Be real and be realistic

You told me you are realistic. You like news. You don't like novels and poetry. I am glad you told me all this shit. I am different from you. I like dreams and the impossible, the more impossible, the better. I like to swim against the tide. I want to expose myself to danger.

Haunting image

If you have not read about Buddhism, you would have a hard time of the unexpected haunting image of Laura. Instead, you replaced her with a different image and you said to yourself: "She's coming back in my mind because I have some worries and concerns right now. My mind is weakened by the worries and concerns. I need more sleep. I need more self-discipline. This haunting image, like all past bothersome occurrences, shall pass. It will pass. I will pass."

Things happened. And they might turn out good for you.

Your mind is now flooded with bad memories. Just to sit still and let them subside. You go with the flow. Don't be greedy. Keep your cool. You are learning more about yourself. You have to look at yourself with others' eyes, but preserve your own judgment. Use others' eyes only so you would know to interact. Don't be self-centered. Be mindful of the stranglehold power has on how humans interact, even in the matters of the heart. Keep busy. Improve your mind. Peace. Get enough sleep.

Some Like It Like This

-No, I don't care if you are coming back to me. No, I'm taking it back. Of course, I do, but I'm not putting pressure on you. I'm leaving it up to you. All I know is this: I love you. You're an incredible man, a rare man. And I don't think I will meet another one like you. In fact, I know it's highly unlikely I will fall in love again. If you're not coming back, I still love you and cherish and treasure the memories that we had. I believed you when you said you loved me. And I believe you still. You do whatever you feel is right for you. I only want the best for you. And I do want you to be happy.

-Oh baby, what a speech!
What a soul!
My heart bleeds
It now has a hole
Because of what you just said.
Don't turn away your head.
Come here!
Let me hold you as I did the first time
When we both heard our hearts chimed.
I'm leaving, but my heart stays.
I love you always.
Trust me, I'll find a way to come back to you.
Don't be blue. My love is true.

Wissai

Is it Stupidity or simply Sophistry?

Is it Stupidity or simply Sophistry?
I wrote a piece in simple, clear, direct English, free of the ornate, florid, convoluted, intricate expressions and advanced vocabulary. I shared it with a vixen whom I thought intelligent. Her feedback was so way off the mark that I refused to answer. I wonder if her strange comment was a product of stupidity or sophistry. Pride is always with me. It never left. It is all I have left.

Anyway, I look outside my window, elephant grass stretches for miles from the foothills to the horizon. They have been here for millions of years, changing colors and heights in accordance with the rainfall. Somewhere close by, a dog is barking weakly in the midst of the midday sun. Why I am the way I am? She said No. As I clicked off the phone, a nauseating feeling was washing over me. I will be okay. This, too, shall pass. I sometimes wonder if she really understands what I am trying to tell her. It could be that language, no matter how I try to be articulate, cannot express the music of meaning. 

I am telling you all this in order to hold the demon of memories at bay. My mind, I believe, is still cold and clear. It's itching to be cruel, but I am telling it No. I look outside the window again. Shimmering heat waves are dancing atop the swaying elephant grass. 

I am back to the book I am reading. It's about memories and regrets and years of saddling up and riding away into the night of tears and sorrows. I know that much about her. But she never knows that about me. Neither does she know I am walking away from her. She actually thinks the opposite. My mind is not that easy to understand, but fools and simpletons claim to possess a window into my soul. 

Afternoon is now drawing to an end. The air changes. There's now moisture. Winds pick up. Dark clouds are gathering. Then it happens. The sky splits and spills. Rain. Rain. Rain. Water is coming down from the sky like there's no end of supply. I go outside, with only my shorts on. I feel cool and refreshed. I feel the stresses and sorrows being strained away from me, but not the sins. The sins stay for me to deal with. I don't believe in baptism or redemption. I believe in taking responsibility for one's actions. I also believe in memories. I am now back in time, 54-56 years ago, playing in the rain, in the streets of my neighborhood, with a bunch of friends. How carefree and happy I was. I had a good childhood. My life has gone downhill in terms of happiness since my adolescence. That was when I discovered responsibility and love. I have had no problems with responsibility, but love's tentacles have had a hold on me, even to this day. And I am now 62 years of age. In all fairness, without love coiling around my neck and in my soul, I wouldn't be bothered to work on my physique and my mind. Yesterday, as I pumped iron, I actually felt my strength coming back. For some brief moments, I felt like I was in my late 20's, brimming with vitality and rugged lust. Later, as I looked at my bulging tummy in the locker room mirror, I made a mental note that the bulginess must disappear. 

I am going to live my life like a sunflower in the sun: big, blooming, full of fragrance and nectar, attracting all kinds of butterflies and bees. I am going to hang in there in the sun and throughout the night as long as I can until I buckle, blacken, and blow away in the wind.

Roberto Wissai

Amor Interruptus

Amor Interruptus

In these sultry sirocco summer days
I can't help thinking of sundry ways
Of expressing my ardor for you
Without making you think it's untrue....

Well, tonight I am looking at you in full concentration
And try to fathom my infatuation.
Where is the locus of my attraction:
The eyes, the smile,
Or the shriveled tits,
The budging tummy,
Or the shrunken behind?

None of the above.
It must be your heart
That knows fairness,
And the mind that knows right from wrong,
And your plaintive cry of loneliness.

So, I'm telling you, come hither
And let me hold you tight,
Let me sing for you a lullaby
That would help you pass through the night.
You don't have to tell me that you love me
And I don't have to declare that for you I care.
We just lie in each other's arms and feel less despaired.

You said," you've got me all wrong.
I was not playing hard to get.
I was being deadly afraid,
Afraid that your feelings were not true
And what would happen to me if away you move.
You knew damned well I was falling hard for you.
It is not so much you want to hold me tonight
As about many nights in the future.
Will you still then find me a delight?"


The above poem could be expanded to constitute a narrative, but writing verse is a demanding task. And I am not up for it. So, now I have to switch to prose. Notwithstanding the opening stanza, the title of the poem is evocative of an unfulfilled and unfinished love affair. And that means Laura is back on stage, occupying a focal point. I have been harping on Laura not because I still love her, but rather she was my first experience in understanding women. Several readers of my blog (okay, I lied. Only one reader so far. And she did so for obvious reasons) have raised a question that I have been using the mythos of Laura as an excuse of not growing up emotionally. She got it all wrong, you see. Thanks to the painful memories left behind by Laura, I got more cautious and more stoic. Nothing and nobody are going to throw me off balance

(cont.)

Ironies

You had a bemused and anoyed look on your face when she called. You didn't pick up the phone. You had heard through the grapevine she had descended further to new depths of depravity and loss of self-respect. Ironically, she was the one not too long ago who lectured you about dignity and self-respect and the importance of public opinion. One can always tell about liars and whores. They doth protest too much and too loudly. Then Chastity called. You picked up the phone. After beating around the bush, she asked you to go out. You accepted. The time you spent with her was mildly interesting because of her calculating "candor". She thought she could put wool over your eyes. You acted stupid and naive. Once again she was busy lecturing you about manners and social etiquette such as avoiding chewing gum in public and not using "okay?" as fillers in conversations. And this came from a woman who speaks broken, street patois of bar-girl English picked up by associating with GIs and degenerate drinkers and alcoholics. You are not saying that she is not smart. Far from it. She is sharp and keenly observant of her surroundings. She is playing hard to get with you. That annoyed you at one time, but no more. She is not as smart as she thinks she is. This time she came on strong and earnest. Little did she know your interest has faded fast. And she is now only part of a sociological and anthropological experiment. She forgot that consistency was everything and you have a good memory.

After the date, you stopped by the office to check how things were going. Patches looked sad and forelorn without his stylish Mohawk hairstyle. You asked him about the reason for its disappearance. He muttered about the presence of so many "haters" in this world. You pressed him further and he finally disclosed that his supervisor had told him not to be controversial in his appearance since he has to deal with the public. You laughed loudly at the absurdity. Patches was not amused. He looked really hurt that he had to get rid of his beloved Mohawk. Ah, the issue of power and the necessity of blending in. To beguile the time, look like the time.

You live one day at a time, building will-power to confront your demons.

(to be continued)

Qu'est ce que tu m'as dit?

Tu m'as dit,
Je t'aime, je t'aimerai toujours.
Mais maintenant je sais tu m'as dit les nots mensongers
Et les sentiments maudits.

Je t'ai dit,
Je te manque beaucoup.
Et maintenant je te manque encore.
Quand me^me je pense a toi parfois.
Mais non, je pense a toi
Tous les jours et toutes les nuits.

Wissai
24 juin, 2011

What would I say after "Hello"?

You complained that I didn't call you enough.
But I don't know what else to say after "Hello".
I know you're playing games with me, appearing to be tough.
While in fact you're just so so.
I do like you, but not enough to go crazy
And forfeit my dignity.
So, I won't call you anymore
You'll have to come to my door
If you want to get me,
Sweetie.

Wissai

When I First Met You

When I first met you

When I first met you,
I let a song come out of my heart.
I thought it was an auspicious start.
You see, I never sang in public before,
But you made my heart quiver and vibrate and long for more.
The day after, the sunlight was soft.
Shadows of branches swayed to and fro on a polished black wall.
I thought I was in love. This soul of mine was aloft
With hopes and dreams.
I took a long walk in the park, feeling strong and tall.
With feelings like these, no wonder
I like to fall in love over
And over again
With
You.

Wissai
June

Games people play

Many, many moons ago, right after Laura dumped me, when I was floundering about in the sea of depression, I chanced upon a book naned "Games people play" by Eric Berne (I think, I don't quite remember the detail. Too long ago. I am an old man now. I cannot get it up on demand anymore. And I am too proud and stubborn to seek chemical assistance). I leafed through the book. All I remember now it's part of transactional analysis. Life is a transaction, an exchange of resources, including feelings. To win the game of life, one has to follow certain rules. Sounds Machiavellian and conniving and full of common sense. But I am stupid and deficient in common sense. I insist on playing by my rules, which are: I am who I am, if you take the time to get to know me, you'll like me and perhaps even love me, otherwise I don't give a fuck (okay, I do, but not enough to change my way. I am childishly egotistical, but in a "nice" way).

Anyway, my stupid orientation and approach to life has hurt me, of course, but I am too pathological in self-destruction to change. Take her, for instance. I know she is playing a game of hot and cold with me, testing how hard I'm falling for her. She does not know the depth of my pride and the intensity of the importance I place on honesty and forthrightness and consistency. While I don't deny she does turn me on in some sick, illogical, impractical way, I am pedaling backwards emotionally and am already on a search for an exit. All these words, these confrontations with myself via songs and poetry are just my way to ease myself out of an emotional trap I find myself in. One, two, three, I will be free. Love has to be true and real and free of games. You love somebody because you cannot help yourself. You surrender yourself to a mysterious force, knowing that you may hurt yourself, but you don't really give a damn. Too much thinking of pros and cons and not enough feeling smells too much of mercantilism and commercialism. And I hate monetary and financial considerations when it comes to love. Love has to be pure and giving. Love is the gift that insists on giving until one day he or she is overwhelmed and responds decisively one way or another. Any game employed in the name of love would just sully love and leads to eventual break-up. Love in its purest state is not a choice; it's a surrender to the mysterious force of attraction and wonder and mystery and poetry and yes, insanity. What's the fuck I am yelping about? I am just playing a game with myself. That's right, you can play a game with yourself, but you must or rather, should not play with a heart of anybody. You must not be cruel, no matter how deeply you suffered in the past. You must be fair. You must not take out your hurts and disappointments on innocent people. If you want revenge and to exact vengeance, go to those who have hurt you in the first place.

So it finally happened---in the recesses of my mind

She finally called after holding out for ten days. The phone rang. I saw her name on the screen. I let it ring five tines. I was tempted to let ring till the recording kicked in, but that would be cruel, and I am not a cruel person. That has been my problem, not being cruel when I need to be. I have this stupid compassion within me. And it is often misplaced.

Anyway, I picked up the phone. She said simply, it's me. And then, as I expected and wished, she sobbed uncontrollably for three solid minutes (I was looking at my iPhone's timer). Then she said, I missed you, why didn't you call? I said, I missed you too, terribly, but I was angry and proud. Why, she wailed. Then she sobbed some more. I finally sighed, please don't cry, I'm coming over. Hurry please, but drive safe, she softly whispered.

When I got to her front door about twenty-five minutes later, I didn't have to ring the doorbell. She swung the door open and flew into my arms. I held her close, very close, to me. She pressed her groin against mine, hard. We didn't make it to the bedroom. We collapsed on the sofa. She, fully clothed, was on top of me. Her lips were glued to mine.

I remember spending the whole night with her snuggling close to me, her head resting on my muscular chest, a result of decades of pumping iron. My shirt was open, exposing my massive pectorals, otherwise I was clothed. Her pajamas were on. I didn't take them off, nor did I ask her to do so. I wanted her to be completely comfortable and relaxed. I was a patient man.

The next day, I called in sick. I spent the morning with her in the park. We were lying on the grass, underneath a cherry tree. The winds wwre brisk.The cherry blossoms floated in the air and finally settled down onto our faces. I caught a whiff of fragrance, a mixture of her perfume and the cherry blossoms. I felt strong and serene. I closed my eyes, taking in the fresh air, the winds, the fragrance, the sensation of her lying next to me in the park, in full view of the public, her left hand holding my right, while asking myself if I was falling in love. Then all of a sudden, Laura surfaced from the subconscious. I felt chilled. The year was 1968, half-way through the school term. We were having a date in the Botanical Garden cum Museum and Zoo in Saigon. I was lying in her lap on the steps of a secluded area, outside the Museum. I also was feeling strong and serene. I opened my eyes. A few blossoms were left on the cherry tree. They looked perfect. And when they were really perfect, they fell. The winds picked them up and helped them in their vain struggle against gravity. That was when they were absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful, the way they floated here and there and then slowly descended upon the ground, some not far from where we were lying. The ephemerality of beauty, of love, of life. I turned to face her. She was still having her eyes closed behind the stylish Silhouette sunglasses. I wondered if there would be another woman after her. Would my search for love end with her? Or would I be damned in unfulfilment because of Laura?

Father's Day

He called his son on Father's Day, not the other way around, to tell him, his surviving and only offspring that he loved him very much. The brief conversation left such a void in him that the subsequent 5 phone calls from various admirers and aficionadas could not fill. Love is a strange emotion, especially if there are blood ties involved.

Depressed and dejected on Father's Day, he dragged himself to the gym where he worked himself to exhaustion. On the way back to his apartment, he realized that his recent forays into romanticism were more for sociological investigations than the flutterings of the heart because his age and his philosophical mindset would always steer him to a tragi-comic outlook and conclusion on such last minute, desperate grasp of the straws of sentimentality before meeting the Maker.

-"Your fears and mistrusts and cynical views contribute to your loneliness, don't you know that? Don't you know that to live long, one has to have a youthful, vibrant outlook on life. Of course, one should not be too trusting or stupid and naive as one was in his youth. But one should not be a grumpy old man, spouting boring, cynical views all day long."

-Yes sir! I heard you loud and clear. Is there anything else you'd like to add? Summer is late and so am I. I normally would feel hot blood coursing through my veins by this time of the year. Instead, I hear the sirens of caution and the warnings of possible hurts and disappointments. The song "You Screwed Up My Life" was played with a note of urgency. The saxophone left a lingering, single wailing sound at the end, making me feel that the brassy sun was lost and forelorn behind thick billowing clouds.

-Roberto, I have a hard time understanding you. You walked away from a millionaire-heiress and widow. You turned down overtures of sexy admirers and aficionadas. But you're falling hard for a destitute, over-the-hill, twice-divorced, poorly-educated, occassionally untruthful woman with shriveled tits, fairly large tummy, and shrunken ass. I don't understand what she has that captivated you.

-Silvio, I know she lies occasionally, that she skirts around the truth from time to time. But she isn't that much different from many of us in that regard. On the other hand, she has basic honesty and kindness and self-respect. She isn't lazy. And she is concerned about image. She is more worried about what the common folks think of me, of my disdain for conventional wisdom than of her own image. She's poor, but she not once asked me for money. I like her smile, her courage, her singing. I know she won't be a tigress in bed, but somehow I have this feeling that if I hold her tight in my arms, she would quiver and quaver and tremble with fear and excitement and she would tell me that I need to focus on my well-being, on recapturing my wealth without damaging my health. She would say that she felt flattered and confused that I chose her over many other competing women. She would keep saying over and over again that, please don't make her suffer and bring her shame in the few years she still has on this planet. Last but not least, she wants me to be happy. My heart trampolines whenever she smiles at me.

-You're crazy. You read too many soapy, stupid novels. I have news for you. This world operates differently than you think. Forget her. She's bad news. Focus on making money. Go out with attractive, nice women. Stay away from talkative, querulous, garrulous old women. Stop looking for a mother figure. I know you miss your mother and you still love and pine for her. Be normal, Roberto, live like the rest of us. Be around attractive, young women. Don't fool around with over-the-hill old women. They are dangerous. They think too much. Don't trust them.

-Okay, here's the deal. I won't call her, not tonight nor any other night. I will be AWOL. If she really loves me, she would know where to look for me. She will break down and cry for hours. On the other hand, if silence is her route, then she will tread on that route alone, without me by her side. I won't be suffering. And essentially nothing is lost except a few dollars and time. I will be wiser. And I won't speculate if she has learned anything. I, on the other hand, have learned a lot, especially about myself. She was right the last time we talked. She said, focus on making money and take good care of your health.

-Now, you're talking! Be strong. Be practical. Don't be stupid.

(cont.)

Memoir 8

The defensive and obsessive protection of her interests led to your diminution of affection for her. That was probably why you dreamed of KL last night. This was your third dream in 44 years. You kept your affection hidden. Once in a blue moon, it comes out in dreams. Yet when you woke up, the image of Laura appeared and you felt sad. You vowed to yourself that you must regain your wealth, work on your body and mind. You keep making the same mistakes in reading people. And your compassion seems constantly misplaced. Watch your words. Seal your lips. And please be more gentle with yourself and others. Forgive and forgive and forgive. Stay away from evil people. You are not strong enough to deal with them.

Watch your words, seal your lips. Be gentle to yourself and others. Those are your mantras. There are humans who can't reason, can't see the errors of their ways or are too weak to change for the better. On the other hand, there are people like LL who are unselfish and full of kindness. Your lack of attention to a string of emails of Denise led to her epithets-filled text messages. Thanks to those messages, you got to know her true nature. This morning, as you meditated, memories of Laura rushed back and made you realize that love was a game and you were ill-equipped to deal with it. Remember, don't try to break the mold or to swim against the tide. Most humans are just common. Work on yourself, not on others. Be kind-hearted, but don't harbor a Messiah Complex because you are not strong enough to save anybody. As Flannery O'Connor once famously said, "the life you save should be your own." You're trying to save yours. You have reached a point in your life where you find out that what you thought was important turned out to be trivial and ephemeral. So you now aim for peace, knowledge, and love. Also, you no longer want to be great. You simply want to be a good, peaceful person who is no longer consumed by hate and anger. Just as Denise vainly and sadly denounced you and loudly asserted for the respect that has eluded her, you have a feeling what people dislike most about you is what they hate about themselves. Your words about animals, cowardice, pontification, lying, irresponsibility, and lack of patriotism all hit home because they were all true. You wrote from the heart. You wrote what you feared the most. Your life is an effort to be what you know you can be, an answer to what is good and noble inside you. You have this vague, but intense wish to be open and vulnerable, but past pains and sufferings have taught you to be patient and indiifferent to the wish. You once expressed your state of mind as being strong and tranquil, causing consternation and concern in others. And they all fled away from you. You were not angry. You were just amused and rode out the disappointment. A man's life is the sum of his experiences and the lessons he learned from them.

Memoir 7

It's quite obvious that you are afflicted with ego problem, not mercantile obsession. You are not as much keen to make money as to be loved by women. Having a lot of money does not give you a serene, peaceful feeling as you are showered of attention by members of the fair sex. And that means you are inveterately stupid and have not learned from experience. Deep down, you are a flirt, albeit a shy and honest one. Anyway as you interacted with the women, you couldn't help imagining that was how Laura must have carried on with her new beau. The realization tempered your enthusiasm and brought a much-needed wariness. Life is essentially a game where one has to play by certain rules to win. Having said that, you recall an asshole once disclosed that it was okay to hit opponents below the belt because the objective in life was to win at any price and at any cost. You shuddered when you heard of that disclosure. And you have stayed away from the moral leper ever since because you are not ruthless enough. You still believe in fair play. Anyway, despite all the annoyance lately, you have managed to stay above the morass of moral depravity. You have some pride of who you are. Like last night, as you were about to fall asleep, the phone rang. And the caller ID was blocked. You picked up the phone anyway. It was she. You were surprised, but you were not elated. In fact, a wariness rushed into the scene, ready to protect you.

She said, hi, can we talk?
-Hi, but gee, you know what the time right now, right? Fuck, it's almost one in the morning, Annie.
-I know, sorry, but I can't sleep, and I was thinking of you.
-Thanks a lot, I wish you had done that five years ago. Anyway, what's up? Did Joel leave you as I said he would? Or is it another heart-rending story of how life was unfair to you. I'm sorry, but frankly, my dear, I don't give a fuck. Not anymore. I made up my mind about two years after you left, that you don't mean shit to me. Do yourself a favor, don't call me again because I would hang up on you. Bye!

And you did. And you felt sad and sorrowful despite the bravado you had just put on. You once loved Annie. You wanted to save her. You felt sorry for her. But you soon discovered that you were the one who should be pitied. You were naive and stupid and didn't realize love was just a fucking (pun intended) game. You recently met a French-speaking video poker gambler who has been on a massive winning streak. She won $400,000 over 4 long Memorial Day holidays. She has houses everywhere, even on a little island in the Caribbean. You told her she had better quit now, right away, at once, and immediately if she wanted to preserve her wealth. Your words fell on deaf ears. She said she had a "system" and she was "beating" the casinos for over 27 years. You couldn't believe your ears. You didn't believe her. Knowing that she loved the limelight and attention, you would deduce she would have made her "success" known to the press and thus the whole wide world. Since there was no such news, she just tried to show off she was wealthy while in fact her wealth is in fact disappearing because of her addiction and her delusions. You tried to help her, but since she was delusional, you walked away. You can't help somebody who does not want to be helped for whatever the reason(s). The more you know about humans, the more you realize all of them carry within them at least one seed of self-destruction. The seed will germinate when the circumstances are right. You know your limitations and your own seeds. Meanwhile you are working on yourself, being mindful of your own illusions and delusions, talking the lessons from Lao-Tsu, Buddha, and Nietzsche. The two Asian sages taught you the virtues of moderation and non-attachment while the poor German taught you just about everything else, including all the attractions and pitfalls of power, morality, love, and vanity. This morning you got out of bed, feeling strong and serene and tall, not sad nor small. You will conduct and carry yourself with dignity. Your words will be measured and compassionate. You won't beat the blockheads, the uninformed, the vain, the inarticulate and uneducated but suffering from a delusion that they are articulate and educated solely because of some certificates, the sophistical, the cowardly, and the selfish, with your verbal two-by-fours. You will be gentle and you will be kind while establishing that you are the intellectual boss and that they are fortunate that you take the time to teach them how to take think and argue.

Having read what you just wrote the above, you realize you are nothing but strong and serene. You are indeed sad and small. You have a long way to go. You were not proud of what you wrote. There was still too much anger, too much sadness. Agnes and Laura, and now Gracie affected how you wrote.