes, yes, He understands the value of waiting for me, but He should not have to wait forever. Yes, He acknowledges my achievements and encourages me to pursue my dreams, even if those dreams lead me down roads less traveled. And yes, with a simple glance, a modest whisper, the slightest touch, He causes my heart to swell with a form of affection that words cannot describe... well, at least words befitting this declaration filled with sincere thoughts exuding purity.”

And as she turned away from him to face her betrothed, lingering stoically near the altar, she confessed, “But He is not the one standing in front of me at the end of that aisle. He is the one standing behind me; the One who should be standing beside me until the end of time.”

By H. Hoffman

If

She went up to him on her wedding day, the prettiest bride there is, and asked, "So, what do you think of him? Have I chosen right?" 

And he looked at her, standing there in her wedding gown, a beautiful woman and at once a timid girl seeking for one final approval. What would be the right answer, no, better yet, what would be the prudent one? He had known this day would find him, and he had envisioned every possible angle that he could handle it. In some recess of his mind, he had silently wished that it would not be so, that he would not be subjected to this scenario despite all caution and preparations. Yet, here he is now, standing there, the fool who is given an innocent enough question that proves the hardest one to answer. There is no time to think it through, not that he needed it anyway as he knew long ago to show any hesitation when this moment arrive would cause distress on her part. But it would have been nice to have a moment to regroup before those well rehearsed lines evaporate as he gazed into those quizzical eyes. 

"If he can remember your birthday, and the birthdays of everyone who matters to you, and act upon it. If he will always walk on the side of the street that will offer you the most protection. If he can open doors, and pull up a chair for you naturally. If he can anticipate your needs before they can manifest themselves. If he can compliment you sincerely every day. If he can tell all your little peccadillos, and notice all your nanosecond expressions, from that slight twitch of your mouth when you want to bite back a comment, to that minute wrinkle of your nose when you find something amusing. If he understand that it doesn't matter that it is 70 degrees outside, you would still need him to hold your hands to keep them warm. If he knows how to make you laugh, and does so. If he knows what makes you cry and prevents it. If he can make you feel comfortable about the fact that you are not perfect at times, but that you are perfect for him regardless. If he can forget the many times that he was right and you were not, and remember all the times that you were right. If he can keep up, and you are willing to slow down a bit, so that you both are always side by side. If he understand the value of waiting for you, no matter how late you are, and smiles like it is the first time he has seen you in years each time you two meet again. If he knows which are the battles worth fighting, and which wars are you to conquer on your own. If he can be proud of your achievements, and push you to go on further, and if you can do likewise. If your pupils dilate, your heart swells with overwhelming tenderness towards him each time you see, hear, or feel something that reminds you of him. If the answer to all of these questions, and perhaps many more is 'Yes', then yes, you have chosen wise, and therefore go in peace and love him with all your heart as he loved you"

"and most of all," this he said silently to himself as she turns away with such contentment and joy radiating from her being, "if  he loves you as I loved you, to an extent that you will never know, then yes, by all means, you have done right by marrying him."

Set Sail

Upon this beach I stand, 
    rolling waves upon shingles, 
        bubbly, sinewy, and carefree.     
            Chilly water trickling at my feet. 
                My sleeves billowing in the cool sea breeze.
 
The horizon as far as the eyes can see,
    offers no boundaries to what one can achieve. 
       Yet, here we abide, beside tempestous water's edge
          Wanting, hopeful, and yet fearful of venturing ahead 
             Can the seas be conquered? Can the ocean be tamed? Who will know?

Yet without trying, without setting sail, how can we ascertain
    that our dreams are for real ? So I beseech you, to dawdle no longer. 
       Hesitate not, and go forth, until you have reach earth's far reaching ends.
          Until your dreams have been attained, til you can rest assure you have not lived in vain.
             Go forth sailor, your body's your vessel, your heart's a steering wheel, embark and set sail.

My Countenance

Not too long ago, I came across a photo that looked like it could have come out of the National Geographic's Special Edition on the Mars Explorer. It showed a reddish landscape void of life - barren and filled with craters. If you looked closely enough, you would see traces of where the essence of life once flowed freely but now sucked dry and decayed. It was not a very promising photo, one may say it was very fitting for the issue of the lonely planet. 

Yet, this was not a photo torn from an issue of the National Geographic, or for that matter The Geology Annals. No, this was a blow up picture of my face. Indeed, I was horrified to discovered that the contours that I had mistaken earlier for valleys and folds of a once lushed planet is in fact the outlines of my facial structures. That volcano in the background is actually one of my nostrils, and the craters in the surrounding environs are really the scars of a puberty gone terribly terribly wrong. 

Ah, what agony, what despair it is to behold this heinous face of mine. So depraved, not even aliens would inhabit it. This is where uni-cellular organism came to die. It is a desert high in pH and rich in fossil fuels from failed cultures of bacteria. This is my face... and my oh miy, what a face it is.

At last, I understand why I seemingly have the Medusa effect on others. What I mistaken for due reverence is actually disgust and mixed marvel at the planet Mars that seems to tread among mankind. I have inherited a countenance that could smoothen out sand paper. 

Sensing my distress, a group of Andy-friendly persons formed a Blue Ribbon Committee to explore options on what can be done to alleviate the blemish region. After much reconnaissance, the committee discovered that what appears to be a barren wasteland is in fact a breeding ground for the inflammatory insurgents of Acne cells. These splinter cells have laid dormant over the years, accumulating the means to actually turn my face into a Weapon of Mass Destruction (WMD). Concerned that a future break out would crippled the region, making it susceptible to further erosion, the committee of Andy Friendly Persons (AFPs) called for a decisive preemptive strike on designated high threat regions. Operation FreeAcne was officially given the green light, and profiles of selected targets were drawn up. 

Invasive facial products were quickly assembled, and deployed to the region on active duty. (The first time I heard the term Product, my mind immediately wanders to the many advertisements which populated my spam box. Luckily, the AFPs were quick to lift me from the ground zero, and showed me the miracle that is Facial Products). In is decided that if we were to win this war on Acne, we must take the battle to them on their own turf. 

The first part of Operation FreeAcne commenced with the carpet bombing of inflicted regions with Deep Cleansing Pellets (DCPs). These DCPs have the ability to penetrate deep into the foxholes of Darkhead warriors, flush them out and subsequently pulverize them. For the first few weeks, the Darkheads were pinned down by the heavy artillery of DCPs.

Elite squads of Moisturizing Units (MU) were then deployed to systematically engage and destroy all aggressive Darkheads and Hormonal Insurgents (HIs). Night and day, with brutal efficiency, the MUs clashed head on with the HIs congregating in the area. Soon, much of the insurgencies were stemmed out, and the choke hold that the HIs once enjoyed over the inflicted area was broken.

Once the region was stabilized, a team of Re-Vitalizing Specialists were sent in. They first steam-roller through the rabble, clearing it of layers of dead debris. Then, vital nutrients and moisture were air dropped into the region, providing relieve to the region that had suffered from drought and famine under the Acne insurgent's rule. Irrigation systems were implanted, and a temporary coalition of Vitamins was set up to help the region become self sufficient again. 

It remains to be seen how effective the treatment was, but as of now, it can be said that much of the wasteland has been reclaimed and are now showing signs of life again. AFPs will revisit the region in a couple of months to gauge the improvements made, meanwhile, the three core branches of Facial Product (Deep Cleansing, Moisturizing, and Revitalizing) continues to work hard in building attractions to the area again. 

Keep Watch This Night

The wintry wind blew upon my face, its icy touch serves to remind me that I am live. Its 2am in the morning, and I have no idea why I am still up. The past few nights have been the same, my slumber interrupted by the need to rise and keep watch during the night. But keep watch over what though? So I sit, each night, on the front steps of the house, pondering the unknown. I can not recall what my mind was pondering, perhaps it was nothing, or perhaps it was everything.. but always like the whiteness that encompass all colors, my memory is blank.  In those hours between dusk and dawn, when the morning star is at its brightest, I recalled much, and I have forgotten much. 

The silence and stillness of the night causing a sonic buzz in my ears. I feel alert, and yet I know it can not be for I should be weary. It seemed not long ago when I would roam the streets at this hour, and paced my troubled soul to tranquility. Yet no longer have I the urge to do so here, here in this modern neighborhood the serenity is somewhat lost. Always a car would pass by and awaken me from my strolling reverie. Here, the doors are locked to me, the windows black, and the scenery stale. The stars in the sky is masked by the ambient urban light, the street lamps casting sterile cones in the darkness, more sinister than welcoming. So I sit, upon the steps, and be still. Be still as the minutes pass into hours, until I feel the gentle glow of dawn caressing my hand. Thus I bid welcome to the arrival of a new day, and watch as darkness wane before the sun's penetrating rays. Then do I feel I have done my part to keep watch this night, but over what I know not.