Twilight

One day I was rinsing my sinus at the kitchen sink, as I do every morning, when I noticed a darting speck on the shiny surface. Why, it's an ant.

The ant is surrounded by droplets of various sizes, desperately feeling its way out of the danger zone. It is a mission nearly impossible.

I felt sorry for the creature then. Then it hit me: I have empathy... for an ant?! How Buddhist of me! Except, of course, I am not Buddhist. As a child I would have flushed it down the drain, without a second thought, with pleasure. But at this moment I pictured myself as the ant. What terror it must be to be in this precarious terrain with seemingly no way out, and what unspeakable suffering it would be to drown in this massive darkness. What a horrible way it would be to die!

Watching the ant struggle to crawl to safety moved me. It had so much drive, determination, and energy. I tried my darndest to avoid having water flow near it. But a little splash was inevitable. Even without me, though, there was enough wetness around to drown a hundred ants effortlessly.

I took my mind off it a bit. If it was going to fall to its death, I was certainly not going to enjoy witnessing it. (I pondered extending a finger as a rescue attempt, but I'd probably kill it in the process. That would be worse.)

Before I knew it, the ant was on the vertical rise. I couldn't believe it, it was moving so swiftly. Imagine this wall that was equivalent to five hundred times it's length... Could a human climb a 200-floor building with such ease? Certainly not!

The ant escaped. Poof. It was like the whole thing had never happened.

I was incredulous and relieved. I marveled at the will power of the tiny life form to survive. Instincts are just programmed in us. The fittest get to live. If anyone doubted Darwin, here you go.

If there was more empathy and kindness in the world, imagine...

Quote 271

Almost everything in the room will survive you.
To the room, you are already a ghost.

- Don Paterson

Quote 270

You feel so much because you are so much.

- Christopher Poindexter

Vermeil

Since my return from visiting the rents, I have been suffering from depression. You'd think I'd quickly identify the condition by now, but it took a while. Last Saturday I moped around, had zero motivation to leave the house, which was highly atypical of me on a Saturday. On Sunday I left the house to walk the dog, and get St. John's wort. For my depression.

I was expecting post-vacation blues all along, but this depression goes a little beyond. I am wallowing in the whole "What is the purpose of life" debacle again. With Elsie, I called it "general malaise", to be vague. I've brought it up with Denisse. And mentioned to friends who would relate to being apart from family. But never do I refer to it as depression. The word is overused and misused anyhow.

Today, while out making copies for the most tedious project at work, I decided to swing by my local Trader Joe's to get a sense of escape. (Pathetic, admittedly.) There was a "European style" farmers' market near work (let's call it Oxtails) which, after having served the community for 45 years, just closed in late June. It had quality produce, so fresh, it would last for weeks in the fridge. None of that chain supermarket nonsense of withering within days. It also offered unique European goodies you couldn't find anywhere else. When Oxtails closed, it was the end of an era. Many, myself included, started mourning its loss well before the end of June. It was hard to say goodbye.

There was this employee at Oxtails, Kelsey*, who was quite a character. He was quite lean, and had the 80's rock star hair and skinny jeans to complete the look. I chatted him up once, on one of my "good" days, and learned that he took the bus to work everyday. It takes a certain kind not to drive in California. I did not press.

Even though Kelsey had this tough exterior, he was very courteous. I could sense his vulnerability. I imagine he was picked on in high school. He was "weird", an outcast. I liked him (but not that way.) It was always good to spot him at the store and I was sad to think that now that the store had closed, I would never see him again. Not like I ever chatted with him again after that one time. He probably didn't even remember me.

Then, today, at Trader Joe's, I spotted that spiky hair from afar. Could it be...? After all, how many people sport that hairstyle? These are not the 80's anymore.

I craned my neck and looked some more but could only see the back of this guy's head. There were people in line, blocking my view. Just then, the dude turned ever so slightly. It was Kelsey! He now worked one of the cash registers at TJ's! He was still wearing skinny jeans, now paired with a bright peacock green TJ's T-shirt.

I was elated. I was beside myself. I pictured myself walking up to him, high-fiving him, congratulating him on life after Oxtails.

Had I done that, he would have stared at me blankly, like I was a complete weirdo. And justifiably so. He would be like, "Who are you?"

The thought of him still riding the bus daily to this neighborhood warmed my heart. TJ's is practically in the same parking lot as where Oxtails  had been, on opposite ends. Kelsey hasn't had to change his routine much at all.

And just like that, as I finished my errand and headed out, the sun seemed brighter, and the world was less sad.

You just never know who you have a friend in. Sometimes they are not going to tell you. They never will tell you. But there is good out there. There is positive energy out there, directed toward you. We all need a reminder sometimes.


*Not his real name

Break. Through.

Today I finished reading a book, Little Shoes, by Pamela Everett. I haven't read a book in years, let alone finish one in one day. For years I have been paralyzed, unable to commit.

I was reminded of many a Sunday afternoon when I was a tween and then a teenager, starting a book in the morning and finishing it before dusk. My favorite reading spot was on the stairs in our two-story home, the steps lined with red carpet - an odd choice in retrospect, the red carpet, that is. The stairs overlooked a nearby Catholic cemetery, its walls pastel green, rimmed and accented with pristine white. I could watch the sunset from there. It was a tranquil, magical spot. I enjoyed admiring the dead from afar, reassured by that certain end for all of us, finding peace in the universal finality.

Oh, how I miss that home. I ache.

Or perhaps it is my youth that I mourn?

Last night, in an emotional state, with the memories of a childhood home lost forever, I broke down and cried into my hands silently while seated next to RJ on the sofa. RJ's mind grows sharp as the night is long, and he is usually nocturnally engaged one way or another, often in more ways than one, simultaneously. And thus he never noticed how I was practically sobbing. Except there was no sound. Boy, that was a good cry. What I needed.

I ponder why I am drawn to reading about crime. A part of it is, in understanding the horrors and the criminal minds behind them, the acts are less unspeakable. After all, a human mind conjures up these things. And aren't we all human?

Another part is probably externalizing pain. Others have suffered too. We are all in it together. I am not so alone. My pain is NOT ridiculous and overblown.

During my recent visit with the rents, I forget which one of them said, musing over Sundays being family days where we would have our outings, to the effect of "We thought those days would never end. And one day, you are grown. And we are old."

Surely many generations - every generation - has had the same thought. As I look upon my nephews and realize, one recent day, they are now both taller than I. How did that happen? When did that happen?

I used to roll my eyes at adults who would make such stupid statements. Like, duh.

One of my worst fears is I will have wasted my life. When someone is assigned to write my obituary, there won't be much to work with. I mean, have you read obituaries? They seem riddled with medals, philanthropy and humanitarianism. What have I got to show?

RJ has said that his greatest accomplishments are his three sons. My brother W likes to refer to my nephews as "the offsprings". That still cracks me up.

I don't even have any spawns.

I can't be the only one who's felt that the gift of life can be a burden? Expectations. Who have you got to answer to?

Death can be liberating. And it will come. Free for all.

It has been said that (and I paraphrase):

Small minds talk about people.
Mediocre minds talk about events.
Great minds talk about ideas.

When I blog, I feel that I am not small-minded. At least.

But you can't put that in an obituary, ay?

Innumerable

Long distance relationships don't work.

Not that I've ever had one. Therefore, not by first hand knowledge. Until now - counting the three weeks away from RJ, that is.

I know it sounds laughable, but hear me out.

When I was eighteen, I had a summer fling with a lounge singer who was a bit older and whose voice and life experiences mesmerized me. I knew I was leaving for the States after summer was over, but I didn't tell him at first. Once he learned, he shunned me. Unrequited love is the best, no?

It felt romantic then, 6,000 miles away, oceans apart, as Richard Marx would croon, pining over the notion of a lover by the creek at my college, because the creek ran to the ocean, and the ocean would join the sea where he would hang out with his friends, drinking beer, mourning the loss of his wife and daughter.

Little did I knew I knew nothing about love.

A consultant that used to travel, leaving his family weekly, RJ knows with all weariness that being away from loved ones is hard. It can really do a number on a relationship. His last one didn't survive. Had it survived, I wouldn't be married to him right now.

When JD moved to FL, he was my best friend, the best friend I'd known, the one person who knew me the most. I knew the different time zones would mean communication wouldn't be the same. But, boy, did I underestimate what little three hours could do.

When I needed him, he wouldn't be there. And soon enough, he didn't need me.

I've gone to visit family in Asia without RJ before but for some reason, this year, it was REALLY hard. For the record, it is a 15-hour difference. So you add 3 hours to American time, and reverse day and night.

When I moved to the U.S. at age 16, I wrote to my parents weekly. I'd pour my heart out, record everything I'd witness and muse on. Those letters were my journal as a fresh immigrant in America, full of hope and dreams, giddy with all the new experiences and a rosy outlook on life in general.

Having just watched the movie Lady Hawk which had left in indelible mark on my young heart, I lamented that my parents and I, being in different time zones, were just like the protagonists in said film. One would come alive in daytime; the other, night. Your awake moments may overlap just so, but never long enough.

This year this long forgotten analogy is resurrected, applying to RJ and me. At least in my mind.

When you are not sharing the same space, the same time, the same space in time, the same time-space continuum, when you are not experiencing life in similar context, it is hard, it is damned hard, to relate, and to feel that the other person is relating to you. Try as you may, the connection is bound to be lost somehow.

For the first time ever, I understand why long distance relationships don't work. At least for me.

I met with my psychologist friend Kay (I forget what I called her before, so I'll stick with Kay for now) during my trip. A nomad all her life, never afraid to up and go to live in a new territory, she has recently bought a property (instead of constantly renting). Almost gasping, I congratulated her on "finally settling down". Later I would question why "settling down" is such a good idea. Just because convention says so?

I'd shared with her then that only about two years ago, after having lived where RJ and I have since 8 years ago, I had just started to feel this space felt like home. I can't tell you what and why, but I remember this distinct moment when I was finally at peace, and no longer fighting. I actually hadn't been sure I'd ever get there with this place.

And with all the sense of displacement brought on by travels, awakening SO much identity issues, boy, did I feel apprehensive about coming home.

I had been humming Somewhere in My Broken Heart by Billy Dean on the long way home. Sometimes my mind does that. Just picks out a song out of nowhere, dusts it off, and plays it on loop. I'm sure it's trying to tell me something.

The moment I was in RJ's arms again. No if's or but's about it. I was home.

I hadn't been able to remember RJ's face in the past two weeks or so. In my teens, when I would have a crush on someone, I wouldn't be able to recall his face. So that was a good thing. Some sort of cognitive disorder, I'm sure. Sensory overload, so my brain was somehow attempting to save me. Sure.

But my brain would afford me the memory of RJ's face as a younger person, that smile, that unique smile that some tend to interpret as a smirk (which he detests) ... and those cheeks that smile along with those eyes. That knowing smile that also passes as innocent. Who could resist?

I took a good look once again at RJ's rosy cheeks tonight. His glow, the glean in his keen shorn hair. I'm in a good place.