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.