Memoir 3

Facts are simple and clear. They are what they are. But nitwits don't accept that. They have to inject their own biases and prejudices into them. Take the Book (Byblos, Biblia, Bible, I don't bother to add here the Vietnamese word since it offends my sensibilities so much. Saintly Scripture, my ass!), for example. It contains some verifiable facts, but it has far more baloney and bullshit stories than a man like me can stomach. Yet millions of nitwits believe in the literal meanings of those bullshit stories about miracles and resurrections and the like. How can you explain that except to give credence to a theory that the feeble-minded nitwits need fairy tales to help them go through life. You just can't argue with stupidity and sophistry. In the end, you just shake your head and walk away with a mixture of contempt and pity for undeveloped minds.

So, I zipped through the episode involving Laura, without bothering to touch on the gory details of courtship, the three-year bliss, and the shattering lies and bullshit that preceded and followed her dumping of me. I often wonder if I still love her. I don't think I do, but I am not sure. At any rate, as mentioned earlier, I don't believe in Love anymore. Not really. I've seen too much selfishness, too much preoccupation with self, too much self-righteousness to fall for that myth again. Love has to be gentleness and acceptance and caring and sacrifice and endless giving. Love is not an expectation of reciprocity, not peevishness, not temper tantrum, not defensiveness, not sarcasm and gamesmenship. Love is constant and patient forgiveness since deep down we understand the person we love and the values and attributes he/she possesses. That person may no longer love us or has never loved us, but if the values and attributes he/she once possessed are still there, we should continue loving that person. Just because our love is not reciprocated, it would wither and dry up and blow away. That kind of love is not love. It's called commercialism and bartering. It's called cheap and crass. Yet, all too often what we offer as love for another human being is nothing but a cheap, easy instrument of exchange.

So, we open our minds to understand, and our hearts to accept and maybe to love. Love is impossible without understanding. But sometimes even though we understand, we can't bring ourselves to love the person because he's so evil, so obnoxious, and so stupid for us to be bothered to open our hearts, because the person disrupts our sense of peace and is a threat to our equilibrium and sanity. We thus walk away in indifference and relief from such a person because his presence, his very existence, his words, and his deeds are so disgusting that they are no different from a pile of stinking shit. Nobody in their right mind woukd come close to a pile of steaming, stinking shit and poke his fingers into it and plays with it. Similarly, no right-thinking human would come near a loathsome, obnoxious, disgusting person. Yet, despite having this insight, I purposely behave in an manner that makes me appear unloveable. Why? Perhaps I am looking for a love that is rare, constantly forgiving, and eternally patient and sweet? Admittedly, I have tried to be more pleasant and socially acceptable lately. I have been less confrontational and belligerent. I have learned to be quiet and undisturbed. May the wisdom in me gently guide me to peace.

I've been mouthing off about love, but I know much more about love's flip side, hate. And right now, I am working on my body and my spirit to prepare myself for the day of reckoning when I must deal with the Midget, the Monkey, and the Coward. The Big Mouth, the Arrogant, and the Hypocrite are not on the distinguished black list yet, but they soon will be if they keep up their antics. Those who fucking attack me without any provocations must pay a price sooner or later. Life, in essence, is very simple: avoid troubles, but when troubles visit you, you don't run away. You deal with them. Silvio once told me that. I retorted, "But, Silvio, you complicate life with that attitude of yours. Why don't we just walk away." Silvio just doubled over laughing and said, "Roberto, I never told you not to walk away. Feign retreat, but don't ever forget. And always be ready. Don't be a weakling, especially mentally."

I was busy bragging and boasting about my preoccupation with foreign languages and forgot the underlying Freudian reason for doing so until I read in the news that Colin Firth, the actor who got an Oscar for his virtuoso performance as a stuttering monarch in the "King's Speech" is now ironically developing a stammer in real life. That reminded me that when I was a young child, I had a severe speech impediment. Not only I stuttered badly, I also mispronounced words. I got that from my father and now my son also has the problem but only when he is nervous. I still can't pronounce and articulate certain sounds, but I hardly stutter now. I think with years of being laughed at, I developed an ever-ready aggressiveness, bordering on truculence and belligerence. More importantly, the intense efforts of making my thoughts known verbally somehow awakened all latent language skills, making me more attuned in language acquisition finer points. I thus developed and have maintained an interest in languages and linguistics.

I lost control of my cool today when I told Kim off. She was too concerned with herself to see any reality. She reminded me of myself and the oroblems I ran into when realities came crashing down and then I had to endure the disrespect from everybody. I started all over at the bottom and worked my way back up. And I still didn't see the light until I blew 150 big ones down the drain. Now I am working for peanuts when I could take it easy and work for big bucks. Well, life was like that. You didn't learn to see until you burst your nose crashing around in the dark. The nonchalance Tina took with regard to your lost mail was just incredible.