Living in the Moment

Living in the Moment

So Ariel Castro, the sick dude who kidnapped 3 women and held them captive for years, was found dead in his cell, killing himself by hanging. Apparently he couldn't live in the moment. Prison life wasn't agreeable to him. You wondered if he ever wondered how his victims thought of their own long imprisonment by him. Castro was an example of how degrading and depraved a human could be if he gave in to the impulses and lures of lording over others. 

Man is a very interesting, self-conflicting animal, capable of acts of sublime nobility as well as deeds of horrific depravity. You shudder when reading in the news about robberies of pizza delivery men and taxi drivers. The other day, a taxi driver told you his colleague was burned alive by the robbers. Apparently they were not content of robbing him. They felt they had to do something extra. Those accounts remind you that you live in a dog-eat-dog world and you must be on eternal vigilance if you want to survive. There are many human animals who have no true pride and would do anything, absolutely anything, to survive or to feel superior to others or to feel good about themselves. If you run into an ignorant and stupid human that has no respect for facts and is very comfortable about lying to make himself look good while making others look bad, you would include that such human has no pride and is a vicious and yet pathetic animal and must be avoided, if you aren't in a position to exterminate it. 

So you don't really blame your friend Omar who has concluded time and again that some animals really deserve to die. And when they do and get buried, he would visit their graves  and piss on them. A catharsis has to be obtained somehow, he keeps reminding you, otherwise a sensitive being would explode and do something really stupid. He said, "Roberto, stay in touch with your feelings, whatever they are. Don't suppress them. Deal with them, instead, one way or another. Don't pretend to be somebody else. You must be comfortable with who you are, warts and all."

You replied to Omar, "okay, mi amigo, I know I have a lot of fantasies and all my literary productions have been of the Walter Mitty variations, but I do think I'm endowed with a high degree of intuition, even with some paranormal powers. My life has been nothing but a serial episodes of pain and suffering because I didn't make use of my powers. But I'm gonna change my attitude about who I really am." To that assertion of yours, Omar just chortled and rolled his eyes and smiled at you, but said nothing. 

Yesterday you had lunch with Donny, a Chinese-Korean old friend of yours. He asked you where was the black Lexus you claimed a woman who was stricken by cancer, bequeathed to you. You coolly told him that you sold that beautiful fully loaded car for 30 and some change because as much as you loved it, holding onto it would be a painful reminder of Angie. He then quickly and slyly followed up with an inquiry that if any chance you took a picture of the car. You  whipped out your HTC smartphone and showed photos of the car. You also showed him the photos of you and Angie in her unit at Turnberry Towers. He looked confused and perplexed and then said, " So...Angie was...real. You didn't make her up." You nodded your head while tears were beginning to form in your eyes. "Shit!", exclaimed Donny "What's about Omar? Is he real?" You answered, "Want to meet him? It'll cost you some real cold cash." Donny was stubborn and a die-hard skeptic. Although he claimed to be of Chinese and Korean ancestry, but the way he acted, you'd swear he must be related to David Hume, the famous and rotund skeptic Scotsman. "How much?"

-Ten grand

-Ten grand? Get the fuck out of here. Why so much? (He protested and looked visibly upset).

-Omar's not cheap, not like me. It cost you nothing to have lunch with me, but with him, you must come up with ten grand and I'll arrange a meeting and a guy that fits the description of Omar will show up. And you can interrogate him and ask him all the questions you want and then decide for yourself if he's for real. 

You could see that Donny was mulling over a decision and looked straight at my face, trying really hard to detect any signs of bullshitting from me. He then bargained.-Two grand.

-Ten grand. The guy must make preparations and research before flying over here. He'll ask me all kinds of questions about you to make sure you are legit. He doesn't come cheap. Take it or leave it.

-You serious? 

-As serious as a heart attack. How about you? How serious are you?

-Not that much (he sighed and shook his head and looked outside at the sidewalk as if he was hoping that at that time Omar would materialize out of thin air and that would cost him not a single red cent to meet the world famous but reclusive assassin).

But Donny was tenacious. The son-of-a-bitch didn't give up.

-For all I know, you would ask some guy pretending to be Omar and telling me bullshit stories just to get the money and split it with you. 

-Donny, how long have you known me? Would I do such a thing to you? Would I need money that bad? You know my net worth. I showed you the other day. Fuck, I really am upset that you would think I am that low (your voice was rising).

-Sh! Tone it down, will you? I'm sorry. Just forget about it. Let's talk about something else. You were saying about the counterfeiter who was also a poet. Tell me more about her. You sure know a lot of interesting people. 

- Donny, I can talk about her, but you probably wouldn't believe any of what I'm gonna say because you're a born skeptic, a modern-gay, oops, I meant, modern-day doubting Thomas, a cynic who thinks I'm nothing but a teller of tall tales. 

-Cut the crap out Roberto. Either you're gonna tell me about this counterfeit-cum-poet or you're not. Don't beat around the bush. Let me reserve the right tosay what you're gonna say sounds plausible or too fantastical to be true. Now go ahead.

-Since you insist. In fact, it sounds lie you're actually begging for it. So I'm gonna oblige you since after all you're an old friend of mine. I just met her two days ago at my former land lady's house. I didn't know it was all pre-arranged or what, but it didn't really matter. I was invited for lunch. We had the bánh xèo (Vietnamese crêpes containing shrimp, pork, mung bean, bean sprouts, onions wrapped by lettuce leaves and garnished with cilantro, mint leaves, and dipped in fish-based sauce containing pickled diced carrot and white radish, and red chilli) and chè xôi nước (rice flour fortified with coconut oil wrapped around mung bean paste boiled in a sweet syrup containing slices of fresh ginger) as dessert. We just finished eating and were shooting the breeze when the counterfeiter dropped by. I had never met her before but had heard of her. Being a Vietnamese woman and got involved in a counterfeit ring made her well known, if not downright notorious, in the community. Anyway, the former landlady introduced us, saying that I was a "poet". I corrected her. I said I never really regarded myself as a poet, even a poet of sorts. What I have are poetic sentiments which occasionally overflow and demand expressions. That was when Annie, the counterfeiter or more precisely speaking, the passer of counterfeited bills, said she was a real poet. She then proceeded discussing poetry with me. She apparently was a good poet. What struck me, however, was her intense personality and her colorful life which the Yvette, the former landlady, told me after Annie had departed and left me with four (!) CDs of her poetry collections.

It appeared to me Annie lived in the moment with gusto and daring and a strange mixture of kindness and hard-boiled realism. She was arrested for her offense and had to post some bail money.  She was married several times to old men who left her with money when they died. She wrote widely circulated anti-VC poetry and is no longer welcome in Vietnam. She has a boyfriend in Vietnam and is sending him money every month to support him. Yvette phone me later in the evening that Annie had called and asked her if I said anything after her departure. Yvette said that I thought kindly and highly of her "Roberto said that beneath your exterior of rough, intense language lies a bruised but still caring heart". Apparently Annie liked that and told Yvette that I was a good (sic!) "judge" of people. I told Yvette that Annie was a self-conflicting poet, just like several intense, but egotistical persons I know. We all have our seamy side and try hardest not to show it. I am probably one of the very few humans on this planet reveling in revealing my warts and all. I am unlike those motherfucking unartistic liars out there who are ugly, short, fat, ignorant, and stupid, but think the world of themselves. 

-Roberto, next time you meet Annie, bring me along, won't you ? 

-That will cost you money.

-What? Money again? What's happening to you? Why did you turn into a kike, all of a sudden?

-Just kidding. 

Wissai

September 6, 2013