The pangs of Love

Nguoi Tinh Cua Toi

Nguoi Tinh Cua Toi

Nguoi tinh cua toi qua that tuyet voi
Toi yeu nang cho den cuoi cuoc doi
Nguoi tinh gia cua toi oi
Em lam anh choi voi
Trong bien ai song tinh
Tim anh ghi khac bong hinh
Phut giay em nguoc mat nhin
Then thung e le dam tinh yeu thuong

Draft translation

My love is truly wonderful.
I love her till the end of my life.
Oh my lady,
You make me flounder
In the sea of love.
Carved in my heart the moment
You looked at me,
Full of tender enchantment

Wissai
July 25, 2011
Night at Bally's 

I've got all pissed off!

A hypocritical, sex-starved, and cowardly asshole made some snide remark about me, getting me all pissed off and losing any lingering respect for him. I am tempted to use my "pretentious", ponderous, and preposterous prose to expose his cowardice, petulance, and salaciousness. I literally want to piss on his head. In fact, if I could, I would inflict pain and suffering on the little prick. But I am controlling myself and waiting for a right moment. I probably will have to wait for a long time. My mind is amazed at the depth of my anger. Is there not any improvement in my little heart? Where is the understanding and the compassion that I've been preaching and pontificating? The lesson here is that feelings are not static. They fluctuate constantly. They rise and fall in accordance with a person's internal moods as well as with the external stimuli. His fake nature is palpable through his words. The way he expresses himself and the choice of his words reveal his despicable, sneaky, cowardly, power-hungry, respect-craving nature. But enough about the asshole. Now to the more sublime subjects.

1. I think we humans all have a fierce, albeit mostly agonizingly mute abd unvocalized reaction to the loneliness we find ourselves in this world. To live us to struggle against the feelings of being misunderstood and uncared for. Marriage is the socially-sanctioned institution of conferring an illusion that we are no longer lonely. Life is a struggle and a process to be comfortable of who one is and of being alone. The Other(s) should only enhance and complement and complete us, but not to exploit and dominate us.
2. I think it is within our right to seek revenge, to redress a wrong done to us. Of course, it's far better to forgive and move on, but sometimes we have to take the trouble to exterminate the vermins masqueraded as humans.
3. "Sooner or later we begin to understand that love is more than verses on valentines, and romance in the movies. We begin to know that love is here and now, real and true, the most important thing in our lives. For love is the creator of our favorite memories, and the foundation of our fondest dreams. Love is a promise that is always kept, a fortune that can never be spent, a seed that can flourish in even the most unlikely of places. And this radiance that never fades, this mysterious and magical joy, is the greatest treasure of all -- one known only Thomas a Kempis, 1379-1471
4."Take time to be kind"


(to be continued)

Gift of Gab

Two women met. They talked. One said to the other, "You're quite a glamourous, garrulous girl. You have a gift of gab. Was it how you got your man?" The other grunted and replied, "Yes, I talked him into submission."

You came up with the above joke which jibed with the theme, making everybody at the dinner table double over with laughter. In a moment of vanity and weakness, you sent, as a vixen put it, to everyone you could think of. Another old hag commented that she was busy and had no time to read items of frivolity. You quickly dashed off a reply that you were sorry and that she wouldn't receive such "items of frivolity again as now I know you are uber-serious. I didn't think the joke was risqué. It was, subjectively speaking, hilarious as hell, if hell ever can be funny.

We all march to different drummers. I temporarily forgot that. Sorry."

The hag's supercilious comment reminded you of JPS's cryptic and ironic remark, "Le serieux est un salaud" (A stuffy person is a jerk.)"

Words wound and hurt, sometimes very deeply and could destroy all incipient nice feelings of friendship. Of course, you have a mixture of comic and serious sense of life. Sometimes you let the comic take over, but only in brief, euphoric moments. Deep down, you carry a sense of loss and longing for the impossible.

Wissai

Primal States

You are caught in that primal state. It touches you deep in your guts. You feel transformed. Unlike Art Ickle, you don't wish to climb up a mountain and shout from the summit. Instead, you feels its presence, the way it is tunneling into the core of your being. You ask yourself, " Is this real or is it Memorex". Yesterday, Silvio, your best friend called. Since you are now a world famous movie star and a cultural icon and a supreme Walter Mitty, he would like to conduct an interview for the magazine Rolling Stone.

"Roberto, I understand you are a womanizer. Is there any truth to that rumor?
-Why would you say I am a womanizer? I was brought up by women. I lived among them as far back as I could remember. I grew up in a household full of women. I can't envision a life without women. I don't know anything else. I connect with them. They're my friends. And I love them.
-Who is the most important woman in your life?
-My mother, no doubt. I loved her. And I think of her everyday. I miss her. No other woman would come close. I think the women I've responded to the most somehow resemble my mother in some way, not only looks but also personality. There is a Mexican-American poet named Santiago Boca. His mother left him when he was five. He grew up and routinely had nightmares about being left by his mother. He screamed and cried during his sleep even when he was a full adult. I think any woman who leaves or abuses her children must be a monster. My mother loved me even when she meted out corporal punishment to me when I was a young boy. I just sensed she loved me although she never said a single word of love to me. She only said she was my mother and she had to take care of me despite my being a bad boy. And I was a very bad, naughty boy when I was young. She did express hope that she would live with me in her old age and I would take care of her. It was not meant to be. She died of illness while waiting for the immigration papers. When the news of her death reached me, loneliness hit me with a force that has not loosened its grip even though that happened 25 years ago.
-Are you happy?
-I don't know what happiness really is. Maybe it has something to do with being loved. That's probably why I keep falling in love every five minutes, why all my best friends are women, why women seem to like me, and I like them."

Far into the dreamland

You know you are cursed with an impracticality. You live in memories, hopes, and dreams. Recently you acquired an appreciation for the sound and music. These days the melody of the song "Ai Cho Toi Tinh Yeu" keeps coming to you in waves after waves of haunting insistence.

Who would fall for me?

Who would give me a love 
Full of innocence, poetry, and dreams?
I would welcome her with open arms
And lead her into my heart,
While my lips press upon hers.

But I am only dreaming.
That's why my heart is sobbingly lonely
It flutters its wings, but has yet taken off in love.
I call out for love to land on my heart,
But love has yet found its way.

Night after night, loneliness briskly enters my bedroom,
Cold winds get to my heart, and stars fall off the sky as the night is drawing to a close. 
The quiet house is full of bitter memories, so my soul is taking an aimless stroll.

Who would fall for me, so we can join in a predestined union?
I would love her all my life
Please, oh, please, don't be shy,
My heart is choking....

Translated by Wissai
June 20, 2011.

Music and Lyrics by Truc Phuong:

Ai cho tôi tình yêu

Ai cho tôi tình yêu
Của ngày thơ ngày mộng
Tôi xin dâng vòng tay mở rộng
Và đón người đi vào tim tôi
Bằng môi trên bờ môi

Nhưng biết chỉ là mơ ...
Nên lòng nức nở, thương còn di chứ yêu thì chưa đến
Nên gọi tên tình chưa đỗ bến, (biết) nẻo mô mà tìm?

Nằm nghe cô đơn, thoáng bước trong buồng
Giá buốt về tìm, sao rơi cuối đêm
Nhà vắng mang nhiều cay đắng, xua hồn đi hoang

Ai cho tôi tình yêu, để làm duyên một người
Tôi xin dâng tình tôi trọn đời
Người ơi người, xin đừng e ấp,
làm tim nghẹn ngào ...."

Love is a waiting game for the loneliness to subside. You dream of the impossible. You long for a light to dispel, no matter fleetingly, the darkness of your sky.

The sound of her voice, the music of her soul will stay with you forever. The chance encounter gave rise to cherished memories. That is what you live for. Meanwhile you have to make money and take care of your body and mind so you can keep on dreaming.

She said, so what will happen if I decide to go ahead and love you? That would fill you with feelings of serenity, but what will happen to me? No doubt, anxiety will permeate my being for you are not free for me. Your heart won't be just for me. I know you will go on dreaming. I can't and won't take that. You're wrong. I am not a wonder woman. I am not strong. I only want you for myself. I don't wish to share you with any woman. So, as much as I love you, as much as you make my heart flutter, I have to walk away from you. You will always be in my heart. Late at night I will occasionally take your picture out and look at it. I might even display it in my bedroom. But I won't call you, ever again.

He said, true love has a way to manifest itself. If I really love you, I will find out. Meanwhile, I do know this: I like to sing nowadays. And when I sing, it's you, and nobody else, that I am thinking of. You see, Marlon Brando once said, "we put to sleep our notions about ourselves that are real and dream others." I don't know if I am acting towards you. What I sense, however, is that I am slouching towards a certain truth in myself, and that is I badly need love from others, like fish needs water. Also, I try to feel alive everyday because once you feel alive, everything is enriching and everything is possible. I used to get depressed and suicidal. I didn't want to be where I was. I wanted to be somewhere else, yet I felt weak and powerless to go somewhere. I am concerned I may come across as maudlin and melodramatic to you and that you don't understand me. This world can be vast and lonely sometimes. Last night a woman came to my room. She was the landlady of the house I was staying. Her loneliness was palpable. She wanted to convey her loneliness, but I made a pre-emptive strike at her attempt of self-disclosure. She saw I was not interested in seducing her. So she made small talk and then staggered back to her residence where loneliness is the real oqueen.


Wissai

Memoir 9

It's been some time since you last revisited your life. You thought you would not bother to mention Laura, but some recent developments now make it worthwhile to examine in depth this painful episode of your life. In some ways and indeed many times you have wished that you had never met her. You met her in your freshman year in college. One day she came to you and asked to borrow lecture notes. She had been sick the week before. It is indeed a struggle to write these words, not because you had nothing to say, but because the memories you deemed once beautiful are probably merely a romanticization stemming from immaturity and impracticality. So, in the interest of sparing yourself of further signs of stupidity, you are going to gloss over soapy, childish, ridiculous memories and concentrate on events that have forced me to grow up, no matter how belatedly. Nah, you just can't do it. It is not so much the lingering pain that stopped you in spilling your guts as the farcical manner of her dumping you. Now you are facing the potential of a similar farce. Ll

Your latest forays into sociological and anthropological experiments are about to be over. You have discovered that you are weak and sentimental. You are much better off to stay in your world of reading and body-building. You came up with the joke which jibed with the theme of Gift of Gab (Two  women met. They talked.

-You're quite a garrulous girl. In fact, you've got a gift of gab. Was it how you got your man?

-Yes. I talked him into submission.)

making everybody at the dinner table double over with laughter. In a moment of vanity and weakness, you sent to everyone you could think of. That won't happen again as now you know everybody was uber-serious (what is going in this world? "you need to laugh a little, joke a little, cry a little, love a little [repeat, 'little', not 'much', 'much' is stupid and dangerous, touch everything lightly, even with tragedy, life is essentially a joke in a strange and unfamiliar language) without fear. You didn't think the joke was risqué. It was, subjectively speaking, hilarious as hell, if hell ever can be funny.

We all march to different drummers. You temporarily forgot that. And that was ok you forgot. Now you remember that and you recovered. Armed with a newly found sense of absurdity and stoicism, you brushed off the brush-off and you moved on while trying to remember that tact can be a difference between life and death, success and failure. Love is to learn not to be self-righteous.


(to be continued)

Loneliness?

She was a very strange woman all right. You had not met a woman like her before. She was married four times, had an affair during the fourth marriage and a child was conceived with her lover, but her fourth husband adopted the child as his own. She then dumped her lover and moved on to another one after divorcing her fourth cuckolded husband. She supported her latest lover for 14 years until she met you through a mutual friend. At that time you were quite down in the dumps after one bad relationship after another. First, you discovered that Denise to whom you took a liking was an unlicensed whore. Then Meilin suddenly turned cold on you after such a promising start. You thought you would have a chance to work on your spoken French with a native speaker. You agreed to meet Harriet, the subject of this "biography" on a lark after your landlord praised her to high heaven for her high "morality" and generosity. There were only two problems: she was uneducated and ten years older than you. The first meeting in Starbucks was not auspicious. She looked ancient and sported a ridiculous hairdo with bottled blond color. On the other hand, she kept her figure in good shape and she had a very sharp mind. She was incredibly articulate and possessed a good, charming voice. She at first called you "kiddo" but as the conversation progressed, you could see that she was impressed with you even after you told her that you were a tightwad and yet had no interest in her money. You would insist on Dutch treat all the way if she and you ever dated. She mentioned about her boyfriend from whom she was temporarily separated. He was a loser except for being gentle and great in bed! You informed her that you were nonconformist, had artistic sensibilities, and suffering from impotence in many ways, except in expressing yourself via words. She laughed her head off at your self-description. She said that you had a good sense of humor, to which you replied that sexual impotence was not a laughing matter. She laughed some more and then hinted darkly that with her, no man would worry about impotence! You then remarked that it was very reassuring to hear. After beating around the bush and dropping double entendres, she said she might call you someday. You looked at her, nodding your head and said nothing. And then you took off in bewilderment. Next day, she called just as you were arriving at your office and said she would like to invite you for lunch on the following Sunday and would you mind if she brought along a female friend. Of course not, you replied.

When you showed up at the restaurant on that fateful Sunday, she dolled herself with the same ridiculous hairdo and a sharp dress. Her friend looked even more ancient than she was and one-tenth of the beauty. Yet she brazenly hit on you! You politely fended her off. Harriet had an expression of a mixture of amusement and annoyance on her face. When the bill came, you picked it up. Her friend made a show of paying for her share, but both you and Harrriet waved her off. When you got home, the phone rang. It was she. "Thank you very much for picking up the bill, my dear gentleman. I was testing you."

She called you everyday afterwards, just like clock work, around 9:30 pm. The conversation occasionally lasted until the wee hours of the morning. She told you about her aristocratic, pampered background, about her past marriages and affairs. She also talked movingly about her lonely childhood and adolescence and how unwisely she neglected to study hard. Most importantly, she disclosed that she had dual personality and a loneliness because of it. She intimated that despite numerous marriages and affairs, she always felt lonely until she met you, but she was gravely concerned about the age discrepancy between her and you, which was aggravated by your youthful appearance. You didn't talk much. You just listened. Occasionally you made some wisecracks and she laughed or chuckled. Her favorite expression was "you little devil" when you teased her. You provided her with basic information about yourself. You told her that you were somewhat deranged, that you blew almost all of your savings in stock and gambling ventures, that you were depressed and suicidal and relying on words to keep the fogs of depression at bay, that you were indeed impotent and yet you refused to seek help, that you didn't give a damn about her money.

One night, she sounded strange and distracted. You asked why. She revealed that her boyfriend was back with her and that she might not talk to you much anymore. You firmly told her that the news was actually a blessing in disguise because talking to her every night was a big distraction and disruption to your life and indeed you needed to devote more time to reading and writing, the routine you had in the evening prior to her intrusion into your life. She hung off the phone in a huff. A feeling of disgust and anger permeated your being. You went outside, jumped into your Camero and drove to the nearby fitness club and swam until your arms and legs ached and you were panting with exhaustion.

She stopped calling. And you were too proud to call her. In fact, after two weeks of waiting for her calls, you deleted both her land line and mobile phone numbers. Weeks and then months passed by. You barely functioned but you soldiered on. You hit the gym in earnest. It helped you a lot. You set goals that you had to accomplish at the gym. Meanwhile you stayed away from women. You stopped flirting with them. Exactly six months later, she called. She opened the conversation by saying "This is Harriet. Please don't hang up. We need to talk."

She said that she missed you terribly, that she was afraid, that she was talking to her full-grown children and her nephew about you and they all told her to dump her long-time leech boyfriend and to go after you. You sulkingky told her that you were not in the competition business and that was beneath you. You added that at any rate, she deserved better, and she should keep herself busy. You earnestly added that you were not necessarily the one to replace her boyfriend, but for her financial safety and self-respect she should examine carefully why she was still
drawn and attached to her boyfriend despite his obvious using her for such a long time. You saved the best "comment" for last: she must confront her feelings, that if she really loved and respected him. She cried when she hung up the phone.

You felt cathartic and at peace with yourself. You were through with being nice and diplomatic with her. You told her what you felt inside of you. You confronted your own feelings. You cared about her, but you cared about your self-respect and dignity much more. You could survive without her, without anybody. You really didn't need anybody, any woman to know who you were and your worth. You also didn't need the financial support of anybody. You still have enough money to survive with dignity. You must be careful not to spend it unwisely as you had done before when you were younger and afflicted with foolishness.

She called back a week later, sounding strained and drained. "Why didn't you call?", she sobbed. You said nothing. She then asked you if you missed her. You replied in the affirmative. Her voice perked up. She told you she had just said goodbye to her long-time beau and you were now the only male friend she had. She then haltingly asked if you cared about her. You said, yes. More than as a friend? Yes. What about the age discrepancy? Not uncomfortable anymore. "Then please call me now and then. I woukd love that."

Two weeks after that conversation, she got rid of her stupid hairdo at your insistence. You took her to a hairstylist and told her what to do with your girlfriend's hair. When it was done, Heather (you told her you never liked the name Harriet. It made her sound ancient and hicky) looked 10 years younger and immeasurably more dignified with dark brown dyed hair and conservative, matronly style.. You paid for the haircut. She took you to Walgreens and purchased facial and hand lotions for you.

She went back with you to your apartment and spent the night with you. She was a tigress in bed, surprising you with one unexpected disclosure after another. When it was over, she told you she loved you the first time she laid her eyes on you, but she was afraid of the age discrepancy. She then said she wanted you to be happy and peaceful and she would do everything in her power to make that happens.

Then somebody knocked on your door insistently. You hurriedly got dressed and answered the door. A courtly gentleman in late 60's asked. " Excuse me, I need to to talk to Harriet urgently!" Her voice rang out behind you, "Larry, I already told you we were through. And I really meant it! How did you know I am here?"

Postcript:

You knocked yourself hard, with the result that you lay flat on your back on the floor, eyes wide shut, as the music drifted in and out of your consciousness. She was singing her heart out. She claimed she loved you. Maybe she really did. She seemed to be happy. 

Others had said they loved you. Many of them were from different ethnicities and they declared their affection in various languages. That was why you chuckled when you read Victor's boastful words that he was blessed in the love department and that of all the members of the group more women loved him than anybody else. He didn't know about you! 

Anyway, with so many women who have claimed to love you, then why is the curse of loneliness choking you? Maybe that's something really wrong with you and you are trying to find that out via words. 

One gets out of love of what he puts/invests himself into it. Maybe you have not invested a lot of yourself because the ghosts of Laura, TTAD, and Agnes have held you back. In some ways, other women didn't come close. Maybe you are asking more than what others can deliver. Love is at once a rare and common commodity. Everybody can mouth off about love, but only a few can actually give unconditionally of themselves, without fear nor regret. Most of us wait for the others to move first. Love is a waiting game for the loneliness to subside.

Wissai

You received the following feedback from a long-time friend about the above fictional "biography" of the "tigress":

Good Morning,

I can’t seem to separate you from your writing. Maybe there is something within me and yet it is a bit more. It is the reason you say you write: catharsis. Your writing is a tool that you use to take your feelings outside of yourself and examine them. It is also a window for others if they care to gaze in

Your latest words sent me on a brief excursion into the world of loneliness. The thing is: what is loneliness to you and you to loneliness? Your loneliness hit me hard as did your poetry. 
 
I will not take your words or your latest "story" apart. Not this morning. Will I ever share my insights? That depends on you and on how brave I am. One thing I must say is that the ghosts of Laura and some other love continue to fly around within your words.

(to be continued)

You are sweet and dark

You are sweet and dark. 

You are sweet and dark. You refuse to live life on a lark. You want to explore, putting yourself on a ledge, testing your limits and boundaries at all times. Life to you is a constant and chronic flirtation with disasters and last-minute triumphs. Of course, you are very sensitive. You don't phone in and tell people you are still alive. You jump right in front of people's faces and say, "I am here. Anybody is game for life?"

So, you held her up close. You pressed your groin against hers. You palmed her ass, caressing and pressing it forward. And then you kissed her. Your hand moved to her breasts. Then you unbuttoned her blouse. She wore no bra, as she had advertised. Her tiny  tits were now in full view. You lowered your head and took them, in turn, into your mouth. She was groaning with delight. She was responding. She took your sex which was already hard into her hand and fingered it. 

Afterwards, as she lay beside you, her head snuggling close to your chest, she said, please don't ever leave me. You said nothing. Fear and loneliness had already returned.

Your writing has taken on a disturbing Freudian overtone lately. You're a late bloomer. For years you suppressed what you envisioned what must have happened to Laura right before she left you for another man. It was too painful for you. You would not be able to take it. Now you are able to empathize. You don't get angry. You are just disappointed and cynical. And then you told yourself that you would concentrate on making money and on your body and mind, and the hell with Laura. But she keeps showing up in unexpected moments. Your mind is telling you to be very careful.

You asserted that life is richer and stranger than fiction. Fiction is just the imagination of one author at a time and his imagination must be grounded on plausibility coupled with an artistic control over his imagination while life is a daily farrago of the expected and unexpected, the strange and sometimes pathetic attempts of humans trying to assert their worth and their moments in the sun before they die in obscurity, loneliness, and amidst a sense of insignificance.

You don't think you are wrong for holding such a futilitarian and absurdist view of life. You have seen enough examples.

Mimi called and woke you up.  At first you thought it was Denise. You were about to click off the phone when she identified herself. Mimi talked about Denise of course. She defended her. You were calm and serene. You simply said you had misplaced your compassion and once again you had an error of judgment. You told her that you didn't know shit about women as you bragged and boasted. In fact you were and still are a babe in the woods as far as life is concerned. You talk a good game, but you are naive and trusting and stupid. Mimi said, don't sell yourself short, why you keep talking down about yourself? you have no self-confidence or what? I like strong, confident men. You said, then you wouldn't like me, I am stupid and weak and yet full of noise and thunder. She laughed and tenderly said, you're a strange man, no wonder Denise fell for you. You said nothing to that cryptic comment. Then she queried after an awkward moment,   Roberto, you still there? You replied, yes. 

-Did I say anything wrong?
-No, not really.
-What do you mean?
-Listen, you know and I know you are a strong and smart woman. You don't have as much education and book knowledge as I do, but you know your street savvy has impressed me. Also, your heart has been incredible. I am just a guy floundering about in the sea of life, impractical and disdainful of money and hell-bent on destroying myself by saying the wrong things and taking unnecessary risks. I am strange, all right.
-Roberto, stop talking about yourself that way! I don't like it. I think you are definitely more than you describe yourself, otherwise I wouldn't bother to call you. By the way, why don't you EVER call me once?
-Because you already have a big-shot CEO as a boy-friend!!
- Shit! You're more stupid than I thought. Anyway, what are you doing? Did I wake you up?
-Mimi, you called me at one in the morning and now you're asking me if you woke me up?
-Sorry, go back to sleep. I was thinking of you and wanted to know if you are still seeing Denise. Please, call me sometimes, will you?

You waited for exactly ten days and called her at 10 pm

-Hi, Mimi, this is Roberto. Can you talk?
-Roberto! Of course, I can. What's up?
-You asked me to call you. Here I am. At Her Majesty Service.
-(Chuckle) I like that. Treating me a queen. Am I a queen to you, Roberto?
-Mimi, I've been thinking since we last talked. In fact, I've been thinking too much.
-What have you been thinking?
-Your calling me at one in the morning and your words. I am confused and I am afraid.
-Of what?
-Of you are toying and playing games with me.
-I'm cutting to the chase. I am very, very glad that you called. It's very good to hear your voice. What took you so long? Don't you like me?
-What's about your CEO friend?
-I am about through with him. He's too controlling and acting like he owns me. I have my own money, not as much as his, but I'm not starving.  
-Mimi, I don't have much money.
-I know that, silly. I don't care. Be straight with me. Do you like me?
-I don't have to tell you that,
-Do you? I want you to say it one way or another.
-Yes, very much.
-I thought and hoped so. Good. I know you are busy and need to make money. I will fly out there and spend a couple of days with you. You go on with your daily routine. I just hang around in your apartment, reading and resting or making some phone calls. We go out when you get back from work. Okay?
-When are you coming?
-Next week. Let me see. Hmm, next Friday. I can't wait to see you.
-Neither can I.

Friday arrived not soon enough for you. You took the afternoon off from work. You arrived at the airport early although you had told Mimi that you would pick her up at the passenger pick-up area. You wanted to watch how she walked towards the rendezvous area and the expressions on her face when you surprised her. It turned out she surprised you. She had a tight cream-colored jeans on, a white blouse, a scarf, a beret, and sunglasses while dragging a LV suitcase. She walked briskly with eager anticipation, her shapely breasts bouncing happily up and down. Your heart soared. You approached her from behind, saying "Excuse me, Miss. You seem to be lost. May I help you? "She turned around and exclaimed: "Roberto!" and flew into your arms and kissed you squarely on the mouth. Then she smiled and dropped a bombshell: "Now, tell me about the old hag Heather. You are not seeing her anymore, are you?" You stopped walking, stunned, and blushed "But how did you know about Heather?"

She kept on smiling, held onto your arm, and said, "I know a lot about you, more than you ever know. Where's your car?"
 
 
Roberto Wissai
July 8, 2011

Postscript:
You showed the above "story" to several admirers and aficionados. One wrote back, saying she was upset and jealous. That led you to write the following comment:

"When you read my words, don't wonder and wander into a realm of speculation and search for any autobiographical elements. Instead, watch the words and see if they have any artistic merits: does the story make sense? Do the sentences flow? Do the  words sing and dance and leave a lingering trace in your mind because they are striking and graphic and evocative as well as funny and hauntingly absurd? There is no need to shed tears over what I wrote. The story is a product of imagination. I am not that lucky nor charming. What I am blessed and cursed is a fantasy that threatens constantly to intrude into reality. Mimi does have a CEO boyfriend. And she does flirt with me, albeit very lightly and discreetly, as she couldn't help herself. She never makes any arrangement to see  me, however. Fiction is just another name for wishful thinking. As I often deride, all the so-called religious "miracles" in the Bible and other texts are exercises in fiction. My life has also been a lame and tame Walter Mitty story."

Omar read the "story" in your presence. He kept asking that if you actually wrote the story yourself. Exasperated, you exclaimed, "Omar, can't you see the point? If I plagiarized and copied from somewhere, I wouldn't excitedly and proudly showed it to you, fucker!" After he finished reading, he smiled and posed a question, "Is any of these true? Where and how did you meet these women?". You touched your head with a forefinger, "It's all up here."

He then said, " Roberto, you're a writer. You have a sense of the real physical presence of feelings. You are an ego in search of an id and of love. I wish you luck."

You sighed, grasped his arm, and intoned, "I don't have a clue what you said. I was not looking for any praise. I was hoping for understanding. You don't have to praise me. The bottom line is that whether as you read the story, you wonder what happens next and whether it lingers on in your mind. Any good story is the one that compels you to go back and read it again and again and again to the point it is part of how you feel and think and remember."


The same reader who earlier expressed petulance and peevishness came back and now raised the issue that there was a disconnect between the title and the story. To that you replied:

"You have to try harder to connect the dots in the story, from the title to the postscript. 

The protagonist describes himself as sweet and dark. The story begins with his musings on his restless search for "disaster and last-minute triumphs". Then suddenly he describes an erotically-charged atmosphere where there was a lack of any description of coitus despite the preceding leading in. The erotic atmosphere ended with the cryptic, Fear and loneliness had already returned.' This was the first clue of the dark character of the protagonist. 

The rest of the story explored his sweetness which attracted women of all ages.  

The postscript cast the story in a philosophical frame. It is an ego in search of an id and of love.


Wissai
July 8, 2011

Tropic of Cancer revisited

Finally it happened and far better than you had imagined. She hoarsely said, No please, but she didn't take back her hand. She was breathing hard, eyes looking straight at you. And you knew. You drew her closer. You felt a tremor in her body. You then kissed her, on the mouth. She at first refused to part her lips. Then suddenly, she sucked in your tongue with such force that it almost flew out of your mouth. A new, unknown feeling swept over your body. You had done French kissing before, but this was more than French. It was Vietnamese, American, primordial and primeval, urgent and hungry, and full of love and longing. Then she stopped and said, please love me long and tender. And you complied.

When it was over, you knew you were entering uncharted waters. Words swirled inside your head. Music was filling in the air. And you asked her sing again your favorite song of Truc Phuong which you recently translated into English.

"Who would give me a love
full of innocence, poetry, and dreams.

I would welcome her with open arms
And lead her into my heart,
While my lips press upon hers.

But I am only dreaming.
That's why my heart is sobbingly lonely
It flutters its wings, but has yet taken off in love.
I call out for love to land on my heart,
But love has yet found its way.

Night after night, loneliness briskly enters my bedroom,
Cold winds get to my heart, and stars fall off the sky as the night is drawing to a close. 
The quiet house is full of bitter memories, so my soul is taking an aimless stroll.

Who would fall for me, so we can join in a predestined union?
I would love her all my life
Please, oh, please, don't be shy,
My heart is choking...."

True feelings and their manifestations

Feelings always fluctuate and are contingent on externalities. Feelings don't exist in a vacuum. They require and arise from stimuli.
So, what happens or will happen when and after you hold her hand and stroke her face and tell her that you care about her and that her words turn you on and make you wonder long after they were uttered?

Feelings are fragile and should not be trifled with. Neither would ego be a factor in harboring any feelings, but alas, ego is the boss. It wants to get involved. Thus, all feelings have an element of and the presence of Ego. Only when a person loves without ego, without attachment, without a need or hope of reciprocity will that love ever truly be a love from the heart. A parent loves a child without ever worrying if the child would love him or her back. Any true love has characteristics of a parental love: selfless devotion to the well-being of the beloved because the suffering of the beloved is unacceptable and unbearable to him/her. An unrequited love is the purest and the most beautiful.

One more thing: all sexual acts must be performed with true love in mind and heart. The act of penile penetration must be coupled with a feeling of giving and demonstrating a willingness to touch with the inner recesses and saintly sanctum of the other's being. Without such feeling, the sex act is only a grunting of animalistic desire, devoid of a higher human consciousness.

Thus spake Wissai

What would you say when she calls?

-It depend on which "she" you're talking about?
-Fuck! I don't know you have more than one. My goodness, you're a player, Roberto.
-(A chuckle, a smirk, and then unexpectedly a sad, even suicidal look came over his face) What do you expect? Look at this face, this physique. Delve further into the wit, the erudition, the heart, the feelings for things that are sweet and true and eternal. No wonder women flock to me like bees to honey, like flies to shit, like overeaters to free buffet.
-Seriously, though, what do you say to her when she calls because I know she will call?
-Silvio, I don't give a fuck about her anymore. I don't. I mean it. She pissed me off so bad that I am walking away from her, figuratively and literally. She was stupid, very stupid. And I cannot stand stupid people. I am very sensitive, as you already know. I am now almost back to where I used to be. Only concerned about money and health and creativity and knowledge. Love and pussies now bore me for the stupid games involved. In the end, I have only me to rely on. That's why I always feel lonely. I cannot trust anybody. All selfishness. All talk. Glad you called. I've got to go make some money. I have to hustle. See you later.

So, Roberto got into his Ferrari and headed to his favorite haunt, despite sad memories there. He told himself that he was stronger than the memories, than whatever that made him sad and blue, that in the end he would triumph.