After my parents made love during a stormy, rain-drenched night, they both knew a son was in the making. The earth shook and the sky thundered and rumbled all through that night
Apart from this planned, deliberate conception of me amidst lightning and thunder and winds and rain, and my entry into this world was no less dramatic which I may or may not elaborate and amplify later, I am hastening to emphasize that I have led an accidental, prosaic, quiet existence.
I fell in love three times accidentally with all the wrong women for alI the wrong reasons. I found a white-collar job accidentally. And I picked up writing accidentally. I didn't elect to write. Not really. Writing came to me. It forced itself on me and refused to go away. Some people reach for a bottle, a cigarette, or a gun when they feel things are out of joint, I reach for my iPad and my fingers start flying across the keyboard. I write therefore I am.
I just learned that humans are more fragile than they let on. Actually, I should not have been that surprised, but I was quite surprised nonetheless. That meant I was still sweet and innocent. On the other hand, that also meant I was stupid in defying conventional wisdom. Most humans are small-minded, mean, and not truthful when under attack or siege. They become ugly, dishonest, self-righteous, childish, pathetic, and pathetic. They become small. Some truths are better off unarticulated. If a person is smart, he would know them. Dumb asses can't understand them. Talking about these truths with them is like talking with children. An undeveloped mind makes a person forever a child, but he wouldn't know it. Maybe he does. Self awareness is not a given. Something is beyond your grasp if you don't have a capacity for it. Be mindful of the bigger picture and the final victory. Things must be in proper perspective. Pay attention of the trigger points. Be eternally patient. Wait for the right moment. Life is all about waiting. Maybe forever. If the moment does not come. So be it. You can't force things.
We use words to heal, but we also use them to kill. Words are a knife. Their values lie in their use. They are a wondrous invention, a precursor to actions, a means of communication, a tool to supplement music---sound upon sound. Humans use words to define themselves and let others know who they are. Two human strangers. They size each other first from the physique, body posture, attire, and facial expressions. Then come the words which form lasting impression because they are the product of the mind. They are also the definitive statement of self-declaration. A person speaks and he is instantly judged by others by the choice and rhythm of his words. I was recently involved in a protracted, ugly verbal brawl with ignorant, pig-headed, biased, brainwashed, and vicious scumbags. A few friends told me privately I should have chosen the Middle Way and stayed away from the brawl. My answer to them was as follows:
"Before you arrive at the Middle Way, you must go through the experiences of living/experimenting the extremes, otherwise you don't really know what the Middle Way is. It's one thing to just know something conceptually, but to really know something you must live/experience it. Life is the collision of the extreme forces, within and without. Now you have seen one extreme side of mine. You will see the pendulum swing back and I will be reticent, amiable, taciturn, laconic, and wise. Don't you know lurking behind the façade of a bombastic fool is the serene indifference of a smiling saint?"
Yes, after all what has been said, i arrived at a hypothesis that I am the only human that I know that doesn't practice hypocrisy and doesn't accuse others for precisely the sins and shortcomings that I possess. I am not a fake as so many people around me are. Of course, I despise fakery and fakers. They are dishonest and they are weak. A few years ago, a not-too-smart, good-for-nothing woman loser told me that I was a stupid loser! I was stunned by her intemperate remark. A wave of understanding about how lesser humans "think" washed over me then. They definitely don't think as I do. My friends, if you are superior to me in any activity or trait, I would never deny that fact. It is what it is. I don't wish it to disappear. I don't deny its presence. Your superiority would not bother me one iota, even if you brag about it. In fact, I would try to emulate your superiority. You have inspired me. You have pushed me to be like you, knowing that while I may not succeed in my quest, but I will surely be better for trying. That's me in a nutshell. I respect facts and truths and self-improvement. That's why I respect Obama (cool under pressure, articulate and compassionate) and Pope Francis (a humble, empathetic churchman and a very able politician who is revolutionizing his Church). I recognize them as my superiors and I am emulating/aping their behaviors.
Yesterday and today two fools tried to show off their stupid conceptions of Time in ungrammatical English. What a joke!
The first fool (Nguyễn Nhơn) wrote:
Life is too short.
Life is not too short nor too long
It's just time that flows always
As human soul flies by
Đời người không dài cũng không ngắn
Chỉ là thời gian trôi mãi
Khi hồn người bay bay
Life is not too short nor too long
It's just time that flows always
As human soul flies by
Đời người không dài cũng không ngắn
Chỉ là thời gian trôi mãi
Khi hồn người bay bay
Then the second fool (Ito, who else?) chimed in:
Time is not real!
It is your mind
Remember whatever passing by
Create an experience
Call it TIME!
Then the first fool gushed forth the agreement
Exactly, it's is our mind
That plays around the vanity world
And the immense universe
Đó chính là tâm ta
Dạo chơi nơi trần thế phù hoa
Và vũ trụ bao la
That plays around the vanity world
And the immense universe
Đó chính là tâm ta
Dạo chơi nơi trần thế phù hoa
Và vũ trụ bao la
The fact that I didn't bother to argue with these fools indicated I finally overcame my own stupidity to hold a dialogue with fools. I would learn nothing but irritations. Let them show off to the world their stupid understanding of Time in their fractured English. I am tired of correcting the errors of the way these lesser humans "think". I am tired also of their defensiveness, ignorance, self-righteousness, and lies. These lesser humans serve only to confirm my conception and perception of myself vis-a-vis them. They are good for my ego, but useless to my mind. I learn absolutely nothing good from them. My precious time must be devoted to good friends, learning, exercises, making money, and meditation.
I am on my way to Europe for 17-day vacation. The British accent of the flight attendant of the British Airways was crisp and very pleasing to the ears. Maybe I should adopt a British accent from now on.
The British accent reminded me of her. When I was in my 20's, 30's, 40's, and even early 50's, I used to think of her every day, every second of my waking moments .I also used to dream of her, too, every three weeks or so, like clock work. And the dream would be the same damned old dream. I would chance to meet her in the streets, and I would run after her, asking her the same damned stupid question, "But why did you leave me? What did I do wrong?". And she would say nothing. She just took off on her Honda, her long hair flying in the wind, leaving me behind watching her disappear from me, second by second, minute by minute. And I would wake up, feeling sad beyond measure. For years, I improved my mind because of her. I studied languages, read books, and learned how to write so that one day she would chance to discover that I wouldn't be the same Roberto she left behind when she was 24 years old and I was a fool at 23. Of course, I don't love her anymore simply I realized she was not as good a woman as I had thought she was. She was all brain and no heart whereas I am now very probably both heart and brain. One only really loves those for whom one has respect. The moment I stopped respecting her, my love for her withered on the vine. But Baby, even now as I am saying to the world I no longer love you, memories keep standing the way. Love was short, but memories are long, too long.
Guess what, you probably don't believe this, I forgave you. I forgave everybody. I had to. I wanted to live with joy, not with rancor. I hated being small. We all have choices, more than we think. We just have to say to ourselves that we want to be big-minded. Hate makes us small. Forgiveness makes us big and opens our heart and makes us get in touch with what Christians call Grace. A lot of Christians talk about Grace, but they cannot practice it. I ain't no Christian, but I know Grace and I practice it. And I have Peace within. Man is a clever animal. He invents concepts to help him survive, help him get through tough times, whether or not the concepts make sense or not. Of course, I wouldn't go too far down the make-believe lane/concept/myth and believe in a Personal God. Suffice to me that I subscribe to the concept of Grace because I know I myself need forgiveness, over and over again. Assholes and scumbags say that I am a hypocrite, but they don't know me. I have many bad traits, but hypocrisy is not one of them. They just don't know me well enough. They think I am just like them. They engage in self-projections. They can't and wouldn't admit that I am morally better than them. But I am. Trust me, I really am. People invariably discover that I am quite beautiful morally after they bother to get to know me.
Yesterday I visited the two most famous works (Casa Milà, La Pedrera; and La Sagrada Familia) of Gaudí in Barcelona. Today I spent time at the museums (Barcelona and Picasso) and a monastery called Montserrat built high up in the mountain. At night I partook in the nightlife on la Rambla neighborhood.
The Internet went down and I thus couldn't tell her what I wanted to say whenever I am physically away from her. Love is a mystery. It's more so when it's inarticulate and inexpressible because it's forbidden and strange. What others stupidly refer to as hypocrisy in me, is merely the manifestation of conflicting personality traits. As someone put it, I am a genre unto myself, comic, queasy, sweet and unnerving all in the same confusing, head-scratching, tongue-hanging moment. To talk with me is to encounter a series of non sequitur experiences. In other words, to have a conversation with me is to deal with humanity itself: conflicting and many-sided. No wonder I love words and languages. I traffic and revel in them. Only in them does my tortured soul find peace.
To say I love her is perhaps more an over-statement than understatement. At this stage in my life, I honestly don't know what love is anymore. I know about dreams, though. I dream and think of her often ever since she took my hands into hers and spoke passionately about what could have been. Anyway, life is never what we want, but what we make the most out of it. I have always been partial to polished stones and polished, stylish, cultured women. Bitchy women bring out the worst in me. In life as in art, bitchiness is bad manners. Friends, like readers, said W.H.Auden, must not be shouted or treated with brash familiarity.
Palma de la Mallorca is quite a city with thousands of sailboats in the marinas; the gorgeous, huge mosque/castle converted into a cathedral; and the masses of tourists congregating in the city, part of their journey to mainland Spain or to other bigger and more famous cities around the Mediterranean. Marseille is my next scheduled stop.
The last few days have brought on, into sharper relief, my awareness that one must have an unbridled curiosity of the world and boundless optimism in people in order to enjoy traveling. Also, one must savor the unsuspected moments of both joy and disappointment in condensed, concentrated encounters/discoveries of how people in different lands live and behave. In meeting and dealing with them, one knows something more about oneself. One must become an anthropologist, sociologist, and psychologist all at once. My traveling experiences have shown me, time and time again, people are the same and yet different from one another. To be human is to experience both solidarity and alienation with our own human brothers and sisters, whether or not they speak the same language, and share the same history and culture with us. To be human is to be both blessed and cursed at the same time. However, slowly and in concentrated dosage, I have learned to be more amiable and forgiving in dealing with people while recognizing most humans have a strong need to dominate others, and to win in any contest that they enter. Ego is a relentless master and a burdensome friend. To be happy is to recognize and deal effectively with this master and friend in others and in us.
Marseille was the oldest and second largest city in France. I took a little train that went by the old fort, the old winding road along the beach before clinging up hill the Guardian Cathedral which served as a military watch tower in times of war. The cathedral was beautiful. There was a statue of Jesus lying dead in front of the crypt section. I observed that many faithful touched the statue with loving adoration. And I was moved. And I had a moment of epiphany about Man's affinity for transcendence and sublimity.
La Spezia, Italy, was next on the itinerary. The city was pleasant. Free wifi was available throughout the city. I could go to Florence, but didn't feel like doing so as I was having a flu and felt a need for rest and sleep.
I am in Civitavecchia, a deep water port which is about an hour drive from Rome. I've been in Rome before. The Vatican City didn't move me. St. Peter's Square left me cold. The size and the throng of tourists made me shudder of the hold of pomp and pageantry on most of humanity, the lesser and ordinary humans in my book. Yes, the masses fascinate me for their herd instinct and slavishness. Yes, I hold them in utter contempt. Yes, I regard myself as an elitist. I can take religiosity in small dosage, as in the Guardian Cathedral in Marseille, but not on a large scale because a large scale display of religiosity induces humans into delirium and frenzy and blind adherence to raw emotions of herd instinct and irrationality whereas a small dosage of religiosity tends to bring on contemplation and communion and reasoning to the why and the how and serious quest for truths and relevancy of our existence.
I used to take pride in regarding myself as an artist. I used to beam broadly when people remarked that I had artistic sensibilities. Now I just live life with detachment and bemusement. I no longer care for the label attached to my existence. I just am, trying to hang on to life as long as I can while preparing myself for Death which may come at any moment.
Avila:
Teresa of Avila, the nun who was canonized and made Avila famous. I purchased a cap for souvenir.
Segovia:
-Cathedral of Segovia: last Gothic cathedral built in Spain. built to replace the one destroyed by war in 1525.
-El Alcázar: fortress cum royal residence high on the hill surrounded by most and river, remnants of artillery pieces left behind.
EL Escorial:
Hapsburg Royal Palace: splendor, extravagant, grand, wasteful use of public funds. Money taken from the colonies. Inept rulers. No wonder Spain went into decline. Containing a monastery where there is a court yard of the Jewish Kings: rebuilt the replica of Jewish temple
Valley of the Fallen:
23 years to build(1940-1963) to honor the fallen soldiers in the Spanish Ciivil War: a grand stone construction of monument and church. Franco was buried there.So was the fascist party leader. Death is the good bye of everyone and everything, including memories. As I am getting old, childhood memories play an important role.
Primark on Gran Via in Madrid:
A wonderful shopping experience, fashionable quality clothing merchandise at bargain prices, even lower than Walmart prices. Since the suitcase was already packed quite tightly, I could only squeeze into it pair of jeans and a winter scarf. The place was jam-packed with shoppers. It seemed to me that Madrileños do nothing all day but to shop, eat, and drink.
Few men (in fact no one ) that I personally know can rival me in ribald humor, emotional depth, lavish inventiveness in and love for language. It's true when I write fiction, as I am doing now, it's hard to follow my train of thoughts as I give free rein to the swift mutations of ideas and images. Do my words, in all of their exuberance, occasionally strike a false note? You can bet your sweet ass that they do, but frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. I write more for myself than for you. I am searching for a voice that's quintessentially mine. I am looking for a way to have both catharsis and peace in this lonely world of mine. Last night I once again had another significant dream involving SC. I found her naked with another man. I had a gun in my hand and threatened to kill him. He dared me. I didn't give in to the impulse. I called the cops instead. Then I woke up and felt cold and cynical.
November 8, 2015
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